The transport hissed open with a mechanical sigh, exhaling Neo into the mouth of silence.
No guards. No guns. Just a yawning corridor of dark alloy and cold breath.
He took a step forward, and the doors sealed shut behind him. The lights above pulsed once, then turned a sterile blue.
A voice echoed through the corridor, so calm it was sickening.
"Processing: Inmate #A7055."
From the far end, a ripple of light unfolded into a face—shimmering, disembodied, expressionless. A visage made entirely of photons and shifting data threads.
"Who...what are you?", Neo sounded surprised.
"I am the Warden."
Neo blinked. "You're the warden?"
The face did not nod. It didn't need to.
"Neo. Age: 22. Gender: Male. Affliction:SkyCloud Academy . Criminal Profile:...hmm? Theft? Escaping law? Anonymous transfer?"
The corridor trembled. A portion of the floor beneath Neo turned transparent, revealing a spiraling shaft of dim red light descending into the abyss below. He saw levels stacked one over the other, like rings in a black god's spine, circling downward into infinity.
Cells. Thousands of them.
"Inmates are contained in secure modular cells arranged along a descending spiral infrastructure," the Warden explained. "Each cell houses no more than nine individuals. Meals are delivered automatically. No doors can be opened without my directive. No sounds leave their walls."
Neo stared at the descent below. It was like staring into the gullet of a starved machine.
"What is this place?"
"Abyss Prison," the Warden answered, almost cheerfully. "A realm where dragons and mice live side by side—without crime, without freedom, without pretense. Just necessity."
Neo's fists clenched. "You mean mass murderers and lunatics?"
"Criminals of every kind," the Warden replied. "Many once ruled empires. Others devoured them. But here... they are equalized. Contained. Observed."
"And you run it all?" Neo asked, his voice colder now.
"I do not run the Abyss," the face of light said, shrinking into a single dot between his eyes. "I am the Abyss!"
Without warning, the floor beneath him shifted. A platform slid into place beneath his feet, hissing with magnetic energy.
"Descent initiated. Cell allocation: Spiral Sector K-6. Inmate load: Eight. You will be the ninth."
The light flared.
"Welcome to the Abyss. Try not to scream. For it won't matter."
---
The descent ended with a quiet click. Neo's platform halted outside a cell marked K-6. The metal shell before him unfolded with hissing hydraulics, revealing a dim chamber of black stone and flickering red light.
The air stank of recycled breath and despair.
Eight figures sat or slumped within the cell. Some muttered to themselves. Others stared with vacant eyes. None of them moved as he entered—except one.
From a corner, an older man slowly raised his head. His hair was silver, not from age, but from the bleaching effect of years without sunlight. His eyes were sharp, too sharp, like they had sliced through time itself and found nothing worth remembering.
"Well now," he rasped. "They've sent us a fresh one."
Neo stood still. His fists clenched at his sides, but his face betrayed none of his unease.
"What's your name, boy?" the man asked.
"Neo."
"Neo, huh?" The man gave a dry chuckle. "Cute. Haven't heard a name in years. Most of us go by numbers now. Easier when you forget who you were."
Neo glanced around. No windows. No vents. Just a single black camera lens embedded in the ceiling, watching.
"Why are they all like this?" Neo asked, voice low.
"Like what?"
"Dead. Inside."
The man's smile twisted, a cruel crescent. He stood—tall, broad-shouldered, with an unsettling grace to his movements.
"They're not dead inside, kid. They're part of the Abyss now. That's how this place works."
Neo frowned.
The man stepped closer. "It doesn't beat you. Not all at once. It doesn't torture you, or tear out your hope in one dramatic act. No, the Abyss is patient. It gnaws at you. Day after day. Thought after thought. Until there's nothing left but the shell. And even that stops pretending."
Neo didn't look away. "I'm not like them."
"You will be," the man said, voice like stone cracking in the cold. "Every man who came here thought that. Every woman. Every monster."
"What about you?" Neo asked. "Still talking. Still sharp. You haven't given in."
The man's eyes gleamed—not with hope, but with something darker.
"Oh, I gave in long ago. What you see now is just the echo. A memory of resistance. And even that's fading."
Neo said nothing.
The man smiled again. "Sleep light, Neo. If you dream of escape, I'd advise you not to speak of it. Dreams here tend to vanish… and so do the dreamers."
He turned away, folding himself back into the shadows.
Neo remained standing for a long time.
The red light pulsed. The air pressed down.
And in that silence, he realized: the Abyss didn't need to kill him.
It just needed time.
---
Neo sat in the dimness of Cell K-6, his mind churning like a broken machine. The older inmate's words still echoed, grinding against the fragile scaffolding of his resolve.
But even broken things need a final strike to shatter.
Without warning, the red hue of the prison cell dimmed further. A low hum resonated through the walls as the Warden's presence flared to life.
A shimmering face of light materialized in midair—featureless, shifting constantly, and yet unmistakably watching.
"NEO," it intoned, its voice cold, polished, inhuman. "YOU HAVE MAIL."
Neo blinked, confusion replacing despair. "Mail? Who even knows I'm here?"
"SENDER: DAMIAN SUNBLADE."
Neo's breath caught in his throat.
The projection flickered, stabilizing into a live video feed.
Damian leaned back on a velvet couch, smirking. In his lap rested a thick, leather-bound notebook—Neo's notebook. The Heavenly Tome he'd poured his life into, page by page, vision by vision.
"Neo," Damian drawled, voice silky and mocking. "You must be wondering how I found you. Don't bother. The Abyss is deep—but not deep enough to hide from me."
He flipped lazily through the tome. "Such detail… such care… You really thought this would be your path to ascension, didn't you?"
Neo surged forward, but the image was intangible. A ghost. A torment.
Damian's smirk deepened. "You know how Heavenly Trials work, right? They descend on everyone at 18, no matter where you are. Not even a prison can stop it. The trials judge your inner world—your version of the heavens. And from that judgment, a spark is born."
He held up the book. "But what happens when this—your foundation, your seed—is burned before the trial ever arrives?"
A silver lighter clicked open. The flame flickered hungrily.
"No—!" Neo shouted.
But it was too late.
The fire licked the edges of the tome. Damian made no effort to rush. He enjoyed it. Watched as the flames danced, blackening pages, curling thoughts, disfiguring dreams.
Neo sank to his knees. His hands trembled. Knuckles turned bone-white. His teeth clenched until they chattered with pressure he couldn't release. Rage, sorrow, disbelief—they swirled in him like a hurricane trying to tear itself apart.
The Warden watched silently.
And Damian… laughed. A rich, cruel sound that echoed even after the screen went dark.
The prison cell returned to its usual gloom.
Neo didn't move. Couldn't.
The older man in the corner finally spoke, his voice softer this time—more resigned than mocking.
"…Freedom and hope has wings. But they can be cut down as well.."
He lay back down, as if the whole exchange had been inevitable.
Neo remained frozen in place, staring at the cold stone beneath him.
Somewhere, deep within, something cracked.
And the Abyss smiled.
---