Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Virginia City, Nevada, 1860

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m sick of men,” Ives confided.

Joseph knew exactly what he meant. The taming of the west was not an overnight job, huge swaths of the territories still completely vacant. But civilization was slowly being carved out, farmstead by farmstead, industry by industry. Towns were popping up with more frequency now, filling with fresh-faced idealistic pioneers that were, nine times out of ten, male. And whatever women did exist in the west, they were most likely already married or would be soon.

Had their targets been different, perhaps they would have seen more variety. But even Ives, glutton he was, drew the line at breaking up families. Young men seeking their fortune panning for gold disappeared all the time, and it wasn’t even always their fault. It was dangerous out here, as untamed as the wendigo spirit that haunted Joseph’s mind. 

The downside of hunting young men was, well… They were young men. Hygiene concerns were laughed off, and the talk that went on in the camps never failed to bring color to his face. Then there was the trouble of wandering eyes. It wasn’t all Ives; occasionally the former priest’s gaze would linger a little too long on a handsome lad bathing in the creek, gentle words going over a stranger’s head but not his companion’s. And Joseph was the first to notice if Ives was a little too helpful, or lightly touching someone more than necessary.

Over a decade they had traveled together, broken bread together, done…acts with each other. And yet Joseph still did not know what to call their unholy bond. Mates sounded so primitive, and it felt blasphemous to refer to Ives as his husband. Marriage was a sacred bond between a man and a woman, not…creatures like them. What he did know was that whatever held them together was strong, and they were both prone to jealousy if attention was shifted to someone else.

Ives had turned Joseph into what he was; had chosen him as his companion. He did not get to change his mind when Joseph had given what little he had to him. And Ives, for all his flirtations, did not go farther, deferring to him whenever his urge to…grow their circle reared its head.

The morning after Ives' remark, they set off from their current camp near the Comstock Lode and ventured into the rapidly expanding city. As young as it was, there was still a vice district of a sort, with eager entrepreneurs offering diversions for the weary miners.

Smokes. Drinks. Gambling. And, of course, painted women. 

They took a table near the back, far from the loud odorous bar that made up the heart of the establishment. Halfheartedly they played a few games of euchre, nursing their spirits and subtly watching their fellow patrons. More accurately, they watched the women buzzing about their fellow patrons.

There was something deeply appealing about this brazen side of the fairer sex. Joseph had rarely seen these sort; women in revealing clothing openly flirting with menfolk. His past self would have been scandalized at such hedonism; now it seemed a kindness, friendly company in the lonely wilds of America.

A dark-haired lady with the largest chest ornaments Joseph had ever seen started flirting with Ives. And Ives flirted back, genuinely so. Joseph watched the exchange, fascinated.

“What, did you want Ravonne for yourself?” Ives asked as the lady went to fetch him another drink.

“No, I… I didn't realize you were… So inclined,” Joseph admitted.

Ives smirked, “Did you think you were the only man who couldn't make up his mind?” He teased, then shrugged, “I like women just fine… It just so happens more men catch my eye.” He looked very purposefully at Joseph.

Joseph squirmed, “Have you ever… been with a woman?”

Ives nodded, “Yes. Have you not?”

“Of course I haven't, I was a priest ,” Joseph reminded him for the thousandth time.

“Doesn't mean you never partook of forbidden fruit,” he insisted.

Joseph finished off his glass, looking around the establishment to avoid Ives' gaze. It was then he spotted her, a small frizzy-haired lady scarcely old enough to be a woman, hanging back and watching the crowd same as them. She caught his eye and smiled and Joseph quickly looked away.

And now Ives was watching him with mild amusement, “You see something you like?”

“Piss off.”

The dark-haired woman returned, setting down two drinks and aiming to sit in Ives' lap.

“One moment,” he said, arm around her waist to move her out of the way as he stood up, “My little brother's just informed me he's never wet his pecker.”

“Oh he’s never ?” She teased on cue, her jaw dropping dramatically, “Poor thing.”

“I think he's fond of her.” He inclined his head towards the woman Joseph had indeed been looking at.

“Your brother's got good taste,” she said approvingly, “Ariadne’s great with first timers.”

Joseph seriously considered murdering Ives right then and there, especially when he was yanked out of his seat.

“Callum!” He spat.

“Oh come on, Ian, a little practice won't ruin you for your future wife.”

“I can't, I mean, I won't! ”

“And why not?”

Ives paused in his dragging and Joseph struggled to articulate an argument. It was difficult to appeal to morality due to Ives' lack of scruples… But sometimes it was all he had.

“It's wrong.”

“Why is it wrong?” Ives shrugged, “It's a trade, same as carpentry, same as shop keeping.” 

The main difference, of course, that a carpenter kept their clothes on… 

“It's…exploitative,” he tried again.

“Only if you stiff her.” Ives shook his head, “She chose this line of work… And I can't imagine you doing anything too obscene.”

Joseph frowned, “What about afterwards?”

He would not put that poor girl in danger if Ives was going to suddenly retract his offer. 

Ives picked up on his meaning, his expression softening, “We’ll meet back up at the campsite. I’m thinking of occupying myself in much the same way.” He glanced back at the woman impatiently waiting for him.

There was a brief pause, the pair examining each other for a reaction. Ives seemed fine and Joseph…Joseph didn't feel the thorny heated prickles of jealousy. It was a woman, for a night. No threat to his position, just like how he wasn't about to take off with a stranger after all he and Ives had been through. Their bond was unique, and so there were no set guidelines for what was or wasn't permissible. They could make whatever rules they wanted.

Ives took a couple steps back, nodding towards Joseph's woman, Ariadne. Joseph turned towards her and froze, unable to approach.

She closed the distance. She was no great beauty but she held her chin high, a coy grin on her lips, and her confidence made her beautiful.

“Were you coming to talk to me, handsome?” She asked, biting her lip and looking up at him through her lashes.

A century and a half would flow by him and his husband; dozens of women would pass through their lives. Until one afternoon, stepping into a fake saloon, he’d recognize her. No, Hiero had very little in common with Ariadne; Hiero was undeniably beautiful, and blonde, and the accent was different. But some of her gestures reminded him of his first female lover, the confidence she carried herself with.

It felt like an echo through time; not even a ghost, just the faintest of whispers. A gentle reminder of their brief time together, and to protect Hiero better than he had protected Ari.

Los Angeles, Fourteen Hours Before Project Endgame

“Okay so FMK any of the agents.”

“FMK?”

“Fuck, Marry, Kill. You pick one for each, who you’d like to fuck, who you'd like to-”

“Okay, okay, I got it.” Carl leaned back in his seat, contemplating his options as he adjusted his glasses, “Well kill Chariot, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Marry… I dunno, High Priestess seems to have a good head on her shoulders.”

“Valid pick.”

“And fuck Temperance.”

“Another good choice.” Neil savagely bit into a Twizzler, shaking the unmauled remainder at his coworker, “See I’d marry Hierophant-”

“Hierophant, really?!”

“She seems to be a real wildcat in the sheets,” he explained, “I like a little adventure in the bedroom.”

Carl scoffed, “You’ve seen her with Lovers, she’d chew you up and spit you out.”

“Maybe I’d be into it.”

“Oh please, I remember how loud you screamed when she chomped on his neck.” Carl watched the screen contemplatively, “...if I had to pick a guy though… I think I’d go with Lovers.”

“Really, and you're giving me shit for Hierophant?!”

“I'm just saying… He looks like he knows his way around a prostate.”

The door to the control room opened and Carl tensed up. Neil played it cool, continuing to eat his candy and acting like the Imperial March didn't go off in his head every time she walked into a room.

“You two get stuck on graveyard shift again?” Susan asked, going for their coffee maker.

“Yeah,” Carl mumbled, “You're here late.”

“Had some things to catch up on.”

Carl and Neil exchanged a nervous glance as she poured herself a cup. They had both decided the reason they were scared of HR Susan was because she looked like the stern headmistress of a boarding school… But also because she had definitely killed people, even if they couldn't prove it. She stirred some sugar into her coffee, watching the screen in mild confusion.

“What is Lovers doing?”

“Fuck if we know,” Neil admitted, “He's been spending every spare minute combing through the archives the past few weeks. Nothing to do with his work, far as we can tell.”

Susan frowned, as if the CC footage showed him pissing and shitting into the boxes instead of methodically flipping through the files, “I think I need to make a call.”

“This isn't even in the Top 10 of crazy things he’s done to pass the time,” Carl insisted, “He probably knows the layout of that place as well, if not better, than Hermit.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Susan said gravely, smoothly ignoring Carl’s statement while moving towards the exit, “Let me know if he does anything odd.”

“Odd for a normal person or odd for these guys?” Neil wondered.

Susan didn't respond, the door slamming shut behind her.

“...I thought it was an important distinction,” Carl reassured him.

Outskirts of Los Angeles, Fourteen Hours Before Project Endgame

“So like what the fuck is he doing spending all this extra time at the Factory?” Hiero asked.

Joseph shrugged, picking at the grass, “Going through the archives.”

“No shit, but why ?”

“Easy with your tone,” he warned, then nodded towards Sophia. 

Hiero glanced towards her to see she had paused rolling her industrial-strength ball around and was watching her interaction with her daddy carefully. Hiero lowered her gaze and took a deep breath, reminding herself that just because Sophia was warming up to her, she still had to be careful.

In typical Ives fashion, Sophia's room was lovingly over the top, more a greenhouse than a bedroom. Humid and styled as much as possible to her breed’s wild Indian heritage, there were also plenty of toys like balls and tires for her to play with.

And, of course, a graveyard’s worth of bones. Some were animals but some definitely were not . And her food dish had remnants of the only red meat Hiero had spotted in their home.

“...looking for something,” Joseph mumbled.

Instead of repeating herself, she just glared at him until he fidgeted.

“Look alright, he doesn't want to spook you.”

“The fact he's being evasive is spooking me.”

He knotted the blade of grass over and over again until it was impossible to make another, then plucked a fresh one to torture. He sighed, and Hiero knew she at least had worn him down.

“...he’s noticing a pattern,” he said, “He…can't find an example of anyone just…retiring or quitting the Factory. An occasional medical or maternity leave but nothing permanent.”

It was her turn to sigh, “Yeah, it figures. All those government secrets and special ops? They wouldn't risk anyone getting out ali-”

She cut herself off too late. He was ripping at the grass now, tearing it to shreds as his eyes watered.

“It was just supposed to be a few years,” Joseph whimpered, “He wasn't supposed to actually be in danger.”

“I’m sure he'll figure something out,” Hiero reached over and rubbed his shoulder.

Joseph lifted his eyes to her, a couple of tears spilling down his cheeks, “But what about you?”

The question pierced her heart. She put on a brave face, stroking his tears away, “Hon… You don't become an assassin thinking you're gonna grow old. Whenever Jesus decides it's time to come home, that's when it ends, and I can only hope it's quick.”

“I don't want you to die,” he insisted childishly. Sophia gave a low growl of disapproval and Joseph tried to pull himself together, “I’m alright sweetie, Daddy’s fine.”

He was not fucking fine though, and both her and Sophia knew it.

“Well I don't wanna die either but it's something that's gonna happen whether I want it to or not. But I'm young, I’m not reckless, and I'm fucking good at my job. No more in danger than Ives.”

Joseph watched her and maybe she shouldn't have said the thing about Ives. But that didn't seem to be bothering him. He seemed on the verge of telling her something and she braced herself. Now would be the perfect time for a cannibal-sized confession.

Say it, she mentally urged. Out loud. Wendigo. Wendigowendigowendi-

“He’s a tough son of a bitch,” Joseph muttered, “He’ll find a way out. He always does.”

“He's not immortal.” It was the closest to the truth she had edged towards, trying to be patient, trying not to be a liability. But now was the perfect opportunity to come clean and fuck , she could see how much he wanted to…

“Might as well be.”

…they weren't there yet. Hiero bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hide her disappointment. She stared at a human-shaped skull, cracked by tiger fangs, and wondered how many of the women before her had just…gone missing after the relationship was called off.

Or worse, how many they had loved and lost anyway.

“Hiero…” She glanced back at him and he swallowed roughly, “I…I l-” She could see the curl of his tongue, lips parting, but that L seemed to stick in his throat.

Why did so many words start with the letter fucking L?! Did he love her, like her, loathe her, or left the t.v. on?!

He licked his lips and started over, “...I want you in our future. However you want to be in it.”

She'd take it like the greedy bitch she was.

“Well that's nice and vague,” she teased.

He shrugged, “There's…baggage. Our own, and bad past experiences. We’ve jumped the gun before to…disastrous results. We don't want to fuck this up. Not with you.”

Her heart was beating faster. She took his hand, bravery or foolishness making words tumble out, “I don't want to fuck it up either, but I also know, at the end of the day…I’m the third wheel. And that…that makes me disposable-”

Hiero's breath caught in her throat as he gripped her jaw, firm but not painful. Of course, freak she was, the sudden gesture made her wet instead of afraid.

“You. Are not. Disposable.” He insisted, “And I think… One day… I’ll be able to tell you just how special you are to us.”

She was torn between crying and sitting on his face. She settled for squeezing his other hand, still holding hers.

The Devil’s Office, One Hour Before Project Endgame  

“You wanted to speak with me, sir?”

The Devil glanced up from his paperwork, his lips twitching in an amused smirk, “At ease, captain.”

Ives donned his most polite smile, “Apologies, old habits die hard.”

He relaxed out of the stiff posture. In reality it was just a tactic to appeal to the man’s superiority, as well as implanting the image of a good little soldier. Yes sir, no sir, any way you want sir. Don't worry sir, I’m marching right along in formation, wouldn't dare step out of line sir. It was a nauseating routine but a safe one; bureaucrats with soft clean hands got off on their easily attained power.

The Devil set his pen down and leaned back in his seat, “It’s been brought to my attention you’ve been spending a lot of time in the archives. Anything in particular you're looking for?”

Evidence that the Factory wasn't a death sentence… Though he had been tucking the odd government secret away while he was at it. Never knew when that sort of blackmail could be useful. He had to be careful though; if they were more interested in him spending an excessive amount of time reading old documents than him spending an excessive amount of time fucking another agent, then his gut was correct, and he had scented something foul about agents’ exits around here.

He took a deep breath, regretting throwing Hiero's personal business out into the open but it couldn't be helped, “There are…a significant number of women in the Factory… Women very comfortable in their own skin...”

The Devil raised an eyebrow, “I believe “sex positive” is the latest term.”

“Yes, sex positive. But there are consequences, even with preventative measures…”

He gave a deep sigh, rubbing his forehead, “Did you knock up the Hierophant?”

“No one did, sir, but she had a scare. She doesn't remember the stipulations of her contract, so I was looking at past records to reassure her if, god forbid, her birth control failed.”

He didn't seem to completely buy it but at least was willing to play along, “You’d have to check with Susan but I think it’s something like last eight weeks, then eight weeks post-birth? Covered by our health insurance, manager’s discretion should more time be necessary.”

“Seems like a paltry amount of time to bond with a newborn,” Ives mused, “As far as I’m aware none of these women have a significant other to take over should they return to work.”

“Honestly you might be the only agent that isn't single,” Devil said, “Dating market's a bitch anyway, let alone trying to find someone who won't mind how classified your basic details are.”

“And if a woman wants to step away and raise her child?”

“We don't hire the sorts of women interested in stepping away.”

“People change their minds.”

“It's a dangerous gamble, thinking a woman who never prioritized kids will suddenly get struck with baby fever.” He shrugged, “They have open adoptions now. Can be involved as much as they like.”

Ives reminded himself of the likelihood of cameras in the office, because he would love nothing more than to beat some sense into such an ignorant fool. As if he had ever tried to explain to a child why their mommy didn't stay sober enough to keep them… The current foster system was scarcely above old timey orphanages; overrun and infected with disgusting predators. It was a sad world when a gay cannibal couple was the lesser of several potential evil situations.

“You're right, sir. Perhaps I’m getting worked up over nothing.”

“Happens to the best of us… Especially in matters of the heart.”

Ives looked blankly at him, as if he didn't know exactly what the Devil meant. The Devil intelligently didn't insist upon it.

“I suppose I’ll see you at the staff meeting, then.”

“Yes sir.”

“If you and Hierophant could refrain from flicking notes to each other and pretend to pay attention, I’d appreciate it.”

Ives smirked, “Can't make any promises.”

Conference Room, One Hour Fifteen Minutes Before Project Endgame 

Early morning meetings were bullshit, and this one stank worse than usual.

A late text from Empress that there was a mandatory team meeting meant Hiero did not get to spend the night with her boys as she hoped, as she wasn’t going to ask Ives to get up earlier for her benefit. She got that they needed their privacy and Sophia needed room to roam but god damn the commute was a bitch… Hiero spent her free time mulling over the past few weeks of assignments and was pretty confident she had not fucked up significantly enough to worry. Maybe they were getting a talking to about workplace romances…

Hermit’s replacement was a babyfaced thief with the unfortunate nickname of The Fool. It fit his absolute bewilderment at everything though. Apparently he and Temperance were exes or something because there was a lot of tension from the get-go. Took the spotlight off her and Ives for a bit, at least. With two pairs of exes and one situationship, corporate probably was giving them a wrist slap.

Empress passed out folders after they were all seated, “Today's fun comes courtesy of the corporate office… We’re downsizing. Significantly.”

Hiero flipped her file open to a grainy CC image of… But that couldn't be right. She scanned the left side. This was Ives' file, redactions and all. Stamped over the top of his photograph, in blood red ink…

Terminate.

She glanced over at Towers, who had been given High Priestess’ file. She glanced over at Magician, who had Chariot’s. She looked across the table to Empress, who was watching her carefully.

“They want Team Omega eliminated, preferably by the end of the day,” she continued, “We’ve been promised a sizeable distraction for cover… I trust in your creativity to get the job done, help your fellow teammates out if they…have difficulty.”

No. The only thing more unbearable than killing Ives was having someone else do it. 

She watched herself sitting and listening, tried to remember to breathe, hiding her trembling hands under the table. She sank into the dissociation like a warm bath, needing that fake calm. She could not lose it in front of everyone, especially with Empress looking for any sign of weakness. She sat, placid as a ragdoll, as her heart was shredding to pieces.

“Hiero.”

Of course Empress grabbed her before she could leave the room. Hiero looked her in the eye, concentrating on how much fucking makeup this bitch layered on.

“I need to know you can do this.”

“Of course I can do this.” The words left her mouth automatically, “Job comes first, I’ve always known that.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

But fucking why?!?!?! Why had she given her all to a branch of government who thought their agents were disposable?!?! Why did she have to give up her happiness because of the whims of corporate?!?! Why did it have to be him?!?!

“Why, you trying to swap so you don't have to kill Emperor?”

“Please, I’ve been thinking of how I’d kill that fuck for years .”

Suddenly Hiero was staring at her own reflection, two decades down the line. A bitter blonde who killed as she was told, a string of lovers she kept at a distance, heart calloused so that nothing could hurt her… No, she didn't want the pain throbbing in her chest currently, but she didn't want to be numb the rest of her life either.

Hiero shrugged, “I’ll still have the other half. He’ll need someone to comfort him after he finds out.”

“Atta girl, get that promotion from sidepiece,” Empress gently clapped her shoulder, “Fucking the man you made a widower is underrated. Far as he’ll ever know it was a tragic workplace accident.”

Joseph would know… All he’d have to do was look in her eyes and she was positive he’d see the truth. There was no way she could hide it from him.

In a haze, she drifted back to her desk. This was not how she wanted to find out the truth about them. Heads, Ives was mortal, and she killed a man she loved. Tails, Ives was a wendigo, and would tear her to shreds for trying to kill him. Either way, she was fucked.

She had hoped he wouldn’t be in this early but, of fucking course, he was. Ives glanced at her across the aisle and smiled.

“You certainly look like you’ve been put through the ringer,” he teased.

“Fuck corporate,” she muttered, sinking into her chair, “Fuck them in their fucking eyesockets.”

“Agreed,” he said cheerily, “But why this time?”

“Budget cuts.”

“Fun. Well if they need any volunteers for furlough, let me know.” He stood up, “Think I’ll be able to make a coffee run before the briefing?”

“Worth a shot.” 

“Or two.” She glanced up as he lightly touched her curls. He gave her a boyish smile and her broken heart was hemorrhaging, “You definitely need some caffeine.”

His knuckle brushed her jaw and he was gone, sauntering off towards the elevator and whistling a familiar tune she couldn’t put her finger on. The tears finally came and she wiped at them viciously. She knew life wasn’t fair but this was so fucked.

Hiero glanced down at her desk and spotted Oliver the orange felt cat, guardian of her cubicle. She stroked his back with her finger and the resolve hardened in her. Ives was marked for death…but she wasn’t. She’d make it back to Joseph, no matter what it took.

Chapter Text

Outskirts of Los Angeles, Thirty Minutes Before Project Endgame

Time had changed many things about him but, at his core, Joseph was still an Olympic athlete level… If worrying was ever declared an official sport, anyway. He was better at maintaining his calm though, recognized easier how many things were molehills before he built them into mountains. After so many catastrophes and disasters, personal and global, he had a much better perspective and understood the phrase “this too shall pass” now. History was indeed circular, in a lot of ways, when one lived long enough to witness it.

That did not stop the worrying completely though, especially when Ives himself was worried. In hindsight, maybe trusting the U.S. government to keep their word about ten years of servitude was a bit naive. Then there was the more pressing, more urgent concern. 

Hiero was very mortal in a very dangerous line of work. And they were strongly, deeply attached to her now. They spent hours debating the pros and cons of telling her The Truth but had yet to reach a consensus on when and how to tell her. She was too perfect and they would only have one chance to convince her a) they would not harm her and b) not to tell anyone. There was also the giant L-ephant in the room; they had not even said it out loud to each other yet, as if admitting for the first time they were equally in love with the same woman would jinx it. Joseph knew he loved Hiero though, and Ives was showing all the signs that he was as well.

He had been so close to telling her but he was reminded she needed to say it first. A rule built on several heartbreaks where either he or Ives had let their feelings slip too soon and had been manipulated by a woman who didn’t actually care. And…he didn’t want to tell her before she knew the truth. Didn’t want her to question whether he had lied when he had said it. 

Slipping the noose and going on the run was something he and Ives were both used to. Getting a far less durable partner out though… 

His phone buzzed along the table and he set down his fork and fretting. He checked the screen, and there was a message from Asshole <3.

Forgot my lunch, mind grabbing it and bringing it to me?

Joseph read and reread it. There were several things wrong with the request, the most glaring being how Ives would willingly want him anywhere near the Factory. He technically had clearance but the mere suggestion of a visit set Ives off. Joseph checked both the main fridge and the man cave fridge but did not see his lunch pail in either.

Instead of pointing it out, Joseph responded with their test question.

Are we going to Spencer's after work?

If you’d like Was the non-committal reply.

Ives was not texting him. His phone, or phone number, had been compromised.

Joseph crushed his phone on instinct, grabbing the keys to the van, some first aid supplies, and shoving his feet into the nearest pair of shoes he could. No, heading towards the place they wanted him to go wasn't the brightest strategy, but if they were in danger he did not want to be far off.

Conference Room, Five Minutes Before Project Endgame

“Nick of time,” Ives announced proudly as he set Hiero's unicorn frappe in front of her, “Might've been some casualties but all’s fair in love and coffee.”

The smile felt forced even to her. He hesitated but eventually rounded to his side of the table, charcoal black coffee in hand. 

Hiero chugged the drink until she could start to feel a buzz. She glanced down at Temperance but the other woman was cool as a cucumber. Her entire team was. She avoided looking at Empress, tried hard to go for barely-awake instead of barely-holding-on. Seconds ticked by like hours as they waited for the Devil (and Hermit, but he never showed up for meetings).

The only chance she had was blindsiding him. Ives was stronger and bigger and faster… Basically all the -ers. She'd get one shot… Best to play to her strengths; something sharp like a pencil, as hard as she could into his jugular. Ideally something stronger than a pencil, like a-

A spew of profanity lit up the room as a loud siren unexpectedly blared.

“Shit,” Emperor said succinctly, “All right, everyone out, orderly line up to the Devil's office. See what the fuck is going on.”

Ives took the lead, coffee still in hand. The siren got louder as they left the conference room, but thankfully dulled as they climbed upwards. Hiero smelled the blood before she saw the Devil's demise.

“I don't think he's going to make it to the meeting,” Ives remarked, moving over for the others to file in.

The Devil's bowels were spread out on his desk, slit navel to breastbone by a letter opener. Hiero moved closer. Damn, that took some serious dedication. A chorus of muted reactions followed as each agent saw the carnage. Mainly disgusted, a few pitying, but most were too experienced to be phased.

Except for Fool, who was getting bent out of shape and panicking.

“Well this is terrific,” Emperor muttered, eyeing the computer monitor, “I think his killer triggered Project Endgame.”

“Project what?!” Fool spluttered.

“Project Endgame, the Factory's be-all, end-all contingency- Hierophant could you not?”

“What?” She said innocently, withdrawing her finger from the arm she had been poking, “I was checking for rigor mortis. He's still got some warmth so we didn't miss them by much.”

“No movement in the elevators in the past hour except for Lovers,” Magician announced from the panel he was observing.

“Shouldn't we be more concerned about the fucking timer counting down than solving a fucking game of Clue?!” Chariot literally pointed out, index finger indicating they had less than two hours to escape.

“Much as I hate to admit it, Chariot has a point,” Empress muttered, “We should pair off with our mirror agents. Look for exits, passwords, shut off switches, yanno, anything to prevent imminent disaster.”

This was corporate’s distraction?! God, she hoped the password was on a sticky note somewhere… She went over to Ives, who was staring at the ropes of intestines like a box of doughnuts he was trying to talk himself out of.

“Quit drooling, freak.”

“I am not drooling, I’m trying to read the entrails.”

“What?”

“Are you not familiar with haruspicy? Very popular in ancient Rome, divination by guts.”

She shook her head, “You're so full of shit.”

Of course he gave her that mischievous grin, the most trustworthy untrustworthy person here. She was screaming inside but on the outside, she just smiled back at him.

“Come on, let's try the break room,” he offered, “Sounds like all the obvious spots are taken.”

He was far too chipper about this… Maybe she should've had the black coffee too.

Control Room, 1 Hour 45 Minutes Left

“Do you think we're safe?”

“Yeah, we’re safe up here. Down there though?” Neil shook his head, “They're fucked.”

“Poor bastards.”

The servers had crapped out at literally the worst possible time. No footage of who had killed Devil and triggered Project Endgame. Not that it would matter in a couple hours. 

“So who do you think the mole is?” Carl asked.

Neil didn’t hesitate, “Lovers. One hundred percent. Devil was alive when he left for coffee, dead when he came back.”

“He would’ve been covered in blood though.”

“Maybe he wore a hazmat suit.”

“So he got coffee, put a hazmat suit on, killed Devil, cleaned himself up and was at the meeting on time?”

“...okay brainiac, who do you think killed him?”

“Hermit, duh.”

“And what's your evidence, he’s weird??? At least my guy has an M.O.”

“For what, being called into the office because he was looking at the archives too much?”

“You just have a crush on Lovers.”

“I made a comment about his abilities in bed that's all!”

“Hang on,” Carl squinted at the screen. Fool and Temperance were examining something near the Devil's hand, “...why would he spend his final moments painting a pair of balls with his own blood?”

“Those aren't balls, idiot, you have to think from his perspective.” Both Carl and Neil tilted their heads, “...it's a heart.”

Several beats passed as this new information percolated in their brains.

“...FUCKING TOLD YOU IT WAS LOVERS!”

“A HEART COULD MEAN FUCKING ANYTHING!!!”

“HE’S LETTING EVERYONE KNOW WHO KILLED HIM OBVIOUSLY!!!”

“OBVIOUSLY YOU'RE A, YOU'RE A STUPID HEAD!”

“WOW CUTTING REAL DEEP WITH THE INSULTS AREN'T YOU?!?!”

Fool and Temperance mirrored their argument; not about the meaning behind the heart, but about their own unresolved issues. Unlike them, though, Carl and Neil did not start stripping each other naked.

Factory Breakroom, 1 Hour 30 Minutes Left

“It does explain the giant cylinders of napalm in the archives,” Ives mused, “A little dramatic to lock us in though, don't you think?”

“That’s why we’re looking for escape routes.” One hand was in the pocket of her cardigan, stroking Oliver for comfort, “Rumor has it there's at least a second elevator somewhere…”

“Wonder if it's on the floor plan. I found a copy in one of the storage closets but I believe Magician and Chariot are in there.” He grinned as he turned towards her, “Maybe they're fucking.”

Hiero couldn't bring herself to laugh, “Can I ask you a question?”

He paused in the doorway of the breakroom, his jovial manner dimming, “Of course.”

She scuffed the toe of her heel against the carpet, “I know your hubby's saved by the blood of the Lamb but…are you?” She teared up, “I just…I can't stand the thought of you burning in a lake of fire for all eternity…”

His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away the tears, “Hiero, we’re getting out of this. Neither of us are dying today, alright?” He tilted her head up to look at him, “I’m very good at escape rooms.”

She gave her first genuine laugh of the day, garbled as it was. He smiled and kissed her, and she really wished she didn’t have to make the decision she was going to.

She scanned the room. Coffee pot would be good if she could bust it first, but she wasn’t sure how she’d play that off. Dropping it? Not likely to be enough force… Ives, casual as could be, went for a table leg, snapping it off in one clean motion. 

“Can I ask you a question now?” He pointed the table leg at her, nails protruding like a DIY mace.

Hiero nodded, heart pounding, “Fair’s fair.”

He looked out of the entryway, swinging the table leg to and fro as if daring someone to attack them, “ When we get out of here… I can’t imagine we’ll be able to keep our jobs, if someone meant for us all to perish alongside decades of government secrets.”

“Guess not.”

“At the very least I don’t plan on coming back, contract or no. Which of course means being hunted down by Uncle Sam, how seriously to be determined.”

“Fair enough.”

“And well you might be blacklisted alongside us, through no fault of your own. I don’t know how much experience you have being on the lam but Mr. Lovers and I are very, very good at it by now.”

Hiero bit her lip, “...what’s the question?”

Ives examined the nails of the table leg, brushing off a bit of dust, “I suppose less a question and more an offer…if you wanted to join us.”

“Are you fucking asking me to move in with you? Now ?”

He shrugged, “Well all of us will be moving in together, since we’ll have to flee the country.”

This fucking asshole’s timing…

She wiped at her eyes, knocking on the far wall, “Let’s just focus on getting out of here first, alright?”

“Fine.”

She pressed her ear against it and knocked again. It sounded hollow but she wasn’t too sure that meant anything. He paced around, tossing open cabinets and peering behind appliances. The unicorn frappe was threatening to come back up as her plan came into focus.

“It’s a hollow area.” She knocked again, “Hear that?”

Ives tilted his head and nodded.

“I’m gonna try and break into it,” she announced and held out her hand, “Can I have that table leg?”

Chivalrous as he was, she expected him to offer to break it down himself. But Ives simply passed her the weapon, no questions asked. She knocked a few more times, pretending to find the weakest part, giving a few practice swings. He watched with mild, unquestioning interest. And it was such a cruel fucking impulse but Hiero could not let him go without saying it to him.

She drew back for the swing, eyes on the wall, “...I love you.” She pivoted, putting all her strength behind the blow.

Ives was too stunned to defend himself and the nails drove straight into his neck, puncturing the artery. Blood sprayed out as he stared at her, still in shock, as she wretched the nails out of him. The sob finally broke out.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…” She blathered, “Omega, all of Omega’s getting eliminated… I didn’t want no one else to hurt you… I had to, I’m sorry…”

He sank to his knees, hand half-heartedly pressing at the gushing wound. He stared up at her as he was finally understanding what was happening… And was devastated .

“I’m gonna make it back to him,” she promised, “I’m gonna make it out for him, for the both of us, okay? I don’t know why Project Endgame happened but if an Omega survives and any of Alpha get out, they’ll fucking kill us. I’m gonna make it to him…I’m so sorry…”

His front was drenched with his own blood; it would not be long now. Even though it was Assassin Training 101, Hiero couldn’t bear to watch the light leave his eyes to make sure he died. She turned her back on him and stumbled away, sobbing even harder.

Control Room, 1 Hour 20 Minutes Left

“JESUS CHRIST!”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?!”

“WHY WOULD SHE-”

“I THOUGHT THEY WERE-”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck…”

Carl and Neil both jumped as the door opened, and neither had ever been so thankful to see Scary Susan.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Neil demanded.

“Project Endgame.”

“Well no shit ,” Carl snapped, “But why is Alpha Team picking off Omega?! If there's ever a time to put differences aside it would be as the place threatens to blow up…”

Susan shrugged, “Who knows why mad men and women do what they do…”

Neil took the controller for the monitor, “We’ve got Chariot, Fool and High Priestess left… Who would you guess is biting the dust next?”

“Don't.” Susan commanded, “Stay on Lovers.”

Carl glanced between the still, lifeless corpse and Susan, worried it was a fetish thing. Susan’s gaze stayed fixed on the screen, tense as a clenched fart. Neil glanced down at Susan's white-knuckled fists and noticed there was a suspiciously red stain on the sleeve of her white dress shirt. He tried to point it out to Carl via his eyes, but Carl wasn't catching on.

Minutes passed as they stayed on the dead body… Or what they assumed was a dead body. Suddenly Lovers was easing up into a sitting position, acting like he was waking from a nap more than a bleedout. He tested the gash on his neck and grimaced, getting to his feet with some effort.

“...I might not be a doctor but he shouldn't be able to walk that off, right?” Carl’s voice quivered.

“No, not if he was human,” Susan agreed, “Stay on him, if you can. He's the reason corporate's pulling the rug out from under Omega.”

“You're talking to corporate?” Neil asked.

“I'm HR, I talk to everyone.”

Lovers stumbled into the bullpen, nose lifted as if he were trying to track something. He then spotted Emperor's fresh dead body and walked over to it.

“Is he a vampire?” Neil asked in a terrified whisper.

“Worse,” Susan promised.

He knelt beside his fallen manager and started unbuttoning his shirt. Carl and Neil exchanged a nervous glance, wondering where this was going… Before Susan jerked backwards, hand on her mouth.

Lovers was tearing into Emperor's stomach like he was at a cherry pie-eating contest. Just…tearing and gulping the other man's guts down like a…like a…

Like an animal.

Neil reached for a garbage can. Carl covered his eyes, peeking every so often to see if the carnage was through.

“We can't let him escape,” Susan said gravely, tucking her stained sleeve into her blazer as her eyes filled with tears, “No matter the cost.”

Chapter Text

Factory Bullpen, 1 Hour 15 Minutes Left

Exsanguination made him woozy.

Ives waited until he could be sure Hiero was gone before getting up. He preferred her biting his neck to stabbing it… And yet there was something deeply impressive about her ability to trick him. He knew she’d been off all morning but hadn't suspected a coup.

It was a testament to how enthralled he was by her that the betrayal did not have him automatically shredding her to pieces. But she hadn't done it for her own sake, had she? Her mind had rightfully been focused on Joseph, and even as he bled out he could see how very, very much she loathed her actions.

She was following orders, because she felt she had to do so, in order for one of them to make it back to Joseph. So Empress would be the target of his vengeance.

He moved through the bullpen, trying to catch Hiero's scent. Instead, fresh blood hit his nostrils and his hunger led the way to the body. Emperor had fallen and while he did feel a twinge of loss, he wasn't about to waste a perfectly virile meal. He was far better than snacking on the Devil would have been, the agent's strength restoring Ives'. 

So not only was Hiero right about Omega getting picked off, but the entire game reeked of corporate interference. He had been concerned with being trapped two dozen stories underground from Day One, and now with the main entrance locked off and the timer counting down, he could see the office for what it was.

It had never been a prison. It was a gas chamber, and now it had been activated.

He stopped by his cubicle to grab the only items of any worth; his polaroid of Joseph and Hiero's raunchy poem from months ago. He reckoned he had a little over an hour left to solve this escape room and get him and Hiero to safety.

…there was no getting around it now. They were going to have to have The Talk once they escaped and fled with Joseph. Main concern #1 would be null with their government jobs going up in smoke, but main concern #2, how she would handle the immortal cannibalism bit… Well that could go either way. He didn’t peg her as the type to run off to the authorities but if she did run, period… Ives wasn’t sure he would let a prize like her go. 

Storage Closet, 1 Hour 10 Minutes Left

“Just orders, man. Just following orders.”

“Your subservience will be the death of you.”

Today was turning out shittier than normal. Not only was there a lockdown at the end of which was a fiery tornado of death, but now this arrogant fuck was trying to kill him for some reason. Chariot thought he had disarmed him but, apparently leaning too much into his gimmick, Magician had slighted his hand. Fuck, he was too drunk to fight, but waaaaaay too fucking sober for this bullshit. 

“Need a hand, teammate?” The voice of Literal Satan came from behind a shelving unit, “Or do you have this under control?”

“Fuck off you shit-covered dicked, wine-swilling, fur-baby-in-a-stroller pushing, Glee-rerun-watching, Eye For the Straight Guy motherfucking fa-”

Lovers stood, blueprints in hand, absolutely soaked down the front in blood. Fucking Christ on a flaming cross. Magician eyed the newcomer warily.

“Of course the bimbo couldn’t finish you off,” he muttered, then shrugged, “Well, almost a fair fight now, at least.”

“I do love magic tricks,” Lovers said, folding the blueprints up and tucking them into his pocket, “Bet I could make those scissors disappear.”

“Bet you couldn’t,” Magician taunted.

Now, Chariot’s reflexes weren’t too sharp with the 100-proof whiskey and all, but it still felt impossible that in one blink, Magician went from smirking to screaming and clutching at his shoulder which was geysering blood. Chariot turned to Lovers, who was somehow holding Magician's entire arm behind his back . The scissors the hand had been holding dropped to the ground and Lovers sheepishly kicked them away.

“Well my act could still use some polish,” he admitted.

Magician continued to wail, stumbling back against the wall and sinking to the floor. Lovers held the arm in front of him, pulling the sleeves of Magician’s jacket and shirt down like it was a fucking wrapped-up burrito, and started eating the fucking flesh . He locked eyes with Chariot as he did it, grinning like a kid with an ice cream.

“Bad day not to wear the diaper, Chair,” he sneered.

Of course Chariot fucking pissed himself. His coworker had just ripped a man's arm off and started eating it like it was fucking Thanksgiving Day. Their whole relationship flashed before his eyes and he was thinking for the first time maybe he should've dialed back on the homo jabs.

“I’ll give you a five minute head start,” Lovers offered amiably. 

Chariot was no fool and immediately bolted.

Archives, 1 Hour 10 Minutes Left

There was something really unnerving about rainbow vomit, even if it tasted better coming up than regular vomit.

Hiero wiped her mouth and straightened from the trash can she had bent over. Been a long time since her stomach had been that weak. Then again, this was her first time killing someone she loved.

She stumbled out of the main office area and down one of the corridors, trying to formulate a plan through the gaping hole in her chest. Archives seemed smart; someone would be in there, maybe even Hermit if she was real lucky.

After a few rows Hiero found Tower with a metal bookend sticking out of his throat. Meaning the survivor here was on the wrong team. She frazzled her hair, tore a couple buttons of her blouse, and coated herself in the still-wet blood dripping from the table leg. She let the sniffling and the tears return, and then she stumbled along.

“Priestess?” She called in her most pathetic voice, “Priestess are you in here? Please, I’m so scared…”

High Priestess, smartly, did not come out from wherever she was, “Hierophant?”

“Yeah, it's me.” She was up high, but Hiero couldn't pinpoint her more than that. She cleared her throat, “I don't…I don't know what happened… We were gonna test a hollow wall and Lovers he…he just went crazy !”

“...Tower too,” High Priestess said.

“Why you think that is?” Hiero continued to wander, “The, the stress or…?”

“Seems weird it was two men.”

There she was. Hiero gazed up at the walkway, trying to look as vulnerable as she felt.

“You think the boys are ganging up on us?”

“Maybe,” High Priestess shrugged, holding onto the railing, “Who knows how many people can fit in this escape elevator… They might be trying to make some preemptive cuts.”

“Can I come up there with you?” She asked, “I just… I don't want to be alone right now…”

That part was at least the truth.

“...I’ll come down there,” High Priestess decided, giving up the high ground but also making sure no one would be pushed to their deaths.

Still a stupid ass decision.

Hiero didn't try to hide the table leg as High Priestess approached, because hiding was what guilty people did.

“Did you find anything?” Hiero asked hopefully.

High Priestess gestured towards the rows upon rows of boxes, “It's like looking for a needle in a field of haystacks. Not worth the effort, we should circle back to the office. Where the fuck is Hermit when you need him?”

Hiero didn't have to act as the tears returned, “I’m just… I’m so scared I’m never gonna see her face again.”

High Priestess' expression softened, “Who?”

“Sophia.” Hiero gave a watery laugh, “Betcha didn't even know Lovers had a little girl.”

“Are you serious?”

She nodded, “A real sweetheart… I can even pet her now without one of them holding onto her collar.” She tightened her grip on the table leg and choked, “She has the most beautiful yellow eyes you ever seen…”

High Priestess' look of concern soured into one of disbelief, “Are you talking about a fucking cat?!”

It felt good to fucking swing the table leg at her after that, the nails catching her vein even easier than Ives’. High Priestess tried to stem the flow of blood, and Hiero thought she even looked a little embarrassed to be caught so off-guard.

“She's a fucking PRINCESS!” Hiero screeched before breaking down.

This had to be the worst fucking day of her life. What a fucking tragedy… Not High Priestess of course, just… Losing him. Either to death or…

She let herself bawl for a few minutes but had to pull herself together. Joseph needed her to survive. She promised Ives she’d make it back to him. And not a single fucker was going to stand in her way.

Snack Machine, 1 Hour Left

These were the kind of days that defined an agent. Anyone with half a brain that could hit the broad side of a barn could limp along, squeaking by on missions, indefinitely. But when shit got hard, it either fucked you, or you fucked it.

Empress hadn't made it this long by being the one who was fucked.

She twirled the golf club she’d picked up like a baton, keeping an eye out for Omegas. She'd miss her back-and-forth with Emperor but if it was between him and her surviving… Well hasta la vista asshole. She was worried about little Hiero though; even if she claimed she could kill Lovers, Empress had her doubts. She remembered the first time she had to kill someone she cared about… First and last time she got attached like that. Hiero would survive a broken heart; she was tough as nails, cut from the same cloth as Empress herself.

Bloodied footprints lead to a vent cover, men’s but she couldn't tell the size off hand. Magician nor Tower would step in a puddle of blood and stomp around so messily, so they had to belong to an enemy. She flicked off the cover and stepped back, looking stupid when there was no one there. 

Considering it was right next to the vending machine, she had to assume it was a Hermit nest. Possibly a way out? Like fuck she was going to risk crawling through in this skirt and these heels until she ran out of options.

“You certainly didn't waste any time with your assignment.”

Empress clenched her jaw, easing up out of her crouch and turning to the Scottish Cunt. He was drenched in blood, a mix of fresh and drying. Despite herself, she felt a twinge of worry some of it was Hiero's.

She flicked her hair out of her eyes, sensing coy wouldn't get her anywhere, “No matter what Emperor tricked himself into believing, there was no chance for an encore. Always leave the door open a crack, though.”

He wasn't visibly armed but she’d be shocked if someone with his apparent reputation didn't have something up his sleeve, or in his pocket, or up his pant leg. He stared at her with the cold smouldering of resentful hatred.

“Did they tell you why Omega was being eliminated?”

Empress shook her head, tapping her calf absently with the club, “Why the fuck would I care? Asking corporate's reasoning is for rookies and fools.”

“You're the one looking foolish.” The corners of his lips lifted, he bared his teeth, but what he did could not accurately be called a smile, “You think if you complete your task they'll just…stop the countdown? Tell what's left of Alpha to take the rest of the day off and congratulate them on a job well done?”

“You think I’m looking for an exit for fun? Of course I know better than to think Project Endgame can be stopped,” she shrugged, “Doesn't hurt to do my job while I’m at it, though.”

“Well then,” he spread his arms invitingly, “Ladies first.”

It happened way too fucking fast. One second she was charging midway through him saying “first”, the next she was disarmed with a blown out kneecap. She howled in rage and pain, and the second knee popped, followed by each elbow. She lost her breath as the only blow she saw him do, a gut punch right to her solar plexus, knocked it out of her. She crumpled to the ground and more than the confusion, more than the pain, was the utter embarrassment washing through her.

“Don't beat yourself up over it,” he said monotonously, grabbing and dragging her by the root of her hair into position, “I never fight fair, especially with those that hurt my loved ones.”

Empress struggled for air, even just to curse him out, but nothing came. She couldn't even force herself to try and crawl away as he eyed the snack machine, tilting it carefully forward.

“Have you ever heard of the trial of Giles Corey?” He asked. Empress writhed as he slowly lowered the machine closer and closer, “81 year old farmer accused of witchcraft, poor bastard. He decided to remain silent, so instead of the traditional hanging… They went with peine fort et dure, a French phrase meaning “long and hard punishment”.”

Whether he should be able to control such a fucking heavy object, or whether she cared about his thought process, was irrelevant to the fact she was slowly being pinned underneath the snack machine. She hissed and spat, her head the only thing the glass and metal wasn't pressing against.

“Took him days to die,” Lovers continued, “Much as I’d love to torture you for that long, time’s a luxury, and I have to get Hiero out of here.”

Whatever air she had scrapped together rushed out of her as the full weight of the snack machine rested on her broken, mortal body. The pain had no description; Empress could not form a coherent thought beyond an internal scream against the blinding agony.

Lovers patted her head affectionately, “May you live long enough to feel the flames engulf you and send you to hell,” he remarked cheerily, before standing back up and walking away.

Women's Bathroom, 50 Minutes Left

There was nothing here . Hiero brushed away frustrated tears. She'd clawed at every crevice, tested every wall and nothing . She was wasting precious time but she kept fumbling around, doing her best to find clues.

She'd have to go back to the main parts of the office and hope it was friends, not foes, waiting for her. As if her teammates were even friends, with life on the line. High Priestess had made a good point about elevator weight capacity, and if there was no way to send it back for another group…

She'd done wrong by killing Ives but God please just let her get back to Joseph. He couldn't lose them both… That was too cruel for such a kind man…

Someone was coming. Hiero held the table leg close. And then Fool’s bewildered face popped into the doorway.

“Hierophant?”

She sniffled, “Nothing here.”

“Christ, Hiero, you look like death warmed over.”

That, along with the fact he was an Omega agent, sealed his fate.

“Thou shall not take thy Lord's name in vain !”

She lunged at him, swinging. Got his arm instead of his neck and he screeched, knocking the weapon away. No matter, she was plenty deadly with her hands. She kicked, punched, clawed like a wild animal. He was bigger, not as inept as his fish-out-of-water routine suggested, but she had raw rage and experience on her side.

It was soooooo fucking satisfying choking him out, watching the light leave his eyes. For a few precious moments as she straddled his fresh corpse, she felt alright.

Until she was stabbed or, more accurately slashed , in the back.

Devil's Office, 50 Minutes Left 

Chariot didn't know what the fuck he was doing besides panicking. He wasn't a fucking detective, he was a fucking killer , and why the fuck did the Devil have so many fucking papers?!

He stared at the safe, chugging his revolver. If Hemingway could write doorstop-sized novels while hammered, surely he could figure this shit out. If he was the Devil he’d put a password into that safe. No fucking stethoscopes around this death pit though, even if he knew how to crack a safe that way.

Judgment would've come in real handy right about now… If he could blow open the vault without incinerating everything in it. Shit had been downhill since that Michael Clark Duncan motherfucker blew himself to smithereens…

Chariot tensed as he heard whistling from somewhere above him. He stared in horror at the vent as the sound came closer, the melody ironically familiar.

Welcome to the Hotel California in-fucking-deed.

Chariot glanced around and spotted a can of compressed air. Perfect. He stood up on a miscellaneous box, tore off the vent, stabbed the can and tossed it up. Then, fast as he could, he flicked his lighter and tossed it up as well. 

No explosion. No screams of agony. Not even the whistling.

Chariot shrank back as Lovers’ head popped out of the ceiling.

“That was incredibly rude,” Lovers informed him, practically a redhead now with all the blood he was covered in, “Then again, what else would I expect from you.”

“Stay the fuck up there!” Chariot hissed with more bravado than he felt, grabbing a nearby memo spike. As if that would do fucking anything against Literal Satan but if he was dying he was going out fighting.

Lovers frowned, “You’re not interested in a collaboration?”

“fUCk YoU,” Chariot insisted, but his cracking voice really undermined his authority.

Lovers slid out headfirst, snake-like, twisting in the air and landing on his feet. He grinned devilishly at Chariot, a blood clot caught in his teeth.

“We’re on the same team , Tony,” he reminded him and how the FUCK did this bastard know his legal name?!?! “Despite your…loud objections. Now I'm getting out of here in one piece, and so can you, on one condition.”

“Why the fuck should I trust you?!”

Lovers shook his head, “You don't have to trust me, you just have to suck my cock.”

Chariot stared, shellshocked. This place was going to blow, killing all of them, and this man was thinking about getting laid. Well… He supposed he couldn't fault him for that, only the part where he was trying to rape him.

There were a few defining moments in every man's life, and Chariot supposed this was his last one. Lovers leaned back against the desk, glancing down at his belt and then up at Chariot in that “it ain't gonna suck itself” gesture Chariot used to fucking use in his prime.

…the alcoholism had taken what bits of pride he had left, and he really did want to fucking survive. He moved closer, sank to his knees, reached up…

Lovers grabbed his arm, jerking him forward as he stepped out of the way. Chariot's stomach slammed into the edge of the desk and he grunted, struggling as Lovers twisted his arm.

“That was a test ,” Lovers hissed, “And you miserably failed . I might be a raging pansexual slut but I am married , and even if I wasn't… I would never want your pathetic homophobic ass.” He glanced over at the computer monitor, “...I suppose I still have a few minutes to kill before I crack open that safe, get the passcode for the elevator, scoop Hiero up and get the two of us to safety.”

Control Room, 45 Minutes Left

“CAN WE PLEASE STOP WATCHING LOVERS NOW?!?!” Neil begged as the situation with Chariot twisted into a vicious display of sadosexualism. Carl had ducked under the desk after the memo spike was used as a sounding rod, and now Ives was grabbing a ruler and spreading the poor bastard’s ass cheeks.

“Cowards,” Susan muttered, but waved her permission. Neil quickly switched to a different camera.

“Who the hell is left?” Carl wondered.

“Not a whole lot,” Neil continued to flip through the feeds, the office littered with bodies long before the end of Project Endgame, “Hermit of course, like the cockroach he is… There's Temperance leaving the women's bathroom…with a bloody paper cutter…”

“Leaving Fool and Hierophant,” Susan surmised.

Neil frowned, staring at Temperance’s blade, “...I’m not so sure about Fool or Hierophant,” he said softly.

South Hallway, 35 Minutes Left 

Well that had been cathartic. Again, he would have liked to take his time but the clock was ticking and he wasn't keen on seeing how thoroughly The Factory would be destroyed once the countdown finished.

If only he could get that Eagles song out of his head; been stuck in there for weeks. 

Ives checked the air again but by now the pungent odor of gore made it difficult to track normal scents. He should bring a doggy bag back for Joseph… A peace offering for the fact they needed to uproot again. Lord, and they were going to have to figure out how to manage traveling with Sophia… 

“Where's the exit door , Hermit?”

“It's on a button, there's a button.”

“Yeah, where's the button, Hermit?”

“Under the water cooler…”

This wasn't his kink, but far be it from him to yuck someone else's yum. He waited patiently as Temperance dug her heel firmly into the bullet wound on Hermit's mutilated junk, the poor man screaming in agony. 

“Seems a bit early to cheat yet, don't you think?” Ives asked.

Temperance looked up at him, snarl still on her face, “ Fuck playing by the rules, I am getting out of here!”

“Maybe,” he allowed, “But I plan on leaving also, and Hiero made it sound as if Alpha members who didn't complete their objective would be executed for incompetence.”

“Well clearly that's true in her case.” Temperance gestured to him, “Couldn't off you so she started targeting other Omegas, like it would fucking matter.”

There was something there; the clenched jaw, the teary eyes. But Ives was distracted by the bloodied paper cutter blade in her hand. His nostrils flared and he concentrated, ignoring the potent stench of Hermit's fresh wound.

The last thing Hermit saw before he passed out for good, was Temperance's head being ripped off her shoulders. Woozy, exhausted, and fed up, his final thought was “ bitch deserved it ”.

Chapter Text

Lockers Outside Women's Bathroom, ????? Minutes Left

It was all a blur to Hiero. Some of the pieces came to her later, in disconnected chunks. Others were lost to unconsciousness, and she had to fill in the gaps.

She remembered crawling out of the bathroom, Oliver clenched tightly in her hand, while she mewled for Empress. The slashes were worse than anything she’d gotten before but she had to survive, to get back to Joseph. Hiero simply refused to let herself give up and die.

A pulse against her lips. The tangy, vibrant taste of Ives' blood, the heat sliding down her throat but not being enough . More pain but different, searing. The smell of burnt flesh.

Then she was in a plastic cocoon, head poking out, carried like a backpack. Noise, cursing, suddenly airborne. She stared down the elevator shaft, dizzy but not terrified. Not questioning why or how, just…imagining herself dragged upwards, a fish with a hook in its belly.

Sobs. A hand in hers. Frantically whispered prayers. Old hymns forgotten by time.

A cold table. Hand still in hers. She couldn't drift away so long as she held it. Loud angry argument. So much anger and fear.

Deep, chilly box, propped open by her arm, a hand still in hers. Fur crushing her at one point. Then rest.

Rest.

…rest.

She woke up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar house with a familiar face glancing up from his reading. A tidal wave of relief drowned her as Joseph beamed at her.

“Thank the Lord, thank the Lord !”

He set the book aside and slid out of the chair, kneeling beside the bed and taking her hand. She smiled but still felt disoriented, exhausted, fuzzy.

“What…?”

“I don't know,” he shook his head, “Ives told me the name of the painkiller but I can't remember, heavy dose.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it, “We were so scared you weren't going to make it.”

“Had to,” she mumbled. She clenched her other hand but it was empty, “Oliver…?”

“Who?”

“My cat… The cat you gave me… I was holding him…” She couldn't remember half the shit between getting hacked up and here, let alone where she left him.

“Might be in the body bag.” The plastic cocoon… “I’ll be right back, I’m going to get Ives.”

The man she tried to kill… The man who had gotten her out before the explosion. Hiero's grip tightened.

“He’s not mad at you,” Joseph reassured her, “Can I get you anything?”

A fucking clue would be great.

“Water?” She asked.

He nodded eagerly, squeezing her hand, “Of course.” He leaned in and kissed her before darting away.

Quicker than anyone should be able to move.

She rubbed at her face, trying to take in her surroundings. It was a bare bones room, two chairs and a side table by the bed, a window looking out to a forest. She didn’t have the strength to stand up and look out; she was hesitant to even move too much and ignite the pain in her back. Her clothes were gone but for modesty’s sake, a hospital gown had been put on her. Laughable really, but a sweet gesture.

No more dancing around the truth though; that had been a killing blow, and Ives should have died. He had not, and been well enough to get them both out of there. And Hiero had no idea what it meant that she was here, in one piece.

They returned and went to work. Joseph set the glass with a straw down on the table and pulled it as close as he could to her; Ives helped propped her up onto her side with pillows. She sipped gingerly before relaxing, and the two of them took their seats.

“...guess I should start by apologizing,” Hiero said, looking at Ives’ throat. Just like her scratches, just like her bite, there was no trace of the nails that had punctured his artery.

Ives waved it away, “You did what you felt you had to do. No harm done.”

There was a tense awkward beat as all of them knew that harm should have been done. Joseph clasped his hands together tightly while Ives’ fingers drummed along the arm of his chair.

“You ah, don’t seem particularly surprised to see me,” Ives pointed out. 

Hiero bit her lip, “Yeah well I’ve been…working on a theory. That whole attempted murder thing was gonna be the tipping point.”

“I told you about the podcast,” Joseph murmured to Ives defensively.

“Wasn’t just the podcast,” Hiero mumbled.

Joseph frowned, “Was it bringing up cannibalism on the first date? I’ve told him not to do that.”

Hiero barked out a laugh, tears welling in her eyes. It could’ve been the culmination of everything, or just the fear of knowing what they were, without a shadow of a doubt. She tried to keep from shaking but she couldn’t, any more than she could stop the tears from sliding down her cheeks. 

“So what happens now? Do I think of the rabbits on the farm while you load the bullet?”

Joseph leaned forward and took her hand in his. 

Ives shook his head, “We didn’t smuggle you across the Canadian border just to kill you. As a former government agent we trust that you can keep a secret.”

Hiero licked her lips, the memory of the taste on her tongue, “You fed me your blood…”

“It’s not enough to turn you,” Joseph assured her, “It can help… Boost of strength, bide a little more time… But it has to be flesh.”

“He wouldn’t let me turn you,” Ives grumbled, “Even if it meant…” He trailed off.

More of that argument was coming back to her now. That cold stainless steel table, with the row of knives hanging on the far wall, of industrial food processing equipment nearby. A butcher’s room. And Joseph’s half hysterical voice, his grip tight on her hand, insisting she got a choice, using Ives’ first name…

Hiero cracked a smile, “Ashley? Ashley Ives?”

Ives narrowed his eyes, “Clinging to life and that’s what you remember?”

“It’s not all I remember. It’s real cute though.”

“Shut up Mitzy .” 

“Stop it, both of you.”

“Whaaaaat, I know it was a boy’s name a lot longer than a girl’s.”

“That’s not the issue,” Ives insisted, “It’s a very English name for a Scot to have…and has an air of pretension.”

Joseph rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “Right, because you’re never pretentious…”

Ives growled at Joseph, a gutteral canine-esque noise that caused her to tense up. Joseph stroked her arm reassuringly. 

“Doesn’t matter though.” He smiled up at her, clearly relieved, “You pulled through, by the grace of God. Factory’s demolished, so no more high-risk jobs. I mean, we’re technically wanted but as long as we lay low we should be fine. I’m sure they’ll be scouring Mexico for weeks as that’d be the more obvious border.” The smile wavered, “...not sure what to do about your things, though… Couldn’t grab much before we left.”

“It’s fine, I’m sure it’ll all be sent to my mama’s and she’ll be thanked for my service,” she glanced at Ives, “...why were you scaling the elevator shaft? Did you not find the code?”

Ives scowled, “It locked me out after one guess. Apparently I should have gone with “heavenneverhints” instead of just “neverhints”.”

“Very good at escape rooms my ass,” she teased.

There it was again, that tender soft smile that made her heart beat faster. He glanced away, rubbing his fingers together idly, “What you said, before you… Did you mean it?”

Hiero nodded, “I did. I love you,” she looked at Joseph, “Both of you.”

And that sweet puppy of a man… If he had a tail he’d be wagging it.

“I love you too,” he said breathlessly, grinning from ear to ear, then impulsively kissed her.

Hiero giggled, then looked at Ives.

“...I love you too,” he said softly, as if saving her from the Factory’s collapse wasn’t enough proof.

It would be slow healing; in an attempt to keep her from bleeding out, Ives had used Chariot’s lighter to cauterize the wounds best he could. She would have some gnarly scars, possibly never get back to her highest physical potential… But if that really bothered her she now had a way to fix that. 

For Joseph’s sake she promised she’d give it at least a year before making any…life altering decisions about her humanity. While there were certain perks she wished she had (in particular the healing, though the virility seemed pretty rad too) she also enjoyed being catered to and doted upon. She was the queen, and Sophia was her darling (still adjusting to the climate change) princess, and Joseph and Ives were her knights in shining armor. The future seemed full with possibilities and, more importantly, she didn’t seem to be in danger of being alone. 

Six Months Post-Project Endgame

Unbeknownst to the world, the Federal Bureau of Investigation did not have one Most Wanted list, but rather two. The infamous one that everyone knew and a classified, off-the-record list, mostly comprised of blacklisted agents or enemies the United States did not want the public to be aware of.

Agent Hierophant had consistently remained on the list for months, a tiny blonde thing who might be a hundred pounds soaking wet. It was well-known amongst the killing elite that she was holed up in the deep north of Canada, within traveling distance of Ramure. Why the fuck she stayed there was anyone’s guess; she wasn’t hiding very well, and it was frigid as a nun’s cunt.

Vizsla sipped his coffee and skimmed the paper, waiting as he had been very patiently. Ramure could barely even be called a town, with exactly one general store that was attached to a usually vacant inn. He’d confirmed with the manager that she came in occasionally, though it seemed odd the manager was willing to supply that sort of information, even if he was “an old friend looking to surprise her”.

On the sixth day of his stakeout, a blood red parka’s hood lowered to reveal his target in all her unaware glory. She consulted a list as she shopped, friendly with the locals but primarily minding her own business. Vizsla slid in behind her when she went to check out. He reached forward to slightly pull her coat and shirt back. Scars, just like her profile said. She glanced behind and he smiled apologetically.

“Tag was sticking out,” he explained.

“Oh well thank you hon,” she said, smiling and turning back around.

Not even the slightest suspicion. She’d gone soft, and it was a wonder no one else had bagged her yet.

He followed at a distance, getting into his rental and tailing her Land Rover. Blissfully unaware, she led him deep into the forests, the ground still covered with snow. He saw the lake house she was heading towards, the only building for miles, and parked a distance away. He unloaded his sniper and hiked up a nearby hill, finding a good spot. Quickly he set up and laid flat on his belly, watching her through the scope.

She was taking her sweet ass time unloading the groceries, glancing around once but failing to spot him. She paused, fixing her hair in the mirror, and Vizsla pulled the trigger on an easy target.

Hierophant continued to mess with her curls, skull completely intact. Then, something stepped in front of his scope.

Vizsla glanced up to see a man glaring down at him, jaw clenched. He let go of something and Vizsla saw the bullet, crumpled like a candy wrapper, in the snow. He scrambled to his feet and the stranger kicked the gun out of his hands. Vizsla stumbled back and was suddenly seeing double. This one had a mustache though, and it twitched up in an amused smirk. The first man actually fucking growled at him.

Vizsla looked back to Ex-Agent Hierophant, who was now watching them.

“You’ve got five minutes to get as far as you can away from here ‘fore my boys come after you!” She called up to him, “I suggest you take full advantage of your head start because they are mighty hungry tonight!” 

Vizsla had no idea what she was talking about, and he did not want to find out. He bolted back down the hill, towards the rental, only to find the tires slashed.

Hiero shook her head; they always fucking went back to the car, without fail. Ives was no doubt counting down the 300 Mississippis and Joseph was looking towards her.

“Want you both in by sunset,” she said, knowing she didn’t have to shout for him to hear her, “Still getting pretty cold at night. And for fuck’s sake don’t use the nice entrance to drag the leftovers in, I just mopped.”

Joseph nodded his understanding, then turned his attention back towards the hunt. He was so cute when he got into the murder zone… Though even she got queasy occasionally when she had the chance to watch them go full wendigo. It was terrifying but at the same time fascinating. 

She carried in the groceries, hoping she got the right shit or else there would be hell to pay with her anal retentive chef. Two men she adored and who adored her because of (not in spite of) who she was, a perfect little tiger princess, and a gorgeous remote estate where she could do whatever the fuck she wanted whenever the fuck she wanted… Life was pretty damn great as a fugitive.