It was my second day in the sick bay, and the scene before me was nothing short of horrifying.

It was a heartbreaking sight to witness the profound suffering and despair that engulfed the sick bay. The relentless influx of people with unimaginable conditions and injuries painted a grim picture of the horrors they had endured. Some were disfigured, some were bleeding profusely while others bore heavy lacerations and missing body parts.

However, despite all their different conditions, the only thing that they shared was their screams of agony that pierced the air, echoing the pain that seemed to have no end.

The guards, merciless in their actions, swiftly punished any attempts to escape, further adding to the atmosphere of fear and hopelessness.

As I observed the chaos unfolding before me, I couldn't help but confront my own mortality and the uncertainty of my future.

How long would it be until I too became a victim of this nightmare? Would I be able to withstand the suffering and maintain my sanity?

The glimmer of hope for escape seemed distant, overshadowed by the overwhelming despair that permeated the sick bay.

Every person around me bore the weight of their experiences, their vacant stares and incoherent mutterings revealing the deep scars etched into their minds.

The extent of their torment was unfathomable. How much had they endured, both physically and mentally, to reach this state?

Their journey had taken them to the brink of sanity, leaving them conversing with imaginary figures and trapped in a cycle of profound suffering. It was a testament to the indescribable horrors they had faced and the toll it had taken on their very being.

They were once individuals like me, pondering the same questions about the passage of time. How long would it take for them to attain freedom? When would this never-ending nightmare finally come to an end? When would they be reunited with their loved ones?

I imagined them holding onto hope, waiting for rescue or assistance from someone, their hearts filled with anticipation. But no matter how much they waited, prayed, pleaded, fought, cried, screamed, or begged, nothing changed. Their hopes were shattered, and their only options seemed to be either taking their own lives or descending into a state of irreparable brokenness.

What struck me as peculiar was the absence of any reports of individuals taking their own lives to escape this hellhole. What had been done to them that even the choice of ending their own suffering had been stolen from them? The thought weighed heavily on my mind as I contemplated my own bleak future.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Amidst my contemplation, I noticed something unsettling. The guards would forcefully drag individuals who still possessed some physical and mental resilience to a room connected to the sick bay. Strangely, when they were eventually brought out, they exhibited no signs of movement, only the stillness of puppets whose strings have been cut.

What had been done to them to reduce them to such a state? Was it the result of hypnosis, drugs, or something far more sinister?

As I pieced together the fragments of information I held in my mind, the words of the chief, Lana's warnings, Ryuji's unwavering insistence, and even the erratic slip-ups of Rick and Carlo started to make sense. It became increasingly apparent that whatever lay behind that door held the source of all evil and served as the underlying reason for our collective presence in this forsaken place.

What secrets did that door conceal? What would become of me once I entered and emerged from that room? Would I remain unchanged, or would I be transformed into something unrecognizable?

The more I dwelled on these thoughts, the more my hair stood on end, and a profound sense of despair washed over me. Sensing my determination and willpower waning, I resorted to a forceful slap across my face, leaving my cheeks red and swollen. It was a jarring wake-up call, a refreshing reminder of the need to stay alert and resolute.

As I rebounded from my diminishing mental state, a surge of determination coursed through my veins.

The thought of vanquishing those demented demons, dismantling this organization, and returning the suffering souls to their homes and loved ones filled me with a sense of purpose and satisfaction.

However, in order to achieve this, not only would I require information, but also an immense amount of power. Power so great that I could single-handedly dismantle this organization. Unfortunately, I knew that this was merely a distant dream. If anyone possessed such power, it would have been used to protect humanity from the monsters that attack our settlements, and we wouldn't have to suffer and hide like moles.

As I finished contemplating and came to the conclusion that I should continue my training and delve into the books that Ryuji would soon bring me, to enhance my physical and mental abilities, the curtains began to close on me, and someone entered from behind them. It was Lana.

She entered the room holding a pen and paper and sat down beside me on the bed. She wrote something on the paper and handed it to me. I glanced at the paper and read the following words: "I'm sorry, Xeno. I couldn't buy you any more time. They will return you to your cell tomorrow. I did my best, but Rick was angry and wanted to take it out on someone, and he chose you."

I looked directly into Lana's eyes and expressed my gratitude, saying, "It's all right. Thank you for everything, Lana. You've been a lifesaver. However, you don't seem well. Has something happened to you?"

She appeared saddened, but she simply shook her head, indicating that nothing was wrong. I didn't press further, but instead wrote on the paper, "Lana, I need to ask you something. What is behind that door? Why do the people who enter appear lively, but leave like puppets with their strings cut?"

She looked troubled, took the paper from me, and wrote, "The only thing I know about that room is that it's called the drug production room. Beyond that, I have no knowledge of what goes on inside or the purpose of that room. Even the nurses who have access to it refuse to speak about it. It's as if they're afraid to discuss anything related to that room."

I thanked Lana for her kindness and apologized: “I need to rest, Lana. Today was exhausting. I miss talking to you every day, but we don’t have the luxury of time.”

She nodded, embraced me warmly, then drew the curtains and left.