Chapter One
Heavy pounding woke Peter Ronin up from his sleep. The luminescent red numbers flickering told him that it was too early for guests. The shivering figure at the edge of the bed was lit by the dim streetlights, forcing a glow into the dark room. Another heavy thud on the front door snapped Peter out of his sleepy lull, tossing the covers aside, Peter determinedly walked toward the unwelcomed intrusion.
“No,” She whispered helplessly, “don’t let them in.” She knew that her pleas were in vain.
Shannon stayed in place on the edge of the bed, tightening her arms around herself while she watched Peter walk toward uncertainty. Peter scoffed at her paranoia with irritation. Of course she would stay put while I have to face whoever this is, he thought. Each clumsy step that he took down the hall sent more fear down Shannon’s spine.
Peter was no match for whoever would greet him at the door. At least they were polite enough to knock before coming to wring my neck, he thought. He didn’t have much of a neck to wring as it was. Peter was a particularly scrawny man, never one interested in sports, he’d dedicated his time to academia – and he had a physique to match. A loud crash of furniture connecting with his shin bone sent Peter into a painful fit of rage, all the while, the banging on the door grew louder, more urgent. As he swung the flimsy, wooden door open, Peter stood before three intimidating looking men. Each gruffer than the next, they towered over a surprised Peter. While he was surprised to see them, he already knew who they were.
Denunciation Act Enforcers were a special breed of authority throughout the regions. Civilians had dubbed them The Bulldogs, and it was speculated that they actually carried the jeer with pride. They were large, overpowering men who could send anyone into a fear induced panic.
Are you here for me?” he whimpered/
“Should we be?” asked one of the Bulldogs. It was too blurry to make out exactly which one, but it seemed to come from the one who had done the banging earlier.
“I…well, no…please, no. I wasn’t…I didn’t mean…Never would I ever!” Peter sputtered unintelligently at the Bulldogs who seemed to be evaluating his every weakly, grasping word. They pushed past him into the apartment, which was instantly made smaller and more insignificant than usual.
“Yes, yes, come in, please!” Peter squeaked, waving his arm in a host-like manner around his living room.
“Who is here with you?” one of the Bulldogs asked.
“My girlfriend, Shannon. She spent the night.”
“Shannon Wright?” the Bulldog asked with slight intrigue. The spotlights turned abruptly away from Peter, and he mentally ushered them to his bedroom. Yes, he thought, she would be the one. Always careless with her thoughts and ideas. It was all confirmed while he sat in the living room and listened to two Bulldogs enter the bedroom and ask Shannon if she was, indeed, Shannon Wright. Her response couldn’t be heard, but it was something of a whimper. Peter heard what sounded like a shuffle and the beating of bare feet. And there she was, Shannon, her eyes frantic and pleading, and piercing right into him.
“I did nothing, Peter! Tell them! Tell them you know me, Peter, please, be my Defense.” Her request left Peter gapping at her and then at the Bulldogs. They had re-entered the living room and, as blurry as the sight was to him, he could feel them looking at him. Shannon dropped to her knees and grabbed Peter’s knees.
“Peter,” she whispered, “please.” The woman who Peter had been dating for the past seven months looked nothing like his fun-loving, carefree colleague. Even her bouncy curls looked to be in shock. He saw her as the Bulldogs probably saw her now. She looked unkempt, unrestrained, and utterly untrustworthy. Her fear mirrored that of Peter’s earlier and marked her as guilty. He had to distance himself from her now
Heavy pounding woke Peter Ronin up from his sleep. The luminescent red numbers flickering told him that it was too early for guests. The shivering figure at the edge of the bed was lit by the dim streetlights, forcing a glow into the dark room. Another heavy thud on the front door snapped Peter out of his sleepy lull, tossing the covers aside, Peter determinedly walked toward the unwelcomed intrusion.
“No,” She whispered helplessly, “don’t let them in.” She knew that her pleas were in vain.
Shannon stayed in place on the edge of the bed, tightening her arms around herself while she watched Peter walk toward uncertainty. Peter scoffed at her paranoia with irritation. Of course she would stay put while I have to face whoever this is, he thought. Each clumsy step that he took down the hall sent more fear down Shannon’s spine.
Peter was no match for whoever would greet him at the door. At least they were polite enough to knock before coming to wring my neck, he thought. He didn’t have much of a neck to wring as it was. Peter was a particularly scrawny man, never one interested in sports, he’d dedicated his time to academia – and he had a physique to match. A loud crash of furniture connecting with his shin bone sent Peter into a painful fit of rage, all the while, the banging on the door grew louder, more urgent. As he swung the flimsy, wooden door open, Peter stood before three intimidating looking men. Each gruffer than the next, they towered over a surprised Peter. While he was surprised to see them, he already knew who they were.
Denunciation Act Enforcers were a special breed of authority throughout the regions. Civilians had dubbed them The Bulldogs, and it was speculated that they actually carried the jeer with pride. They were large, overpowering men who could send anyone into a fear induced panic.
Are you here for me?” he whimpered/
“Should we be?” asked one of the Bulldogs. It was too blurry to make out exactly which one, but it seemed to come from the one who had done the banging earlier.
“I…well, no…please, no. I wasn’t…I didn’t mean…Never would I ever!” Peter sputtered unintelligently at the Bulldogs who seemed to be evaluating his every weakly, grasping word. They pushed past him into the apartment, which was instantly made smaller and more insignificant than usual.
“Yes, yes, come in, please!” Peter squeaked, waving his arm in a host-like manner around his living room.
“Who is here with you?” one of the Bulldogs asked.
“My girlfriend, Shannon. She spent the night.”
“Shannon Wright?” the Bulldog asked with slight intrigue. The spotlights turned abruptly away from Peter, and he mentally ushered them to his bedroom. Yes, he thought, she would be the one. Always careless with her thoughts and ideas. It was all confirmed while he sat in the living room and listened to two Bulldogs enter the bedroom and ask Shannon if she was, indeed, Shannon Wright. Her response couldn’t be heard, but it was something of a whimper. Peter heard what sounded like a shuffle and the beating of bare feet. And there she was, Shannon, her eyes frantic and pleading, and piercing right into him.
“I did nothing, Peter! Tell them! Tell them you know me, Peter, please, be my Defense.” Her request left Peter gapping at her and then at the Bulldogs. They had re-entered the living room and, as blurry as the sight was to him, he could feel them looking at him. Shannon dropped to her knees and grabbed Peter’s knees.
“Peter,” she whispered, “please.” The woman who Peter had been dating for the past seven months looked nothing like his fun-loving, carefree colleague. Even her bouncy curls looked to be in shock. He saw her as the Bulldogs probably saw her now. She looked unkempt, unrestrained, and utterly untrustworthy. Her fear mirrored that of Peter’s earlier and marked her as guilty. He had to distance himself from her now
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