Ruins

prologue

Zey heard the click-clack of the lock as the ligneous door spun open, revealing bloody beard's short hulking figure. The man stepped into what wan moonlight shone through the fissured ramparts of the cell. There was another passageway located somewhere behind him, but if that thing led to something other than blackness, then its wonders were yet to unravel. The man had one patched-up eye and his forever tangled beard– most likely in blood– and the blue veins contracting beneath his muscles. His smile was uncanny as ever, with his sharp canine-like teeth protruding through his jaw. Ragged hides coated his body, which, compared to feet, smelt worse.

At first, whenever bloody beard had a meeting with Zey, he would hate it. These days, it resembled a picnic with fresh air, teasing green grass, abrading mosquitoes, and gourmet food. Every time the dratted door creaked open, Zey's cell would overcome a surge of fresh air and what bloody beard regarded as food. And, of course, infrequent visits to the bathroom. Yeah, even prisoners had some personal hygiene.

Bloody beard considered the prison for the hundredth time– the walls had been engulfed by filth, the floor encrusted in dust, and Zey in the center of the arrangement with shackled arms to chains. Zey often found the rusted chains unnecessary as he didn't have enough energy to move anyway.

"What's up?" The bloody man enquired, though that was only for the sake of mere courtesy. Zey snorted– like he was secretly practicing gymnastics in this place, "Let me see through my checklist, get bound in an illustrious prison, checked, starve to death, ongoing, die, almost done. Now, what's left to add to this wonderous list? By all means, if I have missed something remotely critical, do enlighten me." Stop gawking like that, it was the sarcasm that veiled his fear. Without that, he probably would have melted into a puddle of sorrowful goo, which could make matters pretty embarrassing.

"What about the question I always ask you, about Zhy shu?" Bloody beard prodded. Zey declined the offer– he knew nothing of any Zhy shu. Bloody beard had tried to trigger a memory by regurgitating the name, obviously failing. The only thing that clicked in Zey's mind was the fact that Zhy shu's parents must have been feeling creative while naming him.

"He, " Bloody beard stated, "Is your father. You must know something about him."

"Statement correction- was my father. He abandoned me to rot, and I want nothing to do with him. Please note this in your thick skull– I'm fairly sure this is the fifty-second time I'm repeating the same statement." Zey said, mildly engrossed in his fingernails. Hmmm, since when did they start to blacken?

No matter how many times Zey admitted knowing nothing about his so-called father, bloody beard wasn't the type of person with the perspective that Zey might actually be telling the truth. Bloody beard had aspired to torture the vital information out of him. But, for some strange yet thankful reason, was refrained from proceeding... physical torture. Bloody beard did not appreciate that, in the least.

A few weeks ago, Mac was sent here, hoping that would yield some answers from Zey, and... stuff happened.

"Let me get out of this limbo," Zey pressed. It came to this every single time– he would plead his case with bloody beard, with no apparent results except for the occasional duct tape on his mouth. Which self-respected capturer used duct tape for torture infringements on a highly contemptuous prisoner?

He wanted to add more– he could be quite placating if required– but that would need the energy to think and speak, which was impossible unless he was supplied with the fifty cartons of takeout and a Mac. Just one Mac.

Zey's muscles' languished feeling increased tenfold just as his knees gave away, plonking him hard on the cold, distant floor– It had been weeks since he'd had a proper meal, slept in on a real bed, or even cuddled his adorkable boyfriend. The other man furrowed his brows, attempting to form an expression resembling pity. He looked as if he had eaten too many potato chips. Without another word, bloody beard stepped out of the cell and barred the door shut, taking the little resilient sunlight streaming into the cavernous hole with him.

Instantly Zey bolted back up, done with his mask of weakness. Yes, he was exhausted, but he didn't lose his pride as to collapse in front of the enemy! Apart from having homicidal thoughts, he contrived to look weaker than he really was, keeping tabs on any movement inclining its ways to his freedom. To Mac.

Hey, since when did he become the sappy boyfriend?