By Aiki Damilola
The striped barricades were raised of yellow truck. The driver drove straight through, nodding curtly at the guard. The truck was deftly maneuvered past the towering building and rows of parked cars marked with the logo of ErenCorp.
The truck eventually came to a stop before a sprawling warehouse at the back of the enormous compound. A loud hiss accompanied the switching off of the truck's huge engine. A man stepped out of the warehouse. His black leather jacket flailed wildly in the cold night wind. Ten more people came out behind him.
They made towards the truck.
How many? The man at the head of the column asked the driver crisply as he got to the truck. He spoke with a baritone that raised doubts about his possession of a vocal cord. The driver saw that parts of his neck still bore aftereffects of a run-in with fire. A long scar ran down the length of his right cheek.
Fifteen. The driver responded.
With this, the other men moved to the back of the truck. As the doors were opened, fluorescent bulbs clicked on in the carriage area, illuminating rows of the mechanical equipment and wooden moving crates. Two men hopped into the truck and started moving out the crates.
The men worked in silence. small clouds of mist forming in front of their mouths with each breath. The driver stood off to one side. He brought out a cigarette and wedged it between his lips. He lit it and took a very long drag. That was all he could get. The man with the scarred face pulled the cigarette out and crushed it between his fingers. He watched the driver's face for signs of protest as he let the crushed pieces of tobacco fall on his boots.
At that moment, there was a loud crash from the back of truck. A crate flopped to the ground and the lid sprang off. A little girl with tiny beads in her corn rows sprang out of the crate like a Jack O' lantern. She ran, whimpering, towards the main building. Her little feet could only take her so far before she was tackled by one of the men. She struggled frantically but she was still forced back into the crate. The lid was slammed shut.
After the last crate was unloaded, the man with the scarred face reached into his jacket. The driver smiled. The money was the only thing that would make him work with such diabolical creatures. And boy, did you they pay well.
The smile froze on his lips when he saw the other man's hand slide out of the jacket again. It was empty. Then the scarred man took a step towards him.
Suddenly, the driver was afraid. His bladder felt heavy and he could almost feel the weight of his urine sucking him into the ground. The look on the other man's face was set, determined.
The driver made a mad dash for the truck but like the little girl had found out earlier, he could not get too far. A powerful grip dragged him backwards and he could feel the coldness of the other man's skin against his face.
Suddenly, the driver felt his head snapped backwards violently. One minute he was staring at the ground, the next, the starless night sky was in view. Moments later, he saw the scarred face looming over him. The driver watched in horror as the man's mouth widened in a smile, then four oof his teeth gradually grew longer.
Oh no! He cried. His neck was perforated by the descending canines.
The driver's body was held in place by the teeth for a few seconds before if flopped to the ground, blood pumping sporadically out of the punctured skin.
The man with the scarred face wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He brought out a phone and dialed a number.
The package is here. He said once the connection was made.
Good. How many? The person on other end asked.
Fifteen. We need six more. He stepped over the driver's body. And I know just the place to get them.
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