Eugene was infamous. He's been everywhere, he was wanted everywhere— the bounty on his head was huge. Still, somehow, he managed to keep a low profile while continuing his escapades as a master thief. The older he got and the cockier he became, the more risks he took. During his haughtiest days, he delivered calling cards to his victims before his heists, no matter how big or small. He lived on the edge, nearly getting himself captured or shot dead numerous times.

That all stopped when he took in the two siblings.

Flint and Robin, with their cute little faces, changed his life. Then came Bari. Then came Alister. There wasn't any more room for risk. He couldn't be flashy and tease his pursuers, nor could he stay in one place for too long. All his focus shifted to caring for the four children he once found starving in the streets and teaching them to become the most impressive thieves imaginable. As they moved from town to town, region to region, camp to camp, hideout to hideout, he would impart on them every skill he had acquired throughout his adventures.

Only then would they be able to survive this savage world they were born into.

* * *

Flint was ten, which made him the oldest. Eugene always told him that as the oldest, it was his job to be the responsible one. It was a role Flint took in stride... but that didn't make it any less aggravating.

Bari was only a year younger than him, for goodness sake! Why must he keep running off to do stupid things?

"I close my eyes for two minutes, two minutes!" Flint huffed, swatting away the tree branches that blocked his path. "And he decides to go bleed out in the middle of the woods?!"

"His note said he was just going fishing..." Alister followed close behind, trying not to trip on the rocky trail. "Maybe we should just head back to the hideout and wait for him to finish?"

"We don't own a rod, Al. Do you think he went off to fish with his bare hands? You know that's hogwash. He's off practicing magic. That idiot! He'll be defenseless out here if he passes out from blood loss!"

Flint stomped his foot hard against the ground. Alister felt sweat ride down his neck and into his shirt.

"Flint... you shouldn't yell at him too much..."

"I won't. That's why I'm getting mad now. So I don't blow up on him when we find him." The boy took a sigh, regaining some of his composure. "I'm still totally calling him a dumbass though."

"... Eugene says we're aren't supposed to say that word—"

"We're thieves. I don't think following the rules is our thing. Now c'mon. You're moving really slow."

Flint sprinted ahead, jogging down a steep hill with quick, controlled, steady movements that brimmed with grace.

"Flint! Wait up! Wait!"

Alister hurried behind him to the best of his ability, carefully tip-toeing down the hill with his arms spread to keep himself from falling face first. Flint stopped at the end of the slope, looking up to the struggling Alister with crossed arms.

"D-don't give me that look, please..." Alister's cheeks flushed red. "I'm moving as fast as I can."

"I know, I know. Sorry. I'm just thinking... if we were making a getaway right now, this would be a big problem. Maybe you would need to roll down the hill. But then you'd need time to push yourself back up, then gain momentum again..."

"You worry way too much about imaginary situations." Alister slowly made his way down to the leveled ground, reaching Flint's side. "If Bari were here, he'd tell you that you need to chill a bit."

"Then I would tell him he's wrong. It's always good to think ahead, Al. Much better safe than sorry. So—"

Flint noticed a figure a short distance away, causing his train of thought to make an abrupt stop. The figure sat on top of a rock, its hand outstretched as if trying to reach past the trees and the brushes to grasp the setting sun. It sucked in a deep breath of air before releasing a cry that sent startled, squawking birds rushing to the skies for refuge.

"Blessed wind!"

A silver wind blasted from its fingers. The resulting recoil caused the figure to fall backward as blood shot out from its mouth and nose. Both Flint and Alister were rushing to it before its back could even collide with the grass.

"Bari?! Bari! God, why do you keep doing this?!"

Flint kneeled at the boy's side to help him sit up. Bari swatted his hands away, wiping away the blood that dripped from his nose with his sleeve.

"I'm good, I'm good. This ain't nothing! This is just... just..."

Bari choked on his own spit as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He coughed, more blood leaking from his mouth and dropping onto his lap.

"You're 'good?' This ain't 'nothing?' Right..." Flint rubbed Bari's back, biting back the billion sarcastic remarks that popped into his head. "Don't move too much, okay? It'll only make things worse... Al, you brought water with you, right?"

"Oh! Y-yes. I did. Here."

Alister stepped forward, reaching into his bag and retrieving a canteen. He handed it to Flint, who promptly snatched it and shoved it into Bari's hands. Bari unscrewed the cap and lifted his head, preparing to chug all the water down in one go.

"Bari, no!" Flint shouted. "Small sips! Small—"

Flint's warning came too late. Bari went to chug the water, but began to gag halfway through. He dropped the canteen as his body rejected the liquid and made him spit it right back out. The water he spat, mixed with bile, had a slight red tint.

Flint slammed his palm onto his forehead. "God."

"Hey, don't start with the dramatics! This really ain't that bad. And I've really been improving!" Bari smiled with great enthusiasm, blood caught between his teeth. "It took more than three spells for my ears and nose to start bleeding! Three! It's a new record!"

"So you kept going? Did you plan on continuing to use magic until you passed out from blood loss? Bari, if you keep this up you're going to get yourself killed! You can't keep doing this—" Flint began.

"But I want to get better at magic!" Bari's face scrunched up as he puffed his cheeks. "I won't get any better at it if I don't practice!"

"You won't get any better if you're dead, either! You can't keep sneaking off and—"

"I have to sneak out to practice! Eugene won't let me use magic at all! What else am I supposed to do?!"

"I don't know! Not this! Definitely not this!"

"Then you come up with a better idea!"

Bari's voice raised higher and higher, until a sudden spell of nausea caused him to throw a hand over his mouth and wrap an arm around his stomach. Flint shook his head, raising his hands in surrender as he got back onto his feet.

"I'm not going to argue with you anymore. Right now, it's more important we put you in bed to rest. Think you could stand up and walk?"

"Um...dunno. My stomach and chest kinda hurt too much."

"...Alright."

Without warning, Flint bent forward and lifted Bari up into his arms, supporting him under the shoulders and knees. Bari looked away from his carrier, letting his arms dangle towards the ground.

"Really? Can't I just lay down on the rock or something? This is humiliating," Bari groaned.

"Should've thought of that before. Then I wouldn't have to carry you like a baby."

"...You jerk."

Flint let out a short snicker as Bari stuck his tongue out. Alister silently observed with his hands folded behind his back, just as he had been throughout the pair's entire argument. When he suddenly stepped forward to speak, it was enough to make the other two flinch.

"Let me try something."

Alister placed his hand on Bari's stomach and shut his eyes tightly. Flint and Bari watched Alister intently as his face twisted, brow lowered and forehead creased in focus. He bared his teeth and grunted as if trying to shoot lasers out from his ears.

Nothing happened.

Flint's arms began to tremble beneath Bari's weight. "...Al? What—"

The pink light that emerged from and engulfed Alister's hand nearly made Flint stumble backward. Bari screeched and attempted to pull away from the light, but Alister didn't move as a pink smoke burst out from his palm and clouded everyone's vision. Flint accidentally breathed in a lung full, sending him into a coughing fit.

Alister took a step back, folding his hands. Agitated, Bari squirmed his way out of Flint's hold and returned his feet to the ground with a short thud.

"What the heck was that!? Was that some kind of prank— huh?" Bari looked down to his body, placing his hands on his chest, then his stomach. He hopped up and down, lips pressed together as he kept studying his torso. "It doesn't hurt anymore... like, at all."

"Good." Alister smiled. "I was hoping that would help."

"It did... What was that stuff? Was that some sort of magical glowing powder or something?"

"No," Flint said, moon-eyed and unblinking. "That was healing magic."

"Oh! Oh..." Bari looked over to Flint, then back at Alister. "Then wouldn't that mean...you're a...?"

Alister shrugged his shoulders, keeping a smile on his face. "I don't know. Don't think it matters much."

"Of course it matters! You're a mage, for Pete's sake! You could do magic! Mag! Ic!"

Bari flailed his arms wildly as he shouted, hoping it'd cement his point. Flint, on the other hand, remained motionless while trying his best to keep his jaw from dropping.

"...Um, Al?" he asked. "How long have you been able to use magic for?"

"Since always, I guess. I always felt something just buzzing at my fingertips. Didn't try doing anything with it till' kinda recently, though."

"And you never brought this up before why?"

"Didn't think it was that important. Can we head back now? Magic makes me sleepy. And hungry." Alister held a hand over his mouth as he let out a deep yawn.

"...I mean— we—you're—" Flint scratched his head, not even sure how to take the revelation, much less react to it. "I guess that would be the logical thing to do? We shouldn't be late to dinner..."

"Then let's—"

"Wait, wait, wait! Hold on, guys!" Bari threw his arm around Alister's shoulder and pulled him close. "You realize how big this is?! Al, Al! Do you realize what this means?"

Alister shook his head.

"With you and your healing magic by my side, I'll be able to practice magic all I want! You'll just have to keep healing me over and over again and over again, and over time, I'll get so good at magic that I don't puke blood anymore!"

Bari beamed, bouncing up and down on his heels. His joy was written all across his face. It was promptly destroyed in an untimely end by a hand tightly pinching his ear.

"Are you crazy?" Flint tugged Bari's ear to pull him away from Alister. "That's a horrible idea! Your body wouldn't be able to handle it."

"Would too!" Bari grabbed Flint's wrist and yanked his hand away from his ear. "Tell em', Al! Tell Flint how awesome my idea is!"

"But Flint's right, Bari. It's a horrible idea."

"Yeah!... Wait. That's not what you were supposed to say! You were supposed to say my plan's great!"

"But it's not." Alister looked down at his palm. "I only know how to get rid of pain and give a little energy. I don't know how to undo all the bad stuff that happens in the body. So... even with my 'healing,' you wouldn't be able to keep practicing without hacking blood, passing out, or, well, dying."

"What?! Damn it, that's so unfair!" Bari hung his head to sulk, only to lift it back up with excitement. "But maybe, since I'm feeling fine now, I'll be able to get away with another spell! You guys think I could get away with at least one more spell?"

The boy was immediately crushed under the pressure of Flint's cutting glare, sharpened and perfected just for moments like this. Bari was forced to laugh it off, wiping away the panicked sweat that began to build on his temple.

"Just kidding! Just kidding!"

* * *

Bari misses them all.

But that's life. People come and people go. Alister's off at god knows where, probably flexing the magic that gave him a free V.I.P pass through life. Robin's off at god knows where, probably trying her damndest to climb out of the merciless pitfall known as society. Eugene's off at god knows where, opting to do whatever after choosing to dip out on Bari.

And Flint...

Bari misses them all so much.

Especially now, since he's in the world's most old-fashioned country with the world's most old-fashioned people who have the world's most old-fashioned ideals based on the world's most old-fashioned logic. What possessed him to come to Zau, where the elitists of the elites thrive?

Oh, right. He was desperate.

He has to have been traveling on his own for at least two years now. Wait, that would also mean that he's at least eighteen now, right? He thinks so. He feels so much older. Time spent alone seems to take twice as long to pass, and he hates it. He's only managed to bear it this long by talking random strangers to death every single chance he gets. He's been kicked out of taverns more than once for talking the staff to death, admittedly... it'd be funny if it weren't so sad.

The life of a lone thief isn't for him, and he knows it. Sure, theft is all he really knows how to do, but he can't keep doing this alone. It's dull, and the heart rate-increasing, perilous escapes hardly help. So, in a last-ditch (and stupid) effort to find some sort of purpose and companionship, Bari chose to seek out other magic users in hopes of embracing that part of himself. Maybe during his search, if he gets super lucky, he could even find a magic user who's willing to help him improve despite his limitations. Somewhere on this big, giant planet, there has to be at least one mage in existence who doesn't have an inherent hatred of mixed-bloods. At least one!

Zau probably should have been the last place he checked for that elusive all-welcoming mage.

Zau was always known for its heavy population of magic users— mages, especially. It's also known for being filled to the brim with elite families built up of pompous asses. Somehow, Bari must have forgotten that second fact. That, or while he was acting on his impulsive quest for acceptance, he mindlessly dismissed it when he learned that Zau was the closest highly mage-populated region. Either way, it ended with him in Zau like an idiot.

Thus began a horrific streak of bad luck when conversing with Zau's mages. He did his best to present himself as a stereotypical light mage— he wore white clothing, he used foundation to make his skin look paler, he even dyed his hair partly platinum blonde. His appearance helped him not get laughed at the second he proclaimed himself a light mage, but its aid ended there. As soon as he started talking to a mage, without fail, they were always able to tell that he wasn't born into some prestigious family who constantly shoved magic knowledge down his throat from the second he popped out of the womb. Once they've picked up on that, they would always realize that he had no idea what the basics of his own breed of magic were. Then, and only then, the realization would hit that the boy they were speaking with had absolutely no idea what he was doing or what he was talking about. And then finally, if he hadn't already been dismissed by this point, they would discover his status as half-human, half-light-mage and instantly disregard his existence.

These exchanges have become so predictable, Bari considered making a drinking game out of it.

The act was becoming tedious and, as his attempts have shown, useless. So he eventually gave up on it. Now, he just skips everything else and goes straight to the part that gets him rejected.

That's the plan for today as well. He had recently heard of a potion shop where an old enchanting mage sells magic-infused concoctions. It took a bit of searching, but he managed to find it within three hours. All that's left to do is actually try to talk with the owner.

He opens the door, steps inside, and walks straight to the counter. The old woman who sits behind it has sweet, gentle features that blend to create a face that makes one lower their guard.

Bari has learned not to get his hopes up, even if the person he's staring at looks like someone's cookie-baking grandma.

"Welcome, young man," she greets. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah. You're a mage, correct? Know stuff about magic?"

"Yes. I specialize in enchantment."

"Cool, cool. So, I'm sorta a half-blooded light mage who wants to get better at magic and stuff. Think you could help me? Or give me some advice, at least?"

As he hears himself speak, Bari can't help but notice how ridiculously robotic he sounds. How many times has he said these exact words?

The old woman stares at him. Her expression does not change; her face remains sickly sweet in appearance. "No. You are a freak against nature. You shouldn't exist."

Bari's over it all. He's over magic. He's over Zau.

"Thanks for nothing bitch, have a good life. Not that there's much of it left."

He doesn't care to see her reaction. He heads straight out the door and right back into the city streets.

Compared to most other regions in the world, Zau is far, far behind. The architecture within its borders tends to follow either a gothic or colonial style rather than anything considered "modern." Men in Zau usually wear simple trousers and button-ups, while women tend to wear long, basic dresses with ruffles on their sleeves. Patrolling guards carry swords on their belts instead of guns, and the streets are lined with lanterns rather than electric lights. With his disheveled, spikey hair and his favorite hoodie tossed over his shoulders, Bari sticks out like a sore thumb in what resembles a scene ripped straight from the past.

That isn't to say technology is nonexistent in Zau. Bari has seen his fair share of it: he's seen people pull out phones and small children fiddle with portable gaming systems. He's also seen the occasional aggravating security camera. No matter where he goes, he always has to worry about cameras catching him in the act.

Not that he's gotten much thieving done lately, anyway. He's been too focused on this painfully asinine quest. His funds are beginning to run low, which means he needs to stop his fruitless search and get his act together. Maybe he'll just pickpocket a few unsuspecting passersby quickly and then get the hell out of Zau.

There's a problem with that plan, though. As Bari walks down the road lined with shops, he notices an abnormally large police presence. Everywhere he looks, there's a minimum of two guards standing firm and talking amongst each other. Their presence is growing, too. They keep appearing seemingly out of thin air to watch all the shoppers innocently go about their business. Although Bari doesn't think he's been spotted or reported by anybody, the situation still makes him uneasy.

He could hear their whispers in parts.

"The prison—"

"The escapee—"

"—broke out."

"—find him!"

"—could be anywhere—"

"—loose crook—"

"Sneaky bastard!"

Bari never prided himself on being the most perceptive person around, but even he's able to piece together the obvious. They're trying to catch some sort of prison escapee, and their name must be—

Each time he hears a guard mutter the name "Flint," Bari's heart sinks deeper and deeper into his stomach. An unfortunate, painful coincidence that only rattles him further.

Internally, he tells himself to ignore the whispers. He tells himself to focus on just getting out of the city. He tells himself not to worry. He tells himself not to let old wounds get torn open.

He lifts his hood over his head for a sense of security.

"Hey, you. Lower your hood. Let me see your face."

Bari's heart skips a beat as he twists his head in the direction of the voice. He's struck with an instant sense of relief when he realizes the voice's owner, a guard several feet away from him, wasn't speaking to him. In actuality, the person they were referring to was a short hooded figure who kept their head hung low. The hooded figure attempts to ignore the guard's order, but the guard steps forward and grabs their shoulder.

"Did you not hear me? I told you to lower—"

It happens fast, like a bolt of lightning that could be missed with a short blink. The hooded figure reaches into their sleeve and removes a once concealed broken glass shard. In a seamless motion, the guard is slashed across the face with the swing of the figure's arm.

The figure releases its grip on the shard as soon as it finishes its attack. The bloodied glass drops to the ground with a soft clang.

It takes a moment for the guard to react. They hesitantly raise their hand to feel their face, as if touching the injury would make it real. The figure pivots and bolts away, their hood falling from their head to reveal long chestnut hair.

"Shit." The guard wipes away dripping blood. "Shit, shit! Over here! He's over here!"

Passersby and guards alike lift and turn their heads. The chestnut-haired boy runs without caution, paying no mind to the people who now watch him. He keeps his eyes to the ground rather than up ahead, focusing on moving as quickly as possible in whatever direction his feet will take him. It's a classic recipe for a collision.

Bari hardly has any time to react when the fleeing boy charges headfirst into his chest. He is knocked down onto his back as the other boy stumbles and falls onto his knees. Bari immediately pushes himself into a sitting position with his hand clutching his side, teeth bared in annoyance.

"The hell?! What do you think you're—?!"

There is something about this boy's face that makes Bari's world go into slow motion.

It's a young face. With the boy's short, slim physique, it would be easy to write him off as a young teen or possibly even a tween. But then there are the bags under his tired eyes and the countless scars, dark and light, that litter his face. Then there is his entire body's constant trembling like an addict off their meds. Then there is the guard's blood that had splashed onto his forehead and his cheeks like war paint. By all means, it looks like the face of someone who's been to hell and back. It looks like the face of a stranger. It looks like a face that shouldn't have a name to label it.

But those eyes, an encapsulating emerald green that's shimmering in fear, are so familiar. Bari feels a name lingering at the edge of his tongue, and with each passing second, it's becoming more and more clear that he knows those eyes. He knows this boy.

But it doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense at all.

Bari finds himself frozen in place, locked away in his own thoughts as the other boy picks himself up and keeps running forward. He opens his mouth to call out to him, but the name clogs his throat and chokes him.

It really doesn't make any sense.

Regardless, there are only two possibilities.

Either this is a coincidence to end all coincidences or...

The friend he thought to be dead for the last seven years is very, very much alive.

* * *

"Oh."

Alister had already been gone for a year now. Bari didn't think it feasible for anyone else to disappear from his life in a puff of smoke.

"...Oh."

It had been three days since Flint disappeared. Eugene left to check the local jails. Bari and Robin agreed to check the grand hotel Flint alone had gone to snuff out targets for theft.

"...Oh."

Bari had seen it before. Grand, white, imposing. The building had looked like a colosseum, ripe for the rich to drag their snobbish families into. There were excessive fountains, there were beautiful flower beds, there was a giant golden sign with the name 'Vanhala' written in cursive. He couldn't find it anything more than exceptionally pretentious.

He never thought he would wish to see it so badly.

He wanted nothing more than to see it up and well.

He held Robin's small hand as they stood motionless. The entire area was taped off, so they stood at its border. Lining the police tape were all sorts of flowers and cards and stuffed bears and candles and crosses and everything left behind by those in grief.

Even from where they stood, they could see it all. There was nothing left. There was nothing left behind but the skeleton of a building and the charred remains of its interior.

The lingering scent of smoke was still heavy in the air. It gave Bari a headache.

"Oh..."

It was only that word he managed to squeeze out from his constricted throat. It was the only word he could think to say because he didn't want to think any further than that. Then the reality of the situation would—

"Bari..." Robin's grip on the boy's hand tightened. "There... there was a fire here."

"...Yes."

"...People died here."

"...Yes."

"Flint was here. And he hasn't come back." Robin's shaky voice went hollow. "Bari. Flint was here. And he hasn't come back."

Bari couldn't speak. He couldn't look away from the black soot coating everything like an outer shell. He remembered how the stones and tiles once glowed a pearly, spotless white.

"Flint was here! And he hasn't come back!" Robin's hand slipped out from Bari's. "He was here, Bari! My brother was here!"

No matter how many years pass, Bari could never forget Robin's scream. She fell to her knees with her hands gripping her chest, opening her jaw and releasing a piercing sound of sheer horror and anguish.

Bari could hardly release a whimper as he refused to let the realization dawn upon him. He couldn't believe this, he wouldn't believe this.

But Robin hadn't the luxury of denying reality. She laid her face on the dirt and cried, her wails forever immortalized in Bari's most cursed dreams.

* * *

It takes a long time for Bari to snap out of his shock. It takes him even longer to get back on his feet and try to find where the boy had run off to. He manages to find him again only by following the distant sound of screaming, which leads him to the city square. A growing crowd surrounds a massive cluster of guards. Hearing the faint rustling of chains, Bari pushes past the onlookers to see for himself what is happening.

The shock reclaims its grasp with ease. He sees his face, so oddly pale and full of fear. Those green eyes, familiar but wrong. Bari has never seen them so wide in such intense anxiety.

This doesn't feel real.

It's almost like he's looking at a ghost. That boy is Flint. Bari is certain of it.

But the Flint that Bari is looking at now is acting nothing like the Flint he remembers.

Two of the many guards struggled to maintain a firm hold on the captured and subdued escapee. Even with his wrists and ankles in shackles, Flint refuses to accept defeat. He kicks and fights against the grips of captors, his unhinged movements resembling a rabid dog straining against the chain that keeps it confined to a post. His incessant screams and cries fall on deaf ears.

"Enough!" One guard shouts. "It's over! Settle down!"

"No!" The boy screams back. "Let go! Let go of me! Let go of me!"

"Shut up already or I'll gag you!" The second guard warns.

But the warning does nothing.

The screaming and the kicking continues for spectators to ogle at.

The Flint that Bari remembers so fondly was usually composed. No matter the situation, he kept a clear head and remained the voice of reason. That Flint was grounded, mature, and level-headed. This Flint, now scarred and weary, is wild and straight-up berserk. Is this really the same person?— Bari knows the answer to that question is yes, even if it's difficult to believe. What made him like this? Why is he acting like a dangerous caged animal? Is that truly what Flint has become throughout all these years?

Actually, those are the least of Bari's questions right now. What the hell was Flint doing in Zau of all places? They were nowhere near Zau when he disappeared! Why did he disappear if he didn't die in that fire? He wouldn't take advantage of that fire to fake his death, would he? No, he wouldn't. He cared about everyone too much to pull off a stunt like that. He wouldn't just leave his baby sister behind, for goodness sake! What in the hell happened?!

The questions all became obsolete with the impact of a third guard's fist. Flint is hit in the jaw, ending his screams and making his body go limp. Blood mixed with spit drips from the edge of his mouth.

Just like that, the spectacle is over. The unconscious boy is slung over a guard's shoulder and carried like a sack of hay. With the excitement dying down, the now disinterested crowd disperses as everyone returns to their daily routines. The guards disperse as well, taking their captive to be locked away once again.

Bari's the only one left standing still in that square.

Anger blurs over the shock in its wake.

Bari wants to charge forward and smack the guard who rendered Flint unconscious across the face. But something holds him back. Maybe it's because his impulsive acts usually land him in some sort of hole he can't dig himself out of. Maybe it's because of the tiny voice in the back of his head telling him to think as Eugene would and actually plan out his next move. Maybe it's because the anger and frustration and the confusion and the remaining shock are all so paralyzing, both physically and mentally.

No, he can't let himself be too overwhelmed to do anything.

He runs after the guards.

Flint clearly needs help, and Bari's countless questions will never be answered if he doesn't get a chance to talk with him. He wants to speak with the friend he's grieved over for so long. He wants to know if the Flint he remembers is still in there. He wants to save him from whatever mess he's managed to get himself caught up in.

Bari never prided himself on being the most impressive planner around. However, whenever he has even a fragment of a plan, he acts upon it with conviction. He knows he stands no chance against all those guards, especially considering many of them are likely non-blood puking magic users. He also knows that Zau's prison system is slightly archaic— as a thief, it's good to be at least somewhat aware of how the justice system of your current location works. Jails and prisons aren't separate here, so if Bari was to get arrested in this area, he'd most likely be thrown into the same facility as Flint.

So, as Bari catches up with the guards and throws a punch at the one unfortunate enough to be closest, he is certain that his makeshift plan is brilliant and foolproof.

He is less certain as his target dodges his fist and hits him in the stomach, knocking the wind right out of him. He is even less certain as the guards continue to walk down their path, leaving him behind to lay in the middle of the street.

"Damn idiot kids," he hears someone murmur. "Trying to waste our time. I don't have time for nonsense."

* * *

Flint hasn't the slightest clue how long it's been since he was tossed into this cell.

When he first woke up disoriented and confused, he was greeted with the familiar sight of gray brick walls and the familiar scent of shit and stale air. He realized he was moving as he felt his knees drag across the ground, two men pulling him by upper arms down a painfully familiar hallway. When he tried to pry himself from their grasp, he quickly realized he was still in shackles.

Yup. This was another failure. He was fucked.

What a shame. He was used to failing his escape attempts at this point. But this time, for a brief moment, he felt free.

He didn't bother with struggling. He was too drained, and it wasn't like he would be able to make it past the prison walls even if he did somehow break free of the men's grip. There was no point.

So he let them drag him down to a solitary cell. He let them release him of his binds and throw him into the small cage. They slammed the door shut. He heard the lock click.

Flint really has no idea how long it's been since then.

Prison has a way of screwing with Flint's perception of time, and solitary confinement makes it a hundred times worse. He could tell considerable time has passed, if not only because of the hunger pains gnawing at his stomach. Maybe this is his punishment? Starving all alone in this tiny cell?

God, he hopes that's it.

Then he'd be spared from a ruthless beating. Hell, he'll actually take that beating as long as it means Risha doesn't get involved in this...

Flint has long believed that if there is a God, he had long abandoned him. But still, he prays over and over again that Risha does not get involved in this.

He tries not to think about that possibility.

He lays on the stiff mattress with the sheets pulled over his head, listening to the unwavering silence that surrounds him. Sleeping is usually his go-to method of wasting stale time, but an unshakable, nervous feeling keeps him wide awake. It's hard not to focus on his fears when there is literally nothing else to focus on...

It drives him insane. The nothingness, the fear of what was coming, being left with only his miserable thoughts as company...

Flint shut his eyes as the silence stabbed his ears. He took deep breaths, hoping it would help ease his anxieties.

The door squeaks open, making the effort trivial. The last voice Flint wants to hear playfully bounces through the air.

"Hello, Flinty boy. I hear you've had quite the adventure today."

Flint's breathing goes erratic. He leaps up from the bed and slowly backs away from the man standing in the doorway.

There is nothing about Risha that initially comes off as threatening. His slicked-back blonde hair, his gentle blue eyes, and his tall but lean figure creates an appearance fitting for a traditional gentleman. But Risha is anything but. The mere sight of him is enough for Flint's heart to enter a frenzy, beating fast and without rhythm.

"Oh, what's wrong? Surely you were expecting me, no?"

Risha steps forward, causing Flint to take a step back. Panic floods and overloads his systems as he feels his back hit the wall.

Risha laughs. "You never learn. Though, I suppose I should give you a little credit. You made it quite far this time. Are you proud of yourself?"

Risha walks further into the cell, and Flint notices that there are two other men behind him. They stand by the doorway as if waiting for a signal or a command. This is unusual... normally, Risha prefers to conduct "business" without others watching.

This can't be good.

"I asked a question, you know. I expect an answer, Flinty boy."

As Risha closes in on Flint, the boy's fight-or-flight response kicks in. He goes to flee, trying to maneuver his way past Risha and make a dash for the door. Risha responds by grabbing Flint by his hair and kneeing him in his stomach. Flint is thrown into the wall, where he collapses onto his rear.

"Like I said, you never learn. Your little escape attempts are so adorable, but surely by now, you must know how pointless they are. You'll never escape this place. You'll never escape me, no matter how hard you try." Risha kneels down in front of the curled-up Flint, still towering over the small boy. "But by all means, keep it up. I love having an excuse to have some fun with you."

"...N-no." Flint struggles to breathe as he lifts his head. "Please don't—"

Flint is struck with a backhanded slap. He lowers his head and looks to his feet.

"Keep your head down when you speak to me. Even while you beg," Risha says. "Not that begging will do you much good. The warden's pretty angry. You caused quite a ruckus, you troublesome little shit. You know what he told me to do?"

Flint shakes uncontrollably, which brings a crooked smile to Risha's face.

"He told me to really teach you a lesson."

Risha grabs Flint's chin and lifts his head. Flint looks at the man with fearful tears threatening to leak from his eyes.

"That means I can really let loose. You're in for a long night." Risha's smile grows wider.

There is so much excitement in that man's voice.

Flint can't think. The fear becomes all-consuming, alarm dulling his senses. He can't exhale. He can only suck in more and more air, making his chest go tight.

He feels like he's going to suffocate.

He slaps Rishia's hands away from his face. He tries to push and kick his way past the man, but it only results in Risha delivering a punch to his cheek. He tastes blood as he watches Risha stand up with a condescending shake of his head.

"You're just incapable of learning, aren't you? Not that I'm complaining." Risha turns towards the door and gestures to the other two men. "You two. Come hold him down for me, will you?"

The two men storm in without question, one of them shutting the cell door behind him. Flint scrambles to get onto his feet and flee, but he is quickly grabbed by the two and forced back to the ground. The men's nails dig into his clothes and skin.

"W-what is—?!" Flint looks back and forth frantically. "Why—?!"

"Confused, are we? Let me spell it out for you." Risha kneels back down. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pocket knife. As the blade is whipped out, it shimmers in the dim lighting. "I need to make sure the warden is pleased with my work. Satisfying him is no easy feat, you see. Our usual song and dance isn't going to work. So..."

Risha points to the blade at Flint's face.

"I plan to take your eyeball and leave it on the warden's desk. Understand?"

Flint's blood runs cold. He stares at Risha, his smile unflinching and his eyes glistening with childlike joy. The words hang motionless in the air, their impact dawning on the boy and slowly sinking in.

"Surely, you understand, don't you?" Risha asks. "I know you're thick-headed, but I am using plain English."

"...That's insane. This is insane," Flint mutters. "You're insane."

"Me? Insane? That is utter gold coming from you of all people, Flinty boy. Do you not know the definition of insanity? Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Who do you think that definition applies to, me or you? If you think it's me, then you are insane in more ways than one."

"...That's..." Flint shakes his head, beginning to thrash and flail against the men's hold. Tears slide down his cheeks. "No! I'm not insane, I'm not! I'm not! You and this damned place are! It's insane! You're insane! I won't let you mutilate me!"

"You know you don't have a choice in the matter. Now, I suggest you quit struggling and hold still."

Risha places his hand over Flint's right eye, pulling at the eyelids and forcing it open. He places the cold blade right below it, letting it lay flat against Flint's skin so he could feel the knife drawing near.

"We have a long night ahead of us, so let's begin." A giggle slips past Risha's smirk. "This is going to be so much fun."

Screams echo throughout the prison halls, ignored by all who hear them.