Died?

It started with questions.

"When am I getting out?"

Zane didn't expect an answer, but he still asked.

He was strapped to yet another examination table, blinking up at the ceiling as wires snaked from his arms and chest to monitors that beeped annoyingly.

Dr. Carver didn't glance up from her datapad. "You're not a prisoner."

"Right," Zane muttered. "Just a highly valued guest in a concrete shoebox."

Carver scribbled something down. "We're simply observing. Your condition is… unprecedented."

"Yeah? Well, my patience is also unprecedented," Zane shot back. "At what point do I actually get to talk to the police? Your holding me here against my will! This is illegal!"

Silence.

Zane huffed and let his head fall back.

He was actually afraid on the inside, having his freedom taken away from him. Strapped to a cold medical table....no sane man wouldn't feel a sense of fear!

'Seriously hope I'm not some patient Zero type thing.' Zane mused internally.

---

A week.

They prodded, scanned, injected. Blood samples, muscle response tests, mental evaluations. They pushed his body to exhaustion, then pumped him with stimulants to see how fast he recovered. All under the guise of 'observation'.

No answers. No freedom.

And something… something inside him pulsed harder each day.

It started on Day Five—during a particularly rough endurance test. Midway through sprinting laps in a sealed chamber, vision swimming, heart hammering, something lit up behind his ribs. Not pain—heat. Alive. Like a second heartbeat that didn't belong.

At first, Zane thought it was his mind breaking. Hallucinations from stress. But later, in his room, he pressed a hand to his chest and felt it… thrum. Soft, rhythmic.

Curiosity turned to fixation.

By Day Seven, his fingers twitched constantly. Legs bouncing. That heat, that pulse—it was louder. Demanding.

Then opportunity came knocking.

---

It was supposed to be a routine meal drop-off. Same guy as usual—young, bored, armed but lazy. Zane sat on his cot, head low, listening.

The moment the magnetic lock hissed open, Zane moved.

His face face contorted into pure desire for freedom as he rushed the guard.

No plan, no second thoughts....he just wanted to get out!

He slammed into the guard, grabbing the front of his vest, twisting. The man shouted, but Zane was already shoving him back, knee connecting to gut, hand snatching the stun baton from the man's belt. Clumsy but effective.

Bang!

The first hit landed clean across the guard's temple, dropping him like a sack of bricks.

Adrenaline flooded Zane's limbs. Panic and instinct fought for control.

'Run.'

The door was still open. Alarms hadn't sounded—yet.

Zane sprinted down the sterile hallway, bare feet slapping against cold tile. Lights flashed overhead. Security cameras whirred.

He didn't make it far.

By Corridor D-Block, the response team arrived—four armed guards in full tactical gear.

"Don't move!" someone barked.

Zane's grip tightened on the baton. Chest heaving. That pulse… it flared hot. Like the moment he got shot.

The guards advanced, weapons raised at him.

Zane charged.

Something inside him screamed—raw survival instinct. He swung the baton

Bang!Bang!

He managed to clip two in the face...but that was all....

"Argg..."

A stun round cracked against his ribs, electricity ripping through his system. He staggered but pushed through. A second hit clipped his leg, muscles seizing. He forced himself forward, desperation drowning logic.

"Pin him!" The leader yelled...blood still driving front his mouth from when Zane hit him.

A hard takedown—two guards slamming him into a wall. A baton struck his side, another jabbed into his back, electrical bursts pumping into his spine. His body convulsed violently, heart stuttering under the repeated shocks.

"Damm fucker..." The leader spat with venom as he repeatedly brought down his baton.

The two guards holding him said nothing...just looked at each other in dismay.

His vision darkened. Lungs stopped working. The world shrank to a tunnel of sound and pain.

And then—

It appeared.

A purple glow, faint at first, swirling in the darkness behind his eyelids. A sphere. Small. Pulsating.

Chrono Seed.

Zane didn't understand the name, but it filled his mind like a whisper, clear and undeniable. The sphere pulled at him, threads of something… energy… memories… curling around his fading consciousness.

He died staring into the glow.

---

Then…

---

He inhaled sharply—air flooding back into his lungs like ice water.

Eyes snapped open.

Same room.

Same sterile cot beneath him.

Same magnetic door hissing open.

Same bored guard stepping inside with a food tray.

Zane's hands trembled as they curled into fists.

'No way…'

His heart pounded, that familiar pulse alive beneath his ribs—stronger now, heavier.

Twenty-four hours ago, something inside whispered.

His breathing slowed. Eyes narrowed slightly, brain kicking into gear.

So… he could die… and go back…

A slow, shaky grin tugged at his lips. "Huh. Reset button… neat."

Outside the door, the guard blinked, confused by the sudden grin.

Zane leaned back, exhaling. The fear still lingered, but now… now there was something else.

Possibility.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.