Chapter 9: The Doctor.

Humming.

Desmond lay on his side, facing the wall, listening.

He'd already been awake for a while, but didn't move. Yellow had been humming for several minutes now, and though the melody was soft, it somehow made Desmond's thoughts louder.

'The same dream again...Who is that woman?'

No answer came, only the low, tuneless hum and the slow shuffle of Yellow's fingers on the floor.

Suddenly, Yellow whispered something under his breath.

"Illusion Break."

A golden ring appeared on his finger, seemingly pulled out of thin air at his words. He wiped it carefully with his sleeve, clearing away dust and blood.

Both men suddenly froze at the same moment.

There was a sound behind the main door.

A voice.

"...la...la...la...la..."

Singing. Faint. Playful.

Desmond curled tighter against the wall, instinctively hugging his knees.

The voice got louder.

And closer.

"Is it that time already?" Yellow muttered, tapping the ring once more.

"Split Memory."

A white transparent substance poured from his head and flowed into the ring like smoke slipping into a crack.

"Illusion Form."

The ring vanished. All that remained on his finger was skin — cracked and dirty.

SHIIK. THUD.

The door opened.

Both Desmond and Yellow straightened as the visitor stepped in.

At first, all Desmond could see was a large stomach. For a brief moment, it reminded him of his father, and he hated himself for the thought.

Then the man stepped into full view, smiling.

"Ahh, you must be the judge's boy! Sorry I didn't come greet you when you arrived. I was... busy."

Desmond stared, confused.

The man noticed.

"Ah, forgive me. Where are my manners?" he said, spreading his arms. "Ron Shepherd. Warden of this fine prison."

Desmond's eyes flicked to Yellow.

Still humming.

The Warden didn't seem to mind.

"He's just happy," Shepherd said, grinning. "He gets to have his playtime."

Desmond flinched at the word. From Yellow's injuries, he already knew what "playtime" really meant.

But he lowered his gaze.

'What can I do?'

He said nothing as the Warden reached for Yellow and led him out of the room.

THUD.

The door shut again, leaving Desmond alone with his thoughts.

He sat down slowly, wrapping his arms around his legs and pressing his forehead to his knees.

'I can't do anything.'

'I couldn't stop my mother when she broke my arms.'

'I couldn't stop my father when he sent me here… calling it protection.'

'I couldn't stop that girl from dying.'

'I couldn't save myself. Couldn't escape any of this.'

'I...can't do anything.'

His mind spiraled downward, but only for a moment.

SHIIK. THUD.

The door opened again.

Desmond looked up.

It was Paige, the cold-eyed guard who'd first escorted him down.

He didn't say hello. Just looked at Desmond and said, "Come on. You've got things to do."

Desmond blinked.

He wanted to ask what things, but couldn't bring himself to speak. Instead, he stood and followed him.

The cell doors had no locks — but the main one did.

They walked.

And walked.

The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with quiet groans of stone and distant echoes.

Desmond glanced at Paige.

Should I ask him where we're going?

Just as he opened his mouth, Paige stopped in front of a metal door.

SHIIK... WRUNG... THUD.

The lock disengaged.

Desmond peered inside.

'A lab?' he thought. 'What is this place...?'

Microscopes. Flasks. Burners. Slides. Tools. It looked like something from a research facility, not a prison.

"Go on," Paige said. "Doctor will be with you shortly."

"...Doctor?"

"Your father requested a counseling session," Paige replied simply. "Said he's concerned about what effect the black stone might have on you."

Desmond stared at him, then stepped inside.

THUD.

The door closed behind him.

He looked around.

'This place has been used for a long time…' he realized. 'But why is it here, hidden inside a prison?'

On each side of the room were two more doors — one on the right, one on the left. Both were unmarked.

He considered opening one, but hesitated.

Good thing, too.

After a minute, the right door opened.

"Ah, were you waiting long?" a muffled voice asked casually.

A man stepped out, dressed in plain clothes with a white mask covering his face.

Black hair streaked with gray. Calm, almost warm tone.

But something about him felt... off.

Desmond studied the mask. Blank. Smooth. No mouth, just tiny air holes and a slit where the eyes were.

"I just got here," Desmond replied quietly, trying to sound polite.

The man noticed his staring.

"If the mask bothers you, I can remove it," he said lightly. "But I can't promise you'll like what's underneath."

His hand moved toward it.

Desmond quickly raised a hand. "No! It's fine. I don't mind."

"You sure?" the Doctor tilted his head.

"I'm sure."

"Hmm. Alright," the man said, lowering his hand. "Let's step inside, then."

He opened the door on the left and gestured in.

Desmond took a moment to glance back at the white-painted metal door on the right.

'Pipes,' he thought. 'I'm sure I saw pipes through the crack before he shut it…'

Still, he followed the man.

The next room was small. One hanging light. One table. Two chairs.

It looked more like an interrogation room than a counseling office.

The door clicked shut behind him.

"Sorry," the Doctor said. "This is all the prison could spare."

Desmond nodded and sat down.

The man took the other seat as he scratched his neck, placing a notebook and pen on the table.

But then — he didn't write.

He leaned forward, his dark blue eyes gleaming slightly behind the mask holes.

"Let's talk about your sister," he said calmly."Amelia Brown."

Silence.

And the light above the table flickered.

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