How many days had passed since he'd been trapped in this cave? He'd lost count of everything. It might have been months already—time seemed to move both quickly and slowly at the same time. What he didn't realize was that he'd been staring at the endless abyss of the ceiling for far too long.
His number one enemy right now was boredom. There was nothing to do but wait. From time to time he moved his body to build strength, swinging his sword and even the bone weapons he'd made from the mutated rat. The thinner end he'd sharpened into a stake, while the bulging part—the bone spur—he used as a blunt weapon. It would definitely bruise someone if enough force was applied.
Training with his current weapons was his only way of keeping his sanity in check. If he didn't do something, well, he already knew what would happen next. So he tried to keep himself busy.
He practiced, exercised, ate, shit, slept, and thought about what to do next. Those were his only options. He managed his rations well since he didn't know how long he'd be here, and he was still too afraid to leave the sanctuary.
One thing he did notice, though, was that he needed less food nowadays. Or was it just him? His stamina and strength had also greatly improved. Since he'd started exercising regularly, he could do way more pushups than before.
He could even lift slightly heavier rocks now. He'd been shocked when he discovered this some time ago. It happened when he was trying to improve the sanctuary's appearance—making it more organized and humanized. There was a rock blocking his view that he thought was a hassle.
He tried to move it even though he knew he couldn't, since it was big enough to weigh hundreds of kilograms. But he had some pride as a man, and his ego was pushing him to try it if he was man enough. He got mad at himself as it egged him into doing something ridiculous.
"Are you fucking crazy, you bastard? Do you even see what I'm looking at right now?"
He asked himself, but there was no actual reply—it was all inside his head.
"What? You think I'm not manly enough? I'll fucking show you then, bastard! Just watch me!"
He shouted at the empty room. "I'll show this asshole who he's messing with."
He readied himself to do the impossible. Placing both hands on the stone, he put every bit of strength behind it, even pushing with his entire body.
But when the massive boulder actually moved, he was shocked as hell.
"What the fuck? Huh? Did I just move that boulder?" He looked to his left as if seeing someone who wasn't there. "I know you saw it too, right? I moved it, didn't I? Have I been this strong the whole time? What the hell?"
The shift from self-doubt to boasting was pretty comical. He laughed and talked to himself, giggling like a truly insane person. That had happened a few hours ago—or was it already days? He didn't know.
But at least he knew he could push a boulder that size now. Whether it would be useful or not would depend on how things continued to change for him. He was still that weak-willed and cowardly individual who doubted himself at every turn. Yet he was also the same person who'd lived through all of this and survived.
The changes were subtle but undeniable. His body felt lighter, more responsive. When he swung his broken sword, it moved faster through the air. When he did his daily exercises, he barely broke a sweat doing routines that used to leave him gasping.
But his mind remained the same clusterfuck of anxiety and self-doubt. Even as his body grew stronger, his thoughts still raced with worry and fear. He still jumped at shadows, still felt his heart pound when he heard noises from outside the sanctuary.
"Maybe I'm just getting used to this place," he muttered, doing another set of pushups. "Maybe I'm not actually stronger. Maybe I'm just going crazy and imagining shit."
But the boulder had definitely moved. His clothes fit differently now—looser in some places, tighter in others as his body changed. The rat meat lasted longer because he genuinely needed less food to feel satisfied.
Something was happening to him, but he couldn't figure out what. And honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Knowledge meant responsibility, and responsibility meant making decisions. Benny had always preferred ignorance when it came to things he couldn't control.
So he kept exercising, kept talking to himself, and kept avoiding the world outside his little safe zone. Even with his growing strength, he remained fundamentally himself—a coward who happened to be getting mysteriously more powerful.
In his complicated individuality, he was someone who, like everyone else, just wanted to live. The fact that he was apparently becoming capable of more than just surviving was both terrifying and oddly comforting.
At least if those roaches came back, maybe he'd have a better chance of not becoming bug food or were they even real? No, none of it matters.