Chapter Text
Three was numb. Their back felt stiff from lying against the hard stone floor as they gazed mindlessly up at the blank ceiling they had become unwantedly accustomed to. By this point three had memorised every intricate detail of his cell; every crack in the wall he had rammed his fist into, every dent in the bars he had frantically clawed at for a hopeless chance of escape. The entirety of their prison sickened them, but the ceiling seemed to be the least awful part of it, so they decided to look at the roof for the foreseeable future. It's not like they had anything else to do. The blank nothingness of the ceiling comforted him; staring into the dark void let him imagine he was someplace else, and if he really focused and closed his eyes, he could get rid of the uncomfortable sensation of the cold stone floor and imagine the soft grass of the equation playground beneath him - if only for a moment. But that illusion was always soon broken as the chill of the icy cold cell pierced Three’s skin and the solid stone harshly rubbed against his back.
As Three spent more grueling time isolated from the outside world, it got harder and harder to remember the details of his life before. Whenever they tried to submerge themselves in the false illusion of the equation playground, details of faces became more blurred and distorted with time, like an old record. Sometimes Three found it difficult to even remember his own face. From time-to-time they tried glimpsing their reflection in the damaged metal of the iron bars, but their features appeared warped and fragmented like looking through a kaleidoscope.
Strangely, even though large portions of his life faded into incomplete memories, there were some obscure details that stuck in his mind, clear as day, like how his friend Two always carried the sweet aroma of freshly baked cake wherever they went, and how his friend One’s eyes seemed to glimmer in the sunlight, highlighting her pupil’s specks of blue and gold. Three was scared of losing these memories the most.
He was already getting sick of the feeling of firm rock underneath him, so he slowly raised himself from the ground, his back aching in protest. It made sense why his body ached, he could have been lying in that same spot for minutes, hours, days, even years. Three had given up on keeping track of time long ago. There were still remnants of faded scratches on the walls where they had attempted to count the days they were stuck here, which was more than difficult considering there was no way of knowing if it was day or night.
Suddenly, Three was caught off guard by a cacophony of sound from outside his cell. Instinctively they scurried to the darkest corner of their prison, curling themselves into a ball and shutting their eyes in the hopes they weren't spotted. He tried to quell the panic building inside of him by taking slow, deep breaths. They could already hear the mocking insults.”This is where you belong, pest. Alone.” “You’re filthy, you know that? You disgust me.”. But as they waited expectantly in terrified silence, those insults never came.
Confused, he opened his eyes that were just about ready to prick with tears, and gazed out of his cell, and what greeted him was shocking. Instead of who they thought was going to be there, there stood three objects. No sharp, blue claws or menacing eyes. None of them seemed to spot him as one, which appeared to be a matchstick, muttered something Three couldn’t make out to her companions and opened his cell door, quickly gazed around, and walked off down the corridor. All that Three could do was gawk and stare with undisguised shock. Just like that, the door was open. After all this torment, they were free. Free of this eternal torture. Free of this hell hole.
Slowly and shakily they stood up and gingerly placed one foot in front of the other, their stiff bones aching with effort. Every step he took he was closer and closer to escape. To freedom. It felt unreal. Like some strange fantasy they conjured up in their wildest imagination. They could finally see their friends again. See One and Two again.
He must have been only an inch away from the door to the outside when they abruptly stopped dead in their tracks. He felt his body tense up, paralysed with fear. He tried to will his body forward, but his legs were glued to the ground. Because deep down he knew in the very fibre of his being, the minute he stepped one foot outside of his cell, he would know. He would find him. He would hurt him. Three could imagine their flesh being torn away by sharp claws and teeth, their skin singed by blue lasers. They couldn’t leave. They just couldn’t. No matter how much he despised his life here, leaving his prison meant facing the wrath of him. And they would be locked away again, in probably worse conditions. His escape would be pointless. Over the seemingly endless time he had been imprisoned, he had learnt that being obedient and compliant meant less suffering for him. Shutting his mouth and doing what he’s told like a good prisoner always had the best outcome. At least, that's what he had told them.
Even though his desires were screaming at him to sprint out the door, and run as fast as he could to who-knows-where, Three shakily reached out a quivering hand and gripped it around the cold, steel handle of the door. He ignored his innate instinct to escape and willed the heavy metal door towards him, and with a creak, the door slammed shut.
He didn’t know for how long, but Three cried. A lot. The minute they closed the doorway they crumpled to the floor and sobbed desperate, wet tears into their hands. With every sob he felt his body shudder with misery. He was so close to escape. To have the one thing he craved since the second he was locked up. He wanted nothing more than to leave, but he also knew he couldn’t leave. The thought of escape terrified him as much as it appealed to him.
Eventually, he managed to suppress his emotions into the recesses of his mind and calm himself down. They wiped the tears from their eyes and gazed solemnly at nowhere in particular. The same numbness he had felt for maths-knows-how-long set in again as he let out a defeated sigh and let the deafening silence consume him.
However, this silence was soon broken as three heard loud footsteps pierce the air and vibrate against the ground. Someone was coming. And unfortunately for Three, it was the one person, or should I say number, that they dreaded the most. A blue figure strode into view directly in front of Three’s cell, his fingers like daggers, his eyes cold and unfeeling.
It was him. Four.