Warning: Even when the first few chapters will be relatively light, the subsequent chapters could trigger some people. Themes like torture, human experimentation and even SA of a minor, discretion is adviced.

Chapter five: Shower.

The water was so cold it felt like it was burning him. Dash twisted and turned, trying to move away from the punishing spray, but there was no escape. The guards barked orders at him to stand still, but how could he? It felt like they were trying to peel his skin off with that high-pressure hose.

"Hold still, you little punk!" one of the guards shouted, kicking at his legs. Dash stumbled, barely catching himself before he fell.

He wanted to run. God, he wanted to run so badly, to blur away from all of this, from the pain, the cold, the humiliation. But the collar around his neck mocked him, its weight a constant reminder that he was no longer fast, no longer powerful. No longer *anything.*

They sprayed him down without care, not even flinching when the water hit an old bruise or cut, making him cry out. The floor beneath him was slick, and he could feel the water pooling around his bare feet. He was soaked, shivering uncontrollably, his teeth chattering so hard it hurt.

"Think you're tough?" one of the guards sneered. "Not so fast now, huh?"

Dash glared up at him, his body trembling with fury and cold. He wanted to scream, to fight, to show them he wasn't broken. But he was, wasn't he? He couldn't run, couldn't fight, couldn't even protect his sister.

When they finally turned the hose off, Dash slumped against the wall, his chest heaving. They didn't bother to give him a towel—just threw his damp clothes back at him and told him to hurry up. His fingers fumbled with the fabric, shaking too much to get it on properly. He felt their eyes on him the whole time, judging him, mocking him.

As they shoved him back into his cell, Dash collapsed onto the floor, his body and spirit frozen in equal measure. He curled into a ball, clutching his knees to his chest. The humiliation, the helplessness—it was suffocating.

The cold water hit Violet like a slap to the face. She gasped, the icy spray stinging her skin as it pounded down relentlessly. The pressure was brutal, harsh enough to feel like needles piercing her already tender body. She shivered violently, her limbs trembling as she clutched her arms around herself, trying and failing to shield her exposed skin from the torrent. They never gave her a towel, never allowed her even the smallest shred of dignity.

Her clothes had been stripped from her the moment they hauled her from the cell. The sharp clang of the hose nozzle echoed in the sterile, tiled room as one of the guards adjusted the angle, directing the spray toward her feet, then her back, then her face. She stumbled, the force of the water knocking her off balance.

"Keep standing, subject A-002" one of them barked, his voice devoid of humanity.

She bit her lip hard, holding back the tears threatening to spill. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. But the humiliation burned almost as much as the cold. Her body screamed for relief—warmth, comfort, anything other than this relentless powerlesness. She was just a number to them, another test subject to break down and study.

Her eyes darted toward the corner of the room, and that's when she saw him. A guard leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His face wasn't obscured like the others; he wasn't trying to hide.

Violet's chest tightened, bile rising in her throat. The look in his eyes wasn't detached like the scientists or dismissive like most guards. It was something worse—something vile and hungry.

She tried to look away, but her body froze, rooted in place by the weight of his gaze. Her arms instinctively wrapped around herself, a futile attempt to shield what little of her dignity remained. Her heart pounded in her chest, the water now barely registering against the overwhelming sense of violation. She wanted to scream, to fight, to disappear. But the collar on her neck was a cruel reminder: she couldn't.

"That's enough," the man with the hose said, his voice breaking through the moment. He turned off the water, leaving her drenched, shivering, and vulnerable. Violet's body sagged with relief, though she could still feel the guard's gaze.

She bit her lip hard, her fists clenching at her sides. Her wet hair clung to her face as she shuffled back toward the corner of the room, desperate to put as much space between her and him as possible.

They threw her her clothes The floor was soaked, puddles of freezing water pooling around her feet. Her hands shook as she put on her clothes, not for warmth—it was too thin for that—but to shield herself from his gaze.

But the leering guard was still watching her as they dragged her back to her cell. His smirk hadn't faded. Violet felt her heart pounding in her chest, a sickening combination of fear and rage bubbling under her skin.

Back in the cell, Violet sat in silence, her damp clothes clinging uncomfortably to her skin. She rubbed her arms, trying to banish the chill that seemed to have seeped into her bones. But no amount of warmth could erase the memory of the guard's gaze, the way it had lingered, predatory and invasive. She shuddered, hugging herself tighter.

"Vi? What's wrong?" Her little brother's concerned voice brought her out of her thoughts. He was soaked and shivering just like her.

When she didn't responded, he moved toward her, his steps unsteady. "Vi, are you okay?" he insisted, his voice small, uncertain.

She wanted to lie, to tell him she was fine, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she nodded weakly, not trusting her voice. Dash sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched, a small comfort in the sea of misery.

"We're gonna get out of here," he whispered, his voice shaking but resolute. "I don't know how, but we will. I promise."

Violet didn't answer, but she leaned into him, closing her eyes. She wasn't sure she believed him, but for now, his warmth was enough to keep the darkness at bay.