Page 57 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

The seven omegas reach the "EXIT" door with frantic urgency, their leader yanking it open with whipped force. Collective horror freezes them in a synchronized tableau as the threshold reveals nothing but a solid cement wall—institutional mockery of their desperate hope for simple escape.

Realization triggers immediate recalculation, the group fracturing under pressure as individual survival instincts override temporary alliance.

Four race toward the "UPSTAIRS" door while three—including their former leader—sprint back toward our position.

Water rises with accelerating speed, no longer merely seeping from perimeter seams but now pouring from ceiling vents with industrial force.

The chamber will fill completely within sixty seconds at current flow rate, creating immediate life-threatening conditions rather than simple obstacle.

The three omegas reach our door with desperate urgency, their leader pounding against the transparent section with increasing force as water rises past knee level, then waist, then chest in rapid progression.

"Open it!" she screams, terror replacing previous authority as survival becomes increasingly questionable. "Please! We'll drown!"

Riot reaches instinctively for the access mechanism, compassion overriding tactical assessment in a response I find simultaneously admirable and dangerous.

My hand catches her wrist before she can complete the motion, grip firm without unnecessary force.

"The water is a conductor," I explain quietly.

She frowns, confusion momentarily replacing understanding.

"What do you mean 'a conductor'?"

"The water is electricity-bound," I clarify, recognizing the distinctive iridescence from previous institutional exposure. "The doors are metal because they're sealing off the space to be a force of electric mayhem. If you open it, we'll just be executed with them."

"They're not going to electrocute them," Riot argues, desperation entering her tone as the scene beyond the barrier becomes increasingly dire. "They're gonna fill the place with water and the only way out is through the vents."

I shake my head with absolute certainty.

"There are no vents. I checked."

Riot curses with impressive creativity, leaning against the door to scan every visible surface beyond the barrier. Her assessment proves futile as water reaches the necks of the omegas still pounding desperately against our door.

Only their leader remains at our position now, the others having abandoned hope here to swim desperately toward the "UPSTAIRS" door.

Their progress falters as they discover that the threshold opens to reveal only a metal wall—another institutional mockery of hope's persistence despite overwhelming evidence of its futility.

They wasted too much time and were left behind.

The three Omegas that used that passage to escape are long gone before that sheet of metal was moved to cover the passage.

"There's no way out!" one screams, voice gargled by rising water as she turns back toward our position.

The leader pounds her fists against the barrier with renewed desperation, rage temporarily overwhelming fear as she glares directly at us.

Taking several steps backward despite water's resistance, she clearly intends some desperate attempt to breach the door through physical force—a futile gesture against institutional security measures designed to withstand far greater impacts.

"We need to open the door," Riot whispers, genuine distress evident as compassion wars with survival instinct.

I maintain perfect stillness, meeting the leader's desperate gaze through the reinforced barrier as water reaches her chin.

"Their choice was made with their delay," I state quietly. "Let them reap their rewards."

The first electric spark manifests with blinding brilliance—blue-white lightning dancing across the water's surface with beautiful, terrible precision.

The seven omegas convulse in perfect synchronization, bodies jerking with violent force as current flows through conductive medium with merciless efficiency.

Death arrives with institutional precision—neither premature nor delayed, exactly when protocol dictates despite desperate hope for alternative outcome.

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