"This isn't a fight you want," Niel growls, standing his ground between his home and four Invictus members. Each of them has a pistol in their waistbands or pockets.
"You think you're hard, you little bitch? We ain't scared of you," one of the gangbangers hisses as he takes a leering step forwards. Niel doesn't flinch.
"You've caused us a lot of problems before. Hurting our boys, stealing from us," another jeers. "Do you even know who you fucked with?"
Niel takes his own step forward. One of them lowers his hand to his waist. It won't work.
"Walk. Away." Failing restraint carries Niel's voice.
"You're not gonna be acting this tough when we—"
Dark Dust surges and courses through their bodies, folding joints and pulling muscle and bone to the ground. They cry out in shocked agony—a justice. Vengeance.
Voltaire's voice rings in his head: 'You could take whatever you wanted from people.' He can. These pitiful things sprawled on the ground can't even hope to touch him.
"Walk away, and bring everything you can. Every gun, every bullet, every man, every explosive." The more he talks, the more his Dust digs into their flesh. The higher his fury rises, the less he cares to hide it. "Bring everyone, so I can kill all of you here."
His work is slow. Every scream is ecstasy. He hangs over them like a merciless predator, skewering extremities with chains of guilt, plucking nerves like harp strings. The smog of Dust asphyxiates their pleas for mercy. Why hide who he is anymore?
"What are you...?" one cries out, barely holding to life.
"I..." This is his purpose. This is what he was made to do. He is above everyone.
"...am a god."
Niel jolts awake with his alarm blaring in his face. He was watching a mini-documentary on the shooting of Ash Street, but he must've fallen asleep near the end. Now his phone is close to dying after a night of it not charging. After plugging it in and while he makes up his bed, he thinks on the dream he just had.
That level of violence... he thought he left it behind a long time ago. Sure, there were memories, urges like itches in the back of his mind, but he's kept himself mostly restrained. This is the first time he's fully dreamt of maiming someone in a new scenario. And what he said at the end... There's no denying his Dust makes him extremely powerful, but he's no god. He can't do whatever he wants to people. He can't... Is what Voltaire said to him yesterday really getting to him this badly?
There's less soreness in his body than yesterday, though he still hasn't recovered fully yet. Niel makes sure to stretch and take a walk after schooling with Louise is done. Voltaire disagrees with that idea and says he's fine without it, opting to conserve his energy instead. When the time comes, they pack up and head out to the gym again, wondering what's in store for them this time.
The instructors, Brock, Nathan, and the other guys Niel was talking to on Monday are all visibly glad when they see the pair step onto the mat again. Niel is quick to return their enthused greetings, Voltaire not so much. Class starts similarly to the first time, with jump rope followed by stretching and callisthenics, but instead of shadowboxing, they instead run several laps around the gym. Thanks to his pre-warm-up, Niel's soreness isn't hitting him quite as hard as Voltaire's is.
With the warm-up complete, they get into the main lesson of today: clinching. A clinch is a type of standing grapple where you aim to control the opponent's movement. Clinches can be used offensively and defensively, opening an opponent up to strikes and/or preventing them from striking back. Chai firmly believes that clinching is a pillar of Muay Thai, hence why it's being taught here and now. Niel has a specific worry for Voltaire regarding this.
"Be careful not to shock your partner," he warns the thief as they equip their borrowed gloves.
"Yeah, I know," Voltaire responds dismissively.
These beginner lessons on clinching are surprisingly lax to Niel, lowering both his concerns for Voltaire and his own anxieties. Combat instructions were far more aggressive in the lab. They're first taught where to hold their partners' head and where to place their feet, then how to move their partner around, and then how to throw simple knees after that, each pair taking turns clinching the other. It's surprisingly hard on Niel's neck. He and Voltaire also feel incredibly awkward and inexperienced, doing many things incorrectly, but Voltaire is enjoying this physical learning. Niel is just glad the thief hasn't shocked anyone. After their clinching lessons, the whole class engages in a burnout of callisthenics before a final round of stretches and dismissal.
"Niel? Voltaire?" Theo calls before they get hung up socializing or disappear to the changing room.
"What is it?" Niel questions as he pads his face with a towel. Voltaire is sat next to him, drying off his own sweat.
"How are you two finding Muay Thai?"
"Tiring, for one," Niel answers, reflecting what he said to Brock on Monday, "but also fun."
"Makes me sore," Voltaire interjects as he nurses his neck.
"Soreness is normal when you're first starting out because your body isn't used to moving the way we do here. Routine stretching and exercises will help with that." Theo shifts his weight along with the topic. "Most of our sparring is done in our advanced classes, but we also do some light sparring here in our regular classes. Is that something you two would be comfortable doing?"
Voltaire's eyes light up at this. Fighting? Count him in! "Yeah!" he says far more enthusiastically than Niel has heard from him before.
"I'm also okay with it," Niel echoes.
"Very good! On that note..."
With sparring comes gear, and shy of mouth guards, the gym can provide the equipment they need. However, owning new gear is much better than using worn rentals, so Theo directs them to stores where they can buy recommended brands of gloves, hand wraps, shin and mouth guards, and more. They'll only need their own mouth guard for the time being (Theo half-jokes that a $50 mouth guard is better than $5k mouth surgery), but he still encourages them to pick up hand wraps and 14oz gloves should they decide to pursue Muay Thai in the long term. Niel finds it all good information and records it in his phone for later. After brief conversation with some of the guys still lingering in the gym, the pair pack up and head home.
"How was class today?" Mabel asks as soon as they walk through the front doorway. It's a question for both of them, but with her eyes spending more time on Voltaire than Niel, it almost feels directed.
"Fine," Voltaire states coolly, brushing her off. She turns to Niel now hoping for a more engaged answer.
"Tiring again. Sore, but good. We were doing a lot of clinching today," he answers before taking out his phone. "We need some stuff for our next class."
Niel explains the gear situation to his guardians, and while they're not thrilled about spending more money, if needs must... Gabriel looks into the stores Theo mentioned and the gear they sell, while Niel and Voltaire get ready for bed. They'll head out shopping after school tomorrow.
The next day's schooling passes them by, and the four take a trip into the city. The adults need to go grocery shopping anyway, so this gear-run lines up well. Voltaire isn't happy with this, though. He'd much rather get a mouth guard and then go straight home, but now he's kept waiting while being surrounded by stuff he could totally steal but isn't allowed to. Mabel also keeps hounding him, trying to bribe him by asking if there's something he wants while they're there. At least trying to tempt Niel into stealing something passes some of the time.
Their next stop is a sports store to look for a mouth guard, and Mabel figures that they might as well buy gloves and wraps while they're here. A boil-and-bite style of mouth guard is cheap, and it looks like it'll be good enough, so the boys get one each plus their own case for it. They also get the first 180-inch hand wraps they see. There's a lot of gloves to choose from, and Mabel trying to help Voltaire does bother him, but they eventually settle for 14oz gloves that feel good to them. The price tag is a bit steep, but if it brings Voltaire into line, it's worth it. With everything now bought, they head home to help Poppy get supper underway.
Niel sits in his room after supper, ruminating on a thought that crossed his mind earlier. Mabel is really trying to win Voltaire's favour. She was like that with Niel too when he first arrived, but not to this extent. It doesn't bother him that Mabel is giving more attention to Voltaire, it's just an observation he's made. Maybe Reed can tell him something?
"Yeah, she's been really trying with him, hasn't she?" Reed says, his attention split between Niel and the fighting game he's playing.
"Is she normally like that when a new kid is brought in?"
"Kinda. She likes to make an early connection whenever a new kid arrives here. Lydia, Illia, you. She might not be our real mother, but she really wants to fill that role for us, and in turn she sees us as if we were her own kids." Reed's face makes an unreadable expression, and Niel can't tell if it's just from him focusing on the game or if there's something he's not sharing.
"You should talk to Mabel about it if you want to know more," Reed says.
He is hiding something. Niel respects this wish for Mabel's privacy and leaves Reed and the topic alone. He also considers talking to Mabel about this right now, and he does go down to the first floor where she currently is, but he gets cold feet and slinks back up to his room. Reed is usually open when he talks to Niel, so it must be serious if he doesn't feel comfortable sharing it, and Niel isn't sure if he's ready for that conversation with Mabel. He'll just practice wrapping his hands for tomorrow.
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>>>>>>
"You're right-handed, right?" Brock asks as he and Niel are exchanging light blows. His voice is slightly slurred from his mouth guard, and so is Niel's.
"Yeah," Niel exhales, saving his breath while he focuses on the simple jab and cross combo they're being taught. His cross ends up hitting a little harder than he meant to, but Brock blocks it and shrugs it off regardless.
"Honestly could've had me fooled. Your lefts hit just as hard as your rights, and you don't look uncomfortable when you try mirroring your stance."
Is it supposed to be uncomfortable? Now that Niel thinks about it, despite his questionable upbringing teaching him to favour his right side, using his left hand for tasks never felt strange to him.
"I feel normal using my left." Niel blocks a jab with his left arm, Brock's movements being telegraphed through invisible Dust.
"Have you tried writing with your left hand before?"
Niel never considered doing that. "No."
"Really? You should give it a try, see how it turns out."
A few minutes go by and their session is put on hold for a break. Voltaire had been sparring with Nathan, so Niel gets a drink and checks in with him while Voltaire is in the restroom.
"How are you and Voltaire doing?" Niel asks.
"Good," Nathan responds. "He's hitting a bit hard, but—"
Niel sighing cuts him off. "I'll talk to him about that."
"Nah, it's fine. Don't worry about it. If he gets worse I'll let him know." Nathan taps his fists together playfully when he says he'll let Voltaire know.
"Really keeping your eye on Voltaire, huh?" Brock questions as he approaches from behind Niel.
"I'm trying to keep him from making mistakes," Niel states.
"That's all well and good, but mistakes are his to make," Brock says.
"And if he makes one, it's up to him to pay it back and move on, just like the rest of us," Nathan adds.
Niel concedes that they have a point, but... "If he's making a mistake, then I'd rather stop him before it gets worse."
A few conflicted grunts and an awkward silence follows this until Voltaire returns and breaks it. He doesn't want to join them at first, but he begrudgingly does so when Niel flags him over.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but what're your motivations for coming here?" Nathan asks the pair.
"Motivation? As in, why did we decide to come here?" Niel questions for verification.
"Yeah. Like, are you here because you want to compete? Or are you here to learn how to defend yourself? Or are you here because it's good exercise?"
"I'm here because it's fun and I needed to get in shape," Brock shares. "My Phase Mute does all the self-defence I need."
"Same for me minus the Phase Mute, but I wouldn't mind trying to compete at some point."
"I just wanted to try it out," Niel lies, something Voltaire immediately recognises.
"Same. He just came with me," Voltaire says, hiding the truth while also limiting the falsehood of their answers. It's a simple enough response that neither Brock nor Nathan question much, and they all go back to sparring with little more said on the topic.
The sparring done this day leaves the pair predictably sore the next. Thankfully, they have the weekend to recuperate. Voltaire's plan is to relax and laze around until Monday, but Niel thinks differently, and that's how Voltaire found himself in the city once again.
"I still don't get why we need to walk," Voltaire complains.
"Cardio and soreness, the latter you keep complaining of," Niel shoots.
"Soreness will go away if I'm not using my muscles."
"And then you'll get stiff. You wanted to get into something heavy on exercise, so don't be surprised when you need to do exercising."
"I didn't want to do it."
"Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot. You were given a choice to do it or not, and you chose to do it."
"Don't be a smart ass."
"Well, one of us has to be smart."
This passive-aggressive banter continues for a few blocks deeper into a lesser-travelled part of Soul until they pass an innocuous café that catches Voltaire's eye. Niel notices this heightened interest, and feeling a tad hungry, he decides to treat himself and Voltaire inside. The innocuous exterior design continues to the interior, though it feels... homely, as Reed described something long ago. Niel would even call it simple elegance with its use of dark wood flooring and tables, cream-coloured walls, and soft lighting. It's far more inviting than the cold white and metal fast food restaurant he went to with Callum and Alanna a while back.
"What do you want?" Niel asks Voltaire once they're sat down with menus in front of them.
"Uhh..." Voltaire browses the menu hesitantly. He's half-expecting some kind of trick from Niel here, but he decides on something anyway. "The vanilla cake."
Niel decides to have the same thing, plus he wants to see how the tea here is different from home. He places their order when a waitress arrives to take it.
"Why'd you decide to come in?" Voltaire questions.
"You looked interested. Plus, I haven't been in a place like this before, so I wanted to see what it was like," Niel explains. "What caught your attention?"
"Um..." Voltaire shrinks his voice cautiously, but also somewhat sheepishly. "I actually planned to rob this place at one point."
Niel sighs and places a disappointed hand on his forehead. Of course that's what it was. "Why didn't you?"
"Someone got in my way before I could."
"I wonder who that was."
"Don't know, but he has this weird Mute he won't share."
"Sounds like someone with something personal that he doesn't like sharing."
Again with the secrets. Maybe if Voltaire shares his past, he can guilt Niel into telling him what his Mute is?
"You know, my parents didn't like me. They acted like I wasn't there most of the time. One day they just abandoned me somewhere."
"You already told me they abandoned you," Niel says without much tact, skewing Voltaire's expression into disappointment. The waitress returns with their two slices of white vanilla cake and a mug of black tea for Niel to sweeten himself. Voltaire watches the only other customer in the café, a man in his thirties, pay his bill and leave.
"So, conning you isn't going to work, huh?" Voltaire mumbles.
It's just loud enough for Niel to hear over the groan of the lightbulb above them.
"...Fine. You want trust? Here's everything I don't tell other people."
The lonesome silence makes everything feel louder. The groan of the lights, the hum of the neon 'open' sign—Niel swears he can even hear the pop of static in the air.
"No one knows this. Not Dwayne, not the cops, no one."
The sound of sparks crackle all around them...
~~~
I wasn't lying when I said my parents didn't care about me. I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to be born at all. My older brother did well in school. I didn't. Everyone called him talented. I wasn't. He had my parent's—and the school board's—attention. I never did. So while he was raking in money and scholarships, all I had were whatever food scraps I could find or steal. No one wanted to share anything with me, not at home or school.
There was supposed to be some kind of... thing... law or something to help kids like me. A breakfast program and tutoring to help keep my grades up. Instead, it was all just empty promises and tests I was too slow to understand. My classmates made up excuses to avoid me, my teachers pushed me to higher grades to avoid me, and my parents took me here to the city to avoid me.
And Soul is where they left me.
We lived pretty far away from the city, so I was kinda happy when they said we were moving here. Maybe somebody would finally pay attention to me, y'know? That was the biggest scam I ever fell for. They brought me here to a park and snuck away when I wasn't looking. Haven't seen or heard from them since, and I don't want to. I know where we used to live. I know my family's names. I'm not that stupid, and I'm not stupid enough to tell anyone, either, because I know I'd be sent right back there to do it all over again if I did.
You'd also think that bystanders would help a lone kid or something, but no, everybody's got a stick up their ass, and they pretend not to notice. At least it finally taught me that people aren't worth it, and that I can't rely on anyone but myself. I awakened there and then and gave that sentiment right back. If nobody cares about me, why should I care about them? The only person that deserves any sympathy from me is me. The rest deserve to be used.
I got left behind. What else do you want from me?
~~~
Niel understands now why Voltaire is so scornful. In fact, if he didn't have the lab to fear, he'd likely act the same way as Voltaire now. Niel was no angel either before Dwayne offered him sanctuary.
Voltaire gives a dry, morbid chuckle at his silence. "Some family, right? Nothing but liars and shitheads."
"If you have your Mute now and know where they are, I'm surprised you haven't tried getting revenge."
"Oh, I've thought about that. It'd be GREAT to make them see me after all this time, but I don't know what I'd do or where I'd go after. Well, other than juvie. Or jail. The streets here became my new home, and I like my chances here better than there." Voltaire crudely rips off a piece of his cake with his fork and eats it, his face contorting a bit with the shock of sweetness. "So... What's up with your Mute?"
Right. The reason Voltaire told him this was to pry.
"I still don't fully trust you yet."
"Are you fucking serious?" Voltaire is NOT happy about this, and his language catches Niel off guard. "After all of that, after telling you what I've told no one else about, I get nothing in return?"
"You get to see me keep your secret."
"So why don't I get yours?"
"Because this isn't a transaction!"
The sheer rage emanating from Voltaire is nearly enough to burn Niel on the spot. Acidic tears sting his eyes as the fork held in an ice pick grip crackles with lightning. Niel is ready to restrain him with Dust, but something Voltaire said before he shared his secret comes to mind: trust. 'You want trust?' This isn't just a means to pry, this is the closest Voltaire's come to trusting anyone in who knows how long. He's reaching out in his own way, and Niel is shunning him.
Niel sinks into his seat with dejectedness, causing Voltaire to pause whatever he had considered doing.
"...and I'm not being fair, either," Niel says with a hushed voice. He leans close to the table and motions for Voltaire to do the same.
"Remember how I was taken from my parents by bad people? Those people tortured and experimented on me like a lab rat. They made me into their weapon by implanting me with an artificial Mute. They're looking for me now that I escaped, and should they find me, they'll kill all of us in the home, including you."
"Of all the lies you could ma—" A sudden flash of darkness jettisons from under Niel's hand and swipes Voltaire's fork from his grip. He barely had time to process what was happening before the fork was already in Niel's grasp.
"This is a deadly secret, Voltaire. That's why I need to know I can trust you with it."
Now Voltaire's on the same page. "You can trust me with it."
"Show me you can. Then I'll tell you the rest."
Voltaire isn't happy with the continued secrecy, but he at least understands where Niel is coming from. With tempers soothed for the time being, they enjoy this calm, cake-filled moment before going back home.
That evening, Niel opens his journal to a clean page when he remembers something. Brock suggested he try writing with his left hand, and he was so fatigued last night he forgot to do just that. Taking the pencil in his left hand, Niel jots down his thoughts and feelings from today, just as he has done every night since they volunteered at the hospital. It's a near-identical match to his right hand—a brand-new angle.