So, this is the beginning of my new fic. I'm still working on it and updates might not be all that quick, but they'll be steady, at least for the first while. BE AWARE: this fic contains yaoi, rape, sex in general, blood, gore, language, everything you can imagine, so if you don't want to see it, please stop right here. Thank you. Personally, I think anything with Farfarello in it should tip you off. However, let's continue. I sincerely hope you will enjoy it and that you will review as I love to hear what you do or don't like about my work.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, of course. I don't even own the computer I'm writing this on, which, if I owned any kind of rights to Weiss, I certainly would.

Normally I wouldn't bother with this, but just in case:

"talk" - verbal words, of course

'talk' – personal thoughts

::talk:: - telepathic conversation

Spaces Between

Chapter 1

::Hate it here, hate it here, hate it here!:: The look out of the corner of the guard's eye told him he was broadcasting and NO FUCKING SHIT! He tried not to cringe away from the heavy hand wrapped around his arm, half waiting for the electric shock to travel through his body.

"Not today, my boy. Today, you get to run a test." Dark ringed green widened and the redhead tried to dig in his heels a bit. "You're gonna have fun this time. He's on his eighteenth, and you? You're gonna make nineteen."

A mocking grin formed on the large face as the small, thin boy started to struggle, fighting in earnest. Begging would do no good, nor would fighting, but the sixteen-year old couldn't help himself, kicking and trying to bite the leather covered arm. A firm cuff upside the head and the small telepath stopped, shaking his head to clear the dizziness. "In you go."

A hard shove sent the redhead to his knees and the echoing click of the lock was lost in his scramble for the door. Giggling was clear and he pressed his back to wall, eyes darting from side to side to find the source. His hands slipped out from under him, sending him sliding along the floor; dim light was enough for him to see the blood coating his skin, fresh and gleaming.

Wet choking from his left drew his horrified gaze over to see a girl, her chest sliced neatly open, still struggling to breathe, to live. 'What is this?' He'd been here for over six months, at least by the markings on the wall under his bed, but this, he'd never seen anything like this. Dull gray eyes rolled towards him and glazed with a final clinging breath; the giggling was louder now, moving steadily towards him.

"Hello. Are you here to help me?" Eerie cat eyes glowed, gold with slits in the center, the bright irises rimmed with black. Pale skin flowed, smooth over light muscle, gleaming with the, being's movements; he couldn't believe this was human. It must be something Esset had created, a new prototype of some sort.

"Stay away from me. Stay over there." His arm shook as he raised it, holding his hand in front of him as a focus, a target for his still young powers.

A slow step, then another, weaving a little, forcing the slim arm to wave to track the delicate looking brunette; the scars on his face and hands seemed to glow with his eyes, stark and bright against his skin. "You should hurt God with me." Short dark hair bobbed quickly, the gentle accent smooth and eerily beautiful. "He cries when blood spills, when pain burns through your body. Come help me."

A shuddered whimper and the redhead pushed, shoving power down his arm, seeking the brush of a mind to work on. There, a tiny strand of energy flowed and he latched onto it, forcing his way in, seeking control. He realized almost instantly it was a trap, a whirlpool of insanity, no sense of order, only blood and ramblings against God and his earthly aides. Focus, there must be something, anything to hold it; he waded deeper, refusing to pull out, seeking and pushing.

No shields appeared to reject him and he wondered if the others had tried to escape and been captured, rendered helpless by their own talents. An image formed, the being's perception of his own mind; a sea of blood flooding the senses with warmth and wet, taste and smell, the silky smooth texture. No words, not true thoughts, only images, a moving picture show of impressions and ideas. A tiny island rose in the distance and the young man headed for it, forcing his physical body to crawl away from the advancing thing.

The island was barely a patch of dirt but there was a boy, brunette, in his early teens, who held out his arms in welcome. The redhead wanted to explore, seek more, but he could feel and smell the hot breath on his physical face, his hand pushed against the slender chest, bending as it was forced closer to his body, cold metal trailing down over his chest.

::Halt!:: A mental cage contained the small brunette image, immobilizing him. Strange eyes narrowed and he tried to push at the bars a little, then harder, a low growl echoing over the sea and in the cell. A howl grew until it screamed through the blood covered room, making the redhead flinch and sweat to hold the creature back. ::Do not move!:: Harsh panting and he crawled back, out of range of that terrible, sharp knife, keeping it from touching his flat stomach.

The brunette was frozen, barely breathing, but the mental cage was shaking, shivering under the rage of the trapped boy. 'Please, please, let someone come, let me have passed, get me out of here.' Long minutes passed and they fought, pushing at each other, struggling for control; air was becoming difficult to get and the redhead felt himself faltering. His arm wavered, then fell to lay limp at his side as he collapsed to his knees. 'I can't hold him anymore, please, help me, someone!' The last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered closed was a shock of white hair, the color of snow, one of the things he missed the most from before; one of the only decent memories he had from before.

Gold shone, widening as the cage dissolved and the slim body surged forward, unholy light gleaming as the knife cut into the redhead's shoulder, drawing a thin line through his shirt and down the limp arm. "Whore! Whore red. Whores make God hurt, whores are excellent." A little pink tongue slid over the blood darkened cloth, exhausted sobs unheard, defeated whimpers ignored. White flashed and even teeth dug into the cut, marking a perfect ring on pale skin; the redhead screamed faintly, pain blossoming in his shoulder and traveling to his feet, circulating in his body.

"My whore." Blood was lapped away and the smaller body was laid gently on the floor, the light-haired man curling around it. The small body was warm, a change from the coolness of the cell and the colder blood he'd already spilled. "What's your name?"

Such a casual question, calmly asked, and the older boy shivered, instinctively curling into a ball for safety. "Forget. You?" May as well be civil; after all, this man would kill him, no harm in being nice now.

Strong hands forced the slender body flat to press against. "Farfarello is my new name. Pretty isn't it?" Short hair brushed his chin in a nod. "Whores are guilty, even more so than everyone else. I will call you Guilt." Another short nod and a soothing hand ran over the smaller man's back. "You should sleep. They will come back in the morning to take away my old toys."

"Aa, ar, aren't you going to kill me?" Green opened slowly, staring straight ahead at the blood spattered chest, white clothes dyed pink. 'Please, whatever God is there, don't let him play with me long.'

Short white hair tilted and a long finger tapped the pert little nose. "No. Whores make God cry. It would please him for me to kill you; you belong to me now. My guilty whore."

The newly named Guilt just shivered and hoped morning would come soon. No respite there; the guards just slipped in, removed the bodies, and slipped out, leaving the two young men curled on the cold floor. Hours passed and the killer slept, relaxed around his new, terrified roommate.

Finally, the redhead couldn't wait any longer. ::Is someone there?:: A questing tendril, hoping for an answer, even one that said to shut up.

::Yes.:: A signature he recognized, one of his regular instructors.

Hope perked its ears. ::Please, can I come out now?::

::No. There is food at the door.:: A miserable little sniff but he tried to hold the tears in; crying only got you a beating and he was bruised enough.

"Are they being mean to my whore?" The smaller body jerked and eyes bruised from sleep deprivation flew open; he hadn't noticed a change in breathing but a faint flutter at the edge of his consciousness informed him the now blond teen was awake and had been for a while. The lilt of Ireland was gone, leaving a bland, unaccented voice to speak textbook English.

A tentative foray into the now calm mind and he brushed a landscape of gold and green, a sun of his own eyes visible in the sky. ::Can you hear me?:: It was so different, how could one person have such different mindscapes?

::Of course I can.:: Words were clear, as though spoken verbally and the redhead looked up; a bright grin was directed down and Guilt tried to smile back a little. ::You made this bond, now we'll never be apart.:: There was a boy, white blond and slender, gold eyes shining as he stared down at the telepath wandering his mind; a mental manifestation of Farfarello's self. Or one of them. Guilt wasn't sure which was the true form, this or the brunette, but he couldn't be bothered at the moment to find out. The blond sounded so happy, thrilled with having someone else in his head that the redhead could only shake his head in wonder. He hated sharing his mind and thoughts, even just for practice.

The lock clicked loudly in the silence and white whipped around, red trailing Guilt's senses as the lithe body pounced on the slender, female arm that shoved a tray inside and tried to pull back. "Mine!" Silver shone and blood flowed, the arm yanked straight and the blade forced neatly between bones at the elbow to screams and cursing; a small foot braced on the wall to resist the struggling of the captured limb. The arm was severed quickly and the blond retreated, playing with the fingers of his prize. "Guilt, come look! God is crying, right now!"

Blood flashed through their bond and the smaller boy was left gasping as the charming, calm landscape disappeared completely under a layer of red. "Goo, good, that's good, Farfarello. Put it down and come eat something." A shaking hand was held out; he didn't sense anything malevolent directed towards him but there was no guarantee his arm wouldn't be the second in a collection.

Slitted eyes watched him for a second and he explored gently, floating above the red whirlpools as they directed the bloodlust away, funneling it down under the perfect green of hills. The arm was laid down and Farfarello bounced over to examine the tray; most of the food was packaged and safe from blood spatter, but the bread was ruined, the forks slick. The blond killer grabbed both utensils and licked them clean eagerly, holding one out in offering to the other boy.

A shaking hand, why couldn't he make it stop? was held out and took the clean fork, using it to pry the lid off a container of stew. The redhead hesitated then took a deep breath and lifted a bite to his lips; it was the best meal of his life, tinged with the blood of his captors and the taste of a new partner, the last meal he hadn't believed he would get a chance to eat.

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The fastest way, it seemed, to break Number 928TX, who called himself Farfarello, was to break the little redheaded telepath he'd taken a liking to, Number JD910. Beating the fighter seemed to have no effect, at least judging by his laughter and yells for more; an instructor slid into his mind, following the red waves further and further down and found nothing. No pain, no fear, no respect, no true feelings at all, only bloodlust and the obsession with making God scream.

So they removed the smaller teen after a week, nearly losing a guard to the vicious knife, and locked him in the punishment room; a small room with only enough space to sit and no insulation at all, leaving the young talent to shield himself from the thoughts of thousands. He was crying in under a quarter hour, screaming in half, his fists bloody from pounding on the walls to drown out the voices. When he went silent in his second hour, a guard swung by to check and see if he'd managed to kill himself; eerie green stared blankly at him, watching the large man open the door and walk over to kick at the blood streaked side.

"Worthless." The redhead didn't move, the tiny portion of his mind left conscious barely enough to force him to walk when pushed; his shields hardly protected his core from the influx of random thoughts. He had come to the school mere days after his talent manifested itself and spent most of his time either training at controlling others or in his insulated room; his defense mechanisms were severely lacking as they couldn't be bothered teaching someone weak to defend themselves until he proved himself worth the trouble. "Get up." A big, heavy hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked, jerking the frail body to its feet to stumble forward.

"In you go, they're waiting." Dull eyes took in the door and sluggishly ran over their route; he shivered and pulled back, digging in his heels, refusing to walk in there. A harsh grunt and he was slung over a thick shoulder.

'You have your hands and feet and teeth, use them. Unless you want to die, fight even if it hurts.' Old advice, things he barely remembered he'd learned on the streets. Even little teeth dug into the thick flesh bouncing under his face, small feet kicking harshly into the firm stomach; another grunt and he was thrown, tossed across the cement floor to roll against a table in the center.

"That's enough." A booted foot rested on the thin back, holding the weak body down with ease. ::Still something left, hmm?:: A whimpered shudder and the boy bolted, racing through the paths of his mind, desperate to escape the destruction they would bring to him if he was captured.

Under his flimsy shields, the bridge he'd formed glowed, waiting for him to try and run across it; but if he left, he might not be able to come back, might not make it across in the first place. ::Farfarello!:: White flashed on the other side of the thin line, a steady jog across, the slippery feel of blood under confident feet not slowing him at all.

::Still here, Guilt? Come play!:: Guilt hesitated, torn between trying to save himself and running; his shield were falling rapidly, crashing down under the steady assault of the instructors.

His physical body curled tightly, huddled in around itself as he reached out and let the blond take his hand to pull him over, dragging him through curtains of thick red to glide over the oceans pulsing under their feet. He panted heavily and the younger boy slowed, hovering over a wide expanse of nothing; a pale, scarred hand reached out and waves crashed, forced away from the small island rising steadily.

::Look, Guilt, this is for you!:: He always sounded so excited, so happy for the redhead to be there, and the telepath smiled back shakily.

They explored, trailing over the small circle, digging bare feet into the soft grass and warm dirt. The screams of the bit of self the telepath had left behind, the part he couldn't take with him, were faint and could almost be ignored; the thought that it could have been him made him cling to the slender hand in his. White jerked around and a giggle slipped out. ::He's here!::

When he focused, the brush of a mind against his sanctuary had the smaller boy crouching, making himself as small as possible. ::Come, Guilt, let's go play with him.:: A pleased little giggle. ::We will rip his mind from his talent and trap him in the hell of lies God created from the world.::

The touch was more firm now, more confidant as the invader examined the landscape and felt he could handle it; the white-haired teen appeared before him, watching quietly. ::Where is the weak one?:: Thin shoulders moved in a negligent shrug only to be captured and forced straight, a painful sounding slap echoing over the empty sea. ::Stupid child, you think you can not be broken?::

Gold eyes looked up, a sly smile growing rapidly; a flick of a pale hand and the world tilted, twisting harshly. The path behind the older telepath disappeared in a trail of smoke and laughter rang before the teen vanished, returning to sit beside his protégé. ::Bet he runs around for an hour before he gets tired and drowns.::

::Where did the other go?:: He knew there had been two behind him, had felt different powers breaking his mind but the figure beside him shrugged, uncaring. ::And, I, I bet he doesn't last the hour.:: Bright laughter and a friendly shoulder bumped his while they watched the man dart in circles, lost in the endless red with no markers to find his way back out; pulses of power were overwhelmed and swallowed up by the greedy waves, strength lessened by the lack of anything to hold.

They took turns counting seconds and making lines in the dirt as minutes passed, their victim dropping lower and lower until his feet skimmed the top of the dark waters, finally slipping under at one hour and six minutes. ::I win!:: Gleeful clapping accompanied the final splash and bubble as the enemy disappeared, mere feet away from the invisible island.

::You win. What do you want?:: A bold question but he felt safe for the moment and would give whatever he could to his savior.

A hard yank forced him to his knees, facing the blond, staring into cat-yellow eyes. ::Make me invincible. I wish to make God scream forever.::

The redhead stayed still, frozen at the impossible request. ::How?::

::Make me strong, make me indestructible, give me shields and give me control of my sanity.:: Intense eyes pinned the smaller teen and he licked his lips, nodding a bit. ::You should have long hair.:: A complete change of topic left the redhead gaping; his head shook and he focused back on the problem of granting the impossible.

First the easy part, shields; those he could set up easily enough. Farfarello's mind was a trap but simple shields would give the illusion of weakness, bait in a way. Strength he had in abundance but he could open the memory pathways a little, let him learn faster, soak in knowledge and put it to use in his crusade. Indestructible, healing, metabolism maybe; when he asked, he was shown to where the unconscious parts of the blond's brain rolled along, beneath notice but vital if he was to succeed.

How, strange. A series of switches, some obviously connected to their function, some not, and some had dark areas covering warped switches; he'd never seen or heard of anything like this. Not that he had a lot of experience, but nothing like this had shown up during tests or in any of the books he'd been told to read. The redhead prodded lightly at the ones that he could figure out what they did. Others were left alone, the risk of causing damage too great.

Farfarello stayed away, avoiding that area, hovering at the edges while the redhead nudged at the sections controlling endorphins, pushing them to max, and metabolism, shoving the energy production almost to the edge, careful not to push too far. Too efficient and the slender body would burn out, using any available fuel including itself. He pulled away lightly, already feeling the small changes taking effect, a surge in energy and alertness, any pain centers the younger boy had left buried under pleasure and a general sense of calm. 'I wonder what happened to the pain receptors?' Because there were functioning nerves, just the sensation of pain was blocked out.

Short bright hair shook and he moved on his next task. Sanity would be the hardest, the most difficult to track down, never mind control. They wandered, resting whenever the small form became tired, searching fruitlessly for a clue to the source of insanity. Clanging from the door of the cell drew their attention and a tall, thin woman stepped in, a man they recognized as a telekinetic behind her. "You are going for training in firearm use." Guilt retreated to his island, able to see and hear but hidden from any seeking minds.

"Give me back my whore." A tight smile and the woman gestured behind her with a wave.

"Finish the training and he'll be returned to you." Guilt hid, shivering under her gaze while the killer grinned and walked quietly forward, following the guards without an ounce of aggression.

The guns were faintly interesting, heavy and solid in pale hands, but the paint they used to imitate blood was thin and didn't have the slippery feel or rich smell of real blood. While the blond played at learning to aim and to compensate for a too big weapon, Guilt snuck back to the bridge, tentatively putting a foot on the slick surface and balancing precariously along to the other side.

He looked around, exploring the chaos left behind, cradling the mangled bit of talent he'd sacrificed for himself, cooing to it as he tried to brush the worst of the damage away. His shields were rubble and he started to rebuild them carefully, strengthening them for the future.

A sharp pain paralyzed him long enough for a strong hand to curl around his neck, lifting him to dangle, kicking and choking. ::Got you. Thought you could hide from us, did you?:: He was forced to consciousness, dragged out screaming and kicking, anchored by a hard hand at his back.

Green fluttered open to look around the room from his new vantage point; his physical body was kneeling, arms above his head, tied to the ceiling. The thin clothes had been tugged off and were in a bloody pile on the floor, leaving him shivering in the cold air. "Got him. Stronger than he tested, shame we have to break him." High whines and he pulled at his hands, kicking a bit to get his feet under him; heavy boots kicked at his ankles, bruising delicate skin.

"Shut him up, he's annoying." A snort of laughter and a large hand gripped his chin, forcing him mouth open to push a thick cock in, brushing the back of his throat before pulling out and pushing back in. The hard hand kept his mouth open, preventing him from biting, even if he could get his jaw to close; tears streaked his face and he screamed in his head, over and over, deafening himself to everything else.

Heat touched his lower back an instant before his knees were shoved apart and a hot hand trailed over the slight slope of his ass, cupping one small buttock to pull it aside, opening him up. He barely had time to scream again before hard flesh shoved into him, ripping the tender flesh, blood flowing freely. A final shriek and he lost all control, the last of the shields to access his potential talent falling, screaming and shoving against the mental hold on his mind; the man behind him stiffened and jerked at the pulsing against his talent, unexpected strength forcing his hold to loosen then snap, throwing him into his own head with enough force to rock his physical body back.

Rage as he'd never felt before, pounding at him, no order, pure chaos, and Guilt felt a taste of Farfarello nearby, not touching him, but watching, lending strength if it was desired. The telepath refused, following the open trail to his tormentor's mind and wreaking havoc, curved blades of pain slashing the older mind to pieces before he moved on, battering the shields protecting his secondary opponent, silencing his yells for help with a twist of his psychic wrist. A guard opened the door at the signs of trouble and was forced to walk in, lock the door behind him, and shoot the frozen instructor five times in the head. He babbled, terrified as his hand seemed to grow a mind of its own, turning the gun on his own head for the last shot.

In the final silence, Farfarello's demented laughter echoed.

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The crack of a switch hitting flesh was the first clue the blond had that he was being addressed. A red mark appeared on his shoulder, fading to pink, then white in seconds. "You! Get back to the line." He peered up at the burly man, turning his head a bit to stare at the woman who had brought him.

The metal of his guns was warm from his hand and the repeated shooting, the air filled with the clean tang of gunpowder and the scent of blood as others failed to learn as quickly as he did. Guilt's screams were still in his head, tucked away in a secret place to play with later and he turned to face the instructor fully. "You're a liar." No sign of aggression, no hint of malice, no warning, and a gun came up and went off, the bullet exploding out the top of the surprised man's head.

Young screams rang as he turned to face the thin woman, feeling her power bat at him, tangling in the shields his whore had placed over his mind. She burst through in time to fall under the tidal wave of his rage, red coloring everything, even his own vision; the guns were still steady in his hands, pointed at her and her partner, frozen from the shock of the mental attack. "Liar. Liars must be punished. Not even God misses liars." The two shots were clear, cutting the background noise to nothing until alarms began to ring.

By the time a crew got to the gun range, the blond was playing by himself, carefully skinning a student he'd captured, lapping at the blood happily and painting designs on the floor and his arms. He stood and followed docilely when called by his chosen name and returned to his cell without incident, the crack of a rare mercy shot in his ears.

A new system was implemented for dealing with Number 928TX; a new cell was prepared with a separate entrance to leave him without a chance to attack the one feeding him. He was stripped and searched daily for weapons before being nudged in; he shrieked for food frequently and inhaled anything given, eating constantly to feed the requirements of his growing body and increased metabolism. By the end of the week, the routine was set and he wandered through it easily; four base meals, seven if he behaved and went through training properly, the search before returning to his cell for the night, and a mental rummage when he was in a good mood.

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Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Review please