Ritsuka was lying perfectly still.

He had mastered this technique after many years of living with his mother's volatile mood swings. If he lay on his bed and didn't move, didn't react to prodding or pushing or even mild violence, usually after a while she would lose interest and leave.

Despite the fact that he was hungry, uncomfortable, and had to use the bathroom, he remained motionless. If he showed any signs of stirring, he would likely be drugged again, and he needed a clear head if he wanted to help himself. He had to find some way to distinguish what was real from what was illusion, true memories from false, where he was and how he was going to get home. The only person capable of doing all of those things was Ritsuka himself.

Since Seimei died, Ritsuka had learned the hard way that waiting around for someone to save him was generally a fruitless and regrettable exercise. When it came down to it, the only one he could truly rely on was himself. Either he had to figure something out, or he was going to be once again at the mercy of his circumstances, swept along like so much debris after a storm, left in the gutter to be swept up with the morning's garbage.

A boiling current of anger washed over him as he lay there, its cadence coursing through his veins like crimson fire. There was a nascent voice inside of him demanding to be heard, a voice that was sick and tired of letting his entire life being determined by outside forces. He couldn't even be sure his own memories belonged to him. What kind of life was this? An image appeared in his mind unbidden: Edward, ridiculously attacking that unfortunate tree in the park. What? Why am I thinking of that person? He's an idiot. Yet the mental picture would not leave him.

Ed was unlike anyone he had ever known. Ritsuka had basically given up on expecting people to actually listen to him, to consider his feelings or his point of view before making decisions that were going to seriously impact his life. His father had disappeared without a word to Ritsuka. Seimei was gone in a flash. His mother could be calm and patient one minute, violent and hostile the next, Ritsuka's actions or reactions making little or no difference. With Soubi, he never knew whether his pleas were being taken seriously, whether his Fighter only obeyed him because he was forced to, or if he was just disregarding Ritsuka completely. It had gotten to the point where Ritsuka just assumed he wouldn't be heard, or more truthfully, that it didn't really matter what he thought. People were going to do whatever they liked, and if he were crushed underfoot, well, that was an unfortunate but necessary casualty.

Edward, on the other hand, not only expected everyone to listen to him, he demanded it. Loudly. With vigor. If they still didn't listen, he would clobber them over the head with his metal fist until they did listen. It was terribly immature, and Ristuka heartily disapproved, but on the other hand, there was something about that boy that he couldn't help but admire. Edward never gave up. Not ever. All that he had told Ritsuka about his life's struggles – if all of it were true, and Ritsuka had a feeling it was – through all of that hardship, he had never surrendered. He just kept going. Even now, separated from his family, his brother and his entire world, he just keeps hacking away, just like he hacked away at that tree. Striving, persevering, never ceasing.

There was just something so alive about him, a vital force, a will to move forward despite adverse circumstances – no, circumstances be damned. Edward was just so unique: so different from Soubi, who pledged himself with utmost sincerity, yet at the same time was helplessly entrenched in an inescapable web of deception. So different from his teachers, who appeared to posses a genuine desire to help him, but were always hesitant, unsure, preferring blameless denial to the truth that appeared before their eyes each school morning in the form of countless bruises and bandages. So different from Seimei, even, who was always kind to him, but somehow never encouraged him to be anything but obedient. Edward was matchless, unexampled, unequaled, and Ritsuka wondered, not for the first time, what might happen if he were to take a leaf from his book.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of the bedroom door opening. Ritsuka remained absolutely still, listening intently. Two sets of footsteps entered the room. One of them approached the bed and stood there, watching him. Ritsuka hoped the pseudo-somnolent breathing that had always fooled his mother was good enough to mislead the false Seimei as well. The false Seimei. That's right. Not my brother. Not…

Apparently it worked, because he commented, "He's still out. Orders?"

Orders? Was the false Seimei a Fighter, then? Ritsuka shuddered; his voice was exactly, exactly like that of his dead brother. It took all of his will not to open his eyes and jump into his arms. Not my brother. NOT…

The other man answered in a voice that sounded familiar to Ritsuka, though he did not recognize it. "Take him down to the laboratory. When the one with the Blood of the Father arrives, I want everything to be already in place."

"Hai, Sensei"

Wait, what did he say? The Blood of the Father? What was going on? Ritsuka thought hard. He had heard that turn of phrase before, he knew he had… a long, long time ago. His past memories - the real Ritsuka's memories? - were still foggy, as if coming from a great distance away, but the more time he spent awake in this house, the clearer they were becoming.

Ritsuka allowed himself to be lifted off of the bed by the false Seimei, going limp in his arms with practiced skill. He felt himself being carried down stairs, and he wracked his brain trying to remember whether or not this house had a basement or where this laboratory could possibly be. They went down a second set of stairs. The air started to smell sterile, antiseptic, like a hospital. A metal door was opened. Ritsuka could hear the jingling of keys. Lights were turned on. They placed him on something soft. He didn't move. More jingling, the clang of something shutting near to him. Lights were turned off; he heard the loud snap of the main door being pulled closed, then footsteps walking away.

Deciding to risk cracking open one eye, he found that he was lying on the floor of a large cage. There was a rumpled sheepskin or something like it underneath him. It was dark, but there were lights flashing on the various electronic equipment in the room. Where was this place? Like everything else, it seemed weirdly familiar to him, but he had no coherent memory of it.

He was debating whether or not it would be safe to move. Not quite yet, he surmised, in case they returned, or they were watching him on video. He sighed, abandoning himself once again to his thoughts. The phrase Blood of the Father was still running through his mind. Where had he heard it, whose voice had it been…

Suddenly, it hit him. It was his father's voice. Ritsuka's own father, whom he hadn't remember much about at all until… very recently. His father, Aoyagi Kenji. Ritsuka could hear his voice clearly in his head, speaking very urgently: "You don't know how valuable you are to them, Ritsuka. You and Seimei both. The Blood of the Father runs strong in both of you."

What… was this? It was such an odd feeling, to be remembering things that happened to someone else, to some other part of himself, or something equally disturbing. Even more peculiar was the fact that he somehow knew who the man with the familiar voice had been talking about when he said "the one with the Blood of the Father": Edward. He couldn't figure out how or why he knew this, he just… knew. Edward, like himself, had the Blood of the Father. They were alike. Related, even. Related? Get a hold of yourself, Ritsuka. There's no way you can be related to that kid; he's from another world! Still, the feeling wouldn't leave him. The false Seimei and the familiar-voiced man were leading Edward here for some reason.

Despite the jeopardy of his situation, Ritsuka had to smile. They have no idea what they're in for, do they? Go ahead. Summon the one with the Blood of the Father. I imagine by now he's tired of trees.