I will always respect Mike for coming forward first. Not because it was brave he was, though that mattered - he was terrified - his expression looked like he had already been stung. It was his decisiveness.

I don't know his exact motivation. Reasoning or gut instinct, friendship toward me, or - it doesn't matter.

What matters is he heard my words and stood up, face white, and walked forward.

I've never had a way with words, never enjoyed speaking. And so I it wasn't so much a speech so much as a short statement, that I intend to find out what's going on, who's deciding they can take people's freedom. And I intend to destroy them and reveal it to the world.

Then I intend to be something better, an opposition - not a part of the government, but to do what they were supposed to do in the first place, protect freedom. It was my belief that it would be enough - to protect the the Dungeons, to ensure that, as long as people had access to them, and to the information about them, they could make their own decision.

That anybody, in any situation, that was willing to risk their lives in order to make it better, food, water, resources, skills...everything was there - that nothing wrong could come of it. At the same time 'Divers' had to be kept in check as well, that there was a singular punishment for infringing on people's freedom - Death.

I couldn't afford to be complicated, and I didn't have time to figure it out, to ask hard questions. I wish I had my father here, his wisdom. But at the same time, I knew I was going to be a criminal, a terrorist - perhaps it wasn't real to them, not yet, but -

"I'm not sure how many people I killed. Already. Doctors. And they may have been innocent, they may not have known I was innocent - which is why the most important thing I can do is help people understand that they are responsible for what they do. Even in ignorance.

Decisiveness was necessary for success. Murder. Execution. Life is freedom, to take it?

"So this is my oath that I offer - I will stand for freedom at all costs. If you are ever captured, I will free you or die trying, as you freed me. That there is only one crime I will acknowledge - Intentional Dungeon Infringement, and its punishment is death. I will not negotiate for your freedom, nor will you negotiate for mine. And I will teach you - how to kill yourself, should I fail."

Just pain and a promise - that's what I offered to people that wanted to be my friends...

The worst pain in existence - I explained it, that I'd pissed myself. Lost my sanity in its grasp and probably following, that death is easier than this. Anything would be easier then this - but if they could survive it...was willing to face it again, then they could face anything, that they wouldn't worry about betraying a secret under torture -

Mike walked forward and I offered my hand out and our grips and I guided the stings into our palms.

After - Derrik would tell me that he didn't know so much happiness and sorrow could fit on one person's face. But right now my only focus is on Mike, I'm ready with a potion, to heal him if I need to. He thrashes and twists upon the ground, screaming - trying to jerk his hand from me at first, but my grip is impossible.

Babbling and pleading for mercy, to make it stop, threats - what he really thinks of me, he begs me to kill him - to let him kill himself -

New Contact Added! Micheal Arroyo

His condition was the same mine, my first time. Wet snot dripping as I release his hand to cradle it. He rocks back and forth with garbled moans. I kneel down next to him and put my hand on his shoulder and he jerks it away, rolling in the stand and I hate myself - I stood up again and looked at the other three.

They had stood up as it occurred but hadn't approached, huddled close, just outside the range of the pain seizure but reaching with both hands out with fear, with sympathy, with helplessness. Nobody stepped forward and I thought it was over, as Derrik and Jason backpedaled as soon as they felt Mike was alright.

Brandon didn't move.

I held my grip open and he looked down at my palm and I saw the narrowing, the pressure that always seemed to exist between us, neither of us ever pulling the other closer - always pushing - that's how our hands connected, in a crushing grip and ice eyes, and then we collided. With all the effort that Mike used to escape, Brandon put into killing me -

It was a second - I looked into his eyes and felt both weight and weighing, the sting, and then his eyes just kept widening, one more second. and I thought he was taking it, that he - he Roared!

Furious blows unleashed, the first punch dazing me as only the padding of my Cowl kept it from knocking me out, instead it twisted and drooped over my head with broken bone and my head rung, dazed, another blow even as now he did pull me, pulled me into the punch, I kept my grip on his arm, throwing my back back and the blow glanced across my cheek, knocking my Cowl off, instantly I felt the loss of strength I needed -

His knee was already coming up for my groin, no - a feint, as I bowed forward to protect my balls, his knee found my gut, winding me, I felt the gorge rise but I realized -

He could kill me, and I felt the fight - for life, the seriousness and fury on his face, the total loss of awareness I held onto his hand, diving forward, throwing my shoulder into his stomach to limit his ability to swing - foolish, a wrestler - trained to fight fair, but angry, Brandon was all spit and grit, blood running out of his mouth, not from any blow delivered -

Biting himself, his lips his tongue, he spat it at me, slapping and spraying my face as I tried to hold him there, to climb and keep him pinned - keep Brandon pinned? With one hand bound -

The other guys shouted, even Mike - "Fuck em' up!" Not harsh, still dazed, I only payed attention in case he wasn't alright, Brandon threw me off his chest, using our grip to swing me, and -

*Snap*

My arm was broken, useless and my grip broken, he piled on top, crushing my face with punch after punch, with my head against the sand, my head shaking - No with every blow that rocked it side to side, I threw my unbroken left up in a v to block and take the hits, but realizing my neck was more vulnerable I put it there instead - but he didn't go for it, he wasn't trying to kill me. Wasn't going for my vitals, wasn't using a weapon - and he didn't have enough health for me to risk -

And a part of me wanted him to hit me - wanted to share his pain. Did he feel responsible? That he had brought me here, with his friends? That at first I had thought of him like a Shepard over them, their leader - now I didn't see it as he mauled me unapologetically like a guard dog let loose his leash, bark and bite - the rabid breath of his fury passed with a final billowing blow and he sagged - looking down at me like he was trying to read a map - finding himself lost and betrayed, not knowing how he got here -

I leaned up, to hug him, to thank him. But rather it was my eyes or threat of my closeness the second my back left the sand two palms wet with my blood slammed my chest back into the ground throwing himself away he landed on his feet and ran off.

I stood up and held out my hand in silence knowing - this was a terrible idea, and I sensed the schism, that friendship - it had become a pipe dream, now just a toxic hallucination brought on by the devil's lubricant, and that they wanted nothing to do with me. Then Jason stepped forward and slapped his hand into my palm almost before I could react -

A repeat to Mike - more bitter vitriol, words alone, that months ago could have sent me home sick, wondering what I had done to make a person hate me so much, I listened to with an open ear and nodded. Felt the pain and understood, sharing the sentiment.

Then Derrik surprised me, as the last stings were delivered he stood across from me staring into my eyes. Eyes that were hard to pin down, because I had spent so much time in my life avoiding - not looking into people's eyes, they were hard to compare. I was surprised I thought of Hannah, but I often did, and it was probably the intelligence there. Always reading -

It wasn't comfortable for me, as it was easy with her, I wanted to be read and revealed under her gaze. But Derek was a critic, where Hannah took in everything, I felt like he saw mistakes first - flaws. Weaknesses. But there was also a small worth there, too, now. If I looked deep - but instead I went shallow and took in all of him.

How young and innocent he looked, smaller, and even as I revolt against the word I can't help but describe him as cherished, not by me, perhaps, but - there was something very pure and it felt to me like gazing upon a placid lake, beautiful. Uncertain depths, or what lies within -

Four seconds. That's how long it took, that's how much time I had to look at him, as the pain seeped through I counted and I wondered if the bug was spent? Had I not kept them separate, because he didn't react - just one eye twitched. The tiny sheen of perspiration where the crown of his hair rode his brow. It was the fifth second when the spell broke and he collapsed and seized, matching the rest, twisting in my grip and with my Cowl returned - without the size and skill, my arm wrestling was enough to keep him contained -

All while I was dazed, astounded even - at his control. And it had to be intentional, that he could have fell, could have behaved like all the others, he wanted to demonstrate something to me. Something important enough that he was able to resist pain. It chilled me, because - how?

I couldn't imagine anything, any way too...I wished he had cussed me like the rest, because I wanted, still, to not trust him. Maybe I was bitter, still, from before - or I was reluctant to admit I could be wrong, but it would have been easier to hold onto something - some proof, if in the throes of painful passion he had shouted his feelings, and I could lock onto it.

And the bitterness I directed toward myself - for such an awful monologue, as he sobbed over the pain. As it was just as real as my own had been, and I found myself begrudging his steadfastness under its weight?

I hadn't tried to comfort, or push my luck, for the others. Their eyes said enough. I washed and changed, letting myself heal, working on crafting, staring at the ocean, letting the waves wash away the weariness. Still my mind was coated in a cotton, the safe room padding my brain had erected to deaden the clamor of captivity, and I slipped into the hut to lie down throwing blankets and pillows out, thankful the expanding mud hadn't ruined them -

I found my mind spinning still, I couldn't slow - so I began to rock, in my chair, and started crafting again. Picking up one of the hides I'd skinned, with my advanced abilities using what they made was a waste of effort, as long as the materials were plentiful.

Twenty minutes - and the delightful leather from those hideous bird-lizards was stretched and drying, scraped clean to a sheen I began puncturing holes in one, thousands of pin prick holes with a wood roller with small attached needles I'd had it grow around, even as I pounded it, encouraging it to stretch - as I held it up, admiring the greenish color and reached for a bit of sandpaper to dull it's sheen -

I stared at it and it as it dropped from my third hand, suddenly gone it floated to the ground -

Strange...I wasn't in here, but I had always pretended that I was. Moving things with my mind, I pretended it was my hands folding, cutting, twisting. It was so much faster because I wasn't limited by my body, but I had still been limited by my mind - my imagination of how my body worked...how things could be done. It was more like I'd been just teleporting through there, appearing where I needed to be?

Slowly I tried to pick up the sandpaper again, this time using just my mind, and it was too heavy. Like my mind knew I shouldn't be able to lift it - not with my mental hands occupied, holding up the leather before me. But I'd already done it - I reminded myself.

It didn't matter. You can't lift something with your mind.

Fine.

I'll use my foot - and I did and it was easy, easy now with four hands, or rather feet.

Stupid - why did that matter? I was still doing something impossible? I couldn't split my focus I realized as I tried to examine the reasoning behind my struggle, and then the solution - everything tumbled away. Instead I was forced to exert additional concentration to -

I was growing tired, the strain of it, and my exhaustion. Four hands were harder than two, and still paying attention to the outside, I realized I had been doing everything, anything - still, to avoid processing what had happened to me. I knew I needed to sleep - let myself heal, but I picked at the memories like a scab.

They moaned as I saw them again, nothing new to gain, nothing to unpack but the helplessness - the desolation. How I hadn't just killed myself...how I even managed to fight back. And if I hadn't?

I could have been there forever - crying for help, for mercy, unheard. Only dumb luck, that Brandon had chased a portal. That we had bonded. Shaken hands. That Mike had the drive, and Brandon had been willing to go again after I bailed...it was never a good feeling, to be saved by luck.

"Cody?" I bolted up with an indrawn breath - suddenly realizing I'd passed out, feeling safer, now - that I knew it was possible, that even if they hated me, they wouldn't leave me in a pit of hell. That even without friendship, I had no problem believing and trusting their decency. And of course I'd had a nightmare...

"Mike?"

"Sorry. Were you sleeping?"

"Yeah." I said, I felt how my cheeks were wet, great - sleep crying, "What's up."

"Oh. We were just setting up camp and everything."

"Alright. Did you need help?"

"No, it's a small tent. We got it."

"Alright then." I nodded, and he started to turn away, then dove and landed next to me.

"I hate you." Mike whispered.

"That's alright." I nodded, feeling the disappointment, but also the peace that chased it. My father's words echoed, 'You can't win them all, Son." And I settled on content - knowing I'd been true to myself, that it was a victory, if a lonely one.

"I've hated all of them." He belched a laugh and I swung my full attention over to him, "We're not really friends anymore, we've been through some shit, you saw a bit of what are lives are like, maybe heard the rumors."

I shook my head. Who would tell me? And I'd always been too busy, too selfish, over my own pain - I didn't consider others...

"Wait...to ask them. Wait for them to tell you." Mike whispered, a mix between plea and demand, "They've had enough pain tonight. I know I have."

I nodded.

"So have you."

I nodded again.

"Does it get any easier?" He whispered.

I shrugged, "You get use to it. It's like a bit like a tan, really."

"Isn't that crazy - I'm going islander already, I guess we heal and tan so fast -"

"What are you two doing!" Derrik shouted, as he crawled through the door like he was trying to spook us, sneaking in then a burst of - Jason, right on his heels who screamed as he entered, like he'd walked in on something disgusting...

"Shut the fuck up!" Brandon shouted back. I heard the tap, tap, tap, of his can. Then I heard the long splash as he pissed and I scrunched my face into a frown...they really need to figure out their inventories.

Then he ripped ass -

Mike giggled.

"You gotta get him to switch up that fucking protein, Mike. He's dastard."

"Get your head out of his ass and it won't be so bad, bro." Mike reached across me and Jason and shoved him.

*snap-tiss*

"You guys brought beer?!" I asked, laughing, at how ridiculous and stupid - how right

"Of course." Mike said, closing his eyes, but I was already popping out the beers I'd loaded myself full of in my 'Suite' before being organ donor of the month.

We all started popping the caps off. I could have left the caps in inventory, but the best part about drinking a beer is opening them since they tasted so bad. I didn't say that of course, I wasn't a complete social imbecile, I didn't even need my skill -

I took a long gulp as my eyes watered, forcing it down in loud, heavy gulps.

"This tastes like shit." Jason said after a sip.

"Yeah, what is this? This isn't beer." Mike nodded.

"Fucking hell. Stout!" Derrik spit his back into the bottle, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I want a darkie." Brandon said, poking his head in, "Move over!"

I shifted and he crashed between me and Mike.

"To Cody being a rat-dicked bastard!" Mike called, lifting his bottle, the beer splashed as he punched his into mine - I'd drank enough, but I laughed as Mike had to dive over it, catching the foam's escape.

"I spit in mine! I need a real beer."

We drank another sip, and the other three grimaced. Brandon examined the bottle, then cracked it open. Compared to dip, anything had to taste good, right?

"Everyone's good?" I asked, I can feel Brandon leaning into me and Mike giving him a look. I fight to hide my smirk because I'd already decided how I was going to pay him back for beating the shit out of me, "You can handle this?" I used my beer to gesture, making it clear I meant everything - the dungeon, me, the awful beer, and the life it was leading up to.

They nodded, grunting agreement clear. I can't help it, I'm smiling, trying to keep it out of my voice.

"Good. Cause that wasn't actually the bad one. This is the real -"

A screeching, chittering blue Queen appeared on my chest playing them a most welcoming song -

I spent the next ten minutes laughing hysterically. Rebuilding the little fort a lot bigger and stronger, away from all the new wet spots from beer and - all while ignoring Mike, Jason, and Derek as they punched me over and over again, cussing.

Brandon was still running out there somewhere.

"Rat-dicked bastard...?" I shrugged off their blows, "I'll tell you who didn't screech like a rat-dicked bastard."