Subject #295

Chapter 4 - (Day 1): A 'Familiar' Face

I'm about to walk out when I pause. Over by the exit to the maze that I emerged from not so long ago, I see two figures step out into the light. A blonde-haired boy and a black-haired girl. The boy looks about fifteen years of age, and the girl makes out to be slightly older from this distance. So, give or take sixteen. I take a few slow, deliberate steps backwards. Using the tactic of stealth to my advantage as best as I can. I crouch down behind an old, rotted tree log. It looks to have been felled a long time ago. Perhaps by a human. Perhaps natural causes. Or, more mysteriously, perhaps it was done by something else entirely... The figures walk over to the edge of the forest, trailing along besides the tree line. Every step bringing them closer to their demise. My right hand deliberately falls to the hilt of the dagger on my belt. I draw it slowly, as to muffle the "shink" of polished metal on treated leather. I stay there patiently, and quietly. Like a pack of wolves hungrily awaiting the perfect moment to strike. As I watch them, I begin running through scenarios in their heads. I'm going to try and get what supplies I can off them, but I need to be smart about this. If I hold one of them at knife point, then I can persuade the other to drop their weapons before killing them both. I think grimly, before amending my statement. Well in theory, assuming they have somewhat of a bond through life-or-death. Afterall, trust is difficult to come by.

"We should've gone back for more supplies; we have little food, and no medicinal supplies." The boy exclaims in an argumentative tone, as if trying to prove a point. He has an Irish accent.

"Yes, so you have said multiple times already," she exclaims with a very British accent. She stops walking, glaring at the boy. "But as I have already said, it was safer to just leave. I didn't want to stay there any longer than we had or needed too. Or did you already forget that?" The girl sharply retorts, as she flares her nostrils in a 'matter-of-factly' way.

"I suppo-'' The boy gets cut off as I jump out at him, arms outstretched. I force down the waves of pulsating, racking pain reverberating down my arms. My left-hand clutches around the meaty part of his neck, my fingernails digging into his voice box. More jolts of pain flare up as I raise my knife up to his throat, letting it bite into his skin. A few drops of warm sticky blood roll down the blade of my knife. Thankfully for me, he is about the same height as me. This would be considerably harder had he been older or taller than me, I exclaim inside my head. He gulps, causing the knife to press harder against his throat. The few drops of blood turn into a steady stream. The girl who was already looking at her comrade stares in horror at me. She visibly shakes her head as if to clear her thought stream. Her expression almost instantly hardens into that of pure determination in front of me. Reaching down to her hip, she presents out an old-fashioned pistol - what looks to be some sort of flintlock - from behind her back. Before I know, the barrel is aimed at the centre of my forehead.

"Click." She flicks the gun's hammer downwards. The stick turning into a live weapon. I dig the knife into the boy's throat farther. Blood squirts quicker. My grip begins to slip again. I can feel the boy's flesh squirming in protest beneath my grip.

"Lower the gun," I exclaim, cold and without emotion. The girl flinches at the sound of it. I start slicing around his neck, extending the already deep wound. "Lower. The. Gun." I repeat slowly, slightly louder this time. Doing my best to put authority behind my words, deepening the meaning of simple words with body language and emphasis. The girl flinches again, before hesitantly lowering the barrel of her armed firearm to the ground. The knots in my stomach unravel slightly, and my muscles subconsciously relax their intensity. That was my first mistake. The boy senses my moment of weakness, his muscles tensing up underneath my fingers. Too late, I realise he is trying to escape. I try to clench my sore muscles up again and regain control. That was my second mistake. Having overworked my aching body, pain shoots in icy spikes up my arms, protesting the overwork. That's when my victim makes his motion for a chance at escaping my weakened grip. He rotates his whole body sideways in my grip, extending his left arm across his stomach and over his chest to where my right arm is still pressing the knife against his neck. Before I have a chance to react, he uses the full force of his fingernails, he digs them into my pulsating painful wrist right where I got delivered the curved cut some hours ago. I scream in pain, my fingers releasing his neck and my grip on the knife. My right arm gets twisted behind me, the boy forcing me onto my knees. He grabs my other hand, pinning both behind my back. I try to free myself from his grip, but he digs his nails into my cuts. The pain sends blaring signals to my brain, forcing me to stop my desperate attempts at regaining control over this situation. The girl's gun barrel drifts back up to my head. The cold steel in her eyes blazing deep, and bright. I go limp, letting my head hang down at the ground. Get it over with. I inhale and exhale, my breaths quavering. This is my time to die. Alone and without answers.