Bari is the same.

Why must he keep running off to do stupid things?

And this, oh, this. This was the absolute crowning achievement of stupidity and recklessness. This could become Bari's point of no return if he insists on acting for the sake of what's just the remnants of a person long dead.

Flint wants to be angry at Bari. He was angry, briefly. But then it all just swirled down the drain and vanished before he could grasp it. Now all that's left behind for him to drown in is the usual anxiety and melancholy that has come to dictate his existence. Feeling anything outside of that is rare. It seems downright impossible at times. It all gets submerged and lost in the constant despair, fading into nothing but a faint whisper.

He wants to be angry, but he doesn't know if he can feel anger anymore. It's another one of the many, many things that were stolen from him.

And he's the one they call a thief...

Whatever.

* * *

Breakfast is horrifically, painfully, mind-numbingly silent. Yes, the cafeteria is as noisy as ever. Guards are yelling at inmates, inmates are yelling at each other, but Bari still sits in silence. Flint hasn't said a word to him, even as the two boys sit across from each other.

Flint's hardly eating— if anything, it looks like he's more interested in sleeping. Bari keeps expecting him to doze off and drop his head face-first into his tray. Maybe it's his fatigue that's keeping him silent?

Bari wishes he was naive enough to believe that.

"Hey... Flint. Are you mad at me?"

Flint peers up at Bari before quickly lowering his gaze back down at his tray. He pokes at what's supposed to be toast... or what looked like bread no one bothered to toast.

"Kinda, but me being mad won't get us anywhere. What's done is done."

The following pause is equally soul-sucking and vexatious. Bari sighs— talking with Flint used to be so easy. But now, it's like walking across a minefield.

"Look, uh... I should've... maybe... handled things better yesterday. I probably should've listened to you... but I just can't stand the way that bastard treats you—"

"Welcome to my god-forsaken life, Bari. I'm his favorite plaything." Flint looks everywhere but Bari's face as he speaks. "But it's whatever. I'm used to it. So just stay out of it."

"Oh, you're used to it? So that's why you freeze up every time he walks by this table."

Flint doesn't respond.

Bari's not blind. He's noticed it.

The prison guards make their usual rounds, patrolling the cafeteria as the inmates eat foods of bland taste. Risha is among them. Every time he nears their table, without fail, Flint goes rigid. Or violently twitches. Or lowers his head to a point where his forehead nearly touches the table.

Bari just wants to pick Flint up and make a run for it here and now.

"... Anyway, I'm, uh, trying to, um, well. I may have kinda messed up a bit. You know, with how I handled Risha's blathering. If I kept my mouth shut maybe you wouldn't have gotten hit—"

"He wouldn't have burned your cheek."

"And you wouldn't have gotten hit. Don't disregard that."

Flint keeps his eye on the tray. A somberness flooded his expression, nearly bursting at the seams...

"I'm already in the line of fire, Bari. You aren't yet— you're dangerously close, but you could still save yourself. I'm going to get hurt no matter what. You don't need to get yourself hurt as well."

Bari opens his mouth to object, but Flint continues.

"But I appreciate your attempt at an apology, messy as it is. It's... nice to know you still care about me."

Flint chokes on his words.

Again, Bari opens his mouth... only to find no words to say.

Flint's past words haunt him, pounding against his skull with a throbbing pulse.

I'm not who I was! I'm not the person you knew!

They keep pounding and pounding as the tortuous silence returns.

I'm not worth it!

Bari wants nothing more than to combat them, but he's only a lone soldier left to fight against years and years of what was essentially programming. Nothing he can say could undo all of what's been done, all of what Flint has been made to believe.

"You know, you never answered my question."

Flint's voice snaps Bari out of his own head.

"When I asked what happened yesterday, you told me you got yourself arrested on purpose after seeing me get caught in the city square. But you never told me how. How'd you get yourself arrested?"

It's an obvious ploy to change the subject, but Bari can't help but be thankful for it. He embraces it with wide-open arms.

"Oh. Fair question. See, after you crashed into me, and I realized you were alive, I knew I had to go after you! So I—"

"Wait. I... crashed into you?"

"...You don't remember? Actually, I probably should've expected that. You were so damned panicked and focused on getting away, I don't even think you looked at me." Bari shuts his eyes. The memory, the shock, is still so fresh in his mind. "It was after you slashed that guy's face and all those guards went after you. You ran into me, but you kept running. I should've gone after you immediately but I sorta froze."

Flint looks to his palms. He says nothing.

"Flint? Hey..."

Flint sucks in a shaky breath. "I... barely remember any of what happened in the city. It's all in little flashes. I remember running... and being grabbed and held down as they put me in chains. An-and I do remember taking some glass with me just in case. But I don't remember attacking anyone. Risha told me I did... but I was hoping he just made it up or something. I knew he didn't, though. And now I can't deny it at all."

The boy curls his hands into fists and tucks them into his pockets, as if the mere sight of them was something too disgusting to bear.

Flint never liked violence; that's all Bari could think. He never liked violence, and yet—

"Forget it. Just forget it," Flint says. "Continue on. How'd you get arrested?"

"...Alright." This wasn't alright. None of this is alright, but Bari is too exhausted to say it aloud. "So... it was kind of a trial and error endeavor."

"Trial and error? How do you fail at getting arrested?"

Flint stares at Bari with a narrowed, skeptical glance. Something about it feels nostalgic.

"By underestimating how much the guards will let slide." Bari laughs with a slight wince. "It was kind of a pain, but eventually they arrested me for swiping a cash register and carrying it halfway down the block."

"An... entire cash register?"

"Yup. What can I say? They forced my hand."

"Was there even, like, good money in the thing?"

"How would I know? I didn't look."

"God."

Flint shakes his head with a soft scoff. Bari could see a hint of a smile on his face come and go in a flash.

His own mouth curls into a large, toothy grin. That tease of a smile wasn't much, but he'll take what he can get.

"But hey! It worked! And guess what?" Bari leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. "You and I are gonna bust outta here."

Whatever levity has managed to sneak its way onto Flint's face disappears. His scowl grows deeper. "You oughta find out what your sentence is before you go extending it. There couldn't have been that much money in that cash register. If it's your first offense in Zau, then you might get an easy sentence to simply wait out—"

"Do you actually think, in a million fucking years, I would leave this place without you?"

Flint shrinks away underneath Bari's glare. Bari can't help but find irony in it— growing up, Flint had a way of making Bari shudder with a simple glance.

"No," Flint mumbles. "But you'd be way better off."

"Shut up, that isn't true. Remember, I came here because of you!"

The regret is instant when Bari watches Flint turn away from him. Flint puts his hand over his mouth— he looks queasy. Or maybe he's just overwhelmed?

Regardless, Bari knows he has just stepped on a landmine.

"I-it's not a bad thing! I'm just saying! I didn't come here to leave you behind. So I'm going to get us both out of here, okay? Whether you like it or not!"

Flint slowly turns back to meet Bari's eyes. The look on his face and the emotion swirling in his eye... it's nothing more or less than complete resignation.

"If you're going to insist on that, then we're gonna need a damn good plan."

* * *

It's his fault Bari is here.

Granted, he didn't ask for this to happen. But it's still all his fault. If he had just stayed where he was supposed to, none of this would be happening—

Wait.

Shit. Fucking shit. He's thinking the exact way Risha wants him to think. He really is nothing but the remnants of someone long dead, isn't he?

Then again, the way Risha wants him to think... it's based on truth, isn't it? It's not wrong, as much as Flint wants it to be wrong.

The truth in Risha's words haunts him.

There was this one day many years ago.

Flint was trying to escape... again. There's an emergency exit near the rear of the prison that he was desperately trying to reach. He was close, having passed the main security room and the main staircase, nearing the staff's break room and the smoking area. Slowly, but surely, his beating heart eased its pace as he crept through the halls. He was almost there, essentially at the homestretch—

"Ah," a voice chimed from behind. "I don't think you're supposed to be here. Must I break your leg again for you to stay put?"

Flint refused to look his way until he managed to bury everything beneath a poker face. Even when he stopped his lips from quivering and kept his eyes from bugging out from his head, the strain in his expression was nothing short of transparent. Even when he shoved his trembling fists into his pockets, their shaking could still be seen beneath the fabric.

"I'll crawl if I have to."

Flint had meant to sound aggressive, but as he turned to see Risha slip an unlit cigarette back into a pack, his words came out in a whimper.

"Oh really?" Risha smirked. "You'd crawl? I can make that a reality for you."

Flint cursed at himself internally.

The man stepped forward. The boy stepped back.

He stared at the man's chin, but not his eyes.

"Are you going to run? Shall I add that to today's list? Let me see, we've got you trying to escape. Then there's your backtalk. Two misdeeds to punish already," he snickered. "And if you run, that would make three. Wish for a third?"

The man took another step forward. The boy took another step back.

"So you do wish for a third. Wonderful. Go ahead. Run. Make my day, little thief. I've been itching for some fun."

Flint's eyes began to tear up. He held his breath to stop them from falling. A question burned at the back of his throat and emerged before he had a chance to hold it back.

"Why?"

Risha tilted his head. "Why? Why what?"

"Why do you enjoy this? Why... do you enjoy hurting me?"

Risha smiled. It reached those eyes glistening with raw joy. "Does it matter? As much as I enjoy... 'reprimanding' you, I'm not the cause of it. You are."

"...That... that isn't an answer."

Flint tried to keep his posture straight, but his knees shook as his stance faltered. But still, he tried to stand tall. He tried to keep his face void of emotion and fear.

The effort fell apart when Risha pounced forward and wrapped his hands tightly around his neck.

Risha's thumbs pressed into Flint's throat. He clawed and scratched and clawed and scratched at the man's fingers, but they remained firmly in place. He couldn't breathe. He could hear only a taunting voice as black spots swarmed his vision.

"You're in no position to demand answers from me. You're forgetting your place again, worthless brat. How could I keep you from forgetting? Perhaps I should crush your vocal cords? Then you won't be able to demand a thing. That should work, wouldn't you say?"

Everything was going black. Flint was at the edge of consciousness, but before it all slipped away, the tight grip on his neck loosened. The boy coughed and hacked as his senses returned to him— Risha's grasp loosened just enough for some air to slip in. It wasn't much at all, and he still felt light-headed, but it was enough.

"Don't go dozing off on me yet." The sight of Risha's face made Flint almost wish the black spots would return. "That would be very rude of you, Flinty boy. We're in the middle of a conversation. I ask you again, how could I keep you from forgetting your place?"

Flint vaguely understood he was supposed to say something. But he couldn't think of what to say— his consciousness wavered. Everything, even his own thoughts, felt so distant and so disconnected and so far away.

All he could do was verbalize the first thought that came across his mind.

"... I wanna go home."

The devil's grin fell from Risha's face. Again, his head tilted. "Pardon?"

"I just..." Flint choked out. "I just want to go home."

"In regards to your 'home,' I believe we are both standing in it."

"No." Despite his neck still being constricted by an unyielding grip, Flint shook his head vigorously. "Not here."

"Where then?"

Flint said nothing. The hands around his throat began to tighten their grasp yet again—

"My family!" Flint cried out. "My family, my family!"

The grip eased, allowing the boy to gasp for a sliver of air. He shut his eyes and remembered. He remembered voices and faces he hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime.

"My dad... my brother... my baby sister." Hot tears slipped from his eyes— he couldn't hold them back any longer. "I want to see them. That's all I want... that's the only reason why I keep trying... why I must escape. They're the only reason why..."

To this day, Flint has no idea why he said those things. Or why he would give Risha the ammo. Maybe it was because he just needed to admit it all aloud, as if verbalizing it would justify all the torture he's put himself through. Or maybe it somehow just made sense to say within his oxygen-deprived brain. Or maybe he even expected to touch an ounce of humanity that resided somewhere deep inside Risha.

Whatever the reason was, what Flint said then... made Risha laugh.

And laugh.

And laugh.

The boy didn't understand.

"Why are you...?" He blinked away more tears. "Why are you laughing? I-I didn't say anything funny!"

"Oh, on the contrary, you did. You're so incredibly selfish, Flinty boy. It's amusing."

The boy really didn't understand.

"What...?"

Risha caught his breath, gaining control over his laughter. "That's what this is all about? You keep causing problems for all of us, and yourself, because you want to see your family? Or, more properly put, because you want to complicate their lives by trying to walk back into them when you're meant to rot here? Mighty inconsiderate, if you ask me."

The boy completely froze, body and mind. He watched the man's features lighten with glee.

"How many years have you been here? Two, I believe? It's been a long while. They've moved on. They're probably perfectly fulfilled without you— better off, even. Why would you want to ruin that peace of theirs? You're quite cruel, aren't you? You refuse to just accept your place in the world, and make it everyone else's problem."

Risha's words echoed in his head, running in circles, bouncing back and forth and back and forth. He wanted— he wants to call those words a cruel lie. But they haunt him, and haunt him, and haunt him, and chase him in his dreams. He really is selfish, isn't he? But he has to cling to something. The alternative is—

Even if it's selfish, it's all he has. It's the only reason he bothers with waking up each morning. He wants to hug Robin again. He wants to apologize to Eugene for all of the stupid things he's said. And Bari—

It's his fault Bari is here.

Flint can't hide away from the truth in those words, no matter how hard he tries.

But back then, when those words were first said, Flint resisted them with everything he had. He managed to feel actual rage, which feels almost alien now. He saw red. He threw his fist forward, hitting Risha's cheek and forcing the man to release his neck.

"Shut up! You're wrong!" Flint had shouted, voice shaky and tears unending. "You're wrong! You have to be!"

And then Risha looked down at him, hand holding his reddened cheek, eyes laser-focused and conniving. The grotesque grin that twisted and overpowered his gentle features... replaced Flint's rage with fear in an instant.

"Oh, you little fool. I'm going to make you regret that," the man told him.

And the man stayed true to his word.

* * *

A desperate voice pulls him from the memory.

"Flint! Flint! Flint!"

The sound of his name is muffled as if he were hearing it from underwater. He blinks. Through blurred vision, he sees the brown of his friend's eyes. Is he hallucinating? Oh, no, wait. Bari's real.

What just happened?

"C'mon, Flint!" Bari's panicked voice becomes clear. His vision stops swaying. "What's wrong? Flint! Say something, please!"

"...Bari?" Flint blinks again. "Please don't yell..."

"Oh thank god." Bari releases Flint's shoulders— Flint hadn't even realized Bari was clutching his shoulders. "Are you back? Please tell me your back."

"Back...?"

He rubs his eye, blinks again, and looks at his surroundings. He's on the floor in the middle of a cell— oh, that's right. They were headed to Bari's cell to discuss the matter of escaping in private. But as they walked...

He hates when this happens.

What did Mei call it? Dissociation?

"Shit." Flint shakes his head, trying to shake away the fog that clouds it. "I must've spaced out."

"Spaced out? You kidding? You were on another damn planet! You just stopped and wouldn't respond so I had to drag you in here—!"

"Don't yell. Please. Head hurts."

"O-oh. Okay..." Bari shifts forward, raising his hand towards Flint's face. "...Does it hurt? Here, let me see your neck."

The blonde's fingertips nearly graze his skin. He suddenly can't breathe out. Only in.

"No!"

Flint's body slips into a frenzy, his legs kicking as his hands are thrown protectively over his own throat. Only then does he feel a dull, prickling pain on his neck. He lowers his hands to see tiny red smudges that have rubbed off his neck and onto his palms.

"Huh...?" Flint gapes up at Bari, who had jumped to his feet and taken several steps back. There's pity in his eyes.

"I didn't mean to scare you." Bari cautiously approaches, taking only a single slow step forward. "While you were... 'out of it'... you began to scratch at your neck. I couldn't get you to stop. You just kept... going at it."

Oh.

"It doesn't look too bad, I don't think. Looks like you just broke a little skin and left some scratches. But I wanted to make sure." He takes a second step. "We should probably cover them up with some bandaids just to be safe. There's gotta be somewhere in this hellhole to grab some—"

"Don't bother with that. It's fine."

Flint pushes himself up onto his feet. He wipes his hand on his jumpsuit, ridding them of those little drops of blood as his expression eases into something detached. He kept his gaze from Bari's stupid face with his hanging jaw.

"What? You're literally bleeding!"

"What else is new? Don't worry about it."

"Flint—!"

"You said it yourself: they're just scratches. Barely even bleeding. Don't make a big deal out of nothing."

Flint swipes the sheet from the unmade bed and paces to the back of the cell. Bari tails him like a shadow.

"Nothing?! You just froze and started scratching yourself out of nowhere! And I kept screaming at you and screaming at you, but you couldn't hear me!"

Flint peeks back to see Bari's wide eyes looking at him with such alarm and helplessness— it's the same way someone would look at an old man losing the last of their sensibilities. It's all there, sorrow mixed with terror with a dash of amazement. Flint can't blame Bari for it; he's well aware of how far gone he is.

Bari shouldn't have to witness this.

Bari deserves to be greeted by someone stable and reliable, someone worth being around.

Flint shouldn't be behaving this way in front of him, but he doesn't know how to make it stop. He knew he should've anticipated this problem. He shouldn't have spent all this time foolishly hoping that he would just 'get a grip' by the time he reunited with his loved ones.

But he never knew what else to do.

Flint averts his gaze, keeping his back to Bari as he wraps the bedsheet around his shoulders. He pulls it close, securing himself in the thin blanket as his knuckles grip it tight enough for them to shake with tension.

"Flint!" Bari cries out. "I'm talking to you! Is it happening again? S-should I grab your wrists—?"

Flint spins back around in an instant. "Don't you dare!"

"Tell me what I'm supposed to do then! I don't want you to start scratching yourself again!"

Bari raises his voice, making Flint's whole body shudder. But the anxiety vanishes the second he realizes Bari is crying. Modest tears slip quietly from his eyes and down his cheeks.

Flint can't stand the sight.

It's his fault.

"I'm not... this is..." Flint struggles to speak as he retreats further and further into the bedsheet. What on earth could he say to fix this? "Um... this just... happens sometimes. U-usually I don't scratch myself or anything! I just... zone out completely. T-the nurses say I disassociate or something... it's not a big deal or anything. I promise."

"Not a big deal? Oh dear god, Flint." Bari lowers his face into his hand, speaking in what sounds like both a laugh and a sob. "This place really fucked you up."

Flint pulls the sheet over his head, withdrawing like a turtle. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Why the hell are you apologizing? This ain't your fault." Bari lifts his head and wipes the tears from his face. He takes a deep breath. "How often does this happen?"

"...Huh?"

"This disassociation thing. How often does it happen?"

"Oh. I'm not sure. Depends I guess... it usually happens when I get reminded of something."

"Reminded of something?"

"Yeah." Flint's fingers grace his throat. He could still feel the man's hands wrapped around his neck. "Like, something that's happened before."

"You mean... like a flashback?"

"...Mhm."

Flint nods sheepishly as he shuts his eye. The image of the man's smile continues to mock him. He wants nothing more than to repeatedly slam his head into a door until the image is knocked out of his brain. Or, alternatively, until he's too braindead to care.

"...Okay. Okay. I think I sorta get it." Bari huffs, wiping his face again before throwing his hand into his hair. His cheeks are tear-stained but dry. "We should probably sit down now. Let's both just... try to calm down."

"...I could leave if you want," Flint says. "I understand if you need time alone."

Bari pauses, then shakes his head. "...After everything that just happened, I don't want you out of my sight. It wouldn't feel safe. Here, lay down."

Flint objects at first, but Bari's pure persistence proves unbeatable as he leads him to the bed and prods him into laying down. The blond then chooses to sit on the floor instead of the very free and convenient chair, leaning his back against the wall with his face lifted towards the ceiling.

Everything goes still. It stays that way for some time.

Everything becomes much too still.

Flint turns from his side and lays on his stomach, his chin resting on top of the pillow. He observes Bari's expression, which is calm yet somber. He knows that nothing he can say will make anything better— if anything, he's better off saying nothing at all. But the silence quickly becomes too much for him to bear. It stretches and stretches into something unending, happily toying with his mind. The nothingness of it claws at him until he can no longer keep his mouth shut.

"The quiet's killing me. We came here to talk about escaping."

Bari jumps at the sound of Flint's voice. His head perks up. "Yeah. We did."

"Let's get to it, then."

Flint stares at Bari. Bari stares back at him. After a moment's hesitation, Bari jams his hand into his jumpsuit pocket and retrieves a notepad.

"Let's."

Bari threw open the cover as his lips curved into a cheeky smile— it's as if he weren't in tears minutes before. Flint isn't surprised by it; Bari always had a knack for bouncing back with boundless positivity.

"Okay, so, I've been giving this whole 'using your head' thing a shot, and I think I've got some ideas that will get our butts outta here for sure!" Bari flips past the first few pages. "First things first, it'll probably be best if we plot to escape at night—"

"That won't work."

A scowl replaces Bari's smile. "I'm not even a sentence in and you're already shooting me down?"

"Sorry, but night is a no-go. Not only would we have to worry about getting out of the main building, but there is also the issue of getting out of our cells," Flint explains. "It's almost impossible now. I used to try escaping during nighttime all the time, but then they fixed the cells with locks I can't figure out for the life of me."

"I have noticed those locks... I've never seen anything quite like them. If you can't figure them out, I doubt I have a chance. Still... that doesn't make escaping at night impossible. If we could get our hands on a—"

"Key?"

"Yeah, now you're getting it! A key!" Bari beams. "We can just unlock our cell doors and be on our merry way!"

But Flint's dull expression remains unchanged. "Won't work."

Bari's scowl returns full force. "Huh? Why not?"

"A little while back, they set up this new alarm system. Now, at night, if a cell door moves so much as an inch for any reason, alarms will go off and guards will run here in droves. I found out about it the hard way. I just barely avoided getting my ass kicked by the other prisoners for waking them at 3 a.m."

"Shit... how about the ventilation shaft?" Bari points up to the ceiling. "Might be tricky to access, but if we can figure out how to pry it off—"

"Climbing through the vents probably wouldn't end well for you. I struggle to fit through the vents. And I'm... well..."

"Tiny? Honestly, that's been on my mind. I can't believe how small you are! I remember you always being taller than me, but now? God, to say I was surprised by how short you are would be a total understatement! And that hair, too! Never thought I'd see you with hair that long! It's—"

Bari's face is struck by a speedy, airborne pillow thrown with pinpoint accurate precision. Flint sits up on the bed with his legs crossed, turning away from Bari to stare at the wall. It's the only way he could think to hide the redness in his cheeks.

"Point is, you'd get stuck! A-and they blocked off the vent in my cell, anyway!" He spits. "So, if you're done, I'd very much like to get back on topic."

Bari tucks the pillow under his arm. Flint could hear a little restrained laugh at the back of his throat. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. Anyway... looks like night really is a no-go. But that's fine! That wasn't my only idea!"

Bari flips past several more pages of the notepad. Reluctantly, Flint peers back over his shoulder to see the cheeky smile's return.

"Alright, so during field time, if we—"

"Not happening."

Bari threw the notepad to the ground. "Didn't even get to finish my sentence that time. What's the problem?"

"I'm not allowed outside during field time. They always put me in my cell and keep me there until field time's over."

"Hold on. They don't even allow you outside? Like, ever?"

"Nope."

Bari puts his fist over his mouth. "That's shitty..." Though his voice bleeds with unease, he manages to pick up on the cues in Flint's expression that say he doesn't want to dwell on the topic. He lets out a pained, begrudged sigh. "...Uh, anywho. Sounds like they've put a lot of restrictions on you. Lay 'em all out! Along with anything else I should know. We're probably not going to get anywhere if I just keep shooting in the dark."

Flint plops back down onto the bed, taking a quiet breath of relief. "Fair enough. So. I've been banned from having eating utensils, hair ties, hair clips, liquid soap, peas—"

"Woah, woah, woah. Is there any rhyme and reason to any of that? I mean, they really don't let you use forks?"

"I haven't been eating crusty mashed potatoes with my bare hands all this time for shits and giggles. They won't let me keep cardboard or straws either," Flint continues. "Oh, and they also double-check everything now. Any sort of package being shipped in or out, the laundry shoot, the dumpster— I really regret the whole dumpster plan."

"Wait, I'm still on the fork thing! Why wouldn't they—?"

"I've had to get creative," he shrugs. "It's backfired on me a lot."

"...No joke. I... probably should've asked you this by now, but how'd you make it so far last time?"

"I messed with the generator."

"The generator?"

Flint nods. "The building only runs on one main generator. I snuck down there and messed with the wiring. The power went out. Everything got so chaotic, I was able to sneak out of the building without much issue. Then I was able to cut through the outer fence 'cuz when I took out the power, I also deactivated the electric fence with it."

"Shoot, so that fence is electric?" Bari asks. "I thought I heard it buzzing."

"Yeah. It's new. They've only had it up for a month or something."

"Lovely." Bari groans and grits his teeth. However, his posture quickly perks up as if a lightbulb had just flickered on in his brain. "But it's not a big problem! All we've got to do is what you did! It worked once, it can work again! Right?"

Bari looks to Flint with an optimistic gleam in his eye. That optimism, as well as his posture, plummets once he watches Flint wince.

"I wish I could agree, but there's one big issue." Flint's gaze becomes unfocused and trails off to the side. "While I was at the infirmary... I overheard some guards talking about the entryway that leads to the generator. From the sounds of it, the warden wants it guarded twenty-four-seven."

"That... is an issue." In turn, Bari's gaze trails to the ground. "But we've got to get to that generator somehow. Or else there's no way we'll get past the electric fence."

"We could probably dig underneath it. Or we can climb it if we can get our hands on some rubber gloves and shoes... but I have no idea how we could manage that. That's not to say deactivating it is out of the question, though. We could probably make our way to the generator if we could figure out a way to lure the guards away from their post."

"That sounds doable." Bari pulls a pen from his pocket and retrieves his notepad from the floor. He presses the ink into the paper. "Should we try and knock them out?"

"Too risky, especially considering we don't know how many guards will be stationed there. For all we know, it could be super heavily guarded. That should be our last resort only."

"Okay. I'll jot that down as a last resort, then. How about we try disguises? Walk right past those guards like we're one of 'em!"

"I only tried a disguise once. It got me laughed at. It's not really a big place; the staff knows each other. We'd stick out."

"Crap, using disguises would've been fun. What else could we do? What else...?"

Bari taps the pen against his chin rhythmically, his eyes squinting shut. Flint can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears as he falls silent. The only sound he makes is the rhythmic tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.

Flint listens to the sound, soothing in its pace and its tempo. He rolls onto his stomach, shuts his eye, and continues to simply listen. His mind goes momentarily blank. He could easily fall asleep like this...

He nearly falls off of the bed when Bari's excited shout catapults him back into reality.

"That's it! I've got it! I've got it!"

Flint slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position. "You've got what?"

"A plan!"

"And that plan is...?"

"We'll start a riot."

Bari's expression is firm and his smile is slight yet confident. Flint grips the edge of the bed with his hands as his body goes stiff. His mouth hangs open.

"A riot...?"

"Yeah! I mean, how hard could it be to start a riot? This place sucks! Getting everybody to rise up against those damned guards has got to be a cinch!" Bari flails his hand upward in a loose gesture. "Everyone's gotta want to give the guards a piece of their minds!"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Think about it! The chaos it will cause! It'll surely get the guards away from that generator! And the power going off on top of everything? Slipping away will be easy!"

Bari eagerly flails the pen across the page with a doctor's hand, resulting in scribbles meant to pass as certain words. The look on his face— it says so proudly "this is it! This is the million-dollar idea!"

Flint chews the inside of his cheek incessantly.

"...It's not a bad idea on paper," he says. "But, the thing is... there was a riot here not long ago."

"Wait, really?" Bari lifts his head. "What happened?"

"I think one of the guards killed someone. Someone well-liked. So one of the gangs basically staged a takeover. It only lasted a day before reinforcements showed up and got things back under control."

"Shit, it got snuffed out that quickly?"

"Not before three guards and an inmate were bludgeoned to death. But none of the guards or higher-ups cared about the inmate; it was all about those three guards. The men who led the riot were executed in a matter of hours for their deaths."

"Hours?!"

"Hours," Flint repeats. "No one in this hell would dare invoke a riot. Not after that. And it's probably for the best. I'd rather not have to live with some kind of blood on my hands."

"..." Bari's lips press together into a thin line. "I understand that, but at this point, we're running low on options here."

"It's not like starting a riot is one of them, anyway."

Bari goes to make a counterargument, but Flint's ear picks up the sound of an angered grunt. His gaze wanders to see one guard speaking to another right in front of the cell's entrance. Bari's voice fades into white noise as he focuses on the men's conversation.

"What do you mean you can't find him? There's no damn way he's already gone running off again. Not this soon."

"I'm aware of that, sir—"

"Then what the hell are you doing telling me you can't find him?"

"Because I can't! I've looked all around the common room, I've checked his cell, but I can't find him!"

"Christ, I can't fucking deal right now. I'm going to kill that kid. Alert the others. Hopefully, we could catch him without too much disruption."

What time is it? Eleven o' something? Field time must be drawing near.

Abruptly, Flint stands. He walks straight past Bari, startling the blond and leaving him confused. He steps into the cell's entryway, his hair shielding his eye as he speaks up in a cold, hollow voice.

"I'm right here."

The two guards jerk their heads in Flint's direction. The shorter and younger of the two stomps forward, causing Flint to recoil, though his quailing didn't stop the man from snatching his arm in a forceful grip.

"Are you trying to make my job harder? Where the hell even were you?! You know very well that we have to lock you down before field time! How dare you make me search for you!"

Flint strains against the man's hold. "It's not my fault that you're apparently blind," he says through bared teeth.

The guard responds by slapping the back of Flint's head. Bari stands up on his feet and turns to face the guards just in time to witness it.

"Just because I'm not Risha doesn't mean you get to disrespect me!" The young guard shouts. He pulls Flint along with him as he storms away from the scene. "Now, get moving!"

"Hey! What's going on—?!"

Bari's path is blocked by the older guard, who carries himself with a monotone air. He pulls at a lollipop jammed into his mouth, twirling its stick between his fingertips.

"It's just routine," he says. "We're headed out in ten. You might want to bring your sweater with you. The air has a bit of a bite to it." 

* * *

Bari thinks he might've just discovered the thinnest sweater in existence.

He wasn't expecting much from the likes of Woodgate, but this is just a whole new level of awful. The air is cold, sending a sharp shiver through his body, and the thin, white fabric draped over his shoulders does little to protect him. A small part of him yearns for the chance to go back inside and hide away from the prickling chill in the air... only a very, very small part of him. Every other piece of his soul had been aching for fresh air, and he's going to embrace it.

The prison yard isn't a wide space. Rather, it's a small area fenced off from the rest of the property. It's yards away from the prison's outer fence and the few watchtowers scattered about, taunting him from a distance. Even as he extends his hand out towards it, the horizon beyond the barbed wire remains so distant. Out of reach.

Bari lays on the dirt, staring up at the gray sky. The volume of his thoughts drowns out the chatter that surrounds him. There's too much to think about— figuring out an escape plot is much more of an ass pain than he anticipated. Flint is a goddamn mess, and of course he is. The horrors Bari had witnessed these past few days...

He can't believe it's only been a matter of days. It feels like he's been caught up in this nightmare for years.

Bari would kill for a distraction, even if only for a few minutes.

And a blessed distraction comes marching his way.

He hears soft footsteps approaching him before a man enters his vision, standing over him with his arms crossed and his sweater slung over his shoulder. The man is a far cry from the many rugged and burly men that flooded the prison. In fact, one could even call him pretty. He's tall yet not too lean, a bit of muscle lining his arms and body. His eyes are a deep burgundy. Within the dark color, however, bright traces of crimson shimmer beneath the rays of sunlight that slip through the clouds. His hair is jet black, though red highlights illuminate its ends. His complexion is fair. He dawns the faded black and white stripes with perfect posture. 

The scowl he wears doesn't suit him at all.

"What are you?" he asks.

Bari slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position. "What?"

"What are you?"

"Um... a person?"

"You're not braindead. You know that's not the answer I want."

The man bends his knees and crouches down to Bari's level. The red in his eyes seem to become brighter, multiplying their intensity as they laser-focus on the boy.

Bari does know the answer he wants, and he also knows what the answer will bring. He's had the conversation a million times. What he doesn't know is why this man is asking him about his heritage— how would he even know? Bari hasn't been presenting himself as a mage or anything of the sort. Not here. There's way too much happening for him to open that can of worms.

He just can't deal with that right now.

"What are you?" the man asks again.

"Human," Bari says. "Happy now?"

"Then why did I see you use magic?"

What? There's no way this man could've seen him use magic. Bari hasn't used any magic, except for when—

Oh.

Damn Risha.

"Ah..." Bari swallows a building lump in his throat.

"Though you do not lie, technically. You are human. Partially."

"...How—?"

"The blood in your body. I could sense it. Pulsing through your veins as you released your magic. It didn't move the right way. It was rushing to repair. Releasing that magic hurt you."

The man speaks firmly, as if the words he speaks don't sound like straight-forward insanity. Bari would take it as baseless insanity if it weren't for the fact the man's initial assessment was spot on.

"You... sensed my blood?" he asks. "You know how crazy you sound right now?"

"Blood has a rhythm. When it's disrupted, it stands out."

"...If this is some longwinded way to mock me for my mixed blood, I'd rather you just go ahead and fuck off now."

The man's eyes narrow, though it hardly comes across as aggressive. "No. That would be hypocritical."

"Then what is it you want from me?"

"Nothing." The man's scowl softens ever so slightly. "But us mixed-bloods 'outta have each other's back. Your name would be a nice start."

Bari's expression goes blank. He stares at the man absentmindedly, hardly even blinking, as his brain slowly connects dot after dot. His jaw inches towards the ground.

"...You're a mixed-blood?!"

The man nods. "Half-human. Half-Blood mage."

"... You're a blood mage!?"

Bari has only ever heard of them in stories bards would recite as their fingers picked at their lyres. Blood mages are as terrifying as they are rare, able to manipulate the spilled blood of their fallen enemies to sew more destruction. Their image is that of blood-soaked villains, becoming deadlier with each and every senseless casualty. To have one sitting right in front of him...

"Half-blood mage," the man corrects.

Actually, forget the whole blood mage thing! He's sitting across from another mixed-blood! Someone like him! He's never met one before, or at the very least, he's never met one who was open about being a mixed-blood. Why would anyone be open about it? It's a one-way ticket to getting shunned or spat on! To have one sitting right in front of him...

It's incredible!

"I can't really use blood magic," the man explains. "Not to attack. I could just sense blood. The way it moves. Disappointing, I'm sure."

"Disappointing? Hell if I care! You're like me!" Bari bounces forward, a spike of energy fueling him despite the chilling air. "I never thought I'd meet another mixed-blood here, of all places!"

"Are you kidding? This place is flooded with 'em."

"Wait? You mean that?" Bari's eyes light up like a match. "There's more mixed-bloods here?!" 

"Obviously. Life is hard on people like us. They're infesting the place. Though you wouldn't be able to tell from first glance. Most don't use magic. It hurts them too much. But you did." The man leans forward with his hand resting beneath his chin. "Why is that? Why use the thing that hurts you?"

"Well... it is a little complicated. it's still a part of me. I could feel it— like, it's a natural part of me. I wanna be able to... tap into that, you know?" Bari places his hand over his chest. Even now, he could feel the magic settling beneath his skin like an inner shell. "Go ahead and call me stupid for it."

"No. I admire it."

"Yeah, I know it's stupid— wait, what?"

Bari wonders if his ears are clogged. He jerks his head up to look at the man dead in the face, though the man's expression remains frigid. His broad shoulders shrug as he looks back at the blond, seemingly nonchalant.

"To embrace that side of you must've been difficult," the man says. "So I admire it. Most people are unable to even try."

"Oh! Well..." Bari quickly finds himself tongue-tied. His palms become clammy despite being cold to the touch. "T-thank you, I guess! I mean, I'm just shocked to hear you say that! Most people would call me, well, stupid and shit."

"I wouldn't say stupid. I'd say self-destructive. You do seem like the self-destructive type, and maybe careless, too. You hang around that kid, for whatever reason. Nothing short of asking for trouble, hanging around Keres's pet."

The surrounding air changes in an instant.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly. Are you referring to Flint?"

"Obviously. Don't know what the defensiveness is all about. I'm just saying how it is. Everyone keeps away from him for a reason. It's a one-way ticket to getting Keres's attention. Don't know why you'd want that."

The man's gaze follows Bari's movement as he stands up. The boy's hands curl into fists.

"I don't owe you an explanation. And let's get one damned thing straight: Flint is not that bastard's pet."

Bari's fists tremble as he speaks through clenched, bared teeth. The man doesn't flinch, doesn't recoil. Instead, he slowly rises up onto his feet.

"I didn't ask for an explanation. Again, I'm just saying how it is."

"I didn't ask for your input."

"And I didn't ask if you wanted it or not. Look, that's all aside the point. I didn't come here for a debate. I came here to let you know, from one mixed-blood to another, that I have your back if and when you need it." The man suddenly grabs Bari's hand before he could withdraw and slips a single cigarette into his palm. "Here. Take this as proof that I mean it. A lot of people here are all talk. Not me."

With that, the man turns his back to Bari. He raises his hand in a half-hearted wave and takes his leave. 

* * *

"Sounds like that was Dami."

Flint doesn't seem surprised in the least to hear about the mixed-blood approaching Bari with ambiguous intent. In fact, he's acting as if this were to be expected.

He withdraws his head back underneath his bedsheets like a turtle.

"Dami, huh?" Bari leans against the wall with his arms crossed. "Know him at all?"

"Not personally. I don't recall ever having a conversation with him, but he sure as hell has a presence." Flint's voice mumbles from beneath the blanket. "He's a gang leader."

"...Oh." Bari blinks, has a double-take, blinks again. "Wait a second, what?! You mean he runs a gang in here or...?"

"Yes."

"The hell is a gang leader doing approaching me? Giving me a cigarette and telling me he has my back, no less?"

"He runs a gang of mixed-bloods. You fit the criteria." Flint's head pops back out from the blanket. "He gave you a cigarette?"

"Yeah, not like I have any use for it."

"Can I have it then?"

Bari twists around to see a pleading look in Flint's eye. "You smoke?"

"Well, yeah. It takes the edge off. Not like there's much else to do." Flint extends his palm. "Please?"

"Well, okay..."

Bari retrieves the cigarette from his pocket, steps forward, and extends his hand to give it to Flint. Before Flint could grasp it, however, Bari frantically retracts his hand.

"Wait, wait, I can't give you this! It's bad for you! It's lung cancer in a stick!"

"So what? That's the least of my problems."

"That's— I mean I see what you're saying but— no! You're not smoking the death stick on my watch! You've got to start taking care of yourself!"

Bari slips the cigarette back into his pocket, making Flint, as a child would, pout. Bari looks away from his pursed lips and puffed-out cheeks.

"Don't give me that face! It's for your own good!" Bari seats himself at the end of Flint's bed. "Besides, we've got a curveball to talk about! A gang leader approached me! Think about it— that's a massive connection right there. If I play this right... we might be able to use that connection to aid our escape."

Flint's brows knit together. "...You want to trust Dami?"

"...Trust is a strong word. But if I get on his good side, he might be useful somehow. He doesn't strike me as a horrible guy, though I kinda want to punch him for what he said."

"What did he say?"

A tremor rushes down Bari's spine— he realizes what he had just said. "Oh! Uh, nothin'."

Flint's eye narrows. "Be honest with me, Bari."

"It's nothing, I'm serious."

"Bari."

Bari doesn't look Flint's way; he doesn't need to. He could sense the daggers Flint's shooting at him with his stare. He holds in a sigh.

"He kinda just said that... hanging around you is asking for trouble. Because of Risha."

"... Well, he's not wrong." Flint burrows his face into his arms. "He would know better than anyone. He's basically Risha's watchdog."

"...Oh." Bari blinks, has a double-take, blinks again. "Wait a second, what?! You mean he's in cahoots with that god-forsaken man?!"

"Someone has to supply him with his cigarettes," Flint says flatly.

"But... that monster? That monster who gets to profit off of being a shit stain because he happened to be born the right way?! Why would Dami— a mixed-blood, a mixed-blood! Why would a mixed-blood want anything to do with him?! He should hate everything he stands for!"

"He probably does."

"Then why would he—?!"

"The benefits." Flint sits up, shoulders slacked. "Guess it outweighs the hatred... or something like that."

"That's stupid! Absolutely stupid!" Bari shouts. "There's nothing worth associating with him!"

"Well... associating with him has to be better than being tortured by him."

Flint tucks his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. He rests his forehead on his knee, hiding away from Bari's gaze.

"...Yeah," Bari says, though his voice echoes with languid dismissal. "I doubt Dami has that excuse, though. He's gotta be doing it for his own gain, and I can't accept that. It sucks though. I was so excited to meet another mixed-blood. I was so fucking happy about it, you have no idea. To find out he has anything to do with Risha..."

Bari huffs. Flint peeks up from his curled position.

"...Bari. Why did you come to Zau?"

Bari doesn't answer. Flint doesn't need to know about his fruitless quest for acceptance. Not now. So he chooses to shrug, lifting his shoulders as he holds up open palms.

Flint lifts a brow. "And that means...?"

"No special reason. Just wandered here."

"I don't believe you."

Again, Bari could sense the daggers shooting from Flint's stare. And again, he doesn't look Flint's way; he doesn't need to. Nor does he want to. He stands up and heads straight for the cell door.

"I'll be right back," he says. "I need to go cool my head after all this Dami stuff."

"Where are you going?"

"Just pacing around. Sit tight."

"Bari—"

Bari is already past the door and out of sight by the time Flint manages to call out his name. Flint is left sitting in the cell alone.

Same as always.

Flint reaches into his sleeve and takes out the single cigarette he was able to swipe right out of Bari's pocket without him noticing. He shuffles to the edge of the bed and reaches beneath his mattress to retrieve a small, metallic lighter. With shaky and anxious hands, Flint brings the cigarette to his lips and lights it.

* * *

Several days have passed since Bari's encounter with Dami.

Yet Bari still has a million questions for Dami.

What's it like for him, being a mixed-blood? What happens when he uses magic? Was he abandoned? Was he rejected? Did Zau treat him like shit, too?

Bari wants to hear everything. Bari wants to bask in the feeling of kinship.

The excitement of meeting another mixed-blood is still so fresh in his mind. Turns out, he's not the only one on this earth who got cheated out of the good life. For once, he felt less like an alien among men— there was another just like him! But it just so happens that his fellow alien sucks.

And he's not like he knows who else falls underneath that umbrella aside from those who flock around Dami.

Oh well. Zau was a bust when it came to mages. Why would he expect Woodgate to be any different?

So Bari kept his focus elsewhere: Flint and escaping.

Bari is still trying to adjust to this new version of Flint, as unpredictable and inconsistent as he seems. Flint has problems— that much is obvious. Sometimes, Bari feels like he's communicating with a stranger. He's always distant in demeanor, always so jumpy and anxious, and his grip on reality is... weak. One minute, Bari would be talking with him, the next, Bari realizes he's been talking to a brick wall as he notices Flint's body trembling and his eye glassy and glazed. And what's worse, Flint always acts so apologetically, as if there's a reason for him to be sorry.

The composed and level-headed Flint that Bari knew so well is gone, but even then, there is one aspect of Flint that hasn't changed at all: his caring nature. Flint had always put the welfare of Robin, Bari, Alister before that of his own. And now, somehow, despite how much agony Flint has no doubt been going through, he seems more concerned with Bari's well-being. It's come to a point where if Flint implied that Bari should leave him behind for his own sake one more time, Bari might spontaneously combust.

Flint might not be the person he was, there is no denying it. But just as he was before, he's still a caring, selfless boy. Bari imagines it's one of the many reasons why Flint still acts somewhat distant with him— it's for Bari's sake. Flint thinks that Bari would be much better off staying far, far away from Flint and looking out for himself.

Flint's dead wrong, and Bari will prove it. First things first, though. Escape.

In which no progress has been made.

Talking about escape sends both Bari and Flint in circles. Every plot has a flaw or a missing piece they can't think through. It becomes an uphill climb, in which every rock to latch onto is jagged and cuts you the instant you touch it. It's difficult to gain the slightest traction.

They need a miracle.

And a miracle arrives out of absolutely nowhere.

Bari stands in the prison yard, separated from the other inmates and their cliques. He hears soft footsteps approach him as a familiar figure enters his sight. His face twists in sheer disgust.

"Bari, is it?" Dami asks, hands in his pockets. "You never did tell me your name. I had to get it elsewhere."

"From who? Risha?" Bari scoffs. "I hear you two get along."

"It was Keres. Seems he's already taken interest in you. Not surprising." Dami's expression remains stony as ever, even in the face of Bari's sheer cold demeanor. "Judging by the attitude you're giving, I'm assuming the pe— Flint told you about my... side hustle."

"He said you were Risha's watchdog."

"Pretty much. It's a good trade-off. We both like to know things. To control. The top guard and a gang leader. Imagine how much you can get out of that."

"But Risha's revolting," Bari says in a growl. "You should hate his guts! He's one of those mages who thinks he's better than everyone else for being some purebred despite being the scum of the earth!"

"He is," Dami nods. "Do you want to know why our arrangement works so well? It's not because we have mutual respect or some shit. It's because he sees me as lesser. I'm below him in his eyes, a mutt. A dog. So he uses me like a dog, and I get rewarded for it."

"So you give him what he wants despite him not even seeing you as an equal. Hell, he probably doesn't even see you as a person. Why the hell would you agree to this?"

"To make the most of my circumstances. You could play righteous hero if you wish. But don't push those expectations on me." Dami's brow lowers. He steps into Bari's space, leaning forward to a point where his forehead nearly touches Bari's. "You've seen Flint's condition, haven't you? You've seen what this place does. It messes up your mind. I've been here for fifteen years. Fifteen years. I've had to do what I had to do. You have no right to judge me, fresh meat."

Bari initially freezes, but soon pushes Dami's chest. The man stumbles back but keeps stable footing.

"Yes, I've seen what this place does. But I've also seen what Risha does. I've seen what he does to Flint. Anyone complicit in that... I have no sympathy for. Especially in regards to you. You work for him. You help him." Bari's voice seethes with hatred and anger. "Tell me, if you really are his informant, how many times have you ratted on Flint? How many times have you got him punished?"

"...God, why do you care about that kid so much?"

"Just answer me."

"I really thought you would've dropped him by now. I'm sure the others would've liked you. Punkish as you are."

"Just answer the goddamn question!"

Even as Bari's face burns red and his entire body shakes with tremors born of rage, Dami's expression does not change. The man simply sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Enough times," he says. "It would've happened with or without me, though."

"Like that matters to me."

"It should. You have no reason to hate me. Especially since— well, we'll get there when we get there. I have my piece to say first." Dami's hands make slow gestures, as if he were a man giving a speech. "Keres has been playing a game of cat and mouse with that kid for ages now. And I've been standing back. Watching. Watching the brat set pieces into motion and watching it fall apart. Watching Keres get so excited when he learns of his misbehaviors. Rinse and repeat. It gets just a little bit tiring."

"Oh, must've been oh so horrible for you. Cry me a river."

"But you know what, I never blamed the kid," the man continues, ignoring Bari's input. "I want out, too. I've got a life sentence, too. I'm destined to die here. I don't want that. But I wouldn't dare involve myself with the kid. He's smart but sloppy. Keres fucked him up pretty badly in the brain. He's unreliable. Worse than unreliable, even. But you... I'd bet on."

Dami pulls something out of his pocket. He holds out a notepad. Bari, at first, doesn't understand the notion. Then it hits him.

It's the notepad Bari remembers seeing safely tucked away in his desk just the other day.

"The hell?!" The boy reaches out and snatches his notepad from the man's hands. "How'd you get this?!"

"I took it from your desk. Easy as that. Your handwriting is horrible, by the way."

The man stares at Bari, waiting for him to say something. The boy clutches the notepad in his hand, lowering his gaze to his feet.

He shuts his eyes and takes in a deep breath of air. When he raises his head to face the man, he wears the expression of someone calculated and composed.

"What is it you want, Dami?"

"...I'd rather not deal with the brat. But it seems like you're a packaged deal. I can deal." Dami smirks— it's the first time Bari's seen him smile. "I know you're plotting to escape with the boy. I also want to escape this hellhole. Our goals align. I'm willing to put my chips on you. Let's make an arrangement. Trust me, you'll want my help."