Three-sixteen's POV

Three-sixteen flinched, expecting to be struck by the bullet. When the bullet never reached him, he looked up in surprise. The bullet was suspended in midair, its movement slow and controlled by the man with the gun.

The sound of his pounding heart blocked out his thoughts. He could see the man's lips moving, but he didn’t understand the words. His mind raced as he tried to comprehend what was happening and what he should do next.

He felt like he was falling, he couldn’t breathe and his body wouldn't respond. He needed an escape.

As his eyes dated around, searching for a way out of this situation, Three-sixteen realized that the bullet was moving faster.

He’d forgotten to answer the question. He couldn’t even recall what it was.

Three-sixteen forced himself to calm down. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting it out slowly.

When he opened them again, he felt a bit more in control of himself.

He looked up at the man with the gun and said, trying to keep his voice from shaking, “I don't know anything.”

The bullet sped up.

The man frowned. His eyes narrowing as he stared at Three-sixteen. “What’s your name?”

Three-sixteen hesitated. The question was so simple he couldn’t understand the man even asked. Obviously they knew he was a number. He didn’t have a name, not like they did. He just had a three digit code tattooed on the underside of his arm; they didn’t even need to ask.

“Three-sixteen,” he answered, his voice cracking and his cadence slowing.

The bullet slowed down, but it was already just a few inches from his chest. It wouldn't take much for it to reach him.

The man with the gun smiled. “Good, and how long have you worked in the mine?”

Three-sixteen shrugged, his whole body trembling as he forced out, “I-I-I don’t know.” Seeing the man smile turn into a frown, Three-sixteen guessed. “A thousand cycles maybe? No, it had to be more. Two, or Three thousand even. I really don’t know.”

The man nodded and the bullet slowed even more. Three-sixteen sighed with relief.

Then the man asked, in a serious tone, "Who destroyed the mine?"

Three-sixteen thought about lying. It would be easy enough to blame it on luck and the man was dead already so it wasn’t like he’d suffer any consequence—not that Three-sixteen cared if he did.

He didn't want to risk being executed.

The problem was that Three-sixteen was absolutely certain the magistrate wouldn’t believe him. He’d already tried telling the truth and they didn’t believe him.

The man sighed. Then, without increasing the bullet's speed, he asked, “Do you recall the mine collapsing?”

Three-sixteen nodded. How could he possibly forget about that?

The bullet came to a stop, hanging with its point right against Three-sixteen's chest.

He almost started to think that he was safe when the man's gun fired again and another bullet began its slow journey.

The man asked, "What do you remember about the collapse?"

Three-sixteen swallowed a lump in his throat as he tried to form an answer. Vianni, he tried to warn her and then… there was blood, lots of blood. Beasts attacked but they were acting strange, almost as if being controlled. Then he was in a cave with a sifter; although, Three-sixteen wondered if maybe he’d hit his head and dreamed that part.

He woke up in a tunnel with a crack all the way to the surface, and then he was free. He didn’t know how he got there, but he was outside and the sun was warm on his skin. Would the magistrate believe him?

“Answer the question!” the man snapped, his voice cracking like a whip.

Three-sixteen flinched. He forced his lips to move, trying to sound as confident as possible.

“I-I don’t remember.” Three-sixteen’s voice sounded sheepish and weak, even to himself.

The man frowned.

“We were trying to retrieve a heart,” Three-sixteen quickly added.

The man with a gun raised his eyebrows and the bullet slowed. “A crystal heart?” He asked, glancing briefly at the boy who’d caught him sleeping under a tree.

Three-sixteen nodded his head. “But, we did it differently than normal. I was setting out sonar to attract sifters, and pulse hammers to I guess disorient them. Then I discovered a pit full of explosives and—”

The man interrupted, demanding, “Who is ‘we?’”

Three-sixteen didn’t know how to answer.

He could tell them about the meeting he observed between magistrates, but he wasn’t sure that would be a good idea. He hadn’t heard much, but it was their plan. Three-sixteen didn’t think it was related though.

The bullet against his chest began moving again. It twisted and pushed into his sternum slowly, but with enough force to break skin and draw blood.

“Speak!” The man snapped.

Three-sixteen flinched as the bullet in the air sped up.

The man repeated, in a calmer tone, though he was clearly annoyed, “Who instructed you to set out sonar?”

“It was magistrate Luck.” Three-sixteen thought that question was simple and straightforward. He wished they were all like that.

The magistrates exchanged glances. Some looked puzzled while others seemed doubtful.

The one who seemed to be their leader stepped forward, taking the gun from the other man. He raised the gun, examining it from several angles, then he said, “This thing is worthless.” He tossed it aside using some sort of magic to dissolve the gun before it hit the floor. The bullets already fired moved along with the gun as if they were connected by invisible strings. Like the gun they also dissolved into dust, giving Three-sixteen a sense of relief.

The boy, who Three-Sixteen now realized was probably a judge, leaned in putting his face only inches away Three-sixteen’s.

“Who did it, kid? Tell me who blew the mine and I’ll let you—”

“Talent!” A voice reverberated through the air with such power and force that it sounded almost god-like.

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The young judge flinched, stepping back and turning around as if looking for someone.

The voice sighed. “Why are you back at the mine? You should be home now.”

There was no one behind him, but the voice seemed to come from the room itself. Three-sixteen didn’t see any speakers though so he didn’t think it was an intercom like they had in the mine.

“I…” the judge, Talent he presumed, paused for a long moment as he looked back over his shoulder. Three-sixteen wondered what he was thinking. He hoped that it had nothing to do with him, but he suspected he was wrong. The boy turned back around. “…Something strange is happening here. The magistrates on duty don’t recall the collapse and the mine has been fully restored, but it’s different now. I couldn’t find the door we found the first time and—”

“I’ve already checked the mine out quite thoroughly and I erased the event. If there were any remaining traitors they’ll emerge again and be dealt with. There was nothing of note behind the door you found, just some dusty old rooms, probably the old manager suite. It was all abandoned long ago. The mines back up to full production now, so you can all leave.”

Talent looked at his feet, his shoulders deflating. His voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, as he spoke, saying, “I’m sorry, I thought I could fix this. I just wanted to find out who was behind it.”

Three-sixteen felt like he was eavesdropping on a conversation he wasn’t supposed to hear, but he couldn’t go anywhere.

“On your way back I want you to stop off in Ashil, there’s something there I need you to pick up.”

Talent nodded, then turned and said to the other magistrates, “We're leaving.”

Three-sixteen's heart thumped hard. It was good that they were leaving. It seemed liked they’d gotten whatever answer they wanted as well. It should have been joy that thumped in his chest, but it was fear. They had no more use for him and he had been caught mid escape. He even killed a magistrate. He was certain they would kill him now.

The man with magic bullets nodded towards Three-sixteen. This was it.

“What about him?”

Talent stared in Three-sixteen’s eyes, holding his gaze for a long moment before he said, “He’s baggage. We’ll—”

Whispering to himself, Three-sixteen said, “Please don’t kill me.”

“—throw him in the back and keep him locked up till we get to Kasin’algrade.”

“To the manor?” the other man replied with big eyes.

Talent nodded. “My father will want to know about this. He may have erased the event, but if this number still remembers it, then my theory is still the most likely cause for the collapse.”

The man with the magic bullets didn’t look pleased, but he didn't argue.

Three-sixteen sighed with relief, but he wondered if it was all a trick. They might let him live for now, but once they arrived at the manor, he was as good as dead. He still needed to find an escape.

The gun man approached, saying, “Mikala, help me out here. Get the storage room door for me.” With a firm grip he lifted Three-sixteen out of the seat; the restraints fell away as if they were never secured.

The man with the magic bullets took Three-sixteen's right arm, and the girl, Mikala, pushed a button to open a door. Three-sixteen didn’t fight or push buck as he was rushed into the dark space.

His eyes were sore from all the light, his ears practically ringing with every sharp sound. His aching head would appreciate a dark room, more so if it was soundproof also.

The door slid shut with a hiss. It was pitch black, but he didn’t need light to know the room was empty and lacking any decent place for him to sit. The air was stale and had a musty smell like it hadn't been used in a long time. He sat down on the ground, leaning against the wall and closed his eyes. He could think better that way.

He heard voices outside, they were muffled, but he could make out a few words.

He heard the name Luck once, then a woman mentioned how strange the situation was.

The room—no, the vehicle—shifted, lifting into the air and rocking Three-sixteen onto his side as it turned. He pushed himself up only to be thrown completely off balance, then sent rolling across the room as the vehicle picked up speed rapidly. He slammed hard into the wall adjoining the cabin which seemed to elicit laughter from the other side.

Three-sixteen only seen a crystal cruiser once, back when he was first brought to the mine. He recalled the trip like a distant dream only remembered in hazy images, but he still clearly recalled the nausea. He’d been in the cabin for that trip, strapped safely in a seat, but he’d also had a bird’s eye view of the ground and couldn’t help thinking he might fall out and splat at any moment.

He was grateful to be in the storage room this time, although he did wish there was proper seating.

Three-sixteen waited several moments before attempting to get up again. He was jostled about some; Although fortunately, he didn’t suffer another big impact.

Picking himself up slowly, Three-sixteen decided it was best to stand. He leaned against the wall, holding onto it with both hands as he tried to get a feel for the movement of the cruiser. The ride was smoother than he thought it would be, but he didn't want to take chances. His body already felt sore from Luck's beating and the restraint on his arms and legs. He didn’t think he could take another hard hit.

As he was getting his bearings, he couldn’t help but overhear the magistrates in the cabin. They were laughing, joking, mostly about him, but their revelry came to an end when Talent said, “This is another test…he’s sending me to Raven territory.”

There was a pause as they all considered the meaning of this, and then they began murmuring in low whispers. Three-sixteen couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but he got the impression they were not pleased.

Eventually a girl spoke up, saying, “A test is what you wanted though; that’s why we were at the mine right?”

Instead of a response, Three-sixteen heard the same voice yip with terror.

A catty hiss cut through the air. “You presumptuous little—”

There was a sound like skin striking flesh then Talent said, “It’s fine Mikala, Anne is right.”

The girl hissed again, but there were no more outbursts.

The group was silent for a while after that, and Three-sixteen could only imagine what they might be thinking about. He appreciated the silence though, it gave him time to think.

He thought about how he would escape. He wondered if they would all leave when the cruiser landed, or would someone stay behind guard him? If they didn’t let him out, how could he get out of the storage room? Was he doomed to remain inside until it was too late?

Then he thought about five-ninety one. It didn’t seem like they’d captured her, or even like they knew she had escaped. Maybe magistrate Luck knew, but three-sixteen thought that was unlikely. He guessed he might never know where she was, but he was glad that she hadn’t been caught.

His thoughts shifted to Talent, the judge who spotted him sleeping while he waited. He should have known better than to rest in such an exposed place, but hunger and thirst had gotten the better of him.

As if to remind him that he still had not eaten or drank anything in a cycle or maybe longer, his stomach growled. He sighed, then sat back down, leaning his head against the wall.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before the vehicle slowed and descended to the ground. He was certain however, that he still did not have a plan.

The cruiser landed with a jolt and Three-sixteen was thrown into the wall.

He rubbed his shoulder, cursing the pilot for his or her lack of care.

He heard laughter from the cabin as they exited and left him alone.

Pain and curation led Three-sixteen to wait several long minutes before he tried the door.

It didn’t open.

He sighed. He was stuck.

Three-sixteen refused to accept that. There must be some other way out. Someone had helped him get free, someone he was beginning to believe was not Five-ninety-one, and he had already promised himself that he would not waste this freedom. There had to be a way out, and he would find it.

Three-sixteen ran his hands over every wall thinking he might find a gap like the one he found in the mine that led him to his secret place. When that failed to turn up any results he tried feeling along the floor for loose panels.

He wasn't sure how long he looked, but his fingers were raw and his fingernails chipped when the door opened.

A curious black cat sat in the opening, its tail flicking back and forth as it stared at him with deep red eyes.

He flinched back as a horrific sense of dread overtook him. His pulse quickened and his hands trembled as they reached for a comforting someone that wasn’t there. He felt his breathing go raged as fear consumed him.

The cat tilted it's head to the side, its tail slowing, and then it was gone.

Three-sixteen blinked. The cat was gone. He felt silly for being so afraid of a cat.

He peered out of the opening, then quickly stepped out of the cruiser and took a deep breath of fresh air.

There was no cat and no magistrates either. He was free and clear.

“Must really be starving if I’m seeing things that aren’t there,” he told himself.

Then he realized he couldn't stay around. He needed to get away, but he wasn’t sure which way to go.

Towering trees blocked his view in every direction. Grass and thorny bushes grew to heights Three-sixteen had previously thought impossible. Once he left the clearing, he wouldn’t be able to run. He’d have to wade through thick brush and deal with hanging vines, some of which seemed to move on their own.

He took a step towards a worn path, before realizing it was likely forged recently, by his captors.

He stepped back and looked at the cruiser. He was surprised to watch it vanish from sight as the door sealed itself closed.

He turned back to the jungle.

As he was looking for the easiest path, he saw movement between the trees. Something was there, watching him.

His body tensed and his muscles tightened in preparation for a fight, but after several minutes the creature still did not appear. Three-sixteen considered his options, deciding finally that the safest and most reasonable thing to do would be for him to follow the magistrates. They were going somewhere, meeting someone or picking something up from what he understood. He could use their presence as a shield while he figured out where he was and where he should go next.

Three-sixteen took a deep breath as he stepped onto the path. He didn’t know where it might lead, but he had a feeling that wherever it was, he would not be welcomed. He was still a number and every one would know it the moment they looked at him.