"What the hell do you think you're doing, Beatrix?" The words thundered from Sergeant Claiborne, his voice a tempest of fury and disbelief. The sudden slam of his fist against the wall reverberated through the room, a physical manifestation of his anger that made me flinch. My heart raced, adrenaline flooding my system, a primal response to the unexpected violence of the gesture.
My blood warmed, a fiery cocktail of fear and defiance coursing through my veins. My lips pressed together tightly, a physical barrier to the retort that danced on the tip of my tongue. My eyes, however, met his with a steely resolve, refusing to back down even as they screamed a thousand questions. What had I done to warrant such rage? Was it fear or frustration that painted his features so vividly?
The intensity of his gaze was palpable, a force that seemed to press against me with the weight of the unsaid. Time stretched thin between us, a fragile thread straining under the weight of our silent confrontation. Finally, Charlie broke contact, turning away with a loud huff that filled the tense silence. His body language shifted, a subtle but clear retreat from the brink of whatever precipice we had found ourselves teetering on.
Seizing the moment, my eyes darted around, taking in the details of our surroundings with practiced precision. The room was awash with the harsh glare of overhead lights, casting stark shadows that played across the surfaces of the furniture stacked neatly along the wall. My gaze flickered to the corner where several poker machines stood silent, their usual cacophony of lights and sounds eerily absent.
And then, my attention snapped to the object of my immediate interest—a large, moveable whiteboard positioned strategically to my right. Can't be more than three metres away, I estimated, a plan beginning to form in the depths of my mind. The small device, previously concealed, wedged between my flex-cuffed hands, suddenly felt like a lifeline. With a subtle shift, I nudged the Portal Key into my palms, its presence a reminder of the possibilities that lay within reach.
"I can't help you if you run," Charlie's voice tethered me back to the present, pulling me from the swirling vortex of my thoughts.
My eyes narrowed at him, skepticism and wariness etching deep lines into my gaze. My lips, however, remained a sealed vault, holding back the flood of questions and accusations threatening to spill out. Does he really want to help me? The question echoed in my mind, bouncing off the walls of my skepticism. What does he know? Why was Leigh watching him so closely? Would Leigh approve if I ran? Of course, Leigh would approve, he gave me the fucking device!
"Beatrix, I can help you," Charlie persisted, his eyes not just looking at me but focusing intently on the device cradled in my hands. His gesture of surrender, hands raised yet stepping closer, was a paradox that did little to ease the tightening knot of anxiety in my chest. "I can help you protect Luke."
His words cut through the air, sharp and unexpected. A soft gasp betrayed my shock. Does he know Luke's a Guardian? The question surged forward, pressing against my lips, desperate for release. And then, the deeper fear—Does he know who is trying to kill him? The image of a bloodied body, lifeless in the grim confines of a delivery truck's back, flashed before my eyes, a chilling reminder of the stakes at play. I swallowed hard, stifling another gasp. Does Charlie know about Joel? Does he know what I did?
"I'm on your side, Beatrix," Charlie said, inching closer with each word, his steps cautious yet determined.
With every advance he made, I retreated, a dance of distrust and fear. My mind screamed warnings at me, a cacophony of doubts and suspicions. No, it hissed. If Leigh was watching him, then Charlie isn't to be trusted. This mantra became my anchor, a steadfast hold in the swirling sea of uncertainty.
My heart hammered against my ribcage, a relentless drum echoing the rhythm of my escalating fears. The room seemed to close in around us, the air thick with unspoken tension and the weight of decisions yet to be made. The device in my hands felt heavier, a symbol of the complex web of alliances and betrayals that I found myself entangled in.
A sharp rap on the door shattered the tense atmosphere, a sound so unexpected it momentarily diverted Charlie's focus—and mine. Seizing this fleeting window of opportunity, my fingers fumbled with the device Leigh had entrusted to me, pressing the small, inconspicuous button at its end. A sting bit at my finger, a minor sacrifice as a tiny orb of bright energy burst forth, racing towards the whiteboard. The moment it made contact, an explosion of pulsating colours erupted, painting an impromptu barrier between reality and the unknown.
Charlie, caught in a moment of indecision, seemed torn between halting my escape and addressing the intrusion at the door. Fortune, it seemed, tipped in my favour as he opted to investigate the latter. A parting glance was all I could afford him, a silent acknowledgment of the game's new turn, before my body propelled forward, my feet barely touching the carpet as I dove into the vibrant spectacle before me.
The transition was surreal, a sensation unlike any I had experienced. As I pierced the veil of colours, a voice greeted me—not through the air or as a sound that my ears could detect, but as a resonance within my very mind. "Welcome to Clivilius, Beatrix Cramer," it intoned, a greeting both ominous and awe-inspiring. The voice, imbued with an unknown power, seemed to echo from the very essence of this new realm, wrapping around me like a cloak.
I landed with a jarring thud on the other side, the soft dust doing little to cushion my fall. My hands, still encased in the unforgiving grip of the cuffs, provided inadequate support, sending a jolt of pain through my wrists and up my arms. A gust of wind, alien yet strangely comforting, caressed my face as I struggled to orient myself.
Raising my head, the sight that greeted me was one of stark contrasts. Behind me, the Portal—a giant canvas of swirling colours—cast its ethereal glow over the landscape, painting the barren hills in hues of an otherworldly palette. The beauty of it was breathtaking, a spectacle of light against the desolation that stretched out before me.
And then, as if someone had flipped a switch, darkness enveloped everything.
