The Butterfly Effect

As soon as Priesty—oddly enough, Alexei never got his real name, though Rosie was right when she said no one else used it—came, Alexei made up a quick excuse to get as far as possible. He knew what it meant. There was a new mission.

But he didn't want to know what it was.

He didn't exactly know where he'd go when he first left, just that he wanted to get away. In fact, he went all the way to the exit before understanding that it really wasn't going to solve anything—that he was stuck here, mostly metaphorically but in a way that felt like it might as well be physical, too. So he turned back around and went into the kitchen instead, where no one but the lone self-proclaimed chef—Alexei wasn't convinced the guy didn't just take the position because he could eat more without anyone noticing—ever visited.

It was a place where he didn't have to put on any particular facade; where all the pent-up emotions could seep through him, though never as clenched fists or thrown objects. No, when he had the chance, when his emotions got the better of him…

He cried.

He cried until the tears he'd tried holding in seemed to have no more left in them, until he could barely breathe with all the heavy emotions lying on his chest. He wanted to go home. But if he did that, who would protect them? Would there really be a home to go back to, when Priesty came and fulfilled all of his threats? Alexei knew Priesty was right. Milo had, knowingly or not, gotten himself involved in heretical works. And whether he realized it or not, he was pulling the entire family down with him. Why wasn't he here instead? Why did Milo always run from his problems, leaving everyone else to clean up after him? Why… why did Alexei still want to keep Milo safe, despite everything?

Why was Alexei going to keep going, when deep down he knew it was all going to lead to the same outcome?

At first, he only acknowledged there was a muffled voice somewhere else in the kitchen. Then, he recognized that it was someone calling his name. And lastly, he understood that it was Rosie.

"Alexei? You're in here, right..?"

He scooted further back into the shadows and tried to muffle his gasping, erratic breaths. Not that it mattered, really—this wasn't the first time he came here, and Rosie was rather good at remembering his hiding places.

He never called out to her, but she knew where he was, and he could tell when she was getting close. Perhaps right before the door to the closet he'd hid in opened, he wiped his face and willed himself to pretend like nothing had changed.

Not that he was exactly able to fool her. Rosie looked over him with compassion, though a part of him wanted to say it was just because they were working together. Things would get worse if they didn't get along. There was no one else she seemed to give that level of care to, and everyone nearby was surprised to see her show it to anyone. Either that meant she was pretending, in order to get things done quicker, or he was really that miserable that she simply had to take pity on him.

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The option hidden among those two—that she simply cared—was something he didn't let stay in his mind for long. If there was one thing he learned quickly here, it was that nothing and no one was his friend—only one or two could be considered anything vaguely more than a neutral party. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn't shake off the fear that she was going to turn around and leave him, too.

Even if she really was always there, again and again…

Rosie held out her hand to him. "You don't have to worry. It's just another information-gathering trip. Might not even find any leads worth following up on."

She said it like it was supposed to be reassuring. Like they weren't still contributing to the deaths of others, despite not being the ones to officially carry it out.

But he nodded anyway, knowing there wasn't any point in arguing.

…

It would be a lie to say he "got used to it." It was more like he learned how to pinpoint his exact feelings about the situation… and then shut them in a box. If that box opened, then all of his emotions spilled out, and he couldn't have that while he was on the job. The box was kept under tight lock and key; he considered it a good thing that he eventually found he could never quite pry it open. He didn't cry, even when it felt overwhelming. He didn't get sick, even if it was disgusting. He didn't question it, even when all the questions were so blatantly written in front of him. He'll follow orders, because that's what he had to do.

That's what kept his family safe. And, despite most evidence pointing towards the contrary, he liked to pretend it was helping others, too. It shut up the rest of the emotions that slipped through his careful protection.

Eventually, it started to feel more and more like whoever was doing this—gathering condemning evidence, sending people off to face "justice"—was someone else. Like he was a spectator in some twisted play, instead of one of its lead roles. And after settling into that role as an observer, he was able to dismiss the sickening feeling whenever he went to work.

Alexei didn't commit the names of the people they hunted to memory. It made the "hunting" aspect a little less prominent. That's why he didn't even know the name of the person he had chased into a corner, who was now staring down their hunter.

"What if I told you about the others?" they pleaded. They didn't realize that was something he heard a lot; that most people, no matter how confidently they swore, would go back on any promise if it meant saving themselves. He couldn't blame them—he doubted he was any different.

But that didn't mean he liked it.

"So, you're throwing away all your pride just like that? You can't save yourself from this. Don't drag others down with you."

The person—no, the prey—went silent as they considered his words. Maybe they knew he was right and was facing the fact they'd gone against something they swore they'd never do. Maybe they didn't care about that part anymore, if they ever did, and now were just focused on whatever they had to say to get themselves out of this.

"You don't want to do this," was what they eventually mumbled.

Alexei shook his head. "You don't know anything about me."

He wasn't even sure he knew much about this hunter-that-Alexei-watched himself. But that was a whole other rabbit hole that made him more determined to end this quickly.

"You have two options." He knew there weren't really supposed to be options. Priesty just wanted this one done and over with. But if he never saw the execution himself, maybe he could pretend like it didn't happen. "You go quietly with me and at least have a chance to defend yourself, or we can end this here and now. It all depends on how complacent you're willing to be."

There was a pause, and then the person nodded. "Fine. Whatever keeps me away from a monster like you…"