Experiment of 1xDoe

John Doe was the first thing the surveillance cameras focused on. His skin had an unusual yellowish tone, standing out under the sterile white lights of the laboratory. Long blond hair fell almost to his shoulders, slightly unkempt, as if he cared more for thought than appearance. He was tall—impressively so, nearly 190 centimeters—and carried himself with a straight, composed posture. His nose had a subtle bump along the bridge, giving his face a sharper profile. Most striking of all were his eyes: completely black, yet not empty, reflecting light with a quiet, intelligent gleam that suggested constant analysis. Across from him, inside the reinforced glass chamber, stood 1x1x1x1. Its skin was entirely black, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. The torso, however, glowed an unnatural green, translucent enough to reveal a skeletal structure within—bones outlined like a warning sign. Its face was just as dark as the rest of its body, except for the eyes: deep, glowing red, fixed with open hostility. A small green crown rested atop its head, crooked but deliberate, as if it claimed authority even in chains. Long black hair spilled down to its chest, unmoving, heavy, like a curtain of shadow. Chains still bound it, though looser than before. They creaked softly whenever it shifted, as if the restraints themselves were tired. John sat down at the observation console, activating a recorder. His movements were slow and non-threatening. He folded his hands together, fingers interlaced, and looked directly at the entity—not with fear, but with calm attention. “Let’s start simply,” John said gently. “What type of virus are you?” The red eyes narrowed. “Infecting,” the entity spat. “Spreading. Consuming.” Its voice dripped with contempt, as if even answering was an insult. John nodded, typing the response. “All right. And your name?” A low, humorless sound escaped the creature—something close to a laugh. “1x4,” it replied coldly. “A name you don’t deserve to speak.” “I’m not here to provoke you,” John said, his tone steady, almost warm. “I just want to understand. Where are you from?” The virus leaned forward as far as the chains allowed, metal tightening with a sharp clink. Its skeletal glow pulsed brighter for a moment. “From S.F.O.T.H.,” it snarled. “A place far beyond your control.” John paused. For a brief second, something like concern crossed his face. “You don’t have to see this as an interrogation,” he said. “No one here wants to hurt you.” The response was immediate and vicious. “Lies,” 1x4 growled. “Care is a mask. Kindness is a weapon. I trust no one—especially humans.” Its chains rattled softly as it pulled back, eyes burning with suspicion. John did not raise his voice. He did not step away. Instead, he watched, listening not just to the words, but to the hatred beneath them. He realized then that this was not just a virus bound in glass and steel—it was a being shaped by anger, surviving on distrust. And gaining its cooperation would be far harder than containing its body.