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Tyler’s neck was a place of vulnerability and strength. The muscles could withstand the yank and drag as his body was pulled back to Dema. His spine never broke from the force, though sometimes Tyler prayed for it.
It was his weakest point, where the Bishops could access his mind with a smear of blackness across his jugular—the poison ebbing up through his blood to cloud and seize control.
And even when they let go—dropped him off in the same stark room lit by the flat glow of the tubes, Tyler still couldn’t draw a full breath. Their power smothered him, poured haze into his thoughts and judgement. Endlessly hypoxic, Tyler only felt clear once he was free of Dema. But still, phantom fingers bruised his skin and made him look wildly around, anticipating that he was about to be taken back.
The cycle never stopped—Tyler never lost that feeling of a hound’s humid breath on the haunches of a rabbit. Stuck in a loop of capture, escape, capture, escape. He always found a way and no matter how tired he was of the unbreakable pattern, he still trudged on.
There was a faction of Banditos that didn’t hide the fact that they thought he was more trouble than he was worth. Tyler was a homing beacon for the Bishops—eventually they always found him and no one could figure out how or why. It never happened to any of the other escapees the Banditos helped, and it was understandable why some didn’t want him around.
Some people had been Taken back with Tyler, and most weren’t like Tyler—they never were able to get back out. Others had gotten hurt and their screams haunted him. Tyler never asked for anyone to stand in between him and the Bishops. He knew his fate was doomed to this and no longer fought back, but the ones who cared the most couldn’t stand by. Tyler had their blood on his hands.
So when the Banditos appeared in the courtyard during Tyler’s latest attempt, he immediately assumed they were going to kill him. It wouldn’t be suspicious for Tyler to die in Dema—he thought he would anyway. But still, when confronted with the possibility of death he whirled around, looking for an escape.
The yellow blurred in front of his eyes, too frantic to recognize who surrounded him. He knew everyone’s tape patterns and emblems, but Tyler couldn’t focus—didn’t want to see who was betraying him. The Banditos had never ventured into Dema before.
But he couldn’t deny who it was that stepped towards him, knew exactly what the X meant. Beanie ever-present but eyes unreadable in the flickering torchlight. He trusted this man so much, but doubted himself even more. There was always the possibility, he would grow to hate Tyler. He had the most reason to do so.
Tyler held out his hand. His last hope—their sign that everything was copacetic between them. Josh reacted without hesitation, and Tyler felt the relief course through his veins as they went through the well-practiced motions.
Validation. Josh was still on his side.
Tyler didn’t care what would happen next; he was willing to come quietly, to follow the Banditos once again to their camp. He may have reasoned to himself that being alone was better. In solitude only he got hurt— his loved ones were kept out of the vicious cycle. That’s what he’d been trying to do the last time he was captured, even though the Banditos found him anyway. He wasn’t sure how they knew, but at least they stayed out of it when Nico arrived. Silent witnesses watching him march down the middle of Trench.
The yellow flowers— that must have been Josh’s idea, Tyler realized. He always seemed to know what worked to ward off the Bishops, at least for a little while. It all connected with the mission the Banditos were conducting around him.
Tyler fell into line. The Banditos did what they had to do—a message of rebellion to broadcast and leave behind. None of them stuck around to see the fallout, but everyone hoped that it would be enough to encourage others to come find them. Tyler kept his eyes on Josh, watching every movement— trust and concern. But he didn’t stumble or show any signs of weakness. It was clear to see that he was the leader of this mission. Tyler needed him to lean on; Dema had sapped his energy.
Josh was ahead of Tyler the whole way through the tunnel, and his light was enough motivation to keep his feet moving forward. He dared to come all the way into this terrible place to save Tyler—the act sparked Tyler to find his drive to start the cycle again. Tyler would join Josh wherever he went. Seeing him was enough to make that decision for Tyler.
Fresh air.
That was always the first thing Tyler registered when he emerged from Dema. Trench was dimensional, it breathed with life wild and without abandon. There was real, actual noise; not the dull drone of Dema, its anesthetic flatness where light was filtered or artificial.
Tyler was roused. Energy filled him, and he tingled from fingertips to the soles of his feet. He left Dema in the night and emerged into Trench as daylight bathed their party.
Dema was exhaustion with constant lack of consciousness, no awareness if one was asleep or awake. He slept throughout the day, uncaring of the state he was in—the Bishops didn’t mind as long as he was awake for the daily Worship and Atonement. It was easier to keep track of him if he was unconscious. Sleepers didn’t run.
Even when out of bed in Dema, Tyler couldn’t shake the numb fog from his dreamless naps. His body only half-attached to his mind, running on autopilot for what he had to do.
Tyler had enough sleep. Too much. He could’ve kept walking for days—to go beyond camp and further into Trench. Never had made it that far before.
When the rescue group stopped at a cave, Tyler did as well. His concern for Josh outweighed the thrill he always got at this stage of the escape-capture cycle. Rebirth.
“Been awake for a whole day.” Josh said, the two of them moving just a little apart from the group, who all were settling on the floor. “We all need a quick nap. It’s about a half day’s march to camp from here.”
“How’d you find that tunnel? I’ve never heard of it before.” Tyler asked, and Josh shushed him.
“I’ll explain later. It’s kind of a weird story.” Josh pat the spot next to him. “C’mon. Just a little sleep.”
“I— No, I’m fine with just leaning against the wall.” Tyler sat up and feigned closing his eyes to rest. He could hear Josh shifting closer, so Tyler dropped his legs down instinctively. Moments later Josh’s head came to rest on his thigh and Tyler’s hand found its place on his shoulder.
His thumb stroked; the fabric of Josh’s hoodie was familiar, well loved and well worn. Tyler could tell that the Bandito had already fallen asleep—they’d joked many times before that he could nap anywhere anytime. It was a useful skill for a life on the move. He needed to be able to go dormant and shut off for a bit, especially recently.
Tyler didn't close his eyes for longer than a blink. He reveled in being free and the undeniable fact that Josh was present and touching him. They’d been through so much together, and to be living this moment had seemed impossible many times over. Losing Josh, and knowing that he was the reason for him getting hurt again or killed— that was Tyler’s worst nightmare. If he got locked in Dema and never escaped again, Tyler could rest easier knowing Josh was safer for it away from him.
Stubble on Josh’s jaw; Tyler couldn’t resist seeking out what it felt like. Prickly— Tyler noted the details. Bandana around his neck. He looked so pale, but he was warm with life, and Tyler needed this reinforcement and proof.
Tyler’s finger followed a path. Jaw, cheeks, lips… “That’s a nice way to wake up.” Josh’s mouth moves against the digit. He smiles with Tyler still touching his lips. “Missed you.”
“Yeah… enough to actually go into Dema. What the hell, Josh?” Tyler asked, still disbelieving that the night’s events had occurred. He pulled his hand away and returned it to Josh’s shoulder.
“Didn’t want you to slipping away into Trench. Looks like I had good timing.” Josh replied. Anyone else would’ve sat up at this point, but he seemed too comfortable on Tyler’s lap.
“But how did you find that tunnel? I’ve never even heard rumors of it. That will be so helpful in the future…. Oh.” Tyler stopped as Josh tugged his beanie further down over his ears.
“We’ve got to get moving.” Josh said quietly, and stood with a groan. The rock floor only acted like a good bed for the weary.
The other Banditos stretched and stood back up. Tyler shook the pins and needles out of his legs and Josh gave him a hand. Their torches were reignited—they needed as much light as they could get. For as better as the natural light was in Trench, it always felt close to twilight.
The terrain and trails became familiar as they all marched on, and at nightfall, the most dangerous time, they arrived at a little camp outpost they kept up. It wasn’t too far from the main camp, but a key rule of Trench; when you had a place to shelter for the night. Stay there or else risk the creatures and Bishops that lurked in the darkness.
“Shave me.” Tyler’s request was expected. It was all part of the transformation of those who escaped Dema. Resetting from the programming received while under the electric control. Growing the hair back out again marked the time elapsed in freedom.
They came with razors and the hair itched as it fell down his neck.
“Feels nice.” Josh always said after each shaving, when they were alone in a tent. The cold pulled them closer together in the bedroll. It was Josh’s turn to stroke Tyler’s head, facing each other and both too alert to sleep.
“Can I… see it?” Tyler whispered and Josh sighed.
“You’re just going to blame yourself, Ty.”
“Please.” Tyler needed the shock and reminder.
Josh would never have denied Tyler, anway. He pulled the black beanie off, revealing his own closely shorn head. No matter how many times Tyler saw his bare head since, he always took a sharp intake of breath when he first laid eyes on it.
The scar stood boldly out— thick and jagged from Josh’s right temple across the top of his scalp and ending near the base of his skull on the other side. Nico had gifted that mark to him after an attempt to break the cycle. Josh had foolishly gotten in the way of the red cloaked Bishop and his quarry and had almost died.
Tyler had screamed till he felt the rips in his throat open and Nico had knocked him unconscious. He’d been dragged away as Josh lay crumbled on the rocky floor of Trench. His blood coated the stones and turned the river red. There was no way he could’ve survived, and Tyler had never faced a time so desolate and full of despair.
He saw Josh everywhere. His yellow gave Tyler fight, a thirst for revenge. Tyler became more dangerous since he thought he had nothing to return to— he wanted Dema in destruction. He tried his hardest to pull down all sense of order in the world until a group of Banditos caught him stealing supplies—he was trying to live on the edges of camp until he could sneak back into Dema to plant bombs.
They dragged him to the infirmary tent, and there Josh was. Months since the incident, and he was still so weak. Alive, and that shocked Tyler out of the spiral he’d been descending.
There was nothing more Tyler wanted than to be at Josh’s side for his entire recovery. To help him walk again, patiently wait for words to form as his brain struggled with healing. But they both knew Tyler had to atone, and he walked into the night knowing he’d be waking in Dema by daylight.
Their relationship had moved like this for years. Only gifted with each other for times that lasted a few days, or others that extended for joyous weeks.
Promises. “I’ll be right here.” What they were able to give, they gave. Always, constantly running to each other. To save or to lean on; it was always a mix of the two. Purpose in helping and a vision for surviving. Tyler wanted to be with Josh in Trench forever; the place where he could be free from the world where hands held him back and moved him how they pleased.
But even so, even in their tent for two, Trench was never the destination. He kept pushing on, wanting to go beyond the furthest reaches of where the Banditos roamed. Tyler wanted Josh to go with him, to find that place where the Bishops’ dark fingers couldn’t wrap around his neck. He had no idea if there was even such a place, but he knew he would never know safety or tranquility until he did.
The twilight dawn broke upon the hills, and the rescue party came back together for the final stretch to semi-permanent base. Tyler shifted into the lead spot, as he preferred. It felt more like a return home than being brought back as prisoner with a metaphorical tail between his legs. Tyler kept his head high, and Josh by his right shoulder.
Rituals, like the shaving, were important to the Banditos; it differentiated from the cruel religion of the Bishops. As they marched into home base, the taping of his coat into his own unique pattern was just another ceremony to complete the cycle. The Banditos were accepting him back in, but Tyler read distrust as he marched down the line, in the eyes of the ones he knew didn’t want him at all.
Tyler felt their eyes on him, and he stuck to Josh as he always did the first week back. He missed out on the latest news, and was filled in as more groups arrived that had ventured off to other missions.
“There was a pretty big group of people that got out of Dema a couple weeks ago.” Josh told Tyler, keeping his voice low.
Mealtimes were about as formal as the Banditos got—everyone lined up to get whatever food was scavenged together. Plopped onto assorted metal bowls, Banditos settled wherever there was a spot in the middle of camp and caught up on the news from all over Trench. Lunch that day was beef stew; someone had intercepted a shipment to Dema a month prior and even still they were all eating well.
“Didn’t go well?” Tyler replied, reading Josh’s tone.
“Five adults and two kids. Peter—” Josh jerked his head towards one of the leaders. Tyler and Peter were far from friends, but he at least wasn’t one of his enemies. “—sent a group of ten to get them. Bigger party than I would’ve liked. Apparently no one kept lookout and—”
Tyler had a sharp intake of breath. “How many did we lose?”
“Killed three of the adults, and one of the kids. Took half the rescue party and they— oh, I, um…” Josh’s words left him, and his face drained of all color. Thankfully, they were already sitting, and Tyler held onto him as he became more dazed.
Losing control, Josh slumped onto him, and Tyler eased him to lie flat out on the ground. Once again, his head was in Tyler’s lap, but it was with much more worry that Tyler stroked his cheek.
Josh had these… episodes, they called them, where he zoned out completely or else went limp. They weren’t frequent, and usually not this bad. Sometimes just a few seconds where he stood in place and stared into nothing. When he came back, he shook himself a little and didn’t want to talk about where he went in those times.
His eyes stayed open, and they remained motionless, looking beyond and into the sky. Tyler waited, counting seconds in his head. Others walking by muttered to each other, but everyone was used to this by now.
“Looks like a bad one.” Someone remarked, but Tyler was too busy watching Josh to see who.
Tyler reached two-hundred and eighty-seven by the time Josh blinked.
“Welcome back.” Tyler kept his voice soft and free of the tightness he felt restricting his throat again.
Josh sighed and picked himself back up, struggling a little on arms that shook.
“Let me—” Tyler tried to help, but Josh raised a hand.
“I’m okay. I’m sorry. I’ll be fine.” He avoided making eye contact and Tyler found himself wondering, once again, where he went or what he saw.
Tyler let it go. He let Josh take time to pull himself together and make a half-hearted suggestion they help sort supplies. It was a mindless task and somehow kept Tyler’s mind off everything. It was just enough to make the hours pass by and keep him within close proximity of Josh. Living his life, stuck in the cycle, any time he left Josh could be the last time they saw each other for a long time. Tyler wanted to be surrounded by him, to hold on to every moment.
He watched Josh worry, though the Bandito would never say what was causing his brow to crease and mouth to tighten. Tyler wondered what Josh saw; he studied him more than anyone, and it wasn’t had to notice that Josh knew things. He said nothing, but with each step he took with a box in hand, he counted the times Josh saved the day with a secret only he could tell.
... the flowers, the petals falling, the tunnel…
Tyler wanted to fill his eyes with Josh. Grounding…. Comfort. Even though Josh seemed quiet and distracted throughout the day, anywhere with him was better than in Dema.
The firelight, the Banditos weaving and moving. Nighttime scared Tyler; Bishops had the power then. Between the voices and conversations, Tyler could almost hear wingbeats. He felt circled, again.
“We’re going to strike a blow to Dema directly soon.” Josh told Tyler, and everyone else sitting around the campfire after the rally. There were joined by a Bandito that had been there a long time, and someone new who Tyler was sure was called ‘Clark’, or maybe Clancy.
“We are? When?” Tyler replied, but was met with nothing.
Josh’s eyes slipped back out. It was like aftershocks following an earthquake, Tyler just had to wait for Josh to return. This time out of Dema felt so much more ominous than any other; almost as if both knew their time together was even shorter than usual. Melancholy— Josh was withholding something big from Tyler, and it pained Tyler to know he held a burden alone.
The clock ran out.
Tyler knew the hands were coming seconds before he was taken, before the trance descended over him. He didn’t fight it anymore. Tyler wanted Josh to be the last thing he saw before this was all taken away from him again, and he returned to the beginning. Across the campfire, he glowed with the orange-yellow light. He burned into Tyler’s retinas.
The yellow hoodie drew tight across Tyler’s neck, and yet it withstood.
Tyler was back at the start.
His hair was fully grown out and Dema was on fire. The nine towers threw smoke and sparks directly to the skies. People were running everywhere, and Tyler held a backpack in one hand and a single yellow flower in the other.
The riot had begun, but was the cycle broken?
A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he spun to face the one he knew would join him on this journey out.
“We’re going.”
“Beyond?”
“Beyond.”
The breath Tyler drew filled into the very depths of his lungs, and he exhaled revolution.