Chapter 7: Escape Simulation

Entry 146. Or 147. Doesn’t matter anymore.

The first rule of captivity: define control. Even if it's an illusion.

Rei woke today to the same sterile light. No alarm. That alone was new. He stretched before he opened his eyes — a habit now, routine. Movement kept the mind from calcifying. First: five knuckle push-ups. Then: heel lifts. Then: balance drills with one eye closed. Motion meant control.

The tray slid in. Same ration: protein gel, synthetic grain bar, and warm water. But today, Rei didn’t eat. Not yet.

He placed the items on the floor with exact precision. He was waiting.

There. Seven seconds before the tray slid in — that telltale static burst again. Just like before. He’d timed it for weeks now. 6.8 seconds of high-frequency white noise from the corner-mounted television set, exactly two minutes before the wall flap opened.

It wasn’t a mistake.

It was a signal.

He chewed on the edge of his thumbnail. His hands trembled — not from fear, but anticipation. Rei Maeda had spent over a decade solving crimes, unraveling false narratives, understanding how people hid their truth inside body language. In here, he had no suspects, no crime scene.

So he became both. Suspect and detective.

Prisoner and analyst.

He’d trained his ears to hear footsteps outside his cell. They always came in pairs. Click. Drag. Click. Drag. Left foot injured, perhaps? Every night at 9:13 PM, those steps passed by. Only once. Never paused. Rei had memorized them, folded them into a mental map of the corridor outside.

He’d also memorized the wall’s temperature. He’d wake at odd hours, pressing the skin of his cheek to the east wall. Once every few days, there would be a faint heat — not warmth, but a disruption. Something powered on nearby.

The room was alive.

So he adapted.

---

Phase 1: Tools.

The food tray had cracked three days ago. At first, Rei had cursed — it meant they might replace it. But then, clarity. He snapped the rest of it with careful leverage, sliding one jagged shard under the toilet rim. Sharp. Metal. Makeshift weapon.

He dubbed it: Shiv Aiko. Because she would’ve laughed at how dramatic he was being.

He missed her laugh.

---

Phase 2: Body.

He was 43. Not young, but still capable. Muscle retention had surprised him. Six months of bodyweight training gave him wiry strength. What surprised him more was the speed.

Each night, he timed how long it would take to sprint from his bed to the door and stab a tray-sized rectangle on the wall — over and over, training muscle memory.

7 seconds.

It always came down to that.

7.0 seconds of static.

What did it mean?

An opening?

A surveillance blackout?

A reset?

---

Phase 3: Simulation.

He closed his eyes and imagined escape.

Scenario One:

> Tray slot opens. Rei wedges foot inside. Risks getting it crushed. Screams. If guards enter — ambush. Shiv to throat. Hostage. Exit.

Probability: 17%. Too much noise. Risk of dismemberment.

Scenario Two:

> Static window. Disrupt the camera. Create fire from bed sheet and wiring. Smoke triggers entry. Shiv ready. Exit in chaos.

Probability: 22%. Better. But he needs flame. No lighter. Still planning.

He wrote these out in his journal, which they’d given him last month — a cruel joke or a calculated test, he wasn’t sure.

---

Today, he drew his fourth escape map.

Every detail was imagined — the air vents (nonexistent), guard height (5'10", inferred from boots), number of steps to probable corner hallway (32). He wrote it all down, refining each variable like a blueprint.

He wasn’t escaping yet.

He was preparing for the chance.

---

Around 5 PM, the TV turned on again. Static at first, then something else.

A commercial.

No sound — only visuals.

A burning sun.

A red phoenix, wings curling toward the screen.

Rei’s breath caught.

He remembered that symbol.

A case. Years ago. Cold file. Illegal medical trials. A pharmaceutical shell company — “Project Hinotori.” Shut down after whistleblower suicide. Symbol: Red Phoenix.

The same one. Now, on a TV commercial.

He stood up, trembling, and pressed his hands against the screen.

"They’re still operating," he whispered. "This is bigger than just revenge."

For the first time in weeks, his mind didn't circle around guilt or madness. It pointed forward.

Someone had framed him.

Someone wanted him broken.

But not just him. There were others. The voice in the vent — the tapping. "Don’t trust her," it said.

Her.

Who was she?

---

That night, before sleeping, Rei scribbled a message in the back of his notebook.

> “If I die in here, it means the game was bigger than me.

But if I escape — I burn the system. From the inside out.”

---

The lights blinked off. Rei lay flat on the floor instead of the bed — feeling the vibrations from below. If he concentrated, he could hear something like machinery shifting — possibly a lift. Were the rooms mobile?

Every inch of the space had a secret.

He would find it.

Or he’d bleed trying.

---

Journal Entry: Escape Plan Log 5

Training time: 3 hours

Calories consumed: ~950

Body condition: Stable. Left hand strained from grip drills.

Suspicious signals: 7s static (again). Phoenix sigil spotted.

Conclusion:

I am not crazy.

I am not broken.

Not yet.

But I am close.

And close is enough for war.

---

To be continued…