Waller Greene's POV…
I don't know how long I've been out… minutes, hours—hell, maybe days.
All I know is when my eyes finally crack open, the first thing I see is light.
Soft. Golden. Blinding in the best way.
I'm lying on warm sand, grains sticking to my skin like they've claimed me. The sound of waves rolls in slow and steady, like the world breathing. I blink hard, pushing myself up on my elbows, and for a second… I forget everything.
No pain.
No fear.
No past.
Just the ocean stretching endlessly ahead of me.
I let out a quiet laugh, dry and disbelieving.
"A vacation?" I mutter. "Did I finally lose it?"
The breeze brushes against my face—cool, clean, real. Palm trees sway lazily behind me, their shadows dancing across the shore.
Somewhere, faint music plays. The kind you'd hear in some overpriced resort you'd never admit you enjoyed.
And somehow… I do enjoy it.
I get to my feet, steady this time, and walk toward the water. Each step feels lighter than the last. Like whatever I was carrying before—whatever dragged me down—is gone.
I kneel by the edge, letting the waves wash over my hands.
For a moment… peace.
Then—
Something feels off.
The water… it's colder now.
Too cold.
I frown, looking down at my reflection.
But it isn't right.
The man staring back at me… his face is bruised.
Split lip. Swollen eye.
My breath catches.
"No… no, that's not—"
The ocean ripples violently, distorting the image until it shatters completely. The sound of the waves deepens—warps—turns into something heavier… metallic… echoing.
The warmth vanishes.
The light flickers.
And just like that—
Everything collapses.
Darkness.
Not the quiet kind. The suffocating kind.
My eyes snap open, but this time… I wish they hadn't.
Pain hits me first.
Sharp. Relentless. Everywhere.
I try to move—can't. My arms are stretched above me, wrists burning as chains dig into my skin. My body hangs just enough for every inch of me to scream in protest.
A slow drip echoes somewhere nearby.
Water… or blood.
My vision swims, barely holding the world together. Stone walls. Damp. Cracked. A dungeon.
I suck in a breath, but it comes out ragged, broken.
"Ah… he's awake."
The voice.
Low. Familiar.
Too familiar.
I freeze.
My head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, but I force it up anyway, trying to see through the blur. A figure stands just beyond the reach of the dim light, more shadow than man.
I squint, heart pounding weakly in my chest.
"I know that voice…" I croak.
A soft chuckle echoes through the chamber.
"Of course you do, Waller."
A step forward.
Boots scraping against stone.
My vision sharpens just enough to make out the outline of a face—and something inside me twists violently.
Recognition.
But my mind refuses to accept it.
"No…" I whisper, shaking my head as much as the chains allow. "That's not possible…"
The figure tilts his head, almost amused.
"Dreams can be kind," he says quietly. "They gave you a beach… a moment of peace."
Another step closer.
"Reality?" he adds, voice dropping, colder now.
"Reality doesn't care what you want."
My breathing quickens. My pulse pounds louder than the dripping in the room.
"Why…?" I manage. "Why me?"
The figure stops just inches away now, close enough for me to feel his presence… but not close enough to fully see his face.
Not yet.
"Because, Waller…" he murmurs, almost gently.
"You were never supposed to survive the first time."
Silence swallows the room.
And as my vision starts to fade again, slipping in and out like a dying light, one thought claws its way to the surface—
This wasn't a dream.
The beach…
That was the illusion.
The chains creak as my body sways slightly, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through me. My vision dips again, then claws its way back.
I force myself to focus.
"No more games…" I rasp. "Show me your face."
A pause.
Then—
A quiet sigh.
"Still stubborn," the voice says. "Even now."
He steps forward into the weak light.
And my world stops.
My heart doesn't just skip—it stumbles, like it forgot how to beat.
"…Markus Hale?"
The name falls out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Standing in front of me—alive, breathing, real—is Markus.
Not the Markus I remember… but close enough to tear something open inside me.
His face is sharper now, colder. There's a stillness in him that wasn't there before. The kind that comes after something inside a person dies.
Or changes.
"You look disappointed," Markus says, tilting his head slightly. "Were you expecting a monster?"
I shake my head weakly, chains rattling. "No… I heard you were murdered in the hospital."Markus smiles.
And that smile—it's wrong.
"You watched what I needed everyone to see."
A chill runs through me, deeper than the dungeon's cold.
"No…" I whisper. "That mission—there's no way you walked out of that."
Flashbacks slam into me—fire, collapsing steel, screams swallowed by explosions. Markus disappearing beneath it all.
Gone.
Buried.
Dead.
"I didn't," he says simply, as if reading my thoughts.
My eyes widen.
"I was pulled out."
He steps closer, and now I can see it—faint markings along his neck, barely visible under the dim light. Not scars.
Symbols.
Moving.
Like they're alive under his skin.
My stomach twists.
"…what did they do to you?"
Markus's expression doesn't change.
"They didn't do anything," he says. "They showed me the truth."
A low hum fills the air—so faint I almost think I'm imagining it.
"The world we fought for… the lies we believed… all of it, Waller." His voice tightens just slightly. "We were pawns."
I let out a broken laugh, coughing right after.
"So your solution is this?" I gesture weakly with my head. "Chains? Torture? You sound just like them."
Markus's eyes darken.
"For someone hanging by a thread," he says quietly, "you're still talking like you have a choice."
He steps even closer now, close enough that I can see my own battered reflection in his eyes.
"You felt it, didn't you?" he continues. "The beach. The peace."
My breath catches.
"That wasn't just a dream."
My mind races.
"What are you talking about…?"
Markus leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"The Puppeteers."
The word hits different.
Heavy.
Wrong.
"They don't just control events," he says. "They control perception. Memory. Reality."
The hum grows louder now, vibrating through the walls… through me.
"That beach?" he murmurs. "That was them showing you what you want."
A cold realization starts creeping in.
"And this…?" I whisper.
Markus straightens.
"This," he says, looking around the dungeon, "is what you refuse to accept."
My chest tightens.
"No… no, you're lying…"
But even as I say it, doubt seeps in.
Markus studies me for a long moment.
Then, something changes.
A flicker.
Not in him—
In the world.
The walls… twitch.
Just for a second.
Like a glitch.
My eyes widen.
"You see it now," Victor says softly.
The hum spikes.
Suddenly, the dungeon shifts—just a fraction. Stone warps. Shadows stretch in unnatural directions. For a split second, I swear I see something behind it all—
Strings.
Thin. Endless. Attached to everything.
To the walls.
To Markus.
To me.
I gasp, my body tensing despite the pain.
"What… is that—?!"
Markus's expression hardens.
"The truth."
He steps back, just slightly.
"And the reason you're here."
My breathing turns frantic. "You're working for them…"
Markus doesn't answer immediately.
That silence?
That's worse.
"I'm free because of them," he finally says.
My heart sinks.
"No… you're not free, Victor." My voice cracks. "You're just on a different leash."
For the first time—
He flinches.
Barely.
But I see it.
And that's when I know…
There's still something of him left.
"You don't believe that," I push, ignoring the pain. "Not completely."
The air goes still.
The hum falters.
Markus's jaw tightens.
"Careful, Waller…"
"Or what?" I snap weakly. "You'll kill me? Then do it. But don't stand there pretending you're not fighting this."
Silence.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Then—
Markus turns away.
And that… that scares me more than anything.
"Rest," he says coldly. "You'll need it."
"For what…?" I breathe.
He pauses at the edge of the shadows.
"For when they decide to wake you up properly."
A chill runs straight through my soul.
"What does that mean…?"
Markus doesn't look back.
"It means," he says quietly,
"You haven't actually woken up yet."
Darkness creeps in again, pulling at the edges of my vision.
The hum returns.
Louder.
Deeper.
And just before everything goes black…
I swear I feel something tighten around my wrist—
Not the chains.
Something thinner.
Sharper.
Like a string being pulled.