Chase: Takeout

Chase was visited by nothing but the darkness for what felt like days. He had tried unsuccessfully to mark the passing hours onto the wall with the pocketknife in his jacket, but only ended up abandoning the motion to cross his legs in a thinking position.

Dirt and the blood from the scratches Dina had given him were both beginning to cake onto his face. He had considered trying to scrape it all off of his skin with the knife, but the combined factors of the dark and his own discomfort were not in his favor, and severing any major arteries was not an option for survival.

A sliver of light fell onto the floor of the hallway outside of his cell, from the crevice made by the opening door. It quickly disappeared and was replaced with the sound of soft footfalls on the steps. Chase heard a slight rustling and his world was suddenly invaded with a blinding light.

He could only blink as his eyes adjusted, looking up to see the shattered lightbulb replaced and Dina standing beside it with a paper bag in her hands.

In the brief moment it took for her to talk Chase had already started to speculate what horrors she could have put into the small bag; cans of tear gas, needles, voodoo paraphernalia-

“Here,” she said, tossing it through the bars, “Eat.”


Chase noticed the greasy smell of fast food goodness suddenly and felt a pang of hunger hit him. He cautiously took the bag and peered inside, seeing a takeout container and looked at Dina and the carton again with mock suspicion.

“You didn’t poison me, did you?”


Dina chuckled dryly, leaning against the bars separating them.

“Taste and see.”


Her blue eyes twinkled with an unsuspected mischief and she turned to leave him alone once more, leaving the light on.

Chase let the bag plop to the floor beside him, instantly being engaged in a staring contest with the seemingly-innocent packet. His stomach and wits were battling it out, both screaming for different action to be taken. 

Time seemed to stand still as the food sat beside him, no thoughts registering completely in his starved mind.

“Dang it.” He muttered suddenly, grabbing the box and scarfing down its contents, not even bothering to think of what it was he was eating.

Chase tossed it aside, leaning back guiltily at his own sudden lack of self-control. If he had ingested any toxins, he would find out soon enough. Better to die poisoned than hungry. Possibly. 

The combined knowledge of every poison he had ever experienced and/or administered came flooding into his subconscious. Many were quick, but others led to hallucinating and bizarre half-living states for excruciating periods of time. He had tested that on a few vampires personally.

But then again, even if he was poisoned, an immediate escape would allow him to access medical attention. If he got too far along then it would be more of a life-support situation, actually.

Chase glanced around his prison, pausing when he had a better look at the cell walls around him. They were covered in rough pictures and scribbles, odd diagrams and swirling writing. And one, in particular, seemed to be a sketch of Dina made with a coal-like substance. Dated 1875. 

The End

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