The Society of Exemption

Chapter 1 - Towards Oblivion

Ugh...

Silvia had bitterly awoken to the confound scent of misty dew and wet concrete pavement. Her eyes met with darkness itself, a comforting friend as well as feeling when a being had only stirred after a long night's rest, lively with nightmares. A foe you'd expect it to be, but this was not the case. It had, for a brief second, seemed as if she was laying in her grandmother's rocking chair on her beloved street of Oak-pine during the exchange of the seasons. The exuberant transition when the rich green leaves were losing their color to the saturated hues of reds and oranges.

But this wasn't so. She was discombobulated and only after a few seconds did she realize her vision was being obscured by an external object. Not just by the blurry mist that had occupied her gaze when she arose daily to the morning sun. There was something wrapped around her head. It was a sack of some sort, a potato sack, bound together by the asperous twine that had always left her hands scathed with scratches and splinters. She had gone to take it off but her hands stay fastened to her back. Her wrists were bound together by the same rough string, preventing her from her freedom. The same was with her feet.

For a second she lay in bewilderment with the great disquietude of a primordial panic. She shook ferociously but then immediately stopped as her mind recalled her past events.

She had been kidnapped!

Anger surged through her veins. And questions formed in her mind exuberantly, as river torrents would expeditiously rush downstream to their long awaited endless fall.

She was dangerous and she knew that. Her only hope was that her kidnappers had a quick and painless death. Something they wouldn't have to sit through. Because she was certain she would make their life an endless torture. And they wouldn't want that.

But this all halt once she realized Weed was with her. She was not alone.

"Weed, Weed!" She loudly whispered in an irritated, desperate tone.

Weed stirred when they heard the voice. "A-am I talking to God?" Weed asked aloud, puzzled. "I always suspected God would sound like a woman," they said, abundant with the great sensation of falling back to sleep.

Silvia sharply turned her head towards Weed once she recognized their voice. "No, Weed. We've been kidnapped by some idiotic psychos!"

"Oh," Weed remembered, still slurring their speech from drowsiness. "Well, that sounds rather absurd. Perhaps we are dreaming. Or maybe we have died."

"To hell with that!" Silvia exclaimed. "Do you have a pocket knife or something to cut these barbaric handcuffs?"

"No, I do not. But I have a pocket mint!"

"Ugh!" Silvia exclaimed. She was now very frustrated and was ready to cut the first person she saw. But then suddenly, she heard the faint steps of a pair of boots proceeding towards them. They got louder and louder until alas they reached a halt. She could sense their presence, for they were standing directly in front of her. She smirked with pity. Because she cared not who it would be, whether it be a man or a woman, a child or adult, but she had found her prey. It was now only a matter of time.

The person, with their quaking hands, pulled off both of the potato sacks that covered their heads in a quick and forceful manner, avoiding best to injure them. He was a young boy with a shaved head, about eighteen. And upon Silvia's glare shuddered.

"Good job, Jorge," a sophisticated man's voice spoke. "Now let Harry know it's been done." The boy bowed and nodded as he hurriedly made his way out of the room, tripping over the long strings of his cloak's uneven tassels.

At first glance of their new world, the pair of friends had quickly realized they were in an underground room of sorts, a bunker-like place. It looked rather lavish and quite comfortable. For it was accompanied by many shelves filled with hundreds upon hundreds of books and scrolls, spilling with exquisite knowledge. There were sofas with great wood work and in the room ahead of them, a gargantuan table that could have easily seated twenty or so people. But there were only seven or so men accompanying the room. All with maroon robes that draped down their slim bodies ever so effortlessly, and all with their hoods drawn back. And one of these sat at the head of the table, listening. He appeared to be their leader.