Rogue

2

~Alyssa~

They're going to kill us all soon.

   I don't know when they will, but I know they are. I can see it in their eyes as they walk past us, all two hundred and thirty-six that are trapped in this room. Of course, there's more, but they're held somewhere else. Or so we're told. Personally, I don't know what to think. As much as I hope that they're alive, the soldiers are staying in here with us longer than they used to, now for hours and hours on end.

   In this time, there is never any conversation going on in the room. They can't stand the sound of us talking. One time, some guy began begging for them to let him free. The bullet from the Volock went straight through his heart, stopping it immediately with an electric shock so bad that it charred his skin beyond recognition. He jerked around for a few moments violently, then slumped over. Many of us still have black scars on our wrists and various parts of our feet from where the rest of the electrical charge ran through the guy's handcuffs and through us. Not enough to kill us, but enough to show that they don't screw around here.

   That was day one. No one has spoken in their presence since.

   Of course, we speak all the time when they're away, normally talking about nothing to keep us aware of what's going on. None of us have ever seen each other close up in the time that we've been here because the room is so dark. We're lucky enough to see the soldiers when they slip in and out. So we ask each other about our appearances over and over again, every few days, trying to memorize them.

   No one ever admits it, but we all know that we're probably not going to see each other until our lifeless bodies are dragged out of here and the others can catch a glimpse of us in the light. That's why we do it.

   Plus, it's better than trying to clang the handcuffs together to try to keep each other awake. The soldiers hate this almost as much as talking.

   Out of the corner of my eye, I see the dark shadow of the soldier putting his gun away, obviously done cleaning it for the time being. Then I see him slowly departing from the room, opening the door and going into the next room, one that appears to be more darkly lit than our own.

   "We're safe," I whisper, knowing that Tom and Caroline will hear me, and then they'll tell Esther and Liam, who will keep on going down the line until it reaches the other side of the room, to Mikko, who sits directly in front of me. If you can call one hundred yards away "directly."

   Finally, Tom leans over and whispers into my ear, "Your turn." I nod, trying to think of how I always describe myself. At this point, I really don't even know what I look like. I have vague memories of seeing myself in the mirror, but the last time I did was years ago. I try to remember what I saw that last time. This should be easy, since I just said it a few days ago. Or has it been weeks?

   One day feels like an eternity in this room. I used to have a system of keeping track of the time, thanks to Darren. He sat next to me and had a pocketwatch. But then the pocketwatch got on the soldiers' nerves, so they broke it and then killed him. I've never been sure of the time since.

   "Alyssa," says Tom softly again, and I realize that I've been thinking again.

   "Sorry," I say. "What was the question?"

   "Your hair?" calls Wayne softly from about fifteen feet away.

   "It's black, about as dark as the other room."

   "What about your eyes?"

   "Green, I think." Can eyes change color? I think mine used to, once upon a time.

   "Your skin?"

   "Pale as a ghost."

   "How old do you think you are?"

   "Probably somewhere between seventeen and twenty-one now."

   Wayne calls on Caroline, and she begins answering the same questions. I stare blankly at the wall, knowing that the sound of their voices will be enough to keep me awake.

   Suddenly, we hear boots across the floor and everyone stops talking. All of our eyes turn to the door, where a soldier emerges. I can't see his face, but I can tell by his posture and the way that he's holding his gun that he's honestly ticked about something. His eyes sweep over us, searching for someone in particular. When he spots Mikko, he begins stalking towards him.

   "Who did you tell?" demands the soldier, stepping right up to him and pointing the gun into his face.

   "What do you mean, who did I tell?" asks Mikko calmly. "I haven't told anyone a single thing."

   The soldier reaches under Mikko's shirt and pulls out something that looks like a radio that the other soldiers use to communicate with each other. I can see the green light blinking, a holographic message ready to be seen.

   I can hear the sounds of chains clanking together, and I know what's about to happen. The soldiers don't free us until they think that we're guilty of something.

   I have a feeling in my stomach that there's going to be two hundred and thirty-five of us now.

   The soldier leads Mikko into the center of the room, still holding the radio in one tightly-clenched fist. Then he forces Mikko down onto his knees, holding the gun above his head. "Do you know what you have done, Soldier?"

   Soldier?

   Mikko shakes his head slightly, and the soldier leans in closer to him. "You have told them. You've told the enemy where we are, and they're getting close to us now. And do you know what that means?" Mikko shakes his head again. "It means that all this work will have been for nothing. It means that you've betrayed us. And do you know what we do to traitors here?" A third shake.

   I see something Mikko never sees, hear something that he never does. The butt of the gun is slammed into his head with a sickening crack, calling attention to everyone in the room. Mikko falls down to the floor, unmoving. This isn't enough for the soldier, who slams the Volock butt down onto his skull again and again, causing it to be covered with the clear liquid from Mikko's head.

   The soldier finally looks up. "Anyone else?" No one says a word. We all just stare up at him, waiting to pull out another soldier from this crowd of hostages or to just randomly select one of us to kill. At this point, I think we've all come to accept the fact that we're dying sooner or later. In fact, Mikko was the only one who was sure that we were going to get out of here someday. Now his skull is bashed into the wooden floor for everyone to see.

   Suddenly, I hear Tom speak up next to me. "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm the one who told him to do it. He was the one with the functioning radio. Mine broke." And to my horror, I watch as he pulls at his shirt, unclipping a small radio from it. The light has gone down, barely blinking now.

   The soldier stomps towards us, and I can feel the breath catch in my throat. This is the first time I've been this close to any soldier since Darren died. And now it's going to be Tom.

   I can smell the sweat of the angry soldier as he leans over to uncuff Tom. Then he drags him away, too, right to the center of the room. He shoves Tom to his knees, pressing the barrel of the gun to his heart. Tom turns to look at me. "I'm sorry, Alyssa."

   We can all smell the burning flesh as the bullet enters Tom's heart, his skin charring. Then he drops to the ground.

   Two hundred and thirty-five has become two hundred and thirty-four in a matter of seconds.

   How much longer will it be before I'm the one kneeling on the floor, the gun pressed against my back, waiting to die?

   I hope it isn't soon, but something tells me that it will be.