The fluorescent light shone across his room, never pausing to flicker. The air sat heavy and unmoving. His cell was barebones, his bed an evepresent white just like the rest of his empty abode. The only thing that changed was Nic. His only movement was from the door to the bed for meals, and only his shadow to accompany him.
He was due for testing.
The playroom should have come by now.
The guards didn't speak. Not when he yelled. Not when he cried.
Nic didn't understand what they were doing. What did they want? How could he give it to them?
His motivation was strong at first, diligently sifting through 015's memories. They were broken, and the ones that weren't were useless.
015 didn't have any secrets; the problem was Nicholas.
Before he was Nicholas, he had been Nick.
And before that, 015.
Saint Nicholas came last.
Each of them had carried part of his psychic power and affinity. When they died, it didn't disappear it stayed behind, wild and untrained.
Simply stated, Nicholas' psychic control was only marginally better when he was a child. That by itself wouldn't be bad if not for the large influx of mental energy Nick brought over.
Nic couldn't grasp sand because the sand wasn't sand.
It was a mountain, and all Nic could do was chisel a portion away.
Even though the bad news was very bad, Nicholas had realized what 015 could do fully.
015 was able to track anyone as long as their reflection was present in a certain radius. That wasn't all, though he still doesn't know because the mirror scrying took so long to grow proficient at that by the time they were almost ready, Nick arrived.
He'd also begun to explore Nick's memories a faint glow marked memories Nick deemed important.
Gentle knocking sounded at the door. The familiar warm voice permeated from behind the door.
"015 Papa is coming in." The door unlatched as Papa deftly stepped in and shut the door.
Watching Papa's smile as he moved towards him, Nic realized it never quite reached his eyes.
"Mind making room for me, you rascal?"
Scooting over on his small plastic bed frame. He tilted slightly as Papa made his presence known on the bed with a faint cry from the frame and the slight unevenness of the mattress.
He felt Papa grab his hand, staring into his eyes, not with the gentleness of Dr. Brenner, but almost as if he was holding a pet.
Nick had a dog. If given enough love, comfort, and time, they'd do any tricks.
Pulling the corners of his mouth up, Nicholas' eyes shone, twinkling at Dr. Manson.
"Papa, I'm so glad you took me out of there. The needles were making me so tired."
He caught the subtle twitch in Dr. Manson's face.
"You're welcome, 15, it's what Papa is for. It hurt to watch you so sick. But I knew you'd get better if you endured." Stroking Nicholas's head, he wondered if Manson saw a pair of dog ears that Nic had missed.
"I didn't come here just to give you sad news, though, 15 you may not know it's been a while, but it's time for the playroom, it's 5 o'clock."
Searching his room for a clock, Nicholas realized there was none. They'd taken it away, scared he'd somehow break it and see a reflection. Nic was honestly starting to wonder why they hadn't just killed 015 themselves if they were this worried about a security risk.
Facing Manson, he beamed, "It's been so long I can't wait to catch up with everyone!"
The smile came easily. That frightened him.
Nicholas felt the corners of his mouth lift before he consciously told them to. It was the same expression Papa liked the wide, eager one, the kind that promised obedience without needing to be asked for it. He held it steady, even as something tight and cold settled behind his ribs.
Papa's eyes softened. Not with relief, but with satisfaction.
"That's my good boy," Manson murmured, standing from the bed. The mattress creaked as his weight lifted, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "You've been missed."
Missed. The word rang strangely hollow. Nic wondered who exactly Papa thought had been gone from him, or the version of 015 that sat quietly and broke when told.
He nodded anyway.
Papa moved toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back. "Remember," he said lightly, as if reminding Nic to brush his teeth, "Blindfold on. You're strong enough to tie it yourself now."
Nic's hands moved instinctively as the familiar black fabric was tied across his eyes. The world shrank instantly to muted sounds, the faint scrape of his shoes on the polished floor, the echo of the casual footsteps behind him. Each motion required thought, each step a test of balance and patience. Seeing without looking was dangerous. Wanting was worse.
"You're doing very well, 15," Papa added. "Keep that up."
Nic nodded again, smile still in place.
The hallway ended at the door to the playroom. Nic felt Papa's hand guide him gently, then release. He stepped forward, the floor shifting beneath him softly, carpeted, swallowing the sound of his steps. The sudden quiet unsettled him more than the polished hallway ever had.
Children's laughter, faint and sharp at the edges, reached him from the room beyond the door. He hadn't heard others so clearly in weeks. Almost for a heartbeat, his chest ached with something like relief.
No, Nic didn't ache 015 did. Crushing the feeling as quickly as it came, Nic resolved these weren't his friends, they were 015's.
Nic followed carefully, cautious with both his thoughts and his steps. Every sound, every breath, was a thread he had to keep taut. Papa's presence was still at his shoulder for the first few steps, a quiet reminder that safety and danger were inseparable.
"You've grown stronger," Papa said, a small smile brushing his lips. "I knew you would. Remember, you're only as safe as you are careful."
Nic nodded again. His own mind whispered the final truth: Strength, he was beginning to understand, didn't always mean fighting.
Sometimes it meant letting them believe they'd already won.
He could feel the gaze of the other children, curious and expectant. They were only 4. This didn't line up, but Nic's attention didn't falter. Every heartbeat, every breath, every careful smile reminded him: he survived this way. He could survive anything. Saint Nicholas might have started him on the wrong foot, but Nic would patch it up.
As the door opened fully and the room swallowed him, Nicholas tightened his grip on the expression Papa loved most.