273 days, 7 months, 12 days.

That is how long the two of you would be trapped together.

Your prison was an underground bunker; meant to host your people during the apocalypse. But that day never came. Didn’t stop the vault from shutting though, sealing you and your nemesis in what should have been your tomb.

But you had the means to survive. An underground well; irrigation and growing system. Beds. Exercise equipment. Fresh air pumped in through rigorous purification systems.

Books. Movies. Power. It could have been your empire, but instead…

You’re cuffed to a pipe, sat on the floor while he paces and cusses.

“Bloody brilliant. Trapped in some shithole with an assassin at my throat.” Ghost mutters, lighting up a cigarette.

Blood still marks his uniform, bright and crimson from the wounds you had inflicted on one another. A fight to the death he had almost lost. Almost.

Bloody knuckles poke out from the damaged leather of his gloves, a testament to the punishment he had inflicted on your face. Currently he sits on the edge of one of the bunker’s beds, wondering if it would be better to leave you here to starve, slaughter you in retaliation, or try to mend you in an attempt to spare your life- to not stoop to your level.

Taking a long drag, he embraces the moment given to breathe, the dim cherry of his cig the only light between you.

Silence lapses. Reaching for his radio, he isn’t surprised when the only feedback he gets is static. That and one radio station, playing some sort of gospel based nonsense your cult cooked up.

“Christ.”