In His World.

t w o & t h r e e

I am Cyrus. I am Two. I am the Hound.

The Painted People are the only ones who have the fully functioning Augdex powers. Many have tried to copy them, my power especially after the last 'Two' went public about his ability. The previous Two and Six left when Jezebeth, the old leader, did, and my twin brother and I were promoted from our trainee positions and made into full operatives. I'd only been on a couple of missions, but Seven's intensive training was serving me well; I thought I had control. I thought I was strong.

But when the Hounds Three came, dark shadows of what I am, and they took that control, there was nothing I could do to stop them. The Hounds Three are just one example of the broken husks of people that are created when Augdex technology is meddled with. Unless every little piece is made to perfect precision, it backfires and creates the twisted monsters the Hounds Three have become; with dead eyes and twitchy muscles, falling in and out of reality, speaking in voices that aren't their own. Being under the control of the Hounds Three was torture - it was screaming in my mind while my body reacted to the will of another. My senses overwhelmed, lost to the strength of my ability. Because in the end, being the most dangerous people - being the Painted People's operatives - there is nothing to fear except ourselves.

It was my power they used against me. It was me working against myself. It was me, drawing out the other operatives to the abandoned school and making Seven reveal his life-long secret. It was me who forced them into that bargain.
It was me who made Seven leave.

I don't have words to describe the feeling of being back home while my friend is gone. Is it guilt? Is it joy that the Hounds can't control me anymore?
I was the price they had to pay; Seven and the human girl in return for me.

"You alright?" Six asks in a low voice, snapping me out of my pitiful trance. His hand is tightly gripping the edge of my amber sleeve. He's been clinging to me in one way or another since I got back.

"I can't stop blaming myself," I say quietly, trying not to catch Three's attention. To be back with Team Dev, and yet without Seven... It's not right. We're in Three's quarters, which is reminiscent of earlier training years, and it feels almost the same. But without Seven sitting on the bench or the desk or in the draping curtains or somewhere else he shouldn't be, it can never be the same.

"Seven made his choice. He's getting info from these guys, alright? He's not really gone."

I rub my arms a little, despite Three's ornate room not being cold. The wounds that were left on my skin are all patched up and healed by now, but phantom scars and ghostly fingerprints still cover my body. I lost control. I lost control. It's. My. Fault.

"What if he didn't mean to go? What if they could get control of him? What if they made him turn himself in?" I exclaim, too overwhelmed to focus on my volume. Three, who was meditating on a pillow across the room, stands up.

"You cannot blame yourself, Cyrus," he says kindly, placing his hand on my shoulder. I'm aware of his power running into me, a calming wave washing over me. It's a soft power, and only has real strength when fully activated. But it's a welcome power.

"Thank you, Ilya," Six says on my behalf. It's only here in our quiet times that we use each other's real names. It's a place where we don't have to be operatives; we can detach from the secrecy, from always being wired and alert, from the violence. We can meditate among the cushions and curtains, we can sigh in the subtle incense. We can talk. We can not talk. Our little gatherings are always in Three's quarters or the space Six and I share. Nobody goes in Seven's room - he keeps his mystery to himself.