FicWad

Frankie didn’t even want to open his eyes, he was too afraid. He wasn’t even certain he had been unconscious, let alone how long, and if he opened his eyes he feared that his guardian - his tormentor - would still be standing over him. His first clue that he was alone was the silence. Lawson breathed heavily and loudly; not through any medical condition but merely due to lack of fitness and a chronic smoking habit. Smoking cigarettes had long since been made illegal, but like any drug, for the right price they were still available and the better part of the allowance Lawson received from BLI to take care of Frankie was spent on his addiction.

The room hung in silence and finally, but discreetly, Frankie opened his eyes. It was dark; partly because he was half lying under the bed but also because it seemed that many hours had passed. Reaching up to touch his face, it was difficult to decide what upset him more, the blood dried and caked on his cheek and around his mouth, the tenderness he knew would be a bruise, or rather a series of bruises, or the puffing around his left eye that prevented it opening fully.

He moved on to counting his limbs before trying to move each one individually. Slowly he realised that, although he was in a lot of pain and he felt stiff and sore in muscles he didn’t even know he had, he was alive, intact and nothing seemed to be broken. Well, nothing physical anyway. He squeezed his eyes shut suddenly as both the physical and emotional pain of the attack flooded his mind once more. He didn’t want to cry, but the tears had already left his eyes and he sniffed, trying hard to hold in his emotions. Rolling over, he bit his lip in a failed attempt to prevent the sharp cry of pain emerging. How had he managed to forget that the belt buckle had torn into his back? He cursed his inability to keep his agony from surfacing vocally and tried again to move, this time by shuffling backwards. Somewhat more successful, Frankie was still forced to grit his teeth to keep all sounds inside.

Once standing, Frankie walked into his bathroom and looked over his shoulder to see his back in the mirror. As he did, he also saw his face and in doing so, stinging tears pricked at his eyes once more; he was certain that one day, either by accident or design, Lawson would kill him. Opening a small cabinet, Frankie fished out a medical kit; it was hardly the first time Lawson had beat him until he bruised or bled. Taking out a half used tube of antiseptic cream, he applied it to a long strip of plastic and, using his mirror as a guide, he applied it to the cuts on his back, occasionally wincing as even the light pressure caused the cuts to sting. He didn’t want to, but his eyes misted as he applied the cream to the last one. Waiting as it soaked in, he gently sponged the blood from his face and lightly pressed a cold damp folded face cloth over his swollen eye. His shoulders sagged as he looked in the mirror and realised the damage Lawson had caused would mean he would not be allowed to leave the apartment for several days.

It was ironic in the worst possible way. Most orphans under the care of BLI lived in the dormitories near BLI Headquarters in the centre of the city, but Frankie had a guardian because repeated illnesses when he was very young had meant he required more attentive care. Guardians were well paid to take care of their wards but of course, that unfortunately meant that not all those who applied for the positions had the best interests of the children at heart. Doug Lawson was one of those people, more interested in using the money for drinking and gambling than taking care of the young boy. Many times, Frankie had tried to run away but he was always found by the Battery City Police and returned to Lawson - nobody ever listened to his desperate pleading.
Why ironic? Because whilst Frankie’s early childhood illnesses had lessened in intensity, he was now more likely to be kept home from school or ballet because of yet another beating masquerading as a mystery illness. If he were in the dormitories he would be decidedly healthier than here with this cruel man.

Tonight he was determined to leave for good. He had no idea what he would do or where he would go, but whatever happened it had to be better than what he was dealing with, surely? He didn’t need much, he didn’t have much, but he spent the next thirty minutes meticulously packing everything into what on him was a very large backpack. Some clothes, toiletries, his small tool kit that he had collected slowly over the previous two years and mostly gifts from Gerard and his most prized possessions - a book on engineering and small electronic device that he built himself, which allowed him to override most, if not all, electrically powered locks. The backpack was heavy, for the small and slight boy, but he knew he could manage. He hoped that even temporarily, Gerard would help him, even if it was just a few carbons so that he could establish a new home and a job. He wasn’t averse to hard work and he was extremely gifted when it came to electronics; one of the few things he was interested in. Yes, he would find a home, a job and he would at last be free of the drunken thug who called himself his guardian.

*

“Come on, Gee!” Mikey called, eager to leave and banging a fist on the still closed door. “The car’s here.”

Inside his room, Gerard hadn’t managed to think of a way to escape their predicament. The car had arrived and was taking them to Traitor’s Square. He had witnessed the scene many times. The square would be lit brightly, alcohol would be freely available, as would recreational drugs and porno droids. There would be almost a carnival atmosphere with the main attraction being the Way brothers - the faces of BLI - there to order the execution of three rebels. Mikey was excited but Gerard was frantic. He had to choose between giving the order himself or handing over the responsibility to Mikey. The most frustrating part was that Mikey really wanted to do it and would be annoyed with him if Gerard kept the honour for himself. In addition to taking his memories, Korse had twisted Mikey’s sense of right and wrong. He had turned him into a BLI loving citizen who believed that they could do no wrong and that the execution of rebels was in the best interests of Battery City. It pained him to see Mikey so bereft of sympathy for people who wanted to simply live their lives without BLI’s overbearing presence - like their father had said he wanted, moments before Korse killed him.

Gerard exhaled deeply, a great weight resting on his shoulders. This night, one of them was to become a murderer and realistically he knew it had to be him. Mikey would pout and complain and probably hate him for a couple of hours for taking the so-called honour, but he couldn’t let him be a murderer. Gerard had vowed to protect him. He had been unable to prevent Korse from indoctrinating him and he hated himself for the fact that he was just a boy. Growing up, Mikey had always looked up to his big brother, he was his hero and Gerard was determined to always remain his hero. One day, Mikey would see BLI and Korse for what they really were and when that day came, Gerard wanted him to know he had been protected from the worst that BLI threw at them, otherwise Mikey would be devastated by the knowledge of what he had done. But what about himself? It was a weight he was prepared to bear; Mikey was worth any weight, any pain. Gerard would not let him be hurt again.

Pulling on the jacket of his black suit, Gerard looked at himself in the large free-standing mirror next to his wardrobe. He looked immaculate. Dressed entirely in black; it seemed fitting for what he was expected to do. His normally pale features were highlighted further by the impenetrable blackness of the suit, or was he simply paler than usual? He felt a little lightheaded, even nauseous. It seemed that all the blood had drained from his face and he felt himself still trembling, possibly even more than before. He swallowed hard; he had to stop shaking or Petra would delight in pointing it out all the more. Almost certainly she would goad him about how he felt, ordering his first execution. How he was so lucky, so privileged. He felt faint even imagining the conversation.

“Gee!” Mikey hammered on the door once more.
“I’m coming.” His voice was cracked and barely above a whisper. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I’m coming!”
“Well, come on then! The driver’s waiting.”

Emerging from his room, the first thing he noticed was Petra’s smirk broadening into a cruel grin as she saw his pale, sunken features.

“Well, don’t you look fine, Gerard,” she commented. “All ready for your first execution. You must be so excited.”
“Yeah,” he croaked, wishing he could hide his feelings better. Yes, he could act, but this was too much to ask. “Of course I am.”
“Well, you don’t look it,” Mikey laughed. “You look like you’re about to pass out!”
“Nerves,” he managed by way of explanation.
“Nerves?” Mikey laughed again, finding even the idea hilarious. “You? Who are you trying to kid?”
“Don’t tease your brother, Mikey,” Petra pretended to scold. “He just wants to be sure it all goes perfectly, don’t you, Gerard? You don’t want your first execution to go wrong, do you? You want to make BLI proud?”

Gerard stared at her, only to find her staring back. This time she had the advantage and she was not about to look away. This was it, this was the way she would prove to Exterminator Korse that Gerard was not indoctrinated and merely pretending. She had him in her sights and she was not backing down.

“Of course,” he muttered, grimly as Mikey continued to chuckle. “Will someone be there to instruct me?” He asked through a tightly clamped jaw.
“Exterminator Korse will instruct you himself. Oh, and I don’t want to make you more nervous than you already are, but I’ve arranged for all the BLI Directors to attend also. Your big moment of glory in the name of BLI will be witnessed by them as well as hundreds of civilians, maybe thousands.”

Gerard and Petra stared at one another; if he was going to become a murderer anyway... The temptation tugged at him, willing him to end it now, but he knew that realistically it wouldn’t end there. All it would achieve would be to horrify Mikey and get himself both arrested and once more subjected to long needles, hypnosis and brainwashing. Well, this was it, there was nothing more he could do to delay and there seemed no escaping it.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Let’s go.”

He had no sooner spoken the words when the intercom buzzed loudly. Gerard turned, raising his eyebrows in surprise; their driver had never been so impatient before.

“What’s his problem?” Mikey grumbled. “We’re not late, why can’t he wait just a couple of minutes.”

Walking briskly to the intercom, he snatched up the handset and held it to his ear.

“We’re coming!” He snapped. “Don’t be so impatient.”

Gerard took a deep breath; he couldn’t help but wonder who was the more impatient, Mikey or the driver. Mikey hadn’t always been impatient. Gerard had noticed it starting not long after his indoctrination. Had it been the cause, or was there some other underlying factor? Gerard had his own theory, and he clung to it like a baby to its mother - it helped him believe that Mikey had retained his memories, set deep inside and that the impatience was a result of his brain fighting with itself to remember. He had no proof and no way to find out, but the theory encouraged him. He desperately wanted to believe that one day, when they were free, Mikey would remember everything and be his true self once more.

“Oh!”

Mikey suddenly sounded contrite, dragging Gerard from his reverie to wonder what was happening. Had the execution been cancelled? Could he be that lucky?

“Sure,” Mikey continued. “Can you bring him up on the express elevator.”
“What’s up, Mikes?” Gerard’s brow furrowed. “Is it the driver?”

Mikey turned to face his brother, he appeared both worried but also a little downcast and disappointed.

“It was Edward,” he began.
“Security?” Gerard gasped. “What’s happened? Who’s coming up?”
“Frankie,” Mikey nodded to the door to the express elevator, which opened directly into their living room and could be accessed only by a handful of people, and even then, apart from when used by Gerard, Mikey, Petra or Korse, could only be opened by someone already inside the apartment.

Gerard appeared puzzled; Frankie had visited only hours before, why was he back so soon? And more worrying, why did Mikey seem so concerned.

“I’m sorry, Gee,” Mikey sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “We won’t be going to the execution tonight.”
“Is he okay?” Gerard replied, almost not registering that somehow the miracle he had prayed for had been granted.

Petra’s mouth fell open at the words; this could simply not be happening. She had taken a lot of time and trouble to arrange what she knew would be an unbearable task for Gerard and he was mere minutes away from either showing himself to be a traitor to BLI or resigning himself to the inevitability of carrying out his worst, soul destroying nightmare.

“You can’t back out,” she insisted. “They’re waiting for you. This is important!”

As she spoke she grew increasingly shrill. Her eyes widening, she stepped towards them, pulling at Mikey’s arm.

“You have to be there, it’s arranged!”
“Frankie’s our friend,” Mikey replied, raising an eyebrow at her response. “Gee?”

Mikey looked guiltily at Gerard. He felt bad for suggesting cancelling the ceremony, but he couldn’t leave Frankie alone, not now.

“There’ll be plenty of other opportunities,” Gerard continued with the pretence that he relished the idea of the execution. “But we need to be here for Frankie.”
“Well, I’m sure Mikey...” Petra began, only to be cut off by Gerard.
“Both of us,” he insisted. “Petra, could you send our apologies to Exterminator Korse and ask the driver to wait in case we need to take Frankie to the hospital.”
“I... but...” Petra stammered, panicking at the idea of having to pass on the news to Exterminator Korse; even though he was still only a middle-ranking Exterminator, Korse was formidable and terrifying.
“What’s happened?” Gerard continued, ignoring, but quietly enjoying Petra’s discomfort.
“Edward said Lawson’s beat him really bad this time,” Mikey looked deeply troubled. “He got to the lobby and passed out.”
“He can stay here,” Gerard replied to Mikey’s relief. “We can look after him.”
“No, that won’t be...” Petra began again, her forthrightness suddenly absent from her tone.
“Petra,” Gerard cocked his head as the elevator arrived. “You have arrangements to make. Go,” he pressed, before adding, “like you said, they’ll be waiting.”

Internally, Petra shuddered. Explaining their absence to Korse was an unpleasant enough task without also having been denied the chance to show Gerard’s true colours. But what could she do? She could only push the matter as long as Mikey wanted to go. His apparent reluctant decision to stay had handed Gerard exactly what he wanted and inside, she was furious.

For his own part, Gerard felt simultaneously relieved, elated and guilty that he took pleasure in the moment despite Frankie’s injuries. However, the reality was that his best friend was badly hurt, and that was what mattered now, nothing else and certainly not Petra.