Kei stared at the glowing message behind him, his breath unsteady.
"You are not just inside the prison. You are a part of it."
The letters faded, but the meaning stayed imprinted in his chest like a scar. Every sound, every glitch in the air around him felt louder now—as if time itself was breathing. Watching.
Kei looked down at his hand. The circuit-like lines were still there, glowing dimly. They pulsed with each heartbeat, like something inside him was trying to sync with time itself.
> "What did he mean?" Kei whispered. "The real prison begins?"
The walls were still cracked, pieces of reality trembling. In the corner of his cell, the old mechanical watch—the one he'd found long ago—was ticking again.
But it was counting backwards.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed. Familiar. Heavy. Calm.
The Warden.
He walked in without breaking stride. His cloak flowed unnaturally, like it wasn't affected by gravity. His eyes didn't look at Kei—they looked through him.
"You saw him," the Warden said.
Kei didn't answer.
"I warned you about the Faceless Man," he continued. "He exists in glitches. Between moments. A fragment of someone who used to be real… and chose to become timeless."
Kei clenched his fists. "What does he want from me?"
"Not want." The Warden paused. "He's testing you."
Silence fell.
Then the Warden turned away, but before leaving, he said something that shook Kei to the core:
> "You were never supposed to exist, Kei. That's why the system keeps breaking around you."
And then he was gone.
Kei sat down. The ticking watch now matched the beat of his glowing hands. Backwards. Reversing.
Then suddenly—
FLASH.
A short vision burst into his mind:
—A massive tower crumbling under a red sky.
—A young girl crying, reaching out to Kei.
—A reflection of himself, wearing a dark jacket… with no face.
Then everything faded.
Kei stood, fists tight. "If they want me to break… they better make a better prison."
Outside the cell, the alarms started again. But this time, they weren't red.
They were blue.