“It looks like La Beauté Group is doomed. With this project, my company might even surpass them,” Fabian mused, abandoning the pursuit of his brother-in-law. His gaze remained fixed, unseeing, on the ceiling light. He felt devoid of life, as though already dead, yet he breathed, he lived. Instead of death, he experienced a searing, intermittent agony that drove him to repeatedly slam himself against the nearest wall. It was futile.
“This is worse than death! So much worse!” Austin thought. He had been pampered his entire life, Dominic being the sole exception to the constant coddling. Now, imprisoned as a test subject, he couldn’t even die. He felt numb, registering the opening of the door without so much as a flicker of his eyelids. In this hellhole, the visitor’s identity was irrelevant.
“The drug hasn’t taken its effect today?” a man said, seemingly making notes. “The intervals are becoming longer. You seem rather resistant.”
Austin remained silent.
“You’ve eaten more than yesterday, which is good. So you no longer want to die, huh?” The man paused, receiving no answer. “Do you remember your name?”
Again, silence. He stopped writing. “Do you remember how you got here?”
Silence. “You don’t want to answer, or you don’t know how? Perhaps you don’t understand me.”
Footsteps approached. A hand waved before Austin’s eyes, obscuring the ceiling. His brow twitched almost imperceptibly, unnoticed by the man, who withdrew his hand with a laugh. “It seems you’re simply ignoring me.”
He stepped back, chuckling, but Austin remained statue-like. Slowly, the man said, “Even if you don’t wish to talk, do you plan to remain silent forever? Do you think this is some form of protest?”
Still no response. Austin had apparently resolved to utter not a single word. Mike pushed his glasses up his nose, his eyes gleaming with an unfathomable emotion. He spoke slowly, “It seems you plan to await death, or become a puppet entirely.” Austin blinked, startled. Mike chuckled, leaned closer, and whispered, “Don’t you want to escape?”