حسنًا، هذا هو النص الإنجليزي معزول كما هو تمامًا، بدون تشذيب، بدون تحسين، بدون أي عبث أدبي. مجرد نسخ نظيف كما طلبت.
Chapter 18: The Blue Glass Bet, and the Revolution of the Forgotten
"What will we tell the Supervisor? He will surely be furious with us..." Worker Number 28 whispered anxiously, wiping moisture droplets from his mask. "We searched along the entire beach and found no trace of it. A ship of that size cannot just disappear like that!"
The two workers spoke amongst themselves as they returned from the depths of the thick fog toward the massive gate looming before them like the mouth of a silent beast. Their mission to find "The Floating Whisper" had failed, not due to their negligence, but because the ship was truly not docked where they expected.
They reached the small crack in the gate, that secret entrance they had left open. It was exactly as they had left it, not budging an inch, and it didn't seem like anyone had taken advantage of their absence to peek or enter. They breathed a sigh of relief, slipped inside quickly, and closed the heavy gate behind them, returning the iron wall to absolute silence, as if that gap had never existed.
A few meters away, pressed against a cold rock, Kim watched the gate close with a wrenching heart.
He had a choice. He could have sneaked in behind them, entered to see for himself what this wall hid, and perhaps found food or shelter. But he didn't. Perhaps courage failed him at the last moment, or perhaps... his decision stemmed from a greater courage.
In that moment, standing before the closed gate, he didn't look like a coward, but like a man who realized that surviving alone meant nothing if he left his daughter and wife to die. The choice he made meant he wasn't thinking only of himself.
Kim turned and ran back toward the miserable homeless camp.
"Believe me! I saw them with my own eyes!"
Kim shouted, his voice trembling with emotion and cold, standing in the middle of a circle of homeless people who had gathered around him.
"Two men in clean clothes and masks... they came out of the gate and went back in. The gate opened! It might still be unsecured. If we all go now, we will have a chance... a chance to know who we are, and where we are, or at least not live like this, huddling together for warmth or fighting like dogs over bones!"
A heavy silence fell, broken by the sound of a sarcastic, raspy laugh from one of the homeless, an old man who had lost most of his teeth and hair.
"You must have gone mad, boy..." the old man said, spitting on the ground. "Do you know what happens to those who approach that gate? The ghosts eat them! I don't even believe you... I think hunger made you hallucinate. Some have lived here for years and haven't seen even a flicker of light around the gate, so how did you see men coming out of it?"
Whispers began to spread through the crowd. There were new faces among them, those who had recently joined from Captain Jackson's ship, still in shock from being thrown into this hell. They were divided between fear and belief.
"I believe him."
A young woman said, wearing the remains of a torn dress, stepping forward. "The men who held us on the ship are still here... I am sure they have a purpose for coming other than throwing us here like trash. Maybe these men Kim saw belong to them. If there is a way out, it is through that gate."
Signs of hesitation began to appear on the pale faces. A faint glimmer of hope started to ignite in their dull eyes. Some tried to rush forward, but the inherited fear of "ghosts" held them back, even though they had nothing left to lose in this place but their misery.
"I am tired of this life..."
A strong voice came from the crowd. The ranks parted, and Sven appeared. He looked different from how he was hours ago when he fled from Silas. The fear was still there, but the despair was stronger.
He stood next to Kim and looked at everyone: "I will go this time... even if it costs me my life. Death at the gate is better than dying here slowly."
The crowd moved slowly, like sea waves starting calm before a storm, and began walking behind Kim and Sven toward the unknown.
//
Inside the factory, Silas and the young worker (333) were running through the back corridors.
Silas had left Elyra behind with a heavy heart, but her last smile was enough. That smile said: "I trust you, go." He knew she was strong, and if he stayed with her in his condition, he would only hinder her movement. He had to find the exit, or a way to turn the tables.
They reached a familiar intersection. Silas recognized it immediately; it was the place they had first entered toward the storage hall.
"The exit is that way!" Silas pointed toward the corridor leading to the side door Jackson had entered from. "The gate is right in front of us!"
But the young worker didn't continue running toward the exit. Instead, he swerved suddenly and entered the storage hall whose broken door was still open, where the shelves of blue canisters were.
"Hey! Where are you going?" Silas shouted nervously, chasing after him. "I told you the exit is the other way!"
The young man turned to him, his face pale: "Look behind you! They are here... they saw us!"
Silas looked back and saw the shadows of several workers running toward them from the main corridor, shouting and pointing at them. They had been spotted.
"Get in quickly!" The young man pulled him inside the hall. "It's the Blue Fuel storage room... they won't be able to fight us freely here!"
Silas had no choice but to follow him. They entered the hall, but Silas's mind stopped at one word the young man said.
'Fuel...'
He looked at the young man suspiciously as he closed the half-broken door and placed a heavy box behind it.
"Wait..." Silas panted. "How do you know this hall is for storing (Fuel)? Didn't you lose your memory too? How do you know the name of this substance?"
The young man didn't answer. Maybe he didn't hear him, or maybe he ignored the question. The young man ran toward one of the metal shelves and grabbed two glass canisters of the glowing liquid, one in each hand, then turned to Silas and signaled with his head for him to do the same quickly.
There was no time for investigation. The sound of workers outside was getting closer.
Silas realized what the young man was aiming for. He didn't care at that moment about the word fuel and what it meant; he thought of the power this fragile glass gave them.
Silas ran and grabbed two heavy canisters, clutching them to his chest.
The workers stormed the hall, pushing the barrier box away. There were six men, carrying clubs and iron bars, their eyes flashing with anger.
But they stopped suddenly.
They froze in place when they saw what the fugitives were holding.
Their eyes widened in terror. None of them could take a single step forward. Each canister of that mesmerizing blue glowing fuel was worth a fortune, perhaps more precious than all their lives in the Supervisor's eyes. And more dangerously, it was a volatile substance.
Silas realized the young man's intuition was correct. What he held in his hands wasn't just glass, but a ticking time bomb and a strong deterrent.
Silas raised one of the canisters high above his head, threatening to throw it on the ground.
"Back off now!" Silas shouted in a booming voice. "Or I will smash it right here and now! We will blow this place up with everyone in it!"
He looked into their panicked faces and continued sharply: "Open the gate and let us leave! Moros promised us we would leave here safely, and we are taking this insurance with us!"
He was trying to make the workers obey his orders, exploiting their fear, even though he knew deep down that Moros's promise was a lie, and the Supervisor would never keep his word.
The guards stood frozen, exchanging anxious glances. They didn't respond to Silas's threats to withdraw, but they didn't dare attack either. The situation was a stalemate.
Silas realized that verbal threats were not enough. They needed proof. They needed to see the madness in his eyes.
"Don't you believe me?"
Silas said with a crazy smile.
And without hesitation, he opened his other hand holding the second canister.
The canister fell from his hand.
Everyone watched the bottle plummet with deadly slowness toward the metal floor.
CRASH!
The canister shattered into a thousand pieces.
The blue liquid exploded, emitting thick, glowing smoke that filled the place with a strange, sharp smell. There was no fiery explosion, but the sound and sight were enough to tear the guards' hearts out.
They backed away in genuine panic, covering their faces from the rising steam.
In the main hall, away from the smoke and broken glass.
Elyra stood before Jackson, her stance steady despite the pain, her eyes looking at him not as a victim, but as an executioner looking at a condemned man. It was a look that wanted to make him feel despised in the ugliest way possible before ending him.
On the other side, a worker approached The Supervisor (Moros) quickly, who was still kneeling, holding his neck and trying to regain his breath.
"Sir!" the worker gasped. "They are inside the storage room! Worker 333 and that stranger with him... they are threatening to destroy the stock!"
Moros's features changed. The pain disappeared and was replaced by cold, dark anger.
He stood up slowly, dusting off his black cloak.
"It's all my fault..." he whispered with a hiss. "It's all my fault... I underestimated you."
His hand moved toward the ground, picking up his dagger that Silas had dropped earlier. He gripped it tightly until the veins in his hand bulged.
He didn't look toward the storage room, but glared at Elyra with aggressive, hateful eyes. He knew the head of the snake was here, and eliminating her would break the others.
"Jackson..." Moros said in a low, dangerous voice. "Don't kill her quickly. I want her to scream."