Ryena's Point of View
It started like any other day. But I spoke to soon because there's suddenly an announcement about new management.
Metal trays clattered against the counter as we lined up in the canteen—gray uniforms, dull eyes, familiar bruises half-fading beneath collars. The kind of morning where the air tasted like boiled cabbage and indifference.
.
I sat at our usual spot near the back, back where the lights flickered and the security cameras often skipped.
The dead zone, as Abby called it.
"A glitch in their perfect little hell," she had said the first time we sat here. "Lucky us."
Hiliana dropped beside me with a lazy sprawl, all legs and attitude, her tray piled with whatever passed for meat today. Abby slid in across from us, already scanning the room with subtle paranoia she tried to hide.
"You okay?" I asked her, mouth half-full of dry cornbread.
"Mm," she mumbled distractedly, her eyes fixed on the eastern side of the cafeteria.
Hiliana leaned closer, voice teasing. "Abby's not looking at the guards, she's looking at Zera again. What's the matter, pretty little hacker? Falling for someone shinier?"
Abby rolled her eyes and stabbed her fork into her food like it owed her money. "Zera drools in her sleep. I clocked her cycle patterns. Not my type."
I snorted, and Hiliana laughed, that low rasp of hers that always sounded a little too dangerous, a little too good.
For a moment, we were just... alive.
No plotting. No running. No blood.
Just three women stealing quiet in the middle of chaos.
Then it happened.
A scream.
Not loud, but sharp—ripped from someone's throat like it had been startled out of them.
Our heads turned as one.
It was Mira. Or rather—it had been.
She was halfway across the cafeteria, mid-step, food tray slipping from her hands and shattering against the floor. Two guards—new ones, faces unfamiliar—had her by the arms. She struggled, wild and wordless, her feet dragging uselessly behind her.
No announcement.
No cause.
No warning.
"What the hell?" Hiliana muttered, standing halfway from her chair.
"Sit," I said quickly, placing a hand on her arm.
She looked at me, fire burning behind her eyes.
"No," I added, quietly, urgently. "Not yet"
The cafeteria fell silent. The guards marched Mira through the double doors leading to the admin wing—restricted access—then vanished like the scene had never happened.
Not a single alarm. Not a single explanation.
I glanced around.
No one else moved.
Not even the older inmates.
They just… kept eating.
Like it was normal.
Like it had happened before.
"I saw her last night," Abby whispered, her voice thin. "She was fine. Laughing. Said she was finally gonna file a complaint against the new nurse."
"Now she's gone," Hiliana said darkly. "And if we ask questions, we'll be next."
I looked around again.
The guards who took Mira—they weren't on the registry. I remembered faces. Always. These two? I'd never seen them before.
The back of my neck itched. Like someone was watching.
Or listening.
We finished our food in silence.
.....
We made our move late that night.
Past lockdown, during the third shift. Abby's calculations said it was our best window—the rotating security sequence dropped surveillance for exactly six minutes in the northeast corridor. Long enough for a breach. If we were fast. If we were lucky.
I didn't believe in luck anymore.
The corridor was colder than the rest of the prison—like the air had been drained of warmth and memory. Abby walked in front this time, her device pinging softly with every new door she bypassed. Hiliana watched our backs, knife hidden in the fold of her shirt sleeve.
I tried not to think about Mira.
Or the others who vanished before her.
We reached the file room.
It wasn't glamorous. Not like some secret lab with glowing test tubes and secret passages. It looked like a school administrator's forgotten office—dusty filing cabinets, creaking floor tiles, a terminal that probably hadn't been updated since the last regime change.
But it smelled wrong.
Like ammonia and old metal. Like death.
Abby moved first, slipping behind the desk and connecting her device to the old terminal. "Five minutes," she murmured. "Just… don't touch anything glowing."
"Copy," Hiliana said, already checking behind drawers and false paneling.
I wandered toward the cabinets. The old ones. The ones still held together by rust and bad tape. I wasn't looking for anything in particular.
Then I saw it.
A label on a black folder, so ordinary it didn't even seem important—until I read the name.
ARDEEN, S. — Primary Authorization, Project OPUS Series.
My lungs froze.
My fingertips brushed the edge of the file before I even knew I was reaching for it.
"Ryena?" Abby called quietly.
But I couldn't answer.
I opened the folder.
Inside—reports. Dozens. Each stamped with RESTRICTED – LEVEL 3.
Clinical trials. Failure rates. Names of test subjects.
All written, signed, and approved by—
Dr. Sereya Ardeen.
My mother.
She was everywhere in these pages. Signing off experiments. Documenting body counts. Recording neurological decay, tissue death, irreversible trauma. Desensitized language that stripped people into numbers.
Test 14. Subject displayed auditory hallucinations after prolonged exposure.
Test 27. Subject resisted sedation, required termination.
Test 43. Cellular mutation achieved. Survival: <3 hours.
—Final approval: S. Valen
I couldn't breathe.
Not because I was afraid.
But because I couldn't understand how the same hands that used to hold me while I cried could write this without flinching.
She wasn't just involved.
She built this.
"Ryena—" Hiliana's voice was closer now, alarmed. "What is it?"
I slowly turned the file toward her, eyes never leaving the words.
She looked.
Then looked at me.
The silence between us filled with ash.
"She's dead, right?" Hiliana asked, uncertain. "Your mom. You said she—"
"She's dead," I whispered.
I turned the next page.
A photo.
My mother—young, confident, in a white lab coat—smiling at the camera with that same slight tilt of her head she always did when she knew something no one else did. Her arm rested beside another figure.
Tall.
Bald.
Wearing a uniform marked: Director K.
My breath caught.
Him.
The man in my nightmares. The one who came the night before they arrested me.
"Who is that?" Abby asked.
"I don't know," I lied. Because I did know.
I just couldn't remember how.
.....
Then, the intercom above us sparked to life.
It hadn't made a sound in weeks.
The crackle buzzed, followed by static, then a voice. Smooth. Male. Terrifyingly calm.
∆"To all personnel: please be advised that, effective immediately, Warden Elric has been relieved of duty. Salrex Prison Complex now falls under full directive control. OPUS\_47 authorization is in effect."
A pause.
Then:
∆ "Welcome your new Overseer."
The transmission cut.
Abby froze. "That wasn't pre-recorded."
I nodded, folding the file and shoving it into my uniform.
Because my mother was gone.
But her legacy was alive.
Why did my mother join this shady shit, What is she thinking for god sake. I don't know anymore, What is she hiding from me. I want to know. Is this the reason why she's dead? Does my shity Ex know about this?