Chapter Text
Sleep finds him quickly that night. He’s lucky enough to go the whole night without any dreams, likely due to his sheer exhaustion. The alarm on his nightstand wakes him up at six, as every citizen does. He’s pushed the strange man in yellow to the back of his mind, eager to forget the encounter and move on with his day.
Today is a Tuesday, which means he has to go to breakfast and then to work. Just as he does every other day.
Sitting up in his bed, he already feels a lot better than he did the night before. His head is still screaming, but the burning has gone and his stomach only feels slightly offset. Tyler takes a moment to thank his good night’s sleep.
He stands, grabbing a set of day clothing before heading off to the bathroom. He changes into the drab long-sleeve grey shirt and dark pants, using the restroom while he’s at it. Washing his hands, Tyler feels mesmerised by the way the cold water flows over his black hands, cleansing them of dirt of grime but leaving his sacred markings.
He smiles a little to himself. Water is powerful, able to give life and clear away the past, but it can’t take away Nico’s blessings. Can’t take away what marks him as Nico’s, even if he hated the black at first.
Slipping on his shoes, Tyler gives his apartment a mental wave before heading off to the dining hall.
-–—–-
Breakfast is ordinary; he sits in his usual seat, silent as always as he munches through his cereal and water. He’s eating a little slower than usual, fearing he may upset his insides further if he pushes through.
Around the table sit his coworkers and a couple neighbours, all from the same laundry group and surrounding apartment blocks as him. There's no seating plan for meals, at least not in Nico’s district, but people tend to stick to what they knew, Tyler notices. So, he makes it a part of his daily ritual to sit with his work colleagues, as most others do.
They never seem to mind. It doesn’t make much of a difference, though. He doesn’t talk anyway.
Most days, Tyler is content to listen along to whatever conversation his small clique had found themselves in, the topic ever-changing and spontaneous each time. They talk about anything and everything, from their routines to their weekly Bishop meetings to the newest additions of the Glorious Gone. Even if the topic is always moving, it's always about Dema and its perfect society.
Today, though, Tyler tunes in to hear something he’d never heard spoken aloud before.
“Did you hear them last night? Harris said he actually saw them outside. I can’t believe they’d come back after what they did,” his coworker and close neighbour, Grace, is saying. Lucas, a member of his laundry group, fires back angrily.
“I saw them as well, yeah. Three of them, there were. One had a torch. All wearing that sickly colour, it’s awful! Don’t they realise they’re condemning themselves to a life of misery? Those rebels have no shame.”
Tyler feels a stone drop in his stomach as he's reminded of the man with the yellow bandana from last night. Of course, he realises, that must have been one of the rebels. It’s a taboo subject, and while Tyler has never seen one in person before, he gets the feeling a public sighting like this is cause for some commotion.
There are countless stories about a rebellious group that live beyond the city walls. Wild, ravenous creatures that abandoned Vialism and became lost to the ghastly world outside the protection of the Bishops. It's rumoured that food is scarce out in the deadly wilderness, and that those desperate enough had given into the hunger, feasting on human flesh without a semblance of sense left. The rebels had lost their minds to the insanity of the landscape, and much to the dismay of the Bishops, they had no choice but to leave them out there.
For the Bishops’ safety. For the citizens’ safety. Even for the rebels’ safety. They were simply too far gone.
So, to hear the crazed beings have returned to Dema, entered their sanctuary and walked through their city streets, makes Tyler all the more uncomfortable. Still, he listens apprehensively, not wanting his racing thoughts to distract him any longer.
“… they looked like they were looking for something. Scanning all the buildings. I didn’t look long enough to see if they found it, though. I couldn’t risk them seeing me and turning me into their next meal,” Lucas continues. Another coworker, Hannah, perks up.
“I saw them doing that too! I tried to sleep through it all, but I could hear them getting really close and I had to make sure they weren’t after me. I just barely peeked through my blinds when I saw him. I know you said there were three but the other two must’ve run off, because only the one with the torch was there. He stopped in front of your complex, Grace. I was so scared for you, but I had to hide,” she squeaks out, trembling slightly. Tyler feels a lump in his throat.
Grace and he live in the same complex. She's a floor above him, sure, but that rebel had come for him. He just knows it. There's no way it wasn’t intentional, not with how the fiend had sought him out, based on the words of his colleagues.
This time, his nausea isn’t caused by the vials. He swallows the feeling, forcing it down along with the rest of his breakfast. He cleans up his area and stands to go take his bowl and utensils to the cleaners’ area.
“Oh, bye Clancy,” Lucas mumbles absentmindedly as he walks away.
-–—–-
Work goes the same as usual, Tyler allowing his thoughts to roam free as he distractedly washes, dries off, and folds the clothes of whatever citizen he's up to at the moment. In a methodical, mindless manner, he stacks the garments into a neat pile before placing the small paper with the citizen’s name, identification number, apartment complex, and room number atop the heap. Less than a minute later, one of the delivery workers takes the stack, eyes skimming over the paper note, before taking off to return the clothes to their owner’s room.
Tyler somewhat tries to keep his attention on his task, but his mind keeps wandering back to the rebel from last night. Fear starts to tighten around his chest, and he has to take slow, measured breaths in order to get his head to loosen up. He doesn’t want to think about how he might be the next meal of some crazed cannibal, instead trying to direct his thoughts to his successful session yesterday evening and his upcoming session tonight.
(He desperately wants to keep his obsessive thoughts away from that cursed rebel. Nico has a way of finding out about these sorts of things).
Before he knows it, he's numbed his brain enough to lose track of time, and work is over. He gets up, drying his ashen hands on a rag before heading out.
The afternoon air whisks around as Tyler strides to the base of the towers, mingling with the crowd as they move to attend worship. Clouds blanket the sky overhead, killing all shadows and saving them from the burn of the untamed sun.
They pour into the vast church, filing into pews and waiting patiently as the rest of the district arrive like ants to their queen. The room is sparsely lit, most of the church cast in darkness, though a configuration of nine large neon vials illuminates the front altar. Its brilliant glow lights up and exaggerates the blood red of Bishops’ cloaks as they enter.
Instantly, the citizens quiet down, giving their respect and full attention to the mighty leaders. Reisdro reaches the altar, standing a little way in front of the others as he begins the sermon. It goes the same as usual, each Bishop giving an upholding speech about Vialism before moving onto the ceremonies for the upcoming members of the Glorious Gone.
It's the greatest honour anyone could have, getting to be a part of the Glorified. Such power could only be granted to the best of Vialism’s followers, but it's well worth it to achieve the paradise that comes with the afterlife. Their own little heaven, reserved only for Dema’s greatest.
Tyler doubts the Bishops can spot him amongst the crowd, but he makes sure to listen attentively and without distraction as Nico preaches, just to show what a model citizen he is.
The holy figures conclude the sermon by holding neon vials, not unlike the ones Tyler practices with, high above the crowd as they give their blessings. Tyler closes his eyes, making a silent prayer as Nico blesses the masses from the altar.
From there, the crowd is dismissed to dinner. A ritual feast, it consists of mashed potatoes, a small selection of vegetables, and a little bowl of soup. Tyler likes the soups. Their contents change occasionally, depending on what produce the greenhouses have available. But regardless of the flavour, they always have a few small chunks of slow-cooked meat floating in the broth, giving the whole meal a nice texture and helping to warm his empty stomach.
There's no mention of the rebels from his tablemates. The conversation died that morning, and now their existence would be put back into its unspoken grave, as it is always meant to be.
Finishing his meal, Tyler takes his bowls and cutlery to the washing station. Many other citizens are also getting up as they too complete their meals. He leaves his utensils in the designated area before quickly checking the time on the wall.
6:43 pm. Time to start walking to Nico’s tower.
-–—–-
Tyler isn’t sure if he could ever get used to the eerie chill that runs through the city at night. During the day, the faint rays of sunlight warm the empty streets enough to keep the cold at bay. Though once the sun goes down, the icy air runs rampant, slamming the city into stasis and silently screaming at everyone to stay indoors. Even after living in Dema his whole life, that horrible chill continues to surprise him whenever he ventures over to Nico’s, stunning him and threatening to paralyse him in place.
The simple long-sleeve Dema garb does little to protect him, and he hugs himself in a vain attempt to stay warm.
Before long, though, he once again makes it to the tower that's become his second home, following the familiar path up to Nico’s office. He knocks on the door, waiting.
“Come in.” Nico’s usual response. Tyler does as he's told, gently shutting the door behind him and giving a respectful nod of his head. He's still shivering lightly.
“Bishop,” he mutters. He's starting to feel a little sick, his recent meal not mixing well with his trek to the tower, not to mention his stomach still feeling the aftereffects of yesterday’s session. Nico cocks his head slightly, dead eyes glinting briefly as he picks up on Tyler’s abnormal behaviour.
“I see last night was quite challenging for you, but be assured that the other Bishops and I are incredibly proud. No citizen has been able to touch, let alone hold a sacred vial the way you managed to. It is quite the achievement to behold, my son,” Nico congratulates, walking over to ease Tyler into a chair. “You are an exceptional student, Clancy.”
Against his revolting gut, Tyler beams to himself. He really is an exception, isn’t he? No one else has their hands or neck smeared, no one else drinks elixirs, no one else can hold the vials. No one else but the Bishops. He's becoming closer to them, following their orders without question and with utmost priority. He relishes in their praise, giving him motivation that is only matched by the fear of failing them.
His pride must show on his face, for Nico continues, “you are right to be proud, child. But even so, you are not quite there yet. We must keep honing your progress, for you have potential like no other.”
The Bishop reaches to collect the chalice containing Tyler’s ritual drink, handing it to him. Tyler drinks without complaint. It numbs him, finally chasing away his queasy stomach and fogging over his mind. He allows the chalice to be taken from his hands.
“Now then,” Nico stands once more. “Shall we proceed?”
-–—–-
Walking back to his apartment is a lot easier this time. Thankfully, Nico seemed to understand he wasn’t feeling all that great and gave him a much easier evening tonight. His hands still ache with the ever-present burn of neon, but at least he can walk in a straight line without falling flat on his face.
Tyler tries not to think about the rebels that had been wandering around the night before. He tries, only somewhat succeeding, not to think about how they had likely roamed while he was making this same journey back home.
(Tyler had been walking from the city’s core out into the districts, while the rebels came inwards. Their paths thankfully wouldn’t have crossed, but what if he had lived further out?)
He shakes away the feeling; he’s not even supposed to be thinking about this.
With a vague sense of déjà vu, he closes in on the lifeless apartment complex. The leering vulture is still there, watching him. Tyler does his best not to look at it.
Entering his room, he showers and gets ready for bed in record time, eager to get a full night’s rest after losing sleep from his extended visit to Nico the previous night.
He’s asleep in under a minute.
-–—–-
This time, his dreams are not so merciful. He’s freezing, his body like ice suspended in cold seawater. Curled in on himself, he’s lost all feeling in his nerves, yet he can still feel the stabbing pain that comes with the cold. Worse, he can feel the thrum of neon flowing through his veins like blood, burning through him as it travels, creating a horrible juxtaposition against the icy chill of the outside. He’s shut his eyes tight to block out the pain, but he can still see the blinding red light that shines through his eyelids.
He feels like he’s being watched, some unbidden sixth sense alerting him of danger. Cautiously, he peeks his eyes open, squinting through the bright red light to see a cloaked figure camouflaged in the crimson fog.
“Clancy,” Nico says in amazement, unmoving. Tyler can see his breath as he speaks. “You’re here.”
-–—–-
Tyler jerks awake before he can see anything more. His blanket is all twisted around his legs and he’s lucky he didn’t throw himself onto the floor during his thrashing. He gets up in a cold sweat, stuck on the phantom feeling of fire under his freezing skin. He shivers, trying to shake off the sensation and move on. It only barely works.
He goes through his morning routine yet again. Get up, go to the bathroom, get changed, go for breakfast. Even if nightmares are restless and chaotic, he has the comfort of his constant cycle every morning. A calm after the storm.
Breakfast is ordinary, and Tyler relishes upon feeling the last fears of his night terror ebb away as he listens to the mindless conversation of his tablemates. They’re talking about the Glorified, today. Hannah’s sister officially got accepted by the Bishops, and in the coming weeks would prepare for her ceremony.
Tyler smiles a little. He’s happy for her, if only a little disappointed in himself he can’t meet the Bishops’ own expectations of him.
After breakfast, he lets himself fall into habit as his mind slips away, muscle memory taking him to his workstation and carrying out the repetitive motions until worship time. Later, as he finishes his dinner, he sets his plates away as he checks the time.
Today is a Wednesday, which means he has to go to Nico’s for his session soon. Just as he does every other day.
The walk there is as cold as ever, the icy air faintly reminding him of his dream from before. He shoves that thought away, instead looking to how tonight’s session may go. He was basically fully healed from Monday’s push, his guts calm again and his hands painless. Surely, he's ready to make more progress tonight. He can do that. Make Nico proud.
The fire is heatless, he tells himself. There is no burn. No pain. He is only imagining it.
He can feel that faint grin come back again. It doesn’t get far, though, as Tyler’s thoughts are inadvertently brought back to the rebel from the other night. He wielded fire, too. It was unlike the neon flames the Bishops and he have, though. This rebel’s torch burned a sparkling orange, unlike anything he had ever seen.
Was his fire heatless as well, he wonders? Had the rebel learned to accept the orange flame, being able to hold it close without risk of getting burnt, or was it held on a stick to protect himself from the beast that flared atop its end? Perhaps this orange fire was harmful against the rebels. Would it harm citizens, too?
Tyler pulls himself out of his questions as he reaches Nico’s domain yet again. The Bishop hands him the chalice, and Tyler drinks silently. Clouds cover his brain.
-–—–-
“Nico,” Tyler asks later, when he’s allowed a brief break. His hands twinge with familiar pain and feeling in his inner left arm has been burnt away from where the neon was injected. The Bishop in question looks up at him, eyes allowing him to continue.
“I’ve heard stories of the rebels before, but… are they real? Who are they?” he asks tentatively, curiosity and terror finally getting the better of him. He knows, he knows he shouldn’t be asking Nico about this. The rebels are an unspoken danger. Citizens would be insane to mention the rumours to each other, let alone their Bishop.
God, why is he like this?
Nico pauses for a moment, thinking, before continuing, seemingly unfazed by the illicit question.
“Of course they are real. Do you think us Bishops would lie to you? We are here to protect you, we are, from those vile creatures. Banditos, they have no care for divine judgement. Their little display earlier this week proves that,” he spits, turning to walk the length of the room. Tyler blinks.
“Banditos?” he questions.
Nico looks back at him again, his expression sour. “Yes, Banditos. That is the name they give themselves. They think they can hide under their mask of anonymity, but we will find them. We are already close.”
“The Banditos, could you please tell me more about them, Bishop? I think people were quite worried after they breached the wall on Monday night. I think I was scared, too,” Tyler admits, looking at his hands. Nico hums.
“Yes, it was quite frustrating, how they arrive to disrupt our haven. They are undetectable to us, so we rely on the citizens to alert us to their presence. That colour they wear, it masks them. And their leader, the Torchbearer, he-"
“Torchbearer? The one with the torch is their leader?” Tyler interrupts. Nico whips around, eyes blazing, and Tyler quickly ducks his head as he realises his mistake. Oh lord, he spoke out of turn. He hasn’t done that in ages. He’ll blame it on his anxiety about the rebels, he thinks, as Nico marches over with a fresh vial in hand.
“Enough of this meaningless conversation. We still have work to do.” The vial is thrust into him, and Tyler yelps and quickly grabs it, holding it out to avoid burning his chest.
“I don’t want to hear any more about these Banditos, Clancy. They are best left forgotten. Let us Bishops deal with them. I’ll have vials tied to your hands if I have to,” Nico grits, and Tyler knows he is serious. He nods, muttering a small apology as he fights the war in his fingers.
-–—–-
Tyler supposes one positive to the sessions is that he can barely feel the cold by the time he walks home. More vials, more injections, and suddenly his whole body is devoid of any feeling other than the persistent ache of neon.
The apartment looms ahead of him, and he almost stops in his tracks as he sets his eyes on the building. There are two vultures on his roof. He feels their beady eyes on him, tracking him like prey, and Tyler only walks faster.
He makes it up to his room, thinking back to Nico’s advice. He really should just forget about the Banditos and all this rebel stuff. It clearly isn’t doing him any good, seeing how he’s been on edge, asking inappropriate questions and even interrupting his Bishop. Yeah, moving past it would be good for him.
With his new goal in mind, he quickly gets ready for bed. He’s ready to have another try at sleep, one that’s hopefully blissful and without nightmares. Besides, he really wants his arms and hands to stop hurting, and that’s not going to happen without some rest. He moves from the bathroom, beelining for his bed.
There’s something outside his window.
Tyler halts. He doesn’t want to look. He can already see it in his peripheral, the sight making him sick.
Like a man conducting his own execution, he slowly turns his head to look through the glass.
A Bandito is standing in the darkness, yellow tape glistening against the soft light of the moon. There’s no flame this time, but Tyler would recognise that bandana anywhere.
It’s the Torchbearer.
He can feel his heart start to race. His breathing stops, and suddenly he can’t move. He’s stuck in fight or flight, and his brain chooses freeze. The Torchbearer continues to look at him, head tilting to the side slightly as he notices Tyler’s fear.
They’re stuck in limbo, Tyler thinks, as he watches, paralysed. The Bandito stays, looking relaxed as he reaches to scratch his arm. After a moment, he looks up and gives Tyler a small wave.
Tyler’s soul finally reconnects to his body, and at once he is slamming the curtains shut and hurling himself into bed. He burrows into the covers, hiding as he tries desperately to calm his erratic breathing. He stays like that for a few minutes, a few hours maybe, hyperventilating in the safety of his cocoon.
He’s not sure how long it’s been, not sure if the Torchbearer is still there, but he’s too petrified to check. Eventually, he manages to calm down slightly, breathing back to an acceptable level, and exhaustion is picking up right where his terror left off. Panic still floods his senses, but it does nothing to stop the tidal wave of his sleepiness. He can feel himself drifting, and he wants to stay awake out of fear of the rebel stalking him, yet his eyelids can’t seem to obey him.
When sleep finally claims him, he barely even notices.