Ian knew better than to blur past histories with the present, allowing memories to cloud his judgment. But an unbreakable knowledge bound by suffering, an implicit relationship strung around all those in the facility in red thread.

  Lucian had been Ian's insufferable roommate for three years.

  A proud, alluring character who was level-headed but ambitious. He knew the system and utilized it, working to reach the highest levels.

  His appearance coupled with his noble attitude attracted many—many possibilities that would almost see him as an equal and not a disposable toy.

  They weren't close; they weren't friends.

  Ian burst into the room, gasping as his back prickled. The room was square, a plain bed pushed against the metal wall. It was good for its purpose.

  Lucian's body curled on the bed with the blossom of bruises and red welts across his exposed legs and up his abdomen. His shirt was torn and half-lifted as he struggled, a vein pulsing against his jaw from the effort.

  His wide green eyes darted towards the door, widening even further as his pupils trembled violently.

  Above him, pressing him firmly against the bed was a large man wearing glasses, scowling furiously. His pants were hastily half-pulled off, exposing a glimpse of a ghastly rear. Ian wrinkled his nose—it wasn't even a pleasant sight to look at.

  The man's expression distorted as he turned towards the open door, cursing.

  "What the hell—"

  Ian's fist flew before another word came out, smashing into the man's eyes.

  The glasses shattered, a shard grazing past his eyelid as he grunted in pain. He snapped his arm out to grab Ian, but the other was too agile, slipping around and jabbing the butt of the gun towards his head.

  The Esper shouted, stumbling on the blankets that slid onto the floor as he squinted his bleeding eyes. He wrestled the gun out of Ian's grip, restraining his arms behind his back.

  Ian hooked his foot by the man's leg, knocking him off-balance.

  Lucian flew off the bed, wincing at his wounds over his body, launching himself at the Esper as the large man's fist flew towards Ian. It connected with Lucian's cheek, and a resounding crack echoed in the small space.

  Lucian groaned, crumbling towards the cold ground.

  "Tsk. What trouble for a toy," grumbled the Esper as he lumbered towards Lucian. One hand still held onto Ian's wrist.

  Ian's eyes dropped to where skin touched skin.

  A person's skin was a person's most intimate protection, a barrier against everything else in the world. His dark eyes flicked up and they seemed to contain all the shadows in the room, secrets and violence.

  From the doorway, a tall silhouette appeared.

  "What trouble," Ian returned with a smile. "I've been holding back for so long, but you're really pissing me off."

  He moved his other hand to grab the Esper's hand, feeling the pulse of energy vibrate underneath his touch. It was warm, coursing through the other's veins.

  Oh, this was power; this was domination.

  Ian had spent so long enduring all the beatings that the thrum of energy rushed through his body in shivers of excitement.

  "Don't worry. I'll make sure you can't remember it."

  The energy seized, frozen as it transformed into a million shards in the Esper's body. His eyes went wide and he began to struggle, swinging his fist. It swerved Ian's head, but he held steadfast.

  A cut of blood from the Esper's ring trickled down the side of his face.

  But a coldness seeped into Ian's eyes, intense concentration that couldn't be broken. The energy continued to press against the inner flesh walls, coursing violently as it surged, scraping the Esper's body from the inside.

  Extreme pain flowed through his body and he screamed, a low and ugly screech.

  "You're not even pleasing to hear," Ian muttered gloomily, sweat beading his forehead. "God, there's not a single good thing about you."

  When the Rifts opened, exposed humans either underwent a mutation, or remained unaffected. Different levels of exposure to the abnormal creatures from the Rift, and the slit in space itself, affected people differently.

  From the mutations, humans either evolved or degraded.

  Evolutions led to an appearance of Espers or Guides, and a degradation led to an infested corpse that polluted an entire city or space, or the opening of a ranked Rift where they became the key creature guarding it.

  An Esper used energy to reach an evolutionary state, maximizing their abilities and reaching superhuman abilities. However, these capabilities came with a setback—their bodies often couldn't hold the power they contained.

  Guides existed to calm the madness of their hearts, to neutralize and stabilize the flow.

  But Ian learned long ago, by mere chance, that what they could turn to comfort, they could also transform into pain.

  The energy wildly collided into the Esper's body and he fell to the ground, groaning and shaking in pain. Purple wisps of energy escaped his skin, tangling around his body. It dug into Ian's skin, prodding and begging for release.

  He didn't give it.

  He continued to stir the energy until the man's body slumped, his eyes rolling back. He fell back, jerking his hands away as if he'd been scorched. His chest heaved to the point of pain.

  Energy control was something he learned by accident, through an unfortunate incident many years prior. Perhaps it was only the Espers that could utilize it to manifest into real ability and contribute to the salvation of the human race.

  But Guides weren't born inferior, they were made to be.

  It was the same as humans domesticating wild animals. In their freedom, they ran unparalleled, facing nature's ordeals and overcoming them. Humans feared the wild, the dangerous unpredictability of the uncontrollable.

  But once domesticated, the animals became subdued and obedient. Their evolution that had developed from survival grew dependent on being 'owned'.

  Ian's control over energy was limited, and his body was extremely taxed. He'd been trained and pre-dispositioned to serve as an energy tank for Espers, to instinctively calm and heal even in his sleep.

  He was not made to resist.

  He slowly stood, black eyes suffused with coldness, gazing at the collapsed man. This was no longer the person curled at the end of halls, enduring a thousand beatings.

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  In his pitch gaze, the reflected image was mere garbage.

  He turned his head, striding towards Lucian who had been cushioned by the fallen blanket, lying beside the metal frame.

  His heart lurched and he spun around as a heavyweight collided with him, slamming him into the wall mercilessly. He groaned in pain, feeling the impact pulse through his bones.

  Struggling, he shoved his elbow towards the attacker, his black hair flying in the air. Fingers intertwined with the escaping locks, grabbing them tight. Ian swore, his eyes darting around as he lunged for a knife on the ground, swiping it out.

  Long, black strands of hair fell around him, fluttering to the ground as he spun around, chaos in his wide eyes as he sliced the knife through the air.

  The man quickly took control, restraining his wrists and pressing him against the bed. Ian kicked out his leg, aiming for the man's precious treasure, but the man wedged his leg between his thighs, effectively leaving him immobile.

  His chest rose and fell rapidly as he ground his teeth.

  The man from earlier, who'd patiently waited outside while Ian had his fun, now loomed over him. His ice-blue eyes carefully scrutinized the person underneath, as if examining an object.

  He looked young, but the manner he carried himself illustrated a dignified cruelty.

  His eyelashes cast shadows over his sharp, angular cheekbones, and there was a singular beauty mark underneath his right eye.

  Ian drew his attention to his own wrists—where the man held them with ungloved hands.

  His mistake.

  Although trembles of faint pain continued to prick along his skin, he commanded the energy that he felt warping around the man, demanding its attention and excitement.

  The man's eyes widened a margin in surprise as he looked around at the air—where his dense energy continued to fluctuate wildly.

  "What are you doing?" he wondered in a low murmur, but his voice revealed no hints of pain, only calm curiosity.

  Ian furrowed his eyebrows, feeling an ache in his mind as he willed the energy to surge, to run and go crazy in the man's body, until he could hardly breathe. Until he was on the verge of a meltdown.

  Red and black energy spiked, stabbing into the air.

  The man continued to watch it quietly before he released one hand, settling the other over Ian's unguarded neck. It was laid bare, exposed and vulnerable.

  "I asked a question."

  "And who the hell says I have to answer?" retorted Ian fearlessly, twisting his head sideways and he heaved.

  The man's hands tightened, and Ian gasped. His hands were scorching hot, like burning coals. "Internal energy manipulation. Reverse Guiding–an overlooked possibility."

  He smiled. It was a pretty smile, Ian thought in his blurring thoughts, his vision scattered with black spots. The man continued as if he were entirely uninterested in hearing a response.

  "What happens if I reject you?"

  It happened in seconds. The surge of energy jerked out of Ian's grasp, neither obeying its master nor the manipulator, resisting against both of the controllers—against Ian and this man.

  Its resistance was violent, thrashing against both bodies, spilling into the air between them as it developed into a climbing heat.

  Pain—no, it was agony. White-hot agony made its home in his bones, in every pulsing vein that ran along his body. Ian gasped, mouth gaping like a fish out of water, pathetically squirming in pain.

  It was a pain that should've belonged to them both, but the man continued to observe with silent indifference.

  Like he wasn't really there.

  Then everything crashed, spilling to the ground around them and the man released his grasp, leaning back in his arrogance. Ian rolled sideways, coughing. His entire body was drenched in sweat.

  The man moved, sitting on the edge of the bed, his long legs stretched out as his coat fell around his thighs. His leather shoe touched Lucian's curled body on the ground.

  "Don't touch him," hissed Ian, his voice hoarse. "Don't you dare touch him."

  "Your lover?"

  "More than that." Less than that, was what Ian didn't say. A companion from the beginning, neither friend nor foe, family nor lover. Lucian was nothing at all, but if he was in danger, Ian could not look away.

  The man stood, looking around the disarray. The door had slid shut again, shutting them out from the rest of the institution.

  Although screams did little here, anyway.

  He briefly regarded the collapsed Esper. "In three days, I'll file a report."

  Ian snarled, fingers curling around the sheets. "Report me. See what they'll do."

  A card flipped between the man's slender fingers. His ID card—all Guides and Espers were required to have one. It had all their information on it, and could be used as an emergency access card if their watches were to fail.

  It beeped on the man's watch, and a beam of light emerged from the small surface, reflecting in a holographic image.

  He saw his portrait, a gloomy face, appear.

  "Ian. One known relative—deceased. Rank F." The Esper turned his head towards his hands, curling his fingers in as if to capture lingering warmth. "What if I reported an unusual manifestation of ability—Inverted Healing?"

  Ian calmed his leaping heart. His years of silence would've been for nothing if that was reported.

  "You're telling me all this—why? I doubt you enjoy gossip."

  The Esper tilted his head, toying with the card in his hands. "I could have a particular interest in watching your face twist."

  "You're interested in that? I could recommend you to several people."

  "Several people aren't you."

  "I don't know you."

  He leaned in closer, settling beside Ian's face. His eyes reflected nothing; his voice a low whisper wrapped in something discomforting, but not unpleasant either.

  "Do you want to?"

  Ian leveled his gaze, incredulous. "Something's wrong with your head. Get it checked up."

  "Are you concerned?"

  "Yes, I'm worried for the future of humanity with genes like yours."

  There was a breath of laughter from the Esper, a sound so slight that Ian wasn't sure it was genuine. He wasn't sure anything was, coming from this relaxed person with indifferent eyes.

  The disparity between his words and the blankness in his gaze was disorientating.

  Ian shook his head, rubbing his red wrists. "To make that report, you'd need evidence. Your little darling over there won't remember a thing—intoxicated and beaten up. His mind will be a mess," A grin spread over his lips, revealing a pointed canine. "I made sure of it."

  The Esper wasn't deterred, lightly tapping his watch. "It's unfortunate, but our watches have recordings installed, unlike yours."

  Ian's body tensed, turning frigid. He'd overlooked it—a mistake on his part, too eager to save Lucian. There were many features and benefits Espers received in the Underground that Guides didn't.

  Furthermore, down here, Guides were products to be scanned and scrutinized. A thing like privacy was a foreign concept.

  There were certain benefits unlocked as Guides progressed to higher floors depending on their level. There were three levels.

  The third housed the visiting Espers that were looking for fun, or to find a successful partner to participate in battle with. The second belonged to the more powerful Guides, where they were trained to eventually assimilate into society and the world beyond the walls.

  It also housed creatures of the Rifts, locked for experiments.

  Fighting, academics, common sense—plenty of things were taught.

  On the first floor were those expected to serve as 'toys' to visiting Espers, or if they were lucky on the evening of the Culling, a chance to go to the surface.

  For the most part, they were taught mindless lessons of the world, all biased to believe in their inferiority. There were basic stimulation rooms in case one of them were lucky enough to attract an Esper's attention.

  From his earliest age, he was straightened and developed, like a soldier primed for battle, like a tool polished and ready to be used.

  Only, he was a faulty tool.

  If the sequence of events hadn't collapsed in the way they did, perhaps he would be like Lucian, adhering to the rules and seeking salvation in an Esper's arms, a path to the surface that wasn't prohibited.

  The hand on his neck remained firm, but the other—broad and rough from a hundred battles—brushed over his eyes. Each touch was electric, prickling against his skin as his eyelashes quivered.

  They were long and straight, grazing the height of his cheeks.

  His heart was seized with fear, every touch a hanging threat that weighed above his skin. Their energies tangled together still untethered, and his emotions spiraled.

  "Three days," repeated the Esper once more, pulling away and leaving only the phantom of his heat alive against Ian's skin. "Show me what you can do."

  He swiftly untangled himself, striding towards the door and revealing his broad back clad in a sweeping coat. He turned his back to Ian, but revealed an impenetrable defense.

  Ian lifted himself on the sheets, limbs twisted with the half-fallen sheets. His raven eyes fixated on the figure.

  "Is that an invitation?" he sneered, furrowing his straight eyebrows.

  The Esper's head turned, the sharp profile of his face brushed by the waning lights in the outside hall. His lips remained flattened, but Ian thought he saw a curl of amusement, of daring, twist.

  Energy crackled between them, the stray strands of crimson and black tangling in the air. They'd escaped into the air, sinking it into a gloomy weight of despair, with nowhere to go. Slowly, the energy was trickling back into the man's skin.

  "I welcome you, guest." A flat tone; a voice that neither anticipated nor expected anything.

  Ian's hands curled into the blankets, fisting them with an air of powerlessness.

  Guides were raised and bred in this underground institution to be malleable, weaker, and powerless. Cultivated to remain stagnant, imprisoned in this space.

  He knew it—that there were parts of him that couldn't rival those on the surface, Esper or human, that there were variations of his weakness that he couldn't control.

  Not yet.

  The person before him suddenly seemed like a golden ticket, glistening within arm's reach, yet taunting him in the short distance it remained. An opportunity.

  A reliable person, not in their sense of trustworthiness or honesty, but in their ability. A person that he wouldn't feel sorry to ruin or betray.

  A spark infused in Ian's dark stare.

  "Then be prepared to host me," said the Guide. The Esper stepped outside, the metal door sliding as his frosty blue eyes began to disappear. Their eyes locked. "In three days time."

  His black eyes reflected an entire universe, far beyond the only walls that he'd ever known.