For a long time, I just stare at the gray brick wall.
My thoughts drift, then fade, then disappear entirely. There's only the dull ache in my body and the quiet hum of the place around me.
At some point, I fall asleep.
It isn't restful.
Images flicker behind my eyes—knives, blood, fire, that man's smile. Every possible future my mind can conjure ends the same way.
Pain.
Screaming.
Death.
---
The door opens.
I jolt awake.
---
"Did you sleep well?"
Johann Schmidt steps inside, hands clasped neatly behind his back.
"I hope so," he continues. "You'll need your strength."
I swallow, my throat dry. "And what exactly will I need my strength for?"
A slow, chilling smile spreads across his face.
"I see no reason not to tell you," he says. "Our first experiment will be quite simple."
He reaches into his coat and pulls out a syringe—large, gleaming.
"We're going to see what your blood does…to others."
I frown slightly. "That doesn't sound as bad as I expected."
His smile widens.
"Oh, don't worry," he says softly. "We'll get there."
---
He steps forward without warning and drives the needle into my arm.
I flinch, teeth clenching as he draws blood—far more than I'm comfortable with.
Dark red fills the glass.
"This will not be the last time," he says, almost conversationally, as he withdraws the needle.
I flex my fingers, trying to shake off the weakness creeping into my arm.
"Can I be untied?" I ask. "I need to use the bucket."
He considers it for a moment.
Then nods.
"Very well. I want you conscious for this anyway."
---
The ropes fall away.
I don't waste time.
The bucket in the corner isn't pleasant, but it's better than the alternative.
When I'm done, one of the guards nudges me forward with the barrel of a pistol.
A Luger.
I don't resist.
---
The hallways all look the same.
Gray. Narrow. Endless.
We walk long enough that I lose track of direction.
Finally, we stop.
A door opens.
---
Inside, a man is strapped to a table.
He struggles weakly, eyes wide with panic.
I'm shoved into a chair nearby and tied down again before I can react.
"Watch carefully," Johann says.
He approaches the table and takes the syringe filled with my blood.
The man starts screaming before the needle even touches him.
"Please—no—please—!"
Johann ignores him.
The needle sinks into his arm.
---
At first, nothing happens.
Then the man convulses.
His scream turns into something raw—animal.
The skin around the injection point darkens, twisting through shades of red, purple, and black. Veins bulge violently, spreading outward like cracks in glass.
Steam begins to rise.
Not from the room.
From him.
I stare.
His blood is boiling.
---
The smell hits next.
Burning flesh.
He thrashes against the restraints, screaming until his voice breaks—until it's nothing but ragged, choking sounds.
His skin splits.
Cracks open.
By the time it ends, he barely looks human.
Just a blackened, shriveled thing strapped to a table.
Silent.
---
The room goes still.
Johann lets out a low whistle.
"Well," he says, turning toward me, "that was…dramatic."
My stomach twists.
"He boiled alive," Johann continues, almost impressed. "From a very small amount of your blood."
He studies the corpse, walking around it slowly while others scribble notes into journals.
"If nothing else," he adds, "you are a remarkably effective weapon."
---
I force myself to speak.
"That…was worse than mustard gas."
He glances at me, interested.
"Yes," he says. "It was."
---
"Another subject," he orders.
One of the men leaves and returns shortly after with a woman.
She's dragged in, terrified, and strapped into a chair beside me.
A syringe is plunged into her arm, drawing her blood despite her quiet sobs.
I look away.
I can't—
No.
I force myself to watch.
---
Johann places a metal plate on the table.
He adds a small amount of my blood.
Then hers.
---
At first, they just sit there.
Then—
My blood moves.
---
It shifts.
Spreads.
Consumes.
It crawls over hers like something alive, swallowing it, devouring it.
The mixture darkens.
Bubbles.
Begins to steam.
Within seconds, it's gone—evaporated into a faint red mist.
---
No one speaks.
No one moves.
The silence stretches.
---
Johann taps his fingers lightly against the table.
"Fascinating," he murmurs. "Your blood behaves as though it has…agency."
He turns to me again, eyes bright with interest.
"We will need to study this extensively."
---
Before I can respond, he takes the syringe filled with the woman's blood.
And injects it into me.
---
I freeze.
Waiting.
For the heat.
For the pain.
For my body to betray me.
---
Nothing happens.
---
Seconds pass.
Then minutes.
Everyone watches.
Waiting.
---
Johann finally lowers the syringe, setting it aside.
"You don't react," he says slowly. "Interesting."
He studies my arm, then my face.
"My current theory," he continues, "is that your body can withstand whatever reaction occurs between your blood and others."
He pulls out a journal and writes something down.
Quick. Precise.
Then tucks it away.
---
"I believe that is enough for today," he says.
Relief flickers through me—but it doesn't last.
"Take him back," he orders.
Then his gaze shifts to the woman.
That same smile returns.
"Put her in his cell."
She stiffens.
"For now," he adds, almost thoughtfully, "she will serve as his…food source."
My stomach drops.
"I'm curious," he finishes, "how long he can resist."
---
We're dragged back through the halls.
Thrown into the cell.
Two bowls of porridge and water are left behind.
Then the door slams shut.
---
The woman curls into the corner immediately, shaking, quiet sobs escaping her.
I stay where I am.
As far from her as possible.
I pick up one of the bowls and force myself to eat. It tastes like nothing.
"You should eat," I say after a moment. "Before it gets cold."
She flinches.
Slowly, she turns her head.
Her eyes are wide with fear.
"Please," she whispers. "Don't hurt me."
I exhale slowly.
"I won't," I say. "I don't intend to."
I hesitate.
"I don't fully understand what's happening to me," I admit. "But I won't choose to hurt you."
---
She studies me for a moment.
Then, slowly, she crawls closer—still keeping her distance.
She eats in small, careful bites.
"What's your name?" she asks quietly.
"Matthias."
She nods slightly. "Liesel."
A faint, tired smile touches my lips.
"Nice to meet you, Liesel," I say. "Even like this."
---
She finishes her food and drinks the water quickly.
Then looks back at me.
"What are you?" she asks.
I shake my head.
"I don't think I'm a vampire," I say. "They burn in sunlight. I don't."
I glance down at my hands.
"But I'm not…normal either."
I let out a quiet breath.
"Johann said there are others like me. People with…abilities."
I look back at her.
"Mine just happens to be the kind people would fear."
---
She shifts a little closer.
"I don't think you're a monster," she says softly. "The people who put us here are."
Her words catch me off guard.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
Then, after a pause:
"I still feel like one."
---
Silence settles between us.
Not as heavy this time.
---
"So…what do we do?" she asks.
I lean back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
"I don't know," I admit.
Escape feels impossible.
But not forever.
"Not yet," I add. "But we'll figure something out."
---
She nods and moves to the thin mattress, pulling the blanket over herself.
I stay where I am, arms tucked into my coat.
I'm not physically tired anymore.
But my mind—
My mind won't stop.
---
When I finally drift off, the dreams return.
The man on the table.
His skin cracking.
His screams.
---
And the realization that it was my blood that did it.