The First Wall

Pain returned before sound.

Alex’s body screamed, but it was the cold that made him open his eyes. Concrete pressed against his cheek. Blood—his—had dried in a dark halo beneath him. For a moment, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Then he heard it.

Water.

Not crashing waves. Not a storm. But slow, echoing drips. Somewhere nearby.

He blinked.

He was still in the facility. A lower floor. A basement or holding area. He’d been dragged—there were blood trails leading to the wall.

His pistol was gone.

His shirt was soaked with blood, and the pain in his side was sharp—gunshot, not clean. He’d need stitches. But he was alive.

Barely.

Did they leave me here to die? he thought. Or to watch me break?

A voice answered him.

“You’re awake.”

He turned his head, vision swimming. In the far corner of the room, a girl sat cross-legged. Dirty-blonde hair. Maybe fourteen. Her wrists were bound to the pipe behind her.

“I thought you were dead,” she said.

He coughed. “Not yet.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who started it. The escape.”

“How did you—?”

“Everyone knows your name now. Alex. The kids who made it—your friends—they told the others. Even the ones still stuck in the north block.”

A pause.

Then she said quietly, “You gave us a chance.”

Alex sat up, every muscle shrieking in protest. “Did any of them make it?”

“Some. I don’t know how many. The guards are scattered now, angry, nervous. Two of them are dead. Three others missing.”

“Leo?”

“I don’t know names. Just whispers.”

He leaned his head back against the wall, heart pounding. So it wasn’t all for nothing.

Footsteps echoed beyond the door.

The girl tensed. “They’re coming.”

Alex forced himself to his feet.

The door opened with a metallic screech, and three guards stepped in. One of them—the one with the scarred hand—smirked.

“You caused a lot of problems, boy,” he said.

Alex didn’t answer.

The guard stepped forward. “You think you’re a hero? You’re just a bug. A mosquito that bit too hard.”

He backhanded Alex across the face.

Alex stumbled but didn’t fall.

Another punch—this time to his ribs.

The girl screamed, “Leave him alone!”

The scarred man turned, snarling. “Maybe I should start with you.”

Before he could move, Alex spat blood and said, “I hope they kill you first.”

The man paused, eye twitching.

Then he laughed.

“They won’t. But you? You’re going to wish you died out there. Starting tomorrow, we send you off-island. You’re already sold.”

The girl looked at Alex, eyes wide. “What does that mean?”

Alex’s voice was flat. “It means they’re harvesting.”

The room went silent.

The guards left, locking the door behind them.

The girl began to cry. Alex didn’t stop her. He didn’t speak. He only stared at the crack in the ceiling, where a single sliver of moonlight cut through the dark.

His escape had failed.

But it had sparked something.

They weren’t just scared anymore. The guards were on edge. Children were whispering again.

He would rise again. Wounded, yes. But more dangerous.

Because now, he had nothing to lose.

And the next time he moved—

He would bring the whole place down.