B E T T E R S T A Y C L E V E R
Vaughn Mallick.
Trayson Hallifax.
A set of five individuals appeared in front of the locked door, all standing in line and staring at their prisoners, to which Trayson turned to face them, offering him his infamous, smug grin. He deliberately raised his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side with a sneer, “What? We doing some fun cosplay now? Are we pretending to be big bad Government Agents? Because… really….” He approached the edge of the cage, closer to their captives, “You look ridiculous.” His voice projecting through the small cell, so even those who might’ve been trying to catch some slumber would’ve heard his goading. Waving a hand dismissively, he turned his back to them, pacing further inside. “Let’s get it over with, shall we?”
One of them used a keycard to open the door and three of them pushed forward, charging toward Trayson who, despite his less-than-stellar form, spun his elbow into the neck of the closest assailant. The other two managed to grab him before he could harm them any further, the one he’d hit hunched over as he let out a few choked hacks. They shoved Trayson up against the farthest wall, the other one joining him to help restrain the man, cuffing his wrists with zip-ties, before shoving him over — a feat that served more difficult when Trayson was light on his feet — then went about doing the same to his ankles.
The other two unoccupied guards approached Dee, breathing steadily before they turned their attention on Vaughn. “These two. Get them to the Commander. The other four are requested in latrines.” Fear bulged the eyes of some, and one other began skittering across the floor trying to make it for the open door, only to be kicked down, then again in her ribs, another in the head. She held herself tightly, clutching herself in fetal position before the guard hauled her up. “Leave the troublemaker here, we’ll come back for him.”
Vaughn ignored everything happening, her body frozen except for her fingertips that kept pressing into the floor. She was dizzy, the room they were in seeming to lean one way than another, and she couldn’t tell where the sounds were coming from. A man speaking. A scramble. Grunts. Coughs. Her skin tingled with discomfort, as if it knew how close the danger was and was begging her to just look. Take action. Do something. She wished beyond belief that this was one of her simulations; the scary ones she’d make for the sickos she wished would find somewhere else to go. But it was better that way. In her world, they weren’t hurting real people. In this world, these people were.
Why had they targeted the Vortex? What had been happening under the surface that she didn’t know about? Had it been a client? They were supposed to vet everyone who came in, for this very reason. A safe, fun place to escape. Now what? Yousuf would have so much work to do — and he’d do it, because she knew there was no way he was getting rid of his golden egg. It was just a matter of if Vaughn would ever see him, or it, again.
Suddenly, she was hauled onto her feet, furrowed browns moving to Dee to see them doing the same to her, and all she could do was wince, and remain silent. Fucking complacent — because what was there to do now?
Dee hadn’t ever thought being manhandled was something one could get used to, but maybe it was. Or maybe it was just the same apathetic resignation as before making her desensitized to everything. The hand clutching her upper arm wasn’t painful, just firm, and had it not been there she probably would’ve stumbled, still dizzy from whatever they’d breathed in back at the Vortex. How long had it been? How far had they traveled? The hallway they were being led down had no windows, and there were no other indicators to tell her whether it was the middle of the night, early evening still, or if maybe they’d made it all the way to morning. It could’ve been days for all she knew — it had felt like the blink of an eye to her. If they were all being hauled out of their cell for whatever, though, maybe morning made the most sense. Or maybe not. Maybe her and V were being hauled off to act as evening entertainment for some sick fucks. Dee glanced up over her shoulder at the person who was leading her, wondering what a sick fuck looked like, exactly, but was given a curt shove and a gruff eyes forward, so she didn’t look again.
The door they were led to looked no different than the others they’d passed, and the two guards who’d been leading them came in, but let go when they came face to face with the man who was, presumably, the Commander. He either thought highly of himself, or he was some type of ex-military — and once Dee got a look at him, she thought maybe it was the latter. He was older than the others; in his fifties, maybe, but he was bulky despite that, his clothing stretched tight over his broad chest, and his gray hair was trimmed short. “Pretty ones,” he said, like he was pleasantly surprised, coming out from behind his desk for a closer look. He wasn’t what Dee would describe as tall. “Too pretty for latrine duty.” He looked between them as he said it, and she felt a shiver of revulsion race down her spine, chased by cold fear. Suddenly, her mind was racing for ideas. How did people kill themselves? The guards were probably going to do it anyway — might as well make it quick and without any unnecessary torment. “Take them down to four and let the other ladies show them what to do.”
Without a word, they were taken hold of again, and Dee thought, as they were being led down another hallway, that maybe she should’ve just launched herself at the commander guy and tried to scratch his face off. Maybe they would’ve killed her then. At least these ones had let her keep her limbs. She wondered what for, and whether it was because she’d need them. Four of what? Floors? Rooms? When they slowed in front of another door, her eyes flicked to the sign that hung on the wall next to it. LAB 4. Even the hallway stunk, some chemical smell she couldn’t place, but definitely didn’t feel like she shouldn’t be breathing in, and things were making less and less sense by the minute.
