Traitor

Noa's footsteps echoed through the narrow corridor she had blindly sprinted down moments ago.

Her breaths were sharp and ragged, chest heaving, the panic still clawing at her ribs like a beast refusing to let go.

She stopped.

Leaning against a wall, pressing her hand to her racing heart.

"Shit… okay. Okay. You're fine now…" she muttered to herself, voice barely more than a whisper. "It's gone. It's not gonna chase you"

But her hand trembled.

Her knees still felt like they were made of liquid.

And no matter how much she tried to breathe, it felt like her lungs were only half-working.

She slowly slid down the wall, sitting against it. Her head hung between her arms, eyes closed as she tried to block out the mental replay of the Warden's footsteps—the way it had moved, the weight of its presence in the air, how it felt like looking directly at death dressed in patience.

Noa shook her head.

"Get a grip, Noa."

"You're not a kid."

"You've been through worse… right?"

She exhaled hard, forcing a bitter laugh out through clenched teeth.

"Victor would probably just call me pathetic for running like that…"

She paused. Then said it out loud this time, like it might help:

"I just… I panicked."

"I got scared."

"But anyone would've, right? That thing—it wasn't normal."

Her voice cracked slightly near the end. She clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold herself together.

"Victor said fear gets you killed…"

She stared down the corridor.

"But pretending not to be scared… that's what actually gets you killed."

Silence.

She looked up, slowly regaining her composure.

"I'm scared. I am."

"But I'm not gonna die here. Not like this. Not alone."

With that, she pushed herself up off the ground, wiping her face with her sleeve and exhaling through her nose.

"The others can't be too far off… we know the mechanics of this phase now. We know the Warden's patterns. I just have to keep calm… stay out of sight… and find someone."

She reached into her pocket, gripping a small utility knife she had gotten from Phase 2. Not much use against a monster like the Warden, but it made her feel just a little less helpless.

"One step at a time. That's all."

She stood still for a moment longer, listening—no sound. Just the hum of the tower walls and the distant, ominous groaning of mechanisms that never slept.

Noa sighed.

Then moved forward—slowly, deliberately, her eyes scanning every shadow, every corner.

Noa kept walking.

The sound of her footsteps was the only thing that dared to break the silence.

One step. Another.

Still nothing.

And for a second, the weight in her chest began to lighten.

Her fingers loosened.

Her shoulders dropped just slightly.

The corridor ahead was empty—gray, cold, and quiet.

"Maybe this prison isn't as bad as I thought," she mumbled, her voice echoing faintly off the walls.

"Maybe it's just the Warden that's the threat… and the rest of this place is just… a maze."

She rubbed her arms to warm herself up as she walked, her eyes flickering across the rows of cells.

"Alright," she breathed, forcing a little confidence into her voice, "Just gotta keep walking. I'll hit that same cell room soon. That's where the others will be."

She kept moving.

But something about the silence started to itch.

Her eyes narrowed a little.

Her pace slowed.

"It feels… too safe right now."

She muttered the words under her breath, scanning the corridor more carefully now. The walls were made of dull, dry concrete—lined with cracks, discoloration, the occasional dark stain that seemed to stretch along the base like dried veins. The overhead lights hummed faintly, but most flickered—casting jittery shadows that danced ahead of her every step.

Each cell door she passed was identical—rows upon rows, side by side, all sealed shut.

Tiny square windows. Thick iron bars. No noise.

No movement.

Nothing.

"Do real prisons look like this?" she whispered. "I've never even seen one up close. Only in shows…"

She glanced left at a cell—then right. Then back.

More of the same. Cold concrete. Metal bars. Shadowed interiors that swallowed light.

Each one empty.

Each one feeling like it could open at any second.

It was disorienting.

Like walking through a dream that didn't know when to end.

"This place is endless…" she said, her voice distant.

Then she blinked.

Caught herself.

"Okay, stop. Don't get distracted."

She slapped her cheek lightly, refocusing.

"It's trying to mess with your head. This phase—this whole tower—it wants you to lose focus."

She glanced ahead again.

The corridor stretched. And stretched. And stretched.

Still no cell-room.

Just more silence.

More darkness.

More of nothing.

But Noa's heartbeat was rising again… slowly.

Because nothing was never just nothing in this place.

Noa froze mid-step.

Her breath caught.

A sound—not her own footsteps—echoed behind her.

Soft. Measured. Human.

Her eyes widened, and she instinctively raised the small utility knife in front of her, her grip tightening around its worn handle.

"Who's there...?" she whispered, voice hushed and cautious.

Nothing answered.

Only the cold hum of flickering lights.

But the footsteps continued. Closer.

She turned slowly, body tensed like a spring ready to snap—until a silhouette emerged through the gray haze of the corridor.

Tall. Calm.

Unbothered by the atmosphere.

Almost... smug.

The shadow stepped forward, and the moment the face came into view—

"Victor?" she said aloud, almost in disbelief.

Victor gave a breathy laugh, one hand raised half-heartedly like someone greeting an old friend after a long walk.

"Oh lord…" he exhaled dramatically.

"I actually thought I was going to be stuck wandering this cursed place forever."

A smile spread across his face—wide, sharp, and not exactly reassuring—but it was Victor. And that was enough.

Noa let out a shaky breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

Her grip on the knife relaxed slightly, though she didn't lower it entirely.

"Thank god," she said, glancing around the corridor again. "It's just you…"

Despite the ever-present unease that clung to Victor like a second skin, he was someone she could trust—at least, for now. His predictions had been spot-on. His insight, unnerving but reliable. He spoke like a man who understood the rules of this place far better than anyone else.

And for Noa, that meant survival.

Even if he sounded like a threat half the time...

Even if he looked like he belonged more in this prison than outside it…

She'd rather be near him than alone.

She let out a tired breath, pushing some hair out of her face.

"You found anything? Any signs of the others?"

Victor tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable.

"Not yet," he said softly. "But if we stay smart… we'll find them. Or they'll find us. Either way, it's better than walking alone."

Noa nodded slowly.

She still wasn't sure if it was relief or dread she felt…

But at least she wasn't alone anymore.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. The air was still cold and dry, every step echoing slightly off the cracked concrete floor. Noa kept glancing at Victor from the corner of her eye. Something about him was... different.

Less intense. Less strange.

"You're… quieter than usual," she finally said, her voice low. "Less cryptic. Less… 'I'm the dark voice of doom'."

Victor gave a soft chuckle, hands casually tucked in the pockets of his coat.

"Yeah?" he glanced over at her.

"Guess I don't always need to sound like the boogeyman."

That caught her off guard. She blinked, not expecting such a direct, normal response.

"So, what—do you do it on purpose? Scare people?" she asked, only half-joking.

Victor smirked, looking forward again. "Maybe. People think twice around someone they don't understand."

"But why make people afraid of you?"

There was a pause. A long one. Then, Victor answered softly.

"Fear keeps people away. And when people stay away… they can't disappoint you."

Noa looked at him, her brow furrowing. That wasn't the kind of answer she expected—but it made a strange kind of sense. Sad, but logical.

"So you do that to push people away?"

"Something like that."

He glanced at her again. "Didn't work on you though, did it?"

Noa smiled faintly. "I mean, you freaked me out at first. Still kinda do sometimes. But… you've been right about a lot of things."

Victor hummed in response, not smiling this time, but there was a softness to his silence. A calm.

For once, his presence didn't feel like a loaded trap.

Just two people trying to make sense of a nightmare.

"You ever think about what you'll do when we get out of here?" Noa asked, curious.

Victor was quiet for a moment again, then replied plainly:

"I don't plan that far. But if I did… maybe I'd just disappear."

"Disappear?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere nobody looks for monsters."

Noa didn't know what to say to that. So she just walked a little closer beside him.

"Well… right now, you're not a monster. You're just Victor."

Victor didn't reply. But in the flicker of a dim ceiling light, Noa thought she saw a real smile tug at the edge of his mouth.

Noa felt a little safer now.

Walking beside Victor like this… seeing him like this… it was jarring in a strange, almost gentle way. His posture was relaxed, his tone casual. There was no unnerving stare, no cryptic smile curling his lips. Just… a person.

She felt a small heat rise in her cheeks.

"Well—" she began, awkwardly scratching her forehead with her index finger, eyes darting to the concrete walls instead of looking at him.

"Why are you acting normal with me?"

Her voice was quiet, uncertain.

Victor gave a lighthearted chuckle, the kind that was so unexpectedly warm it almost made her second guess if this was still the same man.

"You just… feel a little different than other people."

His voice was calm, unforced. "Maybe that's why."

He glanced at her with a grin—not a wicked smirk, but something almost boyish.

"Keep it a secret though."

He winked.

And just like that, he didn't look terrifying anymore.

His eyes weren't gleaming with that ever-present menace. The shadows under his gaze didn't carry threats. His expression was open, his tone steady, his footsteps casual. The usual weight he carried, the way he used to loom or slither into conversations with unspoken meaning—none of it was here now.

Noa watched him quietly for a moment, heart ticking a little faster.

This side of him… it felt rare.

Genuine.

And maybe… just maybe… she didn't want to question it.

So she just smiled faintly, letting the silence settle between them—not awkward, not forced. Just quiet. Two people walking in a place that shouldn't feel this peaceful.

But for now, it did.

But… that was Noa's mistake.

She had been too lost in her thoughts, lulled into a fragile sense of safety by Victor's temporary warmth. She blinked, grounding herself again, and finally paid attention to her surroundings.

They had stopped.

The hallway that once stretched endlessly ahead was… now a wall.

A dead end.

Her steps slowed. She looked around, puzzled.

"Wait…?"

Her brows furrowed as confusion crept in.

"Did we walk in the wrong direction, Victor?"

She turned toward him—he was just behind her.

But Victor didn't answer.

He stood there silently, the comforting presence from moments ago now eerily still. Too still.

Noa blinked. A strange sensation pulled at her chest, an unease creeping up her spine.

"There's a dead end here… maybe we should turn back?"

She tried to keep her voice calm.

"We don't have much time… right?"

Still, Victor said nothing.

His eyes were downcast, his face obscured slightly by his messy hair. Noa took a hesitant step forward, thinking he was maybe disappointed… or frustrated.

She didn't want him to feel that way. Not after how nice he had been.

So she moved closer, reaching out instinctively—

And then Victor looked up.

His lips pulled back into a smile.

But it wasn't the smile from earlier.

It was twisted.

Blood-curdling.

Every inch of his face contorted with something dark and gleeful. A cruel, spine-chilling grin that stretched far too wide to be humanly sincere.

Noa froze.

Her hand, halfway extended, stopped mid-air.

She felt her heart drop.

Victor's eyes—those familiar, terrifying eyes—had returned. Not just gleaming now… burning.

Like a trap slowly snapping shut, Noa realized something too late:

She hadn't wandered to a dead end.

She'd been led.

Noa's voice trembled, her words barely escaping her lips.

"V-Victor…?"

Victor's head tilted, and he smiled wider—mocking, theatrical.

"Oh~ poor Noa~"

His voice danced with cruelty, each syllable coated in venomous playfulness.

"You are sooo~ different," he sang, twirling his fingers dramatically.

"Didn't think my little act would work, huh?"

He chuckled, echoing off the cold concrete.

Noa's heart pounded. She stepped back, utility knife shaking in her hands as she pointed it forward.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" she screamed. "WHAT ARE YOU PLOTTING?!"

Victor only smiled deeper, eyes glowing with lunacy.

He took a single step forward, slow and deliberate.

"Poor little Noa~"

He cooed, like a parent taunting a child.

Then, with a grin, he began to sing each line dripping like poison honey, his voice cracked and off-key, yet strangely rhythmic:

"You're about to die, my dear,

So hush now—no need for fear.

Your soul will drift to skies so high,

While I just stand and watch you cry.

May your breath slow, soft and sweet,

As silence wraps around your feet.

The end is near—just close your eyes…

And I shall gift you sweet demise."

Noa's breath hitched.

Her legs trembled.

That wasn't a threat.

That was a promise.

And the worst part?

Victor… was enjoying it.

Noa couldn't take it anymore. Her hands trembled, her instincts kicked in—

And she charged.

"YOU BASTARD!!"

She lunged with the utility knife, hoping to catch him off guard.

But Victor was ready. Too ready.

In one fluid, vicious motion—

CRACK!

A right hook slammed across her face with monstrous force.

Her skull snapped sideways, crashing against the concrete corridor wall with a sickening thud.

She bounced off it—limp and dazed— a splatter of blood trailing in the air.

Something cracked in her jaw. A tooth clattered to the floor.

Before she could even process the pain—

Victor gripped her by the face.

"Let me help you see things clearly—" he whispered, and with a violent shove, he slammed her head into the wall again.

THUD.

The knife slipped from her hand. Disarmed. Dizzy.

The corridor spun around her.

And then—

She screamed.

A bone-chilling, soul-wrenching scream.

SHUNK.

Victor drove the utility knife straight into her left eye.

Her vision exploded in white-hot pain as she collapsed, both hands clawing at her face, blood pouring down her cheek, the handle of the knife still protruding from her eye socket.

She writhed on the floor, gasping, screaming, choking on her own terror.

Victor stood above her.

Smiling.

Like it was just a performance.

Noa screamed—raw, broken.

Her voice echoed off the walls like a trapped animal.

She stumbled backward, her vision blurred by blood and agony, her palms scraping across the cold floor as she desperately pushed herself away.

Her back hit the wall.

Dead end.

Her breathing quickened—short, panicked gasps.

One eye swollen shut, the other wide in pure horror.

Victor stepped toward her with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

His boots tapped against the ground like a death march.

Still humming. Still singing.

"You can't run~"

His voice was light, almost playful.

"Let's have some fun~"

"This is your end, you are my prey~"

"These are your final moments—make sure to pray~"

He chuckled at the rhyme, the tune completely at odds with the gore.

Noa's body trembled, her mind screaming for an escape—but there was none.

Just a wall.

And him.

She opened her mouth—maybe to beg, maybe to scream again—but no words came out.

Victor leaned in closer, eyes wide with euphoric madness, his voice soft as a whisper:

"Warden's not the only monster down here, Noa."

"Sometimes, monsters wear human skin."

And he smiled.

That smile.

Noa trembled—her body barely holding itself upright as her trembling hands smeared red streaks along the floor, trying to push away from death.

Her back hit the wall. Nowhere left to go.

Victor towered above her, casting a shadow long and cruel. His face was painted in blood, not just from her—but from his truth. The mask was off now. The real Victor had always been beneath the surface.

She blinked, barely able to see him anymore through the swelling and blood clouding her vision. Her breath hitched. Her heart pounded.

And in that moment, all she could think about… was home.

A single tear ran down her good cheek, cutting through the blood like a memory fighting through the fog.

She whispered, cracked and barely audible:

"...Mom…"

A final tether to her world. A final plea for warmth.

Victor tilted his head at the word, eyes wide in manic glee, as if amused by the humanity of it all. As if the word itself was a punchline to a joke only he understood.

He leaned close, his voice now cold—not playful, not musical. Just empty.

"Mothers can't save you here, Noa."

"This place swallows prayers… and spits back silence."

And then—he gripped the handle of the knife still buried in her eye socket.

She gasped sharply—one last sound.

Rip.

A scream tore from her throat like her soul trying to flee her body.

But Victor didn't stop.

He leaned in—close enough that she could see her own horror reflected in his pupils.

"Shhh..." he whispered. "Let me end your suffering properly."

Then with a slow, elegant motion—almost reverent—he drew the blade across her throat.

Blood poured in quiet rivers, down her chest, soaking the floor. Her mouth opened, but no words came. Only gurgles. Only silence.

Noa's eyes stared ahead—not at Victor, not even at the ceiling—just beyond.

As if she were still looking for home.

Victor stood over her as her life ebbed away, humming again.

But it wasn't a lullaby this time. It was just noise.

Detached. Hollow.

He wiped the blade clean on her sleeve, then turned away.

"Goodnight, little lamb," he muttered. "Try not to haunt me."