Unbound Shackles

by BokuNoW

A little under one month has passed since the crippling of Tartarus at the hands of All for One, and things have mostly returned to normal for the staff and the like. They're certainly struggling, but at least they're still holding the fort. On this particular night, however, the staff at Tartarus are to learn just how much they have left to lose.

The Tartarus Complex. Hell's Island. One of the most controversial penal facilities in known world history, let alone in Japan. Built a century ago to contain the most radical followers of the villain mastermind All for One and since adapted into a place for the worst of the worst. People who went into the facility did not leave until the day of their end. A fortress, from which the only escape was death.

Or at least, it had been until a little under a month ago. That was the time when everything had changed, when Hell's Island had opened up and the demons had come pouring out, led by the greatest demon king of them all. Now, in its current state, the complex was struggling. Thirty-six percent occupancy, most of the wings tarnished beyond rapid repair, countless guards slaughtered and a public relations disaster on hand.

But to the two officers who sat in the central control room, one sipping from a Cola and the other playing with a paddle ball game, this meant very little to them. They were far more excited by the coming of their leave.

"It's about Goddamn time." The older of the men, a grizzled fellow in his forties who sipped at his drink, commented, glancing up at the camera. "It's taken 'em long enough to clear us for a holiday."

"Huh, funny that." The younger guard, a woman who had an evident flair for sarcasm, noted, entirely focused on her game. "It's almost like they have a current shortage of staff and can't afford to let us go, although I surely cannot envision any reason why that would be."

"Sarcasm ain't pretty for your type." The man replied harshly, his gaze on the screens before him. They showed camera feeds of some of the worst offenders still within the prison, now that the Hero Killer, Moonfish and All for One were on the loose. One screen showed former politician and exposed PLF executive Koku Hanabata, sitting at a desk in his cell and writing. Another broadcast one of Hanabata's associates, a kid of nineteen whose real name was unknown and only went by Geten. He seemed to be fast asleep in his cell. And of course, there was the man behind it all, Rikiya Yotsubashi. A broken old man who sat, paralysed and restrained to a chair by a heavy-set straightjacket, his face masked in shadow. Every second of his life, they were monitored by the constant feeds and in Yotsubashi's case, rotating turrets, too, that could be activated at the slightest provocation and cut his miserable life very short indeed. Animals, liberation nutjobs. They deserved no easy handling, every last one of them should have been tied up. Or at least, that was how the man thought.

Bored, he leaned forth and clicked down a button, activating the speakers in the cell of Yotsubashi. "Hostile activity detected. Fire at will." He then leaned back, chuckling as he watched the once-great Grand Commander's face shoot up, showing some indecipherable emotion that was at least a change from his usual gloom. "Dickhead."

"Says you." The woman sighed, putting her paddle ball away. "Seriously, how the hell haven't you been brought up yet? That's gotta go against some sort of regulation. Plus, the guy's going through enough, don't you think?"

The male guard's mirth continued. "Shiro, when you get to be my age, you'll realise scum like this don't deserve your pity. Trust me, it's for the best that the world never sees them again. And as the people who've gotta make sure that doesn't happen, we might as well have some fun now and again."

"Seriously, though, you're a dick." She groaned as she went back to her seat. "I'm not shedding any tears for the guy, but that's just cruel. Plus, probably a good way to lose your job."

All the man did was shake his head. "Once you've been here as long as me, you'll realise that management doesn't give a single shit. Hell, Kawakami only got booted 'cause of the-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get your point." The woman waved a dismissive hand as she went back to her paddle ball. "Even still… Sooner or later, that shit's gonna come back to bite you."

"I bet so. That'll happen when they finally decide to transfer that Sako asshoke over. Medical problems, my ass, those nurses just want to spend some more time with their pretty boy…"

As they continued to get on with their rather dull job, their attention was pulled away from the camera feed, which was a shame, because on one of those feeds in particular, there was quite a lot going on. Not that they would be able to see it.

Raising a hand to straighten the imaginary tie that he did not wear, Hanabata, alias Trumpet, finished off his writing with a delicate flourish. He considered it to be quite fitting. After all, it was said that the original Destro had taken his life just after concluding his own writings, so it made sense, and was quite poetic, for his followers to do something similar. In all but one way.

In two hours' time from my writing this, the note read, I will no longer be a captive of this prison. Nor shall Geten, nor Re-Destro. The three of us, as well as our subordinates who were considered dangerous enough for transfer here, unfortunately arrived weeks too late for the great breakout at the hands of All for One. Do I consider this a shame? Not particularly. If the man is true to accounts, then anyone who escaped with his help will be chained as his subservient henchmen. Neither I, nor I am sure, the Grand Commander, are willing to accept that. So, why write this?

Simply put, we of the Metahuman Liberation Army reject Tomura Shigaraki. We reject his men and his authority and certainly his master. We are not content to languish in the shadows of the people who dismantled our pride in Deika. We cut all association. The Paranormal Liberation Front can be his, but we are the Meta Liberation Army.

And to the public at large, dare they one day read this note. The events of the raid on Gunga was not a war. It was a skirmish, a battle that the heroes happened to win. But as for what comes next, this shall be a true war. Live liberation.

-Trumpet.

Leaning back in his ridiculously uncomfortable prison-issue chair, Hanabata raised his hand from the envisioned tie to his forehead and formed the salute of liberation. Some men had their souls destroyed by the hollow walls of the complex. But others, they would continue to seek a reason to live. Often, Koku received jeers from guards, questions of how he was able to live with himself. It was quite simple. Trumpet, Re-Destro, Geten, Curious, Skeptic, so many others, they were not murderers. They were not rapists, they were not gangsters, they were not thieves. They were something more. They had their cause. Their beliefs. And that kept them alive on Hell's Island.

His ears picked up on the subtle noise of a guard's baton dragging across the doors, a clank of metal on metal. That must mean it was midnight. The midnight patrol guard always had that habit of movement, dragging his baton along with a child with a stick. And so, the man kept his ears peeled as the sound drew closer, going from door to door, coming steadily closer to Hanabata's.

The former politician began to stand up, looking over to his mattress. It was not a very comfortable piece of furniture, but he supposed it was more than some of the more volatile inmates would receive. Koku had been both smart and lucky. He didn't cause issues, he was in fact a model prisoner, and his Meta Ability was not powerful enough that he was given the tight restraints that he was sure others such as Re-Destro had been given. Everything was mandated. The facility was a thoroughly well-oiled machine.

But every chain held a weaker link somewhere.

Finally, the sound of the dragging reached its climax as it hit the door of Trumpet's own cell, causing the man to look over. And then, there was no more noise. Slowly, fully aware of the camera watching his every move, he wandered over to the door. He could hear breathing on the other side.

"Are you quite alright?" Hanabata asked, innocuously, to which the guard on the other end gave a slight stuttered response of "Oh, right. Yeah, sure." Then, a pause, followed by "Tonight's the night, then?"

"Yes." Koku answered. "Tonight's the night. A liberation revolution."

"Alright." No more words could be exchanged as the fiddling of keys could be heard. And then the electronic bleep of the scanner. And then, a deep click as the heavy steel door was unlocked. Gently, carefully, Koku pushed it open, keeping one eye on the camera.

The prisoners involved in All for One's breakout had been freed based on pure luck, being in the right place at the right time when an external force struck. None of that was on Trumpet's side. He couldn't, nor did he want to, rely on help from the outside. No, he had spent the past month doing things on his terms. As he always had.

As he stepped out into the hallway of the block, he found that he felt far from freed. And that made sense. He had left his cage into a slightly larger cage. The beauty of fresh air was yet to greet him. That would come soon. He was out of his cell, but only for the time being. There was still a lot to be done.

"Your service to liberation won't be forgotten." He thanked the guard as she handed him a key card and spare uniform. It didn't take him long to throw on the long dark coat over his prison clothes and position the hat atop his head. Unless someone looked too closely, it would be hard to tell he was an inmate, and at this time of night, or rather morning, it was almost certain that nobody would be paying too much attention.

"The PA room is up to the entrance of the Western Wing." The helpful warder advised. "I've already made sure nobody's there right now. Basically, just take the first left you come to and then go straight. And I guess, good luck. If you get caught here, my ass is on the fritz, too."

"I'm quite aware. Your role here isn't quite over yet, but I'm sure you shall perform admirably." Koku replied, adjusting the positioning of his cap as he placed his hands behind his back and began to stride towards his destination with all the swagger and confidence of a true guard. "I won't fail. I cannot allow that." And so, he walked, snaking through very similar looking corridors, only separated by occasional useful signposts. And as he walked, staring at the rows upon rows of gloomy grey doors, he wondered how long he had before somebody in the camera room decided to realise his cell was now empty. He gave himself maybe two and a half minutes. That should be more than enough. And so, he soon came to his target. The small security room.

It didn't take long for him to scan the provided key card and be granted access into the room. It wasn't massive, but contained what was needed, that being access to the PA system. Every security room in the complex held one, not just the main monitor room, which was something he had come to learn through his oh-so-helpful informant. He pushed aside the office chair as he approached the system, he had no need to sit down, after all. Gently, he lowered his mouth down to the microphone positioned by the main speaker. And holding down the button, he spoke.

"Inmates of Tartarus." He started, his voice low and professional, sounding a far cry from what anybody would expect a prisoner to sound like. "It has been nearly a month now since the vicious attacks by All for One on the facility. In this time, restructuring has been easy for some. But perhaps not for others. Indeed, it's harder to plug leaks when the ship is already halfway down. And that is why, my friends, I now speak to all of you, with due apologies if I happen to have woken anybody up, that I act as a representative of the Metahuman Liberation Army." As he spoke, he allowed his words to take hold. He predicted that at a rough estimate, around a third of the population would adhere to his words. Incite could be a fickle ability, sadly, he was hampered by a lack of access to Seven's Loud. But, he could still put forth his very best attempt. "I am sure many of you do not follow the ideals of liberation. And that is quite okay. Just me, you are not due another sermon on the cause. All I want to say to you is that we are the people who can get you out of here. Listen to what I say, accept my words deep in your hearts and there is just one thing you must do. Break free of your restraints. Flee your cells through any means necessary. And please, do what you can to fight for your victory, for our victory. Believe me when I say that Re-Destro can be your path to freedom here. A shining light. So please, set forth."

And then, he released the button and moved back. He reckoned he had maybe thirty seconds before a platoon of guards was on him, probably wrestling him away into cuffs. But that didn't matter. The seeds had already been planted. What happened next was going to be mere natural fate. And so, he prepared. He was not a combatant, his role was surely support. Whatever happened next, he had already played his role.

Back in the main security office, the pair were scrambling for their weapons, as the facility was plunged into another lockdown, and so soon after the previous disaster, too. This was not something either of them could have ever thoroughly envisioned. One breakout attempt in one of the planet's toughest penal facilities was one thing; Two in its lifetime was another; Two in the space of a month was something altogether more horrifying and neither were truly ready for it.

"That voice sounds like Hanabata to me." The male noted as he glanced over to the monitor. Sure enough, Koku's cell was empty. "Shit it all to hell and back!"

"Maybe someone should've kept their eyes on the screen." The woman chastised, nerves tingling in the recesses of her voice as they went to the door, ready to step out and try their best to return order. However, they were not to be given the chance, as from nowhere, a featureless Pool of an odd moss green colour appeared underneath the door, prompting the male to curse as he stepped in it and leap back slightly. And as he did so, without time afforded to even shout out a greater expletive, the pool changed form. It grew, in fact, taking on a far more human shape as muscles and eyes and visible limbs came into view. Already, one of the prisoners was free and, in a subversion of typical prison archetypes, they were trapped in a room with him.

"Well, Goddamn." The inmate muttered as harsh, sharp features came into view, forming the appearance of spree killer Tetsu Hinamori, currently serving, much like everybody else within Tartarus, a life sentence. "This Liberation stuff ain't so bad."

"Shit!" Only hesitating for a moment, the older guard drew his Howa Type 20 and opened fire. Ordinarily, they would have to be cleared for authorisation to even think about using their firearms, but this was an emergency situation and it was very clearly dictated in the rulebook that in the event of attempted breakout or threat to personnel, use of lethal weapons were fully authorised, even without the go-ahead from the high ups. Unfortunately, this did him little good as Hinamori returned roughly half his body to the oddly gelatinous slop and the bullets passed harmlessly through. Bursting forward,the killer liquefied more and more of his body, lunging at the guard and seeping his body straight through his mouth. Liquefaction was only the first half of his Quirk; The second was something far more terrifying.

The guard grunted and shrieked as the inmate worked through his insides, tendons on his neck pulsating vibrantly, and as he looked back up, his eyes were obscured by the shadow of his cap. But what certainly wasn't left up to imagination was the hail of gunfire he sent into his female colleague, Hinamori having taken control of his body like a possessive parasite. Blood splattered the wall as he chuckled, taking off the hat to reveal his irises to be of a glowing emerald hue.

"Well…" He muttered as he sauntered over to the monitor controls, still getting used to the body. "That's that. What was it that guy said… Help Re-Destro…" He thought to himself for a moment. Although he didn't really care about the idea of liberation, it would be worth an escape attempt at least. He was still annoyed at having missed his chance last time and he would not make the same mistake again. "Hmm… That pretty little guard can probably only help so many people out…" He pondered, reflecting on Hanabata's informant, who had freed Hinomori alongside Trumpet. "Maybe we could be so much more efficient here." He couldn't quite explain the sensation, but something in his body felt so much more powerful, his mind sharper than ever. He was absolutely under no pressure as his fingers blitzed the control panel, searching for some sort of override lock. He had watched movies as a kid, he was pretty sure that all prisons had them, for whatever reason. And soon, he found it. But it needed a pass code. Shit. He probably should have seen that coming. Wondering what to do next, he grabbed the identification badge on the lapel of the body he currently hosted and looked to find some sort of hint, although he was unsure he would find any. It was still worth a try.

Elsewhere, down in the Southern Block, sat Shinji Ito, atop his mattress, groggily rubbing at his eyes. He had been awoken from his sleep by the sudden announcement. It was clear that something big was going down, even the mention of the Liberation Army sent chills down his spine. Much like Hinomori, he had neglected to seize the chance for escape during All for One's breakout. However, in contrast, this had been intentionally on his part. Ito was not a criminal; He was a journalist, one who had looked a little too deeply into reports of human rights abuses and as such, he doubted there was much he could contribute to All for One, nor did he want any association with the so-called demon king. But the more he thought, the more he had questioned himself. Was it really right to just sit and rot, even though he had committed no crime more severe than dangerous curiosity? He had allowed himself to succumb to the despair a long time ago, evidenced by his tangled, untamed stubble and wild hair that had once been rather neatly styled. He saw no hope anymore. This was his life. But maybe… Maybe he would have something of a chance…

No. The Army were criminals, terrorists. Associating with them would only further destroy his conscience. But, what the hell did a conscience mean when the rest of his life knew only a cold, dank cell with a flickering light and no truly stimulating books to read? However, his ponderings were cut short as with a short beep, the door to his cell suddenly swung open, encouraging him to look up in surprise. "Huh?" That was unexpected. Looking out into the corridor, he saw that his was not the only door to see such a fate. So had a significant portion of them all of them in fact. And so, he saw fellow inmates begin to step out of their confines. It was at this point when he truly realised that the Liberation Army's spokesperson had not been messing around; the stage was really all set for a full-scale escape. The question was, would he join?

No. He would remain in his cell. He would wait for the guards to restore order. There was absolutely nothing to be gained from causing more trouble, nothing at all.

It was just a few minutes later that his natural instincts took over and he was coming out into the corridor. And the sight he was greeted with readied him fully to get his ass right back inside, to use a less than flattering term.

The inmates truly were free. And they were already starting to make the most of it. By this point, alarms had started blaring, but they could ring all they wanted, it was to do them no good. And this was the image Ito was thoroughly unprepared for as he saw a guard leaning against the wall, coughing and spluttering, clutching his chest with a slick red hand. They were still a few prisoners standing over him, one of whom appeared to be holding the guard's baton.

"Now it's the other end of the story..." The young inmate, with long yellow hair, noted, as he pried the baton under the neck of the wounded guard and forced his neck up. "Seems to me like all my life, people have been taking from me."

"From us." Came the correction of another man, this one bald and thick-built. Ue seemed somewhat calmer than his vaguely unhinged colleague.

"Right, yeah, from us. What was it you called me the other day? Trash?" Shinji could hear the groans of the guard as the pressure on his neck increased. "That's just what she called me, just before I took that dive. It's real funny, 'cause sure, I'm trash. But if trash like me, can have friends like him..." He gestured to the bald gentleman. "... Then what's that make you? Even trash can form bonds. Yakuza, a boss, even just some mates. But a guy like you? A girl like Shiho? Nooo, you're worse than trash..."

"Sorry..." The guard gasped, his eyes filled with fear.

"Well, sorry takes back those beatings, doesn't it?" With a smirk, the assailant glanced around to his friends, the third of which was a startlingly bizarre fellow with sharp, ugly features and a detached jaw. "That just makes… everything… peachy..."

"Hey!" That was the moment Ito decided to step in. He knew he shouldn't have, but something deep within his conscious forbid him from just turning the other cheek. In an instant, the three hopeful escapees turned to him, perhaps recognising his presence for the first time.

"Well, shittt..." The blond with the baton raised an eyebrow. "Another little piggy..."

"Setsuno, I wouldn't advise doing anything rash..." The bald man offered, maintaining a sense of total tranquility. "Until we know the full scope of things, it would be best to try to reunite with the rest of the Hassaikai, and maybe not kill anyone on our side."

Setsuno's eye bulged. "You think I give a shittt about the Hassaikai? Screw that, dude, I've have some time to stew on that. Overhaul was a real asshole. I'm in no hurry to get back to him or Chrono or any of his goons. So long as I got you guys, what does it matter?"

"Yes, but even so, keep in mind, we've got someone to thank for this."

"Liberation Army?" After thinking for a moment, Setsuno pointed the bat directly at Ito, while resting his free hand on his hip. "You know anything about those guys?"

His fear growing, Shinji took a step back. "N-no, I can't say I do. My name's Shinji Ito, I'm a-"

"In-fighting?" The new voice came from behind the trio, prompting Setsuno and the one with the detached jaw to look behind themselves, parting slightly to give the former journalist too a view of a man with slicked black hair walking up to them, a man who carried a semi-commanding presence and a man with two katana blades protruding from his arms. "Good freaking grief. You're being given a chance here by the Grand Commander. Please stop wasting it."

Of course, the ever-impotent Setsuno did not take well to this as he spun around. "What, you're one of them? Ha! I know about your type, buster, yes I dooo. You guys are has-beens, even with the embargo, any old idiot could tell your Army's been falling a-"

He was unable to finished this sentence as he was too busy screaming. The reason for this was that quick as a flash, the man with the blade arms had zipped right past him and Setsuno's arm that held the baton was sliced clean away from his shoulder, hitting the ground in a burst of viscera.

"What the fuucckkk!?" He cried out in pain, his remaining hand going to clutch the bloodied stump, as his two friends supported him, preventing him from falling, the one behind the attack now standing past them and just in front of a terrified Ito.

"My name isn't of any importance." He stated, cleaning the blood of one of his arms. "Not in this case, but if you so desire, you can refer to me as Slice. I'm a warrior of the Liberation Army. Now please, we have things to do." Slice examined Shinji closely. "If there are no other reservations, then follow me. That voice on the PA was Trumpet, primary assistant to the Grand Commander. He's likely in danger right now, and we should seek to save both him and Re-Destro as a priority."

"Argh! Look here, you rat bastard!" Setsuno yelped, struggling to stand. "I'll- I'll feckin'-"

"Just let it go." The bald one encouraged. "Like he said, best thing we can do is play along."

"I-" Pride as wounded as his arm, the man looked down. "Tch. Fine. Let's get on with it."

"Great. I knew you would come around." Already, Slice was heading off, indicating for the others to follow, but swiftly, Ito found himself going over to Setsuno.

"The hell do you want?" He grunted, which Shinji ignored as he picked the limb off the ground and brought it close to the gangster. "Hey, gross dude, get that thing off me!"

"I'm not sure I encourage that, mate." The bald voice of reason tried to point out. Ito noted how dark his eyes seemed, flinching as the one with the jaw could be felt nibbling gently on his shoulder.

"Please don't fight back." The journalist whispered timidly as he cupped Setsuno's shoulder, placing the arm up to it and watching as the muscle and bone started to sprout back. "Sorry, it's my Quirk. I can repair the human body at remarkably fast rates. It's kind of all I can do, though." With the process complete in less than thirty seconds, he stepped back. "There. It should be back to full working order in a minute or two."

The nibbling fellow backed away, and the bald one's thick eyebrows raised in surprise as, locked in a completely stunned state of being, Setsuno looked down at his repaired arm. He moved it a little. And then he looked back up at Shinji, his face full of wonder. "That is the kindest thing another person has ever done for me."

As this progressed, there was more to be seen and done on the opposite end of the prison. Specifically for one particular young man with long hair of an icy white, as he sprinted down the halls, not paying too much attention to the seeds of destruction that were laying all about him. Bodies, guard and prisoner alike, a harsh red glare coating the sterile silver scenery, none of this meant anything to Geten. His mind was on one thing and one thing.

"Grand Commander…" He panted as he ran. In his current state, his Meta Ability would be of no use, not until he came into contact with water or ice. He cursed himself for the fact that, for all his posturing, for all his training, he could only manipulate ice and water, not produce it. It was maddening to have such a crippling limitation and to know that in his current state, he was virtually powerless. But as much as these concerns conquered his brain, one took an even greater hold. Save Re-Destro. That was what needed to be done.

As he ran, he passed the occasional inmate. Serial killers, rapists, terrorists, the worst humanity had to offer. And yet, even these people deserved a shot at liberation. As much as they made the skin of Geten and his fellow soldiers crawl, it would be hypocritical to not permit them the end goal of the revolution. And so he ran and he ran and he ran. As he did so, short flashes came into his mind, visions of a time long gone, of memories he had long repressed. Lying in his crib in that cold, dark house, feeling the stench of death in the air. And that mam. That glorious, glorious, sharp-featured saviour.

"A little one such as yourself should not have to know such burdens." Was what the man had said all those years ago, as he picked little Geten out of the crib. "There's nothing here for you anymore, and my men and I cannot give it back. But I can give you a new life."

A person had come into the room, one of Re-Destro's assistants. Asked the commander to leave the child and run, that no one cared about a damn kid. Re-Destro had killed the subordinate there and then. The memories made his muscles squirm. He had to rescue the Grand Commander, the only one who had ever shown him kindness and the only one he lived for. He would bring life back to Rikiya Yotsubashi, that much he couldn't even consider denying. And yet, just what to do? That was the main question at hand. He knew not where his leader's cell was, not anything else about it.

It was after a minute or two of frantic searching, during which time he had picked up a couple of followers, some of whom he recognised from the Army, that he came across an open door. Pausing for a moment, he looked in to see a large sky bridge of sorts. As he looked further, he saw it to be leading to a large octagonal structure, suspended high above a courtyard by the bridge, amongst three others like it. He gently stepped forward onto the bridge, feeling the cool outside air hit him for the first time in a month. It felt good. Really good. And with the others following, he proceeded further across the bridge, to where another door hung open, giving a view of what must have been the main control room, the body of a guard laying sprawled out as a second warder was sitting with his feet up on the desk. Already, this put Geten into intrigue mode. Just what was going on here? Needless to say, he and his men didn't have much time to question it as the surviving guard looked up to them with a sly smirk.

"You guys with the Liberators?" He asked as he took a can of Coke and pierced the side with a pen, pooling the sweet liquid directly into his mouth. "Or something of that nature at least."

With trepid caution, Geten stepped in. "Yes, I'm with the Metahuman Liberation Army. And I assume you're no regular guard."

"Well, you've got me there." In that instant, one could catch a glimpse of the guard's shining green eyes. "Tetsu Hinomori, at your service. Or not, I'd rather not have to go any further." He chuckled at the expressions on the faces of the newcomers. "What, I'm the one who managed to get you all out of those sad little boxes, aren't I?"

"I suppose so- assuming that was you." Remaining suspicious, Geten approached the desk, noting that Hinomori made no attempt to attack him as he drew nearer. He didn't much care, however, for his eyes remained fixated on the screen before him.

"So, you a guard turned bent?" Asked one of the additional Liberation warriors who had entered the room, a young woman with black hair done in a bob cut and eight eyes reminiscent of a spider's.

"Not quite." Hinomori answered, offering the can to the woman. "Want a sip, Arachnid?"

"Hey, come on now, there's no need to brandish slurs." She muttered, although she did accept the drink, as Geten's eyes were locked on the screen, scanning the thousands of possibilities. And then he saw it. The sight that broke him.

Rikiya Yotsubashi, limp and restrained. The turrets pointed at him were already deactivated, but it was unknown if he even knew of this. It proved an impossibility to make out his eyes in the dark shadow cast across them. He looked defeated, a man without any fight left in him at all.

"Sir..." The young man could not help but mutter as his heart shattered at the sight. This was wrong, this was something that had to be rectified as soon as possible. A single tear trailed from one of his ice-cold and yet trembling eyes; It caught on his chin as he hung his head, ashamed. He had to do something about this. He would do something about this.