Instead, Jack froze. His breath hitched, turning to ash in his lungs. A sharp, electric agony ripped through his spine—not just a burn, but a searing, blinding white heat. His pen slipped from his fingers, clattering against the linoleum. The sensation didn't stop at his skin; it felt as if molten lead were being poured directly into his nervous system. The laboratory lights fractured, stretching into jagged, sickening streaks of white across his vision. "What the hell—" The laughter died instantly, replaced by a sudden, chilling stillness. Across Jack’s neck, vivid crimson veins began to crawl upward, pulsing like a dark, angry map. Beneath his shirt, his skin began to radiate a faint, terrifying orange glow. The boys took an involuntary step back, the amusement in their eyes replaced by a primal, instinctive fear. "Bro... what is that?" one stammered, his voice cracking. Jack clenched his jaw until he tasted copper. The pain was astronomical, a symphony of torment that threatened to tear his mind apart. Yet, he refused to scream. He refused to give them the spectacle they wanted. With trembling limbs, he grabbed his bag and stumbled toward the exit.