"Easy. This is the most secure place in the country." She dismissed my words with a flick of her hand.
"I hear the birds singing, ladies. Death is coming. It's at the gates, knocking, tearing them apart!" My voice rose in a melody they refused to understand.
"Shut up!" The doctor snapped, her irritation flaring as my voice carried too loudly.
"Someone shut him up!" She barked at the soldiers, but then she hesitated. The realization struck—relapse.
"Help me hold him still! I need to sedate him." Her voice edged with urgency as I trembled, my body shaking violently against my will.
"No, doc—don't do that!" I screamed, horror clawing at my throat. "The attackers are coming! If you sedate me, we're all dead!"
I begged, my voice raw with terror. But my pleas were swallowed by the room's cold indifference. The soldiers surged forward, gripping me with brute force as I thrashed—wild, untamed, like a maddened bull.
The doctor's hand was steady as she raised the syringe, its glint catching the dim light. My breath hitched. If that needle touched me, it would be the end.
"This is a real threat! Don't put me to sleep!" My voice cracked, desperation bleeding through. For the first time, doubt flickered in her eyes.
Then—darkness.
The power cut out. Silence crashed down, heavy, ominous.
"What is going on?" the doctor inquired, her voice trembling with trapalicious terror. The answer came not in words, but in the deafening roar of rifle shots—powerful, unrelenting.
"The thing I feared most has come to pass," I sighed, hopelessness weighing heavy on my chest. If only people had listened, this could have been avoided. But there was no time to dwell on regrets.
"Keep quiet!" she snapped, her hand striking my cheek. Her fear had consumed her, leaving no room for gentleness.
"Release me, or we shall perish together in this dungeon!" My voice cracked, more than a demand—an ultimatum, a truth neither of us could outrun. "My words came to pass—does that not prove I'm right?"
Fear coiled in my stomach like a starving beast. I was the hunted, the condemned. Yet deep within, I knew—my family would not let go of me so easily. Not out of love. Not out of grief. But because my existence threatened them.
"You can't hesitate!" My breath hitched, eyes searching hers. "Do you think they'll spare you if you falter? If you second-guess me?" I forced myself closer, straining against the restraints. "Hurry—free me! I beg you, don't let them win!"
The doctor froze. I saw it—her mind warring with itself, the fragile balance of reason and terror tipping violently. She wanted to turn away, to ignore the truth in my words. But she knew. She knew.
Finally, her face hardened. Something inside her broke—not fear, not doubt, but resistance.
"Give me the keys." Her voice was steel now. Not a request. A demand.
"Doc Ishaan, that is unwise!" Siyabonga's voice rang out, strained but resolute. Before his words could fully land, the deafening crack of a gunshot tore through the air. He staggered, clutching his shoulder as blood seeped through his uniform.
The cell erupted into chaos. Gunfire ricocheted off the cold, unyielding walls, each shot a brutal symphony of death and desperation. The once-impenetrable fortress of Pretoria's most secure prison was now a battlefield—a day that would etch itself into history.
Doctor Ishaan trembled, her breath shallow and uneven. She pressed herself into the corner, eyes squeezed shut, as if blocking out the carnage could erase it. But the screams, the gunshots—they were relentless, clawing at her sanity.
Siyabonga, wounded but unyielding, dragged himself forward. His body scraped against the rough concrete floor, his good arm reaching out toward Ishaan. "Doc..." he rasped, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "Don't let fear win. Don't let them win."
"Come get the keys and free him. You might have a chance to surviv…"** The words were cut short by the sharp crack of a gunshot. His body jerked, then crumpled, lifeless. Blood pooled beneath him, a silent testament to the chaos unraveling around us.
Doctor Ishaan sat frozen, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her heart shielded by trembling hands. She didn't move, didn't flinch. She looked like a street rat caught in the merciless grip of winter, her spirit shattered by a cold so cruel it could break the strongest of souls.
Gunfire raged on. A soldier stood his ground, firing back with grim determination, but three of his comrades had already fallen. The air was thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder, and the red streaks of tracer rounds crisscrossed the room like deadly ribbons of light.
"Doc!" I screamed, my voice raw and desperate. "Doc Ishaan, you cowardly bastard!" The words tore from my throat, cutting through the chaos. For a moment, her head lifted, her eyes wide and hollow.
"Hurry!" I bellowed, my voice a lifeline. "Get the keys from Sargent Siyabonga and free me if you want to survive!"
"Get the damn keys and unshackle me!" I roared, my voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. She flinched, trembling where she sat, her fragile frame a stark contrast to the savagery surrounding us. I couldn't help but wonder—why had she chosen this path? Why step into a world of the condemned, the untamable? A delicate flower, misplaced among thorns.
"Hurry!" I barked again, the word laced with desperation. Finally, she moved. Crawling on her hands and knees, each gunshot jolted her as though the bullets had already found her. Her fear was palpable, a living, breathing thing. Yet somehow, she reached the keys, her trembling fingers closing around them.
She stumbled toward me, her face pale, her breath ragged. Just as she reached my side, a voice rang out—a voice I knew all too well.
"Contratino...!" The sound of my name sent a chill down my spine. "You've been such a bad boy lately."
My heart sank. I didn't need to turn to know who it was. The odds of survival, already slim, now felt impossibly distant. The air seemed to thicken, the chaos around me fading into a dull roar as the weight of that voice settled over me.