They reached a vast shaft, at the center of which hung a massive wooden platform suspended by thick, grease-slicked cables.
An immense wheel, turned by two emaciated slaves in chains, began its slow rotation. With a groaning protest, the platform began its descent into the dark.
"Look," the guard said, pointing downward as they dropped.
Kira forced his head up.
Deep below, in the flickering, uncertain light of oil lamps, a human anthill seethed. Hundreds of shadows in grey tunics moved with a synchronicity so terrifying they appeared to be parts of a single, colossal, many-armed organism.
The ringing in Kira's ears momentarily subsided, replaced by a sound: the rhythm of a thousand hands repeating the exact same motion.
"This is..." Kira tried to force the words through his broken lips.
He leaned over the edge of the platform. Deep beneath them, in the light of smoldering lamps, stretched a gargantuan hall. He saw a man standing in a corner, methodically—at perfect intervals—slamming his head against the stone wall.
"Those are the ones who didn't know when to shut their 'I' up," the guard chuckled.
In the Red Sector, the fighters had been vibrant, powerful personalities. Here... Kira felt a genuine chill. The people below had no faces. Their movements were perfectly precise.
They simply... functioned.
Compared to them, Kira—with his simmering rage and fragments of dreams—looked like a glitch. An error.
"From this moment, you are Number 4-015," the guard said. "Forget about being human. In the Fourth Sector, the 'Circle' awaits you. You will repeat the same action, over and over."
"Your cell is number fifteen," the guard added, shoving him in the back. "And one more thing. The Instructor asked to pass this along."
He pulled a small book in a worn leather binding from his tunic. Kira lunged for it, clutching it like a lifeline.
"He said, since you're so desperate to understand what they're doing to you—read. But be warned: knowledge only makes the breaking more painful."
Kira was left standing in the dust. The book burned his fingers. Around him, hundreds of shadows continued their endless, silent labor. He looked at the cover, where a symbol of five interlocking rings was embossed.
Carminucleus: The Path of the First Breach.
The lift platform ascended, leaving Kira in the gloom. Behind the man sitting at the entrance stretched the infinite hall, where hundreds of shadows lifted and dropped rusted beams in perfect unison.
The man at the desk didn't even lift his head. He methodically pressed his fingers into his temples, wincing at the light of the smoky lamp. On his chest hung a crooked tag: "1-001."
"Another one..." He rubbed the bridge of his nose as if trying to squeeze the last remnants of pain from his skull. "Number. Quick."
"Four-zero-fifteen," Kira swallowed, feeling the greasy dust settle on his tongue.
"Fifteenth, then. Listen up. My head's about to split, so I'm not going to spoon-feed you. See those dolls in the hall? Do what they do. Lift. Drop. Lift. Drop."
"Just keep moving. If you start acting smart or 'looking for yourself,' you'll burn out in a week. Your brains will literally boil and leak out of your nose. We don't need those kinds here."
Kira looked away. Behind the man, the shadows continued their work. The beams rose and fell in a singular rhythm, as if the entire hall were one giant machine. He searched their faces for something familiar.
In the Red Sector, among those arrogant bastards, Kira had seen glimmers of pride. The Masters there seemed like an extension of the strength he had been trained for—cold and dangerous, but undeniably alive in their will.
But here... the shadows had no will.
When one of them stumbled and collapsed, dropping his beam, the others didn't even break rhythm. They simply stepped over him. The fallen man didn't scream; he just went still, staring at the stone floor with eyes that held no fear of death.
"They..." Kira's voice cracked. "Why was I sent here?"
The Overseer didn't answer immediately. He rubbed his temples slowly, as if the question had spiked his migraine to the limit.
"Because there are too many thousands like you," he said drily, still not looking at the boy. "And everyone thinks they need an explanation, a reason. Don't overcomplicate it, Fifteenth. You were sent down here, which means you didn't pass above. That is enough."
He waved a weary hand toward the dark maw of the corridor. "Get to your cell. Don't linger."
Kira turned to leave, but something made him freeze. A question hammered in his mind, demanding release, but the right words slipped away, crumbling into dust. Words weren't enough to describe the horror he saw in their empty movements.
The Overseer opened his eyes for a fraction of a second. "Because it works," he said quietly.
Then he closed his eyes again.
Kira trudged down the narrow corridor until he found the number "15" carved into the stone. The cell was like a coffin, forcing him to hear every thud of his own heart.
He collapsed onto the bunk, no longer feeling his own weight. The pain in his jaw pulsed in time with his heartbeat, turning his thoughts into a jagged mess.
Why...
Me here... The pits...
They... so... empty...
His mind begged for an unconscious escape. Just to close his eyes, fall into the dark, and forget the clank of metal behind the wall. He wanted to return to those alleyways where everything was simple: steal, run, survive. Why hadn't they sent him back to the pits? Why this theater with the Red Sector and the "remake"?
Questions piled upon one another, overloading his consciousness. Kira was already slipping into a painful oblivion. He had completely forgotten the book the guard had thrown at him. Right now, it was just a useless piece of leather at his side.
But sleep was not destined to come.
Kira felt a strange movement. His right hand slowly crawled across the straw. His fingers found the rough binding.
He froze, watching it from the outside. There was no command in his head to "take the book." His mind still demanded sleep. But the muscles contracted on their own. Kira mentally ordered his fingers to release, tried to tense his forearm to push the book away.
Nothing.
His hand ignored his will. His fingers gripped the cover tightly and pulled the book toward his face.
Surprise flared and immediately died out, replaced by a dull bewilderment. He had already seen this in the training hall. He knew his body was a traitor. But seeing it choose for itself what to "study" while he was dying of exhaustion... it was almost nauseating.
Kira exhaled, feeling his throat prepare itself for reading, his pupils dilating to catch the dim light from the corridor. Resistance was futile. His body had decided for him.