The World, In Flames

Heavy, dark cloth pressed against my eyes, scratching my cheeks, nearly covering the entirety of my nose. This’ll be fun… was all I could think as I tested out all my other restraints by touch. My long fingers probed the extent of the strange, nearly pliable, handcuffs that held my arms criss-crossed and just underneath the head rest of the wooden chair I sat upon. I strained against them, seeing if they would give me an inch to slip out. No such luck, these things were like magic-and probably were, know that I think about it-clinging to the shape of my thin wrists but not constraining them to tightly. I smirked at the thought of magic, and snapped my forefinger and thumb together; waiting for the little flame to jump off my fingertips, giving me the edge I needed to escape.

Nothing. The smirk dropped, replaced with a hint of confusion and worry. These guys would have to be pretty badass to have elemental suppressing flex cuffs. My confusion was directed at who the hell would be big enough to afford them, and still need someone like me? A corporation-or secret society, cult, eccentric billionaire- would have already have contacted me, or have their own guys for the same services I provide. My worry was directed at the thought of getting these horrid things off of me.

“Grahhhhhhh!” I half grumbled, half screamed with my jaw clenched and nose scrunched up. My patience is usually more depleted than its usually limited share when I’m forcibly drugged, kidnapped, and tied up. A deep breath calmed me as much as I could be calmed, and I did my best to figure out what else they had used to keep me all cozy until the big man was ready to see me.

I skidded my-thankfully-unbound and bare feet across the somewhat damp concrete, testing the mobility of the wooden chair. It came with me about four feet, accompanied by a clinking noise, suggesting it was chained to the wall. This complicated my escape plan just a bit, though I didn't exactly have one fully formed yet.

“Ok, wooden chair, concrete wall, large metal chain, and no way of seeing anything. That’s alright, I’ve been in worse situations,” I muttered aloud to myself, remembering the incident in Monaco, or what’s left of it after I was done there. That warm and fuzzy feeling that some people got from helping the homeless and raising sick puppies spread through my body as my mind formulated a way out.

To put my magnificent idea into action, I slid back up against the wall. My knees bent as I forced myself into a wobbly, but standing, position. Eyes closed, breath held, I took a step forward. It was shaky, the weight of the chains and chair throwing my already off balance self into chaos, but I managed. Readying myself, I arched forward, and slammed the wooden chair back into the hard, concrete wall. My bones felt jarred upon impact, and I’m pretty sure I bit my tongue. I smiled, though, when I felt the chair’s joints loosen up on collision.

“Just a few more to go.” I took another step forward, repeating the process once, twice, three times. With each one, a slam resonated about the-as far as I knew- small, lightless room. Each hit shaking my now sore bones, forcing my jaw to clench and my teeth to grind.

A giant crack resounded, splinters of wood bouncing off the wall and onto my pajama clad self. A larger piece, probably from one of the legs, clattered to the ground next to my foot. Using my toes, a trick I’d picked up from my long dead mom, I maneuvered the piece across the room, giving a mental note to go and pick it up before I left. No doubt in my mind that I would, I’ve never met a room that could keep me still. Except a safe room back in ’36, but I got my hands on a block of C4 through an air vent eventually, so I don’t like to count that one against me.

I moved on to the next step. Since it was damn near impossible to get this kind of cuffs off, I settled for getting them into a comfortable position, namely in front instead of behind me. Now free of my chair, I crouched on the ground, lowering my arms to just behind my knee caps. Thanking my high school PE program for getting me into yoga, I brought my left leg up and slipped it between the loop of my arms and my right leg. Half way done, I did the same with the other leg, straining a bit and pulling on my shoulder muscle far more than comfortable. But I did it, and made sure that I got to a dance of joy later on when I had the leisure to.

Hands now in front, things were going remarkably well. Until a sharp stab of pain slammed into my brain, sending me to the ground, back against the wall jaw clenched in pain. It was like a constant, deadly, pounding, with an appalling screech in my ears.

“Gyahhhhh!” I let out a sort of strangled growl, trying desperately not to scream as the waves of pain blasted through me. Finally, a break in the horrid feeling. I spent about two or so minutes just sitting there, trying not to cry as my heavy breath caught up to me and my heart stop trying to run a marathon.

“Damn it all to hell,” was all I could manage as I slowly slid my body up the wall, on edge as I waited for it to start up again.

“It’s good to see you to, Anke.” The slightly sarcastic voice echoed through my head, filling up the space as if it called it home. I guess, in a way, he did. Whether I liked it or not.