Hello hello, and welcome to a new chapter!
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Naya found out she liked to spend time with her betrothed. At least, he tried to make sure she knew enough of human culture she wouldn't be given odd stares. And history –humans had such interesting history! Mankind was as bloodthirsty as the own Kaiju sometimes. So many wars, World War I, then II, and the whole genocide thing. History really did have a way to repeat itself.
"We'd have to start with the issue of the whole war here." Matt kept talking and talking, and Naya had stopped listening a long time ago.
Matt kept saying stuff like 'we' and 'our', and it was far too close for comfort. Naya wasn't used to hearing those words with her in the picture. She felt like a kid in a sandbox, trying to grasp the idea of sharing her shovel and building a sandcastle with a total stranger. Sort-of-a-stranger. Naya didn't really know what this was. But she didn't know if she was ready to actually become a 'we' or an 'our' with this person. Because it sounded so nice. Too nice.
We. Our. You and me.
Matt still called her that stupid nickname. He still hadn't told his parents who his betrothed was (she couldn't blame him for it). He wanted her to distract him to soothe the anxiety that came with his little brother being gone. Naya obliged.
It was odd being there, in Matt's yard. With Matt's parents inside the house. The mother smelled odd (A lawyer? She thought Matt had told her his mother was a lawyer) It wasn't until she focused on her figure that she could see what was odd.
Baby bump.
Barely visible. Naya wasn't sure it was there at all, though the woman certainly smelled different.
Naya didn't know what to do. What did people say in a situation like this? Congratulations on having a human being growing inside of you?
"Lee, right?" The father was leaving the car, shopping bags in hand. "Hey, Matt, your mom brought this for you. I'll take the others to the kitchen." The father (John? Julian, his name was Julian) threw two packets towards him. Naya couldn't catch hers in time. It smacked against her head.
"Oops. Sorry."
"All good," Naya mumbled. She rubbed his forehead.
"Give him one more," Marie whispered. It was far too loud to be considered a whisper.
"He'll get fat."
"He's growing. He needs to grow."
"And you think gummy bears are the way to go?"
"They are happy foods. Happy food is good for you."
"Right. I love you."
"I know, now get another one."
"Just because I'm not letting you eat them? You know that healthy nutri-"
"Healthy nutrition is good for the baby." Marie lowered her octaves, all low and gravelly, while still speaking in a whisper. "Yes. I know. But the second she's out of my uterus we're going to Mr. Hotdog, and I will freaking eat."
So it was going to be a girl.
"Fine."
"Until I'm obese."
"Wonderful."
"Until I explode!"
"Spectacular."
All the while, Matt continued talking, too quickly for Naya to pick up.
"Okay. Stop."
Matt stopped. His head whipped around. "What?" He looked like someone had slapped him in the face.
"This -" Naya started. She stopped. She swallowed. "It's too fast. This is too fast. I don't really know how to - I mean, this is just -" Naya tried to put the words into the right order. How was she supposed squeeze 'I'm too stupid to keep up' into a coherent English sentence?
"Oh. Sorry." Matt looked down. "I...sorry. I get a little carried away. It's just when I - when I really get into something it's hard for me to slow down."
Naya's head was burning. Matt was really into this. Into battles chess and history. Not anything else. Not Naya. Definitely not Naya. Of course not. Jesus Christ.
If you've ever had the feeling of utter isolation and exile, you know that it, to put it lightly, doesn't feel very nice. You start to picture events and experiences that may or may not be real, create characters to ease your loneliness, and try desperately to latch on to the two things keeping you human: Your sanity and your memories.
Thankfully it wasn't that bad this time around.
How appropriate for MEGTAF to place him in the one place which no man ever wishes to set foot in, even if they still have those human-like qualities: prison. How metaphorical.
He was in a stark gray prison cell, barely large enough to walk around in. Two paces to the back, two paces to the front, and one pace side to side. Aside from his clothes, there was very little in the room: the steel bed he was currently laying in (very uncomfortable), the cell door, which was little more than a steel slab with a window and a feeding slot at the bottom. The walls, floor, ceiling, door, window, and bed are all a depressing shade of gray, which already is starting to grate at me a little bit. The entire ensemble seems to be designed to physically and mentally degrade him, make him long for something new, something interesting. Something human.
How delightfully ironic. That would have been his thought if his grip on reality was stronger at the moment.
Merry-go-round. Toxic green. Hits and jabs. Gauze and broken knuckles. Faces he didn't know. Faces he'd never seen. Foreign. Unimportant. He'd hurt them. He hadn't cared. He'd just needed someone to feel all the things in his head that hurt so much. To understand. He hadn't hurt them with his hands, but with his mind, and they were one and the same, hands, mind, it didn't matter. He'd let his anger out on someone he'd never met, on someone who wasn't his father, on someone who didn't have hands like his. Vale had his father's hands, hadn't he?
He hurt the man first. And the others just-
The boys just-
They stood around and watched.
Afterwards, his hands-
Until he fell asleep he couldn't stop his-
They trembled. His hands. They-
Lea had been with him, that warmth on the back of his mind was impossible to miss, and the brother jumped when she spoke. "Just - sleep. Your head's gonna hurt real bad tomorrow. Hands, too."
And my heart. Heart, too.
Vale had to question the mental capacities of the higher-ups of MEGTAF. Surely it was a bad idea to send a man to interrogate a potential dangerous person, even more so when the person had previously been attacked by that person? Surely, surely?
Even with Barnes there, he had to admit it was odd that they were in the room with him, instead of questioning him through the door.
Information. They wanted information. Ha.
Foolish people. What could he possibly tell them? So far, he learned he needed to be around people if he wanted to stay sane. Really, he only needed Matt and Lea. Together they were enough to keep the headaches and withdrawals at bay.
"So, let me get this straight, if I don't do what you want you'll keep me a prisoner?" his voice was low.
"Now, kid, I never said that. I would not keep you a prisoner-"
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Vale cut him off, "But isn't the definition of prisoner: a person deprived of liberty and kept under involuntary restraint, confinement, or custody?"
"Well, yes, it is." Richards said, looking at him as if he was an unruly child who just didn't understand how the world worked. Vale didn't think he had ever seen anything quite as condescending, "However we only want what it's best."
That man- that sheep, that oath-breaker charlatan- had taken advantage of his drug-induced amnesia and had hurt him. Vale was sure he had enjoyed it, the bastard. Oddly enough, after the oh-crap-I-did-it-again-why had passed, he found out he didn't feel as much remorse about him as he was supposed to.
His hands had stopped shaking a long time ago.
He knew there were primal parts of him, that don't use logic based in any sort of human realm. He didn't like to think about that. It scared him. Bloodlust alone (and thank God people had a word for it) was hard enough on its own, not a thought but more like an addiction.
He saw Barnes shift slightly, and a part of him coiled defensively, but he squashed it down. Those parts were purely reactionary. He blinked.
When had he looked up? How long had he been staring at Richards' face? He didn't need to look into his mind to detect a sudden wave of uneasiness that enveloped him. Richards wasn't sure what was wrong at the moment –but he was sure something was off. Humans had a certain amount of self-preservation –it was a reason why they had stayed at the top of the food chain- they recognized a potential predator, even if it logically made no sense.
This obsession with owning things –another change, he supposed- he couldn't quite yet explain. Already he had marked certain areas as his. The school. His house. His family. His friends. He felt righteous anger at the realization –both MEGTAF and Kaiju alike had some nerve, slipping on the school grounds- his territory. But most of all, getting anywhere near his family. No one was allowed near them.
"You are wasting too much time and resources fortifying the security around here." He was on his feet in no time at all, Vale looking up, and Barnes looking down. "I'm only half Kaiju. You should spend that in checking that the really dangerous ones don't escape." He ground out, his teeth glinting as he spoke.
For all his growing anger, Vale had to admit MEGTAF was what the human race needed. A semi secret organization, the best of the best, with resources to actually capture and learn things about their enemies.
"I think we are doing a good thing with our resources." Barnes let out a feral grin, "After all, it only takes half to be a threat. Ask Richards if you're not sure."
The brown haired man glared at his partner as Vale's eyes narrowed further, fists clenched, and he swore that his claws, able to damage a Kaiju's tough skin, would be digging rivulets into his palms.
"I am not a monster!" he hissed, looking the arrogant man straight in the eye.
He returned the look coldly, save for the gleam of satisfaction that he knew he felt. "It's said that you can tell what a person is like when you look them in the eyes. What does that make them if they're slit and flaming?"
"Different." Vale answered at once, before resigning. "You want information?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll be free?"
"Our definitions of freedom are not the same," he said, "we are very different creatures, after all."
(No. No, he would never be free.)
Perhaps he would be treated better, if only slightly. He wanted neutrality… maybe he could do a bit of both, a very slight push to both sides.
The Kaiju were already calling him treasonous, the humans would hardly trust him.
So…
…
Truth to be told, I don't know anything.
No, really, I don't.
Honest, I don't.
Oh, you want me to- okay. I am unsure as to why this information would help you, but other groups of Kaiju exist in Japan, France, Spain, Ireland, Russia, somewhere in Africa, and South America.
I would tell those countries the news, if I were you.
You want me to be more specific? Okay, okay. The only thing I know is an approximation. Don't look at me like that. I've only travelled there once in my life, and from there once too.
Yes, I am aware it's a very vague response, but stop with the glares. I narrowed your search to the ground of one kilometer. Though, I don't understand why you would need this information.
What? You will actually charge headfirst? You would actually go to the lair, with an army? I bet you think you'll come out alive.
Wait, you think you will? Don't be naïve.
But by all means, look for the entrance. See if you trust my word (if you are that desperate) or if you refuse it (paranoia in your hearts).
(See if you are as suicidal as you appear)
Vale had to suppress the vicious grin that threatened to appear on his face once Barnes left them alone. At a first glance Daniel Richards seemed fine, but he was a little more nervous, a little twitchier. It wasn't difficult to see that his little 'trick' had affected the man.
And he would be like that until he found himself in his comfort zone. That thought made Vale want to laugh. Nothing that he didn't deserve.
"Even though I really don't like you, I prefer you questioning me to Barnes, so let's get straight to business." Vale said before Richards could open his mouth. "I want you to psychoanalyze my father. I guess you knew the Butterfly kills are his doing?"
Richards' eyes widened, but said nothing.
"Should I take that as a refusal to help?"
"Not at all," Richards murmured. "But I don't like to make presumptions and judgments without evidence. I would rather not base this on the no doubt wildly exaggerated media coverage."
"Well, I'd offer to take you to a crime scene, but thankfully there are no fresh ones."
And he had no desire to go near one of them anyway. No, worse – he almost did, because whilst he was at the scene he felt wonderful and the ideas sparked through his head like lightning.
It was when he fell back into his own head that he hated it, regretted it, clutched the sides of his sink and threw up in the toilet, even when there was nothing left but to merely retch an empty stomach.
Richards left, only to return a few minutes later with a stack of photos. He wasted no time in flipping through and examining them, a veiled fascination in his eyes that may have disturbed some. Vale supposed criminal minds would interest the man.
"Well?" he questioned, after a long silence.
Richards, to his surprise, moved so he was standing near him and handed him some photos. He was not so twitchy. Fish in water.
"I find it interesting that you would need to consult me on this case. You know everything these pictures are trying to say already, I can tell. You know where his focus is."
"I speculate. Psychoanalyze the damn photos in regards to him, and not me."
Richards continued to appraise him for a moment.
"He's very precise, meticulously so. Every aspect of the crime is planned and premeditated, and arranged for a certain effect. There is a clear link to collecting; the butterfly in the chest is pinned like a collector would, and the way the victim is splayed and pinned to the wall is reminiscent of this as well.
"It could be a larger representation of the butterfly pinned to the heart. Butterflies are often symbolized with resurrection and so immortality, along with metamorphosis. I could also go further and make literary connections to iconic butterfly symbolism, most notably John Fowles' 1963 novel The Collector. Are you familiar with the story?"
"Man collects butterflies, kidnaps girl and keeps her locked up in his basement. Explores the idea of beauty in freedom and whether the object of desire is still beautiful taken from its natural habitat and pinned down," Vale recited.
"Indeed," Richards said, almost smugly. "Very good. Ominous though, isn't it? The pinned position could also be likened to the Vitruvian man as an example of the ideal form, or even to crucifixion and so the sacrifice of the saint by God."
"Didn't realize you were a religious man, Richards." Vale spoke to cover the jolt that ran through him at that comment – the saint. He wasn't a saint, and God didn't corrupt Jesus, but … no. Belloc did view himself as a god. The entire species did.
"Daniel. My name is Daniel, and no, I'm not. Though here I could cite Nietzsche, with his claim that though we are in a time of rising atheism – of which I adhere to – we all have a religious instinct which represents the human desire for something greater."
"Nietzsche also said that he couldn't believe in an all-powerful god existing, because he couldn't believe that such a god wouldn't be himself," Vale said flatly. "Pinch of salt as far as he's concerned."
"Hmm. Belloc is obsessed with you, but again, you already know that. I'm not entirely sure what you and are hoping to gain from this consultation, at least regarding Belloc. I'm sure you know him better than I do."
Vale's jaw clenched.
Oh, don't make me laugh. You think you know? You think you understand how I think and work?
'Yes'
No. You don't know.
"Ever heard of a fresh perspective?"
"You're not denying understanding him?" Richards asked, raising his brows. Vale resisted the urge to curse, instead snatching up the photos.
"If you're not going to be helpful –"
"You wished for me to psychoanalyze your father? Combine the fact that he's a collector with the allusions he's making, his obsessive personality – strong attention to detail in the precision, for example – and then the fact that in his last crime scene the victim was a rather obvious substitute for you, and I think it's very clear where his mind is currently preoccupied. A man with such precision to detail would not like loose ends, and you are that – in all sense of the words – to a killer such as him. It also makes you rather unique, if just for that fact alone. Oblige me by answering a question, please; in your opinion, what does obsession plus collection lead to, in light of what was taken from the victim?"
Vale's fingers furled tightly, nails digging into his palm, as Vale's gaze remained glued to his face. Bile clawed up his throat, the careful scraps of his composure shaking.
"I'm his ultimate target. I already gathered that."
"Then why are you so bothered about helping us to catch him now?"
"Because the bastard's going to hunt me down and rip my heart out!"
"Which should give us ample opportunity to catch him, I'm sure, providing you don't die first. We don't need to hunt him down if he's going to come to you."
Vale's brain almost went dead. So that's why they still kept him there, regardless how many experiments and drugs and syringes in his arms. He was bait.
He wanted to leave. He couldn't leave.
"…Regardless, you're missing an obvious point – metamorphosis."
Vale struggled to focus on what was happening right now –on the present. "I – what? Obviously not every possible connection on a crime scene is relevant –"
"It is with him. You know it is. Precise, isn't he? Everything is planned, every possibility explored."
This was getting too close to the topic, and Vale backed away, uneasy. He couldn't believe this had been a good idea–
"Change of heart, Vale. Stealing of hearts. Obsession. Would be almost romantic if he wasn't murdering for your attention."
Vale stopped, uneasiness draining. Right. That was different from what he'd expected.
It had nothing to do with twisting him onto the wrong side of the law, making him a monster too. Of course, it had been irrational to assume Richards would make that connection without all the facts, and he was stupid for getting so worked up, but so far he had been managing to come across as eerily omniscient about the whole thing…
God, he needed to wind down, and now he just laughed, a little hysterically.
"That's your diagnosis? No. How am I the one in this parody of therapy if that's the conclusion you came to?"
"You're being very rude."
"But, I mean, come on. Really? Sure, he has a sense of attachment to his victims, but it's definitely not like this. He devours them, their fears and hopes for mercy, their realization of death –" he stopped himself.
Richards raised his brows. "Again, why are you consulting me if you're the expert?"
Vale's mind ground to a halt again as he spluttered.
"Did you give that whole spiel just to provoke a reaction and prove a point?" he demanded, aghast. "I'm glad you are a MEGTAF agent, cos you would be a fucking horrible psychiatrist."
"Still being rude …" The words were very delicate, but something about them gave Vale pause, like there was some other quality lurking there.
"Find another project to label and another broken little sparrow to fix. I have no use for it," he said curtly, turning away. "Thank you for your time, Richards."
"My, if I give you the courtesy of assuming intelligence, perhaps you should allow me the same?" Richards called after him. "I would never refer to you as a broken little sparrow."
"What would you refer to me as, then?" he asked.
"A honey badger. Sounds cute and relatively harmless, like something you'd want to take home. Like the prey. In reality, a honey badger is incredibly tough, vicious when attacked, and capable of taking out prey much larger than itself."
Vale stared, uneasy all over again, and Richards offered him a small smile.
As I said, you don't know me at all. But I know you. I know everything about you, without even having to be in your head, laughing when you think you are safe, laughing at your failure.
Each time I look, I understand a little more, and you are that much closer to be just like me.
Mrs. Smith, I didn't see you there.
Oh, I didn't want to go outside this recess, that's all. Kiara was hungry so I told her to go buy something, I am waiting for her here.
What am I drawing? My brother. The younger of them. I stopped drawing him when he left, but now that he's back I can continue. It's great fun.
Oh? You don't know? It's funny, really, when you think about it. It's kinda like a fairytale.
Don't they go like this? A monster, the big bad of the story, does something to a boy, or a girl. Then, after a long time, someone rescues them and they go live happily ever after.
Yeah…my brother had to save himself. It surely beats all those Damsels in Distress, if you ask me.
Don't apologize, Ms. Smith. You moved here a year ago, so you couldn't have known.
See? It's like a fairy tale. The Sleeping Beauty slept for a hundred years, my brother was there for three.
Little Riding Red Hood was tricked by a wolf. My brother was tricked by his bio-dad. What was that expression…? A wolf in sheep's clothing? Oh, I said it right? Thanks Mrs. Smith. But it was a lot worse than a wolf.
Sadly this wasn't like Hansel and Gretel, huh? That way I would have been able to go with him. But no. No two siblings lost, no house made of sweets, no killing the witch by throwing her into the oven.
…
Ah, that other drawing is the monster. He's really scary.
Three years. But it feels like it was longer. Much, much longer.
Vale still sees him, when he sleeps. He's been real quiet when we try to talk about what happened, talking will make you feel better and all.
You would think he was like the girl from Diamonds and Toads, for how he refused to speak. Once, I got him to tell, and once he started he couldn't stop.
Now I can see the monster too.
…Mrs. Smith, teacher, why are you saying that?
Oh.
No, Mrs. Smith, the fault is all mine. He did nothing wrong.
I wanted to know. But I didn't know if would be so, so awful
…
…
…
…hmm?
Oh, yes, Mrs. Smith, I'm fine.
Uh-huh.
Yeah.
…wait. Did Mom just pass across the door…?
19 had been absolutely convinced that somehow MEGTAF had mixed things up and brought a human there. Even with a few telltale signs, the kid's demeanor resembled a wimp…no, less than that, an herbivore. It got to the point 19 wanted to beat down the herbivore that threatened to split his organized group, his temporary pack.
It is odd that nobody in MEGTAF has ever spoken of the hybrid hatchling before, and now that they are speaking, 19 found that their knowledge was incomplete –woefully incomplete. Because the boy, the fawn, the herbivore could fight. At least mentally, he had found, and wasn't that surprising.
"Well, he was asking for it." 19's voice broke the oppressive silence that came after the memories the New Boy had given them passed. "Being as weak as he was, he was asking for it."
26, in human form even in the rare moments he was in his cage, regarded him coolly. 37 glared at him.
"It was only right." The purple eyed Kaiju continued. "It is not the King's fault the child is difficult. Truly, it's no different to seeing a cool glass of water waiting after a long run in hot weather. He isn't even a reward. He is obligatory; he is a glass of water, not a medal."
37 felt sickened. All that time How didn't anyone notice Why nobody-? He didn't even know the boy's name! Only his number, 41. Well, 37 knew the King called the boy 'Duncan' but it was obvious the hatchling responded to another name. And he couldn't keep calling him Child.
"Unbelievable." 37 huffed, tail swinging back and forth in agitation. "Of course the Child would be afraid of the King, 19, put yourself in his place! He did not even spend time with him, and when he did something horrible would inevitably follow."
19 didn't see anything wrong with that. With not spending much time with your offspring, that is. Even before he was captured he always had a hands-off idea of parenting. There's nothing odd about it; who spends hours with their children anyway? They're there to ensure you have someone to continue the specie, and they should be kept out of sight and out of mind until they are needed.
37 didn't know he would be as incredibly shaken up as he was. His eyes fixed on 41's scar, barely visible among the bars that surrounded each of them. He'd only need to stare into space and that borrowed memory would pop up. So much pain and blood, and then an eternity before the flames –that was the Child's element, and a feeling of utter wrongness permeated it all- stopped attacking, stopped burning, stopped charring, stopped scorching him.
"To be fair, humans are fragile." 19 broke their mental silence yet again. "Maybe he did something wrong, and he took that to be enough. Maybe it was a mistake that came from simple ignorance of our traditions, but if he didn't do wrong, so what? Weak and, as we know now, unwanted, he was asking for it."
"Listen here," 37 snapped, growling and hissing and downright pissed. "The child did not even struggle-"
"Of course he did not struggle, so he had to think of that as a punishment, as discipline. He just... laid there and endured. He's just not fit to rule. I don't even know why Belloc bothered with keeping him alive," he sneered, looking down at the unconscious blond. "Maybe some strange sense of duty."
"No! It is not right that he treats him so badly!" 37 glowered. "He may treat, I do not know, gomorradons like that, but that is understandable, they are servants and he is King. But that child is the Prince! He should not treat him as... One does not simply satisfies their bloodlust with their offspring!"
"How old do you think he is?" 26 spoke for the first time. He was envious of 19's mental strength, having been able to erase most of the memories.
"Ten, eleven centuries?"
"He is thirteen. Only thirteen, nothing more than a babe, yet if I was human he would be two years older than me. Of course he is small; he will hardly eat. Of course his eyes seem wide and young, he is terrified, all the time."
"What I do not understand, is why our King did not get rid of his human caretakers." 19 mused almost to himself, titling his head to the side thoughtfully.
"I have a theory." 26 said in a whisper. "Put yourself in the King's place."
19 looked at him in confusion, eye divided by the bars of the cage. "…What is your point, hatchling?"
26 sighed tolerantly. "Your new heir, after a few…lessons, is dutiful and meek. He does not fight you; he will lie there limp and accepting (this is not submission, as you think it is; it is knowing how to spare himself pain)."
19 snorted derisively.
"Sometimes, only sometimes, he will look at you with eyes hot with hate, but he won't fight. He is trapped by his word, and now he is at your mercy with nowhere to run." 19 nodded, and 26 smirked. "But if you were to touch his family…"
The older warrior let out a laugh. "Oh, you must be joking! Are you implying Belloc was afraid of this imp? You realize how ridiculous that sound?"
"You are not a scrupulous being," 26 continued, undeterred, intent on trying to find a motivation, an excuse. "You are a king; as far as you are concerned, humans, everything, is there for your amusement, to use and discard as your whim. Even the Child. He is your offspring after all, your possession. What is to stop you…?"
37 was looking interested now, eyeing the younger Kaiju and the older's reaction at the words.
"Hurting them, and the kid in turn. You are getting quite adept at bruising the soul instead of the body."
"Go on." 19 asked, immersed in his role.
"Look at them. Let your mind tumble over possibilities. Let it convince you that it's not that special of a task; anyone could go and kill them just for the hell of it. Throw off that thin veneer of civility, be the beast you have been for three years."
Seeing that 19 was about to protest yet again, 26 continued:
"He has been beaten; he's the dog that cringes pathetically when you enter the room, that licks your hand with wretched gratefulness every time you don't raise your fist."
"Yes, thanks, I can see that. What is your point-?"
"Go on then." 26 looked at the purple eyed Kaiju straight in the eye. "Convince yourself of his weakness. Look the wrong way at his family. Give him the strength he needs to tear out your throat."
Which one am I?
Eh, eh, Mom. Can you tell me?
Which one was I?
Was I the adopted one?
Or am I the only daughter?
Is he me?
We're exactly alike.
Which one am I, the girl or the boy?
Mom, who exactly is that boy? What is truly his name?
Which one am I, Mom? Which one are you going to look for? Where am I in all of this? Are you going to get my brother?
My brother...
My brother...
My brother IS me!
No, no, please, he has to get back! Can't you see? We're exactly alike! We're the same person! That boy is exactly like me. Please, I need my brother! Is he the girl after all? Please, Mom, do something! That boy is another piece of myself. Can't you see? There is no difference between us. Will I be alone from now on? I am without even myself now. What can I do? My existence is worthless. Do I exist anymore? Myself is gone!
Mom, where are you going? Why are you getting in the car? Should I come too?
Stay here? I can't! Mom, take me with you! Please don't leave me here! Mom, will that boy come back? Will I see myself again?
And… Brother, Vale, why won't you answer? Do you love me? Did you want me to go with that man instead of y- me?
So...
So...
So...
I'm alone. The other me is gone. Mom is gone, to beat some sense into Barnes, I hope. Where do they have him? Where is MEGTAF? Brother? Will you come back soon? You forgot to tell me when you, my other self, is coming back. Will it be soon?
Please, I hope so. I want to get myself back.
Please, come back.
These glimpses is all I have until he comes back. When I see me again I won't need this connection. It will be just me then. Me, and myself. Yes, that's right. I'll see myself again.
And I'll listen to his story exactly until I can parrot it back exactly as it is. It is my story so I will remember it. I will kill the ones who hurt me.
I'm going to help Mom to look for me.
I will not miss my escape.
Vale drifted to consciousness slowly. His head ached a lot. His body felt oddly heavy and sluggish. He fought to open his eyes and the lids reluctantly peeled themselves back. It was dark, that much he could tell. He tried to move and the realization that he couldn't woke him fast.
Imagine his surprise when he found himself in a cell. He groaned.
Ah, this doesn't surprise me. After the latest experiment, this did not surprise him in the slightest. It was only a matter of time before they stopped being so civil with him.
What he thought were walls on all sides were in fact bars, just far enough apart for a finger to pass through.
He grabbed the bars-
He was instantly shot away- slamming into the other side. He tried to arch away from it, feeling the hot stinging in his back. He only managed to crumple ungracefully to the floor. The heat of the shock wave that traveled through his body aggravated his burns, making him hiss through his teeth. He hated the way it managed to burn him.
He decided the nice cold floor was the best place to be at the moment.
Whispers emerged, mists of syllables crying out lives from inside bars. He tried to cover his ears but he couldn't move.
"41!"
"Greetings, Prince."
"What is your name, herbivore?"
"I am 41." He simply answered, trying to see his cagemates through the gaps between bars.
"I think you misunderstood, hatchling." Vale pinpointed the owner of the voice, a brown-scaled Kaiju whose violet eyes were boring into him. "What is your name?"
Vale didn't answer, his mind going a mile a minute.
Those Kaiju…had they been imprisoned all this time? Fourteen years? God, there was even one that looked like it was young…a hatchling, a child…
Was Belloc's blood any more different than Barnes'? Two people of power who where blind to the crimes they committed in the name of the greater good.
Was the torture inflicted on a half human child any greater than the slow torture of multiple Kaiju being leached of their life by everyone?
This war that two blind men had aggravated had seeped into every crevice of society. Vale could see it. The slight flinch of the most sensitive humans when they walked alongside the disguised beasts. The accusations that flowed from children of both races as they condemned other children. The enmity of a species against another; a wariness born anew in paranoid eyes.
Will you come upon my door on a lonely night and end me?
He understood that with clarity. Belloc would end his existence, Barnes would end his life. What need did either have for a rebellious boy when the Kaiju heir could shatter or unite the two species?
"Well?" Purple Eyes didn't seem like a patient man. "Answer me. We deserve to know the name of our," he non-too-subtly stifled a laugh. "Future ruler."
"Your long life must have taught you either patience or disappointment, feel free to embrace either one." The child retorted.
Future ruler. The Heir.
"Just because I inherited some of his powers is no reason to name me thus. There are truer ways to mark one."
Did he dare take the power that was just as much his as was his very name?
"Are you implying that you are not the heir, then?" another voice joined in, and Vale could barely see another teen-aged, almost-adult Kaiju. Scales…honey? Brown-ish? Ruby eyes.
That voice. He knew that voice. "I do not consider myself such, 37."
"Is that a yes on you being the official heir?" Purple Eyes asked.
"That's a no to everything that has anything to do with you." Vale tried hard not to flail with his arms, but he felt like trampling around, shattering the earth beneath his feet like a raging child.
"I'll pretend like that didn't break my heart, Little One."
"Leave it, 19."
"I can understand you not feeling worthy of the title (which is the utmost truth). After all, if your own patriarch sees you as nothing but a mistake-"
Vale's chest went numb. 19 was an asshole. He hated 19. He hated Mondays. He hated this place. He hated the fact that he couldn't do anything anymore. Nothing. And he hated himself, God, he hated himself. But he hated him more. So much more.
"19, I am warning you, leave it alone." The vehemence which 37 spoke startled Vale, unsure as to why this stranger would try to defend him. Physically speaking, he was a runt, no matter how much political power his title gave him.
"H-How do you know?" Vale croaked, struck with the realization that he was surrounded by the ones he had hurt.
Every time sentences like that reached his ears, he shifted. Things in his brain were torn apart and rearranged. It was like he was changing, languidly turning into someone he never thought he'd be.
Someone who just couldn't.
He did not like to be reminded of that. And the more he was reminded, the more his brain was changing - the more he felt like he just couldn't do this anymore. He didn't even know what this was.
"We were hiding nearby when you lashed out," another voice joined the mental chorus. Higher pitched. Young. Much too young to be there. "I am sorry for what you went through, my Prince."
"I am sorry you had to witness it." He responded.
"Though I can't say I condemn those actions, it is interesting," 19 mumbled almost to himself. "You have an ambition as strong as mine, though yours is nobler, in a sense."
"What ambition is that?" was his wary question.
"Your ambition to stay alive has proven greater than many I have met before."
Vale let a contemplative silence envelope him.
"It was simpler when I was younger. All I had to worry was on not angering my sire. I knew my enemy back then."
"Who is your enemy now?" asked 37 with true curiosity.
"I sometimes have to worry who isn't."
"We were trying to see which you'd be." The younger's voice continued. Uninterested. Apathetic. A recollection of an event. "A Wimp, a Whore or a Warrior."
Vale raised his eyebrows."A…social scale?" he guessed.
"Yes. I said you would be a Wimp, -I'm 26 by the way- 37 said you would be a Warrior-"
"And I was right," 37's smug voice chimed in.
"And 19, well…" the young voice trailed off awkwardly.
It wasn't difficult to know which was Purple Eyes' option. Process of elimination. Judgment of the people. Speculation of the purpose. 37's option had left him flattered. 26's, resigned. 19's, baffled and more than a little afraid what kind of social scale has whore as an important group of people?! And what could have meant for him had he classified in that?!
But it was okay, he was a Warrior, the Kaiju heir, he was- he was a honey badger.
He had support. He had allies. Now what he needed was to get out of there.
And end a war.
Lea's first memory was not a sight, but a touch. Before she could remember her first image of a memory, she remembered the touch of a hand in her own. The hand was a perfect match for hers, exactly the same, as if she was grasping her own self in the blind darkness. She had held on tightly and didn't let go.
It was the same hand she held when they laughed and played, awkwardly wrestling each other with flailing, uncontrollable limbs. It was a hand that belonged to a person Lea had known even before she was birthed. When she looked at him, she was met with bright, brown eyes and with wild, unkempt hair. Lea was sure they would soon stand at the same height, and share the same face, as they already slept in the same bed and owned the same toys. As she grew up, she came to understand that this mirror of her was called her brother.
For a long time, she felt that her brother was actually her—a clone of sorts, but with the appearance all wrong, because they liked the same things and thought the same thoughts. But whereas some might find it disconcerting to be in the presence of a copy when they felt they should be unique, she harbored no resentment for him, no. Even though their parents referred to him as the 'older' brother, Lea believed that they were wrong.
Lea was Vale and Vale was Lea.
Their hands fit perfectly together, they had been created together, for each other—they were the same. They were two bodies sharing the same soul.
It was only when they grew older yet that Lea began to see the differences.
Vale didn't like eating canned spaghetti, whereas Lea did. Vale preferred the cartoon with the snarky frog rather than the cartoon with the adventurous bear. Vale ate more slowly in order to savor the taste, and Lea liked to inhale her food with wild abandon. Lea's favorite color was green and Vale's favorite color was red. While they still had many similarities, there were little things that Lea noticed that separated them and suggested that they weren't perfect duplicates of each other after all. Lea, for some reason she couldn't explain, didn't like the possibility that they weren't the same person. It felt like a threat.
But then, one day, she had been forced to witness something that confirmed her anxieties.
They had been making faces at a mirror, playing and challenging each other to pull the most ridiculous expression. The results of their efforts had formed in the shape of uncontrollable laughter, making Lea's cheeks warm and her smile to stretch. It was during this episode—one out of many—that her eyes caught once again their reflections in the mirror, and instead of seeing the forced ridiculous faces of their antics, she saw themselves in their natural state.
Lea's smile… was brighter than her own brother's.
When she laughed, her whole face lit up like daybreak. Her grin was filled to the brim with unabashed glee that poured out of her in bubbles of hiccups and giggles. Her eyes would shine in a way that warmed the whole room, wide and bright and whole-consuming. There was an openness to her smile, an invitation that welcomed all to share in her joy, and it was infectious and endearing and breathtaking.
In comparison, when Lea looked at Vale, she saw a different type of smile—a different type of face. His smile was more crooked, more uneven—the left side of his thinner lips would quirk upwards in a natural smirk. Whereas Lea's eyes were an open fire, his were narrower, sharp in a sense that they were more likely to cut into a person's soul than warm it
And with the whole Kaiju thing, and their connection, she had finally made up her mind. They were the same, he was just a little…different inside.
And now…
And now, he was gone again. Even knowing where he was, it still made her feel like a deer being hunted, for such adrenaline and terror it gave her that notion.
Lea pushed herself onto her feet. The bed groaned and creaked like she was inflicting pain on it. Kobu was pressed against the window. He was staring at her, giant button eyes screaming 'fucking feed me'. Lea blew a raspberry against the glass. The dog didn't even flinch. Sometimes, she wasn't even sure if Kobu was actually a dog. Maybe he was an alien, a furry fat alien that liked eating shoe laces.
Lea locked the window. Kobu's eyes widened. His paws started batting at the reflection staring back at her. It looked like he was gauging her eyeballs out. Kobu hissed. Lea hissed right back. He was going to eat her shoe laces. And by the way his eyes were going all radioactive, he was going to devour her mattress too. Lea narrowed her eyes. Kobu started gnawing at the glass.
Her room was drowning in chaos. Everything was turned upsides down and inside out. Artistic disarray. She never bothered keeping it in order - or god forbid, clean.
She bit her lip.
This was not a good idea. None of this was good. Things never ended up being good when Lea did things on impulse. It was like she had an adrenaline-junkie living in her head, a daredevil, a madcap, someone who constantly pushed her to do all the stupid things she was taught never to do. But doing this wasn't like breaking into a car, or shoplifting, or starting a bar fight at three in the morning.
This was different.
He could see the stars from here. He was lying on his bed, legs angled onto the floor, eyes plastered against the spectrums above. It didn't take long for him to filter out the constellations. To others, the night sky was just this giant dome above their heads, painted with random dots and darkness. But Darren could see it for what it really was. A system. A structure. Interstellar evolution. An eternal cycle of star clusters flickering and fading in the midst of their Nebulae. The galaxies were the manifestation of the balance between creation and destruction, power and surrender. There was life up there, life amongst the gas and dust. There was love and war and loss, realms trying to stay alive in the order of a cosmic dynasty. And Darren wished - if just for a second - that he could hear it, the stories, the rhythms of their lives, all the things he couldn't understand from way down here.
Darren blinked. He was becoming crazy. He was thinking all the things he used to roll his eyes at when she mentioned them, when she stared up at the neon stars she'd stuck to their ceiling. The whole entire house had been a plastic night sky. He'd thought she was crazy. Apparently, Darren was crazy, too. He missed her –them- so much, so fucking much.
He looked up. It was a habit, looking up and thinking she was looking down. Watching.
Convincing Darren to help her out, that had been easy.
She knew the school, knew the hallways, knew the Kaiju. It did not surprise her, sitting on a step on a stair to look up and meet the boy's eyes. The boy was smiling. All big and bright. The epitome of a nice smile. Wide open. It was unfurling the bottom of his face, stretching the corners of his mouth all the way to his ears. He had funny ears. They were big. They made him look like a child - a tall child with broad shoulders and slender legs and big hands. Big hands. The kind of hands that reminded her of warm burrows and deep heart lines. Darren's smile is one she can match.
He heard, he understood (The Torri spell tires me if I use it too much or with long distances. Can you give me a lift?) for he is the only one who knew of that spell, who could possibly help her rescue her imprisoned kin.
There were many moments in Darren's life where he had no clue as to what he was doing. Those moments had the tendency of filling up 99% of the roller coaster ride he liked to call his day-to-day basis.
This was the basis. Darren had no idea what he was doing.
He'd said he'd do it. For the first time in forever he'd said yes.
Yes.
Yes was an initiative. Yes was a breath closer to the stars. Yes was taking a step forward - a step that felt like a million miles.
She could almost see the idea slowly forming, like wisps of smoke steadily growing larger. She tried to hide her disappointment and alarm as the other said that he wouldn't accompany her; the she had given him an idea.
It appeared as though they were both on rescue missions.
"Let us play a game," said the centuries old boy, tilting his head to one side.
Only now did Lea realize that the shoelaces of his left sneaker weren't tied. She didn't know why she decided to be bothered by something so stupid at this specific moment. They were shoelaces. The boy probably didn't even give a single crap about whether or not her shoelaces were tied - or if there bumps and holes in the rubber soles and indents caused by furry fat alien dog teeth.
Darren had taken her to somewhere in the desert, far away, far enough that she could see a big building. The facility where Vale is kept, her mind supplied her.
"A game," the girl said curiously, swatting away a few stray curls that were obscuring her vision. "What sort of game?"
The Kaiju grinned.
(Don't ever go near the desert, Lele, or you may not come back.)
"This is the game," Darren said, his voice pretending to be the same as her dear brothers, who watched her with devoted eyes. "We will see who goes back home with our rescueé first."
He was treating it as, truly, a game. Maybe to him it was.
She looked so nice. She always looked so nice. She looked like that feeling you got when you drank a cup of coffee on a windowsill. Cozy. Comfy. Lukewarm.
He wanted to grab her by the arm and drag her out. Lower their walls. Become one with her. Find out what was wrong with him, and see if maybe she could cure him. Or even better –maybe find out she was the same.
"What happens when one of us wins?" Lea asked, her head tilted to one side like a curious bird.
(don't you dare to go alone, dear sister)
"Ah, now that is the question," mused Darren, and smiled a sharp white smile. "I will go one way, and you will go the other, and we will see which of us comes back soonest."
"But what is the prize," she demanded, bold and impetuous, and the Kaiju's smile widened, widened when she could not see.
"The path of needles, or the path of pins," Darren continued indifferently, looking over his shoulder to show his teeth at her disgruntled look. So he had heard her conversation about fairy tales with her teacher? Jesus, how bored could he be?
"Needles," she said firmly.
Darren laughed softly. "Onward, my Princess, let us see who will claim the prize."
"And the prize is…?" she said wryly, stubbornly determined not to lose any quarter.
The wisps of her red hair, tumbling loose to frame a face still round with a childhood not even bidden goodbye. Prey, her scent said. Hunter, her eyes claim.
"Go," said the boy, and he promptly disappeared.
Where are you going, my red-haired sister?
Let us play a game
(a game?)
Two Torris and a torrent of exhaustion later, she was inside but still far away from his brother. The room she was in was bursting at the seams. Knowledge. Innovation. Intelligent people.
It was like you could actually see the lightbulbs glowing above their heads, filaments so eager to shine brighter than any other. Everything was moving at light speed. The earth was spinning faster here, faster than anywhere else, and Lea was being hurled into the rapid rotation, trying her best not to crash into the ground. Everything was alive. Everything was meant to do something, to be something. All these people were here for a reason. The air they breathed was important. They were paramount. Each and every one of them was a crucial part of the atmosphere.
This was what significance looked like.
She kept her eyes plastered to the ground, never daring to look at anything other than her sneakers. It was like they were deteriorating with each step she took further into the lightbulb. All the other shoes were polished. All the other laces were woven into pretty little bows. Lea felt like opening all of them and tying them all together. Or maybe she felt like letting Kobu loose. He'd be in shoelace paradise.
Her thoughts were going berserk.
"Lea?" a warmth in the back of her mind, an alarmed, alarmed voice, and she smiled.
Glided cages, some glowing blue ones with no bars, some sort of energy that kept small-sized Kaiju in their place. Not even one hissed at her, they seemed more curious than anything.
"Why?"
"Hm?"
"Why did you have to come?"
It was the 'have' that sounded out of place. It made him sound angrier. At least he was being honest.
Lea scrambled away from the people. She bumped her big toe on something. She could feel the bite claw its way up her leg. Everything was burning. She bit down on her tongue. Her eyes were getting wet. And her cheeks. And her nose, too.
"I'm not going without you, so tell me where you are."
She could almost see him, now. Lea drew close to his side as he led the way. Dark movements kept catching the corner of her eye, yet when she looked she saw nothing but shadows.
She heard a crack to her right.
She turned to see a disfigured face staring back, then it was gone. She blinked several times. It could have almost been mistaken for another shadow, had it not been so defined. She remembered a pulpy burned face, jaw missing, eyes melted shut.
Her brother lifted a finger to his mouth.
Ssh.
Lea mashed her hands onto the bottom of her face. She couldn't breathe. But not breathing was better than making breathing sounds. Because breathing sounds were loud. Breathing sounds could be heard all the way from space.
"What was that?" she whispered, horrified. In, out. In, out. Deep breaths.
"Kaiju children. They try to scare you. Take it like a prank," he stated.
"You don't seem too concerned," she noted. She relaxed a touch. If he wasn't freaking out, why should she?
"I know what I'm doing, what I'm telling you to do. As long as you know the way, you can't be tricked." He paused. "You can't let them taste fear."
"What happens when you do?"
"Then you're no longer interesting enough to let live," he stated with such knowing and finality that Lea shivered. She pulled at her gem and forced away the unease. No fear. Fine. She was Lea freaking White. She could do that. "Or you would if they were free."
He seemed to sense her steel and she could hear the grin in his voice. "Good."
As she started walking again, pale faces flicked out from behind cages. Twisted children's faces. Some were blind, others had birthmarks of puckered skin that ran like a knife wound across their entire face. Lips were missing, teeth were crooked or gone, heads were beaten in. They all looked starved and mad. Each time one made eye contact they skittered back and morphed back into their true forms. That breathy giggle…
Wind brushed past her, carrying along whisperings.
"...I know he's a wolf, said Riding Hood…"
"...Are you lost?..."
Lea jumped as someone brushed her cheek.
"...Stay with us. We know how to..."
A hand tugged her own, or it seemed like it. She ripped it away and held it to her chest, stumbling.
"...So pretty. Come with us. We'll protect you…"
"...He's bad luck…"
"...suicide on the corner of Truth and…"
She could feel them all encroaching upon her. The faces grew closer and closer until they were merely feet away.
"...You're going the wrong way!..."
"...Listen!..."
"...He's gonna—"
She could practically see her halfing brother, could almost see him halting in front of her and bristling. His lips drawing back as he bared his teeth. "Back!"
Or at least, that's what Lea interpreted it as. It was more of a bark from the back of his throat. Either way, the order was clear and punched Lea in the chest like the crack of a whip. Her feet took a step back without her permission.
"Not you, Lea," Vale sighed, exasperation mixed with an edge of amusement. "Try to appear here. I'll show you where."
She smiled; her big brother managed to protect her even when he wasn't physically near her.
She needed to get this done. And here - in plain sight - it felt like someone was blasting a giant laser pointer onto her scalp.
Lea's lungs were deflating. She couldn't breathe with all these lights on. She was far too visible. She fought her way to the nearest wall. She pressed her finger against the metal, digging her nails into the tiny indents. It was a structure she could hold onto, a moored buoy that kept her head above water. She swore she could feel them burning themselves into her shoulder blades like brand marks.
Intruder.
Her clothes made sounds. Ruffling sounds. Lea shook her head so much her brain went boom.
Stop. Stop. They're going to hear, brother. They're going to hear.
She was pressed against a wall, and yet it felt like she was in the center of everything, the world molding around her, towering, looming, ready to crash on her like a tidal wave.
Lea looked around.
Nobody was paying her any attention. No, no, that's not right, someone had seen her and now six pair of eyes were glaring at her.
Okay. Okay.
She wasn't scared, as she was playing the game, for it is still a game between them, and the smile she gave when she knew the objective was near was as triumphant as Darren's must be.
Another Torri later, she was finally beside her caged brother. Four other Kaiju were with him in that room, much bigger than the ones in the previous room Lea had been.
"Would you look at that." A rumbling voice said. Lea looked to see a jaded-colored, purple eyed Kaiju.
"Stay away from her." Vale's order was a hot prod of protectiveness inside her head, and although Lea couldn't see his lips, she suspected they hadn't moved. It was like that bark he had emitted; more telepathic than anything else.
The Kaiju paused, and Lea thought he must have noticed something was off about him by now, but no— he was laughing. "You presume to tell me what I can and can't do? You may be my Prince, but you can't control my every action." His eyes hardened and he leaned forward.
"Go home, Little Sister." her brother tried once more, and Lea could see the Kaiju's eyes widening.
The door of the room opened, revealing dozens of men. Lea wanted to kick herself. How, how could she have pretended to slip in there unnoticed?
Her thudding heart between her ribs, quickening with fear realized too late, and half a second later she reached for her brother's hands.
She turned. Her hair was a web over her eyes; she clawed it away. She didn't think she could outfight them. She could maybe outrun them if there was a door to run to...
A dark-skinned man lunged. She tried to dodge away, but he got a fistful of her hair. And then he'd pushed her down to the floor and was on top of her, and she fought back like a wildcat, all teeth and nails, screaming at him, prepared to gouge an eye out if need be, but her attacker fought like a man, with superior upper body strength and wider hands, and worse, like a man who didn't care that he was fighting a girl, and after wrestling with her wrists for only a few moments, he dealt a cross-cut to her jaw that should have knocked her out cold; it was only her luck that it did not.
But it stopped her fighting. She tried to bring up a hand to hit him, claw at him, something, but everything was still swimming...
She was resisting, she was, and the realization that one man was still strong enough, one-handed, to overcome her struggles, nearly turned her mind inwardly whimpering upon itself.
She couldn't let that happen. No. She had to try. Try something.
She felt the thin, electric zing in the air.
The grip on her wrists slackened. Only a little, but enough to give her courage: she wrenched at her wrists, and got one free. Again she aimed for his face.
But the man was already sitting up, the look in his eyes dazed and unbelieving and furious.
"You...bloody...BITCH!"
Even though she saw the blow coming, there was nothing she could do.
Vale screamed wordlessly, throwing all his weight against the cold energy of the bars. "YOU BASTARD!" he howled, feeling tears spill over.
Vale…
God. This wasn't just about her. She couldn't let him hurt her anymore; she had to stand up and get him out!
The world was still spinning as the man wrapped his arms around Lea, who cries seemed to be screaming her brother's name.
He picked her up. Lea wanted to scream. Lea wanted to slam her arms and legs into every direction. Lea wanted to set the man on fire. Lea wanted to watch everything disappear. Lea wanted everything to stop.
But she couldn't move.
"NO! LEA! NOOOOOO!" Vale's scream sustained itself until the door sealed itself shut behind the five of them.
(Don't go to the desert, sister)
Let us play a game.
(What is the prize?)
So this is it, my dear readers.
Should I keep the squicky bits to myself?
H. E. B.