"Please, let me eat more," one woman begged desperately.
"You can't," Zayn replied firmly. "You've already had your ration for today, and we don't even know how long we're going to be trapped here."
The woman's shoulders sagged as she retreated, her stomach growling audibly.
Others glanced at her, their thin faces showing a mix of sympathy and resignation.
Hunger clawed at all of them, a constant reminder of their dwindling resources and uncertain future.
His fingers drummed against his knee. He hated being the enforcer, but someone had to make the hard calls.
They had been trapped here close to a month, and their food was nearly depleted. If they started giving in to desperation, they wouldn't last for two more days.
"Sir…," another voice called out, softer this time. It was the young woman who always sat by the corner, barely speaking unless necessary.
"We need to figure out what happens if no one comes for us. You know… an escape plan."
Zayn's jaw tightened. He had been thinking about it, but no solid options had presented themselves yet.
The container was sealed tight, with only the air holes he had punched offering a hint of the outside.
"We don't have the tools or the strength to break out of here. Not yet. For now, we focus on surviving. That's our priority."
She only nodded weakly.
He could see it—hope slipping from her grasp like sand through trembling fingers.
Who could blame her? Living in this hellhole required a strength most didn't possess. If not for his own dark twisted heart, he might have lost it too.
The woman stirred beside him, her soft voice breaking the silence again.
"Do you think… they'll let us out? Or are they just waiting for us to die?"
He almost broke into a cold sweat at her words. The thought wrapped around his mind like a noose, tightening with every passing second.
'I won't lose hope.' he shook his head, forcing the fear down.
Fear was a weapon as deadly as starvation or thirst. If he let it take hold, it would destroy him—and everyone else who was counting on him to keep it together.
Still, the possibility gnawed at him. It made too much sense. The limited food, the confinement, the silence from outside.
Whoever had thrown them in here wasn't just careless—they were methodical.
This was a calculated cruelty, designed to strip away their hope bit by bit until there was nothing left.
He ran a hand down his face, trying to steady his breathing
Then it hit him. 'Cameras!'
If this was a twisted game or experiment, someone had to be watching—recording every moment to relish their suffering, treating them like livestock.
His eyes darted around the container, scanning the walls, the ceiling, even the corners where the shadows pooled.
"What are you doing?" Marie asked, her voice exhausted and tinged with curiosity.
"Checking for cameras," he muttered, barely sparing her a glance.
"What? Cameras?"
"If this is a setup, someone's watching us," he explained, continuing his search. "Think about it. If they wanted us dead, they'd have killed us already. No, this… this is different. They're observing us, seeing how far they can push us before we break."
He remembered reading an article on the Internet.
It had talked about the depravity of the super-wealthy, how some of them indulged in unspeakable hobbies—trapping humans, orchestrating life-or-death scenarios, and using their suffering as a twisted form of entertainment.
At the time, he dismissed it as conspiracy nonsense, the kind of story designed to click bait people.
But now? Standing in this godforsaken metal prison, surrounded by desperate faces and dwindling resources, it didn't seem so far-fetched.
However, after meticulously inspecting every corner of the container—feeling along the walls, peering into the cracks, and running his hands over the ceiling—he found nothing.
No cameras, no microphones, not even a small red light to show the presence of surveillance equipment.
'If they're not watching us,' Zayn thought, the idea gnawing at him like a rat in the dark, 'then what's the point of this? Are they just planning to kill us through starvation?'
Marie approached; her arms crossed tightly against her chest. "Did you find anything?"
He shook his head, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. "No. Nothing. Not a single damn thing."
"So… no cameras?"
"No cameras," he confirmed, his voice bitter.
He paused for a moment, thinking. There was one thing he hadn't checked yet—their bodies.
If cameras weren't on the walls, they could be hidden somewhere else, like under their clothing.
Taking a deep breath, he stood up straight and raised his voice.
"Everyone, stand up!"