Subject Zero

The year before the US was born, something dark was found.

In the heart of a desolate mountain range, buried beneath layers of granite and secrecy, lay Vault 13—a subterranean prison built to contain a single occupant: an immortal known only as Subject Zero. Discovered centuries ago during a mining operation, Zero was a man who could not die—his body regenerating from any wound, his mind unyielding to time. The government, terrified of his potential, formed the Order of the Unbroken Seal, a clandestine group tasked with guarding him. Their mission was simple: ensure Zero never escaped. For decades, the Order maintained a vigilant watch, stationing a dozen armed sentinels around the clock outside the massive, rune-etched steel door that sealed Zero’s cell.


At first, the Order was zealous. Guards stood in rotating shifts, weapons primed, eyes fixed on the door that never stirred. Protocols were strict: no one entered, no one left, and the door was never to be touched. But as years turned to decades, and decades to centuries, the door remained still. No sound, no movement, no sign of life. The immortal became a myth even among the Order. Whispers spread that Zero was a lie, a ghost story to justify the organization’s existence. Budgets tightened, priorities shifted, and the government grew weary of funding an operation to guard a silent door.


By the 150th year, the guard was halved to six. By the 200th, only three remained, grumbling about their pointless vigil. “He’s probably dust by now,” one muttered during a card game in the dimly lit bunker. The runes on the door, once thought mystical, were now seen as decorative nonsense. By the 250th year, the Order was a skeleton crew, reduced to a single guard per shift—a formality more than a necessity. The government barely remembered Vault 13 existed.


On a cold, uneventful night in 2025, Private Elias Kane, a 23-year-old rookie, sat alone in the bunker. His only company was a flickering monitor, a thermos of stale coffee, and a worn paperback. The Order’s once-proud armory was now a dusty closet of outdated rifles. Elias yawned, glancing at the steel door, its runes barely visible under layers of grime. He’d been told the stories—Subject Zero, the undying monster—but he didn’t believe them. No one did anymore. The door hadn’t moved in centuries. He leaned back, scrolling through his phone, the silence of the bunker pressing in.


Then, a low hum vibrated through the floor. Elias froze, his phone slipping from his hand. The hum grew louder, a deep, guttural pulse that rattled his bones. He stumbled to his feet, staring at the door. A faint red glow seeped from the edges, the runes flaring to life. His radio crackled, but no one answered—there was no one else. Heart pounding, he grabbed his rifle, its weight unfamiliar in his untrained hands. “This isn’t happening,” he whispered, backing away.


The door shuddered. A deafening crack echoed as the steel buckled inward, the runes blazing brighter. Elias screamed for backup into the radio, but static was his only reply. The door groaned, then exploded outward in a shower of molten fragments. A figure stepped through, tall and gaunt, eyes burning like twin suns in the dark. Subject Zero was free.


Elias’s scream tore through the bunker, swallowed by the darkness as the immortal advanced.