POV: Cyrus / LOCATION: -CONFIDENTIAL-
There is broken glass in my throat. When I try to breathe, the shards gouge the tender lining of flesh, making me draw a deeper intake of breath, whimper, and continue this vicious cycle.
I never expected her to crush my throat as a warning. From past experience, her preferred method of intimidation was burial by the flames of heaven. This time punishment was delivered much more intimately…
After she left, I began coughing out blood—and not from my persistent childhood illness. I was hauled to the medical ward and, as soon as I tested negative for pneumonia, discharged back to my cell. The staff was indifferent to my pleas for pain relievers. They said it was unnecessary.
Without my daily shots of acetaminophen tablets and caffeine, I feel as though I am existing deep underwater. It is easy to lose track of time. The lights will switch off to let inmates know when night arrives and the food will be served sometime after work duty (I give it all to the Trubbish loitering outside my cell), dividing our lives into segments that slot together to make a day.
The Champion's visits were the only break in my routine. After our most recent encounter however, I doubt she will return. She refused to let me explain. Yes, I did construct the memory erasure machine, but I was not responsible for her memory loss! What would I gain from holding the region's most influential figure hostage?
"You have a visitor," the warders inform me.
My heart races in trepidation. The warders put me in shackles and, since my legs have not fully healed, half-drag me to the interrogation room.
If the warders have not restrained me to the chair, I will jump up and rip out that traitor's jugular with my teeth. As though reading the fury contained within my clenched fists, Charon tosses out a smile of pity.
"Hard to believe you're only twenty-seven while you look like you've already mounted your bucket. What's stopping you from kicking it?"
I mutter something so atrocious that the blood pooling on my tongue turns black like rot.
Charon heaves a theatric sigh. "Defeated by a spoiled child with the ego of Kalos's rumored Ultimate Weapon. Still, I commend you. Abducting Sinnoh's beloved princess right beneath its nose is no easy feat."
"I did no such thing!" I say.
"What was that? Were you whispering to the voices inside your head?"
My breathing has become abnormally heavy. I hold my breath until my ears stop ringing, then I glare at that bastard in the eyes.
"As much as I'd like to reminisce about old times, I actually came for more… professional matters," he says.
Charon slides some papers into my side of the table. One glance is enough to understand his true objectives.
"I will never sign away my fortune to the likes of you," I spit.
"Galactic is almost bankrupt." His voice is as sweet as overripe vegetation. "The banks that have always supported your line of credit have cut ties immediately after your arrest. All company shares have been suspended. I am the only one who can save your silly corporation from utter financial ruin."
Nothing he said can be disputed. And he knows it.
Chuckling, Charon drops a plastic pen into my hands. "You and your fetish of signing everything with your stupid feather pen. How childish. I brought along a proper pen, and it will serve you well to learn to use it like a functional member of society."
"You'll get my estate over my cold, dead body."
"You think you're invincible," he says, more amused than irritated. "But you are merely an impressionable urchin living on a lofty dream. Adults like me know how to remain firmly grounded in reality. After all, I know just how fragile you really are, Master Cyrus."
The way he sneers at me, as though honing in on a carefully shielded weakness for exploitation, makes my stomach turn cold.
"You've grown quite attached to them. Your family. Your home."
Used in the same breath, the words "family" and "home" leaves me feeling nauseated. If you stop to examine their significance, you will find that they are actually hollow, and if you throw them at your feet they will rattle like empty cans.
"When our dear Champion visited Neo Galactic HQ, I knew it was you who sent her," he continues. "Has she told you about Mars's new medication therapy? About Saturn having to mop the lobby from now on? About Jane's new mascot uniform? She even has a cute dance with it."
I was told they had forgotten all about me. At my incredulous stare, Charon gasps.
"Oh my. It appears that your heartfelt request slipped that girl's impulsive mind. Are your Commanders really that precious to you?"
"Shut up," I mumble.
"Of course not. They were mere tools to be used and thrown away. The only person you can trust is yourself, after all. Hence why you kept everyone in the dark about your true plans."
Leaning close enough to trap my reflection in his eyeglasses, Charon says, "Or am I wrong? Those three make up your tiny, insignificant world. They are the sole reason why you haven't leapt off the roof—"
Unable to endure his baseless accusations any longer, I snap back.
"Shut up! I don't care about any of them! They're nothing but pawns and tools to accomplish what I need! Useless things like friendship and familial ties have no place in my perfect world!"
That outburst leaves me wheezing like a clogged furnace. Patting my head endearingly, Charon picks up the pen and presses the tip. I fail to recognize my own voice at first, yet when I do, I am struck with a powerful sense of horror.
The chains holding me back disintegrate into ash. I lunge for the hidden microphone. Charon cries out.
"Warders, help! The prisoner is attacking me!"
Two metal prongs jab into my hip, injecting me with a healthy dose of electricity that plunges my world down to the ocean's depths. Rough hands pin my head to the table. Through swimming vision, I glimpse Charon near the door, carelessly dangling that accursed plastic pen—his secret weapon.
"Remember, Cyrus: you only appreciate what you have after they've been taken away. That's a lesson you'll learn the hard way, you good-for-nothing brat."