Honored by Heirlooms

Littered across the floor of the dark expansive warehouse were half crushed cardboard boxes, and cans strung up together as a makeshift warning bell. The double doors behind them, they counted their steps to track their movements through the dark. They’d been warned of entering this specific clash zone. It wasn’t just this warehouse they needed to be concerned with. Or the people...

The hum of a small generator pushing beyond maximum capacity came from behind a set of crates. Each crate was made of rectangular slats of wood secured together by glue and screws in an orderly fashion. These looked like they had been made long before the drop. Every corner and edge that met lined up just *too perfectly*. It couldn’t have been made by any of the hands that had been touched by The Suffering. Stacked up to the ceiling, the crates daunted the two individuals. Walls too high to climb, and each crate too heavy to move, they were drawn into the maze of stacks. The outside was too exposed for their liking and they knew the danger of getting caught in this peril zone without a gift for its maker even if they were sheltered in this warehouse. The cold, motorized hum of the overworked generator being the only warmth in the room, they moved slowly in that dark. Every step they took echoed.

Braced against one another they checked their corners aware that any misstep through this labyrinth would jeopardize their plans of victory. The execution of which was growing to seem more and more complex. Go figure. They’d requested a simple mission this go-round but HQ had definitely not obliged them this time. Necessity had been the force that drove them into action on this trip. Wearing the lost and left behind apparel of those along their path, their leather boots aged by the sun and carrying a crust of dirt, took the scenic route with them. Through. Their only way.

The darkness of the room met them at every corner, threshold and dead-end. The two had started to worry they’d been vulnerable for too long without provisions in that maze. High and sharp from above their heads, they could hear the whistles notifying them of the forthcoming struggle of hostile company. There was no turning back for either of them, they were in the dark, blind, without a plan out. Their race against time had culminated into a bounty on their heads. An heirloom once a gift had exposed them to the violence of deceivers. The necessity of their mission, both a relic and a raised sword at their throats.

*whizzz*

The two hit an abrupt stop as an object flew past their face almost close enough to strike. Unable to make out the weapon, their heartbeats quicken in their chests as they make haste. The clock had begun to tick faster. The fan of the generator grew from a cold hum to a menacing buzz as they approached. Like fresh razor blades on the skin, they stepped with precision. Clack, clack. Boots worn-in by desperate need of the wearer and breaking at the seams, shuffled towards the open door that appeared in front of them.

Upon entering the room, they were met by an uninviting control panel full of mean buttons that questioned their intelligence. Across from them and covering the entire wall to their left, they had no idea how anything like this would even work anymore since the grid was depleted by the burns. Big and metallic with enough buttons to fill a museum they look for one of the three blue levers on the panels. Scrambling in the dark, the pair remain breathing in tandem for fear of detection. Their search proves fruitless as the lights switch on abruptly. Clinging to one another for safety the duo shuffle to the middle of the room as a voice sings out “give us the locket! It’s a heart in your pocket. If you don’t do it then we’ll chop your legs off!!”

The two looked at each other in confusion. The voice sang out from the speaker again, “give us the locket, it’s a heart in your pocket and if you don’t do it then we’ll chop your legs off!” This time the cheerful trope had turned into the loud siren of a credible threat.

Lumps began to form in their throats as the two realized they had just willingly walked into a trap. The heirlooms that honored them might soon show them the perils to be held on the other side.

Who had orchestrated this they wondered to one another through inquisitive glances. Was it the shady dealings of HQ they’d observed or did they really have to meet the maker of the dark? The Suffering decided to greet them many ways along their journey to this cold, desolate warehouse and this gray day turned out to be one more of the same. Glances were all they shared because they knew they’d never give way. The perils came as the voice sang out its third cannon.

To be continued...