We walk in silence, the creature and I. The corridor ahead of us is just as it was behind: an endless, monotonous path of baked earth and bleached walls. The only difference is that the Silence is gone. The heat is back, a relentless, oppressive weight. The air shimmers with it.
My ally walks beside me, its long strides matching my own. It doesn't speak, and I don't either. There's a new understanding between us, forged in the heart of that void. We don't need words. We're both survivors. We both understand that the only way out is forward.
I glance at it out of the corner of my eye. Its face is still alien, its red eyes glowing faintly in the harsh light. But it doesn't seem as monstrous as it did before. It's just another soul, twisted and shaped by the impossible cruelty of this place. Like the doctor. Like the nurse. Like me.
I wonder what it was, before. What its name was. What it wished for. But I don't ask.
If he can't remember, then asking would only be cruel. And if he does remember, he's not going to tell me.
It stops suddenly, holding up a clawed hand. I freeze, my shears at the ready.
"Listen," it rasps, its head tilted.
I strain my ears, but all I hear is the endless, oppressive silence. Then, faintly, I catch it. A new sound. A rhythmic, metallic clink...clink...clink...
It's coming from up ahead.
We move forward again, more cautiously this time. The sound grows louder, more distinct. It's a chain, dragging across the dirt floor.
We round a corner, and the corridor opens up into a large, circular chamber. The source of the light is different here. Instead of skylights, the ceiling is a single, massive, glowing orb, radiating a fierce, white heat that makes the air shimmer like a mirage. And in the center of the chamber is the source of the sound.
A man.
He's chained to a massive, iron pillar in the middle of the room. The chains are thick and heavy, wrapped around his torso, his arms, his legs, pinning him to the pillar. He's slumped forward, his head hanging down, his long, dark hair obscuring his face. He's wearing a pair of tattered jeans and no shirt, his back a mess of old, white scars and fresh, bleeding welts.
Every few seconds, he twitches, a violent, convulsive spasm that makes the chains rattle and clink against the iron. He's trying to break free. He's been trying for a long time.
My companion makes a low, guttural sound in its throat, a mixture of pity and revulsion. It doesn't approach. It just stays by the entrance to the chamber, watching.
I, however, start walking towards him.
This chamber isn't the end of the corridor. I can see another opening on the other side of the pillar. The man is in the way. He's an obstacle.
"Wait," my ally hisses, but I don't stop.
I get closer, the heat from the glowing orb on the ceiling beating down on me. The man doesn't seem to notice me. He's lost in his own private hell of struggle and pain.
As I circle the pillar, I get a better look at him. He's young, maybe a few years older than me. His body is lean and corded with muscle, a testament to his constant, futile fight against the chains. His skin is slick with sweat, the droplets evaporating almost instantly in the intense heat.
I step into his line of sight.
His head jerks up, and he sees me.
His eyes are a startling, vibrant blue. They're wide, wild, and filled with a desperate, burning rage. For a moment, he just stares at me, his chest heaving. Then he snarls, a feral, animalistic sound, and throws himself against the chains, trying to reach me.
The chains hold, the iron groaning under the strain.
"Help me," he growls, his voice rough and raw from disuse. "Cut me loose."
I look at him, at the desperate fury in his eyes, at the bloody welts on his skin. I look at the chains, at the way they're wrapped around him. I could try to cut them with my shears. It would take time. A lot of time. And the noise would be incredible.
I glance at the other side of the chamber. The way out is so close.
"Why should I?" I ask, my voice flat.
His blue eyes flash with anger. "Because I'm a prisoner," he spits, his voice thick with fury. "Because this isn't right."
"This whole place isn't right," I reply, my grip tightening on my shears. "Why are you here? What did you do?"
He bares his teeth, a snarl contorting his handsome face. "Doesn't matter. None of it matters. Just cut me the fuck loose."
I can feel the [Ice Will] skill pulsing in the back of my mind, ready to be activated. But I don't need it yet. This man's anger is a hot, wild thing. It's nothing like my own cold, controlled fury. He's a dangerous, unpredictable variable.
I could help him. I could try to cut the chains.
Or I could leave him.
Leaving him feels... wrong.
I don't know this man.
He might be dangerous.
But leaving him to bake....or to be swallowed up by some creature...
I don't like that.
It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I'm not a monster. I'm not going to leave someone to suffer just because it's convenient.
But I can't take the risk of a long, noisy fight either.
I look at the chains.
They're connected to heavy clasps that have no visible hinge or way to remove. The chains themselves would take forever to cut through.
"...I can't cut those." I admit. It feels like a failure, somehow. "The noise it would make would attract other things." I swallow.
....Which I suppose...
Means I still have to solve some damn puzzle on this floor after all.