"The threads weave the universe into order. To sever one is to invite chaos; to master them is to rewrite existence itself."—The Fletcher
The boy's attitude has shifted, Merrick thought as he stared at the flickering monitors in the observation room. Over the past couple of weeks, Fletcher had begun using his abilities relentlessly, day after day.
Why? It was as if he was flaunting them now, with no discernible purpose or direction. He didn't seem to have any real goal; he simply unleashed his powers. Walking on walls and ceilings, throwing chairs across the room as if they weighed nothing and without even touching them, overloading the light fixture daily. And the noise. Hell, Merrick hated the noise. That whip-crack sound—it was as if Fletcher were deliberately targeting him, the sharp reverberation cutting through Merrick's concentration like a blade. It echoed so loudly in his mind it felt as though Fletcher was snapping it right beside his ear.
The reason behind Fletcher's sudden eagerness to use his powers didn't matter, Merrick decided. What mattered was that he was finally getting what he wanted: demonstrations.
He had wasted no time. A team of scientists now worked tirelessly to set up advanced monitoring equipment around the Black Room. They tracked anomalies—any anomalies—in gravity, energy fields, or even space itself. So far, the results had been both fascinating and frustrating. Gravity fluctuations that shouldn't have been possible, energy fields behaving as though pulled and twisted by an unseen force.
This wasn't telepathy. Merrick knew that now. The kid wasn't just tricking them with mental sleight-of-hand; Fletcher was manipulating fundamental forces. Changing gravity, altering the very flow of energy itself. But how?
The answer wouldn't come from mere observation, Merrick realized. Sooner or later, he would have to get the information directly from Fletcher, one way or another.
----
Arlo had learned much over... well, however long it had been. He had lost count of his sleeps some time ago, but he no longer cared enough to keep track. He had a focus now, one they couldn't take away from him—the threads.
Each day, he dedicated himself to practicing with the three threads he had dared to weave so far. He had decided to call what he was doing "weaving." It made sense; they were threads, after all, and he was working them into something more.
The threads each behaved in unique and fascinating ways. The most exhilarating of them—the gravity thread—responded differently depending on how he held it. It was the easiest to grasp because it seemed to move naturally with him, almost as if it wanted to be used. When he held the thread lightly, he would float, as though gravity had abandoned him entirely. If he gripped it firmly, gravity returned to normal, anchoring him back to the ground. But if he moved the thread—pushed, pulled, whipped it up or down—he could alter gravity's direction, allowing him to walk on walls or the ceiling as if they were solid ground. And if he squeezed the thread tightly, gravity increased exponentially, crushing him against the floor with an oppressive force. It was both thrilling and terrifying to explore the extremes of this thread.
The energy thread, on the other hand, proved more elusive. He only had one opportunity to experiment with it each day, right after waking up. Each morning, he would analyze it, searching for any new detail he might have overlooked. While his progress was slower with this thread, he had grown more adept at channeling energy into the light fixture. Each day, it shattered with greater force. Though limited, this thread held raw, destructive potential he was determined to harness.
Lastly, there was the sound thread. Though painful to practice, he could see its utility. By carefully manipulating it, he had managed to create louder and louder sounds, each one sharper and more disorienting than the last. He envisioned how it could be used to unnerve or incapacitate others, though the toll it took on his ears made the process agonizing.
Not only could the sound thread create noise; it could silence it entirely. Grabbing the thread and holding it tightly seemed to mute sound as though it never existed. This had practical applications, Arlo realized. He had successfully managed to silence his own footsteps. The process was meticulous: he would start by tapping his feet, allowing the vibrations of the noise to reveal the threads surrounding them. Then, carefully, he would grasp those threads in one hand and hold them steady as he walked. The threads stretched taut, trembling as if they might snap under the strain, but they held. With them in his grip, Arlo could move across the room without making a single sound.
Holding the threads was peculiar, unlike anything else he had encountered. They felt both real and intangible, present yet otherworldly. They had no discernible temperature, no roughness or smoothness to their texture, yet he held them, manipulated them, and wove them with absolute certainty. The experience was undeniably real, even if the sensation of "feeling" them was incomplete. They existed, but not in a way he could fully understand or describe.
With all he had learned and practiced, Arlo was confident he could use these abilities to escape. The threads were more than tools; they were keys. He had considered experimenting with the others he had yet to weave, but that could come later. For now, he needed to focus on the ones he understood. They would be enough—they had to be. All he needed was time.
Light flooded the pitch-black room, spilling through the now-opening door. Arlo squinted against the sudden brightness. Merrick entered, his confident stride unbroken as he made his way to the center of the room to replace the bulb Arlo had broken earlier that morning. The man's movements were deliberate, mechanical, as though he had done this routine a hundred times before. When the light flickered on, however, it revealed something… unexpected.
Someone else followed Merrick into the room. Their arms were bound tightly behind their back, and a cloth was tied over their face, obscuring their identity. Merrick walked to the table, sitting down with practiced ease before gesturing for Arlo to take the seat opposite him.
Arlo's gaze lingered on the newcomer. This person was clearly not one of Merrick's people. The way they moved, hesitant and unsure, told him they were a captive, just like he was. Could they be someone from Teve IV? Perhaps someone who might recognize him? The thought lingered as Arlo moved to the chair Merrick had indicated, sitting down cautiously across from him, his eyes darting between Merrick and the bound stranger.
"Interested in my friend, are we?" Merrick asked, noticing Arlo's curiosity. He raised his hand and tore the cloth from the stranger's face, revealing a young woman who appeared to be around Arlo's age. She was short, with sharp brown eyes and cropped brown hair. Her expression radiated defiance, and before Merrick could speak again, she spat at him.
Merrick's face twisted in irritation. He wiped the spit away with a cloth he pulled from his jacket pocket, his movements deliberate and measured. Then, without a word, he retrieved a device from his other pocket. It was a small, black, rectangular object with a single glowing blue button.
He pressed it.
The stranger jolted violently, her body arching. Threads of energy surged around her, flickering and pulsing erratically. Arlo's eyes locked onto the source of the energy—a collar clasped tightly around her neck. The threads converged there, sparking with each pulse. Merrick was shocking her.
Barbaric, Arlo thought, his stomach churning as he watched the woman convulse in agony.
It stopped, leaving a defiant glare etched on the woman's face. Merrick, wearing a sadistic smile, leaned back slightly before speaking again. "This is Riley. She's like you in the sense that she never signed a Finisterra contract. However, unlike you, we know exactly where she came from. Now, I'm going to ask you a series of questions, and every time I feel like you're not telling me the whole truth, Riley gets shocked. Bear in mind, there's only so much a person can take. Five shocks? She's on the floor. Fifteen shocks? She's dead. Any questions?"
Arlo froze, his thoughts spiraling. What kind of twisted game was this? They hadn't even tried to torture him directly. They had gone straight to this? Why? He didn't even know Riley. But could he really let someone suffer, potentially die, because of his refusal to answer questions? Then again, what did he owe her? The uncertainty gnawed at him. What if their roles were reversed? His mind raced, struggling to process the moral calculus forced upon him. Finally, he spoke.
"You said she doesn't have a contract, but you know where she's from?"
"Yes," Merrick replied with calculated calm.
"Well... where is she from?" Arlo asked, cautiously probing.
"The Syndicate," Riley interjected before Merrick could answer. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the tension. She stood proud, despite being bound. The word hung in the air like an unspoken challenge. The Syndicate? Arlo's brow furrowed. What was that?
Merrick, visibly annoyed, pressed the button on his device, sending a single jolt through Riley. She jerked, biting back a cry, but her eyes remained locked on Merrick with smoldering defiance.
"It's not important where she's from," Merrick said curtly, his tone cold and dismissive. "Now, let's get started... Where are you from?"
Arlo hesitated a moment too long, and Merrick pressed the button on his device. Riley jolted violently, her body convulsing with pain. "Teve IV!" Arlo finally spat out, his voice cracking under the pressure.
Merrick released the button, his face settling into a cold smile. "Good... Now, why don't you exist on any Finisterra database?"
Once again, Arlo hesitated, his mind racing for an answer. Too late. Merrick pressed the button again, and Riley's scream pierced the room. She fell to her knees, her strength faltering. "My mother hid me!" Arlo shouted desperately. "She raised me on the moon. I never left. No one questioned where I came from."
Merrick tilted his head slightly, absorbing the information with the detached curiosity of a predator. "Who was your mother?" he asked, his voice sharp and probing.
"Sarah. Sarah Fletcher," Arlo answered without hesitation this time, his resolve hardening.
Merrick's expression remained neutral, brushing off the implication that Fletcher was Arlo's last name. Clearly, the details of Arlo's identity mattered less to him than the answers he sought.
"What happened after you escaped the asteroid impact on Teve IV?" Merrick pressed on, his tone insistent.
"I don't really know," Arlo admitted, his voice quieter now. He had ideas, but nothing he could say for certain.
Merrick's patience wore thin. He pressed the button again, and Riley's body convulsed, her legs buckling as she let out another anguished scream. She was losing strength rapidly, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.
"The wormhole," Arlo blurted out, desperate to stop her suffering. "It freaked out. I landed in some kind of web. I really don't know more than that."
Merrick's gaze narrowed, his next question cutting through the tension like a blade. "How do you do the things you do?"
Arlo took a deep breath, his mind racing. He couldn't answer that. He couldn't let this man, or Finisterra, have access to something as powerful as the threads. Saying too much could jeopardize his only chance to escape. But the longer he stayed silent, the worse it became for Riley. He couldn't let her suffer any more. If he was going to act, it had to be now.
Arlo didn't respond. Merrick's finger hovered over the button, and as Riley braced herself, Arlo focused. The gravity threads began to appear, weaving faintly around Merrick, some trailing outward toward him. He seized one, the sudden movement making Merrick flinch. For the first time, Arlo saw fear flicker in Merrick's eyes.
He held the thread tightly and flung it upward. With a sickening thud, Merrick hit the ceiling, his body pinned under the crushing weight of gravity Arlo manipulated. Without hesitation, Arlo twisted the thread and yanked it downward, slamming Merrick to the floor with bone-rattling force. It was easier than he expected. Turns out, he thought grimly, you can learn a lot by throwing chairs across a room. He released the thread.
Merrick lay unconscious, whether from the impact or the sheer weight of gravity didn't matter. He was out cold, and Arlo was certain he could do the same to anyone else who tried to stop him. But he couldn't leave alone. He couldn't leave Riley behind—not with Merrick.
Arlo turned to her. Riley stood unsteadily, her body trembling from the shocks, her expression a mix of exhaustion and stunned disbelief. His gaze dropped to the collar around her neck. It had to go. Focusing intently, he searched for the faint energy threads that surrounded it. They were dim but present. He noticed a latch on the collar—electronic.
He ran to Riley and unbound her restraints. Grabbing the energy threads, Arlo directed them toward the latch. Sparks flew, and Riley flinched as the collar clicked loose and fell to the floor. She gasped, her hands instinctively rising to her neck.
"How... how did you do that?" Riley asked, her voice trembling with astonishment. Then, with a flicker of humor breaking through the tension, she added, "And why the hell didn't you do it sooner?"
Arlo offered a polite smile, though his focus remained on the task at hand. "How many guards are outside that door?"
"Four, I think. I'm not sure" Riley replied without a moment's hesitation. She was clearly prepared. "The best way out is probably to the left. We get out of here, you deal with the guards, and I'll find the hatch."
Arlo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. She'd obviously been planning this for some time. "Hatch?"
"I studied Syndicate scans of other Fester strongholds. They all have vent systems just large enough for someone our size. This is the Black Room floor, and I traced my steps when that Fester bastard dragged me in here. The hatch should be to the left," Riley explained with confidence. Her tone impressed Arlo—she was far more capable than he had initially thought. He'd seen the fight in her, sure, but this level of preparation was unexpected.
Fester? Had she just called Finisterra "Fester"? Arlo hadn't heard that term before. And the Syndicate? What exactly was this Syndicate? A rebellion, perhaps? There was no time to dwell on these questions now. He needed to focus.
"Right, right. I'll deal with the guards and then follow you," Arlo replied firmly.
"Good. Now... what's the plan for opening the door?" Riley asked, stepping back slightly.
"Honestly? I assumed someone would have come in by now," Arlo admitted.
"So did I. Clearly, no one's watching the cameras. The door, then?"
"I think I might be able to do something about it," Arlo said, already shifting his focus to the faint energy threads he could sense. He stared directly at the seemingly infinite wall where the door was hidden. Threads gathered there, faint but present. He grabbed the strands of energy and began weaving them into the door. Nothing happened. He knew the more energy threads that were concentrated in one area, the greater the power they provided. Just like with the light. He needed more energy threads.
Then his gaze shifted upward. The light. It wasn't a great number but many threads were concentrated around it and he needed them
He climbed onto the table, reaching for the vibrant threads circling the light. I must look insane to Riley right now, he thought as he redirected the more concentrated mass of twisting threads toward the door. The light flickered slightly. Then, with a low groan, the door slid open. It worked.
Next to him, Riley stepped back, her stance steady and resolute. Arlo couldn't help but admire her composure. She stood as though ready to fight, and he was certain that, if she had a weapon, she'd be right beside him, battling their way out together.
Arlo thought quickly as the door opened fully. "Cover your ears!" he barked at Riley before snapping his fingers and grabbing the nearest sound thread.
He braced himself and flung it hard, unleashing a deafening, whip-crack noise that echoed through the corridor. Darting out of the room, he slid onto his knees to keep a low profile. Seven guards stood in the hallway—more than he had expected. His stomach tightened. He had no idea if he could handle so many, but he had to try. All of them clutched their ears, momentarily disoriented by the noise.
Arlo would have been the same if he hadn't expected it. He hoped Riley had covered her ears in time. He forced his focus onto the gravity threads, straining to perceive the web of forces he knew surrounded each guard. The threads glimmered faintly, their connections clearer with every heartbeat. The guards were grouped together on the right side of the hallway—good. He could try to deal with them all at once.
He grabbed a gravity thread, hesitating for a moment. Would one be enough? He reached out and seized several more, gripping them tightly in his hands. Just as the guards began to recover, he yanked the threads sharply. The entire group slammed into the wall with a bone-rattling thud.
Quickly, Arlo followed up, tugging and straining the threads in the opposite direction. The guards were hurled against the opposite wall, their armor clanging as they struck the unyielding metal. This was insane. Seven people, all at once, being thrown around like rag dolls by him. Just a few weeks ago, he was a nobody on a forgotten moon, and now this?
He flung the guards again, noticing that a few were still conscious. He clenched his jaw, pulling harder, determined to subdue them completely.
Then it happened.
Snap.
The threads in his grasp broke, sending a ripple of energy down their lengths. As the gravity threads unraveled, the guards collapsed momentarily before starting to float, untethered in the gravity-free zone left behind. Most were unconscious, but a couple groaned, struggling in the surreal absence of weight. Arlo stared in horror at the localized void where the gravity threads had existed. They hadn't just snapped; they were gone, utterly dissolved, leaving an area stripped of gravity itself. He focused hard, searching for any remaining connections, but the gravity threads in that specific space had entirely vanished.
What had he done? This wasn't just controlling gravity. He had destroyed it in a localized area, leaving an absence where a fundamental force should have been. The implications churned in his mind. Would that space ever heal? Would it remain broken forever? Had he damaged the fabric of the universe itself?
A hand gripped his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Good work, but we need to move. Now," Riley said urgently, her voice edged with anxiety.
Arlo hesitated, still shaken. "Yes... yes, we do," he muttered, turning to follow her. They sprinted down the corridor, luck guiding them to a vent in the wall before they encountered more guards.
Riley kicked out the grating and climbed in. It was low to the floor, just large enough to crawl through. "Shouldn't we be trying to hide the fact we're in here?" Arlo asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
"No. They'll know anyway. We just need to be quick and reach the ship bay before they catch up. The main alarm hasn't been triggered yet, but it won't be long before someone finds that mess you made," Riley responded with the same unwavering confidence she had shown earlier.
Arlo nodded, though his thoughts lingered on the snapped threads. The damage he had caused—it haunted him. They crawled hastily through the vents, Riley moving with a precision that suggested she knew exactly where she was going. Before long, they reached another grate. Peering through it, Arlo saw the ship bay sprawled below. Three landing pads occupied the center of the room, each holding medium-sized ships. The ceiling's air shield shimmered faintly, offering a glimpse of Frostvault's misty-smog sky beyond.
"Wait," Arlo whispered as Riley prepared to kick out the grate.
"What? We need to be quick," she replied, glancing at him impatiently.
"Just one second," Arlo said, tapping the vent. The sound threads vibrated faintly, and he grabbed them, holding them tight to mute any noise. He worked cautiously, not wanting to risk snapping more threads. He kicked out the grate and it fell to the floor silently, then Arlo repeated the process with their shoes to muffle the sound of their descent.
"Impressive," Riley whispered. Her expression hinted at curiosity, but she said nothing more. There was no time for questions; they just needed to escape.
Arlo spotted guards across the large room, and Riley pointed out a few more. She gestured toward a green ship with white highlights along its vertical lines. "That one. I can fly it," she said with quiet determination.
The ship was medium-sized, likely equipped with a kitchen, cargo bay, and sleeping quarters. But most importantly, Riley could pilot it. "Can you keep silencing our steps?" she asked.
Arlo nodded, still holding the threads as they ran toward the ship. They moved quickly, unhindered by the risk of being heard, and reached the open entrance ramp just as the alarm blared. Without hesitation, they bolted inside, slamming the door shut behind them.
"You think they saw us?" Arlo asked, his chest heaving.
"Doesn't matter. Let's just get this thing in the air," Riley shot back, already sprinting toward the cockpit.
Arlo followed, releasing the sound threads as they stretched thin. He didn't want to risk snapping more. Riley found the flight deck with ease, her familiarity with the ship's design evident as she flicked switches and brought the systems online.
The ship jolted, engines roaring to life. Through the displays, Arlo saw guards scrambling to aim at the ship. "Too late," Riley muttered with a smirk as the thrusters engaged, lifting them off the ground.
Arlo stumbled slightly as the ship ascended, the skyline of Frostvault's capital city sprawling before them. The misty atmosphere glowed faintly in the distance. Riley tipped the ship upward, pushing it forward. In moments, they broke through the planet's atmosphere, the ship's artificial gravity kicking in just as Arlo felt the brief sensation of weightlessness.
The ship jolted slightly as a wormhole appeared ahead of them, its swirling, logic-defying blackness edged with an eerie glow that made Arlo's stomach churn. It was the same kind of wormhole he had passed through before, the sight dredging up unsettling memories. But there was no choice; they had to get through it to reach safety. Riley tightened her grip on the controls and pushed the ship forward. The wormhole's edges rippled like liquid glass as they passed through.
Arlo braced himself for something—another vision of the web of threads, a sensation of the universe twisting around him—but it didn't come. This time, it was just darkness and then light. The transition was seamless, almost anticlimactic. In a matter of moments, they emerged into a new stretch of space.
Arlo leaned forward, staring at the display of the space outside the ship. Stars stretched across the inky void, and distant nebulae glimmered faintly. They were somewhere new, probably far from Frostvault. Where, exactly? He didn't know. Riley would have programmed the WHIP drives destination, but the details didn't matter. What mattered was that they were no longer _there._
Riley stood abruptly, her movements fluid and confident. She turned to Arlo, her brown eyes sharp and piercing, locking him in place. "Right... I have some questions," she said, her voice firm but not unkind, as though she had been holding these words back until the moment was right.
##### **End Of Part One**