Chapter One
The Cossacks call him the Boy, an irony only a few seem to note. He's the Boy in Mikhail Cossack's carefully worded missives to Dr. Light about his progress (or more usually, the lack thereof), ever aware that someone else may be reading them. They're interesting reads, those emails, if only in Cossack's obvious struggle between remaining the detached scientist and being the concerned parent. I've watched him type them out, muttering a surprisingly colorful range of expletives his children certainly have no notion he knows as he replaces more emotionally-charged language for more neutral words. I wonder if Dr. Light fully understands the effort behind it.
I wonder if the Boy in question understands how much effort Cossack makes on his behalf. I doubt it.
While their patriarch tries and fails at neutrality, the rest of the Cossacks have settled into distinct camps. The most hostile, of course, is Ring Man. He clutches his trauma as if it were a knife, ignoring the way it cuts deep into him. He keeps it pointed at the Boy, and frequently rises to violence at little provocation, their physical fights brief but intense, broken up quickly by his brothers.
Most of the concern in Dr. Cossack's emails focuses on these fights, unsurprisingly.
Ring Man's found a surprising ally in Bright Man. Though I suppose that is not much a surprise, given how Wily dulled them both to stupidity in their reprogramming. Bright Man's position is more mistrust than anger, unable to bend the cheeriness of his original nature to hate no matter what was done to him. Yet he is the most welcome ear Ring Man has, holding himself back from interacting with the Boy himself.
A very effective strategy to avoid drama. Wily was wrong to underestimate him.
The industrial bots, Dive Man and Drill Man, also operate on distrust, but seem more puzzled by the Boy than anything else. Though as emotionally capable as any other Robot Master, their intended purpose leans them toward simpler answers, able to compartmentalize and dismiss what was done to them, unsure why the Boy cannot. They are fascinating in this ability, but not worthy of study, their approach unable to be replicated so easily. Did their makers understand what they were doing when granting their Robot Masters both the complexity of emotion and thought? Did they foresee how differently each one would become, shaped by their individual experiences?
I doubt it, and it doesn't matter. It is already done.
Toad Man and Dust Man are of another camp, a more sympathetic one to the Boy. That I do understand—Toad Man prefers the simplicity of nature, Dust Man the quietness of empty rooms and silent halls. Conflict is not in their being. Working for Wily traumatized them despite their adjustments, a trauma they've turned inward. They both choose to give the Boy space, moving around areas he occupies, leaving him be. It is meant to be a gift, I think, though not one he understands. They don't comprehend the depth of his loneliness, the shell he masks it with now fragile, but firm. Few ever do.
I used to be the same.
Skull Man is of his own camp, though he too shares the neutral vernacular of his father in his notes about the Boy. It's rare that I am able to observe him in person, for he learns too quickly, and stares too long at shadows. Underneath the clinical nature he tries to embody is an actual weapon, no matter how he ignores it. Still, his treatment of the Boy is meant to be professional in nature. Skull Man views him as a wounded child, his development stilted, his capacity for maturity locked away by years of war games and Wily plots. Like his brothers, he's right but also wrong, each only perceiving a piece of the Boy based not on his experiences, but theirs.
I don't know what Pharaoh Man thinks. I don't seek him out.
Of all the Cossacks, Kalinka comes the closest to seeing the Boy as a whole. She only sees him as Blues, and treats him as such. Because of that, I've tried to think of him as the same. Instead of questioning his moodiness, she teases him until it lifts. She doesn't comment on his silent need for closeness, or his tendency to nap in her presence.
I'm sure she knows about his nightmares, or at least suspects. I doubt he ever talks about them.
Kalinka knows when to distract him when that hollow tone creeps into his voice, and when to leave him be when his mind is elsewhere. It's a developed system, not without bumps—I've witnessed them snap at each other, overstepping boundaries not fully established or understood. Kalinka pushes Blues too hard at times, pressing buttons neither realize are there. Blues flusters Kalinka when too close to her, her thoughts clear on her face in how bright it gets, obvious in how poorly she hides it.
It's unsurprising, really. The body Blues wears is a handsome one, and it's natural she would notice. She is a teenage girl, after all. One who cries at night when she thinks no one is listening, and stares too long at scars she works hard to hide. Her thoughts are less accessible to me, though I can imagine them. A future limited by too many harsh realities faced at once.
No wonder she clings so hard to someone so fractured. It's understandable she gives little thought to what could be in store for the future for what she has now. All teenagers do, but whatever Kalinka's particular justifications for her romantic interest in Blues, I do not know them. I could read her diary and find out, but I am not so detached to disregard how she would feel about such actions.
Besides, she writes it in code.
Kalinka comes the closest to understanding Blues, but she is blind to his faults—or rather, he's very good at hiding them from her. She perceives his loneliness, but not his cruel streak, interpreting his barbs toward her brothers as defensive rather than vicious. She doesn't realize how deep his desire for violence runs, how elegantly he sets up traps for Ring Man to fall in. I do not think it a deliberate blindness, but rather a hopeful one, fueled by a desire to find a better person in him.
Kalinka does not understand why Blues' hands shake when she touches him. Neither do I. Not damage, not in the way he deliberately left one eye broken, another illogical decision he I do not understand. Something else. Something I've yet to see.
So I keep watching.
Today they are in a gym, a makeshift ballet studio with mirrored walls and fixed barre poles. Kalinka is dressed the part, pink tights and a leotard, hair carefully pinned. It covers her scars, but does not obscure her looks—she is quite pretty by human standards, now sixteen, the woman she'll become more apparent every day. Blues sits on the ground nearby, legs folded, arms loose as they rest on either knee. He's dressed as the young man he appears to be, t-shirt and jeans, eyes perpetually hidden behind sunglasses. It's a very open position, and a vulnerable one. Not one he would be in around anyone else.
If Kalinka notices, she doesn't comment, her expression fixed in concentration as she lifts one leg to the barre pole. "The doctors said I needed to be more active, but the only thing I'm any good at is ballet," she says.
"Nothing wrong with that," Blues replies.
I should leave them to their privacy, I know, but Blues is the most stable around Kalinka, as she is the most herself around him. I want to understand what it means.
"It's…" Kalinka pauses, giving him a narrow-eyed look. "Girly."
"What kind of sexist asshole do you think I am?" Blues retorts. His smile is sideways, but not the full grin it ought to be. "Do you have any idea how hard my sister can hit somebody?"
"Maybe that is the point," Kalinka replies. "Maybe I should learn a more defensive sport. Karate. Boxing."
Blues snorts. "You're already dangerous as it is," he says, dropping his voice. "There's nothing wrong with ballet, Kali."
Is he saying that because of ballet or because it is Kalinka doing ballet? I can tell she has the same thought, for she merely hums and shifts to do a new move, a leaping jump she must know in her bones. Yet her weakened body betrays her, her legs buckling as she launches herself up. She's going to fall hard.
Blues is on his feet, catching her before she can. It's comically cliche, how her arms wrap around him as he pulls her upright, how neither lets go no matter how red Kalinka's face becomes.
"Told you you were dangerous," Blues says softly. There's a hitch in his voice that undercuts his words.
Blues tilts her head up, leaning closer—
I leave abruptly, shoving my irritation down. These are not the answers I want.
Author's note: Is this a novella fic told entirely from the perspective of Shadow Man, and have I lost my mind? Yes, and yes.