The heavy clang of the iron gate echoed behind Aryan as he stood silently near the food section of Level D. The underground jail was colder than it should have been, not just from the lack of sunlight but from the silence that hung in the air, broken only by the occasional shout from deeper levels. It was like a beast quietly breathing, hiding something terrible in its depths.
A loud bell rang, the usual call for mealtime. The metallic tone reverberated through the stone walls like a warning rather than an invitation. As Aryan walked forward with the rest of the Level D inmates, he noticed how the corridors merged with those from Level C. The two classes were allowed to eat together—but only during this hour. A strategy to reduce supervision, or perhaps to spark conflict. Whatever the reason, Aryan could feel tension rising.
He stepped into the food section. A large hall with long steel benches, dull walls, and armed guards stationed at every corner. Aryan took a moment to observe the pattern. Each guard had a defined sector. One patrolled in a straight line, another circled the perimeter. Their shifts overlapped slightly. He narrowed his eyes. Every twenty minutes, there was a blind spot. That was useful.
But before he could think further, a loud argument erupted ahead of him. Two inmates, one from Level C and the other from Level D, were shouting at each other over a bench.
"This is my seat, dumbass! I sit here every day!" the Level C man yelled, shoving the smaller Level D man back.
"It's just a seat! Sit somewhere else!"
In the heat of the argument, the Level C man raised his hand. Aryan saw it glow faintly with blue energy. A power. But then—it fizzled out. Gone.
The man looked at his hand in shock. "What the—?"
Aryan, standing behind them, narrowed his eyes. He couldn't use his power. That wasn't just a collar or inhibitor device. That was something deeper.
"This place... it stops powers," Aryan muttered to himself. "But how?"
He watched closely. His mind flashed back to the moment in the hospital when he had frozen water. He'd felt it. The energy within him. Here? Nothing. Not even a flicker. "It's being suppressed... completely."
One of the guards yelled, "Enough!"
A group of six heavily armed soldiers stormed into the section. They pushed through the crowd and grabbed both the arguing inmates without hesitation.
"What the hell?! I didn't even hit him!" the Level D inmate screamed.
"I didn't do anything either! Let go! I was just defending myself!"
The lead guard didn't flinch. "You made a scene. Both of you are going to Black Confinement."
The moment that name was spoken, the entire food section went silent.
The two inmates instantly turned pale.
"No... please, please not there," one of them begged. "I'm sorry, I swear I won't cause trouble again!"
"I'll go back to my cell! Please don't send me there!" the other added, voice shaking.
But the guards didn't stop. They were dragged away, screaming and pleading.
Aryan's eyes stayed fixed on them until they disappeared behind the thick door at the back of the hall. Black Confinement. The words echoed in his mind. Whatever that place is... it breaks people.
He clenched his fist. "This world… it's more twisted than Earth."
He looked around again. The way people avoided eye contact. How everyone stayed in line, spoke softly, kept their heads down. Fear ruled this place. Not law. Not order. Just fear.
Aryan took his tray and quietly sat at the end of a bench. He poked at the food—it was barely edible. A blob of gray porridge, some dry bread, and water. He took a sip of the water and sighed.
His eyes shifted to the corner of the room. A man from Level C sat alone, arms crossed, head low. There was something different about him—he wasn't scared. He wasn't tense. He was just... observing.
Maybe he knows something, Aryan thought.
He stood up and started walking toward him.
But then the bell rang again.
"Food time's over!" one of the guards shouted. "Return to your sections!"
Aryan cursed under his breath. "Tch... just a little more time."
The inmates filed back into their levels, heads low, the atmosphere heavy again.
As he walked back to his cell, Aryan kept thinking. So powers don't work here... unless you cut the source suppressing them. But that begged the question: What is the source?
He remembered something he'd heard earlier—some prisoners whispered about an ancient artifact buried beneath the jail. Something that cut off all abilities. Pluses, they called them here.
And the energy source that powered the artifact?
Guarded by Officer Rod. An elite soldier.
Aryan sighed as the gates of his cell shut behind him.
"Of course it is. Nothing's ever easy."
He lay back on the stone bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
"But if this place is powered by something... that means it can be turned off. And if it can be turned off... I can get out of here."
He smirked.
"And once I do... this whole world will know who I really am."