Chapter XXXIV
Contingency Plan
The unconscious guard in charge of the prison lay on the ground, unmoving. "You should take his clothes; there's no use for you going shirtless," Adria suggested as she searched for traps or any signs of an ambush.
"I'm a lot smaller than this guy. They won't fit me," Corven replied, eyeing the unconscious man with doubt.
"Tuck it in," Adria commanded with a menacing tone.
Without a word, Corven knelt down and stripped the clothes from the incapacitated guard, holding his breath and hoping the man wouldn't awaken. Meanwhile, Adria paced around the prison, inspecting the other cells and reading the labels with the names of the prisoners behind the doors. "Piren Isal, Clafia Sula, Urian Portec, and Altenis Borcasi. Do you know them?" she inquired, although Corven was too focused on his task to respond.
"I’ve never heard of them," Adria muttered to herself.
Corven, having removed the pants from the large guard, dressed hurriedly in the oversized garments and tucked the brown shirt into the dark cargo pants. Once dressed, albeit awkwardly like a small child in an older sibling's clothes, he donned his boots and approached Adria, who stood by a glass door.
"Are we breaking everyone out?" he asked.
"You're joking, right?" Adria snapped with exasperation. "No, we're not. It's too risky; we don't even know why they're here!"
Corven felt troubled by his own experience. "They're Gorbat's prisoners. They opposed him or his plans, and he took revenge. Remember, he's no hero fighting for justice; they're here for his own gain, Adria," he argued with undeniable passion.
Adria's eyes reflected sadness and remorse. "Whatever their reasons for being here, it's not our place to rescue them," she said, her tone indicating the complexity of their situation. She then began to plan their escape, trying to think ahead.
"We might be their only hope," Corven empathized with the prisoners' plight.
"Listen, these people are all criminals. You're not in Malkuth anymore; this is Dictaduria. It's every person for themselves, you and me included. Sectum is a cage of lost souls, some can find redemption, but many go along with the game, playing to beat the rest, until they find themselves near the doors of death." Adria retorted, her words slicing through Corven's idealism.
"Your actions suggest otherwise," he countered.
Adria laughed. "No, they don't. I need you, Corven; this is purely selfish. Trust me, the reason I'm here is because of the promise you made..."
Corven nodded, feeling at ease for the first time since awakening. "I might be naïve, but I'm not foolish. I didn't bring the alters with me. I hid them elsewhere, just in case; they're in..."
"Don't tell me. It's better if only you know," Adria interrupted with a sigh of relief. "Well done."
A shadow flickered across Corven's face as he was consumed by memories that no curaten or pills could erase.
"Stay with me; let's get out of here. This will all be over soon, I promise," Adria reassured him, trying to keep him present.
"Don't make promises you can’t control; let's go. I'll follow your lead," he responded.
She wasn't sure if his newfound maturity was a result of his ordeal, but Corven seemed changed from then they met earlier that day. Together, they proceeded back to the engine room, checking their surroundings with caution for any sign of the umbras that never appeared; the dark hallways were desolate, a stark contrast to the danger they expected.
"I have a bad feeling; this could be a trap," she whispered to the former prisoner.
He considered her theory. "Could be. What time is it?"
"Around 4:00 or 4:30 am, I'd guess."
"Perhaps they're asleep?" Corven felt the naivety in his question.
"Something isn't right; it's too quiet," Adria concluded, her mind racing with possibilities.
"They could be watching us; I've seen their technology. They have equipment not permitted in Sectum; this entire ship might be under surveillance," Corven speculated, remembering the advanced tech used during his capture.
"Be silent and follow me. We'll find a way out."
A shiver running down Adria’s spine as she contemplated their visibility to Gorbat and his forces. Paranoia began to seep into her thoughts as they made their way to an opening that led onto a dark, wooden corridor.
"What about those stairs?" Corven asked, pointing toward a door marked with an exit sign.
"It could be too obvious, the door might have an alarm..." Adria mistrusted that option. "I don't want to fall into another ambush," she said, overlooking the context of her encounter with the umbras.
"Again?" He was skeptical.
"I'll tell you about it later. Come on," they proceeded, silent and careful; Adria paced through the insides of the yacht, creating no noise, while Corven kept up as best as he could. The corridors were adorned with old Beta Renaissance paintings and plants positioned here and there, adding finesse. They reached a dark wall as tall as two decks, with three beautifully carved doors parallel to each other. Stairs flanked the wall: the right led down, and the left, up. He tried to open the door in the center; it was locked.
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Adria had an idea. "I have a crystakey, but it's only good for one use."
"What are you looking for?" Cover seemed anxious, looking around for Umbras.
"Weapons. Maybe a shield..." She fantasized about something that could improve their situation.
Corven had nothing to add; the decision was hers to make. The dilemma tempted Adria's gambling side, so she took a chance, bringing a gatvit from a pocket and tossing it into the air.
Chance chose tails. "To the right it is."
From her bag, she brought half a crystasphere and attached it to the doorknob. Five seconds later, orange nanites overtook the lock and broke it. Thrilled, Adria pulled the handle and entered.
"Furka! It's a janitor's closet. I wasted it," she said, disappointment evident in her factions, wishing she had chosen the other door.
There was one alternative left. "Be ready," she said in a warning tone, fearing the worst outcome. He followed her upstairs, to the left side, and onto the upper decks.
As the fugitives emerged, true to Adria's intuition, twelve umbras surrounded them as they reached the yacht's surface—a trap. Corven inflated his chest up. They were at a disadvantage.
Those followers of Gorbat remained silent, making the situation even more tense.
The idea of getting out of that scenario unharmed was a remote one; he was certain of it.
"It was a possibility. I like to take risks. Sometimes they go sideways," Adria said bluntly.
"Outstanding," he couldn't believe her audacity.
"I want to see the furkano behind this whole operation before I kill him," she declared, ready to fight to the death if necessary.
They walked towards their inevitable fate. Ten meters from where the umbras surrounded them, a short man with a colossal beer belly was sprawled on a massive black velvet couch, large enough to accommodate his concubines—some clothed, others not at all, most asleep. He recognized the entourage that had appeared in his lounge. Gorbat, trying to remain quiet, stepped away, tippytoeing between limbs.
The leader of Negativus, the underworld of Dictaduria, feared by all in the Four Countries of Sectum for his acts of horror, turned to Adria and Corven, half-naked, drunk, high, fat, and old, clad in an animal print bathrobe, reeking of sex and sweat.
Adria wasn't frightened by such a man. "Let me do the talking," she said with confidence.
Corven couldn't react before Gorbat appeared right in front of them, less than half a meter away, quicker than anyone they had ever encountered in Sectum.
"You know my name," he whispered. With those words, everything clicked. As repulsive as he was, Adria had to acknowledge Gorbat's acumen.
"Don't say it," she warned Corven. "He will control your mind if you do."
They remained silent in the presence of that repulsive excuse for a man. His robe left a reek of sweat as he paced the deck, eyeing them with a grotesque smile. He took a moment to stare at Adria as if he were insane. "A quick one, aren't you? You've been bothering my umbras all day, haven't you? Oh, my! Look, the sun is rising! A wonderful moment is about to unfold. I'm going to give you two options," Gorbat said, raising his index finger. "One, say my name, and I will let Corven live as a free dictadurian."
Adria spat on the ground. He yelled with excitement and giggled.
"Wait. I've got a brilliant idea," Gorbat announced, pausing with dramatism, followed by deep breaths. "Become one of my umbras; you have potential. It's pours through. I can see it; there could be a partnership here..."
Adria felt the shock of this surreal turn of events. He approached, making unwelcome advances. "That and many other things," he gestured at the concubines, oblivious to their plight.
"I pass, old man. You stink," she said, her tone of disgust unmistakable.
Offended, Gorbat stepped back a few steps. "Ha! You must have some nerve to call me old. I'm enjoying the peak of my youth! How dare you? Wrap it up for me, would you, Mercuria?”
Following his command, six umbras unleashed silver ropes that tied their arms and legs, crawling like snakes too fast to avoid. They reached Corven and enveloped his entire body. In a few seconds, his nose was the only part left uncovered. When they stopped moving, the ropes lost their shine and turned gray, hard as rock.
He tried to free himself, unable to make a move; he cried, suffocated, and incapacitated without warning. Corven couldn't help himself. Adria witnessed other umbras approach and take him away, restrained and beaten.
"I haven't been able to sleep because of the chaos you've created! It's a shame you've chosen this path. You deserve better," Gorbat paced in front of them with resignation. "Don’t forget it was your choice. Baltan, bring me my sharpest blade; I'm going to cut off this furkana's head. Keep Corven close; I need him to reveal where my alters are when the veritaserum arrives."
A tall, young-looking umbra with no will left in his eyes walked towards a dark wall and pushed it. The wall melted into the rest of the structure, revealing an array of hidden weapons. He took a sword with a beautiful crybine handle and a shiny amber blade and brought it to his master. "A real shame. There's true potential here..."
"You love to talk, don't you?" Adria said, irritated.
Baltan offered the sword to his superior. "People listen and do as I say. The ones who refuse, die. Like you're about to," he said, turning his back to her. "You're a disappointment."
Tied down by those silver ropes, a maniacal laugh escaped Adria. "Oh! Are we having a heart-to-heart? How about I don't give a furk?"
Gorbat approached with his unusual speed, bringing the amber sword too close to her neck.
He stopped before it touched her skin, testing the swing. She did not flinch at his display of power. "Such a disgrace," he said, sadness in his eyes, as he prepared to swing the sword again, ready to decapitate her. Adria hadn't planned that outcome after surviving in Dictaduria and Imperia for so long. She had underestimated an enemy like Gorbat and his army of umbras. The dictadurian took one last breath and closed her eyes, accepting her fate. I deserve this, she thought, thinking about her life for the past year, of the pain she had made Bitlan go through and his disappointment that night weighing on her as she waited for the blade to fall.
How does it feel to have your head chopped off?
Scared, the dictadurian opened her eyes, wondering if everything had happened so fast she didn't get to feel the cut. Out of the blue a whirlwind of air hit her. There, right above her, stood a brunette woman with red highlights of hair, wearing a magnificent merkabah blocking the amber blade from cutting Adria's neck with hands covered in crystaphene nanites. A Gevurah.
****
That's it for Chapter XXXIV!
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