As was a customary response to hearing such an exclamation, Tetsuhiro made an attempt to fall through the hole in the spire's floor. Tyrant, however, seemed to be having none of it, for he made use of his platform boots and kicked the former fugitive between his legs. With a hiss Tetsuhiro fell to his knees, his face scrunched up in all types and variations of pain.

"Why?!" he half-snarled.

"Don't whine at me," Tyrant spat. "Here I was bein' nice to you and you bitch."

"You kicked me in the dick!"

"Would you rather be kicked in the dick or broken in the neck? The way you were going at it, you would've fallen straight to the ground, which would've easily incapacitated you, not only preventing you from running away from the prospect of death but making you even more vulnerable to it."

Rather than retaliate Tetsuhiro just glared at the floor. Tyrant was right, undoubtedly, but his own stupidity made the pain in his balls ache so much harder.

"Fair enough," Tetsuhiro mumbled.

"More than fair enough. Fair extreme. Anyway, as I was saying before you went all conniption on me, I'm gonna kill you."

"Why? Didn't I pass the test that would've made you not kill me."

"Oh, you did. But if you would've let me finish up, you would've learned that I meant kill your identity. Tip number four: always maximize the voraciousness of your ears."

Tetsuhiro glanced up at him. "Voraciousness?"

"Yeah. Like, how 'hungry' your ears are for sound."

"I know what it means. But didn't you say not to use words like that?"

Tyrant twisted his lips. "No. I said that using them would get you found out as a Westerner. I didn't say that you had to drop them entirely. Just your dialect. Let's use me as an example because I'm both convenient and beautiful."

He wasn't modest, but at least he didn't exaggerate.

"I use some big words, as you've probably noticed. However, both my tone and the majority of my language is informal, vulgar, and, most importantly, sporadic. This fits due to my extremely sporadic personality. Now, if I was kinda meek and quiet, that wouldn't fit, so it wouldn't be socially accepted. However, most everyone in North knows that I'm a bastard-faced shit-stain that does what the fuck he pleases in terms of speech, action, and style. Which leads us back to me killing your personality and giving you a new one. Which then leads us into another lesson known as aesthetic."

Tyrant walked over to the hole and positioned himself on the ladder. "Come down. I wanna show you something."

Though still pulsing a little, Tetsuhiro followed Tyrant down the ladder. "Question."

"Possible answer," Tyrant replied.

"Why were we in that thing if you were going to move somewhere else?"

"Oh, right, I never elaborated. That's gonna be your bedroom."

He hadn't really paid attention to the spire's surroundings, but he supposed that he did notice the small bed. The spire wasn't that big, though, so he questioned Tyrant once again.

"Don't worry about it," he said. They dropped to the floor, and Tyrant pressed a kiss to Tetsuhiro's cheek. "You probably won't stay in there for long," he murmured.

Sad thing was, he was probably right. Especially if he kept teasing Tetsuhiro the way he'd been for the past hour or so.

Tyrant threw open a hatch in the floor and jumped with a "whoo!" into the space below. Tetsuhiro followed, though with considerably less enthusiasm.

At first it was dark, and only a few outlines of objects could be seen, but with a flip of a switch, Tyrant bathed the space in all kinds of light. It was a spacious area, probably half the size of the upper floor. Three vanities stood in the room, one for each wall except the one they stood near. On each vanity rested containers of various shapes, sizes, and colors. The one on the far side of the room had a few metal instruments with cords extending from rubber handles. In the center of the room was a circular couch, from the center of which a plush cylinder extended.

"What is this place?" Tetsuhiro asked.

"This," Tyrant said, turning around and outstretching his arms, "is my studio."

"Studio?"

"Uh-huh. I chose a more casual look today, so I see why you'd be a little thrown off. I'm extremely skilled with makeup and hair."

Tetsuhiro blinked. "Really?"

"Yup. Doesn't look like it, but I am."

"Well, it does, actually."

"For real?"

Tetsuhiro nodded. "You have the style of someone in the fashion industry."

Tyrant scoffed. "Shit, this is nothing. I'll show you my wardrobe another time, though. Maybe later today. Dunno for sure, though." He gestured Tetsuhiro forward, and he led him to the couch in the middle. "Sit there."

Tetsuhiro obeyed.

Tyrant moved to what Tetsuhiro presumed was the hair-styling vanity. From behind he pulled out a white board, and from within a drawer he pulled out a few markers. He pulled out two connected metal legs from the massive board and set it on the floor. After a bit of securing, Tyrant uncapped a black marker and drew a stick figure on the board.

"That's you," he indicated. "Plain and boring and an insult to your kind."

Did he mean the gay kind or the kind from West?

"An aesthetic has three main parts: clothes, makeup, and hair. Like any appearance does." He wrote the three words on the board with a blue marker. "All are interconnected and all relate to your name."

"Name?"

"Mmm-hmm." He wrote the word in bigger letters on the other side of the stick figure. "That's a really big part of your aesthetic. So big that it's not even grouped with the other ones. It has transcended the other three words to become its own separate being. A name defines you just as much as your actions do. It may be of little significance in other parts of the world, but here, it's one of the things that contributes to a first impression. Again, we'll use me as an example. My name is Tyrant. That reflects my personality because I am…?" He pointed to Tetsuhiro to finish the sentence.

"A...um…"

Tyrant mouthed a 'b.'

"Bastard-faced shit-stain?"

"That does what the fuck he wants," Tyrant added. "But I'll give it to you because you got the most of it. However, that was not originally my name. I got it from other people. That's a big part of names here: other people have to do it for you. It's possible to name yourself, but usually it lacks credibility and won't hold much weight if others didn't name you. I had two names prior to being called Tyrant: Aesthetic and Eccentricity."

"You were named Aesthetic?"

"Yup. I was called both; it depended on the person who referred to me. But since Aesthetic was a really weak and generic name, I was called Eccentricity about...ninety percent of the time."

"Was that your birth name?"

Tyrant scoffed. "God, no. I wasn't born here. Few are."

"Where were you born?"

"Not here," he said.

"But where?"

"Not here," he repeated.

Recognizing the futility of continuing, Tetsuhiro moved on. "So what was your birth name?"

"Not Tyrant, Aesthetic, or Eccentricity."

"I assumed as such."

"Ooh, look at you, all smart and shit. I'm so proud. Anyway, you need a name. And I think I know what to call you. Antithesis."

"Antithesis?"

"Uh-huh. Antithesis means 'the opposite of something.' I've only known you for like an hour, but I already know that you're the complete opposite of me. Therefore, Antithesis is your new name. You like?"

He nodded.

"Of course you do. I came up with it." Tyrant clapped his hands, then turned to the board in front of him. "All right. Antithesis...opposite...difference...contrast—contrast! I've got it! Since you're the antithesis of me, it'd make sense for your aesthetic to contrast mine. However, I love the thought of you in spandex and leather, so instead we're gonna have you contrast yourself. You're gonna have not one, but two aesthetics!"

"Two?"

"Yes, two! A light and dark one. Night and day. Winter and summer. That type of shit." He drew another stick figure beside the first one and started drawing on it. "First we have the light one. I'm thinking a little more inviting and light. Grey and white, maybe some blues of varying shades in there too. Looser, kinda flowy fabrics with more plain footwear. Few accessories, but any that you do have are simple and understated. In terms of hair, I'm thinking we grow it out, then dye it dark blue or purple, maybe with some red in the bottom. Your texture now has a little wave to it, and once it's longer, it'll look especially nice. Relaxed and casual but still appealing. Maybe braid a section or two to keep it out of your face. As for makeup, we probably won't do much. Maybe a little on the eyes just to accentuate your features, but anything else may be overpowering."

He moved over to the next stick figure. It was then when Tetsuhiro realized that Tyrant hadn't drawn much of anything. For the most part he'd noted things.

"And now the dark one," he chuckled, starting to take notes again. "This is gonna be fun. For the most part, it'll resemble my normal aesthetic. Dark clothing—blacks and reds and purples and dark greys. Somewhat tighter fabrics, too, with some leather and spandex. Intimidating but darkly alluring—sexy and dangerous. Accessories like belts and bracelets will have spikes and studs to amp up the intimidation factor. Your hair will be a bit more styled, usually straightened to really emphasize the colors. Ooh, maybe we can give you a fauxhawk or a faux-sidecut. With makeup we'll go a bit heavier. Really dark eyes, maybe some filigree. Ooh, piercings too. Ear cuffs and dangly-ass earrings. Oh, god, this'll be fantastic!"

Though his head spun and he'd only half-understood what Tyrant had just said, Tetsuhiro awaited the semen to start moistening Tyrant's skin-tight pants.

"Hey! Antithesis! You listening?"

"Yeah."

He wasn't, though.

"Good. Go sit your ass over there." Tyrant pointed to the hairstyling vanity. "We're gonna make you beautiful."

"Doesn't it have to grow first?" As he asked the question, he did as Tyrant had instructed.

"Yup. But I've got a way of doing that for you."

Tyrant yanked open a drawer and pulled out a bottle with the letters HGP written in black marker. He opened the bottle, and out popped a blueish pill.

"There's this magical world known as science, you know," he said. "And science does some insanely fucked-up shit. Bends the laws of the world to their near-breaking points in order to fulfill our desires. This little pill here bent one such law. It was originally an import from South, but after a few months of studying, a few people up here learned not only how to make it, but also how to make it better."

"What's it do?"

"HGP: hair growth pill. It takes about six months' worth of hair growing and puts it into the span of about five minutes. That's how I got mine so long." He set the pill in Tetsuhiro's hand. "Here. Take it."

"Just straight up?"

"Yup. Pills with water is for pussies. Last I checked—" He looked down. "—you do not have one."

Tetsuhiro popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed. Only a few moments after he'd taken the pill, Tetsuhiro's eyes were blinded by blueish-black locks of hair. At the end of the five minutes, Tyrant pushed the frontal hairs away from Tetsuhiro's face and clipped them back.

"How long is it?"

"Uh…" Tyrant looked around. "Middle of your back. A lot shorter than mine, but a lot longer than it was before." He pulled open another drawer and pulled out a few tools: scissors, scissors with teeth on one of the blades, a water bottle, comb, and a few clips. From a large drawer he withdrew a smock, which he then draped around Tetsuhiro's neck. Tyrant stared at him for a few moments, and Tetsuhiro could see the images flashing before his eyes. He nodded once, then proceeded to clip up Tetsuhiro's hair. After that, he began snipping, shearing, and shaping it.

"How long have you been in North?" Tetsuhiro asked.

"Me? I came here when I was seventeen, and I'm twenty-five now, so eight years. I know you've only been here for about a day, but how'd you get here?"

"Prison boat," Tetsuhiro replied.

"Oh, Pits."

"No."

"No?"

"Tombs."

Tyrant paused in his cutting, and Tetsuhiro heard the surprise leak into his voice. "You were gonna go to the Tombs? The fuck did you do?"

"Technically, nothing."

"Ooh, wait! Lemme guess first." Tyrant thought for a moment, then said, "You were in a relationship with some guy, but that guy was part of a family that frowned upon fags. And then...you got caught fuckin' and were charged with rape."

"How'd you guess?"

"Because eight out of ten fag prisoners came for the same or a similar reason. And then the other two actually did commit rape. But none of them ever went to the Tombs. Usually only murderers or extremely insane bastards get sent to the Tombs."

"His family took it a bit seriously."

"I noticed."

About ten minutes later, Tyrant set down his scissors and grabbed a few bottles from a drawer on the bottom of the vanity. A bowl and a few flat brushes followed. Before he did anything, Tyrant turned Tetsuhiro's seat around.

"I'm gonna do a multicolored fade," he said. "I layered your hair into four different sections, and I'll be putting four different colors in. Black, purple, blue, and red, going from top to bottom."

Tyrant set about applying the dyes to Tetsuhiro's hair, twisting the section up with a clip after he'd finished. After about thirty minutes he stepped back.

"Now we let them sit so the color can take." Disposing of his rubber gloves, Tyrant dragged the white board over in front of Tetsuhiro's seat and erased his drawings. "Imma give you a little run-down of North. Kinda like basic geography."

He popped the cap off the black marker and drew a large, abstract oval, which was then divided into five sections. Off to the side of the big oval he drew a small circle.

"That's here," he explained, gesturing to the small island. "The bigass thing is North. North's split up into five sections: Pits, Aethan, Medix, Lacks, and Scrapyards." He wrote the first letter of each on its respective section after saying them.

As Tetsuhiro had a vague idea of what it was, Tyrant started with Pits. At one point it had been a prison, but after the prisoners had formed their own state out of North, the Pits became more of a commerce section. A few businesses called it home, but one end of Pits was connected to a pier. Once every two weeks ships would come in and unload various pieces of cargo, which were then sold to everyone and anyone who wanted them. However, that only made up a fourth of the massive area, which made up a little over half the island. The other three had been turned into battlefields for an event known as the Turnir Rounds. In essence, Turnir was a battle game in which a bracket of about twenty people would compete in fights until one was crowned champion. Two of these arenas resembled boxing rings, but one of them was an all-out death match. Each fight had two participants, and it didn't end until one of the fighters was dead. Officially it was called 'Death Match,' but most Northerners referred to it as 'the Royale.'

After that came Medix. Similar to Pits, it was a center for commerce, but it was a much larger one. Medix primarily death in food and medicine, as the name implied. Most dealings involved money, though barter and trade did exist in small amounts. Tyrant explained that Medix's biggest feat was its massive selection of drugs, most of which were produced illegally or immorally. But as Tyrant had said, "Tip six: speak with your eyes, not your ears. If you ain't see shit, it's none of your business."

About the same size was Lacks, the residential area. A few islands did accompany the main island of North, but very few people actually lived on them, such as Tyrant. The other twenty thousand residents lived in apartments and houses—most of which were fixed-up pieces of the destroyed buildings—in the district. Alongside the homes were recreational centers, such as parks and clubs. Tyrant described it as a neutral zone; upstanding citizens and black-hearted criminals could sit on the same park bench without any fear.

Scrapyards lay the closest to Tyrant's island, and he'd said that if Tetsuhiro went further into the city, he would've found the area that had given the district its name. In the past, ships from the other areas of Dyamondix had dumped their trash in North for decades. At one point the Northerners had attempted to stop this issue, but after only a few months of retaliation, they'd decided to stop, for many objects dumped there turned out to have wonderful amounts of potential. Weapon trade also occurred there, and Tyrant told Tetsuhiro that his weapon had come from a Scrapyard forger.

Finally, the smallest of them all—Aethan. Taken from the word 'aesthetic,' Aethan was a center for fashion, hosting shops for clothes, makeup, hair, and anything else external that could contribute to a person's aesthetic. Unsurprisingly, Tyrant considered it his favorite district, and it was where he spent most of his time.

"Is that where you got your names from?" Tetsuhiro asked.

"Yup. All of them."

"Really?"

Tyrant nodded. "Aesthetic came from my extreme concern for my appearance, which I still have to this day. Eccentricity came from both my fluctuating style and personality."

"And Tyrant?"

He chuckled. "That entails the story of back. Well, when I first came here, my knowledge of hair landed me a job in a salon in Aethan. I was the only bastard in the place, and all the bitches who worked there loved me. Surprising, though, since I was a complete bastard to all of them. Then again, I'm feminine-looking and bisexual, and for some reason bitches love bastards who have those two qualities. Anyway, one day I'm up in my workspace makin' shitty strands beautiful like I do best. Well, this purple-haired motherfucker waltzes his fancy ass up in my space that same day. Apparently he'd never come before, since he was all like 'who the fuck's this bastard?' So I answer, we have a little talk, voices are raised, words go acidic—in the end, I ended up stabbing him in the thigh with scissors. I was aimin' for his dick, but he moved. Anyway, a few swings of the scissors and cracking of the hairspray bottles later, he lands on the floor and gets rushed out to the nearest Medix center. Couple days after I get a letter telling me that I'm the new leader of Aethan. Turns out the guy I fought was the former leader. By Northern law, if you kill a district leader, you become the district leader. From then on, I was known as Tyrant."

"Very elaborate story."

"Nah, 'at shit was basic. Coulda gone into more detail, but you're about done."

Tetsuhiro had kept his eyes closed through most of the process that followed, but he knew he'd had his hair washed, stroked, and blow-dried. When he did open them, his hair resembled the mane of a jungle animal.

"You're not keeping it this way, right?"

"'Course not. I have too much integrity for that."

He withdrew from a tangle of wires and cords a device. It consisted of two paddles, about an inch in width, that would clamp together if squeezed. He plugged the cord of the shiny blue device into the nearest outlet. After pushing a few buttons, he set it down. Grabbing a plastic white bottle labeled "HP," Tyrant lifted up various sections of Tetsuhiro's hair and sprayed.

"This'll keep your shit from burning off. It's heat protectant. Basically, it acts as a lil' barrier. So instead of the natural oils in your hair, the protectant gets burned off. If you see steam, don't worry."

Using a claw clip, Tyrant sectioned off the top of Tetsuhiro's hair from the rest of it. Grabbing the device, Tyrant glided it through his now-red tresses. He then repeated this with the blue, purple, and black sections.

"Flip your head over," he instructed.

Tetsuhiro obeyed.

Another bottle reached Tyrant's hand, and more product entered his hair. When Tetsuhiro flipped his head back over, Tyrant fixed the pieces in front of his face.

The idea of having four different colors in his hair had sounded ridiculous at first, but seeing it now, his eyes may as well have been hearts. Though Tyrant had straightened his locks, it was still fluffy and voluminous, far more so than he'd ever remembered. The colors weren't obnoxious at all, instead darker shades that gradually faded into one another.

"You like?"

"I like."

"Good." Tyrant patted Tetsuhiro's head lovingly. "Anyway, clothes are next. But for that, we'll need to do a lil' traveling."

"To Aethan?"

"No, just to my wardrobe."

Tetsuhiro stared up at him. "Really?"

Tyrant's gaze was flat. "Do I look like I'm the same size as you? We'll have to go into Aethan. But not yet. I'm in no mood. Instead, we're just gonna lax off here."

"'Lax off?'"

"Ah, right, you dunno. 'Lax off' means 'to relax.' Slang term. Started by the sexier of the two of us."

Now it was Tetsuhiro's gaze that went flat. He was an absolute dick, but the absolute visibility of his dick was just enough to keep him from abandoning Tyrant. That and Tyrant's apparent position of district leader. Considering that Tetsuhiro was essentially in a foreign land, he'd need all the assistance he could get.

And who better to ally with than a person with status that was mildly infatuated with him?