A silent beacon beeped in the control room, signifying the new arrival had awakened from his deathly slumbers.
Young Lieutenant Gallows was excited as he left the control area. He made haste to contact the supervisors about this change, as were his orders.
In his time working as part of the 'inside men' of the half-myth organisation, he'd seen all manner of combinations.
He often wondered why mythical creatures felt the need to try and procreate outside their race, and more specifically, why they had the courage to venture into the human realm to breed an offspring.
Apart from the fact that it is an illegal practice and heavily fought against by the 'ones in charge', the offspring when they died became property of the state as a forced part of the Half-Myth organisation.
All things considered, Gallows had never been a fan of the interbreeding and had even found himself feeling awful for the humans that had to come here after death.
That had to begin a brand new life, littered with information they never knew and forced into a secret organisation where they're used as dispensable tools by the government.
But this, this was interesting. For the first time ever, a heavenly being had fathered a child with a human.
He had never encountered such a situation or even thought it possible, as it was widely believed that heavenly beings were the most morally upright creatures in the universe.
However, the system had analysed Quentin, his mystic type, and one thing was certain: it never made any mistakes.
A Seraphim had fiddled around with a human.
Gallows stood in front of the glass panel that provided a view into the all-white room containing the subject.
He continued to watch as Quentin's eye flickered open for the first time.
Quentin was disoriented. For the first few seconds, he found himself rubbing his eyes with his hands in an attempt to reconfigure his vision.
'Okay, so I'm not in hell anymore,' he thought as he looked around the all-white room. There is no way hell has a comfortable bed in an all-white space, right?'
He looked around the room; the only thing he could see was his bed.
No doors, windows, mirrors, etc. He got up from the bed to check if his legs still function like they were meant to. Thankfully they were. All his injuries from the treacherous ordeal he endured had vanished without a trace.
He did a few jumping jacks and a couple other routine stretches he picked up during his time in the military, the boxer short he had on giving him the freedom of movement he needed.
'Am I even dead? This doesn't feel much different from being alive. I feel great!'
Thoughts like this flew past his mind, but Quentin wasn't stupid. He knew there was no way on earth anyone had saved him from those icy waters; as a matter of fact, he was sure the cold got him before he even drowned. He also knew the experience he had on the mountain hadn't been a nightmare. Every one of those incidents had happened.
Another thought came flowing into his mind as he walked around his little room, feeling the walls with his palm and not finding any spot for a door hinge or any indications at all that his little room could be opened.
'There are none. This isn't a comfortable little room; it's a fucking prison!'
The reality was dawning on Quentin. Was there a punishment more severe than spending an eternity locked in a white room?
Balls of sweat welled up on his neck as he traipsed the entirety of the room again, anxiety knawing at him, threatening to explode from his mind at any moment.
He willed himself to calm down. He was smart. He didn't just appear in this room.
Someone, somewhere, knew about his presence here, but they were yet to show themselves.
He went back and laid on his bed to think, while also craving the soft comfort of the mattress.
'The placement of this bed makes two things certain. 1: Whoever the observers are, they couldn't possibly be watching me from the north or southern ends of the wall. It had to be from the sides. They must be watching from the east and west walls.'
Quentin glanced to his left for a moment and then proceeded towards the wall.
Something about this part of the room felt weird to Quentin. Earlier, when he was inspecting the room, he had noticed a slight, minute difference in temperature at this exact point. And that was why he opted to check this side out first.
Quentin turned around and headed for the North Wall. When he came up to the wall, he knocked on it this time around instead of just touching it. It was rock solid.
The same applied to the walls in the west and the south.
He had gone full circle and was right back at the eastern front. He knocked once, twice, and just as he deduced, it was hollow.
Outside, Gallows watched with immense interest as Quentin tapped on the fake wall. Seeing him up close, he was magnificent to look at. He realised how tall and muscular he was. His pecs stood firm and his abs rock solid.
If he had been born up here in the Inferno realm, without a doubt he'd had made it into the 3rd or 4th circle as a fierce warrior or a guild captain.
Gallows was unable to take any action until his senior arrived. All he could do was watch as the man tensed up his muscles, and with a sudden burst of action, he struck the wall.
From Quentin's perspective, nothing significantly changed when he punched the wall, but now he was certain that the other side of the wall was hollow, and that was all he needed to know.
Taking a few steps back, Quentin channelled all the training that was ingrained in him; he took a few deep breaths and struck the wall again.
He'd be lying if he said he wasn't shocked by the entire ordeal.
When he first woke up, he had not noticed any differences. Everything was exactly the way he remembered. There were two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and two functional sets of hands and legs. Exactly how it was meant to be.
But as he was hitting the wall, he discovered a new revelation. He was stronger; he wasn't sure to what degree, but now that he needed to channel his strength, he realised with assurance that it wasn't like before.
He struck the wall again, and again, again. His bruised hand leaving red spots on the snowy white wall.
When Quentin threw the first punch, Gallows watched with amusement.
He was initially impressed at the young man's ability to decode 'what was where' in the room, but now his amusement had morphed into astonishment.
He watched Quentin strike the wall once, twice, thrice, his intensity growing with each blow, but now the window panel was beginning to show signs of wear.
Chipping at the edges with cracks appearing at different places.
As if reading Gallows' thoughts, the glass trembled once more. Quentin, who was striking with such ferocity, was confident that his challenging task was finally bearing fruit.
The observation area opened, and a lady stepped in. Gallows greeted her with a courteous bow as she approached the glass panel.
Her face, visibly shocked at what she saw. Blood was dripping down the hands of the person she had rushed in to see, and the expensive and, according to the installer, 'super hard and durable' glass she had purchased was almost completely destroyed.
And to crown it all, the young man was lining up for another hit.
CRACK
The glass finally chipped as shards fell to the ground. It was pretty obvious it wasn't going to hold any further.
"Let him out of there this very instant!" She yelled at Gallows, who was spooked to the boots at the veracious way his boss spoke.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do! This has literally never happened before."
Inside the holding chamber, Quentin was finally hearing voices that belonged to other people.
'Yup, I hear chattering. Too bad I can't properly make out what they're saying. But one thing is sure: there are folks on the other side of this wall.'