The rain had a sound.
Not the soft, romantic kind that dances on rooftops, but a violent, metallic hiss—like the world itself was tearing open.
Tari woke to that sound.
And pain.
A blinding, pulsing ache bloomed at the base of his skull. His limbs felt distant, borrowed, like someone had unplugged him from his own body. He tasted blood—iron and salt—and the bitter tang of fear.
The ceiling above him was ridged steel. A dull light flickered. The air was thick with the scent of rubber, sweat, and something sterile. It took a moment for him to realize: he was in a van. A transport. Moving.
He shifted slightly. Something rattled.
Cuffs.
Tari's hands were bound. His ankles too, though one of his shoes was missing. He turned his head just enough to see shadows in the front—two figures, faceless beneath dark helmets, murmuring in a language he didn't understand.
Panic coiled up inside him like a second spine.
Where was Soraya?
Where was the Institute?
Why couldn't he remember being taken?
A sudden jolt rocked the van. He slammed into the wall with a grunt, and darkness swallowed him whole once again.
The second time he woke, the world was rain.Freezing needles falling from a ruined sky.His shirt clung to his skin, soaked, translucent. His breath came in sharp gasps as water slid down his neck and into the collar of his torn uniform.He wasn't walking. He was being dragged.
Two men,silent, masked,hauled him forward like a broken doll. His shoes scraped against the concrete, and his vision swam, still unfocused. But he saw enough.
A facility loomed ahead,monolithic, windowless, its walls slick with rain and electric light. No signs. No markings. Just a single steel door that pulsed faintly, as if the building itself was alive and breathing.
One of the guards stood as a laser like light scanned his face . The door hissed open with a hydraulic groan.
Tari tried to speak, but the words tangled in his throat. His body betrayed him,weak, trembling, cold. He looked up.
Lightning split the sky. In that stark white flash, he saw the cameras watching. The guards. The machines that lined the hall just past the entrance,machines shaped like chairs, lined with straps, bolted to the floor.
His pulse surged.
"No… wait…" he whispered.
But no one heard him.
Or they didn't care.
The men dragged him inside. The door slammed shut behind them, swallowing the storm. The sound of the rain vanished,replaced by humming lights, the hiss of pressure seals locking into place, the sterile hiss of vents breathing artificial air.
Tari sat alone in the dark, handcuffed to a steel table.
The room was cold. Too cold for a normal room. Too clean to feel human. It smelled of bleach and metal, and the only sound was the quiet hum of a light that flickered every few seconds above him.
His shirt was soaked in sweat and rainwater. His heart thudded in his chest like a desperate drum, over and over, as if trying to keep him anchored to the moment. But nothing about this felt real.
He wasn't supposed to be here. He was a student. A scholarship kid. A dreamer.
He wasn't a killer.
The door creaked open. Two figures walked in, one in a white suit, black gloves. The other in black armor with shoulder plates engraved with the ICU sigil: a triangle in a cracked circle.
The armored one stood behind him. Silent.
The white suited man, slender, clean-shaven, with a clipboard in one hand and glowing blue lenses over his eyes, pulled a chair out and sat across from him.
"Tari Marie, from Pinellas," the man said, flat and cold. "Seventeen. Student at Solaris Institute. Son of Haru and Eya Mba. Family restaurant still runs in the central square of Riverlot."
Tari blinked, confused and afraid. "How do you know all that?"
The man didn't answer. He looked up.
"You've been in Edenbarrow three weeks. You were present during the Congregation. Placed in the Lurae dormitory with student Keal Elstrad."
Tari nodded slowly. "Yes… yes, that's right."
"You were the last person to see him alive."
Tari's throat tightened. "He left to get a drink. I told him not to. It was past curfew."
The man scribbled something down.
" So you do know about the curfew?"
"Yes—yes, everyone did. It's announced every day."
"Yet he left."
"I told him not to," Tari repeated, voice rising. "He thought it was a joke. He laughed about Veraes and Ingressions and monsters and stuff, I didn't understand the half of it,I swear!"
The man stopped writing.
Then, he set the clipboard down slowly and leaned forward.
"Did you kill him, Tari?"
"What? No! No, I didn't—why would I—?!"
The man raised a hand.
The armored officer behind him stepped forward, grabbing Tari's chin and forcing his face upward into the light.
Tari winced, eyes tearing up.
"His body was found at the South Courtyard vending area. Throat slit clean. Blood drained. No signs of struggle."
Tari felt the room tilt.
"He always joked about monsters, didn't he?" the man continued softly. "Did you want to prove him right? Did you show him what a Verae really looks like?"
Tari shook his head furiously. "what are you talking?"
The man stood, folding his hands behind his back.
"Do you believe in the White King's Curse?"
Tari hesitated. "of course not, It's just a myth. That's what everyone says."
The armored man laughed quietly, like a dying cough.
"No," the interrogator said. "It's very real. And we believe your roommate crossed paths with something… cursed."
He turned to the clipboard.
"Three students have gone missing in your dormitory block since orientation. All their roommates were present the day of disappearance. Two were later discovered to be Veraes—Progressions infected by Ingression exposure. You were in close quarters with one of them."
"He wasn't infected!" Tari snapped. "Keal was normal!"
The man slowly walked behind Tari. "How would you know?"
"I just would! We lived together! He didn't act strange. He didn't change."
"You'd be surprised how fast it happens."
Tari shivered. The cold felt like it was crawling into his bones.
Then the man whispered into his ear.
"Unless… it was you who changed."
Tari jolted in the chair.
"I'm not one of them!"
Tari's voice rang out, hoarse and cracking. It echoed off the walls like a plea hurled into a void.
The interrogator stopped mid-step. Slowly, deliberately, he turned.
Then—bang—both palms crashed down on the table. The echo split the silence like a blade.
"Then prove it."
In one brutal motion, he shoved the table aside. It screeched across the concrete like a wounded animal.
His boot met the leg of Tari's chair.
Crack.
Tari hit the ground with a cry, pain blooming in his ribs. Before he could breathe, hands gripped his shirt, yanked him up like a ragdoll.
His back slammed against the cold wall—hard enough to rattle his bones.
A dagger gleamed in the dim interrogation light, its edge trembling an inch from his eye. The interrogator leaned in, his breath sharp with rage, his eyes searching—no, invading—Tari's soul.
"Prove you're not one of them," he whispered. But there was no invitation in his tone. Only the slow promise of violence.
Tari's lips quivered. The words poured out, frantic, broken, real.
"I'm not," he choked.
"They aren't even real!"
Silence.
Thick. Suffocating. Terrible.
And in that silence, something darker than steel hovered between them. Not just doubt. Not just fear. But a truth that might be worse than either—
Tari didn't know what to believe anymore. The man just stared at him—unfazed, his face cold, blank, inhuman.
A weight pressed down on Tari's chest. Dread. Fear. Confusion.
His lips trembled. His eyes burned.
Then, a tear slid down his cheekthen another,and another,Slow at first as he began to tear up.But Tari made no sound
The man let go.
No warning. No mercy. Just a sudden absence of force.
Tari collapsed like a puppet with its strings severed, the cold floor rising to meet him. His limbs hit first, then his breath—knocked from his lungs as though it, too, had been held hostage.
He gasped. Once. Twice.
The room spun. The walls warped. His ribs ached from the fall, his mind from the weight of fear.
Then he heard it.
Drip.
A single drop. Then another.
Drip. Drip.
Soft as rain. Sharp as consequence.
His gaze dropped to the ground. A dark smear marred the pale concrete beside his hand.
Blood.
He blinked, confused. Reached up slowly. His fingers brushed his cheek—
Sting.
He winced. Pulled his hand back. It was wet. Red.
A shallow cut ran beneath his eye. Precise. Intentional. He hadn't even felt the blade when it nicked him.
The interrogator had drawn blood—not to harm, but to mark him.
Tari sat in silence, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms. The man was already turning away, his figure shrinking into shadow as he walked toward the exit.
No apology. No threat.Just silence.
And on the floor, Tari remained, hand on his cheek, breath catching in his throat, blood dripping like time itself had started to count down.
The Armored Officer approached.
Each step landed like thunder, deliberate and unhurried, the weight of his presence enough to crush breath from the room.
Behind him, the man in the white suit—the interrogator with corpse-pale skin and eyes colder than iron—passed without a glance. He moved like a ghost, untouched by the damage he'd left behind.
Tari's panic surged. His limbs tensed. Something primal in him screamed to run, but his body wouldn't move.
The Officer didn't speak. He simply reached down,grabbed Tari by the hair,and dragged him up like a broken thing.
With a violent swing, he slammed Tari against the wall.
Pain ricocheted through Tari's spine. He grit his teeth, a strangled cry stuck in his throat.
Then—a flicker of silver.
The Officer drew something small and sharp from his belt. Without ceremony, he plunged it into Tari's arm.
Tari gasped, breath catching mid-scream as the cold steel tore into flesh. His knees buckled.
The Officer held him there a moment longer. Silent. Still. Then, he let go.
Tari dropped to the floor like a puppet cut from its strings. Blood trickled down his arm, his thoughts unraveling into static.
The Officer turned to leave.
He reached the door—paused.
Looked back.
His voice, distorted through the helmet, came low. Regretful.
"I'm sorry, kid."
The door groaned shut.
The sound echoed—once, twice, again—
until the darkness swallowed it whole.
TO BE CONTINUED