"Ngh! Dammit, they're still after me!" Mahone grunted, his fingers clawing into the rough concrete as he scrambled up the wall. Small craters formed beneath his hands and feet with each movement, leaving jagged impressions in his wake.
The night air stung his lungs, each breath coming ragged and sharp. He hauled himself over the ledge of the towering wall and crouched low, his glowing claws retracting back into his hands as his body thrummed with adrenaline.
Below, the chaos of his pursuit continued unabated. Flashlights swept across the street, and the distant shouts of soldiers pierced the air.
"How is he scaling the walls like that?" one of them yelled, his voice tinged with both fear and frustration.
"I don't fucking know!" another barked in reply. "The report said he was a ghoul, so that must be why he's so agile, dipshit! Just keep your eyes up—fuck! He's over the wall!"
The chatter only deepened Mahone's confusion. Ghoul? The human-like creature he saw about in the scientist's memories?
"Target is exhibiting enhanced mobility! Repeat, enhanced mobility!" came a panicked voice over the comms.
Mahone didn't care about their labels or their theories. All he knew was that he needed to keep moving. He leapt to the next building, his body moving with unnatural precision. The gap between rooftops seemed like nothing, and he landed silently, the impact barely registering through his strange, resilient frame.
The city sprawled below him, a labyrinth of neon lights and looming structures. He didn't recognize any of it. It was as if he had been dropped into another world, one where everyone wanted him dead.
"What the hell is this place?" he muttered, his voice low and bitter.
Another gunshot cracked the air, and he twisted instinctively. A bullet grazed his arm, drawing a hiss of pain. Without thinking, his claws sprang back into existence, glowing faintly in the darkness.
"There! He's on the rooftop!" someone shouted.
Mahone snarled, the sound startlingly inhuman. His shield materialized as another hail of bullets came his way. The glowing barrier absorbed the impacts, sending sparks flying into the night.
He bolted again, his claws digging into the walls as he scaled higher. He didn't know where he was going, but every instinct screamed at him to get away.
"Is this how it's always gonna be?" he growled under his breath. "Chased like some kind of monster?"
Meanwhile Below
The squad regrouped at the base of the wall, their expressions a mix of frustration and unease.
"He doesn't act like any ghoul I've ever seen," one muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "No kagune, no feeding habits we know of—just those claws and that shield thing. What even is he?"
"Doesn't matter," snapped the squad leader. "The orders are clear: take him down before he causes more damage. Whether he's some new experiment or just a rogue ghoul, we can't let him escape."
Back to Mahone
As Mahone sprinted, he became painfully aware of how little he understood about himself. The words of his pursuers echoed in his mind. Ghoul. Was that what they thought he was? He glanced at his claws, the faint glow illuminating the veins beneath his skin.
"I don't even know what I am," he muttered, his voice shaking with anger and exhaustion.
Ahead, the rooftops gave way to a sprawling park. Shadows loomed beneath the trees, a brief reprieve from the glaring lights and gunfire that had dogged him since his escape. He dropped down into the cover of the foliage, landing softly despite the height.
The park was quiet, the silence stark against the chaos that still echoed in the distance. But Mahone knew his respite would be short-lived. He crouched low, clutching his side where blood seeped through his makeshift bandages.
He needed to rest. Badly.
The blood loss was taking its toll, his vision swimming and his limbs growing heavier with each passing second. His body burned with unfamiliar energy, as though it wanted to keep going despite the pain, but even that wasn't enough.
A rustle in the bushes nearby snapped him out of his haze. A lone soldier had broken off from the rest of the group, cautiously making his way through the park.
Mahone froze, his instincts screaming at him to move, to hide, to do something. But his body was too weak to flee again. His claws twitched involuntarily, flickering into existence as the soldier's flashlight beam swept dangerously close.
The soldier stopped, his gaze locking onto Mahone's crouched figure. "There you are," he said, raising his weapon.
"No... Not like this," Mahone growled, his desperation bubbling into anger. His claws lashed out, striking the soldier's weapon and sending it skittering across the ground. Before the man could react, Mahone lunged, his movements fueled by raw instinct.
His hands wrapped around the soldier's head, and suddenly, something happened.
Mahone's claws sank into the man's flesh—not piercing, but merging. A dark, viscous energy pulsed between them, and Mahone felt a rush of warmth flood his senses. The soldier's struggles grew weaker, his screams fading into silence as Mahone's body seemed to absorb him.
Mahone staggered, the newfound strength replacing his weakness. His body mended itself, the blood loss a distant memory.
Before he could process the event, another soldier emerged—older, more composed, and clearly in charge. She raised her weapon with sharp precision. "Don't move!"
Mahone reacted on instinct again, his claws finding their mark. The officer's body met the same fate, disintegrating into energy that coursed into him.
And then, the memories hit.
Fragmented Memories
The perspective shifted. Mahone was no longer himself; he saw through the senior officer's eyes.
A sterile, dimly lit room buzzed with the hum of machinery. A containment cell stood at the center, its reinforced glass smeared with blood and grime. Inside, a disheveled female ghoul glared at the officer, chains rattling as she struggled against her restraints.
"Go to hell, you bitch!" the ghoul spat, her voice dripping with venom.
The officer smirked, crossing her arms. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, right—you probably ate her."
The ghoul's eyes burned with rage as she lunged, the chains halting her advance with a harsh clink.
The officer tapped the glass, unfazed. "Save your strength. You're not going anywhere. If you're lucky, I might be the one to put you down."
The ghoul screamed profanities, but the officer turned away without another glance.
The scene shifted again, the sterile containment room replaced by a high-tech conference room. Officers sat around a long table, their faces illuminated by holographic displays.
"We've confirmed the escape. Subject 04, codename 'Mahone,' has breached containment," reported a junior officer.
The senior officer leaned forward. "What's the plan? He's not like the others. The lab reports—"
"That's classified," the commander interrupted, his tone sharp and final. His gaze swept the room, silencing further discussion.
"For now, we classify him as a ghoul. It'll simplify things for the public and our forces. No need for them to know the truth."
"But, sir," another officer interjected, "he's not a—"
The commander silenced him with a raised hand. "That's classified. Keep the narrative simple: he's a dangerous ghoul, and he must be neutralized. No exceptions."
The senior officer's frown deepened, but she remained silent.
Back to Mahone
The memories faded, leaving Mahone gasping for breath. His claws retracted, and his body no longer felt weak. The wounds on his side had closed, leaving only faint scars where the bullets had struck.
He staggered back, his hands clutching his head as the weight of what he had just experienced crushed down on him. The rush of memories was overwhelming, each fragment pulling at the frayed edges of his identity.
"More memories..." he muttered, his voice hoarse and filled with frustration. "Just like with that scientist!" His fists clenched as the realization hit him, the implications gnawing at his sanity. "And even more questions... about who I am!"
He turned his gaze upward, his glowing eyes reflecting the faint light of the moon piercing through the canopy. The fragments from the scientist's memories resurfaced briefly: sterile labs, whispered discussions about experiments, and the overwhelming sense of being an object rather than a person
"Tch... I need to leave, figure things out myself..."