After several minutes of petting Bjorn Jr., Frank stood up and settled into the sole undamaged chair in the room. Bjorn Jr. curled up on his dog bed and promptly fell asleep, his breathing slow and steady. Frank reached down and picked up a small shard of glass from the floor. He examined it for a moment, the edges glinting under the dim light. With a deliberate motion, he dragged the shard across the palm of his hand, watching as blood welled up and spilled onto the floor.
The blood began to convulse and change, morphing into a grotesque amalgamation of skin and eyes, supported by small, spider-like legs. The creature twitched and shivered, a macabre parody of life, before scuttling toward a small hole in the ground and disappearing into the darkness. Frank's wound healed almost instantly, the skin knitting together as though it had never been damaged. He flexed his hand, testing the newly mended flesh, then leaned back in his chair, a contemplative look on his face.
“Let's see if that kid learned anything from my lesson about stealth earlier,” Frank muttered to himself, a faint smile playing on his lips. He knew that Maxwell had taken the key card, but he was curious to see how the boy would use it. The skin creature would keep an eye on Maxwell, reporting back anything of interest. Frank's eyes gleamed with anticipation, the twisted game of cat and mouse bringing a spark of genuine excitement to his otherwise monotonous existence.
Minutes earlier, the moment Maxwell left the room, his heart was still racing. He couldn't believe Frank hadn't noticed him, or at least that's what he thought. His mind buzzed with hypercognition, planning out his escape down to the tiniest detail. He recalled every aspect of Frank's tour, especially the heavily guarded elevator they had passed. Maxwell was certain this elevator was his ticket to freedom. Determined and focused, he started sprinting toward his destination, weaving through the corridors with precision and speed.
As Maxwell ran, he accidentally collided with a boy around his age. The boy had long white hair and vacant gray eyes, and he wore light blue pajamas adorned with small cat faces. The matching shirt and pants, along with a small collar with a bell, gave him a whimsical appearance. Small fangs peeked from under his warm smile, and cat ears perched atop his head. He had dropped his walking cane, and was now scrambling on the floor, searching for it.
“Here, let me help you,” Maxwell said, quickly picking up the cane and placing it in the boy's hands.
“Thank you so much. I’m incapable of seeing, so this cane is very vital for me. My name is Noah. What about you?” Noah questioned, his voice filled with gratitude.
“Maxwell. I’m sorry for running into you, I’m just in a bit of a hurry,” Maxwell replied, glancing back as he resumed his hurried pace.
“How peculiar. I can usually sense nearby humans, but he was completely invisible to me,” Noah mused to himself, his vacant gray eyes seeming to search the empty space around him. The bell on his collar jingled softly as he stood there, contemplating the strange encounter.
Maxwell continued his pace, but knew his destination was rather far from his starting point of Frank's office. His heart pounded in his chest, not just from the exertion, but from the fear of being caught before he could even attempt his escape. As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with a pair of figures who swiftly moved to block his path.
“Hey, hey, where are you running to?” Sarah questioned, her sharp yellow eyes narrowing with curiosity.
The first girl had long, flowing white hair that cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall. Her sharp, piercing yellow eyes contrasted strikingly against her pale complexion. She wore a pristine white dress that seemed to shimmer in the light, accentuating her delicate features. In her hand, she clutched an intricately crafted angel doll, its tiny wings, and serene expression mirroring her own quiet grace. The doll appeared to be a treasured companion, its pristine condition suggesting it was cared for with great tenderness. She looked to be a year younger than Maxwell.
“Come on, come on, tell us, what's the big rush?” Emily echoed, her voice dripping with mock concern.
The second girl had long, flowing white hair that cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall. Her sharp, piercing yellow eyes contrasted strikingly against her pale complexion, mirroring the intensity of her twin sister's gaze. She wore a jet-black dress that absorbed the light, creating a stark contrast to her ethereal features. In her hand, she clutched an intricately crafted demon doll, its tiny horns, and sinister expression standing in stark opposition to the angel doll her sister held. The doll appeared to be a cherished companion, its well-preserved condition suggesting it was handled with the same care and tenderness. Despite their contrasting appearances, the twins shared an undeniable bond, their distinct dolls reflecting the duality of their connection. She looked to be a year younger than Maxwell.
Maxwell's mind raced, hypercognition kicking into overdrive as he assessed the situation. These girls were clearly not ordinary inhabitants, their presence exuded an unsettling mix of innocence and menace. He needed to think fast, come up with a plausible excuse, or find a way to slip past them without raising further suspicion.
“I'm just…trying to find my way back to my room,” Maxwell stammered, forcing a nervous smile. “I got a bit turned around, that's all.”
Sarah and Emily exchanged knowing glances, their expressions unreadable. “Is that so?” Sarah mused, taking a step closer. “You seem awfully flustered for someone just looking for their room.”
Maxwell's pulse quickened as he tried to maintain his composure. “It's a big place, easy to get lost,” he replied, his eyes darting between the two girls. He had to get past them, and quickly, before they decided to dig deeper into his intentions.
“You’re a horrible liar, and trust me I’m good at noticing liars,” Emily said, standing closer to Maxwell.
“Are you picking on someone again, sister? Just the other day, you stole someone's cane and were tossing it around,” Ashe said, annoyance lacing his tone.
The boy strode over to the group, his pink curly hair bouncing slightly with each step. His blood-red eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, clearly unimpressed. He wore a crimson hoodie that contrasted sharply with his pale skin, and black pants that completed his casual yet slightly menacing look. Underneath his disapproving expression, small fangs were visible, though they seemed different compared to the ones Noah had, sharper and more predatory.
Ashe’s presence added a new layer of tension to the encounter. His disapproving glare was directed at Sarah and Emily, but Maxwell felt its weight as well. “You know how I feel about bullying,” Ashe continued, his voice carrying a note of authority. “Why do you always have to make things difficult for everyone?”
Sarah rolled her eyes, her sharp yellow gaze flicking to her brother. “We were just having a bit of fun, Ashe. No need to get all worked up.”
Emily pouted, her grip tightening on the demon doll. “Yeah, we weren’t hurting anyone. Just wanted to see where this guy was rushing off to in such a hurry.”
Maxwell seized the opportunity, his mind working rapidly to come up with a way out of this confrontation. “Really, I’m just trying to get back to my room,” he said, his voice steadying with each word. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
Ashe’s gaze softened slightly as he turned to Maxwell. “Don’t let them bother you. I’ll make sure they don’t cause any more problems. You should head back to your room.”
“Oh come on, brother, why must you always be a buzzkill,” The two said in unison.
“You were a problem child when there was just one of you, this meta-ability of yours to clone yourself, has turned you into a bigger pain to deal with,” Ashe said.
Maxwell nodded, grateful for the unexpected ally. “Thank you,” he said, slipping past the twins as Ashe held them in check. As he continued his journey, the tension slowly eased from his shoulders, though he remained alert. He had narrowly escaped one obstacle, but he knew many more lay ahead.
“How many more people will I run into? This is getting ridiculous,” Maxwell muttered under his breath as he drew closer to his destination.
As he passed by a lounge area, he spotted two people roughly his age locked in a heated battle. He stopped, curiosity getting the better of him. The girl had long, flowing purple hair and eyes to match. She wore a black dress paired with white socks and black dress shoes, her movements swift and graceful as she jumped across the room. Thin, razor-sharp threads extended from her fingers, slicing through the air as she aimed for her opponent.
The boy was a stark contrast, with crimson hair and cold green eyes. His skin had a peculiar light green tint, making him appear almost otherworldly. Dressed in a maroon shirt and black pants, he stood his ground, two upwards-facing horns adding to his intimidating presence. His hands transformed into writhing green tentacles, which he used to parry the girl’s attacks.
“Just give me the last pudding cup already!” Cynthia yelled, her frustration evident in her voice.
“It’s mine, you can’t have it!” Rook retorted, his determination equally strong.
Maxwell watched in disbelief, momentarily forgetting his own predicament. The sheer absurdity of their fight over a pudding cup struck him as both amusing and concerning. He marveled at their powers, realizing just how unique and dangerous everyone in this facility was. He took a step back, ensuring he stayed out of their line of fire, and continued to plan his next move.
Cynthia's eyes narrowed as she lunged forward, her purple hair trailing behind her like a cape. The threads extending from her fingers glinted menacingly, each one as sharp as a razor. She slashed through the air, aiming directly at Rook’s chest.
Rook reacted swiftly, his hands morphing into writhing green tentacles. They coiled and twisted, forming a barrier that absorbed Cynthia's attack. The threads sliced through some of the tentacles, but new ones sprouted almost instantly, replacing the severed ones.
“Are you really attacking me for a pudding cup?” Rook questioned, his green eyes gleaming with defiance.
Cynthia didn't respond with words. Instead, she leaped into the air, her threads weaving an intricate web around Rook. She landed gracefully on the other side, pulling her fingers back to tighten the web, intending to immobilize him.
Rook, however, was quicker than she anticipated. His tentacles shot out, severing the threads before they could fully ensnare him. He then counterattacked, his tentacles lashing out like whips. Cynthia dodged and twisted, her dress fluttering as she moved with remarkable agility.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Maxwell watched from the sidelines, amazed at their skills. He knew he had to keep moving, but the fight was too captivating to ignore.
Cynthia managed to get in close, her threads wrapping around one of Rook's tentacles. She yanked hard, pulling him off balance. Rook stumbled but quickly regained his footing, using his remaining tentacles to launch himself at her. The two clashed in the center of the lounge, their powers colliding in a chaotic dance of purple and green.
Just as Cynthia prepared to deliver a finishing blow, a loud voice cut through the air. “Enough!” A group of guards stormed into the lounge, their presence imposing and authoritative.
The combatants froze, their eyes darting to the intruders. One guard, a tall figure with a stern expression, stepped forward. “You two are causing too much trouble. Hand over the pudding cup.”
Cynthia and Rook reluctantly stepped back, their animosity momentarily subdued. Cynthia loosened her threads, letting them fall to the ground, while Rook retracted his tentacles, his hands returning to their normal form.
The guard reached down and picked up the pudding cup from where it had fallen during the fight. With a disdainful look, he squeezed it tightly, causing the contents to splatter across the floor. “There, now nobody gets it.”
Cynthia and Rook both looked devastated, their expressions a mix of anger and disappointment. The guards ushered them away, leaving Maxwell standing in the hallway, the remnants of the pudding cup smeared on the floor as a reminder of the chaos he had just witnessed. With the path now clear, Maxwell resumed his journey, his determination renewed.
Maxwell finally arrived at his destination, the heavily guarded elevator that he believed was his ticket out of this nightmarish facility. A total of six armed guards stood at attention, their eyes scanning the area with the precision of trained soldiers. Their presence was intimidating, a clear indication that whatever lay beyond the elevator doors was of significant importance. Maxwell crouched behind a corner, his hypercognition whirring as he rapidly assessed the situation. There was no way he could take on all of those guards at once, not without a solid plan. As he pondered his next move, he remained oblivious to the eerie skin creature that had been silently observing him.
Back in his office, Frank watched the unfolding scene with a twisted sense of amusement. The skin creature transmitted the images directly to him, and he couldn't help but smile at Maxwell's ingenuity. “So he’s realized that the elevator is the exit. Well done. I wonder how he will get past the guards. What do you think, boy?” Frank's voice shifted to a cheerful tone as he glanced at Bjorn Jr., who continued to rest peacefully on his bed.
“Sleep well, I'll find you something delicious for dinner once I’m done with this little game,” Frank said excitedly, his eyes never leaving the images being relayed by the creature.
Determined and desperate, Maxwell quickly ran back to the lounge, a plan forming in his mind. He burst into the room, where Cynthia and Rook sat on opposite ends, their expressions still sour from their recent clash. “Listen up, I need both of your help. If you help me, I'll get you both another pudding cup,” Maxwell lied, hoping the promise of a reward would be enough to enlist their aid.
Cynthia eyed him suspiciously, her purple eyes narrowing. “Oh really? Where are you going to get one? The fridge is all out and won't be stocked again for two days.”
Maxwell flashed the stolen key card, its significance not lost on them. “I can get into where they keep the food pretty easily with this,” he said, a confident smirk playing on his lips.
Their eyes lit up with curiosity, the potential for access to restricted areas far more enticing than the mere promise of pudding. “Alright, what do you need us to do?” Rook asked, his tentacles twitching slightly in anticipation.
“Wait right here, I require two others first,” Maxwell replied, darting out of the room before they could question him further.
He found the twins, Sarah and Emily, sitting on the ground with sullen expressions, their earlier mischief replaced by boredom. “I need your help,” Maxwell said, his tone urgent.
“What’s in it for us?” Sarah asked, her sharp yellow eyes glinting with interest.
“With this, you'll be able to commit a lot more mischief, in places your brother can't stop you,” Maxwell answered, holding up the key card. Their faces lit up with excitement, and without further hesitation, they agreed to join him. With his team assembled, Maxwell knew he had one shot to pull off his plan and escape this hellish facility.
The five of them gathered in the lounge, the air thick with anticipation as Maxwell explained his plan. His mind raced with hypercognitive precision, carefully crafting each step to ensure his success while keeping his true intentions hidden. He knew he had to be convincing, but he also had to withhold the critical detail, he had no intention of giving them the key card once he escaped.
“Once you all create this distraction, I'll obtain what I require and come back to deliver on my promise,” Maxwell said, his voice steady despite the anxiety gnawing at his insides.
“What’s beyond that elevator anyway that you’re so determined to reach?” Cynthia questioned, her sharp eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“That's private information. Are you all ready?” Maxwell deflected, not willing to divulge more than necessary.
The group nodded, their determination palpable. Maxwell's heart pounded as he ran over to the guards, each step echoing his growing desperation. Behind him, chaos erupted in the lounge as the students began to brawl. Cynthia spun around, her threads slicing through the air with lethal precision. Rook countered her attacks with his tentacles, the two of them locked in a deadly dance of offense and defense.
The twins, Sarah and Emily, darted around the room with agile swiftness, their movements a blur. Occasionally, their arms morphed into mantis-like scythes, slashing at anyone who came too close. The room was a whirlwind of motion, threads, tentacles, and scythes creating a chaotic symphony of violence. Maxwell used the commotion to his advantage, slipping past the distracted guards and making his way toward the elevator.
The guards, initially bewildered by the sudden outbreak of violence, quickly sprang into action. Their shouts mingled with the sounds of the fight, orders barked and weapons drawn, though nothing lethal was used. One guard attempted to restrain Cynthia, only to be ensnared by her threads, his weapon clattering to the floor as he struggled to free himself.
Rook seized the opportunity, his tentacles wrapping around the fallen weapon and flinging it across the room. The twins, seeing their chance, lunged at another guard, their scythes flashing. The guard managed to block their initial strike but was quickly overwhelmed by their relentless assault.
Amidst the chaos, Maxwell reached the elevator. His hands trembled as he swiped the key card, the door sliding open with a quiet hiss. He glanced back, his heart heavy with guilt as he watched the others fight. He knew he was leaving them to deal with the consequences of his actions, but his survival depended on escaping this facility.
As the elevator doors closed behind him, Maxwell took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. Unbeknownst to him, Frank's eerie skin creature had been watching his every move, relaying the events back to its master.
Meanwhile, in the lounge, the fight raged on. The guards, though initially caught off guard, began to regain control. They moved with practiced precision, coordinating their efforts to subdue the students. Cynthia and Rook found themselves increasingly on the defensive, their initial advantage waning.
Sarah and Emily, sensing the tide turning against them, ran away, slipping past the guards as the others dealt with the guards. The guards finally managed to restrain Cynthia and Rook, pinning them to the ground as they struggled to break free.
As the fight came to an end, the guards surveyed the wreckage of the lounge. The students lay defeated, their distraction ended as they hoped Maxwell succeeded. Maxwell, now safely hidden within the elevator, took a moment to collect himself. He knew he had bought himself some time, but he also knew that the real challenge was just beginning.
As the elevator doors slid open at the top floor, Maxwell's heart raced. Two guards stood vigilant, their eyes narrowing as they spotted him. Maxwell, undeterred and confident in his abilities, infused his aura into his back. With a swift, almost ethereal motion, his angelic wings sprouted, shimmering with latent energy.
Maxwell’s speed was unparalleled as he shot out of the elevator, his wings propelling him into the air. The guards reacted, but their movements seemed sluggish in comparison. Maxwell unleashed a barrage of razor-sharp feathers, each one a deadly projectile. The guards tried to dodge, their training kicking in, but the feathers moved too quickly. Sharp stings and cuts appeared on their arms and faces as they struggled to evade the onslaught.
With a powerful flap of his wings, Maxwell soared higher before diving with lethal precision. His first target barely had time to react before Maxwell struck. A well-placed neck chop rendered the guard unconscious, his body crumpling to the ground. The second guard, driven by adrenaline and duty, lunged at Maxwell, his hands reaching out to grab him.
Maxwell's wings curled protectively around him, the sharp edges slicing through the guard’s skin as he made contact. Blood trickled from the cuts, the pain forcing the guard to recoil. Seizing the opportunity, Maxwell spun around, his movements a blur. He darted past the guard, using his momentum to leap into the air. With a decisive, powerful chop to the back of the neck, he incapacitated the second guard, who fell beside his comrade, unconscious.
Breathing heavily, Maxwell stood amidst the fallen guards, his wings slowly retracting. The corridor was silent, save for the distant hum of machinery and the faint sound of his own heartbeat. He had overcome this hurdle, but he knew the real challenge was yet to come.
Maxwell sprinted down the dimly lit corridor, each step pounding heavily against the cold floor. The fatigue in his muscles was palpable, but he pushed through, driven by desperation. The corridor was eerily quiet, devoid of any guard presence, and the usual surveillance cameras seemed to be malfunctioning or turned off. The air was thick with tension as Maxwell’s rapid breaths echoed against the walls. Despite his rapid pace, the lack of obstacles was both perplexing and unsettling.
As he reached the end of the corridor, Maxwell skidded to a halt. His eyes widened in disbelief at the scene before him. Frank stood nonchalantly near the exit, surrounded by piles of unconscious guards strewn haphazardly across the floor. A streak of fresh blood marred his otherwise cheerful demeanor, his grin as unsettling as ever. The air was thick with an ominous calmness that sent shivers down Maxwell’s spine.
“Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone about this,” Frank said, his voice maintaining that unnerving cheerfulness. “If you keep quiet, I’ll overlook your little escape attempt and even ensure your ‘friends’ are pardoned for their rule-breaking.”
Maxwell, his heart racing, struggled to keep his voice steady. “Did you know all along that I stole your key card?”
“Of course,” Frank replied with a nonchalant shrug. “But don’t be discouraged. My senses are quite acute. If you’d tried this plan on anyone else in the facility, it might have worked.”
Maxwell’s mind raced, grappling with the horrifying realization that Frank had anticipated every move. He glanced around at the unconscious guards, the blood stains, and the chilling certainty that Frank was far more dangerous than he appeared.
“Besides,” Frank continued with a casual air, “I wouldn’t recommend trying to leave this facility.”
Maxwell, trying to maintain his composure, shot back, “Why not? The only one stopping me is you.”
Frank chuckled, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and malice. “Well, you see, you’ve been unconscious for a year. The world outside has ended, and all the air is toxic. It will kill you instantly.”
Maxwell’s face went pale, grappling with the enormity of the revelation. His mind raced, trying to process the staggering news. But before he could respond, Frank’s grin widened. “I’m just kidding. That’s the plot of a game I enjoy. In reality, there’s a bomb implanted in your neck. If you try to escape, it will detonate. Sorry for the dark humor, but I promise, that part is not a joke.”
The grim reality hit Maxwell like a sledgehammer, leaving him stunned and immobilized. Frank’s forced cheerfulness only added to the surreal horror of his situation.
“You should head back to your room,” Frank said, his tone disarmingly calm as he gestured towards the hallway. “Despite the chaos you caused, we have no intention of harming you. You’re valuable to us, especially as an Awakened. Although it seems Octavian intentionally concealed that information from your files.”
Maxwell's face was a mask of utter defeat. His shoulders slumped, and his eyes, once filled with determination, were now hollow and resigned. Every step he took felt heavier than the last, each echo of his footsteps a reminder of his shattered hope. Frank’s presence, by contrast, was almost jubilant. His smile remained wide and unsettlingly gleeful, as though he took pleasure in Maxwell’s dejection.
Frank led Maxwell down the corridor with an air of casual authority, the walls of the facility seeming to close in around them. The oppressive silence of the corridor was punctuated only by the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead. The weight of Maxwell's realization pressed down on him, each step a further reminder of the grim reality he faced. As they reached Maxwell’s room, Frank’s smile did not falter. It was a smile of victory, one that seemed to savor every moment of Maxwell’s suffering.