#weird setting

Perhaps it was the realization of the cold hard floor on which you were laying that woke you up, or maybe the harsh sound of a gun firing in the same room as you. Startled, you opened your eyes, trying to move. But as your wrists start to burn, your knees grinding against each other, all hope is lost. You’ve been tied up, and your head is wincing due to, it feels like, a painful hit you’ve taken earlier. 

You try to recollect your memory, as your heart pounds in your chest. Hair stick to your forehead, and a freezing breeze installs itself in your damp clothes. You soon figure out that you’re stuck in a small room, with no window, only a shitty vent on the ceiling. You can’t place where you’ve heard the gun, but you’d swear you didn’t imagine it. Just like many others, your situation wasn’t easy. You’ve been trying to enroll yourself in one of those dumb game show you’ve seen on Free-V ; you did quite okay in class and had a good memory for history subjects, so you’d hoped to get in one where you could simply use your brain and maybe, maybe, avoid getting yourself injured by running in the weird hamster-like roulette while answering questions. Worse case scenario, was to get placed into the Running Man. You’d try to enroll in any game, part of because a bet made with friends, part of because your family needed money to pay rent. In reality, despair for your situation is what made you wait in line for hours just to met a guy in a glass box yelling at you your own name, miserable moments of your life and failed job, but in the end get you a number for the elevator sending you off for the qualifications parts. You try to sit yourself up, and almost do when a sound echoes on a distance. The gun again ? You frown, trying to figure out in your mind where did it came from. A new sound, soon followed by metal clanging on the ground. It’s from a room next to yours, even a corridor maybe. As much as you can, you put your back against the rigid concrete wall behind you. The pain in your head is worrisome, as you feel you’re not really there as well. It’s all foggy, you’re barely understanding your surroundings, and a strong pressure in your abdomen keep growing, crushing your lungs, holding too much of your breath for you to breathe normally.

The last thing you were ready for was to inevitably, get chosen for the Running Man. You again did okay on the different exams they put you and a whole bunch of different person through, but never expected to end up on the one where you would get killed off by conceivably one day or two of running show. Maybe fate decided to crumble upon your shoulders for thinking of such dumb solution for your lack of money in life. 

You curse under your breath, remembering your family before its fall, all because one of your mother’s chief in hierarchy miscalculated his data and forced her demission. She wasn’t the most well paid exec, but it was enough for you three at that time. Your family had to move to the other side of town, and almost everyone you knew decided it was better to forget all about you.

As you try to observe your surroundings, you notice segments on the walls in front of you, determining a semblance of a door into its creases. You can’t see nor seem to understand if you can open it form the inside, but it’s the best you’ve got. Your body jolts while trying to keep itself wam, and you seem to remember that it’s been almost four days since the show and the run of your life started. And, last time you saw sunlights was, before getting caught by the Hunters pack. The thought makes you stop from trying to reach the knife in your left pocket behind your back, and you feel your face’s muscles grimace in understanding. You realize, weirdly enough, that you are actually, still alive.

Before getting there, you had an altercation with them ; not that you weren’t that bad at hiding, but the chances of getting out of this situation were quite low from the start. You remember running, in all places ; in long badly lighted street ; in an abandoned flat ; into a muddy basement full of inflammable products to by your chance with your lighter could light up ; and then into in the sewer, seconds before hearing a big BOOM above your head. The orange bracelet on your right wrist had send some light vibrations, indicating you that your family had won 1k of ND, as you must have killed at least one of them and some cops during the explosion. Mouth dry, you feel a headache coming in, so you decide to close your eyes for a brief instant before opting for the best thing to do next. There is only one light in the small room where you’re in, and it hasn’t stopped flickering since you have opened your now watery eyes.

Everything feels like a nightmare.

For a brief moment you though you could have some relief, but in the end destiny decided to get you first. You almost got your knife out of your pocket, when a new noise, a loud bang is shot right behind the weird looking door and makes your rip your finger on the sharp edge. Damn it. You can’t even put your finger in your mouth to ease the pain as your hands were still tied up in your back. You’re hopeless. This time you’re sure, the sound was from a gun. What else could've it been. But then there is another sound, more muffled this time, something heavy seems to hit the ground. Who’s getting killed out there?

You try to calm your breathing, some of your hair got in the way of your eyes, and you feel every ounce of textile on your skin. The nightmare fuel sensations could almost knock you out, you feel like you’re loosing yourself just as what seemed like a door, get opened violently.

The brutal sound echoes strongly in the tiny room, and the first thing you get to sense is the smell of hot blood around. You try to curl on yourself, you’re definitely incapable of defending yourself so the only thing you’re thinking off is protecting your organs, shielding yourself as much as you can while trying to rise your knees to your face. You feel your efforts getting vain as a forceful hand grasp your hair, yanking you up. 

Scream. You cry out a strident sound, but it doesn’t startle the man, because you can figure out his stature, vaguely but still, and he doesn’t flinch at all. 

Footsteps are heard outside the room, other people are approaching. You seems to hear voices, but the pain from your scalp prevents you to get attentive to anything happening around you. Another stature comes, and you can’t seem to understand where the punch is coming from but all your body convulses as you got a strong fist right into your stomach.

Maybe this is it. Maybe that’s how the Running Man ends up for you, by everything but running. « They asked to get her in one piece ya know »

You heart is slamming in your ribcage. It hurts.

« Come on, you know we get to play a little before McCone can give it the last shot. Not everyday they pull up such easy targ’, let me have my fun. »

You shut your eyes. It is happening. The remaining hunters got you, and now it’s just hopeless. « P-Please.. », you try to say, but another slap got you in the face.

The smell of blood again. The thick liquid spills in your mouth. You scrapped the inside of your mouth with your teeth under the impact.

Its metallic taste making you nauseous.

So you spit it on the nearest face you can get.

The man holding your head runts, seeming angry. Good. For a second you feel relieved, until you hear more footsteps echoing. 

Before you can anticipate any other hit, the man holding you jolts in place, letting go of your hair. You hit the ground and it knocks you out for some minutes. You recall noises of fighting, knives and punches, persons growling and sounds of surprise, before two other bangs and you’re blacking out.

**

When you open your eyes again, you’re not on a greasy concrete floor again. Still not so confortable, but now you’re in a much warmer place. And, it’s moving. You hear engines, feel the air moving around you. It’s much calmer, until you notice your head is hurting you so badly. You’d do anything to lie down on a real mattress and a soft pillow, but the bittersweet thought leave a hole in your chest. You might never get that confortable ever again.

Sadness comes over you, until you realize your sore knees are now free. You extend your legs in relief, and a breath of satisfaction escapes your lips. You’re about to pass your hands into your hair, as they are no longer tied behind your back as well, but strings tighten at your wrists again. It is an amelioration nonetheless, but you quickly feel an emptiness in your pockets. You’ve been searched, and the mere thought of it disgusts you. Your knife is no longer here.

Panic seizes you, and when you’re about to approach the back doors of the vehicle, it stops. 

Hurrying, you shift position and move closer to them. You’re close to open the right door when both opens at the same time and the sight stops you right there in your actions. 

A tall, broad, and masked, figure opens them with one big motion. The figure is quite recognizable, with the known sewing pattern on the cowl, the army-like hat, and wearing sunglasses during the night time

Mc Cone? The hunters’ leader?

Quick quick you think of escape, but your poorly condition slows you down.

« I wouldn't try it if I were you. »

You whine. There is no escape, he is here to finish the job the hunters were talking about earlier. Your eyes scans for the camera sphere, but the man stops you with an act of his hand.

« There is only you, and me, here. »

The voice is grave, and the tone strangely indecipherable. It makes you feel bizarre, in an odd way. You’ve heard him talk before, on the many screens at you late house, and then ill new apartment. Hell, you’ve heard him the night they sent you free before the beginning of the show. Yet now, there was a little something, you couldn’t quite place your mind on.

You stay static, on the qui-vive, because there is no way you’re getting out of here alive. You shiver at the thought, and mostly because it’s freezing outside and your clothes are still damp.

He take off his coat, and approaches you with it. Instinctively you retreat, but the man is much bigger and faster.

Again you shut your eyes, refusing to see your frightened and miserable face in his sunglasses. 

A soft touch on you shoulder, and they feel suddenly much heavier. A warmth embrace you, and you frown, not really getting where all of this is heading. You lift your gaze to meet his, incomprehension washing over you. You don’t want to thank him, you don’t know what kind of game he is playing. None of this is normal, you suppose.

He glares at you. Perhaps it is the cold night, maybe the quiet noises of the city are finally soothing you down, and you seem to perceive his eyes behind the pair of glasses. The look he gives you is icicle, yet you see a battle getting fought behind it.

He hands you over a water bottle, and you let your hands reach out for it. He gets closer, and opens it on a swift movement. As you take it, he freezes as well before letting it go. You drink as if you’ve been lost in a desert for so long, and you put some drops all over your chin. You nod to him in his direction, still not wanting to thank him. All of it feels odd.

« Where.. where are you taking me ? » you ask, prudently.

McCone looks over his shoulder, before turning to you. He adjusts the coat around you and tighten it around your neck. You feel your cheeks redden at the gesture, although yet again not so sure on what is happening here.

« Plans’ changed. I’m moving you to a Free-V estate, Killian has some other ideas for the audience. »

As he takes back the now empty bottle, you reach for his gloved hand. Hesitant, almost shyly, you inquire.

« You’re not killing me today ? »

You see a brow lifting behind the textile of his cowl. McCone towers you, as he takes your chin with his much bigger hand, and reply with a somber delivery. Almost regretful.

« Plans’ changed. »

He leaves you in the trunk, and the engines starts again. You have no idea of what is happening, and clearly quite far to guess anything of what’s to come. You bundle up in the large coat, only source of softness in the trunk, and weirdly enough, the only thing that can ground you for the moment. It smells of strong detergent, heavy smokes, and a weak tint of mint.

As you find yourself drifting off to a turbulent sleep, your fingers glides on a wet patch on the coat. The texture is easily identifiable. Blood.