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Pitch Black is the second arc of The Underground series

Chapter 2 of 22

Shadow Play

The freezing cold water slipped through the natural defense of his fur and cut across his skin like razor blades. His sensory perception was dead to the world as all he could hear was the water that blocked his audio, and in the darkness his eyes could see nothing. Air vented from his lungs, but had nothing to replace it with. His arms were secured behind his back, so moving back to the surface was nearly impossible. The absence of air caused his head to spin and blackness began to form from the corners of his eyes. Like a cancer, it began invading what little sight he had left. His thrashing began to slow as the darkness enveloped him, submitting to his dark, watery grave...

Claws drug into his back as he felt his body being pulled. Light filled his world once more as he broke the surface of the water. Attempting to take in air, the mink began to convulse violently as the unwanted water that had pooled in his lungs was forced violently out. He breathed in as deeply as he could, the blackness clearing from his vision. He hung with his head over the side of what seemed to be an oversized industrial bathtub. He felt the metallic structure's cool surface pressed against his chest as the last of the water ran from his lungs and he took in the needed oxygen. Looking around, he saw the dark silhouettes of figures moving about him. There was only one light in the dark structure and it was placed directly overtop the mink. Paws grabbed at him again, attempting to hold him still. In reality, the mink was simply too exhausted and sore to move. What seemed like years without food or proper sleep and his body was beginning to just stop caring. Apathy had soon set in, crashing his world down around him. That's how bad things had gotten. This little bath he had just received was tame by comparison to the other torments he had suffered at their paws.

Untying his paws from his back, they dragged him to the end of the tub, as he felt the familiar cold and unforgiving feeling of handcuffs around his wrists, which were already rubbed raw and bleeding. His arms were secured behind his head, and the mink was allowed to rest against the lip of the tub as his body bobbed up and down in the dark liquid. His rest was cut short as he saw a metal clamp being attached to the sides of the tub. He didn't have to look to see where they connected. Just barely in the radius of light provided by the single lamp above him he could see the black box, which had similar clamps, attached to small metal knobs. His eyes went from the car battery and followed the cables, one end connected to the tub and the other was hanging on a post, neutral, creating an open circuit.

"Medical interrogation, psychological breaking, and sensory depredation and it all comes down to throwing me in a tub? Frats have worse hazings than this! You assholes must be desperate..." The mink said with as much strength as he could muster, which wasn't a lot.

There was a chuckling among the shadows as one of the dark figures approached him. "Well, you did show quite a resilience to the sodium pentothal. Judging by your screaming, I didn't think you'd last this long, Mick."

The mink sighed as he wished he hadn't. "You and me both."

The figure leaned closer to him, however, the shadow play from the light above him kept his face in the darkness. Mick couldn't even see who this person was who had plucked him from the streets and began to torture him. They didn't even ask him any questions the first day...

"Why don't you give us what we want?" The oily voice asked, in an almost polite tone. However, Mick didn't believe in the salvation it offered at all.

Shaking his head slowly from side to side as he floated on his back, Mick's paws clenched. "I don't know, alright?" How many times were they going to ask him this question before they finally gave up? "It's been six months... how the fuck should I know?" His voice was weak and frail.

The figure nodded to one of his members. Mick's eyes followed him, and saw light reflecting off a metallic object.

A syringe.

"This can all be over..." The voice replied in an assuring tone. Mick watched as the syringe was filled with a clear liquid. A paw went to Mick's face, gently forcing him to look up at the shadow player. "This can all end... Just tell me what I need to know."

The crony with the syringe moved behind Mick, out of sight. "What are you doing?" He asked quickly.

"Just something to help you think."

Mick jerked his head to see behind him. The sharp needed was placed on the underside of his forearm, just touching his skin. "No! Wait! Look," Mick pleaded with his tormentor, "I really don't know anything!" The mink tried in vain to move his arm away from the syringe as he felt the sharp point break the surface of his skin feeling like a bee sting. "Please..." Mick begged. "Please, don't do this again..."

There was a slight burn as he felt the contents of the syringe being released into his system. The effects were instantaneous as the room began to morph and spin around him. There was a sense of euphoria and danger all combined into one. He knew the danger around him. His eyes rolled in the back of his head. There was a desire growing within him. It was a primal basic desire. He wanted to feel safe. His mind screamed at him to do whatever he needed to feel safe in this situation. Mick let his wary eyes wander up to the ceiling. Paint was pealing and hung down ready to fall at the drop of a hat. Little orbs of light from the water drops on his eyelashes created a-

"Focus!" The voice demanded sounding like a sudden thunderclap and breaking its soothing tone. Mick's eyes snapped back to the figure. "Now tell me."

Mick raised up a bit, putting pressure on his cut wrists. He looked into where he guessed the figure's eyes would be. "I. Do. Not. Know." His voice snapped through clenched teeth while gaining an acidic quality. "He's dead! All right? He isdead! No one has seen or heard from him in months! The only fucking thing I can assume is that he died! Maybe you pricks didn't sift through enough rubble in Palamont!"

A paw grabbed Mick by his hair, forcing him to look at a picture. Even in his drugged state, Mick knew what he was looking at.

"This photograph was taken two days ago, Mick. It's from one of my banks."

Mick studied the photo. The resolution was grainy and the lighting was inadequate. It looked like it had been taken in some kind of administration area of this bank. Mick guessed it came from some closed circuit security feed. This all mattered little to him. What caught the Mink's attention was the shadowy figure in the middle. His image was blurred, and the black and white coloring made him fade into the background. Even through Mick couldn't be sure, he knew a fox's physique when he saw one.

That, and the trademark trenchcoat was a good tell. Mick felt his spirits rise slightly at the image, knowing there was a very good chance Mick's assumptions were wrong. A small smile of satisfaction graced his muzzle. His crusade had not been in vain. However, Mick's smile fell again, remembering his situation.

The figured sighed. "Mick, I can't help you if you don't help me."

"I don't want your help." Mick shot back hotly. "I'm not open to your help! Even if I did know where he was, you think there's a chance in hell I'd tell you?" Mick sighed and sank back into the water, moving oddly due to his intoxication. "You do what you got to do... Tell you're pussy of a boss, Xen Hets, I'll see him in hell..." He said, voice returning to normal.

Mick floated for a second before he heard something strange. His eyes slowly opened as he moved an ear so water wasn't obstructing it. The figure was laughing at Mick. Not an evil, foreboding laugh, but one of general amusement.

"Xen who?" The figure asked. "Mick, Mick, Mick," The voice chided playfully, "you truly have no idea, do you?"

The mink, confused, looked around the room at the living shadows. His mind spinning, couldn't figure out what the joke was. What didn't he know?

"I believe we are done here." The black figure announced, in it's oily tone and moved away from Mick. "Mick as much as you think you know, you don't know the half of it." The voice called to him as it walked away, taking all but one of the posse with it. "But what you do know is too much. I'm sorry."

Pulling against his cuffs, Mick straightened up as much as he could, trying to follow the voice into the darkness around him.

"What do you mean?" He called out. "Who the fuck are you people?"

His eyes darted around the room in panic. The final black figure moved toward where the other cable terminal hung and grabbed it from its location. He grabbed the clamp from the tub, and brushed the two ends together.

A violent burst of electrical sparks erupted like a bad firework as the circuit attempted to close. Mick struggled at his bonds, trying to fight a losing battle.

The figure tossed one end into the water. Mick heard it make a dull clunk as it hit the metal at the bottom of the tub. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he would be deep fried as soon as the other end met the water. Mick finally calmed down an stopped thrashing about.

Looking directly at the thug, he again guessed at where this one's eyes would be. "Do it you bastard!"

Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the thug who was overconfident. Maybe he got lucky, or perhaps something smiled down on him at that very second as Mick stared out into the abyss of death. He curled his toes around the metallic object, feeling his claws dig at the metal.

Through his groggy eyes he could see the thug holding in his bare paw one end of the terminal. With all the desperation one has when death is unavoidable, Mick kicked his leg upward, sending the terminal end that had been dropped into his tub into the air.

He watched as the thug's face contorted into a state of panic as he watched the live wire sail through the air, and land in the puddle of water created by one of the many leaky pipes in the facility.

There was a loud crack and a brilliant lightshow as the circuit completed, using the thug's body as a conduit. His body convulsed violently as sparks blew out around him. Mick turned his face away as what few lights were actually working overloaded and exploded, sending bits of glass outward like shrapnel. The thug couldn't move, couldn't scream, and couldn't think. Mick watched from the safety of his own tub as the body in front of him fried, literally. A small explosion echoed through the room as he watched the battery surge and blow, killing the current and the conductor that was the horribly charred remains of the thug. Then Mick was left alone. Alone in the dark, where all that remained was the pungent smell of burnt fur.

Using all his might, the mink used his abdomen muscles, forcing his feet and legs over his head. The pressure fulcrum was on his injured wrists, which felt like acid was being dumped on them. Mick's knees finally his the cold hard metal surface of the counter which he was shackled to. Pulling his head from the water, Mick looked down at his wrists, bleeding slightly, he was now kneeling upright, facing the tub of ice water he had been dumped into.

Biting his lip, as he knew even the drugs introduced into his system wouldn't spare him from the pain he was about to experience, Mick shut his eyes as he moved his kneed over his left paw. Hesitating for a second, as his knee hovered, he mentally prepared himself to do what would save his life. He then took a deep breath and held it and with all the strength and force his body could muster, he slammed his knee down on his paw where his thumb was.

He felt his kneecap crush down on his thumb, as he shrieked out loud in pain. Looking down at his paw, he could see, even though injured, his thumb was stills secured in its proper joint. Moving back into his previous position, Mick again, prepared himself, only this time to do it harder. Another cry of animalistic pain echoed off the cinderblock walls. He felt the bone contort from the excess force of his knee. He could have sworn he had broken it then and there. Pain, like a living entity, swamped his mind and body. However, the Mink could still see his job was not finished. Tears formed a the corner of his eyes as he prepared for the third time. Raising off the counter as much as possible to give his knee as much starting force as he could, the mink clamped his eyes shut, then dropped straight down.

A shooting pain, like someone had broken his whole paw, exploded through his nerves. There was a cold, hollow pop, as he could feel his joints separate and his thumb break free of its natural confines. At this, Mick dropped to his chest in unimaginable pain. He looked at his mangled paw, and saw that he had successfully dislocated his thumb. It was a small price to pay for his life.

Making his paw as narrow as possible, Mick pulled on the handcuff, which had become much larger now that his thumb was moveable. As he pulled his paw free, he could feel his dislocated digit catching on the edge of the metal and pulling. Again, the mink cried out in an agony so livid he felt his vision darken for a moment, as his body almost passed out. Shaking uncontrollably in immense pain, he continued to pull his paw free. Finally it popped loose, and his handcuffs were now useless.

Mick fell on his back, as his free uninjured paw snapping his mangled limb for comfort. He lay on his back, trying to block out the pain that swamped his mind. He could still feel the handcuffs dangling from his right arm, rubbing on his raw flesh where the fur was gone.

His eyes snapped open as he herd voice from afar. Pushing himself to his feet, while avoiding putting pressure on his paw, Mick moved as fast as his drug induced state would allow. The room rocked back and forth as he tried to move. His wet bare feet slipped slightly on the dingy porcelain floor, tarnished by years of grimy buildup. His fur was soaked, as he heard the dripping water slap the floor, as the mink tried to build up speed moving toward the door the Shadow Player had gone.

Stopping over the dead crony's electrocuted body, he quickly patted down the body until his paw fell across the familiar texture of a pistol. Pulling it from the holster, Mick stumbled to the double doors, using his body's momentum to shove the door open. He was met with an equally dark, dirty and dingy hallway. The whole establishment looked like it had not been used for a long time. The structure reminded him of something that had been decommissioned many decades before he was even born, and had been built even longer before.

Mick glanced to his left, and saw a swimming staircase pass him in his intoxicated dash. He quickly ground to a halt, but this was too quick. His wet feet slid on the filthy floor, and caused them to slide out from under him and crash into something metal. His mind re-synced with reality and he realized that he had toppled into an ancient gurney. Looking up, Mick saw pillars of light moving about. They acrobatically swooped around from the floor to the ceiling in what seemed like a graceful motion. The hallway seemed to dance along with it at the same time.

Then suddenly the sober part of his brain kicked into gear. The pillars of light originated from somewhere: flashlights! His paws clawed madly at the floor as he forced his body off the ground. He tried so hard, so hard to make his limbs function properly but couldn't. He felt his nails dig into the floor as he tried to run. Finally he felt his body begin to move forward. Pushing himself to his feet, Mick grabbed the doorframe and pulled himself into the stairwell.

A force speared him from behind as he felt his body being pushed down the first flight of stairs. As he crashed down, he realized it was another body. His paw dropped the pistol he had collected. Having no other weapon, he turned his claws on his assailant. However his attacker was strong. He refused to release the drugged Mick even as he struggled. Their bodies came to a stop at the first landing. Mick landed hard on his back, looking up at his nemesis. Fear and panic gripped the mink as he realized he had been caught. His fear quickly turned to rage. He would not go back. There was no way he would ever go back. Grabbing him by his shirt, in one quick motion Mick rammed his forehead into the attacker's muzzle. He felt the crushing blow against his forehead, and heard the crunch as cartilagebroke. Mick felt a fine mist on his face as his attacker cried out in pain, but the mink was not done. Baring his teeth, the mink buried his face into his assailant's neck. The hot, salty, metallic taste of blood flooded into his mouth flowing freely over his tongue. His teeth broke through fur and skin sinking deep into his assailant. The sticky substance flooded his mouth as his fangs broke through the jugular vein. His attacker no longer could cry out for help as blood poured from his neck. Bashing Mick in the head, he freed himself from Mick's maw, however, only had the strength to flop over to the side and finish bleeding to death.

Mick turned his wobbly head and spit out a decent amount of blood and a chunk of flesh that used to be part of his attacker's neck. Shaking from exhaustion, adrenalin, fear, anger, and the events that just transpired, he slowly rose to his feet once more. His paws probed the darkness for his lost pistol. Looking around, he found it had landed on a step. Grabbing his only means of defense, he gripped the railing and managed to start moving again. Moving as fast as he could, the mink ricocheted between the walls and the railing as he descended down what seemed like hundreds of flights of steps, until he arrived at the very bottom. He was met with an emergency exit, and attempted to use his body weight to force to door open.

Like a rubber ball, Mick bounced off the door. It opened slightly, but there was a clinking rattle as he tried to force the door open. He was about to back up for a second try, when he realized the door wasn't just chained shut, but also padlocked. Pulling the slide back on his pistol, Mick's arm swayed as he tried to aim at the lock. There was a loud bang and a flash of white light that illuminated the ancient facility. The deafening bang echoed off the concrete walls, traveling all over this hellhole. Tucking the pistol in his pants, Mick used his good paw to tear off the broken lock, but that was only half the battle. The door was still chained, and would have to be removed before he could open the door. He clawed at the chains franticly. Panic took control of his body once more as he knew whoever had brought him here would surely follow the sound. He had to get out of here. He was so close. His heart raced as the chains fell away and onto the ground. They slid to the floor with a constant clink, almost like the bones of a skeleton.

More pillars of light flooded the stairwell. Mick looked up, but his vision was swimming so badly, he couldn't tell where they were coming from or how far away they were. Looking down at the door, there was still a massive amount of chain holding the door shut. He heard voices from above. They were coming after him!

He slammed his body against the door again. This time the door opened a bit farther due to the loosened chain. Mick lowered himself down to the floor and pushed against the door as hard as possible. The unforgiving chain only gave him so much room as he forced his body through the tiny gap. Mick had always had a smaller build, and he was going to make it work for him now. Hearing the sound of running footsteps, Mick painfully forced his head through the door, followed by his shoulders and arms. His chest was crushed between the door and its frame with no wiggle room whatsoever. The mink could hardly breathe as he clawed at the soft dirt outside the door. Pushing against the door, Mick met resistance as he got to his hips.

Suddenly he felt himself losing ground as his body moved in reverse out of nowhere! Panic gripped him as he felt himself being sucked backwards into the door. Kicking wildly at the paws that had snared his ankles, Mick used all his strength to crawl toward his freedom; digging his claws into the soft earth, but to no avail.

Realizing he was no match for their strength, Mick's injured paw grabbed the pistol that had been trucked into his pants. Pointing the barrel through the open door, Mick let his pistol sound off several times, the recoil of the gun sending waves of pain through his paw. Even though he couldn't see where he was aiming, he knew he had hit something as the grip on his feet disappeared.

Once his feet made it through in the impossibly small opening, Mick sprung to his feet and ran as best he could. He didn't even look back as he ran as fast as he could. Rolling down an embankment Mick knew now was no time to stop. He forced himself through the underbrush of the neighboring woods that seemed to surround him everywhere. He had no idea where he was. He had no idea how he got there. He ran through the dense woods, with every step leaving his personal hell on Earth further behind. If he was lucky, he'd hit a road or street where he could find help. The moonlight of the night aided him as he ran, his breath visible due to the freezing air that sliced through his wet fur. He knew what he had to do, what must be done. He knew what his next move would be, but hadn't the slightest clue on how to do it. In that infinite line between the reality most accepted as true and the bleak reality far removed from the glamour of everything else is where Mick could find him. Mick knew the Shadow Player would also be on the prowl; looking for the same person Mick was, to do the same atrocities to him that was done to Mick.

The only question was who would find him first?