Black Equation - The Gifted Ones

Number Seven

“It's sad to see that two close people don't even recognize each other anymore, not because they grew up but because they grew apart.”

Number Seven

Painful.

The thought of losing her was too painful to consider.

Arashi buried his face on her pillow, trying and failing miserably to calm himself with her scent. He had been sitting on her bed for almost an hour, yet in his mind, the time stretched on for decades. Guilt ate at his insides. Now more than ever, he wanted to commit seppuku. No, he reconsidered. Seppuku is a sacred way of dying, fit only for honorable warriors of his home country. He didn't deserve that kind of death. He never had honor. He was no bushi.

He brought shame to the organization. He had failed his Master. Above all, he had failed her.

Hilarious that he used to be an Equation, an elite among the elites, the best among the bests. He had gone soft. Rusty. Useless. The normalcy of the façade he had been playing for the last couple of years had dulled his instincts, his character, and it was a poor excuse for an agent like him. He should have known. He should have been prepared. He should have done something, anything, more…

"She is still alive," Ivan tried to soothe his friend, his accented voice coming from the doorway. Arashi lifted his head to stare blankly at him.

See? He didn't even feel the man's presence when he should have.

Ivan had been watching him for a while; had given him some time to collect himself, but intervened when he realized that it would be impossible for Arashi to break out of the haze by himself. Krad said he would bring her back after two hours. Two darned hours! It’s been fifty hours since the man called! No wonder Arashi was choking in grief.

The blond padded across the room barefooted and sat on the stool near her study desk. He looked wistfully at the sight outside the windows.

“Falcon needs her alive,” Ivan tried again. He imagined himself as a cheap plastic record on replay. First, the Master, next, Arashi. Faye’s best friend, Denna, had been crying herself in the kitchen, and that was a no go for him. He hated crying girls.

He sighed. So, he’s stuck with the emo guy. “For goodness’ sake, Arka! She’s alive! She’s too valuable to be killed. Stop sulking!”

"That makes it worse," Arashi swallowed. He shut his eyes and pressed his gloved palms against his throbbing head. "The Light would torture her again, like they did…"

Even with his voice trailing off, Ivan knew the words he was about to say next. What happened before was an incident no one wanted to talk about –not because it was disturbing and inhuman though it was both – but because it was wrong on so many levels that an assassin like him even had nightmares about it.

Faye suffered for weeks – product of the animosity between the Light and Creed. She was broken beyond repair, both in body and soul. She never deserved what happened to her. Nobody did. Especially not her, who despite being Kreuz's daughter, was one of the most outspoken people who questioned the twisted system of both organizations.

It was that incident that caused Ivan to fully isolate himself from the shady business of the Rare Kinds. Not only him, but Arashi and Kreuz as well. However, being Gifted was part of their identities, and no matter how hard they try, they could never change themselves. The past would always haunt them, and inevitably bring them back to the world that never welcomed its inhabitants with open arms. They could never be free. Ever.