No way out

"Bastien, how long till we arrive? " A medium age woman with short red hair asked the driver next to her, a tall man with a belly very telling of his love for local beers.

"Still an hour and a half. Just be patient, Isabelle." Bastien replied.

"Easy to say for you. You're used to driving all the time anyway." Isabelle said. She checked her phone.

Bump!

Isabelle shook.

The trunk drove fast on the road. Since they arrived in the countryside, a bump on the road would send the trunk shaking every so often.

Isabelle looked behind her, checking on her precious cargo. All sorts of boxes and bigger stuff were placed against each other in the back. Looking at what a mess it was, it was easy to tell it had been hastily put. She paid particular attention to the small chest closest to her.

"The orb will be alright with all the shaking, you think?" She asked.

"I think so. It's well-protected within the chest. Will be alright." Bastien replied.

"Alright." Isabelle returned once more to admiring the countryside.

--

At the same moment.

"Why are you frozen like that? Come on, walk a little closer." The bald man said, moving his arm carrying a handgun to signal Altin to move closer.

Altin had stayed motionless for several seconds as soon as he entered, unable to decide what to do.

His thoughts were many:

"He has a weapon, so I can't beat him in a fair fight; he could shot them or me before I get close.

"Here, my powers are too limited... I can probably only reach within 30 centimeters."

Altin reluctantly walked a few more steps towards Jurgen. The garage wasn't too bright, so now that Altin was closer to Jurgen, he could see how crazed the man looked.

Bloody eyes. Dried lips. Disheveled clothes. Had he been on the run?

"Stop there," Jurgen ordered. Altin was now two meters from Mr. and Mrs. Durand; he could see they were unconscious. Jurgen was still right behind them, gun at the ready.

Altin stopped.

"Still not close enough..." Altin thought in dismay.

"Well, don't just stand there! Let's have a nice one-to-one chat like real friends." Jurgen pulled a chair and sat. "Ah, there's no chair for you. Too bad. Why don't you sit on the ground instead?"

The taunt barely hit Altin. He was in full thinking mode, looking for a way to attack Jurgen: something to throw, a possible distraction, or even an anomaly in the vicinity to use as a power source.

But there was none.

The garage had many tools in it, but they were not of the immediate reach of Altin; besides, he didn't feel confident in his throw.

So Altin sat on the ground, jaw clenched - nothing else seemed possible.

"Good kid," Jurgen commented.

"Now I want to tell you that I'm seriously pissed off. You don't want me to be pissed off. But you pissed me off. You know how?"

Altin shook his head. Wasn't he the victim here? The one who was adducted, whose friend was killed, who had wanted nothing else but to escape alive back then?

Jurgen laughed loud. "Hahaha... Let me tell you then. First, you brats called the army back at the warehouse. Secondly, you sold our cache out. Guess what happened?

"I'll just tell you.

" The cops stole my belongings, killed my men, and have searched for me ever since. And whose fault is that?"

"YOU FUCKING BRATS!"

Jurgen aimed the gun at Altin.

Blood rushed to his face. Was it cold or hot? Altin felt sweating and yet, frozen.

He argued: "We only wanted to ...!"

"YOU DON'T GET TO TALK YET!!!" Jurgen interrupted Altin.

Altin's brows furrowed further. He was angry.

The man had kidnapped him and his friends.

He had then sent them to a risky zone, where most people would die.

He had eventually tried to kill them.

And now? He held hostages of his foster family, gun at the ready.

"DAMN YOU!" Altin screamed internally, doing his best to not voice his thoughts.

What could he say?

He decided to go straight to the point: "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Jurgen repeated the question.

"How about you tell me how sorry you are?"

Jurgen didn't have the face of someone angry looking for apologies. Instead, he had the face of someone messing up with someone else. His cold smile was all Altin needed to know that the man wanted to break him.

Altin couldn't accept to apologize. The words wouldn't leave his mouth.

"It's basic manners to apologize when you are in the wrong. You caused the deaths of my men, remember? So should I punish Mrs. Durand for not raising you well?"

Jurgen placed the cold cannon of his gun directly on Mrs. Durand's template.

Thankfully, she seemed to still be unconscious.

Altin considered what he should do: "Will he really shoot her if I don't say what he wants to hear?

"Yes. He will."

"Sorry..." Altin whispered.

"What did you say? I couldn't hear it well. Speak LOUDER!" Despite the harsh tone Jurgen was taking, he was actually smiling, grinning like he had won the lottery.

Altin understood subconsciously that he had to play along to somehow satisfy the man. If enough time passed, help would be coming. So he adjusted his mindset to match what Jurgen wanted.

"I'M SORRY!" Altin shouted, the word tainted with anger.

It was the best he could do.

How so he wished he could kill Jurgen.

"That's better, I guess." Jurgen laughed. "Now that you've apologized, it's time to thank me for all the good I've done you."

Altin was thrown off balance.

"W..what?" He said.

"For what you ask?

"Wasn't I merciful when I allowed you to leave with your friends?"

The moment when Jurgen allowed Altin and his friends to leave flashed in Altin's mind. Before Jurgen discovered that Altin, Julien, Paul, and François had found their secret map, he had really allowed them to escape alive. But wasn't that null considering that he had decided to kill them after all?

Still yet, Altin couldn't utter the words.

"Wasn't I merciful by sparing your old ones? "

Sparing? Altin looked at Mr. and Mrs. Durand.

They were in a bad state.

They had bruised on their heads, dried blood on their clothes.

They were cuffed.

They had been tortured with no need for it.

Altin exploded: "YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE ! You hurt them! You tortured them! They had nothing to do with you!!"

Jurgen sneered. "Ohhh I don't like your tone, brat."

He lowered the gun and aimed at Mr. Durand's leg.

BAM!

Mr. Durand was shot in the leg.

He woke up and screamed in agony.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"HOW ABOUT I SHOOT THE HEAD NEXT TIME?" Jurgen shouted just high loud to be heard over the painful screams of Mr. Durand.

Altin stood up, breathing hard, ready to run towards Jurgen and fight.

Jurgen aimed the gun yet again at Mr. Durand.

"SHOULD I?"

He shallowed.

Despite all his rage and the messed up situation, he did not want to cause the death of Mr. and Mrs. Durand, not if there was still a way to save them.

"Thank you..."

"Thank you for sparing them". He said once more, this time firmly, but his voice filled with pain.

Despite all the rage and anger that Altin felt, he couldn't help but feel miserable. Jurgen was breaking him, and he knew it, but he still couldn't do anything.

Jurgen had not moved from his chair... He was still too far for Altin to reach him by using his power.

"HAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHA" Jurgen exploded in laugher.

"Nice boy, nice boy." He lowered his gun.

"Repeat it a few times."

Altin felt he had to play along.

So he took it upon himself and said with clenched jaw:

"Thank you.

"Thank you.

"Thank you..."

Jurgen's grin seemed to reach the sky; he savored every "thank you" he received as if it was music to his ears.

"Altin... Altin..."

Altin raised his voice towards the feeble voice that had just called his name.

Mr. and Mrs. Durand had awakened.

Mr. Durand had stopped screaming, but he was painting and moaning in pain.

"Altin... I'm so sorry... We didn't tell him..." Mrs. Durand lamented. The pain on her face was unmistakable.

"He took our phones..." She added, tears glistening from her two old eyes.

Jurgen stood up and said: "OH? It seems your pals are awakened. Time to leave you alone, then."

"What... you're leaving?" Altin thought to have misheard.

He raised his head towards Jurgen with doubtful hope.

Mr. and Mrs. Durand seemed genuinely surprised. They, too, looked at him.

"Don't look at me like that. OF COURSE, I'm going to leave. I have other brats to 'counsel,' you know. What was their name again? Julien? Paul? François? Ah. No. This one is dead already."

Altin clenched his teeth but did not say anything. He knew his best shot was to keep calm and let the man go by himself.

"One less. Good." Jurgen murmured sadistically.

"One less"? Somehow, the words sounded very ominous to Altin.

Jurgen walked towards the exit, the side door from which Altin had entered. He reached the door, turned towards Altin, and seemed to remember: "Oh, that's right. "

He took his phone and seemed to set something. He then said: "Thanks for coming on time, Altin. It's time for me to leave. Here's a parting gift for you."

He threw his backpack towards Altin.

Altin avoided it; it looked heavy.

It couldn't be good.

A parting gift?

"If I were you, I would use these two minutes well to catch up.

Before the bomb explodes."

Without giving anyone time to react, Jurgen opened and closed the side-door., leaving the garage. Tack. He locked the door from outside.

"Oh no....."

Altin hurried to check on the backpack. He opened it wide.

He saw a metallic cylinder connected by wire to a small square electronic device with an LCD display connected to a smartphone.

The devices displayed a time that would decrease by one every second.

1:52 just became 1:51...

1:51 just became 1:50...

Altin gasped.

He took the object for what it was: a bomb set to explode in less than two minutes.

A furious myriad of thoughts crashed in his mind:

"Should I try to cut the wire? Too random. It would be too easy.

Can we escape from here before it explodes? "

Altin looked around him in a hurry; Mr. and Mrs. Durand looked back, puzzled, for they were not aware that the backpack contained a bomb.

"They're still cuffed. The door's closed."

He looked back at the timer displayed.

1:45

Time was counted.

Altin turned again towards his foster parents.

He knew they may not escape this.

"Is it time we make our farewell?" He wondered.

The last thought stroke him like a heavy hammer and brought him to near tears. True tears.

It was ripping his heart.

He looked at his hands.

Was there anything he could do?

He stared.

Something seemed to come.

A tingling feeling. As if his body was itching;

"No, I'm not powerless anymore..."

Without saying anything, he rushed to the side door.

He tried to open it.

It was locked from outside.

As he expected.

He placed his two hands on the door handle, where the key would usually be inserted.

He did like he used to: he channeled the tingling feeling to his hands and had it take a destructive form.

He infused his despair and his rage.

The door handle became hotter.

But it was not near enough.

Altin could dissolve matter in close range, yes, but only when powered up by an anomaly.

He knew it very well, but he still had to try.

"I have to try!"

He did not need to look at the timer far behind him to know that very little time remained.

It was so hard.

Altin lacked power.

It was like pushing a trunk with your sole weight.

It was unbearable.

It seemed so difficult that it looked impossible.

But it was his only chance.

Altin furiously looked and wished for more and more power.

He...

Something happened.

He felt a vaguely familiar feeling coming from afar... reaching his brain... revigorating him.

The door handle started to dissolve.

--

At the same moment.

"BASTIEN! Stop the trunk, stop the trunk!" Isabelle shouted at Bastien, driving the trunk.

"THE ORB! IT'S GONE WILD."

"I SEE THAT! " Bastien replied back.

Behind them, the chest carrying the orb, and all nearby équipements, flew in all directions.

Fizzles of electricity flashed between the metallic objects.

If one didn't know better, one would interpret this as a supernatural event.

Wait, wasn't the 5th force supernatural, to begin with?

Brrr...

The trunk braked harshly and steered right, quickly coming to a stop awkwardly on the side of the road.

A vortex of some kind was forming on the chest.

"RUN! " Bastien screamed.

Isabelle and Bastien both ran out of the trunk with little care for anything else.

--

Unbeknownst to Altin, a similar vortex had formed behind him, emulating a mini local multi-facet anomaly. It was feeding him with power.

Of course, Altin himself was too focused on tearing the handle and its lock apart to care.

He was succeeding;

The handle and this part of the door seemed to dissolve like ice melting under the sun.

Altin felt the change. He felt... he felt as if the tiny dots close to his hands were growing a little farther away.

He also felt terribly hot and exhausted.

Vrooooomm... a car seemed to come alive and leave in the distance.

Altin knew intuitively that Jurgen was probably leaving with his van.

"A little more...", He wished.

Only a little of the door lock was left.

Was there a limit to one's willpower?

His muscles were failing him.

And what's more, his mind too: He could barely see, hear, or feel anymore.

He felt dizzy, almost fainting.

He only knew one thing.

"The door. In front of me."

He yet again destroyed more of the door by channeling the 5th force into its most destructive force.

It was a terribly exhausting process, sped up by sheer willpower at the expense of one's mental energy.

Finally, the door moved.

Its locking mechanism had been entirely destroyed.

Altin pushed the door.

It opened wide.

He fell forward.

"No...."

He clung to his remaining bits of consciousness.

He tried to stand up but failed.

He tried again, yet he failed once more.

His legs were giving him no power.

Altin was drenched in sweat.

He gave up on standing.

He walked on all four to the backpack.

He heard Mr. and Mrs. Durand talking to him with urgency in their force, but he could not understand.

Grabbing the backpack carrying the bomb with one arm, he dragged himself back to the door.

The world was rotating wildly around him. Was he on a rollercoaster?

Despite his intense dizziness and exhaustion, Altin still headed towards the exit door of the garage.

He reached it.

He did not pay any heed to the vortex still growing over there.

Altin looked nervously at the timer.

He dreaded to know how much time remained.

He knew he had taken a long time, but in his desperate effort to create an exit, he had lost track of time.

0:08

That was what the LCL screen displayed.

0:07

"NOOO!"

Altin was still in the garage, inches away from leaving the premise.

It couldn't gather the strength to throw the backpack away, no matter how he tried. The bomb was heavy, and his energy depleted.

0:06

He allowed himself one last look at his foster parents.

0:04

He gripped the backpack hard.

0:03

He pushed on his legs as far as he could.

0:02

He left the garage.

He then threw the backpack, but he was only able to throw it a meter away.

Not near enough.

0:01

Altin's last thought - full of regret and bitterness - came naturally: "Julien... Paul... François... I'm sorry."

0:00

...