No Way Out

Chapter 18: Memory

Chapter 18: Memory

Honey’s P.O.V.

Xhena's hand trembled slightly as she gripped the cold, metallic knob of door number 11. The fluorescent lights above cast long, distorted shadows, making the already unsettling hallway feel even more oppressive. A thick silence hung in the air, broken only by the frantic thump of my own heart.

"Let's g-," Xhena began, her voice thin and reedy with a fear I mirrored.

But the rest of her sentence was swallowed whole by a deafening BANG! The sound reverberated through the sterile room, a violent punctuation mark on the suffocating quiet. The air itself seemed to vibrate.

We froze, each of us a statue carved from dread. The metallic tang of gunpowder instantly filled our nostrils, acrid and sickening. Time seemed to stretch, each fragmented second an eternity.

Then, with a sickening thud, Xhena’s body collapsed, a marionette with severed strings. She crumpled to the ground like a discarded doll, her lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

"N-no, Xhena!" Brittle choked out, her voice strangled a whisper. Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling a sob that ripped through the silence. I saw the raw, unfiltered horror etched on her face.

My own mind struggled to process the reality

Xhena… gone? Just like that?

The brutal swiftness of it was horrifying. Her life, snuffed out in an instant.

"L-let's go," I managed to stammer, the words feeling foreign and clumsily formed. I forced myself to break the paralysis, but my legs felt like lead.

"Paano siya?" Brittle asked, her voice thick with tears, pointing a trembling finger at Xhena's still form.

A crimson pool was already spreading on the cold, unforgiving floor, staining the sterile cleanliness with the vibrant, undeniable evidence of death. A perfect, horrifying hole marred her forehead, the point of entry for the bullet that had stolen her life.

"Wala na tayong magagawa. We need to leave her there," I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

It was a cruel, brutal decision, but survival demanded it. I forced myself to turn away, to walk, to breathe. I pushed past the crushing guilt and the instinctive urge to help, to do something. I had to.

I was the first to step into room 11, the doorway now a morbid frame for Xhena's death.

"Damn it!" I heard Ylique curse behind me, the sound sharp with frustration and grief.

Inside, the room was stark and unsettlingly bare. In the center, mounted on some kind of crude, makeshift stand, was a rifle. It was clear now. The contraption was designed to fire automatically. Any unsuspecting soul who opened the door would trigger the mechanism, becoming an instant victim.

"Ayoko na rito," Brittle whispered, her voice cracking. "Ayoko ng bumukas ng pinto," she added, her eyes wide and haunted. She was teetering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack, and I couldn't blame her.

"What will happen if we stay here?" Ylique asked, her voice low and cautiously controlled. Her eyes darted around the room, assessing.