**unedited, please forgive me for mistakes xx**

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

LOCKE HATES BEING AFRAID. He hates the nausea that comes with fear, he hates the cowardice that comes with fear. He has never admitted aloud that he is afraid, but to himself there is an embarrassing collection of being frightened. Somehow he has always managed to hide the trembles, the sweat, the rapid breath.

Today is an exception.

Three days on a hover car left in a dark, crowded room, and now he is being dragged out into the bright morning sun. On his particular hover, about a third of the refugees from Micah's camp were piled on, leaving them all pressed together, anxious and angry. Mostly everyone had to take to sleeping on the floor, and massive brawls broke out between testosterone-packed men for the few available cots. Locke hadn't bothered with a fight, knew for sure he wouldn't win one, so he and Sasha had found a spot in a far corner and curled up.

Erik stayed close to them, but a few damsels in distress had claimed their inability to sleep because they didn't feel safe unless they were close to him. Typical. Locke would've done anything to have that sort of attention mere days ago, but on the hover car those three days, it hadn't seemed important. Stupid and foolish and annoying. How could some men deal with multiple women constantly trying to cling to him? Now, he will admit that the fantasy is still there, but he'd rather find one decent lady to have at his side as opposed to flirtatious, lonely hearts.

Not like it matters. In an apocalyptic world, only the main characters are rewarded companions. He's stuck being a lackey, a supporting character people call on only when they have to. He's never been significant to anyone, not really.

He had embraced that once, made himself cruel and arrogant and just a straight up douche, honestly. But he's grown a lot in the some odd weeks that have passed. Grown since he got stuck with Eve after Quincy's camp went to hell in a handbasket.

Looking at Sasha now, who's cowering into his side as they're pushed onwards towards a looming building, immense guilt swells inside him. He had hit her once. A young, innocent girl. Shoved her into a wall because he was an asshole and needed a piss. That was when Harry's identity was revealed.

He hates himself still for that moment. Wishes more than anything that he could turn back the clock and change his actions. She had not backed down from him. She protected Harry despite what he is. And now, she's actually relying on him. Locke, of all people. She hasn't left his side since the camp had been invaded, and if she has, it's only to cower into Erik instead.

He's never felt this sense of duty, like he's made a silent oath to himself to keep her safe no matter what. He's never been responsible for one sole person--he was hardly responsible for everyone at Quincy's camp simply because he hadn't really cared, so long as he was fed and alive and had a roof over his head. Jesus, it hurts to think back on those times. Physically and mentally hurts.

Erik walks to his other side, chin tilted upwards in defiance and eyes harsh, cold as stone. What Locke would do to have that confidence, that courage.

The massive horde of captured people are corralled through a huge gate, into a broad courtyard. The building is tall but slim, like it had once been a skyscraper of important business before the world went to shit. Locke can't look up at it for too long. He's never been one for heights, has hated them ever since his selfish mother forced him onto a roller coaster. He had pleaded to not go, but she called him a baby and a wimp and practically dragged him into the queue. He had been the middle child, stereotypically, the least favorite. The forgotten child.

The people press together like sardines in a can, barely having enough room to breathe air for themselves. Sasha clutches the back of his shirt and he hangs his arm around her small shoulders, having to lean down to do so. There's a poke on his shoulder and he turns to see Ruby, her eyes wide with confusion but her jaw clenched. He shrugs, obviously just as confused as she.

"Did you see him?" she asks over the buzzing of everyone else speaking rapidly or shouting in concern.

Now Locke is really confused. "See who?"

"Dumbnut," she mutters, and Locke would've laughed at the name had the situation been different. "Look."

He follows her slim finger, and Erik does too. He says, "Great. Another self-righteous psychopath."

Locke frowns at the tall creature walking onto some sort of platform above the crowd. Even from their distance, he can see muscles taut against the suit the man is wearing. Why the hell is he wearing a suit? Granted, wherever they've been taken, it is a bit colder. After being cramped in a hover car, though, Locke doesn't mind it--he welcomes it.

"Something isn't right," Erik then says, shaking his head as he chews his bottom lip. "First, there's working hover cars. Now, we're standing in front of Philadelphia's capital building with power inside. How did they get all of these things up and running again so quickly?"

Locke squints at the windows. Indeed, there are a few lights on here and there. Why, considering it's a sunny morning, he doesn't know, or particularly care. These people have electricity. He hasn't been able to turn on a lightswitch in over a year. He hasn't felt cool air conditioning even longer than that, thanks to the war knocking out power lines in certain areas, his neighborhood being one of them. Good heavens, what if he gets to take an actual shower?

He hates himself for getting excited when he knows this is all strange and suspicious and wrong. But he can't help it. God, he'd taken electricity for granted before. Thought he'd never be able to experience it again.

The man raises his hands in a gesture for silence, and with the shock that comes with his presence, so does the quiet. Locke has never heard such an enormous group of unnerved, worried people settle down so quickly.

Then the man smiles, revealing his fangs. An act induced on purpose. "I appreciate all of you gathering here."

As if a choice was given. But there's such tension in the air that no one dares to speak against him.

"From this day forth, you will be given proper sheltering and hygiene, and you will have two meals a day, every day. There is no more fearing of if you will survive long enough to find food or water. We have plenty of both. Each of you are permitted three showers a week to ration the water supply, so decide your days wisely. As for bedrooms, there will be four occupants to a room--each with their own bed."

Here, there are murmurs of excitement and relief while others remain suspiciously silent and obstinate. Locke is somewhere in between. He does not feel a hint of comfort gazing at this man, yet he is greedy enough to accept his offerings. There's no way in hell he'd choose sleeping in nature, uncertain of when something will pounce on him, over a warm bed and consistent meals, consistent safety.

"There are rules to be followed, of course." The man stands straight, clasping his hands behind his back as his voice booms over the sea of faces. "The first: there is absolutely no tolerance for fighting. Keep to unleashing your rage on pillows or walls, but never on another person. The second: obedience. You will be given tasks to help benefit our little community, and if you refuse to play your part, well, that's intolerable as well." There's a sly smirk on his face, one that sends alarm bells ringing in Locke's head.

However, he's still enthralled as he listens to the man drawl on. "There are other small rules that will be listed in every public meeting place, such as the dining hall, the lounge rooms, and others of the sort. I will not be seen much by any of you. I have my own matters to attend to, which is why these four here--" He gestures to four men as buff as he, as proud and intimidating as he "--Luca, Xander, Axel, and Knox. They will be monitoring you during the day, and they will act as your trainers."

Trainers? Locke can feel the blood drain from his face. He can't fight. He can carry a weapon and look like he can fight but...

"Yes, you heard correctly," the man says to die down the whispers that arose with the word. "Each of you will learn to fight. We are a community, but we are an army all the same. If you are to one day leave on your own, will fighting not be a useful tool? You will know to fight, or you will cast out. We have no room here for freeloaders."

Locke gulps.

Someone much, much braver than he calls out, "What about the children?"

Luckily for that courageous person, the man only smiles again. "Ten years. That is when their training will begin. Young warriors with the old."

Sasha yanks on his shirt, so forcefully he's tugged into a crouch beside her. Her eyes are wide, her bottom lip trembling. "My birthday is in March," she whispers. "I'll be ten, but I can't fight, Locke. I can't."

He gulps again, tries to appear nonchalant. "We'll deal with that when the time comes, okay?" he assures her, giving her shoulder a slight squeeze. He rises upright again.

"Forgive me," the man says, then chuckles. "I've yet to introduce myself. My name is Wolf, however, you all may call me King."

***

Experiment 1298 follows his master into an operation room on their private hover car, a military model specifically designed to hold prisoners of war for interrogations and torture. The girl had been brought in a bare room with nothing but a metal table, some medical equipment, and a toilet in the far corner. The stark white walls and floors make 1298's eyes hurt.

Doctor Stevens begins to tamper with the machine, rewiring certain things. The girl is lying on the table in nothing but underclothes over her feminine parts. The doctor checks her vitals, smiles to himself, and then readjusts the machine. He peels back the bandage around her stomach wound and--

"Take a look at this," he says excitedly, gesturing 1298 over.

He keeps a respectable distance, tipping his head slightly for a peek. His eyes widen a bit. The doctor has spent half the day working with her. A surgery that lasted about fifteen minutes, but all that really occurred were injections 1298 doesn't understand. Obviously one for healing, because there stab wound is already sealing itself. Within the next few hours, he assumes, there will be nothing left of it but a faint scar and a memory.

"Wonderful, isn't it? Exceptional." The doctor rambles enthusiastically to himself, placing the bandage back in place before moving on to her bare legs. Both wounds in either leg, one in her thigh and the other in her opposite calf, are gone except for little scarred lines. "Fascinating. Absolutely remarkable."

The satisfaction on the elder man's face churns 1298's stomach. "I knew from the moment I saw 748 yield to her."

Usually, 1298 would not dare speak without prompting but his curiosity is getting the better of him. "Might I ask, Master, how she is different?"

"You see," he starts, grinning maniacally at him, "there are certain chemicals produced in her body that gives off an aura, so to speak. I had inject each one of you with said chemicals, but her body produces them naturally. That is why it is so easy for her to maneuver amongst the rest of you. In the back of your mind, you sense she is one of you."

The experiment's brow furrows, and subconsciously, he sniffs. There is still a different scent to her than the rest of the experiments. He doesn't understand what the doctor is trying to say. The experiments still attack her by their sheer nature--only 748 and 752 seem to have claimed some sort of responsibility after her. With their walls bending for her, naturally, the experiments around them bend for her, too.

He doesn't think any of this is "scientific," it's simply her. But then again, he knows nothing about science, so who is he to say?

"I believe she'll wake up soon," the doctor then says. "You had cameras installed as I asked?"

1298 bows his head. "One in each corner of the ceiling, two angled in corners on the floor. As you wished, Master."

"Excellent. Well done, 1298."

The praise does not please him as it once did.

"Let us leave her to wake alone. This will be her first test."

Clenching his jaw, he nods again to the doctor, and follows him out the door.