The Code of Our Alliance

3: Honeycomb Stacks

Orothos and I ride down in the elevator together. As we descend, we know that Wulf, Veilshade, Neuroia, and another new person, Huntress, are coming along, too. But as they were in other parts of the Compound, they had to come down from there.

As the doors to the elevator slide open, Orothos and I disembark and walk into a long, white hallway. Cameras and what look to be machine guns all line the walls, aimed at us. But they don't fire, as we are authorized to be here. I bet that anyone else would've been turned to bloody dust.

Neither of us speaks as we walk down to the doors, which hiss as they slide open. We step into a strange, glass chamber. The air around us is freezing, and after a second loud hiss, the door across the chamber is slid open.

Orothos and I walk into the next room, and down some stairs, before finally, we find ourselves looking out over a huge, vast space. The lights below us are off, but we can see the strange, honeycomb shaped rooms, as lights within them glow bright gold or white. People are in each of the honeycombs, and I feel a weird prickle at the back of my neck.

He feels it, too. I can tell, because he scratches his neck.

A woman in a white lab coat, her black hair piled atop her head, approaches us on high heels that click loudly as she walks. Orothos looks down at her, but the glasses-wearing woman doesn't care or even notice, I think.

"Welcome to the Southern Docks, Orothos and Quaith," she says in a heavily accented voice.

"Hey, there," says Orothos. "Who are you?"

The woman chuckles. "My name is Isabelle Parry."

I glance at the walls of honeycomb rooms. "What are those?" I ask Isabelle, and she follows my gaze.

"Ah, yes. Those," she says. She clasps her hands together in front of herself. She looks behind us, and we both turn as Veilshade, Wulf, Neuroia, and Huntress walk up to us.

Veilshade's dark skin has bandaids speckled on her arms and legs, and I wonder if she's just been under experimentation. Her blue hair is tied up in a messy bun, her hazel eyes scanning the space around her. She wears what all us subjects wear — a gray T-shirt and black pants. No shoes.

Wulf's brown skin is lined with scars, mostly on his arms, but he absently rubs at them, a bit of a grimace on his face. His amber eyes shine like a wolf's in artifical light. Curly brown hair is messy and stands out all around Wulf's head. He is a werewolf, hence the name they gave him.

Huntress is very pale, her short, auburn hair tucked back behind her ears. Piercing green eyes survey the space, her focus latching onto Isabelle. The danger in her gaze would be evident to all. But Isabelle just doesn't notice, as she's talking to the final member of our group. Neuroia.

Yellow eyes shining like stars on her tan face, her white hair now cut short and spiky, her arms folded across her chest. She hums and taps her foot on the ground.

Isabelle watches her, then back to me and Orothos.

"Well, I suppose we should set out for the Honeycombs, eh?"

"What are they?" asks Wulf, his gruff voice enough to cause Isabelle to turn her own cold gaze to the others.

Good luck getting her to actually answer ....

I hear Orothos chuckle in my mind. I suppress the urge to laugh, too. I do my best to not even smile.

Orothos steps closer to me, folding his arms over his broad chest as he raises an eyebrow toward Isabelle. And she finally realizes we aren't budging until she answers some questions.

"Well, the Honeycombs are homes for people like you," she says. "People who have... unique properties. And, well, those down there, within each of those rooms, are in need of some kind of ..... emotional support. You need to help ensure that the members of the Honeycomb Stacks that you speak to are motivated to help us."

"And if they don't want to become your slaves?" asks Wulf.

Isabelle sneers. "Then they will be put down, like any dog who doesn't obey his fucking master."

That jeer toward him was obvious. Wulf snarls, his amber eyes aglow as his long, black claws take form. But Isabelle, as she studies those claws which could rip her to pieces with ease, smiles.

"Careful, boy," she says, in a deep, condescending tone. "Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself with those...."

She turns on her heels and walks toward a large, wide platform that will likely allow us to ride down the outside of the stacks. We slowly pile on, and once we are all standing around, against the thin railings, Isabelle presses a button and we descend, down into darkness.