Believe it or not, I thought of the OC name Valitus before Birth by Sleep. You can imagine how hard I laughed. Also, things may get confusing. Please let me hear any feedback!

II. The Usual Ordeal

When I returned from my mission, reported my very limited observations to the blue-haired Saix and went to the Round Room, it didn't take me long to notice that they were all looking down at me. When I explained that I had already decided on my title, there were stirs in the seats above, some of them leaning to talk to others and some just staring me down.

Like the broad one to the right of the Superior. He kept his arms folded, his hood so low but I knew he was staring at me just beneath the hem.

They accepted Valitus' name for me though – I never heard what they had thought for me. Perhaps it was better that way.

There was more talk about 'usual business', things I couldn't join in because I was so low down and took all the effort to even hear anything. It went without saying that it wasn't long until I decided to sit down on the floor rather than stand. I was bored, but I didn't dare show myself out or take out my sitar in a bubble of water.

They disappeared out of their seats in puffs of purple, and it took me minutes to realise that the meeting had finished without me noticing.

If I had noticed sooner, maybe Saix wouldn't be so irritated and be on the verge of tearing off my head. His scar across his face was larger and with more depth than I recalled. I nearly fell onto my back as he cleared his throat.

"On your first day, you called the Superior 'Boss Man'. You went to great lengths to cling onto Xigbar's arm, protesting you didn't want to stand here by yourself. You became part of this Organisation with no true knowledge of our motive. You may want to be seen as innocent, but no one becomes a Nobody without hiding a few secrets."

I let out a nervous laugh. As a matter of fact. Saix leering down at me was scarier than the crossed armed man. "I'm not hiding anything. I'm sorry that I didn't do as well as you wanted me to do on the recon, but I'll do better next time. Promise."

Saix didn't blink. "I wasn't expecting anything on Vexen's standards from you. That's in the past – I'll assign you something else next time. But do you know how people become Nobodies?"

I shook my head. One day I lost it, and here I was. I was simply wearing someone else's skin like a fur coat in winter; not mine, but claiming it to be.

"It's when the dark energy engulfs your entire being, to the point you go crazy from it. It's impossible for a Nobody to be formed without a few dark corners." Saix drew himself to his full height, which was pretty tall considering I was still on the floor. "You may be able to fool others, but don't take me so lightly."

Then, just like everybody else, he made his exit in a portal.

He hates me.

Not true. Just suspicious.

So does he.

Who?

You know who I mean.

Xaldin, the Whirlwind Lancer.

Was it? These names are a pain.

You'll get used to them.

That's not the problem. It's whether they can get used to me. You know what it was like, back in that room.

Yes I do.

I have a feeling it will be just like that.

I know. You feel what I feel.

But the emotion of fear doesn't exist in Nobodies. Xigbar said that we don't have hearts. Saix is distrusting of me, but the feeling of insecurity is also a false emotion. How can we recall all these emotions and not think for a second that they're ours?

You feel what I feel. I'm not Nobody. I'm you.


Every second, they're looking for something wrong with me. They know I'm not one of them, even if I look it. It's the same as what they did.

The air smelt. It was always like this, but today was particularly fowl. Had someone died down the corridor? Was it merely the stench of sick, ebbing its way through the tiny gap beneath the door? There was no way for me to tell.

There was a knock at the door, and I turned my head marginally to see who it was.

"You're up early," the man said, not bothering to close the door behind him.

I scooted myself so my body faced him, but also a little further away. My hands clenched the bedcovers, letting them seep through my fingers like silk. They obviously weren't though – no one in their right mind gave silk to sick patients and expect them to be pristine by the morning. Even schizophrenics like me occasionally wet the bed or cut their finger on a fork.

"I couldn't sleep. One of them was screaming again."

The balding man took the clipboard from the end of my bed and took a pen from his chest pocket, making frantic notes. "Looking at past records, it seems to be getting worse."

You see? I told you.

"There were moans as well, someone shouting words I couldn't make out, but sounded violent and the one I mentioned before screaming in fear."

He continued to write as I talked. "When did they stop?"

I bit my lower lip. "I don't remember."

"Don't force yourself," he said on automatic as he replaced the clipboard to my bed. "So then Edym, shall we get this over and done with?"

As always, I was reluctant. But my bare feet always found their way onto the floor, knew their way to the room. It was part of routine, one that I had been stuck in for over three years now. How I could still stand, I didn't know.

Loads of eyes stared at me as I made my way to the familiar bed at the end of the room. My arms and legs were strapped in place, then finally my head. I had gotten used to the usual ordeal. I knew what I had to do, what came next. But the pain that came was always new. Fresh and raw.

"Who's this?" the same man asked.

It was a picture of my mother, but I can't recall her name. She was the one who gave me a very poor spelling of Adam. She searched for everyone and anyone who would help, from cognitive psychologists to the teacher next door. And three years ago, she gave up.

"No one I know."

The man sighed, displeased to hear my usual response. "Very well. Shall we proceed?"

Then get on with it. It was uncomfortable like this.

Something stabbed my arm, something sticky was stuck on either side of my temple. I couldn't blink, move or anything ordinary. I just stared at the ceiling and waited for the volts to surge through my head and frazzle my brain alive. I couldn't see when it was ready, and there were times I would sit there for minutes on end and I wouldn't stop wishing for it to come.

Today it was quick. My head was at exploding point, regardless of the fact the pulse lasted for less than a second. My body shook without me telling to, I could feel their eyes watching me as I squirmed uncontrollably. The straps dug into my sides and my exposed arms.

I wanted to scream the pain out of me, anything to distract me from what I was experiencing now. Tear the covers, writhe with my own hands, not whatever's doing it now.

Instead, the only thing that my body did on its own was make my eyes water, and as the seconds went by, the tear turned into a small stream that wet the pillow.