tw: attempted sexual assault (very minor, and not detailed, but there. I'd like to say that there's a large power imbalance between Guides and Espers at this stage, and therefore implications will likely continue to occur. But, nothing nonconsensual will occur between Victor and Ian)

Ian knew better to blur past histories with the present, allowing memories to cloud his judgment. But an unbreakable knowledge bound by suffering, an implicit relationship strung around all those in the facility in red thread.

Lucian had been Ian’s insufferable roommate for three years. A proud, alluring character that was level-headed but ambitious. He knew the system and utilized it, working to reach the highest levels.

His appearance coupled with his noble attitude attracted many—many possibilities that would almost see him as an equal and not a disposable toy.

They weren’t close; they weren’t friends.

Ian burst into the room, gasping as his back prickled. The room was square, a plain bed pushed against the metal wall. It was good for its purpose.

Lucian’s body curled on the bed with the blossom of bruises and red welts across his exposed legs and up his abdomen. His shirt was torn and half-lifted as he struggled, a vein pulsing against his jaw from the effort.

His wide green eyes darted towards the door, widening even further as his pupils trembled violently.

Above him, pressing him firmly against the bed was a large man wearing glasses, scowling furiously. His pants were hastily half-pulled off, exposing a glimpse of a ghastly rear. Ian wrinkled his nose—it wasn’t even a pleasant sight to look at.

The man’s expression distorted as he turned towards the open door, cursing.

“What the hell—“

Ian’s fist flew before another word came out, smashing into the man’s eyes. The glasses shattered, a shard grazing past his eyelid as he grunted in pain. He snapped his arm out to grab Ian, but the other was too agile, slipping around and jabbing the butt of the gun towards his head.

The Esper shouted, stumbling on the blankets that slid onto the floor as he squinted his bleeding eyes. He wrestled the gun out of Ian’s grip, restraining his arms behind his back.

Ian hooked his foot by the man’s leg, knocking him off-balance.

Lucian flew off the bed, wincing at his wounds over his body, launching himself at the Esper as the large man’s fist flew towards Ian. It connected with Lucian’s cheek, and a resounding crack echoed in the small space.

Lucian groaned, crumbling towards the cold ground.

“Tsk. What trouble for a toy,” grumbled the Esper as he lumbered towards Lucian. One hand still held onto Ian’s wrist.

Ian’s eyes dropped to where skin touched skin. A person’s skin was a person’s most intimate protection, a barrier against everything else in the world. His dark eyes flicked up and they seemed to contain all the shadows in the room, secrets and violence.

From the doorway, a tall silhouette appeared.

“What trouble,” Ian returned with a smile. “I’ve been holding back for so long, but you’re really pissing me off.”

He moved his other hand to grab the Esper’s hand, feeling the pulse of energy vibrate underneath his touch. It was warm, coursing through the other’s veins.

Oh, this was power; this was domination.

Ian had spent so long enduring all the beatings that the thrum of energy rushed through his body in shivers of excitement.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you can’t remember it.”

The energy seized, frozen as it transformed into a million shards in the Esper’s body. His eyes went wide and he began to struggle, swinging his fist. It swerved Ian’s head, but he held steadfast.

A cut of blood from the Esper’s ring trickled down the side of his face.

But a coldness seeped into Ian’s eyes, intense concentration that couldn’t be broken. The energy continued to press against the inner flesh walls, coursing violently as it surged, scraping the Esper’s body from the inside.

Extreme pain flowed through his body and he screamed, a low and ugly screech.

“You’re not even pleasing to hear,” Ian muttered gloomily, sweat beading his forehead. “God, there’s not a single good thing about you.”

When the Rifts opened, exposed humans either underwent a mutation, or remained unaffected. Different levels of exposure to the abnormal creatures from the Rift, and the slit in space itself, affected people differently.

From the mutations, humans either evolved or degraded.

Evolutions led to an appearance of Espers or Guides, and a degradation led to an infested corpse that polluted an entire city or space, or the opening of a ranked Rift where they became the key creature guarding it.

An Esper used energy to reach an evolutionary state, maximizing their abilities and reaching superhuman abilities. However, these capabilities came with a setback—their bodies often couldn’t hold the power they contained.

Guides existed to calm the madness of their hearts, to neutralize and stabilize the flow.

But Ian learned long ago, by mere chance, that what they could turn to comfort, they could also transform into pain.

The energy wildly collided into the Esper’s body and he fell to the ground, groaning and shaking in pain. Purple wisps of energy escaped his skin, tangling around his body. It dug into Ian’s skin, prodding and begging for release.

He didn’t give it.

He continued to stir the energy until the man’s body slumped, his eyes rolling back. He fell back, jerking his hands away as if he’d been scorched. His chest heaved to the point of pain.

Energy control was something he learned by accident, through an unfortunate incident many years prior. Perhaps it was only the Espers that could utilize it to manifest into real ability and contribute to the salvation of the human race.

But Guides weren’t born inferior, they were made to be.

It was the same as humans domesticating wild animals. In their freedom, they ran unparalleled, facing nature’s ordeals and overcoming them. Humans feared the wild, the dangerous unpredictability of the uncontrollable.

But once domesticated, the animals became subdued and obedient. Their evolution that had developed from survival grew dependent on being ‘owned’.

Ian’s control over energy was limited, and his body was extremely taxed. He’d been trained and pre-dispositioned to serve as an energy tank for Espers, to instinctively calm and heal even in his sleep. He was not made to resist.

He slowly stood, black eyes suffused with coldness, gazing at the collapsed man. This was no longer the person curled at the end of halls, enduring a thousand beatings.

In his pitch gaze, the reflected image was mere garbage.

He turned his head, striding towards Lucian who had been cushioned by the fallen blanket, lying beside the metal frame.

His heart lurched and he spun around as a heavyweight collided with him, slamming him into the wall mercilessly. He groaned in pain, feeling the impact pulse through his bones.

Struggling, he shoved his elbow towards the attacker, his black hair flying in the air. Fingers intertwined with the escaping locks, grabbing them tight. Ian swore, his eyes darting around as he lunged for a knife on the ground, swiping it out.

Long, black strands of hair fell around him, fluttering to the ground as he spun around, chaos in his wide eyes as he sliced the knife through the air.

The man quickly took control, restraining his wrists and pressing him against the bed. Ian kicked out his leg, aiming for the man’s precious treasure, but the man wedged his leg between his thighs, effectively leaving him immobile.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he ground his teeth.

The man from earlier, who’d patiently waited outside while Ian had his fun, now waited over him. His ice-blue eyes carefully scrutinized the person underneath, as if examining an object.

He looked young, but the manner he carried himself carried a dignified cruelty.

His eyelashes cast shadows over his sharp, angular cheekbones, and there was a singular beauty mark underneath his right eye.

Ian drew his attention to his own wrists—where the man held them with ungloved hands.

His mistake.