As The World Turns Cold

Angel of Darkness

Mercy sighed, leaving a puff of white air in its wake. With the years she'd spent in captivity, one might think the frostbite would be breathing down her neck, threatening to take her life away as her body grew colder.

Of course, it was too impossible of an occurrence. The people watching her throughout her days knew the tolerance she had and when she felt her body give way, the air would warm in slight intervals until she was alright again. Escaping may be hard, but death was harder. And for someone who would readily welcome death like an old friend, there wasn't much hope to go on.

She sat upright in the shackled chair, her fingers curling slowly into the curve of the arm. Her legs quaked from bare skin to air contact. Was it too much to ask for a decent pair of clothes?

Anything like that would simply be too much protection for a test subject, though. It might make her feel too comfortable. Mercy scoffed, biting back a shaky laugh. What she wouldn't give for a spark of hope right now. Clearly, she couldn't manage to find any without a resolve.

Mercy could feel her eyes closing, straining for restless sleep. She could never sleep well. It wasn't from bouts of nightmares or even terrors that kept her away. Instead, it was from the spores in the air. Each night, a round of chemicals would flood the vents like a serpent, squirming and writhing its way into her room to keep her awake.

They weren't deadly, of course that would be too much to ask for, they wanted to torture her. The gas kept her body awake, letting sleep consume her only every few days. With this new added information, it was easier for her to gauge time. If she fell asleep with comfort, she would know that a handful of days had passed and a sliver a faith would leave with it.

As the gas filled the vents today, however, she would be ready. This, she believed, would be a night for blissful sleep, and if Mercy wanted anything in this torturous life, it was a decent night of sleep where she didn't have to hear the cackling calls of laughter and creaks of doors or blood-curdling screams of other subjects.

By now, Mercy's head felt leaden and heavy, while the rest of her body was too numb to function. Her frail, raw skin had been marred by a bluish hue and her veins seemed as if they had been suctioned up to the surface.

She could feel the freezing bite of air as it became colder and then warmer, all too fast. In a second, the freezing ventilation had changed to drastic, immediate warmth.

That was unusual, but who could Mercy be to dwell on that matter. There were certainly more pressing problems to deal with than instant heat flooding her senses, but that didn't make it any less painful. Mercy howled in pain, but it only managed to be no louder than a whisper.

The heat was too much at once and it had begun to make her feel weak-kneed and light-headed. For once, she was thankful that she was sitting down. If she were standing, she'd have doubled over at the pain of it.

Just as it had come, the warmth receded. If Mercy had any way to gauge it, she'd assume it were a reaction to something or a problem with mechanics. Maybe it was simply her.

She could feel the chill return to her body and she huffed out a sigh of relief. The warmth was always uncomfortable for Mercy. It was as if a part of her was trying to escape, to become one with the sensation. She shivered. It felt like losing control.

Moments began to blur, and she cowered in the darkness, craved the silence. She was all too alone. All she had was a mind full of weary thoughts and pleas of distress. She was isolated and scared, yet she basked in the solitude. With it, there were no people to break her resolve.

There was something about this silence, however, that struck her as odd. She could feel something lurking about. It was all around her, all-encompassing. Mercy could blame it on paranoia or the presence of night terrors, but this feeling was like no other. She could feel a sensation of warmth wrapping around her, soothing her. It was magical and powerful.

A soft knock pounded on the concrete door. She froze. She had not heard a shuffling of movement, much less footsteps. Mercy wondered, not for the first time, if she was going insane. There were plenty of ideas to back up that theory.

The knock came again, this time a little louder than the first. Usually the men slammed the door wide open, not caring one bit about how she might feel. She certainly hadn't expected any kind of formalities from these people. Why be polite now? In this torture chamber of a life, formalities were useless. They were wasted on the evil confined within the souls that spewed it.

The door began to push open, softly and slowly. Whoever was on the other side seemed almost warier of her than she of them.

A soft tap sounded as the person behind the door moved closer. They eased the metal door open until there was enough room to walk into the room. Whoever was here must not have been given orders to enter her room. He was being too discrete and careful.

Mercy watched carefully as a new figure stepped across the threshold. Blanketed by darkness, only his silhouette was visible. Her eyes traced over the contours of broad shoulders and toned muscles.

She cocked her head to the side in bewilderment. Mercy had never seen this man before. By his stature and appeal, he seemed to be around her age.

Odd. All the government-funded scientists were age-withered and brandished by little to no muscle. The only individuals in this place under the age of fifty were the two brutes that had torn at her body when Dr. Snyde had needed assistance. Then there was the chance that this man was another person being tested on like Mercy; another person with uncanny abilities that the government couldn't quite seem to figure out. There were several possibilities and she was unsure of which scenario would be worse; a new hired hand or a patient with his own frightening state of mind?

The stranger stepped further into the room. In his right hand was a small torch that appeared to be burning out. It didn't give off much light to her dismay. She couldn't quite grasp any clear view of the man. He moved towards the wall, bringing the torch up to light another.

As his hand swept above the top, the fire grew brighter. The little fire that was sputtering out before had come back with a vengeance as if by magic. The flames were now able to lap at the other wooden stalk. As soon as he finished one torch, the stranger moved about the room to light the next until light flooded the room.

He placed the torch on the empty holder once he finished. These people certainly loved their medieval vibe. There was a simple light that hung above her head, but the torches they used were to illicit a feeling of confinement. Made in remembrance of the Dark Ages, they kept the odd lighting mechanisms for the appearance of torture.

His back was to her and she could see the muscles straining in his arms as he clenched his hands into fists. Mercy's gaze swept over the ridges of his shoulders and the way his coat pulled against his torso. He wasn't bulked up like the guards had been. This man was lean, but had enough definition to show that he was tough.

Mercy gripped the edges of the chair and steadied her breathing. She wasn't sure what to make of this situation. His intentions were unclear, and she would prepare for the worst if only to protect herself.

The stranger turned to face her, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, Mercy's heart sped up at the sight of him. He was unlike any other. There was something about him that seemed otherworldly, almost god-like. His face was all sculpted angles and hard edges. There were no scars marring his face or bruises against his skin.

He was tall, marked by golden skin and dark hair that curled around his ears and covered his eyes. One hand shot out to push back the strands blocking his vision. Two bright, golden eyes gleamed down at her. He was like an angel of darkness, bringing light to her world only to plunge it back into darkness later. It made Mercy feel equal parts curious and frightful.

He grinned. His eyes shown with a hint of wickedness.

"So, you're the infamous Mercy Baudelaire."