Crazy Man

The beads of sweat were joined by blood trickling towards his collarbone. Nial realized he was bleeding and froze. 

This guy was a madman.

He couldn't be in publicity. The game companies never would have risked getting sued because their actor used real weapons and drew blood… But then why was he here? And how had he found Nial?

As the man leaned over him, it dawned on Nial: He must be a super-fan. A mentally imbalanced super-fan who had shown up here because he knew Nial was going to break the secret chamber and—shit, that blade was sliding again.

"Yes! You're clear! You've been very clear," Nial said, raising both hands to convince the guy he was surrendering, and get him to back off.

The man pretending to be Dorian let the sword drop to point to the floor. Nial clapped a trembling hand to his neck where he'd been cut, praying it wasn't deep.

"Good. Now, there will be no room for anything beyond what is needed to survive. Gather clothing, money, and any identification you might require in this godforsaken world. Leave all devices, including your phone."

Nial blinked, his mind spinning. "No phone? Are you crazy?!" He wanted to shovel the words back into his mouth the moment they came out. But instead of being offended, Dorian smiled.

"Some say so. Usually those too weak to survive. I prefer the phrase, unhindered by social traditions."

Nial stared at him, fear churning in his gut. This guy was actually insane. How was he going to get away from him? Nial didn't know. But he was sure of one thing: He needed to keep his phone.

The guy pretending to be Dorian turned to look at the basement again, his nose wrinkling. "This place is… depressing. You can thank me later for saving you from this hellhole."

Nial forced himself to smile. "Yeah, yeah. That'll be great… look, what if I just bring my laptop? That way there's—"

Dorian's face twisted into a snarl just a blink before that sword flashed in a wide arc. Nial threw himself back and away with a yelp as that gleaming blade tore past, then onwards, cutting a snapping, crashing path through his monitors, open laptop, and even the tower like they were butter. The screens exploded in light and color, then went black. The computers sparked and snapped, crunching, then toppled and most of the pieces fell to the floor, crashing onto the concrete and shattering with a noise that was Nial's worst nightmare.

"My computer!" he gasped. "Do you have any idea how much that cost? What the hell are you—"

Dorian whipped the sword back towards Nial, pointing the tip right at his throat and stalking the few steps towards him as Nial scrambled backwards, tripping on pieces of computer, and cords.

Dorian's face was dark, his chin low and eyes locked on Nial as he descended on him, sword extended, and spat words through his teeth.

"This is not a game, Nial. This is not a ploy. This is not a story for you to podcast. This is my life, and yours, and you have two choices. You can turn around right now, grab a few of your personal items and throw them into a bag and follow me of your own accord. Or you can continue this pathetic whining and I will simply take you, which will be a great deal more uncomfortable."

Nial was backing away, but kept his hands up and palms towards Dorian so he wouldn't look threatening, holding his gaze. "I… I don't want to fight you. But that computer was—"

"Fuck the computer, Nial! I will get you more money, more power, more fucking things that you can ever hope to want if you will just stop whining long enough to get your ass into gear and get out of this dungeon. We have four minutes left—what is your choice?"

Nial came up hard against the wall next to his bedroom door, heart pounding in his ears, head buzzing with the instinct to run. But he was certain if he did, he'd lose a foot. Or something worse. He had to convince this guy that he was on his side. He had to get him to relax!

When Nial ran into the wall, Dorian stopped, the tip of that blade just an inch from his chin.

"Well?" he hissed.

Nial swallowed, his eyes on that blade.

This man was crazy. Certifiably insane. But insane people made mistakes. He just had to wait until the guy was distracted.

"I'll… I'll c-come with you. Of course I will," he said slowly, trying to sound soothing. "I just… I need to get into that room." He pointed warily to his right, then started sliding along the wall, keeping his eyes on the blade. "I'll get some clothes and my wallet." And his phone. His phone that was charging on the floor next to the bed. If he could just keep the bed between himself and Dorian, Dorian wouldn't see it laying on the floor. "It'll only take a minute."

As he reached the doorway, he kept his eyes on the sword as he slipped inside, then turned and ran across the room to get his backpack and dump out all his books and folders from school. Then, to make a good show of it, he darted over to the crates he'd stacked like drawers to grab a few clothes and his wallet that was sitting on the top.

Then he turned to run around the bed… but Dorian was standing in the doorway, at the foot of the bed, and he'd see if Nial leaned down…

Except he was scanning the room, a distinct sneer on his face.

As Nial hurried to the other side of the bed and grabbed his pillow and hoodie that were on it, he glanced around the room and tried to see what Dorian was seeing…

A thin mattress on a torn base. Plastic crates for drawers. A lamp with no shade so it was just a bare bulb in a stand that leaned and would never stand up straight. Thin blankets and a stained quilt… All the things Nial had collected over the years from foster parents and secondhand stores.

When he turned seventeen last summer he'd finally been allowed to get his own place—which was this little basement in the bottom of an old lady's house. The lady's name was Myrtle, but she only spoke to Nial when rent was due. Otherwise she left him completely alone. Which was how he liked it.

The only thing of value in this whole place was his computer and phone. He'd been given the phone by his last foster parents. And the computer was a present from one of those charities that provided for orphans. It was the only thing here that he really cared about and Dorian had just destroyed it.

Despair and rage tangled together in his chest.

"What a dump," Dorian said, his nose wrinkled with disgust.

Nial bristled at the same time a pang of shame rocked through him. "Some of us don't steal to fund our lifestyles," he muttered, taking the opportunity presented by Dorian's apparent distraction with the cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling to reach quickly down to where the phone charger was plugged into the wall. He coughed to cover the sound of pulling the plug out of the wall, then slipped the phone and cord into the pillowcase and hugged it against his stomach, praying Dorian wouldn't see the lumps when he turned back to Nial, frowning.

But Nial just pulled the backpack over his shoulder and hugged the pillow to his chest. "Okay, I'm ready."

Dorian's face was blank, but he didn't move.

Nial took a couple more steps towards him. "I said I'm ready." 

"Are you, though?" Dorian drawled. He'd dropped the tip of the sword to the floor and now he leaned on the hilt like it was a walking stick, his head tilted to the side as he stared at Nial.

Nial frowned. "I mean… yes? Is there something else you wanted me to get? You said just clothes. I mean, the pillow isn't a big deal, is it?"

Dorian's gaze went flat as he started towards Nial, crossing the few feet between the door and the bed in a couple of strides, his eyes flashing.

"I believe I was very clear."

"You were. I don't understand—"

"I said, no devices, Nial. Specifically, no phones."

"I don't have a ph—"

When Dorian rolled his eyes, Nial saw his chance. Letting the bag drop, he darted for the door with the pillow still clutched to his chest.

But he hadn't gone two steps before he heard a muttered curse, then everything went black.