He stood and sprinted forward.

The wind was sucked out of him as he was struck, painfully, on the side. The momentum of whatever hit him flung him against the opposite wall. The thud of his head on concrete brought unconsciousness crashing in. still unconscious, he was tackled by three armored men. In the stairwell he'd attempted to cross, three more men stood, weapons drawn. Another kneeled on the ground with a grip on his shoulder. His arm hung limply at his side.

The all too familiar senses of resurfacing consciousness came in sluggish waves. Convoluted voices teased dreams and nightmares out of his past. He, Vorn, and Citram sitting around a table, passing a blue bottle around, laughing. Him and Vorn in frantic flight through Gaean airspace, an entire regiment on their tails. Citram and him going through some new updates on the suits, and how to integrate it with surveillance. Introducing Kitty to the team those nine long years ago. Mack. Vector. Vidian.

Capture.

Pain pulsed through the joints of his left arm, pulling him slowly from the dreamscape. He'd been reliving the capture, over and over, before his body began to realize the difference between dream, past, and reality. He opened gummed eyes to take in the solitary cell.

He was hanging by his twisted wrist, bound by one cuff of the manacles. The other cuff was clasped around a bar of the grated ceiling. His tether was long enough to allow his right arm to drag the grimy floor. His legs were limp below him.

He heard whispers and jerked his head up. The motion was too much for the apparent concussion, causing the world to spin and nausea to rear its ugly head. Heaving an empty stomach made everything so much worse.

After an excruciatingly long while, the blurs and swirls settled into bruised and bloody forms behind the bars of many cages. The other slaves in their cells. Saedah forced his body to respond. He refused to hang like a dead body before anyone, ever again, so long as he was awake and able.

Never mind that he had just upchucked his small intestine and a possible kidney. He would move. He would be dignified. He would care for the spark and keep it burning.

His limbs, however, reacted numbly. They lurched when they did move and bore his weight shakily. After only a few moments of standing, the needles started attacking.

Every square inch of his skin was screaming at him. His head was splitting, his left arm felt like every tendon was torn. The whispers continued, gaining in volume and urgency. The slaves' faces were a mixture between awe, fear, hope, despair, and appreciation.

Why the hell would they be thankful for anything he had done? Hells, by the look, they all seemed to have met the whipping post.

"Wh-" The sound coming from his throat should have been accompanied by a cloud of smoke or a few pieces of gravel at the least. "What?" he growled.

The female, the cause of all his current pain, stepped between two new towering males. She reached through the bars to him, offering a simple cup of water. His traitorous body shook violently as he reached for it.

"How long?" he asked in a hushed tone. They both had to stretch before Saedah could take the cup. He downed the contents greedily. The girl nodded and caught the cup for a refill.

"Two days." One of the males replied, keeping a watchful eye on the girl. "We thought you were going into a coma. You're lucky you came out of it."

"Lucky me." He breathed, and repeated the stretch for the proffered cup. Luck? Ha. He drank the water, and tossed the cup back, shaking his head against the refill. He would just throw up any more.

"Sir," the male whispered. At the honorific, Saedah's eyes narrowed dangerously before turning to make himself comfortable. The man kneeled, resigned to watching Saedah deftly work at the chain. He unlatched the catch along the top of his cell to providing slack in the chain. Once the excess was released, Saedah arrange himself on the floor. One arm dangled from the manacle above his head, as the chain wasn't long enough to let him fully relax. Saedah had obviously done this many times. The man waited for Saedah to acknowledge him again before speaking, "how are you here?"

Saedah had to fight back a very inappropriate, morbid, and horrible joke. He settled for looking around to the slaves.

"How?" Saedah asked, eyeing the cage on the other side of the kneeling male's cage before turning suspicious eyes back to him. The occupants in the far stall were shying away from one slave. The male followed Saedah's gaze. The widening of eyes told how the man fought against allowing his understanding to show. He turned back to Saedah and flicked his eyes left. The young man standing just off to the left nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and everyone crowded around, forming a living wall.

Then the screwball did something that shocked the anger out of Saedah.

From his kneeling position, the male held his hands up and moved them rapidly.

He started signing. He was signing in Conclave gestures. The other slaves could only look on in confusion.

he pointed to the shifty-looking rat. then covertly pointed to the four stations housing the soldiers with weapons.

The language was basic, but it did the job. The Conclave Fomenters went through many courses to become proficient in the signs. It was at once both refreshing to see and too much. It reminded him of everything he had lost.

Saedah sucked in a deep breath and slowly breathed out, shutting his eyes. He fought hard to enter the trance; the Calm. It had grown so hard to achieve the Calm, then once he had it, it was so hard to keep it. It was a laborious fight for control that he hadn't experienced since boyhood. When he finally achieved the relaxed and alert state, he raised his darkened and pulsing red-rimmed eyes to meet those of his once-subordinate.

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Therin, hardly recognizable, held his gaze with brows furrowed before he continued signing. There was confusion and concern in Therins eyes, and Saedah realized he was staring blankly at the familiar face.

Saedah pursed his lips. Therin looked like shit, bruised and a little underweight, but a hell of a lot better than the rest of them.

"What's he saying?!" the impostor called out, a faint accent to his voice. "We can't hear back here!"

One of the sisters spun and whispered between the bars. The impostor looked disappointed, but nodded.

Saedah motioned for the wall to reform and signed back, tapping a finger to his temple, loosely balling his fist, and struck the fist against the palm of his other hand above his head. Therin still understood the gesture, despite the awkwardness.

Therin gave him a 'no kidding' look.

Therin asked, the question mark implied by a raised eyebrow.

Saedah responded. Therin froze; no emotion showing nor movement for a long moment. Saedah actually felt the hope leech from Therin. The boy's fingers twitched, reflecting flowing thoughts passing too quickly for his fingers to follow.

He settled for slowly signing the questioning gesture. just one gesture to convey the multitude of questions Saedah could see swimming behind Therin's eyes.

Saedah responded.

Therin showed Saedah the long scar along his right arm, and replied with 'same here' in sign.

A sudden fear permeated Saedah's soul. Therin saw Saedah stiffen and his eyes grow wide, and was struck with worry.

Saedah started, then motioned to strike the sentence.

Therin thought he understood.

Saedah lost his control on the Calm. An oily tear fell, unbidden, down his cheek. He angrily wiped it away, seething and appreciating the other slaves' diverted gazes.

He must mean the whipping post, Saedah thought. Saedah let the statements settle, processing the fact that Therin had not mentioned the viewings. Perhaps he could keep that skeleton buried.

Therin was waving his hand, palm out, before the bars. Saedah realized his mind had wandered down a particularly bad avenue.

Therin signed. His eyes were pleading.

Why would Akumini put them together now?

Therins brows furrowed in confusion.

Understanding lit his face, and he rushed through the explanation.

<'A' came me. Said I make you talk, I go free.> 'A' could only mean Akumini.

Therin paused, trying to find the motions to convey his words. He whispered the nest words, "Aki's Cash Cow" he whispered 'Cow' again before pointing at Saedah.

"Fuck that." Saedah spat.

"Oi." Therin looked at him sternly; It was mildly amusing to have his once-subordinate scold him. Therin looked completely insulted.

Saedah thought for a long moment. The first hints of the headache precursor, outside of the concussion and withdrawals was building behind his eyes. That or the concussion was worse than he originally thought. He looked around to the confused and whispering slaves, all looking at him like he was some damned god-sent savior. He met the eyes of the girl he had killed to save. She held hope, determination, and rebellion in her eyes.

He mouthed a curse.

Saedah realized he would never have been able to give up, regardless how big or small his fighting spark became. As long as there were others he could help, he could not give up. He also realized his thoughts of a one-man tirade hell-bent on destruction, with no hope of survival, were no longer an option. It had never been an option. That plan was only a fantasy. He couldn't go off half-cocked. Therin needed him. The girls needed him.

Unfortunately, they weren't allowed any further time to talk. The impostor knocked on the bars, and the four hidden soldiers, pistols in hand, seemingly spawned from the shadows and invaded Therin's cell to drag him out. Therin simply made one last gesture: listen.

His emotions were completely disorganized. Therin was alive. Who else could have survived? But Therin was there. They were separated, and they were weak separated. Akumini knew this. This was likely just as much to harm his perseverance as to get information.

"BuNam'e, young one," a thickly accented older female whispered, stretching through the bars to push the Hang toward him. She was one that played with him before the viewings. She played the strings; a rare talent, given to the fact that she was better cared for than most. "Play your hidden words and we will help."

"You knew?" Saedah eyed her, unsure whether he could trust her.

"Of course I did, young one. Why else would I work so hard?" she smiled. "We did not need new music. My late love worked transmissions on IcoMera." She winked at Saedah. "Orangy-keen"

He breathed out an astonished laugh. Orangy-keen was a code word implemented just before the mission, an inside joke at Macs laughable attempt at 'peachy-keen'.

"Right, young one. He got the message in time to send our youngs away." She smiled wanly. "We was a block out when the house went up. The soldiers tracked us. Killed my love, and here I am. I don't know the words in the banging, but I knows how it sounds."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Saedah managed as he took the hang. The other slaves listened long to Saedah as he told a story in code, beating out code on the metal drum.

Slowly, they picked up on the beat and where the sentences started and stopped, filling gaps with flourish. They were magicians weaving a spell of deceit around the message, hiding it from all who would not know.

The music was, in all, uplifting and happy. The message, however, was a harrowing tale of death and pleas. The contradiction made Saedah laugh.

The slaves dropped the beat and music, staring at him openly.

"What?" he asked, looking around.

"You never laughed before" The male who had been with Therin said, picking the flute up again. "It was no expected."

"Scary, to be honest." One of the sisters said. Her voice was lyrical and dainty. As typical of a Ceur.

He laughed again, earnestly. His head was killing him but he had hope again. He had support. He was not alone. The elder lady smiled at him and nodded as though she understood.

Later that night, after lights-out, a group of soldiers came through the cells, announcing another viewing. They called out the names of the players.

"Go time, BuName." The lady sing-songed, out of ear-shot of the self-righteous soldiers.

"Don't remind me." He growled.

"We do not blame you, you know." She placed her delicate palm on his shoulder. "You are not to blame."

He shrugged off her touch.