After Noel exited Agnus's cell, his brief taste of freedom was abruptly cut short as a squad of Nexus officers surrounded him.

Their movements were swift and precise, a practiced choreography of suppression.

Noel didn’t even have a chance to fight back before they subdued him with overwhelming force.

Their grips were ironclad, their expressions hard and unyielding, devoid of any compassion.

They dragged him away, the cold metal of their restraints biting into his skin, and threw him into a solitary confinement cell.

The cell was a cramped, claustrophobic space, barely larger than a closet.

The walls closed in around him, a suffocating embrace of cold, unyielding stone.

Darkness was his constant companion, pressing down like a physical weight.

There was no bed, no blanket—just the relentless, unforgiving floor.

A small slot in the door was the only source of food, delivering just enough to keep him alive, but never enough to sate his hunger.

The brief flicker of light when the slot opened cast fleeting, ghostly shadows on the walls, a cruel reminder of the world outside his prison.

Noel couldn't stretch out, couldn’t lie down.

He had to remain sitting or crouched, his body aching from the constant strain.

His muscles screamed in protest, the confined space turning every moment into an agony of discomfort.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and unwashed skin, a nauseating reminder of his imprisonment.

He had no means to clean himself, no respite from the grime that clung to him, coating his skin in a sticky, repulsive layer.

Loneliness was a constant companion.

The silence was absolute, oppressive, broken only by the occasional distant sounds of the prison—a clanging door, a distant shout, the muffled footsteps of the guards.

Days and nights blurred together in the unrelenting darkness, time losing all meaning.

For most, such isolation would have been maddening, driving them to the brink of insanity. But for Noel, it was almost familiar.

He was no stranger to sleepless nights.

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The experiments, the torturous trials of Project Zero, had robbed him of restful sleep long ago.

Nightmares of needles and scalpels, of cold, calculating eyes studying him as if he were nothing more than a specimen, had haunted his every attempt at slumber.

Hunger, too, was an old acquaintance.

He had endured it many times before, during the grueling days of his transformation, his stomach gnawing at itself while his body was pushed to its limits.

Loneliness?

That was the story of his life, even before he became a weapon of destruction.

His life had been a series of isolated moments, each one reinforcing his solitude.

Still, the week dragged on with excruciating slowness.

Each minute felt like an hour, each hour like a day.

His body ached, his muscles stiff and cramped from the lack of movement.

His mind reeled, the constant quiet threatening to drown him in his own thoughts.

But he held on.

The promise he made to Agnus, the plan they had forged together, fueled his resolve.

He would not break.

He could not afford to.

Noel's mind remained sharp, a razor's edge of determination.

Constantly, he calculated, planning his next move with a precision born of necessity.

He visualized every step, every detail of their impending vengeance.

In the suffocating darkness, he saw the faces of those who had wronged him, who had turned him into this.

He saw their fear, their surprise, their inevitable downfall.

It was this focus, this burning desire for retribution, that kept him sane.

Every thought, every breath, every heartbeat was dedicated to the mission.

He imagined the moment he would stand before the Nexus officers, the look of terror in their eyes as they realized their creation had turned against them.

He pictured the collapse of the corrupt system that had created him, the pillars of power crumbling under the weight of their sins.

Despite the isolation, despite the pain and the hunger, Noel clung to his resolve.

After days of confinement, Noel was dragged from his solitary cell to the interrogation room.

His wrists were shackled to the cold metal table, a familiar restraint that bit into his skin, but this time, the atmosphere was palpably different.

More officers stood guard, their eyes wary, hands twitching near their weapons, ready for any sudden move.

The air was thick with tension, an unspoken threat hanging over every second.

But the most striking difference was Dustin's expression.

The calm, calculated demeanor he had once worn was now replaced with a mixture of anger and confusion.

His eyes bore into Noel with an intensity that spoke of sleepless nights and mounting pressure, the weight of his authority challenged and fraying at the edges.

"Why did you attempt such a crazy thing?"

Dustin's voice cut through the silence, sharp and demanding, a blade of frustration and desperation.

Noel met his gaze with a casual shrug, the chains clinking softly with the movement.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't feign ignorance," Dustin snapped, slamming his hands on the table, the sound echoing through the sterile room.

"Tell me why you tried to escape? And what did you talk about with Agnus?"

Noel leaned back as far as his restraints allowed, a faint, almost mocking smile playing on his lips.

"Don't worry. You will know soon enough."

"You!" Dustin's voice was almost a growl, his fists clenched at his sides, trembling with barely contained rage.

"You know because of that act you're going to be executed in three days."

Noel's expression remained indifferent, almost amused by the threat.

"Is that so? Anyway, aren't you here to hear the final story of mine?"

Dustin let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down on him, making him seem older, more worn.

"Haa... okay, fine. Tell me what you have to say for the last time."

Noel's eyes darkened, his gaze becoming distant as he began to speak.

"This is the story of the place where everything began. The place where our house used to be, where I was born, and where everything was snatched from me."

He paused, the room thick with tension, as if he were gazing into a past filled with ghosts and shadows.

"This is the story of how I painted that place with madness."

Dustin felt a chill run down his spine as Noel continued.

"I was born in a small, forgotten town. A place that held memories of laughter and love, a place where I was once just a child with dreams. But dreams have a way of turning into nightmares."

Noel's voice wavered, and for a moment, the tough exterior cracked, revealing a raw, unhealed wound.

"You already know what happened," he said casually, as if discussing the weather, yet the weight of his words pressed down like a leaden blanket.

Dustin felt a pang in his chest, the memories of Noel's harrowing tale about his family and childhood resurfacing.

The raw pain and rage in Noel's voice had left an indelible mark on him, a reminder of the fragility of humanity.

"After finishing off the scientists," Noel continued, his voice now cold and detached, "I decided to go back to that place once again. To show them what pain and loss really is."

A shiver ran through Dustin as he recalled the reports and the grisly images of that place.

It was the very spot where Noel had eventually surrendered, but not before leaving a scene of unprecedented carnage.

The bodies of the victims were left in a state so horrific that it had taken even the most hardened officers aback.

The once quaint town was transformed into a macabre canvas of blood and despair, every corner a testament to Noel's madness and sorrow.