The boss hadn't spoken to her for hours, hence her concern. He had very predictable preferences that she had grown accustomed to. All business was to be dealt with before dinner; which was at precisely six o'clock. It was four o'clock, and the boy had mentioned that morning that he would take care of pressing matters that day, after his time off. He had a policy of promptness and did not like to rush things, so his absence in her earpiece was unusual. If there wasn't an exact time given to her, then there should have been a command.

The last order that she had received had been for the lunch, brought to his room. Now, Arabella Jones had been bossed around by this kid for only two years, but she knew most everything about him. It had been a help to her success in the career that Pallis Shir, insisting that he wanted no mistakes or misunderstandings, had given her a specific set of guidelines around what he did and did not like upon hiring her as his assistant. It had been overwhelming at first, but contrary to popular belief and rumor, Pallis wasn't unpleasant. She was one of the few staff that believed this.

She knocked on the door to Pallis's quarters. Three knocks, wait for fifteen seconds, and then another three. If no answer, enter. If there is an answer, obey.

Greeted by silence, she entered. Pallis's armchair faced away from the door. She could see the Lord's hand resting, limp, on the arm.

"Sir?"

No response. She closed the door and shuffled to the front of the chair. Pallis was peacefully asleep, head tilted back and soft hair carelessly misplaced, falling over his eyes and across the back of his chair. His younger brother snuggled on his lap and a book perched between the pair.

Arabella smiled to herself. For once, they both looked the children that they were.

She schooled herself. "Sir?" She pinched her ear chip. "Sir?"

He startled, smacking his ear and frantically looking around, blinking away the daze of sleep. "G-Good gracious!" His whole body was tense, but he relaxed at the sight of his personal assistant. Realizing that he was safe, he checked to make sure that Drew was as well. "Oh..." He closed the book and passed it to his assistant, then laid his hand on Drew's arm.

Arabella took the book and moved to put it away on Pallis's bookshelf. She returned to him. "Sleeping in the middle of the day, sir?"

"I've read that stress has a heavy effect on sleep, Bella," Pallis remarked, reaching for the tray on the coffee table at his side. Their lunch plates hadn't been taken away. He picked up his teacup and peered into it with a frown.

"Would you like me to heat that up for you, sir?" Bella asked.

"No." He put the cup down. "I assume... you are here with reason?"

"It's four o'clock sir. You—"

Pallis stiffened. "Four o'clock?" he exclaimed. "Already?"

Arabella nodded slowly. "There are four retired subjects that have reached expiry, and—"

"Ah, Bella, Bella, Bella! Stop there, please. Stop." He sunk back into his chair and took a moment to himself. "Mercy. I'm feeling generous today," he announced, after pondering the thought, "let the old bags live. And anyone else."

The assistant stared. "Sir?"

"Oh, I don't want to oversee any of that gruesomeness today. Honestly, Bella, I'm not interested. Besides, we always have a use for more workers, and the retirees could easily be placed somewhere more productive than the crematorium, don't you think?" He waved a hand. "If I need to blow off steam in the future, you'll know who to bring me."

She pursed her lips. "I'll make a note."

"Speaking of feeling generous..." Pallis reached into his jacket and pulled out the small bottle of whiskey from that morning, which remained unopened. He offered it. "This is for you, dear."

Arabella folded her arms. "No, thank you, sir. I'd rather my pay be in gears, as usual."

"I said I was feeling generous," Pallis laughed. "This bottle is worth twice your week's salary, but I'm giving you both. Off the record, obviously."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Of course." One couldn't deny that his grin possessed charm. He pulled his hand back after she had carefully taken the gift and gently shook his little brother.

Drew softly moaned and sleepily peered at Pallis.

"Good evening, Drew," said Pallis.

Drew stretched out, filling the chair on top of his sibling with a yawn. "You put me to sleep, Pallis."

Pallis ruffled the boy's hair. It was styled in the same way as his own but parted in the opposite direction. Pallis's hair swept to the left, while Drew's fell untidily right. "No," Pallis smirked, "you were just tired."

Arabella cleared her throat quietly. "You don't have anything pressing to take care of. I'll sort out those subjects with employment, and... and I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening, sir."

"Thank you, Bella." He watched her go, then looked to Drew. "Your sire told me that you liked flowers. Have you ever been to the greenhouse?"

***

July 12th, 2761

The rumors of Pallis's condition were widespread and variable, but all agreed to one unmistakable truth; the boy was different. Perhaps it was due to lack of exposure, or an absence of some element of the brain, but there was something undeniably off about him that anyone intelligent quickly learned to be cautious of. It was exposed in his generally irrational behavior towards disobedience and in the impassive, often elated disposal of 'unessential' staff and test subjects. On a good day, the glee might consume his whole expression. It was different to his resting smile. It was... frightening.

The staff that worked beside him to wrestle the downtrodden expendables to the incinerator saw this expression, and eventually, they all seemed to absorb it themselves—wide, glinting eyes, flashing teeth, jumping eyebrows, and all. They were the unfailingly loyal of the Shir family's employed and were known for their gruesome commitment. They would go to any extreme for their overseers.

Drew, though lost in a whimsical, naïve state of youth, suspected that something was off about his brother. Over the past days, his suspicions had escalated to regretful knowings—and a large part of his heart wished he could unknow it. But, the more time that passed, the more he dwelled, and the more he came to think on the strangeness of his sibling; such as the way that the lord reacted to mistakes and punishment. While Drew cried at the sight of beatings, Pallis allowed his grin to grow.

Later in life, an older self would look back and try to convince himself that his brother was a victim of circumstance. It was how he was raised, but it wasn't who he was.

The young devil's smile was wide on this morning. His teeth were freshly whitened, though the tobacco from his routine cigarette had dulled their shine. There was a skip in his step, sounding in a soft and cheery click-clack along the hallway carpet. The graceless thuds of the useless guards from the level one-below trailed behind with #1185 between them, held by ropes that attached to the steel collar clenched around the creature's neck.

#1185 hadn't made a sound since awakening in the chair on Level Three, hunched and fidgeting. His hands fiddled by his chest, occasionally lifting to swat at an itch. His ears and nose twitched, his eyes darted. He continuously tried to stoop to all fours, but Pallis forbade it, insisting the guards hold him upright.

Despite how the subject was lab-bred to possess a fragment of goat DNA, and how from the waist down and about the head the features of a mountain goat were implemented, it was not like a goat that he behaved, but rather like a wild dog in unfamiliar territory.

The party stopped outside of Drew's bedroom. Pallis lightly trilled his knuckles on the door.

"Drew, buddy," he chirped, swinging open the vintage mahogany, "we have your... your dad, here! Bear in mind that there was a bit of an accident with—"

"Dad!" Drew rushed past Pallis, throwing the older boy off balance. Pallis flapped his arms and recovered with as much grace as he could, his brows pulling briefly together.

Drew froze. His delicate little heart shuddered to a stop, taking the color from his cheeks and leaving his lips, parted in horror, tinged blue. He folded his hands over his heart, gasping in the smallest—the absolute smallest—of breaths.

"Dad," he whispered, within a foot of his broken father.

Pallis continued, gesturing to the man, "As I was saying, there was a bit of an accident with his procedure. In investigation, I discovered that water got into the system, unfortunately. It was absolutely amateur of the scientists and doctors involved not to have taken note of that dreadful leak."

Drew was shaking his head, but his expression was blank. His fingers were curling.

"They will be severely punished," Pallis went on, "I promise you. Severely."

Drew gingerly grasped at his father's arm. "Dad?"

The creature nervously pulled away, hands tumbling over one another. He stared down at the child, eyes wide and empty, offering no sign of recognition. His ears flopped as he cocked his head to one side and rubbed his arms protectively.

Drew reached out again and touched the man's hands, ceasing their motion. "Come on, Dad. Come on. Please." His voice broke and his eyes watered. "Say something. Please."

The soft, gentle digits of Pallis brushed Drew's shoulders and settled. The older boy leaned over his brother, coddled him, kissed his head. "I'm sorry, Drew. Accidents happen."

"No," the younger breathed, shaking his head. He dodged from Pallis's grasp, head still shaking, and stood a step away, back turned. His head bowed forward.

Pallis's smile softened. "Drew, I—"

"NO!" Drew whipped around and lashed at Pallis's outstretched hand, glaring daggers. "You're not sorry!"

Pallis blinked, startled, and pulled his hand back. The boy was always so passive, so docile. But his face was contorted with a malice Pallis had never experienced.

"You're not sorry!" Drew yelled, raising his fists. His volume dropped to a growl, "You're not sorry because it wasn't an accident. If you were, and if it was, you wouldn't be smiling. You wouldn't be happy. You did this."

One thing that was particularly lucky for Pallis on that morning was that young Drew was still attached to his gloves. Had he not been, the burns to Pallis's wrists and face would have been permanent. As it was, when his steaming little brother charged at him and clamped his fists around his wrists, Pallis could be considered fortunate to have received only burns of the second degree.

Drew wrestled Pallis back, unfazed by his shocked and fearful protests. "Where's your smile now, Pallis? Where's your stupid, evil smile now?"

The older boy stammered and strained to pull away, caving inwards with the pain that spiked from his wrists, unable to comprehend the arising blisters that bubbled from his flesh before his eyes.

Drew shoved the older boy hard against the wall, throwing his damaged wrists back at him. He drew his hand back and with all the strength he could muster smacked it hard against Pallis Shir's already bright red cheek.

"No!" Pallis cried, but the blisters were already forming, and Drew was already turning away. The younger boy stormed off down the hall, away from everyone.

Over his shoulder, Drew called a warning to his brother.

He had better see his father again.

Pallis cupped his hand to his cheek, leaning heavily against the wall, and stared after his brother with wide eyes. He pressed a cool silk handkerchief to the burn on his face, which he felt required more urgent attention, and took a long pause to regain some sense of stability. His heart was beating a mile a minute. It slowed in the instant that his shock subsided, and he swiveled to face the trio of expendables.

Where, indeed, was his smile now?

One finger was thrust in the direction of #1056—the scrawny lab rat known as Lip. "Lock the damned thing in Drew's room and keep it there for him. Eight o'clock sharp tomorrow morning, you will lead it to the ground level to be rid of. Do you understand?"

#1056 straightened his back. His jaw set, chin upturned.

Pallis understood this indignant posture all too well. Defiance did not last in the Shir household, and he made sure to keep it that way. "#1056, I will wring your neck. Do as I've ordered."

Lip threw his spear to the ground and released Thumbtack's rope. He took his friend's hand instead and spat at the ground. "You are a sick child, Pallis Shir."

Whatever had remained of Pallis's fallen smile distorted into something sinister and deeply unsettling. His eyes narrowed and his composure shriveled into a tense and disheveled stance, fists clenched at his sides. He snarled. "Do you think I am in the mood to be insulted?" His voice raised. "You can join it! Death row!"

Lip calmly sniffed, closing his eyes. "It would be my honor to go down with Thumbtack. I would gladly stand by his side."

Sponge followed Lip's example. His spear clunked on the carpet. Thumbtack anxiously whimpered and shifted between his held hands.

"As would I," Sponge said firmly.

"Fools!" Pallis spat. "The drunken coward would never have done the same for you."

The subjects looked to each other and to their friend and regretted nothing. Together, they faced Pallis for the first time without fear.

"SO BE IT!" Pallis shouted. "What do I care? I'll kill you all! It makes no difference to me!" He kicked open Drew's bedroom door. "GO!"

Lip and Sponge walked straight to their doom with dignity, somehow. They led their march through the door with their noses turned up. Pallis slammed the door behind them and withdrew his keys to lock the door.

His hands were shaking.

As soon as the lock had turned, he cried out and threw his handkerchief to the ground. It fluttered gracefully, enraging him further, and he kicked it away.

"Bella!" he barked, slamming his quaking fingers to his ear. "Get me the doctor, now."

Without grace, he stalked briskly down the hall, fingers snapping with an anxious, repetitive tension. His face and his wrists throbbed, and his eye was starting to close with the swelling.

A mutter escaped him. "I need a cigarette."

It wasn't all that he needed.