Chapter Text
V.I.L.E being a villain organization wasn’t much of a surprise. It wasn’t a surprise at all to be honest. Shady men in suits don’t attempt to recruit a teenager with questionable past times into elite private schools no common man should know about every day after all.
He had just snatched a pearl necklace off yet another wealthy woman’s neck, pocketing it and resuming his walk back stage to be long gone before she even realized it was missing when a firm hand stops him in his tracks. He’s yanked around to face two grim looking men and he can already hear his mothers condescending voice recounting all the times she had warned him about getting caught.
It’s a pleasant surprise when neither scream “thief” but instead slip a business card right into the pocket the pearl necklace lays. Just as fast as they appeared, they vanished, they left nothing but the card to show for their existence.
The card is only properly looked at once he is home, door locked as he slowly undresses. It’s completely bare save for an unfamiliar logo and a phone number made of sleek dark characters to call. He’s familiar enough with organized crime and no experience has ended well for him. His ability to snag precious items is a skill many want and few possess but beyond that he is merely a pawn to be played for the men and women in charge. He is close to throwing the card away, shredding it and catching it aflame to be forgotten in the ash pile of other bothersome things he had come across but the string of pearls catches in the light of the moon and he pauses.
Cheap pawn shops giving back half of what he truly deserves for the items he brings has become tiresome. His skills are being wasted, and the compensation is practically dirt, so he tucks the card away. A consideration for another day.
He sets a glass of water on his nightstand and tucks himself into bed.
-
He calls the number a month later, an impulsive decision born of boredom.
It’s not what he expected but a week later he leaves his house, escorted by the two men from before with nothing but the clothes on his back. He’s told his life will never be the same, he’s told his friends and family will be nothing more than a memory and he can’t fight himself enough to care. As awful as it seemed, he didn’t care that much for the people he had known for years, at least not enough to throw away a once in a lifetime opportunity. Nothing was going to hold him back from greatness.
He never would have guessed that a girl with red hair and gray eyes would shake his resolve. The soft spot he felt for her was growing by the day and by the time graduation rolled around he had to admit he was a smidge smitten. Black Sheep was someone he trusted with his life and he had no doubt he would defend her to his dying breath if the moment ever came. She was a connection he had never had with another person before and he reveled in the familiarity of her.
There is a vivid image of them together in his mind. Years down the road when they are both wildly successful and respected thieves. A pair of bandits, partners in crime, two pea’s in a pod conquering the world one robbery at a time. He could spend the rest of his life with her, he wants to spend the rest of his life with her and whether she embraces a more romantic relationship with him or not is irrelevant because nothing was going to stop them from being friends, Nothing.
“Sit still, don’t move a muscle or the consequences can be dire.”
He heeds the warning, taking in a deep breath to hold as he is strapped into place with nothing but the beating of his heart daring to move. His hair is pushed away from his face as a helmet is put in place, his mind is starting to get fuzzy and he can barely conclude that whatever drug he was fed is starting to work.
Graduation was right around this last test. The teachers had emphasized how much this last part would affect their ability to move forward in the field. He signed a waiver before he was ushered into the windowless room and attached to the machine whirring beside him. Whatever the test was, the aftermath was not pleasant to watch. Each student he watched before him had come out worse for wear, the majority inconsolable and promptly ushered away to not be seen or heard from again.
He was absolutely terrified to say the least.
“Remember, the mission comes first. No one or thing must stand in the way of achieving our goals. Good luck.”
The world fades to black before he can question the repeated advice.
---
The world is on fire when he opens his eyes.
There is a bag in his hands and he instinctively knows that whatever this is has some value. The building he is in has started to crumble and the very ground he stands on is shaking. The door is in front of him, clear and bright and free from the dark smoke curling into his lungs and he sprints to the opening, bag cradled against his side in one arm. The heat is one he has never experienced before and he is no stranger to wild flames.
Even as he runs, the door is slinking away from him but full on adrenaline and instinct there isn’t much else he can do, there are no other exits and any more time wasted here will lead to his death. He has resolved to push himself harder, faster to get out of here alive when coughing stops him in his tracks. He whips around, searching through the flames for the source of that familiar cough when he spots it huddled against the corner of the room. It’s his buddy. A loyal friend he grew up with. They used to sit on the fire escape of his apartment playing cards and stuffing their mouths with as many sour candies as they could handle. His leg is obviously broken and he can’t even crawl properly with one hand clasped across his nose and mouth in a vain attempt to seal out the smoke.
His friend is coughing and begging for help, wide eyes full of fear and tears but the ground has started to shake again and the walls are turning to ash right before his eyes, the roof is going to cave at any moment and he knows that if he turns around they will both die.
The weight in his hand seems to double in size and he has to forcibly shake himself into a clearer mindset. The mission comes first the mission comes first the mission comes first.
He doesn’t have the chance to even feel guilty about turning his back on his old friend, the door is finally coming into reach and just as his foot passes the threshold the world spins into darkness again.
---------
The second time he awakes its too another room. He’s coughing, the remnants of smoke in his lungs more memory than real. Smoke, burning, flames, the bag-THE BAG!
His hands are frantically patting himself down, trying to find a treasure that never existed when there’s a muffled shout behind him. He doesn’t turn immediately, too scared and mind still replaying the memory of his closest childhood friend burning to ash. It happens again and there is no way he can ignore it, sick curiosity getting the best of him.
Tied to chairs in intricate knots of metal are his parents, mouths gagged and struggling to get free. It’s a weird thing to see his father again. His mother was a constant in his life while his father came and went as he pleased, only coming home for a free place to sleep before he went out to party and drink the next day. Either way his first instinct is to untie them and as he is about to take a padlock into his hand for consideration a booming voice interrupts.
“Stop. No witnesses, the mission comes first.”
The sobs and thrashing of his parents get louder, more desperate. He doesn’t even have time to question the invisible voice because a small table materializes beside him. On the table rests a gun and two bullets, the names of his parents engraved into each respectively
Understanding washes over him, his blood freezing over and body trembling. He had never fired a gun before, had never pointed it at another living being before. He had handled plenty, snagged one off a security guard once and taken a good look at it before putting it back and found the thrill of taking something potentially dangerous addicting. He had no desire to own or even learn how to use one but now with a gun in front of him and the mission plain as day he has no choice. Unlike the burning room, there is no invisible countdown, its just him and his thoughts and his parents begging for their lives. His stomach is churning and he can feel bile raise up his throat as he slowly readies the gun.
With bullets in place and gun ready to fire he attempts to steady himself. His breathing is irregular and his hands wont stop shaking, the room feels like its closing in on him and his heart is about to burst from his chest. The voice is back, commanding him from some invisible barrier.
“Do it. The longer you wait the worse it will feel.”
He lifts the gun willing his hand to steady and he chokes on his own sob, doubling over and away from his mothers scared stare.
“Do it!” the voice is louder, more insistent and he knows logically that this isn’t reality. Something about the room, the voice, the people in front of him is so realistic but also fake. The presence of his father, the clothes his mother is wearing, the clock on the wall where only the hour hand moves despite mere minutes passing.
This isn’t real they aren’t real this is fake they aren’t real I’m okay it’s okay this isn’t real I can do this. I can do this!
He aims at his father and doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. The lack of blood only cements his earlier assumption. Another steadying breath as he moves his aim towards his now still mother. The trigger is pulled and before it can even reach its intended target the room spins once again.
---------
He wakes up to a familiar face. Black sheep is above him, brushing his hair back and smiling gently.
“You did amazing Gray.”
The simple compliment sends a flurry of warmth racing from his heart up to his face to redden his cheeks.
“Pft, it was nothing.”
The faces of his parents and childhood friend echo in his mind as a harsh reminder despite his attempt at nonchalance. He is no longer attached to the loud machine beside him and he sits up to stretch out his limbs. A soreness aches deep in his bones but he pushes it aside in favor a getting up from the chair.
“C’mon, dinner isn’t going to wait to be served, I’d rather not starve like last week.”
He turns back to the oddly quiet machine one last time, the lack of its operator disturbing something in him before he races after the girl who is already down the hall.
The rest of the day is relatively normal, he has to hold black sheep back from quite a few fights as people comment on her failure to move forward onto the field. It is as endearing as it is exhausting but the day comes to an end when the sun sets. The halls are burning a fiery orange in the dying sunlight and he wills his eyes to stay open in the face of recurring guilt. It was for the mission, it wasn’t real.
Curfew is called, and everyone is getting ready to sleep. The rustling of fabric fills the room as everyone strips and changes into their more comfortable clothes. Nudity wasn’t taboo, everyone here had seen one another without clothes on. There was no time or space for modesty and although it took some getting used to it became a natural part of the routine.
The sound of the hallway lights flickering off one at a time can be heard even through the thick walls. It isn’t long before the lights in the room flicker and whine into darkness. Once everyone has settled it is quiet.
His team mates are fast asleep if their evened breathing and heavy sighs were anything to go by. It’s late and he can feel exhaustion seeping through his body, but his mind is on red alert. Every sound, every movement has his mind reeling with warnings of danger.
He sits up, arm instinctively reaching for the glass of water he always sets out for himself before bed. It isn’t there. He leans over, hand sweeping from corner to corner on the small table beside him but comes up with nothing.
Something isn’t right.
He’s never forgotten to set aside a glass of water for himself from when the habit first began nearly ten years ago. His mind is racing, something isn’t right and he tries to rationalize himself forgetting. He had been mentally drained today, forgetting a glass of water wasn’t a big deal, everything was fine.
Black sheep is sitting up, staring right at him, eyes full of worry but before he can tell her everything was fine alarms are blaring. Everyone is on their feet in an instant, the doors sliding open as a mechanical voice drones about an intruder. Everything is a blur. The dash to the door and through the hallways, leaping down stair wells to make it outside. The door is in front of him, students pouring out of it from all sides. The crowd is dwindling, and he is about to step out into the fresh night air when his arm is snagged in a vice like grip. His heart nearly jumps out of his chest as he is yanked to the ground, everyone too frenzied to notice him being held back.
He successfully gets his attacker of his back and gets to his feet in time to throw a solid punch. They stumble back, hand wiping at their face and coming back bloody. It satisfies his wounded pride and he moves in to finish them when piercing gray eyes whip up to face him properly.
It’s black sheep.
“Go ahead, finish her.”
The voice is back and suddenly the events of the past few hours make sense. Nothing felt right because it was never right to begin with. He hadn’t finished the test yet.
“This is your final mission.”
He could do this, this wasn’t real. He’d finish the mission and never have to lay a hand on his best friend again.
Never again.
How was he supposed to know this wouldn't be the last time.