Chapter 4: More Than One
947 Words
Return Countdown 47:59:58.
Return Countdown 47:59:57.
Elian Thorne stared at the digits burning into his forearm. Crossed dimensions?The concept hammered against his skull. And now... adetainee?
The countdown’s end had ripped him from his world. The "Return Countdown" blazing anew? His only proven path home.
Elian exhaled slowly, the sound a thin whisper in the metallic stillness. Going back... that’s something tangible.A frail hope, but all he had.
Not that home meant welcome. His mother had sealed her new life shut—a polished existence with no seams for old scars. His father? Probably sharing tales for gruel in lockup. Neither would miss him.
Yet… that familiar ache persisted. He neededto see home. One last time.
Survival now reduced to brutal numbers: forty-eight hours.
Day One. Clock's ticking.
Elian forced his gaze outward, dissecting the cell solidifying around him.
The scratch of the coarse prison jumpsuit against his skin finalized his reality.
He stood trapped within a seamless grey box. Three oppressive walls converged on him, unbroken save for a single imposing vault-like alloy door, its small viewport dark and unyielding.
The cell itself was functional, sterile: a narrow cot draped with a threadbare sheet, a skeletal metal shelf holding a thin blanket, toothbrush, towel. Nothing more.
Grey walls… yet their cold metallic sheen under the sickly ceiling light confirmed his dread.
Solid metal construction?
Elian sat upright, cot protesting beneath him. He pressed fingertips to the unnervingly smooth wall—cold, dense, impossibly precise. What prison built its cages like bank vaults?
Not my world.
He clenched, then unclenched his fists, scrutinizing every whorl and scar on his palms. Identical. The familiar exam callus. All there.
This washis body.
His clothes? Gone. The knife? Vanished. But his flesh remained—a stubborn tether to his past. Fingerprints don’t cross dimensions.
He drew his knees close, a shield against the chill, eyes locked on the silent alloy door. What waits beyond?
Outside erupted: guttural shouts, fists drumming steel, boots scraping. Chaos vibrating through metal.
Elian slid soundlessly to the floor. He pressed an ear to the cold barrier—HISSSSS. The alloy door slid open.
Beyond lay a circular walkway wrapping a seven-tiered abyss. Penitentiary-18’s levels rose like jagged teeth, countless open cell doors yawning hungrily in the gloom.
Elian paused at the threshold. That single step felt irrevocable.
A synthetic female voice cut through the din, echoing sharply: "07：00 hours. Breakfast service. All detainees will form orderly queues and proceed to the Refectory."
The command landed with sterile finality. Elian stared at the polished walkway floor.
Stepping out changed everything.
But hadn't he changed already?
When?
When two final hours loomed… and he’d finally done the unthinkable.
He’d turned in his own father. Faced that consuming fear. What else could he fear?
He stepped out.
And the atmosphere sharpened.
Detainees lined the narrow walkway, silhouetted against open cell doors. Eyes raked him—the newcomer.
To his left, a hunched figure turned. A crude mechanical eye whirred in its socket, red lens click-whirr-clickingas it fixed on Elian—a beetle pinned for study.
Just like I analyze faces,he thought, cold dread coiling in his gut.
Nearby, a slab of muscle shifted. A burly inmate flexed a chromed cyber-arm, pistons hissing. He clenched a mechanical fist—SKREEEK-TCHUNK. Steel grated against steel.
Half the prisoners here are augmented,Elian registered. A grotesque fusion of flesh and cogs and steel.
The cyborg inmate bared yellowed teeth. "Well, well. New Fish. Take my advice? Skip breakfast. Vomit tastes worse after the punch."
Raucous laughter bounced off metal. "Twelve New Fish dumped last night! Fun times!"
"Not a lick of chrome... weakling. Easy meat."
New Fish.Elian’s pulse jumped. Do they know? About Earth?
Unlikely. Just fresh meat inPenitentiary-18. He smothered the panic, locking his face into impassive stone. Observe. Absorb. Show nothing.
A shriek tore through the air. Four tiers up, a teenager burst forth, wild-eyed. "WHERE IS THIS? I MUST RETURN! My father is Grayson Wong, Chairman of The Permanence Syndicate in Lorien! He will end you all—!"
"Lorien?" someone nearby muttered. "Where's that?"
WHUMPH!
A high-pitched BUZZZZZZdrilled from above. Elian snapped his gaze upward.
Four teardrop drones dropped like stones from ceiling ports. Higher, embedded like barnacles, eighteen metal storm turrets swiveled silently, barrels locking onto the boy's desperate sprint.
"HALT MOVEMENT," the drone's voice commanded. "FINAL WARNING."
The PA System boomed, rattling teeth: "ALL DETAINEES REMAIN IN POSITION."
Sudden stillness. The frantic buzz lasted exactly nine seconds. The drones cornered the boy, guns extended. Below, hatches hissed open. Nine robots marched out, black rifles humming with energy, forming a lethal grid beneath him.
Grayson Wong collapsed, sobbing into his hands. Elian watched, icy calm settling over his own turmoil. Reckless suicide.
But revealing.
Drones. Robots. Turrets. Chromed limbs. Data points clicked into place.
Then—the cold sting of understanding:
He wasn't the first.
And this prison would swallow more.
- Writer
