Chapter 9

The line between dreams and reality had blurred so much, I could no longer tell them apart. Days bled into each other, a seamless loop with no real beginning and no real end. Wake up. Eat. Stare at the walls. Listen to the silence. Wait. Sleep. Repeat. Over and over. Like a carousel that never stops spinning.

I let it happen for a while. Let the waiting, the hunger, the hollow stillness settle inside me. Compliance became second nature, submission just another reflex. Because that's what this place wanted, right? To wear me down. To strip away whatever was left of me, bit by bit, until I was nothing more than another fixture in the set.

But today—today would be different.

I had to know. Who was behind this? Who was watching, feeding, keeping me here like an insect pinned under glass? Was there even a way out, or was that just another lie, another illusion, another trick?

That's the thing about repetition. You follow a pattern long enough, you start to see the faults. The weak spots. The flaws in the system. And once you find the cracks, you start wondering what happens when you rip them open.

I crouched at the entrance of the slide, swallowed by the tunnel's shadows, body coiled like a spring. The plan was straightforward—stay low, stay still, watch. No sudden moves. No reckless charges. Just patience.

People love to talk about patience like it's some kind of virtue like it makes you strong. But that's just a polite way of saying it's about control. Sit still long enough, and you stop reacting. You start seeing. The spaces between the lines. The cracks in the foundation. The parts they don't want you to notice.

And this place? It was a machine. Cold, calculated, relentless.

The slide was part of it. A cog in the cycle. A trick in the act.

I just had to wait for the moment it slipped.

The air pressed down, thick and stagnant, the usual hum of the fabricated sky missing. Too quiet. Like the world had taken a breath and just... held it. My heartbeat filled the silence, each pulse marking the countdown. The food would come soon—I was sure of it. And when it did, I'd be ready.

A whirring noise sliced through the stillness. Faint at first, like a tremor in the walls. Then it grew—low, metallic, The strain of something ancient and rusted forcing itself awake. My teeth clenched. My fingers twitched. Every instinct screamed for movement, for action, but I stayed still. Forced my breathing into slow, steady inhales.

And just like that, it happened.

A small metallic flap on the slide creaked open, its hinges crackling like ice splintering underfoot. A plate slid forward on a narrow conveyor belt, then—clank. The hatch snapped shut with ruthless finality.

I lunged.

My fingernails clawed at the smooth, unyielding surface, but the metal remained locked—cold and unmoved by my struggle. Heat flared in my fingertips, skin splitting from the friction. I dug in harder, urgency driving my movements. Still, nothing. The mechanism was flawless, built to keep me out.

My gaze dropped to the plate.

One slice of bread.

Not two.

The mold had thickened, festering in shades of green and black. The crust looked brittle, curling at the edges like dried-out parchment.

I grabbed it with shaking hands and shoved it into my mouth.

The blister on my tongue flared, raw, and exposed. Each bite sent sharp, needling jolts through my nerves, a pulsing ache that burned deeper with every movement. My throat clenched, fighting against every swallow, every breath.

The plate clattered to the ground, empty.

I launched from the bench, legs burning, my heart hammering against my ribs. A fire, hotter than hunger, boiled beneath my skin. Fury. Desperation. A hunger for answers that had been building for too long.

I skidded to a stop at the center of the playground, threw my head back, and screamed at the sky.

"Why are you doing this?! What the hell do you want from me?!"

The words ripped out of me, jagged from disuse, my voice cracking under their weight.

Nothing.

No response. No shift in the air. No voice crackling through the speakers to mock me. Just silence.

Deep, absolute silence.

The kind that makes your ears strain for anything. The kind that shouldn't exist. No hum from the fake sky, no distant crackle of static, no whisper of artificial wind rustling the unmoving grass.

Like the world had stopped breathing.

I took a shaky step back. Something felt off like it was waiting. Watching.

That's when I realized—it had heard me.

It was just deciding.

And right on cue—

The noise came.

A piercing barrage of beeping tore from the speakers, sharp and merciless, a jagged assault of sound that ripped through the air like a blade. The tones bent and shifted, rising in pitch, clawing through my senses. It rebounded off the towering walls, erratic and punishing, vibrating through my bones like a caged beast.

Typical. The game. The show. The sick little charade.

Let the dumb, desperate rat scurry through the maze. Watch him claw at the walls, scream at the ceiling, beg for a way out. And then? Just stand there. Just watch.

Because that's the point, isn't it? Not the suffering. No, no—that'd be too easy, too predictable. It's the fight that's entertaining. The struggle.

I let out a shaky breath, my hands curling into fists—not from anger, but because I didn't know what else to do.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" My voice wavered, but I pushed through it. "You like watching me run around like an idiot?"

I turned in circles, scanning the empty walls, and the fake sky, searching for something—anything.

"Come on! Say something!" My arms jerked out at my sides, wild and frantic. "I know you're there!"

My throat burned. My chest felt tight. I swallowed hard and muttered, quieter this time, "Just tell me what you want."

Silence.

I let my head drop back, exhaling through clenched teeth.

"Yeah… yeah, that's what I thought."

The thing about monsters? They never answer you. They don't need to. They just sit there, watching, waiting, letting you spiral. The real power isn't in what they do to you, but in what they make you do to yourself.

I gasped for air, the world around me spinning, a dizzying blur of synthetic green and cold, unyielding walls. The pounding in my skull sharpened, splintering into jagged spikes of pain behind my eyes. My knees hit the ground, the impact jolting through my bones.

I clawed at the grass. Fingernails raking, tearing, desperate to find something—anything—beneath the manufactured layer. Clumps of artificial fibers peeled away, exposing the ground beneath. No dirt. No tunnels. Just a smooth, lifeless surface.

The ground hadn't just hidden an exit.

It had erased it.

Just like Jack.

The only remaining option was the hole in the wall—the one I had crawled through before.

I inched closer, peering into its depths. Just blackness. Deep. Silent. Unyielding.

I had come in through this hole. I knew that.

But now, staring into it, I couldn't help but think...

Had it always been this dark? This empty?