Ogologos High — School Building
8.15 AM, 13/04
The hallway stretched before Cacey like a sterilized tunnel—cleaner than any hospital she'd ever seen. White beams buzzed just above the edge of hearing, and the floor shone like glass. Too clean. Too controlled.
The walls shimmered faintly with smart-paint that supposedly adapted to "student mood."
She didn't believe that.
This place didn't adapt. It judged.
Above her, digital signs pulsed with quiet authority:
LEVEL 2 – TEACHER ACCESS ONLY
STUDENT PASS REQUIRED
LATE IS A VIOLATION
Commandments dressed as directions.
She kept walking, surrounded by uniformed students who barely glanced her way. Every hallway looked the same—clinical, pristine, maze-like. After the third turn, she realized she was lost.
Cacey tapped a nearby girl on the shoulder.
"Hey, sorry—where's the teachers' lounge?"
The girl blinked. First-year. Her badge color gave her away.
She said nothing, just pointed left like a glitchy robot and turned back to whatever task she'd been assigned by whatever invisible system ran this place.
"Thanks…" Cacey muttered, half to herself.
Above her, a small camera swiveled in silence.
She didn't see it.
But she felt it.
That low, slithering prickle crawling up the back of her neck.
Just security, she told herself. A good thing... right?
Still, something felt off. The air buzzed, heavy with static. Like someone had wrapped the whole building in copper wire and plugged it into a lie detector.
As she passed a row of embedded display panels, they flicked on automatically:
SCHOOL HONORS – Top Performers
CODE VIOLATIONS – Updated Every Hour
UNIFORM INFRACTIONS – Live Penalty Feed
Her lip curled.
There wasn't a single joke. No laughter. No small talk. Just the hush of synchronized footsteps and the faint, mechanical click of heels that didn't sound like walking—they sounded like obedience.
The students passed like wind-up dolls. Even the messy ones looked like they'd been curated.
Creepy doesn't even begin to cover it.
She finally reached a frosted-glass door labeled:
FACULTY LOUNGE – AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED
Cacey pulled out the ID mailed to her a week before. Pressed it against the scanner.
The door hissed open.
Inside, a middle-aged woman with a long jet black hair and sharper eyes looked up from a clipboard.
"Yes?"
"Cacey Summers," she said, stepping in. "I'm supposed to check in with my homeroom teacher before first period?"
The woman—Ms. Mei Lind, according to the nameplate—flicked through a thin file. Her mouth twitched in what might've been a smile.
"The transfer student…" she murmured, eyes skimming a page. "Good grades."
She glanced up. "Why'd you transfer?"
Cacey tilted her head, giving a dry smile. "Let's just say… the girls at my last school weren't fans."
Ms. Lind gave a noise—half-cough, half-laugh. "Well. Stay out of trouble here. That's all that matters."
She closed the file and stood. "With those grades, you'll find your place. A place where you belong."
Cacey nodded.
Maybe this year will be different.
She didn't really believe it though. Her silent scoff spoke her mind. But saying it helped. At least for now.
She'd learned the hard way—teacher promises were like vending machines: full of empty calories.
"Come on," said Ms. Lind, walking out. "We're late."
Cacey followed. The door began to shut just as she reached it—then swished back open…
…right into someone walking in.
"I—I'm so sorry," said the boy, bowing quickly.
His voice—it was familiar.
Too familiar.
Ugh. Him again? Seriously?
It was the boy from the front gate.
His apology sounded overly polite, like a bad actor rehearsing humility. Her skin prickled. Her jaw tightened.
Still, she kept her voice even. "It's okay, I'm at fault too, I'm sorry…" she said, stepping past.
Her thoughts were less generous.
His type… act all soft. And then show their fangs when you least expect it.
The thought clung to her like something wet and crawling. An octopus wrapping around her ankles.
"What're doing there, Cacey Summers?" The teacher called her. She had already walked quite far. She was looking back with a face that said, Hurry up student… I don't have all day!
The girl turned her back toward the boy and ran and caught up with Ms. Lind.
The hallway felt narrower now. Like the walls had shifted inward by an inch.
This school feels alive.
And not in a good way.
Meanwhile…
At the other end of the corridor, Tom moved like a shadow, following the girl walking before her… from very far…
You don't know when they will say, I stalked her…
They do that quite often… even if you stay miles away… you're always in their radar…
Shoulder to the wall. Eyes down. Gliding through the student tide without touching anyone.
The lights overhead hummed too loud. The floor sparkled too bright. Every student he passed looked like a poster child—perfect smiles, perfect hair, perfect masks.
It felt like watching inmates perform happiness while the cell doors closed behind them.
These guys can be dangerous…
they look docile before authority but behind their back they are the predators…
angry and hungry carnivores…
Tom shuddered… I don't even want to remember those days…
He shook his head as if he was trying to forget his trauma.
He kept his head low. Scanning for threats.
Athletic boys. Loud girls. Predators in pretty uniforms.
All dangerous.
The surveillance camera above gave a faint click as it moved.
His pulse spiked.
That one moved…
I swear… it moved!
He kept walking. Shirt soaked beneath his jacket. Breathing fast, shallow.
Vision fuzzed at the edges.
He was slipping.
Not yet… not… yet…
Just find the homeroom teacher…and get out of this creepy hallway…
He spotted a map screen above the next door. Lifted his head—
—and slammed straight into someone walking out.
His bag hit the ground with a dull thump.
"I—I'm so sorry!" he said, bowing instinctively. "My fault!"
The girl stepped back.
"It's okay," she said.
Her voice was flat. Cold.
She walked away without a glance.
Tom straightened slowly. Eyes wide.
The girl from the gate… again?
Why is it her…?
Why do I keep running into the one person I desperately want to avoid?
Tom stood in the hallway, frozen.
His hands trembled.
So… her name was Cacey.
And she'd said sorry.
But it meant nothing.
They always say that. Always say "sorry."
Doesn't mean they won't cut you the moment you turn your back.
The bell rang. Not a chime—a ping. Cold and metallic, like a needle behind the eyes.
Students shifted in perfect sync. Turned. Walked. No talking.
He picked up his bag and walked inside the lounge area.
Inside, a tall, lean man in his thirties sat behind a desk, flipping through a clipboard. Didn't look up.
Tom swallowed. "I—I'm here for homeroom check-in."
The man glanced down. His brow creased.
"This can't be right," he muttered.
Then slapped the clipboard down.
"Who let you in?"
Tom flinched. "My father… enrolled me. Last week."
The man grunted. "Figures."
He didn't say anything else. Just stood. Started walking.
Didn't even look back.
Tom hesitated.
Was he supposed to follow?
The man reached the door. Paused.
"What are you waiting for?"
Tom jolted. "Sorry. I just…"
He hurried after him.
The teacher muttered something under his breath. Tom didn't catch it.
Didn't need to.
The tone was enough.
Probably cursing me.
Tom lowered his eyes.
Shoulders curled in.
Like someone already sentenced.
His first day had barely begun—
And already, it felt like a trap.