In the Trade, there was no mercy. On paper, there was no such thing as the "Trade". But those involved in it knew better than to simply dismiss it. The Trade was a vicious, unending cycle that swirled through the mafia like a clear, tasteless, odorless poison.
Even within the mafia the Trade was something of a secret. Few truly knew the darkness that entrenched the Trade, only having a vague idea of what it might be. In all honesty, it was an urban legend. Not even the mightiest of families knew if it existed, and the Vindice had never been able to confirm its existence due to the many misconceptions and rumours that swarmed the Trade.
There were several mafia famiglias that were built along the skeleton of the Trade, and only thrived because of it.
The Trade was, in its very essence, an organization whose foundation rested on the existence of slavery.
However, the Trade was a somewhat inaccurate name. In actuality there existed a Facility, wherein several divisions of Successful slaves resided.
These divisions were made up of children, stolen shortly after birth from their loving families. These children all held one thing in common. They showed potential- potential for huge amounts of power that could have been wasted among the masses.
*.*
XSR-59 hurried down the corridor, clutching the new shipment of unengaged explosives to his chest.
As one of the many SR slaves that littered the Facility, XSR-59 knew he had no real value in the eyes of the Overseers. They would punish him for any perceived weakness or mistake. He shuddered, remembering the few times he had been brought to the Room for punishment.
Shaking his head furiously as if to rid himself of the thought, XSR-59 quickened his pace in order to avoid that fate.
His partner, XRB-80 fell into step next to him, directing a silent question to him about his rapid stride. XSR-59 shook his head, grimacing a little, signalling that he would tell the other slave about it later, when there were no witnesses to the conversation.
After the meeting with the Overseer about the shipment, XSR-59 left the room, quaking slightly from relief. The man had been lenient about his lateness, merely backhanding the slave instead of sending him to the Room for a short lesson.
Outside the door, XSR-59 bumped into a tiny slave boy, who had a huge stack of papers in his arms, desperately trying to balance them all. After he had bumped into him, the boy's stack seemed to fall as if in slow motion.
XSR-59 saw the papers scatter across the gleaming tiles, wind catching them, spreading them down the hallway until not a single inch of the floor was left uncovered.
XSR-59 could almost see his life float away as the papers began their slow descent towards the ground, important, official looking black ink staining the otherwise pure white documents. The Overseer would not overlook this as he had with XSR-59's tardiness.
The small slave whimpered a little, eyes glistening with unshed tears, knowing, as XSR-59 did, of their fate.
A shadow fell over the duo, their fates sealed with the fallen parchment.
XSR-59 turned, knowing what he would see before his eyes even landed on the man behind him.
Spittle flying, the red faced Overseer had his hands clenched in front of him, ready to drag the two young slaves to the Room for their punishment.
"DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!"
The boys cowered at his rage.
"THOSE SHEETS OF PAPER ARE WORTH MORE THAN YOUR LIVES, AND NOW THEY'RE ON THE FLOOR! DO YOU KNOW, WHAT YOU HAVE DONE! WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS!"
XSR-59 and the small slave looked at each other warily, both knowing their time was soon to come to an end.
"WELL?"
This Overseer's rage was well known around the Facility. The man would fly off the handle at any given occasion, and take it out on any slave in the vicinity. Any transgression, small or large, was enough for him to beat the children half to death.
To XSR-59's immense surprise, the other slave stepped forward without a single word. He hadn't even looked at XSR-59, or attempted to say anything, or any type of motion. He simply stepped forward, knowing that a fate worse than death awaited him.
Why?
The Overseer smirked in a disturbing, sadistic manner that would haunt XSR-59's dreams for the rest of his life. Despite the fact that he had seen it directed towards himself more than once, it was worse than any other, if only for the fact that he knew he should have been the one on the receiving end as well as the boy.
It was somehow worse, knowing the other boy had placed himself in the line of danger for another slave, for him.
Anyone else in the Facility would have done anything to ensure their own survival, even at the expense of another.
Why would this, this child be any different?
He knew he should have stepped forward as well, taken some of the burden off of the tiny, yet impossible brave child in front of him.
But he couldn't. He was scared. His legs locked in place, and even when he tried to move after all was said and done, he could only fall to his knees and wonder about the fate of the other slave boy.
He wasn't even sure that he hadn't been seeing things. The rule of thumb to survive the Facility was Every Slave for Themselves. It had actually been written on the wall of a few cells in charcoal by some brave soul who felt it their duty to impart wisdom on the later generations.
Why?
And so XSR-59 spent weeks thinking of the boy, weeks of sleepless nights and hesitation and uncertainty.
Every time he looked over his shoulder, he could make out the boy's figure - but whenever he turned around the boy was never there.
*.*
Until one day, two weeks later, in the cafeteria.
He saw the boy serving the other slaves, looking longingly at the gruel he was spooning out in painfully small portions.
XSR-59 saw red. The boy looked, if possible, even more thin and subdued than he had weeks before, in the short, nightmare inducing meeting they had. Fiery, swollen welts could be seen peeking out from under his ratty regulation shirt.
Why?
Dark, heavy bags pooled under the boy's eyes, which looked dull and empty and longing, even in the bright lights of the mess hall.
XSR-59 lined up to receive his meal, flinching slightly as the boy's eyes met his own, widening as they recognized him.
XSR-59 started to say something, anything. And then he couldn't. The words caught in his throat as the boy looked at him, with non-judging, non-blaming eyes.
Why?
He fled.
Every day, for months afterward, he tried to speak, but every time, the words wouldn't come out.
The boy went from staring, wide eyed, at him, to smiling hesitantly as XSR-59 lined up in front of him.
Somehow, even though no words were exchanged, their relationship managed to grow into a sort of friendship. Not many slaves in the Facility could claim such a thing.
Why?
It seemed, though, that XSR-59 was one of the lucky few who could claim to have not one, but two tentative friendships within the walls of their prison.
XRB-80. An enigma, even to the Overseers. Unfailingly cheerful, even in the face of death and destruction. Yet you could almost see a glint in his eye that spoke otherwise. He was one of the more valued slaves, for his natural athleticism and an uncanny talent with blades.
One thing led to the next (mostly involving a lot of one-sided fighting and a little bit of blood loss) and XSR-59 had somehow been stuck with the most annoying, yet useful partner for their divisions' appointments.
He couldn't really bring himself to hate the other boy though.
XSR-59 was struck by the strangeness of the predicament he was in. Out of all the slaves in the Facility, one of the most bad-tempered had managed to find more than one ally. Most of the children barely even spoke to each other!
He couldn't let this strange stalemate between him and the boy go on. He didn't even know the kid's code!
But deep down, XSR-59 knew the real reason he had made up his mind to finally speak to the boy.
*.*
It took a few weeks of preparation, a few favors called in, and blackmailing one of the guards, but finally XSR-59 had cleared a time in the guard shifts, and gotten the cameras "broken" for a periodof time.
That night, after completing his planning, he slipped a note into the boy's hand as he spooned out his serving of dinner for the night.
Meet me by LG Corridor 9, by the second staircase at 3:00 pm tomorrow. I want to talk.
He kept an eye on the boy through the allotted meal time, and knew immediately when he read the paper. The boy's head shot up like a rocket, and he stared disbelievingly at XSR-59 for a moment or two, before collecting himself and looking around furtively to make sure no one had seen his momentary lapse of calm.
The very next day, the boys met exactly where XSR-59 had said they would meet, at the exact time.
XSR-59 cleared his throat a little, tilting his head away as he blushed a little under the scrutiny of the other boy.
"I - um. If you - if you don't mind, would you please - um - tell me your - uh - code?" The boy spoke suddenly, after a few moments of silence. He had a soft voice, nervous and slightly hoarse from disuse.
XSR-59 startled a little, surprised the other boy had been the one to speak first. He blushed a little more, suddenly shy in the face of his savior from weeks and weeks ago.
"XSR-59," He mumbled, "And you?"
The boy nodded his head in understanding, "XSO-27."
XSR-59's eyes widened almost painfully, and spoke almost in awe, "Di - Did you say SO?"
The boy - XSO-27 - nodded again.
"But I had heard there weren't any Successful SO slaves this generation?"
"There weren't." XSO-27 stated miserably. "I'm not - I'm not Successful."
"But they sell any Failures!" XSR-59 replied, still slightly wondrous.
"They sell all Failures except SO failures. Not that they had a rule for it. The few SO slaves each generation have all either died or been Successful and then died. I'm the only SO left, period." He said this, slightly rushed, bitterness tinging his words.
XSR-59 couldn't really find anything to reply to that, sensing it was a touchy topic for XSO-27.
Realizing this, XSO-27 followed up with a jerky change of topic.
"So, um, why did you call me out today?"
XSR-59 blushed again, embarrassed at how quickly he had let himself be deterred from his mission.
He spoke the question that had been plaguing him for so long.
"Why?"
"Why what?" XSO-27 asked, slightly confused.
"Why did you help me? You could have gotten off much easier if we had both taken the blame."
XSO-27, unexpectedly, laughed at XSR-59's question.
"Why wouldn't I?" He said, not realizing the oddity of what he was saying.
XSR-59's experiences with other people had taught him that people were inherently selfish. When given a choice between themselves and someone else, they would always choose themselves. Hell, that was what kept most of the slaves in the Facility alive! For a tiny, mistreated child to have more morality and kindness in them than all the people XSR-59 had met put together-
And, oh. Oh. XSR-59 thought he might understand what some of the guards went on about when they were talking to each other about love and friendship and all those other nonsensical things.
His face grew hotter, and he stuttered through a few more trivial dialogues before he spit out the thought that had come to his head immediately after he had his revelation.
"Can I, can I follow you?" He asked hopefully.
"Huh?" XSO-27 scrunched up his nose, slightly confused.
"Will you accept me as your follower? Or would you prefer I be your slave? I can do that!" XSR-59 hurriedly corrected, waiting with baited breath to hear XSO-27's answer.
"HIE! NO! No! Never!" XSR-59's face fell, eyes clouding over. "But I would like to be your friend, if that's ok with you." XSO-27 almost whispered the last part, nervous the XSR-59 would reject him.
XSR-59's eyes, filled with grief only seconds ago, filled with tears that he wasn't sure were from happiness or relief. Teary for the first time since he was three, and had visited the Room for the first time.
He couldn't say anything, he felt like he had swallowed his tongue. Roughly rubbing away mucus and salty drops from his face, he exhaled sharply. And then he nodded, slowly and shakily.
And XSO-27 beamed, lighting the room with the force of his smile.