Darkness.
Not the kind that came with closing your eyes, this was deeper. Endless.
A place where time no longer existed. There were no seconds. No minutes, no heartbeat to count.
Only… nothing.
The gas burned through his lungs, spreading silently through every part of his body.
His arms wouldn't move. His legs no longer belonged to him. Even breathing felt impossibly far away.
"…So this is it. We really came all this way… just to lose." The thought drifted through the emptiness.
It felt distant. Almost like it belonged to someone else.
"I hate this…I hate being weak. I hate lying there… unable to protect anyone."
Images surfaced through the darkness.
Tucker. The little girl behind the cargo hold bars. EBS. Michonne. One after another Each slipping farther away.
"Why…? Why didn't I see it…? I should've known. I should've…" His fingers had gone numb.
Then his arms.
Soon, even his thoughts began fading. The weakness crept toward him like a thief in the dead of night.
Patient. It didn't rush, it just watched.
And the moment Shirley could no longer fight, it struck.
His consciousness unraveled. His name, his voice, his fear.
Everything dissolved into that endless sea of darkness.
Where only one thing remained.
Weakness.
SOMEWHERE ELSE…
A weathered pickup truck rumbled down the nearly empty highway.
Its tires hummed against the asphalt as the morning sun poured through the windshield.
Behind the wheel sat a man wearing a faded pink sunflower shirt, khaki shorts, and a worn straw hat that had clearly seen better days.
A pair of sunglasses rested lazily on his nose.
He took another bite of a cream cheese bagel.
Crumbs immediately scattered across his shirt. "…Aw, come on."
He sighed, brushing them away.
The truck hit a bump. The remaining crumbs bounced onto his lap. Another bump, now they were on the floorboard.
Doug stared at them for a second before shaking his head with a laugh, "…This bagel's stale anyway."
He tossed it back into his lunchbox before licking a bit of cream cheese from his short, graying mustache.
Silence filled the car.
His smile slowly softened, "Been a while."
His fingers tapped absentmindedly against the steering wheel, "I wonder what those boys are up to…They're probably awake by now."
A small chuckle escaped him.
"If I had to guess, Shirley, he's probably making breakfast…or burning it."
His smile faded, "It's really been that long since Choreees."
His grip tightened around the wheel, "…Since Michael."
For several seconds…
He couldn't bring himself to say anything else. The highway stretched endlessly before him.
"I miss you, buddy."
His voice was barely above a whisper, "You started as the rookie. Then somehow became one of my closest friends."
He looked out toward the horizon.
"CORE…"
His hands tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened, "…I'm only one man. But someday…"
A determined smile slowly returned, "…Someone's gonna take you down."
He laughed to himself, "Preferably me."
A few seconds later, he snorted.
"Yeah… Keep dreaming, Doug."
The truck turned into the parking lot of a rundown roadside motel.
Doug climbed out, stretching his back before looking around.
The bleached paint peeled from the walls. Several windows were cracked.
The vending machine near the entrance had an oversized "OUT OF SERVICE" sign taped across the front.
Doug sighed.
"…Sorry, boys."
He smiled to himself, "I know this place isn't much…but one day, I'll get you both a five-star hotel."
He walked along the second-floor balcony until he reached their room.
Taking a deep breath, he knocked four times.
Doug smiled, "They'll know it's me."
Silence. He knocked again.
Nothing.
A third time, still nothing, "Shirley? Tucker?"
He leaned toward the window.
The curtains were open just enough for him to peer inside. Darkness.
He frowned. "…Boys?"
He knocked harder, "Hey! It's Doug!"
Still nothing. His smile disappeared, his heartbeat quickened.
Without thinking, he slammed his shoulder into the door.
It swung open immediately.
Doug nearly stumbled inside, "What?"
The room was silent. He fumbled for the light switch.
The room illuminated instantly. Both beds were untouched.
"…No…" Doug searched anyway.
Bathroom. Closet. Under the beds. Inside every drawer.
"Shirley!"
Nothing.
"Tucker!"
Nothing.
Every room answered with silence. His breathing became uneven.
"No… No… They couldn't…"
His movements became frantic, "They couldn't have gotten here first…"
He tore through the blankets one final time.
Something slid onto the floor.
A black envelope.
Doug froze.
Slowly, he picked it up.
The paper inside felt strangely smooth beneath his fingers.
As he unfolded it, the color drained from his face.
An invitation. The Ascension Gala.
"…No…"
His hands began shaking violently.
He yanked his phone from his pocket and hurriedly dialed a number.
"Come on…"
"Come on…"
"Pick up…"
Heavy footsteps suddenly thundered, "The hell?!"
The motel employee came running around the corner, "Is it you again, kid—"
He stopped. Doug wasn't listening.
He pressed the phone tighter against his ear.
"Madison!"
His voice cracked.
"ANSWER ME!"
INCARCERATION
The smell reached him before anything else.
Rotting flesh. Rust. Blood.
Each breath burned worse than the last.
Tucker stumbled forward barefoot.
The prison floor was littered with shattered glass, jagged stone, and rusted metal spikes hammered into the concrete.
Every step tore open the bottoms of his feet.
Warm blood trailed behind him.
Yet the guards never slowed their pace.
Two soldiers marched behind him, assault rifles hanging at the ready.
They wore spotless white uniforms tucked neatly beneath thick leather boots, untouched by the filth surrounding them.
A crimson-and-black crest was stitched over each of their chests.
Tucker couldn't recognize it.
A heavy spit mask covered his mouth.
Steel restraints bound both wrists together, while another chain connected them to iron shackles around his ankles.
Each step forced the chains to drag across the floor with an agonizing scrape.
He clenched his fists.
Not from fear, from anger.
His eyes never left the hallway ahead.
Rows…
And rows…
And rows…
Of prison cells stretched endlessly into the darkness.
Every cell was overflowing.
Hundreds of prisoners packed shoulder to shoulder inside cages barely large enough for a fraction of them.
Above…
More floors.
Above those…
Even more.
Layer after layer disappeared into darkness until Tucker couldn't tell where the prison ended.
It felt, infinite.
The guards shoved him toward a staircase. The climb began.
Each step drove fresh shards of broken glass deeper into his feet.
Tucker grunted.
But he refused to cry out. The prisoners watched him. Thousands of eyes. None friendly. None hopeful. Only tired, broken.
The dim factory lights hanging overhead flickered constantly, leaving most of the prison swallowed in shadow.
Faces became nothing more than silhouettes behind rusted bars.
Conversations drifted through the darkness.
Whispers.
Arguments.
Crying.
Praying.
None of it ever grew loud enough to overpower the endless clanking of chains.
Tucker looked down.
Someone had changed his clothes.
The expensive suit from the Ascension Gala was gone.
Instead, thinn red pants. A matching shirt made from fabric so cheap it felt ready to tear apart.
Across the chest, large black lettering had been printed.
"RADI I UMRI."
The staircase seemed to last forever.
Hours… Or maybe only minutes.
Time had already begun losing meaning.
His last clear memory, August. The bathroom. Fighting back. Then, nothing.
The guards finally stopped, one unlocked a heavy iron door.
The hinges screamed.
Inside…
Hundreds of prisoners were crammed into a single cell.
Not one of them attempted to escape. Not one.
The guard removed Tucker's restraints. Then shoved him forward.
He crashed face-first onto the concrete. The iron door slammed shut behind him.
Before locking it, one of the guards raised his voice.
"RADI I UMRI!"
Instantly…
Every prisoner inside the cell roared the words back.
"RADI I UMRI!"
The chant echoed throughout the prison.
Only one voice remained silent. Tucker's.
The guard stared at him for a long moment, then walked away.
The footsteps faded. The chanting slowly died.
Tucker pushed himself upright, rubbing his bruised wrists.
The chains were finally gone. The cell itself was barely visible.
One dying light bulb flickered weakly overhead.
Its light never reached the corners. The ceiling towered impossibly high above them.
Far beyond anyone's reach. The air was suffocating. There wasn't enough room for everyone to sit.
People slept standing.
Others curled into impossible positions against the walls.
Anyone unfortunate enough to lie down risked being stepped on every few seconds.
Tucker forced his way through the crowd.
People glared as he brushed past.
Different groups occupied different corners of the cell.
Some whispered among themselves. Others watched him with open hostility. A few simply stared, completely empty.
As he moved closer beneath the flickering light, the bruises covering his face became visible.
Cuts. Swelling. Dried blood from the Ascension Gala.
He had no idea how much time had passed. Hours? Days? He had no idea.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm.
It yanked him toward the wall. Tucker instinctively raised his fists, then froze.
"…Shirley?"
Shirley's face immediately lit up, "Tucker! I knew it was you!"
The two nearly embraced before another voice cut sharply between them.
"Keep your voices down."
Michonne.
She stood with her back against the wall, arms folded.
Even here, she looked ready for a fight.
Tucker blinked, "…Who are you?"
Before Michonne could answer, Shirley smiled.
"This is Michonne. And the one with pink hair is EBS. She's a streamer—"
Michonne smacked Shirley across the back of the head, "Idiot."
Shirley rubbed his head, "What was that for?!"
"You don't announce people's identities in a prison full of strangers." Her eyes swept across the crowded cell, "We don't know who's listening."
EBS nervously tugged at her sleeve, "…Michonne…Please calm down."
Michonne turned toward her, "Calm down?"
Her whisper somehow sounded even more dangerous than shouting.
"We're trapped inside the most heavily guarded prison in the world. We've lost our weapons. We've lost our freedom. And escape from this country is considered impossible."
Her jaw tightened. "And you're telling me…to calm down?"
The nearby prisoners began looking in their direction.
Not curious.
Warning them.
Michonne noticed immediately.
She lowered her voice, "…Damn it."
"If only I still had my katana…"
Silence settled over the group.
Finally, Tucker looked between all three of them, "…Where are we?"
Nobody answered immediately. Shirley looked down at his own bare feet, "Nowhere we ever wanted to be. I can still feel the glass."
"…Me too," EBS whispered.
Michonne closed her eyes for a brief moment.
When she finally spoke, her voice carried no anger. Only certainty.
"…We're in hell."
She opened her eyes.
"…The human version of it."
One word escaped her lips.
"Mynistria."