Maarg leaned back against the wall, wrists still bound, exhaustion pooling behind his eyes. The air in the room was damp and foul, and the flickering bulb above did little to light up the cracked walls and mildew-stained ceiling. His limbs were sore, his back throbbed, but his mind was sharp.
Across the room sat the figure that had been watching over him since he woke—hood up, purple hair a chaotic mess that framed their face, hiding their eyes. They rocked gently in their chair, one foot hooked on the leg, humming softly, as if they weren't guarding a bunch of prisoners in a cannibal basement.
Maarg decided to strike up a conversation, more for distraction than anything else.
"So…" he started casually, "how's the apocalypse treating you… bro?"
The guard stilled in their rocking. A beat passed before they responded, voice cool and unreadable. "Bro?"
"Yeah," Maarg continued, keeping the tone light. "You're not eating me or stabbing me, so that's already a better start than most of your buddies."
The figure snorted and tilted their head to the side. "You're funny."
"I try." Maarg shifted a little, eyes flicking toward the darker corner of the room. Jack was waking up, slowly, carefully. His body tensed, but he didn't make a sound. Good.
The guard didn't notice.
"You don't talk like the others," Maarg said, testing the waters. "Hell, you don't even look like them. You don't smell like blood and mold either. What gives?"
The guard didn't answer right away. "I'm not with them. I'm approved to be here. That's all."
"Approved? Like a visitor's pass?" Maarg chuckled, leaning back like they were old friends. "Didn't know man-eaters had HR now."
Another pause. "Let's just say the boss's brother sees things differently."
"Ah, so you're a favor. A wildcard," Maarg mused. "What's your angle then?"
"That would ruin the fun," the guard said with a slight smirk, still rocking.
In the corner, Jack was fully alert now, crouched low. His hands, once bound, were freed. His eyes met Maarg's. A silent nod passed between them.
Maarg kept talking. "No offense, but if you're not with them and not against them, you're still on the wrong side of the room."
"I'm on my own side," the guard replied coolly.
"Funny," Maarg said, voice dropping slightly, "that makes two of us."
Suddenly, Jack lunged forward.
He grabbed the chair the guard was sitting on and yanked it out from under them. With a clean, brutal swing, he smashed the metal frame down onto their head.
The crack of impact echoed.
The guard collapsed instantly, their body slumping to the cold concrete floor, unmoving.
Jack stood over them, breathing hard, chair in hand.
Maarg smirked, casually holding out his fist. "Nice hit."
Jack returned the dap and quickly moved to cut Maarg loose.
"You good?" Jack asked.
"I've been worse," Maarg muttered, shaking feeling back into his wrists. He stood, cracked his neck, and looked around the room. "Tara's not here. Neither is Mark."
Jack's face tightened. "They must be holding them somewhere else."
Maarg nodded. "We'll find them."
Jack crouched next to the guard—the strange one with the purple hair and the knowing smirk, now unconscious. "They're breathing."
"Good," Maarg said. "I've got questions."
They quickly grabbed some rope from the corner of the room—likely used on the prisoners earlier—and bound the guard's hands behind their back. Ankles too. Jack even stuffed a rag into their back pocket in case they needed a gag later.
Once they were done, they dragged the guard's body into the center of the room and propped them upright against a column.
Maarg stood in front of them, arms crossed. "When they wake up, we get answers. No more cryptic smiles. No more riddles. I want to know who the hell they are, and why they're not eating us like the others."
Jack nodded. "And where the others are. Tara. Mark. Maybe even how deep this place goes."
The light above them flickered again.
The silence now felt thicker, heavier. The calm before something else.
Maarg crouched down in front of the unconscious figure, watching the slow rise and fall of their chest. "Wake up soon, mystery guest," he muttered. "We've got unfinished business."
***
While Jack moved toward the far side of the room to shake Henry awake, Maarg stayed behind, sitting casually in the same chair the guard had once been perched on—legs stretched out, arms resting lazily on the sides like a king surveying a kingdom made of cracked concrete and shadows. He leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the unconscious figure now tied up and slumped against the support beam.
He studied them.
The hoodie had slipped back a little from the impact, revealing more of their messy purple hair and tan skin. There was something oddly calm about them, even while unconscious. Maarg tilted his head, almost curious.
"Let's see what side you're really on," he muttered under his breath.
Jack returned, dusting his hands off. "Henry's groggy but coming around. I told him to get the other two up and filled in. We'll need everyone sharp."
Maarg nodded, not breaking eye contact with the guard. "Good. We'll need numbers if things go south."
A quiet groan echoed.
The figure stirred, head shifting, fingers twitching slightly against the ropes. A few blinks later, golden eyes—sharp, alert—locked onto Maarg. Recognition flashed. Confusion followed. They tried to move, but the ropes dug into their wrists.
Maarg leaned forward and gave them a cocky smirk.
"Wakie, wakie," he said, voice laced with amusement. "Nap time's over."
The guard—no, this stranger—blinked again, expression unreadable, though the hint of irritation tugged at the edge of their mouth.
Maarg continued, now with a calm coldness to his voice, "You and I—we're gonna talk. And you're going to answer some questions. Because this time, I'm the one watching you."
Jack crossed his arms from the side, his face unreadable. "Try anything stupid, and we finish what we started."
Gabby looked between them both, slowly regaining composure. The usual mask of apathy creeping back onto their face, even with blood trailing from their forehead. Still, there was no fear. Just… stillness.
Maarg raised an eyebrow. "You're oddly calm for someone tied up and surrounded."
Gabby cracked a faint smile. "Would panic help?"
Maarg chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, but it'd be more entertaining."
He leaned in close, just enough for Gabby to hear the seriousness beneath the snark. "Start talking. Who are you, and why the hell aren't you eating us like the rest of your friends?"
Silence.
Jack stepped forward, but Maarg lifted a hand, stopping him.
"Let 'em speak," he said, eyes locked with Gabby's. "Or don't. Just know, I've got nowhere to be—and after everything I've been through, you don't scare me."
Gabby licked their cracked lips, a flicker of annoyance in their expression. "I'm not with them," they said quietly. "I told you that."
"Then what are you?" Maarg asked, voice low.
Gabby's smirk returned faintly. "Depends… how much do you want to know?"
Maarg smirked back, mirroring them. "Try me."