date unknown

They never expected him to feel remorse. It was funny, almost. How they enslaved him, dangled his limbs by strings and made him dance. Whispered in his ear to lie and deceive and cause so much pain, and never expecting him to feel the least amount of guilt. They didn't think he was capable of such human emotion. Little did they know conscience had been chasing him around for years, expecting him to pay up for his crimes.

Now here she was. A jumble of stats and numbers spread across the screen. Déjà vu pranced around his brain, spinning him in circles. He'd been here before. Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, staring at the big white screen ahead of him, a giant white rectangle glaring against the room's darkness. The Lady standing at the front of the room, head bobbing in the tiniest of a nod.

He hated her. He hated everyone here. Everyone that treated him like their puppet, saying he had no choice, saying it was his job. But nothing was stopping him from throwing open the balcony doors and leaning too far over the edge, wasn't it? But it wouldn't work. It just wouldn't.

So he lay there, slumped on the polished linoleum floor, glaring at The Lady staring intently at the screen. She liked to wear the mask of a human over her monstrous face, coat her venomous words with sickly sweet kindness.

"This isn't fair," were the mumbled words that were shoved out of his mouth.

The woman sighed. "I'm so sorry to do this to you, again, but you just have to. You're the last one—the only one. The only one that's abided by our rules so far and hasn't been killed, all because of your obedience. You've been very good so far; you should keep it like that. Oh, dear, I'm so sorry..." She started to reach towards him to wrap him in an embrace, but he slipped out of her grasp.

"No!" he yelled, his temper gone in an instant. "You know it's not fair! I can't! I can't destroy another life like how I did with the last!"

He tried to hold them back, but tears were streaming down his cheeks now, dripping onto his shirt and blossoming into twice their size. He appeared to be near eighteen, yet his blubbering made him sound like a small child. The young man choked on his sobs, his eyes wet and pleading. "Please."

The Lady's expression grew dark. "You have to. You know what happens if you refuse. You remember all your brothers and sisters when they rebelled, don't you? You're a good boy. Stay that way. Follow the rules, and you won't get hurt."

His glittering eyes darkened with misery.

Then his expression suddenly hardened and his jaw steeled. "You'll pay for this," he growled, pacing across the room, hands clenched into fists. His voice shuddered and cracked a little. "You'll pay. All of you. You're all sick people, you know that? Awful people." He was near screaming now, his voice booming in the empty room. "I'll get my revenge, one way or another, you mark my words. And whenever you see that girl, years later and broken, you'll know I'm coming. I mean it. The next time you destroy a life, there will be a price."

He stormed out of the room, eyes hollow with blazing anger. He tore through the narrow corridors, up and down stairwells until he was completely and thoroughly lost.

Now he yelled because he was lost and didn't know what time it was, and wouldn't be able to find his sleeping quarters. His arms grasped at empty air, trying to find something to throw, smash, kick, but there was nothing, only an infinite expanse of empty space. He screamed some more, kicked a wall, and kept walking.

Finally, he came across something at least familiar to him, from all his years of being here. Streams of light filtered into the bland hallway through the cracks of it, seasoning the walls and making the floor dance.

Hungrily, he swung the door open and was greeted by a blast of fresh, natural air as he stepped onto the balcony. He devoured its, every scrap of raw and pure oxygen that he was able to fit in his body. He probably didn't need it, but he liked to feel human once in a while. He sat down on a folding chair, worn out and ragged, throat burning from his fit.

"Having fun?" a voice teased from behind him.

He looked up. There she was, sitting on the railing, all too familiar. She looked smug, as always, peering at him through her trademark Gucci sunglasses, her sneering glossed lips parted around a cigarette.

"Hardly," he snarled, running his fingers through his hair. "And of course, you're no help."

"Aw, you're always so grumpy," she giggled. "Lighten up a bit." She twirled a strand of strawberry blond hair, gazing out towards the city view far below them.

"Easy for you to say," he grumbled. "You're not the one who's assigned to tear up someone's sanity. Again." He pressed his palms to his forehead, leaning his head on his arms, elbows on the table.

She let out a snort, waggling her cigarette in the air as she spoke. "No, I'm only one of your former victims. Quite a blast, by the way. Now I'm cooped up here in this depressing slum, every day the same. Wake up. Eat breakfast in the caf with a bunch of zombies just like me. Then treatments. Therapy. Then the experiments!" Her voice took on a hint of sarcastic enthusiasm. "Three fucking hours every day. Blood tests, DNA tests, samples, exams, brainwave tests; all so they can make their precious money off of us 'scientific miracles'. But what do we get, huh? We get to sit here for all eternity, being walking vegetables, none of us allowed to even go outside until we're done with the experiments, then we're transferred to the Institution, rotting away in an asylum until we die so we can't spread the word about what happened to us. You know, if we're not already dead by then. And it sucks, you know. It really, really sucks." She folded her arms across her chest and pouted. He knew it was pointless to say any more.

"Okay," he sighed, rising from his chair. "I'm sorry." He trudged to the door, turning to face her as he twisted the handle. "I'll just go away now." He turned around to leave, but instead, she spoke again. Softer, this time.

"You know, today's my last day," she said, her voice only a bit above a whisper. She took a long drag out of her cigarette before continuing. "Before they send me away to the asylum."

The boy turned around.

"Oh," he replied, his voice painstakingly flat. "Well...bye, I guess." What was he supposed to say? Their relationship--whatever it was--was so complicated. He began to turn away, seeing her faint smile through his peripheral vision.

"Bye. And good luck. She'd be lucky to get her life ruined by you."

The young man closed the door, the image of that girl, that crazy, wonderful girl who filled his life with excitement and frustration all at once, fading bit by bit as the door shut.

✽  ✽  ✽

So what do you think? Is it vague and mysterious enough?

Who are these people? What are they talking about??

Lots of foreshadowing here...you'll find out later in the story B)

XOXO ~brooklynrose~