This is the last chapter I have in the buffer.

The next chapter is pretty intense and it's taking me a while to get it how I like it, so it could be a while before the next once goes out.

Let me know what you think so far!

x

Chapter 8: Maturing

It had been eighteen months since his arrival in Rapture and, unable to sleep, Fang contemplated the events that had occurred during that time. With his eyes closed and his arms folded beneath his head, the preteen stared at the backs of his eyelids, feigning sleep to avoid a premature 'awakening' from his always impatient partner.

When did I start calling Ari 'partner'? He mused.

In truth Fang had planned to abandon the mutant months previously, as soon has he had learned all he needed to know about the splicer types he would come across during his life in this underwater maze. But five months after successfully completing this education he found himself still in the boy's company, still following him around like a lost sheep.

Being completely honest with himself, Fang knew it wasn't that simple; he no longer acted entirely on Ari's instructions and could dispatch any kind of splicer without a refresher course while he dodged deadly blows. In fact he would consider himself an independent as of three months ago, if not longer, expect for one fact.

He was still under Ari's thumb.

Upon entering into what transpired to be a very dangerous education, the preteen had agreed that he would repay the favour one day. The nature of the favour had not been disclosed and therefore it hung between the two mutants like a piece of chord, tying one's ankle to the other, yet to be severed.

Fang imagined himself trying to cut this invisible chord with a pair of scissors, but the blades simply bounced off, almost comically. What little character traits he had developed since leaving the School seemed to include either sincerity or foolishness because, try as he might, Fang could and would not talk himself into leaving before his debt had been paid.

Mostly ignored by the winged kid himself, some other things had changed as well; Fang was now ten years old and had grown a few inches – putting him just three inches shy of a rounded six foot – his thin frame had become toned and muscled by his lifestyle, while his demeanour had both matured and mellowed over time; he found it much easier now to judge a situation with logic rather than a feeling, making dispatching splicers an easier task.

With his clothes seemingly shrinking and his hair getting increasingly annoying over the months, Fang had been forced to direct Ari towards an old retail district in the hope of finding new clothes and a pair of scissors.

Turned out the pair of scissors was the easy part.

With shops that had not been restocked since the late 50's, the idea of throwing on a pair of jeans and a polo were out; Fang had absently wondered where Ari had gotten his jeans and shirt before shooing the mutant out of the store so he could riffle through boxes without the embarrassment of someone looking over his shoulder.

Begrudgingly, he finally settled on what he thought could be a classic ensemble; a pair of smart pants in a grey-black pinstripe with minor tears on the legs, a matching waistcoat that was in remarkably good condition and a once-white-but-now-pale-beige shirt with the top two buttons missing. He'd also unearthed a hefty pair of scuffed boots to cover his bare feet, all too aware of the sharp debris that littered some rooms.

Finding a mirror in what used to be a changing room, Fang used the cuff of his new shirt to wipe some grime off the glass to inspect his hair. While it had never been short, his dark brown locks now fell past his shoulders, the bangs he once had long enough to tuck behind an ear. With a frown at his reflection and a practice snip of the scissors in the air before his eyes, Fang decided to bite the proverbial bullet and take his hairstyle into his own hands.

Now, as he lay on the floor pretending to catch up on sleep, his bangs no longer poked him in the eyes, kept in line by the pair of scissors the preteen had taken to carrying with him as they moved about Rapture. His hair tapered down to the nape of his neck where it sat just higher than his shoulder blades; cut as high as his arms would allow him to reach without risk of cutting his own skin.

A boot jabbed him in the side, but Fang chose to ignore it, not letting the residual pain that came with the impact on his ribcage. Over the last few months he had perfect the ability to look permanently impassive. Something that, he had noticed with glee, seemed to drive Ari up the wall; his use of the name 'kid' had trebled in the last few weeks, a word that used to get Fang's hackles up but now fell flat between the pair like lead.

Getting on the mutant's nerves had become a hobby.

A sharper jerk to the ribs told Fang continuing to ignore this message would lead to broken bones, so he shifted as if the jerk had woken him and opened an eye lazily, looking up at the wolf-boy that gazed down at him. It was often hard to tell what Ari was thinking due to the distortion of his features, but even upside-down Fang could pick out this emotion a mile away.

He's pissed off, the preteen thought, opening the other eye almost instantly and bending a leg at the knee, ready to move if he needed to. When annoyed, Ari had a rather ruthless streak of anger that was always best diverted to another party. This was usually achieved by moving out of the way and leading the giant towards a target, such as an unsuspecting splicer.

Then Fang frowned, realising he'd misread the emotion. No, not pissed. He's worried about something.

"Get up," The mutant growled, a hairy hand slipping his gun into his waistband. He then turned his back to the boy. Rolling onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow, Fang watched as he stuffed ammo, food and a med kit into a small satchel.

A sick feeling began to settle in the preteen's stomach. Ari was not someone to actually plan ahead. As such, seeing him pack a bag with essentials and extra ammo was something that put Fang on edge. He quickly pulled himself to his feet and tucked his own weapon – a curved implement stolen from a Spider, sharpened at both ends – into his belt, a prep bar into one pocket and his own pistol, recently acquired and aim still sloppy, into another.

Ari swung the bag over his shoulder and turned to face Fang. "It's time to settle your tab."