A single drop of crimson scarred the collar of Ishmyre's freshly dry-cleaned muni-suit. He eyed it in disbelief, his brow twisted like that of a madman. He knew that if any of The Superiors found out that he had so carelessly ruined the only garment he'd been issued, he would have to go back. “I'm not going back in there,” he mumbled to himself. “I'll cut myself down where I stand before I let them put me back in that hole!”
Ishmyre began to panic, his thoughts sloshed around in his head like water in a pitched fish bowl. An intense, paralyzing, fear gripped his heart causing it to fit and start. He took a deep breath and attempted to calm himself. No luck. The terrifying thoughts continued,
'They probably already know! The wash-bots, they've inspected it; they have to know! They've sent the report and The Superiors are on their way! Any minute...' His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the intercom's crackle,
“All Inferiors prepare for mandatory lock down! All deck doors will engage in T-minus 30, 29, 28...”
'****! They've gotten the report; they're coming now!'
The countdown droned on in the background, the monotonous robotic voice ascending and descending in perfect rhythm with Ishmyre's pounding heart. His mouth was as dry as a bone, his cracked lips stung and tasted like iron to his sticky tongue. His almond shaped, hazel eyes darted around the empty concrete room, searching for some hint of salvation. There was nothing to see; a mesh cot and a simple steel folding chair were the only items haunting Ishmyre's humble concrete bunk. His options were few and he needed to act quickly. This was no time to panic.
As he stared blankly at the items available, Ishmyre heard the sound of footsteps on the out-deck. They began as a faint rumble in the distance, growing louder and louder, closer and closer, until his heart began the short journey into his throat. His stomach churned and sunk so low it was as if he could feel it oozing out of his heels.
'Here they are, I'm finished!' His mind squeaked to itself in a frenzied, trembling voice.
The footsteps stopped. Ishmyre heard a heavy fist pounding on the door. He sat there naked, staring blankly at the blood stain on his collar. The countdown reached zero. The hiss of the air lock systems engaging snapped Ishmyre back into reality. His thoughts fell away like the dead leaves of autumns latest romance. He waited, paralyzed by fear and anticipation, until he heard an ear-splitting crash. He turned towards his door, expecting to see agents of The Superiors barreling in any second, but there were none.