Snippet #2484186

Kyle froze, his belt halfway threaded as the sinister announcement echoed through the halls. A cold pang of fear pierced his heart. He did not understand all of the unseen announcer's words, about tires and someone named Bruce, but the voice's intent was clear. The promise of an island vacation had been delivered mockingly, dripping with insincerity.

Thoughts and questions flashed through his mind at an alarming rate. The military man had been right. Ruck's face hardened as he glanced up at the camera's eye, scouring him from not two feet above his upturned face. Prison. His face contorted into uncharacteristic rage.

"Hey! Listen up!" he screamed, jabbing a thin finger at the fisheye lens. "You can't keep me here! You've got no right!"

The words fell away hollowly. He stood for a moment, feeling foolish. The camera stared silently back, stoking his inner turmoil. It was an unsettling feeling, being watched by an unknown party. He wanted a face to put on the disembodied voice.

Suddenly overcome with rage and a desire to see his captors face-to-face, he seized the metal-framed chair from beside the door and smashed it on the ground with all his strength. The plastic back shattered cleanly, sending jagged pieces of blue plastic skittering over the floor. He tried again, heaving the chair over his head and bringing it down again, to more spectacular effect. One of the aluminum legs bent out at an awkward angle, and he fell upon it, stomping at the stressed joint until it broke away. He hefted the metal rod in his hand, panting and grinning savagely. It had a good heft to it and a jagged edge.

He waved it in front of the camera, making sure to show off his new weapon. A part of his mind screamed at him to back off, telling him that he'd gone too far, that he'd only be making things worse for himself, but he couldn't stop. His control seemed gone.

"I'm leaving!" he screamed, not quite sure where he was going. The hallway seemed a good start.