Trapped Behind a Veil » Places

         Eric leaned back in his chair, trying to get as comfortable as possible. It wasn't working. He sighed. After his last comment, this girl wasn't speaking to him, nor didn't seem as if she was going to speak to him anytime soon. He could hear muffled yelling of an angry woman next door to him, but it was extremely faint. He closed his eyes, waiting for whoever was screaming in there to come in here and possibly do the same thing. He heard a few other noises in his room, a closing sound from the vents, a whoosh of air from the heater, and a bang from...somewhere. He couldn't pinpoint where exactly it was and when he opened his eyes, there was still black. It took a couple of moments for him to realize that they had gone into lockdown and all of the lights were turned off.

Chances were, the girl wasn't in here anymore. He couldn't hear her soft, extremely faint breathing He blinked, but it didn't seem like he was blinking. It was as dark when his eyes were open as they were closed. It felt like the darkness of the room was suffocating him. He took a few moments to breathe, to wait for his eyes to adjust to the light. He thought about sleeping, but changed his mind. Despite the fact that he was exhausted and groggy, he was also sure that he would have that annoying dream again and his condition would only get worse. He looked down. He could very faintly make out his legs. His eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness. The more they adjusted, the less suffocated he felt. Very slowly, he began to breath a little more at a time.

He thought about the Arena and the tournament tonight. He would have to miss the opening round. It would be the very first time that he didn't show up for a fight. He loved the crowd and they loved him. He was an All-Around favorite for most of the competitions he entered and when he wasn't, he relished the role of the underdog and used that to pull of the upset. His fans relied on him to be there to fight. He lowered his head. He let his fans down as well.

He had to get out...tonight. There was no other way to do this. His concence would not sit well with him if he didn't show up for Arena fighting tonight. He drew a breath and felt around the sleeve of his suit. He touched something familiar and he sighed in relief. It was his heated wire. They didn't find it when they were searching his body, removing all of his weapons. How could they? It was extremely small and blended in with his suit perfectly. Not only that, he had a secret pocket inside the sleeve designed to contain that. He was a little surprised they didn't discover it, considering it was the military who had designed this in the first place. Reaching with his fingers, he finally managed to grasp onto it and pull it out of the secret pocket, lighting it up. Immediately, it became the only light within the room, a faint red could be seen on the walls. Positioning the wire, he brought it into contact with the handcuffs. It was also lucky that they cuffed him with normal ones instead of the Anex ones. He would never cut through those bulky things with this wire. Ten seconds and he could move his arms freely. He now proceeded to do the same with the ankles. A minute later and he was out, using the heated wire as a small light to make his way around the room.

There were no other openings except the door and the door was sealed shut. He cursed himself for not thinking this through, and then realized the next step on how to escape. He used his Wall Walkers built in with his shoes and climbed the wall, stopping right on top of the door. The next person that comes in is going to get a very unpleasant surprise...

         The wood of the floor creaks with boisterous movement and laughter echoes from the shambled bar, proof that even in the slums people can find a reason to smile. Its a run down shanty to any first glance replete with worm-eaten wood and peeling paint, but the light inside and the sounds of merriment give passer-bys a warm invitation. As a bar is intended of course.

The roar of the distant crowd is hear a bit clearer for brief moments as the door swings open, and a tired figure moves on past the joyous gathering. Eyes are drawn only for a moment from the cluster just to see if the newcomer is a pal, and two or so revelers do try to flag the man on down, that they know as Tom Mallax. His only response is a half smile and a subtle wave of the hand, as he sits down holding his head.

He's a fairly average looking man whose rough, tanned features make himself appear a bit older than he really is. The smile fades quicker than it appeared as he idly picks over the makeshift armor he wears, a tasteful collection of molded metal pieces interlaced into an old leather jacket. The few spikes tastefully added complete the whole ensemble. He always was something something of an artist about these things, and still makes small metal figures in his off time, which tends to be rare these days.

Briefly checks a plastic watch he carries, which reads as 15 past the hour. "Three minutes I think." he mumbles, as looks around the room at the decorations. A few objects give the room a homey feel. An old broken grandfather clock in the corner with hands at Noon , a metal automobile figurine on the counter, and a few books on the shelves. At least of the categories not censored as he looks at the end book titled "Our Glorious New Land". About the only book one can actually get for free from the state, and its still overpriced.

"Get you some fresh water? On the house tonight." Said the bartender. An older balding gentlemen that Tom's known for years now, this man knows me as Scrapiron.
"I'll pay like anyone else. You've got a business to run and besides. Its payday tonight. I can cover it." Tom says, as he takes the water and checks the time again. 17 past the hour.
"Well if you're sure. Hey! How's about I close up early? We can catch the games still I bet." The bartender offered.

After pondering actually going into that writhing crowd, sirens are heard a minute later, and anyone looking out the window can see a small trail of smoke raising into the air from near the border of this sector. Seems there's been an explosion at the highway pillar.

"Fine, might as well. Looks like the roads might be closed anyways. Hope that doesn't affect the outgoing food shipments today." Tom says with a smirk.

"Perish the thought. I'm sure they're already hard at work redeploying people to get the road running." The old man retorts.

"You're right. Nothing to worry over." Tom replies as he looks over the room one final time at the clock, the figurine and the book before heading to the arena. End of the week, the state vehicle factory. That ones going to be tougher than some shitty bridge.

         Eric awoke from a dream...gah how he hated this dream. It was a weird and peculiar dream because it is the only dream that he can have constantly and the only one that he can remember every part of it, yet there is no picture, no sound, and no sight. There is something going on, but he can't make out anything in the dream whenever he has it. He didn't know what it was about this dream, but whenever he has it, it frightens him. It chills him to the very bone...and yet nothing happens that he can make out. It was so confusing.

He awoke tired, as if he never got any sleep at all...it happens every time he has that dream. These were the days when he would usually lose in the arena if he ever went in a fight after the dream. How unfortunate luck, he realized. If he had to fight, he wasn't in his prime condition to do so. He sighed as the memories came flooding back. He had tried to escape from the people when the man he tried to rescue slammed him into a wall. In that time, two managed to catch up, handcuff them, and take them somewhere. Somewhere in between, for whatever reason, he fell asleep. He didn't know where he was, but he knew it would be in a place practically unnoticeable, if not invisible.

"Dammit..." he muttered. He was suddenly very angry at whoever he had tried to save. We might have had a chance if he hadn't pounded me into that damn wall, he thought, and for what? Mistrust? He'd never know. He suddenly remembered the tournament he entered. Crap...he thought. How much time had gone past? Whether it was a few minutes or a few hours, it wouldn't matter. By the time he would be released, the tournament would be years done...if he was lucky.

Well, serves myself right, he thought. He got in the way of business and now he was a target as well. He let his anger against the military take over and it led him to some rash actions. For all he knew, the man was a wanted criminal of some sort. Maybe that was why he pinned him to the wall. To murder and rob, like he was wanted for in the first place. It made sense.

Where was the man anyway? It was now that he realized that his hands were handcuffed and his ankles bound to the chair. He wasn't in a position to find out what bound his ankles there anyway. He noticed a woman standing there. "Excuse me, ma'am," he asked,"But can you tell me where I am? even though this person was the enemy, he always lived up to his reputation as The Gentleman. "I plan to be bound for the Arena soon," he laughed at his little pun he made while jingling his cuffs around. He loved puns. They were so hard to use...especially in a grim time like today. He used them in the Arena because it took their mind of the battle. Any time outside of the Arena, he used them for fun. Maybe this woman needed some fun in her life.