Company

S E V E N

Shriden
.     .     .

The cold metal cuffs have cut through my skin, leaving raw, red circles around my wrists, and all I can do it watch as one more scarlet drop rolls down my hand to drip from my fingertips to the floor. I've been stuck in this room, with nothing but these cuffs and the ever present ticking of a clock, for three hours. I've been in the Company for almost twenty four. I'm tired, my hands are covered in blood, my wrists hurt, there's blood all over my jacket from me trying to wipe it off, and I have no idea where Michael is.

C1R stopped us, but instead of killing us, like I thought he would, he put us in handcuffs, had his lackeys march us to the heart of the Company, where we were then led down seven flights of grey, concrete stairs. The walls down there were a moldy grey, the paint worn and chipping away everywhere you looked. The floors were a plain cement, with trash being a consistent presence throughout the entire place.

The farther down we got, the dirtier it got. The bottom of each cell we passed was covered in dried blood. Sometimes as drops, sometimes streaks, and sometimes it looked like someone was strung up and drained. They probably were. The Droids who marched us down there left bruises on my arms from their grip, and they never said a word. At least, not until about three hours ago, if the clock I'm staring at is any indication. It's 2:00 in the morning. I was supposed to be back to my dad by 8:00 in the morning, yesterday. He probably thinks I'm dead.

Three hours ago, a Droid came down the hover ramp and stopped outside of our cell. We had been placed in what looked to be the cleanest one, though clean was the farthest thing from what it was. Me and Michael had sat ourselves down in the cold floor, our heads against the bars. We were in the same cell, but it didn't make any difference, we weren't getting out of there. The Droid stopped right outside the door, pulled out a ring of keys, and thirty seconds later, we lifted our heads to watch the metal bars of the door swing outward.

The Droid had said a total of three words. The first was, "Come." Me and Michael has hesitantly risen to our feet, and walked to the door. The next to words were directed at Michael. "Not you."

Michael has stayed back, and I had followed the Droid, watching as he locked the cell door, except this time, Michael was on the other side. I went up the hover ramp, cuffs stills round my wrists, in silence. The only noise from the whirring of the hiss of the ramp as it reached the top floor. We were in the same building we had entered from, a small, one story, empty building. I had followed the Droid to the tallest building, and then rode on another hover ramp all the way to the top floor. I was shoved into a room empty of anyone else's presence, and that's where I've been the past three hours.

It's been maddening.

I have no one to talk to, nothing to do. I paced, sat, paced, sat, and the cycle continued. I tried to sleep, I failed. I tried not to think about what could be happening to Michael and how it's my fault, again, I failed. Now I sit, pressed into a corner, my knees to my chest, my head against the wall, and my eyes closed. All I feel is guilt. Guilt and fear. If I hadn't reacted so stupidly when I saw those bodies, we wouldn't be in this mess. I could be sleeping, with my mom across from me and my dad in the next room. But now I'll never have the chance.

I rub my tattoo, drawing comfort from it. My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I refuse to let them fall. I will not show them weakness, I won't let them know what they can do to me, and how easily they can do it. I feel empty. Not of emotion, but of purpose. I failed my mission, and now, Michael and I are both going to die.