Night breakout part 1

Time: –10:50 PM

It was that time.

Tobey was getting ready for the robbery like an experienced escape artist preparing for the biggest mission of his life. In the soft light of his bedroom, he stood before the mirror, adjusting the oversized utility belt that once belonged to [Father]. It sat low on his hips, packed with the tools of a five-year-old revolutionary: a hammer, a wrench, and a pocket full of nails.

"Heh," Tobey muttered. "I'm gonna fix the world."

He'd snatched the belt earlier, right after dragging the cat into the kitchen to report his case to [Mother]. On his way back to his room, he made a sneaky detour to the garage. The belt had been right where it always was—hanging beside the gym equipment no one ever used. It felt meant to be.

Now, back in his room, he added the final piece of gear: a homemade headband with a flashlight taped to the middle. The light bounced as he moved, casting jittery shadows on the wall—like tiny goblins fleeing from his presence.

He looked like a strange mix of adventurer, burglar, and backyard superhero.

[Tobey]

"This is not playtime. This is life."

His mission had clear instructions: wait until 11:00, then move out.

—Cling—

[Tobey]

"It is 11:00 PM. Alpha going dark."

The hallway was completely black, except for one flickering ceiling light in the middle. It buzzed faintly, flashing every few seconds. Tobey hated that light. It twisted the shadows into strange shapes—shapes that didn't look right.

The buzzing reminded him of horror movies. The long, twitchy shadows crawled along the floor, jerking every time the light blinked. A cold draft brushed against the back of his legs, sending a chill straight up his spine.

The house didn't feel asleep.

It felt alive.

Like it was watching.

Tobey took a breath and stood tall. He had to be brave.

Step by step, he moved forward. His little feet tapped gently against the wooden floorboards.

Creak.

Every step sounded like a secret being spilled.

It was too loud.

He stopped.

Then turned around and tiptoed back to his room.

He needed a solution.

That's when he remembered—when he jumped on the bed, his footsteps barely made a sound. He grabbed a pair of socks, stuffed them with soft clothes, and slid them over his feet like DIY slippers.

From across the room, something else caught his eye:

his old, deadly, stinkiest socks—the very same ones he once used to fight [Mother] in the War of the Calamity Kitchen.

He paused.

Then grinned.

He stuffed the socks into his belt.

[Tobey]

"What if someone finds me? I might need my sleeping potion."

Feeling ready, he puffed up his chest.

[Tobey]

"This is how heroes are born."

And with that, he stepped into the shadows, marching deeper into the dark.

[Tobey]

"First, I need to gather intel on the guards."

By "guards," he meant [Mother] and [Father].

"Let's start with Dad's room."

Thanks to his sock slippers, Tobey moved like a silent shadow. No squeaks. No thuds. Just smooth gliding across the wooden floor.

As he crept toward [Father]'s room, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. Carefully, he leaned in for a peek.

Inside, it was dark—really dark—but he could just make out the shape of a body on the bed. [Father] lay still, breathing slow.

Was he asleep? Tobey wasn't sure.

The shadows made everything look like it might suddenly move.

He didn't risk it.

Instead, he tiptoed toward [Mother]'s room.

That door was closed.

And locked from the inside.

He squinted at it like a detective sizing up his greatest puzzle.

[Tobey – in his mind]

"Hm… more secure than I thought."

"Now, let's head to Dad's workroom."

He crept down the hallway like a true stealth agent. The door to the workroom wasn't locked. Inside, a small desk lamp cast a soft orange glow over the cluttered table—but the room was empty.

Perfect.

Tobey slipped in and scanned the area like he was gathering loot from a treasure vault. He grabbed a notebook, a pen, and a few mysterious tools—just in case.

Then, something caught his eye.

A glint. A sharp shimmer resting on the desk, half-lit by a beam of moonlight slipping in through the window.

A shard-shaped key, almost glowing in the silver light.

It looked familiar. Too familiar.

Just like the one from his dream.

But his tiny arms were already full of gear.

[Tobey – in his mind, staring at the key]

"I'll come back for you… right after I stash this stuff in my room."

He gave the key one last look, then vanished into the shadows.

Back at his base of operations—otherwise known as his room—Tobey quickly dropped the supplies under the bed, tucking them beside Subject 10. It was the safest place he knew.

He was just about to head back for the key—his mind already racing with theories—when he froze.

Footsteps.

Right outside his door.

Heavy. Slow. Unmistakable.

His soul nearly left his body.

He didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Only one thought crossed his mind:

[Tobey – in his mind]

"...I'm so glad I closed the door."

He let out a silent sigh, clutching his chest like he'd just dodged death itself.

The mission had just gotten a lot more dangerous.

Tobey pressed his ear against the door, breath shallow, ears sharp.

The footsteps continued outside. Slow. Uneven. Off.

[Tobey – whispering]

"Hmm… these footsteps are weird. Not Mom's. Not Dad's. And different from the one I heard earlier… but I didn't get enough data to analyze the first set."

He paused, brow furrowed.

This kid knew his parents' footsteps so well, he could tell them apart in his sleep.

Like some kind of miniature detective.

Or maybe… a five-year-old psycho with excellent hearing and way too much imagination.

Either way—something wasn't right.

See you in the next part…