This might be the perfect opportunity to see how far these guards are willing to go, Mitchel thought and played the rest of the scenario out in his head.

“Lucas,” he said, his voice low and even, “When you have the opportunity, help Ozzie get Ayo out of here.”

Confusion swirled in Lucas’s eyes, but when Mitchel met him with a level stare, he nodded in resolve.

Pax anxiously watched both Mizar and the small crowd of humans that had paused in their work to watch the scene.

“Come on Mizar,” Pax urged. “We don’t need to cause a scene.”

Mitchel’s mind raced.

Mizar seems like he’s too headstrong and aggressive. He’s looking for a fight.

Pax acts like he’s got no power in the group, he’s too timid for any progress.

But Yuen. Yuen’s malleable. He’s in the middle between a corrupt leader and a pushover.

Mitchel unzipped his mask so that his words would meet no barrier, and then spoke.

“Sir,” he said, directing his eye contact at Yuen, “Please let the boy help him.”

His carefully enunciated Rwequekian cut through the clamor like a knife. Everyone viewing the commotion turned to stare at Mitchel: the crowd’s mistrust of the language, the guards’ confusion at his ability to speak Rwequekian, and Ozzie’s anxiousness to get to his family member. His eyes swirled with conflicting emotion, filled with fear, recognition and then hope.

Mitchel was very careful— plotting out the next sentence in his mind.

Urgency. Make it urgent. Use conditional. Over-exaggerate.

“He needs to get out of the sun or he could die very soon,” he explained slowly and took a few steps closer, “You need to do this.”

“Die?” repeated Pax.

As he was unoccupied, Mizar stepped over to him. Luckily, Mitchel was not average height and met his stature. Being this close juxtaposed how different their body types were. He was skinny from the lack of consistent meals, and the guard was padded with hard muscle. Still, Mitchel raised his chin high to meet the glare of the Rwequek.

“Are you saying your judgement is better than ours?” Mizar asked.

Mitchel blinked back a fiery retort, his shoulders growing tense. He looked back at Yuen, who still had a hold on Ozzie.

“That boy is his family. He can help him,” Mitchel gestured to Ozzie while he avoided the accusation. “Let him go. There’s no need for violence.”

The guard was silent, his lips pressed into a solid, white line.

“Come over here,” the guard hissed, grabbing Mitchel’s shoulder and pushing him forward. Stumbling, he made his way to Ozzie. White lines of tears had broken through the streaks of dirt on his face. He continued to the thrash against the guard.

Keeping his voice strong, Mitchel faced Yuen.

“Can you let him go?” he asked, trying his best to not slip into malice.

Yuen set his jaw, then looked to Mizar.

“Fine. Do what you must,” he snapped nastily.

As soon as Ozzie was released, he scrambled over to his family member who was gasping for breath on the ground. Lucas sidestepped the guards and dropped down beside him.

“Sh-sh, it’s gonna— it’s gonna be okay,” Ozzie assured, brushing Ayo’s curly hair out of his face. “I’m gonna give you some water, okay?”

Ayo responded by coughing more, but Ozzie unscrewed the cap to his water faster and poured the remaining contents down his throat. He spluttered and choked on the water, but it did not resurface. Ayo’s chest began to slow, and his face relaxed as air began to flow through his airways properly. Slowly, his eyes opened and looked up at his pale friend.

“Ozzie…” he wheezed.

“I’m here. Don’t speak.”

Ayo obliged and his eyes fluttered shut once more.

Ozzie pressed the back of his hand against his forehead and hissed at the result.

“I think he has mild heat stroke,” he murmured, his eyes wide.

“What do you want to do?” Mitchel asked.

“I need to get him out of the sun. The sooner the better. Could you… Could you say that to them?”

“I can try,” Mitchel nodded, trying to think of words to describe ‘heatstroke’. “I want you and Lucas to carry him out of here while I speak, okay?”

Ozzie’s impossibly wide eyes showed no sign of response.

“Okay?” Mitchel tried again, more urgently.

Snapped out of his daze, Ozzie nodded furiously.

Mitchel returned to his feet and gave Mizar a fierce glare.

“What is that human doing? It’s time to get moving,” Mizar ordered.

Fuck you, Mitchel thought venomously, his hands clamping around his baggy pants.

“They are getting him out of the sun,” he said through clenched teeth, trying to keep down his anger, “He needs rest.”

Mizar took a few steps forwards to close the distance between him and the injured boy. He towered over Mitchel, the light glaring behind him like a sick, white halo. It darkened his face, and for that moment Mitchel could no longer see those bright blue eyes.

Mitchel took a step forward to meet him, in an attempt to distance the guards from the other three humans.

“It isn’t the end of the workday yet,” Mizar drawled. “I will need his ID for proper punishment.”

Mizar took a step towards Ayo, presumably to check his shoulder and retrieve the Rwequekian identification. Mitchel sidestepped him and held his ground.

“This normally isn’t an issue,” Mitchel argued, genuinely confused. “Let him go home and work longer tomorrow.”

Before Mitchel could react, Mizar’s hand shot out and yanked him up by his grey hoodie. He gasped, his feet flying out in front of him. Out of reflex, he clawed at the gloved hand detaining him, but it would not budge. The hoodie caught his neck and Mitchel’s eyes widened as he lost his breath. Below him, the tips of his boots barely brushed up against the ground.

“Mitch!” Lucas cried out in alarm.

Now Mitchel could properly see Mizar’s blue eyes brimming with anger and disregard to his diminishing air supply.

“You try my patience,” Mizar warned and pulled him close. Spit flew from his mouth and onto Mitchel, who flinched at the loud sound and contact. “You do not make the rules here, nor do you have the liberty to throw around orders.”

Mitchel bared his teeth and fought down his fear. He refused to look scared by this man.

“Oh, and you do?” he wheezed. “You’re revolting. Do you just allow yourself to succumb to your sick power fantasies and harm the defenseless?”

Mitchel’s nose wrinkled up as he glanced down at the hands detaining him, disgusted.

“Did you hurt my family too?” Mitchel seethed.

Mizar’s stony expression flashed into a dangerous grin. He reached for his belt with his free hand, where his weapon was attached.

“The fire in this one is unbelievable,” he said. Mitchel could almost see his reflection in the white of the guard’s eyes. “I will enjoy snuffing it out.”

Mitchel wheezed for air, words dying in his throat, and tried kicking his legs out in a desperate struggle. He could not maintain eye contact with the guard as his vision sunk under and caught a glimpse of the great wide sky. Winston’s injury, Annie’s warning, and his only weapon all slipping from him at once.

I can’t breathe. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He weakly pounded against Mizar’s hand once more in a futile attempt.

I can’t—

“Mizar!” cried Pax, “Stop!”

Just as Mizar had clamped down on his weapon, a sleek, black vehicle ascended the mountain.

“Shit,” Yuen grumbled, frowning as the vehicle resembling a car slowed down at the flat turnoff.

Mizar breathed in deeply, exhaling a metallic, rusty scent that made Mitchel’s nose turn, and promptly dropped Mitchel. Having no feet on the ground, Mitchel crumpled into the dirt. Vaguely, his name was called out.

Mitchel heaved and hacked as air finally made it back into his lungs and settled the burning feeling in his throat. His stomach forced its way up, the bitterness of breakfast ruining the taste in his mouth, as he fought the urge to throw up on the guard’s boots.

“Mitch?” Lucas whispered, hurriedly shaking him. “Are you ok?”

“I’m— fine,” Mitchel managed to say. Wincing slightly, he massaged his bruised throat. “Get Ayo out of here.”

Lucas looked unconvinced, but Mitchel slumped in relief as Lucas made his way back to the injured teen.

With such a large distraction, Lucas and Ozzie grabbed Ayo from under his arms and lugged him into a standing position. Exchanging each arm over their shoulders, the two were able to coax him into his first steps since his fall, despite his lolling head.

A bit dazed, Mitchel looked around all while wondering what had stopped the Rwequek’s abuse. Everyone’s heads were turned away from him. Following their line of vision, he saw that from the vehicle, a new Rwequek alongside Cherzil was making their way to where Mitchel was situated.

Mitchel faintly recognized through the haze that the man was not wearing normal uniform.

He isn't a guard? His eyes widened. He was too dizzy to fully see the man from his position on the ground.

Around him, the guards stiffened with a mix of awe and fear flashing across their features. It was someone important, someone powerful.

Mitchel’s eyes met Cherzil’s, the guard who had spared him.

Someone Cherzil trusted to amend the situation.

“I am Wrose, the 37th Generation of the Mercos,” the new Rwequeks spoke, his voice modulated yet commanding. “What seems to be the issue here?”

This is my revenge, Mitchel thought wickedly, shoving past fear and hurt windpipes to stagger to his feet.

“I can tell you that, sir,” Mitchel said, his words clipped like shards of ice.