Tales from the Wasteland | The No Leaf Clover

Chapter 2

SEVERAL MONTHS LATER

"Welcome home," cracks a voice nastily. The words seared into Eric's mind as he's pulled from the back of the run-down van and carried to the front door of the three-story asylum. The words etched above the door are a warning to all who enter. Black paint over the archway reads, "No one leaves and no one will." The building stands looming over him, and for that moment, Eric feels like a lost child. Even in the slums of the Dark City, Orgrimdeare, he hadn't felt this sense of hopelessness.

The structure is out in the middle of nowhere with no sign of life for many miles. The rumors of this Sanitarium scare even the most hardened men. From mutilation to demonic experimentation, once you cross through the doors, there's no escape. Eric struggles to feel his arms through the straitjacket. He's had it on for what seems like an eternity. One of the orderlies punches Eric in the gut. "Stop squirming, you shit for brains."

The other aide laughs at the remark as Eric staggers from the blow. His breathing grows difficult from the ball gag in his mouth. He snorts, fighting for every ounce of air. The men climb the steps leading up to the rust coated doors. Eric takes one last glance at the desolate world, noticing the barbwire fence surrounding the perimeter. A gust of wind touches his skin. He takes in every sensation from the humid breeze, knowing that it is his last bit of freedom. No one ever makes it out of the Sanitarium.

Upon reaching the door, the orderly on the left grabs the knob and turns it. The smell of sweat and dampness crawls inside Eric's nostrils as the door opens. Before him is a small area that is very reminiscent of a waiting room from a time long ago. To his left sit three chairs murdered by time, two of which are devoid of all color, just dark pieces of rotting furniture. On the walls are paintings that have lost any emotion or plot. At one point, these pictures depicted a story the artist wanted to convey. Maybe even some raw emotion, now just a bleached smear of color, with a frame. The floor creaks and moans with each step the men take to the counter. It is snug to the right side of the room, just before the door into the Sanitarium.

Behind it, sits a plump woman feverishly working on her nails. Her fiery red hair is messily put into a bun. Her skin is pale in color, standing out against her dark brown shirt. Once at the counter, the two orderlies let go of Eric. He drops to the floor as exhaustion conquers his body. The man on the right tips his cap to the woman, who is still too occupied with her nails to make eye contact. "Afternoon. Amanda, I hope."

"Cut the shit, Jim. I'm not in the mood."

He nods, then puts his cap back on. Jim proceeds to the task at hand. He signs the clipboard on the counter then goes into the details of their delivery. "I got a prisoner transport from Orgrimdeare. His name is Eric Sandkim. He was caught stealing dark root from Quadrant Three." He hands the paperwork over to Amanda.

"Why would anyone steal that?" she asks with a smug, yet indifferent, tone. Her assignment was simple: spend eighteen months at the Sanitarium then move back to Orgrimdeare. Amanda would then finish out her contract with Quantum Core in Quadrant Two. It's been almost four years with no word on a transfer. Her demeanor is quite jaded, to say the least.

"Dunno," Jim answers. "He won't say either. They usually just cut off a thief's hand at the Coliseum during intermission."

Eric's laying there asking himself that exact question. Well, he's been asking himself that since long before Jim and his partner, Gary, picked him up at the train station in Midland. The City of Steam was quite the sight for Eric indeed. He's been a child of the Dark City his entire life. Never has he stepped outside its walled confines. The sprawling dark metropolis is home to millions of citizens, all fighting for some semblance of a normal life. The towering walls around Orgrimdeare are as much a defense as they are a prison.