My little test subject

by flower1815

On his quest for world domination, Tord develops a serum that will turn a man into a giant, horrible monster. But after countless failures, he finally realizes what he was missing to perfect the serum formula all along; and he will help him, willingly or not. Dark and angsty Tomtord fic. WARNING: Torture, blood, foul language, and drug use; viewer discretion is advised.

12. Chapter 12

Hey guys! This is Flower1815 here bringing you a new chapter of MLTS! I am so sorry for making you all wait so long for a new chapter. I had planned to post this during Christmas, but family matters hardly gave me enough time to write; so I postponed it, but life kept getting in the way. Another reason it took so long to post this chapter was because it went through so many countless re-writes. Seriously, if I were to include all the scrapped scenes in this, it would be 60000 words long. I wrote and re-wrote this chapter a lot just to get it right. I hope you guys can forgive me for the long wait I put you through, and that my hard work is enough to make it up.

Tord doesn't show up in this chapter, but we do get to learn a few things about Tom, and *spoiler alert* the plot thickens with Edd. This is the last "filler" chapter and Tord will be back next chapter to resume with the central plot now that the side-one has been set in motion. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you all so much for your support, I really appreciate it; and I'll see yah all later! ;)

Done with his exercises for the day, Tom finished his shower and put on a new change of clothes. He was happy to see his old hoodie back, neatly folded over the sink, clean and fixed; good as new. It's been ages since he'd last seen it, when he was forced to take it off in favor for his new uniform, and Tom thought Tord had gone back on his word after their fight and threw the flimsy thing away.

It seems he was proven wrong about him.

After questioning, Paul explained to him that Tord wanted to have him accustomed to the uniform since that's what he will be wearing for most of the time during his permanent stay in the base. But because of his good behaviour during the Red leader's absence, Paul and Pat decided to give him his hoodie back. They figured Tom would want it, since it's the last thing he had to remember his past.

As he put it on, Tom couldn't be more thankful for the kind actions of the two soldiers. He was, quite frankly, tried of wearing the same boring uniform every day. The numbers that were engraved on the tag above his heart always made him feel like a prisoner, or someone inferior to everyone else around him.

Nevertheless, as Tom dressed himself he realized with a start that his hoodie felt somewhat tight on his form. Did they shrink it by accident? The two soldiers, although very nice and polite once he got to know them, weren't always the sharpest tool in the shed. Tom wouldn't be surprised if they did make some sort of mistake when washing it.

However, Tom quickly figured that, it wasn't the hoodie who had shrunk. He's the one who grew into it.

The last time he wore his old hoodie, Tom had been severely malnourished. His clothes hanged loosely around his frame, and hadn't been washed in a while.

Since then, Tom has been kept in a pretty strict diet, done various forms of exercise throughout his stay, and his form is in a much healthier state. Now his hoodie is clinging to his shape quite nicely, and Tom couldn't help but wrap his arms around himself; wistfully recalling his good old days.

"Tom, are you nearly done?"

A knock on the bathroom door, followed by Pat's voice, snapped him out of his brief moment of nostalgia.

"Yeah, hang on!"

Passing a towel through his hair to give it one last dry, Tom quickly adjusted to give off his usual spiky appearance, and walks out.

"Was I in there for too long?" He blurts out, nearly bumping straight into Patrick as he exits the bathroom.

"It's fine." The Polish soldier states, leading them out of the gym and into the hallways. "We're still within our schedule. After all, you must've been pretty tired after the bout of exercises you just did, so I wasn't going to rush you out of your shower." He continued. "Paul told me you did very well on your performance today. He was impressed."

Tom perked up a little. "Really?"

As his condition improved, so did the difficulty of Tom's exercises. At first, he started out with only simple stretches and some warm up rounds; nothing too hazardous for him at the time. But now that he is faring better, Paul would have him run laps around the gym, do pull ups, lift weight, and all kinds of workout tactics that took a lot out of Tom, and by the end he would be completely spent.

Tom wasn't entirely sure why he was expected to do all of this. Sure, to be in perfect condition for the experiments that he dreads so much, that's the main reason why he did these in the first place. But now that his condition is better, how come the exercises are a lot more intense? Tom's best guess is that they don't want to underestimate his improvement and want to keep him as best fit for the experiments as possible. But even that line of reasoning has flaws. His initial exercises were fine enough on their own, especially with the diet he's been kept on.

So why put so much emphasis on physical activities?

Tom tried straight up asking Paul, but the usually carefree soldier avoided his question and just dumped a bunch more exercises for him to do instead.

That certainly did its job in putting Tom off. He sure won't make the same mistake twice and ask him that again. Tom isn't keen on exerting himself more than necessary.

He decided to try his luck out with Pat. It can't possibly end worse than it did with Paul, and it is worth a shot.

"Oh yes!" Patrick nodded, continuing their conversation. "Although he admits you run out of breath quite easily, and you still struggle with some of the exercises, he told me that you have a lot of endurance and what you lack for in stamina, you make up for it in speed. Not bad if I say so myself." He went on. "With a few more weeks of practice, I am sure you'll be more at ease."

"Yeah, that's kind of what I wanted to ask about." Tom broke in, choosing his words so he won't set the Polish soldier off in the wrong way like he did with Paul earlier. "Why am I required to go through all of this? I get that's for my condition and all, but I feel this is all much too complicated just to keep me in shape."

Pat's demeanor changed, and his expression darkened slightly. Tom watched him wearily, waiting for a response and somewhat unsettled for the sudden mood reversal.

Patrick sighs. "I wish I could tell you, honestly I do." He shook his head. "But Red Leader would not share with us the reasoning behind this decision." Glancing back at Tom, he continued. "We send him updates regarding the improvement of your condition while he is away; his orders, you know? When we agreed that you were suitable enough to try out more complicated activities, Red Leader issued an order for us to do so until his return."

Tom frowned. "Seriously?" He asks incredulously. "Doesn't that seem kind of shady to you? Keeping secrets and sh#t?"

"Well, he is our leader." Pat points out with a matter-of-fact tone. "Although I agree that we should've been consulted before making a decision regarding this project, or whatever it is he has in store for you, as his loyal soldiers we must trust the judgement of our leader. He isn't stupid, after all. A bit rash at times, and reckless; certainly! But he knows what he's doing most of time."

"I wouldn't trust Tord so much if I wer-"

Tom's words died out as he broke off into a coughing fit. Pat stops and glances at him in concern.

"Thomas? Are you alright?" He approached the Brit. "I hope you're not getting sick again, or that'll be terrible." He placed the palm of his hand over his forehead, checking for his temperature.

Tom brushed him away. "I'm fine- it's just a sore throat."

Pat stared at him and then nodded his head in acknowledgement. "I'll make you some tea when we reach my study. That should fix it."

Tom glanced up at him with disappointment. "Tea?" He echoes. "You mean, no more of that juice I like?"

"Just for today." Pat suppressed a chuckle of amusement as he observes Tom pout, reminding him of a child who's been denied having ice cream before dinner.

Before long, they had reached the familiar oak wooden door. Patrick twisted the knob and stepped aside, letting Tom enter the cozy study first before following him in.

They made some small talk as Pat prepared their tea, mostly chatting about their drinking preferences, which progressively escalated into other topics; mostly morning routines and breakfast.

"No way!" Tom laughed, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Are you serious?"

"Trust me, sometimes I wished I was making this stuff up, but I'm not." Standing next to him, Pat shot him a glance while rummaging through the cupboard for teacups. "I swear, when those two are off-duty they behave like a pair of toddlers." He continues. "Thankfully their antics often fall more in the cute category rather than obnoxious. However, I admit it's difficulty at times to take their ranks seriously when I know what they're really like behind the curtains."

Chuckling, Tom swept a hand through his semi-dry locks. It's so odd to think just how much he's gotten used to the presence of the two soldiers, his environment, and day-to-day basis in general. It all felt natural to him now.

Tom theorized things would be a lot more different if Tord hadn't left, but he isn't going to contemplate what it could've been and instead he'll just enjoy what he got. Tom hopes things stay this way for a while longer, with Tord as far away as possible.

When all was set and done, Patrick handed him his tea and they returned to the study. Tom settled down on his usual leather seat, careful not to spill any of his beverage on himself or the expensive looking carpet. Across from him, Pat sits down on his own seat and pulls out his tablet and the delicately, thin glasses that he keeps in his breast pocket.

"So Tom, how are you feeling today?" He began.

The eyeless test subject sipped on the blue teacup; filled to the brim with steaming hot tea laced with honey, gently blowing on it so he would not accidentally burn his own tongue.

"I'm fine, I guess…" Tom muttered between the tiny sips he took from his tea.

"What about your withdrawal? Have you been feeling nauseous lately, or any other symptoms?" Patrick prompted, sitting back in his recliner chair with his reading glasses on, and typing on his tablet.

"A little. I haven't puked in a long while, so there's that." Tom shrugged, placing the tea down over the glass table that separated him and the Red Army General.

"How would you describe the overall experience?"

"Would not recommend." Tom jokes with a slight chuckle. He then paused. All traces of humor gone from his features, as his expression grew somber. "It was terrible." He answered quietly. "For the most part, it felt like someone was scraping my bones constantly or something." He murmured under his breath, his gaze drifting downward. "Or like, I don't know… spiders crawling through my veins, that have been simultaneously set on fire." He stopped, reframing himself from getting too carried away and spill unneeded information on his condition.

The worst sensation by far, is when that same fire goes out and leaves Tom with an empty, freezing feeling. It's what he'd imagine dying must be like. And just when he thought he'd gotten used to the cold, the fire ignites once more, and the process starts all over again. Going in and out of death repeatedly.

Living and dying…

"Don't get too ahead of yourself now…~"

A dark haze suddenly surrounded his mind and tainted his vision. Breathing out a tired sigh, Tom mustered all of his self-will to not flinch or react in any way at the unexpected, intrusive thought.

No. Not a thought…

But a voice.

The voice.

He was wondering when it would show its ugly presence back into his messed-up life. It would've been a matter of time anyway. Since he no longer has access to alcohol or anything sharp on standby, of course the voice would show up again sooner or later. Tom just wished he had more time to brace himself for this occasion.

Not now.

A cold, and yet amused chuckle echoed throughout his head, sending shivers down Tom's spine.

The voice is just that. A voice. It has no form, shape or appearance. However, it still feels very physical. Tom has gotten so used to its antics that he could detect its presence whenever it starts to act up, mostly because the atmosphere around him immediately gets tense until the voice quiets down again. It always gave Tom the impression that it was lingering somewhere behind him, hovering just a bit over his shoulder to whisper nasty remarks and sweet nothings into his mind; like a thought, drifting in the back of his head. And it sounds very reminiscent to the hiss of a snake, with poison dripping from each word it utters to burn, and brand onto his skin. The volume constantly fluctuates as well. A mere hushed whisper and a loud, booming shout at the same time. Not to mention that every word spoken by it felt like a different sensation running through him each time; ranging from the feeling of cold hands with sharp nails roaming along his body, to various methods of injury being inflicted on him. The amount of pain he would receive usually depending on what exactly the voice says.

It is a painful process that usually takes a lot out of him, especially back in the first few incidents. Now days, Tom barely reacts, if at all, when being administered with this mental torture. On the outside, he may be calm and collected. But on the inside, Tom felt he was cast in a dark room, strapped to a chair and relentlessly tortured. It's been a while since the last time he went through with this, sure, but a few months of its absence in his life is nothing compared to the years he had to endure with it in the first place.

And Tom has tried to get rid of it, in non-harmful tactics that is, before going to more extreme measures.

He knows it is not real.

There is no one behind him.

Nothing impaling or stabbing through him.

And there's definitely no intrusive, probing hands roaming over his body.

It's all just a figment of his head. Nothing more than a trick, crafted by his broken mind to play a sick joke on him. Of course he told himself those things!

But the comments the voice makes just get to him, growing increasingly more excruciating than the last.

After a while though, Tom just had to face the fact that the voice, whatever it really is, just isn't going away by mere use of logic, reason, or even wishful thinking.

Back to reality, Tom watched Patrick type something down in his tablet through half-lidded eyes, doing his best to ignore the mocking presence currently looming over him.

It's a shame that; whatever trace of good humor he had acquired during his previous talk with Pat, or even his earlier run of exercises, as tiring as they may be, with Paul, has been completely ruined by the voice's arrival.

"That was kind of a… morbid way to put it. But somewhat poetic as well." Pat commented, slightly baffled. "Are you a fan of poetry by any chance?"

"Me? Nah! Not really my thing." Tom shook his head. "But musician on the other hand-" He snapped his fingers. "That is more my area of expertise." He leaned back on his chair, deep in thought. "Back when I was in early high school, I used to write some tunes on my notebooks during class; mostly out of boredom. Then I would later play them with Susan."

Patrick continued to type as he talked. "Susan?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow and shooting him a curious glance. "Your girlfriend by any chance?"

A small laugh escaped the Brit. "My bass guitar." He corrected.

"My apologies." Pat bowed his head in understanding, typing another bullet point. "So you play the bass. And those tunes you mentioned, do you still play them?"

"On occasion." Tom replied with a shrug. "Susan is unfortunately kind of old, and has definitely seen better days. But I still love the old babe."

"How ironic! ~" The voice exclaims with a taunting tone. "You claim to love it, and yet you still let it get all broken up and mangled; not even bothering to properly repair it afterward. ~" It hissed harshly into his ear. "Is that any way to treat the ones you value? Use them however you want and then leave them broken? Like how you did with your friends…~"

Clenching his jaw so tight he was sure his teeth would shatter, Tom inwardly flinched at the remark.

Shut up!

"Did I touch a sore spot? ~" The voice continued to mock. A cold, phantom and yet tangible hand trailed upwards cross Tom's back. "Ops~"

His fingers curled inward until his knuckles turned white from the pressure.

"So you like music." Patrick commented, adjusting the glasses on his face and completely oblivious to Tom's discomfort. "When do you think this interest first developed?"

Tom wracked his brain for memories. "I think I might've been six-ish?" He replied, not too sure of himself. "My dad took me to see a music festival that was happening near town. Everything was so colorful, bright and loud back then it ended up making an impression on me." He recalled fondly, too busy remembering the details of his past to mind the lingering voice at the moment. "Ever since then, I wanted to get a guitar of my own really badly. But my parents weren't the best ones off financially, and dad dying worsened things…"

"His death is on you. It should not have happened. ~"The voice butted in to comment absentmindedly. Spectral limbs roamed along Tom's back and arms, tracing over his scars with pointy-sharp nails. Tom suppressed a shiver from rippling down his spine. "That was your fault. If you hadn't insisted on going fishing that day, your father would still be alive. It's your fault he is dead! ~" The intrusive hands did not halt their actions when Tom held back from crying out at the sudden, excruciating sensation of getting impaled through the chest.

"It wasn't until years later I finally managed to save up enough money to buy Susan." Tom went on, nearly choking in the process but managing to hold himself together despite the burning pain he felt in response to the voice's harsh remark. "And I practiced with her ever since."

"Interesting." Finishing his last bullet point, Pat clasped his hands together. "Now Tom, I would like to go a little off topic for a moment. If you wouldn't mind, I think discussing this next issue could be beneficial for you."

Tom raised one of his eyebrows quizzically. "Okay?" He grew even more weary when more phantom limbs joined the first pair and massaged his arms. Tom tried his damn hardest not to shiver, but the hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms stood up uncomfortably. If the voice had a shape, Tom suspects it would be grinning insanely right about now.

Patrick sighed. Here goes nothing.

"Let's talk about your friendships."

Tom's reaction to the request was immediate. At once, Pat noticed Tom's feet tap anxiously against the carpeted floor. The Brit had folded his arms; a sign of defensiveness, and his black sockets looked at anywhere but him. Patrick noted down these reactions, filing them under a separate bullet point.

"Thomas?"

"Is that really necessary? I mean, what benefit will that give you in your experiments? Absolutely nothing in the end, let's be real here." Tom began to argue, feeling the presence lurking up behind him grip his shoulders tightly with a different set of hands. "Not to mention that I don't wanna talk about it." He mumbled that last part quietly.

Pat had expected this would happen. "Tom."

"And while we're at it, what is the point of this mental evaluation business?" The Brit continued, going on a rant. "I highly doubt you gave the previous test subjects that kind of treatment, so what makes me so special? And I am positively certain that, whatever my state of mind is, it won't affect anything in the experiments so it just seems like a gigantic waste of time and effort on your part." He argued defensively, attempting to evade the brought-up subject.

"I am simply heeding Red Leader's orders." Patrick responds calmly, looking at Tom with patient eyes. "I know how hard all of this is for you." He gestured to his surroundings.

Duh! Tom narrowed his eyes. You don't even know the half of it! He felt the tight pressure build on his shoulders as the presence continuously towered over him.

"But I need your collaboration here, for your own wellbeing."

The voice barked out a cruel laugh. "Wellbeing? That's just a cute way of saying that they need you to be their obedient little subject for the sake of their world domination plans. ~" As it spoke, Tom felt it grip the back of his scalp tightly, and pull, creating an awful pressure in his head. Tom did not have much time to dwell on it, when he sensed another phantom hand snake around his neck and repeatedly tap the side of his throat with sharp nails. "After all, why would anyone in their right mind care for whatever happens to you, unless it benefited them? ~"

Tom took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm and ignore all the uncomfortable sensations running through him right now. "I just- I really don't wanna talk about this."

"Is this about Tord?" Pat's question cut through him. "If that's the case, you can leave him out-"

"No! It's not about him!" Tom protested, and then paused. "Well, it kind of is. But that's not the point I'm trying to make here!"

Leaning forward in his seat, Patrick stared at him from across the coffee table. "Then what is?" His honeyed green eyes blinked sympathetically.

Glancing away and still fidgeting in his seat, Tom breathed out an exasperated sigh. "Just- just everything!" He cried. "I miss them a lot, Pat. I miss them so much, and it hurts to even think about them, let alone talk!" Tom blurted out, using every ounce of strength within himself to maintain calm. "How can you possibly expect me to just forget everything that happened so far, and just talk about them as if there's nothing wrong?" From behind, he practically could feel the entity smirk. "Aww, are you about to cry? ~"It mocked him. Something pointy and sharp wandered over his shoulder blades. "You're so weak, and pathetic! Can't even handle your own problems properly! ~" It continued to hiss into Tom's head. "But I admit; It is highly amusing to watch you struggle. ~"

Patrick blinked perplexed. He'd already guessed the Brit's feelings on the subject, but to hear them being confirmed out loud by Tom himself was an improvement. It was clear that Tom has grown to trust him, and Paul as well. Of course, it's not all sunshine and lollipops for the three of them; Tom tends to argue with them once in a while, but Pat and Paul have spent far too much time with their leader to be troubled by Tom's stubbornness. Still, the last thing Patrick wants to do right now is break this carefully built trust.

Pat's gaze softened, sensing his discomfort. "Keeping these feelings to yourself won't do you any good either." He murmured, choosing his words carefully to gently coax the eyeless man to follow his line of thinking. "I am by no means demanding you to outright tell me everything. It is only natural to keep things to yourself in an environment such as this, and in your situation. I understand, believe me I do. Take your time, and go at your own pace." Pat reassured him. "Speak what you can, even if it's the tiniest detail or seems to be insignificant to you. Trust me, by the end you might feel a little more relieved."

"I- I can't."

"You won't know for certain unless you give a try." Pat added.

Before Tom could fully process his words, he felt the pressure on his scalp be released, and the spectral limb move downward to grab a firm grip of the back of his neck, while the other hand that had been poking the side of his throat went unusually still. Tom knows all too well at this point that this is a warning sign to watch for what he is about to say next.

Breathing in a shaky sigh, Tom composed himself. I-I can do this. He echoed, already beginning to feel upset at the mere idea of what he is about to reflect on.

Tom hasn't spoken one word about his friends since his first day in the facility. But perhaps Pat's words hold some truth to them? Maybe he can relieve a little bit of the burden haunting him by calling out to fonder memories? I can do this! He thought decisively."W-we met in kindergarten."

"Uhum?"

"I think it might've been one of my first days." Tom recalled. "I was really nervous and excited, but mostly terrified."

"Any reason in particular?" Pat questions, not looking up from his tablet.

The Brit shrugged. "I was a tad bit shy in my younger years. I wanted to make friends really badly, but I had no idea how to do it." He replied. "I didn't go out a whole lot before starting school, or had much contact with the outside world; so to be suddenly thrown in a strange environment with lots of other kids was overwhelming at the start."

"I see." Pat murmurs with a tiny nod. He was surprised by the Brit's statement. He would've never suspect Tom of ever being shy. "Please continue."

Tom sighed, flexing his fingers to relieve his hold on the chair's arms. Images flashed in his brain, reminding him of two very important people he was forced to leave behind. Pain stabbed Tom's heart; for once, not induced by the voice, but homesickness. It hurt nonetheless, far more than any blade could possibly inflict on him.

"We were in the classroom, just messing around doing kid stuff…"

(Flashback!)

Inside a colorful classroom, various children played together. Shrills of excitement filled place as the young toddlers participated in different activities. Some played tag, others played with dolls and toys, and a few other kids were quietly scribbling on a blank sheet of paper with crayons.

Among the group of quiet kids, a boy with spiky hair and black, empty eyes, furiously scrawled on a piece of paper he grabbed from the teacher's desk. His brows are furrowed and his tongue is subconsciously poking out of his mouth in deep concentration.

He pauses to admire his work, nodding in silent approval at his progress before resuming. "Something is missing…" He observed with a pensive hum, looking at the crude drawing of him and his family, smiling together as they skipped around in a meadow. "Of course! It needs more colors!"

He stretched out his hand towards the red plastic crate, stocked full of various art supplies, next to him and randomly grabbed any crayon he could reach. Adding it to his drawing he quickly switched to a different one, swapping colors repeatedly throughout the whole process.

Blowing away the tiny specks of crayon that lingered on the paper, the child picked up his drawing. "That's better!" He exclaims. "Now I just need one more color…" He reached for the crate again, expecting his fingers to wrap around the familiar, small object of his choosing.

Imagine his surprise when his hand met something warm and clammy instead.

The child jumped in his seat in surprise at the unexpected contact. He whipped his head, his gaze landing on a boy, looking as equally as startled as he is, standing next to him by the crate of art supplies.

"Sorry!" He blurts out, tearing his hand away from the other kid with a small tinge of crimson coating his cheeks in embarrassment.

The other boy looks down at his hand, curious more than anything. His gaze swerves back to meet with the child's eyeless ones. "It's ok." He answers softly.

The kid in question is a tall boy with brown hair, brown eyes, round facial structure, and fair white complexion. He's wearing a short-sleeved, bright green shirt, with a dark shirt underneath with longer sleeves poking out, beige shorts, and green shoes.

They stared shyly back at each other.

The boy in green rocked on his feet. "Can I take a few things please?" He asks, fumbling with his hands and briefly motioning toward the crate.

"Sure!" The eyeless child nodded toward the crate. "Just- please don't take any of the crayons. I'm using them, ok?"

"I won't." The brown-haired boy nodded, and started to rummage through the art supplies. With that out of the way, the spiky-haired boy turned away and resumed with his drawing; watching the other boy leave through the corner of his vision. He thought that was the end of it, and he would just go back to his not-so-quiet solitude.

But that was not the last he'd seen of him.

Throughout the whole course of the day, the boy clad in green kept returning to take something else out of the crate; looking increasingly more chipper each time he did. The eyeless child at first simply tried ignoring him, but his curiosity increased, and every time he dropped by, he would find himself peaking at the other boy. Strangely enough, he noticed overtime that the brunet was getting messier with each visit. Colourful smudges stained the boy's hands and clothes.

It was when he returned again, this time with a purple stain on the bottom-left of his cheek, that the eyeless child decided to quell his curiosity.

He pretended to be drawing, busying himself as he watched the brunet sideways. The boy was rummaging through the crate again and picked out two jars of paint, before hurriedly leaving the room; occasionally shooting worried glances at the teacher, who was too busy settling a quarrel between two crying girls to really notice him sneaking out.

The eyeless child seized the chance and followed suit. He stored his drawing away in his bag before heading out of the room.

He stepped out of the classroom and found himself in a dim corridor, just in time to see a pair of green shoes disappear around the corner and into the boys' restroom. He hurriedly toddled after, both eager and curious to see what the brunet was up to. Of course, he could just be doing what any other sane person does when going to the restroom. But if that's the case, why was he bringing a bottle of paint with him? Something fishy was going on…

The eyeless toddler grew even more confused when he heard laughter and voices coming from the other side of the restroom door.

Opting not to beat around the bush any longer, the unusual looking toddler pushed the door open.

Truth be told, he wasn't sure what he was expecting to find in there. Was the brunet pulling some sort of prank with the jars of paint, and was anticipatively waiting for some poor fool to wander into the stalls? Just when the eyeless child seriously began to consider in turning back, he froze on the spot; stumbling into the scene before him.

Colourful splatters of paint tainted the white tiled walls, even the floor and mirrors. The giggles are louder now as he stepped farther into the room, until he came across the brunet at the end of the bathroom hall, accompanied by an accomplice. A boy with pale skin, round blue eyes, and bright, well-groomed ginger hair, wearing a baggy purple hoodie, jeans, and purple sneakers sat next to the brunet; looking just as messy as him with stains all over his clothes.

Jars of paint littered by their knees where they sat. The spiky-haired boy watched wide eyed as the brunet dipped his hand into one of the bottles, scooping a handful of blue paint before splattering the white walls.

"See this?" The boy in green pressed his against the wall and smeared the paint all over it. "I'm making the sea!"

The ginger boy clapped excitedly, bouncing on his knees as he watched the display. "Oh! I know! I'm going to draw a huuuge mountain over here!" He proclaims, folding back the sleeves of his hoodie to dip his hand into the jar of black paint. "And with a beautiful forest at the bottom too! Lots of trees and pretty flowers-"

"And animals too! Don't forget about the animals!" The brunet piped in, wiping the paint off his hand on his own shirt.

"Of course n- oh!" The ginger boy stiffens mid-dip into the green jar, his eyes fixed on the peculiar child just standing there, mouth agape in awe as he watched them.

The brunet noticed his companion's reaction and halts. "What?" He turns around, following his line of sight. He perked up in surprise when he saw who it was, and smiled. "Oh hey, you're the kid with the crayons!"

With a tiny, barely audible gasp the eyeless boy steps back and adverts his gaze, fumbling with the straps of his overalls.

"Hello!" The ginger boy waves at him, bursting with glee in an over-exaggerated manner.

The child with spiky hair shyly waves back. "H-hi." He slowly lifts his head back up. "What- what are you doing?" He stutters quietly, almost hesitant to get the question out.

"We're painting!" The brunet replies, gesturing to the smudged wall behind them.

"In the bathroom?" The eyeless boy cocks his head to one side. "The teacher has lots of paper on her desk. If you want I could go and get a few for you-"

"No thanks, we're ok with the wall. There's plenty of space to draw this way!" The child in green responds dismissively. "Hey! Do you wanna paint with us?"

"M-me?!"

"Yes you!" The brunet laughed. "Come on, there's lots of colours to go around and a bunch of space to use."

"And it's real fun too!" The ginger kid added with a wide grin.

Shuffling his feet, the peculiar looking child silently contemplated. These two boys seem very nice and friendly so far, and he'd never been invited to participate in any of the activities by the other kids. He didn't show it much but he was legitimately excited to join them. And the white wall behind them does look very tantalizing to paint on.

"Ok!" He smiles, all previous signs of shyness gone, and he skips over to join the others.

Together, they began to paint the bathroom walls, turning everything from top to bottom into a ginormous mess. An explosion of colours blended into a deformed rainbow of sorts. The three young boys giggled and laughed along with their fun, occasionally showing off their artwork to one another. Various bottles of paint were left open, some even tipped over and scattered all over the floor.

The eyeless child scooped up a load of red paint into his hand, and using just one of his fingers, drew a long line into the white tiles; doing countless swirls, loops, dips, going up and down, left and right, and all over the place.

"Woah!" The brunet watched in awe, kneeling next to him with a dumbfounded expression. "What is it?"

The eyeless boy stepped back with a grin. "A rollercoaster!" He states proudly. "I'm making a theme park!"

"Cool!"

"Hey guys, check out my drawing!" The ginger child calls out to them, gesturing towards his somewhat crummy drawing of a castle.

"Neato!" The bright, eyeless child commented.

"Is there a princess that lives there?" The boy dressed in green prompted.

"Nope! But there is a very beautiful prince!" The ginger goes on, puffing his chest and striking a pose. He raised his chin with a grin. "A wonderful, charming, and very handsome prince-" As he ranted proudly, he lifted one of his hands up to his hair to run it through his striking ginger locks, forgetting that his hands were stained with fresh paint.

"Wait!"

"No don't-!"

The boys tried to stop him, but it was too late. The grimy hand swept through the ginger's hair, tainting it in paint.

"-Who was loved by his, uh, what are they called again? Subjets? No, that's not quite right. Hm." As he continued to contemplate his words, he just kept fumbling with his own hair, creating an even bigger mess. The brunet boy bit his lips, trying to hold in a giggle. The eyeless child stifled a gasp and watched the mess unfold with a gaping mouth. The ginger snapped his fingers, recognition flashing in his blue eyes. "That's right, peasants! He was dearly loved by his peasants!" He paused, taking notice of his friends' reaction. "What?"

"Uhh-"

The ginger rubbed his head in confusion, staring at his companions until reality finally hit him. His eyes widened with shock at the realization, and he stiffened. Slowly he brought his hand down, his hand trembling, looking almost like a scene from a horror movie as he looked back at his paint-tainted hand with despair.

The brunet and the eyeless boy exchanged a worried glance.

"Are you ok-?"

In a fraction of a second, the ginger child rushed past them, heading toward the nearest mirror. He froze once his eyes landed on the dark, smudgy mess that were once luscious orange locks and he shrieked in horror.

"My hair! My beautiful hair! What have I done to you?!" He cried out, grasping the sink with desperation. "Oh no what am I going to do?! My mom is going to kill me!" He gasps, dropping to his knees. "What if I have to cut all of my hair off?!" And with that, the waterworks let loose and he started to cry. "I don't wanna be bald!"

The two boys stood there and watched the ginger sob to his knees, looking concerned but unsure of what to do in this situation.

The eyeless boy rubbed one of his own shoulders, shuffling on his feet. "Should I get the teacher?" He offered.

The brunet's brown eyes brightened and a smile etched onto his face. "No. Stay here with him, I'll be right back!" With no further explanation on whatever it is he's got planned, he bolted out of the bathroom, the door swinging close behind him.

Left alone with the sobbing child, the eyeless boy nervously approached him. He shakily places a hand on the ginger's shoulder and started to pat him in a soothing motion. "It's ok. Everything is going to be ok, don't you worry." Rather than calming him, his words had the opposite effect and the boy clad in purple sobbed more. The eyeless boy stared at him in dismay. "C'mon don't be like that. Your hair isn't even that bad. If anything, I even think it looks cool on you."

Sniffling, the ginger kid risked a glance at him. "Do yo- do you really mean that?"

"Well yeah, of course I d- ARGH!" His words died out when the ginger suddenly enveloped him in a tight hug, his face buried into his chest as he continued to cry. The peculiar looking child wasn't used to hugs, let alone coming from people he hardly knows. Still, he tried his best to console the sad kid dressed in purple. He slowly wrapped his arms around him and patted him on the back. "There there."

The bathroom door swung open as the brunet returned, smiling widely from ear to ear. The eyeless child's expression turned from relief at the sight of him, to confusion when he noticed what he was wielding in his hands.

"What are those for?" He asked quizzically, nodding toward the set of tools the brunet brought with him. A mop. A plunger. And a broom.

Rather than answering him, the brunet threw the items onto the floor, keeping the plunger while he twirled it in his hand. The eyeless boy's furrowed further in confusion. Just what is this guy up to? Even the ginger halted his crying to peek at the scene.

The brunet shot them both a wink, and cleared his throat. "Hear ye hear ye, tragic has befallen the beloved prince!" He announces loudly, as if he were revealing news to a big crowd. "The handsome prince has been cursed by an, uh-"

"An evil witch!" The eyeless boy exclaims, catching onto the brunet's antics and going along with his act. The ginger looked at him with teary blue eyes. "An evil, and very ugly witch!" He went on. "Who was jealous of the handsome prince's beauty."

While he spoke, the boy dressed in green scooped up a bit of red paint and started to doodle on one of the mirrors. "That's right! And now it is up to us-" He backed away, showcasing his exaggerated drawing of a witch. He gestured toward the boy with spiky hair. "-the knights, to defeat the evil witch and break the prince's curse!"

Jumping into action, the unusual looking child pulled away from the still visibly upset ginger kid, and grabbed a hold of the broom. "You'll pay for what you did you mean, old thing!" He vows, aiming the broom at the mirror.

"I'll- I'll fight too." Sniffling, the ginger cracked a small smile and rose to his feet, clearing away the remaining tears clouding his vision. He grabbed the mop.

"Attack!"

With a battle cry, the boy dressed in green charged. Plunger in hand, he stabbed the rubber head onto the mirror, directly onto the witch's face. "Take that!" He laughed victoriously. He tried to pull the plunger out but found it firmly stuck onto the reflective surface. "Oh no, the evil witch set up a trap! And I fell for it!" He cried out, gripping onto the plunger and trying to pull away.

It released with a loud 'pop' sound, making the brunet stagger back in surprise with the force of the pull. In doing so, his feet slipped over the paint drenched floor and he fell onto his back, staining himself in various colours of paint, mixed together.

"I've been hit!" The brunet boy cried out. "Avenge me, friends!" With his last words, he closed his eyes and played dead, sticking his tongue out for dramatic effect.

"No!" The ginger wailed in distress, seeing the body of his fallen companion. He whipped around to face the witch in the mirror. "You may destroy my good looks, but no one hurts my friend and gets away with it!"

Using all his strength, he swung the mop toward the mirror, hoping to strike a hit on the mirror witch. However, it missed its mark a few centimeters too short and hit the sink instead, knocking the tap off and causing water to erupt. The ginger yelled in alarm when the water splashed him square in the face, the strong torrent forcing him to back away.

"My face!" He gagged through a mouthful of water.

"I'll save you!" The eyeless child shouts, running up to the mirror which now contained the deformed drawing of the witch; smudged due to previous attacks. Wielding the broom, he swung it down hard with all of his strength, smashing the mirror with the blunt end of his weapon. The glass shattered into various fragments, distorting the reflection.

The child grinned. "I did it! I got the witch!" He cheered victoriously.

"My hair!" Whirling around he saw the ginger, completely soaking wet, standing before the untouched area of the mirror with relief and admiration in his blue eyes. "My beautiful hair is back! Look!" Running his fingers through his wet hair repeatedly, he appreciated the vibrant soggy orange locks, now spotlessly clean from any evidence of paint. "Woah, I forgot how beautiful I looked." He grinned and cupped his own cheeks, peering into his reflection.

The brunet staggered to his feet, his clothes entirely smudged in paint. "We did it! We broke the curse!" His green eyes gleamed with triumph. "And we restored the prince's beauty!"

"Hurray!"

They cheered simultaneously, celebrating their success.

But it was short lived.

"Uh guys? What are we gonna do about all of this?" The ginger points out hesitantly, gesturing towards the ruined bathroom.

There is paint splattered all over the walls and floor, water gushing out of a broken sink, a shattered mirror, and their own dishevelled appearances.

"Oh." The trio stared at the results of their mess with wide-eyed blank faces.

The eyeless boy turned toward the two. "That was a lot a fun though!"

"Yeah."

Almost before they were done speaking, the sound of low giggles could be heard. The boy with spiky hair whirled around in confusion, only to realize that the brunet was shaking next to him with suppressed laughter, which he tried very hard to keep down. But his chuckles increased to light-hearted chortling that filled the room. The ginger and the eyeless children shared mutual expressions of bewilderment. But the brunet's laughter was just so contagious and enjoyable that, in the end, they couldn't help but laugh along with him. And looking back at the mess they created, it was kind of hard to stop it.

Their laughter abruptly came to an end when a shrill of absolute horror rang throughout the room.

"What have the three of you done?!"

Immediately the three boys snapped their gazes toward the bathroom door, where the teacher stood, completely dismayed at the scene. "The bathroom is in ruins! Just what do you think you're doing?!"

The three of them looked at one another with smiling faces.

"Painting!"

"Fighting off an evil witch!"

"Washing my hair!"

The boys got into a whole lot of trouble.

They were taken to the principal's office immediately after the scandal, where they were forced to wait after class for their parents to come and pick them up.

The eyeless boy fumbled with the straps of his overalls anxiously. How will his parents react to the mess he made? Will they get mad at him? They aren't the type of parents who get angry very easily. In fact, he doesn't even remember the last time he'd seen them angry. At most he fears they will be more disappointed in him more than anything for getting into trouble so soon after getting into Kindergarten.

He sat between his accomplices, the brunet to his right and the ginger to his left. The brunet was unusually quiet, staring at the ground and whistling a soft tune, but not looking particularly upset. The ginger was looking upbeat, fidgeting in his seat and rocking his legs back and forth with a grin. He looked so untroubled despite their situation, even though his mother is already inside at this very moment talking to the principle.

"So, is this a normal situation for you two?" The eyeless child spoke up, attempting to make a small talk to relieve himself from the tension.

The boys dressed in purple and green reply. "Yup!"

"But it's not just the two of us." The brunet continued. "We have another friend who participates on our games as well. He was supposed to be here for the bathroom painting, but he got sick and couldn't come. I think you would've liked him! He's pretty quiet, but lots of fun once you get to know him!"

"He talks a little funny though." The ginger added.

"But you are pretty fun to play with too!" The brunet commented, throwing a brief glare toward the ginger before turning back to the eyeless boy. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new?"

"Ye-yeah." He stammered shyly, fumbling with his own hands.

The ginger emitted a loud gasp, his hands rising up to his own face cupping his cheeks with wide eyes. "Does this mean you got no friends?" He asks with shock on his face. Before the eyeless boy could answer him, he was enveloped in a hug and had his face shoved against the ginger's chest. The arms wrapped around him tightly and he suffocated rather quickly. "Oh you sweet poor thing!"

"I-I can't breathe!" The eyeless boy choked, trying to pull away from the ginger.

"Matt, let him go. You're squashing him!" The brunet scolds.

"Oops! Sorry!" The ginger quickly lets him go, throwing him an apologetic look.

Right at that moment, the door to the principal's office swung open. A tall woman with dark ginger hair, wearing a purple dress and high-heels strolled out with her hands on her hips. "Unbelievable! Never have i heard such audacity!" She rants angrily. "My sweet little angel would never do such a thing! Isn't that right, Matthew?"

On cue, the ginger boy threw a cheeky little grin, and made the cutest face conceivable to mankind. His mother instantly fell for his act of innocence, and she grabbed his hand with a smile. "See? I knew you were a good boy."

The eyeless boy watched perplexed. No wonder the ginger wasn't afraid of getting a scolding, he got his parents wrapped around his finger!

"Now, let's head home sweetheart." The woman cooed. "It's getting late, and I'll prepare your favourite meal for dinner."

"Hurray!" The ginger cheers with glee. As he walked away with his mother, he glanced back over his shoulder and waved at his friends. "Bye guys!"

"Bye!"

"Goodbye Matt!"

"Matt?" The eyeless boy cocks his head, echoing the name.

Just then it suddenly dawned on the brunet that they forgot to introduce themselves to each other, despite their amazing adventure today.

"Yeah! His name is Matt. And I'm Edd!" The boy dressed in green, Edd, finally introduced himself. "What's your name?"

"It's Thomas."

"Thomas, I'm calling you Tom for short. Is that ok?" The peculiar looking toddler nods with a grin. "We had great fun today, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but the principal does seem awfully mad at us for what we did." Tom murmured, hugging himself.

"You'll get used to it. He is always a grump." Edd reassured him dismissing any worries. "Wait until our next big adventure!"

Tom blinked at him, genuinely taken back by his last comment. "O-our bi- our next big adventure?" He stuttered confusedly, as if the words had gotten stuck in his throat and he choked to get them out. "As in, you guys… and me?"

Edd laughed. Not a mocking type of laughter, but more like a light-hearted chuckle. "Of course!" He nudged Tom. "You are one of us now!" He suddenly turned serious, and grabbed a hold of Tom's face; squeezing his cheeks. "And don't think about getting out of it. There's no turning back now. Ok?"

"Ok?"

"Good!" Edd brightened up again, as if nothing happened.

Right at that moment a couple walks out of the principal's office, and without a word the woman beckons Edd to come along.

"I gotta go now." Edd jumps from his seat, grabs his bag and hurries off after his parents. He glanced back at Thomas over his shoulder and continuously waved him goodbye. "Bye Tom!"

"Goodbye!" Tom waves back.

"I'll see you Monday!"

"See yah!"

Watching his new-found friend leave from a distance, Tom breathed out a sigh and slumped against his chair. Despite being nervous for landing on the principal's office so soon after he just started kindergarten, and how his parents might react, Tom couldn't help but feel content.

He found friends! Sure they are a little weird, but they're also so energetic, cheerful and creative.

He can't wait to see them again! Who knows what kind of trouble they'll get themselves in next time?

A comfortable silence fell over the study as Tom finished telling his story. He kept his distant gaze fixed intently at the ground. A sad little smile on his face as he slowly fumbled with his own hands, trying absentmindedly to distract himself from the overflowing emotions coursing through him, however pointless it may seem.

On the outside, Tom appeared to be calm and collected, doing his best not to shed any tears as he recalled on the fond memories of his childhood. However, on the inside is a different matter altogether.

Tom felt shackled, his movements restrained as the sensation of various cold, spectral hands holding on to him in a tight grip, and keeping him down. What once used to be at least five hands grabbing him at first, now seems like hundreds. It felt hard to breathe. Tom could never tell if this was consequence of the overwhelming emotions he'd repressed for so long consuming him as he acknowledged them out loud, or the many hands constricting him all at once. As if all of that wasn't enough, there are blades littered all over his backside. Plunged deep and sticking out of his body like a set of spikes; courtesy of the voice's many words of wisdom. Each new wound added to the collection whenever the voice would make a nasty remark or impute a hurtful comment in the situation.

Tom is in a lot of pain. Emotional, but painful nonetheless. As much as he is writhing and crying out in pain on the inside, Tom could never show it on the outside. Tom doesn't want to appear weak in front of others, especially his captors; no matter how friendly they may be. But most importantly, it was mainly about Edd and Matt.

I don't want to worry them. Is always his reasoning. They have other stuff to worry about, they don't deserve another burden to take care of. Tom has had a lot of training in the past, controlling his facial expressions and behaviour to never let show any obvious signs of discomfort or pain. No one should know.

Across from him, Patrick quietly typed on his tablet. Tom tried to read his facial expression through half-lidded eyes, but couldn't decipher what exactly the soldier was thinking at the moment.

"I see." Pat murmured quietly. His tone of voice is soft, while his eyes held a glint of humour in them; possibly entertained by the story he just witnessed. "The three of you definitely sound like a handful!"

"Yeah, we sure were." Tom spoke softly under his breath as grief stabbed his heart. Memories flooded Tom so powerfully that he could hardly breathe, and guilt seared his body.

Taking off his glasses, Pat put the tablet down on his lap. "How do you feel now that you let some emotional baggage out of your chest?"

Well, ain't that the million dollar question of the day. Although doubtful at the start, Tom did feel relief once he started talking about Edd and Matt, how they met, and the impact that it had on his life. However, the whole experience and meaning behind the moment was completely tarnished by the voice relentlessly torturing him. Sure it felt good to talk about what's on his mind aloud, but to keep remembering the awful things he's done in the process made it difficult to balance an exact emotion.

"Good." Was what Tom went with, nodding his head slightly with his lips pursed in a thin line.

Patrick's eyebrows furrowed in suspicion, staring back at Tom through narrowed eyes. "Is everything alright? You seem pretty quiet." He observed.

Tom suppressed a shiver as anxiety spiked through him. "I'm okay." He replied as casually as possible, ignoring the pain he felt rippling on his side. "Just uh- It's just hard, you know, to get so much out of my chest like this. Especially after everything that's happened."

For a moment he believed he managed to fool him. Patrick's expression softened and he regarded him with sympathy. However, before Tom was even given the chance to sigh in relief, Pat spoke up again.

"I can see you are bothered by something. Clearly in discomfort. You know you got nothing to worry about in here. I won't tell anything of this to Red Leader, not even to Paul."

Tom blinked in bewilderment. "What do you mean? I already said I'm fine. It's just the topic that's a little hard to get through, that's all-"

"Tom."

He flinched at the sound of his name. Afraid where this conversation could potentially lead up to, Tom stared at the ground and shuffled his feet around in apprehension, unable to meet Pat's gaze which he could feel borrowing into him.

"Is something going on with you, that you're not telling?"

Tom took a deep breath at that, attempting his best to keep his composure calm at the face of near-revelation. He numbly shook his head with a tiny shrug.

"You know if there's anything wrong you can tell me, right? Or Paul if you are more comfortable with." Patrick's words were so soothing, Tom couldn't help but to flicker his gaze back up to look at him. He was startled with the amount of patience and understanding he found staring back at him from honeyed, kind green eyes. "Despite what you may believe, we do really care about you. So if you are having problems with anything at all, we will do our best to help you- within reason, of course."

A flush of warmth washed over Tom at his words, genuinely touched by the offer. Something flourished inside of him. A small speck of light ignited; bright and warm, that relaxed Tom's tensed muscles and soothed his soul. Hope.

It seems so easy- so within reach. To finally confide in someone of all his problems, his fears, what he's been enduring on his own this whole time, and just how there is something seriously wrong with him. Tom longed so much for the chance to finally admit his problems, but dreaded all the same. How would they take it?

Patrick seems like a trustworthy guy, he hasn't done anything truly harmful to Tom since his arrival. Not once has Pat ever lost his temper when dealing with him, he's a good listener, and seems to know exactly what to do in most situations. He'll understand him, surely? Pat already appears to be so insistent in helping, maybe he can find a solution to Tom's problem.

He won't have to keep quiet about this anymore. He can be free of this burden!

With hope soaring in his chest, Tom felt a burst of determination to speak.

"You don't honestly believe he cares about you, do you? ~"

At once, Tom stiffens and his muscles tensed with apprehension. His words died instantly in his mouth. He'd forgotten that the voice was still active. The phantom arms that still encircled him tightened their possessive grip, while three others slithered upwards; two of them constricting around his throat until it became impossible to breathe, while the other one latched over his mouth, as if to stop him from speaking.

"Have you forgotten who this man is? What his motives are? And more importantly, who he works for? ~" The voice reasoned harshly, as if scolding a petulant child. "He doesn't care about you. This little therapy-play the two of you put up is nothing more than his job. Don't you think he would rather be anywhere else other than stuck here with you, hearing you moaning about everything? He probably has better things to do with his time. If it weren't for Tord ordering him so, he wouldn't waste his time with you. ~"

Tom trashed wildly under the constraining hold on him trying to bury him alive, desperately tugging on the limbs wrapped around his neck to free himself. You're wrong! He objected futilely. Why would he bother hanging out with me then? Commie wouldn't have ordered that!

The voice tutted with mock sympathy. "You poor fool, that's only to gain your trust. ~"

Tom stopped struggling.

"If you trust them, you'll be more willing to abide to their commands. They are using you. ~"

Chilling cold claws gripped his insides and twisted them hard. Tom doubled over and clutched himself in pain with a startling cry. Amidst his suffering, Tom tried to cast a glance at Patrick through the thick, darkened haze that surrounded his vision. He seems so innocent… Could it be he's been playing him all along?

Tom doesn't wanna believe it, but he can't deny the possibility sounds plausible.

"Besides, if this man truly does care for you, why would you freely dump all your problems onto him like that? Hasn't it occurred to you that he already has his own problems to deal with? ~" The voice pointed out casually. "The world doesn't revolve around you. People have issues they got to deal with on their own, and it's not fair for him, or anyone else for that matter, for you to throw your baggage at them! ~" A spear stabbed through Tom's back, poking out of his chest. The scream that ripped out of his throat was drowned by the spectral limbs clamping his mouth shut. The agonizing sensation of fire, static, and ice shot through him all at once and left him nearly breathless against the tightness still wrapped around his throat.

"Are you selfish enough you would willingly cause another person to suffer for your problems? ~"

Back in reality, Tom stared at Patrick with hidden dismay while in an inner conflict with himself. The determination he once had was annihilated by the voice, along with the spark of hope that it brought. It would be so easy to blurt out something- anything in regards to his situation. But Tom couldn't get the words he needed out his mouth, try as he might. The invisible hand lodged over his mouth refused to let him speak up, and the other two around his throat just tightened even more until Tom was out of oxygen.

Breathing out a tired sigh, Tom accepted defeat. "There's nothing wrong." He replied solemnly, his gaze cast downwards. "It's been a long day, that's all."

Tom felt a cruel hand comb through his hair with sharp nails. "Good boy! ~" The voice praised him with a mocking purr.

The dark haze in his vision cleared away, returning to normal. The various limbs wrapped around his body, holding Tom down, released him. Tom's shoulders sagged, relieved that the voice finally quieted down and that the horrible experience was over.

For now, anyway.

"Then I guess we can conclude our session for today." Patrick put away his glasses and placed the tablet down. He stood up from his seat, and made his way toward Tom. "I have to return to my duties now. Will you be fine heading back to your quarters on your own?"

"I'll be okay." Tom nodded numbly.

Patrick followed him out the study. "I'll have Paul bring your dinner later. Do you want anything in particular?"

Tom shrugged. "Not really. So as long there isn't any meat included."

"Fish or chicken, I know."

The two briskly parted ways; their interaction vastly different from what it once was earlier. Tom made the long walk back to his quarters in silence, practically dragging himself along with sluggish movements and a bleak expression on his face. His head is pounding, and he felt drained of energy. I'm so tired…

The immense, empty corridors of the lab level seemed to stretch on forever; when really, all it takes is a few turns to reach his destination. And yet, Tom struggled along his journey with some difficulty. The voice consumes a lot of energy out of him in order to manifest itself. Although neither it or any of the phantom limbs are around to bother him right now, the mental wounds left behind are still fresh and stinging.

Tom almost felt like a warrior, and not in the glorious or courageous type. He felt as if he just went to fight in a huge war, but instead of slaying his enemies he was the punching bag- a distraction to advert all the fire toward himself and getting most of the damage out of it. Now here he is, dragging himself pitifully back home, littered from top to bottom with wounds, and he is bleeding all over the place; leaving behind a trail of blood wherever he went.

The walk back to his quarters was painfully long and slow. The door slid open with a hiss, and Tom dragged himself in before immediately falling over his bed with a tired sigh.

"What are you waiting for? ~"

Just as Tom was getting ready to take a nap, the haunting question announced the voice's return. The dark haze back to taint his vision. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the chilling sensation of something breathing down at him. He isn't surprised that the voice was so quick to return after manifesting mere minutes ago. Being gone for so long, it's to be expected that it would become sporadic.

Tom slowly sat up, blinking tiredly.

I'm waiting for the right time.

Tom sensed the voice shift agitatedly around him.

"And when will that be? ~" The voice challenged. "You should've ended your existence long ago. I can see through your memories; you had plenty of opportunities to off yourself. And yet you didn't. I wonder why… ~"

It's not as easy as you say it is. Tom argued defensively. I can't just go crazy and kill myself like that. If I get caught in the act, or use a not very effective method to do so I won't have another chance. Tord and his soldiers will do whatever it takes to keep me alive for the sake of their plans.

An uncomfortable stinging sensation rose from his cheeks, and Tom could imagine the voice ripping into the flesh of his face with sharp nails.

"You're hoping that they fix you, aren't you? ~" The voice howled in an animalistic fashion, barking with laughter. Tom did not cower at the harsh noise in his head, but he remained stoically still. "You're such a coward you can't even own up to your own troubles! It's so like you to leave your problems for someone else to solve. Even when they are blatantly not doing it for your sake, but for their own benefit! I don't think you realize just how truly damaged you are. ~" It went on, the nails trailing down Tom's face to pierce his shoulders. Tom flinched with a hiss, wishing he could swat the cruel hands off his person. "It seems I missed a lot more than I thought while I was away. But what an interesting development do I find here? Our former red accomplice is still alive! Guess you can take that one out of your consciousness. Not that it matters much in the great scheme of things; you still killed plenty other innocent people. ~"

Tom bristled at the comment. Commie is far from innocent!

"And you who are you to judge? As far as I'm concerned, your number of confirmed kills is much higher than Tord's. You are dangerous, and that's all there is to it! ~" The voice hissed scornfully. "What makes you so especial you should live above all those you killed? They had hopes, dreams, ambitions- lives worth living. You are absolutely worthless! Nothing more than a burden. It's not fair on them that they should be robbed of their lives in such a brutal manner while you are still living. You are practically mocking them with your continuous existence, you know? ~" Tom's heart sank at the harsh words spoken to him. He sat in silence while listening to the voice's angry rants, not making much of an effort to defend himself; feeling much like a child receiving a scolding.

"But now we got a situation in our hands. Tord intends to use you in order to conquer the world. Unless you want to be responsible for more deaths, I suggest we stop him from achieving his goal. ~"

And what do you want me to do? I can't stop the commie from doing what he wants. Tom reasoned with blatant contempt. If I keep on defying him and refuse to collaborate, he'll turn his eye back on Edd and Matt! I can't let that happen either!

There was a moment of silence that followed, so quiet even his heartbeat became inaudible, and stretched on for a while. Breaking the wary silence, the voice murmured. "You know what you have to do. ~"

Slumping back with a sigh, Tom did not respond. He didn't need to. He knows what the voice is talking about. How couldn't he? For countless months, it's the only thing running in his mind! And yet, the idea filled him up with dread whenever it popped into his head. His throat clogged, and the lump bobbed uncomfortably as he tried to swallow it down. His mouth felt dry; tongue like sand paper. Tom slowly convinced himself that it's the right thing to do, and a sense of peace would be instilled in him.

That's how it works.

"You have to die. ~"

Tom choked back the tears that rapidly welled up in his eyes. His mind betrayed him yet again, flashing images of happier times in his life against his better judgement. Memories of his friends were the first thoughts he conjured up, and Tom felt the overwhelming sadness that came with it. They already believe I'm dead. Dying for real won't change anything. He told himself, completely dense to the truth of his own feelings. Then his mind flashed to the two soldiers he befriended through the course of his stay. He recalled playing video games, cooking, and laughing with them. Was that all just for show? Did it mean absolutely nothing to them? As painful as it was to admit it, Tom could see the soldiers pull something like that on him. They work for commie for crying out loud! Did he really expect anything good to come from people associated with him?

And to think Tom once believed that out of all of them, Matt was the easiest to fool. Evidently not.

Emotions running rampant, Tom hunched over and curled himself into a tight ball. He hugged his knees to his chest, trying to hide his face and pretend he wasn't sad, or about to cry. The familiar set of feelings he'd gotten so used to, courses right through him again like jab of electricity.

"Fear. Regret. Helplessness. Despair. ~" The voice surrounded Tom with a resonating echo, giving a name and face to each emotion as it fed off of him. "This is what you spread. If Edd and Matt had never befriended you, they would've never felt any of these emotions so strongly. ~" It continued, casting a bleak shadow over him. The voice paused in contemplation. "Perhaps, Tord wouldn't have changed either, and the three of them could've been happy together. But you took that away from them when you decided to stick around. ~"

Tom listened to the voice with anguish, feeling like he just got kicked repeatedly in the gut. He took deep rhythmic breaths to stop himself from having a major breakdown; his head pounding, and his energy draining fast. Tom slowly untangled himself from his position, and fell back on the bed. He could barely muster up enough strength to grab the Dreamcatcher from his bed stand. It was only thanks to his fear of the dreadful nightmares that awaited him otherwise, that granted him sufficient strength to make the extra effort.

Grabbing the device and putting it into place inside his ear, Tom curled up on his side and waited for his energy to deplete entirely. Even the simple act of thinking has become too much of a struggle. His breathing slowed down, body shutting down, and the haze in his eyes turned foggy with tiredness. Tom released a faint sigh, and progressively drifted off.

His eyes closing, the voice had one last comment to make before he fell asleep.

"Wherever you go, you always bring misfortune with you. ~"

(Meanwhile…)

Despite the beautiful, sunny weather and clear skies that had blessed the town, a chilly breeze blew through the trees, rattling the branches and sending a few more dead leaves to whirl through the air. Dusk light filled the sky, and one spot on the horizon was flushed with pink and gold, showing where the sun was setting.

Watching the pretty scenery, Edd let out a soft sigh; shoulders sagging. He sat on a bench by himself a few feet away from a large pond, with a packet of seeds in his lap to which he uses to occasionally feed the ducks that swam around in the area. He'd been sitting in that exact location practically the whole day, doing nothing but lollygagging, just waiting for time to go by. At this point, he feels like he's become one of those crazy bird ladies with how long he's been sitting there; and rubbing his sore backside, Edd is pretty sure is ass just turned square shape.

Edd's shivers increased as hefelt pricking cold sensation sinking through his skin, and he snuggled deeper into his jacket. He rubbed his hands together against the freezing wind, and let out a breath to warm them further. With night fast approaching, the temperature will be dropping considerably. It's going to be a real hassle to sit out in the cold for much longer.

Stretching his limbs, Edd gathered his belongings and slowly rose to his feet. He threw away the last remnants of seeds into the pond, where the ducks happily gobbled it all down. Edd shoved his hands in his pockets with a tired sigh, and then looked around the park. There weren't many people out and about at this hour. A few couples with their kids, and some old folks strolling around, most likely ready to leave the park as well.

Choosing a random direction, Edd started to walk away, head down and hands in his pockets as the grass crunched beneath his shoes. He pulled out his phone to see four missed calls from Matt, and a few text messages, all of which say relatively the same thing: Where are you? When will you be back home? And the most frequent one, are you okay? Edd rolled his eyes and stuffed his phone away. He knew Matt was only trying to help, but sometimes he wished his ginger friend would realize he needed some time alone to clear things up; and being alone wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Ever since Edd was forced to accept the truth about Tom's passing, Matt has been constantly fussing over him. It was grating on his nerves to say the least.

He checked the time, and was somewhat relieved to learn it was only 6 PM. Edd knows he should be heading home straight away; but he isn't quite ready to go back to his apartment yet. He'd been sitting outside in that bench the entire day, trying to avoid his involvement in whatever fate is to be bestowed to Tom's vacant apartment and the rest of his belongings. Edd couldn't bear to witness the end, the true end, of Tom's existence. To stand by and watch whatever traces of Tom were left behind to be wiped away.

He managed to salvage Susan, at the very least. No way would Edd allow Tom's most prized possession to be taken away.

In any case, sooner or later Edd would need to return home. He was bored of sitting outside anyways. He even brought a notepad along with him to draw and pass the time, but Edd had no luck when it came to inspiration. All he could do was mindlessly doodle random things; which oddly enough, resulted in various drawings of pineapples and bowling balls.

Strolling out of the park and heading onto the street, Edd turned right and continued to walk, opting to take the long way home. He knew by now where this path would take him, but he doesn't intend on stopping by Winchester Park this time. Edd had promised he would move on from his grief, and it wouldn't do him good if he kept visiting the grave site every chance he got, so he started to lessen his visits to a minimum.

Edd walked, and kept on walking for a while. The places he walked past all seem like a blurry mess in his vision. Unfocused and unimportant. Edd barely paid his surroundings any mind, keeping his head low and his gaze fixated on the ground in front of him. However, once in a while Edd would break out of his trance-like state whenever he passed by something that stirred fond memories from within him.

A camera for sale that's on display in the window of a shop across the street caught Edd's eye. Instantly he remembered the time when Tom spent all of their savings into purchasing a video camera for them to create a film of their own. The film may not have been all that great in the end, and the camera proved to be more trouble than it's worth, resulting in them returning it; but they had so much fun with the project that it hardly mattered. Edd sighed wistfully. There won't be any more of that now.

As he walked, Edd continued to head down memory lane, both literally and figuratively; unaware that the path he walked was far more familiar then he first realized.

Months may have passed since Tom's passing, but the tightness in Edd's chest hadn't eased. Along with the good, fond memories of the times they spent together on crazy adventures, Edd often recalled the last time he saw Tom. Strong waves of guilt and sorrow would always take hold of him then. Edd couldn't forget how he had failed to save Tom. I feel as if nothing good will ever happen again. He lamented. His heart was so heavy he could barely carry it. Had I known that was the last time I would ever see him, I would've never tried pressuring him into talking. I should've trusted him to confide in us when he was ready.

Deep in thought, Edd had hardly noticed his surroundings have changed as he kept walking through town. Now he realized that he had left the busier side of town behind him and was trekking past a roll of houses in a quaint suburban area with a grass field stretching beyond.

Edd stopped in his tracks at the sight of the familiar neighbourhood. He didn't mean to end up here, but his feet had other plans in mind it seems. Edd's heart started to race. Just a little farther he could glimpse the scorch marks and charred remains of a house that is no longer standing.

Edd contemplated turning back the way he came. It wasn't too late to change his mind and race straight home, make some popcorn, and sit on the couch with Ringo to watch a film or something for the rest of the evening. He avoided coming to this place since the day they left it, and the memory that came from it was still too painful to recall.

However, even with that line of reasoning, his feet were still in motion; albeit at a slow pace. Something was luring him closer to the charred ruins. Morbid curiosity, perhaps?

Edd drew closer to the wreckage. Despite having been a whole year since the robot incident happen, he could pick up traces of the terrible smell of burning lingering in the air. Edd flinched, needing to pause for a moment with his eyes tight shut, as all the memories of that dreadful day came rushing back. He could hear Eduardo's anguished cries as he held onto Jon's body, and almost see Tom's scared face through the smoke as he shot him with a missile.

Forcing himself into motion again, Edd could see that most of the debris from the explosion had been cleared away, probably by the authorities. All that remained were a stretch of earth where the grass had burned away, broken bits and pieces of debris, and a crater where the house used to be.

Even though Tom was buried at Winchester Park, Edd felt closer to him here, the place where they shared so many fun moments together.

Unfortunately, it also carried the terrible reminder of his betrayal; though Edd tried not to think about him right now. Heck, to be completely honest he wasn't even sure if he is even alive. For all Edd knows, he could've perished in the robot crash after Tom shot him down, so Edd really has no idea what became of him. But it's not like he was ever curious enough to find out the answer anyway, even after Matt suggested they should check out the crash site. Edd preferred to keep his fate a mystery.

Edd raised his face to the sky and closed his eyes. It was as though he were drowning; it was hard to breathe. Something that felt as heavy as a stone sat in his chest, where his heart had once been.

I'll still mourn Tom, and I'll never forget him, but my life must go on.

Edd opened his eyes, and looked again at the leftover wreckage of their old home. "Stay safe." He murmured. "Wherever you are now."

As Edd turned away to leave this place, and go back home, a rumbling sound reached his ears. Edd froze, trying to identify the noise and the source of it. It sounded like a low pitched groan. Edd turned around, attempting to pinpoint where it was coming from when a slight movement among the wreckage caught his eye.

"Huh?" Curiosity pricking him, Edd kept his gaze fixated on the spot.

The pieces of debris and charred stone shifted aside, only to reveal a strange man lying among the ruins. Edd gasped in surprise. "What the-?" The question died away on his tongue, and he hurried over to help the stranger. He shuffled and side-stepped through the torn up wood pieces littering the place, watching his step as he reached the man.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Edd inquired worriedly, tugging one the stranger's arms to help him to his feet.

The strange man coughed, and a small cloud of dust and ash manifested around them as the shifting debris settled. "Y-yeah, I'm fine." The man looked up at him. "Thanks for helping."

Adjusting him to his feet, Edd gave him a good look. He didn't look like your average homeless man taking shelter. The stranger is a lithe man, with dishevelled blond hair, a stubble, chiselled jawline, and the greenest shade of eyes Edd's ever seen. The man in question is wearing a long, dark grey overcoat, jeans, grey fingerless gloves, and black shoes.

The stranger yawned, throwing his arms out in a long stretch. "Man, what time is it?" He asks, blinking blearily. His voice is slurred, and laced with what sounds like an Irish accent. He paused, looking at his surroundings. "Wait- Where am I again?"

Edd stared at the man in dismay. "Are you drunk?"

The man turned to face him. "Maybe." He drawled out.

Edd fixed him with a look of suspicion and placed his hands on his waist. "Right. Do you at least remember what happened before blacking out?" He asks, already used to being in this situation. Edd failed to not reminisce helping Tom out of the same predicament, and a pang of hurt stung his chest at the memory.

The stranger shook his head. "Last thing I remember was leaving the bar." He scratched the back of his head. "I thought for sure this was the way back-" He broke off into a coughing fit.

Taking pity on the disorientated and clearly hung-over man, Edd placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Here- I'll help you." He proceeded to sling one of the man's arms around the back of his neck and over his shoulders. He adjusted the man's weight, letting him lean against himself. "Alright, do you remember where you live?"

"I'm staying in a quaint, little hotel. Uh, Harrybrook I think it's called?" He replied sluggishly, his eyebrows furrowed as he wracked his fuzzy brain for details.

"Ah, I know where it is." Edd nudged him forward. "Come on; I'll take you there."

"Thank you."

Together, they left the semi-peaceful neighbourhood behind and made their way back to the busy streets. It was silent between the two of them. Edd threw occasional glances at the man leaning so heavily on him. The familiar action of supporting a half-drunk person with his own body as they walked through the bleak streets had Tom flashing in his mind. Edd recalled fetching his eyeless friend from bars after drinking too much with fondness. He remembered the countless times he had to practically drag Tom home and scold him for his reckless drinking. A sad smile formed on his face at the memory. At the time he'd always been irritated and worried. But now, helping this stranger, as weird as it is, made Edd realize just how much he missed doing this.

"So, you're staying in a hotel uh?" Edd began, unable to stay silent for a moment longer. "I take it you're not from here then?"

The man chuckled. "You got me."

"What are you here for anyway? This town isn't exactly known for its tourism." Edd prompted curiously, a glimmer of humour in his eyes. When was the last time he joked so freely?

"I'm here for business, actually." The stranger replied. "Things are looking up pretty great for my life."

"By getting completely plastered and passing out in a pile of ashes?"

The man paused for a moment, fixing him with a steady gaze. "Are you criticizing my life's choices right now?" His voice was deadpanned, but clearly not offended.

Edd shrugged with a cheeky grin. "Well what else am I meant to say to someone who is supposedly "working"?"

Now it was the stranger's turn to shrug. "Fair enough." He admitted. "But beer is too good to quit. Business or no business."

Edd chuckled, but then his expression turned sombre. "You should really be more careful of how much you drink; especially if you are in a place you are not completely familiarized with." He murmured. "This town is far more than dangerous than it may seem. You never know what can happen to you out here if you aren't in the right state of mind." Tom's death flashed in his head, and Edd had to stop himself from physically flinching.

The stranger scoffed. "Oh c'mon, how bad can this place possibly be? It's not even that big of a city-"

"Just take my word for it." Edd cut him off. He took a deep breath and sighed; exhaustion from the past few days taking a toll on him. "You could be killed when you least expect it."

The stranger eyed him with a mixture of weariness and curiosity. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but one look at Edd told him there wasn't much room for arguing, so he simply settled with: "If you say so." And left it at that. They returned back to silence for a brief while before the stranger laughed unexpectedly. Edd stared at him perplexed. "You know; you went so far to help me, some random drunk stranger, get back to his hotel room and yet we haven't even introduced ourselves!"

Edd realized with a start that the stranger had a point. "Guess you're right." He adjusted the stranger leaning against him. "I'm Edd Gold."

I know. "Fitzroy." The man introduced with a cough. "Reagan Fitzroy."

The sun has long since disappeared from the sky by the time they arrived at the hotel's foyer, and the moon and stars took its place in the pitch black night up above them. Reagan recovered half-way to their destination and insisted on walking the rest of the way; arguing Edd helped him out way too much already. Still, Edd hovered close to him in case he needed assistance again.

They climbed the steps to the main entrance, and the blond man turned to face Edd, breathing out a relieved sigh. "Well, here we are at last." Reagan extended his hand out to shake Edd's. "Thank you so much for the help. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it." He grasped the blond's hand in his own, and was surprised by the firm grip he was met with.

"No, really- I am super grateful for your help." Reagan insisted, his tone of voice deadly serious. "If it hadn't been for you, I might still be buried under all that pile of rubble. Heck, who knows? I might've gotten even more lost, and even mugged!"

Edd shook his head, beginning to feel flustered at Reagan's intense gratitude towards him. "It's fine, just, be more careful in the future okay?" He pulled his hand back and turned away to leave. "See you around!" He threw a little wave.

"Wait, Edd!" Reagan called out, halting Edd in his tracks. The brunet faced him with a raised eyebrow and a quizzical expression. Reagan shuffled in his feet, as if hesitant to continue. "I was wondering . . ." He paused, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"What?" Edd asked.

"Well, I've been thinking about what you said. How wandering around at night can get you killed if you ain't careful." Reagan replied. "I don't know this town all that well, so that got me thinking- Could you possibly be my guide during my stay?"

Edd was so surprised by the blond's unexpected suggestion, he couldn't speak.

Reagan went on. "I admit I've had trouble finding my way around ever since i got here. I won't stay in town for very long, and I could even pay for your troubles. If you could, I'd be eternally grateful for your kindness."

It was strange, but Edd felt an odd connection to this newcomer. Reagan had been found lost and alone in the place where his home once was. The same location that once held so many joyous memories, but now serves as a painful reminder of what was lost in that one, fateful day. His betrayal had put a bigger dent on Edd's relationship with his friends than he cared to admit. Things were shaky between the trio after that day, and Tom's death only worsened the condition. Perhaps, if Edd had been a better friend, both Tom and Tord could still be here with him today.

A sudden compulsion to help pricked every hair on his skin. Somehow, Edd thought, it would be like second chance at helping Tom, and this time, he could succeed.

"Alright, I'll do it." Edd said decisively, giving a curt nod.

Reagan perked up with a bright smile. "You will?" When Edd confirmed with another nod, his eyes blazed with glee. "Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You won't regret this, I promise! I will make this worth your while!"

Watching the ecstatic Irishman practically jump up and down in front of him, Edd had to stifle back the laugh of amusement that bubbled inside of him. Afterwards, they handed each other's contacts and went along their separate ways.

As Edd walked down the street and made his way back to his apartment, he reflected on the events that just took place. He felt good about his decision of helping Reagan. He felt better than he had in a long time. The short time he spent aiding Reagan made Edd realize just how reclusive he has become as of late. He doesn't remember the last time he genuinely laughed, or felt happy with anything. Sometimes he would smile or chuckle, but it has always been rather forced in an attempt to fool Matt into thinking he was fine. But what he felt back there was real.

Hanging out with someone other than Matt for a change might lead him toward the path of recovery. Edd felt a prickle of doubt and guilt nag at him at the idea. Matt is a good friend, and he is doing his best to console and support him; however, Edd can't deny that the ginger wasn't the best at subtlety. Matt tries to pretend things are alright when they really aren't, and when he senses Edd's overall mood, he tends to become overly "mother hen-ish". Most days Edd can handle, but other times, when he didn't feel particularly well with life, that kind of behaviour got under his skin.

Nearing his home, Edd braced himself for the earful he will undoubtedly hear from Matt; wondering where he'd been all this time, why he hadn't answered his text messages, and will probably try to lecture him in some way. But for once, Edd threw any worries he had out the window. His encounter with Reagan was invigorating in a way, and he wasn't about to let Matt dampen his mood. He shouldn't feel guilty about this! He is finally moving on!

After bidding goodbye to one another, Reagan remained on the steps of the foyer and watched Edd's retreating form fade in the distance. The friendly smile on his face slowly shifted into a sly grin. "So gullible." He chuckles under his breath.

It greatly amuses Reagan to no end how people can be so easily fooled by a pitiful individual in need; even if they are a complete stranger. No one would suspect a lost, semi-drunk outsider of having any ulterior motives. Admittedly, Reagan hadn't intended to make contact with his target this soon. It was by complete coincidence that he passed out in that wreckage after a night out drinking, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Reagan would take the opportunity presented and make the most of it.

Second step of the mission is completed- First interaction has been made. Reagan thought with satisfaction, taking out a notepad from his pocket and making a tick on it. Now it's time for the third step- Fully integrate myself into target's life.

I DID IT!

Holy shi- this took so goddamn to complete, but I am so heckin proud of how this turned out. Thank you guys so much for your patience, but I must ask you to wait at least two months before requesting for the next chapter. My finals are this week, I'll be graduating soon, and then I'll go back to Brazil for vacation. I already have bits and pieces of chapter 13 ready (and yes, Tord is back), but I won't be able to work on it until I am done with school.

I'll see yah all later! ;)