I might have depression...

   “WHY THE HELL AM I ALSO HERE?!?!?!”

   My voice bounced off the walls like it was just as confused as I was.

   The isolation room was about as pleasant as it sounded. Concrete floor, dull gray walls, and no windows. The ceiling light flickered slightly, buzzing with that low, constant hum that made it hard to think straight. There was no bed—just a bench molded into the wall—and no sink, no toilet. Just a heavy steel door with a reinforced lock.

   No comfort. Just space. Enough to sit, pace, or lose your mind.

   Fifteen blinked at me, sitting comfortably on the floor like we’d just stepped into a spa instead of a holding cell. “Why are you yelling all of a sudden?”

   I turned to him, teeth clenched. “And whose fault do you think it is that I’m shouting?! Seriously, what is your deal?! You keep stalking me, and now this?!”

   He didn’t answer.

   He just laughed.

   Not a nervous chuckle. A full, open laugh that made it sound like this was all part of some great joke only he understood. He leaned his head back against the wall, still grinning like the world was perfectly fine.

   I stared at him, irritated—and weirdly tired.

   This guy is hopeless.

   No matter how much I snapped at him, it just bounced off. He wasn’t even trying to dodge the blame. He just didn’t care.

   I took a breath and asked, more calmly this time, “You know, I’ve been thinking about this for a while… but how can you smile all the time, even while we’re locked in this facility?”

   That actually caught him off guard.

   His grin faded slightly as he paused, glancing to the side like he had to think it through. Then he looked back at me.

   “Is that weird?” he asked. “I mean, you don’t exactly look sad about it either.”

   I frowned. I hadn’t expected that turn.

   He was looking at me—not blankly, not mockingly—but with a strange, quiet curiosity. That expression made something click.

   “…Is that the reason you took interest in me?” I asked.

   “Maybe?” he said, tilting his head. “I just felt like you might be interesting, that’s all.”

   I sighed and sat down on the cold floor, leaning against the wall. I don’t know why, but I found myself talking.

   I told him about my past. My family, friends, girlfriend, everything. I’m not sure myself why—probably just didn’t feel like hiding it in the first place.

   I kept my voice flat, just stating facts. And he listened without interrupting, which was the biggest surprise of all.

   When I was done, I added, “I am probably more heartless than I thought.”

   Fifteen didn’t respond immediately. He sat still, thoughtful, legs crossed, fingers tapping lightly on his knee.

   Eventually, he said, “I don’t think that’s it.”

   I looked over at him.

   He kept his gaze fixed on the ground. “Maybe it’s not that you stopped caring. Maybe you just… never really did. Like, deep down, some part of you expected all of that to happen anyway.”

   I opened my mouth to dismiss it, but stopped. That idea... it stung, because it felt true.

   I had thought things might fall apart. I saw the signs—my mom’s distance, my dad’s stress. I ignored them, but I wasn’t blind. Some part of me knew she’d leave. Knew the business would crumble. Knew none of it was permanent. Even my relationship… it was more routine than connection. Something you were supposed to have.

   I stared down at my hands.

   “I guess… I didn’t want to believe that,” I said quietly. “But you might be right.”

   “Even so,” I added after a moment, “shouldn’t I have at least felt something? Even if I expected it?”

   Fifteen finally looked at me. “Was there anything in your life that made you smile?”

   “Of course there was—” I started, but then the sentence caught in my throat.

   I thought about it.

   There was family. Sure. But no warm memories came to mind. No laughter. No moments worth remembering.

   Friends? They were there, but we never talked about anything real. It was just hanging out, small talk, pretending to care.

   My girlfriend? That relationship was more habit than feeling. I kept it because it was what everyone else did. That’s what you were supposed to have, right?

   All of it was hollow.

   While I was lost in thought, Fifteen said quietly, “Thought so.”

   Then he added, “People smile, being sad, or even getting mad for things that are important to them. The fact that you didn’t means that there wasn’t any meaningful thing in your life at all.”

   The words hit harder than I wanted them to.

   They weren’t cruel, but they cut clean.

   I stared up at the ceiling. “When you say it out loud, it really is depressing.”

   Silence stretched between us for a few seconds.

   “…What about you then?” I asked. “What’s your story?”

   Fifteen blinked, then scratched his head. “Me? I don’t know.”

   I blinked. “What do you mean by that? Like you have amnesia or something?”

   “Not sure,” he said, still casually. “I just know that this facility... it’s the only thing I remember. Everything else is blank.”

   That literally stunned me.

   I looked at him harder. “You’re telling me this place is the only thing you know—and you still smile like that? Now I'm even more confused.”

   He grinned suddenly, bright as ever.

   “Let me show you.”

   He stood, brushed off his pants, and took a few steps away from the wall. Then, without a word, he dashed forward and leapt—cleanly—into the ventilation window near the ceiling.

   I blinked. “What the—?”

   A moment later, his hand reached back out through the grate.

   “Jump in.” 

   I stared at the outstretched hand for a moment… then grabbed it.

   And together, we vanished into the vents.