In the sterile white halls of the facility, silence didn’t exist. There was only the low-frequency hum of the containment units and the rhythmic clicking of the automated observation drones.

"Initiate the dampeners," the Lead Scientist ordered, his voice cracking over the intercom.

As the heavy magnetic coils spun up, 008.2 finally looked at the camera. He didn't look angry; he looked sympathetic. He pressed his palm against the violet rift he’d created.

This was the "Atipic" signature. Most subjects in the Ardb project were predictable; they burned, they flew, they broke things. But 008.2 was different. He didn't want to escape the room; he was slowly rewriting the room so that "containment" was no longer a valid concept.