A few days later, Alan returned to Winchester Manor.
The hidden library greeted him with a sharp drop in temperature the moment he stepped through the concealed doorway behind the study wall. Cooler air settled against his still-damp skin, carrying the stale scent of aged parchment, dust, leather bindings, and old wood that had remained untouched for years. The stone floor absorbed most of the sound beneath his shoes, though faint hollow taps still echoed softly through the massive room each time he walked deeper inside. Towering shelves stretched upward into darkness beyond the weak glow of several antique lamps mounted along the walls. Their flickering light barely reached the highest rows of books.
Alan rolled one shoulder slowly while adjusting the collar of his shirt. His hair still carried traces of moisture from the shower earlier, and a few droplets slid from the ends onto the back of his neck before disappearing beneath the fabric. His body felt heavy in that familiar, satisfying way after another long training session — not exhausted anymore, just pleasantly worn.
"Another day. Another successful training session," he muttered quietly to himself.
He exhaled through his nose and walked farther between the shelves. "Man… I could use a book or two." His voice stayed low inside the quiet room. "Something to kill the rest of the night." His fingers dragged lazily across rows of book spines while he scanned titles one by one. Dust gathered lightly against his fingertips as he moved.
"Maybe something about powerless heroes." A faint smirk pulled briefly at the corner of his mouth. "That would at least be inspiring as hell."
The shelves creaked faintly around him beneath their own weight. Ancient Threats. History of the Ember Collapse. Hero Laws and International Authority. Alan slowed slightly as his attention shifted toward the far end of the library, where an older shelf sat partially hidden behind stacked storage containers and archived documents.
"Huh…" He tilted his head slightly while staring toward it. "That's one of Dad's secret shelves… I haven't been down here in years."
The manor remained completely silent around him. No footsteps overhead. No voices. Just the distant hum of ventilation systems hidden somewhere inside the walls. Alan approached the shelf slowly and shoved one of the storage bins aside with his foot. Something clicked underneath. A low grinding sound followed as the bookshelf shifted several inches sideways. Hidden mechanisms moved behind the stone wall, and dust drifted loose from the edges while cold air spilled outward from the dark opening now revealed.
Alan stared for a second. "…Well, time to dig in and see if there's anything interesting to read."
The hidden chamber beyond remained mostly dark except for faint light bleeding inward from the library itself. Even so, several shapes immediately stood out. Weapons lined the walls carefully inside metal racks, combat knives, firearms, reinforced batons, and old experimental tech prototypes, everything arranged with disturbing precision. Then Alan's attention landed on the suit.
Black Mentis's armor stood upright near the far wall like somebody had removed it moments earlier and simply stepped away. The matte-black plating reflected almost no light. Thin silver lines traced across the chest and arms while the helmet stared forward blankly from the stand.
Alan slowed unconsciously. Even empty, the thing carried presence. "…Man, I'm jealous." He walked closer before carefully placing one hand against the armored chestplate. The material felt cold and dense beneath his palm. "You really wore this thing while beating monsters half to death, huh… "Damn… this thing's huge. There's no way I fit in this." His reflection distorted faintly across the dark surface.
He eventually stepped deeper into the chamber. The sound beneath his shoes changed immediately, less hollow now, more enclosed. Several worktables filled the center of the room, buried under cracked journals, classified folders, handwritten notes, and stacks of aging paper secured with old metal clips. Dust coated nearly everything thick enough to leave visible trails whenever his fingers brushed across the surfaces.
"Let's see…" Alan murmured while moving between the tables. "Maybe there's something from before the power era." He picked up one journal briefly before setting it back down. "Or maybe some tech books could be somewhere in here." A faint grin crossed his face. "Honestly, either works."
His shoulder accidentally bumped one of the crowded shelves nearby. A thick book slipped loose from the edge. Alan reacted too late to catch it before it hit the floor heavily beside his foot. The noise echoed harder than expected through the hidden room.
"Shhhh, shit… that was loud. Oops. My bad."
He crouched down, reaching toward the fallen book. Then he noticed something underneath the shelf. A box sat pushed deep into the corner beneath layers of dust and partially hidden underneath a heavy dark cloth. Unlike everything else in the room, this one had no labels. No markings. No organization tags.
Alan paused. "…The hell is this?" He grabbed the cloth and pulled it away fully. Dust scattered into the air around him immediately, forcing him to turn his face slightly while coughing once into his sleeve. "I definitely haven't seen this before."
The box looked older than everything else nearby. The edges were worn unevenly and the metal corners had dulled with age. Alan grabbed both sides and dragged it toward the nearest desk. The wood groaned loudly beneath the weight as it scraped across the surface. He stared at it for another second, then slowly lifted the lid.
Paper filled the entire box. Typed documents. Handwritten notes. Photographs clipped to reports with rusted paperclips and faded corners. Every page carried the same symbol stamped across the top in thick black ink.
HEROCORP Internal Use Only.
Alan stopped breathing for a second. The underground chamber suddenly felt colder around him. The dim light above the desk flickered softly against the mountain of files while dust drifted through the stale air untouched for years. His fingers hovered over the documents before he finally pulled the top folder closer. The paper felt old and worn, handled too many times by too many hands.
He opened it carefully at first, then began reading. One page turned. Then another. Then another. The silence around him deepened the farther he went. Alan gradually leaned farther over the desk without realizing it, shoulders drawing tighter the deeper he got into the reports. His thumb pressed harder into the edge of each page with every paragraph. The color gradually drained from his face until even his lips looked pale under the overhead light.
"…What the fuck…?" The words slipped out under his breath before he fully realized he had spoken. His stare stayed locked on the documents. "What's the meaning of this…?"
His hand moved again. Another file. Another report. Photographs stared back at him. Heroes strapped to surgical tables. Bodies covered in cables and restraints. Medical notes written beside pictures of people screaming. Alan's throat tightened. Drug treatments. Forced enhancements. Experiment logs. His breathing became uneven. He swallowed hard, but the dryness in his throat barely changed.
"No… no way…"
The next page stopped his hand completely. FAILED SUBJECT. TERMINATED. The edge of the file bent slightly between his fingers before he loosened his grip again. Dates immediately caught his attention. Nineteen sixties. Nineteen seventies. Nineteen eighties. Nineteen nineties. His eyebrows pulled together while confusion and disbelief spread across his face. Some reports listed hero codenames beside the procedures. Others were worse. No names. No identities. Only numbers. Test subjects reduced to statistics and outcomes.
Alan leaned back half a step from the desk, as if his body wanted to pull away from what he was reading, yet his eyes refused to leave the files. "So they really…" His voice came out thinner now, rough around the edges. "…experimented on them this whole time?"
His movements lost patience after that. Pages flipped faster beneath his hands while loose papers slid across the desk and scattered onto the floor beside his boots. His shoulders rose and fell more heavily with each new report. Power suppression trials. Forced evolution testing. Psychological conditioning. Termination approvals.
Alan dragged a shaking hand through his hair and held it there for a moment, fingers pressing against the back of his neck while he stared downward at the documents spread across the desk. "This is insane…"
His chest barely moved now. Somewhere between the third and fourth report, he had started holding his breath without noticing. The muscles around his mouth tightened while his eyes scanned another page filled with signatures and classified approvals. "Did dad hide this?" He looked down at the files again like he wanted them to suddenly make sense. "But why…?"
Another photograph slipped free from between the pages. A child. Maybe thirteen years old. Wires buried into both arms. Eyes hollow. Alan froze, staring at it. "…Wh-what the fuck did they do to these people? Th-This is beyond fucked!"
His stomach twisted so suddenly he had to grab the edge of the desk to steady himself. Nausea rolled through him in sharp waves. He pressed a forearm against his abdomen and lowered his head briefly, forcing himself not to throw up right there across the files. The silence around him became harder to ignore. Every page turn sounded too loud inside the chamber. "If Dad knew about this…" he muttered unevenly, still breathing through his mouth, "then why the hell would he keep it hidden?"
His eyes lifted again. Anger slowly replaced the shock, building piece by piece the longer he looked at the reports. Alan slammed both hands down against the desk hard enough to rattle the stacks of documents and send several folders sliding onto the floor.
"These monsters are not helping heroes!" His voice echoed harshly through the chamber. "They spent decades tearing these people apart!"
Alan stayed there for a moment with both palms pressed into the desk while heat crawled across the back of his neck. Sweat gathered near his temples and his neck despite the freezing air trapped underground. He paced once beside the desk before turning back toward the files again, as if he physically could not stop looking at them. "Those fucking monsters…"
His jaw shifted side to side while he tried to steady his breathing. Then another thought hit him. His expression faltered. "I have to talk to Dad." The words came out quieter now. More uncertain.
Alan grabbed several folders tightly against his chest, nearly bending the papers in his grip without noticing. "I need answers." He shook his head once while trying to think straight. "Why hide this? Why stay quiet after seeing all this evil shit? How do you sit on something like this and act normal?"
He took a step toward the exit. Then stopped. His entire body went still. The thought landed slowly enough to make it worse. "…What if he is involved in this?"
Alan's breathing caught. The folders crumpled slightly against his chest before he realized how hard he was holding them. "No…" he muttered quickly, almost trying to convince himself. "No, that does not make sense…"
Alan turned away from the desk and paced once across the chamber, slower now. His free hand stayed pressed against his chin while thoughts kept colliding faster than he could organize them. "The files said nineteen sixties through the nineties…" His eyes shifted across the room while his thoughts raced faster and faster. "Dad was not Rank One back then. Hell, I doubt they would trust him with classified shit like this at that level…"
But the doubt stayed there anyway. Quiet. Ugly. Growing.
Alan looked back toward the scattered reports covering the desk one last time before turning sharply toward the hidden exit. His footsteps came faster now. Heavy enough to echo through the underground chamber while anger and panic fought for control inside his chest. The secret doorway groaned as it slid open, stale air rushing past him from the corridor beyond. Then Alan stormed out toward his father's study without slowing down once.