Chapter Text
Isami glanced around the room before closing the door shut, making sure she was alone. At least the Painter bastard isn’t around, she thought. It had been nearly a month since she woke up in this house. One would think that it’d be enough time for her fellow prisoners to cool down and help one another, or at least not try to kill each other.
How wrong she was.
Pilfering precious supplies got worse with each passing day. Completing tests was hazardous enough; it didn’t take much for someone desperate to sneak in and push someone into a trap. Or just slipping a makeshift knife in between their ribcage.
Nearly everyone had created some form of refuge, a “safe haven,” to rest and store what little bandages and other supplies they had. Few had the skill to set up an innovative yet barbaric security system. Many took the risk of leaving their hidden stashes briefly to pass the tests, including herself. Isami attempted to rig her own trap, only to return and find out that it failed miserably and her cache lay empty. She had no choice but to find another area in the house that she could call her own: the children’s room. At least for the time being.
She learned earlier on that it was best to be calm when going through the tests. Even the Puppeteer complimented her on it one time. “When you are running around in a frenzy, you can miss the most important things that could be staring at you right in the face. Few in this house have the brainpower to realise that, but you have, and I must say that I’m impressed. Here’s your reward… Tan.”
Listening to him made life easier, and the rewards were like a gift from the gods. She opened the box once she was in her little corner, under the stairs. She was disappointed to see one small roll of bandages. It wasn’t the only thing in there though; a handful of beautiful scarlet ribbons. Thin and soft to the touch, they would have been used for decoration. They were hers. She would always have them tied to her hair, but when she woke up they were gone. Whether the Puppeteer was joking or wanted to provide her some comfort from home she couldn’t say.
She inspected the ribbons further. Despite being thin they were incredibly long. Most people would overlook them since they weren’t proper bandages, they wouldn’t be able to soak the blood up properly anyway. Yet if she were to wrap it decently and wash it regularly enough, they should work. She had always tied them in her hair and they would be safer if she had them on her at all times. She took a rare moment to smile. These could benefit me greatly.
Bandages were practically non-existent in this house. Only a few decent rolls had been found in cupboards, but they were old and the moths had gotten to them. People used whatever bits of cloth they could find instead. Those frayed and torn pieces of fabric were the difference between life and death… yet more often than not they caused the latter. She had seen skulls cracked open, throats slit, eyes gouged out and torsos riddled with stab wounds. And all in the name of a few makeshift bandages. It would seem that they create more death than life, Isami thought sombrely, watching as Mark, a colleague of hers, was stabbed in the eye by a frantic woman who wanted his bundle of rags.
Surrounded by animals, she trusted no one. No matter how many times she was attacked by that… creature, none would intervene. Few watched in horror but were too cowardly to do anything. The rest leered and shouted suggestions. Cheers and faint gasps filled the room as she cried and screamed, shielding herself pitifully. Kicks rapidly struck her ribs, stomach, shoulder and head with the force of a raging bull. Rough hands slapped, punched, strangled and grabbed at her. Only one was brave enough to intervene – an old man. When the attacker fled after he was hit and the crowd had dispersed, she had come face to face with her rescuer. Frightened, in tears, and in extreme pain, she mumbled a thank you and fled – afraid of what he might want in return.
She searched through books, vases, shelves, and corners. Making sure not the miss a single inch of the room. It took her a few days to realise that there was a pattern to the way he lay out the tests. It made it simpler for her, but she always took it upon herself to check other places just in case.
Cursing under her breath once she saw the remaining time she had left on the clock, she hurried. She took one step and in the next minute she was clutching her arm, blood oozing from between her fingers. She cried out but tried her best to muffle the whimpering. If that bastard found out that I was vulnerable it’ll be the end of me. That was another problem; she always was. Her dear co-workers wouldn’t pay her a second thought. She had no one. Sure enough, that old man had saved her. Once. But she had tried to keep her distance from everybody. I must thank him properly, Isami reflected. It would be the decent and polite thing to do, like her grandfather taught her.
Apart from the old man, she had seen only two other people help each other; a scarred man who shuffled awkwardly around the place and another man, about the same age as herself, who was tall and sported a ridiculous ponytail. A strange couple to be sure. They had only crossed paths a few times, with her hurrying past them as quickly as possible. The scarred man didn’t take much notice of her, but his lanky friend did. Isami rarely made eye contact with anyone, especially here. Yet one time she got the courage to give a quick look at him as they passed each other.
He had a hard pointed face that revealed no emotion, she observed. He appeared arrogant-looking, if she had to be honest with herself. His eyes were like steel and turned into daggers when he glared at someone. However in that moment they said nothing. Her grandfather once told her that you could tell what someone was feeling or thinking by just looking into their eyes. That you could see into their soul.
She saw nothing.
Either he was a heartless person or he was excellent at hiding, or perhaps both, she couldn’t decide on which. It annoyed her to an extent. She had always been a good judge of character – it was needed in her line of work. Trying to figure out what kind of man he was in that brief moment was like trying get a mountain to sway. It only intrigued her more. The split second before they passed, she spotted him giving her a curt nod. Was he being friendly or was there something sinister underneath, I wonder?
Drip, drip, drip.
Isami snapped back into reality and watched as her blood continued to stain the floorboards red. Long, slender fingers wrapped around her arm and pulled her up, not ungently. The vice grip held her in place as she shut her eyes and tried to wrench free. Her muscles tightened and her body completely froze over. She braced herself for the oncoming blow to the face and turned her head away, but nothing came.
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The arrogant man with the ponytail towered over her, a frown creasing his brow. “Relax,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not the Painter.” How does he know? Her face must have revealed her thoughts to him. “It’s hard not to notice the bruises,” he pointed out, his voice blunt and abrupt.
Quickly covering her bruised cheek with her free hand, eyes downcast. “Who are you?” she asked, barely a whisper.
Letting go of her arm, he gave her a wry smile. “I doubt that names are very much use to us here. However we have given each other nicknames. My partner over there is called Monkey.” She hadn’t even noticed the other man in the room with them. She leaned sideways and saw the scarred man huddled in the far corner. He doesn’t look like a monkey at all. He reminds me more of a bear. He’s too clumsy to be a chimp. She thought it best to not voice her thoughts.
“And you are…?”
“Dragon.”
Dragon…
Yes, it suits him for some reason. He stood before her proud and strong. There was a fierceness about him – dangerous yet graceful. Isami imagined that any who would try to anger him would get burnt by his flames. Completely devoured within the fire before they vanished.
“You’re on your own.” It was a statement rather than a question. She nodded solemnly in agreement. “What about the old man?”
She shook her head. “He helped me once,” she said quietly. “That was all.”
He seemed pleased with that. “I wanted to propose on offer to you. It would be much safer if we stuck together and helped one another. We’d have a much higher chance of survival than we would if we were alone. Interested?” She hesitated to respond and he sensed her reluctance. “It’ll mean that you won’t have to face that bastard on your own.”
Tilting her head up to meet his eyes, she saw that he was genuine. So he’s not totally unreadable after all. “Yes,” Isami whispered and bowed. “Thank you.” He nodded back and turned to walk out the room. “Wait! My name is I-“
“-Tigress.”
“What?”
Dragon let out a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead. “We can’t be ourselves here,” he explained quietly. “Like I said before, our names have become rather useless here. Wouldn’t you agree? Like anyone in this place is going to care enough to remember us if we’re dead.”
I remember Mark, Isami wanted to say. Even though he hated me for the way I was. I remember Julie, a girl I met at the beginning. Sweet girl and quiet, like myself, but that didn’t matter when she was torn into pieces for mistaking some first-aid kit as her own. No matter how much she screamed they didn’t stop. I’m ashamed that I didn’t go to help, Julie. But he was there… I’ll remember you still, it’s the least I can do. But who will remember her?
“Tigress…” Isami tasted the name. She was a ruthless lawyer before she came here – she had to be. No one was going to take an oriental girl seriously otherwise. She was vicious in the courtroom and she can be vicious again. She would like to think that she would be the same way still had it not been for the Painter. All the strength she had was taken away from the constant attacks, both physical and mental. She wasn’t a stranger to racism – oh no, far from it – but the way these attacks and insults were so vicious and had already become a constant problem, it drained her.
Tigress. She already had enough names. Isami. Tan. That Asian girl. Or “that slit-eyed Japanese bitch” if she were to include that bastard’s slur.
“Come.” Dragon jerked his head to the door and Isami followed him upstairs, with Monkey shuffling behind her. It made her uncomfortable but she tried to push those feelings aside, for the time being. “The test will be over swiftly if we all do it together. So be fast.” Dragon winced as he opened the door, his blood spilling into the small container.
She hadn’t been in this room before, it appeared to be the attic. It was stuffy despite the small barred window above. Fumbling around boxes and sheets they managed to pass it within two minutes and stopped at the sound of the bell. Dragon dropped the list and strode over to one corner, his back bent as he rummaged through a small box. Pulling out a dusty bottle of red wine and three glasses: two wine and the other was a brandy glass. He gave the brandy one to Monkey and the other wine glass to Isami. She sat down on a crate when Dragon motioned her to do so. He sat opposite her on a wooden chair that creaked when he leaned back. Monkey chose to stay standing as his glass was being filled.
“I’d, uh, prefer something stronger…” Monkey spoke for the first time. His voice was low and raspy, like stones rubbing off against metal.
“If you can find something better in the cellar, by all means have at it,” Dragon replied dryly, pouring out his own. Isami took a delicate sip at hers, letting the wine settle on her tongue for a few seconds. The Dragon’s voice was smooth and deep in comparison to his partner’s. It demanded attention while the Monkey’s shied away from it. He lifted up his glass to the two of them. “A toast,” he declared.
“For?” Isami asked, raising her own one up out of courtesy.
He grinned. “For becoming brothers-in-arms, of course.”
Monkey snorted and Isami noticed that he didn’t bother to raise his glass. “Going to sing another war tune, Ryan?”
The man shrugged and refused to respond, deciding to take a mouthful of wine instead. That comment both intrigued and amused Isami about her new “brother-in-arms”. He doesn’t look like the musical type.
Over the weeks and months, they had stayed by each other, helping and fighting as one. Nearly always at the end of every month Ryan would propose a toast for “still being alive.” It was only on the rare occasion that Isami would call the Dragon by his real name. He didn’t seem bothered by it and simply took it in his stride, like he normally did. He had set up an elaborate security system in the attic; Isami had helped him sort out the wiring and attaching the strings and levers by the far side of the wall. Ryan handled the majority of the soldering. Their stashes were safe and Dragon made sure that he brought up plenty of wine from the cellar. They had mainly used it for antiseptic.
Not long ago the Tigress was passing a test, only to trip and fall on a pair of scissors. The sharp blade cut into her arm and she couldn’t make out how deep the wound actually was from all the blood. Ryan was upon her in an instant and put pressure on her arm, the cloth wrapped around his hand becoming quickly stained from both her blood and his. He led her back up to the attic where he cleaned and washed the cut with wine. She hissed and clenched her fist, eyes remaining firmly on what Ryan was doing.
He examined the wound critically before telling her that it wasn’t too bad. He held her arm in place, pinching the sides of the cut to stop any further bleeding. He reached for the desk drawer and fished out a needle and some thread. With deft hands he stitched her up neatly. He pulled out a few more drawers, pushing their contents side to side as he searched for any pieces of cloth. “Here,” Isami pulled out a long red ribbon from her hair and handed it to him.
“Smart.” When he finished tying a knot the ribbon had covered most of her forearm.
“Thank you.” She gazed at his face, her arm still being held in place.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “There’s no need,” he grumbled. He hates being thanked, she observed. His grip on her loosened, his hand trailing down her arm limply until his hand touched hers. Barely a brush, yet it sent electricity up her spine and throughout her body, making her shudder. Both of them jumped at the sudden contact and looked away, not sure of what to say to each other. Ryan disrupted the awkward silence by clearing his throat, eyes darting everywhere around the room but not stopping at her. “I… need to reset the traps.” As he was about to leave her to get equipment he said, “And try to be more careful next time.” He disappeared before she could say anything to him.
Later that night something roused her from her sleep. She was in the attic, lying on an old mattress and facing the wall when she heard them talking. “You’ve gotten rather cosy with your new partner,” Monkey said almost mockingly. She didn’t turn around and kept her eyes closed, continuing to look like she was asleep. He’s never spoken like this when he’s around me…
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ryan snapped. She could hear rustling in the background. It appeared that he was still working and resetting the security system.
Monkey barked out a laugh. “That’s not what I discovered.”
“What are you prattling on about now?!” he hissed.
“Oh nothing at all,” he stammered. He sounded like the Monkey she knew then, until his voice turned back into a sneer as he continued. “Just that I saw the two of you going through one of the rooms and her little ‘accident.’ Then you being the good Samaritan by whisking her up here to ‘help’ her out.”
Ryan snorted derisively. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”
That didn’t deter Monkey from snapping out of the strange mood he was in. “I heard something interesting the other day from one of the others – about your little friend.”
“Strange…” Ryan sighed, placing something on the desk. “I didn’t take you for a gossiping old woman.”
Monkey ignored the remark. “Turns out that her past is very different from ours.” That comment made her blood boil, remaining motionless still. What does he know of my past? She heard heavy footsteps slowly pacing the room. “It would appear that our Asian friend has lofty ideals and decided to take on the noble job as a lawyer.” His laughter was low but cruel.
“Is that so?” Ryan sounded bored. “And what of it?”
“Come now, don’t tell me you’re not the least bit worried that she’ll find out what you did? That the image of her dear hero would be ruined?”
Silence. What is he on about?
Eventually Ryan spoke up, his voice cool and even. “If you have nothing else better to do than make up these idiotic theories, find me some more wire.” That didn’t sit too well with Monkey, who left the room in a huff.
The next morning the three of them were passing a test. Isami had refused to look at, never mind speak, to Monkey. However she remained polite when talking to Dragon. As they were nearing the end, she paused and watched Monkey bend down to inspect something in the corner. She noticed to weight hanging above his head and her eyes traced where the trip wire led. Flicking her foot, the wire broke with a loud twang and she jumped back. Monkey jolted from the sudden harsh sound and glanced up to see the weight rapidly descending towards him. He gasped and rolled back clumsily, the weight crashing down and splitting the floorboards. “Mind the trap,” Isami said dryly. The bell rang after Dragon picked up the last item, staring at the two.
Monkey struggled to get up, grasping at the wall to steady himself. Once he had straightened up and dusted himself off, he glared at her. “You stupid bitch!” he snarled, his scar contorted his face making him look like a savage ape.
“I’m sorry, have I done something to anger you?” Her gaze was steady and level, not showing any hint of fear.
“You know damn well what you did!” He stormed over to her, seething with rage with his fists clenched.
Ryan stepped in between them. “It was an accident, I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Like your word is worth anything,” he grunted, retreating to the living room.
“So you did hear us last night.”
Keeping her innocent façade she replied, “I don’t know what you mean.”
He rolled his eyes and folded his arms, he seemed disappointed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to believe that? I thought you were better than to eavesdrop.”
Isami tilted her head to look him straight in the eyes. “When the subject that you are discussing involves me I have a right to listen in.”
Ryan still looked dissatisfied but sighed, “Fair enough.” Strangely he began to smile. “So the Tigress does have teeth. But why did you set off the trap? It was a bit overkill.”
“I don’t know exactly,” she admitted. “A sudden boldness took over me. I will say one thing though: I already have one person making a mockery of me, I won’t stand for another.” Although his face remained composed, his eyes hardened and he nodded in understanding. “Ryan, what did he mean that you should be worried if I found out ‘what you did’?” He froze. “Well?”
“Some other time,” he replied dismissively, walking away.
Isami knelt beside the coffee table in the library, carefully dipping a brush into a small ink bottle, tipping it thrice against the sides of the opening to remove any excess. The left side of her face shone brightly in the light as a large fresh bruise adorned her cheek. Losing herself in her calligraphy, she made delicate strokes of the brush, each Chinese character distinct and beautiful on the bamboo strips that she gathered from the kitchen. She relished these rare moments; Ryan may have his wine and inventions to keep him sane, but she had her parables. Each one was either her own creation or a slight variation of the myths and legends that her grandfather had told her. After she was finished for the day with one, she made sure to carefully hide them. Although no else in the house would understand or translate them apart from herself, she wasn’t willing to let the Painter destroy them out of spite.
The door creaked open and she was relieved to see that it was the old man. He coughed hoarsely, limping over to her. Every step he took was agony and Isami felt ashamed when she looked at the large red stain on his sleeve. “So what are you up to, girl?” he asked, trying to sound cheery as he gingerly sat down on the couch in front of her.
“Writing parables,” she whispered, dipping the brush into the bottle again.
“I’m sure that they’re lovely, even if I can’t read them.” Barney’s laughter stopped short as he hissed clutching his side. He had told her his name a few weeks ago.
She placed the brush on the side, hung her head in shame and bowed. “I’m sorry. That blade was meant for me and it was rude to not thank you properly afterwards. You saved me, not once but twice. I owe you my life.”
He reached over to gently pat her shoulder. “You owe me nothing, Isami. You didn’t stand a chance, that bastard would’ve killed you. I couldn’t just stand there and let that happen. Although I see that he has gotten to you recently…”
“Thank you,” she smiled. “But I’m fine.”
“No need to be so polite,” Barney grumbled. “Are you in a lot of pain?”
“It stings whenever I talk or smile, but it’s nothing that I can’t manage.”
“You’re a brave one, to be sure.”
“It’s small in comparison to yours, have you stitched up that wound? Let me see.” Barney scratched the grey stubble on his chin. Reluctantly, he obeyed her command and took off his jacket. She pulled back the belt that he used as a makeshift tourniquet, only to see that it was still untreated. “You need stitches and some proper wrappings. Wait here.”
Tigress was quick and nimble as she ran through the house. Slipping out her ribbons and placing them in her pocket, her raven black hair fell like a curtain over her face, she made sure to cover the bruise before she entered the attic. Sitting by the desk, Ryan was tinkering at something. “It’s just me,” she called out. She rushed over to the set of drawers to get a needle and some thread.
“Look at me,” Ryan commanded, his voice low. When she didn’t respond, he stood up and cupped her chin with his thumb and index finger. He turned her head and, with his other hand, he brushed back her hair from her face. Anger flashed across his face, his eyes gleaming dangerously. “What have I already told you?!” he growled, his fingers never leaving her face. “Don’t go anywhere without me accompanying you or at least telling me where you’re heading off to. Wasn’t it bad enough that he almost took your life?!”
“Shhh.” She placed her hand tenderly on his cheek, stroking her thumb to soothe him and enjoying his warmth underneath her skin. She had never seen him this angry before. “Easy, my brother-in-arms. It’s going to be alright.”
Ryan stared long and hard into her eyes. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I have you.” He blinked, his expression softening. The corners of his lips pulled back as he closed his eyes and pressed himself deeper into her palm. His fingers traced her jawline and he pulled her towards him until their foreheads touched. Closing her eyes and continuing to stroke his cheek she began to hum a tune her mother sang to her when she was a child before she went to bed.
It was strange being so close to him – neither of them were the kind of people who liked human contact. Isami opened her eyes to see if he had calmed down. Ryan leaned in, his hot breath brushing off her tender lips. The tip of his nose barely grazed her cheek when he pulled back and turned his back to her. He cleared his throat and excused himself, leaving her to stand there dazed.
Unable to speak, she walked out as if nothing had happened...