The bodyguards are normally lazing around.
There isn't much to do other than follow and keep the boy safe, but they don't complain. It's easy money. There is a lot of it, and even though they are relaxed, they must also be keen.
That's why when they hear a blood-curdling scream, they are on their feet in a second, running to the fifth floor of the building.
It sounds like someone is either being skinned alive in there or they are on fire. It sounds horrible.
Its gut churning, the pain and the horror felt alone in the screams.
The two guards look at each other, guns already drawn as they charge inside the apartment, knocking the door down. They expect to see their young master being tortured; a crime scene.
But what they find is even more disturbing. A scene they will never forget in their lives.
A naked boy, bloody and screaming. The whole apartment is a mess and in the dark. Not enough to hide the boy standing on the balcony, curling in on himself even as he stands, shaking and screaming.
One of them jumps into action, snapping out of it as he grabs a throw blanket from the ruined couch and walks slowly towards the young master.
Half of his face is hidden by the bangs sticking to his skin, slim arms wrapped around his middle as he looks down. He doesn't know what to do, scared and horrified by the scene.
It's disturbing, but this is his job.
So he approaches the young master lie one would a ticking bomb. He doesn't say a word, as it seems to make the young master scream louder. The screams … they are horrible. It's what a banshee would sound like if he ever encountered one.
It's chilling, like death and pain intermingled. Like helplessness coming from the soul.
He wishes he didn't have to listen to it.
But he manages to wrap the young master in the soft blanket and then carry him. The young master isn't fighting, contrary to what they both thought.
So he takes him upstairs to the bedroom and then lays him down on the bed. The boy doesn't look like he is aware of what's happening, but the screams are quieter now, just softails, but the shaking is still there.
His eyes are open; like he is staring at something that neither of the others in the room can see.
The other guard already called the resident doctor of the young master. A young woman who comes through the doors running.
"I have it from here," she informs them. "Clean the room and make sure everything is as it was. When he wakes up, he will need comfort and familiarity." The doctor was told that this happens.
That sometimes the young master will relapse and his mind will take him back to the time he was in the facility, when he was being reformed. He needs to call his superior after this to make the report.
The boy shouldn't have relapsed unless something triggered his mind. The parents will not be happy about this either.
In her life as a doctor, he has seen and dealt with a lot of sensitive patients.
When she started working under the Savitts, a career she had worked all her life for and was at the top of her class, she was grateful.
Then she was taken under her senior, and that's how she earned his trust that she would oversee the young master if he wasn't around and available.
Right now, her boss was overseas. He got the call, and she was told to come running.
So, in all her medical life, she has dealt with sensitive cases. Those of the mind and body. Of patients who have been scarred, even though the scars are invisible. What he is looking at are some of the deepest scars one can have.
She has never asked questions. Never wanted to know more than what her charts and lab results have her.
But there is nothing to take to the lab for this. There is nothing she can get, but from what the body is telling her.
As an omega herself, she knows when the inner omega is mourning and on the verge of death or severe trauma that can never be repaired.
She knows that the boy is not to be treated according to his sub gender. In her training, a private chart was given to her.
The young master's. He is not to know what his sub gender is, and he was cut off from that part of him. She is not paid or trained to have feelings but to train the patients. She didn't want to think much of the young master and only saw him as a chart.
An important patient. That's it.
But now, she realizes that he is just a kid. Trauma bleeds from his soul, and her heart aches just by looking at him.
Day isn't responding well to touches. Every time she is cleaning the wounds on his feet, removing the broken shard of glass from his heels, he flinches from her touch.
It's only after she is done and has bandaged his feet that she takes him to make him lie on his back. But Day starts crying softly, vulnerably.
Thinking that perhaps he fell and was cut or worse, she starts examining his full body.
That's when she sees it.
Handprints on his rear.
The cause of his regression was physical, and almost sexual.
With shaky hands, she still writes it all down. The parents will demand to see it.
Days aren't visible, and that's the worst kind. He is shaking, out of his mind, and yet his throat is now bleeding because of the way he has overworked it. He looks like he is trapped in his own version of hell.
She quickly gets the IV ready and gives him a relaxing vial and then a sleep tonic too. He will need to sleep for at least 24 hours before he will be back to himself.
She can only hope that he will come back to himself.
After all, she has seen trauma patients not regain their former selves after such a rough regression.
He is so young, hopefully that should count.
The young doctor sits on the bed, looking at the young boy now drifting to sleep with pity.
She can only wait now.