Weapon
Zane's heart hammered as he crouched behind a wall of stacked metal crates. Every muscle in his body taught, yet no hesitation whenever he moved.
After all, hes dones this a few times now.
Every step, every breath—it all felt rehearsed. He had lived this moment enough times to know the layout by instinct, even if consciously it was only his seventh attempt.
Cadmus was a maze of steel, but Zane quickly mastered the routes.
---
The first escape attempt had been raw survival instinct—attacking the guard the moment he entered. Successful making it into the hallway, where he was met with a squad.
Electric Batons beating him to death. He ended up collapsing against the Corridor wall, his vision bled into blackness. Heart stopped.
Snap—rewind.
Second attempt, he beat the guard by surprise again, but this time he searched his body for a clearance card. Using that he went another direction, through two gates before gas began hissing in the ducts. It crept along the floor, white and choking. He'd lasted thirty seconds before his body gave out.
That was the worst one...because when he woke up...time hadn't rewound. Strapped tightly once again...with them thinking he's more trouble than worth.
Dissected alive....
Snap—rewind.
Third time, it was the ceiling vents. He'd crawled like a rat, inching toward what looked like a maintenance shaft. He ended up accidently to the ground...on his neck.
Pretty embarrassing.
Snap—rewind.
Fourth attempt, rage had drowned out reason. He'd fought, stolen a baton, and clubbed his way down the east wing.
This time he killed whenever he had the chance, they didn't like that. They must've believed it wasn't worth it to try and capture him alive and ordered the use of live firearms.
Snap—rewind.
Fifth and sixth, refinement followed fury. Avoiding cameras, knocking out isolated guards, bypassing security locks. He survived longer. But Cadmus always had an answer. Hidden lasers. Pressure-triggered doors. Motion-sensitive turrets. Death.
Snap. Rewind.
Now… attempt seven.
Zane exhaled sharply. His fingers itched to move.
"Seriously, what the hell is this place? Is the government really this advanced?"
Zane knew he didn't have the time to think about it....but with all the high tech he's seen, combined with the experimental subjects he ran past.
This place looked like some something you'd only see in some sci-fi movie...not real life.
And with 'Cadmus' pretty much written on the walls and staff...he had a guess that he wasn't so happy about.
"Well whatever, no time for flashbacks, have to try the new route." He muttered.
---
Elsewhere in the compound, Director Jonas Steele watched a bank of monitors with sharp, unblinking eyes. Each screen showed a different angle of Zane's movements.
"Sir," barked the security chief, storming into the room, "Subject has reached Containment Corridor 2. We suspect he's heading to the old western wing."
Jonas's jaw clenched. "The western wing is sealed."
"Not anymore, sir. He found a workaround."
Jonas's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't tolerate anomalies. "Seal off the shaft exits. Cut off escape routes."
"Already done."
Jonas thought for a beat. "Initiate neurotoxin purge. Fill the ventilation with Alpha Batch gas. Knock him out or kill him. Either's acceptable."
"Yes, sir."
Jonas didn't take his eyes off the screen. "Preferably kill him."
---
Zane's boots skidded as he turned a tight corner, his breath ragged. His feet pounded along the western corridor when the faintest hiss met his ears. The hairs on his neck stood up instantly.
"Right on cue," he muttered, pulling a ragged mask from his stolen guard pouch. Not military-grade, but good enough. He'd snagged it during his last detour through the storage wing. It reeked of rubber and cheap filters, but it was survival.
He strapped it tight, fingers working quickly. Two more steps brought him to a supply closet tucked into the corner—a maintenance panel inside held emergency countermeasures. His previous deaths had taught him where to look. He snapped open the hatch, grabbing a small respirator refill and a chemical neutralizer ampoule.
Zane clicked his tongue, "Hope whatever their hiding is worth the trouble."
The faintest grin tugged at his lips as he injected himself with the neutralizer, feeling the sharp sting in his thigh. The dizziness from the rising gas subsided within moments, replaced with clarity.
He wasn't going around this trap.
He was walking straight through it—because places Cadmus tried to hide behind the thickest walls and deadliest contingencies… those were exactly where they kept things they didn't want anyone to see.
Zane pushed forward, air thick with poison swirling around his legs, but his steps never faltered. This time, he wouldn't be crawling to his death—he was hunting for answers.
---
He navigated different halls, cut through Maintenance Block 3, zigzagging around busted cameras and dead zones.
Until he found it.
A large steel door with thick yellow hazard warnings: OMEGA-5. Meta Containment. Unstable.
Through the grimy glass porthole, a figure sat hunched and shackled to the floor. Muscles swollen and misshapen. Chains pulsed with faint electricity.
Taking out a key Card of some of the scientist he dealt with...
"Beep! Access denied!"
The screen flashed red, denying anyone Access.
"Of course." Zane didn't seem too surprised, maybe only a select few had access to this place, or maybe they locked it up after finding out he was headed here.
Zane wasn't worried, this is just his first try anyway.
"Screw it."
He wedged a dented steel rod into the control panel's seam and twisted. Sparks danced as plastic cracked. He jammed exposed wires together, yanking them with a grunt. The locks groaned, safety bolts clicking free with a mechanical hiss.
"Holy crap, that actually worked!?" Zane looked on in disbelief.
What type of security system was this?!
Hiss..
The door creaked open.
---
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, something clicked.
SLAM!
The door snapped shut behind him—heavy mechanical locks engaging instantly.
Zane spun, fists tightening. "Oh, you bastards…"
" My fault for being gullible." Zane grunted, as he turned around in dismay.
Inside the surveillance room, Director Jonas Steele leaned forward, his lips curling into a sharp grin. "Target secured in Omega-5. Let's see how long the little freak lasts."
---
The chamber stank of sweat, chemicals, and old death. In the center, hunched within a reinforced pit, was a figure—massive, scarred, trembling.
Chains rattled. Restraints blinked. Then—
CLACK—CLACK—CLACK.
Each lock disengaged automatically.
Zane's shoulders dropped. "Well… that's not ominous at all."
The creature was a warped, hulking mockery of something Zane couldn't quite place—vaguely human in shape but monstrously exaggerated, with swollen grey muscle stretched over uneven limbs and thick, pulsing blue veins crisscrossing patchy, scarred skin.
Bone spikes jutted from its forearms and spine, its hands ending in jagged claws built for tearing, not precision.
Its face was the worst part—partially resembling some idealized humanoid template, but warped by mutations: a single curved horn splitting from its temple, too many teeth lining a crooked jaw, and burning red eyes that glowed with pure, unthinking hatred.
"OK, first Cadmus and now a guy that looks like a those things in Young Justice, it's pretty obvious where I am." Zane clicked his tongue.
Knowing where he might be right now, he didn't know if he should feel happy or sad.
---
The Genomorph moved fast—faster than anything that size should. Zane barely ducked under a wide swing, feeling the air rupture over his head. His instincts screamed, his feet scrambled back, narrowly avoiding a crushing fist that cracked the floor open.
"No witty banter, huh?" Zane panted, circling. "That's fine. I can talk enough for two."
He landed a steel pipe across the mutant's jaw. The pipe bent, the Genomorph didn't flinch.
"Yeah… expected that."
Another charge—Zane rolled aside, grabbing broken debris, slinging it into the creature's face to stall. Nothing worked. It was way to hard to even injure.
Blow after blow, Zane's body gave out—bones fractured, muscles tore. He barely delayed the inevitable.
Zane staggered back, pipe clutched in his hands, lungs heaving. The Genomorph's monstrous form lunged again, claws slicing the air where his head had been—barely missing.
Then it happened.
A strange, sharp tingle pricked at the base of his neck, a pressure building in his gut like invisible strings pulling at his limbs. His muscles jerked before his mind could catch up, twisting his body just in time to avoid a backhand swing that would've shattered his spine.
His eyes widened. What was that?
Another roar, another charge—Zane ducked low, rolling beneath a crushing punch that splintered the floor. Again, that sensation—an urgent, buzzing awareness flaring just before each attack.
'It's like I know… half a second before it happens.'
No calculations, no conscious reaction. His body just moved.
For the first time in the fight, he wasn't just dodging on instinct—something deeper, something sharper, was dragging him out of the way.
Zane's lips peeled back into a grin, even as blood dripped from his temple. "Okay… I can work with this."
---
In the control room, Jonas leaned forward, eyes narrowing as the monitor displayed Zane weaving through the Genomorph's rampage. Blow after blow missed by inches, the boy moving with a speed and instinct far beyond baseline human reflexes.
Jonas's jaw tightened. "Impossible… his file showed no active metagene." His fingers curled against the console. "Has he been hiding it… or did the stress awaken it?"
He slammed his fist against the table. "No matter. Flood the chamber with gas—now!"
One of the technicians hesitated, voice uncertain. "Sir… the gas takes five minutes to incapacitate Project Omega. Subject 69 won't survive that long at this rate."
Jonas's glare snapped toward him. "He has the respirator, and I saw him inject a neutralizer. That'll buy him time."
The technician shifted nervously. "Enough to survive?"
Jonas's lips pressed into a hard line. "Longer than 5 minutes. I won't lose a potentially viable asset."
His gaze returned to the screen, fingers drumming restlessly.
"Stay alive, Subject 69… just long enough to be useful."
---
Zane's movements blurred as he ducked under a swipe that dented the wall-that was made of reinforced metals- behind him. The danger-sense prickled again—sharper, faster—but it wasn't enough. His limbs moved before his brain processed, narrowly avoiding a knee strike that would've folded him like paper.
"Not bad," Zane thought grimly, twisting around the Genomorph's crushing grip. "Not dying in the first ten seconds on my first try."
The beast roared, faster now, adapting to his dodges. Zane pivoted, jamming the broken steel pipe into its ribs—not that it mattered. The jagged metal bent like tinfoil against his thick muscles.
"I wonder if bullets would work next run...or maybe shock batons." Zane mused as he ducked away from a angry sweep.
The Genomorph slammed a fist down, Zane rolling away, only to be clipped by a backswing that sent him crashing into the far wall. Ribs cracked. Pain screamed across his body. He pushed up, coughing.
"This is the part where I'm supposed to win because of heart… right?" he croaked, staggering upright.
Suddenly, a new hiss joined the chaos.
His head snapped up. Vents in the corner panels gushed thick greenish mist into the chamber. The faint chemical sting cut through his respirator filter making his skin prickle.
"Oh, great," Zane coughed, staggering back. "Poison gas and an angry monster? What is this, a boss rush?"
The realization clicked fast. They'd locked him in and started pumping in gas—probably something designed to knock out or suppress the Genomorph.
His jaw clenched. Why now, dont they want him dead anymore?
'If you don't want me dead than open the door!' Zane complained internally.
His danger sense flared—he rolled aside just in time to avoid being crushed. Breathing was harder now, every inhale burning. Even with the neutralizer in his system and the mask strapped on, it was leaking through.
Zane grit his teeth, feeling his body slow while the Genomorph pressed the attack—relentless, tireless, unaffected by pain. Even with his new reflexes, he wasn't strong enough. Fast enough. Durable enough.
'So this is what it feels like to be a henchman up against Superman', he thought bitterly. 'How the hell does Batman not get pulped every Wednesday?'
A clawed hand snatched his ribs, lifting him like a doll. His danger sense wailed, muscles trying to escape, but the poison weighed him down, limbs sluggish.
Zane smirked despite the blood pooling in his mouth. "Yeah… okay… you got me…"
As bones crunched and the world turned sideways, the last thing he noticed wasn't fear—it was clarity.
Although this thing was dangerous, but it was also useful.
---
Moments later, Zane gasped awake in his cell, fresh, whole… and grinning.
'Next run… I'm not trying to survive the fight.'His hand curled into a fist.'I'm going to aim the monster at them'.