The Color of His Eyes Chapter 9
I completely forgot to post this here when I updated!

This is my least favorite story, but by golly I intend to finish it.

Title: The Color of His Eyes
Summary: When Flash, a carefree skateboarder of the future, acquires an exotic slave, both of their lives are changed.
Warnings: M/M, Violence, Abuse, Non-con, Graphic Sex



Pain. Lots of pain. Rainbow’s hair was drenched with sweat, reeking of it. He concentrated on keeping silent, on keeping still, on keeping the green and silver and pink out of his eyes. And red, dark like blood pain anger meat hunting. Rage pulled at him, so tempting, a lurking easy rush, but that was what they wanted. He remembered. Memories of earlier hospitals assaulted him, and this time they did nothing but parallel the present. He was stronger now, he told himself. Flash would come for him. He would find Flash.

“Is the subject secured?”

“Yes, sir. After a great deal of effort.”

“Good. Its records indicate it was undergoing extensive emotional priming when we last worked with it. Let us resume.”

“Yes, sir. The stimulus is ready.”

“Commence.”

More pain. More sweat. More effort. His senses began to swirl. Boots clacking. Pen smell ink scratch on paper. Voices. Pain. Human smell. Lights lights brightness.

*****

The Rekikor had pluck. Kriver had to admit that. For such a little thing it seemed immensely strong. After a week of intensive torture – the scientists had their own stupid name for it, but Kriver was never one to beat around the bush – it was still holding out. Kriver paced around the white, sterile room that could have passed for a hospital room if not for the creature strapped down in the center, writhing in pain. Several scientists stood about him, making notes on their hand comps. Kriver held the Rekikor’s file.

“And what do you call it, again?” he asked the head scientist, a Dr. Prespor.

“Priming,” the man replied in clipped tones. “The object is to reduce the Rekikor to a state of pure emotion. Rage is often convenient for this use, but fear and love will also do. We had thought rage would be an easy emotion to incite in this specimen, since it was so encased in it when it was taken, but it has proven… stubborn.”

“So you’ve moved on to fear?” Kriver asked.

“Clearly,” Dr. Prespor was meticulously polite, but Kriver heard contempt in his tone. “Once we can isolate an emotion in the Rekikor, it becomes much easier to regulate them through a series of ingrained responses.”

“And all Rekiki go through this?” Kriver knew from the Rekikor’s file that they didn’t, but he asked the question anyway just to make a point. He didn’t need any jumped up scientists getting pissy with him.

“No,” replied the doctor through gritted teeth. Kriver smiled politely, the very picture of an earnest pupil. “This training –” And here he was interrupted by some lab coat twit: “The subject is not showing any response to the stimulus, Dr. Prespor.”

“Yes, I see that. Intensify the stimulus for two more minutes. If it shows no response, we will change tactics.” The lab coat fiddled with some switches, and the Rekikor cried out, high and pained before it cut itself off sharply. The room was quiet for a moment except for the Rekikor’s heavy breathing, before the doctor spoke again. “This training differs in two respects. Almost all Rekiki are trained from a very early age, and meet conditioning with weak resistance, if any. This Rekikor is very focused, maintaining a level of clarity I have yet to see in any specimen, and we have had to adapt our strategies accordingly.

“This specimen,” the doctor continued, “has also been singled out in the past for experimental training. My predecessors were, as it says in the file –” and here the doctor spared a glance for the file in Kriver’s hand, “attempting to isolate black pigment in the Rekikor’s irises, which they believed corresponded with a hunting instinct that would prove very valuable to military operations. My orders were to continue with this objective.”

Kriver watched the Rekikor try to keep still as it was dosed with frightening amounts of electricity. “This won’t kill him?”

“There is always that possibility,” Dr. Prespor admitted. “We have yet to give him lethal doses of drugs or electricity, however. My only real concern is that he will go mad, as has happened in several cases of reconditioning. It is a delicate situation.”

“Huh,” replied Kriver noncommittally. The electricity stopped, then, and Dr. Prespor took his leave with only a nod before going over to his little minions to discuss new ways to torment the Rekikor. The Rekikor, spared for a moment, panted, trying to regain its breath, its gaze darting all about the room. Its eyes passed over Kriver without seeming to recognize him.

“I want to talk to it,” Kriver said, and the lab coats looked at him. He smiled.

“That might be unwise,” said Dr. Prespor, his entire body screaming “fuck off.”

“I’ve been chasing this thing for far too long not to say hello,” Kriver insisted.

Dr. Prespor nodded, and Kriver approached the table. He caught himself approaching slowly, actually being cautious around this animal, who was strapped down and weak as a kitten, and kicked himself. “Rekikor,” he tried.

No response.

“Rainbow,” he tried again, and suddenly those weird white eyes were staring right at him. No hint of the cacophony of colors that must have gotten him that name. Kriver marveled that something that looked so human in so many respects could also look so… alien. “You gave us quite a run for our money, y’know.”

The Rekikor tilted its head at him, as though trying to understand.

“The Agency’s been on you ever since you were stolen away from the labs.”

The Rekikor frowned and looked away. “The farm. All those dogs…” it said, and its voice sounded remarkably human.

“Yes, we heard about your little stunts in the ring. If it helps, those men have been arrested.”

The Rekikor said nothing.

“We have access to them. Wouldn’t you want to give them a dose of their own medicine, to hurt them the way they hurt you?” Kriver was surprised that those idiots were still alive. They’d had a live, unconditioned Rekikor in fighting shape, and they had done everything possible to provoke him. Then again, he’d seen the chains they’d used to keep the Rekikor down, and the gods only knew what other kinds of tortures they’d subdued him with. If anything would inspire an emotional reaction in the Rekikor, he was betting this would.

“Where is Flash?” the Rekikor asked, as though he had not heard Kriver’s question.

“Flash is fine. He’s safe. You’ll see him when you prove that you’re good. Don’t you want to be good for us?”

The Rekikor turned back to him then, his eyes still that haunting white. And then he said with perfect serenity, “No, I don’t think I do.”

Dr. Prespor actually snickered at that.

Kriver clenched his jaws. “I’m going to enjoy watching you break.”

He told himself he wasn’t hurrying as he left the room, he was just walking with purpose.

88888

Sitting in the jail cell, waiting for someone to kill him or torture him, the way they were undoubtedly doing to Rainbow, Flash realized just how much he had failed. He’d thought his strongest moment was the day he left his inheritance and his name and resolved to be a human being. He’d run away from everything he’d ever known to become someone else, and he’d even fucked that up. The first chance he got to prove his humanity, and he fucked it up. Rainbow had needed his help, and what had he done? He’d fucked the kid and locked him up and ignored him, and now Rainbow was going to be tortured and used and slowly killed. And Flash didn’t even have the chance to help him, since he’d given up his power along with his name, and the man he’d thought was his friend had betrayed him.

Flash had had nothing to eat in the past few weeks but vitamin-rich mush and artificial water, but he didn’t feel hungry. He could have stopped this. If he had still been Frederick Hunter, no Agent would have *dared* to touch him. It had never occurred to Flash that the Hunter name could be used for anything that wasn’t corrupt.

And he’d left it all behind.

He was useless. Worse than useless. He’d been so stupid. He finally met the one slave he could actually help, actually wanted to help, and he’d been so obsessed with his own stupid need to be a good master that he’d completely forgotten about being a friend. Rainbow – gods, what a stupid fucking name – had put up with everything he’d thrown at him. What had that Fayelian said? The Rekikor would take any abuse from him. And he’d abused the poor kid, hadn’t he?

He’d been a fuck up from start to finish, now that he faced it. Born into one of the richest, most influential families in the world, and he’d hated it. He’d hated every minute of failing to be his father’s protégé, when he had been too soft-hearted for his father to look at him, and he’d hated it more when he’d been the son his father wanted. What kind of fucked up was that?

He’d run from that, just like he’d run from everything. His father had finally died, and he hadn’t been able to face being the next Hunter. And he’d run from it, and he’d fucked that up, too, hadn’t he? Because even with a new name and a new home and a new life he was still the same old ruthless, domineering Freddy, who broke slaves with a blink of an eye when he wasn’t too busy pussyfooting around. The same Freddy with the ruthless business acumen when he wasn’t being dumber than *rocks* by trusting the person who had landed him in this goddamn mess.

He was a mess. And he was going to die because of it. Flash was pretty sure he was okay with that. He’d always been a quitter. Life was just the next thing to quit.

But he wished Rainbow wasn’t suffering because of it. He wished he could have saved Rainbow.

888888

It took Adaise a week to work it out.

Adaise knew what people said about Fayelians. Chatterboxes. Social pests. More cheerful than a robo-canary on crack. Stupid, people called them.

But Adaise wasn’t stupid.

He’d known there was something odd about the boy as soon as he’d seen him. He’d recognized him, even in that dingy old apartment. Something about the eyes, the curve of the jaw. It had pinged the memory processors in his brain, so different than any human one. He had managed to stall, to keep the boy around until it came to him. He kept it revolving in the back of his mind – eyes and jaw, eyes and jaw – until all of a sudden it struck him. Eyes and jaw and chin and mouth and voice and all of a sudden Adaise knew exactly who the Agency had managed to capture.

Adaise also knew who he was going to tell this golden fact to. It wasn’t Kriver.

It wasn’t an Agent at all.

888888

Rainbow did not feel the pain anymore. He was not sure he had convinced his body to do this or if the electricity had simply burnt away his nerves somehow, but he knew that he did not feel pain anymore and that it was good. The humans spoke to him often, now, and brought in other humans and other things that brought him pain he did not feel anymore.

They brought in a dog one day. He smelled it before he saw it, and then they brought it right up to where he was strapped down and it reared up and put its paws on his chest as it stared down at him. And he remembered. He remembered many things: the snarls of the dogs as they leapt at him, the jeering of the humans surrounding the pit, the way they fucked him and hurt him whenever he lost. He remembered the nights locked in a cage reeking of shit and the shouts he heard each night, the way he used to cower when anyone came near and flinch away from the light.

But now he also remembered Flash, and the other dog. The other dog who had done nothing to him, who had not attacked him even when he had attacked it. That dog had made pained noises like he had used to make.

Slowly the two memories of the dogs superimposed themselves over the snuffling face of this dog. This dog was not snarling at him. He did not fear this dog. He did nothing, and they took it away.

He thought he might feel good after they took the dog away. But he didn’t. He didn’t feel much of anything. He didn’t feel anything when they brought in two of the humans who had made him fight the dogs, either.


The man who smelled of coffee was there. He smiled. “You’ll remember good ol’ Rob and Jorge, here.”

The two men looked much the same as he had remembered, haggard and dirty. They were wearing different clothes, but they still smelled the same. He remembered the way their come had smelled, had tasted, the way their cocks had felt inside him and the way their fists had hurt. One of them used to have a ring on his finger. He didn’t now.

“We got them out of prison just to visit you,” coffee man said. “Say hello, boys.”

“Hi, bitch,” one had said.

“Still the same slut we used to know?” said the other. “It was you who landed us in all this trouble, you know. The cunt we sold you to narced on us.”

“Lucky for us the little bitch is in the same prison we are, no bars between us, and we remind him of his little mistake every night.”

“He ain’t tight as you were, boy. No way, no how.”

He heard the words and remembered the way these men had screamed at him. They had seemed so loud then, the only sound in the world had been their angry voices. Those voices had followed him everywhere, haunting him. But now, hearing them again… he felt nothing.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” coffee main prodded him.

He looked at the men who for nearly a year had ruled his every waking moment and most of his dreams. They were just men, he realized. Just humans, the same kind he had killed, the same kind who hurt him now. They were like the dog who had come before. They could not touch him now.

“No, I don’t think I do,” he said simply.

The coffee man looked angry, but he took the men away. The doctors came back, and he stared at the ceiling once more.

Sometimes he wondered what the other Rekiki might think of him, if they saw him now. He remembered the rage he had felt as he fought with them. He did not feel that rage now, even at the humans who hurt him. He didn’t feel much of anything, anymore, except a gentle lassitude that made it easy to lie strapped to the table day after day, under the harsh lights that had once heard his eyes. They couldn’t get to him, not the parts they wanted, anyway. He was safe. He did not feel the urge to wander, to hunt, to find his family or his mate. He could lie here forever, or at least until they killed him.

And then one day they brought in Flash.

He was with the other man, the man who smelled like coffee, who had been there before. Flash’s hands were tied behind his back, and he smelled like sweat and fear. The rims of his eyes were all pink and puffy, and the hair on his face was all overgrown. There were two other humans, not the coffee man, who were holding Flash so he couldn’t escape, and he looked so small next to them. He was bigger than Rainbow, of course, but he did not look stronger.

“Rainbow,” Flash said, and he thought Flash’s voice sounded rough. The sound made Rainbow feel… something. He could not name what it was.

“Hi, Flash,” he said absently, focusing more on what was rising up inside him.

“Rainbow? Are you okay? I’m sorry, Rainbow. Gods, I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t respond. His heart felt strange in his chest. He felt hotter somehow, seeing Flash the way he did, tired and underfed and so desperate, and seeing the coffee man grinning down at him again.

“What’s wrong with him? Why is there no color in his eyes?”

He felt the urge to move again. He jerked against the straps voluntarily, but they held as they always did. That didn’t help. He didn’t do it again. But he had to do something, had to figure out what this was.

“Rekikor eyes go white when they’re not moved by anything,” said the coffee man. “What kind of idiot doesn’t know that?”

Oh. Now he knew what it was. The coffee man’s voice made it clear, suddenly. And when he realized what was happening he looked around, to see if the humans had noticed. They were so poor at reading Rekiki, but surely they must notice that his eyes had gone pink, and would soon go pure, violent red.

But they did not notice. And he did not feel the rage take him. He was angry, yes. So angry. He felt as though he would tear everyone apart right now just to rescue Flash. He felt like Flash was the only one there, the only one in the world.

“What color are my eyes?”

Flash looked confused, he though. He frowned, and that was often the way humans showed confusion. “They’re white, Rainbow.” He smiled weakly. “Guess your name seems silly now, huh?”

Before Rainbow could figure out the answer to that, another revelation struck him. “Flash, I want to leave here.”

And that was true, now. The contentment had left him. He wanted to leave, to be as far away as possible. He was desperate to escape his bonds, to wreak havoc on every human in this room but Flash. He would never hurt Flash.

He had never felt this angry without the red anger coming. He was so close to the rage: there was no fear, no uncertainty. But his mind was still clear, not hazy with wrath. His eyes weren’t red, or even pink. He couldn’t understand it.

“All right, kid,” said the coffee man to Flash. “Time to go. This was a bust.” Then he turned to Rainbow. “Any parting words, lover boy?”

“I think,” he said, and then he had to stop for a second to clarify to himself what it was he wanted. He looked the coffee man directly in the eye. “I think I’m going to enjoy killing you.”