Chapter 13: The Gray in All Things
Chris had been in the facility for five years now. He was 23.
In another life, that would be the age for university internships, the clumsy steps into adulthood, clinking glasses at cheap bars with friends while lamenting grades and heartbreak.
But here?
Here, it was the age he pulled the final thread of a truth so twisted, it left a permanent scar on his psyche.
It began with Web of Echoes.
The skill was passive, quiet — unassuming. But in its silence, it listened.
Every whisper. Every mutter. Every hallway conversation between tired guards, bitter researchers, hopeful assistants.
At first, it was noise. Then patterns formed. Then truths.
He learned of:
How the Velhart family had been placed under "protective custody" in a secure zone—not for their safety, but to extract details about the Eye.How a Noble, one Baron Keillas, declared them "loose ends."How a covert operation had been staged, with artificial monster signals broadcasted in the area to mask an assassination.How his father resisted to the very end.How his mother's last words were: "Don't let them take him."
And then came File Sigma-3, a hidden document encoded beneath the facility logs.
He'd bribed a technician with forged commendation papers, and when the man asked why, Chris merely smiled and said:
"Curiosity, that's all. I like knowing things."
Inside the file?
Footage.
Grainy, silent footage of his parents — alive — restrained. Questioned. Drugged. Left to waste away in a windowless room.
That was their "protection."
Chris had watched the footage only once. That was enough.
Afterward, he went to his cot and laid down. Not to cry. Not to scream.
He just stared at the ceiling.
"So this… is the shape of the world," he whispered.
In the days that followed, his internal monologue began to change.
He used to think in binaries.
Good. Evil.
Kind. Cruel.
But now?
Now he saw the world in gray.
He met a janitor who helped clean his room — a man with one eye and a broken knee. He often snuck in food for Chris, even gave him old books. Never asked for anything in return.
"You remind me of my boy," the janitor once said. "He didn't talk much either."
Then there was Aria, a researcher. Cold on the outside. Sharp-tongued. But she left notes on Chris's tray—quotes from books, poems, thoughts.
One read:
"Humans are monsters. But sometimes, monsters sing lullabies."
Chris kept that note.
But for every moment of warmth, there was venom.
Guards that laughed while testing tranquilizers on lower-tier experiments.
A file about another transmigrator who had been dissected.
A boardroom conversation where one high-ranking official said:
"We don't need the boy alive forever. Just long enough to figure out the Eye's full sync. Then he's just data."
That was the final straw.
He made the decision.
He would leave.
Not to escape.
But because staying would rot his soul. And because the Eye was no longer a passive object—it was changing him. And he was ready to change with it.
The plan was meticulous.
Over the years, Chris had:
Mapped out every hallway of the facility.Identified the exact time the security shift lagged by thirty seconds.Created a diversion using a hijacked janitor route and false alarms.Rewired a panel that allowed him temporary access to the internal comms.Learned the guards' daily rhythms like the back of his hand.
Then came the day.
He sat calmly on his cot, holding the Eye gently. The synchronization had long passed 75% now. It no longer hovered like an object.
It floated like a presence. A second heartbeat.
He exhaled.
The gray walls around him were familiar now. Like the inside of his own skull.
"Time to leave, old friend," he whispered.
He tapped the corner of his bedframe—once, twice, three times.
A low hum answered back. The rerouted sensor blinked green.
"Web of Echoes: Active."
He stepped out.
Through the halls, shadows and steps. Chris moved like a rumor. Not quite real, not quite seen.
He didn't need to run.
He flowed.
His coat billowed behind him, slightly oversized, stitched with scraps of old clothing the janitor gave him over time. In the inner lining, he kept the only item from his childhood—his mother's old scarf. Worn. Faded. But still warm.
He passed a door and paused.
Aria's office.
He opened it.
She wasn't there, but a note was.
It read:
"I hope you find what you're looking for. Just... don't lose yourself in the dark. – A."
He folded it, tucked it next to the scarf.
As he reached the outer corridors, the alarms began to blare.
Too late.
"He's escaping!" "How?!" "Seal gate D3!"
Chris stopped by a large reinforced window, just before the exit bay.
He stared out at Arcadia.
Not the clean streets or the glittering capitals.
No, this was the outskirts. Where dirt met industry. Where smog tainted the blue. Where real people lived.
Where he would start.
Suddenly, the Eye in his hand surged.
A panel appeared.
[Synchronization: 80%]
[Skill Unlocked: Shadewalk Lv. 1]
— While unseen, move between shadows across a 100m radius.
— Cooldown: 30 seconds.
[Emotion Flag Detected: Judgment]
[Resonance Trait Formed: Duality's Thread]
— You see the light and the dark. You accept both. You are neither.
— +10% resistance to alignment-based skills.
— Gain increased persuasion when speaking from moral neutrality.
Chris smiled.
"Perfect."
He stepped into the shadow of a moving drone.
And vanished.