Interlude Two

"So Earth isn't destroyed? You sure?" Two asked, his eyes peering through the shop's glass front. The street beyond was devoid of humans, an eerie emptiness that had a look of long abandonment.

"I believe I would have noticed," Ace replied, his focus momentarily shifting from the computer screen. "My work may consume me, but not to that point."

Two turned away from the window, taking in the stark contrast of the shop's interior. Unlike the grimy windows and the rundown street outside, this space gleamed. Every surface, from the floor to the walls, almost reflected the light coming from a myriad of electronic devices scattered around. The man talking to him, Ace, was engrossed in his computer—a scientist, like Papa, and the most attractive human he'd ever laid eyes on. The alien Rin was still prettier, but the Ace was close. 

The scientist seemed kind. Two did not trust kindness. The kind people were either liars or weaklings. And he was pretty sure that Ace was not weak.

"Why aren't you asking any questions?" Two asked. It bothered him. He thought he'd be grilled for details. He had experience with scientists. Being ignored was new. And dangerous. If the scientist had no use for him, who knows what he would do to Two.

"There's no point. I'm the one who fixed your mind. I'm aware of all the pertinent details," Ace replied calmly.

Well, wasn't that a chilling thought? All of his secrets were laid bare. Two's mouth suddenly went dry.

"Everything?" Two asked. "Do you know how I got here?"

"Telepathy, not psychometry. I only know what you know. And those memories were a mess," the blonde scientist said, his tone indifferent as he continued to type.

"You know more," Two said, his voice low and tinged with menace. "I know that you've been in contact with aliens."

"Aliens?" For the first time in their conversation, a note of puzzlement entered Ace's voice. However, it could be a lie. "What aliens?"

"There's no point in pretending. You said you read my mind. You know about the aliens who took me and others. And not just that—there's this." Two pointed triumphantly at the broken circle logo that adorned nearly every piece of scientific equipment and was also printed on all the now-empty boxes stored in the corner.

"The Aperture Science logo?" Ace raised an eyebrow, his expression inscrutable. "We've been using that for more than forty years. What about it?"

"It's everywhere in the alien space base!" Two declared.

"That is trademarked. How perfidious of those aliens." Ace said, his voice tinged with a sardonic amusement that irked Two even more.

"You're making fun of me. Why aren't you taking this seriously?" Frustration was boiling inside Two, his heart pounding faster.

"Because, young man, extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence," Ace replied nonchalantly, his fingers still dancing over the computer keyboard.

"And what I know isn't enough? You read my mind; you know I'm not lying." Two's voice escalated, matching the rising tempo of his heartbeat.

Ace paused his typing and looked directly at Two. "The problem with memories is they can be quite malleable if one has the necessary skills. Given half an hour, I could convince you that you're a little girl. Or a pony. Or both."

"I'm not delusional!" Two snapped, his voice now a shout. He felt his face flush and his hands clench involuntarily.

Ace set aside his computer and stood up, stretching his arms briefly. "Well, not anymore. You were quite the raving madman when you first appeared in the middle of this room. Now, since I'm busy and you seem to have an abundance of energy, why don't you check out the local nightclub? It should be age-appropriate for you, and you might even enjoy it. Just make sure to come back here to sleep. I still need to monitor you for any relapses, which are most likely to occur during the REM phase of sleep."

"How do you know that?" Two had to ask, even though he was already formulating an answer in his mind. He'd had experience with individuals delving into knowledge best left untouched. His mouth was dry, a sensation he knew from past unsettling experiences.

"We've conducted experiments on sanity-reducing objects," Ace answered, his tone calm and rational as if he wasn't discussing the potential to drive someone insane. Almost as an afterthought, Ace added, "Though not to the extent you've been exposed to."

"And what if I run?" The words escaped from Two's mouth before he could stop them. He immediately regretted it. If he planned to run, announcing it was foolish. And if he intended to stay and obey, he shouldn't have even hinted at the possibility of fleeing.

"Don't," Ace responded, his voice unchanged. He didn't tear away his face to reveal some cosmic horror underneath; his eyes didn't blaze like fire, nor did fangs erupt from his mouth. But every muscle in Two's body froze. He wanted to run but found that he couldn't make himself move. "You can't escape me. Don't make me hunt you."

And just as suddenly it started, whatever it was, ended. And Ace was just a slender, pretty man of undetermined age. Harmless looking. "You should have another name. Martin had made Two rather infamous. Luckily, you look quite different, than your leaked picture. Must be the hair. Damien would work."

Two kinds of people seemed kind. Weak and deceptive. Two was now certain which type Ace was.

As Two navigated the deserted streets, following the directions Ace had given him, he found himself lost in thought about the enigmatic older man. Ace had a way of making Two feel as if he could completely trust him. That's precisely why Two didn't trust him at all.

His mind wandered back to the first other gifted child he had met—Three. Three had a silver tongue; he could persuade others to share their hard-won desserts, give away their toys, or go along with his plans. For Two, he had been a useful tool, but one that needed to be wielded carefully. This experience had taught Two to be wary, to distrust his initial feelings, and to reevaluate his decisions, especially after interacting with persuasive individuals like Three.

As he continued his walk, he thought he glimpsed a shadow flitting across the roof of a shop displaying an armless mannequin. His instincts kicked in, and he immediately turned towards it, his arm raised, ready to unleash a telekinetic blast. But there was nothing—just the eerie sound of the wind as it whistled through the desolate streets.

Feeling a little foolish, Two lowered his outstretched arm and carried on, a growing sense of unease settling over him.

As Two approached the bar, he noticed that the streets had started to show signs of life. The closer he got to the entrance, the more apparent it became: a young bouncer, likely in his early twenties and probably working for little more than free drinks and some spare cash, stood guard.

Two handed over the money Ace had given him to the bouncer, marking the first time he had ever paid for something. Up until now, everything had always been provided for him. He decided he liked the sense of power that came with the money.

Inside, the windowless club was an assault on his senses— a cacophony of sounds and a kaleidoscope of colours. The dance floor was packed with young people, their bodies trying and often falling to move in sync with the live band's music, filling the stage.

The crowd was a hodgepodge of styles and philosophies. Some wore vibrant, mismatched colours; others sported ripped T-shirts and combat boots, while some dressed in sleek, chic black. Normally, these choices would have been a foreign language to Two, but the minds of the dancing youth were open books—unshielded and easily readable. He could sense their excitement, their passions; he could glimpse their pasts and their convictions.

Among them were those who had dyed and cropped their hair, those who had let it grow long and adorned it with colorful ribbons, and those who simply tucked it behind their ears, either genuinely indifferent or feigning nonchalance. The room was a melting pot of different personalities: poets and painters, rebels and mess-ups, innocents and thrill-seekers.

As Two stood amidst the pulsating crowd, he couldn't help but compare the scene to the alien music Rin would perform. Sometimes after dinner, Rin would play the silvery harp, enhancing the performance with magnificent illusions. In contrast, the band here seemed crude, their music akin to braying of beasts. But even if the tunes didn't resonate with him, Two could appreciate the effect they had on the club's patrons.

Lust filled the room—bodies pressed close, swaying in rhythm. Two scanned the crowd, his eyes shopping for a new toy. Girl or boy, it did not matter to Two. He was down with both. Numbers closest to him in age were Three, Four and Five, two boys and a girl. And he had done them all. And not one at a time.

But he was in mind something new, something fresh. 

His eyes settled on a few possibilities: a tall girl with fire-engine red hair dancing between a boy and a girl; a timid, mousy-haired girl in a page cut, lingering at the dance floor's edge; and a boy dressed entirely in black, down to his nail polish.

Two decided to tap into his psychic abilities, opening up his mind to the crowd. While he was naturally more skilled in wielding raw telekinetic force, his time with the aliens had broadened his skills considerably. Papa had only touched the surface, but under the aliens' guidance, he had grown stronger and more versatile.

Rin had taught him how to open up his senses, to communicate in a way that transcended language. With this newfound skill, he probed the minds of the people around him, gauging their thoughts and feelings. Who would be open to a quick fling?

Just as he was about to make his choice, something—or someone—caught his psychic attention. He sensed another presence, a psychic signature distinct from the rest. Refocusing his mental eye, he saw him: a redhead little older than himself, sitting alone at the bar and wearing a black T-shirt emblazoned with that all-too-familiar broken circle emblem. Intrigued, Two felt a magnetic pull toward the boy. And as a bonus, he was even prettier than the two girls he had been considering.

Two manoeuvred his way through the crowd, sidestepping the throng of dancers to reach the bar. As he did, he passed the art wall, a sprawling mural of graffiti that extended from the floor to the ceiling. A chaotic blend of band names, symbols, lyrics, and catchphrases adorned the wall, most of which were barely discernible in the dim light. One phrase, however, stood out in gold spray paint: WE ARE NOT AFRAID.

With a confident stride, Two took a seat next to the ginger blonde boy sporting the broken circle shirt. As he reached out to touch the fabric, his fingers skimmed the surface. "Nice shirt. Does it mean anything?"

He watched with satisfaction as the boy stiffened at his touch, clearly unnerved.

"Take your hand off me," the boy snapped. "I don't like being touched."

"Why are you lying to me?" Two's voice dripped with mockery as he continued to caress the boy's chest, feeling the firm muscles underneath. "I can sense your excitement."

The boy seized Two's arm. "Stop."

"But you don't really want me to stop." Two pressed closer, locking eyes with the other boy.

"You don't know what I want."

"Of course I do. Your defences are shit." If There was in his place, the blonde's pretty mouth would already be on his cock. Two should know. "You want to kiss me. You want to hit me. One of those things I will allow. Guess which?"

"You don't even know my name."

The boy glared at Two. He had such pretty eyes. Large and blue, like chips of ice. Two eyes were also blue, but much darker, like a sea at storm. Four once said that she could drown in them. But then Four tended to be a bit poetic after being properly fucked.

"I could. If wanted to." Two pushed, abandoning all pretence of subtlety. "It is Travis… No… Trevor."

Trevor's ginger blond hair stood on end as his entire body tensed up in shock. His icy blue eyes widened, almost bulging out of their sockets, as he stared, unblinking, at the scene before him.

"What!?" Trevor examined, letting go of Two's hand. "You were in my mind! How?"

"Easily." Two smugly said. "You are so open. You were practically inviting me to push in. Why are pretending to be surprised? You are gifted too. I can sense it."

"I am not pretending," Trevor said, crossing his arms defensively. "This is new to me."

"To new experiences," Two declared, toasting with Trevor's glass that he had stolen.

Lifting the glass to his lips, Two took a cautious sip, the effervescence of the liquid fizzing against his tongue. The taste was overwhelmingly sweet, leaving an unappealing aftertaste. "What is this shit?"

"It's Coke. Haven't you had it before?"

"You may say that I had something of an unconventional childhood. I am not sure I like it." Two took another sip. It was better than what had drunk in the lab, but that was a low bar to cross. It could not compare to alien drinks. It lacked something. Some ephemeral quality, that separated good from great. But then the human world on this brief expedition was proving to be quite disappointing. He glanced at Trevor. Well, not all of it. "Shall we kiss? I want something sweeter on my tongue."

"I don't even know your name," Trevor says, sounding a little hesitant. But Two could test more than he could see. Curiosity, hunger. But also there was violence bubbling beneath Trevor's conscious thoughts, like that nasty coke.

Two almost said Two, but then remembered Ace's warning. "Call me Damien." Two considered pushing again for the kiss, but there was another matter he was also interested in. "Now tell me about your T-shirt?"

Trevor's face scrunched up as he furrowed his brows in confusion. His ginger blond hair fell messily over his forehead, partially obscuring his icy blue eyes. He blinked a few times, his gaze darting back and forth as he tried to make sense of the situation before him.

His lips twisted into a slight frown, and he tilted his head to the side as if trying to see things from a different angle. Despite his confusion, there was a hint of curiosity in his expression, a desire to understand what was happening and why.

"My T-shirt?" Trevor asked, "I thought you wanted a kiss."

"If you insist." With a subtle flick of his wrist, Two used his telekinetic abilities to draw Trevor closer. He captured Trevor's lips in a swift, ardent kiss, savoring the other boy's wide-eyed astonishment. In his mind's eye, he saw Trevor's hand form a tight fist, drawing back as if poised to strike.

But then, Trevor seemed to relent, his body softening into the kiss, tension melting away. A triumphant sense of satisfaction welled up in Two. The taste of Trevor was infinitely more satisfying than the Coke, and Two relished it, his tongue sweeping inside to explore every contour.