The vents were narrow. The metal groaned occasionally under our weight. But the only real problem was the monotony—tight space, metal walls, elbows and knees scraping every few feet.

   “How long until we get there?” I asked.

   Fifteen, crawling ahead, called back over his shoulder. “Just a little more.”

   He’d said that before. Like seven times.

   We kept moving for around ten minutes. The air in the vent was dry and stale. The occasional puff of warm air passed through, but otherwise, it was like crawling through a dry, metallic intestine.

   Eventually, Fifteen stopped.

   “We’re here,” he said, and motioned toward a small gap in the vent’s side panel. A beam of warm, yellowish light filtered in.

   I crawled up beside him and peered through the gap.

   Below us was a large room—bright and clean. Stainless steel counters. Smooth tile floors. Long white tables. It wasn’t fancy, but compared to the cold routine we lived in, it might as well have been a five-star restaurant.

   And more importantly, no guards. The place was completely empty.

   But the food—

   I didn’t need to see it to know it was real. The smell hit me immediately. Cooked meat. Fresh bread. Something citrusy and tangy in the air...

   “You’re drooling.” Fifteen looked at me and raised an eyebrow. 

   I quickly wiped my chin with a sleeve. “C-can’t be helped! I’ve been eating paste blocks and flavorless sludge for so long, that soon I might forget what real food tastes like.”

   He chuckled, then moved aside and pointed to a rope already tied to a thick metal rod inside the vent.

   Then I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t tell me you’re just going to steal it?”

   He looked at me and smirked. “Scared?”

   The way he said it. As if he was challenging me.

   I clicked my tongue. “Tch. Move.”

   I slid forward, grabbed the rope, and lowered myself down without hesitation. My boots touched the floor quietly. Fifteen dropped down right after me.

   We got inside.

   The place was spotless. The air was warmer than in the rest of the facility, and for a moment, it felt unreal—like we’d stepped into someone else’s world. Trays were neatly stacked. Pots and pans sat drying on racks. A big industrial fan hummed in the corner.

   And then here is the buffet—rows of prepared meals, still warm, waiting to be served.

   Fifteen pointed at the large clock mounted on the wall.

   “Guards have lunch at 14:30. That gives us ten minutes to grab what we can and vanish. There are no cameras here, so no one’ll know.”

   Without another word, we moved.

   We grabbed trays and packed everything we could. Meat, vegetables, bread, even fresh fruit. We stuffed it all into a large trash bags and wrapped them tightly.

   When we were done, I looked at the pile of food in my hands. Suddenly, I felt a very weird feeling. Something like a mix of irritation, envy and something darker...

   “Hey... They’re eating like this every day, right?”

   "Yeah." Fifteen glanced over. "Why are you asking?"

   Suddenly, an evil smile appeared on my face. “Doesn’t that make you frustrated?”

   While saying that, I came up with a sinister idea, that I wanted to make into reality no matter what...