Page 3 of Equilibrium
Tempus Fugit.
Memento Mori.
My Latin was rusty, but even I knew what it meant. I remember seeing it on his jacket years ago, but I never really gave it too much thought. Time is indeed short; I just still didn’t grasp the concept that I might die as well.Sons of Hadeswas splashed above the insignia. The bold letters should’ve sent fear crawling down my spine, but they did nothing.
I wasn’t afraid of these people. The worst thing they could do was kill me, and death wasn’t something I feared. At least not anymore.
The pants that were neatly folded definitely belonged to a guy, unless there was a girl who wore the size fifteen boots standing next to the chair. But why would they put me in a room that was obviously in use?
There were no pictures on any of the desks. Fuck pictures, there wasn’t even a mirror. I would still like to meet a person that didn’t have a mirror in their room. Even I had a mirror in my apartment back in New York, but this one, nothing. Nada.
The walls were bare, and just like that room the Nightingales held me in, this one didn’t have plants either. I mean, come on, at least have a cactus.
I had a couple of them, and as long as I didn’t have to water them, we were all good. They were also kinda cute, I guess.
I eyed the door, and while I wanted to get the fuck out of here, I also wanted to explore. I had no idea what was behind that door, and I wasn’t exactly known for warm welcome committees. The last one wanted me dead, and if this one was anything like that, I might have to pretend that I’m dead until they left me alone.
That’s what they told us to do with bears, and no matter what, humans weren’t that far off from animals. Predators and prey, it was just up to us to choose which one we wanted to be.
My legs were bare, and if I were going to go out, I needed to get some pants. I tied the shirt I had on me, at my hip, trying to avoid using my right hand any more than necessary. No one ever told you that a broken finger could fuck up your entire arm. With every new movement, the pain sliced through my arm like an electric shock. Swollen and purple, standing in the unnatural position, it didn’t look well. Maybe I should try to straighten it myself?
And risk passing out from the pain? Not the smartest idea.
Okay, it wasn’t the smartest idea, but considering how I got here, I doubted they would want to take me to the doctor. Unfortunately, I really didn’t have the luxury of losing my consciousness now, and instead of trying to put the bone in my finger back in its place, I cradled my hand against my chest as I continued studying the room.
The wardrobe in the other corner of the room caught my attention, and I just hoped that it would have something I could use as a weapon. These people were more or less in the same business as me and my family, and if I could at least find a knife, I would be happy. I was a good fighter, one of the best Syndicate ever had, but I was still much smaller than these mammoths, and taking into consideration how weak I’ve been feeling, a fistfight wasn’t something I could win right now.
I walked to it and opened the wooden door, seeing an array of t-shirts folded, separated by colors, and I snickered to myself. Somebody had a little OCD, and I just wanted to know which guy it was. I couldn’t see anything else but t-shirts, pants, and boots on the bottom, along with some sneakers. But mommy didn’t raise a quitter, and if I could even get an ashtray, it would be enough to knock at least one of them out.
I crouched down and pulled black, military boots from their place. These were going to be heavy on me, but I couldn’t be barefoot out there. Red basketball shorts were the next item I took, pulling them on me. If this were a different situation, I would’ve laughed at myself and the way I looked right now, but this pickle of a situation wasn’t something I could joke about. I bit my lower lip and tightened the strings on the shorts.
It wasn’t ideal, but it would do.
I knocked on the wood at the backside of the wardrobe, hoping it would contain some sort of a hidden compartment, but nothing was there, just a low thud when my fist connected with the wooden surface, and something akin to disappointment. Goddammit, I was really hoping I would get something, because the first time I saw Storm after I got out of here, I was going to kick him in his balls.
The backside of my head still throbbed from his little knockout exercise.
I absentmindedly rubbed at the spot where a lump was slowly forming, hoping I would be strong enough to face whatever it was behind these doors. Storm’s intentions were far from honorable, I was sure of it, and Maya didn’t have enough time for me to keep hiding in this room.
There were things I needed to do—people to save and other people to piss off.
As soon as I stood up, the door opened and the instinct to fight arose in me. I spread my legs and bent my knees, ready for whoever it was behind the door, but the person I saw wasn’t somebody I feared.
“Atlas?”
The blond giant stood there, scanning the room, before his eyes landed on me. Blue and purple colors marred his chiseled jaw, and he had a cut on his right eyebrow, no doubt gifts from that asshole I shared the blood with.
Is this his room?
He stepped inside, carrying a tray with three covered plates and a glass of what looked like orange juice. I didn’t even have to smell the food for my stomach to growl. The three brothers fed me, but it wasn’t exactly enough to give me the strength I needed.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. Hungry or not, I was also pissed off. “No, wait.” I put my hand up, “Scratch that. What the fuck am I doing here?”
“Ah.” He placed the tray on the dresser before turning back to me. “I can see you’re a little bit pissed.”
“No, Atlas. A little bit pissed would be me being sarcastic, maybe I’d use a few curse words, but that’s about it. I am fucking livid!”
“Maybe you should sit down. Eat something.”
