Hey, guys! So like I promised, I'm going to be updating this soon. My weekends are pretty busy with studying and homework, but I'm gonna try.
Also, I know the first few chapters have guns. When this was first published, I was co-writing it with a friend of mine and she added them in. I'm gonna take them out, since this universe doesn't have them. I'm gonna use whips and other torturous weapons of torturous torture. Also, during the Holocaust- which I'm sure you've all realized by now that this is based off of- women and men were put into separate barracks and different parts of the camp. Sometimes children even got their own separate barracks, and most times never saw their parents alive again. I am trying to make this as historically acturate as possible, but to develop important relationships that will later come into play, I'm going to mix men, women, and children together in the same barracks.
Any questions, feel free to ask!
Please review and hope you enjoy!
It was the cool sensation of healing water the woke him from his beaten unconsciousness, the sweet relief from the burning woulds from the whip that had mauled his back. Bolin moaned in relief, daring to open his eyes. His eyes darted around from his limited position on his back and he took in his surroundings; he was in the barracks, no shirt on, laying on his stomach on the wooden plank that was a poor excuse for a bed.
He tried to look up to see who his savior was, but his body rejected the action as pain shot up his abdomen. He sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut. Yep, definitely a broken rib.
"Stay down, son. Those bastards really did a number on you," the man said, "Started beating you while you were unconscious as an example,"
"R-ren..?" He whispered. He had no idea the man was a healer, or where he had gotten a waterskin from, but knew Ren was risking his life by using his bending in the camp. He'd seen a little firebender girl get thrown into the mud and kicked again and again for bending at a guard the other day; no one had done anything. No one had moved a muscle except to carry on with their forced labor. Her screams had echoed throughout the camp, prickling Bolin's skin and making him clamp down on his teeth until his jaw ached. The girl had laid there in the filth for what seemed like hours until the guards had blown their whistle, signaling it was time to go back to their barracks, and two teenagers had carried her away.
Bolin couldn't get her face out of his mind.
Had these people lost so much hope that they wouldn't help a poor child? Were they too terrified of their own safety to do anything? Or had they just been trapped here for so long that they had come to accept the cruelty of it all?
From the corner of his vision, Bolin saw a glowing ball of yellow liquid floating above him in practiced, concise moments. The urge to vomit twisted his stomach as Bolin realized what was being used to sow his battered back together. But Bolin knew having his wounds healed with urine was the least of his problems.
He had a broken rib, hadn't showered in four days, and was going to smell like literal shit now. Awesome.
"Sorry, kid," Ren must have seen his reaction. "The only water they give us is at meal time, and I couldn't risk stealing a water-skin and stashing it in here,"
Bolin nodded silently.
"I healed your back as best as I could, but I'm no prodigy at this. You'll have a lot of scars, I'm afraid," Ren stated, the regret clear in his voice. "I've got to move you now to work on that rib of yours. There's no easy way to do this,"
Bolin clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. If he could get through the merciless agony of having his skin melted off with a brand, he could handle a broken rib. He'd gotten enough broken ribs as a kid on the streets to know to just grin and bare it. Mako always said he was trooper.
Bolin blinked. Mako...
Where was Mako now? Did he-
"Ready?"
Bolin blinked the image of his brother away and shut his eyes, felt Ren's firm but gentle hands grip him and turn him over.
His eyes burst open with a yell, as his abdomen was sent ablaze, "Gahhh-!"
Ren's eyes flickered with sympathy.
"Sh-shit..." Bolin clutched his side with a vise grip.
"You're a real trooper, kid," Ren smirked, but there was no happiness in it, "I've seen bigger men wet their pants from the fun of a broken rib," The yellow water moved under the man's hands and hovered over Bolin's ribs. Bolin released his tense posture; the warm, soothing healing water sinking into his skin and bones.
"You'll need daily healing sessions for about a week. See if you can get lucky enough to work in the sorting shack with the metal tools so you won't be on your feet all day,"
Yeah, like that would happen.
"Say, Ren," Bolin managed to give a withering smile, "When all of this is over, how about we take you and your kids to Republic City as your new home. You can all start over there, you can be free,"
A shadow cast over the man's face; a ghost of something. Hope, or painful acceptance- Bolin didn't know. His brows furrowed. Bolin would be the first to admit he was bad at reading people- heck, look where his nativity had gotten him. But he felt like he had seen that look before somewhere, and he didn't like it.
"Ren?"
Ren was looking out the window in the far distance; there were these stairs that seemed to go down into a room underground. Bolin didn't know what that room was used for, but he had heard about it whispered in the dead of night when the others couldn't sleep. Then, to the left, Ren's gaze lingered on the smoke-stacks. The large building billowed chocking smoke day and night, the puffs raining down like ashes.
Bolin didn't know how much coal they must be burning, or whatever it was or why. It must be coal, but no one would confirm it. All he could think about was how whenever a prisoner went there, they came back looking haunted, a glazed look over their eyes. The guards chose certain prisoners everyday to go to the smoke-stacks and get out of the cold; always ones who looked ill or hurt or too weak, and perhaps help out with wielding.
Those people never came back. The healthy people who were sent to the smoke-stacks always came back looking like something in them had broken inside.
"Hey, so... What's all that smoke they're using for? What's all the coal for?" he had asked the first night-only four days ago-as he lay awake in the barracks, wishing for his friends and family.
The room had gone silent; he could hear each person's heart stop.
"What? What did I say?
The others had gone silent, Kiyi had started to cry.
"They're not burning coal, Bolin," Baraz had said in a low, quiet voice. His eyes darkened, shimmered.
"Then what is-?"
Baraz cut him off. "You'll find out soon enough,"
When Ren looked back at him, his blue eyes were misty, "Yeah, kid, you hold onto that for me, okay? Don't let it go, you hear?"
Bolin didn't know why, but he felt like crying.
That's when the whistles blew from outside their barrack.
"GET IN LINE!"
"LINE UP!"
"HURRY UP, VERMIN!"
"MEN TO THE RIGHT, WOMEN AND CHILDREN TO THE LEFT!"
It was routine, and one that Bolin had come to learn to dread with everything he was.
Bolin shivered and bit back a groan of misery.
Every morning before sunrise they would be woken up at five a.m. by the guards storming into their barracks and demanding they all stand in rows of ten in the freezing, muddy courtyard. Batons and whips got the prisoners who weren't fast enough to get out of bed and make it outside. It lasted for hours; the guards walking through the lines of each and every prisoner in the camp and checking them off by their number. Their eyes would be looked at; the guards shining bright lights into their pupils; putting their fingers into prisoners mouths to check their teeth. Anyone that showed any sign of illness was dragged away. The screams haunted Bolin every night; the ones who were dragged off and never seen again.
Bolin didn't know their names, so he made up his own names for them. It helped, somehow.
They couldn't move. They couldn't talk. They were barely aloud to breathe.
You had to remember your spot, every time. Bolin had learned this the first night. You had to remember your number. If the numbers didn't match up, the prisoner in the wrong place would be dragged in front of everyone and the agonizing process would start over again.
Then they'd get a meager breakfast of a piece of bread, some cold, thin soup and some lukewarm water for breakfast. Bolin called it a good day if his bread didn't have mold in it.
They'd work ten hours a day straight digging huge holes, chopping wood, wielding metal, sorting tools.
Then the whistles would blow, and the screams would start. The masses of people would run to form lines of ten and the counting would start all over again as the sun set.
Then dinner.
Then bed.
Bolin wondered if Mako or Opal or Korra or Asami were watching the same sunset in Republic City, wondering where he was.
Ren helped Bolin off the bed and off the barrack as best as he could, Bolin leaning on him heavily and Bolin gripping his side. There was no time to put his shirt back and the slight breeze gave Bolin's bare skin goosebumps.
Ren helped Bolin walk as fast as he could to his spot in line, before the man rushed forward three rows and squeezed passed other prisoners into his spot.
"A 21!"
The head Commander with his clipboard yelled the number out and the Sargent Luong and the Doctor Shinigami inspected the number on the the little boy's wrist. The Dr. stuck his mirror into the boy's mouth and pulled at the skin around his eyes.
"STERILE!" Luong yelled, and then the next number was called.
Bolin's limbs locked into place, and he forced himself to become frozen. He pictured an icicle, he pictured the snow littering the back alleys of his city and how the ice had frozen his and Mako's feet so bad one winter that they had to spend all their money on a healer. If he became ice, he wouldn't move. If he didn't move, no one see him. He would be fine, then. He would-
"Kid, hey, kid," the man to his left with a sunken chest muttered under his breath, elbowing him slightly. All his ribs stuck out like a skeleton, and Bolin tried not to stare. "You gotta cover those scars and get a shirt on fast or they'll think you're unfit to work," he said, "And that bruised rib s'gonna give you a chest infection any day now if you don't heal it,"
"I'm fine," he whispered, but the ache of his still tender rib contradicted sharply to his words.
"Sure you are," the man looked straight ahead at an unseen point in front of him.
"A 24!"
Then the man was taking off his ragged shirt uniform, and putting it over Bolin's head.
"Don't be stubborn, kid, just take it before they see you!"
Bolin grunted as the man fiercely pulled the the itchy fabric over his head, and twisted his arms into it. Every moment was like fire to his body.
Bolin was about to ask the man what he was going to do without a shirt now, but saw he had another of the same uniform shirt underneath.
"STERILE!"
"For warmth," said the man, as if Bolin had asked him why he had two heads. "And helps with the lice,"
Bolin nodded. Lice were little bitty vermin that had caused many street kids to get typhus during Bolin's youth. Bolin's skin crawled just thinking about it.
"NO MOVING!" the commander shouted in their direction. Bolin flinched.
He was cold. He made himself cold, made himself stand there, mud covering him up to his calves. He was frozen. He wouldn't move. They wouldn't hurt him again. He was like the wind; he didn't have a purpose, he didn't have a body. He was drifting and cold.
He was frozen.
He was fro-
a guard yelled and struck out with his baton-
a women screamed-
He was-
"MOMMY!"
He-
A man in front of him collapsed to the ground. The teen next to him rushed to help him up, but the man's limbs flailed uselessly.
"C'mon, Shin!" the teen whispered urgently, "Don't do this to me,"
"Just leave him," another man with a dragon tattoo on his arm told the teenager. "He's the lucky one here,"
"Shin?!"
Bolin shut his eyes. He was frozen.
He was frozen.
...
...
...
"D 4902!"
His eyes snapped open. Luong and the doctor stood in front of him, both wearing smirks that twisted Bolin's stomach.
Bolin looked at his feet caked in dirt and scabs.
The baton was under his chin, pushing his head up to meet Luong's dark green eyes.
"Why, if it isn't my favorite maggot. How's your back doing this fine evening?"
Don't talk, Bolin thought to himself. Don't give them anything. Not even your fear.
Then pain flared up in his rib cage so fierce Bolin thought he was going to vomit, as Luong's hit from the baton sent him doubling over in a spasm.
"I asked you a question, D 4902!" Luong said in a firm, loud voice for all of them to hear, "And I expect an answer,"
Bolin swallowed back the bile in his throat, focusing on taking raspy breaths through his mouth. Off to his left he thought he saw Varrick, the man's blue eyes looking terrified and pitiful.
The hell with not talking.
"My name," a low growl came from the depths of Bolin's being, somewhere deep inside that was forged from the very earth he bent, "is Bolin,"
To his credit, Luong's eyes widened the slightest bit. His scowl darkened.
"What did you just say, D 4902?"
Bolin stood straight up, his limbs taunt. He leveled Luong with a matching glare of his own.
"My name," he repeated, "is Bolin. You're the one that's a maggot," and then he spit in the weasel-snake's face.
He could feel the wind on the breeze stop all at once, as if the world had stopped spinning and flopped upside down.
None of the guards said anything. They just all looked at each other as if saying, I want to kill him, no, I want to, can I do it?
Bolin knew he was going to be punished serverly for his words. He just didn't know if he was dumb enough or brave enough to keep talking.
He didn't wake up this morning deciding to become a martyr. But as he took in all the innocent men and women and children surrounding him in this merciless place, he knew he wasn't going to get out of here without trying to liberate as many people as possible. It very well may cost him, and many innocents their lives, but he was going to make sure their stories were told.
Because the world had to know. These people deserved peace and freedom- not just here- but in all the camps in all the Earth Kingdom. Who was going to tell their stories? Who was going to save them if they couldn't even find their voices?
And then in one swift moment, Luong grabbed his arm and dragged him to the front of the court yard in front of everybody. A rock flew into his knee and sent him down to the ground with a cry.
"You won't get away with this," he panted, covered in sweat despite the cold fall air "Avatar Korra will come and-"
"And what?" Luong smirked from beside him, his dark eyes alive like a ghost. "The so-called 'Avatar' is hiding away in the South Pole like a coward. She cannot walk, she cannot bend, and she will not save you,"
"Your friendship with the Avatar will not save you, slave, nor will your lava,"
The word 'lava?' was murmured throughout the crowed; peoples' eyes growing wide, some looking at him in astonishment. All Bolin could offer was a withering smile. Luong ignored them and lowered his gaze at Bolin.
"Tell them," he cocked his head to the people, daring Bolin to speak,"
"What?"
"Tell them how broken their savior is. You were there. You witnessed her downfall,"
There was a murmur going around the masses of people, whispers of words exchanged.
"SILENCE," Luong yelled and cracked his whip. Everyone shut up; Bolin could practically hear the cracks of all their spines snapping straight up at once.
"I..." Bolin swallowed thickly, "It-it's true that Avatar Korra was badly injured three years ago and that she was in a wheelchair. But I know for a fact that she left the South Pole six months ago on her own two feet and could be here any day now,"
Luong barked out a laugh, shaking his head. He dug in his pocket, a retrieved a box, dangling a fresh cigarette between his fingers. He waved it at a women prisoner with amber eyes and she extended her two fingers to light the nub, her face blank.
Luong stuck the cigarette into his mouth, pinching it between his two figures. He breathed in deeply, and let out an exhale that trailed white smoke from his mouth and nose.
"Please. You're embarrassing yourself. You're only feeding them false hope, D 4902!," Everyone looked around at each other as if to get an answer from someone, whispering, whispering amongst themselves.
"Actually, I have even better news, Sergeant Luong," Doctor Shinigami spoke up.
"Well, please, don't keep us waiting, doctor,"
"I have private sources that say that Avatar Korra is, in fact, dead,"
Bolin's heart stopped, a glob got stuck in his throat.
There was about a thousands simultaneous gasps from the courtyard.
"W-what?" he whispered.
No, these weasel-snakes, they couldn't do this! He wouldn't let them!
"She took her own life three years ago as result of her trauma and physical state. Pretty practical, if you tell me. How could a broken Avatar ever function?" he said, " And now, nearly four years later it is the Earth Empire's time for it's savior to be found, to make the Earth Empire stronger than ever before!"
Luong's smile to the doctor was like a snake ready to devour a mouse.
Bolin's mouth had gone so dry he could barely swallow. He was going to vomit. He was going to vomit not because he believed a word from these shit-heads, but because he couldn't believe any person could be so cruel.
Somewhere among the mobs of, filthy, half-starved slaves, he heard a women start to scream and cry as she fall to her knees. Another man by Varrick had clutched his hands in prayer, "No...No...No..." murmured over and over again.
"You're lying!" he yelled at at both men, then, turning to face the crowds, "I promise you, they're lying!" That seemed to quiet the panic somewhat, but it was clear that the poor, desperate people didn't know what to think.
"I'm friend's with the Beifong family, and Avatar Aang's family! I got word from Avatar Korra's father himself that Korra left the South Pole six months ago and has recovered her bending!"
It wasn't the whole truth, but it was what he had to say. It was what they needed to hear.
Luong just shook his head and laughed deep in his throat. Bolin turned to him, feeling himself shake. From fear, anger, he didn't know. But he said all he could think of. What else could he do? Then Luong came up in one quick motion and punched Bolin square in the jaw.
"Gahh!" he grunted and fell on his side, his bruised rib pushing against the mud-covered ground. There was blood in his mouth, like acid on his tongue. He could feel Luong looming over him like some creature of prey, sizing him up for a meal. He was just planning on which part to strike.
"I am going to break you, A 4902," his voice was a low, guttural, sound, "One of these days you'll wake up, but not be living. Your eyes will blink but see nothing. You will forget the sound of your own worthless name,"
Bolin just shut his eyes tight, waiting for the pain to come. The whip cracked, echoing against his ear drums.
"No!"
A cold body fell on top of him. A small, cold, trembling body, who's arms locked around his back and middle and held on so tight Bolin thought he might break in half.
Bolin's eyes snapped open.
"No! Stop it! I won't let you hurt him anymore!"
"MAI!" a women screaming, yelling, crying. "MAI, NO!"
Bolin turned his body, and saw a little girl about five years old, with amber eyes, who's clammy cheek was pressed against his neck. He could tell she was glaring at Luong with all the strength she could muster.
The women screaming for the girl was the women with the glassy eyes who had lit Luong's cigarette. She looked like a ghost, like one gust of wind and she would fade away.
Luong laughed again. "A 57. Why am I not surprised? After two years I would have thought you would have learned by now,"
She just fisted a handful of Bolin's shirt, and hung on tight. She was the girl that had firebent at a guard and laid unconscious in the filth for hours the other day after getting beaten up.
"If you want him, you'll have to hurt me first!"
One side of Luong's mouth rose up his face, his too-white teeth shining in his crooked smile.
"It seems that A 57 is delirious. Should we take you to the doctor to have a little checkup?"
The Ghost women wailed harder. "NO! PLEASE, NO! TAKE ME, TAKE ME INSTEAD!" Two other women tried to hold her back but she fought through, tripping over her frantic feet and falling hard in the mud.
"Mommy!" Mai yelled, but she didn't let go of Bolin.
Bolin didn't know it was possible to be this enraged; his body shook with it, his nerves singed with it. He breathed in slow, deep breathes to contain himself, but it was like he was a volcano and his core was ready to burst.
The girl must have took his labored breathing to mean he was hurt. Well, he was, but he wouldn't let her get hurt because of him.
"Go back," he whispered to the girl, "Get your mom and get back in line," he pleaded, "Please,"
"Not without you," she whimpered, her misty golden eyes looking into his own.
So he did what he had to do. He did what Mako had done so many countless times in the back of garbage-laden alleyways. Every morning when his older brother had to leave for some dangerous work and Bolin didn't know if he would ever see him again.
Bolin smiled softly, and brushed back the tears from her face. "I'll be fine," he said quietly, so only she could hear.
"That's enough!" Luong yelled, grabbing Mai from the callor of her shirt and hefting her up. She started screaming, her arms flailing uselessly.
"Hey, let her go!" Bolin snapped, raising his arms in preparation to attack with a swarm of lava. Maybe lava was what he needed, maybe that would finnally intimidate Luong and the guards.
Or it could make everything ten times worse. What if-
Then, Mai struck out with her fist; fire flew and caught the fabric of Luong's shoulder.
He dropped her instantly, cursing as he batted the flame. Then he bent some mud from the fifthly ground and globed his shoulder with it; the fire buzzed out.
Mai's eyed locked with Bolin's. 'Go', he mouthed to her, and she ran to where her mother was crumpled on the ground. The women jumped her feet and dragged Mai back in line.
Luong growled and stomped his foot hard onto the ground. A huge boulder emerged from the soil and hovered in the air above his outstretched hand.
"Does anyone else have anything to say?!" his voice was like a rabid animal, "Do we need to skip dinner?!"
No one dared say anything, and Bolin fisted his hands tight enough to break his fingers.
"P-please, sir," a young teen piped up, probably around sixteen. Bolin could see him shaking, "We've all been working so hard, the children need food-"
A guard provoked an eagle-hound on his leech, and the animal barked and snarled wildly at the teen's legs. The teen yelped and hid behind a man.
"Get to your barracks and stay there until morning roll call!" he ordered. Everyone dispersed as fast as they could, running around the courtyard like animals on a stampede.
Shakily, Bolin rose to his feet, trying to avoid Luong's glare.
"Sweet dreams, my pet," he cooed and spat a wad of tobacco at Bolin's feet. It was all Bolin could do not to attack him. Bolin just glared over his shoulder and walked back to the barracks, holding his aching rib cage.
One hour passed.
Then two.
Bolin watched the lights from the watch towers illuminate the room with light through the cracks in the wall, and then fade and wash the room in darkness.
Bolin's stomach ached and growled with hunger, but he tried to ignore the pains. He was freezing; the high winds whipping through the holes in their tiny shack sent tremors down his spine. He was used to hunger and cold, and he refused to complain about it.
But these poor children and people in his barrack were covered in mud, and filth, and scabs, and lice, and they needed food.
The room reeked of urine and feces and Bolin was sure that if he walked by a flower, that it would wilt in his presence.
"Mommy, I'm really hungry," Notin whined from the bunk across the room.
"Me, too," Sitka said, "And my head really hurts,"
"I know, loves. I wish there was something I could do. But we have to wait until morning,"
"But it hurts!" the boy cried, "And it's really cold," Kiyi sighed broken-heartedly and hugged her children close.
Bolin fisted his hands tight and clenched his teeth. Janaki squatted by the hole they were supposed to do their businesses in and moaned, clutching her stomach. The front of her pants were stained red, and her arms were red and blistery with a rash that wasn't there two days ago. She pulled at her crude haircut the guards had given her, looking wild, moaning over and over again.
"Janaki, dear," Ayah came over to her and keeled by her side, "It's alright, it's not your fault. Please, come back to bed,"
"Leave me alone!" a yell ripped out of her that wasn't human, and Ayah flinched back.
"Why is she bleeding from her front-butt?" Notin asked.
"That's not her butt, stupid," Sitka replied. Kiyi shushed them firmly.
"She was pregnant," Saki said, "Her baby's gone now,"
"Saki!" Kiyi and Ayah both warned.
"The baby died?" Notin asked. "Are we gonna die?"
Janaki wailed harder, ripping at strands of her hair.
"Should someone knock her out," Varrick asked. "Bolin, do that pebble-forehead thing and knock her out!"
"What?" he blinked, "No!"
"Quiet!" Ren complied, "Can we all just go to sleep?!"
"Psst!" the little whisper made them all quiet down and turn there heads in the direction of the noise. A little body slipped through a whole in the wall in the corner of the barrack. As she stepped forward and the watch tower light swept through the room, Bolin took notice of her face. It was caked in dirt and scabs, but Bolin would recongize those eyes anywhere.
"Mai!" he smiled, and she rushed up to him and into his arms.
"Bolin! I missed you!"
"I missed you, too, sweat pea," he hugged her tight, imaginging if he just held her like this, nothing bad would happen to her ever again.
"Mai!" Baraz, spoke up, the first thing he had said all night, "What are you doing here?! Your mother must be worried sick! How did you get past the guards?"
"I'm sneaky! I got lot'sa tricks!" she said with a smile, "And Mommy's really sick - that's why I came!"
Bolin frowned.
"What's the matter with her?" Ayah asked.
"There was lice all over her. I tried to get them off, but it's hard," she whined, " She really sweaty even through it's so cold out,"
Bolin felt his stomach sink. Oh, no.
"I heard the guards say there was a sickness going around. Ty...tyfesh...?"
Typhus.
Bolin gave a weary sigh.
"'Typhus,'" Varrick said, "It's-"
"Ren!" Bolin started, "You have to heal her! You have-!"
"-With what, kid?" Ren said tiredly, "Piss? She's as good as dead anyway,"
Mai gasped and grasped Bolin's arm. "No! Bolin, Mommy can't die! Please!" Tears were starting to stream down his face.
Bolin looked at her with wide eyes, and then took in the whole barrack around him. Everyone was looking right at him, as if he had all the awnsers.
It was the way he used to look at Mako when they were kids. It was they way he used to look at Korra.
Bolin grimaced and closed eyes tight.
Enough.
His eyes snapped open. "Baraz!," he snapped, "Follow me!"
The man didn't so much as blink. He was looking at somewhere other than the atmosphere around them, his eyes holding no light inside them.
"Baraz!" he repeated, sharper this time.
"Where are you going?!" Varrick looked frantic now.
"We're getting food and water and medical supplies," he stated, going over to Baraz and pulling him by the arm. He flinched and blinked, seeming to snap out of whatever stupor he was in.
"I'll come with you!" Mai said, walking to the door.
Bolin blinked at her.
Spirits, how was she this mature? Bolin had only known her for a day, but she mesmerized him. She was only six, and sometimes she sounded more like a ten year old in a four years old's malnourished body. Notin was only a year younger than her and still held that innocence with him, that confusion and wonder. Sometimes that little child in Mai would shine through, he'd been noticing, and he wanted her to stay like that forever.
"No, Mai," Bolin shook his head. "It's too dangerous. I don't want anything happening to you,"
"But I know where the guards hide all their supplies!" she said proudly.
"You do?"
"Yeah, I've been here for two years, and Mommy gets to stay with Luong most nights so she knows all their secret places!"
Bolin's face lost some of it's color at the implications of just what her mother and Luong would be doing together most nights. He shook the image out of his head.
Mai explained that the guards' and doctors' block held a kitchen on the other side of the camp, and a warehouse of food and medical supplies beside their barracks on block 14.
"So let's go!"
"No, Mai," he said again.
"But..."
He sighed and knelt down to her level. He looked at her for a moment. "Hey, do you trust me?" he asked quietly.
Mako kneeled in front him on the dirty alley ground. "Do you trust me?" Mako asked his six year old self.
Mai nodded, tears in her eyes.
He nodded, tears in his eyes.
"Then I need you to be a good girl for me, and stay here where it's safe until I come back, okay?"
"Then you need to stay here where it's safe and I can find you when I get back. I need you to be a good boy for me, alright?"
"Okay, Bolin..."
"Okay, Mako,"
And he ruffled her short, ragged hair.
And Mako ruffled his long, matted hair.
"Get as many water-skins as you can," Ren told him. He nodded. "Try to bring back cheese and jam. Those'll keep for a while. Water is essential,"
"And chocolate!" Notin called from above them on the bunk.
"Hey, kid," Varrick said from his slumped position on his mat, "Don't get freaking beat up again this time," he gave a sad smile, "You're too pretty for a martyr,"
"Since when?" he smirked. Mai giggled, though he doubted she knew what the word meant.
He looked to Baraz, who nodded fiercely. "Let's go," the firebender said.
And they slipped through the hole in the wall.
He was a kid again, and he was ancient. He was living two lives at the same time, and reality seemed to slip away from him like sand though his fingers.
He was an old man, weathered by his life. He was 6, 8, 11, 13 as he slipped between the long swaths of light that swept back and forth over the grounds. A gaurd would look out over the courtyard and he and the firebender would freeze, muscles going rigged, until the asswholes back would turn. All those times in the triads and those battles with Team Avatar really helped his heist skills.
But his body dragged from the hunger and the cold. The endless days of intense labor had exhausted his body to a point that he was sure he would have slept for a week if he was back home. His bruised rib ached with each moment and his lungs burned with each ragged lungful of air. His legs and back throbbed from hours of digging and sawing.
Honestly, he wasn't sure how he or Baraz was even running right now. Adrenaline and pure determination and rage? Probably.
He just had to get close enough and then he could bend them underground and up by the warehouse.
The watch tower light swept away from them, and they sprinted a good thirty-five feet.
"Okay, hang on," he said, and planted his feet. Spirits, he was bone-tried. But the warehouse wasn't far. He could do this. He had to do this.
Baraz latched onto him and he swung his arms out, creating a whole big enough for them to fall into. Underground was pitch black and Baraz instantly lit a flame to give them light.
Bolin took some deep breaths, his legs trembling and leaned against the tunnel. Spirits, why was it so hard to breathe? Was he getting a chest infection from his rib?
"You okay, kid," the man asked, his brows furrowed.
"I'm," he gasped, "fantastic, Baraz. How are you?" there was a slight bite to his words, and he instantly wanted to take them back.
"Okay, sorry," Baraz held up his hand in surrender. "Just didn't want a dead friend on my watch,"
Bolin shook his head, and stood up. He thrust out his arms, wrists bent, and palms toward him. The rocks pushed back to lead them further into the tunnel.
And they walked.
...
...
"This is it," Bolin said a few minutes later, his palm on the wall of the tunnel. He could feel a huge structure above them.
"You sure?"
Bolin didn't answer. He just moved his legs, pumped his arms up, and they shooted upwards.
The building in front of them was huge, to say the least. It's giant door that was used to transport vehicles in and out was dented and rusted and must have been thirty feet high.
He could hear music and clapping and talking from the building just south of where they were, and his skin crawled at the absurdity of it. The Earth Empire guards were all laughing and getting drunk and fattening themselves up while they starved their prisoners to death.
Bolin literally wanted to kill them all. He was sure if he saw one guard he may very well not be able to stop himself.
Baraz just turned his gaze from where the guards were all partying with a disgusted look on his face.
"At least they're distracted," Baraz said, "Could kill for a Sake' right now,"
Bolin couldn't speak. He had gone numb.
"Let's do this," Baraz was walking towered the door, and turned back to look at him when he saw he wasn't following.
"Shit," was all Bolin could say, "Shit," His stomach felt like it was dropping out from under him.
"What's wrong?"
"It's..."
Why hadn't he thought of this?! Was he that stupid? He hadn't thought this threw at all. He had failed. He had one mission and he failed miserably.
"Its's...it's all metal," he whined, throwing his hands in his hair. "I can't...I'm not..." he couldn't even finish. They were all counting on him. Mai was counting on him. Sitka and Not and Qin and Saki...
Baraz's mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide.
"You can't metalbend?!" he exclaimed loudly.
"Shhh!" Bolin's eyes darted to the party of literal killers just feet away.
"You can freaking bend lava, but you can't metalbend?!" he through his hands in the air, thoroughly exasperated.
"Baraz-"
"What did you think a warehouse full of earthbending military supplies at a slave camp would be made out of?! Noodles and dumplings?!"
"I-I just didn't see the need to have a metal building when no prisoners where gonna be earthbenders!"
"So who are you, then?" he exclaimed, as if Bolin were an enigma.
"I..." he trailed off, "I don't think I know anymore..." he whispered.
So much had changed in just the span of one week. So much horror and pain that Bolin didn't even know was possible.
Who was he? Was he Bolin, brother of Mako, boyfriend to Opal Beifong?
No. They had left on horrible terms. Mako and Opal probably hated him now.
Was he friend's with Asami Sato?
Probably not. Opal had probably told her what a backstabbing traitor he was.
Was he Bolin, part of Team Avatar?
No. He was a liar, is what he was. He had no idea where Korra was, or if she was okay. And he had looked all those people in the eye and lied through his teeth.
Was he a martyr to these people?
He couldn't even pull through with one mission.
What was his purpose? Who was he?
The inside of his wrist throbbed with the brand implanted on his tender flesh. He gripped his wrist so hard he heard his fingers would break.
He was just a number. And no one was coming for him.
"Hey, you two!"
Bolin and Baraz spun around at once. Bolin swallowed thickly, and Bolin got into a defensive stance, his hand lighting up with fire.
A guard was walking up to them, his green eyes looking straight at Bolin, like he was looking into his soul. His boots crunched over the gravel like the sound of crunching bones.
"You two have some nerve sneaking out at night against orders," he drawled.
In the distance, the smoke-stacks continued to blow out hazy, black puffs that made the air thick and dry, forcing Bolin to swallow repeatedly. The black ash covered the moon, bathing them in darkness, and Bolin felt himself frozen once again.
Hope you enjoyed! Please review! If there is anything you'd like me to write for this fic, please let me know.
Also, the Doctor's name "Shinigami' means "Angels of Death" in Japanese.
Also, without giving too much away...let's just say a certain 'doctor' may give Bolin certain 'drugs' for torturous tourtuery reasons. These things happened to prisoners in the camps; they were experimented on in horrible, horrible ways.
But let's just say maybe...they inject him with something 'purple' and 'spirity'. Should he maybe...get some kind of 'spirity' powers? If you want an idea of what kind of spirity powers he MAY have, go check out my fic "Spirit Talker,"
Or should I just focus more on the depression and PSTD part?
Let me know what you think!
