Jackson Shaw voted to head of the board for the 3rd straight decade.

SAINT CENTURY – Jackson Shaw, the patriarch of the Shaw-Krueger Conglomerate and largest shareholder, was elected head of the board this morning unanimously. Earlier in the year, some expected competition in the form of John Gibson. But, despite being well beyond the Black Zero Scandal, Gibson was still too nuclear to touch. He received 0% of the vote. Shaw promised an increase in share rations for workers and a more comprehensive share passage program in the event of death during his victory speech.

-Century City News Blast

Back in the same cell as before, Roxanne sat slumped in the corner. She hated these shackles. They were cumbersome and awkward; they made even simply sitting a pain. Roxanne sighed heavily. Alone in her thoughts for the first time in over a year, she wanted to scream. Most days were spent conversing with Azonne or mindlessly scrolling socials, and it hit her hard just how empty her life was outside of all that. She felt sick to her stomach.

Being so thoroughly humiliated on top of that was just pure icing.

Roxanne wholly focused on a crack in the wall just ahead of her. Mentally she pictured it spreading across the border and inching closer to her. Guess this was her life now. There was no way to tell how long she had been here since the fight, and the isolation was already maddening. Above her was a window, a 5-inch slot in which light poured through.

The atmosphere was bathed in a hazy green and seemed unchanging. Roxanne remembered how disorienting it was, which had been hours ago. At least, that’s how it felt to her. Did this world even have a working day/night cycle? She figured it had to. She played with that thought experiment for a bit to pass more time.

She thought of the word Uzrath, but it rang only the faintest of bells. It triggered no memories, either; this scared her. Indeed one of her predecessors had to have come across this, but she couldn’t pull anything. Instead, filled with a vague sense of hearing the word before, Roxanne stewed some more.

Once again, she closed her eyes and felt around for her mind palace, a place deep within her cortex. Where Azonne typically resided, and her shared memories lay dormant. It was her safe space where she could meditate and hone her skills, yet now it was out of reach. It was a ghost, an afterimage.

Something about this place, and the shackles she wore, slammed the door shut to it. Somehow they suppressed what little power she still had. Very quickly, things started contributing to the growing despair that vexed Roxanne. Nothing was impossible to her; there was always a way. She lived her life by it.

Yet with each ticking moment, that optimism died a little more.

Frustrated with feeling sorry for herself, she stood up. Now she had an influx of nervous energy that she tried to work out by pacing in a circle. All this effort made her realize she was starving. Would they be bringing food for her? Did they even know what kind of food she ate? The manic episode was interrupted by footsteps coming in from down the hall. Roxanne pressed herself against the cell bars in a vain attempt to catch a glimpse of who it could be but felt instantly ridiculous.

Instead, she shouted: “Hey! Kill me or feed me!” And she felt her cheeks get flush. A figure stepped into her view, so she took a step back. It was the hooded figure from before, from the luxury box.

“I’m sure you’d prefer one versus the other, yes?” It said as it removed the hood, revealing a mantis-like face with large yellow hexagonal eyes, a greenish-blue skin color, and long white human-like hair that fell to its shoulders and swept off the side of the head, hiding half its face. Something stirred in Roxanne, something like a memory. She chalked it up to her weirdness with her powers and took another step back.

“What do you want?” Roxanne asked flatly. The creature appeared to be studying Roxanne. The flooding green light refracted off its vast eyes and forced her to squint.

“Who are you?” Roxanne spoke again. The creature bent its head forward slightly while raising a hand to its chest.

“Apologies, I am Enehva.” They paused to read Roxanne’s reaction. “You recognize the name, do you not?” Roxanne eyed her suspiciously. It did seem familiar, on a surface level, maybe.

“How are you speaking my language?”

“I’m not,” something Roxanne pegged as a smile crossed Enehva’s lips. “We’re speaking the same language.” Roxanne’s eyes grew wide at this.

“But how?”

“We have a connection, you and I. You feel it don’t you? You also don’t feel completely cut off, correct? The feeling and power are right there and out of reach.”

“…who are you? How do you know that?”

Enehva lowered her head and reached for the wall beside the door, and after a second, they swung open. Enehva took a step forward, forcing Roxanne to take a move back again. The wall hovered inches away from her backside. Something kicked in, and she was acting on pure instinct, an involuntary act of self-preservation.

“Because,” Enehva said. “Our people created the Cyntaf. Because,” and they took another step forward. “I wore them first.”

The words hung there like a giant neon blinking sign. The synaptic gears in Roxanne’s brain suddenly sprang to life, and the familiar feeling she had felt earlier made sense, but only barely.

“That’s impossible.” She said. “You’d have to be billions of years old.”

“Has it been that long?” Enehva looked upward as if the very idea had just occurred to them. She visibly shook the thoughts away before she continued:

“Search within you, and you’ll know I’m telling you the truth.”

Roxanne didn’t need to do that. Something had triggered in her and had opened the so-called flood gates. In her time serving, she had gone back within her mind palace to study her predecessors, but there had been so many she’d barely had a passing familiarity with the first mantle holder.

But she knew the name.

Enehva, of course; the Prime. It all came from her: the rings, the look, everything.

“Uzrath, that’s why it struck me,” Roxanne said suddenly. “Your people are one of the Original Four.”

Enehva bowed her head at this. The Original Four were the earliest sentient species in the galaxy's history; some ancient historians considered them the origin points for all conscious life. Although very little data exists, the Original Four became a legend amongst the stars. A tale now lost to time. Truthfully, she wouldn’t be surprised if she was the only source left. Until now, anyway.

“But I don’t understand; how are your people still here? And that thing that wanted to kill me had rings like mine...”

Enehva nodded to her statement. “Yes, that—that is my son, Ordlach.” She bowed her head again as if struck by sudden emotion. “Ring-bearer, that is why you’re here. We’ve been stuck here in this self-made prison for eons, and he’s-he’s lost his way. We all have.” Enehva paused to consider the following words. “I convinced him to pull you here so that you might help us.”

“Help you how? And those rings—I’m still just so confused,” Roxanne lamented. Enehva quickly looked behind her as if she had heard something imperceptible to Roxanne. She returned her gaze quickly.

“I have to go,” Enehva said finally. “Sometime after I’m gone, your doors will open. A confidant will retrieve you and take you to the city's outskirts. Wait for me there, and I will answer all your questions.” Roxanne nodded. Finally, she'd gotten the first bit of good information since waking up here.

“I assume this one will look like you?” She asked with a grimace, immediately regretting her wording. Roxanne's expression made Enehva smile, or what passed for a smile for her people.

“Not exactly. My compatriot is not as big as my son, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Ha,” Roxanne scoffed. “I was, actually.” Enehva stepped out of the room and let the door slam shut in front of her. She paused before it to study Roxanne some more before returning the hood over her head and face.

“It’s good to see it live on,” she uttered before she turned. Roxanne felt goosebumps forming across her skin. Enehva, the prime mantle holder, is the one they all derived from outside The First. She was stupefied. Was this some elaborate trick designed to destroy the mantle? There was an obvious truth to what Enehva had told her; that much was clear.

With all the lingering questions, Roxanne could only wait.

*

Greenlight still poured in from the slot just above Roxanne’s head. She sat cross-legged against the wall, slightly annoyed that she didn’t ask for a time frame. As far as she was concerned, it could have been hours, and the lack of change regarding day and night made it even worse. Frustrated, Roxanne stood up and considered pacing again.

A slight groove already walked into the stone floor forced her to reconsider the idea. Instead, she walked to the door and pressed herself against it. As if in response, the door swung open, catching Roxanne by surprise. She cocked an eyebrow and stuck her head out.

She saw nothing, not a soul, not even the guard from earlier.

She backed up a few steps and considered her options. Someone was supposed to be here, yet no one was in sight. Waiting felt about as stupid as walking out blindly but, at least with the latter, she would be a step closer to freedom. Roxanne stood there another few minutes mulling things over before she figured: Screw it. Better to go out in a blaze of glory than to just sit there waiting to die. She rubbed her hands together and took a step out.

“OW!” Roxanne felt a pain in her stomach and doubled over, groaning; she collided with something.

“What the hell, human? You are supposed to wait!” Another artificial voice.

Roxanne opened one eye to look at the minor roadblock. Armored the same as the other guards, except this one was only about stomach high on her. She almost burst out laughing. Were it not for the abdominal pain; she would have.

“You were late?” She said between winces.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“I was not! The door opened early; that’s different.” Roxanne scrunched her face at this. Just what she needed, sass. The little one continued without missing a beat:

“Right, I guess you’re the savior, yea?”

“Uh?”

“Fantastic. Name’s Sten.”

“Roxanne.”

“Walk ahead of me, Roxanne. Act casual; this is just a simple prisoner transfer, yeah?”

“If you say so,” Roxanne stepped into the hallway and walked toward the exit. She could hear Sten’s little footsteps pittering behind her and tried not to laugh. I bet he’s adorable under that mask; stop it, Roxanne. Her life was one persistent whiplash between dire and ridiculous, but that didn’t mean taking your eye off the ball.

“How do you know Enehva?” She asked.

“Shh! Prisoners don’t talk with guards,” he uttered behind her.

“Sorry, uh-right or left?”

“Left,” he said, and Roxanne obliged. She figured off-hand that the path stretched before her for about a mile, and she could see a typical guard at the end. Her stomach turned; Roxanne had zero faith in her companion back there. She wished he had taken off these cuffs as, to her, this kind of deception was for the birds. It never worked; even Azonne would agree with me.

I miss her. The guard ahead took note of them at about the halfway point and cocked its head to the side. Roxanne’s heart raced; this was already a fiasco, and she knew it. From the guard’s vantage point—never mind that her being was outside at all was strange—it could not see Sten behind her.

“Stop right there!” It shouted, and Roxanne froze. Sten stepped in front of her, arms outstretched.

“Prisoner transfer,” he said before he glanced back toward Roxanne. If he was trying to give her a look, or some sort of sign, it wasn’t working. The bug-eyed helmet was featureless; Roxanne’s eyes scanned over to the guard and grimaced.

“Transfer to where?” It asked.

“Well,”

“Ordlach don’t want that one moved; who are you?”

Sten glanced back at Roxanne again. She wondered if he expected her to do something. In one swift motion, Sten turned around to face the other guard and whipped out a weapon. It looked like a Terran pistol, but boxier and with strange lights adorned all over. He squeezed the trigger twice, and two bright orange beams winked out from the barrel and cut right through the guard’s chest.

The massive guard fell backward and crashed into the door it was guarding. The metal buckled underneath its frame and ultimately came off the hinges with a loud crash. Ahead were two other guards momentarily taken by surprise; they grabbed their large rifles and started firing.

Roxanne dropped down while orange streams streaked over her head. Sten returned fire and forced the guards to take cover. Sten looked to his left, there was a shut door there, and he rammed into it with his shoulder; it didn’t budge. Roxanne got up and joined him, and their combined strength forced the door open.

The two guards had seen their prey had stopped firing and worked their way over. By the time they were in position, Roxanne and Sten were inside. Both of them braced themselves against the door as the guards slammed their fists against it. She heard them shouting through the door but had no idea what. She assumed it was for reinforcements.

“Good plan!” She said in between pounds at the door.

“Listen,” he began. “I panicked.”

“Clearly!” Roxanne shouted back. “Can you get these cuffs off me?”

“What? Why?”

“Because I can get us out of there if I had my powers, you dummy!”

“Are you crazy? Do you know how much attention that’s going to bring?”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?!”

Sten had to have a think about that. He reached onto his belt and tapped a panel on the side. The shackles hissed once more and came apart before colliding with the ground. Roxanne felt that tickle on the back of her brain stem as her protective aura crystallized around her.

“Step back!” She shouted while pushing Sten aside. She lifted her right arm, and the golden ring on her finger sparked, unleashing a bright beam of hot yellow plasma at the door. It punctured with concussive force and blew outward, sending the guards flying. The beam continued traveling past them and collided with the outer wall. A circular area of it disintegrated into dust under the intense heat.

Sten grimaced inwardly; this was going to be a mess for sure.

Roxanne stepped out into the hallway. Both guards were unconscious underneath the debris, but she tapped one with her toe to be sure. Something beyond the hole caught her eye; she stepped toward it and stopped at the edge. The entire city lay bare before her.

They had to be at least 100 stories high. It was unlike any human city she’d ever seen, not even in one of the furthest colonies where architecture typically got weird. Most structures were domed at the top but oblong in the body. None rose above twenty stories with this prison, or palace, clearly towering high above all for a reason.

They glittered and looked perfect. It reminded Roxanne of human settlements that gave off an air of high class that most people couldn’t resist. The opulence made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t put her finger on the reason why. Under the green haze of the atmosphere, from this distance, they almost looked unreal. Like they had been rendered in software.

Taking her first honest look at the sky, Roxanne tried to find some star or sun; instead, there was only a black disk. Around it, the atmosphere spun and distorted in one direction like a grease stain. It was an accretion disc; she was sure of that. Which typically meant a black hole, but how could a planet survive so close to one?

Down the hall, she could hear more loud clicking; reinforcements. With no time to ponder the nature of her surroundings, Roxanne grabbed Sten by his chest armor and rocketed off the edge and through the hole. She rose high into the sky and felt tempted to keep going. To see just what would happen, but she thought better of it. Too many questions are still left unanswered.

“Tell me which way to go!” She shouted down at Sten. He was grasping onto her arm like a scared kitten but couldn’t escape how uncomfortable being held up by his chest armor was. He pointed to her right side, which was northward relative to their position. That part of the city became less dense as buildings thinned out. One, in particular, stood out amongst these. Smaller than everything around it and squat like a warehouse on her home planet.

It was oddly shaped compared to the rest of the city and more akin to a pentagon; harder-edged, as opposed to the smooth that exemplified the buildings surrounding it. If this was a hideout of some sort, it wasn’t inconspicuous about it at all. She dropped down in front and expected to kick up some dirt, but the floor was pavement, just colored a shade of brown.

Sten freed himself from her grasp and dropped down to both knees; he hated flying. This fear was mainly born because he wasn’t blessed with wings like so many of his brethren. In a way, Sten just hated flying out of spite. That said, after what he had just gone through, that hate became much more tangible. Roxanne crouched down beside him, she searched for something to say, something that would maybe make him feel better, but he shrugged her hand away. She stood up and clasped her hands together around her navel.

“Hey, sorry, I’m sure that wasn’t very comfortable,” she said. Sten looked over at her and then nodded his head reluctantly. Eventually, he stood up and re-composed himself. He made a big show of adjusting the gear he was wearing.

“It’s fine,” he said eventually. “Flying is just not my thing.” The way the words broadcasted from his helmet continued to freak Roxanne out. She appreciated the real-time translation—even when it was just about how much others wanted her dead—but the voice used was unnatural. The robotic cadence brought to mind the slight robophobia she had developed last year. A flash of an incident involving the self-proclaimed Mechanoterrorist, King Robo, flooded her mind briefly, and she hated it. It was a terrible blindspot.

Sten led her to a large set of double doors that made them look comically small. Roxanne found a tiny bit of joy over being taller than someone for once, human or not. Sten removed a hidden panel revealing a data pad to the right of one of the doors. He punched something into it, and she could hear the doors unlock with a massive Ka-Chunk that startled her. Sten waited by the pad as the doors hissed open horizontally. Satisfied they were high enough, he hit a button to get them to pause. He motioned for her to go inside, so she did.

Once inside, Sten found another data pad and tapped at it. The doors promptly reversed course and closed back up. The space before Roxanne was entirely hollow. From on high, the building looked small but even once at ground level, aside from the doors, it undersold just how big this place was.

What it lacked in height, it made up in space, and Roxanne found herself momentarily awestruck. Lining the walls were what Roxanne assumed to be vehicles of a kind. They had no wheels or anything of the sort, but the apparent exhaust ports on the back suggested propulsion, to say nothing of the aerodynamic design they all shared. They, too, were a dull color, mostly green with white trim set on all the edges.

They’d seen better days.

Directly in front of her were two rows of eight 50x50 pods, square in shape, lined up side by side. They looked like the kind of micro-domiciles she would see back home on the south side of Saint Century City; the type put out there for when you’ve got too many people and not enough space. It wasn’t unusual to see stacks piled high on one another back home, and this display brought all that back for her. Immediately she started to wonder just how long she had been gone. She had already lost five years of her life due to intergalactic shenanigans, and she wasn’t keen on losing some more.

“I don’t suppose you know what year it is on my planet?” She uttered mostly to amuse herself. Sten walked in front of her, glanced backward, then tapped at the side of his helmet. He wondered if the translation software had died on him.

“What?” He said eventually. Roxanne waved him off and then watched him remove his helmet. Despite the tiny stature, Sten's head was at least the length of his shoulders; absent all the hustle and bustle of earlier, Roxanne only just noticed this and felt compelled to bite her lip.

I’m not going to laugh. Serious face; serious face; serious face. Sten also resembled Enehva in that he had long white hair. She heard him click in his language, and suddenly other members of his species started coming out from the pods. They were hesitant at first but got over their trepidation quickly.

There were 10 in total, each of various shapes and sizes. One held what looked like larvae close to their chest. Each being looked at Roxanne with a mix of awe and wonder. They started crowding around her; some even reached out. Roxanne reflexively pulled her hand back and immediately regretted it.

“You’ll have to excuse them; your kind is popular around here,” Sten told her.

“What?” She blinked a few times, letting what he said fully register. “What does that mean?”

Sten took his turn to wave her off as he walked to one of the pods at the end of the row. His fellow Uzrath continued to crowd around her, clicking in their native tongue. Never had she wished for real-time translation than in this very moment.

“I’m sorry…,” she eventually said. “I don’t understand.” Sten re-emerged from the pod, clicked at the crowd loudly, and watched them slowly disperse. He was holding something; it was a cylinder, lined with geometric designs and covered in red rubies. He handed it to Roxanne, and she took it reluctantly. There was a small slit down the middle that looked like an opening. She held each end in either hand and pulled downward; the cylinder opened. There was nothing inside.

“I don’t get it,” she said flatly.

“You broke it,” he replied equally as flat. Roxanne blushed; she felt mortified. One time, early in her career, she had almost set off a war between rival factions, and this felt a lot like that. Roxanne winced and handed the two pieces back.

“That wasn’t—like—an heirloom or something, was it?” She asked him.

“It was a holo-disguise,” he answered. His smooth robotic voice somehow oozed condescension. It was impressive. “It would have helped you blend in outside. It also allowed for real-time translation. You know, little things like that.”

Roxanne shuffled her feet and rubbed her forehead. “Sorry,” she said.

“Well, hey, who needs to understand what everyone is saying, yeah?”

“You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

“You’re right,” he nodded. “I don’t have to be.” And he turned around to join the rest of the crew, who had sat in a loose circle. They surrounded what looked to be cookware which took up the space between the two rows of pods. The tools resembled everyday things like pots, pitchers, pans, and even utensils, but Roxanne had only assumptions. One creature had its hands in a slimy-looking substance that was fleshy and wet; Roxanne almost gagged. When the figure dumped the slimy mess into one of the containers and smoke started to emerge, it confirmed for her that they were indeed cooking.

Surrounding the cooking set was debris that doubled as furniture for some, while the rest mostly sat on the floor. Two of the crowd engaged in a game while three others watched and cheered. The game appeared to involve a red ball, marble-like, painted with different sets of white dots. One player rolled the ball towards a half-circle piece of possible plastic, curved enough that the two ends left just enough space for it to pass through.

The game seemed simple enough to Roxanne, and she spaced out for minutes, watching the two players go at it. Sten had stopped by the game and chatted it up with the spectators before he took a seat on one of the pieces of junk. He pulled out the pistol he had used earlier and was wiping it. Roxanne casually strolled over, determined to get some answers for once. Sten noticed her coming and pretended he couldn’t see her. She stood there awkwardly for a moment before saying:

“I want to talk to you.”

“I want to age, but life isn’t fair.”

“What?” She asked, and his chest expanded momentarily before decreasing again, almost like a sigh. “Man, can’t you make sense one time? Is that a lot to ask?”

“Enehva will answer your questions.”

“To hell with that,” she said and pointed her finger. “You’ve said some weird crap, and I want some answers.”

“What do you want to know?” He said while he continued polishing. That surprised Roxanne; she didn’t expect it to be that easy. She fumbled for the question and let silence fill in the gaps.

“I have a question,” he said, breaking her train of thought.

“Um, okay?”

“So hurry up and ask yours already.”

Roxanne expected anger to well up, maybe even just annoyance, but it sprung on a question finally: “What did you mean by my kind is popular around here?”

The question startled him as he shot her a look before returning his gaze to the gun. He continued polishing, letting the silence seep its way back in. He seemed to be searching for the words.

“We’ve become very cruel,” was all that he could finally say. Roxanne, set to press further, stopped when a slight murmur rose from the others. Some had gotten up and walked past her, so she followed them with her gaze.

Enehva had arrived.