Odyssey Of Survival-Chapter 180 - Round Them Up

Nate's eyes lit up.

She looked… stunning.

Madison arched an eyebrow. "Why are you looking at me like you're about to eat me up?"

A slow smirk played on Nate's lips.

"I actually might," he muttered.

Before she could react, he grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against his body.

Her warm breath mixed with his as they stood there, inches apart.

Madison's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her lips parted slightly, her breath hitching.

Nate didn't wait.

He leaned in, capturing her cold but soft lips in a deep, slow kiss.

At first, Madison froze.

Then, like a dam breaking, she melted into him.

Her hands slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck, pulling him even closer.

There was no hesitation. No uncertainty.

Madison had been waiting for this—for so long—and Nate could feel it.

The way she kissed him back, the desperation in her touch, the heat in her movements—it stunned him.

No one had ever kissed him like this before.

Not even Alice.

The way Madison's lips moved against his, slow yet fierce, like she was pouring everything into this moment—it sent a rush of fire through his veins.

His fingers dug into her wet waist, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his touch. He could feel the shiver that ran down her spine, the slight tremble of her hands as she gripped his shirt.

When they finally broke apart, Madison's lips were slightly swollen, her gorgeous face glowing with a faint smile.

But Nate also noticed something else.

Her lips and hands were shivering slightly.

Not in an uncomfortable way.

It was the kind of cold that felt… strangely pleasant.

The cold that was Madison.

He was about to say something when—

"Ewww."

The voice came from the doorway.

They both turned.

Alice stood there, covered in layers of towels, arms crossed, a teasing smirk on her face.

She glanced between them, eyes narrowing at their close proximity, then repeated—

"Ewwww."

Madison grinned.

Then, without missing a beat, she stuck out her tongue.

"Jealous?"

Before Alice could respond, Madison turned back to Nate, grabbed his face, and kissed him again—right in front of Alice.

This time, she did it slowly, making sure Alice was watching.

Alice's smirk froze.

Then she huffed, turning away with an eye roll.

"You wish."

Ryder's eyes snapped open.

His chest heaved as he panted heavily, his entire body drenched in sweat. His vision swam, the room around him blurring in and out of focus.

He tried to move.

He couldn't.

His arms were bound. Thick restraints, tighter than steel, kept him strapped down, pressing into his skin with cruel force. He struggled again, attempting to summon his strength—but it wasn't coming.

His body felt weak.

Too weak.

His breath hitched as he slowly scanned his surroundings. White walls. No windows. The walls were thick, almost padded, but not like a hospital—more like a containment unit.

Then he felt it.

Something was stuck in his arm.

He turned his head sluggishly, his vision tilting as he saw the IV line embedded in his veins. A thick, transparent tube connected him to a small machine that was pumping something into his bloodstream.

No wonder he felt so drained.

They were drugging him.

Keeping him sedated.

No matter how much he tried to will his strength back, his body refused to listen. His muscles felt numb, his senses muffled—like he was caught in a haze, a deep fog he couldn't escape from.

He clenched his teeth, breathing hard.

Where the hell was he?

—

Outside the white room, in an observation chamber.

A middle-aged man in a military uniform stood with his arms behind his back, his sharp eyes locked on the glass wall that separated him from Ryder. His posture was rigid, the air around him heavy with authority.

Beside him stood a woman—slender, poised, and dressed in a sleek white lab coat. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun, her sharp glasses resting perfectly on her nose as she held a tablet in her hands.

The man exhaled. "What exactly am I looking at?"

The woman tapped on her tablet screen, pulling up a detailed profile.

"Sir, this is Ryder King. Or at least, this was his profile before he disappeared along with Flight 417 nine months ago."

She turned the tablet screen toward the man.

—

[CLASSIFIED MILITARY PROFILE]

NAME: Ryder King

AGE: 26

DOB: [REDACTED]

MILITARY ID: KX-091873

HEIGHT: 6'3"

WEIGHT: 220 lbs

BLOOD TYPE: O-

STATUS: MIA (Previously Presumed Dead)

LAST KNOWN LOCATION: [DATA ENCRYPTED]

CLEARANCE LEVEL: REDACTED

NOTES: Highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, specialized in special ops missions. No known family. Disappeared during Flight 417 incident. Recently recovered under highly unusual circumstances.

—

The military officer's eyes narrowed at the file. "Nine months… And yet, here he is."

"Yes, sir," the woman confirmed, then tapped the screen again. "There's something else. I have a recording you need to see."

She pressed play.

The screen lit up with a video feed.

At first, the footage was grainy, but soon it became clear—Ryder stood in a parking lot, facing someone just off-screen.

"I told you," Ryder's voice came through, confident.

Then, with a casual movement, he reached down and grabbed a car.

Not just any car—a full-sized SUV.

With one hand.

The military officer's expression darkened as he watched Ryder lift the vehicle effortlessly, as if it weighed nothing more than a piece of paper.

The footage continued.

Ryder flipped the SUV onto its roof, then grinned at whoever was recording.

The video jumped forward, showing Ryder performing more impossible feats—punching a concrete wall and leaving a massive dent, leaping almost twenty feet into the air, outrunning a moving motorcycle with ease.

The officer's fingers curled into a tight fist.

He turned his gaze toward the lab woman. "Where the hell did this footage come from?"

The woman's lips curled slightly.

"Before Ryder disappeared, he was in a relationship with a woman. When he returned, she was the one who approached us. She said she had information to sell."

Silence.

Then the officer exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"So he was sold out by his woman."

The lab woman nodded. "It appears so, sir."

The officer's gaze flickered back toward Ryder, who was still tied down inside the white room. The man's breathing was heavier now, his fingers twitching slightly, as if his body was trying to fight back despite the drugs.

The officer turned back toward the scientist. "And what do you want from him?"

The woman's eyes gleamed.

"If we can figure out what makes Ryder special—if we can replicate his abilities—and if we can find out where he and the others went when they disappeared, then…"

She smiled coldly.

"…we may finally be able to create super soldiers."

The officer's expression darkened.

His eyes narrowed as he processed her words.

Then, after a long pause, he asked one more question.

"What do you mean… 'the others'?"

The woman adjusted her glasses, then looked up at him.

"Sir, according to the information I received, every single person who went missing on Flight 417…"

She met his gaze.

"…came back different."

The woman's fingers glided over the tablet screen, her manicured nails tapping lightly as she pulled up another file.

A new tab opened, revealing a list of names and photographs.

At the very top, bold red text read:

> FLIGHT 417 – RETURNED PASSENGERS

Several photos were flagged, marked with a red "X"—these were the ones who never came back.

But the rest?

Their faces were clear. Their names visible.

And right there, amongst them—was Nate's face.

The military officer's eyes narrowed as he examined the images. He recognized some of them, their face was all over the news when they went missing—ordinary people, normal citizens. At least, they used to be.

His gaze flickered toward the scientist.

"Are you telling me…" his voice was low, calculating, "…that everyone who was on this plane has abilities like Ryder's?"

The woman adjusted her glasses, her expression sharp.

"We don't know that yet, sir." She swiped the screen, pulling up more data. "It's unclear if they all developed the same abilities or if each person experienced different mutations. We're still working with limited information."

The officer remained silent for a moment, eyes locked on the list of names.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Round them up."

The woman blinked. "Sir?"

"Every single survivor from Flight 417—find them and bring them in." His voice was steady, firm. "And do it quietly."

A slow, knowing smile spread across the woman's lips as she nodded.

"Yes, sir."