**Sunny's POV**
Two agonizing days had passed. Two days of waiting, watching, and suffocating under the weight of uncertainty. Master Jet hadn't moved—her stillness a quiet testament to unshaken resolve. But Sunny couldn't take it anymore. His stomach twisted in protest, gnawing at him with the reminder that he had barely eaten. With trembling exhaustion, he finally left, clutching the money she had handed him, stepping into the world beyond these four suffocating walls.
He returned with a simple meal—just a burger and fries. It wasn't much, but it was something. Yet, as his feet crossed the threshold, the food slipped from his fingers, tumbling to the floor, forgotten entirely.
**Dawn was moving.**
A shudder of disbelief coursed through him, freezing him in place. His breath hitched. He turned to Jet, searching for confirmation, for certainty, for sanity. Was he imagining things? Was his exhaustion warping reality?
Jet stiffened, her wary gaze locked onto Dawn—watching, waiting. Then, she exhaled. The tension melted from her body.
"Relax, kid. He's awake."
Dawn stirred in the chair, his limbs sluggish, heavy—**restrained.** He blinked against the blinding light that clawed at his retinas, his first exposure to illumination in **five days**. His breath came ragged and uneven before his voice rasped out, raw and aching—
**"Where the fuck am I?"**
Instinct sharpened his senses. He glanced around—**a jail cell, grim and unfeeling, its steel bars useless against beings like him.** Each cell housed identical beds, their appearance reminiscent of a mental ward, but **reinforced,** built for those far beyond ordinary human endurance.
Then, his body **reacted before his mind could process.**
Flames—**orange, alive, wild**—erupted across his skin. The straps that bound him shredded as he surged forward, desperation pumping through his veins. **He had to run. He had to escape.**
But something **stopped him.**
A familiar presence.
His vision swam, refocusing—**Sunny.**
"…Sunny?" His voice was fragile, uncertain, barely a whisper.
The fire sputtered, dimming, subdued by recognition. But then—**agony struck.**
**Like a dagger plunged straight into his heart.**
Dawn collapsed. His body convulsed. A scream—**inhuman, raw, merciless**—ripped through the silence, a sound no man should ever have to make. It wasn't just pain; it was **torment incarnate.**
Sunny bolted forward, tearing open the cell door, desperate to catch him, to stop him from falling, from shattering against the cold concrete. But he wasn't fast enough. **Dawn hit the ground. Hard.**
He clutched him, fingers frantic, searching for an answer, for a reason—**what was happening to him?**
Master Jet approached, face taut with something unspoken. **Confusion. Worry. Wariness.**
And then—**silence.**
**One full minute of relentless screaming.**
Until, finally—**Dawn went still.**
Passed out. But his pain lingered, etched into his features, frozen in time. **A silent portrait of suffering.**
Jet's voice broke the quiet.
"Three questions," she said. Her tone was sharp, demanding. "Has he ever acted like this before? Does he have any medical conditions? Is this common?"
Sunny answered with unshaken certainty. **No. No. And no.**
---
One hour later, Dawn **woke up.**
Not in the jail cell. Not in captivity.
He found himself in a **headquarters—inside a police station.**
Memories flickered. He had been here before. The sleek white marble stretched beneath him, lined with blue markings. In the center, the insignia of the police force stared back at him, an emblem of rigid authority.
He sat on a blue couch, its familiar texture grounding him in reality. Next to him—Sunny, **asleep.**
Across from him—**Master Jet, watching.**
Her gaze—cold, piercing, unreadable—**waiting.**
He swallowed, his throat tight. His voice barely held together the remnants of his fractured mind.
"…What's going on?"
Jet's lips curled into something bitter. "I suppose introductions are in order. I am Master Jet. The one who watched over you and Sunny while you were trapped in the Nightmare."
Dawn lowered his head.
"I see… Thank you. For watching over us," he said, his voice laced with quiet shame.
Jet's patience snapped.
"Alright, kid. Enough pleasantries. **What the hell was that?** Nobody—**nobody**—wakes up from their Nightmare **screaming like that.** What happened? And what were those flames?"
Dawn's fingers trembled. He could still feel the pain—**clawing, burning, unrelenting.**
"It… It wasn't the Nightmare," he admitted, his voice barely holding together his sanity.
Jet narrowed her eyes. "Really? Then explain it. Because you had no wounds, no internal bleeding, your blood pressure was normal, and while your heart was **pounding like a war drum,** you weren't in any physical distress. So—**what the hell happened?**"
Dawn swallowed hard. His next words came out brittle, barely a whisper.
"…I think it was because of my Flaw."
Jet's expression **hardened,** her voice dropping into something even colder.
"Don't tell me anything, kid. Just answer one question—**has it calmed down?** Even slightly?"
His breath hitched. The pain still **lingered,** but—**it was different.** Muffled. Distant.
"…Yeah," he said, his voice unsteady. "It's calmed down. Somewhat. But it's still there. Like—like a stinging pain."
Jet exhaled, then reached down—shaking Sunny awake.
She studied them, a reluctant acceptance shadowing her features.
"…I'm not supposed to tell you this," she admitted, her voice lowering into something **serious.** "But considering you're both from the outskirts—**just like me**—I feel compelled to.
Soon, **government officials will come.**
They'll ask questions—about your Nightmare. Your Aspect. Your Flaw. Everything.
**You don't have to answer.**
If you're not comfortable telling them, **don't.**
I can't tell you not to, but—it's for the best if you don't."
Dawn stared at her. His breath was slow, deliberate, controlled.
"…Thank you, Master Jet," he murmured. "Really."
His gaze flickered to Sunny. Then to Jet. Then—**back to himself.**
"…One question," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Did I… **look** like I was in that much pain?"
Sunny and Jet exchanged a glance before their gazes locked onto him.
Sunny answered first.
"…Yes. It looked like you were being stabbed—**with a thousand needles.**"
His voice was haunted.
**"All at the same time."**
___
Author's note:
I'm back, hope you enjoy