Pack [Eddsworld]

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tord was forced to his feet. Even if she did allow him to speak without the threat of his brains being blown out, he wouldn't have known what to say. This must've been why Ylva was acting so peculiarly– because she wasn't loyal to Red Leader at all.

"Move faster. Stay quiet." She pushed the gun harder against his temple, causing him to suck in a sharp breath.

He crept out of the living room, unease filling his system. God, if his thoughts before he slept were a snowstorm, now they were a ruthless hurricane, shredding everything in his mind with cruel panic.

It was difficult to see in the dark, but he tried his utmost to stay silent. Some stupid, lovesick part of him desperately held onto the trust he had for her; the rest of him knew that she was just like everyone else: ready to betray him.

They exited the living room with no issues. Ylva shoved him forwards with another hiss, pushing him down the hall towards the front door.

"Open it." She snarled in his ear; the harshness almost made him flinch, but he followed her orders.

He reached out a hand towards the door, only for it to swing open. The pair had to step back to avoid being crushed. Tord almost let out a sigh of relief when he saw Matt in the doorway, looking ragged and confused.

"Hey Tord!" He greeted, cheerfully enough. "Oh, are you two going on another mission?"

The gun dug into his spine and it took all his willpower not to squirm, hoping his expression didn't betray his nerves. "N-no, we're actually on our way to a plane to return to Norway."

"Aw." Matt's blue eyes saddened significantly; he launched himself at Tord in a tight hug, and Ylva hid the gun in her hoodie pocket. "I'm going to miss you, Tord. Even if I can't remember who you are!"

"Yes, yes," the Norwegian patted his back awkwardly, glancing back to catch a death-glare from the girl. "Well, we must be off. Goodnight, Matt."

"Night, Tord. Night, Ylva!" Matt hugged her tightly too; Tord's eyes narrowed in warning as her hand tightened around the gun.

If you kill Matt, he thought angrily, I'll kill you.

She seemed to get the message, pushing the ginger off and saying a few sickly sweet farewells. The moment he'd gone, she held the gun in front of Tord's face.

"Go." She growled, spinning him around and forcing him out the door.

Conveniently, no-one seemed to be out this time of night, so no-one noticed the wanted army leader and the traitor hurrying along the pavement. He wasn't sure where she was taking him. There were so many sprawling streets and labyrinthine alleyways that he soon lost his way, the only constant being the weapon being jabbed at him when he slowed.

All the neon lights that had seemed so friendly were now signs of his impending death: warm, orange glows of street lamps had gone cold. Ylva, who had previously given him such a burning happiness in his chest, now only made him bitter and hopeless. He shivered as they passed an alley entrance and he noticed a dodgy-looking guy lurking there, his toothy grin widening and his odd eyes not quite following the pair correctly. It looked like half his face was drenched in blood.

Tord hated the silence. It gave his darkest thoughts and repressed guilt a chance to rise to the surface. The repetitive pat-pat of their footsteps set him on edge. Everything was so disgustingly wrong with the scenario he found himself in, and he could help but wonder whether it was all a horrible nightmare and he'd be woken in a few minutes by a friendly and kind Ylva, telling him they had to go.

Surely, if Ylva worked as a lone wolf then they would've gone to the nearest police station to turn him in. Instead, they had traversed what seem like the entirety of London– implying she had leaders. If she was working under orders, that meant she was probably taking him to whoever issued them.

Tord wanted to struggle and run. He wanted to scream and cry and confront her about breaking his heart. He wanted to fight her and get the satisfaction from winning the battle.

He stayed mute and compliant.

They came to a stop in front of a corrugated metal door, like the front of a garage. Ylva exhaled shakily, but then cleared her throat, as if trying to cover her fear. She reached out her free arm, keeping the gun lodged between Tord's shoulder blades, and knocked on the metal. The rattling, crashing sound echoed and resonated in the Norwegian man's bones. It left him feeling distinctly unsettled.

"Who is it?" A mumbling voice came from the other side.

She hesitated momentarily, sparing a glance at her prisoner with what looked like despair. "I have Red Leader."

Immediately, the corrugated metal sheet began to loudly rumble upwards into the wall, moving out of the way to create an entrance. A tall, spindly young man nodded respectfully to Ylva as she passed, her hand clamped onto Tord's shoulder as she guided him through. Another rattle signified the door closing again behind them.

Inside was near-total darkness. There were green fire escape lights that cast an eerie glow along the large corridors. Tord gazed longingly at a vague outline of a fire door, but couldn't find the energy to escape. The backstab had left him weak and vulnerable: similar to after the giant robot incident.

Ylva led him up a flight of concrete stairs, her grip getting tighter with every passing second. He let out a faintly pained noise as her robotic fingers jabbed into his skin, his other arm automatically going up to try and stop the pain. She gave him a warning glare, her eyes glimmering a radioactive green in the odd lighting, and he dropped his arm again. However, Tord noticed that her grasp loosened significantly.

The duo paused in front of an unimpressive, average wooden door. He could hear voices inside, the knowledge of others present making his heart rate speed up. Pure fear was making him sweat profusely, his thick hoodie suddenly feeling constricting in the stagnant air. Ylva balled her hand into a fist and rapped her knuckles on the door, before stepping back so Tord was in front.

"I have Red Leader." She spoke again, her voice so full of confidence and cool clarity that it didn't seem quite real.

The door opened into a shadowed room. He was lightly pushed so he stumbled inside, gritting his teeth to stop them from chattering and straightening up. Even if he was betrayed, he was supposed to be a leader; Tord raised his chin and brought his shoulders back, adopting what he hoped was an expression of simmering fury.

There were two sofas either side of a large armchair. The armchair stood empty, while four very familiar people sat on the sofas.

Tord felt sick.

~

Ooo isn't this exciting?

Hope you enjoyed! (;