Akashic Torment!

just a lil thing I did the other day :’3

Hey guys,

So I hate to do this, and I never thought I’d be doing this but I really need help.

Back in July I had moved into town with some friends. Unfortunately while moving, I had accidentally fell back and snapped my index and middle finger on my left hand. Luckily I did not need surgery, and I had only fractured them. My index finger took the most damage however, as I had forced the skin open to the bone and dislocated it. This required intense physical therapy to help regain function again. Even after the physical therapy, the finger is still not quite the same, as I’m unable to bend it all the way. Now I am left with quite a hefty bill to pay. I was able to pay off one month of therapy, but soon came to realize it was much more than I anticipated. I received a shocking statement from billing that my $75 monthly payments was insufficient and am expected to pay off the rest in 11 months. I’m already in debt from emergency surgery to remove my appendix almost a year ago, luckily the hospital has been helpful in letting me make small payments. The physical therapy for my fingers however will not, demanding I pay at least $148 monthly. I feel this is unmanageable for any normal person who has other responsibilities in day to day life. Anything would help me immensely. It would be a relief to just focus on paying the rest of my debts from my appendix surgery and continue healing. Thank you so much for your time. Link is below.

The band around Asch’s wrist began to glow with a soft red, warning all those in the perimeter. The alarm blared as he quickly he tapped the device to bring up a view of the area.

“We’re close.” The older redhead mumbled.  He could hear Luke let out a frustrated sigh behind him, arms crossing over his chest.

“Seriously?! Why now of all times. Asch, it’s not safe, we should-”

“It’s in lockdown. We can’t just leave, idiot.”

“I know that! What I’m saying is we don’t know what got out!”

Asch frowned. These halls were like a maze, there was no possible way the specimen would get far. Was it possibly the kid Cantabile found at the crash site? Would that even be possible? It would take a pretty stubborn-willed person to move around if they were seriously injured. Besides, no kid could just break through their technology and forces.

Luke pursed his lips together anxiously, fingers reaching up to grip at his older brothers arm. He didn’t like this.

“Come on, Asch. Things don’t just break loose out of here so easily. We can’t have you-”

Luke was shoved away quickly. It wasn’t until his back met the wall with a hard thud did he realize what was happening. 

“Asch?!” The younger redhead panicked, seeing his older brother lying on his side on the floor. Had something attacked them? Where, was it the specimen that broke out?!

Asch let out a disgruntled noise, his arm burning with a sudden flash of pain. Blood? He glanced down to see something had sliced his arm, although nothing too serious. Luke was already down at his side, helping the older twin.

“Good, you’re okay.” Asch chuckled. He could hear Luke try to let out a remark, but the movement in front of them caught their attention. 

Green lights sparked the air like electricity, prickling the skin. It was an unfamiliar sensation, watching as the figure appeared in front of them like static. Asch held his breath, light, green eyes transfixed with the unrecognizable person before them. He didn’t know that uniform either, but they appeared battered and confused. It couldn’t be…

“Is that the kid Cantabile talked about?” Luke breathed. Sure, he was a bit smaller but that was no child. Besides, Asch had never seen that kind of technology before. It was like he just…materialized from thin air. This was not something to take lightly.

It rang like a gong in his head as his eyes darted between the two standing in his way to the mini-weapons stuck in the walls. His side throbbed with every inhale and he cursed his lack of foresight in not bringing another power source for the suit. Without the suit running, he felt his pain more keenly, the compression coming only from the skin tight fabric as opposed to the gentle hum of energy running along his body.

And now he had to deal with this.

At the very least, his mask was still over his eyes and his black mask was still covering his mouth. It gave him a few seconds to observe the new danger ahead of him. Two people, both presumably men and likely related going off of the eyes and hair, stared him down. One was sluggishly bleeding from his arm but the wound was minor, if it could even be called a true wound. The other was far more concerned and watched like a hawk from behind the first.

Initiating hacking sequence.

It was taking too long; the whole process of getting into the ship’s systems would have been simple under his normal training regimine, but this tech was so damn foreign, and while the cameras had been easy to take care of and the door had been a joke, this part of the facility was a far different beast. All the doors with the exception of the one behind the two redheads were closed and likely locked. From behind him he could hear running booted feet, shouting voices -- things he wanted to see even less. He took a shaky step forward, listening to the monotonous voice in his ear of his simplistic systems as they tried to break the seal on the different doors.

Screw it. Might as well try to get to the exit.

He rushed the two redheads, keeping his arms tucked into his sides and head lowered. In seconds his arm jutted out at his side, ready to slam into the longer haired redhead’s throat, but the other must have been trained somewhat. Sync found himself grabbed instead and thrown towards the floor. Fighting against his own weakness, Sync twisted in the grip and just barely managed to right himself, shooting his foot out behind the leg of his opponent.

The grappling was exhausting, and he was already shaking. Ashamed of his weakness, he snarled beneath his breath and yanked his arm free, aiming to get a decent punch in. His arm was caught by the other redhead. Each attack found itself blocked or dodged, over and over. Long red hair was the only warning Sync got before he suddenly found himself on the ground, shoulder grinding into the metal beneath him, and the weight of the redhead pinning him down.

“Let go!” he growled, voice grinding like a stuck gear. He tried to get free, pulling and pushing and snarling wordlessly, and his mind jumped to his other options. Another weapon -- he might be able to aim it, a glancing wound could get him free...

“Halt!”

He rolled his eyes and ignored the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, still struggling. A glance up showed the owners of said booted feet had arrived, and leading them a woman with a dark eyepatch and a severe expression. He quickly glanced at the people standing with their fully charged rifles loaded behind her.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…

“Stop struggling, put your hands behind your head, and don’t make another move!”

The order was crisp, no-nonsense, and he laughed wildly, breathlessly behind the mask at the absurdity of it. He made no move to kneel but nor did he attack outright. Maybe they didn’t see him as a threat or a risk - that would be ideal, considering his situation.

“We found your ship floating dead in space.” He briefly stared at the woman who spoke, her voice commanding his attention. “We feared you were dead, but you briefly woke and lashed out. Putting you in that room wasn’t meant as a punishment; we merely wanted to make sure you were safe.”

His eyes narrowed beneath the mask. Maybe it was the hits to the head or his exhaustion, but she sounded almost genuine. Her eyes stayed on his face and he had an irrational thought that she could see through the mask.

“We need to make sure you are not a threat to us, either from a germ or a violence standpoint.”

And that was the whole crux of the matter, wasn’t it. He was a threat to them, potentially. He didn’t even know who “them” were…

His situation was hardly improving. The embedded tech in the walls was still going, attempting to hack into any local system and send him what information it could. Already he could feel data trickling into his head, processed faster by the equipment attached to him than any machine here. Still it would take time, and considering his bones were grinding in the grip of his captor, and the multitude of weapons aimed at him…

Not great stakes.

Slowly he let his body go limp in the redhead’s grip. When it loosened enough for him to wiggle free, he placed his hands behind his head and stayed laying on the ground, trying to ignore the insistent throb in his side with every rushed breath. Rifles stayed trained on him as the woman approached with a set of closed shackles. She moved his hands to the small of his back and locked them into the manacles that forced his shoulders back at an odd angle.

When she helped him to his feet, he felt his knees nearly give. Of course he wasn’t recovered; he was lucky to still be able to fight considering the condition he remembered his ship to be in. A sliver of nervousness crept in behind the bravado: his meds, his equipment… all of it was still in the ship. His emergency rations would get him through a few days, but…

He needed access to his ship, the sooner the better. Cooperating perhaps would be the best way to do it.

@ashesoftheflame

For a new AU I’m working on with Asch-mun, here’s the background we have so far for the RP:

Note: BC and ND (New Day) are both referenced in Abyss, and AD (After Dusk) was created for the AU.

The following Score passages were written after the fall of Auldrant:

For the most part, Replicas no longer exist as they once were. Originally purely copies of the previous inhabitants of Auldrant, they now roam the planet seeking a wholeness to their otherwise blank existences. Many have been corrupted by the planet itself; no memory or guide remains for Auldrant, which has steadily begun tearing itself apart. The Replicas are aliens to themselves and most will attack each other on sight wordlessly and without thought.

Some success has been had by the Glory Seekers in their experimentation. Multiple members of the organization are Replicas, changed and implanted with dozens of devices to grant them an iota of humanity. Though some existing in the natural order of Auldrant are human in the sense they have retained their sanity, they are few and far between, and many were impressed into Van’s forces.

“Warning. Life support at 30%.”

A red light flashed incessantly in front of his eyes. More accurately, he supposed, they flashed against his eyelids, and the color seeped through to burn into his mind. His head pounded in time with his heart and awareness was more than slow to come - with each beat, he felt his exhaustion drain him further.

“Warning. Life support at 25%. Ejection recommended.”

The voice was as loud as the light was bright; both were more than a little annoying and kept trying to break through his rest. Even he needed time away from the blood and gore of living moment to moment. He opened his mouth to tell them all to shut the hell up but couldn’t seem to find the energy.

“Warning. Life support at - ”

“I know,” he hissed, hoarse voice breaking through the monotony. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal beside him and felt the back of his skull itch. Not a single part of him felt nearby; everything was detached, like someone had taken a screwdriver and took him apart tiny piece by tiny piece. He started with twitching a single finger, then all his fingers on his left hand, then the hand itself. When he shifted the arm, pain lanced through his head, but it too was distant, like the siren going off in his cockpit. Something was pinning his arm, then. A cursory check of his other limbs and extremities informed him of the same truth: he was pinned everywhere.

“Command override security level beta. Direct neural control to pilot.”

It hurts, but not as much as the pain in his heart. He wants to reach out, a palm shaking, desperately wanting to say goodbye. Blood trickles down from the corners of his lips and he’s suffocating, he can’t breathe, can’t move, but he must.

She lies their lifeless, glimmering gold turning to rust and all color draining. He feels farther now, vision blurring. Why can’t he reach her, why won’t any sound come out? He tries screaming louder, but the burning hot liquid fills his throat faster, white petals scattering at his knees.

Flowers. He can smell them now, they almost cover up the smell of blood and death. This time he’s covering his mouth, but the roots won’t stop. It continues to bloom, panic taking over. He’s going to die, he couldn’t save her and now he can’t save himself. Even trying to rip away at the flowers, it felt like he was ripping apart his own veins. Blood continued to stain them, pouring out more quickly.

He had let his heart get too close and now he was poisoned, there was no salvation. He was cursed. 

Live, please live. You cannot disappear. 

A promise, but there was no time left. He had made a promise but-

“Asch?”

She stayed silent as the medic did their job as best they could. They both tried to remove the outer suit to study the organism beneath, but to no avail: whatever it was, it was bonded to the young man. His tech was much the same. Despite gentle and not so gentle prodding, they hadn’t made a single discovery. From the open wounds the medic took blood samples and then sprayed each one with an antibacterial mix. They both watched in fascination as the body suit began to repair itself over the cleaned wounds as if sensing the need for such bandaging.

“Commander, I have never seen anything like this. Some of the Malkuthian soldiers we’ve seen have tech that is bonded to them, but this? This is on a scale we haven’t encountered before.”

She didn’t particularly like the sound of that. Even so, she took her notes and observations, including the part about the attempted choking, and walked the medic back out.

“As soon as you can, analyze the blood and hair and report back to me. I will be speaking with the Generals about this - I’d like to have as much information as possible about our guest.”

The medic nodded and hurried off, brow furrowed with interest and confusion. Cantabile waited until he was gone to move to the aft window peering out into the vastness of space. This station, despite being ground level, still had holowalls to show what the space sentries saw. With a crack of her neck, she turned down the hallway and began considering what she would tell the two Generals. Despite the orders from the king and queen, Cantabile trusted the two Generals with any information she felt was relevant. Despite their hardships and torture they had undergone, with limited clear memories of the events, they were still the best the military had, and she trusted them far more than anyone else.

“Sirs, if you could, meet me in C34-I?” she intoned into a microphone hooked over one ear.

“System restart initiated. Program “Hello World” running. 80...90...100%. Restart completed.”

Eager boots strode confidently towards the danger that was the Templar menace. The floorboards, though hollow, barely resounded with footfalls - sound was a killer of all sneaky men, and as masters of death, an Assassin had no need for sound. They had no need for a good number of things, usually family being one of them.

Syn ignored that sentiment as he stopped at the main door. A small number of men and women, all dedicated to the cause, pooled there; Blood would be their companions tonight, their family, their only solace in the world. All of them looked angry. If the whispers he was hearing were true, they had every reason to be. Madman Mohs was trying to flush them out.

There were a few glances his way as he heard the whispers. “How about we all talk as equals, since this massacre seems to have something to do with me?” The question was accompanied by a cocky grin. It, like the mask, were helping him hide the crushing depression he heart was sunken into. “I mean, you all were talking about me, right? So let’s share with the class.”

Oh, now there was no eye contact at all. As if they didn’t think he could gather insinuations from context. It took a minute for someone, the only brave soul it seemed, to pipe up that Mohs was trying to hunt Syn down.

“And no-one thought that was pertinent information to share with their brother? That’s fine. I’m intimidating, I get it.” For emphasis, he brushed his shoulders, clearing off invisible dust. “But need I remind you that we’re family, regardless of who brings down the squeaky hammer the Templars try to weild? I’m willing to fight for you all. Glad to see that’s reciprocated…” Time to lay on the guilt. “…Even if it’s only because you’re boss is telling you to.”

Convenient timing rang out as the doors opened and Assassin’s began to head to their hiding places, crawling up walls and hiding in alleyways. There was sure to be some blood tonight. Syn sighed, closed his eyes and strode forward–

–Only to be stopped by Cantibile and told to flee the city. She thought he would take this lying down?!

Well, yes, he would, actually. Syi was going to be moved as well. Syi couldn’t fight, his apprentices couldn’t fight (even if they were still going to try), and there were only so many brethren that could defend them in transit. For the love of Lorelei…

With a curse, a snort, and a wave to the one-eyed Assassin, Syn walked back inside as a young voice began to ring out between alleys.

—-

It didn’t take all that much to get up to the balcony. Just like the night Ion met that…look-alike…everything was quiet in the halls. It seemed like the guards were all off on guard duty or something else while Mohs did his speech.

“Stick close to me, Florian,” Ion advised, just to be safe. So little resistance couldn’t mean anything good.

Slowly, and with great discretion, the man moved through the catacombs, eventually making it to the actual Church Hall. Glass window sparkled in the daylight, casting colorful shadows onto the pews, the pulpit, the crowds that gathered near the deacon standing there. It seemed that he held an axe–

“Kill him!!” Chanted the crowds surrounding a man crouched on his knees. There was a bag over his head. Even over the roar of the people he could hear pleas for his life, sobbing, that he wasn’t an assassin, he swore, he swore!! The deacon was praying for the man, for his eternal soul…and as the deacon said amen, he handed to axe to a guardsmen who swung true.

The crowd cheered. Ion felt sick. They needed to hurry.

Feet flew up a flight of stairs that lead to a low-hanging balcony. Before, when Ion was allowed to attend the sermons, he was able to come up here and watch the people go by. The view of the sea usually calmed him, made him happy with his station in life. The sight that he beheld this time, though, started with mobs of people tearing at anyone they could find. guards trying to corral men and women into make-shift pens. This wasn’t right.

“THIS ISN’T RIGHT!” He screamed, his scream amplified by tech embedded into the railing. Confusion soon set over the crowd, faces turning until most were staring up at the frightened face of the Fon Master.

“Why are you doing this? Why do you attack one another? There is no reason for this…this animosity! Please all of you, I implore you to stop this madness!”

“But the Assassins tried to kill you, Fon Master!”

“Yeah, we’re just defending you!”

“Assassins?” Confusion leaked into his voice shortly before the realization. Mohs was using that break in to frame his enemies - to turn the populace. “Assassins never came for me! There has only been one attack, and it was on the captors of a man’s brother, not on me! The man who I met was kind, hurt, and yes, he killed. But only in defense! He defended his brother from the Oracle Knights!” Small hands brought themselves up to his chest.

“I don’t know what you were told, but if Assassins came, that was our fault, not theirs. Please…Please stop, all of you.”

For a moment, the entire world froze. The people, once chanting so loud as to drown out Mohs’s own words, stared up at their godlike figure, a man they placed above all others. Florian stood just a few steps behind Ion, his hand still grasping his brother’s tightly, and tried to breathe through his utter terror. He had never seen people so viciously tear each other to shreds with so little reason. Were all people like this? Was this what Mohs had protected them from time and time again?

“Fon Master...?” one young voice tentatively called. The dead body, head lolling still on the ground, left a gruesome pool of blood. Others were in various states of shock, pain, or unconsciousness. The individual holding the ax stared down at it as though he’d never seen the weapon before in his life. Just as suddenly he dropped it in horror and backed away, staring down at his bloodied hands.

Mohs, his face purpling with his rage, stepped forward, flanked by guards on all sides. His eyes stayed on Ion and Florian as though to burn a hole through them both from such a distance.

The moment of peace was broken by the shrieks of a terrified woman and the sudden, abrupt cut off of her voice as a sword severed her head from her shoulders. A Templar, one of Mohs’s entourage, stood with their sword at the ready, their face hidden behind their helmet. Florian felt his stomach lurch and he threw his free hand over his mouth.

“Clearly our Fon Master is still feeling the shock of what happened,” Mohs said calmly even as the citizens slowly turned back to looking at him. More Templars were appearing, their footsteps beating in time with the hearts of all those present. Each had a weapon drawn, the blades sharpened to a fine edge. To them, Mohs said, “Find the traitors. Bring them to me.”

The citizens went from staring in blind shock to screaming and fleeing the area. Florian screamed into his hand as one, then another, then another fell beneath the onslaught. Mohs made no move, but his eyes did not leave the Fon Master. Without a word, he told them whose fault this all was.

This is our fault. Ours. These people... all these people...

Tears streamed down Florian’s cheeks as he gasped for breath, rapidly losing the battle. Mohs nodded to a few other Templars, who immediately headed into the building. Florian could practically hear the footsteps growing closer even over the screams of the dying and wounded, the terrible sobs of the populace cut down or captured, blamed for crimes they did not commit.

“I-Ion... Ion...” Florian whimpered, his knees shaking beneath him. He didn’t know what to do. Did they run to save those they could? Did they bow to Mohs and pray he would call off the onslaught?

--

This is a place he knows. He knows the trees here, their swaying branches filled with delicious fruit. Plucking one is simple for him now that he is tall enough to reach. He recalls the days of climbing, of hiding among the branches, away from their retainers. He remembers smiles, rosy cheeks and mischievous grins, a place of relative happiness and safety. It’s easy to recall now, this sanctuary.

Yet as he stands here, he cannot see it.

This place is not one he knows. It is decrepit and dying, a mausoleum filled with sepulchers in the forms of tree husks, dead bony hands nothing more than rotting branches. The fruit at the bottom of the decay is perfect, as though forever preserved, and he stoops to lift it into his hands.

He remembers and doesn’t remember this simultaneously. As he runs his fingers over the small breaks in the otherwise smooth metal, he digs his nails into a few places and feels tiny gears and mechanisms click into place. He does not know how he knows all of this and a part of him distantly recognizes that should be a reason to worry. Each little piece slides into place and he listens to the haunting melody of wind trapped in this nightmarish graveyard accompanied by the tinkling of metal.

“What is this?” he asks and feels light and energy unlike anything he’s ever been exposed to before bloom in his hands like a fresh flower. Like blood.

He lifts his head and sees his mirror image, but not his twin -- no, this figure is himself. It stares at him, eyes empty and dark, and it opens its mouth and breathes, and it is a breath of locusts, of poison, but there are words laced into it all: “You know. You have merely forgotten.”

--

Syi moaned on the litter, shifting restlessly from side to side. More than once they’d been forced to stop and cover his mouth, hoping to quiet him and stop them from being spotted by the various roaming Templars. They’ve been lucky thus far, Luke knew. He let out a breath of relief as they continued on and tried to ignore the soft noises of discomfort and pain his master let out.

Soon enough, he hoped they would be on a ship and away from this godforsaken place. He helped hold Guy steady - they were both too weak for this, really - and walked on, putting one foot in front of the other. Their guards followed from above and below, keeping an eye on everything their little group could not see.

“There,” one whispered, sounding strained. Despite Syi’s weakness and clear lack of food, he was still a fully grown human man and they had been walking for some time. The ship was one Luke knew well and his stomach clenched at the sight. What if this was a trap? What if they were waiting to capture all of them?

“Captain,” one called out quietly. As if summoned by the mere breath, Noir appeared. Despite the usual haughty smirk on her face, her eyes were unusually serious. She quickly motioned for them all to board and glanced at the twitching figure laying in the litter.

“Put him in my quarters,” she ordered. They followed without a thought.

Luke stared. He couldn’t help it. As he opened his mouth to protest, demand - something! - she raised an eyebrow at him and stole all his words.

“This is a favor for Cantabile - simple as that. Get yourselves below deck and hidden. Don’t make a peep or I might just throw you overboard.” She winked at them and moved to speak with the Assassins emerging from her rooms.

“Wh-what?” Luke asked, finally finding his voice.

“I don’t know,” Guy said wearily. “I’m beginning to think most people aligned with the Brotherhood might be a little... out of it.”

“A little?”

Guy shook his head. “I don’t want to go below until we see Master Syn.” He glanced back across the gangplank and gripped the railing. “We... we should be helping him.”

“He’ll meet us here. Can-... Master Cantabile’s with him right? She doesn’t seem the sort to let people flounder.”

Mohs doesn’t bring them to corporate parties much anymore.

–

He shakes his head with a little sigh. Even as the youngest, he still needs to be a good influence on his brothers. Florian is still so impressionable, and so desperate for approval, and Sync knows it. It infuriates Ion sometimes when Sync smirks knowingly over his shoulder and says without a word, See?

He does see - that’s part of the problem. Florian smiles so widely when he receives praise, and Sync knows how to lay it on thick, sarcastic or otherwise. It’s a testament to how much Sync himself has changed that he doesn’t constantly manipulate every person around him and force Florian into terrible situations. Perhaps that’s why ion doesn’t step in now.

Though Ion winces when Sync downs the bubbly drink - honestly, isn’t champagne supposed to be enjoyed? - and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. What Ion doesn’t expect is Sync secretly pouring the other glass down the drain and bringing the empty flute over. He waggles conspiratorial eyebrows at Florian, who simply giggles with delight and fills up both.

If Ion didn’t know better, he’d say Sync’s features soften when they clink the glasses together.

If he brought it up to Legretta, he was sure that he would be told to just get used to it. That it was part of who he was now, and that he’d have to learn to function with it. It was depressing that he was getting used to her demeanor already, even though he’d only been interacting with her while half-asleep.

Syn’s mind was still running one hundred miles a minute when he sat on the edge of his bed, watching Largo help his brother into bed. The boy bit the inside of his lip to refrain from frowning. Syi was still so weak, still needing help so badly. Syn wanted to be the only one who needed to help his twin, if at all. But with his own…handicaps…he wasn’t able to.

He pulled his leg onto the bed as he stared at it with disgust in his eyes. He’d thought he’d be ok, but Father just had to keep giving them gifts.

After Syi was settled, and the older man had draped the blankets over the older twin, he shook his head. It seemed he was ignoring the harsh tones of the other. “Just rest. A nurse will be here shortly to give you medicine.”

“I am afraid the request is non-negotiable,” Largo said. “Your bodies have suffered severe traumas for most of your lives and are just now being given time to heal. Take your medicines, eat your dinners, and rest. Training begins tomorrow.”

He left the room. Syi waited a few moments before speaking up, his voice quieter and tired but no less full of affection for his brother. Why hide it if they were being watched like hawks?

“The medicine might actually be for our benefit, Syn.” He wasn’t sure he believed his own words but he wanted to raise the point anyway. Though he figured he should be hungry or antsy, he was simply too exhausted to think much beyond his already consuming thoughts. “I don’t want to take it either, though… especially if it makes my head as swimmy as before…”

The nurse entered carrying two plates of food, glasses of water, and two sets of pills - one blue, one red, and one purple. Syi had no idea what any of them did, or why they were required to take them, but a glance at his brother told him whatever they were probably wasn’t good.

“Food first, then medicine,” the nurse said, not unkindly.

Probably the thought of the stranger’s surprising kindness. All of them had been firmly nice, testing them just enough to keep them entertained, but not enough to give things away. The younger boy wasn’t sure how to handle all of this…just treatment. It was almost as if they had parents instead of owners now.

“I really don’t want to,” He sighed as he stared at his food. The food itself looked good, and one tentative bite seemed to make him want to eat more. He decided to take several small bites as he spoke to Syi, looking somewhat weary himself.

“I don’t get how they’re being so nice to us. There has to be more of a motive to all this.” One hand, holding a bite of a bread roll, waved in the air as he spoke. “But I guess I can’t really argue, can I.”

Syn closed his eyes, sighed, and grabbed the cup with the pills, tipping it into his mouth and swallowing them all with one motion. He swiftly chased it all down with water, face contorting at the taste.

Here, it seemed to be par for the course. Syi didn’t trust any of it, but he also was in no position to really argue. He stared at the little cup of pills, his stomach churning at even the thought of one hitting the back of his throat. So innocuous, in and of themselves… Would these people poison them? How could they be kinder than Syn and Syi’s own flesh and blood?

“I agree,” Syi said, wincing as he saw Syn down all three pills. He’d gotten very good at taking medicine recently; Syi could remember a time when it was agony to take a single painkiller. That also might have been because their father had choked Syn after a meeting gone slightly wrong…

Syi ate a few bites of food if only to appease his brother. A good portion was still left when he lifted his own cup of pills, stared dubiously at them, and finally swallowed them down. Now would they be allowed to rest? A chance at normal, not drug induced sleep?

“I guess if they put a sugar coating on it, people might eat it like candy?” Syi suggested, laying back down. He still felt annoyingly fragile, like a china doll, but he hoped he would be well enough to at least start weight training or exercising while Syn was put through the ringer.

Then there was the issue of Syn’s leg. What if it never moved right again? What if…

No. He wouldn’t let them do more damage to Syn, not if he could help it.

But he’d have to start taking them this time. Legretta had, at his first tiny rebellion, told him that it was either pills or the IV. She was calm, collected, and somewhat scolding, but he had persisted, saying he wasn’t going to take them.

For a week, he was on the IV. Legretta had asked him again after a week if he would take the pills, and again he had denied her, staying on the IV. Every time he’d taken pills for as long as he could remember, it had been painful, the swallowing of any hard foods a knife down his throat.

The only difference now was that Syi was awake. He wouldn’t fight this time, even if he had in the past. What if Syn rebelled and they made Syi go back in the IV too?

He wouldn’t subject him to that again. So he downed them as quickly as he could, feeling tiny knives in his throat. Curiously, not as bad as he expected.

“Syn,” he said quietly, his brother’s name barely a breath on his lips, and his eyes completely slid shut. He clawed at his awareness, desperate to keep it close; his mind fell down through the endless darkness until there was nothing left.

It was a mere few minutes before Legretta entered the room, looking just as proper as before. She gave Syn a brief nod and walked over to Syi. Fragile still, despite his healing - easy to destroy and easy to save. She took the plate of food from his lap and placed it carefully on the tray at his bedside. Despite the pain he was clearly still in, he appeared almost peaceful as he lay and slept. She had wanted to speak with Syn alone, away from his brother’s prying, and was glad to see her plan had worked.

“I will not keep you for too long,” she remarked as she drew a blanket over Syi’s body and tucked him in around the shoulders. No fever, no return to the delusions or power he had displayed not long ago. No doubt Syn was capable of such things as well; she aimed to find out how much he knew and understood when they began training him.

The entire time she was in the room, his eyes were on her. Watching her hands, watching her steps. She was so gentle, so kind, so…was motherly the word? Syn didn’t know. But it was so very, very foreign.

“Stop touching him.” The words were calm, even as they were spoken through gritted teeth. His composure was definitely slipping - but it always did when it came to Syi. “I understand your thinly veiled threats, and I’m getting tired of them. I’m doing what you want of me. I was a good little boy and took the medication. Ate. I’m going to learn to fight and keep my promise.

Syi stirred in his sleep, murmuring quietly before settling down again and scooting further under the blankets. No doubt they would be askew in the morning; Syi was not exactly a still sleeper. Legretta glanced over at him as if to check on him.

“You and your brother are ours now,” she said plainly. “We take care of our own.”

Her hand rested for a few moments on Syn’s shoulder before she headed for the door. “Try to get some rest. We begin training you in the morning.”

With that, she flicked the lights off, leaving only a small lamp at their bedsides on. A few books rested on the bedside table.

Outside the door, Legretta paused, seeing a tall, brown haired man standing and waiting for her at the end of the hallway. She hurried along, her footsteps fading, and stopped in front of him.

“Van,” she greeted him. “I’m surprised to see you here in person.”

“I wished to confirm Asch and his own did not sabotage our use of their facilities,” Van explained with a small smile. “I see the move was successful.”

“They are resting, yes. And San Druin?”

“No idea where they are. I have no doubt he has those in his ranks frantically searching. It is not as if he can produce other heirs at this point.”

Legretta nodded for lack of a better reaction. “We begin training tomorrow.”

“Go easy on them for the moment, Legretta,” Van requested in that same calm voice. “From your report and Largo’s, those two will not be up and ready to actually serve us for some weeks yet.”

“I will get them ready as quickly and efficiently as I can.”

“I am certain Largo will help you as well,” Van agreed. He hesitated only a moment to brush a strand of blond hair from her face before turning away and heading back down the hallway. “I have other business to attend to. Keep me informed.”

“Understood.”

Syi groaned as he woke. More smells - food must have arrived - and more aches, but at least it was manageable now. He still needed help to sit up and stared down at the plate in his lap. How much of this was a dream? What would they need to pay in blood or theirselves in recompense for these ‘gifts’? Nothing came free, and certainly not their tentative freedom.

Glancing over at Syn told him his younger twin was still asleep. Good - he would need all the rest he could get. Syi flexed his fingers in the lighter cast and frowned. He wouldn’t be up and about for a while, and he wouldn’t be able to keep up with Syn…

He wanted to ask what training would really entail since he had to use this damn brace, but Legretta was out the door before he could gather the words. He wanted to protest, he honestly did, but all his rebelliousness had been spent on scolding her for touching Syi; Now he just wanted to get his mind off of her being here.

As the door handle latched into place, the boy looked over to the books and skimmed their titles. All of them seemed to have some sort of strategical perspective, with words like ‘war’ or ‘tactics’ strewn about. His own book on poisons was nowhere in sight. Did this underground organization not want its new recruits poisoning their superiors? Or had they just seen it as unaligned with their cause?

What even was their cause? Everyone fought for something, or in his own case, someone. What sort of mission statement would require the smuggling of children? Unless…

Had they actually wanted to help the twins from the beginning, like Guy had said? If so, why would they have to make a deal with Syn for his life? It all still didn’t make sense to him, and he hated when things didn’t make sense.

With a sigh of defeat, Syn turned off the bedside light and pulled up his covers. He was sure he had a long day ahead of him.

—-

It was bacon. Bacon and…something sweet that woke him up the next morning with it’s delicious smells. The hospital fed them bacon quite often. It was almost as if someone had noticed Syn liked the stuff and would always eat it.

“Mmmmgghhhh…” Syn groaned, cracking an eye open to see Syi already awake, sitting up and eating his own breakfast. Groggily he pulled the pillow out from under his head and hugged it to his head, trying to block out the delicious smell, the light, and everything else. Had he tried this at their parent’s home, he would have been severely punished. But here he had the luxury of being just a little lazy.

Syn was… well, adorable? Happy? Either was strange to see. At least Syn managed to rest and sleep deeply enough to regain his energy. Syi chewed on his bacon and egg and watched Syn mumble and curl back into his sheets. Was this what normal people did? Sleep in?

“Are you inventing a new language?” Syi asked with a soft chuckle.

Though he felt groggy still, his mind was clear, his goal even clearer. He clenched his hand in the cast, moved his toes under the blanket - it hurt, but it was definitely more manageable than it had been. Perhaps he would at least be allowed to accompany Syn in the training rooms.

“If you’re trying to find a way back to sleep, I doubt you’ll succeed.” His smile remained. Yes, Syn would recover, and become stronger. Syi was so proud of his brother, of the strength he displayed. While Syi was certain Syn would have been a helluva businessman, he was glad to see another path was available, even if meant being under the thumb of a new boss.

Carefully Syi slid out of bed and into his hoverchair and maneuvered himself over to his brother’s bedside. Syn was still under his pillow and blankets, but his ear was partially visible. Chuckling to himself, he leaned over to tug on Syn’s ear, then grabbed the pillow and yanked it away. He sat back and watched Syn.

Legretta - the sneaky woman who laid down the law and the truth with a calm consideration.

Largo - the large man who held power like a loaded weapon, threatening but unwielded…for the moment.

And then the man who bought them. Not with coin, per se, but with promises. It was a currency that Syn had seen so many times traded yet never usually with such effect. This mystery man had immediately shown the twins that he used that currency with a lazy grace. Perhaps too easy.

“Mmmmmmmm…” Mumbled the teen as the tug happened, a playful smirk hidden under the pillow. The motion felt tight on his face; Unused muscles would do that. The pillow soon fled into his brother’s arms and the younger twin had to work to hide his amusement.

Still, a tiny smirk on his face, Syi lifted the pillow and let it smack down on top of Syn’s head. He raised an eyebrow down at his brother and shifted his splinted arm to lay on his lap.

“As true as that might be, we’ve got stuff to do,” Syi pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be better to be prepared than to sleep in?”