Chapter 3867: Flesh Mines (Part 2) Time that his associates spent collecting the resources the Wonderer needed to apply his research to himself. Those at Raum’s service knew their job and were good at it. After collecting the patient charts, they didn’t rush to pick up the test subjects. Raum’s agents followed their marks from a distance and waited for the right moment. When they were away from the crowd, a simple Hush spell followed by darkness magic would get rid of a limited number of witnesses. It was how Aryk of Dekari had gone from peeing in his safe corner of the Vemena alley to lying on a shaking wooden floor with a bad headache. When he first opened his eyes, he thought it was just a bad dream. Everything was dark, and he couldn’t remember anything that made sense after going to relieve himself. ’I shouldn’t eat that much on meatloaf day.’ He inwardly grumbled. ’The food tastes good, but once it reaches my stomach-’ The first clue that he wasn’t either dreaming or in his hideout was the cold feeling of metal on his feet and hands tied behind his back. Any hope that it was just sleep paralysis went into the gutter when the restraints cut his flesh. ’Metal cuffs?’ Fear awakened him fully, making the throbbing of his head more evident. ’Slum weirdos use ropes. Only gangs and cops can afford metal. Some rich perv must have hired them to-’ The second clue was the smell. Aryk wasn’t alone in the sealed carriage, and none of its current occupants had bathed in months. Some had even soiled themselves during the kidnapping, making the stench pungent enough to mist Aryk’s eyes. ’Pervs don’t kidnap people in bulk, but it’s okay. I still have my secret weapon.’ He moved his hands slowly and carefully to reach the sharp shard of glass he kept in his right shoe, carefully wrapped in the thickest rag he could find. ’I’m fucked.’ The rag with the glass shard was gone, and so was the long nail in his right sleeve. Aryk tried to speak, hoping that someone among the prisoners had seen or heard enough to understand what was going to happen to them. Nothing came out of his mouth. There was no sound in the closed space of the carriage. If not for the vibrations running along the wood, the youth wouldn’t have realized they were moving. Aryk screamed at the top of his lungs, but once again, his voice failed him. He kicked and banged the floor to make a ruckus and alert anyone in proximity of the carriage, but only pain rewarded his efforts. The chains didn’t clink, and the hits produced no sound. Aryk yelled, trashed, and slammed his cuffs against the wood until his wrists bled, yet the carriage remained quiet. He started to cry in despair, feeling the darkness around him press on him as though he was buried alive in a giant coffin. No matter how many people were trapped with him, he might as well be alone. The prisoners couldn’t talk or communicate in any way. The stench was the only proof there was someone with Aryk, and by the time he finished crying, he had gotten used to the smell. To make matters worse, it was impossible to mark the passing of time in the carriage. Silence and fear stretched seconds into minutes and minutes into hours. The carriage stopped every now and then, and when that happened, Aryk held his breath and waited for a door to open. When the carriage resumed moving, Aryk sighed in relief only to tense up a few seconds later. He was thirsty and hungry, and the idea of dying of starvation in the smelly silence of the carriage scared him more than anything that could wait for him at his destination. Aryk became so thirsty and exhausted that he slipped in and out of consciousness many times during his travels, awakening with no idea of how long had passed since he had fallen asleep. "Out." An aloof voice woke up Aryk from one such slumber, and when the young man turned his head to look at his captor, a white light blinded him. Rough hands lifted Aryk, put him on a shoulder as though he weighed nothing, and carried him away. The youth soon regained enough of his sight to notice that even adult men and women were transported the same manner. Aryk opened his mouth to speak. To beg for mercy and a bit of water, but his voice remained sealed. He then struggled to break free, biting and kicking at his captor with all the strength he could muster despite his awkward position. If the man noticed Aryk’s attempts to hurt him, he gave no sign of it. His hold was like steel, and his steps measured like he was carrying dead weight. "In." A clang of metal ahead alerted the youth to the opening of a cell door. Before he could understand what was happening, the man removed Aryk’s chains and tossed him in the air. Aryk screamed, and this time his voice came out, and it was deafening. It took Aryk by surprise, the sound so painful after the prolonged silence that it shut him up despite the fear of the landing. A landing that was as soft and delicate as a feather. "What?" Aryk said and immediately covered his ears with his hands, annoyed by his own voice. He looked in disbelief as the ground approached slowly, feeling so light that he would have tried to swim if only he knew how. When he reached the soft hay that covered the floor, Aryk regained the presence of mind to observe his new home. It was a large stone room, about four meters (13’) wide and ten meters (33) across. The only way in and out was the metal door from which he had unceremoniously entered. The light came from a glowing orb stuck in the ceiling, and just like in the carriage, he wasn’t alone. Men, women, and children, no older than thirty but no younger than ten years old, sat as far away as possible from their fellow inmates. There were no young children nor elderly people. Some of the prisoners had lost one arm or a leg, but they seemed otherwise in good health. Every one of them was scared out of their mind and trusted no one not to hit them in the head again the moment they turned around. Every new arrival screamed just like Aryk, but the sounds became less and less jarring as he got used to hearing again. Once the last person was thrown inside the cell, Aryk counted nineteen strangers, for a total of twenty prisoners. Everyone kept their back against the wall, afraid of their fellow inmates as much as of their wardens. "Hands up against the wall." Said a man about 1.65 meters (5’5") tall, with cold brown eyes and a well-groomed beard. No one objected to the order, but no one followed it either, too afraid of offering their backs. "I said, hands against the wall." The man repeated. "You have three seconds." The man counted out loud, and when he reached the three mark, he extended his hand with his fingers splayed.