Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The scarecrow’s hands locked around Poison’s skull and wrenched it upwards, forcing him to watch as another grabbed the Girl by her hair and dragged her away. She kicked and screamed, biting at its gloved hands and driving her feet into the ground. With every inch she was pulled backwards, Poison felt the knife in his chest twist a little deeper. He pulled against the operatives holding him back with all his might, but their grip only tightened.

A draculoid pulled out a gun and aimed it at the Girl. Poison struggled harder. That was no ray gun. It was a tranquilizer-- the dracs might have grown tired of her thrashing, but they still wanted her alive. Alive, not dead. Why?

In the background, Jet Star fought on, his ray gun emitting a burst of light for each draculoid that dared come near him. Kobra had his back. Poison wasn’t sure if they’d even noticed his predicament yet, they were so busy defending themselves. But it wasn’t enough. They had to get away before they were captured like he had been. They moved in tandem, holding their own for as long as they could, buying themselves precious seconds until they were--

Dead, not alive.

Ghoul was the only one left. Poison wanted to scream at him to run, to run for the Girl or to save himself, he didn’t know which, but he had to move before Poison lost the only person he had left.

They beat him to the floor and held him in a chokehold until he went limp. The dusty ground ran red with blood before he, too, was taken away.

The scream that ripped from Poison’s throat was animal, wild with pain and fury. The draculoids holding him back staggered with the force of his lunge forward. But no matter how hard he fought, they refused to let go. They only squeezed his hair tighter and forced him to watch, helpless, as Fun Ghoul and the Girl were tossed into a white BLi van like a pair of rag dolls. Jet and Kobra were left lying on the ground. The pool of blood surrounding them only grew larger, soaking into the sand, returning their spirits to the desert they called home.

Poison choked back a sob.

And all the while, Korse laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

They picked Poison up and packed him into another van, taking his ray gun and slamming the doors behind him before he could fight back. He felt the van shift beneath him, and then they were driving away, maybe in the same direction Ghoul and the Girl had gone. It was enough to send a tiny flicker of hope shooting through his chest.

He sat up straight for the rest of the journey, until a thick, fruity smell permeated the air, and he had just enough time to recognize the scent of gas before he was knocked unconscious.

***

Poison woke up in a tiny white room. It couldn’t have been more than eight feet across, and the ceiling was only a little higher. The first thing he noticed was the lack of color. It only took a moment to make his skin crawl. Everything was white, all blank surfaces and stark lighting, with not even the faintest hue to offer respite from the white. He had to get his hands on paint as soon as possible, he decided. Dye, or ink, at least. He’d smear his own blood on the walls if that was what it came to.

The second thing he noticed was the bed he was laying on. It was as white as everything else, with a stiff mattress and a thin sheet. It was the first bed Poison had touched since… well, since before he was Party Poison. He swung his legs over the edge, intending to get up, but the small movement sent his head spinning. He squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breaths until the nausea subsided.

Standing was out, then. Instead, he gave himself a once-over. Most of his knuckles were split, and he had a few burns here and there, but otherwise, he had escaped unscathed. He was sure that that would change.

BLi never kept people alive as a kindness.

There was a thick band of metal around his wrist with a string of letters and numbers. Identification, he supposed. It was colder than the rest of the room, a constant icy reminder that everything was not as it should be. He was in the city, not the desert, and the other killjoys were gone.

The fabulous killjoys… They had…They were…

What had happened to them?

“Fuck,” Poison said out loud.

Those slimy Better Living sons of bitches.

BLi had done something. They had fucked with his head somehow. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how his head ached with effort, Poison couldn’t recall more than a few blurry snapshots from the fight that had torn him away from his family. He knew that he should remember, but he just couldn’t. He realized with mounting horror that it wasn’t just the fight. He could barely remember anything. He had his friends: Fun Ghoul, Kobra Kid, Jet Star, and the Girl. He still remembered them, thank the Sand and Sun. But everything else had been wiped clean.

No… not everything.

His memories of the city were intact. The memories he had buried deep after leaving for the desert, all the things he had made himself forget… They were all he had left.

A speaker clicked on in the corner of the room. “Good morning, Gerard,” a sweet female voice said. Poison stiffened.

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

He knew that the woman on the other end of the speaker could hear him, but she didn’t respond.

He hadn’t expected her to.

For the rest of the day, Poison was left alone. No sound from the speaker, no movement from the door. He was trapped within the silence. He actually found himself wishing for some BLi employee to come and start fucking with him-- at least it would give him something to do besides sit and stare and fail to grasp at elusive memories.

What the hell had they done?

***

It was a few days before things really started to go downhill. Not a single sound had penetrated the room since the speaker had wished him a good morning, and Poison was going stir-crazy. He had tried to sing, once, just to break the quiet, but the bracelet on his wrist had shocked him hard enough to leave him trembling.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from trying. He refused to shut his mouth until the electricity snatched his consciousness away.

But after a while, he simply didn’t have the energy to go on in such a way. Instead, he had taken to tapping out rhythms on the bedsheet beside him. As long as the beats were random, and never began to coalesce into a pattern, he was safe from further shocking. Part of him was proud of how he’d beat the system. Part of him was just tired.

Once movement no longer sent him into bouts of dizziness, he tried getting up and pacing the floor. He talked to himself, mumbling whatever came to mind. It was enough to temporarily keep him sane, but he knew that if something didn’t change soon, he would snap.

When the speaker clicked on, he nearly wept.

“Good morning, Gerard,” said the woman’s voice, no less cheery than before. “Please exit your room and turn right. You will find your first test at the end of the hall.”

Poison twitched at the use of his birth name, but his discomfort was smothered in an overwhelming sense of relief as the door swung open. He jumped up and ran for the hall. When he looked back and forth, both directions looked exactly the same, uniform in their white tile floors and cement walls.

He knew he was being watched, through cameras and microphones and whatever else, but he didn’t care. There was no way in hell he’d follow instructions given by the company that had stolen his mind. They wanted him to turn right?

They must've known it wouldn't be that easy.

He turned left and broke into a sprint, relishing the freedom to move. It didn’t last long, however.

“Oh, dear, we can’t have that,” the woman’s voice said pleasantly. A shock vibrated through Poison’s bones, his knees immediately giving out. He collapsed to the ground. Whoever controlled his bracelet had figured out the voltage that would send him into fits of agony, but would keep him conscious all the way through.

He raised his middle finger and was shocked again, this time enough to push him over the edge and into the blackness.

It felt like only a moment passed before he woke up again. He was lying in his bed, his left arm stinging. He gave it a quick look, not expecting to see anything much, and startled at the line of stitches running from his wrist to his elbow. He stared at them for a moment before the panic set in, and then he was running his fingers along his skin, seeing new marks that hadn’t been there before, cuts and bruises and injuries that he most definitely hadn’t received while awake. The motion irritated the wounds, and before he knew it, thin lines of blood were rising up.

The red was the first bit of color he had seen in what felt like forever.

His heartbeat slowed to a calmer pace. This was good. How bad was it, really, if they only hurt him when he was asleep? They were giving him color, and it would make him strong.

He ran a finger along his wrist, then touched it to the wall. A bloody fingerprint appeared against the white paint.

They couldn’t take away his color. Not when it was running through his very veins.

***

Even if they couldn’t stop him, they could definitely try.

After Poison’s little stunt with the blood, his captors stopped physically torturing him, even going so far as to remove all sharp edges from his room so he couldn’t do it himself. They set their sights on his mental state instead. He would wait in that fucking room, cramped and blank and quiet, until the speaker activated and bid him to exit. There didn’t seem to be a schedule for his release. He was kept waiting anxiously until the door opened, then he would run out and enjoy a brief moment of release before the electricity burned out all the lights in his head.

He lost track of the days before they finally took him by force.

The speaker didn’t give any warning-- a scarecrow busted into his room out of nowhere and grabbed his arm, dragging him out and down the hall to the “first test” he had been avoiding so doggedly. He was shoved into another room, a bigger one, thank the Sun, and stuffed into a chair. His wrists and legs were bound to it, and then he was alone again.

“Hello, Gerard,” said a speaker built into the ceiling. The woman always sounded saccharine, but today, she was downright smug.

“That’s not my fucking name,” he growled. “My name is Party Poison.”

“Oh, is it?” the woman purred. “I’m sure this test will be no trouble for you, then.”

The wall that Poison’s chair was facing suddenly lit up. A projector hummed, and a picture appeared. Poison’s hands clenched into fists.

“Don’t play games, Gerard,” the woman said. She was sweet as ever, but Poison knew a threat when he heard one. “I know you remember this. Tell me who that is, won’t you?”

The picture was a candid, probably taken by one of BLi’s many security cameras. It showed a boy walking down the street with his hands stuffed into the pockets of a hooded sweatshirt. The boy had short black hair, which, given a few years, would grow out into a greasy mess and acquire several different colors. Poison remembered him. Of fucking course he remembered. That boy had died years ago.

“I don’t remember,” said Poison.

He didn’t want to say it. They couldn’t make him.

The woman clicked her tongue in disappointment. “The more you lie, the more you will be punished. I’m sure you know this, but I’m not sure you understand how unpleasant your punishment will be if you continue to disobey.”

He did know. He just didn’t care. They couldn’t possibly do anything worse than make him remember. They could make him stare at his own face for hours, but he would never claim it. He wouldn’t ever speak of the life he had abandoned. The desert was his home, even if he couldn’t remember any of his time there.

“My name is Party Poison,” he repeated.

***

Gradually, a new routine was adopted. The timing was just as random as always, but Poison began to dread the opening of his door instead of looking forward to it. Not even the release from his cell made the “tests” worth it. Every day they showed him something from his past. A picture of who he used to be, symbols or artifacts or anything they thought might produce results. He even sat up one morning and was startled by how light his head felt, only to find that his signature crimson locks had been chopped short and bleached blond. Blond. Blond was so close to white, it made him physically sick to think about.

Poison never let them see, but they were dangerously close to breaking him.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been in captivity. It could have been days, weeks, or even months. He had a hard time following the passage of time, given how much of it he spent asleep. BLi must have had some goal by keeping him there, probably to get information out of him. But if that was the case, why would they take his memories? Wouldn’t they be considered the most valuable part of him?

He pondered this as he was escorted to the testing room and tied into his restraints. When he looked up, he startled-- for the first time, the room was not empty.

“Hello, Gerard.”

Poison instantly recognized the woman’s voice. It was a odd to put a face to it, but the face did suit her. She had neat black hair combed down to her chin and eyes that were such a deep brown they looked black. Her eyes didn’t look so much as pierce, and Poison knew what he would hear before she even spoke.

This was the first time he’d ever seen her angry.

“We were always intending to punish you, Gerard. We thought we would do it after you finally broke down, to show you who you were up against, but you never did. You’ve escaped discipline for far too long. I think it’s time we changed that.” She pressed a button she held in her hand, and a new picture appeared on the wall. To Poison’s surprise, it was a picture of him-- not as a city-dweller, but as a killjoy, fiery red hair and all.

“Tell me who that is,” she ordered.

“That’s me,” Poison said slowly. “Why are you showing me this?”

She smiled, but did not answer. She flipped through a new set of pictures, showing Kobra, Ghoul, Jet, and the Girl. “Who are they?”

“They’re my friends.” Poison frowned. “Stop it. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just making sure,” she said cryptically. She stepped forward and ruffled Poison’s hair, ignoring how he jerked back. “It’s time for you to be punished. It will not be enjoyable, and it will not stop. If you agree to cooperate, it may lessen in the future… but for now, you must pay for your behavior.” She headed towards the door, so Poison could no longer see her.

“You may call me the Director. It would be in your best interest if we never met again.”

The door clicked shut, and Poison was alone. He waited a few moments before releasing the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. When he inhaled again, he instantly coughed. The air was just a touch more acrid than usual, but he had learned from experience how to recognize the taste of gas. ”Fuck!”

He had experienced knockout gas often, a fruity scent that coated his lungs and remained for hours after he woke up, but this was something different. This scent was new; more acidic, a chemical tang that burned as he breathed it in. He pulled against his restraints. New things were never good in this place.

The pictures the Director had shown him were still switching at regular intervals. Kobra, then the Girl, then Jet Star. Poison’s head was spinning at a million miles an hour. It felt like someone was squeezing his skull, the pressure slowly building up until suddenly,

he remembered.

They came for Poison first. He was always more focused on defending the others than himself; it was his greatest weakness, and BLi knew it. He caught a zap to the ribs and fell, but as he scrambled back up, a drac seized him by the arm. More flocked around him until he was surrounded. Party Poison was supposed to be such a great fucking leader, but it was his own stupidity that made him the first to be caught, forced to watch the events he couldn’t stop.

The Girl’s last scream hung on the air as she went limp. Her head lolled back, offering no resistance against the dracs bearing her away.

”Help her!” Ghoul was screaming. “Fucking fuck, god damnit, we’re--” He ducked below a shot, and his attention was stolen away.

Kobra dodged a blast of energy and guided his fist into a scarecrow’s stomach. It dropped, and he kicked it in the head on its way down. A drac came up behind him, and his elbow smashed into its nose before he was shooting again, aiming for the ‘crows that rushed Jet Star.

Ghoul slid to the floor and aimed from below, taking out dracs and then rolling to his feet, his small form weaving through the battle with ease. He was quick enough to dodge every shot, but it took concentration. A zap singed past his side and burned a hole through his vest. He looked around, trying to account for everyone. He operated similarly to Poison; he tended to focus on others, even if it meant putting himself in greater risk. But he wasn’t as stupid. He only acted like a hero if he knew he had the energy to spare. If he had only noticed the dracs holding Poison down, he would’ve been on them in an instant. But he hadn’t noticed. No one had. They were all in over their heads.

Jet Star was in the center of the fray. Even as the battle raged around him, he looked unruffled, the calm amid the chaos. He shot down dracs methodically, with a steady pace and an aim that could only be rivaled by Poison. Kobra landed a flying kick beside him and they nodded to each other before shifting position. They took each other’s backs so they could fire in opposite directions. They were so fucking brave, it made Poison’s heart ache. They kept shooting even as they were slowly outnumbered.

Poison couldn’t breathe. The dracs just kept coming.

They just kept coming.

They kept rushing in, and Jet and Kobra were shooting strong and then they weren’t, and they fell and they bled and Poison was crying and they were gone. Ghosted, dusted on a whim.

Ghoul was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. The second he laid eyes on Jet and Kobra, he was running for them, eyes burning with rage that no mortal body could contain. He defended their lifeless forms for an amount of time the average killjoy never could have managed. Even when his gun was knocked away, he kept fighting-- his fist whipped out to meet a scarecrow, and connected with a sickening crack. He must have felled ten with his bare hands before they overtook him.

But he wasn’t invincible. They knocked him to the ground in the end, and a pair of gloved hands locked around his throat. Ghoul’s eyes were wide with panic. When they finally landed on Poison, an anguished look overtook his face just before the drac squeezed him too tight, cutting off his air supply. His eyes stayed on Poison as they slipped shut.

Poison recognized defeat when he saw it. That was the moment Ghoul gave up, and it never would have happened if Poison hadn’t gotten himself fucking captured. If he had been quicker on his feet, then maybe they could have fought their way out. It would be hard without Jet and Kobra, but together, they could have made it.

But he hadn’t been quick enough. He was captured, and that left Ghoul with a decision to make. Survive, and live alone, or die with his crew?

It wasn’t a decision, really. A lone killjoy was as good as dead anyway.

Ghoul didn’t make a sound as they beat him. He just kept his eyes shut and took it, until his head was leaving a bloody trail on the ground as they hauled him off. They took him alive. God damnit, Poison wished they had just killed him. His choice meant nothing if they didn’t kill him.

How could Poison have forgotten this? How could they have erased this kind of pain?

Poison woke up sobbing. There was a heavy weight pressing against his chest, a deep ache that he could never put to words. He knew that this was not a punishment he could bear the same way he had withstood the electric shocks. They could do whatever they wanted to him physically, but his mind was a fragile thing, and the small amount of strength it had kept was gone now.

And of course it didn’t stop after the first time. They took the memory when he needed it and forced it upon him when it was more than he could take. He would forget, then re-live it all, then forget again. It was just another routine, another layer added to the torture he’d been enduring for what felt like years. He only knew that his punishments took the form of flashbacks because he found himself screaming his friends’ names when he awoke. As he lay shaking, he could only curse his blank mind and wonder what the hell had happened to them to make it hurt so badly. He didn’t know, and he couldn’t bring himself to guess.

But he did know that he couldn’t do this anymore.

***

“Can you tell me who that is?”

“It’s me,” Poison said. The question never changed, and neither did the answer.

“Very good,” said the Director. “What is your name?”

“Gerard.”

“Your full name, please.”

“Gerard Way.”

“Very, very good.” The Director put up a new image on the wall. “Who is that?”

“That’s…” Poison, no, Gerard squinted. “I…” The picture was like an itch in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t scratch.

“They call him Kobra Kid,” the Director said cautiously. “Does that name ring any bells?”

Something in the name made Gerard’s chest constrict, but he still didn’t know who it was. It was something he should have known.

“No?” the Director persisted. Finally, Gerard shook his head. For some reason, that made her smile.

“Kobra Kid was a member of the terrorist group known as the Fabulous Killjoys. Before BLi disposed of them, they made regular attacks on Battery City, terrifying civilians and destroying the company’s work towards a Better Tomorrow.” The Director studied him closely. “What are your thoughts on that?”

“That sounds…” Gerard hesitated. “Familiar?”

The Director scribbled something down on her clipboard. Gerard didn’t remember her having a clipboard before.

“When did you get that?” he asked, pointing to it. She cocked her head.

“I’ve always brought this with me, Gerard.”

“But…” He frowned. “You didn’t have it before.”

She smiled dazzlingly. “What do you mean, ‘before?’ You only started visiting me a few days ago, and I’ve had this with me the whole time.”

“Oh,” he mumbled. “Why did I start visiting you, again?”

She clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Are you having more memory troubles? I’ll make sure your dosage is adjusted. You came to me because your brother, Mikey, was killed in a tragic accident. A killjoy attack, in fact. You needed help dealing with the trauma, so you sought me out, and I’ve been helping you ever since.”

“Oh.” That must have been why the word ‘killjoy’ sounded familiar to him. Everything was so fuzzy… His head was full of a thick fog that obscured the thoughts he needed to access, and the reasons why he needed access them. Everything was so confusing.

The Director laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I think our time is up,” she said. “Would you like an escort to your room, or can you find your own way?”

“Um… I’ll take an escort, please.” Gerard sat up, his fingers brushing against the arms of the chair. He paused for a moment to glance at them. “Ms. Director, why are there ties here?”

“We sometimes hold interrogations in this room,” the Director shrugged. “We take dangerous individuals and rehabilitate them so they can be safely reintroduced into society. But don’t you worry about that, you’ll never run into any of them. You’re perfectly safe here.” She gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before ushering him from the room.

He was led back to his own room, and the door was shut behind him. He collapsed onto the mattress with a sigh. The Director was nice, but sessions with her were just plain exhausting. His head always grew foggiest when she started hitting him with questions from out of the blue. There was this weird sensation, like there was something on the tip of his tongue that he just couldn’t think of… It only really went away when he returned to his room and swallowed his daily prescription.

Speaking of which, he’d almost forgotten. Gerard reached under his bed to retrieve his pill box. He plucked out the day’s dosage and swallowed it dry, grimacing at the taste. BLi tried so hard to give people Better lives, couldn’t they make an effort to make their meds taste better?

He studied the box more closely. It had seven compartments within it, each corresponding to a day. The Director said he had been here for… how long? A few days? It felt like so much longer. But that was just his head, he knew. Once the drugs kicked in, he’d feel less out of place.

In addition to the pills, the Director had instructed him to work on a set of exercises every day. He would recite everything he knew to be true, then the things he was confused about. They often did the exercises together, so she could correct him if he got anything wrong. Sometimes she challenged him to do them on his own and report the results the next day. They hadn’t gotten around to it today, so Gerard supposed he should do them by himself.

“These are the facts: my name is Gerard Way,” he said to himself. “My head is all messed up. The Director is helping me. I had a brother named Mikey who was killed. I need to recover so I can go home to Battery City.”

He hesitated.

He had skipped over a section. When mentioning his brother, he was supposed to say that Mikey was murdered by killjoys, but his tongue had tripped right over that detail. It wasn’t a big deal, but at the same time, it was.

Something still felt odd about his brother’s death. Something about the way the Director described it… It just didn’t feel right. He was supposed to tell the truth and nothing but the truth when doing these recitations, and the words “murdered by killjoys” just didn’t feel true. Why didn’t they feel true?

“My brother was murdered by killjoys,” he said, surprising himself. He had never lied to the Director during these exercises. Why would he? And she wasn’t even in the room this time… Why would he lie if no one was there?

The meds must have been taking an unusually long time to kick in, because for some reason, Gerard had an unshakable feeling of foreboding. It told him to keep lying. It said to keep his doubts to himself, to just act normal, to do what was expected.

He shouldn’t listen. The Director always told him not to obey his gut feelings. They were wrong. BLi was the only source that could be trusted.

Her argument didn’t feel nearly as convincing as the pull in the back of Gerard’s mind.

***

“How have you been feeling?” the Director asked. She sat across from him, her elbows propped against the table so she could rest her chin in her hands.

“I’m okay,” said Gerard, and it was only half a lie. With time, his doubts had shrunk into subtle whispers at the back of his mind. The claims made by the Director seemed less like claims and more like the truth. Mikey’s death was the reason he was here, the root of all his trauma. It shouldn’t have been surprising that the details felt wrong.

“Good. Now, I know that for a while, our sessions have mostly been a question-and-answer type affair. That’s typical for this kind of situation, but I think it’s time we branched out a little. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Gerard nodded. The questions were the main reason therapy tired him out so much. “That sounds good. What are we going to do?”

The Director flipped a switch, and the projector hummed to life. For the first time Gerard could remember, it was a video that appeared, not a picture. It was a cartoon, showing some sort of animal passing out pills to its afflicted peers.

“This is one of BLi’s old cartoons,” the Director said cheerfully. “Do you like it?”

“I thought we said we were branching away from questions?” Gerard quipped.

The Director laughed. “You’ve got me there. I guess meant to say that I won’t be asking such specific questions. I still want to know how you’re doing, of course, but I don’t need to be drilling you for details.”

Thank God. It made Gerard uncomfortable when she pressed him for information-- like she knew he was hiding something.

“So, what do you think?” she prompted.

He shrugged. “I dunno, it’s a cartoon. It’s kind of cute, I guess.”

“What about the subject matter?”

Gerard followed the bouncy movements of the characters on-screen. What was that, a mouse? Whatever it was, the other characters approached it with their ills, and it produced a cure from a BLi pill. “Ills” wasn’t really the right word, though. A fatter character was made thin, an old woman’s hunched back was straightened out…

Gerard shrugged again. “It’s a little superficial, but I guess it just goes to show how much BLi is capable of. What’s that one supposed to be?” He pointed to the mouse-looking character.

The Director jotted something down on her clipboard. “His name is Mousekat.”

Gerard went still. It was only for a moment, and he didn’t think the Director noticed, but it was enough to make him groan internally. Just when he thought he’d escaped that nagging feeling, it popped right back.

He knew he ought to tell her. Honesty was the most important part of treatment, and he might not ever recover if he wasn’t forthright about his progress.

“Gerard?” the Director asked. “Is something the matter?”

So she had noticed. He teetered on the edge for a moment before giving in.

“I feel like I should know that name, but I don’t know why,” he admitted.

The Director smiled patiently. “He was quite popular a few years ago. This is a good thing, Gerard! It most likely means that your childhood memories are stabilizing.”

He'd never had any problems with his childhood memories, had he?

“I’m glad you told me,” she continued. “I want you to feel like you can tell me things.” Her pen hovered over her notes. “Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

They made eye contact, and her gaze pierced straight through him.

“No, nothing,” he said without thinking. “Are we done for the day?” The lie had been so instinctive, he hadn’t had time to wonder why it felt necessary.

“Not quite. We still have our exercises,” she reminded him. “Why don’t you start?”

Gerard cleared his throat. “These are the facts: my name is Gerard Way. I have, uh… what was it you called it yesterday?”

“Trauma-induced mental instability. Your abilities to recall events and make connections were especially affected.”

“Right, that. It started when my brother, Mikey, was murdered by killjoys. You’re treating me so I can get better and go back home to Battery City.” Gerard was reasonably convinced of everything he was saying.

“Is there anything you’re still confused about?” she asked.

Here was his chance to make up for the lie.

“Why can’t I remember Mikey dying?” he asked. “Something about it doesn’t feel right. I should remember it.”

The Director reached across the table and placed her hand on his. “Gerard, it’s perfectly normal to forget something like that. Sometimes, things are just so painful, we have to let them go.” She smiled. “Even if it was the only thing you had, you just couldn’t live with something like that. Believe me, you’re much happier not remembering the details.”

“Oh,” he said, relieved. That made sense. Why had he ever doubted her? “Thank you, that helps a lot.”

“I’m always glad to be of service. Would you like to head back to your room now?”

Gerard smiled. “Actually… I think I can find my way back.” He stood and exited the room, the Director’s proud gaze following him like sunshine on his back.

He located his room with no trouble, and shut himself inside as usual. When he turned towards his bed, he received a shock: there was a tablet sitting on it, with a note attached that dedicated it to him. The Director must have ordered it. If she had, that would mean she had either rewarded him for the day’s behavior in an extremely timely fashion, which wouldn’t be unlike her, or she thought he deserved it based on his recent progress. Maybe it was a combination of both. No matter the reason, he was grateful. He had been starting to get bored in his plain little room.

Gerard plopped down onto the bed, content to play with his new toy until a voice from his speaker advised him to rest.

***

“I take it you received my gift?” the Director asked, smiling. Gerard nodded. “You seemed to enjoy yourself. What were you reading all night?”

Gerard tilted his head to one side. “Uh, comics. I liked them a lot when I was a kid, and it’s been a while since I got the chance to read any… But how’d you know what I was doing?”

“We have cameras stationed in your room, of course. It’s standard procedure for any patients,” she explained. “For your own safety.”

“Oh.” That was… a little weird to think about, but Gerard found that he didn’t mind too much. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide.

But he did have something to hide, before.

There had been one occasion in which he’d let his gut feelings get the best of him. For a second, he hadn’t wanted to accept the conditions of Mikey’s death as factual… but he had listed them as truth anyway. As if he knew someone was listening. But he couldn’t have. He’d had no idea about the cameras until now.

He covered his confusion with a grin. “Well, if it’s for my safety, right?”

An alarm was blaring in his head. While his instincts had been strong in the past, they were nothing compared to this feeling. Something was definitely wrong.

“Sit down,” said the Director, motioning to Gerard’s usual seat. “I have another surprise for you.”

“Another?” he said, curious. He sat down. “What is it?”

She left him hanging for a minute before folding her hands and looking at him with pride. “You’ve been doing very well lately, Gerard. I really appreciate how hard you’re trying. Your clarity of thought has improved, correct?”

“Yes,” he said. His memory hadn’t actually gotten any better, but at the Director’s encouragement, he had stopped caring about it. Without the mental strain of searching for his memories, he could think much more clearly, and that was what mattered. The method wasn’t as important as the result.

But he found himself wondering if he was making the right decision by doing so. The reason he had tried so hard to remember was because it felt so important. The Director would mention a certain word or phrase, and bam. A red flag would fly up in his head. Red flags were built to be noticed. Why should he ignore them?

Perhaps it wasn’t pride in the Director’s eyes. Funnily enough, it looked more like… triumph.

“You haven’t been having trouble connecting specific emotions or items to your past?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Yes, he had. Buried beneath layers of denial and medication were associations he just couldn’t shake. Mousekat, Kobra Kid, even the pills he swallowed every day, they had some sort of significance he couldn’t grasp. There had to be something he was missing. He was trying so hard to ignore it, and it had just started to work, but he couldn’t ignore it forever.

The Director smiled. “I didn’t think so. You see, I’ve been keeping careful track of your progress, Gerard, and I think you may be ready to leave Linda Vista.”

Gerard blinked. “Linda Vista?”

She laughed. “Have you forgotten the name of this place? Perhaps I should rethink my statement. What I was going to say, Gerard, is that you’re ready for reintroduction.”

Gerard’s eyes widened. “Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously,” the Director repeated. “You’d be monitored, of course, and we would have regular appointments, but they’d be different. We’d be more focused on your future than your past. BLi is willing to make every accommodation to help you adjust to normal life again. Whenever you’re ready, there is an apartment waiting for you in the city.”

“I… wow,” Gerard said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You think I’ll be okay on my own?”

“You won’t really be alone. BLi is always there.”

Ten minutes ago, Gerard would have found this sentiment comforting. Now, it was just unsettling.

“When can I leave?” he asked.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the Director said, amused. “Would you like to pack your things now?”

“Yes, please.” Gerard pushed his chair out and hurried back to his room without pushing it in behind him. He was leaving. The concept filled him with joy, the feeling running to a depth he couldn’t quite comprehend, almost drowning out the unease that had filled his mind. He was getting out. The only things he had to grab were his tablet and his pills, and then he was free.

He crouched down beside his bed and reached underneath it for his pill box. His fingertips brushed the edge, but only succeeded in pushing it further out of reach. He sighed. Bending down further, he peered under the mattress as he stretched his arm out, finally securing a hold on the box and pulling it towards him.

He frowned.

There was something on the wall, a spot of red in the vast expanse of white. There were cameras watching his every move, he knew, so he couldn’t be too obvious in his investigation, but the sight of color only made the nagging feeling in the back of his mind worse. It was almost unbearable.

He scooted under the bed to get a closer look. Upon inspection, he found not a spot, but words. A lot of words, written small enough that they were barely visible until you squinted.

i’m writing where they can’t see, but they always see. they always know. they steal our eyes and use them for their own devices, playing at omniscience while we all go BLind.

they hate secrets because they can’t be controlled. they're the first step to revolution. secrets will protect you, secrets will kill you.

they don’t want to kill me. if that were the case, they couldn’t hurt me-- i’m already dead.

i’m going crazy in this place somebody get me the fuck out of here i can’t take it anymore

The writings began at one end of the mattress, a single line of texting leading all the way down before looping back to the beginning. They grew more and more desperate as they went on. Gerard couldn’t make all of them out, but those he could he read with horrified fascination. He couldn’t make himself look away.

where are you

i’m so fucking sorry ghoul

this is my fault

what did i do

get me out

Then, finally…

i can't do this.

The last word ended in a smear of red. Gerard was terrified, but not surprised, to realize that all of it was written in blood. The only question was, whose blood was it? The Director had said they sometimes held dangerous individuals in the same room he was tested in… Perhaps one of them had stayed in this place, too.

He crawled out from under the bed. This wasn’t something he wanted to think about. The ramblings of insane criminals were none of his business, and the cameras were still watching him. He had probably looked suspicious, staying out of sight that long, and suspicion was the last thing he needed. What he needed was to relax. To stop worrying about what he could or couldn’t remember, whose blood was painted across his own walls, or anything else that wasn’t healing. He was supposed to focus on healing. That was what BLi wanted, what they were watching out for…

But he just couldn’t pretend anymore.

***

Gerard was driven to his new home in silence. The Director was by his side all the while, but for once, she didn’t ask how he was feeling. If she had, he would have had no idea how to answer. His progress, the healing she’d praised, it was all slowly unraveling, and without it, Gerard didn’t know where he stood.

The van came to an easy halt, and the Director squeezed his hand lightly. “This is our stop.”

The back doors of the van were thrown open wide. Gerard took a slow, deep breath, then rose and stepped outside.

All at once, he was hit with a wave of pure sensation. The cement, oddly textured beneath his feet; the cool air that smelled faintly of metal and smoke; the sunlight, so unlike the artificial lighting he’d become accustomed to. It was overwhelming. Not just the physical feelings, but the emotions that accompanied them-- his heart felt like it would burst with euphoria at every breath he took. The smile stretched across his face was so true, it was making his cheeks hurt.

“You’re home,” said the Director.

Gerard didn’t bother mulling over her words. He knew that something about them was off, but it didn’t matter-- even if this wasn’t his home, it was the closest thing he’d seen in a long time. It was freedom.

“Why don’t we go inside?” she prodded gently. Gerard hadn’t even looked at his new housing yet. He turned to the apartment building, his eyes following the stories up, and up, and up, until he had to bend his neck back to see the top.

“Wow. I get to live in there?”

“Yes, but don’t get any ideas about penthouse suites,” she teased. “You’ll be stationed on one of the middle floors, near some others who have gone through my treatment. This is a state-of-the-art rehabilitation center; we mix in a few patients and try to keep you together for your own comfort, but for the most part, the building is populated by normal citizens.”

“Oh, cool.” So, he would get to meet others like himself. But would they really be like him? Would they have the same doubts, or was he an anomaly, a bug in the system?

A canary in the coal mine.

“Well. Inside we go,” the Director said briskly. She led him in, waving to the draculoid guards stationed in the lobby. They waved back, but let her pass through to the elevator without interruption.

She punched the button for the third floor as they stepped in. The doors slid smoothly shut, and the floor dipped before rising up. Gerard grabbed onto one of the handrails. After a moment, it stopped again with a quiet ding. The doors opened to reveal a new floor. It looked quite similar to the halls of Linda Vista, all white tile and plaster, but the Director spared no time for sightseeing before she was whisking him away.

She stopped before a door with the number 152 stamped onto a metal placard beside it. “This is your room,” she said. This time, she let him look around for a minute before producing a key card from her pocket. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Sure,” he said, taking it. Instead of a handle, the door was equipped with a card reader. He stuck the card in, and it beeped, a white light blinking on as the door swung open. Gerard took his first step inside without waiting for instruction.

This room was much bigger than he was used to. The Director may have joked about a lack of luxury suites, but to Gerard, the room might as well have been one. There was a comfortable-looking bed with a set of matching sheets, a window overlooking the city, a mirror, and a dresser. All of this was his? He reached out to touch the bed. It was every bit as soft as it looked.

“Do you like it?” asked the Director.

“It’s… different,” Gerard said honestly. For all intents and purposes, the place was great, but he wasn’t able to focus on it with the growing unrest eating away at him. It was so white. Why was everything white in the city?

She laughed. “I’ll take that as a good thing. Now, I have a bit more setup to do, but you don’t need to be a part of it. You can stay here and explore a little more. Is that all right with you?”

“Yeah. Are you going to come back again?”

“Oh, certainly. I’ll be heading back to Linda Vista in a few hours, but until then I’ll be somewhere or another.” She smiled. “And I’ll be here once a week for our sessions.”

Gerard raised his eyebrows. “Only once a week?” It was still a fairly intensive schedule, but it was nothing compared to his previous daily treatments. It seemed too good to be true.

“Yes. There are quite a few of my old patients here, you see, so I have to make time to meet with all of them,” she explained. “And we also have group therapy. I wouldn’t be discharging you if I didn’t believe you could handle it.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Gerard sat back on the bed, the soft mattress sinking beneath his weight. He allowed for a small smile. “Really, thank you.”

“Of course.” The Director stepped out the door, then paused. “Feel free to introduce yourself to anyone you may see on this floor. I promise, they're all quite friendly. But do me a favor and don't leave the building without supervision.”

“Um, okay. I think I can do that.”

“Good. You’ll be allowed to leave on your own in a few weeks. If you keep going how you’ve been, it might be even sooner! See you later.” She smiled and pulled the door shut.

But had she really left, if she could still watch him?

Gerard sighed and fell back across the mattress. At least in his old room, he had known that nothing was private. In this place, the Director had said he would be “monitored,” but what did that mean? Had anything changed?

He still couldn't go outside by himself. He still had to meet with the Director. There were still people watching, so he still had to lie. Really, the only thing that was different was the room, and the presence of other people he could talk to.

Now there was a concept. Gerard couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone who wasn't the Director. The idea made him nervous… He didn't know how this place worked yet, so he would have to hide from everyone, even those people who had been her patients. There was a good chance that he was the only one who harbored suspicions against her, and it wasn't safe to try and find out. He would have to be extremely careful.

What he really wanted to do was search his room for cameras, but that would give him away immediately. Gerard let his eyes drift shut and tried to picture where his future was headed.

There were too many what-ifs to form a cohesive image. What if these weird feelings really were just figments of his imagination? What if they weren't? Nothing was the same now that he’d let the doubts take hold. He could try to fit BLi’s image of a perfect, healthy citizen, but it would always feel like a lie. Was that such a bad thing?

Finally, a question he could answer.

Yes. Yes, it was.

***

Gerard pushed himself up and took another look around the room. The Director had encouraged him to explore, but honestly, there wasn’t much to see. Not in this room, at least. He got up and pressed a hand to the cool glass of the window.

Many stories below, the people of Battery City moved about like ants. They were tiny in comparison to the artificial canyons that were the buildings, towering in black-and-white grandeur. Interspersed between cars and slow-moving citizens were the familiar white vans. BLi was an omnipresent force in the city. It sometimes acted as an unseen hand, pulling strings and manipulating in the shadows, but it never quite let itself go unnoticed. It was like a subtle threat, a reminder that they were always watching.

Gerard shivered.

He backed away from the window and found himself walking out the door. He made sure his key was tucked into his pocket before he shut the door, then turned out into the hall.

Both directions looked identical, but when he turned his head right, something inside him protested so vehemently that he turned on a dime and headed down to the left.

Spaced along the walls were doors like his, with small metal plates bearing a number. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve said they were all empty-- an eerie silence hung about the building. He had expected more sound to come along with the larger, more populated building, but it sounded exactly the same as Linda Vista. The only noise was the soft hum of the electric lights.

Of course, he didn’t know exactly how big Linda Vista was. He had only seen a few of its rooms during his stay. He knew there were more, he had seen them on his way to the testing room, but he had never been permitted to explore them.

Now, they were giving him a taste of free will, and he was determined to use it to the max.

After a while of walking, he came across an elevator. It accepted his key card, and after looking over the buttons, he pushed the one marked with a 2. It had a black smiley face next to it. That had to mean something, right?

The elevator plunged down, startling him just as badly as it had before. He stabilized himself against the wall until the movement stopped and the doors swooshed open. To his surprise, the floor before him differed from what he had seen: there were people milling about, lounging on couches and talking.

Upon noticing his presence, the room went quiet.

“Are you the new one?” someone asked.

“Obviously,” said someone else, answering for Gerard. “Just look at him.”

“Don’t be rude,” yet another scolded. “I don’t remember you looking much better when you first showed up.”

There were about ten people in the room, and they all began talking at once, passing judgement on Gerard or bickering with each other. But they weren’t the ones who caught his attention. The one who caught his attention was the lone man who was completely silent, looking at him with an expression that could only be described as shock.

Gerard stepped cautiously out of the elevator. The doors closed behind him, trapping him in front of this group of strangers.

“Um, hi.”

The quiet one jumped up and stuck out his hand. “Hi.” He was shorter than Gerard, and had to look up to make eye contact as they shook hands. His eyes squinted into a smile, warm hazel irises complementing skin that seemed too tan beneath the city’s white light. But there was something off about it. There was a look hidden behind the smile, something almost… searching. “I’m Pete. What’s your name?”

“Gerard. Are you a patient, too?”

“I guess you could say so.” Pete withdrew his hand, and it rejoined his other in the pocket of his white sweatshirt. “I’m on my way out, though. Almost finished with rehab.”

“Oh, cool. I just got here from Linda Vista. But I guess you can tell just from looking, right?” Gerard glanced at the other patients, who had quit whispering about him once Pete had stepped up. “You all seemed to know I was new in about a second.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t know you were from Linda Vista.” Pete’s eyes flashed with interest. “A few different hospitals feed into this place, so we get a lot of variety, but it’s been a while since we got anybody from there.”

“Oh.” Gerard couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing. Pete was still looking at him oddly. It took Gerard a moment to realize why it felt so strange; it was the very same way the Director often looked at him, examining every detail, searching for some kind of significance. Pete may have been just another patient, but he had an aura about him that commanded a sort of respect.

“I’m Gabe,” one of the others volunteered. “Nice to meet you.”

“Travie,” another mumbled. The rest kept silent. It wasn’t that they were antisocial, they just seemed… nervous. All of them. When he looked closer, Gerard saw that even Pete’s expression held a trace of apprehension.

Gerard shifted uncomfortably. “Is there something bad about Linda Vista?”

Pete’s gaze sharpened. “What makes you think that?”

Gerard shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just a feeling I get.”

“You’re an observant one, aren’t you?” Pete nodded with approval. “You’ll fit in well, I think.”

That didn’t answer Gerard's question.

“So,” Pete said, backing up to the couch and falling into it. “The Director. Has she said anything about your treatment plan? I assume you’ll be in group therapy with us, but has she said anything about work? Privileges?”

“She said I couldn’t leave the building without an escort,” said Gerard. “I don’t know about anything else.”

“Starting from square one, then.” Pete clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “Once you get further along, I can probably swing it so you get to work with me. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds cool. Thanks.” Gerard had the feeling he had just passed some sort of test, but he had no idea what it had been, or what it meant that he had done well. This was uncharted territory.

He almost went over and sat down, but there was still a tension in the air he wasn’t sure how to work though, and he didn’t have the energy to try and figure out how. In Linda Vista, he had spent a good chunk of his time asleep-- he wasn’t quite used to the wakeful hours involved with rehabilitation. It had been good to meet his fellow patients, and to scope out what was ahead, but all Gerard wanted to do now was head back to his room and nap.

The elevator doors slid open as if they were waiting for him. He stepped back in and was carried to his floor, barely aware of the walk until he was within the confines of his room once more, collapsing into the bed and passing out the second his head hit the pillow.

***

When Gerard’s hand touched the windowpane, it melted away in smooth rivulets of glass that splashed down at his feet and evaporated back into the air. He breathed in the scent of silver and looked out across the city. It was empty, blissfully empty. The buildings that had formerly obstructed his view had shrunk, leaving the sky clearly visible. The sun was hidden away behind a thick layer of clouds, soft like cotton, gray like ash.

He leaned out the window, not thinking to be afraid.

He leaned out, and he flew towards the hidden sun.

Gerard woke up feeling more rested than he had in a long time.

When was the last time he’d had a dream? He couldn’t remember. His medication usually kept them away, making it feel as if he woke up only seconds after falling asleep. Even now, he could feel the memory drifting beyond his reach.

Across the room, something beeped, and he startled. He pushed away his blanket and sat up, trying to locate the source of the noise. It took a minute of searching before he noticed the line of glowing text running across his mirror. He rubbed his eyes, perplexed, and forced himself out of bed to take a closer look.

“Good morning,” it read. “When I came back, you were asleep, but I hear that you managed to introduce yourself to a few of my other patients. Good for you! Friends will always help you to Better yourself. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to take you to your first group therapy meeting. Sincerely, the Director.”

Barely a second after he finished reading, there came a knock at his door. He glanced at it, then at himself in the mirror, cursing himself for falling asleep in yesterday’s clothes. He rummaged through his dresser for a new outfit, quickly shrugging on a white button-down shirt and pair of pants before going to open the door.

“You’re up!” the Director said, pleased.

“Just barely,” Gerard admitted. He straightened out the bottom of his shirt. “You said something about group therapy?”

“Yes, we’ll be off to your first meeting momentarily. You met Pete yesterday?”

Gerard nodded.

“Good! He’s one of my most successful patients. Very well-developed. Enjoy your time with him while you can, he’ll be rejoining the common people soon.” The Director winked. “Do you have your key on you?”

Gerard fished his key card from his pocket and held it up.

“Very good. Now, let’s be off!”

She led him down the hall to the elevator, where she pushed the button for the second floor, the same one Gerard had previously selected.

“This is the lounge,” she said when the door opened, gesturing to the area he had seen. “A lot of the patients spend their free time here. There’s also a rec room, if you get bored of sitting around and talking. I’ll show it to you later.” She steered him away and down another hall, finally coming to a halt at a set of double doors marked “group therapy.”

She pointed to the card reader beside the door. Gerard slid his key in with a chunk, the Director following suit, and the door swung open.

Inside, there was a circle of chairs. Most of them were occupied, but there were a few still empty. Gerard took a vacant seat next to the Director and looked around. He recognized a couple faces from the previous day, but couldn’t quite remember their names.

The exception to this was Pete, who was sitting on the Director’s other side. His eyes had locked onto Gerard the second he had entered the room.

“Good morning,” a man sitting across from Gerard said quietly. At first glance, he was almost intimidating: blond, stocky, with shifty blue eyes that never stayed in one place too long. But he sat in a slump, and his voice never rose above a murmur. He might as well have been screaming “don’t look at me.”

“Good morning, Bob,” the Director said brightly. “How have things been going? Do you know where William is, by any chance?”

“He said he was on his way.”

“Good.” The Director turned her attention to a girl seated closer to Gerard. “And you, Hayley? How are things?”

She shrugged. Gerard stared at her in fascination-- her hair was red. It must have been her natural color; it never would have been allowed otherwise. He had a feeling that if it were only a few shades lighter, it would have been bleached anyway, but it was just dark enough to meet restrictions. Almost brown, but with a truer pigment shining through.

The door opened, and a boy he didn’t recognize slipped inside. He sat down next to Bob.

“William, so glad you could join us,” said the Director. She scanned the room. “Is that everyone? No. Gabe is coming today, isn’t he?”

The door opened again, and another boy stumbled inside. “I’m here, I’m here!” he said hurriedly, sliding into the chair beside Pete. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, you’ve just made it. But do try to be more punctual,” the Director chided. “We wouldn’t want to have to hold up our meeting for you.”

Gabe sat up a little straighter, looking properly ashamed. “Of course not.”

The Director cleared her throat. “Let us begin. As I’m sure you all have noticed, we have someone new with us today. This is Gerard. He’ll be staying with us for a while, so I expect everyone to treat him well. Why don’t the rest of you introduce yourselves?”

Gerard listened carefully as the patients each said their names. Gabe, Travie, and Pete were familiar, but he had to force himself to focus as the rest said their names. He caught Hayley, Bob, William, Lynn, and Tyler before the faces and names started to swim in his head.

After introductions were through, each patient talked about how they were feeling, what they had experienced over the past week, and so on. They talked as if they were alone in the room with the Director. It didn’t matter if anyone was listening; these people had perfected the art of honesty.

“He acts like he’s better than me, just because I’ve had to go through treatment,” Hayley said, frustrated. “Why did I have to end up working beside the one person in Battery City who’s got enough negativity to poke fun?”

“Perhaps,” the Director said gently, “you should focus on combating your negative emotions rather than fueling his. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but he wouldn’t persist in making fun of you if you had better control over yourself. He only wants a reaction. Just keep those feelings in check, and he’ll have nothing to gain. Understand?”

“I understand,” Hayley sighed. Gerard watched as she took on a look of concentration, and the frustration faded from her expression, leaving it eerily blank. While he found it unsettling, the Director seemed pleased.

“Good girl. Who would like to go next? Pete, how about you?”

“Sure.” Pete sat up. “Nothing much has been going on. Work is fun. I got the chance to buy a new pair of headphones the other day, they’ve been working great. I’m up to date on all my meds, I’ll be rejoining society soon, and until then, I get to spend time here with my friends. Really, I don’t see how my life could get any Better.”

Gerard stared at him in awe.

Pete’s smile was dazzling, it was brilliant, it was exactly what the Director wanted to see, and it was completely and utterly fake.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” said the Director, sounding more genuine than she had all day. Pete was obviously her favorite. “Gerard, why don’t you go next?”

“Okay.” Gerard bit his lip. Should he mention his dream?

Everyone before him had been shockingly honest. They had bared their souls, and even while they said things that the Director probably didn’t approve of, like negative emotions and forgotten pills, she listened patiently and gave them advice. She only wanted to help.

But Pete had lied.

But Pete, the one so clearly favored, had felt reason to lie, and now he was looking at Gerard with an unmistakable warning in his eyes.

“I’ve been pretty good,” Gerard said hesitantly. “I need to work on fixing my sleep schedule. I basically rolled right out of bed before coming here… But otherwise, I think I like it here. My room’s much nicer, and now I have people to talk to. I’m looking forward to see how life here works, and how it helps me recover.”

“We all are,” the Director smiled. “I’m glad you appreciate BLi’s work. All your effort is just as valued!”

Shortly afterwards, the meeting came to a close. Gerard was ordered back to his room, but in the crowd of patients walking out the door, Pete caught his eye.

“Good job today.”

“Thanks,” Gerard said. Something unspoken passed between them. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but when Pete turned to walk away, his head was clearer than it had ever been. There was somebody out there like him. Another fake.

If it had been just him that felt this way, he might have been able to ignore it. He could just pretend to be normal, though it was painful, and manage to scrape out a living.

But finding out that there were others like him… it only made him more curious. It only gave him more to hide. If there were others who didn’t trust BLi, then there must have been something that truly made them untrustworthy. Of course, they could never know he felt this way. But part of not trusting them meant keeping things like that secret anyway.

Gerard thought back to the bloody writings on his old wall.

Secrets will protect you, secrets will kill you.

Secrets are the first step to revolution.