The Heroes We Weren't

Chapter 8 - The Minds Of The Twisted

The gunman had lead us into the office opposite to our bunny trap, and unlike my déjà vu we weren't alone with our supposed murderer to be.

Four other men were already in the room and another one awaited us by his desk. The man leant back in his chair, feet on desk and hands clasped. He reminded me of Mister Johnson, only ten levels down in superiority and a century or two less in birthday candles.

He laughed, scornfully, and gestured for us to take a seat opposite him (although there was not much of a choice; the man with the gun was still following our every step).

"Found him lurking about, Sam." The gunman placed his hands on our shoulders to push us down into our seats.

Sam took his feet down from his desk and clapped his right hand against its wooden surface.

"Hyun-Soo," Sam coughed as he tucked his finger between his own teeth to rid of his late dinner snack, "here to pay up?"

I could feel Hyun-Soo's arm slip in between our chairs for him to grab my hand. His fingers entangled with mine. He knew these men better than I did, he knew of the seriousness of the situation, and he probably knew that what he was about to say could of cost both of us our lives. I therefor wasn't quite sure if the hand holding was for comfort or forgiveness.

"I just got back to work," Hyun-Soo's voice was lower than normal, shakier, "I'll make enough to pay you back by next month."

Sam wiped his broccoli-finger on his already dirtied shirt as he leant back once again. One single exchange of gaze with the gunman behind us, followed by an assuring nod from this conductor of the cruel.

Such a simple demand for something so utterly unpleasant as taking someone's life. I should know. How little it takes, I should know. Cloud ten-o-two. I closed my eyes if only for a second. Tightened my fingers and grip around the reason we were here; whether it be for comfort or revenge.

The metal pressed against the back of my head. This was probably it. Mister Johnson would have a soldier to replace.

"I," I huffed, all eyes on me, "I owe you no debt."

Sam narrowed his eyes, the gun remained unmoved but also unused.

"I owe you no debt, sir."

Hyun-Soo. His grip loosened. His warm fingers slipped away from mine, slowly, leaving his hand dangling by my side. I hadn't meant to leave him alone in this but I also hadn't intended to let my brain join the broccoli stain on Sam shirt.

Yet I was the reason that my new friend had reluctantly come here in the first place, and I wasn't planning on leaving him behind. I grabbed onto his hand again. I would for sure get us out of here; I just hadn't quite figured out how to use my nonexistent and simply imagined martial arts skills just yet; Felicity Town lacked of a karate expert.

Sam had been studying our latest version of a desperate thumb wrestle.

"So this is the infamous Miranda?" He chuckled.

"No, sir." Hyun-Soo again freed himself of my grip and took his hand back to rest it on his lap. "This woman has nothing to do with me."

I retreated my attempt at revengeful comfort and reached my hand forth to the leader.

"Felicity, sir." Sam left me hanging, busy scratching the sole of his bare foot. "I'm here for Miss Blue. Jessica Blue."

Sam cleared his throat and moved his hand from his foot to his chin. Nails gnawed down.

"The waitress?"

Stopped, thought about it, couldn't let him know about the world of déjà vu, but had to put it forth one way or another. Hyun-Soo wasn't going to like my straightforwardness.