Beyond the Maze

Chapter 8: Catharsis

Author's Notes: I'm very sorry for the wait, but it was mandatory. I was very busy with work and studies, but, as of today, I can affirm that I have finished my Professional Training and I will be able to dedicate myself, on a continuous basis, to continuing writing for all of you. I love you.

Chapter 8: Catharsis.

I was an amalgam of mixed feelings and emotions. Without a doubt, Minho selling me like that had left a pretty deep mark on me that would be very difficult to erase.

The perception I had of reality, and of the small human groups that remained, did not change at all because they produced a rejection in me that only increased, as if it were a volcano on the verge of erupting.

Everyone seemed to look out for the only chance of survival of their close core, closing themselves off from integrating new members since they understood that trust was one of the most important currencies in this lawless world.

But I didn't understand it. That was not something that I would have had to live with in my short existence, since we did not lack anything and, without being able to think on our own, we did not have a real and objective perception of everything that was happening around us. We were just mere instruments of a higher organization that prevented us from questioning the flow of ethics or the chances of survival of humanity. We were just that, machines, puppets or marionettes.

It was inevitable that I would spend a lot of time trying to unravel the reasons for what I considered a betrayal, on the part of a group that was willing to welcome me, and to which I was willing to contribute.

While the aircraft continued its course towards New Racoon City, in the vicinity of the former South Africa, I was still immersed in my thoughts inside the cell in which I was, with handcuffs that were electrified to avoid any type of contact with the metal of the bars.

It was a type of cell that is usually located near the cargo hold of the aircraft, about five square meters, with poor lighting, plasma bars, several well-hidden surveillance cameras and an eternal silence that encourages confinement for the duration of the cell. travel, so that the prisoner also has no idea of the environment that surrounds him.

I had lost track of time for a while, like when they took us to the middle of the desert before crossing paths with Thomas and the others. The seconds turned into minutes and the minutes into hours, creating a rarefied climate that began to overwhelm me, snatching away my sanity as if it were boiling water.

Someone entered the cell room, but it wasn't Wesker. He had learned to differentiate the footprints of the people who were on the aircraft, a mere hobby that had caused the time of his stay, short, but eternal at the same time, here.

"Wow, wow, who was going to tell me that I would end up finding you in a place like this," said a voice in a joking but jovial tone, which seemed familiar to me, but without being able to recognize it.

I had my back to the door, deep in thought, but I turned around as soon as I heard the boy's voice. I could see his jovial, athletic features, of a boy of approximately sixteen years old, maybe seventeen. A tall, quite handsome boy, with a white complexion, full lips, dark brown hair and brown eyes, dressed in a black military suit, with protection on the knees, elbows and a bulky armor in the abdominal area.

He noticed that his hair was disheveled and somewhat wet, the result of sweat and having removed his protective helmet after the aircraft took off.

I sat up and carefully approached the bars, ready to start a conversation with that boy.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, frowning.

The sliding metal door closed when he took several steps towards the cell. The boy turned towards me.