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Vi presses her face against the gap in the bars, forcing her skin passed corroded metal until the jagged edges claw against her cheeks. Screams her sister’s name into the empty corridor. Shakes the jail cell door until rust falls like rain against the flagstones below.
It remains locked and in place.
As if it would ever budge.
Meanwhile the gears of the lift begin to creak and groan. Chain link over chain link, slowly carrying her sister away.
Away from her again.
Vi’s scream echoes along the empty hall, her throat raw and painful as she refills her lungs with the harsh saltwater air.
She keeps screaming until her voice is hoarse, until the gears of the lift grow silent, until all she can hear is the thundering of her pulse and the heaviness of her own breath.
Closing her eyes, she presses her forehead to the cold metal and allows the same pleading words to tumble from her lips over and over.
“Please come back. Please come back. Please”.
Grief mixes with fear, catches in her chest, chokes her airways until panic strikes a match and sends it roaring into a blaze of terror-fuelled fury.
With a feral scream she pulls back a fist and throws it as hard as she can against the metal lock.
Something shatters.
Pain explodes.
Snuffs out the anger.
Has black spots piercing her vision.
She sinks to her knees, cold stone meeting ripped jeans, broken hand cradled against her chest as she collapses forward.
This place used to be full of the angry shouts and cries of other prisoners.
Now all she can hear are the howls of the wind and poorly buried ghosts that rise to meet her.
“My, my, my, so what do we have here then?”
It’s her first time meeting the Warden, at catching a glimpse of his brutish countenance, at the sickly smile that sends fear rippling down her spine. Vi presses herself further into the shadows, further into the corner, tries to hide the red across her wraps by tucking her hands tight to her chest.
“So, this is the little bitch that’s been causing the commotion in my prison,” the Warden muses, cracking his staff against the stone, smile growing as Vi flinches. “Maybe we need to break her in a little. Teach her the rules of this place”.
He considers Vi a moment, sunken eyes narrowing, maw widening to reveal pointed teeth.
Then the cell door opens, and two guards are rushing her, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her out into the corridor. She screams and fights and scraps, manages to get free of the first guard before knocking the air out of the other and sending him stumbling back into the cell opposite.
Jeers from the other inmates ring out and Vi has a brief moment of hope before pain explodes across the back of her skull and the world goes dark.
The crack of crumbling concrete under her fist grounds her. Roots her in a familiarity she thought she’d left behind. But maybe this was the universe’s way of telling her she was never meant to leave, that she was always meant to rot down here.
Her right fist sends spiderwebbing cracks radiating across the cell wall, several water-stained pieces of plaster falling to the floor.
The confined space is full of the sound of her breathing, air furiously exhaled between gritted teeth.
As her right fist connects again, the world dissolves, blurs.
Oh 516, you’re never getting out of here.
Vi shakes her head. Blinks the haze from her vision. Gasps for breath as she swings her right fist around and begs for the grounding of pain across her knuckles.
No-one will find you, no-one is coming for you. You are all but a ghost.
She can feel the pain in her side. From where she shielded her sister from Vander, from where Caitlyn slammed her rifle into her gut with a look that hurt far worse than the physical blow. From where Jinx punched her before slamming her back into her cage.
A scream rips up from somewhere deep inside as she swings her left fist around and slams it into the wall with another audible crack.
The searing pain suggests that again it’s her that breaks.
She curls in on herself, eyes closed and breathing ragged.
“When will you learn I wonder?”
She can’t see the Warden but tracks his movement through the clack of his cane off the flagstones behind her. Two guards hold her, wrenching her arms behind her back while a third fastens a pair of handcuffs around her wrists.
It’s not long before she’s left two of the guards groaning on the floor and the third clutching at his nose, eyes blazing with fury from across the room.
“You bith,” he spits through blood and broken cartilage.
“So stubborn,” the Warden coos, as he walks forwards towards her, his mountainous frame seemingly taking up the entire room, forcing her back until she feels rough stone against her bare shoulders. “But not to worry, we can fix that”.
Knowing what is coming does nothing to soften the blow.
The pain starts to recede, Vi’s vision focussing again. She tries to flex the fingers of her left hand which only serves to have her doubling over again as her head swims.
Her hands are tied behind her back.
Ropes this time.
Seems at least someone here can learn from experience.
She’s knelt down on cold flagstones, fighting against the bonds at her wrists, trying to find a weakness, for the slightest give between the fibres.
But the cords are knotted by someone who knows their craft because no matter how much she tries, she can’t break free.
Vi stills as a shadow falls across her, her eyes fixed forward onto the chipped ceramic bathtub she’s been set in front of, the water inside covered in a greasy sheen.
A huge hand grabs a fistful of her hair, rips her head backwards so she can get a good look at the brute manhandling her.
She uses the brief moment to hurl an insult.
Not her smartest choice, but then again, she has a reputation to uphold.
Seconds later she goes face first into the icy water.
The world recedes as her ears go under, leaving only the sound of her own pulse, a thundering count that slowly increases as the hand holds her firmly in place.
Vi keeps her eyes shut, keeps still.
But as the seconds pass, as the hand presses her further under, pressing the lip of the tub into her ribs until it feels like one may crack, panic starts to creep in.
Vi can feel the pressure in her chest building. Pounding on her lungs, begging for release.
She tries to deny it, to swallow it down but it won’t stay put.
Panic takes the reigns, encourages Vi to wildly thrash, to jerk her body from one side to the other to try and throw off the hand keeping her pinned.
But it holds firm, keeps pressing her down.
Bubbles erupt. She grits her teeth. Her chest bucks anyway and another burst of bubbles rises towards the surface.
A burning builds in her chest, growing upwards with each passing second.
Adrenaline floods her system, and when she jerks her body back this time, she manages for a brief moment to dislodge the hand.
She rears backwards and upwards, already tasting the promised air.
But before she can reach the surface the hand is back, heel pressing down with so much force her forehead meets the bottom.
The last of her breath leaves in a small trail of bubbles.
Vi begins to desperately thrash, shoulders heaving, flinging herself to the side so hard her temple cracks against porcelain, the water tingeing pink.
Her lungs buck.
Beg her to take a breath.
Tell her it can all be over if she just submits.
But before she can concede, Vi’s ripped upwards, breaking the surface to gasp and gulp at the cold air, floundering as she’s thrown to the floor. A shiver ripples through her but all she can do is continue to fill her lungs, cheek pressed against cold stone, icy water dripping down her back and neck.
“Next time Pink, you might consider doing what you are told,” the Warden says.
Vi’s not sure whether she says Fuck you or just thinks it. But the lack of cane cracking off cranium suggests the latter.
Vi’s gasping for air, hunched over, hands braced on her knees.
Takes her a minute to realise she’s bone dry.
So why does it still feel like she’s drowning?
She stumbles backwards until her shoulders meet the far wall. Tries to focus on the cool and damp of the plaster, of the roughness of it against her skin, of the familiarity of the scent of damp and mould and salt.
Closing her eyes, she balls and opens her right fist, tries to count her breaths, to ignore the rapid fire of her heart.
The groan of the lift gears echo along the shaft, rush the corridor to raise the hairs along Vi’s neck.
She holds her breath, snaps her eyes open.
Freezes her hand in a fist.
“Which floor sir?”
The lift dips and groans as the Warden’s boots cross the threshold. Vi doesn’t have it in her to lift her head, instead stays prone on the floor. Doesn’t even do more than groan as the Warden rolls her over on her back with the toe of his boot.
“All the way down”.
The guard shuffles their feet nervously.
“But sir, the inspector declared the base levels as off limits. The emergency pumps were damaged in the last storm and the replacement parts won’t arrive for weeks”.
The Warden takes a step forward, the lift creeks its displeasure.
“Are you questioning my orders?” He asks.
The guard has enough self-preservation to eek out a “No sir”.
Vi’s consciousness remains elusive as the lift sinks deeper than she’s ever been, flitting in and out of her grasp. She finally resurfaces in a cell that she doesn’t recognise, the air thicker with moisture than ever and algae growing along the damp walls. She follows a hulking dark shadow to where the Warden stands in the doorway, mammoth gloved fingers curled around the metal bars of her cell. He gives an amused huff before letting go and turning to the two guards stood to attention just out of arms reach.
“There’s a big storm due next week,” he muses. “Shame if someone were to forget to come back for you before it hits”.
He sends Vi one last shark toothed grin, before walking back towards the lift, the steady crack of his cane off the flagstones slowly fading.
For a second, Vi allows herself to indulge in the delusion it’s her sister back to let her out. To come skipping down the corridor with a sardonic grin and barrage of insults.
Reality slowly takes over, replaces the ideas of familial reunions with those of a far more likely and displeasing kind.
The groaning of the lift mechanism gets louder, the jangling chain counting down the sub floors.
Vi’s not sure when she learnt it’s morse code, isn’t surprised to know she still does.
She paces as she counts, takes four stride forwards, has to cut the fourth short as she bumps into the far wall. Throws her more than it should, more than she wishes it did. Shaking her head, she continues her pacing, three long strides and one shorter before turning on her heel again.
She manages six laps before the squealing of brakes announces the cars imminent arrival.
Her feet still just as the groaning, squealing and creaking stop.
Until all that’s left is silence.
Followed by the rattling of folding back metal.
Vi pushes off the wall. Rolls a shoulder.
Listens to the footsteps echoing down the corridor. Enforcer boots clipping off worn stone.
One person.
The staff cracks off the flags. A regular rhythm, slow and encroaching. A predator confidently slinking over to its cornered prey.
It cracks off her jaw with the same ease, with the same loud snap
Vi turns her back to the bars.
31.
31 steps from the lift to her cell.
(43 for the yordle who didn’t last a week).
She counts the footsteps up to 10.
Rolls her right shoulder.
13.
Takes a deep breath in.
15.
Holds it.
19.
Lets it out.
21.
Checks her wraps, tugs at the fabric with her teeth where her thumb meets her palm.
25.
Finds firm footing amongst the uneven flags, bends her knees.
28.
Balls her good hand into a fist.
31.
She tries not to flinch as the iron behind her squeals, gives a second for the enforcer to step inside. Allows them a moment to question whether they need their baton. Whether maybe this time 516 has been tamed.
Foolish.
As if Vi could ever suppress her ability to break things.
Her right fist swings around along with her, a snarl rises and reveals bared teeth.
Recognition dawns at the last minute, just enough warning to pivot, to have Vi’s fist cracking against iron rather than shattering porcelain cheekbone.
“I had a feeling I might find you here,” Caitlyn huffs.
Vi meets her gaze.
Looks for contempt, anger, betrayal, distrust.
For everything she deserves, for the illusion to be shattered and Caitlyn to final see who she really is.
But instead, all she finds is concern and compassion.
All she’s offered is forgiveness and understanding.
It’s all far too much to take in, to comprehend.
And in that moment, the last of her resolve shatters.