Hello! Another update by me! This is one of my longer chapters, and it's closing in on the end of my pre-written chapters (Oh no! My reserves!) and it's another one of those preliminary chapters. Well, I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. It belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU and plot.

To Create Perfection

"Be less curious about people and more curious about ideas."
—Marie Curie

"Law 1: God Save the People, Part 2"

Arthur and Francis had been walking through the BCWD corridors for two hours ever since their "chance" encounter with Antonio and Lovino. Unfortunately, to say that Arthur had enjoyed wasting his time would be a complete lie. Francis—almost literally—dragged Arthur around, from wing to wing, from room to room, to greet and chat with, quoted from Francis himself, "every lovely person we can find." And when he meant "find," he really meant it; he wasn't one of those guys who would strike up a conversation when somebody passed by. No, instead, he would stop and knock on all the doors to see if he could find anybody there to talk to. It was a horrible waste of time. In truth, Arthur would not have minded meeting with all the of the staff members; he knew quite well that it was important to establish working relationships with his colleagues. But Francis was simply excessive. If he saw anything that moved, he would trot on over and introduce Arthur to him or her. At some point, Arthur had been introduced to a few people more than one time. But Francis didn't care. He continued anyway. Clearly, there was something wrong with him.

But Francis' eccentricities didn't stop there. Oh, no, he liked taking detours too. He never went the way that would take the least amount of time to get to his destination, which in this case was Gilbert Beilschmidt's office. "Oh! Let's go this way!" Francis would say upon reaching each fork. And then when Arthur would ask why, he would beam and reply, "The journey would be more fun this way." Who the hell would do that anyway? Clearly Francis would. Maybe he was lost and was covering up the fact that he was randomly choosing paths. But that would have been unlikely, since Francis would also point at each door and say what or who was usually behind it. However that didn't stop them from going through the same hallways over and over again.

Finally, Francis stopped at a door, grinning as if it was a novelty item. But Arthur swore that he had seen it before. The hallway may have been nearly the same as all the others in the building, and the door was made of the same, dark metal as the rest. Luckily this one had a distinct quality that pulled it away from the others. A silver plate was nailed the door and labelled the office, "Self-Defence Sector Head." Yep, Arthur immediately knew that they had seen the door before.

Gesturing, Francis whispered, "And this is Gilbert Beilschmidt's office."

Arthur sputtered. "We've passed this door three times already!"

Francis held out his hands and patted the air. "Shh, shh, I know," he hissed back, "so be quiet. I thought that the office was too close so I wanted to take another way."

Outraged, Arthur shouted, "Why the hell did you do that?"

"Because I could." Francis sidled up to the door and knocked on the door. Then with a voice bumped up several octaves, he called, "Gilbert? This is Eliza."

There was a pause. Francis ushered Arthur over. The younger rolled his eyes, crossed his arms and then walked closer to the other.

"Francis, I know it's you," a gruff voice permeated through the metal. "I'm not falling for the trick again."

"Trick? What trick?" Francis sniggered, still talking in an up-pitched voice. He glanced at his companion, but the intern only glared back. Obviously, Arthur thought the behaviour immature. Who would dare act like that in a professional environment?

"Francis, you can come in."

The long-haired man sighed, falling back to his normal tone. "Ah, mon ami, where did your sense of fun go?" As he jabbered, he brought an arm around Arthur and opened the door, and the two walked inside.

If the office were to be described in one word, it would be "clean." Or it could be called "plain" as well, but that would not be the better adjective. The blue-green tiled floor was relatively shiny and it reflected the lights from the ceiling, although the highlights were corrupted by the amount of scratches on the wax. A large black and white—the colour was turning a bit grey due to people stepping all over it—rug was placed in the middle of the room and in front of the large desk that stood before a large window that spanned one whole side of the room. Bookshelves of uniform heights lined up against the other sides that were not occupied by either the door or the few empty frames. And that was about all there was to the room. So, the lack of décor in the room would have contributed to why the office looked so clean. It was not because it was organised: Sure, there were no random papers scattered around the floor and nothing seemed to be out of place, but on closer inspection, papers and books were cast disorderly on the large desk and various bookshelves. Nor was the room immaculate: A significant amount of grainy rocks dirtied the floor. Instead, the simplicity might have brought around the clean feeling of the room. The amount of near nothing made it impossible for anything to feel out of place.

And maybe the simplicity was why the man behind the desk stood out so much. He was extraordinarily pale; his near white skin, platinum blond hair, and tinted blue eyes contrasted against his dark blue and black military uniform and hat decorated with a silver star. He almost appeared to be a ghost of a soldier. And everything about him seemed angular: His facial structure was thin and defined; his eyes and smile were formed with points at the ends; the way he sat with his crossed legs resting on the desk and dark, knee-high boots dirtying the papers was almost sharp, as if every joint in his body was knobbly and completely incapable of grace; even his gloved fingers seemed stiff and hinged. In truth, he would have appeared to be a scary man if he had a little less meat and muscle on him. In their place, the rifle in his hands did all the intimidation. The barrel was a dark silver colour, and the handle was made of a brown metal that almost mocked the appearance of wood. Along the side of the gun, golden letters that almost blended into the weapon's colouration unless the light reflected off of them labelled it the "Black Eagle." Obviously, due to its pretty designs, "The Black Eagle" was used solely for ceremonial purposes, but it certainly was still lethal. The man was playing with two of the mechanisms in the back of the gun, loading and unloading it with a packet of small bullets with the quick flow of his fingers and flipping a bayonet in and out. And Arthur could barely see a few more mechanisms as well, and he could guarantee that they were all for killing purposes. So the gun could still do its job.

"Bonjour, Gilbert!" Francis shouted. His arms were wide open as he walked up to Gilbert. "How are you doing today?"

Gilbert smiled up at Francis and shifted in his seat, bringing his legs off the desk. "Hey, hey, watch the gun." He placed the rifle and the packet of bullets on the flat surface. Then he brought his arms up before returning Francis hug. Afterwards, he let go and slapped Francis on the back. "Seems like you're doing well."

"Of course! I am still as beautiful as I was yesterday." Francis chuckled. He returned the friendly gesture by patting his friend on the back, and then turned to face back at Arthur, who remained standing before the door with a large scowl on his face. A hand stretched out at the youngest man and the corners of Francis' mouth turned up and out a bit more. "Now, I'm sure you haven't met him yet. He's Arthur Kirkland, my new subordinate."

Arthur lifted a hand to give a limp wave towards Gilbert.

"Oh, you mean the smarty scholarship one?" Gilbert asked, cackling and glancing between Arthur and Francis. "He looks a lot less nerdy than I had expected."

Francis flipped his hair over his shoulder. "Of course. He might actually be my type."

"What?" Arthur screeched.

"Hmm, but he might be a little bit pricklier than you can handle," Gilbert remarked. "I thought you're fonder of those quiet people, like Lili."

"Ah, but I love everybody," Francis sighed with a hand on his heart. "Lili is amongst the best to spend your time with, but a man needs variety."

Arthur could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Oh, speaking of Lili, have you heard about her new assignment?" Gilbert's eyes moved away from Arthur to look up at Francis. "Her post will be in the Eastern Branch, Sector 234 of Area 2 for a year."

Francis' eyes widened a bit and he tilted his head a little to the side, much like a curious bird looking at strange movement. "Really? That's awfully far; Vash will be devastated."

"Yeah, I know."

Slowly, Arthur calmed down, letting out a long exhale. The two older men's probing attention was off of him, so he could relax. Already Arthur had a very bad impression on Francis, who dared to say that Arthur was anywhere close to being a good target for flirting, and his friends, who probably were no better than he. However, Arthur felt he could not run out of the room and leave the other two to their devices, despite being quite tempted to do so. The act constituted to abandonment and was rude towards his two superiors. In addition, it went against his chivalrous principles, which he took great pride in. Arthur would do nothing he deemed damaging to his ego and his dignity. As a result, he decided to wait out his superiors' conversation and wander around the room.

Arthur immediately went to the bookshelves. Anything with pages and covers attracted his attention. Throughout his life, books had kept him better company than all of his siblings combined. They had taught him almost all the science he needed to pass BCWD's exams, from the cell cycle to quantum physics. And they had kept him entertained when he couldn't do anything else like when his brother wouldn't allow him outside because of a failing grade. In truth, Arthur would have gone nowhere without his beloved books. So it was only natural that he would go look at the books first.

His fingers ran down the spines of the books, bumping along. A few of the volumes lacked titles, but it was clear that, with titles such as "The Campaigns of Napoleon," the majority were about historical documents about battle strategies. A few of them were textbooks of countries, such as the United States and Germany. And of course, a handful was about famous empires back in the day, such as the Ancient Roman Empire and Alexander the Great's Empire.

"Hey, is something on your mind?" Francis asked. "Going to miss Lili?"

"Hmm… No, it's nothing like that." There was a small click. Gilbert must be fiddling with the mechanisms on his rifle again. "I'm just wondering if I should return this to him or not."

"He certainly won't be using it at any time. I don't think he will care if he had a gun. Shouldn't you keep it?"

Arthur started straightening the books, slamming some of them into the walls of the shelves in order to make room for others that were on their sides. That way, he wasn't eavesdropping on other people's conversations. It wasn't any of his business and he certainly didn't care anyway. Arthur was merely demonstrating a brand of common courtesy. However he was making quite a bit of noise. But it seemed that Gilbert and Francis didn't mind; they kept talking, and as long as they didn't complain, then Arthur would continue.

Then something caught his eye. Arthur paused and scooted himself to two shelves over, straightening the bottom most books as he went. In a dark corner was a face-down picture frame. It lay in front of a book called The Iron Kingdom by Christopher Clark. It was a simple little thing, with only wooden borders and a cork backing and stand, which was folded down. Dust had covered the back, hinting that it hadn't been touched for quite a long time. Arthur picked it up and looked at a photo of an old man.

"A siege?" Gilbert laughed. "That's unlikely. Those idiots kept the World Domain vital networks a secret, even to themselves. They know where the capital is, but they don't know which area to attack, or if the networks' centre is even in the capital. I think they will continue to try and land somewhere on the shore and attempt to make a sweep that way. And even if they try to get past the borders, our SR-102's will shoot them down, like always."

"But you have to remember. This is a war with the world. You never know what will happen."

There was a long sigh. "Francis, you forget that this is no longer twentieth century warfare. It's a slaughter, and we're winning."

The old man was in a dark blue uniform: The coat had four large pockets, empty of anything; a black belt wrapped around his hip; a sash reached to his right shoulder from the belt buckle; baggy, blue pants of an almost green hue were tucked into knee-high, brown boots. The man wasn't in full dress, but he certainly acted like he was, with his chin up, shoulders back, chest out and feet together. A decorated rifle, gilded with the words "Black Eagle," rested against his shoulder, its butt resting in one of the man's gloved hands and its barrel reaching past his head. The other hand was pulled up into a stiff salute, fingers close to the rim of a dark blue hat adorned with one large, silver star. Framed by white hair tied into a loose ponytail by a blue bow, the drawn, wrinkled face was set into a hard expression. His mouth was stretched back into a flat line, and the two bright blue eyes stared straight into the camera.

To Arthur, the man seemed to be a veteran who had decided to wear his old uniform out of nostalgia. But as Arthur continued to stare, the former soldier seemed familiar. Arthur had a hard time seeing the whole face due to the wispy hair and the rim of the hat. But there was something about it that tipped Arthur off. The cheekbones weren't prominent, and the cheeks, despite being ridged by wrinkles, were round, curling towards the wide chin. The nose was round but small, and prominent wrinkles ran from the outermost sides of the nostrils and down to the corners of the mouth. But there seemed to be something wrong with that. The edges of the mouth curled up a bit. It could have been an illusion or a blur in the photograph, but it softened the image of a cold soldier.

Slowly, Arthur's gaze travelled down to the bottom of the frame. A small, yellow plate was nailed into the wood, and with carved words, it said "Frederick Hohenzollern." And he immediately realised who the man was and what he did.

"He's awesome, isn't he?"

Arthur jolted and looked up. Gilbert was leaning against his desk next to Francis, his hand on the rifle resting on the wooden surface. A large grin was spread on his face, and his eyes sparkled.

"You mean Hohenzollern?" Arthur asked.

"Who else?"

Arthur paused and stared at the photograph again. Then he looked back up at Gilbert again, frowning. "Wasn't he the one who started the war?"

Gilbert laughed. "No, the other countries started the war. He had suggested that we declare independent. And when we did, everybody else had freaked out and declared war on us."

Furrowing his brows, Arthur looked back down at the picture of the man. "Nevertheless, he is still a fool."

Suddenly, Gilbert's expression turned dark and he ground his teeth into an almost feral growl. His back arched into a hunch. He took a step forward, sliding his fingers along the table. "Don't you ever dare say something like that again. Never ever tarnish the Hohenzollern name. You may think he was the commander who 'declared war on the world,' but you clearly do not realise how beneficial it is for everyone else."

In retaliation, Arthur growled back, "Oh, yeah? So people shooting each other is 'beneficial' to everyone? If you ask me, the very fact that there is slaughter outside the World Domain"—he gestured outside the window—"is negative wherever you go! People are dying out there, and you say it's 'beneficial'? BCWD is a medical facility; it's supposed to be saving people with medicine, not kill everyone off with firearms!"

Gilbert waved a finger at Arthur, scowling and grinding his teeth together. He opened his mouth for a retort, but instead, he shut his mouth again and stomped right over to Arthur. The intern stumbled onto his feet in order to stand at the same level as Gilbert. But Arthur was a good few centimetres shorter than Gilbert was, even with his thick-soled shoes. So the only good that Arthur standing up did was allowing Gilbert to easily wrench Arthur by the collar and top pull Arthur right up to his face. "I see you just don't understand anything at all, do you?" Gilbert hissed. "Let me tell you this, kid, because I see that you're too stupid to realise it: Research requires resources. And we're limited of those by the old school thought of ethics and religion."

"Liar," Arthur leered. "The World Domain was made specifically so we're not limited by your so-called 'old school thought.' So how can war 'not limit' us? If you ask me, we're even more 'limited' because we're in war; before we are always funded by others, but now nobody is willing to fund us anything."

"It's because we're at war that we can get anything we want. We don't need to ask for funding anymore; instead, we just take whatever we need—courtesy to Frederick Hohenzollern, of course." Gilbert shook Arthur, bouncing the head against the bookshelf once. Arthur's vision blotched up a bit upon impact, but his recovery came swift and easy. "You wouldn't accomplish half of your assignments without the war going on." Gilbert's gruff voice lowered into a hiss similar to the sound of a doused flame. "You're luckier than most other interns before you, y'know. Some of your predecessors begged for World Domain independence."

The blond intern opened his mouth to snap something back. However, before he could say anything, Gilbert let go and shoved Arthur towards Francis, who was standing in front of Gilbert's desk. Francis had not moved an inch, and he merely watched Gilbert and Arthur with a neutral expression, making no attempt to stop the two men's argument. All he did was holding out a hand in case Arthur stumbled forward.

"Francis, you have your work cut out for you," Gilbert said. "We have an idealist on our hands, and God knows how much I hate idealists."

"But Feliciano was an idealist," Francis replied.

Gilbert rolled his eyes, walking around the desk and sliding his fingers along the barrel of his gun. "At least he wasn't a dreamer too." Then he waved at them, much like how a superior would wave off his troublesome subordinates. "Now, go away. I don't have time for this; I have work to do."

Francis sighed. "All right." He walked up to Arthur and held onto his arm. He took the picture frame from Arthur's hands, folded the stand down, and placed it face-down on a shelf, the one that it wasn't on before. "Let's go." And without even saying a small farewell and with his head bowed slightly, Francis ushered Arthur out of the office and closed the door behind him. Only when there was a small click did Francis let out a sigh and lift his head to look back at Arthur.

Still in a bad mood, Arthur's scowl deepened. "What was his problem?" he spat out, saying the words with the utmost spite.

Francis kept a hand on Arthur's shoulder and the two began walking away from the Beilschmidt office. "Nah, we just caught him at a bad time. He may not seem like it, but he's very dedicated to his work and keeps very high standards." They took the first turn in the corridor and walked alongside a large span of windows on the left. "But don't worry! You're new! I'm going to teach you everything you need to know about BCWD, and you'll be up and over Gil's standards and he'll come to like you, just like how he came to like little Feliciano after a while."

Arthur scoffed. "I don't need him to like me. It's not like I'll work as his subordinate; a few enemies here and there aren't too bad either."

"Now that's a bad attitude! It'll get you killed someday." Francis smiled and patted the other's shoulder. "Here, I think you've made enough enemies today; let's go meet Sadık. He's really good with children, so there'd be no way you two would get at each other's throats."

"Are you implying something?" Arthur growled through gritted teeth.

The older man chuckled and shook his head. "No, nothing." He brought Arthur closer to him as they continued down the long and spanning corridors.

This time, Francis didn't seem to be taking detours. The histrionic gestures, announcer voice, and the ever-obnoxious "Hey, let's go that way!" were gone, replaced by a relative silence. He didn't even swivel around to burst through doors and strike up a conversation with anybody whom he happened to see. Instead he turned corners without a single hesitation or comment and stuck to a short greeting to anybody who happened by. Although Arthur was quite satisfied that he wasn't going to waste time doing unnecessary things, he almost felt like there was a lack of confidence in Francis' steps. The detours were made only to frustrate Arthur, and when they were employed, that meant Francis knew enough of the layout of the building to trick and mislead people while also keeping them on track towards the destination. Those who were only vaguely familiar with the pathways would have never been able to map out a route that would not only give a sense of being lost but also still bring the person to the destination. So with the deviations gone, Arthur could not help himself from thinking that Francis was lost. And with his natural disposition to not trust Francis, Arthur was almost tempted to conclude that they really were lost.

But on they went, and Arthur did not say a word that would hint Francis of his distrust. The hallways were extraordinarily plain, lacking all decorations that would act as a landmark for a poor, lost fellow. The only things that would hint that someone was going anywhere at all were the views outside, which were as boring as the white walls that lined the corridors, and the signs that labelled the designated purposes for particular rooms or offices. So other than those things, everything seemed the same, with uniform bluish-green tiles, speckled board ceiling, and faint overhead lights. As such, there was nothing interesting to look at. Everything was boring in the hallways and, suddenly, Arthur wanted something else to do. But of course, he would never admit that. It would distract him from his goal and he would become something a little like Francis, wasting time that he didn't have.

Eventually they arrived to the front desk. Francis waved at the receptionist and blew her a kiss. And then, he pushed the front door open and the two men walked out.

A burst of colours immediately overwhelmed Arthur. The outdoors contrasted against the stark ambience of the indoors, shining with more than anything construction work could make. The sunlight was raw and pure, no longer weakened by slightly tinted windows. And with the bright lighting, everything stood out more. But it wasn't in competitive way and didn't drown out any single feature. Instead there was some sort of harmony, much like how a meadow of flowers appeared uniform yet different at every turn. The individual features had become some sort of blur, but that didn't take away any uniqueness from each one. Of course, this wasn't the outdoors in its full glory. The air was unfiltered due to a lack of ventilation and held some sort of heavy dryness to it. And a slight burning scent had drowned out any possibility of freshness typical to the outdoors. And the black of the tar road, the grey of the stone sidewalk and the white of the buildings looked off when placed with the green of the grass, the blue of the sky, and the yellow of the dandelions. But that was okay. Well, as far as Arthur's senses went.

He really liked nature. Now, he didn't know if Francis would agree, but he felt that it was amongst the best things of the world. It was a mysterious thing, just waiting to be analysed, dissected and understood. Arthur felt that the sole purpose in life was to find out about everything in the world he was living in. This quest for the world's knowledge was the only one worth embarking on. And it was, of course, the one Arthur looked into the most. Why? Because in there was science. Nature was science. As Arthur would learn about it all, he would come to discover ways to manipulate things. He would tame it. So then the world would be a better place. And then life would have an even higher standard. And that was his goal ever since he was a child. Yes, it was a lofty goal, but one worth striving for.

Arthur and Francis approached a large building across the road from where they came. It was much bigger than the other—which was saying something—with its wider box-like structure and multiple levels. Despite its size, it wasn't anything magnificent and was certainly nothing interesting to look at. The architecture was plain, built for practicality rather than looks. It was basically a large block pasted into the earth; the sides were straight except for the sills below rows and rows of windows, and the top edges suggested an even flatter roof. And above the entrance, where an overhang jutted out of this massive metal-cement brick, were enlarged metallic letters, announcing to the world that the building was called "The BCWD Hospital and Medical Research Centre." So, basically, if its boring architecture did not already announce its stereotypically practical purposes, then the large sign would. But despite its unappealing and dull nature, Arthur could not help himself from looking up at the building with amazement and admiration. There was simply something about the word research that would send him into a spiral of frenzied wonder.

"We're here," Francis said. He walked up to the entrance, leaving Arthur to his own devices, as he fished through his pockets, pulled out a wallet, and then took a card out. The door, despite being as plain as the rest, was unique in that it was reflective. No, it did not simply reflect light, but it also reflected images, much like what a mirror did. That gave the door a delicate look, as if it was made out of glass. But anyone would realise that it was not the case. No fool would make a door out of complete glass. Instead, like many mirrors, it was made of reflective metals, such as silver. But silver, of course, was not durable. Then it must have been some other metal, but that would never be disclosed since the World Domain was such a secretive society. But there must have been a few layers it, for when Francis slid his card in a small device stuck to the top of the door, a small keyboard slid out. Then he typed in a pin, and the door flashed with a green light in a design much like a computer chip's and slid open.

"Come on," Francis called over his shoulder and waved Arthur to follow.

The younger looked back down and trotted after his superior and into the building.

The hospital structure was much like the one of the building they had been in before. The ceiling was still made of speckled boards, the overhead lights were faint, and the floor tiles were still bluish-green and scratched. However, there were distinguishing features as well. The air, somehow, came off as even fresher than the air outside. Sure, there was a faint scent of dusty ventilation and caustic antibiotics, but it was still predominantly clear. And the walls weren't just a plain white plaster. Instead, they were of a plastic variety, capable of reflecting the faint light overhead to give an illusion of more lighting. And at times, a faint blue glow travelled along the walls like a tiny train passing by. The area branched off into three wings. At each juncture, two large, metal boxes stood out of the walls, holding some things that, like the mechanisms of the door, would not be disclosed. On the side of the corridor that led forward, a woman sat on a rickety, blue chair reading some sort of backwards book and eating rice and vegetables from a compartmented box.

The woman wore a military uniform, much similar in structure to the one that Gilbert was seen wearing moments before. She was obviously a soldier, but one of a lower rank as Gilbert, for her clothes were a dirty green and she lacked the strap that went from her belt to her shoulder. And unlike Gilbert, she was darker with nicely tanned skin—probably from being outside—and rounder, appearing more like a palpable person than Gilbert could ever be. Her wavy, brown hair was long, reaching below the middle of her back. That was quite strange for a soldier, since hair that long usually caught on things, so it signalled that she had seen peace for a significantly long time. And her eye colour was easy to identify, even at a distance because of how bright the green was and how wide her eyes were while she read her book.

"Enjoying that book?" Francis asked.

The woman absentmindedly stabbed a meatball with her fork and brought it to her mouth. "You bet," she replied with her mouth full, keeping the fork between her teeth. "You can borrow it when I'm done." Her large green eyes finally looked up and she smiled at Francis. Then her gaze travelled towards Arthur and stared with widening eyes. The fork started slipping out of her gaping mouth.

The woman clambered to her feet. The book and lunch box both clattered to the ground, either snapping closed or spilling rice, respectively. Her heels snapped together and her right hand went to her forehead while the other stayed stiffly to her side. She was standing at full attention with her green eyes narrowing and staring out straight ahead. "Elizaveta Edelstein: HQ Base Special Force, Unit 2, Rank 7.342; wife and bodyguard of Dr. Roderick Edelstein!" she shouted. "I had not been reading on the job!"

Arthur raised one bushy eyebrow. He looked over to Francis and then back to Elizaveta, as if he had witnessed a strange ritual dance from an unknown specie.

Whereas Arthur did not know what to think, Francis laughed. "Don't worry, Eli. He's not an inspector." An arm reached over and wrapped around Arthur's head, bringing the other closer. "He's my new student, Arthur Kirkland!"

Eli let out a loud groan, sagging over with her arms limp. "Seriously? So I worried for nothing? I even spilt my food for you!"

"Then I'm honoured that you lost some food over us."

"Well, you better be. It was a gift from Kiku!" The woman knelt down and gathered up the box and book. She then placed them on her seat and cleaned up the rice with a napkin from her back pocket. "So what brings you here?"

"I'm introducing Artie here to Sadık." Arthur scowled and pushed Francis away.

Eli shot a disgusted look at Francis. "Him? Seriously? You give him too much attention." She looked back at her mess and folded the napkin to slip it back into her pocket. "You'll bloat his inflatable ego if you keep that up, you know."

Francis laughed. "He's just good company; that's all."

Eli scoffed and shook her head. "More like very bad company, if you ask me." Then she stood up, grunting, "Well, you probably won't be seeing him around as often anymore. The sedative stocks are going low, so he's swamped by usage reports and permission slips."

"Well, that's unfortunate. Where is he anyway?"

The woman picked up her food and book. "I think he's still in Safety Room 42 over there." A thumb jerked over her shoulder, pointing the way down the hallway behind her. Then she plopped back down onto her seat and wiped off her fork. "You know how he is. Now, go. I have some reading to do." She placed her lunch box onto her lap and started flipping to where she had left off.

"All right, thanks, Eli." Francis patted Arthur's shoulder again and said, "Come on, let's go." The intern grumbled some gibberish and then the two walked in the direction Eli had pointed. As Francis passed by, he patted Eli's shoulder. "Enjoy the book."

"Mm…" was all Eli replied with. The fork was hanging out of her mouth again, and she resumed her position she had been in before Francis and Arthur had entered the building and disturbed her.

Francis paused for a second, looking over his shoulder at Eli. A smile crept on his face and he waved at the entrance door. "Oh, hey, Vash, what're you doing here?"

Eli clambered back on her feet and saluted. "Elizaveta Edelstein, HQ Base Special Force, Unit 2, Rank 7.342, and wife and bodyguard of Dr. Roderick Edelstein, reporting for duty, sir!" And once more, the book, lunch box, and fork clattered onto the ground.

And then Francis laughed and ushered himself and Arthur down the hallway.

There was a moment of silence. Eli slowly slipped from her salute and glanced around. Then a loud shriek of rage and frustration echoed along the walls. "I hate you, Francis Bonnefoy!"

Arthur glared at Francis with one eyebrow arching like a stretching ferret. "Don't you think that was a bit cruel?" he asked.

Francis shrugged. "She was almost asking for it; she knows that she shouldn't be reading on the job. Besides, wasn't it a good laugh?"

Arthur huffed and rolled his eyes. Obviously Francis had a horrible sense of humour. There was nothing funny about ruining somebody's lunch and reading time. In fact Arthur took some pity on poor Eli. The food in the lunch box looked delectable. The prospect of losing any of it sounded devastating. And being an avid reader himself, he knew too well that disturbing somebody's readings produced an unreasonable ire in a person and would destroy the flow of a good story. Additionally Eli's job seemed boring. She was on guard duty with nothing to do other than waste her precious time staring at a door that might never be broken down. Of course Arthur knew that she needed to be on her toes throughout her whole shift. But boredom killed, and with nothing going on, her alertness would have died much faster than if she were reading her beloved books, whatever the content was.

And that was his reasoning. But he would never speak up about that.

The two men passed quite a few rooms, going from room 40 to room 69 before going up an elevator to rooms 340 to 369. Like in the main building, everything was relatively uniform. The walls were like the walls of the first floor: white and plastic. The floor and the ceiling were as boring as others. At some of the corners, there were the same grey boxes they had seen earlier. The doors were all of dark metal and had a shiny plate with numbers and codes nailed into them. And after every two or three doors, there would be a large window that allowed the full view of a room. A majority of these windows were shuttered with metal blinds, but a few of them were not, revealing wide rooms with no occupants. The rooms were all rather plain, fitting for a hospital. They each contained only two or three beds, a few small desks and chairs, one cabinet, and a little stall for, presumably, bathroom purposes. And if a room was on the right side, a large window was carved out the wall, letting the sunlight in.

Then Francis turned a corner and dragged Arthur with him. They were in what seemed like a dead-end. But off to the side, there stood a large door much different from the ones in the rest of the building. It was much like the door that guarded the entrance of the whole hospital: It was made of a few layers of a mysterious metal and acted much like a mirror. Beside the door was a little box with a button. And next to that was a shuttered window, which was rather small when compared to the rest. Underneath that, a plate was attached to a wall, labelling the room as "Safety Room 42."

The older man leant over towards the box and held the button down. There was a moment of static coming from the top and then Francis spoke, "Hey, Sadık, it's Francis." He let go of the button.

A deep voice fizzled in response. "Oh, hey, Francis, you can come in. I already set it to allow member access."

Francis reached into his pocket and pulled out the same card he had used before. Since Arthur stood right beside Francis this time, Arthur was able to see what was on the card. On the back was a thick line, one that was usually seen on cards. And underneath the line, a few fine print words were written, probably telling some terms of use or possession. Then Francis flipped it over and Arthur was able to see the other side. A large blue line ran across where the black line had been and the words "Buchen Centre of the World Domain" were printed in heavy purple. A photo of Francis' face was on the left side underneath the word "Buchen." In the remaining free space, a profile told any reader about the man. His rank, "Assimilation Officer SER," was also written as part of the profile, but it was in a larger font so Arthur could read it. Then Francis swiped the card along the side of the intercom box, again setting off glowing lights in the metal before the door slid open.

Four people sat on the floor of the room, which appeared much like a playroom for kindergarteners since it contained many colourful toys and large picture books. Three of people were children—one, a toddler, and two around the ages of five and six—and one was a large man. The toddler was a little boy with crew-cut hair; dark skin; large, brown eyes; chubby, little cheeks; grubby hands; and all of his teeth except for one of his incisors on the top. He was dressed in a type of robe with a striped red and yellow sash and brown belt. Obviously, with its long sleeves and nightgown appearance, it had been a hand-me-down intended for easy dressing. But nobody was going to complain. One of the other children had a tired, lackadaisical look to him: drooping eyelids, blurry green eyes, slow movements, jerking nods, and the constant yawning. His brown hair was naturally wavy, but the way that some of the locks shot out randomly suggested a serious bed-head. He wore a stained, white T-shirt and baggy pants with huge pockets, which he kept reaching into but pulling out nothing. The other child was taller, probably older, and had a significantly less amount of baby fat. He wore something similar to a tunic: An oversized T-shirt draped over his body and was tied around the waist by a piece of yarn. He was also darker in skin tone when compared to the other two children in the room, and his hair border-lined into black. His eyes were a strange hazel colour, one that mixed green and brown, and his mouth seemed to be sewn into a tight, straight line.

The adult in the room was the strangest of all. He was obviously an employee: The apparel of the lab coat and scrubs made that clear; if not, then identification card hanging around his neck from a lanyard. But that wasn't what made him stand out of the rest. A white ceramic mask obscured half of his face, going over most of his forehead and over the bridge of the nose. Not many people would wear a mask, especially in a hospital. It made the wearer appear suspicious as it hid the identity. And in this way, he looked like a potential murderer, and his muscular build didn't help plead his innocence. But somehow, the man sufficiently seemed to dispel the negative first impression. The rough hair on the top of his head and light stubble on his chin gave him a rather fatherly look, softening his defined chin and his skull structure. And his wide smile made him appear a bit goofy, but it brightened his overall expression despite the blank appearance from the mask.

"You guys came at the right time! I have to leave to pick up my new assignment in a bit," the adult said. His voice sounded much deeper than when it crackled out from outside, but there seemed to be a funky rise and fall of tone at the end of his words. Then he turned his head to look directly at Arthur. The shadows produced by the eyeholes were dark, so Arthur couldn't see the eyes, and that frightened him. But as the tiny toddler crawled onto his lap, the feeling became diluted. "So, he's your new lackey, right? He definitely looks green around those ears."

Francis laughed. "Almost everyone he meets always says that." He and Arthur walked into the room as the door closed behind them. "Arthur does have the newbie look," Francis observed, draping his arm over Arthur's shoulders. Arthur's scowl deepened. Whether it was because of the physical contact or because of the "newbie" comment, nobody would know.

"So Arthur Kirkland, right? The name's Sadık. Sadık Adnan." The man patted the toddler's head, which was tilted up to stare at the strange, blond men. "This li'l guy is İhsan." Then he pointed at the older two who weren't sitting far from him: First, the sleepy one, and then the older. "And he's Heracles, and the other is Gupta." From the ground, the large man reached up for a handshake. Although he would not be looking at Arthur from eye level, he didn't move an inch from his spot for the toddler was still on his lap. "It's nice to meet you."

Arthur inched closer to Sadık. His footsteps came out more as a shuffle than anything else, and he reached out a hand that strained itself to reach the other's hand. "It's… It's nice to meet you too," he said, taking Sadık's calloused hand.

"Oh, come on, buddy! You better work on your handshake!" Sadık gave Arthur's hand a stern shake before Arthur could quickly retract. Then he turned to look at Francis. "Hey, is your subordinate always this shy?"

Francis sat down with a grunt. "Shy? You should have seen earlier today! He's the snarkiest thing you can find!"

"Really?" Sadık said, sounding sceptical. The grin on his face became an open-mouthed frown as he looked at Arthur. Because of the mask, he looked impersonal, like a computer analysing a specimen. Arthur knew that if Sadık had been the one who interviewed him upon applying for internship, he would be unable to answer questions. But then Sadık smiled again and he held up the toddler from the armpits, much like how one would hold up a four-legged pet. "It must be the children!"

İhsan stared up at Arthur with a monotonous expression: foggy, blank eyes and triangle-shaped mouthed. The baby was absolutely unreadable. Whether he was suspicious or fond of Arthur or anything at all would require extensive brain-testing. Nevertheless, Arthur reached out and took İhsan into his hands. And he stared. Well, both of them did.

"Great!" Then Sadık pointed at both Francis and Arthur with one hand. "I'll trust that you two will take care of these guys for me when I'm gone."

As Sadık stood up, Francis asked, "Where are you going?"

"I have to pick up my new patient. They say that the subject was a handful for one of the branches." The large man brought his arms over his head and stretched. "Went on a rampage and killed five people and wounded fifteen—both other subjects and staff members. So they decided that this good ol' man in HQ should take care of 'im."

Francis arched an eyebrow. "That sounds dangerous. Name? History?"

"They call him Ivan Braginski. From a Russian prison after slaughtering 25 attendees at a party. Mentally unstable and capable of violent tantrums." Francis frowned in disapproval and Arthur shot a shocked look over İhsan's head, but Sadık merely shrugged. "I'm used to it. But hey, you can always come around and help me sometime. Get you some credits for the kid's internship." Then he straightened his coat and moved his lanyard into his pants pocket. "Now I best be going. Take care of these brats for me. And you…" He turned and glared down at Heracles, who was still nodding off. "You better behave."

The child looked up and blinked wearily. "Damn old man," Heracles droned.

Sadık's expression changed into an outraged one. He bent down and grabbed the boy's cheeks and stretched them until they were shaped into something similar to an American football. Heracles whined a little, screwing his eyes shut. And Sadık growled, "Why you little…!"

But he let go and stopped. His angered look fell and he straightened up. A large hand went up to his ear. "What's wrong, pipsqueak?"

During that pause while Sadık waited for a response, everybody stared at him. The sudden change in Sadık's mood seemed a bit off. It was obvious that he was talking into some sort of communication device placed near his ear, and something that was said had taken most, if not all, of Sadık's attention. And the device was probably top-notch as well, for there was not a mutter coming from it. The corner of Sadık's mouth twitched, just enough that even Arthur, the unskilled people-watcher, would notice. The movement must have been in response to the words only Sadık could hear, but what variety of reaction it would associate to left Arthur wondering.

"I'll be right there." Then Sadık's hand left his ear and slipped into his pocket. In a rush, he trotted past Arthur and walked up to the door. "Sorry guys, got to run now before somebody's soul gets beaten out of their heads." He shot an apologetic smile back and pressed a red button beside the exit and the door slid open. "Better stay here until I move the cargo up into the new room. I'll see you guys later!" With that, the scientist dashed out.

The door closed behind him, and a sort of dead silence followed after.

Arthur knitted his eyebrows together and scowled. "Does that mean we have to take care of children until Sadık gives his say-so?" he asked.

"Aw, but these kiddies are well-behaved," Francis replied. He stretched over and patted one of Heracles' reddening cheeks. The boy did not move from his spot and continued to nod off again. "They're really quiet and aren't prone to causing a ruckus. Sadık just wants us to keep an eye on them because he dotes on them." Then he looked at Gupta. The eldest of the children was sitting a distance away from the others, having kept silent ever since Arthur first looked at him. "Isn't that right, Gupta?" Francis asked.

The boy picked up a little plastic container and held it up. "Pot," he said.

Francis chuckled. "Yes, pot." Then he looked back up at Arthur and patted a spot on the ground beside him. "See? They're well-behaved. It's not like a normal day-care."

Arthur glared down at the spot for a moment. He didn't want to sit next to Francis, and God knew what was on that carpet. But he slowly sat himself down with İhsan on his lap anyway. The toddler made no move while Arthur plopped down, staring at the white wall before looking up at the ceiling. The behaviour was not of any Arthur had seen in a child before. Sure, he didn't spend most of his time with children, but the blank expressions on the three were not anything he had heard before. Normally, eyes would be wide and bright, staring at everything with a curiosity and petty arrogance. So Arthur asked, "Then how are they so well-behaved?"

"Can't tell you." Francis leant back onto his hands and crossed his legs. "All I will say is that they're under Sadık's care."

"Then what department is he in?"

"He's in the Humane Control. He takes care of some experimental subjects and staff members, but since he's just a RLR, he mainly deals with monitoring behaviour, sedation, and taking care of some patients and assignments."

"RLR?"

Francis looked over at Gupta and gestured the boy over. The child stood up and walked over, holding the pot in his hands. "RLR is one of the lower ranks of the department hierarchy. Since he's a bit of a multitasker, taking on all sectors of his department and on top of being an assimilation officer, he can't go any higher than that. But that's title only; everybody treats him as an SEP. Even his superiors bow down to him."

Gupta plopped down and stared. "Pot," he repeated. Francis reached over and patted the boy's head.

"You're an SEP, right?"

"You saw my card?" Francis reached back into his pocket, pulled out his identification and tossed it over to Arthur. "But I'm just an assimilation officer. The only benefit that comes out of it is that I can wander through other departments and help out."

Arthur looked down at the thin plastic. Obviously, it did not change from the last time he looked at it. So he went straight to the brief profile printed onto it:

Name: Francis Bonnefoy
Gender: Male
Age: 29
Birthday: 14 July 2190
Height: 175 cm
Hair Colour: Blond
Eye Colour: Blue
Wife: Jeanne Bonnefoy

And underneath that were the bolded words, "Assimilation Officer SEP" again. But, in print so fine that Arthur nearly missed it, the card continued, "For those who require special attention. Current Protégé: Arthur Kirkland." Those last few words seemed to be like a spear through his pride. He was offended. Who the hell thought he needed special attention? Arthur Kirkland was a bloody genius; he didn't need any special help in his internship. His grades were perfect; his work ethic was phenomenal; his skills were of those that appear only once every decade. Was that why he hated Francis' condescending ways? Was it because Francis was used to "slower" people who needed more time to learn? And he wasn't used to fast learners like Arthur? And Arthur wasn't used to those more babying teachers? Arthur didn't belong to a group of students who need "extra help" to learn or become a great scientist. In fact, he didn't even need teachers like Francis! So, why?

Arthur placed his finger underneath those words and held the card up to Francis' face. "Mr. Bonnefoy, what is the meaning of this?"

Francis blinked and squinted at the words. "Oh, that's just part of my job. I take care of those who require special attention before they become full staff members." He smiled.

One of Arthur's large eyebrows twitched. Was Francis seriously treating him like an idiot? He knew that already. "No, but why am I in the 'require special attention' category? I don't need some stupid 'special attention'!"

The older man peered over the card and at Arthur. "Yes, you do," he replied. "Why are you joining BCWD?"

The intern was taken aback for a moment. "I… I want to perfect society. I want to save lives and humanity. By joining BCWD."

The card was plucked from Arthur's hands. "And that's why you require special attention." Francis stuffed the card back into pocket and turned back to look at Arthur. "You don't know the main concept of BCWD, and you need to take it to heart."

Arthur's hand fell. Blue eyes seemed to harden. Francis suddenly appeared older than he was. "What is it then?"

"In BCWD, science is your humanity. We have no room for dreamers here."