apple seed

(edit) A/N: Ok. So the whole story has been re-written to make it longer and flow more. It allows me to elaborate more on the characters and the situation, in the hope that it’ll make it more enjoyable to read. I’ve put a lot into writing this, more than just time and effort. I am aware there are mistakes and that my skills as a writer are next to nothing; please forgive me for these short comings. I’ve been really, (horribly so, actually), busy so this is long overdue. My wonderful beta and I have been trying our best to weed them out. Please enjoy Apple Seeds.

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Apple Seeds
Chapter I: Adam and Eve

Roland pulled at his choppy chestnut hair, trying to get it to stay put behind his ears. It didn’t and flopped back down into his face as it was prone to do. The two soldiers ahead of him wore unfriendly faces -well, from what he could see from their rather stupid-looking helmets that seemed to engulf a vast majority of their faces- marching in stony silence with occasional glances shared between the two with the meaning lost to their nervous companion.

“Just a child…” He jerked his head up and glared suspiciously at the silent men, but neither said anything and he went back to contemplating the ugly shades of gray and black the flecked floor tiles were.

“…Poor thing.” He thought he heard, but when he narrowed his honeyed eyes, nothing but breathing and the tapping of feet could be heard. Good, he wasn’t a damn child.

Sighing, he scratched his arm anxiously, a nervous tick that he’d had as far back as he could remember. Not that he remembered much of anything more than six years back, he thought the last part with a touch of vehemence.

He was so intent on staring at the ground he almost tripped over his feet when his escorts abruptly stopped walking and turned their attention to a high security door. Grateful no one seemed to notice his uncharacteristic jitteriness, Roland watched with feigned disinterest as one of the guards punched in a rather long pin number, swiped a card through a slot, punched in another pin, recited his name and ID number, then flashed a card to a scanner before a monitor next to the titanium door flickered on. Security was a little anal here, he supposed dryly. A rather strung-out looking man queried the two soldiers shortly, the static pixilating his features a bit. The man then nodded his head as the air locks let out a loud popping sound and the door slid open as the monitor turned off. Roland looked at the disappearing backs and tried his best to square his shoulders and wipe away the anxiety building between them. He didn’t want to look intimidated, or worse. /Weak./

Beyond the door was an incredibly bright room (Roland had thought the hallways were scorching as it was) with a few tables and chairs. Evidently, it was a mess hall or common room. There were two TV monitors and some steps that lead upstairs, but to what Roland couldn’t see. Everything was a startling white, and it hurt to look at the room ahead Roland found, now following the two, edgy men inside. For a while now he’d gotten used to the dim lights of the barracks and the even dimmer, shabby digs soldiers were housed in. Where the army hadn’t bothered to spend on proper lighting fixtures, the Alkemda Prison seemed to set aside appropriations for the biggest, shiniest, most blinding florescent bulbs to be had. Roland didn’t know which was worse, all things considered.

Glancing back, the saw the door slide heavily shut, the air locks snapping back in place and he felt cold; a tingling cold, almost like he was trapped with no way to escape. When he turned back around he saw that the room wasn’t empty of people. He wasn’t sure if that was comforting or not.

There, standing at a table in the center of the room, was a man wearing a crisp suit and smiling amiably. Roland guessed the man was Warden Herald Grimsby, considering he looked quite at home in the general area of the prison and was the only one not in uniform. Next to him stood General Elliott Theydon standing with a scowl and uniform that could curdle Roland’s toes. He’d never met or seen these two before but he’d heard enough rumors to get the gist of what he should expect. An annoying know-it-all closet-elitist and a chauvinistic, no-nonsense one, and just by looking at them, he’d figured out who was who. It wasn’t hard seeing as the General was practically condemning him with just his eyes and hard, unforgiving mouth.

Of course there was a fair amount of guards, both prison officers and military soldiers, spread out about the room and concentrated at the back of the table. All of them were wearing those ridiculous helmets, protective interceptor body armor decked full out with both the OTV and SAPI, flak jackets (though he thought them redundant), and thick clothes; not to mention fingering frighteningly dangerous-looking assault rifles. Roland managed to catch a glimpse of some tasers and nightsticks as well. Shifting nervously, he scratched his arm again. The lethal little army of egg-headed soldiers were watching something that was sitting behind the Warden and General, hidden from Roland’s view. They all seemed a little nervous, what with the way their shoulders were pulled back, but Roland couldn’t be sure. Coughing slightly, Warden Grimsby walked straight past the two escorts and grabbed Roland’s slim hand in his much larger, firm one. Shaking it, Grimsby pulled Roland over to the table, his smile almost rising off the sides of his face.

“So glad you could make it, er…” Warden Grimsby gave Roland an apologetic look, apparently he didn’t want to waste his time reading Roland’s files, or he was just trying to be a dick. “Eh…”

“Rolande, sir. Rolande Oliver Fagg.” Roland said, letting some of his French accent slip out, his ears turning pink at the smirks and chortles, albeit strained sounding, from the background. He looked a little embarrassedly at Grimsby, whose smile faltered a bit, and then at the General who looked liked he hadn’t heard anything at all.

“Yes, mind if I call you Roland? Much easier on the, uh, tongue. No? Ok, good.” Warden Grimsby asked, pulling on his starched collar a bit and glaring at his minions. Well, if he was trying to be a dick, he was really good at playing it off, Roland decided, almost curling a lip.

Slapping his smile back in its full 100 kilowatt brightness, Grimsby gestured to a cheap, plastic chair. “Have a seat, please. Don’t worry; Khenbish doesn’t bite ...When he isn’t allowed, at any rate.”

“Oh, thank you…” Roland supplied, slipping into the chair graciously, Grimsby following suit on his left. He didn’t have a chance to look at the mysterious man across from him as Grimsby asked him something about his trip here. The General had already sat down at that point to his right, preoccupying himself with shuffling through some files, probably files on Roland. He, himself, was rather interested on what his files had to say, and what he was doing here at all. An intelligence analyst and surveillance specialist for the military had nothing to do with a prison…

Grimsby made a face, then he said loudly, “Everyone, please leave the room, and Dante, turn off the monitors, sound recorders, everything.” Roland realized that either Grimsby was wearing a radio device, or the man was insane, “No, I’ll be fine. It’ll be for twenty minutes. Yes, Dante. Of course. Increase the electro-levels on the stun belts, yes.”

They waited while everyone filed out, and in the silence Roland actually heard the radio air channel between Grimsby and whoever Dante was switch off through the microphone, as well as a slightly muffled ring progress into annoying drone that couldn’t be ignored.

“Elliott, don’t you have any manners?” Grimsby asked, managing to sound insulted or disappointed. Perhaps both.

Roland noted that both men were well groomed and mildly handsome. Grimsby in a sort of offhand, genteel way what with all his airs, and the General in a more clinical, cold, classy way, despite a horrible scar running from the right corner of his mouth down under the depths of his impeccable shirt. Both worked for the United Empires League (UEL) and were rumored to be very efficient at taking care of business, and they looked it. That made him worry, just a teensy, little bit.

“This isn’t a tea party, Herald.” General Theydon snapped, letting the files thud loudly on the table, glaring at the two. “Now if you’d stop pussy-footing around, we could get on with this bullshit.”

“My… how vulgar.” The Warden sighed and murmured to Roland, “He’s in a foul mood, don’t mind him. He can be quite charming if he has mind to be.” Then, his voice raising again, all his good-host duties fulfilled , Grimsby looked at Roland flatly, “Honestly, you aren’t what we were expecting at all, Roland.”

“That’s a nice way to put it.” The General muttered sourly, “I almost had a stroke when you landed in our laps. This has to be a fucking joke. No offense kid, but you’re not gonna last two minutes out there, what with-”

“Elliott,” Grimsby snapped, he clearly liked talking without interruptions, “You’re what they chose, so you’ll have to do. I was hoping for someone, erm, more capable…”

“You’re saying it’s because I look rather effeminate, right?” Roland spit, piqued. He always got crap from people for his looks… he wasn’t even very small, just rather slender and graceful. That could still be manly, couldn’t it?

“Well, there is that.” Grimsby had the decency to look at least mildly apologetic, “Look, Roland. This is a fantastically dangerous mission, as I’m sure you know. We need someone who’s able to take care of himself, not be a ...well, a liability. And just from looking at you… Well, you look like a bit of a liability. You’d stand out; I guess it’d be alright if you were, er, nondescript… but apparently, you aren’t… And you’re scrawny…”

“I’m at the top of my class.” Roland responded quietly, trying to keep his temper. Yes, he knew he looked like a weak little girl, that didn’t mean he was one. Apparently someone had picked him for things other than his damn physical appearance.

“That doesn’t mean shit in the real world.” A new voice said, making all three men jump. Roland turned to look at the man no one had bothered to take notice of sitting across from them, nearly five feet away at the other end of the table. Surprised, he found the other was strikingly handsome, even if he looked liked he hadn’t seen a proper washing in the last millennium. He was in a closed-collar straight jacket, the strong arms crossed against his chest, though Roland suspected by the man’s lofty expression that the restraining suit wasn’t much a hindrance. Heavy belt-like, metal plated shackles hung from what he guessed were wrists and were securely bolted to the floor with wires crawling out of them. No doubt they were elector nullifiers. Around his neck was a heavy, metal collar, and from the incessant hum, Roland could only guess it was programmed to electrify the man if he made a wrong move. “This is stupid. Do I have to do this? I can go by myself.”

“Shut up Khenbish. You’re lucky you aren’t rotting in the segregation cells.” Grimsby replied nonchalantly, not deviating from his calm demeanor in the slightest.

“He’s right on that point though. Being class genius doesn’t mean anything when you’re going into the real world. Nothing in there is formulas and poetry little boy.” The General said smoothly, staring at Khenbish. “But I guess you’d be desperate to go into it, eh, Ken? Mingle with the rest of the shit on the outside.”

“Fuck you.” Khenbish replied easily, leaning back in his chair.

Roland noted that he was incredibly tall for an Asian, what few of them he’d seen anyway. He guessed, just from the angle of his legs while sitting, that the Asian was a bit over six feet. Khenbish had shoulder length hair, some stubble, a pointed nose that crooked between the eyes, and an aura that was almost tangibly evil. Roland didn’t know how old he was, but guessed it couldn’t be more than twenty five. Taught lips were pulled easily into a casual smirk, and sharp eyes that weren’t really all that small, regarded Roland with a cold calculation. Roland couldn’t seem to look away from those eyes, so different from his own. They were actually rather large, and almond shaped. He’d always thought Asian eyes would be more like slits… Khenbish caught him staring and smirked.

“Some other time, cupcake.” The General said sweetly.

“Anyway, getting back on topic,” Grimsby sent a glare at Khenbish and Theydon, “I assume you know why you’re here, Roland.”

“Actually, if you want me to be quite honest with you? No. I don’t.” Roland said, feeling a little lame, but hey, that was the military for you.

“Oh, well, I guess we’ll start with the basics then…” Grimsby said, scratching his chin delicately.

“Oh god, not a history lesson.” Theydon grumped, as he pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and mischievously eyed a manila folder. “This is going to take longer than Madonna taking a shit while Jesus gets a good bit of oral salvation, if you know what I mean.”

“You shut up, you blasphemous beast, and no writing on files.,” Grimsby turned to Roland, and mulled on where to start. “Roland, as you know it’s been fifty years since the War of the Giants. Namely, Neo-China, Indinis, the United Americas, Old Israel and Greco-France. Since then, there have been multiple factions trying to pick up where the war left off, seeing as all five of the idiots blew each other to pieces; all of them trying to re-create countries and empires. Now, we have what is left of Europe, a small section of South America and Canada, a vast majority of Africa’s east coast and the most unimpressive section of Asia left for man to live on. Of course, Neo-China claimed the Asian territories, Indinis and Old Israel have Africa, and Greco-France dominates the Americas along with the European states.”

“Everyone knows that… what’s you’re point?” Roland asked, mildly bored, and scratching his wrist.

“ These are the four great empires that remain, and there is terribly frightening evidence that one of the small factions trying to stipulate the war again is actually rather large. It seems the UEL has made a huge miscalculation. If there is another war, I’m afraid man won’t have anywhere to turn to but the moon, and we haven’t got any means to do that.”

“So… who is this faction allied with? I mean, a majority of its people has to be related in some way, and they need to have some sort of leader…” Roland asked, scratching his arm a bit harder. He didn’t enjoy the thought of having to be involved in whatever they had planned for him… and he didn’t even know whatever it was, was yet.

“Well, the War of the Giants created a lot of unhappiness Roland. The governments have been trying to restore order, but let’s be honest, they really haven’t done much. Lots of land was destroyed, and countless were killed,” Grimsby looked at Theydon suddenly, “How many dead again?”

“Over two-thirds of the world’s population.” Theydon replied, scrawling in a manila folder distractedly. Roland was told once, by who he’d forgotten, that humans used to number in the billions and had found it rather hard to believe. The human population was just over 1 million, and that might even be stretching it. Roland hadn’t seen more than ten thousand people in one place so far, to think of millions of people was beyond him.

“Yes, a huge death toll, immense war reparation costs, weak governments, faction threats… When the system fails, people become unhappy Roland, and that’s the /real/ moment the system fails, because the people start turning to other things, looking for a way to relieve their anger. Two hundred years ago, that was through religion. The Third Great War was fought between the Muslims and the Christians because it was an easy scapegoat for the common man to social and political issues. Then, fifty years after that we had the War of Beliefs. That was the struggle between Democracy and Socialism, and of course neither side won, it just crippled both and let anger ferment. People never learn to leave each other alone. Then fifty years ago we had the Wars of the Giants because resources were low, overpopulation was creating problems, a third of the world had already been turned into wastelands, political fiascos were getting out of control and everyone was itching to blame someone else. Everything surmounted and as a result, almost everything was destroyed. All those people, the anger passed down from nearly two hundred years ago, are the people in that faction Roland.”

“At first,” General Theydon interrupted, “We thought that there were 243 factions, each separate and self-thinking, self-motivated. Within the last twenty years we’ve put at least 140 of those factions under wing of another one. The Resistance Coalition belongs to the Faction Free Wing. That is a huge, incredibly threatening number, and their hostility has increased by 200 percent. As you know, Grimsby and I work for all four of the Great Empires under the United Empires League. It is within the world’s best interest, and the UEL’s main priority, to get rid of this faction.” Theydon stared at Roland, darkly.

“What?” The smaller man sniffed, his brows drawn.

“I’m trying to save the damn world and you’d think they’d send me a better candidate.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with Warden Grimsby… So far we’ve been talking facts concerning the military, unless you’re harboring a mole or something in your prison, I don’t see the point of his involvement.” Roland said stiffly, decidedly ignoring the last comment. “And even then, I don’t know what /I/ have to do with any of this at all.”

“Well, you see, we think we know where to find a connection to the upper elites of Free Wing, and as much as we need someone with excellent military background and allegiance, we also need someone who knows the ins and outs of the outside system. That is, the faction’s working order. A lot of the people we’re dealing with were once criminals; they’re very easily bought on the side promising power, and we have someone who’s an expert with the mix. Or the criminal language, if I may put it that way. He also has other charming qualities that make him an instant pick, if I may add that as well. Skilled hitman, a bit of a vigilante, expert soldier in every sense of the word, strategist, and the list could go on. His only /seriously/ dour points are his vocabulary and world perception.” Grimsby said, smiling richly at Khenbish. “So, I guess that’s why I’m involved. After all, he is my most highly guarded prisoner here. Letting him loose is a small price to pay to prevent another blood bath.”

Roland sat there, thinking for a minute. He looked over at the dirty, rugged Asian, and furrowed his brows. This was the world’s most infamous prison, noted for keeping the most dangerous of men. Men who killed for fun came here, and it was Alkemda’s job to put them in place or kill them in the process. Apparently half the prison population ended up killing each other every five or so years… Some other dark rumors were floating around, none of them very flattering. If this was Grimsby’s highest security prisoner, that in itself said a lot about the man’s character, if not state it all.

“So, I’m to be paired with him… Does that mean the second he comes unshackled, I’ll have my limbs ripped out of me? Before we’ve even started the mission? …Whatever the mission is.”

“Hello to you too, beautiful.” Khenbish threw, smirking devilishly.

“You don’t have to worry about him.” The General said, turning to actually face Roland, “You have to worry about everything else. You aren’t going into La-la Land, you’re going to hell. We’re going to send you to Asrun.”

“Asrun?” Roland echoed, feeling slight goose bumps on his forearms. He scratched at them nervously, and then tugged his hair behind his ears in vain. People just didn’t go into Asrun; they disappeared in there and never came back out.

“Yes, that’s your starting point. This isn’t going to be a picnic, Roland. This mission may take years, and you probably won’t live to see it finished. You’re going with Khenbish to Asrun, the most notorious underground criminal city to learn a bit about the Resistance; re-establish Ken’s position. Once that’s done he can start roaming around freely again, since he’s a sort of mogul. We already have plenty of moles, but this time we’re going to try to go in deeper, and the only one who can do it is Khenbish. He’s the only one that’s not traceable, just like you, and has a high status in that sort of community. That’s why you’re so vital. We need someone to baby-sit our monster without having to jeopardize the mission.”

“What do you mean by that? Not traceable?” Roland demanded sharply, scratching his arm in anxiety. It was becoming red and started to tingle a bit.

“Well, Roland, you’ve been chosen I suppose because you are an orphan, your files were destroyed in the fire of Old Paris, and Roland isn’t even your real name. That’s the name your foster parents gave you seven years ago. You don’t remember your past, and certainly no one can find it. The Resistance won’t know who you are; they don’t have access to any of your files, because there never was any. That’s why I had to ask you your name; we don’t have anything on you. Your commanding officer was the one who told me everything I know, and he only knew because you told him.” Grimsby rested his chin on his folded fingers, scrutinizing Roland’s mollified face.

“The Greco-France government never made any documents about you, you were chosen the moment they found you in the remains of the orphanage. Your foster father died around four years ago due to a heart attack. Your foster mother died two years ago in a raid, and so did your whole village. You wanted to be a doctor and applied for Yale, according to your officer, but failed to get in, not because you weren’t qualified, but because no records of you can be made. The government doesn’t allow the existence of a Roland O. Fagg. Thus, you were put into the military, without any files and the only people familiar with you are your fellow soldiers that had to share a barrack with you, your commanding officer, and your medical unit, who all happened to be deployed to the forefront at precisely two p.m. today. None of them will survive. The UEL will make sure of that. Those in higher command who knew of you were already eliminated. There will be no one left to know anything about you, except the people in this room, who I may add, are all wearing thermal helmets so they can’t see your face, save me, Theydon and Khenbish.”

“Dear, all that, for little ol' me?” Roland managed to say, though he felt a little ill. All of them, people he had cared about, were killed just to get him to this point? His fists clenched under the table, but he tried to act strong. He didn’t want to look weak, and what was the point of crying here, when they were all gone already? He’d just look like a fool. At the same time, it was hard, as he felt like a part of him had fallen away, leaving him hollow. He didn’t exist, so much that his dreams had been denied along with his reality. Now it stung even more to know why he hadn’t gotten into Yale, why he hadn’t been allowed to join the medic team…

“Yes, well, we’re willing to make sacrifices to achieve our goals. And Khenbish, well, he’s relatively the same sad story. His clan was killed in an air raid accident. He went rampaging, rose in stature in the underground world; we caught him, locked him up, and let the world forget about him.”

“I don’t see how he is as carefully hidden as I am in identity,” Roland grated, his teeth snapping together.

“Ask him about it sometime, I’m much too bored to get into details.” Grimsby said, waving a hand dismissively.

“More like you’re sick with guilt.” Khenbish snorted, earning a nasty look.

“I suppose manpower is at its lowest in history, all things considered, and all our other possible candidates are out trying to root out the other faction leaders and puppet leaders of the Resistance. And few of them have the clean slate like you do, so it’d be harder to maintain an alibi since the Resistance does a pretty efficient probe on those who get too deep. But fuck, just because they think we’ve got Ken, they’re gonna give us a fuckin’ girl?” Roland glared at the complaining General. He didn’t appreciate it, especially since everyone he knew had apparently died so he could be here, in this room, with this ungrateful prick.

“I’m just that damn good, honey.” Khenbish drawled, cracking his neck. “Besides, when has your damn government ever been competent?”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up I’m liable to make your head a competent decorator item.” Theydon snapped irritated.

“Try me, sweetheart, I’ll be-” Khenbish started to say when a manila folder smacked him in the face.

“BOTH OF YOU STOP FLIRTING.” Grimsby snarled, “Can we continue or do I need to let the both of you girls slug out your strange love affair?”

“You could join us, Grimmy; I haven’t got a problem with it.” Khenbish gushed sweetly, winking.

“FUCK YOU.”

“Please do.”

“…Ken. If you don’t shut up, I’ll shoot you.” Grimsby said his face bright red.

“Party pooper.” Khenbish muttered, smiling darkly at Roland.

“Uh… Anyway,” Roland swallowed, dragging his gaze away from Khenbish’s, “What will we do in Asrun?”

“We’re staging Khenbish’s escape for one. All the criminals will think you helped him escape, and he’ll take you to Asrun, to ‘flee’ from our ‘pursuing’ troops. Of course, we really won’t be looking for you all that hard. There Khenbish will start reestablishing his title as Under Dog, er, if that’s what you call it. I don’t really know how all that globbity glup works. He’s got quite a little gang of followers he left behind when he came to prison ten years ago, and some of them are still loyal I’ve heard. Though for what reason, I haven’t a clue.”

“Khenbish, you’d better not fuck this up.” Theydon snarled, startling Roland. “Get the information and don’t you dare turn sides on me, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Yea, yea. All you ever do is bitch and moan, did you know that?” Khenbish replied, looking at Theydon like he was an ant he had pinned under a magnifying glass.

“So, where does that put me? Doesn’t it seem a little suspicious that I appear out of seemingly nowhere, help out this underground leader, and escape with him? It’d be ok if I was a member of his ‘gang’, but I’m not.” Roland said, glancing back at Khenbish who was shifting under his cuffs and ties.

“Well, if you had been more of what we were looking for, we were going to say you were his friend from the outlands, from before he came to Asrun. It was the best alibi, and probably most preferable to keep contact with Ken at a minimum. He has a few connections on the outside that don’t associate themselves with the mainstream. But, those men are battle-hardened, tough, manly men. No offense Roland.”

“I see…” Roland seethed. Sometimes he wished he was a huge body builder, just sometimes.

“So… Theydon, what do you think? Will that fly in this case?”

“No. You tell them he’s a frontier’s man and they’ll all know we rigged the whole thing and blow the two of them to high hell. Look at him, Herald, he’s a pussy. It isn’t a believable story. Anyone, even those idiots in Asrun, wouldn’t buy it.” The General looked stonily at Roland, not bothering to seem at least a little sorry about what he’d said. Stupid military man. Roland would like to take him to the frontier and show him just how man he was… and he wouldn’t stop until Theydon’s head was cracked in two.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Khenbish.” Grimsby turned to the Asian, grimacing, “Stop fooling around; you’ll shock yourself.”

“Whatever, mother.” Khenbish drawled, pulling on a chain that bolted his tied legs down to the floor.

“Fine, don’t listen. When you become barbeque don’t come crying to me. That aside, did you happen to have any slaves?” Grimsby saw Khenbish grin, “I know you had some money, and you were moderately powerful. Did you have any?”

“Sure… but, they were all most /definitely/ female.” Khenbish let his gaze rake over Roland in a slow, sensuous manner and smirked, “And I can’t tell about that one. She definitely doesn’t have a chest… I like mine with some real melons, makes for a nice tit fuck, you know? I’m not like you, into flats.”

“Ha ha,” Grimsby replied dryly, flipping through a folder Theydon had passed him, “So you did have some. Ok, well, where did you keep them? With you?”

“Fuck no. I put them in my pockets to be dead weight. What do you think I did with them? I left them at their whore-houses.” Khenbish said, pulling on another chain. Roland thought he heard a crackle from the shackle on his wrist, “What do you think I am? Fucking stupid? Piss heads, go fuck a shredder.”

“Ok. Good, that means no one’s ever really seen all your slaves. You were never one to show things off. Roland, you’re Khenbish’s slave, he left you with your ‘family’ in Old Paris to give you a backup story, taught you signals. When he was captured he sent you the message and gave you orders to infiltrate the UEL. You became a soldier with Old Paris Guard and worked your way to the lower levels of the UEL. You were then chosen to work at Grimsby’s prison, Akeldama, and staged Khenbish’s escape. That’s your story.” Theydon said, smiling snidely at his genius.

“…His slave.” Roland repeated, unimpressed. He glared at Grimsby and Theydon, demanding another cover story. He wasn’t anyone’s slave, and he wasn’t going to start.

“Get used to it, bitch.” Khenbish chortled from his side of the table, abandoning his struggle with the chains.

“Aptly said, for once.” Grimsby muttered, patting Roland sympathetically on the arm. Roland sighed, deciding an alibi was better than no alibi. He chose life over the other option. Honestly, he was pretty sure if he refused to comply he would be terminated.

Then, in the pregnant silence, the radio channel was switched back on and Roland could actually pick up a deep voice, though dimly, speaking in Grimsby’s ear, “Sir, it’s been nearly 40 minutes. Stats?”

“Oh. I’ve forgotten, dear me. I apologize, Dante; I suppose we’ll need another twenty minutes or so. Everything is fine.” Grimsby said, glancing at his watch, a little frown forming at his forgetfulness.

“Code green. Very well sir, I will check back in precisely twenty then.” And the radio was promptly switched off.

“Well, Khenbish,” General Theydon eased, leaning back in his chair, “I guess you’re going to have to come up with a name for him.”

“Hold on. How do I know he won’t kill me? How do you know he isn’t going to turn sides? You said it yourself; men like him aren’t to be trusted. Criminals go to the side that promises power, to quote you.” Roland frowned when he saw Khenbish wink at him, “He’d probably kill me the minute you let him go.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I love to babe. Wouldn’t I love to?” Khenbish purred, leaning on the table eagerly.

“You don’t have to worry about that. We have something Ken wants, desperately. I’m certain he’d give an arm for it, and he’d be willing to let you live since that’s an easier price to pay. He also has five GPS devices, two shock stimulators that work much like tasers, and an electric discharger implanted inside of him in case that didn’t reassure you. If that won’t put him out of commission, I don’t know what will.” General Theydon grinned, a look of nostalgia coming over his scarred face, “It seems to have been effective so far.”

“Laugh while you can fuckface.” Khenbish grit, “One day you’re not gonna have a damn remote, the collars, the drugs, or this stupid suit and I’ll be the one laughing then.”

“Well, then. Roland, you can either sit here and chat with our charming Khenbish, or you can go with General Theydon to, eh, get some personal preparations that don’t concern our mutual little dove, Ken.” Grimsby smiled gracefully; ignoring a stream of indecencies Khenbish sent flying his way. Smoothly lifting himself from his chair, Grimsby started to gather all the files together, not waiting for Roland’s reply.

“Just stand the hell up and come with me, boy.” General Theydon snapped, throwing some files at Grimsby before abruptly standing up and making his way to the heavy titanium door. “Well, are you coming or am I gonna have to drag you the whole way?”

“Sir.” Roland got up and nodded to Grimsby, who waved, and shot one last look back at Khenbish who was slouching in his seat, smiling devilishly at Roland. Then he turned and followed General Theydon out, into the slightly dimmer halls. His head was rushing, people were dead, and he was sure Khenbish would help him join them.

A few minutes later found them in the administrative area of the prison. Currently Roland was on the fifth floor in the middle of the campus, struggling to keep up with the surprisingly speedy General. The whole building was heavily secured, maybe more so than even the cell units, and if Roland had anything to say, just as ugly as the rest of the prison. There wasn’t much to soften the sharp grey and white clinical look, and even the secretaries looked like they were ready to plug a few bullets in Roland if he so much as looked at them in the wrong manner. He pondered the idea of giving Grimsby a few décor tips, and maybe suggest the concept of secretaries that didn’t resemble inmates. He was sure it’d help with the overall image of the prison, if only a little.

General Theydon’s quick stride brought them to Warden Grimsby’s office within a few minutes, which, like the rest of the building, was very bleak and monotonous. Certainly no one was going to be deceived of finding comfort, even here. Roland could almost see someone’s mother or wife, sobbing here, and Grimsby just smiling that amiable smile and saying something a little less than comforting. Probably something along the lines of “He’s due to die in twelve months, Deary” rather than, “Don’t worry Ma’am, he’ll be out with good behavior”. He seemed to be a dick like that.

Sitting down at the desk, Theydon pulled open some drawers before he found what he was looking for, a little metal box. Roland had seated himself on one of the uncomfortable chairs that were positioned by the steel desk with the nameplate /W. Herald O. Grimsby/. There was a ridiculous looking clown plushy that clashed with the dull contents of the office, smiling brightly at Roland in its obscene colors from behind the nameplate. Personally, he thought it rather matched the Warden.

“This,” General Theydon said, getting Roland’s attention, “Is your remote.”

He slid what looked like something of a garage opener over to the younger man.

Picking it up to examine it, Roland fit the device in the palm of his hand. It had four buttons, and was made out of very sturdy material. It was also a dull blue-grey color. Honestly, these people had a limited color palate. He flipped it over, and then tested its weight. It was light, compact and rather easy to glance over without drawing attention. But that didn’t mean the people in Asrun wouldn’t know what it was, or if slaves were even allowed to carry around possessions… Hell, Roland wouldn’t really be able to use the damn thing if others were around. Great, real useful.

Still, it was amazing that something so tiny and seemingly innocuous could possibly electrocute a man to death.

“What are the buttons for?” Roland asked, turning the device over in his hands, surprised to find a very small red button on one of the edges. He’d have to be careful when handling it, lest he accidentally push it, he decided.

“Well, the top two, the ones with the dashes on them, measure voltage. The left for lower volts and the right for higher; so according to your level of danger, you can adjust the taser shock Ken receives. The bottom ones turn the tasers off and on. Right for on, left for off. That red button on the side is the electric discharger. If you need to knock him out, that’ll do it. He’ll smell like hell for a few days, but you’ll be safe from harm. And if I were you, I’d push that damn button. Don’t stop and think he’s human and he’s not going to hurt you, because he sure as hell will.” General Theydon lectured, starting to rummage through the drawers again, an act, Roland was sure, wouldn’t make Warden Grimsby very happy. Just from the way the man was dressed, Grimsby looked as if he had a penchant for orderliness, and would be sorely put out to find his desk disheveled. The prospect of being paired with a savage didn’t sit well with Roland himself.

“What if he gets a hold of this?” Roland asked, gesturing to the remote.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Theydon grumped, “But that’s some specially made shit. It’d take a miniature grenade to break that thing. It’s worth more than my mortgage for Christ sake.”

“Yes, but if he gets it, that means I don’t have it.” Roland supplied impatiently.

General Theydon stopped his messy search and looked at Roland pensively.

“Well…If that happens, face it. You’re gonna get hurt. A lot.”

“If he has it, how am I supposed to stop him?”

“That’s why you’re going under the knife.” General Theydon threw over at Roland, pulling another box from one of the many drawers Grimsby seemed to have.

“Excuse me?”

“What, you’ve got cotton for ears?”

“I hardly see what surgery has to do with me and the remote.” Roland spat. He scratched at his arm, the anxiety returning to his stomach. He didn’t like the sound of surgery. Of being unconscious while people he didn’t trust were cutting and altering his body. What if they put a discharger in /him/? He knew some general medical basics, but considering he never went to medical school, he didn’t know a whole lot more than your standard nurse.

“Well, if you’d just shut up and listen, you little pissant,” General Theydon snapped, flicking the larger box open. “You’re going to get surgery and have two GPS devices implanted in you and an emergency remote to the electric discharger as well. If Ken manages to get a hold of the remote, you push that button, and he’ll be out. Yay you, you won’t be mauled. At least… you’ll have put your death on a temporary hold.”

“That sounds a bit dangerous, suppose I accidentally hit it? Or if I break it in an injury of some sort? Isn’t there a more efficient way of incapacitating him?”

“Well, tough cookies if you break it. You’ll just have to pray to your god that it’ll be a quick death when he starts to rip off your arms.” Theydon kicked one of the drawers that got stuck, closing it. “It’ll be implanted right above your left elbow, the discharger, and it’ll need a significant amount of force to set it off. So you don’t have to worry about little jolts doing anything. We don’t want you shocking Ken every ten minutes… though it might do him some good. And, a little advice about the remote; don’t show it to him and don’t use it when you don’t need to. Now put it in your pocket before Ken finds out you have it.”

“I’m guessing he hates the remotes.” Roland inquired dully.

“You’d like it if you got fried?” Theydon unconsciously touched his scar while flipping through some papers in the metal boxes.

“I hardly doubt that the GPS devices are to find me if I happen to be in trouble…” Roland pondered out loud, changing the subject, his face sour, as he shoved the contraption deep into his pocket.

“Hell no. It’s so we can keep tabs on your position. Military allegiance my ass; I trust you as much as I trust Ken.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence.” Roland responded sweetly, his glare icy.

“You’re god damn welcome.” Theydon flung a bracelet at Roland, not bothering to look up from the box. “I knew Grimsby still had some slave bracelets around.”

“Is that what this is?” Roland inquired, picking it up. It was a bit heavy, made out of some type of silvery metal that was very beaten and scratched. There was a thick plate, about the size of Roland’s thumb, but nothing was engraved in it. It certainly didn’t have any aesthetic values, but it wasn’t garish either. He looked at his reflection, warped and incredibly delicate looking in the bent metal. He tore his eyes away, disgusted.

“Yep. Khenbish’ll write his name and junk on the plate, so you’d better put that on before you loose it. That’s part of your alibi. Now, let’s go back downstairs shall we?” Theydon was about to get up from his seat when he froze. He was looking at a little monitor that was sitting on the Warden’s desk, his large body stiff and his eyes wide with shock. Soon though, he recovered and scowled.

“General?” Roland asked, a little softer than he intended it to be, and licked his lips.

“Fuck. I knew that’d happen.” Theydon muttered, and then flickered his gaze to Roland, his mouth a tight line. “You want to know what you’re working with? Take a look.” He swiveled the screen and Roland peered into the little box.

The picture was a little grainy, and it wasn’t in color really, more like shades of green, but not really green. Color master that he was, he couldn’t really describe it. He recognized the room. Grimsby could be seen, standing off in a corner, it looked like he was shouting, as he pointed frantically towards the source of commotion. Furrowing his brows and leaning in, Roland realized that Khenbish had gotten free of his jacket top and all his shackles and was currently gripping a man by the neck, twisting, daring others to come forward. Another man was on the floor, not moving, but Roland couldn’t tell if he was dead. He looked back at Khenbish to see the tall Asian make a side step and deck a man with what looked like very little effort, catching the body before it fell. He didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until he let it out in one great wheeze when Khenbish threw the limp body at a group of men, scattering them, his other hand still twisting the writhing man in his grasp. It looked like the giant Asian was throwing around tissues. Suddenly, Khenbish just crumpled, breathing heavily, glaring at Grimsby and the screen was spun away.

“And that’s when he plays nice.” Theydon said, “Can you handle it?”

“I don’t think I have a choice.” Roland replied, trying to be strong. He didn’t let his voice waver, or his shoulders tremble. He couldn’t be weak, but his hands were clenched under the table, shaking and sweating like crazy where no one could see them.

Khenbish had looked like he was bored; playing to stretch his muscles a bit, not actually trying to do anything purposeful. He had obviously done something to shed the jacket, perhaps a trick to give the arms more slack, or some such escape trick, and had spent very little time attacking his unprepared guard dogs. Even if there was no blood, no real action, even if Khenbish didn’t seem particularly threatening, merely cold, calculated, Roland sensed the danger. Roland felt that the scene he witnessed was more frightening than if he’d seen the Asian tear everyone to pieces in a blind fury. Khenbish played by hurting others, and pressing buttons… Roland didn’t have very many buttons to push or very many limbs to tear…

“Well, let’s get down there and see what the damages are. Oh, looks like you two beat me to it.” Theydon said, half out of his seat. “I guess the monitor here is delayed a bit?”

“Of course not.” Grimsby said, smiling as he closed his office door behind him. “We just walked here at a brisker pace than usual.”

Roland looked at Khenbish who was still free from the jacket, wearing a light once yellow jumpsuit uniform that looked as dirty as he was. He had a slightly glazed look to his face, almost as if he was drugged, but Roland couldn’t really tell because they were lowered. There were shackles on his bare feet, but other than that he looked rather… well, free to do as he pleased, if a bit tensed. That didn’t make Roland anymore comfortable, especially seeing the little episode on the monitor. Wasn’t there some kind of procedure? Why wasn’t he back in his cell? Why wasn’t he restrained? Roland couldn’t make any sense of it, but he figured Grimsby and Theydon wouldn’t care to explain why they were so lenient with Khenbish, even if Roland asked.

At the corner of Khenbish’s mouth there was a newly forming bruise, and Roland could only guess that Grimsby had slugged him. After a minute’s reflection, he discredited that as he didn’t think Grimsby would be without bruises if that were the case. Theydon apparently noticed it too because he commented on it. Neither of the two men answered, so the topic was dropped.

“Khenbish, have you thought up a name yet? You’d better hurry; we haven’t got time, Roland’s due to surgery any minute.” Grimsby murmured, walking to his desk and neatly rearranging everything Theydon had touched. Apparently no one was going to comment on Khenbish’s behavior, and Roland decided that made him more nervous, especially at the mention of surgery. Khenbish saw Roland shiver and he grinned widely, though a bit sloppily.

“Yea, yea. Bitch, bitch, bitch. That’s all you two old farts ever do.” Khenbish made his way slowly to Roland, the chains rattling on the floor, alarmingly loud. Sitting down next to the smaller man, Khenbish looked at Grimsby from the corner of his eyes. “How the fuck am I gonna mark him if I don’t have anything to do it with?”

“I wish you’d learn some manners. Like, oh say, ‘Please, Grimsby, hand me a knife’?” Grimsby sighed, handing over a little dagger he retrieved from Theydon’s belt to Khenbish nonetheless. Roland became alarmed, and looked at all three men, trying to assess the situation and failing horribly. We’re they planning to kill Roland from the start? Didn’t he just see Khenbish throw people around? Shouldn’t he be locked up… or… well, not given a weapon, that’s for sure. He was about to jump out of his seat when Grimsby pinned him with a glare.

“Oh, Roland, don’t look so frightened. If Khenbish tried to kill any of us, someone else would push the discharge button. He’s learned his lesson for the day, I believe. He isn’t retarded, he’s just vulgar. Besides, he likes any minute he can get outside of the cell, so he’s usually well behaved.”

“I’m not fucking vulgar, you fucking piss shit. And don’t talk about me like I’m a fucking dog.” Khenbish muttered, eyeing Roland, the knife twirling in his long fingers. “God, I’d love to just take this thing and-”

“KEN. TIME.” Grimsby ground, pushing the intercom, “Has Mr. Fagg’s transport vehicle to the hospital arrived yet? No? Good. Thank you Derma.”

Khenbish grabbed Roland’s arm, the left one with the bracelet that wasn’t locked yet, and dragged his fingers down to the pale wrist. At first the grip was unsteady, quaking, but it soon stilled and became a vice. Roland figured Khenbish had still been on an adrenaline high. Ken shook his head, as if trying to clear his vision, and smiled that same off kilter smile. Roland pulled a little, surprised and repulsed by the other man, only to have the dirty, tanned fingers dig painfully into his skin.

“You need to get out into the fucking sun.” Khenbish muttered, turning the bracelet so that the name plate faced up. Bending over, so that his hair fell down over his face, he brought the knife to Roland’s wrist.

“No marring of flesh Ken.” Grimsby muttered from his desk, almost as an afterthought.

“Yea, you said the same thing last night, cock-tease.” Khenbish sang.

Roland tensed, he couldn’t see what Khenbish was doing, but he shivered when he heard the knife squeal against the plate. He tried to pull away, seeing as his trust in his newfound friend wasn’t as great as the Warden’s. His honey eyes looked at Theydon, just a little frightened, but the General was talking quietly with the Warden so he was forced to look back at the dirty, greasy hair hanging over his wrist. Khenbish’s long, warm fingers, held him firmly, and in a few minutes, he let go, looking satisfied. Roland examined the bracelet. Carved into the face of the plate was /Checheg/ in huge, rough letters. Under it in smaller ones Roland read aloud,

“Property of Khenbish, Under Ruler of Sector 5, HR 25, Permanent.” Roland looked at Khenbish and frowned. “What the hell is Checheg?”

“It’s your name, that’s what it is. Dick fucker.” Khenbish said, tossing the knife carelessly on the table. His movements looked more lethargic than lazy, but Roland didn’t let his guard down. “Got a problem with it?”

“What a sweet name,” Grimsby interrupted, “I didn’t think you were capable of sweetness, Ken.”

“You keep acting like I’m a fucking retard. He’s my fucking slave, right? I wouldn’t pick up some fucking male unless I had a thing for him, right? ‘Cause, I sure as hell ain’t no homo.” Khenbish glared at Grimsby, “And if he were fucking bottom. I ain’t no homo, but I know that if I was, I’m fucking top.”

“Vulgar. You are vulgar.” Grimsby said, wrinkling his nose.

“I’ll show you vulgar sometime.” Khenbish said, licking his upper lip and rubbing his thigh.

“Really, I don’t know how anyone put up with you.”

“Same way you do, baby.”

“Yes, I guess I do. Locking you up in a cell is the only thing that keeps you out of trouble.” Grimsby said, and all three of the bigger men tensed, Khenbish letting a low growl escape his throat. Roland guessed that Grimsby had touched a sore topic.

“What the fuck does Checheg mean?” Roland asked, slightly peeved at the reference of him being, in any way, feminine. Or a person who partook in rutting. Just because he was a /little/ smaller than everyone else in the room, did not mean he was anyone's bottom he thought darkly. He might also admit he changed the subject because he was a little afraid of making Khenbish angry… dischargers or not.

“Flower.” Grimsby said, smiling widely. Khenbish chortled like a mischievous child who had victoriously peed all over his mother’s finest linens in an act of revenge and the General coughed into a coffee cup he had stolen from Grimsby’s desk.

Roland wanted to kill himself, right then and there. Maybe he’d be reborn as that body builder. Then he’d show them all a flower…

“Warden? The medical unit has shown up for Mr. Fagg.” Buzzed a little voice from an intercom on Grimsby’s desk; Roland almost felt relieved.

“Thank you Derma. He’ll be down in a minute.” Grimsby smiled at Roland, waving his hand to bring him over to a little steel closet. “You’ll need to put these on. You know, building up on that alibi and all that.”

Roland watched Grimsby open the doors and sort through some clothes, fingering the cold bracelet. It was heavy, and uncomfortable, an almost physical embodiment of his annoyance at having to pretend to be a slave. He glanced at Ken, who waved and picked up the clown doll, slowly ripping off its limbs. Already, he could tell that he was going to get hit, a lot. Or maybe decapitated, whichever happened first. They weren’t going to become friends, and Ken wasn’t magically going to be nice and decide that violence wasn’t the conventional way of getting your partner to do what you wanted. He could already tell. And being his slave wasn’t going to give him much of an advantage either…

The Warden made a little grunt and pulled out a spare uniform that a lot of the prison guard units wore, though it was two sizes too big. It was a white short sleeve top with dark green slacks, rather ugly. He put it in Roland’s hand and glanced up, freezing when he saw Khenbish pulling apart the cotton stuffing of the once whole clown doll.

“/Must/ you do that?” Grimsby grated, his teeth grinding when Khenbish shrugged and popped an eye off the estranged head.

“It’s relaxing, sugar.”

“I’m sure.” Grimsby turned back to Roland, “Now, put those on. Hurry up now, they’re waiting for you downstairs.”

Roland held the uniform close to him, glancing between General Theydon and Warden Grimsby. Neither of them seemed at least bit bothered and continued to stare back at him. When looking at them like they had three heads didn’t work, he took to glaring. Looking around with a gaze that could rival a blow torch, he didn’t see a corner he could crawl into, or a wall closet, or anything. He looked back at Grimsby, who looked back at him, and let the air jet out from his nose.

“In here? With you.” The last part was more of a statement, dripping in acid.

“Well, I could turn around and… but we’re all men here.” Grimsby caught the fleeting look on Roland’s face and turned around anyway, sighing as if he were putting up with a petulant child, “Come on Elliott, and turn around. He doesn’t want you to ogle his womanly figure.”

Roland sniffed, insulted, and Theydon gave him a mild look before turning around. Roland wanted to bang his head into a wall; he certainly wasn't helping to manly-fy his image at all.

Unbuttoning his shirt, Roland flicked his hair from his eyes and paused in the action, staring at Khenbish. The other smiled wickedly, motioning for him to continue, eager to see something exciting. Grinding his teeth in frustration, Roland ignored him and pulled on the baggy, surprisingly fresh smelling uniform top, snapping the button clasps in place. Unbuckling his belt, Roland toed his shoes off. He quickly and carefully pulled off his pants and slid into the new ones, managing to smuggle the remote into his new, ridiculously long slacks without Khenbish noticing. It helped that the other was eyeing the knife mischievously. Not that it made him any less nervous. Slipping into his shoes again, Roland was about to loop his belt when the sound of Grimsby hitting Khenbish made him jump, sending him into the closet.

“Fucking try that again and I’ll make sure you rot in segregation and never come out.” The Warden growled his hand clamped on the knife’s hilt. “And no sweets for a month.”

“You and what fucking army? Punk ass bitch!” Lunging forward, Khenbish grabbed at Grimsby’s collar, only to collapse onto the desk, rasping in pain. “F-Fuck.”

“Don’t act tough. I know the serum hurts. I told you, anything fast and it’d feel like you’re breaking every inch of your skin. Didn’t you learn from earlier? That wasn’t a discharge that stopped you last time, it was the serum. That’s why you have the bruise from where Dante pinned you against the ground. I gave it to you this morning, enough time for the cholesterol and other substances to attach to your blood vessels and harden them; of course it’s the serum that allows this to happen at such an increased rate. Don’t you love medical technology? Move too quickly and they’ll break, leading to internal bleeding. Or a heart attack. Hence, the bruise. We’ve been through this a couple times. You never learn, do you? When I tell you these things, it isn’t for my own health, you tall idiot.”

“Grimsby, that was a lame insult.” Theydon commented, from his coffee mug.

“You shut up. I didn’t see you lunging across the desk to stop him.” Grimsby huffed, adjusting his tie so that it was meticulously put back in a straight line. “You god damn military men can’t do anything if a bonus isn't waved in your faces.”

“Of course, sweet heart. Anything you say.” Theydon mumbled, sipping the contents of his mug.

“FUCK!” Khenbish slid down the desk, his legs and stomach convulsing, his hand that had tried to snatch Grimsby’s throat slowly clenching and unclenching. “Baas! (Shit!) Damn, this is fucking… new.”

“Now that I’ve seen its effective, I’ll be sure to use it more often. Though it isn’t as fast-acting as I had hoped…” Grimsby casually threw at the Asian writhing on the floor as if he just remembered he was there. “Ah, Roland. Here’s your badge. You’ll start working here from today onwards. I’ll drop you a hint the day of the big break.”

Taking the badge, Roland turned his eyes down to look at Khenbish, but Grimsby stepped in front of him, blocking his view. It seemed intentional. He decided not to let Grimsby inject /him/ with anything from this point on.

The General was whispering nastily to Ken who snapped, “Booveig min khoh!” (Suck my dick!). Theydon just smiled.

“Everyone thinks you’ve come for an interview. We’ve been looking for a new guard to baby-sit Khenbish in solitary for a bit now. Now, if you’d kindly walk out those doors and go straight down the hall, Derma will show you out to your ride. Oh, and take off that bracelet and hide it. It’d blow everything if someone saw it. Just make sure not to lock it on yourself or we’d never get it off without destroying your cover. I’ll keep your old clothes for you until you get back.”

The insistent hand on his shoulder turned him around, and mechanically his feet started their trip to the door that Grimsby had already opened for him. The badge and his belt clutched in his fist, Roland took a step out of the office, staring at the long hallway ahead of him. He heard Theydon return to the swivel chair then move away, Grimsby’s suit crinkle as his body shifted, the door squeaking as it was being closed, and before it shut, he jolted his head and saw a sliver of the floor. Khenbish’s dazed eyes caught his, Theydon’s back to Roland, a polished shoe landing a hit square in the ribs. Khenbish’s snarl was cut short by the thud of the door on the frame. Roland stared at the peeling grey door a little more, at the spot that Khenbish was on the floor. He turned back around, looked at the white hall and then continued moving in order to meet Derma, the metal bracelet rubbing on his skin as he took it off, trying to erase those eyes from his memory.

He had no sympathy for a man who killed ruthlessly. For a savage. At least, that’s what he said to himself.