Chapter Text

"What do we do now?"

Cisco has my hand in his when he rises from the couch. "Run . "

I wake up, gasping and drenched. Wet clothes cling to my body like shrink wrap - clothes . Well that's a change of pace. But not a nice one: not when it's a feminine cadet outfit. A tight, military green miniskirt restricts my movements. Then it turns horrific when I notice there's an audience here to witness this. Kneeling on a raised platform with my arms tied behind me, I look out over the courtyard checkered with soldiers standing at attention in square-shaped formations. Behind me, the top brass of the army sits sternly in folding chairs. Damon has a seat in the corner. He looks rigid, nervous. He meets my eyes only briefly. Hey now, what's the occasion? This can't all be just for little ol' me...

"Rise and shine!" Alexander says cheerfully. He puts down the now-empty bucket. " Murderer. "

My jaw tightens, but I force out a short, sharp laugh, because the second I stop laughing, I know I'm going to start crying and I'll be damned if I do that in front of the entire fucking army. "A cadet costume? Where'd you get it, the Halloween store? Not very original."

"All I had to work with was a knockoff of two superior products, but you don't see me complaining," Alex flicks my forehead playfully on the way past. He put way more work into his own ensemble dredged up from the nautical men in uniform lookbook. He sweeps across the stage in an old-fashioned black tailcoat decorated with naval medals and aaaaall the tassels and braided, golden rope he could find. Knee-high boots and leather gloves shield every stray inch of his delicate vampire skin from the sun. His face is safe in the shadow of a white admiral's hat. Who even makes clothes like that anymore?

"Get him on his feet." He instructs the guards.  

The rope of the strappado pulls taut over a pulley. It hauls my arms backward into the air at an unnatural angle while my toes scrape the ground desperately. The pressure sets in like a bulky construction worker has a crowbar wedged in my shoulders and is currently trying to pry my arms right out of their sockets. And he's getting close. I grit my teeth in a refusal to cry out. Don't show it. That they managed to hurt me. Once they get a taste, they always want more. I glare up at Alex instead. He clasps his hands clinically behind his back as he faces the soldiers, flanked on either side by guards dressed in black: it's an entourage fit for a slimy dictator.

Weiser and Knotts approach the stage quickly- my heroes! And I make a pretty convincing damsel in this dress... They gape at the elaborate torture device that has me strung up: it's like we fell through a portal to the middle ages and accidentally stumbled into a bondage class at the same time.

"What is going on here?" Thade demands.

"How dare you make a spectacle out of one of my soldiers like this?!" Weiser bellows, "Get him down from there immediately; that's an order!" Alex glosses right over the chain of command when he ignores them and addresses the gathering instead.

"You may have noticed the extra security this past week." Heads turn to the guards lining the courtyard. Security, he says, but cut the crap for a second. Those are prison guards. "They are here for our protection during this difficult and vulnerable transition. The rumors you heard were true: Commander Cisco Gunner is dead." Weiser's eyes go wide. Shocked noises rise from the audience; the neat formations waver at the borders. Alex extends his hands. "Please, please! I know this is extremely upsetting... But before we continue, I'd like to observe a moment of silence for our beloved leader." The shocked silence that falls over the courtyard is louder than the whispering.  
Alex lifts his head abruptly. "How long was that?" Look, I was never any good at math, but I think a moment of silence lasts a fraction longer than five seconds...

"A few seconds, Sir." One of the guards informs him.

"Good enough!" His lips spread into a nasty grin. "Let's move on to more pressing issues... There's been a change of management. From now on, you will all refer to me as Commander Alexander Hemscroft." Oh fuck this.

Thade can't stay quiet as he erupts, "There's a chain of command here, you can't just usurp - ! "

"It's all in this manifesto." Even the big Marine bends slightly under the weight of the huge stack of documents that Alex tosses to him. "You're welcome to try reading the whole thing, but I'm warning you, it's a little dry." Alex simpers. "Cisco was a hero, but not much of a writer." Thade blinks at it, bewildered. Well that's just great; our last two lines of defense, thwarted by their only nemesis: paperwork. And now there's nothing stopping Alex from seizing control.

"Now, for my first action as commander,"

"Acting commander," Thade interrupts. He looks up from the documents to meet Alex's irritated gaze. "It says here that your official title is Acting Commander. "

Alex's brow knits. "A technicality: I can still execute the powers of my office to their full extent. And as such, I'm announcing a complete moratorium on all communications. That means no contact with Clear." That doesn't go unchallenged by everyone here.

"Silence... Silence! " Alex yells and in the same instant, we hear the cocking of rifles as the guards direct their weapons at shocked soldiers. He gathers himself again, clearing his throat. "If word were to get out about Commander Gunner's demise, there would be panic. And more importantly, the Sanguine Council would take that as a cue to strike. This base and everyone in it would soon be obliterated." He smiles in spite of his words. "So let's keep this quiet." More lies and misdirection... But he can't put the lid back on the box now.

Alex continues, "Besides... I'm not the one you should be angry at." He foists another distraction on them. And this time, it's me as he steps aside and points the accusing finger. "You should be furious with the one who put us in this situation to begin with: Rayce Gunner!" A collective gasp. "Our commander, even with all his wisdom and foresight could not predict the ultimate betrayal... Killed! By his own brother. " Alex continues, really hamming it up, "Cisco was a hero, a visionary; a worthy successor to the Gunner name. And in a fit of jealousy, First Sergeant Rayce cut that exceptional life short."

Weiser, who has been silent since the revelation can't take it anymore. He turns to look at me, asking through a disbelieving expression, 'Is it true? I could defend myself, but... Is he technically wrong? I lower my head, half so I don't have to plead my case, and half because the dryness of the air is attacking my eyes. Alexander grabs my chin in his hand and tilts it. The touch of his leather riding glove is frigid.

"You deserve so much worse than anything I can inflict on you."

I set my mouth in a grim line and reply, "Give me your best shot... Or did you use up all your tricks last night?" My mouth is writing checks that my ass can't cash.

"Oh, I have tricks to spare." I don't trust that unpleasant smile. "But I thought I'd let someone else have some of the fun for a change." He snaps at the guard holding the rope, who wrenches it over the pulley again: this time, my feet hover off the ground. Gasping aloud, I curl up instinctively, knees to chest. My shoulders are being slowly, painfully pulled apart by my own body weight and there's nothing I can do about it. Well, add that to the list of things I can't do anything about...

Then Alex whistles sharply, "Sergeant Black!" Damon jumps a little in his seat. "I trust you won't disappoint us - or the memory of our commander." Oh no. Alexander stands back to enjoy the show as Damon gets up hesitantly. Fuck, I can't watch. I face forward again, but I can still hear footsteps getting horribly closer.  

Damon pauses directly behind me. I'm on the ropes, but he's trapped too.

"Rayce..." I hear him say regretfully under his breath. The calm before the storm he has to put on just to keep up the charade. I can't blow his cover.

I say briefly, "I know." You have to do this. He won't disappoint. He never does. Damon absentmindedly rubs the green cloth of my skirt between his fingers.

"It doesn't really suit him," he mentions.

"It's called a rough draft; why don't you all get off my case?" Alex waves a hand irritably.

The strappado bends me over conveniently at the hips, so Damon can get an eyeful of my ass and legs clad in a black garter belt and stockings.

"Oh Rayce..." he mutters. My brow furrows wordlessly. He doesn't need to make comments like that... Then I feel his hands on me. I jerk on instinct, swaying on the rope. Damon kneads my ass with both hands like dough. Both thumbs sink in; I take him easy. Biting my lip, I drop my head again so no one can see this blush on my face.

Damon thumbs me as he says knowingly, "I was sort of hoping I'd be your first..." I hear a zipper sliding down and squirm in anticipation. "If it makes you feel any better..." He's whispering, "I'm going to enjoy this" He's a selfish prick, so what's new?

I started off trying to look convincing for Alexander, but my panic feels suspiciously real when Damon's erection rubs between my ass cheeks. He hooks a finger under the flimsy g-string and moves it to slide against my sensitive rim. A tiny, pleasured noise escapes me as I clench a bit and curl my legs.

"I wanted you the day we met," he mutters.

I pause before saying, "I wanted you too." What's the point lying about it?

"Looks like I win again." He rams into me abruptly.

"Damon! Damon..." I scream out loud, cycling my legs helplessly, not because he's too big - oh god, he's big - but because I just want him out right away. I need him out , because it feels horrible, but it feels good, now it feels wrong, and I can't take this . The more I move, the more pressure I put on my shoulders. The ropes lower just enough to let me stand with my legs apart on medium high heels. The perfect position for Damon to grab my hips and deliver deep, powerful thrusts. He slaps hard against my ass each time.   I... Can't... Arms painfully aloft, I twist to look over my shoulder.

"Damon, please," I gasp, hushed. But his eyes are closed; he isn't listening to me. Cheeks flushed, I see his expression change as he adjusts himself slightly, trying to wring out every last bit of sensation he can find in my violated tunnel. Facing forward was a mistake too when I notice all the eyes on me. So I drop my head to look between my legs instead, watching them tremble under Damon's thrusts. The hem of the miniskirt hides my hard-on from myself, so I can pretend it isn't there... Deep... I moan. He hilts comfortably and then starts to jackhammer, short, deep and blisteringly fast.

Damon wrenches my head up by the hair. "You're going to cum like a slut in front of all these people," he predicts.

I grit my teeth. "Yes, Master..." It's still so hard to spit out, but it excites him. Every ounce of pleasure comes with a side of shame . I reach climax, crying out as I do. My legs give out.

And I keep falling. Damon cut my rope at the worst possible moment. I fall straight through to my knees, then sprawl out face first on the platform.

When I shoot him a nasty look, Damon is zipping himself up securely, so fluid that I didn't even catch a glimpse of the tool he used the whole time he was using it on me. Why is he looking at me like that? Wide-eyed and panting incredulously, like he's never seen me before... He liked that. And now he's enjoying this view of me at his feet, dressed like a sex slave. Embarrassed, I tug the end of the skirt as far as it'll go over my rear to hide an oozing creampie. A whip glistens like pitch black oil as Damon draws it from his belt and cracks it viciously against the floorboards of the platform. That's when it catches fire, stemming from the base, racing to the tip. It radiates heat, broadcasting far and wide: DANGER. Well that's new. My eyes widen.

"Why is everything always on fire with you?" He's going to use that on me? My brain refuses to make that unimaginable connection. "Damon, what are you doing?" Unnaturally high-pitched, I look up at him questioningly.

"What does it..." he says haltingly, " Look like I'm doing?" I can't believe this right now.

"Don't you remember what these people tried to do- what they did to Matteo?" I demand.

"You know what, Gunner? I'm trying. But all I can seem to remember is you stealing my fiance." Steal- I clench my jaw. So that's it. There's the hill he wants to die on.

A bright flash of orange sprints through the crowd to press up against the edge of the platform.

"Don't touch him!" Flaere cries out, "O-Or else, I'll-" Damon strikes at the platform near Flaere's face and forces him to retreat, terrified.

"You'll do what, exactly?!" Damon yells at him, "You'll protect him? Like you protected Matteo?" The whip doesn't even touch the ground this time, snatching impotently at empty air as if trying to reach a cowering Flaere. "You're worthless! " The words reach where his whip couldn't and leave a mark in Flaere's eyes.

But then he steels himself and says in a controlled voice, "I love Matteo enough to respect his choices. Even when one of them is you ."

I pipe up, "Well could you do it for me, then?"

"Shut up!" Damon strikes the floor next to me in a warning.

Flaere makes a connection slowly. "Where is he, Damon?"

"Matteo..." The question makes him tighten his jaw. He squeezes his eyes shut as if he doesn't want me to call his bluff. "Matteo Lorenze is dead! " he finally shouts. The whip swerves at me in a shriek of displaced air.

I tried to move out of the way, but the flaming tongue catches me across the back of the ankle. It burns ; I go down with a gasp. He has me now. Burning hot whiplashes rip through cheap fabric to claw at my skin; I don't even want to know what they look like. I can make an educated guess by the sound of Flaere's voice screaming my name.

Damon rails at me with every blow, "You took him! You took him away from me!"

Don't let them in. He can force his way into my body, but once he gets in my head, it's game over. A particularly painful strike sends me flat on my front, gasping weakly. Dragging myself back to my hands and knees again, I say, "I'm not the reason... That he left you." But he doesn't want to hear that. Damon drops the whip when he gets on top of me and shoves my face to the floor. He grabs one of my arms roughly by the elbow. It feels like a police grapple altered to suit the lawless wastes of Fade. Human rights? What are those?

He bends my already-weakened arm the same way the strappado did: levering it up and apart from my shoulder blade. Agony pools right at the pressure point on my upper back, growing larger and larger- I start to hear awful, wrong sounds: bones creaking as they strain to accommodate the unnatural movement and I scream. Meanwhile, the whip burns like a carelessly dropped match. The wooden platform catches fire. Where's Smokey the Bear when you need him?

"Damon!" I gasp, partly because I'm not interested in burning to death on this platform, but mostly because it might get him off me. He doesn't move to do anything about it, laser focused on his victim: me. I see one of the guards start- but Alex holds out a hand to stop him, intrigued. The heat is unbearable as the flames rise higher and seal us off from the crowd like a curtain. I gently lay my cheek flat on the boards and look up at him, exhausted.
"I should have known."

"What are you talking about?" he demands. The fire illuminates one side of his face in devilish red-orange; light leaps in a dark eye.

I'm surprised by the disappointment in my own voice. "That you wouldn't change that easily." It makes him crack a wide grin.

"Me? Change? " He bursts out laughing. "Who gave you that crazy idea?"

My chest feels hollow as I say, "An angel once told me that even demons like you can be saved."

Damon levers my arm sharply upward and something slips. A deafening POP like a bomb goes off right next to my ear. I just lift my head and scream at the sky. Tears immediately course down my cheeks. But when all the breath in my lungs has run out, my tongue brushes a sharp point in my mouth. And then my eyes shoot open. My fangs. The pain- I let them slip. Shut your mouth, Rayce. But Damon still has my arms pinned behind me.

At least until he catches a glimpse. He steps back, staring in mortified silence. I'm about to retract hastily when the look on his face makes me pause. He looks... Scared . I let my lip curl over a fang and snarl at him experimentally instead.

"Oh my god-" He stumbles. Ha! So these things are good for more than uncorking bottles after all! "What are you?" Damon whispers from behind a hand clamped to his mouth. Before I can answer, I hear wood splintering. The floor falls out from under me.

There's a whole lot of shouting as the entire section of platform collapses in flames. I hit the ground hard, disoriented as I get to my hands and knees. I see feet running away and sparks soaring through my field of vision. Drawing myself to my feet, I wince at the pain in my shoulder and hold my arm steady with the other. Tongues of fire breathe hot, dry air at me and make my pathetic skirt flutter.

'What do we do now?'

I start slow, shambling into a sort of rhythm that mediates between how fast I can go and how much it hurts to run. Alexander has just recovered, lowering an arm from in front his face. He spots me.

"Get him! Capture him, you idiots! " Ready or not, I break into an all-out sprint. I dodge and weave between the buildings, keeping my pursuers on their toes, but I can't hide in any of them. They would find me. I stop myself short at the edge of the Forests of Decay, because I just found someone too. There: half-hidden behind a tree. A little boy with messy scarlet hair and rainy eyes.  

I breathe, "Cisco?" Jesus Christ , I need so much therapy... The hallucination spins around and vanishes into the forest. Well I started this, I feel like I have to see it through now! Blustering through the woods, my lungs are filled with the overripe stench of Decay. The tiny figure moves quickly between the trees; I can barely keep it in sight. And just as quickly, I've lost it.

I turn around and around in circles- "Cisco? Cisco!" My breathing turns into panicked, high pitched noises. "Help me!" I cry out, sprinting through corridors of branches scraping at my exposed skin and clothes. One of them tears a gash into my stockings. I flinch: I've gone through at least three pairs this week and I get punished for it each time. Do you have any idea how much hosiery fucking sucks? Constantly running at the slightest provocation. Well I guess that's something we have in common...

The dread sinks in. Why did I run? Where do I go? I'm going to be punished for this. A wild, completely desperate thought returns to me: ' Vex Delacroix. The name you'll need to call when you're running through a dark forest at night, searching for me. I'll find you.' So how does this work, exactly? Is this a Bloody Mary kind of deal?"

I call up at the forest canopy: "Vex Delacroix, Vex Delacroix, Vex Delacroix!" God, I'm losing my mind. My foot catches on something while I'm looking up and I sprawl out into slushy leaf litter. Turning over, I glare at the offending root in my path.

"Did you think you could get away from me?" Then I lift my gaze, horrified, to Alexander standing right behind me. I back up, awkwardly digging my functional elbow into the soft ground and dragging while I kick with my feet. The other arm dangles uselessly from its socket like a fucking rubber chicken sewn to my shoulder.

"Stay back!" I shout pointlessly.

"This has to rank among your top 10 tantrums so far," Alex muses, taking his time as he advances on me. "Stop and use your brain for a second, Rayce. There's nothing you can do. You have nowhere to go. You have no one to run to." A twig snaps under his leather boot. "You had one hero - nary but one advocate - who kept you out of the jaws of a fate you richly deserve... And you repaid him with betrayal." Tears sting at my eyes. Don't fall apart.  

"I didn't betray him. I saved him from you. "

"Oh I see." His dark eyes look amused. "Now who's going to save you? "

That's when I back up into something solid and stop. The expression on his face changes; I look up slowly to see disembodied red eyes staring down at me.

"You called?"

"Y-You're really here..." I say incredulously. The eyes tilt at an angle. Vex.

"I see you've been through a bit of a transition since we last met." I blush when I realize he's referring to my tattered dress. Then I feel a sudden, stabbing pain in my dislocated shoulder and cry out. Wait... I can move it again. I rotate it experimentally, realizing that he reset it for me. "It's better when you don't see it coming." A disembodied eye winks at me.

"Vex..." Alex interrupts, whiny as if his fun has just been ruined. "What are you doing here, you disgusting wretch?

"The usual, really... Saving the world." He launches himself at Alex, who whips out his pistol and fires off a few rounds. But he can't gauge the invisible vampire's movements and misses every time. Alex eats a blow instead and hits a tree. Blindly, he swings, but only gets empty air; Vex moved quickly. Even I've lost track of him somewhere in the the trees. Alex holds his pistol close.

"Why am I not surprised to find you here, grooming another Gunner boy... Don't even bother. This one is dumber than the last," says Alex. "Then again, for a crazy splinter cell run by a madman in the middle of the woods... Maybe dumb is just what you need." I know what he's doing: trying to provoke Vex into a reckless attack that he could take advantage of. Since I'm so dumb, I hope Vex was smart enough to figure it out too...

Alex scans the forest with an analytical eye as Vex's voice fluctuates through it, "Have you ever met a superhero, Alexander?" When he doesn't answer, Vex continues, "I've met three. And they were all Gunners." I jump because his voice is suddenly very close. "We just need to work on your costume a little bit," he teases. Alex shoots rapidly in this general direction; I throw myself flat on the ground. The bullets whizz through empty space. Cursing, Alexander reloads his pistol.

Then he smirks as if he's just had an idea.

"How many living ones?" Alex asks. Silence. "It's just, superheroes aren't much good to anyone dead." He smiles wryly. "But then again, you knew that."

"What are you getting at?" Vex asks at last.

Alex has the nastiest grin on his face when he replies, "He's dead, Vex."

" LIES! " The sound bellows through the trees; I've never heard Vex sound like that. Alex is ready for him. He goes for his belt; I see a flash of steel.

"He's got a knife!" I shout, but it happens as fast as I can say it. Axel finds invisible flesh this time: he plunges the knife into it three times in quick succession. Not so invisible anymore. A figure blinks into view like a weak, flickering bulb. Then it stays on. Vex is exposed as he stumbles away, bleeding. When he looks up at me, my mouth falls open.

"Not you," escapes me in a gasp. I don't think he heard me when Vex whips back around to face Alexander. Alex raises his knife - it was actually a pair of decorative, but dangerously sharp shears. He snips twice at the air, daring Vex to come closer with a smile.

"You..." Vex clutches at his chest instead of the weeping wounds in his side. He hisses, baring curved white fangs. "You killed him!"

When he attacks again, Vex doesn't let guns or knives get between him and his target. He goes straight for Alex with his bare hands. Alex takes a potshot, burying a bullet in Vex's arm. It doesn't even slow him down. Then Alex is dodging blows, keeping barely out of range. He might have a fancy new uniform, but he's still more of a designer than a fighter. Vex on the other hand... He moves like a soldier.

Vex whiffs a punch and hits a tree instead as Alex darts behind it; he spots the tail end of a dark blue braid fluttering through the air and seizes it, wrapping it once around his palm to secure it. I see it in Alex's eyes - caught - before he's wrenched backward. Vex uses it like a leash to hurl the other vampire to the ground, then a noose when he winds the length around a thin, pale neck and tugs sharply. Coughing, Alexander gropes for his shears on the leafy forest floor- to cut himself free? But no, he outright jams the scissors deep into Vex's thigh instead. Yeah, he didn't seem like the type to sacrifice his hair to save his life... Vex releases anyway, crying out while Alex scrambles to get away. He has that 'oh shit what did I get myself into' look on his face as he comes this way and then he's staring at me a little too intensely.

I don't move fast enough; Alexander wraps an arm tightly around my neck and pins me against his chest, holding a pistol. Oh come on! I am not some puffy-eyed, runny-mascara, stumbling on high heels damsel in distress... Well maybe that last part. The shoes suck almost as much as the underwear.

"Careful!" He lets out a breathless laugh. "He's an endangered species." Vex stops cold, glaring at my captor. "You're a madman," Alex spits, "And Cisco wanted nothing to do with you."

"You manipulated him."

"He seemed to... Enjoy my manipulations..." I shiver as a tongue drags along my neck. "And so does this one, when he opens his mind to it." Don't go there, don't dredge up those memories of this past week. But snippets of them resurface anyway: of long nights, either sandwiched or spitted between brutal lovers. Humiliating outfits and crawling on my hands and knees. My own voice begging hoarsely for release. And now, an intrusive hand crawling up my thigh. It slips under my skirt. I lock my legs together and buckle, trembling.

"Stop it," Vex says sharply.

"Go on, Rayce... Beg him to come save you." Alex taunts in my ear. I squeeze my eyes shut as he starts to finger me under the skirt. "Unless..." He simpers. "You don't want to be saved? You'd rather be here with me." I am not crying out for help. Don't. Break.

But my voice is breaking anyway, "Y-Yes... Master..."

Vex can't watch anymore. The vampire grits his teeth, then lets out a cry of agony. He raises his gun and fires randomly into the air. Alex smirks. But then I hear the crack of a branch and look up just before it falls.

I move faster than Alexander, throwing myself forward. When I turn around, I see him trapped under the branch, struggling. The base was already partially rotted through and Vex's bullets helped it along. A dark shape passes before me. Vex, making his way slowly toward the other vampire.

"Rayce! Rayce, do something, that's an order! " Alex demands. And what is he going to do if I don't? Write me up for disobeying a direct order? That would be the most pleasant thing that's happened to me in days...

The unnerving sound of clinking metal. Vex is holding a pair of steel forceps with wickedly curved jaws: a dentist's tool. They make my skin crawl.

"No... No! " Alex is screaming, "Get away from me... I'll destroy you and all your mongrel followers! I'll scrub you from the face of the earth!" Vex ignores him to pry his mouth open, cutting off his words. The forceps disappear from my line of sight, but I hear Alexander's cries growing more and more desperate, echoing through the trees. Vex's arm jerks abruptly and all of a sudden, Alex falls flat to the ground, unconscious.

I watch Vex carefully as he gets up again. The forceps hang from his grip, a bloody vampire fang clenched in its jaws. Maybe now isn't the best time to mention that I'm actually the one who pulled the trigger... I hear voices. The guards are catching up with us and he knows it too as he casts a glance at the trees behind him. He wrenches the bloody scissors out of his leg and drops them, panting.

"Come with me." I stare at the hand he holds out to me and then lift my gaze to his face.

###

Cisco led me out into the street.

"Shouldn't we... Take our sleepover bags?" I asked, disoriented. My voice sounded abnormally loud in the dead of night, but even though it was dark, it wasn't very cold. I shivered anyway. The car parked outside the house was almost invisible in the sliver of darkness between two streetlights. Cisco was pulling me toward it. The door on the driver's side opened and a slim figure hurried out of the car to seize Cisco, dropping into a crouch.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" The man asked in a hushed voice. He buried his face in the boy's hair as he stroked it gently.

"I'm okay," Cisco said, clinging for dear life. I felt strangely left out, standing there awkwardly. That was when the stranger lifted his head and looked at me. The breath stopped in my throat, blocked. His eyes were red. Just like mine. He had a long, thin face and a fluffy bob of ash-grey hair that danced at his jawline. He had a handsome face, but I couldn't stop staring at his eyes.

"Rayce..." he spoke first, "I've been waiting to meet you. Do you know who I am?" I shook my head slowly. "Well. Your brother says such nice things about you." Cisco peered at me from the safety of the stranger's coat with a single grey eye. The man extended a hand that I stared at reluctantly. I lifted my gaze to his face, solemn,

"You have odd eyes. And wrong teeth. Like me." He looked regretful.

"Oh Rayce. Let me take you away from here." He grabbed my hand with force that made me nervous, and led us both toward the car.

I realized, "This is Mr. Diaz's car." The nice neighbor from down the street whose teenaged son would sometimes help us with homework. The stranger paused awkwardly.

"Did you... Like Mr. Diaz?"

"He gives out the best Halloween candy on the street."

"Well, I'll buy you candy." He sounded apologetic for some reason. "I'll buy you whatever you want." The car door opened like a casket lid; I stared at the leather seat. There was a fuzzy frog plushie on it, smiling at us with empty button eyes. Cisco climbed in eagerly and hugged the stuffed animal to his chest. It wasn't like him. I was the reckless one and he always thought twice about everything.

I turned my face up at the man with the odd eyes and asked, "Who are you?"

He squeezed my hand encouragingly. "Sylvester. But if you want, you can call me 'Dad' ."

###

Vex- Sylvester hasn't changed a bit. But then, vampires don't. He reaches for my shoulder and stops short when I hold up Alex's scissors parted threateningly around his thin wrist.

"Stay away from me."

"Rayce, I'm begging you..."

"I said, stay away! " The arms of the scissors snap together but his hand retreats quickly to safety.  

Sylvester's expression darkens. "If you stay, you'll burn with the rest. But don't worry. I won't let that happen to you... Son. "

Guards dressed in black filter between the trees, holding rifles. Sylvester cloaks himself again. Red eyes hold steady on me for a second before he whips around and disappears into the forest.

"Drop your weapon!" Oh yeah, because a pair of scissors is really putting a bunch of men with guns on edge right now. I drop them anyway with a sigh and raise my hands in surrender.

###

Limping toward my room, I try to keep it all together. In the rush to get Alex to the hospital wing, nobody had the time to punish me for what I did. I spoke too soon when I look up and see two generals snickering to each other as they let themselves into my room: which is a communal brothel now, apparently. Dread crawls down my spine; one of them was hauling a tangle of wires and sticky electrodes. I can't go in there. I'm already starting to tremble all over, but I hold myself tighter and repeat the mantra:

Don't show it.

Don't let them in.

Don't fall apart.

Don't break.

I can do this. I can outlast them, says my brain to my shrieking body.

Alexander was wrong about one thing, though: I do have somewhere to go. I find myself at another door, knocking. It slides open-

"Flaere, I-" I cut myself off. Flaere's tousled orange hair is down - he hasn't shaved his five o' clock shadow. He's wrapped in a burgundy silk bathrobe that ends just above his knees. I hear soft classical music playing in the dark depths of his room. All of this just feels wrong , because Flaere would never look like this. He would never posture like that, leaning cockily in the doorway. This isn't my friend. So it must be Hunter. My heart sinks.

Hunter seems amused as he looks me up and down in the leftovers of my ripped costume. There's sex in his eyes and I don't want to see that. I fall silent, staring at my feet instead. He sounds all flowery and scary at the same time when he says at last, "And who should I find at my doorstep but the incubus himself? He comes now seeking shelter, but the price he must pay is a toll he once extorted." Hunter's thin lips spread in a smile. "Oh how the tables have turned now that he has found demons darker than himself."

Chapter Text

Naked again. Joy. Okay, okay, back up for a second. Being naked is great; I try to make sure I get in my daily recommended dose of at least an hour of nudity every day, just... not with a homicidal maniac, is that so much to ask? Weirdly dramatic orchestra music plays in the background while Hunter sits at the edge of his bed, swirling a glass of deep red wine in his grip. I'm the piece of meat he paired with it: garnished with only a black satin bow tie. He has one leg crossed over the other like a total pervert at a peep show and my only defense from his probing gaze is my hands over my crotch. So, nothing basically... Hunter takes a really long, really slow sip of his drink before he says.

"Much better."

"Are you just going to look or are you going to fuck me already?" I ask, aggressive.

"Would you chug a Bordeaux vintage straight from the bottle?"

"I'm just cheap beer," I growl, "Pound me and forget all about it by sunrise."

"You're a poet after all," he says playfully.

"Also, I'll chug anything - fucking try me."

My tongue isn't as loose when Hunter rises from his seat. His eyes meet mine for an intense moment, then drop to devour my body. I move my hands from my crotch and fold my arms behind my head. Bending a leg at the knee, I lean against the wall, posing like I was taught. All this bod just for him? He gets to pig out tonight; I'm jealous.

"Take me." And get it over with.

Hunter whips out his knife. The blood drains from my face.

"That's not what I meant-!"  He moves suddenly; my arms are pinned hard to the wall above my head. My breath leaves me in a gasp. Hunter doesn't even need restraints. I know that struggling is the most pointless exercise on the planet when it comes to him. The cold steel of the knife freezes me anyway as it travels over my skin. I'm actually sucking in my stomach for the pathetic extra inch of distance it gives me. He whispers close to my ear,

"Why the cold shoulder, lover? Are you afraid of me?"

"No." Gee, the tremble in my voice makes it sound extra convincing...

"I thought you were just another sexed-up alpha male trying to take advantage of him... But you're more than you appear after all, Rayce," he goes on. "Must be the Gunner blood flowing in your veins." The point stops over my wildly beating heart like he just wants to spill all of it at once. "It makes me want to just... Just..." Insistent pressure on my skin; "Carve you into pieces and make love to every part."

"Dude, what the fuck?" I manage to squeak. He smirks at me  

"They say you killed your brother." The unexpected statement makes me blink. I don't explain myself. He actually seems to enjoy the ambiguity."Why didn't you tell me you have a dark side too..." growls the dark side himself. I feel his breath, hot on my cheek. "I want to meet him."

"Rayce. Rayce Gunner. It's a pleasure. But I feel like we covered that already." I introduce myself.

"I wasn't talking to you." There's a dangerous look in Hunter's eyes when he turns the knife on himself, pressing the tip into the center of his bottom lip. A bead of blood forms on it. Then he forces his lips aggressively against mine, giving me a taste. My brow creases deeply as I play along.

"What are you... Trying to prove?" I pant softly between rough kisses. I've sucked on a papercut before without losing my mind and flying into a bloodthirsty frenzy. Because, "I'm not a vampire," I remind him.

"There's someone inside you. You locked him away." Hunter frees himself, undoing his bathrobe. The ends drift apart while my gaze races down a sexy stretch of abs and - oh wow, okay. Hunter pulls out his impressive cock like it's the key. He releases my arms, reaching around instead to lift me with strong arms. Back against the wall, I wrap my legs around his hips for support, holding my breath as he rubs our lengths together sensually. Breaking off, he moves to the crook of my neck. Orange twists of hair tickle my nose.

When he speaks, it's hypnotic, "What makes you tick, Rayce... Is it love?" He places a warm, suckling kiss there, leaving me with a hickey so light it would pass the jealous boyfriend inspection. I have a few slutty exes who could learn a thing or two from him... Then I yelp when he bites my nipple abruptly. "Is it pain?" I touch the spot gingerly, feeling dampness.

"Let's go with that first one," I suggest. He smiles at me knowingly.

"Then why won't you say it?" While I'm grasping at answers, Hunter thrusts.
I tilt my head back and exhale. He moves slow, in time with the brooding music. I tremble like the tense strings of the instruments. They're waiting, I'm waiting, for something awful to happen.

"Stravinsky - Firebird," he mentions, "You like it?"

"Is that... A sex position?" I gasp aloud, "Sounds complicated." He chuckles under his breath.

"It can be."  

Hunter lets me down. Fingers dig into my hair and then he manipulates me down to my hands and knees on the floor. I don't get a single second to re-orient myself before he mounts me again, doggie style. The thrusts come hard and fast now and so does the music: too loud, almost scary. I fold my arms on the floor in front of me and hide in them while he rails me. Hunter is hitting my prostate just the right way, fucking the breath from my lungs in throaty gasps that sometimes come out as moans.

"Flaere once repressed me too," I hear him say, "Then he realized he needed me, even if he may never understand why."

"I'm not repressing anything..." In the quiet pocket of darkness between my arms and the floor, I stare at the carpet pattern. Am I? My eyes flutter shut. I let my fangs slide out; it actually feels like a bit of a release. A tiny bit of steam to let off. Hunter suddenly flips me like a page in a book. No wait-

My hands fly to cover my mouth as I search his eyes, frozen. But he isn't... scared . Hunter just looks intrigued. He delicately plucks my hand off like he's lifting the lid from a fancy serving tray. Then the one underneath it, laying them both neatly on either side of my head while I stare up at him in disbelief.  

"You look good," he says.

"You're crazy. "

"I feel like we covered that already." Hunter twists me at the waist; my legs are together and curled to a side, leaving the rest of me flat on my back. He enters me again at the new angle he created: tight and intimate. He's... Sort of... Maybe... Actually good at this. Leaning over me, he slips his fingers between mine on the carpet.

"I-It feels good..." I say breathlessly. My face feels hot; it must be burning red. Hunter kisses me again, this time running his tongue over my sharp teeth. He pulls away too fast and now I'm the one desperately chasing him for kisses. Squeezing his hands, I close the distance and french Hunter passionately - twist one way, then another as if every angle might taste different.

Hunter rises abruptly; I'm freezing without him. He sits on the bed again and lifts his wine glass for another sip. I'm all out of breath, but he's barely even winded. Ugh. I should work out more. I roll onto my side, prop my head on my palm and let him stare at me like a piece in an art gallery. Hunter sighs softly into the glass.

"Why is it always the case that the most beautiful people are also the worst?"

"I get that a lot." I grin. "Uh, sort of."

"You're not good for him. But he wants you, oh he's such a child..." Flaere? He's talking about Flaere. Then he rolls his eyes. "But then, anything's better than that blue-haired menace."

"Sylphos?"

"The one and only ." He sounds sarcastic. Then he notices my expression. "Does that surprise you?"

"I mean yeah, a little bit..."

"It's exceedingly rare that our tastes converge on anything, let alone men." What about me? I don't have the balls to ask that out loud. But I'm cocky enough to think I can convince him when I climb into his lap. Hands on his chest, I slip them under the ends of his robe and make it slip from his shoulders. Silk puddles at his elbows. His sculpted chest is driving me crazy: I just want to piledrive him into the sheets When I meet his eyes again, he's looking right at me.

Another sudden move; my back hits the mattress and so does the wine glass. Deep purple-red stains the sheets, spreading slowly. Hunter has an elbow hooked around one of my legs, pinning it up on his shoulder this time. My cries sound raw. He makes sure to stimulate me  - because he actually wants me to enjoy it?

"Cumming! Cumming!" I gasp. And I do. My entire brain is still going off like a chorus when Hunter finds his knife again. He wraps a hand around the blade and then pulls on it sharply, slashing open his palm. Blood drips from the blade.

"You've kept us waiting long enough."

"Hunter, what are you-!" He cuts off my words when he presses his hand over my mouth.

I make muffled noises as I struggle, lips pressed firmly shut. Breathing hard, I look into his eyes desperately. Please don't make me. He smiles.

"You don't want to hurt me. How sweet... How foolhardy." The tip of the knife draws a frigid doodle on my skin that ends at the top ridge of my pelvis. I shudder, making a noise that sounds like a plea. "I wouldn't think twice about hurting you, Rayce." He proves it by sliding in the knife. Well there it is, it's about fucking time: the other shoe.

Fuck! He isn't even trying to avoid hitting anything vital; the serrated edge saws in and out- I can feel warm blood pooling in the cut and overflowing onto the sheets. He's butchering me. A mangled scream behind his unforgiving grip and then I taste blood.
Sharp. Metallic. Salty. And it's this nasty type of lukewarm, like milk that isn't cold enough to drink straight or hot enough for hot chocolate... But the steel in my abdomen stops moving. Desperate to keep it that way, I drag my tongue over the cut. I'm not a vampire. I'm not a blood drinker! My teeth scrape skin hesitantly. Hunter's smile is unsettling.

"Well hello there," he purrs. My eyes shoot open, wide, when he hilts the knife in my gut. Strength that I didn't even know I have takes over. I throw myself at him, fangs bared, and I overpower him - actually overpower Hunter. I see a flash of surprised grey eyes. But I find myself going lower and I don't know why: it's just instinct.

My fangs slice into his throat. It was easy, so easy, and the blood flows so easily. I feel a shockingly soft hand in my hair. Hunter strokes it lightly, completely still otherwise.

He introduces himself at last, "Hunter. The pleasure is all mine."

###

My eyes shoot open; I'm gasping for breath. What the HELL just happened. And why don't I remember the rest of it? I grab at my hip immediately - where the knife cut in - but the skin is smooth. I run my hand up and down and all around it. That's impossible. It's dark and I feel sore between the legs. How many times did he have me? I lift a hand to my face and freeze, because it's covered in dry trails of blood. How many times did I have him? The sheets are streaked with bloodstains; it looks like someone was murdered in here. Terror grips my heart. Maybe he was. Under the sheet, I feel his arm hanging over my waist. His legs are curled, bracketing mine. He's the big spoon, so he probably isn't dead, right?

Rolling over, I grab his face and jostle him. Loose orange hair screens the puncture wounds in his neck.   

"Hey, wake up." His handsome face is frighteningly still. "Hunter?" I ask. Then I'm begging, "Flaere? Flaere, come on, wake up, please. .."

A wave of relief washes over me when he shifts slightly. He mumbles incoherently as he comes around, blinking ash grey eyes at me.

"Rayce?" I already know.

"Flaere-" My arms are already wrapped tight around him; I squeeze.

"Ow..." Sleepy giggles bubble through his lips. He runs a hand through my hair, brushing it from my face. "What are you doing in my room? I mean, I'm not complaining..."   

"How do you feel?" I ask him.

"Really... Tired," he says. As he takes in the room, he slowly starts to look shocked. "Wh-What happened in here?"

"It's- wine ." My lying is something truly pathetic.

"I can't believe he's been drinking wine again; it's bad for our gains."

"What do you remember?" I ask, tense.

"I remember..." I see it coming back to him. "The stage... And you. Oh Rayce..." I set my lips. "And then-" His hands fly to his mouth. "Oh god. Is it true?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me, I just-"

"Is Matteo dead? " I blink, shutting up at once. Oh yeah, Damon did say that. I almost set the record straight, but the thought of Alexander shuts me up. Maybe... It's better for Matteo to just be dead for a while.

"I'm sorry," Is all I end up saying. Flaere breaks down, curled up and sobbing against my chest.

"He was my friend!" I manage to parse some of the garbled words coming from that general direction. "He was my friend and I didn't protect him..."

I stroke his orange hair wordlessly. He's going to get his friend back eventually. But I- I'm surprised how fast that sting is back to bother me, irritating my eyes.

"They got Finn too." There's a little bit of gravel in my voice. Flaere holds my face in his hands.

"Rayce, I'm so sorry... I know you really liked him."

"Yeah," I say, quickly swiping at an eye with the heel of my palm.

Aggressive pounding on the door makes us hold each other tighter.

I hear a man's voice demanding, "Open up!"

"I'll get it," I tell Flaere.

"Rayce... Rayce, don't," he's whispering, grabbing at my arm as I roll out of bed. I open the door just wide enough to look outside.

Two guards dressed in black.

One of them says, "We have orders to escort you to the meeting." My skin crawls at the thought. Flaere is rising unsteadily from the bed. He breathes hard, weakened, as he raises his fists.

"Just try it." They would put him in the corner in that condition, but he sounds determined to try anyway. "I won't let you... Take another..."

"Flaere, forget it," I tell him as I let the door slide open all the way.  

I look for my clothes - then remember I didn't have any. With a sigh, I shimmy back into the torn green miniskirt. Flaere watches me sadly.

"But Rayce-"

"Hey come on, I'll be alright." Ah, I can't see him like that - I have an idea. My miniskirt flutters adorably as I strike a pose with my legs apart, a hand on my hip and the other in a salute. "By the power of the moon!" I grin. Flaere bursts out into helpless giggles, long enough for me to leave, smiling at the sound.

###

When the elevator door opens, the guards thrust me into the meeting room. Oh look, Weiser and Knotts are at this meeting. They seem just as surprised to see me. I've barely taken two steps before someone grabs me by the arm and then they're forcing me down to the table.

"No! Get the hell off me!" I thrash in their grip. I might know how this ends but I'm still going to fight every step of the way! Knotts and Weiser are on their feet, alarmed.

"Get your hands off him!"

"Why don't you go back to your office and push some more paper around, you old fossil?"

"He's a Gunner for god's sake! That's Draven's boy!"

"He's nobody now.. . " Voices fill the air, mingled with my protests. I brace the sole of my shoe against the edge of table and push against it: hurling another desperate obstacle in their way, even if they overcome it in like, two seconds. My cheek hits the glass.

"I'll bite your fucking cock off!" I spit. Then I hear the familiar jingle of a ring gag somewhere near my head and clamp my mouth stubbornly shut. The arguing gets louder. Someone shoves someone else and gets pushed back twice as hard. It's utter chaos. Fingers fight to claw my lips open - and then a shout rings out,

"Put that slut down, we don't have time for this!" Abruptly, they drop me. No way - that sounded like Alexander. Since when does he not have time for sexual assault?

I'll take it! I almost fall off the table in my hurry to get off it and sprint to the back of the room behind the commander's chair. Alexander storms in. He might have even looked threatening if he didn't have an ice pack pressed to his jaw, like some kid who ate too much Halloween candy. I snicker under my breath.

"Vex!" he hisses. He walks up to his chair, but he's too riled up to actually sit down. He blusters around the room like an angry bee instead. "Vex Delacroix! I'll end his pathetic existence... Can anyone in this room give me a strategy to get rid of these goddamn mongrels?!" A lot of nervous glances shoot between the others. "Lieutenant Florence!" Alexander demands. The man in question gives a start, dropping a handful of documents. I recognize him as one of the junior lieutenants- but I think he's more of an analyst. Deep mauve hair flops over his face as he bends to scrape them back together.

"W-Well," he begins nervously, "The vampire anomalies have always been tricky to deal with. The forests of Decay are difficult enough to navigate and their guerrilla tactics defy our traditional approaches. Throw in mutant powers and most situations involving them quickly become... Unpredictable."  

"Worthless!" He flinches at the rebuke. Alex growls, "Don't think I don't know... You've been so busy boning slaves, you don't even remember how to do your actual job anymore."

"Oh, but when I say that, I'm a 'fossil' ..." Weiser mutters into his beard.

"What are you two doing here?" Alex snaps at them, then holds up a hand. "Never mind, don't answer that; I don't care."

A guard abruptly steps into the room and salutes, "Sir, your appointment is here." He then steps aside and salutes. "Welcome to Fade HQ... Boss."

This guy breezes into the room like a billion bucks. Everything about the boss is larger than life, from mud-caked boots hitting the tiles, to the beer gut stretching the plaid pattern of his button down shirt - all wrapped up in a faded leather jacket. To top it off, he has his arms hooked around a pair of caramel-skinned babes. Twins, it looks like. My eyes widen when I see it: they have peacock tails , currently folded neatly and dragging along behind them like trains. One, a stunning teal and gold, the other, albino white.

" Finally ," says Alex, "Someone who can solve my problem."

"I can't solve your problem," the boss chuckles.

"Excuse me?"

Knotts looks grim as he interrupts, "John Dory."

"What is he doing here?" Weiser demands. "Dory is one of the most notorious slavers in the Null!"

The man - John - grins at that. "Crikey!" he exclaims, "You're making me blush, mate." The peacock twins titter, posing against him like a pair of slutty cheerleaders. Wish I was the quarterback of that team...

"So you're already acquainted," Alex says dryly.

"We've had... Dealings." Thade narrows his eyes at the grinning slaver.

"Aw, don't look at me like that. Got your dirty job done, din' I? That reminds me..." He points a finger each at Weiser and Knotts, then switches the fingers and switches them back again. "Did you two hook up in the end or what?"

Weiser coughs. "Get this bastard out of here."

"Oh come on Howie, I just got here!" says John. Everyone looks at me when I let out an abrupt laugh, capturing it quickly in a hand pressed to my mouth.

"I'm sorry," I explain, muffled."It's just... Your first name is Howie. "

"Howitzer." Weiser frowns at me first then turns back to John. "It's Howitzer. " But John is looking at me intently now. I squirm in place.

He returns his attention to Alexander when the vampire speaks again, "Sorry Howie , no can do. John Dory here is our new Chief of Personnel."

For once, Weiser and Knotts aren't the only ones who look uncomfortable as the others murmur uneasily to each other. So they'll draw the line at hiring slavers, but becoming them is A-OK? John reads the room with a casual glance; doesn't look fazed though.

He whistles to his pets, "Insaaf, Tamasha, show these gentlemen a good time." At their master's orders, they split up, each carrying an expensive-looking bottle of booze. Yep. That'll do it. The generals soften right up as the twins fill their cups and lay flirtatious touches along their shoulders and arms. Folding my arms, I lean against the wall to watch the albino one - Tamasha . Anklets studded with small, round bells jingle cheerfully wherever he goes. He flirts with everyone, not with words but with the way he moves : every step looks like a dance move and a lush braid of snow white hair twirls behind him. He lets them touch but they can never get a grip; Tamasha slips away like a silk scarf.

Alexander called me a rough draft earlier... Is this what a finished product looks like? Tamasha passes before me. He locks eyes with me out of the corner of his. Pale pink. I smile and wink back. Do slaves like me get to score with slaves like him? Or is he out of my league? Tamasha blushes as if I said it out loud and darts away quickly.

Everyone looks a little more relaxed by the time the twins are finished doing the rounds.

John speaks again, "Hemscroft, I heard about the... Impromptu dental work. Nasty business."

"It's Vex again," Alex growls, "You promised us security: why aren't you dealing with this?"

"I see why you might be confused, but I'm a slaver , not a vampire slayer ."

"I'll find someone else then: there are a thousand slavers in the Null."

"And not a single one who'd get on a vamp's bad side!" laughs John. "You don't make a living in the wastes by tangling with them, no... Look, we're doing what we were hired us to do: keep your slaves in order, but I draw the line at mutant vampires. If you're looking for Van Helsing, you've got the wrong guy. But no worries..." He glances at me. "You've got the right guy right there."

Alex does a double take over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, are you referring to the redhead whore in the dress?" he asks pointedly.

"That whore's a Gunner . And if he's anything like his father..."  

Alex opens his mouth to argue, but then he falls silent again, considering it. "That's true," he mutters, "He is good at menial labor... And he dealt with that naiad wench fairly quickly."

John has a wide grin that would probably be charming if it wasn't attached to a human trafficker... He says, "So whaddaya say boy, help an old slaver out?"

"On one condition," I fold my arms. " Pants. "

###

I get a little bit of my dignity back: my old army uniform, and a rifle. I never thought I'd be so glad to see drab camouflage again... It almost feels strange to have that much fabric in contact with my body now. I find myself constantly reacting to its touch as if there are dozens of spiders scurrying over my skin. Alexander gazes at me with a wrinkle in his brow as we walk down the corridor together.

"Don't assume I haven't considered the possibility of your running away to Daddy Vex."

"That's not going to happen," I grumble as I load my weapon.

"Funny." He sniffs. "Your brother said the same thing. That reminds me... I want to show you something." His eyes twinkle; I don't like this one bit. He stops at a door and opens it. My jaw drops.

The room was hastily decorated, as if someone was going for a traditional Asian theme, but ended up half-assing it. In the center of the room, a figure kneels before a low table. His face is half-hidden demurely behind a paper fan, but I still recognize him.

"Jun..." Brown eyes shoot open at the sound; he looks up. Jun looks like he was dressed by someone who knew nothing about him except for what he is, and not who. His purple hair is woven into a gorgeous updo, pinned in place with a comb while the long, embroidered sleeves of his red kimono weigh his arms down. He watches Alexander's every move as the vampire steps languidly into the room.

"You know Rayce, I finally figured out why you were such a lousy slave master..." he mentions. "You kept falling in love with the slaves."

My face feels hot immediately. "That isn't true."

"Oh isn't it?" He nods at Jun who obediently closes his fan and lifts the teapot. Holding the lid closed with his non-pouring hand, he tips it toward the cup. The steaming hot liquid that streams out is blood red. Because it is blood . Jun can't maintain his composure for long. I see it in his eyes first, then the terror travels to his hands, making them tremble uncontrollably. Splotches of red land on the table; bright liquid trickles down the porcelain sides of the pot and then he abruptly puts the teapot down again and retreats behind his fan. It's shaking like a leaf.

Alexander frowns at the spills on the table.

"Look at the mess you made," he scolds.

"Forgive me, Master." Jun fights to keep a level voice. Alexander moves like a long shadow against the wall to stand behind him.

"I think I might have to punish you." A hand lands on his shoulder and moves the shoulder of his kimono, agonizingly slow. Irresistible pale skin appears and then red rope. My brows shoot up. There's something kinky going on under there. Jun is shaking again as Alex peels him out of it. The top half collapses around the kimono sash cinched at the waist. I swallow hard. Jun's pale skin is criss-crossed with red rope lashed together in the form of a kinky harness. Alex seizes his wrist and grabs the teapot in the same movement - he's going to scald him - Jun cries out; a restricted chest struggles to expand enough to hyperventilate.   

I abruptly burst out laughing, making them both look.

"Don't waste your time. I couldn't care less what happens to him." Jun's eyes widen by a fraction. "He tried to kill me," I go on, "And he's the reason I lost Matteo... So go on and burn him. Drink him dry after. Makes no difference to me." I meet Jun's eyes coldly.  

He can't look at me anymore, dropping his face behind violet bangs. Alex is at a loss. He holds Jun's arm loosely while he reconsiders what to do with it. Then the dark smile returns to his face.

"Oh. Ooooooh I see what's going on here." He chuckles while my heart sinks. "Nice try, Gunner; you almost had me fooled..." He shoves Jun to the floor.

"No!" I start forward, but I can't stop boiling crimson from pouring down. I hear the hissing of hot liquid and a yelp of pain. Alexander's laughter. I rush to Jun's side, but he quickly pulls the kimono over his back and hugs the ends together tightly, hiding the damage from me. I can still see it in his face screwed up in a refusal to cry; he's biting down on his lip.

"Jun," I say breathlessly.

"I'm fine," he chokes out. But he'll consent to letting me hold him in my arms as I glare at our tormentor.    

"That's the last time you play games with me, Gunner. Or the next time will be much, much worse." Alexander leaves us with that warning.

###

"This is bullshit," says Sylphos bitterly. A cigarette hangs between his fingers, letting off gentle curls of smoke. "This is such a motherfucking load of bullshit."

"I'll drink to that." I raise my beer and knock it back. Jun takes a swig of liquor straight from the bottle too, but then, he'll drink to anything. The three of us plus Flaere to my other side sit on the tires in the training course, looking out at the dark forest of Decay. Alcohol and greasy, packaged food keep us company while we wait for orders.

"So let me see if I have this straight..." says Jun, "You think that the mad, invisible vampire who lives in the woods is your daddy? "

"He's not my dad. He just thinks he is."

"But you don't know that."

My mouth twists. I don't know anything.

"That's impossible. Rayce looks exactly like Draven," Flaere points out. He holds his arms up in the air for emphasis. "I mean, have you even seen the giant statue?"  

Sylphos takes a drag on his cigarette and blows smoke into the cold air. He glances over at me. "It could've happened. Human commander. Vampire soldier from the other side. A prisoner of war, maybe?" He lets out a humorless laugh. "Bet that sounds real kinky to a Gunner like you."

Jun looks at us sideways, exasperated. "You all seem to be skipping the most important piece of biological evidence: they're both men. " Silence.

"Well he's got a point," Sylphos says at last. He offers me the cigs.

"Nah, thanks," I say, leaning against the dusty rubber of the tire. "I don't smoke."

Jun muses aloud, "It can't be- Rayce Gunner has a virtue?"

"Just the one." I grin back.

"You're quiet today, Ponytail." Sylphos calls to Flaere without actually looking at him. The orange- haired soldier sits up with a snort from where he almost fell asleep.

"I dunno, I just feel so tired..." He yawns and stretches his arms. I don't know how to tell him it's because I tapped him like a keg, so I hurl a package of trail mix at him instead.

"You're gonna need it," I say, "We're hunting vamps tonight." Flaere tears into it ravenously.

"I can't believe you're actually hunting anomalies for Alexander," says Jun.

I shrug helplessly. "Better than sucking dick for him. You don't need to come, Sterling. You guys have Knotts to protect you."

"Are you kidding?" He looks restless. "I haven't seen real combat in months . I can't just sit around and watch while this place goes to hell..."

"Well if it's action you're looking for..." Jun smiles. He almost seems like he's trying to cheer the Marine up when he takes the cigarette from between Sylphos' lips. Slipping it between his own plush lips, he drags slowly before blowing a perfect smoke ring into the air. But I realize that show isn't for me either when I notice the way they're looking at each other.

"Nice one," says Sylphos.

"Why thank you." Jun lets a bare leg pop through the slit of his kimono and angles it seductively.

Sylphos runs his gaze over it. "Nice dress," he teases next. He grips Jun at the inside of the thigh, hungry, and draws upward toward his crotch.

I'm just frozen with my lips on the bottle. Quickly, I shoot Flaere a glance: his mouth is hanging wide open. My thoughts exactly - when did this happen?

Just then, the radio switches on to say,

"Anomaly detected- patching coordinates to you now, over."

"Ready up, boys." I say abruptly, getting to my feet.

"No thanks," sighs Jun, "If it's a choice between being raped by a vampire or a tentacle monster, the vampire wins out..." He mutters, " Barely. " Judging by Flaere's expression, that's probably a good idea... "I think I'll stay here and coordinate. Don't take too long." Jun places a long, slow kiss on Sylphos' lips. I almost take out my military-issued watch and start timing our little trip to bizarro-land. That's when I see it - there! - the swift glance Jun shoots Flaere just before breaking off the kiss.

Jun spins around and heads back toward HQ. Sylphos is already raring to go in the other direction, pinning up his hair. And Flaere... Flaere just looks angry. I grab his arm before he can follow.

"Let go of me!" Flaere tugs loose effortlessly.

"Flaere, I can't have you being a danger to yourself and everyone else." Ha! I sound like a real commander now, huh? Too little too fucking late.

"I'm not- I just- You don't-" Flaere gives up on words and just lets out a furious noise at the sky. " Him?! " he demands, "I wasn't good enough, but he is? Jun is... The worst person ever!" He punts a rock clear across the training field. So much for being tired...

"Okay..." I begin slowly. "But hear me out: he's like, really hot ."

Flaere whips around furiously. "And I'm not?! " Would you look at that; there appears to be a foot in my mouth... "Sylphos isn't even Jun's type. "

I think about it for a little bit. "You know, I would have to say the thing that Jun likes the most about Sylphos..." I look at him and say dryly, "Is your reaction."

Flaere goes quiet at that. He says under his breath, "He's all wrong for him. I know it." No, that isn't Flaere's call to make, but yes , I can sympathize with the feeling... My thoughts wander unwantedly to Matteo. No.

"Listen, Flaere," I say, "If you're over him, then be over him." He looks away regretfully.

"I don't know... If I can go on this mission."

My heartbeat quickens. No, I can't let that happen; I need him. Need him. I haven't even thought it through before I say. "What if... It wasn't a mission?"

Grey eyes flick this way, suddenly curious. "What else would it be?"

"A date."

"A date? " he repeats. His eyes widen when he realizes what I'm asking. "Are you asking-"

"Sure," I interrupt before he can use any more loaded words. Laughter tumbles out instead, but his eyes are bright again.

"O-Okay... It's a date. It's a date! " He likes the word so much, he says it twice. 'Oh he's such a child.'

I just nod, because I'm afraid the more I talk, the more likely I am to give myself away. Flaere is determined to fall hook, line and sinker for it anyway as he leans forward to plant a kiss on my lips.

"Hey, are you two coming or wha-" Sylphos cuts himself off because he's just seen. I don't know what that expression is. It isn't even an expression, really, just a blank sheet where one should be.

"Let's go hunt some vampires!" Flaere says as he breaks off. He's so pumped he falls forward on his hands and walks his legs over his head, touching down on his feet again with ridiculous flexibility. Sylphos blinks as he brushes past.

"Rayce, what's going on." Sylphos steps in my way.

"You heard him."

"But I never meant to-"

I raise an eyebrow pointedly. "I said 'heard'. Not 'hurt' ." Yellow eyes widen. Sylphos turns around, silent, and follows in Flaere's footsteps.

Chapter Text

"Hello? Hello, hello?" High-pitched interference in my ears makes me grimace. "This is Lt. Florence, your analyst, speaking. The bogeys appear to be en route to sector 17, location 8. Dispatch, prepare for encounter in T-minus 60 minutes-" And I don't just mean the static! What the hell is this guy going on about? I swat my earpiece like the annoyed, oversized mosquito that is Florence.

"Hey! Hey you, Florence!" I shout, "Get the hell off this frequency and bring me Jun Aoki!"  

"I'M the analyst assigned to this operation-"

"Yeah, you said that already," I cut him off. "But I'm the leader of this mission and I only work with Jun."

"But- But-" He sounds flustered.

"Look, I'm a little new to this, so you tell me: who has the authority here? Mission leader? Or some analyst?" I challenge. Silence. Then the channel switches over.

"Technician Aoki, back by popular demand." He sounds so fucking smug about it too.

"I wouldn't go that far." But I'm grinning as I say it. Now this is more like it. Can't crush it at the gym without my favorite track on - can't crush a bunch of superhuman vamps without my favorite strategist on...

"Vex's anomalies are moving on the blood farm," he reports in fucking English, thank god.

"So you heard about our little field trip." I whack my way through the weeds of Decay. Plant matter falls away in slimy strips.

"Sylphos gave me the short version."

"I bet he gave you the long version too..." Flaere sulks. A pause.

"Not that it's any of your concern."

"Nope, it is not..." Flaere replies. His arms wrap possessively around one of mine and I respond by grabbing his tight ass, grinning. He giggles.

"Knock it off," says Sylphos sharply, "We have a job to do- so quit acting like horny teenagers."

"Hey Flaere," I shoot him a coy look. "Someone sounds jealous ."

"You know what, I think he does."

"That's ridiculous and you two know it."

Flaere evaporates from my grip to slink around the tall Marine. "You know, you don't have to be jealous. We're always down for a player three." Sylphos watches warily out of the corner of his eyes.

"Not. Interested." Then those irritated yellow eyes flick this way as I clinch him from the other side. My hand rests on his lower back, reminding him of all the wonderful things it could make him feel if he'd just give me a few inches more...

"Until you need 'servicing' , that is." I tease.

"Yeah," Flaere snickers then pauses. "Wait, I don't get it." He has no idea what I'm talking about, but Sylphos does. Doesn't he? I meet his gaze with a challenge in mine.

"Don't touch me." Spoilsport.

"That's what you said last time, and we both know how that ended." I snake around the sexy ridge of his hip and slide into the front of his pants, probing for that sweet, inviting slick... Then my face explodes.

An unnatural pop of color in my vision; I fall back into the grass, that same hand pressed to a face throbbing in agony. My eyes water on instinct. He got me right in the nose!

"Fucking hell, what is wrong with you?"

"I told you not to touch me." Sylphos walks on, shaking out his knuckles as he goes.

" Freak! " I shout after him.

Flaere crouches at my side. "You're bleeding." I press the back of my hand to my nose, damming it until he fishes out a strip of towel.

"Told you he was a jerk," My voice sounds nasally as I press it to my bleeding nose.

"Well, I have you now." Flaere helps me up. "Right?" 'If you're over him, then be over him.' He's trying, anyway. Flaere hugs me while I stare too long at the carrot-top of his head glued to my chest.

"You have me now," I affirm. Now is the operative word. Don't get me wrong: I like Flaere. But he's kind of a package deal...

"You people do realize I can hear you sexually harassing my boyfriend?" Jun pipes up. I smirk.

"You probably enjoyed it."

"Well, I did like the part when you got punched in the face."

This time, we get to use the front door. Fancy.

"Stop where you are!" The guard dressed in black points his rifle at me. A second guard clamps a hand down on his shoulder.

"Those are the guys Dory told us about, remember?"

"Sorry... Reflex. No one ever visits." The first guard steps back in line.

"What, no 'bring your son to work' day?" I raise an eyebrow. "Can't imagine why. Such a family-friendly establishment." The guard says nothing, staring at me through an impassive visor. Then he abruptly swipes his key card to grant us access. "Welcome to Mistfall Landing. I'll take you to see the coordinator."

Our escort takes us to a prison-like concrete building. I'm not even one of the prisoners and I can't seem to escape this place...  Already, horrific carousels of the things we saw are whirling through my head again- and places like this can only get worse. The guard swipes his keycard again. Everything here is sealed behind layers of metal and plastic, wrapped up in a veil of fog. "The coordinator will see you now," the guard says. 'The coordinator'. Why does that sound like a euphemism for the mastermind of a criminal organization? I fight down feelings of dread, bracing myself as we step into his lair...

Which is a waiting room, apparently. Well, that was a lot of buildup to nothing. I mean, at least it's a nice waiting room. The lobby is pristine, with comfy chairs and magazines to keep the patrons placated. A bowl of candy sits invitingly on the receptionist's desk.

Flaere's mouth twists in confusion. "I feel like you guys exaggerated this place just a little. "

"Oh no, believe me," I narrow my eyes as I look around warily. "This place is pure evil. "

"Is the candy evil too?" He wonders aloud, staring at the jar. He swallows slightly.

Sylphos sighs, "You can have a piece of candy, Flaere."  

"Don't listen to him," Jun hisses, "Corn syrup is the devil."

"You've arrived!" A voice interrupts us, more upbeat than anything I expected to hear around this place. We turn our attention to a man in a long white lab coat who joins us in the lobby. He's built thin and tall, made taller by a neat black pompadour streaked blonde. The bright yellow stethoscope around his neck catches my eye and cheers me up in spite of myself. He goes on in a pleasant, relaxing voice that would be more at home on a self-help audiobook or something. "Mr. Dory informed me that you would be helping with our... Shall we say, anomalous situation."

"That's right. Rayce Gunner."

"Seong-Hye Keyes." He introduces himself. "You can call me Dr. Keyes." When he takes my hand for a handshake, it doesn't feel right. I look down, stunned. The surface of his hand is smooth and white: it's a robotic prosthetic.

"You seem surprised." He chuckles.

"I-I'm sorry, it's just-"

"It's quite alright." Dr. Keyes waves off my embarrassment. "I do get that a lot, believe it or not." He winks unexpectedly.

"Ask him what processor he uses." Jun wheedles me.

"Did you say something?" Keyes smiles.

I slap a hand over my earpiece, laughing awkwardly. "Nooo... Sorry about your hand. That must have been awful."

"Well." He lets out a short breath, staring at it a while. "It was... Slightly traumatic, of course. But now look what I can do." Keyes holds it up and speaks in a clear, commanding tone, "Hey Eve, put on a pot for our guests."

A circular blue light pulses under the back of his hand: it replies in a feminine voice, "Yes, Doctor. Now brewing." Sure enough, the coffee machine at the reception desk is slowly filling with dark brown coffee. Eve speaks again, "Enjoy your drink, Doctor."

" Sweet. " I grin wide.

"I thought so too." Keyes slips his hands into deep pockets and laughs lightly.

"Can we move this along?" Sylphos cuts in. Keyes casts him a glance but the Marine is staring vacantly at a painting on the wall. One of those uninspired nothing paintings usually found on the walls of waiting rooms and boring suburban homes, whose only purpose is to waste the observer's time. Keyes looks back at me, smiling.

"I'll show you around the facility."

Keyes leads us through a well-lit corridor. Everywhere we go, lab assistants smile and wave, usually tossing a "Hey, Doc!" or a "Good evening, Seong-Hye!" this way. The doctor nods diligently at each one. I feel like we took a wrong turn somewhere and wound up in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, not Cisco Gunner's human meat farm.   

"It's so... Clean," I say for lack of a better word.

"Of course it is. Think of it this way: would you buy food from a dirty restaurant?"

"Uhh..." I'm not even going to mention the 'restaurants' I find myself in while drunk, high, hungover or some combination of all three at three AM in the morning.

"Our clients demand the highest quality products and processing techniques," Keyes tells me.

"You mean, your clients the vampires. " But who am I really reminding: him or myself?

"That's correct," he says matter of factly. Definitely myself. "I personally ensure that we maintain the highest health and safety standards at Mistfall facility." He abruptly stops in front of an observation window overlooking the livestock pen. The shaved meat humans gravitate aimlessly between water, troughs of nutriblock and a few rudimentary playthings and utensils. There's the blood farm we know and love...

"Oh my god..." Flaere presses his hands to the window, bug-eyed. Sylphos doesn't even cast it a glance, staring sternly ahead.

"Hey Eve," Keyes says to his robot assistant, "Give me the debrief."

"Okay. Here is today's briefing. Oxygen levels are within acceptable margins. No new health concerns to report..." I tune Eve out because it's so easy to. I hate to say this. Am I really going to say this? Well here goes.

Dr. Keyes is right . Those people down there? Ain't exactly having the time of their lives, but... They're not hurt. They're not being beaten and abused. Held down and raped in a dress. My fist clenched unconsciously. I pry it back open. How bad does it have to be to want to be transferred to a slaughterhouse?

"But you're selling them to vampires. What's going to happen to them?" I argue with myself at Dr. Keyes.

"Vampires don't eat human flesh , Rayce. These people will end up in blood cellars, where they will be looked after for years to come."

" 'Looked after'? "

"Let me put it this way. If you owned a cow, you could slaughter it and feed yourself for a week. Or you could tend to it and milk it every day for years. Think about that."

"B-But-!" I stammer desperately.

"Would a sick or injured animal produce good dairy?"

Gee, I'm not a dairy farmer, but, "I don't think so..."

"Then there's your answer."

I'm silent for a long time.

"Yeah... Yeah," I say slowly.

He flashes me a sunny smile. "You see?"

"I see it all so clearly now... And then the naked meat people can move to a farm upstate where everyone has a 401k and they can dance, smoke weed and play tennis all day in the sun shining out of your ass." The doctor's smile fades. I growl, "I thought doctors were supposed to be smart or something. But you'll believe anything."

"You're not thinking," Keyes insists. "In your mind, is this worse than total extinction?" I fall silent, glaring at him. He continues down the hall. "Come along. The man in your ear will want access to our security cameras."

I'm still stewing until Flaere senses my mood and grabs my pants. I jolt a little, then relax in his grip. Looking over, he has a smug smile on his face, that troublemaker... I almost forgot how nice this is: having a boyfriend. It's been a while. Let's just say you don't have boyfriends in prison so much as people you spend a lot of time in the shower with. We lag behind Keyes and Sylphos for privacy as he kneads my package gently, but once we reach our destination, he has to stop. I almost beg him to keep going, I don't care.

The security room looks a lot like the one in HQ, but fog renders most of the outdoor camera views useless. The indoor ones, on the other hand, give me a helpful summary of the Frankenstein's monster Dr. Keyes built. The doctor adjusts a few things on the holo-screen.

"There," he says, "You should have everything you need."

"DATA, how I've missed you," Jun sighs dreamily.

"Sylphos, you got some competition." I joke.

He actually smiles a little bit. "Can his spreadsheets spread him on the sheets?"

"Ooh," Jun makes an flirty noise.

"Sylphos," Dr. Keyes says abruptly. He smiles, bright. "Is that your name?" The amusement on the Marine's face fades.  

Sylphos changes the subject. "Let's get out of this shithole. I need a good perch." And I need a good nut...   

Casting a glance at Flaere, I say, unusually high-pitched, "You know what, let's split up. You find a perch and Flaere and I will keep an eye on things from down here."

Flaere nods vigorously. Sylphos narrows his eyes as he looks between us. He's not an idiot .

"I can take you to the roof," Keyes offers.

"Yeah, go with Keyes." I urge him.

"Fine." He relents. "You're the leader ." His blue ponytail waves goodbye. As soon as the door closes, I shove Flaere against it and catch up with my lips.

"Rayce... Oh, Rayce..." he gasps between hot, steamy kisses. He allows me to pin his wrists to the wall but wrestles my tongue for dominance.

"Do I really need to be watching this?" Jun asks. Flaere pops off with a gasp. His brow furrows when he sees the two of us in one of the camera views.

"No." He turns off his earpiece. I do the same with mine.

"Don't like an audience?" I tease him as I nuzzle into his neck.

"Just not that one..." He abruptly pulls me from the room by the wrist.

Flaere gives each camera on the ceiling a third-degree glare as he leads me down the hall. You know I didn't notice how many of them there were until they all became part of Jun's creepy network. Round lenses encapsulated in dark glass, like vacant eyes.

"Hey, there aren't any over here!" Flaere perks up and so does his ponytail: bobbing adorably as he sprints down the hall.

"Uh, Flaere?" I look around. "There aren't any humans here either." The corridor degrades all around us as if it caught a cold from the forests of Decay. Pristine white turns into dilapidated grey. We come to a sealed electronic door and I'm slightly relieved.

"Damn," I lift and drop my shoulders. "Maybe we should get back to society- err, whatever's left of it." But I underestimated Flaere's determination to get laid when he claws at the door. It groans open.

"They cut the power to this section," he explains between heaves. "Don't you see what that means?"

"No Wi-fi?"

"No Jun. "

Wedging his fingers in the sliver of an opening, Flaere wrenches the door open the rest of the way. Clammy, trapped air escapes, attacking us on the way out as if we just let loose a vengeful spirit. I was using a simile, but maybe I'm just stating the facts as I peer into the creepy corridor over Flaere's shoulder.

"What is this place?" he wonders aloud. The long hallway before us is pitch dark and empty except for a door on the far side illuminated by the dull light of an emergency lantern.

"Perfect!" Flaere exclaims. Okay, seriously, who sees something like that and runs toward it? I follow helplessly.

As he throws the door open, I plant disappointed hands on my hips. It's just some lame examination room with a cushioned chair and a funny-looking machine entangled in tubes and wires. A bottle of lube is tucked into one of its compartments. On the desk is a single desktop computer.

"What a weird chair." Flaere flops into it. It's tilted back slightly and there are leg rests- but they're so high up. He props his legs instinctively on the stirrups then frowns. "It isn't very comfortable." But it does give me a great view of his crotch, his legs spread and angled just right.

"I dunno, it's got its perks," I say. Flaere traces my gaze and covers up with his hands.

"Hey!" A coy smile. "No perving." So how come he's unbuttoning his shorts? He holds still while I yank them off, then opens up like a book. I browse his juicy contents. Flaere has a really nice cock... My hand latches on. He lets out a breathy sigh and lifts his chin slightly as I stroke him gently: up and down and up and down.

"I'm the luckiest man in the world," I stroke his ego too. He opens an eye to look at me: brimming with devotion.

"How could you be when I already am?" I blink at him. When he says things like that... It makes me stop . But stopping and staying aren't the same thing. What if I'm just gearing up to run? "Rayce?" he prompts me. "Something wrong?" I realize I stopped pumping and pick it up again, faster as if to make up for lost time. He winces at the dry friction.

"Sorry, I was just... distracted," I apologize.

"Oh." Dark grey eyes flicker away. "Our first date and you're already bored of me." He isn't being catty: he's not the type. No, he always sounds like he expects me to order him to pack his feelings in a trunk and get the fuck out of my house on a moment's notice.  

"No... No, Flaere, you're great." I cup his face in both hands. But he can't even meet my eyes.

"I know you only said that to get me to come." I knew about Sylphos, but apparently, Flaere isn't an idiot either...

"And you came anyway?"

"Sorry if you felt like you had to put on an act for me... I just... Wanted to feel special for a bit. You know?" He makes an attempt at a smile but it falls flat. "Besides," he mutters, "I would've come anyway. I'm not going to abandon you, Rayce." He tugs at something in my chest.

"Flaere." I grab the bottle of lube from the desk, flip the top and drizzle his crotch.  

He starts a little and laughs. "Hey! What are you doing? Are you sure we should be using that?"

"Come on, lube doesn't have an expiration date." I grin at him. "When the world ends, it's gonna be just cockroaches and lube."

"Oh well, at least there'll be great cockroach sex." His expression is so serious for someone talking about the sex lives of roaches. I can't help but laugh as I put my hands back to Flaere's package - but this time, I mean it.

Jerking him off with one hand, I massage his pucker gently with my thumb, stimulating the sensitive ring. Flaere watches my every move with lustful eyes. I show him my pointer and middle finger and wave them teasingly. Then they go in his ass.

"Nnngh-" He makes a throaty noise while I finger him and pump his shaft at the same time. Right now is all about him. And man is this a good chair: I have so much access to all his best features... I get a terrible-good idea. Flaere gasps slightly when I return on the next thrust with three fingers instead of two.

"You're so flexible," I tell him.

"Gymnastics." He flashes me a bashful smile.       

"Well then, I'd better give you a bigger challenge, huh?"

"Wh-What do you-" He doesn't need to finish his question. I slow down and withdraw just enough to wrap my fingers into a fist. Flaere yells at the ceiling as I stretch him over my knuckles. Fuck , that's hot. I have to hold him by the thigh for leverage, fisting hard enough to make him scream. Flaere throws his arms back over his head to wrap them around the headrest. He arches his entire torso like he's trying to escape me, but his face tells me: don't you dare let me go. I power through; my wrist disappears and then Flaere cums hard, curled up and trembling.

Alabaster pools in the ridges of his tight abs as he catches his breath.

"Rayce, that was..." I just smile, sliding back out slowly. Then I have my arms hooked under his shoulders, lifting him from the chair.

"We're just getting started, slut." Yeah, I caught that uncontrollable grin. He loves being my slut. Mine : it goes to my head. I toss Flaere over the desk like a whore - he bends obediently. The chair was amazing, but I'm loving this view of his sexy back tat-too- see what I did there? Holding his hips, I thrust my fully erect cock into a hole dripping with lube. A raw cry escapes Flaere's throat. I nearly forgot what this was like... Trying not to sound like a virgin landing his first hole, I bite down on my lip as I pump, but it feels so good that I have to say something!   

So I shout it up at the ceiling: "Rayce Gunner is fucking back, baby!" Flaere's giggles sound worn out, but he keeps up gamely. He doesn't even complain when I grab his ponytail and pull on it. My other hand steadies his hip and I move like I'm trying to make them touch.

"Ow!" Wetness in his eyes on reflex, but he doesn't complain about the rough treatment. Now that's what I look for in men.

"Fuck yeah, bitch!" I slap his ass sharply: once, twice, then dig right back into skin and pure muscle. "Who's your daddy?"

"Rayce! Rayce! Rayce! Oh god."

"That's fucking right..." I growl, trading his ponytail for the roots of his bright orange hair. "You're mine... My bitch." Shaking just a little bit, Flaere looks over his shoulder at me.

"R-Really? You mean it this time?" I see his body shrink with self-doubt.

"Hey, I meant it the first time." I flash him a cocky - maybe a little bit douchey - grin. "I just wasn't sure if I was going to keep you."

The words escape him in a huge exhale: "Thank you..." He'll take it: a sudden realization. He'll take anything I can dish out. Flaere drops his face to the desk, exhausted and gripping the edge with a tense hand to steady himself.

I finally pull out in a gusher of white that streaks his thigh. Flaere plugs himself with two fingers and arrests me with those eyes, heaving on the desk to catch his breath.

"You were amazing, babe." Give it a second. A couple more. Incredibly, that word didn't make me want to fold up into a crate and ship myself to Tibet. So I guess... So I guess... I let a hand run through his orange twists of hair.

"We're in this thing together." He smiles brilliantly, radiant in the afterglow. He isn't the only one when the monitor abruptly turns on.

"Woah!" Flaere jerks away from it.

"I thought you said there was no power here!"

"Th-There isn't!" I approach the humming computer with caution. The desktop is blindingly empty, as if it was physically scrubbed clean. "Look, there's a flash drive." Flaere points out the hard drive inserted into the computer. I try accessing it but a popup blocks me out. The cursor blinks expectantly.

"It's password protected."  

Flaere waves a hand at me to get on with it. "So? Just do that trick you did with the lockbox in the treasury!" I smile at him sideways.

"That trick was a one-hit wonder..." We both turn back to the screen as a notification appears on screen. "A... Video call?" I narrow my eyes at it. I can't help but click. The call screen appears. It's mostly dark, but then I see the back of my and Flaere's head outlined with the monitor's glow. Flaere cries out and I swear, "Holy shit!" Twisting around, but there's no one at the door. The monitor abruptly switches off and plunges us into darkness.

Flaere screams. Our arms find each other and snag tight.

"There's something out there! " He's freaking out.

"One of us should go check it out." And since I'm not volunteering...

He pushes on my chest desperately. "You're the dom! And that means you have to go check the creepy hallway!"

"What? Why is it always the dom who has to volunteer for death?! "

"I'm basically two people, so I should have the majority vote in this relationship!" Flaere overrides my arguments by flat-out shoving me into the hall. Just as I stumble over the threshold, the electronic door slams shut behind me.

I bang my fists on it frantically. "Flaere! Flaere! " But all I hear is screaming from inside. "Are you okay?!" Silence. Holy crap. The skin on the back of my neck crawls; I whip around and press back against the closed door, sweeping the dark corridor rapidly from side to side.

"I-I'll go get help!" I call over my shoulder.

I break into a sprint, filling the desolate corridor with the sound of my own desperate panting. I'm gonna make it- I'm gonna make it! But just before I do, the entrance slams shut.

"No!" I throw myself at it, sliding down slowly. Light. I'm vaguely aware of light somewhere behind me. Wary, I turn around to see that the corridor has changed . The walls were blank before, but now they're lined with grey doors like tombstones. One of them is open. That's where the light is coming from: fluorescent white spilling into the hall. Well, that isn't suspicious at all...

I feel like the dudebro jock character in a budget horror movie- until I remember. I'm the dudebro jock character with a gun. I draw my rifle, grinning. Upgrade! Feeling a little bolder now, I inch toward the open door. The light flickers - daring me. Deep breath: 3, 2, 1- I leap into the doorway and point my rifle.

"Don't move!" Then I drop it with a sigh. The room is empty, washed out by bright, fake light. My attention is drawn to the shackles bolted into the wall. They look so out of place: medieval in this advanced facility. I stretch my fingers to the smooth metal of the shackles. Then I see something in their reflection. Eyes wide, I spin back around. An alien creature with wrinkled silver skin blocks the doorway. A black respirator mask obscures its face. I'm holding a gun- I remind myself, but terror jams my finger on the trigger. I don't react, even when it reaches out with that unnervingly shiny hand. It touches me. A jolt of electricity passes between us before my vision blacks out

###

I'm definitely dead. That was a bad ending kind of ending - sorry, light's out, show's over.

So I'm pretty shocked when I actually swim back to consciousness. The light is glaring, especially on my sensitive eyes. I try to move but I'm stopped at the wrists. Great. Sitting on the floor, I have my arms shackled to the wall over my head.

My legs are the wrong color. And that might sound like a strange thing to say, but it's true: they're a dark shade of tan instead of the usual buff. And much skinnier - hey come on, I worked for that mass! You call those knees? I call them fucking embarrassing... I look around to see if anyone is missing a pair of legs. But nope, I'm the only one here.
"What the hell..." I mutter to myself. I move them just to make sure they're really mine. Then I feel cloth rustling on my thighs and realize I'm wearing a pleated skirt trimmed in lace. Then I find a thin blouse with a collar covered in ruffles. I groan inwardly. Even when I'm someone else I can't get some decent fucking clothes... The only other things in the room are a couple of toys scattered on the floor: no, not fun toys, toy toys. Actual children's toys: a few blocks and a coloring book. A hand mirror lying where I can't see into it. Oh great, my new childhood is depressing too. I got ripped off!

Who did this to me? How do I get out? Why don't I look right? This has to be a dream - nightmare. That's when I feel it - now of all times - throbbing need between my legs. My cock pitches a tent in my skirt. It starts out low: like the faint tug toward a cute barista, then slowly grows into a violent, pulsating urge: the lust and frustration of being bound and waiting - begging with every part of yourself except your mouth silenced with a gag - for abuse. 'Ho boy, where did that one come from...

I have no time to worry about it when the itch travels up my legs and sets my whole body on fire. I feel like thousands of tiny claws are running over my skin; like I'm stuck permanently on the tingling verge of a sneeze without the payoff of actually sneezing . It consumes every thought, chews them up and spits them out as raw desire. I need it. And I can't even help myself with my arms trapped in the shackles. A frustrated noise escapes me as I rub my thighs together, desperately trying to create sensation. It isn't enough.

That's when the door slides open; I lift my head to see Dr. Keyes in the doorway. He holds a tablet in one hand and a recorder in the other.

"Good evening, Sylvia," he says cheerfully.

"That isn't my name," I say, but the words aren't mine.

"Don't be ridiculous." Keyes laughs. He places the recorder on the floor and switches it on. I stare at the glassy eye. Then the shackles pop open with a soft hiss. I fly immediately to my crotch, even though I don't want to. I have to- Have to satisfy- But when I dive under the skirt to touch myself, I freeze. Bypassing my erection, I find a wet slit and rub it slowly, stunned. It sends back unfamiliar signals that I can't even begin to process. I have a pussy.

I can barely think straight, but I grab for the mirror and turn it. My eyebrows nearly shoot off my forehead. Sylphos' forehead. He looks much younger: his face softer and his curly cerulean hair is only shoulder-length, but there's no mistaking him. Somehow, I'm trapped in Sylphos' teenaged body.

Aaaand that's as long as I can care about that. I let out an involuntary, throaty noise as I drop the mirror with a clatter and grab at myself again. I just want to get this over with. I plunge my fingers in without fanfare and jill myself vigorously. It hurts. It hurts. A flood of juices spills between my legs; I sob aloud. Make it stop. I make the mistake of opening my eyes. The camera recording me with silent judgment. I feel violated, squeezing my thighs together.

"Now Sylvia, do it the way I taught you."

I move mechanically, sitting upright with my legs apart. My face burns as I masturbate - it seems like - for his entertainment. Keyes has his eyes glued to his tablet, taking notes. No... This isn't entertainment. But that doesn't mean entertainment isn't part of it. I still notice the casual, wayward glances he casts this way.

"You have so much stamina." He says it like praise. But it feels like a curse.

By the time I finally bring myself to orgasm, my hand is cramping up and the inner walls of my muff feel all scratched up and raw. Lying on my side, I pant softly for air.

"You did well." Dr. Keyes is standing. I follow him with my eyes.

"Wait." He pauses.

"Can I..." I begin slowly, hardly daring to ask the question, "Have a change of clothes?" When he doesn't reply, I go on, trying to convince him, "These ones make me uncomfortable."

His tongue clicks, "Mind yourself, Sylvia."

I take a deep breath and try again, " May I have a change of clothes?"

Only for him to answer, "No dear, I'm afraid not."

I'm silent for a while. Then I snatch up the mirror and hurl it at the wall where it ricochets violently. The words just flow: "You motherfucking asshole wretch! "

"Orderlies." Keyes summons for them in a tone that tells me: 'We've been here before. We've done this before. You already know how this will end.'

Big men march into the room. They wear light blue scrubs stretched taut over broad chests. They're much bigger than me and stronger too. I put up a fight anyway, kicking and screaming, all the while firing profanity at Dr. Keyes.

"I'll kill you! " I shriek. "I'll strangle you with your little bitch boy stethoscope and tear your douchebag highlights out and shove your child-molesting speculum so far up your fucking twinkie ass that you'll be swallowing through it!" Topping it off with the loudest, most animalistic scream I can force through a tightening throat as I seize up against the restraining grip of the orderlies. They wrestle me down to the floor, overpowering me. They're so big and I'm just too small. I'm just too weak . I know that struggling makes it hurt more, but taking the abuse quietly hurts even more than that. The orderly with the painfully big dick- why do I know that, oh god, why do I know that - wrenches up my skirt.

I'm actually relieved when all he does is punch a needle in my thigh. Cold sedatives leech into my system, sapping the strength from my limbs as I stare up at blinding white lights brighter than the sun. They can't replace it though. Dr. Keyes' face eclipses them, staring down impassively at me.

"You used to be so polite."

###

Wheezing gasps as I wake up in the hall again. The extra doors are gone. Were they ever really there? I try to wash out the memory with fresh air, but the atmosphere here is musty and old. All I'm doing is muddying my lungs. I bring my hands up to my face, doused in relief when I see that they're the right color again. No more teenage noodle arms. All my breath leaves again in a sigh of relief. It really is true: if you could meet everyone else's demons, you'd take your own out for a beer. All the doors hang open now as if nothing ever happened.

"Flaere!" I shout as I stumble into the examination room, it's empty. "Shit-" Slam the door frame with my palm and then I sprint in the other direction. I remember to switch on my earpiece. "How long was I out?"

"Gunner, is that you?" Sylphos replies, "Where the hell have you been?! I thought you were dead."

"I think I just had an encounter with an anomaly..."  

"Ha! You're not special, snowflake. I've been popping anomalies for half an hour."

My blood runs cold. "What?"

"They're here, Gunner. Did you bring Flaere?"

"You mean... He's not with you?" If he responded, I don't hear it over the static which interrupts us. I wince at the high pitched, crackling whine, then look up as the lights overhead flicker ominously. "What is that?" I say as soon as the interference clears up.

"Overdue electricity bill." Sylphos snickers under his breath.

"I think I might know what this is." Jun joins the conversation. "I've been going through Florence's database, and I found something. An anomaly with the ability to manipulate electricity, codename: Killerwatt." I flashback immediately to the alien creature in the abandoned hallway; the spark that coursed through my body when it touched me.

"That's him," I say immediately, but something doesn't stack up... "Can he," I word it as I go, "Also make you see things? Like things that happened a long time ago? To someone else?"

"Oh sure hang on: let me just scroll to the section on 'Jedi Mind Tricks'..." Jun snarks.

"What did you see?" asks Sylphos.

I falter. "It's not important. Forget it."

"Killerwatt is hardly ever spotted this close to military territory. If it really is him... Try not to die."

"Your wish is my command." I grin.

"I wouldn't go that far."

I take to the streets filled with choking, smoke-filled fog. Dark shapes appear and disappear while voices bridge the gaps. Waving a hand to clear the dirty white fog in front of my face, I say in a voice made hoarse with smoke, "What the hell happened here?"

Jun responds, "They brought down the wall."  Eyes wide, I see that he's right as the crumbling perimeter wall peers through the fog like a jagged lower jaw with missing teeth.

"Watch out, " Jun warns me, "You have company." Moments before an anomaly melts from the shadows, stepping over the rubble. His helmet lifts to face me and for a moment, we both freeze.

"Which one is that?" I ask, hushed. The vamp holds a hand out to the barrels of water that line the street. The barrels shudder as if something is shaking them from within, then splinter, but the water rises away from the broken plastic, twisting together in a swirling column. My mouth drops open. "Holy crap." Then it's coming at me.

Water hits me like a wall; I never knew a liquid could feel so solid. It twists my limbs and sends me spinning, disoriented, as I flail desperately. Opening my mouth to scream only fills it with water. I come crashing down to solid ground again, on my back.

"Wait, I know this one!" Jun says quickly.

"Please, take your time," I grumble, peeling myself from the floor. His codename isn't important. All I need is a gun. I aim my rifle and squeeze. A wall of water comes up to absorb the bullets, then he's pushing forward with waves, swallowing my fire as he goes.

"Shit," I curse - then I get an idea. I sprint right at him. This time, I tackle the wave head-on - literally - as I dive through it, lift the rifle and fire. At least, that's what I would have done if I wasn't blindsided by another wave. I hit the wall hard, sputtering water, then I can't move my hand: it's freezing cold . I look up, shocked, to see ice encasing my hand and the rifle in my grip, pinning both to the wall. I grab my wrist and pull desperately as cold deadens the feeling north of it. Nothing doing.

"Found it!" Jun reports late. "They call him Riptide. He's a hydrokinetic."

"You don't say?"  

Meanwhile, the vampire sighs, dropping tense shoulders. He sounds muffled through the helmet when he says, "Nice save..." His hands move to rest on his hips as he swaggers this way. He leans in to study my face. "Well, crumb-coat me and call me a fish stick..." He lets out an abrupt laugh. "It's Little Red!" Little... Red... I blink at the vampire, surprised, but there's nowhere to look for clues beyond the dead end of his tinted helmet.

"Gunner," Jun says urgently, "On his neck. The siphons." I follow his instructions to a pair of connecting tubes looped over his shoulders, connected to his body armor on each side of his neck. Through the clear, plastic tubing, I can see liquid bubbling through. I get it now.

"Consider yourself slayed!" I grin as I seize his tubes and rip them loose. Water sprays wildly in all directions like gore. The vampire gasps, stumbling backward with his hands wrapped around his throat. Now's my chance! I select a sturdy-looking piece of rubble and go to town on the ice. It cracks, then chips. My hand drops like a stone in a shower of ice chips. It's so numb I can't even move it.      

"In... In a second," I add. Come on, come on... I rub my frozen hand vigorously, trying to force warmth into it.

"Not if I slay you first!" Riptide calls back. "Almost... Got it... Uh, nope. Uh, nope. Uh, wait." The tubes keep slipping out of his grip.

My frigid hand curls weakly on command - good enough! I spring to my feet and point the rifle, but so did Riptide; the tube hisses as he sinks it into place. Water rises in a threatening swell behind him.

That's when the lights flicker again. I look up at the utility lights strung along the buildings. They dim, brighten, then dim again like Christmas lights. Killerwatt. I shouldn't have taken my eyes off Riptide because now he's running at me. I brace - but he only shoves past and sprints away down the street. Boots splash through the puddles as he laughs over his shoulder at me.

"Ha! You're too late!"   

"Hey, get back here!" The lights go out, deserting me in this freezing dark fog. I wrap my arms around my elbows and shiver slightly. "I'll let you slay me..."  I call after Riptide forlornly.

The main plaza is dark and eerie: I find myself standing where the airship once stood, drawn in by familiarity, even if it's the bad kind. The electronic doors are all deactivated: the power cut out. I hear a metallic groan and whip around, on a hair trigger. One of the doors is sliding open. A young woman appears in the doorway, pressing her back to one side and bracing her foot against the door. She makes a grunt of effort as she forces it open the rest of the way - the same way Flaere did with the other deactivated door - and then she staggers forward, panting.

A product . I see it in her naked skin, pale from a lack of sunlight. Her scalp is shaved clean. But I'm just standing there, staring over the sight of my rifle, frozen.

A woman . Her eyes are so expressive. Small cupfuls of tits. And those hypnotic curves oscillating up and down and up and- I shake my head to clear it. 'Next time will be much, much worse.' Alexander's words return to me.

"Go back inside, ma'am," I order. She looks up at me, surprised. Why isn't she moving? More faces crop up in the dark doorway behind her. Gaunt, frightened faces waiting to see what I am about to do to her. What is Alexander going to do to me? What is he going to do to them? " Please. " I lift my rifle, capturing her defenseless form in the sight. Those pretty eyes of hers widen as she holds her hands up, the palms face out - pale like a white flag. I could kill her . My finger trembles on the trigger. Set an example . It would be so easy. You've done it before.

The gun clatters to the ground.

The girl is gone, already sprinting away into the fog while I catch my breath. She opened the floodgates. Soon the streets are filled with escaping livestock stampeding toward the gaps in the wall.

The guards are in a frenzy now - this is part of their jurisdiction. But what's the use? They can't hold them all back. The stock filters away, leaping over the rubble to disappear between the trees of Decay.

"What did you do?" Jun whispers in my ear.

"It's a zoo down there!" Sylphos puts it less delicately. "I can't- I can't get a clear shot."

"Regroup! Regroup! Goddammit, Flaere, where the hell are you?!" I shout into the earpiece as I sprint back toward Sylphos' perch. I find him on a rooftop high above us, his sniper sights trained on the fleeing crowd. A door slams open and a guard appears, dragging out a struggling silver anomaly. I realize now that it isn't skin, but a silver hazmat suit making him look like a vampire burrito.

"That's him!" I gasp. "That's Killerwatt, they got him!"

"You mean I'VE got him." Sylphos says coldly as he lines up his shot. Just then, the guard wrenches off the mask. A tan face appears, shockingly young. Spiky yellow hair flops forward.

"What are you waiting for?" I demand. "Take it!"

"He's... Just a kid." I hear the hesitation in Sylphos' voice.

"Let go of me!" Killerwatt yells, struggling in the bigger man's grip. "Let go! " He shrieks. The next thing I hear is a gunshot. Killerwatt freezes, eyes wide. The guard who was holding him falls forward, boneless, and bleeding from a headshot. The boy retraces its path to Sylphos on the roof, but only for a second before he twists around and vanishes in the crowd.

Jun is railing, "You missed! You fucking missed!" No he didn't.

I spot something in the sky moving rapidly in this direction. "Is that... Another anomaly?" But this one has wings.

"Huh?" Sylphos turns around just before the rooftop erupts in a cloud of bright pink smoke. The anomaly dropped a smoke grenade and I can't see a thing.

I shout, "Sylphos!" But I only hear grunting on the airwaves, then a ragged gasp. " Sylphos! " I run toward the building. A figure falls from the cloud, landing in a heap. I stop dead in my tracks. "No..." Dropping to my knees, I gather Sylphos in my arms. His face is scrunched up in agony; he lets out a whimper as I move the hand pressed to his stomach. It spurts blood. He's covered in wounds like that one: precise, deep stab wounds placed strategically.

I can almost reverse engineer how it went down: the anomaly went for Sylphos' inside elbow first, to disable his firing arm, then weakened him at the solar plexus. He went for the upper thigh as Sylphos tried to run. And finally dropped him with a mortal stomach wound. I just can't figure out what he did it with.

The anomaly who ambushed him drops out of the smoke where I finally get a good look at him. He holds a silver rapier at his side dripping blood slowly into the dirt. There it is. He slows his descent with beats of stunning pink wings, landing gracefully on the tips of his toes. The vampire reaches over and lifts his helmet.

Loose curls of red hair tumble over his shoulders and back; he shakes them free with a few tosses of his head until they hang aaaall the way down to his ass. Which must be really nice , I'm thinking intrusive thoughts again. Stay focused- but lifting my gaze to his face isn't helping. He's hot .

He gazes impassively at Sylphos bleeding out in my lap and clicks his tongue.

"Oh la la... Little boys shouldn't play in brambles," he says as if chiding a small child.

" You... " I snarl. He hears the cock of my rifle directed at him, but doesn't even raise his weapon in response.

"What are you going to do with that, mon petit chou?" he cajoles in a syrupy tone of voice that even puppies and babies would gag on...

"Who are you?" I ask him directly because Jun is going to take five fucking hours to consult with his precious database. The anomaly doesn't answer straightaway. His pointed nose makes it look as if he's always glaring down it at everyone, even though his expression is neutral.

" No one now. Homewrecker," he accuses at last, barely above a whisper. I'm taken aback.

"I mean, you're not wrong, but..." The pretty vampire drops his head slightly and shakes it, smiling.

"Do you know why you still draw breath?" he questions me. "It's because my dearest Vex hasn't allowed me to disembowel you. Yet. "

"You tell Vex to come disembowel me himself if he wants, but don't send his boy toy ."

The vampire's lips curl into a malevolent grin. I glare at the wickedly sharp rapier tip he points at my nose. "This 'boy toy' just bested you, little boy." He lowers it to Sylphos. " And all your toys."

With a frustrated cry, I pull the trigger but he takes off, soaring into the fog. I turn my attention to Sylphos instead.

"I'm going to get you out of here. You're going to be okay," He doesn't answer of course, because he's unconscious.

"Rayce!" Dr. Keyes is running this way, lab coat flapping. "What's going on?! My facility- my stock-!" He freezes when he sees Sylphos lying in my lap. "Oh Sylvia-" he breathes. Then he rushes to help. He waves his robotic hand over Sylphos' injuries while diagnostic numbers and diagrams appear on the smooth white surface. They're all urgent, beeping red. Keyes talks fast, "Let me take her inside- We have state-of-the-art facilities- a blood bank-" But I hold up a hand, stopping him before he can lay a finger on my fallen friend.

"Why did you call him that?" I ask quietly.

He looks at me, stunned. "Because... Because..." I've heard enough, carrying Sylphos as I get to my feet, wincing. He's heavy. Muscle weighs a lot more than a frilly dress.

"Rayce, be reasonable," Dr. Keyes insists. "She isn't going to make it!"

"He!  He isn't going to make it!" I correct Keyes sharply. "And he is because I've got him!" Then I turn back to Sylphos' unconscious face and promise, "I've got you."  

Chapter Text

"Come on, Sylphos help me out here..." I mutter. But the faster I run, the faster he insists on bleeding out. I don't know much about the red-haired vampire who did this to him, except that he had deadly accuracy and he was ruthless with it. He didn't want Sylphos living through this. The trees of Decay start to blend together. I'm pretty sure I was supposed to go that way - err... This way? I swear there was a stupid-looking striped fern there just a minute ago, but heck, it might not exist anymore except as part of the rotten slush on the forest floor. How the hell does Sylphos always seem to know where to go in these woods?

I have the next best thing: technology. "Jun!" I gasp into the earpiece. "I could use some directions!" Silence. "Jun?" What do you mean I've lost him too? You're all alone. But the forest is full of voices today. Dory's men are out in full force: black shapes filter between the trees in pursuit of escaped livestock and I have to keep reminding myself that it isn't me they're looking for. I still haven't completely trained out my flight response at the sight of them.

A blockade of sand-colored vehicles mows through the forest. They look a bit like motorcycles except they hover above the forest floor with the help of turbines parallel to the ground, like Mickie's airship. I know what those are... Skimmers: the Lamborghinis of the Null. But the skimmers weren't made for this kind of terrain: which is obvious from the way the driver in the lead curses and jerks between the trees.

Run, I suggest to myself.

But you don't need to do that , I remind myself.

"Piece of junk!" Then the slaver lifts his gaze and catches me like a deer in his headlights. " You, " he growls venomously. Oh, come on.

Told you so.

Flight. Flight. Definitely flight! I break into a sprint in the opposite direction, but the skimmer breaks formation to angle sharply around me, whisking up a cloud of dust. I duck behind a tree, holding Sylphos close, but slavers come around the trunk and wrestle him away.

"No!" Lunging forward - arms clad in black hold me back. They drag me out from behind the tree kicking and screaming.

They're yelling to each other, "There he is! That's the bastard!" Arms link under my shoulders and two of the slavers haul me to my feet. A third one stands in front of me, fingers clenched. A mustard yellow bandana is knotted around his upper arm.  

"You freed them!" he accuses. "Fuck you messed everything up! Now the shipment is going to be late... The money will be late... Dory will be pissed, the vamps will be pissed. And now I'm pissed." That statement ends at a hard edge. "Hold him still." Then I look up and realize it's just beginning with the gloved fist hurtling toward my face.

The slaver unloads on me while I thrash between the two holding me up. I hear his teammates yelling at him to hit me harder. Between blows, I catch a glimpse of the unconscious form of Sylphos hanging over the back seat of a skimmer, terrifyingly still. Long blue hair pools in the dirt. A desperate thought: I wish he would come to life - A particularly cruel blow has me buckling - He wouldn't let this happen to me. They wrench me back upright, but the next one knocks me right back down. I land in the leaf litter and roll onto my front, struggling to prop myself up with shaking arms. A thin string of bloody mucus connects my lips to the forest floor. Then my arms are being wrenched behind my back. I feel the rope digging into my wrists as it pulls taut, then my pants coming down around my ankles, leaving me exposed. I bite my lip and brace for it.

But it still breaks my spirit when he enters me. I can't stifle a ragged scream.

"Some Gunner you are!" the slaver shouts me down. "Just look at you. You're nothing! "

And what does that make you? A retort trembles on my lips. Don't say it. Don't say it. If I just... If I just let this happen, it will happen faster. And then I can take Sylphos to safety. It's not too late. A second pecker stares me in the eye. I let the owner plunge into my mouth. I don't even bite. I can still save him . Whimpering softly around the girth as the one behind me abuses my entrance, dry. Just outlast them. Just outlast them. My eyes sting; I blink rapidly.  

"I bet you like taking it in the ass, don't you?" They go at me with aggressive, angry energy. The one in front orgasms first. I pull off in revulsion but now there's jizz on my nose and splotches of white on the ground.

"Please, he needs help," I beg.

The slaver snaps, "So what?" Fingers dig into my hair and shove me back down in the filth. I turn my face to a side and spit out a lock of my own hair slicked down with sweat. Then I grit my teeth. Don't . But it's too late as a hot tear crosses the bridge of my nose to land in the soil.

"Hey!" The slaver abruptly laughs. "He's crying! He's fucking crying!" More laughter. "You're pathetic." Just because he hits climax doesn't mean he's done torturing me. The vice of his thumb and forefinger squeezes my cheeks together and forces me to pucker up, "What is he to you, your boyfriend? Sorry buddy, but he's screwed. It's too bad too, he's pretty cute. Tell ya what. I'll make sure he doesn't suffer." The slaver signals to one of his teammates. Wait, what is he doing with that gun?

"No! No! " I struggle but I can't get out of the dirt as the man with the gun approaches Sylphos.

"Don't worry," the slaver holding me teases. He lifts his visor; I see dark skin. Then he presses a taunting kiss against my cheek. "I'll be your new boyfriend; that'll be fun, huh?" Squeezes my asscheek, rough.

"Don't do it! I'll do whatever you want!"

He grins. "You're going to do that anyway."

"What's going on here?"

"Shit-" The slaver with the bandana scrambles to his feet as a new skimmer weaves between the trees. Well, not new. This one is all beat up and covered with faded decals. John Dory alights from the vehicle, and I don't know whether to feel relieved or even more worried.

He takes in the scene. Then shoves the slaver with the gun, making him stagger. "What do you think you're doing? I don't pay you to stand around picking on one slave while half of them escape! Go on, go! Get out of here! " The guards gather themselves quickly after that, scrambling to their feet. The one with the yellow bandana is still holding my arm.

"Caiman!" He gives a start when Dory yells at him. "That means you, ya bloody drongo! Get that Marine to the hospital wing!"

"Yes, sir," Caiman lets go and rushes to his skimmer. I stagger to my feet.

"Wait!" Well fuck - those don't work. My legs give out; I fall forward in Dory's arms.

"Steady on; he'll take care of your friend." Dory holds me upright.

Lifting my face from his chest, I shake my head desperately. "You don't understand! He tried to kill him! You can't- he won't-!"

"Let me put it this way: he'll do what I told him to do." Dory smirks. I fall silent because what choice do I have but to trust him? I watch Caiman drive off, yellow bandana fluttering in the wind like Sylphos' blue hair.

Dory holds me at arm's length and frowns.

"What a mess."

"Thanks, it's all natural," I mutter. He produces a grubby pocket square from his khaki cargo pants and rubs my cheek with it - but I'm not convinced that's making it any cleaner.

"Hold still," Dory growls; I stop fidgeting and stare at his face instead. It's wide and ruddy from working outdoors in the blazing heat of the Null. Age and sun damage left clusters of fine wrinkles around his light brown eyes. His face is shaded by long brows and underlined with a 5 o' clock shadow along his jaw. His coral-toned hair is short and curly, receding but just a little. He could be my uncle or something.

And he sure is acting like one as he rubs a stubborn smudge from my cheek. I have to close one eye when he rubs too hard.

"Come on, we don't have much time." He even refastens my pants for me before yanking me toward his skimmer by the elbow. I have to go, helpless with my hands still tied behind my back. He seats me in front of him near the handlebars and when he grabs them, his chest touches my back. My ass slides to rest against his crotch. I squirm, uncomfortable, but I have to clamp down on the vehicle with both legs as it lifts off the ground, unsteady.

"H-Hey, do you know how to drive this thing?" I ask.

"If you know how to ride!" He laughs and then we're tearing through the forest.

Dory is better at maneuvering than Caiman was, but he still swears when his rotor clips one of the trees. "This bloody forest," he mutters. He would probably be more at home in the vast dust bowl of the Null, where skimmers like this one top 100 on the regular, zipping over a vast and empty expanse. I've never been there obviously; let's just say city folk steer clear. That is: we stay in Clear.

"There you are..." Dory mutters. I only catch it much later than him: a distant shape darting between the trees. He steers toward it rapidly and as we close in, I can see it's a product: stark naked and running for his life.

" Run! " I shout at him. Dory whacks me in the back of the head but it's more playful than painful. Casting a terrified glance at us, the product takes evasive action, beginning to dodge and weave between the trees. Dory keeps up patiently; he never takes his eyes off target. He sees his chance - Dory draws a mahogany brown shotgun from the holster across his back and points. I look at the shiny wood, then at him in horror. "What are you do-!"

I cut myself off with a small scream when he fires one-handedly. My ear closest to it pops. The product drop like a stone. Game over, man . At least, that's what I thought until I realize he's still moving. A lot, actually. The pink pellets that were fired from the shotgun expand rapidly into a sticky mass, gluing his feet and ankles together to the forest floor. When he sinks his fingers into it to try and get free, his hands get stuck too. It looks like he's wrestling sentient bubblegum.

"Beauty!" Dory grins again, then he speaks into his radio. "Mark my spot for pickup. More where that came from." He moves through the woods like a hunter with a quota to make: dropping products left and right and leaving them all gummed up - but otherwise unharmed - on the ground for collection. They never stood a chance against a man who makes a living hunting down humans. It feels like hours before I sense him so much as slow down a little... He yawns a bit and scratches his belly, then says briefly into the radio, "This is Dory, turning in for the night. Can't do all your work for ya, boys..."

"Roger that, Sir. Nicely done as usual."

The skimmer lowers itself like a living beast settling down for the night. He parked at the edge of a cliff overlooking the forest. The wind makes the trees ripple like waves in a stunning, multicolored ocean of leaves. Maybe the expanse reminds him of home.

"Now isn't that something..." he murmurs.

I hate this place; it can't fool me anymore. "Something dangerous," I scoff.

"Everything worth doing is at least a little dangerous. People too!" Dory muses.

Is that why he's touching me? Dory feels me up through my clothes while I squirm and make progressively louder noises of complaint like he didn't hear me the first time. When that isn't enough, he starts unbuttoning my uniform shirt.

"Don't touch me," I demand as if I actually expect him to listen. He gropes at my chest and abs before dipping into my pants. This feels wrong... I'm already hard to the touch before he even starts jacking me off. A blush rages hot over my face.

"What's wrong, mate?" He means that pretty literally as he nips flirtatiously at my ear.

"You... You're..." I struggle to word the source of my embarrassment. "You're old enough to be my dad!"

He chuckles in my ear. "Old enough to have fucked yer dad."

Pleeeeaaase let that be a hypothetical... "Because that makes me feel better!"

"I wasn't trying to make you feel better, kid. I'm just being honest with you." ... Honest?

"Besides," he goes on, "Alexander is a snooty old sack of bones but I don't hear you complaining."

"All I do is complain about it." But I can't help a snicker. He must have liked the sound because he starts tickling me. Surprisingly soft fingers race over my skin; I laugh even louder.

"Quit it! Quit it!" I gasp out, breathless. He finishes with a playful twist of a nipple and a kiss on my cheek before dismounting the skimmer.

"I'll build a fire before we freeze to death," he says. While he fumbles with kindling, I edge myself off the skimmer - which is trickier than it sounds with my hands tied behind my back... Easy... Easy now... My toes brush at the ground. But I come down on my foot wrong and topple over with a small cry.

"You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?" Dory comes over to lift me from the ground. His big arm envelops me completely as he leads me to the campfire. It does feel nice... The fire, I mean! I stare into it until I realize he's taking his shirt off. The buttons gratefully release his gut. I wonder if it's just the fire making my face feel hot as I look him over, hesitant. He's covered in a short and thick layer of ginger body hair. I only get to look for a second before Dory traps my lips with his like one of the meat humans ensnared in sticky pink. Our tongues are glued together.

Dory grabs my ass, his other hand stroking my side. He's in my pants again for the addictive feel of my skin and then I gasp in his mouth when he sinks in his middle finger. He holds my jaw because the dirty old slaver wants to watch my expression change while he fingers me... That blush is back and hotter than ever. I pant softly - I know it's getting him hot for me too.

But he ruins it. "You look like your dad."

"Stop it." It comes out aggressive. He places his fingers over my lips. The look in his eyes turns melancholic.

"I was just being honest." Dory pulls away; a cold feeling sinks into my chest. I was too harsh with him - wait, what am I saying?

Dory sprawls by the fire. He tears open a package of jerky with his teeth, spits the plastic into the leaves and roots around inside.

"Is he alright?" I ask.

"Hm?" He glances up at me.

"Sylphos," I say, impatient, "Did your men get him back to safety?"

"Yeah, yeah, they're good boys... Most of the time."

"Then check! Then call in! I have to know that-"

"He'll be 'right, Gunner." He stares into the flames. "He'll be 'right." There's just something about his lackadaisy-don't-give-a-fuck attitude that settles like a blanket over everything else and smothers my own will to do something... I just fall into the place beside him, defeated by his apathy. He chews on jerky. Offers me a strip, but I'm not hungry.

I do cock my head to the familiar sound of a buckle coming undone. Dory wears a thick leather belt with a richly embellished golden buckle. You'd have to be going for tacky to pick something like that. Pretty soon, his peach manhood is exposed to the night air. He leans back against a tree, arms behind his head like he doesn't even care what I do with it. I lift my gaze to his eyes but he's just whistling away at the night sky.

"Dory! Dory! " I'm screaming.

"Just a little... A little more..." he's telling me between gasps for air. I don't think I can last that long.

"Ah-!" D-Did you know? That you could hit your prostate like that? I bob in his lap, slamming home each time. He fits just right. Up and down and up and down - oh god - this is good... This is good... Dory's the kind of guy who likes to sit back and watch... But I didn't know that I was the kind of guy who'd let him. My climax sneaks up on me: hits me full in the face and saps the strength from my limbs.

Dory catches me on his fluffy chest. I nuzzle into the lush carpet of coral curls on his chest. He's like a living fireplace; I don't even need the campfire. Thick arms wrap around my back.

"Think you can cut me loose now?"

"Nah."

I try something else. "Earlier, you said... You were being honest with me. Do you think you can be honest with me again?" He looks at me questioningly as I sit up straight in his lap. "You knew my father."

"No kidding." He flashes a grin.

"Everyone... Everyone always says he was some kind of hero. They say he was a leader. A good man. " I grit my teeth a little at that. "And I always feel like they're lying to me. They have to be lying to me." Dory stares at me for a long time. His light brown eyes flash gold in the light from the fire.

"All of those things are true, Rayce," he says at last. "Draven Gunner was a good - no, a great - leader. He was a good son to his father. He was a patriot. And yeah, he was a hero." My heart sinks as I look away. "And to be all of those things... He also had to be a monster. " Then I look back at him, eyes wide. Dory sits back. "Draven was a murderer. He tortured and killed and raped . Some even say his best friend was a slaver from the Null." A smile curls his lips. He places a finger over them and breathes out through closed teeth. "Don't tell anyone." Then he heaves a sigh, looking tired all of a sudden. "But maybe the most awful thing Draven Gunner ever did was to his own children. He abused them horribly: and everyone knew it. We all knew it, but we didn't do anything about it because he was Draven Gunner. That's the most awful thing we ever did." Dory glances at me. "And that's the honest truth."

I can't speak; I just stare at him, stunned. Hearing those words come out of someone else's mouth somehow makes the truth more true. Makes it real: now it exists somewhere besides the cage of my own damn head. Dory doesn't call me pathetic when I cry. He has a hand on my back, stroking it. He takes pity on me then and cuts me loose.

After a while he says, "I want to give you something."

I sniff and wipe my face with an arm. "You 'gave' me plenty, thanks, but I'm good."

"I'm sure I have it here somewhere..." He digs through his cargo pant pockets anyway. Every time I think he's checked them all, another one magically appears from the fabric. "Here it is!" I didn't expect this: a small blue flask with a rounded bottom and a thin neck. Dory places it in my hands. I tip it instinctively but nothing comes out. It's empty, all dusty inside so it's probably been that way for a while.

"It's a little small for a bong," I say. He chuckles. "What is it?"

"It's-" Dory pauses. "Wait, do you hear that?" And then I do: rustling in the leaves. It gets louder.

He's barely zipped his pants back up before a creature leaps out of the bushes. It's much smaller than I expected, but makes up for that with a terrifying wooden mask full of sharp teeth. The mask is edged in dry leaves which make a horrible rustling noise as it moves. It points a spear at Dory who holds his hands up in alarm. The two circle each other slowly.

"Take it easy now..." He waves at the creature to settle down. He glances quickly at his skimmer and the shotgun lying against it. The creature traced his gaze. Dory ducks the point of the spear with a split second to spare and sprints toward his vehicle. The creature gives chase and lunges again. This time, the spearhead sinks deep into the fleshy part of his calf. Dory falls forward with a cry but his hand comes down on the stock of the shotgun and tightens.

He flips over and fires. The creature falls back, rolling over the slush until expanding pink pellets hold it fast. Which would have been the end of that if more creatures in masks didn't come slicing through the foliage. Two of them cross their spears in front of me threateningly... Protectively? Whatever the case, I scoot backward on the ground. Limping back toward his skimmer, Dory holds them back by sweeping the mouth of his shotgun back and forth. It's a regular Mexican standoff.

One last creature comes through the trees. This one towers above the rest. His mask features the hooked beak of a bird of prey: a spray of multicolored feather radiate outward from it. His tan body is covered in bright body paint. He brandishes a fletched spear at Dory and says in a muffled voice, "Get out of here."

Dory glances quickly at me. "Give me the boy and I'll leave."

"He's staying right here."

Meanwhile, I've noticed the dappled blue skin of our attackers. And the wavy black hair poking through the back of their leader's mask...

"It's okay, Dory," I say.

He looks worried. "But Rayce-"

"Go. Just trust me, okay?"

Dory hesitates, but he finally hops on his skimmer. It hums hypnotically as it recedes into the trees. The bird-masked creature turns around and props his mask on top of his head to reveal an exhilarated expression. His blue eyes are so bright. But I'm just exhausted. I smile weakly anyway.

"It's good to see you again Matteo."

###

Matteo and I sit on the river bank together. The naiad village is bustling as usual: everyone seems to have something to do and all those things fit together. The warriors from the cliff face-off still wear their body paint, but the masks are strapped to their backs.

"They didn't want to be helpless anymore," Matteo explains to me. "They wanted to be able to fight so something like Undine could never happen again." I grin at one of the naiad warriors strutting past and tossing his elbows in the air for dramatic effect. A group of naiad children clamors close behind him, filling the air with repeated requests to touch his spear, his mask and his paint, in that order.

"I'm not sure some pointy sticks and arts and crafts would have defeated Undine..." I say.

"Oh shush you." Matteo nudges me. "It's cute." I run my eyes over the symbols that decorate his tan skin. Swirls and dots of bright colors painted with small, precise fingers.

"You've been having fun."

"Just a little bit." He smiles his gratitude at a cute naiad girl who bends to offer us dinner in warm, leaf-wrapped packages. I unfold fragrant leaves from a steamed piece of fish, but my eyes are on the serving girl. She giggles behind a hand held up to her face before she spins around and scampers back to where she came from. I follow her with my eyes to the food prep area where there are even more cute girls - jackpot!

"You must be getting soooo much good sex." I'm not jealous or anything. Okay, maybe a little!

"Well... I don't like to brag," he says. But I see that he's looking in the direction of the naiad men . Even though the male naiads tend to be taller than the girls, that isn't saying a whole lot. They're still tiny and adorable: muscles in miniature and cute, scruffy hair.

"Careful Matteo," I joke, "If you turn their whole species gay, they'll go extinct in a generation."

He bursts out laughing, choking a bit on his food. "I am not turning them gay! That's not even a thing." Then he lowers his lids and smiles at me seductively. "Well... Maybe sometimes it is."

Daphne joins us, folding her skinny blue legs as she sits down. "I thought I would never be free of that stuff..." She peels stray pink glue from her arm and flicks it into the leaves.

"That wouldn't have happened if you had just waited for my signal," Matteo scolds gently.

She tosses her black hair, defiant. "But he needed help. I was helping." A sharp-toothed mask hangs over her back instead of her baby this time.

"Where's Junior?" I ask.

"With caretakers."

"Again?" One of the naiad men interrupts, walking this way. He's on the tall side for a naiad: with a broad and flat blue chest. His dark eyes have a charming brightness to them, like sun glinting from the surface of a river. "That's the third time this week," he reminds Daphne.

She lowers her head. "I was training."

"I don't think we've met," I say, partly so he'll stop scalding her with his gaze.

"Forgive me." The naiad salutes us. "Sergeant First Class Marinus," he introduces himself with a blinding smile.

"Sergeant First Class?" I wonder aloud.

Matteo leans over to explain, "When they found out you were First Sergeant, they didn't want to hold any ranks higher than that."  

"Did you tell them I don't even know what the ranks mean?" I whisper back, grinning.

"We just want to say what an honor it is to have you here, First Sergeant Gunner," Marinus goes on to say, "We owe you our lives... Our warriors are in training so that we may better guard our freedom... Our warriors and Daphne , of course." Wow, this guy. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable," Marinus salutes again.

"I will." I jokingly salute him back. "At ease, soldier." As Marinus returns to the other warriors, I turn to Daphne incredulously. "You're just going to let him talk to you like that?"

"What am I supposed to do?" She picks at her food. "Marinus is our best warrior."

"Says who?"

"He... Kinda is, Rayce," Matteo adds. Okay, says Matteo, but so what?

"I have an idea." Grabbing Daphne's skinny arm, I get to my feet. "Hey, Marinus!" The naiad turns around. "There is something you can do for me, actually... Let's see how good you are at 'defending your freedom'..." I push Daphne forward. "Sparring match." She flashes me a desperate look.

He looks uncertain. "She is a female..." That narrows her eyes a bit. Good, good... Get mad. That's how you win.

"Is that you underestimating an opponent, soldier?" I question with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course not, First Sergeant." Marinus quickly corrects himself. Daphne looks up at me, nervous.

"Show 'im what you got." I wink at her.  

The naiads gather around in a circle to witness the battle.

"Remember your form," Matteo calls at them.

"I'm sorry," Marinus cocks his head and smiles at her. "But I won't go easy on you in front of Rayce Gunner."

She sets her lips in a line. "Neither will I." Daphne charges in first. The silver point of her spear pierces the air over and over again, but he dodges each time, waiting for a chance to retaliate. When he finds one, he thrusts forward. Bright red blossoms out over her belly; the audience hisses and cheers in turns.

"Daphne!" I yell. "Keep you guard up!" She peeks at her injury - it's shallow - the sight it just seems to make her mad.

"I accept your forfeit," says Marinus.

"I didn't forfeit!" She throws herself right back at him, reckless. Marinus angles himself sideways so she overshoots, then grabs her hair and tugs on it sharply. A small yelp of pain escapes her lips; the spear falls noiselessly into the grass. Okay... so maybe Matteo was right.

"You aren't strong enough." He sounds sympathetic. Marinus tosses her like a ragdoll. She rolls to a stop near the rushing water of the river.

"Come on girl, get up!" I clap my hands together encouragingly. "Finish on your feet." She slowly lifts herself on her hands and knees - it's a start. Meanwhile, Marinus bends to collect her spear from the ground. "I think I should hold on to this." At that, I see her dark eyes flash angrily. And then I can't believe what I'm seeing at all when a tendril of water rises from the river. It snaps over his back like a whip, sending Marinus falling forward with a cry. The next attack comes in the form of a wave; it washes him flat onto his back.

I turn to Matteo, shocked. "They can do that? She can do that?" He just looks back at me, wide-eyed and speechless. Marinus sits up, gasping while his hair drips. He stares at Daphne in disbelief.

"You- You're a priestess?"

Daphne's gaze darts from side to side at the audience watching her intently. "... Perhaps."

"But there have been no priestesses since... Undine ." Daphne doesn't reply. He flinches when she approaches, but she only picks up her spear. She clutches it tight to her chest, suddenly self-conscious.

"I-I think I hear Merrick calling for me." He isn't. "He needs me..." He really doesn't. "Excuse me." Daphne quickly disappears between the tents. My thoughts wander to the hydrokinetic I met in Mistfall: Riptide, and I frown slightly.

While the naiads whisper about what they just witnessed and Marinus peels his soggy ass from the ground, Matteo turns to me with his arms folded over his chest.

"Way to go, Gunner, you traumatized an entire species."

"What?" I hold my hands up. "I thought the sparring match was a good idea! It worked for us, anyway." He can't stay mad when I wink at him and breaks out into a helpless smile.

"Idiot... Hey, come with me. I want to show you something."

I follow Matteo upstream, watching his hair bob cheerfully behind him.

"You're gonna love this." He smiles briefly over his shoulder. I already do... My hand in his while he leads me over the rocks. He already seems to know where all the good footholds are while I have to feel my way carefully from rock to rock. As we get further from the naiad village, it starts getting colder. White mist fills the air; I exhale and let a cloud of my breath join it. Finally, we come to a clearing. "We're here..." I look past him to see a tall pillar of ice in the middle of the forest. Like a giant spilled his drink here and now it lets off cold drafts like white veils drifting through the air.

"What is it?" I ask in amazement.

"The naiads call it Frostheart because they believe that the melt from this glacier is the source of all the rivers in Decay." When Matteo speaks, his eyes glitter and he touches a hand to his heart. He tells the stories of others as passionately as if they were his own. "They come here to marry." I blink at that. And we've come here to... "Well, they don't call it marriage - they call it a confluence, but it's the same concept, really. To them, this glacier symbolizes everlasting love. A heart which gives continuously without ever wearing out... I wanted to bring you here." He notices the expression on my face and backtracks quickly.

"Err- not because I want to marry you."

"Oh, thanks for clearing that up."

"But maybe we could! I mean... Someday! Who knows?" He hastily grabs both of my hands in his. I look up at him. Don't say that. Because it makes my chest hurt the way it used to: that gnawing, empty ache that nothing could fill except his presence. And without it, that hole just festered. And it made me do things to people I should have treated better.

"What do you want from me, Matteo?" I ask him. He hesitates, then turns to the glacier as if for inspiration.

"After... After I broke up with Damon, I needed to be my own person. I needed to figure out who I am without anyone else pulling the strings."

"You thought I was going to pull your strings? You thought I was going to be like him? " I challenge.

"No! No... This is all coming out wrong." Matteo's black hair swishes from side to side as he shakes his head. He takes a breath. "Damon controlled me. But you move me. It's different. Does that make sense?"

I fall silent. "I needed a minute," he goes on, "I needed to breathe , Is that... Weird?"

"It isn't... Maybe I was rushing you," I admit. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize." Matteo turns my hands over and rubs his thumbs on the backs, gazing at them intensely. "Bad things are happening, Rayce. I saw what you had to do at the cliff with that older man." I glance away. "But I know we can get through all of this together. I think we should give it another try. What do you say?" Now he searches my eyes with those deep blues. Yes.

"Matteo, I can't..." No, no, what am I saying? I take my hands back. "I have a boyfriend." Now my mouth decides to take its marching orders from my brain and not my heart?

"A boyfriend? "

"I'm sorry... I'm glad you got the space you were looking for, but I'm with someone now." Here I am trying to let him down easy but Matteo has already moved on to more pressing matters.

"Who is it?" he demands. That is definitely a trap.

"Umm..."

"It's Flaere isn't it?" My hesitation is all the answer he needs. "I knew it!" Matteo erupts, hurling his hands into the air in frustration. "Typical Flaere!"

"Hey, it's not his fault," I argue, "He thinks you're dead!"

Matteo stops and looks at me. "Wait, what? "

"And actually now that I think about it, he might be dead; I haven't seen him in a while..."

" What?! " Matteo repeats, horrified. "W-Well we have to find him! We have to go looking for him!"

"I don't even know where to start!" That's when I see it again. He's harder to spot this time through the mist, but the red hair stands out like a beacon. The hallucination of a younger Cisco hiding behind a tree: watching me.

"Rayce, what is it?" Matteo asks.

"Oh, you know, the usual," I reply, unnaturally high-pitched, "Just losing my fucking mind, that's all..."

"What are you even looking at..." Matteo traces my gaze to the tree. "Rayce."

"I know, I know, there's nothing there and I'm crazy," I groan.

"No, Rayce- " His eyes are wide as he faces me. He whispers, "I see it too."

"What the-" I look between them. "Wh-What is that thing?"

Matteo starts slow. He speaks quietly so the... thing doesn't hear us. "I think I know what it is... The naiads warned me about them: it's a shapeshifter. It can take the form of your deepest desires and then uses them to lure you to your death."

I feel like the shapeshifter heard us anyway. It steps behind the tree, but the figure that steps out on the other side is different: much taller, with a rocking bod and a springy orange ponytail. He dresses skimpy in shorts and an open bomber jacket. The shapeshifter took the form of Flaere - and uses it to wink at us. I'm already walking toward it.

" Rayce! " Matteo calls after me,  "What part of 'lure you to your death' did you not understand?!"

"Well, maybe that thing is what happened to Flaere!" I growl, fixed on the creature.  Before I reach it, it spins around and vanishes into the forest. "Get back here!" I pound after it, ignoring Matteo shouting after me.
The shifter melts through the forest like a shadow running from the light. I push through thick branches and freeze. It stands still, facing away from me.

"You know where he is... Don't you?"

"Maybe," says the shifter. Shoulders bob with a small giggle. "I guess you'll just have to follow me to find out."

"I'm not falling for it," I point my rifle. "You're going to tell me where to find him. And then you're going to leave me the hell alone - if you know what's good for you."

"Don't you trust me, Rayce? I've taken such good care of you..."

I think about the way it led me into the forest... To Vex. 'Taking care of me' is a bit of a stretch... The sun is rising. Faint light begins to sift between the leaves and it reminds me that I'm on the clock.

"No more riddles!" Impatient, I grab him by the shoulder and spin him around. The breath catches in my throat. A beam of light fell across its face, exposing him for what he really is. He has a face the color of the darkest night sky - smooth and featureless except for four glowing red eyes. Two where normal eyes would be and a second, smaller pair just under them. But I settle on his wide grin - too wide - like a gaping slit cut into his face, full of rows of small, sharp teeth.

I recoil in horror. As he steps back into the shadows, the illusion corrects itself: he looks like Flaere again. He draws his fingers seductively through orange hair and lets it bounce back into place.

"Want to play?" He grins but all I can remember is teeth .  

"Thanks but I'm pretty sure you bite." His laughter sounds distorted. It sets my nerves on edge. "I just want to take him home..." I plead with this thing.

"Then follow me." The shifter wags a finger at me to follow. My foot sticks to the ground but I only hesitate for a second before peeling it free and following him. Now that I'm watching him more closely, I see that the way he walks is strange and jerky - as if he's not used to this form.

Shadows dapple my clothes as we plunge deeper into the woods. "Why are you helping me?" I ask, wary.

"For a friend."

"Who?"

"Are you afraid of me?" the shifter asks suddenly.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I am just a mirror, Rayce." And he still doesn't. "I can't hurt you. I can only reflect aspects of yourself..." The shifter changes form in front of me: its body shrinks while orange hair turns purple and lengthens out into a straight curtain. In Jun's form, he draws a hand through his hair and tosses it, casting me a haughty glance over his shoulder. "I can reflect your deepest desires... All your dirty thoughts." Then he turns around and grows taller. Skin darkens. Yellow eyes are trained on me. "Even the ones you try to hide deep down. Deep, deep down," says the shifter in the form of Sylphos. My gaze lowers to his stomach in horror as he languidly caresses a pregnant belly.

"I-I'm not hiding anything," I quickly meet his eyes again.  

"Really?" The shifter slips into the darkness. I hear his voice moving around me in the undergrowth. The leaves rustle while I turn myself around in quarter circles. "Because I can see it all... You hide your feelings. You hide your past. But most of all..." My eyes widen as arms close around me from behind, constricting my middle like a jealous python. The shifter speaks in a familiar voice, one I could never forget: Damon's . "You hide your fears ."

"Get away from me!" I tear myself free, stumbling forward. A root catches me - I sprawl on the ground, then turn over. Sure enough, Damon looms over me. The shifter grins and unfurls a glowing red whip. He strikes the ground and that's it - I'm outta here! On my feet again, I run for my life, heart pounding. Laughter chases me down. Finally, I tumble through the trees into a patch of grass and early morning sunlight, groaning softly. The shifter doesn't follow me.

That's when I hear... Buzzing? It sounds like a swarm of flies. I lift my head. It is a swarm of flies.

"Rayce! Rayce!" I hear my own name but it sounds impossibly far away - so far that I don't think I should be able to hear it at all. Matteo caught up with me at last. "Oh thank god you're alright... Rayce, what's-" He answers the question he didn't ask when he follows my gaze to the bloody patch of grass. Then he's screaming, hands closing over his mouth. "Flaere! Oh god, Flaere!"

Chapter Text

I'm not afraid of blood - no one's afraid of blood itself- you just never, ever, ever want to see it, because if you're looking at it, then that means it's not where it's supposed to be. Something is wrong . Blood on a chopping board next to a half-diced carrot (I thought eating my vegetables was supposed to make me healthier, dammit), or staining a vampire's lips while your vision melodramatically fades to black . Or soaking the green grass underneath the mangled body of your boyfriend, you know, that kind of thing.

My knees hit the ground inches from where the grass changes color. My vision dims like a cheap lightbulb on its last leg, and for a second, I could swear that I'm somewhere else. I swear that the greenish-brown grass changes into the olive green and mud brown paisley of motel sheets. I swear my hands are either smaller - like a child's - or that the bloodstain is much bigger now, inching toward my fingertips.

'What will you do, Rayce?'

"What do we do? Oh god, what do we do?" Matteo's screaming brings me back. I have to get Flaere out of here! The moment I try to lift him, his leg gushes blood like a pipeline through an exposed grate of bleached-bone white. I drop him like he's hot - which he is - god this isn't the time for that .

Suddenly, grey eyes shoot open. They blink robotically without seeing.

"Come to finish what you started?" he wheezes at an invisible attacker towering over him. Then those eyes lower and find me. "Oh, it's you... Come to start more things you can't finish?"

"What happened?" I cup his face in shaky hands.

"What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object."

"An unstop- what? "

"I'll tell you: the unstoppable force realizes that there is no such thing as an unstoppable force so long as such thing as an immovable object exists and that if either of said things should exist at all, then one would necessarily have to disprove the other. In the resulting attempt to do just that, the unstoppable force is quite simply - stopped . Which clears things up definitively."

Now my head is spinning and I'm not sure if it's because of him or the stench of the decaying slush of blood, dirt and plant matter underneath him. "I mean what happened to you? "

"I just told you."

Matteo pushes my face away to takes its place. "Let me see him, Hunter," he begs.

"It's nice to see you again too, Matteo," Hunter responds. "Although, up until now I was under the impression that you were dead, which was slightly nicer." Tan fingers dig into the fabric of Hunter's jacket; Matteo wrenches him forward.

"I said let me see him! "

"Well, if you insist." He closes his eyes briefly. They open again, terrified . Then his mouth is open around a scream.

"Flaere! Flaere, it's me!" Matteo is shouting, pawing at his face, but Flaere doesn't even register his presence.

"Worthless!" he wails. Limbs writhe in the grass, seizing where the pain starts. Every revelation tears another agonized noise from his throat. " Worthless!" My arm shoots between them.

"Stop it, you're hurting him!" Matteo drops him, shaking. Flaere rakes a hand over his face as if peeling it away from a new, more peaceful one underneath. The tremors stop.

"End scene." And just like that, Hunter is back at the wheel.

"You stop it, you leave him out of this," I say in a trembling whisper.

"What do you think I've been trying to do?" With a small sigh, Hunter lays his arms crossed over his chest like a mummy.

" Now what are you doing?" I demand.

"Dying."

"You are not dying! What do you- you don't get to die! " Then I'm shaking him anyway, so I might as well have let Matteo continue - shaking him as if, as if, if I can just keep a hold on him, he won't ever let go. "You have to fight for me! For us!" I beg. Hunter just looks at me with amusement as orange hair bounces on his forehead.

"That canard again. You knew it would work on him; you know him just well enough to hurt him."

"It's not a canada!"

"Canard."

"Whatever!"

"It doesn't matter now. You're too late, Rayce." His gaze takes on a distant look as it stretches to the forest canopy.

"So that's it? You're just going to curl up and die?"

He clenches a hand into a fist. "That's between me and Flaere."

"Wrong."

'Don't you want to save him, Rayce?' A voice batters the insides of my skull.

'Don't you want to be together?' My fangs slide out. The scream I hear isn't Hunter's - it's Matteo; he springs up in a whirl of fallen leaves and backs away. Hunter just stares.

"Hello again. Your timing is unfortunate."

I snarl, "When I said we're in this together, I meant it."

"No you didn't."

" Shut up! " Latching onto his jaw, I push his head back into the dirt and tilt it sharply to reveal the pale stretch of his neck.

'You are giving him a gift.'

Hunter's adam's apple pushes against my palm. He knows: I'm going to turn him and he says in a hushed voice, "Could you think of no crueler punishment than the curse of eternal life?"

"Get away from him!" That's Matteo. From the right. But I didn't see him lunge or hear it: I felt it. Acting purely on instinct, I catch Matteo across the middle and hurl him back into his place; I didn't make a decision of how hard, but a glance over my shoulder reveals his slim physique bouncing away over the grass.

'The gift of power.'

There's nothing stopping me now and that feels... Exciting . Swiveling around, I focus on that delicious alabaster stretch of neck.

'The gift of freedom.'

'Rayce.'

'The gift of life .'

'He's lying to you!'

The voices orbit each other furiously, bickering, getting louder, creating a twister in my head.

I don't want to listen to either of you!

Fangs break skin easily and sink in until my lips are pressed to Hunter's skin. It feels cold and surgical. It feels vaguely sexual... But I'm not taking from him this time, I'm giving : the venom that's going to save his life.

At least, I would be if I wasn't interrupted by the sound of a tree branch falling somewhere behind me, drenching us both in early morning sunlight. Matteo stands by the fallen branch with his spear out, panting, stunned because it didn't work. Little does he know, it actually did , but not the way he thought it would.

Suddenly, every detail of what I've done is illuminated in the glare: my body hunched over Hunter's, clutching his head close to my chest while my teeth linger in his throat. His shaking hand gripping my upper arm so weakly that I didn't feel it at first.

'There's another way.'

'But will it make you happy?'

Dazed, I pull out. Hunter opens one eye experimentally, letting it follow my arms as they start to move to the sound of instructions in my head. Like an old recording in the dusty back half of my brain. Like an old voice message playing on and on and on repeat...

'First, get the bleeding under control.'

I shoulder out of my uniform shirt, and start tearing it into strips before packing with cloth. Blood seeps through - I layer more fabric. Not fucking today.

'Pressure. Steady now.'

Hold it down as I wind a strip around to secure it in place.

'Next is the tourniquet. Never mind what it means. Remember the rule: 2x2. 2 inches of fabric 2 inches above the cut. Measure it with your finger."

Quickly laying my finger against the cloth to double-check, I proceed to wind it around Flaere's leg. One loop. Tie it down tight.

'You're going to need something to tighten it with: something long, thin and hard. Well, I don't know, what's around you?'

Eyes darting frantically. The voice grows impatient.

'What's around you, Rayce? Look around you!'

My eyes alight on a stick.

'Wrap the ends. Try HARDER. For god's sake, stop crying...'

I wipe away wetness angrily with the back of my hand.

'Stop crying, Rayce. Stop crying.

You can do it.'

And then tighten. I twist the stick wrapped in fabric until the bleeding... Stops. I sink on folded knees, heaving a small sigh of relief as my eyes drift closed.

'You... Idiot .'

Then open again.

'We could have been together.'

But then he leaves me. They both do.

"You've bought time..." Hunter murmurs weakly, "What did you pay for it?" And then so does Hunter when his eyes drift closed anyway.

"No, no..." Hands on his face, his shoulders, then I scoop him up.

When I turn around, the point of Matteo's spear is staring me in the face. "Where do you think you're going?"

"He needs medical attention. He needs Snow," I explain.

The spear jabs an accusation in my direction. "And how am I supposed to trust you now that I know you're a vampire? "

Oh well that's hilarious. I burst out, "It makes no difference! You didn't trust me when I was human either! That's the real reason you stuck with Damon, isn't it? You couldn't bring yourself to trust that I'd be any better than him. Well, maybe you're right. Maybe I'm not." I step up to his spear - his challenge . The point touches my grey undershirt. "You were right about everything else after all: bad things are happening, all my friends are dropping like flies and I'm just trying to keep it together. " I've almost reverted completely back into pleading with him because old habits die so hard, especially when they're staring you in the face. "So I can't deal with you picking me apart right now; I need you to trust me ."

The ocean in his eyes churns but the spear doesn't so much as waver.

I push, "Do you trust me, Matteo?"

"No." He steps out of my way and lowers the weapon, but he crushed my heart under the heel of his boot. Broke the damn thing into a million sharp, shiny little pieces. "But I trust Snow." I don't have time to crouch here and collect them so I'll leave them here. I start moving again without a word.

"And Rayce?" Matteo pipes up. I half-turn. "If you hurt him, being a vampire will be the least of your problems."

I pause before saying, "It already is."

I rush Flaere straight back to Headquarters, dodging frantic slavers.

"Get out of my way! " One of them as he shoves a soldier to the floor. I hop over the camouflage band of his uniform. Don't stop, don't stop. But I do about a hallway away from the hospital wing. And only because of what I see at the end of that hallway: in the sliver of light cast through the partly-ajar door, a robotic white hand raised in argument.

"-more familiar with her case file. She's my patient," Seong-Hye is insisting. I slip around the corner and push my back to the wall, either to eavesdrop or to catch him unaware with a bullet...

A voice replies, "I'm sorry, but he's a Marine. And that means he's staying right here." Snow, his young voice surprisingly mature for his age. "Besides, I couldn't allow you to transport him in this condition," Snow says with finality. There should be a legal age requirement for having your shit together - 32 at least! Seong-Hye is silent for a while. I almost think he might do something more drastic than travel through a vampire-infested forest to get here in the middle of a crisis just to demand custody of a guy he used to treat as little more than a lab rat.

"I understand. I leave her in your care - for now." The sheer white edge of his lab coat slices the air as he whips around and stalks down the hall. I wait until the very last flutter of fabric winks out of sight.

Snow lifts his head to see us burst through the door.

He takes one look at Flaere. "Bed #5." His slim frame isn't generous enough to hide the tangle of tubes and electronic monitors attached to the patient in the bed in front of him. Or the glimpse of cerulean hair. Snow joins me at bed 5; the latex of his gloves make a rubbery snap as he sheds them like old, bloody skin and trades for a fresh pair. Snow's purple eyes look even brighter over the top edge of his white surgical mask.

"Who taught you to do that?" He nods briefly at the tourniquet.

"I come from a military family." I don't elaborate and he doesn't push me to, quickly setting his mind to the task at hand.

"An epidemic," he pipes up again almost off-handedly as he works.

"Wh-What?"

"There's an epidemic going around, haven't you heard? First it took Finn... Then the commander... Sylphos and now, Flaere." A violet swish - up and down. "Of course, I'd have to hand in my medical license if I couldn't deduce that you're patient zero. So how come everyone who knows you turns up either dead or about to be?"

"What can I say?" I toss my shoulders weakly. "I should come with a warning label."

"I agree with you." His mask crinkles and that's when I notice the deep, dark bags under his eyes. Oh right, he's the only one here - no wonder he has to play doctor and nurse.

"How are you feeling?"

He seems surprised by the question. "You're... Asking me? Well." He blinks back at the body in the bed in front of him. "Right now, lucky. "

The door to the hospital wing slides open to reveal Thade and Weiser.

"Where is he?!" Thade demands.

"Bed #3," Snow responds.

"Not him... Him. " I don't know what he's talking about until those greenish-blue eyes fix themselves on... The anatomy skeleton behind me, with any luck . Thade charges this way like a bull with three harpoons in its flank (but it's really just Weiser clinging to his sleeve for dear life) and grabs my thin undershirt with both hands. So much for wishful thinking!

"What were you thinking?! " he demands. Thick arms flex a threatening reminder that he could put me in the ground as easily as breathing. "Who gave you the right to kidnap one of my Marines for some ridiculous joyride into the Forests of Decay?!"

"It wasn't a joyride, it was a mission!"

"A mission for what? No one told me anything about a mission!"

"Thade, it isn't his fault." Weiser places a hand on his shoulder.
Thade turns on him next, slapping his clingy fingers right off. "Of course it's his fault! He was the mission leader and he wasn't looking out for him!"

I burst out, "I did look out for him! I looked out for him because on that mission, he wasn't 'your Marine'... He was my teammate, and I look out for my team. Bottom line: he came with me because he knew that. He trusts me ." I meet Thade's furious gaze with a challenge in mine, neither of us wanting to be the first to break eye contact. He caves first when he catches sight of Sylphos in the hospital bed over my shoulder.

"Get out of my way..." He shoves me like a swinging door to move to Sylphos' bedside. I watch him go on a journey from the tubes forcing blood and oxygen into his body to the heart monitor telling us that he's alive. But only just barely. Thade's movements look surprisingly tender as he lowers himself into a seat.

"It's not your fault." I turn to Weiser when he speaks. He watches Thade with tired eyes. "It's different... Sylphos is different for him. When we found that kid in the ruins of Mistfall Landing, he had nowhere to go. No one to claim him. So Thade took 'im in, showed him the ropes and he's lived here on a military base ever since. You can't blame Thade for being... Protective ." I turn back to the scene and the new information morphs the scene from a commanding officer and his soldier to a dad and his kid. I mean, not that I would know, but it's something familiar. Something I'm always peeking in on from the outside and wondering what it would feel like. Dark fingers gently squeeze lighter ones as Thade takes his immobile hand.

"Mistfall Landing. They rebuilt it," I mention it almost offhandedly, like a kid letting something slip to his middle school teacher: 'Dad hit my brother really hard last night. He went to sleep for a long time.' On-purpose-not-on-purpose because it's not a cry for help, it's a dare: what are you going to do about it?

So far, Weiser just looks at me, shocked. I go on, "And they turned it into something horrible ."

I figure this is the best place for a casual conversation about treason - everyone looks grave in the hospital wing.

"I can't believe this..." Weiser is saying in a hushed voice. He's strangling his own fingers, staring at the floor. "Right under our noses." Thade just stares at the wall behind his friend's head without speaking.

"It makes sense now. The stalling. The training. The rape ."

Thade stares.

"The commander..." Weiser buries his face in his hands. " Cisco. "

While Thade stares.

"What are we going to do?"

Finally, the drill sergeant speaks, "We're going to put a stop to it." Weiser's wide blue eyes appear over blunt fingertips.

"You're talking about treason. "

"Howie, the treason already happened!" Lips tug into a snarl.

"Two treasons don't make a patriotism!"

" I don't care what it makes! " Thade explodes. "We've sold our souls to vampires ; there's no coming back from that! There's no plan B or C or D, or how many ever other letters you want to pull out of your hat..." Weiser flinches. "There's only one thing we can do..." Thade looks grave. "Start all over again. And I mean all over again. " The sound of what must be a hundred small, delicate objects crashing to the floor in unison interrupts us. We turn our attention to Snow on his knees, mopping up spilled solution and piling tools back on a metal tray.

"Wow, I am so sorry about that," he says nervously. "Don't mind me; I didn't hear a thing about anything - I mean, not that you were saying anything. I mean, not that I would know whether or not you were saying anything-"

"Snow," I sigh.

" No! " He stands straight up, wincing as half the things on the tray fall again. "No. Don't... Say. A word." The young doctor cuts his losses and vanishes behind a hastily pulled curtain.

Thade turns back to Weiser.

"This building is full of soldiers and most of them answer to us. "

"They're barely trained- half of them have never seen active combat."

"Your men, maybe." Thade scoffs.

Weiser cocks a bushy eyebrow. "Really? We're doing this now? If the Sanguine Council is involved, even your Marines will have their work cut out for them. We need numbers. "

"So what do you suggest?"

He hesitates, gaze darting away. "What about... Sylvester?"

Just the mention of the name ignites Thade's expression again. But his tone comes out ice cold. "Sylvester is a damn traitor."

"He's all we've got."

"We're not-" I interrupt for the first time since this impromptu war room meeting started. "We are not going to Vex. He can't be trusted."

Thade flashes Weiser an 'I-told-you-so' look. "Gunner agrees with me."

"Fine! Fine..."

"What about the slavers? What if they were on our side?"

Thade glares at the floor. "And what makes you think they would help us?"

"They answer to Dory." I answer desperately. The generals exchange glances.

"Still want to listen to Gunner?" Weiser asks ironically.

We find Dory in the war room with Lt. Florence. He leans over to analyze the touch top table while Florence rearranges windows and provides a running commentary: "We don't have many tracking options available within the forest to begin with. The further away they get, the less likely we are to recapture them." He pinch-zooms. "You see, we've completely lost the signal in this region and these areas over here."

The frown on Dory's face deepens. Tamasha, his pet hybrid, nests in his lap, so slight and still he might be a doll if it wasn't for his inquisitive eyes constantly chasing the moving shapes and blinking lights on the table. Dory uses his pet like a fidget toy, absentmindedly brushing Tamasha's long, white hair which couldn't possibly be more detangled than it is. The hybrid's eyes suddenly brighten; he lunges at the table like a cat, closing tan hands around thin air.

" Squaw! " he screeches as his peacock tail fans out in a brilliant spray of shimmery white.

"Oh for the love of-!" Florence sputters a stray downy feather from between his lips. He watches, astounded, as Tamasha bounds after a blinking light on the screen.

Insaaf seizes the opportunity to leap into his brother's pace, hands in his lap and wriggling in excitement like a child as Dory starts to brush his hair, all without missing a beat.

"Dory!" Thade's authoritative voice carries into the room and makes him turn around.

"Well 'ello." Dory grins. "Look who's talking to me again."

"Cut the crap, Dory," Thade narrows his eyes.

"Florence, out." Weiser jerks a thumb over his shoulder. The analyst gathers his things and bows out without a fight, letting his burgundy hair flop over his face as he goes.

Insaaf looks deeply offended as Dory brushes him off his lap, rising to meet the generals. "Now what could a couple of upright army boys like yourselves want with a mean ol' slaver like John Dory?" He's got a swagger as he says it. You hear that? I'm pretty sure that's the sound of a twenty-year-old table turning...

"Dory, not even you can be this dumb," Thade snarls, "You are working with literal vampires. What do you think is going to happen to you when you're no longer useful to them?"

"Well the way I see it, I'm guaranteeing my place in the new world order." He spreads his hefty arms wide. "Your whole army thing with the BB guns and pushups hasn't exactly worked so far."

"You could do with some pushups."

Dory simpers. "Catty." Then glances at Weiser. "Howie, you should really think about declawing your boy."

"He's not my-" Weiser doesn't even bother finishing - just pulls a face and shakes his head, but he can't contain a snort. Which evolves into a helpless laugh. Finally, Weiser lowers his lids, smiles wide as he says, "Don't you mean our boy?" Dory's grin just lights up at that as Thade looks indignantly between them.

"There he is, theeeere's the dimples!" Dory slings an arm around Weiser's shoulders. "Hey, hey, what's all this?" He brushes at Weiser's facial hair. "Don't you dare cover those up; you know I love the dimples..."

"It's my secret identity." Weiser grins wide. "I used to be a superhero, you know."

"I never stopped!" Dory proudly grips his leather belt hanging on the very last, frayed hole for dear life, beaten up and worn out even though the buckle still shines when he cocks a hip.

Weiser wraps his fingers around the buckle and gives it a short, quick tug, teasing, "It's getting snug."

"And you're getting smug." Dory laughs. "Hey, don't think I forgot about you, Terracotta!" He reaches for Thade who has managed to resist all of John's charms. See, I'm even calling him 'John' now! That questing hand is going a little too low, curled as if to cup an ass. "You're a superhero too! Oh, if only Draven were here..."

Thade's grip suddenly tightens on his wrist like a snare; he wrenches it back into acceptable airspace. "Well he isn't here," says Thade, cold, "Because he's six feet underground." The mood in the room sobers.

"Thade..." John begins-

" Enough ." The drill sergeant hurls his hand back at him like an unwanted present. "We are not superheroes- that was a long time ago. A game we played when we were younger, dumber men. When are you going to grow up, John?"

The slaver's lips settle in a grim line.

"What is the real reason you're here?" Thade demands. "Is this your pathetic way of worming back into our lives? I thought I made it very clear I don't want to have anything to do with you."   

"I was trying to protect you ," John hisses.

"I find that hard to believe when you've been rolling in blood money. And that wasn't even recent, it's just literal now. You're no hero... Maybe Howitzer still believes in you." Weiser jolts, an expression like a scolded husky on his face. "But he'll come to his senses shortly." His tone sounds expectant. Sure enough, Weiser lowers his head. John's hand slips from his hip as Weiser moves to stand beside Thade.

"I knew this would be a waste of time," the drill sergeant mutters.

"Fine, I don't need you!" John snaps vindictively, "But don't act like this was a matter of principle! It was never about the trafficking. You traded me for a promotion - you traded us for a couple of words on a name tag!" At that, he points at Weiser. "And maybe Howie still believes in you... But he'll come to his senses. You're no hero; you're just a rank-whore. "

That word means something. Thade spins around, roaring in a fury and catches John in the jaw. Sprawling to the floor, John snarls through teeth stained red. He drags a sleeve across his mouth.

"You wanna dance, mate? Let's bloody dance." And launches himself right back. Okay, I knew they had history, but not that much!

Clapping my hands down around my head, I shout, " The world is ending; we don't have time for your relationship drama!" - and yes , I just heard myself.

"Stop it! Stop fighting! " Weiser is yelling, trying to separate the two entangled on the floor while Insaaf and Tamasha take turns squawking in distress in the background. "I can't do this!" His voice grows more desperate. "I can't watch you two do this again!" They stop what they're doing long enough for Weiser to wrench them up and apart.

"Now look what you did; you're upsetting Howie!" Thade accuses, jabbing a finger at John.

John's childish rebuttal: "No, you! "

"Cut it out, both of you!" Weiser interjects, "This isn't about me - or us! - or even Draven!" He looks furiously between them. "Draven's boy is dead... Cisco Gunner is dead!" The words hit them like a wave, but it just settles into the familiar pit in my stomach. Deadening. Numb. "And now we're failing Rayce too." I wasn't prepared for all the eyes on me making me feel self-conscious. I'm not a victim, I don't need my dad's best buddies to rescue me from the big bad vampire... I just need their help to kick that vampire's ass and save my friends!

"I need your help, Dory," I say, "We need your help to fight off the sanguine council."

The slaver's eyes flick between me and Thade.

"Sounds like a job for a superhero..." he grumbles, "If only we had a few stashed around somewhere."  

I dunno about superheroes, but we've sure got a supervillain when the door slides open to reveal Alexander. But he's missing his easy-breezy-evil suaveness today: he looks like he was dressed by a hurricane. His hair is disheveled, clothes wrinkled, which is really weird for someone with his exacting standards. Odds and ends escape his arms, bouncing away on the floor as he blusters to the war room table almost without seeing us. He only barely registers John, pointing a finger in his direction. "Dory! Give me some good news..."

"We lost 30% of the product."

"I said good news! "

"That was the good news."

Alex groans, raking both hands through blue hair. "You must be kidding me... My meeting starts in two minutes!" John opens his mouth and shuts it when a pulsing blue call icon appears on the holo-screen. "Oh god... Oh god." Alexander is freaking out as if that two minutes was really going to make all the difference. He frantically pats out his clothes; flattens his hair to his head before hurling himself at the screen to accept the call.

The face that appears makes my blood run cold because the last time I saw him, it nearly ran out. Our camera view is perched on a rich, hardwood desk - the gold nameplate on it proclaims ominously: 'M. M. M.' A Newton's cradle in the corner clacks rhythmically. Mickie Medieval reclines in his plush leather seat - all power - legs set apart and arms cocked up on rests. His broad chest is thrust out, showing off the Princeton logo on the breast of his varsity jacket.

"Hey there, alligators."

Alexander throws an arm across his torso and bends. If he bows any lower, he could use his blue braid to sweep the floor.

"Councilman Mayweather!" he greets him. Councilman? Thade, Weiser and I seem like the only ones who are bothered by this revelation. John picks absentmindedly at his teeth.

"What are you doing?" It takes a moment for me to realize Alexander is hissing at me . Turned sideways he glares at me furiously - which is actually kind of funny because he looks so mad, but he's also bent over at a complete right angle like a little bitch. "You empty-headed slut, bow to the councilman!" The ten-second version of vampire etiquette: 1. Bow to the council members, 2. Retract your fangs in polite company, 3. Please refrain from ripping out your superior's teeth with a pair of pliers.  

I turn to the councilman so I can address exactly whom it may concern: "No."

Utter silence because Alex's jaw is dropped in horror. Mickie doesn't move as his red eyes bore into mine. Then suddenly, his lips spread into a pearly-toothed grin bracketed in fangs.

"It's you! Hey, how's my raven-headed doll holding up? Disobedient slut, but me oh my did he have some gams on him." Mickie's gaze wanders, distracted.

"Dead," Alex says quickly, "Dead and dealt with for daring to defy you, my Councilman." Mickie actually looks disappointed.

"He was a fixer-upper." The grin returns soon enough. "But don't think I forgot about you, Rayce Gunner. Just the latest bad-tempered, disobedient, mongrel pet to come out of Hem's initiative."

"He just needs more training-" Alex begins to plead but Mickie holds up a hand for him to stop.

"Hem... You know I'm the biggest fan of your Husbandry Initiative - but the other council members? They weren't too keen to begin with, and now all I'm hearing is bad news from your neck of the woods. Your candidacy for the Sanguine Council is in hot water to say the least."

"Well, you see," Alexander stalls. "We had a slight issue with the rebel fledglings which resulted in a small loss of product."

"How small?"

"30%" John pipes up helpfully; Alex shoots him a nasty look.

"I want to ask you something."

"Yes, Councilman."

"Did that sound like a small number in your empty head?" Mickie lets out a bark of laughter. "I have half a mind to come over there and sort this mess out myself!"

"That won't be necessary," Alex says quickly.

"See, I'm not so sure about that, Hemscroft. You lost Commander Cisco Gunner: strike one." Alex swallows slightly.

"It's better this way!" Alex blurts out. "I'm the commander now; I have the support of the generals."

"Which ones..." Weiser grumbles.

"And an occupying force. Now I'm the one with all the control."

"And yet, you're losing your initiative because of a bunch of fledglings. Strike TWO." That's not all he's losing when the holo-screen abruptly splits to allow a new participant to the call. I gawk at the fresh face on the screen: Sylvester, his tousled silver bob of hair bright against a plain concrete background.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." The permanent twist in his rosy lips says that's a lie.

Alex frantically pushes buttons on the panel. "How-! What is going on here?" He pushes the intercom button. "Technician! Technician, put a stop to this!"

Jun's unmistakable monotone "I'm sorry Commander, we seem to be experiencing some technical difficulties."

"You think I don't know that?!"

Meanwhile, Sylvester toys with the necklace he wears. I see a glint of pure white and realize it's a vampire fang. Alex notices around the same time, eyes going wide as he claps a hand over his mouth.

Satisfied with the reaction, Sylvester acknowledges the councilman next, "Mickie."

"Sylvester, still prolonging the inevitable?" Mickie flashes a sparkling grin, resting his chin on his knuckles. "We've squashed hundreds of fledgling uprisings before and we'll do it again."

"You may have dealt with fledglings, but what about superheroes?"

"Superheroes?" Mickie lets out a rude bark of laughter. "Do you people actually believe all that Marvel malarkey you made up about yourselves?"

"Only because it's true." The silver-haired vampire smiles in the pale yellow light. "Isn't that right? Blitzkrieg?"

Weiser looks up, surprised as if his name was called unexpectedly.

Sylvester addresses next, "What do you think, Croc?" A crocodile grin spreads over John's face as he places a hand instinctively at his belt. I only just realized: crocodile leather.

"And how could I forget?" Sylvester croons. "The Terracotta Marine."

Thade looks away, silent.

"Hey, can I have a cool superhero name?" I pipe up.

"Little Red," Sylvester purrs.

My mouth tilts. "I feel like you didn't hear my question."

That cheered up John. He laughs out loud, brown eyes glittering in amusement. "He's back! Silver Vex himself." Bee-stung lips purse into a tightened smile as Sylvester gathers airy silver hair on the back of his hand and tosses it slightly.

"In the flesh."

"Oh this is rich. I used to eat nerds like you for breakfast..." Mickie is just chuckling and shaking his head at all of this.

"Then I hope you're hungry because this was just the beginning," says Sylvester abruptly, "Now you have two choices: either end the Human Husbandry Initiative, effective immediately, or we will put a stop to your evil deeds ourselves."

"You and what army, fledgling?" Now Mickie snarls a little bit, baring only the tips of his sharp fangs.

"One more powerful than anything you can imagine. And I think you'll find that years of oppression at the hands of the Coucil have left them quite vexed." says Sylvester, "You have ten days to come to a decision." The feed abruptly cuts out. That leaves only Mickie who he doesn't look amused anymore. The animation in his demeanor dies down until he looks the closest to an actual, craven, centuries-old vampire that I've ever seen him get. The light in Mickie's red eyes seem to dull while the shadows of his features darken as he glares daggers at Alexander. Tak, tak, tak the Newton's Cradle carries on, cheerfully oblivious.

Finally he speaks, "Strike three. You're out." The holo-screen goes dark. Alexander allows his head to sink between his shoulder blades in a mortified silence.

Jun interrupts nonchalantly through the intercom: "Would you look at that, the interference seems to have cleared up."

Alexander says something so softly that none of us actually hear it.

"You're mumbling," I snark.

"I said get out of here!" Alexander whips around in a fury, shoving everything off the table in one powerful heave as he does. Documents flutter over the floor as a tablet bounces off an edge and clatters to the tiles. A glass of water smashes against the floor, sending small, sharp pieces of glass skittering in every direction.

John leads the way, shuffling quickly toward the exit while the rest of us fall into lockstep.

"Except you. " The words tighten around me like a yoke. I already know they were directed at me. I stare despairingly at the older men who pause at the door. Don't leave me here. The horrified expressions on their faces tell me they don't want to. They exchange glances.

My heart sinks as the door whispers shut behind them anyway. When I gather the courage to turn around, dread crawling down my spine, Alexander is already storming this way. "You.... You... " Then he yells, "This is all your fault! " He seizes me by the hair and wrenches a cry from my throat. Clinging to his wrists, my feet scrape along on the tiles as he tears me through the room. Struggling is pointless: he's so strong.

I feel like a cheap plastic toy caught up in his childish temper tantrum when he hurls me against the tiles. As I skid over a bed of glass, what feels like thousands of small, sharp pins embed themselves in my skin. Bloods blossoms out in the spilled water. I've barely recovered before the pointed tip of a boot comes swinging at my side; it knocks the breath from my chest and sends a shockwave reverberating through my ribcage. The next is aimed at my stomach. I curl around the ghost of the impact, piping it back out in short gasps of pain.

"Why won't you break... Why won't you break?! " Alexander whispers feverishly, but he's getting a closer to it in a literal sense with every vicious kick. You'd be surprised how much the human body can bend before it breaks - which makes it that much more shocking when it does: something gives way painfully in my chest. Alex hauls me up on my feet again and pins me bent-over to the table. A sharp piece of something is digging in but not from the outside.

"Your brother was nothing like you!" spits Alex. "He knew his place!"

"You're the one," I gasp out in pieces. "You're the one who doesn't know your place! You can't admit that Cisco was the one keeping your whole bullshit initiative afloat... You can have all the control in the world and it means nothing if you don't know how to use it! Without him, you're nothing. "

"And you think you're something?" A cruel hiss.

I steel myself against the pain wracking my body. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't be alive right now. You need me. Don't you?"

"I need your body..." A hand latches on the back of my head like a vice, pinning my head to the desk. I'm unintentionally pushing buttons on the touch-top with my face. "But your mind is optional..." He squeezes slightly around my skull. And in spite of it all, I can't help but laugh . A wheezy, exhausted noise.

"Yeah, you would know."   

"That's Rayce Gunner for you, always ready with a comeback..." I thought he was going to fuck me - I was prepared for it - so I'm confused when he goes for one of the pens on the table. I could never prepare for the terrifying, alien feeling of the pen prodding at my ear, worming its way inside.

"What are you doing?!" My struggles only make him push down on me harder; screw the pen in deeper - every painful twist uncorks another scream. The cold invader sets off alarm bells in my head: he's getting dangerously close to something important.

"Stop," I beg him, " Stop! " The tip of the pen hits resistance. My blood runs cold as Alexander pauses. Not a mercy - I know better than that. Just so he can bask in this moment: the point just before the point of no return when he can still stop this at any time. But I know. And he knows. We both know that he won't .

Something tears and it's as if my hearing escapes through a broken vacuum seal. Alexander pistons the hard plastic mercilessly, making sure to be thorough - to tear out every shred of the flimsy film of my eardrum. My ear canal floods with fluid. Warmth and wetness spills over my earlobe to drench the cloth of my undershirt.

Finally, the pen slides back out, leaving me shell-shocked. An entire half of my head suddenly feels numb - deadened - as if it can no longer send me signals but I keep expecting it to: to hear something. Anything . I see the tool he used to deafen me in my shaking field of vision: evil, shiny jet black slicked with gore. I'm aware of Alexander's lips near my ear. I know he's whispering right into it - right into it - but I can't hear a thing . I can feel his slimy tongue dragging along the stream of blood and fluids on my neck. He nibbles on my earlobe - playful - before slipping his tongue into the silent canal of my ear.

The pen switch hands. My heart drops through the bottom of my chest.

"W-Wait, please," I whimper, "Wait, I'll listen. I swear I'll listen to you." Smooth blue hair shifts over my shoulders as he moves to whisper in my other, working ear.

"Actually, Rayce, I don't think you'll be doing much of that anymore." His cold voice is replaced by even colder plastic. This time it slides in more easily, lubricated with blood.

"No! No! NO! " Screaming at the top of my lungs, clawing at the desk. Begging and my voice sounds raw, ragged at the edges. Desperate thoughts fill my head.

If there are heroes everywhere, then why is this place still a living hell?

Blood and tears pool on the table and make the touch top glitch out.

If I'm Lois Lane, why won't anyone swoop in and save me from this freefall?

Erratic shapes race under my heaving chest.

And if I'm a superhero then how come I always lose?  

My friends.

My family.

Myself.

Say goodbye to another piece.

My screaming gets louder, but it sounds fainter and fainter until the last of my hearing is eclipsed by aching, throbbing silence .

Chapter Text

We did it in the bathroom because the first time scared the cleaning guy. My stomach and guts were tying themselves in knots, simmering in the pressure cooker of the shower stall. They shuddered complaints at me, but it wasn't up to me, didn't they understand? The liquid inside me was boiling as it rose in my throat like steam. I doubled over and stained the bathroom tiles scarlet. I retched again and blood rolled down the wall to gurgle in the drain.

"No more," I begged with my arms wrapped around my stomach. My skin rose in revolt against the clammy hand that landed on my shoulder - why is he so cold? Sylvester turned me around and forced the bottle back to my lips. He used an opaque plastic jug that used to hold laundry detergent - I guess because lugging around a 2-liter Dr. Pepper bottle full of blood would be a little suspicious. But the detergent jug would always spill its secrets by the end of the session, streaming from the mouth of a bottle handled too hastily, too roughly. I was naked so at least we wouldn't need to do the laundry. We were out of detergent, anyway.

I choked on tepid slime flowing down my throat. Why are you doing this to me? His face, pale like the bathroom tiles, didn't give me an answer. Bee-stung lips pressed together in an emotionless line. His silver bob was frayed from the humidity in the tiny, enclosed space of the motel bathroom. Finally, he released me and I sank under the sickening weight of a full stomach, knees splashing down in a puddle of red.

Red - the same color as my hair. The same color as my eyes now that he'd taken my contacts away. I always hated that color and now, as if being covered in it wasn't enough, Sylvester was trying to paint every inch of my insides with it too.

Hot tears rolled down my cheeks; shoulders trembled in the cold. I was just waiting for it to rise again and for the cycle to start all over again.

"I don't wanna do this anymore," I whimpered.

Sylvester tried to smile as he ran his fingers through his frizzy hair. It got tangled. "We can stop as soon as you've had your dinner." He still sounded so pleasant.

"I want grilled cheese."  

"Grilled che-"

"Or chicken nuggets. Do you have chicken nuggets?"

He blinked at me incredulously. "Perhaps he didn't raise you with a taste for blood, but please tell me you were at least raised with a palate ."

I threw up on his shoes.

"I'll take that as a no..." he muttered.

And then I was crying again while he held me with bony, uncomfortable fingers. Past Sylvester's thin frame leaning over mine, I saw a sliver of open door which contained one of Cisco's eyes, his unruly mop of red- red hair and the pastel green of the frog plushie he held tightly to his chest. It looked so soft. I wanted to touch it. But I couldn't because I was trapped in this bathroom and I wasn't allowed to leave. I wouldn't be allowed to leave until the blood stayed down. Just the thought made bile rise in my throat again behind quivering lips.

Words left instead. "I want to go home," I said.

"I know... I know, we'll be home soon..." Sylvester's voice was more soothing than his fingers raking over my back.

"I want to go home now ." I gripped fistfuls of Sylvester's trench coat. "I want to go home! I want to go home! I want to go home! "

The pale arm tightened around the frog's neck.

###

How long has it been? Hours? Days .

Sick to my stomach. But I feel so hungry . I try to ignore it, try to devote all my concentration to hearing as if that might somehow squeeze sounds out of the void where sensation used to be. Focusing so hard that I can't feel anything else: my legs as I stumble down the hallway, or my hands passing the wall from palm to palm. Pressure - my heart pounds and for a moment, I think I hear something. As it fades, I realize it's just another one of the phantom sounds that have been haunting me.

I'm not even the most pathetic creature here as soldiers shamble aimlessly through the halls. Most of them keep their heads down and avoid making eye contact with the slavers standing guard. Except for that one guy apparently: a man on his knees in a cage of legs clad in black. His lips are moving feverishly - maybe he's begging for his life, or maybe he needs a quarter for the vending machine; don't ask me, it's not like I can hear him.

I keep moving, eventually ending up at the cafeteria but I don't remember deciding to come here. My ravenous stomach must have hijacked my feet - and it walks me at gunpoint up to the cafeteria line. The aluminum tray hangs loose in my grip as I stare through the sneeze guard at the food in the bins. What's on the menu tonight? Well, I'm glad you asked. For the first course, we have a lovely grease slick garnished with only the finest floating chunks. The main: amorphous red mass and bits. And finally, for dessert, an empty bin with stray crumbs stuck to the bottom. Honestly, that's probably less disappointing that what was actually in it.

I don't get it. I'm starving, but the sight of food doesn't interest me at all. I reach for a serving ladle which magnetically repulses me with a tidal wave of nausea. I feel like this is my fifth trip to the buffet table but I haven't taken a single bite yet... Movement in the corner of my vision - I look up to see the cafeteria volunteer waving his arms to get my attention. His lips are moving in incomprehensible circles. I'm holding up the line. So I hold my breath too, just heaping food on my tray and trying not to look too closely at it before I move along quickly to an empty table.

Desperate to soothe the gnawing in the pit of my stomach, I force the food down like medicine: tearing chicken off the bone and spearing soggy potatoes. Spaghetti, but I don't bother cutting it, just using my fork to shovel it in - I make a token effort at chewing; I'm not an animal - before compacting everything down with dry cornbread. I feel it physically slide down my throat like a cork as I sink my face in my hands. It all tastes the same . It all tastes disgusting, and I don't even have a fancy palate or whatever.

When I lower my hands again, there's a grimy stack of cafeteria trays at my elbow. Who put that there? Wait a second, it was me. I ate all of that. And I'm just as hungry as before.

I don't get to dwell on it when a fist closes around the back of the shirt and hauls me up from my seat. A slaver holds me at arm's length, laughing at the punch I threw into empty air. Just another nameless, faceless thug in this place - that's when I notice the mustard-yellow bandana tied over his dreadlocks. Caiman. I snarl on instinct.

I know he's saying something because his lips are moving. And I know it's something nasty from the way his lackeys are laughing behind him. But I don't know what , and it's a little hard to come up with a witty comeback when you don't know what you're coming back to... My gaze drops to Caiman's lips as I try to wrestle words from the way they move, but I'm a little new to this whole lipreading thing and they didn't exactly give me a crash course and a therapy session to go with my new deafness.

Over Caiman's shoulder, I notice Damon. He fit in seamlessly with the new bullies on the playground: hip cocked with a smirk on his face and he's untouchable again. A bitter thought: I should have finished you when I had the chance. His smirk fades as if he heard it. Caiman shakes me to get my attention and I face forward. Then the opposite way when he slaps me across the face. Forward again; he pushes his lips to mine. I breathe hard, eyes squeezed shut and when he pulls away, my lips hang open without speaking.

Suddenly Damon rests a hand on Caiman's shoulder. He says something and the slaver lets me go while Damon stands in front of me. When he cups one of my ears, I flinch. Dark eyes drill into mine; he speaks very slowly so I can follow his lips.  

"Can     you     hear     me?"  

I slowly shake my head.

A flicker of an emotion crosses his face.

Damon turns to the others and says something that makes Caiman smirk but he doesn't stop Damon from putting an arm around me and leading me from the cafeteria. Awful thoughts are already racing through my head. 'Damon is a monster'. And I just went and gave him ammunition, like a complete idiot.

But as soon as the cafeteria door swings shut behind us, I feel the arm sliding from my shoulder. I turn around, stunned, to see Damon walking away down the hall, both hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Turn around!" I shout, probably too loud. He does, only halfway. I cup my hands around my mouth and call, "What, no disability fetish?"

He can't help but chuckle at that, shaking his head - I wish I could hear it - before continuing down the hall. There are butterflies in my stomach - oh wait. That's something else. I spin around and sprint in the direction of the nearest restroom.

Hunched over the bathroom sink, I'm shaking. Whatever went down is coming back up in an awful way. I run the sink and rinse my mouth, trying to get the awful, sour taste out while my stomach roars profanity at me for daring to... Feed it? What's going on? I thread my fingers through my hair as I balance my elbows on the rim of the sink. Am I sick? Then drag both hands over my face when I lift it and meet my own gaze in the mirror. One of my contacts is off center, revealing a crescent of red at the edge of an iris.

'You look good.' The ghost of Hunter's words tries to convince me.

In the mirror, I see the door opening to let someone in and only then do I swish a finger around in my eye to reset the lens.

###

I open the door to my room and step right into the opening scene of a porno. Which you'd think would be the best thing that ever happened to me!

Soft downy feathers rain down all around me, collecting on the floor like fluffy patches of teal and white moss.

"What the hell-" Insaaf and Tamasha are bouncing on my bed, swatting each other with pillows. And probably giggling their empty little heads off. "What are you doing in here?" Two pairs of bright eyes turn this way: one pale pink and the other dark brown. Then a pillow is flying at my face. I wheel back. The twins split up: Insaaf pounces on the opposite bed while Tamasha scales the dresser, bare feet scraping against the drawers.

"How did you even get in!" I moan. Insaaf has a smug look on his face. He draws a foot seductively along the inside of the other leg, making the silk of his harem pants ripple under the points of his small, sharp talons. Then he hooks them into the fabric of the mattress.

I have both hands up, trying to talk him down. "You wouldn't ."

Insaaf riiiiips the cloth deliberately slowly, his smile growing in sync with the tear. Stuffing spills from the wound to bare silver springs inside.

"Oh come on!" I almost grab Insaaf when a can of deodorant soars through the air between us. Eyes wide, I trace it back to Tamasha hanging from the dresser. He roots around in an open drawer with his foot, plucking things out and examining them with a bored expression before tossing them in a random direction. A shaving razor, an old charging cable for my baton and an unarmed frag grenade . "Hey! That stuff is dangerous; you could cut yourself!" Tamasha turns sharply in my direction and hurls a boot at me before scrambling up the rest of the way. He throws open damn near every drawer on the way up.

Swearing, I pick up my rifle - remember to unload it but just barely - and use it to try and coax Tamasha down from there. All I manage to do is compress him into the corner on top of the dresser. He clings to his ground, on all fours as he spreads his white tail feathers threateningly. I think he's squawking at me and when I jab the rifle in his general direction, he swats at it.

Tamasha folds himself between the dresser and the wall, bracing his feet against the corner of the furniture and his back flat to the drywall before pushing to unfold. The dresser is tipping. Noooo no no no!

"Hey, stop that!" The rifle lands on the carpet as I push back, spreading out my arms to hold the drawers in. The one over my head falls open anyway, spewing socks. Splayed out as I try to keep everything together, I can see Insaaf has moved back to my bed. He struts around on top with his nose in the air and hands clasped behind his back, dragging his talons over the mattress as if snootily wiping his feet on a welcome mat.

When he sees me looking, there's an instant twinkle in his eye.

I narrow my own. "I hate you."

He isn't exactly making a better impression when he starts to do a little river dance on top of the mattress, spinning, kicking his legs out and snapping them back while tearing out clumps of stuffing which float back down like confetti. The moment's distraction is all Tamasha needs. I cry out as the dresser comes down on top of me.

Groaning, I crawl out from under the furniture, lifting it with an arm to let myself out before letting it slam flat on the carpet. I lift a glare to the twins, but they're not even looking at me, clustered around the mattress. Tamasha has just found something under it: a silver gun. He turns it over in his hand, narrowing his eyes at it. Insaaf peers over with a curious expression. He touches it and they both hop back an inch as the bullet chamber falls open.

"Don't touch that!" I roar and they actually get the picture for once. The twins flee; I scramble to pick up the gun they dropped on the floor, dusting it off before laying it gingerly on the end table. Vex's gun. 'SD': the initials are proof enough. Vex Delacroix. Sylvester Delacroix.

So what does it mean? Something I already know: Father had a Justice League's worth of friends at his side when he fought the vampires at the Bridge and Sylvester was one of them.

Or something I don't know. For some reason, Father went back and cut each one of them out of the narrative like stale crusts. I wanna go with the easy answer: he was a selfish prick who wanted the whole glory sandwich to himself - yeah, that sounds like my father alright. I slowly trace the gleaming cables of the bridge. But maybe it's too easy.

Snap back to the present and the twins are clumped together as if comforting each other. They look at me with big eyes and pouty lips as if waiting on an apology. I raise an eyebrow.

"John spoils you two," I say, but I mean, I don't blame him. After all, who could resist spoiling a couple of cute faces like that? Lips tinged tan pinched together, deep, round eyes blinking up at me innocently. They have... Looong eyelashes. I bet when they bat those feather dusters, they can tickle even the toughest Null slave master pink.

Pink like his doll eyes.

"But you know how to get what you want, don't you..." I mutter as I take Tamasha's face in my hand. He looks at me with a clever intensity that tells me he might be a well-manicured pet but that doesn't make him a dumb animal. There's a person behind those pretty pink mirrors. He doesn't speak and I can't hear: hey, it's a match made in dirty sex dungeon hell. I push forward for a kiss.

He melts through my grip like smoke. The twins pose mischievously, one arm each around the other's hip. Twin peacock tails splay out at the same time, dazzling me with colors so bright I actually have to blink a couple times. They tag each other at the hips, bouncing off to spin in opposite directions. The twins dance circles around me; I'm lost in billowing screens of champagne-colored cloth, blindsided by peacock tails with hundreds of eyes, all of them flirting with me, winking in and out of sight. Generous waterfalls of thick, loosely braided hair and graceful dancers' legs bounding through the air.

Insaaf places the end of a long, thin piece of fabric in my hand and spins away. I realize that it's unraveling his clothes while my face is getting warmer. Just like that, his whole outfit comes undone, cascading away from a naked chest and cute, dark brown nips. I am into that gold belly button piercing.

My mouth is hanging open. I realize - embarrassed - that it's watering. I clap a hand over my mouth in confusion. Insaaf didn't notice, looking away demurely as he stretches his arms over his head to show off an exquisite body. The cloth stopped where his loose harem pants start: a stronger knot holds them together. I put both hands on the strip of fabric, grinning as I reel him in eagerly because I figure one of two things has to happen: either that body comes over here, or that stubborn knot will come undone and both of those things work for me!

I didn't bet on the third thing: a second pair of thin brown arms wrapping seductively around my neck. Tamasha skipped the whole routine, already naked as he cuddles up against my body. Ugh , this is why he's my favorite twin. This time, he lets me have that kiss. I moan softly, breaking off to plant tiny kisses on Tamasha's cheek. Then I find his neck, and it's like discovering treasure in the silky jungle of his white hair. I want it. The kiss I put there is longer, harder. I want to strike gold .

Insaaf catches up quickly, shedding the rest of his clothes. He wants attention too and he knows how to get it - or grab it when he reaches into my pants.

I glance at him, smiling. "Naughty." He wears a mischievous expression as he gets on his knees, lapping the tip like a lollipop. I turn my attention back to Tamasha, eager to pick up where I left off but he's already melting away, sinking to his brother's level to give lend a hand. Oh god, that feels so good, caught between identical, sticky lips ebbing and flowing and chasing each other over my cock. I dig a hand in each of their gorgeous manes as my breaths come harder and faster. I raise a moan to the ceiling and then pant at it.

"You guys," I say between breaths, "Are really good at sharing..."

Insaaf looks like a goddess laid out on the bed. Torn stuffing makes a heavenly cloudscape cradling his body. His wrists are cuffed to the bedframe over his head: I used the fuzzy kind because I can tell the twins like to be pampered. Right now, he's moaning, dragging his feet up over the mattress and arching his back.

"You're getting the hang of this," I'm whispering in Tamasha's ear as we bend over his brother's prone body. Bracketing the smaller man, one arm around his waist, I have the other hand closed around his on the flesh-colored vibrator. It used to be Matteo's favorite toy... Now I'm helping some stranger fuck his slutty twin brother with it.

Tamasha plays coy but they're no strangers to this. He takes the reins for a split-second - thrusting the vibrator deep inside Insaaf and leaving it there to torment him while he looks at me angelically.

I touch a finger to his soft lower lip and ask playfully, "Are you trying to make your brother feel good, or are you just being bad..." His smile widens. Let's be real. The reward is the same as the punishment.

Tossing Tamasha down on top of his brother, chest to slender chest, I grab his hips and take a second to size up his generous ass - give it a self-indulgent squeeze - before finding my way in.

As soon as my hips hit home, Tamasha flares his peacock tail like a visual fanfare. The white feathers quiver, hypnotizing me into going faster. My eyes drift shut. It's quiet. Curtained off in a luxurious tent of white feathers, I let the soft down brush my face while I explore the inviting warmth just beyond my hips. "Tamasha..." The pleasure starts to feel more intense. The feathers drive tingling sensations all over my skin. I have to slow down because it's over-stimulating me. " Tamasha. " I open my eyes again and I can't see him.

Plunging both hands through the feather curtain, I part it to find him. Tamasha looks coyly over his shoulder at me. Pink eyes say ' come here' and I just fall to his body, worshipping his back with kisses. Making my way up toward his shoulder blades; I move his hair and it falls away to reveal the gentle curve of his neck again. Tamasha lays a hand in my hair, stroking it lovingly. Then his nails are digging into my scalp, too hard, and I don't know why. Then I find my fangs digging into his neck. Oh. That might be it.

I think Insaaf is screaming, the way his mouth is open like that, and not in a good way. Or maybe both ways can be good. His tan goddess body is covered in blood now, leeching into the ripped mattress, staining heaven. Tamasha is making such a mess - he won't stay still . But his struggles are getting weaker every second, every grateful swallow; my adam's apple bobs. He's barely moving at all now, just breathing slowly against my hand locked over his mouth. I have the other at his hip, keeping him seated on my shaft. White tail feathers hang limp over my thighs. Both eyes blink sleepily. And just before they slip shut, I pull out.

Tamasha sprawls on the floor where I discarded him. With the last of his strength, he manages to stand, stumbling toward the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" I ask him. That's when he turns around and finds me bent over Insaaf, nuzzling the terrified pet's neck. "You're just going to leave him? What kind of a brother are you..." Tamasha's lip trembles but he doesn't run. And that surprises me because I absolutely expected him to. My mouth twists. Of course, even this brainless, half-human slut is a better brother than I am. I punish him for it.

"Dance for me," I order. "For your brother ." Insaaf squeezes his eyes shut, trembling while Tamasha takes a start position.

Tamasha's moves are drained of life: pared down to basic form, purely functional. He drags back and forth over the carpet like a hollow puppet on strings. I guess that's a type of beautiful. My gaze drops to the anklets he wears, studded with bells. I still remember the sound they make. I swear I can almost hear them.

I can. Almost hear them, that is. I focus on the bells, mesmerized as the faintest jingling plays in the back of my head, like the tune of a song you can barely remember. If I wasn't paying attention I might have even missed it. I grasp at it, hapless.

And when that doesn't work, "Faster!" I demand, baring fangs. Desperation lights Tamasha's eyes. As his movements become more energetic and more erratic at the same time, the chiming of the bells grows louder.

" Faster! " He cuts out the extra step of following a dance routine and just starts to spin - white hair spirals through the air as he throws himself into wild loops, faster and faster and faster until it's just pure momentum that's keeping him going. The bells clash between my ears - the sound is unbearable - I clap my hands over my ears and they quieten; lift them, trembling and the sound pours in again. I can hear. I can hear!

Just in time to hear a piercing shriek. Tamasha twisted his foot at a revolting angle. He spins out, stumbles, comes down on his injured foot wrong again, folding it damn near in half. Another agonized scream and he hits the ground. Soft sobbing makes me turn toward Insaaf. He's writhing on the bed and shaking his head because he thinks he's next. But I'm not hungry anymore. Totally satisfied, not a peep from down below. And that's why... I lift a hand to my ear, almost afraid to touch it.

I close the door to my room quietly behind me.  

"Head's up," I jolt when I hear the voice and lift my head. I catch a small plastic object out of the air. Across the hall, Flaere leans against the wall with his arms folded.

"Flaere-" He's alright! I almost hug him with relief before stopping short because I've just realized I would be hugging Hunter. And the more personal space I can give Hunter, the better... Grey eyes peer out at me from the shadows of his curly hair.

"What?" Hunter challenges. "Am I less deserving of your concern? Well how about some gratitude, then? I would have volunteered myself but a 15-year-old in a dress recently told me that my blood is in... Short supply." My lips part around a realization.

" You brought them here?"

"I don't deliver pizzas, Gunner, I hunt ," he corrects.

I let out a snort of laughter. "Okay, right. Well, the next time you decide to go 'hunting' for me, could you just stuff a dead bird in my pillowcase or leave a rat in my shoe or something?"

"If I thought it would be enough." He smiles slightly. "But I happen to know from experience just how much it takes to satisfy you ."

I think I'm familiar with that experience. I swallow hard and avert my gaze to the object in my hand: the USB drive we found in the abandoned section of Mistfall Facility.

"You still have this?" I wonder aloud.

"Flaere has a bone to pick," Hunter explains. "And holding him back has been so..." He kneads his forehead a bit. "Exhausting. He's your 'boyfriend', why don't you deal with him for a while."

"Wait-"

His face falls into his hand and when it lifts again, Flaere is rapidly gathering his hair into a flouncy ponytail.

"I'm so glad you're okay." I almost touch his cheek but the snap of the hair tie makes me stop short. He didn't even notice.

"I need to know... I need to know what's on that thing." Flaere sounds distracted. I'm not insecure about taking second place to a piece of plastic, no not at all why would you say that...

"And why's that?"

"Because... I think it might be related to Sylphos." Good to see him moving on so well...

I fold my arms. "Even if prying into Sylphos' business was a good idea, the drive was password-protected."

"I know." He clenches a fist. "That's why I need you to come with me."

Jun gets one eyeful of us through the crack in his door and immediately tries to slam it shut - a-ha! I was prepared for this! I stick my foot in the doorway and pain shoots up my leg.  Fuck, I've played myself.

"Go... Away! " Jun spits furiously as we struggle with the door.

"We need your help with something from the Facility!"

"Oh no, I am not getting involved in this. Commander Teething-Trouble has no idea I had anything to do with your little jailbreak and I'd. Prefer. To keep it that way!" He. Is. Crushing my foot.

"Jun, it's a little late to back out of the resistance!"

"I never joined! Where's your paperwork? "

Flaere abruptly steps forward and I step aside at the same time. He slams the electronic door open so hard that none of Jun's frantic taps on the door console get a reaction out of it anymore. Thin fingers slide from the console as he lets out an exasperated noise.

" Fine . Just make it quick. What do you want from me?"

I show him the drive. "We need your help getting into this."

"That's it? " Jun snatches it from my palm and holds it at eye-level where he can scan it with rapid strobes of his brown eyes. I think I hear him mutter under his breath: "My talents are wasted here." Hey! I can hear people muttering under their breath again!

Jun plugs the drive into his console and tinkers with it. Even though he was complaining, he's fully engaged the entire time.

"There," he says, sitting back just enough for Flaere and I to lean in. "There's only one file. It's an image." When he clicks it open, a dark image appears on the screen. I narrow my eyes at it, trying to fish shapes from the tangled net of black and white. I almost get one: a cluster of odd lumps cradled in the belly of the void.

Flaere is squinting at it. "What is it?"

"It's an ultrasound," Jun answers. When he notices our blank expressions, he lets out a small sigh. "Have you ever had a scan taken at the hospital? Well, an ultrasound is a type of scan. This is a baby - well, a baby that hasn't been born yet. It looks as though this person was pregnant, one Ms..." Jun reads the patient name: "Sylvia." My stomach drops.

" Sylphos. " But it wasn't me who said it. I turn to Flaere in surprise.

"What?" Jun narrows his eyes.

"Sylvia is Sylphos. Th-That's what they called him while he lived at Mistfall Facility."

"You're not making any sense."

"It's the truth!" Flaere shoots me a desperate glance - he saw something! He saw something too! - but I keep my mouth shut.

"Look," Jun sighs, "This scan is dated 8 years ago, he would have been a kid back then."

"He was just a kid, that's just it!"

Jun scrutinizes the ultrasound for a few seconds before he abruptly bursts out laughing. He drops his head, shaking it in amusement.

"Wh-What's so funny?" Flaere demands.

"Ah, it's nothing." Jun has a smug look on his face as he smoothes back his hair. "I just remembered that I'm actually wasting time trying to make sense of a madman's ramblings. Why don't you go do something more your speed: like suck on a tube of toothpaste?"

" What did you call me!" Flaere's voice rose so suddenly that it made Jun stand up preemptively. Carefully watching Flaere's every move with distrustful eyes. "Of course you wouldn't believe it," Flaere spits vindictively, "You don't even really care about Sylphos, do you? You're just using him for sex!"

"This, coming from a psycho stalker."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Oh what, because it's the truth? Well if your psychiatrist didn't survive long enough to make a diagnosis, here's one for free:" Jun unfolds his arms to thrust them down at the floor, tight against his body with his fists clenched as he yells, "You're stark, raving MAD!" Flaere's totally convincing rebuttal comes in the form of a screech.

Jun really needs to stop pissing off people he can't outrun.

I plant myself between them, arms spread out; the murderous ginger crashes into my chest.

"Woah hey , you two! Calm down!"

Flaere snatches at the air under my arm; I can see it in his furious grey eyes: I'm the only thing keeping him from tearing Jun apart... My stomach turn. But hey, it's been doing that a lot lately.

He can't get past me so he lashes out at Jun with words instead: "Maybe I am crazy a-and maybe I do come on strong, but at least it's because I care about something! About some- one! At least I'm not fake like you!"

Jun's chest concaves as if a physical blow landed there. He turns quickly toward the console before I can read his expression but Flaere drew blood and now he wants the kill. He chases him down with a spiteful tone. "Maybe he's the one using you , huh? For your body... Because everyone knows you don't have any real feelings." Strong arms slither around my neck, wrists crossed at the nape. Glaring at the technician over my shoulder, Flaere adds nonchalantly, "That's the only reason Rayce likes you, anyway."

Jun looks at him in horror.

And I just want him off . I shove Flaere backward with both hands, putting words between us, "You need to stop! What is wrong with you?"

And he's looking at me like he doesn't even know what he did wrong! "You're supposed to be on my side!" Flaere accuses.

"I'm trying, but you aren't exactly making it easy."

He turns on a dime . "It's because you agree with him don't you?! You think I'm crazy too..." He drops right back into a whisper. "Do I scare you?" Head tilted. The breath catches in my throat. I hate how fast - how fast that table turns when I'm with him. One second he's my best friend, one second I never want to end - and then it does and the very next second I don't feel safe anymore . Flaere challenges, "Are you scared of me? Does it make you want to leave me?" 

It's not my fault, I only just remembered we were together! But I don't dare say that.

"Answer the question Rayce, are you scared? "

Yes.

Then he's winding up a fist - holy shit! I have my arms up in an instant, shielding my face. The blow doesn't come. Lowering them verrrry slowly, I blink, hesitant. Flaere is just staring at me.

"So it's true," he says.

"Hunter," I plead because this is getting bad and I just need to hit the reset button right now.

"Wh-Why are you even asking for- Hunter isn't home-"

"Yes I am," he says. He looks right through me because he isn't talking to me anymore.

"Go away."

"Get ahold of yourself," Hunter hisses.

I watch the two halves of him fight it out behind vacant eyes. Flaere is outnumbered three to one. He spins around and walks up to the door; half-turns when he gets there.

"Whose side are you on?" I don't even know which side is asking. The door closes behind him.

A wave of instant relief washes over me. I find Jun glued to his security screen again as if browsing hiding places without ever actually settling on one. He still hasn't sat back down. 27... 28... 29... 30... Wow. That is a long time to go without blinking.

"You okay?"

"Is it true?" He doesn't answer my question. It takes me a second to realize he's referring to Sylphos.

"Yeah. It is."

"Just perfect. Now we have a missing baby on our hands too."

"I guess we do."

Jun selects one of the camera views: in the hall outside the door to the hospital wing. He stares at it for a while before he says quietly, "I keep thinking he's going to come through that door."

"You know," I say, "This would be way more romantic if you waited outside the actual door."

A small smile tiptoes over his face. "I was a romantic once." He leaves it at that.

Which works out because that's when the door on the screen slams open. Snow hurls it aside, glancing frantically over his shoulder before he stumbles into the hall and sprints out of view, nearly tripping over himself in his hurry. Gunfire follows him out. Sylphos slides into the gap before it can close and races after the doctor, rifle in hand.

Jun and I are just staring wide-eyed at the now empty hallway studded with bullets.

"I suppose I should be glad that isn't the case anymore."

Chapter Text

Jun's shirt is wet. And he wears those kinds of shirts that basically turn into windows when they get even the slightest bit wet. The one good reason to stop at the bar across from the accounting firm when it rains and watch the suits trot by. Forget the wet t-shirt contest and say hello, hello to all the smart guys who still haven't gotten the hang of weather yet...

And Jun is just the thing to satisfy a corporate fetish. "Was your dad a jeweler because those things could cut diamonds." I blink incredulously at them, but Jun covers up those masterpieces with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Was your dad a Gunner, because you're all talk and no action. Oh, wait." He challenges.

"Ouch." I smirk at his adorably irritated expression. He's one to talk: all bark and no bite!

"I hate the rain," Jun adds in a grumpy mumble. The wardrobe malfunction isn't the only reason. His long, gorgeous hair is slicked to his body like a purple cocoon. "Can we focus on the fact that Sylphos is about to put a bullet in the brain of our only medic?" Right, that's probably a bad thing...

Jun blazes the trail with a flashlight beam as the rain comes down in sheets. We're getting close to where we last saw them on Jun's monitors: Snow, making surprisingly good time on those twiggy teen legs while Sylphos slopped around each corner, juggling his rifle and his barely-healed injuries. Military vehicles come into view. Huge bulky rigs with thick tires and beards of rust snarling through them like old army generals.

My mouth is opening as I look around. "How come we don't get cool toys like this?"

"They belong to the Marines," Jun scoffs. "Not that they do much beyond driving donuts in the lot with their shirts off."

He lets out a short cough when I elbow him a little too hard, grinning. "That's plenty."

Jun clears his throat and tucks a section of hair behind his ear. "It's a lot," he concedes without looking at me.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Jun doesn't reply which I just take as a yes at this point. "You and Sylphos... Don't seem to have much in common."

"Neither do you and I but I still fuck you."

"Right, but not voluntarily..." And then I fold my lips inward because - wow - we're just saying things like that out loud now.

"It's self-aware." Jun can't help a small, ironic smile.

"Sorry."

"What does it matter if you're sorry. What does it matter if we have nothing in common. He has a nice face and a nice dick and he knows how to use it."

"Right." We walk on in silence for a while, moving in straight lines between rows of trucks. I take a breath. "But what about-"

"Rayce," he interrupts.

"Yeah?"

"You know how they say there's no such thing as a dumb question."

"Yeah..."

"They lied."

"Oh, but I have a good one!" I ask it anyway, "Was your dad a Republican?"

Jun finally dignifies me with an irritated look.

"Because you're really good at building walls." His face cracks into a smile - a real one - before he quickly faces forward again, running for shelter behind one of his whole labyrinth's worth of walls. But if you can work your way through it, you might - might - just get a peek at the real Jun.

He notices something. "There!" And thrusts a pointing finger through the rain at a snow-white halo of hair bobbing between a pair of headlights.

"It's Snow!" Snow has his back to the grill of the truck behind him, breathing hard. Too afraid to move, too afraid to stay.

"Be careful," Jun is saying, "Sylphos could be anywh-" I don't really hear the rest of it because I'm already running toward Snow.

The doctor notices me and holds out his hands, whispering frantically, "Wait, wait, wait-! " A firm grip yanks me back at the last moment. The sound of a ricocheting bullet cuts off my complaint: it bounced an inch from where I would have been standing.

I curse. "Holy shit!" Jun pulls me flat against a different truck for shelter.

"That was a warning shot," he says.

Jun reaches out and gently tilts one of the truck's side view mirrors until it captures a glimpse of blue: Sylphos crouched on the roof of another truck, perfectly still in the pouring rain He's almost completely hidden behind his sniper rifle except for a piercing eye like a yellow laser sight trained on Snow's hiding place. The kid's trapped.

"We need a distraction," says Jun.

"Sounds like your cue," I say, "You're his boyfriend, after all."

Jun closes his mouth. There's a crease in his brow.

"Oh, come on, he wouldn't fucking shoot you ." Two creases now. His eyes flit over invisible equations in his head - maybe he can find Sylphos' intentions like the square of the fucking hypotenuse because nothing else has worked yet!

I look at Jun in disbelief. "Call me a hopeless romantic, but I feel like not shooting each other is one of the pillars of a good relationship."

"I don't poke holes in your love life!" Jun snaps.

"That's because my love life is all holes." He rolls his eyes at my sleazy grin.

I borrow Jun's flashlight and duck under the truck, sweeping the undercarriage. "What if we went under? He'd never see us coming!"

"He would see you." Jun is on my left, on his elbows next to the truck. Which is weird because, on my right, I see muddy leather oxford shoes. Jun's shoes. I freeze. Then slowly pan the flashlight beam left. The light catches other Jun's face and turns it into a four-eyed freak with a slit mouth full of teeth - NOPE!

Whack! The back of my head slams against the metal in my hurry, then ducks out again, I stumble away from the shapeshifter unfolding to full height. Well, Jun's full height. I back right into the real Jun; his hands latch on and nails dig into my shoulders.

"What is that?" he demands. The shapeshifter simpers, tossing his purple hair.

"If you have to ask, you can't afford it," he quips in Jun's voice. A few more seconds of this and I won't be able to tell which is which...

"Trouble..." I mutter. Once my heart isn't pounding as hard, I get an idea. "Hey, you... You're great at helping, right?"

"I like to think so." The shapeshifter smiles.

"But how good are you at taking orders?"

"Depends on the orders..."

"See that guy over there with the great hair and the bomb ass and the really big gun?" I jerk a thumb in Sylphos' direction. "I need you to distract him."

"I think I can do that." The shifter's wide grin looks bizarre on Jun's face. So he changes it. The purple of the shifter's hair leeches away, leaving behind bleached white as it shortens. It drips into his eyes instead, fills them to the brim and overflows into the shape of Snow's big, gorgeous gaze. Jun watched the entire transformation with a hand over his mouth in horror and I wish I could say I'm used to it by now. I swallow uncomfortably.

"Well?" The shifter prompts, now an exact replica of the teenage genius. "How do I look?"

I clear my throat. "It'll do." The shifter suddenly twists on the ball of his foot and darts between the vehicles. Back to the sideview mirror: Sylphos tilts toward the disturbance because when Sylphos said he doesn't miss, he meant it in every sense of the word. He must have spotted the shifter between the vehicles because he's gone in a second, leaving only the tripod of his rifle on the roof of the truck.

"Are you okay?!" Escapes me in a gasp as we join Snow. Long, thin arms wrap around my neck as he buries his face in my chest.

"Rayce, you came - h-how did you find me?"  

"Let's just say you're lucky Jun has such a hard time talking about his feelings."

Snow nods slowly. "I have a hand puppet for that."

"You're one to talk," Jun snaps at me, "The only four-letter words you can pronounce start with a d or a c."

I think about it for a second to fill in the blanks. "Well fuck."

"My mistake, there's three."

"I have a hand puppet for that too" Snow grins.

I cock an eyebrow. "Snow, it isn't a hand puppet anymore if you put it on your dick. So fess up. what did you do to piss off Sylphos?" Probably that, if I'm being honest.

"Nothing! I didn't do anything! " the kid insists, "He was recovering well and then he woke up and went off on me!"

I don't get to question him further when bright lights wash out the spot we're standing in. Like stadium lights burning into our backs. I stare at my shadow on the ground and then turn slowly. A pair of blinding headlights glower at me; then the truck growls a threat.

"Nice try." I trace Sylphos' voice to the driver's seat.

"You wouldn't. " I breathe. Well, he just put it into gear so I guess he would, actually. Snow screams, which puts my thoughts into words - err, noises , close enough. Meanwhile, I put my legs into motion before I even say it: "RUN!" We stumble through the dark while burning slices of light filter between the still trucks. I'm all turned around in this metal labyrinth until I catch sight of the lights of the headquarters glowing like distant land through this flood of rain.

"There it is!" I yell as we break out of the maze. That excitement doesn't last when the truck turns the corner. Out in the open, I can see it better: Thade's green Humvee. Sylphos nicked the keys like a teenager stealing his dad's ride to get to where the booze and fuckboys are... And he's all out of booze so we're about to get fucked.

"This is getting ridiculous..." Jun pushes me out of the way to stand in front of us. He throws both arms out to the sides but it doesn't make him any more intimidating.

"Get out of the way, Jun," Sylphos calls out a warning.

"I will not. You're acting insane!"

"What are you even doing here?"

"He's your boyfriend!" I answer helpfully.

Jun shoots me a nasty look over his shoulder.

" Thanks , Rayce..."

"Is that what you've been telling people?" Sylphos asks harshly.

Jun falters, "What, no , that's ridiculous, I-"

"Because that is not what this is."

"Sylphos-"

"I'm sorry poindexter, did I hurt your feelings?" The truck growls a challenge at him and then the headlights are getting bigger and brighter- and they aren't stopping!

" Jun! " I tackle him out of the way while the truck hurtles by seconds later. Jun breathes hard while I shelter him with my body: on all fours on top of him. But he's looking right through my head with wide eyes, up, up at the rain coming down. Then he starts to shake - not shiver, just shake. Both thin hands clap down over his head, digging into wet hair in an attempt to physically hold himself still.

"What is this?" he hisses.

"Jun," I gasp, "You're having an emotion! "

And he hates it. "Get it out! "

"Push! Push!" I chant at him, holding his hand like a supportive partner.

"Fuck you! You did this to me! " Then he's shrieking as he layers small, stinging slaps on my chest and shoulders. I sit back on my heels as he sits up frantically straightening out muddy clothes. When he gets to his hair, mud squelches between his knuckles and makes him groan.

"Alright, that's it. That's it! " Jun climbs into the driver seat of one of the dormant trucks. "Get in!" he orders like an army commander. We've lost too many good button-down shirts today. I scramble to obey, helping Snow into the passenger seat before climbing in after him, Jun is tapping furiously at his phone.

"So I don't know if you got the memo, but we don't exactly have cell service anymore," I say.

"I'm bypassing the anti-theft, genius," he mutters at me. He plants the phone on the dash then ducks underneath to the steering column. Jun rolls his white sleeves up to his elbows and flips a multi-tool out of his pocket. Popping the case easily, he digs into a snarl of wires that anyone else would just balk at, but he knows exactly where to go. There's mud in his hair and determination in his eyes as he passes wires between his fingers. He snags the one he wants and uses the tool to strip it with a decisive flick of his wrist. So this is what it looks like what he actually gives a fuck. The fuzzy warmth in my lap is getting warmer.

"If you had any idea how fucking hot you are right now," I say, breathless.

"If I see any erections," The wire stripper snaps close to my face. "I'm hotwiring it to the car." I swallow slightly. Snow slides gingerly back into my lap to cover it up and I repay the favor by crossing my hands over his crotch.

Jun rolls his eyes. That's when the engine roars to life.

"Alright!" I cheer - now we're getting somewhere. "Now we can drive back to headquarters and- Jun, why are you turning? Why are you- Jun? Jun?" He isn't paying attention as he twists the truck around sharply to meet Sylphos at the end of a U-turn. Both trucks stare each other down: a standoff over the mud slick.

Nobody moves- no one makes a sound over the dull engine rumble.

Jun picks up the radio transmitter wired to the dash and breaks the silence first: "You don't get to talk to me like that," he says, frigid.

"Fucking hell Jun, what do you care, anyway? This is none of your business!"

"Nothing ever is." Jun takes his hands off the wheel for a moment to gather his purple hair behind his head and tie it off in a high ponytail. "Is it?"

"I don't want to fight about this. Just hand over the kid."

"Come and get him!" Then Jun throws himself to the wheel and hammers the accelerator. Suddenly the trucks are speeding toward each other - wait, wait, I didn't sign up for this!

"What the hell are you doing?!" There's no getting off the crazy train now. I'm screaming, Snow is screaming, which reminds me to wrap my arms around his head, white as an eggshell, a second before the trucks collide.

The impact hurls me forward to the end of the seatbelt and then whips me right back against the seat. Snow is shaking in my arms. When I lift my head again, I'm practically face to face with Sylphos as both vehicles strain grill to grill, wheels churning. Jun wrenches into a lower gear for traction and makes that engine snort like a bull with locked horns.

"Why didn't you tell me, Sylphos?" he calls out, "Why didn't you tell me about the baby?" Yellow eyes widen, furious. Violated.

"I don't know what the fuck you think you know, and I don't know how you know it," I see him strangling the transmitter between mahogany fingers. "But I can guarantee you don't know what it's like... You have NO IDEA what it's like to be me."

"How fascinating, perhaps that's because you've never told me," Jun replies evenly. Movement on Jun's sleeve catches my attention: one of his silver bots scuttling down his sleeve and over the dashboard. I see it disappear out the window and pop up again on the hood of the truck. It makes the leap to Sylphos' truck and crawls quickly out of sight. I quickly lift my gaze before Sylphos can follow it but he isn't looking at me.

"Since when do you have so many questions?"

"That's right, just get on your back, Jun. Don't ask any questions."

Sylphos explodes at him, "What do you WANT from me, Jun?! So was it true after all? When you showed up at my door that night drunk out of your mind, begging me for more?" He... doesn't mean sex, does he?

"Sylphos." Jun's eyes widen, but he keeps going.

"Who's acting insane now?"

Jun lets out a ragged gasp and crumples on the steering wheel.

"Uh, Jun?" I try to delicately draw his attention to the fact that we are fucking moving backward! The truck is losing ground. " Jun! " I grab his wrist and he looks up in the same instant, swiveling sharply to stare at me. The breath lodges in my throat and the motivational speech I had planned all runs together into brain mush.

A sock puppet pops into view. The mouth moves. "Feelings can be hard!" Jun and I stare, bewildered, at the white sock Snow has over his hand with eyes drawn in mud. Snow projects a cartoonish voice, "Sometimes, feelings are like a big, warm hug your brain gives your whole body, like when your daddy makes your favorite pancakes, or when you pet a fuzzy kitty!"

"Snow, what-" This isn't the time for whatever this is!

Snow keeps going anyway, "But feelings can be bad too." The puppets lips purse; it shakes its head from side to side. "Bad feelings happen when bad things happen, like forgetting your homework or fighting with your best bestest friend. You might never want to feel bad feelings because they can be so scary." Jun's eyes dull, focusing on the steering wheel again. "But you can't block them out either!" cries the impassioned sock puppet, "You have to work through them. You have to understand that bad feelings happen, but they don't make you a bad person. And maybe, just maybe , that bad feeling... Can turn into a good feeling instead."

Snow lowers the puppet slowly while Jun stares, unblinking.

Finally, he says, "I know that." He rockets into motion again: grips the rearview mirror and tilts it until it captures a mud pit behind us churned up by rain. That's bad news. Jun guns the engine again but it might be too late because we're still backsliding - the wheels are spinning without getting a grip. Snow clings to me for dear life while my knuckles go white around the oh-shit-handle.

Jun's ready to face Sylphos again; he shouts into the transmitter, "You can't just ignore me! You're not pushing me away that easily! Not this time!"

Sylphos pressures the accelerator.

"I barely know you!"

"You didn't try to! " And Jun wrenches the handbrake as far as it will go, digging in with everything this truck has got without taking his foot off the accelerator. "I'm not the crazy one for wanting to care about you..." A frantic up and down glance at the mirror: the mud pit is closing in. The back of the vehicle drops out and suddenly the back wheels are spinning impotently over sucking ooze. Oh right. Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.

"Well I don't remember asking for your help and I don't need it! I don't need ANYONE!"

Jun's eyes shoot open, angry . I think we're going to drown in mud when suddenly, Sylphos' truck slow to a crawl. The engine growl fades and I know he hasn't come to his senses or anything - ha, when's the last time that happened to someone around here? - because he's looking around in confusion.

"What the fuck-" Then he peers out the window at a trail of wasted fuel in his wake. A punctured fuel tank. I think back to Jun's bot innocently scuttling over the hood of his truck and realize: he was just stalling.

Jun hisses, "I never needed you either, Sylphos." He ratchets the stick shift into high gear and pounds the accelerator. It's Sylphos' turn to hold onto the wheel for dear life as Jun claws our way out of the pit. "And now I don't want you."

We hurtle through the mud, pushing the other truck; Jun's purple ponytail whips in the wind, catching at his face. He isn't going to stop. And that's a problem because that building is getting pretty close. He's going to plow Thade's humvee right into it.

"Jun!" I yell.

But he's just laughing wildly. "How's this? How's this for real feelings?! "

Sylphos looks over his shoulder at the rapidly incoming wall and he just bails . Out the side, rolling over once then he's up on a knee and twisting around as he raises his rifle. Oh shit.

"Watch out!" I wrap my arms around Snow's head and fold over him. I hear a gunshot; Jun is tumbling out the open side of the truck. He was shot. I have to worry about myself when the momentum carries us straight through to the wall.

I come around, clutching my head. The first thing I notice is that we aren't moving anymore, thank god. The second is the fire lapping at the windshield. Through the flames, I see the crumpled metal of both car hoods and a crumbling wall. Smoke rises in plumes.

"Jun..." I groan. I have to angle out from under a crushed dashboard, then drag myself out of the jeep. I overbalance and tumble into the ooze. That was way higher up than I remember.

Jun is curled up on the ground, almost camouflaged with it, purple hair and crisp white shirt caked with mud. I'm actually relieved to find the bloody patch at his shoulder, bleeding into the dirt. Just a flesh wound.

He murmurs something I can't hear.

"Wh-What did you say?"

"Dirty-" he chokes out. "Dirty... Dirty ..." Oh, well it's nice to see he has his priorities in order again. Jun's whimpering gets louder. He grabs at his own clothes, wringing them out but muddy fingers just make them muddier. Desperate, Jun hurls his arms back over his head to clutch the back of his shirt. He doesn't even bother with the buttons, tearing it up and off until he can peel it from his arms like layers of filthy, shed skin.

Then he really is trying to shed his skin. Jun starts to itch, starts to rake his fingernails furiously from wrists to elbows. On his ivory skin, the scratch marks burn like bright red exclamation points.

"Jun, stop it!" I try to get control of him but he fights back, screaming until I wrench both his arms behind his back and hold them there. His breathing slows down; he pants quietly at the ground. And just as soon as I've dealt with this trainwreck, another one happens because Rayce Gunner is always on duty...

A piercing scream: Snow.

I tell Jun, "Don't. Move." As soon as I turn around, I see Sylphos dragging Snow kicking and screaming through the mud.

"You did something!" Sylphos rants, "You did something to me!"

"You have to believe me..." Snow sobs.

My boots squelch with each frantic step. "Sylphos, let him go!"

Sylphos hurls him at the ground; the mouth of a rifle jabs at trembling hands held up in defense.

I throw an arm out. "Sylphos!"

Bang!

It's as if a string attached to my back suddenly pulls taut, bringing me to a dead halt.

My blood runs colder than the rain running down my face. It can't be- Snow's body lies still while Sylphos lowers the weapon. A sudden scream. That was-! Sure enough, it's Snow peering from the wreckage of the truck where I left him. He tumbles out of it, scrambling to put as much distance between himself and the sniper as possible.

Which means... The corpse in the mud abruptly sits up.

"I've gotta say, Sylphos. Now that I've seen how you 'solve your own problems', I can't see how your methods are much different from mine." The shapeshifter laughs.

"N-No-" Sylphos stammers, backing away. The rifle hangs limp in his hands. "What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here-!"

"What's wrong, Sylphos, don't you wanna play anymore?" The shifter taunts. He changes form, taking on the shape of a skinny girl with short blue hair and brown skin. A collared blouse and pleated skirt. Sylphos drops the rifle because he's staring himself in the face: the face in the mirror 8 years ago.

The shifter holds both his wrists. "We can play dress up like we used to!" she giggles.  

Sylphos' face contorts into an expression of defiance but he looks just as terrified. "I'm not afraid of you," he says.

"Oh no?" She tilts her head to one side, then it melts away. The shifter grows larger - too large - until the bubbling black shape towers over him, gradually forming features. A bright yellow stethoscope takes shape around his neck, as bright as the highlights in his black pompadour. The figure that holds Sylphos' wrists now is Dr. Keyes. "How about me?" he asks with a mild smile.

Then Sylphos screams.

The shifter took some liberties - he's way bigger than the real Seong-Hye... Looming as large over the adult Sylphos as he must have seemed on top of the younger one. So he easily shoves Sylphos over, pinning his wrists into the dirt while he thrashes, helpless and breathing hard.

The shifter laughs, and when he opens his mouth this time, I see rows and rows of pointy teeth. "What are you hiding from me, Sylvia? " The shifter releases one of his hands to go lower to Sylphos' pants.

"Don't touch me!" Sylphos claws at his chest but the shapeshifter is already wrenching them down at the waistband.

"Get away from him!" Then I'm charging in, just emptying the whole magazine of my rifle at the shapeshifter- he isn't even flinching! When I get too close he lashes out with an arm, catching me across the middle and knocking the breath right out. I spiral into the mud, landing with a wet sound. I wipe my face clean with the back of an arm and the shifter fades into the rainy background for a second. All I see is Sylphos.

I've never seen him cry before.

But now, shuddering on the ground he wails at the top of his lungs, bare legs exposed to the weather.

"Sylphos..." I groan, reaching for my gun. What good is it? Who cares, I have to try... Especially when the shifter puts a hand between his legs and shoves two fingers in deep.

"Did you forget?" he bellows. Two fingers too big for that tight space, too deep like he's looking for something in there. "Did you forget what you owe me?!" Another gut-wrenching howl pours from Sylphos' lungs. My entire chest hurts and I don't know if it was the blow. I have to do something . Apparently, that wasn't a very original thought when I see movement at the wreckage of the trucks.

Flaere unfolds to full height on top of the flaming truck, holding a broken pipe with a jagged end. He looks like fire as the wind whips his bomber jacket around a muscular body and tousles flame-orange hair.

"Get your filthy hands off him." But he sounds like ice. Flaere takes a running leap, raising the pipe high over his head. The shifter turns around just as he brings it down. A sickening impact, punching clean through the chest, and the twisted end of the pipe emerges on the other side dripping black blood. An ear-piercing shriek; Flaere uses gravity and his own bodyweight to drag the pipe down, opening a wide gash as he goes. The shifter's hands hover over the wound: the edges darken to black and bubble away into smoke. Then he clenches a fist and the opening knits together again.

The blackening affliction doesn't stop - spreading over the rest of his skin until the shapeshifter looks more like himself again: his real self. A pitch black body, completely featureless except for four red eyes and a gaping mouth. The shifter snarls as it whips around to face Flaere standing before the fallen form of Sylphos, holding the pipe like a fucking sword.

"Flaere..." Sylphos props himself up weakly on his elbows; falls on his side. I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to be Flaere's damsel - or anyone else's for that matter.

"I'll protect you," says Flaere. He also doesn't have a choice.

"This doesn't concern you!" the shifter rages. Long sharp claws melt from its fingertips and solidify. Flaere meets each swing with a swing of the pipe, deflecting effortlessly as loud, metallic noises fill the air. He breathes hard.

"I never get to fight anyone my own size..." Meanwhile, Jun's back in play. He climbs into the driver's seat of the flaming truck. What is he doing...

The shifter raises a fist and drops it like a hammer but Flaere is already gone, backflipping away easily on his palms. He spins and hurls the pipe like a javelin; it meets its mark dead center of the shifter's forehead. It staggers, growling as it brings up a clawed hand. I hear the truck squealing; Jun threw it in reverse and now it's hurtling this way.

Now! I put myself between Flaere and the beast, lifting my rifle. This time, I aim for the face. Red eyes squeeze shut; the shifter backs right into the path of the truck before it crashes right into him. Like a bug on a windshield! Caught on the truck, it snarls, scraping the sides for a grip. I skip forward a bit to a fuel truck on the other side of the field. Well, shit. He's fucking smart, but a little fucking insane too.

"Jump!" I yell. Jun takes my advice moments before the truck smashes into the tanker with the shapeshifter sandwiched in between. The beast rakes at the truck with long claws, but it can't free itself faster than the fire can spread like, well, fire .

An explosion rocks the lot, hurling out a wave of heat; my face flushes in the warmth. The rain works quickly to shrink the fire as I jog toward the wreckage - the second one - but I don't see any sign of the shapeshifter. Wait, there - a tiny black shape shrinking away from the light of the flames. It fluctuates uncertainly, then maybe it sees me too because it takes a form that I remember. Younger Cisco looks up at me with big, round, grey, overwrought puppy-dog eyes. Oh boo fucking hoo.

"That trick's getting old..." I growl, reaching for him. The shifter curls a lip and latches his teeth down onto my hand. "Hey- ow! " Well, that one's new. I have to shake him off before I grab my hand with the other, swearing, "Son of a bitch..." The shifter is already disappearing into the maze of trucks. I can think of a lot of things I'd rather do than play hide and seek with it right now.

Flaere is sprinting back toward Sylphos just as the sniper gets his pants back on.

"Are you okay?" Flaere asks, breathless.

Sylphos thrusts a hand out. "Don't touch me!" I really can't believe this right now: Sylphos is treating Flaere the same as the freakish shapeshifter who just finger-raped him. And Flaere almost shrinks away like he always does... Until he doesn't. Anger flickers in his eyes.

"What did you say to me?" He wrenches Sylphos on his feet by the collar. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Flaere demands, "I just saved your life!"

"I didn't ask you to!" Sylphos spits.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have to!" Flaere pleads with him. "Maybe you need people who look out for you and expect nothing in return."

"Yeah, that sounds real fuckin' nice." Sylphos snarls as he shoves Flaere off. "As long as it isn't you."

I see the impact in his eyes. "You don't have to like me, but why can't you just treat me like a person?" he whispers.

"You know what, Flaere?" Sylphos sounds annoyed. "If I treat you so bad, then why do you keep coming back? "

"Because I love you! "

I back the fuck up because first of all, I swear to god those words are contagious. You hear one 'I love you' and suddenly you're off spouting it to everyone else like you caught the goddamn plague... And second of all... Isn't that my boyfriend confessing his love to someone else literally five feet in front of me? Fuck, that was a hell of a time to remember that... My heart is sinking in my chest and it keeps slipping between my fingers like a leaky, breaky, slippery egg yolk. Where's Snow and his stupid puppets when you need them?

The words have a different effect on Sylphos. He squints an eye at Flaere.

"Okay, did they put something in the water on the army side of headquarters because you people really are insane."

Flaere looks away, rubbing at an arm. He mutters, "You can make fun of me, but it's still true."

"Why?"

"Don't you remember?" Sylphos is taken aback.

I don't need to see this. I lower my gaze just in time to see a pale hand reaching out to hold mine. I trace it to the emotionless face of Jun. Like the half moon, waxing as he tilts slightly toward me.

"Welcome to the 'I got dumped because of Sylphos' club," I chuckle.

A small smile takes shape on his face. "Only if I get to be club president." He squeezes.

Behind him, I notice some kind of golf cart coming this way. As it gets closer, I can make out Thade and Weiser in the front seat, Weiser at the wheel. He's barely come to a stop before Thade leaps out of it. He pans from us to the remains of his Humvee smashed against the side of a building, then across from it to the fire where the tanker used to be. Finally, he settles on all of us covered in mud and drenched in rain while the brim of his hat drips like a gutter encircling his head.

Sylphos remembers himself, standing straight at attention with a hand raised in salute.

"Sir! I apologize... I have no excuse. I broke protocol. I damaged military-owned property. I-I- I trashed your car ." Sylphos realizes how ridiculous all of this sounds, stammering as Thade comes closer. "I'm sorry," he says.

Thade abruptly reaches out and folds Sylphos into a tight embrace.

"Sir?" Eyes wide, the Marine's hands hover over Thade's jacket.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again." Then Sylphos caves, squeezing so hard with those muscular arms that he would pop anyone else's head off like a bottlecap. But Thade can take it.

Weiser has a grin on his face as the two Marines come apart slightly awkwardly.

"Is that a tear on your face, Thade?" he teases.

"The sky's crying, Howie." He gestures irreverently at the rain. "Now let's get you boys cleaned up. You don't want to miss this briefing."

###

The treasury vault doesn't even look like the same place anymore. The high roof puts a lid on the buzz of activity from throngs of soldiers down below and the shelves are stocked with guns and ammo. Someone must have figured out how to work the heating because it's warm in here too. Between that and my new, clean clothes, I've almost forgotten all about the trauma of the lot already. At the entrance to the vault, a couple of volunteers check names off a list.

"Name?" the volunteer asks distractedly.

"That won't be necessary." I grin that same grin reserved for club bouncers. His partner elbows him sharply until he looks up. Yeah, he knows my name.

"O-Oh, I'm sorry about that- Let me just..." He it off the list and hands me a blue badge with a 'B' on it. "You'll be in Beta group. Over to the left." Flaere gets the same badge as me while Jun gets a green one for Gamma group. Sylphos' badge is red. Alpha.

The four of us split up and honestly, it's kind of a relief. But I still have Flaere and this three-foot thick slab of awkward between us. He can barely meet my eyes, staring down at his hands clasped around the badge. I wish I could just tell him not to worry about it. I don't really care. But every time I try to open my mouth to do it, a lump gets in the way. Weird.

As Thade takes his place at the front of the gathering, the conversation dies down; soldiers and Marines face forward.

"Ten-hut!" He doesn't even need a mic to get his order across: it leaps easily over the stretch of the room and echoes from the high ceiling. Hundreds of feet stomp together in unison. "I want to start off by congratulating you all for making it this far," he says, "These last few weeks have been hard for all of us since Commander Gunner's passing." Sure... Since then ... "But we have a plan to regain control of this operation. Weiser?"

He tags out with General Weiser who projects a floorplan of the military base on a pull-out screen.

"Alright soldiers," He notices even the tiniest pop of a nerve on Thade's forehead, smiling. "And Marines ," he corrects himself good-humoredly. "The plan is simple. Each of you has been assigned a functional group responsible for executing one part of the attack. Beta group, let's start with you: you're the largest group. You'll be responsible for the bulk of the combat. It's your job to take the fight to the slavers and ensure that the other two teams can execute their parts of the plan as scheduled." Weiser uses a laser pointer to draw lines in blue as he indicates attack routes and draws big circles where big confrontations are going to play out.

"Next. Alpha group, your job is a little more targeted. We want you to isolate and take out the upper tier of army leadership." He uses red this time to mark the offices of each general and lieutenant. "They're likely to be heavily guarded, but Thade and I hand-picked team alpha because we knew you could get the job done." I'll try not to be really offended about it.

"Finally, Gamma team. You might have the most important job of all... In just three days, the vampire anomalies will be knocking at our front door. We need backup." Weiser changes the map. "This is the cell station that provides service to this area of Fade. As you know, it's been disabled and is now being guarded by Dory's men. It's your job retake control of the cell station." He encircles the main control room in green. "Once there, you'll be able to reactivate our communications and send a distress signal to Clear. Timing will be critical here - as soon as Hemscroft learns about an attack on the station, he'll order in reinforcements." Weiser tucks both arms behind his back and turns to face us. "The three arms of this plan should come together in a victory if we play our cards right. But if we don't..." Weiser's mouth twists when he discovers there is no comforting way to finish that sentence. "Well, let's just play them right, shall we?"  

This is it. Isn't it? I swallow hard. The atmosphere in here is so tense. I almost want to cut through it with a knife, stick my head out and suck in deep gulps of air. Thade switches places with Weiser. His strong, dark mahogany structure is something sturdy to hold onto.   

"I won't sugarcoat it because you deserve better than that," he says. "Our chance of success is slim. But if we don't fight this battle, the human race's chance of success is nill. 'Commander' Hemscroft is a traitor to the republic. He's been selling people to the enemy and now, with Cisco gone, he is openly working with human traffickers to expand his operation. Alexander thinks that without our leader, we will become the meek, mindless livestock he sees us as. He believes that all of us are nothing more than the sum of our body parts, but that is where he's wrong. We are not chattel. We are not a herd, we are not slaves. We are not even soldiers and Marines. Tonight, we are a brotherhood."

Heads lift in the crowd. "And that means we fight together. We die together. We survive together, and we are going to. Because we have to." Thade's hand slices the air in a salute. His strong jaw lifts. "Semper Fi."

"Oorah!" Every Marine shouts back at him, while the rest of us blink like idiots so Thade just goes louder.

"I said, Semper Fi! "

And this time the whole room gets in on it. "OOHRAH!"

Thade nods curtly. "At ease. Take what you need. We fight at dawn."

I scan the shelves of the most dangerous grocery store in the world: rifles, handguns, medical supplies, they must have been squirreling away this stuff for days. There's so much to choose from and tons of crap I can't even recognize let alone use if I want to keep all my limbs. I end up just grabbing some ammo.

"Rayce." I turn to the sound of my name.

"Jun..." He's suddenly standing next to me with both hands clasped behind his back. The green badge on his chest glints brightly. "Gamma team, huh?"

"Naturally," he says, "They need someone to operate the equipment."

"I won't be around for protection," I say.

"I don't need protecting."

I grin at him. "I meant protecting the rest of Gamma team from you ."

Jun can't help but laugh and it's the cheese in the middle of the maze, the finished crossword on the coffee table.

"I made you something. I've been tinkering with it for a few weeks now." He brings his hands around to present me with a long and rectangular cream-colored box. As he holds it out on top of his palms, he bends at the hips into a short but polite bow.

"Oh Jun, you uh... You didn't have to..." I take the box, laughing awkwardly. "Is it my birthday? Because I prefer birthday sex." I deflect with a wink. He smirks.

"I'll bet you do."  

I open the box, smiling at the meticulous wrapping as I fold back neat layers of soft pink crepe paper. Of course, he would wrap every gift like it came from a pricey department store. But then my mouth falls open. Because lying at the heart of all that wrapping paper is the long, thin and blunt shape of my baton.

"But how-" I lift it from the box; I barely notice the rest hitting the floor. It looks as good as new... It looks better than new! Oh my god... I weigh it between my hands, bouncing it as a huge smile takes hold of my face. It's perfect. It's really her!

"I rebuilt it for you," says Jun, "I had to use new components for most of it... But the handle is the original - retrofitted, of course. I call her 'Rai'."

"Jun, this is..." My throat feels tight - there's that annoying lump again - so I just stare at it without speaking.

"Well go on," he prompts. "Fire up the bug zapper for old time's sake." Don't ask me twice! The baton sparks enthusiastically to life - heads turn to the sound - she missed me too! I check out her sexy curves in arcs of electricity; she's radiant , glowing white tinged blue.

"It's good to have you back, girl," I breathe.

"Turn it to 11," Jun suggests.

"11? There is no 11," I chuckle. My fingers freeze on the dial- I look up at Jun. "There's an 11." That's new. He just smiles. I crank it up. At the highest setting, the baton radiates heat, humming with raw power. And it turns violet . "Wh-hat even," I'm laughing. "That's amazing! " I smile at him. "You had fun with this, didn't you?" He casually winds a violet lock of hair around his finger.

"Can you tell?"

And he's just... He can be so incredible sometimes. I seize him around the skinny waist and pull him into a kiss.

Jun swats at me until I let go, gasping, "High voltage, high voltage!" He switches off the baton for me.

"Afraid of a little... Electricity? " Teasing, I tilt his chin up on a finger. Jun rests delicate hands on my chest. Miracle-working hands.

He speaks just loud enough for me to hear, "When you work with high voltage as long as I have, you're bound to get electrocuted at some point," Like what happened today? "And you never really forget what that feels like. You start to wear gloves a little thicker. You move a little slower. A little more careful. You just don't want to get hurt again." His fingers curl around the cloth of my uniform shirt. "But deep down, you're afraid because you liked the way it felt. And now all you want to do is fly kites in a thunderstorm."

I let a finger run down over his lips, playfully dragging on the lower one. "You're addicted."  

"Do you know what they call people like that?"

"Franklin?" I chuckle softly.

"Dead." Oh. Well then. Jun's fingers lift and drum back on my chest one after the other. "I like birthday sex too," he says abruptly.

"Oh yeah?" I grin, grabbing his ass. Jun bats his lashes at me.

Then he sighs and steps out of my embrace. "Too bad it's neither of our birthdays." And just like that, he turns around and starts walking.

I call after him, "Someday it will be!"

Jun doesn't stop but he does smile over his shoulder. He tosses his hair.

"Someday."

Chapter Text

The knocking on my door was loud enough to wake me up.

"Coming..." I groaned. The knocking got more insistent. "Coming, I'm coming!" It slid open to let in a whirlwind of grabbing hands, limbs and lips. My heart was suddenly racing, eyes wide; hands flailing to keep up - but each time I caught up, he was already caressing something else. I only deduced his identity several seconds later: Sylphos? So many questions. But it was kind of hard to ask them with two tongues in my mouth. I screwed my eyes shut and kissed back; we rolled back and forth, mouth to mouth.

He broke off gasping for air and whipped around to collapse against the doorframe instead of in my arms. I didn't even have to ask my questions anymore when I saw the way he grabbed at his own crotch and squeezed his thighs together.

"I know you don't want to see me right now," he said.

"Sylphos, I am always happy to see you." I grinned. "And so is he ."

When he glanced over to see what I was pointing at, he groaned, "Oh my god why are you like this." And turned right back around.

"Come here." I took his wrist; insistent pressure made him unlatch from the doorframe. The other one, he offered me hesitantly as he came around. "See?" I cooed, drawing him closer, "This isn't so bad."

Sylphos couldn't meet my eyes so he stared down at his hands held in mine. "It's just, with the war tomorrow, and everything that might happen, I have to ask-"  It was weird to see him so worried. I guess a war could make anyone nervous, even Sylphos .

He wasn't having second thoughts, not on my watch. "Don't you worry about this," I said soothingly. "I've already made my decision. You focus on being at the top of your game, and let me take care of everything else." What, you think this is the first time I've had to sweet talk someone into bed? I've worked way harder for people less cute.

He looked at me with wide, darting eyes. "Y-You're okay with it? You're really okay with it?"

"Hey come on," I slung an arm around his waist and roped him right up against me. "With a face that gorgeous, I'd have to be crazy not to want it." That made Sylphos smile. I mirrored it, playful. "I gotchu, baby~" Then he smirked.

Sylphos shoved me; I fell into a seated position at the edge the bed. The buttons of my shirt were fast but nowhere near fast enough slipping through the holes. I heard a series of sharp pops and immediately looked up at the defined range of dark skin Sylphos was revealing to me in a shower of buttons ripped clean off. Sylphos slowed down and it was like he turned up the gravity in there, dragging his pants down like a lead weight. My shirt just slid from shoulders as slack as my open mouth.

"Like that?" For once, he let himself enjoy the attention. He lifted both arms and folded them behind his head, making every muscle pop. Lowered his lids and bit his lip. I nearly came. Instead, I held it together, looking up in fascination at this gift of tight abs and bulletproof pecs. Muscular arms, and chiseled hips. I completed my tour at his junk. Ah, what the hell, I'd take a sample - his tip in my mouth - and give it a few impish sucks. He moaned.

Sylphos climbed into my lap seductively as if his legs were hauling themselves through the thick quicksand of Decay. I put my hands on his lower back and pressed my face into his taut abdomen. Breathe in. Breathe out. I felt the very tips of his fingers in my hair. Then I took him right down to the sheets where he sank deep into the whirlpool of my mattress while I groped him with both my hands and my eyes. Did he have any idea how many juvenile fantasies I've had about that body?

If only he wasn't a Marine.

If only we were in Clear.

If only we met a little sooner than the literal end of the world -

He'd be mine - well, at least for a week or two. I would stand over him and rub one out; watch my seed trickle between his ridges while I marvel at the contrast with his chocolate skin. Give it to him doggie style while I run my hands through his curly blue hair and see whether it tangles or combs through. Take pictures of him naked and bound at the wrists and ankles, send them to everyone I know so they know I didn't just bed this mahogany goddess, I dominated him. But most of all - most of all - I would make sure his filthy, fucking mouth was still both of those things - just not because he was talking!

I pushed my luck and was rewarded for it: Sylphos accepted a cloth gag. The room was full of sexy, muffled noises as I prepared him for entry, roughly fingering his soaked snatch and getting progressively deeper. He was tense and overstimulated at first, both legs compressed to my sides, but relaxed with every milestone inch until I hit the dead end of his stretchy tunnel. Scratching desperately at it didn't create any more room so I dug my fingers into his walls instead. That drove him wild: he threw his head back on the pillow and drew breath deep into an expanding chest. Moaning filled my ears, stripped of words. Isn't this better? Isn't this so much better?

I was so hard that it ached . Shifting position, I saw the anticipation in his clear yellow eyes and heaving chest. Then my gaze accidentally dropped to the flat sheen of his military dog tag. The only thing he still had on. The ball chain slinked between my fingers as I held it flat on a palm.

STERLING, SYLPHOS

-

O NEG

NO PREFERENCE

His tag was as no-nonsense as the rest of him. The line for his social security number was blank - I guess that made sense - and so was his religious preference - that made even more sense. I hate looking at those things on a good day - they're so goddamn morbid and Sylphos' was an extra dose of depressing because it shut down all my fantasies like one well-placed sniper round through the skull.

Sylphos didn't exist outside of Fade.  

I noticed he was staring at me with those wolf eyes. His lush hair was bright against the ivory of the pillowcase - the same ivory as the gag between his lips. It was a good look for him. If I couldn't get it up for that then I needed to hand in my player license!

I locked eyes with him before he rolled his in pleasure. Panting hard, I held him vertical at the insides of the knees and delivered like a champion. The way I was giving it to him, his diva of a pussy would keep her drooling mouth shut the whole war through.

The only reason I stopped was the bar of light that stretched into the room. I traced it back to the unlocked door and looked over my shoulder at Flaere standing in the doorway. His eyes dropped; he saw me balls-deep in Sylphos. Then he saw the gag.

"What are you doing? " The better question was who? The tone of his voice made my blood run cold but it was the way he moved - with intent - that made me grab frantically for a weapon, something, anything . My baton! I didn't see Sylphos rearing up in the same moment until I heard him scream and realized what happened. My baton sparked in my grip and my thumb was still on the dial. In my haste, I hadn't measured, just spun the dial like I was spinning a fucking wheel of fortune, skipping so many levels in between. It was too late now: I just watched with wide eyes as Sylphos fell back on the sheets.

###

"Good afternoon, soldiers this is your Commander Hemscroft speaking. It has come to my attention that you have decided to revolt." My heartbeat quickens until I pick up on the tinny quality of his voice, filtered through yards of cheap cable. It's the PA system. His ominous pause gives way for the muffled noises of a warzone as if I was listening to the horrors through a thick blanket wrapped around my head. "I have ordered my men to take as many prisoners as possible because I can't think of anything I'd rather do more than painstakingly torture each and every single one of you until you beg - BEG - for death."  

My eyelids are welded together with ash. I struggle to open them. Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if it was even worth it when the ruined room fits itself together in my blurry vision. Slavers in crinkly black jackets pick through the rubble like vultures with rifles for beaks, jabbing occasionally at the debris as they search for scraps. Wait. I'm a scrap. My heart pounds.

"But death won't come, oh no... I will personally ensure you end up in the filthiest, most depraved blood cellar in all of Sanguine, where you shall live out the rest of your pathetic life on the brink of death as a blood bank and a cum dump for the lowest vampire ilk imaginable... I'm sure you are already familiar with my methods." Methods.

" No... No..." bubbles between weak lips. I send frantic orders to my limbs - the best they can do is a helpless twitch. One of the slavers finds a soldier. The disoriented soldier tries to lift his rifle to defend himself but the slaver reacts faster, bringing his boot down sharply on the man's wrist. He grinds it into the tile until the soldier releases, crying out in agony.

"I am not unreasonable: surrender yourself, and I'll let you be the punisher..." Two more thugs join the first; the soldier hangs limp between them as they carry him away... Where... Where is the rest of his leg? "But if I have to catch you, you'll wish you were never born." The PA cuts out abruptly and for a moment, there's just silence. It doesn't last long when it screeches again: "Good afternoon, soldiers this is your Commander Hemscroft speaking-" The recording plays on repeat, filling the air with his awful voice while the slavers get closer.

Someone grabs the back of my collar and then I'm being dragged along on the floor.

"No!" I scream - okay, less of a scream, more of a loud-ish croak.

" Ssssshhh! " My captor isn't handling me violently, he does it desperately . Breathing hard; he drags me behind an overturned bedframe in the hallway and crouches low. Through the coat of grey ash on his curls, I make out faded cerulean.

"Syl... phos?" I murmur.

He puts a finger at his lips. "Ssshh!" Those bright eyes suddenly seem so out of place in this fallout zone of faded grey. What happened? I want to ask him - he must have read my mind because he pushes the finger to my lips instead. Sylphos peeks around the frame. The breath catches in my throat when a silhouette appears over the top.

A slaver. Desperate to get Sylphos' attention, I nudge him with my foot, hard enough to get a reaction, but hopefully not enough to warrant an audible one... Who am I kidding, this is Sylphos we're talking about. We're fucked. On the third nudge, he turns around, opening his mouth. Some kind of divine intervention wills him to catch sight of the danger first.

The slaver scans the corridor; he hasn't seen us yet. A silver chain slides loose from the collar of his uniform. A thin cross dangling silently over us. It matches the hunting knife emerging slowly from the pocket of Sylphos' tactical vest.

Sylphos lunges. The slaver seizes up as an arm wraps tight around his head, blocking his vision - but he can't cry out through the knife already lodged in his throat. A sick gurgle emits from somewhere inside the vice-grip of the Marine's arms. Then Sylphos easily flips the slaver over the frame, flat on his back on the floor in front of us. A sharp slice to one side finishes the job.

"Anyone seen Mathers?" The most terrifying sound I've heard all night. Sylphos' face is gaunt. He holds the knife tighter.

"He's probably at the next checkpoint already." Footsteps move on. The Marine closes his eyes briefly and his chest relaxes.

Sylphos rummages through the dead guy's things while I pull myself into a sitting position, wincing. He stuffs ammo cartridges into his pockets, pausing only to throw a canteen at me.

"Drink this." I'm so thirsty all of a sudden. I only realize I drank it all when I'm blinking at the canteen held vertically to my lips.

"Sorry," I apologize as I hand it back. He doesn't even seem fazed; he expected that from me. Sylphos scrutinizes the dead slaver's radio.

"How do you feel?" he asks abruptly.

"Better, I th-"

"Well-rested? All caught up on your beauty sleep, princess? How about a pedicure? Cup of tea?" I fall silent, glaring at him. "You were out for fucking hours ; we don't have that much time to waste!"

"Give me a break, okay; a bomb went off!" I complain. He holds up a hand to silence me as the slaver's radio emits crackly voices.

"Frigate team to Dreadnought, are we clear for transport?"

"This is Dreadnought, you're cleared through the sector B2 corridor."

"Copy that. B2 corridor in forty."

"Roger."

Well I hope that made sense to someone . Sylphos' thumb draws circles over the radio, manually turning the gears of his brain as he stares ahead into space. He blinks, distracted by his own radio.

"Alpha team, if you're reading this." It's Thade. "Our mission was compromised: the enemy was ready for us. High-value targets have all been moved. The only thing we can do now is stand our ground until reinforcements arrive."

What reinforcements? The fucking coast guard? The security guard at the college dorm ten minutes from my place - take a right on Sherman and go straight - who takes a nap sharp between the hours of 2 and 3am?

"The hardest battle is still ahead of us. Hold strong, boys. Semper fi."

"Compromised?" I pipe up. "What does he mean by that - we were betrayed? "

Sylphos doesn't answer me; he depresses the button of the radio and says, "Negative, Sergeant. This is Gunnery Sgt. Sterling. I have just received intelligence that Hemscroft is being moved to the auditorium in forty minutes. We only have one shot at him during the transport. B2 corridor."

"Sterling, if you're suggesting what I think you are..."  

"One last ambush, we take out Hemscroft."

"It's too risky. If we just bide time until we can contact Clear, we can still win this war."

"With all due respect Sir, if they fortify that position - or worse - if Hemscroft gets the Council involved, there won't be a war left to win."

I pipe up. "Yeah, I'm getting kind of tired of fighting nonexistent wars, sooo..."

"Stand down, Marine, do you hear me? And get that beta off my comm line!"

"Hey!"    

Sylphos asks, "It's all on you, boys. Are you guys with me?"

"Sterling-!"

Thade is drowned out by roars of agreement from Sylphos' fellow Marine: "OO-RAH!"

Sylphos grins. "Rendezvous in thirty."

"Sterling! Sterling! SYLPHOS!" Sylphos switches off his radio and clips it to his belt.

"I'm coming with you," I say.

Sylphos considers it. "You're the last Gunner, and that means you're HQ's most wanted man right now."

"It's an honor just to be nominated."

"You're a giant blinking, bat-signal-in-the-sky, motherfucking target on my back," he growls, "But I can't leave you here either because you're too fucking stupid to stay out of trouble." I'm so lucky that Sylphos does all his thinking out loud... He wrenches me to my feet. "Stay close, stay out of my way, do everything I tell you and keep your cock holster shut; did you get all that?"

I glance quickly from side to side. "Now when you say cock holster..."

"Both of them!" he snaps.

I follow Sylphos through the charred shell of headquarters. It's a no-man's land picked clean of survivors. Upturned furniture and piles of rubble litter the halls. Occasionally the debris will take a humanoid shape and I can never quite tell if it's a body or my own paranoid brain making corpses out of dust-hills. I'm not looking too closely either way.

So I don't expect to hear voices around the corner.

"That the last of 'em?" And I especially don't expect that voice. I can't even stop myself from skidding to a stop at the end of the hall and peeking around the corner. Damon. He wears a slaver jacket open at the chest around a charcoal-grey shirt. He grins at a line of captured soldiers unpleasantly. Thick-soled boots make his footsteps sound that much scarier. You walk like that when you have all the time in the world and all you want to do is kill it. You walk like that when you have all the power . "So you're the survivors: the lucky bastards. Congratulations. And my condolences." He stops in front of one of the soldiers who shrinks in his place, head down. Damon considers him while scratching his chin. "What's your name?"

"Leuca," the soldier replies. Damon has good taste: Leuca is really cute. Slender and shorter than Damon. His pale blue hair is ashy at the roots.

"Leuca," Damon repeats. "Do you have a boyfriend back home, Leuca?"

He abruptly lost the ability to speak, just shaking his head quietly.

" Impossible . I don't believe you." Damon grips his soft jaw. It looks like a threat. "You must be lying to me."

"I-I'm not-!" Leuca cuts himself off with a trembling lip. Damon places two fingers on it and lets them dance on the plush surface.  

"Well then," he says more softly, "You're in luck; I have a position open for you. You look like someone who gives amazing blowjobs. Wanna show me?" The proposition makes the soldier's eyes go wide. "If you do a good job, you can be my new boyfriend. And if not-" He jerks a careless thumb over his shoulder at the group of sniggering slavers behind him. "You can be their boyfriend. What do you say?"

I whip around to say something to Sylphos but clamp my mouth shut again when I see the way he's approaching me, slow with his eyes narrowed. "Congratulations, you followed orders for two whole minutes," he whispers, "That has to be some kind of record."

"And I'm very proud of it, thank you," I whisper back angrily.

"Leave him alone." Someone else comes to the rescue; I turn back around. My heart pounds at the sight of bright orange hair.

"Flaere!" Damon laughs. He immediately moves on to the next ripest thing to pick on. "I didn't see you there! You're what, five-six, five-five now? Getting shorter?" Flaere doesn't answer, glaring at him in defiance. "Hey. I trained you better than that, bitch." Damon aims a sudden and vicious kick at his shin. Flaere buckles and Damon latches a hand on his shoulder, forcing him all the way down into a kneeling position. "Then again, you're Gunner's bitch now, right? So maybe you can tell me something; because I've been dying to know: where has his special-snowflake, extra-tight Gunner ass been hiding out?"

"Even if I knew that," Flaere's lip quivers just a little. "I wouldn't tell you."

"Come on Flaere, you know you always end up telling me everything in the end..." Damon tilts Flaere's chin on a fingertip. He draws the whip from his belt. Roughly seizing Flaere's hand, he winds the oily black length around a pale palm and secures it with a knot. Flaere's eyes widen as Damon's thumb hovers over the button - the one that will set the whole thing on fire.

"I'll ask you again. Where is Rayce?"

"I don't know anything,"  

"Okay. Let's check back in thirty seconds." He pushes the button and the whip goes red like a heating coil around his hand. I hear the hiss of heat like a piece of meat hitting a smoking hot grill - Flaere screams .

"I don't know! I don't know, Damon! Oh god! I don't know!" he wails, crumpled over on the floor as tears stream down his face.

You'd be shocked how long thirty seconds can be when your friend is being cooked alive. Flaere's screams chase me back around to corner, back to Sylphos' frigid eyes. I whisper desperately, "We have to do something!"

"There's nothing we can do for him now."

I can't believe he's ready to just sit back here and do nothing! Damon tugs the whip loose at last, allowing Flaere to collapse on the floor. Mercy isn't a concept he's familiar with. He just likes watching his victims try to run. Flaere struggles to his feet, hugging his injured hand to his chest. He shambles into a lolloping run. Panicked whimpers mix with the sound of Damon's languid footsteps.

"Where do you think you're going?" He brings Flaere back down with a strike of the whip, sending him sprawling on his front. Damon compresses Flaere's burned hand to the cold tiles with the sole of his boot.

" Relax , you can just get another tattoo. Cover it up like the last one." Damon taunts as choked noises escape Flaere.

I can't watch this. I take my case back to Sylphos, "If it was me- if it was me he was carving up in that hallway, would you just keep walking?"

"Absolutely 100%." Well, he didn't fucking stutter, I'll give him that.

My expression hardens. "You know what? I don't believe that."    

"Doesn't matter."

"It's about to."

Damon douses the whip for a moment to tie it like a noose around Flaere's throat.

"No... No..." Flaere snivels, clawing at it weakly.

"Aww, what's the matter? Afraid of a little fire?" The fire's in his eyes : that dangerous glow flickering in the dark. "Well, you should be. Because I don't care about Hemscroft's orders. I don't give a fuck whether you live or die." Damon moves his thumb to the button.

"Stop!" He lifts his head because I'm sprinting into the hall, leaving Sylphos snatching furiously at the empty air where I once stood. "It's me you want!"

Damon stares at me for a while in disbelief.

"Rayce," Flaere gasps out. He falls face-flat on the floor as Damon dumps him like a worn out old toy.

"Rayce, we were just talking about you..." Then a smile spreads over Damon's face. I almost open my mouth to respond when he continues. "Not that you could have possibly known that..."

I'm confused for a second until I realize: for all intents and purposes, he still thinks I'm deaf. That could be useful - hey look at me, thinking ahead! I shut my mouth. He decides to talk with his whip instead when he strikes a threat against the floor. I'm ready for him this time as I whip out my baton.

He looks surprised, grinning wide. "No way; my favorite toy? But I thought the old lady dropped it into the ocean in the end!" He laughs at his own joke, but the smile fades when I don't react. An expression flickers across his face, too fast for me to read.

The other slavers peel away from their posts, raising their guns.

"No." Damon holds out an arm. "He's mine. " The whip sings through the air; I sidestep in the narrow space of the corridor and come charging in with the baton raised over my shoulder. His reaction time is slower now with a whip instead of a sword, but he's still lightning quick on the uptake. A rolling coil of black comes up in the opposite direction; I hear it before I feel the stinging blow across the face. It opens up a deep cut on my cheek. I grit my teeth. In the moment's distraction, the whip wrapped itself tight around my baton. He tugs sharply and almost disarms me - almost . I twist the handle and my baton segments on its flexible wire core, slipping the coils. I follow through with a swing. Metal segments wind around his forearm - I see the alarm in his eyes - and I might have taken it easy on him but oh wait, he doesn't deserve it. Instead, I ratchet up the voltage.

Damon is limping when he gets free, clutching his arm and still smarting from the current. He dropped his weapon in the confusion and I drop him with a heavy blow to the back of the head. Damon sprawls, but he flips on a dime to sweep out my leg. I knock the breath from both of our chests when I land on top of him. He snaps like a mousetrap. The backs of my wrists hit the floor and stay pinned there. Wait, wait - when did he get on top?!

His grin returns as he catches his breath inches from my face.

"We need to stop meeting like this," he teases. I glare at him without answering. That grin trembles. It decays and slopes off to a side. Then he says something insane. "Say something." ... What? He doesn't give me a second to process that when he lifts a hand and slaps me across the face. "Say something." And again. "Say something." One more time. "Say..." he trails off helplessly. My whole face is hot and not just the cheek he's been slapping like a cute fuckboy's ass. I stare, astonished, at the moisture collecting in the corner of one dark eye. Damon blinks rapidly, glancing away. "What did they do to you?" he breathes through a shudder. The slavers are moving to gain control of the fight.

"We have to move," one of them says, "Commander's orders."  

"We move when I say!" But Damon sounds desperate, not authoritative this time. A slaver bends to grab Damon by the shoulder. Then we hear the deafening sound of a gunshot and he's falling back instead. Sylphos! My heartbeat rouses.

I twist my neck to see Sylphos moving swiftly into the corridor with his rifle propped on a shoulder. He glares through the scope. The rifle sounds like a rocket. Pow! He drops a slaver. Pow, pow, pow! That's three more, deadly accurate, as he advances down the hall. Each shot rocks his arm violently backward, but he doesn't let it slow him down for a second. The survivors change their minds about engaging him and run. He picks off stragglers, pops the mag, reloads and keeps going like he's racking up shots on a faceless target at the range.

"Fuck." Damon escaped notice for now, on the floor with me. I quickly roll on top of him, pinning him down with my baton pinned across his throat. We search each other, breathing hard in the same space. He tries to read my intentions while I try to come up with some.

All I get is something that doesn't make an ounce of sense. "Well baby," I say breathlessly, "I went down and got it for you."

So how come he gets me anyway? Damon's eyes widen in understanding. "Rayce-"

"Go," I say.

"But-"

"Go now ." I let Damon scramble to his feet; he starts running. The rifle muzzle twitches to follow him but I spring up at the same time, blocking it.

Sylphos cries sharply, "Rayce!"

"Huh?" I turn around innocently.

Damon is already gone; vanishing around the corner to safety. That makes us even, right?

"I lost him." Sylphos lowers the gun with a frustrated sigh.

"Oh." A breath escapes me. An exhausted smile takes its place. "See? I knew you'd come for me. I'm special, aren't I?"

"Shut up."

Flaere holds still while Sylphos examines his injuries. I cringe. It looks as though someone went at Flaere's hand with a potato peeler: sloughed off whole strips of skin to reveal the raw red of his flesh underneath. Each laceration is brittle and black at the edges; I wonder if he'll just keep crumbling away from the open seams until there's nothing of him left.

What isn't completely disintegrated is covered with puffy, yellow blisters like a strange fungal growth on his skin, clustered so close that they're squeezing each other out of shape. And then I nearly vomit, holy shit. Sylphos reaches for his canteen. We both remember at the same time that it's empty. With a sigh, Sylphos diverts to his first-aid supplies instead.

Flaere would literally rather stare at the shish-kebab of his hand than Sylphos. He can't meet the Marine's eyes as Sylphos wraps the wound.

"Best I can do for now," says Sylphos. "If it gets infected, you'll need antibiotics."  

"Thank you," Flaere says it so quietly that I almost missed it. He tucks his ruined hand into his lap.

I follow Sylphos with my eyes as he gets to his feet. The sun is rising in the wide-panel window behind him - it's been that long? But it all happened so fast.  

"I've already wasted too much time babysitting the two of you," Sylphos grumbles.

"Damon would have killed him," I argue, rising to meet him.

"Don't you people get it? If I miss this window of opportunity, we're going to lose this war and then none of this matters!"

The yellowish light of dawn bends around a strangely-shaped building framed in the window. A tall antenna protrudes from the top, sharply angling the gleam right into my eyes. I blink, irritated. Then I realize: it's the cell station. Jun. It makes my heart flutter unexpectedly. Jun's in there. And then it makes my heart stop when an explosion takes out a whole chunk of the building.

The window rattles; Sylphos staggers forward and then whips around. The cell station breathes thick, black smoke through a gaping hole.

"Oh my god." Flaere has a hand over his mouth.

"Jun's in there!" I scream it this time, pushing past Sylphos to the window. My heart pounds. Hand over hand on the glass until I reach the end, then I dart to the next one like this one is just faulty or something and everything's fine! Everything has to be fine! Sylphos stares at the station in horror, saying nothing. What is wrong with him, doesn't he realize - " Jun's in there! "

He turns to the radio. "We've lost all contact with Gamma team."  

I grab it and yell, "Lost contact? What the hell do you mean by 'lost contact'? "

"All their comms just went dead, they dropped off the grid-" I can't listen to this anymore. I don't need fucking comms, because I'm standing right here . I'll go find Jun myself.

"Come on, we gotta go!" I yell to the others. I'm already halfway down the hall when I realize Sylphos isn't following. "What are you doing, why are you just standing there?" I demand.

"Don't you get it?" Sylphos clenches a fist. His expression is a mixture of pain and anger. "It was Jun. Jun compromised the mission."

I turn around fully. "What did you just say?"

"All their comms went dead? Just like that? All at the same time? That has Jun written all over it."

"That's. Not. True ." I jab a finger in his direction. "And you know why? Because Jun wouldn't betray us like that."

"Oh come on, Gunner." Sylphos lets out a small snort and rolls his eyes. "He would sell his grandfather for a fifth of vodka."

"If you really believe that, then you don't know him the way I do."

"Yeah? And what about the bombs, Gunner? You think vampires just walk around with pipe bombs in their pockets? Who told them where to plant those? That was no random attack; that wasn't dumb fucking luck, that was planned! They knew our plan ahead of time and they took us out. "

I falter but I won't back down. "I don't know... But it couldn't have been Jun." The first thing that comes to mind when I think of Jun is a thin man sheathed delicately in a blazer and then stuffed to bursting with secrets - but there's a new image that comes in right from behind: the way his hair looked in that messy ponytail as he put his hands to the steering wheel. The way he laughs at my jokes - you know, sometimes, if it's a good one. He's got standards, okay? The comforting weight of my baton restored to my side. Sylphos had a chance to see all those things but he chose not to. He just doesn't know Jun, but I do .

"You're delusional."

"This is exactly what you did to Snow," I accuse, "You were ready to throw him out like garbage! You didn't even give him a chance."

"I've handed out too many chances," he says, cold.

"Is this because of what happened last night?" Instant silence. Flaere lifts his face at that, glancing rapidly between us.

Sylphos finally says, "What you two did was unforgivable. But I would never let that - not even that - endanger the mission."

A voice issues through Sylphos' radio: "Sergeant, we're in position, where are you?" He picks up the radio; it hovers inches from his lips.

"Sylphos," I make a last-moment gambit to change his mind, "Jun could be in trouble."

He speaks, but not to me, "I'll be right there." Sylphos tucks the radio back into its holster. My brow furrows but I don't say anything else because I'm done reasoning with unfeeling brick walls. Fuck him. Fuck him; he doesn't care about anyone other than himself. So tell me something I don't know... I want to split up immediately, but I groan aloud when I realize we're going in the same direction. Sylphos grimaces. The awkwardness is like sandpaper between us as we power walk together down the hall and try not to make eye contact. Flaere trails waaaaayyy behind us.

A fork up ahead: one path goes in the direction of the cell station, the other, corridor B2 - oh thank god.

Before we split up, I get in a parting shot,

"Asshole."

"Idiot."

Chapter Text

"Sylphos! Sylphos! " Flaere was screaming. The danger in his eyes turned into horror. He flew to the Marine's side. It was like I was detached from the whole thing and watching it through a screen, isolated on the other side. Why does Flaere dote on him like that? It made my blood boil; I just wanted to yell at this stupid movie character: "What's the matter with you, dumbass? He hates you! I'm the one who gave up a chance with Mat-'

He shattered that fourth wall when he turned in my direction.

"What did you do to him?!" Flaere demanded.

"Nothing!" I insisted, "He came here all on his own!"

"What are you saying? He's in love with you?" I thought he was angry before but now he was seething. Of course. Rape the love of his life - grounds for a slap on the wrist. But treat him right and Flaere was prepared to put me underground.

As Flaere advanced, I slipped from the bed and held my hands up, desperate.

"Hey come on, let's talk about this-!" I was already running the numbers in my head - Flaere minus me makes me his ex- and Flaere plus Matteo are best friends, so I was probably greater than third place but lesser than first-place best friend... And how could I even begin to compare to the exponential value - the only one he cares about - that is Sylphos?

I choked when he grabbed my collar. Flaere whined; he sounded childish. "Rayyyyce, you know - you know that I love him. Friends don't steal friends' crushes, didn't anyone ever tell you that?" I mean I vaguely remembered someone saying something like that in high school, but I couldn't hear it very well over the sound of their boyfriend's moaning!

I talk fast, "I didn't steal anyone - Sylphos doesn't love me. He doesn't even like me. He- He has a condition: he needs sex or he can't focus on anything else-"

Yes, I could hear myself. To anyone else, that would have sounded like the most nonsensical bullshit excuse for shagging the neighbor's husband they'd ever heard - so obvious you couldn't even give the poor cuck the respect of coming up with a halfway-decent excuse. But Flaere's childishness came with enough naivety to believe me.

"He... Needs it?" he repeated.

"Mmhm, mmhm," I hummed through lips as tense as guitar strings.

"So he needed a dick, not your dick."

"I mean." I pouted, slightly offended. "It's good dick."

But Flaere wasn't listening to me anymore. He laid a hand over his face, laughing with relief. "Of course. Of course! " I allowed myself to join in carefully without taking my eyes off him for a second. "He needed you for... He's not in love with... I almost..." All of his worries dissolved into helpless giggles.

Then his bubbly laughter melted into a velvet chortle. Flaere parted his fingers to smile lazily at me through the gaps. I saw his eyes in the slits of his lids, sliding to meet mine.

"What are you trying to pull, Gunner?" asked Hunter. My smile faded.

I tried to run but hands caught me at the wrists. I'd say that my heart sank, but I hadn't really been expecting to get away in the first place! Hunter walked me backward, back to his chest as he locked my hands together.

I squeezed my eyes shut as he dipped his face into the crook of my neck. Oh man, oh man, oh please, oh man- "Do you lie to me out of fear... Or respect?" His hot breath tickled.

"B-Both?"

He chuckled knowingly. "Fear, then. But I would prefer neither. I am not your keeper. If you must wander to feed your lusts, then I will not be the yoke that holds you. But neither am I your concubine - don't you insult my intelligence. "

"But... We broke up," I reminded him.

He demanded, "Who?"

"What?"

"Who broke up?"

I spoke through a slow realization, "Me and... Flaere."

"Exactly," he whispered.

I searched for Flaere in Hunter's eyes. Because that sounded like the most nonsensical bullshit excuse for having his cake and eating it too that I'd ever heard in my life.

Hunter turned his attention to Sylphos; he traced a finger over the curve of the Marine's cheek. "On the other hand... You've laid out such a handsome feast, it seems a shame to let it go to waste," he mused. I almost laughed out loud- oh wait, I did.

Then I grinned at him. "Care to join me?"

I sensed movement - Sylphos' muscles tensing. He was coming back around. At first, he was lethargic, biting down on the gag. He remembered that. But when he moved his arms to take it off, they wouldn't go past the few inches of chain that joined his handcuffs. That was when he panicked; jolted right from the sheets. I held him back at the elbows - he stopped just short of headbutting Hunter, face to face with the psycho himself. Sylphos searched his eyes in a panic.

"You're awake. Good."

A horrified gaze followed Hunter as he lowered himself to the sheets. Hunter laid on his belly, both legs folded at the knees and crossed at the ankles in the air behind him. His hair was loose and disheveled where he bucked Flaere's grooming. Hunter had his jaw cradled in a palm, all propped up on an elbow, gorging himself on the sight of Sylphos' puffy and aroused slit. Man was I jealous...

"Olympia herself wept with envy," Hunter commented as he drew a finger through the slick. A sticky bead followed his path and rolled to the sheets. He marveled, "Persephone partook of the food of the dead. Eve, the apple. Both tempted by visions of forbidden fruit."

"Your turn." I held Sylphos apart while Hunter lowered himself to the place in between. Sylphos was so tense but he relaxed when I started making out with his neck from behind; even tilted his head slightly to give me more room to work. He moaned softly when Hunter started to eat him out. I could feel every tremble that flickered through the muscles in his legs. One of them traveled to me and turned into a shiver of excitement.

Hold the phone: Sylphos was behaving? I expected more of a fight. Sylphos was definitely strong enough to break my hold and snap down around Hunter's head, try to crush his skull like a crab cracker, but he didn't even try. Either A. He needed it that bad or the option so impossible I wasn't even sure I could dignify it with the letter... B. He wanted it.

Sylphos' climax climbed slowly then boiled over like molasses, trapping him in a sticky hold for several seconds. He slumped back against my chest, heaving softly. Hunter lifted his head but his eyes were on me while I held our panting plaything between us. He evaporated the breath from my lungs.

Hunter took Sylphos by the shoulders and turned him until he was facing me with knees on either side of my hips. I laid back on the bed, propped on my elbows because I didn't want to miss a single second... I watched while Hunter guided Sylphos onto my cock, sheathing it inch by quivering inch inside warm depths. I was all the way in; I gasped and bit my lip. Hunter's hands slipped over Sylphos' sides until he tightened on the Marine's hips and moved him up and down on me. Sylphos' breathing quickened. He knew this drill: he rode me faster, and just when he settled on a brisk tempo, Hunter shifted forward and positioned himself in line with Sylphos' ass a moment before he hit home again.

Dear god . I could see the shock on the Marine's face when he was suddenly riding two cocks instead of one. But then he squeezed his eyes shut, panting hard as the man behind him thrust. My mouth was open but it wasn't doing anything. My fingers were curled around the sheets but that was a disappointment compared to him - I reached forward and grabbed Sylphos' tight ass instead. Hunter's hands at the Marine's hips kept him skewered on both of us and moving at a quick clip.

Hunter's movements mirrored my own through the skin between our tunnels - and that barrier was thin - so I could feel every inch of the mercy Hunter refused to give him. He wasn't kidding, he came here to pig out. Hunter didn't give a crap about the desperate noises coming out of Sylphos, nah, he just reached around to harass the Marine's erection too. He rubbed Sylphos right through an intense climax that pooled in my ridges and kept on fucking going. Sylphos started locking up in response to the stimulation but hell if I wasn't going to make it in before last call. I closed my eyes and squeezed an orgasm through the tightening muscles of his muff.

Hunter outlasted both of us and finished inside of Sylphos. A dark clay chest landed on mine as Hunter shoved him off his dick like a used condom. Sylphos felt like one too, I'll bet - he cringed at the cum trails traveling down his thigh from both crucified holes.

"Filthy trollop..." Hunter growled down at him.

Sylphos slipped me a confused glance.

"Slut?" I shrugged. Then I grinned at Hunter. "Nice work, partner."

Hunter didn't answer; he held my gaze. I dunno, he just... Didn't seem satisfied . Before I knew it, he was grabbing my arm, lifting me from the tangle of limbs. The way he handled Sylphos was rough but he was in control. That composure went out the window the second he put his hands on me.

Sylphos slipped under us - relieved. He had a great view of what was going on overhead, which was Hunter's hands traveling all over my body. He manipulated me onto all fours like a cage over Sylphos. I couldn't help but grin, flushing at his touch. How fucking embarrassing ... Hunter found my lips and slipped his fingers in, going straight for that secret spot at my gums which he knew would coax my fangs out. I allowed them to slide out. Hunter dragged forcefully on the tip of one and sliced open his finger. The splash of metal and warmth in my mouth woke me up faster than a shot of espresso. Sylphos watched in horror as I bit the side of Hunter's hand, then his wrist, leaving a trail of bright red puncture wounds.

Hunter's arm was striped with blood before he shifted back, holding my hips steady to thrust.

"Hunter," I was moaning, bobbing on every beat. He was so fucking good. When I pried my eyes open, Sylphos was looking up at me in amazement. Blinking seductively, I lowered myself on top, planting my forearms on either side of his head. He jerked hard when I bit him - but I'd already retracted my fangs. He'd get a nice, dark hickey instead. For now.

I dragged the gag with my teeth and let it fall loose around his neck. Sylphos didn't say anything right away - all his complaints expired in the back of his throat - so I filled in the silence with a gasp that came from deep inside my own. My head hit the defined shelf of Sylphos' collarbone as I linked both arms under his strong shoulders - clinging to something, anything, for dear life. Now he had a great view of Hunter giving it to me from behind.

Sylphos muttered, incredulous, "You're a complete manwhore."

###

"Do you think he was right?"

I blink myself out of it, then turn to Flaere. "Huh?"

"Sylphos," he insists, "When he said that what we did was unforgivable; do you think he was right?"  

"Flaere, you wanna know a secret?" He nods, adorably anxious. I glance away and mutter under my breath, "Sylphos is always right."

And yet, I'm still walking, the gravel is still crunching under my boots as we get closer to the cell station. The station is a stumpy, concrete building like all the others in HQ, except it looks like it was overgrown with cables and generators that seem to have burst out of the ground to strangle the concrete. The futuristic stalk of the telecom antenna thrusts right through the top, stark against the sky and a backdrop of trees. We're right at the border of the forests of Decay.

I really expected more resistance. But there's not much besides a barbed wire fence around the perimeter - probably more to keep dumb and/or drunk soldiers from stumbling into something shocking rather than any actual evildoers - and the insect chirp coming from the forest. The chainlink entrance gapes open on a broken hinge. So Gamma team got their foot in the door - and then what happened?

"Where is everyone?" Flaere asks uneasily.

Dead. I narrow my eyes at that unwanted thought. Me to me: Not helping right now.

"I don't have a good feeling about this," Flaere is whispering, "Maybe we should go back o-or wait for backup."

"Oh sure, we can go back, Flaere. Once I've shaken hands with Jun's corpse. Now come on." The barbed wire squeals as I push it aside.

A rectangle of light opens into the darkness of the base station. I poke my head through, glance from side to side - nothing so far - and then allow the rest of myself to slip in. We're greeted by a dimly-lit, industrial room. The metal flooring is criss-crossed with tread, the walls stripped down to bare concrete. The most color in the room is in the form of bundles of wires snaking along the walls - they seem to start nowhere and go nowhere; there's no way they actually connect anything.

I'm already a little on-edge so when my radio crackles, I almost pull on my itchy trigger finger. "Rayce... Rayce, thank god you're here." That voice is unmistakable: it's Jun, but there's an unfamiliar terror in his voice. "You have to come quickly- Please, I need your help-"

Must... Resist... Urge to trade my brain for a suit of shining armor! "Jun... Stop. Just stop for a second. Why are you doing this?"

"I-I don't- What are you talking about?"

"Sylphos thinks you're the one who compromised the mission." I take a deep breath. "And I believe him."

"...But you came anyway?"

"I believe him, Jun, but I believe in you." When did I turn into a fucking preacher...

Silence. Abruptly, an ominous red light switches on to illuminate an elevator in the middle of the room. It literally looks like a cage attached to a pulley. I swallow hard. The doors to the elevator shudder open.

"Get in," Jun commands, "And come alone."

"Rayce-!" Flaere is squeezing my sleeve; I don't have to follow his pointing finger to find the humanoid shape heaped in the corner of the elevator.

I hold my rifle tighter. "Hey, uh... Buddy? You don't look too good, you alright in there?" He isn't moving and the front of his uniform is soaked in blood. "Oh you're dead, okay, got it."  

"Please don't talk to the dead man; it creeps me out..." Flaere moans.

I mutter, "Then why are you talking to me?"

The bars of the elevator doors cut Flaere's expression into worried stripes as they slide shut behind me. He holds them. "Rayce, what if something happens?"

"It's going to be alright; I just want to talk" When I reach out to touch the panel, I see that the button is already selected for me. 'Control Room'. Flaere has to step back when it starts to move; I hold his gaze until the elevator seals off my view in an enclosed shaft.

Apparently, dead guys aren't great at making conversation; who knew? I slide my partner a sideways glance. His head is slumped forward on his chest and it really doesn't help that the only light in here is the cheap, red-light horror movie atmosphere. Morbid curiosity makes me touch the muzzle of my rifle to the side of the dead guy's head and push gently. It falls to the other shoulder with a squishy sound, releasing a froth of partially coagulated blood to join the stains at his shirt. Oh my god - I recoil from the sight of his ripped up neck, like raw hamburger. That's not a bullet hole. That's a vampire bite. Awful feelings dig their claws into the back of my neck.

Sudden light. I sweep my rifle at the bars of the elevator, but we've just pulled into the control room. A complex control panel distracts me with a hundred blinking indicators and spinning gauges - how does anyone work here day in and day out without breaking down and hurling themselves through the observation window- that's when I find Jun's silhouette framed in the window. He can make a swivel chair look like a throne, sitting pretty with a hand crowning each armrest. Is that what you need so badly? Power? Control?

I pace right up to him and spin the chain around. "Jun-" The words catch in my throat. Because from behind, he looked poised in that chair like an evil genius... But from this angle, I can see the loops of rope around his torso, wrists and ankles that bind him to it as a hostage. Who- Jun meets my eyes frantically.

He shrieks, "Rayce, behind you!" Oh shit- I whip around too late as a colossal dark shape closes over me. Strong arms trap me in an unbreakable embrace. I hear the clatter of my rifle falling to the floor. My unknown attacker wrangles my arms before I can get to my baton and wrenches both behind my back.

"Who the hell are you? Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?!"

"My son." Will the real evil genius please stand up? Vex turns visible, standing between me and the control panel.

"Vex." I tighten my jaw. Vex is here. Vex is not supposed to be here - wait, is he? I've lost track.

The silver-haired vampire scans me up and down. "Look what all this ridiculous fighting has done to you..." he sighs before turning toward Jun. "You served your purpose," says Vex. Bracing a boot against the chair, he gives it a gently rolling send-off and takes his place at the panel. One of his vampire soldiers joins him. It's a whole fucking reunion in here. Killerwatt sticks out like a sore thumb in his crinkly silver suit sealed off from the outside world with thick gloves and a bulbous helmet.

"So you're the one who wiped Gamma Team off the face of the Earth..." Killerwatt's round helmet turns in my direction but I only see myself reflected in the dark visor. Well, myself and the hulking vampire holding me still. Without answering, Killerwatt turns back to Vex.

When he speaks, he sounds like he's speaking through a thick glass aquarium, "I will prepare your transmission for broadcast, Captain."

"What are you doing here?" I demand.  

Vex explains, "As it turns out, our plans are not so different. You and I are fighting for exactly the same thing."

"You killed soldiers!" I argue, "They were fighting for their own freedom; they were just victims!"

"You don't agree with my method, although it is fair. I gave every man in this building a choice, Rayce."

"Was it the same one you gave me and my brother?" I ask him. Vex pauses to glance at me out of the corner of red eyes. He smiles like he's fondly remembering a family vacation. I guess that's all it was to him anyway.

"He was the only one to take my offer," Vex goes on, nodding at Jun. "I suppose you thought you were being clever." The violet-haired engineer doesn't answer. "It won't matter soon enough."

A door to the left opens up to allow a tall, red-headed vampire to sidle into the control room. He has his helmet tucked against a gorgeous hip, which he cocks as he comes to a stop at Vex's side. His rapier still hangs at his belt. If Killerwatt stuck out like a sore thumb, this guy wheedles himself into your brain like a thorn dripping sweet, sweet poison... Fuck , have I mentioned he's hot?

"We are running out of time. Reinforcements have arrived; and an old... Friend. Shall I engage?"

"That won't be necessary, Apex." Vex sounds distracted. "We're just about done."

"What a pity." Apex lifts his bloodied gauntlet and absentmindedly drags his tongue along the side. His red eyes slide over to me. Oh, he saw me before but he pretended not to. "You found the boy."

"Behave yourself." A warning.

"Zut." Apex pushes a sleepy-looking pout to his lips.

"You can take it from here," Vex tells Killerwatt. He faces me again. "Now. Are you alright?"

I pull away from the caress he draws along the side of my face. "No, I'm not alright! Tell your thug to let go of me and untie Jun while you're at it!"

"Tch, so demanding , so ungrateful... When did you become such a brat?"

"Yeah, with such stellar parenting, you'd think I would have turned out better," I say, sarcastic.

Vex chuckles at that. "You sound more and more like your father every day."
"That's not a compliment."

"It wasn't meant to be." Vex brushes debris from my military vest; his gaze turns melancholy. "But no, your father didn't allow me the honor of screwing you up - he managed that all by himself."

And then he literally tried to screw me - but I don't bring that up - yeesh .

"That must be why you are so, so very much like him... Only thinking in short terms. Obsessed with the little things... Besotted with individuals. I always told your father he needed to have a more open mind. To step back and look at the big picture." Vex holds my face and squeezes with a grip made of ice. "Tell me something. Why do you still fight?"

The hell kind of question is that? "Well maybe he only thought about the short term, but you haven't even been paying attention! " I jerk against the burly vampire holding me. "The whole fucking army has just been commandeered by a vampire with the dress sense of a Harm's Way drag queen! My brother sold human livestock to the Sanguine Council! We've been enslaved and beaten and tortured and raped and broken ..." My voice breaks pretty conveniently. "My brother is dead, and I'm the one who killed him."

Vex looks at me with wide red eyes. "You... You what?"

And that expression is the most sickly satisfying thing to come out of all of this. I steady my voice to say more clearly, "Yeah that's right, I shot Cisco. Where were you, huh? If you're my dad or whatever... You left us to rot in that hellhole for years-" He blinks. So do I when I realize what I said. I correct myself- " Weeks. And then you have the nerve to show up and try to whisk me away like you're some kind of superhero?"

"Rayce," he begins.

"So where were you, Waldo?" I demand again. "Hiding in a big picture somewhere?"

Vex's permanent pout hangs slightly ajar.

Killerwatt interrupts, "Captain, your message is ready for transmission-"

"SHUT UP, NIKKI!" Vex whips around like a tornado. The smaller vampire falls silent but I can't see his face through his thick helmet. Oooooh, he just outed him or whatever. Vex gathers information from the way his teammates are looking at him. He draws himself up taller and straightens a section of clothing. "Killerwatt," he corrects in a level tone, "Yes, please execute protocol."

The vampire wordlessly follows orders, dancing light fingers over the control panel. Vex continues, "We've wasted enough time here. And Rayce," He looks at me. "I am not the one who dragged you into this worthless war - that was my dear old friends Thade, Howitzer and John. I can assure you that they may have aged 20 years, but they grew not a single one."

"I'm not fighting for them..." I mutter under my breath. Jun hears it as a cue. As he lifts his face, that purple silk curtain parts to let a honey brown eye peer through.

"It's done, Captain," reports Killerwatt.

"Excellent. We have twenty minutes to evacuate."

"Evacuate?" I interject, "Why, what's going on?"

Vex doesn't answer, saying instead, "Bulletproof."

The big vampire holding me - Bulletproof - abruptly tosses me over his shoulder like a sack of flour. They're just going to carry me off.

"No!" I struggle; Jun wriggles in his chair. " Jun! "

"Rayce-" he gasps. The door shuts between us.  

"So much pointless fighting," Vex bemoans as the small team of vampires moves through the halls. The cell station is a multi-layered labyrinth of wire catwalks connecting platforms of electrical equipment. Vex knows exactly where to go. "All these wasted lives." He gently punts the limp arm of a corpse out of his way. "Things can be better, you'll see, Rayce. When you are at my side - where you belong - you will see."

I struggle for freedom but Bulletproof easily holds me steady with just one muscular arm wrapped around my waist. So I argue with Vex instead, "I'm not going with you!"

"Stop being difficult."

"Difficult?! You're trying to kill all my friends!"

"Yes, well I never approved of your friends," he snaps.

"They're my friends, not yours!"

"You're coming with me and that's final!"

" I hate you! "

"You don't mean that." Vex looks wounded and for a second I feel the irrational instinct to apologize. I catch myself.

"You can't be serious right now. No. We're not doing this," I groan.

"I am extremely serious, young man." The coy twist of his lips tells me that Vex knows exactly what he's doing and it makes me flush with embarrassment.

"You know," I mutter, "For a loving father, you've had to kidnap your own children a lot."

This tender father-son moment is interrupted by a gunshot. A bullet lodges itself in my captor's head, but Bulletproof doesn't even stagger. My mouth drops open. I guess they weren't kidding with that nickname. He turns his helmet toward the source while Apex comments, "Sniper." At the same time, my radio rumbles at me,

"Where do you think you're going, Princess Peach? This war isn't over yet." I can hear the smirk in his tone; I rear up on Bulletproof's shoulder as I grab my radio, excited.

" Sylphos! " I yell into it, "You came! I knew you'd..."

"A'right, save the fangirling. And get down, you're in my shot."  

"Take cover!" Vex shouts - I guess the rest of them are squishier than their larger teammate. The other vamps take cover behind electrical equipment as another sniper round whizzes over our heads. Vex peers around a corner and pulls back quickly before he takes a bullet to the skull. Swearing, he turns invisible.

Only burning red eyes are visible as Vex dictates, "We don't have time to play hawk and field mouse... Apex! Go keep him busy."

"D'accord, Capitaine." Apex flexes pink wings before taking off. I see him dodging and weaving as he climbs, drawing a rapier.

"Be careful!" I warn Sylphos through the radio. "It's the pointy one from before!"

"Don't worry," he growls, "I've been saving something special just for him..."

"Follow me!" Vex orders. "And someone take that away from him!" Killerwatt does a little bunny hop on the way past to snatch the radio from my grasp.

"Yoink."

"Hey!"

Killerwatt is still holding my radio when it speaks again, "You should really put that down. It's more trouble than it's worth." Jun; he must have gotten free somehow!

"How many times must I purge that bug from my system," grumbles Vex. He accepts the radio from Killerwatt, "You seem to be going to an awful lot of trouble for him anyway."

"He's trouble but he's OUR trouble."

The vampires stop when a soldier cuts into the corridor in front of us.

"I found them!" Flaere shouts into his radio.

"This is your attempt to intimidate me?" Vex chuckles. "An obsolete supersoldier?"

Flaere takes a deep breath. "I'm not obsolete."

"We'll just see about that. Bulletproof."

At his command, Bulletproof unceremoniously rolls me off his shoulder - and he was tall , so I really wish I hadn't landed on my face... I roll over to see Bulletproof cracking his knuckles as he advances. When he speaks, his voice sounds garbled as if he's talking through the rolling barrel of a cement mixer, "I hate looking at your face, I wanna smash it."

The terror in Flaere's eyes grows. It clicks - Bulletproof is the one who took Flaere down at Mistfall.

"You tried that already... And I'm still here!" Flaere launches punches at Bulletproof like he's racking up points for a special combo, but the vampire isn't fazed. That huge, muscular arm locks and loads for a punch. Grey eyes widen. Flaere dives out of the way into a roll and springs up at his side.

Letting out a cry, Flaere unfurls a roundhouse at rock-hard obliques, skips back and aims a crushing thrust kick at the back of Bulletproof's knee. Nothing fucking doing; Flaere's just buzzing like an annoying gnat.

Flaere looks up as Bulletproof revolves languidly. "All show, no meat," the vampire's distorted taunt. Flaere has one more trick up his sleeve. Darting out of range of another punch, he scampers behind an electrical console and shoves it over. Zzzzzap! The disconnected wires complain as the whole thing comes down with a screeching clash of metal. For a second, the large shape trapped under the console doesn't move. My heart bobs. And then so does the debris.

Bulletproof shoulders off the console like a soggy coat, but a sharp edge tears open a patch of his uniform and reveals skin. I'm using that term loosely. It's really a hard silver surface: more like body armor than his actual body armor... Bulletproof brushes himself off and glances up at a terrified Flaere.

"Oh, it is on."

I try to get to him but Vex restrains me at the wrist. "Flaere, move! " I yell instead.

He doesn't. Flaere just lets out a choked noise when the vampire grips him by the throat and hurls him into another piece of equipment. Shattering glass rains down on his hunter green jacket and settles in his carrot spirals of hair. Bulletproof grabs him by the front of the jacket before he can recover, slamming him against the jagged console again. Flaere sucks in air and spits out pain. His legs kick and scrape against the indestructible vampire.

Vex is enjoying this. "Tres mignon..." he muses, "Your feet don't even touch the ground; what were they thinking? It's a wonder you were even produced."

"Shut up..." Flaere whimpers, "I can fight... I can still fight!" Bulletproof disagrees. He throws Flaere at the floor where he scrapes himself together again, wincing as he gets to his feet. He lets his bandaged hand dangle partially hidden behind him.

"I-I'm not obsolete," he says it out loud but he's trying to convince himself. "I'm not obsolete, I'm not obsolete, I'm not obsolete-" Higher-pitched and quicker the closer his opponent gets. Then shutting off completely as Bulletproof stops directly in front of Flaere.  

"You ignorant slut."

The punch sends Flaere flying through the air like a ragdoll.

" Flaere! " I break Vex's hold and start running. Bulletproof is already on the move again - not so fast! I lasso Bulletproof's ankle with my baton and dig my heels in. Which was a lot of work for no reason because he's going exactly as fast as before, just dragging me along for the ride now... "Flaere, get up!" I yell at the crumpled pile of my friend. He twitches weakly.

Bulletproof drones, "I am better than you have ever been or ever will be." And Flaere curls up into a defeated ball.

"Don't listen to him!" I gasp out, "Flaere - I don't even know what it means - but you aren't obsolete!"

"It means I'm just a mistake." Flaere mopes and grovels. "And all I do is make more mistakes."

"That isn't true," I grunt through clenched teeth. My boots are slipping and sliding on the tread of the floor.

"What about what we did to Sylphos?"

I pause.

"It was unforgivable."

"Flaere-" I search my brain for something convincing to say, but all I find is the awful truth, dammit. "I know I said it was a mistake, but it doesn't have to be. The only thing more unforgivable than what we did is running away from it." Flaere turns his face to look at me through a wilted ponytail. "If it really was you, then it couldn't have been a mistake... Fuck , I hope to hell that it was you." I twist the dial on my baton until the electric discharge warps purple.

Finally. A reaction . Bulletproof slows in the paralyzing grip of electricity. He drops to one knee.

"Timberrrr!" I grin. But my smile fades with the electric glow. The highest setting snacked on the battery like a handful of bugles. Pretty soon, my baton is dead and we're up next.

But the vampire stays on a knee. I hear strange, distorted noises like a glitchy walkie talkie or a record scratching back and forth.

Bulletproof claws at his chest as random garbled nonsense spews out: "I am better than you have ever beennnnnnzzzz- Hi, I'm Date Mike, nice to meet me- you ignorant slut." ...Should I be offended or confused or both? Bulletproof pounds at his chest. "Oh it is on-it is on-it is on-" Now his voice is stuck on repeat. Finally, he declares, "I am Beyonce, always," before tearing out a section of his chest armor and hurling it ten feet away from him. He buries his face in his hands in utter humiliation. O-kayyyyyy... Neither Flaere or I know what to make of what we just witnessed as we exchange looks. I'm the only one brave enough to inch toward the chest piece. I jump a bit when it coughs up an old disc.

"This says..." I read the Sharpie writing: "Best 'The Office' quotes of all time."

The huge vampire lets out a moan. "I'm sorry; oh I'm so sorry... I was so mean to you..." He sounds like a completely different person now. A much lamer person, I might add.

"Are you kidding me with this right now?" I demand.

Vex brings his palm up to his face.

We're distracted from... whatever this is ...  by a scream. I look up to see the pink-winged form of Apex falling out of the air.

"Apex!" The lanky vampire can't even respond, shaking from head to toe. His uniform is in rags and his punctured wings let the air through. There's no way he's flying on those anytime soon.

"Frag grenade," Killerwatt comments.

The heavy footsteps on the shuddering catwalk above us claim the credit. Sylphos is walking this way and damn does he look proud of himself: not a scratch on him and he's swinging a grenade pin around his finger. It hits the tiles where he flicked it - plink! I help Flaere up just as Sylphos reaches a point on the catwalk above us. He kneels, directing the rifle in the vampires' direction.

"Curtain call already?" Jun joins us out of the blue and takes his place next to me. He draws silky hair over his shoulder like a violet scarf. "Get my best side."

I give him the quick up-and-down- "You gotta be more specific," I flirt with his ego.

Meanwhile, the vampires regroup. Bulletproof gathers up the injured form of Apex.

"You..." Vex snarls. "All of you, you're just prolonging the inevitable... You have to know that any victory you claw from the jaws of defeat here are all hollow in the end and yet..." His furious expression softens before it really even peaks. "You remind me of us... Such a long time ago."

"You lived long enough to become the supervillain of your own comic book, Vex," I tell him.

"Is that so?" He flashes me an ironic half-grin. "Then what do you call your father?"

"Dead."

The vampires beat a retreat in the opposite direction.

"Cowards!" Sylphos calls after them as he hops the railing and sticks the landing on our level. He glances sideways at Jun who is staring impassively ahead. Sylphos scratches the back of his head.

"Hey uh, Jun?"

"Hm?"

"I'm only going to say this once, so listen up."

Jun hinges forward at the hips slightly to look at the Marine, but that just makes him look away. "I was wrong about you," Sylphos gets the words out. "I thought you were a traitor."

"Well." Jun straightens up again with a small clearing of his throat. "I can't fault you for coming to that conclusion. There isn't much space for a brain in that muscle-head of yours." But he's smiling as he says it.

"Ramen boy," Sylphos smirks back.

Flaere leans against me for support. "Those vampires were in a big hurry to get out of here..."

"Probably because they rigged the building to blow," Jun deadpans. We all look at him. He shrugs. "What? It never came up."

"We're almost to the exit - this way." Jun directs us. I'm panting for air, making sure Flaere is keeping up.

"There it is!" I cry before we burst through to sweet, sweet fresh air! Blinding light! I can barely see but we're out! Then an impact like a sharp punch to the gut knocks me flat on my back.

I'm on the dusty ground, but I'm not getting back up anytime soon, losing mobility by the second as a strange, sticky substance balloons over my limbs. A horrible tide of bubbling pink tar presses down on my chest, pinning me to the floor as it inches toward my face - for a horrible moment I think it's going to keep going and seal my head in a suffocating pink coffin. I pull my chin up, stretching my neck as far as it will go... But it stops. A gasp of relief escapes me.

The loudest thing in my head right now is my own rapid breathing. Twisting my head around, I see Flaere trapped in the doorframe; he was right behind me. Sylphos' sticky pink prison is against the wall of the cell station. His arm is extended and his rifle lies on the ground where it probably fell from his grip. He tried - but our attacker was quicker on the draw.

And then I see shoes. Leather Oxford shoes. Trotting by my head - unimpeded - like they're sashaying down their own personal catwalk. Jun walks - keeps walking - walks all the way away from us and into the company of slavers. A bushy hand lands on the engineer's thin shoulder.

John claps him on the shoulder a few times.

"That's some ripper work, sheila!" he exclaims.

"No, oh come on..." I say between trembling lips.

Sylphos is still struggling valiantly. It must be a Marine thing - refusing to give up even when it's already over. The radio is yelling at him.

"Sylphos, what's going on?! Where are you? I'm sending backup!" The sound of Thade's voice draws John closer. Sylphos curls a lip as John takes the radio. "Sylphos, please respond..."

John holds down the talk button. "Sorry, he's in a jam right now."

"Dory-" A pause before Thade continues, "Dory, whatever you're planning to do..."

"Come on mate, a little faith - I'm a nice guy." John's grin is unpleasant. Sylphos wrinkles his nose, pulling away as John winds a blue curl of hair around his dry and cracked finger. "Oh this one'll do well on the strip mines..."

"John!"

"OH, I know! We'll do a choose yer own venture kind of thing!" He sounds enthusiastic. "Your choice: do I sell him to a resource mine out in the Null, break him down for parts - you wouldn't believe what I can get for a good liver right about now -" Wow, John's fantasies for Sylphos are way different from mine. "Or -" he goes on, "Do I shoot him right between the eyes. Right here. Right now." The revolver whines as John cocks it. He presses it to Sylphos' forehead as the Marine's breaths quicken through the grate of his clenched teeth.

"Dory, you don't have to do this." Even when Thade is begging, he doesn't sound like it. He's still a tower of authority, negotiating through the radio, "I know you're mad at me, but don't take it out on him."

John is staring at Sylphos. Finally, he says, "That's funny, Thade. You always told me you didn't want any children."  

"He's not-"

"Oh really?!" John suddenly gets louder, "Well if that's the case then what's to stop me killing him, eh?" He pushes the revolver until blue hair touches the concrete. "If he's nothing to you- If he means nothing to you, then maybe he should just put a bullet in his fucking head!" Veering into the nonsensical- "Or drive his skimmer off a sandstone cliff-"

"John, this isn't about you!"

"It's never bloody about me, is it!" John's eyes get dangerous. The sound of a gunshot shatters the air and makes my whole body shake.

"Sylphos!" But that sound is somehow worse because it's something that you never think you're gonna hear. Something you never should hear: the tortured gasp through the radio. Thade's sobbing. Every authoritative tone in his voice crumbling because that tower was made of sand all along. It sounds wrong, oh god, it sinks like a stone in my stomach. John hears it too, eyes darting back and forth - fuck, what have I done? - Written all over his face. It goes on for too long before Thade remembers to take his thumb off the talk button. The audio cuts out abruptly.  

Sylphos blinks a few times. The bullet is lodged in the wall next to his head, diverted at the last possible moment. He's disoriented but otherwise unharmed. He flinches from the radio that John thrusts near his face.

"Say something to him," John pleads. "Tell him you're 'right, please-" He pushes the button for him.

Sylphos speaks, hesitant, "Sergeant? Th-This is Gunnery Sergeant Sterling. I-It's me. I'm okay."

"Sylphos..." Is all Thade manages to heave up.

John holds the radio near his own face again. He says, "I don't want to do this anymore. Thade... I just want you and Howie."

"Then turn that junkheap skimmer of yours around and come home, you idiot."

He can't even help the massive grin that cuts across his face and spills chuckles everywhere. "Crikey, mate... Why didn't you say that twenty years ago?"

He turns around but he doesn't get a single step more.

"John? John, what was that?!" But he can't answer Thade because he's on his back on the ground, blinking incredulously at the sky. John has his hand closed over the bullet hole in his stomach. Red soaks the plaid of his shirt. A dark pool stretches toward the dropped radio and folds around the corner. As the slaver who shot him lowers the smoking gun, I see a mustard yellow bandana fluttering from his bicep.

"Sorry, old man, looks like retirement came early," says Caiman as he pulls off his helmet. He shakes loose a ponytail of black and yellow dreads and glances at Jun. "You were right. He didn't have the balls to see it through."

"I'm always right." Jun observes the man bleeding out on the ground with detachment. "The toughest slaver in the Null... It's just too bad he grew a heart."

"Just another pawn to you. Huh?" It was Sylphos who spoke.

Jun lifts his gaze. "I'm only going to say this once, so listen up," he says. "You were right about me." The Marine doesn't look surprised. Just mad. "The legendary Marine sniper, Sylphos Sterling," Jun introduces him to Caiman. Then Flaere, "Dangerous loose cannon, Flaere Hunter." He hovers on me longer than the others. "And Rayce. The last Gunner." Blinks. Back to Caiman with both hands clasped behind his back. "Take out these three and you've won half the war."

Caiman suddenly grabs Jun by the jaw, forcing him to unfold and stagger forward, so close now that when Caiman speaks, their lips brush, "And what about you? Traitor technician, Jun Aoki? God, you fucked these guys over... I don't think I can trust you."

"Spoiler alert," I mumble.

Jun slips me a sideways glare and then hisses at Caiman. "It doesn't matter what a downstream bottomfeeder thinks. I only answer to the commander."

Caiman seizes both of Jun's wrists.

"Let go of me- let go!" Jun lets out a noise of complaint - then a louder one, a shriek.

"You're feisty. I like it." Caiman grins. He dishes out an open-handed slap and then forces his lips on Jun. The engineer tightens his fingers around the slaver's wrist as he gropes Jun's generous ass.

Hey, who's up for a little choose your own adventure?

A. Save Jun

B. Fuck Jun

Good pick.

Jun didn't need me anyway. He knees Caiman in the groin then gasps out loud when Caiman pulls away, cursing, "Son of a bitch-" Jun lands hard on the dusty ground where Caiman tossed him. A pair of slavers haul him back up under the arms; he fumes in their hold, fists clenched.

"Priss," spits Caiman. "I'll teach you some respect. But first..." He looks so excited as he raises his pistol again; this scumbag just can't wait to empty it and of course, he goes for me first - without Dory reining him in, he's hunting big game now. I narrow my eyes at the mouth of his gun. But his aim is a little thrown off by the explosion that rocks the cell station. Oh right, I almost completely forgot that the whole cell station was rigged to blow. Fuck it, sure, that might as well happen too.

Suddenly, the antenna is folding in on itself like origami - groaning metal bends and rivets pop - then the walls are crumbling too. A cloud of dust rolls toward us; I hold my breath. Actual chunks of the building follow, striking the ground and sending slavers scattering. We're playing tetris now. In the confusion, I hear voices. "Somebody get the prisoners!" Well, I'm not exactly going anywhere. I cough.

A shape emerges through the haze to collect: but it isn't a slaver.

"Flaere?" I breathe in disbelief. I can't see anything beyond his gaunt face and the dust whipping at his hair. Wordless, he falls over me, tearing off hunks of the pink sealant gumming up my limbs. Son of a bitch - he was strong enough to get free; he was just waiting for the right moment - and now he's wasting it!

"Wh-What are you doing - Go get Sylphos." He isn't listening. I start to struggle. "Flaere, you have to - you have to save Sylphos, what are you- Flaere! There isn't enough time-!" A hand closes aggressively over my mouth. Carrot orange hair hangs in loose ringlets around his neck.

"They were a mistake," Hunter whispers, "But we aren't."

Chapter Text

I go tumbling over the floor where Hunter unloaded me. The second I have some semblance of control over my momentum, I use it to get on my feet again and throw myself at the door, screaming, "We have to go back! We have to go back for him! " Hunter is in the way. He holds my wrists while we struggle. I'm being generous to myself: it's not much of one.

"There's nothing to go back for. If they haven't killed him, they've captured him."

"That's what you think! That's what you want , isn't it? You want him dead! "

Hunter snarls, "If I wanted him dead, I'd have cut out the middleman! I did what I had to-" Hunter suddenly clutches his head, buckling as if he just took a punch in the gut. "Shut up... Shut up!" Oh great, now I have to wait my turn to yell at Hunter... "You're a goddamn fool, Flaere! I did this for you; I do everything for you ..." He pipes the words through a hiss. Then abruptly whips around as if to face the other half of him, not that there's anyone actually there. "I already know!" he snaps, "I already know you hate me, you ungrateful wretch! "

Quick! While the madman's barking at the wall! I make a dash for the exit, but it's shortlived. Hunter lashed out, distracted, landing a brutal dismissal of a punch across my face. I hit the floor again, but this time I can't lift the throbbing weight of my own head. Groaning, I roll onto my side into a puddle of blood. Oh no wait, I made the puddle of blood - that's mine - courtesy of the trickle of red passing between my lips. Lethargic, I watch the pool consume a white tile.

"Rayce-" A shadow consumes it faster, diving to swallow me whole: an arm supporting the backs of my knees, another one cradling my shoulders, a hand to prop my head upright.

"No..." I murmur, collecting strength. Starting to put up a fight. "Get off me!" I roll from his arms to land on my chest, clawing for inches on the tiles. Hunter adjusts his approach. Strong hands latch around my wrists, aggressive this time, wrestling me onto my back and holding me down.

"Get away from me!" I yell at him. "You're a monster!"

Hunter is whispering feverishly near my face- "I didn't create this mess. Call me whatever you want - call me a liar, call me a murderer, call me mad but I am not a rapist ."

"I know a lot of people who would disagree with you!" I spit, "Two whole people to be exact!"

"I said it wasn't ME! " His bellow echoes in my skull.

I can barely even hear myself over it, shuddering the words, "It wasn't me either... It wasn't... "

The restraining holds on my wrists loosen, then release completely. As Hunter retreats, frigid air fills the gap between us. Why is it so cold in here? Wincing, I get to my feet and instinctively wrap my arms around myself. We're in the cold storage room. A gallery of death dangles all around us in the form of pale pink and red cuts of meat marbled white, stark against the steel walls.

At least one of those things makes me shiver involuntarily.

"Are you cold?"

"Don't." I tug a shoulder sharply out of his grasp. "You should have saved him. You always pick him anyway."

"Not me."

I'm fucking sick and tired of this; this guy's something else. One second we're obsessively compulsively, can't-keep-our-hands-off-each-other lovers, and the literal next second we're demoted to awkward second-place-best-friends who've unfortunately seen each other naked and it's all because he can't make up his mind. On what he wants - who he wants -  how could he; he doesn't even know who he is!

"Sure," I roll my eyes. "Flaere did it, Hunter did it, Flaere did it, Hunter did it- we're not in kindergarten anymore - you can't just dick around and then blame everything on an imaginary friend! Hey Hunter, I'm about to blow your mind: you and Flaere? You're the same person!" I jab a finger in his chest. "You. Don't. Exist ."

You don't tell a crazy person he's crazy - because he's too crazy to believe you. And if he does believe you, he isn't crazy. But Hunter isn't just crazy - oh no - he's so fucking past insane that he doubled all the way back around to grab insane's ass and now he's two separate crazy people both pretending to be sane. Does that make any sense? Well maybe I'm going insane! I brush past the stunned soldier on my way to the door. "I'm done with you, Flaere . Call me when you're finished playing make-believe."

"Finished." A bright flash of light enters the corner of my vision - I see the meat hook a moment before it pierces my shoulder.

I fucked up. I fucked up!

Hunter drags me while I scream, thrashing, "What is wrong with you?!" You know, I should really save my breath for questions I don't know the answer to... The butcher heaves and suddenly, I find myself dangling in the company of a pair of headless, flayed carcasses. And I thought the throatless wonder in the elevator was a poor conversationalist... Reaching up, I grab hold of the crossbar to take some of the pressure off my collarbone because I'm not convinced that my bodyweight won't rip it right through. Then again, as Hunter steps in front of me, I'm wondering if that's the worst possible outcome...

"Comfortable?"

"You know, just hangin' out," I strain the words through a tight throat.

"Good." Hunter languidly caresses a knife, teasing the point against a fingertip. "Maybe now you understand a single, minuscule fraction of how it feels to have no control of the very body you inhabit. To be a guest in your own flesh." He traces the knife lightly over the length of his palm, pausing at the wrist a moment too long before retreating with a sigh.

Hunter fingers the sleeve of his green jacket; cups the asstastic POP of his booty shorts and cringes deeply. "Clad in shabby attire that offends your senses... Eating foods which are not to your taste. Laying with men who are not to your taste." Hunter drags on the hair tie that holds his carrot-orange spirals in a ponytail. They cascade around his face as he fluffs them half-heartedly like throw pillows - making that house a home for his short stay. Hunter briefly scratches his jaw where I remember seeing stubble. Clean-shaven now. Flaere is always so quick to clean up after him.

He lets his arms fall to his sides. "I don't get to choose how to act, Rayce. Only how to react. Most days, I am at peace with this."

"So the meat hook, was that an action or a reaction? Asking for a friend..."

" Attraction ." His answer makes my breath catch; he holds my gaze, intense. "Some days, I peer through my prison bars and see something beautiful on the other side..." His steps slow for the kill as he closes in while my heartbeat does the opposite. He runs a hand over my body. A ragged breath escapes my lungs.

"Do you think I am unaware?" he asks, "I know I don't deserve things of beauty. But I take what I can - just enough to satisfy the hunger."

"Hunter..."

His eyes are round and focused - obsessed. "And yet I find myself craving it... Craving you incessantly." The butcher portions me out for the knife: racing fingers draw dotted lines on my skin, dividing me into cuts of meat. "I thought all I needed was one piece - yes - just one piece of you to warm this purgatory they call existence..." Then he touches his knife to the starting point just below my heart. "If that were all, I could gut you right here - cut out your liver and keep its company in my pocket."

I don't dare move while dread builds a brick wall in my throat, "Hunter please..."

"Are you afraid?" he asks, wearing a dangerous smile. "Miser. You'll simply grow it back." Turning around, he spreads his arms as if addressing an invisible audience. "Like Prometheus! Creator of man. Thief of fire. Forever chained in the Caucasus, to have his heart ripped out each morning, and grow one anew every eve."

"Liver."

"Hm?" Hunter glances over his shoulder.

I squirm on the hook. "You said it was his liver." A pause.

Hunter's arms flicker and fall. When he whirls around unexpectedly, his knife follows like the spinning blade of a blender, slicing me open. I scream . Don't want to look. I do not want to look.

I look.

Hey, my organs are not, in fact, in a heap on the floor... Blinking, astonished, I realize the cut, even though it's long, isn't even very deep. A thin red line from pelvis to opposite pec. That's a paper cut when it comes to Hunter. And yet he's staring at it like it's the worst thing he's ever done. I can name, like, three others. Off the top of my head.

"Why?" he asks, "Why is it then, that no other piece but your heart will do?"

My heart is pounding. I ask him again, slowly this time, "Why did you save me, Hunter?" He doesn't answer right away. "Hunter?"

"I love you."

Contrary to popular belief, you do get used to hearing it. 'I love you'. Of course the first time's rough, and I'm not just talking about popping the debate team captain's cherry in the back of a pickup truck while the bonfire party rages on in the background - I mean the morning after when he's looking at you, shirt unbuttoned, with his best 11th hour rebuttal face on and - instead of giving you a brutal takedown of the ethical implications of gene-editing in the context of sapient organism cloning, he has three words for you. Just three.

You drop things, you drop a lot of things. Your jaw, the pants you barely had back on yet, the aether blue needle - oh, and your stomach.

But you pick up quick. Flash forward to breakfast at the sticky coffee table in the living room and the peach-haired barista you'd been wearing down for a week - yes, you even had to read his shitty screenplay - before he finally put out is still trying to process all the things you did to him last night. He got it twisted when the output is those three little words. You flash him a big grin, "Thanks, babe!" and stamp a goodbye kiss on his cheek before cramming the rest of the donut in your mouth, shoving an arm into your jacket and leaving him open-mouthed on the couch as you head to the door because the prostitute you ordered is banging on it now, hollering and giggling too loud. He's wasted.

And it all crystallizes in the numbing cold of this freezer with Hunter staring up at me, the most terrifying contestant to ever stake that claim. A question hides in the fog of his grey eyes. Words knock at the back of my throat, then they start to pound - I swallow them like a gag reflex. It wasn't that hard. There were only four.

Hunter lowers his head slightly. "Do you think I am unaware?" he reminds himself, "I know those are not words that you can reciprocate."

"I want to."

He perks. Hunter captures my face in a hand snarling, "Don't you tempt me, Asmodeus!"

"Give me time! I just... I need time..." I gasp out.

When the agitated cloud of white breath clears I only see Hunter in his eyes.

"In the meantime..." I say, "You don't need a piece of me... I want you to have all of me."

Either those terms work for him - or he can't hold off either way He flays my pants from my legs, exposing them to the cold. I shiver, then flush with heat when Hunter strips down next. Holding my hip, he fits himself in, widening the place between my cheeks while I let out short, throaty noises that cut off before they really begin. He's halfway in now - I know from experience - when he hops up to grab hold of the bar and swings on it like a gymnast. H-Hey! My hips rock forward with his momentum, then he snaps his legs together, toes pointed, and plunges the rest of his length on the breathtaking backswing.

" Hunter! " I cry out.

I feel his legs folding possessively at my back as he locks eyes with me. "You're mine ." I make a desperate noise in reply. Hunter seals the deal: he starts to use the crossbar like a pull-up bar, ramming hard into me on the lifts.

Yours. I can't say it, but I can prove it. Trembling hands release the crossbar slowly until I'm being held up only by the meat hook. For a moment, it tugs painfully at my broken flesh, but Hunter shortens his thrusts to support me. I wrap my arms around his neck, face in a beige crook shaded by orange hair as my legs lock around pulsating hips.

Wrapped around Hunter like a trapeze partner, every powerful movement reverberates through my body: the pump of his shoulders guiding his shoulder blades as they slice beneath the sinews. He shreds me to pieces on a rippling core and stacks me back together slab by slab on the rigid countertop of his thighs - all of it funnels together to grind up my insides until I'm just helpless mincemeat on his cock, whimpering, "Give it to me, give it to me, give it to me-"

Something Vex said springs to mind - which is really not a habit I'd like to encourage... - 'Supersoldier' . He's wearing me out. The warmth of a climax gathers in my core as I squeeze both thighs hard against Hunter's waist. He takes it as a cue to speed through to the finish, pounding my prostate into brutal submission.

I hold it in as long as I can as if... "Don't leave me this time..." I beg him.

"I will stay by your side as long as I am able." I meet Hunter's gaze through the white smokescreen that our heated breathing created. He whispers, "But eventually, he'll break your heart."

"It's okay," I laugh, light-headed. "I'll just grow a new one."

Fuck, how long did we go at it? When did I fall asleep? Well, I'm waking up now, roused by a sharp, metallic scent. Blood pools at the base of Hunter's neck, above his clavicle. Yep. That'll do it. It brims before spilling over, making trails down his bare chest. Retracing its path, I find the shallow cut he left in his own neck. His way of brewing a fresh pot of coffee to help his vampire boyfriend get his strength back...

And hey, it works. I push his medium-length hair back; he isn't looking at me, glazed over as he stares into a distance further than this freezer contains. Curled up with him in the corner for warmth, I have my legs draped over his. Nestling in the crook of his neck, I lap at the thin line of the cut. Wait for it to bead with liquid before dragging my tongue to catch the drops, rinse and repeat.

He isn't talking to me, which means my brain is going to take me on the Overthinking Grand Tour of every word I said to him... Oh god, anything but that. My face feels hot already.

Fuck it, I'm just going to ask, "What are you thinking about?"

"Doesn't it seem so small..." he murmurs. The pressure of his head tilting against mine. "The scope of our problems against the full breadth of the universe? Human, vampire, or some combination thereof," He flicks my chin at that and I smile at his touch. "We are nothing, we are dust . None of our actions will withstand the test of infinity."

"Blabbity blah we're all just insignificant specks of dust on a pebble spinning through the universe around a matchstick that's about to go out, nothing really matters in the end so why do we even try - did I get all of it?" My grin widens as I put a kiss on his cheek. "So woke. So edgy."

I catch his smile in the corner of my eye.

"I didn't say that," he says, "But if I had, I doubt I could have put it so eloquently."

I wish I could just let go and wander the universe with him, stepping on stars and slipping in spilled-milk galaxies. I don't want to be here anymore because this place sucks. But however tiny and insignificant our problems are, I can't seem to slip their weight. My smile fades as I take his injured hand in mine, rubbing a thumb over the bandages. He tightens weakly.

"Hunter, if this doesn't go our way-" Emotion stops up the words in my throat. I manage to force out just a few more: "If something happens to us-"

Silence prevails for a while. This is stupid. What am I saying-

Hunter cups my face to draw me into a gentle kiss before he says, inches from my lips, "Then I will come find you. Whether in the afterlife... Or oblivion. And you would do the same for me."

I laugh, nervous, "Awww, that's the most romantic suicide pact I've ever made..."

Hunter looks dead serious.

I instantly want to change the subject - run from it, more like! "It's infected," I tell him, gesturing at his hand. "Come on. We need to regroup and find you a doctor."

The cafeteria has been repurposed into a clinic - probably because the actual clinic wouldn't be large enough to accommodate all these soldiers. And man are we about five minutes short of evolving directly into a memorial graveyard. Groaning men writhe on top of tables and medical supplies still in the packaging are scattered around like good luck charms. Because everywhere I look is blood. Blood-soaked clothes and towels. Red spaghetti bandages and gore dripping to the floor like melted ice cream... Well, what do you know? It's still a cafeteria... A blue square of fabric closes over my nose and mouth as Hunter loops the straps of a surgical face mask behind my ears. It helps mute the overwhelming aroma.

"Thanks," I say.   

One of the other entrances slams open. Weiser! General Weiser! Oh man, he's alive... I don't even understand why I'm so excited - something familiar? Hey, I'll take that. He managed to get this far without serious injury, but he isn't completely unscathed. His clothes are usually pressed as meticulously as a superhero's cape, but the green and tan combat uniform he wears is disheveled and ripped in places like a mere mortal's. He needs a shave by his own standards - his patented secret-identity-preserving stubble has overgrown into an unruly anti-hero hedge. There's a bandage wrapped tight around his bicep and further along, he has a hand wrapped around the wrist of a sidekick.

"In here!" he says urgently. Snow bobs in his wake, just blinking incredulously at the damage. They stop in the middle of the cafeteria. Weiser watches the boy pan one way, then the other. The boy who suddenly looks incredibly small, adrift in a bloody ocean of castaways who desperately need his help. All at the same time.

Snow starts one way. "Maybe we could-" Then he pulls his foot back and plants it next to the other, muttering, "No, no, that's stupid. " He twists around. "But what if- No!" He wavers through aimless fractions of actions - all of them individually important, but none of them significant enough to be the first brick in the dam.

Yeah, I'll bet this is a biblical flood compared to the odd training injury here or case of crabs there - if it's a real busy day, maybe even a gangrape victim! - that he normally had to deal with.

And Snow can't swim. His chest starts to heave. "No, no, no, this is bad," he whispers, "No, no, no, no nonono-" Clutching at the front of his scrubs.

"Coolidge!" Weiser shouts after him when the kid turns and runs. Double doors whisper shut behind him. "Crap..." Weiser curses, running a hand through greying black locks.

Hunter holds up his burned hand ironically. "Well, now I just feel silly."

Then all three of us turn our attention back to the doors - not just because they were literally just kicked open - but because they were kicked open by a pastel pink platform pump.

"D-Dr. Coolidge-" Weiser's jaw drops. Waaaayyy ahead of him! Snow struts right back into the cafeteria wearing a baby pink nurse outfit. It halts mid-thigh, nowhere near low enough to hide those lacy white stockings and garters - then again, why would you want to? His curly white wig is pulled back into a high ponytail - but he skipped the comically pumped up fake tits in favor of his natural, modest chest size. He stomps a high heel , striking a powerful pose in the center of the room (and the attention), fists planted at his hips and chin held high like a supermodel and a superhero all rolled into one bangin' package...

"Listen up, boys, here's how this is going to work! If you're on your feet, you're well enough to administer first-aid to someone who needs it. Anyone with prior medical experience, I need you to start triaging - give me three groups: needs me now, needs me later... And needs a pastor. Let's get to work!"

He beelines between the tables, pointing at soldiers and shouting directions while they scramble to obey.

"Rayce!" The person who shouts my name isn't Snow. Thade . My heart sinks as the Marine sergeant storms this way. Weiser jogs to catch up with him. Wait, wait, I still haven't got my story straight!

"Thade, take it easy," Weiser's preemptive attempt to calm him down clearly doesn't work when the drill sergeant grabs me by the collar. He unloads,

"Where's Sylphos? What happened back there?! Where is he?"

"I think... I think he was taken," I stammer.

"You once told me you look out for your team, so why don't you know? "

He's shaking me in the hopes that an answer might fall out, but I don't think that's the reason my head feels so light. He's right, I don't know anything, so why am I feeding him bullshit like I'm talking to a concerned parent instead of a hard-boiled Marine sergeant?

"Every time he goes with you, he ends up in trouble," Thade moans, "Every time!" Oh right, it's because he treats me like his teenage son's bad-influence boyfriend. "If he stuck with his team like he was supposed to, they would have protected him... They would have looked out for him! Then this never would have happened..."

"With Marines, you mean?" I question.

"With me! "

"Thade, stop it!" Weiser physically separates us.

"It was Dory, wasn't it?" Thade's emerald eyes are more threatening than his literal arm-twisting anyway.

"Sergeant Knotts, he's gone-" My sentence breaks midway. I swallow the jagged fragment.

Ranting, "That selfish son of a bitch, of course he's gone... All he knows how to do is run. Like a coward! Like a traitor!"

"Thade..." Weiser shakes his head.

"No, it's the truth. He couldn't once stand for anything in his life, even if it killed him!"

The words spill out, "Drill Sergeant Knotts, he's-" Dead. "Been captured." Fuck.

Silence.

"Captured?" Thade repeats.

On damage control: "He-He tried to defect to our side, and his men pulled a fast one. They're being led by Caiman now." I prop up my humongous lie with strained half-truths.

"He did it..." Weiser wonders aloud, almost in disbelief. Snatching at shreds of hope, he turns on Thade, "You never believed in him, but this time he pulled through for us! We have to meet him halfway. He needs us."

"It's not that easy," says Thade. "We can't just barge in there without a plan - we'll need to assess our options thoroughly." The Marine sergeant closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. "But I'm not so sure we have the manpower left for any of them."

Before Thade and Weiser retreat to their planning table, I remember something. Rummaging around in my pocket - I didn't lose it, did I...? "Hey-!" They angle to look at the small blue vial I'm holding up. The one John gave me in the forest...

"John gave this to me. Do you... Do you know what it is?"

Thade takes it from me to consider it in his own hands. Not one twitch of familiarity crosses the creased ebony of his brow. He noncommittally sighs the words, "It looks like one of the trinkets that John used to bring back here. Occasionally something useful. Mostly drugs. Pot maybe." He gives the vial a sniff but doesn't make a conclusion.

That's when I notice Weiser staring at it. Why does he look so mortified?

"General?" He glances at me. "Have you seen it before?"

He takes a while, but he finally replies, "No." He obviously knows more than he wants to tell me...

Thade returns the vial and I put it back in my pocket. Then he says, "You two should go make yourselves useful."

"Do you believe you're doing them a favor?" Hunter asks me once they're out of earshot. "All you've done is sharpen the sword hanging over their heads."

"Was I supposed to just tell them their boyfriend is dead?" I argue, "Do you really think they want to hear it from me of all people?"

"At this point, you may be the only one of us qualified to tell them."

I jut my bottom lip out at Hunter. "Hey, when'd you get so deep and sensitive?"

He props my face between two fingers, smiling into it. "Perhaps when you became a bottom."

"I am not!" I protest, "I'm just taking a break..."

His grey eyes look amused as he tilts his head slightly. "Don't stay on break too long."

Wait a minute... There's no way I heard that right and yet that enigmatic grin is not supporting my theory...

"Wait, you catch? Do you want to catch? Hey, where are you going?"

The glance over his shoulder is a naughty one. "'Making myself useful'."

He knows what he's doing to me! I watch him go, chewing on my lip - until I cave and stare at his ass. Thank god for Flaere's slutty dress sense...

Finally, I pick up a lunch ladle and a roll of bandages. "Alright, I have one medical skill and I know how to use it! Who needs a tourniquet?"

###

That might be the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life.

Snow, completely in his element. On top of a soldier, knees on either side, one hand stacked on the other as he delivers rhythmic chest compressions. His bent-over posture highlights the sexy arches of his high heels; I bob up and down on their dramatic waves for way too long... At least until the lacy underwear peeking under the short hem of his dress distracts me from them. It's sheer. I edit this image in my brain studio to include a dick. Mine, preferably.

Snow only sits back when the chest underneath him starts to move on its own - he brought the soldier back from the brink. The third one this hour! That's the thing about Snow: he just goes and does something like that - raises the fucking dead - and you fall for him all over again. I bite my lip.

"I shouldn't. He's too young, isn't he? But that's never stopped me before... And he's a hundred times smarter than me anyway, it's practically legal at this point - actually, he might be the one raping me if you really think about it... Although maybe it's not a good time, I mean, there is kind of a war going on... Oh god. What if I die without ever hitting that? Oh god oh god. You know what. I'm going to tell him. Wait! I shouldn't... Ugh. What do you think?"

"I would love to enable you to predate on this teenager, but my femur is kind of broken," says the raven-haired soldier on the table, "Also, that's really gross."

I narrow my eyes at him and finish tying off the splint. "Like you've never bought Snow a muffin."

Snow swaps out a red sticky note on the lunch table for a yellow one before whisking to the next patient. He's been zipping between the tables nonstop like a pond skater; if I want a moment with him, I'm going to have to take it . Skimming through a clipboard, he doesn't notice me following. I almost make him aware of my presence when someone beats me to it.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?!"

The doctor raises his head to face the soldier who called out.

The pale, straw-colored hair of the soldier's fauxhawk and robust chinstrap beard stands out against tan skin. This musclebound soldier doesn't look like someone you'd volunteer to mess with - although that shoulder tat visible under a torn away sleeve might be inflating the hype. He's bigger than the boy genius anyway as he comes to a stop, glowering down at him. The soldier demands, "I've been trying to get your attention and all you do is ignore me while my boyfriend bleeds to death on that table!"

Snow doesn't reply right away, following the man's pointing finger to another table further away. "I gave him opioids," says the doctor as if making an observation.

"That's just a painkiller!"

"Of course. That's all I can do - his injuries are too severe."

"How can you say that? You didn't even try! You don't care at all, do you?!" Snow doesn't flinch in the face of his tempest. "You're just going to watch him die! "

"Not exactly," Then goes back to reading from his clipboard. "I don't have time to watch either."

"DIABLO!" Before anyone can react, the soldier's fingers incise into Snow's shoulders and slam him against a tabletop, sending everyone in the vicinity scattering.

I snatch up a rifle - "You get off him right now!"

"If he dies, I'll kill you," the soldier promises in a shaking voice, "I'll fucking kill you."

"I said now! " I capture his larger form in the sight and even then he won't let go. I have to shoot. I'm gonna have to shoot.

"Rayce." But Snow's voice makes me stop short. The doctor holds the soldier's gaze with calm eyes. "I know your boyfriend. Munitions Specialist Natch Meikong. He was injured while providing covering fire so that the rest of the wounded could be transported here. He was a hero." The big soldier breathes. In. And out. "But Raffel, your boyfriend's injuries were too extensive. They led to organ failure. He is unresponsive to treatment with antibiotics, making his condition critical and unfortunately - terminal."

"No," Rafell sobs.

"Natch is a hero. And he will die a hero," says Snow, "But what would he say if he knew you were actively sabotaging the very people he gave his life for?"

The soldier takes a deep, shuddering breath. Then lets go. Snow stands up cautiously as if to avoid provoking the bull again. He only stops at a safe distance where Raffel glances at him bitterly. "It's one thing for you to have no self-respect on your own terms, but do you have to dress like some kind of sick fetish porn model when you are giving people the worst news of their lives?"

Of all things - that's what digs into Snow's cool demeanor. His false lashes flicker and lower.

"I'm sorry." He clarifies, "For your loss. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other patients." He cuts quickly through the gathering.

Snow works at the same pace as before but his movements are much more measured now. Rigid. He only slows down when he seems to have the trauma room stabilized, but when he does, oh man it hits him all at once. The huge exertion weighs Snow down - he can barely get through the simple task of washing his hands in the sink, hanging on the spigot to catch his breath. Snow takes an abrupt dive behind the lunch counter.

Following around the corner, I find him with his forehead pressed into knees drawn up to his chest. It does occur to me that just a few more steps will give me a great view up his skirt...

"Rayce..." he says half-heartedly. Snow scoots to give me room. "Sit with me." But I can't turn down an adorable invitation like that.

I fold into a sitting position beside him, legs extended out in front of me. The smell isn't as overpowering here, so I tug down my surgical mask. I plop both hands in my lap with a sigh, tilting to stare at the ceiling. Then I tell him, "Snow, that guy didn't know what he was talking about."

Snow chuckles softly. He replies with a tangent, "My dad once told me: 'Little peyote, ' - my nickname - 'You're too smart to know right from wrong.'"

Uh, wait. Is that what a loving and supportive father is supposed to say? I'm seriously asking; I don't know jack shit.

"That was before he was arrested," Snow adds that jarring little postnote. But he's still smiling .

"I'm sorry, what? "

"Oh," Snow glances in my direction, realizing what he said, "Sorry, my dad is an activist. For him, that's an average Tuesday." His smile creeps an inch wider. "A good Tuesday, even."  

A fucking activist... I burst out laughing and shaking my head. "I just realized something..."

"What is it?"

"I don't know anything about you."

"Oh! Well..." Snow tucks a pale curl of hair behind an ear and smiles at me encouragingly. "What would you like to know?"

I mull it over a bit. Oh, here's one: "Do you have anyone waiting for you back in Clear? For after the war?"  

Snow is eager to share, "Both my dads and a little brother. I'm much luckier than a lot people here in that way."

Yeah, considering that for most of us, all that's waiting is a cold prison cell...

"A little brother?" I home in on that at once - you mean there's an even younger version of Snow out there somewhere?

Snow's eyes are bright again - twinkling purple. "Mmhm, he's 15. He wants to be a journalist. Right now, he has an internship at one of Clear's independent journalism offices: Quicksilver Press." The doctor smiles, "He could work anywhere he wants, but he had his heart set on that damp office space in old Chinatown. Big as a closet."

"That's incredible," I comment with a grin.

"Yeah, he told me all about it the last time we spoke on the phone. That was, well, right before Alexander cut communications. I... I miss him."

I try to cheer him up, "Hey, your parents must be so proud. Raising two boy geniuses." Nudge him teasingly, "What's their secret?"

"Having a big ol' head of the household father with a steady income who knows how to hold it down." Snow giggles and lets his head settle on my shoulder - stirred again when I start laughing helplessly.

"What now?"

"Well now ," I muse, "I think I know more about you than any of the other guys."

"It... It's nice. Thank you." He wraps a white curl around his finger, then unwraps it, thoughtful. "Most people see the packaging, and they don't want to get much deeper than that."

"Well then, they're missing out."

"Not to mention you saved my life earlier." Snow seems to be tallying up my brownie points for some reason. Well, I left him to die earlier than that so I think they cancel out. But I don't tell him that, of course...

"You know, just doin' my job." I give my shoulders a casual toss.

"We don't have much in common."

A little taken aback. I blink. "I guess not."

"But you've been good to me, Rayce."

Snow's delicate fingers melt in my flame red hair as he turns me to face him. Snow puts his soft lips on mine while my eyes shoot wide open. 'Ho mama! This is the reward? Then I never woulda left him to drown in the first place! I'm kissing Snow- I'm kissing SNOW! Childish thoughts race through my head - he's so soft. I let him take it slow; enjoy the sensation of our lips melting together, tongues meeting each other for the first time.

Snow climbs into my lap, knees on either side. Arms drape loose around my neck like a shawl. My eyes are running wild as I take in the teenager's supple - underage - sinful - extremely-illegal - seductive - jailbait - body. Fuck, were those supposed to be deterrents or turn-ons? The salmon pink of the nurse outfit conforms to his slender figure: modest curves and a thin waist. Striking white ringlets spill over a shoulder. His falsies hang heavy over jewel-purple eyes... "What are you doing?" I ask, breathless already.

"Do you want to touch me?" he asks in a whisper - which is neither an answer nor permission...

"I really do," I murmur - shake my head - "Do you want me to?"

The corner of Snow's lips tweaks impishly. You're going to do it anyway. Aren't you?

Fuck it. I regret nothing, Officer! Nothing!

Hands running unbridled down his sides, converging at the buttons of his nurse outfit. They slip open beneath my fingers instead of popping over a burgeoning, fake chest this time. Hey, I'm not even complaining: this is really him . And that means he can feel it when I slip a hand inside and caress his chest, confirming my theory with a small gasp as I flick a nipple.

Like a slutty nurse, Snow is eager to assist... He shrugs off his sleeves while I slide the top half of his dress into a rumpled heap at his waist. Snow's soft moaning fills my ears as I lavish his exposed chest and torso with my lips. He has his hands in my hair while I roll pert nipples between my fingers. Then replace some with teeth - a bite converts the moan into a sharp gasp.

Snow flies to my uniform shirt, restlessly freeing the buttons. I can't help but smile at his eagerness, so I take it slow just to drive him wild - casually shaking off my shirt. Then the tank under it - I peel it away slowly, revealing strip after sexy strip of muscle to probing violet eyes. When I pause for a few moments too long, Snow abruptly glances up to find me watching him with amusement. He flushes.

The undershirt comes off, landing in a heap next to us. Snow lays his hands on my chest because he just wants to feel it. Skin on skin and no latex in between.

"You are an incredible specimen..." he murmurs, sliding on my abs.

I flex. "I know." Then smirk at him. "Flatterer. Checking out naked men in great shape is your job ."

Snow frames my face with his hands. "I really mean it."

I brush his bangs out of the way to reveal high cheekbones because I want to kiss one, and when I do, it makes his lashes flutter. "These don't get nearly enough attention," I tell him.

Snow blushes, tucking a section of his wig behind an ear to show off the other.

I gasp jokingly, "Twins!" And kiss it too, leaving him in a fit of giggles. Which I muffle into adorable warbles as I capture his lips again, digging even deeper this time. He keeps up sportingly. With my arms wrapped around his torso, I get to feel his shoulder blades glide into strokes of my hair and twists of his lips harder against my own. He's hot for this. I'm hot for this. The rest of the stats are just technicalities.

Pushing Snow on his back, I pin one of his thin wrists over his head and use the other hand to feel up the length of his leg as it arches at the knee, cocked up on a platform heel.

His chest heaves with every ardent breath; he watches my fingers slow down to travel from his knee up his thigh, over the slinky fabric of the stockings.

"You look amazing..." I cup the ridge of his pelvis.

Snow pleads, "Touch me there." So I scrunch up the hem of his dress until it gives away that stunning white lace garter set. I smile uncontrollably at his cute panties and the pink bow sewn to the front of the waistband. His small cock and balls are completely on display, trapped in a shamelessly sheer net of lace.

I'm not going to take this slow - come on - I'm not superhuman . I unzip my pants and zip Snow right up against my crotch in the same movement, sawing my heavier cock against his boyish equipment through the lace. More... More...! Grinding, thumbs pressed deep into his thighs - I use his precum to lubricate my length.

Snow's moaning is much louder now. "Oh god, Rayce... You're... You're really big..."

"It's going to feel even bigger in that tight ass of yours..." I grin at him. Scarcely able to hold off, I tug the thin cloth of his panties out of the way like a sliding screen-

Snow's hand drops over his crotch like a dungeon door. Hey, wait! I thought the jail part was supposed to kick in after I take the bait!

"But no thanks."

No thanks.

No thanks?

NO THANKS!

" What? " The word expands over an explosive gasp of pent up energy.

"That was fun." Snow comments lightly - he's even grinning wide like he doesn't have the slightest idea why I look so upset. Peeling himself off the floor, he sits on his knees, already shimmying his dress back into place and undoing all my hard - hard! - work too quickly. "Sorry, I don't really do penetration, Rayce."  

Snow puts his hand in my slack grip to show me the sterling silver ring perched on his ring finger - it features a stylized bow with a keyhole in the knotted center.

"What is this?" I ask.

"A promise ring." A promise ring? Isn't that like... An engagement, but the creepy kind with no sex? Snow waggles thin fingers playfully in my grip. "I promised my virginity to someone else. Once I turn 18, we'll get married and he'll take me on our wedding night."

What. The fuck .

I have so many questions like, 'What the fuck; you're a virgin?', 'Are you sure?', and 'Are you absolutely sure?' But most of all...

Anger bubbles up in my chest. "Wait, you knew that this whole time and you were just going to wind me up anyway?"

Snow looks confused. His eyes flit from side to side. "I don't understand... You didn't like it?"

"I- I did! I did, but I'm not some kind of sex toy that you can just turn on and turn off whenever you feel like it!"

"No, you clearly don't have an off switch..." He sounds serious when he clarifies, "Rayce. I'm underage. "

Snow always did have a way of making me feel like an idiot.  

Embarrassed heat rises to my cheeks. "Well, who the hell is this guy you're 'promised to' anyway?" I demand/deflect.

Before Snow can respond, we hear the door and rapid footsteps on the tile. Both of us rear up to look over the lunch counter. A scout is sprinting into the cafeteria which wouldn't be weird if he wasn't leaving a trail of blood on the floor behind him. Which also wouldn't be weird if the injury wasn't at his neck. Which also wouldn't be weird if it wasn't shaped like- Okay, you get it: a vampire bite . He has a vampire bite.

"Vampires!" he shrieks, "Vampires in the hallway! Just thought... You should know." The blood loss catches up with him; the scout's step comes down loose and he twists on a boneless leg to collapse on the floor, unconscious.

General Weiser and Knotts are already on their feet, weapons drawn as we direct our attention to the door. It swings open much more politely this time. The blood drains from my face; I shrink until only my eyes are visible over the counter. FUCK.

Thade narrows his eyes. "Sylvester." I still think I put it better.

The Frenchman strides in with both hands clasped behind his back; airy silver hair bouncing with each step. He traded combat armor for sophisticated streetwear: a grey moto jacket lined with fleece and a pair of round shades obscuring his expression. A flat cap sits fashionably askew on his head. Bet it keeps the sun off.

What is this nutcase doing here?!

Vex stops near the rigid forms of former friends and peers at them between the brim of his hat and the top of his shades. A gloved hand removes the shades; Vex languidly folds them. Clack - goes the arm against the frame.

"Bonjour a tous, I hope I'm not interrupting your war." Followed by the second, more decisive clack. Vex briefly scans the cafeteria - there's too many people here, there's no way he can find me, there is no way - his gaze snaps onto mine; drilling red holes in my brain. Oh, okay, never mind then. I drop behind the counter again with a gasp.

"Who is that?" Snow asks, hushed.

I stammer, "M-My... My... My dad . "

I count out three whole breaths before I dare to look again. Weiser occupied his attention, demanding, "What are you doing here?"

Vex abruptly thrusts both arms forward, wrists upturned for the cuffs. "Giving myself up."

Chapter Text

I'm not an idiot; I know what a family is. I saw it on TV once! It was in one of Cisco's cartoons: two dads, two kids and a dog - I could tell that they were happy I mean, come on, they had a dog . Wishful thinking was warping the scene in my head: as the dads turned to each other and shared a kiss, they transformed into the sleek form of Sylvester wrapping thin arms around Father's neck and broad shoulders. He took delicate fingers - I just knew he could play the piano with those fingers - and curled them into textured scarlet hair. Father's hair was styled into playful peaks which meant he used the expensive hair clay: the one that signaled he was making an effort. The one he reserved for better days. The last time I saw the jar, it had a layer of dust on it for every day since.

Then there were the kids, giggling and turning away from the sight with cries of 'oh gross'! That's what they said anyway, but deep down, it was comforting to know their parents were in love. One had grey eyes and laughed a lot and as loud as he wanted. I changed the other one's eyes to red. He had sharp teeth sometimes, I thought. When he felt like it. They had a pet dog - no wait - a pet frog, in the semi-aquatic terrarium that took shape balanced in the brother's arms . Frogs are pretty neat.

"You seem distracted," Sylvester startled me out of my daydreaming. Errr - nightdreaming? Because it was dark out, he could be outside. I mean, he could always be outside but usually, that would require a scary outfit consisting of dark shades, a soft hat, jacket and gloves. It made him look like a creepy taxidermist. By night, Sylvester was free to wear only a blue turtleneck sweater and comfy plaid slacks. Silver-grey hair drifted on a night breeze as he gazed out over the cliff.

"It's nothing." I followed his gaze. It's funny; I'd seen the Golden Gate Bridge maybe a hundred times in Father's documentaries, but it was different in person: larger than life - way too huge to be contained in a living room TV - but at the same time... Weirdly small. Before this, it had only ever existed in my brain as the setting of a bloody battle: the cables filtered between marching feet, the towers a backdrop for tanks. But now, it just existed undramatically. A quiet monument of steel stretched over the bay.

The view from the grassy cliff was incredible, but I couldn't help repeatedly glancing in Cisco's direction. Seated on Sylvester's other side, he was mostly hidden from me; I caught glimpses of wispy red hair and the fuzz of the frog plush he was inseparable from nowadays.

Sylvester suddenly mused aloud, distracting me, "Your father and I used to come here."

"Do you like him?" I blurted out. The vampire blinked.

"Well... Of course I like him."

"Then how come you don't live with us?"

Sylvester fished for words in the rolling bay. "Rayce, I... Your father is just... Comment dit-on..." he muttered. " Stubborn. "

"Does he like you?"

He took even longer to answer that question, but he didn't fill the interim with mumblings that time. "I think he did."

I pushed air into one of my cheeks. "Then you should live with us."

Sylvester chuckled softly; he drew my head in to place a kiss on top. "I would have liked that very much, my sweet boy." He glanced over his shoulder at the other families dotting the grass on picnic blankets. More seemed to have sprung up like mushrooms every time he did. "The show's about to begin. Popcorn?"

"Yes please," I replied right away.

As Sylvester went to get snacks I looked at my brother curled around the stuffed animal, strangely quiet - I mean more quiet than usual.

To my utter disbelief, he actually spoke out first, no prodding required, "I know you don't want to be here, Rayce."

"I do want to be here."

"But I heard you," he insisted. Cisco picked up his head. "I heard you say you want to go home."

I did want to go home; I had no idea what was going on, I was scared. But more than that - "I'm scared of Father." I traced the pattern of our picnic blanket with a finger, glum. "But I like Sylvester. Do you think they'll get married?" And maybe then... Maybe that would fix Father? The thought reeled my smile back in. I beamed at him.

Cisco just stared back in horror.

Before he could reply, Sylvester returned smelling of cheap junk food. He settled in with a soft sigh, folding his legs. I eagerly accepted a striped bag of popcorn, but I wrinkled my nose at the plastic-domed cup full of blood-red slush.

"It's just an icee," Sylvester assured me. Blue raspberry was still cool I guess, but cherry was on my permanent shit list... Tossing his shoulders, he took a sip before letting Cisco hold it. Then he lifted a golden brown fry from the carton and said sardonically, "Here, they call them freedom fries."

I snorted with laughter. "No, those are french fries!"  

"Clever boy."

A glittering line raced into the black canvas of the sky.  "It's starting!" I bounced excitedly on the picnic blanket. At the top of its path, the firecracker exploded, splashing a glittering red supernova above the bridge. Animated noises rose over the crowd.

"Oh, did you see that? Did you see it?" Even Sylvester sounded excited as he pulled us both closer. His sweater was soft and warm - I tried to focus on that instead of his frozen fingers on my shoulder.

One colorful explosion would have barely faded into the blackness before a new one stole the spotlight. Fireworks filled the bowl between the towers of the Golden Gate and spilled red, white and blue reflections on the surface of the water while I chased every rocket with eager eyes.

"Happy Resolution Day, mes petites allumettes..." Sylvester kissed my head again and buried his face in Cisco's fluffy hair. His voice was muffled but I could still hear him loud and clear, "I love you, oh I love you both so much..."

Fuzzy warmth filled my chest; I squished it against him in a hug.

That was when Sylvester suddenly reared straight up like a tracking hound. I saw him twist to look over his shoulder but before I could trace his gaze, an arm wrapped around my head like a blinder making me face forward again. "We have to go." His whisper was tense as he gathered us to our feet. The grass muffled our footsteps and fireworks completely drowned them out, but I still felt the need to tiptoe. My heart was pounding too loud in my head for me to tell whether it was working anyway.

There was nowhere to go. Sylvester stared straight down the sheer cliff face into a whirlpool of jagged rocks and seafoam. "No, no, no..." He abruptly changed direction, skimming the rim as he looked this way and that. Silver hair whisked frantically at night air. Meanwhile, I caught a glimpse of what we were running from: a small group of men plowing through the families, shoving people over and rudely stirring up the crowd. I saw rifles strapped over their shoulders. The yelling got louder. People started to run, leaving behind rumpled picnic blankets and half-eaten food.

We were trapped. Desperate, Sylvester shoved us low behind a popcorn cart - the vendor fled the scene a long time ago. The vampire's eyes were round and worried; he whispered quickly, "I'll distract them while you two run back to the motel. Don't stop until you get there. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, don't stop. I'll come and get you."

"S-Sylv-v-ester?" The name crumbled between my trembling lips, so I tried a new one, shouting after him when he bolted, " Dad! " I turned to Cisco- "What's happening, where is he going, what should we do?" But he didn't know any better than me; my brother buried his face in the stuffed animal.

I peeked over the cart, through a warm, yellow-orange frame of glass edged with popcorn. I saw Sylvester running in the opposite direction. For a second, he was getting away. Then he slowed down to make sure they caught him. The men shouted to each other as they snatched him right out his path. Arms locked under his arms; wrenched him upright. I saw his hair toss as he made a token struggle, then he resigned to hanging between them, dropping his head. A giant overshadowed the smaller man as he stood in front of him.

Father.

My breaths came faster.

A fourth man caught up with them, not that he was trying to do it very quickly. "I told you he'd be here! And you said it was too obvious!" When the man laughed, smoke blew from his lips - a fat blunt was propped between his fingers. The man was so lean that his skin stretched taut over modest muscle mass, making it look more defined than it probably was. There were piles of fluffy, curly coral hair on his head and he wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, unbuttoned almost down to his belly button to reveal the hair on his chest.

John grinned. "Well now, this is a proper reunion. Babes, hold 'im steady so I can get a picture, yeah?"

"John." Thade was stern.     

My father wasn't here for a reunion. "Where are they, Sylvester?" he demanded quietly.

"How dare you..." Sylvester bared fangs. "How dare you even think about them after the way you treated them, you heartless bastard... As far as you should be concerned, they're dead! "

"I was talking about the schematics, you moron."

His response briefly stunned Sylvester into silence. "You don't care about them at all. Do you?" Father lost his patience, which was nothing new. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun. Sylvester screamed over a gunshot; my hands were over my mouth. He buckled between the men holding him and shifted his weight from a now-useless foot.

"Tell me where they are." Came the demand again.

"You abused them. Did you do it to get back at me? Or because they remind you of how much you don't deserve them- what a worthless fool and a failure you are?" He was cut off by another gunshot - his shin this time, and Father didn't stop there. He capped the torment by shattering Sylvester's knee, leaving the vampire's leg drenched in blood.

Silver hair hung forward; Sylvester's trembling turned slowly into laughter.

"What's so fucking funny, traitor? "

"It's just... It's just that... You took them from me. Just so you could neglect them," Sylvester giggled. "You would rather take them just to spite me." Father raised his chin on the muzzle of his gun.

"You'll talk. You know how I know that?"

Sylvester batted sleepy eyes at him. "Mmmm... How?"

"Because you did it before." He ordered the men, "Hold him down!"

A softer voice, hesitant, "I don't think we should-"

" Howitzer! " Without any further complaint, Thade and Weiser took the vampire down on his back on the grass, holding him in place. The only reason he wasn't screaming was that he was biting his bottom lip, stapling it to the upper one in a refusal to cry out. It circulated in his chest instead, making it rise and fall rapidly. Father stood over him for a while, regarding his defiance. But when he got on top of him, Sylvester couldn't keep it together any longer. "No..." First a mumble slipped out. "NO!" Then a shriek tore loose.

Sylvester's screaming was louder now, louder even than when he was shot. His cries became animal, piercing - then they turned choked. I saw his legs in the air: shuddering on every backstroke. Thin fingers clenched into fists. And I saw Father's hair: dull and a little too long.

John was laughing again - stopped to take a drag, then coughed out some more.

" Fuck , I said I wanted a picture, not a whole porno..."

He let his eyes wander through a cloud of his own smoke. When it cleared, I saw them trained on me .

I dropped behind the cart with a gasp, heart pounding. Cisco had both fingers stuck in his ears - his face was all red and his eyes were screwed shut. He must have somehow sensed that I was back - his lids flickered.

"What did you see?"

I couldn't answer because my throat was choked with fear. Had the man seen me? I gathered the courage to take another look.

"You two have gotten so big..."

And whipped right back around with a small shriek because there he was: The man drenched in smoke. He smelled sour like the time a skunk got into the garage. Another wave of smoke doubled the stench.

"Naughty li'l ankle biters, hiding from their daddy," John sing-songed as he rooted through the snack cart. Packets of chips rustled and bottles clinked. "There we go," He sounded satisfied as he popped open a bottle of Pepsi. He took a swig and a glance at us crumpled together in the corner of our substandard hiding place.  

"Don't look at me like that - I'm not a monster ," he said with a crocodile grin, "They didn't have Coke. So what are you boys doing all the way out here? Gave your poor old dad a heart attack."

"He's a bad man," I said quietly. John focused on me over the neck of the bottle.

"I'm real sorry about that, mate."  

"Are you going to take us back?"

He shrugged as he pinched open a bag of chips. "He's a little busy right now. Besides, I'm mad hungry." He was pouring the greasy, artificial butter flavoring for the popcorn into it.

"You mean you're not going to stop us?" I was asking way more questions than I should have...

A brown eye winked. "Don't have to. I know how to track ya."

I stared at him. Cisco was already tugging at my arm. "Come on, we have to go!" he pleaded. "Come on! " I abruptly swung around to follow him.

###

I swing my legs off the edge of the lunch table, dissipating anxious energy while Thade straps Vex to a chair.

"Who is he?" I ask Weiser sitting next to me.

The army general hesitates. "He was our technician, at one point."

"I had one of those once," I pipe up, bitter, "It betrayed me."

"Yeah, so did ours," Weiser mutters.

"I think it's that creepy surveillance room. It's cursed. Definitely."

For a second, Weiser laughs and his husky blue eyes glint. But his smile fades again at the harsh sound of Thade cuffing Vex's hands behind the chair. "Brings back memories..." Vex comments, "What, no waterboard this time, boys?"

"Don't tempt me. I don't know what game you're playing, but we're not falling for it," says Thade.

"No games," the vampire promises, "I'm here to help. You want to win the war, don't you? And no offense, but you haven't exactly been doing a great job so far..." He pouts. "There was a reason I came up with all the plans, I'm afraid."

Thade narrows his eyes. "Because you had the commander in your back pocket?"

"He didn't stop there," Vex says innocently.

"If I want you to talk, I'll ask you a question. Until then, keep your lying mouth shut." Thade makes his way over to us, fuming, "This is a waste of time. Every minute we spend trying to figure this guy out is another minute that my men are in danger without a rescue plan in place."

"He could help us," Weiser considers out loud. "Rayce is his... Son , after all. He wouldn't do anything to endanger him."

"Have I ever told you that your optimism is going to get us killed someday?"

"Constantly."

"I can't believe we are even considering this. What if he's working with the Council?" Thade literally points the finger at the vampire. "He was a spy, Howie! An actual spy! "

"Wait a minute, he was a spy?" I demand, wedging myself into the conversation.

"I have information!" Vex dangles a carrot in the middle of our conversation from his position strapped to a chair. "Information about the prisoners' whereabouts... I could help you, Thade." He singles out his toughest critic.

The Marine sergeant rubs irritably at his short new crop of pollen-colored hair. I hate to say this - take Vex's side? - but my mouth is already forming the words: "Whatever he did in the past, I don't think he's working with the Council anymore. You saw the way he spoke to the Councilman." And they didn't see him savage Alexander in the woods...

"Easily staged," says Thade's inner skeptic. Okay, his outer skeptic; it's extremely outer.

"We can at least hear him out."

Weiser pitches in, "The boy's got good instincts; John made a turnaround."

And look where that got him...

"Lightning doesn't strike twice," Thade mutters.

"Welcome back," says Sylvester as we come crawling reluctantly back to him. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"No wonder you were caught... Who ever heard of a spy with a big mouth?" Thade mutters.

"And yet it took you all so very long to catch on." The smile widens.

"Just tell us where they're holding our soldiers," I demand.

"Ah yes, the friends I don't approve of. My scouts reported that they were transferred to a fortified position: the dreadnought. That includes a team of specialists who were captured during a botched attempt to assassinate Hemscroft."

The pained expression on Thade's face confirms what I already know: most of alpha team consisted of Marines, and now they're all trapped in Alexander's fickle little clutches.

"If you want my advice, you should bolster the remainder of your troops while you still can and attack the dreadnought."

"We don't have the resources."

"Maybe not to break it... But you don't have to. You forget: you are not fighting an army, but an agency. Guns for hire. How long do you think the Null slavers will stay loyal to a cause that meant nothing more to them than an easy paycheck, now that the money's run out? You already knew that the military budget evaporated."

Thade and Weiser exchange glances.

"Now with the blood money impacted, it's just a matter of time before they abandon Hemscroft."

"In the meantime, you are asking us to throw men at a wall to die," Thade hisses.

"And then hundreds more won't have to die." Vex's mouth is open but he isn't the one who said it.

He looks at me, impressed. "That's quite... Big-picture of you, Rayce."

I don't give him the satisfaction of eye-contact, turning to Thade instead. "Our best men are in there. Sylphos is in there." Because trust me, I have plenty of small-picture bullshit left in me...

Thade sits in silence, clutching his jaw. The sound of something hitting a nearby window makes him jolt.

"What the hell..." I mumble under my breath. There it is again! A pebble, bouncing from the reinforced glass.  

I walk over to investigate with my rifle raised but it feels unnecessary... If there was a slaver out there, that would have been a bullet, not a pebble. I peer out the window.

And a colorful mask peers back like a bird's head poking through foliage.

" Matteo? " I say in disbelief.

"Rayce!" He drops a handful of pebbles and tips back the mask to reveal an excited face.

"Matteo, what the hell are you doing here?" I demand when I meet him outside, taking rapid strides, "Do you have any idea how dangerous-"

"I know, I know," His hands are up, flapping, "But it's an emergency!" I have about one second to brace myself while Matteo draws in a breath and then the words come flooding- "There's trouble, Rayce. After you left, the naiads were spooked about Daphne's new powers. They keep bringing up Undine. I tried to talk some sense into them, but eventually, Marinus convinced everyone that she's a threat to the tribe - they ended up throwing her in a cage and they won't listen to me, but they would listen to you! So please Rayce, you have to come with me and help her!"

I just stare at Matteo in utter horror because this guy cannot be serious. I keep expecting him to segue into a 'just kidding! You go ahead and get back to your war Rayce, I know you're a very busy man. Want a blowjob while I'm here?' ...You're right, when have I ever gotten that lucky?

So I burst out instead, "What planet do you live on?!" Matteo flinches. "We are in the middle of a war, I can't just drop everything to go play in the woods with you! Haven't I done you enough favors just making sure you're miles and miles away from all this? Now you want to drag me into naiad politics while our soldiers have been captured and they're counting on me to-?!" I come to a dead halt. But no, no, it's not because of that bleary-eyed, chastised look Matteo is giving me - I've learned to tune that out...

I pick up my radio and depress the button. "General?"

"What is it, Gunner?" Weiser's reply.

"Do you have an estimate on the naiad population in the forests of Decay?"

###

The tiny naiad kneels in a raised cage made of woven branches, arms wrapped around her stripped blue body. Tousled waves of hair hang in her face, trembling as she shivers in the crisp weather. It's about to get much warmer judging by the all the naiads gathered holding torches. Marinus leads them; he fits the part of angry mob leader, his perfectly adorable and non-threatening face warped by the shadows ebbing and flowing over it. "You all saw her powers!" Marinus declares to a scared gathering of yokels- I mean, nymphs , "She's a monster. We can't allow her to grow any stronger..."

"She's not a monster, she's a priestess!" One of the young females cries out. "My grandmother told me about them... The priestess is meant to be a guide to our people."

The torch swings in a wild arc, spitting sparks and sending the naiads wheeling back. "Old ideas belong in the cage, to burn! Are you volunteering to join her?" The naiad woman falls silent. Marinus goes on, "It's thinking like that which led to Undine's rule." His face is gaunt as he turns back to the cage.

Daphne lifts her head slowly. The fire leaps in her big, dark eyes.

"Your reign of terror ends here..." he tells her, "Before it begins."

The loud POP of palms striking each other; Marinus turns, shocked, as I rub them together. "Well dunk me in the river and call me a heretic, we must be in Salem!" A whispering throng parts around me as I make my way to the cage. "Hey, crank that heat up, Governor. I like my witches the way I like my marshmallows: extra charred ."

"First Sergeant Gunner-"

"Marinus, we have a little problem here," I tell him. I point at Daphne in the cage. "You see that blue devil-worshipping Jesus-hater in there? I kinda like her." She's watching me closely now, silent.  

He stammers, "Y-You don't understand - this has become necessary. If we leave her be, she will grow to become a monster like Undine. You - of all people - should understand why we have to prevent that."

"Oh, I understand." The sound of semi-automatic gunfire fills my pause. Naiads are screaming, ducking in confusion. Marinus looks around wildly to see his men dropping like flies. Wasted fire scatters over the ground. I close the sole of my boot over a dying torch and rub it out. "I just don't agree with you."

Soldiers move into the clearing, filtering naiads between them and helping them along with rough shoves. It's a small group, about ten or so men but the guns - that's what makes all the difference. Marinus is rooted to the spot, but not the younger, twitchier naiad behind him. I see it in his eyes before he charges at me. His spear precedes him.

Stepping back; a flash of orange spins into my field of vision, bright as the torches. Frigid words, "You don't touch him." Hunter swings a sledgehammer. The blue body tumbles like a ragdoll over the leaf litter; soft groaning tells me he's still alive, which heee's going to regret as Hunter languidly moves to stand over him. I don't like to watch him work; he always starts at the extremities...

But I'll admit that the background track of rhythmic impacts, crunching bone and shrieking makes me look that much more intimidating as I step up to Marinus.

His wide eyes swivel in my direction when I say, "Out of my way." And he just dissolves .

Daphne is already on her feet as I let the cage door swing open with a creak of wood. I offer her a hand and my biggest smile.

"We have to stop meeting like this."

"You saved me," she says without emotion.

"Of course I did; we're friends, aren't we?" I help her out of the cage because friends help friends out of cages! Slipping off my jacket, I wrap it around her bare shoulders. It's long enough to cover her like a dress; weakly, she draws the ends together over her chest. "I didn't go to all that trouble saving you and Junior just to let some prick on a power trip burn you alive."

"Clearly, you didn't do it out of the goodness of your heart either."

"Ouch." My laugh sounds manufactured. Daphne always was a little too smart... I guess that's why Undine never liked her.

"Sergeant, I found the kid." But Undine knew her weakness too. One of the soldiers carries over a wriggling lump swaddled in cloth - I take the baby from him and smoothly lift him into the air, far out of her short reach.

Smiling up at Merrick, "Remember me, Junior?" The baby giggles a response. "Look at you, you're getting so big..." Give him a little toss. He giggles louder. "So, so big... Kinda heavy too." A higher toss.

"Give him to me," Daphne insists quietly. I just smile as I tuck the boy into the cradle of my arms. Hunter appears abruptly at my side like a vengeful ghost. His clothes are bloody and everything - he must be finished with his plaything. Cocking an arm on my shoulder, he has the other balanced casually on the handle of the sledgehammer.

"All done?" I ask him.

"All done." Turning my head, I take his lips in a brief kiss. Then he gazes at the child. "What a dear, sweet babe... Do you ever think about adopting?"

"The only thing you should be thinking about adopting is regular therapy sessions..."

"I'm wounded. Psychopaths make excellent parents, you know."

I try not to laugh at that, grinning and shaking my head. "Oh yeah? How do you figure?"

His smile is innocent. "If the children survive their own upbringing, they can survive anything."

"You'd think that approach would work, but no..." My gaze wanders.

Daphne repeats, "Give him to me, please ." She runs out of breath on the last word.   

"Of course, Daphne. But first," I turn back to the cowering naiads. "I want to introduce you to your new queen."

"Priestess," Daphne corrects.

"Actually, it's pronounced, 'Queen'," I smirk, "All of you take orders from her now, have I made myself clear?" I'd like to think that rifles and an occupying force made it extremely clear, and yet I'm still hearing this pesky mosquito buzz of dissent flitting through the crowd. Leaning to Hunter, I mention, "I'm not saying you should start breaking bones..."

He hefts the sledgehammer up on a shoulder. "Oh, it would be a shame if it came to that."

And I just grin because he's a kid and this is his candy store.

###

I let myself into Daphne's thatched hut, brushing a pair of wide, flat leaves out of my way. The Priestess' quarters is so roomy - I don't even have to bend that much to avoid hitting the roof! Daphne stands in the middle of the room before a mirror, wearing a flowing white gown of sheer plant fibers currently being arranged and rearranged by female naiad attendants.

"There are perks to being Queen!" I muse as I look around. When she notices me in the mirror, she waves at them; they filter quickly through the exit. My gaze softens on her slight curves wrapped in gossamer: sheer enough to give away the bobs and dips of her figure, but opaque enough to fog up the details.

"You look good."

"Do you even realize what you've done?" she demands.

"Yeah, looks like I scored you some sweet threads and a new apartment. Considering you were due to be cremated a few minutes ago, I'd say this is a good turnaround..."

"You've turned me into Undine , just like Marinus said."

"You're nothing like her."

"Do you think she was born a monster, Rayce Gunner? Power and arrogance turned her into Queen Undine."

"Uh, I'm pretty sure radioactive waste turned Undine into Queen Undine. And as far as I can tell, no tentacles yet, so you might be in the clear..." Teasing, I lift a corner of her dress as if to check.

Daphne whips around, loud enough to make me drop it. "Don't touch me!"

The cloth flutters to the floor.

Okay, I've tried being nice. "Look," I begin on a harsher tone, "I saved your tribe, I saved you twice - I saved your son ," Her son who is now snoozing peacefully in a sling over her chest and totally safe, I might add, "You all owe your lives to me."

"Is that what you've come here to collect?"

"I need you to commit 300 men."

She squeezes her eyes shut at the number as if that will make it go away. Daphne takes a deep breath. "Rayce, we are an isolated population with limited means of waging war-"

"That's fine," I mutter, "You give me boots on the ground, and I'll put guns in their hands."

"Guns-" Her expression turns shocked, "And just what kind of an operation are you proposing?! You don't want a priestess," she hisses a revelation, "You don't even want a queen! You just want a prostitute !"

"I don't think you know what that word means."

"Well, maybe you know what the word 'no' means!"

Then she lets out a shriek when I flip and catch her by the wrists, tightening hard enough to leave marks. "What do you think?" I ask coldly. She tests that theory, screaming 'no' at the top of her lungs while I wrestle her to the ground.

"I thought you were my friend!" She tries words when she finds out - for the second time - that she can't overpower me. I'll give her some credit: not being hideously malnourished made her struggles actually noticeable this time.  

Panting, "For what it's worth, I really do think you look beautiful..." Then my lips are on her neck, making out with it. Gills pulse frantically, slicing the smooth curve of her skin into angled sections. Pushing my tongue into one of the slits, I french it. It feels strange as I brush up against feathery, pulsing tissue... A thrill goes through me. It feels good. I hear another shriek as I rack up as many awful trespasses as I possibly can.

The leaves at the entrance rustle; I rear up.

"What have you done-!" Matteo cuts himself off, eyes widening. "Get your rapey little claws off her!"

I spring off Daphne in preparation for him; she scrambles into the corner, sheltering Merrick with her arms. Then I'm backing away from the thrust of Matteo's spear. "How could you?! I asked you to help them! " He abruptly shoulder charges me, sending me into the mirror which shatters beneath my falling weight. "You enslaved an entire species!"

"No one's been enslaved-" Wincing at the sharp points digging in.

"Of course you would say that!" Matteo rails, "How would you know what it's like?!" I try not to remind myself that I know exactly what it's like. "They told me stories about you, Rayce... You don't have to be this way. You're a good person. So do the right thing!"

"Sometimes even the right thing looks wrong..." I grab my baton - he remembers that. As it snaps at him, he brings up his spear - catching the length wrapped around the shaft where it discharges uselessly against wood. What do you mean he learned from it?! A sharp twist of his weapon and I'm jerking forward after the ghost of my baton ripped from my hand.

"You mean like this? " The pointed tip of the spear glints a warning before it closes in wicked fast. Sharp, stabbing pain spreads across my chest- chasing the blood blooming from a wound close to my collarbone. Whose side is this guy on...

Matteo paces backward in slow horror, but it isn't because he regrets putting a spear through my chest - More like he just saw the vampire fangs I let spring into place. He closes both hands over his mouth as if to seal away the words, but they slip out anyway, "Y-You're a..."  

Breathing hard, I tear the weapon out of my chest. It clatters in the corner. "Seriously, what is it with all the impaling? " I spread my arms, shaking my head.

"You're right, we should be staking you..."

"You forgot who you are, Matteo," I warn him as I advance. "You are not some hippie-dippie, leaf-diaper-wearing moonchild nymph dancing around in a magical forest... You are a Clear Republic soldier, and that means you're loyal to me ." I let a lip curl over a curved fang.

The shock of seeing them for the first time doesn't quite graduate into the realization that they might be used on him... At least until I sieze him by the shoulders - then he screams.

"Matteo!" Daphne cries, "Oh god, Matteo! "

Matteo sprawls to the floor, crawling as a speckled blood trail takes shape in his wake. He fixes a wandering focus on the exit but I cut him off easily, bracing my boot against his torso to punt him over on his side where he lays, panting.

Someone enters the tent - see this is why the first step to a civilized society is doors. Shit like this needs to be happening behind closed ones.  

It's Hunter, looking between us, shocked.

"It was you wasn't it?" Matteo accuses, shaky, "It wasn't enough for you to just take him from me... You corrupt everyone you touch and make them as dark and empty as yourself..."

Hunter groans as he reels under a wave of his alter ego's influence, clutching his head. My eyes widen because suddenly, that's the most horrible thing I can imagine.

Losing him .

Vampire armageddon has nothing on that.

There's no one to protect Daphne this time - she's already crying with the anticipation of what's to come - then realizes I've come up with something so, so much worse as I roughly take hold of her sling carrier.

"No! NO! Get your hands off him!" The rest comes out in incomprehensible shrieks - infant cries fill my head. I have to physically wrench myself free of sticky blue arms; she falls forward on her front. Daphne rears up on her hands and knees, "Give him back to me! Please don't do this..."

Her sobbing breaks my heart. Don't believe me? Well, I don't blame you.

But I am doing the right thing. It just happens to also be an impossible thing: I have to save everyone - I have to fight the Council - I have to find Sylphos - if this can even get me an inch closer to doing any of that...

"I think I've learned something, Daphne," I tell her, "Being good and being right are two different things." Glancing over my shoulder, I offer her the most worthless apology with my eyes. "And I can't afford to be good right now."

Hunter is leaning in the doorframe, exhausted by a fight of a different kind. He jerks along as I pull him by the wrist. "300 men!" I shout over my shoulder, over her wailing, "Don't fucking test me!"

Outside the tent, in the cool darkness of the forest, I face Hunter, holding his head with one hand. Our lips meet like a car crash. Fangs still out and I'm too full of agitated energy to pack them away; the blood has barely started to dry on the cloth over my chest - Hunter's clothes have already taken on the texture of dry paper where it splattered. A sledgehammer caked with gore and an arm constricting a squirming mass of tiny blue limbs. The sick codependency sinks in as Hunter leans on me for support while I cling to him for dear life and the baby's crying plays on in the background. Ignore that. I twist roughly into his mouth, sharing a metallic taste.

Breaking off, I demand, "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he pants softly. I rake my fingers from the base of his skull up over the curve of his head, plowing up orange spirals as I go. Gripping possessively, I tip him until our foreheads touch and my eyes slip shut. He's here. He's still here.

"Loyalty."

And so is that person, apparently... To my surprise, the new voice belongs to Vex's red-haired vampire operative. He leans against a tree with pink wings folded, watching us. Dramatic red waves and corkscrews spill around a lithe body. Red eyes drill into mine. "What a strange concept. Oui? The ones who demand it, are seldom the ones who return it."

"Apex," I growl.

"Roux," The word rumbles in his throat. "You may as well know my real name: Roux LeRoncier."

"Yeah," I mumble, unimpressed, "Well whoever you are, you can quit flopping all over the place like a trophy widow. He left you for my father, didn't he? Sylvester?" The only way he could possibly be any more transparent is by wearing one of those endless, see-through dressing gowns with you know, like, the fluffy trim, and hurling himself sobbing down on a four-poster bed while stabbing a photograph of my father with a penknife.

...Yeah, I thought about it a lot, okay?

Roux pouts. "So you are not as dumb as you look." The thin strip of an eyebrow curves seductively. "En fait, you look good like that."

He's talking about the fangs, I realize.

"What do you want from us?"

"Perhaps you would like to take a walk with me?" So saying, he walks deeper into the forest.

"I don't trust him..." says Hunter.

Here's the thing, I don't trust Roux, but at least I understand his motive: he doesn't like me, possibly to the point of wanting me dead. See? No drama there. Vex's motive, on the other hand... He likes me or something, I dunno, it's weird.

"Maybe he'll give us answers. Vex sure as hell won't."

"Why is it still... Making noises? " I realize Hunter is referring to the baby which I learned shockingly quick to tune out. Hey, the good news is, at least I'd get plenty of sleep as a new parent... Bad news: I'd still be a new parent...

"Looks like we're adopting after all." I bounce Merrick, hushing at him, but that makes it louder for some reason???

Hunter is already wearing the gaunt face of a man who has changed too many diapers and seen far too many things.

"Is it too late to change my mind?"

"If you can already hear it, it's definitely too late..." Merrick has noticed the dog tag hanging around my neck - it slipped out of my collar - and the bright metallic flash attracts the semi-aquatic creature like a fishing lure. Chubby blue arms reach for it; he makes trilling noises until I offer it to him. Merrick immediately crams the tag in his mouth, chewing on it. My smile turns lopsided when saliva dribbles from his chin. Well, that's going in the incinerator... But at least Merrick is quiet now.

Hunter asks, "Isn't that a choking hazard?" Whaddaya know, psychopaths do make good parents.

"Naaaah," I finger the ball chain. "It's got a safety tether." I sling the carrier over my back, knotting the ends tight over my chest.  

When we catch up with Roux in a grassy copse, he has his rapier out. Holding it by the stabby end, he uses the heavier hilt to rap against the leafy ground like a blind man feeling his way around. As he makes his rounds, he sings light-hearted, bouncy notes,

"Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques,

Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?"

Hunter and I exchange a look. I thought 'mad with jealousy' was just an expression.

"Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines,

Ding, dang, dong.

Ding, dang-"

The final dong comes in the form of the sword hilt striking something metallic just under the surface of the leaf litter and making a hollow noise.

"Ici!" Roux flips the sword, catching it smoothly by the handle. He uses the tip to pierce through the leaves and then raise a groaning trapdoor. I stare into the dark tunnel that appears beneath the mossy slab of metal.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Something Sylvester doesn't want you to find... A backdoor entrance into the dreadnought."

Chapter Text

12. It's a trap! But you knew that

We follow the red-haired vampire through a dark tunnel illuminated by only the light of my baton, which is honestly doing a better job as a glorified flashlight than a weapon lately... But you can't tell anyone I said that, okay?

"What is in there that he doesn't want me to find so badly?" I wonder in a loud whisper. 

"A trap," Hunter replies. If looks could kill, then they would have staked Roux between the shoulder blades half a tunnel ago. Hunter went along with this - but not with the same sledgehammer-swinging enthusiasm as when we were terrorizing the native wildlife... I guess vampires are bigger game than he's used to hunting. 

"Oh come on ," I scoff, "As if Vex turning himself in isn't some kind of trap." 

"Bait is cheap. A prize like you is priceless. Why not use an extra worm to hook the fattest trout?"

"Aww," I say but Hunter just shoots me a look. What? It sounded like a compliment... "You know what's really a trap? Snow." I pout. "And you'd think the fun kind, but no."

Hunter looks back at Roux.

He asks, "Say we do manage to infiltrate the dreadnought, what will you do then?" 

"Rescue Sylphos." 

I know that isn't what he wants to hear; I brace myself for the reaction. The flash of anger in his eyes - that would be familiar. But this flicker of... Something else? That's new. Raw. His lips twist. "You do exactly as you accuse Flaere of doing," he says bitterly.

"You know what I have to do." Coming to a halt, I grab his shoulder and make him face me. "So what will you do?" 

"Flaere will behave himself," Hunter says firmly.

"I was talking about you. " 

Stubborn silence.

"I need you to back me up on this, Hunter, is that too much to fucking ask?"

"Rayce, this is war - neither you nor I can guarantee the safety of any one man."

"Then it's a good thing he's more than that." 

"I won't-" He has to stop, agitated, and take a breath before continuing, "I wouldn't do anything to hurt Sylphos intentionally, you know this."  

I fold my arms. "I don't know that actually, is this something I should know?"

He glances away, murmuring, "The most precious resource in war is not bullets, nor is it men. Not missiles, and not tanks." 

"Are you sure about the missiles though, missiles are very convincing..."

"It is trust . And you, Rayce, you don't trust me." 

I falter at that - pause - before brushing aside the twisting curtain of his orange hair. "I trust you with my life," I smirk, cocking my head to catch a bashful glance, "But that's about it, babe." 

Hunter comes around - he always comes around, a little less guarded, a little more exposed each time. His smile is so exhausted it doesn't have the energy to be anything other than genuine and, as he angles his steps, I wrap him with an arm. His head touches my chest.

"I just want to go home," I tell him. 

"I want the same as you. But my home is in your arms . And the road to it is wherever you lead." He lays a hand in mine. "I trust you." I just keep my mouth shut, stroking his hair.

"Adorrrable." A sarcastic snort. Hunter and I cleave apart from the voice that cut in between us. Roux - who must have lagged behind at some point just to break up this moment - slices curtly through the gap with his nose turned up. It tilts condescendingly in Hunter's direction. "Such a loyal pet. You remind me of a dear old pomeranian I once owned: tiny. Sweet. Stupid ." Roux comes down on the words aggressively, with every sultry rev of his accent. "He followed me around everywhere, you know. Crying when I left in the morning and so happy to see me when I returned at night... He was so cute and fluffy in his little rhinestone collar... Of course, I had to spank him when he grew insolent enough to put his paws on the furniture." What a cat. 

Hunter glares at the vamp. "Well-groomed it may appear, but a dog with no master can only be a mongrel." Beat him in a war of words? Impossible. It has the opposite effect on Roux who only smiles. 

He turns abruptly and I almost stagger because he brings the whole damn heat wave with him - bouncing tongues of red hair and sweltering eyes - all funneling right to the lap of my pants. What a fox. Okay, I am loving this episode of the Real Househusbands of Fade. "What is trust but blind faith?" questions Roux. Hunter's gaze darts away rather than answer; the vampire chases him down. "Regardez moi. Regardez moi. Look at me." Until Hunter does it with a snarl; a thin smile immediately splits the vampire's face as if he just learned a dirty little secret. "Ah... I see now. I know why you can't look me in the eyes. In them, you see what you fear: yourself when the faith runs out."

"Faith," Hunter rallies, "Is not the same as wealth which can be squandered carelessly. Faith is a test which only grows more grueling with time. A test which, if failed even once, renders all prior success undone. My faith has been amply tested. And unlike your own, it has endured." End scene .

I only understand every other word of this conversation, so I come up with a universal response: "Ooooh, snap!" 

"And yet. It was not your faith to which I referred..." Then Roux smirks at me. 

"Hey," I switch subjects and pitch to an unusually high place, "Are we there yet? Because it kinda looks like we're there." I'm not stalling - well, I'm not just stalling. The light of my baton has hit a dead end and grows over the wall, lighting up the rungs of a ladder. When the vampire turns to look, Hunter pushes the head of his sledgehammer into Roux's back. 

"Against the wall," he orders. Knocks his shoulder when he doesn't respond quickly enough: " Now! " 

"Alright, alright." 

Hunter doesn't relax until the vampire is standing with both hands up, facing the wall. "I'll scout ahead," he says to me, "You keep an eye on our... Benefactor. "

"Not so stupid after all, eh petit chien?" Roux muses. 

As soon as Hunter has climbed the ladder out of sight, Roux turns around, relaxing against the wall with his arms folded, and I don't stop him because I'm undressing him with my eyes. Gimme a break, okay? I'm sick of this - sick of always feeling like I'm still just treading water over something so deep that I'll never see the bottom, fishing for clues just to reel in scraps that don't fit with the rest - sick of asking questions of people who fucking die before they can answer me! 

I blurt out my question, "Why did you really bring us here?" 

Roux's gaze wanders slowly to the furthest corner of the tunnel lit by my baton. 

"They say that when you turn, the first thing to die is your mortal body. And the very next is passion. You believe it?" 

Passion? 

My mind wanders to a memory of Jun kneeling at a low table, lifting his gaze behind a paper fan. The pattern of his kimono was so elaborate, but nowhere near as sadistically calculated as the harness work underneath: which Alexander was so proud to show off as he slid the robe from pale shoulders. The sharp strike of Mick's baseball bat echoes in my ears like the crack of a whip. I remember the dark wings of Matteo's costume slicing the air around a slick pole. 

"Nah." I've met too many vampires who are way too obsessed with playing dress-up. It's just too bad that we're Barbie and Ken.

"They say we have no use for such things. Vampires, after all, are creatures of logic. Sylvester believed it. At least... he used to." I see Roux's thin chest expand and contract with soundless breath. "That was before the unthinkable happened to him. You ." 

I resist the urge to roll my eyes but I don't do it very well.

"I asked him - begged him - not to go through with it. But instead, the unthinkable happened to me," Roux continues, "He decided to keep you." 

Keep you.

"Keep..." I pry as subtly as possible. "What does that mean, he adopted me?"

Roux's smile is wan. "Sylvester's connection to you is a little more... Personal ."

"He..." I mean, stop me if I'm skipping a step, but how many other places are there to go from there? "He was pregnant? " 

Roux keeps his smirk, and his silence.

"Is that a thing you vamps can do that I don't know about?" I think about it for a half-second. "Because if it is; I think a ton of people here are about to owe me child support..." 

A chuckle churns deep in his throat; Roux gets bolder; he detaches from the wall, lilting toward me. "What do you have to worry about? You are not a vampire, Rayce. And you are not a human either. You are something... In the middle." Light fingers dart across my collarbone; my heart races after them. "Not one way, not the other, no classification, something completely new. And that drives my Sylvester crazy. He believes that you must choose one or the other... That you can." His voice gets lower because he knows I can hear him as he tilts his face closer to mine, judging it with sleepy red eyes. His breath is cold; it clashes uncomfortably with the heat at my cheeks. "You are so close. You could be the emperor of two worlds. But you choose to be a slave to both." 

"Did he want me?" 

Roux blinks.

"My father," I ask again, sounding dangerously close to desperate. "Draven. Did he want me?" I know it's a stupid question. How would Roux know. Would it even matter? I know, I know, it's just... When you name one kid after your life's biggest achievement and the other like you were throwing darts at an open dictionary... Well, that kid's gonna grow up with some issues and pretend his brother was named after a telephone company, okay? 

Realization trickles into the vampire's gaze. "Ahhh, you are, how they say... ' Daddy issues'. "

I withdraw, puffing up a little. "I-I am not-"

"Would it make you feel better if I said yes?" 

"Maybe..."

A mischievous smile lights his face. "Then no." 

"Oh shut up..." What was I thinking. I remind myself that that mouth is only good for one thing. 

Our lips crash together. I lay into him with plenty of tongue and pretty soon I'm making out with the second-hottest vampire I know (you already know the hottest!). Hands find their way into his hair. Soft moaning - Roux is already at my package, massaging it gently through the fabric. Straight to business... Maybe he is a creature of logic after all. Pushing his hand into my pants, breaths come short and fast on my lips as he rubs me vigorously,

"You are easy..." he spits, "So easy, like both of your fathers..." 

Oh, they absolutely fucked. Preferably like a rotisserie and Roux was the meat spitted in between!  

I'm insta-jealous. My father had him? Bothersome heat swells in my chest. I want him naked - now - not that that's something new! Clumsy fingers try to find fastenings in his body armor but I'm just getting frustrated and going around and around in circles - like trying to find the end of a transparent roll of tape - no this is way worse. Come on, this is so much more important than hastily scotch-taping up the leaky brake line of my first car just because my ex's parents weren't home! How well did that work? Well what do you think? Come on, come on, there's gotta be an in somewhere! 

Roux finds one when his fangs pop out and jam themselves into my bottom lip. 

"Holy shit-!" Reeling back, swearing - my mouth is full of the taste of blood and my lip throbs with pain. I close a hand over it, but I can't stem the trail of crimson running down my chin. I spin around, cupping my mouth. Goddamn - I'm suddenly really glad I didn't get to the part where I planned to have something much more sensitive crammed between his razor-blade lips...

I'm falling forward. The breath is forced from my chest as it compresses against the floor and I can feel Roux's weight pushing down on my back. "What the fuck-!" I shout before he grips the back of my head and pins it into the dirt.  

"He will force you to choose - but no matter what you decide, he will never be satisfied!" Roux snarls, "Oh but don't worry... Your choices won't matter when you're dead!" 

"Roux!" That wasn't me. I struggle to lift my head, spitting out bits of the tunnel floor. I see another one of Sylvester's teammates approaching rapidly from the darkness. Clear tubing fits the grooves of his body armor, piping liquid in endless circuits. Siphons bubble at the back of his neck. Riptide? 

"I knew I'd find you here..." his growl is muffled by a dark helmet. "What is wrong with you? Our orders were clear!" I don't know why he seems so serious all of a sudden.

"I do this for us! For the revolution!" cries Roux. 

"Don't you mean 'Vive la revolution?'" I suggest. 

"Don't be corny." He grabs the back of my collar - Riptide moves fast, thrusting an arm forward, palm flat like a blade. A whip of water follows from his tank, knocking Roux clear off me. Riptide extends a hand at me. "Come with me!" 

I make a face. "Let me guess: if I want to live?" 

Riptide's head lifts sharply. "What are you doing? Put that down!" he orders as Roux's rapier glints into view. You know what, I think I'm going to let them settle this between themselves. I put my hands on the ladder and climb desperately away from the battle. 

I don't dare slow down, pushing through the hatch at the top. Snuffing my baton, I heave myself into a darkness that my eyes adjust to slowly. And that's when I see Hunter unconscious on the floor and a rounded shape hunched over him. Both of us freeze. 

Strangely smooth - it's the back of a headless torso. A head rises slowly into view. It almost looks like liquid: smooth and glinting strangely. As it turns to one side, I see fangs dripping blood. 

Vampire . 

Chapter Text

13. Breaking the Dread-not

Okay, I've been keeping count and the only vampires here are Alexander and me - and Headquarters wasn't even big enough for the one-and-a-half of us. So who's the new guy? I'm backing away as the vampire stands, swiveling to face me. A rapid glance at the wound he left in Hunter's side dribbling like a leaky keg and then I have to worry about myself. The vampire's blood red uniform is molded to his body like a second layer of skin. It doesn't stop there, extending over the head to round it down into a hairless, featureless shape like a smooth knob of latex. Even his eyes are obscured, leaving only a gap where the vampire's mouth is: a dark cavern guarded by twin fangs. 

I'm paralyzed as it creeps closer. Then, some horrible premonition makes me look over my shoulder where I find three more vampires dressed exactly like the first have already blocked off my escape route. Wheeling around nervously, I try to keep all four blind red faces in sight as they close in. The first one gets right in my face; his fangs are inches away and I can smell Hunter's blood on his breath. Yeah, something tells me I'm not going to get a kiss from this one... 

I squeeze my eyes shut. He's going to bite, I have myself convinced, but the attack doesn't come. 

"Why did you leave your post?" he asks sharply. 

Blinking rapidly, "I-" 

"The councilman expects better of his elites." Flinching from his bark - but I bet his bite would have been much worse. 

One of the others speaks up, "New blood." And the others make irritated noises of agreement.

"If they hire them any fresher, we'll be working with actual fledglings." The vampire scowls. 

 Okay, what the fuck , how am I getting away with this... They're not really looking at me at all, are they? My shoulders ratcheted up by my head come back down slowly as I stare into the crimson material covering the vampire's eyes. Then I realize I'm looking in the wrong place and lower my gaze to a pointed nose and a mouth tilted slightly toward me. A sharp intake of breath. His or mine? He's sensing me . They all are, and they switched off all their other senses to heighten this one. 

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. 

"Bring him; we don't have time to stop at the blood cellars. The councilman prefers not to wait..." The vampires are moving quickly down the hallway.

I haul Hunter off the floor - damn that muscle is heavy - and throw him over my shoulder before following them. He's unconscious so a troubled thought keeps me company instead: Am I really... That much like them? That even their vampy senses weren't tingling? 

The dreadnought: I thought it was, you know, a military building. It looks more like a coliseum with towering stands. Lives up to the name anyway when I find the stands filled with more vampires in crimson red uniforms. A domed ceiling leaps over our heads in overlapping black metal plates compressing the air like a pressure cooker and shutting out even the tiniest ray of sunlight. Or moonlight, again, how is anyone supposed to tell the time in here? 

But by far, the weirdest thing about this place is the obstacle course smack dab in the middle of it. I squint. Oh I see. The whole slavery thing wasn't working out so we're pivoting to a vampire summer camp. 

"This is it?" A voice echoes around the hollow dome of the dreadnought. "This is all you got? Say, what kind of flimflam are you trying to sell me, slick?" Dear god, it's the 1930s! I mean Prohibition! I mean the Great Depression! I mean- wow things really sucked back then - I mean, it's motherfucking Mickie Medieval! I wheel back, slipping behind the stands to watch through the gaps. The vampire soldiers stand straight at attention as Mickie passes by alongside Alexander. 

Following the sound of clinking chains, I find a pair of slaves trailing Mick with their heads down: Insaaf and Tamasha. Ha! Bet you thought I killed them, but nope, I let them live... Long enough... For this. Well shit, I can't win; leave me alone. 

Their tails drag on the floor; they used to look like a bridal train of jewels trailing behind them, but now they have a dull, dusty sheen more like dry grass. John would have never let them get so scruffy. I swallow the lump in my throat, surprised to find it there. 

"And what's this supposed to be?" Mickie tugs sharply on a third slave's elbow, forcing him to stumble into view. I see the flutter of purple before the rich red of his kimono. Jun, wincing as Mickie wrenches his arm into the air. "A pity prize for losing my little birdie? I liked the last one better." 

Jun rolls his eyes, mouthing, 'Come on...'  

I know this is technically awful but you gotta love watching Alexander's program crash and burn like this: escaped livestock, a full-blown rebellion and a bunch of secondhand slaves? Most of them weren't even trained in-house! This is the best of the bad things that have happened to me recently. 

"We'll find him... If he's still alive, of course..." Alexander goes groveling after the councilman. "This is simply a... Hiccup, a blip. The smallest aberration-" 

"A waste of my time!"

Jun looks back and forth. I see the tiniest - you wouldn't even notice unless you knew just what kind of a lowlife he is - movement of his foot into the path of one of the peacock twins. Tamasha stumbles. 

"Worthless!" Mickie snaps on a hair trigger - he jerks sharply on the chains, hurling them both at the ground. Alarmed squawking, but half of it is suddenly choked as the councilman brings his high-top sneaker down on Tamasha's throat. Talons scrape on the floor. Tamasha claws at the shoe crushing his airway, sucking shallow breaths in between. Insaaf throws himself at their cruel new master, wailing for mercy for his brother. 

"You know what your problem is, Hem?" The councilman snarls as he grinds the slave's throat into the dust. "You don't discipline these people!" Hefting his baseball bat, I see the spikes come out a second before he swings, burying them in the second twin clinging to his jacket. I squeeze my eyes shut because it's hard to watch. When I open them again, Insaaf is on hands and knees cupping a deep injury at his shoulder. Teal hair pools on the tiles as rivers of red cut through brown skin. Shocked. Stunned. I wonder if a classy pet like him has ever felt pain before. Senseless - just senseless pointless cruelty; at least the rest of us are soldiers, those two are basically trash pigeons trapped in bodies too sexy for them to know what to do with. 

Insaaf can't crawl far before collapsing in a matted blue heap. Tamasha is deathly silent, both arms flagging before the crush of Mick's shoe is lifted from his airway. Jun gets to stand back and watch the violence with frigid detachment. Took the attention off himself, anyway, the pussy...

Mick turns on Alexander who is flinching like a rodent at this point. "Do you even understand what you've gone and done? You've stuffed our operations in Fade, greased a Gunner, lost another and turned this whole mission into a complete fiasco. I'm shuttin' down this clipjoint!" Mick's lip curls over a fang. "But not before I get my hands on that traitor . Vex. My elites tracked him into the forest and that trail ended here." 

I narrow my eyes. Vex? You mean secret double agent Vex who is hanging out in an infirmary full of vulnerable injured soldiers with my army uncles right now is being chased by Sanguine forces? Should I be surprised at this point or just tired?

"I know precisely where he is!" Alexander puts up a hand quickly. "Hiding! Hiding like a coward with the rest of the holdouts..." 

"Fine!" Mickie declares, "I'll just destroy all of them!" And he'll get away with it too because we are not equipped to fight an army of Sanguine's best soldiers . 

Hunter jerks - he's coming to. He starts kicking out in alarm, realizing that he's not on the ground and remembering where he left himself at the same time. I open my mouth to say something but decide that a smack on the ass is worth a thousand words, clapping his cute shorts. He pauses. 

"Rayce," he says with something that sounds like relief. I let him down and he looks around, that sliver of relief wearing off already. 

"How the hell did we get here?" 

"They think I'm one of them." I shrug. "Go figure." 

"We have to warn the others." 

I reach for my radio and grasp air. Where is it- I look down; pat all around myself.

"It's gone," I gasp out.

"What do you mean gone?" 

"I don't... I- Let's just use yours."

" I didn't bring one, I can barely fit a folded dollar bill into the damned so-called pockets of these booty shorts-!" Hunter lets out a restrained growl of frustration. "Change of plans. We have to go back." He's right.

Alexander suddenly comes around to stand in front of his master wearing a syrupy smile. "Councilman Mayweather, there will be plenty of time to bring the full force of your wrath on these pathetic mortals, but the night is still young! Please, at least enjoy the entertainment I've arranged for you this evening."

"And why should I give you even another second of my time?" 

"Because I have recaptured a specimen that I know you have a singular interest in... The hermaphrodite. " 

My heart is pounding now because there's only one man I know who fits that particular slur. 

I think Hunter does too as he buries his face in his hands, rubbing up and down. "You have to be joking..." 

"Change of change of plans, Hunter."

I know that shade of camouflage. You know that shade of camouflage. Not army green, excuse you, that's not green at all, it's dusty gold . The Marines march - even if they have to limp to do it - into the Dreadnought. Even as prisoners of war, they're still on duty. Vampire soldiers wielding strange red weapons prod them along. I almost leap out of my hiding place because front and center is Sylphos and of course he is because he has this pathological need to be the leader at all times, even when he can clearly see that they're walking straight toward the edge of a cliff... 

A disruption in the group as one of the vampires strikes a Marine in the back of the head with a rifle, goading the men into a tighter formation. Sylphos' yellow eyes dart. 

"Steady!" he shouts. And when Sylphos gives an order, the Marines listen. They pull themselves together in a defiant line before Mickie and Alexander. 

"Councilman Mayweather, perhaps you have heard of Thade Knotts' world-class Marine Corps ," Alexander introduces them, "Led by none other than Sergeant Sterling himself." 

Mickie doesn't say anything right away, sizing up Sylphos like a towering birthday cake with allll the thick, fudge frosting slathered over every muscular bulge and dip... What was I saying? 

The vampire runs his tongue over his lower lip. "I've waited for this too goddamn long..."

Sylphos glares at him. "Why don't you take that bloodless vienna sausage of yours and go stick it in a meat grinder." The only thing that cracks the Marines' facade as they snicker. 

That drives a smirk into the apple of Mick's cheek but there's no humor in it. "Yes siree bob, that's her." 

It's funny the kind of reaction a three-letter pronoun can get you, like over 6 feet and 200 muscular pounds of Marine wanting to deck you into next month. "The fuck did you call me, motherfucking Riverdale wannabe douchebag?!" Sylphos' teammates have to hold him back. "Say it again!" he shouts, "Say it again, I dare you! I'll punch your little prick teeth into your brain stem!"

Alexander observes the outburst, unimpressed. "The Crown, god bless, made but one mistake... Dismantling the empire." Then he slips off a white glove and slaps Sylphos with the back of it. "No matter - you'll find I run a tight ship ." 

The Marine snarls at the vampire. "Bend over and I'll loosen it up for you, you little bitch," he suggests to more laughter. 

"Typical slave; confuses vulgarity with wit" Alexander sniffs. "Consider this, then: I'm going to offer you something your ancestors never had. A way off the ship ." 

Sylphos seems to know where he's going with this almost immediately as his gaze flashes to the obstacle course. "Prove your worth. Clear the course within the time limit and I will let you and the rest of your team walk free." 

Here's some advice from someone who cheats a lot: don't gamble with cheaters. They'll make you think you're playing the game when you're really just playing a part in their game. I remember Alexander's games. I lost, and Finn paid the price. But how could someone like Sylphos understand that? He worked for every tiny thing he's got and that's why he thinks even the big things are just a matter of working hard enough. He can work all he wants, but it won't matter if the world doesn't work.

Alexander knows it too, like he knows all the people he profiled for his sick program. Give him the hero's option, make it a contest to boot and he has Sylphos exactly where he wants him. Thade was the unforgiving border wall between them so far, but the whole time, Alexander was peeking over and taking notes.

"All of them," Sylphos says abruptly.

"What was that?"

"Free all the prisoners. And then I'll do it." 

A smile curls Alexander's lips. "Cocky." 

Sylphos smirks. "You mean uppity? "

Hundreds of eerie red faces tilt to the course - but the Sanguine elites are a tough crowd. There's only silence from the stands as Sylphos takes his position at the starting line. He glares up at the first set of obstacles: a stretch of hurdles leading to a climbing wall. I might have to take back what I said about Alexander and his notes, because if he was paying attention at all, he'd know Sylphos could run that course with one hand tied behind his back and the other carrying me over his shoulder! ...Not that I've fantasized about that at all, wow where did that come from...

"So where's the course, anyway? Is it behind this playground?" One of the Marines snarks.

It puts a smirk on Sylphos' face - he's got this - he knows he's got this! He even gets a little cocky, popping a hip as he ties off his hair in a ponytail. Letting cerulean curls ripple over an arm, he tosses them before taking the stance of a racer primed to sprint. 

Marines call at him through cupped hands, whooping and clapping and it takes me back to the training grounds: to just another dull weekday and the Marines are running circles around a vaguely-engaged group of soldiers. Half the time, we didn't even know which leg of the drill we were on! It was always kinda funny watching how pumped the Marines would get. I'd even smile a tiny bit while they slapped each other high-fives and bro-fists all over the place, spewing the motto - the mantra - every chance they got: 'Semper fi! Oo-rah!' The ghost of the sound echoes in my ears.

I never thought it would get so bad that drills would graduate to a fond memory by comparison. 

A digital timer appears against the curved ceiling of the dreadnought like a bad omen. 

Alexander lifts a pistol into the air. "Ready? Set!"

If he said the word 'go' at all, I didn't hear it because it was drowned out by a gunshot, which was drowned out by cheering Marines. Sylphos shoots off like a bullet - he skims the hurdles, practically in flight . Hands to the climbing wall next and he starts to scale the sheer vertical face so fast he might as well be walking right up the side of it. He's smoking this course. What did I tell you?

Sylphos comes to an abrupt stop.

Abort! Abort!

Suddenly the noises coming from the Marines are off tone. What's happening up there? I squint. Then I see Sylphos' arm drop - a desperate reflex. He reins himself in before it reaches its destination, dragging on his belly but it's enough to bring on an icy wave of realization. Fuck. And actually, that would be the only way to fix it, but I can't help him this time. What did I tell you? No, before that: this game isn't fair. 

Sylphos has to fight his own body for every hold but it's all just wasted energy when his legs give out. I watch him go down - all the way down. His teammates are just confused. It gets me every time. They... They really don't know, do they? There's no hush-hush, the sergeant has lady parts, keep it on the down low - don't ask, don't tell; they just straight up have literally no idea what he is... The most terrifying thing about Sylphos isn't his aim or his muscles or even those venomous yellow eyes; it's the goddamn discipline he had not to sleep with anyone in a frat house full of chiseled underwear models!

"Get back on that wall, Sergeant!" shouts one of the underwear mod- Marines . 

So Sylphos works harder. Picking himself up off the floor, he rockets into motion again; cuts his time in half up that wall but at the top, he grips his own crotch and squeezes, clenching his teeth as he glares at the next obstacle.  

A rope strung from a tall frame at the top of the wall to a second one further away. He grabs it with both hands, then swings in to lock his ankles around. Hanging upside down, Sylphos clambers furiously to the other side, working those strong arms while vampires and Marines track his progress from the sidelines. His blistering pace has to slow when tremors overtake him again. He clings with his entire body to the rope, just trying not to fall off while precious seconds fall through the gaps. That realization only seems to make his little problem harder to ignore. 

He tries to continue, desperate, but his legs falter again. Feet slip dangerously for a second time - he's hanging by a literal thread. A reflex makes me jolt forward like I'm about to run all the way there, stand under the tightrope with my arms out to catch him. I feel like that would blow my cover. Just a little!

"Don't let go!" A Marine folds both hands at his lips, watching with bug eyes.

"What's wrong with him?" Hunter's brow is furrowed with confusion. 

"I already told you. It's why he came over that night," I say through an irritated sigh. Who cares if he believes it this time or not. 

He flashes me a dangerous look and I wonder if I see some Flaere in it.

Meanwhile, Sylphos grits his teeth, summoning strength from his core and his team's cries to fight that inconvenient part of himself. He manages to hook his legs around the rope again, clinging for dear life. Sylphos is pulling out every stop he's got when he reaches into his vest and grabs a knife - what is he doing -  oh okay, he's just cutting the rope that's currently holding him up. 

Snap! - Then he's swinging in an arc to the opposite frame. Sylphos hops off on the other side - stumbles into a forward roll - and straightens up while his teammates rally below. It's getting close but there's only one obstacle left. My heart is pounding in my chest. 

Could he actually...?

Skidding down a ramp, Sylphos gazes out over one last obstacle: a low field of barbed wire. Such a classic that it's practically the mascot. The Marine crawl. Not that it was reserved for Marines. Yeah right, if only I was that lucky... No, I remember plenty of miserable, rainy evenings sandwiched between a mud slick and a rack of barbed wire while Weiser's yelling formed the background track. I think that was where I did most of my contemplating the universe and all the random events that brought me to this shithole... 

It was a pain in the ass on a good day, and now I watch Sylphos make an attempt with the weight of his teammates' lives on his shoulders and his own body assailing him. He drops low to the ground and slides beneath the wire, fighting on forearms and knees to crawl as fast as humanly possible. He's going to make it - I flash the clock a look - he's going to make it! 

That's when barbed wire sinks spitefully into his long blue hair, dragging him down, holding him back. The harder he struggles, the more it tangles until it's basically a part of him: his hair an angry snarl of metal and blue. Tan fingers stretch under a boundary of sharp wire. Then Sylphos lets out a gasp, dropping flat on his belly. Dead silence.

"Sylphos-" Shockingly, it's Jun who starts forward and stop again at the circumference of Mickie's unforgiving grip, staring with big brown, unreadable eyes. 

"Sergeant Sterling," one of the Marines calls out. There's a halt in his voice. "You fought like a Marine, brother."  

"Not yet," he says quietly. Sylphos' fist closes around his ponytail at the nape of his neck - the tactical knife whips out lightning quick - "Not fucking yet! " And he draws the line across his bright blue hair.   

Sylphos leaves a part of himself behind when he emerges from under the barbed wire. Frizzy blue wisps of hair like tattered banners fluttering in the aftermath of a battle. The short crop of cerulean curls framing his ears and neck barely even bob when he turns sharply to the timer. I catch up a second late.

Turns out Sylphos is the one who caught up late. 

The next thing I see is rifles being leveled with the backs of the Marines' heads. A firing squad of vampires standing like blood red shadows behind them. My heart bounces straight into my throat and swells to fill it like a sponge. Terrified eyes lift into dim light. 

"What are you doing? Th-That wasn't part of the deal-" 

And Alexander smiles. "Neither was letting them live." 

"No- No, no, wait, NO! " 

Chapter Text

14. Son of a Gunner

I could swear that only one shot was fired: a coordinated shot amplified a hundred times. Somehow that was still drowned out by his screaming. Sylphos' forward momentum was halted by hands holding his wrists. He stumbles back into a broad chest, screaming so loud . Struggling against a vampire who is much, much stronger than he looks. 

"Get your filthy hands off me! Don't fucking touch me!" The venom behind his words is all tapped out; he's biting dry. 

"I want you," Mickie is whispering feverishly into the Marine's neck, running wild hands through his hair and over his chest. "I've been just dizzy with you ever since I heard about you." Mickie manhandles the fastenings of his pants. He can't wait even half a second more to put his hands on Sylphos. Maroon thighs are exposed between folds of camo fabric and then pale fingers eagerly wheedle between them. Sylphos buckles with his knees together. An animal cry escapes his throat.

"Get away from him!" 

He looks up in disbelief.

A single Marine is still standing. I remember him too: Shafali, from the capture the flag game? Damn, does that feel like a lifetime ago... He stands stock still as if his chin is resting on the tip of a bayonet because he doesn't dare look down. His fine curtain of purple hair quivers - he's shaking. 

Mickie pulls both fingers out of Sylphos' pie and spreads his lips gloatingly. A syrupy sheen of female lubrication stretches between them, baring it all in pornographic detail. 

Shafali is stunned. "You're... You have..." 

Sylphos' yellow eyes drop to his own exposed crotch. "I-" A denial gets all the way to the tip of his tongue but stops there. "I don't want it..."

"Because you thought we'd look at you differently?" 

They rise again.

"Did you really trust us that little? Th-That you thought you had to hide from us; what, that we wouldn't accept you? Sylphos, we're your family ."

"Zafar-"

"How about j-just giving us a chance, huh? And now they'll never get one." Sylphos doesn't speak so Zafar screws up his courage, lowering his voice. "I... Sylphos, I still think the world of you." 

That was all that was needed of him. Thin fingers dig deep into his straight purple hair. 

Wrenching Shafali back by the roots, Alexander pushes the mouth of the gun into his back and fires: once, twice, three times while his cries echo from the ceiling. The last of Sylphos' breath leaves in a gasp. 

" Zafar! " 

The thud of the body hitting the floor is nowhere near as painful-sounding as the sound of knees striking the tile. Mickie lets Sylphos crawl to the fallen Marine because the pain is part of the foreplay. A whimpered name fills the enclosed space of the dome: 

Zafar Zafar Zafar...

Sylphos is falling apart as he gathers Shafali's broken body in his arms. A glance at his injuries is all Sylphos needs to know that it's over. He closes a hand over the wound because looking at it is depressing, and meets Shafali's eyes instead. One's too blunt to lie and the other's just sharp enough not to believe it. Mick's shadow falls over them.  

"Kill me." Sylphos trembles. "I should die here with them- I deserve to die-" 

In Fade, that would be considered a mercy. The vamps have much worse plans for him. Sylphos lets out a small yelp when Mick gets on top of him, folding him over. Wrenches an arm behind his back and forces his head down so he's face to face with his dying friend. 

The vamp whispers venom in his ear, "No, you deserve to live with the fact that you could have saved him."

"No!" A hard tug.

"You could have saved them all if you were anything but this ." 

"No..." Sylphos' mouth hangs open. He's starting to realize too late, babbling, "It wasn't fair, it wasn't my fault, you did something to me-!"  

" I did something to you, society's keeping you down, God dealt you a bad hand," Mick chuckles darkly, "Geez louise, when are you people going to take some responsibility for yourselves?" Of course, Mickie thinks now is the best time to bury his cock inside Sylphos. The Marine screams; Shafali gargles something through a trachea full of blood. 

Mickie digs a hand into short cerulean curls, holding him steady.

"Stop-!" That's where Sylphos starts anyway, resisting the vampire's deathly cold vice grip, but I see all the unsanctioned signals that his body sends out: the way his muscles soften up to receive Mick's powerful thrusts, the way his hips rock gently, chasing every backstroke, begging for more. He leaks like a gutter and he's rock hard. I already see a slick trail making its way down the inside of his thigh. Sylphos needs it, knows it and hates it. And Mick is giving it to him just the way he wants it.

I've seen a lot of awful. Hell, I've done a lot of awful. But I never made someone choke down their last few moments on earth while raping the man they loved in full view. I never forced anyone through the longest, most humiliating climax of their life while clinging for dear life to a dying friend. Shafali summons the last of his strength to wrap his tan arms weakly around Sylphos. Blood and dirt caked on the insides of ragged fingernails like grime on window panes. Just holding him. By the time Mickie climaxes, they land lifelessly on the floor. 

Sylphos doesn't speak for the longest time, cradling Shafali's face between his hands, staring into glass eyes. He closes them with his thumbs, making sure that if even a shred of his soul is still left in his body, it won't have to see what Sylphos does next. 

"Harder," 

Yeah. 

I've never seen anyone break like that. 

Mickie has the smuggest, most sinister grin on his face. He waits just long enough to make Sylphos ask twice. "Harder, please, " he begs.

"There she is." Then Mickie delivers. The Marine can barely hold himself up, allowing himself to be ground into Shafali's corpse. He's begging for the next round before the dick is even out, "Again." And gets it in the ass this time like a slut. Screaming with pleasure this time and he doesn't seem to care who hears. Mick rakes through his short hair.

200 pounds of muscle, still helpless when Mick flips Sylphos onto his back in a slick of gore, where the wetness makes him whimper and arch his back. Pinning both of his wrists over his head, Mick shoves into that pussy, cruelly putting him right back in his place. Six foot something doesn't look like much, all crumpled on the floor. Mickie smiles down at him; strokes his face, then draws a thumb over slightly parted lips. 

"Understand now, doll? This is what you were made for."  

Nobody's home behind empty eyes. 

"What a dame, what a dame..." he mutters. 

My heart is pounding. My stomach is plummeting. I think I let myself believe the hype: that if anyone could beat a game this rigged, it would be Sylphos motherfucking Sterling. 

Mick finishes, leaving him breathing hard, but satisfied - no, that's not the word. Full. Apart from the slow rise and fall of his chest, I have no way of knowing what's going on in there. 

The vampire stands, wrenching him to his feet. He has to steady Sylphos with an arm wrapped around his shoulder. I've never seen him look like that. I have to do something. But it's different from Matteo, or Jun, or Finn. With them, it was like I had this pathological urge to rescue them... That was rage , competing with Damon, some weird heroism gene that must be in my blood - all of the above? - but now, looking at Sylphos defeated, crushed against the orange and black of a Princeton jacket... This is fear. This is 'what the absolute fuck am I supposed to do now?' 

Abruptly, Hunter doubles over. I dip to catch him and understand right away when a small, high-pitched whine emits from his throat - a fragment of Flaere reacting to what he just had to witness. I whisper, "Keep it together, Hunter." 

Meanwhile, Alexander came over to finger Sylphos' shortened blue curls. He sighs disapprovingly, "I do hate to see a good design ruined." He smiles at his boss, smug. "Well? What do you think?" 

The aggressively handsome jock glances at him irreverently. "I think I just did in five minutes what you couldn't do in five months. "

That smile evaporates.

"Face it, Hem, you're through. Time to ship you back to Sanguine. Hey! I'll bet they still have your old position open for you! It's hard to find candidates these days with such little self respect." 

Alexander's mouth gapes open and shut soundlessly like a ventriloquist dummy. 

Mickie narrows his eyes, looking up, then around the dreadnought. "Do you hear something?" 

"I don't-" Alexander falls silent.

Then I hear it too: a sort of plinking sound like many toothpicks falling on a hardwood floor. It's coming from outside.

A sanguine elite approaches and inclines his head. "My councilman, it's the indigenous naiads from the forest." Oh my god it's the pizza I ordered.  

"They appear to be hurling what we believe are meant to be 'weapons' at the barricade."

Alexander seethes, "Ask that worthless Gunner boy to do one thing... " 

Mickie doesn't seem concerned. The opposite. Grinning, he hands Sylphos off to a pair of elites. "Take this back to my office, would ya?" Then he slaps his hands together and rubs them unpleasantly. "What are we waitin' for, fellas? Pull 'er up and see 'em in!" 

The metal shutters are peeling back. So much for breaking the dreadnought; they're inviting people inside at this point. The shutters reveal a blue wave rushing toward us like a high, angry tide. Gotta hand it to Daphne, she's an overachiever. That's way more than 300 smurfs... 

Marinus is in the lead; the tip of his weapon points the way forward. " Attack! " he belts out a battle cry, propelling himself with compact but powerful blue muscles. 

Meanwhile, Mickie is rooting around in the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a baseball and accepts a bat from an elite. Narrowing his eyes, he runs his tongue over his upper lip, then tosses the baseball and strikes it on the way down. Cr-ack! We watch the fly ball soar innocently toward the approaching horde. A distant dot drops into a sea of blue. And explodes, hurling naiads in all directions. Marinus jerks to a stop, twisting around to look at the smoke rising into the sky.  

The councilman whistles. "Now that's what I call a home run!"

Marinus turns back around just in time to see sanguine elites spilling from the open mouth of the dreadnought. "Retreat! Retreat!" This guy can't catch a break...

Suddenly, there's a hand locked around my wrist and then I'm running along after Hunter, out of the dreadnought and straight into the battlefield, overlooked in the chaos. Vampires everywhere. They look completely absurd: these alien-looking soldiers in bodysuits like neutered red mannequins charging into battle - no weapons in sight - you almost want to tap one on the shoulder and go, 'uh, you seem to be forgetting a little something there, buddy... Also is this a fetish thing?' 

But then the liquid crimson of their suits stretches from their limbs to come to sharp points. Ah. Of course. Who needs weapons when your whole body is one? 

Red hits blue and swallows it whole. A smooth spike plunges through a thin chest, pulling out in a backsplash of gore. The naiads scatter, but most don't get away. I blame the little legs. If I didn't, I'd have to blame me. A scream. And lots more where that came from. They're horribly outmatched; this is a massacre so awful that my brain is barely treating it as real. Floating through the chaos in an isolated plastic bubble. Well... Not completely isolated. I face forward to look at Hunter: at his bright orange hair whipping in the wind. He doesn't stop for a second, focused so intently on some point on the horizon that I almost believe we'll make it there. I want to believe we'll make it.

A gray eye peered at me through the darkness of my room. Hunter freaks me out, man. I was spooning Sylphos: the warmth of his hips nestled securely within mine while his muscular frame rose and fell softly. Which was great, don't get me wrong, but I was mostly using him as a human shield from the psycho we were sharing a bed with.

I didn't expect Hunter to actually speak. "Is this how it's going to be? Will he always come between us?" My gaze flickered. 

I muttered, "You made sure of that..."

" Flaere is the one who-" Hunter reared up from the sheets at the same time as me; I wanted to run and he wanted to stop me and I knew which one of us was more persuasive. Or at least quicker on the draw. I think he saw the fear in my eyes because he froze: the hunter trying not to scare off a rabbit.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, hushed.

He reached over Sylphos' sleeping form to take both my hands, compressing them between his own near his chest. 

"Tell me the reason," he said quietly. "You must have one, or you would no longer be here. What is your reason? " 

"What do you mean; reason for what?"

The look he gave me was scolding because I was supposed to know. "Your reason to be. " But I didn't. I searched his eyes looking for a last-minute answer to this pop quiz. "Was it your brother?" 

"I killed my brother."

"Your reason to live and your reason to die can be one and the same. In fact, they usually are." 

I responded with silence, and that silence was starting to bug me: a worsening itch at the back of my throat because if I didn't have a reason, then what was I still doing here? 

If Hunter was waiting for an answer; he was going to wait forever. I don't have all the answers; never have, never will. I can never tell what people need, but I always seem to know what they want . 

So I wasn't surprised when he melted into my hands the instant I took his face, filling my palms with his cheeks. He's just like the others. Just like all the others in a way he would never admit. He let me pull him into a gentle kiss. Our lips overlapped briefly before I pulled away again, letting him hang on the taste. He loved it. So the second one was deeper; I tugged on his lip with my teeth. Hunter chased me eagerly to the third; we shared hot breath and traded tongues. My hands were grabbing his wrists but I wanted to put them on something else. A lot else, actually... The tiny noises he was making were getting me hot, but I was also bothered. I had to ask. We pulled apart with a sticky sound.

"Do you have a reason?" I left the question on his lips. 

I saw his brow furrow as he lowered his face, ashamed to admit, "That's just it. I found one." 

Sylphos sat bolt upright, cutting us apart. Hunter fell back on the mattress on his haunches, blinking. The Marine scrambled to the edge of the bed - he only just got there before I heard him retch. I watched him heave, just shocked.

"Sylphos?" Then I caught up with myself. "Sylphos!" Hurling myself over the side of the bed, I brought him a canteen and a towel which he pressed to his mouth. 

"Thanks," said Sylphos when he had recovered. 

"What's going on; are you okay?" Thoughts were barreling through my head: "Are you sick? Is it your injuries-"

"It's nothing," Sylphos shook his head. "It's just morning sickness."

"... Morning... You mean like that thing that happens to pregnant women?" 

His lips curled into a tired smirk and he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's almost like I'm pregnant or something," he said sarcastically. He closed a hand over his stomach. "Why am I not surprised that having a Gunner baby would be a pain in the ass?" 

My heart stopped . "What?" 

He looked at me, confused. 

" What did you just say?"

And then he looked horrified when he realized that I just straight up had literally no idea.

I see the missile coming in slow motion and leap forward, pushing Hunter into the dirt and landing protectively on top of him. The projectile shoots past, leaving a trail of thick white smoke. I look back over my shoulder, hair whipping, stinging my face. Yeah, I don't think the naiads brought that to the war potluck. The missile found its way through the open shutter and light flashes inside the dreadnought. Then a second, and a third. The domed structure caves on one side and breathes out a cloud of smoke and glittering debris. That was way better than my plan, anyway. I stand, helping Hunter to his feet. 

"Now's our chance."

"Please don't do this," he says. Hunter points at the treeline - it's tantalizingly close. "On the other side of those trees, we are free. "

What is your reason to be?

I tug loose, taking a step back. Then another. "You asked me what my reason is. I think it's them. "

I only notice how wound up he was when he slumps, defeated. "So you choose him." 

"I don't- I'm not! " Taking a breath, I try again, "Sylphos made it pretty clear that he doesn't want me to have anything to do with the baby - as far as he's concerned, I'm just a sperm donor. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let some old-timey vampire enslave him."

"How do you know that it's yours-" 

"Hunter!" I cut him off. Quieter. "If that's my kid, and I just leave him behind, could you even respect me after that?" 

Silence.

"After we save him... Them . After that, I'm all yours." I reach out to touch his cheek, but he steps back, bristling.

"I don't believe you." He always had good instincts. 

The hand rests on his shoulder instead. "I know you don't, Hunter, because I know you. "

He narrows his eyes. 

"You act like you don't care about anything because you care about everything and you don't want to get hurt." I smile weakly. "And I know that because we happen to have a lot in common." 

He averts his gaze but doesn't pull back. "Have it your way. The two of you can rescue that obnoxious Marine together." Hunter grabs me by the collar and wrenches me forward. "But then I want you ." 

I nod, solemn. 

Hunter's breath escapes in a low sigh. He leans up and lays a chaste kiss on my lips; I close my eyes briefly. When I open them again, Flaere is staring at me intently.

"I know where we can score a ride." 

A detour to one of the army depots: the corrugated shutter rattles as he raises it. A bar of light falls over a row of skimmers. 

"Yes!" I gasp. 

It doesn't take me long to pick one: pale tan with blue lightning decals like it was decorated by a fifth-grader with a brand new sticker sheet. I dust off the chassis, grinning. If this thing can top 200 over the wide-open dunes of Null, then what do you wanna bet it can get us through HQ in ten minutes flat with a loudmouthed damsel in distress wrapped around me on the way back? I sling a leg over it. My smile fades at the sight of the complex dashboard. You're telling me the person who decorated this thing and the one who drove it are the same guy?

Flaere slides onto the seat behind me. The feather-light touch of his fingers on my shoulders draws my attention away from all the fiddly switches and buttons. Darting like an electric current from one shoulder, over the shelf of my back, to the other where his fingers rest. I find out where his other hand went when it makes a reappearance on my thigh. Fingernails dig into my cargos. I press a lucky button that seems to activate the ignition. But the skimmer isn't the only thing rising... 

My companion tightens on me to steady himself. "Woah, it flies," he notes.

"Afraid of flying?"

"I'm not afraid of flying!" he says indignantly. He mutters, "I'm just not such a big fan of falling ." 

"Come on, babe, the only falling you're going to do is for me. " I grin cheesily. Flaere snorts with laughter. I did miss the lower barrier of entry for my jokes...  

"Woo- hoooooo! " We blow back across the battlefield at top speed. Slowing when we re-enter the dreadnought, which is empty this time. They must have retreated back into the building. Weiser and Thade must be pushing on the other front, so if I'm fast and play my cards right, I might be able to sneak Sylphos out from under Mickie's nose.  

The hover engines kick up bits and pieces of debris that whirl around us as we bring the storm howling through the corridors. Vampires in red suits sense us with just enough time to hurl themselves out of the way. Now, this is how you make an entrance! No underground tunnels, no sneaking around and bullshit. I mean, no, I technically still don't know how to drive this thing, but the growl of the machine underneath me - the wild up-and-down bob of the thrusters like we're riding waves - and those sexy arms around my waist as Flaere envelops me from behind - I couldn't possibly be doing this wrong.

He pops over my shoulder. "Checkpoint," he gasps. Up ahead: a makeshift barricade of steel dressers stacked on their sides. Vampires patrol the border. 

I rev the handle eagerly; the machine bobs with anticipation. "Be a shame if someone were to crash that party." 

He catches my drift. "We're ready!" As I tuck myself in and streamline into the wind, he stands up on the leather seat, slinging the sledgehammer over his shoulder to the ready. Blacked out windows hurtle past. The speed goes to my head and makes me laugh.

"Someone crack a window in here!" I whip out my rifle, direct it sideways and let loose. Rat-a-tat-tat- bullets shatter dark glass and pepper the drywall. Rectangles of moonlight roll out on the floor like carpeting. That gets their attention. They ready their weapons, not fast enough as the skimmer blows through the barricade. Metal dressers spin out, taking down a few vampires in the process.

Wall. Wall! Twisting sharply on the handlebars, I edge off the trajectory before we crash. The vampires give us a wide perimeter on either side - just enough room for Flaere to work with. In an instant, he flips off the back, his body twisting through the air while I direct the skimmer in the opposite direction. I give the handle a sharp twist - full speed ahead! 

I don't know if the best way to stop a moving vehicle is with your own body , but the vampires are determined to try. They start piling up on the windshield. I see one of their battlesuits stretch and shape itself into a deadly sharp point - I yank my head out of the way to dodge the thrust. Time to lose these bozos. Slamming the brakes abruptly, I buck them halfway down the hall into a writhing heap. 

By the time I turn around, rifle at my side, Hunter is making short work of the rest. It's dangerous to know someone this well. I can tell you exactly which one of them is in the driver seat just by his body language - which is my first language, by the way! 

He ducks a swiping spike and uppercuts with the sledgehammer. Slipping behind his staggering opponent, he kicks him full force into the next elite. I slow my approach in favor of aim, lifting the rifle up on my shoulder to gun down a few more of them in his way. The sledgehammer lowers a fraction; he actually looks disappointed, god , what a guy... Grinning, I wolf whistle at him and he smiles wryly, putting a hand on his hip. He doesn't bother moving out of the way of the skimmer and I don't bother slowing down. 

They're switching back and forth easily, like right now as Flaere vaults himself over the windshield and lands with a bob in my lap, thighs stacked on mine. He lifts his arms with a sunny smile and says, "Ta-da!" 

He sobers up abruptly. "Duck," he commands. I tuck under his arm while he swings. The sound of a dull impact and I glance to see a vampire bouncing away in our wake. A stowaway in the backseat. Then Flaere locks me in place with the sledgehammer handle across the back of my neck, batting sleepy, serial killer eyes and man am I into that...  I lean forward and demand my kiss, which he obliges with long, sticky movements of his tongue. My lids slip shut briefly - yeah, yeah, I know I'm driving, gimme a second okay? 

He breaks off, dropping his gaze below mine. Flaere toys with the very end of the red hair at the back of my neck, twisting the tips between his fingers. He asks, "Hunter was just wondering..." He pauses. "Okay, fine, we were wondering... Once we've rescued Sylphos, what are we going to do about..." 

A nervous laugh comes out like a reflex. "This skimmer isn't big enough for that elephant. Do we need to talk about it right now?" 

He gives me a pleading look. 

"Look, who knows if he even wants to keep it-"

"Rayce," Hunter interrupts sternly. His brow deepens into a furrow. "I think it's fairly clear he wants to keep it." He is having none of my bullshit today.

"I know, I know." I'm looking right through him now while words build up in the back of my throat like... Like a...

My eyes widen and I straighten up. Hunter follows my gaze to the end of the hallway where a torrent of water is sloshing around the corner, headed right toward us. 

Like a tidal wave, why not? 

I don't know what hurt more: the water hitting me, or the ground. I roll over on my back, coughing up water. Hunter... He's lying a short distance away, facedown. Orange waves of hair drift on the surface of the thin layer of water on the floor and the skimmer is on its side further behind us. The rotors slow to a stop within their circular frames. What was that? Dripping wet, I pull myself to my feet. Ripples blur my reflection in the tiles.

"First Sergeant Rayce Gunner." Footsteps splash rhythmically. I remember the gossamer fabric of her clothes that whispered through the grass and danced seductively around petite hips while doing the bare minimum to hide them from peeping eyes. Now it's drenched, clinging like suffocating plastic wrap to the body underneath, betraying the blue tint of her skin. The train trawls the water behind her like a net.

"Daphne," I say quietly. At the sound of her name, she stops, both arms at her sides. Dark, wet hair slicked down to her head; she stares at me with eyes as deep as borewells. You're telling me Daphne did this? That is some upgrade from spray-bottling some jackass in the face, and I think I'm the next jackass on her list. A phalanx of naiad warriors files into the hallway behind her. Marinus is one of them - his anxious eyes keep darting between us.  

When she speaks, her voice is low. "I need you to return my child to me." 

Her child- It's that awful feeling you get. You know the one, when you're out living your best life with your drinking buddies and a sudden brainwave fights its way through the drunk fugue in your head to remind you: your brother was coming back from the military academy that day and you promised to pick him up from the train station. Except now you're drunk at a bar, 50 bucks out on pool, miles away while he waits, probably in the rain for some reason, for his good-for-nothing brother to follow through on a promise for a change. It feels like a bucket of ice-cold water down the back of your shirt. 

Which is exactly how I feel when I remember: Oh yeah. I kidnapped this woman's baby.  My arm arches over my back to the sling- To the sling- To the- Let's try that again. To the sling. I'm grasping at air. 

I turn to Hunter and ask, "Hey, uh, Hunter? Where did you stash the baby?" 

He massages his forehead. "You're going to have to be a little more specific..."

"You know, the blue one."

"Weren't you carrying the blue one?"  

"What are you saying?" Daphne is looking between us in complete disbelief. "You... Lost him? You lost my son?"

"No." My hands are up defensively. "I-I'm sure he's around here somewhere-"

"You lost my son?! " Her voice snaps like a twig. 

Marinus steps forward, "Daphne-!" 

Do you hear that? A high-pitched whine that penetrates my skull. I twist a finger in my ear to try and pop it, but then I realize that the sound is coming from inside the walls. Followed by a metallic groan as if something... Is moving in there. I find out exactly what when a metal pipe bursts through the plaster, gushing water everywhere. My arms are up to defend myself and then the plumbing is going off like fireworks all along the corridor; pipes jut through the walls with minds of their own. On my knees, the water quickly soaks through the fabric of my pants and gets into my boots. I step back as coldness licks the soles of my boots and starts to soak the fabric. Wet socks are the least of my concerns when the water rises in quivering tendrils around Daphne. 

"I'll kill you..." They thicken with the conviction in her voice and send a chill down my spine. She shrieks, " I'll kill you! " 

"Rayce, watch out!" Hunter's sledgehammer goes right through a water tentacle which reforms in an instant. It swells with anger before knocking him into a wall and enveloping him from the shoulders down, frozen solid. Hunter jerks sharply, trapped. Wait, I've seen this before... It's just like Riptide's powers. 

I'm on my own. I turn back to Daphne.

"Daphne, please-" 

Those eyes are even colder than her ice when they find me. A torrent hits me in the shoulder and sends me spiraling to the floor. I only manage to struggle to my knees before she thrusts both arms out and tentacles surge from the floor, the exposed pipes, spiraling from the walls and arcing from the ceiling like homing missiles all aimed right at me. The tips harden into sharp points and I don't even bother raising my weapon because that seems like a waste of energy at this point.

"Rayce!" Hunter yells my name as my eyes squeeze shut.

  Water .

It splashes me, cold, but harmless. A shuddering gasp escapes my throat and I start breathing again.

Is it safe to look now? Heart still pounding, I open my eyes carefully and find the reason I'm not dead: Daphne on folded knees, sobbing into her hands, and Matteo on his haunches behind her. He has her wrapped in a tight embrace.

"Merrick," she moans in a voice thick with tears. 

"I know... I know..." Matteo strokes her hair. "I know he deserves it, but please..." His eyes lock on mine. Furious. The intervention was just long enough that grief took the wheel from rage. The tentacles dissolve into a light drizzle of rain. I lift my chin into the spray.

Hunter's ice prison melts away too; he lands on his feet and rushes to my side.

"Are you hurt."

"Wet. Cold," I mutter. I look back at the naiad. "Daphne, I..." What exactly am I supposed to do here? Apologize? Apologizing is for when you try to drive to the train station anyway and end up totaling the car, so your brother not only has to call a cab, but also take it to the hospital to pick you up instead. And I still didn't really do it back then. How am I about to apologize for losing an entire child now?

"Don't. Say. Anything." Matteo steadies her before walking up to me and Hunter. "Take this." He holds up a... My eyebrows shoot up. It's a radio! I try not to look too excited as I take it. 

"Matteo, you have no idea-"

"No, you're right, I don't, " he cuts me off with a hard edge in his voice. He jabs a finger in my chest. "What I do know is that you're the only thing you care about." 

"That's not fair. People are dying here. I did what I had to-" 

"You didn't have to do any of this!" He scowls at Hunter next. "And you let him!"

"I liked you better when you were dead," Hunter says sarcastically. 

"Yeah, whatever," snaps Matteo, "Just tell Flaere that when he's done hiding behind you, we have a lot to talk about."

"I'm not hiding!" Flaere bursts out. He looks guilty pretty much right away. 

"I can't believe you." 

"I thought you were dead. "

"So you started fucking my boyfriend before my body was cold?" 

I blink, shaking my head. "I'm your boyfriend?" 

Matteo ignores me. "I thought we both agreed that if one of us dies, the appropriate waiting period before hooking up with their boyfriend is six to nine months-"

"-Six to nine months, I know, I know, Hunter is the one who started it!" argues Flaere.

"I don't see you stopping it." 

"This is a weird system you have here," I comment. 

"What? The Clear dating scene is a cesspool. Finding even one guy worth dating is a nightmare - why let all that hard work go to waste?" 

"So you do think I'm worth dating."

Matteo turns on me. His gorgeous blue eyes are so angry. Still gorgeous though. "Oh fuck off, Rayce, don't you have a war to lose or something?"  

I grab Flaere by the wrist. "I actually do. We've wasted enough time here already." Matteo doesn't follow us. Once we're out of earshot, I try the radio, 

"This is First Sergeant Rayce Gunner, is anyone on this frequency? Over." 

I get a response almost immediately. "Rayce, where the hell are you?!"  

"General Weiser." My head drops under the weight of relief. "I need your help. Headquarters is full of Sanguine elites. Sylphos was captured by a councilmember. We need backup."

"What you need is to get out of there and retreat to a safe zone." Is there static on the line or something? 

"Sir, I don't think you heard me. Sylphos is being held hostage!" I repeat.

"I know. I know, son." The word fazes me. Son. And I know that that's just a figure of speech or whatever, but it still stuns me into silence. "You can't help anyone if you're captured too, do you understand? You need to come back before someone gets hurt."

"He is hurt." 

"Rayce, listen to me." The general sounds so solemn that I actually shut my mouth. "He's coming for you." 

Alexander? 

"Sylvester. I can't protect you out there." 

My vision dims. I know it isn't fair but I say it anyway. "So nothing's changed. Respectfully, sir, I can't leave him behind." I can't help but smirk. "But promise you'll come get us when we both get captured?"  

I hear him laugh on the other end. It's a tired, defeated kind of sound. 

"You're wrong about one thing, Rayce." 

"General?" 

"YOU changed. I'm proud of you, you know." 

Proud? Who wants to tell him? 

"Stooop..." I draw my fingers awkwardly through my hair. "It's like you know I have daddy issues or something." 

"Backup is on the way. We'll keep up the pressure on our end. Go get your man and get out." 

"Sir," I say affirmatively. I signal to Hunter and we're on the move again. The crackling voice on the radio echoes in the empty hall as the darkness swallows us whole.

"Godspeed, Little Red."   

Chapter Text

15. Carry the Torch Into the Dark

Hunter collapses. 

"Hunter!" I catch him halfway down and he practically throws his weight at me to keep it off his trembling feet. "Don't you quit on me too..." His skin feels suspiciously warm to the touch. I lay the back of my hand against his forehead. He's burning up. I zero in on the problem immediately: his injured hand wrapped in bandages and probably festering underneath. 

It's not like I forgot. For as long as I can remember, I've been on this roller coaster: highs and lows but never anything in between, just one thing after another, and don't think I don't know that's at least mostly my fault. If I had to worry about everything, I would worry about nothing. So first, I got pretty good at compartmentalizing. And then procrastinating.

Grades.

Chores.

Inconvenient breakups.

Pack that shit up.

Shove it down, stuff it into a pressurized soda can and kick it faaaar down the road. 

Only now it's more like:

Matteo. 

Merrick. 

Vex. 

Only these things are less soda cans, more like pressurized hand grenades. They always catch up with me and I'm starting to worry because my plan to save Sylphos is next up on that list, and he doesn't have much time to wait. 

Hunter's stronger hand is clammy and sheet white on my forearm for support.

"Rayce..." he says shortly. I can hear the pain in his voice.

"This is nothing. You're fine," I urge him on his feet, shaping him like clay into a standing position. "We're so close, I just need," I shut my mouth because I heard how it sounded. 

"I know," he growls. "I know you always need more..." He wavers to his feet, pushing me off at the same moment. "I can still fight," he says. So I kick that can for all I'm worth. 

My brother's office is guarded by twin rows of sanguine elites. Talk about a change of management... They stand perfectly still like a modern art installment commenting on the evils of jack booted authoritarianism or something like that, hands propped one on top of the other on the weapons that extend from their suits. Not even a lip twitch out of these guys. Damn, I don't think I could ever be that good at my job; I'd have to itch something at some point...

Hunter is rewrapping his bandage to incorporate the handle of his weapon, strapping it tight to his hand to bypass his failing grip strength. 

"Ready?"

He nods.

I spin into the firing lane first and unload a hail of bullets. One elite catches the worst of it, his back slamming into the opposite wall. The rest are already rising in a wave rushing toward me. They don't get that far when Flaere swings in. Planting his sledgehammer like a pole vault, he launches himself and takes two to the floor. Flaere plasters his back to the wall so I can let off another hail of bullets, then peels off to knock down a straggler.

Stepping over a struggling elite, he brings the sledgehammer down with deadly force, crushing a skull like a watermelon. That was Hunter, no doubt. A blur of red and then more bright red opens up over Hunter's shoulder. He clutches a deep gash at his collarbone. 

"Hunter!" I shout. He ducks behind me as I step forward and take aim. They take a page from our book. The first elite swaps places with another who raises both arms in defense. The red material of his body armor thickens to absorb bullets. My brow pops in surprise and my reaction is delayed when they swap again. The elite with the swords comes to the forefront and nails me in the chest and upper thigh. While I stagger, Hunter steps in and knocks him off course again. The second elite takes the helm and raises his guard like a barrier in the middle of the hallway. Between me and that door, and Sylphos ...

"This isn't working," Hunter pants, back to back with me. 

Tilting my head back, I whisper, "I have an idea." 

He looks concerned.

"Oh come on, they're not all bad!" But when I whisper it to him, he looks even less enthusiastic. 

"I am not doing that." 

I pout. "What does Flaere think?" 

His face breaks into a grin. "Let's do it." 

The elites are paying close attention as we retreat to give ourselves some room. Suddenly, Flaere leaps onto my shoulders, locking his legs around my neck. I point my gun and charge, yelling, "Chicken fiiiiight!" That throws them off! Up on my shoulders, Flaere has the high ground. The barbed wire wrapped around his weapon leaves a set of gashes across the elite's cheek and lips. While he's on the backfoot, I unload my rifle into his chest. He tried his funny bulletproof suit technique again, but wasn't ready for it this time.

Two can play at that game apparently, when the elite with the pointy arms leaps onto the other's shoulders and brings both down into an overhead swing. 

Flaere blocks with the sledgehammer, but the strike knocks clean through his weakened defense and knocks me off balance. We both end up on the floor, groaning. A shadow falls over us. A figure with four arms - actually, the two elites fitting perfectly into each other's silhouettes to create the outline of a spidery beast with four razor-sharp spikes for arms, moments from mounting us like butterflies on an exhibition board.

Then it falls back. Sitting up, stunned, I blink at the unmoving pair of bodies on the floor. A bullet hole - so neat, so clean you'd think it was made by a hole puncher - in the elite's forehead. It pierced them both: two vamps, one bullet. My heart pounds because that looks like the work of-

"Sylphos?" I breathe, turning around. 

His eyes lift from behind the scope. Drill Sergeant Thade Knotts. His uniform is ripped in places, bloodied in some but mostly held together. He must have fought his way here solo. Was this supposed to be the backup? 

"Out! Out of the hallway!" he commands. 

Flaere and I scramble to our feet like scolded children. Thade backs out too before letting an incendiary grenade roll into the corridor full of fallen vampires. 

"Cover!" While the hallway belches flames. When I peek again, the walls are scoured by fire and charred corpses litter the ground like hunks of smoldering coal. 

"Thade," I turn around but the spot he stood in is empty. I find him walking swiftly down the corridor. Right up to the door, which he kicks down. Thade stops moving. His shoulders slump from where they were hitched with agitated energy. When Flaere and I catch up, it takes my vision a few moments to adjust to the darkness of the room, but when it does, I kind of wish it hadn't. 

It hangs in the middle of the room like a perverse chandelier: the wooden sawhorse shaped like a prism. The pointed edge digs deep into a tan figure seated on top of it. Naked, for his tormenter to admire the way the sawhorse buried itself between the folds of his pussy, splitting him on it with the force of his own bodyweight. With his hands tied behind his back, he can't move for even an inch of relief. His head hangs suspended in time.

"Sylphos!" I run toward him. The Marine doesn't even really look at me, not even when my hands are grasping at his arms and the underside of his thighs, trying to lever him off.

"Get out of my way!" A hard shove and Thade takes my place. 

Sylphos raises his head weakly. His yellow eyes are fixed like headlights for a moment, then they widen. He recoils, "No!" Thade halts. "No, just... Just leave me here. I don't deserve to be rescued; not when everyone else is..." He's shaking his head, flattening his lips in a refusal to cry. 

"Sylphos..."

"They were counting on me. You were counting on me and I disobeyed a direct order. You gave me everything and I just keep letting you down..." 

Thade looks grim. "Sylphos, look at me. Look at me. " He takes his face in his hand and makes him. "If you were any good at following orders, you would still be in that lab."

Sylphos stares at him. "There's something else. I'm pregnant." 

That's my cue to hide, while Thade is gaping in disbelief... 

"With Rayce Gunner's baby." This man practically just ordered a hit on me. 

But Thade doesn't whip around and punch my teeth into my mouth. Yet. The shame spiral begins on Sylphos' face, dragging him down deeper and deeper. 

"Are you keeping it?" 

"Should I?" he asks hopelessly. Sylphos doesn't give a fuck what I have to say but one word from Thade and he'd go either way. 

"If you want it." Maybe that's because Thade doesn't take advantage of that fact.

"I do."

Thade unloads like a tightly wound spring and wraps his arms around him. 

"S-Sir?" stammers the shocked Marine. Wait. Thade is actually smiling - uncontrollably - grinning ear to ear. 

"I'm a grandfather." 

Sylphos collapses all at once, burying his face in his shoulder.

"God-" Thade remembers - He gathers Sylphos under the knees and back to lift him clear of the sawhorse. Sylphos almost stumbles as soon as his feet touch the ground but the sergeant doesn't let him down. He slices apart the ropes binding Sylphos' wrists and the Marine latches on immediately.

"You're alright," Thade murmurs to him. Unzipping his own jacket, he wraps it around the naked Marine who draws the ends together meekly. The monogrammed name on the chest: KNOTTS. "Let's get you out of here." 

I hear the door open.

"What a surprise." 

I freeze.

Mickie Medieval brings the fire from the hallway in on his shoulder when he enters the room. He casually pats it out. In his other hand hangs a terrifying cat o' nine whip studded with small, sharp metal teeth. Sylphos is recoiling before the councilman even lifts his head, smiling. "My slave and I were just about to settle in for a relaxing evening. Care to join us?" 

Thade's expression hardens. "A council member. So it's true." 

"I have to say, I do apologize for the way this turned out. That's the last time I send a benchwarmer to do an all-star's job..." Mickie muses as he fingers the pointed metal flecks of his whip. "Now look - we have to start all over. Reset the scoreboard! Just like we should have after our operative went rogue all those years ago."

Thade stares at him. "Sylvester."

"I hear he goes by a different name now! They never did tell you, did they? They just let you boys play with your action figures and your Marvel books, and you thought you were the superheroes fighting off baddies, saving the world and all that nonsense." Mickie's chuckle makes my skin roll itself into tight, tense knots. "Well out here in the real world, there is no war. The people have peace, and the vampires have... Perks. Wasn't good enough for poor Draven, of course. It tore him apart." The flash of an ivory fang beneath a curved lip. 

"Wait," I interject, "You're telling me my brother didn't start the farms?" 

"The slave program was your brother and Alexander's bastard love child," says the councilman, "But the farms..." 

My heart is pounding in my chest, okay, just how far does this go? How much of my family tree is rotten to the core? 

"This could be your big break, kiddo." My eyes widen, he's talking to me.

"M-Me?" I stammer.

Mickie nods. "With your brother gone and Alexander being a complete nincompoop and all, I'm looking for a hotshot like you to help maintain our arrangement with the Clear Republic Army." He winks. "Believe me, the Sanguine Council could make your life verrrrry comfortable..." 

"Marines," Thade says abruptly.

"I'm sorry, what's'at?" 

"You mentioned your 'arrangement' with the Clear Republic Army," Thade raises his voice and his head. "Well I'm not army, I'm a Marine; I signed up to kick vampire ass." He points his rifle. "And that's what I'm about to fucking do."  

The bullet lodges itself in Mickie's shoulder which slams back against the door. But he's a vampire, so of course, that just makes him burst out into uncontrollable laughter. Mickie peels from the wall and clips the whip to his belt before trading out for his baseball bat. "I was sort of hoping you'd say that." 

He advances on Thade who barks at us, "GO!" 

Flaere and I support Sylphos between us and Mickie doesn't even stop us from taking the long route around him to get to the door. 

The fire spread, burning low but quick. I cast a nervous look at thick black smoke gathering like clouds overhead. We make it as far as the elevators where I mash the button like that's going to coax it into arriving faster. "Come on!" I whisper-yell. "The elevators are on lockdown," I breathe out an exasperated sigh and look nervously over my shoulder. How long can Thade keep a councilmember occupied do you think? 

"The stairs," Flaere suggests. 

The door to the stairwell creaks open, which is a great lead up to the sight of what seems to be an endless abyss. The cramped coil of stairs is lit only by red emergency lights embedded in the wall. Why are emergency lights always red? They're not calming anyone down! "We're almost there," I tell my two companions as we begin the long trip down. 

We're not even halfway there before I hear a door slamming open on a floor above us. I look up just in time to catch a glimpse of Thade's back hitting the railing before Mickie boots him over it.

"Sergeant!" Sylphos screams as the drill sergeant drops. Breaking free of our hold, he hurries his descent. He nearly trips twice. 

"Would everyone stop falling down the stairs?!" I shout after him.

We find Thade hanging for dear life from a lower landing. 

"Sergeant-!" Sylphos gasps and drops in an instant. Flaere and I help him pull Thade onto solid ground, I can see that Mickie has already taken a chunk out of him. The deep red gashes in his shoulder remind me of the devastating injury that spiked bat gave me the last time we tangled. 

Mickie is taking his sweet time. I hear him laughing, periodically interrupted by the sound of shattering glass as he smashes the emergency lights one after the other. Sections of red light are engulfed by darkness above us, getting steadily closer. I take back what I said about the lights - this is way worse! 

"Come on!" I push open the nearest door. 

The only sound is labored breathing. 

"We're almost there, okay? Just hang on." I feel the need to keep talking because no one else is. Between a broken Sylphos, injured Thade and rapidly deteriorating Flaere, the burden of keeping everyone alive is coming down on my shoulders like the world's slowwwest garage door, and when it gets there I can't be sure that it won't keep going and crush me. 

Speak of the devil, Mickie languidly turns into the hallway on the opposite side; we come to a dead halt. I just stare at him, heart pounding. How the hell? Bat balanced over his shoulder, he's tossing a baseball up and down, whistling a familiar tune. My brain fills in the words:

Take me out to the ball game

Take me out to the crowds

Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks

He tosses the ball up high.

I don't care if I ever come back .

And strikes, angling into a flawless follow-through. The baseball bounces over the tiles and rolls toward us.

"Grenade," I wheeze out a warning. " Grenade! " Offloading Sylphos on Flaere, I get to it just in time to punt it back in the direction it came from. A split second before it blows up. 

The explosion hurled me on my back, but that's not nearly as bad as it could've been. Flickering. A wall of fire curtains off the hallway in front of me; I can't see a thing beyond the blinding glare of orange and red. But that's fine because Mickie just walks through it instead. 

I bring my arms up on instinct - he steps over me. It's Thade he wants. A downward swing knocks the rifle out of his hands so Thade switches to his fists, holding a tactical knife at the ready. When he gives Mick a gash across the cheek, the councilman pays it back with interest: a blow that knocks him clear into the wall. 

"Sergeant!" Sylphos screams. He has to worry about himself when the councilman advances on him. 

"There you are." Mickie cackles. Sylphos shrinks.

"Get away from him!" Thade recovers with a cry, hurling himself at the vampire from behind. 

"Son of a bitch!" He stumbles forward, I see the knife Thade left in the center of his back. That's not all he left him when a soft beeping noise emits from Mickie's pocket. "Now what in the-" He reaches in and wraps his fist around the activated baseball grenade in his pocket. His eyes pop wide open - he throws it - too late. 

As the dust settles, I find Mickie on the floor. He moves slowly as if the ash coating his black and orange jacket is a layer of concrete. He draws himself into a sitting position, his back to the tinted observation window. A flashback - it's the same one the corrupt army leadership gathered round to watch me nearly execute Damon. 

Sure enough, I can make out the shape of my father's statue on the other side. 

Thade scoops up his rifle; his eyes are steely and focused through the scope. He nails Mickie in the shoulder, chest and just above the collarbone, pinning him back against the window. Cracks spread over the glass but it doesn't break. Mickie's teeth, which were gritted in pain, slowly reform into a grin. His body shakes soundlessly and then a breathless wheeze of laughter manages to pipe its way through. 

"Go on, big slugger," he says to the Marine. "Finish the job." 

Thade looks tempted, but for some reason, he doesn't shoot, just staring at the councilman. I mean, I kind of get it. He's been 'fighting' these guys for years only to find out his whole life was an elaborate military exercise. Now one of the leaders of an occupying force he swore to destroy is on the wrong side of his gun. So what is this now? An act of war? A business deal gone wrong? Plain old revenge? Makes you think. If it doesn't make you cry.

"You were a person once," says Thade, "What the hell happened to you? How do you do this to other people?" 

"Kids are so soft these days." Mickie shakes his head; his smile turns ghostly. "This isn't suffering. You don't know suffering. You don't know what it's like to have society collapsing all around you - put up in boarding homes with a dozen other folks. Mommy pumped cock in the alley to afford milk. Daddy hung himself because he couldn't find a job and he couldn't take the guilt. I didn't watch the Babe call his shot from the bleachers - I watched from a fire escape in Wrigley neighborhood and boy, did I live because I knew sure as sugar that I could die.   

"When you've kicked around as long as I have, you know the next collapse is always just around the corner; you feel it every minute of every day... You can't stop it coming of course, but maybe, you just might save yourself."

Mickie poses the question, "So what'll it be, Sergeant? Will you play ball and give the people something to believe in? Or will you let the truth destroy them?"

Thade's rifle lowers. "I want you to crawl back to Sanguine and tell the council that this deal is off. Draven Gunner was a lot of things, but he wasn't a traitor. He wanted to fight you. He died fighting you, and the three of us are going to do what we should have done a long time ago and pick up where he left off." As Thade turns around, we cluster behind him. 

"Three," Mickie says abruptly. Thade pauses. "I'm sorry," says the councilman, mocking, "I just want to be sure my message is accurate. Does that number happen to include John Dory? Rugged explorer, pirate, slaver, charming renegade, all around cool cat, the John Dory?" 

Oh crap. 

"He's dead."

Thade is frozen.

"He died like a coward, by the way. Shot by his own men. He was a deserter. But you knew that." 

"Thade!" I shout, but I'm drowned out by Thade's own cry of rage and pain. Before I can stop him, he's charging down the hall toward the councilman, whose grin widens as he draws himself into a standing position to meet him. Thade shoulder charges the vampire through the window; sunlight spills between shards of broken glass.

When we catch up with Thade at the end of the hall, he's crumpled on his haunches in the shadow of my father. I stare at the smooth back of the statue in the courtyard. Mickie rolls over in the dust; he lifts a hand to block out the sunlight. Then he looks shocked when he realizes what he's doing, 

"No! No-!" You know, I've never seen a vampire without sun protection; I'm not sure what I'm looking for. 

And then I am when Mickie starts to sizzle . The sound is horrible, like something burning, and yet strangely reminiscent of a summer cookout... And he is cooking. What I can see of his skin turns an angry sunburn pink, then red, then charred, whole strips of skin just peeling free. He locks his eyes on the shadow that my father's statue creates on the ground - a desperate final gambit - he starts dragging himself toward it. On the fourth heave, he leaves an entire chunk of his calf behind. I slap a hand over my mouth. 

Flesh sloughs off the bone, leaving a trail of pulverized meat in the vampire's wake. Flesh which melts and bubbles in sticky puddles. It isn't long before bleached white bone is peering through the gaps. Mickie's movements become more desperate and less effective as his body falls apart. I bet it's hard to see with his eyelid running down his face. This time, when he digs his fingers into the ground, his fingernails peel off like stickers. 

Pointed white boots. A tall, thin figure holding an umbrella takes its sweet time getting to Mickie. The councilman looks up at Alexander. 

"Lexshandrr!" Mickie slurs. The octagon of shade stops an inch short of Mickie's body decaying in the sun. "What'rr you doing, ya ninny, help me up!" I mean, he could try, but I'm not sure Mickie would come up in one piece. 

"Looks like you're the one who's through, Medieval." 

Mickie's eye widens in furious disbelief. "Think about what yerr doin, schlick," he says in a low voice. 

"Thought about it, Councilman. And I believe that with you gone... A seat on the council has just opened up."

"You'll burn! You'll burn furrrr thishh!" 

Centuries of oppression and all that's left is a Princeton jacket floating in a simmering puddle of flesh and blood. The white curves of a ribcage protrude from the soup, too bright in the sunlight. 

Alexander is looking right at me. The breath catches in my throat. He lifts a radio to his lips and speaks into it, "Yes, come quick. There's been a horrible accident and the humans responsible are escaping." 

I pull back from the window. "We have to get out of here!" Nobody's paying attention to me because they're looking at Thade. And the five-inch tactical knife buried in his chest. Looks like Mickie found a way to return it after all. "Thade," I breathe. 

I ease him into a sitting position against the wall while he grumbles, "I'm fine, I'm fine, he missed my vitals. I just need..." He takes a deep breath. "A moment to rest." Sylphos looks on in horror, both hands pressed to his mouth. 

"This is all my fault," His voice is muffled. 

"Don't you say that!" Thade barks. 

"But it's true." 

"Sylphos." The older man motions for him to come closer. Trembling, Sylphos folds into a crouch by his side. "You need to listen to me. None of this was your fault."

"But I wasn't strong enough... I wasn't fast enough..." 

Thade's lip curls. " You are enough! " he commands him. Quieter, "You are enough..." Thade stares into a distance that this hallway doesn't contain.

"Sir?" Sylphos is almost afraid to speak up. 

"Go on," he finally says with difficulty. "I'll catch up." Flaere takes the cue to help Sylphos to his feet, sheltering him as he leads him away. Sylphos looks anxiously over his shoulder. 

"Gunner. A word."

Awkward, I kneel beside him. I'm not an idiot. I can feel every bit of the parental fury directed at me - and Thade's is so hot that I'm surprised I'm not melting like a vampire in the sun. Aaand now I can say that because I know exactly what it means... 

It's only when Thade makes eye contact with me that I realize he's avoided doing it for so long. And now I almost wish he'd go back to that when his acid green gaze burns into mine. "You know, it's hard to look at you sometimes. You look just like him."

My gaze flickers away and back. 

Thade goes on, "But you are not your father. You can be better than him; in fact, it's your duty to be better than him. For Sylphos. You're all he's got now." 

I blink a couple times. "Wh-What do you me-" It takes me a second to realize it and when I do, I feel so incredibly stupid. "Mickie didn't miss. Did he?" 

Thade chooses not to waste time on the obvious. He shifts into a position that could only be incrementally more comfortable in his state. "I said I would always keep him safe, but now... Now it's up to you and if it were up to me, it would never be you. " His teeth clench. He forces his jaw to relax. "But he picked that kid and he picked you, so now you're going to keep them safe."

"No-" The word spills out with a mouthful of panic. "He still needs you - I can't-"

"You can and you will. You're going to protect him, and your child; you'll protect both of them."  

"M-My-"

"Your child ." 

I fall silent.

"Do you understand that, soldier?" 

My head bobs up and down. 

"Good." Thade sits back. His brow is shiny with sweat. "Now go." 

"What are you going to do?" 

His sniper rifle makes a heavy clunk as he props it up on a munitions crate. Emerald green peers through the scope. "Buy you some time." 

The knowledge of what he means by that stings the backs of my eyes. Standing up straight, I toss my hand up in a salute. 

"It was an honor serving with you, Sergeant Major Thade Knotts." 

He shoots me a glance and the tiniest of smiles. "And sometimes with you, Rayce."

###

Oxygen. My body slowly adapted to lower and lower levels of oxygen in that smoke-choked labyrinth and now that we're outside, there's suddenly too much, all of it overzealous to force its way into my shriveled lungs. We made it out the back entrance. Flaere is still supporting Sylphos, helping him limp from the building, and I should be supporting both of them, but gimme a minute, okay? I fold to the grass on my hands and knees. Grass? I squeeze the blades between my knuckles and look up. The forests of Decay loom in front of us. It's behaving tonight. Not even a breeze rustles the leaves. 

"Where is Thade?" Sylphos is asking, "I thought he was with you." 

I've never seen him like this. I can't deal with this right now. But if I just wait a sec, I probably won't have to.

"He'll be here any minute," Flaere reassures him. Right on cue, an explosion in the general vicinity of where we left Thade. See? My head drops and a gasp escapes me; I can't muster up the strength to look. Sylphos and Flaere whip around, staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

Sylphos screams, "NO!!! NO! NO!" Over and over like a siren and Flaere is holding him back before he charges in there, not that he'd get very far. What has to happen is going to happen - is going to happen - is going to happen, I get that. It's the timing that's cruel. My knuckles are sheet white around the yellowing grass until I rip it out by the roots. Just gimme another minute. Just gimme five seconds. Okay?

It's Flaere who comforts Sylphos until he stops screaming and switches to crying. It's Flaere who holds him until he's no longer a flight risk - he can't be - because his every muscle is trembling. When Flaere is sure of that, he gets up to check on me.

"Rayce, are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," I say more curtly than I was planning to. Suddenly, his fingers touch my cheek. He's crouched down next to me.

"Lover, please don't lie to me." 

I can't help but react, latching onto him with both hands clutching at his back. "Hunter, he made me promise. He made me promise I'd protect them." 

"We'll get through this." 

"Where do we go?" 

"We'll find a way." 

"There is no way, there is no-" Fevered whispering and shaking my head. I'm remembering things in snippets; I focus unsteadily on his wrapped hand. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Don't lie to me." 

I don't see Sylphos anymore. "Sylph-" I stumble to my feet. I find him again at the edge of the forest, staring into the foliage. "Sylphos, what are you doing?" I call out. Then I see it peeking through the leaves. Thade .

The shifter isn't even really trying. Both of its eyes are still red, almond-shaped headlights installed in Thade's stoic figure. His Marine uniform is painstakingly pressed and immaculate. I yell at Sylphos anyway, "It's not real!"

The shifter lifts a finger and rows it seductively through the air, beckoning. Guess which one of us was more convincing? Sylphos is walking.

"It's not real! It's not real! That thing can't help you, Sylphos!" I throw myself forward, running. "Sylphos, stop! Please!" He pauses an inch short of the treeline and looks at me. My breath catches. 

###

I didn't know how to react. Hunter did. Sylphos' back slammed into the wall and he sank. 

"What are you doing?" I yelled. Hunter vaulted on top of the disoriented Marine, hands around his throat. "Stop, are you insane?! "

"YES!" Came an unhelpful answer. "You could make this easier for yourself..." He spat at the choking Marine. 

"You're *cough* right; I could stop sleeping with * hack* psychos! " 

Hunter was dead serious when he ordered, "Abort it." 

A fire ignited behind Sylphos' eyes. "NO!" Muscular thighs locked around Hunter's torso - less of an ardent embrace this time and more of a pro wrestling move... - and Sylphos twisted to bring him down to the floor, hard. He was up on his feet again in an instant, making a dash for the door. 

"Goddamn-" 

The triumph on the Marine's face faded when I slipped between him and the door. 

"Rayce-" The Marine said in a warning tone. 

"Why?" 

He blinked at my question. 

"Why won't you abort?" 

Then switched to disbelief. "Rayce..." 

It was enough time for Hunter to catch up. He landed on Sylphos' back and took him down like a lead weight. Back to the wall, Hunter locked both arms under Sylphos' shoulders, pinning him with his torso exposed.

"A baby? " challenged Hunter. I saw his cloudy gray eyes darken into a storm. "Don't you see? He's trying to manipulate you." Hunter's grip tightened. "He's always been nothing, but this baby would make him something: the father of a Gunner ."

Another Gunner. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. 

"What?!" Sylphos protested. His violent struggles weren't getting him anywhere. "Do you honestly think that's what this is about?!" 

Before I knew what I was doing, I was soundlessly picking up my baton from its position resting against the wall.

"Rayce, what are you doing?" Sylphos was breathing hard, eyes fixed on my weapon as I raised it over my head with both hands. It would be easy. Right? Crack it open like an egg. Beat it out like the stuffing from a ripped plush animal. Easy, right? 

A tiny concern when my eyes rested on his trim, washboard stomach: "Is it even big enough yet?" For this to work the way I thought it worked?

"Let's find out," said Hunter.

Sylphos gritted his teeth in a snarl as he drew his knees to his chest. "I always knew you were a scumbag, but it turns out that you're a moron too!" I flinched. "He's crazy, Gunner! He's obsessed! He's doing the same thing to you that Flaere does to me and you know why? Because they're the same person." 

Hunter snapped, "What did you say, you gutter-mouthed whore?!" 

"Oh give it a fucking rest already! You're mad at me, isn't that right Flaere? Isn't that why you're doing this?" 

"My name is Hunter!" 

Sylphos didn't even dignify that with a response. He let out an exasperated groan. "This sicko is in love with you and he doesn't know what to do with himself anymore." Our eyes meet over the Marine's shoulder, almost accidentally. Almost. "And you're falling for him right back." 

"That's not true!" 

"Just look at what you're doing!" 

My arms abruptly fell to my sides. My face was burning. 

Hunter began,"Rayce-" But he didn't finish when Sylphos slammed back against him, catching him in the face with the back of his head. Hunter cried out in agony, closing both hands around his nose. Sylphos broke free. I started, but I didn't stop him from racing to the exit that time. The door slammed behind him. Then I looked at Hunter. 

He was picking himself up slowly, touching a knuckle to his bleeding nose. 

"You let him get away," he accused me.

"Get out." 

"Rayce-" 

"I said get out! "

###

"Please," I beg. So quietly that I'm not sure Sylphos can hear me. "Please, I know I did this wrong the first time, but give me a chance to get it right. You can't just take him from me." And then I'm sure that he did when he steps into the shifter's embrace. His yellow gaze doesn't waver as a dark hand snakes around to hold him tight. The darkness sucks them both in like a tar pit. 

"Sylphos!" Flaere screams. "SYLPHOS!" He runs to the edge of the forest and beats at the foliage, spinning around and around frantically. Madly. Then he runs back to me, babbling, "He was just there, they were right there, he just- We have to look for him-"  

"He's not coming back." 

What I don't see coming is Flaere's fist until it connects with my face. 

I catch myself on all fours on the ground; but I don't actually feel anything over the intense, throbbing pain spreading over my face. In the corner of my vision are the thick soles of his green boots. "I'll kill you," he promises.

I lift my head wordlessly, but I find out he wasn't talking to me. He's looking past me. Following his gaze to the edge of the building, I spot it too: a rich, red kimono made ashen with soot and a backdrop of perfect purple hair. Jun's brown eyes widen. 

"You." Flaere points the sledgehammer at him like a man possessed. "It was you. "

Chapter Text

16. Scrambled, Fried or Sunny-Side Up?

Jun didn't really stand a chance. I hear his terrified shriek and round the corner. Flaere has his thin frame pinned down on the floor, wrenching an arm behind his back. When he realizes his struggles are getting him nowhere, he switches tactics - and targets - turning to me when he says, "Rayce, they are coming. We need to get out of here. If we don't move right now, we'll be captured. Rayce, listen to me! Rayce! " Ending in a shriek as Flaere twists his hair into his fist. Flaere drags Jun across the hall to a utility closet. The last thing I see is the heavy head of the sledgehammer grinding against the floor and Jun's shoes before the door slams shut.

I burst in after them, "Flaere-" 

"Stay out of this!" He barks at me. "He... He's the reason Sylphos was captured... He's the reason we're never going home..." He shoves Jun into the opposite shelf where he crumples in a puddle of expensive cloth. He cradles his head, shaking it while he watches Flaere rummage through the shelves. The fluorescent light is blinking on and off, buzzing like an angry insect and illuminating snapshots of pliers, a hammer, a bottle of bleach, as they go flying over his shoulder, giving the engineer a glimpse of all the things he deemed not painful enough to use. Finally, Flaere settles. "And now... I'm going to make you pay." 

Jun starts again. " Rayce . Rayce, please, you can't let him do this to me. I had to do it to protect myself..." 

I stare at him long and hard. "You know I was the only one who had your back? Not one of the other guys trusted you and I knew you were lying but I thought - I just thought that if I gave you a chance, you would magically become a better person." I set my lips in a firm line. "But I'm realizing now that I was expecting you to become a completely different person. And that was never gonna happen, was it?"

Jun stares at me with wide, wet eyes. "Rayce, what we have is special..." He'll really say anything to save his own ass. 

I grin humorlessly. "Real special." 

Flaere wrenches him up and back down on a box in a seated position, his back against the wall. From this angle, you could almost believe the sexy stripper was giving Jun a lap dance. Pale hands catch on his muscles and push on his strong chest... Lucky bastard. My gaze softens and the blinking light seems to soften too, to the warm, heady tones of a strip club nights and nights ago. Back before we knew each other. 

I knew Flaere's body before I knew his name, closely acquainting myself with it with both hands. A silk blindfold, a bottle of something I shouldn't have been drinking as much of as I did - holding him at the lower back to press him up against my chest. He was in my lap with my cock up his ass and one of his nipples caught between my teeth. Sweaty. He moaned. God , he had that body... I never wanted that night to end - I could have lived in it with him forever. And then he said something... Something I didn't understand.  

An alcohol-soaked memory: he whispered in my ear, "When you die... Will you tell me what it's like on the other side?"  

My eyes shoot open again.

"Will you tell me?" 

And I realize that was... Hunter .

A loud, mechanical whirr breaks my train of thought. I focus on the power drill Flaere is holding in his hand and the spinning drill bit scrambles whatever's left of it. My mouth falls open; Jun's head falls back, his neck bent as Flaere holds him steady at the jaw.

"Let's see just how pretty you are when I'm through with you." 

"F-" I'm not sure if a name was going to come out or a curse, but I abandon both attempts when he drives the drill into an eye socket. Fucking hell-! I look away so fast I'm practically running with my eyes, but I can still hear the squealing of the drill growing thick and meaty: the motor working to churn gelatinous matter into pulp, all on a backdrop of Jun's shrieking.

And just when I think I might have to leave the room, the drill stops.

"What the..." Flaere sounds mortified. I peek cautiously to find him backing away, the drill hanging loose in his grip. The drill bit is slick with some kind of oily, black grime. My skin rises in revulsion. Desperate curiosity overcomes disgust as I push past Flaere. Jun is still in the chair, breathing hard. When he straightens up and turns in my direction I slap a hand over my mouth...

Deep in the hole Flaere left in his head, I follow a trail of broken machinery and brightly-colored cables tangled together like malfunctioning Christmas lights. 

Something's moving in there. Somewhere in the chrome recesses of Jun's metal shell, a piercing blue light rotates in sync with his other eye, emitting mechanical noises like a shutter clicking over and over. They both swivel to meet me.

"What is he?" Flaere asks aloud. 

"Not human," I breathe. So that narrows things down... 

Suddenly, light is pouring into this closet and scouring out the darkness. The door is opening. 

My eyes haven't even adjusted fully before slick red arms wrestle me from the closet, hurling me off balance. I hit the floor. 

"There they are." There aren't a lot of people who can maintain that constant level of prickish smugness... I look up with a snarl. Alexander is one of them. He levels off some of that smugness to replace it with disgust when Jun crawls his way out of the closet. 

"Oh god, what is that?" 

Jun remembers himself, quickly covering up his shattered eye socket. 

"Disgusting! Disgusting! " Alexander recoils. "Get that thing out of my sight!" 

Jun lets his head fall forward as a pair of vampire soldiers carries him off. 

Feigning grief, Alexander touches a gloved hand to his face as he laments, "The savages who slayed Councilman Mayweather!" Then smirks at me through the slits between his fingers before continuing, "You need to be punished. Oh yes... I could have you stripped of your dignity, chained in a cage... Beaten and raped..." 

I stiffen my lip.

"But we both know that wouldn't break you." He narrows his eyes at me like a nemesis. Like an artist sizing up his greatest masterpiece: the one he hates just as much as he loves. "But you can't understand me, can you?" 

I close the mouth that I opened to respond. Wait. He still doesn't know I have my hearing back. No one bothered telling him because he's an asshole and Mick didn't know I lost it in the first place. 

"Maybe you'll understand this. " Alexander snaps his fingers. The line of blood-red Sanguine elites breaks to allow a smaller figure to be pushed to the front. Snow . The boy doctor looks from side to side, blinking those big violet eyes. He looks so small and fragile standing between all those vampires. Memories of Finn rise to the surface like sour bile.

"Let him go!" I lunge to the end of my rope in the vampires' grip. My heart is pounding in my chest. I don't know how he was captured but I can't let him die too, not like Finn- 

I can't let that happen again. 

Snow's gaze rests intently on Flaere. The elites fold Flaere to his knees on the floor before the doctor. 

"On his back would be better." 

I blink. 

They tip a struggling Flaere on his back. Hands arrive to lock his knees down. 

"Thank you." 

I just watch, fascinated, as Snow kneels beside Flaere. He places a small, flat nylon sleeve on the floor. Then lifts a finger in front of Flaere's face. 

"Follow my finger please." 

Gray eyes chase it from one corner of his vision to the other, meeting in the middle. Eyelids flutter to reset. Snow holds up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?" When he doesn't answer, a vampire slaps him across the face. 

"Answer, mortal." 

"Three," Flaere answers quietly. 

Snow switches to four fingers.

"Four."

Then two.

"Two." 

"Good." Seemingly satisfied, Snow slips on a pair of gloves. The snap of latex sounds insidious. He returns to the sleeve. opening the flap to reveal a set of bright silver tools. They look brand new. 

"Ugh," Alexander makes a face. "Bring the Gunner to me when he's finished. Doctors unsettle my stomach..." I mean it makes sense. Back when he was a young man, the world's concept of healthcare was either a muscular man with pliers or an anemic man with a jar of leeches. Alex walks away down the hall in a chorus of marching boots as a few of the elites follow him.

Snow's delicate fingers dart across the set of tools before selecting a fat needle with a flared handle. 

Flaere follows it with terrified eyes, struggling to keep the dangerous tip in focus as the young doctor holds it near his eye.

"Snow, what are you doing?" I ask. "Snow?" He doesn't answer, but I get a live demonstration instead when he pulls up Flaere's eyelid with a thumb and fits in the needle. Slick metal slides under the eyelid and over the curve of his eyeball without so much as scratching anything in between. It's like a magic trick the way the entire length vanishes somewhere inside Flaere's head. Horribly unreal, just another one of Snow's smoke and mirror performances.  

This can't be happening. 

At the first sign of resistance, Snow picks up a second tool - a tiny mallet - and gives the back of the pick a couple of swift taps, inching it deeper into his skull. Flaere shudders involuntarily and that snaps me back to reality.  

" Stop! " I lunge.

"Oh please," Snow says quietly to the vampires holding me without even actually looking. "That looks so uncomfortable. Let him go." 

I sprawl forward on my hands and knees when I am unexpectedly freed. "He isn't about to interrupt me anyway," Snow continues, "Because I have a very large, very sharp needle in his friend's frontal lobe and one wrong move would mean the difference between death, brain death, and a successful procedure."

He's right, I don't. So I ask him instead, "Why are you doing this?" 

Snow glances at me. "Oh Rayce, you know how dangerous he is." Then back to his work. 

"Rayce," Flaere's voice sounds so small. Tears spill from the sockets, running down his face as he fights to contain his shaking to avoid disturbing the needle in his brain. "I'm scared." 

My throat closes as if there's a fist around it. I reach for his upturned hand on the floor and hold it. "It'll be okay, Flaere." 

A wail paves the way for the rest: Flaere is screaming, crying on the floor. 

"No it won't!" he cries, "No, I don't want to... Please, no... " Shaking uncontrollably, disintegrating my heart into little tiny pieces. Then as abruptly as it began, it all stops. 

His lips barely move as he mutters, "Go to sleep, just go to sleep, it'll be over soon." I already know. 

"Hunter," I gasp, squeezing. 

His eyes which were screwed shut open again slowly. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, as he stares down the length of the needle.

"You don't have to go through with this," I tell him. 

Hunter dares to tilt his head enough to look at me, face streaked with Flaere's tears. "I wanted to see you again."  

"Hunter..." I shudder.

"It'll be alright," he says softly. It won't. Emotions roil and collide in his eyes. "It's funny, I wanted death for so long. I thought it was the only way out. The only way to find something beautiful. Then you showed up and took us as we are - not as someone we were or something we might be. You let us be , and I found out that paradise was a place in your arms all along." He moves his fingers to interlace them between mine and squeezes so tight. "I love you, Rayce." 

I open my mouth to speak but the words aren't there. They just aren't there, leaving me gaping in silence - the most awful silence I've ever heard. Hunter waits for me. He waits too long. Then even longer. I see the tiniest tremble at his lips. Then the tears coursing down his face are his own. 

"The cruelest blow of them all," he says, "To give a man moments from death a reason to live." 

Snow twists the needle. Out and in behind a wildly darting eyeball. Then the mallet comes in, hammering the needle even deeper. Another sharp twist and a swish, all with movements of the most delicate wrist. I see Hunter's jaw clench; his fist tightens so hard I think he might crush my hand. Snow works the needle effortlessly, orchestrating micro-scale violence inside his head. The mallet swings in again like a sledgehammer and destroys everything in its wake. 

Finally, Snow hooks a pair of fingers under the flared end of the needle, sliding it back out. It's barely bloody. "Follow my finger, please." Snow moves a synthetic latex finger from one corner of Hunter's vision to the other. He doesn't follow, staring at the ceiling with glass eyes.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" 

He holds up three fingers, and even though Hunter's lips are parted, he doesn't speak. 

Switches to four. 

Then two. 

Seemingly satisfied, Snow sanitizes and tucks the tools back into the sleeve. I gather the limp form of Hunter in my arms, biting back tears. Bruises stretch slowly over both of his eyes, like black butterfly wings.

"Hey," my voice sounds unsteady. A sniffle. I push back his hair, cupping his listless face in the palm of my hand. "Hey, can you hear me?" I smile as best I can because I figure crying won't make him want to come back. "You said you would tell me what it was like on the other side, remember? Do you think you can do that?" Tap his cheek a couple of times. He turns his head - skips right over me - and lets it fall into my chest, blank. He's alive. But he's not home. I hold him close, stroking his hair. "That's okay, Hunter. That's okay," I whisper to whatever might be left. The tears do come, burning trails down my face. I bury my face in his hair. 

"As always, your technique is flawless, Snow," A familiar voice. I look up to see a hand appearing to caress Snow's face. A tiny smile as Snow leans into Seong-Hye's palm. He lays his own hand over the older doctor's, and I see the silver of his promise ring - brighter than the lobotomy tools - next to the simple silver band on Seong-Hye's finger. 

The paisley sheets in the motel room were decomposing into a mush of green and brown in my brain. Every now and then, I peered worriedly through the window, hoping that a shadow would interrupt the regular pattern of yellow-orange streetlights. 

"Do you think he's coming back?" I asked Cisco anxiously. 

"I don't know." 

"Do you think- Do you think Father is coming?" I hardly dared to refer to him by name as if saying it would summon him. 

"I don't know," Cisco moaned. 

Tears welled in my eyes but I refused to let them fall. 

"I'm scared," I said through a hoarse throat. 

Cisco blurted out, "I'm sorry!" 

I turned to face him then, from across the motel room. "Why?" I asked. In response, he turned a shaky hand, showing me the phone he held. It was Sylvester's phone.

"You... You called Father?" 

"I thought you wanted me to," Cisco sobbed, "I thought you wanted to go home." He squeezed his eyes shut. And then he was wheeling back from a blow to the chest. I didn't wait for him to recover before I pushed him again. 

"I didn't want this!" The angry tears in my eyes blurred the details of his shocked expression.

"But I heard you-"

"I don't want this!"

Then we both turned to the door with wide, horrified eyes. It had just opened. 

Choked noises mingled with sticky, wet slaps. The jingling of chains. My head is tipped back over the edge of the desk, aligned so Alexander can hammer right down my throat. I can't breathe. I don't even know how long I've been holding my breath. I hear Alexander talking over me. 

"What happened to Councilman Mayweather was... Regrettable, but the situation is under control now," Alexander says placatingly, "And the human government doesn't have the slightest inkling of what happened. Naturally, you'll want me to return to Sanguine right away."

Alexander pauses for the inaudible reply on the phone. 

"Correct, but-"

Another pause.

"Wait a minute-" 

And again. 

Finally, Alexander interjects, "Councilwoman, please , I assure you the situation is in good hands. Guess who I have on the table right now." My throat puts up unexpected resistance, but I think I'm gagging on the thought, not his literal cock in my mouth. "As long as I have Rayce Gunner, this isn't finished yet."

Alexander is as he spills seed in my mouth. I swallow obediently; make sure he pulls off clean because I know that if he doesn't, he'd wipe off the rest with my face. Fingers hook into my collar - the kind you'd put on a dog. Alexander strides around the table and drags me into a sitting position. He sizes up his prize lustfully. "He's quite a specimen... Councilwoman, I'll have to call you back." Alexander sets the phone down to hold me at the thighs so he can fuck me on my brother's desk. I steady myself with my palms on the edge while he studies me: from my hair, eyes, prone lips to the army tag hanging from the collar. A helpful reminder of which particular piece of meat he's shoving his dick into. 

He grips my cock to jack me off in time with the thrusts. I wince at the tenderness. Still haven't recovered from the piercing he installed on the underside. Part of his work in progress: a pair of black ball stud piercings just below the base of the head, marking me as a plaything. 

"There must be an heir," he mutters, not that he expects a response out of me. "Shouldn't be difficult. I'll select a couple of slave girls, stud you out. Wait for a boy with red hair. Cull the rest." He thinks about it for a bit. "We'll call it Cisco's boy. Firmer lineage that way." 

Oh I see how it is. He wants to drag another hapless Gunner boy into this and bait n' switch the public with that dashing red hair. If he waits about nine months he won't need to go to the trouble.

I only make the tiniest whimper when Alexander cums inside me, and even then, only because I'm so sore. The vampire smiles malevolently, running a hand through my red hair. He produces the rounded, black plug from his pocket like an engagement ring. I look away in embarrassment - ha, there's a useful emotion - but sit back with legs spread for him to insert it.

He pouts mockingly. "Aww, don't look at me that way. I have a lot to thank you for, you know. So I brought you a present." He holds up a tag. I'm confused until he turns it and I see the name printed on it. 

GUNNER, CISCO

I freeze. Still smiling, Alexander clips it to my collar next to my own. The pair jingle like keys when I move - jerking back. 

"I suppose I'm a sentimental fool at heart," he teases. "I miss your brother. Now come along." I stumble after the chain leash as he tugs on it. 

The vampire walks me through a hall lined with Sanguine elites standing at attention. I keep my head down. Keep my mouth shut. The chains jingle. The atmosphere darkens but I still start to recognize my surroundings. 

It's weirdly... Warm in here.

Alexander led me to Damon's room. There's a new addition this time: a prison cell constructed hastily with chain link fence to hold prisoners. I'm not surprised that this is where they ended up, I mean, we were already in hell. Damon straightens up as we walk in. He wasn't seated on his throne this time, just leaning against it, uncomfortable. It's easy to miss at first: white bandages wrapped around the prisoners' necks. IV ports installed at the inner elbows for blood draws. This isn't his dungeon anymore... It's a blood cellar. 

Damon perks up when he sees me. It's fucking embarrassing that I did too. 

"I have something for you~" Alexander singsongs. The chains come off as Alexander unhitches the lead; then he shoves me forward. "Keep this warm for me, will you?" 

"Of course, Commander," says Damon. 

We're almost rid of him when he pauses and turns back around, slower. "Damon, I seem to recall we had a chat recently; what was it about?"

He stands up a little taller. "Sir?" 

"The outfit." He points at Damon's black shirt.

"Oh right. I just... Forgot." Damon smiles, nervous. 

Alexander doesn't look satisfied. " Now. "

Damon hesitates and then reaches around to take off his shirt. I can't help but stare. I've always been obsessed with his trained body and toned abs. Especially when he didn't want me to see it. I know how he hates being exposed. Especially like this, to the lustful gaze of the vampire commander who, instead of leaving, comes even closer. Damon looks like he wants to climb out of his sexy skin when Alexander runs a pointed fingernail along his abdomen, trailing lightly all the way to his collarbone. He taps it thoughtfully. 

"I'm starting to think I miscast you too."

Damon looks at him fearfully.

"You know, Black, I heard a rumor about you..." The vamp walks around him. Damon looks incredibly uncomfortable when he gets behind him, but doesn't dare turn around.

"And what was that, Commander?" he says with effort. 

"That you're a virgin." He slaps Damon's ass. 

Damon closes his eyes and tenses up. 

"Well?"

"Commander?" 

"Is it true?" 

"It's... True..." 

Alexander chuckles as he comes back around. 

Alexander grips his jaw. "Tell me, who do you want to be your first?" 

Damon is looking right at me when he says, "You." 

A flash of heat. It's both: desire. Anger. Seeing Alex touch Damon like that... Kind of makes me want to break all his fingers. 

"Commander," Damon finishes flatly. 

Alexander must feel my eyes burning into the back of his head because he glances at me. "Aww. I think we made poor Rayce jealous." He loves it of course, planting a kiss on Damon's lips before releasing him with a laugh. "Don't get up to too much mischief, you two."

Damon waits until Alexander leaves before approaching me. Deep, dark eyes search mine. I wait for him to say something. He doesn't. He buries his fingers in my hair and drags me to the cage. 

I let out a cry as I hit the floor and go rolling. Wincing, I come up on an elbow. 

"Get out! Get out, all of you!" he's yelling at the other prisoners who quickly filter through the door before he slams it shut. He padlocks it. Then the rest of the prisoners are gasping as Damon paces the perimeter of the cell, sprinkling kerosene from a canister at his hip - probably fuel for his whip. 

"Damon, what are you doing?" I demand. 

He shakes out the last few drops and hurls the canister aside. Then he draws his whip, allowing it to burn to life. He strikes one of the boundaries; which flares up into an instant wall of fire. Then the second one, raising another burning border. The fire races to meet each other, enclosing the cage in flames. I look at him, shocked as sweat runs down my forehead. Damon clips the key to the cage to his belt.

"Let's play a game."