Telepath
Your eyelids feel like they are glued together. You can not open your eyes. Your arms strain as rope keeps them behind your back. The chair sits uncomfortably against your back. Once you manage to open your eyes, hooded men stand on either side in parallel lines. All are facing you. The shortest one walks up to you with a bowl in hand. He urges you to drink it by placing it to your lips. It smells foul, and you are not entirely sure it is water. You try to read someone's thoughts. Despite your derailed state, you manage to catch a fleeting thread: "Malcolm is young and naive. Why is he the one leading this meeting?" Ah, so it is a young boy. Maybe the one who kidnapped you.
You still refuse to drink from the bowl and eventually he also realizes it is futile. He does not force you. Instead, he sets it aside and takes off his hood. Indeed, it is the same boy from school; the same scruffy hair and bug eyes. He looks at you as one looks at a scared animal. But there is something in his eyes, a spark that keeps you on edge. Malcolm takes a few steps back. "We finally found you. After decades of looking for our Lord, you are finally here"
What. Is. Going. On
"We are your loyal followers. By tracking the unusual electro-chemical waves in the air, we came here" His lips break into a smile so big it shows his gums. You have stumbled upon a cult. Yay. . .
He stops, studying your face closely, his brows creasing into a frown, "But I see you have not reached your full potential" He grabs the bowl from the table, "drink this and come with us. Be our savior". This time, he opens your mouth and forces the foul substance down your throat. It burns, stubbornly clinging to the walls of your track. A warm sensation spreads from the pit of your stomach all the way to your fingertips.
"I'll come with you" You find yourself saying. You want to go. You want more of that substance. Malcolm smiles victoriously as the rest of the hooded men close in.
"Let us begin, then"
You still refuse to drink from the bowl and eventually he also realizes it is futile. He does not force you. Instead, he sets it aside and takes off his hood. Indeed, it is the same boy from school; the same scruffy hair and bug eyes. He looks at you as one looks at a scared animal. But there is something in his eyes, a spark that keeps you on edge. Malcolm takes a few steps back. "We finally found you. After decades of looking for our Lord, you are finally here"
What. Is. Going. On
"We are your loyal followers. By tracking the unusual electro-chemical waves in the air, we came here" His lips break into a smile so big it shows his gums. You have stumbled upon a cult. Yay. . .
He stops, studying your face closely, his brows creasing into a frown, "But I see you have not reached your full potential" He grabs the bowl from the table, "drink this and come with us. Be our savior". This time, he opens your mouth and forces the foul substance down your throat. It burns, stubbornly clinging to the walls of your track. A warm sensation spreads from the pit of your stomach all the way to your fingertips.
"I'll come with you" You find yourself saying. You want to go. You want more of that substance. Malcolm smiles victoriously as the rest of the hooded men close in.
"Let us begin, then"
