INT. DARK BASEMENT - NIGHT 1
The silence in the basement stretched, thick with unease after the unseen voice's chilling declaration. Emily's breath hitched, and Abigail's pale face seemed to lose even more color. Harry, who was still groaning on the floor near where he'd awoken, looked around with renewed fear in his eyes. From the corner, the sound of chains rattled softly, a grim punctuation to the stranger's words, "You in hell, Abby... we all in hell."
Abigail gasped, her breathing becoming rapid as she pulls her thin pajamas tighter around herself.
Abigail: H-hell? We're in hell?
"N-not literal hell. Just... feels like it sometimes.... We in a basement." A beat of silence followed.
Harry: A basement? (He asked, his voice still shaky but laced with a sliver of relief.) Why are we in a basement?
"To feed the reaper," the voice replied simply, sending a fresh wave of fear through Emily, Abigail, and Harry.
Abigail: What… what do you mean? (She whispered, her gaze fixed on the unseen speaker in the shadows.)
Emily, her brow furrowed with concern, looked from Abigail to the darkened corner. "He's been like that since I woke up," she explained softly. "Just… saying things."
Abigail found her voice, her tone barely a whisper. "What… what happened to us? Where were we… before this?"
Emily nodded, echoing the question. "Yes… I was… I was just getting ready for bed. Turning off the lights in my room…"
Harry pushed himself into a sitting position, clutching his head. "I was… walking. Down the street. Just after visiting someone in the hospital." He shuddered, his gaze flicking nervously towards the dark staircase.
The figure in the corner remained shrouded in shadow. After a long moment, the voice, laced with a haunting resignation, spoke again. "Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter where you were. You're here now. I'd say you all should try to escape but... It's pointless." A faint stirring could be seen in the darkness, and Emily's eyes caught a fleeting glimpse of dirty hair, the color a strange mix of light blue and cyan, before it vanished again into the gloom.
Emily: What about you? (She asked the corner, her curiosity overriding her fear slightly.) How did you… how did you end up here?
A dry, humorless chuckle echoed from the shadows. "I wish I could remember. I've been here for a long... LONG time." The voice was raspy, weary. "Heh. Don't even remember my own name."
A renewed sense of urgency filled Harry. He looked around the dimly lit space, his eyes landing on the only visible way in or out: a rickety wooden staircase leading upwards, a closed door at the top barely visible in the gloom filtering from unseen cracks above.
Harry: There! That has to be it! (He exclaimed, scrambling to his feet, his earlier fear momentarily forgotten in a surge of hope.)
Abigail reached out a hand.
Abigail: Tch, Wait! We don't know what's up there! (She echoed her concern, stepping forward to try and stop him.)
From the corner, the chained figure shifted his position, the clatter of metal echoing through the basement. "I wouldn't go up there if I were you," the voice warned, a note of grim certainty in its tone. "Especially on your first night here."
Ignoring their pleas and the stranger's warning, Harry stumbled towards the staircase, his footsteps heavy on the creaking wood. He reached the top, his hand hovering over the worn doorknob. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before gripping it and twisting. A distinct click echoed from the other side of the door, and it swung inwards with a groan, revealing a sliver of inky blackness beyond. Harry's eyes widened in shock at what he saw.
Suddenly, Harry was hurtling backwards, flying down the stairs with a strangled cry. He slammed into the opposite wall with a sickening thud, before collapsing onto the hard ground, a pained grunt escaping his lips.
Down below, Emily and Abigail watched in horror, their hands flying to their mouths. From the top of the stairs, the distinct squeak of old wood announced approaching footsteps. "You two should get back," the voice from the corner hissed urgently. "Back where you woke up."
Emily and Abigail scrambled back to their original spots, their eyes fixed on the top of the staircase, their hearts pounding. The footsteps descended slowly, deliberately, until a figure emerged into the dim light.
He was lean and gaunt, his skin unnaturally pale, almost translucent. He wore a slim-fitting long-sleeved white shirt that was tucked into baggy black cargo pants, and black gloves covered his hands. His long, white hair was styled in a downward flow that ended in sharp spikes, and his cloudy, dim blue eyes scanned the small group, lingering for a moment on the still figure of Harry.
"Ooh... My apologies," the man said, his voice soft, almost gentle, as he looked down at Harry, who was struggling to push himself onto his knees. He then turned his attention to the others, a small, almost polite smile gracing his lips. "Abigail, Emily, Harry. Welcome to my humble abode." He greeted each of them by name, his gaze unsettlingly knowing.
Abigail stared at him, her fear battling with a desperate need for answers. "Who are you?" she finally managed to ask, her voice trembling.
The man's smile widened slightly, a strange glint in his pale eyes. "My name is Oliver Hails," he said softly. "And I've been very, VERY interested in each of you." His gaze swept over Abigail, then Emily, and finally Harry. "Such… good traits you possess. Abigail's beauty, Emily's kindness, Harry's will." He paused, his gaze returning to each of them in turn, a strange intensity in his cloudy blue eyes. "But most intriguing of all," he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "is what's inside. The one thing no one but myself can truly see."
Oliver's gaze lingered on Abigail, his cloudy blue eyes widening slightly as he took a slow, deliberate sniff of the air, his head tilting almost imperceptibly to the side. A faint, pleased expression flickered across his pale face. He took a tentative step closer to her, his gloved hand reaching out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if savoring the moment. His fingers brushed against her arm gently, then traced the delicate line of her collarbone, his eyes locked intently with hers, a strange, unsettling tenderness in his gaze.
Harry, witnessing Oliver's unnerving attention towards Abigail, his initial fear boiling over into protective rage, pushed himself to his feet with a grunt of effort. Ignoring the lingering dizziness, he lunged towards Oliver, his fists clenched.
Harry: Get away from her! (He roared, throwing a wild punch.)
Oliver's movements were surprisingly swift. He turned his head sharply at the sound of Harry's charge, his cloudy blue eyes momentarily widening before narrowing into a focused intensity. As Harry's fist swung towards him, Oliver effortlessly sidestepped, his movements almost fluid, and in the same motion, he placed a pale, gloved palm firmly against the side of Harry's neck, just below his ear.
A visible shudder ran through Harry's body. Thin, black veins began to spread like inkblots across his skin, radiating outwards from the point where Oliver's palm made contact. Harry gasped, his face contorting in confusion and pain as the color slowly drained from his complexion, his skin turning a sickly, ashen hue. His eyes, wide with terror, gradually faded from their natural brown to a dull, lifeless grey. Meanwhile, Oliver's cloudy blue irises seemed to recede, replaced by a stark, pitch-black void that swallowed all light.
After a few agonizing seconds, Oliver abruptly released Harry, who stumbled forward a step before collapsing onto his hands and knees, gasping for air, his chest heaving. He looked around with bewildered, grey eyes, clearly disoriented and weakened.
Emily and Abigail stared at Harry, then at Oliver, their faces etched with a mixture of terror and utter confusion. The scene defied any logical explanation. Emily's eyes widened in dawning realization, her breath catching in her throat. 'He's… he's a mutant. That's the only explanation.'
Oliver, his gaze briefly lingering on Harry's weakened form, a subtle flush returning to his own pallid complexion, seemed to straighten slightly, appearing a touch more… vibrant than before. He cracked his neck with a faint pop, a small, satisfied sigh escaping his lips. He then turned his attention back to Emily and Abigail, offering a polite, almost absentminded smile.
Olivee: Well, (he said softly, his tone almost conversational,) it's been… enlightening. But alas, I have other… arrangements to attend to... SO, make yourselves at home.
With a final, lingering glance at Abigail, a hint of something akin to longing in his cloudy blue eyes, Oliver turned and gracefully ascended the rickety wooden staircase, his footsteps silent as he disappeared through the doorway above, leaving Emily, Abigail, and the soul-drained Harry in the oppressive silence of the basement.
Abigail stood frozen, her mouth slightly agape as she pointed a trembling finger towards the now-closed door at the top of the stairs. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of disbelief and terror, flickered back to Emily and Harry.
Abigail: H-he's… he's a… m-mutant.
Emily, her initial shock beginning to subside, walked cautiously towards Harry. She knelt beside him, placing a comforting hand on his trembling arm.
Emily: Harry? Are you alright? What… what did he do to you?
From the corner, a dry, cynical voice echoed, the sound of chains a subtle undertone.
Corner Voice: What you did was really stupid, Harry.
Emily gently helped Harry into a sitting position against the cold, damp wall. His breathing was shallow, and his skin still had an unnatural pallor. His eyes, though now focused, held a vacant quality.
Harry: (His voice was weak and raspy. He looks at Emily.) I… I don't know… It felt… cold. Like… like my insides were being… pulled out of me.
Abigail began to pace frantically in the limited space, her steps echoing on the concrete floor.
Abigail: Oh my god, oh my god… We're going to die here. We're really going to die.
Corner Voice: (A soft, almost amused chuckle.) Well, aren't you a perceptive one? Yes, little bird. You are going to die here. Sooner or later.
Abigail stopped pacing, her eyes wide with fresh terror as she looked towards the unseen figure.
Abigail: Stop it! Stop saying that! You're not helping!
Emily, her patience finally snapping, stood up abruptly, her voice rising above the fear and panic.
Emily: Everyone! Just… shut up! (Her sudden outburst silenced the frantic whispers and the cynical comments.) We need to figure out a way out of this. We can't just sit here and wait to… to be fed to this… Oliver. There has to be something we can use. Look around. Is there anything at all? Anything we can use as a weapon?
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Harry's shallow breaths. Abigail, though still visibly shaken, stopped pacing and her gaze began to scan the dimly lit basement. Emily also started to examine their surroundings more closely, her fingers brushing against the cold, damp concrete walls. Harry, still weak, slowly turned his head, his grey eyes taking in the oppressive gloom.
From the corner, a soft laugh drifted through the darkness.
Corner Voice: You really shouldn't be trying anything on your first night, little lamb. Oliver is not stupid. Trust me on that one. He has… preparations. Traps. And he's just waiting for one of you to try and be a hero.
They all stopped their tentative searching, their attention drawn to the voice in the corner. They listened carefully, a new wave of fear washing over them as the stranger continued.
Corner Voice: Whatever you find down here, whatever looks like it might be useful… was intentionally left there. A little game of his. To bait you in. To give you hope that you can see the light of day again. Just so he can get what he truly wants from you all.
Abigail, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes wide with terror, asked the question that hung heavy in the air.
Abigail: What… what does he want?
A chilling silence descended upon the basement before the voice from the shadows replied, its tone flat and devoid of emotion.
Corner Voice: Your souls...