Regret

The walls were too white. Sterile. Unforgiving. They reflected the sharp glow of the overhead lights, searing into Zale's eyes as he stared blankly ahead. His vision blurred, the world fading in and out of focus as exhaustion clung to his body like a parasite.

He had been working for the company for years now. At first, it had seemed like a promise—an opportunity to rebuild himself, to leave the past behind and step into something with purpose. He had been desperate, and they'd known it. Their smiles had been kind, their words like honey, each syllable dripping with hope.

But hope was a lie.

They had stripped him of everything. His time. His strength. His will.

The hours were endless. Tasks piling on top of one another until they blurred into a single, crushing weight. Days without sleep. Weeks spent hunched over data sheets and devices that never stopped buzzing, demanding his attention like hungry beasts.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept without the burn of anxiety twisting through his chest. Couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up feeling anything but dread.

Zale's reflection stared back at him from the polished surface of his workstation. His eyes were sunken, ringed with dark shadows that made him look sickly, hollow. His skin was pale, stretched thin over sharp bones. His hands trembled whenever he tried to hold something steady.

It was like his own body had become a stranger, something warped and unfamiliar.

He had become nothing more than a tool. A lifeless shell performing the same tasks over and over again, trying to prove his worth to people who only saw him as a resource to be exploited.

And now he was done.

The decision to quit had come like a sudden break in a storm, a desperate gasp for air when he was already drowning. He couldn't keep going like this. Couldn't keep pretending that the pain would eventually lead to something better.

But as he'd stood before his supervisor, his voice cracking from the effort of holding himself together, the response he'd received had been a smirk. A condescending tilt of the head and a smile filled with mockery.

"You can't just leave, Zale. We own you. Your skills. Your time. Everything you are. You think you can just walk away? That's not how this works."

He had tried to argue, his words weak and broken, but the threats came faster than his pleas. They spoke of contracts and obligations, of repercussions that stretched far beyond the sterile walls of the facility. They painted pictures of suffering, of ruin. Of him losing everything he had tried so desperately to rebuild.

But he refused to bend.

The decision had been made, and even if the fear clawed at his insides, he couldn't go back. He couldn't keep existing like this, his own life nothing more than a series of orders and empty promises.

So he said no.

He'd expected anger. He'd expected retaliation. But what he hadn't expected was the silence. The cold, detached acceptance of his defiance.

"Very well," his supervisor had said, their voice eerily calm. "You've made your choice."

They left him alone after that. Hours passed. Maybe days. He couldn't tell anymore. Paranoia had crept into his mind, staining every moment with suspicion and dread. Every sound felt like a threat, every shadow like an omen of what was to come.

When they came for him, it was in the middle of the night. Rough hands yanked him from his cot, metal cuffs biting into his wrists before he could even process what was happening. His protests were swallowed by the darkness, his voice strangled by panic.

They forced him into a transport van, the air thick with the stench of oil and rust. His heartbeat pounded against his ribs, wild and erratic. He tried to speak, but the gag twisted around his mouth choked his words into nothingness.

The journey was a blur of terror and confusion. Thoughts collided in his mind, splintering under the weight of panic. What were they going to do to him? Was this their way of silencing him for good?

But even as the fear threatened to consume him, a deeper emotion writhed beneath the surface. Regret.

Regret for being so easily lured into the company's clutches. For ignoring all the warning signs until it was far too late. For letting himself be broken down until there was nothing left but a husk pretending to be a person.

And now he was going to die with that regret festering inside him, choking out whatever small spark of hope he'd tried to keep alive.

The van jolted to a halt, and suddenly he was being dragged out into the cold night air. His knees buckled as he was thrown to the ground, the gravel biting into his skin.

He tried to rise, but his limbs were weak, his body little more than a bundle of frayed nerves and shattered willpower. His captors loomed above him, their faces twisted with contempt and indifference.

The first blow hit his side, and pain flared through his body like fire. He gasped, his breath tearing from his lungs in a strangled cry. More blows followed, each one stripping away another piece of his already fragile existence.

But even as his vision blurred and his thoughts splintered, the regret wouldn't leave him. It clung to him like a shadow, a parasite feeding on his final moments.

He was going to die here. Alone. Forgotten. And all because he had been foolish enough to believe the company's lies.

He tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond. His own strength had turned to dust, his life crumbling away with every labored breath. The cold seeped into his bones, numbing the agony until all he could feel was the crushing weight of failure.

Why had he waited so long to act? Why had he let himself be trapped for so long, hoping that something would change when it never would?

The world around him faded, darkness spilling over his senses like ink. His heartbeat slowed, each beat weaker than the last.

And as his consciousness slipped away, the only thought left was a quiet, desperate wish.

He wished he had found peace.