Status: Liable to undergo editing. Tell me what you think.
Five
Five
"Caaannahaaan." A deep voice called, bouncing, reverberating inside the hollow space.
The boy, Cannahan, could hear his own heart thumping inside of his chest. It beat like a
caged animal inside of him. His lungs expanded and contracted unevenly from struggled attempts
to quiet his breathing. Dilated pupils snapped in the direction of the slightest noise, the smallest hint of movement, frantically watching for anything.
"You can't hide forever, Cannahan."
He would certainly try. Facing the man meant the end of him, this was certain. He could only hope that his predator would grow bored. Tire of this shamefully one-sided game of cat and mouse. Fat chance, he thought. Why hadn't they just have killed him instead of putting him through this?
Phi-V was the organization responsible for putting Cannahan in the cold, dark prison he found him self in. They plucked the adolescent off the streets and dragged him away from the city. Cannahan had only been trying to make a living. Alright, so his way of living might have been less than honest but no one would ever hire someone with a record like his: burglary, breaking-and-entering, trafficking, arson, the list went on and on. What was he supposed to do? The otherwise hopeless boy found a home amongst criminals. A group calling themselves Sekttur. They offered him shelter and food, money and excitement, just so long as he worked for them. In a short five months, he had earned his place and the jobs started getting more and more rewarding. It wasn't just about the money, it was the thrill as well.
As it turned out, Cannahan was being sent on jobs specifically tasked towards pissing off this organization named Phi-V. Secret agenda. Military grade technology. That sort of thing. The law was below them and they followed their own code. It didn't take long for them to track down Cannahan. And they probably had an even easier time getting him to talk. He wasn't honor-bound to his employee and he certainly wasn't going to throw his life away either. After he told them everything he could about the criminal sect he had expected them to let him go. They didn't. They had dragged him through cold corridors lit with bright, florescent lights. When they had arrived, wherever that was, they slapped a sheathed knife down in his hand and kicked him through a doorway. They left him with five simple words before closing the door: Die with some damn dignity.
Cannahan's thoughts were interrupted by a glint of light. How had he been found so quickly in this darkness? Instincts threw the pale boy to the hard ground. Trembling hands and exposed knees crashing against a coarse, rigid floor. Fractured rock and dust particles fell against his back, the weathered rock crumbling away on impact with cold metal. Tiny rocks imbedded themselves into tender palms and vulnerable knees. Cannahan tried desperately to get away from the man, scrambling on all fours against the unforgiving ground. Shades of deep crimson stained gray rock, the boys fragile skin tearing in his clumsy attempt to put distance between he and his attacker.
All breath escaped strained lungs. The man's heavy feet had met with the boys diaphragm, the force of attack putting pause on the boy's attempts to get away. Cannahan rolled onto his back, his hair matting against his forehead, his elbows sliding across grainy texture. The only item in his possession pressed into the skin of his lower back. He gasped for air, staring up at his attacker. The man stood over him, tall and foreboding. The dark room only permitting the outline of his figure to be visible. At his side, he held the long metal rod that had just threatened to crack open Cannahan's head. His long hair cast an impenetrable shadow on his face. The dark man took slow steps towards the cowering boy, following Cannahan as he pushed back with dirty, bleeding feet. The man's steps were uneven, favoring his right ankle.
When backed against a wall, with no way out, the prey gathered up the resolve to strike back. With dry eyes clamped shut and with all the force he could muster in his weak, frightened body, the boy threw out his leg in defense hoping that someone up there was looking after him. A cry of pain escaped the throat of the wounded man, the ball of the boys foot slamming against the inflamed ankle of his attacker. Cannahan scrambled. Dirty feet slammed against the paved floor, legs pumping one after the other in frantic retreat.
"You'll have to do better than that, Cannahan." Again the man's voice came, this time sounding more furious than the last.
His sweat covered body pressed against a hard wall. His shirt clung to his person, wet with fear. Again he worked to control his breathing. His body quaked, trembling inside of the low space he had eluded to. The sound of shifting pebbles, of footsteps on the limestone, caused his heart to race even faster. Cannahan's retreat had been too obvious. Trembling hands clasped the worn fabric at his thighs. Slowly, he would reach a hand around to his lower back, fingers brushing against rugged leather. Those icy fingers wrapped themselves around the make-shift handle, pulling five inches of steel out of a tattered sheath. The steps drew closer, just around the corner now. Cannahan held his breath, closing his eyes and preparing himself.
The boy, Cannahan, could hear his own heart thumping inside of his chest. It beat like a
caged animal inside of him. His lungs expanded and contracted unevenly from struggled attempts
to quiet his breathing. Dilated pupils snapped in the direction of the slightest noise, the smallest hint of movement, frantically watching for anything.
"You can't hide forever, Cannahan."
He would certainly try. Facing the man meant the end of him, this was certain. He could only hope that his predator would grow bored. Tire of this shamefully one-sided game of cat and mouse. Fat chance, he thought. Why hadn't they just have killed him instead of putting him through this?
Phi-V was the organization responsible for putting Cannahan in the cold, dark prison he found him self in. They plucked the adolescent off the streets and dragged him away from the city. Cannahan had only been trying to make a living. Alright, so his way of living might have been less than honest but no one would ever hire someone with a record like his: burglary, breaking-and-entering, trafficking, arson, the list went on and on. What was he supposed to do? The otherwise hopeless boy found a home amongst criminals. A group calling themselves Sekttur. They offered him shelter and food, money and excitement, just so long as he worked for them. In a short five months, he had earned his place and the jobs started getting more and more rewarding. It wasn't just about the money, it was the thrill as well.
As it turned out, Cannahan was being sent on jobs specifically tasked towards pissing off this organization named Phi-V. Secret agenda. Military grade technology. That sort of thing. The law was below them and they followed their own code. It didn't take long for them to track down Cannahan. And they probably had an even easier time getting him to talk. He wasn't honor-bound to his employee and he certainly wasn't going to throw his life away either. After he told them everything he could about the criminal sect he had expected them to let him go. They didn't. They had dragged him through cold corridors lit with bright, florescent lights. When they had arrived, wherever that was, they slapped a sheathed knife down in his hand and kicked him through a doorway. They left him with five simple words before closing the door: Die with some damn dignity.
Cannahan's thoughts were interrupted by a glint of light. How had he been found so quickly in this darkness? Instincts threw the pale boy to the hard ground. Trembling hands and exposed knees crashing against a coarse, rigid floor. Fractured rock and dust particles fell against his back, the weathered rock crumbling away on impact with cold metal. Tiny rocks imbedded themselves into tender palms and vulnerable knees. Cannahan tried desperately to get away from the man, scrambling on all fours against the unforgiving ground. Shades of deep crimson stained gray rock, the boys fragile skin tearing in his clumsy attempt to put distance between he and his attacker.
All breath escaped strained lungs. The man's heavy feet had met with the boys diaphragm, the force of attack putting pause on the boy's attempts to get away. Cannahan rolled onto his back, his hair matting against his forehead, his elbows sliding across grainy texture. The only item in his possession pressed into the skin of his lower back. He gasped for air, staring up at his attacker. The man stood over him, tall and foreboding. The dark room only permitting the outline of his figure to be visible. At his side, he held the long metal rod that had just threatened to crack open Cannahan's head. His long hair cast an impenetrable shadow on his face. The dark man took slow steps towards the cowering boy, following Cannahan as he pushed back with dirty, bleeding feet. The man's steps were uneven, favoring his right ankle.
When backed against a wall, with no way out, the prey gathered up the resolve to strike back. With dry eyes clamped shut and with all the force he could muster in his weak, frightened body, the boy threw out his leg in defense hoping that someone up there was looking after him. A cry of pain escaped the throat of the wounded man, the ball of the boys foot slamming against the inflamed ankle of his attacker. Cannahan scrambled. Dirty feet slammed against the paved floor, legs pumping one after the other in frantic retreat.
"You'll have to do better than that, Cannahan." Again the man's voice came, this time sounding more furious than the last.
His sweat covered body pressed against a hard wall. His shirt clung to his person, wet with fear. Again he worked to control his breathing. His body quaked, trembling inside of the low space he had eluded to. The sound of shifting pebbles, of footsteps on the limestone, caused his heart to race even faster. Cannahan's retreat had been too obvious. Trembling hands clasped the worn fabric at his thighs. Slowly, he would reach a hand around to his lower back, fingers brushing against rugged leather. Those icy fingers wrapped themselves around the make-shift handle, pulling five inches of steel out of a tattered sheath. The steps drew closer, just around the corner now. Cannahan held his breath, closing his eyes and preparing himself.