There's a line up pain slowly raising up his back, going up further and further. It hits his ribs and makes it harder to breath. Dokja is wheezing at this point.
The pain threads up his spine like a needle going through the muscles and wrapping thread around it. It comes and goes in waves, going from sharp stabbing to dull throbbing. A needle going in and out, dragging string across his blazing nerves when it's not stabbing through them. He can even imagine it purely based off of the feeling. In and out. Pulling, dragging. In and out. Pulling, dragging.
"D-Dokja! Something doesn't feel right!"
It's making him sort of sleepy, the repetitiveness of the motions. In and out. Pulling, dragging. There's- He thinks there's something else, another feeling there but his spine feels the most he thinks.
"Dokja! Are you there?!"
He's... Where is he? Dokja tries to look around but he finds his eyes closed and it's a herculean task to open them again. It hurts.
A sudden throbbing overtakes his head as a red drenched room is shown before him. His ears aren't working. They hurt too. He can't really hear very well, everything is muffled. Had his ears been sewn up too?
In and out. Pulling, dragging-
Focusing in on what he can see since he can't hear, he sees-
He sees his mother standing over an incomprehensible figure laying on the floor. Everything is tinted red, but there is a pure red liquid seeping into the floor under the body. He knows where he is. He knows where this is.
He knows what this is.
His mother turns to him and it's like she's gliding forward to him. She open her chapped lips, bruises on her cheek and over one of her eyes. Her hands raise up and caress his jaw.
"Dokja-"
[Exclusive skill 'The Fourth Wall' is activated]
[You have become immune to the effects of 'Illusory Prison' due to your skill.]
He's no longer there. There is no pain going up his spine. His ears are not sewn shut. He is back in the subway tunnel.
In and out. Pulling, dragging.
[Exclusive skill 'The Fourth Wall' stabilizes]
'Wow... I see.' Dokja grimaces, gritting his teeth. The uncomfortable feeling of sweat running down the side of his face nearly makes him shiver. Bright lines of electricity flash in the air around him, a shocking blue.
The scene is overlayed by a black background this time, white letters popping up on the screen as Dokja turns back to look at the others in his group.
[Illusory Prison] is a zone that uses images of your trauma to drive you insane by showing them over and over. Even Yoo Joonghyuk would have had a hard time here. It's the most dangerous obstacle he could have faced.
"Everyone! Calm yourself and take deep breaths!" Dokja throws his arm out, looking at each of the people following him one by one.
[The Constellation 'Secretive Plotter' is impressed by your mental fortitude.]
[You have been sponsored 100 coins.]
[A curious constellation is sad that they did not get to peek into your past.]
Like hell he would have allowed that. He didn't even want to look at that. Scoffing, he watches closely to try and see if anyone was able to get out of the prison.
o0o
It's mostly dark, so very similar to the ground rat tunnels, but there's a small sliver of light filtering in somewhere behind where they are being shown. In front of them is a familiar kid, short black hair and a white T-shirt that has shown up quite a few times.
In the little light shining in this spot, Dokja is curled up on the floor under hung up clothes. The clothes look distorted and longer than they should be considering they look exactly like the clothes he's wearing currently. He looks no older than six, though he is probably older than that. He looks younger just being curled up like that either way.
He's- he's not quite quiet, there's tiny hiccups and sniffles that the kid can't entirely muffle, but he's trying his hardest. Little Dokja's hands are pressing against his own mouth hard enough for his knuckles to be white. There are tears streaming down his cheeks, coming from dull eyes that are unfocused and staring at nothing.
The screen suddenly switches to looking at the closet doors that are cracked open slightly. The room beyond the doors isn't fully visible, but it's clear the light is coming from somewhere outside a window. It's too soft to be from an overhead light.
The room looks about normal for a child, a small bed shoved up in one of the corners and there's a dresser right in line with the closet. It would be just a normal room if not for the lamp on the ground with a broken light bulb. There's glass shard on the floor that are shining in the outside light.
They sort of look like stars on the hard floor.
The soft light starts to bleed red, still looking like it's from outside. The slats in the closet door do nothing to block the light from getting into the closet. The sound of a door opening out of view screeches in the room, interrupting the peaceful silence. The closet isn't so dark as the opening door lets in more red light.
A figure, completely blacked out with not a deciding feature on display, walks into the room. It carefully edges around the glass on the floor, making it's way to the bed. It crouches down slowly and reaches a hand under to feel around under there. A haunting voice calls out to shatter the comforting silence. "Dokja-"
The voice cracks and the figure coughs. She, for all her voice was hoarse it was definitely feminine, taps around a bit longer but stands when she finds nothing. The figure turns to the closet. She walks forward.
The scene turns back to the tiny Dokja, now completely quiet as he watches and waits. The red light filters in through the cracks in the closet door as he scrunches up further and curls back even more into the clothes. No matter how long they are, they don't cover him at all.
A shadow caused by the figure blocking the light falls over Dokja's face, hiding his fright from the screen and leaving his expression unseen in the darkness. The doors of the closet open and more of the light pours in. The shadow gets bigger as the figure gets closer. Her voice echoes as the last thing heard.
"There you are, Dokja."
o0o
The truth stood behind him, staring on as he handed everyone something prettier. The truth, harsh and upset, wondered why he never gave them to anyone. Why they sit behind his teeth as he spill pretty lies to the people he loves.
"No matter how much they say they want you, they don't." Dokja tells them, cold and dead eyes staring on blankly. He uses his own body to shield his companions from the truth as he makes a statement set in stone. "I would never hand them so ugly."
Notes: a