The chains binding my hands and feet extend out into the all consuming void. I appear to exist in a small bubble of light with no identifiable source. Standing on a nondescript grey ground. Around me are shadows of my image. Dark copies of my old form. While I have not seen a mirror I know that is no longer me. I am emaciated, boney, wrinkled, and scarred from my time being tortured by mocking facsimiles of myself.

Around me I can hear the others. Others trapped in this place and facing similar trials to myself. However, over time the sounds have grown noticeably less. Have they lost their voice? They should not have perished as no matter what is done we neither die nor grow old. We can tire but not sleep. We can hunger but not eat. We can bleed but not run out. This place can not kill us, so what ultimate fate have they met? Did they take the deal?

I close my eyes. I can see him. A strange man stands there. Beckoning me to him. Something inside tells me to give myself to him. That he will stop all of this. I want to, desperately so, give in to end the torment. But when I approach the man in my mind, I can feel myself slipping. I know I will disappear into his being. Cease to be.

“No!” I open my eyes, and the comforting promise of nothingness disappears. The shadow beings are surrounding me. Holding onto sneers of contempt, and glowing red spears. The heat visibly distorting the air, and singeing their wielders. They pay the burns no mind and impale me from all sides.

“AhH!” I open my eyes. Something is holding onto me, clasping me, trying to restrain me. However, my arms and legs are free of the chains, so I flail my fists at the assailant. They try to endure, but their hold loosens. Placing both of my feet on their stomach, I kick the offender off.

I am free. I start taking deep breaths. Calm, I need to be calm. Take one breath, two, and keep going. Check to make sure you are all there. Right arm, left arm, left leg, right leg. They are there but something is wrong. They are strangely small, childlike even, and then I remember. I have already escaped hell.

“Uggh.”

I look over the edge of the bed. The woman charged with the temporary care of my brother and me is sprawled out on the ground. Hands clasped over her abdomen.

“Sorry.” I say in my meekest possible voice.

I started the morning off with the exercises Harper assigned to me, like the good pupil I was. In my previous life I would have tried anything to get out of this repetitive, tiring, annoying activity, but Hell has a way of getting that attitude out of a person. Also the lack of any electronic media is a big contributor.

My mind starts drifting to the nightmare I had last night. This would not be the first time such an event had occurred. These dreams have happened since coming to this world. My parents kept the information quiet, so now this will just help sell my distressed child persona. Understandably, I try to actively forget my time in the underworld. Usually the dreams are brought on by something happening to trigger a memory, but what was it that pulled up the hot spear torture?

I switched from push-ups to the next exercise on the list, sit-ups. The list Harper gave me was actually quite disappointingly mundane. Nothing extreme or unusual. Just basic calisthenics that I had done in school in the old world. I trust Harper will not lead me astray and keep me on mundane practices for long.

Suddenly, something clicked inside my mind. Harper. Hot spear impalement. My body tensed up as the two images overlapped in the worst of ways. I tried to force the images away but every aspect of the resurgent memory was being filled in with a new, terrifying implication.

“Stop. Stop.” I was already on the ground, so I curled up into the fetal position. I try to think of anything else. I think of my success on the plan, my elimination of the two obstacles and acquisition of a helper.

“Ah!” That was a mistake. Now my parents were in on the scene. My imagination will not stop colliding my thoughts together. My own vividness being my ultimate betrayer. The images are getting more extreme and explicit. Just stop! Why does she have that!?

I laid there for ten minutes until I figured out how to stop thinking.

After my morning workout and nothing else of note. I left the room of the inn the city had arranged for me. Apparently the barracks do not have guest bedrooms, so they stuck my brother and me in a small inn until they figure out what to do with us.

Outside the room was a guardsman propped up on a wooden chair. The lazy guy was nodding off on the job, if the way he stiffened when I opened the door is any indication. I wonder how long I will be under active watch. While he is supposedly here to guard me, I know is secondary task is to keep track of me. Apparently I am a flight risk. Possibly a suicide risk. Maybe even an intermittent explosive. One of those, maybe all. They are not mutually exclusive states of existence.

“Morning, is Ms. Clair up yet?” I still need to sell the depressed act, so I keep my head down and voice low. Honestly, I have no idea if my acting is good are not, but most common people are not analysing traumatized children for lies.

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“Yeah, about half an hour or so. She poked her head in to wake you, but decided to let you rest a bit more.” Wait, thirty minutes ago was when the ‘nothing else of note’ was happening. If she saw that then obviously she will report it as an affect of the recent trauma. Also the fact I punted her across the room in the middle of the night will not yield good results for my projected mentality. Hopefully this does not affect my entrance into the orphanage.

The guardsman walks me to the main hall, where Clair is sitting at the back table holding Atal. She is a middle-aged woman with that natural motherly aura. Fitting, as she should have kids of her own due to her occupation as a wet nurse. At least I hope she is employed as one, or she would have been doing something really disturbing back in the barracks holding room.

“Morning.” I mumble making sure I only briefly catch her eye before breaking contact. “Sorry for being late.”

“Uh, n-no problem. Me and Aty here just got up.” An obvious lie even if the guardsman had not ousted her already. The plate in front of her is mostly gone. Even the bowl of baby mush is mostly gone, with minimal floor mess. An impressive feat, most of Atal’s food usually ends up on the ground. However, something she said intrigued me.

“Aty?”

“Well a cute little boy has to have a cute little name.” She tickled the barely one year old’s stomach as she spoke in that annoying tone people use to talk to babies. And Atal just smiles back at her, encouraging this type of behaviour. He really should stop doing that. I swear if she calls me ‘Melly’ her fate will not be pleasant.

“I’ll go and order you a good, hearty breakfast, Mel. Growing boys need to eat, so what do you want?” She may have just avoided the worst fate.

“Anything is fine Ms. Clair.” I take a seat while she runs off to place the order. For someone who witnessed me break down twice, she seems to still be taking this job professionally. I would have to do something rather drastic to defeat a social worker, I guess.

Clair returns with a plate of eggs, toast, and sausage. I stare at the simple meal and the word ‘mundane’ enters my head. The staple fare of this world is not much different to my old world. I have seen odd foodstuffs in the market, but they all seem to run high cost. Apparently, from my information gathering, most of the oddities are specialty stock from far regions. For some reason or another they simply cannot be exploited on large scales and remain local produce for certain areas. In truth, I do not care much about the crop diversity. I simply want to try new flavors, butt the common meals still do their jobs.

“So… Captain Harper said he will be a comin’ by to collect you to answer some questions, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Say the words and I’ll send him packing. Give him my old one, two.”

“I’m pretty sure he can beat you, and I’m fine. I’ll go.”

She looks at me oddly with a small smile. I can not really tell what she is thinking, but I think that was a positive outcome. Women are difficult to read.

After I finish eating we continue sitting at our table in the main hall. With awkward silence from two of use, and baby gurgles from the other pair. Why does the guardsman seem to insist he can hold a conversation with an infant?

Thankfully Harper arrives in short order. He is not wearing his full plate today, instead opting for the simple leather guardsmen outfit. After yesterday’s lunch he made a few probing questions on if I wanted to live with him. He seemed nervous about outright asking. Probably does not want to get stuck with commitment no matter how he feels about me. Understandable, he is a single man with a demanding job and two kids would greatly affect his lifestyle. Personally I feel the city orphanage works best into my plans, so I told him Atal and me would be better off in professional care.

“Good morning Melvin, did you do your morning exercises?” I give a curt nod to Harper’s probing question. He appears quite relaxed around me now. A good step if he is to teach me fighting. This also means I can breach another topic of great importance.

“Can you call me Keir, please?”

“Your surname? Why?”

“Your name is also Melvin. I don’t want to cause confusion. Also, you go by your last name.” He responds confusedly to my statement, then a strange knowing smile plasters itself onto his face. He appears to have shoved some deeper meaning into my actions. Oh well, it is better to let him draw his own conclusions.

“Sure.”

Yes! Successful name change on one person. And since I have stated my intentions, all I have to do is address myself as ‘Keir’ from now on until the name sticks.

“Should I order you anything, Captain Harper?” Clair offers him a meal as he sits down. She seems to be treating him respectfully, if not a bit curtly.

“No thank you, I will be fine Clair. Me and M...Keir have some time I was thinking on showing him some meditations today.” Clair seems to lighten at that.

“That would be perfect. The boy could use some peaceful moments.”

“Then we will head over to talk to the inspector afterwards.”

Clair seems to darken at that. “You would have him remember that so soon! He is just a child. The inspector can wait on his fat ass a few days.”

“Inspector Barden is not fat. And Count Iora has taken an interest into the case. We can’t drag our feet.”

Clair slumps over dejected. I quickly put her want to protect me from the harsh world aside. The count is interested in the case. Why? This should be an open and shut investigation. Will I be found out if they look too closely? I need to see what this inspector is actually thinking if I how to throw them off my scent.

“You’re not against it, right Keir? After we talk to him we can do some sparring. Maybe check how well you handle a sword.” Harper looks at me, not nervous at all. He knows I will say yes.

“Sure, that’s fine.” I say without any particular enthusiasm. The inspector probably does not even suspect my true role so I should not overly worry. Some sword practice with Harper sounds fun. Although, the so called “sparring” will probably be just me swinging a hardwood stick at Harper.

“Uh.” I release a short grunt as something assaults my mind. The fabricated images from earlier are resurfacing. I made a mistake of briefly imagining the sparring with Harper, and the banished imaginings of Harper doing terrible things with his “hot spear” and newly acquired “hardwood stick,” are once again assaulting my psyche’s weak points.

BAM!

I simultaneously slam both my hands and my head onto the table, albeit holding back on the force used for the head. The sudden noise, shock, and pain pull me back into reality, and when I look up my three adult companions are quietly staring at me with looks of concern.

“Sorry.” I offer with no explanation.