Collective footfalls ricocheted off the walls of the rooms, each one more dilapidated and miserable than the last. Whilst facing the backs of the three men, you were taken through a series of corroded doors and long hallways, the air reeking of dust and dirty water. With each passing moment, the place seemed more like an endless maze than just any old building.

No one spoke a word since you kicked Tony where the sun doesn't shine - though, now that you thought about it, the expression didn't really work in this town. Over a week had passed and there was no sight of the morning rays. Was there ever a time when the sun rose above the horizon? Or a time when 'cold' wasn't the only climate?

The sound of steps halting broke you out of your thoughts. In front of you was another door, grimier than the entrance to this place. You faintly heard someone yelling on the other side.

"Looks like we're here," Misha said. "Bob, why don't you do the honours?"

Bob gulped thickly. "Knock? Um, no thanks."

"Well, I can't do it. My hands are tied."

"And I'm crippled, thanks to the twat," Resting his chin on Misha's shoulders, who was giving him a piggy-back ride, Tony shot a pointed look at your direction.

You scoffed. "It wasn't even that hard."

Before Tony could protest, Misha interjected. "Then you do it. You are the guest of honour, after all."

Rolling your eyes, you walked up to the door. The more you witnessed the antics of these henchmen, the more the initial fear buzzing under your act ebbed away. Yet you held your guard, for they were still dangerous and because their unease regarding Wellington seemed unanimous. You raised a tight fist and knocked three times.

The yelling stopped. The clacking of boots progressively got louder until there was a click on the handle and the door shrieked wide open. Just a foot away from you was a familiar man sported in black attire, matching Sara's description of the felon who threatened her. Sure enough, it was the businessman you bumped into on the train and around town. Wellington Gray.

"Y/N! So glad that I could finally meet you." You caught him quickly dropping something into his coat pocket, the brief flash of the object made it most likely to be a phone. He must have been yelling at whoever he called, or whoever called him. When he smiled, you had a full view of his uneven yellow teeth.

You frowned. "Unfortunately, the feeling isn't mutual."

"How cute. Come, take a seat."

He stepped aside and motioned towards two wooden chairs behind him, facing each other in the middle of the small room. Unlike the other rooms you passed, this one was well-lit with multiple ceiling bulbs that cast light onto each edge and corner.

"Finally, a seat!" Tony rejoiced. Holding onto Misha's shoulders for stability, he carefully jumped onto the concrete floor and dusted off his sleeves. "The walk here was exhausting–"

"No." Wellington's face fell as he averted his gaze to his minions. "The seats are for Y/N and I. You three will be standing around us." He turned back to you. "Come."

You followed him and sat down, your knees were only a few inches away from his. You folded your hands on your lap and straightened your back. Misha strolled up behind you and leaned an elbow against the head of your chair, winking down at you with his trademark sleepy grin. Tony dragged his feet to the space right next to his Boss, while Bob padded forward to stand at his other side.

"Now then." Wellington crossed his legs, briefly brushing his boots against yours. "Let's get straight into it, hm?"

"Of course, but first thing's first. Where's Asher?"

The man scowled at the name. "He's in some other room. If all goes well, I will let you visit him."

"No. You will let him go."

"Or what? You'll kill me? Ha!" He looked squarely into your blazing eyes. "I know I said I've got him here to make sure you actually rock up, but I never said that I'll 'let him go' afterwards."

A burning feeling encroached your chest. "You...What do you want from him? Your business should only concern me."

"Heh, well, the boy's got on my nerves so I taught him a lesson. 'Course there's more to come, and only he's to blame." He smirked. "Consider yourself lucky that I'm even thinking of letting you visit him."

You inhaled sharply. Biting down the inside of your cheek, you toyed with the idea of punching him in the face. A rage-induced hit could certainly push him off his chair...but what would happen next? He was well-built and much taller than you. So if you were to run away, he could catch up to you in no time and knock you out easily.

With great difficulty, you suppressed your overwhelming urge and relaxed your fists.

"Anyway," he continued. "let's get to the point of this meeting. To give you some context, Cyril L/N had borrowed money from us on January 15 and had reportedly made use of this money on February 28. His deadline was April 28 but obviously he hasn't given back a single penny since, making him over a month late. It's insulting when you help someone and they're tardy with returning your favour."

"So...?"

"So, we had to add our interest rates and now he owes 800k. I thought we went through this, or are you just as thick-skulled and forgetful like your brother?"

"He never forgot about the money," you countered. "He works extremely hard every day, even working over-time to the point of getting migraines again! Because of you..."

"Not our fault." He raised his arms in mock surrender. "He was the one who sought our services. This wouldn't have happened if he paid on time."

"Don't fuck with me! Two months isn't nearly enough time to gather 400k, let alone 800, and especially for middle-class people like Cyril and I."

Ignoring you, Wellington sighed. "Going to the trouble of getting him...then finding your parents and getting them...no one wanted that. What a waste of time, but it was a necessary punishment for a chump like him."

"Necessary? What–" Your breath caught in your throat. "...What...did you say...?"

Without thinking, you shot to your feet and grabbed his collar, pulling his face close to yours

"What did you do to my parents?!" Your fiery gaze reflected in his glasses. "TELL ME!"

"Nothing much. Had them tied up and scared them a little." He looked to the side. "...that is, before they disappeared. Hmm, wonder what happened to them."

"You..." Your grip tightened, the tapered edge of the hard collar digging into Wellington's neck. "I swear I will-"

"Alrighty, that's enough."

A single push to your abdomen had you stumbling back in your seat. As soon as you landed on the chair, Misha grasped you firmly around the shoulders and pulled back, effectively locking you in place. He leaned down to your ear and spoke softly, such that only you could hear him.

"Didn't expect you to be the reckless type, Y/N. Get a grip, m'kay?"

Why did he care? And no, you knew you weren't usually the reckless type. Emphasis on 'usually'. Because when it came to your family, you become fiercely protective and emotions often won against your sense of rationality.

"Ugh, and here I thought we could have a civilised conversation." Sneering, Wellington rubbed the faint red line on his neck. "Bob."

"Yes, Boss?"

With a single look and nod, Bob knew what to do. This time, he was going to do it right.

Hobbling over to the space beside you, he discreetly reached into his hidden pocket and grabbed the bottle of chloroform. It miffed him how neither his boss nor his 'work colleagues' told him about the substance's efficacy, and that he only got to know about it from Asher. Now with this knowledge, he was sure to make a more practical use out of it.

"I'm sorry for this, Y/N."

Before you could react, he smashed the bottle against your head. Vertigo consumed your senses, the throbbing in your skull fading into the background. The world blurred and spun until it liquefied to a pitch black. Your head hung back loosely, supported by Misha's shoulder.

"What the hell, Bob?!" Brows scrunched together, Misha glowered at him.

Wellington whistled in approval. "Heh, it's not what I expected, but an effective choice nonetheless. Congratulations, you're becoming slightly more competent by the day."

Bob gulped. His eyes followed the trail of chloroform that dripped from [h/c] strands and down your cheeks, mixing with crimson streaks.

"She...she's bleeding! Don't tell me that I..."

Misha hovered a finger just below your nose. "...Nah, she's breathing." Tightening his secure embrace around your shoulders, he propped a chin on your head and grinned. "My little tiger's not going without a fight."

"Disgusting." Tony arched a thick brow. "Do you give nicknames to every young girl you come across?"

Misha closed his eyes and hummed, a beguiling smile on his face. "Nope. This one's special."

"How so?"

Half-opening one eye, his lips curved into a mischievous smirk. "Not telling~."

Wellington cut into their conversation. "Misha, bring Y/N to the room right next to where that Asher boy is."

"Right on it, Boss." Uncoupling himself from you, he carefully picked you up and hoisted your body onto his shoulder, wrapping a strong arm around it to secure you in place.

Wellington heaved himself off his chair and sauntered out of the room, soon followed by his henchmen.

----

"Cy?" A fragile whisper, thick with tears, trickled through trembling lips. A little girl clutched onto the sleeve of a teenage boy, hiding behind him as if to protect herself from the barrage of indignant shouts being exchanged ahead. "Why are Mum and Dad arguing again?"

The boy opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, before he settled on a vague answer. "It's what adults do."

"I d-don't like it." She dug her head deeper into his back. "Make it stop. Please...please make it stop."

Turning around, he pulled the child into a tight hug.

She felt the cloth on her shoulder grow damp and heard the faint sound of subdued sniffles. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry you have to face this."

He raised an arm to roughly wipe away at his eyelids, removing the evidence of his brief display of weakness, before he withdrew himself. Cyril refused to be anything but the strong rock of stability in their family, the girl knew all too well, so his lop-sided grin didn't fool her. She grimaced in concern.

"You don't have to hide your–"

"Let me make it up to you," he said softly. "Come, I'll read you your favourite story before you go to bed."

The girl grabbed the hand he offered, her own tiny one instantly engulfed in a comforting warmth that soothed the last of her whimpers. As quietly as they could, the pair tip-toed from the mouth of the dining room and to the child's room. Cyril flicked on the light switch, causing a golden hue to flood the space, as the girl dove into the bed covers and only poked out her head. A bright smile dazzled her features and anticipation floated in her [e/c] irises.

Cyril chuckled upon seeing her demeanour. He dragged a chair next to her bed, whilst taking the cherished book from the shelf on the bedside table. Clearing his throat, he put on his best David Attenborough voice as he recited the story, most of which he committed to memory.

"There once was a–"

His voice cracked.

A moment of silence later, the girl erupted into giggles.

Cyril flushed. "Ah shi– I mean, schnitzel."

"Tsk tsk, Cy. Watch your language."

The tips of his ears flared red. "I said schnitzel!"

"Suuure you did."

Huffing at her snarky tone, he cleared his throat again, louder this time.

"Anyways...there once was a town called Reacesall, where everyone could use magic. With it, they could do many wondrous things, like heal rare illnesses and make someone fall in love with them. Reacesall was home to many kinds of people and animals–"

"–Cy, what about–"

"–Yes, there were unicorns and dodo birds...maybe." He quickly added the last part just as she asked the question like usual, earning a cheeky grin from her. "It was one of the towns controlled by the powerful Cerium Republic, which gave this magic and looked after many other villages nearby. But they were not the source of the magic, because it was actually provided to them by a mysterious group called the Frouda Page Criar. Since no one can pronounce that name correctly other than me, let's shorten it to the FPC."

The attentive listener frowned. "What's with all the weird and difficult names? Do they mean anything?"

"I don't know. The person who made them up must've been a big idiot." He let out a nervous laugh, adjusting his collar.

"But...why do I have this strange feeling that the names used to be different–"

"–Everyone was happy and lived in peace...until the people of Reacesall started using much more magic than they were supposed to."

Forgetting her initial concern, the girl sighed. "And here's where things go downhill..."

"You see, every town under the Republic's rule had a limit on how much magic they could each use, so that it was fair for everyone. But Reacesall didn't have a limit, all because of the Cerium Republic's leader: the Duchess in Silver. She fell in love with a man in Reacesall who, while extremely handsome on the outside, was ugly inside. He was greedy for magic and manipulated the Duchess into removing the limit."

"Grr, I don't like him, Cy!"

"Me neither, but there's more." He leafed over to the next page. "The FPC–"

Cyril halted abruptly, upon hearing muffled footsteps approaching the doorway. In one swift move, he returned the book to its place and stood up. "Guess we might need to stop story-time short tonight. Sweet dreams, Y/N."

"Nooo!" The girl whined. Just as she reached out to latch onto her brother's arm, her fingers merely brushed over his cotton sleeve as he hurried out of the room.

Soon, her mother emerged in the doorway. "Go to sleep, Y/N." Her voice was hoarse from the vocal battle, which ended on another stalemate.

"Okay...Good ni–"

The door slammed closed.

As if the jarring sound of wood on wood pierced your eardrums from the inside, you awoke with a gasp. Far too vivid and poignant for a mere concoction of fantasy, you deduced that your mind replayed a long-lost memory. But why? Why now? Was it in some sick sadistic desire that your brain conjured the graphic image of your brother; all smiles, warmth and compassion you had only taken for granted before...before he...

The brim of your bottom eyelids started welling with tears, but you rapidly blinked them away whilst tilting your head back. In the process, your skull thumped against something hard, making you groan softly.

'Argh...what the–?'

The lethargy disappeared from your bleary eyes, now wide and alert.

How long had you been sleeping for?

No, better question: where the hell were you?