There was this one memory Flint clung onto for years.

He couldn't have been more than nine that day, meaning his sister couldn't be any older than six. Eugene had taken both Bari and Alister along with him for a night of looting, hoping it'd make for a decent learning experience. The siblings opted to stay behind, residing in the cheap motel room Eugene had rented for the week.

There was a low table set in the center of the room. The pair sat in front of it with their knees pressing against the dirty carpet, the room's two beds within arm's reach. With a frisky smirk stretched across his lips, the boy slipped out a plastic grocery bag from underneath one of the beds and placed it in Robin's hands.

"Surprise, Robin! I got you something."

Robin's smile always had a way of making Flint's heart feel whole. It made him feel like he's doing something right.

So when Robin peered into the bag and beamed at the sight of the crayons and the papers, Flint's heart danced.

"Woah!" Robin snatched and opened the sealed crayon box, an array of vibrant colors now at her fingertips. "There's so many! I don't think I've ever seen a crayon box this big! There's gotta be, like, a hundred in here!"

"I wouldn't say a hundred. But still, it's a pretty big box if I do say so myself." Flint puffed out his chest as if imitating a superhero. "It says sixty-four on the front, see?"

"Oh! That's cool— Flint! Flint, Flint, look! They have pinks! They have more than one pink! This is awesome! So awesome! Where'd you get this? Did you steal it?"

"I didn't steal it. I bought it at that general store across the street... with money that I stole from this guy that bumped into me."

Robin passively nodded while spilling all the crayons onto the table, no longer caring for the how and why. Her attention quickly shifted to the project in front of her. She laid out a blank paper on the table before pushing a second paper into Flint's chest.

"Here's yours!" She cheered.

"Huh? Oh, no, no. I wouldn't want to waste your materials. I'm no good at drawing, anyway—"

"Your drawings are fine! Besides, it's way less fun drawing and coloring alone."

"...Well, I—"

"Don't be a stick in the mud! Just draw with me!"

With a victorious smile, as if knowing she had already won the battle before it even started, Robin leaned into her paper and picked her first color. Hesitantly, Flint placed his paper beside hers and grabbed the nearest crayon.

And they drew together.

Robin was focused, her tongue poking out from her mouth as her crayon danced across her page. Each time Flint peered down at her, she would block his view of her drawing and tell him "no peeking!" So Flint kept his eyes on his own work, doodling cats and dogs happily running alongside beasts like mammoths and dragons. Eventually, Robin shot up onto her feet, holding out her drawing as her magnum opus.

"Tada! I'm done! Look, look!"

Robin's drawing was crude, as most children's drawings are. There were five figures: Her and Flint, Eugene, Bari, and Alister. They all stood in a row underneath a grinning, sunglasses-wearing sun, holding stick figure hands with giant smiles on their faces.

"It's... all of us," Flint spoke as if he were in a trance.

"Yup! It's a family portrait!" Robin said. "Do you like it?"

"...A family portrait?" The words caught Flint off guard, though he knew it shouldn't have. He has long found comfort in the idea, and his sister's drawing had become undeniable tangible proof. It brought a toothy grin to his face. "Yeah. We really are all like a family, huh? I love your drawing. You're such a good artist."

Flint patted Robin's head as she squealed with glee.

They were happy.

That one warm memory...

The memory is beginning to wear down at the edges, now eclipsed by the ravenous agony that ate away at his mind. He wants nothing more than to go back to those days and cement those memories of hope.

Those memories are all he has to cling onto.

...Now, if only he could just pass out from the pain already and dream of them.

He doesn't know how much longer he could bear this pain without losing himself within it. He doesn't want to listen to the monstrous man's taunts or laughter anymore.

He can't take it.

* * *

Bari can't help but feel a bit relieved as he's finally being led down the prison halls.

Getting arrested was much more of a hassle than Bari imagined it would be.

First, he tried the classic snatching of an old woman's purse. She called out for the guardsmen, but everyone in the world apparently decided to go deaf that day, so no one came. In the end, Bari just gave her the purse back and stormed off.

Then he tried another classic move: stealing apples from the marketplace. He was caught this time, sure, but the guard just confiscated the stolen goods and shooed Bari away. When Bari questioned him, the guard said:

"What, you really expect me to book you for this? They're just apples."

Bari cussed him out before, again, storming off.

He finally found success when he stole a local cafe's entire cash register and hauled it halfway down the street. When the guards arrived to arrest him, he was downright overjoyed.

"Finally!" He had shouted, dropping the cash register and throwing his arms up into the air. The guards looked at each other with confused expressions.

From there, everything happened fast. Surprisingly fast.

He was taken to "Woodgate", a self-proclaimed maximum security prison... or rather, the only actual prison in that area. Bari thought the name had a decent ring to it. It's unfortunate that it was applied to such a dingy, grimy-looking building made up of crusty stone coated in chipped paint. The interior did not fare much better— if anything, it was actually worse than the exterior. The air was thick and carried a potently rancid scent, making it difficult to breathe. Mysterious stains littered the floor, moss and mold grew in the little cracks in the walls, most of the ceiling's lights kept flickering on and off.

Five minutes in, and Bari could already feel the place sucking the soul from his body.

He was quickly stripped of his possessions and forced to dress in a faded black and white striped jumpsuit. They took his mugshot and his fingerprints, gave him a bag of sheets for his bed, and assigned him a cell. A designated guard then led him to the "common area."

Bari's mission has been successful thus far, but now he's charting unfamiliar territory. As he follows the man down the hall and into the unknown, a bit of anxiety begins to claw at his chest. Internally, he berates himself for it. He tries to bury it down once they reach the end of the hall, the guard unlocking and pushing open the door.

The common area is a big open space with a few tables and chairs sporadically placed in random spots. The walls are lined with cells, all currently open and, for the most part, empty. The inmates freely wander the open space, chatting amongst each other in separate cliques. It's loud and rowdy, and half the conversations Bari overhears sound like two people preparing to murder each other. Considering many of the men here look like they could obliterate Bari by so much as sneezing, getting caught amongst these conflicts likely entails certain doom.

He'll never admit it aloud, but he's intimidated.

The guard leads him to his allotted cell, which Bari quickly retreats into. The man promptly leaves, leaving the unprepared boy to fend for himself within the lion's den.

"Can't lose my cool. Focus, focus!..."

Bari mumbles to himself as he throws the bag to the ground and sits on the bare mattress. The shouting voices that surround him make it difficult to think straight. But he can adapt; he knows he can. He's managed to survive the hopeless cesspool that was Zau. He'll be able to handle this cesspool without cracking, right? Besides, it isn't like he plans on staying long anyway. He just needs to get a grip and get to work.

His current course of action: Find Flint and then get the fuck out.

By the time Bari successfully got himself arrested, the sky had already long gone dark. Late night is nigh, which means that the prison will likely soon go into lockdown until morning. He has to get as much done today as possible in the little time he has.

He hopped right back onto his feet and approached the desk that sat in the corner of the cell. He opened the drawer to find a notepad and a unique pen built of rubbery plastic. Perfect. He picks them up, leaves his cell behind and ventures out into the commons.

At first, he tries to ignore the chaotic noise around him and focus on recording notes on the prison's physical characteristics:

There are multiple security cameras scattered around, most of which being stationed in the space's corners. Although their placement is rather strategic, Bari notices several possible blind spots to exploit. He ponders the possibility of artificially making the blind spots larger but quickly dismisses the thought. They're too high to reach without some sort of platform, so trying to meddle with them without being noticed instantly would prove difficult.

The locks on both the cell doors and the external doors look unfamiliar, which dumbfounds him. Through all his escapades and all his training with Eugune, he's never seen anything like it. Upon closer inspection, he quickly realizes how complex they are. Picking them wouldn't be easy. It might even be downright impossible.

He knows there are several watchtowers outside. Unfortunately, being shortsighted, he didn't take care to note their specific placements while he was being dragged inside. He did notice, however, that the main border blocking them from freedom was a wire fence. It was curved inward and had barbed wire at the top, which was definitely a potential issue. The real problem, though, was the buzzing he swore he heard as he was led past it.

If that was an electric fence, that means they have a massive problem. But he can't check to see if it's a problem while he's stuck within the prison's walls.

Flint must know if it's an electric fence or not.

Hearing his input right about now would be incredibly helpful. But Bari can't find him, despite the fact that he was searching just about everywhere.

The imprisoned men that encircle him (to the point of it being suffocating) are all different in shape and size. Many have scarred faces, while others have presumed wounds hidden beneath dirtied bandages. Some are screaming and cussing at the tops of their lungs, others are keeping themselves separate while observing the chaos. Most look mean, or tired, or both. None of them spare Bari a passing glance. And none of them are Flint.

It takes Bari an embarrassingly long time to realize that Flint is most likely currently locked away in isolation.

He wonders if anyone would stop him if he just started banging his head against the wall.

Well, it's no matter! He could just wait for Flint to be released back into general population, right?

...

No, he doesn't have the patience for that.

Now Bari has a new course of action: Figure out a way to sneak out of commons and find the solitary block.

Luckily, from what Bari's seeing, the door that leads out of commons isn't being actively guarded. Hell, now that he's actually paying attention to them, he notices that the prison guards don't seem to be doing much guarding in the first place. They all seem relaxed and even jovial, chatting and laughing amongst each other as if they were at some sort of dinner party. It doesn't make a lick of sense— why would they be so at ease after a literal prison break?

The guards' murmurs paint an odd picture.

"I love days like these," one says. "We could unwind a bit."

"Cheers to that," another says. "Constantly watching that piece of shit is a pain in the ass. It's like we're babysitters."

"The warden expects us to be so vigilant with him, but he always manages to slip from our sight," one sighs. "Sneaky bastard. We gotta be like hawks with him."

"Watching him is annoying, but I think chasing him is the worst part," another grunts. "Little thing is fucking fast."

"Chasing him sucks, but what's worse is when we have to figure out where the hell he went. I hate those days," one groans. "It's like the world's most aggravating scavenger hunt."

"Hey, at least we get to relax after we catch him. He's put in his place," another laughs. "All caged up like the filthy rat he is."

"Then he becomes the warden's problem. And the warden loves siccing his attack dog on the dumb kid," one snickers. "Too bad for him."

"You'd think he would've learned his lesson by now. It's crazy. He's got Risha working overtime," another adds. "And that sick bastard is loving every second of it."

Were they talking about Flint?

How many times has Flint attempted to break out? And what the hell did they mean by the warden siccing his attack dog on him? There is a dark overtone in their words that makes bile rise into Bari's throat.

He shuts it all out in an instant. Focus, he needs to focus.

He needs to focus on getting through that door. Lockpicking is currently out of the question, so that leaves—

Trying to make his mind stop agonizing over the meaning of those words coated in a blatant toxin, Bari jams his notepad and pen into his jumpsuit pocket, runs forwards, and forces himself into action. He bumps directly into a guard unfortunate to be in his path, nearly knocking the man over in the process. Nonetheless, he keeps running forward before the guard could stop and reprimand him.

"Hey! Watch it!" The guard shouts.

Bari glances back as he runs, wearing the phoniest smile he could muster. "Sorry!"

The guard didn't even notice. Bari indulged in the sense of gratification that followed.

The stolen keyring pricks him as he clenches it in his fist.

* * *

He figured that one of the many keys on that keyring would open that door. He was right.

Bari manages to slip right out of the common area and into the halls that are bound to lead to!... somewhere! If he wanders around long enough, he'll find what he is looking for eventually, right?

He might not know where to even start looking, but he's not going to let that spoil the pride he has from getting this far. He'll just have to avoid getting caught.

With how carefree the guards currently are, it's just as easy said as done.

He feels his confidence build into cockiness as he slithers through the halls while staying out of the sight of passing guards. Still, the security cameras that leer at him keep him on his toes. He has to avoid their gaze and he has to be fast. He needs to find the solitary block before someone inevitably notices his movements on those cameras and stops him in his tracks.

The longer he aimlessly searches, the greater risk there is of that happening. But Bari is stuck aimlessly searching. The high he received from sneaking out of commons is fading fast. The pressure of the situation slowly creeps up to engulf him in anxiety. Just under his breath, he wishes that something would miraculously pop up to lead him to his destination.

He regrets the wish as soon as his ears pick up the faint sound of pained screaming.

Bari darts in its direction without thought, acting on sheer impulse. As he grows closer to the sound's source, the screaming weakens until it finally stops completely. Bari doesn't know if that makes him more concerned or if it's a comfort; maybe it's a tangled mix of both? Or maybe it's neither. Maybe it's just panic.

Bari sees a set of double doors up ahead, half of which is being held open by a rubber wedge jammed underneath it. Beyond those doors is a long hallway lined with cell doors on both sides. The boy approaches, but before he could set foot into the hall, one of the cell doors slowly swings open.

He freezes.

"It appears that you're finally at your limit," a playful voice hums. "It's been a ball, but I must take my leave. Try not to look so sad."

Bari dashes and takes cover behind the closed half of the double door, putting his back and hands against it while he sucks in a deep breath. He holds his breath while allowing himself to lean slightly to the side, peering through the open half and into the hall.

He could hear it all clearly. He could hear the sound of someone softly weeping.

Three men emerge from the cell. Their uniforms are royal blue, just as the rest of the guards wear royal blue. But strangely, the three's blue is tainted by inexplicable blotches of red.

One of them— a tall, lean blond man— twirls a bloodied pocket knife. The second man, who stands directly beside the blond, gently carries something small, roundish, and red in the palm of his hand. The blond smiles down at it with the twisted grin of a conniving lizard with its empty, black eyes.

"Thank you for carrying that while I continued to play with my favorite little nuisance. But I shall take it now. I must go and deliver it." The blond man plucks the object from the man's palm like a grape. He then turns back to face the open cell door. "Farewell, Flinty boy. I would say I hope you learned your lesson, but we've already established that you are much too inept. So just keep doing what you're doing. It brings me such joy."

The blond man stares down at his crimson-coated pocket knife, taking a short pause. On a whim, he then tosses the knife back into the cell and lets it drop to the floor with an echo. The other men don't bat an eye.

"Here. I heard you used glass to slash up a man's face during your little getaway. Honestly, I didn't know you had it in you. Did you finally reach your breaking point, Flinty boy? I would have loved to see it." The blond's twisted grin persists relentlessly. It grows wider, becoming so exaggerated with malevolent glee that most would find it nauseating. "If you want to try something that foolish again, use a real weapon. It'll make for the perfect excuse for me to have some more fun with you."

Bari hears a whimper— a weak sound meant to resemble words he couldn't decipher. The blond laughs at the feeble attempt at a response.

"You never cease to entertain. I look forward to next time."

The blond finally shuts the door, letting the lock click into place. One of the men behind him slowly raises a finger to gain the blond's attention, keeping his eyes to the floor like a servant.

"Risha, sir. If you don't mind me asking, shouldn't we take him to the infirmary? After what you've done, he's—"

"Don't fret over it." The blond dismissed him with a wave of his arm. "Let him waste away for a while. I'll come back to take him later."

The blond walks forward, heading straight to the double doors. The other two men follow close behind. Bari's heart begins to beat against his chest like a drum.

It beats so hard and fast, he worries the men could hear it loud and clear.

But they don't, not even when they are a mere foot away from him. They keep moving past the double doors and through the halls, not noticing the boy sitting right in plain sight. They continue forward and are soon out of Bari's view, allowing him to let out a huge breath of relief.

Part of him wants to laugh. How funny was this? He was literally right next to them as they passed through the door, and they didn't even notice! By all means, he should have been caught red-handed.

But the amusement is overshadowed by implications. Now that the threat of being spotted has diminished, Bari can fully comprehend all of what he had just overheard. He could connect the dots to form a grotesque picture he doesn't want to acknowledge.

He doesn't want to acknowledge any of this. He doesn't want to open that door and be greeted by the most plausible truth. He wants to pretend it's all nonsense.

He smacks his palm against the side of his head. He needs to focus. He needs to stop being a coward.

He forces himself to stand. He needs to open that door now before he spends hours contemplating whether to charge headfirst into reality or to try to delay its impact. What's real is real, and Bari knows that shielding himself from the pain that comes with it does nothing.

Bari confronts the cell door the blond had just shut closed. He fumbles with the keyring, jamming in key after key until he hears the lock release. He buries the last of his hesitance and—

Why is there blood on the floor?

The scarlet color, though dull in the dimmed lighting, is the first thing he notices. It creates a sporadic trail, leading from the cell's entrance to its rear. A trembling figure backed far into a corner is at the trail's end, their face hidden away in their knees. Their black and white stripes are tattered and stained with spots of red. Their arms, which are wrapped tightly around their legs, are not only bruised but covered by strange marks.

Those marks look like burns— some first degree, some second— but a mysterious pale blue residue is sprinkled on top of them like clumps of sugar. Something about it reminds Bari of... something. But its familiarity hardly surfaces into conscious thought.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins. His thoughts become a distant whisper.

"Flint?! Flint!"

Bari runs to the boy, kneels down, and grabs his shoulders in a firm grip. The touch makes Flint squeak in pain, but he doesn't let go. All he could focus on was getting Flint to look up at him.

"Flint! Flint!" Bari cries. "C'mon, Flint! It's me! It's me! Look at me!"

The small boy lifts his head. The air is stolen right out from Bari's lungs.

What happened to you?! Bari opens his mouth to ask that question, but the words get lost before he can say them. Anything he thinks to say gets lost as he stares at the battered boy's face, covered in scrapes and bruises. And that's the least of it.

Flint's right eye, or the space where Flint's right eye used to be, is nothing more than an empty socket and a series of blatant cuts made by a careless hand. It looks like someone had mercilessly hacked into the boy's face like one would hack into a tree trunk, and it makes Bari's stomach feel light and uneasy.

Bari swallows down the taste of stomach acid.

"You said you were leaving..."

Flint's voice shakes. Bari fights against his building nausea to answer him.

"What? Flint..."

"You were done. You were done!" Flint's remaining eye shuts tight as he raises his arms defensively, shielding his face from blows that aren't coming. "I can't take anymore. I can't. Please, no more! No more! No more!"

Flint kicks and kicks at Bari, but there is no real force or strength behind them. Bari grabs his arms so he could try to pull them from his face and regain eye contact, but instantly realizes his mistake when he could feel the burnt, torn, raw, bloody skin beneath his palms.

Flint screeches in pain.

"I can't take anymore!" He screams. "Please, stop! Stop! Stop! Please! I'm begging you, please!"

"Flint! I'm not— you're okay— please— calm down— listen to me!"

Bari places his hand over Flint's mouth, hoping it would stop his screaming and allow his words to reach him. He holds firm. Even as Flint's kicks persist, he doesn't budge.

"Can you hear me? I'm not going to hurt you. It's okay. It's alright. Are you listening?" Bari tries his best to speak in a soft tone despite the millions of emotions wreaking havoc inside him. "You remember me, right, Flint? I'm your friend. I'm—"

Flint bites down on Bari's hand hard enough to draw blood. Bari grimaces and withdraws, resulting in Flint pushing him away with all the strength he could muster. The small boy crawls out from one corner and into another, peering over his shoulder to watch his perceived enemy.

Flint's eye is wide and focused, but Bari doesn't feel that Flint is looking at him. With such a glazed stare, Bari imagines he is looking through him or past him. Or maybe he only sees a silhouette to be afraid of.

Or maybe Flint isn't "here." Maybe whatever Flint sees right now is separate from actual reality.

Bari fears that the last possibility is the most likely possibility. And he sure as hell doesn't know how to combat that.

How do you force someone back to reality?

Bari looks to the deserted knife resting on the cell floor. A fragment of a plan pops into his mind and conviction follows suit.

Bari picks up the knife, ignoring the sticky, drying blood that tries to cling to his fingers. He approaches Flint which, again, causes him to retaliate. Ignoring the kicking and the flailing, Bari pushes the knife's handle into Flint's palm and guides his fingers to wrap around it. As soon as Flint has a grasp on the weapon, Bari grabs the wrist of the now knife-wielding hand and pulls it up towards his throat.

Bari never thought he'd put himself into a scenario like this.

Bari keeps his hold on Flint's wrist as he feels the blade press against his neck. He can feel the knife shake just as he can feel Flint's wrist shake. The struggling stops.

"W-what are you...?" Flint looks to the knife, his expression easing from panic to a blank confusion. He blinks over and over again, finally meeting Bari's eyes with clarity. "Why are you...?"

"You're in control." Bari slowly released his grip on Flint's wrist. "Okay? You're in control. If you wanted to, you could slit my throat. If I were to try and hurt you, you could just slit my throat. Okay? Are you listening? Can you hear me now?"

"I..." Flint lets out a quivering breath. "I hear you."

"Good, good. Listen, I'm not here to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt you. So everything is going to be alright." Bari smiles, though it twitches as his sight focuses on his friend's wounds. He could still see that once uncharacteristic fear glistening in that green eye. "I mean it. I won't hurt you. Do you believe me?"

"I... don't know."

"...That's okay. We can talk through it. Look at me, Flint. You see that I'm not a prison guard, right?"

"Yes."

"So, since I'm not a prison guard, I'd have no reason to hurt you, right?"

"...I don't know."

Flint kept the knife pressed against Bari's neck, his hand still trembling violently. Bari feels his own body stiffen and tremor.

"...I don't have any reason to hurt you, Flint. It's the last thing I'd ever want to do."

"Then... why are you here? Who—?"

"Oh, come now. You remember me, don't you? I know it's been a hot minute, but I'd consider myself pretty unforgettable."

The knife slips from Flint's hand and falls to the floor.

"...Bari?"

Bari's smile becomes genuine. "Yes, Flint, yes! It's me. It's me..."

The two boys stare at each other for a long time.

It only ends when Flint lowers his face into his hands.

"Oh my god, I've gone insane. I've actually gone insane! Now I'm seeing things!"

Bari's smile drops in seconds. "Wait. No, no, no. No, Flint. Listen—"

"This isn't real! This isn't real!" Flint yelps. "You're not real! You're not really here!"

"I am here! We're here! I'm here, so it's going to be okay. I'm going to fix everything, alright? You just need to take deep breaths for me. Do you understand? You just need to calm down for me."

Bari cautiously puts one hand gently on Flint's shoulder and places the other gently on his back. He tries to soothe him by rubbing circles on his back, but it only makes Flint wince.

"But it's impossible!" Flint's hands drop from his face. "You can't be here! You can't be real..."

"I am real," Bari affirms. "I promise you. I'm here, and I'm going to make everything okay. So just try to relax. Please, try and relax. I'm here."

Flint doesn't respond. The tension that constricted his body begins to loosen its grip— Bari can't tell if it's because he's calming down or if it's because of sheer exhaustion. He lets his body go limp, flopping forward and landing on top of Bari. His head rests on his stomach as his eyelid droops.

"That would be nice. I wish you were real," he mumbles. "I miss you."

His eye shuts closed. His consciousness fades, leaving Bari to face the cell's deafening silence alone.

* * *

When they were children, Bari always admired Flint.

From Bari's perspective, he was fearless. Sure, he could be annoyingly bossy at times, but Bari could never deny how much he looked up to him. Well, actually, he could deny it verbally. But he knew the truth deep down.

There was this one night many years ago— Ten years? Twelve years? The exact date hardly matters. Bari and Flint had broken into a large manor and swiped several expensive jewels right from underneath an aristocrat's nose. It was a hefty load, making the boys excited to show off their success to Eugune. They hoped to make him proud.

They weren't given the chance.

Bari remembers it clearly. He remembers the aristocrat tightly gripping his arm to a point where his hand felt numb from the cut blood flow. He remembers how his legs wobbled and how the crippling fear paralyzed both his body and sensibility. He remembers calling Flint's name as Flint stood before him, teeth bared in anger but eyes flooded with concern.

He remembers when the aristocrat slammed his cane against the side of his head. He remembers how his head throbbed and his world spun, how the aristocrat refused to release his arm even after he struck him. He remembers Flint's panicked scream.

"Bari!"

Flint positioned himself to run forward, but the aristocrat quickly motioned him to stop by sliding his finger across his neck. Flint obliged, but his entire body trembled as he struggled to maintain restraint.

"Come any closer and I'll kill him," the aristocrat snarled. "Just wait your turn. I'm going to beat the thievery out of you rats."

The aristocrat raised his cane once again. Bari felt his nerves spark back to life as he struggled to break free from his grip, but the man's hold was too firm. He shut his eyes tight in preparation for another blow.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Flint shouted, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair. "Stop it, you cowardly old man! Stop it!"

The aristocrats stopped mid-swing. Bari slowly opened his eyes.

"Cowardly?" The aristocrat lowered his cane. "What a big word for a small brat."

Flint released his hair from his hands. His eyes hardened— it was a stare Bari recognized.

Flint had a plan, and he was going to see it through.

"You're beating some scared kid trying to flee with a cane," he said. "That's a cowardly move. You're doing it to feel tough."

"... No. I am doing it to teach you both a lesson," the aristocrat sneered, claiming his precious moral high ground. "There's too many brats like you who think you could take anything you want. Someone's gotta give you what you deserve."

"Those are just excuses. You're not doing this because we need to learn some lesson or we need to be punished. You're doing this because you want to. You want to feel better and bigger because you're a coward."

"...Listen here." 

The aristocrat's face was so twisted in anger, Bari half expected his head to pop off his body like a firework.

With his attention now on Flint and his mouth, the aristocrat released the other child's arm. Bari stumbled backward, falling to the ground with a shriek. Fear and shock still kept him from thinking straight— he didn't think to run. He didn't think to use magic. He didn't think to do anything but watch from the ground like a helpless bystander.

"I'm a vet, brat. I've done my part during the war. And you call me a coward?" The aristocrat stormed in Flint's direction. "I'm—"

"What? The ideal man?" Flint held his ground, even as the aristocrat stomped closer and closer. "An ideal man doesn't beat a fleeing opponent. Hell, an ideal man doesn't use a cane to fight his battles, either. Are you too much of a coward to use your own hands—?"

Bari remembers Flint being knocked into the air by the aristocrat's fist. He remembers screaming. He remembers watching Flint slowly get back to his feet with a bloodied nose.

He remembers the aristocrat freezing. He remembers the aristocrat's confusion as he frantically checked his waistband.

Bari hadn't even noticed it. All Bari remembers thinking was that Flint's sleight of hand was truly something else.

Flint pointed the aristocrat's own gun back at him. The child's eyes searched back and forth before resting on the nearby closet door.

"The closet." Flint tried to make his voice sound firm, but there was an audible tremor. "Get in the closet."

"...You're not going to use that thing," the aristocrat said. "Your hands are shaking. You're not fooling anyone."

Flint aimed just short of the aristocrat's feet and pulled the trigger. The warning shot brought a newfound horror to the aristocrat's guise.

The knockback of the gun made the child stumble, but he maintained his grip on the weapon and returned his aim to the man's face.

"Don't test me!" Flint shouted at the top of his lungs. "Just get in the damn closet!"

The aristocrat listened.

The recollection of their exit is a bit of a blur. He roughly remembers the aristocrat stepping into the closet. He somewhat remembers Flint screaming at him to grab a chair, and then Flint fitting the chair beneath the doorknob to lock the man in. He hardly remembers Flint pulling him out from the manor, and he remembers protesting against it. He vaguely remembers trying to tell Flint that they left the stolen goods behind, but Flint was past the point of caring about them.

What he remembers clearer than anything was their walk back to their hideout. The side of Bari's head still ached from the cane's blow, but he hardly cared. The panic that had put his heart into overdrive had yet to fully fade, but he was able to ignore it with ease. He was too busy being overwhelmed with amazement and admiration.

He indulged in the positive feeling and pushed everything else away.

"That was awesome, Flint!" He cheered. "I mean, I was totally lame! I was so freaked out and I couldn't do anything but you! You were amazing! I mean you totally made a fool out of that guy! Like, you didn't freak out like I did! You were so freaking cool handling swiping that gun! And you used it, too! You just went, like, bam!"

Bari made a finger gun and pulled it back as he imitated the gun's sound. He giggled uncontrollably.

His giggling only stopped once he heard the sound of weeping. He looked over to see Flint's eyes flooded with tears and his nose dripping with snot.

"Hey! What's wrong?" Bari grabbed Flint's arm as they both stopped walking. "Hey, hey! It's okay! We got out! Everything's okay!"

"You got hurt. I'm sorry." Flint tried to wipe his tears away, but they kept spilling and spilling. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?! You saved us!"

Bari wrapped his arms around Flint and pulled him into a hug. His friend continued to cry.

He felt like such a coward that day. He let his fear overwhelm him. He did nothing to help neither himself nor his friend, putting the responsibility fully on his much bolder friend's shoulders. And it all ended with Flint being the one to apologize to him? It hardly made sense to him.

Nevertheless, he idolized Flint for his actions that day. He wanted to find the bravery to act in a dire situation like he did. He wanted to be able to protect Flint just as Flint protected him.

Bari strived to be that fearless.

Now, to see the person he aspired to be like acting so afraid and cornered...

To see that person so hurt and at their witts end...

It's confusing. It's rage-inducing.

To see Flint, of all people, behave like this...

Whatever he went through all these years must have been unbearable.

* * *

Bari had just fully realized how ridiculously tiny Flint is.

All it took was carrying his broken friend in his arms as he ran through the halls in another aimless quest.

Bari had only a fragment of a plan when he slipped out of commons. He didn't know what he originally planned to do after he found Flint, or if he even had anything in mind to start with. Turns out, whatever he would've planned would've become obsolete. His only objective now is to get Flint to the infirmary.

But there's a major problem with that plan... he has no idea where the hell the infirmary is within this cursed building!

So Bari is left to once again wander in some random direction and hope for the best. Usually, he'd manage to muster up some sort of optimism and carry on with vigor. However, he can't muster up any optimism when he keeps thinking about how abnormally light Flint weighs. Yes, Flint is very short, meaning he shouldn't expect him to weigh much. But the small boy is hardly a burden on his arm and shoulders as he runs— it almost feels like the equivalent of carrying a medium-sized dog.

Bari doesn't want to think about what that implies.

There is a sudden sound of squeaking boots pounding against the floor. Bari curses under his breath as he is forced to make an abrupt stop, nearly losing his balance. He manages to stay up on his feet while men charge in from both sides of the hall, blocking all possible paths to escape through. Now boxed in, Bari holds the unconscious Flint closer to his chest.

He half expects the guards to all collectively jump and dogpile on him, but they don't. They stand in place after surrounding him. Only one man steps out from the cluster to act as a mouthpiece.

"Stand down. I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, but just stand down. Put the punk down, and get on the ground."

Bari steps back. The action only draws him closer to the men positioned behind him, making his nerves go wild. He pants. All the running should have exhausted him, but being made to face all these guards (who he finds outstandingly volatile) invigorates him through pure rage.

"No!" He shouts. "Not until somebody agrees to bring this 'punk' to get treatment! Or are you all just dandy with leaving him to get some life-threatening infection? You bastards seem like the type to get off on something that fucking sick."

There are several agitated murmurs and grunts amidst the crowd of guards, but Bari couldn't care less. He focuses on the mouthpiece, who crosses his arms with a short scoff.

"That's what this is about? Really?" The man asks. "So Risha roughed the kid up a bit. Such dramatics aren't necessary. It isn't our problem, and it isn't your problem either. He isn't worth running your mouth over, much less getting a beating over. You're new here, aren't you? I'll go easy on you just this once if you stop this nonsense this instant. Last warning."

Bari can't believe what he's hearing.

"...You could take that little warning of yours, roll it up and shove it up your asshole." Bari's face turns bright red. It burns hot like a tea kettle about to go off. "Roughed up a bit? Dramatics aren't necessary? For Christ's sake! He's missing a fucking eye!"

The man's face contorts in anger. He opens his mouth to make a command, but he is suddenly pushed aside by a shorter guard.

The short guard raises his hands into the air, signifying a peaceful approach, and walks up to Bari. He reaches out towards Flint's face, which is tucked into Bari's chest, and gently turns it towards him. The sight makes his complexion drain of color.

"Jesus," the short guard mutters before looking back to his peers. "One of his eyes has been cut out. From the looks of it, it was done with a knife."

The guardsmen all become speechless in a matter of seconds. The silence becomes all-encompassing.

A voice breaks it apart like a bullet striking glass. The sound reverberates within Bari's mind. The immediate frustration and anger that follows make his footing waver.

"Would anyone care to explain what is going on?"

The gathered men nearly trample over each other as they move to clear a path for the newcomer. A blond man— that blond man— proceeds through the path with a curious tilt of his head. His fingers drum the tip of his chin as his sight narrows on Bari.

"You're a new face. Quite the first impression you're making."

"Risha, sir." The short guard steps away from Bari and folds his hands behind his back. "The boy's eye... is it your doing?"

"Of course." The blond, Risha, grins. "If you're surprised by this, I'm afraid you haven't been paying much attention. But then again, I suppose that's what I should expect of you all. This random boy has managed to slip out of your oh-so-vigilant watch and get a hold of an inmate who is supposed to be isolated. I'm still waiting for my explanation, by the way."

The guards all remain deathly quiet, which seems to amuse Risha. He laughs.

"How sad. Has everyone lost their voices today? Or are you all just too ashamed of your own failure?"

"You're one to talk," Bari snaps. Suddenly, all eyes are on him. "You literally walked right past me."

Risha's black eyes shift to Bari, sharp and piercing yet paired with an unfitting, gleeful smile. The hairs on the back of Bari's neck all stand up at once.

"You're an interesting one. I like you already. I wonder how long that feist of yours will last. Anywho, since you seem to be the only person here who's capable of speaking, care to tell me what you're doing with that cargo? " Risha's voice raises into a mocking tone. "Are you trying to play hero, little convict? Are you trying to save the poor little punching bag? Please. You're too cute."

"Fuck off," Bari says through bared teeth. "I'm just trying to do what you were too lazy to do. What the hell is wrong with you? You rip his eye out and do god knows what else to him, and then you don't bother to get him treatment afterward!? "

"Oh, I was going to take him to the infirmary eventually. But, see, I figured he could use a little time to think about his actions. Or wallow in agony. Whichever he chose to do. Consider it a harmless addition to my thorough discipline. Besides, it's not like anyone is fretting over his condition. No one cares if he suffers."

Bari wants nothing more than to wring that man's neck.

"...You're a monster," he growls.

"Oh, you think so? Why? Because of what I've done to him?" Risha puts a hand over his heart. His fingers are still coated in blood. "I'm afraid I must disagree. Everything I've done to that boy is not on me, but on him. He brought it all upon himself."

Nevermind. Wringing his neck would be too merciful. Bari wants to stuff him into a Brazen Bull.

"Bastard!"

Bari's shout, though full of hatred and anger, doesn't startle Risha in the least. The man nonchalantly walks forward with a calm smile stretched across his face, closing in on Bari step by step. Bari's anger slowly takes a backseat to an anxiety that feels almost instinctual. Sweat trickles down from his forehead to his nose and finally to his chin as the man looms closer.

By the time Risha's and Bari's faces are inches apart, Bari has stopped breathing. Risha's shadow swallows the boy in its presence.

"You're going to learn very quickly that I'm the last person you'll ever want to disrespect." Risha speaks in a whisper, but there is force backing his voice. "Every word and every action has their consequences. It'll do you good to remember that."

Risha nods his head. Immediately after to gesture, someone strikes Bari in the back of the head.

Bari collapses, falling right on top of the small boy he was just holding in his arms. Before he could regain his senses, he is grabbed by multiple men and pulled off of Flint. He watches as Risha steps forward and picks the boy up, slinging him carelessly over his shoulder.

"I suppose you're getting what you wanted. Congratulations." Risha snickers at Bari before turning his attention to the guards holding him. "Put that one in isolation. I'll deal with him later. I have to go dump this one off."

* * *

Flint wakes up to a white ceiling.

Everything hurts.

He lifts his arms to see they have been wrapped in bandages, concealing all his skin in white. He lowers a hand down onto his face to feel bandages wrapped around his forehead and covering what used to be his eye. He feels patches covering all the swollen bruises and cuts left behind by cruel hands.

Everything really hurts.

"Oh, thank goodness. You're awake."

A soft voice speaks to him; a kind, gentle voice. Flint pushes himself up into a sitting position, rattling all the aches that burdened his body. The soft voice becomes frantic as he lets out an audible pained groan.

"Don't move so fast! Easy, easy..."

Within seconds, the woman is at his bedside. Her hands hover over him, but she doesn't touch him— he always appreciated that about her. In a building full of people who will grab and manhandle him without a second thought, it's nice to have at least one person respect his need for space.

Flint could hear the sounds of whining inmates and chatting nurses— the infirmary never seems to change. He's been here countless times, almost always after being mercilessly brutalized. But even with his visits to the infirmary being tied to emetic, nightmare-inducing memories, he could never bring himself to hate the place. It's the nicest place in the hellhole that is Woodgate, and it has the nicest person in the pool of soulless monsters that inhabit it.

Mei's dark eyes peek through her black bangs, her brow knitted in concern as she watches Flint adjust himself into a comfortable upright position. She withdraws her hands and shoves them both into her nurse uniform's pockets— Flint has long noticed that she only does this when speaking with him.

"How are you feeling?" She asks.

"Like shit," Flint says.

"Ah. I expected as much. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You didn't do anything."

"Exactly. I didn't do much of anything."

Mei hangs her head. Strands of hair slip from behind her ear and fall forward to conceal her features. Her face is hidden, but Flint doesn't need to see her face to imagine the somber expression she likely wears.

"We can't disobey Risha's orders. That'd be like disobeying the warden himself," she says. "So... none of us were allowed to use healing magic on you. You still have to endure all this pain... I'm sorry, Flint. It's unfair. Even after what he's done... he still won't let us just treat you properly!"

Flint could see her fists tense within her pockets. Her shoulders rise as her breathing becomes heavy.

But Flint hardly flinches or so much as reacts at her rage.

"It's the same as always, Mei. We go over this every time. You don't have to apologize because of something you have no control over."

"This isn't the same as always." Mei raises her head straight and firm before brushing the hair away from her face. "You lost an eye."

"Lost it? Are you sure I haven't just misplaced it?"

"Don't deflect. You're hurt. You've been getting hurt over and over again. And I think it's about time you break that cycle."

"Mei, please don't start—"

"Don't 'Mei' me. Flint, you are still young. Is this really how you want to spend the rest of your life?"

"What's my other option? Giving up and spending the rest of my life in this place, wallowing in misery?" Flint looks to his hands folded over his lap. "That's not a life I want to live."

"It's not an ideal life, and I'm aware of that. But it has to be better than what Risha's putting you through."

As badly as Flint wants to counter, he can't think of anything to say. He remains quiet, refusing to look up at the woman and keeping his gaze on his hands.

He remembers a dream he had. Or was it a hallucination? He's not sure. Either way, he remembers looking into his friend's brown eyes as they whispered reassurances. They looked much older than and very different from how he last remembered them, but he could tell by the underlying mischief that gleamed within their eyes, their dimpled face, their fine and delicate features that it really was them. For just a moment, it felt real despite being much too good to be true.

Flint wants to make that dream a reality. He'll do anything to see any of their faces again. He doesn't want all the suffering he's been through to be all for naught. He'll hang on to the determination to keep trying. He'll hang onto the hope of seeing him again.

Even if he loses his sanity in the process.

It makes these roundabout conversations with Mei, where she tries to convince him to abandon his efforts and resign to this pitiful life, pointless and aggravating. But in that regard, she was always just as stubborn as he was.

"You could try to make something out of your life here. You should at least try, Flint," Mei continues. "You could start by trying to making some friends. I know the selection could be a bit better but there's bound to be someone who—"

"Everyone here either hates me or pities me. There is no in-between." Flint shakes his head, still refusing to look up. "I'm notorious for getting in trouble and having the guards watch my every move. People avoid me because of it. It'd be pointless."

"Well, maybe it'd do you some good to pick up a hobby. You could try drawing, maybe? Perhaps you could try working out? Or writing? Or maybe—"

"No. Mei, I don't want to have this conversation right now."

"You never do. But I can't stand this. These 'punishments' have just been getting worse and worse! If things keep continuing this way, God knows what will happen to you!" Mei's voice began to rise as Flint clenched his bedsheets. "Would you at least consider behaving? I'm telling this for your own good!"

"Mei, if getting my eye ripped out from my damn face won't get me to 'behave', what makes you think anything anybody says ever will?!"

Flint's head shoots up to look at Mei. The woman takes a step back, recoiling from the boy who snapped at her and staring back at him with wide eyes. Her jaw hangs open, speechless, as Flint is instantly smacked aside the head with a tidal wave of guilt.

His fists relax and release the bedsheets from their grip. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. I'm sorry."

"No, no. It's okay. I overstepped my boundaries, I think." With steady, deliberately slow movements, Mei moves closer and sits at the foot of Flint's bed. "I also think I forgot to ask the most important question. Are you okay, Flint?"

Flint bites his lip. He shakes his head in a lethargic manner.

"No."

The word hangs in the air. Mei waits patiently for him to continue, crossing her legs and folding her hands. The quiet between the two quickly becomes too much for the boy. His entangled thoughts begin to untwist and flow from his mouth without thought.

"I'm a thief. I cause trouble. I know that. I know I'm not worth much to anyone but... did I really deserve this? He mutilated me! Disfigured me! And he loved doing it, too! He just loves torturing me senseless and I don't get it! I never did anything to him!"

Flint shakes his head again. Tears cling to his lashes.

"I must've done something to deserve this! What did I do? How'd I make God hate me?" Flint holds back a sob. "How'd it come to this? What'd I do...?"

Wordlessly, Mei extends her palm out towards the boy. Timidly, Flint reaches out and places his hand in hers.

"Let yourself cry," Mei says. "Let it out, Flint. It's okay"

She places her second hand on top of his, cradling the boy's hand between her two palms. His sobs grow louder and stronger as his grip on the woman's hand tightens.

* * *