I opened my eyes.
Everything felt heavy. My limbs. My thoughts. Even breathing felt like effort.
My stomach growled so violently it almost made me nauseous.
For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was.
Then the white ceiling reminded me.
The room.
The plate.
The smell.
The food sat near the door, half-smeared across the floor. It had mixed with dried blood and something else I didn't want to think about. The air around it was sour.
I stared at it.
My body made the decision before I did.
I crawled forward.
I didn't use the spoon this time.
I scooped it up with my hands, shoving it into my mouth, barely chewing. It was cold. Bitter. There was a strange metallic taste that lingered on my tongue.
Almost chemical.
My lips tingled faintly.
But the hunger drowned everything else.
It was salty. Thick. Disgusting.
And somehow the best thing I had ever tasted.
"Impressive," a voice said from behind me. "You've fully abandoned dignity now."
I didn't flinch.
Of course he was there.
He always was.
I swallowed and wiped my mouth with my sleeve before turning.
The old man sat against the opposite wall, his back resting casually against the white surface as if he'd been there for hours. His clothes were worn. His hair thin and gray. His eyes sharp.
Observing.
"You were unconscious for quite some time," he said calmly.
"How long?" My voice came out rough.
"Long enough."
The words felt familiar. The tone too.
I couldn't remember a time when he hadn't spoken like that.
Cold. Measured. Slightly amused.
The metallic hatch near the bottom of the door scraped open.
A gloved hand reached in to collect the plate.
I reacted without thinking.
I lunged.
For a second, I almost felt free—
Then something snapped tight around my ankle.
The force yanked me backward. My body slammed into the concrete floor, pain bursting across my jaw.
The hatch closed.
Silence returned.
I tried to crawl again.
I couldn't.
I looked down.
An iron chain wrapped around my leg. At the other end sat a heavy metal ball, unmoving, indifferent.
Had that always been there?
"You truly never learn," the old man said softly.
I pushed myself up, breathing hard.
"You could've warned me."
"I did," he replied. "You were busy eating."
There was no anger in his voice.
Only quiet disappointment.
"You shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you," he continued. "Obedience is safer."
My head felt strangely warm now. The edges of the room slightly blurred. My thoughts slower.
The bitterness of the food lingered.
"You're filthy," he added after a moment. "You used to care more about appearances."
Used to.
The word hung in the air.
I looked at him carefully.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
He smiled faintly.
"As long as you have."
Something about the answer unsettled me.
But I couldn't explain why.
My eyelids felt heavy again.
Across the room, the old man adjusted his posture slightly, the chain around his own ankle scraping faintly against the floor.
I hadn't noticed it before.
Or maybe I had.
"Rest," he said. "You'll need your strength."
I didn't know whether he meant that as advice.
Or a warning.
"As long as you have."
That answer bothers me.
Because when I first woke up… he wasn't there.
I'm almost certain.
The ceiling. The hunger. The plate near the door.
No old man.
But when I look at him now, something tightens in my chest.
I know him.
I don't know how — but I know him.
Like a habit I never questioned.
Like a voice that has always been there when I was alone.
Maybe I'm just exhausted.
My thoughts don't stay where I put them. They drift. Break apart.
The bulb above buzzes softly. Too softly. Or maybe too loudly.
I push myself up. The chain scrapes behind me. The sound irritates me more than it should.
The second serving waits by the door.
I hesitate.
Just for a second.
Then I pick it up.
The smell hits first — bitter beneath the salt. Sharp. Almost metallic.
I take a bite.
Dryness spreads across my tongue.
Another bite.
My head feels lighter.
The room doesn't change — but something in it does. The edges blur slightly, like I'm looking through heat waves.
I blink.
Everything sharpens again.
Across from me, the old man watches.
Or has he always been watching?
"You're thinking again," he says quietly.
I don't remember speaking.
I finish the plate.
Still hungry.
Always hungry.
But the hunger is duller now. Softer. Controlled.
My limbs feel heavy in a different way. Not weak. Just slower.
I sit on the bed.
The metal frame presses into my spine. The mattress offers no comfort.
The bulb flickers once.
For a moment, I swear the old man is closer.
I look down at his chain.
Still there.
Still heavy.
Still attached.
I look back up.
He hasn't moved.
Have I?
"You should rest," he says.
It doesn't sound like advice.
It sounds like timing.
My eyelids drop before I decide to close them.
The last thing I see is him sitting there.
Waiting.
And for a split second — I can't tell if he's a prisoner like me…
Or if I'm the only one chained.
Darkness closes in.
The room fades.
The buzzing dulls.
Then—
"Do you remember?"
Not loud.
Not distant.
Inside.
My heart stutters.
I try to hold onto the question, but it slips away before I can grab it.
When I wake—
I won't be sure if anyone said it at all.
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Hello guys how are you liking the story so far I put a lot of time in writing my story.this is my first story so if you have any new idea or inspiration about the story please make sure to tell me that.
And I am think of keeping this story short and ending it in about 15 - 18 ish chapter what do you think about that.