(OxBlood) (Asking Alexandria)

1: Welcome to the Farm

His head was pounding again. He pulled the curtains closed quickly, shielding his tired eyes from the afternoon sunlight. As he laid back down, he knocked over an empty bottle from the night before, sending tiny shards of colored glass across the floor as it shattered. He cursed to himself before sliding to the other side of the bed and walking around the mess to the phone down the hall.

He dialed the number and pinched the bridge of his nose as a familiar voice answered on the other end of the line. "Hello?"

"Yeah...it's me. Uh, look, do you still have any of those...you know?" He bit at his lip meekly.

"Hell yeah, hold on..." He quickly settled the noise in the background behind him. "Meet me outside the hotel on the west end. Out in the back, y'hear?"

"Got it." He mumbled it to himself a few times.

"Good. See you then." He hung up.

He put the phone down and caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror. His silky black hair was knotted and ratty on the side; his amber eyes had dark bags under them. He just stood and studied this messy, and honestly, shameful side of himself in disapproval. He tore his eyes away from his reflection and went back to his room to get dressed and make himself look half decent.

He grabbed a leather jacket off of the coat rack as he made his way down the stairs and out to his car. It was old, beat up, and probably worthless at this point, but it still meant a little bit of something to him. He forced the key into the ignition and played around with it for a few minutes before the engine finally started with a sputter.

Today would be a good day in town. If the sun was out, the reprobates probably wouldn't be. There were jails and whore houses all along the borders and a terrible fear of random outbursts and scuffles from the gangs that passed through on their way to the next major city. Most days were dreary and gray, the clouds rolling through the sky endlessly.

He squinted against the harsh light as he drove through the square, his upper lip drawn up slightly as well. He took a turn on impulse, unsure of where he was actually headed. This friend of his, a dealer, was never in the same place twice. He had never heard of this hotel on the west end of town, nor had he even heard of much of anything happening on the west end of town for that matter. The dark colored buildings all began to blur together and look the same after a while, his sense of direction slowly slipping away from him. He'd started to guess and pray that he was correct as he continued on through unfamiliar streets.

A particular right turn caught his interest as the scenery changed and the thick pavement and sidewalks ended, giving way to scattered gravel and grass. Despite his better instincts, he followed the gravel path with a strong curiosity. The grass was tall and wispy, lining both sides of the path and eventually fading into fields of corn and poppies. There were no clouds in the sky, just a vibrant and brilliant blue. This narrow gravel path continued on straight without a break or curve of any kind, just going on for what seemed like as far as the eye could see. There was no sign of life around, not a bird nor soul of any kind. It was intriguing in a childish way.

He went about continuing onward until he found that the engine had started to creak and sputter once again. He ignored it at first, coming across the end of the gravel and the start of dirt and dust. He only made it another few feet or so before the car started to slow and near a halt. He pulled over off to the far side of the dusty path. Where had he gone wrong? He was stranded in the middle of nowhere with no phone and a car that wouldn't start and was just about useless; great. The sun was setting, leaving the sky hues of hazy oranges, reds, and yellows. It was pretty, he'd give it that, but a sudden feeling of anxiety settled into his bones as he glanced around. There was nothing out here, just open fields and dirt. He decided against sleeping in the car and pulled his jacket on as he set out to look for help. Hopefully it'd be a cute little farmhouse not too terribly far away, and a sweet old couple who had an ancient dial phone or something. He scowled as the dust blew up onto his shoes and jeans, leaving a reddish brown trail. He squinted to make out the figure of something moving in the distance. It became clearer as he got closer; a cow, an old sickly cow with sharp ribs jabbing at its sides and a wish for death hidden behind its lifeless eyes. It was the first sign of life that he had seen out here, and however sickening it was, it was reassurance. There were more cows of the same demeanor farther up the path, all wandering about aimlessly and in misery.

His hangover had started to dissipate and was slowly being replaced with a gnawing bit of worry. He could make out the shapes of torn wire and wooden fences along the grass as he walked on, and he eventually came across a tiny farmhouse and a rusty windmill. He let out a sigh of relief as he approached the tiny house and knocked on the door hopefully. He received no answer, and to his surprise, the door fell open slightly, peaking his interest.

"Hello?" He called as he held the door in his grip cautiously. There was still no answer, so he snuck in quietly. The furniture was overturned and ripped, the stuffing spilling out of the arms of the sofas. There were shattered pieces of an antique lamp thrown across the floor and up on the windowsill. He froze when he heard a rustling, or what he assumed to be some kind of movement. He peered up the stairs; he really didn't want to go up after seeing the mess in the living room, instead heading into the kitchen. He spotted an old land line phone mounted on the wall by a pull out ironing board. He heard the rustling again, pushing it to the back of his mind like before. He picked up the phone and attempted to dial a number, but to his dismay found that the keys were stuck and wouldn't budge. The rustling only increased as the sun set, sending pulses of paranoia down his spine. He placed the phone back on the receiver and crept back towards the door, only to spot two men and hide behind the door frame to avoid being spotted. One was holding a burning cigarette, his frame slim and slender. His hair was a dirty blonde, messy and sticking up in some places, curled or wavy in others. The other was standing behind him. He was slightly taller with a more muscular build and blood on his face.

The first man spoke, his cockney accent breaking the silence of the house. "You hear something?"

The second replied to him weakly. "Hmmm..."

"It's over here I think, maybe a little mouse." He neared the door frame, blowing smoke out through his nose. The second followed him, reaching around him to grab the dark haired man by the front of his shirt and drag him out to them.

The first spoke with a serious tone. "What the Hell are you doing out here? You know that no one's allowed out here, are you trying to get yourself killed?"

As he shook his head frantically, the second pulled him close to his face. "I should kill you right here."

"No...please...I...I don't know who you are. My car broke down, I just need help, please..." He pleaded with them desperately.

"You're not from around here, huh?" The first tapped his ashes off into the creaking floor. "I guess I'll get to show you around then. James...." He signaled to the other man, who picked up his target and threw him over his shoulder, holding him tightly and preventing him from breaking free.

He struggled and attempted to thrash as they made their way back out onto the dusty path, but his efforts were futile. "Put me down! What is wrong with you people?"

They ignored him as they carried on. The grass began to get shorter as they approached a large and noisey barn. He turned abruptly as he heard a glass break and loud shouts follow. The first man pushed the door open and walked in nonchalantly. There were large lights hanging from the rafters in the barn, and underneath these large lights appeared to be a bar. There was a counter with stools lined up around it and tables full of booze and rowdy gangs that were familiar from town. Glasses were being thrown and broken in every direction, fights and scuffles were breaking out and bets were being placed, loose change falling from pockets.

There was a tall and lanky dark haired man working the bar, his long arms gracefully sliding shot glasses across the counter. He looked up as they entered. "Hey, Ben!"

"Have you seen Danny around?" He leaned over the counter and stole a shot of whiskey.

"He's in the back, I don't think he's busy though." He ran a hand back through his long hair.

"Great." He set the glass down and made his way through all of the chaos to a door on the opposite side of the barn. He welcomed himself in, standing across from a man with his hands full of money, paging through it casually.

He looked up with curious blue eyes. "My, my, what have we here? What's he come for?"

James shifted. "He says that he's not from around here."

"They all say that. If he's here to make a deal, then let's deal, if not, kill him."

"What's going on here?" He spoke up, his voice shaky and unsteady.

He smiled slyly. "Take him to the meat house."