F-Rank Soul Eater-Chapter 68: Finding my killer

Chapter 68: Finding my killer
Soren sat upright.
"AHHH!!!" His hands roughed his hair haphazardly.
"This. Is. Why. I. Should. Have. Kept. Blackfield. On." He slammed his head with every word against the wall.
"Soooreeennn?" Cynthia looked at him, head tilted in confusion.
Soren turned his head lazily to her—blood trailing down his forehead.
"Urhh...!" She turned to his bedsheet and raised it to him.
"Awwn, you are so kind." He took it from her hands.
As expected, she still carried him on her shoulders.
As she did, Soren’s mind worked overtime.
Someone wanted him dead. But not just that. The person was capable of doing it in a government prison.
Soren had spent such a long time in this place that he had even forgotten that he had a list of crimes attached to his name.
Just then, Cynthia passed by a certain cell.
A prisoner with yellowed teeth.
His memories flashed. The day he arrived here. After the conversation with Captain Scarvguard. While Billy matched him to his cell for the first time.
"Ohhh, you’re in real trouble, boy. Real trouble. They’re coming for you. You won’t even see your trial day... hehehe."
The prisoner with yellowed teeth had spoken those words loud and clear.
"Cynthia!" Soren patted her back. "Here."
She did not know what it was, but she still put him down.
Soren took giant strides into the yellowed-teeth man’s cell.
It smelled like old sweat and rusted iron here. No doubt a place of terrible hygiene
The man, a bit in his late thirties, looked to be planning something with his bunkmate of similar age.
The moment they saw Soren, the bunkmate stood to confront him.
"Hey whitey, this—"
Soren’s hand moved.
Clap.
The bunkmate fell on the ground in one hit.
Soren grabbed the man with yellowed teeth.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
The man bled from the nose.
"Who sent you!?" Soren asked.
"I don’t kn—"
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
"Lying won’t help you." Soren grabbed the man’s fingers.
–Snap.
~Ahhh.
The man screamed. Two fingers were broken.
–Snap
~Ahhh
Another two fingers were broken.
Soren grabbed him by his hair, pulling him close. "I consider myself a very generous person, so I left you a finger to suck on. But you best believe I only have enough generosity for one more finger."
The man looked into Soren’s eyes. The boy was not joking.
"The Ivory family. We were going to do it on rest day, tomorrow, in the yard..." he panicked.
Soren frowned in confusion "Are you messing with me?" His fists raised again, shoving the man to the wall.
"No, I’m not. I swear by the God of the Neuralink. I’m not. I’m not, okay!"
The man panicked.
However, Soren took a step back. He paused. Deep in thought.
"For... forgive me, whitey. I didn’t want to do it. But you know these nobles. They... they have influence... and... my family. They promised to—"
Soren turned to him again.
He swallowed his words.
Soren turned and left.
The little episode had pulled the attention of the other prisoners, but Soren did not mind their whispers.
Something was not right.
After all, he clearly died this night. But according to the yellowed-teeth prisoner, he was supposed to die the next day.
Soren had learned that the prison gave one day off for rest and the other day for working the mines.
That way, the Soul Mechas had time to be serviced and the prisoners enough time to rest and gather back their strength.
For this reason, it made sense that the ripe time to plan his death was on a rest day—when he would have his guard down.
One look at that prisoner, and Soren knew that this was probably not his first rodeo.
Noble families had influence everywhere. Prison was no exception.
Soren was not surprised to hear that the Ivory noble family wanted him dead.
He had killed an influential heir of theirs.
Soren had no remorse for it. He was not so naive as to feel sorry for killing a person that wanted him dead—and even got to do it several times in his previous loops.
However, what really bothered him was this.
If the Ivory family’s thug wanted to kill him the next day, then who was it that wanted to kill him at nighttime?
While he was thinking, he found that he had made it to the underground.
Just ahead were people bowing to the Soul Mechas—praying to the God of the neuralink.
Soren looked up. There they were.
The two pilots. The Red Silence.
Now, he knew. One of them was going to die today.
Should he warn them?
He took a step forward.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Billy the guard snapped. "You aren’t a cadet anymore. No pilot dreams for you. Now move."
The same lines as before.
Soren sighed.
Not a cadet anymore.
Maybe it was not his fate to do this.
He turned and walked towards Vinegar and the others.
...Once more, Soren was in the heat of battle. However, instead of his eyes being fixed on Cynthia’s incredible achievement as she slaughtered antibodies, they were on something else.
The Soul Mecha pilot.
If he did not have the courage to save her, at least he should know how she died.
And then Soren saw something wrong.
After Lady Quiet stepped into the Glass and joined Lance.
Something unbelievable happened.
For some reason, the lights on the Soul Mecha suddenly flickered and went off.
As it did, so did all the other controls of the mecha. Motion locked. Control lights died in sequence. Too clean. Too precise.
Soren was a mechanic from childhood. He knew a malfunction of machinery when he saw one.
And this one?
A malfunction would be tagging it loosely.
It was as if someone suddenly pressed the ’off’ button or cut the power source.
And then came the hit.
The Eldritch whale smashed into the Soul Mecha; blood and meat paste flew into the air.
Soren frowned.
...
Later that night, Soren wiped Cynthia’s body.
He was careful not to say anything insensitive this time around.
When he was sure she had drifted into sleep, he lay on his bed—waiting.
He was waiting for them to come.
And then the light peeping in through the vertical slit on the door flickered.
The shadows, got thicker and slowly, they encompassed inward.
He activated Blackfield, and his sphere spread out.
They were here.
Soren’s eyes snapped open. He moved...
(Author’s note: Happy New Year, fams. May the new year bring forth growth, progress, and more money to your pockets. Amen.