Monday, October 16, 2417 NO, 9:39 pm.
Wallace woke with a start, his muscles tense. His head pounded, his neck cracked with stiffness, and his limbs felt heavy and tight. His eyes opened, but in the dark he could see nothing but blackness.
Where was he? He slowly let out a breath, trying to focus. Clearly he wasn't home... District 11 had a distinctive earthy smell, mixed with a varying array of fruit blossom scents and spices. This place had a cold metallic, almost tinny smell that left a sour taste in his mouth.
He tried to stretch, but quickly found he couldn't. His ankles and wrists had been bound with leather straps, and chains held him secured to the floor and an unknown spot on the wall or ceiling. His head pounded, especially the left side of his face, which felt raw and swollen, though he couldn't remember why... He tugged at his chains, then stopped abruptly at the sound. The rattling of chain links was jarring, excruciatingly loud in the silence of his captivity.
His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, and through it he could see the wall: a brown-grey slab of stone that stretched upwards until it faded into more darkness. He shifted his hands, so stiff from his immobility and the tightness of the bonds that held him.
Where was he? The last thing he remembered was being in the warehouse... And Keezhee had arrived, and then... Slowly, memories returned to him, and he fought the urge to vomit. Chad... Chadwick was dead... And the others? He couldn't be certain. All he could be certain of was that death awaited him at the hands of his captors. Perhaps they would torture him first; he didn't know... There would be no tolerance for the heads of the resistance.
The scraping of boots outside his cell brought his focus back to the present. There was a clattering of keys, and a sudden flood of light blinded him as the door of his cell swung inward to reveal his captor.
Which perhaps, he was. Wallace had no way of being certain how long he'd been unconscious. It could have been minutes, hours, or days. Months of subterfuge had left little time for personal upkeep, and the days leading up to his capture had been spent in a stiflingly hot warehouse littered with the decaying remains of rotten fruit and dead flies.
The man stood there, still in silence. He nodded his chin. An order. Slowly, Wallace raised himself to a standing position -- no easy feat with his ankles bound. lifted his eyes, and their gazes locked.
"Wallace Mered. At last."
The man's voice was deeper than anticipated, and held a warmth that contradicted the iciness in his eyes. Wallace didn't answer, couldn't answer. The voice held a vague familiarity, though he didn't know why. The man had the strange, over-affected accent that Wallace associated with the Capitol city, but still he couldn't place the man's voice.
"Welcome to Holmes' Castle."
Wallace's heart sank. Holmes' Castle was a maximum security prison located somewhere in the mountains between the Capitol and District 2. None had ever escaped the prison alive, but it was well-known among the citizens of the Districts as a place of torture.
"You know why you are here, do you not?"
Moments passed. An eternity. Wallace simply stared at his captor. Without warning, the man drew back his arm and backhanded Wallace across the face. He dropped to his knees. His vision blurred. He saw stars, and he shook his head to clear his mind.
"Once again. I said, do you know why you are here." A statement, not a question. No need to answer.
"Hmm... perhaps you need a little... persuading, then..." The man's voice was calm and unwavering, unsettling. Wallace would almost have preferred anger. Anger, at least would have given him something to push back against, but this... nothing. There was nothing in this voice.
Credits: Wallace | Spotify | Cerberus | Syringe
PBs: Wallace Hugh Mered portrayed by Adetomiwa Edun. Cerberus Monroe portrayed by Jason Isaacs.
