Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The message had surprised them all. The remaining members of the 7 had all been anxiously watching their comm units, waiting for news regarding their missing members. Just a month ago, their leader, the Fondation, had sent the Origin out to look for two of their members who had gone missing on a mission. It was just a simple little notification on the Scientist’s computer that almost went unnoticed until Paradigm pointed it out, catching both the Scientist’s and the Visitor’s attention. Eagerly opening the message, scared of whatever would await them, the three of them stared at the contents of the message, puzzled and perplexed by 4 text boxes, each a jumble of letters and numbers on the screen, followed by a blank box waiting patiently for a password. They’d seen messages like this before and frequently sent similar ones to each other all the time, this was just the first time someone from outside of their group had managed to send them one.

“Hey, Captain? Could you come take a look at this?” The Scientist called over his shoulder.

Raising his focus from the digital map spread out across the table where he was seated, the Foundation rises from his seat. Making his way over to the small group that stood huddled behind the Scientist. Curling his fingers around the back of the chair said man was sitting in, he leaned forward to study the screen for a moment.

“What am I looking at here?” he grunts softly, already tired and frustrated from the lack of progress they’d been making in their search for Geno, not to mention their missing members.

“We just got this sent into one of the private channels. None of the others recognized the contact and it looks like it’s encrypted. They’ve messaged us a few times today, each one just like this. I’m running the messages through our systems, but they’re coming back empty.”

Furrowing his brow, their leader stares at the scrambled mess of letters and numbers. The 7, mostly the Scientist and the Visitor, had made it a point to make contacting them a challenge. Their personal channels were private and mostly used between the group to communicate during missions. If any of those channels had been compromised, they’d have to pull the plug, shut them down, and waste precious time setting up new ones. Cursing softly, he leans forward, scanning the letters before pulling away once more.

“Just delete it…it could be a…” the Foundation’s voice cut off as four letters, placed suspiciously close together caught his attention, “Wait. Move over.”

Nudging the Scientist out of the chair, he digs out a pen and paper and starts writing down the letters on the screen. This person was either a genius or the biggest fool he had ever encountered. The more he worked, the more he was sure it was the latter.

“It’s not encrypted. The idiot just scrambled the text and added numbers in it to make it look pretty.”

He could hear the annoyed groan leaving the Scientist as he worked on unscrambling the text. It was a simple statement that didn’t quite make sense to him, [I can’t do much] so he decided to check the other messages this person had sent. Finally, the Foundation got all four messages deciphered.

???: [Would you like help dealing with the IO?]
???: [I can’t do much, too many eyes and ears here.]
???: [But maybe this can be of use to you.]
???: [The password is Geno.]

As he finished reading, he keyed in the password to the link their mysterious rat sent. After entering the simple code, another incredible length of text fills the chat, the letters and numbers blurring on the screen. A loud notification screeches to his right, a sign that the Scientist’s programs detected an encrypted message. Stepping back, the Foundation folds his arms over his chest, letting the Scientist take over. If anyone could crack that code, it would be him. A few minutes later, a video popped up with a satisfying final click. Whoever was filming sat in a conference room, their hands folded on the table in the lower half of the camera’s view. They were wearing a ring, married, he guessed before his eyes dragged up, seeing the annoyingly familiar face of Dr. Slone. She was dressed well, her button-down shirt and slacks almost too simple for the director of the IO. Her dark hair framed her face, and the light from the ceiling glinted ominously off of her yellow glasses. Dread coiled tightly in The Foundation’s stomach, the gnawing fear of finally being caught keeping the few remaining members of the 7 trapped in silence as they watched with bated breath. Was this it? They all stood still, waiting to be addressed. The feared words never came, instead, the group watched as the woman laid out the IO’s next plan; building a research facility around the crash site. A crater had been left by the Visitor’s ship when they were testing the suits and apparently, the IO wanted to profit off of it.

Hastily scribbling notes as he follows along with the presentation, the Foundation was dumbstruck as the other IO members chatted away, asking questions and helping Slone lay out this plan. He watched as each member slowly rose and left the room, the Doctor even offering the person recording an almost friendly “Good day, agent.” before she left. The hands holding the camera gave the members of the 7 a goofy little thumbs up once the room was empty before the recording ended. Sitting in silence, they weren’t quite sure what to say.

“What the fuck was that?!” The Scientist’s voice was low, unsure of how to process what just happened.

“It looks like we have a new friend,” Paradigm replied, amusement clear in her voice.

“I wouldn’t say that. They were clearly involved in that presentation, Slone even addressed them directly, meaning they’re not only in the IO, but they’re someone high enough to be privy to private information. For all we know, this could be some elaborate trap!” the Scientist responded with a bitter tone to his words.

The Visitor leaned forward, their masked face close to the screen as they studied the board in the front of the room from the recording. With a soft grunt, they reach out, touching the screen and zooming in to study the board closer. The meeting had happened that morning according to the detailed itinerary written there.

“Well, even if we don’t know who they are we can’t let this opportunity pass us by. Who knows when we’ll have another chance like this,” was Paradigm’s response.

The Foundation sat in silence, eyes fixed on the silly thumbs-up their informant’s video had ended on. Someone from the enemy team was trying to help them…but who in the IO was dumb enough, or tired enough, to risk their life like this?

(somewhere far, far away, Agent Jones, who was currently minding his own business at his desk, sneezes)

While the three older members of the 7 spoke, the Visitor remained unmoving, their hidden eyes focused on the hand in the recording, and the smallest fraction of a reflection in the shine of the whiteboard

Agent Jones dropped the phone back onto the receiver and leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie before letting out a tired groan. It had been over a week since he had started slipping messages to the 7, and his nerves were shot. For the most part, he had no clue if any of his messages were even getting through to them and the stress was starting to get to him. Luckily, based on the call he just got about the new facility being ransacked, they had, at the very least, taken his advice. Standing from his chair, he stretched, feeling his bones creak in protest, but his job was far from done. Now that he had gotten in contact with the 7 and knew they were actually on the other side of the small channel he had managed to get his hands on, he had a lot more work to do.

Locking the door to his office, the blonde turned his lights off and closed the blinds, hoping that anyone passing by would assume he had gone home for the day. Heading back to his desk, Jones sits on the floor and scoots under it, his back pressed against the modesty panel. Fishing out the small key taped to the underside of the top drawer, he opens up a safe hidden in the bottom drawer and grabs his laptop and the small thumb drive from inside. Booting up his spare laptop, he logs into the admin account and opens up the chat he’d gotten used to spamming in the last week, only this time, there was a response.

Scientist: [Who is this?]

To anyone else, the question would seem innocent enough, but this was a member of the 7 for crying out loud. Who knows how well they’d take it if he was honest about who he was? No doubt they’d think he was setting them up if he revealed his true identity. Scratching his head, the agent hemmed and hawed for a while before looking around his office. Why didn’t he think of a code name before this? Honestly, he didn’t think he’d get this far. Finally, his eyes fell onto one of the many pictures of his family that lined the walls. Memories of home almost instantly flooded him, the echo of his wife’s voice bounced in his skull, and before he could stop himself, his fingers were pressing against the keys.

???: [My friends call me the Legend.]

Chapter Text

???: [My friends call me the Legend.]

The Foundation stared at the screen for a long, long time. He couldn’t tell if they were being serious or if they were just pulling his leg. After a long pause without further elaboration, he realized that they were, in fact, not joking, which only made him wonder more. Were they an idiot? Or were they really that full of themselves? Amused and curious, he found himself leaning forward, moving his fingers onto the keys of the Scientist’s computer and responding.

Scientist: [The Legend? How did an IO agent get THAT name?]

He asks, curious about what kind of person was on the other side.

There wasn’t a response for several hours. Slowly, the group migrated away from the computer, each making sure to update their comm units so they could wait for the reply. The leader of the 7 went about his day as usual; checking plans, reworking maps and eventually showering and getting ready to turn in for the night before he finally received a reply. Sitting in bed, he dries his incredible length of hair, when the chat lights up. Resting his communicator on his bare knee, his dark eyes watch as messages slowly filter in.

???: [It’s kind of a long story? But I figured it was safer than my actual name.]
???: [Oh! I heard about the raid. Good job. The office was in an uproar, so I take it you all set us back quite a bit.]
???: [I have more info. Nothing as big as the Research Facility, but here are the routes for some of the next few supply runs and shipment courses.]

A few seconds later, there were detailed instructions and maps popping up on the small screen. Making sure to take quick screenshots of the messages, the Foundation starts to tap the sides of the comm unit in thought. Trying to put his thoughts into words, he starts to reply.

The Foundation: [Why are you helping us?] He asks finally, finding himself more curious than he’d like to admit.

The other side started to reply several times, and he watched curiously as the chat bubble started and stopped repeatedly before a response was finally sent.

???: [I’ve been with the IO for a long time, too long really.]
???: [ My hands are just as dirty as Slone’s at this point from the things I’ve done for these people. But not everyone is as bad as me, many of them are blackmailed to the safety of their families to keep them here.]
???: [ I’m old and tired of hurting people for them.]

So that’s how the IO cultivated such a faithful following. He shouldn’t be surprised: of course they would hold people’s families above their heads like that. Stifling a frustrated growl, he leans forward to respond, the device creaking ominously in his large hand from his tight grip.

The Foundation: [Thank you for the help. I swear, we will work to save everyone’s families from their clutches.]

If what they said was true, and they were just as guilty as Slone and Geno, then this was someone important to the IO. But he wasn’t stupid, if this person felt guilty for their actions, then that meant they, at some point, hadn’t wanted to do them.

The Foundation: [I’ll personally see to it that your family makes it out.]

The Legend’s response is quicker this time,

???: [Hey, don’t worry about me. I just want to see something good happen for a change.]

His gut twisted, a familiar knot sitting heavy in his chest and bringing a thickness to his throat. So their family wasn’t able to be saved? If anyone understood that, it was the Foundation. Finding himself wanting to comfort this mystery rat, he leans back against the wall, feeling a nasty feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

The Foundation: [Well, with your help, hopefully we’ll be able to save everyone]

???: [I sure hope so. Goodnight :) ]

The Foundation stared at the chat for a moment longer before turning the device off and laying it down. Making a note to pry a different name out of the rat later, he decided that he would worry about the details of the messages in the morning. Sliding under his covers, he let the familiar ache of guilt and anger lull him to sleep.

“Let me work with him!” Paradigm’s hands smacked down onto the table, entering the Foundation’s vision and drawing her boss’ attention up from the map he was looking at.

“Work with who?” Feigning ignorance, he crosses his arms over his broad chest, leaning back in his chair.

“You know who, sir. The Legend. Let me run a mission with his instructions!”

Before the Foundation could reply, the Scientist slammed a balled-up fist on the table, making the projected map waver and fuzz up. “Absolutely not! We don’t know if they can be trusted! One great tip, a few good runs don’t change the fact that they’re IO!”

Shifting his gaze toward Paradigm, the Foundation recognized the flash of determination in her eyes. Deciding to hold his tongue, he let the two argue their points. Paradigm turns to cross her arms over her chest, her harsh scowl aimed up at the Scientist.

“But wouldn’t this be the perfect time for us to test him? Surely he’s comfortable now. We’ve had multiple successes with the intel he’s provided so far. If this is a trap, he’s sure to slip up now that he thinks we trust him, right? So let me do this next mission. You know I’m the best at reading people.”

Her words weren’t wrong. For nearly a month now, their new acquaintance had guided them through several successful missions, assisting them in jabbing at the hornet’s nest, so to speak. The Foundation had personally led the missions, relaying the information he was given after carefully studying the details of their plans.

The Scientist scoffs, his face, though hidden from view, was twisted in panic. “No! This is ridiculous! What if it is a trap and they’re just waiting for us to do something like this?! To be comfortable enough to trust them?! You read their messages, they admitted that they’re just as guilty as Slone!”

The two continued to argue in front of him, reminding the Foundation of two children trying to argue their points with a tired mother. Sighing, their leader pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache creeping up the back of his skull. A gentle tap on his shoulder had him shifting his attention away from the arguing couple.

Looking down at the familiar helmet of the Visitor, he can’t help but wonder if they’ll make his day any easier. Raising their hands, the shorter person slowly starts to sign.

“If it’s not too much trouble, there’s something I’d like to see. I’ll go with Par.” The Foundation doesn’t know whether the Visitor’s steady hands console him or add more to his worries.

Shifting his arms away from his chest, the older man signs back, not wanting to draw the other two’s attention. “Are you sure? You know the risks if this goes wrong.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to, boss? Of course, I know.” Though they were signing, and their face was hidden from his eyes, he could practically hear them rolling their eyes.

Feeling his worries triple, the Foundation sighs again before speaking aloud. “Fine. You both will go.”

At the sound of their leader’s order, Paradigm gives the Scientist a victorious little smirk, turning her attention back towards the map projected on the table beside them. Stepping forward, the Foundation taps his finger on a point on the map, drawing a line through a strip of road that travels across the map.

“This morning in our messages I was sent another supply run. Despite our best efforts, the IO still intends to use the crash site. These trucks will pass through two checkpoints here,” he points to a highlighted spot on the path, “and here.” he taps another, “Ideally, you two will be waiting somewhere just past the 2nd checkpoint. The…informant” he just couldn’t bring himself to call them something as stupid as the name they gave him, “if I can get them to agree to it, will instruct you from there. The goal is to claim whatever supplies we can use and destroy whatever we can’t. We might not be able to stop the IO from building their facility entirely, but we can at least set them back a good margin.”

Pointing at Paradigm, the eldest member of the 7 doesn’t hide the worry in his scolding tone. “But, if there’s even the slightest hint of the rat betraying us, get out of there, do you understand?”

A bright smile blooms across Paradigm’s face. Giddy at having got her way, she gives her leader a salute, grabs the Visitor’s arm, and drags them out of the room. The two immediately put their heads together, quietly muttering between themselves.

“You know this is a terrible idea, right?”

Internalizing a groan of frustration, the Foundation faces what he hopes will be his final opponent for the day. “You know she thinks you don’t trust her, right?” he retorts, imitating the Scientist’s tone.

Scoffing, the Scientist is, for once, unable to shoot a snarky comeback. “Fuck off.” He hisses instead, “She knows I trust her! I just don’t trust a stranger who happens to be working for our literal worst enemy!” The Scientist throws his hand up in the air before twisting to jab a finger against his old friend’s chest. “And you, of all people, I expected you to be on my side! But here you are, going along with it! You have more reason than any of us to hate the IO! So why are you trusting some idiot who didn’t even bother to actually encrypt their messages before dropping them into a chat that only might have been ours?! The shit they used was child’s play and you know it!”

If anyone else spoke to him this way, the Foundation would have snapped their fingers and called it a day, but the frustrated man in front of him was his oldest friend and someone whose opinion he held in high regard. Sighing, he reaches forward, clapping a hand on the Scientist’s armored shoulder.

“I don’t. I don’t trust this rat at all, but I can’t deny that their information has been helpful. I was planning on testing them myself, but now that Paradigm and the Visitor have stepped up instead, I can focus on seeing if they’ll slip up and trying to find signs of Origin and the sisters. Don’t lose faith in me yet, old friend.”

Stepping around the other man, he returns his attention to the map, going over the plan in his head one last time.

The mission was surprisingly successful. Paradigm and the Visitor came back in high spirits, though the exact details of what happened remained a mystery to the Foundation. In both of their reports, they claimed that there was little stress on the job and that, with the information and guidance from the informant, they both were able to carry out their duties successfully. Something about how cheery they both were acting ate at him, so, that night, while he was working in private, the Foundation decided to do some investigating of his own.

Sitting down in front of the Scientist’s computer, the leader of the 7 opened up the group chat, the only place their informant had available for them to message through, ready to demand answers. Much to his surprise, a small text bubble was waiting for him.

???: [Who should I report to about the mission?]

Amused, the Foundation was pleasantly surprised. He had a deep appreciation for punctuality. Seeing Paradigm and the Visitor’s chat icons pop up, he had a feeling they had something they wanted to hide from him, and were eager to fill the chat with their blathering, so he did the only thing he could. Clicking the IO rat’s icon, he sent them a private message.

Foundation: [This is the Foundation. Every mission’s results get reported directly to me. Paradigm and the Visitor have already made their reports]

???: [So they told you about how terrible it went?]

He fucking knew it. Ready to exit the message and give the others a piece of his mind, he was stopped by the next message from the rat.

???: [It’s my fault really, those two performed admirably. I had a slip-up and almost crossed them in the path of one of the guards. If Paradigm hadn’t been quick on her feet they would have been caught.]
???: [After that the mission went really well, but I really don’t think I’m cut out to navigate them again just yet.]

The Foundation stared at the message for a long time…They were so honest? He didn’t get it, what did they get out of telling him the truth? Shouldn’t they be trying to buy his favor? And how in the hell had they convinced Paradigm and the Visitor to lie for them? A nagging voice in the back of his mind asked him if they really were trying to trick them, or if they were just as tired as he was of the IO’s reign. Bringing his fingers to the keys, the leader responds.

Foundation: [So I take it you know where you went wrong? Good, that means I don’t have to tell you.]
Foundation: [Next time you’ll navigate me. We’ll get you in shape in no time.]

His own response surprises him, something that he finds is happening more frequently lately.

???: [I won’t let you down, boss 🫡]

Chuckling softly, the Foundation moves to save the rat’s contact information, ignoring the cheeky title as he exits the app. The Legend, huh?

Unseen in the group chat, another bubble popped up.

Paradigm: {Paradigm changed ???’s contact to ‘The Legend’}

Chapter Text

The next few weeks were spent in a similar fashion. The few members of the 7 still in Sanctuary, with the information provided by their new ally, would thwart the IO’s plans. The Foundation, using said information, would formulate new plans and courses of action, all while taking whatever extra time he had left to search for the missing members of their small band of rebels. With the Legend’s help, more of the renegade group’s plans were a success, and despite the Scientist’s protests, Paradigm and the Visitor were quickly growing accustomed to working with their new companion. Almost daily, they could be seen attached to their comm units, chatting away with the informant until either the Foundation or the Scientist shooed them out of the room so the grown-ups could get actual work done.

It didn’t take long for them to start worrying about the safety of their informant, and in kind, to start caring about them. Even their leader would anxiously watch the chat if it was quiet for too long. The first time he got antsy about it, the Visitor had watched him for a long moment before typing away on their phone again. Paradigm, trying to be sneaky, checked her own unit before responding and glancing over at their leader. Almost immediately after, the device he had been trying hard to pretend to ignore started to chime with notifications. Shooting a glare at the Visitor, the Foundation means to continue ignoring whatever message they’re sending him in favor of analyzing the map again.There’s silence for a moment, and just when he starts to relax, another small chime snaps him from his thoughts, and he snatches up the device, opening the messages to appease the brats trying to needle him for attention. He’s surprised at the lack of Visitor or Paradigm messaging him. Instead, a small notification appears by the Legend’s icon.

Legend: [The Visitor said you wanted to talk to me?]
Legend: [I told them that if you needed me I was sure you would reach out, but I didn’t wanna possibly ignore orders hahaha]
Legend: [Buuuuut seeing as you aren’t responding, this was probably just a prank. My bad! Just holler if you need me!]

The Legend -they refused to give the group another name to call them- was an annoying idiot, regularly dragging messages out, even if the point had already been made by the other’s silence. Everything about them grated on the Foundation's nerves, and the Scientist’s constant nagging didn’t help. It made him question if they were taking any of this seriously. Things only got worse once he took pity and finally started to respond to the annoyingly chipper rat. He had been pondering for a while, and needed to know. It’s a question that had been plaguing him since the Scientist first brought it up.

Foundation: [Actually, I do have a question.]
Foundation: [When you first contacted us, why didn’t you put proper security on your messages? What would you have done if it wasn’t one of us who answered your message?]

Legend: [Ah, that’s a two-parter!]
Legend: [Just, don’t get mad, okay?]
Legend: [The wacky code was an afterthought. I know the IO keeps an eye on things around here, they run a tight ship, so if it ended up somehow slipping that there was a rat, the first thing they would look for would be encrypted messages that passed through their database.]
Legend: [none of that matters though. I knew exactly where I was sending the messages. It just had to look cool enough to catch your guys’ attention]

Something about the Legend’s words had a chill running up his spine. Biting back the instinctive anger, his fingers roughly press against the screen.

Foundation: [There’s no way you could have been 100% sure it was us.]

Legend: [Well, actually there is. Keeping the whole secret identity bit here, let's just say we’ve met before.]

So he did know this agent. Then it shouldn’t be hard to put a name to a face. That would tell him everything he needed to know about their rat.

Legend: [It was right when I was getting ready to set this plan in action. While you and the others were preparing for a raid on one of the IO’s bases, I snuck nearby and synched my personal comm unit with your private channel.]

Whipping up to glare at the back of the Scientist’s head, the Foundation makes a mental note to force the man to bulk up the firewalls on their communication channel before turning his attention back towards his chat.

Foundation: [This line better be secure, Legend, or you’ll be sorry]

Legend: [Fret not, boss, I’ve spent a little over a year preparing for this. Your guys’ security is my number one priority!]

The annoyance at Legend picking up on Visitor’s annoying nickname habit was almost enough to steer the Foundation’s attention away from the matter at hand. They were just so genuine that sometimes he couldn’t tell if it was endearing or disgusting. Shoving back the urge to kick himself for being mad at them, he puts his phone down and tries to turn his attention back to his work.

After that proper icebreaker, the two started to chat more often. They usually kept it to work related discussions, and after each mission, the Legend would report in and the two would begin to discuss what they thought would happen next. Soon, the leader of the 7 found himself looking forward to an outside perspective, spending just a bit more time in the chat than he should and learning some of the many odd things about their rat. The Legend was a jokester of some sort, or at least they thought they were. Even during particularly heavy topics, or the mention of a more dangerous mission, they had a joke to lighten everyone’s moods. It almost became a sort of tell; if they joked more frequently, or if their jokes came out of nowhere, they were worried or had had a bad day. What originally started as a single message, maybe two a week turned into nearly daily correspondence, with the Foundation not so subtly demanding that the Legend check in at least twice a day.

Legend: [Don’t fret big guy, I get it. I’ll be sure to keep in touch! Don’t want the chat getting compromised right?]

In record time, the members of the 7 all started to pick up on their Leader’s new habits. If he wasn’t hunched over a map planning, or scouting sanctuary in search of intruders or signs of their missing members, the Foundation’s attention was glued to the comm unit. Once upon a time, the oldest member of the group cared little for keeping in contact outside of quick calls, and never took the time to carry his phone with him. Paradigm was very interested in this new development and regularly discussed the change with the Visitor.

The Scientist, however, wasn’t very pleased with the ways things were changing. Everything about the Legend made him nervous, and they had too much riding on their shoulders to risk being caught now. Even if this informant hadn’t let them down yet, there was no erasing the fact that they were in the IO, and had been for a long time. If they could betray someone who they had once sworn their life to, what was stopping them from doing it again? He voiced his concerns to the Foundation several times, but his worries were being brushed aside with growing frequency.

“The risks are high, we all know that. We’ve assessed the situation and have no reason to believe that the Legend is going to betray us. They have just as much on the table as we do in this.” The Foundation’s words had left a bitter taste in the Scientist’s mouth.

The consoling did little to soothe his nerves, and he spent most of his free time trying to dig into the IO’s database. Surely this “Legend” had slipped up somewhere, and once he found out what they were up to, he’d be quick to act. If they wanted to help so badly, if they were so “trustworthy”, then why give the good guys some stupid fake name?

The Foundation was more than aware of how the others felt about their mysterious new ally, each of them wondering what the next move would be. It had been a long time since anyone other than their small group had offered help. It was taking some getting used to, but slowly, the renegade group was brightening. The effect the Legend had on his family was breathtaking. He wasn’t a fool, and he didn’t offer his trust easily, but the Legend, in his opinion, had earned at least a little bit. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the informant was someone high up on the IO’s corporate ladder. Slone didn’t seem like the kind of boss to give personal presentations to just any member of the IO. This scenario wasn't something either party had thought possible, yet here they were, working with the people they had spent who knows how long fighting against.

Of course, it’s always when they get comfortable that the other shoe has to drop. The day had started normally enough, each member of the 7 moving through their morning routine and getting ready for what they all hoped would be another successful morning. It only took a couple of hours for them to realize something was wrong. The Foundation was hunched over the map like he usually is, his eyes flitting across landmarks and over to the silent device beside his hand. Back and forth he went, unsure of what to do. All day it had been radio silent from the Legend, and he couldn’t fight the strange anxiety in his chest. Since their first handful of conversations, the informant had kept good on their promise, checking in once in the morning, once during their work hours, and once before bed, always with some stupid, witty joke about “no sign of being caught yet, boss,” or “the coast is clear. We live to fight another day!”. Since when did he start to find comfort in their stupid little quips? It was only when the buzzing in his ears grew the loudest that the comm unit beside him finally lit up. Before it could even finish a full chime, it was snatched up, and the messages were opened.

Legend: [I don’t have time.]
Legend: [Something important is happening.]
Legend: [I’ll have you muted, but just in case, don’t talk.]

Almost immediately the device started to ring in earnest. Hastily pulling the Scientist’s chair back, the Foundation silences the man’s protests by plugging the comm unit into the computer and hitting ‘answer’. Seeing the same conference room from the first video, the Visitor and Paradigm slowly move behind the older members of the 7, all watching with bated breath. This wasn’t a recording, it was a video call. And right in front of them, glaring almost directly into the camera, was Director Slone.

Chapter Text

There are no hands affecting their vision this time, so they get unfiltered access to the whole room. The afternoon sun paints an almost eerie orange glow across the long room, the gray walls giving a sense of foreboding as they sit in silence and watch. For a while, there’s only the sound of the other IO board members filing into the space, each taking their seats at the long table dividing their rat and Doctor Slone. With a soft click, a door somewhere off to the right is shut, and a final figure steps into the frame. The painfully familiar blonde man stops by Slone’s side, clasping his hands in front of him and turning his attention towards the table. Agent Jones was one of the IO’s most loyal dogs and was one of the main reasons the 7 ever struggled with their missions. It was almost like he was trained specifically to be a thorn in the Foundation’s side. Slone’s voice filled the deathly quiet room, making several of the board members visibly jump. The Legend remained unflinching, still streaming the meeting directly to the 7.

“There’s a rat!” There, the words they all had been dreading ever since the Legend started working with them in the first place,  “That’s the only explanation, how else would the 7 be so far up our asses? Every plan we’ve had for the past three months, every supply run to the crash site has been interrupted and raided.” Dragging a hand down her face, the woman lets out an annoyed sigh. “And now, with the Ghost and Shadow turf war going on, not to mention Midas and that brat daughter of his trying to break the loop, I have the higher-ups wanting a name!” At this point, the woman had begun to pace across the front of the room angrily. Finally spinning to slam her hands onto the table, she takes a deep breath. “Keep your eyes peeled, and check-in with everyone from your departments. If anyone, and I mean anyone, seems suspicious, report it to myself or Agent Jones. I won’t have the 7 mettling in our affairs any longer.”

As she speaks, Agent Jones’ blue eyes flick over to the camera, and the remaining members of the 7 suck in a breath, waiting for their cover to be blown. But the camera stays stable, as if their Legend had nerves of steel, even if they were being stared at directly. As the agent’s harsh blue eyes finally move away, they let out a collective sigh of relief. Taking a step forward, the blonde clears his throat.

“Don’t worry, if we’re vigilant, and use our time wisely, it shouldn’t take us long to have this situation handled.” He glances around once more before taking a file from Slone. “Now, while we have you all here, let's get down to business…”

Eventually, the meeting comes to an end, and everyone slowly files out of the room. As the final member leaves the conference room, Jones looks back at where their rat is sitting, gives a stern-faced nod, and exits the frame as well. The call finally ends, and the members of the 7 are left in silence.

“Shit..” The Visitor’s soft voice is a surprise, the usually silent character’s leg bobbing with worry.

Hating the burning anxiety that coiled and writhed in his throat, the Foundation tightly grips the back of the Scientist’s chair, the material creaking under the pressure of the large man’s hand. “I’ll contact the Legend again. It’s no longer safe for them to be there. We’ll take them into hiding.” He wonders if his voice sounds as breathless as he feels, and he numbly reaches for the keyboard.

For once, no one said anything about their Leader’s habitual need to message their informant, and all silently watched as his fingers flew across the keys.

The Foundation: [Call us back. The minute you’re safe, call me back.]

The group sat in silence for nearly an hour, all hoping that their rat hadn’t been caught. Resting a firm hand on the Foundation’s shoulder, the Visitor gives it a reassuring squeeze, which only serves to confuse the man. Turning to look down at the younger member of the team, he tries to force his brain to work, to string together a single thought, a response for what he can tell is that too-knowing gaze. Before he can say anything, his head snaps forward again, attention drawn by the low ringing of the phone. Moving forward, he presses the answer button immediately.

The sound of shuffling comes from the other end, ominous crinkling and soft thumps make the Foundation's heart lurch repeatedly. Eventually, the camera turns on, and all of them are taken aback. They were looking into a dim-lit office, any identifying objects hidden away, and in front of them sat a man. He was dressed well, a fitted, button-down shirt clinging comfortably to his figure, tucked into a pair of black slacks. His sleeves were rolled up and he was sitting on the floor. However, the whole image was ruined by a paper bag on his head. Instinctive dread left a heavy pit in the older man’s stomach, he’d seen hundreds of videos that started like this, and none of them were good. Had they been caught already? Would this be how he finally saw the Legend’s face? The Foundation’s heart pounded in his ear, flashes of memories he thought long buried were being forcefully dredged up by the sight of their rat like this. Then he saw the eyes. Familiar blue eyes watched them, watched him from two holes cut in the paper bag. He couldn’t be more thankful that he still had his helmet on. The tense silence was finally interrupted by an annoyed noise coming from the Scientist. They all watched the bag-headed man, waiting for someone to say something.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” The Scientist hisses, pushing his chair back as if to leave.

The Legend raises a hand to catch their attention again. Making sure the camera could stand on its own, the Legend, or, who they assumed it was, raises his hands and starts to sign.

“Can any of you read sign language?” He asks, his hands moving slowly so they can follow with the laggy screen. “Mine’s a little sloppy, but it’s probably best for now.”

The Visitor eagerly lifts their hands, wanting to respond but are cut off by an arm coming from the man to their right. Letting out another angry noise, the Scientist takes a step forward, jabbing a finger towards the screen.  “Alright, enough screwing around. Why the fuck are you wearing a bag on your head? And why can’t you talk, huh? Another important secret?”

Pausing for a moment, the Legend tilts his head, the paper bag crinkling ominously before he looks over his shoulder. Making sure the coast is clear, he reaches down and raises the camera up, showing them the room around him. It’s a simple office, a filing cabinet in front of them and one to the right, small knick knacks decorating the space. The Legend has them hidden beneath a sturdy desk, and on the front wall, a large window, blinds shut tight, filtered in fleeting lights of people passing by the room. Bringing himself back into view, he puts the camera down and resumes signing.

“These walls are really thin, and they all think I went home. If they hear me talking, they’ll get suspicious and check if someone is sneaking around my office. I had a feeling this would be a lot harder to explain to them than it would be to you guys.”

A bubble of pride sat in the Foundation’s stomach, the familiar warmth chasing away the chill of panic he had felt just a few minutes earlier. So the rat wasn’t as dumb as he thought. “That’s fine. Thank you for taking this so seriously.” If the Foundation could see the Scientist’s face, he’s sure he would be getting the dirtiest look imaginable.

“Of course. I know what would happen if they found out, and the Island still needs you guys.”

The sudden reminder of the meeting had any lingering warmth leaving the older man in an instant, familiar dread forming a small pit in his stomach. Leaning forward, the leader of the 7 draws the Legend’s attention towards him. “You’re right, and with the IO’s new plans and growing anxieties, it’s not safe to let you keep doing this. If you’ll let us, we can take you somewhere safe. We can hide you from the IO until we take them down. I’ll personally go and pick you up if need be.”

The Legend watches him for a long time, and for a brief moment, the Foundation thinks he recognizes the eyes staring back at him, and he only hopes that the other man is considering the offer. Finally, the Legend lifts his hands and begins to sign once more.

“As much as I appreciate it, the IO is planning something BIG, and the last thing I want is you going in blind. With what’s coming, you’ll need an informant now more than ever.”

“We’ll handle it!” he snaps, the small group behind him growing tense as they watch the interaction. “Let us save you. If you’re caught feeding us information you know what they’ll do to you.” He’d seen it before, memories of old allies and friends filling his mind as he tried so desperately to convince the person hiding under the bag.

Once again, the Legend watches him, and just as the Foundation thinks he’s won, he watches the bagged head dip silently. All of his hopes are dashed in an instant, the Legend’s hands firm as he replies.

“Of course, I know what will happen. But my answer is still no. There’s too much at stake if I stop now, and I have too much to answer for. I have to go. I’ll contact you all soon”

“Legend, wait-!” but before he can say anything else, before he can think of anything to say to make the man stay on just a little longer, the video ends and the call is dropped.

The Foundation was at a loss. Ever since he started this rebellion, ever since he took up his title as the leader of the resistance, no one had ever ignored his orders so blatantly. And not even ignored them, his demands had been denied, rejected without a second thought.  Glaring at the dark screen, he lets his arms hang uselessly in his lap. After a while, he looks down at his armored hand, watching as he curls his fingers into a fist. The others slowly leave the man to his thoughts, each unsure of how best to approach or handle this tender situation. Only the Visitor stayed, watching their Leader before resting a hand on his shoulder. The larger man’s head whips around, and they could feel that killer glare turned at them.

“He’s just trying to keep you…to keep us safe. He knows if you both meet up he risks leading them directly to us.” ever the thoughtful one, the Visitor’s first instinct was to soothe, their voice soft. They knew firsthand how big their leader’s heart was, it’s why they were willing to speak with him in the first place.

Letting out a tired sigh, the Foundation reaches up to rest a large hand on top of the Visitor’s. “I know...I know. I just..”

Tapping his hand to bring his eyes back to them, they enunciate the words carefully, wanting their leader to really hear what they’re saying, “You care, we all know that. He just cares too. Don’t worry, though, maybe he’ll change his mind after whatever this ‘big’ thing is. It’ll all be okay.”

Knowing better than to argue, he nods numbly. “I just hope that moron doesn’t do anything too stupid.” The response he gets is an amused snort, only adding to the strange, mixed feelings in his stomach, and making him furrow his brows in confusion. “What’s so funny?”

Shaking their head, they pull their hand away, and with a dismissive wave, they leave the large man sitting confused in the Scientist’s chair. 

Chapter Text

Yanking the paper bag off of his head, Jones takes in a heavy breath of fresh air. Leaning back against his desk, he sighs tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. That really could have gone better. A lot of things he hadn’t taken into consideration were happening and it left him with too much to think about.

Jones wasn’t a fool, he knew that the IO would catch onto the fact that they had a mole in the system. He was a little surprised he’d gotten away with it as long as he had: three months was honestly a blessing in this case. Another unexpected variable was the reaction of the members of the 7 he had been in contact with. He knew that some of them would be suspicious of him, the Scientist, for example, had little to say in the Legend’s favor. He was smart to be suspicious,  it was that killer intuition that made the group so hard to deal with in the first place. The agent could only be thankful that luck seemed to be on his side. He didn’t know what he would have done if they made him take the bag off, made him put the fragile trust he had been trying to build to the test immediately. He wasn't quite ready for his cover to be blown just yet.

The biggest surprise of the day, however, had been that the leader of the 7, the Foundation himself, offered him a safe place to go when things went south. For as long as Jones can remember, the IO had told him stories of the absolute terror and havoc the older man would wreak on their operations. Hell, he had seen the devastation that man could do with his own eyes before. The Foundation had cultivated himself, fought, and trained, turning himself into the biggest thorn in the IO’s side with his own two hands. It was admirable, to be able to fight something with so much conviction. Jones can’t help but wonder what kind of person he was before the IO to be able to fight like that. Sighing softly, the agent lets his head thunk back against his desk, trying to shake off the depressing thought.

Jones was a coward in comparison, only moving when he was forced to. If he had the pleasure of being literally anyone else, he would have taken the 7’s offer without a second thought. The IO wouldn’t stay off of his tail for long, he had been careful, but they weren’t stupid. There was a reason they controlled the Island with an iron grip. It wouldn’t take them long to get suspicious of his actions, and it was eventually going to catch up with him, he just knew it. Until that day came though, he would do his best to keep feeding the 7 the information they needed to save everyone.

Slowly pushing himself up off of the floor, Jones grabs his jacket and briefcase before heading towards the long window. Peeking through the blinds to make sure no one was in the hall, the blonde finally exits his office and starts the slow trip home. A small part of him is thankful that he lives almost as far away as he can from work, without being too far to respond in case of an emergency, of course. The walk home gave him time to think. There were a lot of things he still wanted to do before he got caught; he had been building up the 7’s trust in him, giving them information relevant to the work they had been doing for a while. But now he was working up to something big, and he needed just a little more time to get the pieces together before giving it to the Foundation. He could only hope that when the time came, his new allies would be more inclined to listen to him than to argue or ask questions.

Jones' house was small, just something simple he had built when he first came to work with the IO. A small house with cheery yellow paint, white trim, and a mailbox, painted white with cheery sunflowers scattered across its surface, happily tucked away in the furthest corner of the town the IO had built for their employees. A pretty picket fence surrounded it, its gate creaking a familiar greeting as his legs carried him up the small path to his front door. Once in the safe privacy of his home, he hangs up his jacket and steps into the small kitchen to his left. Pouring himself a glass of juice, he decides to get the last of his work finished so maybe he can have an early night.

After extracting his work laptop from his bag, he lays it on the kitchen table, taking a moment to be thankful for his position in the IO, despite the circumstances. His rank, and his habit of taking work home with him, made all of this a lot easier. No one would question why he was logging into the database from home, and, with how long he’d been working under their thumb, he could hopefully remain free from their search for a while longer. He was the same Agent Jones he always had been. Plugging his thumb drive into the computer, Jones starts moving any data he can find on the points that he brought up during today’s meeting. Part of him hoped that they didn't catch on to the fact that no one had been sitting behind the camera, it had taken him an embarrassing amount of time before the meeting to get his phone set up in such a way that it would work without being spotted. Luckily, he had managed to start the call while gathering the folders he needed. He had been careful, he wasn't caught yet.

Forcing his thoughts back to his work, the man's tired eyes skim the information he's moving. Midas and Jules. The two were smart, too smart for the IO’s liking. Jones had been keeping tabs on them for a while, and things were starting to get hairy: the two had built a strange device, one that could, in theory, break the storm, and in response, break the loop. Jules herself was an engineering genius. Mix that with her father’s odd, twisted intellect, and he was sure those two could achieve anything. Personally, he didn’t mind the idea of the loop being broken, the only worry he had was for the safety of the Zero-Point. The higher-ups, however, were in quite a tizzy over this. Lucky for him, he had all the information he needed to make their days a little more stressful, maybe then Geno, the invisible face that had been pulling the IO’s strings for longer than Jones had been around, would finally get off of his lazy ass and do something for a change.

Once he got the files copied and moved, he changed laptops, logged into his account, and tapped the table to the beat of a song in his head. He never messaged the 7 from his work account, instead, he used some of his savings to buy a new laptop from a second-hand store. Hopefully, this would keep his bosses off of his trail for a little longer. Plugging in the drive, he starts uploading the new information into the chat he had been spending his off hours in for the last three months. Watching the loading bar slowly fill, Jones finishes his juice, waiting to be sure everything gets sent before deciding to call it a night.

Pushing himself away from the table, the blonde man slowly drags his feet towards his room, ignoring the eyes of every picture on his wall staring down at him. He should shower, hell he should eat, but bringing himself to do anything other than force himself to lay on his bed sounds like torture. Taking the extra step to kick his shoes off, Jones lays both of his phones on the nightstand. His everyday phone gets plugged in, its battery drained for the 5th time that day due to the number of phone calls he had to make. His backup phone gets laid down next to it, its battery nearly fully charged. He bought the second phone a month after he bought the laptop, making sure to connect it to the chat he has with the 7 in case of an emergency. It was rarely used except for the midday message he sent into the chat while he was at work. Making sure to set his alarm, Jones doesn’t even crawl under his covers, he simply lays down across the bed, curls his legs up close, and fights to go to sleep.

It’s embarrassingly late, and the Foundation is still awake. He had tried to fall asleep hours ago, but his mind wouldn’t rest. He didn’t expect to be told no so quickly, he had intended to give the Legend time to think on it before making a decision. If it were him, he would have been more than hesitant to trust an old enemy to protect him. He tried to take the Visitor’s reassurance to heart, he knew how stubborn their informant was, but something didn’t feel right. If he was going to wait until this newest problem was dealt with, why didn’t he just tell them to wait instead of refusing outright? Did the man have a death wish? Did he trust them that little?

The thought ate at him for a long while, keeping his mind running despite the ache in his eyes. Deciding to just give up on sleep, the leader of the 7 gets out of bed. Pulling his long dark hair into a messy loop, he drags a hand tiredly down his face before pushing himself to stand. Letting his long tail drag against the cool metal floor helps to startle his groggy brain awake, and he heads back toward the war room to get some much-needed work done. He still had people to find, and if sleep was going to avoid him, the least he could do was start looking again. For a while, he sits at the map table, double-checking pins and important notes. A lot was riding on his shoulders, and with another life in his hands, another…face… in his mind, another person for him to keep alive, he couldn’t risk slipping up.

Letting out a tired sigh, the large man smoothes his rough fingers over his eyelids, trying to will the aching need for sleep away. Leaning heavily in his chair, the Foundation wonders if some of the Visitor’s nasty coffee would be worth it when a soft noise to his left draws his attention. Turning his head, he spares a glance at the computer that takes up most of the left wall, his heart jumping at the notification that pops up in the bottom left corner of the screen. The Legend had messaged the chat. Without thinking, he finds himself moving away from his work before sinking into the large chair that sits abandoned in front of the computer. A few clicks open the group chat, only for him to be bombarded with several files, notes, and images, all revolving around a strange pair trapped on the island. Connecting some of the names with talking points he had heard during the meeting earlier today, the Foundation is glad to finally have something to do.

Making sure to download the information into their backup files, he digs out his notepad, taking his own notes in an attempt to start drafting a response plan. Call him old-fashioned, but he found that pen and paper made thinking for him easier, it was less final this way. You had to consider the plans and words and thoughts again when you moved them from paper to a document, and it was this extra step that made his work so thorough. This Midas person seemed to cause Geno and his lackeys a lot of trouble, something he could respect. The daughter, Jules, her work was remarkable, and he only hoped that maybe the Legend could get him in contact with her. His team would be better with someone of her caliber in their ranks. Satisfied with the beginnings of a new plan, he leans back in the chair, his eyes instinctively glancing at the side of the screen.

Seeing the Legend’s current active status, the Foundation wonders what time it is for the agent. The messages had been sent hours ago, surely he should be in bed by now? Still mildly miffed at his offer being rejected so firmly earlier, he decides that a good scolding is in order and presses the call button. Making sure to keep it in the group chat, he’s merciful (or is it cruel?) and leaves the camera off. In all honesty, he doesn’t expect an answer, simply intending to use the dull ringing to soothe his frazzled nerves, so he can’t help but be surprised as the third ring works its magic.

A low, groggy voice on the other side grumbles, clearing his throat in an attempt to make words form. “Hello?” The half-asleep man mumbles, obviously trying to wake himself up.

The voice sticks to the Foundation's brain, a deja vu-like feeling trying to coax his foggy mind into connecting a face with the sound. He knows this voice, he’s sure of it, the lilt is familiar, but with the roughness of sleep mixing with his own exhausted thoughts, it was nearly impossible to tell who. Sitting in utter silence, he accidentally prompts a second, much more confused “Hello?” from the other end of the call.

Snapping out of his daze, the large man shakes his head, all thoughts of scolding far from his mind. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Almost immediately he could hear the other man start to fumble about, a low thump was surely him falling out of bed. Soft curses followed by the sound of loud crinkling was him fishing out his paper bag, ready to report to duty without a second thought. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of the faceless man scrambling around like a chicken with its head cut off.

“Hey, calm down, Legend. It’s nothing important, you don’t even have to talk if you’re not feeling up to it.” He could practically feel the annoyed glare the Legend shot at the phone and didn’t bother to hide the amusement in his voice. “Just wanted to check on you. We didn’t get a good chance to discuss that meeting.” sighing, the usually confident man rubs the back of his neck, feeling the exhaustion settling into his old bones. “You..what Slone said has me, has us worries. Not that we doubt your capabilities, you’ve done more than enough to show us what you can do. I just…some of us…” grunting in frustration, the Foundation had never been the most eloquent of speakers, and he was stuck on how to get his words across.

From the other side, muffled words, probably spoken from lips pressed against a pillow, rumble low, making the sturdy man shudder. Why does his voice sound so familiar?

“Hey, it’s no big deal, Foundation. I’ve worked with them for so long, I know how they think. And even if they catch on, I’m more than capable of keeping my mouth shut.” the Legend yawns, the sound long and drawn out, “During our first few years on the job we go through interrogation training.”

Raising a brow, the Foundation tries to imagine the bag-faced man interrogating anyone, “Interrogation training? What does that entail?”

“Just normal stuff I guess. Had ta learn…psychology so we could get information from people…then there was the torture training. Had to make sure we wouldn’t spill our guts if you guys got ahold of us…” Another yawn follows quickly, buzzing in the Foundation’s ears. “So, what I’m tryin' to say is that even if they catch on, I don’t plan on being a burden to you.”

The Foundation sits, speechless. What kind of sick bastards were running the IO…? Torture training? To prepare them just in case the 7 got ahold of them?

“Legend, please.” His voice sounded far away, like it was coming from somewhere else in the room. Now, the fierce desire to hide this man away grew tenfold. What had those..what has this person had to go through…how terrified was he just trying to contact them? He had to try again… “I know you rejected my offer earlier, and I want to respect your wishes, but please, if you think, even for a moment, that they’re onto you, call us. Call me. I can set up a safe point, I’ll personally go out to meet you. You’ll be offered safe haven. Don’t be a hero…” Hearing the grunt of protest, the Foundation rushes to continue. “You don’t have to answer now, just, promise me that you’ll think about it.”

Sighing, the Legend responds, voice soft, sleep trying to desperately claim him. “I’ll…I’ll think on it, okay?” The sound of the pillow shifting, of a body moving across sheets could be heard before his voice returned, a bit closer now, “Just..don’t hold your breath. I think you’ll find it’s pretty hard to change my mind…”

“You say that, but you reached out to us, didn’t you?” The Foundation retorts, amused by how absolutely stubborn this fool is.

Snorting in response, the Legend’s voice grumbles again, like he’s struggling to form words. “Pshhh, and that took me forever, didn’t it? ‘Ve been putting this off for decades…heh…”

Stifling a chuckle, the Foundation is only quiet for a moment when soft snores replace any words that might have followed. “Better late than never, at least you’re here now. Good night, Legend..”

The Visitor, as always, was the first to wake, taking advantage of the solitude to wander the base without their helmet. Shuffling tiredly into the war room with the full intention of making what would be the first of many pots of coffee, they rub the back of their head, letting their fingers drag across their scalp as they try to wake themself up.  A low snort from near the computer jolts them awake properly, and they quickly scramble to stuff their helmet onto their head. When no one moves to greet them, they tilt their head and shift to the side for a better look. Seeing that the computer had a call pulled up, they roll their eyes, assuming the Scientist and Paradigm had spent the evening discussing work again (i.e. gossiping). They honestly didn’t understand what she saw in that old grump, but who were they to judge?

Ready to torment the older man, they creep around the chair, hoping to scare him awake, and are immediately caught off guard. Sitting in the chair, his arms folded over his stomach, his head lolled limply to this side, was the big bad boss himself. The Visitor had never seen him look this relaxed. He was still in his sleep clothes, his long dark hair hanging loose and draping over the arm of the chair, his face relieved of the stress the waking world brought him. A soft snore from the computer made them jump, the snore in response from their leader, however, made them pause. Turning to look at the screen, they’re surprised, and very relieved, to see the Legend’s name sitting in the center of the screen. Unable to fight the warmth in their chest, they lean forward to end the call. A quick search of the room and they secure a blanket, draping it over the Foundation before leaving him to his rest.

Sitting at his desk, Jones held his face in his hands, an embarrassed groan bubbling in the back of his throat. His face was warm against his palms, the heat creeping down his neck and to his ears. Was he stupid? He hadn’t fallen asleep during a call like that since he was in high school. Suffering through the embarrassment, the agent is unaware that far off on the other side of the Island, someone else is going through the same thing. 

Chapter Text

The Legend denied his request several more times and, for the first time since he could remember, the Foundation was getting desperate. Sure, their actions hadn’t been figured out yet, but it was only a matter of time. Already the IO had tightened security, making their late nights later, the stressed calls longer, and the missions harder. Everyone’s once chipper moods faded into bitter gripes and tired scowls. Paradigm had worn a permanent frown for nearly two weeks, spending late hours training in their simulations, pushing herself until she was pushed into mandatory break time. The Visitor spent hours locked away, working on an escape plan for their rat. Even the Scientist was too busy to keep arguing his grievances about the Legend, and for that, the others couldn’t be more thankful.

The Legend, however, kept up with his usual bubbly charm. Not letting the sour mood keep him down, he did his best to keep everyone's energy levels up, throwing himself into more projects. They had several other video calls where he went over some of the finer points of their missions. It gave the Foundation more practice with his sign language, something he had been working on ever since the Visitor stopped talking. After the Legend expressed frustration at his limited knowledge of the skill, the Foundation offered to help him. Some nights, the leader of the 7 and the informant would sit on call for hours and practice together, even going as far as to show the IO agent some of the rebel group’s specific hand signals.

“In case we ever run into each other on the field. I’d like to not stomp your face in on-sight.” The Foundation joked, practically preening at the snorting laugh he got from the bag-headed man.

Their interactions became more frequent this way, and as the Legend kept trying to improve the group's moods, their chats grew more and more diverse. What once was strictly schematics and plans now was organized into two separate groups, one for work, and the other for the random pictures and videos the Legend would send.

But despite how hard the Legend was trying to keep pretending that everything was normal, the Foundation knew he had to crack eventually. What he hadn’t expected was to be the one that the agent chose to rely on.

Legend: [Hey, can we talk?]

Even with years of life and experience under his belt, that simple phrase sent a spike of dread through him, making his stomach churn. You’d think at his age he’d be able to stifle the anxiety brought on by anticipating an unpleasant conversation. Lifting his communicator, the leader of the 7 sends a quick reply.

Foundation: [You should really add more context to that statement]
[If I were a less rational man, I would have assumed the worst]
[What’s up?]

He can’t but smile as he types out his response, his own wording almost reminding him of the Scientist’s snarky attitude. The Legend had slowly weaseled past a barrier the Foundation had subconsciously set up, earning more varied reactions from the older man. The two regularly chatted aimlessly, some of the agent’s idiotic answers drawing out small quips and jokes from him. But the response he gets today isn’t even remotely similar to what he expects. What he expected was to read something witty before actually getting to the meat of whatever problem he was having. Instead, what he got made his heart ache.

Legend: [How do you do it? You’ve been fighting for so fucking long..]
[What stopped you from quitting?]

The question confuses him, and blindsides him.

Foundation: [What brought this on? Is everything okay?]

He’s left on the edge of his seat for a long while, the minutes quietly ticking by, his sensors keeping him aware of how many seconds pass. Too many slip by in a blur before he finally gets a response.

Legend: [I was doing some digging into the IO’s database. Looking for more things to send you guys.]
[Came across my file, thought I’d open it up for a laugh. See what happened]
[My family]
[My reality]
[It’s all gone. It’s been gone. For a really long time]
[I never..I never got to tell them goodbye. I haven’t seen my family in so long. And I never got to tell them goodbye]

The Foundation stared at the messages that slowly streamed forward, each line holding more weight than the last. This situation was delicate, more delicate than he was used to, he wasn’t good at advice, that was the Origin’s job, he wasn’t good at comfort, that was the Visitor, but the Legend had come to him. Came to him knowing he could trust the older man with his feelings. More a man of actions than words, a small idea sparks in his mind, a memory, long gone, distant and sad, surfaces for a moment.

Foundation: [Get your bag and video call me.]
[Get somewhere comfortable and dress for the heat]

Legend: [It’s snowing outside??]

Foundation: [Then turn your heat on and hop to it.]

Not looking at his messages, the Foundation gets up from the map table, ignoring the stares of the Scientist and the Paradigm as he exits the room. He thinks as he passes through the winding halls, a tired ache flaring up in his heart, the echoes of what was haunting his steps. He knew how the Legend felt, knew it better than anyone else. Opening up one of the simulation rooms, he gets logged into the computer just in time to answer the incoming call. Seeing the familiar bag-headed fool helps soothe a bit of the anxiety that had built up as he worked. He hadn’t shared this with anyone before, but the Legend needed this, just like he did.

The agent is sitting in a room the Foundation doesn’t recognize, a bedroom, from the looks of it. There’s a picture on the wall, but it was covered by a cloth. It’s probably the only way the man could mourn. Looking at the man sitting in front of the camera, the leader of the 7 tries to clear the air for a moment, not used to being the one breaking the ice.

“You went with a smile this time. It’s nice.” he muses, pointing to the bag.

They had made several calls since that first one, and the Foundation had gotten pretty used to reading the Legend’s body language. Today, he looked like shit: what little bit of the skin around his eyes that the older man could see was heavy with bags, the usual stern blue looking dull and tired, shoulders slumped. He was wearing a white tank top (I refuse to use fucking wife beater look this shit up) and a pair of shorts, and was sitting cross-legged on the bed.

Raising his arm, the Foundation lets the other man see the room he's in while he keeps his eyes on the keyboard, his free hand resting on the keys. “This is one of our simulation rooms. We use them to help us learn the layout and terrain so we will have an idea of what to expect on the field. Paradigm uses them for extra training, the Visitor has been hogging the bigger room, so we’ll have to settle for this one instead.”

He didn’t need to look at the computer screen to know what the Legend wanted to know. Pressing a few keys, the leader of the 7 pulls up the only simulation under his name before taking several steps back, knowing how many it takes to reach the room’s center.

“The only thing I use it for is this,” he murmurs, finally looking up as the room around him changes.

The Foundation hears the change before he sees it: the waves lapping against the shore, the birds calling as they swoop around for their evening meals. He’s on a beach, the ocean is an odd, blue-purple color, the sand as orange as fire. Odd-looking plants were scattered everywhere him, in a myriad of colors. “This was my home.”

Jones’ fondest memories all take place on the beach. They were the memories he held onto, ones he wrote down in his journal to try and retain. No one told him that the con to immortality was slowly losing your memories, new information, and thoughts and moments slowly taking over. The brain could only retain so much, after all. He was glad that in the early years of living without his wife and family, he started to pick up his drawing chalk again. His home was littered with their photos and sketches, any piece of them he could get, to remind him of what exactly he was fighting for. Jones’ eyes took in everything, from the way the strange water washed up on the shore and darkened the sand to the odd animals scurrying around just past the treeline. The Foundation stood by the water, looking out of place in his heavy armor. The agent finally wills the life back into his limp hands, raising them to try and communicate.

“It’s beautiful…” is all he can manage, his mind as thick as tar as he tries to get anything to come out.

There’s a soft chuckle from the armored man. “It is. It’s the most beautiful place in the universe.” Jones had never heard the rough and rumble leader of the 7 sound so soft, the fond edges of his voice only adding to the ambiance of the shore. “I’ve seen many places in my time, but nothing compares to home.”

There are footprints in the sand, someone in the image must have walked by, passing the man who stands alone on the beach. Before Jones can ask anything, he watches the Foundation move away from the water, finally coming closer to the computer. “What do you know about the First Reality, Legend?”

Of course, the agent knew the name. It was a common talking point in the whispers of office gossip, it was the first reality the IO had ever conquered. The files were all purposefully kept vague, only people who knew about it had access. Even he didn’t have the clearance to access that information.

Raising his hands to reply, Jones is glad to get his mind onto a different topic, to try and fight the buzzing in his ears, to try and remind his lungs how to intake air. “Not much. They keep a tight lid on that. It was before my time.” his eyes wander the setting, “Wait…”

“This is the only way you’ll ever get to see it. The IO deemed it…imperfect. Not good enough to remain in the Reality they were trying to create. I, alone, survived. I am the sole survivor of the First Reality.”

Guilt, vile, nasty, and heavy, crashed around Jones from all angles, threatening to swallow him whole. His hands trembled with the urge to rip his bag off, to show his face and beg for forgiveness from the man before him. The Foundation had lost everything at the hands of the people Jones worked for, and here he was sharing this with the agent. Before he could even get his hands to move, the older man stopped him again.

“I don’t know what kind of friends you have up there, what kind of support system is available to you, but if you ever need it, I know exactly what you’re going through. I’m not good with words, I can’t tell you everything will be okay. It hurts. And it doesn’t stop. But I carry it with me. I remember everything I can. I built this place, and I fight for the memory of everyone I can. I don’t give up, because if I did I’d be failing them. But for now, you grieve, you mourn, and you remember. This place, I want to share it with you.”

Jones wanted to cry, he felt so small sitting here, watching the beach, watching the other man, watching what was left of a hero’s home. His eyes are drawn up to the Foundation’s helmet, right as the older man reaches to lift his helmet off of his head. No one in the IO knew what their enemy’s identities were, that was half of what made them so hard to find in the first place, so he didn’t even know where to begin.

The Foundation was beautiful and odd, Jones had seen creatures like him, but none of them quite matched, none of this were this...this beautiful. His species must have been aquatic, or amphibian of some sort, his skin was a rich red. Black and gray accents highlight the angles of his face, his eyes are large and dark, designed for seeing better underwater. Instead of a pupil or iris, a thin golden ring sat in each eye, thickening and thinning back out as he allowed them to adjust to the light. His long hair was dark, held in a tight braid against his head. “I’m not going to ask you to show your face, but I wanted to share this with you. We can just sit here until you feel better. I can’t make your hurt go away, but I can share it with you.”

Jones lets his head hang, a tired sigh leaving his throat. Unable to speak, too scared to ruin this moment, he just holds the phone in his hands, eyes watering and burning. “Thank you..” He croaks and lets the feelings take him.

The two sit, listening to the waves and the birds and the wind, no words passing between them. This moment is too tender, too soft for words, and, for the second time in the past year, Jones lays down and falls asleep listening to the Foundation breathe beside him. Right before he drifted off, the Foundation's voice raised slightly, just loud enough to be heard over the wind and waves.

“Why’d you message me, Legend?” There's something in his voice, but Jones is too tired, too worn down, to try and read into it, his eyes refusing to open.

“Jus’ wanted to hear your voice..” he mumbles softly before sleep claims him.

Chapter Text

***(remember to trigger warnings for anxiety and panic attacks. The Foundation is traumatized baby I’m so sorry)***

Despite the combined efforts of the Foundation and Legend, the days didn’t get any easier, each member of the group growing more and more frustrated, the tension thickening. After another ridiculously long day, the leader of the 7 was more than ready to turn in early and just worry about the reports from the others tomorrow. Practically dragging his tired body to his room he ignored the pointed looks from the Visitor and Paradigm before closing his door and quickly shedding his armor. It wasn’t often that he exposed his skin to the cool air of Sanctuary and each time it made his fins shudder. When did normal air become so foreign? Better yet, had he ever gotten used to the air that wasn’t from home?

Crawling under his covers, it felt like he had barely closed his eyes before a low, pulsing ring echoed around the room. Growling into his pillow, he drags the blanket off of his head, squinting through blurry eyes as he smacks the top of his bedside table, trying to locate the still buzzing communicator. The ringing stopped right as he dragged it under the covers, only irritating the exhausted man further. Ready to rip whoever called him a new one, he turns the phone on, its bright light making the ache in the back of his eyes turn into a stinging pain. A missed call notification pops up on his screen, but before he can open it, gnawing dread slams into his chest, his eyes struggling to read the preview of the message that sits unopened in front of him.

Legend: [Emergency]

Ripping the blanket off of him, the Foundation sits up, opening the message. There’s no other context, nothing to give him any idea of what the emergency is. He tries to call back as he hastily throws his armor back on, but his call gets declined before the first ring. The only response he gets is coordinates to a location on the island.

Jones did everything in his power not to be followed; he got briefed on his mission from Slone, barely managing to get authorization to head home for the evening. He was royally fucked. The Device had been set off; Midas’ plan to stop the storms had worked, only for it all to come crashing down. Literally. The Zero-Point couldn’t take much more and was growing less stable with every passing day. Before that happened, he needed to know if the 7 had a way to fix it, or, if they needed to start finding one.

He had managed to sneak a message into his chat with the Foundation as soon as he had been released from the meeting. After not receiving an answer, he tried to call, having too much to say and not enough time to say it. One of the Loopers had been in his office, and for the first time in a long while, he felt Hope. The dial tone raises his anxiety, but he doesn’t have time for that. He’d have to hope that the Foundation would meet him along the way. Picking a spot on the Island, he sent the location to their personal chat, the IO rat checked his pants pocket, making sure a paper bag was still stuffed there, before tugging his work jacket off, replacing it with the spare coat he brought with him. It was an old one he had stuffed in the closet, he hadn’t worn it in years, the long brown number looking a little edgy in his opinion, but, he supposed an edgy, rugged hero look would suit someone titled “The Legend.” Replacing his shoes as well, the agent wears an old pair of running shoes he had in his gym bag and tries his best to stall just a little longer. But, he was running out of time, so, taking a breath, he fell forward, wondering if he would ever get used to falling into reality like this.

The Foundation manages to get dressed in record time, despite the best efforts of his tired hands. He hopes to sneak past the others, but of course, luck isn’t on his side. Seeing him quickly try to make his exit, the Paradigm had oh-so-innocently asked where he was going. This, of course, had the other two curious as well, since they all heard him loudly announce his intentions for a good night’s sleep less than 2 hours ago. Figuring he had been the only one the Legend contacted, the eldest tried to leave without saying anything. This, as you can imagine, backfired, and the others poked and prodded and held him back until he confessed his intentions. It took everything he had to pry himself away, tell them all that surely they had BETTER THINGS TO DO than bother him, and finally escape to make his way towards the Island. To Athena.

The Foundation makes it to the pinned location quicker than he thought. Despite the best efforts of the remaining members of the 7, he was already waiting on the small dock, watching as the water lapped leisurely against the shore. The sound of footsteps in the sand catches his attention as the Legend finally approaches him. Turning, the leader of the 7 finally comes face-to-face with his arguably strangest ally yet. Hands tucked in the pockets of his coat, the Legend is still wearing that stupid paper bag, a sight that has, over the past half a year, slowly become normal to him. The relief he felt upon meeting the man face-to-bag was surprising to him, unfortunately, the reality of the situation quickly outweighed the relief.

“So, I take it this isn’t you finally getting your head out of your ass and agreeing to let us hide you?” It isn’t a question. He knew that if the agent were here for that, he surely would have removed the bag by now.

Tugging his hands out of his pocket, the bag-headed man seems to only know how to defy orders.

“No time, boss. Remember that BIG thing I was telling you about? Well, it happened. Midas and Jules set off the device, the Loop was broken, and the storm was scattered, only for a moment. I saw loopers in my office, multiple times. And now, I need to know how to fix the Zero-Point. It’s getting unstable, and we don’t currently have the means to fix it.” The Legend’s hands shook as he tried to put as much information out as he could, cursing himself for not getting a voice changer, for not practicing his sign language more, fuck, for only moving to seek help when he was already elbows deep in the proverbial shit. “I’m about to be assigned missions that will keep me away for a while. I might not be able to contact you all as frequently..” he lets the thought trail off, an unspoken uncertainty haunting him before he makes himself continue, “Agent Jones is being sent out on the field again. They’re hoping he can distract the loopers. Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is that you guys might be able to fix this.”

The Foundation reaches out, laying his heavy hand on top of the Legend’s. “Hey, deep breaths.”

The Legend’s hands were shaking, his shoulders tense up to his ears, his chest heaving as he struggled to push out as many thoughts as he could. He was running out of time. He thought he’d have more time to fix things, more time for his plans. But time was working against him, and with it, it left a heavy feeling of panic that kept his mind in a rushing haze. The Foundation stayed there, his hand a steady rock for the agent to cling to. He hadn’t realized that he was panicking until the older man helped to calm him down.

Once he was sure that it was alright to continue, the Foundation gave the younger man a little nudge. “Whatever the IO is planning, we’ll be there to handle it. Just focus on your mission, and contact us as soon as you can.”

His own throat feels thick as he talks, his scales aching and itching, as if they wanted to crawl off of his body. There were a million and a half things the armored man wanted to say, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. It wasn’t his place. Instead, he offered a bit of advice. “We’ll keep an eye on the Zero-Point, and Agent Jones to the best of our abilities.”

Bending slightly, the Foundation brings his masked face close to the bag, ignoring the warmth that pulses through him at the closeness the position brings. “But you have to listen to me. When shit hits the fan, I need you to do something for me; take one of the rift guns, I’m sure you have one, charge it up, and toss it into the Zero-Point. One of us will surely be there.” It was the least he could do after all of the help his former enemy had offered. If the Legend called, he himself would come running.

Letting his head hang, the Legend slowly nods, his bag crinkling with the motion. Grasping the Foundation’s wrists, the IO agent quickly lowers his head more, pressing his covered face against the back of the older man’s hands.

“Thank you.” It wasn’t the first time hearing the informant’s voice, but it was the clearest he had ever heard it. Why was the Legend’s voice so familiar?

The two parted ways just as quickly as they had met, the Legend heading back to the IO, leaving the Foundation to stare out over the water, a small flash drive pressed between his fingers. He spends who-knows-how many hours there, just watching the sun slip closer and closer to the water’s edge. His thoughts were a scrambled mess, and he wanted, no, needed to figure this out: He had met the Legend before, the agent was a high-ranking member of the IO, high enough to have the credentials to not only access the 7’s information, but also to have access to the IO’s important files, to be able to sit directly in front of Director Slone. And he sounded so damn familiar. He was missing something, the truth so close he could practically taste it, like the answer was glaring at him, laughing in his face.

***(This is where the trigger warning would go a second time so that way people could know because ow I panicked a little writing this)***

It was late when the Foundation finally returned to Sanctuary, but every light in their base was on. Unease creeps in his throat as he rushes inside. Scared that he really had been tricked this whole time, a million thoughts pulsed between his temples. Flashes of memories long left behind tormented him, painting his new home with the painful thoughts of his old one. He didn’t bother to be quiet as he shoved his way into their base. He searched every room he came across, the slow sliding doors taunting him as they revealed their contents. With every door he opened, images of bodies, of piles of loved ones, of fire and death, and reality itself being ripped and torn around him were brought forth. Each empty room tormented him, and he found his vision tunneling. Wondering if the Scientist was right, if the Legend was waiting for him to let his guard down, to rip everything and everyone away from him. Again. Detecting the spikes in his vitals, the alarms in his suit started going off. The shrill noise only added to the harsh squeezing around his heart. Is this what drowning felt like?

(This is where the trigger warning ends, so put a note here)

“Captain? Captain!” A muffled voice sends him stumbling, his back slamming against the metal of the hallway, his breath leaving him in heavy, wheeze-filled huffs. “What the fuck is going on?!” The Scientist’s voice suddenly cuts through the static.

Using his friend’s irritated (worried, startled, panicked) demands as an anchor, the Foundation leans back against the wall, staring at the door in front of him. It’s broken, unable to seal shut, indents from his fingers creating a small gap from where he had tried to pry the doors apart. Forcing his trembling fingers to still, he takes deep breaths, trying to calm the rushing in his ears. His arm felt like lead as he forced it up, pressing a stiff finger against his earpiece.

“I’m here…” thanking every deity he can think of, every star he knows for the life of his family, he tries again. “I’m here. Shit…where are you guys?”

A door at the end of the hall hissed open, revealing a very concerned Visitor, who takes careful steps towards the Foundation. The Paradigm is quick to follow, the Scientist leaning on the doorframe. Hating how foolish he feels under that final gaze, the older member of the 7 quietly curses under his breath, meeting them halfway.

“What’s going on? This place is lit up like a beacon!” No one responds to the harsh bite of his voice.

The Visitor is the first to reach out, their hands steady as they gently grab their leader’s arm. Slowly tugging him towards the war room, they guide the larger man to his designated seat. Tugging his arm free of their gasp, the Foundation is too tired to suppress the annoyed snarl rumbling in his throat.

“I don’t need to be coddled! Would someone please just tell me what’s going on?”

The Visitor, the Paradigm, and the Scientist all share a look, and though two of their faces are hidden, he can see the worry and hesitation clear on Paradigm’s face. Taking the initiative, she turns back towards him, “Have you checked your communicator?” her voice is low as if she were torn between trying to soothe or walking on eggshells.

Immediately, the dread he had been slowly subsiding reared its head. It had been building since the Legend left him on the docks, hell, since he had gotten that message this morning. “No, I was meeting with the Legend, but surely you haven’t forgotten that.”

Trying to find the best way to respond, the Visitor is cut off before they can even raise their arms.

“Oh, just get to the fucking point!” Slapping his own comm unit down onto the table, the Scientist folds his arms over his chest. “The Legend left. He sent one last message, I grabbed a screenshot once I realized what he was doing, and then he deleted his account.”

The Foundation watched numbly as his friend nudged the device closer to him, three fingers leaving just the hint of a print on the screen. A picture is pulled up, a message from an account he knew so well. The Legend’s contact photo, a photo of a rock he found on a mission, half of his thumb in the picture, followed by a message with not enough words in it stared back at him.

Legend: [I don’t have time to explain. I’m sorry about this guys, I wish I could say more. I’ll do my best to keep helping you.]

“He left the message there until about 5 minutes after I had read it. He was giving me time to grab a picture. I tried digging, but he’s hidden himself pretty well. It’s like he wasn’t even here to begin with.” The Scientist couldn’t tell if the other man heard him, and he watched as his leader pulled out his own phone and opened it up.

The Foundation was half-convinced this was some sort of set-up, an elaborate prank to make him panic. These three always gave him hell for the attention he gave their rat. But it wasn’t. Everything was gone; the messages in the group chat, the weird little videos, the silly pictures, and even the stupid little jokes..their personal messages. All of the evidence of his help was gone, and in its absence was a chilly ache that settled in his bones. This didn't make any sense. While everything hadn’t seemed fine with their meeting, it didn’t seem like the Legend had been planning to abandon ship. If he had been, why would he have been so upset about being sent off? The agent had been worked up about not being able to contact them any longer..unless... An idea, a fear formed in the forefront of his mind.

“He’s been compromised.” the fear bubbles from his lips before he can stop it, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Lifting his hand, he produces the flash drive the Legend had given him earlier. How could he have been so stupid? “He said that Agent Jones was being sent into the field, that the Zero-Point was growing unstable. He asked us to look after it, to try and fix it if it got too out of control. He said that he was going to be sent on a mission as well. That he didn’t know when he’d be able to get back in contact with us.”

Holding the small piece of metal up to the light, he considers giving it to the Scientist, letting his friend take the choice away from him. Instead, he stands, walking towards the computer. “He gave this to me before we split up.”

“Guess he really did know..he must have worked his ass off..no wonder he was in such a bad mood this week..” Paradigm mumbles softly

Jerking his attention towards her, he wonders if he is the only one blindsided by this. Did she know something he didn’t? What did she mean by “bad mood”? All week his conversations with the Legend had been normal, nice even. They had “visited” his home once more, once the Legend was feeling well enough, and explained as many of the plants as he could remember. They were getting along, relying on each other. Stifling the nasty, jealous feeling that clings to the inside of his throat, he jams the flash drive into the computer with a little more force than needed.

After a pause, filled with worry that he’d broken the fragile item in his frustration, passes, until finally, a blank screen pops up, a single box in the center offering no hint as to what it wanted. At a loss, the Foundation remembered the first message the Legend sent them and used that same password. G-E-N-O. A flash of red rendered the password useless.

“Let me try…” the Visitor’s voice is soft as they nudge the older man out of the way.

Their fingers move swiftly across the keys, too quick for the Foundation to even guess what they were typing. They try several times, their attempts met with the same red screen, but instead of being upset at their failures, they seem to let out a sigh of relief. A single, gloved finger taps the key as they think, and right as the older man is ready to steal the keyboard back, their head snaps back up, as if suddenly realizing something. Once more, their leader watches as they type, slow enough for his eyes to follow this time. L-E-G-E-N-D. Another tense pause, all of them anticipating the annoying red screen, and they’re in. The screen lights up, showing rows and rows of folders, each labeled with a series of numbers and codes. The only thing not in a folder was a single document. Letting the Foundation take the reins, the small group all watch as their leader opens the file. It’s a letter of sorts, addressed directly to the man in front of the computer.

[Hey, Boss!

I’m not quite sure what to say. I know this is sudden, and I’m sure you and the others have plenty of questions. Wish I had the time to explain, but I don’t, so, I only hope that you’ll trust me enough to give you all one last mission.]

The finality of it has the Foundation’s fins raising uncomfortably against his armor. Why did it have to be the last mission? What was so important that he couldn’t come back with them, that he couldn't be saved and let them fight the IO. They’ve prepared enough, this wasn’t-

“Don’t leave us hanging. Read it out loud. I’m gonna make some coffee.” The Scientist grumbles, shuffling away from the group. They would deal with his attitude later.

But he’s thankful for the clarity the other man brings him. Clearing his throat, he resumes reading.

[Over these past few months, you guys have done more to hinder the IO than I ever thought possible, and for that, I thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without the help of you and the rest of the 7.]

“Why does he talk like he’s dying?” Paradigm’s voice is low and raw as she leans forward, her blue eyes narrowing to scan what has been read so far.

[While you guys have been stomping the pavement, I’ve been pulling some strings of my own. Guess being a wage slave has its perks!

Okay, okay, joking aside, I’m dragging this on. Guess I’m just nervous. Welp, if you guys are reading this, then hopefully, it’s the same day I gave the Foundation the drive. In each folder, I’ve left loads of information, schematics, video files, and pretty much anything else I could think that would be helpful to you guys. This is over 3 years' worth of work I’ve put in, and I’m glad I was actually able to give it to you.

Now, onto business. In two days' time, at 5 pm, the IO’s base will shut down. It will only be down for about half an hour, it’s all the time I could buy you. If you sneak in through the right-hand gate before 5:30, you should be able to slip into the courtyard undetected. Someone important will be heading out to meet you. Open the 3rd folder, everything you should need is in there. It’s labeled “8932-7-2”.

Thanks for listening to me, I only hope I was able to help you all finish what you started. So, before I go and get all misty-eyed, this is the Legend, signing off!]

The letter ended as informally as it had started. The Visitor, in a fit of uncharacteristic frustration, spins on their heel and storms away from the group, hastily exiting the war room.

“I’ll go talk to them. Brief me on what you find.” The Scientist responds, clapping a hand on the Foundation’s shoulder before following the youngest out.

Paradigm, still quietly watching the screen, props her hip on the arm of the computer chair. She stays quiet for a minute, letting the feelings settle between them. “Guess we better see what he left us, huh?” Her voice is soft and thoughtful.

Without a word, he moves the cursor across the screen, clicking the 3rd folder from the left. A sudden pit in his stomach had him lurching forward. Dozens of images filled the screen, along with several videos and documents. They all focused on one subject, Prisoner 8932. The Cube King. The Origin.

Chapter Text

He had lost count of how many months he had been in this cell for. The Origin wasn’t known to be sloppy, his meticulous work was half of the reason the Foundation trusted him with this job in the first place. Little did he know that the IO would be lying in wait for him, using one of his targets as bait to lure him into a well-planned trap. He had no way of contacting the others, no way to warn them, no way to beg his companions to find the sisters. He had expected to end up in a place like this eventually, he just didn't think it would be at the hands of the IO. The forgotten king was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn’t hear the sound of heavy footfalls moving towards his cell. Keeping his head lowered, he lets out an irritated grunt through his nose.

“It’s a little early for dinner,” the Origin’s voice is a low, warning growl.

“Yeah, I’m sure it is.” A painfully familiar voice sounds from just out of sight. He hasn’t heard this voice since the day of his capture. The words are followed by a loud 'click'. In an instant, the halls are plunged into darkness. “But is it too early for a breakout?”

Head jerking up, the Origin is thankful for his superior vision, he hated the idea of not being able to see the person who approached his cell. Either they were sticking their neck out for him, or they were here with a new method of torture to try and break him. All thoughts immediately leave his mind at the sight of this new…companion. The man is dressed well, an upper-level agent, he guesses, but any other assumption he can make is overtaken by the comically large paper bag on his head. A lopsided face is scribbled on the front, looking almost like a ninja? Before he can even begin thinking of a question to ask, the agent gives him a thumbs up. leaning close, the bagged man starts using something in his hand to pry the door open.

“C’mon out. Your buddies are on their way to come and get you, and we only have about half an hour before the power kicks back on.”

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, the former king rises from his bed, trying to get a good look at his mysterious savior. Right before he can get a word in edgewise, loud noises, boots stomping down the hall, interrupts him. Cursing, the bag-headed man thrusts the object he had -a crowbar, it turns out- into the Origin’s hands.

“Out of time. Use this, knock me out, then get out of here. Follow this hall, and stick to the left. The guards shouldn’t spot you if you’re quick. There will be a side door, it'll lead to an old utility tunnel. Follow it out, there's a blindspot just past the security fence.” Digging into the pocket of his suit jacket, the agent pulls out his wallet, plucking his clearance card out, and dropping it by the door to the cell. “This ought to buy you some time until the Foundation can get to you.”

“So you…”

The odd little man waves his hands. “Blah blah blah, we don’t have time. Just, tell him- tell *them* the Legend says hi, alright? I’ll look past the concussion you’re going to give me, just make it quick.”

Hating to have to hurt an ally, the Origin hesitates for a moment longer, wracking his brain for anything he can think of to drag this person with him. Unable to think of anything, he adds another tally to his list of unforgivable actions and raises the crowbar up to knock out his rescuer.

The dark halls aren’t hard to navigate, his superior eyesight aiding in his escape. The Legend had been thorough in planning this, knowing that the Origin would have no trouble traveling through the lightless labyrinth. Along with the crowbar, the agent had given him a small device, one that guided him through the prison that had held him for so long and towards the meetup spot where the 7 would be waiting. He went down through an old access shaft, one that had been used as storage before it was boarded up and forgotten down here. The tunnel seemed to lead through the nearby landscape, finally ending in a hole just big enough for him to squeeze out of. He was free.

The sun is still up when he finally emerges from his prison, and though he knows he shouldn’t, the Origin can only close his eyes, tip his head back, and bask in the light of the Island’s star. The sound of armored feet rushing through the grass is his only warning before arms are flung around his waist, Paradigm’s helmet ‘thunking’ against his chest, her blue contrasting the vibrant orange of the suit he had lived in for half a year.

“Hello, my little firefly,” he soothes, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

The relief he felt at having the smaller person in his arms was immeasurable and instant, and he leaned heavily into his daughter’s arms for support, not knowing he needed it until she was there.

“We expected an actual fight. If I knew you were just going to be hanging around out here I would have sent Paradigm to solo this so I could get some actual sleep." The Foundation’s sturdy voice grounds him, the relief of having allies nearby almost flooring the second in command.

Shifting, the Origin keeps his arm wrapped around Paradigm, pleased to come face-to-helmet with the leader of the 7. “I had a little help. Some strange IO agent wearing a bag on his head. Calls himself ‘The Legend-

Jerking her head up, Paradigm tries to look around the Origin’s shoulder. “Wait, you got to meet him?” whipping around to look at the Foundation, she doesn’t fight the bubble of hope forming in her chest. “That means he didn’t get caught! He’s okay!”

“I take it I’ve missed a few things…” The Origin can’t help but wonder exactly what has happened since his capture, the half-a-year feeling more and more like an eternity with every passing moment.

“If he got you out, that means we don’t have to introduce you!” The younger of the three looks around, her tone shifting from excited to forlorn, “Where is he?”

At hearing the the worry in her voice, the Origin found himself nervous to answer, “Someone almost came upon us while he was breaking me out, so to keep our cover he had me knock him out outside of my cell. How did we manage to get an agent on our side anyway?”

The only answer he receives is the hulking form of the Foundation looming over them. “You left him in there?” his leader snarls, the helmet blocking whatever look he was wearing.

Paradigm, still stuck between them, pushes firmly on the Foundation’s chest, trying to create space between the group. “It sounds like they didn’t have any other options. You read the letter. He knew there was little chance of him escaping too!”

The tension in the air was so thick he could almost taste it. Not wanting to fight after being reunited with his family, the Origin raises both hands. “Why don’t you both catch me up while we head home? Our window of time to escape undetected is slim, and I’ve missed the air of Sanctuary.”

The Foundation doesn’t answer, his head tipped back slightly, his eyes fixed on the IO headquarters just a short distance away. “He’s still alive? They didn’t…”

The Origin didn’t recognize the tone his brother was using, it wasn’t one he had heard the man make before. Cursing himself for not dragging his savior out, and for disappointing someone he respects so much, he follows the taller man’s line of sight.

“He was still breathing when I left him. I…” he felt ashamed.

He was so caught up in his own escape that he didn’t even think about the well-being of the person who stuck their neck out for him. “He assured me that they would think I overpowered him in the confusion…I’m sorry I didn’t think to just drag him behind me. I could have taken him hostage or-”

Reaching out, the Foundation curls his fingers around the back of his friend’s neck, affectionately bonking their foreheads together. The cool metal against the Origin’s skin helps to soothe him.

“We’ll worry about him later…when there’s time. The IO won’t take any more of the 7’s numbers.” Releasing his second in command, the leader starts in the direction of their ship. “Paradigm, take us home.”

As the small group headed towards their vessel home, the Foundation turned to give a final look to the IO building, eyes falling on the little clearing where the Origin had emerged seemingly out of nowhere, and the mostly hidden head of blonde hair.

‘Just wait, Legend. We’ll save you next.’

Back in the comfort of his room in Sanctuary, the Origin finally shook off the worried fussing of the Visitor and Paradigm. His presence had clearly been missed, even the Scientist offered him a half-hearted “welcome home, block-head,” upon hearing of his safe return. The group had all rushed to catch the second in command up with everything he’d missed in his half-a-year absence. Now that he was on his own, he had the time to really think.

You see, the Origin had a lot to think about. Like the fact that he knew exactly who the Legend was. Back when he had to knock his rescuer out, they, of course, discussed the fact that the IO would ask too many questions if one of their agents had a paper bag on their head. He truly hadn’t meant to see, but when the agent shifted to tug the bag off of his head, he couldn’t look away fast enough.

Agent Jones only offered a sincere smile and held the bag out. “Hey, I’ve literally helped hold you hostage. The least I could do is show you my face before I let you knock me around. Just, uh, don’t tell the others? I have a feeling finding the sisters will be harder if the Foundation comes barreling in here to rip my head off. Heh.”

Tugging the crumpled paper bag out of his pocket, the Origin chuckled at the memory. From what he had gathered, the “Legend” had been a major help in halting the IO’s plans, and in ensuring his own escape. He hated himself a little more for leaving the human behind in their clutches. A soft chime tugs him from his thoughts, a small device on his nightstand lighting up as it lets out another pleasant chime. The Visitor had shoved it into his hand with little warning, making a “zipping” motion over their helmet before he headed to bed. There must have been something they wanted to tell him away from prying ears.

Lifting up his new comm unit, the device is buzzing, vibrating almost nonstop as messages from the Visitor and Paradigm filtered in.

Visitor: [Come to Simulation room 4. We need to talk]

The Origin had never been afraid of the dark. His species was superior to many others, one of the perks being enhanced eyesight. The darkness and her secrets had never had dominion over him. But after 6 months in a cell where the only company you had were the agents who came to interrogate you, the dark started to wear on you. Nearly half a year, trapped in darkness, with only his tormented dreams to keep him sane. He has spent years trying to atone for the sins of his past, but the dark had unveiled more demons to plague him.

It was still dark out when the fallen king finally gave up on restful sleep. Deciding to raid the Visitor’s coffee supply, the Origin slowly makes his way to the war room, the dim lights of the metal halls pulsing in a silent greeting as he passes. The doors here are louder than the ones leading to his prison cell, something he took comfort in now that he was home. The former king is surprised to see another body in the dimly lit room. Rich reds, grays, and blacks seem to absorb whatever light touches this person, drawing the eyes to the proud figure of a warrior. It wasn’t often that members of the 7 would catch the Foundation outside of his armor.

One of the things that took the Origin the longest to get used to was just how different every member of the 7 was, and no one showed this off better than the Foundation. There was little left of the First Reality anything and everything that survived its unraveling currently sat hunched over the computer keyboard. The First Reality was a legend in his people’s history, they were told of its former glory from childhood, of how its people were one unified group who moved forward with purpose and dignity. He still remembered the late nights when he and his wife, in their youthful years, would stay up, the future queen regaling him with ideals. The two future monarchs dreamed of the glorious, unified reality that would prosper under their rule, the utopia they would create together. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could still feel himself getting caught up in the grandeur of it all. It wasn’t until he met the Foundation that he learned what it had really been like.

The First Reality was flawed and diverse. No two species were alike, each with a different purpose, and a different way of life. What he found the hardest to imagine was the diversity of each species as well. Even two members of the same species could (and often would) have differing sets of beliefs and ideals. The idea was foreign to him, he was so used to uniformity and conversion, but a small part of him was rather fond of the idea.

The Foundation’s long dark hair was pulled away from his face, his dark eyes had a golden ring instead of a proper pupil. The man’s race had apparently been aquatic in nature; his body was littered with several carefully placed dark fins that occasionally twitched and flicked as he concentrated. His ribs were lined with orange gills, their soft glow pulsing warmly from under his gray sleep shirt.

“I take it neither of us is getting much sleep.” The Origin, for a moment, couldn’t help but watch in wonder, appreciating the otherworldly beauty his leader had, and used the moment to appreciate the startled expression that crossed the other man’s face.

Schooling his expression, the Foundation lets out a half-hearted grunt in response. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, the second in command trudges towards the large coffee pot.

“Would you like some?” he offers before starting the already prepped pot, reminding himself to thank Visitor again for staying on top of small things like this.

Another grunt could be heard from the other man. After a pause, where the sound of the dark brew dripping into the pot and the rich aroma wafting through the room was their only company, did the Foundation truly respond.

“As much as I hate to put that toxic waste into my body, I wouldn’t mind a cup.”

Suddenly understanding the meaning behind ‘the joy of small victories’, the Origin pours them both a steaming cup of coffee before claiming his own chair and offering the second mug over. The two sit in silence, the former king enjoying the alertness the heavily sweetened brew brings to his rebellious mind. Grateful for the large mug in his hand, he uses the rim to hide his amused smirk at the Foundation’s scowl. Watching the older man’s reactions, his eyes can’t help but drift over to the computer.

“So, tell me about this ‘Legend’. The Visitor and Paradigm wouldn’t stop singing his praises, and the Scientist…well, if he meets someone he actually likes aside from you and Paradigm, I’ve yet to meet them.” taking a loud slurp from his coffee, colorless eyes focus on the leader’s face, studying carefully. “What I haven’t heard are your thoughts. So tell me, how do you feel about our bag-headed friend?”

He takes another, much quieter sip of his coffee, watching as his leader (another foreign concept that took some getting used to) pauses, a thoughtful look in his ancient eyes. Lowering his mug, the Foundation looks down into the dark liquid. He takes a few moments to gather his thoughts, watching his reflection in the coffee below.

“The Legend…is a fool.” His tone sounds bitter, much to the Origin’s surprise, “He’s reckless, he doesn’t follow orders, and he’s so..damn annoying.” Any fight that was there left the Foundation in a puff of hot air.

Sighing, the dark-haired man leans back in his chair, “But his heart is big…he cares about our cause, enough to risk his life and the safety of his world…for us.” there’s a pause here as if the Foundation remembered something, but he didn’t bring it up.

Rubbing his thumb along the rim of his mug, he grunts softly. “He’s cut contact. Right before we came to find you. He’s the one who let us know where you were.”

Keeping his eyes lowered, his grip on the mug tightens. “When I heard…before you told us that you had seen him, we had assumed the worst. He won’t let us take him into hiding, says there’s too much left to do still.”

The Origin can’t help but watch the Foundation with wide eyes, glad that the man seemed perfectly content to stare into his coffee. There was fondness in the man’s voice, a soft light in his eyes, and the beginnings of a smile on his lips despite the complaints rolling off of his tongue. This was more serious than he thought. Deciding to nudge, just a little, the former king clears his throat.

“Have you considered recruiting him?” How would the Foundation handle the news?

The Origin had every intention of hinting at the Legend’s identity, maybe even fully admitting it to the other man. He didn’t feel right hiding important secrets related to their work from someone he admired and answered to, but this seemed more complicated than he anticipated. He was, of course, fully intending to jump to the Legend’s defense, for who else but he could understand working for the wrong side and growing to regret it? But, seeing the care there, he understood why the Paradigm and Visitor wanted him to play along.

There’s a pause, followed by a soft sigh before a response. “I…considered it…but he would barely hear my offer for safe haven, I doubt he would have joined us. He decided he was more helpful remaining our source of information in the IO. He’s so…utterly…” the Foundation’s voice trails off, and he lets out an irritated noise through his nose.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, the Origin offers a suggestion of his own. “Do you think, maybe, he’s scared of you?” the nasty glare shot in his direction almost rips a laugh from the former king.

“Listen, you know what I mean. He’s IO, right, has been for a long time?” sighing, he rests his elbows on his knees. “When I was there, they would drag the trainees to my cell, to show me off like some odd animal. We’re the Boogeyman to the people there, and if your Legend is high up in their ranks, then they’ve been beating those fears into his head for a long, long time. Not to mention, if he’s a field agent and a high-ranking one, then we likely fought him. Probably several times by now. What if he’s too scared to let us see who he is out of fear of retaliation, or worse, out of fear that we wouldn’t have listened to his advice?”

Giving the Foundation a final look, the Origin points at him with his mug. “What if he’s someone you hate?”

Letting out a snort of amusement, the Foundation takes an unhappy gulp of coffee. “Unless the Legend is Geno, Slone, or Agent Jones, I doubt I hate him.”

He’s clearly amused by the idea, and it only makes the pit in the Origin’s stomach grow. Well, shit.

Chapter Text

Ever since she was young, Paradigm had heard it, the strange, distant voice from the stars. It followed her during her waking hours and whispered to her while she dreamed. Her mother had warned her not to listen to its secrets, and for a while, she had. She pretended that the little warnings were just the paranoia of a young girl in a scary world and tried to move on with her life. It wasn’t until the night of the raid that she regretted that choice. The voice had been loud that night, insistent that she listen, just for once, listen to its warnings.

The IO came in the night, ransacking her home, and tearing down her city’s temples. She didn’t know what they were looking for, but that didn’t matter. The only reason she lived was because her father hid her away in the small well behind their home. The voice only got louder, the noise shrill in her ears, making her deaf to anything else around her. It wasn’t until hours later, when she was brave enough to crawl out of the well, that she realized the whisper was crying along with her. It had been warning her, and now it mourned with her.

She promised herself, as she started to rebuild her home out of the rubble, that she would listen to the voice the next time. Next time, she would heed its warnings. Less than a minute after her vow, the voice seemed eager to test her, its low, cooing noise picking up as boots in the rubble caught her attention. That was the first day she met the Origin, the man had been like a father to her ever since. They lived for years in that silent, dead city, decades of learning to work together before the 7 found them.

She’s training again, her feathers pulled back out of her face with a sturdy bang, and still, small, golden strays stuck out. It’s been nearly a week since the Origin had returned, and nearly half a month since they lost contact with the Legend. Everyone was caught up trying to find a new sense of normal, and honestly, it was exhausting. Even the Visitor was in a sour mood and had locked themselves away to try and figure out how best to drag their informant to Sanctuary. A task that the Foundation seemed equally as invested in.

Paradigm was glad that everyone (sans Scientist) wanted to protect the Legend, and wanted nothing more than his safe return. On their first mission, he had stuck his neck out for her not once, but twice, and she had yet to pay him back. It ate at her, thinking of never getting the chance to be on equal footing with someone who had so quickly earned her respect. The Origin, despite the circumstances, also had fond things to say about their IO ally, and it was nice having someone else who knew the man’s identity to chat with. Ever since that first video call, when the Legend donned his silly paper bag, the Visitor had been hard to reach. Being this cut off from them felt foreign to her.

Dropping her fists, Paradigm rests her sweaty head against the punching bag and takes a moment to catch her breath. When she first joined the 7, the Visitor had been the first person to reach out, and the first person to stop treating her like the new girl. They had become fast friends, partners in crime, and masters of annoying the other members of their odd family. Not knowing how to help them, not knowing what was making them isolate this hard, it gnawed at her, feasting on her insecurities and leaving a gaping hole in her heart. It made her feel like that helpless little girl all over again. But this wasn’t about her, they were fighting their own battles, and she was helpless in this.

The sound of the door to the small workout room is the only reason she pulls herself out of the spiral her mind was about to take her down. It’s early, and the only person usually awake at this hour is the Visitor, so she doesn’t hide the hopeful smile on her face.

The Origin, still in his pajamas, a fresh mug of coffee in his glowing hand, seems to take her cheery smile at face value. “Well, I’m glad to see you too, Firefly.”

Taking a loud slurp from his mug, his blank eyes study the way her smile drops. “I take it you were hoping for a different face. Hate to break it to you, but at last night’s meeting, the Scientist said you’d have to have pretty intense brain damage to even assume that he’d be awake before noon.”

Scoffing in annoyance, Paradigm throws the towel she had draped over her shoulder at him, narrowly missing his mug. “Bold of you to assume I’d be happy to see either of you right now.”

Despite her reaction, seeing him is like a balm to her soul, and the pleased buzzing of her whispering companion tells her it feels the same. Plucking the still-warm metal from his hands, she takes a healthy gulp, scrunching her nose immediately at the syrup-like texture.

“Wow, want some coffee with that cream and sugar?” She feels like her tongue is coated in a candy layer, a slight burn in her throat making her desperately scan the room for her water bottle.

Clearly taking pleasure in her suffering, he slips his mug from her hand, freeing her to snatch her bottle up from her gym bag. She could feel his eyes on her while she finally washed away the sickly sweetness that lingered in her throat.

“Nope. If I drank it the way you and Visitor do, I wouldn’t be as sweet,” he teases before his smile falls, a thoughtful frown wrinkling his brow. “This plan of yours. It’s not going to work.”

Rolling her eyes, Paradigm picks up the towel she had flung at him, tossing it into the laundry bin. “Uh-huh. And what makes you so sure? One bad conversation with Foundy surely shouldn’t put you off this much.” She didn't expect him to be ruffled so easily. “And besides, I thought you wanted the Legend to join the 7-”

“He’s falling in love.”

Paradigm pulls her fist back, ready to fight him for interrupting her, but falters, nearly stumbling at his words. Her eyes widened any fight in her quickly diminished at her father’s words.

“He can’t be…that’s…”

The Origin raises his mug, his other arm folded across his chest, “If he’s not there yet, he will be. Surely you’ve seen it, the way he lights up when he talks about the Legend. He already considered recruiting him.” Sighing, the older man takes a drawn-out sip from his mug.

“I tried probing, dropping hints that the Legend might be someone he hates, and in his words unless he is ‘Geno, Slone, or Agent Jones,’ then there’s nothing to worry about.” His eyes meet hers, those pale orbs always seeming to see directly into her soul. “But we both know the truth, now don’t we?”

Dragging a clawed hand down her face, Paradigm wonders where all of this went wrong. The Visitor would know what to do, most of the plan had been their idea. The two of them had planned on helping to reveal the Legend’s identity after the successful retrieval of the Origin and the Sisters. Obviously, recent developments put a heavy damper on that. She really wished the Visitor were here.

At her silence, the Origin moves closer, standing beside her and letting their shoulders touch. “Listen, I know you don’t like when I butt in, and I know you’re too old for one of my lectures, but maybe telling him the truth would be best. He deserves to know.”

Paradigm instinctively jerked her head over to him, her eyes wide. “I know that! Of course, he deserves to know! He has every right to know…”

She had often found herself feeling just the smallest bit guilty for playing with both the Legend and the Foundation like this, "But they wouldn’t have become friends without our help! You know how stubborn the Foundation is!”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she blows a stray feather out of her face “And you should have seen how hard the Scientist was digging his heels in! It would only validate and excuse the Foundation’s reservations! This guy wanted to help, and literally risked his life to save us on our first mission with him! I couldn’t just…let them hate him!”

“So, what are you going to do, Firefly?” Another loud slurp from his coffee tells her he knows he has already won.

Letting out a frustrated groan, the Paradigm turns to give a final punch to the bag that had been her victim earlier, setting a new high score on the leadership board. Making their workouts a game had been her idea, the first one she had been brave enough to offer to the group. She remembered how happy she was at the pride everyone took in one- upping each other. The Foundation had enjoyed it probably the most, his name a daunting number high above the rest. But she would get there. Looking up at the leader of their family’s name, she finally concedes defeat.

“I’m gonna tell him! No need to get all hoity toity about it!”

She hated when the Origin was right, but the supportive arm that squeezes around her shoulder soothes her.

Twisting her fingers anxiously, Paradigm takes agonizingly slow steps down the halls leading to their rooms. She hates to admit it, but she’s trying to buy as much time as possible before reaching the last door. It’s not often that Paradigm finds herself nervous to talk to their leader. She had a lot of respect for the oldest member of the 7 and had had plenty of hard conversations with him. This topic, however, left a heavy ball of dread in the bottom of her stomach. She’s mulled over her conversation with the Origin, again and again, letting another week of no answers and no results slip by. At every meeting, and every time the Origin rushed at her during training, his eyes silently ask when she’s going to come clean, and it’s eating at her.

Anxiety gnawed at her as she stood outside of the closed door to the Foundation’s personal quarters. Tired of feeling sorry for herself, Paradigm finally raises her fist, ready for what she expects to be hours of lectures, and is immediately stopped as the door slides open. The Scientist’s large form comes into view, his voice no longer silenced by the metal that had divided them.

“Fine! You don’t want to listen to reason? Be my guest! But I won’t let your carelessness fuck us over!” The Scientist spins on his heel, suddenly pausing in his tracks as he finally catches sight of her.

Lowering his head, he shoulders past her before disappearing into his own room just a few doors down the hall. She was left behind to contemplate the open door leading to her now probably pissed-off boss.

“Fucking fantastic,” she grumbles under her breath before taking the final step into this dumpster fire.

The Foundation was standing to the side, his arms folded over his chest, his head tipped back. She could see the tight-lipped scowl on his face, and the deep furrow of his brow. It was a look of pure frustration, one he only wore when the Scientist talked to him like this. He never took harsh words from the other man well, the two hardly ever standing at odds with one another. Hating the fact that she has to bother him after what she can only assume was a heated argument, Paradigm lightly raps her knuckles against the door frame.

“This a bad time, boss?” she keeps her tone light, knowing better than to treat him delicately, it would just put the man on edge and make this worse for both of them.

Watching his head lower, she feels like she can see him put the mask back on. No more feelings, back to work. She could only imagine how exhausting that had to be. She would *never* stifle herself like that. Not again. The familiar buzzing pleasantly hums behind her ears. Hearing the Foundation clear his throat snaps her back into reality.

“Now’s as good a time as any. What’s up?”

There’s that guilt again, gnawing on her insides, but she knows she has to tell him before it’s too late and there’s a misunderstanding. Well, a bigger misunderstanding. Her fingers ache as she twists them together, giving her something to focus on so it’s easier to speak.

“There’s something I have to tell you.  You see, I haven’t been 100% honest with you-” Seeing the way his body tenses, she quickly rushes on, “Hold on, it’s not what you think-!” Paradigm is cut off by the sound of something screeching.

The noise is loud and intense, increasing in volume until it's a shrill cry that makes her ears ring and her teeth tingle. She doesn’t realize her own scream of pain joins the cacophony of sound until her throat starts to hurt. Large hands clamp onto her shoulders and she’s given a firm shake before she realizes her eyes are squeezed shut. Wrenching them open, she barely notices the tears streaming down her face. All around them, another noise joins her cries, and red lights flash from small alarms that dropped from the ceiling.

“Paradigm? Paradigm! What’s going on?” The Foundation’s voice was distant, all the noises forcing a foggy haze over her mind as she tried to make herself think.

“I-I don’t…it’s all so loud.” she tries, and finally, someone else speaks.

The Scientist’s voice rips through the noise. “Guys! Get to the war room, now! Something’s wrong with the Zero-Point!”

She’s only conscious enough to see a sudden change in the Foundation, her vision darkening as she sees a new alarm come to life on his suit, and can feel the pained yowls of pain from the companion that had been with her the longest. The voice that was with her was crying out, pleading for them to save her. The Zero-Point. Pandora. She was dying. 

Chapter Text

The Zero-Point was a strangely unique and beautiful phenomenon, nothing in the known universe was quite like it. The literal starting point of the universe, coveted by anyone who knows what it could do, and feared by twice as many. It’s something the Scientist can understand, after all, it’s not everyday you get to exist in the same space to the scientific equivalent to literal G-O-D, God. That being said, the Zero-Point was dangerous. He knew it, they all did. It was something everyone understood. The danger the object posed was the whole reason he, the Foundation, and [REDACTED] started studying it in the first place.

They had met the Foundation shortly after the man had rifted into their reality, and he had warned of the danger the thing they lived above posed to the people around it, and all had agreed to try and study a way to avoid the horrific repercussions that could follow its abuse. They worked for years, studying the limits to the Zero-Point’s energy, to its protections. Each of them had tasted the intoxicating power it could offer to anyone lucky enough to be near it. And, in their own ways, all three of them had felt the stab of its wrath. Anytime they faltered, the Foundation reminded them of what happened in his reality, of what almost happened to it if it hadn’t been for the sacrifice of Pandora…

So, imagine the Scientist’s surprise when he rifts in, followed by Paradigm and Origin, focus immediately honing in on the deathly ill Zero-Point, the newly formed stone pillar, and sees two people who should know better than most not to play with the Zero-Point. Both of whom were being incredibly, impossibly STUPID with it.

If the Scientist still had a heart, it would be in his throat. Paradigm’s speaking to him, her voice crackling loudly over the speaker in his helmet, but anything she said went unheard as he pushed past her, towards the blonde man who just killed their leader. Though they had only been delayed behind the Foundation by a few minutes, that had been enough time for it to be too late. His feet thump harshly against the rough surface of newly formed stone, and he watches as Agent Jones thrusts the portal gun into the Zero-Point, and desperately tries to snatch at him before it’s too late. Everything seems slow, and he’s just not fast enough to stop the man from firing into the Zero-Point, sealing the Foundation inside.

“What did you just do? What did you just make him do?!”

Jones’ blue eyes don’t even light up as the Scientist lunges at him, and he does nothing to stop the massive man from attempting to go for his throat. The armored man is only held back by the Origin and Paradigm, both straining and shouting muffled orders at him to back down.

“He’s going to die in there! You fucked the Zero-Point up so much he has to die to fix it!” the engineer snarls, lunging again, his hands lurching forward, acting more like a wild animal than the rational, cool-headed person he had been up to this point.

“I know.” is the reply, the excuse, the answer, that he gets from the agent.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Babe, please, stop.” Paradigm’s trying to calm him, and logically he knows that this stupid idiot didn’t know the consequences of what just happened. But it was the Foundation in there.

He pulls and struggles and tries to reach out and save his friend, but it’s too late. He knows that. Once that sacrifice is made there’s no undoing it. Anger and grief fill him, if he still had a throat it would be raw with it. Amazing what a mind can recall despite not having the faculties to actually feel it.

“You killed him you fucker! It should have been you!” His voice is low and raw and hoarse, despite the fact that he can’t even cry.

Something about the agent’s eyes just then, when that demand -when that accusation- left the Scientist, like he knew, like he *really* knew, only served to piss him off more. What did he know? While his comrades held him back, they watched the lightly armored blonde stand, picking up a previously discarded weapon. Any feeling the agent had been conveying to him was gone, replaced by that empty blue again.

“You all get out of here. I’ll try and keep a window open for you all to escape. After all this, it’s only a matter of time before the IO gets here to try and reign in the situation.”

The Origin responds, what he says, the Scientist isn’t sure, but Jones just offers a half smile. “I knew what I was getting into when I contacted you all.” he leaves them with that.

Just what the hell did that mean?

Time doesn’t stop moving, despite how much one grieves. It was a lesson he knew well, one that, in previous years, the Foundation would have helped him through. But he was gone. The Scientist really wouldn’t classify himself as an emotional guy under most circumstances. Did he get angry? Of course he did, he was only human after all.

No no, the Scientist really likes to think of himself as one of the most rational members of the team. The calm one people could come to if they needed the perspective of someone in perfect emotional balance. What could he say? It took years, centuries, even, to be able to control himself the way he did. A lesser man wouldn’t have been able to do it. But, when your body was literally a volatile black hole that constantly fought against every feeling you had, you became a master of them, before the choice was taken from you.

Foundation, curse the rotten bastard, had been the most stable thing in his life after the loss of his homeworld, and without him here, a gaping hole was in his place. One that threatened to send him into a spiral he knew he couldn’t control on his own. Paradigm, under most circumstances would have been his saving grace, a safe haven to express his worries to. But now, he struggled to find the time...hell, ever since the Legend had started talking to them, he’d been finding it harder and harder to talk to her. The last straw had been what he overheard. Right before Foundation die- before the Foundation saved the Zero-Point, he had heard her confess to lying to their leader…lying to all of them. He was ashamed to admit that he started avoiding her after losing his rock.

Deep down, he knew he could trust her, knew that she would be able to help him make sense of what had happened…but there was a nasty ache where his chest should be, and it had been his only comfort for the past nearly year of correspondence with the Rat. Now, it whispered its bitter secrets and lies into his non-existent ears. He was just too tired to ignore them this time. If she was willing to lie to the Foundation, the best of them, who else was she willing to lie to? But he was really starting to miss her.

The 7, what was left of them, continued their work. While the Origin was playing “Leader” -though he refused to admit it, convinced that the Foundation would wake and return and they all could go back to normal- and while Paradigm and Visitor worked on their secrets, the Scientist did some actual work. The others may have forgotten what started their stupid game of house with an IO Rat, but he didn’t. Someone had to find the sisters. Someone had to bring what was left of their family home.

A new sense of restlessness, one that made his body coil tightly in his armor and press against his seams, kept him from doing anything productive, despite his best efforts. When stuck in his work, the Scientist had to find an outlet, or else he’d risk tearing Sanctuary apart. And this time he didn’t have the insurance of a Foundation to help save Reality from himself a second time. As a last resort, he snuck a peak at some of the files the Rat had left them when the Origin had stepped out to go over a new escape route with the Visitor.

The flash drive was a treasure trove of IO data: footage of battles, schematics, and interviews galore, anything a guy wanting to dig up dirt could need. Everything was organized in groups based on what the IO informant had deemed more important for the 7 to address. The thought made his anger spike, his suit flashing the familiar warning that he needed to calm down. Of course a bastard willing to call himself “The Legend” would be trying to boss them around. The Scientist’s eyes, if he still had any, glanced to the first folder. It was labeled with a simple code: 21A+21B. Scanning the top row of folders, he remembers the first mission they had taken from the flash drive. If these first folders were the most relevant, why did the Rat have them start near the middle of the row?

Then he spotted it. There, third from the left, labelled “Prisoner 8932”. This folder was full of information about the Origin, and had been invaluable in rescuing the second in command. But now, the folder looked different. The thumbnail had changed from a manilla, open folder to a dull blue, closed one instead. A part of him wanted to make a joke about video games and side quests, but when he found that he couldn’t open the folder, his good humor was snatched away from him. No password option appeared like it had the times before, and no amount of commands he entered let him in. So, the Legend was still keeping secrets.

Something about that made him feel proud, a nasty pride that gnashed its teeth and beat its chest, but pride nonetheless. One thing, one single thing had stayed consistent, and that meant he had a goal now. It was a cold comfort, but it was one that motivated him forward. He’d play along with the Legend’s game, for now, and bust the code of this flash drive, prove that the Legend was a lying snake, save the sisters, and then, everything could go back to normal.

With the firm conviction to take matters into his own hands, the Scientist sends a copy of the flash drive's contents to his personal computer. He was almost impressed once he noticed the blue folder had not budged, and wouldn’t offer him even a hint of its contents. Taking a note to study that folder a bit harder later, he picks up where the Foundation left off in the long list of folders. Time to get to the bottom of this “Legend” mystery, once and for all.

Soon, these folders became an outlet for him. Anytime he fought with the others, or had one -of what was becoming many- of his shouting matches with the Origin, the Scientist would leave, picking random files from the folders and taking his anger out on some IO grunts. Picking off these folders had turned out easier than he thought. With each successful mission, ranging from supply runs to more important, “criminal handling” rescues, a folder was sealed off from view. It didn’t take a certified genius (which he was) to recognize some of their earliest missions with the Legend were also in here. At the end of the long list of folders was a zipped file. He had a feeling it would “unlock” once he finished the rest. He was getting closer and closer to solving some mystery. One more folder. This was it. A final push.

After another fight with the Origin, this one turning nasty, the Scientist’s voice dripping with disdain when he firmly reminded the Origin that there was no chance for the Foundation to return, that the Legend had gotten their friend killed and there was NOTHING they could do about it, the new leader of the 7 dismissed him for what he hoped would be one of the last of his solo missions, and no one moved to stop him. The Scientist’s final mission started as more of an angry walk. Then an angry run, then a flight. It wasn’t long before he was crossing the island, looking for an outlet for all of this pent up frustration. He was practically bursting at the seams with it.

The supply run, a seemingly inconsequential mission for the “final folder”, felt like a great place to bash some heads together. With stealth and precision that would have made the Order scowl at him, the Scientist goes charging in, headfirst at the 4 guard party. Now, he would be the first to tell someone how absolutely stupid and reckless what he was doing was. But, turns out, despite not having a brain, grief still has a way of turning people into reckless morons.

The guards surrounding the small cargo truck turned out to be easy pickings, and hadn’t been prepared for a large, and fully pissed off member of the 7. He was done with them before they knew what hit them, only the final man being able to draw his gun before he was tackled and knocked to the ground. Tying the unconscious men up, he stuffs them in the back of their truck while he raids for the supplies he can carry. A sound from behind him sends him back into full alert, excited at the idea of a better fight.

And there, standing in the middle of the road, stuffing a paper bag onto his head too quickly for the other to see his head, is the source of all of his problems. He’s moving before he can really think, a problem he’s had more lately than ever in his life. The Legend’s hands raise up, like trying to calm him, but he’s not soft like Dae, he won’t pull his boot because someone asked nicely.

Swinging his fist out, the Scientist lets out an animalistic grunt when the smaller man ducks under his arms, trying to hastily sign whatever excuse he could.

“I don’t want to read your sorry ass signs. You wanna fucking talk? Talk. I know you can.”

“Ah-! Okay okay! Stop, please! Scientist, we really don’t have time for th-AH! STOP TRYING TO PUNCH ME!”

“Then stop having a punchable voice!”

He grabs the Rat by the front of his simple black shirt, rearing back to really lay into him when they are surrounded. A much larger group of IO guards, with two massive transport trucks following them, eye the fighting men, guns aimed at the two of them. Squeezing the Scientist’s wrist, the Legend stares at him through the small holes cut into the bag, blue eyes trying to communicate with him.

Growling, he finally drops the smaller man. “You’re so lucky I have answers I want from you.”

And, as much as he loathes to admit it, fighting alongside the Legend is fun. Clearly he had plenty of field experience, ducking and weaving through the fight despite the group of guards that was going to easily overwhelm them in a matter of minutes. On more than one occasion, he even found himself laughing at the almost comical way the Legend bounces around his fight, but they’re just two people, both of whom were already fighting to begin with. They had no hope of winning this fight, no matter how good they were. This had apparently been a big haul, so more than 40 guards fought them like dirty animals, protecting their precious cargo.

“Get the truck in front! I’ll buy you some time!” The Legend’s voice is crackling over his comm unit, a nasty reminder of just how deep in the Rat had gotten. And those words were tickling the back of his mind, almost reminding him of fingers ghosting along the inside of his skull…if he still had one.

“You don’t get to bark orders here, Rat. I’m not as obedient as the others.” he spits the words as much as he can, but his curiosity is piqued, the first truck looking far less…guarded…than the second. So they really didn't want people looking in there, huh? “Get me a path through, show me what they’re hiding.”

Tossing a playful salute at the Scientist, the Legend draws a golden pistol from his hip, shooting a small rift between the cluster of guards dividing the 7’s engineer and the cargo truck. If he wasn’t taken aback by the gun’s effect, he would have been pissed at the clear rip-off of the Foundation’s rift gun. That thing had been a nightmare to make, and someone in the Legend’s circle had managed to replicate it just a month after the man’s death. He was impressed, and he hated it.

Using the sudden advantage, the Scientist shoulders through the last two guards blocking his path, trying to go around the truck and open the back.

“Stop! No time! One of these guys called for backup. Take the truck and get out of here!” The Legend is barking orders again.

Pressing the button on the side of his helmet, the Scientist snarks back. “I told you to stop bossing me around. I’m not your lackey, Leg-”

“Scientist, take the truck and go! You won’t get a chance to save them again after this!”

The audio is cut off, and the Scientist has to pull himself up into the truck and peer through the window to see what’s happening. The guards have the Legend pinned, arms folded behind his back, forcing him to kneel in the dusty earth beneath him. Time almost seems to slow down as a fist grabs the paper bag, making it crinkle in their fingers before it's yanked up in vicious triumph. Seems Scientist wasn’t the only one fed up with the Legend.

John Jones barely suppresses the pained wince as he’s yanked up by a fist in his blonde hair. The Scientist doesn’t hear what the guards are saying to him, but he does catch the firm stare in his direction. The agent is looking at him, ignoring the guards screaming in his face, trusting him to get whatever is in this truck away from these guys. He’s lucky the keys are still in the ignition. Someone was definitely getting a write up back at HQ.

“Stupid fucking idiot playing the damned hero. No wonder Dae couldn’t ignore you. Stupid puppy eyes..” he’s grumbling under his breath, but he’s trying to ignore the guilty twisting in his gut as he starts the truck up.

Firmly reminding himself that he in fact, no longer has guts with which to pang with guilt, he turns the truck quicker than he’d thought possible. Guards chase him, but Jones uses the commotion to strike a kick, taking most of their attention. He lost the others along the way to his planned evacuation point, but hastily parked and clambered out of the seat. What the fuck was so important that he had to steal a whole cargo truck?!

Pressing a button under the steering wheel, he opens the back, listening to the satisfying hiss as the container decompressed. Drawing his firearm, the engineer takes careful steps around the large vehicle, peeking around the back before harshly tugging the double doors open.

Inside is a cluttered mess of wires and papers, several scattered during his speedy getaway. Thick, reinforced monitors were lined and cramped along the right hand wall, and he scanned each of them, gathering the data they provided: basic vital scans, notes and heart rate monitors, sedative application options. A tickle in the back of his brain has him spinning on his heel to look at the two pods attached to the adjacent wall, roughly back against the wall dividing this section and the seats. What had Jones said when he told him to take the truck? A chance to save them…?

His hands shake as he touches one, wiping away the layers and layers of frost with the determination of a child in the snow. After careful scraping with the rough pads of his gloves, he exposes the glass that covers the entire front of the pod. She’s there, her face peaceful and soft, eyes shifting behind closed eyelids, black hair that’s grown too long in her absence tangled around her. Turning to the other pod, he wipes at the ice, heart pulsing in his nonexistent ears as the red-headed woman appears before him. Despite the lack of a body, he feels his legs buckle, and has to lean on a pod for support. Relief and grief mix in his stomach and wrench a sob from his throat. He’d found the sisters. After all this time, he has them. They can come home.

Chapter Text

Waking up from a drug-induced stasis was disorienting and foggy. One second, she was floating, just barely not dreaming, the next, she’s lurching and screaming as her body remembered to breathe without tubes or wires. Were lights always this bright? Did noise always blare at her from all sides? Did her skin always crawl when the itchy, wet air clung to it?

The Order (that was the closest thing she had to a name anymore) heaved her upper half over the edge of the cot, heaving the empty air of her stomach with her. There’s a growing, gradual warmth on her back, and slowly, the lights in her eyes part and the Origin’s face comes into view. It’s wrought with worry and relief and fear and joy, his flames dimly flickering above his head adding a warm pulsing glow to the room. She cries, is almost positive she sobs like a child as the closest thing she has to a father gathers her in his arms.

The Seven’s general holds her through two more crying fits and at least one screaming tantrum before she feels calm enough to get up. Her sister is already awake and functioning, not one to let anyone or anything keep her down. She’s at her side in an instant, helping to bring the Order back into reality.

Sanctuary was dead silent, their headquarters void of any of its usual buzzing energy. She couldn’t ever remember it being this quiet. The group wasn’t overly social, or fond of jovial get-togethers, but there was still…noise happening back then. The Scientist and Paradigm would usually be bickering, their heads together while the Visitor followed their trail of warmth, or the Origin would be running some of the others through drills, filling their winding halls with thumps, grunts, praises and criticisms. Now it’s just a cold, empty silence with everyone too worn down to try and pretend like things were normal. The Visitor and the Scientist were barely heard from these days, either out in the field working, or shut in their rooms, locking away the rest of the universe.

Hearing of the Foundation’s sacrifice nearly knocked the wind right back out of her. The Order was a realist, and had expected some of them to be lost in their battles against her father and his men, but the *Foundation*? Their leader? Their rock? (Author’s Note: I make this joke at least 3 times through this series you all have to suffer with me) She never thought she would exist in a world void of his presence, and bitterly has to swallow the fact that she hadn’t even been there to help. She’d been trapped. Determined to not let her leader’s sacrifice be in vain, the Order pulled her sister to the side, and the two got to work on a plan to get back at the IO, perhaps once and for all.

The Paradigm, always looking 8 steps ahead while the rest were still trying to piece things together, was already hard at work on a plan of her own. One that might just save their leader, and the friend that had been lost in the process. Sneaking away in the dead of night, the Seven’s pilot navigated her way to the now exposed Zero-Point. This would be risky, but she had to try. The Zero-Point had always been responsive to her.

The Zero-Point pulses faintly when she arrives, a greeting she returns happily as she steps onto the platform it now rested on. Pulling her gauntlets off, she spread her fingers over the crystal shell protecting them all from the unstable sphere within. She could feel it respond weakly to her. Pandora was trying her hardest to keep her and the Foundation safe.

“Let me help. Maybe together, we can get him out of there.”

Daedalus' eyes opened, greeted by a familiar purple sky. Warm sand clung to his scales and hair, making him feel itchy, sticky, and so at home it was nearly enough to bring tears to his eyes. Curling his fingers into the sand, he raised a fistful of the orange stuff up, letting the grains fall onto his face. He was...home? What was..?

Something beside him shifts, an arm draping across his waist, laying limp, but with just enough weight to assure that this was an embrace. All at once, he feels a head resting on his shoulder, smells the familiar sea salt and plant life that told him exactly who was beside him. Turning his head takes so long that he doesn’t meet their eyes until they’ve cupped his face and brought his lips to theirs.

Ambrosia was just as beautiful as he remembered; Daedalus had always been the darkness to the glory of his beloved. Both had grown in the darkest trenches, but where Dae adapted to the darkness, his scales reflecting the pitch black, dull blue and vibrant reds of death in the deep, Ambrosia shone. Scales golden and grey would lure the eye of any brave enough to risk a bite. Dae had been once such challenger, the two spending most of their youth competing to outperform one another. He didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky as to win the young leader over. Cupping his sandy claw over his husband’s, he can feel eons worth of tension pour into the hand holding him together.

“Ambrosia…” he sighed, looking into vibrant pink eyes, golden rings blown wide with adoration.

“You fell asleep on the shore. Pandora was getting impatient.” The golden man scolds, humor in his voice as he sits up, sand falling from him, casting orange streaks up his back and tail. Dae watched the moment, locking every second into his memory.

Slowly sitting up, he casts his gaze over the rich purple water, listening to the cry of the Spark Gulls above, and the rustling of the plants from behind. What had they been doing before this? He feels like it was important. When Ambrosia fully stands to begin his trek to the water, Dae just watches as the light plays with his husband’s golden scales, casting reflective light onto the orange sand below.

“If you don’t hurry, Pandora will go hunting without you,”

Ah, right. He had promised to take their daughter on her first hunting trip without the other children of their school. Being the only child of the leader, she worried about falling behind some of the more confident swimmers. She had nothing to worry about, of course, with the best hunter in her corner. Standing to follow his husband home, the Foundation forgets to look back at the person with sad blue eyes waiting for him on shore.

The swim home is peaceful, the clear purple waters around them are calm and warm. Summer was in full swing, the waters of their home brimming with life. As they travel, familiar faces of friends and neighbors wave at them, chatting about the upcoming weeks, about hunting trips, about life. He feels like it's been so long since he’s thought about living.

The home their family shared was on the edge of their school’s territory, in a small cave surrounded by vibrant, colorful plants that swayed with the current. Each plant had a purpose, and he recalled his father’s lessons fondly. The greens had been a gift from the man when he and Ambrosia first settled together, a prayer for luck and prosperity. An orange one, tucked cheerfully by the entrance of the cave, was medicinal, used to stop bleeding and treat other minor ailments. He had hunted that one himself when Ambrosia told him he was going to be a father. In the old stories, once still whispered late in the night to lull hyper minnows to sleep, the plant had been used to save the Mother goddess from blood loss during childbirth. He didn’t really believe in gods, but the plant had saved his mate and child from that legendary fate, so he was thankful nonetheless. He wondered if he should show a sample to the Legend, almost positive the pun would bring out a rare, genuine laugh from his friend.

He tries to follow that thought, but Ambrosia’s tail zips past him, blocking his view as he’s pulled into their cave. Something then collides with his midsection, sending him backpedaling. Then there’s a voice, like the sweetest song, chirping up at him.

“Papa! You’re late!”

Whatever had been bothering him before melted away, and he scoops up the blue and gold hatchling. Spinning, he hugs her tight, drinking up her giggles and squeals. He felt like it had been *years* since he had held his baby, though, if memory serves, it had only been since breakfast. Who knew dinner would feel so far away?

Nuzzling her face against his shoulder, Pandora turned her big, pink eyes up to him. “We’re still hunting for dinner together, right pa?”

Releasing her to let the giggling menace float off in the water, Dae taps his chin in thought, stroking the seams of his mouth and humming. “Hmmmm, I dunno. We might have to ask your dad and the others.” the words still on his tongue.

Others? His family watches him, one in curious concern, the other in careful consideration. Quickly correcting himself, he grabs Pandora’s stubby tail, using it to spin her in the water in front of him before putting his hands on his hips.

“Only if you get a move on. Once it gets dark out, little fish, you have to be safely tucked away before-”

What, Dae? Before what? Come on, don’t you know what starts tonight?

That small voice tries to warn him, but he brushes it aside. Their waters were safe, Ambrosia and himself led their school peacefully, fighting any challengers that came for their territory and training their hunters and gatherers how to survive sustainably. How could anything be a danger to their baby fish with them both here to protect her?

He can feel Ambrosia lean against him, a thoughtful hum in his deep voice. “How about the three of us hunt together?”

Dae’s heart swells at the idea, and he presses a warm kiss to his husband’s cheek in response. “Only if the Leader of our crew is okay with it,”

Pandora offered no objections, of course, instead rushing to her personal tunnel to grab the nets she had been working on. Dae and Ambrosia waited, hands clasped, and the three left their small home together.

Their trip was fun, and far less peaceful than the one that brought the adults here an hour before. At everything that flitted past her view, the youngling darted forward, looking in holes in the foliage and under rocks. Ambrosia, clearly amused, went to slip his net out of Daedalus’ claws.

“Go. Teach. I have a feeling someone’s roaming fins will scare the food in this sector away. I’ll head a little further out.”

With a warm kiss to his cheek, the golden man tries to slip away, but Dae never releases the net, instead, lurching forward to grab his husband’s wrist. He had to stop him. He couldn’t let him find…

“Daedalus? You’re acting so strangely. Is something the matter?” Ambrosia’s voice is thick, like syrup, and full of a worry that settled deep into Dae’s bones.

“You can’t. Please. Please don’t go. I can’t-”

You can’t lose him again

The words die on his tongue, falling at his feet. Lose Ambrosia? The second best hunter in their school? Their leader? What was wrong with him? Pandora brushes past his side, resting against him. Releasing his wrist, Dae takes a step back, reeling.

“Pa? What’s wrong?” Her pink eyes are wide open, the golden rings twisting as she tries to assess her father, to the best of her abilities. He’d never seen a child look so serious, and it brings a smile to his face, making his worries melt away.

Petting her hair, he tries to remember what had him so panicked, offering an apologetic smile to Ambrosia. “I’m sorry. I had a strange dream on the beach. It must be making me anxious…”

Ambrosia’s eyes scan his face before finally softening and reaching out. Bringing Dae’s dark claw up, he kisses the palm. “Can you handle this? You could always head home. I’m sure Pandora won’t mind hunting with her Dad.”

Clearly, this assumption was *wrong*, and their daughter squeezes between them. “No! Pa, you promised! You said that you would teach me to hunt first!”

Offering his mate another thin, apologetic smile, Daedalus dramatically rests the back of his hand over his eyes. “Oh, I am a slave to the whims of the queen of the sea. Lead the way to your hunting grounds, milady.”

Ambrosia’s laughter is contagious as he slips away to gather dinner while leaving his disastrous duo behind. Dae made the most of his achieved free time, spending the rest of the afternoon and well into the dimming evening teaching Pandora how to set her traps, what pounces and attacks work best, and what creatures to avoid. Laying out her bait, they agreed to come back first thing in the morning to see what she caught.

By the time they returned, his angelfish already had his kills brought home, cleaning them and prepping dinner as evening dipped into early night. The three gathered around the table, the golden man listening as their daughter told him all about her hunt.

“I haven’t caught anything yet, but I will! I’ll even catch a big ol Ratcatfish!” she squeaks through a mouthful of fruit.

“If you run into a Katfish, you and your adventurous father best fin it back home, you hear me?” Ambrosia scolds, voice light but just as firm as it needed to be. Those beasts were no joke…

Once tucked into bed, Pandora slept swiftly, Dae pet her crest while she slept, her legs and tail curled around his arm. When would he get to see her like this again? A great fear, a dread that he couldn’t explain, clutched at his heart. Why did he feel like he was going to lose her at any moment?

Ambrosia’s arms wrapped around his middle as warm kisses are pressed to his shoulder. “Can you come with me, beloved? I found something strange today, near the outskirts of the larger hunting grounds.”

Making sure their cave was properly sealed (Dae checked 7 times at least), he let his husband take him to it.

The next morning, Dae was rudely awakened by sharp claws prodding roughly at his gills. Waiting until his attacker gets closer, he relishes in Pandora’s squeals as she’s snatched up and they join Ambrosia for breakfast. She barely scarfed down her meal before she’s up and moving, dragging him out to check her traps. Despite how carefully laid out they were, nothing had been caught yet, so they agreed to go exploring and check again later, once more of the world around them woke up.

They’re out with their companions, talking and discussing some changes in the hunting grounds when Dae first spots him: A man, tall and imposing, in strange blue and black armor, watching them from a distance. He’d never seen someone like this, but something about the red symbols on the man’s helmet, glowing ominously, and perfectly visible despite the space between them, was familiar. Fins raised defensively, he reaches for Ambrosia’s elbow, catching his husband’s attention.

“That person, do you recognize them?” jerking his chin in the direction of the stone still man in the distance, he looked to Ambrosia for reassurance.

Only to be met with a puzzled look. “Recognize who?”

Something about his tone makes Dae’s fins stand on end, but he pushes it down as having his eyes off of an unfamiliar person, and flicks a fin in the stranger’s direction, joining hands with his mate. “Them. They’ve been watching us for too long. I was thinking of scaring them off if you didn’t know who they were.”

Ambrosia takes a glance around, his eyes on the lookout for any danger. As the leader of their school, any unrecognized creature had to be identified and dealt with quickly. A funny look crosses his face after a moment, and pink eyes finally rest up on Daedalus’ face.

“Are you feeling alright? Have you been out hunting late again?” Ambrosia’s voice is soft, and a bit strained as he speaks.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything, but yes, I slept peacefully all night until you work me this morning.”

“There’s no one out there, Daedalus. What did you eat this morning? Did you touch a new plant? Was this from visiting the-”

And for just a moment, a darkness flashes over Ambrosia’s face, one Daedalus recognized, though he wasn’t sure how. The gold and grey man had never been anything but gentle and compassionate, the light to his dark. He was smart, sharp as any blade, but that had never been turned at him before. Wrenching his wrist away from Ambrosia’s painful grip, the moment is over, both his husband and daughter watching him with nothing but genuine concern on their faces.

What was going on? What was wrong with him?

Turning tail, Daedalus swam up, towards the surface, ignoring the worried shouts of his family and neighbors behind him. He couldn’t string his thoughts together. He just had to get *out*.

Almost there, Captain. You can do this, just keep swimming.

He surfaces with a gasp, confused by the comfort of air. Usually, it took time for him to adjust to the dryness of the surface, but as he dragged himself up onto the sand, he drank in the air through ragged pants and gasps, grateful to feel it. Dropping onto his back, Dae watched the darkening sky, trying to sort his wild thoughts. Everything was fine, so why was he so disoriented? Maybe he should ask the Scientist to run a scan on him, see if he picked up anything from his time inside the…

A sharp pain in his mind sent him reeling, his body lurching up so he could cradle his head in his hands. The thought leaves as quickly as it came, too quickly for him to snatch it. Why was he acting so *strangely* today?

“Are you acting strange? This feels pretty normal to me.”

There’s someone behind him, their back pressed against his. Their clothes are dry, despite the water still actively dripping from his scales. The warmth radiating off of them is the most *real* thing he’s felt since he woke up here days ago. Has it been days?

“Are you going to stay here, Dae? You can if you want. None of us would blame you for that.” The voice sounds as warm as they feel, a sturdy weight to support him and his decisions.

Stay? Of course he was staying? Where else would he go? This was his home, his family and friends were here, waiting to see him, and hunt and live with him. If he left, he’d be alone again.

The person, a man, he thinks, chuckles under his breath, letting his head thump against Daedalus’, warm light radiating off of him. “Yeah, I’d probably pick that too.”

The voice changes, louder now, more feminine, rough and just annoying enough to make him want to roll his eyes. It brings so much fondness that washes over him, so much like Pandora’s.

“Okay, ouch. Alone? I’ll tell the Visitor you think so little of us. The Scientist will owe all of us soooo much money.”

Those names, titles technically, bring a strange mix of feelings to the surface, a heavy fog in his mind preventing him from fully recognizing them, almost like something he heard in a dream once. “I’m forgetting something important, aren’t I? That’s why everything feels so strange.”

The voice is different again, rough and gravelly, like someone trying to speak through clenched teeth or a forced smile. The sadness he feels almost takes the breath from him, but the warmth they have against his back reassures him that it’s a feeling they both share, and take comfort in together. “Close, real close, big guy.”

How many of them would bother him if he didn’t stop them now?

Letting a huff of irritation out through his nose, he leans back, laying his head on hers, knowing they’ve changed again. “Paradigm, can you and the others stop being cryptic? I have enough on my plate with the Scientist’s bad mood, let alone dealing with whatever game you and Visitor have dragged the others into...”

They’re so familiar it makes him dizzy. Was Ambrosia right? Had he come across a weird plant while hunting last night? He’d never been this disoriented before. Nothing was making sense.

“Paradigm? Why can’t I remember?”

“I dunno, boss, but we’re trying to help figure it out.” He hears her fist hit the sand, a groan of frustration leaving her as she leans heavier on him. “If only we could have talked to you or the Legend before you d-”

The pain shoots through him again, making his ears ring and drowning out the rest of her words. Anger and hurt mix, a vile tar in his throat that swelled at thatwhat would happen to her? He and Ambrosia were hunters, warriors, leaders. They, of course, took the risk of death often. But their waters were peaceful, why would he be worried about something killing his daughter? This didn’t feel like the parental anxiety his mother always spoke of.

Pandora’s shrill scream has him moving before he can think. She’s just in reach, having gotten tangled in a net, tossing and twisting to try and free herself. Before he can assess the danger, a series of low hisses and chitters comes from the foliage around them. They’re all very, very lucky that they creatures, katfish, he assumes, spooked easily. It took one swipe from his spear to send them swimming away, scattering to hunt elsewhere. Once he’s sure they’re safe for the time being, Daedalus rushes to the thrashing mess of net and child, precise claws and a sharp knife quickly shredding the loosely woven rope. He hoped this hadn't been her first net. Pandora had always been sentimental, more like Ambrosia in that way.

Apologies on the tip of his tongue, Dae goes still again after he's freed her. The creature she was curled protectively around watched him through big, nearly glowing orange eyes.

“Pandora. Let that thing go.” He growls, fins raising instinctively at the sight of his daughter in danger. He's taken aback by the angry look he receives from the pink-eyed girl.

“He needs my help!” She retorted, holding the ball of black scales, deadly fins and venomous teeth out to him.

Orange blood sluggishly oozes from a wound on its side, the three rows of fins there were tattered beyond recognition. The thing would never swim again. Good riddance.

Katfish were naturally violent, their bodies designed by The Maker (‘evolution and adaptation’ the Scientist’s voice echoed in his ears) to cause as much damage as possible.

“There isn't anything we can do about it.” He barks, harsher than he means to, and reaches to take the nasty thing from her.

She snatches it back, curling her small body protectively around it and hissing at him. “It saved me! I'm not about to let you kill it, pa!”

At this he hesitates, eyeing the ugly black and orange thing. “Saved you, huh?”

It peeks up him, hiding behind one of Pandora's pale blue fins. Fuck. “You know what, ask your father!” He threw his hands up in defeat, unable to withstand the very powerful scowl from his daughter.

Ambrosia, much to Deadalous’ surprise (and regret) took it all in stride, even managing to pluck the wriggling menace from their still rather cross daughter.

“I see, I see” he cooed as he studied it, cleaning and bandaging its wounds with careful claws. “I expected you to come back with treats, Dae, not a new child. You shouldn't have.” He teased, pressing a kiss to the larger man's cheek.

Raising his hands in mock defense, the larger hunter shrugs. “Take that up with your monster. It was her idea.”

They named the Katfish ‘Ratacat’, which helped soothe Pandora. She had even forgiven Dae enough to let him tuck her and her new friend in that night.

It was while he was sitting, watching the two sleep that he was met once more with the voice coming from the blue armor. They had been watching him all day.

What are you doing? Their silent voice asks him. Don't you know? Each day you stay here, playing house, is a day closer to when she-

He knows.

Days blur together now, pacing themselves like a film, hitting story beats versus letting him experience it all. He knew what was coming, saw the signs, and knew that nothing he did this time would change it either. He watched as younglings hatched, watched as Ratacat healed and became his daughter’s best friend. He watched as Pandora aged a year, then two, growing more blue in her golden fins. She looked like the night sky, in her pale blue and golds, and was becoming a hunter that would one day outshine him. He watched as Ambrosia started to disappear more, slipping further and further from his duties as a leader to study the orb. He watched as the end began.

His home was sick. Dying. Life snapped from the local plants, their usually abundant prey missing. People got sick, many fled to find new prey or aid
Most never returned. Ambrosia too, started to act strange. Locking himself away. Studying the thing he found.

We really should have tried harder, Foundation.

When he woke up and saw the dark mouth of the cave, he knew that he had to go. The armor was beside him as he stared at the soft glow coming from further in. “Let me finish this. I have to see it again.”

“We’ll be waiting for you, Foundation.” Paradigm is there for a moment, her hand on his elbow.

Clenching his spear in his hands, Foundation steps into the cave to watch Daedalus die.

Dae stared in horror at the sight before him. The orb, the Monster he and Ambrosia had found, filled the entirety of the cave his husband had turned into their lab. It twisted, shifted and writhed, a strange outer shell, cracked and crumbling, slowly began to open as he approached. Strange, thick fins unfurl from around it, blooming almost like a plant from the surface to expose a bright, fluttering center. (Only later would he learn that they were called flowers. He would always remember them.) All of the energy radiating off of it made his scales sting. The lights, all a myriad of colors he couldn't even begin to describe, was the room in its strange, pulsing glow. None of that matters now.

[TW: for character death! I'm sorry!]

Beneath the twisting mass laid a familiar blue and gold shape. Surging forward, he makes it to his shivering daughter. She's thin. Frail. Her starry scales coming off in palm-sized sheets as he holds her. Thick gloss of blue blood bubbles up past her lips, and he can't see past the blurring in his vision. Keeping his baby girl cradled in one arm, he notices then the strange, almost invisible lines that connect to Pandora's chest, neck and gulls. Following, he's not surprised to see them connected to the orb.

Lifting his spear, he's sure he can kill it. He doesn't know how he knows this, but a single jab to the small, fluttering light in the center would destroy it. He wouldn't be able to save his daughter, but he'd sure as hell ruin the thing that killed her.

And then her hand is on his face, even smaller than he remembered it the first time. Had she really been this little when lost her? Barely over a decade into having her, and he had to let her go? Wasn't he supposed to go first?

“Pa…help…”

“I'm right here, little fish. “ His voice quivers more than hers. Coward.

“Help…her. It's not supposed to be like this…”

He's confused, glancing to the fluttering core of the sphere. She? This thing was actually alive?

“She needs me, pa.”

And so, despite the fact that he was supposed to protect her, he carried his dying girl to the dimming ball of light, holding her tight to his chest as her trembling little fingers reached out. He's positive the thing reaches back before a translucent tendril touches her fingers. He feels Pandora sigh softly, her blood-shot pink eyes closing for the final time. Then she's gone, her weakened body slumping in his arms before thin tendrils wrap her in an embrace.

Instinctively he wants to yank her back. Didn't it take enough from her already? One gently strokes his hair from his temples, and he finally feels it, and maybe, understands it.

She soothes him, tries to show him pulses of warm colors. Pandora was gone, was gone, but parts of her would return to the world, to the very universe. She was beyond pain, and he could feel her warmth in the sphere as it took her body from his arms. Light swallows her, and he watches as a new, protective layer forms around the sphere, soft pink, like Pandora's eyes.

Resting his palm on the shell, he vows, then and there, to learn everything he can about this thing, so something like this won't happen again. He feels her return his sentiment.

“Goodnight, Pandora..” He whispers, kissing the shell once before turning away.

Static fills his vision as the person who had been watching stepped forward.

“Daed-”

Clenching his spear, he knows he's looking at the person who caused this.

“Ambrosia.”

And then, the Foundation opened his eyes, the world falling around him. Or maybe, he was falling?