Chapter Text
There are certain things in this world that people believe shouldn't exist. Things they want to kill so that it doesn't exist anymore. Once dead, they want it erased from history like it never existed. Sometimes, people are successful in the cleansing of the world. However, the only thing certain is that history is bound to repeat; once done cleaning the world of one thing, people move to the next thing, burning and beating and killing until it doesn't exist.
Yes, history always repeats. It's inevitable. Some thoughts have been thought at least once before; all our thoughts have been written down in the library of Babel. A demonstration of this idea is the word revolution, as two synonyms for the word are "uprising" and "circle."
The sirens shrieked in the distance as Kara wrote in his moleskin journal, making him perk his head up and shove his things in his small backpack. The crickets around him seemed to get louder as he trampled away from his camp and ran deeper into the forest. The red and bright, white headlights shined into the trees, barely cutting through the darkness, leaving the officers to look around the woods for what they needed.
There was a loud splash that echoed through the trees over the hum of engines. Kara picked himself out of the mud and continued running, trying to pick up the pace as he heard officers yell towards the sound, three sets of footsteps coming his way. It didn't help with how wet it was from the rain and with the moon hiding behind thick clouds, he could hardly see where he was going, causing him to run through branches and cut up his face and hands. His backpack bounced against him, making it harder than before.
Before he knew it, he was at a drop near the end of the line of trees. Below sat a huge rice field, one that Kara felt bad about going through. Surely, trampling the crops would hurt their earnings, right? But the officer's hurried steps were getting closer and closer and their flashlights were starting to get brighter as time went on, signalling the fact that they were closing in on him. He looked back and slid down the wet hill, running along the rice field.
"Down there!"
The sounds of his feet slapping against the water keeping the rice field alive was probably what alerted him to that. He tried to pick up the pace, but he could see they were already trying to cut him off from above. They were so much faster than him; the only way out was through the rice field; there were officers behind him. One thought came to him: what if I just surrender? He swallowed and yelled, "I'll stop running! I'll stop!"
He slowed to a stop, the officers running to him and shoving him into the muddy ground to his left. He was put into cuffs, scolded for making them run after him, and taken to a road nearby, where other cop cars were waiting for him. The red light was blinding, making him squint until they put him into the back of a truck. His backpack was sliding down his arms, but there was nothing to do about that. He simply leaned back into the metal sides, waiting until the journey was over.
He lost voluntarily. In his mind, he wasn't a loser. This was just another thing to write about in his journal.
When they made it to the facility, his belongings were confiscated, he was forced to shower, and he was given new clothes: a grey t-shirt that was too big for him, a pair of socks, a new pair of underwear, and sweatpants that were long and baggy on his legs. Once he was done putting his new clothes on, he was cuffed again and escorted by a woman in scrubs from the changing room to a small office. The walls were white and the floor shined from how clean it was. Trinkets covered the small desk like a small lucky cat bank, a Rubik's cube, and a collection of glass fountain pens.
After a few minutes passed, another woman in a suit came in and sat across from him, holding papers against her chest. "Welcome to your new home, sir."
"It, uh...doesn't feel very homely."
"It's just a formality. Don't take it too seriously." She laughed and shook her head, taking one of her pens and opening a bottle of ink nearby. "Tell me what you think your name is. If you don't know your full name, give me your first name."
"Kara." He looked around the room, slightly disturbed by the fact that there weren't any pictures or paintings on the walls.
"Not a lot of your kind know their full names. Don't hold it against yourself." She hummed and looked through the papers, crossing out a few things on the chart. Upon stretching his neck to know what she was doing, he saw a drawing of a body on the page, palms up. She was detailing the scratches on his body. "Any scars I should know about?"
"One across my side." She came around the table and lifted his shirt to check and sure enough, there was a deep, straight scar that cut from his left side to his stomach, ending just before his belly button.
"Where'd you get this from?"
"I ran into a guy. Tried to take my kidney."
"Your organs are very pricey. I see why." She marked the scar down and asked, "Anything else?"
"That's all the scars I know about."
She nodded and sat back down. "We will do a physical on you later, so if there are any scars that you don't know about, we will find them." She flipped to the next page and hummed. "Are you a smoker?"
"No."
"Let me rephrase: used to be a smoker?"
"Yes."
"Any health conditions we should know about?"
"None that I know of."
She laughed and wrote what he said, commenting, "Your kind don't know much about themselves. Poor things."
He simply sat silently and watched the lucky cat on her desk, keeping his temper reigned in. Once the room went quiet, he asked, "What's your name?"
She smiled and said, "I knew one of you would have manners. You're one of the good ones. My name is Ito Yuma."
He tilted his head in confusion. "Isn't Yuma a boys name?"
"Well," she chuckled, "my parents wanted a boy and figured Yuma sounded nice enough." He nodded in understanding, looking at his cuffs. She took a breath in as she filled out his paperwork and asked, "How did you get your name?"
"I just kind of...thought of it myself."
"You do know what Kara means, right?"
"I do."
She laughed, something he was getting tired of her doing, and asked, "What does it mean, then?"
"I remember reading somewhere that it means 'to state' to Sefardim. In some cases, it means 'to read,' as in read the Torah. I thought it was interesting. I'm not sure if the pronunciation, but the spelling should be the same. Another thing I read is that in some European languages, it means 'beloved' or 'loved one.'"
She shook her head and laughed, leaning back in her seat as she did so as if he had told her the funniest joke. Once calmed down, she said, "But in Japan, the country you are in currently, it means 'empty.' Nothing." She simply smiled at him and went back to writing. "I'm guessing you didn't know that?"
He glared at her, already knowing that Kara meant that. He figured it didn't matter what it meant; as long as he explained what it meant, then it would be an interesting name. It was a name that he picked. It was a name that meant something to him. He didn't need her to mock him for something he decided. He brought his rage back and leaned back into the chair, still glaring daggers through her. "I didn't," he accepted.
Another moment of silence passed until she finally asked, "Now, here's the big question." She looked up from the papers in front of her and looked him up and down, smiling softly. "What can you do?"
He looked away, knowing what she was asking.
"No need to be shy, 'nothing.'"
He swallowed and said, "I can move objects with my mind."
"Oh, boring." She rolled her eyes. "Do you know how often we get telekinesis?" Sighing, she looked around the room and put her Rubik's cube in front of him. "Lift this. Prove your powers to me."
Kara looked at the cube and simply lifted it off the table, spinning it around in the air and moving the pieces around. "I've never solved one of these things."
"Me either." She put her hand out and smiled. "Hand it back to me." He looked from the cube to her, gently floating it into the palm of her hand, letting go of it and allowing her to fidget with it. She hummed happily and put it back on the desk. "Good job. Pretty advanced; you were able to move the sides and everything." That little bit of praise was enough to make him smile as she filled his chart out.
Once everything was settled, she helped him up and led him down the hall to a door that led to another hall, which guards and nurses were walking up and down. A man poked his head out of his door, smiling. "Hey, you're finally here, Kara!"
He could only raise a brow. "Huh?"
Yuma shook her head and led him past. "Don't mind him. He's omnipresent."
Kara couldn't help but keep staring back at the man. He was wearing a red sweatshirt and the same kind of sweatpants that he was wearing. He was shorter, less muscular than him, and had a bright smile on his face. He waved at him before a nurse could push him back into his room, and just before he disappeared behind the doorframe, Kara managed to slightly wave his cuffed wrists in response. "What's his name?"
"Oso."
"Like...'bear?'"
"I'm not sure if that's what he wanted it to mean, but that's what he called himself."
He could hear Oso shout from his room, "Stop saying 'he!' It's 'zhe!'"
Yuma sighed and told him, "He suffers from disassociation, so we try to keep him grounded. Refer to him as a 'he,' please."
Kara raised a brow, watching as she led him to an open door and ushered him inside. She carefully wrapped a metal bracelet around his wrist and locked it before taking off his handcuffs. Placing them in the palm of her hand, she ordered, "Move the cuffs out of my hand." He tried to, only managing to lift them a few centimetres before losing focus and dropping them back into her grasp. "Before you worry, that was supposed to happen." She smiled and walked out. "Get into bed, rest. You have tests to do this week."
Before he could question her, she disappeared down the hall and a guard took her place, waiting for him to get into bed. He blinked a few times and looked around the room as he made his way to bed. There was a window that crossed the room opposite from the door, showing the other side of the building that sat only a few yards away. The lights were all off, the sky a dark blue, signalling the coming of dawn. No posters; no trinkets; just two beds, a small nightstand, and a box of cards on top of it.
He got into bed and curled up. He could hardly call this thing comfortable. It was like he was sleeping on a bed of rocks and the more he tried to get comfy, the worse it got. Whatever. He could work with this. He brought the thin blankets up to his chin and curled up, letting his eyes close. It had been a long time since he'd even been in a bed, so he was grateful for it.
He wondered if this place was supposed to help him or if they were keeping him captive. What was this place even for? He sighed softly before slowly drifting off, letting his brain turn to soup as he shut off for the morning.