The days bled into each other in a haze of suffering and exhaustion. When the government first arrived at the bunker, Reis had clung to the belief that they were being rescued. The relief had been almost overwhelming—until the truth became evident. The soldiers weren't saviors. They were rounding them up like cattle.
They were shackled, muzzled, and transported like prisoners. Reis had never felt this helpless before. The first few nights in captivity were filled with the sounds of weeping and quiet, desperate prayers. The government facility was an industrialized hell, its cold steel walls radiating an aura of death. The air was thick with antiseptic and something metallic—something he later realized was blood.
Each day, they were subjected to brutal work, barely allowed enough food or water to keep them alive. Any attempt to resist resulted in severe punishment. They watched people disappear, never to return, or come back with dead, empty eyes.
The chains were too tight. Reis could feel the metal biting into his skin, leaving behind deep impressions. The others around him weren't faring any better—Seraph, barely holding herself together, Felix keeping his head down to avoid unwanted attention. They had all been fooled, and now, they were just another batch of captives thrown into the system.
The government facility they were brought to wasn't a prison in the traditional sense—it was worse. An industrial nightmare of steel corridors, artificial lighting that never dimmed, and the stench of sweat, blood, and chemicals. The survivors had been split into different sections; some forced into hard labor, others dragged away for experiments.
Every morning, a loud buzzer would blare, and they would be shoved out of their tiny holding cells to work in the wasteland—a barren stretch of scorched earth where they were forced to scavenge for resources, build structures, and dispose of the bodies of those who didn't make it. The government's goal was simple: Break them. Reduce them to nothing more than obedient shells.
Days passed, and Reis realized something terrifying—people were giving in. The starvation, the constant beatings, the public executions of those who resisted—it worked. He saw men and women who once fought to survive now bowing their heads, mechanically following orders, their spirits shattered.
Felix, who had remained mostly silent throughout, finally spoke as they sat in a dark corner of the sleeping chambers. "If we stay like this, we're already dead."
Seraph exhaled sharply, gripping the fabric of her tattered clothes. "And what do you suggest? We can't fight back when they monitor us every second."
"We don't fight," Reis muttered. "Not yet."
Seraph looked at him, searching his face for an answer.
"We endure," he said. "We watch, we learn, and when the time comes—we strike where it hurts the most."
That was the moment the plan began forming. They weren't just going to escape. They were going to burn this place down.
December of 2028,
It happened too fast. One moment, Amara was among them—then she was gone.
The guards came in at night, dragging her out of her cell. Reis had lunged forward, but the butt of a rifle met his stomach, and he collapsed, gasping for breath. They watched, helpless, as she was taken deeper into the facility—the section where the experiments happened.
The ones who went there never came back the same. If they came back at all.
Reis didn't sleep that night. Neither did Seraph or Felix.
Reis, Seraph, and Felix—who had now fully embraced his new name—began to understand that their only path to survival was through adaptation. Felix was sharp, picking up on patterns in the guards' patrol routes, the hierarchy of the officers, and the subtle cracks in the system. Seraph was strong, both physically and mentally, refusing to let despair take root. Reis, however, burned with a single-minded determination: he had to find Amara.
It was no longer just survival. It was war.
Reis wasn't the only one unwilling to kneel. Others were waiting too.
Slowly, over the next few weeks, whispers of rebellion spread through the prisoners. Those who still had the fire in them gravitated toward Reis, Felix, and Seraph. They had nothing to lose and one thing in common—they wanted revenge.
A group began to form. Small at first, but growing each day. They used coded messages, stolen supplies, and every little moment of freedom to build their plan. Felix, with his strategic mind, started working on weak points in the facility. Seraph kept morale up, preventing people from losing themselves to despair. Reis? He kept them moving forward.
For weeks, they observed. Felix gathered knowledge, committing every small detail to memory. Seraph, who had won the favor of some guards by pretending to be obedient, found ways to smuggle small items—things that could be turned into makeshift weapons. Reis? He focused on endurance, pushing himself beyond his limits, preparing for the inevitable battle to come.
It was during this time that they met another prisoner—a man with haunted eyes named Jonah. He had been there longer than them, and his knowledge was invaluable.
"You think you're the first to try?" Jonah asked one night. "Many have. All failed."
Reis clenched his fists. "Then we'll be the first to succeed."
Jonah studied him for a long time before letting out a hollow chuckle. "God help you, kid. You'll need it."
And so, their resistance began.
Every night, they whispered plans. Every day, they laid the groundwork. A stolen key here, a loose vent there. They were preparing for war.
Their time would come soon.
And when it did—the government would regret ever taking them in.
The night was heavy with smoke, thick enough to choke on. Fires burned in the distance, casting long, flickering shadows against the crumbling walls of the facility. Somewhere, a distant siren wailed—a warning that things were spiraling out of control.
Reis crouched in the darkness, his breath slow and measured. Next to him, Seraph tightened her grip on a makeshift knife—a sharpened piece of metal stolen from the vents. Felix, as always, was running the calculations in his head, eyes darting between the security patterns they had memorized over the last year.
May of 2029,
Tonight was the night.
"Are we really gonna do this?" asked Seraph.
"We ARE gonna, there's no other option we are keeping here" said Reis.
After a whole damn year of rebellion, of pushing back against the government bastards, of freeing prisoners, of hitting their supply chains, of turning small victories into momentum—this was it.
Jonah had been the one to bring them the final key detail. The one gap in security that shouldn't have existed. A window of exactly thirteen minutes before the next guard shift. It was the kind of intel that was too good to ignore.
And yet...
Something in Reis's gut felt wrong.
Jonah had been with them for a while, but something about him never sat right. He knew too much. Spoke just enough to be useful but never enough to really reveal anything about himself. He was always watching, always measuring. But after a year of fighting for their lives, doubts had taken a backseat to survival.
Seraph whispered, "Something's off. I don't like this."
"hey you guys chill out, i know ya'll are probably doubting me cause i know this much but relax its just because i've worked under the main rulers for a long time"
"what if you are still working with them"
"guess we'll never know".
They moved.
Slipping through the facility like shadows, ducking past rusted fences, avoiding the floodlights that had once made this place a fortress. A place of nightmares.
Tonight, it would fall.
The others were already in position. Small groups stationed near the north and south wings, waiting for the signal. They had weapons this time. Smuggled firearms, blades fashioned from scrap metal. Some had even managed to get their hands on explosives.
If this worked, the entire government facility would collapse.
Jonah was the one to disable the security doors.
"Start moving"
He moved fast, fingers flying over the panel as the red warning light flickered. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead.
He's nervous.
For a year, Jonah had been cold, calculating, almost too damn calm. But now? Now he looked anxious.
The final barrier hissed open.
Reis exhaled, forcing his nerves to settle. "We're in."
The others began filing through. Everything was going perfect.
Too perfect.
And then—
The first explosion tore through the facility at exactly 2:13 AM. A fireball erupted from the east wing, sending burning debris raining down upon the compound. Klaxons screamed. Guards scrambled. Chaos.
It was time.
Felix was already moving, sprinting through the shadows as alarms blared around him. His group had memorized every blind spot, every flaw in the security system. They struck like ghosts, knives flashing in the dim red emergency lights.
"HAHA, way to go" ~ Felix.
"Dude never saw you so excited" ~ Seraph.
"Stop talking guys, we're on a mission" said Reis.
Reis and Seraph led the first wave, ambushing guards who stumbled through the smoke. They fought with the desperation of people who had spent a year waiting for this moment. Metal pipes crushed skulls. Scavenged knives sliced through Kevlar. Blood painted the walls.
Prisoners flooded out of their cells, overwhelming the disoriented enforcers. The rebellion had begun.
Felix reached the main security hub, breath ragged. The doors were reinforced, but they had prepared for that. He pulled out a small, stolen detonator and pressed the button.
BOOM.
"THERE WE FUCKIN GO"
The blast ripped the door off its hinges. Felix and two others rushed in, weapons raised. The guards inside barely had time to react before they were cut down. The control panels flickered. Felix slammed his fist onto the console, overriding security locks. Doors swung open across the facility.
"All units, fall back to the central yard!" he shouted into the stolen radio. "We push through NOW!"
Seraph was covered in blood, most of it not his. He dragged an injured comrade to safety, then turned back to the fray. Gunfire rattled through the air. Explosions rocked the compound. Shadows moved in the smoke, the dying screaming for mercy that would never come.
"REIS DUDE CHILL DON'T GO CRAZY OVER THE SOLDIER'S, AMARA WOULD FEEL JEALOUS"
"SHUT UP LEMME JUST..."
He saw Reis then, fighting like a demon. His fists were raw from impact, his knife glistening. He had taken down four guards already, and he wasn't stopping.
"MOVE!" he barked at the rebels. "We take the courtyard or we're dead!"
The central yard was a killing field. The government's elite forces had arrived, armored and ruthless. They opened fire, mowing down prisoners like insects. But the rebels had numbers. They swarmed like a tidal wave, dragging soldiers to the ground, overwhelming them with sheer fury.
Jonah fought alongside Reis, cutting through enemies with brutal efficiency. He had been their guide, their mentor in survival. He had told them escape was impossible.
And yet here they were.
"FUCK YEAHHHHH"
Victory was within reach.
Until Jonah turned.
One moment, Jonah was standing beside them, his blade sinking into a soldier's throat. The next, he was behind Felix, gun raised.
The shot rang out.
Felix staggered forward, gasping, a bloom of crimson spreading across his back. He collapsed, choking on his own blood.
Silence fell.
Jonah stepped back, gun still smoking. The remaining guards hesitated, confused but hopeful.
"You think I survived this long by being a hero?" Jonah said.
Reis' vision went red. His scream was inhuman, rage and betrayal ripping through his throat. He lunged, but Jonah was already moving. Soldiers surrounded them in an instant.
"YOU ASSHOLE, YOU WERE A SLAVE LIKE ALL OF THEM THEN WHY DID YOU BETRAY US YOU MOTHERFUCKER. DO YOU LIKE SUCKING THEIR FUCKING DICK THAT MUCH THAT YOU DON'T EVEN WANT FREEDOM FROM THESE DICTATORS? YOU ARE THE TYPE OF GUY WHO WOULD FUCKING SELL THEIR FREEDOM FOR SOME I DONT KNOW WHATEVER THEY GAVE YOU, DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING EVEN LEFT IN YOU?" shouted Reis.
Seraph fought tooth and nail, refusing to go down. He screamed Jonah's name like a curse, a promise of vengeance. He bit, clawed, broke noses, shattered ribs. But there were too many. A rifle butt slammed into the side of his head, and everything went black.
Reis was the last to fall. He was still screaming when they beat him into the dirt.
"I AM GONNA SKIN YA'LL ALIVE YOU ASSHOLES"
"YOU ALL ARE GONNA REGRET THIS"
"LEAVE US"
"LEAVE AMARA"
Blood soaked the courtyard. The rebellion had lasted a year.
And in a single night, it was over.
The chaos outside had turned into hell on earth. The rebellion, after a full year of fighting, had come down to this one final, desperate stand. Smoke and fire painted the sky red, screams filled the air, and bodies—both rebel and government—lay scattered like broken dolls.
Reis's heart pounded in his chest. His hands were slick with blood, some his own, most of it not. Felix had taken a bullet to the shoulder but was still moving, still firing. Seraph fought like a demon, her blade slicing through the enemy with a fury that could only come from a year of suffering.
They were winning.
They were winning.
Until Jonah betrayed them.
It happened so fast that no one had time to react. A single radio transmission, a flick of his wrist, and the entire battlefield shifted. The government forces, once scattered and desperate, moved in perfect unison as the gates behind them slammed shut.
Trapped.
The rebels—their people—were caged in like animals. Jonah stood among the soldiers, his face unreadable.
"You..." Reis's voice was raw, shaking. "You sold us out"
Jonah's eyes darkened.
Seraph was screaming, thrashing against the soldiers that grabbed him. "You're a dead man, Jonah! YOU HEAR ME? I'LL RIP YOUR FUCKING HEART OUT!"
Felix was silent. His expression was cold, calculating. He didn't even struggle when they grabbed him.
One by one, they were taken down. Shock batons cracked against their skin, rifles bashed against skulls, and boots stomped on fingers that reached for fallen weapons. Reis fought until his body refused to move anymore. His last memory before darkness took him was Jonah's face, standing over him, expression twiste
"Nah it's fine, not like i would give up. Not on anybody."
The alarm blared. More soldiers stormed in. The head of the operation—a cold-eyed bastard in a white coat—stepped forward, calm as ever.
"FU-"
And without hesitation, he raised a gun.
Bang.
The bullet ripped through Jonah's skull.
"JONAH... NO" Shouted Reis.
It happened in an instant—blood and brain matter splattering against the control panel. Jonah's body collapsed right in front of Reis's tank. His lifeless eyes stared up, as if asking for forgiveness he'd never receive.
Reis screamed.
" I'LL MAKE SURE. I'LL MAKE SURE. I'LL MAKE SURE THAT YOU REGRET EVERY BREATH YOU'VE EVER TAKEN"
But no sound came out. The liquid muffled everything, trapping his fury, his grief, his hatred.
The last thing he saw before his vision blurred was the scientist's cruel smirk as he turned back to the machines.
And then the experiments began.
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THE INTRODUCTIONS
The government-affiliated scientists administered a series of injections that induced a delusional state, compelling them to speak only the truth when questioned.
Reis Aldrin
"My name is Reis Aldrin. I'm 18 years old, and I went to Willowridge High. Ever since I was a kid, I wasn't great at speaking. I mean, I could talk just fine, but putting my feelings into words? That was never my strong suit. It's easier to just do things rather than say them. That's probably why most people never really noticed me, but the ones who did? They stayed."
"Seraph and Gideon—they were always there. We didn't become friends because we had a lot in common. It just happened. Gideon was the type to get us into trouble, and Seraph was the type to get us out. And me? I guess I was the one who made sure we didn't kill each other. Then there's Amara... she's not exactly a 'homie' kind of friend. I don't want her to be. I mean, I—"He pauses, as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud, but the serum won't let him stop."I have a crush on her. Not that it matters now."
"My parents were... good people. The best, really. They were the type of parents you don't fully appreciate until you see how bad other kids have it. My mom? She always made time. Didn't matter how busy she was, she always listened, even when I had nothing important to say. My dad... he wasn't as talkative, but he was solid. Unshakable. When I was younger, I thought that meant he wasn't scared of anything. Now I think he was just good at hiding it."
"School wasn't anything special. I wasn't top of the class, but I wasn't failing either. I had this habit of cramming the night before an exam, telling myself that this time I'd actually keep up with the lessons afterward. Never happened, of course. But I wasn't dumb—I knew how to think things through. Whenever we got stuck in some dumb situation because of Gideon's impulsiveness, I was usually the one who found a way out. Maybe that's why I liked strategy games. Chess, turn-based RPGs, anything that let me think before acting. I liked puzzles, too. The harder, the better."
"Most of my days were spent hanging out with the same people. Lunch with Seraph and Gideon, arguing about stupid things that didn't matter. Getting dragged into Gideon's ridiculous ideas—like the time he was convinced he could sneak into the teachers' lounge just to see what was inside. Spoiler: he got caught. I helped him run. Seraph chewed us both out after. But that's how it always was. I miss it. I miss them."
Seraph Laurent
"Seraph Laurent. 18 years old. Willowridge High. And before you ask, no, I don't have a middle name. My parents didn't believe in them. Said they were unnecessary. They had a lot of weird beliefs, actually, but that's not important."
"I wasn't popular, but people knew me. Not because I was nice, though. I wasn't. I just didn't tolerate bullshit. If someone needed to be called out, I did it. If someone needed to be protected, I did that too. Maybe that's why I stuck around Gideon and Reis. Reis needed someone to remind him that his silence wasn't always a good thing, and Gideon needed... restraint."
"My mom was strict, but not in a bad way. She had rules, and if you broke them, you faced the consequences. Simple as that. She wasn't one of those moms who let their kids walk all over them. My dad, on the other hand... he was softer. He was the kind of parent who'd help you hide a bad grade until you could 'fix it' before Mom found out. Not that I ever needed to. I was good in school. Not because I loved studying, but because failing wasn't an option. I worked hard. Always."
"I liked order. I liked knowing what to expect. That's why I hated group projects—too many variables. I'd rather just do the whole thing myself than trust someone else to do their part. Some people thought I was bossy. Maybe I was. But at least I got things done."
"Outside of school, I spent a lot of time training. Boxing, mostly. I wasn't aiming to be a professional fighter or anything, but knowing how to throw a punch? That's useful. It keeps people in check. It means you don't have to take shit from anyone. And when things got bad—really bad—it meant I could actually do something instead of just standing there, waiting to die."
Amara Moore
"Amara Moore. 19. I was a student at Willowridge High, but my real education didn't come from school—it came from my dad. He was a scientist. A real one. Not the kind who taught high school chemistry, but the kind who worked in labs, solving problems that actually mattered. I wanted to be like him. I still do."
"I was the kid who actually liked learning. Not just because I wanted good grades, but because I needed to understand things. The way the world worked, the way people worked—if there was an answer, I wanted it. That's probably why I never got along with people who acted without thinking. People like Gideon. And, to some extent, Seraph. They were all impulse. I was all logic. We didn't mix."
"Reis... he was different. He wasn't reckless like them. He thought. I respected that. But respect isn't the same as friendship. And it's definitely not the same as..."She stops herself, but the serum forces her forward."It doesn't matter. It never mattered."
"I spent most of my time either studying or helping my dad with his research. I didn't go to parties. I didn't waste time on things that wouldn't help me in the long run. Some people thought I was too serious. Maybe I was. But it's fine, since i liked what i was doing."
Felix
(Pauses, staring at his hands for a moment before speaking, as if trying to grasp something just out of reach.)
"My name is... Felix. Just Felix. I don't have a surname. At least, not one I can remember. I don't know where I was born, or who my parents were... I don't even know if I ever had any."
(He shifts in his chair, uneasy. The words feel strange in his mouth, like they belong to someone else.)
"I just—appeared. I woke up one day in the middle of it all, with no past, no memories, nothing. My head was empty, but my body... it knew things.Like my age was fourteen, My hands knew how to hold a knife before my brain could think why. My legs knew how to run before I could understand what I was running from. It was like I had been living another life just seconds ago, but the moment I blinked, it all got erased. Like someone had taken a part of me and thrown it into the void."
(He clenches his fists, frustration flickering in his eyes.)
"But even if my past was gone, my instincts stayed. I learned fast—how to fight, how to move, how to think ahead. I wasn't the strongest, but I was quick, and I could see patterns where others saw chaos. When the world fell apart, when the streets filled with the dead, when people turned on each other, I survived. Not because I wanted to, but because something in me refused to die."
(He exhales, rubbing his temples, as if trying to force a memory to surface.)
"There's this feeling I get sometimes. Like... déjà vu, but worse. Like I don't know how to explain it. Maybe I'm just losing my mind. Wouldn't be the first time."
(A small smirk, humorless, before he leans back, his voice quieter now.)
"I don't have a family. No childhood stories. No old friends. Just now, and whatever comes next. And if I have to carve a place for myself in this broken world, then so be it. Because the only thing worse than having no past... is having no future."
Iris Caldwell
(Adjusts her glasses, glancing at the scientists with a sharp, knowing look before speaking in a measured tone.)
"Iris Caldwell. Thirty-two years old. History teacher at Willowridge High."
(She crosses her arms, her expression unreadable but firm.)
"I wasn't always a teacher. History was my first love, but life had other plans. I spent a few years working as a researcher—museum archives, ancient texts, uncovering the stories buried beneath time. But stories don't pay the bills, and when the chance came to teach, I took it. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could make history feel alive for someone the way it always did for me. And i worked for police for around a year too."
(She lets out a breath, her gaze distant for a moment before she continues.)
"The kids... they were frustrating, brilliant, exhausting, and hilarious all at once. I'd like to say I taught them something, but the truth is, they taught me just as much. Reis Aldrin, for example—a sharp mind, if a little too reserved. I could tell he was always thinking more than he let on. Seraph Laurent, headstrong and determined. Gideon Hale, well... he had a fire in him that couldn't be put out. And Amara Moore, sharp as a blade, always asking the right questions. They all had their own paths ahead of them, bright futures waiting. And then—"
(A pause. Her jaw tightens.)
"Then the world burned."
(She pushes her glasses up, as if to shield the emotion creeping into her eyes.)
"One moment, I was preparing for another lesson, another lecture on wars long past. The next, I was living one. History repeating itself in the worst way possible. And this time, there were no textbooks to explain what came next. Just survival. Just doing whatever it took to keep those kids breathing, even when the rest of the world gave up on them."
(Her voice softens, just slightly.)
"I don't know why I'm still here. Maybe I was too stubborn to die. Maybe I just refused to let their stories end unfinished. But if there's one thing history has taught me, it's this—every empire, every civilization, every era that thought itself indestructible... fell. And those who survived weren't always the strongest. They were the ones who adapted. The ones who refused to let the past decide their fate."
(She leans forward slightly, her eyes sharp, unyielding.)
"I intend to survive. And I intend to make damn sure those kids do too...
THE EXPERIMENTS BEGIN.
Reis Aldrin
You regularly make new friends.
(There is a clicking noise, like a tape recorder starting.)
"No, the only friends I have are Seraph and Gideon."
"yes, Gideon... i miss him"
PLEASE DONT HURT THEM PLEASE
STOP TAKING HIS EYES OUT PLEASE
I BEG YOU PLEASE STOP
SERAPH ARE YOU ALRIGHT
SERAPH
FELIX, FOLLOW ME... THEY'RE TRYING TO HURT SERAPH!
FELIX ARE YOU ?
hearing me ?
can you hear me ?
Seraph ?
can you- ?
You usually feel more persuaded by what resonates emotionally with you than by factual arguments.
"I do look at the emotional aspects of things, but I try to engage in factual arguments more."
Your living and working spaces are clean and organized.
"Yes, I love my room clean."
This is your room, clean it.
But- This isn't my room ?
CLEAN IT!
BUT WHY ? THIS ISN'T MY ROOM!
It is your room ?
It is not
Who told you that it's not your room ?
No one did- but...
This is your room
it's.. it's... is it my room ?
Yes.
You usually stay calm, even under a lot of pressure.
"Yeah, mostly."
PLEASE STOP
STOP TOUCHING HER STOP
STOP
STOP
STOP
DONT YOU DARE
ONE STEP AHEAD AND I'LL FUCKING DESTROY YOU BASTARD
STOP
STOP
STOP TEARING HER
STOP
PLEASE
I BEG YOU
STOP DOING THAT TO AMAR-
Stay calm.
You find the idea of networking or promoting yourself to strangers very daunting.
"Oh yes, kinda."
You prioritize and plan tasks effectively, often completing them well before the deadline.
"Yeah, that's why I'm the teacher's favorite." *wink*
STOP! MISS CALDWELL LOST HER VOICE DURING THE TRAINING DUE TO A BOMB BLAST
STOP INJECTING A MACHINE IN HER VOCALS THAT WAY
STOP CUTTING HER THROAT, SHE WILL DIE RATHER THAN SPEAK YOU ASSHOLES
PLEASE
FOR GODS SAKE
STOP... this torture...
People's stories and emotions speak louder to you than numbers or data.
"It's mutual. Both aspects are important."
You like to use organizing tools like schedules and lists.
"Of course."
Even a small mistake can cause you to doubt your overall abilities and knowledge.
"Nope, not at all."
HEY! You dropped that tube while cleaning the acid!
I... am sorry
YOU ARE A WORTHLESS PIG
No.. I am a human being.
A PIG WHO IS WORTH NOTHING
My.. miss Caldwell said that i am a really hard working student and she called me rare-
SHUT UP
YOU WORTHLESS FUCKING PIG
you think a "sorry" would do huh ?
LICK the acid that fell out of that tube.
but-
NOW!
okay...
You feel comfortable just walking up to someone you find interesting and striking up a conversation.
"Yes, but some people are just a pain in the ass."
woah see those motherfuckers floating in the tube's increasing all this work for us.
Yeah the head was like "we gotta do shady stuff with these people because they could be very useful" Like, hell no dude these guys are just...
pain in our asses.
You are not too interested in discussions about various interpretations of creative works.
"I am very interested."
You prioritize facts over people's feelings when determining a course of action.
"I have to."
You often allow the day to unfold without any schedule at all.
"Nope."
You rarely worry about whether you make a good impression on people you meet.
"I do care about it, kinda."
HEY STOP ! FUCK- AH! STOP CUTTNG THROUGH MY CHES-
Shut up you filthy pig
FUCKIN- STOP
IT HURTS
IT HURTS
IT HURTS
come on now, dude don't you wanna leave a good impression on us?
You enjoy participating in team-based activities.
"The activity should be fun."
hey are ya'll liking the game pigs ?
no
no
no
no
no
no
no
no
no
no
"YES, THIS IS SO FUN"
nah dude this is insane these motherfuckers are literally playing football with their hearts.
chill dude this ain't insane, its fun seeing these people like this.
You enjoy experimenting with new and untested approaches.
"Kinda, yes."
You are the new and untested approach for us too, so isn't it justified when we do this to you, Reis ?
no
no
no
no
no
no
no
Yes...
You prioritize being sensitive over being completely honest?
"Depends on the situation I'm in."
...
...
please leave me...
...
...
...
You are prone to worrying that things will take a turn for the worse.
"Nah, I do worry."
...
...
...
...
...
...
I do...
When facts and feelings conflict, you usually find yourself following your heart.
"I don't know."
Seraph Laurent
You regularly make new friends.
(There is a clicking noise, like a tape recorder starting.)
"Not really, I don't trust people easily."
Who are the people you trust ?
Oh they are actually my close friends, Reis and G- actually its just Reis.
And who's Reis ?
He's a great gu-
there is no Reis.
What!?
yes there is no Reis.
Are you crazy or something dude ?
No you are the crazy one.
REIS, REIS IS MY BEST FRIEND??? FUCK OFF YA'LL!
You are crazy dude there is no Reis
what
you are crazy
what
you are crazy
what are you talking about
you are crazy
why am i crazy ?
because you are saying that reis is your best friend.
Reis who ?
You usually feel more persuaded by what resonates emotionally with you than by factual arguments.
"I listen to emotions, but I don't let them cloud judgment."
Then why are you crying ?
no, i'm not ?
You are.
NO I AM NOT CRYING
You are.
but i don't cry...
but you are crying right now.
It- it's just the drugs, not me.
we didn't gave you any drugs.
YOU ARE LYING
we are not.
I AM NOT- I- WHY AM I CRYING
...
Your living and working spaces are clean and organized.
"Yes, I hate messes."
Then sit still.
NO
Stop struggling.
N-
Let us take your hands apart.
I AM NOT GOING TO
If you struggle, you're messy.
but...
Be clean
...
okay...
You usually stay calm, even under a lot of pressure.
"Yes."
AHH ST- STOP!
Stop screaming.
YOU FUCKER STOP IT- IT HURTS FUCKING HELL
Stop screaming.
AHH HOW WOULD I ARE YOU CRAZY
You said you stay calm.
BUT... IT HURTS
aren't you even capable of handling this much pressure ?
I- I am...
Then stop screaming.
...
okay...
You find the idea of networking or promoting yourself to strangers very daunting.
"I don't care about impressing strangers."
Then why are you still alive?
what- do you mean ?
You fought for your people.
so ?
You kept them alive.
...
You cared.
...
You wanted to be something
I-
You lied.
...
You prioritize and plan tasks effectively, often completing them well before the deadline.
" That's why we survived as long as we did."
How does it feel?
It feels really good motherfucker, how do you feel after hearing that ?
Knowing it didn't matter?
What ? our survival ? you gotta be kidding me.
Knowing your plans failed?
what...
Knowing they took Reis anyway?
...
Knowing Gideon still died?
...
People's stories and emotions speak louder to you than numbers or data.
"Both matter. You can't separate them."
didn't you thought the same for your group ?
You like to use organizing tools like schedules and lists.
"Yes, but only for important things."
all the important things you had are dead.
Even a small mistake can cause you to doubt your overall abilities and knowledge.
"No, but I get mad at myself for messing up."
You feel comfortable just walking up to someone you find interesting and striking up a conversation.
"Hell no."
You are not too interested in discussions about various interpretations of creative works.
"I like them if they're deep and thought-provoking."
You prioritize facts over people's feelings when determining a course of action.
"Facts first. Feelings don't save lives."
Then accept the fact that you're weak.
You often allow the day to unfold without any schedule at all.
"No, I prefer structure."
You rarely worry about whether you make a good impression on people you meet.
"I don't care what people think of me."
You do care what we think about you
Fuck no, why would I.
you do you fucking idiot
DARE TO say that again!
see you did
...
No...
why...
why is this happening...
You enjoy participating in team-based activities.
"Only if the team isn't full of idiots."
You enjoy experimenting with new and untested approaches.
"Sometimes, but I prefer what works."
You prioritize being sensitive over being completely honest.
"Brutal honesty is more useful."
Then accept the fact that you're weak.
You are prone to worrying that things will take a turn for the worse.
"Always. It's survival instinct."
You enjoy solitary hobbies or activities more than group ones.
"Yes, I need my space."
When facts and feelings conflict, you usually find yourself following your heart.
"Logic over emotion, always."
How does it feels ?
what ?
Getting both of them torn apart. How does that feels ?
feels amazing, better than i've every felt...
Felix
You regularly make new friends.
(There is a clicking noise, like a tape recorder starting.)
"Not really. I talk to people, but that's it."
The thing is that you try, but nobody gives a fuck about you
and.. WHO gave you the right to say that...
The room shifts. The walls become reflections—distorted mirrors of Felix, standing at different ages. Childhood. Teenage years. The present.
One of the reflections speaks.
"They look at you. They listen. They nod. But the moment you leave the room, you don't exist."
Another one whispers, its voice sharp like static.
"You're replaceable. Do you even know how many people you've met who never think about you again?"
The mirrors shift. Now, they display moments—people he's known. Conversations. Smiles. Laughs. And then—darkness. They move on. As if he never existed.
His childhood self stares at him.
"You always knew this, didn't you? That you are—"
You are worth nothing, Felix.
(Heartbeat. The room tightens. Felix clenches his fists, but his voice doesn't come.)
You don't have parents
you are worth nothing, Felix.
...
You usually feel more persuaded by what resonates emotionally with you than by factual arguments.
"Facts win. But emotions can't be ignored."
What about the fact that you meant nothing to anyone?
Stop it...
Your living and working spaces are clean and organized.
"Yes, an organized mind needs an organized space."
A space where there is no one to live you, seems quite organized
Stop it please...
You usually stay calm, even under a lot of pressure.
"I stay calm, but my mind is always running."
Is it caused by the trauma your parents gave you ? OH SORRY YOU DON'T HAVE PARENTS HAHA.
It's not funny, please... Stop.
You find the idea of networking or promoting yourself to strangers very daunting.
"I avoid it if possible."
You shouldn't avoid it, promote your body to us...
AFTER ALL THAT YOU'VE SAID AND DONE ?
Come on don't be a cry baby, it would just make a better version of you..
AND WHAT COST DO I PAY FOR THAT
There's no cost, it's more like an investment.
LIES
That's what you've convinced your mind to think about us.
WHY SHOULDN'T I AFTER ALL WHAT Y'ALL HAVE DONE ?
What have we done ?
Y'ALL... HAVE... Y'all have done... What....
See you don't know yourself.
...
It's just a lie that your friends Reis and Seraph told you.
YES REIS AND SERAPH, Y'ALL KIDNAPPED MY FRIENDS AND TORTURED THEM RIGHT!
Oh come on we were just experimenting... And what do you consider them ? FRIENDS ? THEY DON'T EVEN CONSIDER YOU YOUR FRIEND. They still consider a dead guy their friend MORE THAN YOU.
But... Since he was their friend from the beginning..
IS THAT A REASON???? Is that how you convince yourself? I feel pity on you dude...
NO I SEE YOU'RE.. YOU'RE TRYING TO PLAY GAMES WITH MY MIND!
No we're not, you're mind is what is playing games with you.. making you think that you actually mean something to them, INFACT TO ANYONE!
No...
It is true.
Yes.. it is true... THAT YOU MOTHERFUCKERS CANT FUCKING PLAY THESE GAMES ON ME!
Yeah just shut him down
WAIT-
.
.
Wow this was a tough one.. even though we tried our best to make him lose his mind, he stood strong. We gotta work more on him.
"Got it sir".
You prioritize and plan tasks effectively, often completing them well before the deadline.
"Yes, I hate rushing."
But you did rushed while trying to attack us.
You motherfuckers think I had much time to give to y'all ?
.
People's stories and emotions speak louder to you than numbers or data.
"Numbers don't lie, but stories give context."
Like the story of your failure is gonna teach people to not underestimate us right ?
Who said the story is over already? I guess the numbers which would not lie are gonna be my dead body count after we escape from here.
.
You like to use organizing tools like schedules and lists.
"Yes, I rely on them."
What was the need like, this is done by people when they are forced by their paren-
Ah yes another insult which is made in order to make me break, dude stop looking at my parents and focus on yours, maybe you would feel a thing you need. LOVE.
.
Even a small mistake can cause you to doubt your overall abilities and knowledge.
"Not really, but I overanalyze everything."
You feel comfortable just walking up to someone you find interesting and striking up a conversation.
"Depends on the person."
You are not too interested in discussions about various interpretations of creative works.
"I enjoy them, but only with intelligent people."
You prioritize facts over people's feelings when determining a course of action.
"Facts first, but people matter."
You often allow the day to unfold without any schedule at all.
"No, I need a plan."
You rarely worry about whether you make a good impression on people you meet.
"I don't care what most people think."
You enjoy participating in team-based activities.
"Only if I trust the team."
You enjoy experimenting with new and untested approaches.
"Yes, innovation is key."
You prioritize being sensitive over being completely honest.
"I try to balance both."
You are prone to worrying that things will take a turn for the worse.
"Always preparing for the worst."
You enjoy solitary hobbies or activities more than group ones.
"Yes, I work better alone."
When facts and feelings conflict, you usually find yourself following your heart.
"Logic wins, but emotions influence choices."
*Beep*
"Can you hear me"
"Yes sir"
"This person is not the type who we destroy psychologically".
"Ok sir, we will take physical measures now".
...
Iris Caldwell
Is your voice alright now, miss caldwell
"Yes I am able to speak quite well right now."
You regularly make new friends.
"I wouldn't say regularly, but I'm friendly."
That's right. You're 'friendly.' You don't want to be disliked. You don't want to be a burden.
(There is a clicking noise, like a tape recorder starting.)
Because you always are.
The walls shift. Voices emerge—people she's helped, comforted, supported. They thank her. They smile. But then—
"God,she's exhausting."
"I mean, she's nice, but she's just... too much sometimes."
"I feel bad, but she kind of drags everyone down."
The words hit like sharp edges.
The room reshapes into a hospital waiting area. She recognizes it. She's been here before. She hears herself speaking—soft, hesitant.
"I just... I just want to help."
And then—a doctor's voice, cold and factual.
"You can't."
The room shifts again. Now she sees moments—times she tried to be there for people, times she tried to make things better. But in each memory, the moment she walks away, their expressions change.
A whisper curls around her ears.
"They smile at you, Iris. But when you're not looking? They wish you'd stop trying."
You think you balance emotions and logic? You think you 'matter' to them? You're just an obligation.
Her own voice—small, weak—echoes back.
"No, that's not true."
The voices laugh.
"Then why do you always feel like you have to prove it?"
The room falls into darkness.
Amara Moore - The Fragility of Control
You prioritize facts over people's feelings.
"Facts over feelings."
But what happens when the facts are wrong?
The walls of the room are lined with equations. Data. Predictions. They pulse like veins—alive, moving, twisting.
Then, one by one, they start to shift. Small changes. At first, barely noticeable. Then—wrong. Entirely wrong.
Her voice is sharp.
"No. That's not—"
The numbers dissolve. The room is now a lab. A scientist—a man she once admired—is speaking.
"Science is absolute, Amara."
She nods. She believes that. But then—
"Until it isn't."
The lab around her shifts. There are bodies now—failed experiments. People who were certain, logical, brilliant—just like her. And they were wrong.
Her breath tightens. The screens flicker. They show moments—times she was right, times she was sure. And then—times she wasn't.
"The people who believe they are immune to mistakes are the ones who make the deadliest ones."
The voice sharpens.
You think you see the truth. But every truth you believe in is just waiting to be disproven.
The lab is now burning. The numbers, the research—it's all breaking apart.
A final whisper—calm, direct, unshakable.
"You will fail, Amara. And when you do, the cost will be everything."
The fire reaches her. And she faints.
Her psychological aspects were easy to break, wish we got Felix this easily.
Amara Moore
You regularly make new friends.
"Not really, but I'm approachable."
But what happens when the facts are wrong?
The walls of the room are lined with equations. Data. Predictions. They pulse like veins—alive, moving, twisting.
Then, one by one, they start to shift. Small changes. At first, barely noticeable. Then—wrong. Entirely wrong.
Her voice is sharp.
"No. That's not—"
The numbers dissolve. The room is now a lab. A scientist—a man she once admired—is speaking.
"Science is absolute, Amara."
She nods. She believes that. But then—
"Until it isn't."
The lab around her shifts. There are bodies now—failed experiments. People who were certain, logical, brilliant—just like her. And they were wrong.
Her breath tightens. The screens flicker. They show moments—times she was right, times she was sure. And then—times she wasn't.
"The people who believe they are immune to mistakes are the ones who make the deadliest ones."
The voice sharpens.
You think you see the truth. But every truth you believe in is just waiting to be disproven.
The lab is now burning. The numbers, the research—it's all breaking apart.
A final whisper—calm, direct, unshakable.
"You will fail, Amara. And when you do, the cost will be everything."
...
You usually feel more persuaded by what resonates emotionally with you than by factual arguments.
" feelings... no, facts."
But what happens when the facts are wrong?
The walls of the room are lined with equations. Data. Predictions. They pulse like veins—alive, moving, twisting.
Then, one by one, they start to shift. Small changes. At first, barely noticeable. Then—wrong. Entirely wrong.
Her voice is sharp.
"No. That's not—"
The numbers dissolve. The room is now a lab. A scientist—a man she once admired—is speaking.
"Science is absolute, Amara."
She nods. She believes that. But then—
"Until it isn't."
The lab around her shifts. There are bodies now—failed experiments. People who were certain, logical, brilliant—just like her. And they were wrong.
Her breath tightens. The screens flicker. They show moments—times she was right, times she was sure. And then—times she wasn't.
"The people who believe they are immune to mistakes are the ones who make the deadliest ones."
The voice sharpens.
You think you see the truth. But every truth you believe in is just waiting to be disproven.
The lab is now burning. The numbers, the research—it's all breaking apart.
A final whisper—calm, direct, unshakable.
"You will fail, Amara. And when you do, the cost will be everything."
...
After this, they gave her a drug so that her mind would start running slow and they did a rapid fire with her to check if she could hold up with the questions.
Your living and working spaces are clean and organized.
"Yes, everything has its place."
You usually stay calm, even under a lot of pressure.
"Yes, staying calm is necessary."
Are you calm right now ?
no...
why
because, i just don't know. there's something happening.. which i am not able to explain to myself...
It's fine. You soon would. Just keep answering us like a good girl.
You find the idea of networking or promoting yourself to strangers very daunting.
"I don't mind it, but I won't go out of my way."
You prioritize and plan tasks effectively, often completing them well before the deadline.
"Always."
People's stories and emotions speak louder to you than numbers or data.
"Stories are powerful, but data is truth."
You like to use organizing tools like schedules and lists.
"Yes, they keep things efficient."
Even a small mistake can cause you to doubt your overall abilities and knowledge.
"No, mistakes are just learning experiences."
You feel comfortable just walking up to someone you find interesting and striking up a conversation.
"If I have something to say, sure."
You are not too interested in discussions about various interpretations of creative works.
"I love them, but only if they're meaningful."
You prioritize facts over people's feelings when determining a course of action.
"Yes, but I try to be considerate."
You often allow the day to unfold without any schedule at all.
"No, I like structure."
You rarely worry about whether you make a good impression on people you meet.
"I care about how I present myself, but I don't stress over it."
You enjoy participating in team-based activities.
"If the team is competent, yes."
You enjoy experimenting with new and untested approaches.
"If it makes sense, I'll try it."
You prioritize being sensitive over being completely honest.
"Honesty first, but with tact."
Have you ever been honest with your friends ?
honest about what ?
about your dad being the reason of the apocalypse.
what...
Yes, he was the one who created that virus.
there's.. no way....
.
.
.
.
.
You are prone to worrying that things will take a turn for the worse.
"No, I stay optimistic."
You enjoy solitary hobbies or activities more than group ones.
"Yes, I like working alone."
When facts and feelings conflict, you usually find yourself following your heart.
"Facts come first."
Hmm, You did really well.
"Is.. this over now ?"
One more question... just one last.
"Alright... go ahead"
Do you know that Reis likes you ?
"i've had this feelings sometimes, but didn't knew he did actually..."
Do you like him back ?
.....
"Yes..."
This just made things better.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
A low voice coming from one of the tubes in which they were held...
"PLEASE STOP"
"STOP TOUCHING HER, STOP-"
"STOP"
"STOP"
"STOP"
"DONT YOU DARE"
"ONE STEP AHEAD AND I'LL FUCKING DESTROY YOU BASTARD"
"STOP TEARING HER"
"STOP"
"PLEASE"
"I BEG YOU"
please....
End of Chapter 3-A