Falling Skies

Two

The hallway is too bright, December's hand instinctively comes up to shield him from its onslaught as he makes his way straight down the hall, passing a few glass windows and doors on his way.

Each one is nearly the same, just white on white on white on more white, a whiff of vertigo hitting the poor boy as he slows his decent down the hall. Placing a hand on his knees, he squats down to steady the dizzy feeling overcoming him from his venture down the maze-like halls.

Slowly, he returns to his senses and slows down from a sprint to a jog, nearly skidding to the linoleum as he takes each turn: a left, a right, two more lefts, yet another left. He passes the identical halls instinctively, the map of the facility practically etched into his brain from childhood.

He grew up in this facility, ran through its too bright corridors and smeared the white walls and glass with strange substances only a toddler can find. His parents are the creators of Haven after all, his mother taking over the business after her split from his father. December being groomed ever since to eventually take over the structure and its siblings that pop up all over the country.

As he passes each door a standard plaque catches his attention, the only item that seems to differ in this labyrinth. A square of raised silver metal sits screwed onto the walls between the viewing window and doors, the object smooth minus the black words engraved into its depths. Words like Lab C, Interrogation Dept, and Surgical Facility, flash by on his way down the never ending halls. Their large viewing windows giving a front seat experience to the actions going on inside each department.

Surgical tables, metal chairs, instruments of all shapes and sizes flash by in a blur as he picks up to a sprint. An ache grows in his thighs as he pushes himself harder, feels the pulsating of his heart as it struggles to keep up with his overworked lungs, pushing him harder, faster-

He's on the floor, a sharp pain taking over the center of his forehead as he slams head first into a shoulder. He gingerly presses his palm to the area, wincing and snatching the hand away as it presses too deeply into the wound. He attempts to stand, grasping onto the protruding edge of a wall for support in his venture. A newfound pain and wooziness washes over him as he does so, legs wobbling a bit on his way back up as he keeps his other hand pressed to his forehead to dull the pulsating pains.

"I-I-"

The voice is a familiar one, and as December glances up from his palm he notices the black shirt and dark jeans of a boy, a stark contrast from the white walls and his own all-white lab uniform .

A frown creeps onto his thin lips and a new headache forms at the sight of the child in front of him. There's a bile in the back of his throat but he swallows the poison, body plopping back on the ground with legs sprawled as he's hit with a wave of nausea, the pounding in his head still thumping at a steady rate.

"Ryder, you're not even authorized to be down here." He winces from the ground, the amount of pain he's in bleeding out into his words. "What exactly are you doing?"

December grabs onto the ledge again as he pulls himself to his feet, hopefully more successful at it now than his previous attempt.

The other boy, Ryder, ignores the question entirely and takes advantage of the woozy boy in front of him, merely ducking his head and attempting to continue down the hall unnoticed. However, December already has a grip on his shirt sleeve, gifting the boy a stern glare and repeating the question at hand.

A flush of red shame crosses Ryder's cheeks, fists stuffed tight into the pockets of his jeans as he averts his cousin's glare. "I wanted to see the delivery, okay." He admits sheepishly, a wave of heat pulsating through the room as his cheeks blaze brighter. "You can let go of me now."