The hallway was dead quiet, just the way Jack liked it.
The artificial lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow across the tiled floor. Jack's boots echoed with every step, his body stiff with pain and tension. He had just gotten back from the ring — another fight, another monster released, another victory that didn't feel like one.
His head hurt.
His chest was tight.
The voices had gone quiet… for now.
He just wanted to rest. Even if that meant lying in a cell with a mattress as thin as paper and dreams that always turned into nightmares.
He reached his dorm. Opened the door. Sat on the edge of his bed. The silence was almost comforting — until it wasn't.
Knock. Knock.
Jack's eyes twitched toward the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Louder this time. Slower. Deliberate.
The irritation rose quickly, like a fire lit in his stomach. He stood, fast, the voices in his head twitching awake like hissing snakes.
He opened the door, ready to snap, but what he saw froze him in place.
---
Two guards stood on either side of a thin boy.
The boy wasn't struggling. He wasn't even looking up. His head was down, his shoulders slumped forward like a puppet with its strings cut.
His hair was dark — jet black — falling in uneven, messy waves across his pale face. It almost looked blue under the harsh hallway light, like ink still wet on paper. The strands curled slightly near the ends, untouched by scissors or care.
He wore a gray long-sleeved shirt, too big for him, sleeves pulled past his hands. Bare feet, bruised and pale, touched the cold ground like they didn't feel it anymore.
But what hit Jack the hardest… was the collar.
A thick black steel mouthpiece was clamped tightly around the boy's jaw, bolted at the sides and glowing faintly with a blue light. It was mechanical, almost high-tech — built to silence, to control. There were faint red marks on the skin under it, as if it had been forced on over and over.
The boy's eyes were a soft, cloudy gray, dull but deep. And when he finally looked up at Jack, there was no fear. No hate. Just… quiet.
Like everything inside him had already been screamed out.
---
"New teammate," one of the guards said coldly. "Take him."
Then, they shoved the boy forward.
He stumbled, and Jack instinctively reached out, catching him by the arm. He was light — lighter than he should've been — like a song missing half its notes.
The guards walked away without another word.
The hallway returned to silence.
---
Jack looked at the boy again, this time slower.
Dark hair, hollow eyes, too-small frame.
No shoes. No fight.
Only a weight — something heavy and invisible — pressing down on him.
And the collar… like a prison sealed to his skin.
"…What's your name?" Jack asked.
The boy didn't answer. Couldn't.
Jack's expression darkened slightly. He hated these kinds of games. But the boy didn't look like he was playing one. He looked… empty.
Jack stepped aside. "Come on."
The boy moved without a word, stepping into the room like a shadow, quiet and smooth. He stood near the wall, not near the bed. Not near anything.
Jack sat back down, studying him.
"You a fighter?" Jack asked.
The boy shook his head softly.
Jack narrowed his eyes. "Then what are you doing here?"
No answer. Just the silence again. Jack didn't realize how much he hated it until now.
"You've got a collar," Jack said more bluntly. "So, you must've done something."
The boy slowly reached into his pocket, then pulled out a folded photo. He handed it to Jack carefully.
Jack took it.
Two kids. A guitar. A microphone. Bright eyes. Bright smiles.
Rune and his sister.
Before the collar. Before the blood.
Jack looked up, the weight in his chest twisting.
He handed the photo back.
"I get it," Jack said. "You didn't choose this."
Rune nodded once. Small. Slow.
Jack leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "Neither did I."
The silence in the room lingered like fog — heavy and unmoving.
Jack kept glancing at the boy, who was still standing by the far wall, as if unsure he had permission to sit or breathe. His dark hair shadowed his eyes, and the black collar glowed faintly under the flickering overhead light.
Jack could still feel the boy's weight from when he caught him — not physical, but emotional. That feeling hadn't gone away.
Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. "That thing on your face," he said, voice low, "you want it off, don't you?"
Rune looked at him but didn't move.
Jack pointed at the collar. "Does it hurt?"
A slow nod.
Jack's eyes narrowed at the glowing seams and tiny screws embedded along the sides. It wasn't just a gag. It was a cage — one designed to silence, punish, control.
His fingers twitched.
"You don't belong in that thing," Jack muttered, standing up.
Rune straightened slightly, watching him, uncertain.
Jack raised one hand slowly, palm open — and from the center of his skin, vines began to grow, winding out from under the flesh like living threads. They slid down his arm, green and pulsing faintly with a life of their own. Some ended in small buds, others had fine needle-like tips for precision.
Rune's eyes widened — then snapped in fear.
He backed away from the wall, bumping into the bedframe, his hands shooting up to shield the collar as if Jack were about to strike.
Jack froze.
"Hey—hey. Easy," Jack said quickly, lowering his hand slightly. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Rune didn't respond — just shook his head violently. His breath was picking up, his chest rising and falling faster. His shoulders curled in like he was bracing for a hit.
Jack stepped back, giving him space. "It's not a weapon. Well—okay, sometimes it is. But not now."
The vines retreated a little, curling near Jack's wrists like they were waiting for permission.
"I just want to help," Jack said quietly. "That thing doesn't belong on you. No one should be locked up like that. Not even here."
Rune stood still — trembling, chest shaking, hands still gripping the collar like it might explode if touched.
Jack could see the panic in his eyes. He knew that look. He'd worn it too, in the early days — after the testing, after the pain.
That look of: Don't touch me. Don't help me. Just leave me be before I break again.
Jack exhaled slowly.
"Look, I get it. You're scared. You don't know me, and I've got creepy stuff growing out of my hands. That's fair."
The vines retreated a little further.
"But I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to give you a piece of yourself back."
Rune blinked slowly, still tense — but something in Jack's words seemed to pause his fear. Like he was listening through all the panic.
Jack sat back down, letting the vines curl gently on the floor beside him.
"You don't have to talk," he said. "But nod once if I have your permission."
Rune looked at him for a long moment. Then, with visible hesitation… he nodded.
Jack smiled faintly — not happy, just relieved.
"Alright. I'm gonna do this slow. If it feels wrong, you pull away. Deal?"
Another nod.
Jack raised his hand again, and the vines reached forward — this time slowly, with almost surgical care. They slithered across the collar, wrapping gently around the glowing blue core on the side.
"This part's the battery," Jack muttered aloud, more to focus than explain. "If I can drain it, the rest might come loose without triggering anything."
The vines pulsed — a faint green glow against the cold blue of the collar.
Rune flinched as the vines made contact, but didn't pull away.
"Good," Jack said softly. "Just a little longer…"
With a spark and a faint hiss, the glow in the collar's battery flickered… then dimmed… then died.
Jack leaned closer, summoning thinner, sharper vines. These ones slid into the tiny screw ports and seams, twisting like lockpicks.
"Come on… open up…"
There was a soft click. Then another.
One bolt dropped to the floor. Then two more.
Jack reached forward, not with a vine, but his actual hand.
He looked at Rune one last time.
"You ready?"
Rune hesitated. Then nodded.
Jack gently pulled.
The collar gave a groan of metal—then fell into his hand with a heavy clunk, hitting the floor beside his boot.
Rune gasped — sharp, raw, like air had returned to him for the first time in weeks.
And Jack saw him fully now.
---
Rune's lips were pale and dry, but soft, untouched by words for too long. His jaw had faded bruises across it. His neck was red where the collar had pressed too hard.
But his eyes — now visible, now vulnerable — held something Jack hadn't seen before.
Gratitude.
Pure, unspoken, fragile.
Rune coughed a little — more of a breath reflex than anything — and looked down at the collar on the floor like it was a ghost he wasn't ready to face yet.
Jack spoke first.
"There. Told you I wasn't trying to hurt you."
Rune looked up.
He didn't smile. He didn't speak.
But he met Jack's eyes.
And for someone who hadn't said a single word…
that look said everything.