Transformers Prime: Broken Heart, Broken Voice (#1)

Chapter 8

My eyelids fluttered open, and I sucked in a sharp breath, my chest heaving with the weight of consciousness.

Surveying my surroundings, the sterile white room and the familiar, worn chair greeted me once again.

A chill swept through me, matching the cold, desolate atmosphere.

Recollections of my encounter with my mother in my dreams haunted me, feeling more like tangible memories than mere figments of imagination.

Her touch lingered on my shoulders, an indelible imprint that made her presence feel eerily real.

Glancing down, the infected wound on my leg throbbed ominously, a grotesque blend of black and red.

Awareness gnawed at me, reminding me of the imminent threat of blood loss and infection, yet somehow, against all odds, I felt a surge of strength coursing through me, as if bolstered by a promise made in the depths of sleep.

Despite the agony pulsating through my body, I harbored a newfound resolve, fueled by the urgency to escape and seek help.

With trembling fingers, I attempted to free myself from the constraints binding my ankle, but the knot resisted my efforts with stubborn defiance.

Frustration welled within me, reminiscent of my futile struggles with stubborn bottle caps.

Exhausted, I leaned back, focusing on steadying my erratic breaths.

Placing my arms strategically behind the chair, I feigned restraint, hoping to deceive any potential intruders into believing I remained securely bound, a desperate ploy for a chance at freedom.

The door creaked open, jolting me from my thoughts as Silas reappeared, accompanied by his accomplice bearing a box adorned with an enigmatic symbol. Its resemblance to a standard first-aid kit belied its ominous contents.

Meanwhile, the other figure set down a small, round table, adding to the palpable tension that gripped the room.

My heart raced with apprehension, dreading what their next move might entail.

"It's commendable that you're still breathing, although that may change after our little experiment," Silas greeted with a sinister smirk, his words laden with menace.

As his partner unveiled the contents of the box, revealing vials of blue liquid and gleaming syringes, a wave of dread washed over me, signaling the onset of another ordeal.

I started squirming. Good thing they didn't remember they untied my hands.

"Ace, do you have it ready?" Silas's gaze shifted to the other guy, whose back was turned, concealing his actions from view.

"Yes sir," he responded, turning to face me, brandishing an injection filled with ominous blue liquid. As he did so, Silas exited the room.

"Note down her reaction. I have something I need to attend," he instructed Ace. He nodded as Silas left the room.

It didn't take much guessing to know his intentions. He then picked up a sharp knife that was in the box and held it in his hands He walked towards me, the needle poised for injection, and the other hand holding the knife.

I shrunk back, trying to calm myself down. A plan began to form in my mind.

My hands were free. And he didn't know that yet. If I could wait for the right time, I could punch him. He would most likely drop his knife in shock, which will give me the opportunity to grab it and quickly cut the rope and escape. That honestly depends on how hard my punch is.

He walked closer and grabbed my arm, about to inject it into my bloodstream, but not for long. With one swift, my fist flew into his face as hard as it could. My knuckles hurt at the impact, but I didn't care. I heard a very unsatisfying crack as I made impact and I knew I had broken something.