THE GAMES OF POWER

THE GAMES OF POWER: Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11:

Despite the dreams, my body seemed to be more focused on recharging itself. So many times in those hours I slept I’d wanted to wake up. Run away from those horrible images playing behind my tired eyelids. But I didn’t. Not until my cell door swung open.

“Breakfast time,” said the man, another goon in grey. He had a thinning head of hair, and a scar running down his cheek. “Get up.”

Breakfast? Had I really slept into the next day?

I slowly sat up from the bed, trying to rally my muscles together to take this man if I had the chance, but I still ached. There was no way I could fight my way out. It felt like a train had run over me.

I looked at the man. He was still standing by the door, his hands shoved in his pockets, void of food.

“So where’s this ‘breakfast’ supposed to be?” I said steely.

The man chuckled, amused. “Got a mouth on you, don’t you Waterboy? Don’t worry, it’s here. Just have to enforce the…necessary precautions.”

The man knocked his hand against the door behind him, never turning his gaze from me. Within a second, the door swung open to reveal more men in grey with ropes and some of those strong plastic shackles they had on me before.

“I’m not gonna eat that,” I spit.

The guy with the scar ignored my sarcastic remark, and spoke orders to the other men quickly. They crossed over to me, their faces wary. I tensed as they drew near, but I was too exhausted to fight back.

“Keep your shirts on,” said Scarface behind the men. “He’s only been Awakened for twelve hours. Probably can barely walk.”

I felt like I could walk, but he was right. Anything much more than that was out of my reach. I had no energy to face these guys.

I’d heard that term before. Awakened. Weaver had used it yesterday. I assumed that had something to do with when I manipulated that water like that…what’d he say? Twelve hours ago?

I watched the men’s faces of wariness melt away, changing into faces of men just doing their jobs. Nothing more. They approached me and spun me around, my face smacking hard into the bed. They yanked my arms behind me and slapped on those funky plastic restraints, and held my feet together as they bound it with rope, doing the same at my knees.

Scarface approached as the men flipped me over. He held out a tray holding a plate of something grey—was everything here grey?—and a glass of water. Breakfast, I presumed.

Scarface knelt down to face me, his grin almost mirroring Sato’s. “Time to be a good Pollemist and eat up.” He held out a spoon full of the grey gruel and brought it to my lips. I recoiled at its mushy touch and spit on Scarface’s boots. The man looked down, irritated, and flung the spoonful of whatever the heck it was at my face. It splattered between my eyes and ran down to the corners of my nose. It smelled awful.

“Can’t I just feed myself?” I asked, trying to shake away the gruel.

Scarface grinned as he scooped up another spoonful of grey. “Sorry, no can do. Regulation, I’m afraid. You’ve been bound so you can’t try anything funny with the water inside this meal.”

My eyes widened, and my eyes came to rest on the glass of water. I could feel it…just like earlier…

This was my chance.

I tried with all my might, focusing on the liquid residing stagnantly in the clear, plastic cup. But nothing happened.

Scarface laughed, and shoved the spoon full of gruel into my mouth. I nearly puked.