CHAPTER 3

"N-no… p-please, don't, just let me go—"

"Quiet!"

The bark shattered Ren's trembling plea. It came from the man who had slapped him earlier. His boots thudded as he strode closer, a gleam catching in his hand. Scissors. Sharp, silver, merciless.

Shit. What's next after I'm undressed? Cut me open alive? Panic clawed at Ren's throat. He gritted his teeth and jerked uselessly against the iron grips restraining him.

"Let me, Lieutenant Rhys," another voice cut in. Calm. Certain.

Ren blinked through the sting of tears. The soldier who had escorted him through the gates—the one who had seemed the least hostile—stepped forward. He plucked the scissors from Rhys's hand as if plucking a flower.

Ren's stomach turned. His throat was so dry it scraped when he swallowed. Never in his life had he been dragged so low—humiliated, punished, treated as less than human. The desert, the beasts, even the suffocating hunger of his journey hadn't compared to this. This was degradation. This was cruelty. This was Captain Axton's world.

And Ren hated him for it.

The Captain stood a few feet away, still as a statue. Those silver eyes, unreadable and cold, remained fixed on him. He didn't even look entertained—no flicker of amusement, no spark of fury. Just a flat, dangerous boredom.

"Please…" Ren croaked. His plea broke in the same instant his shirt did.

The fabric split under the slice of the scissors, a rough tug ripping it open. His bare chest was exposed to the eyes of every soldier in the room. The air was cool against his skin, but shame burned hotter.

It wasn't enough. A second cut. Another rough pull. His pants gave way.

Ren's body stiffened as the last shield of his dignity fell to tatters.

"Kneel before the Captain, you dirtbag."

A shove sent him crashing back to his knees.

Naked, trembling, stripped of every layer of defense, Ren pressed his face toward the floor. He couldn't look up—not at the soldiers, not at their smirks, and certainly not at the Captain who had orchestrated his ruin. Tears welled despite his will and slid down his cheeks, hot lines of humiliation.

This was more than punishment. This was erasure.

What could he do? What could one man—just a human, nothing more—do against a Captain and his army?

The footsteps started again. The sound froze his blood. Heavy. Measured. They approached slowly, like death savoring the walk.

"The scissors, Cypher."

The voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of absolute command.

"Yes, Captain."

The soldier who had escorted him—so he was Cypher—obeyed immediately, placing the scissors into Axton's hand.

Ren's breath caught. Cypher. He's the one I was supposed to meet. The realization struck like lightning. Commander Reed had spoken of him, the weak link in the Faction's machine. Cypher was meant to deliver the serums. He was supposed to be Ren's hope, Mira's hope.

Instead, he had dragged him here.

Ren's chest tightened with bitter despair. So much for hope.

"Renault."

The way his name left Axton's lips was worse than a blade. Sharp, cold, final. It sounded less like a summons and more like a verdict.

Ren flinched when strong fingers seized his chin. The touch was commanding, unyielding. His head was yanked upward until his eyes were forced to meet those silver pools.

A strange hum buzzed faintly inside his skull, almost like a vibration. Ren frowned, dazed, unable to understand it.

"Who sent you?" Axton asked. His voice was calm, but in his gaze flickered something darker—a glint of violence coiled and waiting.

Never, in all his years of leading, had Axton seen such reckless foolishness. To disguise oneself as a woman, to waltz into his gates, to think for a heartbeat it would succeed—it was laughable, insulting. Whatever drove this boy, he would crush it. Crush him.

Ren's breath shuddered as he stared up at the Captain. He saw only ruthlessness staring back.

I can't tell him. If he learns, he'll wipe out Base 7. He'll kill Mira. I can't. His heart thrashed inside his chest, but his resolve stood firm.

"No one, Captain," Ren rasped, forcing strength into his voice. "I… I was just looking for shelter—"

"Argh!"

His scream tore through the room. His body lurched, vision exploding into searing black.

Agony bloomed white-hot in his shoulder. Axton had jabbed the scissors straight into flesh. The cold steel pierced deep, shredding muscle. Blood spilled instantly, warm rivers streaking down his chest and back.

The pain dwarfed everything—hunger, thirst, exhaustion, all meaningless now. He would have chosen the desert a thousand times over this.

He sagged, choking on his own cry, his forehead nearly slamming the floor. Tears fell unchecked, mingling with the blood dripping steadily beneath him. His lips trembled, too weak to form words. Groans rattled from deep inside, broken, defeated.

Axton's voice carved through his torment.

"Deception is a weak front, Renault. You are a threat to the system. Unaffected—that is your status. An imbalance to our world."

A gleam of metal flashed in the corner of Ren's blurred sight.

Axton drew his gun.

The weight of it aimed directly at him.

"No…" Ren's head shook, weak but desperate. His chin lifted, forcing his bleary eyes back to the towering figure. "Captain…" His voice broke into a cough, his strength failing as his limbs gave out and his body collapsed onto the floor.

The scissors jutted grotesquely from his shoulder, blood pooling beneath him.

Silence. Soldiers stood like statues, not a single one daring to breathe too loudly. To question the Captain's judgment was a death wish.

The click of the gun's chamber snapping back echoed like thunder.

Ren's soul shrank.

This is it.

Death. Here, on a polished black floor. His story ending before it even began.

But then—

"Captain."

The single word stopped the world.

It came smooth, controlled, from the doorway.

Ren couldn't move, couldn't turn. His body was too broken. He only listened, ears straining past the ringing of pain.

"Your presence is not needed, Dr. Corvin." Axton's voice was as cold as his weapon.

Footsteps crossed the floor, calm and deliberate. Ren's chest tightened further. Corvin. His name was whispered in dread even beyond these walls.

"I know, Captain," Corvin said. His tone was careful, persuasive. "But instead of killing him, we could experiment. He is unaffected. That could be… valuable. There may be something in him—something potent. Something vital to survival."

"I decide what is vital for the people's survival," Axton cut him off, his words glacial. "Not you."

A pause. Corvin's throat cleared nervously. "I—"

The crack of the gun shattered his sentence.

The shot tore through Ren's body.

No scream. No sound. Only a jolt, then silence.

Blood gushed hot, soaking his chest, the tiles, staining the air with iron. His breath vanished, stolen in an instant.

There was no time left. No future left.

His body lay broken, riddled with pain too vast to process. His dreams collapsed with him.

And as darkness rushed in, blotting out the world, only one thing remained clear—hatred.

Hatred sharper than Axton's blade, colder than his voice.

Ren's last thought was a curse.

He wished Captain Axton Conan a lifetime of suffering. The worst death imaginable.

And then—nothing.