Day 4

I wake up gasping, the sheets twisted around me like restraints and damp with sweat. The clock shows 04:17.

I sit up, rubbing my face. My hand drifts toward the half-full whiskey bottle on the nightstand, but I pull back before touching it. Instead, I force myself to the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and watch a stranger stare back from the mirror – hollow eyes, raw edges, a man fraying from the inside.

I shut off the bathroom light and step into the narrow hallway. The silence is absolute, the kind that makes my pulse sound too loud in my ears. The air is cold, recycled, metallic – the engineered stillness of the complex pressing in from all sides.

By the time I reach the observation room, the monitors are already humming in the dark, cameras showing live feed from the dungeon. The girls are still asleep. Their slow breathing fills the audio feed like a tide. Thermal imaging paints them in soft blues. Only Aria flares with restless warmth.

Harper sleeps curled tightly against the far wall, her hair hiding most of her face. Even unconscious, her posture is coiled defensiveness. Lian is draped across two bunks with a kind of quiet discipline, her body arranged as though she’s pretending to sleep somewhere normal. Mia twitches through shallow breaths, small sounds escaping her now and then. Aria keeps shifting, folding in on herself, gripping her own arms like she’s cold. And Juliette… Juliette barely moves at all. She lies rigid, as if still trying to inhabit some dream where none of this is real.

By 06:00 they begin to surface from sleep. Lian stretches first, long and deliberate. Aria rubs at her eyes, irritated even before she’s fully conscious. Mia rolls onto her back, arms stretching above her like a child trying to greet sunlight that isn’t there. Harper stays curled up but her breathing quickens, betraying wakefulness. Juliette rises last, slow and stiff, her hair falling forward as she hugs her own arms.

None of them speak. None of them look rested.

At exactly 07:00 the dungeon lights snap on. A clinical white explosion.

They all flinch. Mia lets out a small sound. Aria buries her face in the mattress. Lian sits up and blinks steadily, absorbing the harsh change. Harper’s fingers tremble where they clutch her knees. Juliette jerks upright as if struck.

The day has begun, whether any of us are ready for it or not.

I exhale, the sound shaky, and push myself out of the chair. My legs feel heavy, my chest tight, as I take the long walk toward the dungeon. The automatic doors slide open with their soft hiss – a sound I’ve come to dread — and I pause on the threshold, gathering what little resolve I have left.

The cameras track me as I enter, their red indicators blinking like tiny, indifferent eyes in the hard white light. The girls don’t move at first – just the barely-there shifts that betray rising panic. Mia’s fingers bite into her palms. Aria’s shoulders lift a fraction, her breath held too long. Harper has begun a subtle rocking against the wall, the motion so small it’s almost subliminal. Behind them, the machines on the other side of the transparent wall glint under the lights, silent and expectant. Their metal frames look almost predatory.

I step forward, each footfall echoing slightly in the enclosed space. The air carries the usual antiseptic sting, but underneath it lurks the raw scent of fear – skin, sweat, cortisol. It’s faint, but unmistakable. The girls remain where they are, their eyes following my movement like hunted animals.

"Good morning..."

The words drop out of me like stones, and no one pretends they mean anything. Mia’s breath stutters, thin and frantic. Lian’s jaw is clenched so tightly the muscles shiver beneath her skin. Harper doesn’t lift her head; she curls tighter, forehead pressed to her knees as if bracing for impact.

Aria is the one who breaks the silence.

"If that's supposed to be some kind of fucking joke..."

Her voice fractures on the last word. She doesn’t finish the sentence.

The group falls quiet again, but the silence feels alive – thick, crawling, electric with dread. I reach into my pocket and pull out five sticks, the ends concealed in my fist. From where the girls stand, they’re identical lengths. Perfectly innocuous. Perfectly lethal.

Aria approaches first. Her hand shakes – barely, but still noticeably. Her fingers hover over the sticks for several seconds before she commits and takes one, retreating without looking at it.
The others follow, each in their own rhythm: Lian with a controlled, almost ritualistic movement; Harper with a numb, automatic reach; Juliette with a hesitant pause, her fingers hovering just a moment too long before she snatches a stick as if afraid of drawing attention to herself; Mia with a trembling hand that hesitates midway and then forces itself forward.

When each girl has a stick, the air tightens so violently it feels like the room itself is holding breath. Slowly, one by one, they check.

Mia’s face crumples first – a brief, contained contraction, the moment she sees the short one in her grip. Her fingers curl protectively around it, as if hiding it might undo reality. Lian exhales sharp relief when she sees hers is long. Harper blinks at hers like she’s not sure what she’s looking at, already slipping into a dissociated fog.

Aria swallows, opens her hand, and raises her stick.

“I’ve got a short one,” she says, her voice thin but steady enough to be almost defiant.

Her eyes flick to Mia, then return to me, as if searching for some kind of answer.

The room seems to shrink, its walls leaning inward. Every gaze centers on Aria and Mia, the gravity of the moment drawing everyone into its core. Mia’s shoulders jerk upward as she fights for breath, looking between Aria and me like she’s trapped at the bottom of a rising tide. Harper’s rocking has stopped entirely. She sits frozen, stick clamped in a fist that’s gone bloodless.

Aria straightens her spine. Her fingers twitch around the short stick, but her expression is ironed flat – controlled, unreadable except for the slight tension at the corner of her jaw. She turns her head toward Mia.

The room falls silent except for the soft, ragged breathing of the girls. Mia raises her head, meeting Aria's gaze with wide, terrified eyes.

Aria steps toward Mia with slow, deliberate care, as if she's afraid of startling her.

"We need to... talk," she says, her voice almost inaudible.

Mia’s fingers slip open. Her stick drops to the floor with a muted tap.

“I… I can’t,” she whispers, backing toward the wall, breath stuttering in her throat.

Mia's hands shake violently as she clasps them together. Her wide, dark eyes dart between me and Aria, searching for an escape that isn't there.

Aria doesn’t push. She moves a little closer, hands visible, voice soft.

"We have to," she says quietly. “If we don’t choose, they’ll kill both of us.”

Mia’s head shakes frantically. She presses herself against the wall as if she could melt into it, then sinks down until she’s crouched low, arms wrapped around her knees.

“I can’t do this,” she whispers, over and over, voice cracking.

Aria lowers herself into a crouch beside her – not touching, but close enough that Mia can feel her presence.

“Mia…” she begins, but Mia’s head jerks up, eyes wet and furious.

“Why should it be me?” Mia chokes out. “Why don’t you volunteer?”

It lands like a slap. Aria freezes, for just a heartbeat. The room goes utterly still – Harper’s breath catches, the others stare, even the ventilation hum seems to dim.

Aria swallows. When she speaks, her voice is small – smaller than Mia has ever heard from her.

“Because I’m scared,” she says quietly. “I’m… I’m not brave enough to do that.”

Mia’s face contorts. Tears spill freely, sobs shaking her entire body.

"I don't want to die," she whispers, the words wobbling out of her like they’re barely holding together. "I want to see my parents again. I want to finish my education."

She clutches Aria’s arm with both hands, desperate and terrified.

Aria flinches at the grip but doesn't pull away. She forces her breathing steady, her voice soft, her expression into something trembling and uncertain.

“I know,” she whispers. “I know, Mia. I don’t want to die either.”

Mia sobs harder, shaking so badly she can barely stay upright. Her fingers claw desperately at Aria’s arm.

“Please, Aria. I don’t want to. I don’t want to.”

Aria reaches up – slowly, gently – and wipes a tear from Mia’s cheek. Her hand trembles just enough to sell the fear.

“Mia… look at me.”

Mia lifts her gaze, barely. Aria holds her eyes. When she speaks, her voice trembles perfectly.

“I’m not strong enough to do it,” she whispers. “I’m not brave enough to volunteer. You… you’re stronger than me.”

Mia’s breath hitches. Something shifts in her expression – a crack, a surrender, a terrible clarity blooming through the panic.

Aria leans closer, her voice soft as a confession.

“I can’t do it. I can’t. I’m too much of a coward. But you…” Her voice breaks. “…you’re brave enough to make the hard choice.”

Mia’s grip loosens. Her hands fall to her lap, trembling. She draws a long, broken breath. Something inside her settles with terrible calm.

“I don’t want to die,” she whispers.

But now it’s no longer a plea. It’s a truth she’s accepting.

Aria waits, unmoving, eyes wide, breath shallow. Mia lifts her chin, tears streaking down her cheeks.

“But I can’t ask someone else to do it.”

The room holds its breath.

“I will volunteer,” she whispers.

Aria doesn’t look triumphant. She doesn’t even blink. Her fingers brush Mia's face, wiping away the last tear with surprising gentleness. The touch is so delicate, so fleeting, yet it carries more weight than any forced intimacy could have. The other girls watch in silence, frozen, as this silent understanding passes between them.

"Then it's decided," Aria says softly, her words barely audible yet clear.

Mia's hands rise, hovering uncertainly for a moment before settling on Aria's shoulders.

Aria flinches – barely – then steps back, letting her hands fall limp at her sides. She gives Mia space. Or distance. Maybe both.

Mia swallows hard and turns toward me, her steps slow and mechanical, like her body belongs to someone else. Her toes curl against the floor with each movement. The fluorescent lights carve sharp shadows across her face, catching the tear streaks, the tremor in her jaw, the way her breath keeps stalling in her throat.

She stops in front of the glass where the machines wait.

Her shoulders rise with a shaky inhale. She tries to speak, but only a thin, wounded whimper escapes.

Then she forces herself to look.

The dismemberment machine.
The impaler.
The gallows – its noose hanging open and waiting.
And the roaster.

Her hands twitch at her sides. Her breathing turns shallow and rapid, like she’s trying not to faint.

“I…” Her voice cracks. “I don’t want them to… see everything.”

Her eyes flick toward the girls behind her – Harper hugging her elbows, Lian standing rigid, Juliette biting her knuckle, Aria frozen in place.

Her eyes move back to the roaster – the metal chamber that hides almost all of the victim's body, leaving only the head outside once the door shuts. She shuts her eyes tightly, as if the images behind the glass have already carved themselves into her mind.

“The roaster… it closes,” she whispers. “They will not have to… watch.”

“I want to go into the roaster,” she says finally.

Her voice trembles, but there is a kind of desperate clarity in it – the choice of someone trying to disappear rather than die in the open.

A gasp breaks from the row of girls behind her. Harper clutches her stick so tightly her knuckles turn white. Lian’s breath leaves her in a thin, horrified hiss. Juliette presses a fist to her mouth.

Aria’s lips part, stunned, but no sound comes. Her fingers twitch slightly at her sides. Her eyes flick to the glass, then back to Mia, lingering on the roaster before snapping toward the ceiling. Her shoulders tense, then slump. A short, sharp breath escapes her throat, barely audible, betraying the flicker of shock rippling through her body. She shifts her weight restlessly, fingers curling and uncurling, as if unsure how to steady herself.

Mia steps toward the others one last time. She’s pale, but steady – almost eerily steady, as if the decision has pulled something taut inside her and it’s holding her upright.

She approaches Lian first. Mia reaches out with both hands, landing them lightly on Lian’s shoulders. Lian’s composure breaks instantly; she pulls Mia into a tight, urgent embrace, her breath catching in small, uneven jerks.

"I'm sorry," Mia murmurs into Lian's hair. "I didn't want to..."

She can’t finish. Lian shakes her head, burying her face deeper into Mia’s shoulder.

"No… no sorry." Lian whispers. "Just... go quickly. Please. I can't- I can't see you hurting..."

Mia holds her for a long moment before she pulls back. She wipes her face with the back of her hand, smearing tears across her skin.

She moves to Harper next. Harper stands stiffly, hands half-lifted, like she wants to reach out but isn’t sure she has the right. Mia takes both hands, holding them between her own.

"I don't hate you," she says softly, her voice cracking. “None of what happened was your fault.”

Harper’s chin wobbles. She manages a jerky nod, eyes glued to the floor. Mia leans in and presses a soft kiss to her forehead before letting go. Harper’s fingers stay suspended for a heartbeat before falling limply to her sides.

Then Mia turns to Juliette.

Juliette watches her with red-rimmed eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Mia stops close, but not touching. Juliette reaches out hesitantly, her fingers hovering near Mia’s arm before making contact. The touch is featherlight – uncertain, searching.

"I..." Juliette swallows. "I can not imagine this place without you."

Mia gives her a faint smile – tired, trembling.

"You won’t have to," she says. "Not for long."

Her hand lifts, fingertips brushing along Juliette’s cheekbone with terrifying gentleness. Juliette’s breath stutters. She leans forward slightly – not quite a hug, more an instinct – and Mia steps in, closing the distance. They embrace briefly and cautiously, like they’re both afraid to break something fragile. Juliette clings for only a second before pulling back, almost apologetic.

“Be brave,” Juliette whispers. “I think… you are already.”

Mia nods, chin trembling.

“I will try.”

While they cling to each other, I lean down toward Aria, who’s standing rigid beside me.

"You’re a cunning manipulative bitch, do you know that?" I whisper.

Aria goes still. Her hand – resting against the wall – tightens until her knuckles blanch. She doesn’t look at me; her eyes remain fixed on Mia and Juliette.

"Yes," she says softly, almost without inflection. "I know."

There’s no remorse in her tone. No shame. Just a simple, steady acknowledgement. She stands so still she almost looks carved from stone – not out of fear, but resolve.

When she finally turns her head toward me, her blue-gray hold nothing but cold clarity.

"I would rather be called a bitch and live than a fool and die," she murmurs, voice low enough for only me to hear.

Mia gives the others one last small wave – not cheerful, not hopeful, just… a farewell.

When she turns toward me, her face is composed, but her shoulders are held straight by sheer force of will. Her steps are slow as she approaches the entrance to the machine room – deliberate, measured as if she’s keeping herself together one breath at a time. I take Aria by the hand and guide her toward the door as well.

Behind us, the others watch. Harper openly weeps. Lian presses herself back against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around her own body. Juliette wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand, swallowing back sobs.

Mia doesn’t look back.