Elira was there, of course. Head bowed. Pencil tapping. Hoodie sleeves halfway over her hands like always. But the way she sat today—something was different.
She wasn’t buried in her notes.
She was waiting.
She felt it in her spine before she heard his steps.
Micheal.
He didn’t knock. Didn’t pause. Just stood across from her like the air had been calling him back.
She looked up slowly.
No words.
Not yet.
Until he dropped a folded paper between them.
Micheal (quietly):
Pause.
“And who started breaking it… before me.”
Elira didn’t touch the page. Just stared.
Elira:
Micheal:
A pause.
Micheal (lower):
That got her full attention.
She reached for the page now—unfolded it slowly, like truth had a weight.
A glitchy still-frame. Two students, frozen mid-laugh. The boy—Peter Marshall. The girl—unidentified. But the location?
The courtyard.
Same spot Micheal had kissed Sam.
Same place Anjali had tried to rewrite her worth.
And there was more.
Micheal:
Elira (soft):
Micheal:
She leaned back.
The room wasn’t cold, but her breath was.
Elira:
Micheal leaned forward.
No smoke. No swagger. Just fire.
Micheal:
Elira (quiet):
Micheal (nodding):
He tapped his chest once.
Micheal:
Elira:
Micheal:
beat
Micheal:
Elira’s eyes flicked up. No jealousy. No insecurity. Just a quiet calculation.
Elira:
Micheal (half-smiling):
Elira’s brow furrowed.
Elira:
beat
Elira (sharper):
Micheal exhaled, jaw tight.
Micheal:
Elira:
Micheal:
Elira:
Micheal:
Elira moved to the wall, pulling down a hidden folder from a high ledge. She tossed it open—a crude map of Augusta’s internal networks. Names. Class tags. Obscured hierarchies.
She circled the names they knew.
Three pawns. No knights. No queens. No king.
Yet.
Elira (half-whispering):
Micheal (flat):
Elira:
Elira sat on the cold floor, fingers flipping through brittle, dust-worn pages.
She didn’t know why she was here—
Only that something Micheal said… unlocked something in her memory.
Augusta documented everything important.
Every major event. Every turning point.
But not in reports. Not in data.
In stories.
Fiction, on the surface.
But not really.
She remembered one book.
One she dismissed the first time—laughed at, even.
Now she turned back to it with a shaking hand.
Inside the Book — Fictional Name Redacted
It was about a boy.
A boy who loved.
Openly. Honestly. Without shame.
And the college—one unlike Augusta—celebrated it.
No hierarchy. No gender games. No roles to play.
Only choice.
He married the woman he loved.
But others loved him too.
Multiple figures. Influential girls. Powerful ones.
And they didn’t care that he was already chosen.
They didn’t care about vows.
Because in this story?
The boy was more than wanted.
He was
Elira flipped the page slowly, breath catching.
She remembered this part.
At first, it felt absurd.
Women fighting——over a man?
In Augusta, that was comedy.
But now, with Micheal in her life…
She knew it was possible.
The women in the book didn’t see him as a trophy.
They for him.
Deeply. Obsessively.
And one of them?
She was dangerous.
She had control over the whole school.
Not because she earned it—
But because of who her father was.
She could bend rules. Rewrite them.
She didn’t win the boy’s heart.
But he respected her. Treated her like she mattered.
Told her she was powerful. Told her she could become anything.
He didn’t know she only wanted to become
And when he didn’t give her that?
She snapped.
One by one, she destroyed the women around him.
Anyone who had touched him. Smiled at him. Loved him.
Until only one remained:
His wife.
Elira’s chest tightened as she read.
The wife wasn’t powerful.
She was quiet. Gentle.
Holding their newborn in her arms, she hid—terrified.
But the jealous girl found her.
And tried to destroy her.
She was caught.
And —the jealous one—
became the first student ever sent to Wing 0.
Not the wife.
Not the boy.
The
Elira sat back, breathing hard.
That part always confused her.
If the system punished girl,
why did it become what Augusta is now?
Why the shift?
Then she turned the final page.
Even from Wing 0, the girl still had pawns.
Loyal. Programmed. Silent.
And weeks later, from the shadows—
She had the wife killed.
No trial. No exposure.
Just… gone.
And the boy?
He ran.
Took his son. Disappeared.
And in the chaos that followed—
The college rewrote everything.
They called love a weakness.
Declared men a liability.
Said affection was
And to prevent another collapse—
They built Augusta.
Where every girl would be made colder.
Harder.
Crueler.
Year after year.
So they'd never fall in love again.
So they'd never that way for a boy again.
Elira closed the book.
Fingers trembling.
Eyes wide.
She understood now.
This wasn’t a story.
It was
And Micheal?
He wasn’t the start of something new.
He was the of something buried.
Something the system swore it erased.
A boy worth loving.
And a system terrified of what that could mean.
Minutes Later
Elira slid the book across the table.
Old spine. Frayed pages. No author.
Just a weight that didn’t belong in fiction anymore.
Micheal stared at the cover, silent.
He didn’t touch it yet.
Didn’t move.
Elira (quietly):
“I thought it was just a story.”
“But now I think it’s… your family.”
Micheal’s jaw didn’t clench.
His breath didn’t stutter.
But something behind his eyes shifted—
Like glass cracking under pressure you can’t hear yet.
He opened the book.
Read in silence.
Page after page.
No questions. No commentary.
Just… stillness.
Until—
Micheal (low):
“They rewrote it.”
Elira nodded once.
“All the names. All the symbols.”
He traced the ink with his thumb.
Then whispered, almost like it wasn’t for her:
“He kissed her like I kissed Sam.”
Beat.
“He ran like I would’ve.”
Longer silence.
Micheal (quieter):
“And they called him Echo.”
His voice cracked—just a fracture.
Not pain. Not fear.
Recognition.
The kind that lives in your blood before it lives in your thoughts.
Micheal leaned back in the chair.
Didn’t look at her yet.
He was staring past the shelves now.
Through time.
Micheal (flat, hollow):
“They didn’t build Augusta to protect girls.”
“They built it to punish one.”
Beat.
He closed the book.
And when he looked up?
There was no anger in his face.
Just purpose.
Sharper than before.
Colder.
Like something just clicked into place.
Micheal (even):
“She killed my mother.”
Not a question.
A statement.
A memory he hadn’t lived—
But had always carried.
He exhaled through his nose.
Then stood.
Micheal:
“They erased him from the system.”
“But not from the story.”
His hand rested on the cover one last time.
Soft. Final.
Micheal:
“My father was the Echo.”
“Then it’s time I become the Sound.”
The book sat between them like a coffin.
Elira watched him—eyes wide behind her lenses, breath shallow.
Micheal didn’t blink.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Then he said it—quiet, but sharp:
Micheal “I want names.”
Elira:
“Whose?”
Micheal (slow, deliberate):
“The one who killed her.”
“The ones who loved him.”
“The one who ran the college from the shadows.”
“And the one woman who gave birth to me and never made it to the ending.”
Beat.
“I want all of them.”
There was something new in his voice now.
Not fire. Not fury.
Focus.
A man who had been wandering through a storm, finally finding the shape of the mountain he was meant to climb.
Elira swallowed.
Elira:
“Even if you find them…”
“What are you going to do?”
He looked at her.
Eyes darker than she’d ever seen.
No charm.
No rebellion.
Just… truth.
Micheal:
“I’m not trying to dismantle Augusta anymore.”
“I’m trying to confront the woman who created it—”
“by killing someone who loved a man.”
His voice tightened.
Micheal:
“They erased my mother. Turned her into a lesson. A warning.”
“But I’m not a warning.”
“I’m the consequence.”
Elira (soft):
“Do you really think she’s still here?”
Micheal nodded—once.
Certain.
Micheal “Someone kept this book alive.”
“Someone protected the footage Mira found.”
“That kind of preservation doesn’t happen unless the guilty want to keep score.”
He stood now.
The air felt colder around him.
Elira stood with him, hesitant.
Elira:
“You’re not just looking for answers anymore, are you?”
Micheal didn’t lie.
Didn’t pretend.
He looked her in the eyes.
Micheal “I’m looking for a face.”
Beat.
“The one who sent my mother to the morgue.”
“And the one who thought the son would grow up blind.”
He turned, already heading for the library vault.
But stopped.
Looked back once.
Micheal “Find the files, Elira.”
“Find every woman who ever spoke to Peter Marshall.”
“Every punishment. Every redacted page. Every expulsion.”
Beat.
“If I’m going to confront the woman who built Augusta’s lies…”
“…I need to start with the ones who helped her.”
His voice dropped, almost a whisper.
Not weak.
Just sharp enough to bleed.
Micheal “Even if they didn’t pull the trigger—”
“they loaded the gun.”
And then he walked out.
Not with swagger.
Not with smirk.
Just with silence.
The kind that precedes a reckoning.
He moved fast.
Elira didn’t follow — she knew where he was going.
His bishop. His guide.
The only one who didn’t lie to him.
He knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing.
His eyes darkened.
He didn’t wait a third time.
He turned the knob and walked in.
Her scent was still there — faded perfume and paper.
But she wasn’t.
And in her place?
An envelope.
He froze the second he saw it.
Because he already knew.
No dust. No second copies. Just red wax. Official. Cold. Final.
He opened it.
Read it.
Then again.
And when he finished—
He didn’t breathe.
Not for a full five seconds.
The letter fell from his hand like it burned him.
Micheal (low, shaking) “She was my bishop.”
His voice cracked. Not from sorrow. From pressure.
“She was mine.”
And they took her.
He stepped back.
His shoulders stiff.
His chest rising faster now — sharper.
A growl flickered under his breath.
Not rage. Not yet.
Strategy.
Because now he knew something else:
The board was live.
Grayson had pieces already moving.
He was down a bishop.
He hadn’t even placed his knight yet.
And Grayson was already striking.
His hands tightened at his sides.
A sharp inhale.
Micheal (through teeth) “She’s pulling strings before I’ve even placed mine.”
“That’s not control.”
“That’s fear.”
Micheal stood frozen.
The letter still lay on the floor.
His bishop was gone.
Ripped from the board by a silent hand wearing Grayson’s rings.
And just when he thought the weight couldn’t deepen—
His phone buzzed.
A sharp vibration.
Too light for the weight it carried.
He pulled it out instinctively—eyes still half-lit with the burn of the last blow.
Notification:
??
The air stilled
His thumb hovered.
He tapped.
The video buffered—only for a second.
But that second?
Long enough for something in his chest to coil tighter than before.
Anjali’s voice filled the space.
Bright. Clean. Public.
Anjali (on stream):
Pause. A breath. A practiced tremble in her voice.
Anjali:
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
A sharp cut to her face — not crying.
Perfectly framed disappointment.
Anjali (continued):
pawn, even. Promised me everything. And now… I see him sniffing around every other girl in this school.”
Beat.
A smirk.
Just faint. Just enough.
Anjali:
He’s not charming.
He’s not special.
He’s just a pervert.
Another desperate boy who doesn’t belong here.”
Video ends.
Silence.
Thicker than grief.
Micheal stared at the screen like it might rewrite itself.
It didn’t.
His jaw tightened.
His breath dropped.
His voice—finally—rose.
Micheal (furious, under his breath):
He stepped back.
Shoulder slammed into the edge of the bookshelf behind him.
Micheal (louder, teeth clenched):
fuck is this day trying to kill me?”
His voice echoed in the empty office.
No one there to answer.
Not Elira.
Not Professor Vance.
Not even Mira.
And Anjali?
His pawn.
chose
The one who swore loyalty
Now she’d lit a match with his name on it—
Public. Intentional. Calculated.
He wanted to hit something.
But he didn’t.
He wasn’t a weapon.
Not yet.
He was still a piece on the board.
But now?
He knew who’d be first to fall.
The post had already gone viral.
Anjali’s name trending.
Micheal’s name—twisting.
He found her by the central arch, where influence once on her.
Now, she stood alone.
Back to the wall.
Eyes unreadable.
Micheal stormed toward her.
Heat in his chest.
Ash in his throat.
Micheal (sharp, low):
Anjali didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t flinch.
Micheal (louder now):
any idea what you just did? You made it look like I’m—obsessed with you. Like I’m some freak bouncing between girls for sport.”
A few students slowed their steps.
Heads turned.
Phones hovered.
Anjali raised an eyebrow—only slightly.
Anjali (calm):
Micheal (snapping):
read it. Every edited, twisted word.”
More heads turned.
Someone whispered.
Someone else started recording.
Anjali (quieter, firmer):
chose to be your pawn.”
Micheal froze.
Anjali:
for you. That I was stepping down . I wrote it with heat. With honesty.”
A pause.
Anjali (cold now):
he touched it.”
Micheal (confused):
Anjali (tight):
The name hit
Hard.
She folded her arms, voice low and bitter now.
Anjali:
that edit.”
Micheal’s stomach dropped.
Anjali (still quiet):
my words.”
The comments were pouring in now.
Hovering in every screen.
“Another boy trying to climb through a girl.”
“Creep.”
“Typical. Soft power always shows itself.”
“Micheal Marshall is proof boys need supervision.”
Micheal’s voice fell.
Micheal:
Anjali looked around.
Laughing.
Not just at him.
At .
Anjali (quietly):
They made the warning.”
Micheal's hands curled into fists.
He’d played their game too loud—
Too direct.
Too .
Now he was being used.
Framed.
Painted.
The crowd didn’t see nuance.
Didn’t know Orion Kael’s name.
They only saw one thing:
A boy yelling at a girl.
A who looked like she was done being nice.
The crowd saw —and in Augusta, that meant correction.
Micheal stepped back.
Eyes dulling to realization.
He couldn’t speak freely anymore.
Not here.
Not without risk.
Every word, every glare, every breath from now on—
Could be sliced into narrative by someone else’s hands.
And Anjali?
She wasn’t his enemy.
She was just another victim of the same board.
Micheal (hoarse, almost to himself):
And I’m already bleeding.”
Micheal stood in the middle of the courtyard.
The crowd was dispersing, but the weight of their judgment Phones lowered.
Eyes lingered.
No one said a word.
He exhaled once—slow.
Not broken.
Just… colder now.
Inside his head, the pieces clicked.
They can’t expel me.
Too messy. Too public.
I’m the they don’t want the world to see.
And Wing 0?
That wasn’t a punishment—it was a containment protocol A only if the system could prove he was a threat Not just rebellious.
But .
They needed him to snap To become the villain in the story they were .
So instead… they aimed at what he had.
What he was building.
Bishop — .
Transferred “for supervision” in Wing 0.
A clean lie, printed in polished type.
Pawn — .
Spun into a weapon against him.
The girl who chose him now made to look like .
And lips of Madam Grayson whispered while looking at Michael from her Window “Checkmate
He chuckled. Dry. Dangerous.
Micheal (under his breath):
Break my pieces before I know I’m even playing.”
His hands slid into his coat pockets.
His shoulders straightened.
And then, like venom wrapped in silk—
Micheal (low, smiling to himself):
He looked up at the sky—so clean, so staged.
Every angle of Augusta designed to look .
Micheal:
Now it’s my turn.”
His eyes glinted.
That quiet fury wasn’t rage.
It was something .
More dangerous.
Intent.
Micheal (firm, to himself):
You want me reckless.
You want me to burn it all down so you can call it ‘discipline.’”
He stepped down from the courtyard.
Boots hard on marble.
Micheal:
You’ll get .”
He moved toward the edge of campus, past the dorms, toward the shadow corridors—
Where Mira waited.
Where Elira searched.
Where his next bishop was still out there.
Micheal (low growl in his breath):
Now watch what I do with mine.”
Location: Dorm Rooftop — Midnight
Wind clawed at the edge of the rooftop, but the camera stayed steady.
Anjali held it. Not streaming. Not posturing. Just filming.
Micheal stood at the ledge—jacket flaring, face unreadable under the wash of moonlight.
Micheal (calm, slow):
No intro. No dramatics. Just a blade drawn with surgical silence.
Micheal:
I want to know what it’s like.
To be labeled. Contained. Broken.”
He turned his head slightly—like he knew where the watchers were.
Micheal:
Others think I’m special. That I don’t deserve punishment.”
Beat.
“You’re both wrong.
I’m not asking to be forgiven. I’m asking to be…understood.”
Pause.
“To show you what it means to walk willingly into hell—because the fire isn’t what I fear.
It’s the silence that comes after.”
He nodded once. Final.
Micheal (low):
Anjali lowered the camera, eyes scanning his face.
Anjali (soft):
Micheal:
Beat.
“But it’s the loudest.”
She didn’t say another word. Just handed him the footage.
Location: Server Room — 1:13 AM
Mira didn’t look at him when he arrived. Just nodded toward the console.
Mira (flat):
Micheal:
Mira:
Wing 0 isn’t a metaphor anymore. It’s your coffin.”
Micheal:
A flicker of something moved behind her eye lens.
She typed. Three keystrokes.
And the video went live.
Screens lit up everywhere.
Cafeteria. Dorm halls. Class lounges. Even restrooms.
Everyone watched the same thing:
Micheal Marshall requesting entry into the place no one returned from.
The student body shattered into two.
?? Group 1 — Retribution Sector:
?? Group 2 — Redemption Sector:
Some whispered he was brave.
Others called it a stunt.
A few? They knelt.
Just to say they stood him.
Grayson watched the chaos unfold like she was sipping tea at the end of the world.
The board was splintering. The institution bleeding reputation.
Council Warden (anxious):
Grayson (cold):
Council Warden:
Grayson:
She turned away before they saw her smirk.
Grayson (to herself):
there will be no one left to save him.”
Location: Wing 0 Gate — Sunset
The hallway leading to the entrance was cleared.
No guards.
Just silence.
And a single glass door, tinted red from the inside.
Micheal walked alone. No cuffs. No warnings.
Only Mira watching from above.
Only Elira watching from behind a book she couldn’t read.
The hallway lights flickered once.
Then the door slid open.
The air hit him like breath held too long—cold, sterile, .
But Micheal didn’t flinch.
He stepped through.
And the door slammed shut behind him.
Outside, the war raged between mercy and punishment.
Inside Wing 0?
Something darker stirred.
Something even the system hadn’t catalogued yet.
Because Micheal Marshall wasn’t there to Wing 0.
He was there to break it open
And bring his bishop back.
The door closed behind him
No chains. No threats.
Just .
Micheal stood still as two masked staff approached him—neither spoke. One held a scannerclipboard
The first rule of Wing 0?
You don’t ask questions.
The scanner passed over his body. Front. Back. Then lower.
No devices.
No metal.
No transponders.
No hope of contact.
When they were satisfied, they offered him two items
- A tablet
- A pair of sleek black headphones
The tablet lit up immediately—one screen, white background.
RULES:
- You do not remove the headphones. Ever.
- You do not skip medication. Four pills daily. No exceptions.
- You do not speak unless prompted.
- You do not skip medication. Four pills daily. No exceptions.
There was no button to press. Just a timer
00:00:14
Ticking down.
At zero, the screen went black.
A tray opened in the wall beside him. Inside—four soft-pink pills and a paper cup of water.
Micheal didn’t reach for them.
He was already watching everything.
Every corridor camera.
Every ceiling panel that blinked too softly.
Every wire running up the corner of the wall like a vein in a monster's skin
And then—the headphones clicked on
The voice started.
Micheal flinched slightly.
The volume was locked
He tapped the tablet. No volume control. No menu.
Just blank.
He was trapped in someone else’s sound.
Moments Later – Inner Wing
He walked forward.
Slow.
Cautious.
Each hallway looked cleanPolishedWhitewashed
It looked like a spa. Felt like a funeral
Every door he passed was closed.
Except one.
Door 12B.
Open. Light buzzing from inside.
He turned, cautiously.
And saw her.
Scene: 12B — Soft Containment Room
Professor Leora Vance.
His bishop.
Sitting at the edge of a bed.
Her posture was upright.
Her hands folded.
But her eyes?
Empty.
Not broken.
Blunted.
Like someone had filed her thoughts down to smooth, obedient shapes.
She looked at him—and didn’t react.
Until he stepped inside.
Micheal (gently):
“Professor.”
Nothing.
Just the headphones
The same poison.
He sat beside her. Reached out slowly—and lifted one earpiece.
Her hand snapped to his wrist
Not violently.
Just… controlled.
Leora (flat):
“No. You can’t take them off. It’s the rule.”
Her voice was her own.
But not whole
Micheal (quietly):
“What is this place?”
She blinked. Once.
Then, as if something in her had permission to remember
Leora (softer now):
“They call it a recovery wing.”
“But it’s a reformatting lab.”
Beat.
Leora:
“Lucien Quell built it. Mira’s father. Years ago.”
“He believed resistance could be… ”
“Through isolation. Repetition. Sensory restructuring. And… chemical reinforcement.”
She glanced at the pill tray near her bed.
Didn’t touch it.
Leora:
“You follow the rules. You hear the message. You take the pills.”
“And after a while, you stop thinking.”
“You just… agree.”
Micheal:
“You’re drugged.”
Leora:
“Only enough to dull choice.”
“Not enough to erase it.”
Her voice cracked—just faintly.
Micheal leaned closer.
Micheal:
“You’re still in there.”
“I came here you.”
Her hand trembled.
For the first time, emotion
A twitch of pain.
A flinch of something remembered.
Leora (whisper):
“You shouldn’t have.”
“If Bastien finds out you resisted dosage…”
Micheal:
“He’ll force it?”
Leora nodded once.
Leora:
“He waits. Until you’re starving.”
“Then he offers you food—only if you take extra
“Two days of that, and you’ll say thank you for the leash.”
She reached for his wrist again—not to stop him this time.
To warn
Leora:
“Wing 0 doesn’t kill you.”
“It rewrites you.”
“Into something Augusta can claim.”
Final Beat
Micheal sat still.
The voice still whispered in his ears.
His jaw tightened.
His eyes darkened.
And then—he whispered, barely audible:
Micheal:
“They want me to forget who I am.”
“But I remember you.”
Beat.
Micheal:
“And I’m not leaving without you.”
Leora didn’t speak.
She just looked at him.
Like maybe——there was still enough left inside her…
To hope.
Wing 0 – Day 2
No one spoke in Wing 0.
But everything here spoke you.
The white walls whispered obedience.
The floors hummed with sterilized purpose.
The staff
Micheal learned quickly:
- Rooms 100–150
- Wing B
- Cafeteria intakeafter pills, not before.
- And Sector Xone man
A man named Bastien Reeve
Grayson’s hidden pawn.
Not clean like Lucien Quell.
Not elegant like Orion Kael.
Bastien was brute force in skin.
Muscles wide. Voice absent.
When someone refused pills, refused protocol?
He didn’t shout.
He waited.
Until the body weakened enough to obey with its stomach.
Then?
He’d pin them down. Force the pills down their throat. Three times the dose.
After that?
You didn’t refuse again.
Micheal — Day 3: Starvation Protocol
He didn’t take a bite.
Not one.
No meds. No food. No water from community dispensers.
Only what he could find in pipe runoff or borrow from untouched trays at night.
His lips cracked
His stomach curled inward
But he didn’t yield.
Because he had a plan.
That night, when the lights dimmed to “Sleep Mode,”
Shorted the headphone circuit.
Just enough to disrupt the signal—not destroy it.
Enough so it still looked whole
The band still wrapped around his head.
The lights still blinked.
But no sound came through.
And in that silence?
He heard everything else
The sighs of those trying not to weep.
The way Leora sometimes whispered old lectures into her own pillow.
The crackling buzz
He was the only one awake.
Wing 0 – Day 4
Micheal walked the halls like them now.
Still. Numb. Quiet.
But behind his eyes?
He was building a map.
- Guard rotations.
- Camera blind spots.
- Who served what.
- What hallway leaked when it rained.
- And which pipes fed into the air system.
- Camera blind spots.
By day, he .
By night, he .
The more he watched, the more the system revealed itself.
Lucien Quell’s surveillance design
But Micheal wasn’t a pattern
He was a virus disguised as protocol.
Leora’s Room, Night 4
He slipped in through the maintenance shaft.
No one checked them anymore.
Everyone here was too far gone to crawl.
She was sitting at the edge of her bed again.
Headphones on.
But the light in her eyes?
It flickered this time.
Micheal crouched in front of her.
Careful.
Slow.
He lifted one side of her headphones just a little—enough to let air in.
Micheal (quiet):
“I’ve stopped taking it.”
“Three days. My stomach hates me, but my head is mine again.”
“And these?” “They’re fried.”
She blinked.
Just once.
Leora (faintly):
“You shouldn’t say that out loud.”
Micheal:
“Then let me whisper.”
He leaned in closer. Face inches from hers.
Micheal (lower):
“I came in here for you.”
“Not to be rescued. But to remember you.”
She turned her head slightly.
Not enough to betray herself to the cameras.
Just enough to listen.
Micheal:
“You’re still in there. You remember your name. Your mind. Your strength.”
“You were my bishop before this place. And I’m not playing the rest of this game without you.”
She clenched her jaw.
Her fingers trembled in her lap.
Micheal reached up—touched the side of her temple.
Just a breath.
Micheal:
“They want us empty.”
“But I’m here to make you feel again.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
But her voice?
Still ironed flat.
Leora:
“If Bastien finds out…”
Micheal:
“Then he’ll try.”
“And he’ll fail.”
Beat.
Micheal:
“Because they drugged the wrong monster.”
Bastien’s Watch — Just Outside
Bastien stood in the corridor outside Sector X
Watching the monitors.
One lit up brighter than the others.
Micheal—face calm. Posture perfect. Headphones still on.
Bastien grunted.
Not worried.
But curious.
Because something in that boy’s gait had changed.
He wasn’t walking like he was obeying.
He was walking like he was waiting
The hum in her headphones pulsed like static.
“Girls lead. Boys follow. Love is weakness. Obedience is order.”
The words were stitched into her brain now—not believedmemorized
Micheal watched her eyes.
Still. Dim. Focused on nothing.
But not lost.
Not yet.
He reached forward, slowly.
One hand to the back of her headphones.
The other to her jaw—light, anchoring.
Click.
A short, sharp buzz—metal scraping metal
The same toothbrush tab that fried his circuit now touched hers.
A spark hissed.
And then—silence.
No voice.
No loop.
Just him.
Micheal (low, steady):
“You hear that?”
“That’s your silence.”
“That’s your mind—not theirs.”
She blinked.
Her pupils dilated slightly—not because of the drugs
Because for the first time in days—she heard her own breath
Leora opened her mouth.
But no words came.
Just a short inhale—ragged. Hollow.
Micheal leaned in, voice soft but sharp enough to cut through the haze.
Micheal:
“You’re my bishop.”
“And I want you back.”
He moved closer.
Fingers brushing her cheek—not to hold
To remind her what touch felt like without sedation.
Micheal:
“Not as a piece. Not as leverage.”
“But because you were the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t a symptom.”
“And I won’t let them turn you into silence.”
He paused, forehead against hers.
Breathing the same cold, sterile air.
Then—he kissed her.
Not soft.
Not slow.
Fierce. Alive. Human.
Like he was trying to burn through every layer of sedation and fear and obedience that had wrapped around her.
Her lips were cold at first.
Unmoving.
But then—
Her hand rose.
Weak.
Shaking.
But it touched his shirt.
Clutched the fabric.
Pulled.
And for the first time since she entered Wing 0—
She kissed back.
It wasn’t perfect.
Her breath hitched like she forgot how to need it.
Her hands trembled like they weren’t sure if this was allowed.
But when their mouths broke apart—her eyes were wet
Still foggy. But clearing.
Leora (hoarse):
“I can…feel again.”
Micheal:
“Good.”
“Because I need you whole when I tear this place down.”
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his chest—not as a teacher
Not as a leader.
As a survivor.
And he held her.
Not because she was fragile.
But because she was waking up.
And that?
Was dangerous.
For everyone.
She was trembling. Not from his lips—but from to feel them.
For days she hadn’t truly felt
But now, the dull weight in her blood was lifting. Slowly. And her clarity was crawling back.
Her lips parted.
Leora (hoarse):
“They saw us. On camera. They’re coming.”
Micheal’s reply was soft—almost too calm.
Micheal:
“No, they’re not.”
She blinked. Her fingers still clung faintly to his shirt.
Leora:
“What are you talking about? They monitor everything.”
Micheal turned, walked to the corner, and sat down.
He looked like a man catching his breath—but he wasn’t resting.
He was
Micheal (evenly):
“There’s a book in the library. You know it.”
“”
Leora flinched. Familiar.
Micheal:
“A boy. A woman in Wing 0. A message passed through walls. A death. A collapse.”
“Everyone called it fiction.”
He looked up now, meeting her eyes.
Micheal (quiet):
“But it wasn’t.”
Leora (barely breathing):
“I taught that book…”
Micheal (firm):
“And now you realize—it’s a record.”
Micheal:
“She was sent here. Just like you.”
“But even from this hole, she sent a command.”
“She got her rival From the ”
“And I don’t want death.”
“I want control.”
He’d found the pipe by accident.
A whisper of air in a place where everything else was still.
He knelt beside the wall.
Dry metal. Hollow.
And most importantly—silent.
The sound didn’t echo. It traveled.
And that was the key.
The door was still closed.
The air was still cold.
But for the first time in days
They looked awake
Still trembling from the kiss, her hand brushing over her lips like they still carried his warmth.
And then—
Her voice broke the silence.
Leora (urgent):
“They’ll come. Cameras saw us. The systems always see.”
Micheal stepped back, calm, unrushed. But not dismissive.
He just… smiled.
Micheal (quietly):
“No, Professor. They won’t.”
Leora (narrowed eyes):
“How can you know that?”
Micheal:
“Because I’ve been planning this since the first night.”
He took a breath, stepping closer. The room swallowed his voice, like it wanted to hear
Micheal:
“I read a book before I got here. Hidden at the bottom of the banned stack in the West Library.”
“It was called ”
Leora’s eyes widened—barely—but enough.
Leora (soft):
“That book… it’s fictional.”
Micheal (shaking his head):
“No, Professor. That book is a warning in disguise
Elira sliding the book across the table, the weight of its spine heavier than history.
Whispers between the pages.
The girl in Wing 0.
The message to the pawn who carried out end of my mother
Her voice came low now. Shaken.
Leora:
“That was ”
Micheal:
“It wasn’t just real. It’s repeating.”
“And if she—my Mother’s killer—could pass a message to her pawn from inside Wing 0…”
“…then I can do the same. Right now.”
Micheal’s footsteps echoed down the metal corridor.
But to the one place
The washroom.
And in the far-left stall—he found them.
The pipes.
Three ran the length of the tiled wall.
Two vibrated faintly—water flow.
But the third
Dry.
Dead-silent.
Micheal (V.O.):
“In Anjali’s corridor… I remembered the sound.”
“A metal clink. An echo. Something underground. Dry pipes.”
“The layout finally made sense.”
“Because Wing 0 isn’t a bunker outside the college.”
“It’s a spine. Built directly beneath