Hunting in the Dark

Time had lost all meaning.

No clocks. No windows. No schedule. Just silence, darkness, and the lingering echo of threats left behind by the interrogator who stormed out mere hours, or days, ago.

Haruto sat alone in the corner of the room. His wrists were still bound by cold metal cuffs, dried blood flaking from the corners of his mouth. The silence wasn’t peace – it was pressure.

His thoughts spiraled into fragments as his memories began to leak through cracks he hadn’t realized had formed.

A little girl’s laughter, fading like an echo in fog.

A pair of small hands reaching for him.

A voice, crying out to someone: “You promised… you’d take me back to them…”

And then –

Yukawa’s voice broke through. “You hid everything.”

The image that followed was sharper. More real. Haruto being dragged through a bloodstained alley, his body half-limp and his mind burning. Behind Yukawa stood Akane, her hair clinging to her tear-streaked cheeks, her lips trembling – but she said nothing.

Haruto jolted upright. “Akane!” he shouted with a row and cracked.

Silence ensued.

He exhaled, chest heaving as he came back to himself.

Not yet. He couldn’t fall apart yet.

Footsteps approached the room. Calm and measured. They weren’t the heavy boots of the last interrogator.

The door creaked open and a man entered. He was tall, lean and neatly dressed in white. His eyes were not as cold, but they lacked warmth too. He seemed more calculating than cruel.

“Haruto, correct?” he asked, pulling a chair to sit just outside his reach.

“No one else here fits the part,” Haruto muttered.

The man gave a faint smile. “I’ve been asked to reevaluate your status. The last session was… intense, for the interrogator as well. And we’re trying a gentler approach now.”

“Switching from branding iron to silk glove?” Haruto chuckled bitterly. “You people really know your tactics.”

The man didn’t respond. Instead, he took a tablet and occasionally took notes.

Haruto’s gaze, meanwhile, flickered across the room.

The vent in the corner buzzed inconsistently. A camera above the light fixture was tilted slightly to the left. The guard outside, whose reflection had been caught by Haruto for a brief moment when the door was opened, was different. Sloppier. Probably rotated in after the shift.

“Mind telling me your name?” Haruto asked casually.

“No need for that,” the man replied. “I’m here to assess your cognitive functions. If you cooperate, I can request better conditions for you.”

“How kind,” Haruto said with mock sincerity. “Though you might want to tell the nurse who comes in that she dropped her ID card when she took my vitals earlier.”

The man blinked. “What?”

Haruto smiled. He had noticed it, half-tucked beneath the tray she’d left behind. The ID card of a Sanctuary medical staffer. No one had picked it up.

“Internal systems must be a mess,” he mused aloud. “Poorly rotated security, inconsistent staff shifts, nurses dropping credentials. I’m guessing something’s happening behind the scenes.”

The man didn’t stiffen. Didn’t flinch.

He simply closed the tablet and leaned back in his chair.

“I do admit that it was a bit dramatic,” he said with a faint smirk. “But rebellion in the med-tech staff? That’s reaching, even for you.”

Haruto’s smile didn’t falter. “If I’m wrong, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The evaluator raised an eyebrow. “You’re clever, Haruto. But you aren’t the only one playing this game.”

Haruto’s eyes narrowed slightly. This one was more difficult. Polished. But he pressed on.

“How long before the next shift rotation? I can hear the staggered footsteps in the hall. You’ve thinned your coverage. Internal restructuring? Or… a power shuffle?”

“I admire how you cling to theory,” the man said. “It’s what people do when they lack facts.”

“I have facts,” Haruto replied smoothly. “People talk when they think I’m subconscious. Or they whisper outside doors. Like one of your nurses. Tall. Shaky hands. Her voice seems to be ridden with guilt.”

The man gave a short, knowing chuckle. “I admire your observational skills, Haruto… We all have guilt. Even you. Especially you.”

“But mine isn’t institutional,” Haruto said, tilting his head. “Mine doesn’t involve children being turned into experiments. Subject R, for example. Still alive in the west wing. A liability. A miracle. A threat.”

That finally got a pause.

The man’s eyes showed that he was recalculating behind his otherwise composed expression.

“Curious,” the evaluator said. “You say Subject R like it’s just a name. But it’s not, is it?”

Haruto didn’t respond.

“You want him back,” the man said quietly. “And that’s what this entire performance is about.”

“Aren’t we all performing?” Haruto replied. “Some wear white coats. Some wear chains. After all, we are just actors… acting our roles in this play, that is called life.”

That man leaned forward just slightly. “You think you’re maneuvering me. But I was trained for this. Your tricks – they’re good. But I’ve studied better men who fell trying to outplay this place.

Haruto smiled faintly. “I don’t need better men. I only need a crack. Just one.”

He let the silence linger.

Then, he struck: “How is Emi, by the way?”

The pause wasn’t long, but it was telling.

The man didn’t lunge. Didn’t reach for a blade.

Instead, he laughed. Softly.

“I see. Maybe this was the reason he requested to be shifted,” he said. “But you’re fishing, Haruto. And maybe you caught something. Maybe not.”

Haruto gave a slow, unsettling grin. “I don’t fish.”

“I noticed,” the man replied. “You hunt.”

He walked to the door but turned once before leaving.

“Just remember, Haruto – I can respect the game. But if you’re going to try to win, make sure to consider the repercussions of your moves.”

Then he left, door shutting softly behind him.

Haruto exhaled.

This one was sharp. Cold. Measured.

But he wasn’t invincible.

And beyond the walls, in the belly of Sanctuary 7, Ren was waiting.

Soon.