Syndicate of tribulation

Chapter 22

What flakes. As soon as they saw my harsh glare, they looked amongst themselves, conflicted on whom they should follow, but that's when Bes piped up. "As someone who has worked and been brainwashed by Perfide for more years than I can count on my hands, I can tell you that they don't keep a record of who is who. Not anymore at least, due to the huge number of "employees" they have. No one will say anything to us as long as we look like we work here. As long as you don't speak and don't look at anyone in the eyes, we can work out what to do from there".

Bes' plan was a harmonious balance between King's and mine. King and I both nodded and the rest looked relieved at the release of tension.

I hope they won't become a ball and chain, I have never seen or heard of Perfide, but they essentially made King and Besloe, so feeling apprehensive is surely plausible.

We ran in one direction until our feet were sore, bared with blisters, and our lungs could no longer withstand the abuse we subjected them to.

You would think a life on the lam would prepare you for this sort of thing but no, we are only humans after all.

"Guys, look at that!" Dax beamed, pointing to the ugliest building I have seen in my life, and I have seen ugly.

I bet it would look beautiful in red and orange though. Covered in a cloud of black soot that matched the dark walls.

There were lots of young people, or more like robots with their poker faces and their robotic movements, wandering outside. Some were training, some were heading to an unknown destination, and others going inside the building with a foul aura.

They wore all black and had their hair slicked back or cut down. "We need to fit in with them" Bes' voice interrupted my thinking process. What is it with everyone needing to point out the obvious?

"How will we get that uniform?" Domo questioned, my first thought was to steal it but if these people are as brutal as Bes and King made them out to be, then maybe stealth is needed in this situation. Surely, they have stores of the clothes in a cabinet or something.

"Bes, is that...?" King nudged Bes, covering her mouth in shock at the end of her sentence. I followed both their line of sight and it led to a boy about our age with a scar on either side of his mouth.

Quite ironic, like someone had cut a smile on the emotionless-looking boy. King's eyes never left him as he went about training, punching what looked like a wooden dummy over and over, despite his hands bleeding profusely. At that moment, I also thought he might look quite good in red and orange, covered in dark soot which would contrast his skin greatly.

What a strange thought and feeling.

"Wow, he has changed. He used to be so optimistic" Bes responded, taking in the sight of their old colleague. "I guess that is what happens to people that didn't make it out" King muttered. "He reminds me of you when you captured Tyro and I" King continued. Making eye contact suddenly, we realise that Bes wasn't the only one to undergo the new form of indoctrination.

We stayed undetected as we circled the building, looking for a less populated entrance. "So did you all have strange nicknames like 'Messorem'?  "Amo asked King as we circled the large building, "no there were only 5 of us that did. We all had unique weapons and of course, were the most used due to our 100% success rate" King replied, a dark emotion lurking in her eyes as the memory re-introduced itself.

"We were just kids" she finished, evidently disgusted at herself and the leader of the enterprise – if I can even call it that. It's akin to trafficking much less a business.

As we walked around, King and Bes spotted many of their former roommates, some of whom used to be their close friends and others their enemies. But they were all just kids. We found a small window, that looked to lead to a supply closet. We decided to climb in through there.

King bound up the wall, like the spider-woman she pretends to be.

We found uniforms that matched the others and also some spare dog tags that the recruits wore around their necks.

Everyone seemed to forget that our focus should be on escaping the island. We were sent to scope it out – we have served our purpose. What's the point of further infiltration, why risk our lives? My poker face must've cracked a bit because Bes patted my back "Always so angry. Lighten up bro, we might be setting things on fire", though I would never admit this to Bes, the prospect of lighting things up (literally) did lighten me up. "There's that beautiful King-Von mischief" Bes muttered.

I faltered. King also faltered. "Your surname is King-Von?" She questioned; I didn't respond. It wasn't any of her business. "Wait so Lune Von is a relative of yours, is that why you got so mad when the French guy said her name?" she continued, unaware of the darkness emerging on my face. "Hmm, now that I think about it, King-Von sounds familiar" she muttered.

Before anyone could blink, before I could think, my arms swung out at King. Following her innate instincts, she ducked swiftly and helicopter-kicked me down to the ground. I swiftly rolled out of my fallen position and stood up. Still seething at what King was unsure of. "What the hell!?" King exclaimed as she let down her defences. "Never say those names again, or I will kill you" I growled, malice and intention lacing my voice.

King's eyes widened in shock. I think this is the first time I have threatened her and irrevocably meant it. "Don't tempt me" was King's rebuttal, as a masochistic grin sat on her lips. "OMG! I remember where I saw that name! When I was trying to rescue Dax and Stace and I got captured" King continued, gazing into my eyes – taunting me.

"No way! Your family runs a gang?" King asked, tilting her head as if the question was innocent. As if she couldn't see my hands clutching tightly – making little crescents on my palms. I knew she wasn't keen on living, but I didn't realise she wanted me to abridge her wait.

My gaze burned through her, she could feel the heat and she savoured it.

One of the many things I hated about my family was our surname.

It wasn't even ours.

It was born from the fires of internalised racism and self-hate. So much self-hate. Besloe was doted on for his fairer complexion and looser hair. Whilst my parents berated me for my darker complexion and tighter curls. They couldn't stand being looked down upon by the world. They couldn't stand being on the bottom, so they put me lower.

---------------------------------Flashback to 8-year-old Tyro -------------------------------------------------------------

"What a waste of space, be like your skin tone and become a shadow" my dad bellowed, harshly pushing me into a wall as he ambled by. He couldn't stand me. It was quite ironic too, seeing as I got my skin tone from him. He couldn't stand the African blood pumping through his veins so much that he hid it with all his might. When he was 18, he changed his last name from Kung to King, shaved every follicle of hair to rid himself of his tight curls, and moved away from his motherland. Moving to a foreign one, where he wanted to be accepted – to be like them.

Though my father never missed the chance to insult me, I have never once felt a lick of shame about my identity.

My dark skin defined me, my dark eyes mirroring my immovable soul, and my tight curls laughing at gravity.

How could I be thwarted or diminished by my defective father when the same gravity that holds the moon in place doesn't affect a strand of hair on my head?

How could I be defeated by some arbitrary words when my eyes are like the earth we walk on, stable and strong, able to take on the weight of the world?

How could I let my self-worth tarnish when my skin is like the greatest tree, photosynthesising perpetually so that oxygen can fuel the very flame that burns in me?

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"King, watch your mouth" I seethe, relaxing my shoulders and not letting her ruin my day. I have to save all my energy for when I turn this dreary building into the pile of ash it was born to be.