GAVIN

Gavin grips the cell bars tight with his hands, wringing them until his knuckles turn white.

It’s not the pain. That sore burning in his gut, which had all but disappeared at this point. The physicians had done their duty. Everything had been put back where it needed to be. The wound was clean, healthy. Sure, it stung if he moved too quickly, or in the wrong way, but he could tell he was definitely on the mend.

No. It was these damn memories.

When had he last thought of that time, that first outing with his father? His first time killing a machine?

It may be the single most important thing that ever happened to him. The most consequential thing he ever did. Because of that day, Gavin became the man he is now. It was a turning point. He’d never looked back.

Until now, that is.

He finds himself going back over that day, that moment in time, because of what it represents. The moment he transitioned from boy to man. From weak to strong. Saved to Savior.

But in the same way his identity was forged in that brief, terrifying struggle for survival, Gavin was unmade only a few days ago, in a place not far from where his father Llewellyn’s test took place. This time, Gavin lost. This time, he watched the machine, a Biodroid, toy with his entire team, like a cat plays with mice. This time, he watched two of his teammates die, unable to do anything to stop it. Later, because of his failures, he lost several more to the same machine.

As surely as he’d earned his status back when he was young, under his father’s tutelage, he had lost it three days ago, in the attack. He can’t ignore the truth of that.

The Ruster is right. Gavin failed. And where he failed, Silas, a Ruster, succeeded. It was proof that humanity couldn’t save itself. It was proof that mankind wasn’t God’s chosen. Not anymore.

No!

Gavin pulls on the bars, as if to pry them inward. He has a strong urge to slam his head forward into them, but he stops himself just short of doing so, as reason takes hold.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

No. It can’t be true. And even if it is, no one can believe it. It would be the end of the Cloister. Of their way of life.

It would be...

The end of everything I believe in.

Laughter interrupts Gavin’s thoughts, echoing off the gray walls of the cellblock, coming from the cell next door. Daimon’s cell.

Can he sense Gavin’s frustration? Hear the way he pulls against the bars, and his stressed, panicked breathing? As if he’s been transported back there, into that moment, facing down the killer robot once again?

In a way, that’s exactly what’s happening.

Gavin closes his eyes, leaning forward to rest his head against the bars.

He was the best. The chosen. Humanity’s protector.

I still am.

That’s right. He can’t throw it all away. Not yet. Not when so many people still depend on him. It’s like Evelyn said: he still has another shot. Why waste it by giving in to this despair?

My father would be ashamed if he saw me right now. He-

The door. Someone’s at the door.

Gavin opens his eyes, straightening. Listening.

Keys. In the cellblock door. It opens. Someone steps in through it. Closes it.

Though Gavin can’t see the visitor at the end of the block, even if he cranes his neck, he already knows who it is. Each step is slow and careful, marked by the deliberation and care that all aged people have with their movements.

His eyes confirm his beliefs as she steps in front of his cell.

“It’s time, Gavin,” Evelyn says, nodding to him.

She pulls a wide keyring out of her jean pocket. Spellbound, Gavin watches as she flips through the ring, one key after another, looking for the one that goes to the cell.

“A spare set,” she says, filling the silence. “Reserved for access only by higher-ups like me. Lucky for you.”

As her fingers work, she whistles an old tune. One Gavin doesn’t recognize. It’s chipper, though. Lively.

Her hands don’t shake. Her tune doesn’t waver. She is about to commit an act that many in the Cloister will consider treason. But she doesn’t appear to be concerned about that.

“Ah, there.”

She inserts the key. Turns it.

A click. A squeak, as the cell door opens, swinging wide.

But Gavin doesn’t move.

“That’s...that’s it?” He says.

“Of course it is, what else to it should there be?”

Throughout the cellblock, Gavin hears the scratch and shuffle of his various cellmates getting to their feet, pacing, looming next to the bars. The excitement, the potential, is in the air. He can taste it.

“No conditions?” Gavin says. “No caveats? I just get to walk out?”

Evelyn sighs, impatiently. “Don’t get it twisted, Gavin. I’m not wiping the slate clean for you. This is a prison break, not a presidential pardon. You still have the Cloister to contend with. Some of the people will side with you. I suspect some of them won’t. How you deal with that is up to you. Will that be satisfactory?”

For the first time since Silas’ capture and the arrival of Daimon—a span that feels like months but has in fact only been a few days—Gavin smiles.

“I think it will be.”