Anxiety was like a hibernating beast, Winston had once told him.

Hibernating in the cavity of Mitchel’s chest, the beast never flashed its claws or teeth, but the rumble of its voice served as a reminder of its presence. Indefinite and unwavering. Impatient and perturbed. An unwelcome guest pressed up against his heart and lungs.

The feeling persisted as Mitchel pushed around brown tinted water with a large spoon, watching it swirl and simmer over the open flame. Maybe if the color was a little darker, a little warmer, he could pretend it was vegetable broth. He thumbed the package of nutrient powder that was resting beside the stove.

A little more wouldn’t hurt, right?

Mitchel finally glanced at the remaining rations. The nutrient powder he had now would normally last for four more meals, but Mitchel needed to stretch what they still had into four days.

The dehydrated stuff could work for two— maybe three— meals.

Thankfully, Winston had stowed away the dehydrated food for emergencies. But after that, there was nothing left.

Four meals of powder, three with dehydrated… that doesn’t add to four days.

Mitchel continued to frown at the diluted soup.

No. I can’t add any more.

The three previous days had been hard enough without the food problem. With everything that had happened the past few days, from the noble Rwequek to the lockdown, Mitchel almost forgot about their ration crisis. Winston was the one who usually divvied up their meals and Mitchel would eat whatever ended up in front of him. But Winston was stuck at the Facility for at least another four or five days. Their rations would continue to be low for the next week. And if Winston came home in better condition, but still recovering, the ration situation would not change effortlessly.

Behind him, the snip of scissors made his shoulders tense.

And the debts… When are we going to pay off the haggle shop?

“That looks pretty, Gabbi!”

“Stop looking!”

Annie swooped in beside him, lining up an assortment of bowls and cups.

“Looks like sewer water,” she commented.

“Well, I won’t say you’re wrong,” Mitchel agreed. Trying his best to concentrate, he began to divide the liquid amongst the dishes. Every drop counted.

“You missed a bowl, Mitch,” Annie said, pushing the empty bowl towards him.

Mitchel hesitated, biting his lip.

“I’m not that hungry this morning anyways—”

Annie frowned at him.

“It’s your first day at the new job,” she shook her head. “You’re eating.”

Mitchel huffed. He seriously debated if he had enough energy to argue with her this morning. But he knew she was right. He had bigger issues to overcome than just the pain in his stomach. He poured himself some of the brown water and took a sip.

Beside him, she smiled smugly in approval and grabbed her own bowl.

Though his actions pleased Annie, it did nothing to quell the beast in his chest.

***

The beast grew larger as he stepped off the bus and took in the large dwelling, the Alforah manor, that came into view. The most immediate shapes that he noticed were the white ring of panels that formed a dome in front of the main breadth of the building. Flanking both sides were two large rectangular sections where Mitchel figured housed the Rwequeks. As he stared at the crux of the dome, which seemed to glitter in the rising morning sun, he could not figure out a reasonable use for such a structure, but he figured that in time at least some of his many buzzing questions would be answered.

Tingling pin pricks traveled up his arm as his reality came startling into focus. Though he had meticulously chose and cleaned his most presentable clothes, he immediately felt grimy and underwhelming once he approached the ten-foot front door.

Predictably, there were twin guards manning the front so Mitchel could not just waltz in, and he tried his best not to fidget.

“I’m looking for the 37th Mercos,” Mitchel blurted out. It was best to explain himself before they decided to lock him in chains or wallop him on the head with their light blue staffs.

The guards exchanged a look of disbelief between them, but Mitchel quickly pulled out his eyepiece and showed them his conversation with Wrose. A few strained seconds later, the leftmost guard was walking with him around the dome section of the mansion on a dirt trail. Mitchel looked to the left where the terrain had been eaten away by the sun and the forced mining, and then to the right where the mansion lay. The difference between the two was startling and grotesque, Mitchel thought.

The wordless guard showed him to a normal sized door on the section of the house that was black and rectangular. With no further prompting, the guard pushed a button to the right of the door, and it slid upwards with a quiet hiss to Mitchel’s surprise. The blunt end of the guard’s staff ushered him into the room just before the door could fall shut.

Mitchel had been thrown into a short beige room with tiled floors. In a clockwise fashion, he quickly surveyed his new surroundings. On the left wall there were multiple mahogany doors that were all squashed a few feet apart from each other. In between each door hung navy blue coats and accessory items in blacks, golds, and purples. Directly in the back there was two long tables that could fit six people each, judging by the surrounding chairs. A large and strange looking kitchen sprawled in the right corner with appliances Mitchel had never seen before. The only window of the room made the counters of the kitchen gleam. And to Mitchel’s surprise, a hearth burnt brightly against the rightmost wall.

It was not what Mitchel expected. Comfortable was the word he settled on. It felt comfortable with the warmth of fire and the haphazard nature of people’s belongings that sat on the table or were hung on the wall. Notes of sour and sweet smells wafted around in the air, piquing the curiosity of Mitchel’s stomach, and felt staunched in the space as if it were a vital part of this room. It felt lived in and whole, and if Mitchel was a little more naïve, he would have been able to relax in this space.

But this was a Rwequek space, no matter if it was one in disguise. That fact was accentuated by a few Rwequeks that passed through the room quickly. Men and women flickered their bright eyes in his direction for only a moment, their curiosity of his arrival only marred by the steady stream of urgency. No one had a second to spare, it seemed, as food bustled out from the kitchen and through a door that kept opening and closing shut.

Mitchel tried to wipe the curiosity and concern off his face once he spotted a pair of eyes that were staring his way. Wrose was situated at one of the tables in the middle of reading something on a small tablet.

“Ah, 256,” Wrose said with a smile. His voice caught the timbre of the room. “I am pleased you have found your way to the Alforah household.”

As he stood from his seat, the sunlight from the kitchen made the colors under his skin flush brightly.

Wrose’s attire looked as if it had been chipped from an ore of obsidian. His sleek black suit was close to chest and flourished once it reached his hips. Under it, he wore a dark blue body suit embroidered with thin grey thread in the shape of diamonds. Simple silver buckles trailed up the middle of his chest and ended at his neckline, which stopped halfway to his chin. Above his body suit, a wide waistband, almost resembling a corset, hugged him tightly in a bluish silver. All of these aspects made his otherwise broad body look compact and composed as he walked forward. Covering his hands were two plain grey gloves, which he clasped together in front of him. And as he had worn before, three braided chords hung loosely around his neck and ended halfway down his torso. All of the chords were different from the last time they had met, though Mitchel tried not to stare so intentionally.

But his face contrasted everything ridged about his attire. The curly nature of his hair made it look playful and youthful, whereas the lines on his forehead and past his eyes softened his gaze. Wrose wore a patient smile as Mitchel walked up to meet him, and the small act calmed the simmering beast in Mitchel’s stomach.

“As you can see, it is a busy day for us today at the manor,” Wrose hummed, gesturing to the Rwequeks moving past.

“Is today important?” Mitchel asked, his eyes jumping between Rwequeks.

“Indeed. The Head Alforah has chosen quite an evening for you,” Wrose continued. “Today is the day the 6th Mercos comes home, the partner of the 3rd Alforah and head of this household. She has been away fighting for our Taej and has successfully completed her duty.”

Mitchel held in his exhale.

“Tonight will be a celebration of her success and also an opportunity to reconnect with other powerful members of the Rwequek nobility,” Wrose said. “The 3rd Alforah has expressed that many of the other nobles who have jurisdiction over Districts here on Earth will be interested in speaking with you.”

“That’s…” Mitchel began, stopping himself.

That’s not what I signed up for.

He would be paraded around, passed from noble to noble, interpreting when asked to but otherwise staying silent.

It made Mitchel’s skin itch with resentment.

“I realize this is a lot to take in,” Wrose expressed, his smile apologetic. “But I will be here to guide you. Please find peace that you will be compensated greatly for your efforts.”

And there it was. The heat of shame replaced the itch under Mitchel’s skin. There was a reason why he was here. There were people at home he wanted to protect. It did not matter if these situations made him uncomfortable.

“I appreciate the payment,” Mitchel decide on.

Wrose let out a small laugh.

“I thought you would find it interesting,” he mused, then jerked his chin towards the wall of mahogany doors. “We can talk as we walk. There is much to show you before I introduce you to the Head Alforah.”

He opened the nearest door and stepped away as if to give Mitchel a good view of the room. It was a bedroom not much larger than a walk-in closet that was absolutely maximized for its size. A hammock-like bed swung underneath a platform office space that could accessed by ladder. An open closet hung from the ceiling but only housed three pairs of clothes and a pair of boots. In the leftmost corner, a sink with a small mirror had been shoved in. The space looked very bare bones, not at all resembling the personality of the room they had just come from.

“These are the staff’s quarters,” Wrose explained. “Here is where staff of the Alforah household sleeps and gets ready, before prepping whatever is needed in the staff room and making their way into the main part of the manor.”

Mitchel tensed up, his wandering hands snapping to his sides.

“Oh. I didn’t mean to intrude on someone’s space…”

“This is your room, 256,” Wrose dismissed with a wave of his hand.

Mitchel’s face must have drained of color because Wrose frowned.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

So many things, Mitchel thought as he began to spiral.

“I— I have a family that I am in charge of,” Mitchel protested. “Back in the Faction. They need me, I can’t just leave them—”

Wrose held up a pacifying hand and Mitchel snapped his mouth shut with a click.

“It’s alright,” Wrose placated, his eyebrows pulled taunt. “I do remember your urgency to protect the humans in the mines.”

“I’m grateful, I just— I can’t leave them,” Mitchel blurted.

Wrose sunk his chin into his hand in thought. Once more, his more analytical approach to Mitchel was surprising in contrast to the brashness of the Rwequek guard.

“Though it will be inconvenient for you, are you alright with using the bus to get here every morning? We expect you to arrive at 07:00. You can use this space to study our language, to change into uniform, or to wait until you’re called on for duty by the 3rd Alforah.”

Mitchel was already nodding halfway through Wrose’s explanation. Now that he was no longer worried that he was going to be suddenly relocated from his family, the reality that this was his space finally settled. The bed, the private desk area, the clothes. The fact that he suddenly had to accept all of these amenities when he had been living on scraps for the past four years was overwhelming.

“That’s completely fine. I— Thank you,” Mitchel spluttered. He clamped his mouth shut again in the fear he would embarrass himself further.

Wrose observed him for a moment, a twinkle in his eyes, before nodding.

“Well, I will give you a moment of privacy to change,” Wrose continued as if nothing had happened. “Please put on the blue uniform with the red and gold detail. It will signify your place here at the Alforah house. I’ll be waiting just outside.”

Mitchel bowed his head in a quick thanks. As the door closed shut from overhead, he felt like he finally could exhale for the first time since the start of their conversation. He placed his face in his hands, breathing hard and returning to the Earth from wherever he had floated off to.

You’re safe, he reminded himself.

You won’t lose them. You stood up to the Rwequek and demanded what you wanted, and he hasn’t fired you.

Mitchel let out a strangled laugh.

That’s a good sign, right?

Forcing himself to move, Mitchel grabbed the full bodysuit Wrose had specified and started the awkward process of shoving his lanky body into it. The top looked skintight and was made of a rubbery material that was layered on top of smooth black fabric. Golden crisscrossing triangles were sown onto deep teal fabric and gave the outfit a stylized, sleek fit. When Mitchel tugged the sleeves over his arms and zipped up the front, halfway to his chin, the material hugged at him. Two plates rested on his slightly padded shoulders with precise etching that read Sponsor 117 and on his left plate Alforah.

The bottom of his dark blue pants ended just below the knee, but the rest of his skin was covered up by the large boots. Metal clasps jingled as he secured them to his feet. There was one red article of clothing that resembled a huge belt that took Mitchel a moment to understand. It was a stretchy soft material that he puzzled over before remembering the similar accessory on Wrose. He slipped it over his head onto his waist, feeling it pull snuggly at his stomach. Everything felt extremely tight and restricting and almost hard to breathe in, but that feeling slowly went away as he began to walk around his new room.

That was when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, and the sight stopped him short. Throughout his years in Faction 117, Mitchel never really had a mirror before. He remembered Gabriella buying one from the haggle shop in his first year, but they quickly sold it when times were tight. Beyond that, he had the wavering reflection of his bathtub water.

He had never cared about what he looked like before.

But damn…

Mitchel blinked at his reflection.

Do I really look like this?