The room — if it could be called that — sat dark. Completely dark. The trooper pushed the door open and peered inside with the bearing of a man caught entirely unprepared, already composing his report.
"Why is it... this dark in here?"
Cold moved through Ash that had nothing to do with the temperature.
'Oh no. No, no, no, no—'
"Hello?"
The trooper pitched his voice into the darkness.
"Mr. Paul? Anyone? We have someone coming in!"
"Keep your voice down."
The reply came from somewhere inside, a low, rough, and deeply unimpressed.
"What is the matter with you people? Some of us are exhausted after a hard day's work."
"Right, sorry, Mr. Paul—"
"Don't 'Mr. Paul' me. What do you want?"
The trooper unfastened Ash's shackles and shoved him through the door. Ash caught his foot, struck the floor hard, and lay breathing dust.
"This is your new team member. As team leader, you've been assigned to bring him up to speed. Show him the rope, all of that."
The voice came back flat, unsurprised.
"More work. Fine. What is wrong with the lights out there? Is that your people's doing?"
"No, no. Some kind of fault. Shouldn't be long. Power'll be back soon, and your meal as well."
He paused.
"Mr. Paul, one more thing."
The trooper lowered his voice, as though the darkness listened.
"Go easy on this one. He's tier five."
A brief silence, and then the rough voice said, slowly:
"You think I fear a child at tier five."
"I'm simply flagging it."
"Noted. Goodbye."
The door closed and footsteps retreated down the corridor.
Ash lay on the floor, eyes shut. Voices murmured around him in the dark.
'Please let there be light. Some kind of light. A candle. A crack under the door. Anything. Please. I'm asking very nicely.'
He opened one eye.
What he saw was total and complete darkness.
He exhaled.
'Of course.'
A voice whispered at the edge of his mind as one of his Soul Skill stirred:
[Skill: Nightstalker's Sight]
The world resolved into something crisp, colorless, and precise. Ash could now make out the bare metal walls of the room. The concrete floor. No beds, or any furniture around — just the stripped bones of a space. In the far corner, several men sat watching him.
Then the familiar pain arrived, right on schedule. A white-hot spike behind both eyes. Ash gritted his teeth and breathed through it.
Less than a minute after the skill activated, one of the men leveled a flashlight at him.
The moment light struck his eyes, the pain escalated from severe to catastrophic, like something sharp driving into his skull through both sockets. The skill [Nightstalker's Sight] cut out. Ash pressed both palms against his eyes.
Silence settled over the room.
The rough voice came again, closer. Something almost like concern beneath the gravel.
"Hey. Kid. You alright over there?"
Ash lowered his hands. The old man stood large and broad-shouldered, built like someone years of hard labor had pressed into permanent shape. Behind him, more old men sat against the walls. Some with strange quiet smiles, some with flat, tired eyes, some watching like they hadn't decided what to make of him yet.
Ash blinked. His eyes still smoldered. His voice came out rougher, more irritable than intended:
"No, I'm not alright. Why would I be alright? Do I look like I'm having a pleasant time?"
The old men stared in confusion. Ash didn't mind. He was very well acquainted with that by now.
***
After some time on the floor, The pain behind his eyes relented. Ash sat upright and took stock. The place had more in common with a cell than a shelter of any kind. That was understandable. Apex had not earned its reputation as the worst of the three organizations without cause. They kept peculiar and specific goals, and some of their leadership was cruel without compunction. which made the organization precisely the right place for him to disappear into.
Ash forced a thin smile.
'Now, I wait. These idiots will drag me to the main base sooner or later.'
The smile dissolved when the large old man walked toward him, three others trailing with unsettling grins.
'What do they want now?'
Ash's expression flattened as the old man extended a hand.
"Right then. I'm Paul. Senior inmate of this hellhole. What do they call you?"
Ash looked at the hand. Left it.
"No one. Why would I need a name?"
He closed his eyes.
"I'm a fool. A fool who wishes to be left alone, and who would appreciate not being greeted by a disagreeable old man."
Paul's expression soured. He looked back at his men, then at Ash.
"You think being a Tier 5 makes you the highest authority in here?"
Ash said nothing. He closed his eyes.
'Old man. I'm begging you. Walk away.'
Paul seized his shoulder and hauled him upright.
"Listen carefully, you arrogant little wretch. cell is my room. My domain. You want to remain here, you answer to me. Are we clear?"
As he said it, the lights clicked on.
The first thing Ash saw, in the sudden glare, was the vein pulsing at Paul's temple. Ash opened his mouth, hadn't settled on what to say, when the door swung open.
A boy stood in the doorway. Blond and slight of build. He wore thin grey wool, the kind suggesting Apex had devoted little thought to worker comfort. A large cart sat in front of him, and his wide eyes went immediately to Ash — or rather to Paul's fist, still bunched in Ash's collar.
In the corridor behind him, emergency lights pulsed red. Armed troopers moved in both directions at pace.
The boy looked at Paul. Then at Ash. Then at Paul again.
"...Am I interrupting something?"
Paul released Ash.
"Boy. What's happening out there?"
"Nothing too serious. The base is being hit by horrors. The troopers are handling it."
He glanced at his cart.
"I have your food, sir."
Then back at Ash.
"Who's that?"
Paul exhaled and turned away.
"Nobody. Don't speak to him."
He lowered himself into his corner, a spot that bore the particular look of a corner that had been claimed and defended for years, and pointed at the cart.
"Well? Begin distributing. What are you waiting for, a formal summons?"
The boy blinked, pulling his attention from Ash.
"Right. Yes. Sorry."
The boy moved through the room, handing out bowls. Finished, he returned to Ash and held out two portions.
"Here. Yours."
Ash glanced at the bowl and looked away.
"I'm not hungry."
The boy looked at him. Then at his collarbones. Then back at his face.
"...You're not hungry?"
"That's what I said."
Paul called from across the room without looking up.
"Eren. Leave it. Bring the bowl here — I'll gladly see to it."
Eren ignored him and sat beside Ash, setting the bowl between them with quiet, cheerful resolution.
"You should eat. Leaving your stomach empty is a very poor decision."
Ash stared at the bowl. The smell reached him anyway. The smell of warm rice, something faintly sweet. His stomach responded with an opinion forceful enough to feel in his ribs. He pressed a fist against it and looked elsewhere.
Eren said nothing about it.
"I'm Eren, by the way."
He paused.
"What's your name?"
Ash closed his eyes.
Eren waited. No answer came. He continued.
"Alright. Stubborn. That's fine."
He settled against the wall.
"You know, when I first arrived here, I was nothing like you. I simply... fell apart entirely. A complete breakdown. Humiliating, if I'm honest."
Ash did not respond.
"I'm telling you this to establish common ground. Is it working?"
Ash said nothing.
Eren sighed.
"At least there's another young person near my age. I thought I'd spend the rest of my time surrounded by old men who smell of damp metal."
He glanced around the room.
"No offense intended."
Ash opened one eye.
'Which part of not talking to me was unclear to you?'