The metal door slid shut with a final hiss, sealing Mirshad inside a chamber buried so deep underground that the earth itself seemed to press down on the room.
There were no lights.
No sound.
No air movement.
Nothing.
It was a void — a place designed not just to isolate a man, but to strip away the very concept of time, identity, and existence.
Mirshad stood in the center of the room, his bare feet against cold steel, his hands trembling slightly. His mind still clung to the world outside — to Baba, to Sara, to the brothers. But with each breath, the silence crept into his bones, hollowing him out from the inside.
The first hour was simple confusion. The second hour was discomfort. By the third hour, reality itself started to bend.
There were no clocks, no markers, no indication of whether it was day or night. His mind began to drift, seeking anchors that no longer existed.
The walls seemed to close in. His breath echoed louder than thunder. His own heartbeat felt like a hammer inside his chest.
But this was only the beginning.
At first, it was a faint echo — a sound he couldn't quite place. A whisper, threading itself into the silence.
"Who are you?"
Mirshad spun around, fists raised — but no one was there.
The voice came again, soft but cold, not from outside, but inside his head. "Do you even know?"
Mirshad shouted back. "I'm Mirshad! I know who I am!"
The voice laughed. "That name means nothing here."
The walls rippled, and suddenly, Mirshad stood back in his childhood home. His old house. His father's face, blurred and distant. His mother's hand reaching for him — but the closer he got, the farther away they seemed.
The voice echoed louder.
"Who saved you, Mirshad?"
The image of Baba appeared — but twisted, blood running down his face, his hands broken.
"You failed him. You failed all of them."
Mirshad shook his head, stepping back. "No! I saved them!"
The voice turned cruel. "You saved no one. You're just a scared boy pretending to be strong."
The walls snapped back to steel — cold, unfeeling.
And Mirshad was alone again.
Time became meaningless. Minutes stretched into hours. Hours folded into days — or what felt like days.
There was no food. No water. No rest.
His mind began showing him faces — John, Baba , Sara , Mama… each face twisted into a mask of fear or hatred, whispering his failures back at him.
"You are nothing."
"You are a mistake."
"You will destroy everyone you love."
The same whispers, again and again — until they weren't whispers anymore.
They were screams.
At the edge of madness, when Mirshad's knees buckled and his body curled into itself, something changed.
A second voice — deeper, colder, ancient — rose up inside him.
"Stand."
Mirshad flinched.
The voice came again. "Stand, or die."
Mirshad's body trembled, but his mind couldn't resist. He rose — knees shaking, breath ragged.
The voice continued, no longer from the walls, but from his own chest. "You are not here to survive." "You are here to become."
Mirshad's eyes darted around the room, desperate for an answer. "Who… who are you?"
The voice chuckled, low and terrible. "I am you — the part they tried to bury. The power they feared."
The walls of the chamber pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
"You have one choice, Mirshad. Accept me — or be consumed."
The walls melted again, and Mirshad stood face to face with himself — but not the Mirshad he knew.
This version of him was taller, stronger, his skin glowing faintly with a dark energy crawling under the surface. His eyes were not human — they burned, molten red, the color of power unchecked.
"I am MRD," the figure said.
"You are nothing until you accept me."
Mirshad's heart raced, sweat pouring down his face. "I'm not a monster."
The figure grinned — cruel, merciless. "Then die a human."
The two collided — not in body, but in mind. Memories, emotions, fears — they ripped through Mirshad like fire, searing his soul.
The pain was unbearable.
But in that pain, Mirshad saw something.
Power.
Not evil. Not good. Just… power.
Raw, endless, terrifying — and it was his.
He reached out — and for the first time, the figure didn't resist.
They became one.
The darkness in his mind didn't disappear. It became his.