District 19—a place of dazzling lights and endless luxury. Above ground, it's all neon and nightlife, a city that never sleeps. But far beneath the busy streets, hidden away from all that glitter, lies a sealed, forgotten room.
This is not a place of technology or comfort. The four walls are raw, rough concrete, always damp and cold. In one corner sits an old, battered desk. A box of fast food steams on top, filling the air with the greasy smell of meat and cheap alcohol. A man in his thirties, dressed in a white shirt, is devouring his meal as if nothing else matters.
At the very center of the room, a single stainless-steel chair is bolted to the floor—cold, sharp, and unyielding. Shen Lu is tied to the chair, his hands cuffed behind his back. His shoulders tremble.
This isn't an interrogation room. It's hell on earth.
Shen Lu's clothes are clean. There's no blood, not even a scratch. The only sign of torture is the black helmet still fastened to his head—a cruel machine designed to torment him with sound.
He has just come back to his senses after an hour of "noise torture."
His eardrums are bleeding;
his mind burns as if set on fire.
He hasn't slept in two days—forty-eight hours without rest.
Every second feels like he's about to shatter.
The worst part? The pain has only paused.
The next round could begin at any moment. He never knows when it will start again.
His stomach has been empty all day. The smell of the guard's food is almost unbearable. Shen Lu watches as the man eats, each slow bite a twisted kind of torment. He swallows hard, but there's nothing left in him but hunger.
He closes his eyes.
He used to be one of the shining stars of high society—a distant branch of a wealthy, powerful family. He'd dreamed of running a business empire. But he was always third in line, never the favorite. When his half-brothers found out he'd been given a shot at"family recognition," everything changed. Fate began to tilt against him.
They threw him into a dark world, a twisted underground game where survival meant killing, cheating, and selling your soul.
Shen Lu refused to become a killer.
Instead, he found strange allies: Maverick, a hunted man; Dr. Chan, always nervous; the volunteers and the big female chef; and even some of the so-called monsters that stalked the shadows. They were the only light in his endless darkness. But the light was too faint. The dark always pressed closer.
Shen Lu's old beliefs—the family rules, the faith he was raised on—are all gone now. He's left with nothing but doubt, fear, and disgust.
He hates his family for abandoning him, just because he saw the death of a powerful official's son—a boy Shen Lu thought deserved his fate. Now he's not even sure who's worse off: himself, or the monsters who roam these halls.
A sudden sound—footsteps—cuts off his thoughts.
The official is back.
No, not just an official.
A devil.
The iron door slams open, crashing so loudly the sound echoes off the narrow walls. Bright white light from outside slices into the darkness, harsh as a blade.
Shen Lu flinches and squints, feeling as if the light itself is peeling away his skin—like a row of icy nails pinning him in place.
Heavy footsteps. A man walks in, middle-aged, tall, and perfectly put-together in an expensive suit. His hair is slicked back, not a strand out of place. His smile is elegant, almost charming—he could be the star of a champagne party, the kind of man everyone wants to impress.
He glances around the gloomy room, his lips curling in a gentle, fake smile.
"Has he talked yet?"
His voice is soft, almost warm, like a spring breeze—so friendly you'd almost want to trust him. But to Shen Lu, it's poison in the air.
"Yes, he confessed, Your Honor," says a guard, standing at attention by the wall, eager to please.
The man picks up the interrogation file from the desk, scanning it with eagle-sharp eyes. His long fingers pause on one line: Maverick's address.
"As soon as this Maverick returns to his place, we will catch him!" the guard adds, bowing almost to the floor.
The man doesn't look at him. He only glances at Shen Lu.
"How's his condition?"
"Almost broken, sir. He's on the edge."
The man nods, his smile turning colder.
"Good. But don't let him die."
His voice becomes sharp as a knife.
"I want him alive. I want him to watch every one of his friends get caught, get erased, get ground to pieces.
I want him to feel every bit of the pain my son felt!"
Shen Lu's eyes are empty, his soul hollowed out.
He whispers, voice dry and cracked with despair:"Kill me… please… just kill me… don't do this anymore…"
The official's perfect mask slips. Anger flickers in his eyes. He leans in, his breath cold on Shen Lu's face."Was it you? Did you kill my son?"
Shen Lu shakes his head wildly, shrinking back, his voice broken:"No… it wasn't me… it was those monsters… I just wanted to live…"
"Then why didn't they kill you?" the man demands, voice as cold and tight as a snake's grip.
Shen Lu's eyes go blank, as if drowning. He finally whispers,"I don't know… but I didn't betray anyone. I only wanted to survive."
The air freezes—heavy and suffocating.
The man's lips twitch with contempt.
"Maybe I believe you. But you need to understand—when my son died, you were right there. And you did nothing!"
Shen Lu's lips tremble uncontrollably. Suddenly, he gives a hoarse, almost crazy laugh, as if every breath is being forced from his lungs.
"What could I have done? You want me to die with him? Oh, that's it, isn't it? That's what you really want!"
Crash.
The man's coffee cup slams to the floor. The sound is sharp and final—like a gunshot in the darkness.
"Yes! You filthy brat! You're nothing!"
The man's voice exploded like a wild beast, all elegance vanished from his face.
"Your father, your entire family—they're all vermin! You're not even fit to polish my son's shoes!"
Shen Lu broke into crazed laughter, tears and spit mixing as he howled back,
"Your son—your precious son—he was the most shameless, fake, and disgusting person I ever met!"
His laughter twisted into a cough, then a violent retch. His whole body shook as bitter bile rose up, spilling from his lips.
The man lost control, grabbing the controller from the desk and slamming his finger on the red button.
A shriek of sharp noise exploded inside Shen Lu's helmet, nearly shredding his eardrums. It wasn't any ordinary sound—it was the shriek of monsters scraping glass, the endless rewind of human screams, a private hell that only he could hear.
"Bring me Maverick," the man growled."I want him to taste this pain too!"
Finally, the agony sent Shen Lu into darkness. For him, fainting was the closest thing to mercy he could hope for.
Before leaving, the man barked at his guards,"Stake out Maverick's place. The moment he shows up, I want to know!"
"Yes, sir!" his men replied instantly.
Still not satisfied, the man's gaze stayed fixed on Shen Lu, collapsed and barely breathing in the chair."Bring in his brothers, too!" he snapped.
A guard hesitated, whispering,"Sir… that's not really by the book—"
The man raised his chin, eyes sharp as ice."I am the book. I am the law." Without a backward glance, he strode out of the dim basement.
-----------------
Dawn.
Thin mist drifted like a ghost through the forest, curling around every tree trunk and whispering secrets only the earth could hear. Shadows moved in the gray fog, stretching into ghostly shapes, as if the mist itself might reach out and grab the hem of a runaway's jacket.
Maverick stumbled out of the deep woods, shoes untied, steps unsteady.
Dried blood stained his clothes and backpack, mixed with dirt and dead leaves. He dropped onto a fallen log, breathing hard, and poured a few scraps of dry food into his hand. Not caring about the dust and grit, he shoved it into his mouth and chewed. Each bite felt like chewing glass, but he refused to waste even a single crumb.
All the while, his eyes never left the forest around him—his ears tuned to every snap of a twig or swish of wind. The smallest sound made his shoulders tense.
After quickly checking that he was alone, Maverick dragged himself to an old elm tree. He dug a shallow hole and stuffed his bloody jacket and battered backpack inside, covering it all with leaves and dirt. Mud filled his nails, but he didn't care—he just brushed off his pants, as if trying to wipe away his entire past.
A cold creek twisted through the trees. Maverick knelt and scooped up water, the icy rush numbing his fingers and face. It washed away the grime and blood, making him shiver—whether from the cold or the memory of fear, he wasn't sure.
He looked up, water dripping from his chin, his hair hanging over his forehead. He scrubbed his tangled hair in the stream, wrung it out, and watched steam curl from his head in the morning air. He shivered hard, clothes soaked, but his mind felt clearer than it had in days. It was as if the cold water had washed away a layer of his fear and despair.
He glanced back at the forest, jaw set. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head fiercely, as if determined to leave behind every nightmare the quarantine zone had thrown at him.
All he wanted was to go home. To his tiny, peeling apartment in the city, to grab a can of cheap beer from the fridge, and just collapse on his bed for three days and three nights—no thinking, no worrying, nothing but sleep.
He didn't look back. He walked quickly along muddy tracks and overgrown paths, shoes leaving wet prints behind him. After over an hour, the sky brightened and the distant hum of the city grew louder. Finally, Maverick stepped out onto the edge of the city—at the border of a quiet forest park.
The mist was lifting. More people filled the trails: some stretching, some jogging, the air tinged with the smells of breakfast and fresh coffee.
Maverick lowered his head and slipped quietly into the crowd. His steps became lighter, his heart beat faster, and in his eyes, a long-lost excitement flickered to life.