The Facility [2]

In the cold, sterile environment of a research lab, the air was filled with the low hum of machinery, interrupted only by the agonizing screams of a teenager bound to a massive steel apparatus.

Laura Kinney, also known as X-23, was strapped tightly to a heavy-duty table, her wrists and ankles locked in place by thick restraints that dug into her flesh.

Her body convulsed as waves of pain coursed through her spine.

The lab was dimly lit, casting harsh shadows on the walls, and the faint glow of computer screens illuminated the faces of the silent scientists observing from behind glass.

Their expressions were emotionless, clinical, as they recorded data from the procedure unfolding before them.

Laura's back arched in torment, her muscles straining against the restraints as a series of mechanical arms extended down toward her exposed spine.

Each one was fitted with precision tools designed to extract the vital essence from her body—her healing factor, her DNA—used to farm material for the creation of more X-weapons.

The metallic claws of the machinery dug into her spine, extracting cells and tissue with cold, brutal efficiency.

"Stop it!" Laura screamed through gritted teeth, her voice raw and ragged from hours of relentless torment.

Her eyes, wild with pain, glistened with unshed tears, but there was no weakness in her gaze—only pure, unyielding rage.

The pain was unlike anything she had endured before, even in the darkest moments of her past.

It was as though her entire body was being systematically torn apart, cell by cell, but her healing factor wouldn't allow her to die.

Instead, it regenerated the damage only to be torn apart again.

Laura's mind was a swirl of memories—of Dr. Sarah Kinney, the woman who had given her life to try and save her, of the futile escape attempt that had ended in failure.

Laura had been so close, so agonizingly close to freedom, but they had caught her.

Her claws itched beneath the skin of her hands, but they remained dormant.

The scientists had anticipated her violent nature after her attempt all those years ago and had injected her with a paralytic agent, just enough to keep her from lashing out but not enough to dull the pain.

One of the scientists, a gaunt man with sharp features, approached the table. He examined the readings on the screen, indifferent to Laura's suffering. "Increase the extraction rate by 20%. We need more samples from the healing factor if we want to match homelander."

Laura's heart pounded in her chest as she tried to break free, her body fighting against the restraints.

The machinery whirred louder, and the sharp needles plunged deeper into her spine, extracting more of her essence.

"I'll kill you all," she growled, her voice shaking with fury and desperation. "I swear, I'll kill every single one of you."

But the scientists paid her no mind.

To them, she was just an unruly asset, a resource to be used for their experiments since it was useless for other work.

The metallic arms continued their work, the pain becoming unbearable as they harvested her cells without pause.

She could feel her strength fading with each passing second, her body regenerating slower and slower as they drained her while simultaneously giving her nothing but poisoning as replenishment.

Since they wanted to test the farthest limits of

But despite the agony, despite the overwhelming despair, Laura refused to give in.

She had survived worse.

She had survived the brutal training, the psychological torture, the endless missions that had stripped her of her humanity.

She had survived because she was a fighter, a survivor.

And no matter what they did to her, she would never stop Hating.

Even as the darkness threatened to consume her, Laura Kinney, X-23, clung to one single thought: she would escape.

She would break free from this nightmare, and when she did, she would make sure that every person responsible for her suffering paid the ultimate price.

---

The sky above the research lab churned and darkened, ominous clouds swirling into existence as if drawn by an unseen force.

The once calm atmosphere now was filled with ominous feeling, mirroring the brewing storm within Niklaus.

His mood had soured beyond measure, and the weather obeyed his fury.

High above, he floated menacingly, his cape fluttering in the chaotic winds that whipped around him.

Lightning flickered in the distance, the air heavy with the promise of violence.

His face was set in a grim mask of rage, eyes glowing faintly red, not betraying the storm of emotion within.

It wasn't the first time he had dealt with something like this, but this time…this time felt different.

This time, it felt personal.

He was getting angry at himself in a continuous cycle of rage.

Each cycle making him lose more control of his own emotions.

Without a word, he descended.

The speed of his flight turned his form into a blur of blue and black as he shot downward, crashing through the roof of the building as if it were made of nothing more than wet paper.

Concrete, steel, and debris crumbled around him, but he moved through it with the ease of passing through air.

His landing was violent and unceremonious, the floor beneath him trembling from the impact.

The sterile lights above flickered and burst from the pressure of his arrival.

A nurse, startled by the sound, turned to see the figure of Homelander standing amidst the rubble.

Her mouth opened, a scream forming in her throat, but before the sound could escape, she found herself silenced.

Homelander's hand was already wrapped around her neck, fingers closing like a vice.

Her eyes bulged in horror, her voice dying in her throat.

He looked into her eyes, his expression devoid of mercy, his grip tightening just enough to feel the snap of cartilage and the sickening crunch of bone.

With a flick of his wrist, he hurled her lifeless body aside like a discarded rag doll.

He moved then, a blur of motion through the white halls of the lab.

Anyone unlucky enough to cross his path was met with the same swift brutality.

The nurse to his left barely had time to register his presence before her lungs were torn from her chest in one fluid motion.

Blood sprayed across the sterile walls, painting them in vivid red streaks, but Homelander didn't stop.

A doctor further down the hallway turned to run, panic-stricken, but it was futile.

Homelander's eyes blazed with anger, and he surged forward with terrifying speed.

He didn't need heat vision for this.

A simple karate chop, precise and devastating, cut through the man's torso like a blade through butter, leaving his body in two neatly bisected halves.

The scent of blood filled the air, mixing with the sterile chemical smell of the lab.

It was a massacre, and Homelander was just getting started.

His footsteps echoed through the now eerily silent halls, the only sound the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor in his wake.

He moved with purpose, driven by the rage of the sheer realisation of the kind of man he had become.

No amount of oushing those feelings down helped since deep down every part of him knew.

He was the worst person here and it made his heart churn that this was all the result of his own Actions.

The staff, those who hadn't already fled or died, cowered in whatever corners they could find, but there was no escape from him.

He was everywhere, and he was blindly furious.

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