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He wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t hide. Instead, Shiloh sat calmly in his office, torn documents and broken test tubes littering the floor beneath him as incessant banging came from the other side of the door. He rose up to fame by becoming a scientist, he’d go down as one too.
Though…when the door finally gave in, he was not met by the violent outbursts of citizens, no—quite the opposite. A city patroller had approached him, their suit no longer donning the signature turquoise of King Ateil’s oppression. Handcuffs were curtly latched onto the scientist’s wrists by the patroller, flatly uttering out the typical,
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you,” before guiding him outside the laboratory.
A moment of clarity pervaded the air during the silent walk, however, abruptly interrupted upon stepping outside. News reporters talking over each other, citizens barely being held back by patrollers, blaring alarms across the town—Shiloh’s lethargic glare almost threatened to harden at the overstimulation.
He had no real reason to pay attention to it, did he? Without a care, he kept his head hung low, effectively blocking out the harsh tumult of shouting mere meters away from him. Though, above it all, one’s recognizable voice cut through the noise.
“…Shiloh.” A mere whisper came from under Micah’s breath, and yet by the sight of the former royal scientist perking up towards the ear numbing crowd, he heard it.
The way time worked seemed to stutter for a moment as Shiloh suddenly hesitated under the city paroller’s grip, glancing around at the multitude of citizens with a subtle franticness to his actions.
The silhouette of three words were spoken as their eyes finally met, indecipherable to anyone but them amongst the saccharine cacophony.
“I’m sorry, Micah.”
Those were the last words Micah ever heard from him, as he was dragged into a car, his fate to be behind bars for the years to come.