I AM STILL ALIVE!

Warning: crappy chapter.

Chapter Thirteen

"The thing about the Underworld," said Kiku Honda as he unrolled a world map on the table between them, "is that it likes cities."

It was a simple map with flat colors, bold black lines marking the borders between nations, each carve of land carefully labeled, each capital a red star popping from the bland blues, greens, yellows, and browns.

"They know, of course, that cities would be the most convenient for their areas of trade; and it is much easier to hide in a city after all—cities are often the filthiest places in the world." Here the Japanese man paused and gave a low, breathless chuckle. "I also believe that to them, it's something of a game. Like charades, maybe, where they blend in with these much more respectable businesses in the good part of the city, pretend to be one of them, with its fake name and fake employees.

"A pity, really—it used to be a truly respectable organization that saved and helped the lives of thousands of children. It started in the orphanages of the big cities, then slowly expanded into the rest of Europe, into the Americas and Asia. It was just beginning to work its way into Africa when it crumbled."

Crumbled. Fallen. Toppled.

He had heard so many words that had described the fall of Paradizo, but rarely did people talk about its rise. It made him immensely curious, although both he and Kiku knew that they were completely off-topic.

"What did they do—before it became the Underworld, I mean," he asked, not looking at Kiku but staring down at the map, where, in addition to the capital cities, were little dots of an ugly orange color in random places.

Kiku didn't answer for some time, having fallen into a contemplative silence. He traced a finger across the chain of islands that made up Japan, then tapped on one of the orange dots located in the biggest Japanese peninsula. Osaka. "They had a dream, once. They didn't just want to save the children; they wanted to save the generation. If you were familiar with Japanese history, you would see that they functioned a bit like a massive geisha business. Of course, they weren't setting prices for children's virginities and such; but they educated and sponsored them, one child at a time, and when the time came the children were expected to pay off all the money that had been spent on them. In a way, you are part of Paradizo until your debts are paid. I don't doubt that some people never paid off their debts, but it is not such a miserable life. Much better than being an orphan begging in the streets.

"And, of course, the dream. For each child they decided to save—and of course, not every child had the ability to catch the eye of Paradizo—they were given everything. The children were given the best of the best. And not just education, but also the honing and polishing of skills, talents… I believe the goal was to create a generation of 'elites' that, as they grow older, will gain more influence in the world and change it for the better. And then as each generation passes, the human race will grow more and more intelligent and eventually utopia would be created—that was the intention."

"What a tiresome dream," he murmured a reply, his pale fingers nearly caressing the map, touching that seemingly insignificant dot and measuring with his thumb the distance between it and Tokyo. "It will be a very gradual process."

Kiku shrugged, expressionless. His blank brown eyes revealed nothing of his feelings and his tone suggested that he spoke only the facts. "The creators of Paradizo were not selfish. They never expected to live to see the final result of Paradizo—although I doubt they'd have expected it to corrupt so quickly and so terribly. But sadly this world is neither Heaven nor Hell. Nothing is immortal."

"Hm." He made a noncommittal sound, seemingly bored, but his eyes were bright—brighter than Kiku had seen it in a long time. Perhaps, the Japanese man thought, the boy has not yet died.

So Kiku continued, "And this organization: it is not charity; it is profit. Many things become much more bearable when you receive money as a result. This may have been their dream, but it wasn't their everything."

"But it cost them everything."

Kiku paused. "Their lives, yes, but not everything."

He made that neutral little sound again. "But to rely and trust so heavily on a future dependent on people who are not them, in a time past their control—it is not very wise."

Kiku was silent. Slowly, he began to roll up the map again, although there was also much less care in his actions. His eyes, dull as always, seemed a hundred thousand miles away. It was possible that he had not heard.

But then, as the Japanese man made to leave the room, he paused at the doorway and turned to him. "No, one would never call them wise. But you must realize, Mister Lukas Bondevik, often times, it is the wise men who find it most difficult to dream."

It never quite occurred to Mathias how little he knew about Lukas.

He knew some of the little things, like how he needed two cups of coffee every morning, one black, one with three teaspoons of milk, to fully wake up. He knew that Lukas liked to remind Emil to eat his vegetables, even as he picked on them himself. He knew that Lukas disliked being reminded that he was still a child and that he was not almighty and this world was possibly too big for him; and because Lukas knew that the others were right but didn't like this feeling of being out of control, Lukas liked to make promises.

He made a lot of promises, usually small things, like, 'I promise to do the groceries tomorrow', or, 'I promise to pick you up afterschool today', so he was always able to keep those promises.

But it was strange. Lukas had never made a promise to Mathias. The closest had been, 'I swear to God, if you come into my room without permission one more time I will actually kill you.'

It didn't really count because he was promising something to God, not to Mathias. It was also one of the few promises that Lukas broke, because when Mathias strolled into his room two days later, he did not kill him. Just rolled his eyes and told him to either be quiet or leave.

So Mathias had sat down on his bed, his mouth dutifully shut, and watched Lukas work.

Mathias also knew that Lukas could only barely tolerate him sometimes, but there was also something beneath those snappy words and stinging remarks that were peaceful and patient, not in the kind way, but almost as if he was too weary to be riled up.

Mathias knew that Lukas was not a dreamer. There was something that tied him back from dreaming and kept him living in the present and past. This was so very different from Mathias, who had no past and his only present is to hope for the next memory he could make before it slipped from him again.

Sometimes Mathias looked at Lukas and saw someone else, someone stubborn and strong and had burned short and bright. Mathias was a dying man, and sometimes when the darkness pressed too close he found himself looking for Lukas. Because Lukas was his cure; and sometimes in those silent moments in the height of day or dead of night when he felt like he would actually die, drown in the shadows of his own mind, he would grope desperately for Lukas, just the thought of him, a fragment of a memory of a gentle brush of fingers or a few whispered words.

Mathias knew that Lukas was afraid. He was always afraid of something no one else could see. As he lived he walked on fearlessly, but looked back every few steps as if there was a ghost creeping behind him and he couldn't shake it off. He was always cautious, always wary, and maybe making promises was his way of dealing with it, of trying to predict the future.

In this sense, Lukas and Mathias were polar opposites. Mathias was not fond of promises; he felt like every promise he had ever spoken had been completely shattered. But at the same time he wasn't completely against it, which was why one midnight in the middle of Australia, the first time in nearly two years since he had remembered anything from his past, he made a promise. One last promise that he did not dare utter aloud in case Hell heard and shattered it again.

He promised to the boy broken and weeping before him, who had called his name "Mathias" in such a vulnerable and distant voice, that he would never hurt him again and that he would do everything he could to protect him against all harm.

Because every child, whether they were born from Heaven or Hell, deserved to be saved. The way Lukas saved Mathias, Mathias promised to save him.

"Mathias."

The voice was familiar, but it came from the darkness, too far away for him to recognize. He made a promise to a boy he barely remembered and barely knew, and then he vowed to himself that he would keep this promise no matter what.

"I forgive you."

The lights from a distant city flickered and grew and danced in a darkness purer than the night around them. They illuminated the boy before him, a boy with eyes of the North and tear-stained cheeks and hair finer than golden spider-silk, a boy who thought he knew everything but the truth was that he didn't even know himself.

It was like looking into a mirror.

This boy then smiled and it was a wretched, heartbroken thing; but it was a smile, and somehow that was all that mattered.

"Thank you."

And then the lights went out.

Mathias woke up to find himself tied to a chair in a simple living room. His senses were distorted, the walls were bent and oblong, the voices around him echoed incomprehensibly, as if people were speaking through a layer of glass and foam.

"He's awake."

Then all of a sudden, the world gave a jerk and straightened itself up, and Mathias's senses returned to him.

He was tied to a chair in a living room with simple but familiar furnishing. There were some alters and tweaks, but all in all he knew that he had been here before, although whether it was tied to a chair, he did not know. The room was filled with people, most of whom he knew and three that he didn't, but all of them were staring at him. His mouth was dry, his throat grated as if he had been screaming and the bonds were cutting into his wrist.

"Good morning, sunshine," an amused voice said. The speaker was a pale man with silver hair and intense, crimson eyes, sprawled in an armchair, observing Mathias with a lazy smirk.

"My name is not Sunshine," Mathias told the man. "I am Mathias."

"How fascinating," the man replied. "I am Gilbert."

"I know your name is Gilbert." He really didn't, but he vaguely remembered knowing this man and he thought that the name fitted.

"As enlightening as this conversation is," another person spoke, a young man with dark brown curls and narrowed green eyes that glinted gold, "I propose that both of you shut up."

"Thank you, Lovi," a girl hovering near Mathias sighed in relief while Lovi looked pleased, "I wasn't sure if speaking to these people would be good for my health."

"Emma," whined Gilbert, "That's mean."

"And you are annoying," a voice piped up by the kitchen doorway, where two young men stood. They seemed to be brothers, although the resemblance was vague; it was the way they both looked at Gilbert with an unimpressed and slightly exasperated gaze that made them seem more similar.

The one who had spoken was the younger of the two, a boy maybe a year or two younger than Mathias, with pale blonde curls that were swept over one eye. He looked more amiable than his older brother, who was scowling at everyone in the room, especially at Gilbert.

Gilbert scowled back, opened his mouth as if about to snap at the man, but a young girl, perched on the couch next to Lovi, spoke before he could get a word out. "Mister Gilbert?"

"Yes, Lilli?" The scowl morphed into a dazzling, doting smile that the silver-haired man turned to the girl.

"Wouldn't it be best if we…" she paused, slightly unsure of how to phrase her question. "Should we…?"

"I've been here before," Mathias declared.

Gilbert chuckled. "Yes, you have."

"Mr. Gilbert," Lilli spoke again, "I think we should untie him."

"Do we must?" Lovi sighed. "He's much less annoying this way, don't you think? Not in the mood to talk and embarrass himself."

True, Mathias was feeling a bit put out. His bonds were not very tight but they still chaffed his wrists, and his head was beginning to ache. It was a familiar kind of throb, the one that warned him that he was trying too hard to remember something that he should not. There was something unsettling about his position, but whether or not it had something to do with the past was a mystery. Either way, waking up tied to a chair was never a good omen.

"Mathias Køhler." The boy by the doorway spoke again, his expression curious. "Are you really the Mathias Køhler? As in the Viking?"

Mathias shrugged.

"I like Vikings," he answered simply. "They're cool."

"Short-term memory," Gilbert explained, speaking as if Mathias wasn't present in the room. "Something happened to him three years ago that, instead of killing him, gave him the memory-span of a goldfish instead. Awfully useful sometimes, if I must say. It's nice he doesn't remember that the last time he was here, I tried to kill him."

"Mister Gilbert!" Lilli was horrified.

Gilbert threw his hands in the air. "In my defense, he cut himself."

"In his defense," Emma cut in, "He's a retard."

"I'm not a retard," Mathias protested in a slightly defensive tone, "I have short-term memory."

"Nearly a retard," said Lovi, unimpressed, "With a memory so short you probably don't even remember what had happened before you got knocked out."

At those words a hush suddenly swept across the room.

"Mathias."

Mathias frowned. "Knocked out?" Although now that Lovi mentioned it, it was possible that the throbbing in his head was not because he was thinking too hard, but because someone had bashed him in the head.

"Mathias, I need you to calm down."

"Yeah," Gilbert said cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the atmosphere. "I had to karate-chop you three times in the back of the neck before you would stop screaming."

"Killing everyone on this plane will not help you find Lukas."

Maybe he was thinking too hard. His head gave another particularly painful throb. "Screaming?"

"You need to calm down."

Lovi hesitated. "You really don't remember anything, do you?"

Mathias didn't reply. His head felt like it was splitting apart.

"Mathias."

He could hear something shrieking inside his head. It sounded like a frightened animal. He wanted to cover his ears, but his hands were still tied and he couldn't find the strength to break free. He squeezed his eyes shut. Lights danced across the back of his eyelids. They pulsed and glowed and became images that shifted and changed so quickly he couldn't see what was happening inside those little motion pictures, only catch glimpses of blurry faces and echoes of muffled voices.

"Lukas will be fine."

He felt like he was burning, gasping and shuddering for air. There was a pressure on his shoulder, and the entire left side of his body burst into flames.

—I'll be fine, she had said. They will not hurt me. I can help you escape—but he shouldn't have believed her. It was only when he was drenched in her blood, crushed beneath her corpse did he realize that he had never truly believed her in the first place—

"Mister Køhler?"

Mathias jerked. His eyes flew open with a gasp. The girl named Emma was peering at him concernedly, a gentle hand rubbing his shoulder and back. "Are you okay?"

"Wha-What?" Mathias blinked, disoriented, his throat feeling dry and swollen. It was painful to speak.

"I think we should untie him," a young voice—Lilli—spoke softly yet firmly. The touch on his shoulder disappeared to be replaced by a pressure and pulls and twists at his wrists before he was finally freed. Mathias lurched forward on his seat, nearly falling out of it if it wasn't for Emma who grabbed his shoulders to steady him.

"Mathias," she called. His name sounded strange on her lips, like she didn't believe what she was saying. "Are you okay?"

"The plane," Mathias gasped. "What happened—?"

"A boy named Emil called you. We told the boy to meet up with Vash Zwingli," Lovi—no, Lovino, Mathias remembered abruptly, his mind reeling—said in curt, straightforward tones. "We called Vash, told him to pick the boy up. We received a call back from him just now before you woke up. They've met up, and Emil is currently safely with Vash."

"Woke up…?" Mathias was dazed. The names rang in his head. Vash. Emil. Lukas.

Lukas.

"Goodness, just when we thought you might be regaining your memories," said Gilbert loftily. Mathias had not realized that he had spoken aloud. "It's an improvement though, I must say. You're making connections."

"Lukas," he repeated, louder. "Where's Lukas? What happened—"

"Not much of an improvement," Lovino grumbled lightly. "According to Emil, Lukas was trapped in the Prison, so we've got Vash investigating for us. Last time he called, he confirmed that this person named Lukas is indeed being held in the Prison, although he is scheduled for a transport quite soon. He couldn't get any details though."

"The fact that he got anything was impressive enough," the boy standing at the kitchen doorway said. "You are exploiting him."

"We're protecting his sister," Gilbert pointed out. "He's supposed to be eternally grateful to us."

"People like Vash will not be eternally grateful to you just because you saved his sister," the older brother of the boy by the doorway spoke for the first time, his tone as cold and harsh as the yellow-green shade of his narrowed eyes. "After all, we are born of Hell."

Feliciano Vargas was pouting like the child he was and Ludwig Beilschmidt was feeling guilty while Kiku Honda was watching passively from the sidelines.

It occurred to Ludwig at that moment that this was a reoccurring situation amongst them three, and he realized also that he doubted there was anything he could do about it, unless he wanted to go find Gilbert and live with him, which was an unflattering thought, to say the least. This situation, however, also put him in a very uncomfortable place. Feliciano had a way of making him feel like a villain, like he was unfair and unjust and cruel, especially with that pout.

That God-awful pout and puppy eyes glazed over with tears that were just somehow always conveniently there.

It was times like these that Ludwig was extremely grateful for the presence of Kiku, who—if Feliciano was his downfall—was the logical and reasonable part of him.

"Honestly, Feli," Ludwig said irritably, "You know that I don't let you pilot."

"But I want to!"

"Just because you want to don't mean you should."

"Why not?!"

"Feli, please wear your seatbelt properly." That was Kiku, watching with a light frown as Feliciano threw a tantrum on his seat.

"But I want to pilot!" Now Feli turned upon Kiku. As if he'd be able to convince Ludwig to let Feliciano fly the plane, the Japanese man thought bemusedly. Not that he was crazy enough to do that. Stubborn Germans were more immovable than mountains, although stubborn Italians might be able to rival them with their fiery and passionate tempers. However, Italians were also madmen behind the wheel, and Kiku valued his life more than he valued Feliciano's feelings.

"Pilots also wear seatbelts, Feli," replied Kiku with a hint of a smile. "And besides, California is quite far away. Ludwig is just worried that you might get lost—"

"I won't!" Feliciano declared, pouting once more.

"—or that you might get tired from flying too long," Kiku continued. "Just let Ludwig do all the hard work. You can take a nap, and when we get there, maybe we can go to Disneyland?"

Feliciano's face lit up at the mention of Disneyland. "Ooh… Ludwig! Can we go to Disneyland? It's in California! Let's go to Disney, Ludwig! Pretty please? Ludwig, per favore?"

No, we can't, Ludwig thought to himself. They weren't flying from Tokyo to California on a private plane for fun and games. But to Feliciano he said, "We'll have to see."

Taking that as an affirmative, Feliciano cheered, but his companions remained silent and grim. No, California was not a vacation stop; they were there to pay a debt, and if possible, to seek revenge.

It was a life for a life after all; and freedom was freedom, even if it was a freedom in chains.

I AM STILL ALIVE!

Barely, but alive nonetheless. Apologies for being absent for so long, and admittedly, this chapter isn't good enough to make up for all the months I've neglected my writing (but the mixture of a writer's block and school-stress is hazardous and possibly fatal. I don't suggest it). This chapter was originally much, much longer than my usual chapters, around seven thousand words of nothing-happening-whatsoever. I was very unsatisfied with it, so I rewrote it several times and cut it down to three thousand six hundred words of nothing-happening-whatsoever. Nothing's happening quite a lot, huh? Hopefully, now that summer has begun, I will be able to update more regularly.

Thank you for reading, and please Review! They are much appreciated. )