It had been several days since the chaos of Omega's escape. His absence left an invisible scar on the halls of the facility. Now there were 17 total students. The number was never spoken aloud, but everyone felt a bad sensation. Beta was sick, Alpha hung himself and now Omega broke out.
Gamma had been restless. He spent nights in his investigations. After thinking about all the possibilities and methods to investigate, gave up. Even after all that effort, he was not close to the truth.
He had a few theories, yes, but each was incomplete, having their own flaws. One possibility: there was a teacher within the organization who secretly wished for their freedom, who had helped Omega escape. But that idea didn't explain the death game or Alpha's suicide. Another possibility: there was a teacher who hated them, who feared what they might become. Perhaps the instructors understood that the students, sharpened into intellectual weapons, could someday turn against their masters. That would explain sabotage from within.
And then there was the memory of the man in the black suit from the tower test. That stranger hadn't acted like an ordinary instructor. Gamma's sharpest hunch was that there were higher-ups behind the facility—people with conflicting agendas. Some may have wanted them alive, others broken.
Unfortunately, none of these theories could be proven. After days of silent observation, he had to admit defeat.
Gamma left the mess hall that morning after finishing his breakfast. Even the foods tasted sour in that environment. His footsteps echoed off the steel walls. Then, suddenly, movement caught his eye.
Delta. She was slipping into her room quietly, her face downcast. Gamma felt his pulse quicken. He didn't think—he reached out and grabbed her wrist.
She looked at Gamma with a serious face, "What do you want?" she said with irritation.
Gamma didn't hesitate. "You're planning to escape, aren't you?"
The words shocked her. Delta's pupils widened. "How… how do you know that? I haven't told anyone!"
Gamma's expression was unreadable, but his voice carried a cold weight. "You know you're living among trained geniuses. It wasn't hard to see the signs. Your distractions, the way you hoard scraps of material, your patterns. It's not deduction—it's obvious."
Delta's lips parted, confusion and unease battling on her face. There was no way Gamma could know unless… unless he had been studying her far too closely. She stepped back slightly.
"Have you said it to anyone?" she whispered.
"No," Gamma answered truthfully. "But—"
"Then forget it." Her voice hardened. "Don't tell anyone. Don't get in my way."
Gamma's composure cracked. He raised his voice, sharp for the first time. "Don't become like him! Omega was reckless. He's a rogue, a psycho! Don't throw your life away chasing after his shadow."
Delta's jaw clenched. She yanked her wrist free. "We're done here!" With that, she slammed the door in his face.
Gamma knocked, once, twice. No answer. His fists fell uselessly to his sides. His mind whispered
How can he… Even I wasn't able to find an escape all these years, yet he…"
The thought burned him alive from the inside. Delta lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Gamma's words wouldn't leave her alone. For years, she had tried—endless attempts, countless failures. Each one resulted in failure, killing her hope day by day. She didn't even know if escape was possible anymore, but she couldn't stop herself. The cage was too small.
Suddenly she heard a bang. She stood up and saw a large stack of books just fell. She grabbed the books one by one and placed them on top of each other. She looked in front of the books.
Many more towers of books were made. Different kinds of books. She accidentally hit a stack. It hit one after another and all the books fell on the floor. It was a mess.
"Domino effect, huh?" she muttered, watching the chain reaction of collapsing stacks.
Her eyes lingered on the fallen books. A thought sparked.
"That's it. Domino effect."
Her hands trembled as she began to sketch. Maps, steps, possibilities. Each move leading to another. A chain reaction. A plan where one fall would trigger the next. It was the only way out.
Time was merciless. Two years passed. Their curriculum grew harder, more twisted. At twelve years old, their intellect surpassed most adults, but the weight of their cage grew heavier. For Delta, the domino plan became an obsession.
Her room had changed. Beneath her bed, hidden carefully, lay the fruit of years of preparation. A tray made of cardboard, lined with cards. Each card carried markings, steps, tiny fragments of her plan. When she tipped the first card, the rest fell in a perfect line. A chain reaction.
Delta pulled the tray out one evening, her fingers brushing the cards. She whispered to herself, "The only way out… is through the dominoes."
That night, the plan began.
She requested an instructor's escort to the washroom, feigning fear of the dark. Her act was convincing—Delta could sound small, vulnerable when she needed to. The instructor, weary but compliant, walked her down the dim corridor.
The washroom light flickered. A tap hissed. Water overflowed into the basin. The instructor frowned, leaning down to inspect the sink.
"What's wrong with this thing—"
*CRACK*
The sound was sharp. The instructor collapsed, blood trailing from her temple. In Delta's hand was the detached pipe from the faucet. She had loosened it earlier, just enough to pull free when needed.
The sight of blood made a slight fear in her, but she forced her jaw tight.
"The first piece of domino has fallen."
The unconscious instructor was discovered minutes later. Guards swarmed, alarms blaring. Just as Delta had predicted. As they rushed to deal with the fallen teacher, she slipped into the ventilation shafts, crawling through the stifling heat. The metal scraped her palms, sweat trickled down her forehead. Breathing grew harder with each yard.
At last, she kicked open a loose grate and dropped into a deserted hallway. She gripped the bloody pipe like a weapon. Her lungs burned, but she ran, door after door flashing past.
Two years ago, a boy had done this. A knife in his hand. Same thing repeating again.
The control room loomed. She barged inside.
Rows of monitors flickered, some dark, others buzzing faintly. She darted to the main console, fingers flying across the keyboard. Screens lit up one after another. She scoured for data: name of the organization, its location, anything. Childhood whispers had always spoken of "the organization," but never more than that.
File after file yielded nothing. Then her eyes caught it—Record Experiment History.
She clicked.
Her heart froze.
Each student's name appeared in cold text. Behind them, verdicts: Positive in green. Negative in red. She scrolled frantically. Her name appeared—Delta. Marked Positive. But it wasn't even a thing to feel relief. It was the starting of horror.
The files described neural experiments. Surgeries performed on all of them during their earliest years. Memories wiped. She had been kidnapped at two years old, and for ten years, her life had been nothing but experiments disguised as lessons.
Some children had died. Others had gone insane. The "negatives" were killed. The negative marked documents contained all disturbing and bloody images that she can't even look on.
Her breath came ragged. She scrolled further, into the teacher section. Familiar names. Instructors who once gave a cookie to Alpha, the one who taught them the calendar marked as "terminated." Sympathy was not allowed. Kindness was punished.
She wanted to read more, but pounding echoed against the door. Guards already reached the control room.
Delta bolted through a side exit. The corridor stretched long and straight, ending in light. Her chest tightened. Almost there. Almost free.
But two shadows blocked the light.
Two guards, guns raised.
"Stop! One more step and your blood paints the walls!" the first barked.
"You're cornered, Delta. Return now!" the second growled.
Her pulse roared in her ears. And then—memories flashed. Adrian. Ethan. She knew them. Adrian, who once spoke of his daughter during her first punishment which was the flame test. Ethan, scarred, wearing an eyepatch—he had survived Omega's rampage. He was the one who accidentally shot his partner.
The weight of what she had just learned burned through her. The dominoes weren't falling anymore. She would have to strike the next piece herself.
She stepped forward, eyes locked on them. "You want to end me? Do you even realize that you've already ended yourselves. You just don't see the corpse in the mirror yet."
The guards stiffened.
"You even understand what it means to pull that trigger? Or do you just follow orders like dogs, never questioning who holds your leash?!"
"Shut up! We are not here for your stupid game!" Adrian barked, though his voice cracked.
Delta's smile was sharp. "Games? No, Adrian. This isn't a game. This is something bigger! Kill me, and you'll never stop seeing me. Every time you close your eyes, I'll be there. Blood on your hands, weight in your chest. You'll feel it. Forever."
Adrian faltered. "How… how do you know my name?"
"Because your life is an open wound," she hissed. "Your wife, Do you think she'll kiss your bloody hands? The same hands you used to stole someone's life. Your daughter, you think she will ever forgive you for that? No! She will just see the monster inside you!"
"Shut up… You... you don't know anything about us."
Delta's gaze slid to Ethan. "And you. You can't bury it. You let him die. Your friend Sam. You watched him bleed, fumbling while your hands shook. You killed him, don't say that an accident. And he never left you, did he? He scratches at your mind every night. You hear him now, don't you?!"
Ethan's face went pale. His gun trembled. "Stop it! Please… stop…"
Delta leaned closer, now striking her forehead straight at the gun's mouth. "Pull that trigger, and you finish your descent. You'll carry me like a cancer. Eating you. Chewing you. Until you're just like Sam. Completely cold and dead.
Ethan broke. His knees shook. "I can't… I can't do this."
Adrian's shoulders slumped. His eyes glazed. "She's right… I already hear him…"
They felt down their knees, drops of tears in their eyes. Their weapons clattered uselessly to the floor.
Delta stepped past them, her voice cutting like a blade.
"You've already lost. Now crawl back to your masters. If they don't kill you, your own minds will."
Delta ran. She burst through the final door. Outside it was nearly dark. Streetlights glowed faintly against empty roads. The sky stretched endless above her, the moon a pale witness.
Looking around her, she tried to guess the time. Nearly 10pm. But why nobody was on the roads.
Her legs carried her forward, lungs burning. The pipe clanged to the ground as she discarded it. She didn't look back.
The streets were deserted, lined with looming buildings. She turned corners blindly until at last, she could see a blue light. A police station.
She staggered inside, broken words were coming out from her mouth. The officers stared at her, then hurried into action. She explained that the organization wants her and many other kids to use them as laborers, trafficking them into foreign countries. Reports pulled, files checked. Eight years ago, records of disappearances matched her claims. The puzzle snapped together.
The police believed her.
She was kept under custody for days, watched carefully, fed warm meals that felt foreign after years of rations. Eventually, an officer entered her room with a soft smile.
"We've tracked your parents."
Her breath caught. The world spun.
Our dive into the past ends here. Let's get back to present.
29th December, 2023
The present.
Shuhi opened her eyes in a hospital bed. A saline syringe was taped to her wrist. The sterile smell of disinfectant filled her nose. Machines beeped softly around her.
Her eyes were lifeless, dull like glass. She felt hollow, her body heavy as if she had been lying there for days.
A nurse entered, clipboard in hand. She smiled gently. "How are you feeling today, dear? Any improvement with your memory? Can you recall anything more clearly?"
Shuhi's lips parted. Her voice was quiet, flat. "No."
The nurse's smile faltered slightly, but she nodded and scribbled notes. The sound of the pen scratched the silence.
Shuhi's eyes drifted to the ceiling, empty and cold. The past was still a prison, and the present offered no escape.
Dead Logic © 2025 by Muntasib_Ihshan789 is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International