A Faithful Memory

Drawing the Front Lines

The room was so bare. White stained the walls, ceiling and floor, dirty and glaring. A single barred door stood in the middle of the farthest wall. Five young men, all with the same dark pink hair, red eyes, Piglin features and tall frame, sat huddled together in a corner. In their midst lay a sixth person, also like them as they were like each other. He was pale, wasted, and old bruises spotted his arms and bare back. Laceration scars, years old, mixed with the fresher injuries, creating a hideous pattern of abuse. The five were caring for him, in their own ways.

Fray, the strongest of the group, relaxed against a wall, his large animal eyes resting on his injured brother. One of his hands lay unmoving atop the younger's head, while his other fist kept up a persistent thumping against the wall. His expression was dark, angry and sympathetic. Old wounds lined his body where he had broken his bones or gashed his skin against his enemies, against those he could hardly ever reach. The faceless men.

Virus crouched on all fours, his fingers carefully tapping their way alongside his brother's motionless body. He was making a strange squeaking sound in the back of his throat and his eyes were narrowed sharply. A few older scars lined his arms, where he'd tested his own endurance for pain, but otherwise he was less worn than Fray, or their youngest for that matter.

Beside Virus lay the third brother, Hearth, on his side. His gaze, bright with unshed tears, was fixed on his unconscious brother while he slowly rubbed his thumb along his spine. He was singing, after a fashion, his fractured voice going up and down at random over various notes and wavering all over the place. His body was unmarked, save for the crooks of his elbows where needles had been thrust.

Theseus knelt on the opposite side from Hearth and Virus. He tapped his knees with tense fingers, a puzzled frown knitting his brows. His eyes kept flitting from one of his brothers to the other, examining each of their reactions to finally meeting their sixth part. A few long cuts scratched down his arms; results of experiments by the faceless men, and as he lifted his head to look at Fray, more could be seen just under his collarbone before they disappeared behind his shirt.

Tantalus lounged beside Theseus, his expression the only one not creased in worry. Indifference lay in his glazed-over eyes, in his relaxed knees, in the fingers that slid up and down his scarred wrists and arms. Many wounds lined his body, most of them self-inflicted. Old blood flecked his hands and stained the legs of his pants. Despite his bored expression, when his youngest brother finally stirred, Tantalus quickly became alert.

Technoblade groaned, slapping his hand over his eyes to protect them from the stabbing light. His tusks scraped along the ground as he turned his head, seeking some relief, but the brightness was all around him. Hearth sat up, still keeping his hand on Technoblade's back.

It took Technoblade a few seconds before he realized there were hands touching him. He surged up, roaring with fear and rage, tearing and clawing at whoever was closest to him.

Fray lunged forward, slamming into Technoblade's chest and pinning his arms to the floor. He laughed as his younger brother twisted and writhed beneath him, still blinded by adrenaline and terror.

"Stop! Stop!" Theseus's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "We're safe! We're safe, we're alright!"

Technoblade went still. He blinked, seeing for the first time the mirror image of his own face above him, the grinning teeth, eyes glinting red, thick pink hair hanging down, the ends swaying just above his skin.

Fray got off him. "Sshafe." He repeated, the words coming thick through his mouth. "Whe're sshafe."

Technoblade sat up. Stared around at the five faces he knew, but could not understand. It was only as Hearth spoke that he realized who they were.