Tie the Noose [Paragon]

[Florian]

Ash 63 121

To Zaichaer

Without even truly thinking on the matter, Florian was on his way back to Zaichaer. It was stupid, a lack of self-preservation. He should have risked going to Kalzasi, or further, but for what? A city that scared him, a people he didn't know, and a cluster of members of the Order of Reconciliation that would likely find him before he had a chance to figure out a plan. To begin with, it was risky to have left Zaichaer to begin with. Riskier still to leave without a word. It was one thing that he worked for the government. It was one thing that he was a soldier. It was worse that he was a mage, and further that he was a Lysanrin. But the worst that he was all of these things and a holder of state secrets, of intentions, an expedition go-er that could bring the wrath of two city-states together if he had looser lips.

He pulled his coat tighter around himself and stared at the window. He hadn't said a word to anyone, but what did that matter? It's not like they would check first. He knew as well as anyone that what he did was suspicious, even traitorous from the outside. He hadn't shared the precious knowledge of the expedition with Kalzasi, but he had traveled close enough to the city, he had wandered into the wilderness, and he had found nothing. A tower surrounded by cold water that he had trudged through to no avail, and though the beckoning invitation had disappeared from his mind, he had left emptyhanded. He should have gone to Kalzasi, but he had decided to return to Zaichaer instead.

Florian didn't know exactly when the train was going to reach the edge of Zaichaer's territory, or even the city itself, but he had certain expectations. He expected them to know he had left, and he almost expected them to be waiting for him when he returned. Maybe it was a surprise to both of them that he would risk it to return to the only city he had ever known. To him, as the train rumbled along the tracks, it felt like he had tied his own noose, stepped onto the stool, and placed it around his neck. Like he had collected the tinder for the stake and tied himself to it, and now he was ready to strike the match.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

The door to Florian’s compartment opened and inside walked a single man. He was dressed in the black attire of a Reconciliator on duty. At his hip was a sword, a pistol, and across his chest was a bandolier of both daggers and another set of pistols. He plopped down into the seat opposite of Florian seemingly without a care in the world. Propping his boots up on the ledge of the seat, he let out a tired groan, allowing his head to fall back. On his hand he wore the classic signet ring that was issued only to members of the Order. The man stretched, the pop of several joints sounding in the tense silence. He dropped his feet back to the floor and let out a satisfied sigh. Digging into his vest, he took out a cigar that looked to already be partially smoked. The man brought out a wooden match, lit it, and held it to the end of the cigar giving it a few puffs. After another moment of nonchalant quiet, he put out the match by shaking his hand, drew in a large puff from the cigar and let it out slowly. Taking it from his mouth he looked at it as the smoke swirled in the air around him.

“The High Sentinel wants you dead.” His voice was smooth, conversational. He looked up from the cigar then. Dark brown eyes bored into Florian with just a glance. A predatory intelligence gleamed within them.

“Not going to waste my time explaining your charges. You know them. Or…” He let out a gruff chuckle. “...you can guess them.”

He took another puff from his cigar and leaned back into his seat. Those eyes continued to stare at Florian.

“Orders are to kill you on sight.” He brought up a hand, shaping his fingers into the gesture of a gun aimed at Florian’s skull. He jerked his hand as though firing the gun. “Put a shell right between your eyes.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Bit messy for my tastes. Like a clean kill myself.” He took another puff of the cigar, breathed in and then let the smoke lazily drift its way into the air around them.

“Question is, you want to live now and die later? Or…” Another puff of the cigar as he stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “...do you want to die now?”

[Florian]

"Ah, so we're in Zaichaeri territory now."

The most surprising thing about this encounter was that he was being given a choice. Florian couldn't help but consider the reasoning for this. Someone, somewhere along the line had decided that he was more useful if he were alive for just a bit longer. He knew he would not be free, and he could hazard it would not be pleasant. The suicidal ideation that plagued him had disappeared at this choice, washed away by the Order. He didn't want to die by their hands, and a death now gave no recourse for life later. A death promised was not always a promise kept. Even if such chances were so slim as to be imperceptible, and his luck was near nothing, there was a chance.

Florian sat up straight and looked at the man. He stared back, his eyes the indigo of competition and drive. It may have been his life on the line, but with nothing to lose it felt like a game. He wanted to survive if only to prove to this man that he should never have offered a choice to begin with.

"I could stand to live a bit longer. Are people vying for my corpse?" While his expression remained passive, he was scared. "And I assume you're going to tell me that I wished I chose to die now instead." He knew it was going to be awful, and the pit in his stomach told him that he was going to regret this decision, too, like many of his decisions. Florian didn't take his eyes off the man, though he did sit back in his seat, with a hand behind his head and his legs crossed.

He was stupid sometimes, but he felt like the Order was worse. If he had really turned traitor, it would make no sense for him to return to Zaichaer when he could have tried to leverage information in exchange for safety. Nothing anyone was doing made sense.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

“That’ll be up to you. I know what I would have chosen. The choice was yours. You made it.” He shrugged his shoulders and withdrew a vial of green liquid. He extended it to Florian as he took another puff on his cigar.

“Normally you shoot someone with this. I’ll give you the option of drinking it instead. Tastes bloody awful but you’ll wake up with less of a headache and with your wits about you at least.” He propped the vial up between his thumb and index finger, offering it to Florian without any further preamble. Despite the topic of conversation, the man seemed not at all interested in antagonizing or gloating.

The vial swirled with an acid green liquid that looked thick and pasty as it sloshed around the interior. The sound of the train rolling along the track was all that filled the silence. Florian had his options in front of him, another choice he was being graciously given. The man watched him without comment, simply waiting for Florian to either take the vial or to indicate that he should be shot with its contents instead.

[Florian]

Florian took the vial quietly. The green liquid was as unnatural as anything, and he was no chemist to guess its contents. He shook it gently, watched it swirl, and then with no need for any further conversation, he uncapped the vial and drank the vile liquid inside. The texture was as bad as the taste, but he didn't have to think about it for long.

-

Lately, Florian always dreamt of his mother. Every night, no matter the circumstance, he dreamt of his mother. Even such a medicinally induced sleep was no different. He was never used to it.

Ava stared at him with gouged eyes, dried blood on her face. She reached a hand out, and broken fingers caressed his face. Illuminated from above, surrounded by darkness, and Florian reached for her.

She slapped him in response. "Stupid boy. Stupid. Stupid." Her tongue rattled against her teeth, replaced with the very pendant he wore, the very pendant tucked under his clothing. "I raise you. You kill me. You kill yourself." His mother turned away from him and suddenly she was far away, her broken horns sticking out of the gouged sockets, her entrails spilled onto the floor. He ran towards her, but she didn't get any closer, and the floor was falling apart, the black into black into black. And then she was there, a pistol pressed between his eyes.

"It wasn't my fault! Why is it my fault? What did I do?"

The gun was gone, and again she held his face in her hands, consoling, gentle, her mutilated face close to his. "I die and you serve yourself on a platter to the people who hurt you? Who control you? Who oppress you? Did I not raise you better than this?" She scoffed, and wiped the tears from his eyes with her thumbs. "You should not let me die so idly. You should not die so idly."

She returned the gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

...
...
...

BANG!

Florian’s eyes would snap open. The nightmare revealed for what it was. Despite anxiety and fear, he was whole. At least as whole as he could be given the circumstance. Looking around, Florian was on a humble bed. It was a twin sized mattress that was elevated off the floor. He was dressed in a plain white linen shirt and white linen pants without shoes or socks. The room was made a stone walls and was devoid of any windows but it was cozy. A carpet was on the floor. There was a bookcase, stocked with various books, most of it Zaichaeri propaganda from the looks of it. There was a writing desk with paper, ink, and even a pen. There was even a gramophone.

“Apologies. I didn't mean to let the door slam.” A man’s voice called out to Florian. Into the room walked a slender man with mousy brown hair that was slightly greying. Beneath a pristine white lab coat he wore brown slacks, a tweed vest and a button up shirt with neck tie. One pocket had the chain of a pocket watch on display. At the doorway stood two sentry guards, both of them armed with guns. They leveled their gazes upon Florian but the man wearing the labcoat was the one who strode forward. He brought a chair over and seated himself just a foot or so away from Florian’s bedside.

“Good morning, Florian!” His demeanor was cheerful, excited even. “I trust you slept well. I dare say, we were very excited to see the results of the toxin concocted to subdue you. Perhaps some tweaking. Three days is a bit longer than necessary.”

He chuckled, crossing one leg over the other and resting his hands atop his knee.

“Ah! Where are my manners? I am Dr. Phinneas Constantine. I am the lead researcher here at this facility and truly, it is so very exciting to meet you.” He smiled at Florian. “I must say, when our team was first presented with your blood samples after your annual physical, we were faced with quite the pickle.”

He adjusted the glasses on the tip of his nose, his smile never wavering.

“How do we engineer the manufactured betrayal of a trusted member of our beloved Order? And one so closely connected to the reputable Angevin family at that?” He sighed dramatically. “You can imagine our excitement when, after your disappearance, you presented us with the absolutely perfect opportunity.”

Dr. Constantine grinned and clapped his hands together.

“Now! Here you are! Dressed and ready for our project. You should be very excited. I know we are. Before we get into the details however, I am certain you have questions. Please, ask them.”

[Florian]

The brief, cursory examination of this cell he was in was almost as baffling as the demeanor of the researcher. The room was better furnished than his own apartment, even. He'd never owned a gramophone and neither had his mother — from the titles of the books, he could have picked a better selection, but he was, after all, a prisoner.

Florian's attention turned to the cheerful Dr. Constantine. It was oddly vindicating to have his paranoia confirmed. That it didn't matter what he did, because he would end up here in the end, no matter what Eitan wanted. That even Eitan couldn't protect him from something like this. It was the why that confused him, the reason behind the fact that he was still living in the first place. That they had given him a choice. A manufactured betrayal, and he had truly handed himself in on a silver platter.

"My blood samples...? Why does that matter?" His tone was defensive, but maybe that was to be expected. After all, a member of the Order had handed him a vile concoction and he had, apparently, slept for three days as a result. But as far as he knew, nothing was odd about his blood. Lysanrin bled the same as any others, and he was not the only Lysanrin who would have his blood taken and tested by the Zaichaeri government. The man's cheerfulness was off-putting for the matter at hand, but maybe that was to be expected, too.

Florian pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, though he made eye contact with Dr. Constantine, irises white with anxiety. Their project. It was a terrifying prospect, but he had grown somewhat accustomed to being put into this position, as an object to be used rather than a person. He, at the very least, could only assume that was his purpose now.

"What is your 'project'?"

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

Dr. Constantine adjusted his glasses before pointing at Florian.

“You are. Well, you are now. For years, the State has been researching methods of inoculating people against the machinations of aether. We have found an avenue to a solution through you.” He shrugged his shoulders and grinned ever more.

“But, you will see the details of this exciting endeavor for yourself soon enough. You are, after all, the center of this research.” Reaching into his vest, the man pulled out his pocket watch. He looked at the face then gave a nod.

“Ah! It is nearly time for breakfast. You will have a schedule, Florian. Breakfast will be served at 7:30 AM sharp. Tomorrow, you will be awoken at 5:45 AM promptly. At 6:00 AM you will begin your morning physical routine. Routine maintenance of your physical stamina and endurance will be required to ensure you do not expire prematurely. As a note, you will be required to consume your full meals. Lack of nutrition is counterproductive to our studies. We want to ensure we are getting the healthiest samples of your material as possible.” Dr. Constantine rose to his feet. He slid the chair he had been sitting on back over to the writing desk. Tucking his pocket watch back into his vest he gave Florian another smile.

“After breakfast, you will be introduced to the medical examiner. Following your initial physical examination, you will be introduced to our resident psychiatrist. From 11:00 AM to 12:00 PM you will engage in your afternoon physical routine. Lunch will be served at 12:30 PM. After lunch you will be introduced to the on-site Reconciliator who will examine your aetheric profile. Following their examination will begin your session with me. Dinner will be served at 7:30 PM. After dinner you will receive your evening physical examination. Your evening routine may commence at 9:30 PM. Bedtime will be at 10:00 PM.”

Dr. Constantine rest his hands behind his back, giving Florian a moment to process the information that had been presented before him.

“If I may offer a bit of advice?” He adjusted his glasses once more. His face grew serious for the first time since coming into the room. “Find sanity in the routine that is being established for you.”

“Doctor?” One of the sentry guards called and cleared their throat. The scientist nodded. He took out his pocket watch again, looking at the time.

“The time is now 7:00 AM. The date is the 66th of Ash in the 121st year of the Age of Steel.” Dr. Constantine nodded to a door opposite of Florian’s bed. “The bathroom is there. I suggest you bathe and ready yourself for the day’s activities. Fresh linen and apparel is available in the wardrobe. You will be escorted to the mess hall.”

With that, Dr. Constantine gave Florian a slight bow of his head. He turned on his heel and without so much as allowing the young man time to question, he exited the room. The door was closed behind him by one of the sentry guards who followed him. The sound of a lock falling into place could be heard.

Silence.

Not even their footsteps could be heard outside the door. Florian was, it would seem, alone. With only thirty minutes to process his new lot in life before his new routine began.

[Florian]

Florian had an aversion to many things that were supposed to keep him healthy. He didn't like doctors. He didn't like the way they poked and prodded and looked at him. He didn't like being touched by strangers, and he didn't like how he was different, how they reminded him of how he was different. There was a special discontent at the fact that one of the rare times he had seen a doctor — for his physical — they had found yet another reason for him to be different. If his blood was able to be used for this process, to inoculate people against magic, why him? It was not a Lysanrin thing, it was a Florian thing. It was difficult to process.

He also ate like a bird. He ate enough to survive. He ate enough to keep himself from getting exhausted, but just. It wasn't that he didn't like food, but that he did not like his body when he started to gain weight. He filled out in the wrong places. It was hard to hide, hard to dress up, hard to avoid. He wondered how they would enforce it.

The somewhere-around-seven-hour session with Dr. Constantine was left vague, and as he finally stood up to bathe, five minutes after they left, his mind wandered as to what could transpire. It seemed every bit of him was going to be inspected every day, from his mind, to his body, to his aether. At the very least, three days of sleep was enough time without food to make him hungry, and he'd be finishing his breakfast.

Florian washed his hair and scrubbed his body of what had been too many days without a bath. He dressed and stretched and sat back on the bed, mentally protesting against what he had been instructed. Everything seemed seemed like childish concerns when he thought about how there were some in Zaichaer who would have gladly, eagerly taken his place for three meals a day and the promise of health.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

The door opened and into the room walked a human who was dressed in the uniform of a simple grunt soldier. He did not say anything but as soon as he set foot into the room, he moved partially to the side indicating that Florian was to accompany him. As soon as they stepped out into the corridor, another soldier was waiting patiently. Wordlessly, they guided Florian to the mess hall. The room itself was not that exciting. There were tables arranged with various people sitting and dining over what seemed to be a simple lunch. The smell of steamed vegetables, broiled fish, and baked bread filled the room. In total there were likely only about a dozen people in there. Most of them wore either uniforms of soldiers or were dressed in what appeared to be the attire for medical staff. Nobody cast Florian a glance as he was guided to the food tray line. The forward guard grabbed a tray for himself and then a second tray. He looked to the cook behind the bar.

“Intensity diet for this one.” He nodded to Florian. “Regular for me.”

The cook looked at Florian. She was a middle-aged woman with stern eyes and brown hair that was greying. Her chef’s apron had only a few spots on it. She otherwise looked meticulously clean, if a bit tired.

“Could do with a few extra servings. We’ll take it slow with this one.”

“Doc said…” She cast a sharp glance at the guard before he could protest.

“I know what Dr. Constantine asked. I decide nutrition here. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your mouth and do as I say in my mess hall or it’ll be no cherry pie.” The soldier grumbled while his partner snickered under his breath. He nodded with a mumble.

“Yes, ma’am.” She extended her hand for the trays and filled them with portions large enough to feed working men. Before extending the tray to Florian she looked him over once more.

“I’m Gertrude. This is my mess hall. Those,” She pointed to the doors off to the side. “Are my kitchens. What you eat, when you eat, and how much you eat is my responsibility. I expect a clean plate. We all work hard around here and empty stomachs make for poor work. No rough-housing. And no food fights.”

Gertrude cast a pointed stare at Florian’s rear guard who ducked his head and cleared his throat. The woman handed Florian his tray with a nod and motioned for him to continue on his way. A mug of water was handed to Florian before he was guided to a table where sat three other people. They were dressed like Florian was. One of them was a young woman with auburn hair and bandages around her eyes. There was a slight point to her ears. One was a clearly Siltori girl who was busying herself with making some sort of silverware sculpture. The other was a Moratallen man who looked as though he could have punched through the stone walls around them. The two soldiers set Florian at the table with the other three then went to a table with other guards. As soon as Florian was seated, the young woman turned her bandaged eyes upon him.

“You must be Florian.” She gave Florian a smile. “Welcome. I knew you’d be joining us today.”

“Yeah, because the Doctor said he would be.” The Siltori girl gave Florian a stare that said she was thoroughly unimpressed. “You look like shit.”

“Don’t be rude, Mirella.” The young woman with the bandaged eyes turned back to Florian. “I’m Astrid.”

She gestured to the Siltori girl.

“This is Mirella. That is Ghoron.” The Moratallen man did not look up from his food but gave a grunt.

“Please, sit down. Eat up. You’ll want your strength for the day ahead of you.”