Byte Back | 6 Underground

4. Promise

April 1st, 3:18 a.m.
Skateboarding Pit, California Desert

My feet were dangling off of the rim of the skateboarding pit. "You have an obsession with millionaires, don't you?" He asked me.

"James Bond is not a millionaire," I answered.

"Yeah he is. Where do you think he gets his fancy suits from?"

"From his government-issued paycheck."

He snapped his fingers. "Totally forgot that he worked for the government."

I chuckled. "The amount of action in those movies overshadows that."

Four dramatically nodded. "Yes it does."

We talked incessantly. It felt as though I had met the male version of me. We liked the same movies, video games, books, music. We liked the same exact things. It felt weird.

"Have you ever done parkour?" He asked me. "Or rock climbing?"

"Rock climbing, yes. Parkour, no. I'm shit scared of myself."

Four laughed very loudly. "How can you be scared of yourself?" He managed to ask between laughs.

"I'm fuckin' clumsy, man. I always trip on the most random things. Imagine if I were sky-walking. If I tried it, it would look like suicide, not like a failed parkour attempt."

He laughed even more. "You're funny."

I flipped my hair nonchalantly. "I'm here 'till Thursday."

April 12th, 5:16 p.m.
Shooting Range, California Desert

Getting used to the pain on my shoulder was difficult. I had never fired guns as frequently as One expected me to. I also had never used such a big variety of guns. I had only ever used handguns. Some of the guns Two taught me how to use, I didn't even know existed.

I subconsciously rolled my shoulder back due to my discomfort. Seven noticed. "You're holding it wrong."

The sun reflected off of his sunglasses, making me squint. "How am I supposed to hold it then?"

"You're too tense."

I repositioned myself and pulled the trigger. My pain was a bit at ease.

"You're still too tense. What's bothering you?"

Unfamiliarity was the first thing that came to mind. I was taught to be independent for my whole life. Yes, I was somewhat dependable on my family, but it was more emotional dependance than anything else. Whenever I was in trouble, my life depended on myself and my actions. Now, it was dependent on six other people.

"I guess I miss my family," I simply answered.

His expression seemed empathetic. "How did your funeral go?"

I was confused. "We get to go to our own funeral?"

"Yes." Seven realized what One had done. "Come with me. I'm gonna kill the motherfucker."

April 12th, 5:36 p.m.
Haunted House, California Desert

I was beginning to question the stability of this group. One and Three argued a lot, and I was strangely used to it. But now that Seven was yelling at our leader, I doubted One's leadership capability.

One ended Seven's never ending yelling. "Eight, leave the room."

Seven cocked his gun. Instinctively, I put my hands in the air. "Stay here." One cocked his gun as well and told me to leave.

"Sorry, One. He cocked it first."

"Damn Three," One muttered as they lowered their guns. "Fine. I'll tell you what happened. Promise you won't cry."

"Promise."

"I did all of the research and stalking that I could. I didn't find any trace of your funeral being held."

It felt as though half of my soul died. It felt as though I was paralyzed. It felt as though I was stabbed in the heart.

"Okay," I managed to say.

I walked out.

April 13th, 12:07 a.m.
Skateboarding Pit, California Desert

Five gave me a tour of our "Haunted House" when I first get here. She showed me the empty pool, the hostage room—where apparently One tied all of us up—the offices, the shooting range, the abandoned airplanes, Seven's private sniping area. She told me that One had saved a specific area where we each got our own mini house. She said we could shower, eat, and sleep there, but that we could sleep wherever we wanted, regardless.

I was laying down in the middle of the empty pool, overthinking why my family didn't bother to host my funeral.

Faint footsteps approached the pool. "If it makes you feel better," Four's deep voice was suddenly perceptible, "my funeral was a shit show."

I looked up at his green eyes. "Yeah. Only five people, huh?"

"Yeah. To be honest, it was better than I expected." I giggled. "Hey, there's that smile." My cheeks started to feel hot. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head. "I don't understand why my own family wouldn't throw a funeral for me. They were not economically challenged, and they had all the time in the world."

Four's head perked up, mine did as well, almost immediately.

"It's me, kids," One appeared beside Four. "It's just your scary uncle." I turned my head away from One, letting him know that I was still mad at him. "What? You're seriously still mad at me?"

Four defended me. "Leave her alone, One."

One ignored him. "I know how you feel."

"You know nothing," I murmured.

"I didn't have a memorial or a wake or anything. It hurts, doesn't it? To know that no one loves you or cares about you."

My chest hurt every time he opened his mouth. It was like I could feel my heart hurting from everything he said. "Shut up," I said.

"Actually, you should be thankful. I made you realize that your family didn't love you."

Although I felt a big knot creeping up my throat, I tried to keep it together. "Shut the fuck up."

"You are unwanted and unloved. How does that make you feel?"

I had enough. "Shut up!" I screamed at him. "Leave me alone," I said as tears were streaming down my cheeks."

Four slid down into the pool. Once he hugged me, I cried into his chest.

"Your mom was interviewed by Fox News. She said she won't host your funeral until she finds your body. I have the tape if you want it."

Four waved his hand dismissively at him. "Go away, One."

One ignored him once again. "Blake is dead. She was replaced by Eight. Learn to love it," he reminded me as he walked away.