Chapter Text
Chosen sat in his chair, unsure what he was supposed to be feeling. He had spent a lot of time as Alan's hostage, but when he was not working for him blocking ads, he had been put in the chest. While it certainly was constraining, it was not as immobilizing as victim's ropes and the weariness that bound him now. Was it weird to be tied up and beaten, but worrying about how numb his butt was getting?
There was going to be a lot of pins and needles whenever he finally got up.
He leaned his head against the back of the chair, though it was a smidge too short and left his neck aching. His whole body was aching, except the fuzzy places that had been cut off from blood flow. Not fuzzy – heavy, like waterlogged branches. Strangely disconnected from his sense of touch. He tried to shift, to get all his feeling back, but he was too tired.
The beatdown from victim had been exhausting, but he could handle it. After all, one doesn't live with a violent psycho for years without getting used to a little roughhousing. While victim had, of course, been harsher than most any of Dark's play fighting, it was the malice behind it that had stuck out to Chosen.
Nobody enjoyed cruelty, and Chosen himself had been subjected to surprisingly little of it. He had seen Dark display it often, but not until the very end of the red stick's life had it been directed at him. Even back during Chosen's years of slavery, Alan had moved on from his immature delight in suffering and simply used Chosen as a tool. The indifference had hurt plenty, but now, he decided that the blatant hatred was worse.
victim wanted Alan. He seemed to think that Chosen didn't know why that was, and the black stick wasn't keen on giving him any more information than he already had.
Alan had journaled on the PC while Chosen was on duty. He didn't write about victim often, mostly just whined about schoolwork and stuff, but Chosen knew enough to pity the gray hollowhead. That didn't mean he wasn't upset about his current situation, though.
The ropes still bit into his skin the same way they had been doing for the last several hours since victim left. His jaw still ached from that nasty uppercut. His back still stung from the whip. His butt was still numb.
Ugh, this was so boring! At least when he was being interrogated (was that the right word? He hadn't been asked anything until near the end), he was up and moving, making choices and engaging with his surroundings. Now, his body throbbed without adrenaline or distractions to dull the pain.
He tried to go over everything he knew one more time, like going through your hand again in solitaire even when you know you're stuck. He and Second were trapped in Rocket Corp with their older brother, victim, who hated Alan, understandably so. Chosen had refused to say anything about the cursor, though he knew it at least originated from Ohio (and had the IP address memorized just in case). There was no love lost between him and Alan, but Second and his friends lived there.
Chosen cringed at the though of the orange kid finding out about his beloved Animator's dark past. As far as he knew, victim hadn't told him anything – he hadn't gone into Second's cell at all that Chosen had seen. But he also knew that anything could have happened while he was paused.
Even as he thought the words, two workers walked up to the cell tucked into the corner of the room, cuffed Second, and led him away.
Chosen's eyes followed his little brother, worry hammering away at his mind. There was nothing he could do, though, so he listened hard in case Second started screaming.
He didn't. Either he wasn't being hurt or he was too far away to hear. He wouldn't put the second option past victim, but the orange hollowhead looked physically fine, if slightly shaken, when he was brought back just a few minutes later. Chosen wished he could ask him where he was taken, but all previous attempts at communicating had proved that the Box was soundproof.
The Box… Chosen couldn't help but admire the ingenuity of the thing, even if it was being used against him. Dark would have been fascinated by the engineering…
victim was there. In the room. The soreness in Chosen's body pulsed, like it smarted at the knowledge that its inflictor was nearby. Tense, but trying not to be obvious about it, Chosen braced for another confrontation.
victim, though, didn't even make for the Box – Agent wasn't there to work the control panel, anyway. Instead, he crouched down by Second's cell. Chosen could not identify either words or emotions by watching his face. While the oldest hollowhead had shown zero hesitance in displaying his ill will for Chosen, there was none of the same for Second.
The youngest of the four was squished into the farthest corner from his brother anyway, clearly terrified. Chosen wondered if something had happened to him while he was gone, not stopping to think that Second's first impression of victim had been to see him beating the crap out of his seemingly innocent brother.
Chosen watched the back and forth warily. A demand, clearly, from victim. A hesitant reply from Second. An unperturbed response. A confused scratch of the head. A discreet eye roll. An apology, the word "sorry" curving around the little orange mouth clearly enough to be identified in total silence.
Second apologized way too much, in Chosen's opinion, so it was probably out of habit that he said it to victim. Still, it got him wondering what it was that Second had felt genuinely unable to provide. He didn't have much time to think about it, though, as victim was now definitely heading for the Box. Still no Agent in sight.
The door lifted with a quiet whoosh. victim stepped inside, not even bothering to close it. With his powers limited, and tightly bound, Chosen had absolutely no way to escape even if he wasn't deep inside Rocket Corp's facility. He re-braced himself.
victim, though, sat himself on the floor a short distance from Chosen, cross-legged. After a short moment of tense silence, the gray stick spoke.
"This morning, I messed up, Chosen One."
Chosen was shocked into silence. That wasn't what he thought was going to happen… at all.
"I promised myself when I began this hunt that it would be an endeavor of justice, not revenge. I acted off of my emotions and hurt you out of anger."
Chosen still had no idea what to say.
"This is not an apology. It is simply to inform you that my intention is not to 'get back' at you for my own sake; rather, I wish to bring you to justice for the sake of those you've hurt."
Chosen's heart sank. He knew he couldn't keep running from his past. He scrambled for something to say. "Then why not hand me over to the police? They never identified me well enough to put out a warrant, but I'm assuming if you went out of your way to capture me, you have proof of my… actions." He was careful not to say "terrorism", since he was surely being recorded.
victim said nothing for a moment, humming softly while he formulated a reply. He was in no hurry. "That would be ideal, yes. But there is another who must answer for his crimes, and that is not one who the police will even try to pursue. You have information about him, so you must help me to do what the authorities will not."
Alan, Chosen knew. With an uncomfortable surge of acceptance, he understood that everything victim said was true. He, too, would not be opposed to seeing Alan face consequences for his actions, but he could not give up the color gang's home and stability. Alan was their Hestia, as jealous as he was of them.
"I simply need a way to find him and I shall turn you over to the proper authorities to be dealt with."
victim's words pulled Chosen from his thoughts. He didn't want to give him the answer he wanted, but his interrogator was clearly waiting for a response. Instead, Chosen asked a question of his own. He didn't want to ask it much more than answer the first one, but he had to know anyway.
"Who was it?"
His voice rang with despair. The fact remained that victim, despite his monologue about justice, did harbor a deep animosity for him. There was a reason. There had to be.
victim stiffened and was silent for a long moment before replying. "My wife," he breathed.
The emotion that flooded Chosen's heart was hot and unpleasant. Fear? No, shame. Heavy, electric guilt. The same echo that had built up for years until it finally revealed its magnitude at the first sight of the Virabot. Now, it had an identity. Chosen's sister in law.
He looked away, too cowardly to even hold victim's gaze.
"I was lucky enough not to witness your barbaric actions." A bit of anger bled into victim's tone, and he stopped and took a deep breath. "Our good friend Agent witnessed it firsthand, and I saw it in the memory scanner, so I know it wasn't a mistake. He might hate you as much as I do."
Chosen privately thought that Agent was much better at hiding it. "If you have a memory scanner, why bother interrogating me?"
"Because I destroyed it," victim admitted, "in a foolish fit of rage at what I saw. Years of research and work and trouble gone." He leaned forward. "It's why I'm so determined not to act on passion now. It fixes nothing."
The control victim displayed was impressive. Chosen had never had a significant other but he imagined the pain of losing one to be unimaginable. He can't believe he ever thought he enjoyed inflicting this suffering. He looked back up at victim, bearing the eye contact only for a second before averting his gaze.
"For whatever it's worth… I'm sorry," he whispered forlornly.
"Nothing." victim did not betray further anger in his words, but his voice was cold with certainty. "It is worth nothing."
There was a long moment of silence. victim studied Chosen with chilling scrutiny. Chosen, meanwhile, continued to avoid looking at his older brother.
Eventually the gray hollowhead stood. "Although I do intend to remain… calm… from here on out, do not assume that my dedication will make your stay any more pleasant for you. There is nothing I could ever do to you that could ever hope to repay the cost of innocent lives stolen, so I have no problems doing whatever I must."
Chosen felt a small thrill of trepidation at the words. Once again, victim was right. No matter what went down in this Box in the coming days, Chosen would never stop hating himself.