Page 8 of Sadistic Retribution (Rise of Phoenyxx #2)

Razor

I'm relieved Synn managed to buy us a couple more weeks here. I can’t even imagine leaving Fiasca behind.

We've got to get her out. I know she’s in the fucking Morgue. The main issue is we don’t know how the fuck to get to it. All of the tunnels we’ve found so far lead to pretty much nowhere.

I can’t believe how long we’ve been here. Two years so far. It's so fucking stupid that we were sent here in the first place. They could have just beat us or sent us somewhere else that makes more sense…

Razor Age 18

“Nah, man, I’m not doing it,” I announce, with folded arms. The guys and I are outside, having a powwow. “It’s too fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Trikk adds. “They’re kids, bro!”

“I think we all agree,” Synn says, anger in his voice.

“So, what do we do, then?” Purge questions.

Frost shrugs, like it’s such a simple answer. “Tell them no.”

The fathers want us to break in the new shipment. Teach them how to submit. As fucked as it is, we normally would just comply. But these girls are just kids. Not one of them over the age of ten, the youngest only two or three.

“We better stand our ground now,” I say. “Let’s get it over with.”

We move inside together, going towards my father’s office. Without knocking, we barge in.

“We’re not doing it,” I say with a firmness I don’t feel.

“Excuse me?” he booms, standing from his desk.

Oh shit...

“We. Are. Not. Doing. It,” I repeat. “They’re kids!”

I get sharply backhanded.

“You all feel the same?” He looks around at the others with a raised brow. Nods go around. “Well then, since you’re all defying a direct order, I will speak to the other fathers. But make no mistake, this will not be a light slap on the wrist.”

It was an hour after that we were told we had to come here. And to follow every order, or we’d relinquish our positions in our families. We've been trained to understand that there’s nothing more important than being heirs.

Hunter

Thor and I are sitting side by side, double-teaming Director Augustine’s servers. I gave him permission to share my screen, so we can both see the same thing. Thor figured we could break through quicker this way.

“So, do I just do my usual hacking?” I ask, side-eyeing him.

“Yep. It's simple, really. A brute force attack to crack his password. Then, we exploit the vulnerabilities in his system. Then, bam! We're in.”

“Sounds so easy,” I say, sarcasm lacing my voice. “How do I know what passwords to try?”

He shoves a piece of paper towards me. “That’s a list of the most used passwords. Just plug them in, one by one. Eventually, we’ll strike gold.”

“Okay.” I pull up a page of code, typing away. Some time passes, enough that my hands are cramping. I stop for a second to shake them out.

“Come on, man, keep going,” Thor says. “No time to waste.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I sigh, getting back to it.

As I’m typing some of the last possibilities from the paper, Thor makes an encouraging sound. Then he yells, "Yahtzee!”

“Really? You’re in?”

“We are in, my man! Look at your screen.”

I peer closer, seeing the main screen with The Retreat logo on the front. “Yes!” I yell. Swiping the cover screen away, I pull up the massive list of numbered folders again. I open the first one, still not getting it. It's mostly numbers, with a few letters thrown in.

I glance over to see Thor clicking through the folders. He furrows his brow.

I wheel my chair closer to his. “What do you make of it?”

He holds up a finger, clicking through a few more. “Wait...” he mutters, placing a few on the screen. “I might know what this means. Here.” He points to the first row of numbers. “These looks like dates. See? 01-181-97-3 could mean January 18, 1973. And this one? 102-31-98-1? October 23, 1981.”

“Okay... How the hell did you come to that conclusion so quickly?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Practice, man. These letters could stand for initials, or location. KC could be someone’s name or stand for Kansas City.”

“Okay,” I say, seeing a pattern emerge. “See the 1, 2, 3? Patient numbers? I remember hearing a nurse refer to a patient as Patient 11. Then below it—Money, maybe? One-hundred thousand... for what?”

“Oh shit!” Thor yells, jumping around in excitement. “That’s it! I bet those are prices paid for the patient. Like trafficking, you know?”

My face pales. “Is that what they’re fucking doing? I've heard others refer to ‘The Morgue’, an area no one comes back from. Because they’ve been sold?” On the heels of that thought, an a-ha moment has me jumping to my feet. “That’s where Phoenyxx is—I’d bet everything on it!”

“Man, hopefully she hasn’t been—you know—sold.”

My voice rises with panic. “We have to get her out, dammit! I'm calling Jax!”

But before I can even grab my phone, Jax saunters in. “Another thought occurs to me,” he says, without preamble. “Your sister may have been sold. Thor—you and Bill scour every folder, notate anything with the letters CH, and possible dates between 2011—now. Got it?”

“Yes, boss,” Thor salutes, swiveling back around.

“Sure thing,” Bill calls.

“Harris and I are sharing screens, so we can work on it at the same time.”

“No problem, I need to share what we found with you, anyway.” I tell Jax. I relay all that we’ve found so far, and he nods.

“Now that I’m all caught up, stay on it, guys.” Jax responds.

I need a break desperately, but there’s no way I’m stopping now. Pretty Girl and Cynthia are on the line.

I decide to visit the range set up across the property later on. Some targeted practice might do me good. I might just be killing people before this is all said and done.

Phoenyxx

I’m trying to catch some sleep since the sounds and lights have finally cut off. I clutch my covers up to my neck, rolled onto my side. I sigh and my eyes flutter closed.

As I start to drift, I hear a muttered voice. High-pitched, likely female. I sit up with a frown and listen harder, hearing a squeaky laugh. Then more whispers.

I jump up, stalking towards the bars. “Hello? Is there someone there?” I call out.

The voice stops, then giggles again. “Hi, hello, hey there!” an enthusiastic response greets me.

“Oh my God! Are you a prisoner here too? Who are you?”

“I’m Patient 6. Who are you?”

6? “I’m Patient 11—my name is Phoenyxx.”

“No, no, no—no names! I’m 6, you are 11!” she starts keening; I can hear her anxiety rising from here.

“Okay, sorry... Do you remember your name?”

“No, no, been too long,” she mutters. “So long. I'm grown-up now!” She giggles like a little girl.

“Have you been here since you were a child? I am so sorry 6!”

Damn- I can’t begin to imagine being in this place my whole life. The poor girl. As charged for fight or flight as I am, my big, empathetic heart can't help but to twinge for this girl.

“Yes, so little I was. Tiny, small, little. You're new, aren’t you? I can tell.”

“You’re right, I'm new.”

“Well then, you should know—in here—we fight for these comforts.”

“What?” I ask in confusion.

“Fight! Like... kick ass!” She laughs. “Oops, too loud!”

“We have to physically fight? Fight who?”

“Everyone!” she crows. “Now, shhh... they can’t hear us talking!”

“Who are THEY? They all wear masks.”

“No words, 11, nothing, nada...” she trails off, but doesn’t say anything else.

I fall back into my bed with a flop, my mind working overtime. I can’t fight—I’m not trained! Yeah, I’ve fought Destiny, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I'll get destroyed in a ring.

I'm starting to think I’m not making it out of here alive. I am so sick of fighting all the time. Just to stay alive— but for what? More fucking torture? It's not worth it. My stupid mind is simply too strong for me to give up. It's exhausting.

I guess it wouldn’t be so bad to just throw in the towel in the ring and join Valley… at least we would be free together.

I’m pulled from a dreamless sleep by a rude shake.

“Get up, 11!”

I peer up blearily at Horns. “Time to watch a fight. Aren't you excited?”

I sit up stiffly. “Just watch?” The chill in my bones tells me exactly what kind of match this will likely be.

“Yep, for now, anyway. Now—get up!”

“Food first?” I try, my stomach rumbling uncomfortably.

“If you’re good, then you will be fed afterward.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. “I’m up, dammit!” I barely touch the floor before I’m roughly yanked away again.

I’m walked down to the end of a long hallway towards a door. As we approach, I hear voices behind it.

A pretty girl is outside in the hallway, already out of her cell. I see her when I'm let out. She giggles; and I know it’s 6.

“Come with me!” she chirps, and I follow her to a door at the end of the hallway.

She yanks open the door, and I see multiple other girls in various stages of undress. This must be the changing room.

“New girl!” 6 giggles, looking me up and down. “Pretty! You'll look pretty when it’s your turn. Come on—we get to watch together!”

I observe her as we walk. She is gorgeous.

Petite, probably not much over five feet tall.

Very skinny—I can see her ribs. Straight blonde hair hangs down her back.

A peculiar shade of aqua blue in her eyes make them pop.

She has a perfect face too, complete with pillowy lips.

She looks older than me, but I can’t tell her exact age.

She might be in her twenties, possibly younger.

I have to almost jog to keep up with her as she skips to a door at the opposite end of the room. Once she thrusts it open, she pulls me through. I screech to a stop in shock.

It's a mini arena. There's a boxing-type ring in the middle, with windowed rooms along the top. For the powerful people, I assume. Chairs are situated all around the space surrounding the ring. I can see people filling them. There are so many bright lights, it’s hard to make much out.

The smell of piss and the sharp tang of blood fills my nose.

“Over here,” 6 says. “We get ringside seats!”

I reluctantly follow 6. I really don’t want to watch anyone get beat up.

As I’m taking my seat, the loudspeaker in the corner comes on. “Everybody ready for today’s match?”

Cheers go up around the arena. I see a girl approaching the ring. She's about my age with brown hair and brown eyes. Smaller in stature, but she’s packed with muscle.

She strides in, smiling right at me. “I’m going to fuck you up next!” she announces.

“Keep dreaming!” I holler back. She just smiles wider.

Good job, Phoenyxx. Poke that bear. I groan inwardly, not able to help the snark that always gets me into trouble.

A second girl approaches the ring. She's really tall—she has to be at least five-foot-ten, with shorn dark hair in almost a buzzcut. She's muscular as well. Both girls are wearing the same sports bra and leggings, both in black.

They go to opposite corners, and a loud speaker kicks on from somewhere in the arena.

“Alright, ladies! Give us a great show! A lot of anxious watchers today—Ding-ding!”

The first girl—the short one—rushes the buzzcut, nailing her in the jaw with a vicious blow. Short Girl dances back, moving forward again. Buzzcut side-steps her, sweeping out her leg to connect with Short Girl’s knee.

Short Girl hits the mat hard. “You fucking bitch!” she roars, jumping up and stalking back to Buzzcut.

Buzzcut dives down sharply, tackling Short Girl around the middle. She drives her back to the ropes and attempts to take her all the way down. Short Girl manages to stand upright, grabbing Buzzcut by the throat. Then, Short Girl tosses her across the ring. Buzzcut swings out and... misses.

Short Girl yells in triumph, yanking Buzzcut forward. She takes her to the mat, straddling her. She starts punching Buzzcut in the face—left, right, left, right. Buzzcut’s eyes swell and blood drips down her face.

Short Girl laughs, punching Buzzcut so hard, she knocks her out.

The speaker sounds again, “Winner—8!”

Short Girl—8—raises her arm into the air. She then promptly jumps out of the ring, going back to the changing room. She winks at me as she walks by.

The fuck?