He doesn't think he'll ever get used to it, stumbling out of the metaverse. His collapse is inevitable, barely being able to keeps on his knees. The blood rolls down from his forehead and over his brow. He thinks he should be in a lot more pain, his arms feeling limp, legs weak. The grip on his toy weapons were quickly fleeting. The whole time, in that world, his grasp around the items were so tight it turned his small knuckles white. Now he can barely feel his fingers. He's sure they hurt too.
He probably would have outright passed out if not for the guard his father had sent once he was done. The large man didn't care about being gentle, rough fingers hooking on the underside of his elbow. He couldn't stop himself from yelping in pain. The pain shot from his arm throughout his entire body, his weapons dropped to the ground when he feels his whole body shudder. That doesn't make the guard stop, pulling him along tighter, reminding him to shut up. His vision was blurred by the blood in his eyes, but he could make out the vague stern look on the man's face. He bites down his pain, just like his father would have liked. His gaze goes back to his discarded toy weapons, almost forgetting his voice, "H- hold on." The guard follows his gaze to see his tools. A prompt groan comes after, aggressive hand releasing its grip.
Of course the man wouldn't be courteous enough to not have the boy do it himself, barely being able to stand on his own too feet when limping over to his toys. With them in his hands, he turns back to see where the man was a moment ago. He takes his free hand to rub some of the blood out of his eyes, swearing he was there just a moment ago. He notices the car instead, that must have been where he had gone. It was a miracle that he managed to walked that far, legs quivering from fatigue. Being able to sit down again felt like a relief itself, even if the atmosphere around him was left feeling hostile. It was always so dark in the back seat. He notices himself alone among the seats, glancing up to see the large man in the driver's seat. He decides to ignore him. This was an opportunity of rest.
He doesn't bother putting on a seatbelt. Bones and muscles ache when he lays his body down, taking up the entirety of the back. He sets his toys on the floor right below the seat where his head was so he wouldn't forget them. It doesn't take him too long to drift off, letting the rise and fall of the car lull him into sleep. It was brief, but maybe it was a blessing that he wasn't given long enough to sleep for the haunting dreams to arise.
There's that hand again, yanking him from his sleep. He was sat up before he knew it. "Hurry up, Shido wants to see you." The man's voice is almost threatening, and the boy draws back when he's let go.
It shouldn't have been surprising, his father always wanted him to check in with him after missions. Just the sound of his name still left the feeling of exhaustion bleeding deeper. He watches the guard go on without him, not bothering to wait for him to gather his things. It's only once he has his toy weapons held tightly to his chest does he leave the car. He closes the door behind him, the loud sound nearly sending another jolt through his skin.
It feels like it takes him decades to get up to his father's office. He had passed enough watching eyes on the way, sending holes through his head with each whisper of judgement he heard. They were only over ever his father's workers, but somehow that managed to make it feel even worse. He keeps his head down, minding his own business when he holds his weapons closer to his chest, grip tightening as though he was in the metaverse again.
When he's confronted with the door to his father's office, he immediately wants to turn around. He wanted to escape this. Be anywhere but here. No matter how far he ran, though, there was no stopping it. He had to face his father now. His hands are still hesitant when turning the handle to let himself in. "Fa- Shido," he clears his hoarse throat, catching himself, "The mission is complete. He has been... disposed of," that word felt disgusting on his tongue, but there was no other way to put it.
Sat behind his desk, Shido calls for him, "Come here, Goro." He hadn't left the safety of being close to the door. He has to listen, though, feet shuffling over to display himself in front of the desk. He's kept his head down this whole time. That changes when there is an assertive under his chin forcing him to look up. His wide eyes meet those of his narrowed father, "Look at me when you're talking to me," Shido sounded irritated, distilling a sense of fear in Goro. He freezes up, watching his father carefully. His hand wasn't going anywhere, hard against Goro's aching jaw. He had no time to argue of the pain, "You did well, I'll have another target for you soon," he hated his father's smile. The fingers uncurl from the areas that were sure to gain small bruises, "Now go to your room, and for the love of god get yourself cleaned up." Then there was his scowl, which Goro thinks he hated even more.
Despite the command, he stands there for a long moment. This was an opportunity to ask for reward. Anything, it didn't matter. Ice cream, maybe, or a trip outside that he so rarely got. It had been a while since he got anything for the deeds he had done for his father, "Hey, I-" The words quickly die in his throat, feeling tears well behind his eyes. He knew the outcome of what would happen if he asked, the same thing that always happened.
"I said leave," The hostility doesn't die, and it reminds Goro that it isn't worth hurting anymore just because he spoke out of line.
He nods his head in recognition, taking his leave. He only lets himself cry the moment he's outside his father's office, once the door's closed and he know he can be quiet enough not to be heard. The tears continue, letting him leave a trail all the way to his bedroom. He didn't know how to stop at this point, tired and scared and every piece of his body silently screaming in pain. The exhaustion is suffocating.
All his blood had dried by now, sticking to his skin in shades of dark red. It should have bothered him, but it didn't. Everything began to feel numb again, aches slipping away into the comfort of warm sheets. His eyes, already half lidded, began to flutter shut. Without a change of clothes, or bothering to clean his dirty skin, he left sleep take him once more.
Except, this time the world granted him enough sleep for those dreams. Colors of red and black filled his eyes, the bodies sprawled at his feet, all clawing their way towards him. There was always a new body with each occurrence of the dream. It used to only be one, now it felt as though there were hundreds. He can never stop anything, feet glued to the place all the bodies were positioned towards. His hands seemed bloodier this time in the dream, red reaching the peak of his elbow. He's incapable to do anything but cry as the bodies begin to twitch out towards him. The worst part was when they groaned and cursed him of the things he had done. Reminding him that each body had their own families or aspirations or what not. It didn't matter, each person disposed of had far more than he ever would.
He wakes up, like he always did, but this time it felt quieter. There was the usual shake in his shoulders, but the tears were silent this time. There was no point screaming or yelling over something that felt almost routine now.
From his little crying fit, he hears him father in the hall. It wasn't uncommon overhearing him, more often than not droning it out to listen to the white noise of his room. Then one thing had to catch his ears. Target. He knew what that meant, he had grown far too accustomed to this life not to know. He grit his teeth, nails digging so hard against his own skin it was sure to leave bruises, a sliver of blood drawing from it. He wanted to scream as loud as he could, out of anger, and resentment, and the sorrow that seeped into his bones at the thought alone. Another body to add to the pile, so soon after only another this night.
His heart acts before his brain, throwing himself from his bed when he grabs the nearest bag. The bag was small, but that didn't matter. It would work. He does his best not to make too much noise when gathering his belongings, toy weapons, a change of clothes. His hand hovers when he gets to the only action figure in his room. Maybe the sentimental value was too much, a reminder of days long past when things were much better. He could take it with him, tucking it deep into the bag.
He doesn't wait, doesn't give himself to time to give this a second thought when he exits his door. It was far into the night, but he still had to be cautious. Thankfully his father was asleep, only leaving his puppets awake. After so many days and nights spent deep within the metaverse, sneaking around mindless arrays of guards was child's play. Getting outside was the hardest part, but once he was out the whip of fresh air in his face had never been so relieving.
Maybe he wouldn't make it far, knowing that he had nowhere to go, but this was a chance of freedom that he might not get again. For the time, wandering was more than fine.