[ This chapter is meant to be read after Chapter 39 and before Chapter 40. It is an auxiliary chapter expanding on one of the main characters' back story. So not reading it, or reading it at any other moment in the story, would not drastically change the narrative of the normal volumes and chapters' progression, but I still recommend reading it after Chapter 39 for the best experience! Thank You! ]
***
Lab's Remote Outer Residential Area
Birth name - Unknown
10 years old
The Accursed Weight of Self
***
"Get up."
"..."
"I said, get up."
A conundrum. No, a paradox resided in the light folds between his actions and his prompts. He wanted him to stand, yet he kept kicking him down. The longer it would take him to get up. The angrier he'd get. And the harder he pushed him back down.
"Why do you always do this! He did nothing to you! We don't even know you!"
A younger kid was crying, witnessing the scene.
"And I told you to shut up. Go away. And you."
The young tyrant bent down and grabbed the source of his anger by his bloodied collar. With all his weight, he punched him straight in the mouth.
"Stand up. Right now."
The battered child spat a tooth in the dirt. He looked at it. Covered in blood. It didn't hurt. His entire face was numb. Or he didn't want it to hurt. Accepting pain was accepting defeat. It was his silent act of rebellion against his assailant, for he could not fight back. He didn't want to fight back. It didn't hurt.
He finally found the strength to do what he was told. Not by obedience, but by ego. They thought him weak, for he always lacked any sense of confrontation. Even now, his little brother was watching him get beaten up through his confused, teary eyes. There was a symbiosis of pride and indignation exuding from him.
For him, kindness meant strength. A rare conclusion within the youth of these harsh caverns. Yet, this very same kindness brought misfortune to himself and those around him, as a weakness does.
"Why. Why are you not fighting back?"
"..."
"Stop smiling."
He was. Smiling. Though he knew his rictus wouldn't defuse the situation, as it never did, he could never quite catch how fueling it was to the rage within the young boy's stomach.
No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't punch the smile off of this kid's face. He was losing. How? He's bigger. Stronger. Unscathed. Yet he was losing.
No. He knew it was deeper than that. He didn't care about losing. He only cared for…
"Why won't you stop smiling?"
In a fit of tamed fury, he violently thumped the weakened boy in his feeble stomach.
"Why won't you fight back?"
He kicked him on the inside of his knee.
"Hit me."
He stomped the back of his head.
"Hate me."
***
"Why are you letting him hurt you?"
"I'm not letting him do anything. I'm not making him hurt me. He's choosing too."
"But you're not fighting back."
"I don't want to."
"Why?"
"Then why didn't you fight him for me?"
"Wha- I- But- He's.. He's scary. I'm sorry."
"Haha. Don't be sorry. I didn't ask you that to make you feel bad. I only wanted to show you my point."
"What is?"
"We're all different."
"That's dumb."
"Maybe. But it's true. We all act differently."
"No shit."
"Hey. Language."
The two siblings were well hidden inside their makeshift home. An abandoned shelter. The older brother was lying in pain, using his beers to mend his wounds. The alcohol was soothing his soul. Seemingly so. And the cold damp of the glass softening the burns and the soreness of his bruises. His younger brother is sitting in front of him.
"Sorry."
"What I mean is that for the same situation, even if it is identical, not a single person will react the same way."
"I don't understand what you want me to understand."
"I want you to learn to be kind."
"Why be kind to this guy? He's an assh- a bad person. I hate him."
"I know. I hate him too."
"Then why—"
"But he's not a bad person."
"But he hurts you. You said people who hurt other people are bad."
"I said it's a bad thing to hurt other people."
"Same thing."
"Not really."
"Why?"
"I also told you that saying bad words is bad, right?"
"You always do. But even you say bad words sometimes."
"Haha. That is true. But does saying bad words make me a bad person?"
"No! You're the best person ever."
"Well, I don't know about that. But you're right. When you say bad words, it doesn't make you a bad person."
"Hmmm…"
"If I punched someone, would I be a bad person?"
"You could never be a bad person."
"Again. I don't know about that. But if I punched somebody, that would be a bad thing."
"...right..."
"Look. What I want you to understand is this. This kid, who does bad things, is sad."
"Sad?"
"Yeah. Sad."
"He doesn't look sad. He looks mean."
"I know. But I can tell. He's sad. I can sense it."
"How?"
"I can tell because I'm... I just can."
"That's silly."
"A little bit. But that's how I know he's not a bad person. He hurts me because he's sad."
"I don't understand. I don't want to understand. He's mean. He hurts you. All the time. He never stops. He's a bad person—"
"And! And that's why I don't want to hurt him. I want to help him."
"You're… You're dumb. He's going to hurt you bad. And I won't be able to help. And then—and then you're going to…"
"Nothing is going to happen to me. I know you're scared. But you don't have to be scared. He can punch me all he wants; I'm not going down that easily. But if he ever tries to hurt you, I will punch this asshole."
With a latent response, the little brother began to laugh a little, his hair now scrunched by his big brother's hand.
***
The decrepit walls of this fragile home were not used to echo laughter. Childlike laughter even less. However, resurfacing like a cryptid on random and sparse nights, you could hear it. Bursts of naive joy.
This only happened when the matriarch left the residence on her excursions. Left on their own, father and son were able to bond. As this was a rare occurrence, the young child got used to leaving his abode in hopes of escaping the tyrannic nightmare poisoning his residence.
He only now came back, surprised to see her absent, striking him with a nefarious sadness, knowing he missed the opportunity to spend the day with his dad.
Only she wasn't his mother. And he wasn't his dad.
"She isn't here?"
"She'll be back soon. Did you have fun today?"
"Yeah."
The man smiled softly, unaware of his son's violent tendency towards the neighbouring child. He feigned to look at his dad and hurried to his forbidden shelter, hidden under the planks forming the floor. Only the two of them knew of this secret endeavour. His mother coincidentally arrived soon after him, barging into her house.
"Fucking nothing today either."
"I'm sure you—"
"Oh, shut the fuck up."
She immediately shut him down. She hurried to a decayed and gutted box on top of a table, hoping to grab one of the only remaining vials still securing her sweet pinkish nectar. Nothing. It was empty. She stood still. Silent. Her spouse stood up and walked towards her back.
"I think it's better if you lay off of it for a while."
"..."
He tried to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His jaw got smacked before he could.
"Where is it."
"I got rid of it."
"Oh no, you didn't."
His tone was low and steady. Hers is high and feral. She slapped him again.
"You're too spineless for that. Where is it."
"I got ri—"
Each time she slapped him, the kid flinched under his blanket. He didn't make a sound. He never did. All he could do was watch through the small holes and cracks of the floor above him.
"You lazy piece of shit. This wouldn't be a problem if you would help."
"I am helping."
"The hell you are. You're just a nuisance. Can't even put babies in me. Can't even help me look for some either."
The fault was hers. Not that it was anyone's fault. Just a tragic fate. But by her logic, she was at fault. Biologically. Only she didn't know that. They didn't. Unaware of the conditions of creating life, all she knew was that she couldn't bear a child. And this complication was at the root of all her misfortunes. It must be his fault. It had to be his fault. It was his fault.
"This can't be the way. Not innocent kids."
"This is the only way!"
All her responses were synchronized with a forceful slap.
"I'm tired of your bullshit. You let him go. I know you did. The only time I was able to capture a kid. And you freed him. And now you hide my shit. Un-fucking-believable. You're lucky I haven't thrown you away yet."
"I bring back anything I find whenever I can. We can work with that."
"It isn't enough! Don't you understand? I need my stuff! And I can only get it if I sell these bastards. And you can't even do that, can you? Useless piece of shit that you are."
The slaps gave way to harder blows. More of them, too.
"I fucking hate you. Can't even do anything right. Worthless… -"
He stood there. Motionless.
"Where is that fucking kid, huh? Where did you put him, huh?"
She kicked him and pushed him to the ground. The kid felt the crushing pressure of his fall further along the floor. His throat was burning.
"You let him go, didn't you? You piece of shit!"
He was used to it. But not his body. His skin, at least. Still forming cuts and bruises. The clandestine child was crying in silence. He perfected the art of muted tears. He wanted to burst out, but he couldn't. He wanted to yell at his dad, but he couldn't.
He couldn't do anything. He knew if she found him, she would tie him up again. To the pole just outside. She would keep him alive until she could sell him to the foundation. She could not find him.
He hated himself. It hurt. But what hurt the most, yet he didn't want to accept it, was that he hated his dad in these moments. All he could do was yell at him in his head.
Get up.
"I can't believe I got stuck with you. Me, an ex-soldier. Paired up with you trash."
I said. Get up.
"I'm gonna die 'cause you can't give me a child. What luck I have."
Stand up. Right now.
"I'm starving because of you. I'm gonna die because of you. Garbage."
She straddled him. Punching him relentlessly.
Why. Why are you not fighting back?
He was unconsciously smiling at her. An empty smile.
Stop smiling.
"Where's my shit! I need my stuff right now!"
Her sedated state was slowly fading. Sobriety was catching up to her, but she could not handle that. Her punctured skin at the crease of her elbow was itching.
Why won't you fight back.
"I'm going to kill you!"
Hit her.
"I'll fucking kill you!"
Hate her.
***
Separately, all entangled in their own fate, they were all lying down. One hidden under his battered father figure. One next to his beaten older brother. One next to his scared little brother.
All three of them faced their own adversities. One mad at himself. One sick of his uselessness. One crushed by the weight of his responsibilities. All three of them having the same thought simultaneously.
I am weak.