One day. One day was all they seemed to like to give him, in this place. One day of torture, one day of rest. One day to sleep for more than a few hours, spread out, curled up, fidgeting and wincing across the makeshift bed in this small room.

But it was better than anything Jiao-long had ever had, and he knew it, and he wasn't going to complain. He was going to attempt - and fail - to sleep, and lay awake wondering what they were going to do to him next. As the sun fell, as it rose, as the day passed around him, soft voices barely muffled by the thin walls of his room. They even shut the door, as if it made a difference for them. Jiao-long knew better; they were watching him anyway.

It was evening again before they came to fetch him, not even bothering to knock. Two men, flanked by a woman with long, luxurious black hair, strode into his room, and Jiao-long forced himself to sit up for them. Only one of these people did he recognise, the one who kept his eyes down, pointedly avoiding looking at him as he glared in his direction. The woman, whose expression of haughty amusement was rivalled only by Evander's, seemed to take up the most space. She entered with both hands on her hips, seeming to tower over the other two men, who carried in a suit identical to the ones they were each wearing and placed it near Jiao-long's bed.

"How are you feeling?" Jiao-long's eyes shot up from watching the men to their female counterpart, and he merely glared at her. She laughed derisively under her breath after a moment, and leaned down to him, apparently trying to intimidate him. Jiao-long wasn't impressed, and showed it.

"You know, you little runt," she spoke lowly to him, the elitism dripping from her voice, "I'm shocked you even made it through the first night. Congratu-fucking-lations." Without warning, she suddenly spat at him, the gesture landing on his cheek and making him flinch. Her smile broadened, and she didn't bother to move back, as the men to their side stood in perfect stance, seeming to not notice. Jiao-long glanced at them, and then slowly wiped the saliva from his face. Fuck, he hated people...

Stupidly, a reaction, he lunged at the woman with a loud cry, and in seconds his room was filled to the brim with suited men. One of them lauched a kick into his still-bruised ribs, and it took everything in Jiao-long not to wretch as he doubled over in pain.

"Leave him the fuck alone!" The devil, the saving voice Jiao-long had learned to hate, rang out through his room as the sea of people parted, each one relaxing minutely from their offensive postures. He made his way up to Jiao-long's bed, and turned round to glare at them all. " 'Is twenty-four ain't even up, fuck!"

"Got a weakness for the spick, Eva?" someone chimed up, and the room seemed to laugh softly as one, knowing every innuendo behind this. Evander steamed, and tensed; Jiao-long could see the minute muscle reaction from his spot at the man's feet, and forced himself up again, sending his dark glare around the room. Were they going to fight? Was that even allowed?

"What's going on here?" Like a cue had been struck, every single body in the room went instantly from their postures of attack to a perfect standing salute, hands at their sides, feet shoulder-width, chins tucked, and as one recited a single salute.

"Sir!"

Jiao-long shifted back some, determined not to show this next arrival any sign of previous weakness. He had to give someone an impression of it, after all. Imagine his disappointment when the man who walked through that door, stooping just slightly under the low frame as he entered, was one who most certainly already knew. The man with the tired eyes...

Veld stopped for a moment just within the room, looking around almost disinterestedly at those who had rushed to the aid of the woman now standing just like the rest of them in one corner. Eventually that gaze reached Jiao-long, and stopped on him, the smallest frown passing his lips, before they tilted into a minute smirk.

"I should have known..." he uttered, before turning instantly back to the room. "Alright, all of you idiots. Reevaluate your priorities, for Shiva's sake. Was it really worth it to waste your energy coming to Marie's rescue? Or am I really going to have to start thinking the lot of you racist bastards?" They said nothing, moved not a centimetre, not a one of them showing any reaction to his words. His gaze slowly came back to Jiao-long, and for a second they gazed at each other, Jiao-long once more imitating the man's expression. This time, his eyes showed a small gesture in return, a tiny sign of acknowledgement.

"Out." A single word, and every one of them moved from their perfect posture and headed for the door. But Veld stopped Evander with a hand on his chest, and the man's teal eyes turned up to meet his own dark brown, before he stood back in posture once more. "Evander, take the boy, get his hair cut and his mannerisms cleaned up. You have four hours until training commences." There was a moment of silence, during which Evander nodded, and that minute smile reflected in Veld's eyes once more. I trust you, it said. Jiao-long caught himself overanalysing it, and let the thought pass. And then they were alone, and Evander sighed, and turned to glare at him like a parent.

"You stupid fuck," he said, tilting his head as he rolled his eyes and left the room. "Come on, grab your suit and let's get that hair cut. You're a Turk now, it's about time you look like it."

Two hours and three disgruntled science department women later, Jiao-long was sitting in a chair fidgeting with his newly tied tie while Evander wasn't looking. What a stuffy outfit! They expected him to do what they did in it? He couldn't even imagine the physics of that! Why the outfits hadn't been torn to bits during some of those feats he couldn't fathom. But Evander looked so comfortable in his own, his tie and jacket discarded once more and his sleeves rolled up, his shirt even unbuttoned, as he worked at a vanity, organising the tools that had been used to make Jiao-long look the part he was playing today. Today?

A giggle emanated from the sofa on one end of the apartment, which had three rooms altogether, an oddity on this floor, and Jiao-long shot the noise a threatening glare.

"Daddy, he's playing with his tie again!"

"Goddamnit, Zheng." Before Jiao-long could think to move away, the man had come back to him and fixed the object, straightened it and tightened it to a degree Jiao-long was sure he was only doing to annoy him. He glared again, but Evander didn't seem to notice. "If ya stop thinkin' about it it'll be 'lot less 'nnoying. Ya such an idiot..." Moving back to his previous work, he sighed once more, and Jiao-long spent a moment sharing evil looks with the flame-haired child flipping him off from the couch.

"Ya know, Zheng, y'oughta make a point o' stoppin' people callin' ya names like that." Jiao-long had begun to hate the sound of his last name, Evander was saying it so often. Why was that? When before he'd used both of his names, which seemed proper. He was the only person during his session of beatings who hadn't insulted him with a racial slur, either, Jiao-long realised offhandedly.

"B'cause if ya fo'get..." Jiao-long heard the man's words like from some sort of distance, his eyes wandering, no longer interested in watching him work. His back was to him, anyway, there was no point. But as he was suddenly roused by the swift press of a finger against his forehead, he turned and frowned at Evander, who was smirking haughtily, one hand on his hip, the other floating in midair, fingertips painted with a queer crimson. Jiao-long made a move to swipe at his forehead, where Evander had touched him, but the man caught his wrist without a thought. "Ah-ah-ah, Zhengy," he chastised, and pulled the boy up to shove him in front of a mirror.

This was the first time Jiao-long had seen a mirror since he had left Wutai. Now, peering at his reflection in the glass, he had to pause. Was that...really what he looked like? They had cut his long, matted hair short against his head, the thick, gleaming strands of black standing on their end in a few places, making him look a little wild, a little like Evander. His eyes were large and black, beetle-like, as they stared back at him in unabashed wonder. And the mark on his forehead... Pulling his arm free of Evander's grasp, he lifted his fingers to it, brushing just below it, fearing to touch it. Evander bent down to speak in his ear.

"If ya forget, ya nothin'. Understand?"