Elijah Schwarzenger Rises To Power

0002

The sharp screech of tires shattered the tense silence outside Futuriux Police Headquarters. A dusty Toyota police van jerked to a stop, kicking up gravel and smoke before its back doors swung open.

Elijah was yanked out like garbage. His face was bruised, his shirt clung to his back with sweat and blood, and one of his slippers had gone missing somewhere along the rough ride. The guards held him roughly on both sides, dragging his weakened frame across the yard toward the station doors.

Inside the police station, the bright lights illuminated the room, and the ceiling fan spun slowly, like a lazy predator watching its prey. Behind the station counter sat two officers—one male, half-asleep and stirring coffee with a Bic pen cap, and a woman who chewed gum as if it owed her money.

Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of Elijah’s dishevelled figure, and then she grinned.

“Officer,” she said to the guard who walked in first, “don’t tell me you’ve arrested a madman this time.”

The two guards burst out laughing, ignoring Elijah’s groan of pain as they flung him into a wooden chair. It creaked under his weight, its jagged armrest stabbing into his lower back.

“Ah!” Elijah winced, trying to adjust himself. “That hurts…”

The male officer chuckled in surprise. “Oh? He speaks! He’s not mad—just dramatic.”

“Of course, he’s not mad,” one of the guards replied, his voice thick with scorn. “He’s just a local clown who got cheated on by his dream girl and couldn’t handle it.”

It then occurred to Elijah that the guards knew Ruthila had falsely accused him since they were aware he had taken her mother to the hospital, but they just wanted to be on Benjamin's good side thereby revelling in his misery.

“Hah. That’s disappointing.” The female officer stood up and crossed the counter with a playful sneer. “We women are like that sometimes. A little lie here, a little cheating there—it’s all part of the fun.”

She leaned in too close. Her breath reeked of stale tobacco and cheap perfume. Elijah flinched and turned his head slightly, disgusted by the thick scent. He wanted to say something, maybe ask her to consider a mint or mouthwash but he held his tongue.

“Well, that’s not all,” the guard beside him said, clearly enjoying himself. “This idiot thought he could share a woman with Benjamin Warren. That’s not just stupidity—that’s greed.”

“Ruthila Kerr, the prettiest actress and most sought-after model in the country at that,” added the second guard with mock reverence. “That woman’s practically a trophy in Warren’s world. And this fool thought he had a chance.”

The female officer's amusement faded into pity and then contempt. “Tsk, Tsk. I almost felt sorry for you. Turns out you’re just a greedy little optimist.”

She reached out casually and ruffled Elijah’s hair as if she were petting a stray dog.

Elijah tensed. His voice cracked with urgency. “I’m not greedy and y'all should know that. Ruthila is my...” He suddenly paused, trying hard to keep the tears from filling his eyes. "She was my fiancée. We had a small engagement at the registry. Look!”

He held up his left hand, revealing the faint gleam of a silver ring on his finger.

The female officer’s eyes narrowed. “Put your hand down, gentleman. Let me be clear, I don’t like repeating myself.”

“I swear, I’m not lying! Please just... look at my finger! The ring...” He didn’t finish before a loud SMACK echoed through the station as her hand lashed across his face. His head snapped to the side as the sting of her slap burned into his cheek, but what hurt worse was the smirk curling on her lips as she walked back to the counter.

The slap continued to echo through the room like a whip crack. Elijah's head snapped sideways again, his lips trembling as the sting blossomed across his cheek.

“Next time,” the female officer hissed, “learn when to shut up.”

Elijah blinked through the tears forming in his eyes. For a moment, he silently wished the tears would gush out like a tsunami, but he immediately shook his head, trying to hold them back. He didn’t want to cry like a child in front of the strangers who already saw him as dirt.

“Take him to holding. A year with the old butler should be enough to teach him how to behave around influential people,” the male officer said, already looking past him as if he were yesterday’s trash.

One of the guards yanked him up by the collar. “Time to meet your new family, Romeo.”

Elijah's mind wandered as they marched him down a dim corridor. He wondered who the old butler could be and how he could make his life worse during his stay in prison. Every footstep on the concrete floor heightened Elijah's fear, and the foul odor of sweat, urine, and stale cement clung to everything.

A thick metal door opened with a shuddering groan. Inside, flickering fluorescent lights revealed a cramped holding cell packed with men. Some were asleep, some stared blankly, and others immediately turned their heads to size up Elijah.

Elijah swallowed hard, frantically looking away from their scornful gazes. The looks on each of their faces made it easy to recognize the weight of the crimes that had brought them there.

“Welcome to HQ,” the guard interrupted Elijah's thoughts before shoving him into the cell.

Elijah's heartbeat quickened as the door clanged shut behind him. The room was silent and exuded a sense of horror; the air surrounding him crushed his resolve.

For a few minutes, there was silence until suddenly, the taunts began.

“Fresh meat.”

“He looks really soft.”

“Aww, he even brought tears.”

The taunts came from all corners of the room, each haunting Elijah more than the last.

Slowly, step by step, Elijah backed up until he hit a wall, his hands trembling uncontrollably. He lowered himself onto a worn-out bench and raised his head, only to see a bald, heavily tattooed older man approaching with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

The man's only sign of age was his dependence on a walking stick; his muscular build still resembled that of a bodyguard in his prime.

“You new?” he asked as he reached Elijah, his voice unnervingly calm.

Elijah nodded hesitantly, making the man smile wider, noting his innocence. "Rule one: Don’t touch what’s not yours.” He gestured at the bench Elijah had just sat on. “That’s my throne.”

Elijah quickly stood up. “Sorry... I didn’t know,” he apologized, rubbing his palms together and piecing together that this man was likely the old butler the officers had mentioned.

A laugh rippled through the cell and broke Elijah out of his thoughts. The man stepped closer, his nose almost touching Elijah’s. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn along the way. But you should have noticed that everyone else is sitting on the floor. You’re nothing different from them or... are you royalty?"

"No, I'm not," Elijah sniffed repeatedly, silently hoping the man wouldn’t do something horrible to him at that moment.

A scrawny inmate chimed in from the side, “He’s not gonna last one night.”

Another wave of laughter reverberated through the cell, crushing Elijah's heart further as he swallowed hard. "This isn’t happening; this can’t be real. Even though I grew up on the streets, I never committed any offence to deserve being thrown in prison. I’m here for something I was wrongly accused of. I don’t know how or when, but Ruthila, you’re not getting away with this."

He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Ruthila's face—how she had once held his hand as they strolled through the streets, smiling and making promises while enjoying the night breeze of the silent streets. Then he remembered how she had stepped aside, cold and silent, as he was dragged away.

He opened his eyes and sighed with relief, seeing that the old man had gone to sit on the bench while, slowly and discreetly, he lowered himself onto the floor, the chilled concrete seeping into his skin.

One of the older inmates pointed at him. “You were crying over a girl, huh?”

Elijah swallowed hard, wondering how the inmate knew. He simply stared at him without answering.

The inmate sniffed and chuckled, visibly annoyed that Elijah didn’t reply. Then, he lashed out, "You’re in hell now, lover boy. And she isn’t coming to save you."

Elijah nodded as tears welled up in his eyes again. The inmate was absolutely right. No one was coming to save him, and he would probably rot in prison. His mother—his only relative—had died three years ago when he had risked her inhaler's money to fund Ruthila's post-college graduation party. The party that Ruthila had prevented him from attending due to his shabby appearance.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I swear I didn't know it would cost me your life! I had plans to buy your inhaler the next day. Please save me, Mother," Elijah silently whispered to himself as tears slowly dropped onto the bare floor.

The lights flickered again. A guard walked past the cell window without looking inside, causing the noise to fade. Elijah turned to see the old bald man still sitting on his bench, staring at him and refusing to break eye contact.

Feeling uncomfortable, Elijah moved to the farthest corner, curling up with his arms crossed. His body ached. He could hear a rat scratching somewhere behind the wall and someone whispering nearby, too low for him to catch.

"Are you... talking to me?" He mustered the courage to reply to the voice.

"I said don’t think too highly of yourself. You’re not one of us yet," the person retorted harshly as if forced to respond.

Then, a calm voice from the bald man said, "Tomorrow, you will undergo full initiation and rituals. You will learn about the old butler and his mission. After that, you can be regarded as one of us. Am I clear?"

"Yes..." Elijah stuttered, his mind racing with thoughts of what could happen next.