The smell of ozone didn’t vanish when Arkan opened his eyes. It lingered, sharp and metallic, clinging to the back of his throat like a swallowed needle. He wasn’t in a sterile lab. He wasn't staring at his father’s hollow, predatory smile. He was face-down in the cold, wet sand, the rhythm of the Pacific waves crashing against his eardrums in a steady, mocking tempo.
"Wake up, Subject Zero. Dying is for the ones who aren't expensive," a voice hissed near his ear. It wasn't the voice of his father. It was Riley.
Arkan pushed himself up, his muscles screaming in a discordant chorus of agony. His left arm felt dead, a cold weight attached to his shoulder. The blue tattoo was dormant, looking like nothing more than a faint, jagged scar beneath the layer of grime. He coughed, spitting out a
