Wretchedly Divine (Gasping for Air)

I was awoken to the sound of heavy and methodical thunking, a heavy footfall moving across a surface not far from me. I didn’t open my eyes or stir, rather I took advantage of the little advantage of surprise that I had on my side. It had been a long time since I’d woken up to something other than pain, and I knew something was wrong with this picture.
I stayed still as I took in my surrounding with my four working senses.
The room smelled dirty, not like the halls and rooms of the Rebel camp, where you lived in luxury. I was lying on my side, on a mattress that wasn’t soft even slightly, and my head was lying on a pillow that was lumpy. I took a breath through my slightly parted lips and tasted the air. It was gritty, and dry. I got the feeling that I wasn’t in the Rebel Camp. My isolation room was much more comfortable than this, but if I wasn’t at the Rebel Camp where was I, and who had brought me here?
I couldn’t think of who it might be. Perhaps another Rebel group, or another branch of F.E.A.R., or someone similar to F.E.A.R., someone who knew that my father would go to great lengths to get me back if he thought I had been kidnapped, rather than a runaway.
Whatever the case I was in unfamiliar territory, and I was vulnerable. I continued to track the footsteps, making sure they hadn’t changed pace, and when I was satisfied that they hadn’t I listened for other sounds.
There were none. The room was silent, and eerie, and aside from the footsteps and my own breathing, completely quite.
It occurred to me that I couldn’t hear the other person breathing, so what if he was a Shadow and this was a dungeon? The only problem with that theory was that it didn’t make any sense. Why go to such lengths to make me comfortable when-
Suddenly the footsteps stopped, and I tensed slightly, then tried to keep that position as natural looking as possible when I realized my mistake.
“I know you’re awake.” A deep voice said from six to nine feet away from me.
I had an immediate sense of Déjà vu and memories I’d rather forget plagued my mind briefly, the pain and anguish and emptiness, the brokenness.
But there was no pain, I wasn’t in any pain, I wasn’t sore, or light headed, I felt fine, healthy, something I hadn’t felt in weeks. I didn’t know how it had happened, but I knew there were only a few possibilities. Either I had been out for a long time, or I was dreaming. I would prefer the latter, because at least then I’d only be emotionally scarred.
My eyes opened and I glanced at my captor. Black hair and blue eyes that were hard and calculating. Markings that I couldn’t make out ran up and down his arms and neck and a few on his torso. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and a single line sat below his eye. His hair was unkempt, but not messy, it looked ruffled like hands had been run through it and then had smoothed it out.
Most importantly in his right hand was a gun that was pointed straight at me, held by a gloved hand that didn’t shake even slightly. He looked completely sure of himself as his eyes scanned me, as though waiting for me to make a move to attack, or an attempt to run.
“I don’t want to hurt you, and so long as you don’t give me a reason to, I won’t.” His deep voice said seriously, and I glanced at his eyes again. They were hard and cold and serious, but they didn’t look particularly angry, just threatening. It appeared to me that he was doing his very best to put on the fiercest act possible in order to gain my cooperation. I felt my brows furrow and lips quirk slightly at the corners, feeling insulted. How could anyone think an act so easily seen though could force me to cooperate?
“Why am I here?” I asked, knowing that question was much more important than asking who he was. I didn’t care who he was, I just needed to know how little I could trust the stranger pointing a gun at me.
“Reasons,” He stated un-specifically.
“If I sit up will you shoot me?” I asked still laying vulnerably on my side and not enjoying it even slightly since it impaired my vision of half the room.
“No, I told you, I have no intention of hurting you so long as you stay in line.”
I scoffed in my head, but made no move to show the disgust I felt as he reminded me of F.E.A.R. with his words. I moved my arm slowly around to the other side of me, bracing myself and never taking my eyes off him as I rose slowly, watching him for signs of attack.
“If you won’t tell me why I’m here will you tell me how I got here?” I questioned, eyes not focused on any one part of him, rather slightly unfocused so as to watch not only his movements, but the door behind him.
“We brought you here.” He spoke bluntly, not moving the gun from my direction. I focused on his eyes for a moment.
“I’m a weak little girl, what does a big strong man need a gun for against a little thing like me?” I asked him mockingly, tilting my head and gauging his reaction to my insult.
“Don’t play coy Ashtin; we both know what you’re capable of.” He said wryly, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Ah ha. Mr. Serious isn’t so serious, is he?
I gave a wry grin of my own. “Oh do we? I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware we’d met before this… incident.”
He chuckled and looked me directly in the eyes. “We haven’t met formally.” He conceded, and I narrowed my eyes slightly, my mind turning the serious situation in front of me into a game of wits.
May the best woman win.
“Oh, so you’ve been stalking me?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.
He chuckled, the gun never wavering. “And what makes you think that?”
I scoffed and let out a soft laugh of my own. “You know things about me, about my personality, that could only come from observation, and you say we’ve never met formally. Either you were stalking me or one of your “we”s were.” I smirked, and he returned the gesture.
“I suppose you could look at it that way. Or maybe you talk in your sleep.” His eyes twinkled with humor and defiance, as though it was a joke I couldn’t understand, and I scoffed softly, never taking my eyes from him as a grin moved over my face.
“An unlikely option, and even if it were likely, you don’t confess to things like that while sleeping.” I blanked my face again and glared at him. “Enough games. Tell me why I’m here,” I demanded, eyes narrowed.
He put the gun in a holster at his waist and leaned his back against the door. “And why should I do that?”
“Whatever you brought me here for I’m obviously more use to you dead than alive, and I’m not against my own death.” I spoke without emotion, watching his face for any signs of nervousness. Most people couldn’t stand up to this particular approach.
He seemed to be different from most people. He kept a joking but serious tone as he spoke. “That’s true, but I don’t have to shoot to kill, just to injure.”
“And who said you’d be killing me?” I questioned, and his brows furrowed.
“You’d kill yourself?” He seemed uneasy about that. Good, that was what I wanted. I wanted him to feel uneasy and have his guard down. I’d die trying to escape rather than give him whatever it was he wanted me for. I had already decided not to trust him. If he was worth trusting he would’ve told me why he was here.
“I would.” I said without hesitation. “A prison cell is a prison cell, no matter what prison, and I’d rather die attempting escape than be stuck in one again, so I’ll ask one more time before I resort to drastic measures. Why am I here?” I put emphasis on each word, pronouncing it clearly, but softly, in a tone that meant business. His eyes were just as hard and angry as mine were as he watched me, his mouth set in a frown.
“We need your help.”
Now we were getting somewhere.
“And who is we?” I asked.
“Myself and a few others,”
“How many others?”
“Four.”
“Only four?”
“And a dozen or so others.”
I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Who are you?” I asked him, narrowing my eyes and pulling my legs towards me, putting my weight on my wrists as I prepared to spring for the door.
“The Prophet.”
I gasped as a memory slammed into me at the mere sound of the name that was once so familiar.

“PROPHET!” I screeched as the blackness threatened to swallow me. The liquid was too heavy, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breath. I was barely able to get oxygen in my lungs, and even when I could get it in my lungs I couldn’t expand them nearly as much as I needed to. I could feel myself becoming dizzy and weak.
“Prophet,” I begged, using the last of my precious oxygen as I was drug beneath the surface.

I fell back on the bed, hitting my head on the wall behind me, not able to support my own weight at the terror rushed back to me full force.
“You remember.” He stated. It wasn’t a question, he knew… but how… he couldn’t be… The Prophet was dead. I’d watched him die with my own eyes three years ago, there was no way.
I looked him over a second time, taking him in, and wondering how I could’ve missed it before.
“You- you were dead…” I whispered, my voice failing me.
“I was.” He nodded, re-holstering his gun.
“But… you’re alive.” I swung my legs off the bed and moved towards him. “I’d given up hope; I was so sure you were dead… that the Legion…” I stood just a foot from him, examining him thoroughly; making sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.
“Well I’m not, Ashtin. I’m very much alive, and I need your help.” He murmured, taking my wrist in his hand, and running his thumb just above it along the bottom of my palm.
He released my hand as I knelt on one knee, bowing to him without hesitation, or inhibitions. I knew my place.
“Anything, Prophet.” I promised him, not looking up as I held my hand over my heart.
“Rise, Deceiver,” he said, placing his hands on my shoulders and coaxing me to my feet. “Your place is not as my subordinate.” I rose and looked at his smiling bright blue eyes questioningly, having never encountered this situation in any of my dreams.
He moved from in front of me, and opened the door, revealing The Mystic, The Deviant, The Destroyer and The Mourner, all smiling soft grins, except for The Destroyer, who looked pleased as punch. “It is as our equal.”

Notes