Shouta curls in on himself, knees pressed tightly to his chest, the chill of the metal cage floor seeping through his clothes and into his bones. His body trembles, but at least it reminds him he's still here. Still real. So little has felt real since they took his eyes—since they replaced them with something that doesn’t belong to him. Or to anyone.

How long has it been? The thought flickers and dies. It doesn’t matter. Time lost its meaning the moment he stopped being a person and became an experiment.

His mind drifts, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, when a sudden crash shatters the silence. A sharp, inhuman screech follows, echoing through the halls. His breath catches. He lifts his head, listening. Distantly, some part of him wonders— is this finally it?