The Innocent (A 'Finder' Fanfiction)

Gemini - Chapter 6

Skeeter Davis' live recording from the 1963' "Star Route Show" blared from the speakers in an ear-shattering volume, scratches and bad quality included. It had been playing on eternal repeat for more than three days straight, and the men occupying the basement – which was one of Chernobog's main bases – felt already like they were the ones being tortured.

They, however, could close doors between themselves and the noise, and it was some long walk through the narrow corridors until one reached the source of the din, anyway. The prisoner, on the other hand, could not flee.

"Why does the sun go on shining?", the woman trilled, starting the song all over again for the about 1500th time. "Why does the sea rush to shore? Don't they know it's the end of the world, 'cause you don't love me anymore?"

Aaron had stayed away in those days. He was the good one. He had nothing to do with any torment besetting the prisoner.

Nearly four months had passed by now, nearly five since they had fled Macao to their one hideout which was the furthest away – in Warsaw, Poland. Asami Ryuichi had meanwhile been taken to an altogether different place: his family's home in the hills above the Croatian city of Dubrovnik, and while he slowly recovered, Aaron's time was running out.

Alex had warned him already, that the Japanese was regaining his strength, however slowly. At some point in the near future, he would not need the protection of his brother anymore. He would find a way to get back into contact with his men – no matter how much Maxim would try to prevent that. Then he would leave Dubrovnik and return to Japan – and would slip from Alex' hands.

So, if Aaron indeed believed his plan could work, he'd better hurry, his brother kept reminding him with spite and mockery in his voice. In Asami's absence from Japan, Alex was scratching away the basis for the man's businesses, that had already been on shaky ground since he had been forced into hiding by Chernobog, while Alex stayed in the shadows completely himself. Now, Asami's men tried to keep it all up like little children that threw soil into their self-built dam, though the water was seeping through everywhere already.

But if Asami returned and could get back into business himself, he might be able to just replace the fragile construction his subordinates kept upright with a solid concrete dyke and all the little efforts and triumphs would be for nothing. Then Alex would be left with empty hands, and no matter how much Aaron wished his brother the defeat and disappointment, he did not want the Japanese to win.

No, he would see him lose what he cared for so much ... his little toy. Hell, he did not even mind if the charm he was trying to put on Akihito wouldn't hold for long, or to what use his brother would put that kid if it all worked out – all he cared for was that he was slowly plucking apart Asami Ryuichi's little pet. And once he had, he could hopefully send it back to the man to grieve and despair about. That was his little present. And after that, he did not care anymore. After that, his job was done.

Whistling some odd, happy tune, one of his men now came down the long, dark corridor. He carried two large metal buckets on thin, straining handles, both filled with water – the one nearly boiling hot with steam billowing from it, the other full of ice cubes. He stopped his musical performance, when he saw Aaron, and smiled at him broadly instead.

"Punctual delivery", he boomed in Russian, then walked past, stopped in front of the steel door and unlocked it. Inside, he took one moment to behold where exactly the prisoner lay, then he emptied the buckets above him. First the cold one, then the hot.

Akihito ... Arata screamed in shock and pain, and shuffled around in the small room, like a trapped little animal that wanted to flee into some hole or tried to dig away through the concrete floor.

"Traitor!", the man yelled at him, kicking him again and again, until there was hardly any movement left. He even grabbed one of the buckets and smashed it down onto the boy. When he felt he was finished, he yanked the door shut again, pushed his fists into his sides and bowed to Aaron, smiling.

The waiting man gave him an appreciative nod.

"So, what now? More of Misses World's End?", the artist asked, pointing over his shoulder with a thumb towards the wiring that ended in a tiny MP3-player fixed to the wall with tape and powered by a car battery.

"No, ... switch the stroboscope and the noise back on. We'll leave him with that for a few days. After that, I don't think there will be much left of Takaba Akihito", Aaron whispered back. There was no chance the prisoner could hear them over the din of the dead singer – or could understand them as they were talking in Russian.

It just felt nicely conspiratorial to keep his voice down.

They had been making some headway in recent weeks. Isolation and darkness, deprivation of sleep, hunger and thirst, dirt and reeking, the crampedness of his cell, the lack of anything comfortable, hurt and fear and all lack of knowledge about the time of day ... or the day ... or even the month. The waiting for whatever might happen next or whenever someone would come to torture him again ... all that had taken a toll on the young man.

And, of course, it had. It always did. It always worked. At some point everybody broke and their understanding of who or what or when they were, was bleached over. Then one could put his own ideas into them and replace the person with an artificial one completely.

It was not even a question of strength or resilience. It was possible with even the most fortified men in the world. To Takaba Akihito, Aaron had to salute as a matter of fact. The boy had been keeping up very long.

But finally ... he had become brittle. Just a tiny bit.

They would have to tear a little longer, and then he would crack open and let in whatever they wanted to feed him.

Already he had started to speak with Aaron – a few questions, a meek "thanks" sometimes or some worries that the other might get caught. Now he, Aaron, personified the only kindness and caress the prisoner knew. Maybe it was already the only gentleness he could remember at this point after weeks in his cell.

In all that torment, the mind just sought shelter for itself, not caring anymore about causalities and memories and what it had believed to be reality beforehand. If there was only one spot of salvation between torture and peril, then that was to where it turned. And for Akihito, that was Aaron ... only that if he wanted Aaron to safe him, he needed to be Arata. And his mind was slowly comprehending this, pushing away the protest of the character and all inconsistencies with his own knowledge, logic and remembrance.

Just a tiny bit more ... a few days of noise and flashlights, of torment and shouts and kicks and fists, and the boy in the cell would be a blank blackboard for him to write on.

Yes, at some point memory and character would return. Akihito would regain himself ... but the better Aaron pushed in there, the longer it would take. The longer Arata would stay.