Neophyte

Confusion

*Drip*

*Drip*

*Drip*

Three drops of water hit Metztli on the forehead; she slowly opened her eyes, noticing the darkness surrounding her. Aminor migraine hit her head while she was slowly sitting up. "What happened to me? Where's my phone?" 

It was too dark, and Metztli crawled on the floor and found her phone that wasn't too far away. She felt relieved that her bag was still on her. 

Turning on the phone flashlight, something was wrong. The time was reported as 00:00, and there was no WiFi connection. 

"Huh? That's weird. What's going on with the time? Maybe I broke my phone." Memories of the previous events flooded her. People surrounded her as they followed her in a language she didn't recognize. 

Looking around, there was no one, but something was off. The prison walls and cells weren't in disarray; they were well-built and well-furnished. 

Hand chains dangled in different parts of the ceiling. A couple of wooden barrels in the left corner of the prison were part of the cells. Metztli slowly tried to process what she was looking at. "I need to get out of here, or I'm going to get in trouble."

She slowly went up the stairs and reached the exit door. Opening the door, her body stiffened when she noticed that the outside looked different. Metztli remembered that there were some statues and small amounts of plant life in the center of the Mission. 

There was nothing but dirt, and the walls weren't as nicely kept as she remembered; they looked slightly worn. 

Metztli was about to leave the room, but noticed a man in dirty white clothes. She gasped and slightly closed the door to hide herself. The person was someone she had never met or seen before, and the clothing looked tattered. "What's going on? How long have I been out?" The unknown man walked past the prison door. Metztli slowly opened the door, walked out of the prison, and tiptoed to the end of the corner.

On sight, the center of the Mission was a plain dirt lot, with many wooden barrels scattered throughout. One brick-made stove in the center was lit. From afar, what seemed like a small field of vegetables was being grown. "Am I going crazy? What in the world is going on!? Am I still in the Mission?"

"¡Oye, tú! (Hey, you there!)," said a masculine voice. Metztli flinched as she slowly turned to the left and noticed what looked like a Padre who wore a gray wool robe. The man was bald, but he had dark brown hair on the sides of his head. He looked in his early twenties, with beige skin, but was slightly burnt from long periods in the sun. His teeth were slightly yellow, and bags under his eyes made him look sickly. "¿Qué estás haciendo (What are you doing)?"

Metztli slowly emerged from her hiding place; she felt no point in hiding. "M-Me, sir?"

The Padre stopped in his tracks as he looked confused. His confusion then turned to rage. "You speak the English language!? Who taught you such a skill!?"

"Eh? Uh...." Metztli tried to find the appropriate words: "También sé hablar Español .(I can also speak Spanish.)"

The Padre continued walking toward Metztli, who returned, trying to find space between them. "I heard you speak English, savage! Who taught you!?"

"Excuse me? Did you call me a savage?" 

"You dare speak to me that way, you filthy woman!? You dress in such a manner in the house of God!?"

Metztli's migraines slowly worsened; she couldn't believe that someone who worked for the church called her a savage. "What are you talking about!? Are you new here!? Are you mad that I crossed over the sign!? Look, if you want, we can talk to Padre Santiago and he will handle the situation!"