Land Without Hope

Chapter 8 - Shedding Innocence

"What are you doing?!" One of the collectors shouted, his voice shrill with terror, eyes wide and bloodshot as he thrashed against ropes of steel. The raw panic in his voice fractured the air. Vilrux's hand moved swiftly, pressing a piece of cloth into the man's open mouth. He tapped it lightly, and the cloth transformed, hardening into a metallic sheen that forced the collector's mouth open in a silent scream. His eyes darted wildly, tears streaming down his cheeks, but his muffled cries dissolved into hollow gasps. Beside him, two other collectors lay bound and gagged in a similar fashion, their bodies writhing with futile resistance as they choked on the same steel cloths.

Rozeree looked away, her stomach twisting, and fixed her gaze on the capital looming in the distance. Colossal monoliths of metal and glass pierced a smog-choked horizon, their surfaces shimmering with distant rivers of neon light. The megastructures formed a jagged crown against the dying sun, their highest points disappearing into low-hanging clouds that pulsed with the glow of the city beneath. Even from miles away, ghostly, shifting colors crawled up the sides of the tallest towers, turning the perpetual smog into a kaleidoscope of muted blues and reds. Each new glimpse of the approaching metropolis, a hint at the vastness of the city she was fast approaching.

"Rozeree!" Vilrux's sharp voice snapped her attention back, slicing through her daze. She flinched, her gaze reluctantly returning to the scene before her.

"Don't look away," Vilrux commanded, his voice cold and unyielding. "This is your life now. You'll hide who you are—where you came from. Never let anyone discover the truth about you, your parents, or Graybarrow."

Rozeree blinked, taken aback by his sudden focus on her origins. Her brows knitted in confusion, a shiver racing down her spine. "B-but... why?"

"Because I said so," Vilrux replied, his tone brooking no argument. "From now on, you're nobody but an orphan from Bolgue. Parents unknown. Your past—unknown."

He pointed at the struggling men on the ground, their eyes pleading as they fought against the unforgiving metal that silenced them. "These men know who you are, Rozeree," Vilrux said softly, his gaze locked on hers. "And you know what that means."

Rozeree's pulse hammered in her ears as her eyes fell to the cold, heavy gun in her hand, feeling far weightier than before. Uncertainty clawed at her mind, and her thoughts spiraled—Is he asking me to... kill them? Just to keep my past hidden?

"What's it going to be, Rozeree?" Vilrux's voice dropped, laced with a dangerous edge. "You didn't come all this way to quit, did you? Maybe I should take you back to Graybarrow if—"

"No!" Rozeree cut in, the word escaping her lips before she could even think. Her grip on the gun tightened, her voice firming. "I can do it. I will do it."

Rozeree stepped forward, her legs shaky, each footfall feeling heavier than the last, like she was sinking with each step. The muffled whimpers of the collectors barely reached her over the hammering of her heartbeat, a hollow thud pounding away in her ears. This is freedom, she told herself, yet the words tasted strange, hollow, as if they didn't quite fit. She closed her eyes, swallowing down the bitterness, willing herself to feel... less. This is what it means to be a Fixer, she tried to convince herself, but each attempt felt weaker, slipping from her grip even as she spoke it within.

The gun was foreign in her grip, a cold extension of someone she was no longer sure she recognized. Sweat dampened her palms, slipping over the metal, and she gripped harder, willing herself not to falter. As she raised the weapon, the collector's eyes locked onto hers—blue, human eyes that seemed so out of place in this wasteland, eyes that might have once softened at children's laughter or grown misty at a final sunset. No, she thought, fighting against the pull of his pleading stare, her own humanity screaming back at her. But her fingers tensed around the trigger, her pulse racing with a twisted urgency, drowning out the echo of that scream. This is freedom, she reminded herself—freedom, at any cost.