I was awoken by the soft murmur of distant voices, carried through the chill night air. Abandoned by the warm embrace of sleep, I felt the cold harshness of reality crash upon me like freezing water, and I was suddenly very aware of how painfully hard the brick wall and concrete floor I curled up against was, and how the cold air seemed to pierce into my bones like shards of ice. With a shiver, I wrapped my arms around my knees, my breathe coming out in misty puffs between my chattering teeth.

Winter was gradually setting in, freezing over the brilliant colours of Autumn, and on some of the coldest nights, when a thin sheen of frost layered the ground, and the strong winds held a bitter chill that pierced right through me like a blade, I almost wished I was back with them. When the concrete was so cold and bruising on my body, and I couldn't sleep because of the icy chills running through my veins, I was reminded of the comfort of those large beds, even when I was being forced against them, the soft sheets against my back, my head sinking into the pillows while my body was being violated.

But no. I escaped. I got away. Anything was better than that, no matter how painful it was, no matter what hardships I had to endure. I would never go back.

The voices grew louder now, and I felt slight alarm flutter in my chest. I prayed it was just some drunken party goers on their way home, that they would walk straight past this narrow, filthy alley and I could continue to hide in the shadows, undisturbed. Footsteps echoed through the dark, one...no two sets. They seemed to stop at the mouth of the alleyway, their voices echoing between the buildings.

"I think it's empty." one voice rung out from the darkness, deep and masculine.

"Let's check." came a hoarse reply. My stomach clenched with fear, and my heart began racing in my chest.

My body was drained and weak from fatigue and hunger, I could barely muster the strength to stand up, so if they decided to attack me when they found me, fighting was undoubtedly out of the question, and on top of that I had began to panic. I could feel it build in me, the alarm running through my nerves, the racing of my heart as it echoed in my ears, the sweat soaking my brow, trickling down my face in beads.

A shadow loomed above me, and I peered up from under my hood. Steely blue eyes stared down at me, as cold and sharp as the edge of a blade. "This is our spot now." a voice spat. I could almost feel it pierce into me.

I only nodded, not trusting my self to speak. There was nothing I could do, moving was a hassle, but getting caught up in a fight was ten times worse. I pushed myself to my feet, my legs trembling with fear beneath me. I brushed by the guy who'd addressed me, the taller of the two. I could feel the seconds one's gaze eating into me, like pressure against my skin, and when I walked by he suddenly called me to a halt.

"Wait." he said, his voice rusty, as though his throat was dry. "Can you show me your face?"

I froze on the spot, fear creeping into the pit of my stomach. " W-Why?" I asked nervously, my voice shaking slightly as I turned to face him. It probably wasn't a smart move, but I was too scared out of my wits to think straight.

His dark eyes regarded me with curiosity, and he slightly cocked his head to the side with a bird like motion. Then he suddenly lunged forward, and grabbed my hoodie by the collar. He was small and slender, much like myself, but he had a surprising amount of strength. He reached out for my hood, and pushed it back, exposing my face to the cold night air. His eyes seemed to travel up and down my body for a moment, and I suppressed a shudder, easily guessing what was going through his mind right now.

His eyes met mine, and he pulled at a strand of my long blue hair, running his fingers through it. "You look just like a girl. Maybe we can pretend for a night." he said, his voice low, his lips curling into a grin. I didn't want to be touched by those filthy hands, so I inadvertently shook my head in a panic. I felt him grab me, and I suppressed a shocked cry of terror. In one swift motion, that left me feeling sick and disorientated, he'd shoved me face first against the wall and pinned my hands behind my back, bending my arms painfully. "It wasn't a question." he said, his voice quietly sinister in my ear, his warm breathe fanning the side of my face. Something cold touched my cheek, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a sliver of silver, the gleam of a thin blade. My chest tightened with fear, and I couldn't take my eyes off of the blade in the corner of my vision. "If you try and escape, I might just ruin that pretty face of yours." he said with bitter amusement.

My heart was suddenly seized with terror, and I could feel the alarm running through my nerves like lightening, every hair on my body prickling, cold fingers running down my spine. It felt like I was back there again, those hands were on my body, that chain was around my neck with choking tightness, so cold, like ice against my skin. The terror was so vivid and raw that when it gripped me, I felt like I couldn't breathe. Every cell in my body screamed at me to run, and before I knew what I was doing, I frantically fought against his tight grip, and forgetting the knife that was held to my face I threw my head back blindly, hoping it would collide with his. Something hard hit my skull, there was a bone jarring crack followed by a short cry of pain. At the same time, a sharp pain sliced across my cheek, and I felt warm blood well up from the cut.

The painful grip loosened from around my wrists, and I yanked myself free, bolting for the end of the alley. A large silhouette appeared before me, blocking my path, and something was being swung at me, gleaming silver in the pale moonlight. A long thin metal bar, hooked around at the end, like the deadly claws of an animal flew toward my face. I just managed to duck away at the last second, and there was a horrible noise of bricks shattering above me, dust and debris raining down upon me as the crowbar crashed into the wall. I didn't have time to shield myself from the falling rubble, because he was upon me again in seconds, and some of it crashed upon my head, the finer pieces clinging to my hair. I choked a little on the dust, but I managed to recover quickly. Despite the tired aches and pains that lingered in my body, I found strength rush through me, and the sharp coldness of battle suddenly washed over me, and the fire ablaze in my veins helped me focus on my surroundings.

I was small, and I was fast. I saw the chance to maneuver by him, and I took it, darting past him as his arm was raised, crow bar in hand to strike at me again. I had just made it to the edge of the alley, I was almost free, when a sharp pain pierced my side, so intense my breathe caught in my lungs. At the same time, a hand tugged at my hood, and the collar of my jumper was chafing against my throat, choking me. The hoodie was large, and baggy, and somehow with trembling fingers I managed to undo the zip and slip out of it, making my escape.

Everything after that was a blur. I remember feeling a sense of dim shock wash over me, of running through darkness so intense I could barely see, of branches reaching out like black claws against the night sky, scraping at my face, my body, a sharp pain running through my leg, like the crack of a whip, the world turning upside down. The moon was so large and pale, like a silver disc sailing across the night sky, followed by whispy clouds and twinkling stars. My entire body felt empty and numb, and the only thing I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears, accompanied by the racing of my heart. Something cold and white fell on my face, and I closed my eyes, and gradually the world went dark, and everything fading into silence.

"You're ours Aoba."

"We're your biggest fans."

"We love you so much, Aoba."

Those words, repeated over and over like a broken record. I was in a dark room, cold chains wrapped around my arms and legs, biting into my skin like the teeth of a predator sinking into its prey. I couldn't see anything, something was wrapped tightly around my head, covering my eyes. Those hands were touching my body. At first it was gentle, light caresses over my skin, but suddenly it was painful. They were grabbing me roughly, clawing at me, their finger nails digging into me with so much force I felt my skin slice. Fear bunched up in my chest, choking me, and I was bound with terror. But I couldn't cry out, something wet was scrunched up in my mouth, tasting of bitter wine that soaked into my tongue, making it hard to breathe. The first slice of the blade across my skin was an agonising pain, sharp and intense. The second was even worse, and then the third, the fourth... I wanted to scream, to beg him to stop. It was too painful. The backs of my eyes were being painted red, each slow cut trailing across my skin like fire. He did it just for fun. They both did it all just for fun. It could have been the one hundredth cut, or the one thousandth, but by then it was just cold and numb. I couldn't feel the pain anymore. I could no longer feel anything. I had become numb, an empty shell of the person I once was, as cold and unfeeling as a china doll. I stared at my pale face in the mirror, my reflection looking back at me with despair in its eyes. I couldn't believe that was me. My face was so sunken, so hollow so pale, my cheekbones jutted out, odd and angular, and grey crescent moons had formed under my eyes, which used to be such a vibrant hazel, but were now dull and lifeless, the colour of muddy water. The chain around my neck gleamed in the reflection, large and ugly, a heavy metal confinement that choked me.

Suddenly a huge crack formed across the mirror, cutting my face in half. Then another, and another, until it was shattered with spidery cracks as though it had been smashed with a hammer, and I was staring at the reflection of an unfamiliar face, like an abstract Picasso portrait, everything seemed to be in the wrong place. I reached up, and gently touched my cheek, and when I pulled my hand away, fine pale powdery dust was scattered on my fingers. I brushed them against my face again, and this time there was a small chunk of something in my hands, with the delicacy of glass, and the fine milky colour of chalk. Then it began falling from my face in chunks, and I could feel it. I could feel my skin break, as though cut with knives, and the hard substance falling away and shattering on the floor. I looked at the mirror once more, and where my left eye should have been, there was a dark empty space, and more and more of my face was falling away in hard chunks, leaving behind only empty blackness until there was nothing left.

It wasn't the mirror that had been shattering. It was me.

I awoke with a start, the vivid horror of the nightmare already fading from my mind. Gradually I peeled my eyes open, a dull ache pounding through my heavy head. The first thing I noticed was an orange light through my blurred vision, dancing in front of me like it was alive. At first I thought I was dead, but then a sharp pain stabbed through my side, making me feel nauseous, and my eyes bolted open, and the sight of an unfamiliar room gradually swam into view. A warm blanket had been placed over me, and my head was against something furry and soft, although it felt so heavy it was like it had been glued there. It hurt to look around, every slight movement sending a fresh wave of pain through my body, but I managed to crane my neck enough to see that the dancing orange light was actually a fire, leaping in a fire place on the opposite side of the room, and I was in what could have been a cabin, lying on a soft sofa. Around me it was all wooden walls and shelves, decorated with finely carved sculptures, the feathers of a dream catcher dancing in the corner of my eyes.

Someone had brought me here. The first thing that raced through my mind was that they had found me, had dragged me back to that awful place to do awful things to me again. But this place was completely different, it had a more rustic and homely atmosphere to it. It belonged to someone else. But I didn't know if they were friendly or not, and I didn't intend to stay long enough to find out. It took a great deal of effort to sit myself up, my joints creaking with an ache, my muscles screaming in protest, but eventually I managed to, and sweating with effort, I leaned back against the sofa. I noticed something soft and tight wrapped around my body. Bandages, beneath my clothes. One bound around my ankle, the other stretched over my right side. Someone had tended to my wounds as well, it seemed.

After resting a few moments to catch my breathe, I tried to stand up, and instantly a sharp pain jolted up my leg, and I cried out, my ankle giving way beneath me. I crashed to the ground with a thud, and then winced, both at the pain and the noise I'd made. Surely if someone was here they would have heard, and would be coming to investigate. I tried to crawl along the floor, but my limp leg dragging along behind me made it a slow, agonizing process.

I heard footsteps behind me, and froze, my blood turning to ice as a shadow seemed to block out all the light in the world. "Oi." a low deep voice rung out from above. "You should be resting."

I was suddenly lifted, and found myself back on the sofa, staring into gold eyes, with a similar radiance to the setting sun. A faint smell of cinnanom wafted up, brushing against my nose, but was instantly chased away by the iron scent of blood. I felt something sickly warm spread out under my shirt, and glanced down to see a deep red stain, spreading out like dye over the light material. "I'm bleeding." I muttered absently.

"That's why you need to rest." the man replied, sounding a little exasperated. I looked up at him now, and was a taken aback. He was really tall, and broad, probably hiding a muscular body under his tan shirt and plain jeans. Long brown hair fell over his shoulders with two feathered brades, fading to auburn pink at the tips, and once again I was captivated by those golden honey coloured eyes. They looked so familiar, as though I'd seen them before in a dream. My mind suddenly felt distant, overtaken by the surreal obscurity of deja-vu for a moment.

"I'll get more bandages." he muttered flatly, breaking my numb, trance like state.

"Why bother helping me?" I asked, without really thinking. Thinking seemed so hard right now, my mind was slow and sluggish, as though it was filled slush, and I just wanted to sleep.

He stopped mid stride, and turned to me. "Aoba..." he said slowly.

I felt a jolt run through me, my nerves twisting uneasily. "How do you know my name?" I asked, my eyes narrowing.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"Who are you!?" I demanded, feeling frustrated at my ignorance, like I was being kept in the dark about some important secret.

He sighed deeply. "If you really don't remember me, that's probably for the best." There was sorrow written on his face, reflected in those warm eyes.

Panic and confusion welled up in me. I'd never seen this man before. Had I?

But then again...all I could remember was those two, their pale blonde hair and striking blue eyes, the way they touched me and held me, the things they did to me. I couldn't remember anyone else, but there'd always been a nagging feeling at the back of my mind, festering since I'd escaped, that there had been others before, other people I couldn't remember anymore. Their faces and names washed from my mind, drowned out in the torture of pleasure and pain. But I'd never had to think about it, since I assumed I was never going to see any of them ever again.

Maybe once I had dreamed of going home, to return to my old life. It seemed like a vaguely familiar idea, something I may have once thought about. But all those people were now strangers, and I was too broken to fit in with normal society now.

Could he be one of those people? Someone from my old life?

I stared at him, really stared. I studied his face, the tan of his skin, the curve of his strong jaw, his heavy brow creased above his golden eyes, his high cheekbones, partly hidden behind loose strands of hair, his long aquiline nose, his wide mouth and thin lips. His looks were sort of striking, an intense, defined face, with the sort of handsome mature appeal of an older guy, if you were into that. Surely I would have remembered someone so impressive? I tried so hard to recall, to force the pieces into place, to will the memories to return. But it was no use. There was nothing but obscured darkness before Virus and Trip.

"How much have you forgotten?" he asked, his gaze meeting mine.

I shook my head. "I don't know. Do you really know me?" I asked. I was of course still wary, but something about him made me want to trust him. It was those eyes, as soon as I'd saw them I'd had a strong sense of deja-vu.

His gaze dropped. "If you remembered, you would hate me."

Those words, spoken with so much self loathing and despair, sent chills through me. Just who was this man?

"Will you at least tell me your name?" I asked. Since he knew mine, I felt it was only fair. And maybe it would help spark some memory within my head.

"Mink." he replied.