The silence was suffocating—until Samuel shattered it.
"We need to move."
His voice was steel wrapped in fire, a command that brooked no argument.
Jace nodded, but the motion was stiff, mechanical. The usual unshakable soldier was gone. In his place stood a man who had stared into the abyss—and the abyss had stared back.
Samuel and Owen exchanged a glance.
Jace was scared.
The realization hit like a hammer to the chest.
Owen's fingers twitched against his bag strap.
"Wait…" His voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a knife.
Samuel turned. "Yeah…?"
Owen didn't answer. Instead, his hands dug into his bag, rummaging with frantic purpose.
The others watched, breath held, as he searched—and then gripped something solid.
He pulled it out.
A flashlight.
Owen's lips parted in dawning realization. "Remember?" He looked up, eyes alight with something dangerously close to hope. "We packed these for a reason."
Samuel blinked—then cursed under his breath.
"Shit. You're right."
He yanked his bag forward, fingers scraping past supplies until they closed around cold metal. The moment the flashlight slid free, a weight lifted from his chest.
"Damn, Owen." Samuel exhaled, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Guess you do earn that 'Supply Master' title."
Owen's smirk was small but genuine. "Told you flashlights were OP."
Even Jace, still pale and tense, managed a grunt of approval as he pulled out his own. Victor, ever the wild card, twirled his between his fingers, that creepy grin never fading.
It was a small victory.
But in this hellscape?
Light meant survival.
They stood at the prison's entrance—a maw of pure blackness.
The air here was thick, oppressive, like the building itself was breathing down their necks.
Samuel tightened his grip on the flashlight, his other hand clenching into a fist.
No more hesitation.
No more fear.
"Let's go."
His voice was steady. Unbreakable.
And with that—
They stepped into the Hollow Prison.
They moved forward, leaving behind the last shred of safety.
Samuel and Jace took the lead, their footsteps deliberate, measured, each one echoing faintly against the blackened floors. Owen followed slightly behind—close enough to stay with the group, but far enough to avoid walking directly beside Victor.
And Victor?
Victor did not belong here.
Not because he was afraid.
Not because he hesitated.
But because of the way his eyes gleamed with manic curiosity, his lips stretched into a grin too wide, too eager, like a child stepping into a haunted house, thrilled by the promise of terror.
It made Owen's skin crawl.
The Hollow Prison swallowed them whole.
The walls towered endlessly, constructed of blackened, corroded steel, their surfaces covered with decay. Rust streaked down like old bloodstains, pooling at the seams where metal met the cracked concrete floor.
Cells lined the hallways—empty, yet not.
Their bars were twisted, jagged, as if something had wrenched them apart from the inside. The darkness beyond them breathed, shifting subtly when no one was looking.
The air was thick with the scent of mold and something metallic—like old coins left to rot in damp earth.
And the silence…
It wasn't just quiet.
It was hungry.
Like the prison itself was listening, waiting, savoring their fear.
Samuel exhaled, his breath visible in the unnatural chill.
"This is exactly how we saw it in the Echo…"
Owen's gaze flickered across the rotting infrastructure, his throat tightening.
"I guess this is the start…"
Jace's voice cut in, hard, unyielding.
"We are not dying here."
Samuel felt something stir in his chest.
Jace was coming back to himself—the soldier, the survivor. The man who refused to break.
But they couldn't afford false hope.
Samuel's voice turned grim, warning.
"We have to be careful of the Warden."
A beat.
"We know what he can do."
Owen nodded, gripping his flashlight tighter.
"Sounds good to me."
Victor said nothing.
He didn't need to.
His wide, unblinking eyes scanned the prison like it was a grand exhibit, his fingers twitching at his sides, as if itching to touch, to explore, to play.
And then—
He jumped.
A single, giddy hop, like a kid who couldn't contain his excitement.
The sound shattered the silence, bouncing off the walls in a way that felt wrong, obscene.
Owen's stomach lurched.
Samuel's jaw locked.
Jace's grip on his weapon tightened.
Because in this place—
In this rotting, breathing nightmare—
Victor was enjoying himself.
And that was the most terrifying thing of all.
They walked.
The cold air of the Hollow Prison bit into their skin.
Everything was still.
Everything was empty.
The cells lined the walls, stretching into endless hallways.
Yet, they were not completely empty.
Inside some of them—
Bones.
Scattered. Piled. Displayed.
Not recent deaths.
These were old.
Ancient.
Long since rotted away, leaving behind only the hollowed remains of the ones who came before them.
Owen peered into one of the cells, his stomach tightening.
"…They're like trophies."
Samuel stopped beside him, grimly staring at the skeletal remains.
"They're not from the participants." His voice was low, Certain. "If they were, we'd still see flesh. It takes a long time for a body to decompose like this."
Jace stood near the bars, his fingers brushing against the cold metal.
He didn't say anything.
Just watched.
Watched the bones.
Watched the empty sockets staring back at them.
And then they moved on.
They walked.
And walked.
Keeping track of their steps.
Making sure to memorize their turns.
Samuel counted silently.
Left.
Right.
Right.
Straight.
Left.
They were careful.
They were focused.
Yet—
When they turned the next corner, Owen suddenly froze.
His eyes widened.
A cold, sick feeling sank into his stomach.
He turned to Samuel, his voice edged with confusion.
"…We were here before."
Samuel's eyes flickered to the same cell.
The same bones.
The same dark stains on the walls.
He felt a sudden weight in his chest.
"…Yeah."
His brows furrowed.
"We just went in circles."
A pause.
A realization.
The prison was messing with them.
Jace clenched his jaw.
His calm composure was shaken again.
He exhaled sharply, his eyes scanning the hallways.
Owen spoke again, his voice quieter.
"…This place is a maze."
Samuel nodded, his hands clenching into fists.
"We need to figure out how to find the exit."
Jace still didn't say anything.
But his eyes were sharp.
Looking.
Searching.
Trying to find something—anything— that made sense.
And then—
Victor finally spoke.
"I think I get it now..."
Victor's voice slithered through the silence like oil on water—smooth, unnatural. The temperature seemed to drop further as he spoke, their breath frosting in the suddenly frigid air.
Samuel's hand twitched toward his flashlight, his muscles coiled tight. Every instinct screamed
Danger.
"What do you mean... Victor?"
Victor's voice cut through the heavy silence, smooth and eerie. There was something unsettling in his tone—something that made the air feel even colder than before.
Samuel tensed. His fingers twitched near his flashlight, his instincts screaming at him not to trust a single word that came out of Victor's mouth.
"What do you mean… Victor?" Samuel's voice was laced with suspicion.
Victor turned his head slightly, the dim light casting sharp shadows on his face. Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, he spoke again.
"Oh, my beloved boss… my lovely, wonderful boss… hear me out on this one."
Samuel stiffened immediately, disgust creeping up his spine. "Cut that shit out," he snapped. "And make it quick."
Jace and Owen had already turned toward Victor, their expressions unreadable—except for Owen, who was gripping Jace's sleeve slightly, his discomfort obvious.
Victor, as always, looked unbothered. More than that, he looked entertained.
And then, without hesitation, he reached forward and gripped the rusted iron bars of a nearby cell.
Click.
The gate swung open.
Silence.
Owen blinked.
Jace inhaled sharply.
Samuel's jaw clenched.
"…What?" Owen's voice barely left his throat.
They had assumed—no, they knew—the cells were all locked shut. Every single one had been sealed off, a cage with nothing inside but emptiness. But now, here was one single cell, standing open.
And inside…
The bones of a dead man lay slumped against the wall.
Victor stepped inside.
And then—
The prison came alive.
The walls began to glow.
It wasn't a bright, comforting glow. It wasn't light.
It was the blood.
The dried stains on the walls—they ignited, turning a sickly crimson red, glowing like embers of a dying fire. And in that blood, across every inch of the prison cell's walls, were words.
A single phrase.
Repeated.
Carved.
Screamed.
Burned into the very fabric of this nightmare.
"TO ESCAPE THE PRISON, STOP RUNNING IN FEAR."
"TO ESCAPE THE PRISON, STOP RUNNING IN FEAR."
"TO ESCAPE THE PRISON, STOP RUNNING IN FEAR."
"TO ESCAPE THE PRISON, STOP RUNNING IN FEAR."
"TO ESCAPE THE PRISON, STOP RUNNING IN FEAR."
"TO ESCAPE THE PRISON, STOP RUNNING IN FEAR."
It repeated endlessly, covering every inch of the prison cell, every surface drenched in this warning—this desperate, maddening plea.
Samuel felt his breath hitch, his stomach twisting. Jace took a slow step back. Owen's hands trembled.
The glow from the blood painted Victor's face in a sinister red as he turned his head back toward them, his smile widening, his eyes gleaming like a man witnessing a divine revelation.
"Well… now isn't this just fucking beautiful?"
The words glowed.
Burned.
Seared themselves into their eyes, over and over.
"TO ESCAPE THE PRISON, STOP RUNNING IN FEAR."
Owen stared at the wall, the message pounding in his skull like a heartbeat. He swallowed hard.
"…Stop running in fear?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's what it says. But… what does that even mean?"
Victor, standing in the eerie red glow, let out a soft chuckle—low and unsettling.
"We're walking together," he murmured, running his fingers across the rusted bars of the open cell. His nails scraped against the iron, producing a sickening screech. "Like a bunch of scared little sheep…"
Samuel's brows furrowed. His grip tightened around his flashlight.
"What are you getting at?" His voice was sharp, demanding.
Victor turned his head slightly, the dim, flickering glow of the blood illuminating the sharp curve of his smirk.
"We need to stop being scared, boss."
Samuel tensed. He didn't like the way Victor said that. He didn't like the way his voice dipped into something playful, teasing—like a man toying with his food before taking a bite.
And then, a pause.
A long, suffocating pause.
Samuel's mind raced ahead of the conversation before Victor even spoke again.
He already knew what he was about to say.
"…Are you implying we should—"
Victor cut him off, voice dripping with amusement.
"Split up."
His smirk widened. Grinning like a devil.
Silence.
Jace stiffened.
Owen's breath hitched.
Samuel's stomach twisted.
Splitting up? In this place? It was a death sentence.
It was suicide.
It was exactly what horror movies warned you never to do.
Yet…
His eyes flickered back to the walls.
"TO ESCAPE THE PRISON, STOP RUNNING IN FEAR."
Owen took a step back. "Wait, wait—no, that can't be right. We're supposed to work as a team, right? We stick together, we survive. That's how we're supposed to do this."
Samuel's fingers curled into a fist. "Owen's right. Splitting up is the worst possible—"
Victor clicked his tongue. Tsk.
"Oh, boss… I thought you were smarter than that," he purred. "This prison isn't a maze. We just keep ending up in the same place, over and over. That means there's something keeping us trapped."
His grin stretched wider.
"Fear."
Samuel's throat felt dry.
Victor leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"This place doesn't want groups. It doesn't want teamwork. It wants you alone. It wants you to stop running."
Owen shook his head, panic creeping into his voice. "That doesn't mean we should just walk into a death trap, Maybe it's a trick, maybe it's—"
"Oh, it's a trick, alright." Victor's voice dripped with amusement. "A trick designed to keep us scared. To keep us trapped."
He exhaled, shoulders rolling back as he threw his arms out.
"Face it, boys. We've been running in circles. There's only one way out of this."
Samuel clenched his jaw. He could feel Jace's eyes on him. Owen's stare—wide and pleading.
They were waiting for his answer.
But he already knew the truth.
Victor was right.
Jace stepped forward, blocking the glow of the blood-stained words.
His voice was sharp, unwavering. "Don't listen to him."
His glare burned into Samuel, but his words were for everyone.
"He's a psycho. He doesn't care if we live or die."
Owen shifted closer to Jace, tension tightening his jaw. His fingers curled slightly around his flashlight.
"Jace is right. This is insane. We are not splitting up." His voice was steadier than before, but there was a tinge of desperation beneath it. "We stick together. We find another way."
Silence.
But Samuel...
Samuel hesitated. His heart was hammering against his ribs.
His gut told him Victor was reckless, unstable, dangerous.
But his mind told him something else.
It told him that Victor was always right.
As twisted as it sounded, as wrong as it felt, every single call Victor had made so far had been...
Correct.
Samuel swallowed. His thoughts raced.
"Should I listen?"
"I need to make a decision."
"But... I don't know..."
He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the flashlight.
Then, slowly—he turned to Victor.
"…Okay, Victor," Samuel said, voice firm despite his own hesitation. "We'll do as you say."
Owen and Jace both snapped their heads toward him.
"What?!"
"Tell us the plan," Samuel continued, eyes locked onto Victor.
Victor stilled for a moment. Then he grinned.
The red glow of the prison walls lit up his face like a demon.
He looked like a man who had just won the lottery.
"Oh, boss," Victor purred, his smile stretching wider. "Now you're speaking my language."
Owen's frustration broke through, his voice rising in disbelief.
A little desperation filled his voice.
"Samuel! You can't be serious! This is Victor. You know—Victor, the guy who's been acting like a complete maniac this entire time? The guy who is probably enjoying this way too much?!"
Jace's glare darkened."He's leading us into a trap."
Samuel sighed, rubbing his temples. "We don't have a choice."
Owen shook his head. "No, no, no—we do have a choice. We stay together, we find another way and—"
"And how long do we stay here?" Samuel's voice cut through the room, sharper than he intended.
Owen stopped.
Samuel exhaled, steadier this time.
"It's just like the echo," he murmured. "This place feeds on fear. That's how it traps people. That's how it keeps them running in circles. The second we step into this phase, the prison already has us."
His gaze flickered back to Victor.
And Victor knew it.
That's why he wasn't afraid.
That's why the prison wasn't swallowing him up like it did the others.
Victor... figured it out.
He analyzed the echo, read between the lines, and now—now, he knew exactly what they had to do.
Samuel clenched his jaw, then turned back to Jace and Owen.
"We have two options." His voice was calm, steady. "We take a risk… or we stay here forever."
A long, tense silence followed.
Owen's lips parted, but no words came out.
Jace's expression was unreadable.
And Victor—Victor was watching, eyes flickering with amusement.
Then, finally, Victor stepped forward.
The blood-red glow painted his skin like war paint as he raised his arms in an exaggerated, theatrical motion.
His voice was dripping with mockery—but beneath it, there was something else.
Something real.
"Alright, boys." His grin widened. "Gather around. Let me tell you exactly how we're breaking out of this prison."