The Uprising (Book #3 in The Inception Trilogy)

chapter thirty-three

(i'm so terrible at updating this, i'm sorry. i just wanted to make sure this chapter was half-decent since it's the last one! it's long, too, so hope it's not disappointing. also, i have a surprise for the epilogue, hehe ^-^ enjoy xx

**UNEDITED** so there's probably hella mistakes)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

HARRY STARES AT THE old man sitting across the table, his jaw clenched and his hand wrapped tightly around a fork. He can feel his nails digging into his palm, but it's a pleasant distraction to keep himself from leaping over to table and strangling the elder who, of course, won't stop talking.

Nicola let Harry use the dining hall after everyone else already had dinner for this moment, so mostly everyone is in their rooms for curfew at this time. There are couple of guards outside, per Nicola's insistence, albeit Harry can handle the elder and the two guards if need be. He can't tell if Nicola is underestimating him, or simply still questioning where his loyalties lie. It's most definitely the latter.

The bastard hasn't said a single word since the guard dropped him into the room. He simply sat down and began eating the small portion of chicken and rice he was given. Nicola hadn't wanted to feed him at all, but it was apart of the deal Harry made to get the information he needs.

He secretly wants the elder to choke on it.

He doesn't know how much time has gone by. He doesn't touch his own food. His eyes are shooting daggers at the man across from him, his glare the harshest he's ever had. He grips his fork tightly, anger beginning to pinch away at him. He's growing impatient.

After a few more silent moment, he slams the fork onto the table, rising from his seat. "Enough of this. Tell me what you promised or I'll let them drag you to the gallows right now."

The doctor had barely flinched at Harry's outburst. He raises an eyebrow as he looks up to his creation, shoveling a spoonful of rice into his mouth. He makes Harry wait until he's swallowed it before he speaks. "Am I not allowed to enjoy my last dinner?"

"Stop toying with me," Harry growls.

The doctor sighs dramatically, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. He sets the paper material in his lap, then folds his hands under his chin, elbows resting on the table as he peers down at Harry. "Do you remember your first week of training?"

Harry's jaw clenches. "We're not here to talk about the past."

"Perhaps not, but you promised me a dinner. Don't people chat casually over dinner?"

"Nothing about our lives is casual," Harry snaps. "Tell me how you restore memories."

Of course, his question goes ignored. "You were so timid back then, you know. At the time, it was only you and I. I miss those times, I truly do. You know how I've always admired your strength and character. I've always been proud to call you my son--"

"Don't you dare. You have no right to call me that."

"It's true, though, is it not? I practically raised you. I bet you have more fatherly moments with me than with your true father. At least I stayed."

Harry doesn't quite know what he's doing when he grips the sides of the table, shoving the wooden structure to the side so he has a clear path to the old man. The doctor rises to his feet only so he can move behind his chair, as if the mere thing can protect him.

Harry grabs the chair by the seat, but instead of tossing it aside, he shoves the doctor back with it, pressing the top of its ridge into the elder's throat. So much for his protection.