I have no physical advantage over the korabi. All my plans have to be executed at a distance. Once they are upon me, I am lost. I go limp, and do not attempt to fight them. Lyric would fight them. I don’t have that bravery. I just freeze.
“Thought we wouldn’t find you, scum? Think we don't know about you and the traitor Rath K’zar?”
That is a rhetorical question, I assume. Obviously, I didn’t think they knew about me and the traitor Rath K’zar. Would I be skulking around the streets of Megaris if I thought these royal guards were coming for me? Again, of course not. I can’t work out if they are stupid, or if they think I am. Probably the latter. Korabi do not have high opinions of people. I think they respect scum more than elites, though I doubt they really think about it.
Elites are cosseted and spoiled, brainwashed and augmented. They’re not really people. They’re shells of people. People with their brains scooped out, replaced with algorithms and advertising. Scum, we’re supposed to be the lowest of the low. But at least we can think for ourselves. It’s hard to survive in Megaris when you have no status whatsoever. But we do. Or we did. Until Lyric brought Rath K’zar home like a dangerous stray.
The soldiers grab me and throw me on the ground. It’s not necessary. I wasn’t putting up a fight. I’m not that stupid. I don’t take korabi warriors on face to face. I use their technology to know where they are ahead of time, and I avoid them.
There’s no need for them to be as rough as they’re being. I am a third their size and an even smaller fraction of their strength. They could pick me up and put me in their vehicle without issue. But they take pleasure in breaking me up before they take me away. In the midst of their rough handling, the prosthetic leg I made myself slips free.
“Its leg came off!”
They make growling, guffawing sounds of disgust, like I am an insect they just pulled the leg off. I reach for it, but before I can grab it, they kick it away. That leg took me months to make, after years of development. There are components in there that are basically impossible to get. I watch with the taste of blood in my mouth as the soldiers laugh and crush my leg beneath their feet, stamping on the struts and wires, taking joy in the destruction of the one thing that gave me freedom and made it possible for me to take action in this world.
They cuff my hands behind my back, and I am slung into the trailer of their vehicle, bruised and aching, but otherwise unbroken. I suppose I should count myself lucky that they took the bulk of their aggression out on my prosthetic, but it is cold comfort as I roll around the back of their vehicle unsecured, making harsh contact on the corners. I curl up on myself to try to avoid my head smashing into anything that would damage it, all the while trying to work out what I did wrong. How did they find me so quickly? They should have been thoroughly distracted by the shit that Lyric just pulled, damn near collapsing the palace.
I know where they’re taking me. We are going to the the worst possible place, at the worst possible time.
Sure enough, the palace is in an uproar. There are soldiers absolutely everywhere, and drones flying tight patterns around every bit of the place. The korabi quarter doesn’t usually see this much action. They prefer to mimic their ancient village life and pretend that all the goodness they enjoy doesn't come at the cost of the lives and sanity of millions of miserable humans.
There’s dust everywhere, filtering up from the collapse of the tunnel and the various explosions. I get some satisfaction seeing it coat what I bet were once super shiny spires and shards of the palace. We’ve desecrated this place. Struck at the very heart of the korabi empire which has held us in bondage for so long. I feel a strange sense of pride at having been partially responsible for this. It doesn’t make up for the smashed leg, but it might be close.
The guards drag me from the back of the trailer and into the palace by my remaining leg. I have to hold my head up to stop it from banging into the ground. I might still have some use for it when this is all done, though that seems less and less likely by the moment.
I might not make it out alive. I knew that when I started, when the evacuations of the last of my family began, that there was some risk I’d be caught. I’ve lived my entire life with the risk of being caught. In some really fucked up way, this feels almost like a relief. They’ll kill me, and when they do, this will all be over. No more running. No more hiding. No more fighting. Just sweet oblivion.