Mafia High: Corpse

Untitled Part 2

[Edited: June 12, 2019]

"Where do you suppose we put him boss, Unit 1?" Elliot groans and tries forcing his eyes open.

"Hmm. He would make us pretty penny, wouldn't he?" A gruff voice replies.

The floor is hard and cold. A breeze passes through and reminds Elliot that he is only in a big T-Shirt and boxers. He's barely conscious, but from what he understands the men are talking about him.

" I reckon 4 maybe even 5 million. With a body like that, we could make at least 5."

Now, Elliot wishes the men weren't talking about him. He decides against opening his eyes and slowly lets them drift closed.

"Such a pretty little thing. I'd hate to never see him again." A rough hand glides its way across the edge of Elliot's face and pinches his cheeks. He doesn't dare make a sound. "How 'bout this, let's take him to Corpse. The traffickers always get the good ones, we need a little eye candy around here, don't you think?"

Corpse. What's Corpse?

" C' mon boss, this kid looks like he's never seen a fight, let alone a gun, what are they gonna do with him up there?"

The burly man looks over at his partner and examines the bandage across his nose. He chuckles.

"He socked you a good one earlier didn't he?"

Elliot's blood runs cold. These are the men that took him from his home, away from the only family he had. He resists the urge to open his eyes and see the face of his capturers.

The man begins speaking again. " Let's see what else we can do."

| | | | |

The second time Elliot awoke he was attached to a wall.

A pair of chains wrapped around each one of his feet that looked like they'd stretch maybe a total of five feet before cutting him off.

Elliot looked around the room.

There was a metal investigation style table sitting in the center of the room. A dingy yellow light swung from the ceiling illuminating bright red and dark brown stains on the floor and cement walls. Elliot was one hundred percent sure that was blood. A door in the corner opposite of himself was covered in locks and bolts that ensured no escape any time soon, and the only thing within reach was the dirt on the ground beneath his feet.

Elliot began to cry.

The tears fell from his face as a great sob built itself up in his throat and broke through with obliterating strength. He could only scream.

'This can't be real...'

It doesn't seem realistic. To be kidnapped.

To Elliot, this seemed all too impractical.

How is it possible that he allowed himself to handed over to such an absurd world. He was stolen from the confinements of his home. 

'Why am I here...'

He begins thinking about the people he's leaving behind or the life he could've had. Garzo's the only thing on his mind. Along with Mr. Wellington.

His dad.

Elliot recalls the last conversation they had before he went to bed that night. He releases another sob and pulls at the roots of his hair.

Elliot walks through the front door of his home at 7:30 pm exactly. Mr. Wellington sits in an old recliner with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He faced Elliot as soon as he entered.