Adrian sat at a long steel table in the cafeteria, surrounded by other prisoners—mutant previews, as the guards called them. The food in front of him was a dull gray soup that reeked of metallic broth and regret.
He took a hesitant sip. His face contorted in disgust. "This tastes worse than drinking straight-up ketchup mixed with battery acid," he muttered.
But he wasn't here for the food.
His eyes scanned the room while his mind processed faster than any human should. High Specs was doing its thing.
Guard rotation every seven minutes. Breaks staggered between 9:00 a.m. and 9:20 a.m. Five guards in the west corridor, two in the generator room. Surveillance camera A12 flickers every 43 seconds.
Adrian's gaze swept the cafeteria. Among the mutants, he identified at least three whose abilities could cause a decent distraction. One was a pyrokinetic with a twitchy eye. Another had tremor-inducing powers. The third was a girl who looked like she could blow steam from her palms.
If even one of them loses it, that's my cue, he thought.
Then, almost as if the universe itself was playing along—
BOOM!
The tremor kid slammed his fist into the floor. Tables shook. The floor cracked. Screams erupted.
Guards shouted, drawing tranquilizers and riot gear.
"CONTROL THE PERIMETER!" one of them yelled.
Adrian didn't waste a second.
He moved fast but smoothly, following the calculated blind spots between the cameras. He timed his movement with precision, slipping behind a stack of storage bins.
Next camera rotates in 3… 2… now.
He dashed through the hallway, ducking into a small corner by a steel door.
Out came the keypad decoder, built from scavenged parts. A salvaged lightbulb filament for wiring. A torn radio battery for power. His fingers trembled as he set it.
Beep. Beep. Click.
The lock disengaged.
you fantastic little device, Adrian grinned, easing the door open to the armory. It was empty. Likely because the guards were still dealing with the cafeteria chaos.
Inside, the room smelled of oil and leather. He avoided the obvious weapons and tranquilizers.
Instead, he looked for salvageable components—wires, capacitors, old processors. His eyes caught a broken touchscreen phone half-hidden under a cabinet.
Perfect.
He quickly pocketed the parts.
Then—
Clank.
The outer door opened.
Adrian ducked into the storage closet, heart pounding. Two guards walked in.
"Grab the dart packs. They want everyone calm in ten minutes."
One of them moved close—too close.
Adrian held his breath.
A second passed. Then five. Then ten.
"Let's move," said the guard. "We'll miss the second sweep."
As soon as they were gone, Adrian slipped out like a shadow and sprinted back through the blind spots, chest heaving as he reached his cell.
He collapsed on the bed, holding his chest. "I feel like my heart's gonna explode right out of my ribcage."
Later, during lunch, Adrian returned to the cafeteria, stomach growling. As he tried to sit down, a broad-shouldered guy shoved him from behind.
"Watch it, twig."
Adrian clenched his jaw. "Alright, you douche canoe. That's it."
The other inmate laughed. "What's a string bean like you gonna do?"
He swung.
The fist connected with Adrian's gut.
POOF!
A sudden explosion of pink smoke burst from Adrian's body, obscuring the area.
Guards charged in.
"Containment squad! We've got active mutation!"
In the haze, Adrian's mind raced. Smoke? That wasn't normal. I've never…
He coughed. The other inmate was on the ground, coughing as well.
The guards seized them both.
Hours later, Adrian sat strapped in a cold medical chair.
"Subject #528," a scientist in a lab coat said. "Mutation type: vapor-based emission. Possibly pheromone-laced or hallucinogenic."
They scanned his vitals and ran a blood test.
"Weak-grade mutant. Emission-only. No physical enhancement. Categorized as Class D."
Adrian kept a blank face, but inside he was smiling.
Smoke Screen. Just like the sixth user of OFA. That means… it's starting. But the color—it's pink? Weird.
Back in his cell, Adrian grinned.
This works. Let them think I'm just some fog machine with lungs. They'll underestimate me while I train.
He taped his fingers and began his new routine.
Training Montage – Week 3
Adrian rose each day at 5:00 a.m., just before the guard lights turned on. He practiced full cowling in secret.
At first, even 0.5% of OFA burned his muscles.
But by midweek, he was holding 1% for thirty seconds.
His steps grew sharper. His reaction time increased.
Meanwhile, he trained Smoke Screen by controlling density, shape, and color. He practiced exhaling puffs of smoke in patterns—blades, walls, bursts.
By the weekend, he could envelop his entire cell in a veil within four seconds.
He even used the broken phone parts to craft a small EMP grenade—a compact device that could disrupt signals within a five-meter radius.
His fingers worked with incredible dexterity, building from memory and instinct.
He also watched guard movements, memorizing every rotation, step, and blink.
It was Thursday evening.
Adrian sat cross-legged on his bed, his shirt soaked in sweat.
He looked down at his arm. Faint red lightning danced across it.
OFA: 1% Full Cowling.
He turned it off instantly. "Hell yes. I'm getting there."
Then—
Clang.
The cell doors opened.
A new prisoner entered.
Tall, lean, and confident, with eyes that surveyed the room like a predator.
Adrian raised an eyebrow.
New guy. Interesting aura.
The guards called out, "Subject #653, cell D-19. Move it."
The guy walked past Adrian's cell. Their eyes met.
In that moment, Adrian saw it—space shimmered around his hands like heat distortion.
Spatial manipulation? Huh. That's powerful.
He leaned back.
"That guy might just be my way out."
He glanced at his half-assembled EMP grenade.
"Two weeks. That's all I need. Then I'm outta here."