They took it from me.
Give it back…!
Yuan is bound. He strains against the iron binding his wrists and ankles. He pits his muscles and his mind against his prison, but the prison doesn't yield. This isn't right. It doesn't feel right in any sense of the word. He controls the earth, not the other way around. He has never answered to an authority so… so simple, so weak. He knows the walls are poor quality iron – he has enough experience to be sure – and he can't break them. The floor is dirt, and he can't move it.
For the first time in his life, Yuan is caged.
It is frustrating beyond anything he's ever known.
A door opens, and a sliver of light pierces his cell. For a moment Yuan is blind and he cringes, but the probender within asserts itself and he snarls. Better to not show weakness. Better to be strong.
But half his heart doesn't commit to the show. It can't commit. Something is missing.
A hooded figure stands in the white doorway. Now the probender retreats, and fear spikes in Yuan's chest. It's him. But when the figure speaks it is not the voice on the radio.
"This is him?" a woman asks.
A man replies, "Yes ma'am. We picked him up during the raid."
Memories come flooding back. Yuan recalls training in the gym, throwing earthcoins at a sagging net, listening to the final match in the arena below and pretending he was down there, reveling in the glory and smashing the Foxbats or the Fire Ferrets or whoever it was that won. He remembers the roar of the crowd, the ringing announcer, the buzzer, another roar that became a collective scream…
And then…
This prison.
"Who are you?" he demands, though he knows the question is stupid. His bending is gone, and that alone speaks volumes.
The woman says nothing. Instead she enters the cell and the door shuts behind her. For another moment Yuan is encased in darkness before there is a click and a single bulb burns from a hanging string in the center of the room. The woman is wearing a shining raincoat, which she removes and tosses aside. Her hair is black and bound in a knot. Her narrow eyes are brown. She has small lips that are pressed into a line. She takes a chair from the corner and places it backwards under the bulb, then sits, legs straddling the backrest, arms folded over top.
Yuan kicks his feet. Or he tries. The ankle cuffs chafe his skin. "Who are you?" he repeats, but his voice cracks. He feels… helpless. It is not familiar.
The woman's narrow eyes become narrower. "No," she says. "Who are you?"
"Wha-?"
The chair flies at him. Yuan shirks away and hard wood strikes his body. He yelps. Then the woman is over him, squatting with a club in one hand, those eyes fixed to his face. "Who are you?" she asks again.
"Yuan!" he blurts.
The club swings. Yuan's shoulder bursts into pain. It's not broken – he knows this almost immediately – but it still hurts like hell. "Why-?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm Yuan!" he croaks. "I'm a probender!"
The club crashes against his temple, and everything goes black.
He comes to when the door opens again.
It is the same scene. There is a hooded figure, and it is the woman. A man is next to her, but the woman enters alone. The door closes and the bulb comes on. Yuan's impulse is to earthbend, but he can't. His head splits with pain, and his wrists and ankles are sore, and his lips are dry, and there might be wet in his hair. He can't tell if it's sweat or blood. He squints at the woman. She sits in the chair, silhouetted against the light, club in hand.
Fear invades Yuan's stomach. "Please," he begins, but the woman tilts her head and Yuan cringes.
"He wants to know," she says. "Who are you?"
Yuan's ears hear her words, but his eyes are locked on the club. His breathing comes hard. "I- I-…" The chair squeaks. He whimpers. "I'm Li Yuan. I am- was- I- I- was a probender."
She leans forward. Yuan cannot see her lips move when she says, "You were a what?"
"A- a probender."
"What did you do?"
"I was a bender."
This time the chair simply falls over. The woman takes two steps. Clack clack. She is over him again, and Yuan tries to become small. He tries to shrink into the corner, tries to hide behind his own shoulders, even as he watches the woman through one eye. His armpits are wet. Sweat leaks down his face and into his mouth. It tastes like copper.
The woman is terrifying beyond anything he's ever known.
She kicks Yuan in the chest, and then the club jabs him at the base of his neck. His vision goes hazy and he slips into the black abyss once more.
This time it is the squeak of rust that drags him back to the world.
Before he can even see, that sound burrows into his mind. Then his eyes shoot open. He kicks against the dirt floor and shields his face. His stomach is a hole but he isn't hungry, because it is filled with fear.
Again he tries to earthbend, he tries to throw up a wall, he tries to break his chains, he tries to shut the door, he tries to toss the woman out of the cell. But it doesn't work. He is powerless.
The woman turns on the bulb. She stands next to it in her organization's outfit. Yuan can see her eyes, her hair, her lips, her chin, her shoulders. Her club is not in hand.
He feels relief.
But her hand is gloved.
When Yuan notices this, more memories return. The gym again. The lights had flickered overhead as three of them burst into the room. He remembers pelting them with earthcoins, but they danced and dodged. He remembers sidestepping their punches. He remembers the strikes that eventually land, crippling his arms. He remembers a device, a glove, and then-
Pain.
The glove on the woman's hand is of the same design.
"No- no," he mumbles. He summons a rock from the dirt to throw. But there is no rock.
You took it from me.
Give it back!
"I did not take it," the woman says.
Yuan swallows. Did he speak out loud?
"He took it. He took it, because he wants to know who you are."
Yuan sobs. "I told you! I'm Li Yuan!"
She raises the glove. "Who are you?"
"I'm Li Yuan!" Tears pour from his eyes. "I live on Inner Peace Avenue, at 3508! Room 103!"
She steps closer. "Who are you?"
"I'm just a guy!" He wants to earthbend. He can't. "What do you want from me?"
He can't earthbend, and it is maddening beyond anything he's ever known.
But the woman stops. Her hand is up, her fingers open. Nothing happens. For the longest time she stares at him with those narrow eyes, and Yuan sniffs, staring back, and he knows his own pupils are wide. He might've wet himself, he doesn't know. He might be bleeding, he doesn't know. He might have a concussion, he doesn't know.
He can't bend. This he knows.
"I'm just a guy," he whispers.
The glove is lowered.
"He will see you."
The new room is in every way different from the old. It is larger, almost the size of Yuan's flat. It is wood paneled, and there is a small grated window on the far side that shows blue sky. There are two bookshelves to the left and right as Yuan is led inside by a man in Equalist garb. But these things he only notices out of the corners of his eyes.
In the center of the room sits a man in a chair. He is hooded, and he wears a mask. Across from him is another chair. The masked man simply holds out a palm, as if in invitation.
Yuan looks at the man, and then at his escort, who does something to his shackles and they fall away. It feels wonderful. Yuan examines his wrists, skin chafed red. They still hurt, but not as much.
But he does hurt. Because something is missing.
"Sit," the masked man says.
Again Yuan looks at his escort, but the escort is already gone and the wooden door is shut. He swallows. He takes a few slow steps – his footing is still poor on wobbly ankles – and sits in the offered chair. He fidgets. A muscle above his left eye twitches involuntarily. He tries to calm his hands but he can't help but wring them in his lap.
The masked man is staring at him. "You know who I am, of course."
Yuan tries to speak, but his throat is parched. He forces a single word: "Amon."
There is a nod, almost imperceptible. "I am he. And you are Li Yuan. You live at 3508 Inner Peace Avenue, in apartment 103. You own a spotted leopardsnake named Yoro. You have two brothers and a sister, with whom you grew up outside the city. You left on your own when you were seventeen and made your way into the probending circuit. You have been marginally successful – enough so to pay your bills – but you have never competed beyond the first round of the finals. You often train late in the evening. Your teammates are Tsang and Lihara, and they have been your friends for three years now."
Yuan blinks. His mouth is parted but no words come. Amon leans forward in his chair and rests his elbows on his knees. For the first time Yuan notices his eyes. They are narrow like the woman's, but the skin around them is white and scarred.
Amon continues, "You have friends. You have a family. You have a pet, and there are things in life you like and things you dislike. There are things you will fight for and things you do not concern yourself with. You may or may not care about crime or politics, but you know these things can be detrimental to your life. Am I correct?"
Yuan nods.
"Then what you must understand, Li Yuan, is that these traits apply to many, many others." Amon waves a hand in the air. "In fact, if I were to list these traits to any of my followers, they would claim to know a dozen people who fit them. I myself could list a dozen, or two dozen." The hand returns to his lap, and he tilts his head forward. "In many ways, I myself fit these traits."
Yuan can only stare. He can only listen. He sits with the man who stole his bending, and he cannot but wait.
"If I were to ask you a week ago, 'Who are you,' what would you have said? Think very carefully."
Yuan thinks. He thinks back to the cell, and the woman with the club. He thinks back to the gym, and to the arena floor. He thinks back to the matches he has won and the matches he has lost, and the celebrations and lamentations afterward.
"I- I would have said… I was a probender."
"Yes. You would have told me this. You would have defined your life around your pursuits – your probending – and you would have claimed a set of skills associated with the world of sports you lived in. But now," he opens his palms and spreads his hands, "I will ask you the same question. Who are you?"
Yuan's breath comes quick through his nose. "I'm… I'm Li Yuan."
"And what defines you, Li Yuan?"
He stops. First he thinks for the right answer, the one that will get him out of here alive, bending or not. He wants to leave this room, and run from this man who has torn out what feels like half of his very soul. But he also thinks for the true answer. He thinks about the friends he has, and the family he visits, and the places he goes and the activities he enjoys. He thinks for what feels like an eternity. No matter how long he thinks, Amon simply sits there, waiting.
Who am I?
Yuan licks his lips. "I'm a citizen. Of Republic City."
The mask nods. "Good. So you are."
Then Amon stands. It is not a menacing posture, but Yuan feels intimidated. He shrinks into his chair as the mask looks down. "Know this, Li Yuan. Your bending is not who you were, and it is not who you are now that you have lost it." He makes a sweeping gesture. "My people cannot bend. Many of your fellow citizens cannot bend. But they live beyond the narrow world you once defined with your abilities. Those things that I have listed – they are your core, and they will continue to be who you are." Then the mask leans down. Amon grips the armrests of Yuan's chair. He is close, very close, and Yuan can see the burned skin that rounds his eyes, and the lines in his irises, and the tiny holes of his pupils. "But those things can be taken away as well, and they need not be taken by me. And when they are gone, what will you have? Then, who will you be?"
Yuan can only stare back. He cannot earthbend. His wrists and ankles hurt. His stomach is full of nothing.
Who am I?
I'm Li Yuan.
Suddenly Amon stands. "Those things can be taken. I don't need to be the one to do it." He turns away. "But I can be."
The door clicks.
"Leave. And tell those who define your life."