Chapter 7: The Confrontation

Est

Est carefully crouched and moved out of the area, careful not to be too loud. His knees trembled as they bent, every shift of his weight sending small shocks of pain through his legs.

The world felt sharp around him— every sound too loud, every shadow alive, menacing.

He placed his palm against a cold wall for balance, his breath shallow, ears straining for footsteps.

'What the fuck did I just get myself into?'

The words echoed in his head like a drumbeat— frantic and angry. Terrified

He had only wanted to be enlightened. To find release. To find an escape from his pain.

But now... now he wished he had listened to himself, wished he stayed away.

Wished he never stepped into this dark corner of someone else's world.

Somehow, he got out of the building and ran quickly to his car, lungs burning from the sprint, heart hammering like it wanted to break out of his chest.

His hand fumbled at the handle, fingers slippery with fear and sweat, and just when he was about to wrench the door open— a man slammed it shut.

The force rattled his bones, and Est stumbled back, almost losing his footing. He spun around— panic clawing at his throat, and made to run, but another man blocked his path.

Then another.

Then another.

They came from the shadows, one after the other, as if the night itself had formed them.

Soon he was surrounded by at least 8 men.

His stomach dropped. His vision blurred around the edges. The raw certainty of danger pressed down on him like a weight he couldn't carry.

They grabbed him, rough hands clutching his arms, his shoulders, his clothes. Est tried to fight back— thrashing wildly, nails clawing, legs kicking, a strangled scream tearing from his throat. He wasn't a fighter, but adrenaline fueled him. He shoved and bit and struggled to get free.

But everything he did was was pointless against their numbers.

Someone yanked his hands behind his back, the grip almost bruising him. Another pressed a cloth against his face.

Chloroform.

The sharp scent hit his nostrils, burned his lungs. He choked, gagged, tried to hold his breath, but it was too late.

His body weakened, his vision blurred.

And the world tilted.

A bag was slid over his head, and darkness swallowed him whole. Then he was dragged out of the area, his heels scraping helplessly against the gravel.

When he came to, he was in a bedroom.

It was large, had pristine colors and expensive furniture.

Very elegant.

His head still swayed and for a moment, he thought he was still dreaming— caught in a strange, feverish state where horror had turned into heaven.

The bed was soft under him, the sheets smooth, and the air smelled faintly of lavender and something sharp but clean, like polished wood.

The dizzying feeling soon faded into a splitting ache that pulsed behind his eyes. Every beat of his heart made him more aware of the silence.

He looked around slowly, a dragging weight behind his eyes and pulled himself up.

He wasn't bound.

He wasn't gagged.

He was still in his clothes from last night, though it was wrinkled and dirty from the struggle.

However, his phone was gone. And so was his iWatch.

He was stripped of anything that could connect him to the outside world.

He stood slowly, the ground spinning around him, and with careful steps, moved to the door, trying to open it.

It was locked.

No surprise there.

Est pulled the handle, his movements growing frantic as his head cleared and a certain clarity crashed through him.

It didn't give.

So he started banging.

"HELP!!!!!!!" He screamed, voice strained as his fists pounded, the force so hard his skin reddened at the side of his knuckles. "SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!!!!"

There was no response.

Just silence.

"HELP!!!!!"

Nothing.

The sound only bounced back at him, swallowed by the vastness of the house.

He stumbled back, chest heaving, throat raw from screaming.

Desperate, he spun around, eyes frantically searching for any means of escape.

The tall glass doors.

Without hesitation, he moved towards them, and turned the knob.

It clicked.

He pushed them open with a not-so-gentle shove— eyes wide with growing fright, and nearly stumbled into the balcony, his feet slipping on the cool tile.

The air hit him— soft, unbothered and too fresh, laced with the earthy smell of grass and the surrounding trees.

He looked around.

The house was large— stretching far to the east and west, so far he almost couldn't see where it began or ended. It stood in a remote area, nowhere near the city or any place he could recognize.

There were no roads, no honking, no lights.

Just an endless stretch of green landscape and very tall trees that blocked out any signs of life.

He looked down, small dread creeping.

He was on the second floor.

And there was no escape.

Nothing he could use to climb down— no vines, no sturdy pipes, no ledges wide enough to trust.

He moved to the right and hands tight on the railing, he scanned the area for any sign of humanity.

A movement caught his eye.

It was a man— clad in all black, armed, patrolling the courtyard below.

"HELLO?!?! HELLP?!?! PLEASE HELP ME!!!" Est screamed, voice cracking, his desperation spilling out.

The man looked up.

And for a moment Est felt a glimmer of hope.

But the guard only looked away and kept walking— his face blank, unmoving, as if Est were a ghost. As if he didn't exist at all.

Dashed, still trembling on the edge of panic, Est slumped against the protective railing, already feeling exhausted.

His head pounded, his limbs ached from all thr banging and the struggle yesterday, and he just about wondered what rabbit hole he'd fallen into.

Est sat there for an hour— his body heavy, mind spiraling in circles of fear, silently praying for intervention. For someone to come rescue him.

For a moment, he thought he'd been answered.

He heard the faint click of the door from inside.

He stood and moved in with hurried steps, but an armed man was already there, pointing a gun at him. That halted him instantly. His breath caught, a sharp sting of fear tightening his chest.

The weapon was merciless, fixed, aimed right at his chest.

His body stood rigid, arms instinctively raising in fear, his legs trembling slightly.

The guard's eyes were empty, cold, like he was staring at a wall. Like he would not hesitate to put a hole in it.

A maid came in with a tray of food and quickly dropped it— not even sparing Est a glance, before she stepped out again.

The smell of rice and stir-fried vegetables seasoned the air but it was heavy, suffocating. Est's stomach tightened, but not from hunger.

The man followed after her— gun still fixed, and the door shut with sharp click. The sound reverberated through the room, through Est's bones.

He moved to the door again— hushed, careful, and tried opening it. His palms were slick with sweat, his knuckles were still sore from all the pounding earlier. They struggled to stay still as he turned the knob

It didn't give.

He slumped against the door and lowered himself to the floor. He pressed his head against the wood, shut his eyes, and took in deep, ragged breaths— a desperate attempt to calm himself.

But behind his eyes, he could only remember.

He saw the man shot dead, saw the blood seeping out of him. Saw the way the life had been snuffed out of him— and that did nothing to ease his growing anxiety.

The image burned itself into him, replaying every time he blinked and soon, it bled into his other painful memories.

Thame, the plane crash, the way he'd writhed in grief until he forgot how to breathe.

Est drew in a strangled breath, feeling like a ticking time bomb— silent, fragile, waiting to explode.

The hours passed by slow.

Too slow.

Every tick of an invisible clock gnawed at his nerves.

Heat prickled his skin, sweat dampened his shirt until it clung uncomfortably. His legs still shook from his growing dread. And his heart thundered mercilessly In his chest, Est thought he was minutes away from a heart attack.

Would he die today?

The thought hovered over him like a dark cloud, silent but impossible to shake.

Est found a connecting bathroom in the room and threw up, his body recoiling violently against him. His throat burned, his eyes watered as he clutched the cool ceramic for balance.

The sight of a man dying, his possible impending death— it was too much. A weight he couldn't stomach, no matter how he tried to steady himself.

By the sixth hour, Est was even more anxious.

He grew too impatient, too restless to sit still.

His nerves clawed at him from the inside out, tearing through him until he came apart.

He threw the food at the door, the tray clattering, dishes breaking, its content spilling across the polished floor. He broke the lamp in the corner, the shards shattering the silence. He smashed the vase, the crash echoing in the room like his own broken state. He banged at the door until his skin was red, until his knuckles split open and drew blood.

By the tenth hour, Est thought he would go mad.

He yelled and screamed like a dying man— voice hoarse, throat raw.

All he got for his trouble was silence.

The kind of silence that was too loud, that roared in his ears, and made his terrified cries sound like a gentle hush.

He screamed until he couldn't screams anymore. His voice soon cracked, failing him, and he slumped on the ground— hungry, exhausted, body sagging against the cold floor.

Then he fed himself a hopeless delusion.

Maybe this was all just a horrible dream.

Maybe... if he shut his eyes, he would wake up in his bed and Sparkles would be curled against him, sunlight filtering through the curtains. Maybe... he would be back in that big lonely house that now seemed like heaven in comparison to this hell.

He tried to sleep.

It didn't work.

He pinched himself so hard his skin broke.

Nothing.

It was useless.

So he just hugged his knees tight, crawling into himself.

Then he waited.

Impatiently, feeling like his chest could burst.

~~~

Within the next hour, the door opened again.

It was the same guard, still pointing the gun at him.

Est sat up slowly, his heart slamming against his ribs, his throat dry. His eyes followed the guard's every move like deer caught in headlights.

The door pushed slightly further.

And then— Hong stepped into the room, a tray in his hands.

He slowly flicked his eyes across the room, looking at the mess Est made, and his eyes grew heavy with worry.

Worry... and regret.

Guilt etched into the lines of his face and when he moved, it was slower than usual. Less graceful.

The door softly clicked close behind him.

And his eyes finally met Est.

In that moment, his calm, cocky demeanor faltered, and Est saw a glimpse of the man behind the mask.

He got on his feet slowly, processing the sight in front of him.

Was he?

"Hong?" Est's voice quivered.

The sound was disbelieving, accusatory, trembling at the edges.

Hong felt his guilt swell in his chest, like a flood pressing against thin walls. He swallowed shakily and answered, calm, composed. "Est."

"I-i— I don't understand. Are you involved in this too?" Est's voice cracked as the words tumbled out— ragged and desperate.

His throat was still raw from hours of screaming, but the disbelief in his tone was louder than any sound he'd made before.

"Don't ask anymore questions, Est." Hong said calmly. His eyes darted toward the door, as if seeing the guard outside, then back at Est. "The less you know, the better."

"Hong—"

"You saw something you shouldn't have... God Est, I told you not to go there."

"That man— Will... He shot somebody." Est's voice rose, urgent, shaking with the weight of truth. His chest heaved as the words scraped out, hoping that would somehow make it matter.

"You weren't supposed to see that."

"But he killed someone, Hong!" Est's insisted, his breathing harsher. "A person. Unarmed. We have to tell the cop—"

Hong clamped a hand over his mouth, silencing him as the tray trembled between them.

"Be careful what you say here, Est..." Hong whispered— voice low and fierce, his words cautious but urgent. His eyes burned a warning, a plea into Est. "Things don't work like that here. The only way you're making it out of here is if you keep your mouth shut."

Est pulled back, chest tightening, eyes sharp with realization. "So you're— you're involved in this too?"

Hong flinched, lowering his hand. "It's not that simple, Est. It's— it's complicated."

"Then make it simpler." Est's eyes burned with hurt, his words shattering like glass between them. "Cause all I can see now is that you're no different from them."

That shut Hong up.

The silence that followed was heavier than any he could say. Any argument.

It broke Est.

He nodded slowly, the world narrowing to one brutal truth. His lips trembled with clarity, with the sudden surge of betrayal.

"You really let a murderer fuck me?" His voice broke on the words, eyes brimming with hurt so hot it twisted into rage. "I thought I could trust you."

"Will isn't like that—"

"Isn't he?" Est's voice shook, but his anger steadied him. "Did he shoot that man dead or not?"

Hong didn't answer.

His silence screamed louder than words.

Est shook his head, the weight of it pressing down on him. He turned away, shoulders slumping as he walked over to the bed and sank in it. His voice dropped to a hollow, broken whisper. "I was so stupid. So naive to trust a stranger like this."

Hong's throat tightened, guilt pooling in his chest.

He stepped closer, setting the tray down on the nightstand with hands that shook more than he wanted them to. "Get something to eat. And get some rest too... Don't be stubborn, Est." He hesitated, then his tone softened, weary. "Submit to him... That's the only way you'll leave this place. And maybe... maybe get your old life back."

Est lifted his head slowly, his eyes red and glassy, staring at Hong like he didn't recognize him anymore.

Hong swallowed down, hard, the guilt an unmoving lump in his throat, almost choking him. His voice dropped even lower, almost breaking. "If you can't do it for yourself... do it for Sparkles. Or do it for your mom."

The words sank into Est like a knive, cutting through his fury, leaving only devastation. His chest tightened at the thought of his mother, of his cat, of the home he might never see again.

His lips trembled, but he couldn't speak. The words didn't come.

Hong's regretful eyes lingered on him for a beat, longer than intended, before he finally moved away. He reached out, and knocked on the door.

The armed guard opened it, stepping back inside like a warning— gun aimed, steady.

Hong gave him a long look, and with that he was gone.

The man clicked the door locked, the sound a sharp sting, a constant reminder of his imprisonment....

Or his impending death.

Est didn't eat.

His stomach grumbled in protest, twisting with hunger, but he couldn't bring himself to touch the food.

The tray sat untouched, the steam curling in the air until it thinned into nothing, just like his hope.

He laid curled by the edge of the bed, knees to his chest, his breaths shallow.

Every sound in the quiet was deafening— the tick of the invisible clock on the wall, the distant shuffle of guards boots outside, the faint creak of the house.

None of it brought comfort.

Just alarm.

He thought of Tui.

His chest twisted at the memory of the texts, the late-night calls, the sweetness of their dates.

Tui was probably blowing up his phone right now, wondering why he wasn't answering. He was probably heartbroken, thinking he was getting ditched.

The thought hollowed him further.

Then his mind slipped to Sparkles.

And his throat closed.

Who would feed her?

Who would take care of her?

The thought of her crying at the door waiting for him— confused, hungry, was unbearable.

And his mom.

The way Hong had said it, the image of her weary face twisting in anguish, the sounds of her screams from grieving— it rang in his head, cruel and heavy.

The thought that he might die here—nameless, faceless, never able to explain himself, never able to say goodbye— it was more than he could stomach.

So he just crawled deeper into himself, trembling, and he waited.

After sometime, exhaustion dragged him under, sleep claiming him in mere seconds.

And he dreamed of darkness, of death.

~~~

The sound of something shifting gently pulled him out of his slumber.

A faint scrape, glass shifting across the floor.

He lifted his head, red, weary eyes slowly adjusting to the low lighting.

There, crouched near the broken shards, was a man.

Broad shoulders spread wide beneath a black tank top, muscles shifting under every plane and curve with each movement. The serpent inked across the right half of his back stretched over his shoulder and down his arm.

Est's gaze slid lower, catching the hand gathering shards. His bare skin inked with a cross and faint letters was scrawled across his fingers.

His eyes widened, recognition slamming into him.

Est tried to lay back gently, careful not to make a sound, a cold ripple passing through him.

But the man's ears— sharp, always listening— picked up the sound. He paused for a moment, then continued gathering the shards— his movements careful, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

"You broke my favorite vase..." He said without preamble, voice flat. Empty. Like he didn't really give a damn.

But it still frightened Est.

Even more than the gunshot had.

He swallowed deeply, fear clawing his throat.

Then he remembered Hong's words.

Submit... That's the only way...

He forced his lips to move. "I'm sorry." His voice was small, barely audible.

"You broke my vase, trashed my room..." His tone stayed dull, almost bored. "Sorry is the last thing I expect from you."

Est's throat worked, his chest tight.

'What does that mean?'

He didn't know what to say. So he just echoed the apology. "I'm sorry."

The man glanced at him briefly— eyes dark and unreadable. Then it settled back on his task. "You don't have to listen to Hong... You'll just bore me."

That snapped something in Est.

Heat flared wildly in his chest.

Submission?

Fuck that!

His hands clenched in the sheets and his voice came sharp, trembling but steady. "And what happens to the people who bore you? You shoot them dead like you did that unarmed man?"

A brief pause.

Then, the man answered with a lazy. "Sometimes."

That shot a chill through Est— bone-deep and almost shaking, but somehow, the anger still burned in him. He lifted his chin slightly, defiant. "Why are you keeping me here?"

Another pause.

Then. "Because I feel like it..." Still flat, void of emotion.

Est scoffed, fury flaming hotter. "Not because I saw you murder a helpless man like a coward?"

"No."

The answer was so casual, so effortless, it infuriated him.

"I'm going to tell the world what you did, Will." Est spat the name like a challenge, like a curse. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, but he didn't care. Didn't back down.

That made Will halt.

The casual ease dropped, replaced by something colder. He stood slowly, turned, at stared fully at Est now.

Est almost gasped.

Up close, he was much handsome than Est had expected.

He had striking, mixed features. His long dark hair fell in perfectly trimmed waves across his face, and his double-lidded eyes were framed by lashes so thick, it seemed to block out the light. His nose was straight, his lips were thin but curved, and his jawline was so sharp, it could've been carved from glass.

Est blinked wildly and recognition flicked behind his eyes.

He realized he'd seen him before.

At the museum.

The same man who lingered next to him in silence. Like a shadow.

He started to speak, to point out. He held his tongue, and his face remained impassive.

"How do you know my name?" Will asked, voice low, blank eyes fixed on him.

Est stayed silent.

"Hong's big mouth, I presume."

Still nothing.

Just tension and uneven breathing.

Will steeped towards to the bed and crouched, squatting to Est's level. His gaze was fixed, unrelenting, a silent dare in them. "What did you say you were gonna do again?"

"You heard me." Est's growled low and his chest heaved as he waited.

For the blow, the choke, the punishment.

None came.

Instead, William's lips curved slightly. "Then I'll hurt you." The words were said so quietly, it was terrifying.

Still Est didn't flinch.

His silence was his only shield.

"You broke my vase."

"You kidnapped me." Est snapped.

William grinned.

Slow. Dangerous.

Est held his stare, pulse thundering.

"I'll let you go... if you're a good boy."

Something dissolved in Est's chest at the words, something tight, confusing. His body eased for a heartbeat before his mind snapped back tight.

Was he toying with him?

"When?" Est demanded.

"When I feel like it."

"I'm not going to tell anyone." Est lied through clenched teeth, desperate.

"It wouldn't matter if you did." His voice was still empty, though his eyes flickered, entertained.

It unnerved Est.

"Then why am I here?" Est's patience cracked, his voice unsteady, hopeless.

A brief silence.

"Because I feel like it." Will's tone was quiet, but final.

Then he stood again, towering over Est. "I'll have the vase replaced. Don't break this one... or you're actually going to pay."

Est's looked up at him, chest rising and falling, though his breathing was silent.

He couldn't tell if it was a warning or a promise.

Then Will turned, and left without another word.

The lock clicked back into place.

Est rose unsteadily, staggering to the door. His hands shook as he gripped the knob and twisted.

Nothing.

He slumped, sliding down the wood, his breathing ragged.

'Who was this guy?'

~~~

Nut

Nut drove with the windows half-rolled down, the late afternoon air pressing in warm and heavy.

The hum of the engine filled the silence, but his mind was far louder. His fingers tapped impatiently against the steering wheel, his jaw clenched in thought.

For days now, he had been chasing whispers, chasing shadows. Leads that dissolved the second he got close.

But this address?

He might actually take a step forward.

The road stretched ahead wide and never ending. The farther he went, the more the city seemed to fall away.

It unnerved him a bit.

Pricked at his instincts.

He was close, he could feel it.

The construction site came into view, the remains of something once promising. The tall, skeletal structures stood against the reddening sky, painting a haunting picture.

It was meant to federal agency— something civil, something promising. But then the Vietnam war came, and all the plans fell through.

Now it was nothing but ruins.

Nut slowed as he pulled closer, parking in front of a chain-link fenced gate. His boots crushed the gravel as he stepped out.

The place smelled of rust, of time, of disuse. But there was more— the faint oily smell of fuel.

He knew why.

For the most part, this site had turned into a graveyard for old vehicles, some stripped bare, some covered with tarps like corpses.

He'd seen enough of these places to recognize the patterns. There was always something rotten that clung to spaces like this.

It was nothing new.

What mattered was whether this place held something deeper. Something hidden.

A guard stood by the entrance, leaning lazily against the side of an old shack. A rifle was slung over his shoulder, a cigarette tuckedbetween his lips.

His eyes fixed on Nut as he approached.

"Good evening..." Nut greeted, voice even but laced with authority. He reached into his pocket and flashed his badge. "I need to take a look around."

The guard exhaled the smoke, squinting at him. "What for? Nothing here but junk."

"I'll decide that." Nut said simply.

A tense silence stretched.

Then, with a shrug, the guard stepped aside, pointing back at the construction site. "Suit yourself. Don't get lost and break your neck. This place is bigger than it looks."

Nut nodded once and passed through.

The site opened up around him like an endless labyrinth, the tall pillars casting long shadows. The ground was uneven, but surprising clean, dry, only carpeted with layers of dust and age.

Nut walked slowly, methodically, eyes scanning.

His instincts sharpened, pulling at small details— faint drag marks in the dirt, some boot prints. He crouched once, pressing his fingers against the earth, feeling the dry grit, the faint indentations.

Some fresh, some old.

Inside the main building, the silence grew deeper.

He pulled out his flashlight— its beam cutting across graffiti-covered walls, shattered glass, an old office desk overturned and left to rot.

Rats scurried at the sound of his steps.

He combed every corner of the first floor, combed at least every corner his legs could carry.

Room after room.

All empty.

Covered in nothing but dust and rot. Just echoes of what could have been.

Nut's jaw tightened.

He moved outside again, circling the perimeter, eyes sharp for anything hidden— trap doors, freshly moved earth, a structure out of place.

But there was nothing.

Just endless concrete and steel, stretching farther than he had thought, like a maze without purpose.

For hours, he walked.

His shirt clung to his shirt with sweat, his throat was dry. The sun set, and darkness covered every corner his eyes could find.

But nothing led to anything.

No hidden staircases.

No secret doors.

No signs of a Citadel.

No whisper of a secret world he knew lurked in shadows.

He walked away from the site. Empty-handed.

Again.

Maybe this Citadel didn't exist after all.

Maybe it was nothing but rumor. A fable made up to keep men like him chasing after ghosts.

He turned back, the endless hollow of the area stretching behind him. Each step away felt heavier than the last, but there was nothing else he could do.

For now.

Nut drove home that night, face crumpled with disappointment, under a starry sky.

The roads stretched on— impossibly long, empty, the clear night breeze brushing against his face, but his thoughts darkened with nothing but the stench of failure.

_________________________________

INCOMING RANT PER USUAL‼️‼️

We are finally getting somewhere with this story. My God's Est!!! You brave man!!😭 I deadass would have been pissing my pants.

I wonder what Will is gonna do to him... I hope it's something he likes 😝 shfgstsfdfdf

Nut should just stop chasing ghosts and focus on what's real— real = Hong's very obvious boner... for him😭 I can wait for them to start hmh$*#^##^}**#sghgdf*#

I mirrored the construction site after the office building my dad worked in. Only it's what I imagine an unfinished, ruined version would look like. He used to bring me there when I was little and honestly as a small child, i was always afraid my hands would slip from his and I would get lost in the endless maze he called work. I went there when I was older and it wasn't that big, lol. I was just a tiny baby in a world that felt impossibly vast. So picture that feeling when you read it. >_<

Anyhoo, chapter 8 will be up mid next week or... even later, I'm sorry. If you noticed, this chapter is very short and while I have most of the plot figured out, adulting won't afford me the time to write it properly. So I'm taking my sweet time with the next one because I want it long. While suspense is fun, drawing it out too much isn't.

I hope you understand. I'll make the next one worth it, I promise ♥️

Share my stories if you like them. See you next weekend ♥️