Beneath the Surface
1007 Words
Pain. It came first, before thought, before awareness. A slow, deep ache that pulsed behind Adrian’s eyes, spreading through his skull like fire. It anchored him to the present, to the weight of his own body, to the cold pressing against his skin.
His fingers twitched, but something bit into his wrists, Metal and Restraints.
Awareness returned in fragmented pieces. The scent of damp concrete. The faint hum of electricity. The flickering of a single overhead light casting jagged shadows along the walls.
He is sitting, his ankles bound to the legs of a chair and his hands secured behind him. Where am I?
He took a slow, steady breath through his nose, forcing his pulse to slow, think and focus.
He remembered the warehouse, the conversation, the flickering smirk of the man in the suit “I’m not the one you should be worried about.”
Then—darkness.
Now he is here. Wherever here is.
Adrian forced his eyes open. The light burned at first, but he pushed through the haze, blinking against the sharp sting in his vision.
The room was small, industrial, the kind of place meant to contain, not comfort. Rusted pipes ran along the ceiling, dripping water in uneven intervals. There was no furniture besides the chair he was bound to, no windows, no clear way out, but he wasn’t alone.
A figure sat in the far corner, bathed in the half-light. Watching him.
A slow flick of a lighter. The brief glow of a cigarette ember. Then the scent of burning tobacco curled through the stale air.
Adrian’s jaw tightened. He recognized the man instantly.
"You should've stayed down," the man mused, exhaling smoke lazily into the air.
Adrian didn't flinch. He let the silence stretch, waiting. Let them make the first move.
The man chuckled. “Still playing the quiet game? That won’t get you far in a place like this.”
Adrian tested his restraints subtly, solid, not impossible. His fingers brushed against the cold steel of the chair’s frame, welded, no screws, that means he couldn't break it apart. He’d have to get his hands free first.
The man stood, stretching as if he had all the time in the world “I imagine you have a lot of questions. Lucky for you, I feel generous tonight.”
Adrian's voice was hoarse, but steady “Where’s Elena?”
The man tilted his head, amusement flickering across his sharp features “Ah. There it is. The first c***k in the armor.”
Adrian's expression didn't change, but his muscles coiled with tension.
The man took a slow step forward, exhaling another stream of smoke “You really don’t see it, do you?”
Adrian’s eyes darkened “See what?”
A smirk. A knowing smirk. One that sent a slow, cold sensation crawling up Adrian’s spine “That she’s never been a bystander in this.”
Adrian didn’t react. He didn’t trust himself to.
It was a lie. It had to be.
Elena had no connection to this world. She was a woman trying to escape her past. A woman who had nothing to do with the sins of his father.
But doubt—it was a dangerous thing. And this man knew exactly how to plant it.
"You think you're protecting her," the man continued, voice almost amused "But tell me, Adrian—has she ever told you the full truth?"
Adrian clenched his jaw “I don’t play mind games.”
“Oh, but you’re already in one.” The man dropped the cigarette, crushing it beneath his heel before meeting Adrian’s gaze again “And you’re losing.”
The words landed like a blow. Not because Adrian believed him. But because he knew this was a tactic meant to destabilize him, And it is working.
Flashback – The First Time Adrian Noticed Elena
It had been a passing moment. A flicker of something beneath her carefully guarded exterior.
Adrian had been sitting in his office, listening to Elena present her marketing strategy, her confidence sharp, unwavering. But then—a hesitation. A brief flicker of discomfort when he’d pressed too close, Most people wouldn’t have noticed it but Adrian had.
There had been something haunted in her eyes, something distant beneath her polished composure.
At the time, he had dismissed it, not his business, not his concern.
But now, as he sat in this darkened room, bound to a chair, listening to a man speak about secrets and hidden truths—the memory came rushing back with an unsettling weight.
Had he missed something? Or worse—had he ignored something he shouldn't have?
Present – The Interrogation Continues
The man watched him carefully, his smirk never fading. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” he murmured. “All those little moments. The things that didn’t add up.”
Adrian forced himself to breathe evenly. He is not going to break, Not here, Not now.
The man sighed, stepping back into the shadows “You’ll figure it out eventually,” he said, almost lazily “But for now…” A signal.
Adrian tensed.
Then—a fist crashed into his ribs.
Pain cracked through his side, radiating outward. Another hit. Then another.
His vision blurred. His pulse roared in his ears.
The last thing he heard before everything went black was a whisper—soft, chilling, and laced with amusement.
“The next time we meet, Adrian… you might finally understand who the real enemy is.” Then, the world faded.
A room, dimly lit. The soft hum of a projector, Footage playing in silence.
Adrian Blackwood, slumped in a chair. Unconsciouslly and Bleeding.
The man from the warehouse standing over him.
A shadowed figure leaned back in their chair, watching. Their fingers tapped against the armrest in slow, deliberate rhythm.
A soft inhale, A sigh "He still doesn’t see it." A pause. A flicker of amusement.
"But he will." The screen flickered, then went dark.
- Writer
