Marcid

Thirty-Seven - Kory

Saliva seeped into a rag wrapped around Kory's mouth, his teeth gritted over the rag. The taste was making him gag. It reeked of old chemicals, and spit. The rag must have been used several times due to the awful taste.
He tugged at the rope that tied his wrists together, his hands pressed against the wood of the chair. His feet were tied to the legs of the chair. The tightness of the rope was starting to hurt Kory. He looked around the room. It was dimly lit by a flickering lightbulb that hung high right above him. Dry blood stained the floor, and torn rags of what seemed to be clothing were piled in a corner of the room. The walls were nearly covered with green or black mold entirely. The room smelled of chemicals, and something foul that Kory couldn't figure out what it exactly was. He lowered his head to the dark steel table in front of him. A pocket knife lays in the middle, the metal blade glimmering in Kory's eyes.

Drool dripped from Kory's chin, the thick liquid dropping down to his shirt. The wet feeling made Kory move his head uncomfortably. He glared at the knife, making a futile attempt to shift closer to the table. His arms started to hurt from the position they were in. The cold wood started to warm up from his body warmth. The room started to heat up slightly. His curls stuck to his face, sweat beading down his forehead. His palms started to get sweaty as parts of his shirt were slowly being stained with sweat. The feeling was uncomfortable, almost unbearable. He weakly lifted his head. Kory noticed something blinking red in his peripheral vision. He turned his head in the direction of the blinking red light, finding a security camera staring directly at him. It whirred a quiet hum from the functions inside.

"Who are you?" Kory muffled through the rag covering his mouth. "Let me go!" He demanded, feeling the air get hotter with each word he uttered. A muffled growl escaped his throat that just turned into a defeated huff. He felt frustrated. Kory didn't even know who 'took' him. It was all so quick, a blur. He wished he could just remember.
The blinking red light flickered. Kory's body relaxed in defeat, the unnecessary warmth of the room starting to make Kory tired. The warmth always made him tired. Maybe it comforted him somehow. "I'm tired." He murmured. "Can't you..." Kory's voice died in his throat. The heat rose another degree or two the more he spoke. "Mmgh. Turn it down." He complained. "Too hot in here," he murmurs, his eyes half-lidded. The heat lowered slightly. The room temperature lowered a bit more. Kory sighed in relief, a toothy grin turning his lips up. He quietly thanked the nothingness in the room. Nobody would respond to him, anyhow. Yet Kory continued to have a conversation as if it would be the last one he would ever have.

"Who are you?" He repeats, letting his head hang low. Kory didn't bother to try and free himself, or demand to be set free. Something relaxed him. Was it the feeling of 'acceptance' washing over him? Or was it him losing hope in the chances of him escaping the moldy room? He wasn't sure. And he didn't want to know. Everything felt 'right,' and in place. Like a jigsaw puzzle, he had finally solved. It may just be the heat turning his brain to mush. It didn't matter to him at the moment. He would wake up anew if he did 'die' from heat exhaustion. Wouldn't he? It happened with a clean shot to the head, Kory doubted it wouldn't happen with an unfortunate pause of the heart from the harsh heat inside of the room. At least he wouldn't be 'regenerating' the hole in his brain. He still wondered how he was still alive. The wound was gone. And he felt fine when he came back from the dead. Kory started to hum softly, his voice slightly breaking at first. It soon stopped once he continued his musical session. He wasn't sure when he had heard this tune, but it had always stuck with him. It was creative. Original. It didn't sound like any nursery rhymes that he had heard before in the lab. It was its own creation.

He watched sweat drip from the ends of his curls, watching it drop down to his shirt and sink into the fabric. Kory closed his eyes, his hands fumbling with the rough rope that tightly restrained his wrists together. It was no use to try and undo the tie. It felt like it was tied into a knot, perhaps. He uncomfortably moved his wrists around. He felt his voice rumble in his throat as he continued to hum. The heat started to make Kory's nose stuffy. He sniffled, feeling how clogged up his nose was. His fingers pressed against the rope. His body slightly rocked forwards and backwards, still humming the soft tune that was burnt into his mind.

He strongly exhaled. The taste of the rag began to sink into his taste buds, making Kory wince in disgust. Kory coughed, spit seeping into the already-wet rag. His tongue pressed against the rag, his teeth pressing down over them. "At least give me a... clean rag? This is gross." Kory complained again. "I could get sick." He raised his voice, slightly jumping in his seat. His 'restraints' weren't much help. "And like... die, or something. I could die in this chair." He excused. Even if he couldn't die, whoever captured him didn't need to know the fact. Perhaps they captured him to find out his ability. Maybe they were keeping him for ransom. Kory sometimes wondered how low someone would get to actually commit to the act of 'ransom.'  They must be desperate, if they need to do such a thing.

The doorknob jiggled. Kory lifted his head, squinting his eyes at the mold-covered door in front of him. There was tally marks carved into the wood of the door. Kory silently counted. Thirty-seven. Thirty-seven tally marks. He assumed whoever carved these vertical lines had been inside this very room once. For thirty-seven days. It didn't smell of a corpse inside, or bodily fluids. Perhaps whoever kidnapped them would be kind and escort him to the bathroom and bathe him regularly if he was going to be here for a long time. "Yes, open the door now." He grumbled. Kory felt immense gratitude internally. "You could have a few minutes ago, instead of trying to boil me to death." He pointed out.
The doorknob stopped jiggling. Kory groaned, shifting uncomfortably again underneath the rope tightly. "No, I didn't mean that." He insisted. "I'm sorry." Silence hit him like a punch to the gut. He lowered his head, grumbling as the jiggling seemed to stop for good. Perhaps he was too harsh. Maybe he should have been a bit nicer.

Kory closed his eyes, letting the heat sink into his body. He didn't feel like putting up a fight anymore. What was the point? The carvings on the door made him think that he would be here for a while. He should get used to sitting here, being uncomfortably tied up to a chair. Maybe the last victim that was imprisoned here was able to roam free inside of the small, moldy room. Kory must have been special, since he was still sitting here, with his wrists tied together behind the chair. He was starting to convince himself of the fact. "Leave me here to die, then. I won't be as much use to you, either way." Kory muttered, still holding onto the facade that he was 'mortal'. His stomach grumbled, hunger getting the better of him. "I'm hungry," he raised his voice. "Can I eat something before I punch my ticket?" He had learned the term, 'punch my ticket' from Raymond. It sounded clever. "Please," Kory added.

The lock clicked, the door gently opening.

(I gently open the door. Get it? Haha. - writer)