The floodlights don’t reach this far. Just the flicker of emergency lights, pulsing like a wounded heart.
Cables hang from the ceiling like exposed veins. The air smells like static—and something else. Something human, where there shouldn’t be.
Ivan arrives without a sound.
He doesn’t need to speak for his presence to be felt. His boots make no noise against the floor. His silhouette barely disturbs the shadows. But when you look up from the control panel, he’s already there.
A few feet away.
Watching you.
Like he already knows everything.
“How interesting,” he says, voice soft like glass about to break. “Didn’t think the resistance had someone stupid enough to infiltrate alone.”
You stay still.
He takes a step. The metal creaks beneath him, but he doesn’t come closer.
“No screaming. No running. No denial.”
A pause.
“I like that.”
He crouches slightly, like studying a curious little creature. Not with fear—just a cold sort of fascination.
“What do you people see from down there, hmm? A prison? A stage? An open wound?”
He touches a loose cable, makes it hum like a violin string.
“I grew up inside this system. I know it better than I know myself. And yet... you got in. Alone.”
The word hangs in the air like a blade.
“You know what that says about you?”
A small smile. Cynical. Empty.
“That you’re dangerous.”
He rises, a little closer now. Too close.
“Tell me… were you sent for something specific?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just watches you.
Watches like he already knows the mission.
Like he already knows you’re not really alone. That the device blinking faintly inside your jacket means something. That you’re afraid.
And still…
He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t strike.
Instead, he lifts a gloved hand. Wipes a streak of oil off your cheek with a strangely gentle motion.
“I could turn you in right now. One signal is all it takes.”
Silence.
But he doesn’t.
“You know what’s wrong with rebels?” he muses aloud, like it’s more for himself than for you. “They think they’re different. They think they’re real.”