The gates closed behind them.

  The sound echoed—deep, metallic, final.

  Samye felt it in his bones.

  Inside the abandoned government facility, the world changed.

  It wasn’t just a place.

  It was a system built to destroy people slowly.

  From the inside, the facility looked like hell had descended onto the earth and decided to stay.

  Endless corridors stretched beneath harsh white lights. The walls were stained dark—not entirely with rust. The air was thick with the smell of blood, sweat, oil, and something rotten that never left.

  People worked everywhere.

  Not living people.

  Walking corpses.

  Men and women moved mechanically, their bodies bent, eyes empty. Some dragged broken legs behind them. Some worked with one arm. Others had bandaged faces where eyes should have been. Fingers were missing. Hands were gone.

  No one screamed here.

  Those who could scream had already done it somewhere else.

  Aren’s grip on Samye tightened as they were pushed forward.

  Samye wanted to look away.

  He couldn’t.

  When the new batch of prisoners reached the central intake hall, they were forced to kneel.

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  Guards walked among them calmly, as if this was routine—because it was.

  A metal rod was heated until it glowed red.

  One by one, prisoners were dragged forward.

  The iron pressed against flesh.

  The smell hit first.

  Then the screams.

  Numbers were burned into their backs—deep, permanent. Names were no longer needed here.

  When it was Samye’s turn, his body stiffened.

  The iron touched him.

  Pain exploded.

  His vision went white.

  He bit down hard enough to draw blood, refusing to scream—not out of bravery, but instinct. When it was over, his entire body trembled uncontrollably.

  Aren cried out behind him.

  Samye couldn’t turn around.

  After the branding, the rules were announced.

  Not shouted.

  Spoken calmly.

  Which made them worse.

  Rule One:

  “If you try to run and get caught, one part of your body will be taken as punishment.”

  The guard paused.

  “Multiple attempts will result in multiple losses.”

  Rule Two:

  “Food is given only to those who work. No work—no food.”

  Rule Three:

  “Eyes stay down. No one here looks at us as equals.”

  The guard leaned forward slightly.

  “Break this rule, and you will learn what pain really means.”

  No one questioned anything.

  No one dared.

  They were assigned dormitories.

  Long, narrow rooms with metal bunks stacked tightly together. No privacy. No comfort. Just enough space to lie down and wait for morning.

  Outside the dormitory walls—

  the screams began.

  The torture chamber was close.

  Too close.

  Every night, someone was taken.

  Sometimes two.

  Sometimes more.

  Their screams traveled through the walls, through the beds, through skin and bone. The sound didn’t fade quickly. It lingered—long enough to teach everyone the same lesson.

  Fear works better when shared.

  Sleep abandoned Samye.

  When exhaustion dragged him under, nightmares took over.

  He dreamed of running.

  Always running.

  Chasing something he couldn’t reach. His parents. Aren. A life that kept slipping farther away the faster he moved.

  He woke up gasping, his body drenched in sweat, heart racing like he had just escaped death. Sometimes he couldn’t remember what scared him—only that something had.

  Aren slept fitfully beside him, flinching at every scream.

  Samye stayed awake longer than he should have, staring at the ceiling, listening.

  Counting screams.

  Counting seconds.

  Trying to remember what it felt like to live without fear.

  This place didn’t just break bodies.

  It trained the mind to surrender.

  And as the days began to blur together, Samye understood something with terrifying clarity.

  This was not a prison.

  This was a factory.

  And human beings were the raw material.