Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Warnings: violence, profanity, sexual themes, nonspecific drug use, and abusive behavior towards children by people who really should know better. Please, I said this before, and I will say it again. If any of these things bother you, do not read this. If do read it, well… you know what you are getting into.
Rating: M (really dark, mature themes and subject matter here folks, so move along if you do not want to read that kind of stuff.)
Authors Notes
Sorry this took so long. Life (wretched thing that it is) finally managed to catch up with me.
The songs I used are actual children's songs from Germany
Scapegoat
"He has to go."
Almost three hours had passed since the attempted initiation. Petrov was still seated, staring into the darkened room on the other side of the glass. He did not move. His gaze never wavered. The downward tilt of the line of his mouth was his only visible reaction to everything that had taken place. He remained completely still in the midst of the chaos that followed the officer's return. He did not participate in the panicked attempts at damage control.
As far as he was concerned, it did not matter. Nothing they did would make any difference. The man was already dead.
His fate was written in his own frantic, bewildered, almost desperately skeptical laughter, conspicuous in spite of his constant exclamations of "God! What a freaky kid!" Petrov knew, just by listening, that they were wasting their time. He was not a living thing anymore. The person they worked so hard to save was just an ambulatory corpse. He would kill himself as soon as he was left alone.
His gnarled hand curled to a fist as he watched the sleeping little boy who had just murdered a seasoned military officer. His eyes were hard and frosty. They did not see a child. They saw a distinctly appalling creature.
The loss of a pawn was not worth considering when your king was at stake.
Petrov had always been a very cautious man. His job was a dangerous one. The fact that he was still alive was evidence of his ability to detect and avoid unnecessary risks.
And so, when Hartman returned to the room, he did not mince words.
"He has to go."
Hartman looked at the older man with some surprise.
"Sir?"
"He has to go." Petrov repeated. "Send him away. Take him back to the General. Get him transferred. Or dump him in 47 with that sister of his. I do not care which you do. Just get rid of him. Nothing good will come of his presence here."
Hartman smiled at that. Petrov was brilliant, but he could not help the occasional feeling that age was beginning to catch up with him. He was certainly becoming unnecessarily paranoid.
"Don't you think" He asked patiently "that you are being a little… unreasonable?"
Petrov's eyes narrowed, but he let the implied insult pass.
"What precautions have you taken?"
"The child will be disciplined. We have discussed the matter of what is to be done with him. The Officer has been debriefed, and has been offered emergency counseling…"
"You should not have left him alone."
"With due respect, sir, I do not agree. He is an adult; a Soldier. It is not our responsibility to baby-sit him. He might have been understandably unnerved, but according to both counselors, the situation is firmly under control."
"Has he said anything about it?"
"As a matter of fact he has."Hartman's smile grew smug, almost condescending. "He admitted that it was all 'very creepy,' but that it was ridiculous to believe that he would kill himself just because an eight year old told him to."
"I see."
"The counselors were more than satisfied. He may need more counseling later, of course, but they say he will be fit to go back to work in a couple of days at most. Even if we have to transfer him, there will be no shortage of officers willing to take his position. There might have been some danger, but…"
"I find it interesting that you have not referred to the officer by name once. Why is that, Gene?"
Hartman was getting tired of this.
"Perhaps because the monster stole his name?" He suggested flippantly.
"Do not mock me, Gene." The older man's voice was steely. "I am not the fool you seem to take me for."
"Forgive me, Mr. Petrov, I fail to see what Adler's name has got to do with this."
"You read Emil Sebe's little book. You saw what happened as clearly as I did. Any moderately intelligent adult would be able to make the connection." Petrov leaned forward. "A good soldier went into that room. A dazed puppet came out of it. That officer will say anything he thinks you people want to hear in order to be left alone. I looked into his eyes as he walked in here. That man has already resigned himself to death. You saw it as well Gene. To pretend otherwise would be negligence bordering on deliberate murder."
Hartman was silent. Petrov was overreacting, drawing wild conclusions because of a boy and a book.
He refused to analyze the memory of what he had seen in the officer's eyes.
He refused to admit that the emotion that gripped his heart when he saw it was fear.
And yet, his hands were trembling.
It was unbelievable. What sort of man was he? How could he be so shaken by a pale, tiny, malnourished eight year old whose balls hadn't even dropped?
Fear was an unreasonable, crippling thing. It made you see monsters where there were none. He was not a senile old man like Petrov. He would not allow the dread growing in the pit of his stomach to rule him.
"I saw nothing of the sort. " He lied smoothly. "Still, I understand how you might have. Paranoia does tend to increase with age."
The older man's eyes narrowed.
"You would do well not to provoke me. There are certain things I choose to ignore, since they do not interfere with my work. But there are people at Central that will not be pleased to hear about some of your… hobbies."
Hartman smirked at that. The people at Central were fully aware of his 'hobbies'. Some of them had hobbies that were considerably worse. Everyone kept everyone else's secrets. It was something that was tacitly understood among them. Of course, Petrov, being the narrow minded academic that he was, could not be expected to understand the intricacies of the game.
Or so he thought.
"Scapegoats are always useful, Gene, never forget it."
Hartman's smile faded.
Apparently, Petrov was not as oblivious as he had believed.
This was dangerous. All he had to do was prove that any of Hartman's activities threatened the results of the experiment. Such evidence would not be difficult to find if he really made up his mind to look. Essentially, it was not the abuse that mattered. The higher-ups involved in the trade for underage boys were fiercely protective of their sources of supply. But very few people would remain disbelieving or ignore transgressions where money was concerned.
511 had a very long history of administrative corruption. There was no supervisor who did not know about it. The profits they made were shared according to rank; so Hartmann got a significant cut. All the special orphanages worked this way. But, as Petrov had pointed out, it was all about who would be turned into the official scapegoat. Having a scapegoat was vital from time to time to keep the eyes of serious investigators turned away from what was truly going on.
There was a tense silence.
"Forgive me." Hartman said, finally. His face was carefully blank as he gave this apology, but the hand hidden beside him slowly curled into a fist. "But I still think you are overreacting. He is just a child. A genius maybe, but in other respects he is no different from any other boy in this place."
"That thing is no child."Petrov said shortly. "It is a monster."
"All the more reason why we should be the ones controlling him." Hartman leaned forward earnestly. "Remember what the General said about the twins. And you must have heard stories about the Czechoslovakian Eugenics Project… and how abruptly it ended when the people involved mysteriously vanished. This is an opportunity we cannot afford to give up, for the sake of our National pride, if nothing else. I am sure you must have heard the rumors about the father of the twins."
"About him being German?" Petrov snorted. A scientist to the core, established facts appealed to him more than hypothesis of any sort. "There is no proof of that." He said.
"Does it matter? In this case a rumor is more than enough. As far as we are concerned, their father was German; a filthy traitor to his country, but German nonetheless. No one has attempted to argue otherwise, and their Czechoslovakian mother has made no attempt to claim them. I doubt the woman even knows where they are. We cannot allow our citizens to be used and abandoned by the Czechs. They belong here. It is their duty to atone for their father's treason by using their abilities for our country. With a little effort, I think we can turn this monster into the New Führer."
"Your argument would be more convincing if you did not have glaring ulterior motives. I doubt you truly meant a word you said."
"Come now, Mr. Petrov, that's hardly fair."
"Life is never fair, and death makes no exceptions for fools." He frowned down the mirror at the sleeping child. "Generally, I do not interfere with your little… amusements; but this is a mistake I cannot allow you to make."
"You worry too much. I will be fine."
"Do not mistake me, Gene. I am not concerned about you. Quite frankly, I doubt anyone here would miss you if you got yourself killed. However, I do not think that the boy will be satisfied with you alone. This is what worries me."
"You should have more faith in your own project, Mr. Petrov. Trust the abilities of your colleagues and subordinates. Even the worst monsters can be tamed by our system."
Petrov's smile was ironic.
"I do not doubt it. As long as the experiment is not interfered with, he will probably be tamed. But I cannot trust your staff, and I do not trust you." There was a long silence. "This project is still my brainchild, no matter what you say. I will not let anything destroy it; I do not want that boy here. Get rid of him."
Hartman had had enough.
"I will not do that."
"What?"
"You overestimate your own influence. Scapegoat or not, I am not the only person in charge here, and I am sure the others will agree with me."
"That Boy cannot stay here!"
"If it bothers you so much, take it up with the General." He smiled smugly "You might be important to the project, but as far as I know, we still take our orders from him." Hartman smirked. "I am afraid there is nothing we can do, not unless he gives direct instructions."
Petrov considered Hartmann in silence.
They both knew the General would never give that order. Not after he had seen the Child's potential. Not when he knew what the boy was capable of.
Still, there was one thing that Hartman had obviously not considered, and Petrov was not above getting a little revenge.
"Be that as it may, I doubt the General would approve if he happened to find out about your selfish and dangerous desire to sodomize the boy he chose to be the future leader of our country."
Hartman went still.
The older man got up. "Do not forget, 511 may have been the General's first choice, but it is not his only one. If you truly care about our future goals, there are things I should not have to tell you." He walked towards the door. "Make no mistake Gene," he said, his voice was quiet, but steely. "I may not be able to do anything about the boy, but there is something I can do."
Hartman frowned. He did not like where this was going.
Petrov continued, his eyes narrowed; "Where this …child… is concerned, you will behave. You will keep your hands to yourself, and you will keep your dick in your pants." His lips curled "Your raging libido will not be allowed to jeopardize my long years of hard work. I will be paying attention. If I ever find a single mark on his underage person that even vaguely suggests inappropriate contact… you will lose your job. I do not have to tell you that putting the project at risk is tantamount to treason. If you do anything to destroy my work, I will make sure you are given an appropriate sentence."
"There are other supervisors here besides me," protested Hartman. "And even if I could persuade them that the boy is off limits, He will be with the other boys for the most part. I cannot control what the boys choose to do in secret."
Petrov laughed outright.
"That sounds hilarious coming from you, Gene" His face hardened "But I wouldn't worry, that boy is in no danger from the others. He is the one likely to corrupt them." He cut off Hartman's next words, adding; "Even a mind such as yours must realize that not all corruption is sexual. Be careful who you choose to be his roommates. I do not have to tell you to monitor his activities as closely as possible. I am sure you've already arranged to thoroughly indulge yourself that way."
There was a reason, Hartman thought, why he truly hated this decrepit son of a bitch.
"And one more thing, Gene, it is only fair to warn you, even though I know you probably will not listen. But, once in a while, think about Emil Sebe's little book. Otto, Hans, Tomas, Johan… they were all normal men who were seduced by a monster's promise. They lost everything, even their lives, because they chose to trade with the beast." He paused thoughtfully. "Emil Sebe was a genius, you know. Pity he was Czech."
Hartman said nothing. He watched in angry silence as the older man left, shutting the door firmly behind him.
And finally, Hartman was alone in the room, separated from the sleeping boy by threats and a thin sheet of glass.
….
Forbidden Fruit
Hartman walked toward the mirror, he stared down.
He could see very little, and in a fit of frustrated anger, he defiantly flicked the lights back on.
The boy twitched. In his sleep, a small frown crossed his face. He turned away from the light and settled on his side, resuming his calm, even breathing.
His features were now clearly visible, one hand curled under his pillow. His hair was artlessly disheveled. His lashes left unusually long shadows on his face. His pale lips were moist and temptingly full. As Hartman watched, they parted faintly, subtly promising sensual pleasures that made him grow instantly hard.
He quickly looked away, cursing the senile bastard that was Petrov in frustration. But, unconsciously, he found himself looking up again, unable to keep his eyes away, almost helplessly drawn to the sleeping boy.
The child was just too beautiful for his own good.
And Petrov was an uptight, unreasonable, paranoid, single minded, cock-blocking asshole of an academic who was conceited enough to believe that the whole world revolved around him.
Orders be damned, he decided suddenly. He was certainly under no obligation to bow before the whims of a feeble old man.
He took a firm, decisive step towards the separating door.
If he was careful, no one would have to find out. He would not leave any marks. There were many ways of making children keep quiet, and he knew them all. At least one of them was bound to work on this boy, no matter how brilliant he was. In his experience, exposed, intelligent children were far better at keeping secrets. They understood danger far better than their uninformed counterparts.
He was reaching for the doorknob when, unexpectedly, the phone rang.
He glared resentfully at the black rotary dial phone. It jangled noisily with merry abandon, completely oblivious to the irritation he felt at it.
He could not ignore it. It could be important. Whoever was calling knew he was here. He could not afford people asking questions. His visit to the boy would just have to wait.
Angrily, he strode back to the desk and snatched up the phone.
"What!" He barked.
It was one of the junior supervisors. He sounded panicked, and breathless.
"I am sorry sir… but we tried to get the door open on time, we really did, but he pulled his dresser in front of the door…"
"You are not making any sense." Hartman said impatiently. "Stop babbling and tell me what the hell is going on."
It took the man a long time to calm down enough to speak.
"I-It's Officer Adler, Sir." He panted. "He locked himself in his room. By the time we were able to get in, he was already dead."
Hartman went still.
"Dead?"
"Yes Sir. He's hanged himself."
A cold finger of ice ran down his spine.
"Sir… Sir?"
"Have they taken down the body?" He asked quietly. His voice was carefully unreadable.
"Not yet, Sir."
"Good. I will be there shortly. Tell them not to touch anything until I arrive. "
"Yes Sir."
The man hung up. The dial tone was loud in his ear, but Hartman did not hear it.
The child was awake.
There was no way the boy could have seen anything through the glass, but impossibly, his eyes were wide open, and fixed squarely on the older man.
And as he watched, a corner of the boy's mouth moved, tilting upward in a half smile that was as cryptic as it was mocking.
The receiver slipped, unnoticed, from Hartman's grasp. It fell, noisily bouncing off the floor, startling him badly enough to make him jump backwards. He stared at it, heart pounding crazily as it swung from side to side, the dial tone loud in the silence of the room.
When he looked up again, the boy's eyes were closed. There was no sign that he had ever woken up.
No sign of that smile.
Such an unbelievably inhuman smile…
He blinked, trying to determine whether or not he had imagined it. Even if he had woken up, there was no way the boy could actually have seen him.
It might have been the phone, he realized. The child must have been gradually pulled awake by the lights, waking up completely when he heard the phone ring. He was intelligent enough to put two and two together. He probably already knew that his would-be rapist was dead.
Very quietly, Hartman picked up the receiver, carefully untangling the cord. He put it neatly back in its cradle, finally ending the loud humming of the dial tone.
Strange, how silent the room was now.
His heart was thumping, but he willed it to calm.
There was no doubt about it anymore. Petrov had been right… at least to an extent.
The boy was far more dangerous than he had given him credit for.
However, as soon as the initial horror passed, there was no anger, regret or sadness for the soldier who had killed himself. Death was a common thing in 511. The only difference was that it was a supervisor who had died this time, not a test subject. The death itself was a minor inconvenience, it was a very small price to pay for the discovery he had made.
Better Adler than him, when it came right down to it...
He glanced again at the child. The boy was asleep… or seemed asleep, safe behind the glass, half hidden under the thin covers. For the first time, he did not see beauty alone.
He saw what Petrov had seen; a caged predator, dormant after feasting on its kill.
Knowing this, however, did nothing to diminish the attraction the boy held for him. If anything, the child fascinated him even more now than he had before. The boy's brilliance, his ruthlessness, and the danger hidden behind his deceptively calm smile were more exciting than docile subservience. His lust was still as compelling as ever, but it was now mingled with the awed fascination of a hunter regarding a magnificent and powerful beast of prey.
There was no beast he was aware of that could not be tamed… eventually.
The sudden thought of this boy reclined on his bed, welcoming, willing, inviting… perhaps even craving his touch aroused him sharply. It was an outcome that would be worth waiting for.
Seduction had its merits.
It would take time and patience, but it was something he knew he could do.
Hartman was never the sort of man to run from a challenge.
And so, on his way out, he left the blazing lights on.
…
Price for sin
In normal circumstances, once new boys had been registered and processed, they were immediately assigned rooms and sent out of Block 5. The entire procedure took about a week at most.
It had been three weeks, and the new boy was still in Block 5.
The boys of 511 noticed. The legend of the new boy had already spread. There was a barely suppressed sense of excitement in the air. The story of how he had driven one of their most feared abusers to hang himself had been told, re-told and in most cases, grossly exaggerated. The boys who had seen him told incredibly tall tales about his appearance and exploits. The boys who had not seen him anxiously waited for him to be let out so that they would. Those who still believed in such things seemed half convinced that the new boy was some sort of messiah-superhero. The general violence grew worse. The instructors were ruthless in dealing with the more rebellious boys. Anarchy reigned and the already alarming death rate increased to impossible levels. However, some of the wiser group leaders, like 19, were more cautious. They kept their members in strict order and waited for the storm to pass.
19 had been in 511 long enough not to let his group get caught up in all the excitement. Even though the chaos had its uses, his view of the situation was bleakly realistic.
"He's brilliantly insane; the craziest goddamned son of a bitch I have seen in years, but he's just another kid." He told his group. "And you'll be some idiotically naïve dick-licks if you let yourselves believe that anything will change. Think about it for a minute. So he killed one of them, big fucking deal. They've got him by the balls now, same as they've got all of us. Trust me; this rotten cesspool's the motherfucking pearly gates compared to what those sadistic assholes are doing to him right now. If they are smart, they won't set him free to instigate insurrections and shit. They'll probably kill the poor bastard. Or send his crazy ass off to some other orphanage. I would. And so would you if you were them. We have to be smart. Make sure you stay the fuck away from trouble. However, this does not mean you are allowed to sit around and jack off. Take every chance you get to establish some fucking dominance. If any of those yeasty pussies decides he wants to mess with us, you have full and complete authority to mutilate his cock sucking ass."
In all the excitement, 37's input was very conspicuously absent. He voiced no opinion no matter how hard the other boys pressed him to. However, privately, his views were not very different from 19's.
37 was worried.
The irony of it did not escape him. He had wanted the new boy to suffer. He had wanted to see him thoroughly humiliated for wounding him enough to make him cry.
But that did not mean he wanted the boy to get killed.
But more surprisingly, his fear that the other boy would be killed was not his only troubling concern. Anything could be done to a boy in Block 5. No one asked questions. The same was true of the entire 511, but at least here, if you were smart, you stayed with your group, and together you could try to avoid certain dangers. There, you were alone, utterly helpless in the territory of the major predators, and completely at their mercy.
He knew this from personal experience. He had been sent there before. There were worse things than being starved and beaten. He had learned that the hard way.
Group leader or not, there were no special children in Kinderheim 511.
And the thing they hated the most was insubordination. They let you keep whatever authority you managed to get as long as you fully understood who was in charge. If you showed any sign of defiance or pride, they very thoroughly crushed it out of you.
He remembered weeks of being locked up, starved and beaten. Then of trying not disgrace himself by crying as supervisors and strangers he did not know held him down and repeatedly forced themselves inside him until he bled. He had been abused before, but this was a thousand times worse. He remembered constantly trying not to throw up, failing again and again, and having to stay locked in the windowless room surrounded by the smells of semen and vomit and sweat, urine and blood. His worst memory was the last day of his punishment, when they had injected him with something that had completely broken him. The drug… whatever it was, had made him unbearably, painfully hard. He had had erections before and never really thought much about them. Even babies had them sometimes. But that had been the first time in this life that he had had one that was triggered directly by sexual excitement... drug induced or not. He had been only six. To him, the intense sensations the drugs aroused had been far more terrifying than pleasant. He had been so desperate for it to just stop that he had begged the very supervisor he had insulted for mercy. He had actually sucked the man off, like a starving whore, while the other men watched and laughed at his humiliation.
There were worse things than being starved or beaten.
He had been sent to Block 5 and forced to endure all that for spitting in Instructor Ostermann's face. He could not imagine how grave the punishment would be for actually killing a supervisor.
For reasons he did not want to analyze, the idea of those people… touching the new boy like that, drugging him, and perhaps keeping him in Block 5 so that they could all keep using him… was unbearably difficult for 37 to endure. It upset him, nauseated him and angered him, in equal degrees.
He had no idea why he hated the thought of it so intensely. If it were any other person, he would not have particularly cared.
But that boy was different. He had felt it in his gut. There were some things that were not supposed to be… profaned.
And so he had taken to sneaking out, every evening he could, to loiter around Block 5. He ignored his group members and carried out his responsibilities in the most perfunctory manner. He had never been a very open person to begin with, but now he was moody as well as taciturn, and far more dangerous to cross. Everyone noticed his restlessness, his distraction. Some of the boys in his group plotted to use the opportunity to get rid of him, watching for the best chance to strike.
As it turned out, it was 19 that saved his life; and he did it by breaking his nose.
"Take a look around you, dumbass. Unpack your fucking brains and use them." He said casually, and then walked away before 37 even had time to react.
That piece of advice also helped him put things in perspective.
If he was going to have any peace of mind, he had to get inside the building. He had to see the boy
And so, instead of just loitering, he paid 26 a visit.
As soon as 26 saw him, he knew what he wanted.
"Hell no! I am not sneaking you in." He vetoed instantly. "That part of the building is off limits to me."
That did not stop 37 from trying. 26 had come to expect his constant visits. He often advised him against being so foolish.
"This obsession is going to get you into serious trouble." He admonished. "Even worse, you will get me in trouble too. You should give this up. There is nothing you can do."
But 37 was nothing if not extremely stubborn. Every day, after their work was done, he would invariably end up in front of Block 5. Waiting.
Inevitably, 26 yielded far enough to tell him what he knew.
"I don't think they will go as far as killing him. From what I have overheard, I doubt they will even send him away. They keep saying how important he is to their 'project'. I overheard Mr. Petrov and Mr. Hartmann arguing about it. Mr. Petrov wanted them to send him away. But Mr. Hartman refused, so he is going to stay. But I have no doubt that he is being punished. They've locked him inside that room. "
37 froze.
"Still, He is lucky. I don't think anyone's allowed to touch him. Mr. Petrov's ordered…"
"How do I get in?"
"What?"
"I want to get inside. How do I get in?"
"I've already told you…"
"I am not asking you to take me in. This is my business. I will not get you in trouble for it. Just tell me what I need to do."
"You really don't need to do this, Mr. Petrov said…"
"Since when does Hartman listen to anything he says?"
26 was silent for a very long time.
"Even if I let you inside," he asked mildly "what can you do?"
The other boy did not reply. His eyes fell.
"He has been locked up. You know what that means. They take him to the clinic in the mornings for their experiments, but other than that, he stays locked inside the room. They will probably be monitoring him. So you can't get in to see him or give him anything. It is possible he is being starved. Maybe the supervisors pay him 'visits', maybe not. It doesn't matter because you can't stop them. Instead, you'll probably get yourself in trouble right along with him. "
"If they take him to the clinic, then it should be possible to see him. Just tell me when, that's all I ask."
26's face hardened immediately. All signs of his earlier attempts at sympathy vanished.
"I won't do it."
"But…"
"You are asking me to go into classified files. That's even worse than asking me to sneak you in. Do you have any idea what they would do to me if I got caught?"
"You won't get caught." 37 stated firmly. "You never do." His gaze was quietly relentless. He clearly had no intention of backing down."You have something you want in return, I am sure of it. Tell me what it is."
26 considered him for a while, then made up his mind.
"The Night Supervisor told me to see him tonight." 26 said simply. "Graveyard shift. Replace me, and I'll find what you are looking for."
37's heart sank.
The one thing he hated most…
And he was backed into a corner; there was no room for negotiation on the matter.
Still, he examined the other boy. 26 was taller, leaner and more angular, with fairer skin and curly brown hair. 37 was not as tall or angular. His body already showed more muscle than bone. His face was more tanned, and his hair was far lighter.
"No one would fall for that. We don't even look alike" he pointed out. It was a weak attempt to wriggle out of it, but it was worth a shot.
"True." 26 said simply. "But I am sure he'd prefer you."
37's eyes widened. That only meant one thing.
Ostermann was on going to be on night duty.
37 did not speak. He could not say a word. Unconsciously, he started hyperventilate, breaking into a cold sweat. His hands started to shake as bile rose to the back of his throat. He had to force back a sudden, compelling urge to throw up.
Very few people in Kinderhiem 511 could really frighten 37. Ostermann happened to be one of them.
"Still interested?" 26 asked drily.
37 stared at him blankly.
"I didn't think so."
The mocking complacency in his voice annoyed 37 enough to snap him out of his paralyzing terror. Without thinking, he punched the older boy in the face.
Taken completely by surprise, the 26 was unable to dodge the attack. He staggered backwards and fell, landing hard with his butt on the cold concrete.
"God! What the fuck is wrong with you!"
He knew, from the taste in his mouth and the sudden pain that the blow had cut his lower lip. Cradling his jaw, he seriously hoped the little son of a bitch had not broken any of his teeth as well. He spat out blood and glared at the younger boy.
The kid had a damned strong punch for someone his age. Not surprising, physical education in Kinderhiem was not a joke.
37 was still trembling. His thin lips were compressed in an even thinner line. His eyes were narrowed in unconcealed fury. But looking at them, 26 suddenly understood.
There were tears standing in those eyes. But 37 was stubbornly refusing to let them fall.
In 511, Anger was a safer reaction than pain. So pain became aggression… it did not matter who the victim was, as long as there was an outlet for the pain. You found someone to hurt until the numbness set in and you were able to forget, at least for a while.
But the pain was always there, it always came back, no matter what you did.
26 understood it very well.
His smile was lazy, and cold.
"You want me to stick my neck out, so I expect you to stick yours out too." he drawled scornfully and stood up, carefully dusting the back of his pants. "Fair's fair. You are getting the better end of this deal, you know."
37 looked away.
"I hate that man." He murmured, by way of an apology.
"It's been almost two years now, hasn't it?" 26 was ruthless. "I suggest you grow up and get over it." His voice was carefully nonchalant. "Worse things have happened. You are not the only one it was done to. They've used those drugs on all of us. You know that. Your little boyfriend's not going to be any different." The look in his eyes was challenging. "Mke up your mind and don't waste my time. How important is this information to you?"
37 quickly wiped his eyes. Then he took a deep breath, shoved his hands deep inside his pockets, and looked up.
"I'll be here tonight." He said grimly. "Graveyard shift starts ten, right?"
"You are actually going to do it?"
"I pay my dues, asshole."
26 looked rather surprised. Then a grudging respect filtered into his eyes.
"You are a complete idiot you know."
37 thought of the person he was doing this for; a boy he had not so much as talked to, who had even quietly snubbed him; a boy who might not even remember him at all.
"Yes." agreed 37 quietly. "I know."
…
In the Wilderness
...she was laughing. Her eyes were bright as she ran around the field of wildflowers. The sunlight turned her hair into gold.
Colors were so strangely vivid around her; bright and unreal, like pages in a children's storybook.
They hurt his eyes, made them water.
Fairytale princesses, shiny castles…
Hungry, hungry monsters...
It was not just his eyes that hurt. His throat still hurt, from all the screaming.
But he wouldn't think of the pain. It only hurt if he acknowledged that it was there.
They wore long white coats and severe expressions. He had seen the type before, so many times back at the Red Rose Mansion, surrounding Mother's bed, watching them, taking notes.
He was under punishment, so he was not allowed to speak. He had tried. They shot something up his arm.
That was when the pain, the dizzying nausea started, and the colors began to hurt his eyes. He could not stop his body from shivering. He shook even harder when his clothes were removed, barely noticing the surprisingly gentle hands that dressed him in the rough cotton of the hospital gown, and helped him to the table to lie down.
The table was cold. The straps were colder. The lights overhead shone directly in his face, blazing without apology as the gentle hands moved, efficiently taping electrodes to his body.
This was an experiment. They had said. Just like that time… with mother.
"No anesthesia for you, unfortunately. It seems you have been a very wicked little boy."
And then there was more pain. Sudden, harsh and blinding.
They broke something under his nose. It had a sickeningly sweet smell… rather like rotten apples.
They hadn't done that before. Funny.
Suddenly his whole body tingled, relaxing. He felt very pleasantly warm and strangely euphoric.
The pain was still there. But it did not matter anymore. Best of all, now he could see her more clearly.
She was wearing the light blue summer dress the general had bought the weekend after he had picked them up. He had bought him a shirt that was the exact same shade of blue.
"You can't dress alike, for obvious reasons," he had said "but you are twins, so this much is appropriate, I think."
The irony had made him smile, back then.
Her hair was down; because he was not there to put them up in the pigtails she usually wore.
"Older brother, you came back?" she broke into a wide smile but then her face grew puzzled.
"This is the third time today." Her voice was worried. "Are you sure everything is alright? What are they doing to you? I wish you would let me see…"
"Not today." He said firmly, "Another day, I think."
"Why?" She pouted. "Not fair. I show you everything. Why can't you show me?"
"It isn't interesting."
The hands were on him again. It was a nurse. A woman, he realized with some surprise. That was why her hands had been so gentle.
Clearly, they were not regular staff. Had they been called in?
He wondered if she was a mother. It was hard to tell with a figure like hers. It was clear she often worked with children. But there was something about the gentle way she had touched him… A longing sadness that reminded him of Aunt Helenka, who always visited with smiles and hugs and candy for 'the twins,' and who looked at them with such deep sadness in her eyes. Aunt Helenka, who always hugged them as though she wished that they were her own.
The way this woman touched him was the same… with that tender, wistful melancholy that indicated she also might have lost a child of her own.
He wished he could ask. Her story would have been very interesting... and useful.
It would have distracted him from this pain a little, at the very least.
She leaned over him to adjust the electrode on his right temple. She smelled like flowers, and vanilla, and musk and female and other earthier, more interesting, elusively familiar things. The sweet scent of flowers and vanilla underlined that other primal, more organic, almost recognizable smell.
"What is that smell?"
Were nurses usually allowed to wear perfume? He wondered. Was this all perfume?
"A woman." he replied.
Her hand absently stroked his head, and then she moved over to adjust the other. Her eyes were strangely distant. Like him, she was not quite there.
He wondered who she talked to inside her head. The child she had lost perhaps?
"What does she look like? I can't see."
Her face was still young. She was slender and beautiful in a classic, chiseled sport of way. Her lips were painted a very deep red.
"Blonde, like mother. But her eyes are green."
He stared at her in fascination.
Her smell was strangely exciting, strangely heady.
It was then that it clicked; the memory of where he'd perceived that sort of scent before.
It often hung around Aunt Helenka, the days she had come to visit straight from work, exhausted, sweaty and unwashed. It was not very obvious but he could always make it out when she bent down to hug him and offer him his own share of candy.
"Really Helenka" Mother would always say, marching her into the bathroom. "I have children in the house, you know."
The smell of recent sex
Her fingers lingered on his face.
"What are you trying to do, seduce the patient?" A masculine voice teased. But there was an edge to it that indicated that the man was not actually joking.
Her sexual partner, apparently. Six full feet of domineering, jealous, territory marking, laughably insecure male.
Adults were such funny creatures.
"Really sir" She replied, laughing softly. "He isn't old enough for that. It's just," Her voice grew softer, more wistful, "Sebastian might have looked like this… if he survived…"
He absolutely enjoyed being right.
"What are you smiling at, Older Brother?"
"Nothing really. The blonde, I suppose."
She had moved back. Her mildly intoxicating scent was no longer filling his nostrils.
Clearly she did not want to upset the man she slept with.
"Is she a nice lady?"
Was sleeping with the boss any indication? He wondered drily
"Hard to say" He replied. "The evidence indicates that she might be rather naughty."
"What are you babbling about now?"
Skin pale as snow. Lips red as blood...
"You don't want to know, Trust me."
"You and your silly little secrets..."
He idly wondered how Sebastian had died. She probably would like to see her son again.
It might be nice to help her with that.
"Is she kind?"
Kind?
How sweet she was, so thoughtfully and compassionately sticking electrodes around his head…
He smiled drily.
"Not really, but…"
He broke off.
"But What?"
He was thinking of fairy tales again.
She would not look very different as a corpse, lying in a glass coffin, surrounded by roses, red and white.
"Older brother, can you hear me?"
Lips pale as snow. Blood, red as… blood. Red as only blood could be…
Stupid drugs, whatever they were, making him think such inane things.
" She's very pretty."
"Pretty?"
"Yes." He confirmed, with a smile that meant so much more than the word could convey.
His sister scrunched up her face.
"Boys!" She tossed her blonde head in disgust. "Really, is that all you can think about?"
He smiled.
"She isn't prettier than you, just… developed."
"That was not the point, and eww, by the way.
He laughed.
"Amyl nitrate…" "Patient responsive…" "Apparently quite effective"… "Clear indication of successful dissociation…"
"You know, something happened after you left." She said "Don't laugh, but I learned two new songs."
"They teach you people songs there?"
"Hey, you said you wouldn't' laugh! And no, they were not teaching us. They were teaching the kindergarteners. I was helping, so I happened to learn them too."
Another capsule was broken under his nose. The nurse leaned over him again with a face towel.
"What is it like?"
"It's a little silly" She warned.
"I don't mind, I want to hear."
The towel smelled like lemons, contrasting a little unpleasantly with the perfume the nurse wore.
He wrinkled his nose
"Your funeral." She warned drily "then she sang, very softly…
Zwischen Berg und tiefem, tiefem tal
saßen einst zwei Hasen,
fraßen ab das grüne, grüne Gras,
fraßen ab das grüne, grüne Gras,
bis auf den Rasen.
{Between mountain and deep, deep valley
There were once two rabbits,
They ate green, green grass,
They ate green, green grass,
From the lawn}
The nurse dipped the towel in warm water, and then squeezed it out. She began wiping down his neck.
"Rabbits?"
"Don't talk till the song is over." She ordered sternly, and then continued.
Als sie sich dann satt gefressen hatten,
Setzten sie sich nieder,
Bis dass der Jäger kam
Bis dass der Jäger kam,
Und schoss sie nieder.
{When they were well-fed,
They sat down,
Till the hunter came,
Till the hunter came,
And shot them down.}
"Hmm…" he began.
"Shh" She ordered.
Als sie sich dann aufgesammelt hatten,
Und sie sich besannen,Dass sie noch am Leben warn,
Dass sie noch am Leben warn,
Liefen sie von dannen.
{When they had gathered up,
And they had considered,
That they were still alive,
That they were still alive,
They ran away.}
"Completely unrealistic. There is no way those rabbits could have survived."
Predictably, his words upset her.
"Do you always have to nitpick? Seriously, it's so annoying. And you've entirely missed the point." Her eyes clouded. She sighed. "I am glad the rabbits were safe in the end, no matter what you say."
We were those little rabbits once, weren't we? How typical of her, to insist on a happy ending where none could be found.
He could not hide the ironic smile that twisted his mouth.
Still, one of them was safe. That was enough for now.
"May I hear the second song?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No. You'll just laugh at it."
"I won't. I promise."
She eyed him skeptically, and then launched into the song without preamble.
Wenn ich ein Vöglein wär,
Und auch zwei Flüglein hätt,
Flög ich zu dir
Weils aber nicht kann sein
Weils aber nicht kann sein,
Bleib ich allhier
{If I were a little bird
And had two little wings,
I'd fly to you.
But as it can't be
But as it can't be,
I always stay here.}
Bin ich gleich weit von dir,
Bin ich doch im Traum bei dir
Und red mit dir.
Wenn ich erwachen tu,
Wenn ich erwachen tu,
Bin ich allein.
{I'm also far from you,
I'm by your side in dreams
And I talk to you.
When I wake up,
When I wake up,
I'm on my own.}
Es vergeht kein Stund in der Nacht,
Dass nicht mein Herz erwacht
Und an dich denkt,
Dass du mir viel Tausend mal,
Dass du mir viel Tausend mal,
Dein Herz geschenkt.
{There is no hour in the night,
In which my heart doesn't wake up
And think of you,
That, more than a thousand times,
That, more than a thousand times,
You give your heart to me.}
"I already know what you are going to say." she narrowed her eyes and lowered the pitch of her voice, which uncannily made her to look and sound exactly like him. 'Maudlin and excessively sappy,' right?"
She looked at his face. It was as expressionless as ever, but had turned a very interesting shade of pink. His eyes were suspiciously shiny.
She stared, surprised.
"Wait, you actually liked it?" she smiled, and then her smile morphed into laughter. "I can't believe it. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone how secretly sentimental you are."
"I am not."
"Yes you are. You cry very easily for a boy, and at the oddest things."
He said nothing, merely turned his face away.
She sat beside him, put her head on his shoulder.
She smelled fresh, familiar, comforting. Clean like soap and talcum powder. Her skin was smooth and warm and made him shiver.
He liked this scent better than the nurse's.
"Interesting series of reactions." One of the white coats observed, furiously scribbling something down on his clipboard. Other white coats gathered around the first, staring at their clipboards, then at the boy, making notes, debating questions about thresholds and sine wave stimuli and bilateral ETC and dose titration and the possibility of amyl nitrate compromising the results.
"You shouldn't be so embarrassed you know. I think it's sweet that you do that. You are human. That's all it means. I am glad you liked the song. It is very popular here too. Most of the others have someone they miss, too. It's easy to make friends here. Have you made any friends yet, Older Brother?
"No, not yet."
"Goodness, try to be a little more social, won't you? It does help to have people around you."
The nurse moved about as the doctors discussed. She removed the electrodes, then gave him a quick injection . "To help you sleep." she explained. "There won't be any more," she promised, "at least not today."
"I have to go now" he said softly. "I'll be back"
She nodded. Her hair tickled his neck. He closed his eyes.
"Okay. Tomorrow?"
"Yes. And later today, I think" He paused, opening his eyes to look at her. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Don't be silly, how could I?" She smiled, but then the smile faltered. "I have no idea what is happening to you. But…"
The nurse had removed his restraints. She was tucking him in, as carefully as though he had been her own son.
She must have loved that child. How strange...
"…You are all I have left, so please… be safe…"
"I will try. I promise."
Then, he was fully back inside his head. Back in the hospital.
The pain was excruciating, but luckily, the urge to sleep was already stealing over his senses.
It was over, for today, at least.
Two more days to go. Just two more.
The boy closed his eyes, and gratefully fell asleep.
….
.
Son of the Morning
"You will know they are done" 26 had said, "when the screaming stops."
37 watched as one by one, the doctors began to file out of the room.
"There will be a team of five," 26 had said. "Three new Doctors, one Military Physician and a Registered Nurse. An orphanage physician should also be there."
37 counted the party as they filed out of the room, recalling 26's instructions as he watched the team leave.
So far so good.
"The boy will be given drugs to ensure that his condition is stable. After some time, he will be brought back to Block 5. There will be a ten minute interval during which no one is likely to be inside the room with him. Target that time. You might be able to talk with him before he falls asleep."
26 had better have been right about that, He thought.
Getting into the clinic had not been difficult at all. It was very easy to get yourself beaten to the point of near incapacitation in a place like 511. That was what morning exercises were for. All you had to do was pick the wrong opponent. The tricky part was to avoid getting killed when your opponent became very enthusiastic.
His whole body felt, as 19 would have so colorfully put it, like shit in a blender. But even the thorough beating had done nothing to take his mind away from the humiliation he felt after last night. His skin still crawled, his butt hurt like the devil, and no amount of brushing had been able to wash the taste and smell of that filthy man away from his mouth.
And the things the man had said were worse than the degrading things 37 had been made to do.
The information had better be worth it, or there would be hell to pay.
Looking about him carefully, he began to move, silently cursing the limp that slowed him down as he walked.
Ten minutes was not a lot of time.
Finally, he made it. He took a deep breath, and then he pushed the door open.
The new boy was asleep. He was impossibly paler than he had been before, and had clearly lost an unhealthy amount of weight. Angry red patches of skin showed where the electrodes had been placed. There were dark circles under his eyes. His breathing was labored, stertorous, as if the very act of drawing air in caused him indescribable pain.
He looked like a ghost.
Carefully, 37 walked to the sleeping boy's side.
He was here now, but he had no idea what to do.
How ironic.
He hated seeing the other boy like this. At this rate, the boy was going to die.
And yet his beauty was undeniable; far more compelling.
It occurred to him that this was how Hartman liked his boys; beautiful, thin to the point of anorexia, broken by pain, submissive, and helpless to fight back while he forced them.
Hartman, Ostermann, He honestly wished he was strong enough to kill them both.
But he was not giving up hope. Not yet. The thing he had seen in this boy's eyes would not be broken so easily. Not by this.
He needed him to survive. He had his dreams, the things he wanted to become. He knew, instinctively, that this boy was the only chance he would probably have of making it out of this hellhole alive.
"Hey." He prodded the boy's bony shoulder. "Hey. Wake up."
The boy did not move.
He had been drugged. Clearly, this was going to take a while.
Sighing, he let go and looked at the round, white clock on the wall.
Seven more minutes.
He reached out to try again.
Before his fingers made contact, the sleeping boy's hand darted out.
The reflexive movement was unexpectedly precise. It was the same precision he had displayed that night, weeks ago, while repeatedly evading the enraged officer's attacks.
His grip, even in his weakened state, was surprisingly very strong. Instinctively, 37 pulled back, trying to break free, but the other boy did not loosen his hold at all.
He opened his mouth to protest, looked up, and froze.
The new boy's eyes were wide open. They were clear, unforgiving, icy, and fixed squarely on 37. The killing intent in them was unmistakable.
"Electroshock messes with the victims head." 26 had said. "So if you do manage to wake him up, be very careful. Do not expect that he will remember you."
Frantically, he tried twisting his hand free.
The other boy's grip became impossibly tighter.
No eight year old was supposed to have this sort of grip. It was unbelievable.
Unwittingly, he remembered the whispers and rumors he had heard, as well as the deceased supervisor's remarks about this boy being 'specially bred'.
It had sounded ridiculous at the time, but now those rumors made a frightening amount of sense.
What the hell did that mean exactly? He thought wildly in panic. They said he had been 'bred', not 'made'. So clearly, he was not some Robot or some weird sort of Super Cyborg. He was enough of a realist to know that those things were stupid and only existed in cartoons, no matter how much he might have secretly wished that they did in real life.
Wait a minute…
He could not believe this. His extreme panic had had actually made him regress to thinking in this completely childish manner.
Still, this train of thought had given him an idea.
"You aren't some sort of mutant, are you?" He asked, with a very straight face.
The new boy blinked, taken aback.
The best part of it was that he was not acting. He truly wanted to know, though he probably would have asked the question a bit more like the prodigy he was if the situation was normal.
"I mean, they did say you were 'bred'. That means that you came from two people like the rest of us. I suppose it works the same as with puppies?"
The new Boy was studying him, almost as though he could not quite believe what he was hearing.
"If you want puppies of a certain breed, cross two dogs of that breed. If you want puppies with strong bones and short fur, cross two dogs with strong bones and short fur, or maybe one with each and hope for the best. That rule would apply to humans as well, right?"
The corners of his mouth were actually beginning to twitch. He loosened his grip, much to 37's relief.
"Basic strategy." 37 explained. "Make your opponent underestimate you. Get him when his guard is down. I used it pretty well, didn't I? Unless I miss my guess, you are someone who has done this many times before."
The new boy made no attempt to affirm or deny the point.
"I am 37. You have a number yet?"
"41." He replied. His voice was low and unusually hoarse… possibly from all the screaming.
"You probably don't remember me, but…"
"I do." 41 said. "You are more interesting than I had thought."
37 went still.
The boy had actually remembered him, without any prompting… remembered him and apologized.
37 was not sure whether that actually counted as an apology. Frankly, he was too happy to care.
However, the small smile that lifted a corner of his mouth was the only outward sign he gave of this emotion.
41 smiled back. 37 looked away immediately. He really hoped his face was not turning red.
"You wanted to tell me something?" prompted 41. His voice was very gentle. But there was something about it that compelled 37 to look up, to maintain eye contact.
The blue eyes were strangely unnerving. His gaze was open, curious, even friendly, but those eyes... were... difficult to look at.
"I… well… You are new here, and things can be… rather difficult… for newcomers. So, you can come to me … if there is anything you need..." 37 was growing more embarrassed by the minute. This was not how he had wanted this to sound. He got up, completely furious with himself. "They will come for you soon," he said abruptly. "I should go now. "
"Wait."
He paused at the door, looked back.
"Thank you."
He hesitated, then made up his mind.
"I will be back tomorrow."
41 just smiled.
37 blushed vividly and left, abruptly shutting the door behind him.
As soon as he was safely out of sight, he set loose the huge grin that had been threatening to overwhelm him.
Just a little more time, he thought, and the two of them would own this rotten place.
Authors notes:
There, all done. Please forgive any technical flaws you may find. I did some research, buy heaven knows I am no expert.
Also, Some of you already noticed this, but artistic license has been taken with a particular character's age. Why? :) Because I simply could not write about 511 without him, and also because writing him is a guilty pleasure of mine.
Reviews are love...
Thanks for reading!
