"What are we going to do?"
The pen dropped from his hand, jumping at the voice. Irritation prickled inside him, and he turned his head.
"Does it look like I know?" His voice was harsh as he spoke to his younger colleague.
"You should know. You started this?"
"Well I don't. I have no fucking idea what to do right now."
There was silence. The youngest of the pair came forward- light shining on him. The room was pitch black, except for a small lamp on a messy desk. Possessions littered the floor- while papers and upturned ink stained the table. The lamp flickered- its bulb about ready to give up.
The youngest ran his hand through his blonde hair, alarm clear in his expression. But alarm and worry had been constant emotions in everyone who worked in the laboratory as of late. It was nothing new.
The other, with a frustrated sigh, banged his head against the desk, not bothering to lift it again. The blonde flinched, but didn't move.
"I don't even know how we got to this point."
"I don't think anyone does, Duncan." His voice was muffled by the papers pressed against his face. "But that's irrelevant. All we know is that we have a problem. It doesn't matter how it started. It matters how we end it."
Duncan sighed, grabbing a chair and pulling it up next to the other male, being careful not to tread on any of the possession on that floor. Taking a seat, he glanced at the papers. Hasty words and complicated equations inked the pages, but none of them had a conclusion.
"Douglas, I…" Duncan looked away, guilt feeling his expression. "We had a meeting earlier. Someone sent for you, but you didn't arrive. We came to some form of a… solution, if you will."
Douglas didn't look up- but Duncan knew he was listening.
"We did a few more tests on the strand of the virus… we found out something. Well, it wasn't me, it was-…"
"Get on with it, Duncan."
Duncan grew red with embarrassment, but pushed on.
"Yes. Well, we found out something. The virus- it's nature. It's very strange. It just wants to… feed. Feed on something. But it's not… hungry? That's the best way to put it- fuck scientific explanations. I'm tired of hearing them." His voice grew bitter. "It's not hungry- it'll settle for feed off one thing. Although, if it doesn't have something to feed off of, it'll keep trying to spread."
"What do you propose, then?"
"Well, we have the virus in the chamber on floor three. We get someone, put them into the chamber, the virus attacks them, and doesn't spread. It'll be happy with one host."
This time, Douglas did look up. However, before he could speak, there was a knock at the door. He turned his head, and narrowed his eyes.
"What are you doing here, Seth?" He recognised the man instantly- his long, thick, white hair instantly recognisable. Impatience touched him lightly. Although Seth worked hard, he had yet to earn the respect of most people in the laboratory.
"I need to speak to you."
"Well, it can wait." Douglas turned back around, eyes wide as he looked at Duncan. "Are you seriously telling me we're going to sacrifice someone's life for this? The person will die, Duncan. Do you want that blood on your hands?"
A flash of anger touched Duncan's expression, and his mouth curved into a frown.
"One life compared too many. If we don't hurry up, this virus is going to start to spread. With all due respect, I don't think you understand the magnitude of this situation!"
Douglas was on his feet in an instant, matching the blonde's anger.
"I do understand!" He hissed. "I understand more than you! I just don't want to kill someone!"
"People will DIE regardless if we don't do this! You want a solution, we have one! We all wished it wouldn't come to this, but it has!"
Douglas kicked the chair away from him in a fit of rage- toppling it, crunching a few of the items of the floor. Stamping forward, he came to a halt at the window, staring out at it with increasingly narrowed eyes.
"Even if your plan works, where are we going to get someone like that?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "The person we need has to be young- young enough to be the host of the virus for years to come. Young, fit, and healthy. Where are we going to find someone like that, willing to give up their life for this?"
Duncan sighed, the anger vanishing from him too.
"We don't know."
At that, Seth cleared his throat. Both men turned around, as if forgetting the white-haired male's presence.
"What do you want, Seth?" Duncan's voice was quiet, but impatient.
"I actually came to talk to you about earlier." He began. "I was in the meeting- and I agree with you, Duncan."
"That's nice, and thank you. And if you're quite finishe-…"
"No, wait! You don't understand. I agree with you, and I think I can help!"
Douglas and Duncan both turned around properly, eyes wide.
"I have a son! His name is Ryou. He's exactly what you need. He's young- only sixteen. He's incredibly healthy, athletically fit… he'd be so perfect for what you need!"
Duncan and Douglas expression turned to horror and shock. Although Duncan's held a glimmer of excitement.
"Seth, do you ever understand what you're saying? That's your son you're talking about!" Douglas was the first to speak.
"I understand completely, Sir. And I know he's my son. But think about it! If I volunteered Ryou, he would save the world! I would save the world!"
Duncan's expression lost most of it shock, now excitement filling with completely. Douglas, however, was still sickened.
"You're offering up your son like a lamb to the slaughter! What sort of father are you, if you're willing to kill him?!"
Seth narrowed his eyes, voice growing a little angry.
"You have no right to judge me. I have another son- Bakura. He's nineteen. It's not like I will be left childless, is it?"
Douglas opened and closed his mouth like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but Duncan had already walked towards Seth, shaking his hand almost violently.
"Thank you, thank you, and thank you!" His face was spread into a grin. "You're contribution won't go overlooked, I promise you! We'll raise your pay, you'll get a promotion- fuck it, you can have two promotions!"
Seth's face lit up with joy, eyes sparkling as he soaked up the attention.
Douglas wanted to speak, but he couldn't. Wanted to move, but he couldn't. Wanted to object to this, but his voice was gone. With a sigh, he closed his mouth, and turned back towards the window, his heart heavy.
It really was none of his business. And this Ryou boy- he wouldn't die for nothing. He would be saving the world, after all. His sacrifice would be for six billion people. And if his father approved, what else could he do?
He let his eyes slip shut. Maybe they were going to save the world with this boy- but was the world really worth saving, when fathers willingly gave up their children so easily?
"This birthday cake is bad, and you should feel bad."
"Bakura, I made that for you."
"Ryou, I know you made it for me. I can tell, because it doesn't actually look like a fucking cake."
"I spent like, three hours on that! You're so rude."
"And you're really fucking annoying."
"Ow! Don't punch me!"
"Don't do stupid things that deserve a punch, then."
"Muuum!"
"Ryou, you're sixteen. If you keep calling out for mum, your fucking sex life is going to go downhill."
"BAKURA!"
There was a sound of a scuffle, and as usual, in several seconds, Bakura came out on top. Mostly because his younger brother actually refused to fight back and just flopped on the floor like a total pacifist at every opportunity, but he still won.
As Bakura prepared to sit on Ryous back, trapping him, he heard the door open, and looked up to see his mother peering in.
"What are you doing?" Her voice was stern, but held a note of amusement. Ryou looked up, eyes wide.
"Bakura tackled me because I gave him a present!"
Bakura tutted, using a hand to push Ryous head back down.
"It was not a present. That tragic mess of ingredients on a plate was not a fucking present, Ryou."
"Bakura, get off of your brother. You're nineteen now. You'd think you would have grown up a little." His mother complained.
Bakura shot her a moody glare, debating about rebelling, but instead, he very slowly got to his feet, turning around to nudge Ryou with his foot.
"Now thank your brother for his cake." His mother leaned against the doorframe, eyebrows raised.
"For the last fucking time, it wasn't a cake, it was a-…"
"Bakura."
Bakura huffed in frustration, and nudging Ryou again with his foot, he very reluctantly offered grumbled thanks, which didn't sound very thankful at all.
"Thank you." His mother's voice was sweet, and she turned around. "Now play nice, I'll be in the living room."
Bakura clicked his tongue in acknowledgment, watching with a mocking expression as Ryou pulled himself up, shaking some dust off of him. His white hair- thinner than Bakura's, although still quite thick- fell back into place with ease, and his eyes looked up to glare at Bakura.
"I'm not going to apologize for calling mum."
Bakura laughed- his body losing some of its tension and relaxing. Although he and Ryou were almost the same height- save for a few inches on Bakura's side, he patted his head condescendingly.
"I'm not going to ask you too." He turned away from his brother, taking a seat at the island-counter they had in their kitchen.
The not-really-a-cake was in front of him, and if Bakura was a happier person, he probably would have smiled at the attempt. Things between him and Ryou had never been easy. When they were younger, they fought for the attention of their parents- Bakura being a naturally dominant and selfish person, while Ryou had a more of an innocent look about him, which often attracted affection. In the past, Bakura blamed Ryou for the root of his anger issues. His constant bad moods and temper that would burst at any moment.
But, as they began to age- Ryou reaching sixteen, while Bakura was nineteen today- their arguments softened. The days of hate were behind them- and while Bakura still retained his anger and general moodiness, they had come to tolerate their existence.
Ryou sat in the chair beside him, handing him a fork and plate. Taking the fork, although ignoring the plate, Bakura jabbed it at the side of the cake, twisting it and pulling of a piece.
Light blue icing covered a spongy center, and with an apprehensive frown, Bakura put it in his mouth, chewing it two or three times, before swallowing it.
It tasted… okay, actually. It didn't burn his mouth or make him throw up, like he expected. Just tasted like cake. Despite its outwards appearance, it was pretty nice to the taste buds.
"What do you think?" Ryou asked; his voice was a little squeaky.
"May not look like cake, but it tastes like cake." Bakura confirmed.
Ryou's face lit up with a smile.
"Happy birthday, Bakura."
"Thanks, brat."
"Never seen the likes of you before in here, now have I?"
Seth jumped. The room he was in was dark- with a single, flickering light giving the occasional burst of light. It was incredibly stuffy, heat surrounding him, pressing against his thick clothes.
"No, I, Uh, I'm a first time customer."
A man was standing behind a rough wooden counter, leaning against it on his elbows. A greasy mop of hair twisted around his rather round head, which was glistening with a large amount of anxious sweat. His small eyes narrowed in suspicious, his pig like nose twitching with distrust.
"Well, we don't like people who ain't regulars here, so whas' your business then?"
The man looked Seth up and down, a small, grubby eyebrow raising a little, his mouth curving into a mocking sneer.
"Whas' the likes of you being in here, with your fancy scientist coat and pens in ye' pocket? Come to rub ye' fancy job in the face of the less fortunate? It ain't welcome 'ere."
Seth looked alarm, and took a step back.
"Nothing like that, I assure you, sir." He adjusted the glasses that rested on his nose, attempting to lose any pompous manners around him. "I'm here looking to buy, you see. A safety precaution, if you must."
"Safety precaution?" The shopkeep raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you're lookin' around for guns and stuff to deal a fair amount of damage, I'm afraid we don't sell 'em here. We sell more… dramatic 'tings."
Seth laughed nervously.
"Actually, I'm looking for a bigger selection of… dramatic things, as you put them." He looked away. "My son always had a taste for being the center of attention. This'll probably fit him."
"You're shoppin' for ye' son in a place like this? What kind'a fatha' are you?"
Seth couldn't help it- he bristled. He'd heard enough back at the laboratory about 'what sort of father he was'. Frustration coursed through him- in that moment, he felt like he couldn't do anything right. Giving up his child to science was bad, while trying to protect his other was also bad. He was tempted to walk out the shop in that very moment, but he managed to stop himself.
"I have my reasons." His voice was rather curt.
"I'm sure ya' do, Sir, if you'll follow me."
And that was that. The chubby shopkeep lead the nervous scientist around the back, opening an old, creaking door, letting him step through, before following him, closing it behind him gently. More darkness awaited them- before the room was lit up in a red glow.
The scientist spent hours in the shop, in the red room. Looking at weapons- each a different type, each shape different, and each colour tone different. So much variety- all one goal. For protection. For a security precaution.
The greasy man stood in the corner- not speaking, just observing. He had his own thoughts. It wasn't every day that a man of importance came to purchase his wares. If they did, it meant something was coming. Something big- something they weren't telling them about.
There was silence. There was an extreme amount of silence as the world hung in the balance. The shop was the middle point of fate of the world at that very moment. Everything in life had been leading up to this very moment, while everything that would come when he returned home would be the beginning of the continue, or the end.
And when Seth finally made his choice- and the man pulled the blade from off the shelf, wrapped it up and bagged it, the scientist still didn't know which way it would go. All he knew was that he would have to be prepared for the very best, or the very worse.
And when he exited the shop and Seth felt the cold air finally hit him, he expected the situation to dawn on him. He expected to have feeling return to him, and for everything to slot into space.
But, it did not. And as he climbed into his car, he felt much like he did at the start of the day.
Focused on work. Determined to do his best for his profession. Nothing would get in the way of his greedy ambition- not even family.
"I guess dad isn't coming home."
Bakura glanced up- his brother's voice pulling him out of a hazy daydream. It took him a couple of moments to focus his eyes- and he realised that maybe he was a little more asleep than he realised. Turning his head in direction to Ryou, he was a little surprised to see concern and sadness in his brown eyes.
"Are you surprised?" Bakura's voice was heavy with sleep, and it shocked himself a little when he heard it. "It's not like he's ever made a fucking effort to come home on time, is it?"
Ryou shook his head slowly, agreeing in silence. It was a few minutes before he spoke again, and when he did, he was a little hesitant.
"I just thought, since it was your birthday, he might have made an effort."
Bakura snorted.
"When has he ever before?" With a wide yawn, he sunk lower into his chair, lifting his long legs and resting them on the coffee table in front of him. Ryou sat on the floor to his side, doodling away on a piece of paper to keep him busy. Although his younger brother wasn't particularly talented at drawing, it was a hobby, and day by day, Ryou was improving.
Bakura rested his eyes on Ryou for a couple of minutes, tracing his younger brother's hair slowly. While Bakura made sure to keep his at a length that was quite long- or though not too long, Ryou was content to let his grow. It hung down to his waist almost, and despite its length, it was still incredibly thick and fluffy. It took Ryou a while to clean and wash it, but he didn't seem to mind.
Ryou hummed again in agreement, and the two brothers lapsed into silence again. A few months ago, silence between them was rare, nothing but angry words filled between them. But now? They could simply sit in each other's presence, maybe not enjoying it, but tolerating it.
"You don't seem to care, Bakura."
"That's because I don't. Not in the fucking slightest."
A heartbeat passed.
"You don't care about a lot of things, do you, Bakura?"
Bakura let his own eyes slip shut, rubbing small circles on his temples with slight frustration. Tiredness continued to tug on his bones, and he doubted he had the energy to carry on a conversation without it turning sour.
"I don't." He said simply. "I really fucking don't."
Ryou suddenly twitched his head to the side- eyes darting towards the door. Within the next second, a loud banging echoed down the hallway, and Bakura narrowed his eyes in a mixture of confusion and anger. Normally, his father would stay out all night at his work. He would never actually come home after being late.
"Bakura? Ryou?"
Ryou was on his feet in an instant, abandoning his work and opening the living room door- disappearing towards the front door. Bakura, however, didn't stand. If anything, the albino simply sunk lower into the chair.
He heard a distant mumbling, but he didn't rise. He heard footsteps approaching the door, but he didn't move. Even when father and son entered the room, his eyes seemed to simply glaze over, not caring much.
"Bakura, happy birthday!"
Bakura turned his head, watching his father in complete silence, scarlet eyes piercing and… dull. His father didn't seem to care, however, and simply strode forward, coming to a halt just in front of Bakura. In his hand was a fancy looking thick bag- no patterns littered the front of it, and it seemed to have a very odd instrument inside of it.
"That's a fucking sorry excuse for a birthday bag." He finally spoke, casting a sideways glance at Ryou. "It's almost as fucking pitiful as his birthday cake."
He father took no notice of his words- simply thrusting his 'present' further forward- forcing Bakura to grab it, lest it fall into his lap.
Instead of grabbing the bag, however, he grabbed the strange looking handle that was sticking out at the very tip of it- a pure white and ridged, golden bands framed the top and bottom of it, with indents that looked like something to hold.
The bag fell to the floor as he gripped it, and with a wide eyed grimace, he realised he was holding a fucking katana in his fucking hands.
Real as day, the sword stretched and curved ahead him as it was revealed. He stood rather gingerly, finding the weapon painfully awkward to accommodate around. He heard a small gasp from Ryou- and he fucking understood his brother. What the fuck was he holding a FUCKING KATANA FOR?
He opened his mouth to speak, but found that words were beyond him. He kicked his chair behind him a little bit, giving himself more room- before raising his new… weapon? No, his new fucking thing that he really couldn't imagine a use for.
"You brought me a sword." The words came from his mouth without much consent, and without thinking about it, he raised it a little. "Why the fuck did you buy me a sword?"
His father brought his hands together, smiling a little, looking oddly peaceful, and yet nervous as fuck.
"Well, I was a little stuck on what to buy you this year, Bakura. I thought about a couple of things- you know, basic stuff. A new iPod- I know how much you use yours. Money, CDS, books, but you know… I wanted something special! And you're a very dramatic boy, Bakura. I thought you'd appreciate something more… out there."
"Dad, it's a fucking sword."
His father pulled his collar back a little nervously, and for the first time, Bakura realised how… strange his father was acting. He was so calm and peaceful… But at the same time, he looked like he was going to explode from nerves. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and he kept shifting, eyes darting to Ryou rather desperately, as if he was going to escape somewhere.
Suspicious pricked Bakura.
"Yes, well, it is. Now, excuse me for a moment. Ryou, could you come with me?"
Pale hand encased a skinny wrist, and in a heartbeat, his father had yanked Ryou quite painfully from the room, leaving Bakura alone, awkwardly holding his fucking sword.
He was about to inspect the strange gift a little more when he noticed a sheet of paper on the floor. Leaning down and picking up the bag that held his strange gift, he found something that looked like a sheath. It was equally as plain white as the… handle thing… of the weapon. (Bakura made a mental note to research the new addition to his possessions.) Awkwardly shoving it into the sheath, he rested it against the sofa, watching it for a few seconds to make sure it was going to stay up.
When he was certain it would, he turned around, crossing the living room in a few long-legged steps, leaning down and picking up the grubby piece of a paper with a slight frown on his face.
The paper was covered in quick scrawls, and he glanced up a little when he heard a sudden angry slam of a door. He grimaced at the sound, before looking back down, eyes scanning the words.
It took him a few times to process what he was reading- and even when words began to come into focus, it took him several seconds to finally understand the words that stained the aged paper.
I, Seth [REDRACTED],
Bakura blinked. Why was his father keeping his second name a secret? He shrugged. Didn't matter.
Hereby sign this consent form that my son, Ryou [REDRACTED], is to be used as a volunteer to help further scientific research. As the parental guardian of him, I have assured his consent.
Bakura's stomach twisted painfully.
I will bring him into the laboratory on the night of Decemeber 1st. He will be briefed, and then be put to use.
The paper slipped from his hand.
It fell to the floor in a horrible, aching silence. The silence that grew in your bones and infected your ribcage- strangled your heart and choked the words that could save you. Rotted your teeth and tore out your hair, slit your throat and stole whatever you had left to own.
The slamming door he heard suddenly seemed so much more significant. The way his father clung to Ryou and dragged him out the door. The way Bakura's chest was heaving with a mixture of rage and dread and the way his blood began to boil and stir within his veins.
He shook. He shook and trembled and he didn't fucking know why but his hand shot straight to the sheathed weapon that suddenly felt like his lifeline. He fiddled with it for a moment, turning it in his hands until he found a strange metal clasp at the back of it. Pulling off his shirt, he pulled the metal clamps apart and pierced the fabric of his shirt- the two sides coming together and locking on the other side.
He pulled at it a little- but the sheath stayed on the back of the shirt pretty well- and he thanked fuck for the thick fabric of it- and without another word he pulled it back over his head. It felt heavy and he knew it would take a while for him to adjust to it, but he didn't care. He didn't fucking care about anything right now. All he knew was that Ryou was fucking gone, and he wasn't safe. He wasn't safe in the sick hands of his work-fucking-obsessed bastard of a father.
Sword in sheath, Bakura tore from the living room- slamming the door behind him without caring how much sound he made. He didn't care if he woke his mother. He didn't care, he didn't care, he didn't care.
He glanced sideways into the kitchen as he passed- catching a glance at the cake that Ryou had made. The sigh only spurred him to move faster, and with an angry snarl, he reared his leg and kicked the front door open- leaving a sizeable dent in it.
The cold air hit him immediately, and his breaths were quick and shallow enough to drink it in instantly. Filling his lungs and breaching into every inch of his bloodstream, his scarlet eyes flashed as he watched the car that held his brother and father speed far ahead of him- heading towards its final, sick destination.
"Ryou." The words fell from his tongue in an instant. "I won't let him take you."
His body trembled.
"I won't let them take you."