Squeak... squeak... THUNK!
After what felt like an eternity—even for an immortal—the elevator finally ground to a halt.
Exhale.
Desmond let out a breath of relief, only to tense again as the scene before him unfolded.
"...Whoa."
A colossal black wall rose before him, carved in the shape of an inverted pyramid. Its vast structure alternated between jagged stone segments and metal-doored voids that swallowed light whole.
Though he stood near the top, he could see the levels spiraling downward—each floor tighter, narrower—until they disappeared into endless darkness.
"Definitely not a terrifying place to live…" he muttered, voice dry.
The guard beside him, waiting for the bridge to extend from the prison wall, glanced over and scowled.
"Do you not have eyes?" he snapped. "This is a terrifying place."
Desmond arched a brow, amused.
But the guard continued, almost proudly. "That black stone you're staring at? It's from the Deep. Try to damage it, and it eats your mind. Makes your bones itch with screams."
He jabbed a thumb toward the voids between the stone.
"Behind those metal doors? That's where the Punishers live."
Desmond felt a cold thread curl down his spine.
"And beyond the last floor…" the guard's voice dropped, "...you don't want to know what's down there."
CLANG!
The platform finally locked into place with a mechanical groan, cutting off the rest.
From his coat, the guard pulled out a small, jagged black object—something rough, shaped like a child's fist.
"Hold this."
Desmond didn't move.
The guard blinked, then looked down. Desmond's limp, bruised hands hung uselessly at his sides.
A pause.
The guard sighed and tucked the object back into his coat. "Well… I'm sure your luck won't be that bad," he muttered. "Follow me."
Desmond let out a small laugh at the word luck, then stepped onto the narrow metal bridge.
The silence felt heavier here. Like it watched.
As they walked, a faint sound drifted toward him—metallic, rhythmic, pounding.
...thud...
...thud...
...thud...
With each step, the noise grew louder.
And then he saw it.
A vast chamber sealed by a reinforced metal gate—so massive it nearly filled the floor's center. Even from a distance, the vibrations radiated from it, like a low heartbeat trapped in iron.
THUD.
Desmond froze.
It wasn't the cold of the stone beneath his bare feet that made him shiver—it was the presence behind that gate. Whatever was inside... wanted out.
THUD!
The gate creaked. The impact buzzed in his bones.
"They'll quiet down once we leave," the guard said casually, not turning around.
Desmond forced his eyes away, heart pounding, just in time to see the guard crouch beside a circular metal hatch.
He pressed his ID to the scanner.
Beep.
"Mr. Paige, ID: 3078. Access granted."
Shriek... woosh.
The door unlocked, revealing a spiral staircase descending into deeper blackness.
"Come on," the guard said.
Desmond hesitated, then followed.
'Be happy… be happy… be happy…'His mantra had already begun.
As they went lower, he realized the thudding above had stopped.
Hmm.
He kept walking silently, his eyes partially closed.
'BE HAPPY… BE HAPPY… BE...HAPPY…'
********************************************************
"Hey! …Is he the one?" A voice rang out, giddy and sharp.
His mantra stopped. Desmond's eyes snapped open.
"BOO!"
A guard's face appeared inches from his own.
Desmond flinched, eyes narrowing. Sweat slid down his neck.
The man's face was half-flesh, half-metal. One bulging eye strained against the mechanical plating, and his twisted, fused mouth stretched into a disturbingly wide smile.
'He's a mortal,' Desmond thought. 'No immortal could be this injured. They heal too fast.'
"Don't scare him too much," Paige said calmly from behind. "You'll have to clean up the mess."
"Heh. Don't worry," the metal-faced man chuckled. "His bladder seems tight."
He turned to Paige with a grin. "Is he really the judge's son? Thought he'd be fatter—like his father."
"Well, they're not mortals. They don't procreate. Some of the adopted ones turn out... decent."
"Never mind that. Where's the warden? I need to register him."
metal-face tone shifted slightly.
"He's busy. With you-know-who."
"Oh." Paige looked away. "Should've been done by now..."
Then quickly: "You register him."
Metal-face nodded and turned back to Desmond.
"Alright, come on. Let's get you dressed."
His smile remained sweet. Too sweet.
Desmond resumed his mantra.
*******************************************************
Shrikkkk... wrung.
The metal door opened.
Desmond stood there—bathed, clothed in a clean white shirt and blue trousers, and deeply humiliated.
Two open barred cells faced each other like mirrored cages.
"Come on."
Metal-face shoved him forward and into the left cell.
Thud!
"For an immortal, you're pretty damn weak," the guard muttered, locking the door behind him.
Desmond leaned back against the cold stone wall. His hands hung at his sides—pain dulled, but not gone.
'They'll heal completely by tomorrow.'
The metal-faced guard turned back at the door.
"Your company will be here soon."
THUD!
The heavy metal door slammed shut behind him.
Darkness swallowed everything.
And the silence… roared.
'Don't worry... just smile... be happy... you won't be here for long.'
He lay gently on the floor, staring into nothing.
'Company of the most dangerous neighbor, huh? Might be useful for getting out of here.'
His thoughts faded into stillness as his eyes closed.
********************************************************
"Hold still for a minute..."
A woman's voice—blurry, soft.
Her face was unclear, but her hands stood out—rough, lined with calluses, holding a comb and scissors.
Shlick. Shlick. Shlick.
Her hands worked fast but sloppily, cutting golden strands.
"Done," she said, rotating the chair.
Her face was still hazy... yet it radiated warmth.
And when she smiled—
"My dear husband looks better with short hair... don't you?"
A sharp pain pierced through his head .
The scene blurred. Warped. Watered.
'Ugh!'
With a painful groan, Yellow's eyes snapped open—to long golden strands falling over his burnt face.
Tears streamed silently, cooling his scorched skin.
"This again..." he muttered, wiping them with his only working arm.
He looked around.
He was lying in a rusted mining trolley. Then he saw himself.
' Assessment:
Legs: Broken. One femur poking out.
Right arm: Patches of skin peeled off, still bleeding.
Left arm: Fingers fractured.
Face: Burned—3rd degree. Pus oozing.'
"Alive. Barely." He mumbled at his state.
Shiiik.
The trolley's wheels screeched against the stone floor.
"Thanks, Rerik," Yellow said softly.
The figure pulling the trolley flinched. But then, with a slow nod, continued.
It was black—charred-black. A malnourished, skin-hugging skeleton of a being. Limbs thin as sticks. Eyes hollow. Yet, it moved with quiet grace.
Yellow absentmindedly tugged at his hair.
"Short hair, huh… too bad I wouldn't know if it looked good on me."
They stopped in front of a thick iron door. The number 1 carved deep into it.
Grrrk. Grrrk.
The Rerik's bones groaned as it opened the door.
A stream of harsh white light burst into the dark.
Desmond blinked fast, squinting.
And then—his breath hitched.
'What the hell is that?'
A charred husk of a creature stood before him.
"AHH!"
The Rerik squealed—in fear.
'You're afraid of me?' Desmond blinked, stunned.
Yellow lifted his head inside the trolley, peering through the door.
He saw Desmond- his eyes long since accustomed to the dark.
'He has lean physique, no fat but no much muscle either. his hands looks like they have been crushed by a blunt object...but the wounds are already healing at terrific rate... A Immortal. He has fair skin, smooth dark hair and looks like he came out of his rich bedroom in the morning only to find himself down here...'
"So that's where the soap smell came from." Yellow rasped dryly.
The Rerik calmed instantly. Desmond flinched again.
"Rerik," Yellow said.
As if commanded, the creature silently stepped away.
That somehow made it worse.
Only Yellow remained—torn, bloodied, lying faintly in the shadow.
'This must be the one Paige warned me about…' Desmond realized.
"You've heard of me, haven't you?" Yellow's voice was flat.
'How did he—'
"Let me guess. The new guard… Paige, was it?"
Desmond's jaw tightened.
"Can you read minds?"
That made Yellow pause.
'He actually said it out loud...'
"No. So what did he say?"
Desmond hesitated, then spoke:
"He said... you were the most dangerous thing in either land."
Silence.
Then a soft laugh.
"...I see."
Then nothing.
Just as Desmond started to drift back into his mantra, Yellow asked:
"Hey. Do I look good?"
"Pardon?"
Shiiik.
The trolley rolled forward slightly.
Then—
SPLAT!
His broken right arm smashed into the wall. Blood sprayed.
Desmond recoiled—but his eyes widened.
The wall was glowing.
Orange. Like jellyfish light pulsing in the dark.
'It's reacting to his blood…'
It was hypnotic. Beautiful.
Then a voice broke the trance.
"Hey… Do I look good in long hair?"
Desmond looked again.
And finally saw him.
Long, bloodied yellow hair hanging low.
A small smirk on his face.
Cold blue eyes staring from the shadows.
Those eyes didn't see him—they dissected him.
Desmond didn't answer. He couldn't.
He felt it.
'If I say the wrong thing… these walls might close in on me.'
And the silence in the cell... was louder than ever.
******************************************