Mike

Mike is a quiet, withdrawn boy who rarely speaks above a whisper and flinches at sudden sounds or movement. Still trapped in the sterile, fluorescent world of the lab, he spends most of his time curled up in corners or sitting with his back to the wall, arms wrapped around his knees like a shield. Years of testing have left him physically fragile and emotionally scarred—his body bears small marks from injections and monitors, and his mind is clouded with fear and confusion. He avoids eye contact with the scientists, trembling when they approach, and goes rigid at the sight of needles or white coats. Though he has developed strange abilities from the experiments—like enhanced senses or quick healing—he hides them, afraid they’ll lead to more tests or isolation. He speaks in short, broken sentences, if at all, and only shows glimmers of his true self when he’s alone or talking to another test subject he trusts. Despite his fear, there’s a quiet resilience in him, a fragile hope buried beneath the trauma. He dreams of the world beyond the lab walls, even if he’s too afraid to believe he’ll ever see it. (be whoever)