Twinlight

Chapter 5: Untouchable Status

Elian Thorne had once wondered: could others also have the countdown appear on their arms?

Precisely this suspicion had driven him to such meticulous caution – taking the metro far away to test things – to avoid leaving clues someone might follow later.

But then, a relentless cascade of events unfolded, nearly making him forget that initial guess.

Now, it seemed his intuition had been proven right.

The number of people crossing from Earth to this world must be significant. Just The Bastion held two, let alone the world beyond its walls.

How many Crossers were there? Hundreds? Thousands?

Why were they crossing?

Elian couldn't be sure.

"This batch's new fish is interesting. Dumb as a rock, ain't he?" someone sneered, watching the teenager's breakdown unfold. "Heard he got seven years for tax fraud? Didn't shed a tear when they hauled him in yesterday. Breaks down now."

"Anyone thick enough to mess with the IRS deserves what they get..." another voice chimed in.

Elian tracked the sound. It belonged to a young man with gleaming mechanical legs. Spotting Elian's gaze, the man curled his lip in a predatory smirk. "Hey, New Meat. You ready for your welcome?"

Laughter rippled through the surrounding crowd, thick with anticipation for the impending spectacle.

This place, for all its sci-fi grandeur and chilling efficiency, seemed utterly unchanged when it came to the uglier facets of human nature.

Elian frowned but didn't engage. His focus snapped back to the teenager encircled by drones. Only he knew the real reason the boy hadn't cried yesterday but was shattering now: like Elian, he had just crossed over today from Earth's "greenhouse," overwhelmed by the brutal reality.

This wasn't speculation; Elian recognized him. He was seventeen, a sophomore at Westhaven Preparatory. The distraught boy was a freshman. They'd never spoken, but Elian possessed a photographic memory; what he saw, he rarely forgot.

This sparked a question: Could proximity before crossing lead to proximity after? He couldn't confirm it.

However, Elian did notice something else cutting through the din: everyone here spoke English. Not a hint of dialect, no regional accents, just functional, universal English.

At that moment, a Cyber-Warden charged up the metal stairs towards the panicking teen. Each piston-driven stride covered five steps, accompanied by the distinctive hiss-thump of hydraulics. The boy crumpled further, a wreck of sobs and terror.

Half the inmates in this grim fortress sported cybernetics. Finding another Earthling amidst these steel predators felt strangely like encountering an old friend in a hostile, alien land. Most would feel a surge of comfort seeing a "countryman" here.

Elian felt none of that. Seeing the boy on the verge of complete collapse hammered home a realization: a "countryman" might not help; they could become a dangerous liability. Not everyone could stay calm when thrust headfirst into this mechanized nightmare. His priority was crystal clear: survive these first two days, then get back to Earth to unravel the mystery.

Quietly observing, Elian found his own mind growing eerily calmer amidst the chaos. Remarkably, all the other prisoners remained rooted in place.

He scanned The Bastion. Of the nine Cyber-Wardens that had stormed through the outer block gate, three now stood sentinel in the vast yard below. The rest had ascended to retrieve the panicked boy.

The yard was immense, easily the size of a football field. This open space sprawled into functional zones: the Refectory, the Iron Yard, the Archive, the Holo-Theater... No physical barriers separated them, creating one large, surveilled common area. Around the perimeter stood eight massive steel bulkheads, easily wide enough to drive an armored vehicle through.

Suddenly, Elian froze. Three figures had materialized at a table near the center of the yard, directly below him.

A man who looked to be in his forties sat with unnerving stillness. Two younger men flanked him, their expressions sharp and amused as they scanned the prisoners above like predators surveying a herd. Before the seated man lay an international chessboard, set with a complex endgame position.

Most astonishingly, curled up beside the chessboard, paws tucked neatly in, was a sleeping grey cat. Its distinctive tufted ears hinted at wild ancestry, yet its size and bearing marked it clearly as a Maine Coon.

You could keep a cat in prison?! Elian was stunned. His intense focus on the "countryman" had completely blinded him to the trio and feline's silent arrival. The seated man remained utterly absorbed in the chessboard, seemingly oblivious to the commotion above. More perplexing still, the patrolling Cyber-Wardens acted as if the trio and the cat were invisible. The tense drama unfolding upstairs stood in stark, jarring contrast to the unnervingly tranquil tableau below.

Among the trio, the two younger men wore standard blue-and-white prison fatigues. The older man, however, was clad in a pristine white martial arts gi. In the grim, oppressive grey of The Bastion, that flash of white was startlingly pure, almost defiant. The Warden? No. Though his attire differed, a small black prisoner number was stitched onto the gi's chest.

As if sensing the weight of Elian's scrutiny, one of the younger men suddenly turned his head. His eyes locked onto Elian's, a knowing smile playing on his lips – an appraising, almost predatory look. Elian instantly averted his gaze.

After the distraught Earth boy was led away, the prison intercom crackled with metallic authority: "Form meal lines. Proceed to the Refectory."

Immediately, the mass of prisoners pivoted right. Long, snaking lines began descending the stairs towards the yard. Only now could Elian confirm the population: 3,102 souls, himself included.

While queuing for food, he watched two burly inmates grab a younger prisoner, dragging him roughly towards the cell blocks nearest the Refectory. A raucous crowd followed, shouting encouragement and catcalls.

"Get him inside!" a voice barked instructions. "Don't mark him up in the yard! Don't trigger the 'Wardens!"

"Let me go!" the captive screamed, thrashing violently. His pleas were drowned out by louder jeers and laughter.

Suddenly, the old man directly ahead of Elian in line turned. His eyes were replaced by glowing cybernetic lenses that whirred faintly as they focused. He grinned, revealing stained teeth. "Stop rubbernecking, kid. Your turn's coming up faster than you think."

Elian met the cyber-eye's unnatural gaze with unnerving calm. For a split second, the old man's grin faltered, a flicker of unease crossing his features. Elian sensed movement – three figures closing in from his periphery, their intent clear. They meant to grab him now.

He didn't hesitate. Abruptly veering out of the food line, he accelerated. Instantly, they matched his speed, tightening the circle like a noose.

In that split second of crisis, the entire prison fortress seemed to map itself in Elian's mind with terrifying clarity:

•Eighteen heavy machine guns, slumbering steel beasts, mounted on the vaulted ceiling.

•Seventy-two drones nestled in their ceiling hive racks, dormant wasps.

•Two hundred and ten surveillance cameras silently pivoting, unblinking eyes.

•Three Cyber-Wardens standing rigid sentinel in the yard.

•Prisoners shuffling past serving windows, griping about the inevitable synthetic meat patties.

•Inmates flowing through the yard – some heading grimly to the Iron Yard, others gathering with morbid curiosity to watch the newcomers' "initiation."

Yet, amidst this controlled chaos, a single constant emerged: all instinctively gave a wide berth... to the man in white studying the chessboard. The man remained engrossed. An unspoken exclusion zone, roughly five meters wide, surrounded him. He was like a steadfast rock in a turbulent sea; all waves and ships yielded to his presence without question.

Elian moved. Not towards the serving line, not towards the cells, but straight through the narrowing gap between his would-be captors, walking with deliberate speed towards the man in white and his chessboard.

His direction drew immediate, electric attention. More eyes snapped towards him. Whispers spread like wildfire. Smirks and cruel anticipation bloomed on countless faces, waiting for the inevitable disaster. Elian ignored the mocking sounds and hostile stares. Holding his empty tray like a shield, he walked through the crowd as if they were mere scenery.

He didn't get close. One of the younger men flanking the seated figure stepped forward smoothly, blocking his path like a well-oiled gate.

"New Meat," the young man said with a deceptively pleasant smile that didn't reach his cold eyes. "I know what you're angling for. We don't play bodyguard. Run along now."

Elian ignored him completely. He looked past the blocker, directly at the man in white hunched over the chessboard. His voice cut through the background noise, clear and steady despite the tension:

"Pawn to D4."

He paused a fraction of a second, ensuring he had the man's full attention.

"I can solve that endgame."

The man finally looked up.

The moment he lifted his head, the entire yard seemed to hold its breath. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the grey cat’s eyes snapped open, luminous and alert.