Reality

I took my tray and returned to my spot in the corner, deliberately distancing myself from the somewhat raucous group of inmates who were already digging into their meals.

The dimly lit cell felt suffocating, but familiarity had settled in among us. We had grown accustomed to the monotonous routine and the unappetizing meals that awaited us.

As I sat in the corner, my tray untouched, I observed the dynamics of the cell around me.

I noticed the gloomy inmate with the curly hair glancing longingly at the food. Hunger and resignation were evident in his eyes. His gaze lingered on my tray for a moment, and then he averted his eyes, focusing on his own blanketed lap.

It seemed he had no intention of eating, as he hadn't even bothered to collect his food tray. However, a few moments later, an orange-clad inmate approached him and placed a tray beside him, his nervous eyes betraying a mix of fear and subservience.

The unspoken hierarchy within the cells was palpable. The gloomy inmate didn't even need to ask for assistance; it was offered without a word.

* * *

Refocusing on my own tray, I took a bite of the porridge, finding it as tasteless as ever.

As I continued to eat the tasteless porridge, the cell remained enveloped in an atmosphere of silence. Conversation was minimal, with only sporadic exchanges and the clattering of utensils against trays breaking the monotony.

With each spoonful of the bland porridge, I contemplated the true reason behind our relocation. Was it really just a malfunction that led to the flooding of the lower floors, or was there a more sinister truth hidden from us?

'For such a valuable exchange, only that man could be useful…'

Having such a thought, I glanced at the man who might have the answer to my dilemma.

His eyes, as always, were searching for opportunities. He had already finished his meal, yet a discontented expression clouded his face, a hunger that went beyond the physical nourishment.

Suddenly, with a swift and calculated movement, he snatched a piece of bread from an unsuspecting inmate's tray, the act executed with practiced precision.

'Was he a chain snatcher?' That was the first thought that came to my mind after seeing his act.

Caught off guard, the victimized inmate stared in disbelief at the theft unfolding before him, a mix of shock and indignation playing across his features.

"What are you—" he started to rebuke, but as he caught the wiry inmate's cold stare, his voice trailed off, and he slowly lowered his hand, defeated.

His head turned down, he wanted to fight back, yet he couldn't afford to do so.

The wiry inmate was clad in orange jail attire, which means he was also an inmate from the upper floor—just like them?

Then why was the victimized inmate afraid to protest?

Well, even the upper floor follows a silence hierarchy, the wiry inmate was from the lowest upper floor—the fifth floor.

I could tell that from the shade of orange he was wearing.

He was someone who had committed more criminalized acts compared to those who actually belonged to the second upper floor.

The hierarchy couldn't be taken lightly even in the upper floors.

Still, this doesn't mean the victimized inmate wasn't discontent and aggrieved from what happened to him.

Just from the tension in his body language, I could tell how much he wanted to take his bread back. His shoulders were tense, and his fists clenched at his sides, a silent display of his inner turmoil and frustration. Though his head was down, the anguish in his posture spoke volumes about his desire to reclaim what was rightfully his

'How long could he endure this torment before breaking?'

I was certain that the victimized inmate would revolt at some point.

Hunger can drive even the most loyal to betray their principles.

"You, come here." I simply called out and gestured the wiry inmate over to my side.

My tone was casual.

I couldn't help but smile when I looked at how confused he looked when he first saw my gesture.

'That was the first.' I mused inwardly.

Slowly but surely, he made his way over to my side, his posture slightly hunched, as if acknowledging my higher position. "Ah, yes. What can I help you with—Ah, umm, Sir?" he asked, trying to put on a show with his yellowing teeth sparkling.

"Sit here," I said, gesturing to the spot beside me.

He complied immediately, seating himself next to me as I continued eating my tasteless meal. I could see that my presence was making him uneasy, his eyes darting around nervously, trying to gauge my intentions.

"What was the reason you were transferred here?" I inquired, genuinely curious about his situation.

His eyes averted at the question, clearly hesitant to answer truthfully.

"Don't try to evade the question. Tell me what you know," I said firmly, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it into my porridge. "I appreciate honesty."

His gaze lingered on me, as if he was considering whether to trust me or not. I decided to add a few words of manipulation, hoping to expedite the process.

"Entering my bad books won't do you any good. You've already upset the man from the lower fourth floor, and even your presence seems to irk him. Adding me to the list would be a foolish choice," I said calmly.

I could see the tension on his face, and he nervously looked around the room, clearly torn between his opportunistic nature and the potential consequences of staying silent.

"On the other hand, if you speak the truth—considering the importance I place on honesty—you might become a favorite of mine. What do you say?" I pressed, giving him a clear choice.

His eyes flickered with indecision, and he shifted uncomfortably at his spot, his fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the tray.

"I am not very patient, so make a choice—Now," I urged, pushing him further.

Nodding his head, he finally began to speak.

"I, uh... I heard some rumors about... about something happening in the lower floors," he stammered, still clearly nervous about revealing too much.

"And, well, I thought it would be safer to request a transfer to the upper floors."

"Using your connections?" I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

He hesitated for a moment before answering, "Let's just say I know how to get what I need."

I sensed that he wasn't divulging the full story, but I decided not to press him further at the moment.

Leaning forward, I tried to hide my growing concern. "Tell me more about what's happening in the lower floors."

His eyes darted around anxiously before he sighed, deciding to share the information. "It's not just rumors. There's something dark and dangerous spreading down there, like a cursed plague. The guards and higher-ups are trying to contain it, but it's getting worse."

"Miasma," I murmured, realizing the gravity of the situation. "Could it be the dark magic surge we've been warned about?"

"It's possible," he replied cautiously. "I can't say for sure, but I'd rather be safe up here than risk my life down there."

With that, he seemed to let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, as if relieved to finally share the burden of this troubling knowledge.

I turned my attention back to him and asked, "By the way, what's your name?"

A glimmer of surprise appeared in his eyes. "You can call me Renn," he responded, a touch of relief in his voice.

I nodded, acknowledging the information he shared.