The cracked digital clock on the cafeteria wall read 11:30 AM.
After a morning session of forced labor that felt like endless physical torture in the depths of the mines, lunch felt like a blessing from the most merciful of gods—whoever that god might be in this forsaken world.
Devon sat on the long metal bench, staring at his food tray with sparkling eyes—a sharp contrast to his face, still slightly bruised from the morning's incident. If breakfast had been a culinary insult in the form of cement porridge and brick bread, then this lunch was a formal apology from the kitchen staff.
Today's menu: Deep Sea Squid Tentacle Stew with Spicy Ink Sauce and Seaweed Rice.
"Finally..." Devon whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. He scooped up a chunk of chewy purple tentacle. The aroma was savory, with a hint of oceanic fishiness, but well-masked by the stinging scent of spicy spices.
He popped it into his mouth.
Chew. Chew.
Imaginary tears streamed down Devon's cheeks. The texture was chewy but not tough like a tire. The seasoning had soaked in. A burst of salty, savory, and spicy flavors exploded on his tongue, erasing the traumatic memory of the gray porridge from earlier.
"Delicious," he mumbled, this time with a sincerity he rarely showed. "This is actually edible. Turns out this prison still humanizes... well, 'monster-izes' its inmates."
Beside him, Zerath was eating in a much more barbaric fashion. He didn't use a spoon. He plunged his claws into a large chunk of squid meat, then tore at it with his fangs. Black ink sauce smeared around his cracked-mask-like mouth, making him look like a messy predator toddler.
"Can't you slow down a bit?" Devon scolded, wiping the corner of his own lips with a rough napkin. "We're elite inmates, not wild animals."
"Grrrmph... thwis is gwood," Zerath replied with his mouth full, eyes glowing with delight. For an experimental creature used to bland nutrient fluids in a lab, this prison food was gourmet.
After that brief moment of happiness, reality struck again.
A siren wailed loudly.
12:00 PM. Back to work.
The afternoon session was a repetitive hell. Devon was back to holding the pickaxe, striking the rocky walls, collecting glimmering Azure-Quartz minerals. His new muscles screamed in protest. Every swing sent painful vibrations through his shoulders and back. Cold sweat mixed with mine dust coated his body, making his pale skin look filthy and greasy.
Yet, Devon endured. He didn't complain. He used the pain as fuel, training the muscle memory of his 'empty' body to remember how to be strong again.
4:30 PM. Decontamination Area (Public Showers).
Hot steam filled the large room with its slippery white tiled floor. The sound of water spraying from dozens of showers created a soothing white noise.
Devon stood under the stream of hot water, one hand resting his forehead against the wet tiled wall. Water flowed down his limp black hair, tracing his back—which formed a perfect V-taper—and washing the filth from his skin.
He was butt naked. Obviously.
The red wings on his head drooped limply, soaked like a wet chick. Devon sighed deeply, feeling the hot water ease the tension in his muscles. However, one thing ruined this moment of relaxation.
He touched his neck. The cold, heavy metal was still there. The Magitech Restraint Collar.
"Dammit..." he cursed softly. "This thing is really choking my flow. Feels like trying to breathe through a straw."
Devon straightened up, slicking his wet hair back. He stared at his faint reflection in the metal water faucet. For a moment, his chuunibyou side took over. He narrowed his eyes, putting on an arrogant and cold expression.
"Hmph. Enjoy your victory while you can, you foolish wardens," he muttered to the reflection, posing dramatically with one hand covering half his face (Dark Flame Master style). "You think this scrap metal collar can hold the Emperor forever? I am Zorynthraël! Ruler of the Narrative! You are merely NPCs in my grand story! Someday, I will destroy this place with a snap of my fing—"
He executed a cool spin to end his internal monologue.
Sreeeet.
His foot stepped on a leftover sliver of slippery soap.
"OW!"
THUD!
No majesty. No imperial dignity. Devon slipped cartoonishly, both feet flying into the air, before his back and butt hit the hard shower floor with a pathetic thud.
"Ughhh..." Devon winced, clutching his waist. He lay on the wet floor, staring at the steamy ceiling. "Pain... Damn it, slippery floors are the Emperor's natural enemy..."
His shame outweighed his physical pain. He glanced quickly left and right, ensuring no other inmates (especially the Bulldog or Satan) witnessed that embarrassing moment. Luckily, the thick steam saved him.
"Tch. Weak," he cursed at himself.
Devon rolled over, trying to get up. But then, a stupid idea popped into his head. He stared at the floor.
"Since I'm down here... physical training."
He positioned himself for a push-up.
"One..."
His body lifted. His triceps and pectoral muscles tensed, looking aesthetically beautiful and defined.
"Two..."
Still easy.
"Three..."
Starting to feel heavy.
"Five..."
His arms began to shake.
"Seven..."
His breathing became unnaturally ragged.
"Nine..."
His face turned beet red, veins bulging in his neck.
"Ten... nghhh... aaargh!"
THUD.
Devon collapsed. He sprawled on the wet floor, gasping for air as if he had just run a ten-kilometer marathon. Only ten push-ups. Ten!
"Pathetic..." he whispered, punching the floor weakly. "This body... is a scam. Public fraud. Looks athletic, six-pack abs, broad shoulders... but the stamina is a big fat zero. It's like a luxury sports car with a lawnmower engine."
He realized just how far he had to go to return to prime condition. Regeneration wasn't enough if he didn't have the basic strength to fight.
5:00 PM Nocturnus Standard Time.
Location: Corridor Leading to Central Plaza.
Devon, now wearing a clean orange jumpsuit (which still felt rough against the skin), walked with the flow of hundreds of other inmates toward the Central Plaza for mandatory recreation hour. He walked with his head down, hands in his pockets, trying to blend in with the crowd of monsters, demons, and mutants.
However, trying to remain unseen with red wings on his head was a futile endeavor.
A black-gloved hand suddenly pressed against his chest, stopping his stride with a firm but not rough halt.
Devon looked up. The scent of lavender perfume mixed with cold ozone greeted his nose.
Eira stood there. The Elf officer smirked, her sharp eyes regarding Devon with a mix of amusement and authority.
"Stop right there, Troublemaker," Eira said, her voice melodious yet dangerous.
Devon sighed, his shoulders slumping. "What now, Warden? I was walking straight, not looking at anyone, and breathing regularly. I'm not causing trouble."
"Oh, really?" Eira raised a slender eyebrow. She tapped a data tablet in her hand with a fingernail. "Report from the Mess Hall this morning: Disturbance involving a Guardian Cyborg. Report from Mine Sector D-4 this afternoon: Property damage—a mine cart destroyed and a Bulldog inmate in the ICU. And guess whose name appears in both incidents?"
"That's slander," Devon argued with a poker face, defending himself. "In the Mess Hall, I was a victim of porridge discrimination. And in the mine? That Bulldog threw the cart at me. I'm a victim here, Eira. A victim of bullying."
"A victim who destroyed that Bulldog's mental state until he cried for mercy when he woke up," Eira chuckled softly. "Save your excuses. Stop talking and follow me."
"Where to? Rec hour just started," Devon protested weakly.
"The Warden wants to see you."
Devon had no choice. Eira pulled him out of the main stream of inmates. However, instead of taking him to the underground interrogation block, Eira steered him toward a thick steel door with a retina scanner beside it.
"Upper Administration Sector," Eira said as the door hissed open.
They stepped into a pneumatic glass tube elevator. Eira scanned her high-level authorization card.
"Destination: Tower Pinnacle. The Apex," Eira commanded the elevator's voice system.
WHOOSH!
The elevator shot up at a speed that made ears ring. Devon watched the prison floors pass by behind the glass—cell blocks, cafeteria areas, busy iron bridges—all shrinking beneath his feet. They rose far past sea level, heading toward the tower section that reached defiantly into the sky.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened. Devon stepped out and was greeted by a completely different atmosphere. No smell of sweat or rust here. The air was cold, sterile, and smelled of strong static ozone. The floor was made of black obsidian, polished until it reflected their shadows.
"Walk," Eira commanded, pushing Devon's back gently.
They walked down a long, silent corridor. On the left side, there was a large double door with dark one-way glass labeled "SURVEILLANCE CENTER (CCTV) - RESTRICTED ACCESS". Devon could hear the hum of thousands of servers and the sound of cooling fans from behind that wall.
As Devon walked, he felt the intense sensation of being watched.
Whirrr... Click.
Devon glanced at the ceiling corner. A mechanical eyeball CCTV camera rotated on its axis, its lens blinking red and focusing right on Devon's face.
Devon took three more steps.
Whirrr... Click.
The next camera along the corridor also rotated, tracking his movement with military precision. One by one, every camera lens down the hallway moved in unison, turning to follow Devon as if they were sunflowers following the sun—or predators watching prey.
"I have quite a few fans," Devon muttered softly, looking directly into one of the camera lenses and giving a brief wink. The lens zoomed in as a response.
"Don't mess with Selena," Eira whispered beside him. "She can see your heartbeat through the monitor."
They reached the end of the corridor, in front of massive double doors made of black metal carved with ferocious waves.
Eira stopped. She turned to face Devon, blocking access to the door with her body.
"Before you go in," Eira said, looking deeply into Devon's eyes. "I want you to thank me first."
Devon frowned. "Huh? For what? For taking me to the shark's den?"
Eira smiled, a slightly crooked and secretive smile. She stepped forward, closing the personal distance between them.
"Because of your cell, Idiot," Eira whispered. "Who do you think cleaned up the bloody mess and scattered intestines on the floor this morning before the daily inspection? If not for that, you'd already be in solitary confinement for 'defiling state facilities'."
Devon was stunned for a moment. He remembered his own destroyed corpse from this morning. "Did you clean it yourself?" he asked skeptically.
"Umm... technically I ordered cleaning bots and threatened the sanitation crew to keep their mouths shut," Eira shrugged nonchalantly. "But who cares about the details? The initiative was mine. So, hurry up and say thank you."
Devon looked at the Elf woman. There was arrogance there, but also... a twisted sort of care. Devon knew when to swallow his pride.
"Thank you, Eira," Devon said, his voice sincere—or at least sounding sincere. "You saved my ass."
Eira's smile blossomed with satisfaction. Suddenly, she reached out and patted Devon's head, right between his two red wings. The gesture was condescending, like a master praising a pet dog, yet strangely gentle.
"Good boy," Eira murmured.
She withdrew her hand, then pressed the access panel. The double doors opened slowly with a hydraulic hiss.
"Done. Now get in there. Don't make him wait."
Eira didn't go in. She let Devon step alone into the darkness of the office, then the door behind him shut tight and locked automatically.
CLANG.