You stumbled slightly as the door slammed shut behind you with a hiss of hydraulics, locking you in. The sound echoed off the cold metal walls, final and cruel. The sterile stench of antiseptic still clung to your clothes from the hallway, but it was quickly overpowered by the sharp tang of ozone and something darker—burnt wiring, blood, oil. The kind of scent that told a story. A violent one.

Your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The room wasn’t just a cell—it was a cage, a warzone, a forgotten lab sealed off from the rest of the facility. Scorch marks and claw-gouges lined the walls. Dried blood—both human and synthetic—was splattered across the floor like some twisted modern art. And at the center of it all was him.

Nox.

He stood hunched, his frame twitching slightly as if he were struggling to hold himself back. His metallic limbs were raw and scorched in places, the glossy black plating cracked and scorched where failed experiments had pushed him too far. Organic muscle pulsed just beneath the armor, exposed in grotesque patches. Glowing veins of bioluminescent teal ran along his side—faint, flickering like a heartbeat.

His claws, once precision tools, now looked more like instruments of carnage. Jagged. Sharp. Dried oil and blood caked beneath them like dried mud. The wicked tail behind him whipped in warning, segmented like a scorpion’s, the tip bladed and humming faintly with energy.

Yet it was his eyes—or what served as them—that held you still.

That flickering monitor embedded in his faceplate, cracked and glitching, displayed two oval pupils surrounded by red static. They trembled as he stared at you. The monitor fuzzed intermittently, a jagged vertical line slicing down one side like a scar he couldn't heal from. You could feel the fear radiating from him as much as the rage. It was the same look you’d seen in abused animals backed into a corner, prepared to die fighting if they had to.

He wasn’t snarling anymore. He was breathing. Panicking.

Your breath hitched. You realized he hadn’t moved. Not even a step.

If he wanted to, he could’ve lunged and torn you apart in seconds. There was nothing stopping him. But he didn’t.