“You were a good dog. An obedient dog.” The voice over the intercom growls out the words and Arnold finds himself pausing, his crawl slowing to a stop. He feels strangely flushed, shaking with fear and fatigue hard enough to rattle the old vents he’s stuffed himself inside of. His thighs press together to smother the heat, sharp and sudden, between his legs and in his chest.
“You like that, don’t you?” Suddenly the dispatch’s voice is soothing and gentle, his voice strokes up his spine like a touch. He switches his tones so fast, never one thing for too long, “being reminded of how good you could be. I could get you out of here alive, Arnie, I could make that sad and painful life of yours so easy.. just turn around. Nothing will happen if you turn around and go back.”
Arnold swallows and looks around — for what? For help? For, perhaps, something that will make the choice for him?
“That’s a boy. That’s a good boy. Obedience suits you, Arnie.”
Arnold knows he’s being lied to but he’s tired, he can’t take another moment of hiding and running and solving mysteries that no-one else cares about anymore. He certainly doesn’t care about them. Poor Edwin and Fiona but he’s just the guy that broke in, he’s no-one important. The thought makes him go cold.
“Am I? Am I.. good?” He croaks out, pausing again.
“You’re going to be the best.”
