Catch Them

London

The prison looks even worse than the one in Moscow. We have shared cells, and I'm afraid my roommates are going to kill me. It's a dumb thing to say, but I can't deny it. I don't like how they look at me.

I look down at my palms. I don't know what kind of torture device the men used, but it looked like a sharp bottle opener. I don't even want to remember how bloody the table was when they let me out. I can't get rid of the feeling that I should probably wipe myself out of this planet because I miserably failed, and there's no other way of describing it. You can't call it a mistake. Mistakes are for losers. I don't want to be one of them. I want to be a real man. I want to take it in and suck it up like there's no other way of dealing with it.

They put me in men's wing, just as I would've liked if it wasn't for the fact that we are in such a bad place to be. For example, if we were talking about school, I would've loved to be put in the boys' wing. Actually, the only reason I want to be a boy is that I want to be strong. No matter how good you are as a girl, people will always perceive you as weak and good for nothing but entertain the superior gender. They are right. I am all of the above. Even a mannequin could do the things I do, but 10 times better.

 The two men entered the room whistling, and I got scared for a good moment. They started the good and bad thing, asking me questions I don't know the answer to. As soon as they realized I couldn't give the answer to any of them, one of them took out the sharp piece of metal out of his pocket and screwed my palms into the table until it reached the end. This isn't Moscow, no. This is London, where we all equally get treated like slaves with no freedom, and I've learned to accept it the way it is.

I wonder if any of the people in this cafeteria know about the two clans. One of the men gives me a dirty look. I have to take care of myself, or else I will be dead in the next hours.

"You got bottle-handed too, my boy?" He asks, taking my hand in his. I look up. Impossible. I thought... "I forgive you. It was a nice try, overall. Good thing our queen trusts me, or else I would still have been rotting in that damn wreckage to this day."

I think his name was Dante. He puts his tray next to mine and sits down. I stop for a moment, shocked; he notices and smiles.

"You see, you're pretty strong. You'd defeat me in a fair battle. But with our healers, it's not a fair fight."

I smile, too, and take a look at the food. It looks gross, but he still eats. I wonder why he's here. He's so nice that I don't think he'd have the guts to commit an actual crime. 

"We're not like the stories say since the great battle." He says, forcing himself to swallow another spoon. "The great battle between risons and us. We are reckless and cruel. If you're wondering, I got two months of prison for getting in a bar fight a week after our last encounter. Aric is an assassin and a thief. Our queen is a hooker. There's nothing good in us anymore." He sighs, rubbing my wounds gently. "We're just like you, Morana, but no one can actually see it."