Page 62 of Echos and Empires
The cameras swung toward him, lifeless eyes that missed nothing. His own eyes burned with exertion and the realization that his time was running out. William’s heart pounded out a rhythm of panic, and for a moment, he was sure he could hear it mocking him. The entire island. The entire plan.
All. For. Nothing.
His mind raced faster than his feet, every thought an explosion of fear and purpose. He spun in circles, a frantic attempt to outpace the machines that cornered him. But they were everywhere. There was no direction that didn’t lead straight into Victor’s waiting arms.
Even his breath seemed to rebel, quickening and tripping over itself as he staggered from one failed terminal to the next. He could taste defeat like ash, like iron, but it only made him fight harder, his resolve an ember that refused to die.
He was caught. He knew it. But knowing didn’t make him stop. It made him reckless, made him push himself to the brink, made him hope for a miracle that never came.
The final console lit up, a mocking, useless brightness. He slapped it in frustration, felt the vibration shoot up his arm like a reminder that he was still alive. Still alive. Still alive. But for how long?
The drones hemmed him in, the lights painting him into a corner of red and shadow. The corridor closed around him, airless and final. This was the end. The system was his judge, jury, and executioner, and William stood trapped in its verdict.
A sharp prick at his neck was the only warning the loudspeakers hadn’t tripped accidentally.
And then the world went black.
Fluorescent lights buzzedand blazed above him, a stark assault against his senses. William squinted against their cruelty, slumped and defiant in the metal chair. The officer circled, a predator in uniform, with questions like sharpened claws. “Who authorized your incursion?” William’s hands curled into fists, holding onto resolve and desperation. He could taste the fear, the acrid taint of his own sweat, as the interrogator’s smile mocked him from every angle. The room was an empty canvas, peeling tiles and silence that stretched for miles. The clock’s tick was a gunshot, and the door’s lock sealed his fate.
The cold of the steel table seeped into him, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. It numbed his fingers, tightened his chest, made the fluorescent lights above burn even brighter in their intensity. He blinked, but they offered no reprieve, only harsh white daggers that stabbed at his vision and his will.
His mouth was dry, and each breath scraped raw against his throat. He sat in stillness, as if movement alone might break him, might give away the fear that clawed at him from inside.The officer said nothing, simply paced, eyes like laser sights tracing lines over William’s slumped form. It was a dance of intimidation, a silent war waged in an antiseptic arena.
The first question came, soft and cutting. William barely heard it over the rush of his own pulse, the blood pounding so loudly in his ears that it felt like a living thing. He braced against it, refused to flinch. His jaw tightened, and he ground out his reply in a voice that was far braver than he felt.
“You already know.”
The officer only smiled, an unsettling curl of the lips, and William felt his stomach lurch. The walls were grim and peeling, lined with tiles that had seen better decades. They seemed to close in, robbing him of space, of air. The antiseptic smell mingled with the scent of his own sweat, and he could feel the grime on his skin, feel the resolve and terror battling it out with each tick of the clock.
The officer leaned in, his words like poison. “You have a chance here. A chance to make it easier.”
“Go to hell.”
It slipped out before William could stop it, and immediately, both a rush of triumph and a wave of panic overcame him. How long would they keep him here? How long before he gave them what they wanted?
William glanced at the clock, its tick a constant reminder of his isolation. Its mechanical rhythm mocked him, as sure and certain as the despair that threatened to take root in his heart. The officer saw it, sensed it, and circled again. William’s eyes followed, wide and alert, struggling to maintain the fire that flickered within him.
He shivered, and his hands clutched the edge of the table, knuckles white with the effort. The tiles on the walls were his only allies, their emptiness echoing his own. There was nothingin this room but time, and that was something he didn’t have much of.
“You think they’re coming for you, don’t you?”
The question cut deeper than the others. William said nothing, stared at a single spot on the wall until it blurred into nothingness. The officer’s presence was a weight, a suffocating certainty that they wouldn’t be gentle, that they had all the time in the world to get what they needed from him.
His silence was an answer in itself, one the officer seemed pleased with. He continued to circle, a cat with a cornered mouse, a storm cloud over a single burning ember. The minutes stretched into infinities, each one chipping away at the defenses William so desperately clung to.
He wouldn’t break. Not yet. But he felt it coming, a train in the distance, a tidal wave he couldn’t outrun. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging them, but he refused to blink it away.
The officer sat at last, leaned across the table. His voice was velvet and steel. “This can end right now, if you want it to.”
The weight of the words pressed down on William. He shook his head, but it was more reflex than certainty. The lights above flickered, their hum relentless, a constant vibration that set his teeth on edge.
The clock’s ticking was a metronome, keeping pace with his unraveling resolve. Every beat seemed to say the same thing, over and over.
You will break.
You will break.
You will break.
