By the time the boy across the way finally began to stir, Omi was clinging to the bars at the top of the front 'wall', grimly prying at one of the few hints of weakness he'd found in his prison. It wasn't much, or a very likely avenue of escape. But Omi was getting the fuck out of here, and probability be damned.
He'd woken on his back, restrained with broad nylon straps to a canvas camp cot. It had taken a few minutes of blinking and squinting against the harsh fluorescent lighting before Omi'd managed to piece together just why he was a prisoner in a cage. Then the fight in the alley came back to him. Mind, it didn't explain very much, but at least he could put two and two together.
The answer was a resounding 'get the fuck out of Dodge'. Getting out of the straps took a great deal of painful effort, and by the end the cot was in pieces. So was large swathes of Omi's skin, but he really didn't give a damn about his kidnapper's dry cleaning bills. His surroundings, which made him feel distinctly like a lab rat, creeped him out severely, and the boy just wanted out. The lock was impossible; a quick survey of the door revealed the mechanism to be electronically controlled from a remote panel, with no accessible moving parts or circuitry for the boy to work on.
Unfortunately, the bars which made up the walls and ceiling of his cell were thick iron and very well set. Omi had ended up focusing on one of the shorter bars over the door; more joins meant more potential weaknesses. The longest remaining strap served as a climbing rig, while parts of the dismantled cot frame were pressed into service as pry bars. Great. At this rate I'll be able to drink legally when I finally get the fuck out of here.
Waking up was a sluggish and slow thing, and Nagi blinked slowly at the blank ceiling several times before he even realized he was awake. He was lying down flat on his back, in a position that made him feel horribly exposed and vulnerable as the lights stabbed into his eyes. He tried to curl away from that light, find a dark place to hide--but his movement was jerked short. The sudden fear-spike of adrenaline drove him completely awake, and he jerked at the restraints that wrapped wrists and ankles, beginning to shake.
God....no! Not again--he promised. I did what they wanted! Not again! A whimper escaped from between clenched teeth as he yanked harder, trying to tear the restraints away with his power--but he couldn't 'reach' it, couldn't focus through the fog blurring his mind. That alone scared him more than anything, more than being restrained and imprisoned. "....nuh..." he whispered, closing his eyes. He couldn't *feel* his telekinesis. It was like a part of himself had been anesthesized from the inside out.
Very faint noises from across the way made Omi freeze, eyes darting to survey all the places someone could be entering from. Deciding that they were clear for the moment, except for whatever surveillance systems were trained on them, he risked contact.
"You." The boy bit back the insults, knowing that the other would probably be useful. "Finally awake? Can you do something about this bullshit prison rig?"
The words barely registered. Nagi stared up at the ceiling. Why? Why did Crawford--he had to have known. And if he knew, and he sent me... "Why?" he whispered, knowing the precognitive couldn't hear. Or maybe he'd already heard, and didn't care.
Nagi turned his head to one side, staring blankly at the wide buckled strap that secured one wrist. If Crawford had left him here, with the Kritiker assassin--then calling for Schuldig or Farfarello wouldn't help. They wouldn't be coming. He closed his eyes, feeling his anger clench like a fist in his gut. Then he yanked at the strap. Again. And again. And again.
Omi scowled at the prisoner across the way. Okay, he's seriously non-helpful. Why the hell isn't he doing something weird? "If you really want to do that the hard way," he snapped out before going back to his probably futile efforts, "turn your wrist the other way when you pull."
Nagi never ceased his attempts, but after a few more minutes, experimentally tried turning his wrist. A few turns, and he found he gained a few fractions more of slippage over his hand. Then he set to yanking again, watching his bloody hand slip back and forth, peeling new layers of skin away. His mind set the rhythm, pounding its punishment into his skin: Betrayed. He promised me. Betrayed. He said that it was all over. Betrayed. They said I was theirs now. Betrayed.
Long uncounted minutes later, he was still pulling, his skinned hand almost halfway free of the cuff. He couldn't feel it anymore anyway. Almost there, he thought, and redoubled his efforts.
While Nagi worked on getting one hand free, Omi went back to prying at his wobbly bar. He was getting out of here. He didn't know why this was so bad, worse even than when Hidori got him. It just was.
This shit was supposed to stop. He wasn't sure if Kritiker had anything to do with this. . . Omi had discovered that almost all of his memories were rooted in the shadow agency, if he could just track them down, but this was different.
He didn't remember it. He just knew it, knew it was bad, knew he had to get out of here before it was too late.
And I don't give a shit what sort of monsters they are, the shaking boy resolved, flashing back to slimy ichor oozing over his fingers as he sawed through flesh back in the alley, anyone tries to touch me they die. That is over. As Omi repeated his vow, not realizing the last sentence was fiercely whispered out loud, the bar grated free of its mooring.
The blood finally made the cuff slippery enough that on one of the yanks, his hand slid free. He stared at it dumbly for a moment, not realizing he'd actually done it. Then he reached over and began fumbling at the other cuff with numb fingers. He tried not to look at the things shifting under the torn skin of his wrist as he worked, but it was hard. I won't be trapped again. No.
Movement at the edge of his vision caught Omi's attention, and he glanced briefly over at the other occupied cage. Indifferently noting that Nagi had finally worked one hand free, the boy was about to start working on the next bar over when another sound made him look up, otherwise freezing.
There. Another creak. Someone, or something, heavy was moving down the hallway! As fast as he could without making noise of his own, the boy forced the loose bar back into place and shoved off from the wall, landing with a quiet thump on the concrete floor. Omi covered the noise by flinging the cot pieces he held into the pile of other parts, then kicking the entire mess apart in a seeming fit of temper. Now to see if they've got cameras on us, or just guards on rounds.
Fumbling at his other wrist, it took a while for the sudden increase in noise over at the other cell to register. When it did, Nagi hesitated--then lifted his head as much as he could. Tsukiyono was throwing furniture pieces around. In a hazy fashion, he wondered why--then dismissed it, focusing back down on the wrist cuff. Need hands free. With hands free, I can fight. I can get away.
He had the buckle mostly undone when the footsteps finally got close enough to register--and Nagi froze, paralyzed by his enforced exposure. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to run away--but he *couldn't*, and the fear threatened to choke him.
When the door at the end of the short hallway finally slid open in a barely-audible hum of electronics, Omi swallowed hard. The man who entered appeared to be human enough. At least he didn't give him the creeps like the alley-monsters had.
He was just the biggest damn person Omi had ever seen. Jesus, no wonder the fucking floor is shaking. What the hell is he, a rehabilitated sumo wrestler??? Flat out refusing to look intimidated, the boy tightened his grip on the largest intact piece of cot frame and moved up to the front of his cage. "What the hell do you think you're up to, asshole?"
Whoever the man was, he hadn't been watching them on camera. Seeing Omi free, surrounded by the remnants of his cell's furniture, surprised a slow blink out of him. Then he sneered. "You should watch your mouth, Mamoru. You know that attitude won't last long once your brother comes home."
Nagi watched the scene in silence, frozen and still in the hopes that this--person, whoever he was, would not notice him. Even through the panic, though, the name penetrated.
Mamoru? Who's Mamoru? The wrestler-man seemed to think Tsukiyono was. But Nagi *knew* he'd identified the boy correctly. What did that mean? He held his breath, eyes watching every move the man made. My other hand isn't free--if he tries anything, I can't stop him. Only learned discipline kept him from panicking more at the thought. He tried again to push through the cotton wall that separated him from his telekinesis. It was no use--it only made him tired and groggy to try.
Mouth opening to demand 'who the fuck's Mamoru,' Omi was checked by the vivid recollection of his sensei's dry, emotionless voice.
If you are ever in the power of someone who wants you to do or be a particular thing, do not disappoint them unless you have a guaranteed exit route. Extraneous disappointments are of no use to anyone.
To cover his tracks, the boy substituted the most obscene and anatomically impossible act he'd ever heard used as an insult on the streets, thinking furiously.
The other boy couldn't be Mamoru. They looked nothing alike. So what the hell?
Face almost purple with rage, the behemoth took one threatening step towards Omi's cell, hand raising threateningly, before he checked himself. An unpleasant smile grew as he promised the boy, "You'll wish you'd kept that smart mouth of yours shut, little boy. You're mine soon enough." With that, he turned towards the other cage, and the hypodermic in his other hand became visible.
Shaking slightly, every nerve on high alert after that threat, Omi found himself thinking faster than usual. "Drugging him again?" he sneered. Then he muttered, just loud enough to be 'accidentally' overheard, "Good. Your funeral."
Watching the man turn towards *his* cell, Nagi blinked as he heard Tsukiyono's taunt. What...what is he trying to do? He eyed the needle, held casually in one hand. Is Tsukiyono trying to *help*? Hoping against hope that it worked, that the man would go *away* and give him time to fight off whatever it was they'd dosed him with, he nonetheless tucked his free hand down by his side, where it should have been if buckled down. If nothing else, he wanted the man not to notice that. Not until it was too late.
Omi got what he, er, 'wanted'. . . the man's attention swung back to him. "Just what do you mean by that, you stupid punk kid?" It was obvious that he really wanted his shot at 'Mamoru' by now.
Pretty much the only thing keeping Omi from skittering away and cringing at the back of the cage was that he was too scared to risk moving. CanNOT let him see I'm ready to piss myself, I'll lose right now! He managed not to sound too afraid when he spoke, piling on the false bravado. "HE would be the one still tied down, moron. He hasn't done anything weird since he woke up. You give him more of that shit, and he just might never do anything freaky again." Forcing a genki smile, Omi added cheerfully, "I'm sure that would make dear older brother so fucking happy with you! Please! Drug everyone!"
He *is* helping me. Why?? Nagi watched the unfolding scene narrowly, fingers folding into impotent fists at his sides. I don't like that man. He wants to hurt us. It wasn't a detached, professional kind of hurting either, he guessed. This man wouldn't just hurt them because it was his job. He'd do it because he *enjoyed* it.
Tsukiyono...don't. Don't taunt him. Taunting bullies when you were helpless was not a good survival tactic. Rosenkreuz had taught him that.
Their jailor took one step towards Omi, face by now so purple he looked like he might explode. Instinctively, the boy raised his improvised club and took a step forward.
Mistake. Bad one. It didn't take long at all for him to figure that out, but it took long enough. He'd worn himself out getting free, caused some damage, and his reflexes were slower because of his fear. Oh bright kami how did he move so fast! As Omi's face smashed into the bars of the cage, pulled there by the harsh grip the hulking man had gotten on his arm, he felt the familiar sting of a needle. Ohfuck
"Maybe not everyone, Mamoru. But a little sleep isn't going to hurt you. Seta dropped the boy, feeling a surge of satisfaction as Omi slumped down to the concrete floor. He would just tell Masafumi that it had been necessary. With the dismantled cot as evidence, his boss wouldn't be able to say much. And the kid was right. The freak was out for the count.
Ignoring Nagi, he turned and lumbered back down the hallway, confident that he wasn't needed here any longer.
Nagi waited until he was gone--then lunged for his still pinned left hand. It was obvious now that staying here wasn't healthy--he kept one worried eye on the crumpled form of the other boy as he fumbled at the buckle, pushing it open. At last!
He sat up, rubbing at his wrists and trying to get some feeling back into his fingers. With two hands available, he made short work of the ankle restraints, and swung his legs off the cot. Nagi took a step, then fell to the floor in surprise as his knees crumpled underneath him, dizziness swamping him for a moment. For a moment he just lay there, blinking. Then he propped himself up, and half-walked, half-crawled to the front of the cell.
He glanced up and down. They were definitely in a lab of some sort: an ominous-looking table and bright surgical instruments met his eyes, along with less familiar computer equipment. There seemed to be no one else here--just him, Tsukiyono, and the closed door to the hallway. After spending a bit of time listening for someone's approach, he decided to take the risk, and hissed, "Tsukiyono. You awake?"
Omi blinked vaguely at the floor. That wasn't the wrong name. That was his name.
That meant something.
After a few more slow blinks, he remembered that you were supposed to answer to your name.
His first attempt to talk set off a harsh fit of coughing, each rasping hack giving his brain a good shake on the way by. When it stopped, Omi was considerably more alert, although he found it vaguely disturbing that he couldn't make anything move.
Listening to Tsukiyono cough and twitch, Nagi muttered, "Apparently not." He supposed he should be thankful that the other boy had taken the drugs that were meant for him. Instead, as he explored the bars of his cell and looked for weaknesses, he found he was annoyed. "If you'd just *listened* to me in the first place... But no. You had to be *clever* and run away. Twit." He continued muttering sourly as he explored the hinges and lock on the door with careful fingers.
The other boy's ranting had several positive effects on Omi. Every word helped him piece together what had happened, until the operative was pretty sure he had enough to go on.
It also pissed him off, which helped him focus through the fog the drugs had wrapped around his brain. "Right," he half-snarled, voice kept low with effort. "Remind me to time how fast you go trotting off with a random ass too arrogant and dim-witted to try explaining himself!"
"If the alternative is ending up *here*? Pretty damn quick." Nagi snapped back. He grunted in displeasure as his fingers found a shielding plate over the door latch. There would be no picking that lock--not without a lot more specialized tools. Ones he no longer had.
"And I was going to explain myself--before you decided to act like a rabbit and dive for the nearest hole. Why do you think I was approaching you, out in the open?" Giving up on the lock for the moment, he slumped back against the bars and eyed the drawers and shelves in the lab speculatively. Surely there had to be something out there he could use--if only he had his power! "It wasn't like I had a lot of time. And I had even less after you *wasted* it."
"Congrats on having less to run from," Omi muttered, managing to shove himself to hands and knees on his third try, although the bars were a necessary prop. "Some of us can't put walls through petty annoyances." Turning his head, the boy glared through a tangled fall of muddy brown hair. "Speaking of, given that I kept you from getting another dose of happy juice," Omi said pointedly, "you gonna be doing anything useful soon?"
Nagi's stoic expression crumbled--just a little bit. He yanked savagely at the bars, knowing it was no use, but needing to do something. "I--don't know." He looked across at the cabinets, with all the potential weapons and tools that should have been within his reach.
Giving up for the moment, he put his back to the bars, running his fingers through his hair. "I can't *feel* anything. I try, but...it feels like they chopped off my hands." I keep reaching with something that's not there anymore...I never realized how much scary that could be.
Omi stared rather blankly at the other boy's back for a few beats, then let his head fall with a sigh. "Great," he muttered. "And that idiot will probably be back before I can climb again. Shit."
Right, Tsukiyono, you don't have time for this. On your fucking feet! He'd been drugged enough, in training, to know that he should be able to. So he damn well would.
Except for the part where it took three tries and ended with him swaying on his feet after cracking his own head into the bars again, Omi decided the maneuver had been a success as he wobbled and tried to figure out which of the backs across the way he wanted to glare at.
Nagi looked around after hearing the dull *clunk* of skull meeting iron bars--and raised an eyebrow. "What are you *doing*?" he asked, his tone making it obvious that whatever Tsukiyono was trying to do, it was no doubt monumentally stupid. For his part, Nagi shifted around again to inspect the hinges idly. They were sturdy, but...hinges and latches were always the weak point of any cage. He cast an assessing eye over at Tsukiyono's cot, then looked at his own thoughtfully.
"Besides handling the drug better than you?" Omi shot back, cautiously letting go of the bars. He felt considerably more cheerful when he didn't immediately fall over. "Getting back to work." Moving slowly, he shuffled over to get his 'harness'.
"That's a matter of opinion." Said opinion being completely gonzo wrong, in Nagi's estimation. "Good thinking, though. Breaking your neck before the huge guy can come back and do it for you, I mean." The hinges were cast metal--but the pins were probably vulnerable to attack. If only his vision would stop blurring out, so he could *see* the damn things properly...
Omi risked a shrug. "If you're not getting us out of here, that leaves me." Glaring thoughtfully up at the short bars above the door to his cell, the boy made a mental list of what he had to work with. If he could get another one loose, he should be able to jar the doorframe enough off-center the correct direction. The extra weight on the hinge pins might be enough to get them out from the wrong direction without the right tools.
could, should, might, Omi listed all the words he'd been using that he did not like sourly. I find this Mamoru guy, I just might kill him.
"So sorry, but rescuing you from jail was *not* in my job description." Nagi rested his forehead on the chilly bars, and risked closing his eyes for a moment. I can do this without my Talent. I can. I have to. There was no guarantee that if Tsukiyono did manage to succeed--and not break his neck in the process--that he'd bother to let Nagi out as well. He had to assume he was on his own until proven otherwise.
Letting out a quiet sigh, he let his fingers pick over the hinge, rubbing back and forth on the metal joins and trying to 'feel' them like he normally would. There had to be a weakness, a wiggle, something he could work at to create an avenue of escape.
Climbing was not going well. Giving up wasn't a useful option, so Omi gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and kept on until he finally reached his original perch. Basically tying himself to the bars, he held on grimly and waited for the sick feeling to pass.
"What was your job description? Who the fuck are you, anyway?"
Nagi glanced over and hesitated. Why not? It's not like the information will do him any good. "Naoe Nagi. Yoroshiku." He scowled down at the hinge again, prying his fingers into one barrel in an effort to dislodge the pin. "As for what I was doing--isn't it obvious? I was trying to keep you from getting captured, you moron." Now I'm fucked along with you.
"Why," Omi demanded flatly, everything he'd ever known filling the simple word with a wealth of suspicion.
Getting his pry bars out, he grimly set to work on the next bar, refusing to show any more outward signs of weakness. Not until he knew what Naoe wanted, and how much that wanting would cost him.
"Because you're my long-lost brother." Nagi waited a beat, until Tsukiyono had reacted, then gave him a not-very-nice smirk. "It's because I was ordered to, obviously. Why *else* would I bother?" Using the wall to prop himself up, he made his unsteady way over to inspect the cot. Maybe he could cannibalize some tools of his own.
Omi just stared at Naoe for a few beats longer. "Riiiiiiiight," he finally muttered, glaring at the bar which was NOT moving. "Clearly, letting you have any more drugs would be the bad idea."
Suddenly stiffening, the boy looked around before focusing on the door. Can't hear anything. Can't see anything. The fuck? Years of close calls, a few of which he'd escaped only by following the baffling urges of instinct, had Omi hastily yanking the canvas strap free and letting himself drop. After that, playing 'dead' was dead easy.
Jerking his head up at the sudden clatter, Nagi watched Tsukiyono fall to the ground in an awkward jumble of limbs. Told you so, he thought, wondering if the other boy really *had* broken his neck--or his head--that time.
"You still alive?" he asked, bending back down to his task.
"Fake it you brainless~!" Omi hissed, sounding frantic. He almost knew what it was, almost. . . it was right there, right at the edges of the blank emptiness in his memories.
Kami-sama, I take it back! I don't need to remember! Just get me out of here, I'll never ask again!
What the--? Cocking his head, Nagi listened intently, but couldn't hear anyone coming. I don't hear anything, but....the drugs are still in my system. And he heard the last guy before I did... He scanned the cell, grimacing. There was no other place to hide, no way out--the best chance he had was to pretend he was still restrained.
Moving fast, he climbed back into the cot, arranging the restraints around his ankles and wrists so that they looked secure, at least on a casual glance. Then he did his best to imitate unconsciousness, every nerve wound wire-tight.
I don't like this. Too many things could go wrong. But this may be the only chance I've got to get them off guard.
As the door creaked open, Omi fell into his patented ''m unconscious 'n boring right now go AWAY' act, letting his muscles slide into limp relaxation and keeping his breathing just unsteady enough to be realistic. A quick check by feel had reassured him that the nylon strap was completely hidden under his body, but the boy couldn't do anything about the way his heart pounded. Sternly reminding himself that the noise wouldn't really be audible, Omi repressed the urge to crack his eyes open and look.
The door creaked open and two sets of footsteps came down the hall, one clearly belonging to the enormous man who'd drugged him earlier. The other had to go with the querulous voice that spoke first.
"This is very disappointing, Seta." Omi could feel both of them staring at him, and was hard-pressed not to shudder. "With two courses of the sequence, he should have shaken off the drug by now. Are you certain you only gave him 40mg?" 'Seta' hastened to reassure his boss on that point. "Remind me to discipline the creatures who brought them in, Seta." Now their attention had shifted, presumably to Naoe. "A telekinetic will certainly be interesting to study, but if they ruined him, drugging him on the drive over on top of whatever gas he inhaled!"
Calm. Don't twitch--don't react. It took every bit of discipline Nagi had ever learned to stop the convulsive shudders at the man's words. This was every psychic's nightmare--the ones they'd warned about over and over at Rosenkreuz. Reduced to being a lab rat for normals. Tested, drugged, and...taken apart. He hadn't been this afraid...in a long time, and it was small consolation that Tsukiyono was their main target.
Grimly, he tried to focus on other things. What was the man saying? Sequence? Sequence of what? He called those thugs 'creatures'--that backed up what he'd seen. Whatever they were, they definitely weren't human anymore.
Omi lay still, cheek pressed to the cold concrete, and felt far colder than his position would explain. He hadn't been surprised at how much faster he'd shaken off the drug, even without gas on top of it. Maybe no one talked about it, but everyone knew that Kritiker did . . . things, to their agents.
But this man had said two sequences, and called him by another name. And Omi was afraid of him; more afraid than he'd ever been of anyone else in the entire life he could remember. Go away, he thought numbly.
"This is a major setback, Seta. Do you realize that? I needed him prepped and ready for the first set of tests, and now we have to wait even longer for this new dosage to wear off!" The voice rose in anger, and Nagi watched through lowered lashes as the new man worked himself into a rage. He seemed small next to Seta's bulk, thin and spindly, with greasy hair. But from the way the larger man cowered away from his anger, the newcomer was definitely in charge.
"Fine. I'll forgive this once. But I want him out of that cell and ready, do you hear me?" The man's fist jarred against the cell bars. "I refuse to waste any more time than is absolutely--" He stopped short as there was a sharp clatter from overhead. Nagi watched in astonishment as the bar Tsukiyono had pried loose tilted, then fell--right on top of the man in the lab coat.
The man staggered back, his hands to his head. Seta hovered uncertainly. "Sir! Are you all right?"
ohshitohshitohshit Mind racing, Omi channeled his fear into motion, scrambling to hands and knees to scuttle backward. Before either man outside his cell could react, the young assassin had reached the pile of cot bits and snatched one up, hurling it at the reeling newcomer.
Nagi's eyes popped open before he could help it. What the--what the hell is he DOING? He closed them shut again, continuing to play dead. There wasn't much else he could do--he was still trapped in the cell, and without his power...he tried to reach out and strangle Seta. It was no use. He couldn't even *touch* the man.
Sickly disappointed by the results, Omi focused on Seta, knuckles clenched white around his club. Still two of them left and I'm in a CAGE. Fuck. The boy didn't say anything, just fixed glittering eyes on the main threat and tried to stay ready.
Seta looked like he had every intention of taking Omi apart piece by piece, but Masafumi's presence restrained him. Instead, with a very unpleasant smile, he drew a gun and leveled it at the defiant boy, cocking the trigger with a loud click. "Drop it, brat. And bring all of those pieces over here to the door."
At first, Omi ignored him and his gun. Then the weasely little man staggered upright, whining about baselines and scientific method. Being hurt must have scared or infuriated him, though, perhaps both. Glaring at Mamoru he snapped out, "Shoot him in the shoulder first, Seta. At least that way I can see how the joint reacts to stimulus."
Metal tubing hit the concrete floor with a ringing clank, so hard it bounced twice.
Damn. Nagi grimaced internally, watching the standoff end. He didn't think the other boy would have gotten very far, but he'd still hoped Tsukiyono would manage to do more damage. It looked like they wouldn't be given the opportunity, though.
What do they *want*? He could understand the scientist's interest in himself--but what was it about Tsukiyono that made these guys want him so badly?
Seta's smile turned uglier as he gestured with the gun he held. "All of the pieces."
Omi took one look at the man's expression, and immediately decided against balking. Time to cooperate, now, before he ended up stripped of clothing as well as equipment. Naoe was doing a good job of pretending, so he could always get more parts from him once their jailors left.
That didn't mean he wanted to get anywhere near Seta, or show the man his back. Crouching carefully, the boy piled all the remnants of his cot onto the ripped canvas, making one bundle he could swing out the briefly-opened door from a distance.
Before Seta could make him do anything else, Masafumi interrupted. "Set up the lab now, Seta. Since Mamoru has recovered, I want to begin as soon as possible. Bring another table in; I'll do baselines on them both, and analyze the kinetic's later against other drug reactions."
His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, Nagi forgot to breathe. Both of us? Oh no... He didn't know how long he could keep the act up if they started moving him around. As it was, it was all he could do to keep from shaking.
Damn it, Tsukiyono. This is all your fault!
After giving his orders, Masafumi had vanished through the doorway, presumably to do something about the blood trickling from his scalp. Omi took an involuntary step back, away from the expression on Seta's face. He wasn't at all reassured when the man holstered his weapon.
The door to his cage was opened wide, the enormous bulk of the man still blocking the way out. "Well then, come along, Mamoru. Or do I get to come in there and get you?"
Faced with a fight in enclosed quarters, or getting within arms's reach of that thug with no escape route, was a simple choice to make. Omi took a deliberate step backwards.
An unpleasant smirk spread across Seta's face. "Oh, good. I was hoping you'd make this difficult."
Stepping forward, his hand flashed out with lightning speed-much faster than seemed possible, given the size of the man. The hand impacted against the side of Omi's head with crushing force, the backhanded slap threatening to snap bones as it slammed the boy into the wall.
That was *fast*. Nagi watched from underneath his lashes as Seta dragged Tsukiyono roughly from the cell and threw him on a table. New restraints made their appearance as he strapped the other boy down, and Nagi tensed even further. He's strong, he's fast...and sooner or later, he's going to notice I'm not restrained. I'm only going to have one shot at this.
Seta turned towards his cell, and he shut his eyes completely, fighting to keep his breathing even. Wait until he's inside. The memory of that strength didn't help. He's not that scary. Farfarello would eat him for breakfast. Somehow, the thought didn't help much.
As Omi started to fight back against his latest bout of unconsciousness, the first thing he noticed was that he was strapped down with extreme thoroughness. It was enough of a cue that the boy remained still, only his eyelids cautiously slitting open the barest amount.
A dark blur was moving towards another blur, one he could see even less clearly. Something was in the way. Grimly, Omi forced himself to wait, prodding for the memories.
There was the buzz of an electronic keypad, and the lock clanked open. Nagi lay still, coiled tight, listening intently as the door creaked wide and Seta shuffled through. "...damn brat, thought he could fuck with *me*. Well, he'll..." The muttering trailed off into a "What the F--"
Nagi moved. Launching himself from the cot, he exploded into Seta's face. The muscle-bound man had been leaning over him at the time, and Nagi had a brief moment of -closer than I thought!- as he instinctively reached for the man's face. Deprived of telekinesis, he went for older tactics, and speared his fingers straight into one of the man's eyes. Blood and fluids gushed under his hand as Seta reared back, hands flying to his face as he screamed. Pulling his bloodied hands away, Nagi scrambled for the open door.
Gotta get out gotta go gotta run NOW! Heart thumping wildly, he skidded out into the hallway and ran for the door of the lab.
The screaming was probably good, Omi decided, as the one doing it had been moving freely. Absently wishing the fleeing blur luck, the assassin turned his attention to his binding. He was considerably more alert thanks to the extra adrenaline, and immediately noticed a possible weakness in the restraints. He'd need a clear shot afterwards, as he'd never completely mastered running with a dislocated knee, so the boy settled in to wait for a better opportunity.
Sadly, if Omi possessed any luck at all, it wasn't enough to share with Nagi. Just as the fleeing boy reached the door, fingers brushing the handle, it was flung open from the outside. The hard edge smashed into Nagi's face, just shy of breaking his nose.
"Seta! What are you doing, can't you..." Wide-eyed, Masafumi skidded to a stop as he realized one of his test subjects was free. "No!" With a squirrely quickness that was entirely human, but enough to counter Nagi's pain-mazed reaction, the man jabbed the hypodermic he was holding into the boy's arm, plunging the entire dose into his bloodstream.
Nagi was still reeling as he felt the needle jab into his arm. He reacted as he was trained to, dropping to the ground and kicking out at one knee--but his slight weight didn't make much difference to the older man, and kick bounced feebly off one shin. Then the new drug hit him like a freight train, and he really *did* collapse, every muscle limp and eyes gone glassy.
Masafumi looked down at the sprawled form in disgust. "Do I have to do *everything* around here myself?" Seta's screams had died down to moans as he stepped fastidiously around Nagi's body. Pressing a button on a nearby intercom, he barked, "Get a cleanup crew in here."
The surge of fear prompted by that whiny voice made the rest of the connections in Omi's head, and for a moment he almost gave up. Then he gritted his teeth, and went back to pretending to be unconscious. Fuck that. I am getting out of here, I'm killing all of these bastards, and then I'm going to find out what the hell is going on. He'd gotten a bit of a reputation with his trainers for a disturbing ability to make grim determination an acceptable substitute for actual possibility. Any of them would have recognized the look in Omi's eyes before he closed them again.
The 'cleanup crew' consisted of another run of those creatures from the alley, this one built on more angular lines. All four shared the same face, which really creeped Omi out as they were strapping Naoe to the second table, which had been set up with silent efficiency. Seta had tried to help, perhaps wanting to get back into his master's good graces, but Masafumi had sent him away curtly. Before the crew had finished, the lab-coat clad man had vanished as well, muttering something about having to wait again.
Dizzy and hurting, Nagi gave a small, hitched whimper as he was hoisted from the floor by hard hands that bit into his skin. His eyes were refusing to focus, and his muscles were unresponsive as he tried to kick, to scream, to do *anything* to get away. He couldn't muster so much as a twitch, though, as he was picked up and manhandled with casual indifference.
These...they're different from the others. They seemed harder edged than the gorilla-man, Seta--more mechanical looking. But the feel of their movements wasn't like any robot he'd ever seen. His limbs dangled limply, head wobbling dizzyingly as he was moved over to the center of the lab and arranged on the metal table like so much meat. He stifled another whimper, his breathing quick and panicky as cold fingers fastened new restraints he could only dimly feel biting into wrists and ankles.
"Preliminary blood draws first, I think," came Masafumi's cold voice after a while. "If we must wait until they come out of it, I can at least monitor the rate of drug absorption. Pity we don't have a baseline. We'll just have do more tests and extrapolate."
On his own table, Omi was breathing slow and deep. Any plans he'd had for another escape attempt were frustrated by the clean-up crew's continued presence. No matter how much the boy might want reality to bend to his whims, there was just no way he could fight off four monsters and run on a bad knee. Since shoring up his unconscious act was the only option left, he set to with a will. By the time the scientist returned, only medical equipment could have proven Omi was actually conscious.
That didn't seem to deter Masafumi's enthusiasm. The skinny man double-checked the restraints on Nagi, then on Omi. Nagi flinched as a needle was jabbed roughly into the bend of one arm, then taped down. Sensors followed, pasted coldly to various points on his chest and head. Masafumi muttered to himself as he checked the monitors.
"Sluggish heartrate, yes...to be expected. Though I have a feeling you'll give me better results, Mamoru." He giggled to himself, not really expecting an answer, and moved over to do the same to his *real* prize. The needle for drugs, various sensors--then blood draws. Jabbing a needle into the boy's finger, his eyes flickered down to the abdomen as he waited for the vial to fill. "Urinalysis wouldn't hurt either. Waste processing needs to be efficient, as well..."
He tried to objectively weigh the benefits of this asshole not knowing that his 'test subject' was awake with the drawbacks of being literally tied to the equipment. The boy really did. But enough was enough, especially half-sick with everything he'd been dosed with in such rapid succession.
Blue eyes popped open and glared furiously at Masafumi. "Just try it, asshole," Omi growled, sounding as threatening as he knew how.
"Awake already?" Masafumi sounded pleased rather than perturbed. "Good! Better than I expected. I really am a genius." He nodded, satisfied. "You should be grateful, Mamoru," he added chattily as he swapped out vials and let another one fill. "Not everyone is given these kinds of opportunities.
From his neighboring table, Nagi listened in silence, eyes closed and body aching. There....was nothing he could do. Nothing but wait.
Clearing his throat, Omi hawked right in the man's face. "Bite me! I'm not grateful to you for anything!" He barely managed to keep his mouth shut on the 'and I'm NOT Mamoru' that wanted out, shaking with the effort.
And fear. This was nothing like Kritiker's labs. Nothing. But it wasn't unfamiliar, no matter how strange, and terror was clawing at him.
Masafumi's face grew cold as he wiped the mucus and spittle from his face. Setting down the vial, he picked up a cloth from a nearby table and finickily began to polish his glasses clean. "So ungrateful. To be expected I suppose--I certainly can't expect something like *you* to recognize my achievements." He turned away, and then came back with something that resembled nothing so much as a bit-gag. Leaning over, he forced it into Omi's mouth through the expedient of digging thumbs into the boy's jaw until he was forced to open it.
Masafumi raised his voice. "Give me some assistance in here!" Securing the gag, he turned away again. As one of the shambling creatures came back, he walked back around into Omi's field of view--this time holding a very long, very empty syringe. His eyes glittered with malice. "I think we will take that urine sample now."
Well, shit. Omi knew how much this was going to hurt. . . the spiking ache from the shunt in his arm was bad enough. Something like that, he might not even get a chance to brace himself.
Staring fixedly at the ceiling, the boy tried to distance himself from what the disgusting lunatic was doing to his body. But the tightly localized damage caused by the long needle hurt worse than anything he'd been hit with on an assignment, and it was impossible not to scream.
Never. . . thought I'd be glad for a gag again Omi thought hazily, knowing from experience that most of the sound had been blocked and fighting against the urge to curl up around his stomach.
Nagi tensed as he felt Masafumi turn towards him--but the man simply set the half-full syringe down on a nearby tray.
"There. Such things are usually reserved for animals, Mamoru, but I'm sure you won't mind," Masafumi remarked. "Of course, you might want to learn from the experience, and be more civil next time. In the meantime..." He waved at the assistant.
Nagi found himself grateful that his eyes were already closed as the rest of his clothing was cut away, and a catheter inserted--rather painfully, at that. He set his teeth at the pain, only his training making it possible to keep his breathing somewhat even. The...assistant, whatever it was, knew what it was doing, but it made no attempts at being gentle. He could hear Omi receiving the same treatment, which also didn't make him feel any better.
After all the rest of the draws were completed, not to mention readouts, Masafumi gathered up his prizes and left. The 'assistant' followed shortly after, shambling out the door, which closed with the precise 'click' of an electronic lock.
Okay. That was also worse than anything he'd been nailed with on assignment. After everything he'd been hit with in such a short time, Omi's nerves were about to overload, and he was trembling from the agony hitting him from multiple directions.
No time like the present, the boy thought muzzily, and shifting his weight, imagining that he was throwing himself out of the path of the pain. The somehow-wet sounding 'pop' of a knee bending in ways never intended was clearly audible; before the latest reaction could knock him out Omi swung his now-free leg out and hit the fast-release switch. A quick roll to the side ripped all of the assorted equipment free.
It all hurt worse coming out than it had going in, so he was out cold when he hit the floor.
Nagi's eyes had popped open as soon as he heard the first *crunch*, and he watched, startled, as Tsukiyono wiggled out of the restraints like an eel. He was starting to gain new respect for the Weiss assassin--new respect, that is, until the boy fell to the floor like a landed fish and stayed there.
"Oi!" he hissed. "Wake up. Wake up, idiot--there's no time!" If Tsukiyono didn't make it out this time, he resolved he was going to strangle the other boy for making things worse.
Minutes slipped by; three, then four. Partial consciousness was almost driven away by the pain meeting it; but memory retrieval had gotten such a workout over the past several hours that it was almost efficient. Sheer panic had Omi on his feet.
Then his bad leg buckled, and only the table he'd been strapped to kept the boy from collapsing again. Clearly in shock, unfocused blue eyes swept from Nagi to the door, then back again.
"Get out!" Nagi snarled again. "Hurry, before someone sees you!" He briefly debating asking the other boy to undo his restraints--but he could barely turn his head right now, and even focusing was difficult. Whatever they'd hit him with, walking would be impossible. All he could hope for was for Tsukiyono to get out and raise the alarm.
"Don't tell me you're deaf as well as stupid, Tsukiyono!" he snarled, trying to goad the boy into action. "Or are you just going to sit there and contemplate your navel?"
Clearly not comprehending all of the words, Omi blinked at Nagi, head tilted toward the door. Something was moving out there. After a brief while, it occured to him that the evidence added up to 'guard'.
He wasn't getting out of this room, not in this shape. Maybe he didn't have to?
Without saying a word, the boy lurched around, putting his back to the other captive and almost falling into the computer terminal behind him.
"Where are you--?" Nagi snapped his mouth shut as it occurred to him what Tsukiyono was going to try to do. It wasn't a bad idea, either. The other assassin was hacker trained--he might actually stand a chance of getting a message out.
Nagi kept silent, watching Tsukiyono with desperate intensity, trying to *will* him to succeed.
Whoever set up Masafumi's computers desperately wanted to be fired. It was the only excuse for the piss poor security. Knowing it was taking too long, the hacker was able to get in even with half his brain not working yet.
Damn close to crying like a little kid, Omi bit his lip hard. The damn thing wasn't connected to anything! Nothing useful, not a single access to anything outside the building they were in. No matter what he did, it wouldn't be possible to reach anyone.
Something caught his attention. ohdammit. He'd set off alarms on a slaved machine. Closing his eyes, the boy typed as fast as he could, inputting a program he'd been honing for months. Designed for just these circumstances -- short on time, low on mental capacity -- it was a worm that would scramble all the data it could reach in 24 hour's time.
Omi hit enter just as the door crashed open.
"Get away from there!" the guard barked, backed by more of the shambling assistant-creatures. When Omi didn't respond quite fast enough, they scuttled forward with surprising speed, launching themselves at the injured boy and taking him down easily.
"Oh, man..." the guard rubbed his head and surveyed the mess Omi had made of his restraints. "How the hell did he get out of *that*?"
"Good question." Masafumi's voice was silky with menace. "But perhaps you should be asking, 'what can I do to keep it from happening again'?" He stalked forward, ignoring the startled guard. "I *hate* employees who aren't proactive about things. "You! And you! Double the restraints! I'll check the computers."
Again, his scream was choked to near-silence by the gag Omi hadn't wasted time removing. Very close to passing out again as one of the monsters knelt on his dislocated knee, the hacker prayed Masafumi didn't know very much about his computer. At least his vain efforts to connect to the outside were what still showed on the screen.
As the assistants lifted Omi to the table once again, this time using a whole new set of restraints, Masafumi squinted down at the computer. "Trying to call for help, were you? Stupid boy. Like I'd leave something like that open around my specimens."
Over on his table, Nagi closed his eyes in despair, no longer caring about playing dead. Tsukiyono had failed again. And they wouldn't get another chance for some time, no doubt; not with those monsters on guard. He fought the wave of fear and helplessness. He didn't want to give this scientist the satisfaction of seeing it.
Limp with relief, Omi let himself make all the pained noises he wanted too as he was re-secured. Let the nutcase think he was breaking. He hadn't noticed.
Just getting away with something filled the boy with renewed determination. It didn't matter who they thought he was, or what they were after, or what they did. He was getting out of here, and they were all going to die.
"Another twelve hours, and we should be ready for the first tests," Masafumi muttered, looking them both over. "Don't bind his knee. I want to see how it heals on its own." He moved over and checked all the restraints personally this time, making them painfully tight. Then the two assassins were left alone again in the ticking silence of the lab.
Nagi waited until they had been gone for several minutes, then opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. What can I do? Crawford would say there's always something, but...what?
No wiggle-room at all, this time. Stubbornly refusing to just lie there and wait, Omi went to work on the stupid gag. He'd gotten rid of them before, although none of the other people who'd used them on him had been quite that determined to shut him up.
The soft cracks as the boy tried to open his jaws wide enough to force the horrid thing out were clearly audible in the silent room.
Start small, Nagi told himself. Easy things first. Wiggle the fingers, then the hands. Then bigger things--if Tsukiyono can get out, then you can too. His fingers twitched feebly in their bindings as he tried to force them to move in sync. The soft popping from Tsukiyono's table continued, and he had to restrain the urge to shout at the other boy. The sound was annoying, but yelling would only attract attention. Move. Move, dammit!
Rapidly bored, Omi kept working on clearing his mouth mainly because he had nothing else to do except think about how much he hurt. Even trying to turn so that the Naoe kid was visible sent cramping spasms down one of his tightly bound arms.
After about half an hour the strap holding the gag in place had stretched enough that his teeth could close behind it. Talking was still impossible, but the sheer pleasure of being able to swallow unhindered was almost enough of a reward. Omi did so, twice, then decided he could handle some cramps and twisted stubbornly until he could watch his fellow prisoner out of the corner of his eye.
His face showing no sign of the strain he was putting into it, Nagi continued to stare at the ceiling, even as he tried to force now-functioning fingers into an impossibly acute angle. Reaching the buckle of the restraints...wasn't impossible. That's what he told himself, even as the bones in his wrist creaked in strain.
Besides, what else was he going to do?
It was, Omi found, much harder to stretch leather gag-bindings when you've lost your teeth-grip on said item.
Almost an hour later, the bit finally slipped further up his face, freeing his mouth entirely. By smacking him in the nose.
"Ow, dammit."
After an hour of trying, and not even the slightest hint of success, Nagi had given up trying to reach the buckle. He turned his head at the sudden sound, and saw that Tsukiyono had managed to get rid of his gag.
Somehow, he wasn't surprised.
Embarrassed by his own weakness, he turned his head away again and did his best to ignore the other boy.
A few cautious attempts made it painfully clear that he wasn't getting loose again. Not without. . . help. Staring straight up at the ceiling, overhead lamps or no, Omi breathed through his mouth and reluctantly poked at the other boy.
"Hey. You awake?"
For a long moment, Nagi thought about not answering. But...any resource was a potentially useful one.
"....hai."
"Oh."
Well, shit. If he was awake and still here, that meant the other boy still couldn't manage anything weird. Omi tried again to wiggle even one limb, and nearly choked swallowing down a whine at the sudden series of cramps the attempt set off.
Panting softly, he eventually managed a feeble, "You can't get loose either?"
"No." After a moment, Nagi added, "The drugs haven't worn off yet either." He didn't bother to detail how miserable the combined effects of the drugs, the beating, and the restraints were making him feel. No doubt Tsukiyono was feeling the same way. He clenched his fists helplessly, trying to avoid poking at that *numb* place in his mind. It'll come back. It has to. I'm no use to them otherwise.
Eyes locked on one small smear of something marring the white ceiling above him, Omi forced his voice to stay flat. "Well, they still have ten hours to pass through your system. Then you can get out of here."
It would be. . . worse, for him, without another 'subject' distracting the madman. But maybe he could trick the man into some sort of test or examination he'd have to be unstrapped for. . .
Nagi turned to look at him, surprised. "If--*when* I get my powers back, I'm killing that son of a bitch. Then we're getting out of here." His eyes were utterly flat. It wasn't affection that would have him dragging Tsukiyono along...it was the fact that he'd never gone back to Crawford a failure, and he wasn't about to start now!
Rather blankly, Omi allowed, "Killing is good."
Omi weighted the risks carefully. But. . . the guards just outside the door hadn't known he was loose. And the smarmy little man keeping them prisoner hadn't expected what he found; hadn't seen the work in progress on the computer on some security screen somewhere. Still. . .
Hesitantly, the boy asked if Nagi understood English, then German. Although his latter was so bad, he might not be understood even if Nagi did know the language!
Blinking at Tsukiyono's attempts at German, Nagi replied in English, "I know English, yes. The other--is German? I only know swear words for that." And if it weren't for Schuldig, he wouldn't know even that much.
Switching back to English, gratefully letting any future attempts at German die a premature death, Omi spoke as quietly as he could.
"We want to be out of here, twenty-four hours max. He's gonna be spitting nails."
"Why?" It didn't take long for Nagi to put two and two together, and he glanced over at the computer. "You did something?" he asked, his voice also hushed.
Omi's voice hardened. "It's not connected to anything outside. . . but his whole network is linked. Twenty-four hours, all the data gets scrambled, chewed up, spit out, erased, defragged, and formatted." I don't know what he's looking for he tried to insist, but he's not getting it!
Nagi blinked, mind turning over the possibilities. He did all that in five minutes? "That was fast," he commented mildly. His voice flattened out as he took stock of their situation once again. "I hope you have a plan for the escape, then? From here it does not look well."
Claiming that much skill would be nice. . . especially since the other boy could throw dumpsters around thinking about it. But Omi's practicality had been far more carefully nurtured than his pride by the agents who'd had the raising of him, these last few years. Losing a chance to escape because the other expected him to do more than he could would be stupid.
"That was rote." The ceiling wasn't far enough away from line of sight, and Omi stoically accepted the new cramps as he turned his face away from the other table. "And I'm. . . tapped out for a while. I'll need to put my knee back in, to walk, and these new straps don't have any give!" He clamped his mouth closed on the frustration looking for expression.
"Mm." Nagi watched him clinically for a moment. At least I'm not the only one who's angry about this. "So we're both stuck. And no escape is going to happen until my power is coming back, or...they start with the tests." Whatever those were going to be. Nagi was betting that they weren't going to be pleasant, but...maybe, just maybe Dr. Evil would be distracted at some point enough for them to try again. His nails dug into his palms at the thought.
I'm not afraid. I'm not going to break down in front of another agent!
Omi didn't know what was going to come out of his mouth. If he had, he never would have opened it.
"If you get the chance, run. I won't be moving at any speed until tomorrow." Pressing his lips together tightly, the boy ordered himself to shut up.
If he didn't feel so out of it, Nagi would have been...nonplussed at the expression on Tsukiyono's face. Wow. Chivalrous much, Kritiker? "If there is no other way--of course." He didn't want to run back to Crawford with his tail between his legs...but earlier brave words aside, it was better than not running back at all.
Which brought up another question... "Tomorrow? That is pretty quick for a knee to be healing."
"I didn't say it would be healed, Naoe-san. I said I would be moving at speed." A rather neat non-answer; ducking questions about how fast he healed was second nature to Omi by now. He was more occupied with a certain thorny problem. If the other boy got out. . . would he get a message to Kritiker? Or would he just run? Was there any point in asking?
And really, is there any point in the message at all? he reflected grimly. No one had ever gotten him out of any of the other bad situations his work had landed him in.
"Pfft. One is the same as the other, Tsukiyono," Nagi commented. Unless you've got a secret technique for running on a mostly-dislocated knee that no one else knows about. "Or do you have a spare leg in your pocket?" With nothing else to occupy him, Nagi found himself getting curious about exactly *why* Crawford had sent him after this boy in the first place--and why Dr. Evil wanted him so badly.
"Of course I do," Omi snapped, impatience bleeding out into his voice. "Right next to my emergency cellphone and my superhero costume. If I could just move, I'd be all set."
The other boy was paying far too much attention. Hopefully, that would piss him off enough for a distraction.
TouchY. Nagi shrugged as much as the restraints would allow. "Right. So you have no clues why Dr. Evil is calling you Mamoru and talking about these tests. He seems to be knowing you." He eyed the other boy skeptically.
"He also seems to be completely insane," Omi snorted. Dr. Evil? . . . heh. Like that. Deliberately burying his own doubts, training had him sounding both confident and pissed off as he growled, "Never heard of this 'Mamoru' before. I'd like to meet him, though. Got some pain he needs to take responsibility for." Eyes narrowed and cold, Omi met Nagi's gaze, although he seemed to be focusing through the other boy.
"Right. A total case of mistaken identity." Nagi's tone left no doubts about what he thought about that. "In any cases, aren't you jumping a few steps ahead? A more immediate escape plan other than 'we need to be gone by night' seems to be high on priority."
Scowling at Nagi now, Omi had to admit that he had a point. His eyes aren't tracking. Dammit, he's still drugged off his ass. "Well, you're still under minimal restraints. The quick release trigger is. . . " Straining to confirm, the boy made a small pained sound as his dislocated leg started to cramp as well.
He went back to staring straight up, having seen everything he needed to. "It's under your left foot, right along the narrow edge of the table. You'd have to get your leg free and be able to stretch far enough to get your toe under the toggle, which is on the bottom. That's how I did it the first time. Bluntly, I'd wait until you can do your weird shit again; both of us as beat up as I am now and neither of us are going anywhere."
"Weird shit." Raising his eyebrows at the term, Nagi sighed and closed his eyes. "Right." I *hate* being stuck with normals. I'd even rather be stuck with Schuldig right now--at least he might be able to do *something* other than annoy me. He didn't even have to 'reach' to know his power was still gone--as funny and disconnected as he felt right now, he had a hard enough time feeling his *toes*, much less anything more esoteric.
"Well, I dunno what else to call it," Omi pointed out. "You make things move by looking at them. That's weird." He sounded fairly complacent. Not that he was going to tell this stranger about Kritiker or their research labs, but the way he healed was weird too. At least throwing dumpsters around was useful. If he could just keep the other kid from getting drugged again. . .
Of course, as soon as Nagi could get out, he'd bolt. Omi had no illusions that the other captive would waste one second on him after he got free. But maybe he'd be able to take advantage of 'Dr. Evil's' rage at the escape? The confusion should be good for something, anyway.
Not up on his esoteric terminology, is he? But then, he kills people for a living. Maybe he doesn't read much. Nagi turned his face to the other boy again. "Its name is telekinesis. If we are to be stuck together, you can at least use the right name for it." Even if it has turned me into a lab rat. Better that then dead, I guess. He was tempted to point out that his 'weirdness' might be the only thing to get them both out of here...but why bother? Normals had no problems using psychics for what they wanted. The problems always came...afterward.
"Telekinesis. Hmmm. Boring, but whatever you want," was Omi's verdict. He pondered the term briefly, which was yet another of those things that he hadn't known he knew until he knew it again. I'm really getting sick of this damn amnesia.
"Boring?" That was...an odd statement, to say the least. Nagi snorted. "You would choose to call it something else? Something like 'Super Power Ninja Ki Attack!'? With the funny outfits to match?"
Omi's head rolled slowly to the side until he could see Nagi again. The other boy was subjected to the sort of deliberating examination usually reserved for those mentally handicapped individuals with a tendency for random violence.
After a long pause, he said gravely, "No. But. . . 'remote movement'? Doesn't sound nearly as cool as doing it must be."
"Cool...I guess it could be." Nagi would have shrugged, if not for the restraints, and looked back up at the ceiling again. I wonder how long it will be before I start counting the tiles? "I am not thinking--" he stopped, and corrected himself. "--have not thought about the name much. It is what I do." He flexed his fingers again. All that training in Rosenkreuz, and he was still helpless...surely there was *something* that he'd learned that would allow him to get his power back.
Okay, that's a point. Wonder what the boring name for how fast I'll be able to walk again is? I've always stopped with 'lab rat', Omi thought cynically. "Mmmm."
"If you think of anything brilliant, speak up. Otherwise, I'm getting some rest." He'd been drilled in the 'sleep when you can, always be ready' mindset; time to find out if any of it had stuck. He'd heal even faster if he could.
Which might or might not be good, with Mr. Suspicious one table over, but really, how many problems was he supposed to focus on at once?