Warning: Abusive themes later on.

'One room?' Your heart beat faster. 'This better not develop into some romance cliché where the guy and girl share a room and fall in- Wait, what am I thinking?'

A blush reached the boy's cheeks, painting his entire face and ears bright red. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, as his eyes widened. "Oh hell na- *ahem* I mean, two rooms actually."

The girl blinked. "Okay...two whole coins, thank you."

"Two whole coins?!" He muttered to himself as he brought out two thick golden discs and slammed them onto the counter. "There, now I'm half broke."

The girl ignored his statement and turned around to the set of drawers against the back wall. She opened three drawers then turned back, producing two small silver keys in her dainty hand. The boy took his key as you gingerly took yours.

Radish Hair looked down at his key, speculating the number engraved in the brass, then took a glance at yours. "Looks like we're right next to each other." He put his key in his jeans pocket. "Good."

He took your arm in a tight grip and dragged you with him to the hallway. You tried shaking off of him, protesting and struggling in his grip, as you two scrambled the long passageway. Suddenly he advanced towards the door in front of him, unlocked it with his key and pushed you inside.

You rubbed your arm and glared at him. "What the hell?!"

His eyes widened as his gaze trailed to the red handprint on your arm, hazel orbs laced with guilt. "Shoot, was my grip that hard? Sorry."

Shaking his shoulders, he loosened two black straps that slid down each arm. They were connected to a backpack that you hadn't noticed earlier, particularly because they camouflaged against his onyx vest. Nonchalantly, he tossed it to the side.

You were trying your best to keep your cool. What was this guy's problem? "Whatever, just tell me what you want before I call the police to arrest you for harassment."

"Ah, well...look, I just really think we can help each other out." Awkwardly laughing, he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm really desperate to get this thing over and done with and go home."

You deadpanned. "Buddy, I want to go home too, but I'm not going around taking a random girl's book, vandalising it, then forcing her to join my little writing club so that I can steal whatever she's got and go on my merry way."

"At least I don't knock on a stranger's door and ask them to be my friend."

"I was trying to get what was rightfully mine, genius."

"...Even sandpaper is smoother than you, but I digress. Let's just work as a team then forget either of us ever existed."

"That's inevitable since they'll wipe our memories before we leave. That's why this," you held up your notebook. "is so important to me. Even if I don't remember a single thing, everything will be in here. That includes an instruction at the start which describes this suicide mission and why the heck I took it up in the first place."

The boy parted his lips as if to say something, until his mouth gaped open, letting out a loud yawn. Watching him, a yawn threatened to release itself from your mouth too, but you stifled it.

"It's getting late, Falcon. We'll continue this discussion in the morning."

You turned to exit the room when his words swirled in your mind and you looked back. "Hey, that reminds me. Is it just me, or does the night feel super long?"

He locked his fingers at the back of his head and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, didn't you know? The length of time for daylight and night is a day each. So technically a day here is worth two days in the world outside this town, if that makes any sense."

You flinched, repeating his word slowly in your head. How were you supposed to know that? More importantly, how did he know that?

"Oh...interesting. Um, well, talk to you in the morning, Turnip Head." You mentally slapped yourself at blurting out your nickname for him, once again.

He seemed unfazed by the name and instead curved his lips into a lazy smile. "Sweet dreams, Falcon Girl."

You walked out into the corridor, which was dimly lit by the incandescent light bulbs hanging from the ceiling in intervals.

Standing in front of your door, you turned the key and entered the room. It was almost an exact replica of Turnip's room, except without the balcony and paintings.

Upon stepping foot inside the room, you realised that you didn't thank the guy for paying for you, where you instead acted like a complete turd. After all, he was decent enough to pay for two rooms and save you from whatever dangers that suspicious blue-eyed boy posed for you two.

You put your notebook onto your bed and walked outside, balled your hand into a fist and went to knock on his door. Only, you stopped before it touched the hard surface.

'What are you doing Y/N? Slap some sense into yourself. This guy is pretty much a stalker. A kidnapper. You barely talked to him and you're already starting to trust him?'

Your arm returned to your side. No, it was true. Even if you sound paranoid, there were way too many things that were fishy about this guy. He didn't even tell you his name yet.

You side-stepped to your room's door and held the door knob, pausing when you heard a conversation happening in the distance. You quietly berated yourself for eavesdropping before tuning in to the two faint voices.

"...Miss Carol, good evening! It's been too long." That sounded like the counter lady.

"Good evening, dearie," a familiar voice spoke. Was she the Carol from the other hotel? "My shift just finished before and it gets awfully lonely during my breaks you know."

"Aw, you always have me, miss. Your own nephew hardly comes to these corners of town. Cruddy Gael only ever pays attention to his cruddy work." A long sigh. "So how was your day today?"

"It was quite interesting actually. Two visitors came by the hotel. One of them, a nice young lad, booked a room while the other, a sweet girl, was looking for him..." She continued to describe the situation in great detail, as though she had a photographic memory. "...Then Gael told me off for trusting strangers."

"Well, that's true, Miss-"

"Although, I do suppose he had a point, considering they are both re-"

Her voice suddenly came to a stop and it was followed by a terse silence.

"They are both..?"

"N-never mind dear. Nothing important."

"Hmm...sounded like you were going to say 'reporters', but since you said it wasn't important it surely couldn't be that. Oh, speaking of which! You remember how the mayor was asked about reporters during his speech to the outsiders? That really woke the council up and now they're on an extra eye out for anyone who looks fishy."

The older voice hesitated before she spoke in a quieter voice. "Oh...really now?"

"Yeah, and they're more than prepared to chop off the heads of any suspects!" The younger voice giggled.

"...Supposing the two strangers I met today were, in fact, people from the media...they wouldn't meet the same fate, would they?"

"Absolutely they will, and blimey would I be glad if that happened!"

Your muscles tensed and heart stopped for a moment. What was she saying?

"Dearie, they're barely in their 20s! The town's regulations are much too cruel on these people who are no different than us. Imprisonment should be the maximum, don't you think?"

"Remember the last time a reporter was imprisoned? He somehow found out about..." the girl's voice died down to a whisper and you couldn't determine what she was saying. "...then he escaped. If it weren't for our contacts at Waverley station, he would be alive and our home town would be ruined! Gone! Zilch!"

You gulped. 'So people did manage to escape with their memories intact, or at least with handy notes like mine. But how would I escape the people at the station?'

"Yes but still..."

"Of course..." The counter lady spoke slower. You could imagine her narrowed her and pursed lips through her drawled speech. "...We're speaking hypothetically right, Miss?"

"Indeed we are!" Carol quickly countered, followed by a string of forced laughter.

"Thought so!" The younger girl sighed, as if in relief. "You think too positively about these people. I think that's your problem and one of the reasons why Gael is so worried about you. You're much too compassionate, Miss Carol. We common folk aren't as generous as you when it comes to outsiders in general, like the boy and the girl, let alone reporters."

"What do you-"

"In other words, if I were you, I wouldn't have cared less if that girl broke into that lad's room, stole his toothbrush, ransacked his belongings, or even brutally murdered him. One less intruder means one less bother for the rest of us."

"Dearie!" Carol almost hissed, but the motherly undertones of her mellow speech softened any form of venom she carried in her words.

The conversation continued but the rest of their discourse didn't reach your ears.

'Wouldn't have cared less if she stole his toothbrush, ransacked his belongings or...'

'...brutally murdered him.'

'One less intruder means one less bother for the rest of us.'

'Yeah, and they're more than prepared to chop off the heads of any suspects!'

You repeated the sentences over and over in your head, finally grasping the weight behind the utterances.

Your heart skipped a beat. It was becoming harder to breath.

With shaky fingers, you turned the doorknob and sped into your room, locking the door behind you. You flopped onto the bed and grabbed your notebook, flipping to an empty page, and scribbled another note.

'Townspeople seem friendly and welcoming, but they're murderously adamant about containing whatever town secrets there are and are paranoid about the media releasing them into public knowledge.' Your hands trembled as you tightened your grip on your pen.

You reflected on the friendly smiles that the people at the marketplace gave to their customers, who were mostly visitors. Does that mean that it was all a facade? That they were hiding their deep hatred for 'outsiders'?

You stared at the ink then closed the book, placing it next to your pillow. Getting off the bed, you went to the set of drawers and opened the top drawer, gathering the set of folded pyjamas. Keeping your undergarments, you changed into the set and briefly examined yourself in the mirror. The hotel had provided you with a plain white shirt and cream baggy pyjama pants, the material caressing your skin in a soft embrace. After admiring the comfortable clothing, you returned to the bed and collapsed onto the mattress, body sinking.

You reached over to the side to turn off the lights and brought the soft, thick quilt over your form. You wriggled into a comfortable position and clenched your eyes shut. Due to your impeding thoughts, it took you a few hours before you could drift into unconsciousness.

Yet one thought remained in your mind till your vision blurred into darkness and deep slumber overcame you.

'I thought I knew very little about this town, but really it seems like I know nothing at all.'

Unrelenting to the charming spell of midnight, the 28th Stop glowed with the activities of the night market stalls and the amusement park at the far end of town. A lively ambience enveloped the bustling street, as the dusty path separating the market rows were illuminated by the soft red glow of lanterns from each stall and lanterns hanging from the telephone lines above them. The energetic atmosphere gradually dispersed into interconnected roads until its radiant grasp barely reached the cold, porcelain Council building.

Inside the main office, a young adult and an older, shorter man faced each other. The latter was sitting in a leather chair, behind a polished desk labelled "Mayor Hill Underwood" in gold, and the former stood in front of him, with his arms crossed and chest slightly puffed out in confidence. An unnerving air surrounded the two of them and neither uttered a word until the older man broke the silence.

"I will not allow you to bring an outsider to our prestigious formal gathering, boy." He seethed. "What made you think I would accept that in the first place?"

Gael stayed silent for a moment, before opening his mouth again.

"I strongly believe that, by talking to her, she could help bring some insight from the outside world. We could-"

"You think I care about your opinion, boy?"

His teeth hurt from being clamped shut so tightly.

"Father, trust me. It's been a long time since we had a visitor, and I don't think your opinion of them being a bunch of ferocious monsters is all that valid."

Silence.

Hill heaved himself up from his chair and sauntered around his desk. As soon as Gael turned around to face him, his head suddenly jerked to the side, an all-too-familiar pain blossoming on his cheek. The high-pitched sound echoed off the walls fenced around them, like a thunderclap.

"You dare question your own father?"

Before Gael could stop himself, his thoughts erupted through his lips.

"What father? What father? All I see is a worthless piece of crap in the form of a human, wearing a ridiculous suit and Gucci shoes just to show off to his shallow-"

He received a harder slap, the shock pushing Gael off balance. He held himself up by his shaking arms, facing the ground.

Warm, red liquid streamed from the corner of Gael's mouth. The realisation dawned on him as he coughed, red splattering onto the lush carpet in front of him.

'Did I really just say that out loud?'

Hill brushed off his shoulders and fixed his collar, stretching his neck from side to side. His beady eyes stared at his son's back, which was ever so slowly becoming more upright. Just as Gael was staggering to his feet, Hill kicked the back of his knee and the young boy's head contacted the ground with a loud thud. Hill stepped on his bleeding head and grinded his heel against the side of his skull, just above his ear.

"I didn't expect this from you. After all these years of obedience, with a few mistakes here and there, you suddenly defy me to this extent? The level of disrespect in those words..." He dug his heel further in until red blotches appeared on either side of his shoe. "I am ashamed of you."

Gael's head felt like it was splitting. He couldn't describe the sheer agony that sprouted along the side of his face and seeped into the fibres of his brain. The edges of his vision blurred and his eyelids threatened to seal his eyesight to a numb, comforting darkness.

Just before his view melted to pitch black, the force was lifted. Gael's ears rung fiercely and he could barely hear footsteps gradually growing quieter, then a door squeaking shut.

He laid there in his pool of blood, unable to muster the energy to move until the cleaning maid came to his rescue.

As she was bandaging him, Gael shut himself in his thoughts. Images of his child-self being in the same position, under his dad's foot and almost drowning in his own blood, flooded his mind. Ever since he could remember, Gael had to constantly deal with his father's antics.

Whenever he displayed any signs of protest, he would receive a punishment to Hill's liking, whether it be a mere slap or like something that happened a few months ago. His back ached at the reminded of the memory; it almost seemed like the whip scars would reopen any moment, as they stung incredibly against his beige turtleneck. Thankfully, he wore his back leather coat over it, for if they did open up, the townspeople would definitely notice the red streaks and create rumours again. Only this time, they probably wouldn't die down as easily.

Tears bit the corners of his eyes and pooled in the inner pink crevices.

He had enough.

He couldn't deal with it anymore.

He had enough of the injustice. He had enough of the incessant abuse.

He always wondered what it was like to be in a normal family. As a child, before he went to sleep, he prayed that his father would become nicer and more forgiving the next morning. He prayed that Gael himself would be forgiven for the sins he made to cause his father's rage, his mother's insanity, his sisters' death and finally his mother's death. Especially his mother's death.

The memory of his mother's last words was forever sewn into the fabric of his mind.

'Gael, dear, as much as I love you...this wouldn't have happened if you were born.'

'It's all your fault.'

It's all your fault.