Snow fell softly outside, like cotton wrapping the world in frozen silence. The night air bit deep, each breath turning into a pale mist. Above ground, the world glimmered in a Christmas celebration; below it, in the belly of steel and concrete, a young man stood alone. The bunker was quiet—only the hiss of air circulation, the hum of electricity, and cameras tracking his every move.
Kaivan stood in a restroom lit by pale yellow lights, surrounded by metal walls that smelled of antiseptic. In his hand was a crude, handmade tool: two scissor blades separated and bound with thick thread, sharp and rough. He stared at his reflection in the steel wall, eyes hard, breath fogging the surface.
"Not like a proper kujang," he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper. His fingers traced the cold grip. "But it'll be enough to escape."
That night, the air itself felt tense. Kaivan slipped the weapon beneath his worn clothes, making sure every movement went unseen. He drew a long breath, replaying the plan in his mind. Everything had to be precise—one mistake meant death.
The restroom door creaked softly as it opened. Corridor light greeted him—dim and sterile, the floor echoing with metal steps. Then Lyra's voice flowed from a hidden speaker, gentle yet pressing.
"Kaivan, what do you intend to do on Christmas night?"
He stopped, looking up at the ceiling. "I don't celebrate Christmas, Lyra," he replied flatly, then began to walk. "Maybe I just want to look around."
There was a pause. The system analyzed.
"Shall I assign a guard to accompany you?"
Kaivan smiled faintly. "Call Elara instead. I feel calmer with her."
Moments later, the sound of heeled boots struck the metal floor. Elara appeared beneath the corridor lights—tall and slender, black hair softly waving at the ends. Her uniform fit perfectly, posture straight, eyes sharp.
"What is it, Kaivan? Where do you want to go?" she asked, her tone flat but alert.
Kaivan stepped closer. Only a few centimeters separated them. He turned his head slightly and slowly parted his lips. Elara caught a flash of white behind his tongue—a small slip of paper bearing the words: Take me to the garage. I have a knife.
Elara's body stiffened, her pupils narrowing. Yet her face remained calm. Only her breath quickened, betraying that something immense had just begun.
Kaivan instantly shifted his expression, masking the tension with a light laugh. "What's wrong, Elara? You look tense. I just want to go outside. Don't you like the snow?" he said, lightly patting her shoulder, as if joking for the cameras.
Elara took a deep breath and nodded faintly. "Fine. But don't try anything strange," she whispered quickly, barely audible. She turned and led the way down a long corridor lined with pipes and cameras at every corner. The passage twisted left and right, an iron labyrinth leading toward the bunker's outer garage. Yellow and red warning signs covered the walls. The sound of engines and industrial fans echoed through the air, punctuated by blinking red lights on the ceiling that alternately washed their faces in crimson.
Elara kept Kaivan in her peripheral vision. The young man looked calm—too calm. She knew that beneath that face, something was boiling: trauma and a hunger for freedom. Meanwhile, Kaivan read Elara's every move—the way she glanced back every five steps, fingers brushing the scissors at her side, her breath growing shallow. He knew she was afraid, but he also knew one thing: tonight, she would not stop him. Not on Christmas night.
The vibration of the heating engines made the fluorescent lights tremble, their pounding like the bunker's heartbeat. Their footsteps echoed softly, blending with the cold, metallic air.
At the massive metal door leading to the garage, the automatic panels slid open with a heavy hiss. Beyond them stretched a vast space—rough concrete walls and a floor glazed with a thin sheet of ice. Rows of military trucks stood silent, their dark green tarps frozen at the edges under dim white lights. Wind roared from large ceiling vents, deepening the sense of cold and stillness, as if the place itself were holding its breath.
Their steps were halted by a uniformed figure. A guard stood upright, rifle slung over his shoulder, sharp eyes fixed on them. "What are you doing here? You don't have clearance," his voice rang out, heavy with suspicion.
Kaivan didn't answer. In one swift motion, he pulled a small scissor blade from beneath his pants. Slipping to the guard's side, he struck the back of the man's neck with the blunt edge—right at a pressure point in the muscle. The guard collapsed soundlessly, his body hitting the icy floor with a dull thud.
"Elara, stay here," Kaivan whispered firmly.
But Elara froze—then screamed, "Guard!" Her voice echoed, slicing through the silence like a siren.
Kaivan reacted on instinct. He hurled the second blade, the one bound to a twenty-meter cord. The metal cut through the air, spinning fast before wrapping around Elara's ankle with lethal precision. One hard pull, and Elara's body was yanked off balance, crashing onto the freezing floor.
Kaivan whispered an apology in his heart. "I'm sorry, Elara." His face froze, empty of emotion.
Heavy footsteps and low alarms echoed through the bunker. Several guards rushed out, their uniforms rustling in the cold air, weapons raised.
"Drop your weapon! Hands on your head!" one of them shouted, his voice slicing through the metallic silence.
Kaivan did not move.
He reached for the third small blade—thin and sharp like an arrow—and threw it straight ahead. It pierced the nearest guard's shoulder. The rifle slipped from his grip and clattered across the steel floor.
Kaivan moved at once.
Like a shadow dancing between flashes of light, he slid toward the next guard. His knee struck the man's leg joint. A sharp crack echoed, and the air itself seemed to hold its breath. The guard collapsed heavily.
Without hesitation, Kaivan picked up the fallen rifle, checked its safety, and slung it across his back.
He turned—and saw Elara still standing there, frozen in shock. Her body trembled, snow clinging to her hair and cheeks.
Kaivan lowered himself and lifted her into a brief embrace. She tried to resist, but her strength was gone.
"You're coming with me," he muttered coldly, like steel forged without emotion.
They ran through the garage. Cold smoke and snow dust rose with every step. But through the mist, another group of guards appeared, moving fast, weapons raised.
Kaivan set Elara down in the snow.
Then he threw his last blade toward the upper vent. The metal struck the snow barrier, triggering a white collapse from the ceiling. Snow fell like a sudden storm, burying the guards and blinding their sight.
He did not wait.
Kaivan leapt into the truck cabin and started the engine. It roared like a beast awakening from sleep. He flung open the passenger door and pulled Elara inside.
"Tell me the way to the first lab," he said in a low, trembling voice. "Where are my friends?"
Elara stared at him, eyes wide, breath unsteady. "I… I don't know. I'm not part of that section."
Kaivan tapped the gun barrel against the dashboard. Sparks flickered.
"Don't lie," he said. "I saw your photo there. You know the way."
Elara swallowed and gave in. "Alright… We go through the west gate. There's an old supply route. But it's dangerous."
Kaivan kept his eyes on the road. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. The engine roared.
Outside, the snow fell harder—like the world was turning away from their escape.
The truck burst out of the shattered garage, tires crushing the frozen ground. Behind them, alarms screamed and red lights spun across the bunker walls.
Chaos had begun.
Winter wind slapped against their faces, cutting through skin and bone. Snow drifted down from the dark sky, glittering beneath the pale northern lights. The black road slowly disappeared under a thin white veil. Headlights cast dancing shadows across the surface.
Tall pine trees stood on both sides, stiff and silent, like mute guardians watching their flight.
The truck engine roared through the near-sacred silence.
Inside the cabin, the air was frozen. Yet the tension between the two of them was colder than the winter outside.
Kaivan gripped the wheel tightly, eyes piercing the darkness ahead. His other hand aimed the gun at Elara. Dashboard light carved sharp lines across his face—tense, merciless.
Elara sat rigid in the passenger seat, hunched over, hands clutching her seatbelt. Her pupils were wide, fear hidden behind shallow breaths.