Scene 19: "The unreachable"
Time: 5:26 AM
Location: Corridor outside communal bathroom
Glenn and Jacob walked side by side down the sterile white corridor, their gray uniforms blending into the institutional monotony. Jacob's hands moved animatedly as he spoke, his voice gaining confidence with each word.
"...and the Omega-tier Warlock can literally do everything, man. Shielding, healing, space warping..."
Glenn kept his eyes forward, but his mind was elsewhere. Jacob had been like this for the past two days. Comfortable. Talkative. The stutter was almost gone, appearing only in moments of excitement rather than constant anxiety.
How is he this okay? Glenn thought. Days ago, he was broken. Couldn't look anyone in the eye. Now he's explaining card game mechanics like we're old friends.
Something wasn't right. People didn't recover this fast. Not here. Not in this place.
"...basically unstoppable in the right hands," Jacob continued, grinning. "The artwork on the card is insane too. They gave him these, like, cosmic eyes that..."
"Can he beat the, uh..." Glenn interrupted, searching his memory for the terms Jacob had mentioned earlier. "The seven demons you were talking about?"
Jacob's smile faltered slightly. His eyes darted to the side, and for the first time in their conversation, the stutter returned.
"Th-The Seven Deadly Sins or the Seven Princes of Hell?"
Glenn shrugged. "Uhmmm... both?"
Jacob's hands stilled. He took a breath, his fingers twitching slightly as he organized his thoughts.
"The Warlock alone can't beat the Sins. Especially not the Princes. They're, like, on a completely different power scale. But it's—"
He didn't finish.
The communal bathroom door burst open ahead of them, and a figure stumbled out.
Anthony.
He moved like a wounded animal, his steps jerky and uneven, his breathing loud and ragged even from a distance. His eyes were wide, unfocused, staring at nothing.
Glenn's instincts flared immediately.
Something's wrong.
"Hey," Glenn called out, his voice sharp. "Hey."
Anthony didn't respond. He walked right past them, his chest heaving, hands trembling violently at his sides.
Glenn stepped into his path and grabbed his arm.
"Anthony—"
Anthony's head snapped toward him.
His eyes were bloodshot, the whites streaked with red veins like cracked glass. His pupils were dilated, unfocused, darting between Glenn's face and something Glenn couldn't see. His breathing was rapid, shallow, desperate—hyperventilating.
His lips moved, but no sound came out.
Glenn's grip tightened on Anthony's arm. His voice dropped, low and urgent.
"What did you see?"
Anthony's mouth opened wider. His chest heaved once, twice—
His eyes rolled back.
His knees buckled.
Glenn caught him before he hit the ground, his arms looping under Anthony's shoulders. The boy's full weight sagged against him, dead and limp.
"Shit—"
"Wuh-wuh What happened?! Is he okay?! Did he just... Did he—"
Jacob's voice spiraled into incoherent panic, his words tumbling over each other as he stared at Anthony's unconscious body.
Glenn lowered Anthony gently to the floor, one hand cradling his head. His pulse was there, faint but steady. His breathing had evened out, though his face was pale, clammy with sweat.
Glenn looked up at Jacob.
"Go get the guards."
Jacob didn't move. He stood frozen, staring at Anthony's limp form, his hands hovering uselessly in the air.
"Jacob," Glenn said, his voice calm but firm.
Jacob didn't respond.
"JACOB!"
Jacob flinched violently, his head snapping toward Glenn. His eyes were wide, glassy.
Glenn repeated, slower this time. "Go. Get. The guards."
Jacob nodded frantically, his head bobbing up and down like a broken toy.
"Y-Yeah. Yeah. On it."
He turned and ran, his footsteps echoing loudly down the corridor.
Glenn watched him go, then turned his attention back to Anthony. He pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, checking his pulse again.
Still there. Still steady.
He heard the rapid slap of Jacob's shoes against the tile as he sprinted down the corridor.
Slap-slap-slap-slap—
Until—
Silence.
Glenn frowned.
That's not right.
The footsteps had been loud. Clear. Echoing. They should still be audible, fading gradually into the distance. But they'd cut off abruptly, like someone had slammed a door on the sound.
Glenn turned his head, looking in the direction Jacob had gone.
The corridor stretched ahead of him, long and white and empty.
No Jacob.
No guards.
No one.
Glenn's pulse quickened. He looked the other way. Empty. He spun in a full circle, scanning every visible stretch of hallway.
Nothing.
No patients heading to the showers. No guards on patrol. No doctors making early rounds.
Just him. And Anthony's unconscious body.
Glenn's jaw tightened. He looked down at Anthony one more time, then back at the communal bathroom door.
His fists clenched.
He started walking.
The door didn't seem far. Maybe nine meters. Ten at most.
But after a minute of steady walking, it looked no closer.
Glenn's pace quickened. His shoes squeaked softly against the tile. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
The door remained distant.
He broke into a jog.
His breath came faster now, his heart pounding in his chest. The corridor stretched ahead of him, the door always just out of reach.
He ran.
His legs pumped hard, his arms swinging at his sides. The air felt thick, resistant, like he was pushing through water.
The door didn't move.
"Something's wrong."
Zeno's Paradoxes: The Dichotomy
In the 5th century BCE, the Greek philosopher Zeno of Elea proposed a series of paradoxes designed to challenge our understanding of motion, space, and infinity. One of the most famous is the Dichotomy Paradox.
The paradox states: That which is in locomotion must arrive at the half-way stage before it arrives at the goal.
To reach a destination, one must first travel half the distance. But before reaching that halfway point, one must travel half of that distance. And before reaching that point, one must travel half again. This process continues infinitely. Since there are infinite subdivisions, the traveler must complete an infinite number of tasks, which, according to Zeno, is impossible. Therefore, motion itself is impossible.
Mathematically, this is expressed as an infinite series:
d = 1/2 + 1/4 + 1/8 + 1/16 + ...
While this series converges to 1 (meaning the sum approaches but never exceeds the total distance), Zeno argued that completing an infinite number of steps in finite time is logically incoherent.
Modern physics resolves this using calculus and the concept of limits. The sum of an infinite convergent series can equal a finite value, and the infinite subdivisions of space and time don't prevent motion, they simply describe it more preciseley.
But what if the series doesn't converge?
What if the distance isn't divided by halves, but instead remains constant with each step?
What if, no matter how far you travel, the destination recedes at the exact rate you approach?
In simpler terms: imagine walking toward a doorway. You cover half the distance. Then half of what remains. Then half again. In theory, you should reach the door. But what if, with every step, the door moves farther away by exactly the amount you've traveled?
You would walk forever.
You would never stop moving.
And you would never arrive.
'In this instance, Glenn is the object attempting to reach the subject... but what IS the subject of the matter?'
Glenn stopped running.
His lungs burned, his legs trembled, his chest heaved with exhaustion. He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air.
He looked up.
The door was still there.
Still the same distance.
He turned slowly, looking behind him.
The corridor stretched endlessly in both directions. White tile. Fluorescent lights. No doors. No intersections. No windows.
Just infinite, featureless hallway.
"What the hell is happening?"
His voice echoed, but it sounded wrong. Flattened. Absorbed.
DING.
The sound cut through the silence like a blade.
Glenn's head snapped to the left, toward the direction the communal bathroom door had been.
CLICK-CLACK.
The mechanical rhythm of a clock.
DING.
He turned slowly, looking behind him.
The corridor stretched endlessly in that direction too.
No door. No exit. No Jacob. No Anthony.
Just white walls and fluorescent lights and the sound of the clock that didn't exist.
"Fuuuuck mee..." he whispered, his voice barely audible.
He was alone.
Completely alone.
"Glenn..."
The voice was faint. Distant. But unmistakably hers.
Glenn's breath caught. He spun around, scanning the empty corridor.
"Glenn..."
It was closer now. Echoing softly, like it was coming from inside his own head.
And then—
The corridor vanished.
Glenn blinked.
He was sitting in a chair.
The room was small, painted a soft green. A wooden desk sat in front of him, papers neatly stacked on one side, a potted plant on the other. The air smelled faintly of lavender.
Across from him, seated in a matching chair, was Dr. Cornelius West.
She held a pen in one hand, a notebook open on her lap. Her brown eyes were fixed on him, warm but analytical.
"Glenn?"
Glenn gasped softly, his eyes darting around the room. The desk. The plant. The diplomas on the wall.
Dr. West's consultation room.
"You here with me, Glenn?" she asked gently, tilting her head slightly.
Glenn's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Y-Yes," he stammered, his voice uncertain. "I'm... here?"
Even as he said it, he wasn't sure if it was true.
Dr. West smiled, the kind of smile that was supposed to be reassuring but felt rehearsed.
"Okay," she said, clicking her pen. "Tell me about yourself."
Glenn stared at her, his mind still reeling. The corridor. The door. The clock.
How did I get here?
"Glenn?"
He blinked. "I... uh... What?"
"Tell me about yourself, your childhood."