A/N: Part two is here. We'll be dealing with some interesting stuff in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it! Now it's time to find out if Sync can take his developing emotions...
But first, time to Disclaim

I don't own Tales of the Abyss, nope, Namco does.


'No…I don't want to die now…I don't…'

'He just keeps saying that over and over…'

"Wake up…" Sync felt his body being lightly shook, "you're not going to die," a familiar voice made its way into Sync's head, but he couldn't quite understand. To him, it was just a noise.

"I can't look at this…" another voice entered and left, followed by what sounded like, and was, footsteps.

Sync's eyes slowly fluttered open, his daze keeping him from any extreme reactions, "who…where…" he stuttered out, unable to piece a sentence together. His body was still laying against the same tree that he had been pinned to by Van a few hours beforehand.

"Don't try to talk…we're going to help you, alright?" the familiar voice spoke once again; he could tell it was a woman, but couldn't quite figure out whom.

Her face came out as hazy to him; therefore he couldn't make out who she was by looking at her. "I don't…want help…I want…to die," he choked his words out, which at the time had required extreme effort.

"I healed most of your wounds, but we should get you to a bed," she placed her hand upon his cheek, positioning his face so that his eyes met with hers; they were a gorgeous shade of blue.

Sync's eyes, however, seemed empty and were half closed; he looked dead, "I…I don't…" he was still having trouble forming a sentence.

"You're lucky we decided to help you, you are an enemy, after all." Her face became clear; it was Tear Grants, one of his adversaries. His enemy? Helping him? He wouldn't and couldn't allow this.

"Sh-shut up!" Sync summoned all the strength in his body to merely get on one knee, 'My body…I'm going to split in half…' Sync felt the need to keep his pain concealed, even though it was obvious how he was feeling.

Tear closed her eyes and tightened her lips; frustrated, "If you're too proud to accept my help," she stood and began backing away, "then maybe I shouldn't have bothered trying."

"Maybe you shouldn't have," Sync managed a grimace, still unable to lift himself all the way up.

"Ugh…" Tear muttered something under her breath, clenching her fist at her side, "what is it you want? Get busy living, or get busy dying."

"I just…I just want to…" Sync froze mid-sentence as he felt a warm, wet sensation running down the right side of his face. He would have reached up to feel what is was, but his arms wouldn't respond to his brain's signals to move them; he was completely locked up.

Tear looked a little surprised, but promptly shook her head and held out her staff.

"Wh-…" Sync's eyes blurred out of concentration, and his ears filled with a familiar buzzing.

"Sync…?" everything went black.


"Where…" Sync's eyes once again opened, he was lying in a bed within a small room with eggshell walls and a few pieces of furniture scattered amongst them. It seemed like a pretty shotty room, but it had an odd charm to it. There was a window off to the left of where he was, he was still in the desert, and there was not a single thing in sight other than endless mountains of sand and dust.

"Oh, you're awake!" a man with cornflower blue hair was standing next to Sync's bed. He was tall, looking around his mid-twenties, and wore a large brown hat that shaded his head; covering his eyes.

"Who are you!? Where am I?" Sync was again startled by another sudden change in location, "what happened? Where's that girl?"

"Not so many questions…" the man pulled up a chair next to the bed, grabbing a glass of cold cider from the nightstand, sipping it and placing it down once again, "allow me to explain."

"I'm listening," Sync situated himself into a more upright position, rubbing his wrapped shoulder; where he had been impaled by Van. He was still recalling the feeling of the blade getting slowly ripped out from within him, and the ugly, sadistic look on Van's face; he winced.

"Something wrong?" the man tilted his hat up, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Just explain exactly what the hell happened," his voice took on a sour tone.

"Alright. My name is Clarth, and this is the Mirage Inn," he made a motion around the room with his arm.

"…you're kidding," Sync blinked twice, "the Mirage Inn is nothing but a myth!"

There was an old wives tale about a man who was stranded in the desert, desperate for some kind of shelter. The man died, but supposedly his spirit decided that he would try to prevent anyone from going through the same painful death he did, and thus he created the Mirage Inn. It could only be seen in the eyes of dying men and those that are with them. Was Clarth that man? Could this really be the Mirage Inn?

"I'm afraid not. Six or so people came here carrying you. They said they found you in the middle of the desert, battered to a pulp. They found me and had me take care of you. You'll be fine in a day or so…" Clarth explained.

"Six people…? What did they look like?" Sync asked while examining his fading wounds and scars.

"Lemme see here," he cupped his chin, "There was…a red haired boy…Luke, I believe…and—" Sync cut off Clarth in mid-sentence.

"Dammit, so it wasn't a dream…" Sync clenched his fist, but quickly released it, as it was irritating one of the wounds on his hand.

"I remember two of them were arguing…one said you shoulda been left to die, and this little one said that that was completely unacceptable…" he cupped his chin, "somethin' to that degree," Clarth explained further, taking another sip of his cider.

'Anise…damn…' Sync shook his head, "well, in any case, I guess I should be thankful for you helping me…even if I didn't want to be saved in the first place."

Clarth raised an eyebrow once again, "you telling me you wanted to die?"

Sync simply nodded his head.

"Kids these days…" Clarth sighed, standing up and lifting his glass, "I've got something to attend to, you make sure to rest up and don't get too excited, injured people with heatstroke tend to be pretty erratic" Clarth walked out of the room, dragging his finger across the wall as he exited.

'Erratic?' Sync began to stare up at the ceiling despondently, completely detached from reality; his mind in a more serious and yet, more fragile state than it ever had been.

'Why am I still here…' he wondered, 'Van could have killed me…the replica could have killed me…so why am I still alive…' he suddenly summoned the strength to plant his feet on the floor, lifting his body out of the bed.

"This life," he spat on the ground, "I don't want it anymore…it's time I end this…this pathetic fake," emerald eyes, filled with just a touch of insanity cast themselves on a silver kitchen knife sitting atop of a kingwood dresser. He approached the dresser, dragging his feet across the floor, and lifted the knife up, staring into it intently as he walked in front of a mirror that stood on the wall.

"I've been wasting my time with Van…I don't need this, I don't need this life!" he slowly pressed the flat end of the knife up against his throat with a shaking hand. Why was he so nervous? He wanted this, didn't he? He continued to stare into the mirror.

His green hair was greasy and unkempt, his eyes bloodshot and tired from the stress that had been placed upon him. The clothes he was wearing had dark, crimson stains of blood. His skin showed obvious sign of being beaten, battered, and bruised. Bandages covered his right shoulder, making it look rather bulky, and you could tell he'd been lying in the sand from how dirty and dry he looked. Sync was a complete mess.

"I can do this myself, I'll be fixing everything!" he yelled at his reflection, as if a part of him wanted to do it and a part of him begged not to.

The knife slowly slid across his throat at the command of his hand; he shut his eyes tight, bracing himself for the pain of his throat splitting ajar.

Seconds later, his fingers led their way up to the path the knife had crossed, feeling for the blood and the wound that it should hold. His hand glided around his entire neck, but there was no cut, no slit, no blood flowing down to his already blood stained body.

"Ha…hahaha!" he laughed like a maniac, his voice making a rough crack; lips dripping with a feral tone, "guess I slipped…" he lifted the hand that gripped the knife, this time pressing its prongs lightly against his throat.

His hands became even more unsteady as the pressure of the knife pushing against his throat increased; trying his hardest to numb himself of any emotions until the deed was done; a task he wouldn't be able to fulfill.

"I…I…I can do this…" his voice quaked, fighting his hidden desire to live.

"Die, you pathetic…" his grip on the knife loosened, his eyes connecting sharply with those of his reflection.

"Those eyes…" the knife fell out of his grasp onto the ground, his body shook vigorously.

"That's not…th-this isn't me!" he yelled into his reflection, sick at the boy he saw. "I don't have feelings! I don't want to live this pathetic life!" he finally cracked, "what are you!?" Sync pounded his fist into the glass mirror; it shattered into countless pieces that fell to the ground like glitter.

Sync collapsed to his knees; something he'd seemed to be doing a lot of lately, "what's happening to me…?"


"So you understand the consequences this time? Fail and you're not going to get what you need," Van was addressing Arietta with some orders. Standing in another large room; their current hideout.

"Sir, yes sir," Arietta answered robotically, clearly unpleased at whatever it was Van was making her do; or was doing to her.

"I do hope you can find it in yourself to complete your objective, I'd hate to see you just fade away," Van remarked, his words creating a pitch just as evil as ever.

"Yes…" Arietta couldn't help but lower her head in a desperate attempt to hide this newfound disgust in the commandant. Ion was dead, why did she still have to follow his orders? What was left to gain? Nothing but revenge.

"Good, now be on your way. We have little time to waste," Van dismissed Arietta, turning his back on her coldly.

"Okay…" Arietta contracted a grimace and scurried outside; riding her liger off to do what Van had instructed her to.

"Sir," Largo suggested to his superior, shortly after watching him cue Arietta to scram, "are you sure that this is all completely necessary?" even he had began to question the Commandants actions as of late.

"In these trying times, it's only necessary to weed out those that are not fully committed to our cause. They can't let their emotions get the best of them at a time like this," Van explained, "they should learn to be a bit more like you, Largo."

"Sir, even the most loyal of dogs will bite if you choke them,"

"Largo, we have a great duty to fulfill; we have no time for roadblocks. Destroy the defection, and all will be well. Now go make sure our little deed is done, I can't trust that little runt after last time…" Van paced back and forth.

"I entrust my fate to you, sir," Largo nodded loyally and made his way off.

Van chuckled; now on his lonesome, "oh Sync," he chuckled again, "this is quite the little mistake we have here," he cupped his chin, "hopefully this won't be getting out of hand..."


A/N: Don't worry guys, we can assume this is as emo as Sync is going to get. He won't be as bad as Luke(Ahahaha) Next chapter will close up this desert storyline thing, and we'll get to see a lot more of our favorite heroes! Yay!
Look forward to Chapter three coming soon!