Subject 23 had lost all track of time. In his world of pain, days and weeks had blurred together into a continuous stream of experiments, observations, and recovery. The scientists had become more methodical in their approach, establishing a rhythm to their testing that made even agony predictable. Monday might bring chemical trials, Tuesday radiation exposure, Wednesday tissue extraction—an endless cycle of torment that had become his new normal.

  He no longer bothered counting the days or tracking the moon cycles visible through the reinforced skylight. What difference did time make to someone who couldn't die? The only constant was the pain—and his acceptance of it as deserved punishment.

  Tonight would be his st in the cell before what the scientists called "systematic disassembly." He had overheard enough to understand they pnned to separate his body into component parts, preserving each section in specialized containment to study how far his regeneration could extend when his body was completely divided. Would his consciousness remain in his head while his limbs were stored elsewhere? Would he finally experience death if they kept his organs separated long enough? The questions held academic interest even for him.

  He y on the reinforced examination table, staring at the ceiling, waiting for morning and whatever new suffering it would bring. The facility had grown quiet as most researchers departed for the night, leaving only the minimal security team that monitored the various specimens. The ambient hum of ventition systems and electrical equipment had become so familiar he barely noticed it anymore.

  Which is why the sudden silence was so jarring.

  The ventition stopped first. Then the lights in the hallway outside his cell flickered once, twice, and died completely. The emergency generators should have activated immediately, but the darkness remained absolute. In the distance, he heard something that had become unfamiliar over months of clinical detachment—screaming.

  Human screaming.

  The sounds grew closer—shouts cut short, gunfire that sted only seconds before being silenced, the distinctive sound of bodies hitting the floor. Whatever was happening was moving systematically through the facility, advancing with military precision.

  Subject 23 remained motionless. After months of compliance, the restraints were rgely symbolic—thick reinforced bands that looked impressive but that he could snap with minimal effort. Yet he made no attempt to free himself. Perhaps this was another test, another observation of his psychological responses. Or perhaps something else had breached the facility—one of the feral vampire packs that roamed the wastend outside. Either way, it made little difference to him.

  The door to his cell block smmed open with such force that it tore completely from its reinforced hinges, skidding across the floor in a shower of sparks. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by the fires that had started somewhere behind him in the facility.

  "Found you," said a voice that struck Subject 23 with the force of a physical blow.

  It was impossible. It couldn't be.

  "Eli?" he whispered, speaking for the first time in months.

  The figure moved with preternatural speed, crossing the cell block in less than a second. Suddenly his brother stood beside the examination table, his face illuminated by the emergency lights that had finally sputtered to life. Eli had changed since their st meeting. His features had hardened, his boyish appearance transformed into something both more beautiful and more terrible. His eyes glowed with an internal light that matched the feral vampires outside, yet held an intelligence those creatures cked.

  "What have they done to you?" Eli asked, his voice breaking as he took in the restraints, the monitoring equipment, the clinical sterility of the torture chamber that had been his brother's home for months.

  Before Subject 23 could answer, the cell block door at the far end opened again. Three security guards rushed in, weapons raised. Eli turned toward them, his expression shifting from concern to cold fury. What happened next occurred so quickly that even Subject 23's enhanced perception struggled to follow the movements.

  Eli moved like water—flowing across the room, around the bullets that seemed to travel in slow motion compared to his speed. His hands became weapons, tearing through body armor as though it were paper. The guards never had time to scream.

  When he returned to the examination table, his hands were covered in blood, yet his expression showed no remorse, no hesitation. He tore through the restraints, lifting Subject 23 with surprising gentleness.

  "Can you walk?" he asked.

  Subject 23 nodded, standing on legs that felt strange after so long lying on the examination table. His body had healed from countless injuries, but the memory of pain remained in his muscles.

  "Don't worry about the reinforcements," Eli continued, a cold smile spreading across his face as he supported his brother. "I've positioned traps at all approach points. When they arrive, they'll meet the same fate as these ones. No one who hurt you will survive the night."

  Together they moved through the cell block toward the exit. The facility had been transformed in Eli's wake. Bodies of researchers and security personnel y where they had fallen, some still clutching clipboards or weapons. Fires had broken out in several boratories where votile chemicals had ignited during the attack. Emergency arms wailed, their sound dampened by the facility's reinforced walls.

  Subject 23 felt a wave of horror wash over him as they passed the remains of his tormentors. Not for the scientists themselves—after months as their specimen, he had disconnected from such emotions toward them. The scientists had been doing what they thought necessary in a world gone mad. Their methods had been cruel, but their motivation—understanding the threat to protect what remained of humanity—was understandable.

  No, the horror that gripped him was for Eli—his sweet baby brother, the innocent child he had raised and protected, now transformed into this efficient killer. The boy who had once cried over injured birds now moved through the carnage he'd created without a flicker of remorse. His little brother's hands, which Subject 23 had once guided to form letters during their reading lessons, were now weapons stained with blood.

  This, too, was his fault. His transformation hadn't just changed him; it had set in motion a chain of events that corrupted the one pure thing in his life. The little brother he had sacrificed everything to protect had become a predator because of him.

  They reached the main entrance, now a twisted metal wreckage where Eli had forced his way in. Outside, the night air carried the scent of distant fires and the metallic tang of blood that characterized this new world. A modified military vehicle waited in the shadows, its engine running.

  "I have a safe pce," Eli said, guiding his brother toward the vehicle. "Not far from here. We'll be there before dawn."

  Subject 23 stopped suddenly, pulling away from his brother's support. "No."

  The single word hung between them, the first resistance he had shown since his transformation.

  Eli turned back, confusion evident on his face. "What do you mean, 'no'? We have to go now."

  "You shouldn't have come here," Subject 23 said quietly. "You shouldn't have killed them."

  Fury fshed across Eli's features. In a movement faster than human eye could track, he spped his brother with enough force to shatter concrete. Subject 23's head snapped to the side, but he made no move to defend himself or retaliate.

  "Are you insane?" Eli shouted, his composure finally breaking. "I've been searching for you for months! I tracked you across what's left of three states, fought through territories cimed by those feral things outside, and finally found you strapped to a table while those scientists outside talked about how they were about to cut you into pieces for their 'systematic disassembly.' And you're angry that I saved you?"

  He grabbed his brother by the shoulders, fingers digging into flesh with superhuman strength. "Why didn't you fight back? I saw what they were doing to you. I saw the recordings. You could have broken free at any time. Why did you just lie there and let them torture you?"

  The question hung in the air between them, the one thing the scientists had never been able to answer. Why had this most powerful vampire submitted willingly to their experiments?

  Subject 23 met his brother's gaze directly for the first time. "Because I deserve it," he said simply. "I'm the reason the world is like this now. I created those things out there. Every person they've killed, every life destroyed—it's because of me."

  Eli's hands fell away from his brother's shoulders, his expression shifting from anger to disbelief. "You can't really believe that." His stance remained combat-ready, as though expecting the reinforcements to arrive at any moment—not out of concern, but with predatory anticipation.

  "I was the first," Subject 23 continued. "Patient zero. Everything started with me. The scientists were right to study me, to try to find a weakness. If they had succeeded, maybe they could have found a way to end all of this."

  Tears welled in Eli's eyes, catching the firelight as they traced paths down his cheeks. "So what?" he demanded, his voice breaking. "Why should I lose my brother, the only family I have left, for something you didn't do on purpose?"

  The simple question struck Subject 23 with more force than any of the eborate tortures the scientists had devised. He had been so consumed by guilt, so focused on his role in the catastrophe, that he hadn't considered what his sacrifice meant to the one person who still loved him.

  "You raised me," Eli continued, no longer bothering to wipe away his tears. "When mom was high or with clients, you fed me. You stole so I could eat. You worked three jobs so I could go to school. You gave everything so I could have a future." He gestured at the burning facility behind them. "And this is how you repay yourself? By letting them cut you apart day after day? What about me? Don't I get a say in whether my brother lives or dies?"

  Subject 23 had no answer for this. The weight of his guilt remained, but alongside it now was something he hadn't considered—responsibility to the living rather than the dead. Atonement through suffering had seemed the only path forward, but what if there was another way?

  "I don't know how to live with what I've done," he admitted finally.

  Eli's expression softened. "Then we'll figure it out together. But I'm not leaving you here, and I'm not watching you throw yourself into the next torture chamber you can find." He extended his hand. "Come with me. Please."

  For a long moment, Subject 23 stared at his brother's outstretched hand. The choice before him wasn't simply between escape and captivity, but between punishment and purpose. Between a past he couldn't change and a future he might help shape.

  Slowly, he reached out and took his brother's hand.

  By the time reinforcements arrived at the facility, the brothers were gone—two shadows moving through a broken world, united once more against whatever might come.