Existence is primal to feeling, action and thought, but what if it all was never meant to be?
Max Ryder; A Common name gnashing at the contradiction of the individual described as being anything but normal being sent to a hostel finds himself experi...
The corridors of Westminster were labyrinthine, resembling a palace in their grandeur. One could never discern when a corridor would end or seamlessly lead to another juncture, offering multiple paths to further corridors.
Max's hands traced listlessly along the corridor's walls, as if patting away the dust that lingered there. It was a novel experience for him, having been away from the hostel for so long, nearly embroiled in a bounty hunt, yet not receiving a single lecture from his uncle.
Was it due to newfound clemency his uncle may have discovered? Max highly doubted it. He had only seen his uncle seven times in his life, face to face. The details of who took care of him after the death of his parents remained hazy and strange.
The only reliable accounts he had were based on narrations and diaries left by his uncle. So, he couldn't delve deeper into the past, nor did he desire to. Facts and events, unlike memories and emotions, were always clear to him—a virtue of the gift of wisdom, more than he could have ever asked for as the last successor of his lineage.
As he reached the next cross-turn in the corridor, his gaze and breath stilled for a moment, his palm resting on the cold, smooth exterior of a nearby pillar. In mere moments, he would confront the hostage-takers. Peril had become a drug to him, so he wasn't overly concerned about entering their midst.
No, the hostages unnerved him more, with their uneasiness and impulsive hearts in those circumstances.
But putting his life entirely in the hands of others, so closely, was a different matter. For his sake and future, he could only trust his instincts and the motivations guiding other people.
After calming his heart for a few seconds, he withdrew his hand from the pillar and turned to the right, where a few steps ahead, the alleged situation seemed to have unfolded before the cameras went out. Each tread against the floor produced a discernible sound in the silent ambiance.
Seconds after advancing into the new corridor, two men in low-rate military uniforms, assault rifles against their chests, positioned themselves on guard. Seeing a lack of concern on Max's face, who continued walking nonetheless, the two exchanged a knowing look and knocked on the door.
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(A/N: Hope this image helps to understand the spatial aspect better. Btw, Star represents Max)
For a moment, Max debated whether the leader had changed his mind as silence ensued. His worries seemed to placate as the door creaked open.
"Ready yourself, lad," one of the men by the door said in a hushed tone.
Max nodded, his senses heightened as he prepared to face the unknown within the room. As he entered the room, he couldn't help but blink twice in surprise. The room was built to serve as a provisional guest house originally so its inside walls had been adorned with tapestries and various paintings. In fact, he had managed to get a look at the room's decorative glamour when he had visited the Palace just last month for Serbian incident.
