Kuyra, pale as winter, laid still beneath the bed, cold sweat clinging to his skin. His breathing was shallow, his entire body frozen in place. He kept a trembling hand over his mouth, forcing himself to stay silent as his eyes darted across the room, scanning for any movements of the guards. His heart pounded against his ribs. Above, the room was eerily still. The only sound came from the occasional scrape of boots against the concrete floor.

Then came the unmistakable sound. 

The metallic click of an AK being cocked.

"Who's there?!" one of the guards barked, voice sharp with suspicion.

Thinking was a luxury they couldn't afford. Survival depended on instinct. Under the adjacent bed, Danila shot Kuyra a warning glance, pressing a finger to his lips. Hyorin, also hidden beneath one of the beds, darted her gaze at the door, then at the guards, heart slamming in her chest and hands shaky. And finally, she looked at Temüjin, who was hidden in the bed in front of her.

That’s when Hyorin made her move. Slipping out from under the bed, she crept toward the door, easing it open just enough. She then moved toward the same bed she came out of, gripping the coarse fabric of a bedsheet in her hands. Temüjin mirrored her, the two of them ready for action.

It was now or never.

In a single swift motion, they flung the sheets into the air. The thick fabric twisted and tangled, falling over the guards’ heads, shouts of confusion erupting. That was the signal.

Kuyra and Danila quickly got out from their hiding spot. The blonde boy didn’t hesitate, as he threw himself forward, barreling into one of the guards, driving him backward into one of the lockers. Danila, meanwhile, vaulted over the beds, as agile as ever. And the four of them, together, bolted from the door. Then—the sound they dreaded. A sharp, high-pitched beep coming from their ankle tags. The aluminum foil they had wrapped around it had torn loose.

"Breach!" One of the guards roared from the room behind them. "Stop the subjects!"

The chase was on. Boots thundered against the cold, sterile floors. The teenagers ran faster than they ever had during their physical assessments, only for them to realise they went in the wrong direction when they saw it.

The freight elevator.

A massive steel-grating gate blocked their path, separating them from the void below the elevator shaft. On the opposite side of said void, stood another grated door that led to the other wing. Worse, guards were posted by the door.

"Shit!" Temüjin hissed as they skidded to a stop. No time to think—they had to turn back. And so they did, running in the opposite direction, avoiding yet again the guards. Danila led, the fastest among them. Temüjin and Hyorin followed close behind. Kuyra trailed last.

Then it happened.

His body locked up. A sudden, excruciating lock in his joints. His bones refused to move, and his legs stopped responding. Then, he hit the cold floor. 

"Fuck!" he hissed, trying to push himself up, but his arms were trembling, hurting, his fingers barely curling into fists.

The others heard the fall and turned. 

"Kuyra!" Temüjin reacted first, darting back and grabbing Kuyra’s arm. Hyorin took the other, their combined strength dragging him forward.

"Just leave me!" Kuyra gritted out. "Go back to the Common Area!"

"Not a chance!" Hyorin shot back.

Danila, already near the vent, cursed under his breath and ran back to help. He hooked an arm under Kuyra’s and pulled, speeding up their escape. But it was too late. The guards were already there.

The first blow landed—an AK buttstock cracked against Temüjin’s lip, sending him crashing onto his back, blood smeared across his chin. Danila barely had time to react before a boot struck his stomach, sending him gasping for air for a second. A third guard grabbed Hyorin’s arm, yanking her backward toward the wall.

Kuyra could only watch as heavy hands forced him to the ground. He didn’t even resist—his body wouldn’t let him. The fight was over before it had begun.

 The room filled with the sounds of struggle—shouts and gritted curses. Temüjin was still fighting. He thrashed under the weight of his captor, spitting blood, as he hissed. “Get off me, you fucking idiots!”

A kick to the gut shut him up, knocking the air from his lungs.

“Shut up.” The guard’s voice was cold, almost bored. “You brats have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”

Danila twisted under his captor’s grip, trying to slip free—only for another brutal strike to his ribs to leave him curled and gasping.

The guards then quickly hauled the teens to their feet, pushing them toward the wall, rifles pointed at them. That was, until the guards noticed another man reaching them, and the guards saluted. And that man was none other than the captain of the small garrison of soldiers in the facility. 

Sergei Belikov–or, as the kids called him, ‘Seryozha’. More of a mock than anything else. Clad in the same uniform as the guard, albeit missing the helmet and the rifle. He appeared older than the other guards–maybe in his 40s. Bald head, stern face, the same face of someone with lots experience in the military. He stepped forward, surveying the subjects like misbehaving children. "Well, well…" He exhaled, shaking his head mockingly. "Now the five of us are gonna have a nice little talk. Like good friends."

"Why don't you go fuck yourself?" Kuyra muttered.

The slap came fast and hard, snapping his head sideways.

"You shut up, ‘Barrel’." Sergei crouched, tapping a finger against Kuyra’s ankle tag. “Clever little trick with the foil. Almost worked. But not quite.”

He hummed, considering something. Then, with a shrug, he straightened. "Alright. Enough chit-chat. Take them to Room 2."

And just like that, the teenagers arms wrenched behind them as they were marched toward the interrogation room. The rooms they rarely saw—unless they caused enough chaos to deserve it. None of them spoke.

The room was as sterile as it was suffocating—bare concrete walls, a single overhead light casting harsh shadows. Lined against the far wall were eight plastic chairs, the kind that were deliberately uncomfortable. And they were forced into them.

Sergei knelt before Kuyra, ripping the remnants of aluminum foil from his tag. "You lot are smarter than you look," he mused, rising to his feet.

"Alright. We’re gonna play a game.” he paused. “I’ll ask the questions, you answer politely. If you behave, maybe we go easy on you. If not…" He let the words hang before chuckling. "Well, explaining why you’ve got no teeth left would be a real pain in the ass."

Danila snorted. "Go fuck yourself."

The response earned him a brutal kick to the stomach. He doubled over, gasping.

The guard sighed, shaking his head. "You’re not very bright, are you, 317?" 

He then turned his gaze to Hyorin. Slowly, he unholstered his Makarov, letting the weight of it hang between his fingers. He didn’t aim—not yet.

"Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Who gave you the foil?"

"Baba Yaga," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

The guard grabbed a fistful of her olive-brown hair, yanking her head back. "Listen, 315," he murmured, voice low. "Just because you're a girl doesn't mean I'll go easy on you. That clear?"

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she smirked. "You can’t kill us. Otherwise, it’s your head on the chopping block. Right, Captain?"

For a beat, the room was silent. Then Sergei chuckled, amused. "Gutsy little thing, huh?" 

His amusement vanished as he drove a boot into her chest. Hyorin barely muffled the pained wheeze as she curled forward. 

“You son of a bitch—!” Temüjin bolted from his chair, ready to pounce, but he didn’t make it far. Two of the guards that were in the room grabbed him, slamming him back down.

Then—the door swung open. A man stood in the doorway.

Not a guard, but a doctor. A man, the same age as the captain. Brown hair streaked with white, hazel eyes, and wore glasses.

“What is going on here?” His voice was uninterested, unamused. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his white coat, shoulders relaxed, as if he had just walked into a casual conversation.

Sergei barely turned. “Medvedev, this is none of your business.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Mikhail strolled further into the room, his eyes briefly sweeping over the four teenagers before settling back on the captain. 

“What did they do?”

"What do you think? They broke here, genius."

Mikhail hummed, as if considering. Then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he said, "Let them go."

"What?!" the captain sputtered. "Are you out of your mind?! These brats are looking at isolation! Minimum two weeks—"

“They’ll receive punishment, I assure you” Mikhail interrupted. “Double tests. But I will take them back to the Common Area.”

“This is my jurisdiction—” 

“And the mental health of the subjects is mine,” the doctor cut in, voice cool. “Do you really want to argue with me, Belikov?”

A long, tense silence followed. Then, the captain exhaled, defeated. “Fine,” he spat. “But I will report this.”

Mikhail shrugged, as he muttered. "Do whatever you want. I couldn’t give less of a fuck." He turned to the teens, nodding toward the door. “Get up. Let’s go.”

Temüjin was the first to move, immediately reaching to help Hyorin up. She was still breathing heavily from the kick, but she waved him off, pushing herself upright. Kuyra and Danila followed. And Mikhail led them out.

The walk to the freight elevator was slow. None of them spoke, their footsteps echoing in the silence of the corridor.

Kuyra’s movements are still stiff from his bones locking up, winching every now and then from the sharp pain that follows his every step. Temüjin wiped the blood from his split lip with the back of his hand, looking aimlessly in front of him, his thoughts somewhere else. Hyorin breathed carefully, her ribs throbbing from the guard’s kick. And Danila just walked in silence, his usual grin absent.

As they reached the freight elevator, two guards were standing nearby. The steel grating door towered before them, its rusted grooves worn from years of use. And right beyond it, the empty shaft gaped open, the darkness stretching down below. As if it were bottomless.

One of the guards pressed a button on the control panel nearby. A deep mechanical hum rumbled through the metal as the platform began its slow ascent.

Mikhail exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You kids," he muttered, voice somewhere between amusement and exhaustion, almost in a parental tone. "You really pulled some shit this time, huh?"

“Let’s… not talk about it, Misha,” Temüjin muttered, tones hushed. “Though… you really saved our asses back there.” 

Mikhail let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head. “Don’t thank me yet, kid. Next time you lot ask me for aluminum foil, I’m asking why before I give it to you.”

He paused. Then, he asked. "How the hell did you even figure out the thing with the tags?"

“That was me.” Hyorin groaned, rubbing her sore chest. “I overheard some guards talking about it a while ago and thought I’d… experiment.”

Mikhail let out a sharp laugh. “You little devils…”

The elevator doors slid open with a screech. The platform was large, encased in yellow handrails, and worn from years of use. In its center was a simple control console. The five of them stepped inside.

Mikhail reached the console, and pressed another button. The platform then moved downward.

As they descended, the weight of what had just happened settled in. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind aches, bruises, and exhaustion. 

“Look,” Mikhail said after a long pause, rubbing his temple. “I’ll try to assign you guys to something that isn’t SOT.”

Kuyra, still catching his breath, let out a dry chuckle. "I’d rather do the Pain Threshold Test than the Sensory Overload Test."

Mikhail gave him a sideways glance. "Yeah, because that’s so much better.”

Silence returned once more during the ride. Temüjin, meanwhile, was starting to have some questions unrelated to this little adventure of theirs. 

He then asked the doctor. “Misha… have you seen Tamara and Zorya today?”

At the question, Mikhail turned to face the chestnut-haired boy. “Medical Checkups and Drug Tests, if I remember correctly.”

Temüjin nodded, though the answer didn’t seem to ease him. There was more. Another question.

“What about Naran?”

“What about him?”

“They took him,” Temüjin muttered. “Right after lunch. I don’t know if it was Sensory Deprivation or… something else. It’s the fifth or sixth time it happens”

Mikhail studied him for a moment, then sighed. “And you’re asking because…?”

Temüjin exhaled through his nose. “Because he’s shutting down.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Danila and Kuyra frowned. Even Hyorin, who had been rubbing at the sore spot on her ribs, looked up.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said. There’s no meltdown before. He goes straight-up into non-verbal more often. At night he always has nightmares. He… zones out for minutes at a time. And I mean completely out. Like he’s not even here.” He then sighs, almost exhausted. “I can tell you this isn’t normal. I know Naran's autism better than all of you. And I’m sure something is wrong.”

Mikhail was quiet for a moment, processing all of the information. Then ran a hand through his hair. “Look… I can check in the office if there’s anything scheduled. Maybe check him out.”

Temüjin scoffed. “And? That’s it? For fuck’s sake, you are an adult. A doctor! How can you be able to just do that?!”

“I’m not a miracle worker, Tem. I’m a psychologist, not an active lab researcher in the labs. I’ll do what I can. This isn’t like sneaking books for you guys. I have limited power in some aspects of the Project.”

Temüjin clenched his jaw but didn’t press further. Even if a part of him suggested doing the opposite.

“Misha… are you able to also check for Miloslav? He’s also behaving weirdly lately. I’m starting to worry.”

The man sighed again, moving a hand on his face. “I’ll see what I can do, Danya. I promise.”

Danila nodded, a small thank you. Mikhail indeed was different from the other doctors. He lacked the medical coldness his colleagues had. He broke rules, by helping the subjects. Somehow he sneaked in old toys, candies, even books. If anything… he was the closest thing to a parental figure for the kids. Many respected him. Some trusted him, in secret, others not so much.

The platform finally slowed to a stop. They were now two levels down. The third level, or as they called it, the Common Wing.

Mikhail stepped off first, leading the group through the corridor. “Look kiddos, I want you to stay in the Common Area until dinner, like you were supposed to. Got it? Just do me this favor, please. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The group silently nodded. Deep down, none of them were worried about the double tests. They were worried about their friends. And Temüjin also thought about Naran.

He wondered if his little brother was doing ok. He had hoped so. That was the only thing he could do for now.

Yet, hope in VARYAG was a fool’s dream, a luxury. And the sinking weight in his gut told him something was wrong.