{ Weaving Stage III: The Savage Order, Pt.2 }
Chapter Seven

Khan and Wrenne leaned against one of the water-heaters in the tiny closet, sinking to sit on the ground as they usually did during their clandestine meetings.

"I can't believe you've had to live your life in a world like this," Wrenne thought aloud, running a hand up Khan's cheek. "without love."

"Love is not a need," He shrugged his shoulders, accidentally reciting the answer that had been branded into his mind all his life.

"Sex is on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs*," Wrenne pointed out. "Frankly, not having you right now is nearly maddening. How have you lasted like this? Without sex and love?"

"We have sex, that need is met," Khan sighed.

Wrenne rested her head on his chest and he rested a hand on the warm, sloped shelf of her breasts. From a simple body part he could feel not just physical attraction but the intimacy, the satisfaction, the comfort- even without skin contact.

"If you can't have sex with each other, than how does that work?" She looked at him skeptically.

"Sex is lower on the Hayagrivan hierarchy of needs," Khan commented, eluding her question.

"Obviously, or we wouldn't be hiding in a utility closet like a couple of fifteen-year-olds."

"So American teenagers tuck themselves away in cupboards to- what did you call it?"

"'Making out,'" Wrenne chuckled softly. "...so then what did you do during adolescence?"

"What?" Khan glanced at his watch, which was counting down the time for their rendezvous.

"If it's illegal to sleep with other Augments, how the hell did you deal with the hormones?"

"It is only 'illegal' to engage in intercourse with other Augments, or outside the requirements of an assigned target or sexual examination."

He cursed under his breath.

He had meant to bite off the last three words but he had been too late.

Wrenne had stiffened immediately.

"What the fuck?" She exclaimed, then hesitated, asking in a softer, more sensitive voice, "What do you mean 'sexual examination'?"

"An assessment of sexual functions," He answered coolly. "They won't tolerate weakness or failure in any manner."

"You mean they-?"

"It is not pleasant information," He moved away, angrily rising from the floor.

"But can't you-." Wrenne tried again, standing up beside him, but Khan was just as quick to interject-

"No!"

"But whatdoes-."

Khan grabbed her violently by the wrist, he felt the bones and tendons crunch together under his strength.

He held Wrenne so tightly just from one hand's grasp; she slumped to her knees, practically limp in his grasp as if he were sucking the very life from her.

"Do NOT ask because I will not tell you!" He ordered angrily, shaking her aggressively from the wrist.

Wrenne's stubborn glare flickered with fear, shrinking away from him.

"I'm notsome fragile doll you can just-." She tried to jerk her body from his hold and-

-snap.

"Ah!" She whispered a whimper of pain, her breathing ragged as Khan let Wrenne slip her arm from his grip. "Ah..."

She gasped from the sharp, stabbing sensation- her whole body seemed to scream an alarm. She bent over her broken wrist, trying to calm her breathing.

Khan had felt the bone about to give, but he hadn't managed to release her in time.

"I toldyou notto ask-," He began when Wrenne used her whole, intact hand to smack him hard across the face, hard enough to spread a burning tingle along his augmented cheeks.

Now her only good hand throbbed and pumped painfully.

She'd never hit someone so fiercely before- and Wrenne was surprised that such a hit, one she had put her whole 130 something pounds into, didn't even move his head. It just jostled his dark hair across his forehead.

Shere Khan cocked his head ever so slightly, looking up at her from half-lidded, feral eyes that glinted an insight indecipherable, even to her.

So Wrenne smacked him again as hard as she could, throwing in the force of her whole body so that she fell off balance.

Khan caught her immediately.
Small tears started running down her cheeks.

Why had she hit him twice?
Why had she hit him at all?

She didn't push Khan away as he delicately straightened her onto her feet again.

Why was she still here? This hell hole imagined from some mangled nightmare of Dante and Ray Bradbury's-

"This," Khan finally spoke. "is a savage land. You're too delicate for this place."

He held her broken wrist in a careful position that would bring her the most relief.

"I am not delicate and I am not weak, you son of a bitch!" Wrenne tried to convey her anger despite the sob that was overtaking her system. "I won't be- be handled or forced or 'persuaded' anymore!" She struck him again, meaning to only whack his chest but accidentally landing her hit firm against his jaw.

Only his dark locks wisped to the other side of his head, more skin reddening from the strike- but otherwise, there was no signs of violence.

Khan looked at her with a blank expression Wrenne didn't want to read.
Those eyes the color of heavy clouds about to snow.

"...I'm sorry," She whispered, covering her mouth with her broken joint, shivering with pain. She took her other hand to gently caress the light red mark on his face- the only trace of her rage, and it was already vanishing, healing. "I'm sorry- but whydid you-?! I've never thought- let alone you-."

"Hayagriva," Khan spoke softly, trailing his long fingers down her cheek, beside the tear streaks. "It breeds savages."

She buried her face into his chest and he wrapped an arm around her lightly, holding her broken wrist in the tight brace of his hand.

Khan was silent and Wrenne wondered what he was thinking.

He was wondering over the strange comfort that came in finding savagery in Wrenne. And simultaneously- the painful, wringing feeling that came from finding it had escalated since he first met her.

"...Would your country be willing to extract you?" Khan finally asked.

'I'm still sofucking mad at you," Her voice shook in anger and hurt. "that I'm not ready to start talking yet."

"Wrenne, listen to me," He gripped her shoulder with his free hand. "Would they come fetch you if you were out from beyond The Second Curtain? In a more amicable country?"

"I-I don't know," She sighed, exasperated. "America was falling into an economic depression the last-the last time I was home..."

Wrenne thought for a moment.

"I don't think we have the money- and I'm not important enough," She pointed out, sucking air in through her teeth, trying not to focus on the pain. "Famous journalists and entire commercial airplanes have vanished behind The 2nd Curtain and we couldn't afford to investigate..."

"But American media..." Khan thought aloud. "American media is the most persuasive weapon in the world..."

"My parents are dead," Wrenne went to wipe her tears with her sleeve but Khan caught them with his thumb and gently brushed them away. "There's no one to make a fuss over me."

"Yes there is," Khan pointed out, irritated by her oversight.

"Well, of course youbut..."

"Your country's ideals and outrage will vouch for you too. Americans are passionate, their 'righteous' type of rage has moved empires..."

There was a glint in Khan's eye again- the same one Wrenne had seen the day Noonien and he had transferred her to Re-Ed, or today just moments before when Khan had said his brothers and sisters "had a plan".

That glint in his eyes- like an eerily, unnaturally bright sun on a snowy day.

"What are you planning...?" She asked cautiously, slightly backing away from him.

This side did frighten her somewhat- the side of Khan that broke her wrist, that schemed to do who knows what to get her out of "re-education"- but also the side that had lowered his weapon and let her go, that hadn't struck back when she had hit him, who greeted her sexuality with arousing growls.

Unpredictable, reckless passion that could risk his own life and probably many others.

Destroy or form whole planets.

The Shere-Khan side that reminded her this was an expertly trained hunter.

She didn't even really know him- it had only been two months.

An irritated twinge from her heart.

Not true.

Her cynical, defensive side claimed she didn't know him at all- while her instinct said she somehow knew him better than the 72+ people constantly surrounding him.

"Jānama*," He reached out his hand to her.

There...the first use of what would be his pet name for her.

Wrenne looked at his long fingers, feeling like Christine Daaé standing before the Phantom in the mirror.

She studied him, then took his hand and placed her head as close to his heart as she could.

He easily pressed his lips against her ear to whisper:
"When living as a savage, you must be important to survive. If you aren't necessary, you will die." Khan paused to let the severity of the truth sink in. "I can make you important- but it will hurt for a a few weeks."

Wrenne knew this was Khan asking her if she would allow this- whatever the plan was to make her "important".

She could survive as a savage, she reasoned. Hadn't she already? After all, she had attacked him too- but still-

"Why the fuck did you hurt me in the first place!" She demanded, the anger finally bubbly up to her lips. She smacked his chest half-heartedly.

Khan was quiet.

"...It was an accident," He finally answered.

She felt the sadness and intense emotion wrack through her body like a windstorm- a memory- memories she could sense but not see or perceive.

"I forget how fragileyou are..." Khan though aloud.

His emotions were always so passionate and sudden, like a child's.

Wrenne gripped his shirt with her good hand as she slumped, exhausted, to the ground.

Khan wasn't surprised- he had helped her through other waves before. It was incredible to watch a process he had never seen- emotion so raw within that it actually altered the physical body's functions.

A study and skill that would definitely be useful to the Intelligence and Infiltration Task-force.

Khan lied her down as much as he could in the tiny closet, her upper body leaning against his chest. He propped her legs carefully around the large tubes of the water heaters, one hand still holding her broken wrist.

"Khan," Wrenne finally whispered, running a hand up his neck. "...What did they do to you?"

"They may have made me," He spoke, though he sounded as if he were far away in a corner of his mind. "...but Imade myself. Imade myself important, so I have lived. I gave myself a life, and I do the same for those I love."

"Those you love?" It had never occurred to her who those people would be specifically. "Your crew- and your parents?"

"Obviously, I have no parents," Khan glanced down at her irritably. "I was conceived and grown in a petri dish...like a virus or a mold...but I love my brothers, my sisters- my crew in IIT, and you, Jānama." He carefully squeezed her a little tightly against him.

"They're- they're your biologicalsiblings? The IIT- all 72 of them?"

"Most of them," He nodded. "I was the first of my gene pool to be constructed and completed successfully, so they used the same strand of genetics to forge most of my crew. We share most of the same genetics, we are family. But those who come from different strands- other than Etta- I have never met any of them. The different strands cannot fraternize. Dr. Singh and his assistants worked on us- that is, their projects for years- going through numbers and the English alphabet to categorize them.
"They passed from 'A' to 'Z' repeatedly before me. Singh was the one who coined them 'strands', and there were nearly sixty years' worth of them. '435-7K'- strand 4,357. The letter was pure chance, the numbers specify the strand and date I originated from."

"Khan..." The question had never occurred to her before, but now she asked. "How old are you?"

"64," He replied easily. "I was 'born' in 1943."

"Joachim-?"

"Second eldest, categorized 475-8J, strand 4,758. He came in 1961."

"Joaquin?"

"Fourth eldest, 484-0J, strand 4,840 born 1967."

"And Etta? She's from a different strand?"

Khan nodded,
"Yes, she has- for one reason or another- been organized with us. Her categorized strand is classified beyond even her own knowledge. She is my sister nonetheless.

"...So we were given codes," He continued. "Dr. Singh was the one who actually tried to give us proper names, though the superior authorities crippled him for it."

"Literally?"

"You've never seen Singh, have you? They extracted an entire sample from his brain and purposefully left a large scar along here to remind him." Khan gestured from up his left jaw, across his forehead and down the back of his head. "Whatever they did in that procedure permanently affected his short-term memory and language function...among other things. It even stunted his hair growth, keeping him with a buzz cut like the prisoners in the Euthanasia Block so he doesn't forget who 'holds' his life. But it's a fucking bluff, they'd never kill him."

"Oh holy shit-," Wrenne breathed. "How can he still function?"

She was surprised as she felt a Khan's strong flare of fear and concern for Singh.

Even stronger was Khan's admiration of him.

"He's a genius- aside from his forgetfulness and inflicted speech impediment, he remains a genius and made himself a survivor, that is how he lives," He stated with pride. "Watching him taught me that Imake myself and if Imade myself- my loved ones- important, we...we would survive too.

"Singh always wanted to name us after famous icons in history. You know now that Bouhler shut that down violently."

"The head general Bouhler?" Wrenne asked again.

"Yes."

"...So Joachim and everyone else- they came from strands after yours? And they endure- all this? No names, life-endangering missions and- 'sexual examinations?'"

Wrenne felt a sting of guilt and fear for breaching the dangerous subject.

"Yes. All of us. Some believe in the purpose of our missions, though we despise the authorities."

"Why do you do it? Why do you participate in these 'assignments' , these examinations?" She paused. "Were you- you weren't raped, were you?" She tightened her hand on his.

"No," He looked away, describing it all rather casually. "As in other examinations we go under, physical and mental, they test our limits to assure efficient function." Khan's lips crooked up in a small smile. "All sexual exams except for two which are strictly medical were abandoned after I tightened the order in this place."

"What did you do?" Wrenne looked at him incredulously.

Khan regained his military composure, "None of this is pleasant information. It's savage history."

"I don't care. Tell me. You broke my fucking wrist over the subject, I deserve to know why...and I- I don't want you to have to carry all of this alone."

Khan gave her a complex look- as if trying to read a language he'd never seen before.

"When we develop into sexuality," He began, reciting as if from a book. "We are instructed in sex, seduction by touch, and by words...the sway sexuality can have over individuals, the power sex can reign over people and alliances. Kama Sutra and other things with the Harem class."

"Harem- you mean prostitutes?"

"Consorts," Khan corrected. "The Harem is an upper class here. They watch the country through hookah smoke and lighted incense, opium, fine wine...The Harem men and women find us entertaining, beautiful, godlike. More like pets," His face contorted into a passionate thunderstorm. He recomposed himself before continuing, "If one of us favors someone from the Harem class or vice versa, there are certain interactions and eventually a pleasant tumble for both partners. It helps the government reign us in from mingling with one another- 'muddying' the genetics they've slaved over- and specialists can interview the Harem individuals after certain rendezvous to assure proper sexual functions."

"...No one against their will?" She asked tentatively. Wrenne could sense there was something dark climbing to the front of his thoughts.

"No."

The dark thing climbed out and lingered between them.

"...Are you certain you want to know this?"

"Yes," Wrenne tucked her good arm around his torso. "If- if America does manage to 'extract' me, I want to tell the world...what they're doing to you, to your brothers and sisters so no one else will be-."

"I will not have this information spread!" He ordered, looking down at her with that thunderous expression.

"Alright," She replied. "It's your- pain. You don't have to share it at all if you don't want."

"I've never wanted to repeat this," He pondered. "...but it is best for you to know the risks in this country. The men and women who are your captors, the savages who are your...superiors. The knowledge..." He sighed. "...may help in the planning for your extraction."

After a moment Khan continued:

"General Bouhler once attempted to measure my potential skill for sexual violence as I was the eldest. I supposed they wanted to know the extent of their first successful weapon."

Wrenne felt herself choke on her own breath, Khan's suppressed emotions shaking through her body and mind. She tightened her hold on his hand.

"Before they brought the woman in," Khan described. "I cracked the necks of the medical attendants who were trying to restrain us, and then I killed the assistant head-officer of genetics. I had fashioned a knife- one I still keep on me- and I used it to negotiate the woman's freedom in exchange for the life of the Lead Genetics Officer. They freed the girl, kept me, of course, and never attempted such an 'examination' again. I still killed the Lead Officer to maintain my resolve, my message. Those types of negotiations must be sealed with blood, standard battle logic.
"No one could best me in hand-to-hand, even as a teenager," Khan raised that regal mantle again. "After the deaths of 19 medical officers and 24 other commanders, they found I could not be caught as a victim either. I saved my brothers and sisters the experience and the bloodshed, since the 'sexual infiltration program' was exterminated after the deaths. I made those in authority regret their plans to hurt my family. And I would kill them all again, Wrenne."

She found herself shaking. No wonder the emotion wave had been so intense.

There was a long silence, and for once Wrenne felt a flare of insecurity from Khan.

"You did the right thing, Beloved," Wrenne found herself saying. "...You did the only right thing you could."

More heavy silence, but-

/relief, gratitude, relief/

"...It was an accident," He finally repeated, running a hand gently over her broken wrist, lowering his head in a sad but regal silhouette. She tenderly cupped his face in her hands despite the sharpening pain in her wrist.

Leaned her forehead against his.

/regret, humiliation/

"I understand," She whispered, transferred tears glittered her cheeks.

Khan's tears and her tears.

Wrenne couldn't hold off others' emotions, let alone such strong ones from the man she loved.
So she cried the tears he did not.

"I love you, Jānama," He murmured, and there was a hitch in his breath, in his tone. The hint of a sob or a crest of more passion.

Again, it wasn't like the movies- he didn't take her hand and gesture grandly in front of thousands of people or gaze soulfully and dramatically into her eyes. He just spoke as they huddled together in a utility closet, her wrist broken and his face quickly recovering from the red marks her smacks had left-

-but it was more than enough.

"'Beloved'," Wrenne smiled at the term. "I love you." She paused. "I always thought you were some type of warrior prince in a Taj Mahal," She admitted, referencing a previous conversation. "You act like one."

"No. I am The Yuvarāja*- The Prince of the Prisoners," Khan raised his head, again, such royal stance outlined his movements. "...but not for much longer. I won't die before I burn this government to the ground and erect some fucking order- realorder. Humans need order, not torture. The world needs order and there will be order."

At the time it had sounded so reasonable, so justified.

They were silent for a long time. Wrenne relaxed against his shoulder as the ferocity of Khan's vow echoed away.

"Harem," Her voice shook as she tried to speak. "-sexual exams-me-?"

"No, it doesn't work that way. Harem class, they are the wealthy and leisurely. They'll show interest in you, but if you rebuff their advances, they'll respect it. There are no more sexual exams, only medical and physical ones. I'll explain them to you later. It is much more reasonable than anything you've experienced in Re-Ed. Besides, I would not allow you to endure anykind of sexual examination. We were 72, now we are 73. You will be one of us, and we will protect you."

"But you can't control it all!" She protested weakly, still fatigued from the intense emotions that had raged through her. "How could you?"

43 people killed in the so-called sexual "examination", and who knows how young Khan had been when they had tried... Wrenne couldn't finish such a thought.

"Do you still trust me?" Khan asked- not out of insecurity, but rather seeking information.

She nodded.

"I can control it all and I will," He asserted, squeezing her so tightly that she squeaked to remind him of her broken wrist. "It all centers around the 'important', the 'better'. The Important, the Superior survive. I will make you important- just as I did for myself, for my brothers and sisters...But- becoming Important is a painful transition. Not many can withstand it, but I know you can. The only physicallypainful part of this will be the wrist," He glanced down at her broken joint. "...and whipping respect from those around you in order to survive. If ever I were to have a Rājakumārī* of the Prisoners alongside me, it would be you. Let me make you important."

His voice, with that tiger timbre.

Shere Khan*.

"...Make me Important," Wrenne looked up at him, grazing his lips with her fingers before she kissed him.
Khan eventually broke away, affectionately brushing her bottom lip with his thumb.

He bent to his ankle and pulled up his trouser leg, revealing a long, ivory knife strapped to his calf. Khan untying the weapon and carefully banding it around Wrenne's calf.

Sharp, polished and white- Wrenne knew it was the same knife that killed the Lead Genetics Officer, the knife that ransomed freedom.

"After this," Khan gently touched her broken bone. "The walls of Hayagriva will begin to crumble. No one will lay a hand on you...and you will neverbe a prisoner again. You are my Jānama. My 73...my one in 73."

{ Continued in Weaving Stage IV: The Superior & Important }