A shrill alarm tore through the prison.
It wasn't loud, it was merciless.
The piercing sound bounced from wall to wall until the entire prison seemed to vibrate with it.
Then, movement. Thousands of prisoners rose at once.
The packed cell erupted into motion as bodies lurched upright almost simultaneously. The floor trembled beneath the sudden shift of weight.
Shirley jolted awake.
For a brief, disoriented moment, he had no idea where he was.
Then the smell hit him.
Rust. Sweat. Rotting flesh. Mynistria.
His stomach sank.
He'd slept standing up, if it could even be called sleep. His back still rested against the cold stone wall, while prisoners on every side had held him upright through sheer lack of space.
Around him, men and women forced themselves to their feet with practiced urgency.
Nobody complained.
Nobody lingered.
Those who were too slow were shoved aside without a word. One prisoner stumbled to the ground before several others stepped over him without so much as a glance.
The alarm didn't care. It continued screaming.
Shirley immediately grabbed Tucker by the shoulders, "Tucker."
No response, "Tucker!"
He shook him harder.
Tucker's eyes cracked open just enough to glare at him.
"…Five more minutes…"
"You don't have five more minutes." Shirley pulled him upright just as another wave of prisoners surged forward.
Tucker stumbled onto his feet, still half asleep.
Beside them, EBS slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were unfocused.
Dark circles hung beneath them.
She instinctively reached into the pocket of her prison uniform. "…Where's my…"
Her hand stopped. For several seconds she simply stared at the empty pocket.
Then reality caught up. "…Right."
She quietly lowered her hand. The alarm finally stopped. Silence rushed in to replace it.
Not true silence.
Only the sounds of exhausted breathing… the occasional yawn… the scrape of feet shifting against stone.
"…What time is it?" EBS asked, stretching sore muscles she hadn't realized had stiffened overnight.
Nobody answered. There wasn't anyone left who cared what time it was.
Time belonged to the guards now.
Far below them, metal groaned.
A cell door opened.
Then another. Another. Another.
The sound climbed upward through the prison level by level like a wave.
Each lock clicked open with mechanical precision. Nobody moved before they were supposed to.
Nobody spoke.
The entire prison had rehearsed this every morning for years.
Eventually, the guards reached their floor. One of them unlocked the iron door.
Without needing instructions, the prisoners filed out in orderly rows.
Not because they wanted to.
Because they already knew what happened if they didn't.
The group exchanged uncertain glances before stepping into the current of people.
"…I guess we're following them," Tucker muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"I don't think we have much of a choice," Shirley replied.
He searched the crowd for Michonne. Nothing.
Only an endless sea of identical white uniforms.
EBS gently nudged his arm. "…We shouldn't be the last ones."
Shirley nodded. "…Yeah."
The three squeezed into one of the moving lines. No one objected, nobody even looked at them.
From the narrow balcony, Shirley finally saw the prison in motion.
Thousands upon thousands of prisoners descended the endless staircases in perfect formation.
Two orderly columns wound downward through the towering prison like rivers of white.
No shouting.
No panic.
Only synchronized footsteps echoing against stone.
The broken glass scattered along the balconies remained untouched.
Everyone instinctively stepped around it.
The dried blood staining each shard told newcomers exactly why.
Tucker stared over the railing. "…Why doesn't anyone just run?"
His voice stayed low. "There are thousands of us…" He glanced toward the guards. "…And only a couple of them on each floor."
The prisoner walking beside him answered without turning his head, "I wouldn't."
His voice was hollow.
His scalp had been shaved completely smooth, while his pale skin clung tightly to his bones, "You'd only die."
He finally looked at Tucker, "This prison's the safest place in all of Mynistria."
Tucker frowned. "…Safest?"
The man nodded once, "The moment you step outside…"
He looked ahead again. "…You'll wish they'd let you back in."
He refused to say another word. The line continued downward.
The farther they descended, the heavier the silence became.
Eventually they reached the prison floor.
Armed guards stood waiting in immaculate white uniforms, rifles hanging motionless against their chests.
Beside them rested a stack of black cloth blindfolds.
Shirley's heartbeat quickened. "…Blindfolds?"
No one answered. One by one, each prisoner stopped, each prisoner lowered their head. Each prisoner allowed themselves to be blindfolded.
When it was Shirley's turn, a guard roughly tied the cloth around his eyes.
The smell made him gag. Rotting meat. Old sweat. Something damp.
Something that should have been washed months ago.
He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut beneath the fabric.
Darkness swallowed him.
A hand shoved his shoulder.
"Move."
Unable to see, Shirley could only follow the pressure guiding him forward.
Around him he heard hundreds of footsteps moving together.
No conversation. No hesitation.
Just the steady march of people who had done this countless times before.
Nearby, a sudden struggle broke the rhythm.
"Get off!"
Tucker.
"I can walk by my—"
A sharp crack.
The unmistakable sound of a baton striking flesh. EBS gasped in shock.
Another. Then the heavy thud of a pistol smashing against bone.
The protest stopped immediately.
A few seconds later, someone shoved Tucker forward until his shoulder bumped against Shirley's.
He was breathing heavily. His fists trembled. "…Shirley."
His voice was barely audible. "…We're getting out of this…"
A long pause. "…Right?"
Shirley swallowed. He couldn't see Tucker.
Tucker couldn't see him nod. "…Yeah."
The answer came quietly. "…We will."
Whether he believed it…he wasn't sure anymore.
The guards marched them through twisting stone corridors without saying a word.
Blindfolded, Shirley quickly lost all sense of direction.
Left.
Right.
Another flight of stairs.
Another hallway.
At some point he stopped trying to remember the route altogether.
It wouldn't matter anyway.
The only thing guiding him now was the occasional shove from the guard behind him.
How long they walked, he couldn't tell. Minutes. Hours.
Time had already begun slipping away. Then, warmth.
He felt it before he saw it. The blindfold was ripped away.
Sunlight crashed into his eyes.
Shirley immediately threw an arm over his face, squinting against the brightness. Around him, dozens of prisoners blinked rapidly, many shielding their eyes after spending so long beneath the prison.
Fresh air filled his lungs.
It was the first clean breath he'd taken since arriving in Mynistria. He hadn't realized how badly he'd missed it.
When his vision finally adjusted, he looked around.
A massive excavation site stretched before them.
An endless sea of sand shimmered beneath the morning sun.
Strong gusts of wind swept across the lot, lifting loose sand into the air and stinging the faces of prisoners and guards alike.
Towering stone walls surrounded the entire worksite. At least thirty feet high.
And above them, another layer. An electrified fence crackled softly along the top.
Escape wasn't simply difficult. It had never been part of the design.
Shirley quickly counted heads. "…Where's everyone else?"
Only around fifty prisoners stood with them.
Tucker stood beside him. Relief washed over Shirley.
At least they hadn't been separated. Then another realization hit him. "…EBS…"
She wasn't here. Neither was Michonne.
His stomach tightened. A guard stepped forward.
His voice echoed across the sand lot.
"THIS IS WORKSITE THREE."
He pointed toward the endless dunes.
"YOUR ASSIGNMENT IS SIMPLE."
"DIG."
"SHOVEL."
"PAN."
"If you uncover anything valuable…"
His expression hardened.
"…It belongs to Mynistria. And the King Mengu Lucrause."
"If anything is hidden…"
His hand rested on the rifle slung across his chest.
"…So will you."
He inhaled deeply.
"RADI I UMRI!"
Instantly, every veteran prisoner answered.
"RADI I UMRI!"
Even after hearing it yesterday, the words still sent chills down Shirley's spine.
Work And Die.
The guards unlocked a rack filled with battered tools. Prisoners rushed forward without needing to be told.
Nobody fought. Nobody argued.
Everyone simply grabbed whatever remained.
Shovels, buckets, rusted pans, wooden sifters barely holding together.
Shirley's attention drifted elsewhere. Beyond the towering walls…something rose above the prison.
He froze.
A tree.
No…
A giant.
Its enormous trunk dwarfed everything around it.
Massive branches stretched across the sky, crowned with brilliant pink leaves that shimmered in the morning light.
It was unlike anything he'd ever seen.
Beautiful. Ancient. Peaceful.
Every gust of wind sent thousands of pink leaves dancing through the air beyond the walls.
For a brief moment, Mynistria didn't look like hell anymore.
It looked…alive.
A deep wooden groan echoed across the landscape. The enormous trunk shifted almost imperceptibly.
The sound reminded Shirley of someone breathing.
Or…
Someone crying.
"…It's beautiful…"
A guard shoved him between the shoulder blades, "Move."
Shirley stumbled forward. Reality returned.
The prison. The walls. The rifles.
He looked back one last time. The banyan tree still stood beyond the electric fence.
Close enough to see.
Far too far to ever reach.
A few minutes later, metal bit into sand.
Again. Again. Again.
Shirley drove the shovel into the earth, lifting another heavy pile before dumping it into a nearby pan.
The work wasn't difficult. Just endless.
The sun climbed higher with every passing minute.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, soaking into the collar of his prison shirt.
Nearby, Tucker stabbed his own shovel into the sand before groaning. "…I miss doing literally anything else."
Shirley couldn't help smiling. "…Same."
Tucker leaned against the handle for half a second before quickly pretending to work again. "…So."
He shoveled another pile. "…What's the plan?"
Shirley didn't answer immediately. He kept digging.
The shovel scraped against another patch of dry earth.
"…Shirley?"
A long sigh escaped him. "…I don't know."
Tucker stopped digging. "…You don't know?"
"I don't." Shirley replied.
Another shovel full, "We don't know where we are."
Another, "We don't know where Michonne is."
Another, "We don't know where EBS is."
Another, "We don't even know how big this place is."
He planted the shovel into the sand. "…So…"
He looked toward the towering walls, "…I don't know."
For the first time, Tucker didn't have a joke ready. "…They're probably okay."
He said it quietly. "…Right?"
Shirley wanted to believe that, "…Michonne can handle herself."
He nodded once. "…And EBS…" A faint smile appeared. "…She'll probably make friends somehow."
Tucker blinked. "…Didn't she almost get kidnapped by that Tounge girl yesterday?"
"…Good point." Shirley said.
"…Maybe Tongue adopted her." Tucker joked.
Shirley laughed. "…Honestly? That's possible."
The laugh lasted only a moment. Then the sound reached them.
"GET BACK TO WORK!"
The shout echoed across the sand lot. Every shovel stopped.
Both boys looked toward the commotion.
Roughly fifty yards away…one prisoner stood completely still.
His shovel rested on the ground.
A guard marched toward him, "You deaf?"
No response.
"I said…" The guard shoved him hard. "…Get back to work."
The prisoner slowly lifted his head, "I'm tired."
His voice barely carried across the wind. The guard stared. "…What?"
"I'm…"
The prisoner swallowed.
"…Tired."
Silence.
Several nearby prisoners immediately lowered their heads and resumed digging.
Nobody wanted to watch. Nobody wanted to be seen watching.
The guard stepped closer, "You think you get to rest?"
The prisoner didn't move. "I've worked here…" He laughed weakly. "…Every day, for eleven years."
His shovel slipped from his hand. "I'm done."
The guard's hand calmly reached for the rifle hanging from his shoulder.
Shirley's grip tightened around his shovel.
"…Tucker…"
"…Yeah."
Neither of them moved.
The prisoner smiled. He wasn't happy.
He was…relieved.
"I think…"
He looked toward the distant pink banyan tree.
"…I'll rest now."
The rifle rose.
For a split second, Shirley thought the guard was bluffing.
The shot shattered the silence. The prisoner collapsed before he even hit the ground.
Just, silence.
The guard lowered his rifle. "…Continue working."
One by one, the shovels started moving again.
As if nothing had happened. Shirley stood frozen. His heart pounded against his ribs.
The body remained where it had fallen.
No one ran toward it. No one mourned. No one even looked.
The only sound left…
Was the steady rhythm of prisoners digging their own tomorrow.