Devon Dulac's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Devon counts the footsteps before he sees them. Three sets, moving fast, echoing through the corridor between the glass cells. They don't belong to guards. Guards shuffle. These steps hit hard and deliberate, the kind that come with a job to finish. The figures round the corner in tactical black, rifles up, faces covered. They don't glance at the other cells. They walk straight to his. The leader pulls a handheld device from his vest and aims it at the barrier overhead. The blue lightning flickers once, then dies. Devon feels the current in his restraints cut out. The glass door slides open. He doesn't move. The leader steps inside, lowers the rifle, and speaks through the mask. "Devon Dulac. You're coming with us." Devon tilts his head. "Feds already got me." The man shakes his head. "Not anymore. Someone's paying more than they are." Devon feels something shift in his chest, cold and sharp. This wasn't the escape he planned, but it's still movement. He stands slowly, testing his legs. "Where are we going?" The leader gestures toward the corridor. "Staging point first. Old lightning cage up the hill. Dragon bones and chain work. You'll see it." Devon looks past him at the barbed wire creature still crouched outside the cell. It hasn't moved. He steps over the threshold, hands still cuffed, and the leader grabs his arm to steer him forward. Devon lets him. For now. He's out of the glass. That's step one. The plan just got messier, but he's already calculating. Whoever bought him doesn't know what they're holding yet. And that gives him time. They march him up a slope to where the transport waits. It's a heavy armored van with lightning bolt bars across the back windows and rugged wheels built for tearing through anything. The cage structure looms behind it, dragon bones wrapped in silver chains with electricity crackling between the ribs. Devon counts four more armed figures waiting by the van. The leader shoves him toward the rear door. Devon stops walking. The leader yanks his arm. Devon doesn't budge. "I need to know who's paying." The leader's hand moves toward his sidearm. "Get in the van." Devon plants his feet. "Or what? You kill me and lose the payday?" The leader goes still. Devon can't see his face through the mask, but he feels the hesitation. That's all he needs. He takes one step back, pulls hard against the grip on his arm, and twists. The cuffs are still on, but his hands are free enough to grab the leader's vest and yank him off balance. Two rifles swing toward Devon. He drives his shoulder into the leader and uses him as a shield. "Tell them to lower the guns or I snap your neck with these chains." The leader's voice comes out tight. "Stand down." The rifles drop an inch. Devon releases him and steps back, hands raised but ready. The leader straightens, breathing hard behind the mask. "You just bought yourself a longer trip in restraints." Devon smiles, cold and sharp. "Good. I want time to figure out who you work for." They throw him in the van and lock the heavy medieval shackles around his neck, wrists, and ankles. The iron collar sits cold against his throat, chains connecting down to his hands and legs. The leader tosses a small metal plate onto the bench beside Devon before slamming the door. Devon waits until the engine starts, then looks down at the plate. It's engraved with a symbol he doesn't recognize and a number with more zeroes than the feds could ever authorize. He picks it up with his chained hands and turns it over. On the back, three words are scratched in rough lettering: "Worth more alive." Devon leans back against the metal wall as the van lurches forward. He's not free, but he's not federal property anymore either. Someone out there wants him badly enough to outbid the government, and that someone just made a mistake. They think he's cargo. Devon slides the plate into the waistband of his prison pants and settles in for the ride. He'll find out who bought him, and then he'll make sure they regret it. The plan changed, but the goal didn't. He's moving toward the exit now, just from a different angle.