As the sound of a heart monitor fills the space…

Beep… beep…

The same echo repeats in other rooms.

Identical rooms.

Different people.

Motionless bodies beneath the haze of anesthetic masks.

A shadowed figure appeared beside one of the sedated patients.

 Nothing of their identity could be seen—only the outline of a medical coat and the glint of an unfamiliar syringe. And without hesitation..

 the figure injected a translucent solution into the IV bag hanging above the bed.

 The yellow substance dissolved..

 fading into the white fluid like a secret being swallowed.

Then, without a sound, the figure slipped out through the door.

as though they had never been there.

Moments later, the monitor’s rhythm began to accelerate,

its sharp beeping rising rapidly across every room.

Beep. Beep. Beep!!!

Patients throughout the ward began to convulse.

A violent adverse reaction seized their bodies,

dragging them into brutal seizures that caused the beds themselves

to shake with uncontrollable force—

until the monitors dropped to zero.

Silence swallowed the rooms.

And with them,

all movement ceased.

Doctors burst in too late, shouting orders, forcing oxygen, pounding chests in frantic attempts to pull life back from the void. 

Nothing responded. One by one, the efforts failed.

From the edge of one bed, a hand slowly slipped and fell limp.

 Under the harsh lights, its skin revealed something unnatural—

jagged black fractures spreading across it, as though the body itself had begun to break from within.

In the end, the medical staff surrendered,

officially declaring the death of all six patients.

Only then did the cameras mounted in the corners of the rooms

resume their function,

a faint blinking light pulsing at the edge of the frame.

No one had noticed the malfunction

during everything that had occurred.

They captured only one thing—

confirmation of death.

Nothing more.

—

A jar…

suddenly cracked without breaking.

The Broken Jar Theory claims that human beings resemble clay vessels—

not because their bodies are made of clay,

but because their essence is just as fragile.

When the soul can no longer endure its wounds,

the body responds.

Black fractures emerge across the skin,

as if the person is on the verge of shattering.

These cracks may appear anywhere,

spreading outward from their point of origin.

Some scientists have linked them to extreme psychological trauma,

believing the body expels unbearable pain

by engraving permanent black scars into the flesh.

Some people removed them through cosmetic surgery.

Others exploited them,

using them as tools to evoke sympathy.

And so…

Those who bore these fractures were never trusted.

They were despised marks in this world—

symbols of weakness,

of humiliation,

of deceit.

Most chose to hide them…

As if shame itself

could be stitched shut

and sealed away.