What is this bitch up to? I quickly glanced over my shoulder to check Imani. She was looking right at me. Creepy weirdo…

Our band of twenty hostages trooped up the stairs to the second floor of the convention center’s east wing. I was the nineteenth in line while the suspicious as fuck Imani was behind me. She tried to talk to me about something a couple of moments ago, but a terrorist asshole told her to shut it.

Not sure if I should even listen to anything she’d say.

There was no way Imani was an innocent hostage at the wrong place and wrong time like me. I may not be innocent in many things, but I was a hundred percent innocent this time. I came here expecting a boring ass event with nothing happening, but it ended up like this through no fault of mine.

Foe? Or definitely foe? I took inventory of what I knew about Imani.

She seemed to be shadowing me; there was no other logical explanation for everything that had happened.

Bumping into me at a bakeshop wasn't sketchy in itself. But the thief bastard who stole my phone afterward, leading me back to Imani during the chase, was absolutely super suspicious.

I bet that guy was part of some kind of setup to make me feel grateful to her for helping me get my phone back. Then I'd become friends with her, and...I dunno what was the next step of their plan. She knew I was staying in a condominium while I was here in Vegas, so they were tracking me.

For what reason? I had no clue. But it was undoubtedly nothing good for me.

Granted, the condo thing could be just a lucky guess. However, this bitch showed up at the Greaves Tech Fair even though she told me she didn't want to visit this event.

Fine, she could have a last-minute change of heart, but why now when I was also here? Why now when this fucking Tea Party—a stupid name for a criminal organization even if I liked tea—attacked this place?

Was this like an even more elaborate ruse for Imani to save the day and endear herself to me?

If it was, it meant Imani was connected to these pieces of shit. When we visited that hole-in-the-wall cafe, she had mentioned that the Tea Party was expanding its criminal activities. And then they showed their ugly faces here? Metaphorically—they were wearing face masks except for Circus Mustache.

I wasn't new to coincidences; a shit ton has happened to me since I became an Adumbrae because of coincidences and misunderstandings. But this was just too much.

A Tea Party member with a gun waited for us at the top of the stairs. He pointed us down the hallway, telling us the room number of our holding cell of sorts. It was the only room with an open door. Another Tea Party goon stood outside of it with a gun trained on us.

Walking through the corridor, I intently listened for any sound coming from the rooms we passed. Nothing. Either the rooms had good sound insulation, probably a must-have for hosting an event, or there were no people in these yet.

In any case, Deen and I had guessed right that they would split us up.

They were dividing like a couple of hundred people into groups of twentyish. There might be rooms with a capacity for bigger groups. Assuming we'd end up with ten groups, there was no way the Tea Party would put a guard in each group. Even if there were a couple of guards per room, some groups of hostages might still try to overpower them.

Better not to have any guards inside the rooms at all. Instead, I expected them to lock the rooms from the outside and have someone guard the corridor. This was what Deen also thought was going to happen.

And that was exactly how it unfolded.

When we reached our assigned room, I checked the door across from ours. A black contraption secured it with a huge metal bar placed there by these terrorists. The rooms behind me didn't have it, but those further ahead did. They filled the rooms with hostages starting from the furthest one.

"Get inside quickly!" barked the terrorist near the door. He stood a few feet away from us, ready to shoot anyone who'd try to jump on him and try to wrestle his gun away. "We don't have all fucking day."

"Okay, okay, man." Tesh held his hands up. "We're following your instructions."

"Don't hurt us," Deen chimed in, trying to sound like a damsel in distress. Unfortunately, her charming magic did not affect the Tea Party member who kept his gun pointed at us.

"Hey!" Imani exclaimed as the terrorist shoved her inside the room. She bumped into me, and I hit Deen's back. "Watch it, you—!" she started to yell.

The terrorist shut the door in her face.

"That jerk!" Imani turned to me, her frustrated expression that was probably faked softening into a friendly one. "Sorry for bumping into you, Erind," she said. "That's the second time that happened. I swear I'm not doing it on purpose."

"Yeah...I guess this is twice now," I said. And probably intentional again. "But it's not your fault. He pushed you." After a second of thought, I added. "Are you okay?" Friendly and caring Erind reporting for duty. Imani's plan was obviously to get close to me, and I was going to give her that to know her true intentions.

"Yes, I am. Don't worry about—wah!" She flinched at the banging and metallic clanking on the other side of the door.

The terrorist was presumably installing that lock mechanism thingy to shut us in. Whirring sounds and keen whining followed. The door vibrated a bit. We skipped back as three tiny drills breached the thick wooden door. The drills expanded into hooks, securing the entire contraption to the door and locking it in place.

"Thank the Mother Core they're not executing us!" a woman exclaimed, her voice wavering as she broke into tears.

"Fucking scumbags," grumbled an old man with great posture for his age, wearing an expensive suit. "I'll ensure all of them will rot in jail for this.”

The other hostages spread out in the room, leaving me and Deen, Tesh and his wife, and also Imani by the door. The Praying Man walked a few paces away, stopped, and then returned to our huddle. He must've heard us talk about escaping earlier and wanted to listen more about our plans.

Do you know who'd also be interested in our escape plans? I quickly glanced at Imani to check her reaction.

She was chewing her lips, deep in thought about something. Probably thinking about how to rat us out. Rather than assigning guards to each hostage group, it was better to plant a mole to watch us.

"That's that, I guess?" Tesh sighed, throwing his hands up in resignation. "We're locked in here."

"Without any of them with us," Kiera pointed out. "That's definitely progress on the not-getting-shot part, and also the trying-to-escape part."

"This looks pretty secure though," her husband said, thumping the door with the side of his fist.

"I'm sure we'll be able to figure out how to get out," I said, looking over at Deen.

She subtly nodded. We were both thinking the same thing: we could easily fucking bust down this door with super strength. That stupid ass fancy lock contraption couldn't hold us here. Well, not maybe exactly the same thought—Deen probably didn't curse in her head as much as I did.

Deen nudged her head to the door and raised a brow. I shrugged in response, signing that I had no idea how we were going to destroy the door without exposing our not-so-human secret. She narrowed her eyes, looked at the door in thought, and firmly nodded as she faced me again. I took that to mean that we'd eventually figure it out.

Really weird and a bit amusing that I could non-verbally communicate with her to this extent.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

Could it be, I sarcastically thought, that I finally found a true friend? We spent a lot of time together, and I might be better at reading her actions and predicting what she was thinking.

But if I could do that, could she, in turn, also read my mind? If I wore my face well, she shouldn't be able to.

"Nothing that elbow grease can't open." Tesh half-heartedly laughed at his joke.

"Yeah, right," scoffed Kiera with her hands on her hips. "You haven't been to the gym for half a year, and you want to force this open?"

"It's best not to antagonize these criminals," warned the Praying Man. "That'd only draw attention to us. If we're unlucky and make a mistake, they'd closely watch our specific group, making it harder to escape. That is...if they don't kill us."

"Right..." Tesh looked at his wife, then at Deen and me.

He must be weirded out that the Praying Man suddenly inserted himself into our group even though we hadn't invited him over. Not that we would reject him—we'd probably end up trying to convince everyone to join in on the plan anyway.

"We need to make a foolproof plan before acting," said the Praying Man. "Let's check this room and talk to others. Maybe we'll learn something." He walked away, stopped when we didn't follow him, then waved for us to come.

Tesh followed him, and so did the rest of our group. I was getting the vibe that Prayer Man wanted to be our leader. He didn't even introduce himself to us. Drama in a crisis movie? I had seen plenty of those.

We were in a fairly spacious conference room. There was a long oval-shaped conference table with twenty seats—eight on either side plus one chair on each end.

On the far wall, the white projector screen was rolled down. The projector on the ceiling was turned on, displaying a picture of Circus Mustache with a speech bubble above his head saying, ‘Wait for the video to start!'

Four people sat down by the table. But most didn't, wary of the large object on top of it.

It was a black metal box, similar to the others I saw at the fair. It was about the size of an ice cooler chest. A bomb per room? Okay. Why do they have so many of these things?

If I transformed into Pino, would the Erind body I’d leave behind survive a bomb? I did live after a grenade exploded in front of me. But if the explosion were strong enough to pulverize this entire room, then I would no doubt die.

Can’t we just chuck this thing out the window?

The blinds on the window were closed, but through the slits, there were flashes of red and blue lights. Half a dozen people were by the window, peeking through the blinds to check what was happening outside. Someone tried to open the view fully, but another person stopped him.

"The police are positioned across the parking lot!"

"We're gonna get saved! At last!"

"Hey, stay away from the windows, you idiots," said the man who didn't want the blinds opened. "Do you want to become swiss cheese?"

"What do you mean? It's the police, they're gonna come and save us."

"Yes, they want to save us," said the Window Guardian. "But they can't save all of us. And you better pray they don't come here."

"Why the hell not?" demanded a woman who looked like a bossy principal. She folded her arms and tapped her heels on the floor tiles to complete the whole vibe. "How do you expect to be saved? Hmm? You're waiting for these animals to simply release us?"

"That's exactly what I'm waiting for, lady," the Window Guardian replied. "If the police attack, there'll be shooting. When, not if, when the shooting starts, we better not be in view of either the police or the terrorists because they won't know who's fucking who.

“It's not that I don't want to draw the short straw, I'd rather not have any drawing of straws. The best-case scenario is that the Tea Party releases us because we're unimportant. I know I'm not. Sit tight if you want to live."

"They're not going to let me go!" cried the dapper old man. I’d say he was indirectly showing off how ‘important’ he was.

"Let's do what he says and just wait. I'm sure the police are already negotiating with—"

"Open the goddamn window so the police can see me! Maybe TV people are out there? I want my family to see me!"

"Stay away, I say! Don't open the fucking blinds and stay away from the window!"

And then the arguments erupted. I had seen this many times in zombie movies, disaster movies, survival movies, those sorts of shows—people always argued instead of working together, and it always ended badly.

I groaned in exasperation. Can't these people just wait for their turn to die with their mouths shut?

On one hand, I was delighted that the movies I watched were realistic. It was kind of not possible to study and practice how to act like an average person in situations like this one because it wasn't every day I got taken hostage by terrorists. On the other hand, everyday people in a group were annoying as fuck.

"Should we step in?" Deen whispered to me.

"They won't listen to us." I wanted to add that hot blondes usually weren't picked as the leader-type character in movies, but Deen might pick up that I wasn't as distraught as she’d expect I should be about my mother getting taken by terrorists. I shouldn't drop my face and break Rule #7 even though I was getting used to Deen.

At any rate, these people wouldn't pay attention to two young women. That was just the reality of how groups worked. I turned to Tesh, expectedly looking at him. Deen followed my lead. His wife was already urging him to stop the ongoing shitshow.

He hesitantly stepped forward. But Praying Man had decided it was his time to shine, confidently striding in front of Tesh while waving his hands to placate everyone.

"People, people, let's calm down." Praying Man raised his voice to get everybody's attention. "Before we decide on anything, how about we wait for the video? Let's listen to the Tea Party's message and—"

"I'm not going to watch that piece of shit! They must've put some of those, whatchamacallit? Subliminal messaging stuff there!”

"Indoctrination. That’s what it will be about,” claimed the Principal. “Radicalization propaganda.”

"I'm sure the video is about their terms. We should know—"

"When’s the show going to start?"

"We should destroy the projector before their devilish message begins! Keep our eyes and ears pure for the Mother Core to—"

"To hell with the Mother Core! Play the goddamn video so I'll know how much my family should pay to get me out of here!"

Can I get transferred to another group? I sighed. Deen's expression showed she was thinking the same thing. I could probably summon my mask and change into Pino, and no one would notice me.

Oh wait, Deen would. What would be a good story about why I'd suddenly pass out and a peculiar mannequin poof into existence?

"Uh, excuse me, Erind." Imani tapped my shoulder. Here was another person who'd notice if I whipped out a mask. An annoying thorn in my butt that I should carefully watch out for. "Can I talk to you for a bit?" she said in a low voice, pointing to the far corner of the room.

"What are you guys whispering over there?" Deen came closer to us.

"Hi there! I'm Imani Nanda." She readily offered her hand to Deen. "Sorry I haven't introduced myself to you earlier."

Deen shook her hand. "Amber Deen. Are you Erind's friend?" she asked, even though I had already told her about Imani.

"Um, I suppose I am," Imani said. She gave me a sidelong glance.

You're not, I thought as I timidly grinned.

"What were you two going to talk about? Can I join in?" Deen made a face as she pointed to the arguing idiots. "I just want to get away from the noise."

Fuck off, Deen. I was this close to finding out what this snitch bitch was up to, but my snoopy best friend had to barge in. I was Imani's target; she wouldn't feel comfortable talking about whatever she needed from me if Deen was listening in on us.

"Sure, you can," Imani excitedly said, her eyes brightening. "I also wanted to talk to you, actually. But I wasn't sure how to approach you, so I thought of asking Erind first because we already know each other."

Wait, what? Was Deen her actual target, or was Imani just making conversation? Guy or girl, everyone wanted to talk to Deen. Guess I'll have to find out what Imani's true goal is.

"I have something important to say to both of you," Imani said. She had to raise her voice to fend off the rising noise from the shouting match of the idiots. Tesh, Kiera, and others had joined in the fun. "Don't be surprised, okay? What I'll say will—"

A booming drumroll shut everyone up in the room.

The Tea Party's video was starting.

We all looked at each other. Then the arguments restarted, even louder than before. Those who didn't want to stop the video wanted to tear down the projector screen, while others tried to stop them. They eventually managed to drag the white cloth down, which obviously did nothing. The projector continued to display Circus Mustache's mug on the wall.

I kind of preferred the group of survivors when the 2Ms' attacked my former condo building back at La Esperanza.

The drumroll faded, and Circus Mustache spoke, "Ladies and Gentlemen! Now for the much-awaited portion of the evening! More waiting!" He laughed at his stupid joke before continuing, "I do hope you're well-behaved enough not to try to escape your respective rooms. But if you did, you'd have already found out what the box in front of you contains. Now for the big reveal!"

The sides of the metal box divided into slats and folded sideways, revealing the glass walls beneath them. Through the glass, we could see what was inside the box.

It turned out it wasn't a bomb. It was filled with canisters the size of my arm, each containing liquid and...

"Worms?" I said. "No...parasites."