The world lurches sickeningly, and Kozmotis spins, swinging blindly at nothing. Logically, he knows it's futile; the voice that even now fills the darkness with mocking laughter, long and loud, is sourceless and directionless, appearing from every shadow at once. There is something familiar about the laughter, he thinks, but he can't place it, twisted almost unrecognizable as it is with malice and wicked glee.
"What is this? Another trap?" Dimly he remembers gold, and darkness overwhelming his vision, but before that his memory seems strangely fuzzy. "I'm not going back to being a lab rat, if that's what you want. And neither are those poor people -" he starts, but the voice from the shadows cuts him off, its tone reproaching.
"Are you really still claiming all this violence is in the name of freedom? I'm disappointed in you. I would have thought that at least here, in the dark, you'd admit the truth."
"And what's that?" Kozmotis asks, warily, still turning as he tries to pinpoint the location of the voice by sound alone. It really has been too long; he's become too used to his new abilities, relies far too much on them, and the challenge of having just his own body and his own senses to work with would almost be refreshing, if he weren't somehow certain that he is in terrible danger.
The voice laughs again, this time emerging from the shadows somewhere just behind Kozmotis' right shoulder. He spins, but no one is there. "That you simply love to hear them scream."
"You're wrong," Kozmotis says, shortly. He shouldn't have, he knows as soon as the words escape him. It's simple psychological warfare. Dammit, he's better than this, he shouldn't be letting a few words get to him.
"Oh?" the voice purrs, and this time Kozmotis could swear it's coming from directly in front of him. But that makes no sense, there is nothing there – "Is that why you put so much effort into terrorizing those useless lab assistants? You didn't really think they knew anything, did you?"
Kozmotis lunges forward, his fists meeting nothing but the slight, dreamlike resistance of shadows, and the voice croons tauntingly into his left ear, "Is that why you tore those guards to shreds?"
He tastes blood, the salty, metallic tang of pain and fear and memory balled into one as he bites almost through his tongue. His swing is wild, sloppy, and he nearly falls forward under his own momentum when, once again, there is nothing there to hit.
"Is this how you solve all of your problems?" the voice asks, and now it sounds bored.
Kozmotis bites back a retort, digging his nails into the palms of his hands as he turns slowly, still searching for any sign of his opponent. "Would you like to see how I solve my problems?" he says, darkly, and the voice's laugh sounds utterly delighted.
"My, my, my. Crude and impotent threats, now? I must say, I really expected better of you." The shadows rustle, the darkness moves, swirling around him like a wave. "After you showed such promise in these last few trials, such an admirable lack of compunction when it comes to slaughter – they really have trained you well, haven't they? Or were you simply always this bloodthirsty?"
"Who the hell are you?" Kozmotis demands. His heart is hammering against his chest, now, and he isn't sure if he's grateful for the quicksilver slivers of dread that impale his spine and check his anger, or if he wants to let rage swallow him and feel no more fear.
The only answer he gets is an amused, thoughtful hum. "I could ask you the same question. Look at you! Parading around like a hero, claiming that all you want is to save the poor, innocent victims of the atrocities committed by the monsters who run the program…but you and I know the truth, don't we, General?"
Kozmotis grits his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. "What's the truth, then?"
The darkness is filled, just for a moment, with thousands of pinpricks of light, tiny pairs of eyes blinking open and shut again just as quickly. Only one pair remains, level with his, flashing with an almost-metallic flicker as a smile appears just below them, curving wickedly upwards.
"Why, who is the real monster, of course."
The darkness begins to melt away, revealing a face, a figure, just as Kozmotis finally realizes why the voice sounds so familiar.
It's his own.
And the grinning figure that emerges from the dark, that throws back its head and laughs at the look on Kozmotis' face, is bordered by the gilt frame of a full-length mirror.
He throws himself forward with a scream that is mostly rage, and for once his fists meet something that offers resistance. But it's no good, even the sharp shattering sounds of glass can't drown out the laughter, it's everywhere, it's in his head –
He bolts awake, to find a knife held in his face.
…
Jack blinks open his eyes, and isn't met with the familiar sight of the ceiling of his small room, or the overhead lights of the arena. His head throbs in time to the pulsing of the fluorescent lights above him, and something tells him they aren't really pulsing, but that that, too, is in his head.
"Frost?"
Jack tries to sit up, and promptly decides against it. He waves one arm, waiting for the world to stop spinning. " 'M okay."
"Good." Tooth's head fills Jack's field of vision, fury and worry battling for dominance of her sweet features. "What have you been doing? Pitch got away, something's wrong with Sandy, Bunny's -" Her voice catches, just slightly, before she resumes her panicky lecture. "Bunny's hurt, it's not good, it's going to take at least an hour to get him back on his feet – and you!" She draws back, so quickly that she seems to vanish, and Jack tries again to sit up. "Frost I can understand, he's not trained as a Guardian, he doesn't know how we operate but honestly, North, I expected better of you at least! We don't go to pieces just because a plan goes wrong!"
"There were children in danger," North says, matter-of-factly, from somewhere outside of Jack's field of vision. He obviously sees it as a reasonable explanation.
Tooth doesn't seem to share his viewpoint. "Your teammates were in danger -"
"Forgive me for believing you could take care of yourself. Next time, I will watch over you like porcelain doll."
"North!"
Jack tunes out their argument, testing whether or not he can get up without falling back down instead. It takes a few tries, but eventually he makes it to his feet.
The girl who'd known his name is gone. So is the boy who'd put him out. So, it seems, is everyone else. Jack scans the hall, noticing the occasional stain (not always red) and scorch mark, and wonders just how long he's been insensible. The painful burns all along his front seem to have healed over, but when he gingerly tests the skin over the places where the light had seared him, it's still tender. It can't have been long, then, even if the total absence of anyone else seems to say otherwise.
Maybe there's still a chance he can catch up with the girl. Maybe she hasn't gotten too far. Maybe…
"What happened?" Jack asks, and Tooth stops mid-shout.
"Oh no." Her expression shifts from murderous to concerned in seconds, and she flits over to him, leaving North looking slightly dumbfounded at the abrupt lack of yelling. "Did he take a blow to the head? Do you remember your name? Where you are?" She's right in his face, staring into his eyes, and Jack tries to back away before he realises she must be checking the size of his pupils.
"Yeah, I remember everything right up to that little girl coming running at me…and then taking that hit." He winces, and rubs at a tender spot above his heart. "What I don't know is what happened to everybody. Wasn't this place practically a war zone?"
Tooth pulls away, her wings fluttering agitatedly, and she turns back to North. "We weren't prepared. And if we weren't prepared, you can imagine how much luck the guards had."
Jack can't hold back the wince, even though the twinge from his battered ribs instantly makes him regret it. "Ow! And, ow. I'm guessing they didn't come out on top, then."
"No." North pats the sabre hanging at his side as though he doesn't even realise he's doing it. "And of course they did not think to close doors behind them." He shakes his head. "Before you ask again what I have been doing, Tooth, Pitch must have fled with other subjects. There is no sign of him in cells or with the dead."
"You've been through them all? Already?" Tooth doesn't give him time to answer. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter. Bunny's hurt -"
"So is Frost," North says, matter-of-factly, and Jack raises both hands.
"Whoa, no. Don't drag me into this."
Tooth spares him only the briefest of glances. "That's not all. Something's wrong with Sandy. Really wrong. I know sometimes he gets a bit odd coming out of someone's head but – North, I think he tried oneiropathy on Pitch." This last is delivered in a hush, and it takes Jack a moment to work out if she's actually used a word he doesn't understand in the slightest or if he just couldn't hear her.
"He what?" There isn't so much as a hint of mirth in North's voice, not a twinkle in his bright eyes. He mutters something that might be a curse. "Mussorgsky, does he not remember what happened last time he tried to push a dream on Pitch?"
"It's worse this time."
"Worse? How can it be worse?"
Tooth's already airborne, starting away down the hall. "Come and see."
North follows, only glancing back once to see if Jack's coming with them.
Jack pauses, for a long moment, torn between chasing after the girl who had known his name and following the people – the Guardians – who for some inexplicable reason have decided to take him under their wing. In the end, it's not really much of a choice. He doesn't know anything about the girl, where she might have gone, how he might find her again. And he doesn't really feel like taking another beating. Still, he can't help but wonder if he'll ever see her again, ever find out who she is and how she knows him.
For some reason, he hopes he will.