The trio — Void, Vanilla, and Zoork — were imprisoned inside a run-down penitentiary, a building with emptied halls that spanned two floors with cells on both sides of the walls, and each of the intruders was placed in separate chambers. Their rooms were made of worn-down cobbled floors and red bricked walls, a smell of dirty water radiating from the mildewed yellow ceiling. The cells had usable wooden chairs, that is, if you call a three-legged chair functional, and the rest of the materials were broken, decayed, or not even present: bed, sink, and toilet. The floor was riddled with sawdust and pieces of gravel. Prison scarcely befitted such a foul location.

Around fifty guards patrolled the area. One guard was allocated to Vanilla while another to Zoork, but Void was guarded by twenty guards. Ten were inside his cell while ten were outside. They were forced to caution because the Anti-Tuam drugs didn't work on Void. So the guards opted to interrogate Vanilla and Zoork instead. Not that Void minded it.

In a rundown cell, Vanilla sat on a chair, strapped to it by chains. The guard patrolling her brought a knife to her ear and pressed it against the lobule. "What are your intentions with our current king, Fishman?" He shoved the knife into her ear. "There are only two ways for this to end. You speak the truth, and all is fine, or we'll have to torture you. You don't want that. No, you do not."

Despite the threat, her behavior didn't dictate any fear. She was calm. Her one brain cell told her to question how the guard would know she was telling the truth, but she remained focused and grew a straight face to look more serious. However, she failed and chuckled, looking at the guard. "Thanks for the piercing."

The fish-male stared at Vanilla and pressed his lips together. "You think this is a joke?" He pushed the blade harder into Vanilla's ear.

"Stop, stop," Vanilla said, clenching her eyes closed. "I'm sorry, it was cooler in my head. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry."

"Don't make me repeat myself. What are your intentions with our current king, and why? Also, how are you related to the king?"

Vanilla tried to sway her legs up and down out of boredom — the chains holding her back. "My friend Arthur is a fish, so that's probs what you're looking for. And for the intentions part, I already told this to that damn octopus fish thing. We're here to kill the king."

"Why?" He asked, gripping his dagger as he brushed it against Vanilla's white hair with black extensions.

"Chill on the hair. If you damage it, I'll kill you," Vanilla said as her lips creaked into a deathly smile. She rested her face and continued as soon as the guard stopped grazing the blade. "Meth, the leader of the Wanderers, wants Arthur Penfish to slay the king of Atlantis. I know you'll ask me why again, so I'll answer it... Your king is merely Arthur's practice for killing heroes. That's why we're here. To practice killing heroes."

He shook his head and grazed the blade harder against her hair. "Don't make me laugh."

"I wasn't intending on it?" Vanilla said, trying her best to remain calm as her, but her face was red like an apple, her anger translucent.

"Whatever." He continued shaking his head. "Once the interrogation crew is done with your partner, they'll be here. If you're telling the truth, you have nothing to worry about."

"Sure..."

The prison had two floors. Vanilla was on the second, and so was Zoork, but he was twenty cells to the right. His room was filled with a rich flavor of wet dirt, resonating from the white mold unfurled on the walls and floor. He sat on a wooden chair with chains attached to it and his body. Four guards — two males and two females — interrogated him. Two fish-people studied him while the others meddled with him: opening his eyes with their fingers, touching his ears, and even rubbing his nose.

Zoork pressed his lips together and breathed in and out from his nose as he avoided eye contact with them. The integrators were clearly searching for something, but he couldn't help but feel like everything was amiss, a feeling of sinister deceit pounding in his head as he thought of only one thing. 'Are they even doing anything?'

The two Atlanteans who studied Zoork continued scrutinizing, staring, observing, examining... The others simply touched random parts of his body. This continued for an hour. Sixty minutes of squandered time.

Zoork lost it. His calm and clear-cut focus turned red, a feeling similar to that of driving to a stoplight when it's still green, but for some reason, when you're about to get there, it turns red, forcing you to stop. But he didn't cease at the red light. No, he drove through it, breaking the chains that once tied him and the chair. He tried breaking out of the handcuffs, though he couldn't. So he dashed to the closest person and head-butted them. "What the fuck are you fuckers doing?"

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The manifestation was road rage.

The two guards that were watching ran out of the room and closed the cell. They left their other comrade in the cell. He held his hands up and shivered.

Zoork cracked his neck by moving it to the right and then left. He head-butted the fish, spitting on him. "Bastards."

Four more guards ran to the cell to support their fallen comrades. All of them gaped at Zoork.

A sweaty male, clearly in his midlife crisis, stood in the center of the room with two bodies on the floor. His hands were behind him in white-fluid handcuffs as he clenched his teeth and stared in front, using his head to point to the inside of the cell. "Come on, get the fuck in here and fight me, you smelly bastards."

One guard formed weapons with his water abilities and passed them to the others. All six individuals had weapons. One guard opened the cell's gate, and all his companions ran in as the last guard staggered behind.

"Bring it on motherfuckers," Zoork said, kicking the chair as it slammed into two guards, but he didn't stop moving, he continued forward and tackled all of them, pushing himself out of the cell like a ram charging for an attack.

One guard was pushed back and let go of her weapon. Still, she remained standing. She gulped, looking at the sweaty man, but she didn't take much time to engage as she swooped down and grabbed him, using all her leg strength to keep him at bay.

"Fuck it," Zoork yelled. He continued forward and broke the second floor's railing, descending to the ground.

The guard in the air latched onto him, but as she did, they both rotated in the air, and as they landed, she fell backward onto the pavement while Zoork's belly slammed into her.

He quickly stood up and banged his handcuffs against the wall. They didn't budge. He looked down at the fainted guard and then around as he yelled for help. "VOID!"

On the first floor was a cell with ten guards that pointed their spears against multiple parts of Void's body, who sat on a chair chained to it. Outside the cell were ten more guards with ranged weapons — guns — pointed at Void. They were ready to shoot at a single movement. He wasn't allowed to move his body parts, blinks were prohibited, so he was forced to keep his eyes closed, and even breaths were limited to slight motions with his nose. If he broke the rules, he would be executed without hesitation. Disobedience was a death wish.

One guard outside the cell pointed to the left and wobbled his hand up and down. The others nodded and ran to the commotion.

Void's lips spread to the right, a smirk soon to form on his face.

The guards jabbed their spears into him.

'Void number two,' he thought as all their weapons shattered into millions of pieces, and they all launched into the wall. "Emptiness or heedless, whatever it may be, y'all have to do better than that."

All ten guards were unconscious on the floor.

Void sat on the chair, wobbling it, as he chuckled with a visible smile. As he stood up, the chains crackled and split, dropping to the floor. He opened his eyes and glanced around, snapping his handcuffs with no effort. "Hm, who should I save first?"

The noise of marching echoed through the prison hall as guards made their way towards Zoork. It sounded like a stampeding herd of horses.

Void kicked the iron bars down, launching them through the building. He turned around and stared at the fallen soldiers, shrugging. "This could have been avoided."

The guards that left were still nearby. Close enough. They were a few feet away, running in Zoork's direction.

Void walked out of the cell and placed his hand in the air. He pointed it at the guards. Part of him wanted to fling them through the building, but he knew that might unintentionally hurt his teammates. He shook his head and whistled as he walked toward them.

The guards turned around, hearing an explosion, but by the time they even saw what was in front of them... it was too late.

Void held in his breath, his cheeks puffing up. He let out a breath through a small gap at the right of his lips. He clapped once. The force from his clap approached the guards, knocking them all out.

The noise of marching increased as more guards came from behind.

Void turned around and clapped.

Thirteen guards fell to the floor from sheer impact.

Void continued forward to Zoork. Eventually, he got there, but five guards had guns pointed at his father.

"Don't shoot," Zoork said with his hands up.

Void strolled closer to the commotion, ignoring the guards with weapons at him. He had no fear in the world.

"Put your hands up!" The guard yelled.

But Void didn't listen.

All the guards released their ammunition at him.

Zoork dived to the right to avoid being collateral.

Each bullet an inch from Void would fall to the floor. It was like it was raining ammunition — a natural day in America. No matter, the soldiers didn't give in and continued. Eventually, Void was no longer visible, thousands of bullets enveloping him, and it only increased grander as soldiers on the second floor assisted.

Zoork covered his neck and curled up in a ball. He was praying... screaming for help. The last thing he wanted to do was die from collateral damage.

Among twenty-something guards surrounded Void, shooting away at him. But another presence, different from the rest, approached — the chief of these soldiers.

A fish-woman around six feet and five inches stood behind her men as she carried a large black sword, placing it against her shoulder. Her gold armor rattled as she walked forward with gigantic steps. She held her breath and yelled, "Let it out, boys!"

Void's eyes widened as he heard the female's voice through the thousands of bullets. For a noise to make it through such brutal sounds was almost impossible... Almost. He was startled, more than baffled. He shrugged it off and took a deep breath. "Void number three, personality two."