Scar

Memories (1)

(based on no episode in particular. Happened in... (my fabrication of) IV's memories of his past life, still partly inspired from im-aggressive's drabble. Any situation you recognize might not come directly from me :p) The title is pretty self-explanatory since I'm suck at making up names... :p

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own YGO Zexal, otherwise, IV would be an anti-hero protagonist along with Rio as the heroine, and the anime would be full of dramas instead of card games!

***

They never had a name for as long as they could remember. They were so used being called with their current code-names that they had forgotten what they had called each other before.

Well, at least Number 4 and his little brother couldn't remember; Number 5 might still remember something about their life before they ended up in the slavery since he had been the only one old enough when it all happened. But the older man never spoke of it, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know, so he never asked. Besides, they had more than enough work to go around, and talking to each other was a luxury they couldn't afford most of the time.

Forget about talking, they were lucky if they could so much as look up to the sky when they were working outside. There was nothing in particular to be seen except wide expanse of blue—sometimes stained with various shades of orange—adorned with drifting clouds in various shapes and size, but it was certainly a refreshment compared to the endless layer of rock and dirt in their drab grey and brown shades they had to face every day. Sometimes, they would find some colorful sparkling stones that would look rather beautiful once it was polished, but it held no value to them whatsoever. For one, they would be punished severely if they got caught carrying such thing outside work hours and as their clothing only consisted of a sleeveless, worn-out tunic that went down just a little above their knees, adorned with equally worn-out belt around their hip, hiding compartment was almost impossible. Besides, if they had time admiring such thing, they would have spent it yearning for some other thing far more luxurious by their reckoning.

There was no one there who had never dreamed of gaining their freedom, and a few were even foolish enough to pull the stunt, only to end up getting caught and, if they were lucky, be punished. If they didn't, they simply vanished from that place, literally and figuratively—they were never seen again and nobody wanted to, or even dared to, talk about them anymore. Their wellbeing depended heavily on the guards' mood as they would always find the slightest incriminating things they could blame on them so that they could get their 'sport', so they needed to keep their best behavior if they didn't want to be on the receiving end of their torture instruments.

Even so, not all of the guards ill-treated them; there were few of them that would show pity every once in a while like giving extra portion for their meal if they looked starving enough, reducing their punishment slightly and let them rest longer before going back to labor, or even amicably talked to some of them about anything that came up—even story-telling; one of few things that made the slavery slightly more bearable.

"You'd want to watch out for the carnivorous fish if you go to the sea," said one of the guards; a middle aged man without hair but enormous muscles.

"That's stupid. How could they eat if they don't have hands?" Number 4 retorted snidely.

The man glared at the younger man. "Mouth is the most—and only—important part for eating. Even I could eat you with all my limbs tied behind my back."

"I'll strangle you with my bare hand first."

"Not if I bite your head first, genius."

"Oh, want to give it a try?" Number 4 stood up, fists balled on each side.