Blueprints for Perfection

Chapter Two: Sandra

Sandra lay on the floor of her room, staring up at the dark ceiling. This deep in the Organization's headquarters, it was impossible to tell time. All light and sound from the above world was cut off. There was no clock in her room and she wasn't allowed a watch or cellphone, not that she would be able to use them with her hands bound. The cellphone rule was for security purposes, in case she decided at some point to stop cooperating. The watch rule, however, had no reason she could think of, except to keep her isolated and disillusioned.

She got up as well as she could with her hands tied to her belt. She winced at the "healing" wound on her back. She staggered to her bed and eased onto it. She closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep.

How had DeFoe ever gotten out of this? It was no secret in the Organization that he was fairly incompetent. Grier was a much better leader. And yet, there he had been, in Huntik's courtyard, with people protecting him. It wasn't fair. Why wasn't anyone protecting her?

She heard the door to her cell unlock and open. It was the scientist assigned to care for her, the awful woman who had performed the surgery.

The doctor-of-sorts entered the room and switched on the ceiling light. The weak yellow bulb accentuated her sharp cheekbones and the ash-blonde hair pulled tightly into a bun on the top of her head. Just looking at it made Sandra's own hair hurt.

"Sit up," snapped the doctor as she shut the door with curt swiftness.

Sandra pulled herself up to a sitting position. By the time she was steady, the doctor had set her medical bag on the bed, set tools around, and put on gloves.

"Scoot forward."

Sandra obeyed. There was no point not to. They couldn't do anything worse to her. The doctor didn't dare risk untying her hands or ungagging her. The suit wondered, woefully, if she would ever be allowed to speak or move her hands again.

The doctor rolled the suit's tank top up off her back and made a little disgusted sound.

"This is terrible," the doctor said, in a voice that seemed more outraged than concerned. "Why is it doing this?"

Sandra cringed and made a sound through her gag when the doctor poked her wound. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

"I don't understand it! How many complications are there going to be?" she wrapped Sandra with new gauze and gathered up the old gauze. "I guess I won't be healing this until the infection's taken care of."

"Mmph?" the suit made a sound, inquiring what had gone wrong.

The doctor didn't answer but gathered up her things and took off her gloves. The gauze she threw in the trash bin by the door was discolored and soggy. The doctor left without another word.

Sandra lay back down and tried to ignore the new pain in her back. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Something clenched and she suddenly found herself on the floor on the other side of the room. Breathing hurt and so did her chest. The numbness in her arm slowly receded. She lay, staring up at the light the doctor had left on, wondering if getting back into bed was worth the effort.

...

DeFoe wandered down the hallway. He wasn't going in any particular direction, except away from the courtyard. He didn't understand why Guggenheim would take him out there again. If it was to prove a point, he could have done that just fine inside. It was true, then, that Huntik agents were cruel. They were cruel in a way that was both different and worse than the Organization. They seemed to make DeFoe suffer for no other reason than their own enjoyment.

He spotted Austin walking towards him. The x-suit looked up and raised a hand in greeting. DeFoe nodded in recognition, then put his head down, meaning to pass him quietly.

"Hi, DeFoe," Austin greeted with a smile.

"Hi, Austin," DeFoe replied.

Austin stopped when they met. When he saw that DeFoe meant to continue walking, he changed directions to walk with him.

"Where are you off to?" asked Austin.

"I'm…" DeFoe blanked on places he could be going.

"I'm going to lunch," said Austin. "I would like to buy you lunch, if you haven't eaten yet. Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Eaten lunch yet."

DeFoe sighed. "No, no I haven't. But you don't have to buy me anything."

"I know," Austin replied. "But I want to. It will give you more incentive to eat with me."

"Why is that so important?" asked DeFoe

"Because you seem like you could use some non-Huntik company."

DeFoe looked ahead and his frown softened a little. "That doesn't sound so bad, actually."

Austin nodded triumphantly and they headed to the cafeteria. They ordered their food and then took it to a table by a window. DeFoe noticed that Austin had ordered vegetable soup and a piece of bread; there were plenty of larger, more satisfying meals on sale. Like the borsch and sauerkraut DeFoe got for himself.

When they sat down with their meals, Austin silently set to work blowing on his soup. The key word is, "silently." DeFoe pushed his sausage around the plate, glancing up at Austin every once in a while. Austin didn't show any indication of starting a conversation.

"Do you like vegetable soup?" asked DeFoe, to break the silence.

Austin shrugged. "I like it well enough," he said and then put a spoon of it into his mouth.

"Are you trying to save money?" asked DeFoe. When Austin looked confused, DeFoe clarified. "There are much better tasting things on the menu, yet you chose that."

"Oh," Austin said. "Old habit, I guess. You get into a routine, you know? The Organization was full of routine."

"Same here, it seems like."

"I don't know that an institution could function without routine," Austin commented, dipping his bread into his soup.

"I guess not," DeFoe answered, eating a sausage.

They chewed in silence. It was silence until DeFoe spoke again; this seemed to be a pattern that would persist.

"Aren't you going to talk to me about the event?" DeFoe asked.

"Which event?" asked Austin.

"Whichever you'd like," DeFoe snipped. "The big one, or the fact that I can't summon Kreutalk, it's your choice really."

"Why would I talk about that?" asked Austin before blowing on a spoon of soup.

"Because you asked me to lunch. Obviously, you're worried about me, or you wouldn't have. You're trying to comfort me."

"You're not wrong about that," said Austin calmly tearing his bread. "But I don't see what that has to do with talking about it." He ate a piece, then looked at DeFoe and swallowed. "Unless you think it would help."

"No, no, that's alright." DeFoe set his attention fully on mixing his food.

There was no talking the rest of the meal. DeFoe ate half his food, but then set down his fork and wiped his mouth on a napkin.

"I'm going to go back to training," DeFoe explained as he stood. "Thank you for the lunch."

"No problem," Austin said with a smile.

DeFoe scooped what was left of his lunch into the garbage and stacked his plate in the dish bin. He glanced back at Austin, who was still eating, and then left for the gym.

A/N: I was going to cut this off at Sandra's scene, but then it was too short. I was concerned that the DeFoe and Austin scene would be derpy tacked onto the end of a chapter, but I really like how it turned out. Austin is an enigma, and I am enjoying chiseling him out of his rock.

Why did I choose to write about DeFoe? I wrote about him because he fascinates me, and the series' treatment left too much untapped. He's cowardly, festering with jealousy for Dante, distrustful of everyone, and has lied to himself for so long, that he's forgotten he's lying. Because he doesn't trust anyone (not even the Organization), he is terrified of being betrayed, which is the motivation (I think) behind his reckless grasping for power. I love writing about messed up characters, especially characters that have messed themselves up so much they seem beyond recovery. There is so much here to develop. At least, that's what I saw in him. Granted, I might be making most of this up. ;)