Maya stood in the empty corridor, her ears were still ringing with the words she had overheard.
"A Jewel. A Weapon. A Queen who will serve the HOLO OF FAIR."
Her eye twitched. She let out a slow, shaky breath—
"These lunatics... they have no idea what they've started,they're talking about making me a queen. Ruling the world. Breaking records. Surpassing Code Blue."
She pressed her palm against her forehead, stifling a hysterical laugh.
"And here I am a five-year-old who nearly passed out from a waltz. I can barely stand after fourteen hours of training. And they think I'm going to conquer the world?"
She shook her head slowly, a twisted smile tugging at her lips.
"I don't even know how to eat fish properly. And they want me to rule nations. What's next? Are they going to make me run a marathon while reciting the Constitution?"
Her smile faded into something darker. "And what else are they going to do to me? More poison? More experiments? More Correction Rooms?"
She let out a hollow, exhausted chuckle.
"At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if they told me I had to fight a dragon tomorrow. Nothing surprises me anymore. Nothing."
[CLICK] The laboratory door slid open with a soft hiss. The Instructor stepped out, her coat billowing behind her like the wings of a carrion bird.
Her amber eyes swept across Maya's tired form with cold detachment. "Subject 17B."
Maya straightened immediately, "Yes, Instructor?"
"You will return to your quarters. Tomorrow, your training continues. Report to the training hall at 04:00 AM sharp. Do not be late."
"Yes, Instructor."
"Good. You are dismissed."
She turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the polished floor like a countdown. Maya watched her go. Then she turned and began walking toward her quarters.
The corridor stretched endlessly before her, bathed in the pale, sterile glow of fluorescent lights.
She passed by other doors—identical—but she didn't look at them. She kept her eyes forward, her mind focused on the path ahead.
Finally, she reached her room. The door slid open with a soft hiss.The room was small but neat. But it was hers.
Maya stepped inside. The door slid shut behind her with a soft click.
For a moment, she simply stood there, her back against the door, her eyes closed. She let out a long, slow breath.
Her body sagged. The tension in her shoulders eased, just slightly. She walked toward the bed. Each step felt like an effort—as if her legs were made of lead.
She reached the edge of the bed and lay back on the bed, her body sinking into the thin mattress. Her eyes drifted toward the ceiling.
Her mind drifted to the night before. "Subject 0016 A... she didn't respond. Not even a single word."
She frowned, staring at the cracks in the ceiling.
"She always answers, even when she's annoyed. Even when she's pretending to be asleep. But last night... nothing."
A knot tightened in her chest.
"Is she okay? Did they take her away? No. She's fine. She has to be fine. She's Subject 0016 A — the one who survived Level Seven. Nothing can break her."
She let out a slow breath. Then, she pushed herself upright.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. She walked toward the wall, her steps slow and deliberate.
She raised her fist and knocked. [THUMP... THUMP. THUMP]
The sound echoed through the silence of her small room. She waited.
Nothing.
She knocked again—harder this time. [THUMP. THUMP. THUMP]
A long pause. Then— A voice exploded from the other side of the wall, sarcastic. "WHAT?!"
Maya blinked. A small smile tugged at her lips.
"Good evening to you, Subject 0016 A."
"It was a good evening—until you RUINED it. I was having a beautiful dream. A dream where I was finally alone."
"A dream, huh? That must have been nice."
"It WAS nice. And now it's GONE. So tell me, Subject 0017 B—why are you bothering me at this ungodly hour?"
Maya leaned against the wall, her voice carrying a hint of exhaustion. "I was worried about you. You didn't respond last night,I thought something happened to you."
A pause on the other side. Then—
"Something did happen. I was SLEEPING. Peacefully. For the first time in WEEKS."
Maya let out a low groan, pressing her forehead against the cold wall."I was worried about you. I thought you might be dead or something. And you were just sleeping?"
"Subject 0017 B, if I were dead, do you really think I'd be able to answer your knock?"
"...Fair point."
"Exactly. Now, let's move on. Tell me— How was the Correction Room? Did they treat you well?"
Maya's eye twitched.
"Oh, absolutely WONDERFUL . FIVE-STAR Treatment. The food was EXQUISITE. The hospitality was UNMATCHED.
I especially enjoyed the waterboarding—it really brought out the color in my eyes."
A beat of silence. Then— "Wait. Waterboarding? They WATERBOARDED you?"
"Among other things .... Electroshock. Sleep deprivation. The works. It was a full package deal."
A long, heavy silence settled between them. Then—
"That's... that's actually horrible. I know I joke about you dying but I don't actually want you to die, I mean not now. You're the only interesting person in this hellhole."
"Wow. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Don't get used to it."
"Too late. I'm already touched."
"I can hear you rolling your eyes."
"That's because I AM rolling my eyes."
A soft, reluctant laugh escaped from the other side of the wall. It was the first time Maya had heard Subject 0016 A laugh—really laugh.
It was rough, rusty, as if it hadn't been used in years but it was real.
"Subject 0016 A... can I ask you something?"
"Ask."
Maya's voice dropped slightly, carrying a note of genuine curiosity. "Is there anyone in this facility who has a healthy mind?
I mean — is there anyone here who's actually sane? Anyone who doesn't have some kind of... issue?"
Silence.
Then, a flat, deadpan response: "No. There isn't a single person in this facility who has a healthy mind. Not one. And if you think there is—you're delusional."
Maya's eye twitched. "That's... that's a bit extreme, don't you think?"
"Extreme? Subject Seventeen, let me ask you something.
Do you know what happens when you put people through endless trauma, sleep deprivation, psychological conditioning and physical torture?"
"They go insane. "
"That's it. Not a single one, Subject 0017 B. Everyone in this facility is completely, utterly, irreversibly insane.
And I'm not just talking about the scientists. I'm talking about the subjects too—especially the Ghosts of Hell . You get a bunch of homicidal maniacs."
Maya's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Subject 0016 A's voice carried a bitter amusement.
"You think you're the sanest ones? You're not. You're all walking time bombs. Especially—"
She paused for effect. "—the ones you THINK are innocent."
"What? "
"Subject 0011. The one who stutters. The one who looks like he'd apologize for breathing. The one you think is so innocent."
"What about him?"
"He's the worst of them all. A wolf in sheep's clothing. Quiet. Polite. Sweet but deep inside.."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He's a ticking time bomb. A complete psychopath waiting to explode."
"HOLY SHIT."
Subject 0016 A let out a slow, almost pitying sigh,
"The first time I saw him, I thought he was harmless. A scared little rabbit who'd been through too much."
She paused.
"But then I started listening—really listening. I heard him whispering to himself at night.
Rehearsing words. Practicing conversations.
And I realized—he's not scared. He's calculating. He hides behind a mask of fear because it makes people underestimate him.
And when people underestimate you—you can strike without them seeing it coming."
"That's... that's a big accusation."
"It's not an accusation. It's a warning. I've heard him talking to himself, Subject 0017 B. I've heard the things he says when he thinks no one is listening."
Maya's voice was barely a whisper. "What does he say?"
"He imagines killing people In graphic detail. He imagines the blood. The sounds. The way their bodies would look when he was done with them.
He says it like he's describing a beautiful painting."
Maya felt a chill run down her spine.
"The first time I heard him, I thought I was imagining it.
But then I heard it again and again. And I realized: he's not just imagining it. He's PLANNING it."
Maya shook her head slowly, struggling to process the information."What the hell…?"
From the other side of the wall came a low, tired chuckle — "Subject Seventeen… that this place isn't what it seems. And neither are the people in it."
~~
Faha let out a low, incredulous whistle, leaning back in his chair.
"Okay... let me get this straight. Subject 0016 A—the girl who literally described how she would kill Maya in poetic, artistic detail—
Just told us that Subject 0011—the stuttering, shaking, 'I'm-so-scared-of-everything' boy—is the REAL psychopath?"
He threw his hands in the air. "AND WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE HER?!"
He shook his head, letting out a hollow laugh.
"THIS IS INSANE!
The girl who literally fantasizes about arranging Maya's body like a work of art is calling Someone ELSE a psychopath!
And she said it with a straight face! Like she's the sane one!"
Fahad rubbed his temples, his expression grim.
"Subject 0016 A is not sane. We all know that. But the way she described Subject 0011—
The way she spoke about his fantasies, masks, his calculated innocence—it was TOO detailed. Too specific."
He paused, his eyes narrowing.
"She's not just guessing. She's been WATCHING him. Listening to him. Studying him. For YEARS. That level of Obsession... it's not normal."
Fahish leaned forward, his voice quiet but sharp.
"Did anyone notice how CALM she was when she described Subject 0011's fantasies? She was... almost... entertained."
~~
"I'm Listening."
"Good things… are not always good. The things that seem kind, gentle, innocent — they're often the most dangerous.
The people who smile the sweetest are the ones hiding the sharpest knives."
"That's… that's dark, Sixteen A."
"Darkness is the only honest thing in this place, Subject Seventeen. The light here is artificial. The warmth is fake. But the shadows? They never lie."
Maya was silent for a moment. Then, quietly she asked: "And what about people who seem normal?"
"Ah. Now that's the most important lesson of all.
If you ever come across someone who seems perfectly normal, who seems balanced, calm, reasonable —
RUN."
"…Run?"
"Yes. Run as fast as you can. Because they are the most dangerous of all."
"Why?"
"Because no one survives this place with their mind intact. No one walks through the fires of Nirvana and comes out the same.
If someone seems normal — it means they're hiding something.
Something so dark, so twisted, that they've learned to wear a mask so perfect that even
they believe it's real."
"So… you're saying everyone here is broken?"
"I'm saying everyone here is playing a role. Some are playing the victim. Some are playing the hero. Some are playing the monster.
And some — the most dangerous ones — are playing the ordinary person."
She paused. "Because no one ever suspects the ordinary ones."
Maya let out a slow breath.
"I've absorbed too much input today. My system is overloaded. I need to process everything—decode, categorize, store.
You should sleep now. Before your sarcasm consumes what's left of my sanity."
A beat of silence. Then, from the other side of the wall—a voice. Rough, sardonic, dripping with theatrical exhaustion.
"Process all you want. Just don't let your 'processing' turn into another one of your dramatic existential crises.
And for the love of the cruel humans who runs this hellhole—no graphic violence fantasies tonight. I can hear you thinking from here. It's disturbing."
Maya's lips twitched—a ghost of a smile, barely there, yet unmistakable.
"Fantasies is your job, not mine. I simply analyze, and survive but if you insist, I'll keep my thoughts aesthetic tonight. No blood. No bones. "
From the other side, a sarcastic chuckle.
"Shadows and silence? That's somehow worse. You're creepy when you're poetic."
Maya tilted her head, her dark hair slipping across her shoulder like a veil of ink.
"You're creepy when you're awake. So we're even. Goodnight, 0016 A."
"Goodnight, you insufferable little genius. Try not to dream of world domination."
"No promises."
🌸
Maya opened her eyes, she was no longer in her small, grey room.
She stood in the heart of an endless garden—Towering roses, rose toward a sky that had no sun.
Only a eternal twilight that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of its own. And at the center of it all—stood a girl. A girl who looked exactly like her.
Maya's breath caught in her throat. Her heart, already racing, seemed to stop entirely. She stared at the figure before her—
The same pale skin, the same hollow, knowing eyes but there was something wrong. Something deeply, profoundly wrong.
Maya tried to step back. She couldn't. Her feet were rooted to the ground. No—worse. She looked down and her blood turned to ice.
Her body was transparent.
She could see through her own hands, her own arms, her own chest. She was fading, dissolving, becoming nothing more than a ghost in her own dream.
She looked up, desperate, terrified. The girl—her mirror was watching her with those same hollow eyes. And then she began to dance.
Her movements were hypnotic— serpentine, inhuman. She swayed like a flame caught in a windless void.
Her arms traced patterns in the air, leaving trails of faint, crimson light that lingered like wounds in the fabric of reality.
Her feet barely seemed to touch the ground. She glided, spun, twisted.Each motion more graceful, more mesmerizing, more wrong than the last.
Maya couldn't look away.
She was trapped—frozen, helpless—watching this other version of herself dance through the endless garden of impossible roses.
The girl moved closer. She stopped directly in front of Maya. Her smile widened, just a fraction.
And then—she raised her hand. Her fingers were pale, delicate, almost beautiful. But they moved with a terrible, deliberate slowness.
She brought her hand down. CRACK.
A sharp, searing pain exploded through Maya's skull. Her vision flashed, the garden twisted, the roses screamed in silence and the girl's laughter echoed through the void like shattered glass.
🌸
Maya's eyes flew open. Her body jerked upright, her hand flying to her forehead, her heart pounded against her ribs like a caged bird.
She was in her room. The small suffocating room. But something was different. She could still feel it,the ghost of that touch, that smile.
She could still see the girl's face, her own face, twisted into something ancient and cruel. Her hand trembled as she pressed her palm against her forehead.
It was just a dream. Just a dream.
But her head throbbed with a pain that felt far too real. She let out a slow, shaky breath. And in the silence of her room, she whispered to herself:
"Who was that?"
[NEXT MORNING, TIME: 6:30 AM ]
The Training Hall was a cathedral of silence and steel. The floor was a sheet of polished obsidian.
Maya stood at the center of it all.
Her small frame was rigid, her posture perfect,
Before her stood the Instructor, her white coat billowed slightly, though there was no wind.
"Subject 17B. Now, you will begin your training in weaponry. You will learn to wield, control and master every instrument of combat that exists within these walls.
You may choose your first weapon. Though I should warn you—you will be trained in all of them, regardless of your choice.
Consider this... a test of your instincts. A glimpse into the mind of a Five Year old."
"Understood, Instructor." She turned and walked toward the far wall.
The Weapon Wall stretched before her like an altar of destruction. It rose from floor to ceiling,
a towering display of gleaming metal.
The light caught the edges of the blades, making them shimmer like frozen fire. The guns were sleek, black, their barrels promising impersonal endings.
The axes were brutal, heavy, their edges hungry for impact. The staffs were smooth, balanced, deceptive in their simplicity.
Swords of every shape and size lined the wall—long, curved, straight, their edges sharp enough to split light itself. Knives glinted in the shadows, thin, serrated, wickedly sharp, designed for precision.
Bows stood tall and elegant, their strings humming with tension.
Maya walked past them all. Her steps were slow, measured. Her eyes moved across each weapon with quiet assessment. She did not stop.
She moved with the quiet certainty of someone who knew exactly what she was looking for—even if she hadn't known it until this moment.
She stopped. Before her, resting on a simple black velvet cushion, lay a single object.
[A THIN, COILED WIRE]
It was made of some dark, matte metal— It was no thicker than a strand of hair. It was coiled into a perfect circle, no larger than her palm, resting on the cushion like a sleeping serpent.
Maya reached out. Her fingers brushed against its surface. It was cold. Smooth. And impossibly strong. It simply... ended things.
She turned to face the Instructor, her voice calm,
"I choose this."
The Instructor's eyebrows rose—just a fraction. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed her cold features, so brief that most would have missed it.
She walked closer, her heels clicking against the polished floor like a countdown, her amber eyes fixed on the thin coil of wire."Interesting choice."
She stopped a few feet away, studying Maya with a new, sharper intensity.
"Most subjects choose the obvious—the sword, the gun, the blade. They seek power they can see, feel, hold.
They want something that screams 'weapon.' Something that announces their strength, their dominance, their will."
She gestured toward the wire, her voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial murmur.
"But you chose this. Tell me, Subject 17B—why this?"
Maya's gaze remained fixed on the wire. Her fingers traced its cold, smooth surface.
"Because it doesn't rely on strength, It relies on precision. It waits for their moment of weakness,
.And when that moment comes—"
She looked up, meeting the Instructor's eyes.
"—it strikes."
The Instructor was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, a thin smile spread across the Instructor's lips. "You are learning, Subject 17B."
She stepped back, her voice returning to its usual sharp, commanding tone. "Pick it up. We begin now."
Maya's fingers closed around the coil. She held it up, letting the thin wire catch the light. It glinted for just a moment. She had chosen her weapon.
A small, knowing smile touched her lips.