Out of the lion's den
Part I
Arthur had always hated his name. Arthur. It described him exactly like he was: mature, sophisticated, succinct... He wondered if his parents had chosen to call him Joey or Jeff if he would have turned out differently...funnier, maybe more outgoing. Charles could become Chuck, Robert could be Rob. Arthur could only become Art, a colder and more standoffish name than before.
Although, after time, he began to embrace the professionalism his name afforded him. He embraced the simplicity of just introducing himself as Arthur, giving a firm handshake and being allowed to stand there silent, observing. People assumed he was a young professional, gave more credit where it was due. He could blend in, something that he valued highly in his line of work.
His childhood had not been easy. Cold, unfeeling parents shipping him off to private school from a young age, never calling, never visiting, and sending the occasional unpredictable birthday card filled with harsh words of 'encouragement'. He lashed out and started many fights. Kids learned to steer clear and leave him alone. One day he was called into the headmaster's office for a different reason; the school never received their tuition. They offered him a month of grace to contact his parents, arrange the transfer, but hope slowly drained from him when no letters were returned, no contact was reciprocated. Embarrassed and full of shame, he packed his bags in the middle of the night and left. He had just turned seventeen.
Crime had been an easy choice. A certain clever professionalism and a vicious anger streak ready to bubble out at any moment made him quickly rise through the ranks and he built a name for himself as a man with nothing to lose and nothing to fight for except his new boss. His new boss was -
Thunk! His mind stopped wandering as a quick blow to the head realigned his thoughts and through a haze he slowly refocused his mind to his surroundings. Dingy lighting barely illuminated the figure who had delivered the blow, and he sat slumped, dazed by pain, hands tied tightly behind a hard chair. He was underground somewhere, in a cold concrete room. His blurry eyes had a hard time of focussing.
"You can't even imagine the pleasure I'm getting from this." The voice had a certain mocking quality that jogged a slow memory in his mind, a memory that with recollection brought more awareness of the sharp throbbing pain emanating from nearly every part of his body.
It all came back to him. He had been sitting at a restaurant with a blonde man; the man had stubble lining his chin and gave a single name, Cobb. It was a business proposition, an escape for Arthur. Wanting to move on from a dead end life of petty crime, he pulled out a sleek black phone, dialled a single number and gave his resignation. Cobb and Arthur parted ways, arranging to meet the next morning to go over the details of the job and then a flight. Luckily, Arthur mused, he had very little to pack. His future was still unsure, but at least he was in a position to take control of it. He had done enough for his former boss to ensure his freedom when he chose, though he was still happy to be leaving town the next morning. You couldn't be certain his old boss wouldn't change his mind.
Suddenly, he had a sense that he was being followed. Taking a sharp turn down a narrow street, he began to run, his suit jacket trailed behind him on his thin frame in the darkness. A van screeched in front of him, and people were pouring out of it before he even had a moment to fully turn around. Throwing out a few punches in the flurry, he heard some satisfying grunts as his fists contacted with flesh, and then, darkness.
"If you're with RemCorp, I was told I could leave whenever I wanted. I earned my freedom." Arthur warned, double guessing the integrity of his old boss. The man gave a sharp barking laugh, and he knew immediately he had said the wrong thing.
"This is priceless! You've left Remcorp? And to think, I was rushing! I thought time was of the essence before they came looking for you. You've got no one coming to help you! That's just...wow...how does that feel?" Arthur chose not to answer the taunt, instead turning his head to the side.
"I said, how does that feel?" The man shouted, grabbing Arthurs chin and forcing him to look into his eyes. Arthur didn't need to look; he already knew who it was. Working for Remcorp had made him some powerful enemies, enemies whose lives he had made personally very difficult. One of those enemies was a competing company that employed desperate and rash criminals to do their dirty work. If Remcorp employees were subtle and sneaky and underhanded, Silus surrounded themselves with the 'nothing to lose' type of criminal that more often than not could be a candidate to be committed to a mental institution for being terrifyingly insane.
Arthur was washed over suddenly with the feeling of being old. Too old. His twenty first birthday had only been last week, but he felt his time was borrowed. Unwanted by his parents, unwanted by society... He had been offered a job he didn't deserve, wasn't supposed to have. He wasn't supposed to be here anymore, he was sure of it. This was just his past catching up with him, righting what was wrong. He was wrong.
Another blow sent his mind whirling, and he scrambled to regain his consciousness. He caught the glint of a knife in the man's hand, and a little thought flitted through the haze of pain. He felt a flicker of a feeling...a right to be there, a right to do what he did best, a right to survive. There was no way he would allow some two-bit criminal whose mind was mush live longer on this earth than he did. He had fought tooth and nail to get where he was, and while it wasn't much, it was what he had earned! He had every right to it, and this poor excuse of a man couldn't take it away from him.
He kicked out suddenly at the man's groin, catching him off guard. And the thug doubled up wheezing, he was quickly met with another blow, this one to the face. The man curled up on the ground cursing and Arthur tugged desperately on the knots on his wrists, sensing this was his one chance to free himself. Suddenly the door slammed open, and Arthur was suddenly blinded by the bright light that shone in from the hallway.
"Jesus Christ!" The voice swore, and Arthur realized it belonged to the man he had met today in the restaurant, though it felt so long ago. It was Cobb.
Sensing his chance for revenge was fleeting, the man suddenly plunged the knife into Arthur's calf with everything he had, and a white pain seared through Arthur's nerves, making him cry out in pain. Cobb took two purposeful strides into the room, levelled a dark metallic item with the goons head, and swiftly shot him as he attempted to scramble up from the floor.
"What the hell are you involved in!" Cob shouted, exasperated. Arthur could only groan in pain, and while darkness closed in on him, he faintly heard Cobb tell him to hold on, and he knew the worst was yet to come. A piercing pain shot through him again as the knife was swiftly removed from his leg and he felt himself quickly succumbing to unconsciousness, though it was short lived. A sharp slap to the face awoke him again to his reality, and Cobb began to lift him. He realized his arms were no longer bound, and instead he was being supported on Cobb's shoulder, being half dragged, half walked out of the building. After what seemed an eternity of fading in and out of reality he found himself in a car and was finally allowed to let the darkness close in.
Arthur woke up groggy and confused in an extremely decadent hotel room suite, light streaming across his face, and the soft murmur of a man's voice through the double doors. He had a certain level of clarity wash over him. In his darkest hour he had doubted his right to exist, and Cobb had fought for that right. He felt indebted to this mysterious man who had risked his life for his own.
Climbing slowly out of bed, his body resisted and he paused to fight the pain. He was in his boxers and he noticed his throbbing leg was now bandaged tightly; the nice three piece suit he had worn to the job interview was slung over a chair nearby. Lamenting the fact that it was probably hopelessly bloody and wrinkled, it had to do, and he slowly and painfully put it on. Moving carefully to the mirror in the washroom, he chanced a look at himself, and a fleeting moment of panic overtook him. His face was pale and bruised around the eye and temple, and his hair was dishevelled and out of place. He looked his age, which was frankly unacceptable. Turning on the tap, he quickly slicked his hair back and tried to look as mature as possible. Turning away from the mirror, he strode purposefully towards the door which he knew led to Cobb, his new employer, and his new life. They would never speak of the incident again; instead allowing Arthur's complete dedication to Cobb and the job speak for his gratitude.