The sky was black. Not because night had fallen, but because dust and smoke had choked the stars.
From the rooftop of an abandoned building, Donfrey stood alone.
His black scarf danced with the wind, and his eyes gleamed in the darkness, reflecting the fire consuming the city below.
Behind him, a red flag waved, bearing a strange symbol: a distorted rabbit, grinning with sharp teeth.
He spoke, as if addressing the entire city—or maybe just himself:
"Was life ever meant to be lived like this? As puppets in the hands of those who feel nothing? Or was pain simply proof that we were still alive?"
He pulled an old, torn, faded drawing from his pocket. One quick glance... then a bitter smile.
"Everything we've lived through... all of it reduced to a picture... a voice... and one question:
When did we begin to lose our humanity?"
Suddenly, an explosion shook the building.
Then—darkness.
The scene cut off… as if life itself decided to rewind.
---
The Past — Ten Years Ago
The sun was hidden behind heavy gray clouds.
The house was small, its walls damp, and the kitchen reeked of burnt eggs.
Ten-year-old Donfrey sat on the floor, holding a cheap sketchbook, coloring with a black crayon a cartoon character he used to love.
The character was smiling… but surrounded by shadows, as if the smile were a silent scream.
It was a rabbit, full of sorrow and a fake grin.
Behind the character, he had drawn a classic white car.
He didn't know why, but that car was always in his mind.
Its whiteness scared him more than the darkness of the drawing.
In the kitchen, his mother flipped the eggs while quietly crying.
Only three eggs were left in the fridge. She cooked them all at once, as if trying to cook what little hope remained.
Then, the door slammed open.
The father entered, reeking of alcohol.
His face was pale, his eyes dim and lifeless.
"They fired me..." he said, like a man announcing the last lifeline for this family had been cut.
He slumped into a chair, stared at the last remaining glass of alcohol, then downed it in one go.
Then, he shouted:
"Starting tomorrow, you quit school, Donfrey. You work. Just like me. As a porter."
Donfrey looked up at him. His gaze was empty.
He didn't fully understand, but something inside him cracked.
"Dad... I could be a doctor..."
His first ever glimpse of a dream.
The father laughed mockingly, then kicked him, pushing him away from his sketchbook.
He grabbed the drawing and tore it in half.
"These drawings are worthless. We won't make a single coin off them."
Donfrey didn't react.
He simply gathered the torn pieces and sat, hopeless.
His mother rushed in from the kitchen, shouting:
"Why are you doing this?! Why hit him?! What did he do?!"
"Because I lost everything! I got fired today!"
Then he grabbed an empty bottle and smashed it on her shoulder.
Blood poured, and her voice fell silent.
The father was drunk, overwhelmed by grief, no longer himself.
Donfrey ran to her, screaming:
"Mamaaa!"
He carried her with his small arms into the living room, looking for bandages.
He managed to stop the bleeding, but the cut was deep.
She passed out from the blood loss.
The father staggered to his room and fell asleep.
At dawn, Donfrey went to his father's room, wanting to confront him…
But the body was cold.
A heart attack.
The only ending for such rage.
The boy sat beside him, trying to wake him.
It was the last sleep he would ever have.
Donfrey whispered:
"Come back... we need you,"
—and cried. Silently.
Half an hour of tears on a dead man's chest.
In the living room, the mother awoke.
The blood had dried on her shoulder.
She walked, calling for her son, not finding him.
She searched the kitchen, his room… until only her room remained.
She opened the door…
Found her husband's corpse, with tears still on it…
And her child gone.
She collapsed.
---
The Escape
Donfrey was smart, even in grief.
He made a decision:
"I have to work."
He left at night. For the first time, he saw the city in such darkness.
He reached the market, stopping near an old woman selling vegetables.
"Grandma… what does a porter do?"
She was surprised, then said:
"You carry people's stuff for money. Why do you ask?"
"I want to work."
She laughed—a wicked laugh, as if she'd found prey.
"Wait by my stall. I have some things I want you to carry."
Donfrey felt joy. He had finally started working. But just for a moment…
In her bag, he saw a terrifying rabbit logo, smeared with blood.
She noticed his eyes, quickly hid the logo, and handed him 30 riyals.
Donfrey smiled and continued walking with her.
The air was tense.
She tried asking about his family.
Donfrey:
"I just want to help my family... like any poor kid."
The road passed in anxious silence… until they arrived.
But then...
A classic car—completely white—pulled up in front of them.
The door slowly opened.
And from inside…
A rabbit.
But not cartoonish.
This one was terrifying—its mask pale and full of misery.
Donfrey remembered the drawing he once made.
As if he had seen this future coming.
The same rabbit. The same car.
But reality was even more terrifying.
"You're Donfrey. The son of the man who lost everything."
"Who are you?" Donfrey asked.
"We are the Carrot Gang. We're here to change the world."
Donfrey felt something wrong.
He saw sorrow in the rabbit's gaze.
He ran—but the old woman was behind him.
"Welcome, little one..."
She injected him with a sedative.
---
The Awakening
A thick darkness… then a faint white light.
Heavy breathing, distant whispers of children.
Donfrey opened his eyes.
The ceiling was rust-colored, cracked, like a prison within itself.
He lifted his head slowly—he was on a rusty metal bed, surrounded by dozens of others.
Children… like him.
Each lost in silence or distant stares.
He sat up, breathing fast, eyes scanning everything.
To his left… a girl.
Small face, wide eyes—but not innocent.
There was something missing in her expression.
Something nameless…
As if she had been born without a trace of life.
She stared at him—calmly, silently.
He whispered:
"Where am I?... What is this place?"
She didn't reply.
He asked again, confused:
"Why are we here? Is this a hospital? A school? A prison?"
She answered, softly—but with chilling indifference:
"This… is the real slaughterhouse."
He was startled by the word.
His eyebrows rose, heart racing.
"Slaughterhouse?! What do you mean? Who are you? How did we get here?!"
He clutched his head, trying to remember…
But his mind was foggy.
Blurry images. Noise. Streets…
Then…
A terrifying old woman.
A white car.
A rabbit mask.
He gasped:
"The rabbit… I… I saw a rabbit…!"
The girl smiled faintly.
But there was no warmth in that smile—only ancient knowledge.
She said:
"That rabbit… or rather, those rabbits… they're the reason you're here. They brought you, just like they brought us."
"But… why? Why would they bring us here?"
"I think… they call themselves the Carrot Gang. I don't know their goals. But this place… it's terrifying."
He paused. That name…
"Yeah… I heard them say it. Carrot Gang… he wore a rabbit mask."
He looked at her again.
Despite her calm, she carried pain far beyond her years.
He asked softly:
"What's your name?"
She answered after a few seconds:
"Freya."
He smiled, despite the fear. A small smile—like a spark in the ashes.
"Nice name… Freya.
I… I'm Donfrey."
She nodded quietly.
A heavy silence fell between them.
Then he whispered, like speaking to himself:
"Maybe… if I'm here… and you're here… then we're not alone."
She looked at him, said nothing.
But for the first time, something small shifted in her face…
As if her eyelash trembled.