Dataspace slowly became clean as the hostile intrusion program slowly began to pull back. The Commander watched it from the safety of their chair, the small command platoon sitting still and waiting for new orders.
“This is interesting…” came the voice. “Looks like whatever was watching our little target has pulled out. No clue why, though. They weren’t spotted.”
“They were on Guran?” a towering metal giant asked. He leaned backwards in his chair, the reinforced piece of furniture creaking under his weight.
“As much as a data-entity can be. I only saw programs. Doesn’t make them any less dangerous though,” the Commander replied, audibly in deep thought.
“You didn’t get a peak at it?” a third asked, his voice soft, as if struggling to establish a presence. If the shadows would have a voice, it would be his.
“No,” the Commander chuckled darkly.
“That is concerning. You’re not one to drop the ball like that.”
“I didn’t drop the ball,” came the hissing response. “That program would have spotted any intrusion a mile off. Be glad I spotted it to begin with. It might have jeopardised our entire operation.”
“But it didn’t.”
“For now,” the third added. “They might still be in the area. Did we get any lead on which group they might be from?”
“They resemble… No. No speculation. Has anything changed in the facility?”
“Same power reports. Same seemingly random patrol vectors. Same security measures,” a fourth responded, never looking up from his station. He stood at full attention as he gave his undivided attention to the screens in front of him.
“Good. Keep watch. What about our new teammates?”
“They’re training in the back. Shredder’s watching over them.”
“Poor souls,” the metal giant chuckled.”
“Can it, all of you. Keep watch on the facility instead.”
“I thought we were going to hit it soon?”
“Not yet, no. Not now that a third player has entered the game. I want to make sure we don’t stick our hands in an unknown trap.”
“Ever considered you might be too careful, Commander?”
The Commander went silent for a while, before walking towards the metal giant. The others, all encased in varying levels of specialized armour, cleared the path as their leader strode between them, radiating a level of menace even they were susceptible to.
“You might want to remember,” the voice hissed in controlled fury, “what happened the last time you weren’t careful enough.”
The metal giant flinched at that, his gauntleted fingers digging into the chair. “I apologise,” he eventually said. “I… meant it as a jest.”
“I know,” the Commander sighed, relenting. “I know. I know.” The armoured figure turned and retook their position at the command station. “I shouldn’t even be angry at you to begin with,” the voice continued, sadness colouring it. “After all, I made you that way.”
Philips groaned as he felt her damnable presence again. It wasn’t bad enough that the guards inflicted a never-ending rain of violence on him, now even his last refuge was under siege. He had enjoyed his time alone. Some while ago, how much he couldn’t tell, he had figured out how to blank out the pain when they put him back in his cell. Hanging in an uncomfortable position, his arms twisted behind his back, the sharp cuffs cutting into his wrists, the sour smell of urine, sweat and blood… He had managed to deal with all of that. It had been his little refuge in a world of pain and torment. Just him and his memories, which he had dived in ever deeper, allowing him the tiniest safe haven to rest in while everyone around him tried to bring him low.
“Get out,” he growled. “Out of my head.”
Those watching him would likely think he was just speaking to the omnipresent sixth sense that was boring in on him and all the other prisoners. Over and over that annoying mantra repeated. Evil Empire this, bad Empire that. He hated it. Wanted to strangle the bastard emitting it. He kept care to not fill his mind with stupid thoughts of rage, though. Torture wasn’t his style. Even now, after having been tortured for void knows how long, he refused to give into that. He wasn’t like that bitch pressing in on him, her mind strong enough to push away that of the others.
I want to help, came her thoughts. They were sweet and gentle, almost a caress. To his battered body it was ambrosia, and the tears came easily, unbidden, at how reassuring it felt.
Go to hell, he shot back, her probe torn apart by a swathe of rapid attacks. He felt her hiss as her mind retreated, only to stay nearby, her sixth sense prowling around him.
Why do you keep resisting? she asked, a voice sweet as honey and soothing as a mother.
Because you’re a monster, he replied, steeling his thoughts for further intrusions. It wasn’t hard. Memories flashed by. Of her actions before she was interred here. Violence, rape, murder, brutal slaughter, drugs, … There was nary a vile act in existence or she had committed it, before she had been brought low by betrayal and an overwhelming assault. Even after she had kept up her attacks, fighting off the guards at every opportunity. But even then she hadn’t relented. She had sought out the other prisoners around her, helped them, healed them, only to then twist the knife from what little comfort she had granted them to derive some sort of sick joy from it.
You’re nothing but a sadistic bitch.
I admit I made mistakes, she sang to him, trying to lull him into lowering his guard. He felt more presences behind hers. The other prisoners. The few that hadn’t broken yet. Each of them having survived void knows how much torture and attempts at moulding their minds into a shape of their choice. They were hers now, sheltering in her might. I will not, he silently swore.
But are you really not willing to move beyond that? I learned, adapted. There is no way out unless we work together. We’re all prisoners here, all to be tortured until we break. They will not let us die. He saw an image of her in her glory days. Her long, bright hair waving brightly upon waves of the might of her impossible powerful sixth sense, her eyes glittering with life. She was dressed scantily, no doubt because it heightened the risk, and thus heightened her joy as she fought. He felt how she saw herself. As fire, flame eternal. As the essence of life.
He shot her back a slew of images. Of a guard being liquefied by her powers. Of her being beaten and raped in vengeance. He felt the memories slide off her. Then he showed her one of her being betrayed by those around her, just before she was taken here. Then he added one more, an image of her addicted parents selling her as a four-year-old, just so they could get another hit.
That one hit home. She didn’t recoil this time but attacked. The other presences disappeared in a raging sea of fury and anger. How do you know that? she hissed.
He grinned at her through the pain. She was stronger, impossibly more so, but he wielded his sixth sense better. He directed the attack, used her strength against herself as he splintered the singular push into a plethora of waves, to then push them out. Even so she kept crashing into him, over and over and over again. He felt something warm seep out of his ear and knew it to be blood.
You’re not… the only one… with tricks… he coughed back.
And just like that the attack relented.
Hells damn it, Philips. Why do you push me so? You know I am trying to help.
No, he hissed. I’d rather die than see you be set loose on the galaxy again.
You’d rather let them win? Let them turn you into their little puppet? Haven’t you lost enough? Join us, you damned fool of a man. Only if we fight together do we stand a chance, and even then it’ll only be a marginal one.
He felt agreement as the other presences returned. He knew them well. Whoever had kept them captive had underestimated the tenacity of those with a sixth sense. Nine in ten broke, if not more, but the few dozen that remained were powerful.
Philips, came the voice of a young man, a kid really. She has changed. She’s been helping us. I know you hate Scaiffe, but we’re all in this together, as she said.
He sighed. Berner was a good kid. He hadn’t deserved being dumped into this shithole —not that any of them did, one bitch excepted— but he lacked the experience to see her for the threat she truly was.
Originally the prison had been desolate. The prisoners had no contact with one another safe a soft brushing of minds from time to time. She had changed that. She had begun, after what could have been days, weeks, months or years, abandon her reckless violence, instead choosing to reach out to those around her. She had used her strength to help them, shield them from further harm. In turn, fearing her rise to power, he had done the same. He lacked the raw power she wielded, but he was far more skilled than she ever was. He had gathered likeminded people. Both of them had moved with great care, prodding minds for a prolonged time before reaching out to the handful they trusted to not betray them. Few people had the strength to stay standing against endless physical torture and the constant mental hounding their guards inflicted on them.
Now… Now he was the only one left. She had won them all over. Each and every single one. He had seen it happen, powerless to stop it. She promised them relief of the pain, a sanctuary, support, and made good on all of those promises. The only one she had yet to deliver on, was the sweetest of them all. Freedom.
No, kid, he grumbled back. I’d rather be dead.
You damned fool, she shot back, before disappearing.
He was left alone, in silence. He enjoyed it, spending what little time he had before they’d drag him out again in the past. Memories of his beloved wife. His darling daughter. Now gone and dead, coldly executed just as they thought they had survived a nightmare. But they were alive in his dreams. He caressed his wife’s cheek, patted his daughter on the head. He did not think about the cell he was in. About the horrors awaiting him when they’d come to drag him out for more beatings and pain, for more senseless lessons.
He froze. Another presence was near. Barely so. Looking at him. Watching. Seeing things nobody was supposed to see. If the guards ever found out that he could shield himself…
His heart pounded in his throat as he feared the worst. If he was spotted, he’d die in a most gruesome manner. Worse! They might focus on him and grind his defences down until he’d finally cave in and be their puppet. No! He’d not end up like that! He’d rather die! He prepared to strike, gathering what little raw strength he had, and lashed out.
Only to be swallowed by a wave of power that only could belong to one person.
Shhhhhhh, she hissed, her own sixth sense dissipating as soon as she eroded his attack. You’ll alert the rest.
He kept quiet, knowing the words to be true, but pure rage tore at him. How dare she—
You saw my deepest memories, she shot back.
He felt an emotion behind her thoughts. There was a sense of anger, of unfairness. Of… Desire? She wanted something?
You are the only one, she whispered, her thoughts quiet now, a bare whisper. As if the mind voicing them did so reluctantly. The only one I can’t take. Everyone else fell into my hands. Easy as pie. But you. You resist. You stay free.
Then a stronger thought, aimed and clear, came through. When we start our break out, I’ll have your celldoor unlocked as well. I’ll stay far away from you, don’t worry. But it’ll give you the chance to fight back. You can either fight for your freedom, fight your way towards me, or stay in your cell and rot away.
He felt her mind slip away again, the subtleness of her movement stunning him. He had not thought her capable of being so… careful.
The choice is yours, he heard her final thought. I hope you choose well.
There was a well of emotion behind that last. Something he could not comprehend. Something he was quite sure of he didn’t want to comprehend. It was a thing that utterly clashed with everything that she was, everything that she did, everything that she had done; and would keep doing!
He grunted in disgust, before the door was violently kicked open and his nightmares began again.
He was almost glad for it.
Shredder walked onto the bridge, joining the rest of the squad as they gazed upon Guide towards Eden. The gargantuan facility hadn’t moved for months now. They had seen no sign of the mysterious intruder or any other third party. She felt excitement run through her body as the approached her station.
“Is it time, Commander?” she asked.
“Yes,” came the greedy answer of the metal giant, only for him to immediately shrink at the Commander’s gaze fell on him. “I’ll be good,” he said, pre-empting the incoming remark.
“You better be,” came the growling response. “A lot hinges on this operation.”
“Does it really?” the one with the shadow-like voice asked cryptically, causing the Commander to ease up with a chuckle.
“Enough for it to matter to me.”
“There is no need for concern,” the straightlaced one said, tapping in a final few course corrections. “We are perfectly on schedule and the enemy is unaware of our presence.”
“Good,” the Commander responded. “One final bypass, then we go out and get ready to go in.”
A chore of affirmations ran through the bridge as everyone set to their tasks. Within a scant few moments all systems were powered down and the ship was running truly dark. It was still a week out from the station, but they were all willing to wait that long to do a final flyby.
The vessel floated through the dark, unpowered and invisible to anything but the naked eye. And to spot a thing painted just as black as space itself in the endless void was all but impossible. Everyone aboard kept their eyes peeled on the passive sensors as they slowly tumbled closer towards their target. They all knew what was at stake. If they were spotted, they would be annihilated in an instant. No chance to engage the shields, power the weapons or hit the engines. They either floated by in total silence, unseen and unnoticed, or they’d die instantly.
The bridge crew was utterly unmoved by their potential imminent demise. They knew the odds and fully expected to survive. Even had they not, however, they would not have really cared about it. They knew where they stood in the grand scheme of things and the thought of their own destruction didn’t bother them in the slightest. It would be a setback to the plan. That was all.
As it was, they were right to trust the probabilities. They sailed past the station no problem, every one of the five-strong crew absorbing every piece of data that came in through their sensors. Telemetry poured over their screens. The facility was incredibly well defended, both internally and externally, with many things well hidden.
Yet as they slowly coasted through the system the alert watchers began to see through the shroud. The size of resupply ships docking, the estimation of how quickly they could unload, the type of cargo, the speed at which the patrol cutters moved and changed courses, how often the kill-sats pinged, to which nodes the updates went…
They took their time to watch it all and not a thing went unnoticed. Most of it confirmed what their earlier months of observation had already uncovered. Even the pickup of personnel, and likely more prisoners, was according to the predicted schedule. Sensors confirmed that it was a pickup as the acceleration of the vessel was ever so slightly lower than it had been when it had entered the system. An infinitesimal difference in weight, but he had spotted it.
And so they went on, drinking in every bit of information as they finished the long tour, before they finally were in the clear again. They moved around in a quick, efficient bustle, checked every system as they reactivated and jumped out.
Only to jump back in again a few hours later.
Philips groaned in pain as the kick took him off guard. He slammed into the wall, felt his nose break as he bounced off it and landed hard onto the floor.
“Get up,” another snarled. Or was it the same? He couldn’t tell. They were beginning to lose their patience with him. Was it because he had been there the longest? Was he even the oldest prisoner? He didn’t know. Time was impossible to catch. He knew he was depleted. Wounds and scars dotted his broken body, infections had discoloured large parts of it. Pain was everywhere, his constant companion. The mantra kept being repeated in his mind’s ears. Hate, hate, hate, … Over and over and over again. He summoned his anger, allowed it to shield him as more kicks rained down on him. It warred with the rapidly mounting pain as the reinforced boots cracked his bones and bruised his organs.
Then the pain began to lessen. Suspiciously so. A hate more pure than his rage flashed through his mind as he reached out for the source. Out of my head, Scaiffe.
Make me, came the aggressive response.
He didn’t understand her. Not in the slightest. She was a monster, yet over the past months she had gone out of her way to help him, even though he stubbornly refused to join her. He tried to shove her out, but he couldn’t focus through the pain. Every time he tried to gather his sixth sense another kick would disrupt his concentration.
He felt her annoyance as her mind brushed his, taking over part of the blows. He knew she was hurting in turn, that she was siphoning off some of his sensations. He hated that she could do that. He hated that he had become so weak he couldn’t fully shield himself any longer. Only the inner parts of his psyche were still safe, were still his.
“Get him up”, another man snarled. “You can toy with the prisoners after their classes. For now we need to—”
Alarms began to wail. Loudly. The guards blinked, taken off guard.
“Get the prisoners to their cells, now!” someone shouted. “And get me a status update!”
Philips didn’t resist as they dragged him back. Nor did he fight back as they slammed him back into chains, leaving him in a position even more uncomfortable than ever before. He was too tired. Too exhausted. Yet an ember still burned, and he nourished it carefully.
He was close to being defeated, he knew that well, and he had contemplated taking his life more than once. Yet now…
Now, for the first time since his imprisonment, he dared to hope.
“On target, Commander,” the one manning Sensors said. “Infiltration assault underway. Engaging enemy systems… Now.”
Signals went out and slipped into the commands sent to the kill-sats. Their tiny onboard computers parsed the incoming orders, tried to make sense of the conflicting orders, before they accepted the new ones. They turned, thrusters firing as they reoriented themselves into new positions.
The patrol cutters advanced, swerving towards the incoming hostile that had jumped dangerously deep into the system. The men and women manning the ships reacted with alacrity. Their ships came about fast, the nimble vessels more than a match for smugglers, pirates or other small-time criminals. Or for the small enemy that was approaching the facility.
They stayed close to their defensive network of satellites. And as such were torn asunder when those were turned on them.
Colonel Zabrada stormed into the command centre, demanding status updates.
“Sir, we just lost our cutters. The kill-sats were hacked.”
“Send shut-down commands!”
“Trying, they’re being ignored.”
He paused for a moment, then nodded. “Initiate their self-destruct. Hail Angel One and Angel Two. Tell them to go to full combat readiness and have them circle the facility. Contact the Feathers. Crescent formation to receive the enemy. Launch augur platforms, get me a visual.”
“Commander, they blew up the sats.”
“Expected,” came the calm response. “What about the cruisers?”
“Energy signatures mounting, but they’re holding near the facilities. Corvettes coming abroad to intercept us. They’re rolling out the welcome mat. And a bunch of augar platforms. Low energy profile, but I see them.”
“They’re actually sending platforms at us? After they saw what we did to the satellites?”
“Confirmed. Corruption program already launched.”
“Good.” The Commander switched channels. “Boarding teams, status?”
“Dagger, ready,” came the shadowy voice.
“Purifier, ready,” the female voice spoke.
“Can opener, eager,” the metal giant voiced.
“Status of our associates?”
“Everyone is ready and eager, Commander. They’re looking forward to the promised bonus.”
“Good. We’ll engage the enemy soon. Get ready for launch.”
“Sir, augurs have confirmed visual. Destroyer-class spotted. Corvette class energy signature.”
“Any hits with known drives?”
“No, sir.”
“A new enemy then. Send out a signal. Inform HQ we’re being attacked.”
“Signal sent, sir.”
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
“Tell the Feathers to wait for our missile batteries to get a lock, and intercept after. Light firing pattern, I want enough left that we can identify them.”
Communications and weapons hopped to, rapidly relaying the orders. The enormous antennae on top of the facility swung towards the FTL comms station on Guran and began to transmit.
“Transmission away. Missiles incoming. Corvettes following.”
“Increase thrust. Come about at flank speed and ensure we hit the corvettes at the same time as those missiles hit us. Hold back interceptors yet. Prep missiles salvos for launch on the cruisers. Enemy command centre?”
“Identified. Transmitting location now.”
“Huh. Deep. Lock in two Breakers.”
“Locked.”
“Prepare broadsides. Let’s show them who they’re playing with.”
Colonel Zabrada saw the enemy pick up speed. Everything was in line with what a destroyer should be capable of. If it was a military one. A pirate vessel wouldn’t manage this. No way in hell. There were too many things not adding up. A singular vessel should not be picking a fight with them. Hell, any ship coming close to them should be met with warnings that they were entering a forbidden zone by the Codrian nation. Logically speaking, nobody should be picking a fight with them. The fact that someone was…
“Ready a second missile salvo. Heavy pattern.”
“Sir? For a destroyer?” weapons asked, hesitantly. Zabrada understood. Heavy was usually reserved for battleships, and would deplete most of their reserves.
“Confirmed,” was all he said.”
“Aye sir.”
“Ready the troops. Prepare for boarding. Initiate a general lockdown.” He motioned to the hangars on the display. “Launch our fighters and close off the hangars after, with the exception of Alpha Three, Alpha Six and Alpha Twelve. Prepare for an ambush there.”
“Sir, relaying orders.”
Captain Bernardt stood atop the bridge of Feather One and watched the enemy race towards them. He was in the centre of the crescent formation, tucked deeply into a thick envelope of overlapping fields of fire and point defences. Their batteries were bristling with energy, their cannons swivelling softly in their mounts as the targeting solutions solidified.
He scoffed at the lone destroyer charging at them. Sure, a destroyer was larger than a corvette, but there were more than enough missiles converging on it for it to be reduced to shreds even before they had to fire a salvo. Even without the missiles it would still be outnumbered nine to one. They stood no chance.
“Enemy in range in three, two, one…” weapons droned.
“FIRE!”
The calm void of space was torn apart as dozens of laser batteries, railguns, kinetic cannons and other weapons unleashed their payload. Missile tubes were unlocked and spat their lethal cargo into the black and contrails left behind frozen crystals as the defenders of Guide Towards Eden unleashed their might upon the lone assailant.
The missiles from the facility were rapidly overtaken by the beams of energy and the mass rounds. Captain Bernardt watched them fly towards their target’s estimated location with glee, eager for the action. Much further away Colonel Zabrado watched the salvos fly with trepidation, waiting for the truth of his enemy to be revealed.
And in the midst of the torrent of firepower, just before it hit them, the Commander indulged in feral emotions as the barrage slammed into their vessel’s shield.
“Fire,” came the whispered command, a voice hungry for the destruction of their foes, even as the point defences came active and tore apart the incoming missiles.
The ship’s reactors, hidden from view by layers of sensor-disrupting shields, began shunting enormous amounts of energy into the main weapons. Armour plates shifted aside, revealing lethal lance batteries. The large cannons swivelled towards their targets and within moments they opened fire, broad beams tearing their way through space and the corvettes alike. Eight corvettes died in an instant. Captain Bernardt had just enough time to swear loudly before the enormous battlecruiser crushed him into atomic dust, the small vessel barely slowing down the mighty warship.
“Peek-a-boo,” the Commander grinned.
“Fire the missiles! Ready all for immediate launch. The Angels are to come about now! I want all cannons and batteries to focus fire on that bastard!” Zabrado roared even as shock ran through the command centre. “Move!” he shouted, forcefully shoving the nearest officer back down on his chair. “Destroy that ship!”
“Sir!” Discipline began to kick in and the men and women began to set to their tasks. As the seconds ticked by towering batteries reoriented themselves and missiles began to fly in great number, pre-slotted firing patterns locking into their foes’ estimated location. The Angels began to speed up and leave the facility behind, leaving a wide open berth for it to fire without risk of friendly fire. Torrents of fire spat from them towards their foe, which was returned. Already the shields of all involved were being pounded mercilessly.
“Sir, we have incoming!” sensors suddenly shouted, panic audible in her voice. “Two heavy missiles!”
“Down them!”
“Trying!” The woman furiously tapped at the console. “Our interceptors can’t get a lock!”
“Point defences!”
“They’re not stopping!”
The Colonel shoved the woman aside and saw the threat incoming. Two lumbering juggernauts were soaring directly towards them through the void, at blistering speeds. They rolled around the swift, smaller interceptor missiles. He glared at the screen, saw the matrix of point defences come to life and prioritise the two missiles. Pulsar rounds shrieked through space, many of them hitting. Yet still the missiles came on, undaunted by the defensive fire coming their way. Ten thousand kilometres. A thousand. A hundred.
They struck in quick succession and the command centre of correctional facility Guide Towards Eden went up in a bloom of fire and explosions.
“Enemy command centre destroyed. Incoming missiles. Countermeasures deployed.”
“All hands, brace!” the Commander shouted, grabbing hold of their crash harness.
The missile salvos fired from the enemy cruisers and the facility crossed the final threshold. Hundreds were caught by interceptors. Hundreds more were annihilated by the interlacing network of point defences. More missed their target, the onboard ECM guiding them away from the battlecruiser.
Dozens got through and slammed into the warship. A number were stopped by the shields, the disruptor warheads not powerful enough to create enough of a gap. Others slipped through and punched through the armour. The ensuing conflagrations tore off armour plates, laying bare the inner parts of the vessel. Batteries went up in flames, turrets were slagged and shield projectors were turned to scrap.
A moment latter the battered vessel retaliated by launching another salvo of their own, aimed at the cruisers. The two ships ploughed ahead, relying on the heavy fire from the facility to make up for the discrepancy in firepower.
The battlecruiser refused to budge, however, weathering the storm and returning it with interest. Their guns spoke and the cruisers shivered in response. Their shields flickered as the enemy focused solely on them with frightening accuracy. The vessel tore into its two opponents with a will, blowing through protective barriers, melting down gun batteries, disabling missile tubes and fragging sensors.
For a moment the battle intensified, then the battlecruiser shot past them. Both parties immediately engaged into a sharp turn, refusing to let the other at their sensitive rear.
“Boarding teams,” came the voice of the Commander. “You are cleared for launch.”
“Dagger, away,” was the shadowy response a moment later.
“Purifier, away,” Shredder reported.
“Can opener, ready to rock and roll,” came the final response.
The Commander watched the boarding pods flash through the void, the small, yet sturdy craft tanking what few rogue shots they could not dodge. A glance to their sole compatriot on the bridge was enough to convey their intent. A nod, and more missiles were launched. Dozens of interceptors quickly overtook the pods and took up escort positions, ready to peel off to deal with any incoming missile threats.
A handful of fighters charged towards them, recognising them for the threat they were, only to disappear in flashes of light as the nimble counter-missiles proved to be more than capable enough to deal with the threat. Most fighters never noticed the incoming wave, though, just as they had planned. They were still recovering and without a new centralised command. More than enough time for the battlecruiser to blow open the closed off hangars and allow the boarders entry.
“Dagger, on station,” a cold voice briefly whispered before clicking off. Already he and his men were storming through the narrow hallways, clinging to the shadows as they carved a bloody path to the deepest parts of the station.
“Purifier, landed,” Shredder responded, her voice warped by heavy weapons fire. Her team’s orders were clear. Travel through the station. Eliminate everything that could fire at their vessel. They split up and started tearing into the heaviest spots of resistance with abundance. Flamers, grenade launchers and heavy machine guns accompanied the power armoured troopers as they stormed into the enormous facility.
Several decks below a handful of guards screamed in fear, before they were demolished alongside with the door they were protecting, the ensuing noise reverberating through the metal.
“Can opener,” the metal giant said, malicious glee audible in his voice. “We’re in.”
Scaiffe felt the shudder that ran through the gargantuan superstructure. She stretched her mind, allowing her psionic abilities to run loose. She felt the presence of the other prisoners around her. Fear. Hope. Anger. Hate. Trepidation. Eagerness. So many emotions, all felt at such delightfully intense levels. She reached out further, thinning her presence, until she reached Philips’ cell. The man was slowly breaking, a thing she hated to see. She desired the man. Wanted to make him his. He was the first man who had managed to say no to her. Even weakened, even as fragile as he was now, his determination shone brightly throughout the plethora of minds locked away in the prison.
He was a goal. A target. Something to be taken. And she would not be denied.
All the accusations he had levelled against her were true. She was a criminal. She didn’t deny it. She didn’t blame her own youth for it, though she reckoned she could. Sold by junkies. Used and abused. Subjected to traumatic experiences, hard drugs, literal mind-fuckery, her own psionic abilities enforcing the nightmares her waking hours had brought her.
She had once gone to a psychiatrist. Talked about it. She had been bored, and it seemed interesting. Unfortunately the man had proven boring and had called the authorities on her as soon as he realised who she was. So she had made him regret it. Brutally so. Not the first time she had folded a man in half. It was the first time she had added… extra affects to it, though. It had been exhilarating to see him scream so.
No. She did not lie to herself. She enjoyed being a vicious, uncaring, coldhearted bitch. The world was an oyster. Even when she had been captured she had been lashing out and enjoyed the swings of the pendulum of fate, whether it was in her favour or against. It simply made her feel… Alive.
Still, she was smart enough to know that it wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later she’d be killed. She had never entertained the notion of being broken. These puppies couldn’t do a fraction of the hurt to her that she had already experienced growing up. Or to what she had dealt out since.
And now?
She breathed in, deeply.
It is time for us to go, she thought loudly.
And breathed out, snapping the chains binding her. She motioned with her hand, gathering her formidable strength, before blasting the thick metal door off its hinges.
She strode into the hallway, the torn, damaged clothes doing little to hide her battered, bruised body. Blood from fresh wounds still trickled down her limbs, but she ignored it. Mind over matter. And she had a lot of mind.
She began to navigate the maze of cells, locking onto the minds of the members of her cabal. She ignored the begging screams of those around her. She didn’t care for the weaker prisoners. They’d only be a hindrance, not to mention that some of them might have turned traitor already. No, only her cabal mattered. She would get them out. Philips too. Not personally, though. She’d hate to have to kill him, and she didn’t have the time to fight with him. Besides, she was certain he’d help with their escape if she sent that kid, Berner, to him.
It was inspiring, in a way, to see him hold fast to his morals when everyone else shed them within hours of arriving here. Only the truly strong remained standing, and even then it was just a matter of time. He had been here for eight years. The only reason she knew that, was because of one of the guards who she, quite literally, mindfucked. Delightful trick that. Melt out the brains, but not before rummage in the contents.
She heard the stomping of reinforced boots before she saw the guards. She turned like lightning, the air crackling as she gathered her strength. She was numbed, weakened and drugged, but even so she was still far more powerful than they had suspected. She slammed her hand forward and the air rippled. The guards rounded the corner just in time to be slammed into the bulkhead. She grinned as she heard their bones and armour break, their organs turning to pulp, the blood pouring forth from their wounds.
She panted, both from exertion and excitement, and kept moving. More would come soon. She could not kill them all. Not on her own. Hell, not even with her cabal.
It did not take her long to find the first door. She pressed her hands against it, summoning up her strength once more. The metal groaned, then shrieked, before giving out.
“Hello there, Petra,” Scaiffe giggled, grinning at the woman who looked just as broken and battered as she herself did. “You ready for a good old-fashioned prison break?”
The old woman returned her grin, the sight made all the more vicious by the lack of teeth. As her shackles were blown open and she fell to the ground, the elderly woman wasted little time rubbing her hands and got up again, the taste of freedom lending her weary bones new strength. “Lead the way darling. I’ll follow.”
Philips heard the commotion. Felt how those strong in the sixth sense began to move. Prison break, he thought. He didn’t know what was happening, who was causing it or who was fighting whom, but he knew that it was now or never.
He gathered his mind and snuck it into the cuffs. He wasn’t strong enough to tear them open, far from it, but he didn’t need to. His carefully crafted mind slipped into the key openings, trickling into the locking mechanism and triggered it. His cuffs snapped open and he crashed into the ground, panting heavily and rubbing his bleeding wrists.
He forced himself up, ignoring the wailing of the alarms that rang in his cell now that he was loose, and focused on the door. A few clicks later and that went open as well.
He stood in the hallway and looked at it. Really looked at it. He didn’t know how long he had been here, didn’t have the faintest idea, but this was the first time he could look at his surroundings without that damnable sack being over his head.
The large metal hallway, dotted with doors, was a grim sight. Barely lit, now even less so as the only illumination came from the flashing lights, it was as depressing as he had expected it to be. He didn’t see any guards as of yet, though, which made him sigh in relief.
He began to walk, only to stop as he heard the prisoner in the cell next to him cry.
Voids be damned, he thought with exhaustion. I’m not strong enough for this crap.
Even so he reached out. The door clicked open and he went in. And nearly vomited. It was the first time he saw another prisoner. Properly saw them. The man’s lower body was covered in his own excretion. Long, bloody gashes covered him from head to toe. His clothes were… Not worthy of the names. One eye was swollen and looked like it was heavily infected. His right arm was dangling behind his back, stuck in the cuffs, the bone sticking out. The man whimpered, and pulled back at the sight.
“Easy there,” Philips said, stepping into the cell. “I’m not a guard. Come on.”
He slid his mind forward, letting part of it put the man at ease while the rest of it went to work on the cuffs. The man collapsed in his arms. “Easy there, pal. What’s your name?”
“L-Lernor.”
“Lernor. Good. I’m Philips. Come on. Can you walk? We’re getting out of here.”
“Out?”
“Yes, out,” he repeated, wondering what kind of mess he was getting himself into.
The man looked at him with dead eyes, before a flash of recognition sprang forth at the word. Some life returned to them and he nodded. “Out.”
“Yes. Now let’s go.”
The cabal was strong now. Two dozen psionics, all with varying levels of strength but all strong enough that they could wield it despite the abuse and drugs, were tearing through the facility with Scaiffe at the head. She had lost five men to guards, but had reaped a far greater toll in turn. Yet the exhaustion was beginning to wear down on her. She stepped into a hallway along with Petra and Lucander. The latter two threw up a shield, forcing the stream of bullets to flick to the sides while she launched a shockwave through the long hallway, slamming the machinegun upwards. Lucander fell down behind her, clutching his side. He had been hit by a ricochet and was bleeding badly. She ignored him, stepped forward and rushed towards him. Petra didn’t follow, her strength spent. Sweat was pouring down her face as she leant against the wall, gasping for breath.
Dalus gave chase and caught up with her, his long limbs allowing him to overtake her. His mind was a storm of rage and violence and he threw himself into the fray, tearing the guards apart with brutal movements, ignoring his broken ribs. She was glad for it. Her own reserves were rapidly thinning, and the cabal’s strength was far from endless either. Had they all been fully rested...
But it was no use to make wishes. She kept moving. More guards came, more guards died. She felt Lucander’s mind flicker out, blood loss claiming him, and grimaced. Another asset gone. Ooster and Xivir were freed.
Then a powerful mind lashed out towards her and she screamed in pain as the psionic son of a bitch who was responsible for that never-ending mantra picked a fight with her and the cabal.
He was strong. Almost as strong as she had been when she had begun her breakout. Had she been fresh, he’d have been no match, but that was exactly why the bastard had waited. He had been biding his time, allowing her and the cabal to exhaust themselves, before striking.
She wilted behind her shield, seeing the other members of the cabal suffer as well. Blood began to seep out of Dalus’ ears and his eyes glazed over. She didn’t need to see him hit the ground to know he was dead.
Devils’ alive, her furious thoughts came, slamming into the bastard’s psyche. I’ll not be defeated by a hell-cursed puppet.
Philips groaned under the onslaught. He and his hundred-odd group of prisoners had been making slow headway, encountering virtually no guards at all. Until now. Now they were pinned down, crying in pain as the pressure kept mounting.
He took the sudden assault well. He had expected it. Anyone who could exude that much pressure on so many people at once had to have one voids damned strong sixth sense.
But he was used to fighting people stronger than him.
He allowed his sixth sense to fragment into dozens of pieces. He sheared through the attacking pressure, not disabling it but weakening it. His mind swirled alongside the incoming pressure, following it but not touching it, until he reached his goal.
“Found you,” he growled with a viciousness that terrified the escaped prisoners around him. “You absolute son of a thrice-damned bitch.”
His fragmented mind slammed shut, all the pieces coming together. Dozens of fragments evaporated into nothing, crashing into a powerful shield. But he felt the man’s mind reel. Tried to compensate. Focus on the main attack, searching for the real threat. He was so used to broadcasting in every direction at once, that his mind had far too many openings.
Yet for all that, the man was strong. Where he was lashing out with finesse, the man countered with brute force, his mind retreating and swirling around as he shattered every attack in a whirlwind of power.
Philips felt the man look at him, see him for the threat he was. A mass of power began to gather, not aimed at the prisoners, but ready to be directly thrown at him, and he knew he was looking at his own demise.
Just before the man struck, another bolt of power shrieked through the mindscape they were all fighting on. It burned out the minds of a few poor souls who were used to direct the assault, but it reached the bastard with all the force of a torpedo. Philips felt a sense of fear and confusion as the man’s mind was taken hold of, before that force enacted the mental equivalent of a hydraulic press squishing a grapefruit.
He sank to the ground, panting heavily. He was alive. Part of him was relieved beyond measure. Part of him hated that he had been saved by the very being he despised most. All of him was glad that one of the biggest sources of his endless torment was now, very thoroughly, dead.
He looked around and saw the procession of escaped prisoners. Over half had died in the attack, and the rest were all wounded. He didn’t feel much better. He had been beaten up to the void and back to begin with, and now his mind felt like it had been run over by a steamroller.
He wanted to stay down. To sleep. Yet when he looked into the terrified eyes of so many people, he just couldn’t. He hadn’t been raised that way. He remembered the look in the eyes of his wife and his daughter before they were taken. How he’d had fought, desperately, to reach them. How they’d beaten him down and had left him powerless. To hear their screams, only to be cut short when the gunshots rang out.
He shook his head, tears filling his vision, and stood up.
“Come on,” he said to the survivors, trying to smile through his broken teeth. “Let’s go.”
He refused to think about the endless rows of cells ahead of him. He refused to think about the endless hallways spread throughout the prison.
He’d go towards what he hoped was the exit, free everyone along the way, and get out.
How he’d get out was a matter was a question for future Philips. Present Philips couldn’t be arsed.
Scaiffe panted as she sunk down next to the small abattoir she had created. She was nearing the end of her strength, but at least the cabal was fully out. Forty-three people, herself included. Forty-three psionics of considerable talent, even on their last legs, were still a fearsome force. They’d killed at least five times that number of guards, and the bastard pressing in on their heads was gone too, turned into a very, very fine paste. Her mind was still reeling that the only reason she had survived was because of Philips. She saved him in turn, so she didn’t feel guilty about it, or felt any lingering sentiment of gratitude. They were both prisoners on a prison break. Nothing more than that. Yet part of her, the same bit that desired to make him hers, to own him, to see the one being that had refused her over and over again brought beneath her, wasn’t so easily lulled into silence. Philips’ psionic strength wasn’t much, but the mind that wielded it? That was a thing of beautiful, refined strength.
And she’d have to deal with him very, very soon. Xivir had managed to hack a terminal and they had a map of the prison now. They were heading towards the exit from one of two possible pathways. The exit itself was a singular, massively defended hallway that connected the prison to the rest of the far larger facility. That would lead to a two-pronged problem. The first being, obviously, that it would be defended to the nines and back. Even as the facility shuddered under the occasional impact as the assault continued, she doubted the defenders would have left their post.
Hell, she realised¸ they might be planning on blowing this place up, us included. She urged her cabal on, moving towards the exit, but slowly and carefully.
The second problem was nearing from the opposite direction and would see them soon enough. It was a group of nearly three hundred people, all weak and fragile, but psionics still, even if most of them didn’t have enough strength left to convince a leaf to fall from a tree mid-autumn. Their number lent them a strength her own group lacked should it come to a battle of wills. And they were desperate. She was intimately familiar with how dangerous that made them. Normally the prospect of such a close-run battle would have excited her, as it was precisely what she hungered for. Now? With them being so close to escape? With so much to lose? No. Now the thought annoyed the hell out of her.
She gestured for Berner to take point and allowed herself to fall behind. Nobody questioned her. Nobody really dared to.
Then the group rounded the corner, and the exhausted kid came face to face with the man who had sworn to kill the woman he owed his freedom to.
Philips froze as soon as he saw Berner. He hadn’t seen the kid coming. The kid was barely conscious, almost incapable of remaining standing. His presence in the mindscape that rippled around them, a consequence of that many psionics in such close proximity wildly using their powers, almost non-existent. Then another of Scaiffe’s cronies rounded the corner. And another. And another.
The two groups approached one another, slowly, hesitantly. The cabal because their strength was almost depleted, and they knew the strength of the force awaiting them. The other escapees because they were already dead men walking, and Philips was strung together only by his stubborn refusal to give up. Not for himself, but for the men and women behind him.
As such, he forced himself to the front of the group, leaving the man he was helping to walk in the care of two others.
“Show yourself, Scaiffe,” he coughed, taking care to stay well clear of the corner. Even though the men on the far end of the hallway weren’t psionically gifted, he could sense that there were enough of them to turn him into confetti if he poked his head out.
The woman of his nightmares slowly made her way past the others, until she stood face to face. “Philips,” she greeted him.
It wasn’t a meeting between two glorious figures, each standing in front of their army. They weren’t even comparable to gang leaders. They could not even be likened to starving animals, snarling as they faced one another. No, they were two fragile, damaged human beings, each of them struggling to remain standing. Both groups were exhausted, brought to the brink. Their strength and stamina sapped. Every single one of them covered in wounds and the signs of weeks, months or, in rare cases, years of torture and merciless beatdowns. They wore scraps, had festering wounds, stank of sweat, urine, faeces and pus. Their minds were on the edge of fragmenting, many of them tagging along purely because the others around them did the same.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” he snarled, causing the cabal to draw back and raise their hands. In turn the refugees, whom were all freed by the man in front of them, did the same at the sight of the threat.
Scaiffe wasn’t impressed by the sight of it, and merely stretched her arm, pointing to the left of her. “Enough of a reason?”
“I’d rather see you dead.”
“True enough, I suppose,” she sighed, shaking her head. “But we both know you can’t kill me.” She arched an eyebrow. “Can’t say the same for the reverse, though,” she said. She smiled as she did, but the words were hollow. She didn’t have the strength to truly threaten him.
“And then you’d die after.”
“Once again, true. But then again, chances are I’ll die anyway trying to break through there. Chances are,” she continued, “we will die trying to break through there.”
“We,” he repeated, his rage resurfacing and granting him the tiniest modicum of strength. “We. You really think there’s a we in all of this?”
She smiled. It was a pleasant smile. A cocky smile. One that told her she knew she had won. “Of course there is. Because while you’d love to kill me,” she grinned, revealing rows of broken teeth, from when the guards had taken their revenge on her, “you don’t have the heart to consign everyone else to die.”
Philips glare turned from red hot rage to ice cold. “You are forgetting a few things,” he shot back.
“Do tell,” she challenged him.
“You’re banking on me believing we’ll survive beyond this.”
She grinned. “You got up to here, didn’t you? I reckon that’s a safe bet.”
“Don’t you find it strange, though?”
“What?” she asked, something about the tone of his voice unnerving him.
“Why they didn’t just gas us? Or why they didn’t vent the air until we died from asphyxiation?”
She narrowed her eyes, anger of her own forming. As a matter of fact, she did find that strange, now that he mentioned it. Not that she’d given it a lot of thought before.
“Because,” he said, the last dredges of his strength slowly coming to the fore, causing her to do the same. “There’s a third party breaking in, keeping them from just deleting us. Which means they likely want us alive.” He shrugged. “Can’t be worse than here.”
“Your point?” she spat, realising that, once again, she couldn’t control him.
“Point is this,” he hissed, and he launched his assault.
His mind shot forward, and hers did the same. Yet the attack wasn’t what she expected. It wasn’t lethal, or anything of the sort. It was merely a form of compulsion, a change of emotional pressure. And as her attack slipped through his, his mind tainted it. He felt her pressure slam into his mind. He had left no defences, throwing everything into this attack. Both of them were hit by the other’ mental attack, and the command lodged itself in both of their motor systems.
And they took a step forward, squarely into the open.
Scaiffe turned away from Philips, away from that hell-cursed smug look on his face, and to the enemy. Turrets, rifles, machinegun emplacements and far, far too many guards.
And then the world exploded.
The heavy metal door that cut off the prison complex from the rest of the facility exploded inwards. The men that had been safely tucked away in the machinegun emplacement just before it didn’t even have time to register what happened before the door slammed into them, then through them. It bounced off the heavy weapon slightly, before embedding itself into the side of the hallway, taking more men and a turret with it.
A seemingly drunken figure careened off into the opposing side, turning more people into mush before crashing violently into the wall. He pulled himself free in an instant, ignited a lethal blade and went to town on the survivors, reducing them to butchered piles of cauterized meat.
Only then did the rest of his team streamed in. Men in power armour, much smaller than the one who had broken down the door. They were professionals, clearly, taking up positions and double-tapping the dead that were still in one piece, and dismantling the turrets fully, just to be sure.
The man who had broken in stood up, raising himself to his full height. He dwarfed the others, standing almost as high as the hallway went. He slowly walked forward, towards the pair of psionics, the floor trembling under every step.
“Scaiffe Serimun,” he stated, ignoring her reeling back. “Philips Delgusta,” he continued. “Reckon you two had yourselves a little jailbreak while we had fun outside.” He walked into the middle of them, looked to either side where the rest of the psionics were. “Heh. Seems like you guys had a pretty good time breaking out, didn’t ya? Don’t worry, we got medics with us.” He turned around and motioned the rest of his team closer. It was only then that Philips realised that a good number of them had arc cutters or medkits with them.
“Right kids, break open whatever cell that’s still locked. Get all of these teeps out and into the shuttles. Reckon Shredder’s about done cleaning this part of the station, and the Commander likely cleaned house outside as well.”
He tapped the side of his helmet. “You are done, right Shredder?”
“Follow protocol on the net,” the shadowy voice sighed. “I confirm, Shredder and Purifier have fulfilled their objectives. Dagger and I have as well. Stalker out.”
“Bloody bugger, can’t have a little fun at all, can I?” he shook his head theatrically. “Right then kids, out you go, my men’ll escort you to safety. Then we’ll get the rest. Nice to meet y’all by the way.” Though his helmet remained firmly locked on his face, he conveyed the image of a broad grin, especially as he turned to Scaiffe. “Saw your path of carnage on the way here. Reckon we’ll be the best of friends.” He offered her a hand, and she meekly shook it, for once stunned into compliance by a being that monstrously tall and… blank. Utterly devoid of a presence. As if he wasn’t there at all.
A very low rumble echoed through the hallway, and it took her a moment to realise he was laughing at her consternation.
“Don’t worry about it none. Name’s Charger. Looking forward to working with you.”