Abdus’s snore lasted no more than a few minutes when another collection of knocks crashed against the reinforced double iron doors again. The tired man was shaken awake by the sudden noise. His chair snapped frontwards, returning all four legs back to their rightful place on the ground. He was stunned for a moment, shooting a blank gaze towards the desk in front of him where his feet sat.
Another knock came from the reinforced double iron doors again.
“C-Coming,” Abdus smacked his lips and hurried, dragging his crooked back off the chair and towards the double doors.
On the way, he glanced at the cell next to him.
There Subjek was, seated as he’d been the last time Abdus seen him. His goggles remained stuck to both the bandaged man’s and his face, though, at that point, he was too tired to eke out a reaction for it.
Abdus threw a languid arm onto the double iron doors and slid open the viewport.
“You again?”
“Open it,” Aqib’s voice sounded off from the other side of the door.
“Would a ‘please’ kill you?”
“Fifteen weeks.”
Abdus sighed and undid the locks on the doors. He pulled it open, and in stepped Aqib with vacant hands. Someone else followed him from behind. An old lady covered from head to toe in thick, ragged clothes complete with a hood and a knitted satchel dangling off her wrist. Her small, frail frame made it seem as if her body was suffocating under the weight of her drapings, but the sweet, wrinkled smile she pulled at Abdus indicated otherwise.
“Sorry to interrupt your evening, dear,” she gave a polite bow towards Abdus.
It wasn’t enough to sweep the tired man off his feet, but it did lift his spirits some.
Abdus turned towards Aqib, “And who is this?”
Aqib threw a finger towards Subjek sitting in the cell, whose goggles now have another target to stare at, “With him.”
Abdus gave an incredulous look towards the old lady before looking back to Aqib, “Don’t tell me she-”
“Yes.”
Abdus pointed towards Subjek’s cell, “Do I-”
“Yes.”
Abdus gave one more lingering gaze at the old lady before moving towards the desk, pulling out the keys and heading towards the iron gate. His movements, this time, was wrought with reluctance.
Abdus gave a slanted squint towards Aqib, “Do we have to keep her here?”
“Yes,” Aqib’s expression was unchanging, which made the tired man’s job harder as right beside Aqib was the old lady in question, who still had that glow in her face despite her geriatric appearance.
Abdus tried to reason with Aqib, “I mean, keeping an elderly here seems-”
“We got here today because we never took chances,” Aqib boomed, “If we gave leeway to every old bum we see we would’ve-”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Abdus surrendered and undid the chains and lock on the gate, “I hear you.”
“Damn right you do,” Aqib nudged the old lady towards Abdus.
Abdus took a step back, giving way, “Watch your step, ma’am.”
“It’s quite alright, sonny,” the old lady gave Abdul a nice smile as she walked forth, “It’s just orders; I understand.”
Abdus felt a warm pulse in his heart, shifting himself behind the gate as he pulled it wide, “Right this way-”
Without warning, Subjek stepped out of the cell just as Abdus unlocked it. Not one of the three noticed whence he stood or approached the gate. By the time any of them could react the bandaged man already made a beeline towards the desk in the middle of the room, reaching underneath it.
Aqib was the first to respond, reaching towards his baton hanging over his belt, “The fuck?”
Abdus could barely reach his belt with a “Hey-” leaking out of his open mouth before Subjek pulled his sack out from beneath the table, dropping it onto the table.
The two men's nerves were strained tenfold. Each of them had an iron grip on their batons, holding back from dealing the first strike as they watched the town’s stranger open the sack’s mouth and rummage through its inventory. Their stances lowered as instincts from their training took over, their limbs tensed for a certain fatal hit if the moment arises.
Subjek reached a little deeper into his sack.
Aqib slowly drew his baton out from its holster.
Abdus felt his knuckles crack as he tightened his grip.
Subjek threw his hands out of the sack.
Aqib tugged his baton out and held it to his shoulder.
Abdus pulled his baton and aimed it towards the bandaged man.
In Subjek’s hand was a book, its cover stained and wrinkled with ridges deep enough to cast shadows across its surface.
The two stared at the bandaged man, batons held in their hands.
Subjek dropped the sack back under the table, opened his overcoat, stuffed the book in his rope belt and strolled back into the cell. He joined the old lady, who already slipped through the gate during the skirmish and seated herself on the cardboard sheets. The bandaged man sat back down on his usual spot, cross-legged, with the book still in his rope belt.
Both Aqib and Abdus kept their eyes on Subjek for a few moments, looked at each other, and stuffed the batons back into their belts.
Abdus then walked towards the desk, reached below it, grabbed Subjek’s sack, opened the mouth, took out the dagger, dropped it on the desk, tied the sack back up, trudge back towards the cell, and tossed the sack into the cell.
Aqib watched the entire sequence of events with mistrustful eyes, “What’s that for?”
Abdus turned towards Aqib, “Something else for the freak to look at all night instead of me.”
“You sure you took out all the weapons?”
“Unless he can do something with some food and a lunchbox of sand, yeah, I took out all the weapons,” Abdus looked back into the cell, speaking to the old lady, “Are you alright in there? Need anything?”
“I do need something yes,” the old lady raised a finger and pointed towards the opposite cell, where the grey figure laid on the cardboard sheets, its position uninterrupted since Aqib’s previous departure and the arrival of Subjek’s new cellmate, “Is that man still alive?”
Abdus looked behind for a while before turning back to face the old lady, “Just a vagrant. Wakes up every few days to take a shit and walk around. Anything else?”
The old lady waved her hand across, “I’m quite alright. Thank you very much, sonny.”
“My pleasure,” Abdus gave the old lady the best smile his wane, fatigue-ridden face could manage and turned towards Aqib, “You happy now?”
Aqib had his glare stuck onto the two sitting in the cell for the entire duration of the old lady and Abdus’s conversation, “I rather they not be here.”
“Nothing makes you happy, does it?”
“I’ll be better if this cell’s empty.”
“Go be better somewhere else then,” Abdus closed the cell gate and redid the chains and locks, this time leaving them a bit looser than before, “Unless you can find them an actual room”
“That’s just worse.”
“And so it is,” Abdus pulled the keys out of the lock and slogged his feet back towards the desk, plopping himself back on his chair, “So what’re you gonna do about it?”
“Get out of here,” and Aqib did leave. He didn’t even bother with the door. Abdus sighed as he raised himself back up on the chair again to close the reinforced double iron doors.
He sat back down on his chair again, kicking his legs up as he returned to his usual posture, though not before taking one last glance at the cell once again.
With the addition of the old lady, the sight became less of a sore. Her age had sent her to quick sleep; she managed to nod herself unconscious as soon as she laid down against the cardboard sheets. She fell silent, her peaceful face facing the ceiling as her hands clutched onto the knitted pouch tied to her wrist. For a second, the tired man felt inhumane watching the old lady lay against the hard floor without so much as a pillow to support her neck besides the comparatively thin layer of fabric that made up her hood. He thought of doing something for her. Then he considered the fact that more than half of his comrades sleep leaning against a wall or laying on the open ground with no roof. The old lady was experiencing some degree of luxury already compared to the locals.
Abdus decided to stop thinking about that, which meant that his focus soon diverted onto Subjek once more. Much to his chagrin, throwing the sack into the cell didn’t help with his case at all. The bandaged man hadn’t even touched it as his goggles were still glued onto Abdus’s direction. The tired man could see his tired appearance printed onto Subjek’s viewports; tired eye bags, tired wrinkles, crooked back and all. Excluding the addition of a book beneath his rope belt and overcoat, nothing had changed since a few minutes ago.
By then, Abdus didn’t feel bothered to tell Subjek off. He realized within himself that the bandaged man’s social awareness was akin to that of a brick wall. The tired man figured that as long as Subjek’s dagger was within reach on the desk beside his resting boots, everything would be fine.
He closed his eyes and soon joined the old lady into slumber. This time, his nap managed to last hours.
