Checking his watch for the third time, he shivered. Not from the torrential rain, but from fear. Though he looked calm from a distance, if one looked closely, they would ever - so notice his shaking hands or legs. His knees were slightly buckled, as if struggling to bear the weight of the pressure from above.
Crete was at heart, a tame young man. He didn't stand on the delinquent end of the spectrum, nor the end which housed the worms, he like most his age, stood somewhere in the middle. Though if he were to survive from today onwards, that would have to change, fast.
"Why is it not here already?" he muttered, his teeth clashing against one another. If it were not for the rain that drowned out the sound, he might've sounded like he was ill. The bus was scheduled to come every 10 minutes, decent service if he was to say so himself, but today those ten minutes felt much, much longer.
The burden of each passing second became heavier and heavier, at one point he could faintly taste metal, probably from his lips he thought. Crete had failed to notice how hard he bit his lips, it could be forgiven though, as more pressing matters plagued his mind. Upon swallowing his own bitter blood, a disgruntled stomach let out a roar, reminding him of his hunger. That would have to wait.
There were far bigger problems to deal with.
...
An eternity later, the beetle - like headlights of the bus came into view. Relief washed over him for a second, but this was quickly washed away when he realized the brevity of the situation.
This was no time to be lax he echoed silently, as if trying to etch the thought into his skull, mind and soul. A single slip - up and it would be over for him. Too many times had he heard how the 'lost' had gotten caught in their attempts to run away from the law and the association.
Stupid.
That's what Crete remembered thinking at the time, not only that, but he wasn't surprised, after - all they were criminals, heretics even, that had lost their mind and humanity in the pursuit of power and greed. He even felt safe, reassured too perhaps, at how bravely, no, heroically the association and it's members had to put their lives on the line constantly in the face of such lunatics.
Today however, he felt far from safe.
Putting his head down, he stepped on the bus, the subsequent squelch from his boots shaking him out of his stupor. He dropped coins on the small counter by the driver's barrier, almost nonchalantly, as if unaware of the fact that cash payment was near - extinct.
The driver frowned, but nonetheless counted the coins quickly and took them in without issue. It was at that moment however, he noticed something that made him freeze.
Chills ran down his spine.
The sound of the closing doors behind him solidified Crete's grim reality. He took some steps forward, noticing that the bus was relatively empty on the ground floor. An elderly woman sat near the front, gazing at the rain with a tranquil look in her eyes. A large man in a black suit sat far behind her, at the back of the bus, his soaking bangs covering his eyes.
Glancing at the stairs, Crete forced himself to move forward. He forced himself to ignore what he saw in that split second when the driver took the money.
Just like his own hands, they were shaking.
The driver knew. The bus was a trap. No wonder it took so long.
Such thoughts bombarded his very being.
He could do nothing at this point, only move on without pissing his pants on the spot.
Arriving on the upper deck, he saw that it was completely empty, reminding him of how alone he was. He was grateful, it seemed like the association would rally their forces on the lower deck, far out of his sight. It would at least give him a few seconds. Precious seconds.
Upon taking his seat by a deserted window, he heard the sounds of footsteps coming from below. Apparently, it was time. The association had probably not overlooked most things, they weren't sloppy, after - all they were trained, trained to take lives of 'criminals' like himself, away. Today however, they had failed to consider one thing.
As the deafening sound of boots from downstairs became increasingly thunderous, he pulled a syringe out from his inner coat pocket, the translucent liquid shimmering from the ceiling lights of the bus. It seemed that the bus hadn't moved an inch; he was right in his guess then, thought Crete, a slight smile appearing on his face, seemingly disregarding how unfortunate he was.
The fear that had previously gripped him was gone, now replaced by a newfound courage, burning hotter and hotter as the seconds flew by. Hastily, Crete pulled one of his sleeves up, exposing his left arm, and waited. He waited for the right time, the right moment, to do what he was going to do.
Suicidal, that's what it was. But did he have any other choice? He wasn't readily going to bend over for the world to obliterate him, no, he would at least die standing, or die sitting for that matter.
It was at that moment when the stairs bustled with activity.
It was now or nothing.
As the encroaching silhouette appeared from the corner of his eyes, he gripped the syringe tighter, wished that he would reincarnate upon death, and then finally, jammed the needle into his arm.
And then, darkness.