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Entry tags:
memshare: escape
Your insides still feel like they're on fire when you're told today's experiments are over and sent back to the dirty, crowded barracks you share with a dozen other paripus kids at the facility. (You're one of the oldest, and you were one of the tallest back when you first arrived, but the few of you who were test subjects for a particular series of igniters a couple of years ago all abruptly stopped growing afterward — you're the only one from that group who's left, though.)
You'll have to make sure Basilio eats something first, you think as you push open the heavy barred door — ever since those experiments that altered his sense of taste, he's been a much pickier eater, and it's been harder to convince him to finish his daily rations — but then you're looking forward to just splashing some cool water on your face and lying down for a while.
It's apparent from the moment you step inside, though, that something is off. You see Vinca and some of the others huddled together in one place, crouched down on the single oversized blanket that passes as a bed for all of you. You don't see Basilio among them, even though he's usually back earlier than you, and in an instant the fire in your blood turns to ice as you rush over to see what everyone's so focused on, shoving your way in between them.
You always fear the worst, and once again, you find your fears are well-founded when you see your little brother lying there on the blanket, breathing shallowly, his already scatty clothes now singed and drenched in blood.
"Bas—?" You drop to your knees and reach for his shoulder. "Bas. Hey, c'mon, stay with me." Your voice is quiet but increasingly panicked as you try to shake him out of it to no avail, and then you abruptly whirl around to shout at everyone else, "What the hell happened?!"
Vinca winces and hurriedly explains that the workers at the facility just threw him in here like this, that something must have gone badly during the experiment, and you can see from the bloodstain on his own shirt that he must have picked Basilio up and carried him over here.
Damn it, you should have been here, you should have been with him, you should have threatened to claw their bloody eyes out if they didn't let you go together when they split you up into different groups this week. It's bad, you've seen others wind up dead from less, and there's nothing any of you can do here.
"Shite... I've gotta get him out of here, I can't just—" You swallow hard; you can't just let him die, he's your brother, he's your responsibility, he's the only thing you're living for, and you don't remember your mother's face or voice anymore but you remember promising her when Bas was born that you'd always protect him. What the fuck good is your own life if you can't do that?
He's not much smaller than you are now, but you summon all your strength to lift him up onto your back, smearing his blood over your hands and arm in the process. Vinca goes to the door and looks out worriedly as loud, angry voices rise from another part of the facility — who knows what the hell happened over there, something's always happening — but then seems to realise that they can take advantage of this.
They'll go join in the riot and help keep all the guards distracted, he says as he gathers some of the others and rushes out, so take him and go.
So you do. It's all a blur, and even with the rioting, you're not sure how you manage to get out, but you make it. You're out on the streets of this miserable city as night falls, with your brother's weight on your back and his ragged breath against your neck, and you don't know what the hell you're going to do from here because you didn't really think it out that far. Everyone out here who might have the means to help hates your kind, you're sure; they'd probably be happier to see you dead in a ditch than alive. But you can't give in to them, you can't do nothing, so you just run and you keep running and hope for some kind of miracle because that's the only chance you have.
And, somehow, one finds you. You end up on the doorstep of a small church, and a pink-haired ishkia girl about your age calls out to you and rushes over with worry in her wide sea-green eyes, looking every bit an angel between her white feathers and the glow of the candlelight behind her. You've never trusted a Sanctist in your life, and you're not ready to expect anything from this one either, but in this moment, you're desperate.
"It's me little brother, he's hurt real bad. Please—"
There's a deep sadness in her eyes as she looks at the two of you (you don't quite recognise it as such right now, but you will one day, in retrospect), and even though you're a couple of dirty paripus kids dripping blood on the floors of her pristine church, she nods with no hesitation and reaches out to help you get him off your shoulders without agitating his wound any further and brings him into the alcove in the back of the church, with no concern for the cleanliness of her own hands or clothes.
And she saves him. The healing magic she uses is like nothing you've seen before, different from the kind an igniter can offer (with which you are intimately familiar, thanks to the experiments). You watch wide-eyed as his wounds close before you and his breathing stabilises, and you've never felt so relieved or so grateful before.
"Thank you," you breathe, your voice hoarse and close to breaking. "So much. Really. Haven't got any money, but... just tell me what you need, and I can—"
"Oh— No, please, there's no fee," she says; and then, more softly, "You did well to bring him all the way here. He's fortunate to have such a good brother."
You think that if you were a better brother, he wouldn't have ended up in that condition in the first place. But you're not about to pick a fight with the saint who just saved his life; besides, the exhaustion is coming on fast now that the adrenaline is starting to subside. You wouldn't have the energy to argue anyway.
She seems to sense what's going through your head (someday you'll understand why), and she puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. "If you really want to thank me, keep taking care of him... and take care of yourself, too."
You look over at Basilio, now sleeping soundly in the finest place either of you have ever slept in. You've never put any stock in the value of your own life... but if it's for him, you suppose you can try.
You'll have to make sure Basilio eats something first, you think as you push open the heavy barred door — ever since those experiments that altered his sense of taste, he's been a much pickier eater, and it's been harder to convince him to finish his daily rations — but then you're looking forward to just splashing some cool water on your face and lying down for a while.
It's apparent from the moment you step inside, though, that something is off. You see Vinca and some of the others huddled together in one place, crouched down on the single oversized blanket that passes as a bed for all of you. You don't see Basilio among them, even though he's usually back earlier than you, and in an instant the fire in your blood turns to ice as you rush over to see what everyone's so focused on, shoving your way in between them.
You always fear the worst, and once again, you find your fears are well-founded when you see your little brother lying there on the blanket, breathing shallowly, his already scatty clothes now singed and drenched in blood.
"Bas—?" You drop to your knees and reach for his shoulder. "Bas. Hey, c'mon, stay with me." Your voice is quiet but increasingly panicked as you try to shake him out of it to no avail, and then you abruptly whirl around to shout at everyone else, "What the hell happened?!"
Vinca winces and hurriedly explains that the workers at the facility just threw him in here like this, that something must have gone badly during the experiment, and you can see from the bloodstain on his own shirt that he must have picked Basilio up and carried him over here.
Damn it, you should have been here, you should have been with him, you should have threatened to claw their bloody eyes out if they didn't let you go together when they split you up into different groups this week. It's bad, you've seen others wind up dead from less, and there's nothing any of you can do here.
"Shite... I've gotta get him out of here, I can't just—" You swallow hard; you can't just let him die, he's your brother, he's your responsibility, he's the only thing you're living for, and you don't remember your mother's face or voice anymore but you remember promising her when Bas was born that you'd always protect him. What the fuck good is your own life if you can't do that?
He's not much smaller than you are now, but you summon all your strength to lift him up onto your back, smearing his blood over your hands and arm in the process. Vinca goes to the door and looks out worriedly as loud, angry voices rise from another part of the facility — who knows what the hell happened over there, something's always happening — but then seems to realise that they can take advantage of this.
They'll go join in the riot and help keep all the guards distracted, he says as he gathers some of the others and rushes out, so take him and go.
So you do. It's all a blur, and even with the rioting, you're not sure how you manage to get out, but you make it. You're out on the streets of this miserable city as night falls, with your brother's weight on your back and his ragged breath against your neck, and you don't know what the hell you're going to do from here because you didn't really think it out that far. Everyone out here who might have the means to help hates your kind, you're sure; they'd probably be happier to see you dead in a ditch than alive. But you can't give in to them, you can't do nothing, so you just run and you keep running and hope for some kind of miracle because that's the only chance you have.
And, somehow, one finds you. You end up on the doorstep of a small church, and a pink-haired ishkia girl about your age calls out to you and rushes over with worry in her wide sea-green eyes, looking every bit an angel between her white feathers and the glow of the candlelight behind her. You've never trusted a Sanctist in your life, and you're not ready to expect anything from this one either, but in this moment, you're desperate.
"It's me little brother, he's hurt real bad. Please—"
There's a deep sadness in her eyes as she looks at the two of you (you don't quite recognise it as such right now, but you will one day, in retrospect), and even though you're a couple of dirty paripus kids dripping blood on the floors of her pristine church, she nods with no hesitation and reaches out to help you get him off your shoulders without agitating his wound any further and brings him into the alcove in the back of the church, with no concern for the cleanliness of her own hands or clothes.
And she saves him. The healing magic she uses is like nothing you've seen before, different from the kind an igniter can offer (with which you are intimately familiar, thanks to the experiments). You watch wide-eyed as his wounds close before you and his breathing stabilises, and you've never felt so relieved or so grateful before.
"Thank you," you breathe, your voice hoarse and close to breaking. "So much. Really. Haven't got any money, but... just tell me what you need, and I can—"
"Oh— No, please, there's no fee," she says; and then, more softly, "You did well to bring him all the way here. He's fortunate to have such a good brother."
You think that if you were a better brother, he wouldn't have ended up in that condition in the first place. But you're not about to pick a fight with the saint who just saved his life; besides, the exhaustion is coming on fast now that the adrenaline is starting to subside. You wouldn't have the energy to argue anyway.
She seems to sense what's going through your head (someday you'll understand why), and she puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. "If you really want to thank me, keep taking care of him... and take care of yourself, too."
You look over at Basilio, now sleeping soundly in the finest place either of you have ever slept in. You've never put any stock in the value of your own life... but if it's for him, you suppose you can try.