Set in Susan Foster's GDP AU universe with her generous permission. A prequel of sorts, or maybe missing scene would be more accurate.

Warning: H with no C at this time, (but if you read Susan's stories, it's there. (Especially Learning Curve, Lesson Three) Implied rape but no graphic descriptions.

Before There Were Angels

by Calista Echo

The darkness was complete, pressing in on him. The feeling of being smothered by it nearly overwhelmed Blair's knowledge that there was enough oxygen. Breathing slowly, he fought the panic that always assaulted him when he was thrown into the endless black of his cell. But the dark was not his enemy. The terrible things they did to him were done in the light.

Slowly he straightened out his legs, his groans damply echoing in the empty cell. The wrap used on him was one of the most extreme, putting him in a kneeling position, hands bound in back, and pulling his head so far down that his chin touched his chest.

Now at the incremental movement, his muscles began to spasm, reacting to the trauma they'd endured. For long minutes his body shook as if the malaria he'd had that time in Juliaca was back in full force. There was nothing he could do but wait it out. Finally his rigid muscles eased and he lay on the ground in a puddle of sweat and blood, panting.

From the moment he'd been taken to the classroom and leashed, he'd been in agony. The position collapsed his windpipe, making breathing difficult and the pain in the back of his neck was excruciating. Wilson's voice had faded in and out as the man circled him.

Every few minutes Wilson would find something that needed to be pointed out on Blair's naked and battered body to the eager students assembled. Each poke threatened to unbalance him, making Blair struggle to remain upright, which tightened the leather around his hands, feet and neck. He knew Wilson would be delighted if he fell, knew that the man had an endless capacity to punish.

"…there are many ways to spot a guide, ladies and gentleman. Note the smaller bone structure,"-a sharp jab to his ribs, a smack on his buttocks-"and the size of the guide's feet." The baton swung into Blair's vision as it was pointed at his groin.

There was a feminine twitter and then the baton was poking at his genitals, lifting them. Blair bit his lip to keep from crying out. His hair hid his face from the gawking students and he was grateful for the small hiding place it afforded.

He was often paraded in front of people as if he were a freak in a sideshow. At first he'd been able to retreat into his mind, shutting out awareness. But now his shields were deteriorating and it had become harder and harder to block out the guffaws and whispered comments directed at him. As he kneeled on the rough carpet, he swayed from the impact of the group's buzzed emotions. Contempt, pity, anger, hostility, all slammed into him until his head pounded with every heartbeat.

"Well, yes, the penis size on this guide is quite unexpected-until you realize he's a rogue. This accounts for his unrelenting, perverse sexual needs." Wilson sounded detached as he explained, but Blair could feel the excitement building in him. Praying that the guard would have to move along with the group to the next demonstration, Blair tried counting by square roots in order to distract himself from the pain.

He succeeded in retreating a little too well and Wilson's next jab sent him toppling him to the floor. Frantically, he tried to regain the kneeling position, but the leash tightened with every movement, cutting further into his wrists tied behind him and around his neck. He stopped struggling and concentrated on drawing air into his starving lungs.

The whizzing sound warned him just before the baton hit him square on the shoulder, sending shocks of pain through his body.

"Get up, Guide Sandburg. I don't recall giving you permission to nap." Wilson waited a beat, then hit him hard again, this time on his hip. The dirty carpet muffled his choked cries.

Squirming, knowing it was futile, he tried to comply. The students were whispering and there were pockets of uncomfortable laughter as well.

The slim, cold baton was placed between his thighs and twisted a bit until it rested snug against Blair's balls. Pain and fear were overloading him, and he started to hyperventilate as he imagined what Wilson had planned next.

"Guard Wilson?" A woman's voice that sounded determined. Blair could only barely hear her above the roaring in his ears.

"Yes?" Wilson didn't sound as if he welcomed a question.

"Perhaps you don't realize it, but the guide is leashed in such a way as to make any movement impossible, let alone the task of getting back on his knees." She was in the front row, close.

Blair felt anger surge through Wilson, but the guard answered in the mildest of tones. "And you point is?"

There was the sound of a chair being pushed back and of pages been shuffled. "Well, according to my book, the leash is never used as punishment, only to keep the guide safe and to instruct. And what you're asking him to do is impossible and I don't think it's a GPD practice to create a situation that a guide can't possible succeed at and then punish him for it."

"Really?" Wilson withdrew his baton from Blair. When he next spoke, he seemed closer to the girl, his voice tight as a garrote. "Aren't you the bright penny. What does it say about rogue guides?"

More pages turning, silence as they were studied, pages turned some more. Blair concentrated on breathing as black spots danced in his vision.

"There's nothing in my manual about rogue guides, aside from how difficult they are to retrain."

"Exactly." Blair could hear him tapping the baton on the chair. "The retraining of rogue guides is an advanced skill, as they are nearly impossible to get back into the fold. And yet, one cannot waste resources. This rogue is more stubborn than most." Wilson had come back his way, and Blair felt the baton again as Wilson lightly slapped it against his buttocks, each impact jarring his pain-packed body. "It's either use every means possible to affect change, or have him put down. Now which would you prefer?"

Silence, then a tentative, "Well, I…"

"Yes?" Wilson purred false encouragement.

"I don't think, I mean, I know, he's- he's corrupt--"

"Corrupt. That's right. As well as perverted and depraved. He's a filthy, degenerate rogue guide that killed his Sentinel and who has prostituted himself repeatedly and you think we should play nice?"

"Well- " There was laughter, now directed at her. "I guess you would know best." Her voice trembled.

There was the sound of the girl sitting back down, a mass exhalation of breath from the other students and Blair could feel Wilson's exhilaration surge.

"Thank you, Miss, ah, Wahlberg, for realizing I've been placed in the front of this classroom for a reason."

The bell rang before Wilson could resume his instruction and Blair heard the achingly familiar sounds of students packing up books and papers, making study dates and shuffling out.

Then Wilson's shiny, black shoes came into Blair's peripheral vision. He grabbed Blair's hair and hauled him back onto his knees. Blair couldn't stop from screaming, though it barely came out as more than a strangled cry. His hip ached where Wilson had hit him and for a moment, he feared it wouldn't be able to hold his weight and he would go down again.

"So you managed to look pathetic enough to make someone feel sorry for you." Wilson was back to circling and Blair braced himself for the pain he knew would come.

"One might almost think you liked it, Sandburg. It would explain why you're being so stubborn in the face of a reality you cannot duck. I know you like the sex, your kind always does, but I think you also enjoy pain, even need pain. Is that it, Guide Sandburg? Do you need me to hurt you?"

Wilson tapped the baton on Blair's bare feet. "Answer me. Are you one of those perverts that gets off on pain?" The baton pressed down harder, threatening to break bones.

He knew there was no answer to that question that would end well. Silence was the only sensible course.

"You're the- pervert- that gets-off on pain and- sex, Guard Wilson." He forced the words out passed his swollen and cracked lips. It took way too much air and his vision was diminished further as the black spots grew bigger.

So much for being sensible.

Wilson roared and lifted Blair from the ground, shaking him. His neck was stretched so taut it felt as if it was about to snap and breathing became an impossibility.

The last thing Blair remembered was Wilson yelling, "You measly piece of guide trash! You are going to mend your ways, boy and I'm going to make sure you learn each lesson well!" Then nothing until he woke in the darkness of his cell, his home since the GDP had collected him from police headquarters.

Absently, Blair scratched letters into the dirt floor. N-A-O-M-I. He ran his fingers up and down the grooves of the letters, seeking and finding small comfort in this small, tangible proof that someone had once lived who had found value in him, who had loved him. But she was dead and so was love.

When he'd first been arrested for Alex's death, Blair had hoped that someone would remember that he'd tried to stop Alex. He'd waited, thinking that cop Ellison might put in a good word for him. He'd seemed like he might be a good man who could see beyond the label "guide".

But now after two weeks he'd come to the bitter realization that no one was going to speak up. He'd been tagged a rogue and it didn't matter why he'd had to kill Alex. It didn't matter that he'd saved Ellison's life. It didn't matter that he'd had no choice but to do as she said.

This was where he would live and die. They would starve him, beat him, leave him in the pitiless dark and unending cold, humiliate him in a hundred different ways and-and-

Blair pulled his knees up, instinctively curling into a ball and slowly began to rock, trying to push the memories away.

Not too many days ago, Wilson had come into the darkness, snapping on the brilliant overhead light. His eyes shut against the agony of so much brightness after so much dark, Blair had tried to crawl to the corner. As soon as he had gotten to his knees, Wilson had exclaimed, "By George, I think he's got it!" That's when Blair realized that Wilson wasn't alone. They'd pounced on him, three strapping, well-fed guards against one worn-out, starving guide.

Shaking from the unwelcome memories, Blair tried to tell himself it was just one more form of physical punishment. His body was penetrated-yes. But it was no different than having his head dunked in filthy water over and over again, until he thought for sure he would drown. Or the electric shocks applied to him as he hung in the shower. It was all done to make him break into a thousand pieces so he could be swept away. Then they would take what was left and make use of it.

The GDP said they did it for his own good, though he knew they believed he would never be fit to guide. Ironically, that belief was his one consolation.

He knew he would never be anyone's guide. He would never again be somone's pet or have his life subverted for another's use.

His stomach cramped with hunger and he rocked a little slower. Shudders wracked his bruised and bloody body and he knew it couldn't be long now. There was a limit to what could be endured and he knew he was closing in on that limit.

But he would beat them yet. He would die a free man. It was all that was left him.