Chapter 6
Wake me up inside
Wake me up inside
call my name and save me from the dark
bid my blood to run
before I come undone
save me from the nothing I've become
Bring me to life
I've been living a lie, there's nothing inside
-Bring me to life, Evanescence
Faint, Grimy sunlight crept through windows and cracks, giving a drab yellow tint to junk and furniture. Its dust-clogged fingers crept gradually upwards, letting a bar of dirty light fall across the face of a sleeping boy.
Kenichi blinked in the faint light, woken by the dull brightness. Staring around at the piles of scrap and junk, muddled, he wondered tiredly where he was. Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, he had a brief moment of panic, then remembered the exhaustion of the previous night- falling asleep at the table. But then... how had he gotten here?
Levering himself up, he found himself in unfamiliar clothes, a long white shirt hanging past his knees. Kenichi just stared for a moment. Looking around the room again, he saw his clothes folded neatly on a three-legged chair, propped up by bricks. He got out of bed, pulling off the long shirt and tugging on well-worn shirt and shorts, hopping on one foot. Had Myth brought him here?
Finally dressed, Kenichi poked his head around the door frame and saw no one. The sun was cool and thin in the kitchen, just enough light to see by. Kenichi picked his way carefully through the cluttered room, tripping and stumbling only five or six times.
The scrubbed table was empty, save for a plate with two slices of burnt toast, a cup of something that may have been coffee and a hastily scrawled note. Kenichi picked it up.
"Hi" it read, "I'll be back eventually. Left food for you. -Myth"
Kenichi stared for a moment. What kind of useless-? He sighed and shook his head, setting the torn paper down. Turning to the blackened toast, empty stomach grumbling, Kenichi made a face and nibbled a burnt edge. Better than nothing...
Cold...
Rock lay still, floating.
Why am I so cold?
He shivered. Had he kicked off his covers again? His room at the ziggurat was always unreliable- boiling alternated with freezing. Eyes leaden with sleep, Rock attempted to find the sheets- only to realize his hands were immobile. Still mired in inexplicable exhaustion- a fog like cotton behind his eyes- he didn't worry. Didn't even roll over. There was probably a perfectly good explanation, so why get upset? Shrugging as well as he could, Rock curled up and tried to go back to sleep.
It was some half an hour later that his eyes snapped open and he understood the full implications of the situation. Carefully, he tried to separate his wrists. They barely moved. Rock's ankles were securely tied as well. He was curled on a cement floor, back to an icy wall. Well, it certainly explained the cold.
Levering himself up with the wall and his bound hands, Rock was immediately crushed by a shattering headache. Collapsing to the floor, unable to think for the splintering needles of barbed light piercing a point just between his eyes, he pressed his forehead into the cold wall. What was going on? How had he gotten here?
Interrupted by the heavy sound of a bolt sliding out of place, Rock blinked. Blearily, he turned to the rest of the cell. Bare concrete, a battered table, equally battered chairs, and a rusty drain in the floor's centre. At least, Rock hoped it was rust...
Shaking his aching head slightly, he turned to see the reinforced steel door swing open. As his (captor? interrogator? guard?) entered, Rock was struck with a singular, absurd notion- Escape, though he knew it was impossible. He saw himself overpowering the guard, running out the open door- Though he could barely sit up on his own.
Belatedly, Rock came back to reality- scuffed brown boots a few centimeters from his nose. He flinched involuntarily as one moved, preparing for a kick that didn't come. Instead, a large hand seized him by the back of his shirt and pulled him to his feet. Rock wavered for a moment, vision blurring dizzyingly- his knees collapsed. He was only saved from a painful fall on his face by the arms supporting him. The arms' owner, however, wasn't so charitable and fairly dragged Rock to a scarred wooden chair. Pulling a pair of handcuffs from a hidden pocket, he firmly attached Rock to the construction. Still drifting, Rock bemusedly noted the chairs and table in front of him were bolted to the floor.
His captor sat down opposite him, calling out to someone beyond the doorway. Rock noticed his captor's appearance distantly- brown-flecked green eyes, ragged, dust-hued hair- but that was all he could see. The edges of his vision suddenly dissolved into a swirl of color, and Rock fought the absurd urge to laugh.
"So," said a woman he hadn't noticed come in, patched and ragged as the man, carrying a pitcher and two dented tin cups. She set them down on the table. "This really him?" she queried. The man nodded an affirmative.
"Yeah. Hard to believe this kid's a killer. Doesn't look like he could shoot a rat."
Rock felt vaguely insulted at several things in that sentence, but kept his mouth shut. He didn't think he could form coherent sentences just yet.
"But then," continued the man, "Atlas never looked very threatening either." The woman's response held a bit of a laugh.
"Sure, when he wasn't waving an Uzi."
Neither payed the slightest bit of attention to him. Rock felt his vision stabilize, bringing with it a spike of pain. He moaned faintly, attracting their attention.
"Well, well," smirked the man, "so sleeping beauty is completely awake at last. Wonderful." Leaning across the table, he rested his chin on clasped hands. "How's it feel to finally be on the receiving end, Marduk?"
Rock coughed, mouth feeling full of sand. "Wh- who are you?" he managed to creak out, "where am I?"
The woman cuffed him sharply. "We ask questions, not you." She looked disgusted as Rock blacked out for a few seconds, coming to with a groan. "Jesus, what'd you give him?" she said sideways to the man. Leaning forward, she snarled at the captive. "Filthy Marduk- I lost my sister to your police state!" She prepared to hit him again, but the man held up a hand.
"Now Dione- that's not your job. And you..." he said, thoughtfully, watching Rock, "you may as well know who we are- In fact, you've probably already guessed." Rock frowned, unhappily looking from one ragged form to the other.
"Well-" he hazarded, "I'm in zone one..." The man nodded.
"Correct."
"You hate Marduks-"
The man had pulled out a switchblade from somewhere and was playing with it in an intimidating manner. "Also true." He smiled predatorily. All the color drained from Rock's face. He suddenly found himself speaking with great difficulty.
"You-" he whispered, afraid, "you're part of the Metropolitan liberation front?" The man leaned forward, digging his blade into the gouged table.
"Give the man a prize, Dione," he smirked to the woman, "he's got it in three. Too smart for his own good."
Rock didn't pay attention to the words. He was in a kind of mute horror, having heard stories and read reports on the self-styled liberators. None ended well. There were the reports of robots literally torn limb from limb, minor skirmishes with police- But there were also the stories passed from person to person, third and fourth hand. There were the ones he'd heard back in the training days, Marduks not only murdered but ripped apart with slogans scrawled in blood for meters around. Beatings and bloodshed followed in their wake, they were demons and not really human at all- the list went on and on.
Rock could easily discount most of it, but there was simply too much to think it was all rumor. He shuddered.
"You can go, Dione," the man said, gesturing lazily. She exited, narrowing her eyes at Rock as if aiming a pistol, slamming the door behind her.
Now then," said the man, stretching his arms out behind him, "let's begin.""Stupid boy!" cried Duke Red, infuriated, "he is going to be severely punished when he returns- He'll be feeling it for weeks!"
Returning home, the Duke had been angry- political rivals asking stupid questions about the Marduk party- and needed someone to take it out on. With Rock out, inanimate objects got the brunt of his anger. The promise of Rock's punishment calmed Duke Red as well.
Hurling a clay figure against the wall, he watched it shatter into satisfying shards on the wood floor. The rough brown-painted head, intact, bumped to a stop against his feet. Picking it up, he realized with a pang that Tima had made this, so long ago. A misshapen bit of clay, meant to be her adopted brother. As he stood staring at it, an observer would have noticed the glazed look in his eyes- as if he were somewhere else. Duke Red carefully gathered the broken bits.
"Rock," he said sharply to the boy beside him, cleaned up and fit for presentation, "be more careful. I will not have you breaking my things. That vase was valuable."
The seven year old looked down at his feet, apologetic. "Yes, sir."
"And don't look at your feet! Look me in the eye!"
Rock looked up, as serious as a seven year old boy can be. "I will."
"Good," said Duke Red, "now you can be introduced to my daughter. You will stay with her when she goes out, and she will not come to harm or the punishment will be severe. Understood?"
The boy shuddered at something, possibly a memory of imprisonment. "Yes."
"Tima!" called Duke Red, "you can come and meet him now!"
Rock watched curiously as the bright-eyed, golden-haired girl rushed in enthusiastically. She was so different from the children he'd known- ragged and dull-eyed from hunger. She ran to her father and hugged him firmly around the middle.
"You got me a brother!" she cried happily, "can we keep him? I promise I'll take good care of him-"
"Calm down," laughed Duke Red, returning the nine year old's hug, "he's here to take care of you."
She frowned, indignant. "But he's littler then me!"
Rock watched the exchange with interest. If you were going to live somewhere, it was best to know the rules and personalities of those you'd be living with. The girl was already a possible friend to him and seemed kind, but the man was unpredictable. Best to stay quiet with this one- the quieter you are, the less you get hurt. Rock knew that from experience.
Suddenly, Tima turned and enveloped him in a crushing hug too. "Welcome to the family, little brother!"
Rock stiffened and flinched, trying to pull away. An animal moan escaped him at the contact and Tima let go. Rock backed away until he bumped a wall, arms wrapped around himself. "Please..." he said, "please don't..."
Tima was watching him, hurt, and Duke Red broke in. "I think he needs some time to settle in, Tima- Maybe you should talk to him later." He hurried her out, leaving Rock huddled against the wall.
Suddenly the scene blurred before his eyes, and Duke Red found himself standing in the living room, arms full of pottery shards. Blinking, he looked around at the room, details of the waking dream trickling away...
He looked down at the one last fragment by his left foot, a carefully-crafted red-painted arm decorated with a band of brown. It bent slightly at the elbow, white and broken just above.
Duke Red was torn between repairs and crushing it under boot-heel.
Making his choice, he gathered the shards and spread them over the smooth kitchen tabletop. Pulling a bottle of glue from a cupboard, Duke Red quickly had the little thing re-assembled. He set it on the counter to dry, feeling the thing's eyes watching, reproachful, as he sat at the table.
Calmed by the repairs, for the first time in years, Duke Red thought of Rock without anger. In fact, with a bit of worry. How long had the boy been gone? Even he should know not to wander the streets after dark. But then, the boy was a Marduk. Perfectly able to care for himself."Tell me."
"No!"
The sharp crack of flesh against flesh echoed in the dim cell. Rock felt his head snap to the side, tasted blood. Black spots danced in front of his eyes. Dazedly, blinking, he focused on the man occupying the cell with him.
"I ask you again," said the man, calm, "what is Duke Red planning?"
"Don't know," spat Rock defiantly, "and even if I did, I'd never tell you anything!"
The man casually backhanded him, looking thoughtful. "Never," he said, "is a long time in coming."
He got up, circling behind Rock. Flipping out his switchblade, he placed it gently on the pulse in Rock's throat. Feeling the razor-sharp blade, Rock froze, trying not to breathe.
"Feel this?" queried the man, thoughtful, "I hold your life in my hands. A little more pressure and you would cease to exist."
"A- are you going to kill me?" Rock whispered, aware only of the blade tickling his throat.
His captor removed the knife. "Of course not," he smiled, "that would be mercy. Do you know what's in store for you if I fail?"
Rock sat up as straight as his bonds allowed. "What do you mean, fail?" he said, more confident than he felt.
The man regarded him with strange eyes. "Fail to interrogate you properly. Your only consolation is we want you for ransom," he moved back to his own chair, "so we can't kill you."
"Ransom?"
The man smiled. "Oh yes, didn't you know? We weren't trying to get you. We wanted your father, but got the booby prize... Nobody wants you, not even him. So, you really don't know what Duke Red is up to?"
"No, I-"
"I don't believe you. We only need to keep you alive," he said, "how damaged you are doesn't matter, Marduk. Think on it."
And with that, the man called out, the door opened, and Rock was left chained in the dark cell. Alone with his thoughts in the damp, windowless gloom, Rock tried to do the opposite of the man's advice- but found he couldn't help but think of betrayal.Kenichi sighed and looked at the grimy, cracked window above the sink. It must be hard, he thought, to live here- Every building just waiting for a chance to collapse. Just like the people. He stood, deciding to check on Tima. The chair scraped away from the table and Kenichi went hunting for a door. There was his own, there was Atlas'... Ah. There. Behind a towering mound of junk lay an old door. He walked over and pulled it open, but found nothing more than a bathroom tiled with cracked linoleum.
Kenichi stepped out into the main room again, looking for more doors. There were only three, and he tried them at random, skipping his own. The first was locked, and Kenichi assumed it led outside. The second and last was Atlas', and Kenichi hesitated outside the door. Did he really want to see him again, so different?
He steeled himself and eased the door open, sending a shaft of light into the darkened room. Kenichi looked back and forth, spotting Tima curled up in a chair to his left, a blanket thrown over her sleeping form. He spared a moment to wonder how an android could possibly sleep.
Kenichi moved farther into the room, taking the opportunity to examine Atlas in more detail. He still lay on his back, hair loose and breathing softly, but now Kenichi could see the bluish shadows under his eyes, as if he'd not been sleeping enough though the opposite was true. His eyes moved rapidly under closed eyelids, and Kenichi wondered what Atlas was dreaming about. Hopefully not the last time they'd met...
Suddenly cold, Kenichi left, closing the door softly behind him. Picking his coat off a chair, he slid it on and closed it. Pulling a bit too hard on one button, a snap and ping was heard- the old, frayed thread had snapped. The button rolled off behind a sheet of wood. Frowning, Kenichi followed, only to pause apprehensively at the sound of soft rustles and squeaks. He crept closer, picking up a steel bar.
In one movement, he flung back the wooden sheet, only to be confronted by the biggest rat he'd ever seen, the size of a small dog! Panicked, Kenichi lashed out with the metal, sending the rat flying and squealing into a wall. He watched in morbid fascination as the thing writhed. Dazed, the rat got to its feet, glaring at Kenichi with malevolence. It chittered, sharp yellow teeth bared and bead-black eyes glistening. Kenichi flinched, and it leapt at him.
There was an explosion, and the rat flew into bloody scraps on the floor.
Kenichi looked at the doorway. Myth stood there, a gun still in hand, grimacing. "And all over my clean floor, too," said Myth lightly, tucking the gun back into a pocket. "Disgusting things. All my time living here, and I never got used to 'em." He walked out to the kitchen, leaving Kenichi staring at a brand-new stain on the floor. Shaking himself out of it, he ran after Myth.
"You saved me!" said Kenichi, "thanks."
"Couldn't let it eat you, could I?" he laughed, "not my little brother!"
"Little... brother?"
Myth grinned nostalgically. "Something with me and Atlas- we were head of a band of kids a long time ago. All the war orphans stuck together. We'd lost our families, our homes- all we had was each other. So we called each other brother and sister. Pretty soon, we forgot just who was related to who. All that mattered was the three of us kept the others safe."
Kenichi blinked. "Three?"
Myth's smile suddenly became a little forced. "Yeah, Me, Atlas and Theo. It was mostly Me and Theo though- Atlas wasn't much use until later on. At first he was too busy taking care of his real little brother, then he got all messed up after the kid disappeared..." Myth shook his head. "He sure made up for it later, though. A better leader we've never had. Theo's leading now, but we're not doing so well- the good old MLF's going downhill."
"What's the MLF?" asked Kenichi, confused.
"Er..." said Myth, "not important. So, did you manage to occupy yourself while I was gone?"