"I knew it would come to this…" In the frigid dungeon, Satan mocked himself, thick iron chains shackled to the wall.
"Just forget it…" Dove murmured weakly. "We don't even have the strength to resist. Mother said we were wrong. Even if we were right, it would still be wrong. Haven't we already grown used to this? Why do you still choose to defy her?"
"Did I drag you all down with me?" Satan lifted his head, eyes shifting toward Dove and Angel, both bound beside him, guilt flickering in his gaze.
"Don't be foolish. We've never blamed you." Angel responded with a faint smile.
"Thank you…" Satan lowered his head again, a tear fell silently, vanishing into the cold, hard floor.
"Sleep. Twelve more hours… then Mother will come and release us…" Dove closed her eyes.
Angel remained awake. Staring into the pitch-black floor, memories surfaced—fragments of a forgotten childhood… days so etched in pain they refused to fade…
In 2004, Zhang Jie was fourteen—a homeless orphan on the streets of America. Her parents were Chinese-American, which is why she had a Chinese name. They perished in the 9/11 terrorist attacks. Each day, she survived by scavenging through dumpsters in the Black neighborhoods. No friends. No family. Here, strength was the sole criterion for survival…
(Narrative shift to first person—apologies if it causes discomfort)
Here, I must admit my own weakness. Whenever I saw older vagrants, I had to run—fast. Otherwise, a beating was inevitable. I… I've lost count of how many times I've held broken glass to my wrist. Yet every time I glimpsed my reflection, I lacked the courage to face my parents in heaven like that…
If they saw me now, they'd be heartbroken… I couldn't bear to let them suffer more…
Before my father died, he said, "Our child has grown up." I'll never forget the kindness in his smile—it was the most serene smile I've ever known…
So every time I got bullied, I swallowed it. Even a flicker of resistance meant death. In this forgotten alley of a world, the corpses of beggars were too commonplace to matter…
I breathed in the filthy air…
I longed for divine salvation…
My mother once told me that God exists—that He is merciful… that He watches over humanity, delivering the suffering from despair…
I believed her. That's why I prayed, every single day, outside the crumbling church at the end of the street…
Until I saw the priest dealing cocaine… I never went back.
But I still believed. I believed God didn't abandon me on purpose—He just couldn't find me, lost in a shadow He could not illuminate…
I couldn't leave this place either—if the police found me, they'd throw me into an orphanage. That place terrified me… even escape wasn't an option. I was bullied relentlessly by older orphans…
Yet I wasn't entirely alone. My mother had left me her beloved pendant. Inside it was a photo of us—a family. I loved it dearly. Whenever I looked at it, a warmth would fill me… and no matter how cold the night, I could sleep peacefully as long as I held it close…
Everything changed that day…
I had fallen asleep in an abandoned dumpster when I was awoken by seven adult beggars.
Terrified, I clutched the pendant tightly.
They said I was trespassing on their territory. I apologized over and over, knowing full well it would mean nothing. But I had to try—because they were staring at my pendant.
I tried to run. Two of them pinned me down. They wanted it—my pendant. My tears streamed freely, even the filthy water on the ground seemed to soften…
This was all I had left—why take even this? Without it, what reason did I have to keep living? Please… don't take away my hope…
They ignored my cries. They snapped two of my fingers and ripped the pendant from me. I lay there motionless, weeping uncontrollably, tears blending into the muddy water below me.
Had God forgotten me? At that moment, I knew—He didn't exist. He watched as my last reason to live was stolen from me…
I was consumed by hatred—hatred for the lie He told my mother, and to me. I would become the judge—the hand of retribution. Those who steal what is sacred must pay in blood…
I rose, found two large shards of glass.
My fingers were too mangled to grip them, so I tore strips from my shirt and tightly bound the glass to my hands. It cut deep, blood smeared across the mirrored surface…
That night, I found them in a filthy alley. They were all drunk. My heart ached even more… That pendant, my pendant, was already drowned inside their alcohol-tainted bloodstreams. For a fleeting thrill, they had condemned someone to a lifetime of torment. They didn't deserve to exist.
So they died.
They didn't even raise a hand to resist. One by one, I slit their throats. Blood sprayed into the air, light as a drizzle…
The police came later—someone must have called them. I thought it was over. But it wasn't.
They brought me to a beautiful young woman. She smiled and asked, "Do you believe in God?"
My answer made me what I am today—an angel…
"There is no God. The only one who can save me… is myself."
March 8, 2011, nightfall…
(Narrative returns to third person—apologies once more)
13 lay quietly on his bed. Beside him, 24 was sound asleep—rare, undisturbed rest.
He considered rising for water, but didn't wish to wake 24.
So he simply sighed and gazed out the window at the moon.
Only then did he realize how beautiful it was tonight. The sky, clear and pristine, belonged solely to it. Stars sprinkled around it like ornaments, accentuating its Venusian imperfection.
Had he ever truly looked at the sky before? Was the moon always this lovely? Unconsciously, he thought again of that girl—Zhang Jie. Her eyes shimmered with the same luminous brilliance…
Why did he find such thoughts so strange? When had her shadow carved a permanent shape in his heart?
"If only you could see yourself now…"
Her words still pricked at 13's nerves.
He remembered others too… people he could never forget… especially during the "Graduation Trial"...
Late 2010…
Military helicopters thundered over a remote forest in China, dropping one person every ten kilometers. 13 was the sixty-seventh—and the last—to be released.
The "Graduation Trial" had begun. The rules were simple: ten days later, a single helicopter would extract only four people from a designated point. It would leave the moment all four were present. The rest would be left to rot.
Everyone knew—the simplest way to be among the final four… was to ensure only four people remained.
Some formed temporary squads—never exceeding four members—to increase their chances.
Upon landing, 13 immediately concealed himself in a towering tree.
Once the helicopter roared away, silence returned to the forest.
He took inventory. One 30cm combat knife, a Desert Eagle, and seven rounds of ammunition.
With a sigh, 13 lamented, "Out of sixty-seven gear sets… I got the only one without a long-range rifle…"
For two full days, 13 never left the tree. As a sniper, he knew—movement only led to exposure.
By the third day, gunfire rang sporadically. Every shot was soon followed by another—textbook "watcher watching the hunter."
By day four, the forest was noticeably quieter. But 13 waited. He needed one chance—a silent opportunity to eliminate someone with a long-range weapon.
His wilderness survival instincts kept him sharp. Thirst? Slice a green stem and drink. Hunger? Insects offered ample protein.
On the fifth day, the moment came. A girl wandered below, wielding an AWP sniper rifle. Her clumsy posture made 13 doubt whether she was even from their "school." She moved like she thought she had an assault rifle. Exhausted, she cut a vine for water.
13 smirked. "How did someone so careless survive five days? Lucky? Or is she hiding something?"
Either way, "you chose the wrong sniper to steal from."
He exhaled quietly, hooked a thick branch with his foot, and silently dropped down behind her—upside down—aiming his never-fired Desert Eagle at her skull.
Perhaps there was no suspense… perhaps he feared drawing attention with gunfire… perhaps curiosity overruled instinct.
He didn't shoot immediately. He waited—until she had finished drinking and turned around.
Startled by the dangling figure, she spat the sap all over his face. 13 flinched, assuming a distraction tactic, and quickly shielded his left eye—only to realize she wasn't resisting.
Too late—his right eye now burned from the sap's irritants.
"I'm sorry…" she said softly, reaching out to wipe his face.
"Don't move!" he barked sternly.
"Oh." She froze instantly, hands dropping, standing perfectly still.
13… suddenly didn't know what to do. The two of them, frozen in such odd positions, simply stared.
Time trickled by…
Clouds scattered, sunlight pierced the canopy, illuminating them both. The scene was like a painting—serene, silent.
"I'm going to kill you…" 13 broke the silence.
She didn't flinch. She merely smiled faintly. "I already knew that…"
Once more, 13 saw that expression he longed for. His hand trembled.
"Aren't you afraid?" he asked, unsure why he cared.
"No. Everyone I've known is already dead. Alone… there's nothing left to fear." Her eyes averted—but 13 noticed the flicker of sorrow.
"State your number. And gear." he changed the subject.
"Soldier 109. Assault class. Equipped with one AWP sniper rifle, twenty 7.62mm rounds, one combat knife. No lightweight close-range firearms," she reported crisply, like addressing a superior officer.
A perfect complement… 13 thought to himself.
Unbeknownst to him… two more were already moving silently in his direction…