System Failure (A Hayden Tree x Brandon Hoover Story)

VI

No one looked me in the eye. No one looked at me in general. No one wanted to face the awkward conversation that was speaking to someone who was whipped for unfairness amongst initiates. No one had the fucking spine. All except Welling. I had known Welling since I was 16, having trained his group of initiates as a punishment for taking a second serving of food without permission. He was an odd man. He was now 23, and hardly spoke a word to anyone other than me, yet his words could make mountains crumble with their power and meaning.

"Welling, my boy, what's going on?" I asked, looking to the paper he had been scribbling words onto. He smiled as he put his pen down.

"Scotland. Writing her again. I know she'll eventually write back. She probably just hasn't gotten around to it." He smiled, making my stomach churn slightly. Welling had met Scotland when they both became initiates, mainly due to her feeling bad for his crippling social anxieties and awkward encounters. He had introduced himself as Mitchell, which everyone had laughed at him for. It was a slip of the tongue, although he didn't know Runaway customs like others. Scotland took him in, finding something within his old, tattered soul.

"Miss her, huh?" I asked, not understanding how he could feel that way about someone who had left him high and dry like she had. He smiled sadly and nodded, fingers working through his soft brown hair before running over his dark stubble. He looked from the paper to me before picking up his mug of tea, sipping it softly.

"I didn't understand when I was younger how my dad could love someone the way he did my mother." He began, offering me a drink of his nearly black drink. I kindly declined, urging him softly to continue and he smiled, pulling at the collar of his dark blue sweater, the knit garment covered in small holes.

"You didn't know your parents?" He asked softly and I cleared my throat.

"My mom died when I was young. My dad dropped me here. I don't remember much." The statement was cold, lifeless, uncaring. Welling only tapped at the paper on the table.

"Before the Fallout, my ancestors were in love, according to my mom. She told me that their love was the only thing that kept our family alive. Before the Fallout, they were careless. Free to do as they pleased. I guess they had met while drinking. According to my mom, it was like an old fairytale. Love at first sight." He stated with a smile.

"My father always told me: 'Mitchell, you'll meet people in this world who are cruel. Hateful. They'll want you gone. Never show them that in return. Fight your battles with love. Put down your fists and instead kill with kindness.' It was pretty dumb to me as a child, but as time passes, I now understand what he meant." He said, a smile creeping up his lips.

"Kill em' with love. Put down your guns, and fight with doves." His eyes wandered elsewhere before he blinked quickly, looking to me with a smile.

"Anyways, Scotland is the closest thing I have to what my parents called love. I remember the way she just, she shook in my hands. It was after a Scarecrow attack, the first one we were ever in together, and she shook. She didn't stop, and I was beginning to get scared for her safety. In the midst of it all, trying to walk her back to her living space, to helping her into bed, all I could manage to say was 'It's a shame that we're not soul mates, because if I didn't know better, I'd say this feels pretty good' and she laughed. Her laughter was crafted by the Gods, I swear. I heard that small, faint noise, and that was the moment." He smiled once more, nearly radiating with happiness. I had still yet to see what made him view her as the perfect second half.

"In that moment, she was no longer my world, but instead my universe." His eyes met mine momentarily before he looked back to the paper, scribbling down more words.

"We would talk about things that were beyond us. Things like the Fallout, and if we would've met had it never happened, or if it was fate that the world would end so I could find mine." My eyes wandered from his to the paper, skimming it as best possible while he once again sipped at the black liquid in his cup.

"Then she was gone. Bones asked her to go out on an assignment and I haven't seen her since." His smile faded quickly and his eyes began to prick with tears. He swallowed hard, his pain hard for me to watch.

"She- uh, fuck." He began to laugh, wiping his eyes as the tears spilled out.

"She didn't want to go. She kept telling me she didn't trust him and that she was scared." He sniffled, wiping his cheeks with a sad smile.

"I should've listened." The pen clasped in his hand shook as he spoke, his breathing shaky.

"He sent her out. She's still out there. Last letter I got back was seven months ago." He sadly smiled, eyes falling to the paper.

"Seven months."

I couldn't help the uneasy feeling in my stomach, nodding as my eyes looked from him to my dirty fingers. I couldn't look him in the eye, and I couldn't continue the conversation. I stood quickly without explanation or goodbye, walking to the initiate bunks, ignoring on looking glances and stares, quickly making my way to the room, waking them with ease.

"Today, you're all getting a lesson on Runaway history. Lace up your boots and get ready to go on a long walk. We won't be back until tomorrow. I understand you're probably shook up from last night, but that doesn't change the fact that you're in training. You're soldiers. Bothers and sisters in combat. C'mon." I stated the commands softly, no longer feeling the rage I had only an hour before. You're a liar.

I shook the thoughts away, swallowing the bile in the back of my throat before clearing my blocked airways, looking over the room before leading the way out.

She was scared. She didn't want to go.

No one did.