Falling for Crime

Chapter 11

It was cold. Everything was cold. The air, the concrete ground, the concrete walls. Alfred's entire body felt like it was stuck in a freezer for hours, no warmth to be felt. He was shivering as he stirred from his unconscious state, groaning loudly when he realized he was awake.

He couldn't remember what had happened. All he knew was that he felt like utter shit. His body hurt, and his head was pounding rhythmically with his heartbeat. A small buzz could be felt and almost heard in his head as the blurriness around him slowly fogged to clarity. It was strange; Alfred F. Jones could barely move. And at first, he thought he was back in his main cell, but he weakly sat up and easily that thought was proven wrong.

He recognized this room. He couldn't pinpoint exactly where he had seen it before, but he recalled being in here once before. Once before, for a reason he deemed absolutely absurd at first. But as Alfred let his brain sort through his fuzzy and hazy thoughts and ignore the throbbing pain throughout his bones and head, he remembered.

Isolation.

Oh, shit. He felt his breathing quicken slightly, and jerked his hands in his handcuffs when he realized he was tied. His eyes drew to his ankles and he realized there, too, he was cuffed. There was a tight leather band around his arms, strapped hard to hold his arms down. The feeling made Jones claustrophobic, distressingly trying to fight the binds as he panted and hyperventilated. This certainly didn't help his body pain, and he groaned when a sharp jolt went up his spine.

After a good couple minutes of struggling, he gulped down panic. He was here for attempted escape, right? What else would he be here for? He recalled what Arthur had said to him just before this mess had taken place. Run.

"Fuck...." Alfred groaned, startled by just how hoarse his voice sounded. He had barely made a sound at all. He cleared his throat and looked around the room, breathing heavily. What the hell even made him collapse? Hunger? Overexertion? Malnutrition? Heat exhaustion?

Questions were interrupted by voices. At first Alfred deemed himself crazy when he flinched and snapped his head towards said voices, but then he recognized it. Well, at least one of them. It came from behind the iron door, a loud, obnoxious, muffled laugh making itself known. Wasn't that the albino guy? He scowled slightly, almost involuntarily, drawing away from the door to look around the room. He wanted to ignore what the two were saying, but then he heard some words he paled at.

"...Is a high offense, we may need to....death..."

Even if it was muffled, the sound of the word death made Alfred's stomach turn. God, he felt like vomiting right now. He felt so horrible and this made everything worse.

"11201 seems...and was running from....rkland didn't do anything about it! he...."

Kirkland? Arthur? What were they talking about with him? Did they know that he was the one who freed him...?

Alfred shook slightly, but not out of fear. His entire body felt weak. He felt weak. He was sweating badly despite freezing, and his knees shook with his shudders and chills.

"...get in there and charge..."

Huh....charge. Alfred felt as if he was the one involved. Almost on cue, the iron door swung wide open, and there stood two of the most powerful people in the entire prison. Alfred felt himself tense despite the pain, and he looked them dead in their eyes, General Bielschmidt and Management Officer Bielschmidt.

"11201," The younger brother of the two had spoken, firm, loud. It hurt Alfred's ears. "Action needs to be taken for your attempted escape about twelve hours ago."

Has it been that long? Alfred ignored the time for now, not seeing it as useful.

He almost spoke up sneakily to the officers, but shut his trap for his own safety.