The Chaos Insurgency

Torn

Darkness stretched before my vision, pitch black and terrifying. My head felt heavy, my body unresponsive. Where was I? And what happened? I realised my eyes were shut explaining the dark that faced me. Feebly opening my eyes to a slit, the bright blinding lights forced them shut again. A groan escaped my lips and I made another attempt. Blinking the assaultive light away, I tried to get my bearings and inspect my surroundings. It was a small room, smooth black walls surrounding me and nothing more but a desk littered with papers and coffee mug rings. I looked down to find myself seated in a steel chair, my wrists bound to the armrests with metal cuffs. My legs refused to move as they too had received the metal cuff treatment. My breathing turned shallow as my mind reeled, trying to make sense of the situation. It was clear that I was now a prisoner of The Chaos Insurgency. But where was Larry? I vaguely remembered an altercation with a group of guards and begging Larry to run. Had he? My memory was foggy, the after effects of the sleeping substance preventing much clear coherent thought. Panic was setting in as I tried to craft an escape from this room. It felt too confining and I felt claustrophobic. Finally, the door of the room swung open on its hinges and a shadowy figure entered. Larry? The heavy footfalls tapped the floor loudly, the dark figure too large to be Larry's. To my dismay, it was an unfamiliar man, his hard features illuminated by the light.

Deep lines were carved into his ageing skin, scarring wreaked across his left cheek. His hair was grey and cut short in a crew cut. Thin lips pursed as the man inspected me with his grey eyes, one of which appeared to have sustained some damage. His large hand cupped my chin as he tilted my head upwards to look at him. I couldn't stop staring at the damaged white of his eye, a darkish cue spread over it. The man scoffed as he observed me before dropping his hand.

"You don't look like much," he remarked, stalking over to the desk to drink from a coffee mug. "When they mentioned a fugitive, I didn't expect such a scrawny, skinny boy."

I bristled slightly at his insults but fear dominated my mind. Who was this man?

"But if you are Dr William Erikson as they say," the man continued, "then so be it. Capturing every last fucking member of this damned Foundation is a top priority."

His voice was rough and every word came out as a snarl. I immediately disliked him. He was dressed in camouflage uniform, obviously trying to give the impression he was a soldier.

"Who are you?" I asked before I could stop myself.

The man whipped around as if I had insulted his entire family, looking almost furious.

"Can't you read?" he hissed, brushing a finger across the sewn name on his commando shirt. Bruce Delvino.  I racked my brain to determine if I had ever heard that name mentioned but came up short.

"Your name doesn't ring a bell," I admitted, trying to sound braver than I felt.

My moment of fearlessness was quickly ended as a flying hand contacted with my cheek, a burning sensation sweeping across it. Bruce's face was contorted with rage.

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to!" he roared.

I gasped with disbelief and pain. It obviously didn't bother him in the slightest when I asked a question. It was clear I was dealing with a volatile and unstable man.

"As the lead commander, I demand respect!" he spat.

"Wait, you're not the head of The Chaos Insurgency?" my mouth went off again. "If you're not, who is?"

As expected, another angry hand slapped my cheek. I choked with the pain, hair falling in my face.

"Are you deaf?!" Bruce screamed with hysteria. "Don't speak unless you're spoken to!!!"