The DOOM Chronicles

Chapter 02: Confinement

The walk to his cell seemed to take longer than it should have.

Even though his fear was now apparently completely burned out, Eric found that his instincts were still rather strong. He found himself scanning everyone he passed, glancing quickly and unobtrusively into each cell as he passed it. At a glance, there seemed to be about fifty cells per level and two people to a cell. Eric glanced up and down again, confirming that there were at least a dozen levels. And most of the cells seemed populated.

Why did they need so many?

He supposed he would find out in due time.

Eric sized up everyone he came past. He figured he could take most of them. Some of them seemed like they would give him a run for his credits. Mostly they looked the same: tattooed toughs with muscles and scowls and shaved heads, about how he imagined prison would look. What bugged him was how many were sporting Marine Corps tats. It begged the question: were there that many shitty Marines or were they just scooping them up because it was so easy to make Marines disappear nowadays?

Probably some of both.

Eric made it to his cell without a problem. He liked to imagine that he looked tough enough, but he knew that wasn't really it. He'd always looked scrappy. Five ten, wiry instead of muscular, even now, slightly bugged out eyes. He knew that the thing that gave him his edge here was that these men were looking at his face and seeing the face of a man who genuinely did not care if he lived or died. Who would gleefully die if it meant taking you with him.

There were things to be gained from fighting someone like that, but it was early enough that no one really wanted to be the first to test the psycho. Then again, as he reached his own cell, he wondered if it was because they knew who his cellmate was. And no one wanted to get between V and his latest victim.

Eric found his cell door open. He walked inside.

"You're in my cell."

V turned out to be a muscular man with a shaved head, tan skin that came from heritage rather than the sun or out of a bottle, and an extremely deep voice. He was laying in his bunk, the top one, with his hands behind his head, staring idly at the pitted steel ceiling.

"Our cell now," Eric replied.

That got his attention. V raised his head and studied Eric for a scant few seconds, then hopped lightly and easily to his feet. That one motion told Eric all he needed to know about the guy's skill: he was fast, he was smooth, and he was absolutely lethal.

"Heard tell of new meat being sent my way," he said. His voice, though deep as a granite quarry, was calm and neutral. "You're a Marine."

"I am," Eric replied.

"Are you the one who killed nine fellow jarheads?"

Interesting. The guy didn't seem the type to make idle jabs. Which meant it had been very intentional, because this was a man who did nothing unintentionally. So it was a test, maybe. See what kind of reaction it would provoke.

"I am," he repeated.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked.

There was the tiniest shift in V's stance, a shift so subtle most people wouldn't even realize it had happened. He'd slipped into an offensive posture. Meaning that if he heard the wrong thing, he would attack, and likely kill, Eric in a heartbeat.

"They were evil, and I was sick and tired of looking the other way."

"Hmm. Dead men don't learn lessons," V said.

"If I'd also killed the ones who I thought could be taught, the body count would be a hell of a lot higher," Eric replied.

V continued studying him. It had gone quiet outside of his cell.