500 - Part I - Distorted Shadows and Monsters

Chapter II - The Vent

Daniel hung there for several moments, trying to digest that he'd succeeded. His dumbfounded expression transformed into a grimace, with quick speed. Daniel moved his back backwards, then felt for the floor. He sat down, his shaky legs hanging frighteningly close to the edge. He released his arms, before scooting back. Daniel tried to close the hatch, but it didn't work. The metal was extremely hot, from his hands. He left the hatch swaying in the frosty draft. It squeaked for a while, until there was a harsh, grinding noise, which encapsulated the room in a palpable terrorising fear. Daniel's arms felt as though somebody was slowly burning them in a boiling acid. He was sure he'd turned them too many degrees.
He rotated his body, so that he was facing the vent. The bright, titanium white light shone directly in his two glossy, panic-stricken orbs of brown. It was like he'd just stared at the Sun. Daniel blinked multiple times, the light filling his vision. He hadn't seen the Sun though. He couldn't have; he hadn't seen the Sun for four days. He missed the Sun's heat badly. Here, it was all trapped in an inescapable chill. This terrible place he had to call home. It was anything but.
Daniel's eye's locked themselves shut. They were scrunched up so tightly, they made his eyelids scream in pain. His eyebrows were furrowed, as he panted again. It was probably the lack of sleep. Sleep that he once loved. The sleep that he was certain he'd never become lost in ever again. It was ever since he'd arrived at this 'prison'. He didn't even know what it was. It wasn't any ordinary laboratory. No. It couldn't be. The place Daniel could only describe as a mad, illegal prison for children. He was sure the scientists here had committed many crimes. One of them was keeping him here. Against his will.
Daniel — with his eyes tiny and scrunched — moved through the vent, on his hands and knees. He was a small boy, for an astonishingly brave fourteen-year-old. He had more courage than most people, although he only had one true fear. He had experienced it for the last four days, but he somehow forgot what it was. Recently, he'd been confused by everything.

Daniel seemed to lose his memory, almost constantly here. He couldn't think why. He was usually a quick-witted, smart child, but no longer was he energised — even when he had trouble sleeping at home. No longer was he happy. No longer did Daniel feel alive at all. It was as if he was dead and never actually thinking. What if this was a graveyard he'd just been thrown in? Where were the flowers? Why wasn't he in a coffin, then? Daniel's mind had received a fresh new coat of words, which made him more uncomfortable than ever before. Like paint, his unwanted thoughts always stuck. Everywhere he walked, his thoughts would give chase.
Daniel crawled, his legs aching, as if heavy bricks had plummeted down on them. He was — all of a sudden — weak, fragile and defenceless. The panels all around him restricted his movements. Daniel's body was very confined. He looked all small now. His stomach felt queasy and sick. Bile raised up, in his tight throat. 'A little further,' he told himself, 'Only a little further.' Daniel's hands were soon covered in friction burns and scratches. For some reason, sharp, jagged pieces of metal jutted out of the walls, in some areas. Daniel was wondering whether all the effort was worth it or not. He should've just rested on his mattress, but instead, he chose the dangerous option. Like always.
Daniel continuously slipped his palms on the metal jutting out, leaving nasty marks and bleeding cuts. He couldn't make any noise. As much as he wanted to cry and scream out loud, all he could do was allow silent tears to fall from his stinging eyes. Daniel felt something beneath him, all of a sudden. His hands swept across what it was. He detected metal bars again which criss-crossed an outline of corrugated steel. Another vent hatch. Daniel crouched down, so his stomach didn't hurt from crawling any further. His blood trickled onto the steel. Scarlet droplets stained the shiny metal. Daniel's eyes scanned what they could make out below. It was a room. A dusty, ancient room at that. A foul stench of blood filled the air. A smell of fusty and dusty furniture was released into Daniel's little vent space. He felt like he couldn't breathe anymore.

Daniel could only take a few glances. A globe stood proudly in one corner, whilst a squashy armchair sat roughly by a fireplace. Next to that was a bucket of coal. It seemed to be a beautiful living space, with such glorious decorations. Even flower pots lined the wall shelves. Even pictures of the Sea spotted the walls. Even family photographs adorned the walls. Daniel couldn't make out any faces. From where he was peering through, they looked like a horrible blend of black and white. One thing about the room that was clear though, was that the room had been there for decades. Dust blanketed leather like thin sheets of snow. Tears and stains were clearly visible, even from afar. However, he'd still rather be there than in his room. If it could even be called a room. It was more of a cell.
Daniel continued down the vent, deciding that because there was nothing below him, he'd come crashing down to the ground. He wanted to see something. He didn't know what. Just something exciting. Something new after spending his past four days in now familiar surroundings, Daniel has been so eager to see more. But that 'more' came with a highly expensive cost. A cost so large it might've just murdered Daniel on the spot. Daniel guessed he was sick of being alert and tense. As soon as he was out of the vent, he could simply relax for a while. Now, that seemed miles away. "I have to keep moving," he muttered. He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. 'What are you doing?' his mind shot at him. For once, he didn't have an answer. He was speechless all the way to the next hatch.
There were definite signs of movement below him. People were in there. "Some people aren't exactly on our side, are they?" a known voice spoke.
"No," replied a male voice, with a very deep tone, "They want to save the children."
"Perhaps you're right, Stevens. I've always admired your loyalty."
"Nonsense, thank you, anyway, sir. I've looked up to yo many times. You're inspiring." 'To tear this world apart?' thought Daniel. "Amazing. That's what I like to see. In fact, what I love to see," the familiar man stated, with a light laugh.

"Do we need to teach them the correct way?" Stevens suggested.
"Yes, Stevens," Grayden smiled, showing titanium white teeth, "If they show support, for the children, then we must attack or take action." Daniel stared at the man closely. His short, spiky, grizzled hair perched upon his head, like a menacing raven stalking its prey. His eyes were silver beasts that could produce looks like daggers. His stubbles formed a few hairs of a beard. Grayden had a jaw that almost looked square. Even with his cheap grey jacket, the man looked superior and in charge. Behind Grayden's shirt, there were muscles that were insanely strong. Grayden was a powerful and tough leader. There was no denying he could send shivers even up his own spine.
"Come out, Thackby," Grayden grinned again. A small pause hung in the air, waiting to be released. "Come out. Don't be afraid, Thackby," Grayden continued. A few scientists chuckled in response. "I'm not scared of you, Alistair," a cool, calm, composed voice replied.
"It's Grayden! You don't call me anything else, okay?" the man roared.
"Yes, I know," the voice stated in a relaxed tone.
"Let me see the light on your face, Thackby," Grayden snarled. The man stepped forward. Heavy bags formed dark circles under two dark eyes, which were two precious rocks staring upon Grayden. "You're always hiding somewhere, Thackby. Always lurking in the shadows," Alistair grumbled. Thackby had curly, brown hair, which looked like a little birds' nest. A few leaves and flowers wouldn't look out of place, upon it. "I don't hide from you, Grayden," Thackby answered.
"Is that so?" demanded Grayden. Daniel caught a glimpse of a few scars that spread across Thackby's cheek. The poor guy felt unstable and wobbly. "Yes," whispered Thackby, yawning.
"Do you need some sleep?" Grayden asked, his silly and stupid smile still plastered across the face. "Do you need some sleep, Thackby?"
"No," Thackby returned, "You need to sleep, before you fall over your own feet." The laugh of a couple of doctors was drowned out by a tidal wave of silence. "You do amuse me, Thackby. You were never truly a member of S.C.R.A.T.C.H.. You obviously can't find your place, here," Grayden snapped.
"I don't want to be here," Thackby frowned.
"Where would you rather be? Some tropical paradise? The mountains? What?" wondered Grayden, keeping his anger and impatience at bay, as well as he could manage to.