Darius 'Tsien
"Mommy, why?" Tears threatened to fall from Darius' red rimmed eyes. His brown eyes were agape, meeting the woman's identical brown ones. She pried her gaze off him, pushing her child away. He furrowed his eyebrows, this situation was all too foreign for him.
"You have to, Darius," the woman looked past him, not at her own son, but the men in the grey uniform. She nodded at them, and they replied by taking her son under his arms.
"No! Why do I need to do this? Are you leaving, mommy?" He tugged on his mom's shirt, sniffing with his red nose. The tears on the corners of his eyes streamed down his face in a cascade, his other hand wiping it.
But it won't stop.
His hands flailed as the uniformed men gave him a rough pull from under his arm. Darius let out an agonizing cry, elbowing them. He sprinted towards his mom, only to fall in the process. "Take me with you, mommy!" He begged on his knees, holding on her shoes.
"No," her voice came out as cold as ice, and it had the same effect on Darius. He froze, just before he thawed completely into shattered pieces. "Don't be childish. Boys are not supposed to cry, Darius,"
**
Darius jolts at the memory.
His yellow eyes shoot open, red rimmed with stray tears on each corner. He blinks a few times, but the previous images of the memory came in alternating short snippets. He looks around. White walls surround him, and they seem to enclose towards him wenever he diverts his attention away. The distinct smell of disinfectant tugs at his nose and he feels his pain receptors slowly responding to his open wounds. The violent beep beep beep of the heart monitor alerts the other people in the white lab uniform.
"Subject is experiencing increasing levels of heart rate," A female computerized voice announces.
"Subject 16A is conscious, sir," one of the females in the white lab coats alerts.
Darius looks down. His trembling hands were a pale white color, his blue veins jutting out in contrast. He stares at his palm. They are wide and his fingers are long. The size of a teenager's.
"It's just a dream. It's just a dream. I am 16, not 11," He bites down his pale lip.
"We're not finished yet. Get him some anesthesia," a man says.
"Yes, doc," the woman proceeds with a needle on her hand, but Darius' eyes are glued on his lap. He raises his hand to wipe them, before the doctor stops him.
"Don't move. Lie down," he commands, and Darius does what he says. He twitches when a woman injects him with a syringe filled with a certain liquid. And he drifts off again.
The moment that he wakes up, the entire room is empty of other Subjects. "What kind of sick trick did they try on me?" Darius thinks to himself, but shrugs the thought away. He doesn't want to know if the days he have left are exactly predictable by numbers. Even if it's that way, he doesn't want to live with the terror haunting him.
The people in the white lab uniform huddle in one corner over a holographic wall of text. They exchange nods and thoughts with each other, while Darius thinks it's hardly decipherable. Well, what does he know? He's just a Subject after all.
"Excuse me, I need to go back to my quarters," Darius breaks their trance, and a woman comes to his side to help him.
She lifts all of the tubes attached to his body and covers up several wounds on his body. He nods and gives her a curt 'thank you' as he leaves the Experiment Room. The place he hates the most.
Darius hates the Experiment Room because that's the only place where he can, is, or has to be vulnerable. And also because it's far in the West Wing when the Subjects usually roam around the East Wing. Darius is certain he's not the only one.
"Huh, you look like shit," a teen with a curly blond hair and undercut tells him, his height a few inches taller than Darius. His copper eyes observes Darius' pale face for a split second.
"I've seen shit look better than you, so shut up," Darius casts him a look as he walks past him.
"I was about to ask you if you're okay, but you seem grand," He shrugs.
"Do I look... I don't know, alien?" Darius raises an eyebrow.
"Nah, far. You just look paler that's all," he shrugs. "And aliens would look a shit ton better than you do. With sparkles and shit," Xavier chimes in, which earns him a light punch from Darius.
Darius' face is a shade paler than his normal bisque. Subtle shades of purple are visible on both sides of his cheeks. Shadows form under his eyes, but he doesn't feel anything worse than a bit lightheaded. But no matter how weak and vulnerable he looks, they're not as unbearable as his demonic yellow eyes.
'Subject 16A, #3, S' the hologram flashes from his iron bangle. "Gideon won't bring me down just because I look vulnerable," Darius raises his chin. "Xavier,"
"Hm?" The blond, 'Xavier' looks at him.
"When did the other subjects come back from the West Wing?"
"..." Xavier pauses for a while. "Every one except you finished 4 hours ago, Darius,"
"Am I... Excused?" Darius asks, his face slightly puzzled, as if the words sound foreign to his ears.
"Yeah, the instructors already know beforehand that you'll finish later than every one else,"
"I woke up in the middle when they were doing it, so they injected me with anesthetic again," he sighs.
"It's not that, Darius," Xavier's face falls from his usual playful expression. "They found a method that's compatible to your Gift,"
"Oh, I'm going to die faster then," Darius thinks to himself. "Oh, that sure explains it then," He nods at Xavier, without adding any personal comment.
It's not obvious, but Darius does notice the slight change. He noticed the way Xavier peers at the hologram when it flashed #3. The number that represents where you are among the subjects of your batch. Darius makes a mental note to watch out for the other subjects' behavior as well, after all, he doesn't want to be every one's target. He stops thinking about it, partly because he doesn't believe if his Gift can be enhanced.
Above a metal door is a slot with moving red letters in a digital font. 'Subject Quarter Rank S', it reads. Darius unlatches the handle door and different kinds of expressions flash in their eyes— jealousy, hatred or maybe some didn't bother to look at him at all. [namely, the top 1 and 2s]
Darius relaxes when he sees Ignis with a friendly smirk on his face. Almost out of habit, he decides to glance at his bangle. '26C, #10, S' it says. Darius had always been worried about other people's ranks, but not about Ignis. Even though Ignis is one of the lower ranks, he has this hunch that
he won't betray him over his ranks. At least, he's never shown otherwise.
"I lost the bet with Xavier because you made it past 2 hours," he sighs.
"Shouldn't have done it in the first place," Darius shakes his head.
"I know, he's had a streak for 3 weeks now!" Ignis puts his hands on his temples and releasing it, like his mind was blown away.
"Did you two place your bets on me again like today?"
"Nah, a lot of things actually. Like if the super hot Coach Ashley responded to a pickup line I sent to her," he shrugs.
"You should've counted me in that one," Darius smirks.
"No way, you're gonna hoard all my money if you joined in,"
"You kinda know the result already," Darius cringes. "Besides, booze money doesn't come out of nowhere,"
"I'm tired of being your crutch, dude. You always get wasted,"
"You left me yesterday," he rolls his eyes. "To think that I stopped you from blabbering too much,"
"Yeah, but I only left you in the middle. Besides, I was giving you some time with the guy," he grins.
"I was drunk,"
"And he's a hunk," Ignis grins, not wanting to miss the opportunity of rhyming. "He was with you though when I disappeared?"
"But he— pfft," Darius snorts. "Fuck no, what if he tried to drug me yesterday?"
"You're #3, Darius. Out of 48 assassins. I'm pretty sure he's just a— what, ordinary Gem,"
"He's a Rust. I don't remember a lot but that's the only thing I know," Darius suddenly shakes his head, and his heart sinks. The guy from yesterday may be a Rust, but he's no ordinary Rust. Darius knows it with as much belief he has on the existence of aliens. And he will fight anyone who tries to present him with scientific reasons why they don't.
"And you're a Rust, I'm a Rust, Xavier's a Rust... So?"
"He has a HoloWatch. Only few Gems or Diamonds can afford it, y'know,"
"We both know the caste system is never fair," Ignis says nonchalantly as he raises an eyebrow.
"... You're right," It still doesn't stop Darius from thinking about him. "What are the odds of meeting him again anyway?," he thinks.
Darius enters the empty changing room. Ratty steel lockers fill the left and right sides , parted by a few benches in the middle. He scanned through the number-letter combinations engraved on each of them.
'16A' he spots. He strips off the hospital robe-knockoff he's been wearing for the past 1-2 hours and shivers at the cold air. "Fall is almost ending," he thinks to himself.
He opens the locker door and finds his training uniform sitting on the top most shelf. 16A was just a code, he thinks. But he didn't and will not ever— want to have to deal with Gideon Tanner's shitty mouth. Why is his locker next to him anyways? He glances next to him, pursing his lips as he exhales a sigh of relief. He's not here yet.
He grabs his gray training pants, slipping it on. He notices that it ends just above his ankles, but they were a bit loose on his legs. Usually they look skin-tight on other subjects. "Did I get thinner?" He thinks.
But that's not the end of it. Purple bruises cover his cheekbones and the skin of his neck. He cringes at how similar they look to hickeys. He checks his back, and with much thanks to the god/gods above, his back is spotless.
But he never thanked them for Gideon seeing his bruises.
"Are those bruises taking too much toll on ya?" Gideon sneers, smirking as his purple-slitted eyes dart towards Darius' neck.
Darius grabs his tank top and pullover as he puts them on, replying him with the same amount of venom. "It feels like your punches, barely anything,"
"Maybe they're not bruises. Did one of the doctors gave that to you?" He chuckles.
And Darius slams his locker.
He walks out of the changing room and pairs of eyes follow him, then Gideon. But directly after, they look away from him because it's a completely normal thing.
"I'll crush you, 'Tsien," Gideon laughs, a bright #4 on his bangle.
A/N: Hey guys! Initially this was Chapter 3 because I thought Altered will have alternating (lol) POVs between Mark and Darius but I decided it to only use Mark's. Because I'm a lazybum who doesn't like wasted efforts, I'll put this up as bonus material! Hope you guys liked it! :)) Don't forget to vote & comment :)