Snippet #2576203

located in Season 3, a part of The Walking Dead: Online, one of the many universes on RPG.

Season 3

"The Fall"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Calvin Hawke Character Portrait: Oliver O'Brien (NPC) Character Portrait: Dax Faraday (NPC)
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

.: Calvin Hawke :.


The door to the converted apartment rustled opened, and Calvin was tossed inside-- tumbling across the floor with his hands bound by rope. Oliver struggled to his feet in the corner of the room, shackled to a metal bunk bed with metal handcuffs. Calvin pushed himself up off the ground and spat at the feet of his handlers.

"Is it really necessary to throw me inside every time you bring me back?" he asked, dryly.

The burly man winked at him and slammed the door shut, clicking the lock from outside. Calvin rubbed his aching knees with his hands and righted himself, glancing over at Oliver. The irishman plopped down on the bed, the chains of his cuffs rattling against the bed's supports as he watched Calvin walk across the room and sit down himself.

"Where's Dax?" he asked, rubbing the soreness out of his wrists.

Oliver nodded towards the door with his head. "Took him out about an hour after you."

"And he hasn't come back yet?"

The irishmen shook his head, stifling a yawn with his unshackled hand. "Been here all night... what time is it?"

Calvin shook his head. Time didn't mean much anymore. Not when you were spending every living second trying not to die. "Sun came up a few hours ago. It's still morning."

"What about you?" Oliver asked, looking at Calvin through bloodshot eyes. "Sure have been spending a lot of time with Bronson..."

Calvin ran his hands over his face, shaking his head. "He wants something from me... that's all," he replied, wearily. Oliver had done little more but grill Calvin over his repeated meetings with the Warden over the last couple days. Clearly it was bothering him that he had fallen so far out of Bronson's favor. Not a man you wanted to be on the wrong side of, either way.

"Has he told you what yet?" Oliver queried, perking up.

"No. He hasn't shown his hand yet..."

Oliver sat up straight. "You do not want to get into bed with this guy, Calvin. He will not let you out." He laid his head against the post, every bit as exhausted by the grueling week. That and the lack of food and water were getting to him. He gritted his teeth. "He's going to use Sarah as collateral to get you to do everything he wants-- all of his dirty work."

Calvin shot up from the bed, beginning to pace the room. "I don't see what other options we have," he half-shouted, careful not to let his voice rise too far. "If I don't cooperate there's no telling what he'll do to Sarah. I'm not gonna take that chance."

"And I'm not asking you to," Oliver interjected. "I'm just telling you to be very careful where you step here. You forget that I've been playing this game with Bronson for far longer than you have. I've watched how he plays people-- finds leverage on them... blackmail. He doesn't have any boundaries, Calvin. The man's his own God."

Calvin opened his mouth to speak as the hinges of the door creaked open and some of the morning light poured into the room from the hallway outside. Dax's silhouette was thrown through the door much like Calvin had been, the door slamming shut behind him. Calvin rushed over to him, grabbing him from under the arms to help him up off the ground-- and finally saw his face: bloodied and beaten and bruised and broken-- redder than his hair, and dashed with cuts and scrapes.

"Jesus Christ, Dax... w-what'd they do to you?" Oliver trembled from across the room. Dax waved them both off and stumbled over to a ratty sofa chair. Dust exploded into the air catching little splinters of light from between the blinds by the window as Dax collapsed into the chair, cradling his ribs with his bound hands.

"What happened?" Calvin asked, eagerly. Bronson had been cold over the last few days, but he hadn't resorted to torture or violence. Until now...

Dax wiped the blood from his mouth, looking up at the two of them through his orange locks. "He k-kept asking questions. Obscure things. About the n-nuke-- radiation... I couldn't make sense of any of it. B-But whatever it is... he's up to something..." He flew into a fit of coughs trying to regain his breath, his eyes watering as he recovered. "I think he's planning s-some sort of attack..."

"Fuckin' hell--" Oliver moaned, running his hand through his hair. "It's the Capitols..."

Calvin turned to the Irishman. "The who...?"

"They call themselves the Capitols--" Dax cut in, standing to spit a fat wad of blood and saliva onto the ground. He wiped his lip again with the back of his hand. "Bronson's been feuding with them over stupid shit this whole past week..."

"I thought they had come to terms after their last run-in," Oliver continued, shaking his head. "Guess not."

Dax paced the room, locking his fingers above his head as he wandered in thought. A defeated silence hung over the room as they all settled into the fact that there may not be a way out of this. Not where they win. Not against a man like the Warden. They were just pawns in a much larger game.

"You see what I'm talking about now-- right Calvin?" Oliver demanded. "Whatever Bronson wants with you... it's gonna make you an accessory to all this. You don't want to get involved. Too many people have already died over this bullshit..."

Calvin looked at the two of them, feeling as if he was being talked in circles. "What exactly is going on between you and them? I've seen enough to know that Bronson doesn't necessarily play nice with others-- so what does he want from them?"

"To go away," Dax replied, quite somberly. "One way or another..."

Oliver nodded his head, begrudgingly-- and suddenly a realization grabbed hold of him. "That son of a bitch!" he cursed, pulling his cuffs taut against the bed frame. "He knows they're gonna come back for the Capitol... once all this nuclear dust clears. He's gonna be waiting for them..."

"Aw, hell--" Dax uttered, wrenching his hands together. "We've got to warn those poor bastards. Somehow..."

Oliver scoffed, leaning back in his seat. "After you," he offered, sarcastically gesturing at the locked door. There was simply nothing they could do.

"If Bronson notices any of us are gone, who knows what he'll do to Sarah..." Calvin said, reminding them of the fact. She was the reason they were where they were. She was also they reason they couldn't do anything drastic-- for fear of it blowing back in her face.

"We don't even know if she's here..." Oliver argued. None of them had seen any sign of her upon arriving at the hideout or even during the following few days. But the possibility still existed.

Calvin pointed his finger at Oliver's chest. "And we agreed that wasn't a risk we wanted to take. There's nothing we can do until we know she's safe. " He walked back to his bed and plopped down, rolling over as he drew the blanket over him. The past night spent with the Warden weighed on him heavily as his heavy eyelids blinked closed. Sleep would come quickly.

Oliver leaned back in his bed, staring up at the bunk above him as he shook his head. His arm dangled next to him, fixed to one of the metal supports. He sighed, reaching into his jacket with his free hand and pulling out a limp cigarette as he rolled over onto one side, freeing his pocket and stuffing his hand inside to retrieve his lighter so he could light up. Dax groaned with pain as he rolled over onto his, and the room grew silent and still.

"We'll think of something," Calvin promised with a whisper.

Oliver stirred from afar as he rolled onto his side, blowing out a plume of smoke. "Yeah..."