"Stay down, you freak!"
The boot slammed into my ribs, pinning me against the damp concrete of the Pit. I didn't scream. I couldn't. My lungs felt like they were full of broken glass, and every breath was a gamble. Above me, the Hunter—some mid-tier mercenary with a jagged scar running from his eye to his jaw—sneered. He didn't even see me as a threat. Just a piece of failed livestock that had somehow learned to bite.
"What's the matter?" he spat, grinding his heel into my chest. "Too much evolution for your little brain to handle?"
I stared up at him, my vision swimming in red. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but not from fear. It was the hunger. That goddamn, bottomless void in my gut that screamed for more. I could smell him—the salt of his sweat, the metallic tang of the blood on his blade, and the faint, sour scent of fear he was trying to hide behind that arrogant grin.
"I can still smell your fear, you bastard," I croaked, the words sounding like gravel rubbing together.
He laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Fear? I'm shaking in my boots. Now, let's see if your hide fetches a premium or if I just dump you in the incinerator."
He stepped back to raise his blade for the killing blow. That was his mistake. He thought I was broken. He didn't know that I'd already died three times in the last seventy-two hours. He didn't know that every time I snapped back, I kept the lessons.
I remembered the first time this guy killed me. I'd tried to charge him head-on. He'd gutted me in two seconds. The second time, I'd tried to flank him. He'd anticipated the move and snapped my neck. But the third time? The third time I'd watched. I'd spent an hour in the shadows, tracing his patterns, noting the slight hitch in his left ankle when he pivoted.
*Left side. Pivot. Strike.*
As he swung the blade down, I didn't scramble away. I lunged forward, sliding through the muck and filth of the Pit floor. I didn't go for his chest—that was where his armor was thickest. I went for the ankle.
My claws, still raw and pulsing with a dark, borrowed energy, sank deep into his Achilles tendon.
"Gah! You little shit!" he screamed, his balance vanishing instantly.
He hit the ground hard. I didn't give him a second to breathe. I was on him in a blur, my weight pinning his chest, my jaws snapping inches from his throat. The power imbalance had flipped in a heartbeat. Now, I was the one holding the leash.
"Who's the freak now?" I hissed, my voice a guttural growl that didn't sound human anymore.
"Get... off... me!" He thrashed, trying to reach for a combat knife at his belt.
I slammed my forearm across his wrist, pinning it to the stone. The sound of bone clicking under the pressure made me shiver. I could feel his pulse racing under my skin—fast, erratic, terrified. It was intoxicating.
"You're not a hunter," I whispered, leaning in so close I could feel the heat of his panicked breath. "You're just a snack."
I didn't kill him immediately. I wanted to feel it. I wanted to taste the moment his confidence broke. I sank my teeth into his shoulder, not to kill, but to claim. The taste of warm blood hit my tongue, and the System flared in my mind like a neon sign.
[SENSORY TRAIT DETECTED: ADVANCED TRACKING (SMELL/HEAT)] [CONSUME TO ASSIMILATE?]
*Yes. God, yes.*
As I tore a chunk of flesh away, a surge of electricity shot through my spine. It wasn't just nutrition; it was information. I could suddenly feel the heat signatures of everything in the room. I could smell the ozone of the Rift nearby, the stale air of the ventilation shafts, and the scent of someone else—someone strong—approaching from the corridor.
"Please..." the Hunter gasped, his eyes wide and glazing over. "I have... money... I can get you out..."
"Wrong answer," I said.
I ripped his throat out in one fluid motion.
Silence returned to the Pit, heavy and suffocating. I stood over the corpse, my chest heaving, blood dripping from my chin. I felt stronger. Faster. The evolution was sticking. But as the adrenaline began to fade, a sharp, stabbing pain flared in my chest. My heart skipped a beat, then two.
*Damn it. The graft is rejecting again.*
I collapsed to my knees, clutching my chest. Every time I evolved too quickly without a stable core, my body tried to shut down. I was a patchwork monster, and the seams were starting to rip.
"You're a messy eater, Jace."
A voice. Cool, sharp, and dangerous.
I snapped my head around. Vera Quinn stood at the edge of the shadows, her rifle leveled right at my forehead. Her eyes were narrowed, scanning the gore on my face and the dead man at my feet. She didn't look disgusted—she looked curious. Which was somehow worse.
"You're not supposed to be able to do that," she said, her finger tightening on the trigger. "Stitched beasts don't hunt. They hide. Or they scream until they're slaughtered."
"Maybe I'm a special case," I spat, trying to stand up. My legs shook. I could feel the blood loss from my own wounds catching up to me.
"Special cases get dissected," Vera replied. She stepped closer, the muzzle of the gun never wavering. "Who are you? And don't give me that beast-grunt bullshit. I saw your eyes. You're thinking. You're calculating. You're... human."
I froze. If she knew, I was a dead man. Or worse, a lab specimen. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar." She stepped into my space, the barrel of the gun now pressing firmly against my forehead. The cold steel felt like a promise. "I've seen a lot of monsters in the Rift, but none of them look at a human with that much hatred and intelligence. You're not stock. You're something else."
I could feel her scent—gunpowder, rain, and something like mint. She was close. Too close. I could see the slight tremor in her hand, not from fear, but from the tension of the moment. The power dynamic was a knife's edge. She had the gun, but I had the claws and the hunger.
"What do you want, Hunter?" I asked, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble.
"I want to know how a dead man is walking around my sector," she whispered.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because in that moment, the ground beneath us groaned. A heavy, metallic clank echoed through the chamber, and suddenly, the floor plates shifted.
We both gasped as a hidden trapdoor snapped open. Gravity took over, and we plummeted into the dark, screaming as we fell toward something that smelled of old chemicals and ancient, rotting meat.
We hit a hard surface with a bone-jarring thud. I landed on top of her, my weight pinning her to a cold metal table. For a second, the world was just the sound of her sharp intake of breath and the smell of her shock.
I looked up. We weren't in the Pit anymore. We were in a room filled with glass jars, surgical tools, and a flickering monitor that showed a live feed of the area we'd just left.
And on the table next to us lay a piece of tech—a sleek, black wrist-device that looked far too advanced for the Farm. It wasn't Farm gear. It was military. Top-side military.
I reached for it, but a voice boomed from the intercom, distorted and cold.
"Subject 04, you've returned. And you've brought a guest."
Vera struggled beneath me, her hand searching for her rifle, but it had fallen somewhere in the dark. She looked up at me, her eyes wide, the fear finally winning.
"Jace?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What is this place?"
I didn't answer. I was staring at the monitor. On the screen, a man was watching us. A man who looked exactly like the one from my memories. The one who had killed me the first time.
"Welcome home," the voice said, and then the door behind us slammed shut with a sound like a coffin closing.