Prisoner one

Chapter One

Hell, it's a curse word, a biblical reference to the place where people go when they pass, and also happens to be a synonym with the life I was born into. Because of this, I don't fear death. Though, I do often contemplate how I will die. While thinking these thoughts I often like to assume the worst case scenario. In this scenario all that would be left of me is a shadow on the ground and a cloud in the sky that is associated with common fungus. The thoughts wouldn't last long before I started thinking about what was going on in the room. Around me is the sound of clinking and clanking by the chains that held me off of the ground. I could feel and smell the lacrimation of blood coming out of my eyes. Sure the strain on my senses sounds cruel, but this wasn't the worst part of my day. After all how could it, I lived in a concrete prison; you'd be stupid to assume that my days are anything but atrocious.

"Please send subject Zero to the medical center for further testing of project catalyst." A voice spoke over the facility's intercom so speedily and without annunciation it reminded me of the conductor on the subway back in New York when I was younger. I remember being seven riding the subway into Manhattan. My dad had just got a job with a private contractor called Staur Enterprise. Don't be fooled by the name, the pretty word here is Enterprise. It was no enterprise or company, Staur was a private militia based highly on their own scientific discoveries and own inventions. These inventions were of obvious build. They included guns, explosives, aircraft, and just about everything else the United States military is expected to have___ oh and yes, that does include ballistic missiles and nuclear weapons. This insane group of militants, Staur, happened to be the same people making my life a living hell. Yes, they are the reason I'm hanging by a chain and bleeding from the natural holes in my head. They had a slight conscious though. Their ever so kind staff does give me a mirror that hangs in front of me. It helps, to look in the mirror and remember that my long black hair at one point in my life was clean and pretty. My hair is now greasy and covered in dust and concrete crumbs that fall from the ceiling. "Please send subject Zero to the medical center" The voice spoke once more over the intercom, but this time it spoke with stressed annunciation as if someone had corrected him the first time and he was being asinine.

"Yo, Prisoner Zero is in here homies." I tried to yell through the steel bars that separated me from the rest of the facility. All of it was grey and droll. So I often talked with an attempt of sarcastic enthusiasm that was well, asinine. I was astonished at how coarse my voice sounded. All I could think is that is sounded like somebody who has been smoking since a stupid middle school mistake behind a burger king somewhere.

"You're not a prisoner." A smooth voiced of a man who you could've imagined as handsome and of much opulence beamed into the droll grey prison. Girls would hear his voice and swoon to the thought of a man who is slender, successful, and covered in such beautiful long brown hair. He was a man whom had eyes that were as green as lively grass, and manners that seemed almost too good to be true. This imagination would be a semi-true assumption of the man. To many, the man did happen to come across as this person. To me though, this man could've been the devil himself. I am given the o-so glorious blessing of getting to call him dad.

"I'm in chains, and this morning I woke up bleeding out my eyes. Please explain to me___" I was beginning to explain but I was hastily interrupted with a voice of concern.

"Bleeding out of your eyes‽" He spoke with a sense of worry in his voice, "What in the name of god are you talking about‽" He then walked up to me and examined me closer. I guess the blood that had been there this morning had stained my skin. He saw it and immediately started to pace out of the room to go get some kind of help___ well at least that is what I thought, but I would never find out. Going through my head I had remembered I am hanging from a chain, though I don't have much circulation in my arms I still have enough body strength and will power to lift myself up just enough. Continuing to think about what I could've done, the world seemed to slow down for a second. Everything was now going slowly. It felt so cinematic as if some kind of entity or god knew I had an opportunity to get free; it was trying to show me. So, I took it.