Author's notes: Uwaah! Okay, maybe I did continue sooner than expected. I just wasn't hoping to get any response at all! I'm truthfully really happy! I have to say: writing in Spanish to then translate into English has to be my bestest idea ever! If only you knew. This chapter was very different in the Spanish sketch. Like, wow, really, really different. But then, as I went through it again while translating, I could really go and say 'huh, that doesn't seem alright' and 'hey! This would be better this way!' And it wasn't tiring at all, even though I was basically rewriting the whole thing! Oh, oh god, this... this, I love this.

Also, for my first and only review I have a lot to say.

Dear anon. Firstly: I'm sorry it took me so long to finally get how to approve your comment! Really, I thought they were automatically published. But well, I found out how to do it before the 30 or so hours they give me to validate -then they delete them! How dare they! Secondly: Thank you a very big lot for your opinions and advice! I apologize if you find my writing too descriptive. I actually didn't think of that part as smutty or anything of the sort and frequently do narrations in that manner, I just... well, you know... the mouth is wet and hot. Maybe I've been turning on people without knowing! But I thank you loads for pointing it out to me. I'm really, really appreciative towards reviews that actually help me grow. Kisses and hugs!

And so, enjoy!

I. Turn off

There was a soft knock. Knuckles against door, he recalled, but the sound that came out was faint and brief. He almost thought he hadn't heard a thing. His posture unconsciously straightened, perception sharpening lightly and eyes narrowing just a little, but all that came after was a sizable long silence, and so he shrugged it off and went back to his reading.

"Arthur-san," ah, there it was. A deep but gentle voice, soothing, even when distorted by the mahogany separation. Obscured green orbs reluctantly removed themselves from the page -the very first one, too- he intended to enjoy.

'The premature burial', read the title, and he had caught himself reading and rereading those mere three words with morbid fascination. He warily eyed the door. "Hm." The portal opened, revealing the small form of the man who took the distant hum as an invitation to let himself in.

He quickly veiled himself with a tiny smile, forged and inadvertently consumed. Kiku Honda, the Japanese man who was currently working for the Braginski corporation -on the Siti project, specifically-, was quietly crossing through the entry. He wore his white lab coat -big and long enough to make him seem much smaller-, yet Arthur knew he wasn't there on business matters. Kiku was responsible of performing the physical and psychological tests on the applicants. He had abundant knowledge on the subjects -and really, the Brit suspected there was little close to nothing that the Japanese didn't know to detail-, and so they had shared a lot of conversations over the course of the months of his observatory stay. Forcing small talk in between professional interviews and physical evaluations granted them a very placid friendship, which only grew with the day. Now, the smaller man pressed on visiting on a nearly daily basis in an attempt lure him out of getting in the project.

"How are you today?" the raven politely asked. Always polite, always. His lips curved on a small smile as he carefully closed the door. This was getting awfully familiar, wasn't it? Arthur shook his head in hopes of getting himself together, and responded with a tender expression that came out as false as his words.

"Brilliant. How about you, Kiku...san?"

"Likewise," the Japanese confirmed, a soft sigh slipping through his smiling lips as he gave up trying to convince the Briton. He had already explained -and not just a couple of times, truthfully- that denial did not lessen his grief, much less concealed it to external eyes. At best, it brought it out. "Arthur-san, can we talk?" emerald eyes landed on brown ones. They both seemed tired. They both had very different reasons.

"I thought that's what we were doing?" he joked -he joked, right? Was that a joke? Was it sarcasm? The mere concept was starting to become foreign to him-. He knew quite well what his friend was going to say, and he was also sure it would be pointless. It didn't matter, wouldn't matter how many times he was told not to, he would do it. By now, the other most likely was aware of this too. The Japanese was quiet for a while, then he spoke, an absolutely serious look on his face.

"Are you sure about this?"

Arthur gazed down.

He always had beautiful eyes, that's what his mother said. Wide, almond-shaped emerald eyes, deep as a forest, sparkling, overflowing with wit and perceptiveness and life. Now, well, his eyes were still green, see? They were still deep -a deep sorrow, the words made an echo in his head- but they sparkled no longer, and they lived no longer. Nothing within himself did anymore.

His skin had always been delightfully pale, at least that's what his friends used to say. It definitely had its downsides, such as not being able to stay too much under the sun unless he had a wish of ending up like a lobster, or the fact that bumps, even the softer ones, undoubtedly left flagrant bruises. Well, he was still pale. Deathly pale. And he didn't have to worry about sunburn anymore because he was not going out, ever. And there were bruises under his eyes, only these were not a response to something physical.

And his mind, oh, his mind, it had always been so imaginative, so creative. Soul of a poet, he used to whisper to himself. Soul and mind of a poet, indeed. He thrived on creating stories. Stories of pirates, stories of knights, stories of magical beasts... sometimes, stories of all of those and more, mixed together. And now... and now, all his mind could entreat were violent scenes, horrible, gory scenes, scenes of death. Of his death.

When Kiku started the exams, it didn't took him long to find out the one, single problem: depression. Severe. Worryingly so.

The corporation rules stated that any aspirant had to come out as healthy in every and all of the medical tests in order of becoming a Siti official citizen. But Kiku would give thumbs up if he asked him to -he knew, he would- and Ludwig, who just so happened to be the operating chief of the project, trusted the Japanese entirely and blindly, and so would approve of his notion without double checking.

"You don't have to do this, we could get you help," had said the Japanese, a light but distinct plea in his voice. Arthur had simply shook his head, his already strained smile turning into a pained grimace.

"No, I have to. You know what the other way is."

"Arthur-san..." and his eyes. Oh, his eyes were really distressed. And had he been okay -just enough so-, he would have desisted, surely, and would have agreed and he wouldn't do it. But he wasn't, and he would. "Arthur-san, as I have explained to you, we are not completely sure your conscience of this world will cease to exist," Kiku spoke, his voice slightly disturbed, and he had not know him for much, some months -two? Three, at best-, but nonetheless he understood the outrageousness of it. "I cannot speak the details, but you will not be the first prototype in the city. Results have not always been... optimum."

"But you're not sure. It could work, right?"

"And it could not."

And it could very well not...

"How have you been?" Matthew inquired politely. Polite, always polite, aren't you. Arthur's response was a hearty smile. Matthew thought he seemed about to cry.

"Brilliant," he spoke, and his voice came out husky and gravelly. Broken. "What about you, Matthew?"

"Ah, quite well, yes. I'm going back to campus in a few days. It's amazing, really, to think I'll be starting my last semester. I didn't think I'll get pass the second!" he laughed, nervously, unknowingly playing with one of the paws of his polar bear plushie. Arthur noticed with a sharp pang. Matthew had already stopped. Matthew had already grown out of it. The bear only came back when he was troubled. Painfully. 'Of course, he caught you swallowing a bloody gun, what did you expect? For him to shrug it off with the next plate of pancakes?' There was a knot on his throat, a damn burning one, and his lips trembled lightly when he tried to gulp it down. "Arthur? A-are you okay?" concern, despicable concern. Arthur coerced a bigger, more hollow grin.

"Yeah, sorry, lad! I'm a little off," and he even forced out a laugh. It sounded like he was choking. He abruptly shut up. Silence attacked once again, trapping them, surrounding them, turning the air dense and awkward in the small room. Arthur gazed down. Matthew bit his lip. "So... uh... the frog... is he, uh, coming?" he tested.

"Ah! Yes, yes, he is coming. I don't think it'll take him long to get here, really, his shift just ended, you see? He's the main chef of this frou-frou French restaurant, did you know? 'Le Jardin d'Amour', the name is really cheesy, but the food is great! Although, who am I to say that when the main chef is my boyfriend, right?" the Canadian spoke speedily, and he seemed uncomfortable, and of course he was. Not because of his relationship with the French, that would be downright ridiculous. They had been lovers since, what? A year? No, probably two. He wasn't one to remember dates, not like Francis, anyway. And not because of Francis and Arthur's relationship either, at all. Because ever since the Briton had become like this -like... like dead-, the French had stopped his teasing and his petty insults and was now in fact compassionate towards him, compassionate, because he was genuinely worried for his childhood frienemy. So no, that wasn't a topic of concern in one bit. What had him uneasy was...

"Right, right... and, um... and Alfred?"

And there it was. The question. Barely an exhalation, almost a muted thought and yet so very, very clear. Matthew visibly shrunk.

"Arthur... you know he's not," he breathed back. It pained him to say it, how it pained him, but the Brit's reaction told him that hearing it was much, much worse.

He wasn't weak, and really, he wasn't. Actually, he deemed necessary to clarify that he was, in fact, beyond strong.

He cried. He did it frequently, too. As a child, his schoolmates, Francis, specially his brothers mocked him for how much he cried. Of course, nobody found any significance in the fact that he only ever cried because they were mocking him, rather harshly at that. And nobody found important to admit that, yes, he cried, but he also stood up for himself. It was probably easier to keep on laughing at his tears than acknowledge the fact that the 'sniveling midget' had knocked off their breaths with a forceful headbutt. He would then go home and would not be harassed for the rest of the day. But the next one? The next one was full of 'sniveling midget went home crying like a girl'. You went home with a few bruised ribs, he wanted to say.

He was a romantic. He had tried to keep it out of view, but that was something everyone seemed to find out somehow. But that did not mean, not in any way, that he let himself be controlled by his emotions. He took painful decisions more often than not, decisions that truthfully hurt him, decisions taken cold-headed even when his heart was burning. And still, it was the most comfortable thing for everyone to assume he was nothing but a softie simply because, once in a while, he thought of the past and felt nostalgic. Once in a while, he gave in when someone played with his heartstrings. Once in a while, he fell in real, true love.

He had fears. Everyone has them, right? Fear of water. Great amounts of it, specifically. A mass of it big enough to sink him down, drag him to the very bottom. Drown him. Fear of abandonment. Fear of loneliness. They were all justified, they all had a reason behind. He had been drowned before. He had been abandoned, and he knew what it was like to be lonely. It wouldn't make a difference if he came out and excused them, his fears, because it was piss-easy for everyone to tell him to 'man up'. Fear of water? That's just pathetic. Abandonment, loneliness? Life sucks, kid, get used to it.

He wasn't weak, in any case.

At least, he didn't use to be.

You know how they say, 'you don't know what you have until you lose it'? 'Everything can change in the blink of an eye'? 'Nothing lasts forever', and 'be careful what you wish for'? He knew, Arthur knew.

And, if he could see him at the moment from wherever he was, maybe from the depths of his cold, dank grave, Alfred would know it too.

'That silly beeping sound is actually quite comforting'. The thought surprised Arthur and he couldn't help but smile at the irony. For everyone else it came off as a wince. At his right, the tall, broad blond -Ludwig, was it?- was taking in the images of his inner organs at the screens -was... was that his bladder? Huh, he didn't feel like taking a piss now- with blank expression. He made a few annotations on his chart, then went back to observation mode.

The nurse at his left was holding his wrist, checking his pulse, most likely, as she mentally compared the results to the rhythmic ups and downs that danced on the heart monitor. Was that really necessary? Kiku was also there, in the testing room. He was on the farthest point though, on one of the corners, in front of the monstrously huge computer he was currently typing weird, complex codes in with astonishing skill.

"Mister Kirkland," directed the tall, blond man -Ludwig, yes-, his voice manly and remarkably professional. He was holding a little, beeping artifact in his left hand. "I will now explain the purpose of these." Arthur nodded as best as he could. With the brain monitor attached to his head and doing its work, movement was more than a little awkward. "When the time comes, you will be placed on a characterization capsule. It will be strange, but there will be nothing to be afraid of. A variety of monitors -these-, for every bodily process will be applied, comparable to the ones you are already familiar with," he explained, pointing vaguely in his general direction. "This is simply in order of having full knowledge of the exact moment the process is completed."

Kiku threw them an uneasy glance, although, being firmly secured to the stretcher and with little mobility of his neck, Arthur couldn't really appreciate it. "Ludwig-san, I think it would be proper to explain the whole process to him now..." the German seemed to consider this for a moment.

"No, I do not deem it necessary at the moment. He needs to acclimatize first."

Kiku seemed mortified with the response, but didn't pry any further.

Author's notes: thanks a lot to all of those lovely users who started following my story. It'll only get better from this point on. Also, there will be a lot more of explaining in the next chapter, so please don't despair. See ya!