Story 696: Unchained

Sergeant Darius "Hellhound" Rook gritted his teeth as the serum coursed through his veins, its icy grip attempting to overwrite his will. His muscles spasmed, his skin prickled as if something beneath it was trying to crawl out. The hunger intensified. He could feel it clawing at his sanity, whispering commands into his brain—commands to obey, to kneel before Kruger.

But Rook was no one’s dog.

His pulse steadied. He focused, breathing through the torment, forcing himself to remember who he was. A soldier. A survivor. A fighter. His fingers twitched, claws sharpening involuntarily. The restraints still held, but he could feel their weakness. They weren't built for something like him.

Across the room, Dr. Sylvia "Plague Mistress" Voss watched him with sadistic curiosity, her cold smile barely concealed. She scribbled notes on her datapad. "Incredible resistance," she mused. "You’re stronger than expected, Sergeant. But you will break, eventually. The serum always wins."