Hey, everyone! Sorry I have not updated in a while- have been very busy. This chapters gonna be a bit on the short side to get me back in the swing of this fic. Will update soon. Please let me know what you think, and leave any comments, questions, or concerns.

{A fiddle of Gold Against Your Soul Says I'm Better Than You...}

.

She is Asami Sato, an independent young women; she is not helpless, not "Daddy's little girl."

She knows what it's like to be judged at face value. Envious glances saying, "snobby rich," and, "get's anything she wants because her father is the wealthiest man in the city,"and, "has so many guys swooning over her...just look at her go on her moped. Ms. Asami Sato. Must be great to be her."

The rich and the underbelly alike all whisper different things that all have the same meaning.

She hears, she knows, she understands.

But they're wrong. All wrong. She'll never stoop to the level they think she is.

She knows who she is.

Yet, she is the one who envies them. She rather be dirt poor if it meant she could remember what having a mother was like. If, when her father and anyone who knew her mother, says she looks just like her, Asami could look at herself in the mirror and see the women who gave birth to her smiling back like they all say they see. See the reflection of the women who loved her for the first six years of her life until the moment she died; the women who looked at her straight in the eyes and told her to run when the Agni Kai member started threatening them with blazes of sparks if they didn't give him all their jewelry.

No fear had shone on the woman's face.

"Always know who you are, Asami. No one can tell you who you are, but yourself. Money doesn't buy happiness, no matter how fortunate we are. It is through hard work and sacrifice that one is happy."

That is who people say she resembles. That is who people say she acts like.

A ghost, gone like the lick of a flame that dissolves into air as it floats up. Strong at the beginning, until if fades away with time. Just like memory.

They say she is just like that women. That is who she tries to be with all that she is.

But with what Asami is about to do, she is not so sure.

I'm sorry, Mom.

Asami Sato was no coward. If you messed with the few people she called friends-no, family- you had better watch out. She had learned at a young age that most people look at face value and only take what they can see. Which was why she grew up doing her best to prove to the world that she had more underneath than they gave her credit for. The world taught her that you earned what you had, and got what you deserved. And as she creeped along the corner, her hands illuminated with ghostly fire, she had no regrets with what she was about to do.

Be kind to all, her mother's voice whispered to her like the warm wind creeping along her neck. Yes, Asami thought, she'd be kind to kill them quickly.

The two thugs were slouched on an old sofa in the middle of the room, wispy cigarettes dangling from their grimy fingers, and eyes closed with heads tilted to the ceiling. The whole room was lit by the ugly glow of an old light in the corner, and the radio bled out a cheery harmony that was so ironic to the situation that Asami wanted to laugh.

Hanging by a chain around Achida's beefy neck, was the key. Her only way out of here.

She swallowed down her fear, and moved her feet out. She's nine/ten/twelve again and her Sifu is telling her to be/sneaky/ calm/ poised and ready to defeat her opponent. Her body is her strongest weapon, and she can use it to her advantage.

Her teacher is smiling and handing her her black belt at twelve years old, and her father is clapping and whipping tears from his eyes, and Asami is inching closer closer to the sofa be the fox, Asami, never let your opponent know you are on to them. You must be as sleek as a fox. and their snores are masking her heavy breathing, and the pillow will catch the sweat that drops from her brow, and Asami's hands go supernova as she grasps both their necks and-

Mom, I'm scared.

Go find your father, sweetie. I'll handle this.

I-I c-can't, Momma, Mommy, I'm scared-

Yes, you can, sweetie. You're Asami. You can do anything.

They don't even have time to scream. Asami grits her teeth as two thumps hit the floor. The key is in her ash-filled hand, and she is bolting away. Asami sees the light from the outside.

No fear had shown on the woman's face.

Wen quickly checked both ends of the street before crossing the way from her small apartment. It was hard for her even now to believe her life had become this; this fear of always watching her back, never knowing where the enemy was. She could be killed at any time.

But that part, she thought, wasn't all that different. Death was always in her life before Harmonic Convergence, before the Change when she got her powers. Death had just been inside of her, the cancer waging within her veins fighting more powerful each day.

It had been easier then, she had to admit. At least then she had known what the enemy was and were it was. At least then, when she died, all she had to blame for her passing was her screwed up body. Wen had accepted long ago that she wasn't going to die a hero like in the legends; out in the battle field saving the world. The enemy had been inside her and she knew its battle plan a thousand times over, coursing like the beat of a war drum.

Now was different. With the New Age, her body had changed like a dead girl brought to life. Gone was the sickness that ticked inside her like a bomb, and she was reborn into a body of steel and stone. Her muscles like an armor stronger than any god. Her eyesight able to see through the thickest walls. She had been given the gift of life; when she stood up from her hospital bed, the doctors had shook their heads in disbelief at the vitals that showed no signs of disease. She was a miracle.

She supposed that she had Avatar Korra to thank for that.

Yet, she didn't deserve it.

"C-can't w-we talk about this?" Bolin stuttered as he was tied against the springs.

One particular coil was already digging into his back. It had already cut through his skin and was slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the fleshy area between his ribs. Suffice to say, it hurt like hell. The boy wiggled a bit, trying to free himself of the pain that the metal was bringing him. No such luck. It was ironic, in a cruel kinda way, Bolin thought. With how much weight he had lost these past few weeks from simply not caring to eat, and the veins sticking out of his arm, he'd have thought the springs would have gone and cut him and drained him dry already.

"It's because you don't deserve to die in this lifetime." Bolin blinked, and the Abdicator was leaning against the wall, peering at him from across the room, "You deserve to suffer. This is your punishment."

Bolin squinted, and matched the bastard's gaze. "You're one to talk, Abdicator. I do recall a certain Spirit putting a curse on you for all eternity. Talk about just desserts."

Bolin's smugness was cut short, however, when a smack sent his face hitching the other way. He groaned, feeling the skin stinging.

"Shut up. I'd ask who the hell you were talking to," Isha's voice cut through the ringing in his ears, "but I can only guess."

Isha cursed as he fiddled with the box. "This damn thing won't turn on..." he muttered.

Oh, thank the Spirits.

The madman gave it a good whack on the table, before the light underneath the dial burst back to life, and the small machine made a humming sound. Bolin's blood went cold.

"Oh, there we go..."

The hostage felt a cool tear slide down his face. They weren't going to kill him. They were going to torture him to no end, and no one was coming for him. But maybe...maybe if he could slide his wrist just the right way, the wire would slice his vein. Then, he wouldn't have to deal with the torture. He would be free, free of the monster standing over him, free of the pain he was about to inflict. Free of the worry of what would happen later on. Free of himself...

A jolt of electricity coursed through his body. His muscles contracted, nearly ripping themselves from the bone. His back arched, and his limbs jerked uncontrollably. He mind went numb. The wire straps sliced through his tendons, cartilage, muscle, finally scraping against his wrist and ankle bones. His tongue felt like a balloon, his lips felt like they had been ripped from his face, each toe and finger felt like its nail had been plucked one at a time.

Maybe he would die.

The Avatar sat crisscrossed on the ground of the gazebo, deep in meditation. There had been no sign of Bolin since he was taken a week ago, and quite frankly, she was done with putting her trust and time in the police to track her poor friend down. But Korra wasn't about to give up.

These past few weeks Jinora had been helping her try to master astral projection, and the endless hours sitting under the sky, willing her soul out of her body, sadly, had been in vein.

Except for yesterday. Yesterday she had felt a tug in energy like nothing she had experienced before. It had been raw, and hot, and powerful. Instinct had told her follow it, and after nearly passing out from concentration, she had managed to free her soul from her body for a good few minutes. She had been taken to an old part of the city, a part where not even the Spirit vines had dared to grow.

Then she had had heard a scream, and her muscles had felt like they had been put on fire, being ripped from her bones and-

She had been unwillingly thrust back into her body.

But today, she was determined. Today she had somewhere to start, and she knew that that pull in energy was from Bolin.

It just had to be.

.

She was the worst Avatar ever.

There had been no sign of Bolin's energy for the past two hours, and without something to go on, Korra didn't think she could force her soul to travel. And the silence was beginning to make her stomach ach with worry; it meant he was either unconscious, dead ( she dared not think that, however) drugged ( which was likely) or too for away for her to track his energy. And if they were on the move...that meant that the bastards knew they were on to them, and that meant-

Korra whimpered. She didn't want to think of what state she could possibly find her friend in. If they even found him at all.

Focus your energy. Be the leaf.

Korra could do this. She just had to be calm.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes once more. Bolin had to be around here somewhere...

It happened so fast.

There was a pull like she was sinking underwater, and she found her soul-self floating above a horrid table of blood-stained instruments, and men in white coats and masks. If she looked outside the cell, she could see cages filled with children- poor, starved, horrified, children- lining the walls, and underneath her, strapped to a mattress by his limbs, was the victim.

A man with a tag reading the name 'Isha' was holding a sparking device in his hand with a big dial on the front, and saying something about it only being on 'level two'.

"No! Leave him alone!" her voice was shrill to her ears, but she seemed to have no effect on the scene in front of her. The man was grasping a knife, and Korra's eyes bugged out as the second man stuck the blade in the victim's open abdomen.

"Noooooo-!"

The screams were going to haunt her for the rest of her life. No human body should move like that.

Everything went dark after that. The Avatar slumped to the floor with a horrid yelp, her concentration broken. She withered on the ground, a fresh wave of pain consuming her like bolts of electricity.

"Bolin!"

She kept gasping, not being able to catch her breath. Her head was pounding, and her stomach, oh, her stomach, like someone had been playing with her intestines...

Her body went numb and she moaned. Faintly, she could hear Mako yelling for her. Her mind registered his touch on her shoulder, and she felt him roll her over. He was calling to her, but she couldn't answer. The pain was too great.

Was this what it was like for Bolin in his visions? Was this what he went through every time? Spirits, bless him...

But, as quickly as the attack had, come, it vanished, leaving her with a dull ach. Korra stood up, her legs rubbery.

"Spirits, Korra! What happened?!" Mako demanded, clearly frightened.

That was it. They had to get to Bolin. Korra could feel his chi weakening by the minute.

"They're killing him," She informed the firebender, tears mercilessly falling from her eyes. "We have to get inside there."

Mako cursed. A plant started smoking from behind them. "Where is 'there' exactly? Korra," Mako's voice rose to a frantic plea. He grabbed her shoulders, and Korra was shaken back and forth so hard she almost stumbled. "Where is my brother?"

"I..." Korra swallowed, painfully, "I'm not really, sure..."

Mako sputtered. "W-w...you-what? What do you mean, you not-?!"

"I only saw the inside, okay?!"

"Then, how the fuck-"

"Look!" Korra cut in, taking a deep breath. "Look," she said more calmly. "I know it's in an older part of the city that the Spirits haven't touched. If we try to go by that, the closer we get, the stronger the connection will probably be. Then, I can project my soul in the room once we're outside, and let Bolin know we're coming."

Mako just stared at her for a few agonizing seconds, his ember eyes flickered. "Korra, if I lose him, I-"

"Hey," she shook her head to silence him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Korra couldn't tell if this moment were real, or one year ago when they were saving the earthbender from Equalists. It was such a different, easier time. It seemed like so long ago. "Mako...We are going to save your brother. I promise you that."

Despite himself, the elder boy smiled. "Where have I heard that before?"

Korra matched his sad smile. "We can't let him give up. We can't give up on him."

Mako's eyes turned fierce. "Never."

Korra flexed her shoulders. "Get Tenzin and Lin. We leave at sundown."

"What the flaming fire-crackers is that supposed to be?" Chan had partially peed himself once he had entered the room.

Chan, the Avatar and the Firebending Detective all stared slack-jawed at the bizzare machine-if you could even call it that- that was displayed before them. The buttons and beeping omitting from it made the thing look almost alive, and the kooky Water Tribe billionaire, patted the side of its bulky exterior in pride.

"Ya like...?" Varrick smiled triumphantly. Anyone could practically hear the smugness dripping from his words. "I call it the-..." bewildered, he turned to his ever faithful assistant. "Zue Lee! What do we call it again?"

Poor woman, Korra thought as she watched the manager push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "The 'Unlock-every-cage-in-that-blasted-hell-whole-anator, Sir. AKA. 'Operation: Save Bolin.'"

Varrick raised a brow, "Really? Because I thought 'The Unlock-a-tron-' sounded way cooler..."

Korra cleared her throat and made a pointed face.

"Yeah..." Mako drawled. "Look, this is all great. But is it really gonna work? We only have one shot at this to get my brother out. If not, everyone could die. We're risking our lives here."

"Okay, Mr. Depressing," Varrick chirped, "I actually came up with a plan to rescue Bolin. What have you been doing? Filing paperwork? Gotten any paper cuts lately?"

Chan snorted smugly. If Mako were the Avatar, Korra would have sworn, he would have gone Avatar State to the max. His face went tomato-red within seconds, and steam was practically coming out of his nose.

Chan could practically count the fucks being given by each single person in the room. His own, were personally low at the moment.

Chan just hoped that everyone was ready to say their prayers. And if this high-off-his-own-ass inventor guy could make a machine to help save his big brother, he'd sell his soul for the kook and buy whatever acid he was on.

We're coming for you, Spooks. Don't you dare give in yet, you asshole.

Bolin muttered under his breath. His body was smoking slightly, his hair singed. And that was only the third shock out of probably hundreds, maybe thousands if he was lucky enough. It seemed to him that he had always been unlucky. At six years old, his parents had been brutally killed, leaving his poor brother to witness their horrid deaths and give up his childhood to protect him. At eight, his bending skills had manifested, only for to grant him and Mako interest with the Traids. At nine, he had been arrested and dragged to the Orphanage, whose grimy walls held greasy smiles and curious hands, children losing all sense of virtue. After a few days he had managed to escape with only as much trauma as he dared let himself remember. It was maybe a week after that that he found Mako again. His eleventh year was struck with the coldest winter on Republic City record; winter's chill sneaking up Mako's throat, and changing all fourty of their fingers and toes to a bruised purple. The years that followed proved no nicer, and once he had finally gotten a home and friends and family, where had he ended up? In this hellhole. The universe was just too kind to him.

"Wow...that was cool." the man said dumbly. It was rare that he ever said something that wasn't...intelligent in sound.

"Yes, it was 'cool', But I have more tests to conduct. Apparently, shocking him is too dangerous in his current condition," Isha concluded, "We need to try something more effective, and less deadly."

Mumbled to himself, Isha made his way to a corner piled with boxes. He set the top one off to the side, and opened up the second one. The sound of metal striking metal and plastic and metal echoed through the room. Finally, the madman pulled out what Bolin thought to looklike a miniature briefcase. The scientist smiled to himself, and opened it. His eyes looked fondly at the objects as he marched back to the table.

"Put the specimen back on the center one." he commanded.

The other man- Bolin decided to call him Prune Head, for his head was surely like the shape-grumbling, did as he was asked, while making sure not to get blood his outfit.

Bolin, through his agony, found himself wondering. For as smart as these guys seemed, why they wore stark-white lab coats with no intention of get bloody, was beyond him. He guessed there were some things he would just never know.

Bolin was in to much pain to care, anyway. His wrists and ankles were sliced beyond recognition, he was sure. The cut on his chest had yet again begun to squirt fresh blood. His body had been literally fried to nearly the point of becoming a fish stick, and-

And, he didn't even like fish sticks. Couldn't these guys be a little considerate to his tastes?

He started laughing, then. He didn't even know why- it just happened. The laugh started bubbling up from his inflamed throat until it ached. But he kept giggling, because he was just so funny!

He wanted to ask Mako if he thought he was funny, but then he remembered that Mako wasn't here, and Mako hated him and thought he was a monster and wanted him dead, so he answered for himself.

Then Prune Head slapped him for laughing and asked him 'what the fuck his problem was'.

"D-do..." He licked his lips, "do y-you smell t-that?"

Prune Head pinched his nose. "Your stupidity, you mean?"

"Noooo..." Bolin chuckled, his head moving side to side. He actually saw Isha give him a 'wtf' face. "Fish sticks!" He chirped. "I smell fish sticks!"

He was instantly silenced as he felt a needle slip into his jugular. "Agni, you're annoying..."

But for once, Bolin felt no pain. He actually felt kinda giddy. That was a sure sign of trouble. As he drifted into a fitful sleep, he heard Isha tell Prune head to 'watch this'.

Definitely trouble. He probably should have cared...but he kinda wanted some fish sticks first.

When he woke up, he was gonna ask Asami to make him some.

But he had no time to worry, for he was finally asleep. Or...was he? Vague memories (were they even his own?) swam in his mind. Visions of Korra floating on the ceiling and telling someone to leave him alone, and Asami was playing a game with him, and Kai was stealing all his fucking fish sticks, but then, Shady Shin started giving him as many cigarettes as he wanted. There were a huge pack, but just as he tried to light one, they turned into children, eleven dead children with wispy forms, and Mako exploded like a volcano. Mako's guts were all over the room, but his left leg was still intact, and it was walking by itself toward him- why did you hurt me, Bolin, why?' He tried to respond, but the Abdicator kept kissing him, and no matter how hard he screamed, no one could hear him. Until Korra came back and starting singing to him in his mom's voice. Korra looked an awful lot like his mom. Had Korra's eyes always been amber? Had her hands always felt so soft...?

Bolin wanted to go get Mako and tell him to come read a story with him and Mommy, but then he remembered that he blew Mako up, and he really should start cleaning up his guts, because it was really starting to smell.

Maybe he didn't deserve fish sticks, after all.