Chapter Text
Cold.
Grey walls, rough concrete, stale air, and the ever-present smell of blood and salt. These things are the only consistent company here.
Asset 110, otherwise known as Muse, tries not to think about the dark stains on the walls and floor, or the assets who lived in this room before her. The people who left those stains behind and are remembered by nothing else. People whose names are said in hushed whispers, or forgotten to time. She knows she will join them someday. She hopes it’s soon.
Muse has already left her fair share of stains, like a message written in stone to the next asset trapped in this room. There’s a rough patch in the concrete that she uses to file her nails, scratching it when she feels restless and turning it a lighter shade of grey than the rest of the room. (That’s really the only thing she can claim as her own, since the other marks of her existence were made without her consent.) A splatter of blood from that time Ares threw a punch that Muse should have been quick enough to dodge, sending her face-first into the wall and breaking her nose. An ugly puddle by the metal door from the one and only time she ever tried to kill herself, running into the doorframe headfirst in an attempt to escape via death.
Hera heard the thud and brought Muse to Apollo in time to be saved. "Can’t lose an asset as important as you," she had said. "Maybe a few hours with Zagreus will teach you not to damage our property. You know what happens to assets that misbehave, don’t you?"
Yes, Muse knows very well what happens.
Assets who injure themselves are sent to Apollo for healing, then to the "hell room" for Zagreus to torture, only to come right back to Apollo with fresh wounds. It's an awful back-and-forth that promises nothing but pain, but at least it's structured.
Predictability is the kindest thing the assets have been given in the Labyrinth. Food is delivered twice a day to those who behave. Training happens every four days with Ares unless there’s an important mission that demands her attention. The rooms that have doorknobs are locked at night so the assets can’t wander around, but Muse’s room doesn’t have a doorknob so she doesn’t have to worry about that.
Once a week, Muse goes to Daedalus' office to use her quirk under Hera's supervision. Once she exhausts herself, they take her back to her room. There she stays until the next time she's needed, alone with her dour thoughts, the muffled sounds of the other assets existing, and the cold.
It's a simple existence, really. Muse has heard stories of the lives the other assets had before the Labyrinth; the things they miss doing and the things they're glad to be without. Muse doesn't know what "taxes" are, but she's glad there aren't any down here for her to worry about. She was young when she was recruited and doesn't remember much of her life before the Labyrinth. She was kidnapped before it could get complicated.
To earn her keep, all Muse has to do is use her quirk and avoid causing trouble. She's fairly sure that she's too valuable for Daedalus to kill, so even if she does cause trouble, they'll likely let her live, but it's not certain.
Daedalus makes sure the assets know just how easy it is to replace them. No one has forgotten the example he made of Asset 14, Thanatos. He was Daedalus' biggest money-maker and the best assassin Ares had trained, but he got a big head and started speaking out against the handlers. Usually something like that would warrant nothing more than a session with Zagreus, but Daedalus was determined to make an example out of Thanatos. It was ironic that the asset named after the god of death was killed by his own quirk. All of the assets were present to watch him die. Muse still remembers it clearly. She had trouble sleeping for weeks after that.
Muse is content to be used. It’s better than being terminated and for whatever reason, she’s determined to hold onto the squirmy, decaying thing she calls a life.
When she came to the Labyrinth, she had nothing but the clothes on her back. Her warm sweater and soft pants were quickly traded for an oversized, scratchy black uniform. Ares burned the last pieces of Muse’s old life, laughing while the little girl cried and watched the soft cotton go ablaze.
There's a ratty blanket folded on top of the futon in the corner, but it has holes and it frays on the edges. It’s stained, like everything else in her room, but Muse held that blanket on her first night, crying into the thin fabric to muffle her cries. Still mourning the loss of her pretty clothes, she clung tight to the blanket like it could replace the warmth lost from her soft cream sweater. It was someone else’s before it was hers and once she’s gone, it will belong to yet another asset.
In all the years she’s lived here, she’s never been given a new blanket or futon. That’s a good thing. Change is dangerous and Muse is right to be wary of it.
There’s a rhythm to Muse’s endless days in the Labyrinth, a depressing song of solitude that she’s happy to leave unbroken.
She spends those plentiful hours of alone time going over the formulas Hera wants her to memorize. Her quirk relies on her understanding of the makeup of the world, down to the exact molecule and chemical bond. It’s hard work sometimes, but it’s soothing to match the pieces together and know exactly what they create when combined.
Memorizing all of the things Hera throws at her takes the edge off the insanity that threatens so much time spent in seclusion. Plus, it’s something that Muse is good at. She lets herself feel proud of herself sometimes, on those rare good days where she doesn’t feel worse than the scum under Ares’ shoe.
If quirks were taken out of the equation and Muse was measured against the other assets, she would be lowest on the totem pole in terms of strength and battle-readiness. But her mind is sharper and fine-tuned. If it was a test of wits, Muse would come out on top every single time. Her mind is wired for complex puzzles and problem solving. What other asset in the compound can create an automatic handgun, atom by atom, with nothing but their memory, perfectly executing each delicate spring and interlocking groove? Muse is smarter than all of them, but this world she lives in doesn’t applaud book smarts over street smarts.
Aphrodite says Muse should take pride in what she can do (even though she doesn’t have a say in what she makes or how her quirk is used). He is the only asset who goes out of his way to talk to her.
Admittedly, Aphrodite didn’t care about Muse until after her first… incident, and Muse is convinced he only visited out of a twisted sense of obligation the first few times. Maybe he was worried Daedalus’ most valuable asset was hurt and he’d be forced to make up the money she couldn’t make, maybe he checked in on her because nobody was there for him after his first job gone wrong. Either way, his smile started to seem more genuine the more she spoke with him.
Well, she didn’t speak with him, exactly—that was kind of difficult to do with an airtight mask clamping her mouth shut. But that’s never been a problem for Aphrodite, who talks enough for both of them and keeps the conversation going even when Muse ignores him to lay down or face the wall.
There’s a rhythm to the endless days Muse spends down here, and she’s happy to leave that depressing song unbroken. But there’s one asset who makes it his sworn duty to disrupt this precious cycle.
Muse knows she can be mean sometimes, and probably a little unfair, because Aphrodite is nice enough to talk to her and Muse is his only friend in the Labyrinth now that Athena is gone, yet she still ignores him when he comes around.
Aphrodite never seems hurt or affected by anything Muse does (which automatically makes him strong in her eyes, even if he still gets his ass kicked by Ares). He laughs even when she’s being snotty and irritated. Muse envies him for that. She doesn’t know how Aphrodite can mask his feelings so well. How he can be so unfeeling when she’s being as cruel as she can be without verbally insulting or physically attacking the man. Muse wishes she could hide her true feelings as easily as Aphrodite, but he has an unfair advantage. He’s the only asset in the compound with a shape shifting quirk.
Spending time with Aphrodite helps Muse unwind, but it’s disruptive to the cycle that she depends on. Aphrodite doesn’t follow a pattern–Muse knows, she tried to track him and only succeeded in giving herself a headache–making him yet another inconsistent variable in her already miserable life. He comes only so often that she doesn’t die of boredom, but his visits are random and infrequent enough that Daedalus doesn’t ban Aphrodite’s from the unnecessary check-ins.
Muse is a creature of habit whose quirk literally depends on understanding things down to the atom. Organization and memorization are innate processes and having a schedule to follow is vital to keeping her sanity. Maybe depriving Muse of the systems she relies on to feel like her skull isn’t tearing itself apart is another form of torture. If it is, she has to applaud Zagreus for his creativity.
Another constant in life is Muse’s mask. It hums with a familiar buzz that prevents her from using her quirk, suppressing it in a way that used to make her skin itch, but it’s since faded to a thrumming numbness. After a few years after living in literal hell, mundane irritations like that stop feeling so big. Having made the mask with her own quirk, Muse thinks its only fair to bear the consequential side effects. It might be some kind of divine retribution for making the mask that Athena was forced to wear.
Muse sighs to herself, going over the structure of the last support Hera wanted her to make for the nth time and trying to suck enough air through the five tiny holes on each side of her mask to avoid passing out.
She’s learned a lot of useful things since she was brought to the Labyrinth: How to mass produce diamonds and gold, how to quickly take down a larger opponent, how long she can go without losing consciousness, how much blood loss warrants a visit to Apollo, how much you should feed a person if you want them too malnourished to escape, but functional enough to fight—the list goes on and on.
The most difficult lesson Muse had to learn was how to trust people. Aphrodite spent a long time teaching her that one. Almost as long as Ares spent teaching Muse to throw a punch without shaking.
Aphrodite has been with the Labyrinth far longer than Muse. Long enough to live in one of the bigger rooms and have a shelf, a mattress, and a thick blanket that he shares sometimes when he’s feeling good. It smells suspicious, but it’s warm and relatively soft. Still no pillow, because that would just be absurd. According to Aphrodite, most people take care of their animals better than the Labyrinth takes care of its assets. What Aphrodite has isn’t exactly “living in comfort”, but it’s as close as an asset can hope to get. Compared to what the new recruits start off with, it’s luxury.
It’s Muse’s private opinion that Aphrodite doesn’t appreciate his accommodations as much as he should. He should be grateful he’s trusted to have a door that opens from the inside, even if Hera still locks it at night. It’s better than having no doorknob at all and feeling caged in all the time. If Muse had a doorknob, she still wouldn’t leave, but it would be comforting to know the option is there.
Still, there’s a balance to everything. Aphrodite had to work hard to earn the room he has now, and he has to keep working hard if he wants to keep it. Daedalus lets people rent Aphrodite to do jobs for them. As a shape shifter, he’s very useful for deep cover operations and assassinations.
As an asset, Muse is not allowed to ask for the details of Aphroite’s missions. All she knows is that he gets to go outside the compound more than other assets—almost as much as Artemis, who’s the best assassin Daedalus has.
Aphrodite is useful because his quirk makes him versatile. His shape shifting isn’t nearly as valuable as Muse’s creation or Artemis’ invisibility, but it ranks him higher than other assets in terms of who’s most useful to the boss.
Any criminal with deep enough pockets is free to look through the Labyrinth’s catalogue and hire one of their underworld-famous assets. Daedalus knows how to market his merchandise and he uses his inventory to the max.
Since Muse was kidnapped all those years ago, there’s really no point in renting assets for jobs anymore. She can produce an endless amount of gold if they feed her enough. But Daedalus keeps his business open anyway. He isn’t struggling for money, thanks to Muse, but it’s fun for him to strip humanity away from people and sell them like guard dogs.
“Guns for hire,” he calls them, but “streamlined, unpaid hitmen” is more accurate. He’s made hiring a professional murderer easier than ever.
The assets are worth only as much as Daedalus says they are. Their price tag in the catalogue is their only identity. Those simple numbers are listed before anything else on their profile, above their asset number, code name, and quirk. There’s even a black and white picture in the catalogue. Muse was unsettled the first time she saw her own page, which was listed towards the back because Daedalus is reluctant to rent his cash cow out to other criminals. Muse didn’t want to believe the face in the picture was hers. Those feral eyes and sunken cheeks didn’t match the mental image she had of herself, but that dark hair and pale, scarred skin couldn’t belong to anyone else.
Every asset knows they can be replaced. It doesn’t matter if they’re a top performer like Aphrodite, or a low-ranking nobody like Zephyrus who’s only there to fill out the numbers. They’re all equally owned by the Labyrinth. All less than people, worth the same as the wrapper on the food Ares brings from the outside to taunt them. They’re easy to throw away like trash. They’re even easier to sell; so many villains are in the market for a quirk that will aid their endeavors.
In Muse’s time, only one asset has been sold, but she knows there are more that she’s never met. Athena was bought from Labyrinth after an unnecessarily long vetting process. Daedalus just wanted to see how badly the interested party really wanted Asset 98. They jumped through the boss’ hoops and went along with his interviews (read “lame intimidation tactics”). Once the process was finished and an agreement was made, Athena’s fate was sealed. He was washed, dressed in a new-looking uniform, and taken out of the compound one random day with Hera and Ares as escorts.
Muse doesn’t know much about money or what it’s worth, but if the conversation overheard from the other assets was anything to go by, Athena was sold for a lot, almost two hundred times more than he was purchased for. He was the only other asset in her age bracket. There was void left in his absence, no matter how hard Muse tried to deny it. There was also anger that simmered under her skin. Such a useful quirk was just bartered and sold like that. If Muse had Athena’s brainwashing, she would have broken out of the compound years ago. What a waste.
After Athena was sold, Aphrodite’s visits became more frequent, which Muse was not complaining about. He has access to information that Muse doesn’t because of his usefulness and how many jobs he takes. His time outside the compound also makes him more aware of the passage of time. Aphrodite is the only one who bothers to let Muse know when another year has passed.
Every long once in a while, he comes by her room to say, “Happy New Year,” even though there’s nothing to be happy about. He makes the occasion seem more important than it really is. If Muse was free to speak, she would ask him why he repeats that same damn thing every single year. Apparently the new year is something people celebrate outside of the Labyrinth, but Muse’s only concept of celebration is eating an orange given to her by Persephone after a job particularly well done.
Today happens to be one of those random days that Aphrodite’s quiet fingers thrum against her door, much softer than the racketing sound that assaults the walls when Ares or Hera knock. The slot in the door slides open.
When Muse was younger, shortly after she was kidnapped, she used to think that the slot in the door was like something out of a bad guy movie. She still recalls that memory every time the slot is opened, even though she can’t remember what movie her younger self was reminded of. She doesn’t even know what a movie is anymore, just that Aphrodite talks about them sometimes. It seems to be a method of storytelling.
A pair of emerald green eyes dip into view, peering at Muse through the thin window and wrinkling at the corners to show that Aphrodite is smiling. Muse doesn’t know why he bothers to smile at her. It’s not worth the effort. Muse just sits there and does nothing, bringing no joy or comfort to anyone. If he’s going to waste the effort to smile, the one he should do it for is the boss. At least then he could get something out of it, like favor, or leniency, or praise.
“Hey, Muse,” Aphrodite says, bringing his mouth to the gap so she can hear his quiet voice. “Happy New Year. I got you something. I don’t know when your birthday is and I don’t think you do either, but I have a present anyway. If you don’t want it, give it back so I can get rid of it properly. Don’t tell Hera.”
Muse rolls her eyes at that. Only Aphrodite would tell a mute asset not to rat him out to the boss’ right hand woman.
“Make sure you hide it really well, I had to work hard to sneak this in here. Sorry for the delay though, I feel stupid for not thinking of this sooner.” A rectangular object is wiggled side to side in the slot, just barely fitting through even with all of that effort.
Aphrodite says, “Catch,” before dropping the object on the other side. It falls into Muse’s waiting hands with a quiet pat. It’s lighter than she was expecting. It looks like a book she might find in Daedalus’ office, but when she flips the pages open, she finds diagrams of human hands in different positions instead of molecules and chemical bonds.
The paper is dry and wrinkled under her fingers and the edges are yellow with age.
“It’s probably older than you, so treat it with care,” Aphrodite advises. “Actually, do you know how old you are? Nevermind, don’t answer that.”
Muse huffs in irritation, looking up from the book to glare at him. No, she doesn’t know how old she is. She doesn’t know why birthdays are so important to Aphrodite. She knows his birthday is in June and that he’s twenty three, and even though Muse doesn’t know her own age, Aphrodite seems a lot older than her. There’s nothing childish or small about him. He’s confident even when he doesn’t have a reason to be.
“Hera found a new asset. He’s being introduced to the compound.”
Muse winces, meeting his eyes carefully through the door. If that wasn’t standing in her way and blocking Aphrodite’s face, she wouldn’t be able to look at him. She remembers being “introduced” to the Labyrinth. She couldn’t move for days after they finally threw her in her cell. She was a child back then. She had no training. She didn’t think she’d ever stop bleeding.
“He had a debt to pay off, or something. Needed protection. Don’t know why he came here for that.” Aphrodite shrugs—Muse can tell by the way his head tilts and his eyes squint. When Aphrodite makes expressions, his whole body moves to amplify the emotion on his face. “He doesn’t have a name yet and I don’t know his quirk, but they’re calling him Asset 115. Anywho, I’ve gotta get going, but I wanted to keep you in the loop. It doesn’t seem like we’re low on gold, and they’re tightening the chains around here to look big and mean for the newbie, so I don’t think they’ll let you out anytime soon. Sorry. I have a big job coming up and I’m not sure how long it’ll take, so keep this place in check for me, okay?”
Muse’s stomach drops hearing that. She forces herself to keep holding his gaze instead of flinching to the floor. She hates when he says things like that. “Keep this place in check for me”, hah, like Muse has any power over anything that happens here. She hates when he has long jobs. It’s true that she doesn’t see him a lot even when he’s in the compound, but at least his presence is there when he physically can’t visit. When he’s being rented out, the coldness of the compound increases tenfold. Muse can feel it when he’s gone.
Aphrodite doesn’t mean anything. He’s just an asset. It doesn’t matter if he leaves. Muse is fine on its own. It doesn’t need him.
“Alright, tough girl.” Aphrodite drums his fingers on the door again. “I’ve gotta get going.”
Muse nods, lifting the gift and hoping Aphrodite understands how much she appreciates it.
“Hey, don’t mention it. Maybe once you’re done reading that, you can teach me what you learned. Then we might actually be able to talk to each other,” Aphrodite says, his eyes wrinkling again when Muse gives him a thumbs up in agreement. “Who am I kidding, you’ll probably finish that in an hour. You’re so clever!”
Muse squints disbelievingly. She is unused to praise.
“Alright, alright, I’m leaving. I’ll see you soon though, okay? Stay golden, Muse.”
She nods again, humming softly behind the mask to say goodbye. Aphrodite slides the little door shut and locks it from the outside so Hera won’t notice his visit. Aphrodite is smart enough to remove his fingerprints anytime he touches something he’s not supposed to, so even if he leaves a trace, Hera won’t be able to track it back to him…hopefully.
Muse doesn’t know what “stay golden” means, but Aphrodite says that when he has to leave for a long time. It almost feels like parting words in case he doesn’t return. Every time he says them, Muse wishes she could respond with her own farewell, but she doesn’t know what she’d say if she could speak. Anything that she plans ahead of time sounds cheesy and sad, and she knows better than to trust herself to make spur of the moment decisions with words. That’s how she ended up with the mask, after all.
Muse doesn’t even remember the last words she spoke before Hera silenced her, let alone what she said to Aphrodite. If she died tomorrow, her last words to him would be something from years ago that neither of them remembered. If Aphrodite died tomorrow, his last words to Muse would be, “Stay golden,” a command she doesn’t understand.
Aphrodite has talked about getting out of the Labyrinth before—a lofty, unrealistic fever dream, if you ask Muse—but he said he’d bring her along when he manages to get out. Muse doesn’t know how true that is, but he sounded convicted when he said it. If Muse had the chance to escape the Labyrinth, she’d take it and never look back. And maybe try to save Aphrodite too. Maybe.
When Muse opens the cover of Aphrodite’s book, she finds a handwritten note inside. The letters are light gray. Pencil. She tries not to touch the words for fear of smudging them. It’s written in English, which Aphrodite has been teaching her. She can’t read the language, but she can understand some of the words he speaks.
She flips forward a few pages. What’s the use of writing a note in a language she can’t read? How senseless.
The title of the book reads, “Japanese Sign Language For Beginners.” Muse flips through the first chapter, matching handshapes to the characters they represent. She goes through it three times before she can go through the kana without looking at the pictures. The next chapter goes over everyday words and phrases. There are movements coupled with the handsigns, making them more complex than the yubimoji she just practiced. Muse props the book against the wall and uses her foot to keep the pages open while she copies the drawings, following the arrows and diagrams. ‘Hello’, ‘How are you?’, ‘My name is…MI-YU-ZU’, ‘I am Japanese’.
When she hears footsteps stomping down the hall, Muse throws the book under her futon and scrambles to her feet.
A heavy fist beats the door.
Hera scowls at the dry coughing sounds coming from the creature at her feet, latching onto its figure with her sharp pink eyes. Her brows are drawn like a blade and her lips growing jagged, revealing sharp teeth.
From this angle, she can see the inner wrist of the newest asset, skin red from being freshly inked. Three crisp numbers stare up at Hera as the asset uses its hand to cover its mouth, 1-1-5. One-fifteen, a promising addition to the Labyrinth. It has potential, but that doesn’t make it any less disgusting.
Hera shakes the blood from her claws, admiring her handiwork as the asset shudders and throbs under the weight of the red slashes in its back. 115 did as well as Hera expected it to in a fight against her: Poorly.
When he was still a man, he might have been considered a strong one. His quirk might have been called remarkable. Those days of self-confidence and misplaced pride are over. 115 has discovered just how great the disparity is between its current strength and its handler’s. It spits a glob of blood and mucus and groans to express it’s pain. Pathetic.
“115,” Hera says, overcome with another wave of disgusted recoil. “You may think you’re strong and powerful, but the assets in the Labyrinth have been raised on a lifestyle of violence and brutality like nothing you’ve ever known. This is not a place for nameless villains to gain a sponsor, it is where weaklings become refined and submissive to their masters.”
Hera snaps her fingers and 115 raises its head, moving its wounded body into a seated position. Good. The training is sticking, it already knows what’s expected of it.
“Our assets are much stronger than you. They are killing machines. Mercy isn’t a word in their vocabulary,” she explains, walking a slow circle around 115. Her boots make a satisfying sound that echoes through the expansive training room with each step. “So, to show you what it means to be an asset of Daedalus, I’m calling in one of the boss’ favorites. He only keeps this one because its quirk is useful for some of our nonviolent activities. Though it lacks in martial ability, guarantee that it has been thoroughly trained as a killer, and should not be misjudged for its size.”
A heavy metal door screeches open, filling the room with a distasteful sound as it drags against the concrete before coming to a stop. A woman with blond hair, tall horns, and black eyes enters, dragging someone behind her by the hair. The smaller person is dressed in a black uniform that hangs loosely around their thin figure. Their hair is long, dark, and matted, and there’s a black mask covering the lower half of their face.
“This is Asset 110. Muse.” Hera says, kicking the man’s hip. “Stand up. In a moment, you are going to fight 110. But first,” she takes a remote from her pocket and holds it in 115’s line of sight. “You are going to learn what happens to assets that misbehave.”
The button is pressed. Asset 110 flinches like it’s been slapped.
115’s dazed eyes sharpen and its pain-filled expression morphs into a confused frown. It focuses on 115, still panting through its open mouth and pressing a hand to its wounds.
110’s hands jump to the mask, yanking on it uselessly. It doesn’t budge, no matter how much 110 struggles. It’s face is starting to turn pink.
“I can cut off Muse’s air supply with the push of a button.” Hera presses the button again. 115 can hear 110’s sharp intake of breath and the desperate gasping that follows. The small asset is shaking where its arms are braced against the floor. It had fallen to its knees and is struggling to get up, even with the threat of the blonde woman approaching behind her.
“I can control whether or not it breathes. I can give it pain.” Hera activates her quirk. The skin on 110’s wrist splits open around its tattoo. The asset cries out in pain. 115 looks down at his own branded numbers, then up at Hera, and finally back to 110.
“It takes no effort from me. I can make it suffer. Make it bleed. That mask on Muse’s face wasn’t always there, but it acted out of line and received that as punishment.” Hera levels 115 with a hateful stare. “Do not act out of line. You follow our commands, or you die. Understand? The only reason Muse is alive is because it’s valuable to the Labyrinth and to Daedalus. You, 115, have no value. Remember that.”
She points at 110, who has recovered and is standing at the ready, waiting for commands. From what 115 can see of 110’s expression above the mask, its face is impassive and blank. It’s like the asset feels nothing at all.
“This is what happens to assets that misbehave.” Hera snaps her fingers again. 110 drops its stance and its eyes widen, locking on Asset 115. “Fight.”