FROM DOOM TO DAWN
The roar of the helicopter tore through the night like a scream. Rain lashed against the windows. Wind howled as if mourning something lost.
Damien sat between two armed guards, broken and silent. His legs were nothing but pain. The vibrations of the chopper rattled through his bones like nails being driven deeper into raw flesh.
Below, the sea churned. Black waves rose like monsters. Shadows moved in the depths—sharks, perhaps, or something worse. Even the water didn't want to offer mercy.
And then he saw it.
The island.
A jagged rock in the middle of the endless ocean.
Doom Pit.
The name alone made his heart seize. The stories whispered in police cells, the rumors among criminals... it wasn't a prison. It was a death sentence dressed as stone. No one ever left. No one ever survived long enough to be forgotten.
As the helicopter landed, the guards didn't speak. They dragged him out like a bag of meat. His legs dangled uselessly, scraping the concrete. Blood left a trail behind him, mixing with the rain, staining the silence.
The doors of the prison opened like the gates of hell.
A single cell waited.
They threw him inside. His body hit the ground with a crack. He didn't cry out. He had no voice left to cry with.
The door slammed. Metal screamed against metal. And then came the laughter.
Commandant Roland appeared at the bars, his eyes cold, mouth twisted.
"Welcome to your afterlife," he whispered. "No sunlight. One meal. One piss. Try to escape, and the sea will eat you alive."
He turned and walked away. The echo of his boots stayed behind, as if even the ground hated him.
Damien lay there, unable to move. His cell was smaller than a grave. The air smelled of rust, mold, and old screams.
His mind drifted—his mother's face. Pale. Fragile. Waiting. Hoping.
He had failed her.
Tears rolled silently down his face, sinking into the stone.
Then....footsteps.
Damien's heart leapt to his throat. He raised his head, face pale, eyes wide with dread. More pain? More torment?
A voice rang out—sharp, feminine, and unmistakably commanding. "Open this cell. Now."
Keys rattled. The door creaked.
Damien scrambled backward, terrified. Were they here to finish what they started?
But instead, the woman knelt before him, one knee to the ground, followed by a small group of well-armed escorts. She bowed deeply, her head lowered.
"Forgive me, Lord Damien," she said with sincerity etched in every word. "I arrived too late. I will accept any punishment you see fit."
Damien blinked, dumbfounded. "Who... who are you talking to?"
"You, sir," she replied. "I'll explain everything once we're safe. But for now, we must leave. The Special Forces await your return… Sovereign Commander."
He stared at her as if she were a ghost. "What? Who are you people?"
"I am Jade Blake," she said, her tone unwavering. "Your personal aide from the Haven City Special Force."
Too many questions crowded Damien's mind, but before a single one could escape his lips, the dizziness overwhelmed him. His body, drained and broken, surrendered to the weight of blood loss and exhaustion. He slumped into unconsciousness.
"Get him to the chopper—now!" Jade snapped.
"Yes, ma'am. Preparing departure to Haven City."
************
"Commander Damien. Wake up."
"Lord Damien."
"Can you hear me?"
"Wake up."
The voices echoed, distant but persistent. Each repetition pulled Damien back to the surface of consciousness. He blinked open his eyes to find himself seated in a white, sterile room that gleamed with almost blinding light.
Everything was unfamiliar. Clean. Soft. Warm.
Opposite him stood the same woman from the prison—and an elderly man in a tailored suit.
He tried to sit up. Pain lashed through his legs, forcing him back into the chair with a groan.
"Don't strain yourself, my Lord," Jade said, stepping forward gently. "We mean no harm."
His breath hitched. "Where am I? Are you working with the Langfords?"
"No," the old man answered calmly. "You're safe now. This is Haven City."
"Haven…?" Damien echoed, blinking in confusion.
Haven City was miles away from Oakbridge—hours by road. The idea that he'd somehow crossed that distance, unconscious, was almost impossible to comprehend.
"You've been asleep for twenty-four hours," Jade explained. "We've stabilized your condition. Your legs have been treated."
Damien looked down—fresh clothes, bandaged limbs. The pain was still sharp, but no longer unbearable.
"Tell me what's going on!" he burst out. "What the hell happened? How did I get here? I need answers!"
"We'll explain everything," Jade said, her voice steady. "You deserve the truth."
But Damien wasn't listening anymore. He clutched at his chest, panic rising.
"My mother…" he gasped. "If I've been unconscious this long—something terrible might've happened. She needs surgery. I have to get back. I need to save her!"
His voice trembled with desperation.
Hope and fear warred in his chest—he'd escaped one nightmare, only to wake into another.
And time was running out.