Mid-air, suspended in the vast emptiness between ceiling and floor, Ashok twisted his torso, straining to shift his body so he could land on his feet.
But no matter how much he willed his limbs to rotate, no matter how desperately he sought control, his body refused to generate force.
He was falling—yet not truly falling.
It was a slow, unnatural descent.
He wasn't plummeting like a stone, nor drifting like a feather.
Instead, he fell like a wingless fly, helpless in the air, descending toward the floor with no means to adjust his trajectory.
The chamber's silence made the experience even more surreal, amplifying the weight of his realization.
Six seconds passed in Negative Zero—an eternity in freefall—before he neared the ground. His body drifted rather than dropped.
Just as he approached the floor, Ashok extended his hand upward, pressing his palm against the floor with careful precision.
