Title Chess
Characters Caine Soren, Drake Merwin (mentions Diana Ladris)
Warning A little scene of animal torture (nothing graphic)
Summary Life is like a game of chess, and Caine is choosing his pieces carefully.
Author Notes I own nothing, except the knowledge that Michael Grant is a genius. Just a little pre-FAYZ interaction between my favourite boys.

It was really all a game – Caine knew that.

Chess, preferably. The key to winning a game of chess was strategy. Assembling your troops on the field of battle and engaging the other side, sending out those who were replaceable first – sacrifice. You sacrificed the weak first to protect your stronger pieces.

Maybe it was a little strange when he thought about chess pieces and positions. He himself was obviously not a chess piece – because he was the player. The two most important pieces in chess were the king and queen. He couldn't suppress a grin when he thought about his king and queen. His "king" was back in the dormitory, working on an essay. That's why he was out here in the woods, because when his "king" was busy, he'd sought out his "queen".

The queen, in chess, is the most powerful piece, the one most feared. He'd never thought about it much, but one time when he was playing, Diana had mentioned to him how she found it fascinating that the old patriarch society had given such a powerful role to a female persona. In chess, the king was something of a weak piece, needing protection, and the queen was the king's protector. Fascinating, she'd kept repeating.

Fascinating, he now thought, that he considered Diana his king, and Drake his queen.

Drake Merwin. He knew Diana hated him, though she herself never admitted it, because Diana strove to project that image of hers, strove to be above and beyond something as mundane as hatred. She tried to be indifferent. She tried to be superior. But Caine caught her, every now and then. He caught her blazing eyes, her lip curling in a snarl when she thought he wasn't paying attention.

She hated Drake.

Drake hated Diana. Caine knew that much for a certainty, because unlike Diana, Drake relished hatred. He used it to his advantage, he flaunted it in the face of anyone in his way. Because that's what you do when you're dangerous – truly dangerous. You act first and think later, and thus far in Drake Merwin's life, it didn't appear he'd ever really felt the need to think about any of his actions. But that was fine by Caine, because that was where he came in. He would think for Drake – he would control Drake.

Because he needed him.

His thoughts about chess were interrupted suddenly by a squeal, and Caine looked down to see Drake on his knees, holding a rabbit in one hand. In the other hand he held a whittled stick, and the whittled end -

"Is that really necessary?" Caine asked, feeling a little disturbed, but unable to look away. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, though, he knew he shouldn't have said them.

Drake tilted his head then, casting his gaze to rest on Caine. "I'm sorry, Caine. Does my research bother you?" He asked sarcastically, before plunging the end of the stick back into the rabbit's eye. His eyes, however, remained fixed on Caine.

Caine tried not to flinch under Drake's oppressive stare, but his body reacted before his brain could suppress it. "Not at all," he said, faking bravado and indifference. "I just figured the eye would be soft enough, so you'd know the stick would pierce it. Why not just jab it in the belly like you were planning?"

Drake laughed, like he thought Caine had made a joke. "What's research without a little fun?" He said, before looking back at the rabbit. "I wonder what it would be like to stab a human eye."

This was part of the problem with Drake, though. Dangerous – yes. Powerful – yes. But there were times when he was a little too unpredictable and harboured a little too much passion for the dramatic. Caine ignored his comment for the time being, knowing that Drake was trying to goad him. He had to keep reminding himself that he was the player, and Drake was the chess piece. The player controls the game.

"I wonder what it would be like to jab my stick in Diana's eye?"

Caine felt his hands balling into fists at his side before he could stop them, but luckily Drake didn't look at him. Caine knew this was a test. It was a game to Drake, too, though Caine didn't think Drake's plans were anywhere near as grand. He couldn't respond. He couldn't rise to Drake's provocation. He was in control. One breath in – he was in control. One breath out – he was in control. This was why he was here. This was the sort of behaviour from Drake that he had to get used to, if he hoped to harness the psychopath's power, if he hoped to win his allegiance. Drake would make for a powerful ally.

"I wonder if I could pluck the eyeball out with just a stick? What do you think, Caine? If I stabbed Diana in the eye, what would happen?"

Caine took a final breath before crafting an answer to give, because it was obvious now that Drake expected an answer. "What happened to the rabbit's eye?"

Drake laughed, lips pulled back in a grin. "Clever."

Caine let out the breath he'd been holding. Had he passed Drake's test?

"Wish I'd brought my knife with me. I'm curious now to crack open the skull and see how the brain will respond to a poke and a prod. I don't think my stick can crack bone."

Caine kept breathing at a regular pace, careful not to overwhelm himself. He glanced down at Drake's hands, watching with morbid curiosity as the other boy dug the piece of wood around the animal's eye socket. The rabbit was limp in his hands, and Caine wondered then if animals fainted. Or was it dead? Had the stick in the eye killed it? Or had Drake strangled it? Was he just as sick for standing here and watching? Or was that allowed, because in order to understand how to utilize Drake, he had to understand Drake himself? So many questions.

"Another day, I guess," he replied, not at all interested in having to watch a repeat performance of this, but knowing that when push came to shove he'd be right back where he currently was, watching Drake. He walked a dangerous line, Caine did. He understood that. He had no doubt that one day – unless someone stopped him, Drake would kill a human.

Sometimes Caine wondered if he hadn't already? There were rumours about why Drake was here. The boy himself had never specified. If you ever asked him all he did was grin faintly, sometimes laugh. One of the rumours said that Drake had shot someone, which wasn't much of a stretch. His father was a highway patrolman, after all. He had access to guns.

"Another day indeed," Drake said, pulling out his stick and tossing the rabbit's dead body away. He held his stick up to his face, close enough to survey the sticky substance now coating the wood. "Disappointing, really. I was kind of hoping the whole eye would just pop out, but it didn't. I hate it when movies lie to you."

Caine brought a sympathetic smile to his lips in case Drake looked up – but he didn't, so Caine let it drop after a moment. "It is a pity, I agree."

"Maybe I'll have to make a movie of my own, then," Drake said, looking up at Caine. "Starring Diana." His face was calm and passive and waiting – just waiting, for Caine to flinch again.

But he was a little more desensitized now. Not necessarily to the acts – but to Drake himself. "I'm sure she'd be very excited to work with you," Caine replied, trying to muster all the sarcasm he could.

Drake stood up and grinned, walking up to Caine and brandishing the stick before him. "It's all gooey now," he said, bringing the piece of wood directly in front of Caine's eyes. "I wonder if it'll harden if I leave it out. What do you think?"

Caine shrugged, forcing himself to really stare at the stick, to see the remains of the rabbit's eye smeared on the wood. He felt a bit of bile rise in his throat thinking about it – but he didn't flinch.

That was half the battle.