The light was dim in the cell, as usual. Knives lay on his back on the pallet, staring mindlessly at the ceiling and tracing his fingers down the crisscrossing scars that now decorated his left forearm, his chains clinking lightly as he moved. They'd spent over three weeks running various 'tests' on his gate, some more painful than others, before finally sewing him back up. He didn't even mind the marks he now bore—he was just glad that they'd stopped.

He'd only seen the techs once in the additional three weeks since then, when they came by to collect more physical samples. It was as if he'd been forgotten. Maybe they'd found a more interesting project to occupy their time. He was almost grateful, but apparently their declining interest correlated to declining 'care' for him.

They fed him less, not that they'd been feeding him well to begin with. He was given enough to survive off of, barely. He exercised in his cell as much as he could but without enough calories to support his effort, he tired easily. His ribs were becoming sharply visible.

They also hadn't brought him to the showers since the last test. He suspected it was because they were no longer trapped in a room with him for the entire day. Or maybe it was another of Garrow's twisted attempts to degrade him. To break him. He bathed as well as he could, using the sink in his room, but it wasn't enough. His hair and beard had been growing since he first arrived, and they were both becoming rather matted. He must look a mess…

Even Garrow seemed to have forgotten him. He hadn't seen the captain since the last gate test. He supposed he should be glad, but he was surprised to find that he missed having some kind of socialization. The only people he saw now were the guards who brought in his meals, and they remained silent, as always. The isolation he'd valued at the beginning was slowly driving him mad. It was as if he didn't exist. He wished someone—anyone—would interact with him beyond placing a tray on the floor in his cell.

To compensate, he lived inside his mind. He thought of Kira and Vash. He imagined what it would be like to reunite with them. Vash would laugh and clap him on the shoulder. Kira would rush into his arms. He had entire conversations with them and it almost made him feel better. Then he'd wake up to his dark, lonely reality…

The familiar creak of the external lever alerted him to a visitor. The door swung open and he sat up, squinting blindly, as the person turned up the lights.

"Well, hello there. May I just say, you look like shit." The captain offered a raucous throaty laugh.

"Garrow. What do you want?" He may miss socializing, but the captain was still a bastard.

"Now, is that anyway to speak to your generous benefactor? You'd be dead if it weren't for me. And you should be grateful that I'm taking time out of my busy schedule to come see you."

"What do you want?" he growled again.

"I'm sure you're wondering why you're still alive." The captain walked over and nudged him with his boot but Knives wouldn't take the bait.

"I assume I'm alive because you want a first gen plant who you can harvest for the rest of eternity?" They had to be doing something with the physical samples they kept taking from him. It must be why they hadn't disposed of him yet.

"Well, that is true, although there's always your brother…"

"Keep your fucking hands off of him!"

Garrow smirked, clearly amused by Knives' outburst. "I will, for now. But… you. I've been trying to decide what to do with you for the last few weeks and I think I finally have it figured. I hate to waste such a good specimen and I think, in the right position, you could be very useful to me. I obviously can't bring you back to life, so you will need to be kept secret, and since I can't trust you yet, you'll be monitored at all times, but your living conditions would improve and you might even find the work to your liking."

Knives narrowed his eyes. "You… you want me to work for you?"

"Yup. That about sums it up."

He weighed the options in his head. He despised this man—possibly more than any other human in existence—but maybe he could find a way to escape. And improved living conditions couldn't hurt… "What kind of work would I be doing?"

Garrow smiled, his eyes glinting. "Why don't we call it 'research?'"

"Research? Like what you've been doing to me?"

"Yes, but the big difference here is that it would be done to someone else."

"Another plant?"

"No—and that might be the other big draw for you. Your subjects would be humans."

Knives frowned. What the hell was this man up to? "Very well, I accept your offer."

"Glad to hear it. I'll send someone for you in the morning." The captain turned to the door.

"Wait—so I'm still staying here? In these fucking handcuffs?"

"Like I said, I don't trust you yet. You're gonna need to earn these improvements. I'll start by returning your hygiene privileges. Then, after that, we'll see."

The door groaned shut and Knives swore viciously. The fucking bastard. His swift regeneration was the only reason his wrists weren't entirely raw, but they still ached. He hoped this deal would mean more food as well. If there were any chance for escape, he'd need his strength.

x.x.x.x.x

A trio of guards retrieved Knives early the next morning. As promised, he was taken to the showers, an experience he was very thankful for. His hair and beard were still wild and unkempt, but at least they were clean, and he didn't smell anymore. The guards stood outside of the shower stall while he bathed and watched over him while he dressed. He was also glad to have fresh clothes for the first time in a month. Once he was ready, the guards brought him back to the lab he knew so terribly well.

There were already two masked technicians flitting about when he arrived. The pair raised their heads as he entered, and a shiver ran down his spine, a flickering remnant of the fearful anticipation they had instilled in him. He half expected the whole deal to be some new game of Garrow's—that they'd laugh and strap him to a table again—but they simply turned away and went back to their work.

The guards led him into the room, one on either side of him, their hands gripped firmly on his arms, while the third followed, a stun gun at the ready. They weren't taking any chances he'd run off, not that he'd get far—his hands and ankles were cuffed, as usual. He stood patiently, watching the pair at work, and wondered if any of the others would show up.

Despite their hidden faces, it hadn't taken long to differentiate and identify each of the seven technicians who experimented on him. He'd assigned them monikers in his head, since they withheld their names. From what he'd seen in the past, the two were 'laborers,' along with three of the others, and two 'foremen' oversaw and directed their actions. It was a small crew Garrow trusted, like the guards. The man wouldn't risk bringing in more people than necessary.

The sound of the door drew Knives' attention back to the situation at hand. A third tech walked in—one of the foremen, as expected. The man strolled over, his eyes crinkled, making his almost-black irises gleam. Dark Eyes—a rather clumsy moniker, but it worked… and he wasn't known for being subtle when it came to naming things. "Millions Knives, good to see you." He extended a hand gregariously.

Knives stared at the hand in disgust.

Dark Eyes simply retracted the offending limb after a moment and went on, undaunted. "Captain Garrow has given me the honor of directing you. I'm glad you have agreed to work with us—we are truly privileged." He bowed his head deeply.

It was a ridiculously overwrought display considering this man had been mercilessly torturing him only a few weeks ago. Knives had to curb his instinct to throttle the bastard. Now was not the time. He sighed. "What do you people want me to do?"

The man straightened. "Our subject will be arriving momentarily."

As if cued, the broad metal doors groaned open and a third 'laborer' tech walked in pushing a dazed-looking man in a prisoner's uniform, strapped to a wheelchair. Immediately the others rushed over and began attaching various physical monitors man's body.

"Ah," said the tech cheerfully. "Splendid timing. Knives, I'd like you to meet H-34."

"H-34?" What the hell had he gotten into…

"Yes, that is correct. What we are attempting is to alter our subject's body through genetic mutation. Now, as I'm sure you know, this kind of procedure is typically done pre-birth during fetal development, but we have been working on a serum that will actually rewrite the body's genetic code, modifying it, even in a fully developed state!"

Knives rolled his eyes. He knew where this was going. "You're using plant DNA to increase his metabolism. You might be interested to know that an organization called The Eye of Michael has been working on this sort of thing for several decades…" He was actually glad they hadn't been more successful. Even though they'd provided him a number of useful subordinates, he'd always found their process revolting.

"Yes. We know of them. Garrow's men stumbled upon the few that remained after the war. I believe they're gone now. But we were able to pour through their research materials and we found their methods quite… interesting. We were, shall we say, inspired by their techniques. Our strategy differs quite a bit, however, in that we only use independent DNA rather than the DNA from angels. We've been working developing our serum for the last six months with limited success, but we believe we've found the key to cracking the code—so to speak. The problem is that second generation independents have already been altered to make them easier to control, but this makes their DNA less… aggressive. Recently, we've been using DNA from a first generation independent—namely, from you. It has produce far more promising results."

Knives was repulsed by the idea, although he doubted his opinion on the subject mattered to them. "So how, exactly, would you like me to help?" he asked, his voice thick with contempt.

"It's very simple—for now, your job is to observe. We'd like you to monitor his mental state and any subsequent abilities he may develop."

"I see. Unfortunately, I won't be able to aid you with this collar wrapped around my neck."

The tech sniffed. "Yes, we are aware of this problem and will be reducing your telepathic barrier during these tests. But you should know, if anything goes wrong… there will be consequences."

"I'd expect nothing less," Knives said, his blue eyes glittering.

Dark Eyes nodded and gave a little signal to one of the cameras aimed at them. Knives suddenly felt… released. He couldn't contain a slight smile. It had been so long since he felt like… like himself. For the briefest moment, he considered trying to kill everyone in the room, but decided against it. Whoever was watching would simply turn the collar on again and there were too many guards between him and the exit for any chance of escape.

"Now, please monitor him and we will administer a dose of the serum. It should take effect rather quickly, so be prepared."

Knives scowled but did as instructed out of curiosity more than anything else. He wasn't prepared for what he found inside the man's mind. It was… quiet. Eerily quiet, as if all of the man's personality had been suppressed. Had he been brainwashed?

"Are you ready?" Dark Eyes asked, disrupting his thoughts.

He nodded silently and one of the other techs put a syringe into the subject's arm. The man didn't even react to the prick of the needle—not physically or mentally. He just… sat… staring.

Then it began.

The man began to breathe faster as his heart rate picked up, but his mind was still unnaturally silent. His limbs began to twitch and Knives felt a flicker of… something.

Help… me…

Knives shuddered at the terror that laced the whimpered words. Physically, the man continued staring forward, his gaze empty. What had they done to him? Knives pushed himself deeper into his psyche, trying to grasp the elusive wisps of thought when suddenly he was drowning in an ocean of voices. He could hear them! The man could hear them all—the techs, the guards—hell, judging by the volume he was probably capturing anyone within a block of the building! It was amazing—until he began screaming.

Agonizing waves of pain and fear washed through the man's mind and into Knives. He swore and put up a barrier around them both, trying to staunch the inflow of telepathic information. It seemed to work and the man quieted a bit, both mentally and physically.

"What did you do?" the tech snapped.

"I put up a shield around him."

"Take it down. Now."

Knives wrinkled his nose. "Why?"

"If he can't survive without your help, he is useless to us."

"I don't think you understand—learning to use telepathy is a difficult process. It's easy to be overpowered by—"

"I don't need any explanations. Do as you're told."

Knives laughed. "No—you foolish human—if you want him to survive this process, you must give his mind time to adjust."

The tech signaled to the camera and he felt the wall enclose his mind again. The man began screaming and Knives could only look away.

He shouldn't care. He didn't know this person. But… it reminded him of when he and Vash were kids. Their telepathic skills had taken years to fully develop. At first, they could only speak to each other when they were close, but gradually, during their first year, they began to pick up on Rem's mind as well, when she was in the room with them. She had reprimanded them, of course, and that was when they first learned to shield against unwanted telepathic connections.

It was easy, on the ship, since everyone else was asleep. He only had to block out Rem and Vash's minds. But after the Big Fall, once all the humans were awake… From a distance, it wasn't so bad, but when the twins needed food, they had to go in close. The first time they approached a human settlement had been a humbling experience. He remembered how crushing it had been, trying to shut out the screaming mass of voices. He was sure it would have destroyed him if Vash hadn't been there to help. They'd taken turns, shielding each other, until their minds learned to instinctively filter out the unwanted connections.

Knives stared at his feet, trying to suppress the aching empathy he felt for the pathetic human. Minutes ticked by at an agonizing pace and the man's screams eventually quieted to moans, then to soft whimpers, and then went silent. Knives finally looked up. The man was slumped to the side breathing very shallowly. He wouldn't last much longer. What a waste. The man gave a few rattling breaths before his body went limp. He was dead.

Dark Eyes walked up and felt for a pulse. A moment later he looked down at his watch. "Time elapsed until death: thirteen minutes, thirty two seconds. Please make note of it," he said stiffly, and one of the others jotted it down.

"I could have saved him, you know," Knives said bitterly.

"If he needed your protection to survive, then we were unsuccessful. I'm surprised you care."

"I don't. I just don't understand what I'm doing here if you don't want my help."

The tech gestured to another. "Bring in the next one, please. We still have two to go." He turned back to Knives. "You are here to monitor when we are successful."

"Have you been successful?"

Dark Eyes stared down at him coldly. "That is none of your concern."

"Who are these people?" Knives' anger was rising.

"You don't need that information."

"Where do they come from and what have you done to them? There was something wrong with that man before you injected him with your… your serum."

"Again, that does not concern you."

"Tell me!"

Dark Eyes sighed heavily, his previous agreeable attitude spent. "Like yourself, they are unwanted by society and useless to this planet. They are criminals, sentenced to death. We thought using them here was a better option than lethal injection."

Realization suddenly dawned on him. "The No Man's Land Reformation… that was you, wasn't it? You created a law so you could label whoever you wanted as 'criminals' and use them as test subjects!"

"These people are criminals and are a waste of resources. They are a detriment to the society we would like to create. They need to be removed and, in this way, they can help the rest of the planet in the process."

"What have you done to them? Why was his mind so quiet."

"They have gone through rigorous mental conditioning with chemical augmentation to whittle them down to their most basic cognitive states. We have tried to teach them how to defend their minds against the telepathic onslaught, but, should we succeed, we also need to be able to mold them. The last thing we want is another independent like yourself."

"So… so you're not just giving them enhanced abilities? You're actually trying to turn them into plants?"

"Yes. And the easiest way to monitor a plant is with another plant. We'd prefer to keep our own independents separate from this as much as possible, which leaves you. Is that enough of an answer?"

"I'll ask again—have you been successful?"

"… No. Not entirely. We've had a few survive the physical change, since we began using your serum, but we haven't been able to overcome the difficulties of the mental change yet. And believe me, your shielding would do little good. You may have eased his suffering, possibly extended his life slightly, but you would not have saved him. We have tried using collars to shield them—we can block the telepathic connections, just as you can—but the instant that protection is removed, they go right back into this panicked state and are quickly overtaken by the input. Their minds and bodies cannot handle the stress of it."

"But it takes time. You have to ease them into it—"

"We have tried—everything! We tried shielding a group of them long term and slowly adjusting them to the input, but it didn't work. We are now training them to protect themselves using chemical and mental conditioning, as I said. But even in the best cases, the few who survived were left in a coma, their minds completely destroyed, and we were eventually forced to put them down. And if one should survive, it does us little good if the serum kills 99% of the people it's given to. That is useless to us. We need to be able to take nearly anyone, train them, and change them, successfully."

Knives clenched his jaw. "Why do you want to change them anyway?"

"It is not my place to say."

"Garrow?" The thought of the captain with an army of brainwashed plants was terrifying.

"We… believe in his vision." The door opened and another man was brought in, looking equally dazed. "Now," Dark Eyes said, staring at Knives disdainfully, "do we have your support or not?"

If he helped, it gave him intel… it gave him something to do… it made his living situation better… and he might be able to earn Garrow's trust, which could come in handy.

But…

"No." As tempting as it was he just couldn't bring himself to comply. It felt… wrong.

"Very well." He signaled the trio of guards and they grabbed Knives by the arms, leading him away while the techs began work on their next subject. As the doors to the lab closed behind him and he began the trek back to his cell, Knives could hear the muffled sound of screaming.

x.x.x.x.x

That night, Knives lay in his cell staring up at the ceiling and running his fingers along his scars when the door groaned open. He stood and flashed a smile at the captain.

"You stupid fucking ingrate." Garrow loomed into the room, closing the door behind him. "You won't get another chance like that."

"I didn't realize my refusal would mean so much to you."

"It would have been a win-win—it's as simple as that. But there's not much I can do, I suppose. Anyway, I wanted to thank you personally for you help today."

Garrow struck fast, gripping Knives' shirt and throwing his entire, heavy weight into the plant, knocking him backwards. Knives' head hit the wall with a crack, leaving him stunned. The captain landed a strong blow to his jaw; knocking him to the ground, blood filling his mouth.

The large man began kicking him in the side repeatedly. Knives turned and grabbed his leg, hanging on tightly. The man flailed his arms in an attempt to keep his balance as Knives sent a vicious kick up to his groin. Garrow crumpled instantly, giving Knives enough time to jump on his back and loop a chain around his neck.

Knives began pulling with all his strength. He waited for someone to run in and stop him, but no one came. Garrow frantically tried to get free, with no success. The man gurgled, clawing at the chain, his eyes bulging as Knives kneeled on him, pinning him to the ground. With a surprising show of strength, Garrow managed to roll the pair of them to the side.

Knives jumped back on top of him, holding him down and continuing to wrench on the chain. The captain bent a knee, reaching into his boot, and Knives saw a flash of silver before Garrow arced the blade at his face.

It sliced across his eyes and Knives dropped the chain, howling in pain. Everything was blurred mass of shadow. He could hear the chain clink and Garrow gasping for air beside him, but he was too preoccupied to care. He heard the captain scramble away and moments later was struck by another kick to the side.

"You… fucking… asshole…" Garrow rasped. "You're lucky… you're… worth more… alive than dead." He heard the man walk to the door. "I… won't… be back… Enjoy… being harvested… for the rest… of your miserable… life."

The metal door groaned closed and Knives huddled against the wall in the darkness.