Archive of Our Own

"... and what about their behavior?"
"Oh, that's a whole other story. It's terrible what's going on here. Almost every day someone gets into a fight with someone else. Violence is committed here constantly. In the last two years, we've shot about sixteen of them. They're like animals."
Brimstone didn't even bat an eye. It was as if he had expected this answer.
He walked along the walls and watchtowers with the head of the English prison, Iron Iris. On the way, they passed armed customs officers with automatic submachine guns, who looked down from the towers without batting an eye and watched the events in the open space.
Brimstone hadn't been here for quite some time, several years, but not much had changed in that time, except perhaps that the playground was in slightly worse condition than last time. He glanced at the dozens of prisoners in the yard, but didn't look at any of them for more than a few hundredths of a second before looking away again.
Iron Iris was the most heavily guarded prison for the worst criminals in all of England. It housed murderers, human traffickers, smugglers, and all other vermin who were to rot here until their deaths. Because yes, Iron Iris was where those who had been sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole ended up.
Was it better than the death penalty? Who knows. Probably not.
"We have quite a problem with the Radiants in particular," said the prison warden, who stopped at the metal railing with his hands behind his back and looked down. He looked quite indifferent, as if he had said this a hundred times before. "The collars they wear are sometimes quite unreliable. They should completely block their abilities, but unfortunately, they almost never work as they should."
"What do you do with such individuals?" Brimstone grumbled as he stood next to the man and also looked down. Many prisoners were doing their own thing, many were exercising, and a few were playing soccer. Perhaps it wouldn't seem so disturbing if they weren't being watched by thirty guards with eagle eyes, ready to kill any of them at any moment.
"We punish them for using their abilities, of course. Electric shocks, crypts. If it's serious, physical punishment, sometimes radianite. A few guards are happy to take care of that."
Brimstone grunted quietly, as if to say he understood. Not that he agreed with such a thing, of course, Radiants were still people, after all... but in many places they were still viewed as inferior. Like here, for example.
"Does it help?"
"Sometimes, rarely. I have to think these procedures through, it's not ideal. Wouldn’t Kingdom want to set up a prison specifically for them?"
"I'll try to suggest it to them," Brimstone promised, even though he certainly had no plans to do so. It was repulsive. Maybe a good solution to various problems, but... he simply didn't like such segregation.
They talked quietly among themselves for a while before being interrupted by a sudden commotion on the workout field. The voices reached them faintly, but they were sharp and fierce. A group of prisoners had started picking on some young man, and the situation was quickly escalating.
"When are they going to intervene?" Brimstone raised his eyebrows when he noticed that the guards on the playground were just standing idly by, watching the fight begin.
"When blood is spilled or someone uses their abilities," the prison warden explained the situation as calmly as if it were nothing, squinting for a moment before sighing. It didn't sound sad, though — it was just an empty sigh, a kind of acceptance of the situation.
"This one again. They just won't leave him alone."
Brimstone understood that the warden meant the victim and narrowed his eyes slightly to see better from a distance.
The prisoner was young, yes, and he looked quite lively as he waved his arms and snapped back at the much taller man who was annoying him. He had chocolate brown skin and short dark hair, and Brimstone couldn't see any tattoos on him. That was quite rare among prisoners.
What caught his attention most, however, was the thick silver collar with a dark black stripe that encircled his neck.
"Radiant?"
"That's right. Second class, he controls fire."
The scuffle culminated when Radiant snapped something back, enraging the man opposite him so much that he reached out and punched him. And he didn't hold back at all.
Not that the guards did anything about it. Their inaction was disturbing.
Brimstone pressed his lips tightly together as the attacked man collapsed to the ground from the blow and the prisoner above him began kicking him.
"They should intervene, shouldn't they? They shouldn't tolerate this."
"A lot of things are tolerated here," the warden shrugged, as if he was completely unconcerned by the situation downstairs. The fight continued in a rather brutal manner, with a few other prisoners joining in kicking the man on the ground and shouting humiliating insults so loudly that they could be heard upstairs.
Brimstone felt his hands grip the metal railing tightly. When the warden urged him to follow him so they could move somewhere else, he didn't even move.
"Who is that?"
"That Radiant?"
"Yes."
The warden knew, of course, but he took a few seconds to think. Just long enough for sparks and hot flames to suddenly flash below. Only then did the two nearest guards start moving, elbowing their way through and quickly approaching the active group.
"Peter Galloway."
"Oh. That one."
Brimstone knew very well who he was; the case was well known. The worst school massacre England had ever seen, with perhaps 130 dead and 200 wounded.
From what Brimstone remembered of the case, the man hadn't done it on purpose; he simply couldn't control his newly acquired abilities after the First Light. And the fact that he was still a minor at the time was ignored. At first, he was given the death penalty without parole, but who knows why he ended up here. As a sixteen-year-old boy.
Yes, Brimstone remembered quite a lot about that case.
The guards finally reached the prisoners, and while one tried to calm the aggressors without using any major force, the other was not so gentle. He hit the Radiant, who was struggling to get up from the ground, to the head with the butt of his gun to keep him down, then mercilessly kneeled on him and twisted his arms behind his back so hard that the man let out a muffled cry. It reached Brimstone's ears, and he would have bet that a chill ran down his spine.
The guard who handcuffed him shouted something at him, probably nothing nice. And when the Radiant dared to retort, even briefly, the guard pulled something from his belt. He roughly pulled him to his feet and then slammed it onto his face — it looked like a muzzle.
And then he was silent.
Although the other prisoners were still shouting and some were even chanting, Brimstone suddenly found the commotion without the voice of the victim somehow empty. Uncomfortably empty. Badly empty.
When the prison guard began to drag the young man away, Brimstone felt a wave of disgust wash over him.
"Where are they taking him?"
"Probably somewhere where they can punish him," the warden shrugged. "Then they'll throw him in the crypt. Nothing new."
Nothing new.
"How many times... has this happened to him?"
"More times than I can count."
Brimstone couldn't bear to watch any longer. He watched as the beaten victim was led away to be punished for defending himself, and the prisoners who had managed to beat him so badly in that short time were quietly reprimanded by a single supervisor.
And as he watched him, the once little boy who had accidentally killed so many children with his abilities, he found that his face was completely resigned. As if the turn of events was nothing new to him. As if this was how it was meant to be.
As if he had already gotten used to it.
Brimston felt sick at the very thought.
"Stop them," he heard himself say before he realized he had opened his mouth. "I want to talk to him."
The warden looked surprised and perhaps a little frightened, as if he were afraid that Brimstone was about to yell at one of his employees. "With that guard?"
"No."
Brimstone took his hand off the railing and looked away.
"With that Radiant."

They brought him in handcuffs.
Brimstone waited for him in the warden's office, looking out of the French window at the now quiet playground; the prisoners had been taken back to their cells. He was probably glad about that, glad that he could be sure there would be no violence outside now.
When the called guard finally arrived with the prisoner, the warden cleared his throat to signal the new arrival. Brimstone hesitated for a few seconds before exhaling quietly and turning around.
The warden looked a little nervous, the guard alert, and the Radiant... it was impossible to describe. Perhaps something between resignation, fear, and something that genuinely terrified Brimstone. His eyes were somehow empty, vacant, something was missing in them. What that was, Brimstone did not know.
Now that he was so close, he could finally get a good look at him. His dark chocolate-colored eyes pierced him through and through, but Brimstone paid it no mind. Instead, he stared silently at the silver collar with a radianite stone around his neck, which was perhaps tightened too tight, and at the tight muzzle, which was sprinkled with a few drops of blood from boy’s broken nose. And that he was bleeding quite a lot; the prisoners must have had a good time on him.
"Well, here he is," said the warden cheerfully, as if he didn't know how else to break the uncomfortable silence, and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "So, um, shall I leave you alone or...?"
"That would be great," agreed Brimstone, his voice sounding strange as he stared at the beaten man opposite him. "You can take your employee with you."
The guard frowned and tightened his grip on the prisoner's arm so tightly that the man flinched. "That won't work, I have to watch him in case he tries to do something—"
"He doesn't look capable of anything like that at the moment," Brimstone interjected quickly and walked over to the pair. "Besides, I'm a soldier, I can handle myself."
The startled guard glanced several times from the man in front of him, who radiated pure dominance, to the director, who shrugged nervously, as if to say he should listen to him.
And so the guard sighed grumpily and, although he certainly disagreed, let Radiant go. "Fine. You vouch for him."
"Understood." Brimstone looked at the prisoner and somehow couldn't bring himself to soften his gaze. Perhaps it was for those dark eyes that watched him cautiously and silently, without looking away for even a second.
"Keys. I want to talk to him, not look at him."
The guard really didn't agree with that and snapped at Brimstone, asking him how he dared to even ask him something like that in such a situation, but when he realized that Brimstone had the upper hand and not him, he just slumped his shoulders in defeat and handed him a small key ring with a few keys.
"Muzzle, handcuffs," he listed, because he was smart enough to realize that Brimstone was also asking for the keys to other items. But he really wouldn't trust him with the silvver silencer, as the guards called it among themselves. "Keep an eye on him, he's dangerous."
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."
Then the annoying guard, who was just doing his job at the moment, said nothing more, nodded curtly in farewell, and left, followed shortly by the warden. As he passed Brimstone, he tapped him briefly on the shoulder and frowned disapprovingly before sighing and leaving his own office. The door handle clicked, and then there was silence.
Brimstone clutched the key ring tightly in his hand and glanced briefly at the prisoner in front of him before grabbing his forearm and directing him to a stool in the middle of the room. His skin was warm, as if it were radiating heat. Or maybe it was just his imagination.
"Sit down."
The boy sat down, not reluctantly and without angry glances, he just did it. He probably understood that messing with him was really not a good idea and respected him - or, more likely, he was afraid of what was to come next.
Brimstone watched him for a few seconds, as if he couldn't take his eyes off him. He was looking at a multiple murderer, yet he felt nothing but pity.
He frowned and reached out his hand. The Radiant flinched; then, as if realizing what he had done, he immediately looked unhappy. Finally, an emotion flashed in his eyes that Brimstone could easily recognize.
Fear.
Brimstone didn't stop, though, and even though it would probably have been appropriate to say something, he remained silent. He gently grabbed the man's chin, and the prisoner bristled, as if expecting Brimstone to hit him. The blood flowing from his broken nose glistened, and the prisoner finally looked away, fixing his gaze somewhere far to the right. Brimstone would have bet his life that even if he had the chance to speak now, he wouldn't.
He examined the piece of metal that uncompromisingly covered the lower part of his face like some wild animal, and when he finally found the inconspicuous locking mechanism, he felt for the right key and successfully opened the lock after a few attempts. It swung open, the plates spread apart and loosened, and Brimstone gently removed the thing from his face. He didn't want to hold it, so he quickly placed it on the warden’s desk and looked at the man to his left.
Now that he finally had the chance to see his entire face, Brimstone was surprised to find that he looked much younger than he had originally appeared. His lip was torn and bloody, his chin was scraped, and under his eye was an older cut that had not yet healed and had started bleeding again.
Suddenly, the boy coughed; he leaned forward and twitched a few times, spitting a mixture of saliva and blood onto the pale blue carpet.
Brimston didn't mind.
"I'm sorry," the young man whispered when he finally calmed down and straightened up again. He had a strong accent and what was surely a resonant voice at other times, but now, as he stared at the ground and chirped softly like a bird, Brimstone couldn't be entirely sure.
"It's okay," said Brimstone, suppressing a small smile that appeared on his face for a second. Then he cleared his throat and knelt on one knee in front of the prisoner, who was avoiding his gaze.
"You don't have to be afraid of me," he said cautiously. "I won't hurt you."
He was sure of that. He couldn't hurt him even if he wanted to. He felt it deep down.
The young man seemed to want to smile, but his face contorted into a painful grimace. "That's what the last one said too."
Oh.
When Brimstone realized what he meant, he was silent for a moment to organize his thoughts. It was difficult; there were many of them, and they were of the most urgent kind. The only thing that was clear to him now was that he was dealing with a very strange but wounded individual and that he had to be careful with him.
"What's your name?"
Brimstone knew, of course. But he figured there was no harm in asking.
The young man looked at him, first with surprise, as if he hadn't expected to be asked such a thing, and then with suspicion, as if he thought Brimstone might be planning something sinister with such an innocent question.
He was silent for a moment before quietly replying, "Peter."
It was clear that he hadn't said his name in a long time. Brimstone could tell by the way that single word slipped awkwardly from his lips.
"Peter. Fine." Brimstone leaned on his knee and stood up. "How about we take off those handcuffs and talk like human beings?"
He saw him pause, as if Brimstone had suggested something completely insane. So Brimstone didn't wait for an answer, walked around him, and unlocked the silver handcuffs that had clearly been digging into his skin the entire time.
Brimstone watched as Peter stretched his arms out in front of him and carefully rubbed his sore wrists. They had faint, thin scars on them, as if this wasn't the first time the guards had ruthlessly handcuffed him.
And Brimstone knew very well that it really wasn't the first time. That it had happened countless times before. But he kept quiet about it.
Brimstone pulled up a chair from beside the table, sat down, and leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. He was silent for a moment, staring at the floor, before sighing and looking up.
"I saw what was happening outside."
"I didn't start it," Peter snapped sharply, as if he couldn't stop himself, then immediately stopped when he realized the tone of his voice. He swallowed, and Brimstone noticed that his hands were shaking.
"It's okay," Brimstone tried to calm him down, feeling his heart tremble. It was a sad sight. It was as if the man opposite him expected to be punished for every little mistake.
Was he used to being treated this way?
The idea was repulsive.
"You didn't start it, I understand. What happened next?"
"Well, the guys who came after me... I guess they just wanted to fight, it happens a lot."
"Why?" Brimstone raised his eyebrows, even though he could imagine the answer.
Peter ran a finger over the thick collar around his neck and tapped it with his finger. It almost looked like it was choking him as he swallowed hard. "They know I have trouble controlling myself when I get angry. That thing doesn't work like it should. Sometimes I just... lose it."
"Like that time," Brimstone blurted out, not realizing he had said it out loud until raw pain appeared in Peter's eyes and he wrapped his arms around his chest. "Yeah, kind of..."
A brief, heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Tick tock, tick tock, they were silent for so long that it began to get on Brimstone's nerves.
"Can you control your abilities despite that... thing?" He couldn't bring himself to say the word collar. Peter wasn't an animal — he wasn't going to belittle him like that.
Brimstone saw him hesitate briefly. He looked around as if searching for cameras, and when he finally spoke, it was so quietly that Brimstone had to strain his ears to hear him.
"Sometimes... I try it, in my cell, you know... I want to learn to control it so I can, well... yeah."
He sounded so timid, as if he was afraid that Brimstone would punish him for this, for breaking a clearly stated rule in this prison: no abilities. But was it his fault? If Iron Iris really wanted to avoid something like this, they should have bought something that actually blocked those abilities successfully.
Peter sniffed and wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Brimstone felt miserable at the sight, so he took a pack of tissues out of his pocket and offered them to him.
"Here, wipe it off."
Peter took them hesitantly, but looked grateful as he pulled out a tissue and wiped the blood from his split lip and broken nose, which glistened like crimson on his dark skin. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Brimstone waited a moment and didn't disturb him before speaking again: "The others are out to get you, huh?"
"Yeah, they surely are. I don't know how I'm going to survive the rest of my life here. If they don't kill me soon, I'll probably do it myself."
Brimstone unconsciously clenched his hands into fists, not even realizing how much it hurt him to hear something like that.
"How long have you been here?"
Peter thought for a moment. It was as if he didn't know exactly. "About eleven years, I think, maybe a little more."
They locked him up as a child. What kind of life is this, spending your whole life behind bars, in an environment like this?
Brimstone swallowed. He didn't want to imagine what could happen to Peter here in a few years. The thought sent a chill down his spine. It wasn't as if he saw a damaged adult in front of him. He saw a child, a young teenager, whose heart must have been bleeding from what he had accidentally done, and he could vividly imagine the look on his face when he was told what would happen to him.
Because he was a Radiant.
Oh, how cruel life can be sometimes…
"Peter..."
For a moment, Brimstone didn't know what to say as he watched the young man in front of him with scars on his hands and blood on his face, with a tired look and metal around his neck that would weigh him down for the rest of his life and mark him as something inferior.
"Do you regret it?"
As soon as Brimstone said it, he knew that Peter did. He could tell by the way his hands began to shake, by the way he took a breath, so constricted, as if there were not enough air in the room. It took all his self-control not to look away when Peter's eyes filled with tears and he blinked wildly to chase them away.
"Y-Yeah, damn it, I regret it, you have no idea how much. I-I didn't mean to, okay? I didn't mean to do it, kill all those kids, for God's sake..."
He hid his face in his hands and leaned forward so his face couldn't be seen. Brimstone heard him sniffle.
How could he be dangerous? He's not dangerous, he's broken.
It's just a shame that no one but him can see it.
Brimstone rubbed his fingers together, looked around nervously, glanced at the bloodstained muzzle on the table, the folded handcuffs, and the trembling man in front of him, who would probably meet his death in this prison within a few years. Then his gaze fell on the small Valorant logo printed on his glove, and a light bulb went off in his head.
What if he could... save him? Give him a chance at the life he had lost?
"Peter, listen to me."
It wasn't an order, even though it sounded like one, and Peter slowly looked up. He quickly wiped his eyes with his elbow and took a few deep breaths before nodding slightly, as if to show he was paying attention.
"Do you know Valorant?"
When the young man frowned slightly, Brimstone concluded that he didn't. In fact, he wasn't surprised. Peter had been locked up for over eleven years, and their small organization hadn't even existed that long.
"Um, no? What is it?"
"An organization I command," Brimstone explained quickly, then familiarized him a little more with the situation. "We've been operating for about seven, maybe eight years now, I'm not entirely sure myself. We mainly deal with the criminal activities of the Radiants, but lately also with humans, we don't have a specific direction yet. We're something like soldiers of all kinds, you could say."
"But my case has already been resolved," Peter whispered, who probably didn't understand him and was frightened that Brimstone had come for him with unpleasant intentions. "The final verdict has already been handed down and everything—"
"No, no, that's not what I mean," Brimstone laughed quietly, perhaps to relieve the tension that had been hanging in the room the whole time. "We're looking for people, there aren't many of us and there are a lot of problems. We need someone to join us and help us."
Well, there it was. Was it a good idea to offer something like this to a man who had spent the last decade in prison and probably had no idea how the world worked now? To someone who allegedly couldn't control his destructive abilities and was said to be dangerous? To someone who had been locked up for life?
But then again, he is Brimstone. He has come up with a lot of things — and successfully defended and fought for many of them.
Peter froze in surprise before quickly looking around, as if afraid that guards would rush at him in the next second. When he decided that this was unlikely, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes wide. "You're offering me... a job in your ranks?"
"It seems like a good offer to me. You would get out of here."
Peter involuntarily clenched his hands into fists and took such a sharp breath that air whistled between his teeth. His fingers once again touched the metal collar around his neck, now as if he didn't even realize he was doing it. His fingers ran over the seam between the skin and the metal, a movement that revealed he did this often.
"I... I would love to, but you won't be able to get me out of here," Peter stated, struggling to suppress the overwhelming disappointment in his voice. "Kingdom locked me in here. No one can convince them."
Heh, Kingdom. Brimstone had expected that they would be the one to lock a sixteen-year-old Radiant in such a heavily guarded hole.
"I have my contacts there, don't worry. Under certain conditions, it might be possible. The question is whether you're capable of doing such work."
"I'll do everything I can to make sure I am," Peter assured him, and Brimstone was pleasantly surprised by the determination he heard in his voice. If he really means it, that's a good thing.
"I'm glad to hear it. I'll try to get it done as soon as possible. I can't promise anything, it's not certain, but... maybe it will work out."
Brimstone assumed that the conversation was over. If he really wanted to keep his word, and he did, he had to start acting right now. It was clear to him that such a process would be extremely lengthy — agreeing on all the terms and signing all the necessary forms and agreements.
It might take time and be difficult, but in the end, he hoped it would be worth it.
Brimstone was already reaching for the door handle when Peter called after him hesitantly, "Um, sir, I... thank you. Even if you just try, really. It's been a long time since anyone talked to me like... a human being. I'm grateful for that."
Brimstone glanced back briefly, and a smile appeared on his aged face, already marked by a few shallow wrinkles and faint scars. His heart fluttered, and he promised himself that he simply had to get him out.
"I'm glad to hear that, Peter. Goodbye for now."
He knew that in a moment he would be in handcuffs again, that they might even put a muzzle on him and take him somewhere where they could punish him for daring to defend himself, and that weighed heavily on his chest like the knowledge of something evil and inevitable.
But he knew he could try to make it stop. And he hoped he would succeed.
When Brimstone left, the room was quiet again. Now, however, it was no longer oppressive. It was peaceful.

Just as Brimstone had predicted, it took a long time. Longer than he would have liked, more than a month, during which he talked to countless Kingdom employees and tried to agree on acceptable terms with them. Of course, he knew that the final ultimatum would be... crushing, to say the least. After all, he was trying to get someone who had killed over a hundred children with his abilities and was serving a life sentence without the possibility of early release out of prison. What's more, he was trying to get him out so that he could work for Valorant and use the very same abilities that had previously caused such a terrible tragedy to protect defenseless people. Or at least try to.
At first, Brimstone was met with a resounding "no." No, and under no circumstances, to be precise. But when Brimstone reminded them of Brilly, who had come to Valorant on their recommendation and died twice in one month, they reconsidered their selection system and finally agreed.
However, when Brimstone read the final form of their decision, he felt an unpleasant feeling of anxiety settle in his stomach. The conditions were... terrible. Inhumane, degrading.
But if it would help him, so be it. Peter would still be able to decide whether to accept this offer or not.
Brimstone hoped that the fiery Radiant would not agree to such a thing. It would bury all his dignity and the weight of his own word.
But desperate men do desperate things.
And that was something Brimstone knew all too well.

There was an oppressive silence in the Iron Iris prison office. So much so that you could hear a pin drop, and it would be a huge bang. Brimstone sat in a chair next to the table, his hands clasped in front of him, absentmindedly playing with a thin gold ring on his ring finger. Next to him sat the prison warden, who looked perhaps a little too stiff, and to his right was a Kingdom employee with such a blank expression that it made Brimstone feel uncomfortable.
A thin folder lay on the table. Next to it was a pen and next to that a silver decorative needle — for a very good reason.
Brimstone tried not to look at either of these objects and only looked up when the office door creaked open and a guard entered without greeting them. He was accompanied by Peter, who was the subject of today's meeting.
Brimstone was almost relieved to see that the Radiant's broken nose had healed and that he wasn't wearing that stupid piece of metal that prevented him from speaking. He was still wearing handcuffs and the collar that blocked his abilities, but that was understandable. And even his badly torn lip didn't bother Brimstone too much, even though he wasn't happy about it. Some things he just couldn't prevent.
The guard pushed Peter into a chair in front of the desk and then slowly removed his handcuffs, as if he were taking his time and didn't like the decision. However, he couldn't drag it out indefinitely, so he folded the handcuffs and clipped them to his belt, then stood next to the wall with his weapon in his hands. He didn't take his eyes off the prisoner for a second; it was disturbing, considering how he was crushing the gun between his fingers.
"Well," said the prison warden so unexpectedly that Brimstone jumped. "You know why you're sitting here with us today, don't you, Mr. Galloway?"
It sounded a little cynical, especially as he placed mocking emphasis on certain words, but Peter either didn't notice or didn't care. Or maybe he did, but he was smart enough to understand that he just had to grit his teeth and endure it.
"Yes," he replied cautiously after a few seconds, when he realized that his answer was expected. "I do."
"Great," said the warden with a smile, although it was clear that inside he was not smiling at all. "The commander here put in a good word for you with Kingdom so that you could get a second chance. Surprisingly, they agreed to his proposal."
Brimstone saw the boy's goose bumps appear and his pupils dilate. He opened his mouth but remained silent for a moment, clearly thinking about his answer.
"I'm glad to hear that," he said after a moment, as if he didn't know how to react. It was probably also because of the Kingdom employee who stood with his hands behind his back and stared at him as if he were a piece of meat.
"Don't rejoice prematurely," the man said in a quiet but icy voice, as if he had no heart, and pushed the folder with his fingertips to the edge of the table toward Peter. "First, read the terms of our agreement, sir."
Brimstone felt himself tense up. He didn't even flinch when Peter looked at him for a second, his dark, deep eyes piercing into him. He felt he should try to smile, but somehow he couldn't; his muscles wouldn't obey him.
So Peter did what was asked of him: he carefully took the folder, opened it, and began reading several pages that described in minute detail everything that would happen if he agreed.
While he was quietly reading the text, no one said a word. The tension in the room was almost palpable — and Brimstone knew why.
If Peter agreed to these terms and signed the papers, he would effectively give up his right to life. Yes, that's how it was.
Kingdom would take away all his basic human rights and order him to always obey the one in whose hands his life had been placed — Brimstone.
It was simple. Whatever Brimstone commanded him to do, he would have to do, no matter what it was. And if he didn't, well... The papers stated that Brimstone had complete free will to decide about his life. Would he want to kill him? Sure. Punish him for daring to say no? Go ahead, he has absolute impunity. He can do anything he wants with him.
Anything.
And then the worst thing, the thing that made Brimstone's stomach clench. Permanent expulsion from the United Kingdom — otherwise he would receive the death penalty for returning, now definitive.
That would be the price for Kingdom letting him out. The price for freedom, which would be incomplete.
Brimstone thought he might see a glimmer of emotion in those dark eyes. That he would see fear, perhaps disgust, maybe even revulsion...?
But he was wrong. He saw nothing at all: Peter's eyes remained empty, as if blind, and not a single muscle moved in his face. The only thing that hinted at how he was feeling was the tremor in his hands as he closed the folder and placed it back on the table. But even that soon disappeared.
"Well?" asked the Kingdom employee, his head tilted slightly to one side. He looked at Peter as if he couldn't see him: as if the only thing that interested him was his response to these harsh conditions.
Brimstone held his breath as Peter slowly opened his mouth.
"… I agree."
And there it was.
Brimstone didn't know how to feel at that moment. Sure, he was glad that Peter would finally get out of there, that he would no longer have to endure the torment he had been through for so many years... But the thought of how easily and without hesitation he had accepted this cruel offer sent a chill down his spine.
"Excellent," said the man from Kingdom, his voice betraying neither approval nor disapproval, and then he nodded toward the pen and needle glinting on the light oak table. "Please."
As if there was no need to say more. As if the whole situation could be handled without words.
Peter took the pen, held it for a few seconds, and stared at the small letter K on its top. Then he turned his gaze back to the papers, to the last page, where there was a blank space for his signature.
Everyone heard him exhale quietly as he scribbled his signature on the white paper. It was rough and a little messy; it was clear that he hadn't written a single word in years — but the signature was his, and no one could deny that.
Then, silently, all four around the table looked at the silver needle lying there innocently, waiting to see what would happen next.
Important documents like this couldn't just be signed, no, that simply wasn’t enough. They had to be signed by blood to be truly authenticated.
Peter knew this too, as he carefully picked up the needle, which slipped between his fingers. But then he held his breath, gripped it tightly, and pricked his finger without flinching.
A dark bead appeared on the dark pad of his index finger, glistening like a ruby in the refracting rays of the afternoon sun. Then he turned his finger and pressed it over his signature; the red fingerprint was incomplete, but that didn't really matter. The main thing was his blood, more precious than gold and rarer than diamonds.
Peter pushed the signed file away without looking up from the floor, where his gaze was fixed. He rubbed his fingers as if he needed something to distract himself.
"Commander, now you."
Brimstone nodded silently. He took the pen and hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether he really wanted to take responsibility for something so heinous. But why not? It was up to him how he behaved when different situations arose. Even though Kingdom could say whatever he wanted and set the worst possible conditions, he had the final say.
With a sweeping motion of his hand, he signed the paper and pricked his finger with the same needle as Peter: he had his blood inside him, but Peter's remained untainted.
The meaning of this message was more than clear.
Brimstone pressed his bleeding finger onto the paper and then handed it to the warden, who also signed it, albeit without blood. The last signature was from the Kingdom employee who was responsible for the vast majority of the conditions set out and whose signature also confirmed the commencement of the validity of this agreement.
When the man stamped the paper with a small K made up of three geometric shapes and a small inscription Kingdom underneath, he smiled slyly and looked at Brimstone with the gaze of a predator who knows that his prey will never escape.
"Congratulations. He is now yours."
Oh, how terrible that sounded. But it was true — Peter's life was now his.
"Do with him as you please," the man continued to dispense his wisdom, as if he thought Brimstone wanted to hear it, and carefully placed the freshly signed agreement into a plastic sleeve. "But don't forget that if he will be, let’s say, disobedient, and we decide it's too much, we'll make sure he stops being so."
Forever.
Brimstone nodded, with some difficulty. Then he smiled warmly at Peter, finally succeeding. "Shall we go?"
The young man nodded slowly, as if he couldn't understand that his time here was quickly coming to an end. Just a few more minutes and he would be free.
Perhaps?
He rubbed his neck and the metal that had been choking him for years. His face contorted, and when the prison warden suddenly spoke, he almost jumped.
"Take off his collar outside," the man advised Brimstone vehemently as he handed him the keys to the damn thing. "And keep it, you know, just in case."
He spoke as if he didn't care that Peter was in the room with them. He probably didn't care anymore, now that Peter was no longer under his jurisdiction.
"Sure," Brimstone promised him, without really listening anyway. He wanted to get out of there, his work here was done. So he motioned for Peter to follow him and headed out of the office, away from the corridors and the entire prison, from whose bowels he had managed to save one life.
One of many, but even that was enough.

When they passed through the gate and the customs guards slammed it shut behind them, there was a moment of silence. Brimstone searched his pockets for his car keys, and when he finally found them, he looked back for Peter, whose careful footsteps had disappeared a few seconds after they had walked out together.
Peter was hugging his chest with his arms and looking around with a gleam in his eyes. He was shaking slightly, but when he swallowed with difficulty, a huge smile appeared on his face, one that signified true happiness and gratitude. When he met Brimstone's gaze, he blushed slightly, looked away, and rocked back and forth on his heels. "It's... unfamiliar, sir, this feeling, you know. I thought I would never see the outer world again."
How could Brimstone hold it against him? He understood completely.
As he watched him for a moment longer, he clutched the key the prison warden had given him. He walked over to Peter, who probably didn't know what to expect, because he froze and had to fight the urge to step away when Brimstone reached out his hand.
"I told you, you don't have to be afraid of me, okay? I won't hurt you."
"You have the right to."
So what? Just because he could do whatever he wanted to him, did that mean he should hurt him? Just because Peter's life was in his hands, did that mean he should expect pain every second...?
"I don't care what I have the right to do. You're human. So I'll treat you like one, okay?"
He was silent. Brimstone didn't take it badly; he stood behind Peter and watched the piece of metal around his neck that was marking him like an animal for a moment before inserting the key into the narrow lock and turning it a few times from side to side.
Click. The metal snapped apart, unlocked.
Brimstone took the collar in his hands as if it were something unwanted that disgusted him. And his aversion to the thing in his palms only deepened when he saw the deep bruises, or rather scars, so dark red they looked almost black, stretching across Peter's neck like two thick, unpleasant-looking rings.
He took a breath to say something, then realized that words were unnecessary. He just watched quietly as Peter tremblingly reached for his neck and rubbed the scarred skin. He pulled his fingers away as if he had been burned and hissed. But the enormous relief that appeared in his eyes was unmistakable.
Brimstone looked at the object in his hands, at the dark radianite glinting in the metal. Without thinking twice, he walked over to the trash can by the gate, threw the collar into it, and wiped his hands. He felt better immediately after doing so. He turned and, without a word, returned Peter's gaze, who looked almost shocked.
"Y-You're not keeping it?" stammered the young man, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. His voice was immediately clearer and deeper, immediately stronger. How long had that damn thing been choking and tormenting him?
Brimstone didn't even want to know.
"Of course not," he shook his head as if Peter were crazy, and then reached out his hand toward him. It wasn't shaking, it was calm, and an almost fatherly, tender smile appeared on his otherwise stern-looking face. "Please, there are no needs for formalities."
Peter stared at him as if he were an apparition, and finally, finally, something sparkled in his eyes. Energetic sparks, that was what Brimstone had been missing in them so much.
Peter hesitated for a moment, perhaps afraid that he would hurt Brimstone with his touch, after all, he was no longer weakened by the collar that had been slowly killing him...
But he had learned his lesson, hadn't he? He would never hurt anyone again — especially him. He would never do that.
Peter squeezed his hand after a few seconds; a pleasant warmth spread through Brimstone, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and happiness.
"I am Brimstone. Welcome to Valorant, kid."