Chapter [redacted]

If evil had an origin, it would be Radon-8. A pre-war prison turned laboratory. Faint whispers are all that remain of its existence, painting a terrifying picture. A beating heart was all that was required for entry. Rest easy—you wouldn’t have to lift a finger, or answer a single question, they came at the dead of night, erasing every trace of your dreadful existence. One day you were mindlessly traversing the tunnels. The next? Strapped down to a stretcher with needles inserted into your arms, at least, that’s what the alleged survivors say. Radon-8 was hell. Baren Volkov was about to be its newest resident.

Bumps and lumps along the track jolted the Lokomor, its hull quivering under its immense weight and speed. The floor shuddered, tossing Baren from side to side. Dim lights flickered as he scanned his surroundings, his wrists bound in cuffs. Boxes lined the carriage walls as a lone Red stood by the door, smoking and keeping watch.

With an ear-piercing thud, the entire train shook, boxes flew around like dust particles, one of them landed beside Baren, revealing a decapitated head, its stench burning his nostrils. The brakes screeched, hydraulics hissed, sparks flew outside the carriage’s circular window. The PA system whirred to life, a robotic voice announcing, “Ground Zero. I repeat, we have arrived at Radon-8. Prepare to transport the subject.”

The rustling noise didn’t go unnoticed, Baren looked up to find the guard staring at him, eyes wide with terror. His hand twitched toward his pistol while simultaneously reaching for his radio. “I need backup… It found him.”

Confused and disoriented, Baren gasped, “What?” His gaze snapped back to the box, The head was moving—veins and arteries protruded from its stem, writhing like grotesque limbs. Baren sucked in a sharp, icy breath.

The head froze. Then, slowly, it turned.

Baren’s breath hitched. “Ne—Nemen?”

Its eyes snapped open, and with a sudden, violent lunge, it shot toward Baren. He instinctively recoiled, his heart skipping a beat. The lights flickered out, a sharp pain ripped through his head, and he crashed to the floor in blinding agony.

Wake up, Volkov…

Baren opened his eyes only to find himself strapped to a chair, machines and needles hooked up to his arms and legs. He was surrounded by muffled voices. “He’s regaining consciousness, Sir.”

“Increase the voltage Lewinsky!”

Baren felt a sharp, jolting pain surging through his body, his muscles spasmed, skin burned, eyes turned red with tears. “Stop it! Please!”

No, Wake up!

The room shifted around him. Suddenly, he was lying on a stretcher. In a futile attempt, he tried to move—his body refused to respond. Trapped within his own mind, he could only watch as surgeons ripped open his arms and chest. Paralyzed, Baren silently suffered, screaming in his thoughts. “I want to die… Stop!”

Volkov! Wake up!

Memories… moments, they all rushed back to him.

His old man carrying him on his shoulders.

“Pa, when will you come back from the surface?”

He chuckled. “Baren, don’t worry, it’ll only be two days.”

“Thats what you said last time… Promise?”

“I promise. And when you are old enough, I’ll even take you to the surface with me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

Days turned into weeks, but he never returned.

Young Baren’s little heart was shattered.

He only joined the Red academy in hopes of traveling to the surface, to one day maybe find his father.

But along the way, he met his only true friend.

It was his first day at the academy. Orientation. He stumbled into another cadet.

“Sorry, I—”

“It’s fine. First day?”

“Yeah…”

“Me too! I’m Nemen.”

“Baren. Yeah, I was just trying to find the 5th division line.”

“Well, you’re standing right beside them.”

Another cadet hollered from the back of the line, “Welcome to the 5th division! Name’s Prock.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s an idiot. I’m Javier, by the way.”

Baren nodded and got in line. This was going to be interesting.

And then there was the memory. The one closest to his heart. The one fading away.

His mother—she died the day before he graduated.

He still remembered how she used to tuck him into bed late at night.

“But its too dark. I don’t feel good.”

“Baren, the dark can’t hurt you. But holding onto fear can. You have to let go of it.”

Let go—that’s what I always did. Let go of grief, guilt, fear, friendship… and now, I’m afraid I’m about to let go of myself.

So wake up!

Baren awoke, gasping for air, his body ached; a stabbing pain surged through his chest. His vision blurred as he looked around. Thin black bars boxed him in. It was dark, with distant hazy lights illuminating the area. I can’t be trapped… No, no— Baren stepped forward, grasping the cold metallic bars. “Hello?” His voice reverberated off the dull concrete walls, only to vanish into the void below.

The prisons core lay exposed—a shallow, lifeless courtyard. The cells lined the outer circular rings, looping around the perimeter, connected by precarious metal walkways suspended by cables. To make matters worse, his cell was on the fourth floor, with no clear path to escape.

Staring blankly into the void below, he froze. His frown deepened. His heavy eyelids sagged even further as he slowly dropped to the floor, slumping against the bars. Tears streaked down his face as he traced the scars across his skin. He reached into his right pocket, only for it to be empty.

Baren exhaled into the humid air, his sobs shaking his body. His fist smacked the concrete floor, raw with rage. “Why?! You petty shits!

I have lost everything ma, even you… I’m sorry. I failed.

A voice interrupted him from the adjacent cell. “Hey—”

Staggering to his feet, Baren cast his gaze from side to side. A faint silhouette emerged from the cell to his left, a Ranger. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Baren’s eyes widened. “Are you…real.”

“Um, I think so.” He chuckled. “What about you?”

Relaxing his shoulders, Baren gasped, “I don’t know anymore.”

Clearing his throat, the Ranger said, “So, how did you end up here.”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

“Trust me, your story can’t be worse than mine.”

“How about finding all your comrades dead with a single phrase written in blood, ‘The ending is—”

“The beginning…”

Baren’s breath hitched. He staggered back, his pulse hammering. “How—how do you know that phrase?”

“Because I heard it too.” He exhaled slowly, “In my dream, right before something whispered… wake up.”

Something? No… It—they—can’t be connected. But what if they are? What if this is all a part of It’s plan? And what if this is just the beginning? The ending is the beginning…

A sharp zap split the silence as overhead sirens buzzed to life. Bright white lights flickered on, one after another. With a mechanical whir, gears grinded against each other, extending a web of metallic walkways. “What’s happening?” Baren asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Suddenly, the air trembled with a deafening thud. Baren’s eyes darted to the far end of the circular prison, where the walls on the sixth floor quaked, then began sliding apart. From their hidden depths, a two-story structure emerged, its front dominated by a vast viewing port, while its roof and sides gleamed with polished metal.

Standing on the fourth floor, Baren had a clear view of the unfolding transformation above. Within, the lights flickered on, casting sharp shadows as a figure emerged behind the glass walls.

Baren’s fists tightened, his eyes widening in fear. “Nox…” he muttered.

White noise filled the prison as the PA system hummed into calibration. Amber lights buzzed to life, casting a harsh glow over the rows hydraulic doors. With a sharp hiss, one of them slid open, two soldiers emerged.

Baren’s heart pounded as they advanced toward his cell, their boots clanking against the metal walkway. Baren stiffened. He recognized them—black armor, tinted gas masks.

As they drew closer, he noticed they were carrying something—a tray. “Why are they carrying a tray?”

“Probably sedatives, so they can transport us without any resistance.” The Ranger turned towards Baren. “Be ready for a struggle.”

Take us? Where? For more experiments? Torture? No—I would rather die than go through all that again.

Before Baren could react, the soldiers were already at his cell. In perfect synchronization, they turned to each other. “Is this the one?” one soldier asked. “Yes,” the other replied.

As the key clicked in the lock, Baren tensed. He ran through his plan one last time; Stay calm. Strike the one closer. Grab his pistol. Shoot the other. He repeated the words like a prayer—there were no second chances.

The door swung open, this was it. The soldier turned, grabbing the tray, then turned back to face Baren. “Amenities and food, granted by Comrade General Nox.”

Baren was left dazed as the soldier placed the tray on the harsh concrete floor. It was a cooked steak with a large sandwich, they even included a fork. Its pungent aroma made Baren swallow down his parched throat.

Leaving Baren’s cell, the soldiers opened the Ranger’s cell and handed him a tray of food as well.

Without another word, they marched away, their boots clanking against the metal walkway. As they reached the hydraulic door, it hissed shut behind them, swallowing them into the darkness.

Baren exhaled deeply. “It’s another trick. Food is probably poisoned or laced with something.”

“Yeah, most likely. But why?”

Baren stared blankly at the floor, memories flooding in. “Nox… he likes to test people, break them through their own choices, their own will.”

“He wants us to willingly submit…”

Baren gave a silent nod. As the tension drained from his muscles, pain crashed into him like a sledgehammer. His chest burned, body ached—only now did he realize how numb he had been. A groan escaped him as he slumped against the cold metal bars.

Worried, the Ranger gasped, “You okay, Red?”

“Baren.”

“What?”

“Name’s Baren…”

“Altor.” As his gaze swept across Baren’s arms, the scars caught his attention. “They really did a number on you.”

“You—could say that.”

Sitting down, Altor gave a harsh derisive laugh. “You know, I used to tell myself I could somehow bring an end to this war.”

Baren scoffed. “Did you really believe you could do it alone?”

“Believe? No. But I hoped. It is all that I have left.”

Baren coughed, clasping his hands. “What’s the point?”

“It’s a choice, comrade.” He continued, “If you have really lost all hope, then why don’t you end it? Why sit in a rusty old cell and talk to a stranger?”

Baren smirked, “Were you a philosopher before they conscripted you?”

“I wouldn’t be stuck here if I were one.”

The duo chuckled briefly, but their laughter faded, replaced by the heavy silence of tension returning once more.

Clearing his throat, Baren said, “So, what’s your escape plan?”

“What makes you think I have one?”

Baren lifted his left hand and pointed his index finger directly at Altor’s right pocket.

“What about that sharp knife?

Altor pulled out a makeshift knife made out of broken forks, their tips acting as the blade.

“Good eye.” Altor extended his hand between the thin bars. “Are you with me?”

Baren hesitated. What if this is just another trick? Just a cog in Nox’s grand plan. Maybe. But if I do nothing, I’ve already lost. And if there’s even the slightest chance I’ll take it. Nox will pay, I’ll make him sure of that.

Baren exhaled sharply, clasping Altor’s hand, “This isn’t gonna be easy.” He continued, “But I have… hope.”

Fatigue weighed on them like a heavy burden, the duo exchanged weary glances, silently agreeing to take turns sleeping. Baren, exhausted and in pain, was the first to surrender.

The next day, Baren woke to a sharp buzz, amber light seeping between the narrow cell bars. His body ached as he forced himself upright, wincing. He turned toward Altor’s cell—only to find him hunched over, methodically dragging his knife’s blade against the rough concrete floor. “Something tells me you didn’t get much sleep.”

Altor turned, his gaze locking onto Baren. “I’ll sleep when we’re out of this damn hole.”

Suddenly, a hydraulic door hissed open, slicing through the silence. Baren lurched forward, his fingers clenching around the cold metal bars. His voice dropped to a whisper, “They’re coming.”

Altor tapped Baren’s shoulder, then reached into his right pocket and pulled out a dull blade. “Take it.”

Baren exhaled sharply before taking hold of the blade and shoving it into his back pocket. “We have one shot at this.”

Bracing against the bars, Altor whispered, “Let’s make it count.”

Baren nodded and eased himself onto the floor, feigning sleep. His arm draped across his face, shielding half of it from view. His muscles tensed as the rhythmic clang of boots echoed against the metal walkway, steadily growing louder—then, abruptly, it stopped.

As the key clicked into the lock, Baren yawned and pushed himself up, his back pressing against the bars.

Tray in hand, the soldier stepped inside. His gaze flicked to yesterday’s untouched tray, then back to Baren.

“You didn’t eat?”

Baren opened his mouth to speak but the other soldier cut him off.

“Why should we care? They can starve for all I know.”

The guard gave a silent nod and placed the food tray in front of Baren. Without another word, he turned his back to retrieve yesterday’s tray.

Baren’s fingers slid into his back pocket. This was his chance. Slowly, he drew out the blade, every movement was deliberate, calculated, almost mechanical. He was ready.

As his grip tightened around the blade, a flicker of movement caught eye. His head twitched to the right. Another soldier was pacing along the metal walkway, boots clanking against the steel.

Pocketing the blade, Baren exhaled sharply and cast a distressed gaze at Altor.

“Hey!” The soldier called from the walkway. “The sergeant wants to have a word with you two.”

The soldier inside Baren’s cell hollered, “Wait, we’re still handing out the daily rations.”

The second soldier barked back, “Fuck them. They don’t want to eat right? Wish granted.”

“But—”

“You can stay if you want.” The other soldier snapped. “But don’t expect the sergeant to be too happy about it.”

As the soldier on the walkway left, the other two started arguing amongst themselves.

“But? Have you lost your mind?

“No, I was just…”

“Listen kid, they are prisoners—test subjects. Their lives have ended, I would implore you to exercise better judgment if you want to continue yours.”

Maybe it was shock, or maybe it was fear, but the other soldier remained silent as they both walked back to the hydraulic door, vanishing once more into the darkness.

As the door hissed shut, Baren relaxed his shoulders. “That was too close.”

Altor sucked in a icy breathe. “Yeah… We need to be more careful next time.”

Slumping against the bars, Baren cleared his throat. “Did you hear them arguing?”

Altor nodded, examining his blade. “Sounds like a rebellion to me.”

“Come on, a rebellion? It’s just one soldier.”

“A single crack can weaken the entire structure. But either way, that’s not the point. Our days are numbered. They won’t keep us here forever.”

“I think I know what you’re getting at,” Baren said, blankly staring at the concrete floor. “Tomorrow… it’s all or nothing."