Page 113 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

The remaining two scramble for cover, drawing their own weapons, but I'm already moving. The fourth goes down to my shot while the fifth takes a bullet to the leg, his scream echoing through the corridor as he collapses.

Atlas pauses, his covered gaze turning toward me with eerie precision.

"What is he to you?"

The question takes a moment to process before understanding hits.

"He laughed every time I got tortured. Wrote notes of mockery and watched as I and other omegas that weren't so lucky suffered in chambers for hours, being tortured. I vowed to put him on a list where he'd suffer, but we don't have time..."

Before I can finish, Atlas grabs my hand and pulls me forward.

"Where's the nearest chamber you mentioned?"

The question's implications take seconds to register.

"Three doors down," I answer, memories of countless 'trials' making my voice shake.

His smirk carries deadly promise.

"You know the blueprint details."

"I'm impressed you memorized them too."

"Had to, if I wanted any chance of running blind in this hellhole."

The words come just as he drops down to grab the wounded researcher by his injured leg. The man's screams echo off sterile walls as Atlas drags him toward the chamber, leaving a crimson trail in their wake.

The sight is disturbing for any sane individual with morals and a sense of empathy, but this casual violence promises retribution.

Which is wholeheartedly deserved.

I feel a dark satisfaction watching our positions reversed. The man who recorded my torture with such clinical detachment now experiences terror firsthand.

The shadows stir with approval, their silence breaking into a soft hum of anticipation. They recognize this moment for what it is - not just escape, but justice.

Not just survival, but revenge.

Their company now buzzes in low hums, which only further empower me as we rush to the designated space which I’m sure was where they were coming from. Maybe they were wrapping up a session, thinking the alarms were just protocol or a false alarm.

Atlas's grip remains gentle on my hand even as he drags our prisoner with merciless efficiency. The contrast speaks volumes about his nature - capable of both tenderness and brutality, each perfectly calibrated to its target.

Watching him navigate with such deadly grace, I understand that his blindness isn't the weakness our enemies might assume. He's adapted it into strength, using other senses to create a perfect awareness of his surroundings.

The researcher's whimpers grow more desperate as we approach the chamber - he knows exactly what awaits inside those walls. After all, he designed many of the trials himself.

Now he'll learn firsthand what his experiments feel like.

Taking the lead through familiar corridors, I guide Atlas to yesterday's chamber - though time has become fluid since the flooding incident that changed everything. The room holds fresh memories of torture but now offers potential for justice.

"This is where he stood," I indicate, remembering the researcher's eager smirk as he watched me fight for survival. "Right there, recording notes while they tested us."

My voice remains steady as I explain the procedure:

"They fill the chamber with water, timing how long we can survive before they drain it. Then the bottom drops away - we either hold ourselves up or fall into a pit where..." I swallow hard. "Where most omegas disappear forever."

Atlas's expression remains impassive behind his blindfold, lending him an aura of emotionless judgment as our prisoner whimpers pathetically.

"Please!" The researcher begs, his earlier cruelty replaced by desperation. "This omega is lying! She's manipulating you, using herself as a pawn. I'm innocent…just an employee here. I have a family waiting at home. A daughter!"

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