The light was finally breaking through.
It was a struggle. Fighting the constant waves of drowsiness and numbness had taken a lot of his energy out of him, but he emerged successful in the end. And, when he had finally fought his way out of the depths, he discovered…
...that it was just as utterly useless being awake.
He was, in all sense of the word, a caged animal. Tight, solid, and restricting leather straps held down his arms. His legs, slightly better but not well off, faced the same challenge, with obstructions wrapped so tight he could feel the circulation being blocked from his feet, which were growing colder by the second.
Even without any such straps, the door in the far corner of the room had multiple locks on it, which would be rather effective at cutting off his puny attempts at escape. A quick glance around the room was for naught, as no other obvious exits appeared to exist in the room within his field of vision.
His worry slightly alleviating due to the passage of time, he began to think.
He could tell, at the very least, that he wasn't in the worst possible situation. The room was bare, well, except for the old wooden chair in the corner, and he remained relatively injury-free. The pressure on his skull had long since retreated, and the only signs of anything wrong were the needle marks on his hands, multiple sections of hair and skin removed, and the bruising from the rifle stock.
'Only' signs. Waking up missing a bunch of hair off your scalp with needle marks everywhere was downright terrifying. But the fact that he could not feel the pain of such injuries, rather, only the weird feeling of emptiness and soreness coursing through the area, meant that he worried about it less.
The room appeared to be long-since abandoned. Old, faded paint, broken vent, chipped wood. The light panels were missing multiple rods and a few holes existed here and there, from which the occasional draft would come in.
What had they done with him? Why did they want him? What had he done?
And where was his sister?
That last one scared him the most. He had long since understood that his life wasn't worth as much as others. Especially that of a young and innocent soul like Nunnaly's. He was the one who let her come with him. His selfish thoughts and extreme optimism had ruined everything. He was stupid. What was he thinking?
When- no, if he got out, he would have to find her. Immediately. He didn't know how long it had been exactly, but he would have to assume it had been long enough for the royal guards to muster a significant force to search for him. He was, as well as stupid, forgetful during his journey.
He had only meant to stay out for a few hours. Traveling quickly to the city, looking around, and beating a hasty retreat to the palace before his absence was noticed. Even if it was noticed, it would have been for so little time that they would merely find him roaming the grounds- one excuse away from a lighter punishment.
But… he got cocky. Overconfident. And, possibly worst of all, distracted by
Nunna. He didn't think about this part of the plan, and left for too long. Leading to the current situation.
Damn it!
Why did this happen!? Everything could have turned out just fine, like most of his other plans, but he just had to go fuck it up, and now he might just lose another-
Creeeak!
His musings were broken abruptly, thoughts derailed. Replacing them, a figure, entering through the only possible entrance. A figure that… he didn't like the look of.
The doctor's coat that he wore was bloody. Too bloody, with old and new mixing in the form of both brown and red splotches. His tall frame moved across the room with purpose, direction. His eyes, though intent, contained… something abnormal.
Walking over towards the chair in the opposite side of the room, he hesitated slightly, but took a seat. At this point he was almost a ghost, almost unseen by the young boy. But, using what strength and motion he had, he could raise his head ever so slightly. Enough to see the top of the man's wild, unkempt black hair.
"..."
Nothing was said by the man. Silence, in a situation where none should exist. Seemed like he would have to try first, forcing the fear down into the pit of his stomach. It would only hamper him now.
"You… what is this? Where am I?"
He couldn't see any response. But he heard a slight bang, almost imperceptible, make its way to his ears. He heard breathing, quick and shallow.
"Normal."
...what?
"...normal? What is that supposed to-"
"Blood. Normal. Genes. Normal. DNA. Normal."
Each time he said a word, some more passion was leaking into his voice. Standing up, he started walking closer.
"Skin. Normal. Body. Normal. Eyes. Normal." The more he said it, the more he made it sound like a curse; something to be hated. Despised and worthless. Worse yet, he could see his face better now. Pissed.
"Brain normal lungs normal reaction normal saliva normal cells normal! Normalnormalnormalnormal!"
He was upon him at this point, staring at him like he was disgusting. Obviously, the look of fear and confusion had spread to his face, as the strange man (doctor?) finally seemed to return a little bit of normalcy.
"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU SO NORMAL, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
Well, if anger was more normal than crazy.
"What the fuck are you talking abo-"
"SHUT IT!"
Fearing for his own safety at this point, he did. And watched as this mad, crazed man walked in circles around the room, somehow keeping purpose in steps that were anything but marching towards a goal. Who the hell was he, and what did he want? Was he even in the right state of mind to answer?
He seemed to calm slightly, after his little walk in circles. Returning to the other presence in the room, his eyes had seemingly lost their crazed look. But not intent.
"Child, I will give you one opportunity. One chance to not get hurt, and that is all." He leaned in.
"What makes you special?"
"Special? What do you mea-"
"DON'T GIVE ME THAT!"
SLAP!
The pain was sudden and without warning, slamming into his brain like a shockwave and hitting him before he knew what had occurred. His head, in much the same fashion, had snapped back to the base of the cot, with the sole item preventing his skull from sustaining more damage being the pillow that sat below his head.
The man who had committed the violence simply withdrew his hand, wiping it off on his coat as his scowl intensified, but showed no such hesitation or remorse as would be expected from an individual who had just slapped a defenceless child in the face.
(What the fuck…)
"The royal bloodline has created a… superior being, in the words a stupid child could understand. Any Britannian Royal is destined for the greatness of superiority over the… lower peoples. So… why is that?"
He looked… somewhat mesmerized with his words, his face displaying no emotions besides an awkward mix of anger and curiosity. Which simply left him with more questions.
He still didn't know who the hell this was, where he was, or nearly anything about his situation. But he could safely say he was fearing for his own safety when faced with this… thing.
"I- wha- what are you talking about?! I don't know what you are saying!"
"I refuse to be forced to repeat myself to a little stain of a petulant child. Now, TELL ME THE ANSWERS!"
He had never seen someone get this fanatically angry at himself. Videos online of pissed off pedestrians were one thing. Fighting with family over being able to leave the house was another. This was on a level entirely separated from those two, and it scared him.
"Yo-you're insane! I'm not a freaking scientist!"
Pure disdain flooded the madman's face, and he stared into the restricted child's eyes, appearing ready to bring up his fists again.
"Insane? Even an insignificant little shit like you is using such a despicable word?"
Every word grew in intensity, and it had appeared like he had touched a soft spot with his words. Alfie simply remained still, staring back with fear in his eyes.
"You can't not be insane with w-what you are saying! There isn't anything special about anyone here but yourself!"
But at the last moment before another assault began, his captor suddenly looked down and put his hand on his forehead, rubbing it slightly and letting out a forced sigh. Returning his gaze to the young man in front of him, he reminded himself that the idiot locked up in front of him was necessary, and physical damage may disrupt homeostasis needed for further tests.
So he was able to restrain his anger from those words. Spoken to him nearly every day of his life that was in living memory by some moron or another. Even so, his next words came out quietly, but with a slight passion and force behind them from the countless times of repetition with which he had said them before.
"What is "insanity" other than the simplistic conclusion of a prejudiced mind? The human mind is infinite in its possibilities, and anything that doesn't conform to the majority is outcast as a degenerate disgrace to the rest of the "sane" species. "Sane" or "insane"? Try asking "normal" or…. "unique."
"Wha-"
And then the giggles began.
"The whole thing is meaningless, because the last time I checked as to the situation, I was the one who can pump insecticide right into you tiny, little veins at any moment that I DAMN WELL PLEASE!"
He never had been good at keeping his temper in check. Not that he cared though. Maybe fear would make the little shit talk. He read about emotions like that in psychology oh-so-long ago. Might work here, who knew?
The target of the anger tried to look away, struggling against the restraints and telling himself that he needed to get out of this place. To get home. To return to normalcy. When this failed, and the solid restraints only hurt him more, he withdrew, almost feeling some of his spirit break as a result.
"Please, just stop… I can't tell you what I don't know!"
A few minutes passed after that. The crazed lunatic of the group did nothing more than continue to look at Alfie, only moving his emotionally blank face to blink. Meanwhile, Alfie had long since given up on talking. It wouldn't do any good, and he was terrified that he might set off the man who could kill him with a simple flick of his wrist if he so desired.
But nothing could last, including this situation. Leaning back, his captor simply smiled. It was crooked. Unnatural. Crazed. All of these words could similarly be used to describe the laughs that came out of his mouth mere seconds later. The sounds of a lunatic.
As the laughter died down (as Alfie's hopes of getting out also died a cruel death), he decided to speak once more.
"Heh, I tried to give ya a way out kid. But, looks like you were too stupid to see what is good for you. Smart as they may say you are. I will be back to… deliver the consequences of your decision".
Was he… going to get tortured?! He honestly hoped that it would not devolve into that situation, but he couldn't make any other guesses about what would happen based on the amused and downright terrifying tone coming from his assaulter.
"W-wait! What does that mean!"
"I don't know, guess you'll have to use your 'superior' brain to figure it out your own damn self."
Concluding his business for the time being with his prisoner, the Doctor simply smiled to himself and withdrew. But upon opening the door and stepping out, being unseen by the boy by this point, he jerked his thumb down the hall and spoke his brilliance.
"Oh, and by the way, I've studied the intricacies of human relations. Lets just say… heh, lets hope you don't like your sibling. Might end badly for you, all things considered."
The rusted door creaked shut.
"N-no. NO. WHAT WILL YOU DO YOU BASTARD!"
Strolling leisurely down the hall towards what must eventually become a breakthrough, the good Doctor simply smiled to himself as his whispers began anew.
"I'll figure it out…. I will. Days, weeks, months, years, all are meaningless. There is only the truth. Yes… the truth…
"The investigation, therefore, has yet to uncover the events that occurred during the current incident."
Royalty. The sheer power of such a position means that any contact must occur in a setting that sends a clear statement: These are your betters. Respect them or pay the price."
While it could not match or even approach the sheer majesty and beauty of the throne room, the working room that the Holy Britannian Emperor Charles zi Britannia occupied was by no small means a place of decadence. Sitting at the lavishly carved and solid oak work desk, where he had to spend at least some time at each day coordinating an empire as majestic as his (even if he left most of the repetitive and unimportant duties to Prime Minister Ellison) he cast a cold glare onto the man in front of him.
"What you are telling me is that, with all of the 'experience' and 'abilities' you lay claim to, at every turn you have been bested by a mere child?"
Said man was the head Specialist of the investigative wing of the Royal Palace, whose name he had no reason to recall. Standing at stiff attention on the lavish purple carpet and solid antique pallets that sat underneath him, he appeared every bit as meek and simple as one in intelligence doubtlessly turned out to be.
"Respectfully, Your Highness, it is not as simple as that. The child may have initiated the incident, but all signs point to a kidnapping att-"
He was tiring rapidly of this farce. For several minutes, all this spineless fool could repeat was his failings, each time attempting to be sugar-coated with half-truths and theories that were clear to any imbocel with a brain cell. Therefore, he held no remorse for slamming his fist onto the solid desk, and making the man nearly jump from his surprise.
"Enough of this. Your incompetence in your duties thus far is unquestionable, and the singular task you are assigned to has brought up naught but speculation and weakness at every turn!"
His eyes were bearing into his opposite. You could tell much of a man's will from their gaze. This one refused to meet his, attempting to find comfort in the soft purple hue of the ground.
"Your singular goal, that goal shared by your entire department, is to find the children. Whether they are broken or not. And you have until this point accomplished nothing, progressed no further than your theories."
And that was all they had been able to present to him so far: unsubstantiated musings coming from under equipped imaginations. The only concrete facts they had been able to discover was that the children were the ones who decided to leave the house; nobody made them. Besides that, the only other statements of any validity that could be made were that it was Alfonso's doing, as the other one was just too naive and wish-happy to pull off something of this magnitude. Some part of him even felt proud that he had a child who was slightly competent. That part was soon shot dead and buried in a shallow grave, however.
"We are going as fast as we can, Your Highness. Our investigators are already working around the clock, and the conclusion of the matter should be within sight."
Within sight? After the utter lack of information he had just been given?
"Will this 'conclusion' include the number of seconds the children have been gone? Each speck of blood lost from their frail bodies? Each dollar wasted on salaries for you blundering incompetent cretins?"
With each word, the other man simply stood stone-faced, looking back at the Emperor as he took both his fists out onto the table and hit it hard.
"I will not tolerate blatant guesses on the timetable, Specialist. Considering the previous adaptability and superiority of your missions, you cannot claim to me that you are unable to fulfill your duties. If you lack the strength to conclude this matter, then you will simply be swept aside and disposed of. Weakness has no usefulness in the Empire. Unless, it is more than just weakness…"
A gulp.
Very slight, almost imperceptible, but decades of ruling the most superior and wicked Empire in existence had taught him all he needed to know about facial expressions. He could read them like a book, and the small, imperceptible movement of the throat was all the evidence he needed.
And then, the door to the left was opened. Considering the proximity of the door to the living quarters of only a few select individuals, he already knew what was going to happen.
"Come on now. I'm sure that this poor man is trying his best, Darling, and that all of this pressure is unnecessary."
Marianne had always seemed to find some sort of fun in abruptly interrupting his dealings, barging in during the most inopportune times to gossip or to make suggestions. He had always made his displeasure at such interruptions. However, it seemed… different this time, with the aura given off by his most-favored wife most decidedly not one of idle talk as she sailed across the room towards him.
"He will try his best to find my children and he will succeed in all due haste, right?"
Perhaps it was the words, emphasis put on the request for confirmation. Or the tone, like that of a disapproving parent making it quite clear what the consequences would be if you stepped out of line. More likely, it was the eyes; round, purple spheres of intense anger hidden behind a glimmer of calm and intensity. Either way, the tool in front of him went ramrod straight, looking slightly to the side as he began to, quite clearly, panic inside.
"Y-yes ma'am!"
The stare relented somewhat, losing some intensity but none of the will. Broken internally by what he had faced, the investigator simply chose to keep his head down low.
Motherly instincts were a more effective fuel for the fire of anger, it seemed.
"Then all is well. Now, off you go to your investigation, Specialist. We would like to speak to you again tomorrow."
"Of course, Your Highnesses!"
However, you could only interrupt the Emperor for so long before his own bubbling frustration emerged from its depths, and that time had arrived. Standing up from his grand chair, he simply coughed slightly; a deep and bass sound that quickly permeated the room. Attention gained, he raised to his full height and looked directly at the man in front of him, knowing full well how such internally weak and spineless creatures would react when faced with his own intense aura.
"Get out of this office, and let no obstructions halt you. If your dominance and mastery are not evident in the coming day, the consequences will be felt by all of you incompetent buffoons."
Not even bothering to question what was meant by consequences (and futilely attempting to pretend like he was unaware of the implications), the man sketched a quick salute and retreated from the office, tail between his legs but composure maintained.
Soon after the guards had opened the door, allowing the pitiful creature to escape his gaze, Charles simply sat down again, letting out a short sigh. He would never admit it, but on the inside, he relished the feeling of utter superiority and control, even if it exposed to him the rot in his own system. To his side, Marianne also lost her aura of intense willpower, deciding instead to wander around the room for a bit while moving on to the next topic at hand.
"Was all of that truly necessary Darling? You could clearly see him terrified out of his wits."
It was always her who questioned his actions, even when he himself knew she didn't actually have a care in the world for the suffering of those below them.
"You know as well as I do Marianne that only fools suffer from such impediments. That was not fear, but calculated." At least in the beginning, he added to himself.
"You mean he was lying? How could that be, he was terrified! Just look at his face!"
She really seemed to believe what she was saying. Even after years of being in the royal family, he still had to remember that Marianne had always been best at putting on a disguise, but had never been able to see through those of others quite yet. That would have to change.
"A face is a mask that can easily be changed to suit the situation, and this was no different. No, the general inability to get anything done has traces of something... deeper in him, along with the people he does business with."
"…treason?"
"A track record such as theirs does not go through a sudden drop for no reason, even if they seem incompetent the past doesn't lie. The situation here is clearly filled with rot, and those who betray the might of the throne will deal with the fallout."
It wouldn't be the first time he had to put down a few doubters. Any position of power came with that responsibility, and his was no different from any other in that respect. All hail the Emperor, and death to the traitor. Kill or be killed.
"As long as that fall out comes nowhere near our children. I refuse to bear this for much longer! I can't even get Lelouch to sit down since his return, much less rest! My heart cannot take much more of this!"
Ah, the children. It always came down to them. He couldn't much care any less about them, and would almost prefer to chuck them into obscurity for even the smallest political advantage once one appeared. But, still, they had their uses, and he did feel something for them, insignificant though it may be. Marianne, though, had found some way to care about the little creatures. even when they were the cause of all this trouble in the first place.
Spending years with someone made you understand them; think how they think. The more you understood, the more you grew. Matured. Grew stronger. And by this time, he understood the woman in front of him more than anyone else. She cared, all right. Even if it was in her own, twisted way.
"My beautiful children…"
"The children will be returned in due time. If one team shall not accomplish the task, then thousands more will take their place. I refuse to see the throne desecrated by some heathens taking advantage of the cracks in our institutions."
That was always one of the most important factors above everything else; the throne. The well-being of any child is fleeting, but the effects of a royal child being lost and possibly killed? Two children? The nobles would be in a faux uproar, either using their secretive backchannels to decry the inability of the throne to defend itself or creating their own imitation plans in response.
The nobility had always believed themselves to be the kingmakers in Britannian society, no matter how much those who took the throne attempted to disabuse them of that notion. Their false sense of security and self-righteousness was always a risk, and no matter how solid a grip any Emperor held on his power, they would always attempt to exploit it to their own ends.
No, the children had to be found. And the ring leaders, along with all the participants, had to meet their painful end. Blood was always most useful in quieting discontent. The more you spilled, the better position you would be in later on. And the more power he could syphon from the throne for his own uses, rather than turning to the defensive against some uppity nobles.
"Those who did this will pay. The Ganymede will see to that much."
She was looking at him when she said that, snapping him slightly out of his musings on the same subject as if she knew of his plans. The seriousness of her voice indicated she would be happy to help.
"No matter the outcome, our plans are unaffected. The foundation will not break under slight stresses. The weak cannot counter the will of the superior. But you already are aware of that, aren't you?"
She shook her head in response, fear over the matter being quelled slightly.
"We will get back what is ours. And the culprits shall suffer for their misguided ideology."
And if his own investigative team was not up to the task…
Turning slightly to the open door, he shouted in his loud bass voice for one of his guards to enter. In a short time, his order was obeyed, and one of them entered the room, stone-faced and rigid in the presence of his ultimate commander.
"Prepare a message to be sent. The usual recipient. The contents of the message will be given within the hour."
If only the contact actually kept direct and constant communications, he wouldn't have to wait. But, that never was her style.
Unquestioning and silent, the man nodded and left the room, the central power of a great empire still within.
Time passed, as it always did. Marching on without a care in the world for the relatively innocent soul trapped in… well… wherever he was.
Perhaps it has been days. Or hours. Minutes, even. Time passes with extreme haste when your senses are deprived of everything. Not a speck of light. No sound, nothing in the terrifying room could be capable of moving to cause something as longed for as something to listen to. If to distract from the thoughts.
His muscles were tired; struggling against rock-solid restraints with the physique of a boy who had never even seen a weight or ran a mile was a desperate move that could only work for so long. Needless to say, he wasn't going anywhere.
He had read quite fervently in his past of heroes. Great men who could be an inspiration to others. Save them in their time of need, while suffering little in battle and little in heart. Men who could easily shatter their restraints and do what needed to be done. Escapism at its finest.
He was 0/3. Chuckling quietly, if only to avoid the alternative of breaking down, he looked back on how absurd such stories and fantasies were.
Not much else to say besides he gave up. Didn't really take long. Going into trying to shake himself out, the hope was that the restraints were loose, or that they were insecurely tied down to his prison. No such luck. So, while he desperately wanted, longed for, pleaded to anything, anyone, to be able to escape, the simple fact was he was too small, too insignificant, too weak to be able to do anything at all. Again.
Couldn't even help his little sister. That brought about the heaviest guilt. Dragged her away from home, got her captured, and who-knows-what was being done to her. He could only hope that insane, mentally unstable man was using himself first. Or that his threats were just that. Hope was all he had left, if not for himself, then for the innocent who got wrapped up in all this insanity.
Laying down on the tough makeshift bed (not like he could do much else at this point) and trying to fight the thoughts, eyes closed, brain numb to the outside, it took a moment to register. Sensory deprivation made them dull, and dull senses led to a slow recognition of a door opening, of light flooding into the darkness of what was his prison and cage. But, even impaired senses recovered quick, and he snapped his head up to attention as soon as he heard the door's creak.
Whatever it was that entered the door, it was to remain a mystery for the moment. He could see the madman's face when he left, however long ago that may have been, and his entire head down to his thin, sickly shoulders. If that was the case, what did it mean if he couldn't see anything now?
Still, not like he had a say in whatever came next. Whatever inner turmoil it caused.
"Just get the hell out and leave me alone."
His throat burned from disuse and dehydration, but it still worked adequately enough for the moment.
The slight squeak of shoes on the floor tiles was the only indication that there was someone there to respond. "Subject is awake and alert. Mental state appears weakened and angered. Request permission to initiate contact."
It wasn't often that a young man (boy?), like the one currently tied up for the slaughter, ever got kidnapped. What young whatevers like he was would have seen were the crime documentaries, or read the news of some graphic descriptions. None of them ever mentioned a child being a kidnapper.
Not much else this person could be, unless they were a dwarf with a messed-up voice box.
"Permission acknowledged."
It wasn't much more time for him. About a minute later, if that, before he heard the other presence in the room speak in his tenor of a voice. Once again, it wasn't to him, it seemed. But that then begged the question: who was this guy talking to if it wasn't him?
He saw the slightest movement out of the corner of his eye. Which was surprising in and of itself; the head of sickly black hair just edging its way over the strapped bed was barely large enough to even be seen. He was never a short person, in either life, and the last time he could remember being that short was way back when he was five, back in the days when nothing mattered.
He wanted those days back. Screw these people, whoever they were. He just had to hope that rescue came in time for both of them.
The slight screeching of wood on tile was almost overlooked in favor of looking inwards, but he noticed the distinct noise. As well as the chair that was moving slowly across the room, towards him. Albeit he could only see the very top of it from his positioning. Must be embarrassing, for whoever had to be dragging the old thing.
Finally coming to a halt from its long trek, the noise stopped at his bedside. Before long, and completely lacking in any sort of announcement or permission, a new pair of dark blue eyes were suddenly staring directly into his own. Completely lacking in any discernible emotion or soul.
"Who are you?"
Stare.
Like a common animal, he was just ignored. Nothing in the other face even seemed phazed, like it was just another day. That was a little scary.
And so were the clothes of the recent intruder. Completely black clothes covered the kid, from hooded head to the chest area, and it appeared to go even further down. A few symbols adorned the dress, on the sleeves and top, but for the life of him he didn't know what they meant.
As part of his dreaded tutor courses, he was taught about both history and modern politics. Every single organization, from the various noble houses to those idiot royal societies or national "union" groups had some symbol to rally behind, everything from a simple circle to complex and intricate geometric patterns that represented ancient civilizations or important constellations. And, in being forced to study them for hours by a tutor that had to literally hold his head by the hair to force him to look at them, he knew that he hadn't ever seen a lazily-drawn bird.
Or maybe that was one of the symbols he "accidentally" lit on fire when he chucked his book into the fireplace. Who knew. Not him, at least.
"Are you a cultist or something? Why are you wearing that weird-ass outfit?"
He wanted to continue asking the individual about what the freak he was wearing, but he found that he couldn't.
Something changed.
Have you ever taken a bath? Ok, dumb question, I admit. So let's move on to a smarter one. Ever take a bath where the water was so hot that you could feel your body temperature soar before you even touched the boiling liquid? If not, then sometimes, after such a bath, your brain decides that it has had enough and shuts down. The blood drains, the darkness moves in from the outer edges of eyesight, and all sense of balance is gone, replaced with a slight feeling of both pain and, weird enough, numbness.
He felt that now. And last time he checked, he was fully dry.
And he could still see. Even with the slight pressure in his brain making him a little confused, the sight of a staring child was still there. And was still just as creepy as before.
Could… was it him doing this? A drug or something? He didn't know, but he was getting tired of the pain in his head after a good half minute.
"Ok, I don't know how the hell you are doing that, but fuck off and let me wallow in peace."
Surprisingly, that had the desired reaction. Specifically, the eyes blinked, the face hardened, and the fucking off happened in the form of a soft jump onto the floor. He didn't see anything after that.
Well, something was finally going his way. Small and insignificant, but he really couldn't find it within him to care anymore. What happened happened. Powerless.
"…no reaction... there is no...completely unknown…. Orders?"
He made out bits and pieces of the brat's conversation from the other side of the room. If you could call it that. To Alfie, it only heard like some drunk rambling to themselves. But, If he really was talking to someone else, then whatever happend happened.
"Tell whoever that is to go fuck off and die in a ditch."
They had to have already decided what to do with him, as depressing or sad as that thought may be. Might as well let out some frustration first. Maybe (hopefully) annoy the shit out of someone else first too.
"Understood"
He amused himself with the thought of the cultist's words being directed towards himself, and that the kid would tell his friend just that. But, as was obvious, that wasn't the case at all. Still, could always hop-
"AGH"
The searing pain rushed in like lightning and, for the second time that day, he felt the entire left side of his face nearly explode as he was assaulted by his captor. His neck slammed to the side, and his head hit the back of the bed. Not hard enough to cause much more damage than was already done, but enough that he knew there would be significant bruising later on.
If there even was a later on, with how intent these fuckers seemed to be at wanting him to experience child abuse. And how the fuck was this child this strong?!
"Why can't you people just tell me what you want?!"
The face was back. Once again, no emotion.
"Question: why are you unaffected?"
The lips moved robotically, and it was almost as if there was no person home in the other body. He knew his fair share of dead-eyed fast food workers or students who had just stopped giving a shit, but this was on a whole new level.
Why do they keep asking questions about stuff he didn't know a single goddamn thing about?!
"Unaffected from what?!"
It came from just above his eye this time around. A mass of unexpected pressure hitting him squarely on the eyebrow caused an explosion of color and, for a short time, he couldn't see if he was in the nasty old hospital room or in a magical land of color and light. He could feel his brain slam back into his skull, and this sequel of flayed neurons hurt no less than the original.
"Why are you unaffected?"
Why can't he take a hint?!
"I don't know what you are talking about, just leave me alone! Why can't you people take a fucking hint?"
Mouth.
Neck.
Skull.
Stomach.
Groin.
Over the course of a few minutes, the question was asked tens of times. And each time, as the captive's blood began to spill out onto the floor and the body tried desperately to face and repair the damage being done to it's young tissues, the mind's patience was running thinner and thinner.
"Explain. Why are you unaffected?"
The blood continued to drip out of the rapidly growing number of contusions coming into being around his body; none of them were a problem in and of themselves, but the sheer force of the ruptured capillaries causing increasing amounts of both pain and blood loss were not easily fixed by bodily systems that had not even figured out how to grow properly yet. Death from a thousand needles.
And he couldn't take much more of the pain. He wasn't a chicken when it came to fights, but in a fight, you could at least retaliate against the motherfucker who decided to go for the junk.
The ever bending patience, if he even had any to begin with, snapped in two.
"For the last, and final fucking time, I don't know what you are on about! Maybe if you told me what you were trying to do to me, drugs, poison, or whatever else you sickos have, then I could have an idea of what you wanted me to say and we can stop torturing the child!"
He spit as hard as he could. Retaliated how he could. Pitifully.
The eyes were back on his, but only for a moment this time, and the first sign of emotion was able to be sensed. Uncertainty.
Quickly turning away and wiping the spit from his face as if it was just another day, the torturer stopped. The footsteps began again, the door clicked, and the silence returned.
Exhaling a breath that he didn't know he was holding in his damaged lungs, he tried to calm down. Looking to his wounds, he tried to take stock of his situation. He needed to calm down. Nothing came of freaking out. Not last time, and not this-
Why was his blood falling sideways? Better question, how did the floor become the wall? And why was he laying on said floor?
"Sure, just leave me on the floor why don't you. Not like I could pass out from the pain or anything."
Must have happened during the torture. He was barely aware at some points of it, specifically the points when his face was the target. Must have been then.
The headache was still constant; a mix of his brain's repeated meeting with his skull and attempts at repairing his bodily functions must have been putting extreme pressure on it. It wasn't nearly as bad as the open wounds on his body, which were finally starting to see his platelets rush into the areas and bind to stop the bleeding, but it still hurt like a bitch.
Bringing his right hand up to his forehead, he tried to put some pressure on his skull and massage it, hoping that his free hand could do some good.
...
...wait a second. That couldn't be right.
But it was. He brought his hand, his bound and tied up right hand, in front of his sore eyes. While the occipital lobe of his brain was still a bunch of puddy in his head, he could still make out the clear image of his small, soft, and bleeding hand moving shakily in front of him, a long but peripheral gash down the side. Looking to his right, he similarly saw the leather restraint that should have been holding it with a large gash. That went completely through the leather, courtesy of one of the severely broken floor tiles jutting out of the ground.
"Oh yes!"
Hope. He had it again. It had been sorely missed.
He forced his arm out from underneath him and, through much protest, it obeyed. Further still, he began reaching for the strap restricting his right hand. Five minutes later, he was standing for the first time in several hours. Unsteadily, yes, and after several attempts, but the action had finally held.
Relief.
"Eat your heart out Houdini," he remarked in amazement. "I did it after all".
Well, to be fair, it was less like he did anything and more like it was done to him. Luck was a fickle mistress, and this time it must have wanted some suffering. But, still, the ordeal was ongoing.
Escape was at the forefront of his mind. And, with this mindset, he went about looking through his options. Now that he could actually see where he was.
He looked slowly around the room. Until the pain in his neck became too great for such action. Had to move his entire body after that. And it yielded some results. The door was the obvious route to take, but then again, he wasn't an idiot. If you needed money and worked at a bank for instance, wouldn't the simplest and fastest way to get it be to steal it? Same type of thing here. No telling what's outside except that sadistic child and his fucked up doctor friend. Door is a no go.
Only other thing in the room, as far as could be seen, was a vent. Bolted shut with rusted bolts, it would clearly be too dilapidated and old to resist being kicked in with a solid hit. Even with this body's complete lack of a muscular system. He hoped.
But, if the outside was like this, what about the inside? Was it rusted out inside? Would it collapse once he entered it, dooming him to a fall and recapture? But still, it was the only viable option. He wasn't about to get his ass detected from walking out the front door and just screaming for the nearest guard to slam two feet of solid rifle stock into his face. Again.
He felt it as he was pacing around the room. The awkward weight affixed to his ankle, getting in the way of his limping foot's movement and threatening to trip him up. It took him a moment to remember what it was. A pistol.
The pistol he had packed a while ago. Pulling up his pant leg, he could see the shiny steel finish of the back of the barrel tied up to the bottom of his leg. An afterthought of his escape. A tool for the worst of circumstances that he didn't think would ever come. Well, they fucking came.
And, it might just be his only way out of this hell. He let out a sigh.
"Is this my only option? Murder?"
His own melancholic tone was unexpected to even himself. He brought it along, didn't he? He knew something could happen, right?
So why wasn't he prepared?
It would be simple. He knew it would be, from all he learned in his past about self-defence. Check clip. Grip. Turn safety off. Breath in. Steady. Aim. Breath out. Fire.
But he never needed to advance to the last step: kill. That was always the fear, but never the belief. But now…
He had to. There wasn't another way. Did he want to die here? What about his sister? Would he be okay with her sitting here, wherever she was, until these insane people decided to do to her what they did to him? Did they already do it? Was she still okay? Alive?
She had to be. She would be. Not again. It hurt, more than the physical wounds, to overcome the barrier. And he still hadn't, and wouldn't until he fired the damn thing. And he would.
For freedom. For safety. For revenge.
"For her."
The freak arrived a little bit after he had left, and in the same condition too: dead and lifeless as he slithered his way through the door.
Alfie counted himself lucky; the bed that was his prison was orientated in such a manner that it couldn't be seen from the doorway, especially in this poor lighting. Lighting that made it even harder to accomplish what he had wanted to.
Across from the door he stood, trying to steady his breathing and make himself as small as possible in the darkest corner of the room. Silent. Stealthy. Heroic.
The door snapped shut, and before he knew it action time had approached. He still wasn't ready, and never would be. First time skydiving all over again; already prepared and waiting for the ball to drop, but paralized. He wouldn't repeat his hesitation now. He couldn't.
The child looked refreshed slightly, as much as a shell of a face could look refreshed. Eyes ever forward, he was rapidly approaching the bed. How he expected to move it or properly do anything to the person "on the bed" was unknown, but he wasn't on the bed anymore. He was aiming the barrel of his gun at the kid's chest, hoping and pleading with himself to fire. To do what needed to be done.
He breathed in.
The kid snapped his head towards him, eyes showing surprise, but little else, and the time of action was now or never. That's what he told himself as he exhaled.
It happened suddenly, and he never really could fully remember seeing it afterwards. The trigger was pressed inwards, the chamber fired, and the bullet impacted. The noise, the deafening roar of fire, knocked out his sense of hearing for a second, as this body had never been exposed to the training fire his previous had. The ringing would have to stop soon. However, when he had recovered enough to make out his surroundings, he charged forward out of desperation.
It worked. And he didn't know if he should be proud or fucking terrifired.
The body was sitting on the floor, a clean fountain of blood coming forth from the center of his chest and pooling around the area of tile where his body crumpled. Those eyes, the damned little red orbs, did as they always did when it came to this freak.
Stared. But without any presence behind them.
Hands shaking unsteadily, he allowed them to drop the tool of war that had done this act. It bounced slightly on impact, but otherwise remained near his feet as he hurled over and began to expel his stomach contents.
It was… worse when it was actually done. Terrible, and needlessly violent. Except that it was needed. He had to. There were no other choices. The first time was always the worst. It would get better. He would forget about those eyes.
He repeated this endlessly in his head as the shaking, tears, and vomit were unrelenting. Eventually, though, he had to run out of stuff to throw up, and that moment came about half a minute later when the dry-heaving began. Crawling over to the corner, back to where he was when he fired, he simply sat for a minute, trying to steady his breathing.
They… always made it look so easy. Take the gun, fire the gun, kill the bad guy, and move on to the next, looking dashing as more and more of the enemy were disposed of with haste. He should have known that life wasn't that simple, that the dead always stared back at you, hauntingly and frighteningly. He could only hope that the soundproofing that he saw in the decaying walls was enough to muffle the shot to the outside. And it appeared as though it was.
I have to get up, he thought in his solitude. This wasn't for nothing. Keep going you idiot! Focus!
It wasn't easy to listen to the voice in his head, but he did. While all of the previous effects were still present, he forced himself to his feet and, navigating around both the growing puddles of green and red, approached the body.
I have to. I have to. I have to.
He couldn't leave the way he was. The clothes he was wearing would be a dead giveaway. But it was one thing to plan to loot a corpse and another in its entirety to actually do so. To desecrate the dead, even if the dead attempted to desecrate a scared child when they were alive.
It took a few minutes, but he was able to get out of his old clothes and into the clothes of the dea- someone who wouldn't need them anymore. Don't think about it and it will go away. They fit poorly on his taller frame, but still appeared to be just enough to cover him.
The hope was that the blood would be thought to be the prisoner's if he was found. The bright splashes of crimson illuminated the center of the infinite black on his chest, and he could feel it seeping into his-
No, stop. Focus.
He had work to do, shaking and tired as his suffering tissues were. He wasn't free yet, and this was only the beginning. No guards had come into the cell yet, hopefully meaning that none would. The soundproofing he could see sticking out from the walls looked solid enough, anyhow.
Taking a few unsteady steps, he worked his way over to the vent system. It was just large enough, probably about a foot by a foot and a half. That would be all this body needed. Forcing himself into the enclosed area, which really was not helping his mental state, he simply repeated to himself over and over that he needed to do what he had to do.
Alfonso was back in the cell, and was more frustrated than ever.
Why were there so many guards for just a hospital? From as far as he could make out, there were only him and his sister there, and yet in the single wing of the hospital that they were on he could count seven guards scattered around the hall and the ambulance bay he found. Thankfully he went slow enough to not be found out, but less thankfully the process, already ludicrously tough and tiring, took nearly half an hour, and he heard some mentions about checking in on his cell. Thankfully they were ended when one of the older ones just asked "Do you want to be the idiot who talks to that freak?"
Speaking of the situation, he had indeed found his sister. All this time she was just a few dozen feet away. Unconscious and tied up, just like him, although he was thankful for that. The less she had to see, the better.
But, still, he couldn't prevent a small "Fuck me" from escaping his lips as he forced his legs out of the air vent. At least seven guards. Fully grown guards. Armed with military-grade rifles and a few military-grade revolvers against his single pistol. Life was not fair.
It still had to be done. Otherwise, he couldn't get out. His sister couldn't get out. His first murder….
*gulp*
...would be worth shit if he was just recaptured and reimprisoned, destined for more torture and more dead eyes as god knows what they did to Nunnally.
Standing up steadily and making his way for the door, he only wished that the royal guards were more competent. That they could have caught him, or actually found him by now. It shouldn't be that difficult for the "most advanced" and "excellent" investigators of an empire that was that big, but knowing empires, they were probably just a bunch of fat pigs who left everything to their underlings as they sat back in bed staring at a television all day.
Ok, focus. No time for idle thoughts now.
He stepped out the door quickly, making no attempt to hide the bloodstains on his chest. One would think a torturer would go to some… extreme measures if being in a room for nearly an hour without contact. And, by all appearances, that was the thoughts of the grunts who turned to look at him. Thanking the absolute lord that he both fit the clothes (relatively) and now had a mask, he made his way forward.
Trying to exude an aura of nothing whilst proceeding forward with purpose, he walked the twenty feet down the hall that he had to in order to approach his destination. Where else would he go other than to try to get his sister?
Reaching the door, and with the guards looking at him with, this time, confusion on his presence, he ordered them to open the door and let him in.
Or, he wanted to, before he realized that the people in front of him could probably recognize his voice or the person he replaced. Stopping his mouth from opening, he thought frantically. How could he do this? He could easily shoot them, but the others from down the hall could just pump him full of lead before he could get to them with their rifles. Talking was already out. Walking straight past them and attempting to enter would… probably not be smart.
In the end, he just went with the simplest thing that he could. And also what happened to be the only thing his mind could scratch up in time. Pointing at the door and reaching for his pistol while staring at the guards with the most detached face he could muster, he waited.
"You uh… you want to interrogate the girl?"
Thankfully one of the two, the smaller one with the unwashed clothing and unshaven, tired face responded. He nodded.
The other one, who was rather thin and quite clean in comparison, chimed in, "Oh no, not without the Sergeant's clearance you ain't. He didn't tell us nothin' about smacking up the Princess until he got what he wanted out of the smartass." The fear in their eyes was certainly there, but it seems like duty won the day.
He continued to stare, hoping and pleading that this man would just open the door if he looked serious enough. Thankfully, Nunnally seemed to be fine, but that could only remain so for so long.
After a moment, the Private's eyes seemed to bulk a bit, and he spoke again in a bit more professional tone. "Ok then, lets see what the Sergeant has to say." He turned towards the slightly depressed exit further down in the middle of the hall, where two other guards stood. "Hey, Jim! Get the Sergeant on the radio, tell him it's a situation!"
"But he's on break! Nobody ought to disturb him, he said, and I don't plan on being the one to shovel the shit out of the goddamn rusted pipes tonight!"
"Ugh, do I have to do everything myself you idiot?! GIve me the radio. I'll do it myself, but you owe me some smokes for this!"
Turning towards the direction of the radio, and with his partner in tow, the men started off towards the wing exit as Aflonso simply stood there, suddenly very afraid. If there were no orders to do anything, and he was trying to do something… wouldn't he be found out?
"Come on over here, let's get this thing settled so I can go back and catch a little shuteye." Snapped back to reality, he realized it was the messier of the two shouting back to him this time, with the other one presumably already around the corner.
This…
Okay, he needed to make a new plan. He didn't want to, but only one thing flashed across his mind. They were all crowded in one place, no other reinforcements to relieve them or even hear them. That was, if he acted before they turned on that freaking radio and found him out.
It must be done.
He ran quickly towards the small corner, legs creaking and grumbling over the sudden acceleration. While not the quickest, he was able to make it to the corner in a few seconds, being only a few feet away. As the first guard who had called out wondered to himself what the little freak was doing, his arm was already pulled out from under his coat. Finger on the trigger, he pointed, aimed, and fired.
The first bullet struck the messy guy in the left lung, cleanly exiting the body and leaving a gaping, bleeding wound that oozed blood as the wreck of a body fell. Before the remaining three could react, he had made his way around the corner, eyes avoiding his most recent sin.
"What the hell-"
Seeing the surprised faces of the two conscious guards and the rapid eye movement of the one currently dozed off in the chair, he aimed again. He fired a few more bullets in their general direction, with only the first shot being properly aimed at the radio guy's neck. Unable to drop the radio and unhook his service pistol in time, the bullet severed his jugular, causing him to rapidly collapse and, if he wasn't dead yet, would soon lose more than enough blood to send him to the afterlife.
He had to do this. Disconnect yourself.
A few of the next bullets missed, allowing for the tall, clean one to aim the rifle. One shot was able to be gotten off before he too collapsed, screaming as the wound to his arm forced him to lose grip of the rifle, which clattered to the floor. He tried in vain to reach for his pistol, but his brain was gone in the next few seconds, splattered on the door.
Don't look at the blood. Focus on the task. It had to be done, even as the tears began to block his vision once again.
The third guard tried vainly to unlatch the door, whose solid white surface was adorned with locks that were equally as numerous and complex as those to his own cell, if not actual key locks. He didn't even have a gun on him and, if the fear in his eyes was any indication, he knew he wouldn't get the chance to find another one.
And he didn't. One more squeezing of the trigger, and he was the same as the others. Out of the picture.
He had eaten a grand buffet the previous evening. A welcoming feast made up of some of the finest clam chowder, sirloin steak, and most exquisite fancy filet mignon that the local nobility had to offer. Thankfully the meal had already left his stomach, or else his dry-heaving would have been much messier than it was.
He had to do it, didn't he? There wasn't any other way, right?
As he was on his hands and knees attempting to stop the tears from getting worse and forcing his stomach to calm, he honestly wondered if it really was necessary after all.
Hello all, Offtimeotaku here!
Don't worry my friends, for I do declare that I am, in fact, alive. And, thankfully, in good health, as much has occurred since my last update in...January. Wow it has been awhile.
Thoughts of writing are not far from my mind, but stress from recent events, a lack of motivation, and a fleeting memory of source material present... challenges. However, I have begun to overcome the first two, and I just got my copy of Code Geass in the mail last week, so I will soon be refreshed in both source material and plans.
Now I have noticed the pace is a bit... bad. 10k words for one chapter is quite an achievement, but it means nothing if there is no story. To this end, the "introduction" arc will certainly conclude next chapter. Followed by a time skip, as I am, like many a drug addict, frantically searching for a way out before I'm in too deep. when will next chapter be out? Ha, lets not talk about that... (I have no idea).
I hope everybody reads this in good health, and I think I should stop blathering on right about now.
Have a good day!
(P.S. Happy one year anniversary to the story! Hard to believe it, but it's true. Thanks to everyone who has read, favorited, followed, and reviewed my first ever work. It means a bunch to me!)