Chapter 5: Teeth and Consequences
Thud. Scrape. Thud
Loud footsteps echoed through the damp, poorly lit halls of the detention facility buried deep beneath Daxin City. Adam stumbled between two matrons, their grip like iron on his bruised arms. Blood dripped from his split lip and swollen nose, painting dark spots on the grimy floor. Despite the beating, a stubborn smirk clung to his face. His voice, rough but defiant, cut through the stale air.
"You know… you and the Matriarchs are really starting to grate on me. Use a guy up, toss him out like yesterday's trash…" He coughed, spitting red. "…which, fair enough, I kinda am. But still..."
CRACK.
The blonde matron's fist snapped his head sideways. Two teeth skittered across the stone floor like tiny pearls. Pain exploded in his jaw, sharp and blinding.
"Keep flappin' that tongue, maggot," the matron hissed, shaking her hand. "Might just earn yourself a one-way ticket to the Pit."
Adam tasted copper. He grinned wider, blood staining his teeth crimson. "The Pit? Sounds cozy. Warmer than your lady parts, I bet."
Silence. The other matron, a stocky woman with cold eyes, actually stepped back, a cruel smile playing on her lips. Like a kid settling in for a good show.
The blonde matron didn't speak. Her boot lashed out, a vicious kick to the back of Adam's knee. His leg folded like wet paper. He hit the floor hard, a grunt forced from his lungs. Before he could gasp, she grabbed a fistful of his long, matted hair and yanked, dragging him several feet down the corridor. Agony ripped through his scalp.
"Get up, dog!" she snarled, kicking his ribs for good measure. Her grin was pure malice now. "Change of plans. You're Pit-meat after all. Let's see how funny you are down there with the crawlers."
Adam pushed himself up, wincing. Blood trickled from his hairline. Yet, impossibly, the smile stayed. Not defiance, this time. Something colder. Calculated.
No one smiles at the Pit.
But Adam wasn't planning on seeing the Pit. Not really. This… this arrest… it wasn't just his big mouth running wild. It was the only way. The Illuminators scanned everyone entering the noble districts. Scanned for weapons, tech, disease. How do you sneak a vial of pure, weaponized Flare residue past those glowing tubes?
You don't.
You get yourself arrested down here, where security is brute force, not bio-scans. Where the real prize, the beating, rotten heart of the Matriarchy's power in Daxin, lay buried deep beneath the city, accessible only through places like… this detention block. Or the Pit itself.
The vial, small and cold, was taped high inside his thigh, under layers of grime and old scars. They'd stripped him, beaten him, but they hadn't searched there. Not thoroughly. Not yet.
"Just gotta find a crack. A loose grate. A distracted guard. Before they throw me down that hole."
The smile felt brittle now. The Pit wasn't a destination. It was oblivion. If he didn't find his chance before they reached that final door… he wasn't just dead. He was a walking corpse carrying a city-killer.
***
The rover transport's engines whined down to a grumbling idle, kicking up a final cloud of ochre dust that settled like a shroud. Silence, thick and heavy, pressed in. Sage fumbled with the latch on his harness, his fingers numb.
Outside, the landscape was a graveyard. Jagged, wind-scarred rock formations clawed at a bruised purple sky. No plants. No water. Just endless, silent desolation. Sector 7-Gamma. Unexplored. Unforgiving.
Two other armored hovers had settled nearby. Ten men spilled out, movements stiff with tension. They checked gear with practiced, silent efficiency, snapping night-vision goggles onto helmets, checking the crude flare pistols that signaled distress, a signal that was rarely answered, securing hand terminals that flickered with static-laced maps. Rescue was a fairy tale out here. Fuel was precious. Men were not.
Sage adjusted his Jalo collar for the hundredth time, the rough fabric gave him a constant itch against his sweat-slicked neck. He scanned the skeletal horizon, his heart kept hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Nothing moved. That was worse.
"Alright, listen up!" The voice cut through the stillness. A man pushed to the front, older, face like tanned leather, eyes sharp and cold. His Jalo tag glowed faintly, W-L N23. Captain. He didn't need a title. The way the others instantly froze, eyes locked on him, said it all. He crouched, drawing rough circles in the dirt with a gloved finger.
"This ain't a stroll," Captain 23 rasped, pointing a gnarled finger at the largest circle. "That cave? Our target. Unknown. Unfriendly. Probably both." He drew two more circles. "Team One: Inside. Quiet as ghosts. Find anything that ain't rock or rot, you signal. Team Two: Circle the rock face. Find any back doors, side vents, mouse holes. Seal 'em or watch 'em. Team Three: Guard this entrance. Nothing gets in or out that ain't us. Clear?"
"Yes, Captain!" Fourteen voices barked back, sharp as gunfire.
Silence followed. Captain 23's gaze swept the group, landing like a physical weight on Sage, who was staring blankly at the dirt circle representing the cave. His mind was miles away, lost in the echoing screams and monstrous shadows of his nightmare. The cave mouth in his dream had looked… hungry.
"302!"
Sage flinched violently, as if struck. His head snapped up.
"You deaf, boy? Or just stupid?" Captain 23 stood, moving towards Sage with the slow, deliberate menace of a desert cat. "You think this is some daydream zone? Men die out here every sunrise. Men *will* die today. Maybe you." He stopped inches from Sage. "I don't need dead weight. I need your head screwed on tight. Do. You. Understand. Me?"
He grabbed a fistful of Sage's hair, not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to yank his head back, forcing eye contact. Sage saw the deep lines of exhaustion and fury etched into the Captain's face, smelled the stale sweat and old fear on him.
"Do you understand me, 302?" The Captain's voice was a low growl, vibrating with barely contained rage.
Sage opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The Captain didn't wait. He shoved Sage's head away with a grunt of disgust.
"Move out!" he barked at the others. He turned back to Sage, still crouched in the dirt where he'd stumbled. "You. With me. Team One. Let's see if anything's left inside that skull besides fog."
The Captain stalked towards the ominous cave mouth. The men split into their teams, moving with grim purpose. Sage was left alone for a moment in the swirling dust.
He clenched his fists so tight his nails bit into his palms. He squeezed his eyes shut. The nightmare images surged back, claws scraping stone, hot breath, the feeling of being hunted. Focus! He slammed a fist against his own temple.
"Focus, damn you!"
Another thump. Harder. The pain was a bright spark, cutting through the fog.
Insane? The thought flickered. Maybe. But in this world? Normal died with the old one. Good? Bad? Fairy tales. Only one thing mattered, pulsing in his veins like a drumbeat, drowning out the fear and the fading nightmare echoes:
Survive.