"What sector of the ship were your ancestors from?" he asked curiously. His question was answered by passing guards slamming their guns on the bars.
"No tawlkin'!" They shouted.
The three of them waited for the guards clad in midnight to pass. Just as they were out of sight, Busby replied in a low whisper:
"We were from the Cobalt sector, but what does that have to do with anything?"
"Your accent, I was just curious."
"Ah, makes perfect sense then. Where were you from?"
"The Signal Sector."
"I thought I recognized that jaw shape," Busby snickered as did his brother.
"I don't understand," said Tavish.
"You don't have to. It's a personal joke between Argyle and I. Maybe I'll tell it to you later," he smiled. Tavish smiled at Busby and his brother. He leaned over to crawl toward them when he heard the distinctive click of the lock to his cell. He struggled to crawl over to his cell mates quicker than the guards could walk, but something had grabbed a hold of his foot. He grabbed onto Busby's hand and pulled the man close.
"I will be back, you can count on that," Tavish whispered before the guards managed to break his grip. As they pulled him out of the cell, they beat him with their weapons. Each hit feeling like he was being trampled by an excited crowd while dragging him along to the destination point. He was scared, truly frightened.
He watched the empty eyes look at him through the thick bars of each cell he passed. Each set of eyes felt as if they were boring holes in his skin, through his flesh, and into his soul itself. They no longer gave off the feeling of human beings. They felt like demons as they crawled to the bars and reached out to grab onto him with their cold and dying fingers. The demons scratched the ground after him, causing violent chills down his spine.
The boy's breathing picked up pace as he watched the hands thrust out of the bars and scratch the ground until they bled. What if that happens to me, he thought. It took only a single thought to force severe resistance from his part. He kicked one of the guards with his free leg and managed to draw their attention if only for a little bit. He found himself at his feet with hands pulling at his gray shirt and matching pants, the sign of a Steam-punk. He swatted the demonic hands from the bars that pulled at his clothes while the guards ran after him.He wasn't quick enough.
Tavish fought back while the guards attempted to subdue him. I may not have strength, but I
"No tawlkin'!" They shouted.
The three of them waited for the guards clad in midnight to pass. Just as they were out of sight, Busby replied in a low whisper:
"We were from the Cobalt sector, but what does that have to do with anything?"
"Your accent, I was just curious."
"Ah, makes perfect sense then. Where were you from?"
"The Signal Sector."
"I thought I recognized that jaw shape," Busby snickered as did his brother.
"I don't understand," said Tavish.
"You don't have to. It's a personal joke between Argyle and I. Maybe I'll tell it to you later," he smiled. Tavish smiled at Busby and his brother. He leaned over to crawl toward them when he heard the distinctive click of the lock to his cell. He struggled to crawl over to his cell mates quicker than the guards could walk, but something had grabbed a hold of his foot. He grabbed onto Busby's hand and pulled the man close.
"I will be back, you can count on that," Tavish whispered before the guards managed to break his grip. As they pulled him out of the cell, they beat him with their weapons. Each hit feeling like he was being trampled by an excited crowd while dragging him along to the destination point. He was scared, truly frightened.
He watched the empty eyes look at him through the thick bars of each cell he passed. Each set of eyes felt as if they were boring holes in his skin, through his flesh, and into his soul itself. They no longer gave off the feeling of human beings. They felt like demons as they crawled to the bars and reached out to grab onto him with their cold and dying fingers. The demons scratched the ground after him, causing violent chills down his spine.
The boy's breathing picked up pace as he watched the hands thrust out of the bars and scratch the ground until they bled. What if that happens to me, he thought. It took only a single thought to force severe resistance from his part. He kicked one of the guards with his free leg and managed to draw their attention if only for a little bit. He found himself at his feet with hands pulling at his gray shirt and matching pants, the sign of a Steam-punk. He swatted the demonic hands from the bars that pulled at his clothes while the guards ran after him.He wasn't quick enough.
Tavish fought back while the guards attempted to subdue him. I may not have strength, but I
