Kevin's eyes widened in disbelief. His mind faltered for just an instant, unable to fully register the loss, but that instant was fleeting. His enhanced mental capacity kicked in, analyzing and comprehending the situation before the shock could even settle.
Pain arrived with its cruel confirmation. His right hand was gone. Just like that. Torn away in a moment that should have lasted forever but didn't.
Yet, the pain barely registered. It was insignificant compared to the horrors he had endured only recently, a dull ache rather than the unbearable agony most would expect. His body screamed for attention, but Kevin ignored it. He had no time for suffering.
No time to mourn what was lost. Instead, his focus shifted. His head snapped toward the observation room, the obstruction of the black glass no longer blocking his view. For the first time, every detail was crystal clear.
Shattered screens flickered weakly, trying to cling to life amidst the wreckage. Ash and smoke curled from half burned files, their remnants scattered across the floor in a desperate attempt to erase evidence.
Several systems lay overturned, wires spilling out like entrails, abandoned in haste. Chairs were toppled, thrown aside by fleeing bodies, their panic painted across the destruction.
Everything about the ruined space pointed to a hasty emergency evacuation, one that had happened mere moments ago.
But Kevin ignored all of it. None of that mattered. What mattered was the man who had tried to kill him.
There he was. Standing inside the elevator, his movements were frantic as he jabbed the buttons, desperate to accelerate the door's closing mechanism.
His escape was slipping through his fingers. He had failed to complete his task, failed to eliminate Kevin, and now he was trying to vanish before consequences could catch up.
Kevin analyzed him in that short span of time: mid-thirties and an above-average build marked by scars, each one likely earned in combat.
His clothes bore the resemblance of a soldier on a mission, but they were too advanced for his rank, too sophisticated for his supposed pay grade. He didn't look back at Kevin. Not even once. His focus remained solely on the elevator door, willing it to shut faster, to seal his survival.
But Kevin wasn't wasting time either. The second his eyes locked onto his attacker, he moved. He lunged without hesitation, propelling himself straight toward the lift, determined to keep his feet from sinking into the ground once more.
A single, powerful jump carried him forward, slicing through the air with precision.
The barrier line where the black glass had once stood fell behind him in an instant.
Yet, despite his effort, the unforgiving ground absorbed the force behind his leap, sapping some of his momentum. His jump faltered—barely lasting more than two steps beyond the ruined boundary line where the black glass was once separating the experiment room from the observation room.
He was still airborne, still pushing forward, still closing the gap—but time was against him.
On the other end of the room, the elevator doors inched closer to sealing shut.
The attacker's face was still visible for now. His features twisted in relief—satisfaction washing over him as he realized he had saved himself in the very last moment.
Or so he thought.
Suspended in midair, Kevin's sharp gaze locked onto the closing elevator doors, his attacker retreating behind them.
Kevin did not want to let his attacker go, but he knew that at his current speed he would not be able to reach him on time. His mind worked at lightning speed; he knew he wouldn't make it in time.
Every leap, every landing was a gamble; his unnatural strength always left the floor compromised, crumbling beneath him and stealing his momentum.
But this time, he couldn't afford to lose speed. Instinct kicked in. Kevin swiftly brought his legs together, tightening his stance, channeling every ounce of his power into control rather than destruction.
The key was surface area; if he could spread the impact across both feet, he might avoid the pitfall that had always slowed him down.
The calculation was made. The decision is final.
With an explosive force, he struck the ground, launching himself once more toward the lift, toward his escaping prey, before the last sliver of the doorway disappeared.
Kevin has taken all variables into account, on the basis of what he has observed till now, before making this decision.
In simple terms, his calculations are almost perfect. Almost, because an unexpected variable occurred.
Kevin's calculations had failed him.
Expecting the floor to cave beneath his weight, he'd braced for a slight delay—but instead, the very floor, based on whose property this whole calculation is made, did not compress but remained fixed like a normal floor should, launching him forward at an alarming speed.
His body tore through the air, faster than he'd anticipated, faster than he could adjust.
Then came the impact.
His head shot through the narrow opening of the elevator door just as the rest of his body slammed into the metal frame with the force of a wrecking ball. The deafening crunch of steel warping under impact echoed through the confined space.
The door groaned in protest, its edges folding and twisting around the sheer force of his failed landing.
His vision jolted, a shockwave rolling through his skull, while his shoulders, chest, and legs absorbed the unforgiving brutality of the hit. The elevator shuddered in its tracks, the walls quivering from the distortion.
Then, an awkward silence remained in the wake of destruction.
"Wow, so many stars,"
Kevin murmured, dazed.
For a brief moment, the world spun in chaotic, shimmering rings around his head, and he was convinced—half in shock, half in confusion—that he was watching a galaxy in motion.
But then, clarity struck like a lightning bolt.
His senses snapped back into place, reality reasserting itself, and suddenly, the only thing he could see was his attacker.
The man's expression was shifting rapidly—from triumphant relief to the sheer horror of realization. He had failed. Kevin was still here. And now, he was looking straight at him.
It was in that instant, however, that Kevin became aware of his own ridiculous predicament.
Stuck in the mangled elevator gate, his head lodged inside while his body remained outside—it was hardly the most dignified position for someone like him.
For the first time in his life, slight embarrassment crept up his spine, a rare, foreign feeling, though his face remained impassive, cold, and unreadable.
"Where do you think you're going, you bastard?"
Kevin growled, his voice sharp with anger—anger that conveniently masked the sting of humiliation.
He moved instinctively, gripping the elevator doors, bracing his strength, and with minimal effort, freed himself from the absurd entrapment.
The gate groaned under his force, its already-deformed edges warping further as he pulled himself free. And then—just as he steadied his stance—something clicked in his mind.
"Wait."
Kevin's breath hitched, his chest tightening as a strange wave of unease surged through him. His gaze flickered downward—to his right arm.
"Did I not just lose my hand a few seconds ago?"
His mind scrambled for logic, for answers, for anything that could make sense of what he was seeing. His hand—once burst apart in brutal destruction—was whole again, unmarred, as if the injury had never happened.
He flexed his fingers instinctively, watching them obey without hesitation, feeling the undeniable strength coursing through them. But this wasn't possible.
The realization struck like a violent current, sweeping away everything else. The chaos, the fight, the near-death escape—it had given him no time to think, no room to process the impossibility of his own survival.
But now that the immediate danger had passed, now that his attacker was cornered, all the unnoticed truths—every detail his mind had discarded in the heat of battle—came crashing back into him, demanding attention.
He stomped his foot against the floor. Twice. Hard. Expecting the surface to collapse beneath him like before. But it didn't.
Except for a few minor vibrations, the ground held firm. It remained unyielding, refusing to compress under his supernatural strength.
Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
"Just what did they do to me?"
His thoughts spiraled, unraveling into deeper questions—questions that clawed at the edges of his mind with increasing urgency.
"Why is the floor inside the experiment room different from the floor of the observation room?"
"Am I regenerating—like a starfish?"
"Am I hallucinating?"
None of it made sense. But one thing was clear—he had been used. His body, his existence, was experimented on like some disposable test subject by scientists whose recklessness had clearly backfired.
Because despite whatever they had done to him, despite their intent, he was still alive. And perhaps too alive for their liking.
But it wasn't enough. He needed answers. Now.
A deep, unsettling feeling crept through him, tightening in his gut. Something about all of this—his body, the lab, the silence—it gnawed at him, screaming that whatever had happened was only the beginning.
His eyes locked onto his attacker—the man who had tried and failed to kill him moments ago.
For some reason, the man had gone quiet. Motionless.
There was no more struggle, no resistance, no desperate attempts to flee. He stood there, still, expression unreadable, like a man who had resigned himself to fate.
But Kevin is good doctor, who know how to open his patient mouth.