Chapter Three – From Dawn 'til Dusk

First appearance of Tanya, who appears in NRNR. If you don't know her, it doesn't matter. I'm just trying to persuade people to read my other stuff! Just to make a distinction here: when I say clairvoyance I'm using it to refer to the ability to tell an object or person's past and possible future from touching it, not the ability to see the future. I know they're usually defined as the same thing, but Stephen King's 'The Dead Zone' confused me prior to writing NRNR, and I thought I'd be consistent. They are usually treated as the same power, especially since most 'fairground seers' touch personal items to divine a person's future.

They rose with the dawn. Bradley hoped in vain this meant they'd get a lie-in in winter, but he doubted it. The stone floored room was cold and he was about to dress when a whistle went. Wearing Rosenkruez issue pyjamas, the boys trooped out of the room, carrying their day clothes.

They were told their timetable. Every day, the same. No weekends, no holidays. Wake up. Breakfast. General tutoring on their powers. Estet studies. Ten minute break. Psychic History. Half hour lunch. General education. Physical Education. Supper. Lecture in the hall. Own time. Showers. Bed. They would use the bathroom three times a day. Morning and evening was that accursed drain, lunch there would be toilets, but still no privacy. Bradley couldn't understand why they were so against privacy.

Breakfast was gruel. Nourishing gruel, but still gruel. Tasteless, slimy, cold, viscous porridge. Bradley forced himself to eat it all. Others couldn't stomach it.

General psychic tutoring consisted of an introduction to the various gifts and their general applications. They were split according to talent. Bradley was a 'passive mental', a group including post-cognition, pre-cognition and clairvoyance. Telepathy and telempathy were classed as 'active mental', but they were extremely rare and most couldn't project anyway. They were the yellow trim. The others were red trim, 'active physical', the telekinetics and pyrokinetics and healers.

Bradley found himself in a group of ten seers. Four were blind, he noted. Two were obviously insane. One was extremely weak. There were only two like Bradley within the group, both quite young. The visions had become really powerful for them yet. The two insane members of the group, and three of the blind members were all over sixteen. That was when they started hitting hard. All four of the blind members reported losing their sight as the visions increased in strength and potency. Bradley remembered how much he needed glasses, and prayed he didn't go the same way. He was quite attached to the visual world.

Then came Estet studies. More mindless propaganda and brainwashing. Bradley was getting a distinctly uneasy feeling about the organisation, especially when he noted the list of clients. All rich, all illegally so, many dead. They spoke of field teams acting as bodyguards and aides to these clients, keeping a close eye on their activites and doing whatever they asked as long as it was within Estet's guidelines. And as long as it didn't harm Estet, anything went. Including murder. Crawford felt almost relieved.

For the ten-minute break they were released into an open-air courtyard or concrete and stone. Bradley spotted a drain in a shaded corner and decided that it didn't matter who saw him, that he controlled his own body and he was going to do as he pleased. One boy had wet himself earlier, and he was still wearing the urine-soaked clothes. He'd be wearing them for the rest of the week, Bradley had discovered. That was definitely a deterrent.

A shadow loomed over him as he zipped up his trousers. "You ain't s'posed to do that," a voice growled. 'Wonderful,' Brad thought as he turned around, 'a stereotypical thug. He's probably got the IQ of a beetle and the build of a freight train.' He was pleasantly surprised. The boy was about the same age and height as himself, though he lacked the muscles Bradley had.

"Really?" Crawford smiled like a shark.

"You go when they say you go, first year. I heard about you last night, which means you've had your first warning." 'News gets around fast,' Crawford mused. This could definitely be used to his advantage, at some point.

"So what happens next?" he enquired, still smiling.

"I take you to a tutor, and you'll be punished." The image of the whip flashed through Bradley's mind, and he made a decision. One fist snapped out and delivered a blow, which, after years of boxing lessons, slammed into the other boy's kidney and sent him staggering backwards into the filthy brick wall.

"I'm not to be bullied," Crawford told him coldly. The smile was really unnerving the courtyard's other occupants as they watched the little drama. "I am an adult, and I will not to pushed around by petty children. I have killed a man for less."

It was a half-truth. He'd killed a man, his father, but it had been for so much more. Still it had the intended effect. As far as he could see, the other students would be no problem. He was taller, heavier and more muscular than almost all of them, having been in a serious minority when it came to healthy eating and regular exercise. He doubted some of them had ever seen a meal consisting of the four basic food groups in their life, at least not a whole plate's worth.

"Hello," a voice purred unnervingly close to him.

He didn't spin round. He didn't jump. He didn't appear to care that someone had managed to sneak up on him at all. Inside, his inner voice yelled 'shit shit shit! How the fuck did someone do that?'

"Good morning," he tilted his head to observe the person, a girl about a foot shorter than himself, swathed in cloth.

"I am Tanya." The voice carried a hint of a Russian accent. Bradley turned slowly, and found the image that presented itself very easy on the eye. She was perhaps a year younger than him, with soft brown hair cut in a bob and dark eyes ringed with perhaps a little too much eye makeup. He noted the shoulder length gloves and thigh high boots with interest, and the thick velvet scarf that covered most of her face was accompanied by a wide brimmed hat that prevented anyone getting too close.

"I am Bradley Crawford," he told her blandly, his voice carrying no hint of his interest in her.

"You are new?" the accent was exotic, and appealing. As he continued to look her over, he realised the only visible skin on her body was around her eyes.

"Quite."

"What are you?" Bradley frowned. Male? Caucasian? American? Atheist? About 190cm? "I am a clairvoyant," she explained enigmatically.

"Ah," he offered a polite smile. "I am a seer, it seems."

"You can see?" she frowned.

"I'm a little short sighted, but yes. I take it blindness is common among those with my talent."

"That or madness." She sighed. "So many lose the distinction between now and then. Walk with me?" Bradley fell into step with her as she began to lead him around the small area. "I am in my third year here. There are four groups per year. You're a winter, as I was. It depends what time they bring you in. Most students couldn't wait an entire year, and you can't join a year once it's begun, so they split it into four.

"There are four years here. You seem to have a good grasp on your gift, and know how to handle yourself, so I'll offer some advice. Suck up. Worship them. Worship Rosenkruez, worship Estet. Make it seem like the brainwashing has had a serious effect. They'll probably move you up a year. You want to spend as little time here as possible."

"Thank you," Bradley said, sincerely grateful.

A bell tolled. The scarf moved, and Bradley realised that Tanya was smiling at him. He smiled back, and trooped inside with his fellow winter first years. They were about halfway to Psychic History when it occurred to him he was still smiling.

* * *

Psychic history. More brainwashing. The glory of Estet. The glory of Rosenkruez. The glory of being one of a select few with a gift. The glory of what could be achieved with that gift.

And if you didn't pay attention you found yourself slammed into the ceiling. The telekinetic who taught was clearly weaker than several of the red students who joined them for this class, but it wasn't a demonstration that needed to be repeated more than once. Crawford took note of this.

Lunch was the same gruel as breakfast, with some limp vegetable's and a lump of bread. Bradley ate in silence, staring around the room. More people were eating than at breakfast, but there were less present. It didn't bode well. At one of the other cast iron tables, he spotted Tanya, obvious in her outlandish clothing. There were a few others with her, all wearing gloves and scarves, but none as covered as she was. Bradley guessed correctly that she was the most powerful among them. Crawford liked power…

General Studies was dull. It relied on the fact that most students had had a junior school education, which many hadn't, but had never got any further, as some had. Bradley listened to the European history with a faint interest, having focused on his own countries previously, but the maths was absurdly simple and he already spoke both German and English. Other students were struggling to write their own names.

The teacher was a harried looking old man, clearly displeased with having such an arduous task forced upon him, and soon recruited Bradley's help to teach the other students. It was a tolerable lesson, but Bradley was concerned at how much he enjoyed putting disobedient students in their places. He was beginning to notice a distinction between Bradley, the man he'd been when he'd killed his father, and Crawford, the man he would be by the time he left this place. However, he realised 'Bradley' would never survive this place while 'Crawford' would, and his innate self-preservation stopped him from contemplating that matter too deeply.

To his surprise, he enjoyed the physical education. They got to wear different clothes for this, shorts and rugby jerseys, and the cold air was invigorating. The games were interesting though, and Bradley found himself learning more about what they were being trained for from their subjects than from their teachers. Rugby, men's lacrosse, hockey… Contact sports, without padding. Cold, wet, muddy contact sports.

And then there were the indoor sports: boxing, wrestling, fencing and martial arts. As the year progressed they'd be taught different forms of each; drunken boxing A/N no blocking, just dodging, like in The Matrix. You see them uploading it into Neo's brain early on ^_^ Random fact! , Thai boxing, karate, judo, ju jitsu, aikido…There was also a lot of emphasis on track events, but not on things like shot put or long jump. So, fighting and running. Really useful life skills.

Bradley had an advantage over almost every other student, with his overachieving background. He'd spent years doing boxing lessons, played in every school sports team, been hunting with his father ever since he was ten. He went to the gym on a regular basis, and this routine exercise appealed to him. Of course, not everyone had this attitude, and the teachers soon picked him out and praised him. The most unwilling were beaten, in front of the other students. Crawford watched the blood sink into the grass in a detached manner as another unconscious student was carried away. Tanya's suggestion was extremely appealing.

Supper was different to Breakfast and Lunch, to Bradley's surprise. There was actual meat, though what kind was questionable, and the vegetables were still green compared to the earlier grey, and there were even potatoes, or possibly stones. Still, there was a desert. Semolina and jam.

Something in the desert spoke to Bradley, and he spent more time admiring it than eating it. It was traditional school dinner fare, affectionately nicknamed things like 'septic wound' and 'snot and blood'. It was cold, and slimy, and flavourless, but it was encouraging to see that this was a real school. Perhaps he would survive, if he played it carefully.

The bell tolled, signalling the end of supper, and Bradley marched with the other students into the drafty hall. The lecture was oddly similar to the one they'd received on the first night, glorifying Rosenkruez and Estet. Bradley resolved to listen to these and to think as they wanted him to, in case Mr May was nearby again. It wouldn't do to idolise his superiors on the outside and hate them on the inside, not with a telepath around.

As they left the lecture Bradley had a sinking sensation. Estet was for life. It took lives, it seemed, and it expected them to do the same. He wasn't certain he could square that with himself, not yet. Part of him reminded him of the power, the control he'd felt in committing patricide, but another part rejected that as a deep founded hatred of his father. Still, to take a life was to play God, in part. God gave life, and God took it away. It was power in its purest form. Of course, as an atheist, he didn't believe in God, and that some how made it worse.

Tanya was waiting for him, and Bradley gladly pulled himself away from these morbid thoughts to great her. The scarf shifted, and he guessed another smile. She gestured for him to follow her.

"During this time you're expected to do any work set," she explained, "but as a third year I'm allowed to detain you. I see you've already started doing as I suggested. Teaching could be interesting, you'll get to meet so many more students."

"Students?" Bradley gave her a humourless grin, "I thought we were inmates."

"Your sense of humour is to die for," she joked grimly. Bradley understood the none too subtle hint. "I want to explain more to you."

"Why? Why take the time out to help a lower student?" Bradley watched her closely. With most of her face hidden it was hard to judge her moods, but he was a fast learner.

"Call it an investment," she told him. "You have immense power, and if you do well expect me to share your glory. I have aspirations of becoming a team leader, and you'd be useful."

"No," Bradley told her simply. "You don't know me yet. I'll share neither glory nor shame. I will be no man's, or woman's, inferior. If there is power, I will have it."

"I see. We are alike, you and I." Tanya brushed his face with a gloved hand. "I brought you your glasses," she produced them like a magician.

"Thank you. It seems I am falling into your debt," Bradley accepted them and slipped them onto the bridge of his nose. He was delighted with the result. The world became clearer, sharper, and his eyestrain began to lessen almost immediately. He looked around like he was seeing things for the first time, which in some ways he was.

"I know," she laughed throatily, and Bradley found himself blushing. He wanted this woman like he'd wanted no one else he'd ever met. She had power.

"You were going to tell me something," he prompted awkwardly; aware that her laugh had prompted a reaction from himself that wasn't entirely welcome.

"Yes, I was, wasn't I? You're in a hurry to get out of here. Honestly, I don't know why it took them so long to find you in the first place, but I suppose you weren't making many waves. But you must understand, most never leave.

"What you see here in the school. But this is only a small portion of the building. The laboratories take up most of it. Most 'students' end up there at least once. You see, they still don't know what causes psychic powers. DNA is the most recent craze, I think. Many students become permanent residents.

"There are a few escape routes. You can work here, which means spending several extra years in another part of the complex to train. This keeps you from the laboratories, and many, many students do this. Most don't survive the training.

"You can become an agent for Estet, a bureaucrat, really. There's another part of the building for paper pushers, but many actually leave here. This is what I want to be. Get further into the system, and take control. It's badly run, in my current opinion. I could do better.

"Or you can become a field agent. Relative independence, but much severer penalties. You spend a year in practice on the field, then come back here for more training. To be a team leader, as you wish to be, requires another two years. You don't get to pick your team, but if they find people you work well with you can persuade them. You don't get to pick where you go, but if you speak the native language you're more likely to be picked. And you have no control over what you do. They will tell you, and you will do."

"I think the third option is the most appealing." Bradley had noted the arrogance in Tanya's tone that seemed to affect anyone here a long time. It was the brainwashing, really. Bradley had spotted a few flaws within the system as well, and he was willing to agree that Tanya could do it better.

"To many it is. There's a high turn over," Tanya warned, "and Estet has a wide influence. You could find yourself working with anyone from petty crooks to politicians."

"Aren't they the same thing?" Bradley smirked.

"Politics, Made from the word poly, meaning many, and the word tics, bloodsucking insects." Bradley laughed warmly, and Tanya laughed as well. There was a conflict within him, warning him that this place was terrible, and ought to be left, but also telling him that it wasn't as bad as all that. He had a suspicion that this was the 'Bradley' view and the 'Crawford' view, and he wondered if he wasn't on the way to developing some kind of split personality.

A final bell tolled.

"I will see you tomorrow," Tanya told him airily, sweeping away down the corridor and leaving Bradley to find his own way to the shower block.

* * *

Bradley lay on the bed, wet hair soaking through the pillow and the 'mattress' to drip onto the bare floor. There was silence throughout the dorm as others feared to so much as breath heavily. It seemed their third years were in a foul mood tonight.

Tanya flitted through his mind. He wasn't sure whether he ought to follow up this attraction, or try and repress it. He got the impression that romance was frowned upon at Rosenkruez. Still, she was helpful, and a little flattery could go a long way. It would be nice to see the rest of her face. He didn't dare contemplate her body as a whole, so out of his reach did it seem. That and the fact that it's a little awkward jerking off in a room containing forty-one other hot-blooded males.