And chapter 2! Thanks to those who reviewed, I appreciate your feedback greatly!
Chapter 2
"Step back and close the door." The usual woman spoke calmly, hip pressed against the outer door while she waited for the boy to obey. "Come on, I'm in a hurry."
"I want my whore." She didn't have to look to know he was still there, watching her with those freaky eyes. Damn she hated this particular duty.
"I don't care. Close the door or I'm taking your meal with me." A soft series of steps and the door closed behind him quietly. "Lock it and push the key out. Come on, same as always."
Click. A light metal clang as the key slid over the floor towards her. Her door unlocked at the touch of the code and she bent to place the tray on the floor and pick up the key. When she lifted her head, he was there, staring at her intently; her startled cry was stifled by a slender hand, her vocal cords and body paralyzed using the twist of strong fingers he'd been taught hours earlier.
Terrified eyes watched the needles prick her skin, where the hell did he hide those?, drawing drops of blood; one was licked then spat out, the little pink tongue wiped on a pale hand. "You taste disgusting. You are filthy and do not deserve to go before God." Hope that he wouldn't kill her died under the malicious grin. "He will sob with disgust when one such as you comes to Him."
She watched him prepare carefully, folding a piece of paper from her check-sheet to place in the door, preventing it from locking automatically, then lifting her easily and carrying her to the back of his cell to drop her on the hard floor. There was a flutter at her shields, faint and gentle; she recognized it as an empath and reached out desperately, funneling fear, pain, and the hope they would look for her towards whoever it was.
Amber glowed down, flashing as the white head turned in the dim light. Mad giggling, a sing-song voice, and shock darted through her. "I don't care." He couldn't be, there was no record of him having any kind of psychic talent, never mind a gentle talent like empathy. "It's a secret. You won't tell, will you?" More giggling and he began, stripping dark skin away from pale muscle, using his needles to edge layers up and to separate individual muscle.
Each muscle was removed and laid out carefully, gently. Major veins were avoided, bleeding kept as low as possible to prolong his time. She shrieked, a constant flow of emotion sliding over his tongue, fascinating with her ability to feel pain and share it with him, an infrequent experience and much enjoyed.
Shots and yelling screamed through the ward and the walls bled that night, talents hiding under their beds or huddling together to warm the rush of ice that flowed over them with the laughing voice that sang in the halls.
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Serious discussion went into simply putting him down and recording it as a failure but greed kept him alive, the determination to use such a uniquely ruthless and practically indestructible prize to their own ends; they watched him cut himself open time and again when there was no one else, healing in minutes. His only hint of weakness was the little redheaded telepath that had survived a week with him; the problem? That particular talent was locked in the medical ward.
Number JD910 was a wreck when the door was forced, hanging limply from the ceiling, covered in blood spatter, bleeding sluggishly, babbling about how much it hurt and make it stop now. Three telepaths and a guard dead, with only a weak, confused telepath as witness; questioning did no good, with the boy disappearing into his mind and refusing to answer anything, even when forced forward. General paranoia and outrage gripped the instructors and guards, covering the heavy fear.
There was talk of just putting him down too, or moving him to the practice area. His records were scanned and they placed him in the medical ward, hoping he would come back and keep a hand on Number 928TX, who had attacked his target practice group at the same time as the psychic attack; coincidence didn't exist, not in Rosenkreuz. Various techniques from brute force to gentle persuasion were used to find the connection; they wandered his mind, ignoring the small, huddled form in the back, curled in a ball.
Guilt found that if he stayed put and covered his bridge to Farfarello, they would leave him alone. The new power was disorganized, sliding over his senses and bringing the tiniest details into sharp focus. He found that he could isolate most of it and nudged it onto the little island Farfarello had created for him; it remained untouched, the blond staying away unless the redhead was there, and served as the perfect storage area.
His memories were shredded and tossed into the red seas of the blond's mind, to be destroyed or stored wherever Far kept such things; as long as they needed him he would survive, and he was determined to survive. He would get out of here unbroken, no matter what it took; every lesson would be learned, every trick memorized until the day he was free. Then he would turn it on them and vaporize everything they ever dreamed they were.
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"Just toss him in there and see what happens. I don't know why he's still alive, it's pathetic." Heavy boots marched towards the bed where the thin redhead huddled, curled under his blanket. "We're supposed to be creating the next level of humans, not messing around with some low-level talent."
"Shh, don't say that so loudly!" A lower voice hissed at the first, worry nipping at the edges. "You know very well it's because Hardring wants the psycho under our command." Fear kept pace with them and Guilt hid further away from them, head tucked under his pillow.
'Whatever. Hardring is an asshole.' The thought skipped over the young telepath's shields, annoyance and disgust with the man's commander clear. "Get up, you useless brat. We're taking you to your room."
Green peered at him but nothing else moved; a hard hand slapped down on his rear and he jolted, sudden pain flashing through his body, overshadowing the constant throb. He'd been so torn he'd needed three stitches; his i.v. had been removed that morning, taking the steady flow of painkillers with it. The second man, smaller with softer edges to his face winced and held out his arm to prevent another strike. "He's still hurt. Have a guard carry him."
An annoyed snort from the first man but he turned and stomped off. "I'm Darias, an empath. Are you alright?" Thin shoulders hunched protectively but he nodded quickly, taking little furtive breaths; there was a slightly sweet smell, a little spicy. "Can you tell me what happened last week? You were hurt very badly, I know, but we want to find who did it." Short red hair shook quickly; trusting someone just because they looked or smelled nice was the stupidest thing you could do.
"Here, take the brat." The first man was back and shoved at Darias, pushing him out of the way so a large guard could lift the blanketed bundle and sling it over his shoulder. "Come on, let's go." Darias winced again at the jolting steps and soft whimpers but followed silently.
It was a long walk, Guilt rummaging in his mind for something to distract him from the pain; they stopped outside an odd looking door and a tendril of question was sent out to see what was beyond the door. The second he caught the feeling of that red landscape he started to struggle, kicking and wriggling, fighting the hand that held him down.
From beyond the door, another door slammed shut and metal clinked loudly. "Huh, he's pretty agreeable today. Ready?" Darias moved forward, closing his eyes in concentration as the guard and the brusque man both drew their weapons, training them on the door as it opened slowly under a spoken command at the empath's nod. Nothing moved, the entrance was empty and the guard knelt to place his burden on the floor.
A white blur dropped from the ceiling, landing on the bent neck, forcing it forward sharply; an experienced fighter, the burly man rolled, letting the force push him forward without breaking his neck. The redhead was shoved away, rolling helplessly in his blanket as he struggled to be free. ::Far!::
The blond froze, one hand in the dark hair, forcing the large head back to expose the neck to his spike that hovered, trembling at the abrupt halt he'd called to his strike. Both guns were trained on him, one to his head, the other to his chest. "Stand down!"
Cat's eyes watched them brightly before focusing on the empath standing behind his partner; easy prey that one. They narrowed and his legs bunched again, ready to spring. ::Farfarello, leave them. They aren't worth it.:: He just wanted to curl up and sleep, huddle down on the island in the blond's mind, and be watched over; calm was pushed through the bonds, pressing the bloody sea away to show green and rounded hills.
The fighter sprang, backwards to touch his back to the wall, hands up, metal weapon falling to the floor. His grin mocked but he stood still for a quick inspection, letting them check in his mouth and pat him down; his eyes fluttered closed and Guilt knew he was getting a mental scan as well.
A last disgusted sound and the door shut behind them, lock snapping into place. A thin hand reached out and was taken, drawing the weak boy to stand then into a carry, leaving the blanket laying in a pile on the floor; it smelled of sickness and the drugs they forced into the blond and he refused to touch it. His nest was in the back, made of clothes he'd stolen, the odd blanket taken from another student, and the small body curled slowly into soft cloth, shivering in the cool air. ::Guilt!::
::Sleep, I need to sleep.::
::No, come play. I already slept today.:: As if nothing but his desires mattered, as if the redhead existed only for his pleasure.
And perhaps he did. ::No, Farfarello, I hurt. I need to sleep.:: A second blanket was tugged up slowly to wrap around his shoulders. "Let me sleep."
Slitted eyes watched him, yellow flaring in the dim light. "Are you weak?" Short red hair lifted slowly to stare at the blond, watching the light flash over tilting white hair.
A light brush of minds showed the link shut down, a thick curtain of heavy liquid flooding their bond. He pushed to his side, curled protectively around his stomach, shifting to face the boy he wanted to make his partner. "I was. But I won't be anymore." ::Make me strong like you.::
There was no hint that the younger boy had heard his thought and they stared at each other. Their mental bridge shook but the telepath stepped out, sliding his feet along the slick surface; almost halfway and the entire structure shuddered, the harsh torrent of blood falling faster, harder.
Bare feet slipped, thin arms flailing as the small body started to fall; one hand clung, delicate fingers tearing into the bond, tips bleeding, screaming at him with pain. He could let go, let himself fall into whatever oblivion lay below, but then he would never have his revenge, never rip them apart for what they did to him. Tears fell steadily as he forced his other arm up, digging in and struggling to crawl up to lay against the bridge, breathing ragged.
He could have been there for minutes or hours until his breathing evened out again and he started to inch along, dragging himself over the glowing bond, closer and closer to the waterfall. When his hand reached out to touch, a brush of power changed the thick fluid to pale blue water, letting it run over his fingers, warm and soothing. ::Come Farfarello. We will make their blood run as mere water through their veins in terror. Our names will become synonymous with fear to our enemies, to our captors.::
There was no sound from the other side of the bridge, no movement; suddenly a hand shot out and gripped his wrist, yanking him to his feet and twirling him around. ::My vengeful whore.::
Laughter slid free, screamed as the redhead wrapped his legs around the slender waist and let himself be whirled until he was dizzy. His hair changed, growing steadily to fall halfway down his back in a wave of orange and scarred hands ran through it roughly, combing long strands with a pleased noise. ::Schuldig, Schuldig Rache.:: He shrieked at the darkening sky, his support screaming with him. ::My name is Schuldig Rache and we will come to bring a massacre, a slaughter such as you fuckers have never seen!::
When the guard checked on them later that evening, they were fast asleep, curled together in the nest at the back of the room. 'Who'd have thought? Guess even psychos need something to look after.' He shook his head at the thought and backed away when amber eyes flicked open to stare at him; a soft sigh and the thin body rolled over to go back to sleep. 'Damn crazies, fucking hate night duty.'
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The new power was disconcerting, to say the least. Oh, it felt good, wonderful really, to be able to do anything he wanted, even hold Farfarello down. Provided he wasn't in a full on rant; while small ones could be contained, they both paid, lying spent on the floor without even enough energy to eat. Unfortunately, it was too much for his conscious mind to handle and he had to leave most of it hidden, segregated from himself; he created a little house for it on his island, gave it a form, and played with it daily while practicing control and stamina.
Farfarello adored the new little creature in his mind and would hover at the edge of the island and try to talk to it, coaxing it to come to him. Schuldig tried to explain to him that it wasn't conscious, it had no mind or will but he remained stubborn. When the redhead was there to practice, his blond partner would touch it, prodding and looking for a reaction.
Sometimes, just for fun, the older boy would make it move and do things, pretend it could think and feel; it always sent the hunter into gales of laughter. The other thing the telepath wanted to practice was calling his talent to himself through their bond, even when it was shut down. The first time, he ended up with a headache bad enough to keep him collapsed in the blankets all day, ignoring Farfarello's jumping on him and the guard who came to get them for lessons.
The second time he had limited success with a bit getting through but he still spent another day trying to rest; his partner was not as generous as the first time and insisted on playing, forcing him out of the nest and shoving him around on the floor until he was bored again. Then the cutting started and they had their first fight, Schuldig screaming at the blond and throwing anything he could get his hands on, the heavier boy laughing and running, throwing the make-shift missiles back.
An hour later, they made up and Farfarello decided he needed a nap, which the redhead was grateful for. While it was quiet in his mind, the fighter was exhausting to deal with every minute of every day. His attention span was short and he didn't seem to understand that it i hurt i Schuldig to move and he couldn't play roughly. Or maybe he just didn't care.
Third time was a success, a bit too much success, the entire force slamming into him and sending him into convulsions. After forcing a cloth wrapped knife between his teeth, Farfarello sat back and watched with interest; the first time the older boy stopped breathing, he just pounded on the thin chest until he started again. The second time, he got bored with his game, made sure he was breathing again, and dug around until he found a little green and blue pill. One of the sedatives they gave him every night, and he almost never swallowed; it was ground under the hilt of his knife and trickled between barely moving lips.
It started working almost immediately, the delicate body relaxing against the floor, and a blanket was tucked around the limp form. The blond carried him back their bed and snuggled close, even though it was the middle of the day. Meals came and he played with the guard a little before refusing to go to training, spending the day practicing by himself until a groggy telepath called him to complain about his chest hurting.
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"How are they?"
"Very well, sir. Schuldig is moving forward with his shielding and has moved back up to a fourteen." Darias stood beside his partner, shoulders back, hands at his sides.
"A low fourteen." The deep voice was still annoyed with their duty and the empath nudged his foot subtly.
"Sir, Schuldig is doing very well, especially considering the condition he was in three months ago. Being with Farfarello is calming for both of them." Darias motioned briefly with his hands, looking between the men. "Farfarello himself is progressing remarkably. He's moving through physical and weapons training at an amazing rate, faster than anything we've ever seen." Their superior leaned back, arms folded over his chest.
"And Number JD910 isn't. He's getting faster but he's still weak, his aim is pathetic, he's been barely passing his physical exams, he" His partner cut him off.
"Taran, I know you don't like him, he is a bit snippy and his attitude isn't that great. But, Sir, if he can just have some more time, he's smart and talented, he can catch up, he's not squeamish or afraid, he can learn." The smaller man played his trump card. "And he's got Farfarello down, kept him in line almost since they were placed together. We've only lost one guard where we lost what, a dozen, before? And he got careless, went in by himself without double checking the screens." And as far as he was concerned, anyone who assumed with those two deserved whatever they got.
Taran waved his partner's words away. "I say we remove Number JD910, dump him as a failure, and match Number 928TX with someone more suitable. There are plenty of decent telepaths, or telekinetics, or even an empath; anything!" His partner fought the wave of annoyance at having his talent slandered.
"How is the drug therapy going?" Short hair shook quickly.
"No success yet. We have a sedative that works in the short term, keeps him down for a few minutes. Steady, low doses seem to be partially effective, keep him relaxed. Otherwise… He either goes completely out of control until it wears off or goes into a coma-like state, unresponsive and unusable. We had to interfere twice to keep Farfarello from killing Schuldig and we don't believe he can tell the difference between ally and opponent. We're still experimenting with different types and concentrations but it doesn't look good." A quick glance to the side at his partner. "His metabolism is very high, he burns through everything quickly. Sometimes almost too fast for it to take effect."
The man behind the desk hummed and closed his eyes. "Darias. You're referring to them by names. These are names they chose themselves?"
"Yes Sir, sorry Sir. They won't answer to anything else. Farfarello, I mean Number 928TX, ignores anything else and we believe he named Number JD910, because he answered to his number before they met." The empath stepped closer, resting his hands lightly on the desk. "Please, Sir, these boys will be the rise of the new order, part of the history of our new regime."
"A seer now?" A sharp smirk and the pale brunette stepped back, aware he'd overstepped; annoyance at the slight of his second, minor talent was hidden carefully. "The only thing I've seen around those two are destruction and chaos." Hardring settled back, eyes closed again in thought. "Remove Number JD910 for a month, try to match Number 928TX with someone else. If you can't, put them back together and train them. I expect you two to get that boy up to standards soon. Dismissed."
Both men nodded and backed out of the office; a hard hand punched the empath in the arm. "What the fuck? You know I hate that little shit but you still stood there and tried to talk Hardring into keeping him."
"I think they could be great, some of the best. They're a perfect match, the first we've had as a team and you want to break them up!" A small hand rubbed the offended area of his shoulder. "Quit being so personal and think; if we can get them trained, we move up and out of here. We might even get assigned to a team!" His partner huffed and started to stalk away. ::Taran.:: A light brush at the shields, the thought aimed perfectly from years of practice.
The telepath stopped and sighed, shoulders relaxing in defeat. ::Fine. But I'm trying to match Number 928TX with someone else first. If it doesn't work, we'll do it your way.::
A soft smile and gentle brush at the shields accompanied the pink cheeks. "Thank you."
Taran groaned to himself and turned his back on his softer partner. 'How the fuck did you survive training?'
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::Far, wait.:: Short hair tilted as he listened to the thoughts swirling outside the door. ::Don't eat everything, keep some for later.:: The blond watched as the smaller boy folded his ration into a piece of cloth and stashed it carefully.
::I'm hungry.:: One of his knives flashed, darting down to brush against the delicate hand that reached for his share.
Schuldig sighed and sat back, leaning against the wall. ::I know, but they're going to try to starve you, see if they can control you that way.:: A discontent grunt but half the tray was nudged over to be wrapped and stored.
No one came to take them to training and they spent the day wrestling and practicing their aim. Hours passed and still nothing, no food, no training, just silence from the other side of the door and Farfarello was watching him carefully, keeping track of his movements, hunting him.
The telepath licked his lips and dug out a package of food, handing it over without a word. It vanished, leaving only crumbs and a little bun that was left in the center. "Go ahead, I'm not hungry." He didn't have time to regret it, the bread gone in seconds, and he smiled a bit, stretching out on the blankets.
A wiry body pressed to his side, letting him run his fingers through quickly growing hair; just past his ears and still as white and soft as snow. Sometimes, when they were like this, quiet and calm, he wondered if he loved Farfarello. But what did he know about love? His family, if you could call that lot of ragged whores a family, sold him to the first taker on the street for five pounds when his talent kicked in and he couldn't defend himself; when an operative walked in, they sold him for twice that without a thought either for him or his original buyer. Greedy bastards, he hoped they were all dead.
The only memories he retained, the only ones left to him, were of cold streets and hard hands slamming into his body, vicious words and mocking laughter at his size and hair; he vaguely remembered selling information to keep from selling himself, patches of thoughts slipping through, even before he had any idea of what he could become, before everything slammed into him. His best information, the stuff that bought him days off the street and a rare treat came from random passers by; the usual clients at the brothel he called home were nothing but the regular low class criminals, most not even bothering to hide their crimes.
A pleased nuzzle at his shoulder and he purred, low in his chest, attention brought back to his immediate line of thought. It wouldn't be too hard, really; when he was calm, he was almost sweet, patient with instructions, gentle hands wrapping cuts and bruises, and what else was there to want in a partner? Not to mention the blond was vicious and ruthless and that glow his eyes got when he lost himself to delusion made the redhead want to scream, shriek defiance at anyone and everyone. 'There's no one that can stand before us. We'll rip them all apart.'
three days later
Still no food but training had started again, hard hours of weapons in particular but some class time, hours spent sitting in uncomfortable desks, staring at an instructor. This was where Schuldig took over, absorbing the boring material (maths and languages, chemistry and physics) quickly and sending the answers to his partner to copy down; across the room, in different rooms, watched by narrowed eyes, they cheated their way to the top of the class, same as with weapons. Farfarello's voice whispered instructions and the answers to questions of design and anatomy, rattling off make and model of any gun presented, balance of knives. The only place they were failing was in the psychic department, where Schuldig continued to test at barely a 14, Farfarello not at all.
The blond was losing weight steadily and his energy levels dropped off dramatically; Schuldig rummaged, hoping for something, anything to have been missed in the previous searches, coming up empty yet again. Amber was staring at him from under the blanket he'd tossed over the thin body to try and stop the shivering, a predatory gleam making him search harder.
The hit came more quickly than he anticipated, his ability to read the younger boy's moods overshadowed by the constant hunger. They tumbled, rolling across the floor in a flurry of kicking and flying fists, coming to rest against the back wall, cold seeping in around the edges of consciousness. "Farfarello!"
A pale nose rubbed along his neck, pink tongue following. 'Shit.' ::Farfarello, stop!:: A brief pause before the blond went back to tasting, sliding his tongue over a thin shoulder. ::Not there. Down, here.:: His neck and shoulder were too close to major veins, too dangerous; his hand brushed over his heart then across; if he couldn't stop it, then he could dictate where. ::Here.:: Short, well chewed nails followed his hand, trailing over soft skin, pushing the thin shirt collar down until his captive choked, then reversed direction, moving it up and over the bright hair.
::Guilt.:: Nothing more, the one word more than enough. Skinny arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, the small body quivering and forcing itself to relax under him, under his mouth, sweat and salt sour on his tongue. Pale skin shuddered with each breath, fear and a trembling trust laid out before him.
Strong teeth sank into the bit of flesh, ripping a bit to bring blood to a rich flow. A soft whimper as he lapped, careful not to miss any, and a shaking hand slid through his hair, petting lightly. He started to purr, curling his body into the smaller one, and was hugged, soft cries of pain weaving in his ears. When he felt thick fluid start to slow his head lifted, lips bright with crimson, eyes bright with the thrill of attack.
Schuldig stared at his creature, this boy so excited by feeding he could rip him apart for more, and realized he really had tied his life to him. And maybe, he truly did love him, because who else could he lie under as they drank his blood, the only thing he truly owned. ::Still hungry?::
::Yes.:: White skin flexed as he pulled away, licking the sluggishly bleeding wound gently before nuzzling his nose against the more pert one. ::Hungry?:: The amber eyes were glowing faintly and energy hummed through the formerly listless body wriggling against him.
::Not that hungry.:: A hint of a laugh and he ran a hand over his chest and trailed it over his stomach, covering it in red. ::Shall I bring you food?:: Because Farfarello would eat anything, might as well have a bit of revenge with his meal. A bright grin and he pushed to his feet, swaying for a second from hunger and blood-loss.