The man grabs her by the hair, dragging her forward and pushing her against steel bars, and she slumps to the ground.
"Stupid little sh*t, looking down at me. You're lucky you're the next challenge--pfft, if a scrawny thing like you can be called that." He moves out of the dark room, snickering to himself. Coming back to her senses, she pushes herself to sit up, her back against the cell bars.
"What the hell..." She groans, her hand moving to the back of her head, blood smears on her fingertips, and she winces. "Ah...crap." She looks up, taking note of her surroundings. The walls are thick, made of a mixture of gravel and sand, and large rocks. The floor was uncomfortable, sharp rocks pricking up from every angle, and the stench of mold was vile, insects crawling along the crevices. She reaches up and grips one of the bars, pulling and pushing herself to stand. "Damn...where am I anyway...?"
"...Did you hit your head that hard?"
Suddenly, a sharp voice spoke from a dark corner of the cell. Her head snapped to the side to see a figure. A boy, no more than seventeen, sitting back against the corner of a dingy wall, his cheeks a bit sunken and the dark circles around his eyes. His hair was a deep black, and his eyes were mismatched, one was a clear bright blue and the other a dull silver. His clothes were dirty with dust and dried blood stains, but under that, it was unmistakably the lean frame of a warrior, and the scars on his fingers and forearms confirmed that.
"..."
She stares at him blankly, assessing him for a moment. "Who are you?"
His eyes widen slightly before he bursts out laughing; it was a surprisingly pleasant sound. He combs his right hand through his thick nest of hair, an amused smirk on his lips.
"Damn, talk about a beating huh, for you to not even remember this devislishly handsome face. What about your name, do you at least remember that?"
She shakes her head and lets out a soft breath. She moves her hand to the back of her neck.
"No, not that either."
The boy lets out a breath and relaxes against the wall. He raises his left hand and points to an object on the left side of her chest. She looks down to her chest to see a small silver tag with the label 'CL026AN'.
"Listen, I'm only explaining this once. That right there is your name in this place, nothing else," he points to his own tag, 'CL026MI'. "The first letters and numbers on the tag tell which cell we're in, we're currently in the lowest holding cell, Cell 26. The place we're in is called the 'Garden of Death', in the Alcaida Kingdom."
"Garden?"
She asks, moving to sit against a separate corner of the wall. She brings her knees up against her chest. The boy nods once, his eyes following her.
"The Garden is owned by Jackson Ferewell and his brother Darren Ferewell. They are originally from a ruined land, but somehow they became merchants who now control 50% of all trade in Alcaida."
"Alcaida..."
The name is unfamiliar to her, nothing came to mind. He moves his left hand to grip his right shoulder. He closes his eyes and lets out a breath.
"So, what's the purpose of this place? Why are we here?"
Her eyes moved to the steel bars of the cell, and then to the outside, where she saw through a cell facing them, a sickly looking old man and a frail child lying on the floor. "...Tell me." His gaze follows hers before moving back to her side profile.
"Before knowing the purpose, you must know that this place is overseen by the King, 'Damiel De Rossien', and Queen, 'Shana Aurora De Rossien'. Now, with that in mind, care to take a guess?"
He asks. His tone sharp as he crosses his arms over his chest. She keeps her gaze on the young child in the next cell.
"...Entertainment."
Hearing her words, he smirks, his fingers form the outline of a gun. He closes one eye as if aiming through its sight, he points his index and middle fingers towards her.
"Bullseye. There is no other purpose of this place but to entertain the people of high society, by making a spectacle of petty thieves and traitors who are desperate to live." Her eyes move back to him. "To make a ridicule of our deaths, and our struggles. People like you and me." He turns his head to the old man and the child, his fingers shifting from her to the direction of the sick old man and child. A crude smirk on his lips. "And them too. We're all just here to die, that's the result for everyone before us and after too."
This time, her gaze was locked on his side profile, she noticed a slight tension in his jaw despite the smirk, her eyes drop to the letters on his tag.
"The last letters, what are they for?"
He turns and looks down at his tag. He is quiet for a moment, then, bringing his hand down, he replies.
"They are the initials to our names, though names are useless here. They only call you by your features or something that really stands out about you." He looks over at her. "Considering you don't remember your name, those letters are useless to you, especially." He rests his elbow on his knee and leans his head against the scarred palm of his hand, his eyes drifting off somewhere distance. "...it's Mikah, my name. Like you, I have no recollection of why I'm here, but I know one thing." He smirks again. "This is one f**ked up place."
...Well, he's not wrong.
She lets out a breath, closing her eyes as her head rests back against the wall.
"What do you think 'RE' means?" She didn't open her eyes yet to look at him after her question.
"Dunno. You never told me your name; besides, they only brought you in three days ago."
He lets out a soft breath, leaning back fully. The soft light of the passing silver fireflies illuminated her slightly. He stared for a moment, his lips parting, and before he could catch it, his words slipped. "...Red."
"Hm?"
Her eyes open to look at him and he tilts his head slightly. His messy hair tangled on his shoulders.
"Your hair."
Mikah's voice was a bit softer now. Her hand moves to her hair, and she takes a few strands in her fingers.
Ah...it is red. I didn't notice since it's so short. It's pretty.
She smiles to herself. Her fingers toy with her hair.
"Alright then, until I remember my name I'll just go by 'Red' then."
Mikah's eyes drift to her, and they stare at each other for a moment.
"...It's a stupid name."
He scoffs, though his tone wasn't harsh.
"It's better than having none at all."
She replies with a small laugh.
"Mm... guess so."