The metal door clanged shut, the sound echoing through the narrow cell. Blessing, left alone with her thoughts and the gnawing emptiness in her stomach, paced the small space. Her eyes glanced over the ceiling, searching for any weakness in the thick stone walls, any overlooked detail that might offer a glimmer of hope.
The metal bench, cold and unforgiving, offered little comfort. She sat down; her gaze fixed on the single, barred window high up on the wall. Sunlight, filtered through the grime, cast long, skeletal shadows across the cell floor. "Not exactly how I envisioned spending my day," she muttered, a grim humor coloring her voice.
A sudden, loud rumble from her stomach shattered the tense silence. Blessing winced, cheeks burning with embarrassment. The two guards, previously engrossed in a seemingly meaningless debate about the merits of different brands of chewing gum, snapped their heads towards her.
Seizing the opportunity, Blessing decided on a direct approach. "Any chance you kind captors could bring me something to eat?" she requested, her voice steady despite the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
The guards exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them. Then, the guard on the right grinned. "Rock-paper-scissors?" he suggested.
"You're on!" the other guard replied.
This ignited a flicker of hope within Blessing. The guard, with a flourish, threw out a rock. The other, his mind racing, chose paper.
"Dammit!" the guard cursed, his grin fading. "Try to get her something from the cafeteria. And add some snacks. We don't want to give her more than that," he instructed his partner.
"Alright. Man, why do I always lose?" the other guard grumbled.
"Thank you," Blessing acknowledged, a genuine note of gratitude in her voice.
The guard shrugged. "Meh."
"Hey, remember that time I set you up with my sister?" the guard who had lost the game interjected.
"What about it?" his colleague inquired.
"I did you a solid. Now it's your turn to return the favor – get the girl some food."
"Why should I? You lost the game fair and square."
"True, but I'm always doing favors like this. Remember when I introduced you to my cousin, my outrageously attractive aunt, and my sister's friends?" he reminded, attempting to leverage his past generosity.
"Why are you dredging up all those disastrous dates?"
"Disastrous? You scored with five of them!"
"Just do me this one favor and get the girl some food. I'm sick of the way the higher-ups treat us in the lounge."
"Oh, right. I'd forgotten about your chronic anxiety. How about I accompany you?"
"Who's going to keep an eye on the prisoner?"
"No one's ever escaped from these cells in years. She's not going anywhere. Besides, she's not some kind of Invoker, is she?"
"Fair enough. Let's go then."
"Thanks, man."
"Anytime."
As the door swung shut, Blessing's mind began to race. The cafeteria. Guards. Routine. This could be her chance.
The metal door clanged shut once more as the departing guards' footsteps echoed down the corridor. Blessing's mind churned, piecing together fragments of a plan. She knew she had only a narrow window before the guards returned with the promised food.
Rising from the cold bench, Blessing approached the cell door. Her fingers traced the edges of the lock. Solid. Well-maintained. But not invincible. A quick scan of the cell revealed nothing immediately useful—no hidden tools or loose bars. Then her eyes landed on the metal bench. The screws securing it to the wall were old, rust creeping around their edges.
"Bingo," she whispered, a small spark of determination igniting.
With a quick twist, she removed her shoelace and looped it through a screw, creating a makeshift grip. She tugged hard, the lace cutting into her fingers as the screw began to loosen. Minutes felt like hours, sweat beading on her forehead. Finally, one screw came free, then another. The bench tilted slightly, enough for her to pry off a sharp, jagged shard of metal from its underside.
The clanging of approaching boots sent her heart racing. She darted back to the bench, quickly tying her shoelace back into place. The shard of metal slid into her sleeve, concealed but within easy reach. She sat down, assuming a casual posture, just as the door creaked open.
The guard entered, balancing a tray of food. "Don't say I never did anything for you," he muttered, setting the tray on the floor just inside the cell. He lingered, eyeing her suspiciously. "You're awfully quiet. Not planning anything, are you?"
Blessing offered a disarming smile. "Just hungry. Thanks for the food."
"Where's the other guy?" Blessing asked, noticing he wasn't with him.
"One of the higher-ups had him ran an errand. Those guys are just a bunch of lazy fucks. Too bad we aren't Invokers like they are. Shit would've been different around here."
He scoffed but didn't move. She needed him closer. "Hey, you forgot the fork," she said, pointing to the tray.
"It's prison. Eat with your hands," he retorted, turning toward the door.
Desperation sharpened her focus. "Wait. Just one question. What's your favorite gum brand? Since you guys were debating earlier."
The guard hesitated, pride lighting up his face. "Obviously Mint Blast. Best flavor out there."
"Really? I'm more of a Spearmint Twist fan," she countered, buying time as she slipped the shard from her sleeve.
The guard stepped closer, arms crossing defensively. "Spearmint Twist? Never heard of that one before. One of those new flavors huh?"
"Maybe I'll try Mint Blast," Blessing said with a shrug. "But only if you bring me a piece next time."
He rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever. Now eat your food."
As he turned to leave, she sprang into action. The shard sliced through the lock mechanism with a screech of metal on metal. Before he could react, Blessing shoved the cell door into him, the force knocking him off balance. He staggered back, fumbling for his radio.
"Not so fast," she muttered, kicking the radio from his hand and bolting past him into the corridor.
Blessing sprinted through the hallway that stretched endlessly. Alarms blared as the guard behind her recovered and shouted for reinforcements. She pushed harder, every muscle in her body screaming as adrenaline coursed through her veins.
Ahead, a stairwell loomed. She took the steps two at a time, her lungs burning. At the top, she burst into a room filled with storage crates. She ducked behind one, catching her breath as the sound of pursuit grew louder. Searching frantically, she found a bundle of old uniforms. Throwing one on, she stuffed her hair under a cap and grabbed a clipboard for good measure.
When the guards stormed in, she walked out, head down, blending seamlessly into the chaos. As she neared the exit, she nodded to the guard stationed there. "New orders. Check the south wing," she said, her voice firm, authoritative.
The guard hesitated, then nodded. "Got it."
"Any idea where the prisoner named Kojo is? I've been ordered to ensure he doesn't escape."
"He's in the torture room, but I doubt he'd be able to escape with Vanessa in there with him. You know how she can be. I'd bet he's probably incapable of walking."
The guard's eyes narrowed suddenly, suspicion sparkling across his face. "Wait a minute," he said, his hand drifting toward the radio on his belt. "You're not one of us, are you?"
Blessing's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing. Before the guard could react further, she exploded into motion. Her foot shot up in a flawless arc, connecting with his throat. The guard stumbled backward, choking, his hands clutching at his neck.
Without wasting a second, Blessing spun on her heel and bolted down the corridor.
In no time, more foot-soldiers patrolled the corridor, searching for any sign of their escape. Their numbers seemed to multiply endlessly. Such a commotion for a single girl.
Dust stung her eyes as Blessing navigated the labyrinthine vents, her breath catching in the thin, metallic air. The scent of blood grew stronger, a predator's lure. She pressed on, each rustle and groan amplifying her fear.
Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the ducts, close. Panic clawed at her throat. She flattened against the metal, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The growl subsided, replaced by an eerie silence. Blessing held her breath, straining to hear any sound, any indication of danger. Below, she watched as more guards scurried past, like panicked ants. Remaining motionless within the confined space of the vent, she recognized that any further movement would betray her presence.
"Hard to believe I could fit in this space." she mused "Time to go find Kojo and get out of here."
"She's not here," one of the guards mumbled, his voice carrying a trace of irritation. "We've scoured this whole section. Maybe she doubled back."
Another voice, gruffer and tinged with impatience, responded. "Doubled back? Through a security zone that tight? Not likely."
"Then where?" the first guard snapped; frustration evident. "We've got orders to sweep the perimeter, but if she's smart…"
"She's probably halfway out by now," the second guard cut in. "Let's not waste time. We'll check the loading bays next."
Their voices faded as their footsteps carried them further down the corridor. Blessing waited a moment longer, counting a slow ten in her head to ensure the guards were truly gone. She couldn't afford to be careless.
With the guards finally gone, Blessing pressed on, crawling steadily through the vents. She advanced deeper and deeper until she eventually reached a dead end.
Emerging silently from the ventilation shaft, Blessing landed with grace. A cursory examination of the surroundings revealed an absence of immediate threats. She found herself within an armory, its shelves groaning under the weight of a formidable arsenal.
"Don't know if I should be amazed with my luck or question the architectural design of this place."
She spotted a boatload of weaponry ranging from daggers to katanas, swords, combat knives, sais, nun-chucks, and whips. Her gaze was drawn to a particular weapon, and she ended up picking up a bat. She swung it around, testing its grip and weight.
"The swing on this thing is superb. Definitely going to work. Now, to pick up some firearms." she said with a devious smile. Blessing left the room in stealth, looking at the labels on top of the doors, looking for a Torture room. She's met with a guard at close proximity and before he could do anything, she drew her gun and fired a dart at him. It struck her target in the neck and he's immediately immobilized. Blessing grabbed onto his arms and dragged him into a blind spot.
"Phew. Close call." she sighed in relief.
"Was it though?" said a familiar voice.
She looked back and found the little man with the pompadour.
"Oh bullocks." she swore.
"Salutations, Mr Elvis. How fares thee?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood.
"Cut the bull." he responded.
"Geez. I was just trying to be polite."
"There's no need for this to get dirty. Come quietly and I won't have to ruin your pretty face any more than those freckles have." he threatened.
"Hey! These freckles make me look great. Everyone knows that."
"Sure. Whatever you say, young lady."
Their eyes locked, a silent, deadly exchange mirroring a classic Western showdown. Blessing reacted first, her fingers dancing across the triggers of her dart gun. A flurry of projectiles erupted; a venomous rain aimed at Elvis. He, however, was a stormy of activity, a human acrobat twisting and leaping, a ghost in the shadows. He evaded the barrage, finding sanctuary behind a stack of crates.
Blessing cursed, her magazine clicking empty. He burst from cover, closing the distance with incredible speed. Blessing was shaken, but she reacted instinctively, her bat whipping through the air, a deadly arc of metal. Elvis sidestepped the blow, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
Blessing followed up with a vicious swing, the bat whistling through the air. Elvis raised his fists to block, but the impact sent him reeling back, a grunt escaping his lips. Undeterred, Blessing launched another attack, this time aiming for his legs. Elvis, agile as a panther, leaped over the blow, landing with a jarring thud against the wall. He lurched back, a low snarl of rage coiled in his chest.
The assault resumed, an outburst of fists and metal. Blessing parried each blow with the skills of a seasoned swordsman. Finally, she seized her opportunity. Using a powerful thrust, she jammed the end of the bat into Elvis's gut. The air whooshed out of him. He doubled over, spewing a torrent of bile onto the cold concrete floor.
"Stay down. I wouldn't want to hurt you any more than I already have." she advised.
"You've certainly exceeded my expectations," he conceded, rising to his feet. "Seems it's time to even the score.
A guitar tattoo, etched on Elvis's left palm, began to glow with a ghostly light. Then, with a surreal detachment, it peeled away from his skin, mimicking a fallen leaf. The tattoo morphed, contorting into a humanoid form, culminating in the grotesque spectacle of an Elvis-impersonating angel, complete with an exaggerated pompadour. Upon its head hovered a golden halo and projecting from its elbows were bird wings. Elvis, witnessing this bizarre transformation, let out a bloodcurdling scream, "Tiny Elvis!"
A strange aura clung to Tiny Elvis, a disconcerting mix of the sacred and the profane. Blessing, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief, could only stare as Elvis, a Cheshire cat grin plastered across his face, struck a flamboyant pose.
"Woo-wee, darlin'!" he crooned, his voice a blend of gravel and grease. "C'mon now, baby, shake it on down and dance with me! Uh-huh!"
As if by magic, the very ground beneath their feet transformed. The concrete floor shimmered, morphing into a dazzling display of flashing LEDs, a disco floor materializing out of thin air. Blessing stumbled back, utterly bewildered by this sudden, inexplicable transformation.
"The Pelvis Shake," Elvis announced, demonstrating with a flamboyant hip swivel that sent a jolt of static electricity through the air.
He followed this with a series of rapid, vibrating leg movements, the "Leg Shimmy," a display of raw energy that left Blessing breathless.
"And finally," he declared, dropping to his knees with a dramatic flourish, gliding across the shimmering floor with an almost supernatural grace, "The Knee Slide!"
"That's it for the warm-up, sugar!" Elvis declared, his grin widening. "Now let's get this show rockin' and rollin', uh-huh!"
Blessing, still reeling from the bizarre spectacle unfolding before her, could only stammer, "What… what is happening?"
"Hit it!" Elvis commanded, his voice booming.
Tiny Elvis, perched on a non-existent stool, began to strum an invisible guitar, the music a pulsating blend of rock and roll and something… else. The LED floor erupted in a kaleidoscope of colors, guiding Elvis's movements as he danced with a wild abandon that bordered on the demonic. Blessing, mesmerized and terrified, could only watch, her mind reeling.
Suddenly, Tiny Elvis ceased playing, the music abruptly cut off. Elvis froze mid-pose, a triumphant expression frozen on his face.
"Woo-wee," he exclaimed, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction, "this place is hotter than a jalapeño in July!"