Escape

"Capitán," someone calls, interrupting the leader's attention.

"¿Cuál es el problema?" (Is there a problem?) he asks, clearly irritated.

A soldier leans in and whispers something in his ear.

His expression darkens.

"¡Reúna a todos!" (Gather everyone!) he barks, his tone urgent.

Then, he turns back to me, smirking. "You can rest for a bit now," he says before pulling the syringe from my skin.

I barely have time to exhale in relief before—

CLANG!

A hard, metallic impact smashes against my skull.

Everything instantly goes black.

Some time later…

"Mister… Mister…"

Something shakes my leg.

I groan, my head pounding like a jackhammer. My eyes flutter open, though I can only manage to crack them halfway. A blurry silhouette hovers above me.

"Roberto?" I rasp.

"Yes! Me!" he replies excitedly.

Before I can process what's happening, he disappears from view. I hear the sound of an engine roaring to life, followed by a mechanical clank.

Suddenly—

My body lowers from where I was hanging.

By the time my feet hit the cold cement, the machine stops, and Roberto reappears, grinning from ear to ear.

"How…?" I croak.

He babbles something cheerfully in Spanish—too fast for me to catch. I shake my head in confusion.

Realizing the issue, Roberto slaps his forehead, then digs into his pocket, pulling out my phone. He quickly plugs in an earpiece for both of us.

"Can you understand me now?" he asks.

I nod weakly.

His grin widens.

Balancing himself on my lap, he starts working on the cuffs around my wrists.

Meanwhile, he fills me in.

The riot downtown? That was Dr. Ramorez's doing.

Apparently, those weren't just random protestors—they were his people. People he had been hypnotizing for months.

With a single trigger, he could send them into chaos—anytime, anywhere.

And this time, he used them.

To create a distraction.

Long enough for Roberto to sneak in and get me out.

"There, you're free now!" Roberto exclaims just as I hear the click of the cuffs unlocking.

I slowly pull my aching wrists free, murmuring a quiet thank you.

"Can you walk?" he asks.

I nod, though I barely manage to push myself upright.

With Roberto's help, I limp toward the door.

"There are only two guards left," he explains. "They're both at the gate. The motorcycle is about fifty meters from there. I'll distract them—"

"No, wait! It's too dangerous!" I hiss.

"Don't worry! My friends are ready to help."

"But still—"

"Trust me. They're soldiers. They won't kill me."

I exhale heavily.

"...Okay," I finally agree.

Roberto beams, satisfied.

"I'll get their attention. Once they're distracted, you sneak out. Whatever happens—don't stop. If they catch you, they will kill you."

Before I can argue, Roberto bolts toward the guards.

I hear one of them shout at him, ordering him to stop.

Roberto doesn't listen.

Instead, he starts running faster.

The moment both guards chase after him—

I move.

I sprint toward the unguarded gate.

Just as I'm meters away—

BANG!

A gunshot rips through the air.

I freeze.

My head snaps toward Roberto.

One of the guards has him in a chokehold, a gun pressed to his temple.

Roberto, however, just rolls his eyes.

"I kill the boy!" the guard shouts in rough English.

Roberto scoffs. "*He's lying! Run! RUN!!**"

But I don't run.

Not away, at least.

Instead—

I charge straight at them.

I trust my brain.

Both guards immediately unload their entire magazines at me.

But to me—

The bullets move like they're swimming through honey.

Super slow-motion.

I dodge them effortlessly, twisting and weaving like I already know where each bullet will land.

I can see the moment one guard realizes what's happening.

The instant hesitation.

The second of doubt.

That's all I need.

I grab his wrist—

TWIST.

The gun flips backward, and I force him to fire a bullet straight into his partner's leg.

The second guard howls, collapsing instantly.

Before the first guard can react, I fire another shot into his leg.

Both men drop.

Before either can hit the ground, I grab Roberto, hoist him onto my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and run.

Roberto lets out a shocked laugh.

"JESUS, Mister! Are you Superman?!"

I grin. "Something like that."

Fifty meters from the gate, just as Roberto had said, I spot the motorcycle.

I waste no time.

I start the engine, pausing only long enough to make sure the kid is seated properly behind me, then gun it.

"We can't go downtown. The army is there," Roberto shouts over the roar of the engine.

"Is there a way to reach the hangar?"

"Yes, but we'll have to take the suburban roads. It'll take twice as long."

"Just show me the way," I snap, my patience razor-thin. My brain is still running at full speed, and every word out of Roberto's mouth feels agonizingly slow.

Once he points the direction, I push the bike to its limit, the engine screaming as we race against time.

The sun is setting fast, and according to Roberto, the road ahead has no streetlights.

"Miiiistteeerrr… yyyooouuu aaaarrreee ttoooo fffaaassst—"

KA-BAAM!!

A sudden explosion rips through the air.

The bike jerks violently.

The back wheel wobbles out of control.

I struggle to keep it steady, but with the insane speed we're going—

The bike is losing the fight.

Up ahead—

A power pole.

Shit.

Without thinking, I grab Roberto, hold him tight, and jump.

We hit the ground hard, rolling across the asphalt just as the motorcycle slams into the pole.

A deafening crash echoes behind us.

I immediately curl my body around Roberto, shielding him with my arms as I brace for an explosion—

…

Nothing.

Silence.

I exhale sharply, my ears ringing.

"You okay?" I ask the boy as I roll off him.

Roberto nods, breathing heavily.

Slowly, he pushes himself up and stares at the wrecked motorcycle.

His lips tremble. "My father is going to kill me…" he whispers.

Guilt knots in my stomach.

"I'm sorry," I say, slumping onto the ground. "I'll send you a new one once I get back to my country. I promise."

Roberto's eyes widen. "You will?"

I nod. "I promise."

His face lights up with excitement, and without warning, he throws his arms around my neck.

The gesture hits me.

I freeze for a second.

Then—

I pat his back.

"We need to get you out of here first," Roberto says as he pulls away, all seriousness now.

"How far is the hangar?" I ask.

Roberto shrugs. "Three… maybe four hours?"

I sigh. "Okay, then…"

I push myself up—

PAIN.

A sharp, searing agony shoots up my right leg.

"Mister, your leg—" Roberto points, his face stricken with concern.

I glance down—

My foot is twisted at a sickening angle.

Almost a full 90 degrees inward.

Shit.

I grit my teeth and try to snap it back into place.

BIG. MISTAKE.

The white-hot pain is instant—so intense I immediately collapse back down.

Roberto winces just from watching me. "You can't walk."

"I will be able to," I mutter through clenched teeth. "I just… need to sleep first."

He doesn't look convinced. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Don't worry," I assure him. "Help me get to that tree."

Roberto throws my arm over his tiny shoulders, doing his best to support my weight. Slowly, I limp over and collapse against the tree trunk.

The second I sit, Roberto stays dead silent—as if afraid to disturb me.

Three long, miserable hours later—

I still can't sleep.

The night has fully settled in. The darkness is absolute.

I sigh heavily.

"You're awake?" Roberto whispers.

"I never slept."

"So… you still can't walk?"

"Afraid not."

Roberto frowns. "Then how are we supposed to get you out of here?"

"Let me call my pilot first."

I dial the number my pilot gave me.

He picks up instantly.

After a quick exchange, I give him my coordinates.

"I can pick you up," he says, "but we have two problems. One—I'll need a light source so I can see you. Two—the power poles on either side of the street make it impossible to land."

"Do you have a long rope?"

"We do."

"Then just pick me up," I tell him, explaining the details of my plan.

With Roberto's help, we drag the motorcycle's ruined body to the middle of the road.

I hand Roberto a plastic bottle. "Drain every last drop of gasoline into this."

He nods and gets to work.

Half an hour later, my pilot calls.

"I'm almost at your location."

I pour the gasoline in a wide circle around me.

I check the area—Roberto is standing at a safe distance.

Good.

I grab a wire from the motorcycle battery, strip the coating, and hold the exposed ends near the gasoline.

A quick spark—

WHOOSH.

The fire ignites.

A massive ring of flames engulfs the road around me.

Above—

I hear the roaring engine of the plane approaching.

My muscles scream in protest, but I force myself to stand, limp into the center of the flames, and wave my arms.

The fire intensifies, the heat licking at my skin.

The plane hovers as low as possible.

The cargo hatch opens—

A rope ladder unfurls.

I grab it.

And pull.

With my injured leg useless, I use every ounce of strength in my upper body to hoist myself up.

Halfway up—

BOOM!!

A massive explosion erupts from behind me.

The shockwave slams into me—

I nearly lose my grip.

"GO! GO! GO!!" I shout.

The stewardess relays my order to the pilot.

The plane starts ascending, pulling me up with it.

From below—

I spot Roberto, standing near his father's burned motorcycle, waving at me.

I raise a hand—

Then disappear into the plane.