Not According To Plan (Preath Fanfiction) (Co-written by @uswntloves1723)

4: Prison For Those Who Play

Tobin's POV
Time: Unknown; possibly the middle of "Night One"
**Trigger Warning: The following chapter contains physical violence.**

"C'était simple," the guy shrugs his well-built shoulders, elongating his already-long torso. "Elle n'a jamais rien entendu. Cela ne peut pas être plus simple que ça." It was simple. She never heard anything. It couldn't be simpler than that. I translate in my head with the little French I knew from PSG.

The girl turns on her high heels—which add even more to her height—with a crunch. Her red, untied hair flies about. "Exactement! Ce ne sera pas si facile la prochaine fois." Exactly! It won't be that easy next time.

"Next time?" I wonder aloud. The two giants continue to bicker, guy mumbling, girl grumbling, and me understanding diddly. Their black masks meld into black sheep turtlenecks, his moving slightly as he spoke, and hers moving a helluva lot more. He messes with a chain of keys from his baggy pants until she rips them right out of their pocket, aggravated. She flips through them like a magazine, locates the one she wants, and taunts him with it, poking him back until she has enough room to bend down from her formidable height and unlock our cell.

Once successful, she lets the keys dangle at her side. We see her face from a child's angle. "Up!"

Allie and I obey. I hold my hoodie close to my chest.

The girl scoffs. "You won't need zat," she declares, seizing it from me. "Out."

Allie and I exchange a nervous glance. We try our best to walk at the same pace, exiting the cell at the same time in case something is waiting to lash out at us. And, something is.

Next thing we know, Allie and I are being tossed on the floor, sacks thrown over our heads. Once again, I feel like a child, racing with my feet in a potato sack—except this time, it was my head in the potato sack, and my mind doing the racing. I hear Allie screaming at them, which I wish she wouldn't, and dark shadows struggling through the stitchwork. As we're dragged across the floor, I refuse to writhe around like a fish in protest. I just bare my teeth, hold my neck, and pray it's loose enough to breathe for however long I have to.

Gradually, the stitchwork turns lighter—are we outside?—but then, my forearms sting as I'm thrown into in a cold, metal chair. My tailbone cries out. The sacks are finally taken off, and I know straight away that the light is artificial, and I wince, eyes taking turns throbbing.

When they finally focus, there is a huge sheet of Plexiglas in front of me and Allie, which takes up the span of the wall. I turn to her and she's understandably terrified. It seems that we've been left alone until I notice a figure on the other side of the Plexiglas.

I readjust, keeping my goosebumps away from the armrest. I can't handle it any longer. "What are we doing h-"

"Shut your horse's maw!" A very weird, autotuned, low male voice rudely interrupts me, coming from the other side. I can't tell if it has an accent as well or not.

"Wow, dude," Allie manages a laugh. "You're really trying to be extra, aren't you?"

"Enzo!" The robotic voice becomes clearer with volume.

In response to the cue, the guy with the chino pants from a few minutes earlier enters the room and, before I can stop him, begins having a go at Allie!

"Hey!" I shout. "Hey, hey, hey! Go for me, hit me, I can take it; don't hit her, haven't you done enough!?" The last four words come out shakier than I anticipated.

Enzo pauses, smirking, and I instantly wonder what I got myself into. He ambles over to me, seemingly carefree, and cocks his fist. He hesitates, and I force myself to stare him down bravely...

...

His eyes are moist, yet angerless, pale blue like a baby's. They lack the vibrancy one should have at his age. Either he never truly grew into them, or their youth was stripped from them. They tremble in his sockets, and his pupils grow large. What is this look—admiration for my sacrifice? Or is this the look of emptiness, the body's final cry of a soul shutting down?