Sam was sitting on his bed. Waiting. Praying to a god that never listened to him, that his comrades were alive. Especially Charles.
He just stared at the door.
Eventually, the door opened.
At the door, was a Spanish kid. Sam asked his name before, but he didn't tell him anything.
When Sam saw his condition, he was mortified.
His fingers. Not all of them. But most of them were bitten off.
But his eyes. Those were then worst.
They were empty. Devoid of life. He was likely in agonizing pain, the Pale Hand wouldn't bother giving him adequate treatment.
Sam wanted to say something. Anything. But what could he say? This kid was literally dead inside!
'He is just too tired. He… doesn't want to live anymore…'
Sam knew it. There was only so much stress children at young ages 6-10 years old can handle. Their brains were still in early development and more easy to break.
Sam internally cried. Because he knew it. This was how they made machines.
'Those… unredeemable monsters!'
———
One after another, more entered. Each one badly hurt.
One was the Latino kid, who was decent but very reserved. He had a missing nose. It was just patched up. Sam saw the tears never stopping and the emptiness in them.
He saw a Russian. He was someone who Sam deemed selfish. During one of the bouts against Somalian pirates, he saw one of the others get shot down, but he wasn't dead yet. He was pegged and couldn't help. He called on the Russian kid to help. He only looked at Sam and kept shooting. The kid bled out right next to him.
The Russian kid was missing a chunk of his calf. He wobbled in, crying. His wound barely treated, but likely in agony.
Sam was mortified. These guys were all torn up. Sam got off light. He got his calf torn, not as bad as the Russian kid, but still bad. It was sloppily stitched back up. It hurts, but Sam could endure it.
His ribs, were likely fractured. The medic just said to tough it out. They would not offer much in terms of healthcare. Sam didn't know what they were planning making them all work down, but it was cruel.
Then he saw Charles. And he was also hurt badly. His hand, the one that was stung by a scorpion, was chomped off.
He was pleased Charles lived, but he is literally missing a hand.
"Charles!"
"Sam!"
Charles ran over to Sam.
"W-what happened?"
Sam shakily asked.
Charles looked at his hand with empty eyes.
"I… I didn't have much hope, Sam. They were expecting me to die. The instructor who brought me there was watching it like it was a show. And when I won… he said he was pissed I lived. He lost a lot of money on a bet of my death!"
Sam could feel his nails dig into his hands.
"But… what about your hand?"
"I had no choice. I kept running. Trying to get away from the fuckin' thing. I tripped. I thought it was impossible… but I saw that a rock found itself in the cage. One that wasn't there when I entered. That instructor who made me fight, tried to sabotage me."
Sam was horrified.
"But… how did you…"
"I… did what I had to… I thought I was about to die, but when I saw the satisfied look in that cunts eyes, I felt like you, Sam. I refused to let these knob heads have their way. I sacrificed my bad hand to get an opening. Then, using the rock that the instructor kindly left in the cage, I beat the fuckin' thing to death."
Sam looked shocked and a bit in awe of Charles.
"Okay… that's cool."
Charles gave a faint smile.
"I thought so too. It was funny seeing that cunt look so pissed off. But… he refused to even let me get basic medical attention."
Sam clenched his teeth and hands.
Charles saw that and put his good hand on Sam's shoulder.
"It's alright, Sam."
"The fuck it is!… sorry… let me see it…"
Sam grabbed his bedsheets and begun fashioning it into a makeshift bandage.
But he knew the bleeding would need to be stopped. A medic would be appropriate. Even the other kids got basic medical attention. But because Charles survived, he doesn't get any.
Sam had to hope the head instructor would allow Charles to see the medic.
"Well… you 5 are all that remains."
Speak of the devil.
Everyone paled at that. Two more died.
'Damnit.'
"Tomorrow, you will have your final test. Pass that, you become one of us."
He turned to leave but Sam had to stop him.
"Sir! Please wait! Charles needs a medic! His guide for the last test refused to help!"
The head instructor stopped and turned around.
"I don't want to."
Sam was shocked. Was he really going to let Charles die?
"Please sir! This isn't fair!"
"Watch yourself Suzuki. I only let you brats get healed because I don't want the test tomorrow to be boring… you know what, why not?"
Sam perked up.
"Thank you-"
"You can do it yourself Suzuki."
Sam stopped. He knew it wouldn't be that easy.
Suddenly, a knife and a lighter were thrown at his feet.
Sam saw them and looked back at the instructor, confused.
"He will probably die in a few hours. He won't make it to morning at this rate. But, his chance of survival will rise, if you cauterize it."
Sam widened his eyes. The other kids, who received basic treatment that stopped all bleeding, looked at this cruel scene with empty eyes. They no longer cared about anything. They had no hope.
Charles shivered. Cauterization? That was going to hurt more than anything.
But… he wanted to live. Sam told him to keep struggling. So he would.
Sam wasn't going to let Charles bleed out. He had to help him.
He read about first aid in the lessons. A way to heal a wound unable to be stitched, and when you are alone, is to cauterize. It's crude, but it will stop the bleeding.
He picked up the knife and the lighter. The instructor saw this and leaned against the wall, wanting to see what Sam does.
Sam saw that and cursed the instructor with all his might.
Sam had to focus. He walked up to Charles. He wouldn't lie.
"This is going to hurt. Even more than that scorpion bite."
Charles looked at Sam. He recalled a conversation. The one that led to them becoming friends.
———
It was lights out. It was another long day of training. Sam and Charles were training some more while the others rested. Sam told Charles to come and train as he had to make up for the hurt hand.
Despite the confidence Sam had in him, Charles couldn't trust in himself.
"Sam. You should give up on me."
Sam stopped practicing some kicks. He looked at Charles.
"No."
Plain and simple. No drama. No speech. Just one word.
"Sam, don't be such a wanker. It's well and good you want to defy these cunts, but I don't think wasting your time with a one handed quirkless lad like me is going to do you any good."
"Perhaps not. But I already told you. I'm a stubborn bastard. And I ain't letting them have their way."
Charles sat down on the floor. They were in a training area in the bunker, and it was empty. Quiet. Charles felt it was a good time to confess to him.
"Sam… I wasn't always quirkless."
Sam raised an eyebrow.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means what I said, twat! I had a quirk! A strong one too!"
Sam was shocked.
"I was going to be a hero in Ireland. That's what my mum and pop tried to raise me to be. They were greedy wankers but I trusted them and I thought being a hero wouldn't be so bad. So the moment my quirk awakened, they made me train."
Sam patiently listened.
"But one day, on my way home from school… I was pulled into an alleyway. I looked around and saw the one who did it… but… I can't remember him. He did something. But I know one thing. He did something to my quirk. And then he scrambled my brain! I don't know much, but what I do know, he had holes in his hands. Like fuckin' Jesus!"
Sam was shaken. He didn't know who this guy was who removed Charles' quirk, but it must be someone strong.
"I woke up, woozy, and tried to use my quirk… nothing. It was gone."
"What was it?"
"…I could make air cannons. It was pretty strong."
"Woah…"
Sam didn't know why, but he believed what he said.
"What happened after that?"
Charles sighed.
"What else? My greedy twat parents were fuckin' cunts and fuckin' sold me to traffickers. And those nutters were going to sell me to some prick who would steal my organs, but luckily, a fuckin finger from Pale Hand bought me and sent me to the cliff."
Sam sighed. Charles had it rough.
"So stay the fuck away from me. I'm nothing but bad luck. Us Irish believe in that shite. You know, the luck of the Irish and other fucking stereotypes. We cunts believe it."
Sam looked at him like an idiot.
"Well, it's good then that I don't believe that luck of the Irish crap. I'm going to keep helping you, and you are going to listen, or else I'll beat you up so badly you'll start sounding like a bagpipe. So stop the drama, and go find your lucky charms, Leprechaun! They're magically delicious. Maybe they would help you grow a pair."
Sam decided to go all out with the stereotypes. He wanted to talk about luck of the Irish, like it meant something? Not happening.
Charles looked at Sam with a shocked expression. But then he just started laughing.
"Hahahahahahaha! You fucking dick!"
Sam smiled and chuckled a bit.
"So? What's it gonna be?"
Charles calmed down.
"You're a right cunt, you know that? But I like ya. Very well. I'll struggle with ya."
Sam smiled.
He held out a hand for Charles who was sitting on the floor.
"Then let's spar, you red haired leprechaun."
He smirked.
"Best be ready for a thrashing, you Jap cunt!"
They both smiled.
Charles grabbed Sam's hand. Helping him up. Not only from the ground, but from his doubts. He trusted Sam. He would be strong.
———
Charles looked at his missing hand.
Then at Sam, who had the knife and lighter.
"I trust you Sam."
Sam nodded.
"I know. I won't let you die. Bite this."
He took his blanket and had Charles bite it hard.
"This is going to hurt…"
Charles smirked.
"I can take it slant-eyed brat!"
Charles bit the blanket. While Sam was heating up the knife to be red hot.
When it was glowing, he was ready. He took off the makeshift bandage from a blanket and got ready.
"3, 2, 1…"
———
Hiss!
Sam snapped out of it, hearing the sizzling meat.
He looked and saw that the monkey he hunted with a snare trap, was finished cooking.
He took it off the skewer and started eating.
He hadn't eaten meat since his jerky ran out.
Right now, he was about to cross into Tanzania.
He was certain that he was close.
"Charles…"
He ate while thinking about the memory he just recalled.
He saw more of the cruelty of the monsters of the Pale Hand.
And he learned about Charles. He knew what his story was. And how they would joke around by saying derogatory names to each other.
The monkey was tasteless. Not only because he didn't season it, but because just thinking about Charles hurt his heart.
"How could I forget him? How could I forget such a precious friend?"
Tears fell from his eyes.
"What did they do to me?"
Sam needed answers. And his lost memories were starting to give him them.