Pain was the first thing Kane felt.
Deep, gnawing pain — not just in his body, but in his mind.
Like something had dug hooks into his thoughts and was pulling hard, trying to tear pieces of him away.
He opened his eyes.
A ceiling stared back — not white tiles, but black stone stitched with glowing veins, pulsing slowly like a heartbeat.
He tried to move.
Couldn't.
Straps pinned him to a cold steel table, each one buzzing faintly, as if alive.
Symbols burned along the leather, shifting when he looked too closely.
Somewhere above, a woman's voice spoke:
> "Contamination level: Alpha Red. Subject is highly unstable. Recommend immediate containment procedure."
Another voice — male, older, harsher — answered:
> "No. He survived a Grand Breach. We need him."
Kane tried to speak.
Only a rasp escaped his throat.
Something inside him shifted — a sudden, sharp pain under his ribs, like something small was waking up inside his chest.
The woman leaned into view.
Her face was pale, severe, eyes the color of burned coal.
She wore a black coat, stitched with silver runes that seemed to whisper if he stared too long.
She tapped a small recorder.
> "Subject's vitals erratic. Entity presence confirmed. Initiating verbal trigger test."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"Kane Rowe," she said softly, like testing a knife's edge.
"You are marked. You are bleeding in ways flesh cannot seal."
The pain flared again, making him arch against the restraints.
He smelled something burning — his own skin — as the symbols on the straps tightened.
"You are hunted," she continued. "By things that wear no name. By hunger given shape."
Kane gasped — and for a moment, saw something else:
A forest of bone, endless and weeping.
Skies split open, leaking black rain filled with teeth.
A door in the center of the world, swinging open without a sound.
The visions faded as quickly as they came, leaving him trembling.
---
The male voice spoke again, closer now:
> "Welcome back to the waking world, Mr. Rowe."
Kane turned his head.
A man stood there, tall, gaunt, wearing a coat stitched with dozens of black threads — each thread humming faintly, as if holding something prisoner inside it.
His eyes were hidden behind mirrored glasses.
"I'm Director Halstram," the man said. "Black Meridian."
He smiled, and it was not a human smile.
"You died," Halstram said conversationally. "Or should have.
You crossed into the Rot — touched something that cannot be unfelt."
He tapped his temple.
"And now? You're a beacon. A flare in the dark. Every hungry thing from the Other Side can see you."
Kane swallowed hard.
"What... do you want from me?" he croaked.
Halstram's smile widened.
"We want you to live, Kane Rowe," he said.
A pause.
"And we want to see how much of you survives."
---
The restraints hissed and unlocked.
Kane sat up, muscles shaking.
Halstram tossed a black coat onto his lap — like theirs, stitched with faint silver.
"You can run," the Director said, stepping back. "You can try."
He shrugged.
"But the Breach changed you. There's no normal life waiting out there."
He pointed to the only door in the room — a heavy iron slab carved with warning sigils.
"Or," Halstram said, "you can walk through that door."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"And start hunting the nightmares... before they hunt you."
Kane sat, heart hammering.
He could still feel it — the thing inside him, curling deeper into his bones.
A presence.
A hunger not his own.
If he stayed here, maybe he could learn to control it.
If he ran... it would consume him — or something worse would.
Slowly, Kane pulled the black coat over his shoulders.
The silver runes along the sleeves flared briefly, recognizing him.
Halstram nodded approvingly.
"Good," he said.
"You'll need a weapon."
He opened a locked cabinet.
Inside were tools not meant for human hands:
Blades carved from frozen screams.
Guns that hummed with caged spirits.
Charms bound in living skin.
Kane reached out instinctively — and his hand closed around a simple knife.
Black bone handle. Edge that shimmered like moonlight on blood.
It vibrated slightly in his grip, almost like it recognized him.
Halstram laughed softly.
"You have good taste," he said.
"Boneglass. Cut reality itself if you're desperate enough."
He nodded toward the door.
> "Time to see what followed you out of the dark, Mr. Rowe.
Time to see if you can kill it before it kills you."
The iron door began to grind open, slowly revealing shifting black mist beyond.
And somewhere, deep in the mist, something smiled.
Waiting.
Hungry.