Prisoner

Daron groaned as he woke up, the cold metal of chains biting into his wrists.

His head throbbed, each pulse sending a jolt of pain through his temple. He forced his eyes open, squinting against the blinding light of a single lamp that hung above him.

The musty air clung to every inch of Daron's skin, suffocating and heavy. It tasted damp and stale, like an abandoned cellar left to rot. He took a deep breath, hoping to steady his nerves, but the overwhelming scent of mold and decay only intensified his pounding headache.

Well, yeah. Stupid idea, he scolded himself.

Somewhere in the depths of the darkness, a constant drip-drip-drip echoed, taunting him with its monotonous rhythm.

Where was he? The last thing he remembered was the man he bumped into after trying to flee. And now this. Chained. Trapped.

Daron tried to retrieve his phone from his pocket, but the chains hindered his movements. He struggled against the restraints, making the metal clank loudly against the wall.

After a brief moment, he gave up, realizing that the familiar weight in his pocket was missing.

His heart raced, panic rising in his throat. This couldn't be happening.

He strained his eyes, desperately trying to make out any details in the dim light. The room felt suffocating, with no windows and only a heavy metal door for an exit, its small barred opening like a mocking tease of freedom.

Daron closed his eyes, trying to calm the storm raging in his mind.

Gradually, he began to recall more. His parents were gone. Murdered. And he was...where? A prison? He shook his head, wincing as pain lanced through his skull. He opened his eyes again, slowly trying to get accustomed to the light. His eyes strained against the brightness, seeking any hint of his captors.

Just then, he noticed them. 

Two shadowy figures, standing just beyond the harsh glare of the lamp. Their silhouettes were still, yet their presence crackled with unspoken menace.

"Who are you?" Daron demanded, his voice raw and raspy. "What do you want from me?"

The figures remained silent.

Daron's hands clenched into fists as he rattled the chains, a desperate attempt to regain some control, but to no avail.

The shadows shifted, and Daron's breath caught in his throat. One of the figures took a step forward, the movement deliberate and measured.

As the figure emerged from the shadows, Daron's eyes widened. The man wore a tailored coat, its dark fabric absorbing the meager light. His face was all sharp angles and harsh lines, with high cheekbones and a cruel twist to his thin lips. The man's black hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place, giving him a cold, professional look. He walked with a cane, the polished wood gleaming in the lamplight as it tapped against the damp stone floor.

"Daron Lamb," the man said, his voice smooth and calculated. "Your father was a clever man. But even clever men have their limits."

Daron's heart stuttered. "What do you know about my father?"

The man tapped his cane against the floor, the metallic click echoing in the confined space. "I know he interfered in affairs that were not his own. Affairs that ultimately led to his demise."

The man's icy gaze pierced through Daron, causing him to shiver under its intensity.

"The Order of Resurrection," the man continued, "Your father was doing research about it, where did he keep it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Daron said, his voice strained. "I don't know about any research!"

The man's lips curled into a humorless smile. "You're lying."

"I'm telling the truth," he insisted, his voice wavering despite his best efforts. "I swear, I don't know anything about any order or my father's research!"

The man studied him for a long moment, his gaze piercing and calculating. Daron held his breath, his muscles coiled with tension.

"We shall see," the man said at last, his tone laced with dark promise. "We have ways of extracting the truth, young Lamb. And I assure you, we will get what we want. One way or another."

Daron's stomach twisted at the man's ominous words, a chill racing down his spine. He swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. Fear coiled in his gut, mingling with a simmering anger that threatened to boil over.

"Who are you?" Daron demanded, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. "Why are you doing this?"

The man smiled, a cold, heartless smile. He leaned forward, his face inches from Daron's, the lamplight casting harsh shadows across his angular features.

"You'll learn soon enough."

"Please, just let me go, I don't know anything, please" Daron tried to beg.

The man straightened, his hand tightening around the handle of his cane.

With a dismissive sigh, he turned away and moved towards the cell door. Daron strained against his chains, desperate to break free, but it was useless. The metal bit into his wrists, drawing blood, and he slumped back against the wall, his chest heaving with exertion and frustration.

I won't give up, he vowed silently, his jaw clenched with determination. I'll find a way out of here. I'll uncover the truth, no matter the cost.

The man paused at the threshold of the door, glancing back over his shoulder, then he stepped out of the cell, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding clang.

As the echoes of the slammed door faded, the second figure emerged from the shadows. Heavy footsteps approached.

The man was bald, his greasy scalp glistening in the lamplight. A blood-stained butcher's apron hung from his neck, the fabric stained with the evidence of countless horrors. His eyes were mad and empty, devoid of any hint of mercy or compassion.

Daron swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He could guess that this man was no mere interrogator. He was a torturer, a sadist who reveled in the suffering of others.

The torturer's lips twisted into a cruel smile as he regarded Daron, baring foul yellow teeth. His gaze roamed over the boy's tense form.

"So," he said, his voice a guttural rasp. "You think you're tough, do you? Think you can withstand the pain?"

He chuckled, a low, menacing gurgle that sent shivers down Daron's spine.

"I-I don't want any trouble." Daron tried to plea.

With a grunt, the torturer turned and reached into the shadows. The sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air, and Daron's eyes widened as the man wheeled a metallic table into view.

The surface of the table glinted in the lamplight, an array of gleaming instruments arranged across its surface. Knives, pliers, saws, and other tools of the trade, each one honed to a razor's edge and waiting to be put to use.

Daron's eyes widened, his heart hammering against his ribs. He knew with a sinking certainty, that the true nightmare was about to begin.