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      "The world is grown so bad, that wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch."

- Shakespeare

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The cold, sterile light of the confinement cell hummed with a faint buzz, a sound so constant that it became part of the very air. The walls, a pale, unfeeling gray, were unblemished by any trace of human touch, devoid of any mark that would suggest someone had lived here, suffered here. The room was small, more of a cage than a cell, with only the most basic of furnishings: a metal bed bolted to the floor, a narrow table, and a single chair.

Kororo sat on the bed, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around them in a gesture of self-comfort. Her eyes, dark and inscrutable, stared at nothing in particular, lost in a world of thoughts that spiraled endlessly in her mind. The silence in the room was oppressive, a thick blanket that smothered any hope of escape.

The door to the cell opened with a soft hiss, and a man in a white coat stepped inside. He was tall, with graying hair and a face lined with years of experience, his eyes weary but sharp. Dr. Antoniev, the psychologist assigned to Kororo's case, was a man who had seen the darkest corners of the human psyche, and yet there was something in Kororo that unsettled him, something he couldn't quite put into words.

He took the chair and sat down across from her, placing his notebook on the table. "Kororo," he began, his voice calm, measured. "How are you feeling today?"

Kororo didn't respond immediately. Her eyes slowly drifted toward him, as if she were only just realizing he was there. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost ethereal. "I feel... nothing. The world out there, it's grown so bad. Even the smallest, most insignificant creatures make prey of what once ruled the skies."

He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. "What do you mean by that, Kororo?"

Her lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "The world is upside down, Doctor. The wrens—the weak, the small—they feast on the remnants of eagles. It's no longer about strength or power; it's about survival at any cost. Morality, honor, those are luxuries no one can afford anymore."

He scribbled a note, his pen scratching the surface of the paper. "And how do you fit into this world you describe?"

"I don't," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm the darkness that they fear, the shadow that waits in the corners of their minds. But even shadows grow weary in a world that no longer understands what it means to be afraid."

The doctor frowned slightly. "You see yourself as a predator, then? Something to be feared?"

Kororo's smile widened, but it was a cold, mirthless thing. "I'm a survivor, Doctor. Fear is just a tool, like any other. It's the wrens who have learned to use it, to turn it against those who once held power. But I..." She trailed off, her eyes glazing over as if she were looking into some distant, unseen place. "I am the void that consumes them all in the end."

The psychologist studied her for a long moment, his thoughts racing. Kororo was unlike any patient he had ever encountered. There was a darkness in her, a deep well of something he couldn't quite define. And yet, there was also a strange clarity, a sharpness of mind that cut through the murk of her words.

"Kororo," he said carefully, "do you ever think about what lies beyond this darkness you speak of? Is there any light in your world?"

Her gaze sharpened, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him almost flinch. "Light?" she repeated, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "There's no light, Doctor. Only the false dawn that lures you into a deeper night. The world is too far gone for light to matter anymore."