Io was shown a part of the building that he'd never had the chance to see—inaccessible by both the elevator and the main stairs; just a door (that looked quite like every other entrance to someone else's room) and a short, uncarpeted flight of stairs that allowed the predators on the sixth-floor access to the fifth.

"I'm surprised you never asked about the unusually long time that the elevator takes to go from the fourth to sixth-floor," Vaughn said in a clipped tone, chancing a glance at the smaller frame that tailed his back.

Io kept himself rather occupied by surveying his surroundings, craning his neck to examine the ceiling that was abnormally low and gave the impression that it was within reach. He tiptoed.

It wasn't.

"I'm surprised too," he responded as soon as they arrived at another door. This time, it bore a distinct difference from the white-washed doors with gold-plated accents that he had come to be so familiar with. "I've always thought myself to be uncontrollably curious about things. I guess it doesn't always apply."

Vaughn didn't bother to come up with a reply. As always, he found it taxing to distinguish between Io's unfiltered honesty and his occasional bouts of sarcasm; the solution, therefore, was to ignore it all.

The pair came upon a narrow corridor that stretched across several unpainted, unfurnished doors and looked quite as though they hadn't been opened for a very long time. What intrigued the sparrow most was an intimidating, complex-looking lock that drilled its claws into the sides of the door frame, imposing a vice-like grip on whatever that was kept within.

Vaughn paused before the very first, staring at its faded colour as though willing it to bend.

"Aren't we going in," prompted Io by his side, removing the supposed tone of inquiry and replacing it with something akin to a statement. An encouragement to face that which they were about to witness beyond the door.

The vulture turned to him with a brief lowering of his gaze, missing his eyes entirely as though he had not meant to look at him in the first place. He paused before producing, from the pocket of his coat, something that resembled a key.

"Not a word."

Io nodded, unsure as to whether he could keep his promise.

Vaughn raised the key and positioned it for a fit—went in; a turn of his wrist snapping the lock out of place and every consecutive twist, withdrawing its grasp of the frame. It was not until a heavy clank resounded across the empty hallway that the misery of a wait was put to an end.

The door swung inwards without being pushed, a slow and anguished creak characterising its solemn age.

They entered.

And as the vulture stepped aside, allowing his companion's field of vision to clear and witness the strangest sight, he revealed a girl who looked very much their age—appearing to be fast asleep. It reminded Io of a situation so familiar that it was too close for comfort.

The girl was breathing; her chest rising and falling at a pace so slow and serene that he almost thought it still. Something remained attached to the temples of her forehead, and another to her wrist.

Io had never been to a hospital.

Back in the village, everything was treated with herbs and flowers. Emergencies were rare since lorries and vans (never seen many cars, no) were scarce, and even then, they would be forced to drive slowly considering the unevenness of the pavement and the narrow roads. Natural death—of old age and illness—was accepted without a tampering of fate.

Vaughn was looking at the girl was a strangeness in his eyes.

Her stillness reminded Io of a thing that lacked a will of its own. Something that didn't seem to possess the vigour of life, that which humans harboured within their cages—the strength of control; the power of decision.

Once again, he chanced upon the meaning of it all.

What it meant to be human.

Alive.

It was nothing new to the mind of a thinker like himself. Io wondered if the soul within the girl was suffering, caged in a body that could only contain her spirit but fail to act upon its desires. He wondered if the spirit inside was still alive; wondered if it was waiting for a time to release its fight.

Vaughn did not make any gesture of exit as he passed by, leaving the door open for him to follow suit.

"Who are they?"

Io tailed his companion out of the room, observing a furrow in the latter's brows. The thinning of his lips.

"They are you." He closed the door behind them and left the word hanging, trying to read the expression on Io's face.

He couldn't.

"Or at least they remind me of you," Vaughn corrected himself, moving on—drawing closer next-door. "Hopeful. Strong-willed. Full of...disgusting things."

The label on the wood, where on ordinary circumstances would have been the name of the student, was replaced by a four-digit number.

"At least until this." The vulture brushed the waist of his coat, enough for Io to get a glimpse of the pistol at his hip.

It caught the cold lights from above, reflecting its lifeless quality in a sharp and stinging gleam. Io did not hesitate in voicing the question that would determine the identity of every single person behind these doors.

"You shot them all?"

He didn't flinch.

"Yes."

"Yes I did."

*

A glimpse of the three more rooms confirmed the entirety of the picture that Io had first projected in his mind, a jarring conclusion that he oddly did not find shocking in the least. He watched the expression on Vaughn's face remain fixed in apparent impassivity, despite hearing the occasional voice of his heart—the sound of his Link.

The heart of the night was approaching and he could feel a swelling of power inside his chest. Luna was full tonight.

"All of them are Jokers?"

"Most, yes."

"Would I have been moved here if I never actually woke up?" Io pressed on, watching.

The vulture paused at the question.

"Yes. But your friend would not have."

"You mean Pipa?"

"Yes."

He was showed another. Then, another. And before he knew it, there were so many of them in the endless corridor that he had soon forgotten who was the last he saw. He was reminded of the vulture that he'd first encountered: a predator akin to a disease that could not be reasoned and caught.

Vaughn was, for all intents and purposes, his first villain.

"Perhaps you once thought that I could come over to your side—or perhaps that I already have," he began after some time, "but that is an unfortunate misunderstanding, Tori."

"I'm afraid I will be disappointing you in the coming games," the vulture laughed bitterly. "Somehow, destined to be your enemy."

Io smiled.

"That sounds very romanticized, Vaughn. Have you been reading Shakespeare again?"

The former sighed with a shake of his head, wondering just how the other could draw upon his side of humour at a point like so.

"But I like the sound of that," Io went on. Lunar. "An enemy."

"Then I suppose you will rejoice to hear that the headmaster has put me against you, once again."

"You're on the other team of Hearts?" The moon phoenix asked next.

Vaughn nodded quietly.

"You don't sound very surprised."

"Maybe it's because we were destined to be enemies," he laughed again and perhaps it was a trick of the light, but for a fraction of a second, Vaughn had thought he saw the moon in his eyes.

He could not think of an answer and remained silent.

"These people," they arrived at a door without a number, and it was then that Io decided to ask the question. "Are you keeping them locked because you do not want them to be seen; or because you do not want them to see?"

He had to ask for a repeat.

Unlike Luka, Vaughn was not accustomed to the kind of thinking that Io was so apt in executing in his mind. This was despite the literature that filled the shelves in his study.

"I have no answer to that question," admitted the vulture. Surprisingly honest. "The order assumes the former, but declares the latter."

Io was the one who veered them back on path. "Yes but what do you think?"

Vaughn's lips thinned with unease.

He felt, all of a sudden, smaller than the other despite the obvious disparity in their physical appearance. The weakness of his presence added to the tart silence between them, and it was only after swallowing that he felt compelled to speak.

"I have established that it is near impossible to seek forgiveness from the people that I have harmed."

He looked quite as though he had more to say and Io was perceptive enough to remain silent and let him speak.

"They will never forgive me."

"All these people behind these doors—they will never. And I don't expect them to either," he breathed a sigh and with it, emotion escaped.

"There is so much hatred already. My stepping into the darkness shall make no difference in a place already dark."

"If anything good shall be consumed as soon as it steps out of its cage, then perhaps this is the only way we can survive—"

To kill the heart

And hence the human within.

Io heard the vulture's voice in his head, a projection of his Link that was at its limit. They door that they had been speaking in front of remained closed but there was an increasing draw that he knew not came from where, willing for the knob to turn and finally, the reveal.

"You may not be aware of this but I used to have a brother. He was the one who invented this," Vaughn need only refer with his gaze. The weapon of his seemed all-too-sacred to touch in front of its inventor.

"Perhaps I should have known what was going on in his mind when he pulled this on himself," he frowned in recollection, a sour taste on his tongue. "But I don't. I don't know."

"He was gone in an instant, just like the many others that you've seen today."

There were parts of the puzzle to be found; questions to be asked and misconceptions to be clarified but Io could not see a spark of will in his friend that would entertain his thoughts at the moment, and so stowed everything back into its cage.

The vulture reached out to brush the cuff of his sleeve against a slightly rusted metal that was dull and dusty—having lost its shine and with it, the span of its life. 

It revealed a name, imprinted.

"My mother really loves him, you see."

Vaughn Alekeseyev

_____________________________

The monster within was awake and slow

The length of its time, quite unknown

It pulled and scratched at the head attached

Struggling to find a decent match.

Was the self he saw

The head of his

Or the monster awake

A wake of this?

The monster within was awake and slow

Struggling to find the wake of his own.

____________________________

"Hey Vaughn," Dmitri cleared his throat and speaking as though he had a bird stuck in his throat. "Would you like to...y'know. Sit with us at lunch." Not far behind, Abigail and Aaqil were snickering to themselves, albeit with the understanding that Dmitri could hear every mocking sound they made.

Vaughn had yet to recover from the events of the previous night (the concept of recovery was almost foreign to a human as sensitive and vulnerable as himself—a natural brooder and expert overthinker...those were not words in a dictionary) and had planned his retreat far away from civilization.

Unfortunately for him however, Dmitri was not the most perceptive person.

"Lunch?"

"Yeah," the falcon responded stiffly, somehow wishing that he had the moral support of Io by his side. At this point, even Jeremiah would do. "The meal you have in the middle of the day? Preferably between twelve o'clock and two? Yeah, that's lunch."

Vaughn's jaw dropped at the speed of light. "I know what that is, thank you very much. Your explanation was highly unnecessary."

Dmitri took a couple of seconds to decode the language in which Vaughn happened to speak (socially inept English) before coming up with an informed response.

"Is that a yes?" He snapped his fingers to express Eureka. "Io suggested that we eat together since we're two days to the games and the council decided to displace our mighty selves and assign us to a new table."

Io? Vaughn furrowed his brows as he sensed a vague disturbance in the force. Is that what all of them are calling him now?

"No Dmitri Ford. That is a 'no reply'—a tactful refusal to answer a question that is considered to be unnecessary and downright moronic."

It was the falcon's turn to frown. "You say unnecessary a lot, don't you. And is moronic a word or are you just making that up?" He paused. "Or is this a trick question?"

Do not forget that a couple of self-amused birds remain in the background as Dmitri and Vaughn converse, finding entertainment in the smallest of their interactions.

"There is no trick question, Dmitri Ford," Vaughn wheezed with impatience, feeling the textbooks in his arms weigh heavier at every passing second. "I shall leave this conversation to spare my sanity. Goodbye."

Dmitri was left feeling rather distraught, and before he could come up with a reasonable reason (yes! English is his first language!) to stop the vulture, Io appeared. Magically. As he always did.

"Oh! It's everyone," piped the sparrow rather excitably, surveying the corridor that was practically barricaded by Vaughn, Dmitri and spectators because they were standing in the middle of it. Io had his hands on the handles of Pipa's wheelchair and naturally, Pipa was sitting in it.

"Vaughn doesn't want to have lunch with us," Dmitri was quick to blurt, as usual, without a thought to spare.

He soon realized that he shouldn't have said this upon chancing a glance at Vaughn's face.

"Really?" Io laughed, turning to Pipa. "Shall we wait here before Vijay comes?"

His best friend did not answer. She appeared to be staring at Dmitri, attention lost before snapping back into reality. Her gaze flitted away, realizing that she had been staring at someone else. A predator, no less.

"Oh! Oh, me? Um. Yeah! Sure," Pipa tapped Io's wrist; something akin to a form of comfort. "You should go ahead with everyone else though."

The canary's friend was about to decline—she could tell from his eyes. An entire list of reassurances rolled out in her head and she dreaded the thought of going through each and every one of them. Io was not one to change his mind so easily.

How timely it must have been then, when she spotted the curly-haired Vijay waving from across the hallway, making his way towards the pair. With him here, Io would have no reason to stay.

Pipa didn't want to keep him from spending time with Luka. It didn't take a genius to know that the sparrow liked to spend time with a certain golden eagle.

"Hey guys," Vijay said between pants, stopping to catch his breath. "I uh, I'm here."

"Where's Nash?" Io waited, asking after their friend displayed a thumbs-up. "Is he coming?"

Vijay nodded. "He headed to the hall first so that he could reserve some seats." Then proceeded to add, "it's super effective because he just scowls at everyone who approaches the table so no one's ever sitting within a three-meter radius of his personal space."

He smiled as though he had worked out the toughest algebraic expression on his assignment.

*

It was almost a miracle how Luka seemed to appear within ten minutes of Io's presence. Whether it be a casual conversation in the predator's common room or walking to class, the eagle would somehow turn up by his side—as though the pair had some sort of summoning technique going on between them.

"What's there at the table today?" Io peered up at his eagle friend, noting that his seemingly good mood. "Oh, have you heard about the new lunch tables? Apparently, that's where we're supposed to sit now."

Luka nodded, observing the surroundings that occurred at the corner of his eye. Purely by coincidence, he met Vaughn's gaze. The vulture grimaced, turning away at once. He appeared to be walking at a good distance apart from the flock (of birds, of course—the author debated between 'pack' and 'flock' but decided that the former would have implied a change in genre, aka werewolf. Perhaps one day, a genre titled 'Avian' will exist in the literary world), quite alone.

This did not pass unnoticed by Io. The tiny thing of destruction turned to Vaughn and called his name, beckoning the other with a wave of his hand.

"What do you think is on the menu today, Vaughn?" Io asked, genuinely curious for his tummy. It was making weird noises.

Vaughn's first response was to frown.

The vulture had never walked to lunch with more than one person. In fact, he never really had anyone to have lunch with. He and Cameron used to have breakfast together on rare occasions, but now that they had, bluntly put, parted ways, Vaughn was mostly alone at every meal.

It was the main reason for his retreating to his room—for some kimchi fried rice or a pot of noodles, made by yours truly—the very lack of reason.

"Do I look like the lunch lady?" He grimaced with a snap. "Common sense tells you that I don't know the answer to your silly question."

"Yes, but I was asking for your opinion. A conjecture on what you think is going to be on the menu," explained Io, skilfully dodging the sprinkles of salt that Vaughn had aimed his way. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"And why would you like my opinion on that?" The vulture could only narrow his eyes at the inconceivable thing that Luka Sullivan was strangely fond of.

Why were they talking about this? Just what significance would it have—such an impractical and silly topic? Why were they talking at all?

Vaughn Alekseyev was not aware that walking to the dining hall gave context for small talk. It was not on his list.

Now, it was.

"Because your opinion matters," said Io. Simple. Direct.

Vaughn was so used to dealing with masks that this in comparison was the toughest one yet. The type that he did not understand. He stole a glance at the eagle and saw in his eye a subtle glare, one that sharpened his instincts and raised the hair on his arms. This was, by far, the most territorial that Vaughn had ever witnessed him to be.

How awfully pleasant, affection that blossomed over time!

He gave in. "It's Wednesday, so. Chicken soup for predators and cream of tomato for prey, I suppose."

Io listened, nodding as he did. "That's a good guess. Yeah, it's either tomato soup or celery," he grimaced at the sound of the second option, already tasting its bite on his tongue. "I don't like celery."

"Me too," Luka added quite suddenly—without warning. Io turned to him in surprise but Vaughn was unamused about the declaration. After all, there was no predator that fancied greens and roots. They tasted mostly dry and bland; almost as though it was grass he was chewing on.

"Oh! I never knew that," piped a clueless Io. "Well, I've never really seen you eat vegetables before either way. Do you like any, then?"

Ha! There it was: the question of disappointment. Vaughn could smell its imminent arrival a mile away. Luka would have to admit that no grass appealed to him and—

"Potatoes."

Almost at once, Io lit up.

"Me too!" He laughed. "That's my favourite."

The vulture felt an intense urge to leave the conversation. Exit the chat group.

*

The class of hearts, admittedly displaced, settled at their new lunch table after combing their respective food tables. Jing had joined their adventure midway, carefully selecting every spicy dish there was and piling a fairly huge portion of rice on her tray. They had returned with full platters and empty stomachs.

Dmitri for some reason, was oddly interested in the contents of Io's tray after Lucienne asked if she could have one of his cheese biscuits.

"What the hell are these tiny little bits of heaven?" He proclaimed mid-chew, reaching for another. Io had given up trying to save some of them for Luka and himself, and had passed him the entire serving. "Who cares about having to sit at another damned table when they haven't discovered these?"

Meryl the cassowary appeared keen on trying the biscuits—only she was far too embarrassed to voice this particular inclination of hers.

"Well, prey talk about them more than they talk about us now," Jeremiah began with a shrug. "And that's a first, so."

Dmitri laughed in his face. "Yeah, and you care about that because you used to be all that they talked about, right? Don't worry man, you have my vote in your self-serving pageant—" was all he managed before the kite slapped him hard on the back.

"Oh c'mon Jerry," the falcon held a dramatic hand to his chest, as though he was in pain. "It was just a joke. It's not my fault someone over at that table is more attractive than you."

He jerked his thumb in the general direction of their previous table near the High, where the council would sit.

It sounded to Io and the rest more than a jab at Jeremiah's personality; one that harboured an underlying dissent towards something else. Despite his efforts to hold his head high and appear as though it did not matter to him, the sudden mistreatment was clawing at Dmitri's cage and he could not push it aside.

Jing remained silent. The High table was where she'd usually sit as the second-in-command, but only because she'd rather be alone and let no one else see her lack of appetite. An obligation to speak to the other party was yet another compelling factor.

"They all look like a bunch of pirates to me," Abigail shrugged, a subtle attempt at comforting themselves with the assurance that they were better-looking. It's effectiveness was minimal.

Odette and Odile were staring curiously at the table, watching it erupt with momentary laughter before dying down once more. Odette raised a brow. "I don't recall them getting along so...awfully well."

"They do," admitted Vaughn, who was forced to sit beside Io only because they were at the end of the table and there was really no other choice. Luka had taken the seat directly across the sparrow. "Under certain conditions, they do."

"Holyshitzels one of them's coming over!" Dmitri lowered his head instinctively to avoid the gaze that he'd met—only to snap it up again in shock because predators (let alone Hearts) never bowed. What the hell was he doing?

Reux came by with his hands in his pockets; blazer over his shoulder; top button undone, tie loose. His lack of discipline irked the phoenix, who was personally strict on students who failed to follow the basic code of dressing. She supressed the urge to straighten and fix his tie, perhaps even strangle him in the process of doing so. It would be very convenient.

Dmitri scowled at the shrike as he passed, purposefully meeting his gaze as though trying to make up for the lack of will that he initially appeared to have. Competitive as usual.

"Iolani."

It was Io's name that Reux had called and yet the one who responded first was a certain eagle who sat across him. Reux did not so much as give the latter a single glance.

"Oh," said Io after chewing on his last raisin. "Hi! I remember you. You're the new student who came late to philosophy class that day. Remember him?" He turned to Vaughn after expressing his recognition, prodding the vulture who was his apparent tablemate during the elective.

"Yes."

Vaughn's reply was oddly stiff, lacking its usual sting and bite. He was very pale all of a sudden, and Io was beginning to worry.

"Alekseyev?" Reux appeared genuinely surprised. "Oh yes I forgot that you sat here."

The table was unusually silent, trying hard not to stare. Reining in the draw of curiosity was increasingly hard at every passing second, especially when Vaughn did not come up with a word of response.

The vulture could only latch his mind onto the fact that this would be the team that he, so supposedly, rightfully belonged to. Even better—Reux was his leader. And what was his leader doing here, speaking to the enemy while he was in the midst of them?

All of a sudden, his identity slipped through his fingers and he knew not what he was; which side he had chosen. Which side he was supposed to choose.

"Are you two friends?" The shrike asked with the strangest smile that Io had ever seen.

___________________________

A/N: Oh I'm so sorry for the late update ;-; I got through my week of exams so here I am! :') I hope this went awfully well for some reason. It's an important chapter after all. 

As we all know now, Vaughn's real name is Evaughn, and his mother calling him by the name of 'Vaughn' isn't some kind of endearing nickname, it's actually the name of his older brother who has been bed-ridden for close to five years. The only one who knows his real name is, therefore, Jae-min (his stepbrother), and calls him by his real name. 

Although Io understands that it is essentially the person that we shall come to understand the most and not his mere name, it is good to note that identity can be warped in cases like such, whereby Vaughn is forced to take up a role that does not belong to him and carry out the wishes of his brother and never himself, thus explaining his lack of identity and Self; his inability to know who he is. 

Of course, the weapon (his pistol) alludes to the criminal quality of society--how it steals emotion and that of the heart, how it proceeds to kill it in a second and decide that a survivor would be better without one. It is convenient how we may forget that the brain is, too, stolen and wired, reprogrammed before returning it to its owner. 

Alas, we come out dark and false. 

-Cuppiecake.

P.S This week shall feature a double update on Sunday :) So that Luka can shoo Reux away from Io ASAP :>