This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and situations are purely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintentional. The characters are not based on real individuals, and no connection to actual persons is intended.

This story contains questionable actions and themes that do not reflect my personal beliefs, values, or approval. They exist solely for the sake of the plot and narrative development, and are not meant to be endorsed or encouraged.

Bottom line: it’s fiction. Take it for what it is — a fictional story created for entertainment purposes.

The first part of this story (Chapters 1–23) is available for free on my Patreon, on Ao3, and on Amazon Kindle Unlimited (edited version for publication).

This is the second part of the story. Please read the first part before continuing with this one :)

Check out my profile to find all the useful links, or just search “Prisoner Nights Ransie” on Google.

Blood splatters against the floor, drop after drop. Felix focuses on that rhythmic sound, like the ticking of a clock. He needs something to hold onto, something to keep him from falling apart. He desperately needs it. He’s just killed a man. He’s just stepped out of the cell where he’s been imprisoned for months. He should feel happy, euphoric even, but instead, he’s terrified.

It feels like he’s trapped in a lucid dream, as though nothing he remembers has actually happened. That would seem like a more rational explanation than reality. To be honest, he had no idea what lay beyond the heavy iron door: ideally, he believed it was freedom, in whatever form it chose to take.

But this?

This is something he can’t make sense of. In fact, it’s something that doesn’t make sense at all.

Felix is in a room. Behind him is the infamous iron door, and directly in front of him is another just like it. The room is small, perfectly square—at most four meters long and wide.

Except for where the doors are, along the walls are two large desks that, viewed from above, would resemble two squared-off "C"s, one mirroring the other. There are two computers, both locked on a password entry screen. On one of the walls, six monitors display the cell from different angles. Felix can see the bars on one screen, the bed on another, Ivan’s lifeless body on yet another, and in the last, the bloodstain spreading across the floor.

He has spent more time in that cell than he can truly grasp. He’s scrutinized every wall, every corner, every crevice of that place, never noticing all those cameras. Where were they hidden? And why were they watching him? Most importantly, who was watching him? Hyunjin? Maybe. It’s not an idea he can rule out.

Felix looks at the desk. There’s a yellow folder on it. On the cover, it says: #4317, and beneath that: Atonement Program.

Felix opens the folder. The first page of a long list of documents is… Felix isn’t even sure how to define it. A small ID photo of him is stapled and stamped in one corner of the page. The stamp contains text in a language Felix is sure he’s never seen before, something that reminds him of Greek. Or maybe Cyrillic. However, the rest of the document is written in English.

There’s his name, his surname, his date of birth, and his blood type. The names of his parents, followed by the names of his maternal and paternal grandparents. There’s a short section listing his hospital admissions and the reasons for them, followed by a brief statement confirming his suitability for the program, signed by a doctor named K. Spark.

Beneath that, all of his fingerprints are displayed. Felix tilts the paper in the light and sees the ink’s texture. They’re originals. At some point during his captivity, he must have pressed his fingers onto those documents, but he doesn’t remember doing it.

Lastly, there’s a 25x magnification of his irises. Felix stares at the black of his own eyes, feeling as though he could drown in them.

He flips through the other pages. They’re filled with medical data of all kinds: ECGs and others he doesn’t recognize. It seems those bastards studied him extensively before throwing him into that cell to rot.

Felix leaves Ivan’s blood on every page he touches. With a surge of anger, he hurls the folder back onto the desk. The papers scatter everywhere as Felix collapses to his knees. He crosses his arms against the desk and buries his head in them. His heart pounds in his chest, and he feels on the verge of passing out, but he can’t afford to. This is his only chance to escape.

He gets back to his feet. Not far from the folder is a badge attached to a plain black lanyard. Felix picks it up.

It’s about the size of a credit card, made of plastic. On the front is a photo of Ivan smiling, alongside the text: Ivan K. - Atonement Department Supervisor.

Atonement.
There’s that word again.

Felix realizes it must be important somehow. Just as he understands that the man who watched him all this time wasn’t Hyunjin, as he had initially thought, but Ivan. So then, what role did Hyunjin play in all of this?

The idea that Ivan had been watching everything Hyunjin did to him disgusts Felix. Did that pig get off watching him? Felix bets he did. God. He wants to go back down there and cut off his dick just to satisfy his need for vengeance, but even that would cost him a considerable amount of time. And he has no idea how much time he has before someone discovers Ivan is dead.

He turns the badge over in his hands. There’s a black magnetic strip on the back. Felix notices that the door operates with a sliding mechanism: this must be the key. He hangs the badge around his neck to avoid losing it, then continues to search the room.

The desk drawers are all locked, and none of the keys Felix already has seem to fit. The computers, without passwords, are completely inaccessible. He continues rummaging through the desk for more clues but finds nothing useful.

He approaches the door and swipes the badge through the reader. The red light turns green, and the door opens.

Felix finds himself in a long, white corridor. The light is white, the floor is white, the walls are white, the ceiling is white, and the doors lining it are white. Felix counts seven doors. Each one is marked with a number, from 4315 to 4321. Felix wonders if behind each door is another monitoring room, and behind each monitoring room, a cell with a prisoner. The thought alone sends shivers down his spine. He wants to do something for those poor souls—but if he starts knocking on doors, he risks drawing the supervisors’ attention. There’s nothing he can do for them; they’re left to their own devices.

Just as he had been, before carving his way out by killing the right person.

He walks slowly down the corridor. His feet, still slick with blood, slide against the glossy tiles. The door at the end of the corridor also requires a badge to open. Felix swipes it and steps into a room with more doors like the one he just exited. His door is labeled 3, while the others are numbered 1 through 7.

How many people are trapped in there?

Felix steps into the elevator. He discovers he’s on level -2. He presses the button for 1, assuming it will take him to the exit. The elevator ascends quickly, and Felix wonders how far he’ll get before running into someone—and how he’ll escape if he does.

The elevator opens into a lobby.
It’s dark, the lights are dim, and silence fills the air. The place looks like a hospital, but with the oppressive quiet, it could just as easily be a morgue. Felix takes a few steps forward before stopping. From where he stands, he can see outside: a massive glass wall with sliding doors opens into a garage. It’s the middle of the night; Felix realizes it only now. He would run. He’d do it in an instant.

But a guard is seated at a desk just over two meters from the glass doors. He’s reading a magazine. Felix wonders what chances he has of taking him out. He could kill him by choking him or catching him off guard, but… Would luck be on his side again? He’s definitely weaker than the guard. He hasn’t eaten properly in weeks, and he exerted himself immensely just twenty minutes ago. Does he really stand a chance?

What if he just ran? Sure, the man might chase him, but maybe Felix could reach the road and get help.

Hell, he’d throw himself in front of a car before going back to that madhouse.

Maybe he has a chance.
Sure, killing the guard might give him better odds, but it’s almost impossible for him to pull it off.

Run or fight?
Fight or—?

“Hey!”

The guard looks up from his magazine. He stares at Felix, frowning in confusion. When he sees the blood covering him, he stands up, his face pale. “What the hell… Hey!”

Felix bolts toward the door. He nearly slips several times but regains his balance before falling. He runs so fast he feels his heart in his throat, his temples throbbing from the effort. The glass doors slide open in front of him, and a gust of fresh air hits his face. Then, a shock.

Felix collapses to the ground, hitting his head so hard he can’t see for several moments. The pain is intense, his muscles lock up, and his body goes rigid. The guard is on top of him. When Felix’s vision clears, he sees the taser in the guard’s hands.

“What the hell have you done?” the guard asks. His worry is almost pitiable. “Oh God. God. What the fuck do I do now?”

“…fre…dom… Ple… Please…” Felix tries to speak, his mouth refusing to obey as his body spasms. The guard looks at him with pity, runs to the desk, and returns hesitantly. He’s holding a syringe.

“Follow protocol, Dan,” the guard mutters to himself. “Just follow protocol.”

“Ple…ase…” Felix groans.

He’s done so much.

He’s done so fucking much.

What right does this bastard have to steal his freedom when it’s within his grasp?

What right does he have to force him back into a life this shitty?

Felix’s eyes fill with tears.

This man is just a guard.

Maybe he doesn’t know what happens in the depths of this place.

How can he blame him?

Even Felix, who’s lived it for months, doesn’t understand it.

“I’m sorry,” the guard says.

Felix feels the needle pierce his skin, the liquid burning as it enters his arm. Then, everything goes dark.