Dillon Abraham - Fire
Dillon woke up slowly, more tired than when he'd first went to sleep. There were no windows in the room, but the intense silence led him to believe it was far too early to be awake, and anyway it made sense for him to be up before the others when he'd retired to bed so early the previous day. He sat up and immediately a headache pounded against his skull. He pinched the bridge of his nose while standing on unsteady feet to try and lessen the ache, but the wave of vertigo that swept him upon rising was too much to try and quell. His stomach growled loudly in the still air and he clutched his midsection just as he felt the sharp pain of emptiness clench. Groaning, he stumbled towards something to steady himself against.
"Worst morning ever."
His first thoughts as he left the room were on finding his brother, but one glance down the dark, seemingly endless hallway nearly deterred him from that idea. He held his head high as he went in search for his brother's room, but couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. After gently closing one of the room doors - he spotted long hair in the bed, definitely not his brother - a gentle clink of metal on metal sparked him into alertness. His hands lit up in a blazing flame and he whipped around, snarling, not sure of what he would find, but not prepared to see the mannequin a few feet away from him grasping a staff.
"What the-"
The thing rushed forward, giving him little time to think before it was striking out. Dillon blocked the blow with his forearm and struck out with his other hand, landing a punch on the thing's gut. His hands burned through its clothes and charred it's white side a crispy black. Flakes of skin - paint? - crumbled to the floor and Dillon would have felt bad if the thing hadn't swept out its foot and tripped him. He only narrowly missed the staff's blunt end crashing down against the ground, but couldn't dodge the swing that crashed into his side.
They'd been fighting for at least three full minutes before a well aimed fire ball engulfed the thing's face and it sunk to its knees. Dillon struggled for breath and crumbled to the ground himself. His hands extinguished in a sad poof and he ran them shakily through his hair. When he finally composed himself he got up, meaning to check on the thing, but it was gone. In the spot where it lay before, presumably dead, there was a piece of paper.
Congratulations. You have proven strong, but tire far too quickly. Learn to conserve your stamina, Dillon. All battles will not be as short.
Dillon burnt the paper to ashes and quickly hurried back to his room. He didn't know what else would jump out at him, and he wasn't keen on finding out. Derek would be fine.
---
The dining room was nearly full when Dillon finally found it. His eyes locked on the food first and he nearly ran towards the line. Only when he had devoured most of everything on his plate did he glance around. Derek wasn't there. Strange. Everyone else from the meeting was there, Dillon recognized their faces. Did he run into trouble with another mannequin? Was he fighting one now? Dillon stood quickly, nearly falling over his own feet, his heart had raced into a panic and there was a slow fire burning under his skin.
If they hurt him...
It is currently 8:45 a.m. Please finish your meals and stop by your room. On your bed is a simple brown backpack with your name embroidered on it. Fill it with some clothes. On your bed is also a box. Please take what's inside and head for the rooftop. We will departure at 9 a.m.
Dillon's eyes widened in horror as everyone began to leave the cafeteria. Derek still hadn't entered. Trying to compose himself as much as possible, he approached one of the people from the meeting and stopped them with a hand on the shoulder. He thought her name might have been Zendaya - Zenda, Zendina... - but that didn't matter much now.
"Have you seen my brother? Derek, have you seen him?"
She studied him carefully before shaking her head.
"No I haven't."
"Shit... Shit!"
He rushed out of the cafeteria at full speed. Fifteen minutes. He had fifteen minutes.
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