Darius paced around his room, the plain walls feeling increasingly like a cage closing in on him. It was a room that dared him to stay composed: a simple metal bed frame topped with pristine white sheets, a metal and glass desk in the corner with a high-backed rolling chair neatly tucked beneath it. The sterile emptiness made the silence seem louder, pressing against his ears with a dull, relentless hum. The glaring absence of anything personal or comforting only amplified his sense of isolation. One feature that stood out to him, an unwelcome reminder of his predicament, was the subtle yet inescapable presence of the teleportation blockers. They were somewhere behind the walls like a cruel safety net, designed to keep him exactly where the Guardians wanted them.
The clock on his Netacts display read 5:55 PM, its glowing numbers a sharp reminder of the training session he had undoubtedly missed with Wendigo. A cold current of dread coursed through him, each second that ticked by tightening the invisible chains that bound him. Panic began to simmer beneath the surface, the four walls of the room seeming to inch closer, suffocating him. ‘There has to be a way out,’ he thought, his fingers running through his short blond hair in frustration as he paced. His reflection in the polished edge of the desk showed a face twisted with worry and exhaustion. ‘I should have just teleported out of here when I had the chance,’ he chastised himself. But hindsight was a luxury he couldn’t afford now. He had to find a way out– no matter the cost.
Forcing himself to sit cross-legged on the cold floor, Darius took a deep breath and tried to center his thoughts. He closed his eyes, reaching for the core of his power. His pulse thudded in his ears as he focused on the space around him. He needed to understand his environment, every inch of it, if he had any hope of escaping. The sensation of his power unfurling like an unseen tide was strange—alien, even. He had felt glimpses of it when he was teleporting as it subtly aided in understanding the geometry of the world but he had never used it like this. It brushed against the cold metal walls, pooled at the seams where the panels met, and skittered across the smooth floor. He felt for the edges, the places where the inhibitors muffled his reach like cotton stuffed in his ears. The dampened buzz of his power left him feeling raw, like a singer straining to hear their voice over the roar of drums and a soaring PA with no monitors to aid them.
The strain of pushing out further sent a shiver down his spine. Sweat trickled from his brow, cool against his flushed skin. A dull ache blossomed at the base of his skull as he reached past the limits he thought were possible. Then, like breaking through the surface of a deep, dark ocean, he sensed the space beyond his cell. It wasn’t like sight, but more of an understanding—a map forming in his mind that grew clearer with each passing second. The rooms on either side of him were empty, silent as tombs, and the corridor outside stretched out like an artery, lifeless and dim under the cold glow of emergency lights.
Darius gritted his teeth, pushing his proprioceptive awareness farther until he hit the outer edge of the inhibitor’s field. The clarity that came beyond that point felt like stepping from a fog into sharp daylight. The sensation was exhilarating, but it also cost him. The drain of this newfound ability gnawed at his energy reserves, making his limbs feel leaden. He gasped, a sharp intake of breath as a single bead of sweat rolled down the bridge of his nose. Forcing himself to hold on a moment longer, he mapped out the corridor in his mind, its cold metal chairs bolted to the floor and the faint hum of electronic systems embedded within the walls.
He nearly lost focus when he felt the blanket of the inhibitor pressing back against his probing awareness, a reminder of the barrier that kept him prisoner. The pressure was suffocating, like a hand pushing down on the back of his neck. He released his hold, the sudden absence of strain sending a wave of dizziness washing over him. The effort had cost him more than he’d anticipated; his vision swam with spots, and his breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps.
A whirring sound made him snap his head up, heart thundering. The food delivery robot trundled down the hall, its treads whispering against the marble floor. He reached for the tray it deposited through the slot in his door, barely registering the succulent aroma of prime rib and the glossy sheen of gravy cascading over mashed potatoes. The Yorkshire pudding sat crisp and golden, a crown atop the plate. But the rich meal felt like ashes in his mouth as he forced himself to eat, knowing he needed strength for whatever came next.
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He slid the tray back through the port, the sound of the robot retrieving it echoing like a clock counting down his limited options. He sat back, eyes closed, as his mind reeled with possibilities. ‘What if I can’t do this? What if they catch me?’ The thoughts gnawed at him, but he forced them aside, steeling himself.
The minutes dragged on, punctuated only by the muffled thrum of the facility and the distant clicks of machinery. He sharpened his focus, breathing deeply as he summoned his power once more. He found the inhibitor above his cell, radiating out power. The proprioceptive awareness flowed out, probing the corridor, feeling the smooth angles of walls and doors tracing the wiring from the inhibitor until it reached the breaker panel. His pulse quickened. The circuit breaker, barely 20 meters away, was his ticket out. But tripping it was the tricky part.
Water. He would use the water that the delivery robot delivered to short the breaker by teleporting it inside thereby filling it. The plan formed with the clarity of desperation. Shorting the circuits with water would be risky but effective. But he’d need to act quickly. There was no telling how long it would take for Guardians to respond, and hesitation would mean losing everything.
He sat in silence, listening intently, every muscle tense as he waited for the telltale hum of the robot making another round. The silence was suffocating, every second stretching like hours. His eyes flicked to the clock in his Netacts: 8:42 PM. He clenched and unclenched his fists, the anticipation gnawing at him until, finally, he heard it—a low mechanical purr growing louder as the robot approached.
Darius’s heart slammed in his chest as he expanded his awareness again, sweat trickling down his back as the strain set his nerves alight. He found the robot’s cup of water, its clear contents shifting gently with each bump of the machine’s path. This was it. He reached out with his mind, visualizing the space between the cup and the circuit breaker. His breath hitched as he tried to fold space, but the movement, the slight jostle of the water, made the calculation dizzyingly complex. He faltered, the spatial fold collapsing like a shattered illusion.
‘No,’ he thought, panic clawing at him. He grit his teeth, forcing his vision to clear. The robot drew closer to the point he needed, and he could feel the edges of the inhibitor bearing down on him, a stifling weight. He had seconds at most. Darius abandoned precision, pushing power through his limbs as he tore a tunnel through space. Pain lanced through his skull, sharp and blinding, and the world spun. A hot, coppery taste flooded his mouth as he bit his lip.
Then, with a sharp hiss and an angry spark, the circuit breaker popped. The hallway plunged into darkness, emergency lights flickering to life and casting an eerie, red glow. The silence roared in his ears, broken only by the faint whine of the breakers and the hum of systems struggling to recalibrate. Darius pushed himself up on shaky legs, almost falling as the room tilted beneath him. He ripped the Netacts from his eyes, casting them aside, and staggered to where his katana lay, fingers brushing over the familiar, intricately wrapped handle.
The blade felt solid, grounding him in this moment of chaos. He focused on the dojo in Soca, targeting the upstairs bar where he knew there were no inhibitors. The exhaustion gnawed at him like a beast, threatening to pull him under as he visualized the space and folded it together. The mental tunnel appeared, jagged and tenuous, the strain of it echoing in his bones. But there was no choice. He stepped through, the air tightening around him, and a moment later, he landed hard on the wooden floor of the bar.
The warm, dim lights of the Anchor & Tide flickered around him, the sound of distant conversations and the clink of glasses rushing into his awareness. He sank to his knees, the adrenaline crashing over him in waves. He’d done it, but the weight of what came next pressed down on him with an iron grip.
Everything went black.