Chapter 24: Under Pressure.
『"It’s the hidden terror of knowing what this world is about..."』
The Director had told them just before they’d left for the Machine about the rifts that had appeared worldwide.
Three months. That’s what the calculations showed. Three months until they fully formed and four more Malices dropped down on various locations around the globe.
Four more things as dangerous as what had nearly killed Unit 11-B in Tokyo.
The Director’s words kept echoing in her mind. That Tokyo was only the beginning.
"Amara! Amara!—"
She was so deep in thought, lost in the mathematics of inadequacy, that she could barely hear her name being called.
"Amara!"
A hand waved in front of her face and she jolted back to reality, turning to face Hiro. "I’m sorry. What?"
"You were doing that thing again." Hiro said with concern.
"What thing?" Amara asked, an eyebrow going up.
"That thing where you space out from thinking too much?" Raj answered.
Ethan just watched her with a flicker of worry and concern behind the calm mask he wore so well.
They were all wearing jackets over their uniforms against The Machine’s perpetual chill. Amara was still wearing Ethan’s. She’d never given it back, and he’d never asked for it.
Now that she wasn’t trapped in her own head, she noticed something odd. Some of the students, other Awakeners moving through the halls, were staring at them.
It wasn’t the curious kind of stares, it felt more accusatory as they watched them pass by with open hostility.
"Is it just me, or are people staring at us?" Hiro asked, whispering.
"It’s not just you, buddy," Raj confirmed, also noticing the weight of those hateful gazes.
"Well, well, well." A student blocked their path. He had ginger hair, styled in a sharp bob cut.
Amara had never seen this person before, but something about him immediately irritated her.
"The name’s Weesil. Weesil Lockwood." He introduced himself like he was expecting recognition, and his uniform bore an insignia Amara didn’t recognize— a silver archway.
But Ethan seemed to recognize it. His expression shifted to something complicated. Recognition mixed with disdain.
"Lockwood?" Ethan repeated, and there was a weight to how he said it.
"Well, I see there’s at least one cultured swine among you," Weesil said with a false smile.
"What did you just call us?" Sophia’s voice went dangerously low.
"I believe Mr. Weasel here called us uncultured swines," Hiro answered with an exaggerated helpfulness.
"Weasel?!" Weesil almost lost his composure entirely, face flushing red. The apparently wrong pronunciation of his name was clearly a trigger for him.
But he dusted off his uniform and took a deep breath. "Well, if you must know, I’m a third year at The Machine. Shaper rank. And we third years are well aware of who you five are."
"You say ’well’ a lot," Raj observed with his usual brutal honesty.
Weesil’s face contorted into something unpleasant. "We—" He cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. "And you five are responsible for Tokyo." He grinned. "The Five are what attracts Malices, right?"
His smile turned cruel. "Forty thousand dead in Tokyo. All because you exist." He raised both hands and continued. "Tell me, how does it feel to be mass murderers?"
The words landed like physical blows.
He’d clearly intended to get under their skin, and it was working. Hiro had gone speechles. Raj’s usual easy expression had dropped into something darker and Sophia’s face had transformed from casual indifference to a deep frown.
Ethan’s reaction was the most surprising. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, and his jaw was clenched so tight Amara could see the muscle forming.
She wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t throw a punch, so she placed her hand on his shoulder, a gentle weight meant to ground him, then turned to face Weesil.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Weasel," she said with a cutting politeness that was somehow worse than outright hostility. "But what happened in Tokyo was not our fault. And I’m certainly not going to spend my time being one of those people who blame themselves for things beyond their control."
She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Is there anything else you’d like to add before we head to our classes? Or was making yourself feel superior by verbally attacking strangers the entirety of your agenda today?"
Weesil’s face twisted into a combination of rage and embarrassment.
Before he stomped away like a child, he managed one final protest: "And, it’s Weesil! With an S! Wee-SIL!"
Then he was gone, leaving the five of them alone again.
Amara found herself oddly grateful to Weasel. His clumsy attempt to antagonize them had only provided insight into why other students were treating them like pariahs.
"That would explain the stares," Sophia said quietly, voicing what they were all thinking.
"Yeah." Ethan said quietly.
"Duuude... you almost froze there when you heard the name Lockwood." Hiro’s observational skills were, as always, uncomfortably sharp. "What’s that about?"
Ethan sighed. "Lockwood family. Old money, old power, not officially Institute but..." He scratched the back of his neck. "That kid’s probably some third cousin nobody cares about. Which is why he goes around name-dropping."
"Ah. So a nepo baby," Sophia said with a shrug.
"I don’t particularly like that term, but..." Ethan’s small smile acknowledged the accuracy. "Basically."
"And that insignia belongs to the Arcadia branch," he continued. "They handle supernatural cover-ups you wouldn’t believe."
"What? You mean like the Loch Ness monster?" Hiro asked playfully, but Ethan’s grin transformed his playful tone into genuine curiosity. "Wait. You’re kidding, right?"
"Right?!"
"We should probably head to class," Amara interjected before that particular rabbit hole could consume them.
They all headed into the massive château building together, a united front against the hostile atmosphere.
Due to Ethan having dropped out of the Machine to attend regular university, he was technically a first year like them now. That meant he’d be joining them for the joint Awakener fundamentals class.
As they moved through the halls, whispers followed them like ghosts:
"There they are..."
"Trouble magnets, every one of them..."
"...killed all those people in Tokyo..."
Amara sighed, forcing herself to ignore it. She tuned it all out the way she’d learned to tune out microaggressions, casual racism, and every other form of social violence throughout her life. This was just another flavor of the same poison.
Her only real worry was that news like this spread quickly. It was probably only a matter of time before not just the third years knew about their nature, but the entire Machine.
When they stepped into the classroom, conversation stopped abruptly. The sudden silence was oppressive and heavy with judgment.
The class also seemed fuller than usual. Much fuller. Amara noticed faces she’d never seen before, second and third years mixed in with the usual first-year cohort.
"Settle down, you punks," Professor Gaius said, and Amara felt relief wash through her at the familiar voice.
A sight for sore eyes amid all this hostility.
"Alright. Field trip." Gaius sighed, already rubbing the bridge of his nose. "All three years. Three hundred students total, split into thirty groups of ten. Each group gets one supervisor." He looked at them all like they were personally responsible for his impending fatigue.
That explained the crowd. Two hundred additional students crammed into a room designed for one hundred first-years.
One of the voices from the back called out: "Where are we going?"
"I was getting to that," Gaius replied with very little patience left in his voice.
With a gesture, blue holographic displays materialized across the room, showing images that made several students lean forward with interest.
"You know how regular academic institutions take students to prisons? To scare them straight?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "Well, you lot are going to the Clam."
The displays showed the image of an actual giant clam shell positioned 50,000 feet below sea level in the depths of the Pacific Ocean.
"So what does this have to do with a prison?" Hiro asked.
No answers came. Instead, students began forming groups quickly. Pairs became foursomes. Foursomes became groups of eight, nine—
Nobody looked at the Five. The space around them stayed conspicuously empty, like they were radioactive.
"I’ve heard a thing or two about the Clam, but I’m just as in the dark as you are," Ethan admitted quietly.
"Well," Sophia said. "This is going great."
Surprisingly, Naomi and Andre approached them.
"She lost a bet. So she owes me," Andre explained immediately, before anyone could question why he was voluntarily associating with them.
"I see," Ethan said carefully.
"Yeah. Otherwise I wouldn’t be caught dead with you losers. Especially now with the rumors about you being fucking monster magnets." Naomi’s voice was filled with disdain. "How much more pathetic can you get?"
"She also promised to control her tongue," Andre said, shooting Naomi a sharp look. "We’re still working on that part."
Naomi then folded her arms with obvious reluctance.
"What’s good, Naomi?" Raj asked, walking up to her.
Thankfully... or perhaps unfortunately, Weesil arrived just then, sparing them whatever verbal evisceration Naomi had been preparing for Raj.
"Well, didn’t expect to bump into you twice in one day. How fortuitous." His smile was as false as earlier. "I suppose I shall do my charity for the day and join your group."
"Great. It’s the nepo baby," Sophia rolled her eyes.
Naomi, who seemed to also detest the third year on principle, turned to Andre. "Do we really have to?"
Andre simply smiled.
Eventually, two more students reluctantly filled out their group of ten.
Tova, a nervous first-year with reddish-brown skin and round glasses that kept sliding down his nose. He mumbled his name without making eye contact, clearly wishing he’d been faster in finding a different group.
And Hana, another third year. A tall girl with an eye patch who introduced herself in the most dramatic way possible.
With their group of ten now complete, they marched out of the château toward the lake outside.
Submarines waited at the dock, vessels designed to hold at most twenty people each.
Thirty in total were arranged in neat rows across the dock, each one bearing the sun symbol of the Sun branch etched into dark metal.
"We’re really going down fifty thousand feet?" Amara asked.
"That’s almost ten miles down," Hiro calculated automatically. "The pressure at that depth would crush a normal submarine instantly." His voice contrasting against Amara’s calm one.
"Good thing these aren’t normal submarines," Gaius walked up to them.
Amara turned back, relieved that Professor Gaius happened to be their assigned supervisor.
He was fair, if gruff, and sometimes too specific and intentional with his words. But she trusted him more than most authority figures in this place.
"Alright then," Gaius said, gesturing toward their designated submarine, labeled as "5" with his walking stick. "To the Clam we go. Try not to die. That would require paperwork, and I do not love paperwork."
The submarines descended into the water with a small ripple, the lake’s surface closing over them like a mouth swallowing prey.
As they sank deeper into darkness, surrounded by hostile classmates in a cramped metal tube heading toward a classified underwater prison, Amara couldn’t shake the feeling that this field trip would go wrong somehow.
Nothing good happened 50,000 feet below sea level. Especially not with this group.
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AMARA MURRAY | The Sword
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Location: Submarine - Descending to The Clam
Status: Surrounded by Hostility, Sensing Danger
Current Thought: This is a terrible idea.
Secondary Thought: Why does every terrible idea involve AI or being trapped underwater?
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