File #666: The Mad God Who [Redacted]

Chapter 4: The First Failed Escape



Days in the GRA facility bled together, a seamless haze of confinement and cold steel. Nathan had long lost track of time. The cell walls pressed in on him, stifling, unmoving. The once-sterile lighting overhead now seemed to mock him, harsh and ceaseless, denying him even the illusion of a normal day.

The whispers of "survive" still echoed in his mind, a thin thread of defiance that refused to break, a reminder that he hadn't been fully subdued. He had learned to watch, to wait, and to study the details—guard rotations, camera angles, and the flickers of movement beyond the steel door of his cell. Hope was faint, but it was enough to fan a quiet, relentless determination.

One evening, Nathan sat on the edge of his cot, watching the soft hum of lights beneath the doorway. He'd spent hours listening, trying to decipher the pattern of footsteps in the hall, memorizing the length and frequency of shifts. Tonight, he had to take a chance. The only chance he could see.

The door lock emitted a faint, rhythmic buzz whenever the guard outside adjusted his position, signaling a brief deactivation window. For days, Nathan had noted this, counting seconds each time, watching for the smallest lapse in vigilance. Now, he positioned himself near the door, heart pounding, palms sweaty with a mix of fear and resolve.

"Come on," he whispered under his breath, eyes narrowed as he waited.

The faint clank of the guard's belt buckle told him it was almost time. The guard adjusted his stance, creating the tiny window Nathan needed. He slipped a thin piece of metal he'd managed to pull from the cot's underframe, wedging it delicately into the door's edge. It was crude, desperate, but desperation was all he had left.

His heart hammered as he worked the piece of metal around the lock mechanism. Just a bit more, and—

"Think you're clever, Wilson?" The voice, low and mocking, sent an icy chill down Nathan's spine. He barely had time to react before the guard yanked the door open, throwing Nathan off balance. His makeshift tool clattered to the floor, useless.

The guard loomed over him, eyes cold and unamused. Behind him, a shadow stirred, and Nathan felt his stomach drop. Kane stepped into the cell, his gaze unreadable but sharp, like a wolf cornering prey.

"Attempted escape?" Kane drawled, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I thought you'd catch on quicker than this, Nathan."

Nathan felt the weight of his failure sink in, a bitter mix of frustration and humiliation. He forced himself to meet Kane's gaze, jaw set in defiance. "You can't keep me here forever."

Kane tilted his head, the smirk deepening. "Can't we? You're unregistered. No one knows you're here. And, thanks to your little stunt, I'm now authorized to reclassify you as a flight risk." His eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction. "Welcome to the high-security wing."

Two more guards stepped into the cell, each flanking Nathan with a practiced, unyielding grip. They dragged him up, their hands digging into his arms as Kane watched with a predator's calm, as though savoring every second of Nathan's discomfort.

"Enjoying this?" Nathan spat, struggling against the guards' iron grip.

Kane's smile was humorless. "You've mistaken us for the good guys, Nathan. We don't have the time or patience for people who won't follow orders." He leaned in, his voice lowering to a cold, calculated tone. "Try another stunt like this, and I assure you, things will get a lot more uncomfortable. You're walking on very thin ice."

They hauled him down the corridor, his previous observations now useless as they turned him into sections he hadn't seen before, each corridor narrower, colder, more suffocating than the last. The guards didn't speak, their expressions set in impassive masks as they escorted him into an elevator. They descended in silence, each passing floor increasing Nathan's sense of isolation.

At last, they reached a heavy metal door marked by thick, bolted security locks and warnings painted in stark, ominous lettering: HIGH SECURITY – LEVEL 3. Kane entered a code, and the door unlocked with a hiss, revealing a small, dark cell—barely large enough for the narrow bed and a small fixture that served as a sink. No windows. No reprieve.

The guards shoved him in without ceremony, and the door slammed shut behind him, leaving him alone in the dim, oppressive silence. Nathan sat on the cot, the cold metal frame biting into his skin as he took in his new prison. The walls were thicker here, almost oppressive in their solid finality, as though they were designed to muffle even the faintest hope of escape.

He clenched his fists, the weight of confinement settling over him like a smothering blanket. But beneath the frustration and the fear, he could still feel it—that stubborn, indignant spark of resistance. It was fragile, fraying with each passing day, but it was there, and he clung to it like a lifeline.

The hours stretched into an empty, suffocating haze, broken only by the occasional sounds of guards patrolling outside, their footsteps a reminder of his captivity. The silence clawed at him, fraying his nerves, feeding the gnawing sense of helplessness that threatened to consume him.

As the dim, flickering light overhead began to blur into shadows, Nathan felt something strange—a faint, prickling sensation at the edge of his mind. A flicker, a distortion, just out of reach. He sat up, heart pounding as the sensation sharpened, forming itself into a fragmented image, barely more than a whisper.

The word "Endure" shimmered in his mind, faint but undeniable, accompanied by the faint outline of a symbol—something he couldn't quite make out. It was like a half-formed memory, a piece of a puzzle that refused to fit, yet felt deeply familiar. The moment faded as quickly as it had come, leaving him reeling, breathless, and more confused than ever.

"Endure," he murmured to himself, testing the word on his lips as though it held some hidden meaning, a clue to his survival.

The following day, he barely ate, thoughts consumed by the vision. Every minute stretched long and cruel, but his focus remained sharp, returning constantly to that word, the strange symbol etched in his mind. It was as though the System itself, corrupted or not, was urging him to hold on, to withstand whatever the GRA threw at him.

Later that evening, footsteps stopped outside his cell. Nathan tensed as Kane stepped inside, his gaze assessing, his smile devoid of warmth. "Settling in nicely, are we?" he asked, his voice a mockery of concern.

Nathan met his gaze, defiance hardening his expression. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" Kane replied smoothly, as though they were discussing the weather.

"You're keeping me locked up, treating me like I'm some kind of threat." Nathan's voice was steady, a carefully controlled edge beneath the anger. "What's your real agenda here?"

Kane chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. "Our agenda is simple. We ensure the safety of the public by monitoring and containing potential threats. You, Nathan, are a potential threat."

"Because of some…anomaly signature?" Nathan spat, feeling his patience fray. "I don't even know what that means."

Kane's smile was cold, unfeeling. "And that, Nathan, is why you're here. You don't know what you are. That makes you dangerous."

With a final, taunting smirk, he turned and exited the cell, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding echo that left Nathan staring into the void.

The lights dimmed, casting the room in shadow, and Nathan sat alone, his fists clenched, Kane's words reverberating in his mind. He didn't know what he was? He had never asked to be part of this, never asked for visions or flickers or any of the strangeness that had led him here. But the GRA didn't care. To them, he was just a variable, an unknown factor that had to be controlled or erased.

The flicker appeared again, faint and distant, but stronger than before. It pulsed once, twice, and then settled into a steady rhythm, a beat that seemed to match the pounding of his heart. The whisper followed, soft and relentless, wrapping around him like a ghostly embrace.

Endure.

He felt the weight of the word settle over him, a command, a plea, a promise. It was all he had now—the one thread that kept him anchored, that reminded him he was still here, still fighting, even as the walls closed in around him.

Just as he began to drift into a restless half-sleep, he heard voices beyond the door, faint but unmistakable. Two guards, their tones low and tense.

"Did you hear about the test subject extraction?" one murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Nathan's eyes snapped open, heart pounding as he strained to listen.

"Yeah," the other replied, his tone uneasy. "They're moving another one tomorrow. High-risk. Heard the testing didn't go…smoothly."

Their voices faded into silence, leaving Nathan alone once more, but the words echoed in his mind, an ominous reminder that he was not the only one suffering under the GRA's twisted authority.


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