Chapter 4
Tacita
Ionly have to endure the prison for a couple of days. On the third morning, Officer Playing-his-role-too-fucking-seriously–as I’m now calling Garrick Zephyr–marches into the breakfast hall and announces that everyone will be staying in the mess hall once we’ve finished breakfast.
He moves to speak to his subordinates as I stab at my eggs.
Seriously, I was expecting him to seek me out by now to tell me how I can start accessing the data on each of the convicts I’m now surrounded by.
I need to start learning their files so that I can commence quizzing them and try to trip one of them up.
If one of them is really an Angel, or working with them, then it’s highly doubtful they’ve committed any of the crimes Hades looks for in these recruits.
I just need to catch them in a lie and bingo, I’ll have the mole.
Alas, Officer Panther-on-a-power-trip has avoided me.
I went up to him yesterday and he dismissed me so fast it was like I was a fly buzzing round his head.
I don’t understand it. We are on the same team.
Now that I’m here, we need to start working together to figure this out before it has a chance to all go south.
And to be honest, after spending two days in these itchy prison scrubs I am already pining for my own clothes.
I’m not a snob, I swear, but my clothes are all tailor-made and consist of the best fabrics money can buy.
Officer Butthead, however, isn't being cooperative. Hopefully, once we get to Hell he’ll drop the act and start helping me.
I realised that there are probably cameras all over this prison wing, which means the Angels have a chance to spy on us.
Maybe that’s why he’s acting like I’m any other recruit.
It’s irritating but I can deal with it… for now.
Once we get to the compound, we’ll be in Hades’s domain and I will be able to get to the real work.
And it’s not like I’ve been sitting on my ass the last few days.
I have met as many of the recruits as possible, memorising their faces and their numbers.
I know what languages they all speak, who they’re hanging out with, and I’ve mostly managed to get everyone to tell me their real names.
My suspect list is already a dozen strong, and I haven’t fully discounted anyone yet.
There’s just a few that are already seeming cagey.
There’s an American who seems second in popularity. He seems resentful that Wyatt is clearly the top alpha amongst them. Wyatt being the egotistical psycho that hits on me constantly. I have no idea who he is but his energy is never ending, and so is his obsession.
Anyway, the American, Rick, immediately seems like the kind of guy that would double cross his own family if it meant self gain.
There’s a woman from Scotland who seems scared of her own shadow as well.
She jumps at any noise and only interacts with a few other quiet inmates.
Her frightened rabbit persona seems like an act to me.
I know the kinds of things she would’ve committed to land herself amongst us.
Those acts would not have been done by the person she’s pretending to be.
Someone buckling under the strain of being a double agent, however, maybe.
I’m keeping her near the top of my list.
“Alright inmates, breakfast time is over. Hand in all your plates and stuff to the back and sit back down,” one of the senior Officers calls, banging his baton several times on the corner of the nearest table.
Waiting until the majority have followed the order, I’m one of the last to head up to the hatch. Depositing my tray I grab the last sausage off my plate and eat it as I head back to my seat. I’m not giving up my unfinished food.
I wonder if any of the inmates around me have any inkling of what’s about to happen. Probably not. Even in their wildest little fantasies I doubt they could conjure up this. No, the only one who won’t be surprised is the one who has already been told about us–the one the Angels recruited.
Swivelling in my seat, I put my back to the wall so I can monitor the sea of faces. Most are moaning about the disruption in routine. Some are speculating as to what’s going on. As I suspected, none are anywhere near accurate.
I note the few individuals who are sitting by themselves.
It’s not suspicious in itself that some of these convicts don’t like people.
Hell, I prefer my own company most of the time.
But in a place like this hierarchy is everything.
You have to either earn the right to not be picked on or be so uninteresting you can fly under the radar.
The guy sitting on my table is one of the latter.
He’s small compared to most men in here, lithe.
And I’ve not heard him utter a single word.
Number Nineteen is a little bit of an enigma but he has an intelligence in his green eyes that tells me he’s worked the population around him to suit his needs.
By having such a low number he will have been here since they started collecting the recruits for this year’s games several months ago.
He has refused to tell me his name both times I’ve asked, only pointing to the number stamped on his prison uniform. In fact, he’s refused to talk full stop. But I don’t think it's from shyness. Despite his stature, and clear want to blend in, I see him interacting with others only on his terms.
There’s another round of a baton being banged against a table and the chatter quietens once more as everyone sits down and shuts up.
“I know you’re all probably wondering why we are keeping you in here,” the human Officer, whose name I haven’t bothered to learn, starts talking again.
“Well, it’s because we now have a full quota to proceed to our next recruitment drive.
For the details, I’m handing over to Officer Zephyr.
But I just wished to say I hope you all take this opportunity and rise to the challenge. ”
There is an explosion of whispered chatter as the guard takes his place back against the wall and Garrick–nope, Officer Wildly-unhelpful–steps forward.
“Thank you Officer Peters.” He addresses him before the room. “Inmates, you’ve probably been wondering why you’ve been selected for this facility.”
He strolls down the middle aisle of seats as he talks, prowling like he’s the biggest predator in this room.
If only he’d let me clarify that for him.
I lean back against the wall, bringing my feet up onto the seat next to me before wrapping my arms around my bent knees. This is going to be entertaining.
“We have been carefully collecting you over the last couple of months. Some of you were easier to track down than others.” His gaze catches mine on the last word, I shoot him a little smirk and raise my right hand, placing my index and middle fingers to my temple before flicking them in a salute.
It causes him to stumble a step before he continues.
“But now that all ninety-eight of you are here we can finally reveal our true intentions.
“The truth is that each of you is being given the opportunity to interview for some of the most prestigious roles in any realm. The God of the Underworld does not choose applicants lightly and the process is going to be gruelling. But, providing you survive, you will be placed in a job suited to your talents and you’ll be gifted with immortality.
Should you accept this challenge you will become a protector of Hell, in one form or another.
” He’s walked the entire length of the hall and returned to the front to face the crowd, which is looking at him like he’s insane.
I have to pull my lips between my teeth to stop the laughter escaping.
These poor souls don’t believe a word he’s spewing.
There’s a few more seconds of silence before Wyatt shouts from one of the tables behind me.
“Good one, sir! Are we supposed to believe any of that? Are you testing our mental capacity or something because I really think you might belong in one of these jumpsuits with us if you think we were going to fall for that!” He tugs on his orange scrub top to push his point.
“Yeah, come on. What’s the real reason? It’s for T.V., right?” Number Sixty-Two yells, a caucasian man with a closely shaved head and clean face.
Officer Stick-up-his-own-ass takes a visible inhale and glares at the several other heckles he receives before he mutters, “I told you they wouldn’t believe me.”
I only catch it because of my supernatural hearing.
The shouts and questions get louder until a burst of smoke appears beside the Head Guard and a second later, Hades is standing at his side.
Taller than Zephyr, who is several inches above six foot, Hades looks polished and gentlemanly.
He gives the air of extreme wealth in his perfectly black tailored suit, charcoal grey shirt–sans tie–open at the collar, and perfectly styled black hair pushed back from his face.
The room breaks into several panicked curses, disbelieving gasps and the scraping of shoes against the polished flooring as some shoot out of their chairs.
Scanning the crowd, I look for anyone who doesn’t look shocked by a God appearing out of thin air right in front of them.
The spy hides it well as I only spot wide eyes and shocked expressions.
Hades keeps the dissipating smoke rolling around his lower legs. I roll my eyes at the theatrics, but I guess it’s one way that will ensure the humans start getting with the programme.
“Welcome recruits.” Hades speaks with a voice I know he reserves for those he is about to sentence to Tartarus. It's soft, melodic, with the intention of reassuring petrified souls before he pulls the rug right out from their feet. It works as the room goes silent once more.