Chapter 6 - Dying Hope

The distant clang of metal on metal echoed like a countdown. Each step the guards took reverberated through the hollow halls, growing louder, sharper, closer. Tayo's heart thudded in rhythm with the approaching boots. His fists remained clenched, nails biting into his palms. His mind replayed the agony of the injection—the searing, soul-rending pain that burned him from the inside out. His breath came in shallow puffs, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession.

The boy in the adjacent cell was still sniffling, his tiny frame curled like a ball of paper. His tear-streaked cheeks glistened under the pale light that flickered like a dying firefly. Tayo forced himself to sit up, ignoring the dull ache in his muscles. His eyes darted to the boy, taking in his fragile form.

"Hey," he called out softly, his voice hoarse from dehydration. "What's your name, kid?"

The boy sniffled, rubbing his eyes with small fists. He hesitated for a moment as if the name might get him into trouble. But then he mumbled, "Zion."

"Zion, huh?" Tayo nodded slowly, committing it to memory. "How long have you been awake?"

Zion wiped his nose with the sleeves of his shirt. In his panic, Tayo had not noticed that his clothes had been changed. The clothing was grey, consisting of a short-arm shirt and trousers.

"…"

Tayo noticed given the environment they were in that the kid probably had no idea how long had passed.

"I just want to know how long it could have been?" He asked the kid again.

Surprisingly, it was not because he did not know that the kid was quiet. Tayo could now hear the murmur of voices, sharp and commanding. His heart rate picked up. He glanced at the reinforced glass wall of his cell and the metal frame around it. Thick. Reinforced. The type that didn't break with fists, kicks, or screams.

Tayo leaned his head back against the cold wall, pretending to have just woken up. His body still felt like it had been dipped in molten metal. Every muscle throbbed; every nerve hummed with residual pain. He hated it—hated feeling this helpless. But here, in this place, he had no control—he was nothing but a specimen.

The boots stopped. The silence pressed down on the air, thick and suffocating. Then, the sharp beep-beep-beep of security locks disengaging echoed down the hall.

One of the guards barked, "Cell 17—active transport protocol. Move them."

He heard the magnetic locks hiss as the glass wall of the cell beside him slid open. Cell 17… that was Zion's.

"On your feet," one of them ordered, gesturing with his rifle.

Zion did not resist. He hobbled up to his feet, causing Tayo to dash to the glass wall separating the two cells. Zion was reluctant to go with them, but his eyes were dull, showing none of the defiance he had before.

Tayo's eyes stayed locked on Zion as the guards dragged the boy out of the cell. His small, shuffling steps were like static in Tayo's mind—sharp, painful, and unrelenting. Zion didn't cry, didn't resist. His head hung low, his arms limp by his sides.

"Hey! Leave him alone!" Tayo slammed his fist against the glass wall, the dull thud echoing in the chamber. His throat burned, his voice raw from dehydration and exhaustion. "He's just a kid!"

One of the guards glanced at him, his face obscured by a reflective visor. Tayo could see his furious reflection in that cold, mirrored surface. The guard tilted his head as if considering something, then sauntered over, his boots clicking with deliberate menace.

"You finally woke up, huh?" the guard's voice was laced with mockery. He tapped the glass with his rifle, each tap louder than the last. "How cute. You want to play big brother after sleeping for three days."

"Bring him back," Tayo snarled, slamming the wall again. His mind failed to register the situation. "Bring him back, you coward!"

"Coward?" The guard chuckled, his tone sharp as broken glass. "I'm not the one stuck in a box, hero." He rapped the glass with his knuckles like it was a fish tank. "Don't worry. We'll get to you soon enough."

Another guard called out from further down the hall. "Oi, leave him. We're on a schedule."

"Yeah, yeah," the first guard muttered. He leaned in close to the glass, his visor mere inches from Tayo's face. "Don't go anywhere, hero. Your turn's coming."

Tayo's jaw tightened as the guards moved away, taking Zion with them. The boy glanced back once, his eyes hollow with exhaustion and fear. Silence pressed in. Tayo stood there, his heart pounding in his ears.

…

…

Three Days Ago…

Family Home, Akure…

The living room was filled with the gentle hum of the TV, its glow casting faint blue light across the room. Tayo's mother sat at the edge of the couch, her phone clutched tightly in her hands. Her eyes darted between the screen and the clock on the wall. It had been hours since she last heard from him—far too long.

Her fingers hovered over his contact. She'd called three times already. No answer. Her gut churned, a mother's instinct gnawing at her heart.

Her phone rang and she hurriedly picked up the call.

"Nothing?" she asked, her voice thin and fragile.

"I have bad news, ma," Daniel replied. "Last night, there was an attack on one of the transit vehicles. Everyone aboard was lost."

Her voice caught in her throat. She gripped her phone harder as her eyes grew wet.

"No… No… No…."

Her body was trembling as she considered the situation. This was a nightmare.

"I'm very sorry, ma." Daniel continued.

On the other side of the line, Daniel's eyes were hard. Tayo was his childhood friend. They attended the same school since the primary section, studied at the same university, and graduated together.

…

…

Back at the Underground Facility…

Tayo sat on the cold metal floor, his back against the wall. The ache in his body had dulled to a constant throb. The pain was manageable now—not gone, but distant, like a shadow creeping just behind him.

In the quiet and dark cell, he quickly lost track of time. He was almost ecstatic when the footsteps returned.

This time, they didn't stop at Zion's cell. They stopped at his.

"Cell 18. Prep for extraction," one of the guards said.

The lights along the edge of Tayo's cell flickered red. He heard the sharp hiss of the locks disengaging, and the glass wall began to slide open.

"On your feet, hero," the guard from earlier said, his voice dripping with smugness. "It's your turn."

Tayo didn't move at first. His eyes stayed on the ground, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee.

"Don't make me drag you," the guard snapped.

Slowly, Tayo rose to his feet. His body screamed in protest, but he didn't show it. Not to them. He stepped forward, hands raised. No sudden moves. No resistance. There was no point to that, he would just be punished with a rifle hit to the face.

"Smart," the guard chuckled, gesturing with his rifle. "This way."

They marched him down the hall. Cold metal. Harsh lights. Every step echoed louder than it should have like the entire place was a hollow shell.

They entered a larger chamber filled with machines, and metal arms with surgical precision hanging from the ceiling like spiders. One of the pods along the wall had its glass open, thick fluid dripping slowly onto the floor below. Two guards were already there, along with the hooded figure from before—the one with the cold, calculating eyes.

"Subject 18. Compatibility unknown. Administering Stage Three infusion," the hooded figure stated, not even looking at Tayo. His eyes were fixed on the screen in his hand, swiping through data like he was reviewing weather reports.

"Stage Three?" one of the guards asked.

The hooded man didn't answer. He merely pointed to the pod.

"Place him inside," he said.

Tayo's feet felt like lead. His heart pounded harder than it ever had before. Stage Three. Whatever Stage One was, he'd seen the results. He'd seen the woman's body convulse. Her screams had echoed in his mind long after she'd gone silent. He had experienced it. From the guard's question, he should not be enduring stage three and he trembled at the thought.

The guards gripped his arms. He struggled, twisting hard. One of them slammed a fist into his stomach, knocking the air out of him.

"Don't make it harder, hero," one of them grunted, dragging him forward.

The liquid clung to him like a second skin, icy tendrils slithering through his clothes, seeping into every pore. His breath came in sharp gasps, his chest heaving. He slammed his hands against the glass.

"No! No, no, no!" he shouted, his voice hoarse as he gurgled some of the liquid. "Don't do this!"

The hooded figure glanced up. His eyes were as calm as ever, his expression void of emotion. He reached for the controls on his tablet.

"Commence infusion," he ordered.