Undefeated

Part 19: Not Again

A deep ache radiates through my neck as I lift my head off the ground. It feels like someone is pulling on a string that's wrapped around my spinal cord.

Although my fish-eyed vision grants me nothing of use, I can feel a surface under me that's all too familiar.

A dirty concrete floor touching my bare hands, which are already numb from the cold. I feel dry heaves fight their way to the surface of my throat, nothing but stomach acid leaving my mouth. The sound of it splashing on the floor makes me sit up and check myself for injuries.

I can't see a single thing, so I can only rely on my sense of touch to assess my condition.

My legs feel bruised up, some spots are sensitive to pressure. A certain spot feels crusty, most likely dried up blood or a scar.

My body is clothed in something baggy. I'm pretty sure it's a jumpsuit.

Wait.

I prop myself up on my hands and knees and my stomach empties out some contents again.

Why the f*ck am I back here?

This can't be a dream, it's way too real.

"You're awake."

That voice is way too familiar for this to be fake.

"Bring her to the lab and play your little game you made." The footsteps of the voice fade into the distance as the squeak of the metal door makes me wince.

Why the hell am I back here? Where are Dane and Mila?

I'm yanked to my feet and two people hook their arms around each of my elbows, dragging me forward. Despite my desperate attempts, I can't gain my footing to walk on my own. The strong smell of cigarette smoke and leather makes me gag.

"Grab the dice," the man on my left says. A door creaks open and I'm pushed into the room. The lack of light and the strong chemical smell filling my nostrils tells me I'm back in the lab.

How did I get here? Why can't I remember anything?

I'm sat in a rusty, metal chair and restraints are tied around my wrists, ankles, and waist.

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Dane's POV
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The last thing I remembered was hearing a blood-curdling scream from the kitchen, where Minnie and Mila were. Then a hard hit to my head.

    Now I'm sitting in a creepy room tied to a chair with some sort of rope. I can't even talk, these people put duct tape on my mouth.

    I can see dust float around under the buzzing, flickering lights. Cobwebs litter nearly every corner I look at.

    Muffled voices push their way through the walls and the door slams open, a man walking inside dragging something behind him.

    A girl is weakly trying to claw her way onto her feet, mumbling various protests to deaf ears. The man throws her onto a metal chair creating a clanging sound and quickly ties her limbs down.

    He grabs her hair to crane her neck upwards and she stares into the distance, obviously unable to see straight. Despite the messy hair and blood-stained jumpsuit, I can tell it's Imogen.

    Even though I know it's no use, I still try to yell at them through the duct-tape and struggle with the rope. Another man walks in and holds out his hand, a pair of dice in his palm.

"I got it," he states as he grabs a sheet on the wall to pull it down. The dust clouds it, soon settling to reveal a list written on a whiteboard going from numbers one to twelve. My eyesight is a bit hazed, so I can't read it.

Yet another man enters the room, wearing a leather jacket with gelled back blond hair. He seems rather young, maybe in his early twenties, but he has the most vicious aura of them all.

"You had quite the adventure out there, Imogen," he growls, spinning a gun by the trigger on his pointer finger. "It's good to have you back at home."

Lifting her head to look at him, she reveals a devious smirk. "Couldn't stay away, huh?" He slaps her and she whimpers, tensing up her body under his touch.

    "You will only speak when you are given permission to," he barks. "You two, show her what happens when she steps out of place."

    The taller, skinnier man rolls the dice onto a table, the echoing sound of metal clanging engulfing my ears. "We got four."

    "So on the list, that would be..." The other man mumbles and draws in the air with his finger a few inches from the writing on the board. "Blood transfusion."

    "Not again," she mumbles, dropping her head even lower. One lifts her while the other grabs a blood bag from a refrigerator near me.

    I stop my subtle struggling and feel my heart sink when they roll up her sleeve. All I can see is scarred skin from her shoulder all the way to her wrist.

    What the f*ck have they done to her?!

They insert an IV needle into a vein in her hand. The small whine she lets out from the pain makes me yank really hard on the rope, making the two men laugh in response. I have to helplessly watch the blood bag slowly empty as they leave us in the dark room by ourselves.

The silence creates a ringing sound that drones on in my ears.

I don't understand what the hell happened. We came home after she drove the car and we were all getting ready for bed, and I guess some people somehow managed to get in the house without us noticing.

Minnie sniffles while trying to keep her eyes off the needle in her skin.

"We've gotta run," I huff while trying to fiddle with the rope around my wrists.

"No," she whispers.

"What the hell do you mean, no?!" She sighs and lifts her head with all of her effort to look into my eyes.

"You saw how my escape went," she starts, croaking her words out. "I think they put a tracking device in me a few decades ago. He'll always find me, and you wouldn't survive an escape attempt like I would."

I blink a few times, feeling a tear fight to leave the corner of my eye.

"They're borderline sadists, Dane." She lightly coughs and looks up at the blood bag, which is now half-emptied. "There's no getting out of here."