Crushed

"What the hell."

Atlas's stomach dropped so far down into his body it felt like it was going to fall out.

The night dragged on as he sat in darkness, occasionally hearing the faint sound of something gnawing on meat.

The lights came on with a guard's yell, and Atlas stood up immediately, rushing to warn them about what he had seen.

"Open cell block C!"

The bars slid away, and in front of him stood a guard with shackles in hand.

He had to warn him, immediately.

"Hey, the guy next to me has hol—"

Atlas stopped mid-sentence. To his right, the guard who was supposed to be shackling Near stood frozen in shock.

Atlas turned to follow the guard's gaze, and saw it.

The whole damn cell was covered in blood.

And in it stood no one.

Atlas saw the guards lock eyes before one shouted:

"We got a runner!"

All the cells were immediately locked. The guards sprinted off in a panic. Atlas was left unshackled and unattended, as if everyone had fallen into a trance, obsessed with finding Near, ignoring him entirely.

"This is it... a chance to escape."

Or so he thought.

A passing guard noticed him and shoved him back into his cell onto the bed.

The guard pulled out shackles.

"All prisoners must be restrained during an emergency."

The last of the guards disappeared in their frantic search, and soon, Atlas heard no more footsteps.

On the bed, he could feel the outline of the makeshift knife hidden beneath him.

The guard was close.

"This might be a real chance—my only one. I can't not do this."

Atlas had never killed before. He didn't plan to now.

In fact, it was the last thing he wanted to do. But if his hand was forced—what animal wouldn't do anything to break free from a lifetime of imprisonment?

The guard didn't notice Atlas digging under the bed.

"I have to..."

Staring down his opponent, Atlas searched for any gaps in the armor, but saw none.

Even if his blade struck, it would likely bounce off.

But the white mask on the guard's face... It looked like a weakness. Maybe it was softer, maybe it could be broken.

The guard knelt to shackle Atlas's legs first.

A clear mistake.

As the guard bent down, Atlas moved.

His arm swung through the air, blade in hand, aimed at the back of the man's head.

It hit hard, so hard that Atlas's arm vibrated with the impact, pain shooting through him.

The guard collapsed, stunned by the sudden blow.

Atlas scrambled behind him, trying to grab his neck.

"Damn plans never work."

The mask plan was off. Now he had to choke this bastard out.

Why he didn't follow through with the knife, he didn't know. Anxiety? Instinct?

The guard struggled at first, only from the shock, but after about ten seconds, he regained awareness and started to fight back.

Atlas took a heavy blow to the face. Blood trickled from his nose.

Then another. And another.

Blow after blow came from the dark-armored guard, each one almost inhuman in strength.

Atlas clamped down on the guard's neck with all his strength, but it still felt like it wasn't enough.

The armor resisted, and Atlas was quickly tiring.

But so was the guard.

Finally, after a minute of struggling, the guard stopped moving. His breath grew shallow.

Atlas let go and stood up, blood pouring down him, staring at the unconscious guard.

"Finally. You're stronger than I thought."

With a short laugh, he did the only logical thing: stripped the guard.

He took the white mask and placed it over his face. Then he donned the dark armor—it felt like it was molding to his body, and the mask felt oddly slimy.

There wasn't time to clean up the blood. He shoved the guard under the thin covers and stepped out of the cell.

The corridor was empty.

To his left, he heard a whisper.

"They never tell a lie, do they?"

Atlas turned.

It was Ivan, smiling.

"The gods have you. You are the one who is blessed."

"What the hell is this guy talking about?"

Patting down the armor, Atlas felt a small, circular object, like a bracelet.

He took it out and approached Ivan.

"How can I let you out?"

Ivan laughed, nearly ecstatic.

"Give me that bracelet and I'll show you."

Atlas handed it over. He needed backup, even if it was a crazy person.

Ivan slid the bracelet on, and the bars vanished.

He stepped out, glanced around, then peeked into Atlas's cell.

"Hey. I'd finish him off if I were you. It's best not to leave anyone who can snitch."

Atlas looked down at the unconscious guard, and almost agreed.

But he wasn't a cold-blooded killer.

He didn't know this guard. The man was just doing his job.

Who knew what kind of criminal the previous owner of his body had been? Maybe a warlord for all Atlas knew.

"No. I don't think I will."

Ivan smiled.

They ran down the hall, away from where the guards had sprinted.

Not toward the yard, but toward administration. Maybe they could find armor for Ivan there.

They cleared one hallway. Then another.

Then stopped.

They heard something, a rustling from a nearby storage room. Someone stumbling inside.

"This could be another guard," Atlas said. "We have to gamble on getting his armor."

They crept to the door and peeked inside.

It wasn't a guard.

It was Near.

The damned bastard.

And he wasn't just big anymore, he was huge. A giant, hunched in the room, almost twice his original size.

"How the hell did he fit through the doorway?"

Atlas and Ivan froze. Then slowly began to back away.

While retreating, Ivan accidentally bumped a wall, just a soft thud.

They paused. Waited.

A moment passed.

Then the wall beside them exploded.

Near burst through like a missile, slamming both of them into the opposite wall.

Atlas's body went into a frenzy of adrenaline. This monster... this behemoth stood before him.

More blood trickled from his face.

Near locked eyes with him.

Thankfully, the white mask hid Atlas's identity. Otherwise, he was sure Near would single him out.

By some miracle, Near looked past him, and locked onto Ivan.

A second later, he was on him.

Tearing him apart.

Hands turned to claws. Ripping viciously.

Ivan screamed.

It wasn't just pain. It was the sound of a soul being broken. Pure despair.

His body was crushed. Torn apart. Strung across the hallway like a butcher's project.

As if Near wasn't even trying.

Atlas watched in horror, frozen.

Not just from fear, but from strategy.

If he moved, Near might decide he was next.

Ivan's head rolled toward him, detached, and crushed like it had been under heavy machinery.

All of this... in under thirty seconds.

Now, it was probably Atlas's turn.

Probably.