Chapter VII - Corridor B - Part 2

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...Another kind of negative emotion. "Anywhere's better than here," Terry gritted his teeth, "This whole place is messed up and all of you are crazy." He locked his eyes onto Waterwood's, ignoring the fearful, cold, hard stare in them. Terry didn't display weakness anymore and only wanted to yell every thought and kindly brush away ever tear he'd ever cried. Push it all aside. "Crazy, am I? That's what all the lousy children come crying to me about. This is your home, so be grateful you've got us as guardians."
"Oh, a pleasure," Terry mocked sarcastically, "If this is home, where is the portrait of old Grayden hung up? Did the artists refuse to paint him, because they only paint humans? He's a monster."
Sniggers and wheezes were audible from behind Terry and Waterwood. It was the most angelic and sweet-sounding noise and was exquisite music to everyone's ears. They were laughs of children. A sound once of love and hide for their futures, which had been washed away in the the sadistic seabed of Grayden's orbs. "How very touching," Waterwood drawled.
"What do you guys do all day? Dance with Grayden and drink luxury champagne, singing horrible songs, with your awful voices?" More laughter. Rich, harmonious giggles.

"Perhaps you would like to volunteer yourself for fighting the monsters that lurk here," Waterwood's vindictive words descended around the corridor. Terry's hairs tingled uncomfortably on his nape. Abruptly, his posture turned from bold and fearless to small and delicate. Waterwood's tongue licked sweat dripping from her forehead to her lips. Terry pictured it as a forked tongue of some slithering serpent, but it ultimately felt as though he'd been thrown into a pit of vipers. Scales didn't have to coat the scientist's body in shining armour, because she was already a beast. Crooked teeth and nasty mouth supported glacial heart of unsympathetic stone. Frigid soul accompanied unthawed blood of a demon. The devil that holds the pitchfork. "It's your choice, curly hair. Yes or yes," echoed of her lips.
"Do what you want. You'll live to regret it, lab girl." Children turned to face the walls. Some slightly more courageous people surveyed the scene, as it unfolded. Nobody expected Terry's confidence, however, everybody desired it.
"Lab girl, is it? Dumb eagle is here," chuckled Waterwood. Terry gritted his teeth and remained calm. "Monsters do lurk in the shadows, G-66, so I'd be careful if I were you," Waterwood drawled.
"That's what you do. People like me find pleasure in diving into pleasure head-first," Terry answered, with a smile. More laughter. Stunned. Waterwood blinked for a second and curled her lips into a snarl. Brain buzzing with anger, like a swarm of agitated bumblebees, Waterwood treaded furiously down the corridor. Her eyes and ears were utterly in disbelief. She turned her back on Terry.

"You'll be known as the kid that destroyed Waterworm. That's a title many here would wish for," chortled a small boy with silvery hair and a marvellous fringe concealing brilliantly blue, beautiful bulbs for eyes. "Yeah, Waterworm's gone back to her swamp," another kid added. She had wonderful ginger hair and mellow, majestic, brown eyes. Promptly, Waterworm returned from her journey down the hallways with many allies, who were a pride of domineering, yet cowardly lions, released from their colosseum. Fingers drastically appeared to be blade-like claws and stinging words turned into searing and stabbing roars of detestation. "What in Grayden's name do you think you're doing?" the voice chilled the bones of all the children. Waterwood stood sinisterly in the centre of the corridor, carrying a deadly machine. The object was a large, cylindrical tube, with a curved, smooth trigger of shiny steel. "We are here for our subject, Water—" began a stuttering child.
"Yes, we, I know that, but what gives you the authority to defy one and all?" Waterwood snapped like a crooked, creepy crocodile. Her words bit and tore at everybody's hearts, but they didn't gnaw all the way to their souls. Fortunately. "What gives you all the right to control our lives? Aren't we people? Aren't we human? Aren't we all just on the same side?" Terry retorted and braced himself. He scrunched up his eyes once again. Alarmingly, Waterwood stomped her heel down. She growled and muttered something, before turning to face away from the 'prisoners'. "Perhaps you're correct, G-66," she uttered. Audible gasps harmonised and excited cheers grew louder in volume. An increase of laughter rose like electrifying thunder in a once lonely, empty, depressing storm.
"However," Waterwood continued, making many giggles die down again, "That does not mean you can disagree with us. We are the adults and you are the tests."
"Sorry, miss," Terry added hastily, a lump in his throat.
"Don't think you'll get out of it, dear boy. You've already said enough and have acted far too horribly. Dreadful behaviour," the woman answered, reading the young protester's shattering mind.
"Please," he begged immediately after, "Give me another chance."
"You only have one life, G-66 and I wouldn't waste it, if I were in your position. We must all agree and make peace," Waterwood explained finally. Terry's brain filled with desperation to project his violent thoughts, but he ground down his teeth. Canines marked lips and blood oozed out in a tragic fountain of pain and garnet red. It was all a horrible sight, but Waterwood and her pack of bloodthirsty, callous werewolves only expected a more heartless production. They had their tickets in their hands and they desired a show to feed and fuel their starving eyes. Except, the prompt for an action-packed and dramatic scene was the weighty, merciless metal cradled in Waterwood's bony hands. She appeared to be staggering and she winced under the sheer heaviness.

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