The car ride was uncomfortably quiet, as the two captives sat side by side in the rear of the vehicle, silently reminiscing their captivity and it's unspoken reprieval. Not too far away sat Christina, sitting in between the distance that separated the captives and the captors, as if unsure as to which side she belonged. Her inner struggle was made obvious as she was too jarred to even pull out her phone to distract herself. The once-comfortable air that hung between the so-called friends had quickly dissipated as soon as they laid their eyes on the vehicle of their departure, the same SUV that bound them from escape earlier.
"No longer interested in PicTalk, Christina?" Bonnie Bassler asked from the front of the vehicle, rattling Christina out of her solemness. She huffed and pulled out her phone, her fingers tapping across the screen in a fast manner as she navigated through her apps.
"No, I've moved on to something better," Christina answered, her dim eyes starting to show a hint of excitement. Her erratic tapping had finally ceased as she passed her phone to the pharaoh. "It's called Italian Female. People sent photos of themselves to you and you get to draw pictures of them."
Christina was now hunched over the back of Pharaoh Bassler's seat, pointing to her phone and excitedly explaining the juvenile app.
"Sir, I believe it's best if you turn your attention back to the road. We don't want to get into an accident," Mr. Marren spoke up, much to everyone's surprise. He had not uttered a word since the incident in the hospital.
"Where exactly are we going?" Sierra piped up, her eyebrows knit together with confusion.
"We've arrived," Pharaoh Bassler anounced, ignoring Sierra's inquiry as he pulled into what appeared to be an incredibly large parking lot. As the group shuffled out of the car, Sierra and Dana looked up to see a well-lit mansion standing conspicuously before them. The pharaoh, unimpressed, crossed the foyer, quickly leaving behind the shocked captors. Sierra and Dana finally snapped out of their stupor as Christina quietly nudged them forward.
While Pharaoh Bassler walked hurriedly across the expanse of the foyer, the girls hung back, walking at a snail's pace to fully view the lush and well-kempt gardens that surrounded them.
Dana gripped Sierra's shoulder, as if to steady herself. "They most definitely will have ramen," she breathed, closing her eyes briefly.
"Bonnie! You're finally here!"
The girls whipped their heads to the direction of the voice, Dana grimacing after once again being rewarded with a crick in her neck. To their amazement, a body double of the pharaoh stood before them, dressed in a sleek suit and gelled hair.
"It's like they're clones," Sierra whispered blinking her eyes rapidly, as if to verifiy that the scene before her was indeed real. With the stranger bathed in the light of the doorway and Pharaoh Bassler standing off to the shadows, it looked as if they were shadow clones of one another.
"We've had a long trip," Pharaoh Bassler sighed in frustration, signaling for the others to follow his body double inside the enormous house. After they all arrived inside, the stranger rubbed his hands together, his eyes sparking with excitement.
"It's nice to meet you all," the stranger said, extending his hand out to his guests. "My name's Proxxy. I'm Bonnie's twin brother."
They all traded awkward greetings, still astounded by the mirror images that stood casually before them.
"I go by Pharaoh now," Pharaoh Bassler huffed, flinching as his brother playfully clapped his hand on his back.
"Typical Bonnie. Always so serious," Proxxy laughed before guiding the group down the long hallway.
"I like your... decorations," Dana quietly complimented as they walked down the hall. The walls were adorned with several paintings of Abraham Lincoln, covered to the extent that no one could tell what color the walls themselves were.
"Thank you," Proxxy clasped his hands behind his back, puffing his chest out with pride. Sierra and Dana once again exchanged astounded looks. The two men really were identical.
"It's a shame that Lincoln isn't commermorated enough," Proxxy sighed, his face drooping with solemness. "Did you know that the government is considering aboloshing the penny. It's blasphemy! Why would we stop distributing the pinnacle of our economic standards?"
"Because it's wasteful in manufacturing?" Mr. Marren challenged, his depressed manner quickly shifting to argument-mode.
"But it's representative of our values! Our struggle for liberty!" Proxxy shot back, his hands unclasping to be clenched into fists. Both men were losing control over their anger as their faces grew red.
"Pennies," Dana muttered. "They're arguing over pennies."
Proxxy turned to Dana, his eyes widening as if he just noticed she was there.
"And I assume you're the girl that Bon has been bragging about?"
"I suppose so," Dana murmured, uncomfortable under his judgmental gaze.
"Where do you work?" Proxxy blurted out out of nowhere. He finally came to a stop at the grand dining room, allowing the group to disperse around the table.
"I'm a student. Where do you work?" Dana shot back, her annoyance emerging from her hunger.
"I'm a wrestler. In the rink, they call me Mr. Pro-Wrestler, Pro short for my name." Proxxy cockily flexed his muscles, earning a glare from the pharaoh. "Ah, our food has arrived."
The table sat in quiet admiration as a few servants gracefully laid the food out before them. Dana zeroed in on the large bowl of soup that steamed across the table, nearly jumping out of her seat in excitement as she realized the dish was indeed ramen.
The group quickly grabbed at whatever food was closest to them once the dishes were set up, their animalistic nature taking over as their hunger reached a climax. Within a few seconds, Dana had a steaming bowl of ramen sitting before her. She took a moment to appreciate the scent of well-prepared food wafting through her nostrils. She even drooled a little. Dana dug into the dish, as did the others. The only sound made was the clank of the silverware and the groans of pure food ectasy.
"This dish is quite impressive," Pharaoh Bassler said appreciatively, pointing to the bowl of ramen set before him.
"The chef used assorted spices to add flavor to it. Most of them are from countries that the basic population probably doesn't know about," Proxxy stated, smirking at his brother.
"I doubt that they're too inconspicuous," the pharaoh replied, quirking his eyebrow as if to challenge him. "Name one."
"Every heard of Zanzabar?" Proxxy asked, leaning forward as his smirk grew into a devilish grin. Sierra and Dana exchanged confused looks while Mr. Marren and Christina both looked worried, their eyes darting around the room as if to find an escape from the uncomfortable conversation.
After a beat of silence, Proxxy triumphantly explained, "Being in an elite academic society myself, I know the area of Zanzabar fairly well. Average people like you probably haven't even heard of it."
With that, Pharaoh Bassler rose from the table, slamming his fist on the hard surface. His face was beet red and the collar of his costume was crooked.
"I will not be made fun of by a fake elitist," the pharaoh spat, crossing the room to grab as his brother, a smug expression still plastered onto his face. "I know the entire history of Zanzabar, from it's origin to present. Do not test me, brother."
The two brothers went at eachother, fists raised, faces red, without any intention of losing the battle for their dignity.
The rest of the diners sat at the table, mouths held agape.
Sierra slowly turned to Christina, grimacing at the sound of flesh beating flesh. She cupped her hand over her mouth as if to whisper.
"What the hell is a Zanzoobie?"
