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Four years elapsed in the blink of an eye, marked by a tapestry of memories—some joyous, others steeped in sorrow. At 17, Jisung and I found ourselves navigating the treacherous waters of adolescence, while Minho, now in his twenties, assumed the role of our steadfast guide.
True to Jisung's wish, we all adopted nicknames—J.One for Jisung, Lee Know for Minho, though my monikers for them remained simple: "squirrel" and "cutie" for Minho. As for me, nicknames were an unpredictable, spontaneous creation, reflective of the unpredictable nature of our lives.
Survival in this prison had become routine, but today was different. In the clandestine hours of 1 a.m., we convened at our secret hideout to strategize our escape. Pebbles skipped over the fence and landed in the serene lake, a stark contrast to the urgency of our discussion.
"How are you actually going to do this? We have to plan seriously. One wrong move, and that's the end of our lives," I implored, my eyes reflecting the seriousness of the situation.
Minho, in his habitual form as a black cat, lounged on Jisung's lap. "Has anyone even tried escaping before?" All eyes turned to Minho, the seasoned prisoner. Shifting back into human form, he revealed, "Yes, someone has escaped before, and no, they didn't make it out alive."
Confusion gripped us. How could an escape lead to death? Minho's muttering about having a "bunch of stupid people" invited a pebble to his arm and a laugh from Jisung.
"That hurts!!... Like I told you two before, no guard is here from around 11 till 5 a.m., and our cells are never locked up at nighttime. Anyone could escape easily like that, but the problem is the trackers."
A collective touch to our necks brought back painful memories of the first day in prison. Minho explained, "The thing they implanted through our necks is what causes death. When morning comes, and they realize a child is missing, all they have to do is push a button, and dead goes the child. Blown up."
Jisung, panicked, bombarded Minho with questions about disabling the tracker. "Do you know how to disable this thing?!"
"Calm your stupid round ass down first," Minho retorted. "Yes, of course, I know. They have this controller, and only two of them exist. Remember that before being sent here; you will be questioned by these two men. Only they have the controller for it."
"B-But they barely came to visit here."
My mind raced, formulating a plan. "Unless... I cause another mayhem."
Their attention turned to me, urging me to elaborate on my idea. "Remember what happened on the day I killed Van and his group. They both came to visit and see the situation. They were even there when I was sent to that room."
"That's a head start, kid. But I'm not letting you be tortured any longer," Minho declared.
"That isn't important, Minnie. If you and Jisung both get the controller from these two, we can escape—no more torture. I just have to endure it for a while."
"She's got a point," Minho admitted.
Silence hung in the air as we waited for Minho, the de facto leader, to express his thoughts. "Three days... After three days during dinner. Be mentally prepared," he finally declared, walking off. His words were not just directed at me, but at himself as well—a reminder of his promise to shield me from further suffering.
Jisung offered a small smile before following Minho, offering comfort to his friend. Lying back on the cold floor, staring up at the sky, I whispered a silent prayer to every star, hoping that our escape would unfold safely, free from the clutches of the prison that had defined our existence for far too long.
