Chapter Four

Anai had seen men rush to remove their clothing, but she had never known anyone who seemed to genuinely hate it quite like her new companion. His distaste had nothing to do with a desire to get into anyone else’s pants. Instead, he reminded her of a child who would strip whenever he could, hoping to be free of what he considered to be horribly constricting and completely useless.

She’d managed to throw a blanket over him in the hover, not wanting to be stopped for violating indecency laws while driving through The Lows, and in hindsight she was extremely grateful that he hadn’t thrown it back off just as quickly. Instead, he’d taken to it, even after he pulled it from around his body, holding it in his arms and fingering a corner as he watched her dig through her comrades’ closets in the hope of finding something he might wear. So far she hadn’t had any luck.

“You’re going to have to put something on eventually, you know,” she informed him from over her shoulder. He was silent, but she could still feel his gaze, focused and heavy like a damp towel over her shoulders. “And you’re going to have to speak to us sooner or later too.” He conveyed his disagreement quite clearly by continuing to say nothing at all. Anai sighed and dug more deeply into the closet before finally giving up.

She’d riffled through everyone’s things besides Lars’, knowing that he was particularly sensitive about his privacy, but there was no helping it now. The silent man was either too slender or too tall for anyone else’s things to fit him. In contrast, Lars had a few inches on him, which meant whatever pants she grabbed would likely be a little too long, but beyond that she was pretty sure they’d fit. Still, she felt a bit like a sneaky little sister when she opened the door to Lars’ room and stepped inside.

Anai had never managed to get a good look at Lars’ bedroom, but she wasn’t surprised by what she saw. It looked lived in, but more like a hotel room than a semi-permanent home. Lars hadn’t placed any knick-knacks on the tabletops. He hadn’t hung anything on the walls, and there were no family photographs anywhere Anai could see. Nothing suggested Lars planned on staying around long at all, and yet he had been here for at least several months before Anai stepped on the scene with her younger sister in tow. She sighed, shaking her head, “Lars, Lars, Lars. If this is how you Drow are, no wonder no one understands you guys at all.”

She made a beeline for his closet, opening the double doors and peering inside. It was as well organized as the rest of the room, pants to the left, shirts to the right, and Anai grabbed both in a soft cream color if only because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Lars wear either. “Alright, you,” she managed a slight smile. “Lets get out of here and into this stylish clothing.”

The silent man looked up from his examination of Lars’ table lamp, frowning faintly but moving forward nonetheless. Anai turned the lights off and gently closed the door behind her. Pulling the blanket from his grip, she replaced it with the pants. At his sour expression, she shook her head. “It’s my blanket after all, you know. But you can have it back after you get dressed.”

She felt rather like she was treating a grown man like a young child, and she got the impression that he wasn’t particularly happy with her, but eventually the deal scored her a semi-dressed companion. She placed the shirt in his outstretched hands, knowing full well that wasn’t what he’d been after, “Finish getting dressed and I’ll hand it over, promise. You’ve got to put the shirt on if you aren’t going to button those pants.” He fumbled with the shirt for a moment but eventually got his head and his arms in all the right places, and she returned the blanket obligingly.

“A grown man with a security blanket,” she laughed, moving behind him to pull his hair from his shirt collar. “Who’ve thunk it?”

His hair was soft and thick in her hands, and lifting it free revealed the dark lines of a tattoo low on the nape of his neck. Anai frowned, curious, and carefully pulled the shirt down a bit to reveal more of the design only to discover that it wasn’t a design at all. “08?” she asked. He looked back at her and she frowned more deeply, “What’s that all about?”

He didn’t respond, but for once he didn’t need to. Anai clearly thought she had enough of an idea. “Those fuckers! Is that what they called you?” She turned away, hands tightened into fists, “It’s not enough that they herd us like cattle down here. Now they’re using us for damn lab rats! What did they do to you?”

It was more of a demand than a question, but he still didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He wasn’t sure who “they” was, but more importantly he couldn’t remember anyone doing anything to him at all. He remembered the darkness, a soreness in his throat, creating sound, and then Anai standing in light brighter than he knew even existed. Since then, there had been an abundance of both light and sound; Anai seemed to create both constantly, enough that it shocked him into silence, a conservation of his own abilities, into the role of a quiet observer.

But Anai didn’t want to be observed. She wanted answers, and in her frustration she reached forward to grip his shoulders with clenched fingers. “You have to tell us what they did to you!” She spoke with a fervor that startled him, and when she shook him a little he reached up to push her away.

His hands connected with the sound of a strong gust of wind or a forceful exhalation, and for a moment Anai was blinded. The next thing she saw was the man who was labeled 08 staring wide-eyed at her with a shocked expression. She was halfway across the room, half sprawled on the floor near Lars’ door, back aching from the impact.

“What—?” she wasn’t sure what she was going to ask, but it was clear he had no answer for her anyway. “Who are you?”

He remained silent, round eyes riveted to her. He didn’t turn when the front door opened behind him, but Anai could see Aeneat step inside, staggering a bit under Lars’ weight.

“Help me, Anai. He’s too heavy.” She pushed herself up with a faint wince and moved to Lars’ other side. It was then that she saw the grimace on his face. He’d been shot, and the blood left a blooming stain that centered under the hand pressed against his ribs.

"Lars! I shouldn't have... I'm sorry!"

He didn't lift his head to look at her as she took some of his weight off Aeneat's shoulders. Together they helped him to his room, the door sliding shut behind them and leaving the man labeled 08 standing confused and alone outside.

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