Chapter Text
Startled by the shouting, Geumsaegi could hear his own ragged gasps, struggling to catch his breath after his lungs had not been able to fully inflate for some time. Somewhere, deep in his bones, instinct told him that something was coming, and he needed to be prepared, air in his lungs becoming uncomfortably frigid. The sensation was overshadowed by the feeling of a cool compress against his burning forehead, stray drops of liquid rolling down the sides of his temple. A piece of cloth darted around his lips, moistening his mouth and throat until the fabric was squeezed, allowing him to swallow, coming back to his senses, slowly.
“Fuck-shit! Of course, a bastard like you would take so long to wake up…”
His body hurt. Especially his lower back. Why does it hurt? What has happened?
“Hey! Get up, now! Do you want to die? I am not your nursemaid!”
Mulmangcho!
Geumsaegi’s memories flooded back into him, dislodging his sense of self buried within. The gassing in the transport vehicle, the abduction, the room full of weasels, the failed escape, and then Jinmon and his inescapable torment.
Almost immediately, rational thoughts were stripped away, as small prey instinct took over, screaming at him to runrunrungetawayrunrunenemyENEMYfightfightcannotfightrunaway
With an alarmed shout, Geumsaegi pushed the glasses wearing mouse off of him, keeping him away for some distance. The squirrel jumped to fight, but knocked his head on the low ceiling, finding himself too uncoordinated to attack the currently stronger mouse, now glaring at him in a mix of annoyance and delight, clearly about to reach out and grab him hurt him.
He’s an enemy! He wants to kill you! He will kill you like he has tried many times before! Run! RUN! In order to run, he needed to stand. His back screamed for the ability to straighten, to release the tension from being forced to remain in one position for days on end, searing flames that had distracted him worse than the lack of oxygen and the canings.
The cell was oddly shaped, uncomfortably narrow near the door, while wider with a mound of straw at the other end. Seemingly, as a method of cruelty or hurried construction, the ceiling was too low to allow standing, except by the one, small, heavily barred window on a wall that led to the outside.
Water sprayed as Geumsaegi carelessly hit the barrier, liquid streaming in from a roof to pool in a dip on the floor, and draining out through a small architect-made crack in the floor. The rain would be their source of water in the cell. He could see the sun beginning to set, nothing outside but the peaks of mountains high in the air, and dark freezing clouds looming far in the distance, promising more precipitation. Would it blow through the window? A gust of wind forced him to shiver as he reached an arm out, checking the width between the bars. The sense of dread increased the longer he looked outside, at the nothingness and advancing clouds, still far away, searing into his unusually sensitive eyes.
His back ached, but not as much as he had inwardly expected. Almost as if something- or someone- had partially helped remove the knot that had formed.
“Son of a bitch, that was fast.”
Runrunrunrunenemyenemy
The squirrel had to crawl to reach the door, ceiling sloping and walls narrowing until he was on his knees. He peered out between the bars into a long, normal sized hallway lit by torches, ending at a door at the other end. No guards! I could sneak up on someone or set up an ambush! Nojustrunjustrun I have to get outside!
Shuffling backwards, he exited the narrower portion, and then returned, feet first.
“I already tried that, it’s no good!” the voice behind him was taunting, yet annoyed.
Geumsaegi slammed his feet against the bars, which refused to move. Too sturdy. He tried again, desperately.
“At least put your boots back on. I’m not bandaging your feet more than I have if you hurt yourself.”
The blows were too jarring, the pain radiating from his soles, up his legs, and into his back and head. He had to stop. For now, there was no way to escape. The creature in the room with him had not attacked him while he had staggered around, so maybe he could survive just a bit longer…
The squirrel’s vision grew blurry as his thoughts became more scattered, drifting away from the mute deafness that had surrounded his ears. He moved back to the center of the cell, gentry crawling and making sure to be out of reach of the other being. He sat with his back against the wall, leaning forward, knees up to try and support himself as the walls’ jagged gray began to twist and fade.
“And there you go again…shit.”
A short rest, combined with a few gulps of water from his cupped palms, allowed the golden squirrel to focus again. He could understand what was happening now, especially since his eyes had adjusted to the light now that the blindfold had been removed. The weasels were willing to take their time with him, fully confident that their plans with him were going to work. They wanted him to rest for a bit, so he did not die of shock or from his heart giving out from the stress. Jinmon probably needed to sleep as well. A proper sleep, so he did not have to keep an eye on his prisoner’s respiration under whatever light sedative he had been given. He sat up straighter now that he was awake and calmer, Mulmangcho sitting away from him, not willing to sit near the window where the water continued to spray in. He could see his clothes folded on the straw. He would need to put them on to fight off the chill in the air, but he would need to gather the energy to do so. The silence was palpable, but he could make some guesses as to why the mouse was not trying to attack or unmask him.
Geumsaegi’s wounds had been dressed in his sleep, and going off of Mulmangcho’s earlier comments, Jinmon had not been the one to do it. His fur had been somewhat cleaned of grime and sweat, enough for him to be presentable to the other. His back ached, but in a strange way that suggested that Mulmangcho had known about the position he had been in, and had known about the aching muscle in order to massage out the tendons and knots while he was unconscious. But why go that far? Mulmangcho had always tried to kill him in the past, would have every reason to do so after the past few days, so why not get his revenge now? Well, the glasses wearing mouse did tend to have some intelligence when dealing with the enemy, which he had made the mistake of underestimating before. Perhaps he thought he had the upper hand, and was trying to strike a deal. His one eared brother was missing, after all, and Flower Hill might be interested in finding him.
Well, two could play at that game. He needed some answers to some more important questions.
The disguised squirrel shifted slowly, slumping against the wall, legs slightly splayed. He forced his tail to lie limp on the stone, ears and eyelids drooping, forcing out a deep rasping breath on occasion. Even Commander Huinjogjebi had been fooled by the weak and barely conscious act back on the cliffs, the weasel actually concerned enough about his predecessors Special Aide dying, carelessly allowing the young Murori to fly away with Bamsaegi and Dr. Dudeoji's underground study data. It should work on the mouse.
“How long have we been in this facility?” His own voice, breaking through the silence, sounded hoarse to him. He would regain it soon, but it at least served him well to lower his cellmate’s guard.
“Five days.”
Only five days? He had been reduced to such a state in only five days? He had been sure that it should have been longer than that. Mulmangcho did not have any motivation to lie in this situation, assuming he could trust that much. And besides, if he bad been trapped for longer, then Flower Hill would have come to his rescue by now, if the Weasel Unit had not abandoned him to his fate.
“Do… do you know how long it will be before…’ he began, gesturing weakly on purpose.
“They said they would come back in a few days. At least two or three.” Mulmangcho looked at him in curiosity, as if he wanted to see the squirrel’s expression twist in fear, but was disappointed to see quiet contemplation instead.
It would be at least three. Three days on, three days off was the most reasonable framework. It would allow him to heal from his injuries while creating a pattern. They expected him to feel fear and terror while waiting, knowing that there was a schedule. It did not bother him as much as they probably hoped it did. If there was a schedule, it meant that he would have time to recover his wits and fortify himself against the next session. On the other hand, it meant that the weasel would have the time to go over whatever notes he had taken, mental or otherwise, and change his techniques to what had seemed to work the most. A double-edged sword.
“Do they drop any food off, or have you been eating that straw in the corner?”
“They have been dropping meals off midday.”
Geumsaegi nodded, looking out at the colorless sky through the tiny barred window, less blinding than before now that his eyes had adjusted. So, all he had to do was hold out until midday tomorrow, and then maybe he would be able to eat something to soothe the gnawing in his stomach. Assuming, of course, that their captors continued their pattern of bringing them food. Not like he would put it past the weasels to stop while he was in there. He would not starve to death if there was no food, given the occasional feeding tube while strapped to the table. It just was not enough. He turned around in time to watch Mulmangcho dig through the straw to pull out two small loaves of bread that had been hidden underneath, which he then tossed to the squirrel. “Eat these, before I change my mind.”
Geumsaegi complied, simply glad that the bread was normal, if not slightly dense. Light and airy would have been terrible, would have left him wanting. Had Mulmangcho suspected that he would be joining him in the cell, or had he been storing food in case the deliveries stopped to buy himself more time to survive? He would get that answer. Now, of course, for the most important questions.
“Live feeds?” Was there anyone watching what was happening to him?
Mulmangcho shook his head. “No. Falling back to this base after your interference was a surprise for them, and grabbing us happened in a moment of opportunity. They did not have the time, nor the skills to set anything up, even in the hallways. Besides, the Chief of Staff had not ordered it since he is in surgery, apparently, so the others would not think to set it up. I’m sure whoever had a hold of you already has enough footage, if they want that.”
And I’m sure that said footage could be broadcast and used as a trap to lure in my comrades! Nothing he could do about it in this state, locked away. One thing at a time.
“And what exactly is it that you want from this?”
“What?”
“I have been unconscious in here for at least over an hour, and other than providing basic medical care, you haven’t done anything to me, even though we are alone. You even appear to have taken care of my back, like you knew how I had been strapped down.”
The mouse snarled, ears flicking back and forth as his stump of a tail twitched, as if wanting to attack but holding himself in check. “You are a complete idiot if you think I would have wanted to room with a corpse! Besides, as long as I keep you alive in here, they will let me live, and I have NO intention of dying before I get my brother back and prove that you are a traitorous scout infiltrating the Weasel Unit! Besides, if you break and give over the information they want, they will just kill us both since they will have no more usage for us, so I need to make sure you recover from the pain as well.”
Geumsaegi laughed lightly. “They are not going to kill us! We are too valuable to dispose of us outright, especially since they want us to work with them considering our former positions allowed us to help run the Unit. Once they torture the locations and codes out of us, they will start on the reeducation-”
The clarity of the situation over the past few days smashed into the squirrel’s head as hard as a bag of bricks, briefly forcing his vision to narrow as his heart pounded in his ears.
He had failed to escape from captivity. He was being hurt. He was being tortured. HE was being tortured. It was not a movie, or even an old scouting legend. It was happening to him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had not wanted this. He had always fought so hard to avoid this outcome, at the risk of death itself. It was the end for him, most likely. The pain was not going to stop. It was never going to stop. His captors would make sure of that. They were never going to stop hurting him. He was not some mythical scout from the old legends that could endure months to years of torture without rescue, without the physical comfort of his comrades. He would break, eventually, and give the weasel the location of the safe and the codes. That much was a given.
But it would not stop there. They would continue, breaking down his very mind in order to make him dependent on them. The pain would never stop, and eventually he would start doing what they wanted just for it to lessen a bit. And even the slavering weasel knew that torture was not that effective of a motivator for it to only happen once. There would be maintenance sessions to keep him compliant, so he would not even try and cry for help. Over time, he might even begin to enjoy working with this group of weasels against their enemies, if only in an attempt to mentally escape. They might even try to make him destroy his beloved Flower Hill.
His mind began to drift, heart pounding harder and harder throughout his veins, heart twisting, fingers and tongue going numb, drooling, nose threatening to drip alongside his ever-widening eyes. His mouth twitched, as if wanting to turn into a scream. He was being tortured and it was far too real and it was never going to stop and no one was going to help him-
“So, how long do you think it is going to take for Flower Hill to show up and extract you? I suppose I can try and make an escape then…” the second part was muttered, as if an afterthought he was not supposed to hear.
Back to reality, an immediate sense of calm as the second realization hit him. It was not as if he was alone. Everyone was surely looking for him, and it had only been five days since they had been abducted. Surprise kidnapping that it was, the Chief of Staff’s rebellion still had to be confident enough to cover their tracks, especially since trucks had been used. The wolves were good at tracking, and the information he held was far too valuable to allow him to stay in enemy hands, but they would still need some time to plan an assault on what he assumed was a mountain base. Both Commanders Huinjogjebi and Seungnyangi would assume that if care had been taken to grab him, then he would not be killed right away, so they were unlikely to simply rush in. It had only been five days.
Flower Hill would have found out about the abduction as soon as the weasels brought the news to the old weasel, so his own commanders would have sprung into action already. They would find him. They would not rest until their friend and ally had been found. He could almost expect to see his dear friends breaking down the door within the next few days! And then, they could set it up to look as if he had escaped himself, or that a schism had formed within the rebellion. The former Chief of Staff did not know of his supposed connections to Flower Hill, so he would not expect a group of ducks slipping in, assuming they were not inside the base looking for him already. And even if they did not, there was still his own secret backup plan with Commander Huinjogjebi…
Steadying himself with a few deep breaths, he spoke as normally as possibly, to hide his near breakdown. “Ah. Yes, I suppose being captured by a third party in the war, would be an excellent time for Flower Hill to make a move, and abduct the former Special Aide for themselves. I suppose I could expect them at some point, if they arrive before our own allies.” He would still play the loyal Weasel Unit soldier for a bit, test the waters until he could make his own pact with the mouse. As much as he fucking hated the idea of working with an enemy that had tried to murder his comrades and brother.
Mulmangcho snarled, eyebrow twitching, and then threw Geumsaegi’s clothes at him. “Get decent. Would not want your friends showing up seeing you like this, would you, now? Then again, at least one of them might like that.”
And there it was. The data disk that Guemsaegi had managed to pick from Mojibja’s pocket during the fight at the base could be felt in the secret compartment where the hacking device had been held, before he made the mistake of moving it to a more accessible area. Almost imperceptible to anyone else who would have searched and patted down his clothes. He was lucky that Mulmangcho had been too distracted to go looking too deeply through his garments for secrets.
Quietly, Geumsaegi pulled on his clothes, as if deep in thought. It was not a plan he should be coming up with without the knowledge or permission or the Commanders. It had already been a risk to return to the Wolf Unit without backup, a decision normally outside of his authority. But the commanders had trusted him, against their own misgivings. And look where it had gotten him. He barely had any information to report. There was a very high chance that Commander Goseumdochi would order him back, unable to trust his judgement after such a risk had backfired on him. It was a plan that could get him branded as a traitor if he could not explain himself in time, or if they thought he was trying to take over the operation for his own goals. But the disk very well held the key to the annihilation of the hated weasel and wolf enemies who threatened the safety and lives of his beloved comrades, or even the destruction of his own homeland if he was not careful.
But if Flower Hill wanted to access the data, if they wanted to keep everyone safe, then they would need the codes from the mice that had nearly brought their destruction several times. He, or Flower Hill, would need to track down Oegwipali, and get his codes as well, and prevent anyone else from finding the two mice, or anyone else who might have codes for the data. He needed them alive. He needed to get them to Flower Hill, so the codes could be extracted in whatever way possible. He could have them executed afterwards if he wanted, as long as their presences were kept a state secret. Assuming, of course, the commanders would not rather simply have the mice killed as an easier pathway to protect their country. But the mice could have other beneficial information outside of the disks, such as the locations of other spies who may have escaped the Tokgasi round up, so surely the Commanders would want them alive? It was a risk, but he was sure of his decision.
The squirrel glanced down at himself again, at his legs that had been wrapped in moist, chilled cloths, to help with the bruising and pain. He shifted, feeling the release that had been given in his spine. Good. He should be amenable. There is a chance. He fucking hated what he would have to do, but he would play the game, as a good scout should for his country. He could feel the air grow colder around him as he spoke.
“They think we are lovers, or at least sleeping together, don’t they?” a shocking, yet simple opening that could be followed up in many ways.
“…what makes you think that?” The mouse stiffened, guarding himself.
“The only reason they would put us together like this, is either because they think you would further try and force me to tell the truth, or because they think we are together and you would take care of me. Did they give any indication of which way they thought and why?”
“And where are you going with this?”
“I would prefer for my wounds to not become infected while I am unconscious whenever they dump me back in here. You would like to survive.” He stated simply, “However, there would need to be a reason for them to suspect this…”
“They do think we have feelings for each other, or at the very least you are keeping me for your own amusement. Given how close you stay to me, how I was able to determine a fake had replaced you, and how the elevator ‘mysteriously’ stalled when we were mostly alone, and was opened with you straddling me like we were doing something we shouldn’t be doing in public, the weasel that dragged me in here told me it was obvious we had something going on. And I know damn well not to let you die here, since I would be killed as well.”
He continued, ears vibrating in annoyance, yet speaking carefully. “It is easy enough to pretend that is true in here, I suppose. Many of the mice and weasels assume you are holding me close as a ‘kept mouse’ as a revenge rebound after the death of General Commander Jogjebi. They think the way we stalk each other is your method of getting in the way to prevent Commander Huinjogjebi from executing me until you have had your fun with me, and the rivalry beforehand was some kind of flirting. We both know that insanity or nervous breakdown diagnosis was bullshit, and could be perceived as a fake diagnosis you arranged to keep me from being executed as a traitor.”
That made sense. The vast majority of the Weasel Unit upper brass were well known to grab a mouse or two that they found attractive, and keep them close, giving them certain privileges. Geumsaegi had not been able to prove that Mulmangcho was the scout, and Mulmangcho had not managed to fully prove that he was the scout. It would not necessarily be thoroughly investigated if they were careful. Which allowed him to enact a second part of his plan.
“These third parties…” he began, carefully, “I think that they will pose a great danger to Flower Hill.” Mulmangcho looked up, as if expecting Geumsaegi to finally admit to being the traitor. “But I also think that they will cause the collapse of Usuhan Jiyeog in its entirety. Without a strong leading force, the minor kingdoms will rise up and war against each other, creating factions within the Units themselves. I am sure that Flower Hill would love to see the Weasel and Wolf Units be destroyed. Then again, they would have to start providing massive amounts of aid to the refugees, if not struggle to keep out random groups of invaders. Better the enemy you know, after all. I think Flower Hill would rather Usuhan Jiyeog remain intact, if only their armies depleted and secretly monitored, and I think it is for our best interests as members of the Weasel Unit to prevent any mass disruptions or rebellions from happening. I do not wish to be blindsided by any surprise coup when I am trying to find and break up several other planned coups.”
He was surprised by the amount of energy he had. “And I think a former traitor would be an excellent asset in helping to sniff out interlopers and new traitor groups,” he turned his head slightly, staring at Mulmangcho though slitted eyes, before returning to his former position, although allowing himself to appear stronger and recovering.
“I can’t kill you without losing respect and authority in case the other mice and weasels think you are insane, or having a mental break, as you said. But the ones who rebel or scheme will likely want you and your brother in on their rebellions, since you would know how to structure one properly. I need to track down the rebellions, and you are perfect bait, which is something Flower Hill should eventually find out about, and avoid killing you due to it. But you might be compromised if your brother is missing, and pass on important information to the third party if there are no other guarantees for his safety or rescue. I’m sure Flower Hill would like to find him to keep track of him as well…or they might just leave him to his fate if you fail to work for me and are killed.” A slight promise, yet veiled.
Geumsaegi could not revel in the enraged glare the mouse was giving him, even if there was a dim flash of hope as he spoke. “And you want to continue pretending to sleep together to stop Commander Huinjogjebi from killing me as an annoyance as well?”
Geumsaegi hummed an affirmative.
“And once you are done having your fun with me, once the armies have depleted, what would you do with us?”
“You can probably just get out of my sight and leave. One of the risks is that the other mice and weasels might get jealous and kill you once we split up, so you would have to be careful to keep in contact with me. Although, if someone were to continue to frame me as a scout, then we might both be publicly executed slowly, so we would have to put a stop to that. You know how Usuhan Jiyeog is.”
“As if Flower Hill would be any better if they thought we were scouts. They would do the same thing…”
“With Flower Hill, they would have been quick and clean about it. You might not even have known that you were dead.”
“And who would you have shot first if you had proven that we were the Flower Hill scout? Me, or Oegwipali?”
Geumsaegi tilted his head, ear twitching in mild thought, before choosing the correct words. “Would Oegwipali even be a threat afterwards if you were shot dead in front of him? I could probably leave him alone, and he would leave the army and go home to wherever you came from, or whatever safe haven you had planned. A one eared mouse is not a threat, and the weasels would probably force him out, anyway. Flower Hill doesn’t like to kill the disabled, so if the two of you were captured and you were executed, they would probably put on a show of letting him leave out of compassion,” the squirrel lied, easily. Judging by the way Mulmangcho blinked, it appeared to be working.
“Supply closets.”
It was Geumsaegi’s turn to blink in confusion.
“I have seen how weasels treat the mice they have chosen for special purposes. They meet up in closets or their offices more often than not. Besides, a quick meet up in a closet would allow for me to slip you some information, instead of waiting for both of us to be off for the night and meet in a bedroom. I assume part of your reasoning for keeping me around would be an excuse to keep me out of trouble and control me. That would require shorter meet ups for 'reprimands' as well.”
The squirrel nodded in understanding. “Now for the tricky part. What venereal diseases should I be aware of? I can get us some medicines or preventatives…”
Mulmangcho jerked up in anger. “You saw the health scanner back at the drilling base! I am clean. You, on the other hand, clearly faked your records somehow…”
Geumsaegi ignored the last part, mostly in distrust over the first. “That is surprising, considering how you mice are always in season for reproduction and sleeping around with each other and the weasels for fun and power.”
“I am different, unlike those morons! I know damn well you are suggesting actually having sex together as a way to control me, like I am supposed to think I am getting the better of you out of it. But I’ll have you know that I cannot have sex with someone unless I have known them for a long time, and even then, only if we trust and respect each other. I have to develop a proper bond with a partner, first, with someone patient enough to put in the effort! I won’t be actually sleeping with you. I don’t have the type of mentality that makes me want to sleep with someone at first sight just because their fur is pretty, or they are tall and strong, or because I want the rewards of what would come with the act. I have always worked for what I wanted, not by trading favors for it.”
“Oh, well, that’s normal at least.” Good. So, I won’t actually have to touch this disgusting bastard. The Commanders might have actually pulled me out for that. Juldarami, at least, would have immediately understood that there was a plan going on. A scout might have to seduce someone for information, after all.
“I… it actually isn’t…”
“Well, for you mice-”
“No, that isn’t normal for Flower Hill either. Most of them up there also want to fuck as soon as they see someone they find attractive.”
That was actually true. It had taken a long while for Geumsaegi to develop feelings for Juldarami, Scout Goseumdochi, and Murori, despite having known them since childhood. The other three had gotten together fairly quickly, but it had taken some time for Geumsaegi’s affection towards his friends to bloom into something else entirely, had gained other bonds of friendship and trust with the group that had been waiting for him, waiting patiently for him to recognize his own feelings as they came over time. He had known most other pairings in Flower Hill to get together and have sex immediately as well. But what was wrong with not immediately being attracted? It was not like there was something wrong with not feeling anything when first seeing an aesthetically pleasing individual unless they knew and trusted them. For the longest time, he had assumed that he was simply more mature, or stronger willed than others, to not even be distracted by members of his own nation that wanted to have some fun. Adults when he was growing up, as well as authority figures, had always praised him for his steadfastness in not being sidetracked from the mission or task no matter who he was with or who was involved.
It did not matter. He had at his hands his hated enemy. Forming the proper bonds with him would never work. He could respect the mouse and his terrible cleverness, but there was no way he could ever fully trust him, or respect his true actions against his family and home. Still, his curiosity was still there.
“Who else have you slept with, then?”
“Aekku, obviously. And only him. He recognized my intelligence, and we spent years together working on ways to control the Weasel Unit and steer it in the right direction. He was a perfect partner, and we worked together with mutual respect. Until your traitorous ass came along! If I did not need you alive… I already assume you have been sleeping with the Regimental Commander and General Commander Jogjebi.”
“Why would I have been sleeping with General Commander Jogjebi?”
“You should know that he was famous for having a preference for dormice, right? That is why he kept his own little scouting unit around him, like Number Six.”
“But he would not have been interested in me that way! I saved his life many times and proved my worth to him, so I was better than just one of his kept mice!”
“Yes, but he also kept sending you to his residences, suggesting that you rest in his house or bed while you waited for him to finish up. If circumstances had stopped intervening, and he was actually able to meet up with you in the bedroom, what do you think would have happened? Especially since you always left so quickly like a good little consort…although, if you are like what you say you are like, then I guess you were actually leaving in order to send messages to your handlers instead of seducing him for information.”
“My handlers? What do you- oh.” The realization hit Geumsaegi, forcing him to wonder what he might have done if the knife edge he had been dancing on came crashing down, ending his luck in that regard. It was immediately replaced with another thought.
Mulmangcho guessed immediately. “Commander Huinjogjebi would not be interested. Since the commander’s death, he has isolated himself from those kinds of thoughts, and would be far more interested in his Sturgeons, anyway. Besides, given his feelings towards the Commander, any attempt for that by a younger subordinate would easily be seen as a trick to get closer to him or to get information. That route is closed for you.”
“Hmm.” The disappointment of an opportunity closing was mixed with relief that he would not have to feign interest in the enemy. The wolves did not appear to have that sort of culture, so it would be much harder.
“Officer Yeou, however. She might try to have a go with you for information, or to tease some of the wolves.”
Geumsaegi grimaced. “I do not think I could try and seduce such a disgustingly brazen female. If she came to me, I might have to tell her that she should save herself for the Commander Seungnyangi instead.”
“Only my brother and those with weaker minds could possibly think she is actually interested in them. Then again, she might end up genuinely interested in someone who doesn’t show any interest in her body. Or another female.”
They sat in silence for a minute, before Geumsaegi continued.
“Still, we are in agreement, then.”
Mulmangcho nodded reluctantly. “I work for you, pretending to be your plaything or lover, while we work together to bring down traitor units infiltrating the Weasel and Wolf Unit. I bring you all the information I find, and maybe run some errands and messages for you on the daily. Maybe clear up the drug issue among the wolves before it spreads to the mice and weasels. In return, you will protect me from Flower Hill and the Weasel Unit executioners, and you and Flower Hill will help track down and return Oegwipali from the third party who has him. Maybe, if we are lucky, you will let the both of us leave together.” Mulmangcho sounded almost defeated having to say the plan out loud. Still, he had been willing to work together with Flower Hill in the past to survive.
This was no different. He wanted to live, and he wanted his brother returned alive. There was nowhere for him to run. There was no other option than to agree to the terms. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could sneakily kill the Special Aide once it was all over. He just had to be patient. He would take that golden tail in revenge for the loss of his own, for the revenge of all the humiliations he had suffered due to the traitor, even for the loss of his younger brother, Mulsajo, whom he had thus far been unable to avenge. Then again, the squirrel would be far too protected by the Weasel Unit for him to make a move, and any agreement with Flower Hill would be broken if he stepped too far out of line.
Of course, however, the Special Aid had his own younger brother. Perhaps, after their agreement had finished, he could send a group after the brown squirrel and take his tail instead. That could remove suspicion from himself, while also causing great distress to his hated enemy. Or simply grab the younger soldier, and make the Special Aide experience the fear of not knowing where his family member was, if they were alive and ok, make him experience the fear that he was feeling right now, the loss of knowing that you had failed to protect your own family that could now possibly be gone forever. He would just have to bide his time.
“I expected to have to help you through this, and maybe have you agreed to look the other way when Flower Hill showed up for the rescue. I suppose this is a much better option. I assume we can come up with other rules as we continue with the farce” It would be much more difficult to find Oegwipali by myself. At least I can use Flower Hill’s scouting network as well as my own.
He tried to turn the conversation back to his own advantage. “Of course, this all depends on us holding out for a few more days, to make you giving up the information more believable,” Might as well force him to undergo more torment. As much as he hated having to take care of the traitor, he had to admit getting some sort of satisfaction from seeing the whimpering bastard slavering on the floor, insensible from the pain and drugs, desperately trying to not form any words.
“It might be impossible for you, though, if you are more used to a cushy lifestyle amongst the foliage of Flower Hill, instead of a hard one. After all, you were screaming pretty loud when they forced me to walk by the interrogation room.”
Geumsaegi laughed, a lightness turning bitter. “With my positions in the Weasel Unit, with the anti-espionage or investigation units, wouldn’t I…? Let us play on the assumption that I am from Flower Hill. What kind of scout would not be trained in interrogation resistance? Let’s just say that I have screamed my way through several training sessions where I did not even know what the pattern or when the end of the session would be.”
Mulmangcho was silent for a while, blinking. Finally, he spoke. “Are you saying that Flower Hill has a habit of nearly torturing their own citizens to death in order to train them? They did that to you on purpose, and you still follow and worship them?”
“This might actually be easier, since it is only one interrogator, and he needs to rest as well.” It was a half-truth. The interrogators and instructors had taken shifts, not allowing him to sleep through the whipping, the beatings, the electricity, and other things they could think of that would not maim the scouts permanently during training. The oxygen deprivation had been a surprise, but he could still handle it, use it somehow to his advantage. His own countrymen had figured out his weak points, focused on those. Thanks to them, he knew how to breathe through the pain, how to disassociate away and keep his mind intact. But still…after the sessions, they had all been there for him. He had not been alone.
The golden squirrel supposed it was one area the training would have to work on. Granted, they had all known that they would probably be thrown back into a cell naked and alone, or just left alone once the interrogation was finished. But his own countrymen, cruel to help the scouts, could not simply leave any of the scouts laying on the floor. They had bandaged them, given them medicine, food, water. Held and caressed each of them for hours, long past after they had stopped crying and shaking, telling the scouts how proud they were, how sorry they were, how good they were doing. It was almost an incentive to look forward to, or at least an incentive to not get caught. None of the group liked to talk about what had happened in their own interrogation resistance training.
He supposed it had spoiled him. Thrown in alone had caused him to panic in front of his enemy. He would have to get stronger. Still, his body still craved for the warmth of his friends. For them to come to his rescue in the cell, to destroy the wall and the thick bars constraining him, a duck flying to the drag him into a big hug, before leading him out. The medics giving him painkillers, worrying over his wounds. He could not wait to see them again! Surely, they would come before he had to count on the weasels, even if it would work better to his advantage if the weasels found him first.
“So, how is the interrogator? I might know him, depending on what he did.” Mulmangcho still appeared shaken, becoming agape at himself for asking such a question.
“You think you might know him?” This was good. If Mulmangcho knew the weasel, then he might have a chance at knowing what would come next.
“If one is going to have a rebellion, you would need someone experienced in changing people’s minds, if not getting information would of them. We had one or two at Mt. Rock.”
“Hmm.” He did not want to think about it too much. “Experienced, but more experienced in areas where he did not have to keep a victim alive. More used to lower ranking troops, I would think. He wanted to rip out my nails and crush my teeth, with the idea of doing it repeatedly. He thought he could assign lower ranking mice to move or open things for me.” Subconsciously, he licked at where the pliers had grabbed his teeth.
“So, he did not stop to think about how they would have no respect for you if they had to do everything for you?” Mulmangcho moved his hands, briefly glancing down, allowing Geumsaegi to notice how the mouse’s own nails had been clipped short to hinder him from digging himself out of the cell.
“He did not, until I pointed it out.” He could still hear the creaking as his nails almost splintered, ripping out of the nailbed. His breathing quickened, and then leveled out.
“So, a bit of an idiot. Clearly not Jilmunja, at least.”
“He had a penchant for oxygen masks.”
“Oh. It would be Jinmon, then. The coughing combined with the unusual caning locations should cinch it. He also likes to go for the eyes with needles, but he would not dare if you are to be kept alive and intact.”
“So, I should expect more of the same?”
“…yes. His imagination is not the strongest.”
“Good, good. So, we are agreed. That makes what I have to say next far easier.”
“And what the hell is that?”
“About a week after a large typhoon comes through Chambelli Koh and Chand Hadia, the mountains are hit with a massive cold front. I could see it coming over the mountains. It is going to get very cold tonight, colder than it is now…”
“Take off your jacket.”
“Excuse me?”
“Unlike you, I have experience being forced to live in the cold. If we tie or zip our jackets together and sit close to each other, we will be able to limit exposure to the air and share warmth. Easier with a blanket, but if we keep our feet in the straw that should be enough.” The mouse paused, looking disgusted.
“We don’t have to actually sleep on each other during the night.” Geumsaegi was not sure about full on sleeping next to his enemy, no matter the deal they were making. Although, if the mouse was used to sleeping rough without a mattress, and in the cold, it would finally explain how he seemed to know how much it hurt to lie on one's back. They were both survivalists, one trained, one forced to learn naturally.
“Sure…it would probably be bad to sleep in such cold. But there is no guarantee that they will give us blankets or move us someplace warm tomorrow when they come to check on us. But they will be around tomorrow, and we don’t know what would happen, so you might as well rest during the night.”
“Hmm.”
Geumsaegi watched as Mulmangcho split the stack of straw, moving half of it up against the nearby wall and just under it, piling the rest nearby. Their jackets were together, intertwined by their buttons and zippers, creating a larger blanket. The mouse moved, back against the wall, insulated by the straw. Removing his boots, he took off his socks, grimacing as he pulled them over his ears to prevent frostbite. Geumsaegi followed suit. Mulmangcho threw one end of the combined jackets over his shoulders. He glanced over blankly at the squirrel.
Geumsaegi moved, slowly to avoid aggravating his injuries or jarring the makeshift bandages and compresses. He placed the other end of the combined jackets around his own shoulders, and the two pulled the ends together in the front. If they hunched forward a bit, kept their legs and feet in the straw in front of them, then the rapidly cooling air would not be able to touch them. Hopefully. It was still going to be uncomfortable.
Slowly, Geumsaegi moved his tail to the front, allowing it to cross over his own lap, and then over Mulmangcho’s lap. The mouse’s fingers twitched, clearly wanting to rip off the tail of his enemy in reciprocation for losing his own. But the warmth it would provide to allow him to survive the cold night, flurries already drifting in through the window, was far more important. The space under the tarp was beginning to trap and contain the body heat of the two, even before they would be forced to shift closer together later in the night.
They sat, quietly, waiting out the storm as the temperature dropped, weasels continuing on unaware of their plight.
Mulmangcho was unsurprised when Geumsaegi finally returned to sleep, exhausted.
The security guard adjusted his glasses as he quietly rushed down the hallways. Having glanced outside, he could see that the snow was pouring down. The other weasels paid it no mind, having grown used to the snow in the mountains. It was not even as cold as it usually was.
But he knew. He was smarter than the others, and their inaction had proven that he had chosen the correct leader. The mountaintop cells had open windows, that he knew to think of even after his shift was over. Luckily, the one the important prisoners had been placed into would be somewhat sheltered from the worst of the winds, but it would still be cold. Perhaps, even cold enough to kill them.
Past the guard at the entrance, he pattered down the corridor to peak in through the bars.
Oh? What is this? He had heard the rumors, but now he had proof. Both of the prisoners were alive, huddled together asleep next to each other. Enough covering on them to prevent them from freezing to death, ears and limbs covered so they would not even get frostbite.
Good. My master will love to hear about this. He took a few discrete photos with his glasses. Surely, if the two supposedly bitter enemies were huddled together, then it must be a secret romance? Something they could use.