Tony began, suspecting that everything wasn't okay when a girl in her early teens came down into their cell with a gun and asked specifically for Michael.

"Get up and come with me now!" She yelled and started waving the gun and everyone and anyone in the room.

Mike raised his arms slowly and turned around. "Hey, it's okay. All's cool, you don't need to do this."

She ignored his attempts at negotiation and pointed the gun at his forehead. "Get up! Now!" She was small, with dark brown hair that fell over her face in a way that suggested she was supposed to be a shy child. From Tony's veiw on the floor, it was difficult to get a look at her eyes, but from her stance he could tell she was determined, if not practiced. She had done this before. She jabbed the gun at Michael to emphasize her point.

"Okay, okay, chill," Mike said slowly, getting to his feet one at a time. "You don't need to do this you know. You could...you could just put down the gun and you could let us out." The tone of his voice was soothing, like the way one would talk to an attacking dog, or maybe a baby, but that didn't seem to have much effect on the younger girl. In response to his words she lowered the gun at Tony and squeezed the trigger.

He didn't even have time to scream as the cement next to his good leg exploded in a burst of gravel. Barely an inch of space separated that bullet and what would have probably been another several months of no walking at all -- assuming that he survived past the next couple days. His head spun at the thought, and it didn't clear.

He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes in an attempt to block the dizziness. But even the dark, couldn't stop it. He swallowed hard and tried to imagine he was in a better place, maybe Florida, or even a drumline sectional would suffice. When he opened his eyes, the world seemed to dip inward like he was looking at everything through one of those fun mirrors they showed at county fairs. The constant flux in his vision gave him a headache and didn't improve the growing knot of nausea in his stomach, but he tried to ignore it. There were more important things to pay attention to.

Michael looked exhausted. Tony knew he had probably slept the least of them in the past several days, and it showed. Dark circles ringed his eyes like bruises and his entire body held the paleness of cancer patient. He had to pause to take several breaths when he got to his feet, his muscles trembling in bursts just short of seizure-like. In short, he may have been better off than the rest of them, but not by much.

"Okay," he whispered hoarsely. "Just, just don't hurt anyone okay? I'll go, just, don't shoot anything else. Please." His voice was so weak, Tony wanted to get to his feet and kick the gun out of the girl's hand, Jackie Chan style. Mike was supposed to be the one who showed no weakness. He was the drum major after all, he was trained to strike fear into the hearts of all enemy schools, but here he was...being human.

"Don't go, Michael," Abbie whispered and reached out weakly with one hand. In the past several hours, her condition had taken a turn in a bad direction. Ian and Mike had lifted the shirts and jackets they were using for bandages, to see how her wound was getting on. Tony hadn't gotten a look at it personally, but the expressions on their faces, the half-sob from Mike, and the smell of rotting flesh told him enough. If she was pale before, she was downright colorless now, and Tony knew it wasn't just the lighting.

Michael took a half step toward Abbie, but the mystery girl squeezed off another shot, and this time the wall by Abbie's shoulder erupted in a burst of rubble. "Don't take another step," the girl hissed like a demon  child. "Come with me, now, or I won't miss next time."

Mike nodded slowly and stiffened as she put the gun at the curve of his spine. She pushed him forward with a rough jab, then gestured to the little door at the end of the room. "Go, move now, or I shoot."

He didn't protest again and stumbled across the cold floor. He looked back at them, then, to Ian, he called. "Take care of them. I'll get you guys out, I promise."

"Move!" The girl screamed, jabbing the gun into his back.

"Take care of them!" He screamed as he was forced out the little door. The girl gave them all a nasty look then followed Michael out without another word.

Tony's heart pounded in his chest as he shared an alarmed glance with Ian. He was splitting them up now. How much longer could they stretch out this game before they decided the five of them weren't worth keeping around and just offed them for the heck of it? For all they knew, that kid was out killing Michael right now.

And a kid. A kid!? Who sends a kid to do their dirty work for them?

"Where's Michael?" Abbie's head rolled to one side. She was leaning back against the wall between Tony and Ian, and they both had a clear view of her running eyes.

"He'll be back," Ian said slowly as he crawled over to her side. He shot a glance at Tony, but Tony couldn't muster the energy to move that far. "He's...."

Tony nodded, just a little jerk of his head. It was okay, lying was okay. If it protected their sanity, then morality was a sacrifice they would have to make. Tony wished  someone loved him enough to lie to him when it actually mattered.

"He'll be back," Ian repeated and looked down. Abbie fluttered her eyelids and only moaned in response.

Tony desperately wanted to help, to scream, to go do something, anything, but even his own body couldn't support his weight now. If it weren't for the courtesy of the brick wall behind him, he would have been passed out on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Sudden there was a loud scrape, like the sound of brick on brick. The door of their cell was opening again. Before anyone could say anything, Lisha was dumped back into the room in an unmoving heap.

A/N

Long time no update. Sorry. Myth project es muy grande. Uy.... Anyways. Who ships Mike and Abbie? I have officially decided that I do. *makes little paper boats and floats them in the bathtub* Ship ship ship. *poking holes in le shipping box* Ahhh poor them....why did I just separate the only ship in the entire boooook?

Oh right....the suffering makes them cuter. Never mind.

Now they need a ship name. Wow...that's a hard one....

I shall be posting mine and Angelina's myth project at some point.

#ReynoldstheMergoatKing

That moment when you realize your writing style has become worse -.-.....

#KMN