Power Means Freedom 1

Breath vanished as Renshu palmed his chest before he even saw the meaty hand.

One second, he was firmly on the floor; feet flat, hands up, and ready to strike back.

The next, all he knew was open air.

Kou blinked as gray stone kissed the back of his skull, buzzing yellow bulbs smearing across his eyes. His head snapped forward, eyes finding their focus again.

And with the focus, came pain.

Breathe, idiot. Shaky legs sent him forward and then back again as paint chips crunched soft on his tongue. Stand straight and… and…. His mouth hung open while he dragged at air that would not come right, lungs bruised somewhere too deep for hands to reach, chest hot like he’d swallowed a lit match. You… you gotta… Dust from the wall filled his nose, old leather under it, then the sweat of fifty barely-washed kids packed into one room and all of it fighting their way down his nose.

Spirits… Kou wiped a hand across his face, which helped exactly none. Too many eyes still aimed his way; dozens of other kids watching him take hits like they weren’t up next in the meat grinder. “What I tell you, kid?”

Renshu stood over him, hairy and sweat-slick and too broad by half, thick arms folded across a bare chest layered with burn scars and dockwork.

“…hit…” His voice cracked, scraping out of his throat. “…hit like you wanna hurt.”

“Nah. Well, I mean…” Heavy mitts rubbed over a jawline thick with stubble, flat eyes staring him down with all the love the man had in him.

Unfortunately, it was all tough love.

“Yes, but no.” The dockworker let out a sigh, hands dropping back down. “I mean, just… You gotta loosen up, kid. Same as I told the others, you tense up and telegraph and then some ashbaby cooks you before you even cross the street. Look it your feet even.”

Kou looked down to where a half-missing finger pointed.

“Standing there like an idiot…”

Kou grunted, a foot kicking the inside of his calf to force the legs wider. 

“Base first. Then you worry about hurting ’em. Listen, you think the Trips care if you hit hard if you can’t stand up? Now, first things first, you gotta—”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Breathe.

Copper flooded the back of his throat a full second before the pain flooded him.

Knuckles caught him on the jaw, right on the hinge with just enough force to pop his ears and shake his teeth. Kou spat out a curse coated with red as his head snapped to the side. 

Skin tore in his cheek, more blood filling his mouth; the taste a buzz as he swallowed it.

He didn’t go down.

Half a year in lockup had taught him enough to dig some rules deep into his bones. First lesson in prison was going down meant you stayed down. You hit the dirt, you got stomped until the boots got bored or the guards got tired of it. Either way, you’d end up like something they could use in the kitchens for dinner — worse than a death sentence.

Feet would find your kidneys, and knees would come down on your skull, fists around your windpipe; it was weeks in the infirmary at best bet, drinking soup through a straw and wishing you didn’t wake up from the pain.

So he made sure both his feet stayed firm on the ground, prison-issue boots sliding backward against the packed dirt of the recreation yard. His eyes watered, vision swimming past bright white spots and the gray blur of the Republic City sky.

But he couldn’t afford to cloudwatch.

He struck back with a grunt, arm in motion without even a look over. 

Even with a blind swing, the counter-punch was pure-grain Equalist to the core — hips twisted, elbow tucked tight to the ribs, knuckles driving forward in a line as tight as it was ugly. Too many drills he’d been through for it to be anything less.

Like he expected, the fist caught ribs. 

Bone gave way just a little bit under the impact, knuckles digging deep into a soft cage. A wet grunt sounded out as someone went stumbling back.

Breathe.

His chin was tucked tight against his shoulder, one eye already swelling shut with blood pulling tight at the skin. His good eye — right eye — squinted; scanning what little he could make out of the yard even as he forced his body through the breathing techniques Renshu had beat into him day after day, week after week. ‘If you got time to breathe, you got time. You got time, you got space. And space… space is leverage, kid.

Meat and bone slammed into him from behind, Kou stumbling back with the smell of stale sweat and prison soap in his nose.

The yard exploded as three — maybe four — bodies piled into the space he didn’t have and took up all the time he barely had. And with both of those gone, the air went too. 

A sharp elbow found his ribs, the teenager spitting up red again as another found his kidneys.

A fist twice the size of his own took advantage of his unprotected chest and sent him reeling back, Kou’s world spinning before he caught himself with a quick flip.

By the time he landed back on shaky feet, his chest barely even burned anymore — at least, he could barely feel it. Not when there were so many other aches and pains taking up all his attention.  

Kou folded in, arms pulled tight to his body as he blocked his skull and neck. Hits landed against his forearms and shoulders, shifting his weight just enough to ease the force before they could do too much damage. 

He’d fought before.

He’d fought a lot.

Years of basement drills, alley ambushes and scuffles with the Trips had written the memories into his muscles. But prison wasn’t like taking down benders who thought they were too good to be treated like everyone else.

It was about staying conscious, not winning.

“Amon’s little bitch!” Sour breath washed over his ear, rotten teeth and unscrubbed tongue almost as hot as the flames off any firebender. “Where’s your leader now, Equalist?”

“Dead in the water, all ‘e deserves.” Another voice chimed in, more breathless than he was as a fist glanced off Kou’s shoulder blade. “Take the knees, drop ‘im!”

Irritation hit harder than the boot that struck his thigh. Six months.

Six months since the mask came off the ‘Savior of Republic City’ since the revolution was smashed to pieces and Amon was assasinated in the water.

A hundred and eighty-or-so days since the metalbenders swept the alleys and threw a net over anyone they could catch with the slightest connection to the Equalists. Half a year in this hell and it was all the same thing, the exact same jokes; the height of their material. All the resentment from bottom-tier triad muscle and unaffiliated street thugs who thought jumping a cornered chi-blocker made them tough shit. 

They couldn’t fight a bender on the outside, so they beat up a teenager on the inside to feel better about themse-”Ughh!”

Kou fell forward, knees finally buckling as something hard hit him from behind.

Packed dirt rushed up, his palms catching him as he made to jump back u—

“Stop right there!”

A shout and a whistle carved through sweaty air, something gray and dull whipping out in a blur from the perimeter walkway.

Kou’s wrists snapped together, a thin steel cable tied around both of them before he could even blink. Any slack in them vanished, the boy barely getting the chance to wheeze before he was yanked backward; boots and body dragged through the dirt. His shoulder socket flared white with pain, all his joints screaming as his spine slammed flat against the wall. Limestone grinding into his back, both his arms snapped up over his head to pin in place; steel cuffs tightening with a click and biting into his skin with each inhale.

Around him, the rest of the pile-up fell apart with grunts and snaps of metal as other bodies met the wall and held perfectly still; pinned to the wall like insects.

Two nonbender guards strolled across freshly cleared dirt, riot sticks hanging loose from their belts as they stared at the prisoners with all the care they were paid to have. Expressions carved from the same surface as the walls were nothing compared to the steel eyes and flat face of the metalbender right them both — dressed in the uniform of Republic City police, fingers twitching slightly as he held the tension tight on the cables.

“Violence!” The first guard managed to make a bark sound bored. “Is forbidden in Republic City Prison! Doesn’t matter who started it. You all participated.”

The second guard let his gaze drag across the pinned inmates, and those eyes snagged on Kou. He could tell where the guard’s eyes went; the blood pooling at the edge of his split lip, the dark purple blooming across the pale skin of his cheek. “Infirmary.”

He jerked his chin, riot stick pointing across each one of them. “All of you. You get the one warning, so don’t start nothing on the walk.”

The metalbender behind them opened his fingers and, with a harsh metallic scrape, all the cuffs fell away, cables lashing back towards the bender and returning to his body.

Kou’s arms dropped, fire throbbing through them with the sudden return of gravity. Spirits…  He caught himself against the wall before he could fall, head hanging and breath hissing through grit teeth. It hurt.

Of course it did.

Metal was rarely kind or patient and neither were the guards or police. Not on the day he’d been caught and not any day since he’d been dragged in here. Even still…

He bowed low, hands clasped in front of him.
By the time his head rose again, the metalbender was already gone, leaving just the other prisoners and the two guards, hands resting lightly on the grips of their sticks.

Thank you, sirs. Kou didn’t let the calm smile on his face drop even as he rolled his neck, polite words already loaded and ready to be spoken to whatever authority figure that needed the pat to the ego. I accept your judgement, sirs. I hope you choke on those sticks and die, sirs. While the last sentence was never something he’d allow out, the rest of the words dissolved anyway because…

Well, there was no point to it.

It wasn’t like the guards cared in the first place.

Arguing that he didn’t even do anything was even worse because, more likely than not, that would have him pulled in for a disciplinary review. A review usually meant less rations or even solitary confinement if the shift captain had a bad morning. It was usually better to just shut up, swallow the blood and shuffle off to the clinic with the rest of the animals.

With another slow breath, Kou pushed off the wall and did just that.

He made it all of two steps before something heavy swiped him from the side. Kou stumbled with a grunt, standing back up as the big guy — the one who threw the first ugly punch into his jaw — pushed past him with a shoulder, bloody teeth flashing back at him. Idiot.

Kou’s face stayed as flat as he could manage, jaw loose and eyes open as he watched the bastard walk away; the slight limp in his left leg an easy option even now. I could… Fingers curled and relaxed in a single breath, hands loose at his sides. No. No.

It wasn’t worth it.

Not in here.

Shaking his head, Kou started walking again.

“You there.”

His boots stopped, the once-Equalist blinking slowly as he turned on his heel; hands visible and palms open. “Me, sir?” His expression was almost perfectly neutral, except for the calm smile he slid back on his face.

“Yes, you.” The first guard’s attention was entirely focused on him now, all the others having made their way out of the yard. And that look on his face…

Well, Kou was sure he wouldn’t like what was coming next.

 “Equalist scum…” 

Kou’s stomach dropped as prediction became a reality, the heavy wooden stick now tapping a slow beat on an open palm.

“You abused your free time with violence. Back to your cell. No rations tonight.”

Unfairness hit him like the cold of the bay. No rations? But you just said… He took the beating, he played polite and even still…

“Wait, h-hold on, you can’t just fuc-” He bit down on the street kid, trying to force manners he never learned right back to the forefront. “I mean, sir, I didn’t even throw the fir-“

The riot stick cracked across his ribs, a sick wooden crack forcing breath from his lungs and his knees to the ground. Kou doubled over, one hand gripping his stomach and the other hand raised up as he tried to speak past a wheeze. Wai-wai-w-