Hiroshi led the way through the dim corridors of the base, his steps quiet but deliberate. Arjun followed close behind. His gaze drifted across the twisted faces of those they passed. A thick heaviness settled in his chest as his eyes landed on people contorted beyond recognition —bodies reshaped by grotesque mutations that blurred the line between human and nightmare. One man's arms jutted from his mouth, bending at unnatural angles. Nearby, a baby squirmed in its mother's arms, its face an endless cavern of teeth where eyes and nose should have been. Some were so disfigured that Arjun couldn't even begin to guess what they once looked like.

His breath hitched, and before he knew it, tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. The sorrow hit him like a punch to the gut, a weight far heavier than anything he had ever carried. He whispered, his voice cracking, "Why is this happening, Hiroshi? What did these people do to deserve this? What could that baby have done?"

Hiroshi walked on, the weight of Arjun's words pressing against his back. "We don't know," he said softly.

The simplicity of the answer stung more than anything else could. It was a bleak, hollow truth that Hiroshi himself had learned to swallow. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

A low murmur caught Arjun's ear. In the corner of the room, a priest sat slumped over. His right eyeball was suspended outside the socket, drifting eerily midair as if held by invisible threads. His limbs drooped at odd angles, as though frozen in the aftermath of a stroke.

With what little strength he had, the priest clasped his hands together and whispered to the small gathering before him, "These are the final days. Judgment is near. It is our sins, our unbelief, our filth, that have called this punishment upon us. Pray with me—pray that God will show us mercy and guide us to His eternal garden. Amen."

Arjun bit down on his lip, the familiar cadence of desperation echoing in the priest's voice. It wasn't the first time he'd seen this—groups of people clinging to faith in the ruins of the world. Hindus spoke of the Kali Yuga and whispered of Kalki, the avatar destined to cleanse the world of evil. Muslims raised their hands in prayer, pleading for release from the endless suffering. Buddhists sought peace, trying to find meaning in the chaos. Hope and hopelessness existed side by side in every corner of this damned place.

A sudden cry pierced the air, raw and sharp. The sound sent a chill down Arjun's spine—it was familiar, too familiar. He looked toward the commotion just in time to see two soldiers, faces hidden behind gas masks, carrying a stretcher draped with a thick blanket. Behind them, a man crawled, his voice cracked and broken from grief.

"Abni(my son) My Saleem..."

Arjun's heart clenched.

It was Malik.

Arjun watched as the man dragged himself across the floor, tears streaking his face, calling out to his boy with every ounce of strength he had left. At last, Malik stopped, collapsing onto his knees. His arms stretched upward, trembling as he screamed into the heavens, "Ya Allah, lima?! (God, why?!)"

The air between Arjun and Hiroshi thickened. Arjun turned to his companion, silently begging for confirmation of what he feared. Hiroshi, head bowed, gave a small, solemn nod.

Arjun's heart shattered.

Without turning back, Hiroshi murmured, "I know this won't bring you comfort, but you need to understand—things like this happen here every day. And you have to get used to it."

There was a long pause before he added, almost in a whisper, "It's the only way."

The words sat heavily between them, as oppressive as the air itself. Arjun clenched his fists, a storm of emotions swirling inside him—rage, sorrow, helplessness. He felt as though he was on the edge of unraveling completely as if the sheer weight of everything he'd seen would crush him at any moment.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar silhouette—just a glimpse, but enough to stop his heart.

"Victor?" Arjun whispered, frozen in place.

The figure hesitated, then slowly turned. It was as if time slowed. His body was warped, twisted in ways that defied logic, yet there was no mistaking those eyes—those eyes that widened now in disbelief.

"Arjun?"

The name escaped Victor's distorted lips as though it were a dream he feared might shatter if he spoke it aloud. His breath hitched, and tears began to pool in his eyes.

"It can't be..." Victor's voice cracked, a whisper filled with years of pain and longing.

Arjun didn't hesitate. In two quick strides, he closed the distance between them, wrapping Victor in a fierce embrace. For a moment, the weight of everything—the despair, the mutations, the madness—lifted. The darkness around them seemed to recede, just for a heartbeat, replaced by the warmth of reunion and the unspoken understanding that neither of them had been truly alone.

Victor clung to Arjun as if holding on to a lifeline, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Arjun pressed his forehead against Victor's, tears of his own slipping free.

In that fleeting moment, the world didn't feel quite so broken.