Page 27 of Mercy & Malice

“Fuck.” He yanks at his restraints that don’t give at all.

“It’s no use.” A voice booms from behind me as I jump, my back hitting the bars beside Micah.

Three figures appear as the dim lighting brightens to a blinding level. It takes a few seconds before I can see through my watery vision. And what I witness makes my stomach twist in a tighter knot, my fingers grip the bars to help me stay upright.

A view of the dingy room comes into full view, including the area we’re in. It looks like it was a bedroom and bathroom but there’re no walls, the enclosure is around a toilet and there’s a shower in the corner the knobs just within reach through the bars. The walls are all damaged brown paneling. But it’s the three hooded figures wearing identical cloaks and face shields from the game that terrify me most.

“No,” I shake my head, “No, no. Mercy is over.”

This isn’t real. It’s a nightmare. Only, I’m not waking up.

Micah is thrashing, shouting, “You’re fucking dead.”

“Big talk for a fellow who can’t even free himself,” the creepy distorted voice states from behind an ivory mask. The Keepers never disguised their voices before. Why would these unless it was someone we’d recognize?

Why does that make them even creepier? “Who are you?”

“Wrong question.”

“I’m going to gut you, motherfucker,” Micah bellows.

That can’t be helpful. “What do you want?” I ask, scared of what I’m going to hear next.

“Mercy, ” the main creep replies.

“The Keepers of Mercy don’t exist anymore. No one’s playing. The game is over.” Please, please, let it be over. Let this be some kind of horrible prank.

“Do you really believe that?” he asks.

I did. I hoped. I prayed. I was wrong.

“Please, just let us go.”

“The Deceiver and a loser. What a game this will be.” The guy lets out an unnerving laugh. “Your titles are no longer relevant since we’re starting a brand-new game. However, mine is the Judge.”

He motions to the Keeper with a crimson face covering. “That’s the Collector.” Then he motions to the one who has a navy mask that blends with the hooded cloak. “And over here we have the Warden.”

“You’re digging your fucking grave deeper.” Micah twists his fingers around the chain, jerking and pulling at them.

Judge holds up keys. “Want these?”

“Yes,” I state quickly.

“You have to play to get them.” He takes a step closer, the other two remain in place. “Offer if you dare. What will you give for his freedom?”

“Brooke, no,” Micah roars.

He’s going to hurt himself just trying to get free from the binding. His movements become more erratic when I ask, “Offer what?”

The freaking eerie creep tips his head forward. “Your clothes.”

“I said no,” Micah shouts, growing beyond combative and extremely wilder. He can’t stay like this much longer. He already appears more drained than I want to admit.

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“You don’t. But I give you my word, toss your clothes at my feet, and I’ll hand over the key to his chains.”

Micah shouts, fights, curses while my shaky fingers pull my shirt over my head and toss it outside the bars. Then I remove my joggers. The cold air bites at my skin, but that’s not what is causing me to shiver.