Is freedom something we own…
or something that quietly inhabits us?
A question that stalks me every time I try to breathe without reason.
People say freedom is a feeling—a salvation inside the soul,
a shadow untouched by anyone.
But sometimes… I think it's nothing more than a word humans invented to soften the weight of their own weakness.
A bandage pressed against a wound named sorrow.
And if freedom truly exists…
Then my hands have yet to touch it.
*****************************
I lay on the roof of an abandoned warehouse,
My eyes were hollow as they searched the gray sky.
There was nothing above me—only emptiness.
Yet somehow,
That emptiness brought a strange stillness…not peace,
But surrender.
The rooftop door creaked open softly.
SOLIMON stepped out,
His serious expression was the same as yesterday… and the day before that.
He approached with quiet steps,
as if he didn't want to disturb the silence I was drowning in.
"Did you sleep here again?" he asked, voice low.
I sat up slowly,
a heavy breath slipping from my chest.
"Looking at the sky is relaxing."
He tilted his head upward,
studying the vast gray blankness.
"…How can an empty sky comfort you?"
I answered without looking at him
"Maybe because it's empty."
I wasn't sure if he understood—Or if he understood too well.
"SHOUTNA wants us downstairs," he said.
I nodded.
"Alright… I'm coming."
********************************************
We descended into the basement—the only part of this ruined place that still held warmth.
Nine of them were already there,
each sitting in stillness that carried stories carved by pain.
We didn't need words to understand each other.
Our silence did all the talking.
SHOUTNA stepped forward.
He didn't have a towering build,
nor a loud voice.
Yet somehow… the room bowed to his presence.
Calm eyes.
Steady gaze cruelty.
Just a resolve carved from steel and scars.
It might seem strange that we gather in a place like this—
But the truth is simple:
We are killers.
Not because we chose this path…
But because the world stripped away every other road.
My name is MOHITO, twenty-two.
SOLIMON is a year younger.
SHOUTNA—our leader—twenty-five.
Once, we had normal lives.
But that was before the Hidden Sector tore our humanity apart…
and rebuilt us into something no longer entirely human.
Experiments.
Abilities.
A fate sealed long before we understood it.
***************************
ZARIOUH leaned back,
crossing one leg over the other,
boredom painted on his face.
"So? Why the sudden gathering?"
MIZIANI spoke with his usual controlled calm:
"SHOUTNA never calls us unless it's serious."
"It is," SHOUTNA said.
He gestured toward ADEL—
quiet, meticulous —
who held a laptop in his hands.
"The HOUNDS sent these pictures,"
AYOUB practically jumped up.
"The HOUNDS? They contacted you?!"
TAHARA snorted.
"He literally just said they sent him the pictures, genius."
From the back,
MESNAS lifted his feet off the table just enough to glare.
"That's why I keep telling you—leave the children out of these meetings."
"What did you say?! Want to fight?!"
AYOUB barked back.
ZAKI stepped between them effortlessly.
"That's enough. Not now."
OBASO didn't even lift his head fully.
"Guys, why don't we hear SHOUTNA first?"
SHOUTNA scanned the room once—
Silence fell like a blade.
"Show them," he said.
ADEL opened the file.
It took less than a second for the atmosphere to shift.
Faces hardened.
Breaths tightened.
We all recognized him.
One of the Hidden Sector officials.
One of the architects of our suffering.
"So they're still at it," OBASO muttered,
disgust dripping from his voice.
"Bastards…" ZARIOUH slammed the table.
AYOUB stood.
"Where is he now?!"
A faint, humorless chuckle escaped SHOUTNA.
"And what would you do if you knew? Kill him?"
He paused.
"We'll act when we have everything we need."
TAHARA clenched his fist.
"We wait? While innocent people suffer what we suffered?"
SHOUTNA turned slowly, eyes narrowing—
not in anger, but in memory.
"I understand your rage," he said.
"But rage is what destroyed us last time."
The room froze.
We did not speak of that day.
We did not even breathe its name.
A silence thick as ash settled over us.
SOLIMON broke it first.
"…How long will it take?"
"I don't know,"
SHOUTNA admitted, stepping closer.
"But I'll update you. Until then—remain on full alert."
We nodded, even as questions pressed against our ribs like knives.
"Meeting dismissed," SHOUTNA said.
"Return to your daily lives."
*************************
After everyone left, SHOUTNA stopped me.
"You were quiet," he said. "Something bothering you?"
"Not really."
"You're worried."
I hesitated.
"You know how cautious they are."
"You think it's a trap, too."
"…Yes."
"We only get one chance," I said.
"If we misstep, it's over."
We held each other's gaze—
a silent language shared only by those who crawled out of the same hell.
"Take care of yourself, MO."
"You too."
And we walked away, quietly, heavy.
Carrying the weight of everything we lost—
Our families.
Our futures...Our freedom.
All replaced by a single vow:
Revenge.
Yet inside me remained a cold void—
a darkness waiting patiently for the day it would devour me whole.
I stared up at the sky.
Clouds were gathering, swollen and bruised.
"It's going to rain soon," I whispered.
*********************************