Valeo didn't resist. Instead, her hands swiftly wrapped around his neck, her grip tightening. He made no effort to defend himself, and soon his eyes widened as his tongue lolled out, twisted in a desperate bid for air. He began to choke, his body convulsing in a futile attempt to breathe.
After what seemed like an eternity, Naomi released her hold, letting him gasp for air. He coughed and choked, his lungs burning as he sucked in oxygen. His face was purpling, and his eyes bulged as he struggled to regain his breath.
"Are you done?" he asked, still gasping for breath. Her response was a cold, piercing stare. She rose from her position, walked over to her chair, and collapsed into it. Letting out a deep sigh, she closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath.
"Crazy bitch," he muttered under his breath, swinging his legs over the side of the floor. But his words were cut short as her bloodshot eyes snapped open, flashing a warning that silenced him.
Tvolio stood at the first checkpoint, clad in a black tight suit with a crisp white shirt and a sleek black necktie. His eyes fixed intently on the man in front of him as he awaited his verdict.
"Mr. Madifa, you may proceed to the next checkpoint," the man behind the desk intoned, sliding Tvolio's passport and ID back across the counter. His eyes lingered a moment too long, curiosity flickering before he masked it with routine.
Tvolio bowed slightly, a gesture of respect - or perhaps distraction - and turned away. His chest tightened as he drew in a slow breath. That was too easy. No turning back now. Valeo and Naomi must already be in position.
He inhaled deeply, the sterile air of the conference centre filling his lungs, steadying his nerves. The second checkpoint loomed ahead. A female officer's voice cut through the silence:
"State your name."
"Damaskard Madifa," he replied, his lips curling into the faintest of grins, careful not to invite suspicion.
"Could you put all your electronics in this tray?" she instructed, confirming his name on a tablet.
Tvolio complied, "And your belt," she reminded him. A genuine surprise flickered across his face. "Oh, sorry about that." He proceeded to remove his belt.
"You may walk through the scanner," she commanded politely, her expression a mask of professionalism. As Tvolio entered the scanner, a beep sound rang out. His thoughts twisted into a jumble of anxiety. What had he missed? What other things had he not removed?
The officer's eyes narrowed. "Sir, what other metallic things do you have on you?"
Tvolio's composure began to slip. Fuck... This sucks. I don't need attention. Bitch, it's my ankle. He recoiled, trying to suppress the pressure mounting inside him.
But then, a gentle beam of enlightenment appeared on his face. He became poised and calm.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. I have a metal implant in my left leg, near the knee. You can check my files on your device if you'd like." He lied with confidence, his smile reassuring. The real Damaskard Madifa was the one with the medical condition.
The female officer looked at her colleague for clarification, her eyes questioning.
An officer approached with a handheld scanner. Tvolio shifted his leg forward, feigning ease. The device buzzed sharply.
"I told you," he said lightly, masking the tension in his chest.
The lead officer's brow furrowed, though her voice remained composed. "Sir, don't interfere. Conduct the physical check." She gestured to her assistant.
Tvolio frowned, letting irritation bleed into his tone. "Is this really necessary?"
The assistant hesitated, glancing at her superior.
"Sir, don't complicate our work. Comply." The reprimand was sharp, cutting through the air.
Tvolio's grin returned, teasing, almost mocking. "Go on, then." He raised his arms slightly, inviting the search.
As hands moved over his suit, his mind flickered back—six months ago, lying on the cold table, the surgeon's voice steady as metal slid into bone. The memory was a lie, but he wore it like truth.
Finally, the lead officer stepped back. "We are clear. Proceed to the next checkpoint."
Tvolio winked, his voice dripping with disdain. "You just wasted my time." He strode away, leaving the assistant to mutter under her breath:
"He's rude."
At the next checkpoint, Tvolio knew that fingerprints were next. The officer handling the station had a peculiar appearance, with a comically unkempt mustache and a somber expression. His demeanor was devoid of emotion, and his eyes seemed to hold a deep sadness.
"Hello," Tvolio said brightly, forcing a smile.
"Place your hand on the scanner," the officer replied, his voice heavy with bitterness.
Tvolio's inner monologue began to wander, filled with sarcastic thoughts. He chuckled to himself, amused by his own wit. I love stupid people. How do you bring crap from your house to work? Did your wife deny you sex? Fuck your troubles. I'll give you a taste of mine.
As he approached the fingerprint scanner, Tvolio's sarcasm turned verbal. "Something tells me you don't enjoy your job. I'd advise you to quit and find something fulfilling, something that brings you passion and happiness." He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the scanner. "You're not that old, although your face makes you look like you're eighty."
The officer remained stoic, his focus fixed on the machine. Undeterred, Tvolio continued to provoke him. "You know, your attitude stinks. Has anyone told you that?" The officer's expression shifted, and for a moment, Tvolio saw a flash of anger. The man's eyes narrowed, and his voice cracked with suppressed emotion. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
Tvolio grinned, pleased that he had elicited a reaction. "A special guest, and I'm sure your seniors won't be happy to know that you offended me."
The scanner flashed green. Data filled the screen. The officer's pupils shrank as he read, horror creeping across his features. His hand trembled slightly, as though the truth on the monitor had stripped him bare.