Scars Bleed Gold

Mister Evil

A week could have passed by now and I wouldn't be able to tell. My jumpsuit was still damp, soggy in some nasty places, and freezing. Moving didn't warm me up enough, but it kept me from getting too cold at the cost of chafing.

It was genuinely surprising that I hadn't died of hypothermia yet. Or that's just it; I had, and this was my personal little hell. An eternity of waiting, never knowing whether or not my friend was okay. Never knowing when I'll be plucked up and fed to the boogeyman.

Maybe if I didn't stand around and gawk like an idiot she'd be alright. Maybe if I grabbed the gun faster, she wouldn't have been overwhelmed. Maybe if I had never forgotten the gun in the first place, I could have gotten out with Mal. We'd be vacationing on a cruise ship back to home by now, like nothing ever happened! With a complete disguise I would have been just another head in the crowd, Doctor Beaumont would never have zeroed in on me.

All while I paced trying to convince myself, I kept an eye on the glass. Whenever I turned away from it the hairs on the back of my neck raised, giving me the impression I was still being watched. That combined with the bottomless and very hungry pit in my stomach made for one hell of a bad juju cocktail.

Having nothing but 'what-ifs' clogging up my noggin was going to drive me up a wall. I smacked a palm to my forehead and forced myself to think of something else, much to the protest of the healing bruises.

A decent meal, a warm blanket, and my friend. For those three things, I'd jump through hoops over a vat of acid for these guys, but that's about as likely to happen as Doctor Beaumont putting on a puppet show with his mechanical arms.

Taking it easy with a big body of fur holding me close, that's where it's at. Thinking of it made me feel a little fuzzy, but it just felt right. Not having a care in the world, just pals making sure the other always has someone in their corner backing them up. Would she let us hold hands?

"Эй! Поросенок!" I whirled on a heel to the door, clutching my chest as my heart rate soared. A guard was waiting at the door, finger just itching for a reason to squeeze the trigger. He was watching me intensely. Hey, I was right!

I threw my hands in the air as he approached. He let his weapon hang on his chest, snatching and forcing my hands behind my back. He twisted me around like a pretzel until I heard the telltale sound of cuffs clicking shut.

Now properly pacified the guard began pushing me along to outside the cell where more men waited, looking various levels of pissed.

My escort gave a rough shove, stumbling me towards the other side of the hallway. One of his comrades swung the door inward to lead the way for us.

Inside, Beaumont was leaning over the control desk, looking through the replaced glass. It seemed thicker than before. I was ushered past before I could get a good look at whatever was within the cage.

Door number one slammed shut the moment I and a sufficient number of meatheads were inside. A series of hisses came as it locked tight.

Door number two, the one that held back whatever terrible beastie kept inside, opened after a lengthy process involving synced keycards from two men in scientist garbs. My escort pushed me in the moment the gap was wide enough to fit my scrawny body through.

The momentum tangled my legs in an effort to remain upright, only ending with me cratering flat on my stomach. That earned me a shiny new scrape and all the air knocked out of my lungs. The guard laughed loudly, not even bothering to hide it as he tossed a small metallic object nearby. The same series of hissing and mechanical clicking came after he slammed the heavy slab shut, locked up tighter than a vault of gold.