The Game

Disappear

 It was dead quiet and all Silas could hear were his own thoughts. He often did this. Drifted off into thoughts he created. He was never taught scripting so there wasn't a way for him to document what he felt. Hell, he didn't even know if he could, even if he knew how. The dull roar in his left knee spiked pain into his hip and he winced. Rolling to his right, he could see shapes through the frosted glass doors. Sighing from momentary relief, he realized he couldn't hear anyone or anything, but could tell by the way the Yerin moved, that it was almost the beginning of their first defense classes.

 Yerin are those chosen to become protectors of the havencombs. He sat up, beginning to panic. The truth is, he hadn't been chosen for any job and it was his second year of application sheets and dedication that never seemed to pay off. He had worked numerous weeks and countless hours with Doc Saab, his caretaker, learning how to wield the elements of fire and air. Harness the earth and manipulate water. And he was really good at it. He even showed potential for aligning spirit qualities of the surrounding universe. Back then Doc filled the sheets for him, but he had been taken last winter. No one knows how because he was by far the biggest one in the havencombs and the strongest of the Protector Forms.

 Silas moved his hands to his face, caressing the bridge of his nose. He tried desperately to calm down. He opened his eyes, forcing deep breaths in his nose and out his mouth, finding five things he could see, four things he could hear... Four things he could hear. He couldn't hear anything in his comb. He had to get out. He stood, quickly equipping his only possession, an illegal tomahawk, to his right thigh. The "good one", Saab had called it. He pulled on his navy blue vest and buttoned down both front panels. He made sure his firm pressed white collar came over the top, smoothed his long hair, and offered his forefinger to the pricker. It was quick and sharp, but made just enough for one bead of blood. Once accepted, he held up his wrist, tatted with a barcode and the doors noiselessly slipped open, allowing the echoes of excited beginners flood his ear drums. Captivates nodded to him insincere apologies of sorry, but he didn't have time to think about that. He needed an out.

 Walking quickly through the halls, his hands firmly folded behind his back, his palms were sweating and he pulled on and off the ring given to him by Doc Saab before he was discovered gone. He took corners he'd know anywhere, even if he were nothing but torso. His mind drifted to a memory of the ring. A day when the sky shook with loud noises and everyone had been told to go to their combs. Doc Saab had found Silas and pulled him into his comb, hiding him in a makeshift fort of leather bound books. While Silas was trembling, Saab leaned in towards him.
"Ya know, kid, yer parents were good people. But I ain't no good fer ya. But I am all ya got now." His breathing deepened and Silas could tell he was holding back tears.
"Kid, I think you should have this," he put the ring, too big at the time, into Silas' sweating palm.
"It's got everything ya need in it in case something...something were ta happen...er...ta me."
He shivered as he came up to the old caretakers comb. The other side of the frosted glass permanently blackened. Not just out of respect, but they took his mod lights and gave them to a newer level of combs. Silas tried to fight it and keep the comb preserved but Chorp, a Captivate of older stature and weathered skin put his hand on his shoulder and told him it was time to move on.

 As Silas checked to be sure he wasn't being watched, he slipped the ring off and moved aside the black jewel set in the center almost seamlessly. No one would have noticed, but he had, and this was one of the reasons Silas didn't know how or why he hadn't been chosen for career. Inside was what he knew to be Doc Saab's own personal stash of blood. For the pricker. It's purpose had served them allowing them to break into the Captivates offices and scavenge for any weapons, information and extra food they could find. Captivates kept a silent order. Silas hadn't know anything to ever have been read out or demanded, you just knew. There was a sense of obviousness about the combs that you just knew how things were supposed to go. Like you weren't to have access to anyone's comb but your own. Or that there were no questions asked. That speaking to a captivate was forbade even if they spoke to you. You didn't live with family, even if you were lucky to have some. You didn't go through school to not be placed into a beneficial standard that would ensure the safety of those trying to survive in the comb. Everyone was equal. Everyone had beneficial purpose. Everyone except Silas.