White walls, red floor.
That's all he sees, now a days. All he wishes to see, when the :firewaterearthair: gets to be too much.
There's a man in his dreams, who smiles down at him for what feels like the eternal sun- except not so, because it turns cold and cruel, sharp as the daggers of a familiar mirror that he's never seen.
There's no war in Bang Se Sing.
White walls, red floor. Brown stain, in the corner, every bump and ridge memorized like the terrain of homeland, a map laid out for all to see. He looks around and he wishes, wishes for the :aren't-are:.
The man in his dreams wishes the same. Everyone he's met does, like a constant shadow forcing every step higher and driving a desperate need to get the :aren't-are: or wish for it despite knowing it is out of reach, out of touch, out of sight.
He ponders these things a lot, within his white walls and red floor and brown stain and bumps and ridges. He thinks about anything and anything, waiting waiting waiting. He doesn't know what for. He forgets when he thinks about the :aren't-are:, he always did.
The man in his dreams looks at him with some emotion in his eyes, something that makes him want to roar with disgust because something inside of him recoils. He hated the man in his dreams for a while. Then the man in his dreams smiled at him, and everything was okay.
There's no war in Bang Se Sing.
The man in his dreams screams it at him, mockingly, flings it around and around in the empty space all around them. He watches, because it's different. He knows it's true, but maybe the man in his dreams...doesn't?
Sometimes he hears things; even when he's awake. Sometimes thumps and thuds that shake the very air and other times quiet things, like scratches and whispers. He thinks that is there are others here, he's like to meet them. Not if they're like the man from his dreams, though.
And maybe once or twice he gets tired and :not-sleepy:, though he knows he shouldn't. Someone told him not to, because then the :firewaterearthair: may come again. And maybe once or twice he wants it to.
He doesn't, though, hasn't.
Until the man in his dreams disappears.
He feels it all at once, a rushing sense of loss and despair, coupled with joy and mingling hatred, the determination and :aren't-are: conviction, long since gone.
And he remembers.
There's no war in Bang Se Sing.
Note: My take on what would happen if a rebel failed. Not canon, just looking more into the brainwashing hidden there. Bang Se Sing is such an interesting place, isn't it?
Note: I find this a few months later and have no idea what the fic was talking about until I saw my first note. What even.