Wow. Here I was telling you all I should be able to update in one to two weeks, and it's been nearly a month and all I can get out is this... thing that's just getting longer and longer but nothing is actually happening. I'm sorry. But here's chapter 7, I hope you enjoy!

Warning: Some swearing, which is inevitable now that Lovino has joined the crew.

Chapter Seven

Now, Lukas knew his manners, even if he did spent a section of his life in a rowdy orphanage, but at the entrance of Room 502 of an old apartment building, all he could force out of his mouth was, "Who are you?"

The girl furrowed her brows and shot back. "Who are you?"

"I- My name is Lukas; this is my brother Emil." He stubbornly ignored the initial stumble and carried on as smoothly as shakily possible. "We are looking for the Bad Touch Trio." And then he winced, because the Bad Touch Trio simply was not a very smooth-sounding name to go throwing around at strangers.

The frown disappeared, and the girl's eyes opened wide, pink lips forming a perfect 'O' in a look of utter surprise. For a moment she only stared, and then her two hands shot forward so quickly that the brothers didn't realize she had moved until they were being dragged by the shoulder into the apartment with a surprising amount of strength.

"Tim!" she hollered, kicking the door shut while guiding the two boys into the small living room and forcing them onto the couches. "Er zijn mensen die hen zoeken!"

"Wie?" a man's voice called back from one of the bedrooms, somewhat monotone and dispassionate.

"Twee jongens!"

A door opened and a man – Tim – emerged. There was something undeniably haughty about his sharp face, the way his lips tilted downwards but his eyes remained blank, the way his nose was pointed in the air. His blonde hair was poised in an upward direction, defying gravity as the hairdo reached towards ceiling like some kind of strangely shaped flower. There was a scarf draped around the man's wide shoulders even though it wasn't cold at all, while below the scarf was a simple white T-shirt and shorts. Despite his weird and less-than-fashionable dress, his narrowed gaze was intimidating, and Lukas could feel Emil shrinking a little bit beside him.

Tim opened his mouth, no doubt to ask them who they were, when the doorbell rang.

"Oh!" The girl exclaimed, sounding ever so slightly exasperated. She hurried towards the door, throwing it open to reveal… a small mountain of plastic bags. There was a small cry from outside when several bags of something toppled to the ground and rolled into the apartment.

"Nathan!" the girl cried. "We don't need that much!"

"I didn't want to go to the grocery store every few days!" Apparently there was someone under the bags of grocery, and he sounded like a whiny little boy. "Emma, help!"

Emma huffed unhappily and spun around on her heels, stalking back into the living room. "We've got guests, Nathan. Deal with it yourself."

There was a groan, the mountain of plastic tipped over precariously, and then it crumbled. The person underneath rolled his shoulders, shook out his arms and took to picking up the bags at the doorway. Nathan was a tall and lanky boy around Lukas's age, with soft green-blue eyes and light golden curls that fell around and over his face so that it was partially obscured. When the entrance was cleared, he slammed the door shut and greeted Lukas and Emil with a welcoming smile. "Hello!" he piped, and began carrying several bags into the kitchen just as Emma emerged, carrying a tray with a small kettle and two cups. She set the tray on the coffee table in front of the brothers, and poured lukewarm tea into the cups while Tim watched on the side, silent and stoic.

For a moment, all four of them watched while Nathan began placing food and drinks into the fridge, until Tim spoke suddenly, "Who are you?"

"My name is Lukas; this is my brother Emil," Lukas replied somewhat automatically.

"How do you know of the Bad Touch Trio?"

"We've met. They introduced themselves to us."

"Why are you looking for them?"

Lukas did not like being interrogated, but he answered meekly and truthfully, "We're in trouble."

"Elaborate."

Lukas took a deep, steadying breath. It's necessary, he told himself; these people probably know the Bad Touch Trio, and we're looking for them. Go with the flow, the way you've always done. "Several months ago, my brother was taken by the Underworld and was sent to the labs; the Bad Touch Trio helped us retrieve him. Now my friend has disappeared after we were attacked by an Underworld assassin, so we need their help." He could only pray that they knew of the Underworld and its habits – and it was likely if they knew the BTT – since it'd be difficult to explain if they didn't.

There was a moment of silence. Then-

"Why was your brother taken?"

"I don't know."

"Which lab was your brother sent to?"

"The one in Australia, in Sydney."

Tim exchanged a quick glance with Emma, who watched the back and forth with wide, almost frightened green eyes.

"Australia?" Nathan closed the refrigerator and grabbed a few more grocery bags from the doorway before heading back towards the kitchen. "Isn't that the one that got blown up?"

"They say it was by someone in the rebel groups," Emma supplied. "It- It wasn't Toni, was it?" Toni – as in Antonio?

But Tim was speaking before Lukas could confirm.

"What is your relationship with the Underworld?"

He did not know how to answer. It should've been simple: he had none, other than being the victim of a few Underworld schemes, but then he remembered the sorrowful, green-eyed assassin who stood over the bodies of his parents – why was he there? Why were they killed? Why them, of all people? And why him? – and then there was Mathias, the strange boy who crashed into his life and turned it upside down, who knew everything and nothing and had been through so much he couldn't even remember even though everyone else remembered him. Lukas had watched as others whispered, snarled, wept, shouted, screamed his name, and he had watched him turn from his friend into a terrifying beast that only Hell could create. Did he really have no relationship or connection to the Underworld? Why was it that now that he thought back, his entire life had been swathed in wisps and threads of that despicable darkness?

"Who is this friend of yours that you're trying to save?"

He had been silent for too long, but this was a question he could answer easily, and he wondered what the reaction would be when he spoke his name:

"Mathias Køhler."

Something shattered in the kitchen.

"We need a map, don't we?"

"Of course we do," Lovino snapped. "This prison is a fucking labyrinth; even the guards need maps-"

"Then we can steal one from them!" Mathias exclaimed, delighted. "It's easy! You can become invisible!"

The Italian spluttered for a moment. "I don't- I can't become invisible, you idiot, although…" he gave a small frown, and glanced up at the single miniature, red-eyed camera hidden in the corner of the cell. Mathias hadn't even noticed it until Lovino pointed it out to him. "You can't see me unless I want you to see me. That's why there aren't any guards running yet: they can't see me in your cell, and my cell is constantly empty in the cameras."

"But I'm talking to you."

"Yeah well, they've already established that you're not exactly right in the head. No one will bother to investigate."

"Hey!"

Lovino ignored him, and glanced at the camera again before saying, "Alright, you know the plan. I can't take us too far out – I have a limit, especially since I still have no idea where we are, so the goal is to get a map before the guards realize what's happening, and get the hell out of here."

Mathias nodded eagerly, although he still wasn't sure how they were getting out the cell in the first place – or, more accurately, how Lovino was going to get them out.

"Good. Grab my hand."

Mathias took the offered hand, then watched as Lovino took a deep breath…

And the world dissolved into a disorienting blur of colors that swirled around and past him like running paint being washed away by rain. Those whirling and twirling lines began to slow, then stop, and it felt like they were rushing towards him in the speed of light, then crashing into a single point that then stretched and warped into-

A hallway. They were standing in the middle of a hallway lined with doors with heavy locks. It was completely silent, and Mathias's footsteps echoed when he stumbled from the dizzying ride.

Lovino seemed nervous, those golden-green eyes darting from one end to the other, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "You'll get used to it soon." His tone was as cutting as ever, despite the trembling edge. "Come on, we've got to go."

"To where?"

"To get a map, you imbecile!" the brunet snapped, jerking Mathias out of his woozy daze.

"Right!" His legs were a bit shaky and stiff – from what he wasn't sure, but running was difficult, and despite his small, almost scrawny stature, Lovino was fast. "Wait up!"

"Hurry up, fat-ass!"

"Hey!"

Both of them froze, and dared a glance over a shoulder to see a man standing there in a uniform, mouth agape and finger pointing. The other hand was grappling at the walkie-talkie clasped to his belt, and Mathias was turning and had only taken two steps when there was a strange breeze that drifted past him and then Lovino appeared in front of the guard out of nowhere.

"Escaped pri-!" The Italian was incredibly fast, perhaps even trained, but it was a knee in the gut then a quick chop behind the neck, and when Mathias approached, the brunet was already rummaging through the guard's clothes.

"Map, map, map…" he was muttering. "They always hide it in the strangest places…" But then he pulled out a folded sheet of paper from the man's front pocket and handed it to Mathias, who unfolded it to find himself staring at a maze of halls and rooms, marked by nothing but numbers and strange little symbols that tugged on something in the back of his head.

"What is this?" he asked, pointing to a little black feather located at the corner of the map, poised in the position of falling.

"It doesn't matter." Lovino snatched the maps from his hands and skimmed over it, then folding it messily and stuffing it into the pocket of his pants. "Follow me."

"Do you know the way out?"

"Not yet, but I know the general direction now."

"That works too," Mathias commented brightly, still wondering about the little black feather. Then he thought about the fact that they were running towards the exit of the prison, and he was immediately redirected towards the thought of Lukas. "I wonder if Lukas and Emil are looking for me."

"I don't know and I don't care."

They skidded around another corner with Lovino leading the way, but before they turned again, he paused to observe the map one more time. The Italian glanced at one of the doors – more specifically the number on the door – and cursed. "Wrong way."

And then they were going down the same path, retracing a few of their steps, now with Lovino burying his nose into the map. The hallways and corridors had long begun to look the same to Mathias. It was a prison in the most extreme sort: the hallways were lined with bolted doors, each as menacing as the last, sending uneasy jitters down his spine and limbs. The rooms weren't all occupied, no doubt; how could the Underworld have so many prisoners, so many enemies, when no one knew of its existence?

They don't have to know to be an enemy of the Underworld, a little voice reminded him. They don't have to know to be a prisoner. It sounded a bit like Lukas, and that sent a new wave of longing crashing over his thoughts.

"Hurry up!" Lovino snarled at him, and they broke out into another run. His smaller companion was frantic for some reason; it wasn't like they had been discovered yet-

"Halt!"

Lovino growled at the voice, and they spun around to find nearly a dozen men with their guns raised, all of which were pointed at them.

"Hands in the air; don't move!"

Their hands were up in an instant, but Lovino chanced a step forward in front of Mathias, blocking him with his small body like a human shield. The guards didn't shoot, only tightening their hold on their firearms.

"Come with us quietly, and we won't shoot." One of the nearly identical men demanded, his voice slightly muffled by his black helmet. "If you put up a fight, we'll be left with no choice."

"Sorry." Lovino grinned, the same savage, terrifying beast pressing against trembling, bending bars, eager to get out but not yet. Not yet. "We've got places to be." And then the Italian tipped backwards, falling towards Mathias.

He heard the first crack of a bullet, but his vision had disappeared, nor did he feel any bursts of pain, because the world around him had exploded once more into a warped reality that might focus if he really tried to peer into that endless swirl of colorful ribbons, but he didn't try, and it hypnotized him the same way it did to him before. He felt his feet hit the ground but that was it; his eyes had yet to adjust, and it seemed like they were somewhere quite dark. Then he blinked, and the world snapped into rightness, and he realized that it really wasn't all that dark: it must have been the black dots that were only now fading from his vision.

It looked like they were in another cell, only this one a little bit more spacious than Mathias's. There was only one light bulb flickering overhead, and there were four red dots in each corner of the room instead of a single one.

"Where…?" Mathias found himself speechless, not because they were back in a cell, but because…

"This must be the VIP room." Lovino must have been trying to be sarcastic, but there was a gravelly surprise that scratched his voice as well.

"But- VIP?" That didn't really make sense… did it?

"Yeah, VIP." A voice laughed, and Mathias felt himself freezing all over again, because this voice was not Lovino's, and this cell was not empty. There was a momentary flash behind his eyelids: a city filled with dark corners and poisonous lights, banners fluttering in the air, traitors hiding under the very shadows of Hell-

The man was chained, wrists chaffed and pale skin raw. His face was familiar somehow, but there was no name in the sharp bones and hollow cheeks. He had hair that seemed gray in the lighting, but reminded Mathias of Emil, whose hair shone gold in the sun but glowed snowy white beneath the moon, and his eyes, oh God, his eyes…

"I am a Very Important Prisoner after all."

Mathias stared, and he could look away, because Lukas had the eyes of the sea, Lovino stole his orbs from a beast, and it fascinated him before but now he stared because this was fear because-

-like the scent that lured killers from the shadows into the light, dragging blades across stones to frighten its victims, hungry for murder, frenzy with bloodlust-

-they were crimson.

"You're in luck," Tim said coldly, a sarcastic tint in his voice that made his accent – similar to Emma's – sound like a drawl. "Finding a grave is not very difficult. The only question is whether or not he actually has a grave."

Lukas narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Mathias Køhler…" Emma spoke this time, and her voice was soft, almost frightened. "Three years ago, Mathias Køhler died."

"Died?" Emil scoffed softly, the first word he had spoken since arriving at the apartment. "Mathias Køhler isn't dead."

Emma began to protest, "Everyone in the Underworld has heard of his execution-"

"So you are part of the Underworld," Lukas cut her off, though his mind was reeling. Three years? Dead? Execution?

"Of course we are." Nathan had a gentle voice, not as harsh as Tim's, although he also had the accent. "Why would we be replacing the BTT here if we weren't?"

His thoughts gave another jolt of shock. "Replacing?"

"Ja. The idiots need someone inconspicuous to look after their home while they are… gone. In our case, some-ones."

"The Bad Touch Trio is gone," he repeated slowly. "Where are they?"

"Why do you need to know?"

And that sent them straight back to Square One.

"We're not trying to kill them, if that's what you want to know," Lukas answered coldly. "If you're not going to believe us about Mathias Køhler, then just know that we're trying to find the Bad Touch Trio because we need their help. The rest is none of your business."

His declaration was met with silence, the three 'replacements' of the Bad Touch Trio sharing a long, conflicted look. From the brothers' point of view, it looked more like Nathan and Emma trying to convince Tim of something through glances and subtle changes in their expressions until-

"Ugh, okay, whatever." Emma gave an exaggerated shrug and eye roll. "Tim, this is ridiculous; I'm going to tell them."

Yes, please.

"Thank God," Lukas heard Emil mutter beside him, barely audible.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt…" the girl began thoughtfully, "He's not exactly under the radar, you know? He's…"

"Loud," Tim offered.

"Rude," Nathan called from the kitchen.

"Obnoxious," Emma agreed. "And the Underworld had been after his head for years now. It was pretty smart, hiding right next to the Underworld base, but this is Gilbert we're talking about. He's very good at standing out."

Nathan emerged from the kitchen, having stuffed all his groceries into some corner, and took his place beside Emma. Two similarly solemn green eyes focused on them now, and Lukas suddenly noticed how similar the two – in fact, all three of them – looked. Siblings, probably.

"What with his outstanding personality," the younger brother was saying, "And super pale skin and white hair…"

"And his eyes," Emma added. "Crimson eyes."

"Long story short," Tim spoke, "Antonio Fernández-Carriedo and Francis Bonnefoy have gone into hiding because Gilbert Beilschmidt has been arrested by the Underworld forces, and if he isn't dead yet, he will be soon."

"Why?" Lukas found himself asking. "Where did they send him?"

"A hanging prison," Nathan piped up.

"More like a shooting prison," corrected his sister. "Those sent there doesn't stay there very long. Got to get rid of them before they start to rot."

"It's funny, because the prison is outrageously huge," the younger brother added. "It's partly empty half the time, and if they do let the prisoner rot, it's so that they could suffer a slow, painful death. That's usually reserved for the people the Underworld really, really hates."

Emma hummed in agreement. "Now to think of it though… Gilbert sounds like one of those people."

Nathan nodded in agreement. "Probably rotting alive in the place."

Lukas recoiled a bit at the thought, and heard Emil ask, "How do you know?"

"Tim used to work there!" the youngest of the three sounded strangely proud.

"Stranded in the middle of a forest in California in a boring metal labyrinth," the middle sister sighed. "How tragic."

"It's the only prison in the United States. And I don't work there anymore," the older brother sounded disgruntled that his siblings were spouting out everything he probably hadn't wanted them to say. "Although we still have contacts there."

At that statement, Lukas felt his hopes soar, so he dared to ask one more question: "When the Underworld captures a person out of vengeance, will they all be sent to the prison?"

"Most likely," Emma answered. "The prison is kind of like the first checkpoint before the roads start to split. You usually get checked up before being shipped off somewhere for some kind of trial that nobody knows or understands or would talk about, and then you come back with a strip of paper or something that tells the guards how to deal with you."

Nathan shrugged. "Not really, actually, but something akin to that. In the Underworld, no one really knows how anything works; you're given a job, you do it, no questions asked. Leave the plotting to the bosses."

"Whoever they are," Tim added.

Lukas was dizzy with all the extra information he had just been fed, but he had gotten what he needed, and he could only hope that he was correct.

Mathias had been captured by the Underworld, but to most of the people, if not everyone, in the Underworld, he is dead. So the only reason why they'd kidnap him would either be due to suspicion, or it was the situation with Emil: they hadn't been exactly subtle with that.

But if it was the latter… Why Mathias? Why not Lukas? And wouldn't the Underworld want to retrieve Emil as well, or was he too insignificant?

There were still so many questions despite all the answers he'd just been offered, but one step at a time: Mathias had been captured, and most likely, the first place he'd have been sent to would be… the Prison.

"If you know the Bad Touch Trio," he spoke slowly and cautiously, "Will you help us retrieve Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

There was a moment of hesitation before Tim spoke, "That man gives anyone who meets him a massive headache."

"He's exceptionally rude, not to mention ruthless. No tack at all." Emma sniffed disdainfully. "But…"

"He is one of the best." Nathan held their counterargument. "The Bad Touch Trio vowed to bring down the Underworld; we would not be helping them if we did not trust their word on that."

"We'll help you." Emma gave their answer. "We won't go with you – the Underworld doesn't know about us yet and we'd like to keep the loyal status up, but we will contact a few people we know who can help you."

"I can contact Alfred F. Jones," Lukas offered. "He's an Underworld pilot who knew the Bad Touch Trio and I have his phone number. He should be able to take us to California."

"That'll work," Tim approved.

"We were trying to figure out whether we can get him out," his younger brother was saying happily. "Thankfully we've now got two brave souls to aid us."

Lukas lifted his phone to his ear, waiting and praying that Alfred and… whoever that was with him – will pick up the phone this time.

"Hello, the Hero's speaking!"

"-Alfred, please be a bit more serious. It can be a business call-"

"Brave souls." Somewhere on the side, he heard Tim mutter sarcastically, more to himself than to his brother. "More like two idiots."

She loved maps, and he had found this fascination strange. When he was first jolted awake by the harsh howling outside into warm darkness, the first thing his eyes adjusted to had been a map. It was a world map, ink on glossy brown paper that was supposed to give it the appearance of age. It was placed in frame and hung on the otherwise bare, white walls, and he had found himself tracing the borders of nations with his eyes, trying to identify those little dark shapes that peppered the map through the dimness when the door of that cozy little room had opened, a glowing streak of orange cutting into the darkness, and she entered.

She was not beautiful; a better word would have been 'cute'. She had a sweetness in her soft features that made him relax even if he had not known who she was, and the first thing she asked him was not whether he was comfortable, or how did he feel, or if he would like to eat something – preferably the bowl of porridge she held in her hands.

She asked him, "Do you like my map?"

He hesitated. "It's very nice." But there wasn't anything special about it.

She sat on the edge of the bed, bowl in hand, the handle of a spoon peeking from the edge. "Eat," she urged in her accented voice, soft words with gentle yet rough hands feeding him with sweet warmth.

"Rest," she said, and he did.

The next time he woke, the curtains were being drawn open, and through the glass all he could see was a flurry of white. The wind hadn't stopped yet, and it had been the screams that haunted him through his dreams.

Her eyes were wide and bright, in a washed shade of frail blue. Her skin was pale in the gray light, white and soft, framed by light golden hair that was cut short above her shoulders. She wore a gray sweater that did nothing but accentuate her ample breasts, which he glanced at once and could not meet again.

"Would you like to see the map?"

The wooden floor was icy beneath his feet, but he ignored it to concentrate on bending his stiffly trembling knees into submission and movement. She led him to the end of the bed, and sat him down, then bent to place his feet into a pair of soft, warm slippers.

Before him, trapped in a frame, was the world.

He was wrong. The map was unassuming from afar, but up close, it was like a treasure box: gemstones hidden in piles of colored glass. There were no names or labels on the map, but he noticed once again the little symbols that dotted it instead.

The empty black stars marked the capitals, it was obvious. He located Copenhagen, and Oslo, and Reykjavik, then Moscow. Before he could go on naming all the capitals he knew, his attention was caught by the little black hearts, nearly as numerous as the stars. Perhaps they were cities as well, and he noticed one around the area where Taastrup probably was. There was another over Bergen, and Saint Petersburg. And there were more, and others too: little raindrops, little blossoms… all of them were black, glistening on the brown parchment. He marveled at the mysterious symbols, wondering what they meant, and he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure where to begin.

That was when one particular symbol caught his eye.

It was located on the west coast of America, a small black feather poised in the process of drifting from the skies. It was the only one on the map, and he scoured through the rest of the world twice to check and confirm before lifting a heavy limb to point. His voice was cracking and broken with disuse, but he forced the question out: "What is that?"

"The feather?" She pointed as well. 'Deh fedehr,' she said, trilling the last 'r' a little bit with the heaviness dropped on the final syllable. It was like she was trying to make her accent more prominent to entertain him.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"It marks a prison. The Prison."

"Why?" Then changing his mind because he didn't want to ask such a broad question, "Why a feather?"

"The feather is falling, you see," she gestured, pale hands like elegant white doves fluttering around her as she spoke. "It is black, like the feathers on the wings of a fallen angel." She pronounced 'angel' with a hard 'g'. "They put the falling feather over the Prison, because that's where the disgraced are. To be sent to the Prison, you have fallen from grace."

They? He was curious who 'they' were, but he didn't ask, not when she started to laugh. It was soft and sad, so different from the boisterous cheering and crazed shouting he had grown accustomed to through the years of war and struggle.

"It's funny, you know," she was saying, and those blue eyes grew paler and brighter, washed white by tears that stubbornly refused to drop. But despite the tears, her voice remained steady. "They say the Prison is for the disgraced, but they also call themselves Hell. So aren't they really the fallen ones?"

He did not reply, did not know how to reply; so he took one of her hands, surprisingly calloused but warm, and pressed a kiss on the pale back. She did not pull her hand away.

"See how the sky has fallen."

She sighed soundlessly through the tears that began to fall, and refused to stop. She did not bother to wipe them away. Her voice was distant and grieving, barely audible over the blizzard outside.

"See how the heavens fall."

The wind continued to howl.

Thanks for all the reviews, by the way.

Also, I'm somewhat surprised that no one had noticed. I thought I've been dropping hints through Finding Emil and Finding Mathias (the latter especially), but apparently that's not enough. Oh well. I wonder who'll be the first to notice...

Thank you for reading, and please review! They are much appreciated!