The ShAr

Alina's life had always been like this. Bland. Dull. Hollow. Dot Corp had made sure of that. It affected everything in her life, even her best friend. And Alina hated it. But what if there was a way out? What if there was something that she could do to take a stand? Something stronger than a simple smile, or a kiss on her brother's forehead? Of course, something like this existed, but Alina could never imagine herself being part of it. Sophia had been, and look where that got her. This solution was called The ShAr, short for Shiller's Army. Alina was close to her breaking point, but how far was she willing to go?


4. Chapter Three (mini-chapter)- Taken

Chapter Three (mini-chapter)



It had been a week since Alina had taken Max to the Escape when her recruit happened. It was a rainy, stormy day, and Alina was in a good mood, which was extremely rare. The South Grocery Store where she worked had been shut down temporarily, so Alina didn’t have to go to work. Instead of going home, she slipped into the train station and made her way into the Escape.  There was a shiver in the air that day, but Alina didn’t think anything of it. She just got some paint, pencils, and paper out of her bag and set to work, wanting to give Max something as beautiful as what he gave her. About twenty minutes into painting, a cough made her hand slip, covering Max’s nose in green paint. She swore softly, and then realized that someone had coughed, and that someone wasn’t her. Alina’s head lifted slowly, and then there was black.

It was a blindfold. 

She let out a terrified scream, clawing desperately with both hands, and kicking her attacker with her feet. 

“Calm down,” a male voice grumbled.

“Who are you and what are you doing?!” Alina shouted back. 

“You’ll find out in a few minutes.”

She felt her body being lifted, and her heart sank. She never got to tell Max goodbye. Tears filled her eyes, but the opaque blindfold prevented them from spilling. Alina was thrown over someone’s shoulder, but she didn’t stop fighting. She still had the paintbrush in her hand, so the used the back end of it to stab her attacker. He bent down, her still on his shoulder, and felt him move up again, before crouching down. She just kept poking at him with the paintbrush hoping that he would let her go. Her hand hit something that felt like cement, and she knew it had scraped some skin off. Alina cried out in pain. She bit her lip, trying to press down the feeling, and continued to thrust the paintbrush at him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very sharp, and Alina feared that it was just making him more mad.

He only laughed.

“Let me go!” she screamed, and this time, she noticed her voice echo.

“I should just let you go right now,” he mumbled, and then laughed to himself.

“Why don’t you?” Alina retorted. He didn’t respond. She was bouncing on his shoulder, which kind of hurt, because every time her body went down, his shoulder jabbed into her stomach. It was a slow moving thing, though, she could tell. He wasn’t running. 

Finally, she heard his feet hit something, and his shoulder was pressed even farther into her stomach. She held in another cry of pain. She couldn’t seem weak in front of him. The paintbrush poked him again, but this time, he took it out of her hand.

“Would you stop that? You’ve made both of us so messy!” he exclaimed. Instead of responding, she tried to punch him, aiming for what she hoped was his nose. His hand caught her fist. “Stop it.”

“Not until you tell me who you are and where I am!” her voice rang out. He sighed, and then she was off his shoulder. Her hands went immediately to undo the blindfold, but it was no use. Her fingers just lamely grabbed at the fabric, not succeeding in untangling anything. Alina swore. She heard him laugh behind her, and heard his footsteps come nearer. Waiting for just the right moment, she spun around, extending her arm with lightning speed. This time, her fist really did connect with his face. He shouted, and she heard his footsteps stagger away. 

Alina’s hands were busy once again, trying to lift up the fabric in the front. It was much too tight, and nothing she did would help. Her breathing started to quicken.  She was as good as blind in a place she didn’t know, taken there by an attacker. What was she supposed to do in this situation? 

“Alina Greta Stephens. Welcome to The Headquarters,” a female voice said, and suddenly, her blindfold was lifted. 

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