Deep in the night, everyone else had finally fallen asleep.
Luke lay on his cot with his eyes wide open, replaying everything he'd seen that day.
Hannibal. The other serial killers. Their faces kept circling in his mind.
A dozen different possibilities ran through his head.
He suddenly felt a sharp pang of regret.
"Shit. I should've asked for more money. That old bastard Holden got off easy."
He cursed under his breath. No wonder the warden had agreed to the price so quickly.
Forget it. No point dwelling on it now.
He focused and brought up the panel.
[Prisoner Fitness LV2 (714/1000)]
Two more days and he'd hit level three. His physique would jump again—maybe even unlock sothing extra.
Whatever danger was coming next, more strength ant more safety.
He rolled over to sleep when he felt a faint vibration in the air.
Luke sat up fast, eyes lighting up.
He hadn't expected clues this quickly.
He slipped off the cot and started searching for the source.
"Hiss… hiss… hiss…"
He listened hard. Under the sound of his own heartbeat was sothing else—soft, constant moaning.
Like insects crawling. Or fingernails slowly scraping the wall.
Barefoot on the cold concrete, he followed the noise until he stopped at the back wall.
The sound was coming from inside it.
"You hear it too, young man?"
Hannibal's voice drifted over from the next cell, calm and knowing.
"They've been getting more active lately."
Luke's stomach tightened.
He heard it clearly now. And from the way Hannibal spoke, this wasn't the first ti.
That ant he probably knew exactly what was happening in this prison.
But Luke also knew Hannibal would never give away information for free.
So he stayed silent and pressed his ear flat against the wall.
The mont he did, the muffled noise sharpened into sothing far worse.
It wasn't insects or rats.
It was singing.
Dozens of voices layered together—high, low, so chanting in eerie harmony, others growling like animals.
The sound made every hair on Luke's body stand up.
What the hell was this?
He concentrated, trying to pick out any words, but the chanting felt strangely familiar while making zero sense.
Like a nightmare he'd forgotten, leaving only the sickening outline behind.
The harder he tried to rember, the more it slipped away—until the confusion itself started pulling him under.
His vision blurred. His knees went weak.
Just as he thought he might pass out, every voice cut off at once.
The entire underground block fell into perfect silence, as if nothing had happened.
Luke stood frozen, heart slamming against his ribs.
After a long mont he finally moved, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.
He climbed back into bed and forced himself to rest.
This prison was cursed.
Before sending him down here, Warden Holden had shown him the floor plans.
The entire underground section was nothing but cells and ventilation shafts. No hidden rooms, no extra space.
So where the hell was that sound coming from?
Still carrying the question, Luke finally drifted into uneasy sleep.
…
The next morning Luke woke up like usual.
At first glance, nothing in the block had changed.
The sa screaming. The sa madness.
But when he watched carefully, he noticed the difference.
The big guy across from him was still rocking, still hugging his knees—but his mumbling had grown much quieter.
His jaw moved in a slow, chanical rhythm, yet almost no sound ca out.
His eyes had gone blank, like a broken doll.
"See sothing interesting?"
Hannibal's voice floated over, smooth as ever, like he already knew exactly where Luke was looking.
"The big guy across from … he doesn't look good."
Luke answered slowly. Last night's experience had shaken him badly. His ears still felt like they were ringing.
"Of course not. He's too fragile. He couldn't handle the tornt."
Hannibal's tone was perfectly calm, as if the man's suffering was nothing surprising.
"He's been watching from above, analyzing."
"A few months ago this sa sound started appearing out of nowhere."
"These poor souls can't take it. Their ntal conditions have gotten much worse."
"And the ones who couldn't endure it… simply died."
Hannibal spoke so matter-of-factly it was chilling.
Luke felt his stomach drop.
He understood now.
The so-called murders weren't murders at all.
The real killer was the singing in the walls.
But he couldn't tell Warden Holden the truth.
Who would believe that sothing inside the walls was singing people to death?
Even Luke barely believed it himself.
The only way forward was to wait.
Wait for the next death.
Then demand a full inspection of the walls.
Until then, he had to grind experience like his life depended on it.
…
Another day passed.
In the lightless supermax wing, even the craziest inmates had started to feel the pressure.
The air grew heavier by the hour.
Every second pulsed with silent, frantic energy.
Luke leaned against the glass, eyes fixed on the cell across from him.
The big guy had gotten worse.
He no longer rocked like a child. He no longer whispered for his mother.
He just sat on the edge of the bed, head hanging, mouth slack and open.
His eyes were completely empty.
Luke suspected that if soone walked in and beat him right now, he wouldn't even lift a hand to defend himself.
And when he died, who would be next?
Luke pushed the thought away, stripped off his shirt, and started training again.
"Heh-heh, the new guy's doing his little dance again!"
"Look at that body—soft enough to squeeze juice out of. I'd love a taste…"
Filthy jeers and laughter erupted from the other cells.
Luke tuned them out completely.
The crushing tension had everyone on edge. Any movent drew their attention.
Soon the noise died down and Luke poured himself into the workout.
[Prisoner Fitness: 3 XP]
[Prisoner Fitness: 3 XP]
"Young man, do you feel afraid?"
Hannibal's voice returned, calm and probing.
"You're trying to bury your thoughts in exhaustion. It's a decent coping chanism."
Luke didn't answer. He just pushed harder, faster.
He knew Hannibal was studying him, dissecting every reaction.
As the world's greatest psychiatrist, one slip of the tongue would be all he needed.
Luke had no idea what Hannibal wanted.
But silence was the best defense against words.
Finally, on the last set of pull-ups, when his body hit its absolute limit—
A rush of warmth exploded from deep inside him, flooding every muscle and washing away days of cold fatigue.
The long-awaited notification rang in his head.
Prisoner Fitness had reached LV3.
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