Chapitre 2: Powerless Flames
It felt like a hallucination—a twisted fever dream. A blue, translucent screen materialized before me, almost like something straight out of Solo Leveling or some other manhwa. I glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice it, as if I alone were cursed with this vision. Was this my system? Like those stories where power comes with a price?
I forced myself to focus, taking a shaky breath as I clicked on one of the icons. It was shaped like a human figure—a profile screen.
---
Name: John Allerdyce
Race: Mutant
Gacha Points: 1
Gacha Mode:
Normal: 10 cards for 30 points
Characters Assimilated: None
In Progress: None
Powers: Fire Manipulation
Summons: None
Cards: None
---
That was it. My profile was stripped bare, like a sick joke. No hints, no guidance.
I closed the profile and opened the next icon, which resembled a page. Rules and details scrolled before my eyes.
---
Gacha System Rules:
You will earn 1 Gacha point per day.
30 points are required to unlock 10 cards, pulled from the Omniverse.
Worlds range from Marvel to DC, Tensura to Harry Potter, GTA to the War of Gods—all realms of fiction.
Rewards: Templates, companions, powers, worlds—anything imaginable and unimaginable.
---
There was more, but I could barely absorb it. My thoughts were derailed by the sound of boots and the metallic creak of a door swinging open. Soldiers entered, their eyes flat, devoid of humanity.
Unlike before, my body felt every trace of John's past. Fear seized me, raw and choking. I tried to scream, tried to bolt, but my body was a prisoner of terror. Not just me—others around me shrank back, their eyes wide with dread, knowing all too well what was coming.
One of the soldiers pointed at me, and my heart stopped. My voice cracked in a scream. "No—please, not me!" I tried to twist away, but they closed in, iron grips like shackles on my arms. A strike to my leg made my bones feel like they'd shattered. I screamed, raw pain shredding through me. They dragged me out, down a sterile hallway of bright, blinding lights, and into the hellhole John's memories had warned me about.
The experimentation room.
The air was frigid, reeking of bleach and something darker—blood, sweat, the metallic tang of fear. The people here were hidden behind lab coats and masks, faces blurred and inhuman. But one stood out—a man, bald and round, a gaze sharp with malice. Dr. White.
He looked at me—no, looked at John—like a scientist studying an insect he planned to pull apart limb by limb. No pity. No empathy. Just that sick glint in his eye, a twisted amusement, as if my suffering was the day's entertainment.
"Well, John," he said with a sneer. "More energy than last time?"
Despite knowing it was futile, the words tumbled out of my mouth. "Please… stop it. I haven't done anything to you. Let me go, please…"
His expression didn't waver, only hardened into a disgusted smile. "John. You're right—you haven't done anything to me. But that doesn't change the fact that you and others like you… you mutants… you're a problem. A disease. Your very existence is a blight on the human race. You're both a curse and, at times, a blessing."
His words were like shards of ice, cutting straight through me, and for a moment, I could feel his hate as if it were a living thing.
He leaned in, his voice turning darker, crueler. "You mutants—you possess powers we can only dream of. Take Magneto. He could destroy a city with ease, and he would if it suited him. A living weapon, a curse that stalks the modern world."
Then he turned to me, his grin twisted into something inhuman, almost in reverence of his own power over me. "But you, John," he mocked, "you're a blessing. You're defective. You can control fire, but you can't generate it. A pathetic, broken attempt at power." He chuckled, the sound low and oily. "Flaws like yours are a gift. Defective products are easy to find and even easier to break."
Dr. White leaned in closer, his grin spreading into something so twisted, so monstrous, it barely looked human. "Defective mutants are weak, John. Like you. We may never get our hands on ones like Magneto, but you?You and others like you? You're perfect… ripe for the taking. You're perfect, easy prey." His satisfaction was chilling, his voice a poison that soaked into me like a slow, corrosive acid.
He nodded to a soldier. "Take him to seat seven."
My struggles were pointless. They dragged me to a metal chair, strapping me in tight. The restraints dug into my wrists and ankles, biting like fangs. A technician moved forward, his face blank as he attached wires to my temples, to my chest, everywhere they could latch on to monitor me. I was nothing but a machine to them, a puppet for their twisted games.
"Three… two… one…" a voice intoned in the background.
And then the current hit.
Electricity ripped through me, a brutal, searing agony that set my nerves on fire. My back arched involuntarily, my body convulsing, muscles spasming against the restraints. The pain was blinding, endless, every nerve set ablaze as if my body were being torn apart from the inside.
"AAAAAAHHH!" I screamed, my voice a jagged, animalistic sound. The pain was endless, relentless, stabbing through me in brutal waves, as if they wanted to strip away every trace of dignity, every ounce of humanity. My mind was drowning in the pain, every thought splintering into shards as the electricity tore through me, piece by agonizing piece.
I screamed until my throat felt shredded, the sound hoarse, desperate. "Please… stop… please…" but my words were barely audible over the hum of the current, over the clinical voices around me taking notes, watching, studying.
Through the fog of agony, I saw Dr. White standing at a distance, his gaze cold, detached. He watched my suffering like it was data, just another experiment, just another day.
My screams faded, broken and hollow. No one came. No one who cared. Only the white coats, the hard restraints, and Dr. White's cold, unfeeling eyes as everything faded into a dark, consuming silence.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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