Samuel took a step, then another. His legs felt strangely heavy, as though the ground had thickened beneath his feet. The room smelled of antiseptic and iron. That metallic scent clung to the air, sharp and unmistakable. Blood.
By the third step, his knees gave way.
He collapsed beside Stella’s stiff body.
“Get up please,” he cried, his voice breaking apart as it left his throat. His hands shook as he grabbed her shoulders. Her body did not respond. It did not even shift the way a sleeping person would.
“You can not do this to me.”
His words came out in broken gasps.
Her eyes were closed. The color had already begun draining from her skin. The wound in her chest looked impossibly quiet now, like the violence that created it had already moved on to find another victim.
Samuel shook her harder.
“Stella.”
Nothing.
His breathing turned ragged.
“We are suppose to make it out of this prison world together,” he sobbed. The words tumbled over each other, desperate and raw. “But you left, you left us behind.”
His forehead dropped against her shoulder. His fingers curled into the fabric of her uniform as if holding tightly enough might anchor her soul inside her body.
But the body beneath his hands was already cold.
Behind him, the nurse watched silently for a moment. Her face remained still, though something faint moved behind her eyes.
She lifted her wrist slowly.
Her fingers tapped against the small screen embedded in the watch.
“One death confirmed,” she said.
The words landed in the room with a dull weight.
Samuel did not react. He was still clinging to Stella, whispering broken pleas that dissolved into quiet sobs.
The room grew quiet after that.
Too quiet.
Time passed. No one counted the minutes. The clock above the door ticked softly, marking the seconds in indifferent rhythm.
Then the door slid open.
Metal footsteps echoed against the tiled floor.
Two robots entered.
Their movements were precise. Efficient. They did not pause to observe the scene. They did not hesitate.
Samuel barely noticed them until one of them reached out and shoved him aside.
The force was mechanical and absolute.
He hit the floor with a startled grunt.
“Hey!”
But the machines had already moved past him.
They bent over Stella’s body.
Their metallic arms slid beneath her shoulders and legs with perfect coordination. One lifted. The other adjusted.
Her body rose from the bed like an object being relocated.
Samuel scrambled to his feet.
“Where are you taking to?” he asked, his voice trembling between anger and panic.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The robots did not answer.
They turned toward the door.
Stella’s arm dangled loosely as they carried her away.
For a moment, Samuel simply stared.
The reality of what was happening seemed to hit him all at once.
“Wait!”
He stumbled after them.
The robots stepped through the doorway.
The door slid shut behind them with a heavy mechanical click.
Samuel reached it a second too late.
His palm slammed against the cold metal surface.
“They are taking her away,” he whispered.
The hallway beyond the door remained silent.
He stood there for a few seconds longer before turning back.
Newton was still sitting where he had been earlier.
His elbows rested on his knees.
His face was buried between his hands.
Samuel walked slowly toward him and lowered himself to the floor beside him.
“They are taking her away,” he breathed again, pointing weakly at the door.
But Newton never responded.
His body jerked softly once.
Then again.
Samuel realized he was shaking.
Not crying.
Shaking.
Yet no sound came from him.
The silence stretched.
Samuel waited.
Newton did not move.
Minutes passed.
Eventually Newton pushed himself to his feet.
The motion was slow, mechanical, as if he had forgotten how his own body worked.
He did not look at Samuel.
He simply turned and walked out of the room.
Samuel stared after him for a moment before standing and following.
The corridors of the dormitory were nearly empty.
The fluorescent lights hummed faintly above them.
Newton walked ahead with steady steps.
Samuel followed quietly behind.
Neither of them spoke.
They reached their room.
Newton entered first and crossed the room without hesitation. He dropped onto his bed and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
Samuel stood near the door for a while.
The room felt strange now.
Too quiet.
Too small.
He sat on his own bed.
Minutes passed.
Newton did not move.
He did not blink much either.
His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling as if something written there demanded his attention.
Samuel tried to speak once.
The words never made it out.
Instead his chest tightened.
His face twisted.
The first sob escaped him before he could stop it.
Then another.
And another.
Soon the room filled with the sound of his crying.
Samuel buried his face in his hands as the grief crashed over him again and again.
Stella’s laugh.
Her voice.
The way she would roll her eyes when he complained about training.
All of it returned at once.
He cried until his throat burned.
He cried until his eyes stung.
Newton remained silent.
The hours crawled forward.
Outside the window the night slowly thinned.
Samuel eventually collapsed sideways onto his bed, still shaking with quiet sobs.
The darkness faded.
Gray light began creeping through the window.
The moment the morning light crept in, Newton jumped out of his bed.
The sudden movement startled Samuel.
He pushed himself upright, wiping his swollen eyes.
Newton stood in the center of the room.
His expression had changed.
Something inside his gaze looked sharper now.
Harder.
“How long are you going to cry over?” Newton asked.
Samuel blinked.
The tone in Newton’s voice made his stomach twist.
“What are you saying?” he asked slowly. His voice was hoarse from crying. “We just lost Stella, one of us.”
Newton nodded.
“That is true.”
He began pacing slowly across the room.
“But crying won't bring her back.”
Samuel frowned.
Newton stopped walking.
“And her fate is the same with ours except we stand up to the horror of this world.”
Samuel stared at him.
Something felt wrong.
The Newton standing in front of him did not look like the Newton he knew yesterday.
That Newton had been uncertain.
Confused.
Sometimes even afraid.
But the one standing here now looked different.
His posture was straighter.
His eyes colder.
Samuel felt both confused and surprised.
“What do you mean by standing up to the horror of this world?” he asked.
Newton turned toward him.
He placed both hands on his waist.
For a moment he said nothing.
Then he spoke quietly.
“Stella once told me, the language of this world is violence.”
Samuel’s breathing slowed.
Newton continued.
“It is either you are the one being done to, or you are the one doing it to someone.”
The room fell silent.
Samuel looked down at the floor.
He understood where Newton was heading.
The thought made his chest tighten again.
“Are you suggesting we start committing violence?” he asked.
Newton smiled.
It was a small smile.
But it looked different from the ones Samuel remembered.
He shook his head slowly.
“I am suggesting we become violence.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Newton stepped closer.
His voice dropped lower.
“We become dangerous enough to go after these bastards and do to them exactly what they have done to Stella.”
Samuel’s jaw tightened.
Images flashed through his mind.
Maxwell’s face.
Brian standing behind him.
The sword sliding through Stella’s chest.
His hands curled slowly into fists.
He lifted his gaze.
Newton was staring directly at him now.
Waiting.
Samuel held that gaze for a long moment.
Something inside his chest shifted.
The grief was still there.
But now something darker moved beneath it.
His fists tightened.
His shoulders straightened.
He nodded once.
“Alright,” he said quietly.
His voice carried a sharp edge now.
“Let's become violence.”
He stood up from the bed.
His eyes hardened as he looked at Newton.
“I can't wait to drive my sword into the hearts of those bastards.”
