Locked Out (Chapter 2)


I awoke to the sound of a dripping ceiling. There was a hanging light with a large crack coming away from where it had been bolted on. I also had a dull throb on the right side of my jaw from where the hook had landed. There was a strange feeling that I was forgetting something that was happening here, but before I could get half a thought out I heard a scream that quickly died down to a whine in the distance. As I looked to my left I realized that I had been completely oblivious to the metal bars there. Quickly panic set into my mind as I feared that I had committed a crime and was caught, but I couldn’t remember. Taking in the area around me completely this time I noticed that I was in a small cell with one bed that had a pair of faded grey shorts and a shirt the same color.

“This isn’t a prison uniform,” I spoke softly to myself. Then I heard a voice from outside my cell. “So you’re awake,” said the unknown voice. “I thought they might have damaged your brain for how long you’ve been out. You better get your colors on before they come and get you for your first match.” “Match?” I questioned the voice. “What match? Who are you? What is this place?” With a sigh the voice spoke in a slow manner, “My name is Mikhail. I have no idea where this place is and neither does anyone but the men who run it. As for your match,” the man called Mikhail paused. “You will see when they take you up top to the area. I’d put those colors on quick before they arrive.” I could then make out the figure of him as he approached the bars of his cell. He was a lean but fit man with short brown hair and a little bit of stubble. I also noticed the same type of clothing he was wearing was the ones on my bunk but in a teal color.

I walked over to my bunk and grabbed the gray shirt and pulled it on. It felt slightly to thin in my hands, but as I put it on it felt thicker as though there was some unnatural element to it. The shorts felt the same was but I passed on the sensation as some men in SWAT style vests approached my cell with several other people in the same clothes as Mikhail and I following them. One spoke with an unusually deep voice, “Grey, please proceed with us to the arena, you too teal.” I had no idea what the Arena was but it was probably where this “match” was held. Then as I was leaving my cell Mikhail spoke beside me, “You better be quick, cause up there, there is no such thing as luck.”
I wanted to ask him what he meant but the men prodded us forward through a corridor with cells like our own on either side. I could tell from the shouts of the other “prisoners” here that something wrong was going to happen here.