Page 75 of Victorious: Part 3
And we take off back into the chaos.
The air still tastes like gunpowder and war.
But I’msoclose to making this world safe for my mother, and I will do whatever it takes to make that happen.
Whatever itfucking takes!
Chapter Fourteen
PHOENIX
The riot erupts like a fucking explosion.
One second, I’m moving with the team through the main corridor, the next I’m being swept away by a tide of screaming women prisoners. Metal crashes against concrete as cell doors slam open, bodies press against me from all sides, and the carefully orchestrated plan we spent days perfecting disintegrates into pure unadulterated chaos.
“Maverick,” I shout over the deafening noise, trying to stay close to my new brother-in-law as we’re pushed toward the stairwell leading to the lower levels.
He grabs my leather cut, keeping us together as desperate women surge past us. “Stay with me,” he yells back. “We stick together. If you die in here, Clover will kill me.”
A woman slams into my shoulder, nearly knocking me down the concrete steps. She’s young, maybe nineteen, with wild eyes and track marks up her arms. “They’re coming,” she screams at no one in particular. “They’re coming for us!”
My stomach churns with dread that has nothing to do with the chaos around us. “Who’s coming?” I try to ask, but she’s already gone, swept away by the crowd.
Maverick and I fight our way down the stairwell, the emergency lighting casting everything in shadows. Water cascades down the walls from burst pipes above, and the air grows thick with steam and the stench of blood.
“Warden Garver said the breeding cells were down here,” Maverick pants, his hand still gripping my cut. “We find the women, we get them out.”
I nod, my chest tightening. The sounds echoing up frombelow aren’t just chaos, they’re screams of pain. Real, visceral agony that makes my stomach clench.
We reach the bottom level, and I freeze. Through the reinforced glass of a security door, it’s like staring into a nightmare you can’t wake from. Rows of cells lining the cold concrete walls, each one a shadowbox of human suffering. Some hold women in various stages of pregnancy, their swollen bellies straining against thin prison fabric. Others hold shapes so still I can’t tell if they’re breathing at all.
“Jesus Christ, this is worse than we thought,” I grumble.
Maverick’s lip turns up in agreement as he swipes the keycard Loki copied for us. The lock clicks, and the sound is too loud in the silence down here. Too final.
When the door swings open, we hesitate, but then both move forward into the underground cells. It’s like crossing an invisible threshold where the air itself changes. It’s heavier. Staler. Every breath feels like it coats my lungs in a film I’ll never scrub clean. Industrial disinfectant hits me first, like they’re trying to hide the smells that linger underneath. But they’re there, unmistakable, the tang of coppery blood laced with sweat that’s gone sour from being trapped too long without escape. And then the rank, vomit stench. It’s faint, but enough to turn my stomach.
I don’t even want to imagine the horrors that have happened down here with these poor women and their newborns.
Maverick and I slowly make our way inside. The walls seem closer here, the ceiling lower. The emergency lighting hums overhead in a flickering stutter that makes the shadows twitch, as if the darkness is moving on its own.
Eyes find us in the gloom. Hollow and empty. Some blink slowly, flinching back into the corners of their cells, clutching thin blankets like lifelines. Others are too far gone to react, doped to the gills or simply broken, their gazes unfocused,staring straight through us as if we are not even there.
What have these monsters done to these poor women?
The door swings shut behind us with a low metallic thud, sealing us in. I jerk from the shock, and in that moment, I swear it feels like the air thins, like the place itself is trying to smother us before we can take anyone out.
I go to speak, but a familiar voice stops my heart cold. “Well, well… if it isn’t my disappointing son.”
My heart leaps into my throat, my breathing quickens as I turn slowly, every muscle in my body going rigid. In the shadows near the back of the chamber stands a woman I haven’t seen in years. Graying brown hair, hollow cheeks, and eyes that once held warmth but now contain nothing but ice.
The same eyes that used to light up when “Blue Suede Shoes” came on the radio.
The same voice that sang me to sleep with Elvis lullabies.
The same hands that used to dance with me in the kitchen while she made pancakes shaped like hearts.
“M-mom?” The word comes out as barely a whisper.
