When I came around, the left side of my head was resting against a rusted metal pipe, my arms were behind my back tied at the wrists around a similar pipe that ran up my back. I was seated on the ground in a damp, crummy looking, dark room that had a few spots of light shining through cracks in the wall roughly ten feet to my right. The air smelled stale, and my head throbbed, mostly from the area around my left eye. My mouth felt dry but had a funky taste.

I shifted my tongue build enough saliva to spit and did so to my left. It didn’t remove the taste from my mouth, but I was satisfied anything that was in it was removed. Far as I could tell my wrists were tied by some kind of rope. Wriggling a little to test the restraints taught me that they were tight enough to be uncomfortable.

I was alone, and that was motivation enough to try and escape.

I wrestled the rope, and it hurt. I stood up in an effort to find some part of the pipe I was placed against that I may be able to use against the ropes.

No luck.

The seated position was far more comfortable (figuratively speaking) so I resumed it and continued working my binds to see if I could free my hands. Progress was tediously slow, and frustratingly painful as the ropes burned into my wrists, and it all came to a halt at the sound of heavy footed steps on the other side of the door to my room.

They continued past the door and I heard another door slam open a short distance down what I assumed to be a hallway. A woman sounded startled as she shouted, “Why are you doing this!”

There was a fleshy “thwap” before a man cried out a few choice, and highly insulting words. He was abruptly silenced by a similar flesh pounding sound, followed by the loud “thoom” of a gunshot. The woman screamed a long, terror filled cry that was accompanied by a heavy scuffle of a heavy individual wrestling with another heavy individual out of the room. The door slammed muffling the woman’s screams, and several savage sounding snarls and barks.

“The hell do you two not understand about the word “Hostages”!” A voice I recognized as the Shepherd’s, from before, erupted from down the alleged hall

The snarling stopped with a pitched yelp and a heavy thump against the wall outside my door.

“Sorry Tiberus!” A deep bass, heavy tongued accent quaked.

“You don’t shoot hostages! You trade them!” Tiberus snarled.

The door to my room opened showering me with light from outside in an equally disheveled hallway. Tiberus, with his hand still on the handle, pointed accusingly down the hall, his features counter to the calm demeanor I had seen before. His ears were flat to his head, his lips were curled into a toothy snarl, and his hackles were raised.

“Get out of here! And don’t expect to be trusted to any future tasks!” He shouted.

I would not consider myself the bravest of people. I do many dumb things; I fumble through dangerous situations like anyone else. When I am scared, I pull from my training as an Order Cadet to help keep that fear in check. Panic is a difficult beast to tame, and especially when you are looking at an interpreted inevitability approaching.

Some people reflect on everything they “could have” done were they not in the situation. It’s a big mistake, as it generally distracts from your desire to live. Others wrestle with a bout of insanity, gripped in fear over the potential outcome of what will happen. Then there some folks adopt a sense of serenity and acceptance over the perceived outcome.

I was a in the first and second camp. I had a girlfriend who loved me, and I loved her. Even without Baxter in the equation I had friends, close friends, which would be waiting for me to come home. I had a future and things to lose. I wasn’t ready to let go, but at the same time I was fully aware that dwelling on those things would serve no purpose other than distracting me from the moment.

I needed to figure some way to stall for time so I could delay a possible outcome like the folks in the room down the hall. I needed a potential to catch an opportunity that could lead to escape and survival. Unfortunately, in times of stress, I cope by running my mouth. It is all in an effort to make light of a serious situation, mostly in an effort to alleviate tension. It was predominantly the motivating factor involved in convincing Tyson to break my hand a few weeks back. Some lessons are hard learned, and bad habits are hard to break.

“Trouble at home?” I quipped with a smirk.

He ignored me and continued to growl as he watched the two, he was speaking to leave. It only took a few moments before he gave a scowl and a slow gaze my direction. I am certain he heard me, and given his look, he was either giving me a warning, or considering how much harm he could cause without directly killing me.

Gulp.

“Do you mind if I call you Tiberus? Or do you prefer humans call you something else?”

His hackles eased, and he composed himself. He gave another glance down the hall.

“What’s your gameplan Tiberus? The Order is not going simply make deals regarding hostages. They will take us from you.”

“It is not a quandary you need to concern yourself with human.” He spoke as he continued to look down the hall.

“I think it does concern me. Being a rational hostage and all, I would rather not see me nor anyone else get killed. Letting us all go, would be so much safer for your group.

His ears perked and he turned to look down the opposite direction, and smirked as he gave me a side look.

“You’re not a hostage,” he said a matter-of-factly.

That caught me off guard. While my gears were grinding to theorize the possibilities, he raised his hand and beckoned with two fingers for someone to approach. Tiberus opened the door the rest of the way and entered. He gave me a neutral look.

“You’re an initiation.” He spoke with a menacing tone.

He couldn’t have timed those words better as Baxter entered the room. Baxter froze about two steps in and looked at me for only a moment before diverting his attention to the side. I grit my teeth as I wrenched my wrists against my binds. The bastard had stabbed me in the back and wouldn’t even look me in the eyes. I glared at him. I wanted him to know what he was doing. I wanted him to know he was going to have to live with it.

“Look at me Baxter!” I shouted.

He didn’t.

Tiberus observed.

“I told you, you don’t get to go backwards. This is your decision, and it is a dumb one! Look at me damn it!”

He gave Tiberus a look and with a presenting gesture attempted to speak.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“What did we talk about Baxter?” Tiberus interrupted, “I can’t be the one to do this for you.”

Baxter looked to the ground.

“Just going to throw away everything aren’t you?” I almost shouted, “Nothing! Nothing we did for you matters. We damn it! Tiara, Ginger… You are just going to throw all of that away, for whatever miracle bullshit this wild dog is peddling!”

Tiberus openly snarled, and unsheathed the sidearm from his hip. In a quick motion he flipped it to where he was holding the barrel and thrust the gun to Baxter.

“Do it. I am done listening to this pathetic human’s drivel.” His words were sharp and insistent.

Baxter took the gun and looked at it sadly.

“Can’t we just let him go? It’s not like I am going back or anything. I had a good life before.” His ears perked and he asked.

Tiberus pointed an accusing finger at me while addressing Baxter directly, “Your “good life”,” said with contempt, “was no more than brainwashing necessary for you to fulfil whatever role you were tasked with by your “Handler”,” again, said with a vigorous amount of contempt for the word. “I said this before, you cannot move forward until the strings holding you in place are cut. You need to be the one to cut them or you will be of no use to anyone.”

Baxter looked at the gun again.

“There is no other way for this Baxter. You cannot be free while your “Handler” holds influence over you.” Tiberus added.

Baxter looked at me for the first time since entering the room, and I saw the conflict and pain on his face. It made me angrier, and I made no effort to hide it. He took deliberate steps and raised the gun placing the barrel to the center of my forehead.

“Do you think Tiara is going to be fine with this?” I snarled.

He said nothing.

“How do you think Ginger is going to feel when she finds me…”

Tiberus interrupted, “There won’t be anything left for them to find human.”

I was originally content with going out angry. I knew Tiara would at least possibly exact some justice when she found me. Knowing that it was not going to happen; that scared me. My confidence fizzled. I wasn’t the begging type; I like to think I am more of a fighter. Despite having access to using my legs, it really wouldn’t have done anything. Baxter had his greaves; I would sooner injure myself than injure him. I was going to be shot either way.

My jaw hung open, my eyes were wide, and I wanted to say, “You can’t do this.” To him, but words didn’t work for the moment. The barrel of the gun pressed harder on my head as his hand shook.

“I’m sorry Don…” Baxter spoke quietly.

My face must have conveyed my message. I could see the tears wetting the sides of his face as he closed his eyes. His hand shook harder as he tightened his grip.

“I hope you burn for this, Baxter…” I spoke through clenched teeth as I waited for the shot.

“The pain passes Baxter. Your new life starts tomorrow. You need to let go of everything holding you back now.” Tiberus lectured like he would to a protégé.

Baxter clenched his jaw shut hard enough that it looked like it hurt. Tears matted his fur and dripped from his jowls. I was terrified, but kept my eyes opened. I wanted him to see what was left of my face, eyes open, after he did what he did.

My heart skipped beats when the entire room rocked with the sound of an explosion.

Baxter opened his eyes, surprised that he didn’t fire the gun. Tiberus looked confused as well. The second explosion rocked the building, causing dust and chunks of debris to fall from the ceiling. Baxter eased the gun from my head, as the ears of both of them perked to attention.

I could barely make it out, but I definitely heard the sound of automatic weapons fire from somewhere below us. It was unmistakable. A howl erupted somewhere too, and at that, Tiberus quickly approached and snatched the hand cannon away from Baxter. He put a hand on Baxter’s shoulder.

“This can wait. Come with me, we are going to get you a weapon.”

Baxter nodded and gave me one last look before he hurried out the door ahead of Tiberus, their greaves clomping against the ground as they moved at a hurried pace down the hall. Another explosion rocked the room and I stared at the empty doorway for a moment.

Frozen in time thinking to myself, “What just happened?”

It was only for a moment. Hope returned, and I was struck with a desperate need to escape. I pulled my wrists up and down against the pipe in hopes that any damage to the ropes might allow me to squeeze my hand or hands through the binds. I ended up rubbing my wrists raw through the effort. It hurt, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if my skin broke and I was bleeding.

I could hear the screams from other people in the building. Begging someone to come and help them. It drove my determination harder to free myself. Several minutes passed, I had to stop a few times due to the pain in my wrists. It didn’t feel like I had made much progress at all. It had gotten to a point where I was seriously considering breaking my own arm or doing some form of damage to my hands to help facilitate my escape. I had not reached the threshold where I could convince myself to commit grievous injury.

I stood up taking deep breaths as I tried to figure out what the best approach was. Crushing my thumb into my left hand would have been ideal, but the rope had been placed in a way that it secured the swell of my wrists. I was having enormous difficulty maneuvering my thumb into a position where I could feasibly break it. There was no way I could position myself in a way that breaking my arm would have helped me.

The clopping of power greaves prompted me to curse out loud and fight my binds even harder. I cursed loudly, mostly to cope with the pain in my wrists. I stood up and kicked at the pipe as hard as I could. Four kicks against the pipe and Baxter hurriedly skidded out of a sprint, catching the doorframe and pulling himself into the room. Through huffs he said, “Don!”

I replied with an exasperated gasp of pain as I threw myself against the pipe to try and free myself. Baxter spoke intently, “Don! Fates alive stop!” He pulled his six inch utility knife from its sheath on his chest, and approached like nothing was wrong. I kicked the pipe as hard as I could and felt it give a little.

I shouted, the pain in my wrists giving me an interesting pitch in tone.

“Get back!” I kicked again at the pipe as hard as I could.

“Piece of garbage!” I kicked at him, yelping in pain as I twisted my arm to do so.

“Don, stop!”, He shouted!

“Don’t Don me!” I thrashed against my binds to keep him away.

“You piece of crap! Like hell I am going to let you use that on me without a fight!” My voice sounded ragged as I continued to injure myself trying to get away.

Baxter looked hurt.

“I need the knife to cut the rope…” He stopped attempting to get close and spoke like I should have been on the same page as he was.

“The hell are you on about?” I snarled, as I kicked at the pipe again causing it to buckle.

He paused for a moment and looked like he was thinking of the right words to say.

“They were going to kill you. I had to do something… to… I had to do something to buy time till I could think of something else to do.”

I must have had an obvious look of disbelief on my face, and I gave the pipe another exhausting kick.

“It was all I could think of to help.” Baxter tried to convince me with a pacifying hand gesture.

“You put a gun to my head…” I said through a growl after kicking the pipe one more time.

“Oh, come on Don! I didn’t pull the trigger.” He protested.

I didn’t want to believe him. He would have to be the best damn actor I had ever encountered that wasn’t a professional criminal. The thought gave me pause. I didn’t like it, and I didn’t want to trust him to come anywhere near me. It then occurred to me, that I had asked him if he was going to throw away everything we had been through. Five years of raising him; was I really going to throw everything away and not even entertain the possibility that he was pulling an act to throw Tiberus and his dog pack off guard?

I glared at him suspiciously and eased the tension in my binds. He approached calmly and took the serrated edge of his knife to the ropes.

“Fates alive… you tore up your wrists…” He spoke under his breath.

“You didn’t give me much choice…” I grumbled. “How in the hell did you manage to dodge your new pack leader?”

Baxter growled as he sawed the ropes.

“Tiberus is not my leader, and in case you can’t hear, we are currently under attack.”

It hadn’t escaped my notice.

Gunfire and screams were still sounding, some rounds of gunfire much closer than when the explosions first sounded. The ropes snapped and I was presented with almost immediate relief in both my arms and wrists as I pulled them in front of me. I completely wrecked the skin on my wrists, and they were both raw and bleeding.

I gave him a side glare as he sheathed his knife.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He made his way to the door and looked down the hall, speaking over his shoulder.

“Tiberus decided that it was the better part of valor to bail on this facility and flee. Considering who it is that is attacking us, I couldn’t leave you here.”

I flexed my hands, and rolled my wrists, exploring the range of discomfort I had using them. It wasn’t as bad as I was expecting, but still distinctly uncomfortable. I rolled my shoulders.

“Who’s attacking us?”

Baxter’s ears fell to his head and his features shrunk as turned to give me a worried look.

“It’s Temple.”

I do not recall the day starting off on a high note, and one would think that, considering all the things that had happened so far, something positive would have finally happened. Surviving the falling train was great, but it happened in the first place, and the tug of war over my emotional state had been entirely brutal.

I gave him a flat look.

“Of course it is…”