"You bastard... she's a woman!" Silas shouted in annoyance, his voice trembling as much from anger as from the effort of choking the Supervisor. "How does your manhood allow you to slap her like that?" He knew deep down that Elyra, even in this state, hated one thing more than pain: being singled out or treated lightly simply because she was female.
Jackson laughed coldly, wiping his hand on his jacket: "You said it yourself... I slapped her. I didn't break her teeth with my fist, though I could have. That's what whores deserve... to be disciplined with a slap." He looked at Elyra, whose pale face now bore the crimson imprint of his fingers, and continued with a tone of twisted appreciation: "Besides, she isn't just any woman... not every woman throws a group of men to the ground and breaks their bones. She is a monster, and monsters are treated harshly."
He still held his sword pointed at her face, in full control, enjoying the fear he saw in his opponents' eyes. Then he shifted his gaze to the Supervisor choking in Silas's hands, and said with biting sarcasm: "Heh... Moros, I didn't know you were this weak. Did this little rat subdue you? How shameful." He pointed his sword at Silas and threatened: "Come on... loosen your cane and let him go, or I'll kill her right now."
Silas looked at him, sweat pouring from his forehead. He didn't loosen his cane an inch. He realized the man before him was dangerous, and crazy enough to carry out his threat in the blink of an eye. But he also realized a terrifying truth: if he loosened his cane now, it would be the end for both of them. Moros wouldn't show mercy, and Jackson would enjoy killing them.
'I have no other choice... I won't let him kill her in front of me...' Thinking this, instead of surrendering, his grip tightened, clamping down on the cane with desperate strength, pressing against Moros's windpipe until the Supervisor began to stagger, his face turning dark blue, his eyes bulging from their sockets.
Jackson realized Silas wasn't bluffing. "You damn fool... you're really going to kill him!" Jackson shouted, his sarcastic smile vanishing for a moment. He needed the Supervisor alive for his deal. He lowered his sword slightly and said quickly: "Let him go... and I'll leave this woman. Let's make it a trade. A life for a life."
This trade seemed to Silas like a fragile prisoner exchange between two parties who didn't trust each other, but he knew it was the only chance. He didn't want to fight, nor to win. All he wanted in that moment was to leave this cursed factory, get out of that gate, and leave the island in peace.
"Agreed..." Silas whispered with difficulty. He released his grip suddenly. Moros fell to his knees on the floor, clutching his throat, coughing so violently his chest almost burst, gasping greedily for air. In return, Jackson stepped back a few paces away from Elyra, clearing the way, but kept his sword ready.
Amidst all that was happening, the young worker (333) stood in the corner, just watching with wide eyes. He didn't intervene, didn't speak a word. He was silently observing where this conflict would lead, to decide which side to take to save his own skin.
As soon as Silas was free of the burden of the hostage, he moved with lightning speed. He rushed toward Elyra, who had just retrieved her sword, "White Fang," and stood swaying. He grabbed her hand firmly and shouted: "Run!"
He took off running toward the side door Jackson had entered from, and the young worker followed them immediately, realizing this was his only chance.
It happened so suddenly that even Elyra didn't comprehend the situation until she found herself running with Silas down the dark corridor. She didn't run because she wanted to escape, but because her body instinctively matched Silas's movement as soon as he grabbed her hand. In that moment, as they ran, she looked at his profile. She didn't recognize him, didn't remember his name, but she felt something strange flow from his hand to hers... a seed of trust, a feeling of safety she hadn't known in this desolate place.
But suddenly... she stopped. She dug her feet into the ground and pulled her hand from Silas's grip with force and violence, causing Silas and the young worker to stop and almost collide.
"What are you doing?!" the young worker panted in terror, looking back. "Come on, quickly! Let's find a way out of here before they regroup! Follow me, I know a side passage!"
But Elyra wasn't listening. She stood firm, her chest heaving, her hand squeezing the hilt of her sword until her knuckles turned white. She hadn't gotten over the sting of that slap. She remembered nothing of herself, nor her past, but she knew her current nature perfectly: she was not prey, and she did not run. That man who had just insulted her... she would never let it slide. Her pride screamed louder than her survival instinct.
She turned slowly, looking at Silas out of the corner of her eye, a faint, terrifying smile forming on her face, her eyes shining with the glint of vengeance.
"What did that bastard call you? Rat? Is that your name?" she said in a calm voice that hid a storm. She pointed her sword toward the dark corridor they had come from: "Try to find the way out, Rat... I'll catch up with you as soon as I finish with that bastard and make him swallow his teeth."
She turned around and began walking with steady steps back toward the hall, toward Jackson.