Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“A11,” A voice scolded. They paused in front of the glass. The tiny body halted their jerking, freezing in place. “You know better. You squirm too much, you die.” They don’t know what ‘die’ is, but it sounds like something bad coming from the voice’s mouth so they stop. They reached a hand out onto the glass, weightless in the water, searching for something. There was some sort of longing in their chest. The voice leaned closer into the glass, close to their hand but not close enough.

‘Why?’ They wanted to ask. They reached for the glass again, closer to the voice. Like they could feel. ‘Why will I die? Why am I here? Why do I know better? Why am I?’

But they can’t. They don’t. They shouldn’t. 

“No visible defects,” The voice called. “Seems like this one is in near perfect condition as is.” The voice moves and they watch, turning to see where they go. They reach again, but the voice steps away. Further. Further back. They reach again. “Sight doesn’t appear to be defected. It tracks my movements just fine. It responds to verbal prompting, although there is no intelligence behind it.”

They want to ask ‘why? Why am I?’ But they can’t. They reach, but the voice doesn’t look at them.

“It isn’t ready to be removed,” The voice was saying. “Not developed enough. But as it is now, it’s near perfect. Same with most of the first A-batch. It would be a surprise if it died right out of incubation.” The voice came back and tapped on the glass. The voice removed it’s hand before they could reach for it. “Animal instincts. It will likely be feral like the rest of the 0-batches before it.”

Those words mean nothing to them. They don’t understand. There is a longing in their chest, reaching for the voice as it moved. Gone. Empty. It’s dark and empty and alone. Words that don’t mean anything to them but the feelings do. The emotions are there. They don’t want to be alone.

The time was endless before they were taken out of the tube. It was bright and cold and uncomfortable and too much. It’s too much. They twisted and turned and squirmed and there was a tight feeling in their chest and a horrible sound that they could hear that won’t go away. The voice is there and they reach. They reach so far. They squirm and twist and move.

“A11,” A voice said. A different voice. “A11. Stop.”

The horrible sound is them. They stop squirming, shivering and cold and it’s too bright and there is a tight feeling in their chest. Voices move and they reach and there is no voice for them.

“It can’t breathe on it’s own,” The different voice said. “It’s struggling to breathe. We should get it on oxygen.”

“It will likely have the same reaction as when we put the last batch on oxygen,” The voice said. They reach, fear curling in their chest. The longing is still there. “There’s no point of putting it on oxygen if it will fight it the entire time and still die. A waste of resources.”

“This one is pretty docile,” The different voice said. They sound so much louder out here. They shiver. They’re wet. It’s cold. “A11, look at me.” They react to their name, twisting their head that feels too heavy. “It likely won’t fight you. It’s terrified.”

“Then maybe it’s scared enough to learn how to breathe on it’s own,” The voice said. “Move it to the bed. It can at least die comfortable that way.”

Die? But they aren’t moving. They aren’t. They were told not too. Why are they dying? Why am them? What did they do? The feeling isn’t going away. They panic as the world closes, it’s dark but not quite, before they are weightless again. Weightless, comfortable, but there’s a sharp pressure around them and it’s not quite right.

Chest hurts. Heavy, exhausted, scared. A longing in their chest, but they reached and find nothing. The voice moves again, far from their sight.

“A11, don’t you cry,” The different voice said. They reach for that voice instead. “This is just how creating life is. Sometimes they live, sometimes they die. You can never tell which ones it will be until then. You won’t die alone. I’m right here.” They reach again, searching for the voice and something touched their hand. Fingers closed around it immediately.

“I’m here. You won’t die alone. I’m right here. I’ll hold your hand and brush your hair. You’re not alone.”

‘Why am I?’ They want to ask. They can’t.

Eyes forced open. Bright. Scary. Tired. Why? Why am them? They turn and squirm. Sound by them. “By some miracle, it lives,” the voice said. They reach out for the voice, but there is nothing. Everything is strange and wrong and different. They don’t like it. They want to go back. It’s cold and shaking and moving and there is a horrible sound and that’s them. “It’s vitals are showing normal, aside from the breathing. It’s still irregular.” There are hands. Cold. Hands on their body and the voice pokes and stings and wrong. “The body developed with minimal error. One of the best out of A-batch.” There was more poking and another horrible sound. “Chest is slightly translucent, interestingly. Perhaps that is the reason for the difficulty breathing. Look. You can see it’s lungs moving. Fascinating. It would make a great test subject.”

They reach. They find something. A hand pushes their hand back down. A horrible sound and it’s them.

“Stop crying. You know, it looks an awful lot like your subject,” The voice said. “Perhaps a bit too much of a dna match.”

“Hush,” A different voice said. The different voice. They reached for that voice instead. That voice held their hand. “Don’t start. It made it through the night. That should be more than enough to assign it to the others that did.”

“Less deformities too,” The voice agreed. “Although I don’t have much hope that it will live. It seems like the last eight have something with them. Three with skin mutations, the two with glitches, the leg on one, hearing on two, and the last two are relatively unresponsive. Health problems unseen prior to now in all.”

“So would you recommend placing it with the second?”

“That seems to be the best option as of now. Perhaps we can learn a bit of what does work and what doesn’t.”

Changes. Cold. Fingers that poke and probe. Someone will shout “A11-S3!” And they will jump to attention. The word ‘why’ is on their lips but they can’t spit it out. Someone will poke at their body, always had before they could even sit up, and they will squirm and cry until they are told to stop.

“Why?”  They managed to get out one day. Words don’t feel right on their tongue yet. The scientist, the voice tilted their head from where they stood observing in the corner.

“Why what, A11?” The scientist asked. No one moved closer, no one came to them.

“Why am I?” They asked, their knees up to their chest. They rested their head on their knees.

“You’re a weapon,” The scientist replied. “A creation. A tool for the Federation to use. You’re here because we made you for us to use. You specifically are here to operate on. Something still isn’t right and you’re going to help us fix it. That’s your job.”

They are here to fix something. They have a purpose. Something for them to do. They have a job for them to do. “I am for you.”

“Yes, you are.”

A11-S3 is their name. They have an identification. Something that they are. They are there to be a tool for them to be used. A11 knows how it works. The scientists will grab them from the cage they stay in and set a mask over their face and then they wake up with some odd mark in their chest. They can see through it. It’s something that the scientists seem fascinated by. They pull her into rooms to see it and A11 lets them because they have no reason not to. They are for them. A tool. A weapon. They are meant to fix a problem the scientists can’t solve. The scientists poke at things and stick them with needles and they are supposed to sit still and listen.

Sometimes they hear that horrible sound. Sometimes their chest hurts. Sometimes they can’t move because it’s wrong. Sometimes they curl up in the corner and wish they were back in that tube again and there’s that horrible sound and their chest burns. They have a longing in their chest they can’t explain because they have a purpose.

Suddenly, A9 disappears. A11 wasn’t supposed to talk to the others and they never have. A9 kept to themself, in the corner and in a small ball. They were weak on their legs, long ringlet curls the color of their eyes down their back. They couldn’t hear well. The scientists always had to shout before they heard the calls. And they had disappeared. Gone. One moment they were asleep in their cage, the next, they never came back.

A11 isn’t stupid. They don’t ask where they went.

When A10 disappeared, it was different. A10 with the tight curls around their head and the missing leg. They would drop to the ground, sometimes shaking, others completely still. A11 would call for them sometimes. They were the closest to them, after all, but they never responded.

When A10 disappeared, the scientists tore apart the place to look for them. They pulled all the others out, pulled them to different rooms and asked questions. Lots of questions. A11 was told to never speak. To keep quiet. When they stayed silent, they were grabbed and pulled and hit.

There’s that horrible sound. Their chest hurts. They can’t see past the blurry world in front of their eyes. There’s a longing in their chest.

“I’ll ask you again, A11. Where is A10?” The voice hissed in their ear. In front of them. That horrible sound is there. A11 reached out for something, but they never got it. A hand slammed against their cheek. It’s a horrible sound. “Where is A10?”

When they didn’t answer, because they weren’t supposed to, the scientist locked them in a new cage. A11 curled up in the corner. There’s a horrible sound. They are shaking. It is wrong. When they were pulled back out, the scientists were wrong. It’s wrong. Everything is wrong.

‘Why?’ They want to ask. They don’t. They can’t.

Something is wrong. A tight feeling in their chest. No. No. No! And for the first time, they break a rule. They fight back.

The W-group used to fight. Before they all disappeared. They don’t ask questions, but they do now. They ask ‘why’, they push back. They fight. They scream.

And when the scientists had enough of it, A11 found themself locked up in a new cage. And this time, no one came back for them.

“I’m sorry,” They whispered. They hid their face in their knees. “I am sorry. I’ll be good.” But no one is coming back for them. They had tried. They thought they were everything they were supposed to be. They had a purpose. They had one before. They don’t have one now. They aren’t needed. They were left.

They sniffled inside the cage until there were voices outside of it. They sobbed and called out, something small and weak. They shouldn’t talk, but they just want out. When the wall gave way, there was someone else on the other side of it. Wide blue eyes, blonde hair down their back. A face that A11 can see.

“Oh, darling,” The voice cooed gently. They pulled themself into the wall beside her. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Their chest hurts. They feel wrong. There is that longing in their chest again. That horrible sound before they could stop it. But they reached out for something and the voice reached back.

“Shh, darling, shh,” The voice said. They picked up A11 and held them close and for the first time ever, A11 felt like they could make that awful sound. “You’re okay, darling, you’re okay. I’m here. I got you. You’re fine. You’re okay.” The voice pressed their lips to A11’s head. “I have you. You’re here with me. I’m not going to let you go.” They’re moving, rocking. The voice is rocking them. A11 could cry. They are crying. It’s that horrible sound.

“Shh,” The voice whispered gently. “Shh. I’ve got you. Do you speak French, my darling? Or English?”

“I thought-“ A11 sobbed. “I thought no one would come for me.” The voice hushed them again, pressing their lips against their head again.

“Oh, my love,” The voice continued. They kept rocking them back and forth. A11 hid their face against their body, trying to breathe. They don’t want to leave. They don’t want this voice to leave. Something is so good with them. “You’re alright. I have you now. I promise nothing will ever happen to you again.”

A11 felt that longing in her chest disappeared when the voice squeezed them tighter. It felt like being back in the tube, safe and warm. Only this time, they’re not alone.

“I had hoped,” A11 cried. They aren’t supposed to talk, but they are tired of being alone. This voice didn’t seem to want them to be quiet. “I had just hoped that someone would come for me.” All the words that they understood but could never use. This voice held them close and didn’t hurt them. “That someone would save me. I had hoped that someone would love me too.”

Love. Such a funny word. They hadn’t know what it was supposed to mean when it was first thrown in their face. When A10 had escaped and they were held down on the bed and asked questions and hit and hurt and stuck with things. ‘No one will love you out there,’ A scientist had said. They had no idea what it meant then, but the longer it had lasted, the more it felt like that longing in their chest. If the scientists said they couldn’t have it, they had wanted it anyway.

“Baghera, don’t get too attached,” Another voice said. “She’s probably going to die.”

Die? They can’t die. They don’t want to. They don’t know what that is, but they don’t want that. They were called a she. They’ve never been called a she before.

“Don’t say that!” The voice scolded. The voice pulled them closer and pressed their lips to their head again. It’s gentle. It’s nice. A11 found they liked it. “Of course you’ll be loved. You’ll always be loved while I’m around. Ignore Etoiles. He doesn’t know what he says.” They were moving, closer to the outside of the wall. “She’s so small. She’s so tiny. Who shuts up a kid in a wall like that?”

“The Feds have been leaving kids in our care,” Someone else answered. “She’s probably another one of the dragon eggs that had been abandoned.”

Dragon. They had no idea what was being talked about. But there is something calming about being held right now. Like they could sleep and no one will be over them with a needle when they wake up.

“Do you have a name, darling?” The voice asked, brushing the hair from their face. Blonde. Just like this voice. They reached out. “My name is Baghera. That’s Etoiles, Pierre, Antoine, and Kameto. We just crashed on this island. What’s your name?”

They have a name. Identification. A11-S3. But it sounds so strange compared to the other names just said. They found they didn’t want to be called A11-S3 anymore anyways. They blinked up at the blue eyes staring back and shook their head slowly, reaching up for their face.

“Baghera, don’t get attached,” The voice scolded again. Etoiles, Baghera had called them. “She looks fragile. She’s probably not going to make it much longer.”

“Let’s call her Pomme,” A third voice said.

Pomme. She. They, she, found she liked it. 

Baghera cradled her in their arms, keeping her tucked against their body. They carried her around for the rest of the day. Pomme, a beautiful name that she wanted to keep, didn’t want Baghera to let her go. Didn’t want to be put down anymore. By the time the sun was going down, Baghera had claimed Pomme as hers, because Baghera is also a her, and the others she was with eventually warmed up to her as well. By the time their camp was set up, Baghera eventually relented her grasp on Pomme and handed her over to Pierre.

“You have to keep a big secret,” Baghera whispered softly, kneeling down in front of Pomme. “You can’t tell anyone this.”

Pomme snuggled against Pierre’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and rested his head on top of hers. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Okay,” Baghera smiled gently. She brushed her fingers over Pomme’s face and Pomme couldn’t help but lean into the touch. So gentle and calm and no one has stuck a needle in her yet. “Darling, I have wings. They broke in the crash. I can’t let anyone else know about them.”

It was that night that Pomme laid curled up in someone’s arms, listening to their heart pound against her ear. It was comforting. It was soothing. Etoiles and Kameto helped Baghera reset her wings and Antoine finished the camp. Pierre held her close, asking her small questions, but Baghera whimpered and whined and cried and Pomme eventually heard that horrible sound again and reached for her.

“I’m alright, darling,” Baghera soothed, reaching for her back and holding her close. They adjusted another bone in her wing and she groaned. “It’s okay. Don’t cry. It happens. I break so easily.”

“She’s so little,” Pierre commented. “Makes you wonder how long she was trapped behind there.” It’s the sound of pain Pomme can’t stand. Baghera hissed this time and buried her face against Pomme’s hair, pressing her lips against her head again. A kiss, Baghera had called it. Pomme decided she liked those.

“Long enough that she shouldn’t eat solid foods just yet,” Etoiles shrugged. “She should probably get a bath or something. Baghera can do it. I’d probably be shit.” He sat down next to Baghera and Pomme on the chair and Pomme snuggled closer to the arm chest she was being held against.

“In the morning,” Baghera mumbled. She ran her fingers over Pomme’s cheek again. “I don’t want to scare her. The way she is scares me.”

Pomme can’t recall the rest of the conversation. Baghera was mumbling something but the sound of her voice and her heart was comforting. The gentle rocking back and forth was soothing. Pomme felt her eyes slip shut in time with the fingers on her cheek. She shouldn’t be trusting these people so quickly, but she had never asked for anything in her life before. She is so good. She’s perfect. She does what she is told. There’s no reason that she can’t just have this simple moment.

In the months ahead, she’ll be forced to confront those early feelings. The fear in her chest when facing the reality of what had actually happened to her in the Federation. When Chayanne pulled her aside the next day to introduce her to everyone else, she’ll realize that she’s still a tool to the Federation the same way they all are. They don’t escape the island.

But Pomme is Pomme now. She has a family. Maman, Papas, a dad. Brothers and sisters. And she gets to fall asleep listening to her parent’s heart. The world is dangerous, but it’s fine. Pomme would prefer it to the cold loneliness of the Federation cages any day.

So when she woke up the next morning tangled in the same blanket as Baghera, Pomme didn’t find herself afraid at all.

Chapter Text

It was very early on that A10 knew they were messed up. A fucked up limb, a voice had called it.They have no idea what that means, but they tapped on the glass anyways. They reached for the voices in front of them, talking about different things that mean nothing to them, and no one seems to bat an eye at them.

They reached anyway.

“A10, you’re fine,” The voice said. The voice stepped away, walking around them. They turned with them, trying to follow before a pain shot through their system and forced them to stop. They wanted to move, do something to make the pain stop, but they are stuck.

“That leg isn’t going to make it,” The voice noted. “It can’t move without bothering it. A10, look here.” They turned to look at the voice, to follow the command, but stopped short and the pain flooded their system again. “See how it spikes? Seems to be in a lot of pain. It had another episode again last night. Something seems off about this one. That other one as well. A13, I believe it is. They should be explored immediately after incubation. That should have stopped after the 0-group.”

Episode? Explored? Incubation? 0-group? They have no idea what that means. They likely never will. They can’t turn to follow the voice. They can’t reach out for the voice. They watched from the corner of their eyes until they couldn’t see any of the voices anymore.

It’s so lonely. They’re alone.

Coming out of incubation was foggy. They don’t remember anything except for the overwhelming pain. Searing hot up their leg and through their back. Their head crashed back against the floor and they felt their arm twitching against the floor. They thought they heard someone say “it likely won’t survive this”. They can’t move. Moving hurt. Everything hurts. They heard some awful, grinding sound in their ear and something against the ground and the burning pain through their body and they blacked out.

When they woke up again, there was still that searing pain up their leg, but it wasn’t all consuming anymore. They breathed out, unused to the feeling in their chest, and groaned. An awful sound and a voice was by their side.

“A10,” The voice said, holding something above their eyes. “Good. You need to breathe slowly. Somehow you managed to survive that. You’ll be quite the resilient subject, no?” The voice disappeared from view and they reached out for it. Their hand felt heavy and wrong. Every small movement made their stomach turn. An awful sound is flooding the air and turns out, it was actually coming from them.

“It’s disoriented. It’s in a lot of pain,” Someone said. “A seizure and an amputation and somehow it lives. That should be a sturdy subject.”

They blinked in and out of consciousness for what felt like hours. Days. Maybe minutes, moments, or perhaps it was months. Who could guess? Who could have known? They got used to responding to the name of A10. A10-S2, to be exact. They had one and a half legs, seizures nearly daily, episodes on the regular, and by the time they could process more than the indescribable pain they were in, they were locked in a cage beside others.

The first time an episode happened, A11 whispered that they had dropped to the ground. Completely still, they explained under their breath. Until they twitched and it was wrong. They aren’t allowed to speak to each other. A10’s leg still hurts, despite the fact that they don’t really have one. A9 can’t be whispered too and A11 kept curled up. A10 can’t see anyone else from where they are but there had to be others.

A10’s days are filled with being dragged from the familiar comfort of their cage to the sterile world of a lab. Somedays there are needles in their arms  and others, there are wires. They are held down and shushed and told to stop whining and crying and that their pain is for the good of the Federation. That they run all these tests and trigger these seizures to learn more about what they did wrong to fix for next time.

“Why?” A10 finally managed to spit out one day. “Why do I?” They pushed against a hand trying to strap them down. “No more.”

“You’re here for us to learn,” The scientist said. “You came out of that tube wrong. You were never meant to succeed. If we had wanted one that would, we would have terminated you and started over. This is your job. You’re here to teach us what goes wrong. So that we don’t do that again.”

So this is their life? To be in pain all the time? To be used to find all the mistakes that were made? The scientists already knew that they wouldn’t be successful before they came out of the tube. Why create them? Why make them this way? If their existence is only to hurt, is it much of an existence to begin with? It’s not like A10 is the only one they do this too. They know they aren’t, but everyone else just seems to let them. If A10 can get out, somehow, maybe they can stop it.

“No,” A10 bit out. They snap at the worker next to them and earned a backhand to the face. “No more.”

“You don’t get a choice, A10. This isn’t a choice. This is your purpose.”

“Stupid fucking purpose,” A10 growled. They yank at some chains. They can swear they can hear someone else crying. A13, they think. They do a lot of work with them as well. Pulled them out of the tube wrong so they would be able to do this as well. A10 has never seen A13 but they talk through walls sometimes.

“It is your purpose. This is what you are here for,” The scientist repeated forcefully. “I’m not above forcing you to submit again, A10. I would calm yourself down if you don’t want to hurt.”

So they will bide their time. They bit their tongue and pretended to be so good. They practice moving around their cage, trying to increase their speed so they can move out of sight. Get as far away as possible before everyone knows they are missing. It’s painful to leave the others behind. A9 has disappeared for good and A11 cries to themself all the time. It’s a horrible sound that A10 realizes that they make as well. They can hear A13 through the walls more often than not and they knock their hands against the wall to let them know they are there.

A scientist pulled them by the hair one day and dragged them over to a chair screeching and screaming. They were already having an off day, stomach turning and easy to anger. Eyes blurry and head hurting and now they do this? Once A10 found themself picked up and strapped down, the scientist disappeared behind them. A needle in their neck that they started thrashing for immediately, but the hand in their hair halted their movements.

“A10 should be considered a flight risk,” The voice called. “It should be monitored more closely to ensure that it doesn’t find a way to interact with the residents. A10, enough with the fighting. I’m trying to help you. We’re trying to find a way to curb your seizures for you. Cut it out.”

“The residents are far too attached to those things already,” Another voice said. “A9-S1 has been put there for less than a week and has wrapped quite a few of them around its finger. It was smart to let it live with them after all.”

“A1-W1 has it in its sights all the time. A1 is quite protective over all of them. It’s the opposite reaction than we expected,” The scientist continued, distracted. The needle was pulled from A10’s neck and it didn’t help curb the nausea. They thrashed in the chains again.

“A10 is being difficult. Can we find a way to sedate it without any sedation? Perhaps getting a chance to see the others or something?”

They need to bide their time to make this work, to get out of there. There is something out there, something waiting for them. A9 is out there. Sounds like A1. Perhaps the entirety of the W-group is out there. W-subgroup? The scientists say a lot of things they think they don’t understand, but they do.

A10 is pulled by the chair and walked down the hall. They kicked and fought and struggled, that awful mood continuing to follow them all the way until they stopped by a cage. A small body sat inside. Pale, dark hair, slumped against the back wall in a clear message of having only just finished an episode. A10 stopped their fighting immediately.

“A13,” The scientist from behind them said. A13 ripped their eyes away from A10, a slight glance back to indicate that they wanted to stay with them. “A13, look at me. Come here.” The body scampered over from the back wall, clumsy but alive, and slammed against the bars in front of them, reaching for the scientist’s hand. They got it, holding it tight and A10 felt the pang of hurt bury down deep in them in that moment. “A13, this is A10.”

“Oh.” Is the quiet response. A13 released the hand in theirs reluctantly and crept over more carefully this time. They aren’t allowed to speak, certainly not to each other, but these two are a little different. They call A10 ‘feral’ and ‘difficult’ and ‘trouble’. A13 doesn’t seem to be any of those things. 

“A10 is going to come visit you for a little bit,” The scientist continued. “You two are the same here. You’re both messed up. You have the purpose of finding what’s wrong. I want you to remind A10 of how to behave and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you see each other again.”

A10 is lonely. That is true. They haven’t been this lonely since the tube. A11 makes good company, but only when they are allowed to see each other in their cages. When they are taken, it’s at different times. They hardly overlap now. A10 is so lonely.

Chains are unlatched and A10 lets themself be scooped up and moved to the floor of the cage. A13’s eyes are wide when they drop down in front of them and hands reach out to touch, curious. Hands on their cheeks and face that snap back immediately before they reach again, right back on. A10 reached back, hands wandering all over their face and cheeks too.

“Hi,” They whispered to A13. A13’s eyes trailed over, wide and shocked. “I’m going to find a way out of here.”

“That sounds stupid,” A13 whispered back. They ran their fingers down their cheeks and neck. “But I’ll cover for you if you do. If you promise to find a way to get us out too someday.”

“Yeah,” A10 agreed. The scientist has left them alone. Probably thinking they won’t be stupid now that they have A13 with them. “I’ll find a way to get you out of here too. Then they don’t hurt you with needles any more.”

“They told me that there might be a reason for them to take A12,” A13 whispered. They sat on the floor in front of A10 and wrapped their arms around them. They were shaking, but at least they were shaking together. A10 can see A12 through the bars of the cage. “They came out wrong too, but not badly. Skin condition and partial eyesight, but other than that, it is fine. It shakes too. Not like us. I think it’s scared.”

“I can tell when I’m gonna have a seizure,” A10 whispered back. A13 released the hug just enough to look up at them.

“Me too.”

Three weeks is what it took for them to finally manage to slip away. By then, A13 told them that they had taken A12 through the wall after a particularly bad day. A10 has had enough. They are smart and clever, but they are also feral and difficult and trouble. They leave without a trace of ever being there, to the frustration of the guards and scientists. It’s honestly not as hard as they thought it would be. After all, all they have to do is keep quiet in the vents and everyone walks right by them. A10 is so good at being sneaky. They can get almost anywhere. And anywhere does include outside.

The hunt for A10 started almost two hours after they left. They know because they can hear people looking for them. They’d go for the cages and get everyone else out, honest they would, but it’s the first place the guards checked and the guards pulled A11 out and beat them, looking for answers they won’t get. Because A11 doesn’t know, A13 does. But A13 won’t snitch because A10 promised to get them out someday. A10 didn’t exactly know what a a promise was but they did know that you shouldn’t break it.

It was maybe a day when the vent led to somewhere that didn’t have white walls. The colors felt overwhelming at first. A10 sat and stared through the grate, trying to adjust to the sight of bright greens and blues and pops of color everywhere. Then, they pushed out the grate and stared a little longer. If they can find someone else, someone who isn’t a scientist or a guard, they might be able to help them get the others out. They might help them find A1-W1 and A9-S1. There’s no reason for them to trust anyone else, but the scientists talk like they don’t understand what is said and the scientists said that the other two were out there somewhere.

A10 promised A13 that they would come back for them. There’s no doubt that the guards have already gone to beat A13 for answers too. A10 can only hope that A11 is okay despite getting caught up right in the middle of it all.

In the distance, A10 saw movement. They stared, waiting, confused. It looked like a group. Could be scientists. Could be guards. But they don’t look like guards and they don’t look like scientists. They aren’t the right colors. A10 hesitantly lowered themself to the ground and jerked back from the feeling of the ground below them. But no hints of an episode. No seizure either. And there was those not guards as well. They shouldn’t trust them but then again, they’re always getting into trouble.

Carefully, quickly, because the Federation could find them and use them to hurt again, they followed the wall towards the group. It’s hard to trust them, but they might know A9. And if they know A9, then they might be willing to help someone named A10 too.

They are all gathered in a building. A lot of noise, they can swear that they hear some of that horrible crying the scientists always tell them to stop doing. They stay close to the wall, just in case they should disappear again, and peer inside. They don’t recognize anyone, not at first, but then little bodies start running around, throwing themselves at the taller ones. They aren’t ones that A10 recognizes, until one of them jumps into the arms of a person in green with blonde hair does A10 realize that is A9. They glance up, only for a moment, and that moment is all it takes for A9 to see them too.

Someone started to turn around and A10 threw themself back behind the wall. The sound of feet don’t move faster, but they watch as they turn their direction anyway. Boots, like a guard, but these are not black. Brown. They almost match A10’s skin. Blinking up, a person dropped down, blue eyes and brown hair. Pale, like A13, paler than A10 for sure.

“Who’s kid is this?” The person called over, reaching a hand out for A10. They flinched back, curling up into a ball and the man hesitated. He reached again, this time slower and with two hands and when he picked them up, it was under the arms with the gentlest touch he’d ever felt. A10 felt the cry bubbling in their chest, face falling against the man’s shoulders. And if it’s the only gentle touch they’ll ever get, they want to keep it forever.

“Looks like yours,” Someone else said. A10 clung tightly and the man began to hold him just as tight back. “Not a kid we’ve seen around before, but the Feds have given everyone one so far. My guess is they left him there for you.” Another brief pause. The man moved. “He’s missing his leg.”

“I can see that,” the man said. “Felps? Pac? Mike?” When A10 dared to raise their head up, they saw A9 peeking back at them. Their head still rested on the shoulder of the man in green. They look… better. More light in their eyes. They off a small smile before tucking their head back into the man’s shoulder.

“Kid, you’re fine.” A10 was set down on a ledge and the man ran a hand down their cheek. A10 was already reaching for the arms to be back around them again.

“What? What happened? Who is that?” Someone else said, showing up beside the man.

“The residents here don’t know who this kid is,” The man kept down next to them, a hand on their knee. The other person reached out to pull A10 into a hug. “He was just sitting outside. Apparently the Federation has been giving them kids.” A10 buried their face in the shoulder of the blue hoodie. The blue hoodie hugged him back. A9 is fine. A sentiment that the Federation had made clear when they thought that they couldn’t understand them.

“Has he said anything?

He. Such an odd word. These people use it for them. To talk about them. A10… he found he liked it. It felt right to hear. Like it belonged to him.

“No, he hasn’t. I just found him. Kid, do you have a name? Where are your parents?” The voice, the first one said. And he doesn’t have a name. He has A10-S2. Some way to identify him. But not a name. He doesn’t get one of those. He shook his head from the hoodie and peeked out just enough to see out of. No one seemed angry with him. Just… just like the way A13 had looked at him.

“He needs a name,” A third voice chimed in. “I’ll bet he has that dragon mother for a parent then as well.”

“Richarlyson. Why don’t we call him Richarlyson? What do you think of that? You like that name?”

Like it? He’s never had a name before. He doesn’t know how to like it if he’s never had it. He tried it on his lips anyway. “Richarlyson,” He repeated slowly. One of them smiled, teeth showing, but it didn’t invoke a feeling of fear and dread like the scientists do.

“Yeah, Richarlyson. Richas,” The man agreed. “Like the football player.”

Oh. Oh. Oh! Richarlyson. A name. For him. Something to call him. He was okay with that. Richas. He liked the sound of that. He felt a small smile slowly start to creep on his face despite himself and when he reached for the man in front of him, hand tight on the hoodie, they held his hand back.

“That’s Pac,” The man said. “Next to you. I’m Cellbit. That’s Mike and Felps. You can hang out with us while we figure out where you’re supposed to be.”

“We just crashed on this island,” Pac added. “Guess we’re all new.”

Richarlyson. That’s his name. It belongs to him. He’s got people who want to keep him around. People who don’t want to hand him back over to the Feds. Not a single one of them had tried to strap him down or stick a needle in him or hurt him at all.

Maybe he could get used to that. So long has he kept that promise in his head. Someday he will go back for everyone else.

But right now? Richarlyson sounded like a nice name.