The handcuffs felt tighter every time I was caught, which was at least twice a week. The disdainful glances more piercing, and the punishment more brutal. I was led through the market will thick chains, clanging together with every forced step I took. Two pawns guarded me with slick whips in their hands, lashing me at whenever they deemed fit. Blood sipped out of the multiple breaks in my skin, making pain momentarily overcome shame.
From a distance away I caught sight of the torture rack, conveniently located at the center of the market, allowing all and sundry to watch me wail. I scoffed. Except the had gotten new methods, nothing they did could evoke much of a reaction from me. A wooden table was set by the rack, holding all the equipments my reprimanding had called for. Knuckles, whips, pliers, hammers and lighters. I heaved a sigh, nothing was new.
Whispers of gossips filled the corridors of chess pieces as I walked through, about me no doubt. I had become as infamous as the devil himself, feared by even those who hated me. The objects of all scorn. A hard faced pawn broke the crowd, taking brisk steps towards me, murderous glee overflowing from his eyes. He grabbed by the collar of the dregs I wore, strapping me to the rack like some condemned lamb.
He grinned. "caught again I see, don't worry I'll be gentle". His cracked voice was unsettling, but I had seen worse. He grabbed the hammer by its handle and swung it against my outstretched hand. My knuckles shifted without resistance, burying themselves into my flesh. I gritted my teeth, sweat breaking out of my forehead.
The pounding went on until those spots became depressions. My heavy breaths gave the heart faced pawn joy. Every look of pain or act of discomfort was reason for him to keep going. He worked his way up, from my hand to my wrist, up to the elbows, then the shoulder, granting me a useless limb. The scream in my lips almost escaped, a weak gag replacing it instead.
My arm twitched, losing connection with the rest of my body. All this for stealing a bar of soap. Among the crowd some cheered, some looked away, some stood with neutral expressions, and some minded their business, sticking to the actual reason they came. The pawn shook his head, he wasn't happy with this method of torture anymore.
He took the lighter and torched the head of the hammer until its shown angry red. He snorted and slammed it at my neck, burning into it. wisps of smoke rose from the impacted skin, making me clench my left fist and babies to cry. I rolled from side to side violently, trying to shake off his scorching stamp. My actions were futile in achieving that, but a simple voice wasn't.
"Stop". It wasn't loud, but strangely echoed. The voice reeked of paralyzing superiority, causing the crowd to grow cold. Even the hard faced pawn shivered, much to my delight. The voice belong to the carter, a knight known for his lethality. He had jurisdiction over this area, his sovereignty extending almost thirty miles west from here. It was an honor for him to personally appear to halt the inhumane treatment I was receiving.
The pawn removed the hammer from my neck without hesitation, falling on his knee in salute to the figure yet arrived. Even still, his aura was chilling, almost causing me frostbite, as if I hadn't had enough. The moment he surfaced the air went flat, oxygen fleeing from the premises. The crying babies went quiet and the people back away.
"I have better plans for him, much worse than being a public punching bag" I smiled sheepishly, wondering what goods had been prepared for me. The pawn grunted and unstrapped me, letting me fall to the ground sapped of strength. Like a piece of unwanted article, I was passed from guard to guard. Switching from the patrol unit to the carter's lackies.
The knight turned to me. "Don't worry, I wouldn't be so cruel to let you walk, I have a special ride for you". For a knight who was so revered, he surr talked a lot. A violation of the macho guy code; action speak, words don't.
***
The helicopter blades wired, spinning with a tut-tut sound. I, as well as twelve other pawns sat in it, as the pilot drove towards the horizon. In no time we would be out of the he citadel, and into the desert that shared its boundaries. From miles away, the heat already welcomed us. I had been in the desert once, so I wasn't ignorant to the horrors it nested. From desert beast to the laying-in-wait white chess pieces, we would be dead before landing.
Some of them knew it too. I could even see one scribbling on a piece of paper, writing his will. I would have done so too, but for two reasons. I had nothing to leave behind, and no one to leave it for. My sister would have been a viable option, but for the fact that she wanted nothing to do with me. I swallowed hard, pushing the tears that had comforted me for so many years, back in.
With minutes before my glorified punishment, I decided I might as well got to know them, with the one question all criminals started with 'what did you do to get in?'. I turned to the pawn next to me, observing his features. He was a kind of piece one would meet at any alley. Crooked, narrow eyes, unkept facial hair and the smell of alcohol on his breath. I instantly lost interest. I would have to keep silence completely until we arrived.
***
We dropped in the desert, just outside the walls of Jericho, at a zinc shed. A few other pawns were gathered there, likely offenders brought to pay for their crimes. The atmosphere was solemn, everyone sparing fleeting glances at each other. Desperation etched in their eyes. I chuckled.
Oddly, this shed had no torture racks or pliers, but a more civilized setting. wooden chairs were disorganized at the back, and a map of the desert drawn on a whiteboard in the front. There was nothing else that stood out as a major feature. 'Apart from the ants heels and poor ventilation'. Still, this was luxury I couldn't afford back at the citadel. Another chuckle escaped my lips.
The two pawns that had escorted the carter came in, arranging the chairs with clinical precision. Without a side glance or a single word, they filed out again, returning to their positions around the perimeter. I took the initiative, leading the others to sit down. For the ones who knew me, they wouldn't dare sit without the permission of their patron Saint. My thin smile turned into a sheepish grin, not because of the self-proclaimed authority, but because I had stolen the wallet of the pawn two chess pieces to my left. My expertise was humbling.
Just as I put the wallet into my torn pocket, placing it against the edges where flaps of fabric still remained, a chess piece walked in. He was a pawn but already on the part of evolution, just like I was. He held a gentle and composed aura, something better belonged to a lecturer in a classroom.
"Everyone of you here is here for either of two reasons, you are a criminal in need of punishment". He paused then stared at me. "or someone who pissed off the wrong chess pieces, either way you'll serve all the same". His second stanza perfectly mirrored the authoritarian rule of the black citadel. Exactly why I would be disfigured for stealing soap. Fortunately my body had developed some kind of alien flexibility, allowing me to recalibrate my bones without much effort. This was truly the case when I found my hand pinned to my back, rotating anticlockwise. The pawn sitting behind me had been quite alert and caught my arm the second it moved towards his pocket.
I twitched slightly, yanking my hand out of his grip. The gentle pawn continued. "Standing on the existing protocol, you would have been sent to take a day off on the torture rack, but more pressing matters had called for change... the white chest pieces have won every major battle in the last decade, and are close to willing one more, and unfortunately, the manpower of the formal military isn't enough". He fell into silence, allowing our thoughts to fill in the gaps. This was a punishment more cruel than death, they had really out done themselves this time.
"To the general public it's a voluntary enlisting, but for you, a forced conscription... any questions?". Obviously there was none. He smiled. "we move in two days".
***
"You smoke?". I turned to the outstretched hand, a cigarette in his palm. I shook my head. since a small age, I had abstained from cigarettes and alcohol... which seemed only natural. And I wasn't going to start now, especially at this point when I needed my brain to be sharp and clinical. He shrugged.
We were scattered into groups across the desert sand, like- feathers pairing up into small groups of three or four, gathering around weak fires. Of course not all groups were of like minds. If the selection had been full proof, I would have been with kindergarteners and sock puppet entertainers, not pieces generously donating cigarettes. Another minus was that none of us were enthusiastic enough to set a fire. So the biting cold hit us the most. And with the quality of my clothes, I felt almost completely naked.
To saliciate our consciences, we were giving hollow point glocks. But only fools among us would find solace in possessing such. They were made, structured to be unable to penetrate the armor of the pawns guarding us, let alone the shell of some abominable creature. I would feel safer with a cooking knife.
I groaned. "The mood here is too dismal, let's get to know each other". The pawn at my right nodded, sitting upright, and assuming a wistful look. A much expected melancholy resting on his apprehensive eyes. 'Is he going to sing a song?'. I would never be sad about my beginning, my stories would start with a smile and end with a grin.
"It all bega...". I yawned loudly with exaggerated gestures, cutting the pawn off as soon as he has started. I wanted a brief about his crimes, not his autobiography. He stared at me displeased, but he knew better than to annoy the Saint of thieves, so he stay put and cursed under his breath. I could escape this confines anytime I wished, save for the fact that the carter was in close perimeters. A disheartened inmate wasn't going to give me too much trouble. 'unless he carried pliers'.
"What about you cigarettes?, any tale to tell?". He blew out an affirming puff. I scowled slightly. "I worked with hostages, got my pay and let them quit their jobs... enough of a résumé for you?". My scowl turned to a bright smile.
I just loved the way he summarized his respectable profession. I almost felt tempted to accept his earlier offer. But my first year in middle school was deterrence. Lung cancer was just a frightening as the guillotine.
***
My eyes widened, fear forcing sleep out of me in an instant. Beyond the dune I rested on, the ground tremored and bullets fired. I wanted to believe it was a weird past time activity. But why in the middle of the night?.
The scream that followed cleared all doubt, we were under attack...