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It was rare for Sunday to fall into the temptation of exhaustion. It was even more rare for Sunday to fall asleep in the Dreamscape. Afterall, slumbering dreamers don't need to sleep in a dream.
He raised an arm over his eyes. Wait raised his arm? Sunday blinked away his drowsiness, lifting both arms in front of him. His chains were gone. Gone from his waist, gone from his arms, gone from his neck, and gone from his legs. Looking around Sunday realized he wasn’t in the same dark room chained down to a hard metal chair. His chair has been replaced with a soft mattressed bed and the room wasn’t as pitch black as the one he was held in.
Sunday got up from the bed and made his way around the room. He drew back the curtains and saw a grand view of Penacony from a distance away. The spotlights from the city and bright lights from the building flashing wildly in contrast to the environment outside the city.
Sunday looked back at the room. The dark room now filled with a dim light from the brightness emitting from Penacony. Sunday saw the room was humbly decorated with small picture frames lining the lavender painted walls. A white dresser with a large mirror attached to it stood in one corner of the room while a wooden closet stood opposite from it.
The room had two wooden doors. Sunday tried the doorknobs but they were both locked.
Questioning how he got here, Sunday tried to recall what he last saw.
He remembered speaking to Bonajade. Her atrocious and ridiculous offer left him scoffing and sharply declining. The lady left asking him to think about it. But there was nothing to think about. As Sunday was left in the dark again, he remembered feeling drowsy. He allowed himself to be lulled to sleep. The next thing he knew he was in this room.
“Was I kidnapped?” thought Sunday.
As Sunday kept pondering, he heard the doorknob jingle. Immediately his attention snapped towards the door.
A shaggy brown haired man strolled in with one hand in his pants pocket. The man apparently didn’t care about his appearance as his wrinkled dress shirt was lousy half- tucked in his pants. Various badges and belts hung off his vest displaying his authority. A cigarette rests between his lips.
Upon recognizing the man, anger swelled up inside Sunday. He stomped over yelling “Where have you taken me? Why did you kidnap me?”
“Sheesh, it's barely been seventeen system hours and you are already hounding me for answers.” Gallagher shrugged at the smaller man.
“You hound! I asked a question. It is imperative that you answer my question as an employee.”
“Oh, but you aren't the employer here Mr. Wings.”
“You-!” Sunday gritted his teeth before forcing himself to calm down. “Oh, Triple Face Soul, please sear his tongue and palm with a hot iron…”
But upon seeing no reaction from the other man, Sunday faltered.
“Your powers don't work here. So there's no point in asking THEM or anyone for help honestly” Gallagher chuckled at Sunday's wavering confidence and confusion.
“My sister would know about my disappearance and come looking for me.” Sunday said in a low tone.
Gallagher wagged a single finger “Ah ah ah. I've made sure your ‘disappearance’ would never be discovered.”
He held up his phone and the screen broadcasted a hologram between the two men. It seems it's showing some type of news channel.
“-has passed away. The cause of his death has many visitors uneasy and disturbed.” The camera cuts to Robin crying with the Trailblazer standing beside her, rubbing her back with sympathy and comfort.
“I never thought he would be killed under the surveillance of the Family. I thought he would be safe until his trial. My brother did not deserve this. He has worked so hard for the happiness of Penacony.” Robin said through tears. Her voice was warped and nasally. The corners of her eyes were dyed red from the excessive tears that continuously rolled down her face.
Her tears made Sunday's heart clenched. He vowed never to see her cry again, but here he is.
The broadcast cuts to the room that held the former head of the family. The only entrance was sealed off from the public. On the floor was a humanoid lined figure and blue residues of blood.
“We are trying to get answers from the other members of the Family bu-” The broadcast cuts itself off as Gallagher puts his phone away.
“You filthy mutt, how dare you fake my deat-” a hand flew across his face, followed by a resounding sharp clap. Stinging pain bloomed across Sunday’s cheek and he held up a hand to hold it- confused.
“In this place, you're not the one calling the shots anymore Mr. Wings” Gallagher said, slowly advancing towards Sunday's fallen figure. He stopped at the foot of Sunday as looked down in disgust at the bewildered man, who was breathing heavily and cradling the side of his eye. Sunday turned to look up at Gallagher's looming figure and felt his body shudder a bit.
What was this feeling? Unease? Hopelessness? Fear? His resignation to defeat? Maybe it was all.
“I've always felt fed up with you ordering me like a dog. But I had to obey since you were the one in power.” Gallagher sighed. “But that isn't the case anymore, is it? I don't need to listen to you….anymore” a maniacal smile made its way across Gallagher’s face.
“Now I can have all the fun I want!” He raised his fist in the air and brought it down.
"It seems working as the Head of The Family has made you fragile. Since you are always giving the dirty work to others, you don't have the pleasure of being on the short end of the stick" Gallagher said before launching a wide swing. As Gallaghers fist met his face, Sunday's head was thrown back from the impact. He stumbled back before losing balance and falling onto the ground. He crashed next to the bedside table almost hitting the corner against his head.
Sunday held the side of his face, his left eye losing focus and blurring his sight. Sunday gasped and took a sharp breath. His left eye felt swollen after Gallagher’s brutal punch.
Sunday continued to sit on the floor holding the side of his face, his mind reeling through at what just occurred. Seeing the man unresponsive and confused, Gallagher shrugged before delivering a hard kick across Sunday's chest.
Sunday flew across the room until he hit the wall falling onto his hands and knees. Blood surged up his throat and he spat out the warm liquid, coughing frantically.
"Aw you'll dirty the carpet" Gallagher sighed in disappointment.
Sunday felt his vision begin to black out. Pleading for THEM to end his life, Sunday's consciousness began to fade away into the void.
When he awoke, Sunday discovered he was still lying on the floor. Gallagher sat on a chair nearby holding up a newspaper with one leg resting on top of a table and the other leg crossing over it. "Look who decided to wake up" he said, not looking up from the paper.
It was hard to see through his left eye. His eyelid refuses to open past a certain point before pain travels through the entire eye. So Sunday opted to keep it closed. He dragged his body to the dresser and examined himself. Bruises of various colors from yellow to purple and sizes from small to big sprawled throughout his body. Accompanying it were various cuts ranging from superficial to deep that stung and bled as he moved.
From his face his cheek was red and swollen. Dried blood crusted around his nose. The area around his left eye was colored green and red veins covered his sclera. Sunday exhaled a shuddered breath and he felt tears falling from his eyes. The liquid stung but he couldn't control it. As the tears fell Sunday felt deep sorrow and confusion. "Why did his Aeon forsaken him? Was his actions truly equal to this punishment?"
Soon Sunday broke down into a full sob, his aching arms supporting his body leaning over the dresser. Tears fell on the surface and bloodied snot traveled down his nose. Sunday didn't care about his appearance or inelegant manner at the moment. All he cared about right now was waking up from this horrible nightmare. But it seems THEY didn't want to grant him his wishes.
As exhaustion caught up with him Sunday stumbled, his arms collapsing as his body fell toward. As he falls, he so desperately wishes his head would crack open and he would die. Right there and then.
But a strong arm reached out and caught him. Too tired to say or do anything, Sunday allowed the darkness to swallow him up again.
When Sunday awoke, he shuffled around only to find his arms and legs binded to the corners of the bed with cloth. His meticulous white suit was removed, revealing his pale torso exposed to the cold air.
Attached to his side was a pair of mixed matched pelvic wings. The right pelvic wing was larger and had a stronger wing root with uniform spread out white feathers. The left side was smaller with a thinner wing root. Some feathers were jagged and clipped unlike the other side.
Such a shameful appearance isn’t befitting for the ( former ) Head of the Oak Family and his wings fluttered close to cover his upper half.
Looking around in a daze Sunday looked around the room, before glaring at the man sitting across from him.
Gallagher was smoking a cigarette. His eyes trailing up and down Sunday's body as if entranced.
He blew a puff, “My, my, my, Mr.Sunday. If word wouldn't have it that you manifest the power of Harmony with your voice, I would've thought you would summon it with your body.”
He got up and moved to sit on top of Sunday. The mattress dipped from the added weight.
“I knew Halovian had pelvic wings. But I would've never imagined seeing your wings with the amount of clothing that you wear.”
Gallagher ran a finger across the left pelvic wing and it fluttered skittishly as if it was being tickled. "Ah it's sensitive."
Feeling humiliated Sunday squirmed underneath Gallagher, hoping to throw the man off. “Get off me you rutted mutt. Your manners are ill for both you and I.”
But Gallagher sat firmly on top of Sunday, enjoying the view of the glaring man under him.
“Insult me all you want. It has no effect on me.” He said before he smiled widely as if he had an idea. “Let's play a game shall we?” Gallagher got up from the bed and retrieved several black cloths from the dresser.
Despite Sunday's futile resistance, he managed to successfully wrap a cloth around the Halovian’s golden eyes and managed to gag him with another cloth.
“Let's see if you can predict what I'll do next~” Gallagher asked vaguely.
He grabbed the left wing from the base of the wing and began to slowly twist it.
“HMPH!???” Sunday exclaimed. He tensed, arching his back at the sudden harsh touch. He attempted to fold his wings to his side, but Gallagher grabbed both of them and forced them to sprawl out against the bed.
Squelching and cracking could be heard as Gallagher slowly twisted the left wing. White hot pain seared into his back and numbing adrenaline rushed throughout his brain. Sunday couldn't process the pain, his body trembling horribly as he screamed through his gag. Heavy muffled breathing could be heard as Sunday bit down hard onto the gag. The eye sockets of his blindfold became dark as tears soaked them. His hand clenched tight against the bed's mattress.
With a loud pop and a heartbreaking crunch the left wing was separated from its owner, dripping with warm blood and feathers matted and dyed pink with the liquid.
Sunday felt nauseous and his head swayed from the swimming effect of numbness. He gasped and weeped hysterically, shaking his head in neglected denial.
"Alrighty one more!" Gallagher announced as he moved onto the other wing.
Sunday only processed Gallagher's hand at the base of the other wing when he blacked out.
When he awoke, all he felt was a burning sore sensation on his back. A slow and painful throb pulsed across his back, making Sunday wince at the severity of the pain.
Thinking he must've slept on his wings the wrong way, Sunday reached over to check his wings when he was met with nothing but air. Looking down he saw a gauze wrapped tight around him.
Remembering what had occurred previously, Sunday felt sick. He leaned over to the side of the bed and puked. His whole body shook with fear and panic. His beautiful wings. Torn and taken away from a damned filthy dog. The only indication he had wings were the two small uneven stumps that protruded out from his back under the gauze.
Fear turned into anger and vengefulness as he glared towards the wooden door that only Gallagher is able to open.
Sunday made it his wild plan to ambush Gallagher the next time he opens the door to leave the isolated room. The only question was: What was outside the room? That was a future problem Sunday can worry about later.
Sunday sat on the edge of the bed, watching Gallagher’s every move. The other man didn’t care much about the Halovian’s hateful gaze, simply doing his own business. As he walked towards the door, Sunday silently stood up and stalked behind Gallagher.
As Gallagher opened the door to leave, Sunday mustered his strength and pushed the bigger man aside. Gallagher was teetered off balance and crashed against the wooden dresser. The mirror falling, shattering on top of him.
At that moment, Sunday took it as an opportunity to bolt outside the unlocked door.
He was met with a long hallway. The walls were spotted with alternating red and black diamond patterns and the floor was carpeted with the color of crimson to match the exterior. Sparse rows of the same wooden doors lined themselves down the hallway walls. Dim lanterns hung between the spaces between the various doors.
The hallway somewhat reminded Sunday of the Reverie Hotel, except more eerie and quiet.
“NOW YOU'VE DONE IT, YOU BITCH” Gallaghers voice roared from the room and echoed loudly down the hall.
With that Sunday took it as a sign to start running. He rattled the knobs of the other doors, only to discover that they were all locked.
Sunday bolted down the hall, turning each other at random before discovering a door that was slightly ajar. The room emitted a faint red light, but any room was better than staying with Gallagher.
Sunday raced into the room slamming the door shut behind him. He took a few seconds to gasp for air and cough heavily, feeling his throat burn and muscles ache from the run.
After taking some time to recover, Sunday finally looked up to scan the room.
It seems like a former child's playroom. Little cartoons of Clockie decorated the walls of the room, with playful characters and designs accompanying it. Toys and wooden blocks littered the floor. A small ball pit had little plastic balls spilling from the sides. Various large closets stood around the room. A moon shaped chandelier hung from the center of the room. Large wooden boxes were haphazardly scattered around the room.
Sunday would've kept looking around when he heard loud footsteps echoing down the hall. The footsteps were slow, but they were approaching his way.
Sunday found a relatively tall box and scampered inside of it curling in on himself like a ball. His wings were folded over his face as he trembled with fear. His hands folded across each other to hug himself to calm himself down. Sunday was breathing heavily through his mouth and his heart beat wildly through his ribs. Suddenly he heard the slow and heavy footsteps enter the room. Sunday held his breath and continued to listen.
Gallagher playfully and nonchalantly strolls into the room where Sunday was hiding.
"I wonder where the little bird is~~"
"Is he here?" He opens the door to a closet. "Oh, I guess not."
He walked over to another closet. "Is he here?" He repeats, opening the door. Once again being met with emptiness.
"I guess he's not here." Gallgher announced loudly, his voice echoing in the room. Sunday listened intently as he heard Gallagher's heavy footsteps leave the room. But Sunday dared not relieve a sigh. His wings were trembling harder against his will and his heart beat so faster it seemed like they wanted to pound out of his chest.
A minute passed. Then five. Then fifteen.
Sunday didn't hear a single noise in the room. Nor did he hear Gallagher's heavy footsteps move around the house. Thinking the coast was clear, he released a heavy sigh. He was about to stand up and find a different spot, when his eyes shrank to pin points as he looked up from his hiding spot.
Standing loomed over his hiding spot was Gallagher looking down at Sunday. His red eyes seemed to glow in the dark as he stared non-blinking. Seeing the Halovian finally noticing him, he gave a wide grin.
"I found you birdie~~" He sang joyfully.
Sunday paled and felt goosebumps sprout around his body as Gallagher said this. He flinched when Gallagher reached in the box and grabbed him by the hair. "You are a naughty bird today." Gallagher said darkly. "Very naughty."
He yanked hard causing the box, along with Sunday, to fall sideways.
Sunday hit the ground with a grunt, but the burning sensation from his scalp didn't stop as Gallagher held onto it with a firm grip. "Let us return to our room birdie."
As he said that, he began to drag Sunday by the hair towards their room. Sunday clawed against his hair, hoping to ease the painful pulling from Gallagher's grip, but to no success. Tears pricked the side of his eyes, as frustration and fear began to cloud his rationality. In desperate attempts of retaliation Sunday scratched against Gallagher's arm, but the man barely flinched. Along the way to the room, Sunday grabbed whatever he could to slow down Gallagher's march.
All his efforts were futile, as Gallagher paid no attention to Sunday's pitiful struggles.
As they entered the room, Gallagher threw open the other wooden door. Standing nonchalantly at the entrance, he chucked Sunday into the new room. Sunday hissed in pain and began to massage his scalp from the forming bruise.
The room was pitch black. The only source of light was from the entry. Sunday looked up at Gallagher standing by the doorway. “Unless you learn how to behave. I’m locking you up in here.” The man warned.
With a swift turn, Gallagher slammed the door shut behind him. Sunday scrambled towards the door, but tripped over himself.
Then darkness.
Not a speck of light. Not even a dim or faded darkness. The room was pitch black to the point where Sunday couldn't even differentiate if his eyes were closed or not.
Sunday stood up and walked forward toward the door. He hoped he could negotiate with Gallagher and apologize for his actions.
Sunday walked more than fifteen steps and felt confused. “ The door had been closer. So why is it taking me a while to get to it? No matter, I'll just find a wall to lean on ”
But as Sunday kept shuffling he realized he couldn't find a wall. He kept walking and walking forward in the dark not once being able to touch anything beside the floor. “ Just how large is this room??? ” he wondered.
Sunday felt his calmness melt away into panic as he kept walking. “ What if there is no wall and it's just an infinite space? Would that mean I'm walking away from the beginning?”
He found himself overthinking, he turned around “ Which direction is the entry? Should I stop walking and maybe Gallagher will set me free? Wait, why am I relying on him to set me free?”
Sunday kept walking forward with no destination in mind. Soon his stomach began to growl and his mouth felt dry. “How long have I been walking for?” It didn't feel like much.
Sunday walked what felt like days. Then weeks. Then months. Then years.
Not once did Gallagher open the door to feed Sunday. Not once did Gallagher open the door to let Sunday see the light that he took granted for.
Since it was the dreamscape, Sunday couldn’t die. The feeling of his burning throat and the gnawing empty hole of his stomach became a constant reminder of his situation. Sunday felt his strength begin to waver. He sat down, feeling hopeless. He curled in on himself and began to weep.
While Sunday wept, haunting memories and thoughts crept into his mind. Regrets flooded his brain and Sunday finally felt lonely.
He was always alone, wasn't he?
Sunday didn’t know how long he’s been in the room, but one day he heard a loud clack. He turned his head towards the sound wondering if it was his imagination.
A bright light washed over his curled up figure. He squinted towards the light, his eyes adjusting to the new view that isn’t the pitch black void. At the doorway stood Gallagher in all his might, looking down on Sunday like a god. The shaggy haired man didn’t say anything.
“Gallagher? Are you real? Am I hallucinating?” Sunday asked raspily.
The other man continued to stay silent.
“Please. Say something. Anything.” He weakly crawled towards Gallagher’s figure. “Don’t leave me alone again. Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He kowtowed at Gallagher’s feet.
Gallagher crouched down towards Sunday’s height and embraced him in a hug. “I won’t leave you alone again. As long as you behave.”
“I’ll behave! I promise.” Sunday swore.
“Good.”
It took a while for Sunday to learn since everything tended to his needs in the past when he needed it, but at least he was willing to try! If Sunday did something wrong, Gallagher would simply educate him.
Sometimes after a lesson, Sunday would end up on the ground groaning in pain and crying. New bruises would overlap with older ones, until his whole body was painted like an abstract canvas.
Sunday shook his head, Gallagher is a good man. Those lessons were necessary for him to be more independent and capable. However, sometimes Sunday would shudder at the thought of doing something that would dissatisfy Gallagher...
Like the one time he accidentally ruined a photo. The photo was rather important to Gallagher, but unknown to Sunday he simply thought it was another ordinary photo.
The photo was lying on the floor when Sunday found it. It must've fallen out of Gallagher’s pocket when he rushed out the door to tend to the Bloodhound Family’s needs.
The photo was rather old, with the white frames fading to a pastel yellow and the corners chipping a little.
The contents of the photo were rather simple. It was three people happily laughing together with a rabbit toy of some kind. The camera seemed to be centered on a young man with blue hair, while two other people stood off to the side. One was a girl off frame and the other was another young man handing a mug to the blue-haired man.
Sunday smiled a bit, not thinking much of the photo, he simply crammed the photo into a drawer before making his way around the room to clean it. When Gallagher returned to their room, he was a little jittery and irritated. Sunday questioned him about his day and Gallagher simply said it was awful as he lost something important to him. Sunday asked what he lost and Gallagher said it was a photo of his friends. Friends who have long traveled far and wide from this universe.
Remembering the photo that he found, Sunday went to the drawer to fetch the photo. But since the drawer was crammed with items already, the photo crumbled ruining the contents of the photo.
Gallagher held the jumbled paper in his hand, his eyes seething at the sight. Sunday felt nervous as he took a step back from the angered man.
"I didn't mean to ruin it. I'm sorry. I'll try to fi-" he was interrupted as Gallagher delivered a fierce slap across his face.
"You'll do no such things. You'll probably make it worse" Gallagher sneered down at Sunday, who stood stiff with one hand over his throbbing cheek.
"You pampered bitch. You really can't do anything by yourself, can you?" He stood and slowly made his way to the doorway. "I'm thinking about leaving you all alone here. Where there is no one to love you or take care of you."
Sunday watched Gallagher with wide eyes, his mouth trembled as he listened to Gallagher.
"Such an incapable man. Without me, you'll probably be dead by the hands of the Family. Everyone has abandoned you. Your sister, Gopher Woods, Penacony. EVERYONE. Only I had the patience to deal with you." Gallagher snarled, taking a deep breath. "It seems you aren't grateful enough to appreciate my kindness. So I think you are the problem."
Sunday hastily stood up, clumsily stumbling over his footsteps as he saw Gallagher turn the doorknob. He threw himself over Gallagher's back, causing the larger man to tumble a little.
With thick tears streaming down his face and snot running down his nose, Sunday begged through his sobs for Gallagher to not leave him alone.
He begged and begged, gripping the vest of Gallagher's suit tighter and tighter with each beg. He apologized for his actions and vowed to never do it again. (Even though it truly wasn't his fault). Sunday heard a deep sigh. Then a hand gently caressed the side of his face, where it was slapped.
"Aww you poor thing. You didn't deserve this." Gallagher said, taking Sunday in his arms and cradling the traumatized Halovian.
"You-you-you won't leave me right?" Sunday stuttered in a low voice.
"Only if you behave.”
Sunday nodded eagerly "I'll behave. I promise I'll behave. Please don't ever leave me alone. I don't like to be alone.... I've always been alone. So stay."
Gallagher chuckled brushing aside a strand of hair that covered Sunday's face "I promise...."