Assistants
Dr. Azmuth was the greatest mind of his time. Perhaps, like Einstein's own contribution to the scientific world, his well-meaning ideas were always twisted and used for the sake of propagating the war. He was an old man, bitter as coffee and heart equally dark with cynicism. He used to work in a prestigious university. It was the sort that compiled the large number of eager minds and aspiring scientists, all excited to contribute.
The world remained relatively patriarchal, all with that subtle disparity in the number of girls against boys that were allowed through. They all took the same damn four stage rigorous testing to get in. She wasn't going to believe that the women were somehow less intelligent in general, because they were all mostly filtered by the first stage. She was going to mumble, but she wasn't going to cause a riot about it.
She guessed she got past through all those because of sheer talent as well as the fact that she was a tall, sturdy woman. That hardly qualified for a woman in their eyes, she bet snidely.
Tracing fingers over her cornrows, she simply shrugged through this quick inspection and considered her appearance passable enough. She wasn't going to prance around in lipstick and curlers anytime soon. That stuff never lasted once you put on the lab coat and the safety glasses. Besides, in that place - who was gonna look?
Now she was in that dark, small laboratory that was an occupational health and safety hazard just by existing. It was hard to remember that she used to work in the laboratory in that esteemed university. She did her PhD under Dr. Azmuth's guidance, after all. Until then, her loyalty was with him. Well, not really. She just stayed with the old prune because whoever was associated with him was going to be taken down with him.
She'd rather stay alive, have bits of herself intact and continue working while cowering at the same time. Worked for her.
At least she was smarter - cowardlier, true enough - than Albedo. The other assistant. Azmuth had a lot of assistants. Too many ideas, not enough time or hands. Some of the ideas weren't even his, too. It was collaborative work that the old man wasn't acknowledging - the ass. Either way, at least she had most of herself relatively safe and unharmed.
Now that particular assistant didn't go in hiding. He simply went through a name change and moved to the next state to continue working. She heard what had happened when they found him - only bits of it. They were probably not even very detailed bits but still then they weren't pretty.
He did his studying in the college under the name of Waller Hahn - though he apparently preferred to be called by his middle name as he was used to it. Bullshit. Even back then, even while they got on each other's nerves being anywhere near the other, she knew he was bullshitting. The guy looked up on other names other than the two names he was formally and informally known. He probably cycled through names like a change of clothing.
Myaxx had a very distinctive and odd name which she also now changed on paper. It was out of practicality because the government kept tabs on who was who. It was just great that the camera's face detectors still couldn't recognize any other view than full frontal view. Know where the cameras were, angle the face a certain way and one had a new lease on life. She only had to bullshit once, unlike that guy. Hope that was enough.
Azmuth didn't make an issue on the identities or backgrounds of his assistants. This was further evidence that one couldn't really trust the old man with understanding of people's nature. It was only a little later - after his not-trustworthy assistants were already being apprenticed, that he took on a more paranoid approach. Safe, but incredibly paranoid.
Once the government started recognizing one's achievements it became very difficult to stay free-ish. Free in that country meant "not being tortured for weapons production/information/insert useful action here". One just had to put up with all the intrusion of privacy. So: free-ish. Note that if she hadn't been introduced into the 'being hunted down by the government' circle, she would just say that not free was 'disappearing'. Because that was what happened. People disappeared. It made sense later on why they did.
All that paranoia from Azmuth may have been in the right though. She also saw that all that sneaking around was not going to save them in the end. It was really just an attempt to put off the inevitable.
The nationality of the leader - despite proudly declaring his current nationality, but was actually only half that - was the same as hers. Doubt that would give any cookie points or anything, but it was something to note. She would be disturbed if she wasn't too busy cowering to save her hide.
Plucking the ID from her pocket, she swiped it near the detector. The door opened for her to enter. There was nobody else in the laboratory at the moment. This gave her breathing space - which also translated to free whining space. But it was best if the boss was actually there to hear her gripe so he might get the hint. She snorted. Optimistic train of thought.
Looking around and heightening her senses, she sat down to her design only after she was able to confirm there was no one else there. Especially possible forces that have finally honed in on where the great physicist was. It wasn't paranoia. It was called careful. Then again, she was probably spending too much time with the old man she was finally jumping at shadows too.
Dr. Azmuth also found the greatest minds to surround him; minds that matched and caught up with his own. Not on par, but close enough. All of which were very useful to the System. They were the assistants. They all had important information ingrained through their brains. The System was going to drill through those brains to find them - metaphorically and literally.
If she could help it, this particular assistant was going to make sure that didn't happen.
Processing Camp
She would be able to read some material later on that would remind her very painfully of her time in that camp. Other histories. Important ones that were restricted from access lest it gave people ideas. A reminder of the cyclic nature of history. But it would be awhile until she did finally read up on those.
They called it Incarcecon. It was a prison and a working camp. People forced to be productive for the war effort were housed in the place.
It was a vicious, deadly food chain. It wasn't an hierarchy between the prisoners since there was no such thing as authority there. They were all beggars scrounging for a scrap of food or one more soft comfort. Things, just little things, that made them feel like humans and not animals. But the System made the point of treating them so.
The real reason why she was surviving so adeptly in the environment was the fact that while she would usually run from a fight, she'd fight rabidly if she was cornered. There was nothing else in that camp. Militia, barbed wire, other prisoners, working areas and places to die. She was definitely cornered by all of that. She was a strong woman and it probably showed in her stature. Putting her money where her mouth is was actually easy.
Someone stormed through the prison one fateful day. Well, more than just one someone. At that time, the big fat deal being made around it almost seemed ridiculous. Being stuck in that camp sapped someone of any hope, even more so than her already cynical nature, so it was too much of a stretch to hope it was help.
The other man was older and leading the search while the younger man looked suspiciously familiar - like a certain colleague, only with a brunette job. Either way, the older man that went by the name of Tetrax - she wasn't sure if it was a codename, a fake name or a real name - had a massive grudge against the totalitarian leader of the regime. Well, that was good. At least, they had that much in common.
They were looking for the old bastard who'd gotten her in that situation in the first place. Something incredibly urgent about some weapon of mass destruction that was Azmuth's brainchild. Trying to circumvent that impending disaster by knowing how to deactivate it. Blah, blah. Perfect opportunity to be taken and properly protected by these people trying to fight against the government. So, she became their Azmuth. Since they were looking for a guy who wasn't even in that camp in the first place. And they were looking for an Azmuth so she gave them one.
Once she was sure she was protected and out of that place, she could just hint at who she really was and go on her merry way. She was just the assistant. Easy to make the mistake. No harm done.
But things had gone horribly wrong. A bounty hunter that was only known by his number had been sent in pursuit of them. That was just the start. Things rolled over into a massively horrible sequence of events.
The blubbery driver guy whose name was apparently Gluto - confirming the fact that they were all lying bastards giving away fake names - was killed at some point during their travel.
She thought that the one in charge may have been the Tetrax guy, but slowly realized that the younger kid - who still bothered her by looking like he did - was somehow vital. It showed how much more he took the reins of leading that group when the red-haired medic was grievously injured. They even thought she died. This girl was apparently his cousin, which explained his more proactive behavior after what happened.
"Oh, great. That was your medic. Why don't you just take me back where you got me? We'll all die anyway," she commented flatly, overwhelmed by feelings of frustration and fear over the situation.
Tetrax looked back at her with a hard expression and said, "Be quiet or I will do as you say."
Pause. "Wait. You're not really going to, are you?"
"Don't tempt me," he responded impatiently.
She let it go for the moment.
"Well, you know, I'm not really Dr. Azmuth, per se," she started to say, trying to keep the tremble from her voice.
The two men stared at her bug-eyed in disbelief. One of them was very clearly grieving after having to abandon his apparently dead cousin and it seemed, one more trigger and he could just burst off. The other was a very serious man dedicated to achieving his objective. She didn't need to be told to know that. None of them were going to be happy about that revelation.
"What," Tetrax stated incredulously, not really asked.
"I had to make sure you weren't just getting me out and just abandoning me. Those government cronies are all after me! They're going to kill me without closer protection! I know a lot of weaponry designs that can very easily make me a liability to leave alive- Don't kill me," she explained rapidly with barely a pause to stop for breath.
"I've lost too much," the younger man muttered, almost half to himself. In a louder, firm tone as he whipped his brown-haired head upwards, he said, "We have to find the real Dr. Azmuth! Gwen's sacrifice won't be for nothing." His voice was laced with determination.
The older man turned sharply in her direction. He was about to say something, probably another mention of how he would do as she asked earlier and drop her right smack bang into Incarcecon.
She raised her hands. "I know where he is! I used to be his assistant which is why even know who Dr. Azmuth is or what he does." Okay, that wasn't completely true. She had a good idea of where he might have been hiding around, but she wasn't sure if he stayed there. But it was probably the safest place in the country and would make the System consider him dead since he remained out of sight.
While Ben - the brown-haired not-Waller kid - had shot off to who knew where in pursuit of the good doctor, she'd been stuck with Tetrax while they threw off this bounty hunter called-
"Sixsix," the man beside her repeated in a mumble.
"Like 007, except uglier?" she muttered back smartly, squeezing herself flat as a pancake against the wall to hide her now annoyingly tall and large body. She had never been self-conscious in her life, even back when she was younger when it was expected. It worked for her most times because of her practicality. She'd never been vain either. But this time, her stature could be compromising her ability to remain alive.
The seemingly humourless man who was reloading his gun cracked a barely visible smile. He confirmed, "Yeah. That."
So, she wasn't really 'stuck' stuck with him. She wasn't complaining and that was really special because she bemoaned everything. The fact that her employer was an ornery bastard who wouldn't give her work any credit, the fact that she was being slaved for no pay during her time in Incarcecon, her rumbling stomach, the gun being pointed at her head, the weather. Stuff.
She kind of, maybe, sort of liked tagging close to this Tetrax guy. Not just because they made a pretty good team saving her backside. But she'd rather die than have anybody else know about that.
She was not tucking a dreadlock shyly behind her ear like a dumb schoolgirl talking to the resident motorbike-riding cool guy. While he probably applied for the description, she really didn't qualify under dumb or schoolgirl. Even back when she was a schoolgirl. Because she was Myaxx and she could crack schoolboys in two, like they were her knuckles, with her bare hands even then.
Since he was a mercenary, she guess he really classified under 'cool'. Though he was more like an ex-mercenary turned rebellion advisor/hired muscle/rebellion team leader.
"I used to be available for mercenary duty to everyone," he explained quietly as they sped past behind the warehouse crates and storage racks. "I was in employ of that tyrant when he conquered my home. Just another land to increase his empire. He didn't need the people who lived there, just the land and its resources. I helped with providing the means to easily slaughter my people." Only then did she notice his slightly accented English.
"I don't know what I expected - that he'll just drive them away or something like that," he explained soberly. "Barely any were left, except for the handful who travel and myself." She noticed his hand tremble at the memory.
While she didn't usually care outside of herself, she felt her heart sink to the bottom of her abdomen.
"I've been trying to take justice for the death of my people ever since. I will take Vilgax down and everything he's ever built for the forty years his empire has been thriving.
The room was quiet. Not even the minute sounds of their pursuer's footfalls could be heard. Sucking in air, she turned to her companion to wrap her arms awkwardly around him.
"Tell anyone of this and I will skin you alive," she threatened gravely.
"I don't think you could," he responded under her embrace. Even if he was tall and wide himself, she still managed to be taller. "Mercenary and all that."
"Just be quiet," she snapped sharply, still disbelieving that she actually went ahead did it. Staring at the words 'Handle with Care' on the boxes, she suddenly heard herself say, "At least you're useful. You're doing something about that thing that's happened to you and your people."
"You're not useless, Myaxx," he said in that honest tone that he didn't really understand just exactly how comforting his words turned out to be.
Her heart absolutely didn't swell at that. "Let's not get all sappy, now," she finally complained lightly, pushing him off.
"Here." A gun was handed to her. As he made a motion to teach her how to use it, she quickly set it up her self, unlocked the safety and placed her index finger lightly on the trigger.
Just in time for the bounty hunter to suddenly make his appearance, she swiftly aimed the gun and shot at the guy's leg. Tetrax and she pivoted to make a run for it while the bounty hunter hissed at his injury.
As they were running, her companion asked, "You know how to use a gun?"
"Who knew?" was her simple reply.
It turned out that their driver wasn't really dead. He did everything in his power to assist the equally badly injured medic of the group to get them to safety. Eventually, after Dr. Azmuth was located when Tetrax and her finally joined up with Ben, an almost reunion happened with all of them. Tetrax's partner was alive and well, having a hard time walking but relatively well. Gwen wasn't able to do much movement for a time, but she was better than dead anyway. Her cousin's happiness was diabetes-inducing.
After Tetrax disposed of their trailing bounty hunter, they had the privacy and quiet of Azmuth's hideout to force him to detail out the blueprints and information on his invention.
All's well that end's well, she supposed.
The night breeze was cool. Stars dotted the landscape as if she was actually in space. It was so quiet. It was the first time in a very long while since she was able to look at the night sky. No cameras, no rigorous schedules, no forced work, no barricades. Just the night sky. It wasn't something she appreciated on a regular basis and back then she couldn't care less about burning gases light-years away. Freedom gave her a slightly new perspective and she secretly enjoyed the quiet moment.
If it didn't look stupid, she would have stuck her tongue out to taste the salty sea breeze. Maybe the idea of freedom was making her slightly retarded. She couldn't wait to get back to holding tools that she actually wanted to tinker with.
From the corner of her eyes, her stocky male companion nudged his head to their vehicle to urge her along. Maybe it wasn't just the freedom making her feel a little light-headed.
She impertinently told him to stop hurrying her up and made the point of walking very slowly.
"Don't make me carry you to the van," he threatened, pointing a finger.
"I dare you to try," she said with equal pride, placing her fists on her hips and looking down at him from her height.
For a while, he just blinked at her in that somewhat bored way. Then, without further ado, he grabbed her by the waist and hefted her over his shoulder. The ex-mercenary struggled for all of two seconds at the start before he managed to actually carry her. Too stunned to do anything else, she gawked as she found herself staring at his back.
After she finished being surprised at his strength - and being a little flustered at their proximity, she was going to punch him square on the face.
The small old man watching this just rolled his eyes at the sight. The driver mentioned something about 'onwards and upwards to Los Soledad' or something silly of that nature. Since the look on Gluto's face suggested he was mildly amused, she wanted to punch him too.
It felt like Incarcecon had happened in a distant dream.
Dark Side of the Moon
"You wouldn't have looked funnier if those Plumbers dragged you out by the ear," the woman commented in cruel amusement, sharp icicles of barely concealed laughter punctuating her words. Raiding her hand, she inspected her nails dismissively. Past the spaces between her fingers, was the view of slightly bedraggled wisps of blond hair on a mostly impeccable dressed young man.
All that clean-cut look made him practically glitter in the darkness. If only he wasn't also messy with dirt and grit. It amused her to see the gentlemanly rich boy sitting on the soil and covered in it.
With bare-thread patience, he greeted with automatic politeness, "It's wonderful to meet you here despite unpleasant circumstances, lovely Ms. Caroli-"
"Charmcaster," she corrected swiftly, the abrupt nudge of her head flicking her platinum hair.
"I apologize, lovely Charmcaster," he amended, tone laced with gracious charm. "That was a slip of the tongue. No harm done, I hope?"
"That would've been a very fatal slip of the tongue," she said sharply, placing her hand firmly on her hips. "I won't play nice even with old friends if they do something to compromise my plans."
He stood up slowly, still filled with that elegance even through his less than pristine state.
"I would be the last person to do so, lovely," he reassured, taking her delicate hand and kissing it gently.
She pulled her hand away. "Maybe you should clean up first," she said harshly.
What had brought the golden haired young man to that point was a long, amusing story. Something she could use as fuel to constantly mock him for endlessly for a long while from then. Basically, it was an infiltration procedure.
The Morningstar family were high in their stature within the government. Like many others under the regime, they aspired for even more power and control. Their business empires solidified their position due to the finances they brought in to the country. Michael himself, possibly gaining his family's natural inclination for almost parasitic power-greed, had pursued it pointedly. Of course, bowing to another leader was never really enough.
That was what they had very strongly in common.
Birds of the same feather flocked together, as they said.
So Michael Morningstar worked intimately with the System to rope even closer to his aim. He was moving slowly up the political ranks by doing so. Until he was close enough he might as well stick the knife right into the tyrant's face. At the moment, not quite yet. But he was getting there.
Since he believed that nobody could do work better than one's self, he did something about the information collecting very personally.
He had a wonderful way with women. He was a poet at heart; words melded in his tongue like silken poison. Nobody could ever tell just exactly how tarnished he was because of how beautiful and misleadingly comforting his words were. Not to mention the angelic face and clothes to match.
She was always extra derisive at the romantic idiots who fell head over heels for the romantic notion of his perfection. Like everything else in that universe, just like her, he was just as monstrous. But very much like a wolf in sheep's clothing.
This was why he honed in rather naturally to Gwen, a girl who Charmcaster had an intricate history with. Honestly, it was with that dark desire in her heart to see that annoying little redhead crash and burn once she realized what she fell for. Predictably, Gwen found it easy to be deluded by the stunning blond man's charms. It was easy to believe that he was actually interested in working for the rebellion, how he would finance them, all for the interest of pleasing lovely Gwen.
Ugh. Charmcaster had viciously hoped that he would hurry up to the part where he betrayed her because she was starting to gag at the sight.
But one of the rebellion members had taken quite an interest in Mike's interest in Gwen. Interest in using that is, she clarified pointedly. Even Gwen's cousin, who was speculated to have been the rebellion leader or at least at a very vital position, was starting to gain trust in Mike. It was going smoothly until that dark-haired man who tagged along Gwen made the infiltration procedure fall flat on its face. Somewhat more literally, that said dark-haired man had kicked Mike into falling flat on his face.
This man had found out who Mike was in the government hierarchy and had also decoded important transmissions of the information that Michael had collected. It was easy enough for the rebellion members to turn from him and lock him up to prevent him from saying more.
But she broke him out, which was utterly generous on her part. He should be kissing the ground she walked on.
Like Gwen and herself, she and Mike had an interesting little history. But nothing quite so antagonistic. In fact, she would honestly say they connected on the important aim to take down all of their opposition. Both regime and rebellion.
Power through religion, through belief. There were so many fools out there so easy to con into things. Charmcaster's family lived within a cult. Her uncle was at its very center and she was at his side. Her parents were useless enough to be dead, after all.
In a time of darkness, of overwhelming despair, people turned to things like belief and madness as a means of comfort. Those same people who would burn any random innocent in the false belief, in their fear-induced madness, that this would somehow fix things. It was easy to coax them in a certain direction if given just a bare-thread, twisted justification. They would give away money, they would kill, anything. They were easier than two-dollar whores. She collected enough stupid cronies from that thing to do her dirty work for her, just for extra fun.
That was how easily her and her uncle had become connected to the underground. They were called terrorists somehow. The thuggish nature of it was something that Mike probably wouldn't subscribe to, which was why his connection to her was important. She was a lot more willing, a lot more sadistic, that she actively pursued very up-close and personal deaths and tortures. Things that went boom, things that required a lot of getting one's hands messy, was not impeccable enough for him.
She snorted mockingly at that.
"I think I might know who Gwen's overprotective boyfriend may be," she started to say, walking in front of him as he was courteous enough to give her a lot of leeway. "I've seen him around." By that she meant all that black market dealings rather than her cultist ones. "He's something of a government dog too, you know, like yourself." She laughed harshly.
"If I may ask, are you intending to have that information divulged to the System?" he asked.
"Oh, good. You're quick!" she mocked, flicking a hand.
"Of course, lovely Charmcaster. That is the reason why we make such wonderful conversations together," he commented in an underhanded way that could be taken as offensive or complimentary, depending on how she took it.
She decided to glare at him.
He redirected her attention to the topic: "May I suggest another direction? We could reserve this information for an important occasion. If one would need something to hang over the government's nose. For now, I have given them enough information from what I did gather. After all, we must save something for the rainy day."
She liked his style. A delighted, twisted chuckle escaped her lips. As she looked at him and the backdrop behind him, he shone as brightly as the moon against the night sky. But it would probably be more adept to regard him as the devious, dark side of the moon.
Concerns
"Sometimes, I wonder about your cousin," Aunt Camille wondered out loud, staring upwards at nowhere in particular. There was a worried expression on her face.
"Which one?" she asked, a hint of humor in her tone.
Her aunt smiled at this. "I was talking about Sven. Ben's fine," her aunt/adoptive mother said, waving a hand dismissively.
"Other than worrying about him doing something stupid like falling into a manhole unless you tell him to watch out?" she felt inclined to remark snidely. All in good humor of course. If Ben was there, they would be taking pot-shots at each other. No skin off their back.
The older redhead laughed. "Other than that," she conceded. It was brief chuckle before her expression turned serious. "He's so single-minded. And stubborn. Goodness, very arrogant too. Last time I saw someone be so much like those, I was being stalked by my ex-boyfriend."
Goosebumps broke out on the back of Gwen's neck as her adoptive mother told her this. She knew the story of Aunt Camille's ex-boyfriend crashing her wedding. It was a very extreme act and had escalated badly. The Mann family had bad blood with the Tennysons due to their very strong and open support of the regime. The speculated connections of the Tennyson name to the revolution was what started it. They only urged her possessive, jealous ex-boyfriend to take it to a whole new level.
"Well, I don't think he'll be stalking anyone anytime soon," Gwen reassured in a hushed voice as the person in question popped into the scene, pushing his glasses upwards with his knuckle while his fingers were stained with chili fries sauce. "He's more asexual than a rock," she tried to inject some humor to lighten up her adoptive mother's concerns.
Aunt Camille's blue eyes darkened. "I'm not just talking about that. He's very pointed in his belief. Someone whose opinions are too strong to be open to anything else," she started to explain.
Sven tucked the glasses on his shirt, disregarding the sauce staining the shirt as he did so. It was misleading to observe him acting so normally, especially when Gwen reminded herself of all those moments he honestly tried to maim her. Tried to kill her, even. She tried to hold down the emotions that surfaced from those thoughts and keep her adoptive mother from worrying more.
"He's not very accepting," Aunt Camille murmured, which had more edged in its implications than the words themselves. Because her family was also 'not very accepting'. The idea of drawing parallels with her family and her ex-boyfriend to the white-haired boy must disturb her adoptive mother immensely. She looked like she didn't really want to be saying those things.
"Don't worry," she reassured, placing a hand on the older red-head's shoulder. "He'll grow out of it. He's just a teenager." Since her cousin has been like that ever since he was young and seemed to be steadfast staying the way he was, if not growing worse, she had doubts on her own declaration.
The training for all of the children in Los Soledad territory had been going for a few years. All of the sessions were done in secret and discreetly. As much that could be done with the limited time they had without arising suspicion for the disappearances. Which is why it was always night-time when they should be sleeping.
Aunt Camille and Uncle Joel always looked out for their best interest and asked for what they wanted.
The twins, in a rare moment of similarity, reacted in great enthusiasm over being trained. Gwen just wanted to be able to fight for the injustice that robbed her of her parents. Ken was there to support her search wholeheartedly. He was calmer and cooler, likely to be the stable point that held her up when she was feeling like breaking down. Ken seemed intent on becoming the protective parent since their parents had died. Since he was older than all of the kids around them, it just further justified it.
They were all trained in all the ways that mattered.
Sven was particularly vicious. It was as if he made up for the natural weakness of his body through aggression. It was like being bulldozed by something expected to be small and helpless. It was kind of odd, not to mention spine-chilling, to see her cousin catching up with his fighting ability. At least, his excessive aggression made the fluidity and grace she'd attained unachievable for him.
Ben was also naturally confrontational but there was a rather mature restraint behind it. It was only once given the incentive did he match his brother in viciousness. He fought in a hint of fun and in a lot more of heroism.
She wasn't the only who noticed this important disparity. The rebellion was short on man power, so it wasn't surprising to note that someone so young would be given leadership responsibilities. Ken wasn't too proactive for such a position since he considered caring for his family a much higher priority. She was still being trained medically and barely being allowed out due to the demands of that study. The twins' rivalry seemed to take on a whole new level because of said leadership position.
The white-haired boy was incredulous when his brother was told to lead the splinter group for the missions. It wasn't long then before he decided to up and leave them, regarding the entire thing ludicrous and not worth his time or effort if they had the "audacity to choose incompetence over talent."
"Sven!" she shouted after him when he refused to turn around when his brother was calling after him. The name ensured that the white-haired boy actually turned.
It was a hard-edged, red-eyed glare that met her. "I said, you are not allowed to call me that atrocious name or I will string your innards on barbed wire."
"Where are you going? You haven't even said anything to Uncle Joe-"
"Tch," he hissed simply, then turned around again to continue on his way. The large bags and suitcase dragging behind him, he took no more notice of what she was saying. Even if she was calling him by the name he preferred.
"Albedo, come back here!" She was scared to tell their adoptive parents of what had just happened. Of what to say. If their cousin didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be found. She didn't want to be the bringer of bad news and possibly confirm her Aunt Camille's worries.
From her side, his brother was wearing a look of concern.