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Behind Closed Doors

The Echo of a Ghostly Pulse

The morning after the interrogation felt like a fever dream that had broken, leaving only a lingering, uncomfortable sweat. Es stood before the massive, circular monitors in the central control room, his reflection pale and distorted in the dark glass. He hadn't slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the ghost of Yuno’s weight on his lap, the phantom pressure of her heart against his palm.

"Warden! Hey, Warden!"

The high-pitched, grating voice of Jackalope echoed through the chamber. The creature hopped onto a console, its long ears twitching with predatory amusement.

"You’ve been staring at that blank screen for twenty minutes. Are you malfunctioning? Or did Prisoner Number Two finally scramble those few circuits you have left?"

Es didn't look at him. He adjusted his hat, pulling the brim lower. "I am preparing for the second extraction, Jackalope. The data from the first trial was... complex. I am ensuring the equipment is calibrated for Yuno’s specific frequency."

"Calibrated, huh?" Jackalope let out a bark of a laugh. "Is that what they call it these days? You looked pretty 'calibrated' in that interrogation room yesterday. I saw the footage, you know. Very touching. Very... unprofessional."

Es stiffened, his fingers curling into his palms. "It was a technique. I was establishing a rapport to lower her defenses. She had been resistant to standard questioning. I needed to see the person behind the mask."

"And did you?" Jackalope leaned in, its glass-bead eyes reflecting the blue light of the monitors. "Or did you just find another mask underneath? That girl is a pro, Es. She’s been selling 'warmth' since you were in diapers—if you ever were in diapers. You’re playing with fire, and you’re the one made of paper."

"I am the Warden," Es said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "I decide what is a mask and what is the truth. Now, silence. I’m beginning the extraction."

He pressed a series of commands into the interface. The room hummed as the power surged, the massive speakers around the facility beginning to vibrate with a low-frequency thrum. On the screen, the profile for Prisoner Number 002—Kashiki Yuno—began to glow.

The extraction process was always violent in its own way. It was a psychic flaying, a forced confession set to music. As the first notes of her song began to bleed through the speakers, Es felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach.

The doors to the interrogation room hissed open. Yuno was already there, strapped into the chair, though she looked more like she was lounging in a VIP booth than being prepared for a mental autopsy. She looked up as Es entered, her eyes bright and expectant.

"Good morning, Es-kun! Did you sleep well? I had the loveliest dreams. It must have been the 'warmth' from yesterday."

Es didn't answer. He walked to the control panel beside her, his movements stiff. He could feel her gaze on him, a physical weight that made his skin itch.

"We are proceeding with the extraction of your second song," he said, his voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. "This will be a deeper dive into your psyche. Your motivations, your justifications, and the 'bothersome' truth you tried to dismiss."

Yuno’s smile didn't fade, but it sharpened. "You’re so serious today. Where’s the boy who let me sit on his lap? Was he just a ghost?"

"He was a tool," Es lied, his heart hammering against his ribs in a rhythm that felt suspiciously like hers. "This is the reality. You are a prisoner. I am your judge. The music begins now."

He slammed his hand onto the activation pad.

The world around them dissolved. The gray walls of the interrogation room melted into a kaleidoscope of neon lights, rain-slicked streets, and the hollow laughter of a thousand faceless men. The song—*Under Me*—roared to life, a sugary-sweet pop melody that hid a jagged, bitter core.

Es watched the visions flash by. He saw Yuno in a hotel room, counting stacks of yen with a bored expression. He saw her in a clinic, the white lights reflecting in her cold, empty eyes as she signed a form without hesitation. He saw the "warmth" she spoke of—it wasn't a fire; it was a radiator, something she could turn on and off at will, something she used to keep the frost of her own soul from freezing her solid.

"Look at me, Es!" Yuno’s voice echoed through the psychic landscape, overlapping with the lyrics of the song. "Is this what you wanted to see? The ugly parts? The parts that don't fit into your little 'pure' world?"

Es found himself standing in the middle of a crowded street in the vision. Yuno was there, dressed in a designer coat, looking at him with a look of profound pity.

"You think you’re better than me because you follow the rules," she said, her voice cutting through the thumping bass of the music. "But your rules are just another way to stay warm. You hide behind that hat and that authority because without them, you’re nothing. You’re just a boy who doesn't even know his own name."

"I am the Warden of Milgram!" Es shouted, though his voice felt small against the deluge of her memories. "I judge the weight of your soul! You killed a life for convenience! You discarded a human being like a piece of trash because it didn't fit your aesthetic!"

"And what are you doing to us?" Yuno stepped closer, the neon lights of the vision casting long, distorted shadows across her face. "You’re judging us to feel a sense of purpose. You’re using our sins to fill the hole where your own life should be. Who’s the real predator here, Es-kun?"

The song reached its crescendo—a frantic, desperate plea for attention masked as a nonchalant shrug. The visions blurred, the hotel rooms and the clinics merging into a singular, suffocating image of a girl standing alone in a dark room, holding a handful of melting ice.

Then, silence.

The world snapped back into focus. The interrogation room was still humid, still gray, still quiet. Yuno was slumped in her chair, her chest heaving, sweat beading on her forehead. The "Yuno" persona was gone, replaced by a raw, jagged vulnerability that made Es want to look away.

He stayed where he was, his hand still hovering over the control panel. His mind was a storm of conflicting data. The song had confirmed everything—the compensated dating, the abortion, the emotional detachment. And yet, it had shown him something else. A profound, bone-deep loneliness that no amount of money or "warmth" could ever touch.

Yuno looked up, her hair matted to her temples. She didn't smile. She didn't tease.

"Well?" she rasped, her voice cracking. "Did you get what you wanted? Was the song 'ethically questionable' enough for you?"

Es looked at her, and for a moment, he forgot about the cameras, forgot about Jackalope, and forgot about the mandates of Milgram. He saw the girl who had sat in his lap and told him she loved everyone because she didn't know how to love anyone.

"It was... illuminating," Es said softly.

He walked over to her, his movements slow. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. Yuno flinched at the touch, a genuine, instinctive reaction that she couldn't hide.

"You're not as cold as you think you are," Es whispered. "You’re just afraid that if you let the ice melt, there will be nothing left but a puddle."

Yuno closed her eyes, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on her cheek. "And what if that’s true? What if I’m just a hollow shell with a pretty face?"

"Then I’ll be the one to decide if that shell is worth keeping," Es replied.

He leaned in, his forehead touching hers, recreating the intimacy of the day before but without the pretense. The air between them was thick with the scent of the extraction—the smell of ozone and spent emotions.

"The trial isn't over, Yuno. The song is just the beginning. I have to look at the 'why' as much as the 'what.'"

"And why do you care?" Yuno asked, her eyes fluttering open. They were wide, searching, and for the first time, honest. "Why don't you just mark me 'Guilty' and move on to the next one? It would be so much easier."

Es pulled back, his expression hardening into the mask of the Warden once more. "Because that’s not my job. And because..."

He paused, the words catching in his throat. He thought of the way her heart had sounded—loud, frantic, and undeniably alive.

"Because I want to know if the warmth I felt yesterday was real. Or if I’m just another one of your clients."

Yuno let out a weak, broken laugh. "You don't have enough money to be a client, Es-kun. You’re much more expensive than that."

She reached out, her fingers grazing his gloved hand. "You’re the only one who doesn't pay me to be happy. You’re the only one who looks at me and sees the 'bothersome' parts. And for some reason... I don't want to let go of that."

Es didn't pull his hand away. He let her fingers rest against his, a fragile bridge between their two isolated worlds.

"The second trial will be difficult," he warned. "The other prisoners, the staff... they won't understand. They’ll think I’m being compromised."

"Are you?" Yuno asked, a hint of her old mischief returning to her eyes, though it was tempered by a newfound gravity.

"I am being thorough," Es corrected, though the lie felt thin even to his own ears.

He turned toward the door, his heart heavy with the weight of the secrets they now shared. He had seen the darkness inside her—the calculated indifference, the casual disposal of a life. But he had also seen the girl who was shivering in a room full of heaters, waiting for someone to notice that she was freezing.

"Get some rest, Yuno," he said, not looking back. "You’ll need your strength for the judgment."

"Es?"

He stopped, his hand on the door handle.

"The 2,500 yen for the cuddle yesterday..." She paused, and he could almost hear the smile in her voice. "I’m putting it on your tab. You can pay me back when this is all over."

"I'm not paying you, Yuno," Es muttered, but there was no bite in it.

"You already are," she whispered, so softly he almost didn't hear it.

As the door hissed shut, Es found himself back in the cold, sterile hallway of the prison. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long, lonely shadows. He adjusted his hat, his fingers lingering on the brim where she had touched it.

He was the Warden. He was the judge. He was the one who held the balance of life and death in his hands.

But as he walked away from the interrogation room, Es realized that the most dangerous thing in Milgram wasn't the murderers or the songs. It was the warmth that came from a heart that was supposed to be cold.

He had to decide her fate. He had to weigh the abortion, the lies, and the "compensated" life against the girl who had cried in the middle of a neon-lit dream.

And for the first time, Es was terrified of the verdict.

"Just a game," he whispered to the empty hallway, his voice echoing off the metal walls.

But as he felt the lingering heat of her touch on his hand, he knew that the game had changed. The pieces were moving on their own, and the rules he had relied on were crumbling like old parchment.

He reached his office and sat down, opening the files for the second trial. The screen glowed with Yuno’s face—the cheerful, carefree mask she showed the world. He looked at it for a long time, his mind racing.

"I'll find the truth," he promised the empty room. "Even if I have to burn this whole place down to see it."

In the silence of the facility, the faint, distorted melody of *Under Me* seemed to play on a loop in the back of his mind. It was a song about being used, about being discarded, and about the desperate, ugly things people do to stay warm.

Es closed his eyes, his head sinking into his hands. He was sixteen years old, a boy with no memory and a world of sins on his shoulders. And in the heart of the prison, under the watchful eyes of a mechanical rabbit and the weight of a thousand judgments, he finally understood what Yuno had meant.

The warmth didn't last. It was a temporary fever, a fleeting spark in a vast, uncaring dark.

But as he sat there in the quiet, Es decided that even if it was a lie, even if it was a transaction, he wasn't ready to go back to the cold just yet.

He would keep the fire burning, just a little longer. Even if it consumed them both.