subject 13 // h.s. au

chapter seven.

Oliver and the two men sped towards the door, never once glancing back to see me standing there, my feet rooted to the floor. As they reached the doorframe, Oliver's hand brushed the handle, pausing briefly to lean forward and whisper in Harry's ear.

Harry's eyes remained steadily locked on my own, but his chilling smile shifted to a look of slight amusement as he tilted his head to listen closer to Oliver, his curls now falling to delicately graze his jaw. Oliver suddenly pulled back and hurried through the door, slamming it behind him.

And then it was just me and Harry.

He uncrossed his arms and ripped his gaze from mine to scrutinize one of his rings. His thumb and pointer finger lightly twisted the ornate silver adorning his middle finger, appearing to be deep in thought, his gun still resting gently in his hand.

My body ached, and the part of me that longed to give up and sit on the floor and cry was threatening to break through, but I swiftly shoved her to the back of my mind. No more weakness, I reminded myself.

 I rolled my shoulders back, the steady pulsing in the back of my head reminding how I got here in the first place, I had been weak. There were procedures I needed to follow, tasks to complete, locations to secure. There was protocol in place and I was the only one left to honor the memory of my brothers and sisters, and what they had died for. 

Feelings of resentment began to replace the anxiety and frustration that had accumulated in the duration of my time in the small concrete room.

Harry was still resting against the wall, now leisurely picking at a loose string on the edge of his sweater.

I snapped.

"Are you going to say anything!" I shouted, raising my arms up to highlight my anger, causing specks of blood to spray onto the floor.

He didn't even look up, his hands still messing with the string, as he exhaled letting out a half-hearted laugh.

"Just waiting on you, sweetheart," he hummed.

I looked around the room in a frenzy because I needed a weapon to butcher this son of a bitch as soon as possible. I didn't see anything of use and instead decided to take a step forward, my hands shaking with anger. He thought this was a joke.

I screamed again, "One, I don't know who you are!"

I paused to slide my sleeves up my elbows to count on my fingers, "and I don't care!"

"Two, I don't know where I am!" I stated, taking another step forward.

"I also don't care!"

Another step.

"Three, I don't know who the fuck this Asher person is!"

Another step.

"-and again, I Do. Not. Care," I seethed, emphasizing each word, now only a foot away from Harry.

I took a deep breath to try and settle myself, the only audible sound my own racing pulse. At some point he had lifted his head to watch my little speech, his face expressionless.

"I don't even know what it is that I'm supposed to be involved in," I pleaded.

Harry's expression softened and he pushed off of the doorframe to stand, his movements harmless and gentle. Maybe he understands now, I thought to myself.

That is until he reached out to catch my wrists in an iron grip. His curls were once again wild and unruly as his eyes burned into mine, his body shaking ever so slightly. He was angry.

He barely even spat out the word, "Liar," in a venomous tone before the door suddenly slammed open, causing him to release my wrists and take several steps back.

Harry ran a hand through his curls, turning to see who had barged into the room, the anger still visible on his face. He groaned and addressed the man now standing in the small room, the angle of his body preventing me from seeing who had entered.

"Thanks for this Elias," he muttered, the rage barely subsiding from his voice as he continued,

"She won't stop bleeding all over my goddamn floor."

Harry turned to the side, still looking at the man as he flicked his hand up, pointing to me, and I froze.

Elias and I stared at each other silently. A range of emotions flickered across his face as he looked me up and down, his head already slowly shaking back and forth. His mouth opened, unable to speak, his face now distorted in pain.

I was numb.

It couldn't be him.

12?

He whispered cautiously, "13, I-I'm so sorry, I-" before being cut off as I launched myself at him.

It took a few seconds before Harry registered what was happening as I knocked 12 to the ground and began hitting him as hard as I possibly could. I couldn't even speak, I just yelled, my lungs burning. Everything was red.

An arm suddenly hooked around my waist, ripping me away from him. My body fought to escape, my nails scratching at Harry's arms. Tears poured over my cheeks, my screaming becoming warped as my lungs struggled to cope.

It was 12, I thought in disbelief as my heart shattered.

After the death of 5, we had tiptoed around each other for months, unable to cope with the fact that at some point one of us could end up alone. That didn't last long. 

We had always been the closest siblings. We were the same age and our numbers meant that we were always seated next to each other for lessons. He was essentially my twin, my other half. As kids I barely even had to say anything to him, because he already knew what I was thinking. 

Since the age of seven I had called him the Sun and he had called me the Moon. After "Judgement Day", and the death of 5, it took him a long time to recover and return to the energetic and cheerful state that had earned him his nickname.

And everything had been fine. It was as good as it could have been for roughly six years, until I woke up to a note from 12 stating,

"I can't take being down here anymore, I need to see what's on the surface. I'll be back soon."

And here he was, standing in front of me over a year later. I had already grieved his death, the pain in those first few months never subsiding as I had laid on the floor just waiting to hear the sound of the airlock being opened. It never came and I accepted the death of the last member of my family.

I stopped struggling against Harry's arms and looked again at 12, who was wiping his tears, leaving streaks of blood across his cheeks. 

A feeling of comfort and excitement appeared at the thought of him being alive after all this time. However, it was quickly replaced with blinding hatred again.

He had left me. He knew I would think he was dead. He let me think he was dead.

I lurched forward again, another scream building in my throat, before an unamused Harry turned me around to face him. He glared down at me as he walked forward, forcing me to move back towards the bed. 

The second he had looked at me the scream had died in my throat. I was exhausted. I sat down on the cot once again, my eyes stinging.

I was back where I had started out in this room, but now I had the company of an intimidating stranger and a familiar enemy.

///

the plot thickens lmao