Autumn continued its slow advance, carrying a biting cold with it. Yet for Kaivan, the chill was not the true threat—the real danger hid behind steel walls and secrets woven through every system cable.
His days in the bunker passed sluggishly, like winter clouds drifting without purpose. Kaivan began speaking more often with Lyra, the only voice that ever answered him.
"Lyra," he called out before the monitor. "Do you know how my friends are doing out there?"
Lyra's voice was soft, almost soothing. "They're doing well, Kaivan. Their lives are continuing as normal. There's nothing you need to worry about."
Those words, however, only deepened his unease. Kaivan had never seen proof. Suspicion crept in silently, spreading like a subtle poison beneath his skin.
Meanwhile, far away in another facility—where his friends were being held—harsh white lights flooded a training chamber without mercy. Data streamed across monitors: heart rates, coordinates, simulated bullets tearing through virtual air. The clatter of machines and the hiss of electricity merged into a lifeless rhythm.
A researcher in a white coat stood at the center of the room, his voice echoing through the speakers. "Today, the highest score still belongs to Livia."
The subjects turned in unison. Raphael stood straight, his gaze shifting toward the blonde girl in the corner. He gave a small nod—faint admiration hidden behind a guarded stare. "I didn't expect Livia to stay flawless in every simulation," he murmured, his words barely more than logic masking awe.
Ethan stepped forward, his footing unsteady but his eyes bright. "Hey, teach me. How can you be that accurate every time you shoot?"
Livia looked at Ethan with eyes as blue as a bottomless sea. She raised her finger, mimicking the pull of a trigger. "Well… you wait until you're sure. And when it feels right… you just shoot."
Her answer sounded light, yet it left a hollow echo—as if she didn't fully understand her own talent, or was hiding something far darker.
Leaning against a steel pillar, Radit glanced at Frans. "You get what she means?" he whispered, half amused, half confused.
Frans rubbed the back of his damp neck. "Maybe… I get the waiting and the 'feels right' part, but… when exactly do you shoot? What does 'right' even mean?"
Before the confusion could spread, a researcher spoke again through the speakers, his tone heavy but kind. "Don't worry, Ethan. Even if your shooting score is low, you're still ranked third in close combat."
Ethan gave a strained smile, but the light in his eyes dimmed. He looked toward Felicia and Raphael—two figures like statues of war gods. Felicia, slender yet radiating silent menace. Raphael, upright and cold; perfection was not pride to him, but a burden.
"But still… I'm nowhere close," Ethan muttered, barely audible. His words dissolved into the cold air of the laboratory, like smoke that never quite faded.
The tension broke when Zinnia spoke up from atop a stack of supply crates, swinging her legs casually. "Come on. As long as our scores are above average, that's good enough. It's time to eat."
No one moved. The word eat brought no relief—here, even meals were part of the experiment. They knew every bite could be laced with sedatives, every mouthful monitored by hidden sensors.
The camera in the corner of the room remained lit, recording everything. In a dark chamber deep underground, someone watched in silence—logging every heartbeat, every shift in expression, every pressure building behind their quiet faces.
Outside, dusk turned into a gray veil sweeping over the land with bone-deep cold. Autumn leaves, caught by external cameras, drifted down slowly like fragments of worn-out time. The sky lay beyond sight, yet its gloom seeped into the concrete walls of the bunker.
In the underground facility, silence wrapped around the space like an invisible blanket. Only the hum of machines and the steady breath of the air conditioning remained, joined by faint footsteps that appeared and vanished without warning. Dim neon lights reflected off sterile metal walls, casting soft, trembling shadows in every corner.
Kaivan stood before the kitchen door. His posture was rigid, his eyes scanning the room with caution. He drew a deep breath before pushing the automatic door, which slid open with a soft hiss. Cold air rushed against his skin.
"I need to know where the knives are kept," he whispered. "Just in case… I need one when I try to escape."
His steps were nearly soundless as he moved along metal shelves and labeled drawers. A camera in the corner followed him with slow precision. When he opened the knife drawer, a sensor glowed faintly. Rows of neatly arranged blades gleamed, each fitted with a small chip blinking red.
Kaivan picked one up. Its weight was ordinary, yet heavy enough to affirm his resolve. He stepped beyond the doorway line—and instantly, a red light flashed and a soft beep sounded.
"An alarm… even in the kitchen," he muttered bitterly. "They've sealed every gap."
He returned the knife without expression. Only an empty gaze remained, accustomed to boundaries. His eyes then shifted to the refrigerator. As its door opened, white light spilled into the cold air. Inside lay neatly stored fresh ingredients: steak cuts, chili peppers, rice, soy sauce, butter, and a small bag of peanuts.
Kaivan let out a quiet breath. A faint smile appeared—not happiness, just a gentle resignation to a small coincidence. "It's been a long time since I last ate rice," he murmured, beginning to prepare the ingredients.
He washed the rice, swirling the grains with his fingertips. Cloudy water turned clear. He turned on the heater, adding salt, butter, lemongrass, and sautéed shallots. Then came grated lemon zest, its fragrance spreading through the room, cutting through the sterile scent of antiseptic and metal.
He diced the meat into small cubes. Each movement was precise, as if the knife were an extension of his thoughts. He soaked the pieces in milk, added soy sauce and black pepper. His hands moved calmly, as though cooking were a form of prayer left unspoken.
He crushed peanuts with a glass bottle, mixing them with sugar, chili, and warm water. The dull thudding became the only rhythm in the cold room.