The Innocent (A 'Finder' Fanfiction)

Shadow of Pluto - 36 - Mikhail

When the lights went out, he stopped, one foot in the air. He listened to the steps rushing further down the corridor, to the hoarse panting of the other man, just to have some kind of notion where he had run off to. Then he allowed himself to lean sideways against the wall and close his eyes for a moment.

His whole body hurt like hell; despite the addictive painkillers he had gobbled down. He felt like cursing, but that was a waste of energy and air.

For hours, his goalers had left him lying on the floor, while his consciousness had drifted in and out a few times. Once, the only thing he had been capable of, had been to roll onto his side and spare a look at the chaos he had dished up. Around him had lain several broken and deformed pieces of metal, mostly old pipes, the insides crusted with lime and rust, yet they seemingly had not been in use for a long time. Some other debris had come down as well and got stuck in between: Hose clamps and iron rods, thick pieces of wire and long steel girders, screws and nuts and dowels, and even some parts of mortar from the ceiling.

With the little receptiveness, he had been able to muster, he had grabbed at the pieces, searching for anything that seemed useful. In the end, he had kept a piece of old, almost black wire. It was as thick as a toothpick. In its midst, it had been formed into an 'o' and both ends had been twirled around each other. Probably this had been used as a surrogate for a missing clamp ... maybe as a provisional measure, that had never been replaced. For a minute Mikhail had tried to unwind the two strands, yet then he had lost his ambition – and strength. Actually, it was fine as it was anyway: pretty small, very sturdy and very sharp on the end.

He had pushed the 'o' under the strap of his watch, turning the dangerous edge sideways, so he did not sever his own wrist's artery by an unlucky movement. Then he had passed out again.

Knowing that he was dreaming, he had found himself walking down a long, bleak corridor with shadowy figures rushing around in it. He had heard voices, too, calling for him: his father's, his mother's, Yuri's. He had also heard the unique cracking sound a whip made when it hit on flesh. The legs in his dream had carried him on, passing by the other creatures that wandered down there in the dark with him, and they had finally managed to lead him to the light: it was a staircase leading upwards for maybe a hundred steps, and down from there shone a warm, beautiful light.

One foot moved onto the first step without him doing anything, but he called it back, like he had called back the little dog he had had as a child. He could not walk up there now. He could not ascend into safety and out of the darkness. Instead, he turned around. "Fei Long!", he called, then rushed back into the shadows.

In the following hours, he had come back to and passed out again quite often, and the time announced by his watch had been the only thing that had got him any bearing on how long he had lain there. At some point, the relics of his rampage had been tossed outside and someone had kicked him. Somewhen else he had been brought an empty, iron bucket, and he had guessed what it was meant for. Then once there was placed another bucket, now with water, and some sandwiches. Not that he felt any hunger. Not that he had known how to move and grab one ...

It hadn't been until noon of the next day that someone took a closer look at him and pulled him upright. That guy smacked his cheeks lightly a few times, until Mikhail realized that he was not dreaming, but indeed awake.

"What? ... fuck ...", he had whispered. His back had hurt as if it was being torn apart at the very moment. As if someone was smashing a sledgehammer into it.

"You not dying?", the man had asked, his eyes dark and lively, his accent Indian. "You better not die! Only trouble for everyone. You better eat. And here:", with that, the other one had grabbed Mikhail's hand and had pushed a small plastic can into it, closing his fingers around it. Then he had left.