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All Alone

"Echo?" Puppet called softly into his radio. He got no answer. "Echo, are you there?"

Still, there was silence. Something was wrong.

And then suddenly, the radio buzzed and Echo's static-filled voice came through. "P-Puppet?"

"Are you okay? You didn't answer and I was worried."

"I-I can't do this. I'm stuck. I can't ... I saw something ... they ... they ... Braken was right. B-Braken was right." His shaking voice dropped down to barely a breath. "Please, help me."

"I can't help you out here," Puppet said, fighting to keep his voice calm. "You have to get out by yourself."

"I can't do it. I can't ... "

"You'll be fine. Just keep moving."

"You keep saying that, but you've never been in here! You don't know what it's like to watch someone rip a boy's guts out - "

"Calm down, Echo. You're panicking." Puppet was panicking, too. He had no idea what to do. If Echo got stuck in there, he had no way to get him out.

"Of course I'm panicking! What does it sound like?" Echo sounded like he was going to say more, but he quickly cut himself off. "Someone's coming," he whispered. "I think they heard me ..."

There was a second of silence, except for Echo's heavy breathing. Puppet found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

A man's voice suddenly came through the radio. "Hello, little boy. What are you doing up here?"

And then Echo screamed in pain and the radio cut off.

"Echo?" Puppet called. "Echo, what's going on? Echo, answer me!"

"We've killed him."

He knew it was a horrible idea, but he couldn't leave the innocent kid in there to die by himself.

He took a long drink of water, choked down a quick energy bar, and threw their things together. He left their gear where they'd been hiding and took nothing except a screwdriver - his robotic arm had been acting up, and he'd forgotten to ask Nitro to fix it. He tightened a loose screw, stuffed the tool in his pocket, and ran. He ran right up to the entrance of the Haven and forced open the doors.

Immediately, he was hit with a wave of that despair, the same deep, dark feeling Echo had felt. It almost made him stagger back, but he stayed upright and pushed forward.

The guards stared at him, and then they all grinned morbidly, perfectly syncopated, as if they were all the same person. In fact, they all looked very similar. For once, Puppet wished that Braken was with him, if only to make sure that they were, in fact, different.

"What do we have here?" the one in the lead chuckled. "Puppet? I never thought I'd see you again."

Puppet didn't recognize this man, and he didn't seem like he was going to share his name, so the Raider played along, just for a moment. "That's 'cause I was never coming back," he snapped. "You have something of mine. Give it back and I won't fight you. If you don't ... I won't hesitate to kill you all."

"The little Echo kid, or this?" The man held up a transparent crystal. "This is what you're after, isn't it? If you don't go back with it, Tristam will kill you."

Puppet knew he was right, but he didn't say anything.

"So," the Destroyer said, "which will it be? The kid, or the crystal? You take this, you go back and Tristam doesn't kill you. In fact, he'll probably praise and promote you in some way. You take the kid, without the crystal, and you take his place here at Haven."

"Either way, we lose," Puppet said, debating his options.

"But you can win."

And live with the guilt of killing an innocent kid. Either way, Echo dies. These guys will kill him or Tristam will, Puppet thought. "Take me," he finally said, "and let Echo go."

"Perfect," the man smiled again, dark and ominous. "Gifteds are more fun, anyway. Seize him."

"Let Echo go first," Puppet ordered, taking a step back. His heart was pounding like a drum against his ribs, and he wondered if the men could hear it. Despite his words, they surrounded him and quickly restrained his arms.

The man laughed. "Mm, I don't think so."

"That was the deal!" Puppet shouted, his voice cracking in terror. He ripped his arms free and flicked his strings out, but instead of trapping the man, the Destroyer caught them, something only one other had been able to do before. Puppet suddenly knew who this man was.

The one who gave him his strings.

The terror that struck him was almost a physical blow, as real as the pain in his fingers when the man yanked on his strings. He staggered toward the Destroyer, and the doors behind him slammed shut, swallowing the Haven in darkness. Puppet lashed out with his other hand, but one of the others grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm behind him, breaking the strings' connection. He yelped as he lost his balance, and then gasped in pain as a knee drove into his gut, bringing him to the floor. He continued to resist, fighting back, but the men had grips like iron, and he only hurt himself.

The man in the lead forcefully seized his chin with his forefinger and thumb, tipping his head up. Puppet glared with fire in his eyes, but it wasn't enough to cover up the terror threatening to swallow him whole.

"Listen, Puppet," the Destroyer said softly. "You are not the master here, not like you pretend to be. You are the Puppet, a play thing with strings. Let's see just how fun you are." He smiled and raised his arm, his fingers clenched into a fist. Puppet braced for impact, but the blow felt like a solid rock slamming into his jaw, and he cried out against his will as stars exploded through his vision. "Take him back to one of the cells and let's play."

Puppet hated how they used that word: play. They used it as if these people were objects to be used for their own entertainment, nothing more. It was sickening, the things they'd do in here. Puppet had been here, once. Seven years ago, he'd mistaken Haven to be a safe place after the end. He came looking for refuge, and instead, he found torture. This man had been the one to cut his arm off at his shoulder, creating the robotic one. Nitro had modified it to make it actually work, as the Haven didn't have electricity, but it wasn't the arm Puppet hated these men for.

It was the strings.

They were embedded into his skin, grafted in and healed as part of him. They'd slit the skin and continued cutting, deeper and deeper, and then they had tied them on, sewed him up, and waited for him to heal. When he finally did, they played with him, lifting him up, twirling him around, and laughing hysterically as he screamed and begged them to stop. He would always be someone else's Puppet. He was the one with the strings. He hated these men for that, for their denial of human rights, and now he was right back in that trap.

They slipped a leather dog collar around his neck and dragged him down dark halls, taking him in circles and messing with his sense of direction. The Haven was a labyrinth of halls and cells, and Puppet soon found he was lost. Rogue had been right. He wouldn't be lucky a second time. He'd never get out of here, not without help, and if Braken's rescue story was true, no one was coming to save him. He'd lead Echo straight to his death.

Finally, the men stopped and opened a creaking metal door. They took him inside and Puppet noticed loops and pegs, perfect places to tie up ropes ... or strings. He clenched his fists, but the man tugged his strings and forced his fingers out.

"Smart boy," the Destroyer chuckled. "I see you've already figured out what we're doing. How should we tie you up, hmm?"

"Don't touch me," he hissed, and he felt the grip on his metal wrist tighten, the joints squeaking.

"Give me his arms," the man in the lead said.

"Wait." The female voice rang clearly through the cell, smooth as scales, venomous as the snake they belonged to. "Leave this one to me. New boys are always the most fun."

A tall woman stalked into the room like a cat, wearing all white. Her face was truly beautiful, with a small nose, high cheekbones, and ruby lips, the perfect image disrupted only by a small, pale scar over her top lip. Her hair was long and blonde, and if she hadn't been holding a bloody knife in her hand, Puppet would have mistaken her for an angel. She was mesmerizing, but the air around her told him that she could kill him in a split second, without hesitation. Puppet swallowed nervously and tried not to stare, but her ice blue eyes were terrifying and he couldn't break her gaze.

"Hello, Puppet," she said softly, a sweet smile spreading across her face.

"Get away from me," he breathed, trying to sound brave, but failing miserably.

She laughed, cold and chilling. "You are mine," she said. "Remember that."

Puppet suddenly thought of something. Braken rarely took his hoodie off, because he didn't have a shirt that fit him, and the one time he'd pulled the hoodie over his head, just for a moment, Puppet had caught sight of something: red rips in his skin, covering his entire back, the tissue scarred beyond repair. The scars spelled out one simple word - MINE.

"Do you know who Braken is?" he asked quietly as she knelt down next to him. He tried to lean back, but the grip on his wrist sounded like it was damaging the metal, and his right fingers ached each time the Destroyers yanked his strings.

She smiled again, though this time, it was far more sinister. "Ah, my little baby Braken. The mind reader."

"What did you do to him?" he whispered.

"He hasn't told you?" She snaked her arm under his shirt and began to pull it up, exposing his torso. "Then I suppose that's his story to tell. He's not as innocent as you all think. He felt good, small and light, and he always had this underlying scent, past the blood and vomit and sweat, that made me feel ... happy again."

Puppet started to understand what she was talking about, especially as she continued to drag her fingers lustfully across his bare skin. He'd seem things in his life that he never wanted to see, and this was one of them. "He was twelve!" he protested. "That's ... that's horrific!"

"Yes, but he had seen too much for a child, and he was strong. Usually, the small ones die within two weeks. He had a fighting spirit that lured me in."

"He was twelve!" Puppet whispered. If she had the nerve to take advantage of a twelve year old boy, what would she do to him? "How could you - "

She cut him off by seizing the back of his neck and kissing him. He was taken completely by surprise and let her in against his will. The second it took to regain his senses was enough for her to wrap her arms around his neck and waist, her long, claw-like fingernails digging into his wrists as she held them tightly behind him. He didn't know what to do. He could barely move, but finally, he threw his head to the side and broke the connection with a terrified gasp for breath.

Before he could say anything, she stuffed a sweaty gag into his mouth, nearly choking him. "Stand him up," she ordered, and the men behind him dragged him to his feet. "Give me his strings." She took his elbows and raised them, bent, to the side of his head, his hands still pointed down. She tied his wrists together with his own string and used another to tie his elbows mostly together. She slit his shirt off and another string went across his chest, already cutting into him, and a fourth went between his legs, yanking up hard and making him shriek into the gag. Using another rope, she tied his elbows straight up, to the ceiling, until he was standing on his toes and the string between his legs was almost unbearable. His face was bright red and he could feel sweat trickling down his forehead in what felt like a river. His teeth clenched hard on the rag in his mouth, but he couldn't help crying out at every jerky movement.

"Let's play a game," the woman said softly, circling him as he struggled to stand higher and relieve some of the pain. She rested a knife against his side, under his ribs, and smiled slightly, insanity sparkling in her eyes. She pressed down, slicing him open, and laughed as he let out a muffled scream of agony.