Location: City Jail, Elite Criminal Section
A man sits on the cold ground of a dark cell, knees pulled close, hands resting loosely over them.
His eyes are empty, staring at the thin beam of light falling from a small window above.
He has no idea what's happening outside in the world.
He only waits.
Waits for the day he can finally walk out of this place.
Two guards walk down the hall, whispering.
" He's getting out today," one mutters.
"What? How? He still had ten years left," the other replies. "Who are we supposed to beat and bully if he's gone?"
The first guard shrugs. "Order from above. Nothing we can do. They said he's suffered enough. They're letting him live now."
They reach his cell.
"Hello there, you piece of shit," one guard says, tapping the bars.
No response.
"Still acting cocky? Didn't last night's beating teach you anything?"
"Stop it," the second guard says, reading from a file.
"Name: Jason Schizor.
Age: 26.
Cell No. 0152.
There's an order from senior government judges. Your punishment is cancelled. They say your behaviour changed or whatever. Blah blah… lucky bastard."
The guard tosses clothes at him.
"Get moving before my head starts hurting. Robertz is your name, right?" Jason asks calmly.
"Who cares," the guard snaps. "Just get moving."
Jason stands up quietly. No anger. No fighting. Just silence.
He finishes all the paperwork. The gates open.
He is free?
Or maybe… not really.
Outside the jail entrance, he stops under the bright sun. He waits, hoping someone—anyone—might be there for him.
No one comes.
So he starts walking alone, wondering who pulled him out of prison.
He enters the city he grew up in. The streets are familiar, but everything feels new.
Shops look different. Schools look renovated. Even the sunlight feels strange to him.
People walk past him like he's invisible. The city doesn't feel nostalgic at all.
Jason wanders the streets with no destination—just looking for somewhere he still belongs.
As the sun begins to set, he finally reaches a place he remembers deeply.
An old boxing gym.
Wooden walls, steel plates, fading signboard.
He tries the door—it's locked.
He pushes harder, but it won't budge.
So he breaks a side window and climbs in.
Inside, the air smells like dust and old memories.
Everything is exactly how he left it years ago.
He takes a slow breath.
For the first time in a long time… he feels something close to relief.
He looks around: the ring, the punching bags, the pictures on the walls.
His cold eyes soften as memories come back.
The place is dusty, so he starts cleaning—sweeping the floor, wiping the equipment, fixing whatever he can touch.
He doesn't think.
He just cleans with the same passion he once trained with.
Night falls.
Then—
Footsteps.
Fast.
Getting closer.
Stopping right outside the gym door.
Jason freezes.
The door handle turns.
Someone opens the door.
Who could it be???