Darkness did not leave all at once.
It thinned.
Slowly.
Canta became aware of something before he fully woke—pressure in his head, a dull weight behind his eyes, and a faint, distant ringing that refused to settle. His breathing felt uneven, as if it didn't belong entirely to him yet.
Then—
light.
Not bright. Not clear.
Blurred.
He opened his eyes, but the world didn't follow. Shapes stretched and bent, edges dissolving into each other. He blinked once. Twice.
The blur remained.
A metallic scent lingered in the air. Cold. Dry.
He tried to move.
A faint clink responded.
Bars.
His vision sharpened just enough to confirm it—thin metal rods, vertical, enclosing him in a narrow space. A cage.
Canta sat still.
Not out of fear.
Not exactly.
More like—
calculation.
His thoughts were slow at first, as if passing through something thick. He inhaled, held it for a moment, then exhaled.
Again.
Gradually, the world began to settle.
The walls in front of him came into focus.
And then—
something else.
Words.
Not written cleanly. Not painted with care.
Scratched. Overlapped. Repeated.
You can't change yourself.
The phrase appeared again and again across the surface, layered in different sizes, some faint, others carved deeper into the material beneath. It wasn't just writing.
It felt—
forced.
Canta's gaze lingered on it.
For a moment, the words didn't feel external.
They felt familiar.
Then the clarity returned.
He blinked again.
On the opposite wall, beyond the bars, another marking stood out—larger, darker, deliberate.
FERK.
Painted.
Bold.
Unhidden.
Canta didn't react immediately.
He simply observed.
Ten minutes passed.
Or maybe less.
Time felt uncertain.
"Hey, bro."
The voice came from beside him.
Canta turned his head slightly.
A boy sat there, leaning against the bars, one leg stretched, the other folded. He looked younger—fourteen, maybe. Black hair, slightly messy, eyes that carried a strange mix of alertness and forced ease.
"Don't think too hard about dinner," the boy said casually. "I can guarantee you one thing."
A short pause.
"You've been kidnapped."
Canta looked at him.
"Oh," he said. "You're here."
The boy stared at him.
"…You didn't notice?"
"No."
The boy let out a quiet laugh.
"Don't try to act all calm," he said. "I know you're shaking inside."
Canta considered that.
Should I go along with this?
"Yes," he said after a moment. "Maybe I am."
The boy tilted his head.
"But your eyes don't match that," he said. "They look… almost dead."
He leaned forward slightly.
"What are you? Some kind of movie protagonist?"
"No," Canta replied. "I was born like this."
The answer came flat.
Unchanging.
The boy watched him for a second longer, then shrugged.
"Alright, then."
A pause settled between them.
Canta spoke first this time.
"What's your name?"
"Louis," the boy said. "And you?"
"Canta."
Louis nodded.
Then, without much buildup, Canta added—
"This is probably one of the worst phases of my life."
Louis raised an eyebrow.
"Only one of?"
Canta continued, his tone steady.
"I came to a new city. Failed to interact with people. And now I've been kidnapped."
A small pause.
"What a sequence of events."
There was no exaggeration in his voice.
No frustration.
Just—
statement.
Louis let out a breath.
"Yeah," he said. "Sounds about right."
Then he leaned in slightly.
"You want to escape?"
Canta looked at him.
"How?"
Louis pointed upward instinctively—
then stopped.
There were no vents in the ceiling.
Only solid concrete.
"…Not from here," he corrected. "But outside. In the hallway. I saw them."
Canta followed his gaze toward the open doorway beyond the bars. Faintly, past the dim light, something metallic could be seen higher up along the corridor.
Ventilation ducts.
Louis continued—
"They'll move us. Tomorrow. Or the day after."
He lowered his voice slightly.
"When that happens… I run. I reach the blind spot I saw when they brought me in. Then I climb into the ducts."
Canta listened.
"And then?"
"I hide," Louis said. "And I keep moving."
Canta's expression didn't change.
"Wouldn't that be reckless?" he asked. "Running in a place like this… wouldn't it just get you killed?"
Louis smiled faintly.
"Yeah," he said. "Probably."
A short pause.
"Success rate's maybe one percent."
He leaned back.
"But I'm still doing it."
Canta didn't interrupt.
"If I stay," Louis continued, "I'll either get sold, cut open, or disappear somewhere worse."
His voice didn't break.
"I don't like those options."
Silence followed.
Then—
"You coming?"
Canta looked at the floor briefly.
"No," he said. "Not now."
A pause.
"But I'll think about it."
Louis nodded slowly.
If he comes… my chances increase.
The thought passed through Louis's mind quietly.
Ten percent, maybe.
His eyes flickered toward Canta.
And if needed… I can use him.
There was no hesitation in that thought.
I have to get out.
A faint image surfaced—
his mother.
Unfinished words.
I need to say them.
He looked away.
Footsteps approached.
Heavy.
Measured.
Both boys turned toward the entrance.
Two figures appeared.
One stood tall—close to 190 centimeters. Broad shoulders, dark clothing blending into the dim environment. A mask covered his face completely. Brown hair fell slightly over the edges of it.
The other was younger.
Around twenty-seven.
Black hair. Sharp features.
But his eyes—
red.
Not naturally.
They seemed to reflect light differently, almost glowing faintly under the dim surroundings.
The masked man spoke first.
"So," he said, his voice low. "This is the one she managed to bring in this time."
Canta's gaze shifted slightly.
She?
A thought flickered.
Erina?
He didn't react outwardly.
The red-eyed man didn't speak.
He simply looked at Canta.
Studied him.
Too closely.
Then—
a slight movement of his eyebrow.
"Let's go," he said calmly. "Inspection's done."
A pause.
"We move them to the capsules tomorrow."
Louis's posture stiffened slightly.
The masked man nodded.
"Alright."
They turned.
Left.
The footsteps faded.
Silence returned.
As they stepped out, the red-eyed man paused briefly at the doorway. His gaze lingered on Canta, sharper this time, almost recognizing.
"It's… interesting," he said under his breath, just loud enough to be heard. "Seeing someone familiar end up here."
Then he turned and walked away without another word.
---
Night settled slowly over the holding area, though it was difficult to tell time in a place where light never truly changed. The dim artificial glow remained constant, casting faint shadows across the cold floor and rusted bars.
Louis had already fallen asleep.
He lay curled slightly to one side, his breathing uneven but steady enough to suggest exhaustion had taken over. Canta, however, remained awake.
He lay flat on the cold floor, staring upward.
The surface beneath him was hard, unwelcoming—yet strangely familiar.
Sleeping on the floor… again.
The thought passed through his mind without much weight. There was no discomfort in his expression, no visible resistance. Only a quiet acceptance.
After a while, he closed his eyes.
He opened them again.
But the place had changed.
He was no longer in the cell.
He stood inside a room.
His room.
It was smaller than he remembered, yet filled with the same quiet clutter. Books were scattered across the table and floor—some stacked, others left open, as if abandoned midway through thought. The air felt still, untouched.
A faint light filtered in through the window.
Canta stood still for a moment, observing.
Then he moved.
He walked toward the door and placed his hand on the handle.
He turned it.
It didn't open.
He tried again, slightly harder this time.
Still nothing.
There was no sound from the other side. No presence. Just resistance.
He let go.
Without reacting further, he turned and walked toward the chair near the table, sitting down slowly.
The silence remained.
Then—
A faint sliding sound broke it.
He looked toward the bottom of the door.
A metal tray had appeared, pushed in through a narrow gap.
Food.
He stood up and walked toward it.
The tray was cold to the touch. The food looked plain, almost colorless.
He picked it up and took a bite.
No taste.
No smell.
Just texture.
He chewed slowly, as if confirming something.
Then he stopped.
He turned toward the window.
Outside, there was almost nothing.
Darkness stretched endlessly, layered with faint fog that blurred whatever might have existed beyond it. No movement. No sound.
He stared for a few seconds.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
The screen lit up.
A lock screen.
He tried to unlock it.
Once.
Incorrect password.
Again.
Incorrect.
He paused.
Then tried again.
Still incorrect.
"I forgot…" he murmured softly.
The words felt natural.
As if expected.
He lowered the phone slightly and looked at the wallpaper.
A bright sun.
Light radiating outward in soft, almost spiritual waves. It didn't match the rest of the room—the emptiness, the stillness.
It felt out of place.
He looked at it for a moment longer.
Then, without further thought, he walked to the bed and lay down.
Sleep came immediately.
"Hey—"
A voice cut through.
"Hey bro… wake up."
Canta's eyes opened slowly.
The ceiling returned.
The dim light. The bars. The smell of metal.
Reality.
Louis stood near him, slightly bent forward.
"It's morning," he said. "They gave us breakfast."
Canta blinked a few times, his vision still adjusting.
"Okay," he replied quietly.
He didn't move immediately.
For a few minutes, he remained as he was—somewhere between sleep and awareness. Then, gradually, his body responded.
He sat up.
The tray of food was placed nearby.
He picked it up and began eating.
The taste was the same.
Flat.
Unremarkable.
As he ate, footsteps approached.
Two guards stopped in front of the cell.
"You'll be taken out in four hours," one of them said, his tone casual.
"Enjoy your last four hours."
The other laughed.
Then they left.
Their footsteps faded into the distance.
Silence returned.
Canta continued eating as if nothing had happened.
Louis sat across from him, watching.
After a while, Canta spoke.
"Hey… weren't you planning to escape?"
Louis looked at him.
"Yeah," he said.
"How?" Canta asked, his voice neutral.
"They'll probably take us out with handcuffs, right?" Louis replied. "So I just need one moment. A gap."
Canta didn't interrupt.
"When they move us," Louis continued, "I'll wait. If I get the chance—or make one—I'll break away and run to that blind spot I told you about."
He gestured vaguely, as if mapping it in his head.
"There's a large dustbin there. I'll hide inside it. They'll search the area, but if I stay quiet, they'll move on."
He paused briefly.
"After that, I'll come out, unscrew the ventilation duct, and get inside."
Canta looked at him.
"And the screws?" he asked.
Louis smirked slightly and pulled out a spoon from his pocket.
"Took it during meal time," he said. "Didn't think they'd notice."
Canta observed it for a second.
"Not bad," he said.
His tone remained unchanged.
Five minutes passed.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence became noticeable—thick, almost uncomfortable.
Then Canta broke it.
"I don't know anything about you," he said. "Tell me something."
Louis shrugged.
"Same goes for you."
Canta thought for a moment.
Then he spoke, his voice steady.
"I'm just… an average boy. Lived an average life. Came to this city for university."
He paused briefly.
"Then I got kidnapped."
That was it.
Louis listened.
Then nodded.
"Same," he said.
"Normal life. Went out one day."
He leaned back slightly.
"Got abducted."
No elaboration.
No detail.
Just a statement.
Both of them understood.
Neither of them wanted to say more.
Louis glanced at him once, then looked away.
He doesn't want to talk about it, he thought.
Then, almost immediately—
Neither do I.
Louis's expression tightened for a moment, his gaze drifting away as if something far off had surfaced in his mind. He briefly remembered the day he argued with his parents, shouting that they always treated him the same, before storming out and declaring he would never return home again.
The silence returned.
But this time, it felt different.
Not empty.
Just… accepted.
Four hours remained.
And neither of them knew what was waiting inside the fog of the bunker.
Good—this is a smarter version. You're fixing realism and adding control from the antagonist without making it obvious. I'll remake the scene with:
subtle foreshadowing (not explicit explanation)
alarm triggered (raises stakes)
guard noticing the dustbin
hidden command via earpiece (Bluetooth)
red-eyed character in control without saying too much
Canta and Louis sat in silence, the weight of time pressing down around them.
"I'll go with your plan," Canta said.
Louis looked at him, surprised for a fraction of a second.
Canta's face remained calm. His eyes did not change.
Louis nodded once. "Then don't hesitate."
Footsteps echoed.
The guards returned.
"Move."
The cell door opened with a metallic scrape.
Cold air from the corridor slipped inside.
They were handcuffed again and pushed forward.
The hallway stretched long and hollow—damp walls, flickering lights, the faint hum of something mechanical hidden beyond sight. The air smelled sterile, but underneath it… something rotten lingered.
They walked.
Step. Step. Step.
Louis's fingers tightened behind his back.
The spoon was still there.
The small stone rested in his palm.
Timing.
He waited.
The corridor widened slightly.
Now.
He flicked the stone backward.
It hit the ground with a sharp crack.
Both guards turned.
In that instant—
Canta moved.
A precise kick. Low. Controlled.
The guards collapsed off balance, crashing against the floor.
"Run."
They ran.
Footsteps thundered through the corridor, their breathing uneven but fast. The flickering lights seemed to stutter as they passed beneath them.
Behind them—
"HEY—!"
A shout.
Then—
A sharp electronic buzz.
An alarm.
It spread instantly through the corridor, a piercing, rhythmic sound that filled the space and echoed endlessly.
Not subtle.
Not quiet.
This time, they knew.
They were being hunted.
Louis didn't stop.
"Keep moving!"
They reached the blind spot.
The dustbin.
Without hesitation, they climbed inside.
The smell hit harder this time—wet decay, suffocating, thick enough to choke.
They pulled the lid down.
Footsteps approached.
Closer.
Slower.
One of the guards stopped.
Right outside.
Canta's breathing slowed.
Louis froze completely.
A pause.
Then—
A faint sound.
Not from the corridor.
From the guard.
A low voice, barely audible—filtered, as if coming through something small.
"…don't follow."
A second of silence.
"I'll catch them."
The guard didn't move.
Didn't open the bin.
Just stood there.
Then stepped away.
Footsteps faded.
The alarm continued.
But something about it felt… distant now.
Like noise meant for others.
Louis opened the lid slightly.
"They're gone," he whispered.
Canta stepped out first.
The duct was still above them.
"Quick."
They moved into position.
Canta steadied himself.
Louis climbed onto his shoulders.
The spoon came out.
The first screw resisted.
He forced it.
A faint metallic click.
The alarm echoed over it.
Second screw.
Third—
Voices in the distance.
Running.
Searching.
But not here.
Not yet.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Sweat dripped from his chin.
The last screw—
It slipped once.
He tightened his grip.
Turned.
It loosened.
The cover shifted, hanging unevenly.
"Go," Canta said.
Louis pulled himself up, disappearing into the darkness of the duct.
Then he reached down.
Canta followed.
The metal surface scraped softly under his weight.
The cover below them tilted, barely holding.
They paused.
No reaction.
Only the alarm.
Louis moved forward.
The space was tight, suffocating. Every movement produced a dull scraping sound against metal.
"Finally…" Louis whispered. "I can get out."
His voice carried something new.
Hope.
Maybe arrogance.
Canta crawled behind him, silent.
The air inside the duct felt different.
Colder.
Still.
After a few seconds, Louis slowed.
"…wait."
He stared ahead.
There was something there.
A faint shape.
Not light.
Not shadow.
Something in between.
Canta narrowed his eyes.
"I don't see anything," he said quietly.
Louis didn't respond.
He moved forward slightly.
Then stopped.
Completely.
His body locked.
A chill ran down his spine—sharp, immediate.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Slowly—
he lifted his gaze.
Someone was there.
Not inside the duct.
But aligned with it.
Waiting.
Black hair.
Still posture.
And those eyes—
Black.
Not glowing.
Not exaggerated.
Just… watching.
Unblinking.
"I was wondering," the man said softly, "how long it would take."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
It didn't compete with the alarm.
It didn't need to.
Louis couldn't move.
His breath caught in his throat.
Canta felt it too.
That pressure.
That unnatural stillness.
His fingers pressed lightly against the metal beneath him.
But his face—
remained unchanged.
Behind them, the alarm continued to scream.
Ahead of them—
silence.
And in that silence, something became clear.
They hadn't escaped.
They had been allowed to move.