"Help me access the upcoming training stimulation," started Ian without pause, shoveling a bite of bland mashed potatoes into his mouth.

  It was made without seasoning to accommodate any allergies, but Ian was certain that the scientists were simply too cheap to purchase spices of any sort. The hall bristled with chatter—every day, at the precise same time, the alarm would echo through the halls signaling for lunch.

  Lucian sat across him, his neck wrapped in a thick layer of bandages, and his left eye a little swollen. His lips were scabbed as if a wild animal had torn at them. Whispers encompassed the hall, stabbing into his straight, unwavering back.

  He lifted his long eyelashes, fixing the beautiful green of his eyes onto Ian. "You're not trained for the stimulation, both mentally and physically."

  "I'm not asking."

  "You certainly should be, considering it's in my right to decline." Lucian sighed, placing his spoon down with a soft clatter. Neither mentioned the previous night.

  Lucian had roused with a groan, patched up by the infirmary aids. He said nothing, examining his body and stretching his limbs before he accompanied Ian to the Eating Hall.

  He would follow Ian thrice a week—he was assigned to the Eating Hall on the second level, which supposedly had better food, as he liked to brag at times as if it could inspire a leap in ability in Ian's motivation and skill.

  Every month, he would sneak a small item wrapped in a handkerchief and leave it at Ian's pillow. A silent offering, a gift without desire.

  Ian never thanked him for the food, although he accepted it. Lucian never minded the lack of gratefulness, committing to routine for several years now.

  Lucian regarded Ian's stubborn expression with a shake of his head, a touch of helplessness creeping into his expression. "You're insisting. And not even asking politely—I've really been too nice to you, haven't I?"

  Ian frowned, poking at an unknown piece of meat floating in his soup. He stabbed it, chewing with a grimace. "I'm not responsible for your decisions."

  "No, you're not. It's my fault I've resisted joining in with the bullying and have tamed my itching hands that want to beat you."

  Ian nodded. "You missed out. Come on, beat me if you want to."

  Lucian pressed the prongs of his fork against the mashed, yellow potatoes. It easily pushed through, spreading on the plate. Then, he stabbed a piece of meat and shoved it into Ian's mouth.

  The latter choked, coughing as his cheek bulged.

  "Don't tempt me."

  Ian recovered, accepting the meat offering—even if it was disgusting and almost inedible, it was extra protein. "I'm tempting you. If you beat me, will you feel sorry enough to agree?"

  It was an honest curiosity, spoken with an earnest hitch. Lucian stared at him suspiciously—knowing this bastard, if he agreed, he wouldn't hesitate to turn his annoyingness to the max level.

  "Fine, for my sanity and as a thank you for last night, I'll agree," said Lucian reluctantly as he continued to nibble away at his meal. A full plate wasn't allowed either; nutrition and health were moderated to extreme levels.

  "I'll arrange it, to inform the guards to escort you to the second level tomorrow."

  Ian paused. The conversations continued around him, and both had a mutual agreement of ignoring everybody's gossip. Lucian never interfered in the bullying, and Ian never expected his help.

  It was a strange and comfortable relationship; they were two people stuck in the same place which meant both everything and nothing simultaneously.

  "I thought you were going to play ignorant like usual."

  A frown appeared on Lucian's face. "You seriously have an unpleasant way of speaking, sometimes. You saved me from having to sleep with a completely unpalatable person—" His hand ghosted past his neck as his mind drifted for a moment before promptly returning. His face turned solemn as he leaned in. "Did you see his butt? Totally flat."

  Ian swallowed his food with a scrunch of his nose. "Was there anything there to see?"

  Lucian nodded in agreement, satisfied with their mutual understanding. "If one doesn't have a perky butt, they should at least have a gentle personality. He failed in both aspects."

  They briefly continued to discuss the importance of perky butts and the secondary importance of personality before the alarm rang again, signaling the end of the lunch session.

  Although Lucian's tone had been light and he'd drawn the topic away, Ian didn't overlook the tension in his stance, a touch of fear that would remain as a blight in his memories.

  This was the daily life Lucian had resigned himself to; it once infuriated Ian, although he accepted that this was Lucian's decision.

  This Guide who could soar in unbelievable directions; but he was comfortable in this only reality that he knew, used to the sufferings and the small moments of peace that he wouldn't risk losing it.

  Ian stared at Lucian's retreating figure, mixing into the flow of Guides that were leaving for their respective assignments.

  Faces blurred together, bodies becoming a flood as everybody moved at the same pace. The jarring white lights cast overhead illuminated all of them in this expansive space, trapped far beneath the surface.

  They all wore the same uniform—loose white shirts with long sleeves and high collars, and pants that could hide nothing, with a watch strapped around their wrists, locked by code.

  The collar, which gave a sense of oppression, had irritated Ian to the point that he'd torn it. Although he'd received harsh admonishment, he continued to stubbornly tear at the collar.

  He didn't know if they wanted to stop wasting money on processing his shirts, or that there were other little rebels in the institution that they stopped bothering.

  If they had, he wouldn't have stopped. He was especially eager to waste as many resources as he could, even if it were mere points worth a measly amount.

  In other words, he was a menace with no intention of stopping.

  He mechanically carried out his lessons, and the weekly check-up to ensure he met the requirements of health, performing everything robotically as the gears in his brain continued to twist.

  Later, during his daily bullying session, in which he was the victim, he remembered to demonstrate his pain in the midst of zoning out.

  On the floor was the king of multi-tasking.

  The ringmaster of the bullying stopped, squinting at the crumpled body that was silenter than usual. Ian, preoccupied with his task of zoning out, accidentally let out a groan as if he were hit. The timing wasn't right.

  He looked down at the empty air, realizing that nobody was hitting him.

  Then he peered up through the disarray of his hair, slowly blinking.

  The bully made eye contact with his impassive victim, suspicion clouding his expression. Silence ensued, and Ian felt a little awkward.

  He wanted to protest, 'Try kicking me harder, and it'll make things a lot easier for me.'

  Instead, he burrowed his head and let out a muffled groan of pain, rolling over. He continued to roll around and groan dramatically as one of the little henchmen whispered, "Who knows what he got up to last night—the pain is probably catching up to him."

  The bully recovered, sneering. "Ha. I guess any toy's good for some of the low-grade Espers." He spat on the ground, contorting his beautiful face as he shook his head with disgust and sauntered away.

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  Ian had sucked in his stomach, narrowly avoiding the saliva. He wrinkled his nose, waiting until the footsteps faded into the distance before he rubbed his shoulder.

  Tomorrow. The long-awaited day that would merely be another beginning.

  During the stimulation rooms, researchers and guards would monitor the Guides' progress. There were different modules, and he wouldn't know until he arrived.

  Injured Guides received special medical attention due to the nature of their injuries, while regular injuries often resulted in basic treatment in the infirmary. Of course, venturing to the third floor with a major injury would be equally unwise.

  Therefore, Ian needed several things. One—an access card. The guards often opted to wear a specialized watch or hold onto a personal access card.

  Then, an injury that was dramatic enough to require attention in the medical ward—it was only there that he could find an opportunity to escape. During the process of the stimulation, around 75% of the guards were arranged to guard the room.

  The stimulation began at noon—the guards would change shifts at the second hour, leaving a five-minute window. However, he still had to be wary of the passing staff that roamed the halls.

  Ian leaned against the wall, tilting his head up to the blinking light in the corner where two hallways connected.

  Guiding rooms and bathrooms didn't contain cameras, as far as Ian knew when he peaked into the lower floor monitor room several months back. The vent system ran throughout the institution.

  But the Guiding rooms required an Esper's access—guards had limited access, to prevent any leaks or disturbances. The bathrooms were an option, but he wouldn't be able to explain spending hours inside.

  Ian rubbed his stomach thoughtfully, debating putting on an act of explosive, earth-defying bowel issues.

  He sighed. Although he believed in his acting abilities, it would consequently result in an examination if he was later found, and he wouldn't be able to explain why his internal organs ruined his performance.

  The man, lonesome in the empty halls once more, staggered to his feet as his hair swept over his shoulders. His black eyes examined his surroundings.

  Slowly, he made his way back to his room.

  ——+++——

  Dressed in the standard light grey combat gear, and his powerful legs were encased in black combat boots, strapped securely with knee and elbow pads. He tightened the chest buckle, a leather strap fastened to outline his figure.

  Ian flexed his hands encased in leather gloves, indifferently gazing at the circular gate that remained shut. A crowd had gathered—these were the top 'students', and it became evident that a stray from the lower floor had wandered inside.

  Lucian massaged the side of his neck, smiling calmly, unperturbed by the mass stares. "Well. Since we're here, do you plan to explain your abrupt request?"

  Ian tugged at the adjuster on his glove. "Have I ever explained myself?"

  "It's never too late to try something new."

  "It's too scary," he deadpanned, lifting his arms to tie back his raven hair. "I'm a mere cowardly mouse scared of change."

  Lucian's eye twitched, calmly ignoring the light stab towards his compliance. There was an evening, a long time ago, when Ian had sat on his bed like a lazy, waiting lion and coldly glanced sideways at his roommate.

  There was still blood on his face, and bruises developing under his skin, adding a rebellious, dangerous air to his softer features that had been hardened over time.

  He'd asked Lucian, in a casual way that didn't seem to demand or care for an answer, "Hey, star student. Have you ever thought about escaping this facility?"

  Their relationship had been fresh, and neither party communicated with the other, pretending they lived in a solo room. They'd been young then, too. It was impossible to say that such an idea never crossed Lucian's mind.

  There were many who dreamed of freedom.

  But they had to be realistic; it wasn't that freedom was impossible—none of them would believe that they were imprisoned.

  It was merely that the unrealistic fantasy of escaping was too elusive to consider. Lucian honed his appearance and skills, attaining the highest level of privilege as he prepared to find a suitable partner who could lead him to the surface.

  That was reasonable; a difficult but not impossible reality.

  But this bruised and battered Guide across from him had further dreams and aspirations that crossed the galaxies.

  Lucian had dismissed the conversation, answering curtly at the time. Rebellion would only result in punishment. But it was like a tiny seed planted in his heart, unfertilized and dormant.

  The next week when he was reassigned to the second floor, to achieve his realistic desires, he'd rejected it under some flippant excuse.

  Ian didn't bring up rebellion again, as if accepting the unspoken truth of Lucian's cowardliness.

  "Really, Ian. Tell me now and I might be able to help you."

  Ian glanced at him skeptically, raking his gaze up and down. Lucian, feeling his entire body and pride being analyzed and rejected, rubbed his forehead. "Don't tell me you've forgotten I'm one of the highest ranking Guides in this facility?"

  "And does that mean anything—" His eyes were always smooth and clear, like the reflecting surface of a mirror. "—to anybody beyond this facility?"

  Tension lined Lucian's shoulders as his gaze darted sideways. "It's not a question worth considering right now."

  Ian faced the door as a researcher stepped forward, going through the regular expectations and safety protocols. "Not right now," he muttered softly. "But that 'now' won't be forever."

  Lucian's eyes snapped to him as the large gate clicked, the mechanical locks releasing as the circular door parted in two. Ian followed the flow of the crowd, ignoring Lucian's scorching gaze embedded into his back.

  A forest area took over their vision, crawling up the walls and draping the stimulation in sweeping vines of rich greens. Wide trees interrupted their pathway, and Ian froze underneath the archway for a split second.

  There was a light tap on his back and Lucian passed him. "Don't lose focus, Ian. Many get injured during each stimulation. The system should calculate the level of difficulty based on the Guide's skill levels."

  Ian felt his foot sink into the firm ground, covered in dirt and creeping forestry. It was almost real—but the hum of the machines buzzed in the distance, and even further through a glass window spanning the top section of the wall, he knew he was being watched.

  He wasn't sure how Lucian convinced the researchers to allow an F-grade into the stimulation; although perhaps he was part of another experiment, a ploy to compare the weakness of lower grades.

  The stimulation this time was simple; they were required to locate and activate ten energy points hidden within the forest.

  It required a stable level of energy control to infuse a steady amount of energy to activate the receptor. Too much—which was rare due to the nature of Guide's calming ability—would lead to an explosion.

  Too little and the receptor would fail to activate.

  Throughout the forest, there were modified monsters, man-made creatures that mimicked those found in Rifts, and wandering outside the Base after having escaped from a collapsed Rift.

  Monsters inside the Rifts were far more powerful; that was why the Base was able to replicate and capture some of the wandering creatures with few sacrifices.

  "Stay by my side, Ian." Lucian nodded towards a gap between the dense cluster of trees, climbing through it. "I don't necessarily want the guilt of dragging your corpse out after agreeing to your demand."

  Ian followed, ducking under a low branch as he kept his mind alerted to any energy fluctuations in the air. It was the second thing the stimulation tested; a Guide's ability to react and recognize energy disturbances.

  The receptors were designed to mimic an Esper on the verge of transformation; both unstable and chaotic.

  Considering the level requirements of participating, Ian assumed it would be at least a C-grade energy instability—an attempt to activate the receptor by a lower grade Guide would backfire.

  Ian debated it. Purposely injuring himself by lowering his energy output was an option, but it would likely leave him bedridden for a few days.

  Suddenly, he felt his body being shoved sideways, a steady grip wrapping around him and pressing him flat against the rough bark of a tree. Lucian leaned in, pressing his hand over his lips.

  "Quiet," muttered the man, staring ahead as his emerald eyes fixed on a moving shadow in the trees. "Don't bite my hands either."

  Ian scowled. It was only one time he did that—and it was a reasonable circumstance when an out-of-control Esper had wandered into the hallway and Lucian dragged him into a room.

  With the amount of unwanted 'room dragging' that happened in the facility, it was perfectly reasonable to attack. His teeth were particularly sharp.

  The bushes rustled, dragging with the movement of the creature. It sounded as if somebody were dragging their feet on the ground, bumping into every barrier in its way.

  The two peered around the trunk that safely hid them. A long and skinny shape appeared, two thin arms trailing on the ground while its twisted body, which resembled two intertwined roots, was littered with little spikes.

  In its forehead was a large, protruding eyeball that bulged as if on the verge of slipping out, attached by delicate vessels.

  "A B-grade monster," muttered Lucian with some confusion. "I thought the rank of this stimulation would've lowered with your appearance."

  Ian freed himself from Lucian's hold, confidently replying, "I wouldn't lower any level grade."

  With his confident words, but his passive nature during the weekly bullying, Lucian squinted at him and sighed helplessly, as if appeasing a child. "Of course, whatever you say."

  "....." Ian scowled at the pitying gaze sent by the other.

  His foot stepped back and he froze, hovering over a perfectly placed branch designed to sabotage. His heart soared and settled as he carefully stepped down beside it.

  Then, an ear-piercing scream speared his eardrums.

  The slumped monster's back cracked, correcting into impeccable posture.

  Lucian leaned towards Ian, whispering, "Now that's proper posture. Everybody stands crookedly these days. It's impossible to find a straight partner."

  Ian looked over his shoulder, and then back at him. He calmly reminded, "You don't want them straight."

  Lucian paused. "I suppose I don't."

  Before Ian could offer his agreement, the bones cracked wildly, smashing and bulging against the creature's thin skin.

  The body continued contorting until it created a backward bridge.

  Two Guides and one eyeball stared at each other.

  In the next second, the bent and crooked body rapidly crawled towards them.