Chapter 9: The Storage Room
Fritz rolled his eyes, and Scott made a few clicking sounds. They then all stood, Jeremy getting some help from Fritz. Scott walked up to the door and gave it a shove, it moving a little. They were definitely going to talk about this later.
"Damn," Mike muttered, "Freaking, what time is it?"
Scott checked his watch before giving the door another shove, "It's one'o'two, would be about the time when the afternoon people would come here to work their shift."
"Can you explain these schedules? I never really understood how they work," Fritz said, the idea of different shifts at different times with different people kind of confused him.
"Well, at six'o'clock, the morning shift come and work until one; then, the afternoon shift come and work until it's five-thirty; and then finally, the evening people come and work until ten'o'clock, they mostly lightly clean the place. But altogether, they are the day-shift workers," Scott explained, giving the door one last hard shove that sent it flying open.
The guards walked in through the door, it roughly slamming shut behind him, causing the guards to jump a little.
Jeremy's face twisted in pain as he flinched when the door shut so suddenly. He felt for a wall, finding one close to the door and leaning against it.
"Jeremy, when this is all over, we need to get you to a doctor or something," Scott said, sighing a little.
"Looks like he won't be doing much Assassin Creed style stuff anymore," Mike snickered.
Fritz hit Mike in the shoulder, shushing him, "Dude, shut up. It's freaking dark in here, meaning we won't be able to tell if there are any traps."
Then, just as Fritz finished his sentence, the lights flickered on, illuminating the room.
Mike gave Fritz a fail pat on the back, "Looks like your point has been disproven, Fritz," He teased, smiling like a jerk.
Fritz crossed his arms, frowning.
Ahead of the guards lay Vincent on his side, gagged at the mouth and tied from his shoulders down to the beginning of his waist by rope. The floor was covered in bread, you could hardly see the floor beneath it. Vincent has obviously taken his obsession of bread and toast to the extreme.
Vincent had been squirming around in his ropes, letting out long, muffled, fake screams.
"Vincent, is that you?" Scott asked, just to make sure he wasn't shitting with them.
Vincent didn't reply, instead he stopped his act of squirming and screaming and sat up, causing Mike and Jeremy to both frown.
"Is that even possible? Sitting up while you're tied up?" Jeremy pondered.
"Freaking, it's Vincent. He does shit we don't understand," Mike simply explained.
Vincent caught the guards attention as he smiled, the gag falling loosely around his neck.
"Oh shit, he's smiling," Fritz observed, taking a few steps back.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we all know that's never a good thing," Scott said, agreeing.
Vincent's arms then suddenly burst from their bindings, each one picking up a slice of bread from the floor.
Jeremy gasped, pointing to the shelves that hung up on the walls.
On the shelves, there were loaves of bread still in their casing along with some darkly colored jam unlike the other guards lightly colored ones, like grape and plum verses their strawberry and peach.
Mike, Jeremy, and Fritz's eyes widened in horror as they saw Vincent rear back both of his arms, as if he was going to throw the bread at them.
"Aw man…—"
And now we're back from where we left off...