this house no longer feels like home

His hands are incredibly cold. His back is pressed against the wall and his eyes try to adjust to the poor illumination. A lone red bulb emits an ominous glow from the ceiling. He's not sure if he would feel safer or at least less unsettled with all the lights out.

Squinting, he tries to make out the other boys and girls in the room. Crawls to the bars on bruised elbows and knees and looks at the child sleeping in the cell across the hall. His name is Letty, he's six years Prompto's senior and he's a brunette, tall and always kind to everyone. Next, Prompto checks on Daisy, a deaf girl who is not very sociable but likes to draw a lot of pretty pictures.

If they behaved well enough, sometimes the men and women in white coats would provide them with paper and crayons.

If they were good.

They are not the only children in that horrid place but Prompto is too shy and hasn't dared to speak to the others. It was easy befriending Daisy because she was as alone as he was and Letty, due to his sociable nature, was the one who approached Prompto first. The others, they stay away from him, avoid him like the plague as if they can sense he's different from them.

Prompto is aware of this, knows that he really is different from everyone else. Most of the boys and girls were brought in from the world outside this prison of stone and metal while he had never seen the sun with his own eyes or felt its warm light on his skin. He only knows artificial light and the opposite of warmth. Not that it really bothers him, though. These depressing thoughts never last for long; his frenzied six year old brain jumps from one thing to another in a frantic way, doesn't settle on anything for too long. It's not worth the pain of getting attached to what he cannot have, besides, nothing in this place is worth remembering. Most of the time he just wishes to forget.

He doesn't understand the men in creepy armors, walking around the hallways silently. They never talk.

He doesn't understand why the people in white cause him pain, why they give him things that make him feel dizzy, why they hurt him, why they talk to him like they would to an animal or worse, a thing.

He doesn't understand why they are given a few hours of recess and then they're forced back inside their cages.

He doesn't understand the talks of war, weapons, experiments and many other words he ignores what their meaning could be but nonetheless hears them at all times.

He doesn't understand the man in the long white cape who sometimes shows his face and stares at him from above, through the bars that separate them, with veiled contempt (this only happens after Prompto is supplied with whatever strange substances that leave him feeling very confused and generally uncomfortably, so he occasionally doubts the existence of this man).

He doesn't understand why the metal men bring crying kids of every age, every single day.

He doesn't understand why he is the only child who was born there and why they all have a black barcode with different numbers permanently burned on their wrists. For as long as he is able to recall events, this is the only thing that remains unchanged no matter how much time passes. He has touched the mark before, tiny fingers tracing its shape just to realize it didn't feel any different from any other part of his body. This, he understood. This, he understands.

And he understands, more than anything, that one day he will become one of those scary men made of metal and so will the rest. He does not know how or why but somehow feels it will happen sooner or later. If nothing else, he has always been a clever child.

The door to their section opens, disquieting the eerie atmosphere. Prompto crawls back to his corner. Two magitek troopers enter and post themselves on the entrance; their shadows look larger than life compared to the small children curled up in cages.

Prompto knows the drill: a yellow light located at the side of every cage will change to green in a second and they will all have to exit their safe zone and form an orderly line, facing the door. He waits for it to occur prior to pushing the barred gate open. He crawls out of it and tries to get up slowly, for now he knows from experience that if he stands immediately after being so long on the floor-giving no use to his legs-he will fall and meet the hard ground.

The veteran, more experienced children reproduce the usual routine. The newcomers don't. They cry and holler for their parents to rescue them; some prefer to stay inside their respective cages, shaking and sobbing. Prompto and the rest organize in the way they're supposed to, all the while holding their breaths, knowing what is about to come. The magitek troopers spring into action; he keeps his gaze firmly planted on his shoes as he hears the whimpers of the new kids-they're being zapped to the point of unconsciousness. A few seconds that feel like a lifetime after, all the noises die. Later, he knows, the kids will be collected so the people in white can administer them with their first couple of doses. For now, they are locked again in their cells.

The ones in line are frozen in their spots. One magitek trooper heads to the front of the line where the first child in line stands and the second armored being stays behind to make sure none of them falls out of line. Prompto is almost at the end of the chain and feels a tremor go down his spine when the thing passes right by him.

They move synchronized, stepping out of their assigned section. The sudden light in the hallway blinds him at first but he quickly gets used to it. Maneuvering throughout a maze of equally uniform corridors they bump into many others group of children, all led by a magitek trooper, all dead quiet, all dressed in hospital clothes (white sleeveless shirt and white pants and white shoes without laces; easier to take off).

It's rare to see a lone child accompanied by troopers. When that happens, Prompto knows whoever they are won't be coming back.

They take a few turns here and there until they stop in front of a big door, on its surface written in paint a weird sequence of words and numbers Prompto can't indentify yet. He calls it the giant room because of its exaggerated proportions and the amount of people that are able to fit in it at once, not taking into account the various spaces it possesses. The door opens with a 'woosh' and the magitek trooper walks in, the children right on tow behind it.

Over the many heads in front of him, he can glimpse the running track, the shooting range, the benches… The confusing white and silver glint everywhere his eyes can reach, interloping in a visual cacophony. This is the place where they are trained. This is where they are forced to do hours of physical exertion and push their bodies to their limits.

Prompto is terrible at anything related to pushing his own boundaries.

First, they run. The magitek trooper at the front directs them to the track in the middle of the room where other kids are currently running or jogging. It's safe to say Prompto does not excel at it. He is too small and his short legs are definitely not made for running. He continuously falls, hurts his knobby knees, his pointy elbows, scratches his cheeks and palms. No one helps him. The intimidating metal men stand unmoving from the sidelines and do nothing, the other children from Prompto's section pass by him, not looking once. He is grateful that this time no one stepped on him. He stands and keeps on keeping on.

Next, it's time for obstacle running. Then sharp weapons handling. It goes on and on-Prompto trying and failing at activities, excelling at none of them with one exception however: shooting. When they get to the shooting range, the boy feels at ease. In the shooting range, Prompto is the unbeatable king. This is the only action he takes pride in.

He grabs a gun (has to hold it with both hands since they're so tiny in comparison to the revolver) and hits each target in the bulls eye, not missing a single one. He has been doing it for so long he's already used to the strong recoil the gun forces upon him as he fires. Succeeding this, he knows his wrists and arms and joints will stiffen in pain, his skin will redden and bruises will stain his vulnerable flesh as the day rolls by.

The sound of the shots echo in the wide room. While most of the kids struggle to even hold the gun properly, he has already taken down six out of ten targets. In these moments, they stare at him in wonder and fear, as if he is finally revealing his true self, as if they can see something black and rotten crawling under Prompto's skin. This does bother him and he bites his tongue, blood rushing to his face.

When training is over, the magitek trooper takes them through another hazy path of hallways to their next destination. It's the hall this time, a cafeteria of a sort where they sit by sections and are fed disgusting looking food-if it can be called food. They enter and he can see the tables are half filled already with other seemingly older children. Another thing he doesn't understand is the weird schedule in this place. Every time he thinks he has it pinned down, it changes mysteriously. They never cross ways with another group more than twice, they never have the same time for doses, they never see the same people in white (this is debatable; Prompto can't focus well on faces).

More metal men are lined in sequence against the walls, it's creepy because Prompto swears he feels like they are purposefully set in that way to make them feel caged.

His group sits on a table close to the southern wall with him left for last at the edge of the table. His whole body feels cramped despite all of them occupying less space than baby kittens; they are that worryingly skinny. Prompto knows he is not the only one whose hips, ribs and shoulder blades protrude from his skin, making it span painfully. That's probably the reason why they all get hurt so easy.

Plastic dishes are put on the surface of the table. No one moves until the trooper who served them has left and that is when everyone lets out their inner primitive urges. Prompto sees hands fly from everywhere around him, clawing at each other, tearing and pushing to obtain the highest amount of food, ignoring it's gross appearance. Even Letty, sitting at the other end of the table, friend to everyone nice Letty, has changed into a rabid animal. He hisses at anyone trying to approach the plate he has taken for himself, lips pulled back showing sharp teeth. Prompto, instead, watches the entire circus performance unfold, silent and quiet in his corner, waiting for the rest to get their fill so he can have some leftovers for himself.

Because even then, he is not that desperate for scraps that taste like piss and chlorine mixed together. He can understand why they downgrade to this level, but at the same time, he has lived here his entire life. He doesn't have any hopes anymore and therefore does not yearn, does not have any expectations, does not think that by eating more and getting stronger he will get anywhere. That is not how it works around here. But they don't know that and he hides these thoughts behind a somber face. Why destroy their hopes and illusions when that is all they have?

He lets them be.

The boy looks absentminded at the cuts on the palm of his hands. As he does this, he picks on the sound of footsteps coming from outside the hall, getting closer and closer. His breath catches in his chest and stops moving altogether. The others notice this as well and the chaos in the mock cafeteria dies down, the children falling into scared silence, the mood noticeably decreasing to nervous anticipation.

The doors slide open and in comes an ensemble of important looking men dressed in white. Long white capes, robes of white touched with red and black and silver and gold. At the head of this ensemble is the old man who comes to see Prompto after he's drugged. The boy immediately freezes and lowers his eyes to his lap, cold sweating and ragged breaths coming out of his mouth. So he is real. He is not a product of his wild imagination.

He can't help it, he looks up again. Following the elderly man in a silver headpiece is a young girl with long hair and a smug look on her face; she walks tall despite being surrounded by older men and is dressed a tad scantily. Prompto for some reason feels his face heat up and turns to stare at the others. Behind her, walks a woman with an extensive length of gold hair that looks almost white under the cold light in the room. Different from the others, she wears a casual orange dress, a small act of rebellion amongst the serious colors. Her pale blue eyes are simmering with something Prompto can't put his finger on. He tries to tear his gaze away but fails to as those irises catch his.

Paralyzed, their eyes meet and the boy feels a strange spark of recognition although he can't understand what caused it, keeps staring as the ensemble moves further inside the room. He should look away. He will probably get punished. But her eyes are ardently staring at him with emotions too deep and complicated and he just can't. He can't.

"So," suddenly, a voice Prompto is unfortunately well acquainted with breaks the utter calm and silence reigning over the hall ", these are the samples you promised me, am I correct?"

That voice. Prompto's gaze falls away from the lady and unbidden focuses on the origin of it. Oh no. He trembles even more than he did at seeing the elderly man. This is probably even worse. And just when Prompto thought he wouldn't have to see his face today; he'd rather be locked up in a room alone with only magitek troopers for company than having to share the same space with this man. He is the one in the funny clothes, the weird accent and the jovial tone as he speaks that makes Prompto feel insanely scared.

His hands claw at his knees.

"Indeed" says the old man who chances a glance across the room with his also silver eyes "Although they still are pretty young"

"That does not matter in the slightest. How long does it usually take your team of engineers to produce an entire fleet of infantry?"

The old man frowns, worry lines mark his forehead "About fourteen years" he answers reluctantly.

The one Prompto dislikes heavily whistles at this "Fourteen years? No wonder you are running out of magitek troopers. This is obsolete technology" he gestures to the troopers posted in front of the walls "With my help, I guarantee you, every child in this room will be ready in two years time. And maybe we'll have even more than just the ones here present" He smiles, nasty and dark, a wolf mocking its prey.

The man in white does not care or simply ignores him "You have proved yourself too times already to me and the Emperor, Chancellor. There's no need for petty posturing" then he addresses the silver haired girl "I have utmost trust in your work. It is her I'm worried about. Can the Empire trust this little girl with our aerial army? Is she ready to handle magitek infantry?"

The creepy man laughs and the girl crosses her arms, raises both light eyebrows "She is right here and can speak for herself and if you still doubt my abilities, Minister," she says his title in a sarcastic tone "I could give you a personal demonstration with the spear"

During this whole exchange, the blond woman has kept silent, thin lips pressed in a firm line. And her eyes have never strayed from Prompto.

The Minister scoffs at the girl's comment "Once you have demonstrated what you are capable of in the battlefield is when you can finally dare to point your spear at me. Otherwise, I do not want to hear you, insolent little-"

The girl's face turns meaner but does nothing asides from smiling eerily while the man in dark clothing raises his hands in a placating gesture, positioning himself between them "There is no need to doubt her either, Minister Besithia. Aranea Highwind is more than capable of leading any army you put her in charge of"

"She better be" is what the older man says deprecatingly "Enough of idle chat. I haven't heard a word of that grand explanation you claimed you would give me"

"Patience, dear old friend" the other talks with dramatic air "I only wanted to see what I am going to be working with, that is all. Now that I have, the time has come to show my cards. If you'd follow me, please"

He turns his back and heads for the door.

Prompto feels a dizzying relief that almost makes him faint right there.

The girl and the older man move to follow behind the other, except for the blond woman who stands unmovable from her spot. Even as the others reach the door she stays where she is. Looking at Prompto with sad, sad, blue eyes.

It's the man in white who realizes she's missing and turns around, mouth open to probably order her to get moving but he stops when he follows her determined gaze. Silver eyes center on Prompto, unyielding in their fierceness. However, that is not what makes him pause. What has him uncomfortable and trembling and shifting is the other man's stare that is also focused on him too, to see the cause as to why they haven't left the room yet.

Three stares: one unbearably sad, another entirely uninterested and the last is delightedly amused.

Prompto can't stomach any of them so he looks at the surface of the table as if it's the most interesting thing in the room. When he looks up again, the elderly man, the Minister has grabbed the woman by the upper arm and is hauling her out of the room with force. She doesn't struggle. The silver haired girl's expression resembles that of someone who has swallowed a sour lemon whole as she exits the room next. And holding the door open is the funny clothed man, smirking like the cat who got the cream, gaze heavy on Prompto, filled with promise the boy does not understand and does not want to either.

He tips his hat at Prompto before leaving as well, the door sliding closed in front of his terrible, awful face.

The boy knows what it means. His nails dig moon marks on the white material of his pants and closes his eyes tight, ignoring the curious and probing eyes of the children at his table.

Too much hope for today being a good day.


He's asleep inside his cage when he feels something is very wrong. Alarmed, his eyes open and he looks frantically around his cage, looking for the source of his alerted state. His arm itches where a needle had gone in after the eventful lunch in the not-cafeteria.

Hazel eyes are peering at him from outside the bars.

Prompto flinches, adheres his back to the wall which only serves to deepen the amusement in the man's eyes.

"Hello there, skittish thing" a sharp grin, a hint of sharp canines.

Fingers tap on the bars of his cage "What a surprise to see you today. Although a very welcome one, despite the otherwise unpleasant company"

He's all slimy words and intent pupils that force a primitive fear inside Prompto to the surface.

"H-hello" he ends up saying, because even when he knows there is something innately wrong in this situation, this man is the only one who talks to him on a regular basis.

"Hello" the other repeats "Why don't you come out of there so we can have a proper conversation?"

It's phrased like a question but it's actually an order. He is no different from the people in white. Nevertheless, Prompto hurries out of his cage and deliberately ignores the big hand offered to him as he stands up on his shaky legs. He can stand on his own.

The hand retreats "Well, well. Stingy today aren't we, Prompto dearest"

Despite the weird clench of his stomach whenever the man pronounces his name… he is the reason why Prompto knows in the first place he has a name. Before the creepy man started visiting him and taking him out regularly, Prompto had been just another number. One among many children with barcodes. Yet, for some unknown motivation, this man had singled him out. Had picked him out of all the other children and told him he had a name.

Prompto. He had said, savoring the letters, caressing them with his tongue and the child had felt both happy (because he had a name) and creeped out.

He's brought back to the present when long fingers take him by the chin and move his head upwards. "It's rude to ignore someone when they are talking to you. It might have been amusing at first but now it's starting to annoy me, do you understand Prompto?"

"Yes" he whispers, nods. His chin burns where the fingers press in.

"Good boy"

He waits for the invasive touch to go away but it doesn't. The man's eyes burn as much as his fingers do as he examines Prompto's face; the tips of his other hand rest on the scratches on his cheek he had gotten earlier in training. When the fingers touch the bruises, they skin mends itself automatically. Prompto hisses.

"You look much better now." The Chancellor murmurs pensively, his hand forcing him to move his neck this way and that "Such beautiful features are not meant to be ruined. At least, not by others dirty hands"

He doesn't know what the man is talking about. Still, several shivers snake down his spine.

"Ah, how I wish you would grow faster" his voice sounds like a word Prompto read once in a dictionary: yearning. "I would have you for myself. That is the least I deserve after all the wrong I've been submitted to. Have you in all your pretty glory, hanging off my arm. Wouldn't you like that, dear boy?"

Prompto still doesn't get what he's talking about so he nods wearily, because he doesn't want to get hurt if he doesn't answer the way he wants him to. Not that he has hurt him before but Prompto has not lasted six years without the knowledge that there is always a first time for everything.

The man tilts his head, his teeth shine red due to the red bulb submerging everything in the room with a hue of red. "Adorable. Yes, I deserve you" his hand moves to cup his cheek "Your father should be proud. You're definitely his only worthwhile masterpiece. Although the real praise goes to your mother, for shedding part of her beauty to give it to you. Sadly, that seems to be her only redeeming quality. That does not seem to be the case with you, right, pretty marvelous child?"

The boy is still hung up on the words mother and father. His blond eyebrows rise to his hairline "Mother… and… father?" he asks hopefully, his heart beating wildly not entirely out of fear.

The man in the hat stays quiet for a second, then shakes his head "Don't mind me. That was nothing of consequence. Which reminds me, you heard us today, didn't you? What a shame you were chosen to become one of this unsavory machinery." He frowns, as if the idea bothers him a big deal "But maybe after I prove the Minister with the army he desires, he'll let me have whatever I want. Maybe if I ask him, he'll let me keep you"

His tone is huskier and Prompto has to gather all of his will to not pull back from his reach. They stay like that for what seem to be hours but can't be more than a couple of minutes; him staring at Prompto with dark intent and the boy trying to catch up with what is currently happening. At once, the fingers let go of his chin and Prompto feels like he can breathe again.

"I brought you a gift" the creepy smile softens and somehow, it's even worse "A token of my devotion to you"

Prompto blinks expectantly, the palms of his small hands sweating bullets.

"Close your eyes" He does as told, his heart a ticking bomb inside his ribcage. When he is told he can open them again, he freezes at what he sees.

This is not the first time the man has gifted him something. He has given Prompto books, toys, crafted figures, poems, flowers. A bunch of things that are kept in the same place the people in white leave the other children's stuff-they are available for use only at recesses. But those things, although not with him at all times, are the only possessions Prompto has. Everything he knows, of the ouside world and well, anything, it's all thanks to this man.

Yet, this feels different somehow.

Clasped in the man's hands, there is a cute chocobo plushie, perfectly made. Beautiful soft feathers look inviting to Prompto, he wants to touch it but suddenly feels afraid to do so. Prompto loves chocobos and the man knows it.

"Do you like it? I'm glad" The boy hasn't moved, hasn't said a thing. The man grabs his unresponsive hands and presses the plushie against them.

"Let this be a symbol of my promise to you. In two years Prompto, I will get you out of here. I will ask for you and you shall be given to me. Then, I will watch you flourish beside me, by my hand, under my careful gaze and when you are finally ready…"

He takes Prompto's thin wrist, the one that is marked black and to Prompto's surprise he kisses it "You will become officially mine" his breath is hot on the cold skin of his wrist.

"So keep this with you, to remind you everyday of your true destiny"

Suddenly, the chocobo plushie is heavy in Prompto's hand. Feels like the weight of the world on his shoulders and he lets it falls soundly to the floor, bouncing once.

Most of the time, Prompto wishes to forget.

The next day, he wakes up to dead doll eyes staring at him with a terrifying promise resting within them.