Mute

[6] Red Light

[6] RED LIGHT    

     Clumps of hair sweep down from behind my neck and disguise the tiny wound. I can feel the warm droplets of blood soak into my skin and the stinging sensation behind my ear. The receiver digs into my palm as I anticipate the pain. It's only a matter of seconds before I malfunction. I know my heart will be the first to go and I try to remain calm but the sheer possibility of facing death overshadows and destroys my core. Suddenly, the urge to tell someone burns in my throat as the attendants press forward, unaware and unresponsive as before.  

      Guilt constricts my lungs as I hastily try to piece together what's already broken.

      I have to fix it, I have to make it right.

     The receiver tumbles around in my hand as I try to force the small device back into my head. My skin is crawling with nerves. Dying is more chaotic than painful. The health meter embedded in my wrist is slowly transitioning from a glimmering green to a warm yellow, indicating the detoriating condition of my vital organs.

      Walk straight, I tell myself, inhaling sharply while cautiously sparing a glance at both attendants. Walk straight and don't make a sound. 

    I hardly noticed my shaking fingers until the small device slips through and falls on to the floor with a soft clink. In an instant, the men ahead of me halt. My nails dig into my palm so hard my hand grows numb and labored clanking of my heart is roaring in my ears. The soles of their boots squeak as they turn ever so slowly, looking for the source of the noise. Wordlessly, they search the perimeter with cold, calculated movements as if conducted by a concealed puppeteer. The attendants assess the surrounding area without ever find the receiver sitting behind one of the cart wheels. 

    Although it's too risky to stoop down and pick it up. The cables to the car battery are less than forgiving and any sudden action will attract unwanted attention. We walk by it, leaving the screw behind with the bitterness of a foolish mistake burning through my chest. With that I've learned my lesson. The health meter has turned scarlet and it's only a matter of minutes before it's all over.

     The cart jostles as we stop in front of a wooden door before I can make peace with the oncoming end. Regal designs indicate its existence prior the Serial Seven's rule. At the center of the carved panes lies a dragon with its teeth bared and claws exposed. The masked figures turn and without a single word and leave their posts beside the cart. I'm left with crooning of the car battery. 

     The door knob gives at my touch and allows the slightest glimpse at the concealed room. Tufts of plush white carpet peak out and I can see half of a tall, oak book shelf pressed against the farthest wall. The room is bright and warm, a stark contrast to the prison outside of it. I take one step forward

     The car battery suddenly becomes a problem. My attempts to lift it from the cart are futile and sap whatever energy I have left. I'm weak, helpless and alone. I have always been that way. The reassurance of my own nature spurs something. My fingers wrap around the handle and I pull. The battery topples over the edge of the cart and crashes to the ground. I jump back only to be rudely reminded that I'm physically attached to it. The sound of the impact travels through the halls and seeps through the cracks in the doorway.

    Footsteps are approaching though they're muffled by the thick carpet. My heart stops. The first to appear are a pair of freshly polished dress shoes. The tailcoats of a suit follow and the familiar face of a grizzly old man finally peeks from behind the door.

    "Cor." Ephraim Lockhart's cracked lips stretch over his yellowing teeth as he opens the door even further and allows me inside. "It's a pleasure to see you."