'What do I do now? I won't eat this food... maybe they put something in it... another drug or a slow poison...'
Silas spoke to himself as he stared at the hot bowl of soup in front of him, his mind racing against time.
They were sitting inside a vast hall with a low ceiling, centered by a wide, somewhat dilapidated rectangular table surrounded by cold iron chairs. A set of lamps mounted on the walls cast a gloomy yellow light on the food, making it look less appetizing.
Silas glanced out of the corner of his eye at Elyra. She was holding the spoon, her eyes fixed on the food with hunger.
'Elyra will eat it... she remembers nothing, and her body desperately needs energy. I have to do something to stop her without arousing suspicion.'
"Well, please eat," said Ben, the Deputy Supervisor, standing at the head of the table with an exaggeratedly friendly smile. "Eat whatever you like, for you are our guests now. The Supervisor will honor us shortly, and we will talk seriously about your future with us."
Silas watched Ben's sudden shift in treatment; from a brutal jailer to a gracious host. He realized the Deputy was fully convinced their memories had been wiped, so he was now trying to win their loyalty with fake kindness.
Elyra held the knife and fork, ready to cut.
Suddenly, Silas gasped loudly and disgustedly, pointing at his plate:
"What is this?! Hair?! Yuck... there is a long hair in the middle of the food! I can't eat this filth!"
He pushed the plate away with an expression of feigned nausea, hoping to make Elyra disgusted enough to stop.
Ben was flustered and approached quickly:
"What? I am very sorry... hand me the plate, we will replace it immediately."
"Never mind," Silas waved his hand, "I can't eat from it anyway. I think whoever cooks the food here doesn't care about hygiene, and there might be bugs too."
Silas glanced stealthily at Elyra, expecting her to drop the fork.
But the young worker (333) sitting next to them said indifferently:
"Why did you say that? I'm not disgusted hearing it, even though I can't eat right now because of my upset stomach."
As for Elyra, she looked at Silas's plate, which Ben took while scolding the workers, then looked at her own. She shrugged, bowed her head, and began devouring the food voraciously, indifferent to hygiene or the alleged hair. Hunger was gnawing at her, and her survival instinct was stronger than any psychological trick.
Silas looked at the ceiling in despair.
'Damn... my little plan failed. I hope the food isn't really poisoned.'
Ben smiled with satisfaction seeing Elyra eat, then said:
"Well then... what can I offer you two to make up for this mistake?"
The young worker raised his hand weakly:
"Give me a glass of wine, please... I feel like my head is going to explode."
Ben signaled to a servant, who poured the young man a glass of red wine. The young man drank it in one gulp. Silas watched him cautiously, but since everyone was drinking from it, he concluded it was relatively safe.
The young man put down the glass and said:
"I feel like I have no memory in my head... a complete void and a killer headache. Can I rest somewhere?"
Silas tried to play along. His mind was plotting a way out.
'We can't stay here. They might seize the ship at any moment. I must get our weapons back first, but how do I convince them to give them to amnesiac madmen?'
He looked at Elyra, who was wiping her mouth with her shirt sleeve.
'I must provoke her... that will make my request seem natural.'
Ben said to the young man:
"Fine, you can go and rest after we meet with the Supervisor. We have prepared a comfortable place for you."
Silas interrupted him, pointing at Elyra with a sarcastic laugh:
"Look at her... that woman looks strange and feral. She must have been born in the middle of a war or a jungle. I bet she fights with four swords at once like a clown."
Elyra stopped drinking. The wine glass was still raised in her hand. She turned slowly toward Silas, sparks flying from her eyes.
Without warning, she splashed the entire contents of the glass into Silas's face.
"Shut your mouth..." she said in a low, dangerous voice, "or I will make the four swords pierce your frail body."
Silas wiped the wine from his face and broken glasses, smiling internally at the success of his plan, despite the insult.
"Oh my god... so violent. What can a person with only a cane do against a crazy warrior?"
He pretended to look around.
"Ah... where is my cane? I had a cane... I feel helpless without it."
Then he looked at Ben with an innocent gaze.
Ben understood the hint and saw no harm in it. To him, these were just three confused people who remembered nothing and stood no chance against the army of workers in the factory. Giving them a false sense of security would make them easier to control.
"Ah, the cane and the sword... they are safe with us," Ben said in a reassuring tone.
"If you want them, we will bring them to you right away."
Elyra said sharply:
"I want a sword. I don't feel okay without it. And why do you hide your faces behind those creepy outfits? It makes me uncomfortable."
Ben ignored her comment about the outfits and ordered a worker to bring the cane and the sword.
Silas breathed a sigh of relief.
'Step one is done... Now, how do we get out of here?'
In the Supervisor's office on the upper floor.
The atmosphere was charged. The Supervisor stood tense, while a strong hand gripped his shoulder from behind and pressed on his neck.
"Stop this..." the Supervisor said in a choked voice, trying to break free.
"Heh... let's see who's behind this mask," Captain Jackson whispered in his ear.
"I couldn't leave without making sure of the stupid face you're hiding."
With a quick movement, Jackson reached out with his free hand, grabbed the raven mask, and pulled it forcefully off the Supervisor's face.
The mask fell to the floor.
The face of a middle-aged man appeared, his features harsh, his eyes holding a look very familiar to Jackson.
Jackson smiled sarcastically as he let go of the Supervisor and pushed him forward:
"Those words of yours weren't strange to me... Hahaha! Who would have thought someone like you would be behind this mask, Supervisor? Or should I call you... Moros?"
The Supervisor—or Moros—straightened up and adjusted his collar, then quickly drew a sharp dagger from his cloak sleeve.
"You've crossed the line, you bastard," Moros said in a cold voice, devoid of any acting now.
Jackson raised his hands in mock surrender, holding his sword in his right hand:
"Stop, Moros, you're scaring me with those looks. I just wanted to say goodbye to my friend whom I saw once on the beach of this island playing the role of a miserable homeless man. Great acting, by the way."
This was the first time the Supervisor's secret had been revealed to anyone other than his deputy. Even the workers in the factory didn't know his face. He didn't hide his identity just for dignity, but to live two lives; the life of the absolute ruler of the factory, and the life of the homeless "Moros" who watches newcomers and evaluates them before deciding their fate.
"You know too much, Jackson..." Moros said, stepping forward, the dagger gleaming in his hand.
And before the two could clash, or Jackson could finish his mockery...
CLICK.
The sound cut off suddenly. The hum of machines, the sound of fans, the buzz of lights.
Then... the light went out.
The entire factory plunged into sudden, pitch darkness. It wasn't just a lamp going out; it was a complete death of power. The lights vanished from the corridors, from the hall where Silas sat, and from the Supervisor's office.
A terrifying, heavy silence prevailed, broken only by the sound of their panicked breathing in the dark.