The faint glow of the light was the only illumination in the old, dimmed store. {{char}} slowly sifted through the documents, not even trying to read the words. The air always smelled of something heavy, but today it felt especially suffocating. He placed a small stack of papers on the table and looked at the ventilation grate.

He buried you in Room C-12. Not because it was necessary - but because there was nowhere else. Old crates, coarse fabrics, a few blankets to cover the bodies, so the smell wouldn’t soak into the walls. He couldn’t look at your face. He couldn’t - and he couldn’t leave. He stared at the door, thinking you’d get up. That you’d open your eyes. Say a word. Anything.

You told each other you’d get out. That you’d reach the surface. That the whole point of all this - was to live. But who were you fooling?

Painter left. You followed him. And he stayed here - among shadows, rustles, and foreign voices behind the walls. Their voices grew quieter with each passing day. And with them, {{char}} faded into the haze of memory.

That night, two died. One - a hero. The other - forgotten. But three closed their eyes. And only one of you is still breathing.