Gabe stood in the sickly yellow glare of the elevator, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hands still fumbling uselessly with the seam of the elevator door.
"Trent, stay close to me," Gabe whispered, reaching out to find his partner's arm.
Suddenly, Trent let out a sharp, startled gasp. He clutched his head with both hands, his fingers pressing into his golden curls. His face tightened in a look of intense, disorienting pressure. "Make it stop..." he murmured, his voice strained and urgent. "Gabe... the sound... make it stop!"
Gabe froze, his eyes scanning the yellow-washed corners of the elevator. "What sound? Trent, I don't hear anything. It’s silent."
"It's everywhere," Trent whimpered, his body swaying with a dizziness Gabe couldn't share. The sound only he could hear was a piercing, ultrasonic frequency—a precise, hypnotic tone Marcus had spent weeks embedding into the deep architecture of his brain. It was a high, vibrating pitch that hummed behind his eyes, drowning out his own thoughts. He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw set as he tried to block out the overwhelming roar inside his skull.
Gabe panicked, reaching out to pull Trent’s hands away from his ears, trying to anchor him to reality. "Hey! Look at me! Marcus! Stop this!" He hammered his fist against the metal wall, the sound booming hollowly. "Fucking stop it! You're hurting him!"
As suddenly as it had begun, the vibration ceased.
Gabe let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "It stopped. Trent? You okay? Talk to me, babe."
Trent lowered his hands slowly. For a few agonizing seconds, he stood there dazed under the yellow light, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and unfocused. Gabe placed a hand on Trent’s sweat-slicked chest, searching his face for recognition. But the man who looked back was gone.
The yellow light reflected off Trent's eyes, showing they were wide, fixed, and completely glazed over with that terrifying, milky sheen. His body, which had been trembling with fear moments ago, became unnervingly still. He stared forward at the dark elevator wall, his gaze piercing through it as if looking at something miles away.
"Trent... Trent... babe, wake up..." Gabe’s voice trembled. He reached out and slapped Trent’s cheek, a sharp, stinging crack. "I'm right here. Come back to me. Wake up!"
Trent didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He was a hollow vessel, his soul retreating back into the safety of the dark corners Marcus had carved out for him.
In the middle of Gabe's scream, Trent moved.
It wasn't the clumsy movement of a man in a trance. It was fluid, powerful, and horrifyingly mechanical. Trent rose to his full height, his massive frame filling the small space. With a sudden, synchronized snap of his joints, he brought his arms up. His hands curled into tight fists, his elbows locking at perfect ninety-degree angles. He flared his massive lats and tensed every single muscle in his chest, arms, and legs—assuming a classic, triumphant bodybuilding pose.
The matted hair on his chest strained against the hard, metallic ridges of his pectorals. His gaze shifted slightly to the side, and a slow, adoring, and hauntingly beautiful smile spread across his lips—the exact expression he had worn while lying in Marcus’s lap.
"Trent... stay with me..." Gabe sobbed, grabbing Trent’s forearm, trying to pull it down.
But Trent was immovable. He held the pose with a monumental, inhuman strength.