A change in plans (is it mean to shoot an unloaded gun at kids?.......nah)

My fingers danced across the table, leisurely tapping along the wood as I searched my way across the surface. Finding what I was looking for, I picked up the long tube-shaped metal and fiddled with it. My fingers were small but nimble as I slid the barrel into its intended place, locking each part in place with a crisp click. Each movement I made was smooth and unhesitant—too many hours of relentless practice ingrained the steps into my subconscious, making it impossible to forget at this point.

I could feel a pair of eyes burning holes into the side of my head; of course, I ignored it like a pro and continued with my work.

Squishy's warm and familiar back pressed against my arm; solid presence always soothing to the mind. His body seemed to emit enormous amounts of heat that no child could ever generate; Squishy was extremely useful during the cold days where the frigid temperatures made the freezer-like building worse. Such as today.

"Bratishka."

Hearing his bored murmur, I gave a noncommittal hum as my hands tweaked the pistol; it was never good to ignore him when he had that tone. The gun in my hold was nearing its completion; I only needed to join a couple more pieces and conduct a preliminary check before I could deem it well enough to use.

Again, the burning of the holes continued.

"What is it, Brat?" I asked, picking up another piece to add to the firearm.

Squishy makes conversation often when he has the chance, most of the topics ranging from what we learned to things he heard from the local gossip mill. There's never a pattern to his topics; people have gotten swept up in a conversation with him and still don't know what the point of the talk was. It's pretty amusing to watch it happen on the sidelines. He does it on purpose all the time just to see if he can make me laugh at least once.

I haven't, but it's the thought that counts. Who knows, I might even give a little snicker one day.

My brother gave an imperceptible nod toward the corner of the classroom, specifically, the corner of the room where the burning stares came from. "Should we do something about them? The stares are getting kinda annoying," he asked, nonchalantly looking at his nails. "I mean—we could probably get rid of them, but that'd be annoying to deal with, you know."

Eight and Fifteen have been hounding us for a while now; no moment was spared to find the right time to corner us for whatever reason they need to speak to us for. Of course, my brother and I are practically specialists in disappearing when we want to, so it was child's play to prevent them from reaching us. I can imagine them being at their wits end judging by how long Eight was able to look at me (probably through spite and frustration) and how much emotion they put behind their looks.

"Haah," I let out a sigh. "No, leave them be for now." My fingers slid the last piece into place; the pistol was complete. The only thing left to do was test it out.

A wicked thought popped into my head, making me duck my head to hide the grin that nearly broke out. My twin snapped his head towards me with an excited grin on his face, already picking up on my sudden mischievous mood.

"Oooh-hoo-hoo, what are you thinking of?" he asked excitedly, barely keeping his voice down to our usual quiet volume.

My brother was always down for whatever I was doing; the results always brought a satisfying feeling to me, therefore, to him by extension. He loves it whenever that happens. The same goes for me: when he gets particularly excited, I tend to fidget from all the emotion he shares with me; when he's angry for any particular reason, my mood tends to drop as well. The only solace we get is that being together tends to negate that feeling since we balance each other out; it's not disconcerting as it sounds either. If anything, it's the most reassuring thing I have in terms of checking my mental health since we always know whenever we feel....out of sorts.

If I were to put it into words, I'd say it's like an alarm: always going off to alert the other that one of us needs help.

I gave him a mental shush, reminding him to keep his voice down. We were still in the middle of class, albeit without any surveillance since Madame Volkova stepped out for something; nonetheless, there were still classmates among us.

"Hehe, oops. Sorry, Bratishka." he sheepishly murmured, rubbing his neck with his free hand while the other placed his own finished gun down.

Rolling my eyes, I patted his leg. "Why ask when you already know." I teased, not minding it much.

"Oh, it's only for the fun of it; there's nothing wrong with a little plausible deniability now and then," he whined back, eyeing me as he watched along, eager to see what would happen.

I only gave a non-committal hum at that, my hand already pulling back the slide of my gun.

There was nothing wrong with his statement; however, some part of me from the past raised an eyebrow at how wrong that might sound coming from a six-year-old. That feeling was quickly swept away and erased with the reminder of my situation and how things came to be that way.

There was no room for things such as normality I had experienced in the past—or believed to have experienced—in my present. The morals of this nameless, six-year-old orphan were not too different from the even-tempered librarian I was in the past. We were the same people, just set in different settings; each one being given the expectation of their surroundings and carrying them out as they wished.

I suppose I've been given more flexibility in this life than in the Before; no societal rules were holding my true emotions back from being revealed. Other than the strict standards the Program held us to, we were allowed to do whatever we wanted in the small breaks we were given.

Squishy was a gift, a blessing if you will, in accepting every part of me there was to accept and even more. He didn't care for my unusual personality, although that might be because he was equally as unstable as me—not that that was a problem; I would be a hypocrite otherwise. His quirks were rather adorable despite how sadistic they were; in my opinion, they only made him more precious to me.

We could be psychotic together for all I care. As long as we were together, nothing else mattered.

With the gun in my left hand, I steadied my hold with my right, unnoticed as usual. Not a glance was given toward me, the others too busy on their own assembling or talking with their friends. I waited in silence for a while, adjusting the aim of the gun as I took in the sound of the busy classroom: each click of the assembling parts; the chatter from the children; the muttering of the frustrated Fifteen, formulating plan after plan to make sure we'd meet, some way or another.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Originally, the two boys were planning on observing the One, adamant about finding the right time to corner him and his brother, the forever elusive Two. However, their attempts were put on hold due to the assessments coming up the next week. They could only watch the twins from afar as they practiced assembling and disassembling their practice guns with grumbles.

Every time they execute a plan to meet unnoticed, they were always bombarded with inconveniences.

Visited by their friends with questions on what they needed to talk about that warranted their presence—which they certainly did not need at the moment; the sudden presence of an instructor; stumbling on a dead-end when following one of the twins.

All attempts. Foiled.

And that's not including the ones for his ever-elusive twin: Two.

They stood no chance against his bizarre sense of spatial awareness. While, yes, it would be expected for someone with a disability like Two's to hone some skill to balance out that disadvantage; it was a whole other thing to hone it to the godly level he did. During the times that Two stuck out during sparring matches, you would think he was just another kid in their class if not for his ever-present blindfold.

The failure of their plans grated on Fifteen's nerves as time passed. The boy was ready to tear his hair out in a manic-fueled moment of frustration.

"H-hey....he.....he c-can't be serious?"

Eight's nervous and scared tone pulled Fifteen away from his mental venting. Concerned, he turned toward his partner and paused at the sight that greeted him. The blond was unusually pale—well, paler than his usual pale complexion—and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. The boy's eyes were wide open in disbelief as if seeing something bizarre.

Fifteen immediately figured out the boy caught sight of Two.

He put his gun down, fingers trembling with an emotion he couldn't identify. "What is it—what's he doing now?" he frantically asked, desperate to get something.

"The...the gun..."

What about the gun? What was Two doing that had the normally unshakable Eight on edge. He couldn't take the not knowing.

"Eight," his voice shook the boy out of his frozen state. "What is Two doing?"

Eight was hesitant on answering, still disturbed by what he was seeing.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

The constant vibration made it easy enough for me to pay attention to the details of the classroom; the room was clear for me to see in my mind without the usual silence there was when Madam Volkova conducted her lessons. There were the occasional loud bangs from the blanks being shot for practice, however, I ignored them for now.

I waited for the right moment, fingering the trigger until it was perfectly matched up with the boy in the seat next to ours. Just as he pulled his trigger, I pulled mine. The timing was on the dot.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

"He's pointing his gun at us and—Oh Shit!" The blonde's eyes widened as he immediately dragged the other down with him underneath the table as shots rang out. Despite knowing that none of the guns were loaded, Eight couldn't help but fear for their lives.

BANG

"Aah!"

"Ahh!"

Twin shouts of surprise mixed with fear rang out in the air.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Some of the students sitting near had heard the sudden yells coming from the table Fifteen and Eight occupied. Their eyes migrated to the two boys crouched underneath their table. The audience's eyes followed the direction where the two seem to be hiding from, landing on Two.

He seemed to look confused as to why there was yelling, nevertheless, he ignored it in favor of testing out the gun in his hand. Pulling back the slide, he gripped it properly, but before Two could pull it, One had redirected his direction so that it wouldn't face the boys. After having his position corrected he pulled the trigger. The loud bang of the blank shook the room out of its silence.

Snickers escaped from the children as they realized the situation.

Hearing their reaction, the two boys ducked their heads as they turned red from embarrassment.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Squishy struggled to hold in his giggles (they're not giggles, they're chuckles, chuckles I say!) as the class eventually turned back to what they were doing before the yells attracted their attention.

"You never cease to amaze me, Bratishka." he snickered.

I traded back his gun, unnoticed by everyone as usual.

"You know I live to please."

Aside from making my brother laugh, the scare served as a warning shot of sorts. A message to fuck off before people started to take interest in what they were doing.

Some of the more aware kids started to show signs of suspicions towards the two's actions. If they traced the cause back to us, then it would be the end of our mediocre positions. More eyes would be on us and the pressure will be....unpleasant to say the least. I'm already high-strung as is; no need for more stress-induced migraines on my side of things.

Sure, it was mean and there probably were other ways to go about doing it, but I had to get my amusement from somewhere . In my opinion, it wasn't even that bad. At least no one was hurt.

A bit shaken? Yes.

But injured? No. I'm not that cruel.

("Um...are you sure—"

"Shut up.")

^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Hey, Bratishka."

Not stopping my work, I gave a little hum of acknowledgment to show that I was paying attention. We were assigned to write out a scenario where we were children of an influential family from France who were just insulted by another family of equal standing as us. Of course, all of it had to be written in French with the correct accent marks and everything.

Did every object really have to have a gender?

Fucking articles.

Anyways, back to the present.

Ending my final sentence, I lifted my pencil from the paper and laid it down; despite how annoying writing that was, my spite rang true to its purpose and powered me through the work to complete the assignment. If it weren't for the fact that we had to maintain our average positions in class, I would've loved to see the smug smile wiped off of our teacher's face. I'm sure the ableist inside of her would have squirmed deliciously.

"What is it, Lovely?" I humored him, finding his current position amusing.

Right now, he was performing a complicated sort of handstand in the middle of our room; holding himself up by his forearms with a stack of our textbooks sitting on the flat of his feet that tittered precariously as his straight form slightly dipped to a side. Addressing me almost tipped his balance, but he straightened himself out and stopped the books from falling.

"I've got a request, but you gotta hear me out," he said, making sure to measure out his words so as not to disrupt his balancing act.

"Famous last words, Brat." I hummed back. Despite my teasing, I put my work away and settled down to listen. I could feel his cluster of nerves since the beginning of the day, only twisting themselves more as time passed. It was obvious he was serious about this.

"Ha ha."

Pistoning his legs up so that the stack of books would become airborne, Squishy tucked his legs together and brought them closer to his chest as he let himself down so that he was now sitting with his knees folded under him. Just as he made it to his seated position, the stack came down and plopped right into his outstretched and waiting hands.

"We should hear them out."

"Hmm?"

"Y'know," a bit embarrassed, he looked down at the books in his hands. "Fifteen and Eight. Their plan." Not being able to sit still any longer, he stood up and put the books away before sitting himself on the shared bed; his fingers twiddling with each other as he waited for my answer.

Should we?

I laid my chin on my propped hand and turned our situation over in my head.

Nodding to myself, I conceded.

Yeah, it wouldn't hurt. It'll at least get those boys off our backs.

"Sure."

My twin's jaw dropped open, shocked by my easy approval.

"R-Really?"

"Really." I nodded.

Just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, he asked again.

"Really, really? "

I couldn't help my snort.

"Really, really. Why're you so surprised?" I asked.

"Well," he started off, a bit sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck. "You aren't really a...people person, you know."

Wow. And to your own brother.

The betrayal; it burns.

Nevertheless—

"Touché Brat.Touché." I couldn't help but agree. There was a landslide of a chance that I would rather jump out of a fourth-story window to test my mortality than be willing to engage in a conversation with a person other than my twin out of my own volition rather than my motives of being fueled by a personal agenda.

Slipping out of the chair I was sitting in, I walked over to Squishy and knelt down, laying my arms and head on his knees. The moment I made contact, hands were already carding through my short hair, rubbing the right places with just the right touch that eased the constant throb from when I see too much. I couldn't help the pleased purr that left my throat at the familiar ministrations and melted into his lap. It was heavenly.

"You know," I murmured, still dazed with pleasure. "I would do anything in the world for you. That includes talking; one of the many things you know I hate with a passion."

There was a stutter in his breathing pattern before he continued on with his motions.

"Yeah," Squishy croaked back, voice tight with an unusual amount of emotion. "I would too." I pretended not to hear the tightness of his voice and relaxed against his familiar heat.

"What brought this on?" I couldn't help but ask, propping my chin up on his knees. He never had a problem with ignoring them before, so it was rather odd of him to care now.

"Well," he mumbled, stroking the sweet spot behind my ears that made me feel like putty under his hands. "I might have..... stumbled on them talking." Squishy gave a light swat on the head to stop me from laughing. "Oh shut up, you!"

Snort "Stumble." Snort "You? "

"I did, believe it or not." he predictably whined, drama queen that he was.

With his senses? I doubt it. But, if he insists, then who am I to deny what did and did not happen.

"Alright, alright, you stumbled," my fingers emphasized the word stumble with quotation marks. "on them. What happened next?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "I'm absolutely dying with curiosity."

Giving me what felt like a stink eye, he continued with a huff. "Well, initially I was gonna give them a little scare, but when I got closer I heard them talking about a map of sorts."

A sound of interest left my mouth, "A map you say?" That was interesting. My brother and I could easily draw a layout of the building by ourselves alone—with mine being more detailed but a layout nonetheless. It was a mystery as to how those two could have gotten their hands on such a precious object.

Having already understood my train of thought, Squishy nodded. "Yeah, a map. You know what else is interesting?"

"Go on." I encouraged him to spill, also tapping his hands to continue what they were doing before.

"Basically, they found out where the bracelets were being controlled."

Oh my, well isn't this a delicious piece of meat to chew on.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

Seeing him nod his head so earnestly, I was convinced. There were many things my brother liked to joke about; this was not one of those things. We've both seen the damage these lumps of metal could do; so to say that someone else had somehow found access to the place controlling them, well, it couldn't get any more suspicious than that.

"They need us for their plan." I ruminate, bringing my thumbnail up to my mouth to chew on.

Squishy nodded, already catching on. "Someone to slip in while the other distracts."

Roles we fit to a T.

It seems like he's already thought about this; although, I should've seen this coming. We've been waiting for a long time with no sign of change or opportunity.

"Are you sure?" I asked, wanting to make sure he knew what he was getting himself—ourselves into.

I never wanted what happened to Ninety-Two, happen to us. We don't even know if we could regenerate body parts yet, much less our heads; although, I suppose we could just cut off our hands and leave the tracking/explosive devices on a train and call it a day. But that would be too messy to do; also, that plan would still revolve around the chance that we could regenerate limbs.

Working together with two other people—there might even be more people involved if the large number of friends those two have to say anything—would mean that we'd have to have an agreement of sorts placed down to ensure that no sides would be left dawdling in the dark. There would need to be some semblance of trust in order for this to work. Something that I most definitely do not have in spades to just toss around to people I don't and don't want to know.

"I'm sure."

And there it is. That tone I was looking for.

Hard and unwilling to budge with bursting self-assurance backed by thought-out planning and logical reasoning that he knew would sate my questions and nitpicking.

"Well, then," I hummed good-naturedly, letting go of my reservations for now. "When do you suppose we make contact?" We'll need to get the major parts out of the way first before I go to town on the rest. Zero was still a dangerous variable that we needed to keep an eye on, and if my intuition was right, he could be a big game-changer. Everything would pend on what happens though, so things weren't set in stone yet.

Smiling at my question, he tugged me up on the bed next to him and shoved his warm nose in the juncture of my freezing neck as he proceeded to cuddle me into his warm arms, the glorified hot-water bottle that he was.

"No need to rush, Bratishka. We can think of the specifics tomorrow; right now, we sleep."

"But-"

"No buts," he hushed, pulling the blanket over us as he brought me down on the mattress next to him, never letting go of me in the process. "Only sleep. You've been working on the French assignment ever since we finished lessons."

"What's wrong with finishing assignments early?" I protested, barely holding back an incriminating yawn. The enclosed warmth was getting to me as each blink I made got heavier.

My brother simply huffed and tucked my head under his. "It isn't due until Friday; three days away from today. You had plenty of time to finish it early."

Seeing that this conversation was going to get us nowhere, I rolled my eyes and let Squishy peel off my blindfold, gently placing it under my side of the pillow before wrapping his arms around me once more.

"Oh, alright. If you insist."

"I do."

The audacity of this child, I swear. Who taught him how to act this way?

"You did, you hypocrite. Now stop thinking so loudly to the point where I can hear you and sleep."