The Captive

Victor awoke with a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

The room swam around him as he peeled open his eyes, the buzzing in his ears drowning out all background noise. He couldn't focus on any solid image around him.

His stomach did a somersault, and he scrambled to cover his mouth with his fingers. Victor's elbow knocked against something tin, and he managed to see that it was a bucket. Thinking quick, Victor hung his head into the bucket and vomited whatever was left in his stomach. For several seconds he trembled violently, finally lasping into drive heaving and coughing.

“That's the thing about chloroform, you know? Makes you puke your guts out. I'm glad I set that bucket out for you. That woulda been gross,” commented a voice.

Victor dragged his sleeve over his mouth, drunkenly supporting himself with his arms. A figure sat in a swivel chair several feet away, behind a desk. Several computer monitors hummed and flickered.  

Blood roared in Victor's ears. That had to be the person who had kidnapped him. Fear twisting a knot in his chest, he felt tears spring in his eyes. Where was Umbra? Had he been taken too? Or was he still fighting that monster, unaware of his child's whereabouts?

The chair suddenly spun around, revealing his captor.

A child Victor's age gazed coldly at him, slapping the exposed blade of a hunting knife on his palm. He was skinny and almost ragged looking, with choppy, unevenly cut, and lackluster platinum blond hair separating into split ends by his shoulders. He wore a baggy, oversized sweater and khaki pants. Around his head was a red headband with smiley-face buttons.

Victor was horrified, not expecting a fellow child to be his captor. As he examined him closer, he found a nervous bead of sweat running down the boy's face and his knuckles stark white against the hilt of his knife. Why did he look so distraught?

The boy suddenly stood up, glowering over Victor. “State your name, affiliation, and your reason to be slinking around my guild,” he growled, but his voice cracked.

Victor grimaced, feeling his throat tighten.

The boy's cheeks pinkened. “I said to state your name, affiliation, and your reason to be slinking around my guild!” He stomped his foot for emphasis.

More silence.

The blond’s shoulders fell, all traces of his brutal first impression slipping away. “C-come on,” he mumbled, wildly gesturing his hands, “Just answer me, please. I don't wanna have to, like, make you talk.” He paused, eyes cutting to his blade, “B-because I totally can, I have a weapon!”

Feeling almost guilty, Victor touched his throat, trying to communicate that he was mute.

He squinted. “Um...are you sick? Do you have strep throat?” The boy grimanced, taking a step back, “I, uh, I don't want that.”

Victor huffed, glancing away from the scene. His eyes fell across a notebook that was on the desk. He perked up, getting an idea.

He stood shakily, keeping his distance from the boy. His captor was taken off guard, staggering back. Quickly, he found his gusto again, and pointed the blade at him.

Victor raised his hands defensively, nodding his head at the sketchbook. In confusion, the boy slowly extended his arm, knocking the notebook and pen on the ground.

“Get down,” the boy growled, sounding unsure of himself. Compliant, Victor dropped to his knees.

Victor grabbed the notebook, scribling “I'm mute” on the first page beside a sketch of a schoolyard. He held up the paper, frowning.

The boy gaped, completely flabbergasted. “Of course,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand down his face, “It's just my luck to try to interrogate the mute guy.”

“Who are you?” Victor quickly wrote.

His captor poked out his chest. “M-my name is Pontius Pilate Falconidal, and I command that you call me Pilate!” His voice was forced and strained, “I am a loyal, merciless soldier of this guild!”

He looks terrified, Victor thought, watching a bead of sweat run down Pilate’s face.

“You should be afraid of me!” he snapped, “I-I already know who you are! That first thing I asked you? It was a trick question! You're Victor Mortis!”

“I'm responsible for capturing you,” Pilate continued wildly, “Asher’s gonna be so happy.”

Victor's heart skipped a beat. Asher?! he thought, throat feeling dry, Not him! He had heard the horror stories Umbra and Aunora had told of the ruthless man. Apparently he was in connection with Hawkins and the late Finch, the two bounty hunters Silver Moon had worked under on their first mission.

Pilate shoved his hand into his pocket, excitedly pulling out several zip ties. He kneeled beside Victor, roughly pushing his back down as a show of force. Victor felt his wrists being dragged behind his back, and the stiff plastic rubbing against his skin.

“I think you gotta pull this thing, uh, click it into, um,” Pilate muttered to himself, “Crap, these things looked so easy on T.V…”

Pilate tapped him on the shoulder. “Can you, er, sit still while I look up how to use these things?” The pressure was lifted off Victor's hands, but he kept still in fear of Pilate. Cutting his eyes, he saw the boy furiously skimming through his phone, sweat pouring down his face.

He doesn't even know what he's doing, Victor thought, feeling a twinge of pity.

“Alright, I got it now,” Pilate growled, trying to put on his threatening mask again. Victor gasped in shock when his wrists were bond together, the zip ties digging into his flesh.

Pilate seemed shock for a second. “Does that hurt?” he blurted out, only to shake his head, “I mean, uh, yeah, it should hurt! I hope you bleed!” To emphasize his point, he lightly kicked Victor in the ribs.

Pilate hovered above Victor, nervously biting his lip. “I'm going to contact my supervisors now,” he said loudly, waving his phone, “So you should be afraid.”

Author's Note- have i mention that pilate is probably one of my favorite characters? i really really like his character. i have big things planned for him.