Raze (Scarred Souls 1)

Nausea built in my throat as I looked at my guard’s hard face. He had to be in his fifties and he was built like a tank. The barrel of his gun was aimed squarely at my forehead. “You have five seconds to get back over there and kill that pussy, or I’ll shoot you both.”

I heard a similar threat being issued from the opposite side of the cage. Hearing a loud scream, I turned just in time to see 591 charging at me with his axe raised high. Though shocked at this move, I dodged out of the way and dove to the ground—just in time to see 591 crash into the metal of the cage, axe slamming hard against the steel links.

He whipped around to confront me, eyes crazed, the whiteness of gritted teeth shining through his bloodied mouth. 591 panted like a rabid animal. I knew then what had to be done.

My fight response kicked in, sending a surge of energy through my whole body. As 591 charged me, I dropped and wrapped a leg around his calf. 591 lost his balance. As he fell to the ground, without pause, I jumped on his back. I raised my knuckledusters, spiked blades pointing down, and with a fast punch and a deafening roar, lodged the blades into the bottom of his skull. Immediately, 591’s body slackened beneath me.

A gun fired and the crowd roared as blood began gushing from 591’s wound onto the concrete floor. Shocked, I couldn’t move. Staring down, I saw that my bladed weapon was still embedded in his skull. I pulled the blades out, and vomit spilled from my mouth as chunks of bone and flesh came away with them.

A hand roughly gripped my neck, hauling me to my feet. A heavily booted foot pushed 591; his corpse rolled over. 591’s lifeless eyes stared up at me, tearing at my guilty heart. I’d killed. I’d taken a person’s life.

Staggering forward aided by a push on my back, I was once again dragged through the crowd of men, this time exchanging cash. My guard flung me on the floor of the locker room at the back of the basement.

The steel door creaked when slammed shut. I worked on taking long, deep breaths as I struggled with the pit of pain in my stomach. A pair of bare feet came into view. When I looked up, 362 towered over me, stretching his muscles and gripping his favored sai with both hands.

“Block it out,” he ordered.

Reluctantly, I raised my head and sat back on my heels, closing my eyes at the sight of blood spattered on my skin. When I opened them again, 362’s attention was fixed on the steel door, but he threw a glance my way and added, “You have to block out the kill. Block out anything that stops you from surviving.”

I shook my head slowly, clenched my fists, and retched when a piece of bone fell from the knuckleduster and clattered to the ground.

“Block it all out. Survive. Take the beatings. Take the shots. Take the torture, the electric shocks to make you forget your past. Let them turn you. Let them fuck with your head. Let them turn you into a monster. Let them turn you feral.” 362 paused and added, “And anything else the guards want to throw your way when they enter your cell in the middle of the night. That’s the only way to make it through the Gulag. The only way to stay alive.”

The steel door burst open again. Rolling his neck, 362 spun on his heel and gripped his favorite black sai tighter. A cloud of darkness suddenly masked his face. It was a blank, dangerous expression that made shivers run down my spine. 362 strode into the hallway, no cuffs on his wrists, no guard forcing him into the cage. I stared numbly at the door. Then I heard the crowd burst into cheers. They loved him. Those fucked-up men loved 362.

Dragging myself to my feet, I stepped up to the grimy mirror in the stinking box of a bathroom that reeked of shit and piss, just like the rest of this fucking hellhole. I wiped the glass, a bloodied streak from my sopping bandages leaving its mark.

As I stared at my reflection, I couldn’t find the boy I’d always seen. Instead, I thought of my parents, but their images were distorted, so I couldn’t picture their faces. Panic ran through my bones as I tried to remember their features. But it was no use. My memory wouldn’t let me. Next, I thought of—, of him, my friend lying on the ground, his life taken by a dagger to the heart. But I couldn’t picture his face. I couldn’t even vaguely remember what he looked like. Hands gripping the sides of my head, I squeezed my eyes shut, memories steadily slipping from my mind.

The drugs. The drugs were making me forget. They were fucking with my mind. I was remembering less and less, day by day.

“No!” I screamed. Punching out, I smashed the edge of the mirror, a shard of glass shattering on concrete. I couldn’t see them! I couldn’t picture their faces!

Concentrating hard, I tried to picture her… my solnyshko… but she appeared blurred. All I could remember was a featureless face crying and colorless eyes staring at me in disappointment. The sight of it made my insides twist in fear… And then I saw him. The one who put me in here. The liar. He had no face, nothing to recall but his name now scrolling across my mind—Alik Durov. He was the reason I was here in this shithole. I clung to that name, even as everything else drained from my memory.

It was like doors slammed shut, their entryways forever sealed. My brain started shutting out my past, shutting out everyone from my past, shutting out emotion, shutting out any feeling of guilt for killing 591.

“Block it all out. Survive,” I told myself.

362’s order ran through my mind, muscles tensing as the boy in the mirror steadily filled with numbness. The boy in the mirror quickly became 818 from the Gulag: location unknown.

I blocked it all out. I took the beatings, the drugs, the torture… and everything else they threw at me.