Thank you for all reviews so far! Few things:
Quatorze: thank you for pointing out (a) my mispelling of Rosenkreuz. It'll probably continue for a bit, until I get used to spelling it the right way, but it ought to change. It's probablynot the only daft mistake I've made! Also, thank you for pointing out (b) that Ute was a woman's name. I got it from the front of a German dictionary (put it this way, it was that or Adolf). Let's say it's the reason Hertz is such a bastard, the fact he's got a woman's name. Evil parents! He'll just be Hertz from now on anyway.
Blue Silhuette: thank you!
Yami no Tenshi: I'm guessing you're not English, as yes, you're right about the interpretation, and it's not an uncommon phrase over here. ^_^ There's probably going to be a lot of colloquialisms, so speak up anytime I start writing complete nonsense!
Bradley had been an only child. He'd never had to share anything. He'd hated the loneliness, but now he craved it.
They'd arrived in Germany and set off on a long drive. A very long drive. With no stops. Most of the way across Germany. No matter how good Bradley's geography was, he couldn't work out where they were. He'd sat in the limo, polite and silent and slowly getting more worried.
They'd arrived, finally, and he's asked, quite politely, where the bathroom was. The look he received had frozen him in his tracks. He'd been led through what seemed like (and, he found out later, actually was) miles of identical grey corridors with plaster boarded walls. They'd arrived at a pale metal door, which Crawford had gratefully assumed was a bathroom, to find himself shoved into what might be termed as a bathroom in England, but had not been what he'd meant. A busty woman, again wearing a charcoal grey suit, shoved him into what he realised was a shower cubicle.
When he was younger, he'd enjoyed watching Charlie's Angels'. In one episode, they'd ended up in prison. They'd been showered and sprayed for bugs. As he stared down the row of cubicles, which allowed both him and the woman nearby to see everything, he began to wish he'd actually gone to a real prison. His mind was throwing up images of what he was going to go through in the next few months, or maybe even years. Real prisons were regulated, were policed.
The water came on with no warning. It was icy. He glowered at the tiles as shards of ice pelted his still fully clothed body. He ducked suddenly. A whip cracked over his head.
Take off those clothes, a voice barked in German. Crawford wanted to tell her exactly what she could do with that whip, but he took off his clothes without protest. He knew what would happen if he didn't.
Looking along the row of showers, he saw several other students of mixed sex. A girl had her arms wrapped around herself and was crying, a boy was making the water turn to steam, another girl was refusing to take her clothes off. Suddenly a boy stepped into the cubicle next to him. He was naked already, and noticed Bradley looking. He wriggled his hips lewdly.
Bradley looked away. He didn't blush, but he made it obvious he didn't want to see what the boy was clearly trying to show him. Except part of him did. Of course, this boy was younger than he was, perhaps fifteen, sixteen? But there had been other men, men at the boxing matches, who'd made him think similar thoughts.
You want fun, ja? the boy grinned. Bradley re-estimated, thirteen, probably. Far too young, really.
No, thank you, he said coolly, concentrating on washing himself.
You know Greg? the boy asked, hope lacing the nasal voice.
Brad paused. Could he mean Gregory May? English, ginger? he asked. The boy nodded. He was leaning over the waist high cubicle wall and giving Bradley appreciative leers. Orange hair stuck out in all directions. He was pitifully thin and badly sunburnt. He brought me here, Bradley told him. I haven't seen him since.
I here long time, the boy told him conversationally. He nodded, as if he expected Bradley to have the faintest idea what he was on about. he sighed.
There was a snap as the water went off, water hissing down drains. The woman gestured for them all to step out of the showers. The girl who'd refused to take her clothes off had disappeared during Bradley's conversation, and there was a streak of blood in the drains.
Bradley actually had some idea of what was going to happen next, but his new companion seemed horrified as they were sprayed.
[trans – What?!] he yelped as the cold spray doused him.
Bradley correctly guessed. The redhead looked insulted, and started yelling at the woman.
The whip cracked out. The boy screamed as it bit into his shoulder, drawing blood. He kept screaming. He was dragged out of the room with his hands over his ears, screaming and shrieking like his world was coming to an end. Bradley couldn't understand what had elicited such a violent reaction.
The sexes were separated then, lead to room where their heads were shaved and piles of ill-fitting uniforms were handed to them. Bradley stared at the grey cloth, folded into neat piles that filed his arms. This was a prison, not only of the body, but of the mind. There was no control to be had here, no power; just rules laid down by petty minded individuals who had suffered the same at the hands of a previous generations individuals.
He dressed in silence, noticing his fellow students were considerably younger than him. The youngest he'd seen had been the boy in the showers; the eldest after himself was perhaps sixteen. They were led to a hall and made to stand in stiff rows. Bradley noticed the trimming on the uniforms came in three colours, blue, red and the occasional yellow. He was a blue.
a voice boomed from the front of the stone hall. This is Rosenkreuz. It will be your home for the next three years, and possibly much longer. We will train you to control your powers, to control yourselves and to control others. Check, check and check,' Crawford smirked inwardly. You have been taught to believe you are freaks, that you are outcasts, that you are unfortunate. We are here to tell you that you are the most fortunate people o the planet! You are superior to the race that spawned you! You have power. Do not be afraid to use it against those who would have used it against you. Here, there are no crimes.
However, there are rules, and if they are broken there will be swift and strict retribution. Do as you are told, and you will become an integral cog in the Rosenkreuz system. Do otherwise, and you will become a spanner in the works. If you find someone else doing something against the rules, report them! We strive to make the world better for ourselves and people like ourselves. The rules help us achieve that aim. Those who break them are a menace and will destroy us all!
You are wondering, what are these rules? There is a strict timetable here. You will learn it as you go along. You will only be guided to each class once, you will only be told each thing once. You will not harm an older student, you will not harm a teacher, you will not harm Estet.
Crawford tuned out the rest of the brainwashing propaganda and contemplated those three key points. Older students could harm them, teachers could harm them, Estet' could harm them. It was survival of the fittest. He could cope with that, he enjoyed a competitive atmosphere. It saved competing against himself. He assumed Estet was the company for which they were being trained. The word hung heavy on the tongue, and made Bradley think of storm troopers and death camps. Was this his Auschwitz?
The speaker droned on, spouting more intolerant rubbish. Words like spawned' reminded Crawford that they really were superior to mere Homo sapiens, but those in charged seemed to take it as an excuse to disregard the race. In Crawford's mind, they could not be underestimated.
After you leave, you have two choices. Remain here and become part of the Rosenkruez system, or work in the field. Field operatives have many duties, often bringing in new recruits. If you are deemed worthy, you will fall under the control of Estet, our parent organisation. There your eyes will be opened to a new world of possibilities, tailored to suit your talents.
Field Operatives? Free from Rosenkruez. This was what Crawford had seen for himself, head of a small team. Power over a select group of individuals. The potential for reward and for promotion. For greater power.
* Listen! * a voice commanded, shattering his concentration. Mr May was watching from the other side of the hall. *Watch, * it insisted.
Crawford watched. The man at the front strode up and down, and finally Bradley recognised him as Herr Hertz. His head began to throb. He regretted not listening harder. This was going to be his life, this was going to be his glory! The glory of Estet would be his glory, and
Propaganda. Brainwashing. Hypnosis, maybe. Crawford kept control over his mind, and he began to recognise what the Englishman had earlier referred to as mental shields' locking in place. He was no fool. He was no puppet.
* * *
Bradley surveyed the dormitory. They'd been made to go to a public bathroom earlier, a drain, really. He hadn't gone, neither needing nor wanting to. He had no intention of baring anything in front of twenty-four other boys. He was an only child, so-called modest', never sharing a room, never sharing a bath. He didn't want to be surveyed by prying eyes, like those of the redhead from earlier.
The dormitory held fifty, it seemed. Twelve bunks along facing walls and a single bed at each end. First years took lower bunks, second upper. Two third year prefects policed the rooms, one in each single bed. This room was reserved for blue males, it seemed.
The filed in, each allocated to a bed, and told to lie down. Crawford hadn't realised how tired he was until he was horizontal but he doubted he'd get much sleep. The mattress was a cotton pallet, the pillow only a pillowcase, and a single blanket for warmth. He could feel the slats of wood through the padded cotton.
Second years marched into the room. There were considerably less of them. Fifteen, Bradley estimated sleepily. A boy of about fifteen took the bunk above his. His skin was sallow and his hair greasy, and he winked at Bradley. Malicious vindictiveness oozed from every blocked pore like an oily fish. It occurred to Bradley to wonder exactly how long it would take for liquid to soak through one of these mattresses. Judging by some of the other boys' nervousness and backgrounds, he figured he'd find out before long.
He regretted his thoughts. He regretted not taking advantage of the drain. Still, he figured he could find his way back there. He'd been in bed perhaps an hour when he decided it was worth testing this theory.
The moment his foot his the floor he was blinded. A third year stood over him, glowering.
Where do you think you're going? He was probably the same age as Bradley, blonde hair curling around Grecian features, like a statue of Heracles.
To the bathroom, Bradley told him coldly.
he gave his fellow youth an incredulous stare.
You had your chance. You will not leave this dormitory, you will not leave you bed, until tomorrow morning when you are summoned to prepare for lessons. Understood?
I need to use the bathroom, Bradley stated. He could feel the room watching him.
Well, you ain't going to the bathroom, yank. Less you want to find out first hand how fast liquid goes through these pads. The boy shoved him back on to the bed. Consider this your first warning. We ain't usually so generous, but this being your first night an' all
The light went out. Bradley lay down again and thought of other things, but getting no sleep.
