Hi! I'm back with chapter 2, afraid it isn't very long again but I will try to update with another chapter soon. I am thinking of writing this story from two perspectives - you have already met Kira, and my other main character, Lukas, is introduced in this chapter. Any opinions on this format? Does it work? I thought that, for what I have planned, it will probably be easier to tell the story from both sides.
Also, I know a lot of people make cast lists for their stories, but I prefer to picture the characters from their written descriptions, so I wasn't planning on making one. However, if any of you have any ideas for a cast, particularly as the story and the characters develop more, please comment - I would love to hear your ideas. Haven't really had any feedback on my story so far - how is it going? Is it interesting enough? Is it easy to follow, or is it too confusing? Do you like the characters? As always, any critique/opinions are welcome! Unedited - Will be edited later (may contain spelling/grammatical mistakes)
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Kira POV
The glass shatters under the impact, showering me in hundreds of tiny, needle-sharp crystals. I know that, if I want to escape, I can't waste time. The window frame is small, only just big enough for my petite figure to squeeze through. I wrap one hand tightly around the window frame. Too tightly. I inhale sharply, as pain stabs my palm. I curl my hand into a fist instinctively, but regret it instantly when the pain becomes sharper. A few drops of blood trickle from my closed fist, down my arm. I uncurl my fist, wanting to check the damage, but also constantly aware that, despite the pain, I must keep moving. My palm is sticky with blood, which is oozing from a gash – a gash which stretches across the entirety of my palm and, although I have no medical training, looks as though it must be deep. Very deep. It hurts like hell. I've never been great with blood and gore. Ironic, really, when you think that I see an awful lot more of it that most people ever would.
I pause, knowing that the wound will become infected if it is not treated. I don't have the time or the supplies to treat a wound such as this. I have to leave. I can hear the voices getting closer. I can feel myself starting to panic, and take a deep, but shaky, breath. I can't afford to panic, not now. I scan the room, but can't see anything that I could use to cover the wound quickly. I sigh – I had hoped it would not come to this. Oh well, needs must. I hold tightly to my t-shirt with my uninjured hand, and tug. Feeling the stitches begin to stretch and rip, I pull harder, relieved to feel the fabric tear away from the rest of the shirt. I wrap my hand in the fabric strip, covering the wound and knotting it tightly to slow the bleeding. That will have to do. Time to go.
I step back to the window and glance round the wooden frame which, thanks to me, no longer holds any glass. Except for several razor-like shards. Embedded deep into the wood, they clearly were unaffected by my powerful kick to the glass panel. They are way too small and sharp for me to try to remove them – I would be lucky to escape with my fingers intact. The window is a potential death trap. I turn. By now, they will be too close for me to use the doors; the doors are too obvious for an escape route. They will be covering all of the exits, or at least all of the exits that they can think of. All I can hope is that they would never suspect a tiny window on the top floor, around the back of a three-storey, abandoned house. It's the only thing I can think of, my only chance. My only exit is the window, the window that I know will cause me incredible pain, should I even survive the drop. It's an impossible choice: face capture by the Equos Venaticus, who are renowned for having eliminated the rest of my people and who will most likely delight in killing me too; or willingly throw myself out of a window, three storeys above the ground, while almost certainly shredding myself to pieces with glass knives. An impossible choice, indeed. Hmmmm...what to do, what to do...
I can't help but laugh, bitterly. Having spent so long on the run, I had hoped that maybe, one day, I would outrun them forever. Despite knowing that they would eventually kill me, I had hoped that I could evade them a little longer. I know that they are the reason that everyone I ever loved is dead. I guess I don't want it to be them that kills me, I don't want them to be able to say that they wiped out an entire race. All the time I am alive, I am their target, but I am also what stands between them and their success. I can't let them win. They will not have their victory. I want to live too much – I want to be truly alive, not a prisoner. Until I can do that, I will keep running, keep fighting. I will do anything to ensure that I live and that they do not catch me. And if I ever find a way to get my revenge, I will do so. I must live long enough to avenge the death of my people.
And with this in mind, I make my decision.
*
Lukas POV
They left in the dead of night. Without me. Again. How could they? I know they don't completely trust me yet – I am their youngest and most recent member. But how the hell do they ever expect to trust me if they never involve me in anything? I know I'm still learning, to an extent, but I've got to start somewhere. Right?
I am alone, have been since they all went off earlier. To say I was angry at being left behind would be an understatement. This is the ninth time I have been abandoned by them. There was a time when they took me with them. This time was only brief, but it happened. I went on missions with them. But not anymore, apparently. It has been weeks since I went out with them. I have tried telling them I want to help, to just do something, but they don't listen. It's almost like I don't really exist to them anymore. I have apologised over and over. It was one time. One time. It was a mistake. But mistakes aren't tolerated here, certainly not by me. So, for now, I stay here, cooped in like a prisoner, living but not really alive. What is the point in existing if no one ever acknowledges that existence?
Most people would feel lonely, being left behind like this. Not me. I'm used to being on my own. I always used to enjoy solitude. There are moments when I kind of enjoy the peace, it reminds me the old times, back when it was just me and Mom. I miss her. But those moments are brief and far between. When everyone is here, this place feels too loud. I often feel more lonely when they are all here, when they are deliberately ignoring me, than when they are out on a mission. Despite this, when I am alone, such as now, I can't help but wish I could be out there with them. Not because of the missions, but because I want to be doing something, anything, rather than sitting here in the darkness, waiting. Always waiting. Never knowing what's going on. The constant waiting gives me too much time to think. And I can't help but think of Mom, and wonder if she is okay. Wonder just how much she hates me right now. And I wonder if she will ever forgive me. I'm sorry.
Right now, instead of loneliness, I feel anger. A deep, intense anger that threatens to burst out of me. All I want to do is scream. Yes, I made a mistake. But that was one time. It's in the past. Why is it so hard for them to give me another chance?
I don't know exactly when they will return – it will depend on how successful the mission is. I think they will probably be gone for several hours yet. I do know one thing: when they return I will be ignored. Or blamed. Or if I'm really lucky, I will be blamed, and then ignored. Another understatement for you: they hate me. No, really, they do. I can't understand why. It's as though I killed their puppy or something, the way they act around me.
Of course, I didn't – kill their puppy, that is. No, it's worse than that. It was something else that I killed. Someone else. Two people. A couple. They were happy. Probably had a kid. And a puppy. To this day, I regret it. The day I killed that happy couple, I changed. For the worse. I never used to be like this. I would never have even considered murder. Of course I wouldn't! Who would!? The day I joined the 'team', I unknowingly gave up my old life and agreed to become a murderer, among other things. But I had to, the team forced me to. I had my orders. As the newest member, I had to be initiated, had to 'prove myself'. They would have killed me if I hadn't. And more importantly, they would have killed Mom. I couldn't risk her life. I had to kill them. It's not like they were anyone that we knew. I have to keep telling myself this, every day. I didn't have a choice. They had to die. Even after all this time, after nearly a whole year, I still haven't managed to convince myself.
*
It's dawn now; I can see a thin ray of sunlight, through a crack in the boarded up windows. I can just about make out my faint shadow, elongated and cast onto the wall behind me. They keep all of the windows boarded up now. They say it makes our HQ less suspicious. Personally? I'm not so sure. Surely a little light wouldn't hurt? Then again, it seems to have worked so far. I suppose from the outside the whole building must look a mess. When I first arrived, about a year and a half ago, I genuinely thought they were mistaken – there was no way the crumbling building I saw before me was a secret HQ. Once I was inside, though, it was a different picture entirely. I soon learnt that the real action doesn't take place on the surface, but underground.
The run-down building is just a disguise, to put off the inquisitive type, to stop anyone from becoming too curious and stumbling upon our secrets. When this place was first discovered by the group, it was abandoned. They took it over as their own. Apparently it was a disused asylum, from way back in Victorian times. That explains all of the cell-like rooms, which the group decided to leave as they were, and which, incidentally, are not so dissimilar to the room I was assigned, the one I'm sat in now. Great. I feel like even more of a prisoner. Anyway, apart from a load of cells-slash-rooms, there is very little to see inside this part of the building. Above the ground, the building hold nothing of real interest to outsiders.
Hidden underground, however, is where 'it all happens'. Rooms have been built, a dozen or more rooms, all dedicated to the missions. Many of them are out of bounds to me. I told you, I'm not trusted here. Each room is kitted out with high-tech gear, all top of the range, the best money can buy. There are science labs, carrying out experiments that are still unknown to the outside world; rooms filled with modified computers, which scan the local area for threats 24/7; machines that can do unimaginable things, things that cannot be explained, that can't be put into words. Underground this abandoned asylum, we have somehow made the impossible...possible. Of course, with the rate of change in the world, we have to work constantly to upgrade everything, in order to keep one step ahead. Excluding me, of course. I can't say I have contributed much recently. They don't let me do anything. These days, I don't really do much.
The only other place of interest is a small tower – like you see on castles, only not as impressive. It rises slightly higher than the rest of the building, and I have been told there is no escape from the tower, other than a single door. I have seen the door, but never passed through it to see inside the tower – it is always kept locked. I suppose I should be glad really. If I was ever allowed to see inside it, they may never let me out again. I have heard them all talk about that door, every so often. But they are always whispering, and always stop suddenly if they see me, as if they are discussing a matter of top secrecy. I have not yet managed to piece together enough to understand what the tower is intended for. I can only assume that it is important. Very important.
If only I could see the future, I would realise that that tower would soon become the most important place in my life.
More important than I could ever imagine.