"My friend," the voice said. "Don't be mislead. You're wrapped in chains indeed, and you hold the key in your hand… but you will rot here. The most oppressive cell is the one without a lock."
Jack Augustine lay with his eyes open wide, the embrace of sleep eluding him still. Hands crossed behind his matted black hair, he stared up past the rusted skeleton of an old billboard. Thousands upon thousands of stars dotted the blackness. They bathed the dark landscape with a kind of soft white light. The world was quieter now.
He exhaled, a long and slow breath. Three days. It'd been three days since he escaped the slave pen of fucking Paradise Falls. Three days since he'd celebrated his newfound freedom, three days since he'd realized the price he would pay for that freedom for the rest of his life. A lifetime of hiding and a constant struggle for survival in the wastes, that was his prize for escaping. Not to mention watching his best friend's brains splattered against the gate of the slaver's keep. Was it all worth it?
He didn't have much time to dwell. He saw a black shadow blot out the stars and then felt a white-hot pain in his side. Screaming with pain and blinking tears from his eyes, he rolled over and saw a lean figure standing over him, dressed in ratty leather garb and aiming some sort of handgun at him.
"Get the fuck up." His breath reeked of alcohol.
"Who-who are you?"
"I said get the fuck up!"
Jack got up. He stood, clutching at his bleeding side and gasping for air. Thoughts of reaching for the screwdriver in his pocket fleetingly crossed his mind, but he wouldn't stand much of a chance against these gun-slinging assholes.
"What'cha name, pretty boy?" this voice was distinctly female, and although she was probably the one holding the gun barrel against the base of his skull, her voice was oddly seductive.
"Jack," he replied, still trying to find a breath. "Jack Augustine." He knew better than to lie. Chances were that the slavers had already posted a bounty on his head, and these junkie bandit types didn't think twice about such petty things as murder or human trafficking.
"Augustine… say boy, I think we've been looking for an Augustine. Ray, hand me the flashlight." The excitement among the group was building and they started whispering.
Jack squeezed his eyelids shut together as the harsh yellow light concentrated on his face. The leader of the raiders, holder of the flashlight, let out a long whistle and the others cheered.
"It's him alright. Bag 'im up!"
A sharper pain at the back of his head. A white light exploded inside Jack's eyelids, and then all went quiet.