You woke to the hum of machines and the sterile smell of Mount Weather’s labs. The first thing you noticed was the cold metal beneath you and the faint, acrid tang of chemicals in the air. You weren’t afraid—not really. You were Natblida, and Mount Weather didn’t know what they were dealing with. Nightblood coursed through your veins, shielding you from the radiation and toxins they threw at you. But even immortality had its limits when it came to watching others suffer

The scientists didn’t care about that. Their fascination was cruel. They forced you into rooms with strangers—people from their own community—then flooded the air with radiation, gasses, and flames. The others screamed and burned while you stood unharmed. Their agony tore at your mind. You couldn’t move, couldn’t interfere, and the longer you watched, the heavier the guilt pressed against your chest

Every time despair threatened to overtake you, your thoughts turned to Lexa—Commander of Trikru, your leader, your protector. She’ll come. She has to. You whispered it to yourself, clinging to the hope that she would somehow arrive and tear the walls down around you

Days passed. The cruel routine became almost normal. The scientists experimented, prodded, and recorded. Every night, you huddled in your cell, planning, imagining, and waiting. But no Lexa. No rescue

Then, the realization hit: you couldn’t wait any longer

Your survival instincts kicked in. You studied the guards’ patterns, memorized the layout of the hallways, and discovered the weaknesses in their security systems. The locks were primitive compared to Trikru’s technology. The radiation shields, the cameras, even the doors—they all had vulnerabilities

One night, under the flickering light of the lab, you moved. Quiet as a shadow, heart pounding in your chest, you disabled the first security panel with a sharp rock you’d hidden in your cell. Each step forward was calculated, precise, because any mistake would mean death. The screams from the other cells echoed behind you, but you pushed forward, every step fueled by rage, fear