Niraasha.
A foreign word, it meant ‘despair’ in the Hindu tongue, Mataios’s own native language. It was used over the ages, fortified, and often applied in tandem with “Britain”. It had a very long history, and had gained power over the years. In Mataios’s world, it was a signal that guards would be coming soon.
Mataios rubbed a grey, discoloured hand through his hair. Actually, grey wasn’t a very descriptive word. Everything was grey. Constant ashes from burning bodies, the stone dust that blanketed every prisoner working in the mines, the constant starvation and mistreatment, and lack of any sort of clean fluid had ensured that every living creature and nonliving item within a three-mile radius was monochrome. Even the sky was grey. Whether it was a higher power weeping over the constant war and bloodshed the world had become, or because human ashes completely blocked the sun, Mataios couldn’t really tell.
He was rather young, compared to the other prisoners in the camp. Only just pushing his thirties, and if he were in a different situation, he would have had a muscular body, sleek black hair, and sharp eyes to match.
But he was cursed to have been born as a rebel, born into a world gone beyond mad, and into downright psychotic. The Godless Legionnaires and the corrupted Order fought over who ruled the world, be it the demonic Archangel or the soulless Coyote. Mataios was born, no, created by the Legionnaires. A test tube child made to do nothing more than kill. But Mataios realized that there was a world outside of murder, and tried to flee from the Legionnaires, across the Battlefield, and into the Order’s territory. The key word was “tried” – there was a very big difference between “tried” and “succeeded”. Death camps are indeed rather large.
Being a prisoner of the Legionnaires was nothing if not hell. The humans operating the camp were rarely seen – they let their metallic minions do the grunt work for them, which was a tragedy. Robots can’t get tired of torturing, can’t pity anyone, and can’t do anything other than obey, regardless of how intelligent they are. So in terms of things to do, there wasn’t much choice in anything, apart from needing to eat, sleep, work, and suffer very loudly. And according to his small group of escapees, there wasn’t much choice in warning words either, so “niraasha” it was. Mataios wasn’t quite happy with how it sounded, a bit too guttural for his taste, but it was a nice warning sign, he had to admit. He would have to make-do with it until the guards learned of his group’s code word. Then he wouldn’t have to make-do with anything. The dead have that privilege.
“Are you nearly done there? We must get the other wooden beams in here quickly.”
William Eyle wouldn’t have been yelling if the tunnel was closer to the surface, but then that meant the digging would have come into range of the guards’ auditory capabilities. So thirty feet down was the best option. Thankfully, this interrogation camp was quite new, so didn’t have all of the security measures to discourage potential escapees. For a start, the floors of the compound weren’t quite fortified yet, and some rooms weren’t even wired up to the central computer, so the tunnel was easy to conceal. The Legionnaires were getting too cocky.
“Nearly there, just allow me a few more minutes.”
“I doubt there will be time for ‘a few more minutes”’, said William, mocking Mataios’s accent with the last few words, “The Bees will be here on scheduled patrol in two. Possibly less.”
Mataios grunted. “Enough time for me.”
Eyre wouldn’t have been Mataios’s first choice in a bunkmate, particularly because of how obnoxious he could be. Too loud, too disrespectful, and not nearly intelligent enough. But then again, he had proven himself useful in manual labour, being a fairly large man, with physical strength to more than match his figure. And of course, there was Mataios’s other companion, thankfully not nearly as insufferable as Eyre:
“Niraasha. Friends, get out of there if you value your lives.”
Friedrich Ginger. Ginger officially had no last name, having been given up at birth, but the colour of his hair led to a very easy-to-remember nickname. He was far younger than any other of the camp’s inhabitants and presumably had been there the longest. Nobody really knew his history, in part because nobody bothered to ask him.
The other option for his last name was “Giggles” since he was always in an optimistic mood, but Friedrich had always preferred the letter. In fact, everyone preferred that he not be called “Giggles”.
Another grunt, coupled with a minute or so, and Mataios got out of the hole. The final wooden beam would have to wait until after the evening’s line-up.
Friedrich walked past them out the door, smiling. “You’re welcome, yet again.”
Mataios couldn’t help but chuckle in return. The kid was likable, what could he say?
Line-ups were the easiest one-way path straight to the afterlife. If you so much as blinked too slowly in the guards’ presence, you had a five second time limit to either say your final prayers or kill yourself first.
As such, it was common to find many prisoners practicing standing absolutely still in their free time. The ones who had become masters of their art tended to live longer than others who either didn’t try or didn’t do so well. Of course, even the best lost their lives in the end, whether it was via random programmed kills, getting caught off-guard…
“Yeah, yeah, the hole in the ground needs a couple more days. Escape can wait. Besides, not like you’re going to live to see it completed, what with those twigs you call limbs.”
“Oi, quit shoving that in my face. I’m going to outlive both you and your kids if you keep chattering about that so freely.”
Or just being downright idiotic, like William Eyre had been doing for the past week of being at camp.
How he hadn’t yet gotten caught while chatting to other prisoners before the morning and evening line-ups were beyond Mataios. Many more careful people had been tortured and eviscerated for slighter reasons than Eyre was showing.
“No you won’t, I bet you won’t last until dinnertime. Not with that sorry pale figure.”
Reasons such as talking to another person in line. At least Friedrich had the common sense to stare straight ahead at all times and was hardened enough not to flinch when someone eventually did get blown into chunks of bone and flesh.
“My ‘sorry pale figure’ can live far longer than your walking bag of meat if it’s riddled with gunshots, Eyre.”
“Who’s to say I’m going to be the one taking one from the Bees? I’ve gazed into those red eyeballs before and lived to tell the tale, I plan on doing so once more.”
“I knew you were a daft one, but tempting death is a step too far. You’ve not seen what the Bees can do?”
“Of course I’ve seen what they can do. I’m still alive, that’s what matters. You, on the other hand? Different story.”
“Are you out of your mind? Why do you keep-”
Clank.
Without another word, Eyre and his companion snapped to attention, standing stock-still, as the rest of the prisoners. The notorious clanking sound was attributed to the metallic guards of the camp, popularly nicknamed “Bees” because of their hive-minded mentality. Hearing one approach was bad news. Hearing one approach immediately after you did something wrong was a death sentence and a half.
Three Bees stepped into view. Mataios had seen them before, and likely would, unfortunately, see them again, but nothing changed about his reaction. Even though his facial expressions remained blank for the sake of survival, Mataios was still awestruck whenever a Bee stepped into view. They were always clean, polished, shining. No bloodstains from their previous job, regardless of what it may have been. Their humanoid figure was still as deceiving as they had been on Mataios’s first day – despite the outward appearance, the Bees could quickly morph into a spider-like form, greatly enhancing movement speed, much to the horror of a potential escapee who attempted to run for it when, presumably, none were looking.
The Bees walked past the first inmates at the head of the line, then farther down, farther, farther, even farther.
They slowed down as they neared Eyre’s companion, the one who insisted Eyre was the one out of his mind.
“Please, I beg to expla-“
Boom.
What was originally a head exploded into red mist. The Bees moved on.
Eyre didn’t look remotely fazed. Not for the first time, Mataios wondered if he really was out of his mind, and truly thought he could cheat death.
The Bees moved in. Closer, closer, even closer.
They walked towards Eyre, each pulling out a weapon…
And walked right past, stopping at Friedrich.
The kid was obviously bewildered and terrified at that point, even if his stony gaze showed nothing of it.
Mataios felt the same. Why Friedrich? He hadn’t shown any sign of rebellion, never spoke in the guards’ presence, and was the most well-behaved prisoner of the entire camp. What had he done?
Eyre sniggered. A small sound, possibly let out because he was safe. Out of relief or out of mockery, Mataios didn’t know. But what mattered was that he made a sound. Something minuscule, but a sound nonetheless.
And that was his downfall. One of the Bees turned around, advanced, and casually decapitated Eyre. If there was anything he could be credited for in death, it was either that he had indeed outlived the other prisoner, or that his neck was an incredible reservoir of blood.
While the third Bee continued down the line, the other two continued their staring competition with Friedrich. If under any other circumstance, the scene could have been attributed to a battle of wills, machine versus human.
Reality dictated otherwise. If this was a battle of wills, Friedrich already lost. The Bees were far better armed, had never been outsmarted, and could not be moved by pity. They were programmed to do one thing and one thing only: If the prisoners refuse to work or obey, kill them in whichever way possible.
The outcome of this was obvious to everyone. A robot would quickly and cleanly get rid of yet another human.
And Mataios decided that human would not be Friedrich.
“He did nothing wrong.”
The Bees lost the staring contest, instead now focusing their gaze on Mataios. He didn’t care anymore, the Bees could rip him apart in any way they wanted, but in no way would they hurt the kid he had been trying to protect for well over a month.
“I was the one talking during the waiting time. I was the one who was late to this line-up. I didn’t complete all my work in the mines today. That wasn’t Friedrich, that was me.”
Two weapons were pulled out simultaneously. Both pointed at Mataios.
“Is that your confession?”
The irony of the situation was that the first voice Mataios heard when he came into the world sounded exactly like the voice he would inevitably hear as his last: Metallic, inhuman, unnatural.
“Yes, it is. I believe confessing entitles me to a quick death?”
The lead Bee cocked its head to one side, looking partially at Friedrich.
“Indeed. It appears you will have saved this young fellow’s life in the process.”
“Glad we share the same thought process. Now”, Mataios winked for the last time, “Farewell.”
The last sound he heard was a gunshot.
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