Death Sentence: Escape from Furnace 3
Alexander Gordon Smith
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Alex's second attempt to break out of Furnace Penitentiary failed. This time, his punishment will be much worse than before. Because in the hidden, bloodstained laboratories beneath the prison, he will be made into a monster. As the warden pumps something evil into his veins―a sinisterly dark nectar―Alex becomes what he most fears . . . a superhuman minion of Furnace. How can he escape when the darkness is inside him? How can he lead the way to freedom if he is lost to himself?
of my own. It – I – tried to say something else but my mirror face was sucked back into the ground, mud filling its mouth and nose, flowing over its still-open eyes until nothing remained. ‘Wait!’ I yelled. ‘Wait!’ Then the rest of the trench once again found life, zombie hands grabbing my legs and clothes and head and pulling me down into the grave. My heart lurched, the sensation of being buried alive too terrifying for my sleeping mind. The trench exploded into dust, darkness flooding in
anything that the warden was saying, but the truth of it sat in my gut, swam in my veins. ‘It was the essence of the nectar,’ the warden corrected. ‘The darkness that lies at the heart of it. Dr Furnace realised he could take that darkness and replicate it artificially. And that’s what led to the nectar.’ The further we walked into the room, and the deeper the warden progressed into his story, the greater the horrors around me became. It was as if his words were so terrible that they morphed
squat metal cylinder with a valve on the top. It was obviously heavy because his whole body was trembling with the weight. I took it from him in one hand, studying the valve. ‘Know what you’re doing with that?’ Simon asked. ‘Nope,’ I replied. ‘Only thing I know about gas is that it goes kaboom. Reckon we’ll be able to rig it up easily enough, though. Bring the others when you get them, I’m heading back out.’ ‘No worries,’ he replied, his voice echoing from the pot his head was lost in. I was
up, walking over to the huddle of whispering kids. They fell silent when they saw me approach, looking at me with a strange mix of anxiety and determination. ‘Thought of a plan?’ I asked. ‘Yeah, we’re putting a little something together,’ replied one through a sneer. ‘Why don’t you and your buddy go and wait by the elevator. We’ll be with you in a minute.’ ‘It won’t do you any good,’ I said, my hackles raised, my arms suddenly tensed by my side. ‘You think the warden’s going to let you go