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Chapter IV: For the Damaged Instruments
Give a man a mask
and he will show you his true face.
~Oscar Wilde
Xehanort hated the sky.
Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from it.
Certainly, were he to truly will it, he could tear himself away. He could turn and march off the balcony—one of many that jutted out from Hollow Bastion-and back into the warm light of the room behind him, where his brothers and father talked. He could return from the brisk chill of the evening and intermittent light of Radiant Garden below and into the comfortable and bright interior of the Bastion.
But the stars ever pulled at him, and he hated them for it. They were ceaseless reminders; nagging voices mocking his limitation. They were the living manifestation of the half-remembrances of a life that eluded him: literally and figuratively out of reach. The stars were alike to his memories, both the worst kind of mystery, for they were each hopeless. He would no more ever reach the stars than he would ever recover his own memories, his identity; who he was before Ansem found him a shivering youth at the castle gates.
Perhaps that was why he had thrown himself so fully into the sciences of his father, he mused, driven to surpass the knowledge and excellence of Even. Science was knowing. Science was understanding. Perhaps a part of him hoped that in science, he would finally find the certainty that he sought; some answer that would fill the gaping hole that was his identity. Something that would rescue him from the torment of the constant déjà vu.
Everything felt relived; everything reminded him of something he couldn't remember. It was like a splinter he could not remove, or a face he couldn't quite place that kept haunting him in the crowd. He'd see it and turn, only for it to have vanished. There was never rest or relief, just the eternal vigil of looking for something he didn't even know the shape or name of.
And so Xehanort accepted the taunt of the stars, hardly noticing how his grip upon the stone balustrade was turning white. They were his most ceaseless torment—yet, he could not tear himself away from them. He couldn't help but scowl as he considered that he was like a pathetic child, whipped and beaten by his parents, only to crawl back to them hoping for some small kindness.
"Xehanort!" his father called, "Come say goodnight to Kairi!"
Xehanort straightened himself, adjusting his neatly buttoned white coat and purple ascot, and turned back into the lounge, small by the Bastion's standards, but where they had ended up that evening.
Even sat as far from the group as possible, some book or manual comfortably in hand. Ienzo, unknown to Xehanort it seemed, had been standing just beside the balcony doors, watching him silently with that single eye, uncovered by his long silver hair. Dilan and Aeleus stood on either side of Ansem, the former appearing somewhat impatient and the latter as stone-faced and unreadable as ever. Each's large bulk made the old man appear small, even shrunken, leaving the young Princess yawning in his arms to appear even tinier than the almost-five-year old already was.
Braig stood between them, pinching the young princess' cheek, "Nighty-night, kiddo."
She giggled, even as she swatted Braig's bony fingers away. In the doorway stood the Queen Mother, Eilonwy, stooped over her wooden cane. Her wizened eyes, quite contracted by age, examined him. Xehanort inclined himself slightly, "Your Majesty, I was unaware you had arrived."
"Xehanort." She acknowledged him with a small nod, which bounced the heap of grey hair piled atop her head, "No need for such formalities. I'm only here for my granddaughter, as I am not certain which of us would be more disappointed to miss her bedtime story!"
Xehanort smiled slightly at the old queen, before turning to the young princess who squirmed in the broad arms of Ansem.
"Sir, I must insist, we have to discuss the terrori—" Dilan suddenly began, his impatience getting the best of him.
"Hush!" Ansem turned sharply, as he bounced Kairi to distract her, "Not before such malleable ears. Patience, my son."
Leaning forward slightly to meet Kairi's eyes, he patted her lightly on the head.
"Goodnight, Princess Kairi."
"I don…." She yawned, "I don't wanna go to bed..."
"Well, think of it this way," Xehanort offered, "Going to bed will make tomorrow come faster."
"Yeah! That's right!" Braig interjected, almost tossing himself to lean on Xehanort's shoulder, "and what'll we be closer to then, eh?!"
Kairi's deep blue, almost violet, eyes lit up. "My birthday!"
"Exacta-mundo!" Braig exclaimed, placing his hand up for a high-five from Xehanort that never came.
Shrugging Braig off, Xehanort nodded, "So you see, going to bed is actually quite exciting."
With the fiercely dedicated nod of a child, Kairi allowed herself to be passed along to her grandmother, who received her with still-strong arms, "I appreciate you giving her up so willingly this time, Ansem."
"Goodbyes are always difficult." Ansem replied with a smile, "Especially when one has so captured your heart."
The Queen Mother's eyes danced, as she smiled at the yawning child in her arms, "She has captured many hearts beyond yours, and will certainly capture many more."
Turning to the rest of them, the Queen Mother inclined her head slightly, "Aeleus, Ienzo, Braig, Dilan, Even, Xehanort—rest well." She smiled as she turned, "That is, if any of you rest at all."
Kairi lifted her head slightly as they passed the doorway together and, waving goodnight over her shoulder to the entire lounge, she was gone. Ansem, though, continued to look after where she had vanished.
"Sir, I—" Dilan began again immediately, before realizing Ansem had not yet heard him, "Sir, as I was saying, Aeleus and I have—"
"Eh, what's that, Dilan?" Ansem asked, as if startled.
"As I was saying, sir, Aeleus and I have reached a disagreement regarding the…" Dilan paused, "proactivity of our strategy."
"To deal with the terrorists, you mean?" Ansem asked, tone now solemn as he moved to sit in the closest chair.
"Indeed. I am convinced that they are supplied primarily by malcontents in Wutai and we must move…" Dilan glanced to Aeleus, "…decisively in order to make our position clear."
"Damn easties," Braig muttered, purposely ruffling Ienzo's hair as he moved to lean beside him, "It'd be just like them."
"Wutai has always been eager to certify its independence," Even finally spoke up, as Xehanort expected of him whenever there was an opportunity to display his knowledge, "Shall I remind anyone of the Liberation Riots following the Cauldron War?"
"As if-I gotcha covered!" Braig straightened himself up, pushing up imaginary glasses, "Blahdablah, blahbleeblah, bleh."
"Not exactly." Even frowned.
"The point is, we know the Tsviets are supplied in the outer settlements." Dilan retracked the conversation, "Wutai has the most resources, most opportunity, and most motivation. We must come down harder on them."
Xehanort could sense Ansem's distaste, but he knew he would never immediately shut down an idea. Well, except one, apparently. The only one that would allow him to find what he sought.
"Aeleus?" the Lord Protector inquired, stroking his golden—yet slightly greying—beard.
"The evidence linking the Tsviets and Wutai is tenuous." Aeleus supplied in his deep monotone, without change in expression, "To antagonize them without sufficient reason would be foolish."
Dilan pressed Aeleus with some follow-up question, which Aeleus managed to answer in an impressive three words, but Xehanort's attention was drifting. Something about the way the light drifted in from the hall and mixed with the light of the moon and stars was grabbing him, reminding him—something about this moment was missing. Something he should know wasn't there.
A dizziness began to creep up on the back of his mind; the pressure of memories forgotten threatening to collapse upon him. What was it? What was he to know? Why couldn't he look deeper into that darknes—
"Xehanort, what do you think?" Ansem's voice suddenly called him back to reality, and he was being asked to provide his own considerations on the disagreement.
Xehanort himself was mostly unconcerned with the terrorists. To his mind, there was little that could be done about such a small group. Such things will always exist, and if they were to squash these, another would emerge. It was the way of humans—constant bickering, warring, fighting. Something from some lost memory told him that. This was a story that had been on repeat for millenia.
But that answer would not have been satisfactory, and Xehanort had long ago learned the preferences and 'wisdom' of his father.
"I believe our experiments have great relevancy to this question." He began thoughtfully.
"As always…" Braig sighed.
Xehanort continued, "The darkness that naturally occurs in the heart is a dangerous thing that must be closely watched and wisely controlled," he said, nearly parroting lines heard from Ansem many, many times, "We must be very careful not to stoke or encourage its growth in the hearts of the populace." He turned to Dilan, "Such a move against Wutai would most certainly exacerbate it. I must agree with Aeleus."
"It seems to me that allowing possibly hundreds to die in another attack would also exacerbate the darkness, don't you think?" Dilan challenged, face stony.
"I do not believe the data supports you," Xehanort continued, turning to absent-mindedly examine a shelf of books, "Quite the contrary, suffering—while tragic—tended to quarantine the heart's darkness in its…victims." he watched surreptitiously watched Ansem's reaction as he spoke, "So long as it was allowed the space and resources to be processed, festering was precluded."
Dilan scowled slightly, knowing that Xehanort had claimed the scientific and moral high ground in one deft move. For his part, Xehanort only hoped that such an application of their past work would further convince Ansem it was worth pursuing again.
Ansem nodded, "My, Xehanort, if the experiments had taught you that, perhaps there was a single ounce of value to them."
Xehanort bowed slightly, hiding any irk, "Thank you, sir."
But he knew Ansem was only making a passing compliment. There was, disappointingly, no intention to return to their mission. He turned back to Aeleus and Dilan, speaking as if writing an expository commentary on Xehanort's words. Satisfied in his disappoint, Xehanort's attention drifted, yet again.
Once, Ansem had fully comprehended the importance of their research- an idea birthed soon after Xehanort's arrival. As the five of them had been studying the Cauldron War in their classes, Ienzo had raised the question—to what extent had the atrocities of the war been due to the Horned King's evil influence or to the darkness hidden in every heart? Something about that question had struck Xehanort deeply, awakening in him that first tormenting half-remembrance.
Ienzo had struck on something meaningful; it was Even who proposed a proper study; and it was Xehanort who volunteered to be their first subject. Something about it had drawn him; the same kind of feeling that fueled his hatred of the stars had entangled him.
Ansem had been hesitant, but the possibility of such knowledge and the pedagogical opportunities proved sufficiently convincing. They had long known that the heart—not the biological blood pump, of course, but part of the conscious being-was something quantifiable, measurable in some immature way by machines which they had devised. In the heart, they had also been able to measure what the ancient texts identified as "light" and "darkness"; powers, forces or perhaps states, of the heart.
The trouble, for Xehanort and his brothers, was this plague of ill-defined terms. The ancient texts were maddeningly vague and amorphous, almost mystical, in how they talked about tripartite being-heart, body and mind or soul. Of these, they spoke mostly of hearts: the heart of the person, the heart of the world, the heart of all worlds; even the sum heart of the universe, reverently referred to as "Kingdom Hearts".
The texts, residing in the Bastion from time immemorial, moved fluidly between primordial science and metaphor; the same paragraph would go from describing the function of a heart to how they are always separate, locked away, as if behind a keyhole. There were hearts of darkness, whatever that might mean, and distinct hearts of pure light, quantified by mystical and superstitious numbers like seven. More often than not, it was all indecipherable in calligraphy or semantics.
And while Ansem seemed simply curious about the mystique and indefinite, it drove Xehanort mad. Just like the stars, the nature of the heart, of being, was close enough to taste, yet far enough away that it could never be absorbed. Hearts. Stars. Memories. Kingdom Hearts. That was his unfulfillable life.
It was a hunger, gnawing and insatiable, which had long devoured him.
When he had volunteered to be their guinea pig, the rest had only vaguely understood this.
And so the tests began.
They tried to manipulate the darkness and the light, artificially increasing what they could measure. They tested hypothesis after hypothesis—those days seemed to all pass in a blur. Their minds had raced to puzzle together pieces and dream up newer, more rigorously scientific methodologies. Ansem had stood proudly as his adopted sons became expert researchers in their own right, applying effectively all that he had taught them. Ienzo proposed expanding the laboratories underneath the castle to accommodate the ever-complicating experiments. They now tested extracted darkness and, in all the space, worked independently of Ansem when he could no longer be waited for.
Then Xehanort had suggested they test under stress: psychological, emotional, physiological. Ansem had held reservations, but the others had, with solemn vote, agreed it was the necessary next step. Xehanort remembered those suffering moments well, when he had caught more than a brief glimpse. He had seen something, something in the darkness. There was something familiar arising from his own heart, some memory becoming whole—and he saw it then. A heart. THE Heart.
But then, through his screaming, he had heard Ansem insist that they end the experiment. Roaring, he had demanded they continue. He had begged, cajoled, and wept as he tore at his bonds, insisting that they continue. That he needed them to continue. But Ansem had refused, using his Master Control authority to lockdown their equipment through the TRON program. Ansem had dragged him from the laboratory himself, as Xehanort had continued to weep and scream and plead. Such uncharacteristic action from him, he understood looking back, only hardened Ansem's resolve to 'protect' him.
Xehanort was suddenly dragged back to the present by Ansem, still pronouncing what he himself perceived to be profound truths-but to Xehanort, were but meaningless irrationality: "Yet, though, we must never forget the true lesson of those days. Principle over practice; the good over the disturbed." He raised an eyebrow at Xehanort, "Some darknesses are too deep for us to delve."
Xehanort nodded as naturally as he could manage. It was a tragedy to observe the great Ansem devolve into a foolish dotard who the feared the darkness and preferred the light, as if they had any meaning beyond natural forces. It would be as pathetic, he imagined, to observe an old man afraid of gravity or the energy manipulation called 'magic'. There were few greater depths to which a great scientist could fall than to be afraid of unpurposed natural forces. Once a great man, he had aged into an impoverished fool who cringed away from progress, unable ever again to fully commit.
Without waiting for response, Ansem rose to his feet with a sigh, "With that, let us consider this evening closed. Aeleus," he beckoned toward the tall man, "will you please accompany me to discuss more fully your strategy?"
"Indeed." Aeleus responded and, with a nod to his fellows, trailed Ansem from the lounge and into the winding hallways of the Bastion.
"Good night, my sons. Rest well." was Ansem last call, echoing after him.
Xehanort continued to passively watch the doorway Ansem had vanished through. When had their relationship gone so wrong? When had such a gulf emerged between them? It could only be when Xehanort had realized, shaking alone in his room the night of their final experiment, how differently they saw the world. When he realized Ansem was not as dedicated to the plan, to the truth, to the future—his and the whole world's- as he was.
It had been the end when Xehanort had realized that he had walked out ahead of his master and father and found the ground far more secure than he had been warned. When Ansem had given him a taste of truth and torn it away from him, like a fainthearted groom at the altar.
So Xehanort had continued the mission himself.
"Are we ready to go then?" Even intoned, raising a thin eyebrow of the ridge of his book.
Xehanort had started with him. It had taken very little convincing, for as soon as Xehanort had mentioned the effect the experiments had on his hidden memories—Even's specialty—the studious academic had thrown in his full support.
"Indeed." Xehanort responded, eyes still locked on the doorway. It had only taken a bit of work, a little touch of programming, to design a Master Control Program to supersede that of their father and a few educated guesses to log into the TRON system under his credentials.
"So we've got one down their now, eh?" Braig asked, shoving himself off the wall.
Braig had been the next to join up in their subterfuge. As one of Ansem's oldest, he had long been bored by where the old man had been taking them. Going behind his back for a little adventure was exactly what he had needed to enliven the long days.
It had been his idea to extend the experiments to other beings beyond Xehanort, when they were desperate in the face of what seemed to be a developing tolerance in Xehanort to the rigors of the experiments.
They were already too deep and invested to abandon them—they had come to agree: the good of the whole world was at stake in their work; thus it demanded every terrible price.
"Indeed." Xehanort answered again, eyes still on the door as he pushed back against the swarming sensation of something missing.
Dilan brushed past him and through the doorway, "Then let's be on with it. We're wasting time here."
And it had been Dilan who found their first subjects. As the functional head of the PKF, along with Aeleus, word had reached Dilan of malfeasance at the Shinra Corporation. Illicit experiments and human testing. Their chief researcher, Hojo, was a crude and self-obsessed man, but he at least vaguely shared a similar vision to Xehanort, or perhaps at last only a piece of it.
Hiding the reports from the more immature Aeleus, Dilan had struck an expert deal with Hojo—the reports would disappear and the PKF's investigations would conveniently end if Shinra took subjects only from the furthest and quietest outer provinces—only the most unwanted, the criminals, the most unmissable of society. If Shinra followed those rules, and passed along a few of those resources to the Bastion, they would be allowed to continue their profitable science.
In essence, like any good ruler, they had regulated Shinra's industry under stringent guidelines and, simultaneously, they had secured a most precious research for their study of hearts to go forward. Xehanort had been proud—it was under similar practical grounds that he had first convinced Dilan to join them. The practicality of their research would be immense—world-changing. The lives of the criminals and parasites that were used in the process were elevated by their sacrifice.
Imagine it—if the darkness could be isolated and captured; put to work in the service of the greater good? If light and darkness could be enslaved to the people, rather than the other way around—imagine the flourishing life possible. Imagine the great victory of the Garden—of Humanity, over these primal forces!
Even and Braig followed after Dilan, until it was just Ienzo left staring at him—still standing beside the open balcony doors.
Xehanort had been hesitant to bring Ienzo, so young, into their work. He was close with Aeleus, and Xehanort certainly did not want him finding out—he was utterly untrustworthy. But Ienzo, a genius boy, had worked it out himself and caught them all in the basement labs, in the midst of splitting a single heart between dark and light.
They had stared in shock at the young boy and Braig had released a torrent of swears, but Ienzo had only watched for a moment before offering a corrective suggestion, a corrective that still echoed in Xehanort's mind to the present:
'Why cut with so careful resolve? The heart does not split willingly.'
"Have they been nourished today?" Ienzo finally asked, breaking his single-eyed stare with Xehanort.
"Not yet. Do you wish to?" Xehanort responded, turning through the door to catch up with the others as the boy trailed behind.
"I may as well." came the reply.
Together, then, the group of five, champions willing to sacrifice for the progress of civilization, heroes bent on moving society beyond the vague ambiguities of the ancient stories, descended the maze of hallways and tunnels that filled the Bastion, down the elegant stone elevators powered by gravity magic, down past the throne room and many ball rooms; past the numerous living quarters, deeper even than the great entrance hall, with its intricately carved sweeping double-staircase, bubbling fountain and glittering chandelier.
It was late, so very few servants walked the halls. Any that did meet them simply bowed in respect and allowed them to pass by. Xehanort himself was lost in thought—as he often was as he walked through the castle, doing his best to distract his mind from the onslaught of partial memories by considering some new problem or theorem.
"Even, have you theorized any further regarding which force holds pre-eminence?" Dilan asked quietly, as they moved swiftly across the elevated gallery which ran along the back of the Entrance Hall toward the Grand Library.
"Considering the inevitable end of ninety-seven point three percent of all our subjects, Dilan, it would seem obvious, don't you think?" Even sneered, "Conservation of energy—it cannot gain or become more than it already possessed."
Soon after Ienzo had discovered them, the five of them had reached the point of no return; the irreversible moment when their first great breakthrough had occurred. In the midst of a particularly strenuous experiment, the heart had simply collapsed. None of them had seen anything like it. One moment, the man had been writhing on the table under their ministrations—the next, his heart was gone, his body absent, and in its place crouched a small, dark creature.
Shriveled, angular feet supported a small, round body and bulbous head from which two twisted antenna rose. Darkness itself seemed to seep from the creature, its entire physical form absorbing all light around it in a horrifying display. Ienzo had aptly described it as what one might imagine standing beside a black hole to be like. It was empty. Voracious. Instinctual. Only two beady yellow eyes glared from its head, as its body jerked about, twisting and turning unnaturally, as if reacting to unseen, yet constant, stimuli.
Braig had opened his mouth to speak, but the creature had suddenly jumped at him, swiping at him with what they could then see were dangerously sharp, black claws. Braig had cried out and dove beneath the table. Xehanort had reached out to restrain the creature, but his hand found nothing to grab upon—only bitter cold and vacuous darkness—and he, too, was forced to jerk away before the creature snapped at him. It had been Dilan who pierced it through with one of their long scalpels, carving it from head to toe. It had stumbled for a moment, writhing, before dissipating into a thin dark mist.
Xehanort and Even had insisted they repeat the process, despite Braig's cowardly objections, and capture the creature. The next had proven elusive, able to flatten itself out and move like a shadow across the floor, escaping from any cage they attempted to imprison it in. Ienzo and Even had worked furiously together to repurpose one of the labs into a holding chamber, filled with mechanisms and enchanted with magic that kept the creatures contained.
It had worked, mostly. It had taken several tests of trial and error-particularly when they had learned that it was in their best interest to keep the creatures satiated with something that had a heart. Occasionally, the failed experiments they didn't return to Hojo were a feast-mostly they subsisted on animal offerings. In one of the most hazardous points of their tests, a shadow had escaped and fed upon a kitchen maid. Luckily, Braig had stumbled upon it before anyone else and summarily ended what they had come to call "the Heartless"—named for its appearance when the heart failed.
More dangerous than they could've ever expected, yet promising more knowledge and opportunity than they could've ever dreamed, the discovery of the Heartless was both their greatest blessing and most nightmarish curse. None of them had ever slept soundly since, knowing what lurked in the darkness of the castle's hidden basements.
Xehanort, though, had never slept soundly—so the new trouble bothered him less. Indeed, there was a small comfort to him: such a horrifying result had ever-more ensured that none of his fellows would dare reveal their secret work to Ansem. It had dragged all of them deeper into the bonds of secrecy and more furious research. They had found results.
"Xehanort?" Even impatiently interrupted from the histories he had been rehearsing, stories which he had found effective distractions from the ever-present assaults of his memory-less mind, "The MCP?"
Xehanort nodded, seeing now that they had reached the final, loneliest of bookshelves in the enormous grand library. Selecting the specific texts necessary, the heavy shelf shifted just a few inches away from the wall behind it. Reaching behind, Xehanort input the code, known only to him, which activated the MCP and allowed their final descent to the deepest, underground portions of the Castle basements.
When Ansem had sealed the labs from their main entry beside his study, they had been forced to find alternative routes into the basement. Xehanort told the others that he had found a way by chance, when it reality, he had been drawn there by something he didn't quite yet understand. Another hidden mystery, wrapped deep in his subconscious. He hadn't told them that, for they were not ready. His brothers were useful enough, but were still trailing too far behind. Their immaturity deeply disturbed Xehanort.
With a click, the system responded and the shelf slid wider—just wide enough for the five of them to slip through into the small gravity elevator they had installed themselves. With another click, the shelf sealed behind them and their descent into the Castle's bowels began.
"I believe I have worked out several more of the equations necessary to begin artificial production," Even boasted, now in the relative safety of the Castle's depths. "We shall soon have more than enough Heartless to study."
Braig snorted, "Not that they'll have a whole lotta use to anyone other than us. Not so long as the plebs, including dear ole' pops, agrees with the mumbo jumbo Eraqus preaches about light."
"Given enough time and evidence, it is quite possible that Eraqus' religious devotion to light will be shown for the illusion it is." Ienzo replied.
"You're too hopeful, kid." Braig nudged him, "They'll never get it like we do."
"Eraqus won't be around forever," Dilan replied, "He and his apprentices are but useful assets for the PKF. Their foolish projections about light and dark will pass away when our work is complete."
"We needn't speak of him anymore." Xehanort grimly interrupted, casting the elevator back into silence. Eraqus, and the Keyblades which he and his apprentices bore, were a particularly acute affliction for him. Something about those mysterious weapons echoed endlessly around his head, making unbearable his miserable yearning to know.
Besides, Xehanort himself could not care less whether the common person, Aeleus, Eraqus, or even Ansem, ever came to the truth as he had. All that mattered to him was finding the truth himself and finally, truly, understanding himself and put such knowledge to use. His 'partners' could philosophize endlessly about everything else, for all he cared.
Finally, the elevator ceased its descent and opened into the sterilized, white rooms of their laboratory complex. Immediately, Even and Braig stepped off the platform and, with only a brief look to the chained and barred door across from the elevator, took the halls to the right. There, they were to further develop their machine to artificially create Heartless.
Xehanort, Ienzo and Dilan took instead the left hall, walking past door after door, filled with machine and tools that would, at this point, be utter mysteries even to Ansem. They had moved so far beyond him that these labs would be wholly unrecognizable.
Finally, they reached a room made of clear glass. Inside, tables of instruments and beeping machines surrounded a single bed upon which a human form weekly struggled.
Without word, the three of them passed through a glass door, which retracted with a hiss. Xehanort approached the table first, examining the restrained figure. He had unkept auburn hair, which swept across his head, and his skin was pale and white beneath his tattered clothing. He had been sedated, but still struggled weakly against the restraints that kept him locked to the bed.
Dilan scoffed as he rolled up the sleeves of his military vestments and wrapped his mask around his face. "What a pitiful reject Hojo has sent us this time."
Xehanort, not caring to contest Dilan's typical judgmentalism, also tied up his white surgical mask and reached for the first of his tools. Ienzo stood at a ready beside him, his unhidden blue eye meeting the surprisingly bright aquamarine of the subject's. Xehanort was impressed with how awake those eyes still appeared. Dilan had judged this one too harshly.
Seeing the tools in hand, the subject began to squirm more violently—or, at least, that's what he intended to do. Due to their previous work, all the efforts of the man resulted only in a few twists of his wrist and a bulging of the neck muscles. They had tried to work on unconscious subjects before, but the darkness and light couldn't be manipulated as well in those cases. Xehanort had concluded this was because, as always, truth must come through pain—just as he had experienced.
Lifting the first knife, Xehanort paused. This first cut was always, still, the hardest to make. There was no pleasure in it. It was truly an unfortunate way of things. This way was certainly not his preference, but it was truly the only way forward.
"Let us begin." Xehanort announced.
The man attempted to scream, but it only came out in mild groans and shrieks. Xehanort had long become accustomed to such responses and was entirely unbothered, for he knew that if any noise were to somehow escape their laboratory, it would most certainly be muffled and forcibly drowned by the endless, twisting halls of Hollow Bastion.