Hidden Sunlight - 9. Beautiful Resolve

His sense was amplified, a paragon of control and delegation. The heightened awareness of spatial location, moving bodies, relative mass and potential strength was judged well and weighted with a pinpoint degree of threat-analysis. Keenly anticipating with a rigour that was unsurpassed by the normal human mind, Mira was more prepared than his opponents knew. He could tell it, for while his hunter imperative was built from the necessity of killing for supplement, the food of the body; in the alternate aspect, the guise of the assassin was active to finish anything that threatened the primacy of his motivations.

Four men were closest and had slowed to a halt just shy of his location. Two were nearly straight in front, two more were split on either side, directly to the left and right. A final more distant pair still approached, their speed curtailed now the chase was done. Their target was motionless, the need for haste removed.

A gauge of temperament revealed points of interest. Left was wary and reticent, his cardinal distrust of seemingly harmless situations showing in the painfully tight grip upon his weapon, and in the sweating uncertainty about his skill to prosecute the cause. Right was a larger specimen and bold, the opposite; a heady masculine overconfidence, too satisfied that he was capable against a mere child. The forward two were different again; centre-left was eager to fire his weapon, his trigger hand too solidly coiled. Centre-right was patient and the most level head of the four. Their stances spoke to him, and his was silent in response, a cloak of real intent and skill. He allowed the veneer to show; he was but a boy, young and untested, surely minimal danger. Frightened, motionless above a downed ally, he was alone and outmatched. What kind of threat was this?

"Copy that, Theta Three." One of the approaching pair spoke into his communicator. His tone was command and he carried a swagger of importance that none of the others had. No direct understanding of the terms was needed for Mira to glean meaning. The four near him were stationary and waiting; then the commanding presence spoke again, no acknowledgment this time but supplying instruction. "Apprehend and subdue, non lethal force only. Two and Six, take point. Four and Five, support."

Designated pawns in the battlefield topography of his hawk eye, the left and right, 'Two' and 'Six,' closed those few metres of distance as they were commanded to move. First to enter his sphere of physical reach was Two, the left. His confidence had expanded, the reticence gone, doubts purged and eager now to perform the superior's behest. Breach of that sphere was the final signal and the immaculate ballet of Mira's killer's finesse kicked into overdrive

Neural transmissions intensified and became a synaptic avalanche; the butt of the rifle flying toward his head as the opening act of subjugation was as inconsequential as a child's attempt at combat, uncoordinated and hopelessly insufficient. From Mira’s view, it was sluggish, despite the speed with which the adversary believed it was swung. His opponents were reduced to comparative slow motion, and although it was not literally the case, his perception understood the disproportionate speed in this light. The boy's reflexes were severely sharper, his sinew and muscle more precise and unerringly well calculated, than the most concentrated reactions of the six before him.

Easily evading, he dipped to the right and forward, and it soared past his face. The man was still well balanced, but Mira's repositioned dodge was placed just so. With a nimble step past Two, but still close, he grabbed the arm and pulled in tune with the momentum as it went by. Two's speed increased as Mira threw him more into his own strike, but before he realised the melee was missed, a tripping left foot was planted by an ankle at the prime place. Inertia took hold, the legs stopping and the upper body flying forward. The man made an unintended dive for the pavement, the boy's left foot skipping free as soon as the stumble was initiated. Turning, Mira's right foot followed him down, the heel striking the back of the skull as the man landed on the pavement face first. The sound of impact was unquestionable and the first mark was reached.

Pivoting on the left foot without pause, he could feel the looming presence of the second attacker, the shadow of Six's arm approaching from behind. It was reaching for his shoulder, the heavy power-move blatant. Six would use an overpowering of thuggish strength; the tactic was boorishly obvious. The left hand would jerk Mira's left side back, unbalancing him. It would allow Six, who was right-handed, the luxury of a brutal hook with the prized stronger arm, the target grappled and vulnerable. His body language in the preceding seconds had made clear Six’s egotistic arrogance and the high self-regard for his martial prowess. This boy was no challenge for the experience and brawn of a real man.

As Mira dropped his height and fell back a step in one movement, his hands enclosed the man's thick wrist, the questing fingers grasping fruitlessly at air. Then, he was dragged into a throw, the energy of the attack converted into kinetic output, and Mira was boosting Six seamlessly forward over his shoulder. His enemy was big, but with the correct application of leverage, he was near enough to weightless. Six was on his back before his brain could decipher what had occurred, and the simplistic success of the prior mark came right back into play. Mira's heel rammed down full strength into the man's upturned face, repeating the gesture. The second mark was reached.

In a graceful spin, he came back full circle, to land where he had left off, crouching over the firmament of The Other. His position was reassumed, and the enemy was reduced in number, despoiled of opportunity. The space he had to work with was rearranged in his mind, and their coordination and dispositions reassessed.

Fresh words were coming from the commander, angry orders, but Mira was heedless now as the next two, Four and Five, were already on the approach. Furious indignation was beating in opposition to his own cadence of zen as if it were a battle of mentality alone. For Mira, the intersection of the real world and programmed instincts were what drove his interaction and these new men could not grasp this. So basic was it for him to dance around them, an elbow here to break equilibrium, a kick to the back of knee there and then Four, the eager trigger-hasting zealot, was upon his knees.

Mira arrived behind him, his mind alight with wonder and purpose. Were any of them truly combat capable or did he simply meet inferiors of this fighting caste? It did not matter; his hands slid almost lovingly around the man's throat and before he was any the wiser, the position was found. One hand pulled down and across, the other up and at an angle, twisting. There was an unhealthy pop of vertebrae, and the man was limp, toppling forward in rhythm with Mira's improvised plan. The third mark was on cue. Yet as this was done, there came an uncounterable move, an act without mitigation.

He froze.

The other man, Five, had the barrel of his gun jammed in Shay's stomach and his eyes had just come to Mira's face, trained now on the rogue partisan. He was immobilised by this easiest of things. A ferocious will chafed at the immense hold he placed on his actions; wishing to kill this man and to kill the following two that were rapidly advancing. The sound of their boots scuffed as they ran and Mira knew there was no chance at this juncture, that his feint and thrust were not enough. This was the one risk he would never take. The cost of failure was too high. It was his to guard, to cherish and to enshrine in the glorious hopeful warmth of his spirit ... but not to gamble.

Never thus. Shay was sacrosanct.

He did not move and knowingly let the rifle flat strike him this time, eyes only upon the body of his boy. The directives of war were fading and they retreated into the hindmost corners, to be called upon again only in the utmost need. Even as he was forced to his knees and then to the ground itself, he still did not respond nor recognise what was put upon him. The dozens of little wounds and scrapes and the relentless soreness of injury, the fatigue, were just things to be experienced and duly ignored; their context here was as meaningless as his captors' intransigence.

Pain? What use had it? There was none here. He had failed in his exercise of slaughter and this was damning. Ultimately though, even to the last second before unconsciousness, his focus was still upon only one thing.

The Other.

Shay was alive.

Nothing was in vain.

-o-0-O-0-o-

The same dream.

The same place.

The same fear and pursuit, the same flight for my life. It has not changed and it repeats, as it has twice before. The ruins of Aspira fly by, the lifeless nondescript bones of the city. Then, again, that road. The giant creature, a monstrous sharpeling bigger than possible, a hideous parody of fictional evil, a burning black tar-faced demon from the pit of some crazed nightmare.

Just as before, it approaches, the introduction of the words upon the sign behind it a laughable contrast. Welcome to Aspira City, Jewel of Lucere. The scene plays out as I know it will, but I am still no less mortified as I experience it than the first two times. I cannot shake the feeling that it is going to reach me. It does not, although it has nearly crossed the road to where I stand by the time my moment of escape happens.

Then I wake up.

Coming to, my head was throbbing with what felt like a migraine. Woozy, dehydrated, I sat up, my thoughts scattered and slowly piecing together. Fucking hate that dream. My whole body ached with the uncomfortable feeling of having spent a long time lying on a flat hard surface in an unnatural posture. My mouth was dry and my skin felt raw. Scraped, most probably, from the fall off the bike as we left the hospital.

Where am I?

I opened my eyes and was greeted by depressing greyness all around as my vision focused, and then, as I looked up, the sudden and rather unnerving sight of a sharpeling, looking right at me.

The fuck?!

The breath left my body and I gasped in shock, pushing myself backwards along the floor until I bumped against a wall. The creature was fixated, breath rasping as it watched me, alert but passive. It took me a second for the initial shock and fear to fade, and I realised that I was safe and that it couldn’t try anything. The sharpeling was on the other side of a grid of bars, which was part of the room's wall. A cell, as I soon saw; square, about three metres a side, give or take a little.

To my right, the entrance and door, narrow vertical bars ensuring I was locked in. To my left, the rear wall, a small cheerless window near the roof, otherwise a blotchy seamless ending to the room. Both opposite and behind me were adjoining cells, the structure of the walls symmetrical. Though I had awakened on the floor, there were low benches on each side, wide enough to lay on, roughly knee high. From waist height, the solidity of the lower wall became a grid of steel bars to the ceiling, allowing at least the air to move freely between the cells. The bars were far enough apart that I guessed I could probably fit my hand through if I tried. Not that it would help much, since there was nothing in the cell behind me to reach for. The one across from me even less so, as I didn't fancy losing a limb to the sharpeling.

Why would anyone imprison one? I engaged it in a staring contest as I sat up on the bench, rubbing my neck and arms, trying to straighten some of the kinks out of my muscles. The sharpeling's foreclaws were hooked through the bars lower down, the hands brushing the metal as if it wanted to pull the bars out. It probably did, but it knew it couldn't reach me. That wasn't stopping it from getting as close as it physically could though. What's the point in capture? May as well just kill it. Not like they can learn anything new from it, right? Then I realised I didn't really know who 'they' were.

Nor where Mira had gotten to.

Mira ...

Worry welled up within me and I tried not to hyperventilate as my breathing picked up. He wasn't here and I didn't like that. He's better at taking care of himself than me, but why isn't he here? Where did they put him? Despite my knowledge that he was more adept at surviving than I was, logic didn't enter into things. The panic I felt was quite extraordinary and I didn't know how I was meant to deal with it. He needs to come back. I want him to come back. He's going to return to me.

He was going to return to me.

Say it enough times to yourself and it might come true.

I stood and walked to the doorway, the sharpeling matching my position along the wall, moving like an angry shadow. I gave it no attention. As keen as it was to make a meal of me, it was just as well restrained as I was. I could hear the claws scratching at the bars as it gripped them. It hadn't bothered vocalising anything, seeming to know there was no point in making aggressive noises if it couldn't follow through.

The bars of the door were solidly held in place and wouldn't even rattle as I gripped and tried to shake them. Not a chance. I'm locked in here good and proper. Might as well try to wake the dead.

I cleared my throat and drew in a breath. "Hey! Is anyone there?!"

Silence. The faint echo of my voice was the only thing I could hear.

"Hey! Anyone at all!" I called. "Hello?! Please!"

Nothing.

I continued to shout for several more minutes, hoping at least to get some kind of response. A guard, maybe. Anyone at all. I was just about to give up and go back to my staring contest with the sharpeling when there was a sound.

People?

The sound was the impact of door against wall and the effort of someone moving, at least two of them, in a march down the corridor adjacent. I caught a glimpse as they strode by my door, not even looking at me as they went by. They were in uniforms of some kind, a pale sky blue, and were wearing berets, though I didn't see much before they were past. A clicking of keys in lock followed and then the door to the next cell was opening. The men threw a body in, and it fell heavily to the floor and lay there unmoving. The door slid back shut abruptly and clicked into place. There was not even a chance to see the faces of my jailors, but that was already forgotten.

"Mira?" I whispered, my voice breaking. For a few seconds he didn't shift and then slowly, with so much pitiful difficulty, he pushed himself up off the floor with his hands until he was sitting on his feet, kneeling. His head was still forward and he struggled for a moment to stay sitting upright. One hand steadied his balance as it reached out to the floor for support, pushing himself back up. I could see now his shirt was ripped in more than one place, the wound on his arm from the LPHC was reopened and there were fresh abrasions and gashes all over visible skin. Patches of blood had soaked through in many places; there were undoubtedly more than I could see. Maybe even dozens of wounds on his upper body alone, hidden beneath material. His right shoulder sported a trail of bruises running all the way up to his temple, where there was a sizable spot of dried coagulated blood, his hair matted from where it had touched.

Certain things in life you cannot prepare yourself for. No matter how well you imagine your ability to cope has developed, the experience of difficult situations can be more than that. At the worst of times, being there and seeing it could well surpass that capacity to endure. Someone had beaten him up very badly, only stopping short of actually breaking bones. I wasn't even sure of that either.

All I knew right then was that I was woefully unprepared.

It was a storm of feelings. Three major things engulfed me from that storm, the epicentre of it. I was consoled. He's back with me. I was angry. What the fuck is with these people? Most of all, I was distraught. Extremely agitated. It only got worse as he climbed agonisingly slowly onto the bench and collapsed next to me. A ball of frenetic anguished energy bounced around inside my chest. I want to hurt someone and I want to ... lose it completely. He pulled himself up so he was level with me, then lay his head against those bars.

I wish ... I could take away his suffering. Cure his wounds. I laid my head alongside his, our cheeks touching. Mira let out a soft contented sigh as our skin made contact. A myriad of meaning was contained in that little sound. It told me: 'that is my reward for hardship. I get to touch you. It is more than I deserve.' It's maddening and amazing. You're more than I deserve. I didn't even realise how much I was weeping until I felt him move and his fingers brush weakly over the wetness on my cheek.

"Don't cry." Quiet even for a whisper, mellow and gentle. A note of empathy, a simultaneous happiness and sadness reverberated through me as his voice plucked at the heart-strings. His speech always did that to me, the equivalent of nails upon the chalkboard in how unsettling it was, only in a thoroughly wonderful way.

"Mira ... " I whispered back. Try to at least be coherent. "I see you in pain and- ... I hate it. It's horrible." It makes me feel so powerless, so useless.

His head turned so his forehead was resting on the bars, not his cheek. I did the same, his eyes roaming tiredly over my face as he leaned there. He wants to see me and I want him to look. That feeling of connection. I can't get enough of that. I felt his hand grasp mine as it lay loosely over the divide where the wall met the bars. His fingers wove between mine and latched us together, and then he actually smiled. That same smile as the first time we had kissed, so full of joy and ardour. The one that made me feel as if I were walking on air and my chest was full of helium.

"Shay." As soft as before and equally as melodious. His reply was laboured, from the stress of finding the words and from just speaking them, a trial in its own right. "You ... are ... " Then, a long pause as he made the massive conscious effort to bridge the barrier of language and find what he sought. Then he found it.

"Beautiful."

Exhausted, he turned to his side again. His head came back to where it was and I didn't let go of his hand as I pressed back in beside him. His fingers meshed with mine and his bloodstained cheek pressed against my tearstained one. As we fell asleep that way, there was a realisation about what all these reactions and emotions meant. I was completing a path of discovery I didn't even know I had begun, and this was an ending point. An ending point that also opened up a whole wide world of potential, for where my life was to go next. The mass of ups and downs I'd gone through over the last few days; the highs and lows that were practically bipolar in nature. It was a yo-yo of feelings that were all connected somehow to this boy. What little doubt I had remaining was thrown out, right then and there.

I want a future with him in it.

I will fight for him.

I love him.

-o-0-O-0-o-

Another full day of restless waiting passed. They took Mira again and though I knew there was no point in protest, every part of me wanted to scream at them as they hauled him out. Then, several hours later, back again, hanging between them. They dumped him on the cell floor. Unable to even move, he just lay there. It got to me so much that I couldn't even watch him. The sight disturbed me.

More than that, it bred a great despairing hatred.

I spent the rest of that evening engaged in a new staring match with the sharpeling. Though it was keen in observation of me, from time to time it would break, then circle its own cell, doing a lap. Whether to break the monotony or for some other reason related to the unknowable world of sharpeling psychology, I wasn't sure. In a strange way, despite the murderous instincts of the creature, I started to feel almost sorry for it and even found myself beginning to hate the humans around here more. Sharpelings didn't repeatedly beat someone, they just killed. Brutally and effectively, no doubt, but that was all it was. Their motivations were no more than that. Hunt and kill.

Torture never came into it.

The second day, I was woken up and dragged out of my cell instead of Mira. Pushed along a passage until suddenly, there was sunshine. The brightness and warmth was pleasant compared with the cold isolation of the cell and I got a chance to survey my surroundings before I was forced to sit, a lone chair in front of an officer.

High stone walls. Vehicles, military packing containers. It was a compound, somewhere in the countryside, as I could hear the distant sound of birdsong, a hauntingly displaced sound for a mercenary operation like this. There were a decent number of men, maybe a couple dozen. All were in uniforms and were busy doing different things. Some cleaning weapons, some working out, some just talking idly. That was all I got to see before I was being spoken to.

"I hope you will be more forthcoming." The speaker had a detectable French accent, though it wasn't strong and like Konstantin, his English felt perfectly natural and fluent. He was tall and whipcord slim, with close cropped black hair and a long angular nose, thin lips, and incisive eyes. There were pins of some kind on his uniform, maybe for rank. While it seemed he had less obvious mass than the other men I'd seen, his movements were all sinew and lean muscle and I knew instantly that he was dangerous.

"You can address me as Le Renard." High-handed, superior. He doesn't scare me in the same way as León, but he feels like he fits into that category of bastard. He was looking down at me as I stared up at him. Cold and deliberate. "You at least have a voice. We've heard it. So I will have your name."

Like fuck you will.

I remained silent.

The thump of the blow snapped my head around and cut my mouth at the edge of the lip. Painfully, I sat back up again. Shrug it off. The same cold expression, the emotionless edge.

"I will not tolerate rudeness. I speak, you answer. What is your name?"

I glared at him, refusing.

THUMP. Just as strong, just as quick.

"This will continue until you learn. What is your name?"

Son of a bitch. Coughing, I wiped my lip, a streak of red on my hand. "Shay," I told him in a guttural growl. He smiled coolly, until I gave the addendum. "You cowardly motherfucker."

The smile became a frown, but he did not hit me again. "So you are the one. This I did not expect." He regarded me now with a different kind of interest, a curiosity. "What a mouth you have too. A pity your friend was so unwilling."

I don't care if he knocks out all my teeth, I'm going to give this son of a bitch a piece of my mind. "Go FUCK yourself! You beat him half to death and why?! You're nothing but scum! Gutless snakes!"

Thwack! The third blow was the same as the first two, though I sat back up quicker this time, refusing to let it faze me. Backbone. I'm not giving them anything.

"Your commando friend killed three of my Lambda group. He is a killer, my men are killers. They play the same game. If you lose, you pay. He was caught, he lost and now the penalty is his. Do not expect any sympathy."

Suddenly, his treatment made a bit more sense. They know he's the dangerous one and they want vengeance for their own. At the same time though, I didn't feel a shred of sympathy for those dead men either. They were shooting at us, what did they expect? But ... wow ... Mira killed three of them! Despite myself, I felt a surge of pride. It was a hollow victory since we'd been captured anyway, but there was a warm glow of satisfaction knowing he'd fought so hard. My Mira beat three of these military fuckers. He did it on his own, for me. He's that awesome.

"So, now you will tell me where you are from." It wasn't a question, and he stayed standing as stiffly and formally as he had from the beginning. "Not only this, but what you were doing in Lorentz."

"You recognised my name, so you know where I came from." Then, a sudden leap of intuition that made a perfect logical fit. Why didn't I think of that before? "I bet it was you that dealt with León, wasn't it? You seem like the sort he'd know how to talk to. Well, just so you know," I informed him, "he's dead. That's why you haven't heard from him. He had his throat ripped open because he made a very foolish mistake."

Le Renard's face stayed impassive and remote, but there was a flicker of surprise and concern in his eyes. Bingo. Now I know who these people are. Mention of the Spanish name was unexpected and most probably unwanted. He changed tack. "It is no short distance from the next province to Lorentz and you come to a hospital." Then, a pause, no question. He was thinking. "A hospital, to use old electronics, as I'm told. Well, Shay, in that case, maybe you know something more about the inhibitor locations?"

Inhibitor locations? Not a clue what he's talking about. I just stared back at him, but before the interrogation could go any further a man marched up to Le Renard and stopped next to him. He gave a swift salute and the officer turned to him. The man glanced at me questioningly. "Sir?"

"Ignore the prisoner. Speak."

"Yes sir." He acknowledged. "The lieutenant sent word. He wants them brought to him."

"Mmm. Have you spoken with Klaus?"

"No sir."

"Tell him I am making the call. We'll leave this afternoon. Inform the lieutenant too, we'll be there tomorrow with both prisoners and the remains of Lambda."

The man nodded, saluted sharply and walked off. Le Renard turned back to me. Indifferent, he began to talk and it took me second to realise he wasn't speaking to me, but to the men behind me who had hauled me from the jail to begin with. "Ledder, you heard. Go find Jankowski and get prepped to move." I heard the rustle as he snapped to attention behind me, then he left. Le Renard addressed the other. "Riley, get this insolent child out of my sight."

"Yes sir." Then a momentary gap before Riley asked a question back. "Um, do you care if I ... y'know."

"Him?" The Frenchman glanced down at me. A smirk crossed over his face and his eyes flicked back up to the man behind me. "Hartley only said alive, nothing else. I don't give a shit what you get up to, just save it for the road and don't disgrace me. Got it?"

Save it for the road? What is he talking about? An uncomfortable feeling settled in my stomach as he pulled me off the chair and began to shepherd me back into the jail building. He released me back into my cell, the door clicking shut. To my surprise he didn't leave straight away. A glance along the passageway to make sure he wasn't being observed. Uh oh. What does he want from me?

Involuntarily, I backed up a step from the door. Riley leaned forward a little, so he was at my head height, I guess trying not to frighten me away. If you're making like to not scare me, this behaviour is creeping me out. If this is going where I think it's going ...

"Hey kid," he called, soft and clear.

"Y-yeah?"

A friendly smile. "You're a nice lookin' boy," he murmured. "Anyone ever told you that?"

Oh god. Oh GOD. I wanted to back away but I locked my muscles in place. Control yourself. Don't let him see how freaked out you are. Don't let any of these fuckwads mess with your head. Keep it together. For Mira.

I shook my head.

"Pity. You're just right." His eyes ran over me from head to toe. "Yeah, reeeal fine." A beat, as I fought down the feelings of horror, the crawling revulsion that wanted to make me react to him. Not going to let it win. "You're coming on mission with us. Let's just say that me and you are gonna get to know each other a bit better."

You're a fucking paedophile and I- ... I won't let you. I didn't know how, but I'd find a way out.

"I bet you'd like that, huh?" He smirked. "Your friend, nippy and vicious as hell. Man, you shoulda seen it. He fought like you were his personal bitch. You two had it going on, I know it. Bet he was givin' it to ya, am I right?"

Don't bite. Don't say ANYTHING.

"Huh." He studied my face a second, searching for a clue, since I wasn't saying a word. He's never going to know, and you can't let him. "Well, it's like this. I know you want it and Renny isn't much fun to be around, but he lets me do my thing. So I'll make you a deal. Be a good boy, play along, give it up when I say and I'll make sure you have it easy. Be a bad boy and I'll just take it, rough-like. So you got yourself a choice. Simple."

I kept my silence.

"Come on Shay, what do you say buddy? You're gonna like it. Learn it from a man."

I stared at him. He wasn't actually bad looking. Well built, a sort of perpetual smug look to his eyes as if he knew how smart and handsome he was. Very masculine and clean cut. If he wasn't extorting me and soliciting sex, he'd seem like a nice enough guy. Pretty big 'if.' He looked at me expectantly, a luring harmless 'just give in and have some fun' grin aimed full force at me. This guy isn't stupid, he's dangerous. Think! Shay, you are smarter than him. He's underestimating you, thinking he can manipulate you and play the power game because you're a kid. That you're still that dumb piece of meat to be used and abused by an adult like him because he's in a position where he can do it. Play along, alright, just more than he thinks. Turn that against him.

Remember? For Mira.

I forced a shy smile, as natural and coy as I could make it. Tentative, I nodded, suppressing the disgusted nauseous feeling it generated inside. That's the way. Play right into his hands. Clueless school-boy who needs a 'real man.' Exactly the kind of thing this pervert would get off on. Just what he wants to see.

"Atta boy." His grin widened and he nodded, half to himself. Standing fully upright, he gave me another visual once-over and then he was away, striding down the passageway between the cells.

My shoulders were shaking from the fear and adrenaline I had squashed inside me was now escaping into actual tremours. The sharpeling, interestingly, was clinging to the cell door instead of next to my wall, following the soldier with curiosity as he exited past it. Yeah, you and me have a common goal.

"You're going to regret it," I growled under my breath, in the direction Riley had retreated. So will Le Renard, if I can do anything at all about it.

I would make sure of it.

-o-0-O-0-o-

For whatever reason, we were kept in the dark, literally as well as figuratively, about exactly where it was we were going. A hood was put over my head as soon as I emerged from the prison so that I wasn't even sure what sort of vehicle we were in. It wasn't removed when we were inside either, and all I could feel for the next couple of hours as we drove was the vibration of metal and occasionally a change in momentum and direction, as we turned along some new route.

Finally, the engine cut out and then one of the men was grabbing my arms, hustling me outside. I heard the Frenchman's voice, giving orders and another unidentified speaker. He had an accent too, a heavy one, but he was speaking at a distance, the sound muffled. I soon discovered they were constructing tents because not too much later, I was being dragged again, this time onto a canvas floor.

The hood came off and I found myself sitting on a military fold-out cot. We were inside a tent, as I thought. Mira was sitting on an identical bed, his hands and feet chained and padlocked, the hood still over his head. Yep, they're definitely more scared of him than me. He was sitting perfectly still, his hands demurely in his lap, the various signs of physical trauma still bloodily apparent. Don't look at him too much. Keep them ignorant. I forced myself not to stare at him, even though I was drawn to his presence and the desire to tend to him was strong. He was close enough for me to reach out and touch.

They can't know.

The soldier that had unhooded me was the one I hadn't met yet. His face was blank, clear and very impersonal. He was sitting down in a field chair and starting to deconstruct his weapon as I turned my attention to him. He was the one that got stuck with guard duty.

He was cleaning it, the pieces lying in a small pile on the floor. Despite myself, it was fascinating to watch. He was clearly not interested in having an audience, as when he realised I was watching he spoke.

"It's Lambda One or Jankowski. Either talk or quit fuckin' staring."

"Sorry." I mumbled, looking away. Not big on social nicety these guys.

He grunted, brushing off my apology. "Where did your friend learn his shit? Never seen a kid fight like that before."

Damn right you haven't. "He's a natural."

He gave me a disbelieving glare as he began slotting the rifle back together. "Natural? No one is a natural like that. He's amped on some fuckin' thing." He shot a glance at Mira, motionless behind his cloth faceguard, then back to me. An arrogant sneer twisted across his face. "Lambda beat it out of him though. None of that bullshit gonna fly while we're on duty."

I willed myself to remain expressionless. Every single fucking thing they say, it's trying to cut me. I will not let them see. The seething anger was beyond powerful, but I didn't let it show. Now I know, the remains of this Lambda, they're the three that Mira didn't kill. It was them, specifically, that beat him. They made him suffer and all of them must be with me, here, now. That makes it even easier for me. Any chance of feeling the slightest bit of empathy was gone.

No remorse.

There was a brief glint of daylight as Riley entered the tent. Jankowski rammed the last piece of the rifle back into place and inserted the magazine. Standing, he punched the other man in the shoulder. "What took you so damn long? Been aching to take a piss and have a nap."

"Listening to Klaus lecture me on whatever." He shrugged. "How long am I good for?"

"Got a while. Ledder's on watch and Renny is relaxing," Jankowski told him. He looked at me then back to the other man. "You're a sick pervert, you know that? Just don't make too much fuckin' noise."

Then the squad command was gone and it was me and ... him. He looked down at me, then he peeled off his jacket and cast it on the floor, in the front left corner by the entrance. It made a jingling sound as it landed and the noise captured my imagination. Clinking? What could he carry that's clinking?

"Remember our deal. You gonna be a good boy?"

"Uh-huh." I nodded and faked the smile again. That's it. Tell him. Make him believe you're coming around to it, that it turns you on. I lowered my voice a bit and it went huskier. "To tell the truth, I think ... I- ... I do want it." I bit my lip and swallowed nervously. "It's only been boys. Not properly. Not, uh, a man."

I could read him instantly. A satisfied 'I knew it all along' look took over. "Thought so. Knew you wanted a bit more than that." A look indicating Mira, still trussed up where he was.

Unexpectedly, he stepped out of the tent and a second later was a back inside. A small cast iron frying pan was in his hand. He poked a fork into a sausage sitting in the pan and offered it to me. "Hungry? You're going to need your energy."

I was starving and didn't hesitate in taking it. Riley watched me with some amusement, stowing the pan under the chair as I ate. Don't care if he's going to molest me, I do need energy whatever the circumstances. I was wiping my hands on my pants as he sat down on the bed next to me. His hand fell across my back, the arm rubbing my neck.

"Your skin, so sweet." His voice was right by my ear and I felt his tongue touch my collarbone, the stubble scratching. "I've been thinking about you since earlier." Sloppy wet kisses went on my neck and I shuddered. The feeling was creepy and not at all arousing. Shay, what have you got yourself into? Think think think. Slow it down!

"Wait!" I blurted. "I need to piss."

"It can wait."

"No, please," my plea was desperate as I could make it. "I really need to go."

An unimpressed grunt. "Fine." He stood up. "Follow me."

As we passed outside, I gave the discarded jacket further thought, mind racing in the very limited time I had. He was carrying something in his pocket that's metallic and jingles. What would it be? Jankowski didn't make a sound like that when he moved, and he was meant to be here on guard duty, but he gave it to Riley so this fucker could 'spend time' with me. What would Riley be carrying that the other guy wouldn't? Must be something that's not supposed to be here, just like Riley. The answer was obvious and it came to me in a flash as Riley pulled me to a grass verge and shamelessly watched me as I peed. Keys! Padlock keys! They would have to be kept wherever Mira wasn't, since they'd be worried about him getting free, but Riley is breaking the rules right now, so ... they're in the same place.

The jacket was an opening. A weakness.

Being outside also gave me a few seconds to see the layout. It was mid afternoon and we were on some old rest-stop just off the road in the middle of nowhere. There were four tents pitched and Ledder was sitting in a gunner's seat on top of one of the vehicles, facing lazily up the road. I didn't get long to see though as Riley was already pulling me back to the tent. He nudged me in first and then announced he needed to relieve himself too.

A few seconds, alone.

Now is your chance.

I reached down, picking up the jacket. Left pocket, nothing. Right pocket. Keyring. At least half a dozen keys on it. Fuck yes ... but I'll never get Mira free before he gets back. I don't have anywhere to hide them either. Fuck!

"What are you doing?"

Riley's voice startled me. He was much quicker than I thought he'd be. He plucked the jacket out of my hands, making a tutting sound as he did. "That's not for you to play with. Be a good boy now, go and wait on the bed. "

Ducking back out of the tent, the jacket was spirited away from me, keys inside it. The one chance I had of setting Mira free and I had messed it up. Fuck! There has to be something else, there has to be. Think! I stared at the canvas floor in frustration, desperation. He's going to be back any second now and then, he's going to rape you. That's what will happen and you know it. This could be your only opportunity, your last one, to find another way out. Think! There had to be something.

Then, like a ray of perfect light through the wretched despondency and dejection of the ordeal I was facing, it came to me.

It was really right in front of me all along.

When Riley stepped back into the room, I was lying on the bed obediently, just as he'd asked. Not hesitating, he came straight across to me and climbed onto it, looming above me. "Enough messing round," he purred, his conceited grin steeling my resolve. His hands came down on either side of my head and I felt the weight of his body lower over mine. His mouth came to my neck again and I willingly reached up, wrapping my arms around his shoulder, pressing my body against his. "Can I be on top?" I whispered. "I like being on top."

"You little slut," he spat. Turning onto his side, he pushed me out and swapped us around so he was on his back and I was lying on him. My confidence building, I sat up, sliding forward so I was sitting directly on his crotch, my knees on the bed on either side of his waist.

Perfect.

I undulated, grinding onto his hips. His breathing began to pick up and he stared up at me with that smarmy grin on his face. Yeah, you're getting everything you want, aren't you? "You really are a little slut." He grunted as I moved and I forced the sexiest smile onto my face. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard. You're gonna love it."

I reached down as I moved my hips, running my fingers over his bicep. "Can you take your shirt off? Oh, I love your muscles," I cooed, sweet as honey. "I want to feel them when I'm riding you."

I didn't need to ask twice. More than happy to oblige, he was stripping off his shirt and flinging it to the side. His eyes came back to my face, a hungry sickening look. I brushed my hands across his pectorals. You have no clue at all. "That's exactly how I like it," I hummed. Leaning forward over his chest, my mouth hovered next to his ear. My right hand slid along the bed's end, an imitation of support.

"There's just one more thing," I whispered.

"What?"

"This is for Mira, you pervert."

Lightning fast, I whipped the fork out of the chink in the bed frame and stabbed it down with all my strength into his right eye. I didn't stop until it was buried as far as I could push it into his eye socket. It was done quickly enough that he didn't even have a chance to scream and he was already dead.

Take that.

Climbing off the body, the first thing I did was cross to Mira and pull the hood off his head. As soon as he saw me, his eyes lit up and all the shit that we'd just gone through was instantly forgotten. Wiped away, as if it never existed. The world around me seemed to become lighter in that moment, a radiant bloom of colour and true reality. No consideration for anything else, we both read the other with amazing clarity, leaning in together. Our lips brushed, soft and gentle, his skin trembling with yearning and fulfillment both. Warm, uplifting, my heart exploded with a rush of zealous sincerity.

I feel renewed.

We sat back at the same time and he gazed at me, eyes shining with a glow that contrasted the ravages of his body. Everything was encapsulated in his reaction and right then, he was in awe. Proud, and amazed, and loving. Not least of all a concise message, a missive that said it as clearly as if he had spoken the words out loud: 'You can do anything. I believe in you.'

It was all I needed. You lift me up, you make me strong. I can do it.

I'm going to get us out of here ... and no-one will stop me.

Just for the record: 'Five' and Riley are the same guy. Poetic justice in action, yeah?
This one is necessarily quite scant on information. It's a 'drama' chapter, but a necessary one.
As usual, any commentary, reviews and likes (the little button on the bottom right) always appreciated I hope you enjoy.
Story Discussion:
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