"You hear some of the guys from the Mendelberg school are visiting today?"

"Yeah, I saw some of them in the hallway. Think the guy I faced is with them?"

"No idea. It'd be interesting if he was, though."

"Yeah."

Things... kept going well the past few weeks. Since the exam, I hadn't had much to worry about. Things were, as I mentioned before, still strangely quiet. Every once in awhile I would pass by one of Erik's old friends and they'd give me the normal, disgusted look, but they never went further.

I couldn't figure out why.

What had changed in the past few weeks that they were leaving me alone?

I was starting to get nervous about it. Its like when you have a party and you're worried that your parents or the police show up; when they come, while you're filled with a sense of doom, you're also somewhat relieved. You don't have to worry about them coming anymore; they're already there. Worrying about the future's uncertainties is much worse for moral than worrying about present problems.

Wait, the exam, thats what I was talking about.

I couldn't figure out why he'd helped me.

I tried talking to him, but it always seemed like I was one step behind him. He was never in the lunchroom at the same time and we had no lectures together. I just couldn't find him. I tried asking Siegfried about it and he sort of brushed it off, questioning "did you need the help?"

"Yeah..."

"Then just take what he gave you and stop worrying about why he did it"

"I-"

He was just being nice."

"B-"

"You overthink things too much".

I sighed, sitting back in the lecture-hall seat. The instructor standing on the platform down below us was explaining something about farming practices in the far-off fields of the Goldfelder district.

The district I lived in before I moved to the capitol. The place where my parents still lived.

I payed some attention, but he wasn't really explaining anything I didn't know. This course sought to teach us about how much work went into all of the jobs the people across our country did. It desired to eliminate any feeling of class, instead instilling a level of respect for the workers by the leaders.

The future leaders were supposed to know what it was like to work in the fields, in the deep mines, and the factories. Every few months, we'd spend a week doing the actual job, to help "further educate" us on what it really was like.

For most of the attendees at the academy, this was probably valuable. Most of these guys seemed to be from well-off families with at least a moderate level of political connections.

I was one of the few outliers, As usual. Working class parents making a living by farming wheat way out in the Goldfelder plains.

It was Friday afternoon, and as the final lecture bell rang, everyone began to disperse. During the weekend, almost everyone went out on leave. The occasional few went off to visit their families or friends in other towns, but most ditched their uniforms for designer clothing, they spend the weekends practically wrecking the town.

I spent the weekend here on campus. Didn't really have anywhere to go, and no money to waste, you know?

Later in the day, I found myself pacing in place in the middle of a boxing ring. My coach stood to the side, with another one of my team-mates in front of me.

"You've got to be aware of a possible fake-out, Albrecht!" He hollered at the guy across from me. We were both standing in our boxing outfits; black shorts, a white white-beater with the symbol of our school stitched onto the front, and our boxing gloves tied onto our hands.

"Friedrich, Albrecht, begin!"

He waved his hand down between the two of us, and we both began.

We both paced around the ring, occasionally one of us moving in to try and get a few good strikes in. The entire time, I found myself thinking to myself.

The first time he swung, I couldn't help but smile. Albrecht was young; about sixteen. He reminded me of a younger version of myself, though not as strong.

I dodged his swing. Then, I let him put a few strikes into my chest. He didn't hit nearly as hard as some of the representatives from other academies across the country.

I swung into him twice; though nowhere near my full strength, he seemed to be knocked back. I was trying to judge his strength and how much he was putting into his hits. He needed to put everything into them to even be able to get me to move, and I was worried he wasn't. I had to piss him off to get him off-guard.

He swung towards my head, and I ducked down, launching a jab right into his chest. Though not at full strength, he was knocked back and into the ropes of the ring. I smiled, stepping back. I watched as he dropped to the floor of the ring.

Our coach laughed.

He took a few seconds to stand back up, and came right after me. I could see his teeth were clenched, his face scrunched. He was getting mad, but not mad enough.

I let him take at least ten swings for every swing I returned. Time and time again he would leave himself open to getting hit straight in the chest and I would knock him on his ass, but not hard enough for him to be unable to stand back up. We needed to box long enough for him to forget the goal was to watch out for being faked out.

I played the same games with him for ten minutes. He was starting to get tired towards the end, and he was really frustrated. Every time I knocked him on his butt he seemed angrier and angrier.

It was when he sent an anger-filled, improperly posed jab that I knew he let his guard down. I let him hit me in the ribs and took a few steps back, my back pressed against the ropes.

I bent over, trying to seem like I was injured.

He stood still for a moment, letting his gloves down.

Come on kid, come closer. Try to knock me out.

He hesitated for a moment. I looked up at him, and he was looking at Coach for guidance. The coach didn't give him a response.

He started coming towards me, and I couldn't help but smile.

As he wound up to deliver a strong blow, I caught him by surprise. His fist was mid-air as I launched out of my position, sending a glove straight into his chest and knocking him across the ring and onto his back.

He clenched his chest and rolled onto his side, breathing heavily.

I tapped my bare foot a few times.

5-4-3-2-1. He was out.

The coach sighed, looking over at me and rolling his eyes.

"You were supposed to watch OUT for being faked, not let yourself get faked!" he yelled at Albrecht. Albrecht was still on the ground, tightly clutching his stomach. He didn't respond.

"Damn kid" Coach blurted out.

I sighed, walking across the ring towards Albrecht. I reached down, wrapping my arm around his declaring "come on, get up."

He sighed, using my arm to pull himself up onto his feet.

"You've got to be more in control of your emotions. The angrier you get, the more open to being hit and even knocked out you'll be."

He started to fiddle with his gloves, trying to get them undone. Coach had walked out of the room already.

"Oh no you don't. You don't get better by giving up" I demanded. "We'll do this until you fake me out."

We practiced for what seemed like hours. Time and time again I hit him onto his ass, and time and time again he seemed to get angrier and angrier, until I faked him out and knocked him down for long enough that he'd be considered out. However, he slowly started to get in control. He wouldn't learn in a day, but the practice certainly seemed to be helping.

It was about four hours later that I was tired enough to be done for the day.

"Alright, we'll pick up another day, alright?"

He smiled.

"Alright, sir" He replied.

"Just Friedrich."

He nodded, saluting with his glove on. I saluted back. He jumped off the ring and quickly ran to the showers.

Probably somewhere to go.

He'll be good someday. If he keeps practicing every day, he'll be really good.

I sat on the stool in the corner of the ring for about fifteen minutes, first taking my gloves off then taking a drink from my squirt bottle before leaning back into the corner post of the ring and trying to catch my breath. My body was sore from the hours of practice, and I needed a shower.

I got up after a few more minutes and swung under the ropes of the ring, jumping off the platform and walked my way into the shower room. I undressed, stashing my gloves and ring-clothes into my locker before proceeding to shower.

I'm not sure how long I showered for. All I know is that by the time I was out, the sun was just above the horizon, about to be finished setting. Darkness had started to take hold.

It was the weekend. I dressed in what few casual clothes I had brought with me when I ran from home and hurried out the door, bringing my ring-clothes with me to wash. The weekend usually saw the laundry machines empty.

I walked across the massive campus in the ever-growing darkness, occupied with whatever unimportant things I could think up.

'Then again, I do have a paper due' I thought to myself as I rounded the corner of my dorm building.

Suddenly, I was crashing to the ground.

I didn't know what the hell hit me, but I was knocked to the ground. There was screaming around me as I tried to force whatever the fuck was pressing me to the ground off of me, but it was extremely heavy.

"Hey Champ, How are you?" A voice in the darkness questioned. It was unfamiliar. Sounded like an accent from another part of the country.

Fuck.

"Get the fuck off of me!" I bellowed.

Suddenly, the toe of what felt like a pair of dress boots slammed into my ribs. I yelped out in pain, not expecting it to happen.

"So breaking my nose worked out well for you, I see!"

Fuck. That guy I boxed from Mendelberg? Really? How did I not see this comi-

Another steel-toe right into my ribs

I yelped out in pain. A group of laughs followed; there sounded to be at least five of them.

"This time, there's no ref. There are no rules. And you're fucked. Sort of like that story someone told me about you. Something happened to you a year or so ago?" it taunted.

I flew into a rage, swinging wildly into whatever was holding me down. A voice yelped out in pain that wasn't mine as I felt my fists come into contact with a body under a uniform.

The body rolled off of me, but before I could get up and get out of there, there were hands gripping my by the feet and shoulders. I was being picked up and carried somewhere.

I flailed wildly, yelling for help.

"No ones going to help you, now shut the fuck up before I shove a grenade down your fucking throat" the embittered voice screamed out at me. His voice seemed hoarse.

"Let me FUCKING GO" I yelled back.

There was a distinct punch straight into my stomach that couldn't have possibly knocked more air out of my lungs than it had. They continued to carry me; My vision blurred as they dropped me on the ground, my back landing on when felt like hard stone.

"Now, boys" the hoarse voice questioned "How do we teach this impure queer a lesson?"

I went to speak, trying to stand up as I did so, but as the first word went out of my mouth a boot slammed into my groin. I doubled over in pain, my eyes starting to water. A boot pushed me over and onto my side.

"I think the best way is to teach him a lesson about what it feels like to be humiliated in front of a large group of people" one of the voices declared.

Oh no...

"I say we strip him down and send him packing. After we beat the shit out of him, of course." Another voice declared.

The group seemed to roar in a collective approval. I tried to crawl away from them, but two hands grabbed my ankles and started to slide me across the cold stone ground. I screamed out for help.

No response.

"Shut up, you're just going to make this worse for you."

I hear some sort of clicking noise.

"Lets cut his dick off" One of them joked. My eyes went wide, and the group laughed collectively.

"Now now, lets not get sent away for murder. Then again..."

"I doubt they'd do anything to us. We're cleaning up the filth."

"I mean, who would care anyway?"

"He's a faggot, and an impure one at that. Who gives a shit?"

I tried to push myself off the ground, but a boot slammed down on my back and pressed me back down into the ground. The stone was smooth, like marble, but that didn't help the pain as my forehead slammed down into it and bounced off.

Soon enough, the kicks and punches were back.

It lasted ages.

After a while, they flipped me onto my back. Then they continued with the assault.

They seemed overjoyed with targeting my face. Like it was personal. You don't target someone's face unless its personal, especially in a bare-fist fight. Hitting the bridge of the nose, or really anywhere on the face in general, hurts your fist too much. You wear yourself out too quickly. Go for lightly defended areas, like the stomach.

I knew it was too good to be true. I knew it was too quiet. The weeks of being left alone all led up to this.

What did I do to deserve this?

The firsts and kicks kept coming. Occasionally, a boot found its way to my crotch, which always resulted in my crying out in pain, and them crying out in joy.

They were having a hell of a time.

The fists and kicks started to slow, but the worst was yet to come. I could feel them prying my shoes off. Then they went after my shirt. And then my pants.

I was down to my white boxers.

"Please..." I tried to beg. My voice was quiet; I couldn't muster up any more energy.

The kicks kept coming

"Please..."

"Shut the FUCK UP" One of them screamed.

For a brief moment, they weren't hitting me and nobody was touching me. I started to crawl away.

"Oh no you- What the fuck was that?"

I inched away. The pain was unbearable.

"Who the fuck?"

I found myself collapsing onto my chest. I reached around, trying to find the edge of a sidewalk stone to pull myself forward with.

There was this distinct sound, like when your gloves come into contact with mats in boxing, that occurred around me. I didn't want to look.

I didn't want to know what they had in store for me next.

Letting me crawl away this far was already torture.

"Get the fu"

Suddenly, there was a crack, like something hard just hit the ground near me. I shuddered. It sounded like what I imagined my head being slammed into the ground sounded like.

"Please no..." I cried out.

Suddenly, what felt like a boot came up from beneath my stomach and slammed into my ribs. I collapsed to the ground.

"Get the fuck..." a voice yelled. I couldn't hear what came next. All I heard was ringing.

"Please..." I began to beg. Tears started to fall from my eyes as I got back onto my stomach and started to try and crawl my way away from them. I could hear running water nearby.

"I promise..." I tried to declare "I'll throw the next fight you and I are in..."

'Why the fuck did I ever run away from home?' I thought to myself. 'Surely my father's beatings wouldn't be this bad...'

Suddenly, a hand grabbed the band of my boxers as I tried to crawl away. I cried out. I begged.

"Please!" My jaw began to shutter as it does when you're about to break down. "I'll throw every fight from now on!"

A cool hand laid down across the arch of my back. A few other hands seemed to take hold of me and pull me towards the sound of the water.

"Please!" I screamed. I could feel my voice disappearing as I screamed. The hoarse yell tapered into a whisper. I tried to flail, but there was no energy left to do so.

"Fine..." I whispered. "Just... do what you will".

I was suddenly set down on the ground in a sitting-up position. I could hear murmured talking under the over-arching sound of ringing that seemed to resonate from my head. I was up against what felt like cool marble half-way up my back, ending about where my back would arch. I could hear running water.

Two hands set down on my shoulders, and suddenly my hair was wet. The hands started to shake me, seemingly gently, as water dripped down my face.

"Friedrich"

I sat there, head hung down, eyes closed, for what felt like a while. Whatever was occasionally pouring over my head was at least cool.

"Friedrich" a voice very close to me said. My shoulders were being shook again. The ringing started to fade away, and I could hear what sounded like the occasional grown near by. Once in awhile, I heard what sounded like leather-on-skin violently.

"Friedricha" The voice screamed. Two hands were suddenly on my face, one on each cheek, and my head was lifted up.

"Please..." I begged "Just... let me go."

"You're able to go!" The voice said.

I slowly started to open my eyes, blinking repeatedly; my vision was blurred, with one side being discolored red. There were starbursts coming from the sources of light around me that kept me blinded for a moment, and I kept blinking.

"Its me. You're alright." The voice said.

As my vision began to clear, I tried to focus on the silhouette in front of me. At first blurried, it cleared up slowly.

Hunched close to me. Short, shaven hair. Built, but no uniform on.

"Who... who are you" I questioned, my voice so hoarse I could barely speak.

"Its Siegfried, your friend."

All of the wind was blown out of my lungs as I lurched forward, practically knocking the figure in front of me over. I wrapped my arms around them, trying my best not to break down into their shirt.

They slowly pushed me off of them and back into a sitting position. My vision cleared, and I looked at my surroundings.

I was sat up against the side wall near the massive, deep pool that stood in the middle of the campus, the one that the swimmers used. There were two other people standing, and what looked like six others; some on the ground, some crawling away.

"You're going to be alright" Siegfried's familiar, warm voice declared.

"'Ow is e?" a British accent questioned. I looked over; standing in a skin-tight long sleeve athletic shirt, basketball shorts and mid-calf socks was Drew. I could see dark splotches across his shirt.

"I don't know..." Siegfried responded.

"We've gotta get him to the medical bay." Another voice declared. That voice seemed determined but also showed a bit of shaking. I slowly turned my head to look at them.

Tall and well groomed. Built, wearing a white t-shirt and basketball shorts. The same sort of socks and shoes as Drew. His voice was familiar, but it took me a moment to realize who it was.

It was only as he stepped closer that I realized who it was. Albrecht; standing there rubbing the knuckles of his right hand with his left. His shirt seemed covered in dark spots and stains.

"I... I'm sorry" I whispered.

"For what?" Drew questioned.

"For... this."

"It wasn't your fault" Siegfried declared. What follows is a conversation I had with the group. I couldn't really tell who was responding to my questions.

"You shouldn't have come." I whispered.

"You needed help"

"You guys wasted your leave on this." I asserted.

"You could have been killed."

"I would have been alright."

"They brought you to the pool for a reason."

"To fuck with me."

"More than that. You know that."

"Listen, I'll be alright" I declared as I started to slowly stand up. "You guys can g-"

My legs gave way, and I collapsed to the ground. A set of arms tried to catch me, but they weren't quick enough.

"Where are his pants?" a voice, probably Albrecht's, questioned.

There was quiet for a bit.

"In the pool, with the rest of his clothes mate..." the British accent hesitantly said.

Two distinct sighs.

"I'll be right back" One of the voices declared.

I sat there, trying to catch my breath and my strength. I could feel what felt like a damp rag being wiped across my face. Occasionally, Siegfried would try and talk to me.

A few minutes later, I could hear footsteps running across the marble surrounding the pool. I looked up as Albrecht ran from the darkness into the light and up to me. He gestured to Drew and Siegfried, and suddenly I was being lifted up under my shoulders. Within a few moments, I could feel a pair of shorts being pulled up around my waist.

"Lets get him to the medical bay" Siegfried stated.

"Fuck... I hope he's alright" Albrecht replied.