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

4: Prison For Those Who Play

And then the punch, crushing against my bare stomach, muscles obtained over years contorting in and then out of me again. His quarter-sized ring emblazons a copy of itself on the left side of my core.

The follow-through was there, though he pulls back at once, straightening himself before his superior. I lurch forward, attempting to slow the inevitable pain of my stomach pushing back out.

The autotuned voice takes shape once again. "That's it?" he sneers, just as I find myself hurling yesterday's lunch between my knees.

"I'll take it from here!" The redhead with the tights cracks a whip by her feet.

"Go ahead, Maxine," says the autotuned voice.

Simply due to close proximity, her first target is Allie, who shrivels up upon contact. I'm next. I bend over on the floor next to where Allie now is, protecting my front. Her hand keeps her propped up, and I reach for it with my own, the whip slapping my knuckles before I can.

"I am so sorry Allie," I say, though I'm not exactly sure why. Was it because I led the whip to her just now? Because I was the first one in here? Because that's just the thing you say? Wasn't Allie the one egging them on?

The whip cracks again, and Allie groans in response. I try to put my mind into another world, as if I am dreaming. I brace myself for more impact, and the light takes over...

...

I taste blood running down my philtrum, creating the appearance of new veins outside my face. Though the world is blurry and spinning, there's silence. No cracking whip. No autotune. No keys jangling, and no French. All I hear is the ka-chuk of what sounds like a Polaroid being taken. Then another, and another.

At this point, I am beyond confused. As sick as it is, I can only be grateful that I'm not alone in this.

Simultaneously, Allie and I are tugged to our feet. Enzo throws Allie over his shoulder, and that's when I realize she's knocked out. We're without the sacks this time, and I use the opportunity to take in as many details as I can. However, there isn't much to look at. Gray ceiling. Gray floor. A hollow concrete rectangular prism of a hallway, with cavities cut out for cells, striped with bars. Flies circling the lights along the walls. A uniform draped over a solitary wooden desk. It was everything you'd expect a prison to be, except... this wasn't prison. At least, not an American one.

We're thrown back into our cells and hear the door lock behind us. Despite what just happened, I feel way more aware of my surroundings than yesterday. There's no sunlight, but all the lights in the hallway are on now, so I can only guess that it's morning. I start to notice the little things, like strange markings on the floor, and a screw on the ground.

I slide over to the still-unconscious Allie prop her head up on my knee. My stomach hurts from the blow, but even more from the hunger. I debate whether to call out, but I don't want to wake Allie. As any athlete knows, sleep heals.

I glance back at the screw, which is just next to a vent I'd never noticed. I wonder for a second whether we're in the same cell as before, but then I catch sight of the line I drew. The screw must've come from the vent, probably having fallen from either of the times Allie was tossed here.

I transfer Allie's head to my sweater, which Maxine the Redhead ever-so-kindly left behind. I kneel down beside the screw, and my breath blows it away from me. Feeling bored, I snatch it before it's out of reach, and begin the puzzle of trying to get the screw back into its hole. I twist, and I twist the other way, I go slow, and I go fast, but it just won't go straight.

"Argh!" I give the vent a couple good whacks before trying again. Carefully, I bring the screw up to the hole in the vent, which is still shaking from my outburst. A distant smack fills my ears, echoing from inside the wall. Did I disturb something?

This time, I kick at the vent, three times in succession. A few seconds pass—too long for an echo, I'm sure—and the sound happens again, almost like clapping now. Was it Enzo or Maxine or the autotuned guy telling me to shut up? Probably not—they wouldn't hear me from so far down the hallway.

I flex my fingers, and with all my might, I ram my palm into the wall, producing the clapping sound I just heard. The sound comes back to me twofold.

"Um..." I utter into the vent. I feel stupid for what I'm doing, yet I swallow my pride. "Is there... something there?"

There's a slight delay. I sit tight and quietly, waiting. I start to think that I'm wrong (and that I'd just embarrassed myself for the flies to see) when a familiar voice calls back to me.

"Tobin?"

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A/N: Who do you think is behind the vent?