Chapter 12: Captured (1)
Elliot's POV
"The world does not change because we wish it to, but because we force it to."
–– Elliot Starfall
I sit in a cell. For weeks, I have been swallowed by complete darkness. My fingers, drained of warmth and circulation, are only visible when I hold them mere inches from my face. My clothes were stripped from me the first day. Merchandise is merchandise. Pigs don't wear trousers. That's what the blue-skinned one kept saying. His stench—stale breath, rotting gums—clings to my senses like a curse. I want to spit, but my saliva is thick, clinging to my chin in slow, sickly dribbles. My mouth hangs open. Breathing in this suffocating stench, heavy with the stink of fish and sweat, is worse than standing in a crowded bus at the height of summer.
I lean my head back, my greasy hair pressing against the old man behind me. Splinters dig into my skin. They pricked at first—kept me awake for nearly two days—but eventually, the body shuts down. The air would be more bearable if we were above deck. Every few hours, they open the hatch, letting in slivers of fresh air. There are thousands of us, crammed into the lowest levels of the ship. They call us Reds. I hate the sight of their blueberry-colored gums when they grin down at us. Hilarious, isn't it?
They took their time today. I counted in my head, out of sheer boredom. When you're locked in a cage with dozens of others, and those cages are stacked upon more, there isn't much else to do. Especially when we're forced to lie back-to-back, knees drawn tight. Some tried to pry the iron bars apart. Fools. Save your strength.
At the thought, my expression darkens. Some of them were fathers. Others, mothers—fighting to free their children, clinging to them even as they convulsed under electric shocks.
My gaze drifts to Ren. He lies in the farthest corner, eyes closed, his hands caked in blood. Two days ago, he had to fight someone. The stains on his skin look like rust.
I click my tongue, glancing at the others in our cell. I keep my mouth shut, yet someone still grumbles at me.
"Cry somewhere else. We're all going to die anyway."
Yeah, yeah I don't even looking his way. My focus remains on the harsh blue light spilling through the hatch, silhouetting a shadow descending the steps.