evanna

The Red Hand's headquarters are truly unlike anything I've ever seen before. Not that I've seen much of grottos and caves and hidden communities, but this is truly impressive. In the darkness grows a small population of moderately intelligent human beings, that know what the government of Tetrahmon has in store for the people- and that, already, in itself, is something.

There are lights that illuminate an entire underground village, built in what seems to have been an underground grotto. I can see stalactites overhead, but any water that was down here seems to have frozen over. Unless if there's a currently active river, which I doubt.

Strings of lightbulbs looped around poles and makeshift shelters of cloth and any other structures cast a soft orange glow over the entire place. Small fires had been built, where people sat huddled around, wound up in blankets.

"Impressive," I comment, as Julian falls into step with me. Julian gives me their first genuine smile.

"Anyways, this is not where you're gonna be staying- not for the moment, anyways. Not until we find out a little more about you." I feel unsettled by this, but I don't say anything about it.

"You mean, you want to find out how many girls I've kissed, is that it?"

Julian lets out a snort of laughter. "Not quite. Hear that, Francis?" They call towards the back. Francis replies with a grunt.

"I like your sense of humour," Julian says, and I give them an attempted, albeit bitter, smile.

"So, where are you taking me?"

"Head office." Julian steps over a person sleeping in our path, and I follow suit. I have the impression that they're not going to tell me more about it until we get there, so I don't ask any more questions. I know what the head office is the moment I see it. It's the only thing in this entire encampment that looks like an actual building- it's more of a wooden house, chalet-like, except doubtlessly less sturdy but it's still a building. A light is apparent from  the loft at the top of it, glowing gently through the grimy window panes that cover nearly an entire wall.

The entrances to the building are flanked by armed members of the Red Hand; hanging sheets, dirtied but distinguishably patterned differently act as doors. These soldiers don't resemble those that I've killed in the slightest - they're poorly protected, wearing only layers to protect themselves from the cold, but against bullets, or tranquilliser darts, their garments wouldn't do them much good. Essentially, they're dressed like every other civilian in Prague: with the clothes that they have left. I don't think that everyone has had enough time to recover from whatever happened here. I struggle to regain my memories, but they don't come back.

"In here," Julian says, pulling back the curtain-like doors. They nod to the guards, who eye me with suspicion. I stare back coldly. "She's with me," Julian snapped. "Now get the fuck in here, Evanna, before they decide to shoot you."

I follow, unafraid, and not intimidated by their weaponry. "Hey, Bernard!" Julian calls, leading me up to the loft-area. It's decked out with old furniture, a carpet, and it's filled with a homely sort of clutter, and lit up brighter than a Christmas tree.

Hm. A Christmas tree. They don't celebrate that anymore, do they? That's yet another worthless memory.

"Yeah?" I hear the clink of tools.

"Got a visitor."

"Give me a minute, I'm just trying to fix up my record- goddamn it, Julian, why do you have to always come to me at the worst of times?"

"Yeah, but this one's important."

"Eh?"

I give Julian a look which they don't seem to notice. A man who seems to be about fifty years old steps out from behind a pile of discarded things, and joins them in the center of the loft, holding a screw in one hand. His eyes fall on me, and he drops the screw, squinting at me as though he's trying to analyse something. I decide I don't like him.

Julian flops down on the sofa, towards the side of the room and watched both of us. "Sit down," Bernard finally says. I take a seat next to Julian, although not too close- Bernard seats himself opposite me- and then he loses his calm.

"Julian, what the fuck- how- could you?" Julian's confused; I can practically smell it on them.

"What?"

"What if they know she's here, you idiot, what if she's still got the chip-"

Julian sighs, exasperatedly. "She never had one," they say, looking at me for a brief minute. "She's not even branded."

"What?" I ask.

"Not branded." Julian rolls up their sleeve, and tattooed upon their forearm is a five-digit code: 4798D. I blink. "Go on, roll up yours," Julian says.

I do. The skin there is milky white- there's not a trace of black ink or numbers anywhere. Bernard gasps like it's the most surprising thing he's ever come across. "Incredible," he exclaims. "How do we know you're not working for them?"

"Them?" I repeat.

"The government, stupid," Julian says, sounding bored.

"I killed two of their soldiers in the last day or two," I answer. "And then I stole a uniform and disguised myself as one," I explain.

He gives a sort of high-pitched laugh, the type of laugh men laugh when they're trying to (and failing to) hide how nervous they are, and then coughs, before nodding. "Alright. Okay. Sounds, um, fine."

I don't know what to say to that, but I'm spared the need to say anything by a sudden female voice that blares out from the speakers that are situated in the corners of the room. Julian holds a finger up to their lips, and all of us listen intently.

All citizens of Tetrahmon are henceforth, upon this day, required to attend a mandatory public hearing that will be held by none other than President Malcolm, in the Square, at 13:15 this afternoon. In light of recent events, this will aim to ensure your safety.

Any and all civilians unable to attend the hearing, please inform the Bureau of Officering by 13:05, along with your code number and the reason as to why you are unable to attend.

Any unable person who fails to do so will be subject to seventeen lashes of the cat 'o' nine tails, in public, on the morrow.

"Bit medieval, their form of punishment, isn't it?" I inquire, looking at Julian, who makes a motion for me to shut up.

"All hail President Malcolm, and may Tetrahmon continue to prosper," Julian says, in sync with the speaker. That signals the end of the message, I presume, as after that, the chatter between Julian and Bernard resumes its tempo from earlier.

"What do they mean by recent events?"

Bernard's head swivels over to look at me. "You," he says. "Two of their soldiers were brutally shot in the 'last day or two,'" he adds on, deliberately quoting me.

I swallow thickly at the expression on his face; it's one of excitement, and yet of terrible discontent.

I understand.

I can't imagine any rebel force wanting to willingly shelter a fugitive, because that is what I am, now.

I'm trying to run from the law- and quite frankly, I think I'm doing a pretty good job of it right now.

a/n : hope you enjoyed that chapter! don't forget to add Shiver into your reading list so you'll get an update of the next chapter - and any feedback is welcome!

also, the picture at the top is a very vague sort of representation of the Red Hand community, and what I imagine it to be like. What do you think?

Thanks so much for reading,

Sarah xx