Seven Days in Hell

Time was no longer real.

Jasper had lost count after the second day. Or was it the third?

He wasn't sure anymore.

The room felt smaller. The walls seemed closer than before, the air heavier.

His muscles ached from lack of movement, but there was nowhere to go.

Sit. Stand. Lie down. Repeat.

Every time he closed his eyes, the whispers started.

"You're weak."

"This is where you break."

"You're never getting out."

He shook his head. "Not real."

But the worst part?

He almost believed them.

The food rations were getting smaller.

Maybe he was imagining it, but every tray they slid in felt lighter.

The hunger gnawed at him, but he refused to eat like an animal.

He forced himself to take slow bites. Controlled. Disciplined.

Because this wasn't just about survival.

It was about winning.

And Jasper wouldn't let the Warden win.

By what he guessed was day five, the hallucinations started.

Not voices. Shapes.

Dark figures in the corners, shifting, moving when he wasn't looking.

He clenched his fists. "Not real."

But his mind was turning against him.

A test. A trap.

And he was losing.

On the sixth day, Jasper sat in the middle of the cell, head in his hands.

He was cracking. He could feel it.

Pante's laughter echoed in his head. "You really thought you could rule this place?"

His own voice answered. "What if you're not strong enough?"

His breaths came sharp, fast.

For the first time since coming to Blackridge, fear crept in.

"What if I don't make it?"

The lock clicked.

The door swung open, and light flooded in.

Jasper blinked. His body refused to move.

A figure stepped inside. Mark.

The old fighter crouched beside him, eyes studying him.

"You're still here," Mark said.

Jasper's voice was hoarse. "Barely."

Mark nodded. "Good." He extended a hand. "Time to remind them who you are."

Jasper took it.

And rose.