I got an idea the other day, and now where my exams isn't bothering me, I decided to write it down. The one-shot has got a lot to do with my story 'Bound to Change', but should be readable for everyone. As long as you know Bryan is absolute emotionless. Also the past is as my other story.

Disclaimer: Don't own beyblade.

White. White stood for purity and truth. He was in a whole white room. What the hell was he doing there? Where was Boris? Even Voltaire could do... Voltaire was not his absolute superior, Boris was, but they said he was supposed to be his absolute superior... But that didn't explain the white walls, white floors, white ceiling, white curtains, white furniture and the white bed with white sheets...

The team had lost. He himself had lost, and he hated that, hated it so burningly much that even just the thought of it was able to bring him back his black flames. When things had gone wrong, he had immediately walked over to Boris and suggested him to leave before anything more happened.

Boris had been mad at him ever since he had lost to the cat, but he did listen to an advice from the factor that was unable to lie to him. When their team captain lost too, and even seemed to subject to his opponent, Tyson, everything was going wrong. But since Voltaire was unreachable for Boris, and he himself didn't really care for the old man, he had just made sure Boris got out of the stadium. That hadn't been bad, and when his superior had ordered him back to his team, he had done so without questioning, leaving Boris alone to take care of the rest of his escape himself. Of course, before the man left, he made sure to stroke the boys chin and smile at him. Not normal... Not important either.

But that didn't explain the whiteness... Thinking back, he began to understand. Tala had given in to them, and with him, Spencer had followed. But he himself and Ian wasn't happy, and though Tala was his superior, his absolute superior were more important. When they had come to take them to interrogation, since Boris was gone and Voltaire obviously wasn't going to say anything, and they were some kind of witnesses of their crime, he had acted... violently. It had started with Ian beginning to mumble that he didn't want to go and that it was wrong, but when they had closed in on the smaller, he had smacked two of them over the heads. One had broken a nose, and the other had simply passed out.

The authority had reacted with violence, too, since everyone had gotten the expression from his match that he was ruthless and didn't mind killing if it was necessary. And they were right, you had to admit that, but they only knew half the truth. But to shorten it a little, they had hit him with a baton a few times, and when he hadn't really reacted, they was forced to hit him in the head. And did it hurt? No, it felt alright, he thought, but the memory explained everything. He was in a hospital.

He stood up from the bed and realized he had bandages around his arms, one leg and on around his head and upper body. But it didn't hurt when he walked, it only stung a little when he stepped on the bad leg. And that was only a nice thing, it felt good. He walked for the door, not even limping to get rid of at least a little of the pain, opened the door and got out to a just as white hall. With a few people. It was in the evening. That meant he had been out for a few hours. He turned and walked down the hall, ignoring the nurse that ran up to him.

"Wait!" she said and gripped his arm. "You are not allowed to leave the room!" He just shook of her grip and continued walking in search of an exit. When he walked past the door, he saw the cat that had beat him in the tournament look at him with fear, but he just continued until some security guards finally came and forced him back to his room. With the whole Bladebreaker-team to witness it.

Tala had considered leaving him. He had never been a real part of the team, and Ian and Spencer was his top priority. Yet the redhead had agreed to come talk with his teammate when he had refused to answer the questions the police had, since, as the redhead had said to the police, it was the least Tala could do after the trouble they had caused. Tala and the others had admitted that he was the last to see Boris, and that he had left the stadium together, but the other boy had refused. The only thing he said was that the last time he had seen the purplehaired man was at the tournament, where the battle had been. And they all knew it was a lie.

Tala opened the door and saw his teammate finish off the biggest Rubik's Cube the redhead had ever seen. He looked up from the cube and nodded his greeting to his captain before setting the cube beside a bunch of different sizes and with different finishes that was on his bedside table. It was the regular differeant dolored with no pictures on them, the only ones the hospital had. On one of them, he had made crosses out of same-colored squres on all sides, one of the bigger ones and something like a flower on each side. Why didn't he just make them like all normal people did?

"I came to talk to you," Tala said and walked over to sit on the bed beside him. He just nodded again, and Tala clenched his teeth. It was exactly this lack of human actions about him that made the redhead decide he didn't want to see that freak ever again. "Why don't you tell the police the truth?"

"I won't betray my superior."

Tala sighed. "I'm your superior too, remember?" Another nod. "You betray me by keep by Boris' side." Ugh, dilemma, dilemma. Tala hoped it would confuse his. Just a slightest bit. That way he might have a chance to make him talk to the police.

"Boris is more important."

Damn! You really couldn't confuse a genius, could you? He had set his mind already, knew the answer to every question anyone could come up with. That was inhuman, and though he had so many expressions on his face, Tala knew he didn't feel anything. It was a play for the other one, he was playing a game, like chess. The redhead sat in silence and watched him as he took one of the cubes from the table and spoiled it again to remake it, the redhead's mind working at full speed.

"What good has he ever done for you?" Shrug. "He hurt you, he hurt me, he hurt hundreds of kids, and you cover up for him?" Another shrug. The redhead's lips trembled as he tried to think. "You really don't care, do you?" He sent the redhead a false smile and a raised eyebrow. "I guess you don't care, then." A shiver crossed the redheads body. "Just... try to keep my words in mind. Please, mate."

Then the redhead rose and left the room, and his teammate. He had tried. He had at least tried.

The psychologist sat down in front of him. He hadn't the bandages anymore, it was two days since he got into the hospital and one day since he talked with Tala. They had told him every other kid from the abbey had been in this test too. He didn't understand why they had told him. Only that they had waited with him because of his injuries. That hadn't stopped the police from interrogating him...

"Alright, just look at these pictures and tell me what you see." She lifted up a white piece of paper and shoved it to him. Spots of ink, forming a figure of something.

"A paper with ink on it," he answered. Behind some one-way glass, Mr. Dickenson watched the boy with concern in his eyes. Tala came inside the room, having much more free will than the others because of his eagerness in helping them 'getting rid of the bastard'. His own words. He didn't know why he came to look at his teammate. Might he be more concerned for him than he had thought?

"What happened to him?" Mr. Dickenson asked as the next paper, and next paper again got the same answer, and Tala looked over at his teammate. The psychologist looked a little stressed out over the answers, so she tried again, asking him a little more. She had been the one to ask all the other kids from that place, and mostly they answered the most terrifying things, like guns, blood, whips. Sometimes, they answered beyblades or bitbeast once or twice, but mainly things related to the ones mentioned above.

"Does it look like a gun?" He shook his head and raised a questioning eyebrow, and for once, it was a truthful expression. He was confused. "A whip? Blood? You must see something!" Tala and the old man continued to watch the two, before Mr. Dickenson turned to the redheaded boy with a look that demanded an answer.

"I honestly don't know," Tala said, looking at the man. "He spent most of his time in the lab or alone. He was the only one to have a room of his own. He was with us when we trained, but... else we never saw him. I only remember the first time I met him, the first day he was there..." The wolf stopped, looking down. He hid the hurt and the pain behind his mask. "I don't want to talk about the incident that happened, but all I can say is that... he was the most vulnerable, most scared and most sensitive kid I have ever seen."

"No, it's just ink on paper." The psychologist had been through all of them and was creasing the last picture with a stressed look. The boy in front of her had given up showing any expressions. In stead, he face was blank as he watched her crumble in front of him, as she felt more and more certain that he was going to be her mental breakdown.

The psychologist took the last device on his head, very carefully. She was afraid to do something that might disturb him. He had many times showed a terrifying, bearlike strength, and though he also had showed he didn't care about anything around him, but just watched with lack of passion and emotion, it was best to be careful. Behind the glass, Tala stood and watched, alone. Mr. Dickenson had given up on the kid behind the glass.

"Alright, I'll show you some pictures," she said with a false smile. She stood behind a machine that showed a image of his brain-activity. She didn't like what she saw already now, as the activity of the part that controlled emotions was very low. First picture was a flower. Then a cup of coffee. Then a person covered in blood. It was now his brain should react, and it did. Though not badly, the brain showed a slight disgust. It was small, but unfortunately, it was enough, and she had to keep working with him. Then the series of pictures continued, sometimes showing a normal, everyday picture, sometimes showing a person in pain. And his mind reacted as it should, though it was weak.

Psychopathy, or antisocial personality disorder, as his diagnosis was ruined. Like every other diagnosis she considered. She took him out of the machine, as carefully as she had put him in, and took him out of the room, fighting not to begin to cry.

"You don't feel anything, do you?" she asked as they walked. "Tell me, do you feel sad? For Boris Balkov? Or do you feel happy for being here? Anything?"

"Sadness is an illusion. Happiness is an illusion. No, I don't feel." He repeated what he had been told hundreds of hundreds of times in the Abbey. After that, she refused to have anything to do with the boy.

All the while, Tala watched them move. He felt bad for his teammate. Something Boris had done had made him totally... wrong. And it was saddening. From thinking him as a freak and a monster, Tala slowly began thinking him as what he was. A victim, a hurt, little kid with no parents or family. He was almost like all the other kids from the Abbey. Almost...

Interrogation. This time, Mr. Dickenson was there, behind the glass, and Tala had been given permission to be there as well. Ian and Spencer had asked as well, but Tala had said he didn't want them there, so he was alone with the old man. Two cops sat in front of an absolutely not nervous, 14-year-old boy. They had given up on him telling them where Boris was, and instead looked for evidence about the Abbey.

"How did you get in to that place?" one of the cops asked. As said, he was not nervous. But the cops was a totally different matter, and while he just watched them with a smile on his face, of course a fake smile, they continued to shift weight and avoided eye contact most of the time.

"I was 4 year old. The man you call Mr. Balkov and I call Boris..." Yeah, they had continued to call his superior that. Stupid them. "... took me away from my mother and father when I had run out on the street because my dad was beating up my mom again. We had moved away from him because of that, but he had come back. Boris picked me up in his car, promising me I could help him change the world to the better." Like most others, it seemed Boris had picked them up from what they remembered. A very few could recall the death of their parents, while a lot didn't even remember their parents. How such an industry had been going on was scaring for everyone involved in the case. For some reason, it didn't surprise the cops anymore.

"The nurse told us you had scars on your back," one of the cops said, not mentioning the numbers. They were covering each other, so you couldn't get the right amount. But the nurse had said two hundred at the least. "From a whip... Just tell us if you don't want to talk about it," the cop paused when he saw the boy in front of him touch the two scars on his neck. They were normally hidden by the fur on the vest, as they were now. The boy just shrugged and took the hand down. "What... happened...?"

On the other side of the glass, Tala looked down, biting his lower lip hard. Mr. Dickenson saw this, but before he could ask, Tala looked up at him. "I was the one who whipped him. We were four year old." The only thing destroying the redhead's emotionless face was the tears overflowing his eyes. It took the old man a second to comprehend the knowledge, and he slowly took his arms out to the side, offering the redhead a hug. Tala looked at him a second, disgust crossing his face. Then he closed his eyes and let himself get embraced, though no tears began to run and no sobs broke through. It... did feel good.

"It was my first day, right after Boris and I arrived to the abbey. Tala Ivanov was the one who whipped me. 464 times. It didn't have the effect Boris wanted, but he was pleased nonetheless. After that, I was isolated in a dark room for many days. Then they came again and told they had a program for me, and that they had a goal. I know what it was, and I know they succeeded. They have used the last ten years of my life on making me emotionless. Feelings are illusions, you see? And throughout the years, I had to prove to them that I was. For example, trying to kill the one I was blading against. Or when I shot my mom dead when I was seven."

While brushing the teens back, still hugging the redhead, Mr. Dickenson watched the teen as he sat in his chair in front of two cops. Boris and Voltaire had gone to far. Far to far. He felt Tala move and let go of him while the redhead swiped the tears out of his eyes, not letting himself cry. Then he watched his teammate and for a second, just for a second, he saw a memory of a little kid hiding behind Boris' leg because he was to shy and afraid to meet the redhead properly.

"Mr. Dickenson..." Tala began, still looking at his teammate. The old man turned again to look at the redhead, watching as the teen hid his feelings behind a mask. Not even the eyes betrayed him, but Mr. Dickenson knew he was hurting. It was scary how every kid from that place had thar mask. "Do you think... It is my fault? That he ended like that?"

"No," the old man said, though he knew he was not going to change the redhead's mind. "If Boris and Voltaire wanted him like that, he would have ended up doing it, if you had... if you had whipped him or not. Don't blame yourself."

The psychologists didn't know where to put him. They had no diagnosis on him, though he was obviously not sane. The only thing they did know was that he didn't feel the feelings he felt, and he wasn't mental ill in a way that was normal. So was he going to a home for mental ill people? Or might he actually be able to survive in the normal world? And if not, where the hell was he going to be put without a diagnosis? They only filled the police in on their problem.

After a long discussion, Tala had convinced the police not to put the redhead and team, not including him, in a foster home. He said that, if they had a little economic help for being cooperative with the investigation, they could live and survive in an apartment of their own, and society wouldn't have to constantly find new foster homes for them because the didn't fit in.

The redhead knew what to say. He would probably be able to convince everybody everything. And when he realized they were talking about where to put his teammate, he contacted them and said he and his friends had a lot of experience dealing with him. They didn't have to worry for his well-being, since he was both a friend of the redhead's and a friend of the team.

Tala told the boy. "You are going to stay with me, under my roof." When the boy heard, he made one of his convincing, false smiles and nodded before going off. "Where are you going? Thought you would be h... oh, forget I said that, where are you going?" the redhead asked, and he turned around, still making that smile.

"I'm going to the police to tell them where I last saw Boris. In front of the building, on his way out of Moscow, driving south. He will be that way," he informed, and then turned around again. "Positions are changed. I'm not going to betray my absolute superior."

Okay, my attempt of a one-shot xD If I wrote 'Bryan' anywhere that is not the information-thingy in the top, I made a mistake in the fic ^^ I hope you liked it, it was made as a challenge to myself not to mention the protagonist's name once in the whole story. Have no idea why, but whatever xD

Do you think it should be K+ or T? I have set it at K+, but don't know if it was wrong. Also, what the hell is it's category? -.-' Pleeease help me!

Review if you like, criticism it more appreciated than praise, and I don't mind people going bananas because they hate me ^^ At least I didn't kill any characters...

Enjoy in joy anyway