The Legendary Beekeeper-Chapter 43: Bees Don’t Lie

"Answer the damn question, would you!"

The atmosphere in the interrogation room had shifted completely. Where the old man had spoken with authority and slight disdain, he now shouted with a desperation that Beelathorn could almost taste.

Whoever the ’founding members’ were, they seemed to be quite feared. And Beelathorn intended to use this fear to its fullest effect.

’Oi, super-mind. Do we know who these founding members are?’ Beelathorn asked himself.

The response came in an instant, almost faster than the time it took to even craft the question. ’No. But heightened stress levels have been detected within all interrogators present in the room. An assumption can be made that the founding members are of higher authority than the creatures present here,’ it replied to itself. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

Beelathorn mulled over this information for a moment. ’Keep track of my lies, would you?’ he replied musingly, before adding. ’And can you use that scent thing of yours to see whether they’re onto us?’

’Mind your usage of "your" and "my". We are one and the same, Han the human. And lying is not advised. Information on the one called truth-sayer does not reveal how her powers might function.’

’Yeah-yeah.’

The super-mind was right. Lying right now would be dangerous and might destroy the entire plan before it even came to fruition. However, if the truth-sayer’s powers worked similarly to a truth detector, then it had one fatal flaw.

Truth was a subjective thing. Anyone who spoke a lie they truly believed was indistinguishable from someone who spoke the truth.

’Super-mind, I need you to alter my memories. Make me believe I am one of these ’founding members’. But do not change anything else.’

The response came in an instant. ’This plan has a high likelihood of success. Done.’

And so, Beelathorn, the human persona, took control of the physical body, and with a simple nod, his plan of deception was set into play.

"Fuck," a voice whispered in disbelief.

There was movement and whispers from the interrogators. "Well, is it telling the truth?" the old man asked.

"The fucker isn’t lying," the truth-sayer spat.

"Well, how come we haven’t seen him before?" the old man shot back.

"Who gives a fuck. Just free him before you fuck this up even more."

Beelathorn felt the blindfold around his face slacken, and the chains that bound him made a ratling sound.

His vision was the first to return to him, and he watched in quiet observation as two men worked to unbind him from his chains.

Beelathorn’s earlier estimations had been correct. There were six people in the room, three of them looked to be around Han’s age, one of them was a blonde-haired woman, staring at him with disdain.

"Well, which one are you? What’s your title?" the woman asked, and from her voice, Beelathorn knew she was the truth-sayer. She nodded at him, and another girl standing next to her —with the exact same shade of blonde hair, but even more beautiful— removed the gag from his mouth. "Sorry," the girl whispered, before taking her place beside the truth-sayer.

Beelathorn clenched his jaw, allowing blood to rush back into his mouth. "Does it matter?" he replied.

"When I report this, my title will be the least of your problems."

The truth-sayer clicked her tongue. "Great, he’s one of them snobbish bastards from High Central," she spat.

"Get him a healer, and give him one of the executive rooms... not like first squad will be needing ’em anyway," she added, before turning to leave.

"Oh, and I ain’t answering for this shit. This is all on you, Sammy," she said, flicking a finger at the old man who stood apart from the rest of the group.

Once Beelathorn was freed of his shackles, the others in the room left without so much as saying a word to him. Whether it was out of fear or disdain, Beelathorn couldn’t tell; however, he had a feeling it was a bit of both.

’It’s like I can’t spend a day without getting myself into some shit,’ he thought to himself, stretching his cramped limbs. It felt like he had spent an eternity tied up, though, with the near infinite amount of ’time’ he had spent trapped in the gold abyss, it was no surprise.

He just felt glad to be looking at something other than gold and darkness.

Though the room he was in wasn’t really much to look at: black walls, dim lighting, not much different from the cell he’d been locked up in earlier, apart from the fact that it was much cleaner.

’Suggestion.’

Beelathorn snapped around, eyes scanning the room for the source of the voice. It took him a moment to realise that it had come from his own mind. ’Ah, how could I forget. There’s a voice in my head now,’ Beelathorn replied to himself.

’"Our head", I’m sure we meant.’

’Yes, of course,’ Beelathorn replied sarcastically. ’You said you had a suggestion. Go on.’

’"We" said we had a suggestion.’

’Yes, that’s what I meant.’

’At the current stage, information gathering is crucial. We need to carry out reconnaissance on the members and the layout of the area called "Crimson Mansion".’

’Not a bad idea,’ Beelathorn thought.

However, that would have to wait. Beelathorn hadn’t had real sleep since coming to Apocalypse, and it was slowly starting to take its toll; his mind was starved for slumber.

’What I need right now is rest. We can talk about reconnaissance after.’

’"We" need rest. And agreed. Mind function is currently running at inoptimal levels.’

Just then, his mind twitched, and an odd scent wafted into his nose. ’Someone is waiting at the door,’ the super-mind informed him.

’Right.’

Taking one final stretch, he walked towards the door.

"Mister Han." It was the blond girl from earlier -the shorter and more beautiful of the two. "I will be showing you to your room," she said.

Beelathorn looked past her shoulders, not too trusting that the group had actually let him go.

’No other presence has been detected within the vicinity,’ the super-mind assured him.

The girl grabbed his hand and smiled. "Shall we?"

Beelathorn nodded, taking his hand back. The smile on the girl’s face wavered; however, she beckoned for him to follow with unwithered enthusiasm. "This way."

Beelathorn was led out of the room into a long hallway.

On the left was a row of plain wooden doors, much like the one he had just exited. And on the right were narrow corridors that led into prison cells.

"Our attempt at a dungeon," the girl explained as they walked by one of these corridors. "I imagine it must look haggard to you, Mister Han. Nothing like what you have in High Central, is it?" she said, looking over her shoulder as if waiting for a response.

Beelathorn did not reply. Instead, he made a mental note for the supermind to memorise the layout of everything they saw.

The hallway ended at a flight of stairs. "This goes up to the main manor," the girl said, before leading the way up the steps.

At the very top was a crimson door, with the number 0 etched into its bloodwood surface. "I’m sure you’re familiar with spatial doors, Mister Han," the girl said, retrieving a crimson card from her pocket.

"Your room is on the top floor," she said as she presented it to the door.

The card and the door glowed in unison, and the number at the top morphed into a 5. With that, she opened the door and gestured for Beelathorn to step through.

Beelathorn shook his head. "After you."