A/N: Sorry its taken me a while, I guess I'm not too consistent anymore with my updating. But between school and other things (life? What is that?) I haven't had enough time to sit and write. Uggh. Anyways, this chapter actually has some progression into the story… hope you enjoy!

Chapter 3

Bitterness was a strange thing. So was hatred. But… did No. 239 hate? What is the true meaning of hate? Is it too powerful a word for what he was feeling? Perhaps…

No. 239 laid awake in the early hours of the morning watching shades of orange creep from under the closed door, the events from the previous night floating without purpose through his mind. His masters had hurt him. Humans always hurt him it seemed. But they have a right to, they are his masters, he didn't obey orders… he deserved it. Or did he? Does that mean that he deserves to work for his masters? That he deserves to salve all day just to be shoved into this little room?

No. 239 shifted his sore body on the hard wooden floor; his masters should be waking up soon. And then what will happen? Will they send No. 239 to get revenge, to clean, work, carry…. Is this all No. 239's life will be? But what else would it be? Why is No. 239 disappointed…? This is all there is… isn't it?

Footsteps sound from outside the door. Please don't make me work, No. 239 thinks, I just want to open my mind, to think… But the footsteps don't approach the door. Quiet voices are heard, whispers… What is there to whisper about? More footsteps…

"Did you hear…?"

"Yeah, he just told me…"

"Soo…"

"It's good for us, more looting but…"

"Yeah, once he finds out…."

"Fuck, I'm not telling him…"

What happened? Without any restraint from his programming telling him not to think about his masters, No. 239 let his mind wander to the conversation and found himself interested. Who was 'he'? What happened?

But before he could hear any more conversation he heard a door smash open, thundering footsteps that made him leap to his feet, and shouts that could not be made out into intelligent language. Fear sweeping over, No. 239 pressed himself as far from the door as possible. The shouting continued, angry words appearing on occasion but most of the shouts were still nothing but meaningless noise.

"FUCKING.. WHERE THE FUCK IS IT!"

"Holy shit, calm the fuck down!"

"I'LL BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF IT!"

"Fuck off, we need it without damage!"

"DAMAGE, FUCK NO, I'LL KILL THE BASTARD!"

The door to No. 239's prison crashes open. One of his masters pauses for a moment outside of the small room, his tall ears pinned back, a long thin tail whipping the air. He lunges at the shocked No. 239, his hands grip hard onto the front of the mage's collar, long nails ripping at his neck.

"WHAT THE FUCK! FUCKING MAGES YOU KILLED EVERYONE!"

No. 239 body stiffens in fear as he is thrown from his room into the outside, light blinding, he crashes limply into the wooden floor as his other masters jump out of the way.

"Stop it! You'll break it!"

The master dives into No. 239, landing onto his stomach. Wind knocked out of him, No. 239 becomes dizzy and faint as fists crash into his face, the shouts ringing in his ears.

"YOU DIDN'T THINK YOU'D ALL GET AWAY WITH IT DID YOU? NO ONE KILLS A BURMECIAN CHILD AND GETS A FUCKING WAY WITH IT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU! MONSTER! DEMON! ..."

No. 239 tries to roll over, to stop the repeating pain to his face.

Attack…

His stomach becomes sick, his face felt like it would crack. Fear clings to his body, lying limp and helpless under the wrath of his master. Again. The shouts hold no meaning to No. 239, the pain growing and growing. His hands begin to shake…

"Fuck, stop it!"

"Fucker… Fucker! Fucking DIE!"

No. 239's yellow eyes open wide as he exhales, a strong power releasing itself from inside. The hits have stopped, No. 239's body relaxes, his breathing is heavy and his vision is hazy. But slowly the world sharpens in his soft eyes, as he looks upon his master. His eyes are opened loosely with a darkness creeping in; his mouth hangs open… he is not breathing. For sprouting from his torso in various places, long clear icicles emerge from the organs and ribs, all frozen and cracked.

Dumbfounded, No. 239 gazes at the corpse and wonders what happened. He didn't remember casting magic. He didn't remember being ordered to cast magic, or to kill his master. Nor did he feel a want to do so.

A different kind of fear washes over. A small noise escapes No. 239's lips as he struggles to escape the body lying dead upon him. A deafening silence surrounds him as he crawls from his victim and collapses like a rag doll. Vision becoming hazy again, a scream is recalled far back in his memory. A human child crying and screaming, a man lying flat on the ground skin scorched and melted, No. 239 standing without thought or emotion as his masters steal and laugh, the child screaming….

"Okay, you know what? We're getting rid of that fucking thing today."

"That was self defense right? It's not gonna…"

"How the fuck should I know!"

Drawn away from his memories by the bickering, No. 239 stares at the ceiling, a lump growing in his throat as he watching dust dance in the sunlight. Without instincts or programming telling him what to do, he lies there in shock. Remembering more, more killing and screaming, all due to him. Why?

A quiet voice which is given little attention insists on programming and purposes.

But there was no purpose to this. So… there was never a purpose at all.

"Fuck, man, just get that monster back in the storage…"

"Should we sell it now?"

"No, Burmecia's closer, looting first, then getting rid of the fucking mage."

Yellow eyes shining dully, No. 239 does not reply to orders. But it is more a lack of hearing that causes this. His lips shake and his body shivers, sudden memories rushing back. His masters drag him to the room. His eyes shine in the sun, absorbing the light, just as the door is slammed shut in fear.

No. 239 groans to himself. Between the pain inflicted from his master and the sudden memories, he feels exhausted and unable to continue on. No more work, no more orders, no more killing… But that brings him to thinking. His masters ordered him to kill, which was what 'revenge' had meant. Corpses piled up in his memory, digging graves, carrying stolen loot from the dead. People collapsing under his wrath, various spells danced through his memory, all fatal in the end. The screams were echoing in his skull. Over and over in his memories, spells of fire and lighting and ice, screaming and screaming and then the fatal drop of a human body.

But then, why was it a shock when he killed his master? Why did the others recoil in fear and disgust? They who had ordered him to end the lives of so many before… why is it suddenly turned around, why a change of heart so late in the game?

The ship shakes as the engine gives out for a moment. They were flying for a while without any notice, winds and mist whipping the sides of the ship. No. 239 lying on the floor, confused and suddenly so hurt, so angry.

His stomach curls as the ship descends, the sound of rain quiet obvious from inside. No. 239 eases his eyes shut as he listens to his masters disembark, the dragging of the corpse along the wooden panels, plotting for more loot. His 'masters' were heartless. No. 239 could see that clearly now.

Everything was quiet except the repeating beats on the rain. Eyes still closed, No. 239 thinks that he may like to sleep… but neither sleep nor dreams came to him. In the darkness of his mind an image takes shape, there is little to see, this place is dark too. Puffing sounds are heard within the walls of the mind, he imagines walking towards a door… it opens and lets in light and he emerges into strange but somehow familiar settings. Mist hangs low in the air as he takes bold steps; machines work everywhere with help of this mist, a moving platform of sorts is transporting eggs of some kind. Curious, he lets his mind carry him further into the factory. Through another passage of sorts he hears the collected murmur of human voices, marking and checking long boxes. A stab from the past burns inside as the mind turns away and instead settles on a machine… from this machine comes… him? No, not him… but many of him…Black mages lifeless and limp, spat out one after another.

His eyes burn with tears as he opens them. Free from his sudden memory, his breath quickens as he rises from the ground, thoughts and questions screaming in his head. He remembers! The factory… he was taken through to receive his staff from a box… So, humans make black mages. Humans make black mages! And they make them do their work, make them kill… and then hate and fear them? What sense did this make? Why… how could this be? Was that all he was? Is this all No. 239 is meant to be? And all the others?

Fear strikes deep into No. 239. Shaking, he grabs his staff from the ground and thinks for just a moment. I need to get away, he thinks, away from all humans.

Standing before the door now, he breathes heavy. Heart pounding somewhere, he sets his eyes on the door, subconsciously developing a plan.

Mist creeping in under the door. Rain pounding outside.

In a sudden and panicked movement, No. 239 bursts from the storage room into the once empty meeting room. Without hesitation he rushes to a shelf on the opposite wall, a bag somehow finds his hands as he empties the first aide kit inside, bottles and potions clashing as they fall. He rips a map down from the wall without notice and takes what's left of the food on the table. Bag suddenly full, he throws it on his back with ease, grips the staff and rushes out of the entrance and into the rain.

Whee! He's free he's free! But I wonder if it's a good thing? Anyways, those of you how have read Broken will recognize a character coming into the next chapter! Hope you all look forward to it! Can't be sure when I'll update though… Please leave a review and I'll love you for it!