XVI. Danes Lobby IV • for __, the world

Dimitri should've done it by now.

He should've placed the ball of light inside Evaughn's unconscious body by now, but he simply did not want to. Not yet, anyway. He sat on the edge of the bed, one knee propped comfortably on the mattress to twist himself fully towards the boy.

To the untrained eye, it looked like Evaughn was sleeping. He was on his back, with his head turned at ninety and his lips barely touching. With a closer look, the stillness of his chest proved that he wasn't really. . . there. In fact, he was the soul in Dimitri's hand.

Dimitri used his free hand to swipe away a stray strand of hair from his face. "God, you're so pretty."

He graced himself with a few more seconds of admiration. Finally, he held up the glowing sphere towards Evaughn's forehead. Dimitri pushed gently downward to let his soul enter.

Any other time, Dimitri would've left the room quickly, just in case Evaughn got weirded out that he was being watched in his 'sleep'.

This time was different. Dimitri remained, for Evaughn loved him.

Evaughn's first move was the press of his wrist to his forehead. He made a tired moan, and then his eyes were peeling open.

When he saw Dimitri, his chin retracted with a twitch. "Damn it," he breathed. "Scared me."

Dimitri chuckled. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Evaughn pushed himself up with his palms so he was sitting against the headrest. "Did I fall asleep?"

Evaughn was in a light blue pajama set. Long sleeved, of course. And, his hair was down; Dimitri tried not to stare, but the task proved difficult. Impossible even. "Yeah. You. . . knocked out. I just got back from the meeting, actually."

His lower lip poked out a bit. "That's weird. I don't remember knocking out."

"Well, that's what knocking out means. You don't remember it." Dimitri chuckled, satisfied at his seamless lie.

Nonetheless, Evaughn's brows were scrunched; he was thinking.

Not good.

Dimitri cleared his throat; he needed to change the subject. "There's something I should tell you, Vaughn. It's about what we talked about in the meeting."

His eyes refocused, away from his thoughts. "What is it?"

Dimitri shifted further onto the mattress. For many reasons, he wasn't worried about telling Evaughn that the flowers would soon be gone. In fact, in every scenario he imagined, Evaughn agreed with the plans because Dimitri would finally tell him that Neo's and his life were ruined by the Danes thanks to Celine. Without a doubt, Evaughn would want them gone as well.

"We talked about the flowers."

Evaughn's eyes instinctively went to the window in the bedroom. From their angle, a portion of the hill was present.

"They decided that it's a good idea to get rid of them."

His shoulders slumped.

"But actually, I think it's a good thing. It has to do with Celine, and. . ." Dimitri's words went elsewhere, for a tear was escaping Evaughn's eye.

As the tears welled, Evaughn made no move to wipe them away. His lips were downturned in a melancholy frown and its effort to hold back its quivers.

"Vaughn. . ." Dimitri extended a hand, but pulled it back immediately. "Did I say something wrong?"

Evaughn shook his head. "No, I. I'm sorry I keep crying. I can't help it, the flowers, they. . . they helped." Each word emerged as a broken whisper. His hand trembled as he leaned for the bundle of photographs on his nightstand, each one of him and his father. Dimitri had recovered them from Damien's camera a while back. Evaughn grabbed the close-up shot of them at a ski resort. Their backdrop had been snow-covered mountains. At the forefront, Damien's crescent eyes and Evaughn's awkward smile.

In moments like these, it was undoubted; for Evaughn, Damien's death truly did occur three days ago.

He hiccuped. "Why didn't I see that he was hurting, Dimi? A-answer me. Why didn't I see it?"

Dimitri placed a palm over his thigh and rubbed. "Vaughn, don't say that like it was your fault."

"I should've noticed something, at least. Maybe I would've gotten there earlier." He shook his head, anguished. "And now the fucking flowers are dying, too."

"That's the thing, Vaughn. You don't have to feel sad about the flowers. I was going to tell you that they were the reason why everything happened to Neo. It's what—"

A ragged gasp. "Neo." The aches returned promptly.

Dimitri closed his parted lips. He kicked his shoes off and quickly went to sit against the headboard beside Evaughn. There, he drew circles on his back, and became increasingly happy that he didn't tell him about Neo. Until now, Dimitri hadn't realized how stupid it would've been to add onto his agony. Evaughn already felt guilty about Damien's suicide. Imagine how he'd feel if he learned that the flowers he'd been tending to were the reason Neo's life went to hell.

Dimitri decided that he'd simply not tell him.

Evaughn sniffled. "Neo is hurting right now. They're making all those clones of him, and he's in pain every time."

"I know." Dimitri reached over and laid a hand across his shoulder. Gently, he steered his head towards his chest. Then he was running fingers in his hair. "It isn't fair."

"Mhm."

Against his will, Dimitri thought of the day he became Premier. As soon as the title had been claimed, he and his cousins had gone into shock from a sudden surge of recollection from their first existence. Every fragment of the past had been crystal clear.

Every detail merciless in its clarity.

Every definition—

Dimitri shuddered his exhale. He willed the dictionary gone, and focused on the sight underneath him; Evaughn had his full attention on the photograph.

Dimitri brushed the hair on his forehead aside. He laid a peck over Evaughn's temple.

The world is mean. For you, I'll destroy it.

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Next Day

Dimitri had a hand in his pocket as he advanced towards the Room for Flux, the building shaped like a cylinder.

"Hey, Dimi."

A twist of his torso revealed Marceau and Jacques approaching, with Capucine, Fleur, and Anaïs behind them.

Marceau grinned. "Ready to kill some bitches?"

Dimitri wasn't grinning like his cousin was, but his eyes were glazed with the same intent, menacing and dark. They raised their fists in unison for a satisfying bump. "More than you fucking know."

"Damn right."

Jacques stepped forward, smirking. "Ready to lose?"

Dimitri merely scoffed at that.

"Apparently Sinclair isn't joining," informed Capucine, who was stretching her arms as she came to stand before them. "Isn't that a little concerning?"

"Not really. It's expected. And honestly, it makes sense why he's. . . quiet so often." Anaïs raised a shoulder as she went on. "He was Traveler. He never got to. . . forget. . ."

Jacques cut her off with an exaggerated groan. "Thought we agreed not to bring that up."

"I was making a point. Sorry."

"Screw apologizing. Whatever reason you've got for doing this, don't let it go." Dimitri pivoted towards the building. "We're up."

His cousins formed a clutter behind his back. In no time, the double doors before them pushed open. The second half of the Premiers emerged, stretching and yawning after their four-day shift.

Staying awake for days at a time was another side effect of being Premier. After all, souls needed transporting every second of every day. The LeRouge were fairly new in the role, though, so four days was their limit. On the other hand, the Yägers had gotten to the point of skipping multiple years without sleep.

One redhead of the bunch, Adeline, stuck up a thumb and a lazy smile. "Yo, Marceau. Kick off the Game nicely for me. I'm fucking spent."

"That goes without saying." Marceau replied to his sister. They all meshed together, chatting each other up about things Dimitri wasn't interested in.

Rather, his legs were propelling, the fire in his eyes yet to calm. In no time, he was inside.

The Flux had just one floor. Like its cylindrical shape suggested, its walls were curved. In the center, a glowing ball of white floated, massive in size; it was made up of about a million human souls.

Surrounding it were eight oval chairs. Dimitri went to stand in front of a chair, too eager to sit down. The floor beneath him lit up. Then, he could see everything.

On any other day, he'd be taking a soul from the pile and giving consciousness to a newborn, but not this time. This time, he scanned the earth for duct tape.

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Evaughn sat on the porch stairs of Dimitri's house. His knees made a table for his elbows, and he sunk his chin as he watched the field of Danes above the hill.

The last of the flowers were being engulfed in flames.

He rolled his head over to rest lazily on his forearm. Dimitri had advised him not to walk around the Lobby. Apparently it was dangerous and not necessary, since room service was provided at the touch of a button inside each home.

But, as his slight pout portrayed, Evaughn wasn't used to staying indoors. Not that he wasn't grateful for Dimitri's hospitality, but if he were honest, he missed biking. It always took his mind off things.

Things such as the thoughts of Neo's suffering floating around his skull. "Ugh."

His brows lifted for two reasons; the sudden idea that popped in his head, and the movement ahead.

Like all the other houses, there were tall hedges on either side of Dimitri's house, cornering inwards towards the main pavement.

Through the cracks of the hedge up front, a certain redhead was passing by.

Sinclair saw him, too, and raised a friendly hand in greeting.

Evaughn's wave was more of a gesture, beckoning him to come over. Sinclair got the hint and made a pivot. Evaughn stood to also close their gap.

"Hi, Sinclair," said he when they were a meter apart. "Sorry to bother you."

Sinclair shook his head. "You're good. What's up, Evaughn?"

He pushed his hands into his cargos' pockets. "I was wondering about, uh, how the whole cloning thing works."

"The. . . science and math behind it?"

He nodded. "Are there are any, I don't know, books I can read on it?"

A subtle grimace pulled Sinclair's lips outward. "Sorry. I'm not sure I can."

"Oh. Is it against some rule you've got here?"

"Well. . . I'm not sure it's my call to make," he explained, rather vaguely. "I wish I could help."

Evaughn pushed further. "I promise I'm not trying to cause any trouble, I'd just. . . I want to see if there's anything I can do for my uncle.

"He, uh, chose to sacrifice himself to help people. I was told it'll be painful for him every time, but maybe it doesn't have to be." He scrunched his lips, apprehensive.

"I know about Neo Ruhl. He really paid his debts." Sinclair's voice was cool and inviting, just like how Evaughn remembered from their previous encounter. He made a smile as inviting as his voice. "Alright."

~

As Sinclair listened to Evaughn explain himself, he felt pity more than anything. Neo's cloning had ended years in the past, but Evaughn was completely oblivious.

As if his brother could hear his thoughts, Sinclair sighed internally. Just what are you thinking, Mitri?

". . .maybe it doesn't have to be?"

Sinclair bobbed his head. At last, he agreed, mainly out of pity but, there was logic to his decision as well; it wasn't like the books would reveal that Evaughn was ten years behind.

"Thanks a lot."

"Yeah. Be right back."

From Evaughn's perspective, Sinclair vanished. From Sinclair's perspective, space disoriented and then reassembled.

He was in the Office, on the opposite end of their conference room. Against the wall, a single shelving unit hung a row of textbooks. Sinclair waited for his eyes to reform. When they did, he quickly located the thick one labeled A Premier Guide to Danes. As soon as he grabbed it, space disoriented and then reassembled.

Sinclair took shape from the bottom up; he couldn't see the look on Evaughn's face, but he imagined a slacked jaw.

Turns out, Evaughn wasn't impressed. "That's a heavy book," he simply stated.

Sinclair had to laugh.

"What?"

"Usually, people are shocked when I teleport."

Evaughn chuckled. "I don't know. Guess I got used to it already."

"Guess so." Sinclair held out the textbook. "Here you go."

"Thanks again." Evaughn nodded. "See you around."

A nod and a wave later, Sinclair went the other way. Facing the large hill in the center of Danes Lobby, his gaze flicked in the direction of the cylindrical building. It had been a couple hours since the Game commenced.

He worried his lip. Isla. . . tell me you're out there with a plan.

Sinclair was careful not to verbalize the statement. None of his relatives knew what really happened the day of the coup. To this day, they believed that Sinclair erased each Yäger with a Soul Reaper. In truth, he had switched the bullets. 

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Meanwhile

From each of Dimitri's point of view, he glared down at a sea of bodies.

Three hours in. A hundred bodies infested. By his will, they each used suffocation and concluded with a fresh piece of tape slapped over chapped lips.

In the Room for Flux, the muscles on Dimitri's face had long settled into his characteristic frown; they hadn't moved from their place. From a hundred pairs of eyes, he regarded his work in satisfaction.

From a hundred tongues, he uttered that he was doing it for Evaughn.

One body he'd acquired was draining life from a small neck. It was a man with hands large enough for the job to be quick. In a secluded park somewhere in Cali, he sealed a woman's lips with his signature.

Beside her lifeless frame, her phone lay in the grass, its screen cracked from the fall she'd taken. Despite the crack, a video was streaming—a pre-recorded news report. It grabbed his attention, not only because he recognized Iris Caynes ten years older than he last saw her, but also because Iris was talking about the cause of Damien's suicide.

Dimitri was listening.

Then he was seething.

He looked over his shoulder, at a scene of deranged commotion from a revolver that was definitely the work of Anaïs and Fleur, although their current bodies looked nothing like them.

One was driving a vehicle. The other sat on its open sunroof, legs dangling as she aimed inside a home. She pulled her finger back. The air crackled. Glass shattered. A scream erupted.

Dimitri ignored it as he walked towards the car. Anaïs spotted him and cocked her gun.

Dimitri continued walking as he replied. "The flowers are burning."

Hearing their password, she lowered her gun. Fleur lowered her window. "Is that Dimi?"

"Yeah." He planted himself just a meter away. "You got eyes in any NYC jails? I'm looking for Lily Caynes."

Dimitri waited impatiently while Fleur froze in place, her eyes shutting. In seconds, she came out of her haze. "Bronx Corrections. Cell 27."

Before he had the chance to look for a body nearby the jail, he heard a voice in his ear. His own ear.

"Guys. Something's wrong," Capucine had said.

Dimitri opened his eyes. His cousins in the Flux were also pulled from the Game. They looked as irritated as he did. "Aw, come on, Cap," Marceau grumbled from his chair.

"It's important," she prefaced. "I overheard someone say something about the Coordinates. She was talking to a cat."

"No way," someone remarked.

"I've already stationed bodies at the Sahara just in case the Yägers are actually alive." Capucine hurried to the double doors. "I'll be back." She thrusted them apart and off she went.

The room fell into a murmur of worried exchanges. Dimitri scanned each of his cousins' expressions; fingers on temples, shaking heads, spews of what the fucks.

He rolled his eyes. "The fuck are you all getting nervous for? We just have to finish this game before they can do anything important."

The chatter lessened. Marceau put on a sly grin. "I like how you think."

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Sitting on the edge of his bed, Sinclair had been staring at his hands for a while now. Engraved with the words Soul Reaper, the gun he held stared back at him.

His leg vibrated as he juggled his options.

There were two ways to end it. Each one depended on how he defined it.

If it was the Game, he'd have to point to Reaper at his family. And if it were the definitions, he'd have to point the Reaper at himself.

Neither were options he desired.

He couldn't do the first; Sin loved his family.

He couldn't do the second; Sinclair hadn't yet. . . lived—an oxymoron, yes. For someone who had lived 500 years, it was selfish to want more. Perhaps it should've been rephrased.

Perhaps, then, Sinclair wanted to start over. A fresh slate. A life without definitions.

But didn't we all? Then wasn't it selfish?

Sinclair's answer was a yes. So, it was settled; he hardened his grip on the gun, twisted it, placed it on his forehead, clamped his teeth together, held his breath.

And then, nothing.

And then, everything. Shaking with frustration, Sinclair threw the Reaper in his drawer and slammed it shut. "Fuck."

Suddenly, there came knocks from his front door.

A visitor was unexpected; half his family were at Flux, and the other half were sleeping from Flux. He opened the door with no idea who was on the other side.

He'd have never guessed it was Capucine. "Looking for something?"

"Yeah. Answers." Like all of the LeRouge, Capucine was almost as tall as him. She dipped a hip and stared straight at him. "Why is Yäger alive?"

Taken aback, his next blink was lengthy. "What?"

"I know it was you, Sinclair. You did something to let their souls out of here. My guess is, you didn't actually fire Reaper bullets. That sound right?" Her brow raised, searching for signs of agreement.

He kept himself straight-faced, but inside were a whirlwind of emotions that could only be followed by exclamation points.

"Of course not. Why would I put us in this position just to ruin it?"

"That's a good argument," Capucine made a quiet laugh. She looked at him in a sort of. . . pitiful way. "It's good, because it's true. You did put us here. 500 years, and we were on your mind. Even though we forgot you along the way, you never did."

Sinclair tried his hardest to present nothing. "Exactly. It can't be me."

Capucine took a step forward. Her hands wrapped around his back, and he sucked in a breath. "No, it. . . it has to be you. You're the only one with a heart."

She tightened her embrace. Meanwhile, he stared ahead at nothing. His words were whispers. "We have to let go of our hatred. It's the only way we'll be free."

"Sorry, Sinclair. There's no way I'll forget what they did to us."

In a blur, Capucine's palm shifted around to cup his forehead. Sinclair pushed away her hand. "What are you doing? I told you it's not me—"

Sinclair dropped. He had been a second too late.

The last thing he saw was the spherical glow of light in her hand that was his soul. "I'll give it back when we figure out what to do with you. Go to sleep, Traveler. I know you haven't done so in years."

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"P-please! D-don't hurt me!"

Inside a female body, Dimitri had Lily Caynes pinned against prison bars, his hands around her neck.

The jail was overrun with LeRouge souls by now. Outside the cell, infected officers and prisoners were wreaking havoc to the uninfected. Dimitri was no different, although he liked to think of himself as more tactful than Marceau whose soul was in the next cell over. He should've expected his cousin in a woman's jail. The sounds nearby weren't pretty, but neither was Lily in her pathetic state.

"A-aren't we cellmates? Why're you doing this all of a sudden?"

"Tell me. Why the fuck did you push Damien to take his life?"

She choked.

"Fucking answer me."

Lily squeezed her eyes shut. "I-I'm sorry," she wheezed, her fingers pulling at his arms in a uselessly desperate attempt to pry them off.

"Fuck your apology," he spat. "Reports are saying it's 'cause you had a little crush on him. That true?" She took a second too long to answer, so he slammed her body against the vertical bars. "Answer me."

"I-it wasn't. Little, it was. Years."

Both his frown and voice deepened. "What a bullshit excuse." Dimitri closed the arm-length gap between them and lifted his other hand around her neck. "Do you have any idea what that did to his son? You took away his father. You made him cry. Made him feel guilty—and all for that lame excuse?"

Her lips alternated between parted and closed until it remained as the former.

With great effort, Dimitri threw her against the brick wall. Her head split open at the contact. She slid, painting the wall with clumps of blood on the way down. Her body landed on his shoe, head hung. He made a tch of irritation while he pulled his foot away.

Dimitri was wondering if was enough to make up for Damien's death. At the same time, his brows furrowed. Something was wrong—something was draining. A lot of it. Too much of it.

What the hell?

He slapped a hand on his wrinkled forehead. The action took him back to the Flux, where his cousins were too occupied in the Game to notice anything.

Amongst the quiet, however, he realized that the something he'd felt was a soul and its blood level.

His breath hitched, for it spoke.

Dimi! I know you haven't forgotten me!

His eyes bulged open.

Aren't we fucking brothers?!

For Traveler, finding a particular soul had taken 500 years. For a Premier, the task took hours. Dimitri found Luka in a mere three seconds.

In his own flesh this time, he teleported onto the passenger seat of Luka's car. Wide-eyed and speechless, he stared at the knife plunged into Luka's thigh, the blood splashed all over his car, the makeshift gag between his teeth, his hair in a mess, the veins on his forehead and neck, the scream he was letting rip—

"Luka. . ."

Luka twitched. His head turned in inches. As soon as their eyes met, he noticed who it was, despite the fact that Dimitri was physically ten years younger. Luka's lips took on the faintest hint of a smile, just before he fell forward.

To prevent his head from hitting the wheel, Dimitri caught Luka by the shoulders. At the touch, Dimitri sucked in a bunch of air; Luka's body was shivering.

Indeed, Dimitri hated the cold.