The Lies and the Lives of the Taken

Gerard 21

A/N: I am against spoilers but this is necessary to include. This is a trigger warning as this chapter may be emotionally distressing. This chapter is graphic and includes mental disorder breakdowns.

        The cold draft wakes me up. And then I feel the pounding in my head. And then everything else. I try sitting up however I'm bound down. I open my eyes, my head bobbing face down. I don't have my jacket anymore so I can clearly see the blood staining my white shirt, going all the way down to my pants. How much blood did I lose? By the looks of it, it's already dried and crusty. How long has it been? I'm still alive so whatever happened, the wounded didn't kill me. Or hasn't killed me yet.

        I'm duct taped to a collapsible chair, my calves and ankles strapped to the legs of the chair, my waist tied around to the back, my arms locked in place vertically, the edge of the tape stopping only at my wrist. I can twitch my fingers but what good will that do me? 

        The cold draft comes back, numbing my hands and my face. It's freezing in here and I'm almost thankful for the duct tape as it does provide a layer of warmth. It's really cold and drafty. I'm in a warehouse, bleak and washed of color. It's musty and dank in here. A lot of light is streaming in through the crevices in the structure. Sunlight. It's not as bright, a bit faded and warm in hue. Either it's very early sunrise or it's sunset.   

        I adjust slightly but pain erupts through my torso and I yelp. They shot me. I'm not healed yet, I just stopped bleeding. They probably applied some pressure. They don't want me dead. Yet. 

        Muttering comes from behind me in Russian. They're here and they know I'm awake now. Footsteps approaching. I'm still out of breath, trying to keep the shock in my nerves down. They're coming up right behind me. I can't catch my breath. 

        "You've come around I see," Kelcer says in German as he steps into my line of sight. He puts on a smile and then glances behind me, gesturing his head. How many other people are here?

        The swift opening of a blade clicks on my right side. I weakly glance over, my neck refuses to allow me to turn. All I can see is the edge of a man and the glimmering reflection of a knife. Another person grabs my right arm. It's not like I could move it anyway.

        I don't have a choice out of here but when they kill me, they won't have any information out of me. I am to die as my cover. "What are you doing?" I ask in German, hyperventilating. The guy places the knife against my arm and pushes down. "Stop it, stop, stop! NO!" I don't feel anything as he starts cutting the duct tape off my arm. "What?" I mutter. He cuts a slit down the side of the tape, the blade barely skimming my shirt sleeve. I glance at Kelcer weakly but he maintains a neutral face. 

        The guy rips the duct tape off and it jerks my whole body. My head whips to the side and the tendons in my neck are rigid and vibrating from the abrupt movement. My jaw falls open and I slowly blink as purple spots start fading into my vision from the pain. "Easy," Kelcer says disappointedly. 

        The man holds my arm firmly once the duct tape in cut off and then the fabric rips, my sleeve torn off. "Ah, what are-" Someone steps into my line of sight. The Courier. He's holding a long, black case. There aren't designs on it, nothing to distinguish it. 

        "Anton here," Kelcer says, leaning close in my face, "has something for you. Unless you want to tell us who you are."

        They took everything off my right arm, included my shirt. They need the surface of my skin. And the direction the man holding it down implies they need my forearm. Where my veins are. They're going to inject something in me. "My name," my voice fades off, not entirely on purpose, "I am professor Warh, I am-"