Ciao!!!

Well… I guess I should explain a few things beforehand. This story, an Alternate Universe, is going to deal with sensitive subjects, which is part of the reason I have rated it 'PG-13'.That, and a little swearing- hey, I currently live in Germany, and they honestly swear a lot, so it's only natural I pick up the habit, right? I think everyone will catch what regime I am alluding to, and while I don't want to downplay anything I also don't want to paint a one-sided picture. So please don't flame me if something in this story does not meet your personal opinion about that particular part of history.

Also, I don't want to have to be all the way historically correct, which is why there is not going to be a name for the Camp, the Agency, or the Regime.

This is also a very personal story since it links to some of my family's past. Please bear with me if I get too opinionated, but tell me!

Last but not least, if you wish to discuss anything with me, or wish to help me along in writing this story, please contact me! I am very open for suggestions as I am still a young and inexperienced writer. And now… Enjoy the story!

Prologue Welcome to Camp Freedom

"Are you absolutely sure this is your last word?" The piercing, dark brown eyes of his superior bore into his with an uncanny ability to detect even the slightest hesitation. The young man sitting in front of the massive oak-wood desk softly sighed. His long-fingered, fine-boned hands rested on his lap, twitching ever so slightly at the question. His eyes shadowed by the curtain of his bangs he nodded.

"Yes, Sir. I feel it is the only way I- can be of any further service, that I do." A voice so soft it made the steeliness underneath almost completely undetectable.

"Very well then, it is after all a plan that, crazy as it might sound, could succeed, and you're just the one to be able to pull it off since you're the only one as skilled who speaks the language of the Regime. Now as to your plan and what was before… To be honest, after your partner's death I didn't even think you would come back, yet you went on as if nothing had happened. I wonder how you did it… Anyways, I understand your wish to move into… a different line of work. However, this mission you suggested is almost certain suicide!"

One of the man's hands left its resting place and wearily brushed back his bangs, revealing tired, amber eyes swirling with a touch of violet underneath the surface. His superior's gaze never once left his gaunt face, any twitch of any muscle being registered and analyzed as though he hoped to find some weakness. The shadows enhancing his hollow cheeks seemed to deepen as the young man clenched his jaw.

"I know the risks involved in the operation. However, I think it is of the utmost importance that we not leave any of us behind, that I do. And for one like me, it would be… more rewarding to…"

"To save someone for once? I cannot say I do not see the reason behind your decision, but- and I will enforce this point, as long as necessary- we cannot afford to lose you. You're the only one capable of doing your job, and I will have you back here in one piece, understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" Throwing a military salute the younger man got up from his chair. His superior chuckled lightly.

"Just make sure you come back and bring her with you, my friend." The older man rose gracefully and offered the leaving agent his hand for shaking.

"I will," the agent, who in comparison to his superior looked more like a little boy than the hardened man he was, answered and a small reassuring smile touched his lips. "I have never failed you, and I will not starting to do so now, that I won't. Besides- you know who would have my hide if I did so, that you do."

"That I do," chuckled the larger man and let go of the other's hand, "that I do, and I do not wish it upon you- or me, as a matter of fact! Now, you know my secretary, just tell her what you need and set off whenever you're ready. Time to show those bastards that nothing ever is 100% certain."

"Yes, Sir!" The agent turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, his graceful movements seemingly blending his slight figure into the shadows.

"I hope you can pull this off, my friend. Your plan must be the craziest venture the Agency has ever seen… Forgive me for being concerned…" He thought of how ill the young man had looked. His body had never had time to fully recover from the horrible condition it had been in after the unfortunate incident in which he had lost his partner. Demanding to be put to work immediately after leaving the hospital no one had been able to refuse the haunted, distraught eyes, and, to his shame, he had to admit he had been desperate for the agent to come back to work. So, after only a month's time of rest, the agent had once again carried out the most impossible tasks and most daredevil missions- until he had come up with this new plan involving freeing another of their agents, captured in the line of duty and imprisoned in one of the infamous Camps. At first, everyone who had a say in the Agency had shunned the plan, but after a few talks with the agent they had come to see that his crazy idea just might work. And now he had been sent out to accomplish what was deemed too impossible to even think about…

Sighing softly to himself, the tall, brown-eyed man returned to his desk. Better make sure at least all the logistics were done… in case his agent might need some last-minute measure to aid him….

The dreary rain never seemed to stop in this part of the world. Softly veiling the hideous, wooden buildings from the observer's view it pounded its everlasting rhythm into the dirt road, turning the one path running from the camp to the working area into a treacherous mudslide. The young woman sighed and dragged blistered feet through the ankle-high, viscous substance. Rest period was a long time off, and even though she hadn't slept a wink the last night thanks to the biting cold and the thunderous sneezes and snores her 79 roommates gave off it didn't mean she wouldn't have to work her 16- hour shift like everyone else.  The only one who would notice she was half asleep was her assigned working-partner, and that only because the young woman would be a little slow in her work today. Nobody really cared what became of those interned in a Camp, and nobody aver asked.

The young woman's foot caught on something hidden beneath the murky, watery surface of the muddy road, and with a small cry she pitched forward upon meeting unexpected resistance, sleep-deprived body to slow to shift and regain its balance. Bracing herself for the hard, cold impact that was to come she closed her eyes- only to find that there was no impact. Instead, she felt a heart beating against her cheek, and the warmth of another human being radiating through her small, malnourished and overworked body.

"You should watch out where you step!"

The voice was sharp yet pleasant in its precise intonation of every syllable. The young woman opened her eyes to steal a glance at her rescuer. Dark-brown orbs narrowed in annoyance met her own, but the other's gaze was quickly averted.

"Thank you," the young woman said, flustered, and tried to brush her rescuer's hands off her body just as she was twisted around forcefully and set onto her path once again. She heard a small gasp escape the other's lips the moment the distinct sound of a hard object meeting flesh reached her ears.

"I'm sorry!" she whispered as the unknown brown-eyed woman released her hold on her, letting her go but still shielding her.

"No need to be so." She met the taller woman's gaze once again for a moment before the Guards separated them.

"No talking, no holding up the line. MOVE!" The guard's flexible bludgeon struck her own body this time, making pain shoot from her lower back where she had been hit, but except for a slight narrowing of her dark blue eyes he got no reaction from her. She was, after all, used to this treatment already even though this was only her third week in the Camp.

Picking up her pace she stole a glance backwards over her shoulder to see the woman who had helped her moving along with her own colonna of mud-covered 'workers'. Her long hair was black and straight, flowing down her back even though she was as dirty as everybody else, and in spite of the mud clinging to her and dragging her down her movements radiated graceful elegance.

The young woman sighed. No wondering about mysterious strangers saving her from being submerged in nasty and cold mud when a full shift of sorting through the stuff while searching for precious stones still lay before her.

As she trudged along behind the bowed back of the woman in front of her she caught sight of another 'delivery' arriving at the Camp's entrance. People being herded through the wrought-iron gates topped by barbed wire, people sentenced to a life of torture, people being treated worse than cattle. People whose hope was stripped from them with the last of their own clothes as soon as they entered the gloomy hallway that led away from life and freedom and into the Camp. Usually, their eyes were downcast, their pale, dirty faces already shadows of what they had once been, but on this transport something seemed different. Most of those stepping from the cattle truck that had delivered them to the Camp held their head high, and some even had pride and dignity within their shuffling gait. The men and women on this transport somehow had not been broken by the horrid experience of deportation, had somehow survived with their personality intact. One by one they filed through the forbidding gate, being forced to shed even the last remainder of their life before the deportation. They were lucky not to have their heads sheared, normal procedure called for that but as with her own batch of  'workers' these lucky individuals got to keep their hair.

The young woman stared a moment longer at the children that now passed through under the guidance of a slight-built young man with hair like flames. The children seemed cheerful, a few of them even smiling as their birdlike little voices drifted across the rainy field to the young woman's ears. A guard stepped into her line of view, an she once again concentrated on putting one foot before the other just like she had seen the newcomers do. Her thoughts dwelled for a moment on the redhead with the children. He had seemed too kind to survive in an environment such as the Camp- but wasn't that his own problem? If she ever started worrying about others in the situation she was in she would soon self-destruct, that was one thing she had learned on her very first day in the Camp, and one thing she had never forgot. Though she sometimes wished it were different, especially after seeing someone like that redheaded boy lending all of his strength to those who needed it more than him.

Now don't get sentimental, she chided herself and shuffled closer to the woman in front of her, using her back as a shield against the elements. The chain link fence enclosing the working area came into view, and the young woman wearily let her head hang down and resigned herself to 16 hours of shifting through mud under the rainy skies.

The agent stared up at the gray sky into the drizzle that had already managed to plaster his long bangs to his face. He felt completely miserable and cold, soaked through to the bones and clad only in the too-big, rugged tatters of clothing that were the Camp uniform. The once white, now beige garment was too lose on his small frame and offered little protection against the merciless onslaught of wind and rain. He suppressed a sigh, and instead concentrated on smiling for the sake of the children that clung to him like his wet bangs clung to his cheeks.

"Are we going to play now, Uncle?" a little girl asked, her chirping voice out of place in the gloomy atmosphere of the Camp.

"I'm terribly sorry, we can't," the agent replied, smiling down at her.

"Why not?" The girl insisted, her fingers holding his in a vice-like grip.

"We are to-" he couldn't finish his sentence as a bludgeon, coming out of nowhere, hit his midsection with enough force to leave him doubled over and breathless. Some bruise this is going to be, the agent thought, grimacing against the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

"No talking. You-" the bludgeon, the only thing the agent could see from his position, jerked to the left side before nudging him in the ribs, "- go there. You- " a rough hand grabbed the small girl and jerked her away from the agent's grasp, "over here. Now move!" The agent glared at the guard while clutching his ribs that seemed to have been set on fire. His defiance, however, didn't go unnoticed and earned him yet another jab to his injured side. Gasping for air the agent let go of the little girl's hand and moved over to stand with the rest of the adults while the child, wailing for support, was pushed to the right side with the other young children.

The agent stared at the suddenly miserable child, his eyes narrowed to slits. How could anyone let things such as those happen? How could people aid in cruel acts like this? How could anyone sanction a behavior like the one of those guards' who, without shame, leered at the women as they were forced to undress before everyone's eyes? He would not hesitate to give the fight against that regime his all, he would, at all costs, put a stop to the inhuman Camps- at least, he would do his share of fighting against the regime that threatened the freedom of people all over the world. Even if it came down to only himself- there would be no predominance of brown uniforms in the world, never ever!

Feral rage flickered into his gaze, and for a moment he seemed more intimidating than the machine guns on the watchtower guarding the Camp's perimeter. Yet the moment passed unseen as he once again schooled his features into an expressionless mask. It would not further his mission if he acted out of place…

So this is where we're supposed to sleep. The agent took in the barrack's interior with one sweeping gaze. Rough wooden walls with more holes than protective material, cots that were barely big enough to fit his small frame, blankets of moth-eaten, damp cloth, non-existent pillows and, of course, not even enough space to turn around once. 80 people thrown into a room that should only be able to accommodate half as many, 80 people and no windows. The air was cold yet stale, carbon dioxide the predominant component; at least it seemed so to the agent. The beds, three stories high, looking as though they were going to collapse as soon as the weight of any person settled upon them, yet they should hold six.

The agent moved forward, being pushed by the rest of the 'workers' that filed into their new home. By order of the guard, all movement stopped once the last prisoner had cleared the buildings threshold, and with half an ear the agent listened to the rules they would have to obey. 18 hours of work a day for the men, they would be responsible for making and cleaning their beds. Two meals, one at dusk, the other once the shift was ended. No taking working clothes into the barracks, no saving food. Orders from the guards were to be obeyed; else the offender would be punished. No talking unless ordered to. No moving around after curfew… the agent tuned the guard's raspy voice out after this. It was like under every oppressive system: keep them under control, no matter what. The only difference was that this oppressive system had perfected logistics for getting rid of troublemakers and others they deemed 'unworthy of living'. The agent grimaced. Unworthy of living… in all his years with the agency, throughout his many missions that for the most part were to kill certain people he had never once seen someone as 'unworthy of living'. A danger to others, maybe, deranged criminals without whom society was better off, yes- but never once had he not regretted taking a life, never once had he displayed the carelessness they did.

"Take the outfit on the bed in front of you and change into it," the guard ordered. Rustling movement erupted all over the place; shirts were shed as the sturdier, washed-out blue material that made up the new outfit was donned.

"This is your working outfit," the guard droned, "you will wash it every day after work and keep it in the shed that will be assigned to you this evening. Rupturing or loss of any part of this will result in punishment. Now leave your dormitory in single file, you will be taken to your working area immediately."

The agent managed not to be caught up in the frantic shuffle that ensued once the guard had finished, instead, he almost casually strolled out of the barrack musing how anyone could use this many euphemisms in a few short sentences. 

Outside, the heavens still shed their tears upon the harsh, tundra-like landscape in which the Camp was situated. The rows upon rows of barracks were rising out of the semi-darkness like ghosts, silence prevailed except for the occasional harshly barked order. The agent tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach that his mission was going to be even more complicated than he had imagined, after all, how should he find a single person among the thousands interned? He could spend months without ever catching as much as a glimpse of the missing agent, and by then either he himself or the missing one could already have succumbed to the Camp conditions and died. What if the one he was trying to find was already dead?

He shook off those thoughts as he walked a well-worn, muddy path through the Camp, the back of the person before him the only thing he could see since straight ahead was the only direction the 'workers' were permitted to look into. He himself had come up with this plan, and he would carry it out no matter what. Never again would the Regime steal another agent from the Agency, this was what he had vowed to prevent by the death of his partner. Never again would he hold a dying body in his arms knowing it was his fault she was dying, knowing that he could have prevented her death if he had only been a little more perceptive, a little faster…

"Move!" the guard walking beside the colonna of 'workers' barked, slapping his bludgeon against his back. The agent hid a glare as he sped up, thoughts of the past forgotten as he had to concentrate on the present. He found himself staring at the iron entrance gates of the Camp. 'Welcome to Camp Freedom' large black iron letters spelled and he couldn't help but wince at the arrogance those words proclaimed. Arrogance- and a general disregard for every single value of humanity. The agent once again felt the anger rise within him, and fought to keep his cool. There was nothing he could do right now- but if his plan succeeded…

He walked on in silence.

Mud. They were to carry impossibly large buckets full of mud from the mining site to where the women sat before long troughs shifting through it in order to find the precious gems that were hidden inside it. Not only was this a gruesome, back-breaking task, but it was also one that was made infinitely more difficult by the narrowness of the slope leading along the deep hole in the hillside that was the gem mine and the slickness of the path winding along the slope. The agent strained under his load of two buckets as he carefully navigated the steep hillside. Soon, he had cleared the most difficult part of the way and, following the man before him, started downhill towards the hollow tree trunks into which they would dump their load so that the women and children cowering before them could search through it for the treasure.

Muscles slightly tensed in apprehension the agent gazed into the distance. Are you there … Takani?

Now that was a confusing prologue, wasn't it? At least we got to know the identity of the missing agent, ne? Well... I can't say it will get better in the next chapter, and probably also not for the one after that. But please be patient- I will clear up all the mysteries and I will explain everything in time! Please, help me write better by leaving a review since I am not yet an experienced writer! Thank you and Cya!!!

Chibi-chan