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Malik's body ached with every movement, his muscles stiff and strained from hours of confinement. The cold, damp air of the basement seeped into his bones, chilling him to the core. His wrists were raw and bloody from the constant friction of the ropes, and his head throbbed with a relentless ache. He hadn’t slept in what felt like days, the oppressive darkness making it impossible to distinguish between night and day. The absence of sunlight, of any sense of time, made the hours blur together in a never-ending cycle of fear and exhaustion.
His mind wasn’t faring much better. Thoughts raced uncontrollably, careening from one desperate idea to the next as he tried to make sense of his situation. Anxiety gnawed at him, a relentless force that threatened to swallow him whole. He felt the walls closing in on him, the air growing thicker and more suffocating with each passing moment. The isolation, the uncertainty—it all weighed on him, pushing him closer to the brink of madness.
But through it all, that single crack in the wall remained in the back of his mind, a beacon of hope that kept him from slipping into complete despair. It was small, barely more than a hairline fracture in the foundation of the basement, but it represented something far more significant to Malik. It was a possibility, a chance at escape, no matter how slim. It was a reason to keep going, to keep fighting, even as his body and mind screamed for relief.
He had to be careful, though. Maya was unpredictable, and Malik knew better than to underestimate her. He couldn’t afford to arouse her suspicion, couldn’t let her see the determination that flickered in his eyes whenever she came down to taunt him. He needed to play the part, to act broken and defeated, even as he secretly plotted his escape.
His first priority was to find something he could use to widen the crack in the wall. The basement was cluttered with old tools and debris, much of it rusted and decayed from years of neglect. Malik began searching through the piles of junk whenever he was alone, his fingers sifting through the dirt and dust in the dim light. He had to be silent, cautious, every movement deliberate to avoid drawing attention.
After what felt like hours of searching, he found a small, rusted crowbar buried beneath a pile of rubble. It was old, the metal corroded and weak in places, but it was better than nothing. Malik hid the crowbar beneath a loose floorboard, careful to cover his tracks so Maya wouldn’t notice anything amiss. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Malik's mind worked feverishly, planning his next move. He couldn’t attack the wall head-on; it would make too much noise and take too long. Instead, he would chip away at it slowly, over time, each day making just a little more progress. It would be tedious and exhausting, but it was the only way. He needed to stay patient, to keep his focus on the end goal no matter how hopeless it seemed.
Each time Maya left him alone, Malik would retrieve the crowbar and work on the crack, prying at the edges, widening it bit by bit. The work was slow and grueling, the rusted metal often slipping from his grasp or bending under pressure. But Malik persevered, his hands shaking from fatigue and hunger, his mind singularly focused on the task at hand.
