Bending Steel

I suppose I did it to myself. No one would hear me admit to it though. My hardheaded ambitions kept me moving forward, but hardly at the speed of light. No, light traveled in all directions whilst I kept a on straight path with turns more crooks than a knotted snake. Like the snake, the trail of blood left behind me only made sense. But I suppose--did I mention that was one of my favorite words--'suppose'--but I suppose there was nothing left for me anyways. There'd be no point in traveling back.

And I suppose I did it to myself. LORC held me in a heavily guarded room, suffocating would have been a more appropriate term. A man with a disturbing ability to teleport placed me within the steel cell, and bound my arms with thick copper wires. My knees buckled beneath me as I starred at the other two men I share the cell with. Both were guards for LORC, and possibly some of the weakest Powern they had recruited. At least, they appeared weak in ability and intellect.

The one in the right corner reminded me of a withered away and dead comedian my father used to watch on HD Television. (I'd thank God if he existed that I now have a 3D Projection Television.) The mustache that the two of them shared did nothing but fatten their already dark upper lip, and like the comedian, nothing he did was actual funny, but he was funny to gander upon when the moments became boring.

After a few smiles crept between my sharp jaw, a snicker finally erupted. I could tell the not-so-funny comedian was growing aggravated though his reasons for aggravation were unknown.

"This pay isn't worth it," he said in agony. "When is someone going to come get us out of here?!" He removed his attention from me, and to the other guard, but I only had hoped both of them would look away. The man to my left kept his brute of a hand welded to a metal lever. I've heard such stories about LORC's torture methods, and more often times than none, they included electricity.

"Henson," he said shortly though his thick brow never twitched above his unmoved eyes, "I told you not to look away from him--"

"So your name is Henson?!" I had sat in silence for so long that my ears rang by the vibrations of my voice.

Our conversation began.

"Yes, my name is Hen--"

"That's a terrible name," I laughed between my syllables, "That's a persons last name. Not a first name."

They let me speak, and hardly seemed offended by my choice of words. Honestly speaking, I liked the name 'Henson', maybe for a middle name, but not necessarily a first name. I expected more of a reaction from either of them, but instead, I received nothing but blank expressions.

So after the awkward moments flew by and an adjustment to my bloodless legs, Henson asked: "Well, what is your name?"

My eyes curled upon his question as I continued to eye-f**k the hell out of the guards hand upon the switch. I awaited a moment when he might choose to flip it, but instead, I wondered why the comedian chose such a strange question.

"You should already know my name considering you're guarding me." The hand never moved, the same as before.

The face connected to the hand spoke: "We know your code name, but your real name is unknown."

I threw my head back in agitation, the muscles across stretched beside my esophagus. I could only imagine I looked like an fallen knight in a foreign kingdom, wrists bound, awaiting my death by a cut throat. Unlike the honorable knight, I laughed. "Why would you think I'd give you my real name?!"

Author's Note

I'm leaving this open for thoughts. I'm currently writing a new story working off the backbone of my old one to see where I could take it. Do enjoy, and leave me your most critical thoughts! :)