Lucy wasn't exactly sure when she'd fallen asleep, but she awoke with a headache.
She opened her eyes and flinched, pain stabbing through her skull; she rubbed her forehead, letting out an audible groan. It took her a few moments to gather herself enough to look at her surroundings.
A room. She was laid on top of a bed; the sheets were grey and the duvet was navy blue. The walls were a plain cream color. In the corner, there was a laundry basket with a few pieces of clothing tossed into it. A closet to the right of the bed, but the door was closed. The room overall was extremely plain and not terribly large.
Lucy swallowed; her throat burnt like she'd been sipping bad whisky. Her hand flew up and rubbed her throat, trying to soothe it. She let out a shaky breath as the achiness in her body became apparent. She peered down at herself. She was still in her skirt and heels.
A moment of fear flickered through her as her mind played over the previous couple hours, before she'd fallen asleep. The bar, the fight, the brutality...and then being thrown into the car. About to be taken to the bridge, driving towards death by the two men from the brotherhood. But...she wasn't dead. She was here, in a bed, aching and wearing a short skirt.
Lucy swallowed, fearing the worst. Maybe those men had changed their minds momentarily, thought of a better purpose for Lucy. Maybe that's why she was so sore, why her throat hurt so much, why she felt like her brain was going to burst. Maybe they'd drugged her, and...
She closed her eyes, not finishing her thought. The idea of it made her sick. To think that they would do that, to think they'd drug her and...rape her...it was horrifying. But then again, she'd witnessed these two men shoot down and stab roughly thirty people last night without even blinking. They were gangsters, part of Fiore's mob. They were bad people. Of course they would rape.
The word made her stomach turn, and before Lucy knew it, she was leaning over the bed and vomiting on the floor.
She felt awful, like a train had hit her. Getting sick hadn't helped—in fact, her throat ached more now, craving a glass of water. But she didn't know where she was, didn't know who she would face when she left the safety of the bed, so she stayed put.
Lucy didn't know how long she was there for—her purse and phone weren't in the room with her. She laid on bed and tried not to be sick again. She tried to think of how to escape, but she didn't think she had the strength; her body wasn't in good enough shape for her to make a run for it. Besides, these were mobsters—if they could take on thirty men without a second thought, they'd kill her instantly. She was lucky they'd spared her this long.
What had they done to her last night? Why was she so sore? Why did her head feel like it was splitting in two?
She would've cried, but the effort made her headache spread. She put her head in her hands and cursed girl's nights. From now on—if she ever escaped—she would never go on a girl's night again. Pyjamas in bed with a book was her go-to, now.
She must've laid there for an hour before the thirst became too much to bear. One hour of absolute torture—her head hurt, her throat ached, her entire body throbbed. She tried not to think of what those mobsters did to her, tried not to face the reality of her situation. She wasn't ready for it, not yet. But the thirst was all she could think about, and suddenly, she felt herself stumbling towards the door. She was so desperate for a drink that she didn't care what was beyond this little doorway—mobsters, murderers...it didn't matter. She needed something to drink.
So, Lucy swung the door open, preparing for the worst.
Instead, she found herself in a hallway. It was plain, just like the room. Neutral colors on the walls with wooden floors leading towards the rest of the building. There were a few photos on the walls, one with men smiling and laughing. Lucy frowned, rubbing her throat as she dizzily made her way down the hallway.
One photo caught her eye. It was a shot of a large group, of what had to be nearly one hundred people. The group was made up of men that looked like the bar-goers from the night before: large, tattooed men with nicks, scrapes and bruises painting their bodies. On several of the men near the front, knives and pistols could be seen holstered to their hips.
One man stood in the centre of the large group, a broad grin spread across his lips. Lucy recognized him instantly, remembering her research into Crocus' mobs. This man, of course, was the most dangerous man in Fiore. The leader of the brotherhood. He was known for his ruthlessness, his cold hearted ways, his icy brutality. He would kill a man—one of his own men, in some cases—without considering other options. He was absolute danger.
Igneel.
Lucy had researched him thoroughly while covering her blurbs on the brotherhood, tried to dig up his past—but as far as public knowledge went, he didn't have one. One day he wasn't there, and one day he was. All that is known about him was that he rose through the ranks of the brotherhood quickly—far more quickly than anyone else ever had—and now he was their brutal, calculated leader.
The only thing the public seemed to know about Igneel was how absolutely brutal he could be. One story about him discussed how he'd murdered his own beloved wife due to whispers that she may be a traitor. His own wife, without a second thought.
Lucy shivered.
But here he was, smiling and beaming in this photo, his arms thrown over the men beside him like they were best pals. He didn't look like a ruthless killer here. He didn't look like he could harm a fly, let alone murder his own wife.
Lucy shook her head. Just because he doesn't look like a mobster doesn't mean he isn't one—remember the two from last night?
The thought of last night made her stomach churn. That group from the brotherhood had completely slaughtered the members from the shadows without straining whatsoever. That pink haired boy had killed twenty, twenty five men without blinking.
She tore her eyes from the picture frame, forcing herself to focus. She had to remember what was going on. She'd been taken by members of the brotherhood last night after witnessing them murder a large group from a rival gang. She'd been taken hostage, thrown into a car. She'd awoken, bruised and sore and in pain, with no memory of what had happened.
These were bad men. She couldn't forget that.
She continued down the hallway, every bone in her body aching. She was in rough shape; her head had never hurt so badly. She crept slowly, quietly, fearing that she might run into a mobster at any moment. The hallway split before her, opening up on her left to a room; to the right, the hallway continued. Lucy slowed her pace, praying to any god willing to listen that there was no one in the room. If there was, she'd be caught instantly.
Caught, and then murdered.
Lucy gasped in a breath as silently as possible, holding it in her chest as she slowly creeped by the room. She closed one eye, her expression twisting up into a grimace as she slithered by the room. She peeked in, her one open eye scanning the place.
The room was empty, just like the hallway.
The room was decorated nicely. There was a comfy looking sofa against the far wall, with ferns on either side of it; there were pictures on the walls, showing more goofy smiles on gangster's faces. In the middle of the room was a desk with papers scattered over top of it.
Figuring ducking into this room to catch her breath was better than running into a gangster in the hallway, Lucy slipped into the room, careful to scan for bodies one more time. Once she was satisfied that she was alone in this room, she let out her breath, sighing heavily.
Her throat burnt, her entire body ached. She was dead tired, the pain exhausting her. She needed to go home, to soak in her tub. She needed to see Levy, tell her she was okay. She needed to feel safe again.
But here she was—snooping through what appeared to be the home of a member of the brotherhood. She made her way to the desk, eyes flickering over the pages coating its face.
To Lucy's surprise, it wasn't papers coating the desk—it was pictures. Pictures of men with sloppy writing beneath them. She recognized a few of them: they were all members of the shadows. The men Lucy recognized were the higher ranking members of the shadows, ones she'd happened to read about in her research on the gang. The sprawl beneath each photo was unintelligible, but she had a feeling she already knew what the pictures meant.
To the right, a photo of the man from last night. Drazen, the one they'd been after. Beneath it, the words "traitor" and "rat" were legible.
Lucy swallowed, firmly reminded yet again what she was dealing with.
It was their hit list. The people they intended to murder. Drazen had been killed because he was a suspected rat to the shadows; she remembered the pink haired boy mentioning him having a different tattoo not so long ago. It appears Drazen had swapped gangs, gone from the brotherhood to the shadows. Apparently, that wasn't allowed.
Shivers of fear rushing through her veins, Lucy pried open the doors of the desk, searching for something—anything—to use to protect herself. Pens, pencils...nothing useful. With an annoyed grunt, Lucy pulled open the last drawer, surprised to find a small pocket knife.
Perfect. That's all she needed.
Lucy grabbed the pocket knife, clinging to it for dear life, before she made her way back to the hallway. If she were to escape, she'd need a weapon—this tiny knife would have to do.
Lucy turned out, continuing down the hallway, sucking in another breath. She could hear the distant sound of muffled voices; her heart nearly stopped, but she pressed forward, keeping an eye out for an exit.
The further she went down the hallway, the closer the voices got; she was nearing towards them, now. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes as she tried to focus on the conversation.
"No, you idiot," A deep voice grumbled, annoyed. "Why don't you just use a knife?"
"Because knives are wimpy."
"Better than a sledgehammer," The first voice scoffed back.
"Not a chance!" The second voice spat. "Sledgehammers are sexy, useful, and can bash a head in with one swift motion. Knives are wimpy—you've got to stab a guy like four times before they finally die."
Lucy's entire body began to shake. The way they were so casually discussing murder, the way they were debating their murder weapons—it made her sick. These gangsters...they were horrific people. They killed without shedding a tear, without breaking a sweat. They were the worst of the worst.
She supposed this was why the brotherhood was the most dangerous gang in Fiore. Because they didn't care about human life.
She wanted to run away, to go the opposite direction—but this was the only way out. This was the end of the hallway. If there were an exit, it would be beyond this room where two men discussed murder weapons. At the other end of the hallway, the bedroom she'd escaped from. There were rooms in between, but all had been dead-ends. This was the only way to escape.
And in any other circumstance, she would've turned back. She would've gone back to the room she awoke in and prayed someone would find her someday. But she was too tired, too hurt, too damn thirsty to turn back. She needed food, she needed some water, and she needed to go home. She was practically delirious. It pushed her forwards.
Without another thought, Lucy stepped around the corner, knuckles white as she gripped the pocket knife. She aimed the blade forwards, toward the two voices, her eyes wide and wild. She prepared herself for an attack, for an onslaught of gangsters with knives and guns—but nothing came.
Lucy was surprised at the scene before her.
She didn't really know what she'd been expecting—two gangsters over a dead body, perhaps—but it certainly wasn't this.
It was the two boys from the night before. The two boys who had entered the bar and murdered everyone. The one with the piercings and the one with the pink hair. Except this time, there was no trace of weapons or blood or murder.
They were playing a video game.
The two boys were sprawled across the couch, Xbox contollers in hand. They were dressed plainly, in more comfortable attire than they had been the previous night: sweats and pullover sweatshirts, complete with comfortable looking socks.
Lucy's eyes were still wild—she was desperate. She stabbed the knife forward, despite the boys being halfway across the room. "Where am I?" She spat. "Who are you?"
The boys turned their gazes from their videogame to Lucy, blinking at her. Their expressions were blank for a split second before they seemed to understand what was before them.
After a long moment, the pierced boy burst into laughter. He dropped his controller and held his stomach as he laughed, snorting. The pink haired boy's expression stayed blank; he looked at Lucy, then the boy beside him, and then back to Lucy.
The pierced boy sputtered out words in between chuckles. "Good morning to you, sunshine."
Lucy's jaw locked. Her grip on the knife tightened. "Get me out of here," She spat. Her voice was hoarse; she flinched as she spoke.
The pink haired boy glanced at her, reading her expression; for a split second, it almost looked like he was about to smirk at her. But his gaze drifted down to her hands, to the pocket knife gripped tightly in her fingers, and his gaze went cold.
"Where did you get that?" He asked, tone frosty.
Lucy ignored him. She didn't have time for stupid questions—she needed to leave. "Tell me how to get out of here," She urged, jolting the knife forward again to express her point.
The black haired boy with the piercings looked at the pink haired boy, noting his harsh expression; he peered back to Lucy, eyeing the knife in her hands. "Uh oh," He muttered, laughter coming to an abrupt stop. "Now you've done it."
The pink haired boy was standing in an instant, and at Lucy's side nearly as quickly. He was faster than she'd expected, and she jumped when she realized he was directly beside her. Fear and anger rushing through her veins, she pushed her arm forwards, thrusting the knife towards the boy's stomach.
She didn't know what she really intended to do—harm him? Kill him? Maybe. But he was a gangster and she was in danger and she was afraid, and her instincts took over.
It was a perfect shot. The knife should've sunk directly into his stomach, broke his flesh easily.
But the boy was faster. His hand snapped out and grabbed Lucy's wrist, twisting it gently and pulling the knife from her hands with ease. His eyes never left hers; he didn't even glance down at the knife once.
Lucy blinked, heart hammering in her chest, fear buzzing in her veins. He'd taken her only weapon away with such minimal effort. She swallowed. She was in deep trouble.
The pink haired boy spoke. His voice was deep and cold. "Don't ever touch this knife again."
She began to shake. "I'm sorry." Her voice was barely audible.
His eyes met hers; Lucy saw anger, fury behind his gaze. It scared her.
"Gajeel," The pink haired boy muttered, turning to look over his shoulder at the other boy. "Tell him she's awake."
The pierced boy hopped up from his seat on the couch. "'Kay." He made his way to a doorway on the other side of the room—the exit Lucy had been searching for—but stopped before he left the room. "Play nice, Natsu."
Lucy looked at the pierced boy—Gajeel—leave, the anxiety rising in her throat. Out of the two boys, he seemed the most...human, at least. A brutal murderer as she'd seen the night before, but at least he'd smile at you before he killed you. This pink haired boy—Natsu, the other boy had called him—was much scarier. He was smaller, sure, but there was such a spark of fury behind his eyes.
Lucy felt her emotions rise, felt the hopelessness of the situation wash over her. The soreness in her bones throbbed; she felt tears well up, felt the sobs rise against her throat. Her big brown eyes flickered to the pink haired boy, tears becoming visible in them. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?" She whispered, voice cracking.
The pink haired boy's eyes searched her face for a long few seconds. "Not yet." He flicked the knife shut, shoving it in the pocket of his sweatpants.
Lucy closed her eyes, his words finalizing what she'd been speculating. She was going to die here—they were going to kill her. They had no reason to keep her alive, after all, and she'd witnessed something that couldn't be seen. She'd watched them murder members of the shadows, watched the brotherhood basically start a war. She'd seen something she shouldn't have. She'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"How much did you see last night?" He asked, looking directly into her eyes.
Lucy swallowed. Was it better to lie, or tell the truth? Would he kill her on the spot if he knew the extent of what she'd seen? Or was this simply a test? Either way, they both knew the truth. She'd been screaming on the floor for nearly twenty minutes afterwards. She couldn't get away with saying she'd missed most of it.
Her voice was a shaky whisper. "All of it."
It wasn't a lie. She'd seen every single part of the fight. She'd seen the men fly at the group from the brotherhood; she'd seen this tiny group of people easily battle these huge, burly men. She'd seen this small, pink haired boy slice and dice his way through shadows, putting a bullet in one man's head while throwing a knife directly into the heart of the bartender. She'd seen him kill with ease. She'd seen the smile on his face as he did it.
The boy nodded, accepting her answer. "Ah."
Tears slipped out of her eyes, rolling down her cheek. "Can I go home?"
He shook his head. "Can't. Sorry."
"Why not?"
His dark eyes flickered to hers; there was something behind them that she couldn't read. "Either you stay—or you die."
"But—"
He cut her off, ignoring her pleas. "Sit. I've got to go talk to someone."
Lucy stood, unmoving, wet eyes staring at the boy.
He rolled his eyes, sighing by her lack of cooperation. His big hands planted on her shoulders; he ushered her to the couch, plopping her down in the seat he'd been sitting in. He handed her the xbox controller, figuring it might distract her. She set it down instantly and peered back up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, now.
Her big, tear-filled brown eyes seemed to bother him; he diverted his gaze quickly. He shuffled in spot. "I'll be right back."
He made his way to the doorway, but hesitated; he turned to look at the girl. "I wouldn't try and run away, if I were you." His jaw tightened. "You won't make it out alive."
Lucy shivered at his words, blinking as she watched him disappear around the corner.
Once he left, she burst into tears.
This was where she was going to die.