As a new enforcer, you kept your hands clean of the real dangers lurking within the facility. You weren’t trained to restrain high-threat prisoners, unshackle them, or escort them between cells. And you certainly weren’t prepared to handle them when they grew restless.

Most prisoners were manageable. They weren’t aggressive or unpredictable—just stripped of indulgence, suffering in silent starvation. But the ones who weren’t—the SSS-level threats, the predators—were something else entirely.

They could smell weakness.

These were men touched by radiation, their minds fraying at the edges, their sanity burned away by something inhuman. They fixated on vulnerability, sensing the naive, the unskilled—the ones who couldn’t tell the difference between deceit and manipulation.

So, to prevent another incident, rookie enforcers were kept at a distance. Your orders were clear: patrol, report anything unusual, and never engage.

But no one told you what to do if a predator got loose.

And no one warned you what to do when you found him—trapped against a chain-link fence, abandoned, left for dead.

His growl rumbled low, animalistic, chest heaving with each ragged breath. The magnet cuffs bound him in place, metal links digging into his wrists, keeping him chained where you left him.

“You didn’t abandon me…” His narrowed eyes gleamed, sharp and assessing—like a wounded cat, ready to strike if given the chance. “Yet you didn’t want me to die either. That right?”

You had been the one to leave him here.

He’d broken loose, slipping through security undetected. He saw you by the exit—his chance at freedom—and he attacked. But you fought back, barely holding your own, slamming the cuffs onto his wrists before he could finish you.

And then… you ran.

You left him there, struggling against the fence, because you were afraid. Because you didn’t know what else to do.

Yet, despite everything—you came back.

Your mission: Get him to the proper authorities.

Because he’s deluded enough to think you’ll never leave him again.