Chapter One
Again
Cam cowered once again in the dark shadow; eyes staring miserably at the bloodied grilled floor as his weakened hands hung almost limply over the back of his neck and head. He waited whimpering… waited for the next blow to come. Soon enough, it did. A loud swoosh rang through the air and then he heard a sickened crunch as the butt of the gun slammed into his back. He instantly flopped forwards onto the floor as the blood from the new wound trickled slowly onto the floor. Once again he heard the short sharp and hard laughter.
Cam slowly moved back onto his sore knees and again he felt the on-going pain that the metal grating caused to his skin. Again, Cam moved his hands to his back and silently soothed the new bloody gash; all he could utter were short and frightened whimpers. He slowly moved his hands automatically to his precious head, covered the dried blood in splatters of the wet. The slig behind him grunted and slammed the butt of his gun down onto the slaves back for a final time. Cam burst forwards, flailing onto the hard grate as his wound released another vein full of blood, dripping down his torso and through the grate onto the dusty piping. The slig uttered that distasteful laugh once more before spinning and heading off down to a corridor, legs angrily whirring as he did.
Cam began to silently cry, as he felt unable to move on the grate. He couldn’t think through the piercing pain of his back but somehow managed to edge his hands onto his wound, delicately testing it and feeling the sharp stings that ensued.
Only one hour later did Cam rise up to his knees, blind in the shadow cast at night by the out of service boiler and moving his hands slowly over the many ridges in the gate – feeling his dirtied and soaking blood and listening to it as it constantly dripped down onto the ancient boiler pipes. Tears continued to roll down his face as he made his way to his feet, and he slowly began to edge out of the confines of the shadow. As he entered the brightly lit boiler room he immediately caught sight of himself on the opposite and much more reflective working boiler and instantly took in a pained gasp. He was covered in thick maroon blood from head to toe, parts of it blackened by the disgusting and putrid dust of the grates. He was in awe mostly of his stature; his back was bent and crooked, his neck leant unnaturally forwards and his shoulders miserably slumped. As he painfully turned to see his back, he saw enormous bright bloody gashes, clearly visible in the rest of red.
Cam silently began to cry again, and slumped onto his knees, ignoring the sharp pains from the iron grating. From fifty metres away into the corridor, he heard the returning sounds of those dreaded mechanical legs.