A/N: Contains language, but it's bleeped out. Just FYI

Screams echoed down the cold, stone corridors, despite the large metal door between the victim and the system of hallways. Two darkly-clad men were leaned against the wall by the door, talking casually as if no pleas for mercy reached their ears.

A tall, slender yet well toned teen leaned against the wall opposite the other two. His brown hair was streaked with natural copper highlights, and his eyes were a piercing silver-blue color, trained on the metal door in a fierce manner, as the agonized cries rang in his head. His jaw was set, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, one foot crossed over the other to feign a sense of relaxation. A scatter of freckles dusted his nose and cheekbones, more apparent now than usual due to the paling nature of his stricken face.

It was another fifteen minutes before the screaming finally ceased, and the large metal door opened. The copper haired teen managed to catch a glimpse of another boy inside the room. The boy seemed no older than he, his brown hair so dark it appeared almost black, resting in small, careful waves against his head. His skin was a sickly yellow color, his face beaded with sweat. Tears were slowly dripping from the navy blue eyes covered by an unwashed cloth. The fold was tied tightly behind his head, and had been there since he arrived. That was almost a week ago...

His head hung low, chin almost touching his chest, supported only by the rough ropes that bound him to his chair. The teen lifted his head slightly, as if sensing the other teen's gaze. Despite the blind fold, it seemed like he was looking directly at the copper haired boy, and it made the teen's stomach churn. Before much more could be done, the view of the captive was blocked by the figure in the doorway.

The man stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, a video camera in his large hands. His skin was tanned to a color much like dirt, and his closely shaven black hair was streaked with white. His grey eyes were cold, harsh, as unyielding as the stone walls around them. A smirk grew on his face as his eyes fell upon the copper haired boy.

The teen met his gaze with narrowed eye, but did little more, his mouth still clenched closed. The man turned to the two talking beside the door.

"Tray, Krow," he called brusquely. The two turned to face him with their own sly smirks. "Vid's done. Take it down to Ronny in the Tech Room and have him send it to IvroCorp directly. Take the usual precautions, of course. Lemme know immediately if there's a response. If there ain't one within twenty-four hours, we'll have to get a little more creative than jumper cables."

The three exchanged a short laugh laced with malice as Krow and Tray took the recorder from their boss and headed down the hallway. The man turned to the glaring teen, his frown only adding to the natural threatening look of his face. The teen didn't waver under his eye, and the man let out a small sigh.

"Come on, Nova," he began, his voice coated in a sweetness that hid the darker undertone, using the boy's nickname in an attempt to perhaps lighten the situation. "I know you don't like getting the families involved, but... you know it's the most effective way to get stuff done." The teen didn't comment. He simply continued to glare. The man narrowed his eyes, exasperated anger rising in them. This wasn't the first time the teen had challenged their ways, and it was beginning to get a bit irksome...

"Listen, Noven. I don't give a f*** how long you've been in this gang, or your body count, or your selective morals. If Terror can get their hands on IvroCorp, we're one step closer to having our hold worldwide! The b*****'s sure to cave if we give him a few videos of the H*** his son's going through," he snapped, jabbing his thumb at the door over his shoulder before letting his hand fall to his side in a fist once more. Noven huffed a scoff, his eyes piercing. The man wasn't finished yet.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you care more about the families of our enemies, than you do about your own f****** family! We took you in off the street and raised you as one of our own! And you repay us with doubt and consternation!" he growled. Noven flinched, his gaze moving to his feet, silver eyes flashing at the words. The man instantly softened, his voice returning to normal speaking levels. His temper was as quick to subside as it was to flare up, which often resulted in others keeping a respectable distance between themselves and the boss. He put a hand on the teen's shoulder.

"I didn't mean that, kiddo," he reassured him, nudging his chin to urge the boy to look at him. "I understand how you feel, but we can't get cold feet now. You knew what was in store when you helped us plan the attack on his house, but you did it anyway. Somewhere, deep down, you know where your loyalties lie. I know it's hard for you, but it's worth it in the end. You understand that, don't you?" Noven sighed, stepping away from the man to pace the floor, his arms dropping to his sides.

"Yeah, I know, Xavier, it's just..." he struggled to find the right words, but gave up, knowing there was no point in trying to argue with the boss. He shook his head. "Never mind..." he muttered. Xavier huffed a small laugh, shaking his head lightly.

"Don't be going soft on me, Nova," he teased, nudging the teen with a smirk. "Bring in a pretty face and you're all 'peace and forgiveness!'" The man pretended to mimic him, his voice inaccurately high to emphasize the joke. "Just look at how gorgeous he is, Xavier! How could we possibly hurt that beautiful body?" Noven rolled his eyes, elbowing him with a sly smirk of his own.

"Don't be a d***, Xavier!" he huffed with a humored glint in his silver eyes. "I never said he was cute!"

"You never said he wasn't."

"I'm not gay, Xavier!"

"Like h*** you ain't! It wasn't but last Christmas you got caught under the mistletoe with Emery! Don't tell me you didn't enjoy that!"

"F*** off," Noven growled lightheartedly.

"You can't bring the closet with you, son. You're either out or you're in."

"Don't you have someone else to annoy?" Xavier laughed, ruffling the teen's hair, grinning in success at the bright red color of his cheeks.

"Glad you haven't changed, Nova. What we do, it's how you play the game. And you've been playing for too long to hand in your deck now, kiddo," Xavier commented. Noven grinned at him, his thumbs in his pockets as he leaned against the wall again.

"You know me," he chuckled, "I always play to win."

With a small laugh, Xavier waved goodbye and started off down the hallway to check and make sure his orders had been followed out. Once he disappeared around a bend, Noven dropped the facade, his face falling into a frown, silver eyes flooded with conflicting thoughts. He glanced around to make sure he really was alone, then approached the metal door cautiously.

It would be useless to try and open it, he knew that, so he simply rested his palm against the small window of bulletproof glass. He pursed his lips at the tight feeling in his chest, watching as the teen's battered form shook softly, the faint sound of his hushed sobbing slipping out through the door. Noven closed his eyes, turning away, his fist clenched. This wasn't right...

He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he started walking down the hallway to his room. It was late, and the boss hadn't planned anything else for the night, so he was free to do as he pleased. He huffed, rubbing his shoulder as he walked, trying to loosen the tensed muscles. Things used to be simple...

Then they took Ivro's son as a hostage and started torturing him to get what they wanted... Nova elbowed the door open, kicking it closed behind him as he took of his shirt. He tossed it into the pile of dirty clothes in the corner of the small room and let out a long sigh, letting himself fall onto his rickety old cot. The thin mattress caved slightly beneath him, the springs groaning in protest.

Noven simply stared at the ceiling, the air cool against his bare chest, helping him think. Any time his eyes closed, the darkness was filled with the decrepit image of the dark-haired teen, his ears filled with his screams. With another sigh, Nova rolled over onto his stomach, pulling the stiff pillow closer to him, burying his head in it. He pressed it against his head, trying to force his thoughts to clear.

After another fifteen minutes of trying to rid his mind of the captive a few halls away, Noven groaned, sitting up, abandoning his attempts. He got to his feet, pacing the room, his chest tight, his nerves on edge.

...you've been playing the game too long to turn your cards in now.

You know me, I always play to win... 

Noven clenched his fist, bringing it down hard on the unstable bedside table. The frail woodwork cracked and splintered, sending the occupants of the table cascading to the floor. Noven ignored them, dropping himself onto the bed again.

"I just don't know which game I'm playing anymore..."