Limbo

11:21 — February 14, 2274

The same time, the same outcome.
The same as always, standing in a limbo of uncertainty.

With a blank stare, Seth watched them run off, unable to reach an agreement among themselves. There was no hope in their expressions. Even with the promise that they would return, he knew better than to be optimistic.

The echo of their footsteps faded until silence took over the cold, empty corridor.

Only the creaking of the old door remained—harsh, constant, and impossible to ignore.

Completely alone, he allowed himself to look around.

It was a gloomy, utilitarian hallway. Three classroom doors lined one wall. Grimy windows offered a blurred view of the outside world. At both ends, staircases led upward into darkness and downward into silence.

There wasn't much to see. Still, his mind—desperate for an anchor—latched onto a minor distraction.

His gaze drifted upward.

A few electrical cables hung from the ceiling, stirred by a faint draft from the broken windows. They swayed with a precise rhythm.

Left… right…
Left… right…

Over and over again. A silent metronome, waiting for the slightest disturbance to break its hypnotic beat.

SCRATCH.

Seth's foot slipped, tearing him from his trance. He looked down.

His shoe was untied.
Then he glanced at the door.

"…Not now."

His eyes returned to the cables.

CRACK!

The impact shattered the calm. His footing faltered, but he caught himself.
He tightened his grip on the metal frame, breath hitching as his eyes locked onto it.

His chest pounded. His vision refused to settle.

Not yet... not yet...!

His mind raced as he waited for the next impact.

Could I really die here…?

No. No—he shook his head. Thinking like that wouldn't help.

They’ll make it.
They have to.

Just—hold on.

His eyes drifted back to the cables, still swaying, still steady.
Then his gaze lowered, and memories from the past few days surfaced.

"Facing this without experience is… well, deadly."
Cass's voice echoed in his mind.

Deadly, huh?

"It depends on your performance on the mission… You could join one of this year's brigades."
He recalled the receptionist's disdain.

Performance…

"Good luck. - Beck"
The image of that note on the table resurfaced.

…Good luck…

Even if they warned me.
Even if I wasn't prepared.
Even if I needed a miracle.

They would never understand.
...I really have to change something, no matter what.

That's what I thought...before I ended up in this situation.

I couldn't stand idly by. I couldn't run from this.

Because if I didn't try—if I settled for the mediocrity they imposed on me—then I would have truly died.

I couldn't call that kind of existence "life."

That's why I'm here.

CRACK!

The door bulges outward, metal warping under the pressure.
Seth almost loses his grip, but holds.

"AGH!"

The shock tears through his body. "Damn it, my arm…"
He grits his teeth, forcing air into his lungs.

I have to resist... just hold on.

The cables tremble again.

SCRAAAATCH.

A deafening scrape, like nails against metal, ripped through the silence.

Slow.
Deliberate.

As if the beast knew Seth was there.

"What was that…?" Seth muttered, his voice shaking, not from fear alone, but confusion.

The minutes ticked by, so slowly they felt like hours in that confined corner. He didn't know what to think; he could only repeat what had brought him there.

I couldn't just stand idly by. Ever.

An endless wait.

A single, terrifying question looping in his mind:

Will this door really hold?

There was no answer. Only time—enough to be rescued, or found dead.

Above him, the dangling cables continued their motion, unwavering. Like pendulums. Back and forth. Back and forth. The same rhythm. The same certainty.

Twelve minutes in, his thoughts refused to collapse. Doubt came and went, but never took hold.

His body wasn't as resilient.

His shoulder screamed in protest. Sweat pooled in his palm. His legs shook, balance slipping as the strain became unbearable.

KRIIIIINNN!

A beast's growl rumbled behind him.
The door suddenly gaped open, just a few inches.

Through the narrow crack, a thin, razor-sharp spike of black bone slithered out, twisting in the air like a snake's tongue. The stench of rotten, burnt flesh flooded his senses.

The tip rotated slowly, as if sniffing.

Then it lunged, straight for Seth's eye.

CRACK!

Seth reacted on instinct, pouring every ounce of strength into his arm and forcing the door shut. The pressure severed the appendage cleanly.

It hit the floor and writhed violently, flopping like a fish out of water.

A puddle of blue blood began to seep from the door's slit.

Seth squeezed his eyes shut.

Don't look. Don't think. Just… squeeze.

But the liquid kept spreading.

His reflection wavered within it—blurred, murky, unstable. Still clear enough to show the truth in his expression.

Confusion.
Terror.

How did I end up like this…?

Of all the moments, that very question dragged his memory back to where all this suffering first began...

Why are you fighting?
They discarded you.

Seth stiffened.

"What…?" He swallowed hard. "Who said that?"

Seth quickly tilted his head from left to right, searching for the source of the voice that seemed to be coming from all directions.

Give it all up.
You don't belong in this world.
There's no place for you.

Images slammed into his mind.

His brother being praised, his mother averting her gaze, Grant saying, "...you stay alive and out of the way..."

His vision burned. Tears welled up, hot and uncontrollable.

That's impossible.
Rem beasts don't talk…

And in that moment, a lecture from the academy surfaced in his mind:

"…Rem beasts ranked C and above are not only capable of physical attacks, but mental ones as well."

The realization hit him then, his jaw tightened.

Whatever you say—I don't care.
I won't die here.

The voice wasn't in the hallway.

It was echoing inside his skull.

Why give your life for people who despise you?
Only that girl—Cass—pities you, like a stray dog.

"…How can we just leave him here?! He's a rookie!"
Cass's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Shut up…!"

His teeth clenched.

"I don't care about anything. I chose this. I stopped caring about others a long time ago."

Only the strong get to choose.
You are nothing.

YOU ARE NOBODY.

…I know it.
I’ve always known it.

CRACK.

The door shuddered—but Seth tightened his grip.

It was no longer metal.
It was warped, strained, distorted, a reflection of his own will.

That's exactly why I'm here.
I'm tired of being nobody.

And you don't get to tell me who I am.

—Then why are you afraid?

CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!

Three impacts. The strongest yet.

Seth finally let go of the door.
He stumbled back a few steps and looked up.

The door was bent inward.

CRACK!

The final blow tore open a gaping hole in the upper-left corner.