Chapter 1: A New Cell

One strike. All it takes is one well aimed strike for it all to come crashing down. It is true for the vein of iceburst stone as it is for the life of a creature. With a resounding thud, a huge lump of glistening crystal fell from the wall, landing near the feet of its attacker. Bending a knee to get a closer look at his work, he found the location of his strike. Only the precision of one with experience would be able to make such an excision. The slightest movement of an eye focused the gaze from the cut now to its own visage. The green sunken eyes of the striker observed the reflection: dust and dirt caked his face and red hair, and his shabby attire was worse for wear.

"Hey!" A thunderous yell pulled the striker from his trance, along with a bash on his back, "Put the iceburst on the cart! Hurry up!" If not for the fact that it was the stock of a rifle that hit him, the redheaded man would have immediately satisfied his rage in a manner similar to the stone. But no, he must grit his teeth and obey, for the moment of retaliation has not presented itself yet. Grabbing the stone itself was already tough enough while having both arms chained, but trying to move past the lingering chains from his shackles to the cart was even more of a pain. Looking back as he hoisted the iceburst to a container on the cart, the redhead observed as the attacker leaned his rifle on the cavern wall next to him before dusting his coat and cap.

"Geez, I just washed these yesterday!" The rifleman griped under his breath, despite it bouncing within the cramped walls, "Fuck these caverns, why did I have to be in charge of these pieces of shit? Hey, what the hell are you doing?! Move your ass!"

Both the rifleman and the redhead focused their attention on another person, arms chained and shackled in the same way as the redheaded prisoner. The way he was struggling to pull out his pickaxe could only mean that it got stuck between the stone and the surrounding rocks. The rifleman marched his way to the pickaxe man, groaning and scolding him with each step. Amidst the rifleman's distracted state, the redheaded prisoner scanned his surroundings.

The cold and wet rocks surrounded the three in vice, enough for even a lone child to find the place cramped. Only the flames of nearby torches hanging on support beams lit the area, and even then shadows overtook any corner and crevice possible. Escape would be possible, but with the only way to the surface being flooded with guards would only mean lost meal privileges. No running, no fighting, the only action allowed here is obedience. That is the only choice of a prisoner.

"Ngh! Heh, you really-hngh-got it stuck in there!" The rifleman scoffed as he started pulling on the pickaxe now. The redheaded prisoner, curious of the situation, carefully made his way to the two men, but was stopped by the tug of his shackles. However from this distance, he could clearly see what was actually happening. From this new angle he saw that the pickaxe had been buried into the iceburst stone itself. This was not uncommon, but from the angle of the pickaxe and how deep it had anchored itself, along with the nearby torches emanating heat, it could only mean disaster.

It took only a half-second of realization to spring the redhead into action, only to be immediately restricted by the chains of imprisonment with only the rifle within reach. Driven purely by instinct, the redhead swiped the rifle and checked the chamber, confirming the presence of a bullet ready to be fired. With no hesitation, he aimed at the lock connecting the binds, and pulled the trigger at full force.

BANG! That would have been the sound of the gunshot, but instead the eruption of iceburst overwhelmed it, resulting in the redhead's eardrums ringing as if they were boxed. The walls of the caverns rumbled as dirt, dust, and debris dropped from the crevices of the ceiling. The beast that is the ground itself had been awakened, and now the threat of being swallowed whole into a dark abyss was at the forefront of the redhead's mind. The realization snapped him out of his daze, and all that remained was the cart and the motionless body of the other prisoner. They were left for dead by the only one without chains.

No time to sneer, rocks began crumbling down in larger chunks. Knowing it would be foolish to leave behind a weapon, the redheaded prisoner swiped the rifle that he dropped and used its sling to place it on his back as he made his way to the other prisoner. The redhead carried the unconscious prisoner onto the cart without much care for its state. Quickly wrapping to the front, the redhead slung the straps of the cart around his shoulders and began heaving upwards. A slight upward incline that was little trouble in previous excursions, now proved to be a test in endurance and willpower. In between the focusing of his steps and breaths, thoughts of bulls and horses lugging tons of cargo filled his mind, and now he felt a newfound appreciation for them.

Cargo, he thought, referring to a person whose life is in my hands as 'cargo'. I don't even know if he's still alive, there was no time to check. It could just be a lifeless body I'm pulling. Even so, to be buried alone deep inside a cave alive or not, seems an undeserving fate.

His thoughts paused, catching himself as if he needed to be corrected.

He's a prisoner like me, yet I have no clue why he's here. The crime he committed could have been… awful. The word came to him as he struggled to find something more descriptive. And yet, does a horse care if the man it's pulling is a monster?

The caverns quaked immensely once more, disrupting the redhead's trek and his thoughts. There wasn't enough time to recover as a flurry of larger cave fragments crumbled down. One massive chunk of rock crashed on top of the side of the cart, sending some of its contents flying out. The man was thrashed backwards as a result, but most concerningly the cart straps had become undone. Due to the impact of falling debris, the cart barreled back down further into the cave, yet that wasn't the worst of it. Upon impacting the rocky ground, the rifle upon the prisoner's back discharged a bullet into the loose ceiling behind him. In an instant, the cave behind him was pouring with rocks and stone from the broken ceiling. Hearing the wheels turning over the makeshift railroad getting further and further away, the man could only sit on the wet and rocky floor and listen as the cart was quickly sucked into the abyss of the cave, behind a wall of rubble.

Running on pure adrenaline, the man got up quickly and scanned the surroundings, hoping that the other prisoner was thrown out of the cart along with the iceburst. His hopes were swiftly shattered. He started moving various pieces of the wreckage until he was peering down the cave from an eye-sized hole. The abyssal tunnel only seemed to grow longer the more he stared into it. The darkness at the end was crawling toward the man, the walls being absorbed into nothingness, and the accumulation of dirt and dust falling only amplified its approach. There was no time for further thought as more rocks came crashing down to fill in the gaps created by the prisoner. All that was left for the other prisoner was now a covered tomb, where his body will lay to rest in solitude forever more.

A bright glow from the corner of his eye served as a contrast to the darkness in front of him. Right next to the torch he noticed one of the canisters that flew from the cart. As if conditioned, the redheaded prisoner went to reach for it before abruptly stopping. It contained the iceburst crystals they had been mining. This was what they had been doing this whole time. The reason why the other prisoner had been sucked into the abyss, was because of this. For the retrieval of a measly stone, he was rewarded with an eternal burial in the depths of earth.

Is one resource really worth a man's life?

The redhead furiously kicked the iceburst container, punting it down towards the abyss to join its harvester.

Hope it was worth it.

Finally, a moment to catch half a breath presented itself, as the ladder leading to the hatch above was only inches from the prisoner's face. With a heave, he leapt on the ladder that was a meter off the ground. Exhaustion nearly caught him with a slip of a foot, but he was quick to restabilize. Climbing to the hatch was the least of his problems, as the guard that scurried his way back had shut it, effectively sweeping the prisoners under the rug. Only an exaggerated breath escaped his nose before he lowered his face mask. Quickly, a faint draft warmed the top of his lip and head, opposing the stagnant air that was present throughout the cavern. It was a sign that the hatch wasn't tightly secured.

Climbing up to the last bar of the ladder and placing both hands on the lid to escape, he slowly lifted the hatch to scan for anyone nearby. There was no one, only the concrete floors that were lit up by nearby torches. However, the many shadows from the walls only hindered that theory. Although it was not much to go on, the strain from the prisoner's arms begged for some respite, so as per their request, he opened the hatch fully.

With a better field of view, the prisoner could now see the walls from before he was sent mining. They were mostly dilapidated, with rotting wood coming off the frames attached to convex cavern walls. He may as well be deep underground, only this time there was flowing wind. There seemed to be no guards surrounding the hatch nor the stairs at the other end of the small room.

The cowards must have fled after the other came back.

Before he could even place a foot one step higher, the sounds of approaching footsteps and chatter faded within earshot.

"And what of the prisoners?" A man's gruff voice questioned.

"I-I don't know sir, none of them were following me." The responding voice belonged to the guard that was with the prisoners in the cave. From the proximity of their voices, the prisoner figured the guard was following behind the older voice.

Maybe his boss? The prisoner supposed. No time to speculate, the prisoner readjusted his position slightly lower, only his upper body coming out of the hatch. Equipping the rifle he had slung, he used the opening of the hatch to prop it in preparation of his shot. The prisoner leaned in to avoid falling backwards into the cavern, half of the stock of the rifle on the edge of his shoulder. The barrel was locked straight at the stairway, but where the bullet's trajectory would end up was only an assumption to the prisoner, which was hopefully at the older guard.

Finger already on the trigger, the prisoner maintained focus on the stairwell as the footsteps gradually increased in volume with each step.

"Is that so? You were informed to keep the boy unharmed."

"I know sir, but it was a cave-in! The iceburst exploded!" The guard pleaded.

"Well then, looks like you'll have to dig 'em up and explain how incompetent you are at following orders." The gruff voice chortled at the guard's excuses. "Want my advice? May as well bury yerself with 'em! Hah!"

The voices drown out as they reach the end of the stairwell. With each approaching step, the stench of pipe smoke encroaches further into the room. The prisoner's finger slowly tightened as the nearby torch lit the older guard's sunken face, only his graying disheveled beard and baggy eyes in view. The prisoner's finger doesn't stop and reaches the end, firing a bullet at the left corner of the stairway, far off from either of the guards. The guards immediately dropped to a crouch on instinct, and the recoil from the shot caused the rifle to slip from his shoulder and down the cavern.

The prisoner looked back and tried to reach out for it, but the guard was quick to catch him by the collar and pull him from the hatch. In a blink of an eye, his cheek was smooshed on the concrete floor as one of his arms was restrained behind his back. With the slightest resistance, a knee lodged even further into his back, impaling his spine.

"Oh, looks like the cave didn't eat one of 'em after all!" The older guard jeered as he walked closer to the prisoner's face, a slight limp to right leg. After stopping right at his face, the old guard slowly kneeled down and stared right into the prisoner's eyes. Taking the pipe out from his mouth, he gave a wry grin. "Hey kid, glad yer still kickin'." The prisoner's gaze changed from fury to confusion at the statement.

"Ey don't gimme that look, I worked hard to save yer ass from this shithole! Woulda been 5 years in the caves for ya'! Considerin' what just happened, who knows if you'd make it that long! They said it'd be quicker to let ya hang, hah!" He stood up and placed the pipe back in his mouth to take another puff. "You'll love it, more freedom, better food, and the opportunity to move up in the world. But I couldn't get ya better bedding, you'll just have to deal with it." Another puff. "Maybe you'll be able to work on yer shot too! Hah!"

The old guard turned his back to the prisoner as he shouted to the guard, "Clean 'im up and have 'im ready to go by sundown."

"This is ridiculous!" The cowardly guard protested, still maintaining his hold on the prisoner. "You're just gonna let this murderer run free?!" In response, a puff of smoke was blown in the guard's face, causing him to cough profusely.

"Listen 'ere, boy," the old guard's voice became stern as he looked down at the coughing coward, "This order comes from powers much greater than ya could even imagine. Just as they can decide this prisoner's sentence, they can have ya buried along with yer mistakes down there." A quick glance to the still open hatch was shared by all three. "What ya say don't matter, we can just get a more obedient dog to do the same task. So for you and yer family's well-being, I hope ya can overlook this."

"Y-yessir!" The guard saluted by placing his free hand as a fist by his heart.

"Good," the old guard continued, now turning his attention to the restrained prisoner, "By the way, kid, just like everything in life this deal ain't free. Wanna make sure yer not back here or in the gallows? Join the Scouts. Know what that is? It's the same as this here badge, but instead there's two wings. You'll figure it out."

If the prisoner could click his tongue, or even spit venom, he would have at that instant, but instead he could only stare daggers where the old guard was pointing to. Namely at the insignia of a green unicorn with a long white mane superimposed over a shield, which rested upon his wrinkly coat.

Damn Military Police...