#dodna

--

Virgil opened his eyes and blinked three times. The sunlight should’ve warmed his cold skin, but all it did was blind him. He pulled his hooded jacket closer to his body. Virgil’s whole body shivered as the vision left him, and he stared at the painting in front of him.

Frozen blue eyes. Tangled blonde hair. A hand reached out while another restrained. 

Who was this person, and why did Virgil keep having visions about them?

Virgil wiped his paint stained fingers off on a cloth and set it down beside his easel. He cast one last glance at the picture before stepping out of his art studio and closing the door, closing the vision, closing the past off from him.

After pulling his jacket a little closer, Virgil descended the stairs into his kitchen. He opened the fridge and realized with a curse that all his coffee had been consumed. Strange, he never ran out. Okay, which ghost was in his house drinking his coffee?

With muttered snark dripping from his lips, Virgil put his long black boots on, laced them up, and wrapped his plaid purple scarf around his neck. The door creaked as he opened it. He set the house key under the stone beneath the porch and stepped out into the brisk air.

This town that Virgil lived in always stayed the same. No, literally. The leaves always held a golden, orange tone to them, wrapped around dried bark that dropped its only source of creating food onto the ground. The chilly breeze scattered their remans around town. Children and adults alike loved to collect them and jump into their piles. Virgil liked to crunch them under his boots. The chilly air never got above or below a comfortable 75 degrees, or at least that’s what Virgil’s thermometer swinging on his front porch told him. The sky always held a deep blue as the sun pivoted around it. The constellations always twinkled at night, the same ones in the same positions.

Virgil found his way down the cobblestone path to the supermarket. He grabbed a large container of fresh coffee beans. Despite no one running the store, it always stayed freshly stocked. Perhaps that’s where his coffee went every morning. Perhaps it just returned to the store.

Virgil put his coffee into his backpack and traveled back down the road. He listened to the clomping of his feet as he traveled down the path.

“Evening, Virgil,” a set of voices who sounded exactly the same greeted him. Virgil turned. Two sisters waved to him as they raked leaves from their yard. Virgil waved back. He couldn't remember their names, but he knew them. 

"Hey," he said back. 

"Say, Virgil," one of the girls said when he came closer, "Did you paint anyone this morning?" 

Virgil stopped and nodded. "Yeah, that strange guy again."

The other hummed. "Do you have a name yet?" 

Virgil shook his head. He sighed through his nose. "No, not yet."

"Keep trying," they both said at once. 

"Heh, thanks," Virgil responded. He walked back down the road to his house. The door opened. Light blinded him. Virgil shielded his eyes with his hands. 

--

Try again.

--

I blink the light away. I don't know when I got here, but there's something off. I start walking. Rain drops fall from the sky. I look up and let them wash over my hair and face. 

I feel nothing. 

My name echoes down the street. I turn. Someone is running towards me. They're drenched with rain. Their feet make little to no noise on the pavement, like they're a ghost. 

I call out to them. The word sounds garbled in my ear, like the rain clogged my hearing. They scream my name. Their hand reaches blindly in the dark. 

As I reach out to grab them, a hole opens up and swallows me. I gasp. I choke. The blackness consumes me. I can't breathe! I struggle and thrash, but nothing connects. My head is burning. My mind races with ideas as I try to escape. 

I open my mouth to breathe. The taste of sour milk floods my mouth. I gag but I can't get sick. I breathe but I feel no air. 

Help! Someone please help me! I'm… 

I'm dying-

--

Virgil shot back and toppled his chair backward. He fell to the floor and gasped for breath, thankful that he could. He looked around. His eyes connected with a painting in front of him. 

He covered the whole canvas in black paint. No person, no name, no nothing. Virgil frowned and rectified his chair. 

He needed something coffee. 

After pulling his jacket a little closer, Virgil descended the stairs into his kitchen. He opened the fridge and realized with a curse that all his coffee had been consumed. Strange, he never ran out. Okay, which ghost was in his house drinking his coffee?

With muttered snark dripping from his lips, Virgil put his long black boots on, laced them up, and wrapped his plaid purple scarf around his neck. The door creaked as he opened it. He set the house key under the stone beneath the porch and stepped out into the brisk air.

The always autumn air greeted him. He walked down the cobblestone path and noticed the two sisters raking leaves. 

“Evening, Virgil,” they greeted at the same time. 

"Hey," he said back. 

"Say, Virgil, did you paint anyone this morning?" 

Virgil stopped. He narrowed his eyes. "No, I didn't. I mean, I could have, but I painted the whole canvas black. I don't know what I painted over, but-" 

"Keep trying," they both said at once. 

Virgil creased his brow. He opened his mouth to ask what they meant, but the air dried his lungs. He coughed several times. His lungs ached like he was back in that awful darkness. The ground split out from under him. 

--

But sir, if we give him another dose, he might die. 

I didn't ask for a theory. I want results. Try again!

--

Someone presses on my chest. I can't breathe. They're crying my name. The rain drops on my cheeks much slower than before. 

Lips meet mine. 

All my senses lock. A jolt of electricity shoots through my body. My eyes fly open and I gasp in the open air. The sky is starless. I suck in air like a camel drinking water in the desert. 

More raindrops, I finally realized we're not raindrops but teardrops, fall on my face. Someone is squeezing me. I cough into their shoulder, but they don't seem to mind. They cup my cheeks and pepper kisses across my face. 

I've never felt lighter. 

They pull away, and their blue eyes stare into mine. 

Their voice is muffled, but they say, "I thought I lost you."

My throat burns. I want to speak to him. I want to tell him that I am not going anywhere. 

He ducks down and takes me with. He's practically pinning me to the ground, his eyes alight with fear and searching. Watching. Waiting. 

"What-" I choke out, but he shushes me. He starts to whisper, but I can't hear him. 

I read his lips. 

They are watching. 

--

Virgil gasped and blinked awareness into his eyes. He stared at the painting in front of him, paint dripping down the canvas like a wound running down textured skin. 

The once black canvas in front of him is no longer black. Red and white eyes stare back at him. Nearly a hundred. They're all wide and staring at the canvas. 

In thick red letters, a warning reaches out through the darkness. 

THEY 

ARE 

WATCHING

Virgil ran a hand through his hair. What did that mean? Who was watching? It was too early for this cryptic junk. 

A cup of coffee would soothe his nerves. 

After pulling his jacket a little closer, Virgil descended the stairs into his kitchen. He opened the fridge and realized with a curse that all his coffee had been consumed. Strange, he never ran out. Okay, which ghost was in his house drinking his coffee?

With muttered snark dripping from his lips, Virgil put his long black boots on, laced them up, and wrapped his plaid purple scarf around his neck. The door creaked as he opened it. He set the house key under the stone beneath the porch and stepped out into the brisk air.

The always autumn air greeted him. He walked down the cobblestone path and noticed the two sisters staring at him with blank expressions. Virgil froze in his tracks. 

"What?" he managed to ask. 

The two girls simply stared, their eyes dull. Goosebumps rose to Virgil's skin. He shivered and rubbed his arms. 

"What?" he shouted again. 

"W̵h̶o̷ ̵i̸s̷ ̶h̵e̶," they screeched. 

Virgil covered his ears. The noise shot through him like a bullet, raced through the path like a freight train, and ruined every bit of peace in its wake.

"W̵h̶o̷ ̵i̸s̷ ̶h̵e̶!" they screeched again.

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep his knees from buckling. He took a step back. When he opened his eyes again, their eyes stared back at him. Devoid of life. Devoid of kindness. Pure white eyes like haunted spirits stared back at him.

They opened their mouth and screamed. And screamed. Screamed like a child lost in a sea of strangers. Screamed like a tea kettle neglected by its owner. Screamed. Screamed like a loved one losing their partner. Screamed. And screamed.

Virgil did lose his balance this time. He fell to his knees and pressed his forehead into the dirt path below him. He couldn't feel the rocks dig into his skin. He couldn't feel the blood dripping down his ears and the tears running black from his eyes. He couldn't feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He couldn't feel.

Anything.

Anything but dark and cold.

--

What are you doing?

Sir if we give him another dose he will die.

You're certain? 

Yes!

Fine, we're done for the day.

--

Virgil opened his eyes. The hallway traveled backwards as his bare feet slid on its heels. Cold tile floor rubbed the skin raw. 

Virgil blinked.

Doors paired side by side followed large gaps. The fluorescent lights flickered like flames above him.

Virgil blinked.

Moans of agony and tears that no one would comfort echoed throughout the space like haunted spirits. Some were shushed. Some were followed by angry screams. Some bargained for their life. Some didn't.

Virgil blinked.

A heavy click sounded behind him. Virgil's balance toppled as two strong arms threw him backward onto even colder floor. He hit hard. His head ached, and the air left his lungs. A heavy slam of the door, followed by the same hollow click, shut all noise off from him.

Virgil blinked.

Virgil blinked.

Virgil blinked.

The single light above him shined down on him like a doctor's operating light. The cool floor would've felt nice against his hoodie, now replaced with a solid white turtleneck and white sweatpants. Virgil wrinkled his nose. All this white made him look like a ghost. He wiped his eyes, surprised to find a thick black substance leaking from them. Virgil thought at first it was his eye shadow, until he tested its consistency between his fingers. Sticky. Thick. Cold.

What was this?

Virgil snapped his head around the room to look for a mirror. He had to figure out what this stuff was and where it was coming from. A bed hung from the wall by two silver chains, keeping the purity of the white floor and walls in tact. A toilet sat exposed in the corner. There wasn't even a sink to wash his hands after he was done. The only door to the room was the solid metal one he came through.

Trapped.

He was trapped.

His throat closed up. Something was squeezing his neck.

Virgil choked. 

He clawed at his throat, and his fingers met a metal collar around his neck. He pulled at it. An electric shock ran through his neck. Virgil yelped. He pulled again. It shocked harder this time, and Virgil screamed. The corner of his eyes darkened and swallowed his vision. He collapsed onto his hands and knees, struggling to breathe, struggling to escape.

Escape.

He had to escape.

He had to.

He had…

"Hello?" a voice called out in the dark.

Virgil opened his eyes. He blinked several times to clear his vision. The black ooze from his eyes stained the floor, and Virgil looked for the source of the voice.

"H-hello?" Virgil choked out.

A short pause later, and the voice replied, "My name is Emile. Can you tell me yours?"

He thought for a moment before replying, "Virgil."

"Hello, Virgil. Can you tell me what you see?"

Virgil choked on a laugh. He blinked and scanned the room. "White. A lot of white. Um… a- a toilet. A door." A deep breath. "Uh, a… my hands."

Virgil looked to his right. He squinted and blinked. Across from him, another room mirrored his own. Sitting on the bed, criss cross, was another person. They sat with their back straight against the wall, their hands holding their kneecaps. They wore the same stark white outfit that Virgil wore. Their slicked back brown hair was either wet or greasy, Virgil couldn't tell, but what was really daunting was the black eye mask that covered their eyes and wrapped around their head with a thick brown strap. 

"You, I think," Virgil finally finished.

"Good, you did great," the person who called themselves Emile said. He smiled. "Can you hear me?"

"Y-yeah," Virgil replied, confused as to why Emile would ask now. 

"What else do you hear?"

Virgil half laughed. "My heartbeat. Um… that's… that's pretty much it."

"That's okay. You're still doing great."

"Not to be rude, but what's the point of all this?"

"To help you calm down."

Virgil blinked a few times. He stood up, using the wall to help him. Emile didn't follow his movements, but Virgil supposed the eye mask kept Emile from seeing anything.

"Huh," Virgil managed to say. He walked over to his bed and sat down. "Well I guess it's working."

"I should hope so." Emile smiled. "So, your name is Virgil?"

"Yeah."

"It's nice to meet you. How long have you been here?"

Virgil rubbed his arms. "Um… I… what do you mean?"

"The Institution. How long have you been here?"

"I… don't' know," Virgil responded. "I don't remember leaving my house."

Emile frowned at that. He tilted his head to the side and replied. "That's okay. You kinda lose sense of time here."

"W-what about you?" Virgil managed to ask.

"Oh, um," Emile laughed. "You know, I don't really know anymore."

Something about the way Emile said that dropped Virgil's stomach. Emile smiled, but it was so fragile that Virgil was sure it'd break at any moment. Virgil pulled his knees up to his stomach and cradled his legs with his arms. His toes curled into the scratchy sheets below him. His eyes focused on the eye mask around Emile's eyes, and he swallowed hard.

"So, uh, what's with the mask?" Virgil asked. "You just have eye surgery or something?"

Emile hummed and tilted his head. His eyebrows furrowed, but then they raised high. "Oh! It's to, ah, keep me from… from using my ability."

"What the f- what?"

"You see," Emile paused, "I can… well my eyes… they're a bit… you can really get lost in them." Emile laughed, but there was no mirth behind it. His fingers curled into fists. "How about you?"

"Me?" Virgil scratched his neck. The metal collar scratched back. He swallowed hard and left it alone. "I can paint the future I guess."

"That's an interesting one. How did you end up here with a gift like that?"

"I… I don't know."

Emile hummed at that. He took a deep breath in and out, and he continued, "Then you're a bargaining chip."

Virgil's head shot up. "A what?"

"If you were brought here for no reason, you're to keep me in line," Emile said and swallowed hard.

"What? What kind of-"

"It's their way. If you don't listen to them, they know you'll listen when someone else's life is on the line. It hurts worse when you're not the one getting hurt but someone else is hurt because of you."

"That's fucked up." The words left Virgil's throat before he could stop them, and he mumbled an apology.

"No need to apologize, Virgil. It is indeed, 'fucked up'. There's no nicer way to say it."

Virgil thought hard. He tried to remember what had happened before he got here. He closed his eyes. He remembered being at his house. He remembered this man… this man with sharp teeth smiling at him. No, grinning at him. Virgil's eyebrows creased. He said… something. Something about that person named Logan that his family kept mentioning.

"I don't think it's you I'm here for," Virgil said at last.

"Oh?" Emile tilted their head.

"Yeah. Um, I think I'm here for… for someone else."

"And who's that?" Emile frowned.

Virgil's shoulders shook as he laughed. "You know, I don't really know. All I know is this stupid place broke into my house and said something about this guy named Logan, but I don't know who he is."

Emile grew quiet. He rubbed his chin, and he chewed on his lips. Emile looked up ever so slightly, and they said, "I've met Logan."

"What can you tell me about them?" 

"Not much, other than he came here when he was really young. But-" he laughed- "he wasn't the only one who was brought here young."

"How old were you when… you know…"

"It was my 4th birthday," Emile's voice grew quiet. A slight southern drawl tipped his words. "It was a Sunday. I remember going to church, because my momma thought I was possessed by the devil. And these people showed up and said they could save my soul."

"Christ," Virgil mumbled. 

"Not exactly," Emile replied with a bitter laugh. "I'm sure he would've hated this place."

Virgil nodded. He shifted on his bed. Part of him wanted to sit next to Emile, but Emile might not appreciate the close proximity of a stranger, so he stayed where he was. 

Emile continued, "Instead of saving me, they wanted to use me. They found out I could… uh… control others. They hoped I'd use it to make other people listen but I… I didn't want to. I don't want to. So they put me in here."

"Who did… did the other person who was in here before me… did they, um, did they die?" 

Emile shrugged. "I don't really know."

"What was their name, if you don't mind talking about them."

Emile rose his head, a sad smile on his face. He replied, "His name was Remy. I think he was a little younger than me. One day they came for him and," Emile sighed, "and he never came back."

"That's rough," Virgil whispered. 

"They never spoke about him. It's almost like he didn't exist anymore. But I… I believed whatever happened to him was my fault. So I… I started to listen to them. And I thought maybe then I'd be able to break free. And that… that's when I saw Logan."

Virgil jolted at that.

Emile continued, "He wasn't a kid anymore. He was, well, if I had to guess, I'd say he was about your age. He was so… so thin."

Virgil stood up. "How long ago was that?"

"Not long, actually. Maybe two days?"

Virgil swallowed hard. This Logan person, he was still alive. He existed.

"What was he like? Did he say anything about me, about my family?"

"He… he did," Emile took a shuddering breath, and a low laugh lingered on his lips. "But it wasn't his choice."

Virgil furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? What did they do to him?"

Emile stayed quiet. Virgil prompted him to speak again, but Emile chose to stare at the floor instead. He sighed and finally responded, "Now I know why you're here. You are here for me."

Virgil furrowed his brow. He licked his lips and responded, "What? Why? Emile, what's going on? Why am I here for you? I don't even know you." 

Emile laughed darkly and rubbed his hand over his right eye, or at least where his eye should've been.

"Because I made Logan tell them who and what you are."

Virgil's blood ran cold then heated up like he threw himself into a hot tub. He stormed forward, his nails digging into his palm as he stalked forward.

"You- you son of a-"

Virgil hit something hard and smooth. He staggered backward and let out a yelp. Fingers massaged the ache forming in his temple. He opened his eyes and squinted.

Floating in front of him was a face print, but not just any face print. His face print. Virgil stepped forward and ran his fingers across the glass wall in front of him. His anger simmered in his stomach.

"I'm guessing you ran into the glass," Emile said with a sad smile. "It's a foot thick, meant to hold aquarium fish, or in this case, us."

Virgil paced back and forth like a tiger in a zoo. He gripped his hair, pulled, and growled through clenched teeth.

"I'll… I'm…"

"Deep breaths, Virgil."

"Shut up!" Virgil shouted. He punched the glass. His knuckles cracked, and Virgil bit back the scream in his throat. It successfully made Emile jump on the other side of the glass. Virgil panted through his pain. He sucked in a deep breath and swallowed the bile rising through his throat. "I'm never forgiving you for this."

Emile chuckled, a sad smile crossing his face. "Me either."

--

Event # 3823

Subject identification: #240

Sex: Male

Age: 27

Notes:

After being controlled by Subject #134, subject has revealed there may be one other person who knows the location of Unidentified Mutant #3.  

Actions:

Requests for Mr. Virgil Cho to be collected for information extraction immediately.

Status: COMPLETE

--

Event #3824

Subject Identification: #134

Sex: Male

Age: 31

Notes:

Subject has successfully followed orders and extracted information from Subject #240, however, after completing the action, subject has attacked Dr. Patrickson after being asked to dig further. 

Actions:

Request for negative reinforcement to be administered

Status: COMPLETE

--

Subject # 90

Defect: Nightmare Inducement

Sex: Male

Age: 28

Test #: 4,362

Notes:

Subject has successfully altered traumatic nightmares in younger subject. Studies prove negative reinforcement for compliance is working.

Test: PASSED

--

For curiosity's sake, Logan allowed their gaze to cross over to the glass wall separating them and the boy in the other room. His fingers pressed up against the glass, his green eyes watching Logan's every move. For a moment, all the two of them did was stare at each other.

Fingers moved, and Logan tried to focus on them. From what Logan could guess, this was his way of communicating. Logan read somewhere it was called "sign language" or something like that. Over the past few months, this person (who Logan learned was named Roman) slowly taught Logan how to speak to him. A few signs were easy for Logan to recognize, like "are you okay" and "I'll kill them" since Roman repeated the gestures so often, but not all stuck. 

This time Roman seemed to try and say something about being sick if Logan guessed right. Their eyes were far too blurry to guess correctly.

"I'm satisfactory," Logan whispered. Their throat burned. They tried again a little louder, "I'm okay."

This answer didn't seem to satisfy Roman, who started pacing back and forth on the other side of the glass. Logan wondered if they interpreted something wrong. They followed Roman's motions until Roman started to sign to them again. Logan squinted through their tears.

Are you sure?

"I'm certain," Logan replied. They stood, got rid of the evidence of their illness, and laid down on their bed. It wasn't as comfortable as the last bed they had in the institution, but at least they didn't have to lay on the floor. They stared up at the ceiling, in no mood to communicate with Roman further. 

Their stomach gurgled unhappily, though Logan didn't know if it was because they got sick or didn't have anything in their stomach anymore. Logan would never know. They couldn't differentiate between the feeling of being hungry and being sick. 

Tapping on the glass caught Logan's attention. Curse Roman's incessant need for attention. They looked over at the glass, not even bothering to lift their head off the pillow. Roman stared at them, his eyebrows furrowed and shoulders tense.

"You're angry with me?" Logan guessed out loud.

Roman crossed his arms and pressed his forehead to the glass. Logan wondered how many times Roman could put oil on the glass before he shut himself off from Logan entirely. Various prints littered the glass. Some were smeared with blood, some with the black injection fluid, and others were smudged from Roman falling asleep against the glass. 

Logan sighed and sat up. Their headache returned tenfold, and they leaned back to keep themselves from falling onto the floor. They ended up hitting their head off the wall behind them instead. Logan allowed their head to lay against the cool white wall for a moment and catch their breath. The world spun, and they wondered if the institution would allow them to die of starvation.

They silently hoped so.

Roman's head perked up, and he stared at Logan's door. Strange, Logan didn't hear anything. The door, however, opened, and Logan watched as a man in a clean pressed lab coat stepped into the room.

"Dr. William," Logan spoke, their voice sounding like a garbage disposal, "to what do I owe the honor of a personal visit from you?"

Dr. William stood in the middle of the room. His eyes shifted over to Roman, who if stares could kill would've melted the head scientist into a puddle on the floor. He smirked and turned his eyes back to Logan.

"I wanted to thank you," he said.

"Thank me?" Logan repeated with a raised brow.

"Yes, for your cooperation. Of course, you may not recall what happened, but we got the information we needed."

Logan brought both brows down to shade their eyes. What was Dr. William talking about? What information did they reveal? They didn't say-

They didn't say…

Logan's eyebrows shot up to their hairline, and they tried to sit up. However, their balance spun, and they ended up gripping the bed so they didn't fall over. 

"You… you didn't," Logan panted.

"Oh, but we did, and for once, Subject #134 listened without question." Dr. William's smile almost reached the glasses on his face. "It was a productive day indeed."

"If you harm her-"

"Her?" Dr. William raised a brow. "I didn't know Virgil was a girl."

Logan's stomach dropped. If they didn't throw up everything before, they were sure their stomach would've ejected everything now.

No. Not Virgil. Not- anything but-

"We had a deal," Logan growled through their teeth.

Dr. William tapped his jaw with his finger. "Oh, yes, I recall that deal. We take you and leave Virgil and his family alone. That was the deal, wasn't it?"

Logan's stomach boiled as they hissed through their teeth, "Yes."

"Oh, but you see, that's before you told us that our dear Virgil could see the future, or more like paint it. Either way, he's a valuable asset to our team, and he may even help us locate other mutants in the future. We'd be stupid to let him free."

"You will," Logan wobbled to his feet. "You will release him."

Logan squared their jaw, and they set their feet apart. They recalled Virgil's stance when Virgil stopped those men from picking on a woman on the streets, and they did their best to copy it.

Dr. William, however, looked anything but intimidated. In fact, he looked amused. A hand reached up and pressed down on Logan's shoulder.

"Sit down before you hurt yourself," Dr. William scolded. He pushed, and Logan fell back onto the bed with a slight cry.

Pounding on the glass behind them grabbed Dr. William's attention, and he sighed before he turned to face Roman, who desperately tried to break the glass between them. He chuckled and shook his head.

"Always acting so tough, aren't you?" he said as he walked over to the glass. If there wasn't a barrier between them, Roman surely would've pounced on the scientist. However, he settled for glaring at him with all his might, praying that he'd gain heat vision to melt the glass entirely. Dr. William smirked before he continued, "You don't scare me."

Roman used a gesture that definitely wasn't sign language, as Virgil used it quite often, but it didn't seem to phase Dr. William. The scientist sighed and walked toward the door.

Logan raised their head, their legs quaking and unable to support their weight any longer. They growled, "If you harm Virgil, I will refuse to listen to you for the rest of my days here."

"Trust me, you won't." This time, Dr. William did look at Roman, a fire in his eyes that made Logan's stomach ache all over again. "I now have two bargaining chips. Listen to us, and maybe I'll let you see this Virgil that you hold so dear."

Without another word, Dr. William exited the room and closed Logan's door with a heavy thud. It echoed throughout Logan's cell, stilling their heart and their breath all at once. For a moment, all Logan could do was stare at the door. They briefly caught Roman moving out of the corner of their eye, but they couldn't react. They couldn't move. They couldn't breathe.

Then, all at once, they screamed.

And screamed.

Logan's leather locked hands found their face, and they pressed their palms into their eyes. Tears soaked their wrists and arms, and they choked on their breath. They screamed until their throat felt raw and their voice barely whispered. They cried until their tears no longer fell and their eyes ached. They shook until their body ached, and they collapsed onto their side. Logan didn't remember curling in on their side on the bed, but they didn't particularly care.

The one person they wanted to keep safe, the one person they wanted to be free, the one person that Logan wanted to be safe more than anyone else was here in this hell.

And it was all their fault.

They should've erased Virgil from their memory when they had the chance.

But they couldn't, could they? They had to be selfish. They had to keep Virgil alive in their memory and think of him to make themselves think they were a better person, that there was a reason they were here and not free, that they had something to exist for.

Now, if Virgil was here, what was the point?

Logan didn't remember falling asleep, but they must've. Their whole body ached, and they slowly sat up to blink awareness into their surroundings. Hopefully, yesterday didn't happen. Hopefully, it was all a bad dream, and they only dreamed Virgil ended up in this hell. 

Logan looked to their right, and they hummed, even if their voice burned their throat. Roman sat on the floor and faced the glass, his forehead pressed against it and eyes closed. He must've fallen asleep against it as well. When he woke, Logan would ask if yesterday was a dream. Hopefully Roman would clarify it was a nightmare, and Virgil wasn't here.

"Roman?" Logan questioned. Their voice barely reached a whisper. If their voice was this raw, that meant- they swallowed through the pain and tried again. "Roman." 

Roman didn't stir. How long was he lying there against the glass? Usually, he only did when Logan was in distress. For some reason, Roman didn't like watching Logan suffer. Logan's heart ached. 

If Roman was there, that meant… that meant there was a good chance yesterday was real.

Logan felt hot tears rush to their eyes again. They didn't think there were any tears left, but apparently, they were wrong. They quickly wiped them away and took a shuddering breath. Hands gripped the mattress so hard they matched the color of the white sheets.

Slowly, Roman sat up. He blinked and looked from side to side. Logan stared, waiting for Roman to become aware of his surroundings. Roman caught Logan's eye, and he put both his hands against the glass.

"Good morning," Logan said, making both of them flinch at the sound. 

Roman asked, "Are you okay?"

With a shaky breath, Logan replied, "No."

Roman's eyes looked down at that. His shoulders moved as he took a breath in and out, and he slightly nodded his head. Logan waited for Roman to sign something, but he was silent, and not because of the muzzle.

Logan stared straight ahead and let their mind wander. Dr. William said if they complied, he'd let Logan see Virgil. Perhaps they could explain everything. Virgil would listen, right?

Of course, Virgil was so anti-government that he might not listen, and he might get hurt before Logan could even reach him. That thought hurt Logan the most.

Roman knocked on the glass, catching Logan's attention again. They looked over, and Roman signed something too fast for Logan to catch. Logan squinted, and Roman growled behind his muzzle. He tried again much slower.

What you… do- oh! What are you going to do?

"I don't know," Logan responded. Their voice couldn't reach above a whisper, but they still responded nonetheless.

Roman sighed and looked down, nodding his head ever so slightly. Logan didn't know if it was in agreement or sympathy, but it didn't matter. They settled into silence again, as they always did since it was usually a one sided vocal conversation.

Roman waited a long time before he started signing again.

"What are you sorry for?" Logan asked. "You didn't do this. I-" their throat locked up and they cleared their throat- "I did."

Roman ever so slightly shook his head no, but really it looked like his head was twitching. Logan asked once if the muzzle made his muscles stiff, and Roman responded with something that stilled Logan's breath. They couldn't imagine not being able to move their neck or speak.

They wondered what Roman's voice sounded like. Every time the muzzle was removed, Roman was out of the room and far away from Logan. They wondered why. Why wouldn't they allow Roman to speak to them? Was his voice that dangerous?

Roman moved again, and Logan tried their best to concentrate. He said something about the institution, they thought, and another thing about Virgil- Virgil being fine. Logan took a deep breath.

"I sure hope so."

--

Two days passed. Logan got food on both days, and thankfully they only lost it once. They were smart enough to eat half then save the rest for later, hoping that eating the food gradually would ease their stomach into keeping food down. 

On the second day, two scientists came to take Roman. Logan watched as Roman didn't resist but didn't allow the scientists to touch him either. Logan watched and waited. It was all they could really do.

Time traveled slowly without Roman. Logan had to admit, as much as Roman annoyed Logan with his constant need for attention and fast hand signals, they enjoyed his company. Roman gave Logan something to focus on. He was always checking on them, making sure they were alright after experimentation. He was there when Logan couldn't see after the black ooze took away their vision for a whole day. He was there when Logan didn't comply and Roman paid the price, a fierce determination in his eyes telling Logan not to worry about him (Logan did, but they'd never tell Roman that). He was there when Logan got thrown into isolation, writing his name over and over until Logan finally picked up on the invisible letters up.

Logan laid down on their bed and waited. It was all they really could do. They found their eyelids growing heavy. Strange, they never felt this tired before Roman got back, especially when the doctors came for him early in the morning, and with no clock or sun, Logan had no idea how to tell how long they'd been waiting.

When Logan woke up, Roman still wasn't back. They started pacing. Roman would be back. His experimentation was just taking longer than usual. That's all it was. Logan was overwhelmed with eating, which would raise their serotonin level, which would make them more tired than normal. It was biological science.

When a plate with food slid through the bottom of the door, Logan knew a whole day had passed. They couldn't bring themselves to eat a bite. Something… something happened. Something was wrong. Why wasn't Roman back yet? Did he get moved out of isolation? No, Dr. William wouldn't move him. He knew Roman meant something to Logan. However, with the arrival of Virgil, he could've moved Roman to make Logan feel more alone.

And darn, it was working.

Logan stopped pacing eventually and settled on staring at the door. Watching. Waiting. Watching and waiting. Watching and waiting for Roman to return. Watching his hope disappear with each breath. Waiting for someone to tell him something happened to Roman and he wouldn't come back.

Somehow, that made Logan feel worse than not knowing where Roman was.

As the day went on, Logan's eyes started to droop once again. However, no matter how many times they closed their eyes, they couldn't stop thinking of Roman. Sometimes they opened them to see if Roman came back. Sometimes they woke up because Roman did come back, but horribly beaten and bruised. Thankfully when they opened their eyes, they discovered it was just a dream, but it still didn't answer their question.

Was Roman okay?

Was Roman even still alive?

Another plate slid under Logan's door. They couldn't even take a bite without feeling sick. Two. Two days. Two days and Roman still hadn't come back. Where was he? What was going on? Logan walked over to the door and started to pound on it.

"Can anyone hear me?" they yelled through. "Please, I just need an answer."

Any answer. Anything was better than this… this waiting. Waiting and Watching. Waiting for the inevitable bad news. Watching for Roman's dead body to come through the door.

Logan sat in the middle of their floor. Their fingers wove together as they rested leather fingers against their lips. Nothing felt real anymore. They lost track of how long they stared at the door. They lost track of the footsteps passing by. They didn't particularly care if they lasted another day. They just wanted to know Roman was okay.

A lock clicked, and Logan's head snapped over to Roman's room. However, Roman's door didn't open. It was theirs. Logan jolted to their feet and took two steps back. Two scientists, the same two that walked through the door to take Roman, stood in Logan's doorway. Logan set their jaw and swallowed hard.

"Good morning, Subject #240," one greeted. The other grabbed onto Logan's bicep. The gentle squeeze reminded them that any chance of escape would be met with discipline. If it wasn't for the thought of Virgil being somewhere in the facility, Logan wouldn't have cared.

"Where are we going?" Logan asked.

"Your presence is required," was what the scientist answered.

The trio weaved through the hallways, the sound of misery clashing with the sound of their heavy boots on the floor. Logan's bare feet barely made a noise. They watched door after door passed them by. Was Virgil behind one of them? Did he even know why?

The doors to the injection room opened, and Logan blinked the bright light away from their vision. They squinted and caught sight of the restraining table in the middle of the floor.

Dr. Patrickson stalked around the table and scribbled something on his clipboard. He didn't even look up as he spoke, "Strap him down."

Logan swallowed back the "them" in their throat. No correction of pronouns ever worked, and all it did was make their life unpleasant. They allowed the other two scientists to place them against the table, lock their wrists and ankles to the table, and strap the last one over their chest and arms. The cold metal gave Logan some feeling back in their body, but for the most part, they were still completely numb.

"Did you sleep well?" Dr. Patrickson asked.

Logan simply stared back.

After a few seconds of waiting, Dr. Patrickson sighed and shook his head. "Need I remind you that any form of defiance will be met with discipline. Are you willing to accept that risk?"

"Clearly," Logan responded.

Dr. Patrickson glanced up from his clipboard and caught Logan's eye. He sighed and tapped his pen against the paper.

"That's unfortunate," Dr. Patrickson responded. He set the clipboard down and walked behind Logan. Logan tried to follow his movements, but they couldn't see anything behind the metal table they were strapped to. Instead, they decided to focus straight ahead into the black nothingness.

"May I ask why I've been brought in today?" Logan asked.

Logan waited for a response, but Dr. Patrickson didn't offer one. They rested their head against the cool table and took as deep a breath as the strap would allow them to.  Dr. Patrickson returned to the corner of their vision, and Logan moved their eyes over to look at him. From there, Logan's ears, eyes, and throat were checked for any ailments. Every time Logan was asked a question about their health, they gave short answers. Their heart rate was checked next, along with their blood pressure and blood sugar.

"Your sugar levels are low," Dr. Patrickson mumbled. "Haven't you been eating? You've been scheduled to get a meal every day."

"I couldn't keep anything down," Logan responded.

"Patient is experiencing nausea," Dr. Patrickson said as he scribbled down Logan's response on the paper. "Any other issues, such as headache, coughing, sneezing, physical pains?"

Logan thought hard about their answer. Their heart ached, their muscles ached, their eyes ached… everything. However, they knew why, and it wasn't because of an illness.

"Where is Roman?" Logan finally answered.

Dr. Patrickson looked up at that, and he met Logan's steely blue eyes. He sighed and nodded his head. "I see. You're worried sick."

"I haven't seen him for two days and have no idea what his physical condition is. Of course I would be," Logan responded. They bit back the biting addition to their response in their throat, knowing no good would come from saying it.

"Roman is fine."

Logan waited for any other explanation. They watched as Dr. Patrickson stepped out of their vision once again, and Logan swallowed hard.

They mumbled, "I don't believe you."

"I don't blame you," Dr. Patrickson responded with a light laugh. "I wouldn't believe me either."

"Where is Roman?" Logan asked again, a little more forceful.

Dr. Patrickson sighed. His footsteps closed in on Logan once again, and he ignored Logan to write once again. Logan's stomach boiled. They squeezed their hands into fists and gave an experimental tug under the metal bars. They knew they couldn't break free from experience, but it wouldn't hurt to try, would it? 

"Where is Roman?!" Logan yelled. Their voice echoed throughout the room and stilled Dr. Patrickson's movements.

"Mind. Your. Tone," was all Dr. Patrickson responded with.

Logan swallowed hard, their jaw clenched shut. Their chest strained against the restraint as they took sharp breaths. Why wasn't he answering them? What happened to Roman?

Dr. Patrickson finally turned around to face Logan. He put the clipboard down on the table beside them and leaned in close. Logan stared back. They refused to let the scientists intimidate them with too close glares.

"Roman is fine," Dr. Patrickson repeated. "Now, since our physical examination is over, when you return to your cell, and I expect you to eat. I can conduct our next experiment without your vital signs being normal, but I'd prefer not to."

"And why is that?" Logan asked.

"Because I've seen what happens if I don't," Dr. Patrickson answered. They stood, and they grabbed a walkie talkie. "Subject #240 is ready for transport to the next location. Vital signs are too low to continue with Subject #90 today."

"Is that what happened to Roman?" Logan asked. "Did you hurt him?"

Dr. Patrickson sighed and put the walkie talkie down. He turned and chuckled low under his breath. Without another word, he opened the door and stepped outside. The door closed with a heavy click.

"I've done everything you've asked of me," Logan yelled at nothing. Their head fell against the table, and they took calming breaths. Their voice whispered, "I did… everything, so why…"

Why was everyone they were close to getting hurt?

The door opened, and Logan waited for the restraints around their wrists, chest, and legs to be unlocked. They stood, and two strong hands grabbed their arms. They thought about running. They thought about racing after Dr. Patrickson and choking the answers out of him. However, they also knew no good would come from it, so there was no point in trying. 

Virgil's life was still on the line.

To Logan's surprise, they weren't led back to their room. They were instead brought down a long hallway to the normal experiment holding cells. Logan wondered if the scientists were moving them from isolation, but their hopes were dashed when they were pulled into the testing room. The door opened, and Logan stepped inside.

If they ate something, they would've surely lost it.

Strapped down to the chair in front of them were too familiar brown eyes, too familiar brown hair,  too familiar twitchy motions, too familiar panicked eyes, a too familiar locked jaw-

"Virgil," Logan whispered.

Dr. William stood behind Virgil, who struggled against the strong bars around his wrists. His eyes never left Logan, a fear in them that Logan never wanted to see. 

"I am a man of my word if anything," Dr. William said. His sickening smile spread across his lips. "A deal is a deal, Logan."

"Logan," Virgil said as he stopped struggling. His voice scratched against his throat like he misused it for hours. Logan wondered if that was the case.

The hands holding Logan's arms released, but Logan made no move toward or away from Virgil. They didn’t even notice the leather gloves being unlocked from their wrists. Their entire body froze in place, and they simply watched as Virgil sat completely still in their chair. Waiting. Watching. Waiting for the worst. Watching to see if Logan would hurt him.

"However, in order to keep seeing Virgil, there's something you need to do for me," Dr. William said.

"Of course," Logan responded. "Nothing ever comes free."

"Exactly. See, you do learn quickly." Dr. William leaned against the back of Virgil's chair, a move that irritated Logan. He continued, "I want you to restore Virgil's lost memories of you."

"What?" Logan and Virgil both said at once.

"You," Virgil breathed out. "You're the one- you're why I can't- what is he talking about?"

Logan swallowed hard. "I… I cannot do that. I haven't learned how."

"Well, no better subject to learn how to. Think about it. You restore Virgil's memories, and you get your friend back. It's a win-win, really."

Dr. William walked past Virgil and patted Logan's shoulder. Logan flinched, but they didn't move from their spot.

"Take your time. I'll give you an hour to figure it out. Don't worry if you can't, though. I'll let you try again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that." Dr. William leaned in close. "But just know, the longer you wait, the worse it is for Roman."

Logan smacked William's hand away and glared daggers. The motion brought a sharp grin to Dr. William's face, and he walked toward the door. He whispered something to the people outside of the room, and the door closed with a stomach dropping slam, leaving the two trapped people inside alone.

--