Through the Looking Glass

Nathan's world was a maze of corridors, flickering fluorescent lights, and cold, sterile air. With each passing day, the routines grew familiar—the guards, the brief, restricted moments of movement outside his cell, the subtle shifts in the air that betrayed a watching presence. They kept him here like a caged animal, confined but far from broken. He needed to understand the true purpose of this place. He needed a plan.

Today, his chance arrived in the form of a brief corridor transfer. The guards had to reroute him due to some reported "containment issue" in the main hall. As they escorted him through a side corridor, Nathan made quick mental notes, his eyes flicking over every door, every sign, every passing face.

One door caught his attention immediately. It was marked with a simple label: Observation. Just beneath it, through a small pane of reinforced glass, he glimpsed a scene that made his blood run cold.

Inside, a man strapped to a chair writhed in agony, his face contorted, veins standing out against his skin as he struggled against invisible chains. A set of electrodes were attached to his temples, and a cold-faced technician observed his reactions with a clinical detachment, occasionally marking notes on a clipboard. Nathan's pulse quickened. This wasn't monitoring—this was deliberate, calculated torture, hidden behind the guise of "observation."

The man's body jerked as if a current had run through him, his mouth opening in a silent scream. His eyes were unfocused, staring into nothingness as though he were trapped within the depths of his own mind, held there by whatever twisted experiment the GRA was conducting.

"Nathan, move it!" One of his guards yanked his arm, snapping him out of the horrified trance.

They dragged him past the door, but the image of the man's face, his wide, haunted eyes, burned into Nathan's mind. It was then that he realized with absolute certainty: the GRA didn't just contain Blessed. They stripped them, tested them, and broke them down, layer by layer, until nothing was left but obedience or insanity.

That night, alone in his cell, Nathan lay awake, his thoughts a storm of anger and fear. The whispers, the flickers, and the visions all seemed to intensify, as though his very presence here was drawing something dark and inexplicable toward him.

Suddenly, the System pulsed. It felt different this time, more insistent, like a hand grasping his mind and pulling him forward. A sharp, stinging sensation spread across his vision, and the cell around him began to dissolve into shadows.

Nathan found himself in a wasteland, a desolate landscape stretching endlessly beneath a sky the color of bruises and smoke. The air was thick, oppressive, filled with an energy that clawed at his skin and twisted his senses. Towering figures roamed in the distance, creatures moving in and out of the shadows with a grace that belied their monstrous forms. They were not human, not anything he could name, but there was a dark beauty to their movements, a power that vibrated with an intensity that called to something deep within him.

As he watched, one of the figures turned, its gaze sharp and all-knowing, its eyes piercing through him as though it could see every corner of his soul. Nathan felt the raw force of the Void Realm, the presence of an intelligence beyond anything human, and he knew without a doubt that he was witnessing something forbidden.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the vision faded. Nathan was back in his cell, his skin prickling with the residue of the realm he'd glimpsed. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his hands trembling from the strange energy still coursing through him.

He didn't know how long he lay there, clutching his head and trying to make sense of what he'd seen. But one thing was clear: the System was somehow tied to these realms, guiding him toward them, showing him glimpses that made him question everything he thought he understood.

A low buzz sounded outside his door, followed by the mechanical hiss of the lock disengaging. The door opened, and Agent Kael stepped inside, his face expressionless, his gaze calculating as he observed Nathan with a look that felt more dissecting than human.

"On your feet, Wilson," Kael ordered.

Nathan complied, his face set in defiant lines, masking the lingering fear that still gripped him from the vision.

"Been enjoying your accommodations?" Kael's voice was mocking, his smile a faint, cold smirk. "Think of it as a taste of what's to come if you keep making things difficult."

Nathan's fists clenched, anger boiling just below the surface. "So, that's all this place is, isn't it?" he shot back. "Containment and torture. Break us down until we're nothing but obedient little puppets."

Kael's smirk didn't waver. "And what are you going to do about it, Nathan? Complain? You're here because you're dangerous—unpredictable. We can't have people like you running around, breaking the rules just because they think they're special."

"Special?" Nathan's voice was filled with defiance, his gaze burning with a new intensity. "You're the ones who shoved me into this cell, isolated me, treated me like an experiment. So don't talk to me about 'special.' You're terrified of what you can't control."

Kael's expression darkened, the mocking amusement slipping away to reveal a colder, more dangerous edge. "Careful, Wilson. You may not realize it, but you're walking a very thin line. You push too hard, and you'll find out exactly how far we're willing to go."

With that, Kael turned on his heel and left, the door sealing shut with a final, resounding click. The sound echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of Nathan's confinement.

As the hours crawled by, Nathan's mind drifted back to the vision, the wasteland and the monstrous beings, the feeling of power and inevitability that had laced the scene. The System's message had been clear—a vision he couldn't ignore, a reminder that there was something beyond these walls, a reality waiting for him that defied the constraints of the GRA.

He glanced down at his palm, where a faint, tingling sensation lingered. Slowly, a scar began to form, almost like a burn mark, etched faintly against his skin. The lines twisted and coiled, forming a symbol he couldn't decipher, but its presence filled him with a strange sense of purpose.

Prepare.

The word resonated in his mind, a single command that carried a promise of defiance and survival. Whatever the GRA intended for him, whatever tortures or experiments they had planned, he wouldn't be broken. He would endure.

The realization filled him with a fierce resolve. They could strip him down, lock him away, and treat him like a threat, but they couldn't take his will. He had seen something beyond their understanding, a power that surpassed their rigid rules and protocols. And if the System had chosen him, shown him these realms, then there was a reason—a purpose that transcended the walls of this facility.

He clenched his fist, feeling the symbol burn against his palm, a reminder of the path that lay before him. He didn't know how or when, but he would find a way out. And when he did, he would uncover the truth of the GRA, expose their secrets, and reclaim the freedom they had stolen from him.

As the lights dimmed, plunging the cell into darkness, Nathan lay back on the cot, his mind sharp and alert. The shadows seemed to pulse, whispering promises of power and vengeance, and he let them lull him to sleep, a defiant smile lingering on his lips.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, the System stirred, sending a final, chilling message that echoed through the void.

Prepare.