“Back up! Hands on your head and face the wall! I said back up!”

  Six people entered Mithra’s cell. She struggled with herself, surprised, as they barked orders at her. After weeks of isolation her first reaction to other people was to attack, which was concerning. She forced her instincts down. She was outnumbered, surrounded, and without weapons.

  The people were obviously human, wearing armor not too dissimilar to Leah’s instead of being covered in rotting flesh like the abominations were. They had oblong helmets covering the whole head, made of opaque pitch black glass. Each held a steel baton to the side, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

  Going against her every instinct, Mithra slowly turned her back to the men and put her hands on her head. One of them dashed forward and slammed her with a metal collar that closed around her neck with a snap.

  A collar? Really?

  Another man struck her in the back with his weapon. Mithra didn’t even flinch, used to much worse punishment, but her body reacted before she could stop it. She turned, backhanding the man, and punched another in the face. Her fingers broke on his helmet—surprisingly tough for glass—and she channeled her energy to fix them.

  Her mark didn’t respond. The collar pulled on her energy, making it impossible to move. It was still, heavy, impotent. Even when she tried putting more force behind her will, it was like moving through molasses. The collar blocked the flow entirely, leaving only a residual amount of power in her muscles, not enough to do anything with it.

  The man she hit staggered back, but the others were on her already. Their batons lit up with sparks of electricity as they hit her legs. Immediately, she lost control of her muscles and they piled on her, holding her to the ground. Buried under the weight of five grown men in metal armor, she could do nothing as they handcuffed her and pulled her back up.

  “What’d I do to you?” She regained the feeling in her legs just in time to dig in her feet. They dragged her out of the cell anyway, her resistance ineffective on the smooth floor. “Where’s Leah? What did you do to her?”

  “Shut your mouth. You’re lucky we didn’t kill you outright,” the man, the one that was barking orders at her earlier, said. “If it was up to me, you’d be rotting in the wasteland, Mind Mage.” He spat the words with disgust. “Now behave, or I’ll get my wish granted. Walk.”

  Mithra didn’t walk. She was dragged. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To the General, where else. He requested your presence and I’ll be damned if he has to wait any longer.” He moved to strike her with the baton again, but she kicked at his hand. He withdrew the limb faster than she could blink.

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Another guard stuck a needle in her neck, and her vision swam. Twisting to get out of his grip, she tried to kick the nearest guard in the shin, but her body refused to obey. All the fight went out of her and she lost all strength in her muscles.

  They carried her out by the armpits, her feet dragging uselessly on the floor. Mithra found that she could still move her eyes, even despite the induced paralysis. They moved her through twisting corridors and she observed her surroundings.

  Mithra never had much appreciation for the beauty of architecture, but what she noticed was like a cry for help. The corridors were claustrophobic, more like tunnels than proper walkways. Were they underground? The ceiling was low, barely high enough for people to stand without bending. The walls were uniformly gray, with the same artificial lights as in her cell, embedded every fifty or so meters. There were no decorations, no variance, just pure functionality.

  The tunnels branched and intertwined like a maze, confusing her as she lost track of the route after the tenth sudden turn in a row. Silent people flowed all around them in waves, parting to let them through. They didn’t talk and didn’t banter as they worked, at least not to any degree that she could see. Some carried boxes made from a material she didn’t recognize, but all moved with a sense of purpose despite stealing curious glances at her, the only outward expression she saw from them. They all had the same gray clothes that she did, no individuality between them. She had the distinct impression of ants in their nest. Was the General their queen?

  Feeling slowly crept back into her limbs as they rounded yet another corner. A door to the left was open and she looked through it on instinct.

  Leah was there. She was floating in a glass cylinder filled with murky liquid, unconscious. Pipes and wires covered her naked body, connected to the top of the capsule and splitting into rhythmically beeping machines from there. Her arms and legs ended in jutting out bone, the burned flesh entirely gone. Fresh, pink skin covered her shoulder, where molten metal was before. The expense to which they went to keep her alive must have been astronomical, unless this was just an elaborate setup to keep a corpse fresh.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Mithra stirred and fought through the haze that still shrouded her body. She wanted to see Leah up close, check if she was breathing, if the pipes connecting to her face supplied air instead of drowning her in liquid.

  The guard noticed her squirming and jabbed a second needle into her neck. Another closed the door leading to Leah. Mithra shot them a hate-filled gaze before her muscles slumped again and she could watch only the floor.

  They walked for what felt like an hour and finally stopped before a nondescript door. A small plaque distinguished it from all the other identical ones lining the tunnel wall. It read ‘General Rubrick, office hours M–F 10:00–14:00’. Surprisingly mundane, compared to the image Mithra built up in her head on the way.

  The apparent leader of the guard knocked politely on the door, and entered.

  “Sergeant Layne, reporting in!” He gave a salute with the right hand behind his back and the left one on his heart, forming a fist. “Bringing prisoner number three-nine-four-eight-six designation V as instructed!”

  “Bring her in.” A calm, authoritative voice replied from inside.

  The men carried her into the room. It was small by Veil standards, but huge in comparison to the tunnels and her cell. Bookshelves lined one wall, full of books with beautifully adorned spines. She recognized a few, mostly the bestiaries. A mahogany desk with multiple screens took center-place. She had only heard about them from Leah, but she recognized the devices shining with colorful lights. Behind them was a man, sitting in a simple wooden chair.

  He had a well-groomed beard, cut in sharp lines to accentuate his even sharper features. Black hair with streaks of gray was cleanly combed to the side, long enough to style but short enough to be practical. He certainly took care of appearances. His eyes were hidden behind glasses, the lights from the screens giving them a mirror-like quality.

  Mithra could feel slight movement of air in the room, adding to her theory of being underground. There must have been pumps hidden in the wall that filtered air inside. It was surprisingly fresh, at least compared to the stuffy air she had to suffer in the cell.

  “Sergeant, status report.”

  “Yes, sir!” Layne saluted again and stood stiffly with arms flat against his sides. “The prisoner is a known Mind Mage, rank unknown, designation V. A disruptor collar was used as a pacifying measure. The prisoner proved uncooperative and assaulted senior guard Wilm. No injuries were sustained. Muscle relaxant was used to contain the prisoner.”

  The General looked at the blood dripping from Mithra’s broken fingers. It was staining a beautiful carpet. “Let her stand on her own,” he said.

  “Sir, yes sir!”

  Another syringe plunged into her neck and strength returned to her muscles in moments. It felt similar to waking up sore after an unpleasant sleep and Mithra had to resist the urge to stretch, though the collar and handcuffs would have stopped that anyway. The two guards holding her up let go, saluted, and took a step to the side each. They were visibly uncomfortable with the order, keeping their hands on the weapons hanging at their belts.

  After an initial moment of disorientation, Mithra stood straight and smoothened out her clothes. She had to make a good impression on the General if she wanted to get out of this alive. She decided silence was the best course of action for now, and looked at the man with confidence.

  He matched her stare with a smile.

  “Sergeant, at ease,” he said, without turning his gaze away from her. “Leave us.”

  “But sir, she—”

  “I can handle a magicless girl in handcuffs. Have more faith in me, Layne. Now all of you, out.”

  All six armored guards stirred uneasily at his words, but obeyed after a brief moment of hesitation. They closed the door behind them, but judging by the lack of audible footsteps stopped right outside the room.

  General Rubrick stood up from behind his desk and produced a second chair. It was made from the same smooth material as the boxes she saw, with a mesh upholstery. He put it in front of the desk and gestured towards it. Nice of him to give her the better chair.

  “Please, sit.” He took something out of his pocket and fiddled with it for a bit. The handcuffs binding Mithra fell to the ground with a clink, but the collar stayed in place. “Much better, isn’t it? Now, please sit. We can’t have a proper conversation standing around, can we?”

  Anger at her treatment warred inside her with the need to make a good impression. Years of maintaining her image as a future Guardian won out and she sat down, putting one leg on the other. She deliberately stopped herself from rubbing her sore wrists, but couldn’t hold back a comment.

  “Weeks of imprisonment and a collar aren’t very conducive to a conversation either,” she said.

  Rubrick’s voice was stern as he replied, “I apologize for your treatment and will have a word with Layne about proper conduct later. However, surely you understand. I can’t let a potentially hostile Shaper walk around freely, especially one like you. How do I know you won’t peek into my mind and lift all manners of vital secrets from me, or worse?”

  He relaxed in the chair a little and instinctively Mithra wanted to do the same. She stopped herself. He gave her a knowing smile.

  “That said, I apologize for your long wait. I didn’t mean for you to rot in a cell for this long, however there’s protocol to be followed. I am the only one authorized to make a decision in cases like this, but duty called and I was away for a while. An unfortunate oversight, one for which I apologize, deeply.”

  Mithra doubted the sincerity of his apologies. With the amount of people they passed just getting here, it was impossible for one person to be responsible for everything. There must have been a chain of command, someone Rubrick could have delegated his duties to. Someone, anyone that could have made a decision, or at least talked to her.

  The General kept speaking. “But that’s neither here nor there.” He extended a hand to her over the desk. “I am General Rubrick Hilley, and let me be the first of many to welcome you to the Enclave.”