The Mirrorverse

Syrhahn

Syrhahn was wondering how soon it would be before someone slipped up, like taking his handcuffs off so he could fight his way out. Though I’m not in any condition to be doing anything, he thought miserably.

He also wondered what his boy was doing, were they hurting him? What would they do once he was surplus to requirements? His stomach tensed painfully at the thought of someone hurting Viskra.

The cell door opened. He was dragged to his feet and pushed down a corridor not dissimilar to the one that had led to the start of all of this.

“Can you take my handcuffs off, I need to rub my face,” he requested through dried blood encrusted lips.

“No chance,” the ugliest man he had ever seen told him abruptly. His beady black eyes peered out beneath his heavy brow in a way that wasn’t quite human.

Syrhahn sat awkwardly on the chair, his hands feeling swollen because of the too-tight handcuffs.

“So, you’ve been having a party then,” the man peered at Syrhahn, his mouth curling at one corner as if ready to swat a fly with his tongue.

“I have no idea what you mean,” replied Syrhahn sweetly, receiving another blow from a gun butt. He recoiled, wanting to kill every person in that room.

“Two bodyguards, remember them?” the man put the photos of the bodyguards on the table.

“They tried to kill me, it was self-defence,” Syrhahn told him, knowing that his word wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference.

“Faloma shit!” yelled the man, his disgusting face coming alive as the scene he had played out in his head came to fruition.

“Mr Panjena is an upstanding member of this community, his guards would never behave like that!” His voice rose as the sentence progressed, resulting in an undignified screech by the word ‘that’.

“You mean that hideous scaly creature with bodyguards who have hair triggers for brains?” Syrhahn was insulting their benefactor for a reason, he wanted out of there.

As the predicted blow to the head came, Syrhahn feigned unconsciousness to put an end to the farcical interview where the ‘victim’ owned the police.

He could hear the ugly man screeching at the ‘officer’ who had struck him, the ugly man was clearly angry about the un-interviewable prisoner. The situation was no longer playing out as he wanted it to, and that cheered Syrhahn up immensely. He never was too great with authority, and it was worth a head injury, which was going to arrive at some point anyway, just to piss ugly man off.

Syrhahn was still feigning unconsciousness when he was dolloped unceremoniously in his cell. A sly smile spread across his face once he was alone, a small victory in a large war.

Suddenly, there was a person leaning over him and then the world around him changed. He closed his eyes, realising that the head injuries were taking their toll. He wondered how much longer he was going to last.

“Syrhahn, are you there?” a woman’s voice spoke near to his face. He felt his handcuffs being removed, while a feminine touch stoked his cheek. Slowly he opened his eyes, and looked into the face of a lady about his age, her blue-grey eyes wide with concern.

He grunted something incoherent in return, before sitting up abruptly at the realisation he was no longer in the cell. Absent mindedly he rubbed his wrists, taking in the room around him. He felt no urge to fight his way out, he was simply so disorientated that he thought he had become delusional.

Despite repeatedly blinking his eyes the cell never returned. The woman brought a wet towel, and started mopping up what was left of his face.

Syrhahn looked harder and realised that he recognised the room. Then a familiar voice came from his right side, so familiar but he just couldn’t quite place it. Then it dawned on him. He was in the Slavestri study, and the voice belonged to Estrali Slavestri. The question was, how did he get there?