Everyday is the same, agonizing cycle.
Wake up at 6 am.
First meal of the day, then bathroom privileges-- which is really just being given a bucket, and told to figure things out on your own.
It's gross, unsanitary, and humiliating, but you get used to it after a while. Not like any of them have much choice in the matter anyway.
You either crap in the bucket, or your pants.
Pick your poison.
And after the first day, he learned to choose the bucket.
Because as it turns out, peeing in a bucket is way less embarrassing than peeing your pants.
Not much happens after that.
If you don't want to be bored out of your mind, your only source of entertainment is each other.
Which sucks most of the time.
And not because they aren't cool-- although many of them aren't.
But 'cause you can only talk about so much for so long before you run out of stuff to say. And after that, things get pretty awkward.
"So...how's the weather?" Yeah-- prime example.
Boring.
Sylus groans- banging his head against the bars.
Hurts like hell, yet somehow less than listening to them drone on and on about a whole bunch of nothing.
There's no telling when it happens as the half-breed, or 'the Devil' as others have referred to him as, likes to be unpredictable, will come but when he does there's a certain calmness in the air.
No one will talk-- holding their breath.
He'll pick at random, ensuring everyone gets a turn, and drags them into the 'backroom.' Whoever is chosen to go usually doesn't come back for many hours.
It's never pretty when they do.
Sometimes they don't come back the same.
Two right hands.
Missing a leg, or worse.
Shaken up and crying their eyes out, forced to undergo trauma no child ever should-- just to be shoved back into their cages.
He's yet to go back there.
Sylus isn't sure hwy.
But he's not complaining about that.
There's no telling what's been going on in that room.
And he's got no interest in finding out.
Not that, when the time comes, he'll have much of a choice.
...Brit didn't have a choice.
His head drops.
Eyes droopy.
She still hasn't come back. And maybe never will.
He tries not to be morbid.
Sylus really does, but there's no point in deluding himself.
Not after the stories he's heard.
Or rather, cautionary tales of what's to come.
Because no one goes unseen. No one.
It's just a matter of time till he does too.
Puke swims up his throat at the thought.
He swallows it.
Bitter, but better than throwing up what little they gave him for lunch.
Chicken and vegetables isn't that bad, but whoever is making their meals needs to step it up. Like seriously, they kind of suck at cooking.
"So, Sylus-- that's your name, right?"
"Yeah."
"What's it like up there?" asks Barry. "I haven't been up there in more than a few years." Have they all been down here most of their lives?
Sylus hums. Thinking.
"Quiet. But beautiful-- especially the sun, the sun is gorgeous."
Barry leans back.
"Huh."
"I haven't...I haven't seen the sun in a while. I don't really remember what it looks like."
Sylus blinks-- a little confused.
"Then how do you guys get Vitamin D, or everything else the sun gives you?"
"The pills they mix in with your food," says Rue, the negative-nancy. "They give you every benefit so as to refrain from taking us above ground."
No wonder.
Unfortunately, they're missing the benefit of tasting like anything other than chalk.
"So in a way," Barry begins, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "You're our only link to what's happening in the outside world, as the newest addition."
Sylus pulls his knees into his chest.
That's a lot of responsibility.
But he's fine with it. They need this, after being couped up for so many years.
"I'm happy to tell you anything you wanna know."
Barry smiles warmly.
"Thank you. Seriously- you don't know how much that means to me, to all of us."
His words are nice, but bring a multitude of questions to mind.
How long has it been since someone new came around?
Because it's clearly been a while, judging solely off their many questions and fascinated looks they keep sending his way, like he's some kind of puppy.
"How often do you guys get, err...new blood?"
Barry responds quickly, saying "Not very often. He, uh, usually likes to keep things...tight-knit. If you know what I mean."
Huh...
He says that too much.
Gotta find a new word.
"Then what was the point of taking me? He already had you guys-- no offense."
By the looks on their faces, some of them at least, offense has been taken.
Oh well. Can't appease everybody.
Not that he wants to anyway.
"Just means he took a special interest in you." Rue said.
"...Great."
"He doesn't go around picking just anyone off the streets. It doesn't work that way. There's a special process he goes through first."
Well that's news to him. "What kind of 'special process' are you talking about?"
"He'll lurk in the shadows...watching, planning. From what I've heard, there's nothing in specific about us that gets you picked. He goes purely off of instinct."
For a while, Sylus considered why or how he was picked.
Is he special?
Did the man see something in him that he himself cannot?
As it turns out, none of the above.
He was picked by...instinct.
Stupid.
Just stupid.
He was taken away from his family because of some losers instinct?
Ugh.
He'd rather be anywhere else right now.
And he has no doubt everyone else feels the same.
"Which means you should feel grateful."
The devil's voice is grating, like nails dragging down a chalkboard.
Sylus turns around slowly-- careful not to draw attention to himself.
That's essentially signing your 'get dragged to the back and whatever else' warrant.
Mouthful, but gets the point across.
"Grateful for what?" sneers a girl who appears to be a few years older than him.
She's clearly unafraid.
The others --including him-- aren't so bold.
Their words don't spark much out of the man. He's not that easy to get a reaction out of.
Which is for the better.
He looks to Sylus, an unsettling smile playing on his lips.
The man holds his tongue.
He doesn't have to speak-- Sylus already knows.
They all already know what's coming.
His cage opens up on its own.
Sylus' heart beats faster than ever before.
His time has come.
He'd been hoping it wouldn't come for another...ten-thousand years.
Aka, never.
But that was never a realistic thought.
He slowly crawls out.
Slow and steady wins the race.
His legs liquify after making contact with the ground, latching onto the nearest object to support himself with. Being stuck inside of a cage for such a long period of time is no joke.
Sylus forces himself to stand-- ignoring the growing cries of pain from his body.
It'll be fine.
Better than causing the rest of them to be punished for his 'insubordination.' They're pretty like that. He's seen it happen with his own two eyes countless times.
The man holds out his hand.
That smile of his is like cancer to the bones.
He takes his hand and smiles while doing so anyway. No matter how much it bothers him.
"Don't get them in trouble," he repeats.
"Just stay steady, keep your head down and all will be fine."
No part of him actually believes that.
Not so much as a speck.
But he's got ta do it anyway.
He doesn't want to make things worse. For the sake of his new friends or himself.
Every step he takes is like walking on a bed of nails.
Sylus endures anyway.
Their journey is shorter than he expected.
Air slowly leaves his lungs.
He's not sure why.
His mind begins to experience panic in only a few seconds.
He tries to breathe, he does, and yet cannot.
He thumps his chest, but to no end.
"Endure it."
Until he can't anymore.
Nothing else to do.
At the end of the tunnel is a thick, iron door.
It's unlike anything he's ever seen before.
Run-- his body screams.
Louder than ever before, but he can't.
Not yet and not at all.
He instead sucks it up.
The man unlocks the door and slowly pushes it open.
Sylus recoils immediately as the stench of death fills his nostrils.
He throws up before he even realizes it.
His lunch and whatever was unprocessed from breakfast splatters across the floor.
One word-- gross.
Seriously gross.
The man hurries him inside anyway-- though is visibly disturbed.
It's dark.
He can barely see-- forced to rely on the Man's help to navigate through the dungeon.
Which is perhaps worse than puking, or the smell.
Maybe not exactly, but it's definitely up there.
The man lets go of his hand, closing them inside.
He flicks the light on, revealing the horrors hiding in the darkness.
"Try and make yourself comfortable," he says-- calmer than usual.
"How am I supposed to do that?"
The man shrugs.
"Doesn't matter how. Whatever works for you, I guess."
This...is weird.
He's not what he expected him to be.
Why is he talking so normal? So...regular?
"I don't get it."
"Why isn't he breathing fire or something like they said he did?"
Well-- they're always exaggerating, so no surprise there.
"Something wrong?" asks the man, grabbing a few tools as he wheels over a gurney.
"No, you're just-- you're just not what I was expecting."
He halts his movements.
"What were you expecting?"
"A monster." Sylus answers with brutal honesty.
The man chuckles at his words.
Honest later. A little refreshing.
"I'm happy to have proven your expectations wrong."
"You might not be a cold-blooded monster like they said, but that doesn't absolve you of guilt."
He tilts his head. "Guilt of what?"
"You already know what I'm going to say."
"I do."
"Then why even ask?"
He doesn't have anything to say to that.
"Hop on the gurney-- and don't mind the rats lurking around here."
Rats?
Absolutely not.
No, no, no.
From out the corner of his eye, he sees what used to be a human skull.
He tries not to throw up again. Though it's difficult.
Against his better judgment, he points to it.
"Who was that?"
"His name used to be John. His purpose was served."
"So if our purposes are ever 'served' you'll just, what, kill us too?"
"I don't kill children," he replies smoothly.
"Then what happened to Brit?"
His expression darkens-- a disgusted look washing over him in an instant.
He quickly gets back to working, strapping medical equipment onto the gurney. "That was an accident. I didn't mean for things to go the way that they did."
Sylus' heart stops.
She's dead.
She really is dead.
He didn't want to believe it at first. No one would.
But it's confirmed now. There's no doubt about it anymore.
Sylus blinks rapidly.
He refuses to cry in front of him. The man who took him away from his family.
It just makes more sense that way.
Alright-- getting side-tracked here.
The man stabs his syringe into Sylus' arm without prompting, pumping him full of whatever liquids --or deadly poisons, you honestly never know-- were inside.
He writhes around, practically foaming at the mouth trying to escape his fate but to no avail.
Okay.
So maybe being side-tracked isn't so bad after all.
Better than getting stabbed in the arm with...whatever he's been injected with.
He hates to repeat himself, despite doing it so often, but there's a good chance he could, like, die or something.
Just like with what happened to Brit.
What if she died in the same way?
Thinking that nothing was amiss only to be jabbed with a needle and then subsequently bleeding to death? Or something?
His mind is going in circles, perpetuating any negative thought that comes by.
And that's really not helping right now.
Nothing will, but negativity is just making things worse.
So deep breaths-- just take a few deep breaths.
In...out...In...out...
The effects of whatever he was injected with are immediate.
They start off small.
Inconsequential.
His eyelids grow heavy, reminiscent of when 'B38' had unleashed its Aura-Barrier during the events of the loop.
And not in the 'powerful energy is being forced upon me' or 'I'm falling asleep' kind of way.
That might be preferred.
Instead, the 'I'm losing control over myself' kind of way.
Which is hardly an exaggeration.
Numbness spreads throughout his body like a sickness, attacking whatever it can get his hands on.
He can't move.
Even less so than before.
His speech blurs together to the point that speaking no longer becomes viable as whatever comes out of his mouth is incoherent gibberish.
It doesn't take long before he can't so much as feel his tongue rolling around in his mouth, or his fingers tapping against the cold and uncomfortable metal.
He furiously scratches at his flesh hoping to feel something, anything-- but to no avail.
He groans loudly, backing his head against the gurney.
And doesn't feel that either.
Sylus looks up, honing in on the Man who steps over him, scalpel in hand.
Maybe it's for the best that he doesn't.
He tears his shirt to shreds and discards the leftovers on the floor.
His heart races.
"Stay as still as can be. I don't want to mess up like how I did with Brit."
The mention of her name is enough to stop him in his tracks.
Brit.
Every interaction of theirs is another piece of the puzzle pertaining to what really happened to her.
But he needs to focus on himself right now.
The man lowers his hand, placing the blade between his shoulder-blades.
He simmers for a moment, allowing himself to steady before making another decision that might have disastrous consequences.
His movements are slow and deliberate.
There can be no mistakes.
Or else another child --another guinea pig-- will die on his table.
Can't have that.
Only so many mistakes can be tolerated before you have to look yourself in the mirror and question what you're doing wrong.
His father once told him that-- words he's lived by ever since.
He slowly presses the tip of the blade through his chest as blood oozes out of the freshly-made wound.
And through it all, Sylus can do nothing but watch in horror.
Trapped in his own body and with no way out.
He should cry. He should thrash around, to beg or plead for his life, for whatever he's doing to stop.
But he can't.
No matter how much he wants to.
His mouth is glued shut. And that extends to the rest of his body.
The man doesn't stop at his initial cut-- dragging the blade downward, stopping just above his genitalia.
Thank god.
First sigh of relief.
He digs his fingers through the incisions, and without applying too great of force, slowly pulls them apart-- literally cracking his chest open.
Maybe being drugged isn't such a bad thing after all.
This time.
The man digs around every crevice his hands can fit through, exploring the inner-workings of Sylus' body as if he were a bag of candy.
It's strange.
What could he possibly be doing?
Taking his organs? That wouldn't make any sense. Why would he need him conscious for that?
He could just kill him or knock him out and then take his organs afterward.
All of this is more confusing than the math problems he used to study back home.
And that's a high-bar.
Well...
In comparison to what's going on...maybe it's not such a high-bar anymore.
Math hardly compares to being immobile and unable to do anything other than watch yourself be bisected by a mad-scientist, who killed one of your friends with seemingly no remorse, for god knows what.
Huh.
When you put it that way, this situation is way more messed up than he originally thought.
'Cause yeah what's happening to him is definitely crazy-- that much is obvious, but putting things into a broader perspective makes everything infinitely worse.
Might need therapy after this.
A severe understatement.
Time creeps to a standstill.
Every second of him exploring his body like an undiscovered cave feels like a lifetime.
He begs for release.
For this to be over.
Or, better yet-- a dream.
Within the confinement of his mind he shouts and screams at the top of his imaginary lungs, and yet still goes unheard by the God above, watching every bit of his ongoing torment.
Unfortunately, he's never that lucky. Wasn't before, and he definitely isn't now.
Especially not after getting kidnaped purely off of the dude's 'instinct.' Which is a load of horse....he'd rather not say that word. In his head or not.
Swearing is for people who don't have a wide vocabulary-- his mother liked to say.
Through it all, Sylus can only wonder as the Man pumps him full of what he can only assume to be experimental medication-- what did he do to deserve this?
To deserve whatever is being done to him? He can't think of anything off the top of his head, but maybe this is some sort of...divine punishment.
The man extracts every ounce of blood circulating through his body.
For what, Sylus can't say.
And that goes for just about everything to do with...all of this.
Why is he on the table?
What is the Man doing with his body?
Plus the hundreds of other questions he's dying to ask that he knows will never receive an answer.
Which goes for those he listed as well.
Sucks, but nothing to be done about it. Not when he can't even so much as blink.
His mind is all that he has left.
The only thing the Man has yet to take away from him.
It wanders for a moment --at first without direction-- but then settles onto one topic into particular.
His family.
"I wonder what they're doing right now."
"Have they tried looking for me? Do they even think about me?"
The answer is probably yes.
And probably isn't good enough for him.
He doesn't necessarily have a reason to doubt them-- or, that's what part of him thinks.
The other can't help but to question his parents with a harsher outlook in mind.
If they really are looking for him, if they really are thinking about him, then how come he's still here?
Why aren't they doing everything they can to come and rescue him?
His critiques might sound illogical. Childish.
Because they are.
And he's fully willing to admit that to anyone who might call him out for it.
"But I couldn't care less."
"Why aren't they here? Why aren't they saving me? Why aren't they here for me like they always said they'd be?"
Was all of the times they said that they'd be there for him no matter what a lie?
He shouldn't pick them and every word that's ever come out of their mouths apart, but he does so anyway.
He can't help himself.
Negativity is just as potent as the drug immobilizing him.
It's not good for him.
And he knows that.
Being negative won't get him out of this situation. Won't help him make sense of it either.
But it doesn't have to.
All it needs to do is give him an escape. Something to focus his attention on. And that it does perfectly.
Just...not much else.
Which is fine, he supposes.
"I hope you know that I don't enjoy any of this."
Sylus scoffs internally.
"You probably don't believe me and are thinking of a snarky response right now --too bad I won't get to hear it-- but I'm being honest." He twirls a syringe between his fingers.
He doesn't believe him. Not for a second.
Not after whatever he did to Brit.
"Which is more than any of you should get."
His eyes twitch.
Such an action doesn't go unnoticed by the Man. Even the smallest of movements whilst under the influence of the drug he'd concocted himself is a massive achievement.
"Impressive...but I'm just saying."
He places the scalpel on a table and lifts up, walking away from the bloody mess he'd created.
"You're all technically prisoners-- although I don't like to use that word. It's not like honesty or kindness is required of me when I kidnapped all of you. That's more of your parents job."
Parents.
Does he mean the very parents he took them away from?
The parents he's probably got worried sick? Frantically searching for their missing children-- who he, without remorse might he add, stole from them?
Sylus' eye-brows twitch ever so slightly.
"I should probably word it a little better..." He grabs two small items, stuffing one in his pants pocket. "But I'm not wrong by any margin."
"I'm trying to change-- to better the world, not play house with a bunch of disgruntled prepubescent children. That's what I tried explaining to your friend before her...untimely passing."
Every mention of Brit brings him closer to understanding what happened to her on that fateful day.
And the Man knows it.
He's breadcrumbing.
Giving him just enough to keep him guessing, but not enough to put the pieces together.
Giving him just enough to keep him guessing, but not enough to put the pieces together.
The man turns around, holding an object that his eyes cannot perceive.
"I know, I know-- you want to know what happened to her."
He steps closer.
"Anyone would, really."
He leans over Sylus, his fingers brushing against the boy's curly brown hair.
"Especially when I've continued to hold back as much information as possible."
The man pulls back, crouching by his side. "I wanna put a pin in everything else, just for a second."
"You don't mind, right?"
Silence.
"Of course you don't."
"Really starting to hate this guy." More than he did previously.
Which is saying something.
His expression hardens. "I doused her in acid."
Everything goes quiet.
There's not an ounce of noise.
Sylus' eyes widen in shock-- breaking through the power that the drugs have held over his body.
He's lying.
He has to be.
The man is sick-- everyone knows that, but is he sick enough to douse someone in a vat of acid?
He doesn't want to believe it, but he can't put anything past him.
Not after all of the things he's been proven to have done.
Laughter erupts from the Man's throat, rolling his head around. "I'm kidding-- I'm kidding. That would be over the top."
"You should see the look on your face."
Sylus doesn't appear amused whatsoever.
"What, too much?"
Definitely too much.
"I'll tone it down a notch."
Never should've gone there in the first place.
But less is definitely better from here on out.
"Initially, I wasn't going to use Brit for what I had in mind. She's frail, fragile if you want to push it-- and doesn't really make a good test subject."
"But she insisted. Said she didn't want 'any of the other kids to go through what she's been through', it was pretty noble of her so I couldn't say no. Didn't wanna disappoint.
But he should've.
And he knows it.
"So I took her out of the cage and dragged her into this same room. She was quiet and reserved as usual. Maybe even more so."
"I think part of her knew that she wasn't going to come back. Or, at least not the way she came in."
"She accepted it with grace though. If I had to guess why, or what she might say, it'd probably be along the lines of 'I didn't want it to be anyone else.' Brit was a good person like that. When I say it wasn't intentional, I'm being honest-- which I don't expect you to believe, nor understand. You're just too young."
"But back to the story at hand, 'cause I don't want to bore you...I laid her down and cut her open, just as I've done with you. She was a lot lees squeamish and willing to allow things to take their obvious course-- you could learn a few things from her memory."
The way he talks about her, the way he disregards the person she was, it's disgusting.
Immoral.
He could come up with a billion different words to use, but realistically, none of that is going to matter.
Because he simply doesn't care.
He doesn't have a shred of sympathy or guilt. That much is evident in both the way he speaks and that cold, dead look in his eyes.
How far as society fallen to allow for someone...something like him to exist?
"I reached deep into her chest, further than I'd ever gone with any of the others. Including you. She looked at me with those big brown eyes, quivering just slightly. Trying to pretend that she wasn't afraid, that she wasn't worrying about what might happen to her or her friends, but I saw right through her. It was obvious."
"My fingers, they snagged something-- something I'd never encountered before. A core. I doubt you know what one of those are, you haven't reached that age yet. When you're younger, from the day you're born to right before you hit puberty, inside of your body is stored a spherical orb, their color usually varies."
"But those orbs--" He points to Sylus' chest which remains cracked open. "--House your soul. It's your body's way of keeping it protected and hidden, though once you're older and grow into yourself, that orb withers away and your soul becomes one with you. I grabbed it and, albeit slowly, took it out."
"She started to move erratically, despite being under the control of the drug. I tried to calm her down, to tell her to stop moving so much, but Brit refused to listen. And I'm not sure that she physically could. The orb's color began to drain slowly but surely, it was unlike anything I'd ever seen."
"She was dying. And rapidly so. I suppose that's what happens when you take someone's soul out of their chest. I could've put it back in-- but I wanted to see what would happen with my own eyes. To get a sort of...perspective, if you will. Her dying was obvious, I knew that. But how? The lasting effects? I wasn't sure."
"Souls are criminally under-researched. And that's mostly because no one is willing to offer themselves up to be lab-rats. Their potential, our potential as to what we can be or become, is untapped. And I'm the only one willing to see it through, regardless of the ramifications, to understand. To know."
"To create ever-lasting change."
"And to do that...I had to watch her die."
There it is.
The reason. The explanation.
The story.
And yet hearing it doesn't make him feel any better. It doesn't make him feel anymore accomplished than he did before.
It just...
He doesn't even know.
What does it make him feel? How does it make him feel? Both are valid questions that Sylus cannot for the life of him give answers to.
Because he doesn't know.
How could he know?
He spent all of this time fishing for answers-- just for them to leave him as unsatisfied as he was before getting them.
It's heartbreaking.
Maddening.
He has every reason to be angry. Frustrated.
They all do.
It wasn't just their friend that was taken.
It was their light.
The one who held them together-- with her smile, her unmatched warmth that oftentimes reminds him of his mother.
But he isn't.
He can't be.
Because that's not what she would have wanted.
She made the ultimate sacrifice. Giving her life for the well-being of others.
And yet, no one is ever going to know.
Not her parents --who she spoke about with nothing but love and care-- nor her friends back home.
Just them.
But that's not good enough. It can't be good enough.
People need to know-- her family needs to know. They need to know what she did for him, what she did for all of them.
That she might've died suffering in silence, she died protecting them from a similar fate.
But in order for that to happen, something has to give.
He has to get out of here.
No matter what it takes.
He can't let her sacrifice go unheard of. He can't let the life given for theirs go to waste. And he won't.
But with that, an issue arises.
What happens now?
That same hunger, that same desire, which pushed him to rip Brit's soul out of her body has been satiated-- for now.
Who's to say the same thing won't happen again?
And then again?
Are they to enter into a cycle of giving up their lives time and time again just to momentarily satiate his hunger, until it later returns?
That's no way to live. Both literally and metaphorically.
Something has to give. But nothing will.
He's not stupid.
They've already tried escaping. They've already tried bargaining and pleading.
Nothing is going to change. Not unless he forces things to change.
He has to.
Or else the list of victims won't stop at Brit.
Barry will be next.
Rue.
Easter.
Jamie.
Himself.
There's no telling how much time they have left; but he doubts it to be very long.
They have to stand tall. They have to push against him, and harder than ever before.
And not just because of what he did to Brit, but because of what he will do to them if something isn't done about him and his 'plan for the world.'
Or be swallowed whole.