Empty Echoes

Screams

Chapter Seven:

Screams

This time, there was no sack shoved over Echo's head, nor where his wrists and ankles chained together. Instead, the ghost kept a death grip on his elbow, so tight he was certain the metal was now dented. The two guards didn't even draw their flimsy, blunt weapons, just followed them from behind like bodyguards.

Echo wasn't sure how to feel about the lack of restraints. On one hand, it'll make it easier to escape. On the other, they're well aware that it would still be difficult for him to do so.

To make matters worse, they'd broken his leg earlier. Echo had done his best to repair it with nothing but his hands and a small rock, and while it was functioning, it was still painful to walk on, and left him with an incredibly obvious limp. Not only that, but it also lowered his chances of escaping on his own.

He was dragged around corner after corner, twist after twist and turn after turn. Perhaps Zane would have been able to memorize the path from his cell to where ever they were going, but Echo quickly found his mind being jumbled and confused, and soon lost any idea of the bases layout.

It was like a maze, a rather difficult one too, and even the ghostly man would sometimes hesitate when they came to a crossroad, if only for a moment. When this happened, neither guard moved to help, simply remaining silent, which was so very different from the two that had brought Echo in.

The hallways all looked alike, with their rocky walls and pothole covered floors. Every footstep bounced off the walls, every tick of his clockwork, recreating the sounds in a series of echoes. The place smelled of salty water and damp wood, the air so cold that their breaths appeared in puffs of white, and quite a few of the potholes were filled with small puddles, which the ghost was extremely careful to avoid.

Eventually, they reached a set of metal doors, their surfaces dented and scratched as though a large animal had tried to tear them down. The two guards stepped forward and pulled them open, allowing the ghostly man to pull Echo through before they closed the doors behind them, not entering the room themselves. There was the click of a lock turning.

Echo looked around the new room, his heart ticking faster and his stomach growing cold. The room was as rocky and wet as his cell, only bigger, and with lit candles scattered about seemingly at random. Workbenches, books, and half finished projects filled the room, tools lying about the mess and blueprints sitting in a large stack on a small desk. In the middle of the room was a metal table, looking as though it had been dragged there from its previous spot up against the wall.

The seven fingered man with red hair from before sat at the workbench, what appeared to be parts of an engine in front of him. If Echo had been human, his blood would have gone cold. His hands and clothes were still stained red.

"We met in the foster home." he said, not looking up from his work, "We were bullied both there and at school for our intellect, for our genius, and so since no one would befriend us, we decided to befriend each other."

The ghost shifted, an annoyed look crossing his face. His grip on Echoes arm tightened, making the bot wince. The man picked up a wrench and continued.

"Together, we did amazing things. We were practically brothers by the time we left university-"

The ghost cleared his throat, making the man come to a stop. After a moment, the ghost spoke.

"As much as your origin story is fascinating, sir," he said, "I do believe it's high time this heart of mine started beating again."

Silence followed the statement. Then the man laughed. A cold, humorless laugh that made Echo stiffen in fright, ticking filling the air.