Midnight

Chapter 2

 In a Van...

      "What are our orders now?" a gruff voice asked.

     "We could kill him," another said. "I don't see what any other use for him there-"

     "No!" a loud voice cut in. "Remember our orders! He's to be used in the trials; the master didn't want to waste another potential subject. Besides, what threat could he be?"

      A voice snickered, "He's just a drunkard from what I've seen on T.V., I don't have a feeling that Mr. Pierce is going to be a problem to us."

     Desmond's head slapped against the floor of the truck as the vehicle hit a bump in the road. He gasped and could hear everyone turn on him.

     "He's conscious," one of them calmly stated. "Give him another dosage."

     "Same one as last time?" a man asked.

     "Stronger," the first replied, "I want him out for the rest of the trip. When we transfer him over to the others I don't want to be held accountable for any...annoyances that he may cause."

     Desmond squirmed a little as a bag was torn off of his head and he barely glimpsed the interior of a dimly-lit truck. He looked up into the eyes of his captor and tried to scream when he felt a long syringe poke into his neck. The truck was so dim that all Desmond could make out was the silhouette of a muscular man.

     "Go ahead and scream," the man whispered. "Nobody can hear you...and if they could I doubt that they'd even care."

     Desmond's consciousness slipped as the dosage took over. He tried to break out of whatever bondages that he was put in, but his arms had no strength. Before he blacked out he heard the man lean in and whisper:

     "Welcome to what's left of your life, there ain't no martinis where you're going."

     Then Desmond blacked out.

**

19 Years Previously...

     Screams. Explosions. Cries for help. Dust lingering in the air.

     "Dad!" a ten-year-old Desmond screamed, his lungs filling with the sickening dust. "Help me!"

     "Desmond!" a voice croaked from his left.

     Desmond looked and saw a bloodied figure half-covered in rubble that had fallen from the ceiling. The figure tried to crawl towards Desmond but could not muster the strength. Instead, he lay gasping on the floor atop a pool of blood.

     "Dad?" Desmond whispered.

     "Son," the figure answered, looking up.

     Desmond squinted and, through the floating dust particles in the air, could make out the distinguishing characteristics of his father. The hair and beard were not as pristine, instead they looked like they had been through hell, but the same hazel eyes desperately looked at Desmond. He tried to smile but it faltered as the rubble on top of him shifted a little.

     "Desmond," Aaron Pierce moaned. "Are you a-alright?"

     "D-Dad," Desmond stammered. "I'm scared."

     "D-Desmond," Aaron whispered, "I know you're afraid, but that's okay. Fear...it makes us stronger."

     "Dad?" Desmond asked. "A-Are you okay?"

     "There are going to be times..." Aaron Pierce groaned, trying to shift himself, "...that you are going to be so very afraid. There are going to be times when you are just going to want to throw it all away. But Desmond...my son...you must go on."