Desmoterion, page 1
Desmoterion
H J Perry
Published by H J Perry, 2023.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
DESMOTERION
First edition. November 10, 2023.
Copyright © 2023 H J Perry.
ISBN: 979-8201615383
Written by H J Perry.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
ABOUT
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
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About the Author
ABOUT
Good and bad aren't always black and white. Especially in prison.
Convicted murderer and terrorist Girish is abducted from one prison and finds himself serving a life sentence in another. Desmoterion is worse.
Girish lives for just one thing: the hope that one day he'll get to wipe that arrogant smirk off Trent's face.
Trent is the top dog from Hell and isn't even human. He's an emotionless Morib with lightning-fast reflexes and dark secrets.
When it comes down too it, does Girish have what it takes to finish Trent completely?
Features LGBTQI+ characters, romance, and explicit scenes.
A full-length tense and exciting action and adventure science fiction novel standalone novel.
The setting is 24th-century Earth.
The same fictional universe as the Eurydice Chronicles.
CHAPTER ONE
The bluish glow of the tablet reflected off his face as he swiped through countless photos of men. No easy way to choose out of the hundreds based on a photo and scant details. But he had to pick someone, whether a hardened man who wore the scars of his past on his weathered face or a kid barely old enough to shave fluff from his chin.
With so little to go on, a random guess was as good as any considered nomination, and he didn’t have long to make the important decision.
The sound of heavy boots with a determined gait approached like a deadline until it stopped in front of him.
“Your orders, sir?”
He let a sigh escape from his beard-framed lips. Time was of the essence; any delay could mean failure, which was unacceptable.
The man shuffled his feet, impatiently awaiting orders.
A last flick of his finger on the screen brought the final face to his attention. He might have finally found what he was looking for. He tapped to reveal the man’s details and nodded.
“This is the one. We leave tonight. Get the transport ready.”
He looked up at the windows above. His supervisor, a man who wore the blackest of suits that contrasted with his flaming red hair, stared down with cold, dead eyes.
“Very good, Sir.” The man took the pad and walked away to prepare for the mission.
* * *
Girish laid back in his tiny cot and stared up at the concrete ceiling. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much time he had left to serve. Thirteen more fucking years of oppressive prison time loomed in the hell hole that may have been a state of the art prison when it was built way back in the twenty-second century, but it hadn’t stood up well to the test of time.
He shook his head, remembering when they convicted him a year ago for terrorism, and later, added another charge of murder to run concurrently.
It’s true what they say about anyone’s life can change in an instant. For Girish, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If only he hadn’t gone there.
He was only guilty of knowing the men who really committed the crime. They’d been his friends, they’d tricked him and made him the fall guy. He should have ignored their urgent call, not gone down to the building just because they asked him to, and not been caught by cops on the scene shortly after the bomb exploded.
Life couldn’t get any worse: tiptoeing around a prison, always looking over his shoulder, and being careful about not upsetting the wrong guy. And the world wouldn’t stay still and wait for him to get out. His old life was gone.
Nothing would ever be the same after years locked in a violent hellhole as a convicted terrorist and murderer. Fending for himself with rudimentary fighting was something he’d learned quickly, from day one, along with whether to side with certain inmates or risk being cut to pieces with rudimentary shivs.
He didn’t want anyone to know they’d broken him. Inside he was an emotional basket case but wasn’t going to let anyone see him go down like that. Girish pulled the sheet up over his face and fought back the tears that tried to fall.
It was then, while he wasn’t looking, that his cell door swung open with a bang.
Girish sat bolt upright with a start, his heart pounding hard in his chest. Senses heightened and on full alert. He waited for a guard or the warden to walk inside. Something worse happened. No one entered, and no one spoke. It was an ominous sign.
He slid off his cot with a little noise, crouching close to the cold concrete floor. The less he alerted whoever had opened the cell door, the better.
A few minutes passed, and nothing happened. The door stayed open, but the prison beyond remained eerily silent. Girish swallowed hard and inched toward the door, intent on finding out what was going on outside his meager claustrophobic cell.
As soon as he stepped outside, powerful arms grabbed him from behind and held him in a headlock.
A hushed voice whispered in his ear, “Don’t make a sound, or I’ll snap your neck like a twig.”
Girish tried to break free, but all his struggles made no difference to the captor. Whoever he was, he was taller and stronger. The grip tightened, forcing Girish’s eyes to blink fast from panic and depleting oxygen.
“I’m not going to tell you again. I will do it, and no one will miss you.”
Girish stopped struggling.
“Good, now come with me. We don’t have much time.”
Once the grip loosened, Girish spun around, intent on fighting back, until he saw the menacing mountain of a man all dressed in black who’d restrained him. He wore a black mask that covered everything except his eyes, which were covered by dark shades. And as if his size wasn’t intimidating enough, the handgun jabbed into the space between his ribs, ending all thoughts of fighting back.
“Don’t push me, prisoner. I can easily replace you with someone else.”
The strange comment meant nothing to Girish.
The man shoved Girish forward in front, so the gun pointed at his back, and they proceeded away from his cell to the other side of the prison. Girish kept looking back to see if the guards would see them. Surely, there had to be some nearby patrolling the hallways.
“They’ve been knocked out,” said the man, as if reading his mind.
There were hundreds of guards in the prison. How did one man take out all of them at once?
And yet, they didn’t encounter anyone.
The man reached out to halt Girish’s progress and motioned him toward the heavy metal door that led to the guards’ area and was normally locked but stood open.
Girish shook his head. “If I go in there, I’m dead.”
“You’re dead if you don’t go in there. I’ll see to that.”
Girish walked toward the door and through it; harsh light dazzled and as he moved forward he stumbled over something. He looked down and gasped.
“Told you, we took care of them. Now keep moving to the next door.”
Bodies lay strewn over the floor, and he had to tread carefully, sidestepping their outstretched hands and legs. They didn’t appear to be dead or even injured, they were a good color and there was no blood or bruises. It was as if they’d all fallen asleep. “What did you do to them?”
The man behind didn’t respond.
Girish turned a little to see if he was still there and got a jab in his side for a response. “Not much of a talker, are you?”
The man pushed the gun harder into Girish’s ribs. “Keep moving.”
He stopped short in front of a big, hulking man with a bald head and goatee. A bitter taste filled Girish’s mouth; it was only a memory. The pungent smell lingered in his nose; he’d never forget the times that guard took advantage of his position and took sadistic pleasure in forcing himself on Girish, filling his mouth until he couldn’t breathe, making him gag and vomit.
Girish smashed his bare foot, heel first, into the guard’s face.
The man snorted. “A favorite of yours?”
“Something like that,” he replied and spat on the guard’s body.
The man cocked his head to the side. “Or I could just shoot him for you? Then he won’t hurt anyone else.”
Girish shook his head. “No one deserves to die like that, not even scum like him.”
“You’ll change your mind about that in time.”
* * *
“Shit, get back inside!” Girish spotted the warden in front of them.<
“He’s in on this prison breakout with us.” The man pushed Girish to continue forward.
Mind whirring with confusion and questions, Girish walked down the stairs at the prison entrance and stopped in front of the warden, who was almost as big as the guard he’d assaulted inside. “You’re letting this happen? Letting this man come in and take me to God knows where?”
The warden scoffed at Girish while addressing the man in black, “Why would you want a scrawny terrorist bomber? He’s not much use to anyone.”
The man shrugged. “I have my reasons; the why isn’t important.”
The warden glared at the man before turning back to Girish. “I’d usually smack your head for talking to me like shit, but since you’re leaving, it doesn’t matter. Fuck off, I’m glad to see the back of you.”
Disbelieving the experience, Girish quaked where he stood, his questions tumbling out of his mouth, “But why? Who are they?”
The warden laughed at Girish’s confused face, shaking his massive gut in the process. “I do what I’m told, just like you will with them. If they want to break out some insignificant pissant like yourself, then so be it. One less idiot in my care.”
The man in black pushed Girish. “Come on.”
The warden called out, “You better not have messed with anything in there.”
The man motioned to Girish. “He said his goodbyes, nothing more.”
Before the warden had the chance to respond, the man shoved Girish into a black transporter vehicle with darkened windows waiting by the curbside.
* * *
A chubby man with a goatee and curly brown hair sat waiting inside the transporter box, he grinned as if welcoming a friend. “Hi, I’m Emyr. I handle the weapons and gear.”
“This isn’t a social visit, Emyr,” the man in black said while handing his gun over. He then removed his mask but kept the dark shades in place. A dark beard circled red lips, which he licked. “And you can quit staring at me.”
Emyr laughed, nodding at the man. “That’s Trent, a Morib of serious disposition. Really, he just likes to torture fresh meat with his dazzling personality..”
From behind the shades, Girish sensed Trent's glare. “That’s Dupont to you. Don’t ever let me catch you calling me Trent, or it’ll be the last thing you ever say.”
Not tempted to test it out, Girish looked over at Emyr. “Is he always this friendly?”
Emyr opened his mouth, but he seemed to change his mind about whatever he was going to say after he glanced at Trent, so settled with, “Welcome to Desmoterion.”
Trent leaned over to talk in Girish’s face. “I’ve chosen you to train in martial arts and weapons and assist with missions. It will be hard, and quite frankly, I have some doubts about whether you’ll make it. You’ve never fought back, according to the prison reports I’ve seen. Maybe you’re too soft.”
Girish’s hands clenched into fists. “I’ve fought back plenty, but they don’t give a shit in there. They turn a blind eye to everything that happens unless you get a blade in the gut. Then they have to write that up.”
“Spare me the sob stories; I’m not interested,” he replied and settled back in his seat as if the conversation was over.”
“You wouldn’t last a day in prison, Dupont. Anyone in there could have easily taken you.” The size of the man meant people would target him as a challenge, Girish’s bluff wasn’t well thought out; he’d barked out the first words that came into his head and already thought they sounded foolish.
“What makes you think I haven’t been inside? And for the record, you let me take you.”
“Because you had a gun dug in my side!”
“There’s no need to shout. I’m right here. Also, having a gun on you is not the end of the line. Had our roles been reversed, you wouldn’t have the gun more than a few seconds before I took you out. There’s always an escape, even if your arms and legs are bound.”
“Bullshit.” Girish laughed at Trent. “No one can dodge a bullet.”
“If you’re well enough trained, you can dodge anything. You need to learn to rein in your emotions.”
“And be like you?” Girish crossed his arms over his chest. “Abducting people and expecting them to sign up to your shitty cause, whatever it is. Desmonia? I’ll pass.”
“Desmoterion,” Emyr offered.
“You don’t have a choice in the matter.” Trent sighed like a weary parent worn down by a hyper child.
After only a few minutes, the vehicle stopped, and Girish got out to find himself standing at the end of a runway, and that was only the first leg of the journey. Next, they expected him to get into a small private jet.
* * *
The men shook him awake and told him they had landed. Girish must have been unconscious for the entire flight. He didn’t know how long he’d been out or where in the world he was. He also didn’t remember anything after getting on board the small plane, and he knew he must have been drugged just like the prison guards had been.
When Girish stepped outside he was surprised to find they were in front of a small aluminum-roofed building.
“This is your headquarters?”
“No, it’s the decontamination building,” Trent replied.
Two men came out of the metal door in the front dressed all in black, just like Trent and Emyr.
Trent motioned to Girish, addressing them, “Take him to be thoroughly searched and washed.”
Girish balked at that remark. “Searched for what?”
Trent didn’t respond and instead nodded to the men.
Each one grabbed one of Girish’s arms and hauled him away.
“Searched for what, for fuck’s sake?” Girish called out.
“Let’s go,” Trent said to Emyr as if Girish wasn’t there, and they walked away but not in the direction of the aircraft.
* * *
Emyr grunted under the weight of the gear as he hauled it across the expansive open floor. The space echoed with activity; trainees practiced maneuvers on the mats while others pumped iron in the gym area. Above it all, a metal walkway wrapped around the second level, dotted with lookouts keeping watch.
Trent’s gaze drifted to the glass walls of the leader’s office as was habit, checking for any sign of instructions. But as expected, the room stood empty behind the pane. Still, old routines died hard.
He strode past the dojo, peering briefly at forms being run through with martial precision. Beyond lay his destination, a small enclosed office through a door tucked discreetly away. His coded entry rang out in the quiet space as he entered and locked himself inside, away from the bustle.
Sinking into the well-worn desk chair, Trent booted up the dormant security system. With a few clicks, rows of camera feeds flickered to life across the screen. His gaze flickered from scene to scene, scanning for updates, until one caught his attention. There, the one he wanted to see. The security cameras for the decontamination building. He flicked through the various outdoor cameras until he got to the cameras inside the showers.
The new recruit popped up on the screen. Trent didn’t need sound, the images were enough. Girish struggled against his bonds and screamed out under the hot water and the intrusive hands that thoroughly explored every inch of his body.
Trent sat back, taking in the long scars on Girish’s back as he was pushed to face the tiled walls. The scars appeared to be several years old and too old to have been gained inside the prison.
Girish leaned on the wall for support and was distressed, no doubt by the fingers of the techs beginning to push inside of him.
Trent’s jaw clenched as he closed the security cam footage, remembering when he first arrived so many years ago. The hands relentlessly searched to find anything hidden on his body, so much so that he was sore for a week afterward.
* * *
Trent tapped away at his laptop when a metallic buzz sounded at the door. He rose smoothly from his chair, fingers dancing across the keypad. With a click, the hatch slid open.
A towering figure in black stood flanked by a disheveled Girish, fury etched on his face. Trent dipped his chin in acknowledgment, and the man shoved Girish inside. As the door sealed shut, the angry man lunged for Trent with a snarl.
In a flash, he spun, gripping the new recruit and flipping him hard to the floor. Girish gasped; the wind knocked from him.
