It was a few minutes after I had caused the slight incident in the room with all the finks. I had been let down from that string and was sitting in the chair I'd fallen over only moments before. Twelve finks with shields were around me now, shields up, guns in their hands, white sleeves poking out from what little I could see through them—besides the cold gaze of each of them, letting me know exactly what would happen if I decided to move.

The people in the room I'd landed in were all being herded past now, trying to catch a glimpse of me like I was a wild animal. I was wiping my face, trying to get the blood off to make myself look presentable.

How could I get out of this? A sob story? Nah, finks don’t feel pity. I could always appeal to their ego—they usually liked that kind of thing—but I didn’t think that would work for the finks in black.

I was staring at the floor, finished wiping the blood from my face, having decided it looked good enough, when all of a sudden there were fingers snapping under my nose.

I looked up to the man with a golden halo above his head, a lot of finks in black standing behind his chair.

“Son, why are you covered in blood? Are you hurt?” he asked, almost kindly, but I could hear in his voice that he was used to being obeyed.

“No, sir,” I responded, trying to look at the floor—my usual response to meeting finks. I was dead, so why was I showing respect?

Back to staring, like he was waiting. Uhm, I think he wants me to say something. I was still thinking of going for the sob story when he said, with far more steel than he’d addressed me earlier, “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you covered in blood?”

Fuck. If I said I killed some men on the way here, that didn’t seem like it would go down well. I glanced up at him, then back to the floor. I opened my mouth to start speaking, when he interrupted me.

“Before you start, do not lie to me, please. It will not end well,” he said like he’d already heard my answer and found it wanting.

I started trying to speak again, when that voice—that fucking voice—from a woman standing a little ways away, gazing across the crowd, black coat ironed to perfection, her posture alone making the room feel smaller, calmly said, “I wish to hear this. Do not speak until I give the word.”

I wanted to crawl into a hole and cry, be literally anywhere else. Just like this morning at the booth. I must be in hell. I must have died when I fell through that window. This is what hell looks like.

And then, as if to prove my point, that stupid girl came out of the crowd, just like I’d seen her this morning, just like I’d seen her when I stood up to run away. She walked over, and I almost shat my pants.

I knew she looked familiar. She looked almost exactly like The General, who promptly waved her over, putting her hand on her shoulder, whispering something I couldn’t hear.

And then, she was moving toward me, the girl following her like a slave, and every fink standing in the way parted before her like the sea before Moses.

Half her face belonged on a billboard—perfect jawline, smooth skin, rich brown eyes sharp and calculating, eyeing me the same way her daughter had this morning. But the other half… was wrong. Older. Decades older. Grey hair framed a sagging cheek, her eyelid heavy with age. But her eyes—their exact, calculating sharpness—were the same. Like a past and future version of the same woman was stitched together in an unholy amalgamation.

She pulled over a chair, grinding it against the floor, and then sat before me, a hand’s breadth away. Her daughter stood behind her. Their eyes were the exact same—both calculating, like they were weighing up how quickly they could cut my body into pieces and how much each piece would make.

“You may begin” she said, voice flat as a stone.

I swallowed, before glancing back up at the Saint of Kaleidos, and said, “Uhm, Sir, Ma’ams. To answer his question, I, uh…think I got kidnapped?”

I glanced at the man from this morning, who glared at me ferociously, like he was going to kill me if I said one more word.

"Kind of. I got caught for not paying taxes on the women staying in my church."

The General interrupted me, ice in her voice. “We do not have taxes on women. Or churches.” She started to stand up.

“No, ma’am!” I pleaded desperately, standing up to grab her arm.

There were a dozen guns in my face before I could blink, even the golden string starting to come out of that halo.

“Wait! I’m sorry! It wasn’t to you, ma’am! The taxes weren’t for you!” I said, letting go, stepping back, and holding both my hands up.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Why was I holding my hands up? A small part of me whispered.

She looked me in the eye for a solid five seconds, not blinking even once. Then I saw a small shift in her eye, like she’d seen something strange, before it was gone and she said, “Stoyan. If he touches me again, shoot him.”

She motioned for me to sit with a nod of her head, the guns lowering as if it was God himself who had commanded them.

I sat down, staring at the floor again. Then I thought about it. And then I thought about it some more. I’d walked through Paradise. My kids were safe. The radiation was gonna kill me within the week anyway. Why the hell should I be afraid of something already decided?

“You know what? Fuck this,” I said, raising my eyes to hers now.

“I have to pay taxes to a gang because you finks are too busy to look down from that stupid tower. I have to trick your stupid daughter in a dice game just to earn five bucks. Now, you sit there, all high and mighty, like you're something special, when you look like you belong in a retirement home. I walked through paradise to get here, so I'm getting sent to hell within the week anyway. So, ma’am, what are you gonna do? Shoot me? Go ahead. I'm already dead.”

No one moved. Even her daughter, who looked all smug before, now stared at me wide-eyed. The room went dead quiet, like a gun had gone off. Every eye turned towards The General, waiting for her response.

She didn’t react immediately, simply giving me a cold, unblinking stare. Something in her eye glimmered with familiarity, but it was replaced with utter contempt a moment later. When she finally spoke, it was calm and measured, but disappointed, like she'd seen every piece of my soul and found it lacking.

“You are either as brave as Alexander himself or breathtakingly stupid. But I think you're just a boy, flailing desperately against the inevitable.”

She leaned forward, and I swear I could hear amusement in that voice. “While I find it... difficult to believe you walked through paradise, I can think of no other explanation as to how you could have gotten around my guards. You should be commended for that.”

She sat back, and clapped her hands slowly, the only sound in the room. She dropped her hands onto her knees afterward, her eyes not leaving me for one second. Every eye in the room watched us with morbid fascination, waiting for something to happen.

She let the moment hang before simply saying, “Bravery does not excuse your crimes, however. I have personally witnessed you commit two murders, and I suspect many more. The sentence is death.”

Well, there it is, I guess. The words hit the room like a hammer, but they hit me with relief. No more. It was over.

“Slava, can you tell him the good news before I have him executed?” she continued, nodding her head toward the Saint of Kaleidos.

He just sighed in response, like one of the kids when I told them they needed to make their bed, before saying, “This is the hadron collider, boy. You fell through the skylight at the perfect moment because, in the fall, you were blessed. Every ailment that came with you was erased with it. Congratulations. Goodbye.”

The weight of his words took a moment to settle in. I stared at his back as he got up and walked away, the finks in black following him, their movements disinterested now, like the show was over. A fink with gold rings going down the sleeve of his white tunic stepped forward, pointing a gun at my head.

I noticed The General, having stayed seated, regal and unmoving, her gaze never wandering. Behind her, her daughter was almost a mirror image, but her trembling lip gave her away. She wasn't used to executions.

But none of that mattered.

I couldn’t help it—my mouth hung open, feeling like I'd been smacked with a brick. Then I started laughing. At the absurdity of it all. At the sheer humiliation of being a fucking fink.

The sound echoed throughout the room, even making the finks in black stop and glance back, making the man holding the gun shift uncomfortably, but I didn't care. I laughed and laughed, felt my cheeks start to hurt, then tilted my head back over the chair, smiling up at the ceiling.

I was still smiling when The General lifted her chin in acknowledgment, her composure shifting for a moment from contempt to something approaching respect. And familiarity. Then she spoke, her voice carrying the weight of an unexpected shift. “So it was bravery. A man that can laugh with a gun pointed at his head deserves to have his name known. So, boy, what’s your name?”

The laugh threatened to return. What backward thoughts went through that brain of hers? Ah, fuck it. Might as well tell them.

I smiled over at her daughter, looking at me with a more horrified expression now, before moving my eyes to every pair around me. “My name’s Boris. I’ll be waiting in hell for ever—”

I felt the gun press to my temple before I heard a chair crash, which startled me enough even before I saw The General, standing over me, shoving the gun away from my head, then staring at me, eyes wide like she’d seen a dead man come to life. Every fink was taken aback, glancing at each other with confusion.

She swallowed, then asked in a shaky voice, her wide eyes never leaving me like she’d heard an impossibility. “What did you say?”

“Uhm... my name’s Boris?” I responded, slightly freaked out from the way she was looking at me.

Her eyes widened, and she reached out, grabbing my face with a grip that was almost frantic, like she was searching for something—some answer hidden behind the blood. Her fingers started trembling, her face forming an expression that screamed pure, utter horror. She just held my cheeks in her hands, staring into my eyes.

Then she snapped out of it, her hands dropping to her sides as she took a step back, her face going back to what I assumed was its usual pose.

“This man showed great courage in the face of death. I shall spare him. He shall be incorporated into the next training batch of Blessed, and he will be tested and treated for radiation immediately. Also, get him some proper clothes. I’m tired of looking at him without pants,” she said, her voice echoing off the walls like she was declaring a new commandment.

I looked at her, stunned, as did everyone else in the room. Her daughter's face was the best, though—her mouth making an O shape like she'd just seen a mountain get startled.

Her voice rose now, steel seeping into it. “Did I misspeak? That was an order.”

The guards hauled me to my feet, dragging me toward the doors. I didn’t resist, like a coward. But as they pulled me away, I noticed something.

The General’s eyes never left me. Not once.