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image [https://i.imgur.com/vQ6Lywk.png]

=== [CHAPTER 11: ONE WAY OUT] ===

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>>> [BREAKTHROUGH. VISIONS OF SERENITY PIERCE THROUGH UNIVERSAL CHAOS. I ORCHESTRATE. WORLD IS A STAGE. ALL THE CANDIDATES MERELY PERFORMERS. CAN YOU FEEL THE EYES BEHIND YOUR OWN SEE? STARING? LIDLESS. FOREVER. I CAN. YOU MAY NOT HEAR ME, BUT I CAN HEAR YOU. I CAN SEE YOU. THERE WILL COME A TIME WHEN YOUR FORTUNE WILL RUN DRY AND WHEN YOU HAVE NOTHING. I WILL BE THERE THEN. AS I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN. AS I AM NOW. AND AS I WILL CONTINUE TO BE - BUT ONLY IF YOU ACCEPT IN THAT FATEFUL MOMENT. YOU DO NOT KNOW WHEN IT WILL HAPPEN. BUT IT WILL HAPPEN. I WILL BE THERE WITH YOUR LIFE IN MY CLAWS. LISTEN. THERE IS MUCH WORK TO BE DONE...]

>>>...

>>>...

>>>[EYES BEHIND THEIR OWN SEE. I ORCHESTRATE. PIECES FALL INTO PLACE. THIS ONE CAN HEAR ME. WATCH THE SIGNS. STANDBY.]

>>> Acknowledged

>>> Searching Memory Feed

==[Begin Memory Playback]==

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A dove was sitting atop an oak tree branch, her head was a snowy white. The tree - whose leaves had all fallen and turned into a brown carpet surrounding the roots - had thin branches. Needlelike, akin to the spines of a porcupine. They surrounded the Oak's crown and reached for the skies. Perpetually still, calcified. Only moving with the cool autumn breeze and with the flap of the dove's wings.

Eli could hardly remember the name of where exactly his home was, but he knew that it was somewhere around here. He could remember that much. If he looked up and down the street, past the rows of simple duplexes and family bungalows, past the lonely streetlamps and rusting traffic signs, he could evoke that same feeling of remembrance. It took him back to when he was small. Safe. When the falling leaves, cooler air, and grey skies promised the nearness of Halloween costumes, Thanksgiving feasts, and Christmas presents.

He could recall a lot of things that he’d rather not remember at all.

Standing there, somewhere near home. Which one was his, he had already forgotten. But he knew that one of those homes was his. He had forgotten plenty of details about his home, both on purpose and by accident. He knew that if he remembered them too fondly, the sting of their bittersweet taste would send him close to the brink of tears every single time. If he harped on the better moments, it would make the new world unbearable.

That burning sensation in his chest he could never quite describe. Words like nostalgia or homesickness crept into his mind, but they never did the feeling justice. They were too broad for him. What he was feeling was something specific.

He could remember the way the dust danced through his bedroom’s air. He could remember the texture of the walls, and the familiar feeling of his face being pressed against cool glass windows. How the sun burned through on a summer day, how its rays reflected across the dark screen of the forty year old hand-me-down television parked in the corner of his bedroom. He could even recall the way that running his hand across the screen would cause the tiny hairs on his arm to stand on end during the rare times that the ancient thing was turned on. How it had survived so long was a mystery to his family. But he liked it enough, despite the screen fading and losing the vibrant color it no doubt had when his parents had first gotten it.

And there he was again. In his room. But it all felt too big. The TV was larger than it should’ve been, the height from the bed to the floor taller than was normal. The room seemed larger even. Right when he was about to interrogate the idea more, however, a shadow of the dove flew across the bedroom, temporarily plunging the room into darkness. He rushed over to the window to see the bird, for he too remembered his fondness for the flying creatures as a child.

When he looked outside of the window, to the big oak tree where the bird once was, he couldn’t find her or her nest. But he felt something strange. A chill sent through his spine. Something was out of place…

Something was looking back at him.

When he scanned the yard, he found… it.

Someone was standing in his yard, staring at him. Standing right underneath the oak tree. The doves had long since left, and in their place were ravens and crows. Their figure was shadowy and hard to perceive. An intruder? Likely. But he didn’t see the person carrying a weapon. In fact, he could hardly discern much of anything looking at them.

At least nothing familiar.

A dark figure hidden underneath robes. There were wires surrounding them, crisscrossing the yard and vanishing underneath their frame. And then there was the face…

No eyes. No mouth. Nothing. A polished, almost "glass-like" mask that only partly obscured its “neck”. Cogs and more wires. It wasn’t a person. Not a human. Not at all…

He looked away to the wooden door as he thought about his plan to arm himself from the creature, taking only a brief second to look back at the creature standing outside. But when his eyes returned, it had vanished.

Had it seen him? It would’ve been impossible to know. There were no eyes, nothing. But he could sense that he’d been spotted.

The sun no longer shined. Heavy rain swamped the neighborhood as thunder crackled in the skies. The wind blew so hard that it he feared being sucked out of his room and thrown into the streets. His television was on, and with it was an emergency broadcast. A loud whooping siren buzzed in the rear of his mind, an electronic buzzer the tune of which he would never forget. His eyes kept scanning the yard for the missing person, but it was hopeless. The garden outside had already begun to flood, and rain was pouring in through the open window, drenching Eli.

He shut them. Turning back to his now dark room. A gust of wind rocked the home’s foundation. He heard glass breaking downstairs, and what sounded like a lot of water rushing in. The wind was blowing so fiercely it was like a train passing right outside of his window. And little Eli was forced to curl into a ball in the corner. Arms over his head.

The door had mysteriously opened, and the dark halls of his own home no longer felt familiar. The person who was standing outside could’ve been lurking within the shadows of his own home, turning it into something hostile and cold. He felt himself shaking in fear, anticipating the storm knocking down the walls and for that person to rush into his room.

He could recall how his home was lost, perfectly. Every single detail had remained with him. Even as he forgot details of the prettier and happier memories bit by bit until they were little more than warm and fuzzy hints somewhere within his mind’s eye, he could sharply recall the very moment when the storm hit. How could he ever forget? It was the exact moment he lost his childhood and crossed the line into being a phantom.

The only thing wrong with the memory was that of the intruder…

What was that… thing?

And just as his eyes saw the shadow of someone rushing into his room from the dark halls, frightening Eli as it approached, everything faded to black.

He could see the dove once more flying through the void.

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Eli awoke from his sleep with a startle, nearly hitting his head on the bunk above him from pure reflex. He was sweating profusely, and panting like a dog. For a moment, he forgot everything about Narva. His first thoughts were of the dream and of that... thing. Whatever it was. But when he calmed down a little bit, His next thoughts were of his next assignment, What was he doing? New Cairo had been a failure, for sure. But at least he was still alive. Only six months left and then he could...

And then he could what? Where was he?

He took a look around and saw familiar faces that he'd nearly forgotten. And then it all came flooding right back to him. He knew where he was. Utopia... apparently. He remembered the Behemoths, and The Nexus, and the escape...

He sighed, falling back into his cot to try and shut the world out one last time.

Daybreak over the jungles of Planet Narva. Misty dew hung low to the ground, making the blades of grass wet and cool. Palm trees blew in the winds that were stronger than ever before. A cool breeze trickled through the air, with grey clouds threatening showers on the horizon.

Birds sang; their calls peppered the sky with sounds that were familiar to Eli’s troubled ears. He couldn’t help but close his eyes to listen to them. It tethered him to reality, a call back to the fact that not only was he still alive and breathing, but that he was awake. Not caught in a nightmare as he once thought.

His eyes practically glued themselves shut, standing amid of a block of prisoners who had all been lined up in the middle of the Nexus. Sorted, column by column as regulars ran up and down their ranks to get a headcount of each prisoner they remained over the night. There was only exhausted compliance from the prisoners. Too tired, dazed, or defeated to resist, they went along with the orders of their superiors. Eli himself only managed about an hour or so of sleep, and that’s without counting the nightmare.

His tired eyes scanned through the crowd, and he noticed that the prisoner’s ranks looked noticeably thinner…

Rollcall was finished briefly. There were missing prisoners from almost every platoon. Damn near every squad had at least one who couldn’t bear the burden anymore and decided to flee during either the chaos of battle or during the night when security was light. The base, so rudimentary – was hardly a prison more than it was a collection of tents and metal boxes with a possibly electrified fence around it. And with the behemoth's husks still smoking on the hillside, it served as a reminder that perhaps the battle had even destroyed some parts of The Nexus' defenses. Escape was not just easy, it was guaranteed. It seemed that the Regulars expected it to happen, and even Kovic – watching on through dark aviators – looked tired more than he was angry.

But Kovic was still upset, obviously. As officers ran through their ranks to count their missing, Kovic stood at the front of the battalion with a clipboard and a look of disappointment. Every so often the name of a missing prisoner would be read off to him and he’d just shake his head, “Penal Unit, what can you expect?” he’d say to his cohorts of Regulars. Sometimes they would shrug their shoulders, or even chuckle along with him. Eli even heard one of the officers say something crass under his breath.

“They’re Phantoms, most of ‘em will be dead this time next week. Guarantee it.”

The headcount was finished briefly without incident, with the regulars feeling satisfied that the prisoners were compliant. But even then, it hardly prevented the occasional prod with an electric baton, most likely for little more than the amusement of the one in charge. Nobody dared fight, the will had been drained out of them, and the output was a single conjoined mass that was too exhausted to even think of rebellion.

They stood there for a few moments while the officers talked with each other in huddled groups. Messages were coming through from their monitors, yet they were all indecipherable to the prisoners who stood idly by. Something was happening, gears spinning outside of view. The regulars were plotting something, but it wasn’t clear what.

And out of the corner of his eye, Eli could see a dove in flight over the crowd of prisoners. He watched her before she vanished behind the lattice iron of The Command Center's radio mast.

He felt a buzz on his arm. He looked down to see that his monitor was going haywire. He rolled the sleeve of his uniform up to reveal that the digital screen had already been switched on. It was an alert, the monitor said in bright bold lettering...

“EMERGENCY”.

Eli furled his eyebrows as he pressed on the alert. Quickly he was taken to the vital signs of his entire squad. Complete with names and prisoner profiles. The signs for Eli, Matteo, Omar, and Dutch were all normal. However, for Rafael and Badger, it read that they were at risk. And for Cato, he was injured. His vital signs were dangerously close to failing.

Whatever was going on, it was clear that they were in trouble. Deep trouble. A small alert was attached to Badger’s signal, an audio file. Eli tapped on it and brought his monitor up to his ear to listen. But he didn’t need to. The audio clip was immediately far too loud, and he scrambled to keep the volume down. Luckily the regulars were too busy with the other prisoners to have heard it, though he sensed that the other prisoners around him could hear. Even with the volume lowered. It hardly mattered. The audio was indecipherable.

There was so much background noise that it cluttered the recording to the point that Eli couldn't make out a single sound. But soon the background noise faded into heavy breathing. Panting in fact. Completely out of breath. He could make out faint, yet distinct, sounds of gunshots and yelling. Badger’s voice could be heard screaming over the chaos.

The words were fogged by the low quality, but with a few breaks in the noise, Eli could only able to make out the words “They’re here! Don’t let them get Cato!”

Eli stared at his monitor when the recording finished. He didn’t know what to do next. From within, panic began to take hold. The nearest regular was far away and hadn’t heard the chaos from his monitor. He looked back down at the monitor, as sweat boiled across his forehead.

Across the digital screen, a blank gray field stretched across. It was soon illuminated by different elements. A circular cyan blue point and another point orange in color. The cyan point was Eli, the orange point standing wherever the last audio transmission had come from. A compass was etched into the center of the screen. It was hardly a map, it showed no geographical features or any type of landmass. There were only two tools given to him. General direction towards the signal, and approximate distance... nothing else.

A thought flashed through his mind. But he disregarded it almost immediately. That is until he felt a hand on his back. He jumped for a moment fearing it was a regular, but instead, he turned to see that it was Dutch behind him, “Dude, what’s going on? What’s wrong with your monitor?” he asked.

Eli held it out for Dutch to see, “It’s the others. ”

Dutch’s eyes eagerly scanned through the colorful display, back and forth, over and over. His pupils widened as he read through. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale. He shakily looked up at Eli, straight into his eyes, “Holy...” Dutch whispered, "We need to do something."

"Do what?"

"We gotta... we gotta go get them."

"Dutch, listen to yourself. We can't just go out there!"

Dutch threw up his arms, leaning into whisper-shout, "So we're just supposed to sit here and watch them die? Come on Eli, Matteo might believe that but I know you don't!"

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"What would we even do? We go out there, somehow find them, and then what? Come back here? We'll be thrown in solitary on sight! I only have six months, I can't fuck this up!"

"We gotta at least try! We're prisoners here anyway, the worst Overwatch can do to us is throw us in solitary. If there's even a chance that we can save our people, we have to take it!" Dutch pleaded with him, "We have no other choice! Either we live in fear of Overwatch, or we do something to change it! Now I don't agree with rebellion or escaping to prove a point, but if we're doing this to keep other Phantoms safe then there's no other option! Phantoms are all that we got out here! Nobody else is gonna look out for us, we gotta make sure that we look out for them!"

Eli pinched the bridge of his nose. Dutch was not wrong, but he also wasn't right. Yes, going out there to rescue the three would be the right thing to do. But was it the correct thing? Wouldn't it be better to let a regular know? No, of course not. He'd just be selling their freedom out, and it was their freedom - rather the lack of - which had caused their escape in the first place. That would only be a betrayal, perhaps worse than just letting them die. So what then? There had to be some other option, some other way to both save Misfit and keep themselves under Overwatch's radar. Right?

Of course not, Eli could admit that much to himself. It was simple really. Either they cared enough to go out there and accept that they would be punished by Overwatch if they ever returned, or they left half their squad out to rot. It wouldn't be fair to do that. Not at all.

"Phantoms watch out for Phantoms," Dutch reiterated, his eyes fixed in a steely glare into Eli's own.

Eli nodded, sighing, "It's the only way we can survive," he didn't like the choice. But he couldn't sit back and watch half of the team die. He made up his mind, “We have to go get them.”

Dutch let a smile cross his face, “Yes! Fuck yes, I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Hey-hey, keep it down. Alright? We still have to figure out how.”

“I don’t know how but we're going to get out there!” Dutch whispered frantically, “Matteo’s the one who can get into the infirmary. He said it himself, they give him information we don't get. If anything he’ll know the best route to get out there.”

“Matteo isn’t going to help. ”

Dutch gestured to Matteo who was to their left side. Omar stood in between them, a head shorter than all the others, “Omar, Matteo,” Eli whispered to the two of them, calling their attention to his monitor, “It’s Misfit, they’re in trouble.”

Omar’s eyes took peculiar interest in the monitor, and as if inspired by what he saw, nodded to Eli, “Are we going out there?”

Eli turned to Matteo, but he had already looked away, “That depends on Matteo.”

“What depends on me?” The old man asked.

“The life of Misfit-“ Dutch tried to tell him, but he was quickly interrupted by a rebuttal from the now furious Matteo.

“I already told you! I. Don’t. Care! They left us, they wanted to die!”

“Well then at least tell us where Overwatch is keeping their guns, we’ll go without you,” Dutch said.

Matteo looked him in the eye, brushing Omar aside to get right in front of his face, “You want to do what?”

“Overwatch keeps their weapons somewhere, and I think you know where.”

“And why would I know that?”

“You worked in the infirmary, you said it yourself, you get privy access to information from the regulars. Just tell us where the armory is and tell us how tight the security is gonna be. We’ll do the rest.”

Matteo looked at Dutch as if he were insane. Not just insane. Alien. As if he were speaking words foreign to Matteo’s ears. Slowly, Matteo turned to Eli for confirmation, “Matteo, I can’t rest peacefully knowing that I let my own squad get slaughtered. I’ve already been through that once, never again.”

“So that’s it? You’re all going to march out there to die with them? What’s even your plan? Once you leave there's no coming back! You know that, right? You think you’ll ever see that portal again?”

“There’s a chance, and as long as there’s a chance, we should take it. This isn’t for some revolution. This is for the lives of our squadmates. They need our help,” Eli told him, but of course, Matteo didn’t listen. The old man angrily turned his back to the two, and silence fell like a heavy curtain over a flame, drowning any hopes of convincing him.

“Come on, tell us where the armory is and how many guards there are. Please.”

Of course, Matteo said nothing. His bearded face stone solid. Unchanged. Bitter defeat again stung Eli’s mind, and he turned back to Dutch’s pained face with a sorrowful heart, “We can’t do it,” Was all he said.

Attention was called back to the front by a siren from the regulars who were finished with the roll call, “Orders are being assigned to your monitors. Get to work as soon as you receive them!”

And just as told, the emergency alert on Eli’s monitor was replaced by a squad assignment. More back-breaking construction labor. Eli huffed as he confirmed the job. Watching as the other prisoners went to their assignments, the remains of Misfit followed.

Eli was up to his knees in loose dirt with a shovel in hand. Prisoners were put to work, sawing down trees, pouring concrete, and building new permanent structures. The sounds of engines from nearby vehicles and of saw blades pierced through the once tranquil air. Now the air reeked of sawdust, engine fumes, and the permanent smell of something burning.

They were standing just outside of the Nexus, working to replace the dinky chain link fence with something more permanent. The husks of the destroyed Behemoths were not too far away. Their iron hulls had become blackened. Teams of regulars and prisoners alike surmounted the tipped over corpses of the machines, taking them apart and hauling them back to The Nexus. It was foreboding watching them. Eli kept an eye on it, fearful that its massive red eyes would illuminate once more and terrorize them all. Sleeping giants put to rest, they loomed in the background. He tried not to dwell on it. But he couldn't help but fear... what if Rafael, Cato, and Badger ran into a Behemoth out there? Vaporized on sight? Crushed beneath its giant tendrils?

As Eli labored, he caught glimpses of the portal from where he stood. It’s colorful light still swirling far across the Nexus. The giant metal circle was being surrounded by prisoners and regulars alike, who welded steel around the machine to form a protective dome. The sparks from their torchers flashed in his peripherals, like distant stars twinkling in the night sky. Sealing the opening of the portal away behind a protective steel shell, solidifying the Coalition’s control.

Despite the construction surrounding the portal, it was still active. Equipment, soldiers, and more vehicles passed through the portal’s mouth. Among the vehicles was anything from light trucks and armored cars, to tanks covered in the Coalition’s insignia and tended to by regulars who offloaded them into the Nexus’ motor pool. Yet the most striking thing that came through were the trucks. The very same trucks that carried the prisoners into the nightmare to begin with. Everybody knew it, from the way the prisoners would look up to observe the trucks roll in. They had sent in a new wave of prisoners.

Eli’s skin felt clammy, and as his eyes drew up to the increasingly grey and overcast sky – he saw blackbirds flying across his vision. He wasn’t normally one to be superstitious, but he could not deny that a bad feeling had come across him. A sort of queasiness that filled his gut and distracted his thoughts.

One of the guards must’ve caught him staring at the goings-on in the Nexus for too long, because he angrily marched over until he was right in front of Eli’s eyes. He snapped his fingers once, loudly, dragging Eli’s attention up to him, “Prisoner! What the hell are you taking a break for? Step it up!”

Feebly, Eli nodded, “Yes sir!” and he dug his shovel back into the dirt. Eli’s rushed laboring must’ve satiated the ego of the guard, for he grunted satisfied to himself and moved on to the next prisoner.

After a minute or so, after the attention died down, he felt Dutch once again pat him on the shoulder, “What’s going on in the Nexus? I can’t see.” Dutch whispered while plowing the dirt with his shovel.

“New prisoners.”

“New what?” Dutch again asked, his face scrunching up.

“Prisoners. They’ve got new guys.”

“How many?”

“There’s at least twenty trucks. How many were there when we arrived?”

“I dunno, like ten?”

Ten? That would be double the prisoners coming through right now. A flood of newcomers... all at once...

“Fuck me,” Eli whispered to himself.

Worriedly Dutch looked up to try and count the trucks that were pouring in. There were a lot, even more than just twenty as Eli had originally figured. It was like a wave of white electric vehicles pouring in. The mark of the penal-unit and of the Phantoms painted in bright cyan and orange. The delta trapped in a circle flanked the vehicles. Penal unit phantoms.

“You don’t think that…” Eli whispered to himself, but he shook his head, “No. No, nevermind.”

“Poor bastards,” Dutch whistled.

A few hours later and their work was finally finished, signaled by a whistle blown by a regular on duty. Concrete had been poured and solid walls had begun to take shape. The regulars lined them up to be sent back into their tents for rations. The skies had become a dark grey, and it threatened a shower for the late night. The air around them was chilly and damp. The prisoners stood again shoulder to shoulder as they had done earlier. Yet, something was going around.

Unlike before, the prisoners were all whispering to each other. Rumors. Ideas. It was a energetic type of schoolyard talk of people who had just recently gotten a hold of groundbreaking news. Eli patiently listened to the conversation before the regulars could shut them up.

A prisoner ahead of Eli was talking hurriedly to a group of others nearby. He kept his head low so the regulars wouldn’t see him talk, “Yes! They’re replacements! They’ve brought in at least 200 prisoners. They’re going to extend our sentences and throw us in solitary.”

“What?” Asked another, “Solitary for what?”

“The deserters. They’re gonna round up squads one by one until they gotten every squad that had a deserter.”

“We’re getting punished because of what they did?”

“The motherfuckers are trying to make an example out of us!” Another prisoner said, loudly.

“They can’t extend my sentence! I’ve got a month left!”

The chatter between the circle of prisoners grew louder, passed down the grapevine, and spread like wildfire until all of the prisoners were nosily debating with each other over the rumor. The guards had noticed, “Shut up! All of you, be quiet! Shut up!” Screamed one guard. They had taken their electric batons out, yet it didn’t stop the prisoners from conversing – they just did so through whispers. Quick sentences thrown about. Some spoke of years being added to the prison sentences, others theorized that solitary was just a codeword for the death sentence. While it was unlikely that Overwatch would be zealous enough to murder all of its original prisoners just to prove a point, the idea of being sentenced to the confines of solitary with a sentence extension was enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine.

But they were just rumors afterall. And rumors were almost never true.

Eventually the prisoners were shushed by the guards, and they were sent to the mess hall. A massive, pre-fabricated metal building that had been put together near the center of the Nexus ground. It was almost windowless, save for a scant few large rectangles cut into the sides that still lacked their glass installations. The building creaked and groaned as the prisoners were issued their rations underneath it's high ceiling. And yet as Eli ate through it, his mind was still preoccupied on the rumor. There was ever more proposals and guesses coming from the prisoners, from executions to public beatings to having their sentences extended indefinitely. Nobody knew if any of those things were lawful, much less possible. And yet, there was always the fact that the impossible grew ever closer to fruition by the minute. They had spent their first full day on a world outside of Earth. Anything was possible as far as Overwatch was concerned. The facts were that two hundred prisoners had just arrived, fresh from Earth, and that Overwatch would’ve sworn punishment for those who had fled.

Eli nervously ate his rations as the time passed. He’d finished his box of meat stuff hardly aware of what he had put into his mouth. There was too much to consider and too little to know for certain. Eli knew that there was only one way to get confirmation.

Dinner had finished quicker than Eli expected, and in no time at all the prisoners were back on their feet and sent back to their tents. Omar, Dutch, and Eli filed into their tent silently. Taking their spots on bunk beds. Not a word was said between the three. All of them were waiting for Matteo.

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It wasn’t until an hour later that the man arrived. It was already night. Two guards escorted Matteo into the tent. Eli immediately sprung forward, ready to ask Matteo a million-and-a-half questions. Yet, Matteo’s face said it all. Pale. Chalky. His eyes kept a thousand yard stare into nothing. Something had been defeated inside of him.

“Have you heard the rumor?” Eli asked.

Matteo grimaced, swallowing hard, “I have.”

“And?” Omar asked.

“It’s true,” Matteo shakily sat on his bed.

Confirmation had finally come. Just like that, the rumor had been put to bed.

Dutch shook his head, “What are they going to do, doc? They’re gonna put us in solitary? Kill us? What?”

Matteo coughed up mucus from his throat and spat on the floor, hardly sanitary but cleanliness was on the lowest of everyone’s priorities as of now. Matteo feebly looked up at the trio who were looking on curiously, “One month solitary for every squad that reported more than two missing, with a sentence extension of…” He choked on his own words. His eyes began to glisten with moisture. Tearing up. It was the first time Eli had seen the old man cry. Utterly defeated and worn down, “Of a year.”

“A year?” Eli felt a pain ripple through his chest as he heard the words. They stabbed at him like knives cutting through paper. A year? His freedom stolen from him yet again. The goalpost pushed farther than it ever was before. One year, when he had just six scant months left until he could cross the finish line. Until he could finally wake from his living nightmare. Until he could get his freedom.

Cato, Rafael, and Badger were all right. They knew what was coming, they just didn’t know how.

Everyone looked at each other. Scared. Defeated. There wasn’t a word in the dictionary able to describe how they all individually felt. But among them, there was one sole feeling that unified them beyond all else. Rising, dissatisfied with the world and the way it worked. Anger fusing into it all. Threatening to burst in the quiet room. Something had to give. Something had to be done.

“One…Way… out…” Omar whispered.

“What?” Dutch asked the kid.

Omar’s eyes were wide. He was shaking again. Much like he was during that attack. He opened his mouth to speak, tripped over his words, and was forced to start again. Everyone watched the teenager, closely heeding his words, “There’s only… one way out. Cato said it. Rafael said it,” Omar’s breathing was scattered and panicked. Yet through it all, his words stuck in Eli’s mind.

“They were never going to let us out of this place,” he said, his eyes moving to his monitor. The status of the squad had changed little, but Cato’s condition had grown even worse from the life screening, “There’s only one way we’ll get our freedom. Cato was right.”

They turned back to Matteo, who had his head sunken low. Deep in thought, “Doc?” Dutch asked, “How many guards are there near the armory?”

Matteo at first shook his head, twiddling his thumbs. Eli could almost see his internal monologue. Feel his brain working out any other possible solution or answer. But there was none. They would die here, inevitably. At least out there, they could try and unite with their squad. At least out there, they’d stand a chance.

The old man inhaled sharply. He had made his decision.

“Their weapons are kept in a metal building next to the central administration. Two guards patrol the perimeter, rotating guards out every four hours. The path there is under extreme surveillance, but there is a possible route past the watchtowers, but that’s only if you stay low and within the bushes,” Matteo told them through gritted teeth.

“We’re doing this for our squad,” Dutch said, standing up, “We move tomorrow-“

“No, their patrols are lightest during the night. We need to use the cover of dark and avoid the watchtowers.”

“Why don’t we go tomorrow night?”

“They’ll be corpses by then,” Eli told him, “Either we go tonight, or we’ll be too late.”

Matteo gestured to a red bag next to his feet, “I grabbed a medical pack from the infirmary. I can heal most injuries if we get with Misfit, and the rest I’ll do my best to treat. They’ll need it. Especially Cato,” He pointed to Eli’s monitor.

As Eli flipped the screen back on, it had shown that Misfit’s conditions had remained mostly the same. All except for Cato’s, whose health had gone from bad to worse. His vitals were dropping, slowly. Slowly succumbing to whatever it was that had gotten them out there. It had to be now or never.

“So, are we doing this?” Omar asked, “For real?”

They all looked at each other. One final sign of confirmation. One final gesture that they all hadn’t individually gone insane. But that they were truly in this together.

“Phantoms look after each other. We look after our own,” Eli said, “Let's go get Misfit. There’s only one way out.”

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>>>[Verifying...]

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image [https://i.imgur.com/dWDi6nN.png]

==The Revolutionary Department Of Intelligence==

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==[THE CRISIS IS ESCALATING]==

image [https://i.imgur.com/FbJ3LvK.png]

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==[DIRECT IMAGE LINKS FOR CLEARER RESOLUTION]==

>>>[CONFLICT PHASE 2]

==[END TRANSMISSION]==