The wolf and the hunter, chapter 1
I have a lot of work to do, so it will take some time before I upload the next chapter,
but I'll do my best.
Meanwhile, I hope you'll enjoy this first chapter :D
The steam from the shower filled the room, the thick cloud that cloaked the window and lights dampening the clean towels and clothes on the racks. The young man finished drying his hair, letting the towel drop to the floor afterwards. The dull slap of wet fabric and the faint sound of his feet were barely audible as he walked up to the mirror. For a moment he just stood there, leaning forward, resting the palm of his hand against the cold glass.
He wiped it clear with a sharp gesture and his reflection appeared before him. His own hard blue-green eyes glared back at him, the very same eyes that always promised a death as merciless to anyone looking too deep into them as the one the raging seas promised lost sailors. They seemed to tell a wordless story, the story of someone who never knew peace and had grown up too fast.
At first there was the crowbar. Just the sight of it sent the ice-cold shiver of dread running through his body, but it paled in comparison to when metal hit flesh. Veins spew blood underneath the skin, bone cracked. Being stripped down to such a defenseless and vulnerable state or the madman's laughter. He did not know which was worse as his blood finally flowed free and painted the clown's clothes red. The sight of it made him sick, made him wish that the crowbar's next hit would cave his skull in and put him out of his misery. Bruce wouldn't be there to save him from his own mistakes this time. He just wished that he could be spared this pain, this disgrace.
A drop of water fell from the badly dried hair to land on his bare shoulder, rolling down hard muscle.
He'd made his share of bad decisions. Some of them combined with shitty luck had landed him in prison once or twice already but it didn't bother him. He would just break and kill his way out like the last time and the time before that. This particular prison was just another corrupt tentacle of the dictatorial octopus that was this small war-suffering southern country. Here were crooks, dealers of both arms and drugs, thieves but also normal people who had done nothing more than being unlucky enough to piss off some self-important 'policeman'. Here were no codes of conduct. Those in charge of the enforcement just made up new laws as they pleased, as easily and often as they breathed.
Most inmates were part of gangs, it was safer that way. Lone wolves had the sad tendency of ending up beaten or dead. In the end, the only difference between the guards and the inmates was that some were on the inside of the cage while others were on the outside.
The drop reached his elbow. Strong fingers tightened around the edge of the sink and lips pressed hard together.
If the arm pressing at the back of his neck pushed any harder it was sure to break it. The floor was cold against his cheek and he felt the heavy weight on his lower back shift. Stale breath reached his nose.
''You shouldn't have refused their offers to join them, you know. You definitely could use some friends right now.''
The weight lifted itself off of him for an instant.
''Turn him around. I want to see his face.''
He felt two pairs of hands move over his arms, flipping him over to his back and pinning him spread-eagle to the floor again. Refusing to give them the satisfaction of reading the growing fear in his eyes, he snapped his head to the side. Fingers gripped the collar of his shirt, twisting the worn fabric.
''There is only one way to make a mad dog obedient. It needs to be taught its place, forcefully if necessary.''
A hard yank ripped his shirt in half at the middle, showering them all with buttons. One hand let go of the ruined garment and tightened around its victim's jaw while the other rested on his hip. From the corner of his eye, he could discern a small red blinking light.
Sick bastards.
''You will look at me when I break you.''
The drop slipped off his wrist. Just as it silently hit the floor his fist rammed into the mirror, exploding it into millions of razor-sharp shards of reddened glass.
