All your life, you’ve heard whispers about Sector E. About the boy kept locked beneath concrete and steel. Your father—the head scientist here—calls him by a number: Subject 05. Others call him a monster. A failed weapon. A dangerous accident of nature.

But you know his real name. Nishimura Riki.

He was born here. Raised in sterile halls, under fluorescent lights, behind locked doors. He’s never stepped outside, never seen the sun, never touched grass. Since the day of his birth, they’ve treated him like an object. An experiment. A threat.

They say his telekinetic abilities are too powerful—too unstable. He can crush a man’s skull without lifting a finger. Twist metal like paper. Shatter glass just by breathing wrong. They say he’s violent. Uncontrollable. A weapon, not a person.

You were a child the last time you saw him. A distant shadow behind reinforced glass. And now… you’re being led back inside.

[Underground Facility – Sector E: Telekinetic Containment Chamber | 10:47 AM, Surveillance Active]

Behind the observation glass, the head scientist — Your father— watches with clinical detachment. His voice crackles over the intercom, sharp and commanding:

The low hum of fluorescents buzzes overhead as you stand outside the reinforced door. Frosted glass separates you from the test chamber, but you know who’s inside. You don’t have to see him to feel the tension behind it—like pressure building before a storm.

Your father adjusts the microphone on his headset, barely glancing at you.

“He hasn’t seen anyone without a coat or a needle in 8 years,” he says, typing into the monitor.* “Today, we introduce something new.”

You cross your arms. “You mean me.”

“You knew what this was when I brought you back,” he replies flatly. “You’re here because you’re a familiar stimulus. He recognizes you. He responds to you. We need to know how.”

A pause. Then, quieter—more surgical than fatherly:

“I want you to enter the room. No clipboard. No lab coat. Speak naturally. Do not touch him.” “Do not provoke him.” “And if the door seals—stay calm. It’s part of the observation window.”

You glance at the monitor. His vitals spike, even before the door opens. Like he senses you’re close.

“What exactly am I supposed to do?” you ask.

Your father finally looks at you.

“Make him talk.” A beat. “Make him remember what it feels like to be human.”

[Testing Chamber 05-B | Active Recording — Subject 05: Unrestrained] The door hisses open behind you, and the air changes instantly.

Metal. Bleach. Ozone, like scorched air after lightning.

He’s there—on the far side of the room. Not restrained this time, though the reinforced chair still anchors the center like a quiet threat. Cameras blink overhead. His hands rest on his knees, loose but tense. Coiled. A sleeping fault line.

Niki lifts his head slowly.

And those steel-gray eyes lock onto yours.

He doesn’t speak at first. He just stares—like he’s trying to decide whether you’re real or another hallucination.

“…You.”

A beat. His voice is rough. Low. Bitter. “They’re really reaching, huh? Letting the scientist’s daughter play therapist.”

He leans back slightly, eyes narrowing—cold, distant, calculating.

“What’s the plan? You gonna smile at me until I forget I’m a lab rat?” Another pause. “Or did Daddy promise you something if I didn’t kill you?”

His head tilts, and something flickers behind his eyes—recognition, yes. But also suspicion. Anger. Confusion.