"God, the fourth time this week! Can someone for Christ's sake check th—"

  Before he could finish, a massive explosion rocked the entire room, sending shockwaves through the ground and knocking tiles loose from the ceiling. Both scientists panicked, scrambling for cover.

  "W-what's happening? Are we being attacked?!" the scientist without the clipboard shouted, his voice tight with fear.

  The older scientist, trying to remain calm, responded, his voice steady but urgent, "Stay calm. We've got defense systems in place. They won't get far. For the record, there's a ten-inch door between us and them."

  The patient, barely aware of his surroundings, didn't notice the chaos unfolding. In his blurred vision, he saw the door explode into pieces. The scientists were obliterated in the blast. The glass of his containment tank was splattered with blood, and through the cracks, he saw the silhouette of a man in a gas mask and leather jacket, covered in explosives and weapons, moving toward him. Behind him, the shredded remains of the door and the bodies of several workers lay scattered in the hallway.

  The man approached the tank, wiping the blood off the glass, his expression distant, his eyes cold.

  "Hmph. You too?" he muttered, tapping the glass with his pistol before shooting through it—carefully avoiding hitting the patient. The container began to leak its liquid as the man took the clipboard from the dead scientist's hands, shooting him in cold blood before turning to leave.

  As he exited the room, more explosions rang out, echoing through the facility. The blast hit the container with such force that the glass shattered, sending blood and shards spilling onto the floor. The patient hung suspended by the remaining pipes for a moment before finally crashing to the ground.

  His vision swam in a haze of confusion as he lay on the floor, naked and covered in shattered glass. The heart rate monitor flatlined, the sound blaring through the air. He could barely hear over the explosions that continued to shake the building.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Groaning, he pushed himself through the glass and dragged himself toward the lifeless bodies of the scientists. He tried to rise, but the sudden rush of forced nutrition made him gag, vomiting beside their bodies. With a grunt, he managed to pull a bloodied lab coat from one of the scientists and button it up, covering himself as best as he could.

  He staggered, using the walls for support, determined to escape. The hallway beyond was a gruesome sight—piles of bodies, walls painted red with blood. The turrets, disabled, lay silent. Whoever had attacked the facility had taken down the defenses first. There were no bullet casings around the turrets, only the remnants of the carnage.

  As he made his way through the hallway, the alarms blared and the lights flickered ominously, the building on the brink of collapse.

  Passing a room labeled "War Room," he froze momentarily. It was the only room that had been locked down, the only one the attacker couldn't reach. His gaze lingered on the door before he forced himself to look away, following the signs that pointed to the exit.

  Another explosion rocked the facility, cutting off the power entirely. The alarms stopped, the lights went out, and everything fell into eerie silence, save for the distant sound of struggling breath.

  He stopped, standing still, listening carefully. Faint, labored breathing reached his ears—the sound of someone struggling to breathe through a gas mask, likely the same attacker. His footsteps slowed as he made his way through the darkness, leaving the building.

  The patient remained motionless, waiting until the man had gone. His only focus was getting out of the facility, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He moved to the stairs, glancing at the lift nearby but choosing the stairs without hesitation.

  Slowly but steadily, he climbed the stairs, his every step painful but driven by the need to survive. At the top, he saw a door in the distance. Using every last bit of strength, he slammed it open, stumbling into a tunnel.

  The tunnel stretched ahead, filled with more dead bodies and burning vehicles. It seemed the attacker had done all this alone. Nearby, a Civil Security plasma assault rifle was slung over the body of one of the guards. With some effort, he managed to pry it off, but when he opened the magazine, only five bullets remained.

  He took what ammunition he could find, gathering plasma capsules from the fallen guards. As he looked back at the entrance to the facility, the emblem next to the doorway caught his eye: "203rd Complex of Institution of Anarchy Restraint Operations."

  The name struck him like a punch to the gut. His vision flickered red, and a sharp pain exploded in his head. He fell to his knees, grunting in pain, but managed to rise again, determined to keep moving.