Chapter Eight

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Uploaded on 3/13/07

The room was surprisingly comfortable, with high-backed chairs that didn't squeak no matter the abuse they took. A long mahogany table commanded the center of the rectangular room, shining dully in the fluorescent lights covering the ceiling. Several computers crowded the corners, with a tangle of cords erupting from the sides like some bizarre disease. A screen ran along one of the short walls with a projector hooked to the ceiling for any information they needed available to the whole room at once.

Five people sat around the table, the same who attended each debriefing before. The unit Boyd and Sin were involved with was highly confidential, to the point that other than Marshal Connors, Boyd's mother and Sin, there was probably no one else other than those in the room who even knew what truly happened on the missions. Or even, really, what Sin and Boyd did.

Boyd leaned back in his chair, his legs idly splayed before him, his eyes half-lidded as he stared blankly at the screen. As usual, General Carhart sat at the front of the table, speaking to Jeffrey the analyst, whose black hair was always perfectly pressed like his suits. He was a cold man, but Boyd was used to cold people and rarely seemed to notice anymore.

There were two people in charge of tracking the rebel movements, a formidable job on its own without counting the fact that each of them was in charge of an entire hemisphere.

Ryan was in charge of the area of the world predominated by the Americas, and was as talkative as ever. For some reason, Ryan seemed to think Sin was the most fascinating person ever and had taken to asking Boyd constantly for information ever since the first time they'd met and he realized that Boyd was his partner. With somewhat long black hair, thick black-rimmed square glasses, and a constant preoccupation with thinking of this all in terms of a big game of civilizations or old time warcraft, he was easily the geekiest person Boyd knew at the Agency. As Boyd was a former geek (at least, he was no stranger to video games), he understood Ryan to a certain extent and though he found his pestering for details and the inside scoop on Sin to be wearying, he wasn't cold to him. Ryan was extremely thin and wore clothes a few sizes too big for him, which just made him seem more like a kid to Boyd even though he was actually a few years older and in his early twenties.

Owen watched over the area of the world predominated by Europe, Africa and Asia, and his messy red hair was usually in danger of covering half his face. He always looked as though he had just woken up and forgot to even put his clothes on properly, with crinkled pants and shirts that were perpetually untucked. He was in his thirties, but he worked well with Ryan's excessiveness. Now he was leaning against the table looking extremely tired, yawning widely every few seconds. He rubbed at his black eyes and slumped down, as unprofessional as ever.

Ryan scooted his chair closer to Boyd and leaned towards him so far that his chair tilted dangerously. "Hey, Boyd! Hsin still won't come, huh?" His thin lips turned down in a disappointed frown.

Boyd had learned long ago that it was best to delay the moment he actually had to speak aloud to Ryan, or he would expect too much conversation too soon. He shook his head just the slightest, mostly enough to swish his hair against his cheeks.

"Bah. That sucks. Do you think he would if you suggested it to him?" Ryan smiled hopefully, a big toothy grin that seemed to take up most of his face.

Boyd blinked, the very idea enough to make him actually look over. "Suggest it to him?" he asked, with the mildest incredulity.

"Well I mean, you're his partner and all. You are side by side with him a lot. I mean-- yeah! It's just, I told you I've never been formally introduced to Hsin or spent much time in his presence and I really want to because you know, he gets such a bad rap around here and I want to check things out for myself, so can you suggest it?"

Staring at Ryan, Boyd took a moment to formulate a response. "...Have you ever seen a video of him? Or read any files about his personality?"

"Oh, of course. I've seen and read his entire file. It took me a full night to get through but I stayed up just to finish. I got kind of engrossed. He's very fascinating, but I'm sure you know that." Ryan nodded as if agreeing with himself and began playing with his hair. "Why?"

"I'm sure," Boyd said mildly, tilting his chair slightly so he was facing Ryan more than the rest of the room. "Then you must realize that he is a rather... belligerent person. If I tried to suggest he come to the debriefings, I can't say if he would ignore or attack me."

Ryan frowned and worried his lower lip between his teeth. "Well maybe you could try--"

"For heaven's sake Ryan, stop pestering Boyd with your sick obsession," Jeffrey snapped sourly as he took his place at the table. "It's bad enough that you don't even try to hide it."

"And what's so sick about it?" Ryan muttered defensively. "He is a team member and I've never even met him properly."

"I'm sure all you want to do is meet him," Jeffrey drawled with a cold smile.

"Enough," Carhart interrupted. "Owen, wake up."

Owen started awake with a little snort, and wiped away the drool that started to collect in the corner of his mouth.

Boyd tilted his chair toward the General, though he didn't bother to sit up any straighter.

Carhart folded his hands in front of him and glared at everyone for a moment. He seemed to be in an unusually foul mood at the moment. "I have to meet Marshal Connors at 0800 so let's keep this short and sweet. Boyd?"

Inclining his head in acknowledgment, Boyd leaned back in the chair. "I infiltrated the facility, was briefly detained, escaped, and killed the target. Although a few chased us, we were able to leave unnoticed."

Carhart stared at Boyd for a long moment before speaking. "That was shorter than I had anticipated. How were you captured and was your identity compromised?"

Boyd lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "They anticipated my moves, overpowered me, handcuffed me and placed me in a cell. Although I could probably be positively identified by a few, for the most part I kept my face turned or in the shadows. Even if anyone recognized me, they would not know what entity I work for; they just knew me as an intruder who could as easily be with another rebel faction."

"Yeah um-- since the Director was taken out, Sector 89 has been in a state of confusion but they haven't directly pinned the assassination on the Agency as of yet, although they haven't entirely ruled it out. So far it seems their prime suspect is Sector 53 because there's still bad blood between them after the break with Janus--"

"Get to the point, Ryan."

"Yeah, they don't know."

Carhart rolled his eyes and looked at Boyd. "And Sin's role?"

"The usual mockery from afar," Boyd said mildly.

Ryan leaned forward with slightly widened eyes but Carhart silenced him with a look. "I see." He pursed his lips together and tapped his knuckles against the table. "I'll be paying him a visit."

Jeffrey leaned back in the chair, a smug look crossing his face. "About time," he said too loudly to be meant for only himself.

Owen was nearly asleep on the other side of the table, though he made a point to cover it by pretending to stare at the papers scattered in front of him.

Boyd tilted his head slightly, watching Carhart with an unreadable expression. When he spoke, his tone was offhanded and bored. "Although, it was due to his quick reflexes that we were able to leave the city silently and undetected. Were I alone, it is unclear what would have happened. There was one particular point in which we would have been cornered had he not realized they were there despite not being visible."

Carhart looked at Boyd with a smile playing on his lips and inclined his head. "I see. That is good to know, however this is his last chance and it is time he begins to take it more seriously." He looked at Jeffrey. "What should we expect from 89 in the future?"

"Jason Aarons, a.k.a. 'Jason Bendt,' was the sole motivating factor in 89, after the recent mutiny from his second-in-command, Warren Andrews. If Ryan's update from the last mission can be believed," and his tone said it could not, "then Andrews is with Janus. Sector 89 should pose no threat, provided Boyd actually managed to kill the man, and not just thought he did."

He looked at Boyd with raised eyebrows. "Do you have any proof the man is actually dead? Forgive me if I find it hard to believe you're suddenly a killer when so far your MO seems to be hitting people on the head and telling them stupid lies."

"How clumsy of me to forget that we live in such barbaric times," Boyd said mildly, making half-lidded eye contact with Jeff. "In the future, I will be sure to endanger the mission so I can bring you a souvenir... Do you prefer an ear or a head?"

Owen started awake at the underlying tension and stared at the two sleepily.

Jeffrey leaned forward, his eyes narrowed and voice soft. "I wouldn't be feeling cocky, Boyd. It's pure luck that you've lasted this long; if that psycho Sin doesn't get you, the rebels will."

"I should be so lucky," Boyd said uncaringly.

"Oh shut up, Jeffrey." Ryan made a face at him. "I'd like to see you running around in the field attempting to kill people. You'd probably be more worried about analyzing how long you have to get back to base before the blood stains are permanently set into your suit."

Carhart rubbed his forehead and stared at the two of them. Sometimes he wondered how the people on this team had been chosen. "Can we save the bullying for the training yard and focus on the matter at hand?" He glared at Jeffrey and Ryan. "What data do you have that implies 53 might be in league with Janus?"

Ryan squinted at the disorderly pile of papers in front of him but didn't actually read them. Sometimes it seemed as though he had all of the information on his sectors stored in his head without any need for print outs. "For several months before the mutiny, there were dozens of calls made from the 89 base to territories in the Oceanic Republic where several Janus cells are located. Sources tell me that Jason wanted to split with Janus because he didn't like having to answer to a higher authority but Andrews was against the move. He attempted mutiny before going to Sector 53 and since then there's been a lot of back and forth between their base in Florida and the same territories in the Oceanic Republic. With Jason dead, we have very little to fear from 89 as Jeffy said but if he'd managed to pull a fast one again with his assistant, which I doubt--" He winked at Boyd. "--We'd have some trouble because he'd been attempting to form ties with some of the groups overseas, but Owen has more info on that."

Carhart nodded and typed a few commands on the computer in front of him, bringing up a chart on the projector. It had every faction in both hemispheres listed, split up by importance. There was a separate chart for the groups who worked with Janus and another for the groups who had crossed over and now worked secretly for the Agency. "As you can see Janus is growing larger every day," he pointed at the chart. "We need to neutralize these smaller factions before they also form ties with Janus or their reach will extend all over the globe. It seems like a daunting task and it is, but it must be done."

"You can't really see on the chart," Owen said, watching the screen blearily, "but there's been a fifteen percent increase in Janus activity overseas in the last three months. In the last six, twenty-four percent of the existing factions have switched to identifying as Janus cells. I think it'll probably rise to thirty-five/forty by the end of the year."

"Insignificant numbers," Jeffrey said dismissively, eyeing Ryan with annoyance lingering over his last snide comment. "Most of those factions that are switching over are meaningless. What do they even have in shit countries like that? A few guns, maybe a college kid for a leader."

Owen shrugged. He rarely felt the need to get into an argument with Jeffrey; another point where he differed from Ryan.

"Regardless of the current assets, you should not discount the charisma of the leaders," Boyd said in boredom, staring at the charts.

"Oh?" Jeffrey said, giving Boyd with a mockingly questioning look. "You've become so good at your job that you can do mine now too? Well then. Enlighten me as to what I am overlooking."

Boyd shrugged his good shoulder; his other arm still burned from the grazed bullet wound. "This is exactly how Janus started. A small group of idealists who happened to have a charismatic leader, and they grew from there. They had little to no assets initially themselves, and now they are worldwide. Even one small faction could instigate rebellion in an entire land of disenchanted peasants. That may be even more dangerous than a large, 'significant' group, because at least the large groups are more cohesive and easily recognizable.

"If there were a land of angry peasants, would they all necessarily wear the Janus armband? Would they all have the same viewpoint as the core Janus group? I would expect them to be less predictable, and far more ruthless. They, after all, would be used to a life of hard labor whereas currently many of the Janus players are inconsistent idealists whose main idea of security seems to revolve around incompetent rookies guarding poorly constructed doors. Beyond that, those 'shit' countries currently hold more sway, power, and resources than our own." Boyd slid his eyes over to meet Jeffrey's, his voice becoming a touch cool. "Am I incorrect in my analysis?"

Jeffrey stared at Boyd with narrowed eyes, and in the brief silence Owen pointed lazily at Boyd. "Yeah," he said with a yawn. "What he said."

Carthart nodded briskly and glanced at Boyd with a slightly impressed smile. "Good work."

He closed the chart and looked at Jeffrey. "Figure out who we should focus on next. Look into 53 and see if they hold any weight at the moment and if not, collaborate with Owen and get started on the Janus sleeper cells over seas. Have the information on my desk by tomorrow." Without another word he turned on his heel and was striding out of the room.

Ryan leaned back in his chair and shuffled all of his papers together, stealing glances at Boyd the whole time. "Well Jeffy, looks like we can all look to Boyd for the thinking from now on," he joked.

Jeffrey grit his teeth behind a smile. "Very cute, Ryan." He picked up a handful of papers and dropped the edges along the table until it was a neat pile, and slipped it into a black briefcase tilted near his chair.

"I can promise you," he said softly with fake politeness as he stood, "that if we had to rely on Bulldog's little bitch, we'd get nowhere fast. You people may think he's intelligent, but he volunteered to partner with that psychotic monster. While I can't expect you of all people to understand the complete idiocy inherent in that, the rest of us do." He strode down the table without waiting for a response and smacked Owen on the head as he passed, his voice turning sharp. "Owen. Get off your ass and come with me. Conference Room B."

Owen rubbed his head and shared a look with Ryan as the door slammed shut behind Jeffrey. "Thanks," he grumbled, shoving himself up with a great deal of energy. "Now he's gonna be all pissy at me." He gathered his things and, yawning, waved a hand at Boyd lazily. "Eh, don't listen to him, though. What you said made sense. I think his brain got squeezed out when his pride took over or something."

Boyd shrugged his good shoulder lightly. "I don't care. There are worse things in life than someone being frustrated with me."

Owen nodded. "True enough." He rolled his shoulders in exaggeration to get out the kinks, and slouched his way toward the door and probably certain doom at the hands of one angry Jeffrey Styles.

Ryan glared at Jeffrey's retreating back. "He doesn't even know what he's talking about," He complained. "He doesn't know anything about Hsin, he just believes all of the rumors that everyone else spreads. Not to say that Hsin isn't a little...off at times, but that's only when he really loses it and I've only heard of that happening when he's provoked." He shook his head and began shoving his papers into unorganized stacks, continuing with his surprisingly defensive tirade. "What do they expect from him anyway? Bah. Why do people have to be so stupid? It pisses me off," He continued in a frustrated tone. "If Jeffrey had the childhood that Hsin did, he probably wouldn't be any saner."

Boyd looked sidelong at Ryan, watching him silently for a breath. Did he care about Sin's life? The answer would have been a very easy 'no' earlier. But Boyd had not been lying when he'd told Sin he thought him interesting. That would not have been enough on its own, though. It was in the contradictions that seemed to appear every time Boyd spoke to Sin. Sin was polite, but ruthless. Sometimes he seemed cold and completely uncaring and other times he seemed incredibly human. He was a killer, he was probably insane, but he didn't necessarily seem it.

Maybe more than anything, Boyd was willing to ask due to the tattoo. Milton, and Thomas Paine; a fellow reader in the last place he would expect. For someone who would brand himself with the irony of ancient prose, he could not stay quiet.

"Childhood?" he asked idly, finally.

Ryan nodded and paused in his shuffling so that he could focus on Boyd. "Yeah, I'm 99.9% positive that he was abused pretty badly when he was a child. It explains a lot."

Boyd watched Ryan without a change in expression. "How so?"

Ryan scooted his chair and looked pleased that he finally had a willing listener to his Sin theories. "Well-- when Hsin was first brought to the agency he was only 14 and they did a lot of tests on him, psychiatric and otherwise. A lot of the old reports and transcripts got lost after the bombs dropped and many of the old psychiatrists died so not many people got a chance to read them in depth. I'm sure Carhart would have but at that time he wasn't as high up as he is now. But anyway, I managed to dig up some old copies of stuff and I saw that he admitted a few times in therapy when he first came in that his mother had been a prostitute. If you ask him now, he'll lie and joke and say she was a saint but earlier on the doctors who saw him got the strong impression that he was sexually abused as a child."

Ryan frowned and shook his head. "And his father-- geez-- don't let Carhart hear you say it but I don't even want to know what he did to the guy to 'train' him and teach him how to kill; I mean Hsin was the best assassin the Agency at the age of fourteen for goodness sake, there had to be some messed up stuff going on in Emilio's parenting for him to turn out like that." Ryan looked around in near paranoia before continuing. "But anyway it was that info about his mom that made a lot of stuff about him click into place. It explains why he freaks out when people touch him-- why that doctor he attacked got, well, attacked. That's why it makes no sense that they try to say he's a rapist. I just don't think someone who would react that way in response to sexual advances would go around sexually abusing others, but then again who knows. I just like to believe the best about people I guess."

Boyd looked away and considered the information, leaning back in his chair. His expression did not change, and he did not particularly feel anything at the knowledge. And yet, he didn't relish the idea of Sin having a difficult childhood. It followed that anyone who grew up to be the way he was would have reasons, probably negative. But... Boyd didn't exactly feel sorry for Sin, but he felt something. It was very vague and removed, but it was there. And it didn't go away the moment he acknowledged it, as other emotions had in the past.

His eyes narrowed briefly, thinking. "I knew he was lying when I saw the interview with his psychiatrist. The new one who replaced the female he attacked. He did say his mother was a saint, but I didn't believe it." Boyd tilted his head in Ryan's direction. "What else do you know?"

"Well first of all, he attacked that woman psychiatrist because she got... fresh with him." Ryan lowered his voice and looked around again. "People don't like to hear about this here. Everyone knew Lydia was kind of promiscuous but after the incident they pretty much canonized her. Anyway, she wound up making advances on him and not just verbally. I saw the surveillance footage that they tried to hide. She was on his lap, touching him and when she tried to kiss him that's when he freaked out."

Ryan made a face. "Not that I'm saying she deserved it, I actually know her quite well but... she should have known better. He's very jumpy when people touch him, so I don't know why she thought she'd be an exception. To make matters worse, she had him rehashing stuff about his past while under the influence of some hella strong meds. I don't see what possessed her to do what she did right then but… well, we know what happened. I don't know how he is with people he trusts or anything though. I know nothing about him that hasn't been recorded. The only weird thing about his personality I do know is that he seems to have an obsession with innocent people, like protecting them or at least defending them when something occurs in his line of sight. He seems fascinated by them and that's gotten him in trouble on more than one occasion. It might be because... I don't know, I guess it could have something to do with the fact that when he was small and defenseless no one protected him and it's some weird psychological thing that makes him freak out? I mean that's my own private theory, no one else has bothered to notice that in the past and it's confusing honestly; a lot of things about him are completely contradictory. I'm not really sure why, I don't have details on his personality or anything. Just what's been documented. I have a ton of information stored, if you want to see."

He took a breath finally and smiled at Boyd. "I'm sorry; I'm not being annoying am I?"

"If I thought you were being annoying, I would not have asked for more information, nor would I actually continue to speak to you," Boyd said not unkindly.

He felt that vague emotion grow, only slightly, and he realized that he was in some muffled way disgusted at the idea of that woman's advances. Boyd did not have much of an opinion on what exactly she deserved, but he agreed with Ryan that it was a poor decision to make advances on one's unstable client. Actually, it reminded him of the collar, and how Sin seemed to be treated as an animal. But an animal did not read Milton....

"How much information?" Boyd asked casually.

"Thirty gigabytes worth of information. A lot of it is media files, surveillance footage, interviews, the most interesting things in my opinion are seeing video of him when he first came in to the agency as a teenager. I have past mission reports, complaint reports, all of the information from the time he spent in county jail after being arrested by the local police department and a lot of stuff on his father."

Ryan slipped a flash drive out of his briefcase and slid it across the table to Boyd. "Everything is on there. But be really careful with it and don't leave it around. A lot of that information--" He hesitated and looked around yet again. "I'm not supposed to have access to."

"But I was just doing research on my partner," Boyd said in a completely innocent, bored tone. He looked at Ryan meaningfully as he palmed the flash drive. "I'm new to the agency; I didn't know what I officially had access to and what I didn't. This is what I've collected out of curiosity and no one helped me. I can't help it if I'm intelligent enough to find files people don't want me to see."

Ryan winked at Boyd. "Exactly." He stood up and stretched, yawning widely. "You know, a lot of that stuff is kind of alarming but you just have to keep in mind that Hsin isn't just a random psychopath, he has reasons for everything. He attacks when he feels threatened. He hurts people who hurt him because that's what he's used to."

He snorted with laughter. "I know I sound like a Hsin fanboy but I can't help it. I always try to see the best in people, especially when no one else tries. I always root for the underdog."

"I am not certain if Sin is an underdog so much as a mistreated stray." Boyd looked at his fingers, curled over the flash drive. He slid it into his pocket and gave Ryan a tilted, mildly curious look. "Why do you call him Hsin?"

"That's his real name. Hsin Liu Vega, Sin is a kind of bastardization of the spelling of his real name. He had the nickname before actually coming to the Agency but I'm not sure why or who gave it to him. That's kind of his official code name now, but I don't like to use it. It seems belittling in a way."

Boyd wondered if Sin would prefer to be called by his real name, or if that would seem too invasive into a past he likely wanted to forget. That was what he really meant by his question, but he didn't bother correcting Ryan. "I see," was all he said.

"So... do you mind me asking a couple of questions about him?"

Boyd blinked. "I should imagine you know far more than I ever would, but feel free."

"All I know is the stuff about his past and about what he's done. I've never officially met him in person. You probably know him the best out of anyone. You're one of the few people he's spent considerable amounts of time with without him attempting to kill you."

"Not actively attempted to kill, but I suspect he did not expect me to live through many of these missions." Boyd lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "What do you want to know?"

"Jeffrey and Owen think I'm such a weirdo but I didn't get this interested until they put me in this unit, I swear. I'm not like some weird Hsin stalker or something. Anyway, what I really want to know is... What's he like? What does he talk about? What are his mannerisms like when he isn't giving the 'fuck you I'll just stand here and mock you' attitude?"

Boyd's lips twitched into a smile at the last comment; an expression that was there and gone in the space of two blinks, but definitely amused while it existed. "Ah, well." He took a moment to consider this, and sat up further in his chair. Ryan was helping him out enough that he felt he should return the favor by actually putting effort into the answer.

"I suppose most of the time he ignores me," Boyd said slowly, thinking. "Otherwise we talk about the missions, in which he generally pesters me for information or a reaction and I do my best to ignore him. He told me he was disappointed in me when I reacted poorly to his leaving me alone on the first mission as well as the fact that later he said he did not expect me to live, 'no offense.' And at one point we discussed classical literature."

Ryan's eyes grew round and he leaned towards Boyd curiously. "Classic literature? Really? How did that come up?"

Boyd hesitated, ]somehow the tattoo seemed to be something that was between the two of them but the moment he realized he was thinking that, he felt like an idiot. Anyone could see the tattoo, and Ryan was probably the most likely person to actually care about the information.

"He has a tattoo on the back of his left shoulder of a character from Paradise Lost. I commented on it, and discovered that he has also read Milton, as well as Thomas Paine." Boyd tilted his head slightly. "I found that curious. Does it say in his past that he was an avid reader?"

Ryan thought for a moment before shaking his head negatively. "No, not really. It's kind of surprising, really. He spent four years locked up on the fourth floor when he was twenty-one and I know they didn't allow reading material. Hmmm. But I guess I'm not taking into consideration the fact that we don't know exactly what he does when he was off on assignment." He smiled to himself and rubbed his chin thoughtfully before peering at Boyd. "How did you see this tattoo?"

"He took his shirt off to exercise," Boyd said casually. "I suppose you may be interested to know that he is avid at exercising as well. I believe he made it to three hundred push-ups that day."

Ryan's eyes grew a bit wider and his glasses slid down his nose as he leaned in even closer. "I hate you. I'm jealous." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he reddened a bit. "Ah-- anyway. Heh." He scratched the back of his head and looked embarrassed.

Boyd was mildly surprised to find himself actually, genuinely amused. It was not a vague emotion, though it was still a little muffled. He kept a straight face and tilted his head slightly, his hair falling against the side of his face. "Jealous?" he asked innocently. "Why?"

Ryan gave him an odd look and straightened up again. "You're kidding right? I mean, mental instability aside, the man is a stone cold fox."

"Stone-" Boyd actually had to stop himself, bringing one hand up to cover his mouth when he smiled again. He looked away to hide the amusement in his eyes. "Ah," he said after a moment, when he knew his voice would remain calm. "Am I to assume that means you find him attractive?"

"Hell yes! I mean anyone, gay, straight, sideways, whatever, can admit when they see beauty and he is beauty. Those eyes with that skin and his mouth-- God. Not to mention his voice…" He trailed off, sneaking a glance at Boyd. "Wow, I sound like a total fanboy, huh?" Ryan laughed at himself. "This is embarrassing. If I said this to anyone else, they'd think I was a complete freak and go off on a rant about how he's too psychotic and cold blooded to be attractive, etc etc."

Boyd lifted one shoulder in his casual shrug. His expression was back to normal, but it seemed a little less distant and uninvolved. "I personally do not see what personality has to do with physical features. One can be any level of attractive regardless of what sort of person one is inside. Of course, the personality may color one's perceptions to a certain extent, but not enough to completely disregard objective beauty."

"Ahhh, so you enjoy the view too, eh?" He nudged Boyd obnoxiously, joking more than anything.

"I hadn't really thought of it," Boyd said, blinking. "I suppose objectively, yes, he could be attractive."

Ryan made a face at him. "Bah. What do you mean 'suppose'?" He shook his head and collected his papers again. "But all joking aside, I'm not just some obsessed fanboy with a hard-on for assassins. I know he's done some bad stuff but I just think it's ridiculous to expect anything else from someone who has been treated so violently all of his life. I mean the collars and the boxes and all of that stuff is just plain ridiculous. It makes me automatically want to defend him just because everyone else is so determined to remain against him." He shrugged. "That opinion can make me kind of unpopular around here but I can care less."

He shoved the stack into a folder and hugged it to his chest. "All of this talk has made me hungry. Want to go get fake burgers in the cafeteria?"

Generally, Boyd would give an excuse and leave. He still lived away from the Agency's headquarter, and he usually tried to avoid subjecting himself to the presence of a lot of people and noise as much as possible. But...

"Yes," Boyd said, picking up his messenger bag and standing as well. He paused, slipping the bag over his shoulder and looked at Ryan seriously. "If it helps, my observation is that they treat him like an animal, and seem surprised when he reacts as one. I think that is foolish."

Ryan grinned at Boyd, started to put an arm around his shoulders, but thought better of it and stopped. "I agree. You know, Boyd, I think we're going to be pretty good friends. I'm glad they chose you and not another numbskull bully. You're neat."

He headed for the door to the conference room. "So how do you feel about PC games?"

Boyd didn't really know what to think of Ryan's casual praise, but somehow it felt nice to be told something good about himself that had nothing to do with his prowess, intelligence, or quick-learning. He did not smile as he followed Ryan, but his voice was light as he said, "I prefer video games, but I have been known to beat several levels on the PC as well."

Ryan's excited exclamation was muffled by the door shutting behind them and the rest of the evening was spent on idle conversation, fake meat and a person to relax around.

Sin's Files
That Night

It was several hours later when Boyd finally got home. He dropped his messenger bag off in his room and made himself a cup of jasmine tea as a nightly soothing ritual. The house was dark, empty and filled with muffled silence as usual. Somehow, he was more aware of it than he remembered being in quite some time.

It was not necessarily that it bothered him to notice this, but once it occurred to him that it was quiet, that was all he could think about. Johnson's Pharmaceuticals - anywhere connected to the Agency, really - seemed filled with noise or at least a very resounding presence. But this house was just a house, not even a home anymore despite the fact Boyd stayed there and right now it was empty even with Boyd standing inside.

He found himself in his room without thinking and though he stared at his bed for a few blank moments he knew he would not be able to sleep. Even so, perhaps he should try. Starting to empty his pockets out, he paused when his fingers curled around the flash drive. Although he was interested earlier, after all of Ryan's information regarding Sin's past, Boyd wondered vaguely if it would be an invasion of privacy to look into it. After all, there were things in Boyd's past that he wouldn't relish someone being able to flip through in boredom.

Then again, another look to his bed told him that it did not look appealing at all. Nor did his books, or journal, or poetry. He knew he needed something else tonight.

His feet led him across the house without thinking, down the dusty corridor to the room that had once been used more than any other in the household: his father's old office. The computer remained in the corner, dark and unused but perfectly in tact. For a long time, Boyd did not have the heart, or perhaps courage, to turn it on. Years after his father's death, he had one day just to prove to himself that the computer existed and in that way to verify that his father had as well.

Boyd was young when his father died, but he remembered him well. Still, over the years he'd started to convince himself that it was all an elaborate lie. A dream to delude himself into thinking there was someone who'd cared about his existence more than his mother.

Then, for quite some time, the computer was used when Lou came over. They played games sometimes, just screwed around other times. The computer had come alive again in Boyd's mind... Until Lou also died.

The office had remained untouched since a day prior to Lou's death, the last time they played on it. He could almost feel the ghost of his friend in the room, his laughter haunting the corners and his bad jokes spoken so loudly that they could probably be heard even outside the house. Boyd turned the light on, but it flickered dully. Many of the lightbulbs burned out long ago and he never bothered replacing them. The bombs also messed with the electricity and some rooms had stronger currents than others.

As Boyd approached the computer (cautiously, as if he were closing in on a wild animal) he imagined for a moment that he could see and hear Lou's fingers flying over the keyboard. There was a time when, in the height of their geekiness, they had even compared typing speeds. Lou beat Boyd by a decent margin. That was primarily because he did not always go to school and when he was not wandering the city during the hours Boyd spent in classrooms, he was on the computer doing whatever it was he did. Boyd never did fully find out.

"What am I doing?" Boyd whispered to himself when he realized he had been staring at the computer long enough for his eyes to go unfocused and his breathing to go quiet and still. He pulled some hair behind his ear and dropped into the seat without giving himself a chance to think. The computer purred quietly in front of him, working perfectly well despite the poor maintenance it received over the years.

When Boyd was able to pull up the folder for the flash drive, he was a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information. Ryan had warned him that there was a lot on there, but he did not really know where to start. He scanned the folder and file names, noting the extensions so he knew what sort of file it would be. He clicked whatever caught his eye at first, and discovered a few pictures of Sin over the years. Most were still frames from security or surveillance cameras, one was a mug shot from his time in jail and another appeared to be a picture taken for identification purposes for the agency.

Sin's appearance had not seemed to have changed much over the course of the years; every image portrayed the same penetrating green gaze and unruly black hair although that had taken on streaks of red at some point. The progression in age was interesting, not because of his physical appearance, but because of the slight change in demeanor as he'd grown older. The image of Sin at the age of fourteen showed a thin, sinewy boy with almost delicate features and impossibly long, black eyelashes that framed his startling, Chartreuse colored eyes. As intelligent and calculating as those eyes seemed to be, teenaged Sin's face was completely void of any expression or emotion and several pictures of him over the following years seemed to follow that trend. It was hard to imagine that scrawny, striking child going on assignments and taking lives, but Boyd knew that Sin's appearance was very deceiving and that had apparently been the case for many years.

However at some point his mannerisms appeared to have gradually begun to change, his face became extremely expressive and often the look in his eyes was challenging, hostile and accompanied by the mocking smirk that Boyd was familiar with now. The change could imply that Sin had found the ability to express himself over the years, that he'd gotten in touch with emotions he hadn't been able to have as a child assassin, but Boyd's experience with Sin told an entirely different story. It seemed the opposite in fact; Sin's provoking manner didn't seem like more than an act or a further measure taken to keep people away from him and to prevent them from getting close.

Boyd closed the folder with the images and moved on. One file had a simple link, and he clicked it without really thinking.

What appeared to be a still frame appeared on screen and it took Boyd a moment to realize it was a picture taken of Sin's current apartment from quite a height. Somehow, the photographer must have wedged the camera into the corner to get that angle. In it, Sin seemed to be staring into nothing as he sat on the couch.

Boyd stared at the picture for a bit, thinking about much of what Ryan had said and all that he knew of Sin right now. He could understand Ryan and Carhart to an extent. When not in motion, when not killing, when not putting on his act, Sin was just another person to them. To Boyd however, he was always just another person. However to everyone else at the Agency, Sin was a monster in human skin. Sin did not seem so in that picture, as if he were sitting quietly, waiting for something to happen.

---

Sin waited for sleep but it did not come. Several times he'd felt his eyelids grow heavy but as soon as he began to lose focus and his mind started to slip into the abyss of dreams, he'd jerk himself awake abruptly, seeking out the exits to the room in paranoia.

He did not like the feeling of vulnerability that overcame him when he closed his eyes.

He did not like what he saw when he closed his eyes.

He did not like to sleep but he knew he needed it. He'd often sit for hours until his body's need overwhelmed him and he could not fight it anymore. He normally slept for two to three hours before waking up again.

He stood up from the couch and looked towards the window with a soft sigh. The moonlight shone on him suddenly and it was obvious that he wore nearly no clothes. He padded across the apartment and leaned against a wall, staring up at the ceiling moodily.

---

Boyd straightened in his chair, realizing with a start that it was not a picture but a video. Was it recorded? He leaned into the screen, squinting to see any details. It was an entirely white room, with a small bedroom that Boyd could barely from the angle of the camera. It was at the farthest point from the door, and the bed that rested in there looked entirely unused. A modern couch, with lines too clean to look comfortable, sat against the wall in the main area, with a television turned off in another corner. A kitchen and dining area could just barely be seen from Boyd's angle, but that also looked untouched.

A clock ticked away the minutes on the wall above the couch, the sound incredibly loud in the silent room. Boyd looked at it and then his watch. They were in synch, which was either quite the coincidence, or it meant that this was a live feed.

Boyd sat back in the chair, feeling strangely uneasy. He didn't know what to think about this. He did not relish the idea of spying on Sin, and yet he had nothing to do himself. He knew he would not be able to sleep, and Sin... Well, he seemed to have the same problem. His expression was half-shadowed, but the relief the moonlight gave it showed something that Boyd could understand.

Inability and frustration; the deadening of the mind in the long hours of the night.

Something shifted in him, but he didn't know what. He felt connected to Sin, yet at the same time it seemed... wrong that he felt this way. Sin did not know Boyd was watching, so Boyd did not feel right doing so. But...

How many people watched Sin daily? His every move, every breath, every expression caught on camera or by someone's scrutinizing gaze. He must feel caged even when out of the box Ryan mentioned. He must feel like an animal in a zoo. It must be very... dehumanizing.

Boyd pulled the flash drive folder up again, his lips pulling down in a mild frown as he looked again at the contents. Who was this person? He asked himself. Who or what was Sin?

He was starting to see how Ryan's interest began. As for himself, he had been uninterested and uninvolved with the world for so many years that finding anything that caught his attention was almost like catching a buoy out in the ocean. A slight shudder and Boyd immediately changed the analogy in his mind. He hated the ocean. Or rather, he was afraid of large bodies of water.

A folder marked 'jail' caught his attention. He could not quite bring himself to close the live feed so he just covered it instead with the new folder. He opened one that looked like it would be another video and waited for it to load.

Grainy footage from what appeared to be a surveillance camera filled the screen. From the angle, Boyd guessed that it was fixed on a streetlight as it hovered above what appeared to be a street in the old financial district. The date at the bottom of the video was seven years old, which explained why the area had not been cleaned up yet. It'd been not long after the second major wave of bombs that had devastated the country.

Prior to the peak of the war all those years ago, paranoia was high. Cameras were installed nationwide in concealed vantage points to watch high traffic areas and the sections of the cities that were known to house criminal behavior. This was an attempt to catch terrorists in the act and in order to avoid losing the footage in attacks, it routed through heavily protected wires and casings to automated facilities that could record for years even without even a single person present to monitor. Several of the cameras were destroyed during the war, despite all precautions taken, but many survived. Boyd was unsurprised to note that one existed in the financial district still; a district filled with money was definitely worth investing extra time to protect it, after all.

A large pile of rubble rose several feet in the air in the far corner of the screen. Several scavengers were picking through it, presumably looking for anything of value that they could trade. Boyd knew well enough that it was a common practice after the war; for a long while money was worthless until the economy picked up again and bartering or scavenging for goods was all most could do. People still practiced this form of trade even now and in lower-class areas it was the only way to obtain goods.

There was an alley to the right of the screen, with a main road intersecting it and the rubble. Nothing of note happened for awhile; the scavengers overturned a few rocks and one of them suddenly stuffed something deep into his shirt. He must have found something valuable to hide it so quickly.

The scuff of feet against the ground slowly became audible, followed quickly by muffled sounds of a struggle that echoed from the side. A young, red-headed female appeared in the alley, running quickly with a look of terror on her face. Three men chased her, their yells and taunting words unintelligible even if their intent was not. They caught up to her easily, trapping her in the corner and grabbing at her mercilessly as she screamed. The scavengers didn't seem interested in her peril but that wasn't abnormal during that time. Most people were disillusioned after losing everything and everyone they cared about; people didn't put themselves in danger for strangers anymore.

A few minutes passed as she struggled uselessly and the three men pinned her to the ground. Her screams were rising in pitch when a tall, dark figure appeared on the screen. The man was walking calmly down the main road with his hands in his pockets. When he got closer, the streetlight illuminated his face and Boyd recognized Sin immediately despite the fact that he was several years younger. Sin didn't appear startled by the scene before him but he did stop and observe it casually. The men halted their activity and words were exchanged, but the camera only picked up muffled growls and a familiar soft, accented voice. Unfortunately Boyd could not tell what they said.

Sin appeared to be staring at the young girl with a disinterested look on his face as she quietly sobbed and struggled, but there was something in his eyes that made it obvious that the disinterest was only on the surface. The slight curl of his mouth, the way his hand slowly balled into a fist, they were all telling signs that Sin felt something else as he looked at the scene. It was not an expression that Boyd was familiar with and it inspired great curiosity in him as he watched.

So suddenly that there was no transition, Sin looked at the men with an expression of wild fury. The look was deadly, frightening and suddenly Boyd wondered if this is what Ryan had meant when he'd said that Sin could 'lose it' sometimes. The expression on Sin's face had the ability to send a shiver down a person's spine and it was painfully obvious that in that moment, he was not entirely sane.

There was a blur of motion that the camera could not follow. One moment the three men stood there over their conquest but within seconds they were dead at Sin's feet and he was covered in blood. The girl he'd saved appeared terrified of him but it wasn't entirely clear if it was caused by sheer brutality of his actions, the almost careless way he'd murdered three men before her eyes or if he'd explicitly threatened her directly; she pulled her clothes over herself and scrambled up.

She ran screaming towards the scavengers, so hysterical that she could barely make it over the rubble. Sin stared after her and followed, not appearing concerned with the gore that he was splattered with. There were sounds of excited yelling off camera and then suddenly, several of the scavengers were rushing towards Sin. It wasn't obvious why they were involving themselves then, but they seemed intent to hurt him. It was entirely possible that they were more interested in looting the bodies than actually avenging the men who'd just been slain; perhaps they thought Sin would be an obstacle or maybe they wanted to loot his body as well and were using this as an excuse. The practice of looting dead men had not been uncommon; the times had been poor and the poverty led to desperation.

Sin didn't fight back for awhile but the mob attacked him relentlessly, obviously intending to kill him or inflict irreparable damage although it wasn't immediately obvious why. When he finally began to defend himself, they dropped one after another without much of a challenge. The camera struggled to follow Sin's movements, but it could not. His attacks were in the space of a breath, the sort of thing that was missed if a person blinked. Blood arced around Sin in a spray, splattering his clothes, the ground, the rubble. Sin killed each man with speed and efficiency, his expression lost to the blur of his body and the blood on his face.

Several moments passed in nearly silent gore until the screech of sirens echoed from the distance. The local police appeared quickly, surrounding Sin in a several layer formation that trapped him. There was a confusion of sounds; sirens screeching, men screaming out orders and danger, gunshots echoing resoundingly in the empty areas the bombs had created. Through it all, Sin was perfectly silent; a killer who moved like the wind. He fought them as efficiently as the scavengers, but the police were better equipped with shields, vests, guns and tazers.

It was only a matter of time before even Sin was incapacitated and dragged off into one of their vehicles. The police left the scene and the dead bodies behind. The camera continued recording, and after a few moments scavengers appeared again to loot the bodies for anything precious. The video cut off abruptly as someone presumably stopped copying the recording.

Boyd stared at the screen for a long moment, thinking. It seemed from the video that Sin was protecting the girl; attacking the men who attacked her. But she ran from him in terror, and Boyd could not tell if it was fear that he would kill her too, or if Sin said or did something that the grainy picture could not pick up. That was seven years ago; Ryan said that Sin was in jail when he was twenty-one, didn't he? That meant that Sin was only a few years older than Boyd in that video and already he was so efficient a killer that the camera could not even follow him.

That must be why everyone believed him to be a mass murderer. With the body count he left behind, and the gore covering him like a set of clothing, he must have painted quite the picture of terror for anyone seeing him brought in.

But what was Sin's motivation to interrupt?

He had a preoccupation with innocents, was that not what Ryan said? He must have seen the woman as being defenseless and for whatever reason lashed out to save her. But that did not entirely explain it. Why would he not protect everyone he saw in danger around him if that were the case? Did it have to only be women, or did the victim only have to be defenseless and outnumbered? Why did Sin's expression change so suddenly from detached disinterest to out-of-control fury?

Boyd shook his head to himself once and opened the next video.

The quality of this video was vastly superior to the first; it appeared to be a surveillance camera mounted on the top of a wall in the corner of a small room. The walls were white and blank, appearing to be stained by cigarette smoke and dripping water. There was a single table and two chairs, all looking very sturdy and probably heavy to move. A single door was the only break in the monotony of the walls, and that did not have even have the smallest window on top to lend any relief to the room. The lights were bright and constant; not even the slightest flicker to give a bit of life to the situation.

For several moments nothing moved; the room was still and quiet. The sensitive microphone picked up muffled footsteps from outside, and the door burst open noisily. Sin abruptly appeared on camera as two uniformed officers shoved him through the doorway.

"Sit down, freak," one of them snapped, his voice tinged with fear. "Detective Allen will be here in a minute."

Sin stared at him for a long moment as though he were weighing his options. Despite the way he behaved with authority figures now, the younger Sin had no mocking smiles or sarcastic comments for the two young cops in front of him. He looked at them through half-closed eyes and didn't appear at all intimidated. He seemed dangerous and wild and the men stared at him nervously. The moment stretched with tension that could be felt even over the screen; it didn't seem as though he would cooperate but the moment passed when he finally sat down silently. The cop who had yet to speak cuffed him to one of the chairs with shaking hands, trying to keep his body as far from Sin as possible. The two backed out of the room quickly, never turning their backs. It was no wonder they feared him, as he had clearly not changed his clothing. He was covered in blood and gore, some of it splattered over his face.

For several moments, Sin sat silently with his hands cuffed behind the chair. His expression was blank and he barely even moved, as if he were a statue forgotten in the corner. Boyd watched the movie for a few minutes, waiting for something to change, but nothing did. He glanced at the time countdown on the side and was mildly surprised to see that it was quite a long video. After another few seconds of waiting, he skipped the video forward little bits at a time. Nothing changed until nearly twenty minutes of recorded time later.

The door opened again and two young men in plainclothes entered. One was taller than the other, with clothing that was expensive for the time the video took place. He had the energy of someone with a coke addiction, and did not bother hiding it. The other one was plumper, sloppier and obviously less refined. They introduced themselves as Detectives Allen and White respectively and began questioning the prisoner.

The interview didn't last long before the detectives became verbally abusive. They seemed frustrated with Sin's lack of cooperation and the way he stared at them with obvious disdain. He raised a mocking eyebrow at their insults and threats, refusing to "confess" to the variety of crimes they were accusing him of; crimes that were entirely unrelated to the incident in the financial district and which were obviously not committed by him.

"Detectives," he drawled at one point. "I commit enough atrocities without adding those of petty criminals to my list."

"You really think you're some tough shit, don't you?" White seethed. "You think you can murder and rape and do whatever the fuck you want? We know your MO, pal. We know you're behind all of the Vickland murders."

Sin gave him a withering look. "You are a sad little man."

It went on like that for awhile before the abuse turned physical. They seemed intent on beating a confession out of him, although Allen commanded orders from the corner without actually getting his hands dirty. He seemed a cruel, petty man and his lips were twisted in an almost lecherous smile as he watched his partner abuse the defenseless prisoner. It went on for nearly an hour and despite the fact that his face was bloody and lacerated, Sin stayed silent, not giving the slightest indication that he felt pain. Boyd watched it all, his expression unchanging and did not skip forward this time around.

White panted and stared at Sin in frustration before turning to Allen with a 'what the hell do I do now?' expression.

"Strip him," Allen said coldly.

Boyd's hand twitched near the mouse but he did not stop the video.

It was unclear what the intent was but White had only managed to rip open the first few buttons of Sin's shirt when there was a sudden flurry of motion and he was abruptly pinned against one of the walls. Sin held him up by the throat with one hand, the handcuffs dangling from his wrist innocuously as he crushed the man's windpipe and swiftly broke his neck. Boyd stared at his hand and noticed in one brief scene that Sin must have dislocated his thumb to get the cuffs off, as it did not look quite right.

Sin disarmed White and let the lifeless detective drop to the floor before turning around to face Allen with a blank, dead expression on his face.

Allen froze in place and fumbled with his gun as Sin raised White's Desert Eagle. It was an extremely impractical weapon for an officer but it was an unsurprising choice considering the Wild West mentality that most had during that time. He aimed the massive weapon at Allen's neck. "It was a pleasure, Detective Allen. I do hope we meet again in the afterlife."

He shot Allen two times on either side of his Adam's apple; blood sprayed everywhere and it appeared as though the man's head was hanging on by strings of muscle and cartilage. Sin stared at the scene calmly and walked over, twisting and yanking the head until it detached from the man's neck. He held it up briefly and stared into the dead eyes before tossing it over his shoulder and heading out the door.

After he disappeared, there was the sound of gunfire and screams for awhile before everything fell silent.

The video cut out suddenly and Boyd found himself staring blankly at the screen. He wondered how many people actually watched that video and knew to any extent what really happened. The image of Sin shooting and ripping a man's head off should have disturbed him, but more than anything he was disturbed by the casual comment, "Strip him."

Maybe Ryan's sympathies and enthusiasm were rubbing off on him. Maybe Boyd was just too tired. Whatever the case, he could not blame Sin for his reaction. How many times did that sort of thing happen to Sin, and how many times was he actually able to fight back? The idea actually irritated Boyd. What right did others have to treat him that way? He did not think Sin was a saint, but neither did he see him as a devil. Was it so impossible to treat others with common decency?

Boyd drew in a deep breath and rubbed his face with weary hands. He paused, letting out a sigh, and peeked through his fingers at the mug of tea sitting dormant and cold by the mouse. Great, and he'd even forgot to drink his tea. This feeling of unease and irritation would not leave, nor would the lingering unnamable emotion somehow connected to Sin.

Somehow, he realized that he was actually feeling upset. Not because what he just saw was disturbing due to the content, but because he found himself actually caring about Sin's wellbeing. The idea of others using Sin with complete disregard for his status as a human, the idea that people thought they could do whatever they wanted to him because they labeled him subhuman in their minds, was actually a mild form of repulsive to Boyd. And that bothered him. He didn't want to feel anything about Sin's existence. After feeling nothing for so long, the fact that he actually cared about Sin's treatment was... disturbing.

This was why he preferred not to deal with anyone or anything. Emotions were too difficult to control and understand, and he didn't want them to complicate his life. He should have just gone to sleep; he should not have watched this. He should be disturbed by the beheading and the death, the blood and the gore, and Sin's expressions of dead emotion to uncontrollable fury in the space of a breath. Instead, he felt very little toward that and more toward the way others treated Sin.

What was wrong with Boyd? Was it a failure on his part to not feel a reaction, or was it everyone else who was cruel? Could he really believe that he himself was superior to others in his empathy? He, who spent the last several years of his life basically in a dead-eyed coma at home? Or was it mere delusion on his part that led him to think that he was in the right and the others in the wrong?

It was a question of numbers; the world against Sin, and only Ryan, General Carhart, and Boyd seemed to be on Sin's side in any way. How could it be that they three were the only ones right, and all the others wrong? Boyd did not know. But he did know he himself was a monster of inhumanity, a deadened creature with no thoughts and no heart. He was his mother, cold and cruel and incapable of caring. He was a monster as much as Sin, in his own way. This was what he thought of himself.

Boyd breathed deeply again, squeezing his eyes shut and leaned forward in the chair. He blinked open bleary eyes to minimize the flash drive folder and stare at the live feed still running beneath. Sin was lying on his side on the floor, curled up in so innocent and childlike a manner that Boyd found himself staring blankly while he tried to reconcile the killer from before with the person on the screen before him.

This was not right.

Something about this was not right.

Boyd felt like something in him was tipping, like he stood on the deck of a ship tilting drunkenly towards the water, and again he was thinking of the damn ocean. Something was changing, though, and Boyd didn't want it to. He wanted to remain exactly how he was, exactly how he had been. Change meant pain, and terrible emotions that could suck him dry. Change meant feeling things in front of other people; it meant feeling something in the presence of his mother. It meant noticing the emptiness of the house, which even then seemed too large and looming around him. The shadows were dark and stifling and he could be suffocating to death for all anyone would know.

He was alone in the house and he always knew it. But somehow, watching Sin alone in his apartment, his chest barely moving as he slept as still as he sat, Boyd was very aware of how alone he was as well. Boyd didn't know if it felt better knowing that Sin was alone at the same time, or if it emphasized the emotion that remained indistinct and persistent somewhere deep inside him.

The chair scraped as he stood up abruptly, and Boyd stared at the screen with an unreadable, intent expression. He wanted to turn it off. He wanted to pull out the drive and forget he saw anything,and he wanted to tell Ryan to stop talking to him about 'Hsin' because frankly Boyd dealt with him enough on his own. He didn't want to think about Sin. He didn't want to think about anything. Some part of him almost resented the live feed, and the folder, and the drive. It was distracting him from the quiet, the silence, the darkness he had painstakingly built over the years to protect and surround him.

One hand curled near Boyd's stomach unconsciously, a protective, vulnerable gesture that he had not done for a long time. When he realized what he was doing, he pulled his hand away abruptly as if burned. He stared at his hand, palm open with fingers lax, and in the flickering shadows it was almost as if it did not belong to him. His body almost felt foreign. For so long, he thought of his body as nothing; a mere collection of particles and meat that housed a soul and mind, and even that was debatable. What was he, and what did he mean to the world? He was nothing, and the world meant as little to him as he did to it.

But conversations, and a person who smiled at him behind dark-rimmed glasses. A cocky little smirk and drawling sarcasm from a partner at his side. A man the age his father would have been, praising him for a job well done.

These bits of the world that were filtering through the haze and they settled at the base of his thoughts. They were there, bothering him, drawing him up through the fog to breathe abruptly of actual fresh air. But it was painful here, where he thought and felt and was not removed from everything. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to think.

Boyd's gaze was drawn back to the live feed, an inevitable pull like the moon's gravity on the tide. He stared for a long moment, no thoughts present and no emotions bothering him, but Sin did not so much as twitch and Boyd did not want to watch anymore. He closed the live feed with a decisive click of the mouse and left the drive in when he shut down the computer. The machine whirred softly, a sleepy whine, and Boyd brought his cold tea with him when he left the room and shut the door firmly behind him.

Sin, Ryan, Lou, his father, even General Carhart... He would shut them all in that room, where they could not bother him. Where their expressions and eyes actually focused on his face could not distract him. Where their voices and actions would not haunt him and he could pretend for the night that they did not exist, just so he could sleep. Just so he could rest in the comfortable darkness.

He dropped the mug in the sink so abruptly that it clattered loudly but he did not bother to clean the mess. He just walked to his room while pointedly looking only straight ahead, not even at his parents' old bedroom. He shut his door behind him resolutely and when he lay down on the bed, he buried his face in the mattress and put a pillow over his head, and wished somewhere idly in his mind that he would just suffocate tonight so he never had to think again.

He knew that in the morning it would be fine. Sleep would give him his equilibrium back. It would save him from the confusion of feeling something, of dealing with reactions that he did not want to have. But for that to happen, he needed sleep itself, and he knew as he strained his lungs for air that it would be a long time coming.

Some distant part of him shook at the idea of not being able to breathe; he was suffocating, he was drowning, he needed to break free. He immersed himself in the feeling for several long minutes before he finally tilted his head to the side and moved the pillow just enough to breathe a little clearer. He did not know how long it took to finally fall asleep, but it seemed to take hours. When he did, his dreams were cluttered with half-memories and terrible fears, and he never quite knew if he was awake or asleep.

Continue to Ch 9 ~ Vulnerability