The silence didn't last long. Of course, it didn't. With these clowns, quiet was a rarity, like spotting a unicorn in a downtown alley.

Idiot 1: "Hey! Brat!"

 Idiot 1's voice boomed across the library-turned-junkyard. He didn't need to yell; we were in the same room. But subtlety wasn't exactly in his skillset. Or vocabulary, for that matter. 

Idiot 1: "Get your sorry ass down here!"

I didn't move. 

Didn't even flinch. 

Maybe if I ignored them long enough, they'd give up. 

Or forget I existed.

 They seemed dumb enough for it to be a possibility.

Idiot 1: "Did you hear me?" 

Idiot 1 barked, stomping his way closer. I stayed put, my gaze fixed on the cracked floorboards, pretending I was a statue. Statues didn't move. Statues didn't react. Statues definitely didn't snap sarcastic comebacks, which was really hard to resist right now.

Idiot 2: "Yo, what's his problem?" 

Idiot 2 drawled from his throne of laziness, sprawled across a chair like a king surveying his garbage kingdom. 

Idiot 2: "Kid's broken or somethin'."

Idiot 3: "Or maybe he's just an idiot." 

Oh, the irony.

Idiot 7: "Want me to drag him down?"

Idiot 7's voice cut through the bickering, low and sharp like a knife scraping glass. Italic and bold and popping the other words. My stomach twisted. Out of all of them, Idiot 7 was the one who made me the most wary. Not because he was the smartest—though that wasn't a high bar to clear—but because he was the quietest. He observed. Watched. A bit too much like me for comfort.

And unlike the others, he didn't waste time on empty threats.

When I didn't respond, I felt his footsteps approach, steady and purposeful. My muscles tensed, instinct screaming at me to move, to fight, to do something. But I didn't. Couldn't. Not yet.

A hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking me to my feet. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, forcing myself not to react. Not to give him the satisfaction.

Idiot 7: "Well, look who decided to cooperate." 

Idiot 7 muttered, dragging me forward like I was nothing more than a ragdoll. My scalp burned where his fingers dug in, but I stayed silent, my expression carefully blank.

He shoved me into the center of the room, right in front of Idiot 1, who looked down at me like I was a particularly annoying fly buzzing around his head.

Idiot 1: "About time. Listen up, kid. We've got a job for you."

Oh, great. This should be good. I didn't respond, of course. Just stared at him, waiting for whatever half-baked scheme they'd cooked up this time.

Idiot 1: "You're gonna drive." 

Idiot 1 announced, crossing his arms like he'd just unveiled some brilliant master plan.

I blinked. 

Drive?

Was he serious?

Idiot 3: "Uh,....."

Idiot 3 chimed in, scratching the back of his head. 

Idiot 3: "Does the kid even know how to drive?"

Thank you, Idiot 3, for being the voice of reason. 

Not that it mattered.

Idiot 1: "He'll figure it out. It's not rocket science!"

Right.

 Because that's how driving works. 

Just hop in and wing it. 

Sure.

Idiot 4: "kay, but like..."

 Idiot 4, bless his tiny brain cell, raised a hand. 

Idiot 4: "What if he crashes or something?"

Idiot 5: "Then he crashes. Not like it matters. Kid's not making it out alive anyway."

The words hung in the air, heavy and cold.

I kept my face carefully blank, but inside, my thoughts were racing. Not making it out alive? So this was a one-way trip. A suicide mission. And they were sending me to do it.

Because I was disposable.

Because to them, I was nothing.

A flicker of anger sparked in my chest, but I smothered it quickly. Anger wouldn't help me here. If I snapped, if I fought back, I'd blow my cover. And then I wouldn't just be disposable—I'd be dead.

Idiot 6: "So, what's the plan?" 

His excitement was almost infectious, in the way that rabies is infectious.

Idiot 1: "It's simple,..." 

Idiot 1 said, stepping forward like he was about to deliver some grand speech. As if that would be possible!

Idiot 1: "You drive the truck around pretending to be us while we drive the other important one...well..." 

He smirked, the kind of smirk that made my stomach churn. 

Idiot 1: "Let's just say you won't have to worry about coming back."

The other idiots laughed, the sound echoing through the room like nails on a chalkboard.

I didn't laugh.

I didn't speak.

I just stood there, staring at them with the same blank expression I'd worn since they dragged me into this hellhole. Inside, my mind was a whirlwind of calculations, running through every possible scenario, every potential escape route.

Idiot 7: "When is this happening?"

Idiot 1: "Tonight, Ten o'clock sharp."

Ten o'clock. 

That gave me...what? 

A few hours?

Great.

Idiot 1: "And don't even think about running. We'll be watching. You try anything funny, and you're dead. Got it?"

I nodded slowly, my face a mask of quiet compliance. Inside, I was already plotting.

Because if they thought I was just going to roll over and die, they were even dumber than I gave them credit for.