A not-so-smart woman, Beth short for Maria Betelgeuse Socorro Santos-graduating college student-receives a final project in her Philosophy class, forcing her to meet and interview prisoners in the Bureau of Corrections in search of an interesting st...
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Beth's POV
Water drips from the rooftop, ripples in the full bucket.
Sounds of dragged soles and footsteps from a pair of leather shoes.Incomprehensible conversations mumbling in my eardrums.
And a loud slam of a big metal door echoes inside a spacious enclosed ground.I recoil, opening my swollen eyes from a night of tears. In a subtle panic, I grunt when I tried moving an inch—too painful than the knife wounds.
My arms reveal streaks of deep scratches from the splinters from the accident. Bruises that map around my skin after a big man's repeated harsh hit with his big and callused hands. I pull my hands to wrap myself for the sake of comfort. But they tied them in white ropes in a few strong knots.
A moment passed, the thought of Kaiser's misfortune has me most concerned. Where is he?
I ask while I swivel my head around the neck as my eyes scan the whole vicinity until...
Oh, God. No.Is this him?
I couldn't help but jaw-dropped with his appearance. His face —swollen and bruised. His clothes wrecked and filled with bloodstains. I see him sitting in a stool right in the middle, around a meter or two away from me. Unconscious, they tie his hands behind with the same type of rope they used on me. Near him is an office table and a swivel chair, surrounded with a few of the men in formal black suit.
Why is there an office in such an old building as this?
Kaiser and I are in a dire situation inside a mafia's hideout. I have a look around and learn we're stuck in an abandoned warehouse. Every machine—too big in size as those in the factories—arranged in an array. They emit rusty scent, too strong in my nostrils.
Amidst the odorous property, the men in a black tux seemed relaxed. It feels like they are already used to the foul odor of the surrounding area.
I pull my hands again—harder this time—caused a slight noise from the metal bar above me where they tie the rope. It startles the two men. One of them is younger in his late twenties or early thirties with a dark hair in an angular fringe haircut. The older man beside him, puffing a cigarette, looks as he's in the late forties or early fifties. Fatter and taller than the other guy. Both of them wear black sunglasses, standing not far from me.Immediately, they turn their heads facing my direction and whisper.
The younger guy dashes outside to exit the premises in a disinterested manner. He slams the door shut without glancing back to his comrade and cusses. After a while, he returns with an old man beside him. Like the rest of the guys here, he wears an unbuttoned black tux. He looks tall and leaner for a man in his age. His hair appears ashen and his face is wrinkly, walking with an intimidating aura around him.
He grabs a piece of his tobacco his personal assistant hands him. He beckons the younger guy to light it a d puffs a smoke once before he takes his big strides heading in my direction. Behind my disarrayed bangs, my glare while they are in a distant. I gulp to prepare myself for the next torture.
