Prototype Dorian

Four days before the Selection

The ladder rung lands on what I presume is a rat's head. There is a loud squelch, followed by a piercing screech of the injured rodent.

The two other glowing eyes lurch towards me. I continue swinging at where I think the rats are, occasionally hitting them, but mostly swinging at air. Even as my eyes adjust to the dark, I cannot see much beyond the rats' eyes.

"Tell me! Where to! Hit! Sánchez!" I yell, swinging the rung at every exclamation.

"At your nine o'clock!"

I twist around to plant a hard blow on a rat. A resounding crack reverberates throughout the void.

"Behind you!" Sánchez cries out again.

I spin around and lift the rung—but I'm too slow. Sharp teeth sink into my right arm, and agony explodes through my body.

"Argh!" I shove the metal rung into the rodent's mouth—I know exactly where that is now that it is biting me—causing it to gag and release me. Then, I kick it away.

"Lorensky!" Sánchez's unstable footsteps shuffle toward me.

"Stay where you are, Sánchez! I can't see anything, so you need to keep being my eyes!"

"But— At your three o'clock!"

I whack in the direction with my good arm. My bitten arm still throbs with pain, but this is nothing compared to when I was impaled by a rod a while ago. I survived that, so I'm sure I can survive this too.

Sánchez continues to tell me where to hit, and I continue to whack at the rats with all my strength. It's not a perfect strategy—there are more rats than me, so I can't always get to them before another one bites me. But I ignore my pain and focus on giving these rodents more injuries than they gave me.

After ten minutes of bludgeoning, the rats give up and scurry away. I take a moment to catch my breath, finally registering the severity of agony that is coursing through my body. My body is covered in bites, blood, and sweat, and my pink sweatshirt is ripped apart so much that only a few pieces of fabric cling onto me.

But at least the rats are gone.

I trudge to where Sánchez is. My vision is still not great here, but I've heard from them enough to know where they are. Slumping against the wall next to them, I lean my head back and heave a sigh of relief.

Something soft and warm lands on my lap.

"Wear this," Sánchez whispers.

Heat rushes to my face. Oh, right. With my top shredded up by the rats, I am half-naked right now. I didn't think too much of it because I can't see myself in the dark, but Sánchez can.

"Thanks," I mutter, draping their hoodie over my shoulders. I'm in too much pain to wear it properly.

"Your injuries..." they remind me in a strained voice.

"Yeah. I'm fine." I didn't have to lie. It has only been a minute of peace, but my body is no longer aching. The pain from the rod and the bites from the rats are but a faint buzz at the back of my mind. My only complaints now are the stickiness on my skin and the chilly breeze from the air.

Sánchez's hoodie makes it all better, though.

I lean into the fabric. This underground void still stinks of the rats and their putrid breaths, but if I snuggle up to the hoodie, Sánchez's familiar cardamom scent takes over. Calmness floods through me.