Milo jumped as another beer was slammed on the bar before him, so deeply distracted by his thoughts that he had failed to register the approaching footsteps. His eyes glazed as the cheap ale sloshed disgracefully in the blurred glass, stomach protesting the sight almost instantly, and with haste he shoved the liquid away. The stale taste of bile soon washed across Milo’s tongue as his gag reflex sprung forth, and he retched, chest tightening as he dry heaved. Already, he had forced his body to down two beers, a useless attempt at deadening his brain, and the mere thought of another was sickening. Glancing up, Milo met the piercing eyes of the bartender, disgust marrying his features. The man motioned to his right with disinterest, and Milo shrunk where he sat as across the bar a woman waved.

“From the lady. Tabs already covered.” 

“Thank you.” Milo’s voice was coarse, dejected. “But I can’t.” The bartender huffed, snatching the ale and sliding it to another patron who quickly downed the beverage. Milo dared not glance up, fearing the disappointment he might witness in the woman’s gaze. Instead, he intensely studied the slashes in the wooden countertop, hands tightening into fists at his side. They meant well, he was certain, the alcohol a sign of interest, but his favour just did not swing that way. Unfortunately, the small town in which he was currently visiting lacked any specialized bars, and he had been coerced into joining this particular establishment for a night. The person responsible--- Milo flinched as an arm wrapped unexpectedly around his shoulders, jostling his head uncomfortably--- his brother. 

“Disappointing women again, ey Milo?” He simply shrugged, not invested enough to respond. The man sighed, stumbling onto a stool beside Milo, immediately whistling to the bartender for another glass. “I brought you here to relax, you know?”

“Sorry Mitch- I’m just not in the mood right now for drinking.”

“Right, right. Still, you shouldn’t throw those ladies off like that, it’s rude.” Mitch lightly shoved Milo’s shoulder, smirking impishly. “I thought that last one was gonna start crying. Should’ve seen her face.”

“‘Wish they’d get the hint already- that’s the fifth one tonight.” Milo slouched, head dropping to the countertop with a thud, certain to leave a dent, unmoved by the mirth. 

“Can’t blame ‘em for trying; not often you see newcomers in this pub.”

“‘Suppose that’s all I am- a novelty.” The quip was shot without thought, and almost immediately the man regretted it as his brother’s face fell. 

“Milo-”

“It’s alright Mitch,” He apologised, hands twisting in his lap. “I know you didn’t mean it that way. I’m just stressed.” The eldest brother sighed, sipping at his ale in silence. After an awkward minute, he spoke up, any traces of drunk flippancy cast aside:

“Liam was wrong, you know?” Milo peeked up, the hurt flashing across his face quickly wiped away, replaced with a carefully controlled blank exterior. “I think you’d make a great husband.” His eyes trailed back down, and Mitch pretended not to notice the way in which his younger brother’s breath had hitched slightly. Patiently, he waited for the man to compose himself. 

“You think so?”

“You’re my brother! I know so.” Milo slouched even further, his chin tilted away, a movement which Mitch recognized instantly, opposite in effect of his attempts at cheerful flattery. Instinctively, he leant forward and clapped a hand against Milo’s shoulder, emotions jumbled as he sought to understand. “Speak to me, Milo. Keeping everything inside isn’t going to help.” A spark of hope lit up his gaze when the man didn’t instantly seek to pull away, and in recompense, he tightened his grip, softly letting his lips rise. “You know you can speak to me.” 

“I- I just thought that everything was going so perfectly.” The words were uttered with staggered breaths. Gruff with barely constrained emotion. Mitch paused, head tilted as he considered his next words. 

“Sometimes perfect isn’t what we need in life.”

“What do you mean?” Milo’s face rose, eyes slightly puffed and glossy, though tears had yet to fall. Mitch’s lips twitched. 

“Think about it: who do you know in a relationship that doesn’t have fights and fallouts sometimes, hm?” A crease drew between Milo’s eyes as he thought, frowning when unable to procure a counter. His nails dug into the flesh of his palm as he clenched his fists.

“It’s not like it matters now anyways. This wasn’t some basic catfight.”

“No, it wasn’t, was it? You never did tell me exactly what Liam said to you.”

“I’d rather not repeat it.” A rushed exhale blew through Mitch’s lips.

“Was it that bad?” Milo shrunk down, but his lack of a verbal response was answer enough. The uneasiness of silence reigned once more across the counter, and with practiced ease, Mitch drowned the remainder of his glass, glaring into the bar’s mirror, training his gaze upon the man beside him. He chuckled. “Life really sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“Life is bullshit.”

“Yeah- that it is. That it is. But, you know, time just keeps moving forward, and so we have to move with it. Don’t want to be left behind and all that…” Drudengly, Milo forced his body up, lips twisted into a frown. 

“I think I’m going to head back to your place.”

“Let me pay. This bar’s no fun tonight, no point sticking around.” Uninterested, Milo simply shrugged, rising from his stool. Both men stumbled slightly as the measure of alcohol they had consumed set upon their bodies a certain heaviness, before treading quietly towards the door. A worn and cracked exit sign flashed lazily above its breath. 

The parking lot was relatively empty, the majority of the population having opted to walk rather than drive the hazardous roads. Small and aged as the town was, roads were still nothing more than settled dirt ways, and an absence of street lights left only the moon and stars to cast any light upon the streets. As the brothers stepped into the night, each inhaled, the fresh scent of pine a welcome distraction to the bare odour of combined vomit and alcohol. A customary breeze rustled their clothing as it wound past, whistling through the branches and leaves, and with its passing, shoulders relaxed, as though a great pressure had been relieved. Mitch’s teeth flashed in the moonlight.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Milo nodded hesitantly, beginning to tread across the earth in the direction of his belongings. A slight buzz had begun to rumble across his skull, though with the lack of pain, he associated it as some weird effect of the alcohol, and pressed on. Mitch caught up quickly, shortening his pace so that they could walk side-by-side without trouble. Before them, trees rose high into the night’s sky, dark shadows, ominous to outsiders, but a comfort to the in, carpeted across the floor in layers. Just above the topmost branch of a tilted trunk, the luminescence of the half-moon pierced through, contrasting sharpy to illuminate the pathway. A serene stillness bequeath the land, and the brothers silently pressed forward, momentarily bewitched by the peacefulness.

Mitch himself, despite having lived amongst said scenery for the better part of five years, still found himself awed by the occupancy of such life, but a distracting hum across his forehead had him relatively distracted, and he rubbed at his eyes in protest. The short gasps beside him had him pausing immediately, however, and he hurriedly twisted to find Milo knelt upon the ground, face pressed into the dirt. 

“Milo?” He bent, hands resting upon the younger’s shoulders, his worry deepening when the man flinched away. The shaking of Milo’s shoulders alerted Mitch to the severity of the situation, and he immediately brought the man into his arms, not caring that his shirt was quickly becoming soaked with tears. He hushed the protests that rose, letting his chin rest upon the crown of his brother’s head. 

“Just let it go. I’ve got you.” Sobs soon broke forth, heart wrenching cries of deep anguish that broke into the silence of the night. Despite the pain that threatened to crush Mitch’s soul at the sight of his siblings sorrow, he was happy- this was one step towards recovery, and grimly he smiled, rocking his body side to side. It was then, that with agonizing clarity, an excruciating blaze seared across his brain, the buzz elaborating itself into a disastrous symphonic performance. Blatantly, Mitch became aware of screaming, the sound distant and strange, but just as suddenly as it had appeared, the pain disappeared, and he fell forward, gaining the realization that it had been his own throat emitting such horrendous noises. 

The world around him blurred, his eyes unable to focus with any purpose, senses dulled to the point of being inoperable, but the dark mass crumpled beneath him was soft, affluent with the scent of some fragrant cologne, and Mitch would be a fool not to recognize it. Desperately, the eldest brother pitched his torso to the side, such that he was no longer crushing the form beneath him, but was left gasping at the effort required. The lights from the stars appeared to mock him as they burned his corneas, his back sunk heavily against the dirt. 

“Milo!” The scream barely pierced above a whisper, and yet, there was no response, the body beside Mitch still and unmoving. One arm swung out, but its motions were disjointed, as though disconnected from the central nervous system, and the man only just found the strength to grasp a sliver of Milo’s shirt. Panic had now set in full, and the frantic beating of his heart against his ribs left Mitch breathless. He was helpless, the onset of symptoms so sudden and bizzare that he had no clue as to their origin or cause. The world darkened considerably then, but Mitch spared no thought, concerned only for his brother’s health. He swore, lips unnaturally ladened. 

Suddenly, from a direction unknown, footsteps approached, a foggy silhouette shifting just above Mitch’s head. Tears fell down his cheeks, unashamedly pooling in the corners of his mouth. The light was blinding, despite the darkness of his peripherals, an oxymoron of catastrophic proportions, and in a stupor, he begged, uncaring of the rescuer’s identity. A hand, unnaturally large, pressed its palm against his forehead, but he shook it off fervently, tugging on the hem of Milo’s clothes weakly. 

“Help. Him.” The figure disappeared from his sight then, but within seconds something was clawing up his arm, wrapping its way underneath Mitch’s form and lifting him off the ground. Dizziness racked his brain, the movement so sudden. The process had resulted in the disconnection of the brothers, and as his eyes lolled back within his head, unconsciousness claiming him, Mitch screamed. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kian’s face was forcibly blank, the slight furrow above his brow was the only indication that displayed any sense of animosity raging within, and his posture was slack, impressioning itself as a matter of longsuffering boredom, disinterested in heavier emotions. Despite his exterior, however, rage turmoiled within, indulging his senses into heightened awareness, and propulsing strength into his muscles. The teen, for a boy he was, no older than nineteen orbital rotations, gallowed in ire as he watched the elders before him carry out their structured duties, his presence only stable due to a request upon his father’s behalf. 

Men, brutes who tarnished their brawn and rebelled from any trace of morality, clambered from the backs of transport ships, arms ladened with tarped cases, callous of their treatments of the contents within. Kian scowled, withholding a growl that echoed in his throat. He knew what was inside those boxes- what creatures had been scorned from their home planets and delivered illegally into the hands of his awaiting seniors. To make matters worse, his father was no more than the head of the vile operation, his voice bouncing from over the heads of his accomplices as he observed the process. 

Kian had learnt of the affair only a mere twelve days ago, after accidentally stumbling upon a collection of papers strewn over his father’s desk, and immediately had risen in protest. Unfortunately, his status as a junior gave him no authority, and he was forced to bark a hasty goodbye to his friends and teachers before his family was uprooted and transported into the southern rural landscapes of his planet. It was, as detailed in the transcript, set publicly as an ecological mission, one in which endangered species from the galactic interface would be gathered and released into widespread environments as a sanctuary of sorts, secure from poachers and collectors; Kian knew the darker story. A recent order from the central judiciary force had cracked down on the hoarding of threatened species, punishing those found in possession of such creatures- It just so happened that the majority of said criminals were prominent political figures, and in an effort to save the face of the empire, rather than have its members arrested and jailed, the order demanded the release of such organisms into the hands of scientists in the name of “research.” Kian huffed, the sour taste of betrayal scraping off his tongue.

A liberal rise had swept the population of his planet in storm, upsetting the core principles set in a traditional society. Kian had been one of those moved by the movement, gathering a special interest in the equality and freedom of all species, alien or not, and had sought security in the arms of his parents, both environmental scientists who had promoted throughout his youth the fair treatment of all, and the maintenance of natural conditions upon planets. Now, with the promise of a little payment, their ideals had turned; The man Kian had once looked up to now pledged towards the government the secure confinement of animals, concrete stone walls and a one-way mirror their only future. His mother was much the same.

It was with a sharp yelp that Kian’s thoughts were returned to the present, and he stiffened as the raw scent of blood reached his nose, nails digging into the fabric of his pants in an attempt at regaining clarity. Before him, a man knelt, his back hunched and arm dangling limply at his side- a thick, blue substance dripped from his shoulder. Almost instantly, before Kian could gather a further glance, the man was surrounded, the cage he had been carrying kicked aside, a high-pitched wail rising from within, diminished in volume slightly by the covering tarp.  The teen watched as his father joined the circle, and, noting his momentary distraction, rose to his feet, creeping towards the discarded cage. 

Upon closer observation, it became deductively clear that a stretch of the canvas had been unsecured, its edges surging as the wind blew. Kian knelt, head tilted as he considered the opening. Tentatively, prompted by curiosity, and momentarily forgetting the now-silent occupant, he traced a hand across the surface, leaning his body forward, such as to peek inside, yet was painfully dragged back a second later by the scruff of his neck. It was with fervor, once released, that Kian spun, canines bared at the man who had so dared touch him. His father glared with an equal ferocity.

“Do tell me, what exactly you thought you were doing?” Kian gritted his teeth, choosing to remain silent as his father seethed. “Did you not just see what happened?”

“Don’t you ever touch me.”

“You forget yourself, Kian. Watch it.”

“What? Threatening me now, father?”

“I damn well should. Do you have any idea how stupid what you just tried was?” The man’s voice trembled with rage, any traces of parental gentleness gone. “That man almost lost his arm.”

“He deserved it.”

“He was doing his job. That creature-”

“It’s not a creature! It’s an innocent animal!”

“It’s an alien. Damn it, we’ve gone over this fifty times now Kian. They aren’t your pets, stop getting so invested. I told you to stay in your spot and not interfere.”

“It could have been hurt! They kicked the cage.”

“So what? It can’t feel pain, you know that.”

“You don’t know that.” Kian shrunk slightly, growing wary as he noted the audience that had silently surrounded them, watching with borderline psychotic amusement the argument. Their smirks and occasional chuckles gave no wonder to whose side they supported. In a hushed growl, the teen whispered. “You know this isn’t right.”

“I have a job to finish, I don’t need your childish ideas disrupting me.” The patriarch was unmoved, lips steeled in a slit. “We’re saving lives out here, Kian. You should be proud.”

“Proud? Proud? You aren’t saving anything. You’re nothing more than a puppet.”

“Silence!”

“No. You always said that animals were our friends, so why are you treating them like this?”

“We are giving them a future-”

“You’re giving them confines!”

“We are giving them a life, we are saving their species- without this sanctuary here they’d die.”

“Better dead than here.” Both men’s eyes grew tight, their postures tense and spiked for combat. It took only a second, however, for Kian to recognize his stance, and he quickly hunched, submitting beneath the eldered man. Ingrained respect had been drilled into his head since birth, demanded by the adults the youths’ referential admiration and assignment. Kian stepped back, the realization of just how outside of the boundaries he had crept striking at once. Whilst his opinion was firm, it was still his parental figure before him, and he feared sudden physical reprimand. Ducking his head, such as to protect the bare skin of his neck, he waited for the forthcoming blow. 

“Go home, Kian.”

“What?” The teen glanced up, suspicious.

“You’ve proven yourself unable to handle such a vital occupation. It is best if you leave.” The disappointment within his father’s tone was almost tangible, and despite his ire in disagreement, Kian deflated. A bout of depression and shame settled across his chest, but not before the last flame of rage had flickered. As though his mouth filled with cotton, the teen was unable to utter a final stand, but he spun on his heel, obstructively presenting his back to his father, shoving through the henchmen towards the domed architecture in the distance. Quickly did the orders of his father to his workers to continue reach his ears, but Kian ignored them, eyes boring holes into the dirt. 

It was with pure disrespect that he entered what was now his new living space, storming past his mother in a flurry, despite her inquiries of his condition. Within seconds, he found himself collapsed upon an array of quilts, the door to his room slamming with a finality as it shut, scrubbing furiously at his eyes that threatened to leak nonconsensual tears. Too wide was the gap between he and his parents, such that it was unlikely a compromise would ever be negotiated, and Kian longed for the day he was acquitted as an adult and free to leave the property with newfound passion. How quickly had the relationship devolved; how quickly had strangers gained control of his life and left him stranded. A shuddered gasp racked his form as he curled upon himself. He missed his friends- he missed his teachers- but more-so, he missed the parents he had grown to love.