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Iceburg swore his heart stopped at the sound of the rapping on the door. He covered up with a blanket and dimmed the light beside him.

"Y-yes!?"

The door burst open before the word was fully out. The nurse and two bulky men were in the doorway. Iceburg recognized the uniforms as being that of the school security guards. One of them held up a bright lantern as the nurse spoke to him.

"So everything's fine in here then?" She looked relieved.

He nodded, wide eyed.

"Um…Did something happen?" He sounded as oblivious as he could.

"There were gunshots reported outside. Turns out those boys came back ready to cause some trouble." She looked quickly around the room "Dylin's not here!? Where'd he go off to at this hour?"

He choked up as she awaited his answer with an intense stare.

"Oh." He cleared his throat before he tried to smile "He was feeling ill. He's in the washroom." he pointed a shaking finger at the door and prayed they wouldn't call him on his bluff and check "N-nothing happened here. Are they gone now?"

She looked relieved.

"Braeburn's going to be transported to be observed in-hospital before he's jailed. You shouldn't have anything to worry about now. He's hardly in any condition to move." She gave the men a nod and they turned to leave.

"So the other got away!? He's still out there?" He glanced to the windows, an eerie feeling weighing heavily on him.

She shook her head.

"He's dead."

"D-dead!?" Nausea washed over him.

"Aye. Someone, or something, attacked them out there. They should've known better then to be out on the streets at night…fools." There was a catch in her voice "All I can do is mourn the boys I thought they were; the people they could've been." Her eyes welled up as she shook her head.

"S-something?"

Just as he'd been at dinnertime Iceburg was struck with long-repressed thoughts of his brother. Tears danced in the corner of his eyes but tried his best to stop the dams.

The boy I thought he was. The person he could've been…

He mourned it all: his uncanny but carefree laugh, untameable dark hair and musing eyes. The way he was so polite and well-spoken yet never quite properly wore his ties, or anything, the way their mother tried to force him to. He adored how eager he'd been to learn and teach about everything around him, his kindness towards all living things, how he'd splash through the water and catch mud-puppies and other salamanders to keep as pets, how he'd shriek if ones tail would fall off – but most of all just how it felt when they were still close; like he wasn't so alone or missing quite so much of himself.

At some point it had been arranged by their father – their real father, not the callous stepfather he eventually wound up with - that he was to apprentice under one of his close colleagues until he completed his schooling.

When he came back to visit home the first time he was worlds different and it scared Iceburg. At only ten years old he spoke casually at the dinner table about chemicals and compounds and how he'd test them on living beings; how he'd been dissecting those beings to learn how to utilize their abilities. Even worse than hearing what he'd been doing was hearing of his future plans: converting nature into dangerous by-products, creating terrible weapons... Everyone else was so impressed, so pleased, but Iceburg couldn't even bring himself to speak to him let alone look at him.

About a year or so later he unexpectedly arrived back home. His laugh sounded cold as he breezed through the main entrance and right past Iceburg like he wasn't even there. Not once did he return any salutations from family or staff on his way through, he only gazed around the luxurious halls and chuckled lightly as he ambled onwards to their father's study.

Iceburg's head swam as the memories of what took place next gripped him. He fought to keep his breathing steady but pressure on his chest mounted until he thought he might faint.

The nurse looked on in concern.

"This has all been quite a lot for you, hasn't it? You'd better rest."

He nodded, colour absent from his face.

"I'm not feeling very well either."

"Goodnight then. Send for me if you two aren't doing better by tomorrow morning, please."

All he could do was nod again but the movement sent him over the edge. Whether he liked it or not he was going to get sick.

As the door clicked shut he let out what felt like the longest held breath of his life. Shaking, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and slid down. He wobbled his way to the door, locked it behind them and hardly made it into the washroom on time. He heaved until his throat was raw. Being overwhelmed as he was he didn't notice the dark figure sitting on the sill of the open window closely observing him on his way by.

As soon as he caught his breath he began to sob. He pulled the bandana off of his head that hid his hair and dabbed the sweat from his brow.

Someone, or something…

From the state his corpse was left in it would have been easy to think it was something and not someone that had killed their dear papa; not him. His screams were unlike anything he'd ever heard, soon joined in by their mother and the nearby members of staff. Their mother fled the building. He remembered watching her run by, the elegant tails of her dress trailing behind her and the colour drained from her face. She didn't even once think to glance his way as she flew out the door.

"Keep Miss. Icelyn away from the young Master!" The head maid's panicked voice was nearly drowned out as his laughter grew louder, shriller.

Deafening blows resounded through the building until there was nothing but silence.

Being yanked away by staff members to follow outside while he fought with all his might to get to his father and brother was the last thing he remembered clearly before he stumbled into the room and towards the oversized armchair where their father would always sit. He heard shouts of protest ringing from far behind but ignored them. Although the chair was faced away from him and towards the window he could see him slumped to the side.

"What's wrong, Papa?" Iceburg shook his heavy, limp hand as he went around to see him.

"Papa? No such thing. Never was."

He could only turn and stare with his head cocked in confusion at his brother; his fierce stance and shaky hand that grasped a double barrel flintlock pistol. He followed the direction the gun was pointed and it slowly sank in that their father's body was riddled in bullets. If not for being in his usual seat wearing his usual white coat, now blotched with bright red pools, he wouldn't have even known it was him for how his face was disfigured; melted – it oozed and bubbled like something even his worst nightmares couldn't summon.

"S-Sarion?" his name tasted wrong on his tongue.

Sarion dropped the gun to the floor and grasped his head.

"Sarion!?"

His shoulders shook and at first Iceburg thought he was crying for what he'd done. Before long it was evident that wasn't the case. He could only remain with his gaze locked on the gun on the floor as sweet little Sarion's demented laughter filled his ears.

He clambered his way up to the vanity and splashed water onto his face; it helped him snap back to his current reality. For the first time in what felt like forever he looked up at his reflection. For a fleeting moment fear leapt up at the unfamiliar person that stood before him. When he was certain it was his indeed him in the mirror and not a stranger behind a mysterious window his heart rate eased, but it was still filled with a conflicting darkness.

Princess…little girl…

He looked away from himself as Dylin's taunting words stabbed at and enraged him all over again. The urge to hit him across the face arose again despite how infuriatingly anxious he felt for the uncouth bastard.

A second glimpse at himself in the mirror showed him how his long hair had begun to tangle up into winding curls the way it always did when allowed to air-dry. He frowned at the sight and, with an odd sense of calm, felt the urge to go take his knife from the bag he'd left hanging by the shower and slice it all off. Unsure whether the despise he held for his natural, un-styled hair was that of his own or caused by his mother's hatred of it, he decided to follow through with his impulse.

Hastily he grabbed up large sections and began to hack away at them. As the violet tendrils spilled across the vanity, his feet and the floor he began to feel lighter and ultimately more in control than ever. When he was done his hair fell partway down his neck - it was choppy and uneven and looked unlike any hairstyle he'd ever seen (or want for that matter) but it was still worlds better than the length he'd been forced to grow out all along.

By the time he was done and had cleaned up the mess his breath was trapped in his lungs and ribs were in such pain he swore they'd snap if he moved another inch. Cramps dug deep into him and his skin stung, some felt like it was burning.

If I just take the wrappings off for a little bit, it should…

A dull thud from the other room interrupted his thoughts. Adrenaline kicked in and as his heart raced everything started to fade. Something inside him was convinced whoever was out there was the one who had maimed Braeburn and Desmonde.

Through his ringing ears he heard a second thump followed by a louder crash. Although his senses were well warped by that point he figured it must've been near the washroom door. The last of the very little strength he had left was used trying to reach out for the knife Tom gave him but he collapsed backwards; his head collided with the hard floor.

As he laid and stared helplessly at the door the realization hit him that he'd been in such a rush to get in he hadn't even locked it behind him. A tear rolled down his face as he struggled to catch one last breath.

Maybe it's better this way, after all.

He closed his eyes and thanked Tom and Kororo for carrying him as far as they had. The short time he'd been on Water 7 was his happiest despite everything. Dying as Iceburg was better than living as Icelyn.

Several more strikes right against the door followed by a fierce but fading voice sounded as he slipped away. His consciousness was lost when the door flew open.

Dylin sat in silence by the window and wiped the blood from his gloves as his legs dangled over the open air. While being up so high usually made him feel powerful and larger-than-life, he felt hopelessly small as Iceburg lied for him on the other side of the glass pane.

He turned his gaze downwards. Desmonde's body was being dragged away from the bloody scene by security guards while another stood over Braeburn.

"Is the doctor here!? He's fading fast!"

He grimaced at the revelation of his survival but kept his place. He'd been so close to being caught by the security guards he hadn't taken the time to double check they were dead.

He leaned his head against the stone wall and pulled out his cigarette case as he watched the nurse and security close the door behind them. Despite the pain radiating across him he lit one up and breathed out his first drag in a slow, steady stream. He kept his gaze locked on the thin boy as he slithered out of the bed and scrambled to the door then into the washroom.

With a low sigh he tossed the nearly full cigarette away and slid the window open wide to climb back into the room. He landed hard on his side and cursed quietly under his breath. It took him a moment to get back up but when he did he trudged to his armoire, confident he could grab up what he needed to fix himself up and get back out to finish the job before being seen in the state he was in.

"Fucking hell…" He grasped his shoulder and fell against the armoire; the rush of the battle was wearing off fast and the pain doubled as each second slipped by.

As he ripped open the doors he briefly thought of picking up the transponder snail that awaited but sneered and perished the thought as quickly as it had surfaced. Before he could get what he was after he heard from behind the washroom door the unmistakable sound of someone deadweight hitting the floor. He swung the doors shut and stumbled towards the sound.

"Hey…" His voice rose as he fell against the washroom entrance. After a moment of silence he knocked "Hey! You okay?"

When nothing but silence ensued he rapped his fist as hard as he could manage against the heavy wood.

"I'm coming in then, okay!?" He cried out as he fumbled with the knob.

He forgot his pain and took no time to run to the lifeless boy.

"Oi! Marmocchio!?" Dylin fell to his knees beside him and tore off his gloves to touch the sides of his face. "Oi! What happened?"

He winced in pain as he grabbed Iceburg's shoulders and shook him. When his eyes fell on the knife lying on the counter he threw a wild gaze back to him.

"Get up! Quit fucking around!" With teeth grit tight he quickly checked him over for any obvious wounds, then moved on to check his breathing. A quiet gasp escaped him as he fell back and stared at his frigid, lifeless figure.

"Hey, come on…you're tougher than this, aren't you!?" He gathered him up in his arms and darted to the shower.

After easing him down he ripped the lever to the faucet over to run the cold water on him. When there was still no response he crawled over him and slapped him on the cheek.

"Come on, little one! You were fine just a moment ago!"

A cry of anguish tore from his throat as he smashed his fist against the floor, then over again until blood began to smear into the water running around them.

"Did you do this to yourself!? If it wasn't the knife, then what!?" his eyes shone as he pushed his hair back from his dismayed face and searched wildly for any clues.

He leaned back against the shower wall and stared at him: his swollen face and freshly chopped hair. For the first time in many years Dylin couldn't stop himself from shedding tears.

"This was me, not you…wasn't it?"

He picked him up, held him to his chest and brought him into the bedroom. He laid him down by the fireplace for heat and wiped his eyes with his sleeve as he rushed to his armoire and tore out the tiny transponder snail.

He took a deep breath before engaging with it.

"I need you."