The officers escorting me to the execution room didn’t even bother to inject me with the paralyzer as they knew any attempt on my part to escape would have been foolish. Didn’t know how long it had been. First time I couldn’t keep track of time. The press awaited me at the execution chamber, salivated over seeing someone die, over seeing a Natural die, over seeing me die. They lurked in the bloodless, sterile room that had led to the deaths of the nation’s most notorious and violent criminals, and everyone who had dared to oppose Zielkkenhom and his regime, like the Knights of Malta, whom the government considered terrorists as the Harmonists, though not as damaging. Was as bright as an operating room, but reeked of the stench of the Enhanceds’ artificial colognes. That made me even more nauseated than the fact that I needed to find a way to survive my execution. The press even loitered outside, underwater, in a pressurized cabin made of clear glass. I then glanced at the non-pressurized capsule that stood ahead of me. Execution by drowning, I knew what that meant. They were going to place me in that capsule and release it underwater. The capsule was going to shatter due to the pressure and I … my organs would dye the sea red.

The guards surrounding me carried paralyzing syringes in their hands. I had read of its effects, but had never experienced it myself. Only the old version, but they said the old one was a summer waft compared to the new one. The soldiers and I marched to the glass capsule that would kill me. Something stung me. I flinched and glanced at my arm—I held my breath—the syringe.

“In case you were planning to escape,” the guard said, making sure the reporters filmed his sneer as he injected me. “That shall hold you up in the capsule.” I guessed paralyzing someone made gripping television nowadays.

I felt it right away. Your body shut down. Your organs ceased to function. Your blood flow halted. Your breathing stopped. I couldn’t walk, gaze, or even blink. My eyes ached as if you opened them in the Dead Sea. But nothing rivaled the feeling of choking, of drowning on land. I wanted to breathe, to gasp, to say something, anything, but my body wouldn’t breathe. All I heard were the soldiers’ footsteps. And we still hadn’t made it into the capsule.

But that wasn’t the worse of it, the wait was. Those footsteps seemed forever. I wanted to get in the capsule and get it over, but how could I die not knowing whether I had fulfilled God’s will for me in this world? But suffering that immobilization … not dying, dying … both tormented me. Felt even longer than the immobilization in Cell 4.2 At least, back then, you knew it was all in your mind. You knew that with some time, you’d be able to move again. But with the paralyzer, everyone saw you suffer in real time. Not through a security camera, but with their own eyes. And not just the guards, but the entire nation through the reporters’ live feed. All I wanted was for the march of death to end.

The footsteps droned in my ears. Still not at the capsule? All I caught a glimpse of was a blurry window—the capsule. It opened and the officer placed me inside. The window shut. Three or four seconds later, a human-like figure stood in the center of the room and muttered something I couldn’t understand, nor wanted to. Someone entered and strode to a panel.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Thank God. The paralyzer’s effects had worn off. I smiled and blinked and breathed as if I never had before. But my excitement was short lived. My executioner stood in front of the eject button, in front of the button that was going to propel me to the long dive. I guess that’s why they also called Zee Gevangenis the Diver’s Haven, because you stayed underwater forever.

I closed my eyes and braced myself for the immersion. Pounded on the glass, but I just got bloody fingers and splintered knuckles. Zielkithe was still the strongest element known to man. Goethite infused with Achroite Eugenex. The executioner raised his hand and moved it at what seemed a sloth’s pace. My heart pounded. His hand rested less than a sixth of a second away. I clenched my fist, closed my eyes, made an act of contrition, and took a deep breath. And then the lights went out. My executioner pressed the button but nothing happened. That was my chance. I fingered the capsule—nothing. I slammed my arm against the window—nothing. I rammed it again and again—nothing. But I wasn’t going to die like that, not when God had given me the opportunity to escape. There had to be a way out.

The lights went back on, and a prisoner dashed in, shot the executioner, and smashed a device against the floor. A blinding smokescreen emerged. A barrage of bullets exploded inside. I banged the window again to no avail, my shoulder about to dislocate, but seconds later it opened. I stepped outside.

“This way!”

“This way!”

“Don’t let him go!”

“Isegwu vuċi tiegħi,” someone said. “Ejja go dan il-mod.”

Follow my voice. Let’s go this way, the voice said in Maltese language. Joy pounded me. A Knight of Malta. They used to speak Italian as an official language, but decided to change it to Maltese once their enemies started to learn Italian. I remebered what Freedom’s Voice had said about being the leader of the Knights of Malta, but I knew he was lying. I could trust the Knights. I would always trust the Knights. I guessed there was always the possibility that it could be a soldier in disguise, but I’d take my chances. I could escape from a soldier or guard. I could not escape from a zielkithe capsule. I followed the Maltese voice and bolted through the room until the Knight and I emerged at a passageway outside. I had to stop to rest, but the Knight just pushed me ahead.

“I did not rescue you to baby-sit you,” he said.

We dashed along the corridor, dodging guards, wardens, and prisoners along the way. Earsplitting sirens resonated throughout Zee Gevangenis.

“Where are we going? Why are you helping me?”

“Questions later.”

I didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not, and had phrased his answer in a way that didn’t let me see whether he was a Knight or someone passing of as one, but he was my best shot at escaping. I was just going to have to be alert for anything suspicious. Besides, dying from a gunshot was better … less bad than perishing from underwater pressure. We bolted along the labyrinth-like passages until the Knight stopped and gazed around, but all I noticed was four walls.

“Dove è? Dovrebbe avere qualcosa qui … Qui è.”

He tapped the northwestern portion of the wall and stepped back. The floor ahead of him descended and a staircase emerged. We dashed along. A hangar awaited us. Dozens of submarines rested there.

The Knight glanced at the look on my face and said, “Why surprised? This is Zee Gevangenis, how do you think people get here, teleporting?”

We skulked into an open submarine and marched to the control room, where a pilot awaited us, or rather, didn’t await us.

“Gamins?” He sneered and drew out his firearm.

The Knight drew out his as well. “Take this submarine to the surface now.”

“You possess not the valor—”

“Non ho tempo per questo.” The Knight fired at the pilot, who tumbled, and then glanced at the ceiling. “Thank God for autopilot.” He then snatched the pilot’s body but the pilot drew out his gun.

“Watch out!” I yelled.

The Knight just snatched the pilot’s wrist and thrust his arm away. And the pilot’s face seemed as if he had seen … well, what he just had seen, a Natural fighting man to man with an Enhanced. Or was the Knight an Enhanced? An ice blast chilled my veins. Was I trekking around with an Enhanced? Or an EF soldier? And I thought about whether helping him or not, but just a second later a bullet grazed my arm and I just sprinted ahead and kneed the pilot’s lower back, but pain began shooting from my knee and I collapsed.

The Knight then tackled the pilot but he stood still. The Knight’s face was as stern as always and he even began to look for something in his pocket. And then I froze. The sound of footsteps echoed in my ears. And I wanted to go stop those soldiers, I even took a few steps ahead, but I took a glance at the Knight wrestling the pilot, at the pilot about to beat the Knight, and I had to do something about it. So I sprinted towards them and began to wrestle the gun from the pilot’s grasp, but he just struck my thorax and thrust me against a wall.

And then the Knight began to laugh. And that just made my blood boil. I kind of wanted to beat the Knight more than the soldier. But that was part of his plan I guessed. The pilot got distracted with the Knight’s laugh, so he just snatched the gun from the pilot’s hand and shot his shoulder, but it was as if the pilot felt no pain. His face had the same hollow expression every Enhanced had … most Enhanceds had. And then I heard other soldiers irrupting into the submarine, and shutting down the lights. Just perfect.

Gunshots echoed nearby. I darted to some cabinets and rummaged through them but found nothing, not even flashlights. A second later a bullet struck one of the cabinets and the blow emitted a flash for one second. That was it. I stood by the panel. “Don’t forget me,” I told one of the shooters.

“I shan’t.” He aimed and fired at me.

I dodged it, but I couldn’t see where the autopilot was. And a second later the Knight bumped into me and fired. He almost shot me, but it worked out for the best. The gunshot’s light was all he needed. The Knight placed the pilot’s fingerprints and retina on the scanner. And the autopilot started and the lights came back on. The Knight then smashed his gun onto the pilot’s head and he plummeted to the floor, blood seeping from his shoulder and head.

I then saw a shooter zeroing in at me and ready to fire, but I sidestepped and the bullet struck a cabinet. But before he could even aim again, the Knight hurled the pilot’s body at him and knocked him down. I just laughed at the face the soldier made when he saw the pilot’s body barreling towards him, when he saw that a Natural, a Knight of Malta no less, had been able to do that. God’s adrenaline and power always surpassed Eugenex. The Knight then shot at the remaining officer but nothing happened. He had run out of darts, so he hurled his firearm at the shooter, but he dodged it and sneered with the all too common hollow sneer of the Enhanceds.

“Pathetic,” he said.

But his taunts were short-lived. The Knight then pierced his arm with a gladius and his body crashed into the floor.

Who was this guy? That he just happened to carry around short swords? Only one group I knew carried around swords. It was for real. But before I could even ask him something, he must have seen the look on my face for he said, “I am Girgor Camilleri, proud and valiant member of the Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of Saint John of Jerusalem of Rhodes and of Malta.” We shook hands.

The Knights of Malta. I knew it.

A Natural. Four seconds taller than me. Stalwart shoulders and a rectangular jaw like any Enhanced, but naturally obtained, and his eyes did not blaze wrath, or struck fear. Girgor Camilleri looked like a father. Better for him I guessed. Because he could easily fool his enemies. Into thinking he wasn’t a threat. Into thinking he’d be a pushover. But no pushover could stab an Enhanced with such dexterity. As the Knights were strong. Brave. Protectors of the innocent, who’d give their lives for the weak. And trust God above all.

Though Girgor must have been at least fifty, he looked no older than thirty, as not a single gray streak hid in his medium length jet black hair. And only a handful of wrinkles scratched his face. The Mediterranean diet I guessed. Or better yet, the helping others diet. Though calluses did mantle his hands. Felt like a mountain ledge. But Girgor Camilleri did not mind. Must have been proud of them, I guessed. As I was of my bridging scars. I wished I could say the same for the gravel ones.

Even though I trusted him, I didn’t want to be that naïve. So I asked him, coldly, “Why did you rescue me?” I clenched my fists. “Do you seek revenge for what I’m alleged to have done? Or is it just because you’re a Knight?”

“You look a lot like my son,” Girgor muttered. He glanced down for a second. His eyes clouded by surging tears. “He would have been about your age by now.” But he just shook his head and did not cry.

“I’m sorry.”

“Do not be,” Girgor said. “It was not your fault.” His voice as tides rising, solemn, drops in the sand, but with a power that you knew could kill you if you stood too close, almost as if he was trying to convince himself as much as me. So it was a good thing he worked with the Knights. He worked with the Knights, right? He had the standard-issue gladius. But then it clouted me. Was he a Harmonist guised as a Knight, who had stolen the gladius during the assault at Pearfanæg? He did not seem to lie, but who had exactly saved my life? But before I could even ask him anything, Girgor input the coordinates for the Beorgæg Terminal in the submarine’s navigation system. The entrance door shut and the submarine powered up. Started its ascent. Wessex stood only a bridge away.

But then a tremor shook the submarine. I clutched a table to remain afoot. Nowhere to run. And without diving suits. And Girgor could not stab everyone.

Wessex was not just a bridge away.

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