I Woke Up in a Reverse World Utopia with a 10,000 to 1 Ratio-Chapter 13: Freedom

The elevator doors loom before me like the gates of hell, a gleaming metal threshold between the gilded cage I’ve known and whatever wasteland waits below. Five guards flank me in full riot gear, their faceless helmets reflecting my disheveled appearance back at me in fractured glimpses. The jacket and pants they’ve given me hang loose on my frame, institutional gray replacing my orange jumpsuit.

Amber’s arms squeeze around me with desperate strength, her tears soaking into my shoulder. "I’m so happy you’re alive," she sobs, her body trembling against mine. "I thought they’d hang you for sure."

Amber has always been a crier. Even when we were kids, she’d tear up at commercials for pet food. But right now, I can’t focus on her emotional display. My mind keeps replaying the scene from the council chamber, Tyler standing there, so casual, so nonchalant as he tossed aside my death sentence like it was nothing.

"I don’t understand," I murmur, my voice barely audible over the mechanical hum of the waiting elevator.

Amber pulls back, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "What?"

I stare at the scuffed toes of the standard-issue shoes they’ve given me, trying to organize my thoughts. "Why did Tyler free me?"

The question hangs between us as Amber’s puffy eyes search my face. She opens her mouth to respond, but one of the guards cuts her off.

"Time’s up. Say your goodbyes."

I pull away from my sister’s embrace, straightening my spine with what little dignity I have left. The woman who once commanded respect as a top-tier guardian prospect now reduced to a pardoned criminal being shipped off to the Lower City.

"Take care of yourself down there," Amber whispers, her voice catching. "I’ll try to send you packages when I can."

I nod, struggling to swallow past the lump in my throat. "I’ll try."

The head guard steps forward as the elevator doors slide open with a soft hiss. Her face is impassive behind her transparent visor as she gestures for me to enter.

"Proceed into the elevator, Ms. Pierce," she says, her voice mechanical and formal.

I step inside, the cold metal floor a stark reminder of how far I’ve fallen. The guards position themselves around me like I’m still dangerous, though what threat I could possibly pose now is beyond me. The head guard takes a position directly in front of me, pulling out an official-looking document from her breast pocket.

"By order of Governor Harrington," she begins, her tone flat as if reading from a script, "despite the clemency granted and subsequent expungement of your criminal record, you are hereby permanently barred from both the Upper and Middle City sections of New Boston. Any attempt to return will result in immediate detention and prosecution to the fullest extent of the law."

I stare at her, the words washing over me like cold water. Even with my record cleared, I’m still being exiled. The unfairness of it burns in my chest.

"Furthermore," she continues, "you are forbidden from making any attempt to contact Subject 7D-42, either directly or through intermediaries. Do you understand these terms, Ms. Pierce?"

"Yes," I respond automatically, but my mind is racing, fixating on Tyler.

The Tyler I knew was nothing like the confident young man who stood in that courtroom. My Tyler was a broken thing, depressed and hollow-eyed from the moment I became his guardian. He flinched at physical contact, cowered under his blankets for days at a time, and could never meet my gaze for more than a second.

For months, I tried everything to pull him out of that darkness. I brought him extra food, arranged special privileges, even smuggled in contraband books I thought might interest him. Nothing worked. He just lay there, day after day, staring at the wall or hiding beneath his covers, terrified of the reproductive duty that awaited him.

When gentleness failed, I grew frustrated, then angry. My career was stalling because of his refusal to participate. On Kate’s suggestion, no, her direct instruction, I began removing comforts. First the extra blankets, then his books, eventually even his pillows. "Make him uncomfortable enough," Kate had said, "and he’ll comply just to regain some comfort."

The elevator begins its descent, my stomach lurching with the sudden drop. The Lower City awaits, that sunless warren of tunnels and recycled air where the service class lives and dies without ever seeing the sky.

"What did she do to him?" I murmur, not realizing I’ve spoken aloud until the head guard shifts her weight.

"Excuse me?" she asks.

"I just don’t understand why Tyler would save me," I say, staring at my reflection in the guard’s visor.

The guard scoffs, adjusting her grip on the document. "I don’t know either, Ms. Pierce, but everyone here is asking the same question."

One of the other guards shifts her weight, the movement drawing my attention. "Maybe he’s in love with you," she suggests, her voice muffled behind her helmet.

"Don’t be fucking stupid," another guard snaps, the harshness of her tone echoing in the confined space.

The first guard tilts her head. "Have you ever heard of a man that cares about a woman before? I sure as hell haven’t, let alone someone willing to save the person that hurt them." She leans against the elevator wall, studying me through her visor. "It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think?"

I stare at the guard, her words echoing in my head. Love? The idea is so absurd I would laugh if I weren’t terrified of what awaits me below.

Then it hits me like a thunderbolt. My eyes widen as the pieces suddenly click together. The scar on his face, his unexpected coherence in the courtroom, the confidence in his stance, it all makes sense now.

Maybe hurting him actually worked. Maybe that slash across his face somehow shocked him out of his depression. The physical pain might have jolted him awake from the years of despondent lethargy. Maybe it really did make him love me.

The realization hits me with paralyzing clarity. If physical trauma transformed Tyler from a broken shell into this confident man who just saved my life, what else might Kate be willing to do? The scar on my face throbs as the pieces fall into place.

Kate Flynn, the perfect guardian. Kate Flynn, who whispered in my ear that a little pain might wake Tyler up. Kate Flynn, who watched me slice open his face and did nothing to stop it.

My stomach twists into knots as I recall how she’d always hover just outside his room, how she’d suggest increasingly harsh measures with that maternal smile that never quite reached her eyes.

"If he’s responding to you now," I mutter to myself, "after what I did to him..."

"What was that?" the head guard asks, leaning closer.

I shake my head, forcing my expression to remain neutral. "Nothing."

But my mind races with horrifying possibilities. If Kate was willing to let me cut Tyler’s face and then play it off as my idea alone, what else is she capable of? What other "therapeutic measures" might she implement now that she has him all to herself?

The elevator continues its descent, but I barely notice the numbers flashing by. Tyler saved my life today. Whatever connection formed between us, whether through trauma or genuine care, it’s real enough that he stood before the Council and asked for mercy. For me.

And I left him there. With her.

My hands clench into fists at my sides. If Tyler truly cares for me, enough to spare my life, then he deserves protection from whatever Kate has planned. She’s been manipulating this situation from the beginning.

The elevator slows as we approach the Lower City, but a new determination burns inside me. I won’t abandon Tyler to Kate’s machinations. Somehow, someway, I have to get back to him.