Chapter Text
Carefully working the knot loose, he let the cloth fall, revealing the marred skin beneath.
'So you're Enderborn?' She narrowed her eyes in thought.'Interesting...'
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Rythian didn't know how long he'd been in the facility now. All concept of day and night had been lost. The space he was contained in had no windows; and besides, the facility was underground.
He knew he'd been wrong to be so trusting in his apprentice, allowing her to keep B.A.R.R.Y under Blackrock. He'd had a bad feeling about the place, but let his emotions cloud his judgement.
Now he was paying the price.
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Rythian felt as if he were in a goldfish bowl. Two of the walls of his cell were made from reinforced glass, with a door set into the third. The cell wasn't small or large; eight paces square, and in one corner stood a metal bedstead. On it there was a thin mattress and a pile of blankets. It could've been worse, he thought to himself. But it also could've been better.
It'd been a while since Zoeya had last visited. It'd been even longer since she'd talked to him, and that was what hurt the most. She'd become so cold and clinical, practically the opposite of the girl Rythian knew. Her visits weren't regular; his food and water supply was automated. She only visited when she needed new data.
Half the time, he was angry. Angry at her, for doing this to him, angry at himself for thinking her insatiable curiosity could lead to anything but this. The other half of the time, he just sat blankly. He tried not to let it show when she was around, but Zoeya's betrayal had really hit him hard.
This was precisely what he was doing one morning (afternoon, night), sat on the bed staring at the glass opposite, when he heard the distant slam of the facility door. Mentally he perked his ears, but remained still, silent. Footsteps echoed down the corridor towards him, but the rhythm was slow, unsure - whoever the visitor was, it wasn’t Zoeya. However, company was company. Cocking his head to one side, he waited for his guest. After a few seconds, a gloved hand appeared around the corner, followed by a curious face, partly obscured by a pair of goggles and a mass of blond curls. Rythian’s eyes widened slightly, shoulders dropping with surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’ He hissed, scowling, throat rasping from disuse. Lifting his goggles off his eyes and settling them on top of his head, Lalna furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Realising the man couldn’t hear him, Rythian rose from the bed and crossed to the cell wall nearest Lalna, who copied him and moved closer to the glass. ‘Why are you here?’ Rythian over-pronounced each word, hoping Lalna could lip-read.
Apparently, he could. ‘I wanted to see if the rumours were true… Seems they are.’ Rythian could hear the scientist perfectly; he knew Zoeya had microphones installed, but not that they only worked one-way.
‘What’s going on, Rythian?’ That awfully familiar voice was quiet. Lalna leaned his shoulder against the glass, hands in the pockets of his labcoat, gaze questioning. Rythian let his forehead drop to the cool pane with a dull thunk, eyes closed. The other man was too relaxed - it made him want to punch something, to hurt someone. Taking a deep breath, he shrugged, lifted his gaze and pointed to his scarred face.
‘Yeah, I wondered if that was it. I’m actually surprised she hadn’t worked it out. I did.’ Lalna grinned slightly.
Rythian narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow, trying to convey his distaste at the thought of Lalna knowing of his “condition”.
Lalna pushed away from the glass, hands still in his pockets, and walked in a small circle, eyes drinking in the facility walls. ‘Seems odd,’ he said, still smiling a little. ‘Feels like it would’ve been me that kidnapped you and conducted experiments. Guess I was beaten to it.’ His eyes flicked up to meet Rythian’s, who promptly shook his head derisively. He’d never pictured Lalna as the sort of person to make cliché, self-centred monologues. Approaching the cell, the blond raised his arms above his head, bent at the elbows, and leaned against it. ‘What?’ He smirked. ‘Can a genius not think aloud to a captive audience?’
Rythian rolled his eyes. Lalna chuckled and tapped a fingertip against the glass after a few moments of quiet. ‘Well, as much as I’d love to stay and “chat”, I think I hear the sound of a technomage.’ He turned to leave, but stopped just before he rounded the corner. ‘Goodnight, Rythian.’ Then he disappeared, leaving only the echo of footsteps and a ghost of breath on the glass.