Endgame | b. blake

one

[pilot]
word count → 2830

SITTING IN A SMALL ROOM was how Ashton Thawne spent his days. Hour by hour, time passed being surrounded by a never-ending mass of slate grey. He stared the walls of the cell he was in. Maybe his parents were right. This was the life they predicted for him, after all.

He stretched, curling his arms behind himself while he let out a yawn. Looking at the barred cell door, he was contempt. For today was the day he was to die.

Of course, there was the slight possibility that his case could be revealed, and he'd be integrated into regular society; but he knew that his crime was much too severe to have that happen.

Either way, he wouldn't be living. He wouldn't be able to go back to his training as a guard. He would become some sort of janitor at the very least. He would never get the life back that was stolen from him, and that's why Ashton Thawne was embracing the fact that he was to die that day.

"Prisoner 218, please stand and face the wall," a guard said gruffly. The guard himself was not much older than Ashton. Maybe three years at the most. And to be honest, Ashton felt nothing but pity for the older boy in front of him. His life would be spent doing nothing but leading innocent people to their deaths. And he was so brainwashed, so integrated within the twisted system of the Ark that he probably felt no remorse.

Ashton laughed, and sat down on the small bed within the cell. "Stop with the formalities, Micheal. I've known you for what, seventeen years? I'm about to die, have some respect!" Ashton scolded him. Ashton had been friends with this man once upon a time. How ironic was it that he would be the one to lead him to his death.

The guard rolled his eyes, and sighed looking Ashton straight in the eyes. "Prisoner 218, stand and face the wall, I won't ask you again."

"Come on Micheal, we've progressed far enough in our relationship for you to call me by my name," Ashton paused. "Well, unless you're into that sort of thing," he mused.