Misfits
"Seems like the new girl is waking up. Hey! Welcome to paradise, sweetheart!" one of the guards guffawed, peeking through a small rusted out hole in the shipping container. "She's got a ripe ol' cunt on her."
"Are you crazy, Owens?" another beckoned. "If boss man finds out you've been trying the wares before him, it'll be our fucking heads!"
"Where am I?" the girl asked in a daze, now sitting up. Her flannel was torn, muddied with small touches of blood, jean shorts unbuttoned, nearly hanging off.
"He ain't gonna find out because you ain't gonna open your fucking trap!"
"Hey, what—
"And we're going to hell anyway, ain't we? Might as well have a little fun until then."
"Oh my god, where am I?!"
"This thing is bigger than the both of us, you know that."
"Help! Hello?!"
"Ah, that's right. You're afraid to die. Look at me."
"Back off, man."
"Two ripe ol pussies here today. Lemme feel yours."
"Stop!"
"Somebody! What the fuck is going on?!"
"Uh-oh. Hear that? Showtime." He leaned his rifle against the metal siding, moving to open the doors.
"What are you doing?"
"Best part of the job is when the realization sets in. See, I like to," he slid the latch open, "rip it off like a band-aid."
"Enough. You let her out and—
"And what? We're in the middle of the fucking— oh. Almost spoiled the surprise. Tsk. Can't have that."
"Oh my god. Oh my god," she began to shake, voice quivering. "GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
"See? She wants out. I'm happy to oblige, there, meat." The door slowly swung open, with the other guard begrudgingly resigning to his antics. "C'mon. Don't be shy. We're already well-acquainted, Rhea." A twisted snigger left his lips. She slowly traipsed forward, hand extended, the sunlight blinding.
"Where...? No." Waves could be heard crashing. A few stray seagulls cawed overhead in search of food. Her dire situation soon became clear.
"The open sea! Ain't it grand?"
"Alright, enough. Get back inside. Now."
"Nonsense! Feel that warm, tropical air?" He let out a sharp exhale,
"Nothing like it!"
"Where are we?! Who are you guys? Oh my god, please... please. I want to go home! I need—
Rhea fell back to her knees, crying out of frantic desperation. Fear.
"You're free to go, love. Swim with the fishies if ya fancy. Won't make it far, though."
She grabbed ahold of the other guard's cameo pant leg. "Help me!"
"Oh. Private Johnson's no angel himself, there, sweetie. Kicked out of the army for some very unfortunate images found on his phone."
He looked into her eyes a moment before grimacing and shaking Rhea loose.
"Don't do this. Please! Where's my sister?!"
"Shut up."
"Where is she?!"
"Mm, I do like them fiery."
"Stop fucking talking."
"O-or what? Huh," she asked, weakly, hands shaking, tears streaming down each cheek. "Hurting me would be bad for you. Wouldn't it?"
"Mouthy cunt, this one."
"I'm not gonna say it again."
"Y-you went to all this trouble. Right?"
"Getting me pretty worked up over here!"
"One more word. And I shoot! I don't care who you are."
"Where's my fucking sister," she again questioned, defying his warnings.
"Ha! What'd I tell ya? Isn't this—
He fired a single round into Owens' head. Rhea gasped.
"I wasn't talking about the girl."
"Thank you! We need to get out of—
"Back in the crate."
"What? I thought..."
"NOW!" he barked, glancing at a camera on the far side of the carrier. Rhea, now whimpering, made her way back to captivity. An uneasy silence filled the air.
"Are you gonna kill me?! Do you just want me all to yourself? Is that it?!" She slid down the wall, head buried between her legs. "Fuck. I have a family back home. My parents already lost one daughter. Somebody help. Please."
"I need you to focus, Rhea. Can you do that?"
She sniffled, "okay."
"God, this is so bad. How old are, um," he struggled, appearing visibly disturbed.
"17. Still underage. Isn't that the point?"
"Jesus. Look, I'm gonna do my best to get you—
"Those photos." There was a brief pause.
"Huh?"
Her expression changed from that of fright to disgust as she slowly turned and focused on the door.
"That piece of shit mentioned some 'unfortunate photos'. What, you like little kids? I should've grabbed his gun and put a bullet in your fucking head. That's the only cure." Johnson let out a prolonged sigh, tightly closing his eyes. "Addie's gone, isn't she?"
"Listen."
"My sister is eight years old. Over half my age. That really turns you on, doesn't it?"
"Those pictures were planted."
"Oh, fucking spare me!"
"There aren't a lot of places for you to hide. This operation, it's... robust."
"And just where the hell am I gonna go?"
"Chances are we won't survive. There are some scary, powerful individuals who are no doubt on their way." He again opened his eyes, once more taking note of the camera.
"And what about you, Private Johnson? Hm. You're scary. Powerful. Just how many little girls have you fucked?"
"Rhea, I haven't—
"Little boys, then?"
"Listen—
"How about me? I didn't ask to be here! The last thing I remember is being in school with my best friend! And now, what? I'm supposed to believe it was different for you. Well, I think it's pretty fucking obvious you had a goddamn choice!"
"Rhea..."
"You let him rape me! Oh god."
"I didn't know. We take shifts. I'm fucking sorry, alright? They blackmailed me. Planted evidence. I've got a daughter at home, a wife who thinks I'm dead! Listen to me, Rhea. I would do anything to get back there. Do you know how many times I've shoved this rifle into the back of my throat?! Owens would just laugh, egg me on, then laugh even harder when I couldn't go through with it. Not because I'm a coward. Because I have a family. And you do too. There's no reason to trust me. But we need to fight right now. And I'm your best shot. Your only shot."
"What choice do I have. I'm your prisoner," she stated, calmly, clutching her necklace. "If all of that's true, then... I'm sorry, Private Johnson."
"Arnold."
"Then I'm very sorry. Arnold."
"Listen. We're gonna be swarmed soon by splinter groups, uh, disgraced military officials, politicians—
"What is this, some illuminati-type shit?"
"When they show, I'll explain what happened. Say there was an altercation. Things got out of control. He had to go."
"These people sound like literal demons. Are we at all certain they'll listen to reason?"
"We're in this together, Rhea." He placed a hand on the crate. "No matter what happens."
"You son of a bitch," Owens gargled, rifle loosely in hand. He let loose a barrage of bullets, ripping Private Johnson to shreds before succumbing to his own injuries. Rhea shrieked in horror, balling herself up on the floor. Within moments, the commotion had ceased, and all was quiet.
"Arnold?! Talk to me. Arnold? Don't do this. Don't do this! Oh, how can I get out of here? Arnold! Oh god, no. Why? SOMEBODY HELP!"