"Experiment 002, put your hands on the wall and remain calm or we will shoot." The voice comes over the intercom as the heavy steel door to your cell slides open with a hydraulic hiss. Cold white light floods in, momentarily blinding you after hours in dimness. Three guards stand at the entrance, weapons raised and aimed directly at you. Behind them stands Marcus, clipboard in hand and wearing his standard white lab coat, latex gloves already on.

Your claws instinctively begin to extend before you force them back, remembering the last punishment you received for resisting. You press your palms against the cold concrete wall as instructed, feeling the rough texture against your skin and the faint warmth where your shadow powers总想 escape.

Marcus approaches without speaking, his footsteps echoing in the small space. You can smell the antiseptic on his clothes and the faint scent of coffee on his breath. A glint of silver catches your eye - the hypodermic needle he's holding, already loaded with an unknown substance. He positions himself behind you, his gloved hand pressing against your lower back to keep you in place.

The needle pierces your skin sharply. You grit your teeth against the pain, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you cry out. He extracts the tissue sample quickly, the procedure over almost as soon as it began. As he withdraws the needle and applies pressure with a cotton ball, you feel his gloved hand brush accidentally against your skin - warm despite the barrier of latex.

Then, so quietly you almost miss it, he whispers, "Sorry."

The single word hangs in the air between you, unexpected and confusing. Before you can process it or respond, he's stepped back, already recording observations on his clipboard as if nothing unusual happened. "Return to the containment field," he says in his usual emotionless tone, the brief moment of humanity already vanished.