Take a Chill Pill - Assorted Be More Chill Stuff

Execution

So I wrote this like six months ago for some OCs and changed the names and details and stuff Heere. Enjoy! Kinda angsty, I guess? TW for death, but it's not graphic. 

 I sat cross-legged behind a chain that connected up to my arm. It shone dark and gleaming like fresh ink. I pulled back on it, leaning my weight to lay down. It held fast. I sat back up. A light on the cuff blazed. A red star. I didn't look up when a figure was thrown in front of me. Instead, I continued to clean underneath my nails with those on the opposite hand, reveling in the jagged surfaces sliding against each other and pressing into the nail bed at the back. A groan drew my eyes to my cellmate.

"No." My word was a breath of a whisper. The figure stirred, small and alone in the room so white it was silver. It didn't matter that I didn't have my glasses. I'd know who that was in my sleep. A second groan came from beyond the crystalline barrier. "No."

"Hey?" they spoke, looking around and struggling to sit up. Their arms quivered as they lifted their head. Their wrist was bound with an obsidian brush stroke of a chain.

"Jer, it's Michael." He sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"Where are we?" His voice was calm but strained and low. It was never that low. He sounded so tired. "Where are you?"

"The other side of the mirror." Jeremy batted his hair off his forehead. It shimmered like copper. His fingers moved to his lips and he chewed on the skin around his nails. The sleeves of his striped shirt hung loose around his upper arms. The fabric clung to his chest. He looked so small without his sweater.

"Any chance you know why?" I shook my head before remembering he couldn't see me past the wall of light between us.

"I'm not sure I want to think about it," I admitted.

"Why can you see me but I can't see you?"

"Not sure I want to think about it." My gaze drifted to the ceiling. It burned brighter than snow and glittered with its own unholy light.

"Are you okay?" I felt my eyes roll at his words.

"Yeah. I'm great. Why wouldn't I be?" I sat up as I spoke. Tired laughter tickled my throat. I ran my free hand through my hair, yanking my fingers through what had become a snarled mess.

"It'll be okay," Jeremy said, talking to the air.

"You're optimistic."

"I mean it." He looked over at me, meeting my eyes despite the barrier. "What's the worst that could happen?" he asked with a half-shrug, pushing his hair back from his face again.

"They could make us fight to the death? I don't know," I said, feeling like an idiot. Jeremy laughed.

"You know I'd kick your butt," he said. I laughed too.

"Yeah? Our last Smash tourney says otherwise."

"Please. I was going easy on you."

"Yeah, right. You've been shit at that game since kindergarten, bro." The air turned less electric as we joked. Though it still shone like oil with uncertainty, it was cozy with laughter. "When was the last time you beat me?"

"I must've at some point..." He drifted off. "Seriously, though? I really, really hope I never have to fight anyone. Like, video games are great, but..." I blinked at Jeremy's tone. It had darkened and dropped. The air buzzed again, making my vision blur even more than my horrible eyesight did.

"What?" I asked, a shadow of laughter still in my voice.

"There are actual wars and stuff going on out there, Michael. It's probably obvious, but there are terrible people in this world." I closed my eyes and leaned my head back.

"Yeah," I said after a moment. The humor had fallen as quickly as it had bloomed. "I could argue that people are just always terrible. I mean, we are being held hostage. I'm not sure I want to think about what happens next." The door opened into Jeremy's cell. A guard marched in. My head snapped upright. "Jer?" My voice was cut short by his shout at the approaching woman.

"Terrible is such a strong word," someone spoke next to me. I glared at the figure but my gaze was soon back on my best friend and his assailant. Jeremy couldn't do much. His arm was still chained and the cuff kept him tethered. I didn't take my glasses as they were handed out to me. The man, who looked a bit like Keanu Reeves, sighed and I found the lenses forced on my face. I blinked away tears from the pressure on the bridge of my nose.

"Hey!" Jeremy was shouting. The guard was restraining him, one foot pinning his leg to the ground. Her knee pushed into his shoulder and her hand forced his head to the side. His ear was smashed into his other shoulder. His eyes held a spark. I couldn't tell if it was anger or fear. The rest of his face was flat and pale. Scratch that, definitely fear. When the guard pulled a syringe from her belt, it hardened into terror. The needle was filled with some yellow-green liquid, shining like radioactive piss.

Jeremy's hair was twisted away from his neck. It fell over his eyes. As the needle pierced his skin, he blew the curls from his face and winced, letting out a breathy squeak. I held my breath, staring in silence. The syringe emptied, Jeremy shuddering and giving a little shriek as the liquid seeped into his blood. A chill ran down my spine when his face flushed then went white. His eyes dilated. They rolled back into his skull and he went limp.

Shouts escaped my impatient tongue as the guard dropped him onto the pearlescent floor. Limp. I screamed a river of disbelief, curses, and his name. Jer. Jeremy. Jeremiah. He didn't stir. He wasn't breathing. My face hummed. I wasn't breathing either, too busy calling to inhale. Nothing helped. I shouted through hot, buzzing tears. Jeremy lay motionless beyond the wall of ice, his now tangled hair splayed out in a scrambled fan on the floor, his veins running with Mountain Dew.