My special interests

In Enemy Hands: Prologue

It’s been three days. Three days since you were arrested in the small village market, and thrown into this dank prison.

The cell stinks. The other cells are occupied with other humanoids, at least five or six, unwashed and fighting with one another every so often. You are housed alone in your own cage, likely because of what you did in the market, but that suits you just fine. It leaves you alone to try and figure a way out of this.

The bricks that make up the walls are surprisingly sturdy, despite the fact they look ancient, and the window is barred, even if it wasn’t too high up to reach in the first place. Any fancy tricks would attract the wrong kind of attention, and your captives may be your enemies, but at least they are human.

Any other items in the cell don’t prove to be useful. There’s a blanket in the corner, a stinking bucket, and what appears to be humanoid bones piling up in the corner, although most of the larger ones have been removed; all that’s left are brittle and mostly good for feeding rats.

Someone comes to check on the rowdy prisoners twice a day, to feed them or to shout at them, and they typically deliver food, but you haven’t touched yours. It’s stale bread and some sort of wine-like liquid that’s sour on the tongue. The other prisoners see that you aren’t eating and howl for your leftovers as if they are starving, but that’s not really your problem. Their strength could just as easily become your obstacle. You do not share. It’s only on day five do things become interesting.

Blaster fire in the village draws your attention, as well as loud, quick shots of another sound you don’t recognize, or at the very least haven’t heard in a very long time- but you remain still on the floor of your cell. There’s no use getting worked up like the human animals next to you. There’s nothing you can do.

“There’s another batch of cells down here!” Someone shouts, their voice carrying from a sort of tunnel, or perhaps staircase. That would make sense if the prison was underground, or semi-buried. It would explain why the window was so far up the wall and the prison itself was so damp and dark. If only you had been awake when you were arrested.

It sounded like troops, or a small squad, were headed in your direction. But they aren’t the village folk who put you here.

The voice comes again, “We have to get them out of here. We can’t just leave them down here.”

This is your chance. The other prisoners hear it too. They all spring up to their feet and scramble at the bars, begging for help, but you’re suddenly wary.

You slink further into your cell. What if these people aren’t actually here to help? You are alone on an enemy planet; how would groveling to a stranger be anymore useful than exposing oneself to a predator? You sit back and wait. You sit back and watch.