A/N: Hi guys! Here's chapter 3! :) Thanks to everyone for reading, and I hope you enjoy our first confrontation!
Happy reading!
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Blaine's first task is simple: extract a statue from New Directions Mission Control (NDMC). He doesn't fight the suit he's given, or the new mask he has to wear now that he isn't loyal to the New Directions anymore (well, not literally). It shouldn't matter anyways, because from now on he'll be seen as the enemy to them, to Kurt, when he's actually trying his best to save them all. The function that easily kills turned out to be a bomb-function, capable of explosions obliterating anything within half of a mile from the bracelet. They wouldn't stand a chance (except for Quinn, with her force field. But even then, the shock may be too much. And who'd want to live through something like that? Not Blaine, certainly).
He slips the mask into place carefully and looks into the mirror. It's fully black, obviously expensive and good quality (as well as protective), and makes him feel like even more of a traitor than he already is. It makes him look dark, powerful, even a little bit sexy. Blaine isn't dark. He isn't powerful, not when he's up against his best friends. And he doesn't want to feel sexy in this situation. It's wrong, disgusting, awful. It's also completely necessary.
"I'm ready," he says to the wall, no inflection in his voice at all. Sebastian can hear him, he can always hear him. He can hear when Blaine screams into his pillow in the middle of the night, and that thought is so perverse and invading that it turns his stomach again and again. When he cries Kurt's name in his sleep, he receives a patronizing smile. He's not yours to call for anymore.
The past few weeks have been strenuous, involving long hard training and hearty meals to build his strength. He can now fight hand-to-hand and operate a variety of weapons, all while targeting the weaknesses of each member of ND. He feels disgusted with both Sebastian and with himself all the time. There's no break, none whatsoever.
Perfect, purrs the voice in his head. He stopped flinching at it five days ago. Best of luck, Blaine.
It still feels awful and intrusive, but less so. He has to fight it, but he can't. It's driving him slowly mad. Rather than express any of these sentiments, he makes his way out the door. He pulls on his sleeve, tight on his skin, and his collar. He feels like he's choking.
The car he's going in is sleek, black, sexy, just the way it's supposed to be. Just the way he's supposed to be. This is his new image. This is the image he was forced to take on, because the alternative is unthinkable.
It moves like a jaguar, stealthy and sly and quick, and he taps his foot nervously at every stoplight. He doesn't want to do this. He wants to turn and run away from this because he never asked for it. He doesn't want to, he doesn't want, he doesn'-
He has no other choice.
…
He knows to target Rachel first. She'll be the loudest, yes, but if can take her out quietly she'll be the easiest. Rachel is feisty, but not particularly skilled or violent. Her talent is of memory, and if Blaine shows up she'll spend precious seconds trying to match his image now against his image then, the differences too drastic for her to immediately comprehend. It'll give him just the window he needs to gag her, tie her up (careful, now, we don't want to hurt her) and keep her quiet and out of the way. He can't believe that this is his life now.
He scales the side of the building the way he was taught, avoiding every trap set by Tina. They haven't changed their security system. Why would they? It's been working just fine against other agents and intruders. Why would they need to take precautions against friends?
Blaine takes a moment to collect himself against the sarcastic, burning rage building up inside, threatening to overflow into pure fury. He can't afford to lose it. Not here, not now, not ever. There's way too much at stake.
The third story window is cracked open, just like he thought, because Puck is a baby and can't handle the lack of fresh air. I need oxygen to fuel the fire, he'd say. They'd all just roll their eyes.
He slips in silently. Rachel, he knows, will be in her room. As long as the hallway is empty, he should be able to make it there unnoticed. Wait, whispers the voice in his mind, and wait he does. Mike is in the game room to your left, his back to you. One sound and the entire mission is compromised, and we know what happens then.
Blaine shivers and nods. Sebastian can see. Mike must be invisible at the moment, then, because he hadn't seen anything when he peeked around the corner. That'll make things harder. He has flour in a bag in his back pocket, though, and he'd like to see the dancer escape that. He shakes his head in disgust, but doesn't banish the thought. He clings to both sides of himself instead, and moves through the hallway at a blistering pace until he's standing right in front of a very surprised Rachel Berry.
"Bl-?" is all of the question she gets out before he works his feet again. He rips the rope out from his belt, whirlwinds around her, and ignores her confused, startled, muffled cry in favor of putting her into the closet as comfortably as he can. He tries to convey remorse with his eyes, but her own spark with betrayal. The whole ordeal had taken about four seconds, a definite perk of being so fast that your feet can literally catch on fire.
Well done, Blaine. I'm impressed. On to the next one, then. Blaine shuts the door and tries to calm down sufficiently. Next will be Tina, because he needs to take down the security system. A crash comes from his right before he can move, however, and the door is flung open. There stands a boy, baseball bat in hand, eyes wide and frightened while his hands are already sharpening with bits of crystallized moisture.
The boy blinks owlishly, shock painted across his face. "Blaine?" he asks softly, whisper wrapping around his name gently, and his voice is like that of a child's.
Don't say a word or I'll turn the shock to 10. Blaine freezes, rigid. Kurt breaks into an uneasy smile and takes a step forward, metal glinting off of his wrist. Blaine wants to kill himself, then and there, wants to let Kurt beat him so he'll be able to get away. Into the closet, commands Sebastian.
I love you, Kurt, thinks Blaine, I swear. And then he proceeds to grab another rope, another gag, and tie up his lover in the same way he'd debilitate an enemy, watching the wide, blue eyes fill with pain and confusion and sadness.
Kurt fights, at first, and Blaine has to fight back. It isn't his choice. So he moves faster, works quicker, and within mere seconds Kurt is sitting next to Rachel, both of them struggling. Blaine can't even whisper 'sorry' for fear of a reaction from Sebastian.
Good boy, murmurs the voice, and Blaine feels bile rise in his throat.
It takes him two more minutes to find the prize exactly where it was before he left, get out, and scale the building once more, all the while hating himself more tangibly than he ever has in his lifetime.
Good boy, his mind echoes back at him, like some sick twisted form of comfort. He cries that night, soaking his pillow with tears, voices and eyes taunting him until he can't breathe normally, just choking little sobs that rip into his throat. He's feverish and young and terrified, but if he shows that at all the only person he truly loves will pay the price. He wants to give up, to lay it all on the line, but that was never an option.
He doesn't know when this nightmare will end.
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