The Pod

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The tool shook within her fingers, tension proportionate to the situation. Their bodies were glued in position and the light from the hallway fell on them like a spotlight - almost. Their audience, the little girl's father, the heavily-accented prison guard and Spencer, didn't seem to be enjoying the show.

"Step away from there, or we'll remove you by force," the father commanded. Vic and Shade separated but spared little more than a foot between the two of them. "Good, good. Anyway, down to business."

"Let me guess, 'time to face your death'?" Vic watched them through lidded eyes and so remained unaware when Shade sent a glare in her direction. Shoulders broad, she stared on at them with impassive eyes. Only half visible, with curled his lip up, Spencer snarled at her. And Shade was frozen, like an amateur watching professionals play table tennis, as the older male responded with a chuckle.

"No, actually. You see, with everyone being so desperate, we just can't accept pushovers or murderers. The two of you don't seem to be either, at least not yet, so... Welcome to the clan!" A grin broke out on his face, discoloured lips shifting upwards. "I'm the liaison...leader... It doesn't really matter. Follow me."

The trio started to turn and head off, leaving the two of them alone in the open cell. Their gazes met. Moved to the door. Met again. Then down to the floor, Shade's feet shuffling around to the whine of his soles. Across from him, Vic blinked and inched closer to him. Her mouth opened and the beginning of a profound 'what the...' formed on her tongue. Until the footsteps halted. For a handful of seconds, the only sound was the clicking in their speech. Then the steps grew louder again - the guard had propped himself in the doorway. "Are you coming or what?"

Vic stepped forward, arms by her side with the tool clenched in her gloved fist. "How do we know your not trying to trick us?"

A sigh escaped him and he ran a hand down his face. Sweat gleamed on his hand when he drew it away, the thin coating barely reminiscent of what the shadows hid on his face. "And what would we want to do that for? We could just grab you."

"He's got a point, Vic. If they wanted us dead, it probably wouldn't be like this." Such a sentence fuelled the nervous energy in his muscles - the need to move, the sensation of all that open space around them. None of it was the kind of energy that came from a good meal and full night's rest. Nor did he feel like he was walking on eggshells.

If we had been, Vic would've smashed them to pieces already, he commented. If anything, he was walking in an eggshell.

"What if they're sadistic and just want to see us walk ourselves happily to our death?" 'Death' left her mouth with a bitterness.

A thud drew their attention again - the prison guard returned his arm to his side, the weapon in it speckled with dirt. "'Scuse me, I am 'ere."

"Right," she returned, dry. "Can we have our weapons back?"

He took in a rasp, pushed off the structure and took a few steps forward. "You can 'ave your weapons back for all I care. But don't pull anything - I got mine too.

When they stepped out of the cell, weapons pushed into their hands, they were ferried forwards. Not that Shade's numbed muscles could've attacked from behind anyway. He glanced over at Vic. Her jaw jutted out but her hand quivered as she tucked the tool away in her suit pocket. Both of them drew in a breath, the better purity of the air seeping through the proper channels of the suit.

"No originality in the decor," Vic remarked, eyes anywhere but ahead.

Despite himself, he grinned. "Somehow, I don't think decoration was the priority. And how different is it from home?"