The Second Memory (1)

The world after the Convergence was a fractured, hollow shell of what it once was.

Veneri wandered the crumbling streets, searching for remnants of the family he'd lost in the chaos. The orphanage had been a beacon of warmth and hope, but the Convergence extinguished that light, taking everyone he loved. Now, he walked alone, his feet dragging across broken stone roads.

He was the only survivor in an entire city.

It was on one such aimless journey that he was found.

"Hey, kid."

He turned, his pale face catching the dim, hazy sunlight. A man in a military uniform stood before him, flanked by two others clad in black suits. They didn't smile, their eyes cold and calculating as they scanned him like a specimen rather than a person.

"What's your name?" The man asked, his voice sharp and without compassion.

"…Veneri."

His voice trembled; it had been weeks since he'd spoken to anyone.

"Alone, huh? No family?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

The man exchanged glances with his companions before crouching to Vastarael's eye level.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you, kid? We can help. We've got food, shelter… safety."

It was the first offer of kindness he'd received in what felt like an eternity.

But he knew that it was a lie. He lived in a world where kindness has a price. It was too obvious about what they were doing.

He discovered his immortality when the orphanage was destroyed. His injuries healed faster and of course, he wasn't the only one. Other people had abilities too before the Convergence. He just hid his because he knew that they were being experimented on like guinea pigs.

And now, it was his turn. But what could he do? Run? He was no match for them.

"Really?"

"Of course. We look after people like you. Survivors. Come with us."

The man's outstretched hand seemed welcoming. He took it, his small fingers dwarfed by the man's strong grip. The uniformed soldiers led him toward an unmarked vehicle.

'I guess it's my time to die then. I hope they find a way to kill me. Otherwise...'

As he climbed in, he glanced back at the ruined streets, wondering if this choice would bring him the solace he so desperately sought.

°°°°°°

The drive was long and silent, the men offering no conversation. Vastarael stared out the window, watching as the cityscape gave way to barren wasteland, and ventually to a looming facility surrounded by razor-wire fences and high, gray walls.

The gates opened with a mechanical groan, and the vehicle rolled into a sterile courtyard. Vastarael was ushered out and into the facility, the white walls blinding under fluorescent lights.

"Where are we?" He asked softly, his voice echoing down the sterile halls.

'This is the Dophl Research Facility. A private organization meant for experimenting on those with abilities. Greshina told me about it because her mother was killed by them.'

He knew this place very well.

"A place where you'll be taken care of," one of the men replied curtly.

The words were hollow, offering no comfort. As they walked deeper into the facility, the air grew colder and the silence heavier. They stopped outside a steel door, where a woman in a lab coat waited. She smiled at Vastarael, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"This is the one?"

The soldier nodded. "Immortal. Confirmed after Convergence."

'So they were following me all this time, huh? Figures...'

The woman knelt in front of him with a smile.

"You're very special, Veneri. Do you know that?"

Vener met her gaze with a smirk. He had been alone long enough to see through empty kindness. He'd learned to sense danger, to recognize when the words spoken didn't match the intentions behind them. And now, standing before her, surrounded by silent men who watched him like guards instead of protectors, he felt it again.

He tilted his head slightly, his black hair brushing against his cheek.

"Of course I do," he said, his voice sharper than she likely expected from a seventeen year old. There was no hesitation in his tone.

"You want to experiment on me for my immortality."

The hallway fell silent. The woman's carefully constructed mask slipped, if only for a fraction of a second. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Behind her, the soldiers exchanged brief, startled glances, their rigid stances faltering.

"How…" the woman began, her voice losing some of its forced warmth, replaced by a tinge of genuine disbelief. She quickly regained her composure, pushing her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose.

"How do you know about that?"

Vastarael's gaze didn't waver.

"I'm not stupid. I heard you. 'Immortal. Confirmed after Convergence.' That's what you said. That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

"..."

"That's why these guards followed me for three weeks and watched me get ravaged by demons and still survived them. Seriously, if you want to say something, don't hide it. You're not that beautiful anyway."

Her hand tightened around the clipboard she held, the knuckles blanching. She studied him for a moment, the wheels turning in her mind. Veneri could see the cracks in her facade now, the faint traces of unease behind her otherwise clinical demeanor.

"You're an observant one," she finally admitted, her voice now devoid of the patronizing sweetness. There was something colder in it now, a professional detachment that sent a shiver down his spine.

"That's good. It will make this process easier."

Her words didn't match her earlier attempts at kindness, confirming what Vastarael already suspected. He wasn't here to be saved. He was here because of what he could do, what he was.

"Take him to the holding chamber."

Vastarael stood rooted in place as the men approached, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to run, to fight, to scream, but where would he go? What chance did he have against them?

As one of the soldiers grabbed his arm, Vastarael looked back at the woman. Her expression had settled into something cold and detached, as if he were no more than a specimen to be cataloged.

"This facility won't last. And the second I get out, I will hunt you down and kill you."

She didn't respond, didn't even flinch at his accusation. Instead, she turned away, her focus already shifting to whatever came next. To her, he was already just a number.

As they led him down the long, cold hallway, Vastarael glanced back one last time, his young face etched with defiance. The woman didn't look at him again.

_______

The sterile white walls of the laboratory closed in around Vastarael like a prison. He was strapped to a cold metal table, his arms and legs bound tightly by reinforced restraints that bit into his skin. The hum of machines and the cold buzz of fluorescent lights created an unnerving backdrop to his torment. The room smelled of antiseptic and something metallic.

Blood. His blood.

The woman, the one who had tricked him into coming here, loomed over him. She held a clipboard in her gloved hands, her expression as cold and clinical as the instruments laid out on the tray beside her. It was as if he were nothing more than an object, a subject in a grotesque experiment.

"Today's procedure will focus on durability," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "Let's see how far we can push your regenerative abilities, 083."

Her words sent a chill down Vastarael's spine. He tried to stay brave, but he couldn't stop the tremor in his voice.

"A hello would be nice. Seriously, what did I do to deserve this?"

She glanced at him briefly, her lips curling into a faint, humorless smile.

"It's not about what you've done. It's about what you are. You're immortal and that makes you invaluable. You should consider yourself... fortunate."

Fortunate. The word felt like acid in his ears.

She turned to the tray of tools, her movements methodical. Scalpel. Forceps. A syringe filled with an ominous, shimmering liquid. She picked up the scalpel and approached him.

"No! Stop!" Vastarael screamed, his voice echoing off the walls. He thrashed against the restraints, but they held firm.

Without a word, she pressed the scalpel to his forearm and made a deep incision. Blood poured from the wound, staining the table beneath him. His cries of pain filled the room, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she observed the gash with clinical interest, watching as the skin began to knit itself back together.

"Remarkable," she murmured, jotting notes on her clipboard. "The speed of regeneration increases under stress. Let's see how much stress it takes to slow it down."

She made another cut, deeper this time, and then another. She worked with cold efficiency, carving into his flesh as if he were no more than a piece of meat. Vastarael's screams grew hoarse, his body convulsing with each new wave of agony.

When his arms were too bloodied for further cuts, she moved on to other methods.

Burning.

Freezing.

Electric shocks that left his body spasming uncontrollably. Each time, his wounds healed, his body piecing itself back together as if mocking her efforts to break him. But the pain didn't stop.

The pain was constant.

"Let's test how much blood he can lose before the regeneration process slows down," she said, turning to an assistant. A machine was wheeled in, fitted with long needles and tubes.

"No, please! Please stop!" Vastarael begged, his voice cracking. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood and sweat that clung to his skin.

The woman didn't respond. She inserted the needles into his veins with practiced ease, and the machine began to whir. Vastarael watched in horror as his blood drained into clear bags, his vision dimming as the life was sucked out of him.

When the machine finally stopped, he was barely conscious. His head lolled to the side and he could hear the faint scribble of her pen as she made more notes.

"Fascinating," she said, her tone still detached. "Even with significant blood loss, the regeneration process doesn't falter. The subject remains functional, though clearly impaired."

Vastarael's breaths were shallow, his body trembling. He wanted to fight, to resist, but he was too weak.

"Why are you doing this?"

She finally looked at him, her eyes as cold as ever.

"Because knowledge requires sacrifice, Vastarael. You'll heal. You always do."

Her words felt like a sentence, a confirmation that this torment would never end.

Months blurred together as the experiments continued. They tested his endurance, his pain threshold, his ability to regenerate after near-total destruction. They drowned him, suffocated him, broke his bones only to watch them reset. They poisoned him with concoctions that set his veins on fire, laughing as his body fought to purge the toxins.

The woman never wavered. If anything, her cruelty deepened with each experiment, as if his resilience only fueled her need to find his limits.

But Veneri felt the toll. He wasn't healing as quickly now. His mind felt frayed, his spirit breaking under the weight of endless pain and isolation. For the first time in his immortal life, he wished he could die.

Yet, every time his body repaired itself, he was reminded of the one thing he couldn't escape, his immortality. The very thing that made him valuable to them was the thing that ensured his suffering would never end.

And the more he stayed, the more his resentment for the facility grew.