"Is he dead?" Ethan's face was tense as he fought back a wave of fear, heading back toward the hatch. "He must be dead! Why else would they cover him with a white sheet?" The thought solidified in Ethan's mind, sorrow creeping into his chest. That morning, the black man had been celebrating the birth of his child, but by night, he was dead. His life had been cruelly cut short, reduced to nothing more than the tag on that white sheet—number 299.

"Who killed him?" Ethan couldn't wrap his mind around it. Maybe Victor would have some answers. He retraced his steps through the ventilation ducts, guided by the knife marks he had left on the walls. Soon, he was back in the dimly lit tunnels.

"Victor, I need to talk to you," Ethan called out, breathless and shaken.

Victor paused his work, his expression revealing that he had just been through something intense, maybe even terrifying. His fists were clenched, and he seemed agitated.

"What's going on, Ethan?" Victor asked.

"Victor, how much do you really know? Do you know what I just saw? That black man—the one from this morning, number 299—he's dead! They covered him with a white sheet..." Ethan's voice trembled with emotion, his eyes red with barely contained tears.

"Calm down, kid. Take a seat," Victor said, lighting a cigarette with a slow, deliberate motion. He was trying to steady his own nerves. "You want to know why he died? Because he had fulfilled his purpose by giving birth to that child. Once that happens, their life is over."

"The child... Does that mean if I had successfully gotten pregnant and given birth, I would've died too?" Ethan's voice was filled with confusion and disbelief.

"That's right. You got lucky, even if it doesn't feel that way now. Sometimes a blessing comes disguised as a misfortune," Victor explained, taking a drag from his cigarette. This time, he didn't blow smoke rings into the air, a sign that the conversation was weighing heavily on him.

"So, everyone here who has a child... they all die?" Ethan asked, struggling to grasp the horrifying reality.

"Exactly," Victor confirmed, his tone grim.

"Then tell me, who killed him?" Ethan pressed on, needing answers.

"Go home, kid. When the time is right, you'll know everything," Victor said, standing up and returning to his work, shoveling more coal into the boiler with deliberate force.

The next morning, Ethan awoke to the sound of commotion in the central square. The air buzzed with excitement, and a few women in the crowd screamed in delight. They were all fixated on a man standing on the high platform. The large screens on either side displayed a magnified image of him. He looked like a character straight out of a comic book—tall, with chiseled features and a gentlemanly demeanor.

Wilson stepped onto the platform, introducing the man beside him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, standing next to me is Number 1102, one of our newly found survivors. Today, he joins us as one of our own. Number 1102, work hard and remember—follow the rules." Wilson's voice boomed across the central square, his tone commanding and laced with authority, a clear reminder to everyone present.

During lunch, Ethan sat with Aria, contemplating whether to tell her about what he had witnessed the night before. As they ate, Leander Smith—now officially known as Number 1102—approached them with his tray and sat down at the table next to Aria.

"Hey, how's it going? I'm Leander Smith, the new Number 1102," Leander said, his presence instantly drawing attention.

"Why is he sitting next to that tomboy?" two young women nearby whispered, their eyes brimming with jealousy.

Aria, however, remained silent, uninterested in Leander's handsome face, focusing solely on her plate of spaghetti. Ethan, on the other hand, was intrigued, eager to learn more about the newcomer.

"Hey, Leander, I'm Ethan—Ethan Black. And this grumpy, unfriendly woman across from me is Aria Wells," Ethan introduced them with a smirk.

Hearing Ethan's introduction, Aria tossed a spoon at him, warning him to shut up. Ethan had grown used to teasing Aria. Over time, he had come to understand that while she might look tough and act like a "tomboy," she was kind at heart. She had protected him more than once when others had tried to pick a fight with him. To Ethan, Aria was far better than the cruel people they were surrounded by.

"Nice to meet you, Ethan. And you too, Miss Aria. It's a pleasure—you're really beautiful," Leander said, his gaze fixed on Aria. Her profile was elegant, with long lashes and big, luminous eyes. To Leander, she was like a blooming flower.

Aria, caught off guard by the sudden attention and praise, quickly looked down, pretending to focus on her pasta.

"Hey, Leander, I have to ask—you're a new survivor. Can you tell me what the outside world is like now?" Ethan put down his fork, his expression suddenly serious.

"To be honest, I don't know. I can't really remember. All I know is that when I woke up, someone told me I was a survivor, and I was in a white laboratory," Leander said, rubbing his forehead as if trying to recall something.

Ethan remembered his own awakening. It had been the same—a dark void, suddenly interrupted by someone shaking him awake and informing him he was a survivor.

"Aria, what about you?" Ethan leaned back in his chair, eager to hear her story.

"I don't remember much. That was two years ago…" Aria replied, tapping her head lightly, her eyes reflecting a hint of confusion. From her expression, Ethan sensed that their memories of the past had been deliberately erased.

Someone had purposely wiped their memories. But why? What were they trying to hide? Ethan resumed eating, his mind racing with questions, determined to uncover the truth.