Beyond the Horizon

35. Undone

Shion stared up at the ceiling. The popcorn marks in the cement stretched in bizarre patterns; Shion passed the time counting them, tracing shapes in the marks and picturing them as constellations.

          Without windows or a clock, he had no idea what time it could be. Hitomi and Rin had dozed off a couple of hours ago. Shion listened to Rin snuffling against their paper-thin pillow, the cot creaking beneath them as they rolled over. Aki hadn't moved much; his cot groaned as he shifted his weight, but for the most part, he was quiet.

          Shion, however, couldn't sleep. His mind raced, piecing together the bits and pieces of the complex puzzle that'd been placed in front of him. He had nothing better to do. He'd slept enough for one lifetime; his body burned with anticipation, the thrum of feral desperation to escape surging through his blood.

          He exhaled, hard. The phantom taste of the tomato juice he'd sipped several hours prior sat heavily on his tongue. Not the best thing he'd swallowed, but better than nothing. The liquids had soothed his sore throat, and if it allowed him to finally communicate effectively with his cellmates, he'd suffer through it.

          His mind rifled through the events that'd taken place since Lab Coat's horrible visit. Shion had managed to break ground with his cellmates. They were as wild and desperate for freedom as he was―after years trapped in this horrid place, they had to be. Shion just needed to dig deep, find those thoughts, and help coax them to the surface.

          He continued to trace patterns on the ceiling with his eyes while he collected his thoughts. If he wanted to escape, he'd have to take stock of what resources he had at his disposal.

          His powers had been eliminated, at least for now. Whatever they'd injected him with kept his powers dormant―otherwise he would have shaken this cage to the ground by now. The cocktail of tranquilizers began to bleed out of his system, but their hooks clung to him. He wouldn't be much use until they'd completely fazed out.

          So, what else did he have?

          Shion couldn't utilize his cellmates until they were as hungry for escape as he felt. It wouldn't be difficult to urge them to seek freedom. Shion would tell them stories of the world beyond the stark-white walls and cement of the Lab. He'd recount the sights he'd seen during his weeks on the road with Nezumi―the crystal-clear streams, green grass, pretty towns with little lights once the sun went down, the stars on a clear night―and get them excited for the lives they could live, if only they could break out of these cells. With the four of them, Shion suspected it wouldn't be impossible.

          Difficult, yes.

          But not impossible.

          The only other hindrance became that Shion didn't know the layout of the Lab. He'd been unconscious when they dragged him here, and until he formulated a solid plan, escaping wasn't in the cards.

          What good would escaping do if he ran right into a rain of bullets?

          Shion rolled over, the cot groaning beneath him. He felt restless, laying still, but he didn't want to disturb the others. They'd dozed off some time ago, and Shion wanted to give them the chance to rest. Talking with them about the possibility of escape would be much easier if their minds weren't muddled by sleep deprivation.

          Beyond the glass wall separating him from the rest of the Lab, Shion stared at the blank floors and walls. It seemed decently clean, certainly not filthy enough to warrant a cleaner coming again anytime soon.

          An image of the cleaner's dark eyes and frightened face flickered through his mind. Shion replayed the encounter over and over again in his head, searching for anything he might be able to use. The way the cleaner had flinched when Shion spoke to him, and how quickly he'd snatched up the container of juice after Shion assured him he and his cellmates wouldn't harm him.