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Chapter Text

Inside a dark, secluded room; guarded by huge and heavy double doors, screams of rage could be heard. Inside; metal tables were turned, glass was shattered, strange liquids splattered the walls, various types of equipment's were broken and papers were sent flying while being ripped apart. The whole room was a mess. And at the centre of the dark room, illuminated by a swinging, solitary light above his head, is the one responsible for said mess.

He is known by many names. For those who've heard of him, he is the infamous Red Leader; responsible for many invasions and mass shootings across Europe, and backed up by a loyal army of trained soldiers. But for those who got the privilege to know him better, he is simply known as Tord.

Tord was standing in the middle of the room, panting, trying to recover from his fit of rage. He clenched his fists, taking deep breaths while glaring at the walls. Gritting his teeth, Tord ripped out his eyepatch out of anger, and run his robotic hand through his spiky hair.

"Another death, another failure." He hissed under his breath.

Once he deemed himself calm enough, Tord sighed, glancing around the mess he caused. Eyeing the wreckage, he searched for a specific item. He stepped forward, not minding the crunch of broken glass underneath his heavy boots, as he reached out to pick a black journal with his famous, red symbol engraved at the front. He took out the pen hanging from his chest pocket and scribbled down a new entry.

"Test subject number #1825

Name: Devin Walker.

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Nationality: Danish

Height: 5'11. Weight: 133 Ibs.

Blood type: A+

Report: The third soldier to volunteer for these experiments just this month. Was considered healthy and physically fit for them after undergoing several tests, so we strapped him down to the surgical table and applied the serum to his bloodstream. He convulsed and foam came out of his mouth, eyes became white and rolled back; had to be restrained by at least three other soldiers before I applied anaesthetic to stop his spasms. After 76 hours, his body gave out and his flesh decayed; turning him into a zombie. Just like all the others. I took him out of his misery and shot him in the head.

Status: Deceased

Time and date of death: 17/10/2016 5:30 PM"

Tord slammed the journal shut, gripping his hair hard with one hand. To say he was frustrated with his constant failing work was an understatement, he is beyond furious! I tried everything and anything, but nothing seems to work! What am I missing? He thought, remembering all his past failures and trying to recall any important details.

He was brought back from his deep train of thought when he heard a knock coming from the double heavy doors. "Come in." Tord called out.

Opening the door with ease, Patrick slipped inside the room, carrying a bunch of files and stacks of papers.

"Sir, here are all the files and cases of the previous test subjects you requested." Patrick announces, walking up to Tord and placing the files down on the only table left unturned. He took the chance to look around the room. "Another failure?" He prompted, raising an eyebrow while glancing at the mess with an unamused expression. He and Paul are already used to their leader's rage getting out of hand, no pun intended, so the current state of the room came to no surprise to Patrick.

"Yes, Patrick. Another lost cause, just like all the others." Tord muttered, opening the files and flying through the pages. When he turned to get files, he unintentionally displayed his injured eye. Patrick immediately adverted his gaze away from the sight. Even if he was closer to Tord than most of the other soldiers, Paul and him know better than to stare at Tord without his eyepatch unless they were granted direct permission. "There has to be something I missed, a tiny detail I overlooked; anything to get me closer to perfecting the serum formula!"

"And you think the missing component is somehow inside one of these case files?" Patrick questioned quizzically. "With all due respect, sir, but you were the one who wrote all the test subject reports. If there was any sort of clue in one of them, don't you think you would have found it out by now?"

"I know it's hard to believe, but I know for a fact that I am missing something and the clue is somewhere in here." Tord insisted.

He continued to flip through the files, going all the way back to the very beginning. "Test subject #1704 – Deceased, subject #1678 – Deceased, #1562 – Deceased…." He kept on going, reading the files at lightning speed before slamming it shut and moving on to the next. Eventually, Tord grew frustrated and dropped all the most recent cases aside to look at the older files. "Test subject #126 – Deceased, subject #58 – Deceased, #3 – Deceased…."

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Tord finally reached the file he was most looking forward to. The very first test subject case file. His first try, his very first failure. Not resisting the anticipation any longer, Tord opened up the case file. Unlike the other files however, where before getting to the details and procedures done with said subject, it always shows a recreation of the serum formula; always different in every single file. One element could have been added, or taken away. But in the first case he did, Tord didn't document the formula. He wanted to punch himself with his metal hand in the face several times for his stupidity. Instead of the formula, Tord wrote down his reasons and intentions for trying to accomplish such feat.

"Entry #1 Date 12/07/2008

After the gang and I returned from our experience in the army, I couldn't shake away the thrill I felt while out on the field, holding a gun and fighting alongside others for an equal cause. I want that. I want more of this. I will create my own army, and we will take over the world where I will rule supreme! But a good leader knows, as well as any soldier should, that you can't expect to win a war with the whole world with just followers and guns alone. I need a secret weapon! Something no one would expect it coming and it's indestructible. Hmmm…"

Tord made a "tsk" Sound with his tongue, before flipping the page.

"Entry #2 Date 10/08/2008

After many days, I have borrowed several science books from the local public library and studied EVERYTHING. I covered physics, biology, chemistry, psychology, ecology, geology, human biology, zoology and botany; not to mention all the mathematics, theories and engineering. With this knowledge, I started to put it into practice and create a secret lab inside my own room. I even rigged the entire house with secret weapons and security systems! And none of my friends seem to have realize it yet! I'm a genius! Now, onto developing my secret weapon. After many hours of delicate planning, I decided to create a serum. Not one that would improve a soldier's fighting capabilities in the field. But a serum that will make any soldier turn into a monster! They'll become bigger, stronger, faster, and better. I have a slight idea of what kind of monster I want it to be, but I have no guarantee the serum will actually turn the subject into it. I just hope I get this right.

Now, all I need is a test subject to try it out."

Tord rolled his eyes, inwardly cringing at his naivety back then. You never succeed in the first try; he should have known that. But he learned his lesson, the hard way. Tord turned the page.

"Entry #3 date 13/08/2008

I put up articles in the newspaper, offering to pay money for anyone who'd subject themselves to my tests. I hope someone calls me soon! The only problem, is getting the volunteer into my secret lab without Edd or the others knowing. I guess I'll just have to sneak them in when nobody else is home."

Flipped over another page.

"Entry #4 date 17/08/2008

I got a call at last! A guy called Seth volunteered himself to be my guinea pig for my experiments. I agreed to meet up with him on the arcade at midnight, then I took him back home and sneaked him in through the backdoor. Though I was sure the others were sleeping, I didn't want to take any chances and guided Seth to my room.

Let the tests begin."

When Tord turned to the next page, he reached the document file about Seth; his very first test subject ever. Below the document, his report was written down.

"Test subject number #1

Name: Seth Williams.

Age: 21

Gender: Male

Nationality: Russian

Height: 6'3. Weight: 173 Ibs.

Blood type: B+

"Entry #5 date 17/08/2008

I created the serum and applied to his bloodstream after strapping him down. But I made sure to apply only half the vial, only to test it out; who knows what can happen if I give him the entire thing without testing its effects first. According to test subject #1, the serum burns immensely when in contact with blood. Fortunately, I had foreseen this was a possibility that could happen and created an "antidote" to stop the burning. Of course, it won't stop the effects of the serum from happening, but it will dwindle the pain a bit, just to be a little more bearable to go through.

Now I wait."

"Entry #6 date 17/08/2008

After a while, nothing happened. 12 hours passed with no side-effects. When he hit the 13-hour mark, he began to spasm and foam out of the mouth. I quickly applied a sedative to make him stop; he passed out. He will be out for a while; but I can't risk leave him alone unattended. But I can hear the others mingling about outside my room, and they will wonder where I am if I don't get down for breakfast. Or worse, suspicious.

I don't think there's any harm in going just to eat and keep their suspicions at bay. I'll be back as soon as I can.

PS: I just realized I still have half of the serum still in the vile. What should I do with it? I can't simply throw it in the thrash, someone may find it. I guess I'll just have to get rid of it another way…"

Tord re-read the passage in confusion before sudden realization hit him, as he remembered the events unfolding in his mind like it had just occurred.

(Flashback!)

Seth was asleep, strapped upright in the metal table. With one push of the lever attached to his wall, Tord hid the secret lab and left the room. Just as he descended the stairs, he fumbled one hand in his pocket only to find a small, glass vial containing the rest of the serum.

Tord took it out and eyed curiously, completely forgotten it was there in the first place.

"Tord! Breakfast is ready!" Edd's loud call coming from the kitchen snapped Tord out of his thoughts, and nearly made him drop the vial in surprise. He caught it in mid-air before it fell and shattered on the ground. "I made pancakes!"

"YEAH! PANCAKES!"

Matt shouted in excitement as he descended down the stairs in lightning speed and bumped on Tord along the way; nearly making him drop the vial once more before catching it.

"Ops, sorry Tord!" Matt gave a quick apology and run off into the kitchen. Tord gave him a deadly glare as he disappeared from view and grit his teeth in irritation; shoving the vial back into his hoodie pocket. Those were close calls. Next time he may not be as fast, and he can't keep it on him in case it shatters, or it gets taken by someone.

Tord walks into the kitchen, holding the vial in his hand and away from view of others. "What should I do with it?" He wondered.

"Morning Tord!" Edd greeted him, standing in front of the stove as he flipped a pancake in the pan. Matt was already seated on the dining table, happily munching on a stack of pancakes. No sign of Tom though.

"Morning." Tord answered back tiredly. He stayed awake the whole night; too excited with his experiment to sleep and he had to keep checking his subject for side-effects constantly. He approached the kitchen bench when he noticed the toaster already down and a blue mug with a bit of steaming coffee inside, standing by the sink. Tom's mug.

Tord eyed it curiously before glancing down at the vial in his hand. "Maybe Tom already had breakfast; or at least his daily coffee for the day." He deduced. His eyes shifted to the sink drain behind it. Tord got an idea, pulling the lid out of the vial and approaching the sink. "I can just toss it down the drain. Sure; it might contaminate any forms of life living in the sewers with side-affects, but thanks to pollution any kind of mutation can be excused now days."

Just as Tord was about to tip over the vial and drop the serum from inside, down the sink drain, an annoyed voice spoke up from behind him. "What are you doing?"

Tord, taken by surprise and completely forgotten he was not alone in the room, accidentally dropped the vial into the mug. Petrified, he tried to take back the vial, but it was too late. By the time he took it out from the hot coffee, the vial was already empty. He stared at the brown concoction below him in alarm. There was nothing more he can do now.

"Eh, Tord?" Tom's voice sounds behind him again questioningly. Nervously, but with a huge, fake smile plastered on his face for cover up, Tord turns around to face him.

"Oh, hello Tom!" He greeted the Jehovah's witness in a friendly tone, despite his inner panic and frustration. "Morning!" He leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to look calm and natural; as well as hiding the blue mug from view.

Tom raised an eyebrow in suspicion; Tord is never this friendly with him unless he is up to something. "What's with you?" He prompted. "And why are you hiding my coffee mug behind your back?"

Tord's smile faltered. "Nothing!" He blurted rather quickly, putting his hands up in defence.

Tom narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh really, then you won't mind if I take a sip?" He challenged, his hand traveling around Tord to reach his mug. Tord panicked and stiffened. As Tom brought the mug closer to him, Tord lashed out and gripped Tom's hand hard; stopping him momentarily. He felt a spark upon coming into contact with the blue hooded boy, but he didn't pay any mind to it; he was too busy analysing the situation and thinking of his options to stop the scenario in his head from happening. He couldn't even say anything. Words got stuck in his throat and his mind fumbled with various excuses; but nothing was good enough to explain his behaviour except for the truth, which he has no intentions of telling. He just stared at Tom with wide eyes, who in return just stared back at Tord in surprise before his expression changed to mild annoyance. "Can you, um, let go now?"

There was nothing he can do now. If he insisted, Tom and the others will get more suspicious of him. He can't find a good enough excuse to stop him from drinking the tainted coffee, and he can't tell them the truth either for obvious reasons. With a sigh, and still keeping the fake smile on his face, Tord slowly let's go of Tom's hand. "Sorry." He apologised. "I'm a bit distracted today; didn't sleep very well." For effect, Tord let out a fake yawn and stretched his arms behind his back.

Tom stared at Tord with suspicion, but knowing how f#cking crazy the Norwegian commie is, Tom let the incident go without a fuss and just shrugged in response. Then he took a sip from his coffee. Tord froze and watched wide eyed as Tom downed the entire brown beverage in one go. When Tom put his mug down again, the toaster dinged and he got his toast before taking his usual seat on the kitchen table.

Tord never stopped watching Tom after that. For several days, he would often spy on Tom, always asking him how he was feeling, and observing any changes on his physical appearance or behaviour. Tom didn't seem to have notice his erratic behaviour. After a whole week, dividing his attention back and forth between Tom and Seth, Tord realized he couldn't find any signs, effects or strange occurrences with Tom. He was confused at first, and deduced that maybe the mixture between the serum and the coffee might have contradicted each other and nulled the effects. That was his only explanation for why it didn't work. He didn't go through what Seth did…

"Sir?"

Tord snapped out of his thoughts and back to present day. Patrick was looking over to him quizzically. He's standing on the dark room with only one light illuminating above him with a bunch of files stacked up beside him. Tord slowly grinned, becoming wider by the second until he started laughing, and soon he began to cackle like a maniac at the realization. Patrick just watched him in confusion, and slightly afraid of his leader's mental health as the laughter grew louder.

"Tord?" Patrick called out once more.

Tord stopped laughing slamming his hands on top of the metal desk, making Patrick flinch in response at the loud, unexpected noise.

"How could I've been so stupid to overlook such a minuscule, obvious detail!" Tord exclaims, catching his breath from laughing so much. "It was staring right at my face this whole time! HA! I got it!"

Patrick's attention peaked up at the statement. "You do?" He questioned. When Tord turned around with his trademark smirk plastered on his face, Patrick knew to advert his gaze from his exposed eye; but he formed the proper soldier posture and saluted him. "Ready to comply! What are your orders, sir? What do you need?"

Tord chuckled, his metal hand fumbling inside the chest pocket of his uniform; searching for something. "Not a what…" He murmured, pulling out a small picture from his pocket and showing to Patrick. "But a who."

Patrick took the picture and examined it close. The picture was of a man with spiky brown hair, a grumpy expression on his face, wearing a blue hoodie, and his most defining feature; dark, empty sockets in place of his eyes. Patrick looked up at Tord hesitantly.

"Him, sir?" He prompted. "Are you sure?"

If it was any other soldier, Tord would have taken offense to being questioned so openly and would've most likely pulled out a gun to his face. But since this is Patrick, Tord just merely chuckled some more. "I am certain of this, Patrick! This time, I know I am!" He insisted with glee, turning his back around once again.

"Patrick." He called, his voice back to calm seriousness. "Go, take Paul with you, use any means necessary to complete the mission." He ordered.

"Sir?"

"And bring him to me." Tord finished.

"It is as good as done, sir!" Patrick saluted before doing a curt bow; exiting the room soon after he was dismissed.

Chapter Text

Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the corridor as a hooded figure ascended the stairs to his apartment. Stopping on the second floor, he walked off the stairs, following near the end of the corridor and stopping in front of a door. He pulled out the keys from his hoodie pocket and unlocked the door, stepping in to his apartment and instinctively turning on the lights. However, the lights were already on and he was met with quite the unexpected sight.

His best friends, Matt and Edd, were sitting upright on his couch with their hands neatly folded over their laps; as if they were waiting for him or something. "Hey Tom!" Edd greeted him with his usual friendliness, but there was something heavy etched in his tone of voice that made Tom think something may not be quite right.

Tom raised one eyebrow in confusion, as he closed the door with his foot. "Um, hey guys." He greeted back, feeling awkward about the unexpected visit. "What are you doing here? And how did you get in here anyway?" He questioned them.

"Oh, Matt and I just came in for a visit but you weren't home, so we decided to wait around here for you." Edd explained, glancing at Matt and nudging his shoulder. "We also used the spare key you keep hidden underneath the fire extinguisher. Isn't that right, Matt?"

"Oh yeah." Matt confirmed, smiling widely. Bu it seemed rather forced, and his eyes keep casting downwards.

Tom didn't voice his suspicion just yet, he decided to play along for now. He sighed. "Guys I know we live right next to each other, and we agreed to meet up whenever we want; but I would appreciate a little warning next time." He told them, walking past the living room into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry." Edd apologised, rubbing the back of his head in discomfort. "I didn't realize we would bother you."

Tom opened up his fridge and pulled out a bottle of Smirnoff. "Nah it's fine." He answered back from the kitchen. "Just send me a text message or call me next time you plan to do it."

"Oh yeah, right, of course!" Edd exclaimed. "I'll keep that in mind next time."

Tom, with the bottle in his hand, walked out the kitchen back into the living room. He stared at Edd and Matt with an expressionless face. "Okay, so how about you go on and tell me the real reason why you're here?" He questioned, surprising both of them. "You two aren't the best in keeping secrets or acting natural, so stop beating around the bush and get it over with. I want to watch TV."

Edd and Matt share a long, uncomfortable glance towards one another. Matt shrugged, not knowing what to do, and Edd sighed in defeat, realizing the burden of spilling the beans falls upon his shoulders. "Very well. Tom, we are worried about you." He says, rubbing his left arm with his right hand.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "What? What are you talking about? I'm perfectly fine!" He argued in confusion.

"Are you?" Edd turned his gaze off the ground directly towards Tom's own eyeless sockets, surprising him in the seriousness he found in his friend's usual upbeat attitude. "We're not stupid Tom, we know about you sneaking out during the night to god knows where."

Tom stiffened at the mention of his nightly outings. They shouldn't know about that. But it sounds like they don't know the entire story, so as long as they don't know the reason why he goes his secret may be safe.

"Have you two been spying on me?" Tom demanded, attempting to divert the conversation from going to the sensitive topic he does not wish to touch upon.

"No need to." Edd crossed his arms, glaring at Tom. "Matt saw you leaving your apartment the other night and he told me about it. Then I kept an eye out for you, no pun intended, and saw you leaving every night for myself."

Tom grit his teeth in annoyance and irritation, shifting his dark gaze onto Matt, who flinched and shrunk under the unwanted attention. Tom turned back to Edd, who was waiting for him to suddenly blurt out and elaborate on his mysterious outings. "Yeah, I've been going out. So what?" Tom scoffed and crossed his arms. "I don't have to explain every single detail of my life to you two; I can keep secrets if I want to!"

Edd was taken back by Tom's mean demeanour. He knows how much he can be rude and mean, but normally that was played for jokes between the three of them. But this attitude was directed at them for real this time. The last time he remembers Tom acting this way towards any of them, was back when he threw a couch through the wall of their old home after he got annoyed with… Edd refused to think about it.

"Tom please, i know how much you value your privacy; and I'm sorry for invading it this way, but I just want to know what's going on with you." Edd pleaded, taking a step closer to the man in the blue hoodie.

"Why do you even want to know so badly anyway?" Tom questioned angrily, pulling out the cork of the bottle still being held in his hands. "Am I not allowed to have a life outside of you two?"

"You can! Of course you can!" Matt piped in, finally speaking. "It's just that, you haven't been acting like yourself these past few months and we're really worried."

Tom was just about to take a sip of his Smirnoff when Matt's words sunk in his head and he pulled the bottle away. They noticed? He tried so hard to keep it hidden from them.

"What do you mean?" Tom asks in a calm tone, succeeding in keeping the panic he was feeling out of his voice.

"You keep distancing yourself away from us, barely laughs and when you do it's forceful, not to mention the large amounts of Smirnoff you drink daily." Edd listed.

"Oh c'mon, I've always drank Smirnoff! That's nothing new" Tom protested.

"Not as much as you drink nowadays." Matt grumbled under his breath, earning a glare from Tom.

"I've seen you coming back home from shopping, and you never bring back any food only Smirnoff bottles." Edd spoke, stepping in front of Matt to divert Tom's attention away from the ginger. "What have you been even eating this whole time?" Edd raised one hand towards Tom, who backed away to keep him from coming into contact.

"I'm fine guys, really, I am!" Tom insisted. "You are worrying over absolutely nothing, and I can assure you there's nothing wrong going on with me." He churned the bottle in his hands before taking a swig at it.

"I thought you might say that…" Edd's voice mumbled quietly before trailing off, waiting for the expected reaction.

Tom stiffened in mid swig after swallowing a whole sip of it, and he ended up choking on the bland flavour. He spat out whatever was left in his mouth and coughed, wiping his mouth in the sleeve of his hoodie. The taste was terrible! It was like he just took a swig of cleaning products blended together to make a bland, tasteless and nasty concoction. This was nothing like the usual Smirnoff he drinks!

After recovering from the foul taste and nearly choking to death, Tom turned the bottle in his hands. His eyes narrowed down and his grip tightened around the bottle as he read the bottle brand.

"Diet?" Tom hissed in disbelief. "What is this crap?! I am sure I bought the regular brand!" Suddenly, a thought popped into his mind as he remembered he is not alone in the room. No. Surely not. They wouldn't do something like this to him, would they?

"What have you done?" Tom asks in a calm, icy tone through gritted teeth, glaring dark sockets at his so called "friends".

Edd met his stare with a determined gaze. "Well, since you refuse to properly take care of yourself, and you won't tell us what's wrong; Matt and I decided to change things around here for a bit." He spoke. "So while you were gone to who knows where, we threw out all your Smirnoff bottles, and replaced with diet ones."

Tom didn't respond. He just clutched the bottle tightly in his hand, so much so the bottle shattered in his grip; shards of glass mixed with alcohol slipping through his fingers, cutting him in the process and adding his own blood to the mixture.

Matt shrunk back further into the sofa, watching in fear as his friend fumed with anger.

"What gave you the right to come into my home, uninvited, and replace my stuff!" Tom snarled, pointing a finger at Edd.

"It's for your own good, Tom." Edd defended. "You've been drinking too much and it's getting it to you."

"My own good? How would you like if I did the exact same thing to you?! Uh?" Tom argued. He marched up to Edd and grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, holding him off the ground. "How about I sneak into your house one night and replace all your cans of cola with diet ones?! I don't think you'll like that very much!"

"Tom, please, we're just trying to help you." Edd pleaded, trying to get Tom's hold off of him and let him down.

"I didn't ask for your help!" Tom put him down harshly back to the ground. "Stay out of matters you don't, and you WON'T, ever understand."

"We could if you would just tell us!" Matt tried to reason.

"It's none of your goddam business, so stay out of it!" Tom snapped, whipping around to face the ginger haired man. He raised his arm above his head and aimed to hit him. Matt yelped and flinched. But the hit never came.

"Tom!" Edd called out. He was gripping Tom's arm with all his strength to stop him from harming their friend. Tom attempted to shake him off, but Edd wasn't letting go.

"Let go of me!"

"Tom stop! This is exactly what we're talking about!" Edd shouted, making Tom stop his struggles and stare back at him with a look of confusion mixed together with anger. "Please, we don't want you to turn out to be like-"

"Like who? Like Tord?" Tom challenged, finishing the sentence for him.

Edd visibly flinched and adverted his gaze to the ground at the mention of their former friend. Seeing this reaction, Tom laughed harshly and took the opportunity to shove Edd away from him, taking him completely by surprise.

"Really? You guys still on that?" Tom questioned, taking notice of his friends' guilty expressions. "You would think that after 8 months you would have gotten over him and moved on, but apparently not."

"You nearly hit Matt just now." Edd pointed out, getting up from the ground and slowly approaching Tom with an arm stretched out towards him. "And you've been distancing yourself from us, acting weird and cold, and now you're getting violent! After what happened to Tord, how do you expect us to overlook this and not be concerned?"

When he was close enough, Edd attempted to place his hand upon Tom's shoulder. But he shrugs him off. Edd looked visibly hurt by his action, but Tom swallowed down the guilt, just like he always does, and walks away from them.

"I am nothing like that traitorous, maniac, genocidal communist." Tom hissed, listing off all the bad qualities from the top of his head without struggle.

He sighed in frustration, pinching his nose. "Look, after this crap you pulled on me I'm going to be leaving." He told them, pulling up his hoodie over his head.

"Where you going?" Edd questioned nervously.

Tom glanced back at him. "To a bar, if you must know, to drink real alcohol." He answered emotionless. "Don't expect me back so soon." It was the last thing he said before he walked out of his apartment and slammed the door shut behind him.

He stormed out the building, still fuming with anger and muttering curses under his breath. Rain splattered around him, soaking his hoodie in the process but he gave no mind as he walked down the street.

In the street's corner stands his favourite location, the Mustacheo bar. He often comes here to drink his night away when he has no more bottles of Smirnoff back home. Although Tom finds himself in the exact same situation, he just stares at the bar's sign across the street before walking away. Despite the longing for alcohol burning strongly within him, he knows better than to go there now. Edd and Matt might decide to follow him and would concluded he would go there. He needs to find another place, away from them and his problems where he can drink in peace.

Tom walked for a while. The cold chilly night mixed with the rain made him shiver, and he started to sniff as his nose got stuffy.

"Great, just what I needed. A cold." Tom sarcastically says to himself.

He's been walking for lord knows how long, he just arrived at an unknown part of the city Tom is unfamiliar with, and still no sign of a bar anywhere. "Screw Matt and Edd, I should've just went to Mustacheos' instead." He cursed silently.

Just then, much like a ray of light, hope and warmth, Tom spotted a colourful sign blinking across from him. It was hard to make out the letters in the heavy rain, but as he approached it, Tom could finally read it.

"Roten Fuhrer pub." Tom read in confusion. "Fancy name. Must be French or something." He mumbled to himself as he walked in.

Opening the door, a bell jingle rang out, warning others of his presence. Tom glanced around the place. It's alive with activity. People were drinking many types of alcoholic beverages, playing at the pool table, betting on poker matches, smoking, eating fried portions, laughing and joking, and some were even gambling on slot machines near the back of the establishment. The decoration of the place was a mixture of red, blue and black; but mostly red, with shiny black marble tables and benches, and blue carpet coating the entire floor.

Tom stared wide eyed. "I'm in heaven." He murmured quietly in disbelief. He could almost feel a single tear trailing down his face from the sheer beauty of the place. He took down the hoodie off his head, shaking his wet hair around to rid of the water.

"Oy! Newcomer!"

Tom snapped his attention towards the bar stand, where a man wearing a fancy black and blue uniform with a neat red tie stood behind it. The bartender's hair was brown, slick back with his fringe pointing sideways, light skin and lime green eyes staring at him as he cleaned up a glass in his hands with a cloth. On the left side of his chest, pinned to his suit was a nametag which was written in the name Jacob.

There was also someone sitting in one of the stools of the bar stand. Tom couldn't see his face, as he was with his back towards him and drinking something, but he is wearing a black coat and has short, bushy brown hair, a lighter shade in comparison to the bartender's.

"What can I get yah, stranger?" The bartender asked him, beckoning Tom to take a seat in one of the stools as he continued to clean the glasses.

He did so, still unsure of the reality he is seeing, and sits next to the other figure. "Uh, do you by any chance have Smirnoff?" Tom asks sheepishly.

The bartender eyes him curiously. "Yep." He confirmed with a strange, foreign accent laced in his voice. This place really is French! Tom thought. "Are yah talking about the good stuff, or the diet?" He questions.

"The good stuff! Straight in the glass with ice, and nothing else." Tom ordered contently.

"Very well, sir." The bartender nodded, turning around to get him the drink.

"Sir…" Tom repeated the word with a chuckle, pleased with the establishment's service and respect for their clients. The exact same thing couldn't be said about Mustacheos', or any other bar he went to for that matter. "Not even home apparently." Tom murmured coldly, feeling a pang of hurt deep inside him.

"Tough times at home?" A gruff voice asked, snapping Tom out of his thoughts.

He turned and realized it was the figure sitting beside him that had asked the question. He took the chance to take a closer look at him. He's churning a glass of liquid, supposedly scotch, on one hand as he stared down at it deep in thought with dark, brown eyes. A cigar poked out of his mouth, but it was unlit. But the most peculiar and distinguishable aspects were his bushy, furrowed eyebrows.

Tom scoffed. "You have no idea." He replied, tapping the table.

"Probably not, but I may have a hunch." The stranger spoke, his voice gruff and with a thick accent, before downing the entire glass in one go. "Let me guess; trouble with friends?"

Tom's eyes widened. "Yeah, how did you know?" He questioned, feeling genuinely surprised the stranger was able to guess it right so easily.

"Like I said; it was a hunch." The stranger answered before turning his attention to the bartender. "Another drink, please." He ordered.

Despite just meeting him, Tom likes the stranger already. He stretched out a hand towards him, making sure it was his right hand, as his left one was still stinging in pain after crushing the glass bottle earlier. But the pain doesn't bother him. Not anymore anyway. "Name's Tom." He introduced himself.

The stranger eyed his hand in surprise but he fully turned in his stool to face him, revealing his entire face. Tom was taken by surprise when he saw the man's scar over his right eye, stretching across it. Good thing his eyes are entirely black and no one can really tell where he is looking at.

"Jeremy." He greeted back and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Jeremy." Tom says, attempting to seem friendly despite the whole ordeal with his friends early that night. "Say, are you a frequent client to this pub?"

"You could say that." Jeremy replies in a gruff voice. "But I can't say the same about you though. Never seen you around these parts before, so I guess it's safe to say you're not from around here."

Tom shrugged. "Sort of." He says. "I'm a local to this city, but I admit I've never come to this part of town before. Can't believe I was missing out on this the whole time!" He gestured his arm out towards the whole establishment to make his point.

Jeremy chuckled. "Well, if you're having troubles back home, you stumbled across the right place." He spoke. "This pub is the greatest! And who knows? You might find yourself better company here to make up for the ones who have upset you." He suggested.

Tom frowned momentarily. Being reminded of his struggles with his friends, if they can even be considered that now. Jeremy noticed his expression and frowned. "Ey, I apologize if I touched a sore subject." He says. "Didn't mean to be bold, it's none of my business anyway."

Tom looked up at him. "Nah it's fine." He dismissed the issue and shrugged. "You wanna know something, Jeremy? I think you got a point!"

"Oh?" Jeremy raised one bushy eyebrow in question.

"I mean, who cares about the issues and problems I may have back home?" Tom elaborated. "I'm here now! And dammit, I will make the most of it!"

"Well said, chum." Jeremy gave a nod of approval.

Just then the bartender, Jacob as he is called, walked in and handed them both their respective drinks. Tom felt his throat go dry at the sight of the holy alcohol being poured in a glass and put in front of him. He grabbed his glass and eyed it in anticipation. But before he went ahead and chugged it down like he usually does, he glanced back at his newfound drinking buddy and raised his glass out towards him.

"Come on Jeremy, let's cheer and drink for this occasion!" Tom offered, smiling widely in content. "I don't feel like going back home any time soon, so I want to spend however long as possible just drinking, having fun, and no worries at all!"

"Sounds good to me." Jeremy agreed, raising his own glass up as well. "Cheers pal!"

"Cheers!"

The two of them dinked their glasses together before simultaneously chugging it down. Tom immediately felt relief as his burning throat was quenched by the taste of good, quality alcohol. But something seems out of place...

As he set his cup back down to the table, Tom felt his vision go blurry. "What's going on?" He thought, feeling his body go numb. Normally I can hold up my liquor count up to 5 or 6 bottles, but this is getting ridiculous! Hurriedly, albeit rather clumsily, Tom tried to get up off his seat, but Jeremy just effortlessly pushed him back down to his stool.

Tom glanced at him in confusion, blinking as he tried to clear up his vision. "I-I don't f-feel *hic* so good." He muttered, his head swaying from side to side.

"Don't worry, my friend." He heard Jeremy say. "It will be over soon, just give in and sleep."

Tom wanted to argue. He wanted to remain awake and demand to know what he meant, but he quickly felt his strength drain away from his body. He couldn't maintain himself awake for much longer. His vision went completely black and next thing he knows, Tom passed out with his head lying against the table top.

But before he could fully lose his consciousness he heard Jeremy speaking one final time. "Look on the bright side, at least after tonight you won't have to see your friends ever again. Well, except one that is…" With that, Tom went unconscious.

Jeremy stared down at Tom's sleeping form sitting beside him with an expressionless face while churning the scotch in his glass. He frowned down at him, feeling slightly guilty for tricking the blue hooded man this way, especially after befriending and gaining his thrust. He gingerly patted the top of the unconscious man's head, ruffling his hair; by no means in an affectionate manner, but to make sure he was completely knocked out before moving him. After gaining no response, Jeremy grunted.

"He's out cold alright." He confirmed, drinking the rest of his scotch before turning towards Jacob, who watched the entire thing silently and with no expression whatsoever shown on his face. He just simply stood there with his hands folded neatly behind his back and with a straight posture. "What took you so long, anyway? I swear, for a second I thought you had gone back there to drink."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Jacob apologised, however his tone was dry and held sarcasm. "It took me a while to find the right drugs because SOMEONE misplaced them in the wrong cabinet with the wrong labels and I had to correct everything by myself."

Jeremy smirked at him. "Poor you, it must've been so terrible." He replied casually with equal amount of sarcasm and a flirty tone. "You know, if you would have just come back and asked for help I could have lent you a hand."

"And ruin your disguise and our plans to capture Tom? I think not." Jacob pointed out, leaning closer to Jeremy over the bar counter. They stared at each other's eyes for a moment longer before Jacob broke his gaze to look at Tom's unconscious form, a frown reappearing on his face. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter now. We got what we needed."

Jeremy got off his stool, stretching out his limbs and yawning. "I'll be going on my way then. I'll take him along with me." He announced, getting a grip on Tom's upper half and hauling him up towards him. "Wow, this guy is as light as a feather! Almost no weight to him." He commented as he picked him up over his shoulder. You coming or what?" He asked, turning back to Jacob who began to clean up the counter.

"Gotta finish service first." He gestured towards the other people in the pub. Most of them were oblivious to their actions, but the ones who were aware just gave them a single nod of approval before resuming to their drinks. "I'll close down soon and meet you back at the headquarters. You go on ahead and report to red leader."

"Report what? I think it's pretty obvious the status of our mission!" Jeremy exclaimed jokingly, gesturing down at the sleeping man in his arms.

Jacob smiled slightly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "Away with you." He dismissed him half-heartedly.

Jeremy smiled back on his way out and carried Tom along with him towards the back. After he was out of sight, Jacob resumed on with his work like nothing ever happened. I hope Tord knows what he's doing. He thought, feeling sorry for the knocked out man and all the pain he's about to endure in the near future. If he even survives long enough.

Chapter Text

As he came back to consciousness, Tom groaned in pain feeling his head pounding, and he became aware of his surroundings. His eyelids felt heavy so he couldn't open his eyes just yet. Instead he used his other senses. He felt something cold gripping tightly to his wrists and clenching it against a wooden surface. His legs were in the same situation, with his ankles tied up to something beneath him. Tom realized he was sitting down, most likely to a chair, with his head bent down and left hanging as he slept.

Tom finally managed to open his eyes, blinking them in the process but furrowed his eyebrows in confusion when he remained to see only darkness. Did I go blind while I was asleep, or something? He wondered. Then with a jolt, he realized the situation he was in. Tied up to a chair, possibly blind, in an unknown place. Feeling panicked, Tom tried to recall last night's events. C'mon Tom! Think! What did you do this time? He racked his brain, trying to remember any important details. Let's see… I had an argument with Matt and Edd… was walking around… found a pub… Smirnoff… Jeremy and-

"Jeremy!" Tom exclaimed in realization. The last thing he remembers was drinking with Jeremy and the next was a blur, but his gut feeling was saying that Jeremy had something to do with this. With this newfound information, Tom struggled against his restraints.

No way in hell am I going to be sold into human trafficking, having my organs stolen, or going back to high school! He thought angrily, pulling on the restraints on his writs with all his might, but the metal of his shackles just cut into his skin and his efforts were proven futile. Dammit! Where is that inhuman strength when I need it most?

Tom gave a final pull on his shackles before sinking back into his seat and groaning in defeat. He panted to regain back his breath, as his mind swirled with various thoughts running around erratically trying to make sense of things. Where am i? Why was I brought here? What is this place? And what's going to happen to me? Questions screamed in his mind.

Suddenly, a bright light was turned on, right on top of him. Tom hissed and closed his eyes immediately, being blinded. Well, now I know there is nothing wrong with my eyes. He thought sarcastically.

"Well, well, well; look who's finally awake from their beauty sleep." Tom hears a voice jeer at a distance. A familiar voice.

"What? Who's there?" Tom demanded in confusion, slowly blinking his eyes open. The bright, white light shining above him made the rest of the room around him look much darker. If someone were to be lurking around in the same room as him, hidden in a dark corner, Tom wouldn't see them.

"Just an old friend…" The mysterious voice replied back, an accent present along with a tinge of humour and maybe triumph. But Tom wasn't concerned about the emotion behind the voice, he was more preoccupied with the owner of the said voice. It's familiar, has an accent, sounds smug, and to add it all up he knows only one person who would ever refer to him as an old friend.

"Show yourself!" Tom snarled, thrashing against the restraints. Please let my suspicions be wrong! He inwardly prayed.

His demand was met with a loud laugh, echoing throughout the room. Tom didn't want to admit the possibility, but he was genuinely scared. "As you wish." The voice spoke smoothly. Shuffling could be heard in the dark, and soon heavy footsteps started to approach his position. Tom looked around the room, turning his neck as far as the restraints would let him, trying to pinpoint where the figure would appear from. No way would he sit idly and let be taken by surprise.

Suddenly a hand popped up from behind him and ruffled his hair. Tom flinched at the unexpected contact and tried to get away but the restraints wouldn't let him get very far. Tom grumbled in irritation, reeling his head back. "Get off!" He yelled.

The hand retreated and a low chuckle could be heard. Tom tried to crane his neck and look upwards to get a glimpse of who was behind this, but he saw nothing. He caught a glimpse of movement at the corner of his eye. When he looked back down again, someone stood directly in front of him, grinning widely. Tom's eyes widened in shock. His gut was right. It was none other than the one he hated most in the world. Well, at least the second most hated.

"Tord!" Tom gasped, looking at his former not-friend towering over him.

"Surprise!" Tord laughed, stretching his arms out. That was when Tom took a closer look at his appearance. His hair was still the same pointy, horned trademark look, but it looked messy in certain places. He wore a blue and red uniform, with dark pants and combat boots. His right arm was replaced with a red, robotic prosthetic one. But his face was the most changed. The right side of his face is scarred and slightly charred, and his eye was covered up by a black eyepatch. It made him look a whole lot more sadistic. Fitting his personality, I suppose. Tom thought.

Tord's grin widened, noticing Tom's eyes analyse his form. "Like my new look?" He asks, taking Tom by surprise and snapping him out of his thoughts. Tord showcased his robotic hand out towards him. "I must say it's an improvement; I certainly liked it! It makes me feel more powerful." He flexed his metallic fingers, making a faint whirring sound as the gears shifted from within.

"What happened to you?" Tom managed to speak up and ask.

"Oh, don't you remember?" Tord raised an eyebrow at him. "Betrayal, giant robot… Harpoon gun." He listed off seemingly random things with a cheerful tone when his voice suddenly darkened and he glared at Tom as he mentioned the last item.

Tom blinked in realization. "I, did this, to you?" He questioned, already knowing the answer.

Tord laughed. "Don't flatter yourself, Tom." He says. "You may have destroyed my giant robot, along with my plans of ruling the world. But you just helped me gain even more power than before."

"How so?" Tom prompted.

"Why, if you hadn't stopped me, I wouldn't have come back and gained all of this." Tord gestured to the room around them, slowly walking up to him. "More followers, bigger influence, money, power, and of course the motivation I needed to gain back my determination in finishing what I started." He leaned down, his face inches away from Tom's, but he didn't flinch away or showed any sort of emotion. He just stared back at the Norwegian communist with a calm expression.

"And what did you start, exactly?" Tom questioned, glaring at Tord challengingly.

Tord grinned. "I'm glad you asked." He says, ruffling Tom's hair with his metallic hand one last time before leaning away and walking over to sit down in the chair positioned opposite of him. A table separating the two of them.

Tord leaned forward in his seat, folding his hands together in front of him. "However, before I get started, it's only fair we catch up." He proposed. "After all, friends who have not heard of one another for so long should have a chance to talk properly."

Tom trashed himself forward as far as the restraints would allow him; glaring furiously and baring his teeth at the smug man sitting before him. "I. Am. Not. Your. Friend!" He spat out each word with a delay between them, carrying all his anger and resentment at him.

Tord simply smirks in response, infuriating Tom even more at his lack of response. "So, how's life been faring for you, eh?" He questions, leaning back in his seat and propping his feet over the table, hands folded behind his head.

Tom fumes in anger. "Fine." He hissed, clenching the arms of his chair, his knuckles turning white in his grip.

"How about Matt and Edd?" Tom stiffened at the question, fixing his gaze over to the Norwegian's face for his expression. However, his face wasn't displaying any emotion. Tord just fixed his gaze to the ceiling, rocking back and forth in his seat with his mouth pressed into a thin line. Even his voice seemed devoid of emotion; unlike just a few moments ago where he was smug and making fun of Tom. It was rather strange and unnatural seeing him like this.

"Are they alright?" Tord prompted once more, after Tom failed to answer the first time.

Tom's anger dissolved momentarily, thinking about his friends and the impact Tord's betrayal had upon them. "They are fine. Never better in fact!" Tom exclaimed. "Not thanks to you anyway. And why do you even care? Feeling guilty?" Tom smirked slightly at the notion.

A small smile formed on Tord's face. "Oh Tom, you should know by now I don't ever feel guilty of anything." He murmured. "If I had any remorse for turning against the three of you, we wouldn't be here now, would we?"

"No. I suppose we wouldn't." Tom muttered under his breath.

"And what about you, Tom?" Tord questioned, shooting him a side-glance.

"I already said I'm fine." Tom hissed in irritation. What's the point of these useless questions? I know he doesn't actually care about the answer, and he is obviously after something else, so why bother beating around the bush? He wondered.

"Not that. I mean generally speaking." Tord corrected, earning a confused look form Tom. "You know, mental and physical health? Anything happening to you in these last couple of months?"

Tom was taken back. What kind of question is that? He wondered. It made no sense for Tord's character to be concerned about such things, especially in regards to him. Unless… Tom stiffened and stared at Tord with a horrified expression. No. He can't have- There's no way he could've- Surely not- Oh please don't! His thoughts kept running over each other as panic filled his mind.

"L-like I already said, I'm perfectly fine." Tom insisted, hating himself for stuttering as it displayed weakness; and the last thing he wants right now is to give the man in front of him the thought he was going submissive. To correct his mistake, Tom thrashed in his restraints violently and demanded. "Enough questions! What is it that you want from me, Tord? Why have you brought me here?"

Tord shot him a glance, no emotion on his face. "I'll tell you everything, if you tell me your thoughts first." He proposed. "Why do you think you're here? What do you think I want from you?"

Tom wanted to beat him up so badly, but the restraints kept him contained no matter how much he trashed around. Tord smirked lightly at the sight of his struggles. "It's futile to resist." He spoke. "These chains were designed and created by me, and made specifically to hold on to incredibly strong beings. It can hold down an elephant, and not even a great white's bite can shatter it."

Tom huffed, slumping back in his seat and panting for breath after his failed struggles. He stared at Tord across from him with anger and frustration, as he only gained a smug grin in return. Don't let him get to you. He thought determinably. Focus Tom, just think and answer; why am I here? He thought deeply, remembering everything he knows about the smug man sitting in front of him. He only came to one conclusion, even though there are counter arguments, it's his only deduction at this point.

"You want revenge on me for what I've done to you." Tom spoke, his voice calm, clear and unwavering. He glared at Tord, waiting for some sort of response from him. Anything. A smile, a smirk, laughter; heck, even a gun pointed at his face would be enough. But Tord simply hummed, stopping the motion he was doing with his feet and chair.

"Revenge, you say?" He echoed calmly, sounding interested in the notion. "I guess in some aspects you could say that." He chuckled.

"So you're gonna kill me?" Tom asks, but he felt no fear at the thought. In fact, he was anticipating it at this point.

"Kill you? Now who said anything about killing?" Tord pointed out, putting his feet down from the table and leaning forward. Tom looked at him in confusion. Tord rolled his eye. "If I wanted you dead, I would've done it so while you were unconscious."

"Then wha-"

Before Tom could finish it, Tord pushed his chair back and slowly made his way over to him. Tom watched his movements with caution, not sure what to expect from the Norwegian maniac at this point. Tord stopped beside him, and sitting at the edge of the table next to him.

"Here's the situation, Tom, and I urge you to pay close attention because I don't often make deals and they should not be taken lightly." Tord spoke in a serious voice, poking the tip of Tom's nose with his metal finger for emphasis. Tom gulped at the close proximity between the two of them, and the intensity he found in the Norwegian's gaze. He reluctantly nodded, just wanting to get his answers but at the same time scared at what he might hear.

Tord sighed, taking a deep breath before starting. "Remember our little adventure with the army a long time ago? Ever since then, I have developed a passion for war; and ultimately, global domination." He says. "I began to study all forms of science in secret, in hopes of developing the perfect weapon so I can use it for my own benefit."

Tord paused momentarily, allowing the information given to sink in Tom's mind. He nodded for him to continue.

"My plan for the ultimate weapon, was to develop a special serum that would turn anyone injected with it into…" He went on explaining, but he paused one more time to build up suspense, smirking down at Tom. "A monster." He finally reveals, watching Tom's facial expression in anticipation. Waiting for some kind of recognition in his dark sockets. But Tom blinked and raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Uh, okay?"

Tord frowned and glared down at him. He mentally faced palmed for the failed attempt of dramatic effect. He sighed and carried on.

"For years, I have been working on the secret formula for this monster serum. After the failure of my first test subject, I left to carry on my work privately without any interferences." He continues.

"So that's why you left then?" Tom questioned in curiosity and surprise. "All that talk about following your dream, was just an excuse to get away from us and work on your super-duper secret science project?"

Tord grinned. "Not entirely." He responded. "After all, my dream is global domination, and I left to pursue just that."

Tom gritted his teeth, snarling at the smug bastard in front of him. Tord just watched him struggle against his restraints in amusement.

"Anyways. Failure after failure, after trying for so long, I eventually gave up." He went on, turning away momentarily with hands folded neatly behind his back. "So I went to plan B! Get my giant robot and take over the world! And from there we both know the rest of how that attempt turned out. So after getting a new hideout, I returned to work on the monster formula more determined than ever, only to end up with more failures."

"Okay! I get it! You're insane!" Tom snapped in frustration, interrupting Tord's story. "But what does any of this have to do with me?" He demanded to know, tired of hearing him monologue useless exposition.

Tord glanced back at him over his shoulder, concealing the large grin spreading across his face. "Why, after I went back to look at the old test subject files, I realized I had unknowingly taken in another test subject. But at the time I was foolish enough to overlook it." He turned back to Tom and slowly made his way towards him. Tom let his words process in his mind, and his eyes widened at the realization. The monster… Tord… giant robot… the voices… and now I'm here. Oh no.

When Tord reached him, towering above, Tom glanced up at him rigid while mustering up the courage to ask what he's afraid of hearing in return. Taking a deep breath, controlling his emotions he stared back at Tord with a glare and an expressionless stoic face.

"I'm that test subject, aren't I?" He questioned, already knowing the answer but wishing with all his might it wasn't the case. And for the first time in a long while he felt something other than anger and resentment bubble up in the pit of his stomach. Fear.

Tord must've noticed his change in behaviour and gave him a small smile. Not a mocking, or sadistic grin, but a genuine smile, albeit sympathetic. "Yes, you are." He replied solemnly.

Tom's gaze dropped to the ground and his breathing became ragged at the realization. He swallowed down the lump forming in his throat from nervousness with great struggle. "And what are you going to do to me?" He managed to ask.

He felt a metallic hand grip his chin, raising his head to look back up at Tord's face. "That's where the deal comes in to play." He murmured. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but it's your call."

"But no matter what I chose, I'll still be your guinea pig to your science project." Tom added with a hiss. Tord hummed and moved his gloved hand to run through Tom's hair, making him grit his teeth in irritation and glare up at him.

"If you willingly agree to be my next test subject, you will be given a certain amount of freedom." Tord proposed before adding. "I'll see the specific details with you in the morning, but know that it is clearly the better option out of the two."

"And if I refuse?" Tom spat; raising his head, pulling out of Tord's grip and glared at him in defiance.

Tord frowned down at him in disdain. "Then I'll just have to strap you down and experiment on you against your will." He responded with an icy calm voice. But as he noticed Tom's lack of reaction, Tord realized he needed to up the stakes if he wants his collaboration. Tord smirked as an idea popped into his head. "And I'll get Matt and Edd to watch the whole thing." He added slyly.

"WHAT?!" Tom exclaimed, his dark sockets going wide as he stared at him in shock and disbelief. Then his surprise turned into anger once again and he struggle against his restraints to try and attack the red communist. "Leave them OUT OF THIS!" He demanded.

Tord laughed harshly before looking at his mechanical finger tips. "I don't think so." He murmured. "Unless you agree to these experiments, I'll have my soldiers go after our friends and force them to watch as you go through horrible torture."

"You're bluffing!" Tom challenged. "Even if you did betray them, I don't think you would have the guts to go after them just because of me!"

"Do you really want to test that theory?" Tord prompted mockingly while scratching his chin. "Hmmm, maybe if things don't work out as well as I hope they do with you, I can use THEM as my next test subjects."

Tom froze, feeling as if he just received a hard slap in the face. "Y-you would-dn't!" He tried to appear strong, and up until the mention of his friends he was; mostly because he could care less for whatever happens to him. But if something were to happen with Matt and Edd, even if they did get on his nerves, he would never forgive himself. "Y-you don't k-know where to find them!" He pointed out in desperation.

Tord chuckled. "Oh you silly, stupid Tom. It wasn't that hard to find you in the first place, and if they decide to go out searching for you we would know. I have surveillance cameras everywhere in the city!" He pinched Tom's cheek hard, making him hiss at the contact and try to shove him away with a head-butt.

"So let's recap!" Tord got off the table and started to pace around Tom's chair. "You can agree to do this out of your own free will and be granted liberties, or you continue to resist and defy me and I will experiment on you regardless and Matt and Edd will be my next victims."

Tom felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine at the complete feeling of hopelessness he found himself in. Tied down, forced and threatened, and all at the hands of a genocidal, Norwegian maniac. He's in a dead end, and he doesn't know what to do in this situation; and the one blocking his only exit is currently standing right beside him with a straight posture.

Tord must've sensed his confusion and hesitation, as he hummed and fixed the front of his uniform. "I'll take my leave for now, but I will return to hear your answer in the morning. Not that you can tell the time from here." He spoke, muttering the last part to himself, clearly referencing to the dark room with no clock or windows. Tom didn't turn to look at him, just heard his footsteps get progressively quieter as he walked away from him. "I'll have one of my soldiers come to give you some food, but that's all you'll receive until the final judgment. This is an important night for you Tom."

A loud creak was heard from the door behind him and light from outside filled the rest of the room, showing tables with various medical tools displayed on them and other science related equipments. It varied from sharp knives, saws, syringes, huge scissors and all kinds of crazy stuff that made Tom shrink with fear in his seat. He gasped at the sight. Does he intend on using all of this stuff on me? He wondered, feeling a dreadful anticipation for whatever choice he makes, as he'll go through this no matter what.

"Choose wisely." That was the last thing Tord says to him before he slammed the door shut, turning off the light above him, and leaving Tom in complete darkness and solitude to make the choice that might save or put his friends in danger. Only one thought echoed through Tom's mind, repeatedly, constantly mocking him as he did not know the answer.

What do I do?

Chapter Text

What do I do?

The question kept ringing in his mind, echoing as if he was shouting into a dark hole and patiently waiting for an answer, only to be met with doubtful silence. It's been hours, or maybe even seconds, but with how long he's been left in the dark, Tom wouldn't know anymore; since Tord came to visit him and left to think about his proposition.

Tom has long since given up on struggling. He tired himself out by fighting his restraints and drained all his strength. Now he's left with a difficult choice to make. Either he submits himself to Tord, a crazy sociopath, the real life definition of a mad scientist; or he can continue to defy him, suffer and pay the price with his friend's lives on the line.

There are also a couple of other options on the table, but they're risky and not definitive. He could go along with Tord's offer, play along until an opportunity for escape presents itself. Or the most appealing choice, end himself before the experiments take place. But considering he's strapped down to a chair and the only sharp objects are hidden in the dark and far from reach, he won't be going anywhere so soon. Tom glanced in the direction of the metal table he knows is right in front of him. Seeing only the faint outline in contrast to the darkness. Maybe if I beat my head enough times on the table I'll hopefully get head-trauma and die of internal bleeding. He thought darkly.

Tom leaned forward, totally going for the idea, as far as the restraints would let him. He grits his teeth in irritation when he felt his forehead barely scrape the surface of the table. Come on! Just a little bit more and this hell will end!

He abruptly stopped in his efforts when he heard something heavy just outside his room. Immediately he sat up right against the back of the chair in anxious anticipation. Is it morning already? He gulped at the thought of Tord back so soon without thinking of a proper answer. The heavy door creaked and swung open, and the light positioned above him flicked on. Tom hissed at the blinding light and quickly closed his eyes. He could hear a set of footsteps making its way towards him. He flinched, already waiting for the sound of the annoying smug voice mocking him, or the familiar touch of his metal arm ruffling his hair.

But nothing happened.

"You can open your eyes now if you want." A voice tells him, laced with an accent.

Slowly, Tom blinked his eyes open against the strong flash, letting his vision adjust to the brightness. Blinking a couple of times, Tom realized a tray of food was laid before him over the table. He raised an eyebrow. That's right, Tord mentioned that he would be delivered food during his "thinking" time. Tom let out a sigh of relief and his muscles relaxed. An uncomfortable throat clearing was heard from his right, and Tom remembered he was no longer alone in the room.

A man stood to his right side with a straight posture and hands folded neatly behind his back. He's wearing a blue and red uniform, similar to Tord's but neater, dark pants and combat boots. But got Tom's attention was the man himself. Well-groomed brown hair, with his bangs slicked sideways, pale skin and lime green eyes staring down at him in curious anticipation. He looks familiar… Tom squinted his eyes.

"Have we met before?" Tom questioned.

The man raised an eyebrow in surprise, his eyes widening a little. "Don't you recognise me?" He asks.

"Should I?" Tom retorted.

The man frowned, feeling slightly offended. "I would've thought so, considering I am one of the factors that got you here." He states folding his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes at Tom.

Tom racked his brain to remember anything related to the man in front of him. Fancy hair? Nah. Proper posture? Nah. Clever attitude? Nah. Heavy accent? Nah - Wait! Accent. French. FRENCH ACCENT! Tom gasped out loud.

"You're the bartender from the pub!" Tom exclaimed in realization. "What was your name again? It began with a J. Jacque? Jason? Jack?"

"It's Jacob." The man answered for him, rolling his eyes with a small grin. "But that's only my undercover name."

Tom eyed him curiously. "So, who are you really?" He asks.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself, I am Patrick." He placed one hand over his chest and did a little bow. Strange, considering Tom's current position. "Red leader's most trusted soldier. Well, at least one of them." He muttered the last part quietly.

Tom tilted his head, raising one eyebrow. "Patrick? That doesn't sound very French." He murmurs. "And Red leader? Is that what Tord calls himself nowadays?" At least he isn't calling himself the hentai lord or something stupid. Tom silently snickers at the thought.

"French? I'm Polish!" Patrick pouted and exclaimed in indignation. "And yes. If you must know, the one you once used to know as your former friend is now the infamous Red leader. Aren't cha proud?" He explained, regaining his composure.

"Tord was never my friend." Tom snarled glancing downwards at his feet. "And I couldn't care less about what he does with the rest of his life. Heck, he could become a stripper for all I care and still wouldn't care! As long as my friends and I don't get involved, I'm good."

"But you are involved now." Patrick reminded, not fazed by the brit's aggressive tone. "And so will your friends if you don't be careful."

"Why do you care?" Tom scoffed. "Wouldn't you be pleased if I screwed up and get experimented on? Your organization will finally have the so called monster serum Tord's been obsessing over, and you'll be one step closer to world domination."

"You're not eating."

Tom stiffened and reared his head back in surprise, blinking in confusion at the tall soldier. But he was no longer looking at him. Following Patrick's gaze, his eyes found the tray of food laid on the table. He released the breath he wasn't even aware he was holding in relief.

"I'm not hungry." Tom says, ignoring the pain bubbling in his stomach at the sight of food. The meal itself wasn't all that spectacular. It was just, what appears to be some kind of brown stew, presumably beef, and a little red jelly on the side for the dessert. Tom rolled his eyes. Of course it's red.

But it's been so long since he last seen any food. All he's been consuming this whole time was simply Smirnoff, and with the display of food, even if it is mediocre quality, it still made Tom's mouth water. He ripped his gazed away from the tray, and look down at his feet. Patrick simply frowned at him.

"I assume it's been quite a while since you've last eaten." He noted, eyeing the blue hooded brit and his weakened form. "Surely you must eat at some point."

"Yeah? How do I know you haven't put some sort of drugs in the food to knock me out or brainwash my mind to comply?" Tom challenged but in a quieter tone. He's feeling too many things at once to put up a fight now. He's going with his last resorts at this point.

Patrick sighed. "Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but understand I just did what my leader ordered me to do." He explained. "However, I am quite aware this does not excuse my actions. And for that I'm sorry but I assure you, this food isn't tainted in any way."

"Prove it." Tom glared at Patrick in defiance.

Patrick shrugged. He pulled out a wrapped, plastic spoon from his chest pocket, ripping it open. He bent down, stirring a bit before scooping the brown stew and ate it. He hummed to prove his point and looked at Tom with a raised eyebrow and a little smile, his expression something like: "Is that enough proof?" It annoyed Tom regardless.

"Fine."

"So you'll eat?"

"No."

Patrick frowned, causing Tom to smirk slightly. The soldier sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Red leader will not be pleased if you continue to defy him." He murmured.

"Whatever, it's not like my situation can worsen at this point." Tom scoffed, feeling stubborn.

"Need I remind you of the lingering threat hanging over your head for your defiance? Your friends will have to suffer along with you as well." Patrick pointed out with crossed arms over his chest, tapping one foot repeatedly over the tiled floor.

Oh yeah, there's that factor. Tom remembered drily, his muscles clenching in anxiousness. I still have yet to think about Tord's offer. He stared down at his chequered shoes, deep in thought, and seemingly ignoring Patrick's presence.

"If I am not being too bold, may I offer you a piece of advice?" The soldier offered softly, knowing this is a touchy subject.

Tom reflected on his proposition, one side of him refusing to hear whatever he has to say, but he was curious and honestly so very lost in his decision that he'll take all the help he can get. Stiffly, Tom nodded his head for him to carry on.

"If I were you, I would want to get on Red leader's good side." Patrick went on. "You definitely wouldn't want to be at the opposing end of his fury. He'll break you in every way possible otherwise. It's for the best if you just go along with him."

Tom wanted to laugh, of course Tord's most loyal soldier would say a thing like that, but the heavy feeling weighting down his chest made him unable to. He just listened to him numbly. Clearly there aren't many choices for him to pick.

Patrick sighed once more, fixing the collar of his uniform. "I'll leave you to your thoughts; just consider it with caution, Tom." He murmured, looking down at the tray of untouched food. "I'll leave this here; in case you change your mind." He slowly walked away, leaving Tom's line of sight. His footsteps echoing.

"Wait." Tom called out.

The footsteps stopped and silence followed after. Tom took it as his queue to carry on.

"If you were in the exact same position as me, what would you do?" He asked. He knows this is a stupid question and the answer is obvious, but he needs a confirmation. "If you had fallen into the hands of the person you hated most in the world, and they wanted something from you, something that you're not all that keen on keeping in the first place, and-" Tom gulped hard, his mouth going dry. "And you may not be entirely yourself, what would you do?"

A long silenced met his words, and for a moment Tom was worried Patrick might not answer him at all. But eventually he heard a click of the tongue and a sigh.

"I would do what I think it's best. Not for me perhaps, but for others, mostly." He answered. "Even If I'm miserable and would potentially suffer, I at least would be more relieved knowing my friends and loved ones are well away from anything. If your friends mean anything to you, that's something to think about."

The heavy door creaked open, illuminating the room momentarily before it slammed shut. But the light remained on. Now Tom is truly alone with his thoughts. Sort of. He went back to think over his dilemma.

Tom decided to think of pros and cons of each decision. If he were to accept, he'll be given some luxuries; but he'll be submitting to Tord, get experimented on, and bring out the beast from within. If he refuses, he'll continue to stay strong, defy Tord, and keep the beast at bay for a while longer; but his friends will be thrown into the mess and go through the same stuff as he will.

He could go through anything Tord decides to throw at him. If he wants to cut him open and poke around his organs, he can get through. If he wants to electrocute him, he'll make it. If he wants to dip his head into a barrel of acid, Tom will find a way to endure it. It doesn't really faze him anymore, maybe it will have quite the opposite effect. But his friends, who have been nothing but kind and constantly worrying about him, do not deserve any of this.

With great remorse, Tom remembered the times he spent with his friends having fun. Edd being his cheerful, silly self; always cracking jokes and going out of his way to make others smile. And Matt's oblivious attitude combined with his pride and vanity made him so innocent, but he would never allow his friends to get hurt without at least attempting to fight back and defend them.

Tom felt a little smile come to his features. That is until he remembered the last time he saw them. He was mad at them back them, but only because they didn't understand his situation. In an effort to protect them from his secret, he pushed them away when they were just trying to help him. They were always there for him and suffered a lot due to Tord's betrayal, and Tom was just rude and mean back to them.

"Don't expect me back so soon."

Those were the last words he spoke to them before going out. Tom flinched at the memory, his gut twisting in pain, whether from guilt or lack of food, Tom wasn't sure but it was most likely the former. Then there's also the fact he lost himself to his anger and almost hit Matt. Tom didn't want to think of the effects it would've caused on the ginger if Edd hadn't stop him. How could I've been so ungrateful? He thought.

Tom felt his eyes watering, and prick the corners, threatening to spill. Not now. Don't be weak. Be strong. He told himself in an effort to calm down, taking deep breaths. He's been concealing his emotions for a while now. Whenever he gets hurt, or being tormented by the voices, Tom would always make sure to disguise the pain and bruises with a smile and an outgoing attitude. Just so his friends won't have to get involved with his problems. But now, he's alone in a room, and his emotions are flooding up; a sob escapes him. He can't remember the last time he allowed himself to cry.

No. He does. It was when he first found out about his fits of blacking out. When he woke up the next morning and watched the news, he realized something is seriously wrong with him. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. He doesn't want to become that – THING. Pain and alcohol are the only things that aid Tom in keeping it in check. But now he's being forced to reveal it, and all his efforts will go to waste. And it's ALL TORD'S FAULT.

Tom, with watery eyes, raised his head slightly to look at the tray of food, still neatly placed in front of him. His gaze fixed specifically on the red jelly. So bright in colour, standing still, as if it was mocking him. Tom growled, baring his teeth. His grief and anger merged into one, he couldn't contain his emotions at bay this time and he SNAPPED.

Tom lurched forward, not caring about the chains digging into his skin, he lashed out at the tray of food. He couldn't reach very far, but with his teeth, he gripped the tray and with all the strength he could muster at this point he swung and tossed it off the table. It clanked on the tile floor, the bowl of stew shattering and spilling its contents, and the jelly deformed into little chunks. Tom panted, glaring at the mess before leaning back in his seat, attempting to calm down.

Tom came to a conclusion. Even though he doesn't really want to, his pride and stubborn side refusing him to cooperate, Tom knows the choice is obvious on this. Even if he has to go through all kinds of tests for Tord to perfect his serum formula, he'll take it. Just so he can pay back his friends for all the kindness they've shown him. They don't deserve any more pain. If anything, they are better off without him. He'll miss them, sure, but it's for the best.

However, Tom has a few things to say before taking the deal.

(Time skip)

Many hours passed, Tom forced himself to stay awake the whole time and think about his decision. Whenever he was close to falling unconscious, Tom would slam his head against the chair to keep him awake. Though, the pain dulled over time and he eventually became numb to it. Now he's left with a pounding headache and very sore muscles.

Tom closed his eyes momentarily, only to snap them open by the sound of the heavy door creaking open behind him. Footsteps approached him. Tom took a deep breath. He knew what was coming now.

"Morning!" Came Tord's greeting in a singsong voice, his tone smug. "Hope you had a good night's rest." He leaned over Tom's chair, popping up into his line of vision. His smile faded when he noticed the brit's dark bags under his eyes and the serious expression on his face. "Wow, somebody had a rough night." He commented playfully and with a smirk while chuckling.

Tom didn't respond, just blankly glared at him through his dark sockets.

Tord walked around him, making way over to his own seat. On the way, he looked over to the mess of food still scattered around the floor just a few meters away from them. He frowned.

"Either the food wasn't to your liking, or you felt rebellious." Tord murmured, taking his seat with his feet propped over the table and leaning his chair back. "Either way, I hope you won't repeat the same mistake in the future. It would be a shame if I had to teach you a lesson so soon."

Tom remained quiet. He just sat there analysing the Norwegian leader across from him. He noticed he's holding a file in one hand and was fanning himself with it. They just stayed in silence, staring each other down, waiting for one of them to break the silence and speak.

Tord was the one to break away, putting his feet down and sitting up properly. "Alright, so before we get to your final decision, I would like to discuss the terms of our deal." He spoke, placing the folder down and flipping it open.

"So, if you were to willingly submit to my experiments you would be given: at least 2 quality meals a day, including dessert. Two hours of exercising under supervision. Painkillers or anaesthetics during procedures and tests. Physical and mental evaluation once a week. And last but not least, expansion of luxuries and freedom if well-behaved." Tord explained, folding his hands in front of him. "The last part connects with the rules, which I will get into later, but only if you agree."

Tom remained silent, analysing the terms. It does sound nice. But he has a few terms of his own.

"If I were to agree with the deal, I demand a few requests in return." Tom announced, finally speaking. His voice strong and clear, disguising the turmoil inside.

Tord raised an eyebrow, feeling intrigued. "Oh? Feeling bold are we?" He taunted slyly. "I don't think you're in any position to be making demands of me."

"I don't know, Tord. If you went through all the effort to kidnap and threaten me, these demands should be easy enough." Tom challenged. "After all, you do want the serum perfected with the easiest way possible; and you'll only achieve that through my compliance. Now isn't that right?" He smirked slightly, feeling a tiny twinge of victory over his nemesis. He was being too bold, but he could care less. I f he has to go through hell with this guy, the least he can do is do the things he wants from him in return.

Tord's eye twitched slightly in annoyance, but he sighed. "All right, what is it that you want?" He prompted.

"I have three requests, actually." Tom corrected. "First, you said that if I complied you would not involve my friends in this. So you have to swear if I go through with this you will stay far away from them."

Tord rolled his eye. "Fine. Sounds easy enough." He agreed, but his voice was tight. "What else?"

"Second, Matt and Edd will notice I've been gone for far too long, and most likely go out to try and find me." Tom went on. "You'll probably not want to lose me, since I'm your last and only chance. So if they do go searching for me-" He stopped, taking in a shaky breath. "You'll have to make it seem like I am dead."

Tord's eye widened a little in surprise, before scratching his chin and humming deep in thought. Tom, on the other hand, was gripping the chair with all his strength. His knuckles turning white, trying to control his emotions. In order to keep them safe, he'll have to hurt them one last time. They will be devastated, but they will be far away from Tord's reach, and hopefully move on and forget all about him.

He turned his attention back to Tord, as he hummed once more. "Interesting. You do have a point." He commented. "Very well, I'll make sure all your traces are gone and make it seem like you died in some tragic accident. And what about the last part?"

Tom gulped, swallowing his emotions with great struggle. It's now or never. "I don't want to be given any anaesthetics during the procedures." He states.

"What?!" Tord gasps with shock, genuinely surprised by the demand.

"I don't want drugs of any sort during these experiments." Tom goes on to explain. "Painkillers, anaesthetics, morphine, any type of drug that nulls the pain. Unless I specifically ask for it, I don't want any of it."

Tord's eye is wide, his mouth hanging open slightly as he can't believe in what he's hearing. Tom would've laughed at the sight if it weren't for the seriousness of the situation. Tord shook his head, quickly trying to compose himself. "I-I, well you see, I can't exactly guarantee this." Tord stuttered slightly, still taken by surprise. "The experiments you'll go through can be severe, even right down deadly. And I can't risk losing you." He made his point, but his eye widened significantly when he realized how the last statement sounded. "I-I mean, because you're my last shot at this serum, and if I were to lose you I would have to start from scratch." He corrected.

Tom rolled his non-existent eyes unimpressed. "Then use the drugs as a last resort." He insisted. "Unless I am in risk of dying, you don't use the drugs. Do we have a deal or not?"

Tord blinked but relaxed to think things over. He doesn't know why Tom wouldn't want the painkillers, as it would relieve him of all the pain he'll have to go through, but it's none of his business. At least, not anymore. Sure, there's the risk he could lose him, but if he keeps a close eye on his vitals and be careful, he can make sure it doesn't happen.

Tord fixed his gaze on Tom, a smirk pricking the corners of his mouth. "Does that mean you will comply with me?" He prompted, already tasting the victory within his reach.

Tom sighed in defeat. "Only if you go through with all my demands." He murmured, glaring at smug leader.

Tord grinned. "Then we have a deal."

He raised his metal hand, and for a moment Tom thought he has extending it towards him to shake it, to which he would've remarked on how is he supposed to do it with his hands restrained. But Tord folded the red, metallic hand in front of him and with his other hand, pressed one of the buttons.

"Patrick, please escort test subject #1826 to the lab and get him ready." He spoke to the communicator installed on his prosthetic arm. "I'll join you shortly, but I must deal with a few things first."

"Yes, sir!"

Tord released the button, shutting off the communicator, and pressed a different button. Tom watched in confusion and curiosity, when suddenly the seat beneath him shifted. The legs of the chair changed into a pair of wheels, and as he stared down the sides in amazement, a new restraint reached out from the back and chained his neck against it, making him unable to turn his head or lean forward. Tom struggled against the pressure but let himself relaxed when he realized it wasn't choking him.

Tord pushed back his seat, getting up and fixing his uniform. "Well, I'm glad we reached an agreement without too much of a fuss." He says, walking around Tom to head out. But before he left he stopped momentarily in front of him, ruffling his hair slightly with his gloved hand. Tom growled at the contact and the fact he could not move his head away anymore. "Behave while I'm gone." Tord tells him, leaving the room.

Suddenly, Tom's chair moved. He tried to turn his head up, but the restraints wouldn't let him. He gazed upwards as far as his vision would let him, and caught a glimpse of a blue uniform and a tuft of brown hair. Tom deduced it was none other than the soldier he encountered before, since he was the one Tord called for. Tom was being pushed out the room, when they were stopped.

"Oh, and Patrick." Tord's voice called out once more, halting them. "If he does something, step out of line or try anything funny, you have my permission to electrocute him if necessary."

"Yes, sir." Patrick's familiar accented voice replied back. With that, Tom was wheeled out the room to meet his fate. This is his life now.

Chapter Text

Patrick wheeled Tom out the room, passing through the heavy metal door and heading into a long corridor. Tom has his back pressed firmly against the chair, unable to turn his head and look at the surroundings, he just shifted his gaze around as far it could to observe. There are other people around aside from just Tord and Patrick, it seems. Most of them wore the same red and blue uniform, but once in a while Tom would spot someone wearing a lab coat.

The entirety of the corridor is painted a dull grey, with tiled black and white floor, many doors on each side, and signs on every corner motioning to different areas of the facility. The signs are red with white letters, and they didn't seem to have anything special. However, when Patrick turned a corner, Tom caught sight of a sign on the opposite direction saying: "Test room."

Tom stared at the sign a bit longer before it disappeared from his line of sight. Test room? Sounds interesting… He thought. Tom kept a secret plan, well hidden in the back of his mind. Since he'll have to endure through whatever Tord decides to throw at him, why not find out as much as he can in the process? Sure, he may never get the opportunity to look around the facility on his own, but if the chance ever arises…

Tom continued to be pushed through the corridors by Patrick, still looking around the place for points of interest. He spotted a sign at the very end of the corridor. This one caught his eye because unlike most of the other ones, it wasn't red and white; it was black and dark gray instead and it read: "Morgue."

Tom raised an eyebrow curiously. A morgue? Tord has one of those? He wondered. Considering they are some kind of army, and most of them are soldiers, it is to be expected there to be ones who don't come back from their missions. Well, breathing at least. Add that to the list. He made sure to remember. Even though it would be obvious as to what he might find in there, it was still necessary to check it out.

As they turned another corner, Tom was faced with a set of metal double doors. He tried to crane his neck up and look through the small, round windows and peer inside, but the restraint on his neck kept him still. The heavy doors were pushed open as Tom was wheeled in and he was met with…

A clinic.

A boring, ordinary, clinic.

Tom looked around in surprise. He was expecting some sort of torture dungeon with iron maiden coffins, racks and guillotines. Instead he was met with a nice, clean clinic looking place. There was a metal bench in the centre, a wooden desk with writing materials over to the corner, bookshelves to the left, and glass cabinets to the right. Tom also noted the scale positioned in the far, right corner; and a stadiometer on the opposite side.

Without realizing, Tom released the breath he was holding in relief.

"Tense?" He heard Patrick ask from behind him. Tom frowned.

"You would be if you were in my position." He retorted.

The polish soldier let out a sigh. "This part isn't so bad, I assure you. Imagine that you are in a doctor's appointment." He says. "We'll just have to take a few samples from you. Learn your height, weight, blood type and ask you some questions before then real tests start."

A doctor's appointment? Sure, he could imagine that. The only difference is that the doctor is an insane, maniac, Norwegian, communist, douchebag that can't wait to get his hands on him. Tom laughed silently at the thought. Suddenly, with a push of a button and a loud "click" the restraints keeping him tied to the chair let him free. Tom, astonished by the sudden sense of freedom in his arms and legs after spending such a long time sitting down, rubbed his sore wrists that were red with markings. He attempted to stand up but his legs were half-asleep and he almost lost his balance if Patrick hadn't reached out for him.

"Careful." He advised as Tom unwillingly leaned on him for support. If he was able to stand and walk properly, he would've pushed the soldier away; even if he was helpful. But since he can't, Tom swallowed his pride and allowed himself to get semi-carried over to the metal bench. He heaved himself over and sat down on top of it.

"So now what?" He asks, still looking around while rubbing his arms; trying to regain the feeling back on them.

"Well, I guess I could start by taking samples of your blood." Patrick concluded, walking away over to a cabinet. "I'll get the stuff, you stay there and pull up one of your sleeves please."

Tom looked up to see Patrick with his back turned to him, and the path to the door cleared with nothing to stop him. Does he trust me enough to think I won't escape? He thought. Tom was thinking of taking the chance, but knew it would only lead him to trouble. He has no idea where the exit is, the facility looks huge, and too many soldiers around to spot him. And if he were to run into Tord…

Definitely not a good idea. Yet.

Tom grumbled in defeat and was just about to pull up the sleeve of his left arm when he stopped himself. He remembers the current state of his arm; recalling the nights when he couldn't take the voices anymore, and in his drunken state he had grabbed a razor to drown them out with pain. He did everything in his power to hide his many bruises, burns and scars over the last few months; concealing the pain he was going through from his friends. Masking it with a long hoodie and a casual smile, hiding his true emotions inside.

But these aren't his friends, so why should he bother to hide his bruises from them? They will figure it out eventually if the tests require exposure. But still, something in Tom's mind didn't feel right in showing them so openly; especially not to Tord. What will he think when he learns of is condition? His cocky attitude will certainly grow; proud that his nemesis was in such a weakened state and take advantage of him then. He can't let that happen.

Tom pulled up the sleeved of his right arm instead. Although it was bruised as well, it wasn't in such a state as his left one and the markings could pass on as scratches from a mere accident in the kitchen or something.

Patrick returned to him, holding a syringe in one hand and wearing latex gloves. "You ready? This might sting just a little." He spoke.

Tom rolled his eyes. "It may not look like it, but I've been to a doctor before. I know how a blood test works." He says in irritation. Why is he treating me like a toddler? I may be here against my will but doesn't mean I'm scared of everything.

Patrick ignored his rude comment and approached him. He placed the needle of the syringe just over his vein before piercing the skin. Tom didn't flinch or hiss, just slowly blinked as he watched the crimson liquid fill the little container.

Patrick pulled away, walking away towards the desk again. "Are you going to take more blood?" Tom asks, unsure if he should pull his sleeved down again.

"No. I think this is just the right amount." Patrick replies from across the room. "But if we ever need to make more tests in the future, which is highly plausible, we'll take more blood then."

Tom hummed in understanding, pulling down the sleeve of his arm. He looked towards Patrick, who has his back turned and was meddling around with the desk. Tom tried to lean sideways and look over to see what exactly he was doing, but the soldier's form kept blocking his view and he couldn't make it out.

Patrick turned back to him with a small smile. "Well, that's one procedure over and done with." He murmurs. "Now I'll take your height and weight. Take off your shoes and socks please."

Tom nodded, pulling out his shoes with his own feet and then taking out his socks; stuffing them inside his shoes. He then pulled himself off the bench and placed his feet down on the cold, hard tiled floor. His legs were feeling a little wobbly still, but he slowly made it across the room to where Patrick stood straight beside the scale.

"Step on the scale and look straight ahead." He instructed.

Tom did as he was told, stepping over the small machine and looking up and around. The scale made a small "beep" sound and Patrick jotted down in his notepad. Tom heard the soldier make a clicking sound with his tongue and shook his head. Tom raised an eyebrow, looking at him through the corner of his eye and wondering what was going on through his mind at the moment. Tom was well aware of his diminishing weight, but if questioned he can just make up an excuse about going on a diet.

"Alright, now on to the height." Patrick hummed, still writing on his notes.

Tom rolled his sockets, already getting tired of the procedures he's going through so far. Who knows how many he'll do in total. Tord knows, most likely; but I's not like he'll ever ask him. Tom walks up to the stadiometer, pressing his back against the metallic line. Patrick stood next to him, analysing his height. The soldier grumbled slightly at the sight of the long, spiky hair covering his view and disrupting the procedure, he then moved one hand to press down against Tom's hair to flatten it and see the real height. Tom chuckled slightly. His hair has always been a bothersome factor when it comes to height. Not to him, he sees it as some type of advantage, but to others… Oh, how many people has he upset in the cinema over the years?

Tom came back from his musings when Patrick hummed once again and wrote down his notepad. "Is that all?" He asks, stepping out the stadiometer and moving to put his shoes back on.

"Not quite."

At the sound of the voice, Tom turns to the set of large doors just in time to see it swing close as Tord steps into the room. Tom scowls in his direction but then realizes he was not alone this time. Beside the smug Norwegian, a very familiar looking soldier stood next to him. Tom was not mistaken, he could recognise those bushy eyebrows and eye scar anywhere.

"Jeremy!" Tom exclaimed, glaring at the soldier with clenched fists.

Both the soldier and Tord blinked a couple of times in surprise. Tord then turned to face Jeremy with a questioning look and a grin of amusement on his face.

"Is that what you call yourself now days?" He asks with a playful tone of voice, poking the pouting soldier in the cheek.

"Forgive me for my bluntness, sir, but I thought a name that differs from mine would suit best for going undercover. You know, with us being wanted by authorities and all." The soldier defends himself. "Much better than your name, in my opinion." Now it was his turn to joke as he gave Tord a knowing look.

Tom was confused by the exchange. He already guessed Jeremy was working with Tord, with him playing a part in his capture back in the pub, but the way they were interacting… It just seemed so weird somehow.

Tord, in response to Jeremy's teasing comment, didn't rebuke or demand respect from his soldier. Instead, he simply smiled, laughed and gave Jeremy a light punch in the shoulder with his normal hand. Tom, for some reason, felt angry while watching them interact as if they were the best of friends. It felt wrong.

"Uh, hello?! I'm still here!" Tom waved his arms around, trying to gain their attention. "And I want some answers!"

Tord turned his one-eyed gaze back to Tom. He cleared his throat, fixing the collar of his uniform. "Tom, meet Paul. One of my most trusted soldiers in the army. Along with Patrick, of course" He introduced. "And he will be the one to evaluate your physical condition, as part of our deal. While Patrick will be the one doing your mental evaluation, since you two seem to be getting along so well."

Tom paid no heed to what he was saying. Too busy glaring at the bushy eyebrowed soldier to really come up with anything to say in response. He was fuming in anger from the inside. Clenching his fists and teeth, breathing heavily and shaking slightly as he tried to control his temper. The feeling of betrayal he was going through; it wasn't a stranger to him anymore, but it hurts all the same. He thought back to that night in the pub. Back then, he thought Jeremy was friendly and perhaps a good companion. Just proves to show he can't trust anyone.

Paul met his angered stare with one of indifference. But inside he was feeling remorse for his actions. He thought Tom was a nice guy; fun to hang around, and just maybe they could've been friends under different circumstances. But he is and forever will be loyal to Tord, and he did what was ordered of him. Capture Tom and bring him in unharmed. Though, he did feel bad for having to trick the brit into believing he was his friend.

The uncomfortable silence and tension was disrupted when Tord cleared his throat once more. Snapping both the test subject and the soldier out of their dazed thoughts. "So, Patrick? Where were you before we got here?" He asks, walking towards the desk where Patrick sat with his notes.

"Oh, just finished measuring the test subject's weight and height, sir." Patrick reports, not looking up from his work.

"Have you taken a blood sample yet?" He prompts, earning a nod and a hum in confirmation. "And what about the lumbar puncture?"

Patrick looks up from his work in surprise. "I didn't know that was part of the requirement, since you didn't do it for any of the other test subjects until much later on." He points out. "Why do it now, sir?"

Tord didn't answer right away. He glanced at Tom over his shoulder, seeing if he was paying any attention to what they were discussing, but the brit was still locked in a stare down with Paul; who looked uncomfortable now under the intense, eyeless stare.

"He already has a bit of the serum inside of him, and I suspect he has been feeling the side effects more often than not." Tord finally replied, quietly, so Tom would not hear him. "I need to make sure I give him the right dosage or else he'll just turn up like the others."

Patrick nodded in understanding, walking away to get the necessary tools ready for the procedure. Tord turned away to glance at Tom, a smirk coming up to his features as he clasped both his hands together. Now, this part is going to hurt. He thought eagerly.

"Alright Tom, come here so we can perform one last exam on you." Tord called in a cheerful tone. But Tom didn't give any indication of hearing him, or budge. Tord frowned. "Are you not going to comply?" He prompted warningly, one hand over one of the buttons on his robotic arm. But Tord allowed himself to take a deep breath and calm down. It was too early to do anything drastic to him. Which reminded him, he still has to lay out the rules to Tom. Tord then smiled, as he recalled a few ways to attract Tom's attention. Or rather, a few ways to piss off the brit.

With a mischievous smirk, Tord put the fingers of his left hand on his mouth and whistled loudly. "Come here boy! I got a surprise for you!" Tord called out eagerly, whistling again. "Come on! You'll get a treat if you do!" That did the trick.

Tom's head whipped away from Paul at lightning speed and turned his darkened glare on to Tord. A growl rumbled at the back of his throat as he marched his way over to the Norwegian leader, who was grinning widely and trying not to laugh.

"Listen here you stupid, commie, prick!" Tom snarles, pointing a finger in Tord's direction as he approached him. "I may have given you permission to experiment, and do god know's what to me. But I. Am. Not. A. Dog! And like hell would I ever do anything you say! I'm not one of your stupid soldiers, that you can just boss around!"

Tord just kept grinning, both his arms folded over his chest with one eyebrow reaised. "Oh really?" He challenges.

"Yeah!"

"Then how come you made your way over to me? Just like I ordered you…" Tord stated slyly, watching Tom's expression closely and with amusement.

Tom, snapped out of his angry thoughts at the realization. He looked around and realized he had indeed obeyed Tord. He didn't mean to. He was just so angry that he hadn't really noticed his actions. He only saw, well, for the lack of a better word, red. He also took notice o Paul and Patrick's shocked expressions, as they watched the two of them argue and thinking the worst case scenario for him. Not many can openly challenge the red leader and continue breathing.

Tom felt slightly dumb for unintentionaly obeying to Tord's command. But he felt the anger rise within him again, and he glared at the Norsk, who wasn't the least bit intimidated.

"Well, now that you are here, you can get propped up for the next exam." Tord suggests, motioning to some sort of strap machine behind him. It looked like a medieval torture device in Tom's opinion; he didn't like it one bit.

"I though it was supposed to be only a blood exam." Tom says, narrowing his eyes at the contraption. "What else is needed that I have to be held down in… this?" He asks.

"Don't worry. It's just a small lumbar puncture." Tord reassured, putting an arm around Tom's shoulder. "It will be over quickly."

Tom pulled away from him harshily. "Why do you need my spinal fluid for?" He demands. Pointing a finger and glaring at him.

"Oh, just making sure you are healthy enough for the procedures." Tord explained, slowly stepping closer to the enraged brit. He raised his robotic hand, reaching out to him. Tom flinched away, raising one fist back.

"Get away from me!" Tom snarls as he throws a punch his way. But it didn't make contact. It was blocked. Tord effortlesly caught his punch with his robotic hand and was keeping him there. Tom tried to give another punch with his free arm, only to be blocked again. Tord twisted his arm behind his back, with Tom biting his mouth shut to keep from crying out.

"I guess we'll just have to do this the hard way, don't we?" He heard Tord hiss into his ear. Suddenly he was being hauled back. Tom tried to struggle in the Norwegian's hold, desperately trying to get out, but to no avail.

Tom was harshily thrown back againt the metal contraption. He tried to get up and leave as fast as possible, but Tord was quicker. He held him down and began to strap him up. Tom trashed agaisnt the restraints and tried to attack Tord in anyway possible; but it was proven futile when he was succesfuly straped down with both his arms and legs apart, and his body suspended.

"There!" Tord exclaimed, stepping back to look at the result. Tom glowered and snarled his way. Running a hand through his now messy hair, Tord fixed his uniform and cleared away the invisible dust' taking a deep breath.

"Now that temper tantrum is over with, I will explain the rules to you." The arm leader clasped his hands together and began to pace around the restrainted brit. "Break any of these rules, and I will personaly take away one of your privilages."

"Number 1#, you will not refuse a direct order from me." He explained. "If I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it, and I won't be as nice as I was now and give you warnings. Same goes for both Paul and Patrick. You will not disobey or act rudely towards either of them."

Tom snorted at that. Nice? Does he call forcefuly restraining me nice? He thought in bewilderment.

"Number 2#, you are not allowed to leave the lab unless supervised. Preferebly by either Patrick or Paul." He went on. "Number 3#, no alcohol." At that, he stopped pacing to stare at Tom with narrowed eyes. Tom glared back at him with bared teeth. "Number 4#, no contact with the outside world. Which means: No phones, internet, or going to the surface."

The surface? Tom thought curiously. He did presume they were in some sort of underground facility; with no windows around and all that. But how far away they were from civilazation?

"And lastly number 5#." Tord continued on, stopping in front of Tom with a straight posture. "Any signs of agression or phisical harm towards your leader or any members will not be tolerated. I am willing to overlook this recent incident; but next time I will not be as merciful." He warned cooly, but suddenly lashed out at Tom. He latched his metalic hand to the brit's throat, choking him. Tom gasped for breath while also trying to get the prosthetic hand off of him, but with both his arms restrained it was impossible.

"Am I clear on that fact?" Tord questioned, bringing his face closer to Tom's. In retaliation, despite the lack of air and the current position he was in, Tom glared right back at him. No trace of fear in him. Instead, he merely chuckled and grinned his way.

"W-whate-ver you say, c-commie." He choked out an answer.

Tord released him, shoving him back. He took a few steps back and glanced in the direction his soldiers stood. Watching their interaction in shocked silence; not daring speaking up a word. "Patrick, go ahead and do the procedure." He ordered.

Patrick, who had the needle in his hands, seemed hesitant; but not for the reason one might think of at first. "Actually, sir, may I have a word with you? In private, please?" He suggests, tilting his head to the side and motioning towards another door to a different room.

Tord raised an eyebrow curiously, but Patrick just tilted his head again and he nodded in understanding. He sighed. "Alright. Paul, you get the procedure done while we're gone." He commanded, turning his attention to the other soldier. As he walked away, following Patrick out the room, he looked back as he reached the door. "If he yaps, ignore him; he does that a lot. But if he starts to struggle, I give you permission to strike him if needed."

Paul gulped but slowly nodded. "Yes, sir."

With that, Tord left the room, slamming the door shut behind him; leaving the gruff, brawny soldier alone with the anger prone, restrained test subject in the same room together. Surely only good things can come from this?

Chapter Text

Silence. There was only a dead, awkward silence after Tord and Patrick left the room. Neither Tom or Paul made any effort to talk, making it seem like a long game of: "who talks first". Tom was too busy glaring at the ground to pay the soldier any notice anyway. His mind kept replaying his recent encounter with Tord. Stupid Tord, with his stupid army, stupid soldiers, stupid robotic arm, and stupid f#cking serum. He thought angrily. He thinks he can boss me around and treat me like trash just because I gave him permission to.

Meanwhile, Paul simply didn't know what to do. Tord ordered him to get done with the procedure, but on the other hand, Tom seemed unstable and unpredictable; who knows what he'll do in the state he's currently in. Sure, he's restrained, but still highly dangerous. Especially if what Tord says it's true. If Tom does indeed have a part of the monster serum inside of him, he could potentially change at any given moment and attack him. Regardless, Paul was not looking forward to this at all.

So, until Tord gets back or he musters up the courage to just go ahead and do it, Paul just stood there; shifting his legs uncomfortably and rocking back and forth while humming a little tune in his mind.

Tom caught movement in his visual perimeter and saw Paul, trying to distract himself. Tom almost could've laughed at the sight, but he quickly crushed whatever speck of humour there was in him, when he remembered that said soldier was the reason he was there to begin with.

"Aren't you supposed to be experimenting on me?" Tom questions irritably, breaking the silence and snapping Paul out of his daze.

Paul stops rocking on his feet and blinks at Tom in surprise. The brit just glares at him, raising one eyebrow, waiting for him to say something. Paul felt himself shrink under the intense eyeless glare. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, fumbling with the collar of his uniform while trying to think of what to say.

"I- uh, to be honest, I'm not very good with this science junk." Paul stammered nervously. "It's better be safe than sorry, especially in such a delicate procedure."

"Won't Tord get mad that you disobeyed him?" Tom prompted curiously. "He did say for you to go ahead and do it."

Paul chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "Oh, well, maybe. But I don't worry too much about it, even if I screw up a lot." He says. "I'm already use to leader's temperament issues, and unlike most of the other soldiers around here, Patrick and I are a lot closer to him. We're friends."

Something about the way Paul said the last part made Tom feel weird. And not in the bad way, or the good one either. Just the weird… Weird category. It was hard to explain to say the least. Tom can clearly tell Paul isn't trying to be mean with his statement, in fact, he looks rather nervous and frightened in his presence; which is a good change of pace considering his current position the last few hours. Paul was simply explaining to him his relationship with Tord, but something he said made Tom want to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Friends? Tord?" Tom echoed sceptically before giving a harsh laugh. "I know Tord since Kindergarten, he grew up with Edd, Matt and I; and although I never considered him my friend in particular, Matt and Edd were clearly attached to him. You would think after all these years together they would be inseparable, but look how it all turned out. Tord betrayed them, and he will do the same to you. He doesn't have friends."

Another awkward silence met his words. Paul didn't say anything to argue against his statement; his eyes cast downward and a dark look came to them. After a long, uncomfortable silence, Paul mumbled under his breath. "If you say so." But Tom heard him. He groaned in exasperation and tried to pull on his restraints with little success.

"So, what? Are we supposed to just stand here until they come back?" Tom says, still struggling.

Paul stared at him, one eyebrow raised and twirling the needle in his hand. "Do you rather take the chance of becoming paralyzed from the waist down?" He prompts challengingly, earning a glare from the brit but he did not answer him. "I thought so- Ops!" He accidentally drops the needle on the ground, bending the tip. He quickly tried to pick it up again and pretend like nothing happened, but the needle was clearly damaged. He heard Tom chuckle, and looked up to give the restrained man a slight, furrowed glare. "You didn't see anything." He muttered.

Tom grinned slightly. "Sure, my spine is so tough that the needle broke." He joked. "I'm sure Tord will believe it."

Paul chuckled before it faded into a frown. He sighed and looked up at Tom. "I know I'll probably never make it up to you properly, but I would just like to say that I am truly sorry for tricking you into this." He murmured apologetically, his gaze casting downwards. "You must understand; I was simply following Tord's orders. But I am aware this doesn't excuse anything, and I really hope you can forgive me. I truly believe that, under the right circumstances, we could be friends."

Tom, letting his guard down, looked at the soldier genuinely surprised and, dare he say, touched? But he shook the feeling off, glaring at the man who's to blame for all of this- Second! That's right. He's only second to the commie bastard.

"You really think your petty apology is enough to earn my forgiveness? No can do, buddy. You'll have to try a lot harder to win me over again." He spat, turning his head away. "If you do really feel bad for what you did, you would let me go and help me escape."

Paul flinched, his eyes showing hurt and worry. "You know I can't do that." He rubbed his arm uncomfortably. "Besides, you agreed to submit to red leader's experiments in return for your friends' safety. If you escape now, the deal will be off and there is no guarantee he won't do as he had threatened."

Tom stopped his attempts to glare at Paul. He was just about to open his mouth and argue when the door opened. Looking over to the respective direction, Tord and Patrick casually strolled into the room. Tord's face was grim and somewhat sombre, while Patrick remained stoic, his face giving away no emotion.

"Paul, did you do the lumbar puncture yet?" Tord asks, making his way over to them with both his hands folded behind his back.

Paul scratched the back of his head. "Well- not really, sir. The thing is- I- the needle-" He stammered nervously, as he tried to get the excuse out, but Tord raised his hand and silenced him wordlessly.

"Good, because we still need to put the tracking chip on test subject 1826 to monitor his vitals more closely." Tord explained, glancing at Tom who was glaring at him in his restraints, then turning to Patrick. "If you can set up the necessary equipment while I have a little talk with our favorite little test subject I would appreciate it."

"Yes, sir." Patrick dipped his head, walking over to the wooden desk.

Tord glanced at Paul and tilted his head. Paul raised an eyebrow in confusion when Tord tilted his head again, motioning towards where Patrick currently worked. Paul understood what he meant and hurried over to join his companion. He passed by Tom, shooting him another apologetic look before turning away, leaving Tom and Tord to face each other once more.

They stood in front of each other, staring down in apprehensive silence. Tom raised an eyebrow as he waited for him to begin, and wondered what Patrick might have said to him in the other room for Tord to want to speak to him again.

Tord calmly strolled forward, one foot at a time as he kept his single gaze fixed on the restrained brit. He stopped when he was right in front of him, barely a meter away from him. Tom narrowed his eyes. He doesn't like the short distance between the two of them and wished he was free to move away. Oddly enough, Tord seemed strangely silent. Even his breathing was quiet, while Tom's heart hammered against his ribcage and blood rushed into his ears, drowning out the noise.

Tom, feeling bored at this point, just wants to get this over and done with. "Ugh, can you stop with the silence and the staring already, commie?" He complained, slumping against the restraints. "If you have something worth saying, just spit it out already! God!"

Tom looked back down at Tord, and was surprised to finally see some emotion in his one, exposed eye; other than smug victory, mocking sympathy, or wicked glee. There was a flash of sadness gleaming in his eye. Tom shook his head. That can't be right.

Much like it had appeared, the flash of emotion was gone, replaced by his air of authority as Tord straightened his back. He cleared his throat, bringing his hands out and pulling out a tablet from behind his back.

"Alright Tom, first things first." Tord says. "I will ask you a couple of basic questions, and you will answer them truthfully and accordingly."

Tom raised an eyebrow curiously. "What kind of questions?"

"just the usual health protocol." Tord answered, flicking through the device, his eye glanced up momentarily above the screen to shoot a quick look at Tom before going back down. "Which I will be in charge of, as of this moment."

Tom's eyes widened. "Wait, what?!" He exclaims, barely believing in what he just heard. "You? You will be monitoring and taking care of MY health?"

If somebody else had come up to him and said Tord was going to take care of him, he would've laughed in their face and called them stupid. Heck, he was feeling the urge to do it so right now. But something in Tord's facial expression seemed genuine and halted his actions before he could even get a laugh out.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" Tom prompts, earning a deadpanned expression from the Norwegian leader.

"I don't see what the fuss is about." Tord spoke, tapping down into the device. "I'm just going to be responsible in making sure you're always in top notch condition for the tests. Last thing I want right now is you, transmitting some kind of deadly disease all over my base. Lord knows how high the probability is with you in the equation." He muttered the last part under his breath, but still loud enough for Tom to hear.

Tom frowned in discontent. Great, I have to spend my time answering a bunch of stupid questions for the commie. He thought dryly, until realization finally hit him as he slowly placed the puzzle pieces together. Wait, he's going to ask me about my health conditions. Patrick took him out the room to talk alone. He was in charge of verifying my weight. And if he said what I think he said to Tord, this means… Oh no. Tom began to panic, his breathing quickened as he tried to calm down again.

No. No. No. NO! Last thing I need right now is for him to ask me questions about my condition! He thought frantically. I need to get out of this! Anything! Think Tom! What can I do to avoid this? He looked wildly around the room for any type of diversion. His eyeless, black sockets landed on Paul and Patrick, who were murmuring quietly to each other over the wooden desk. Tom narrowed his eyes at Paul, remembering the certain night when they first met at the pub. Suddenly, a lot of questions flood his mind. Questions he completely overlooked until now and he never thought of asking. Maybe this could be his chance. Tord, after all, has a lot to answer him and he should give Tom that much in return for his compliance. Reluctant, as it is, it still is compliance.

Tom tilted his head, narrowing his eyes down at Tord as he continued to type in the tablet silently. He cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, Tord? Since we're in the subject of questions, I-I h-have some of my own as well." He says, mentally cringing and cursing himself for stammering and appearing so weak. Be more assertive!

Tord chuckled, his one eye glancing back up at him with amusement. "Oh? Is that so?"

Something in his tone of voice made a shiver run down Tom's spine. He mustered up his courage, glaring back down at Tord as he gained back his confidence. "Yeah! And I won't answer your stupid questions until you answer them!" Tom gave himself a proud pat in the back; mentally that is.

He heard Tord hum. Looking down again, he saw him scratch his chin with his robotic hand, deep in thought. He stopped humming, looking at Tom with his trademark grin on his face. Never a good sign.

"Alright Tom, I get your point. So why don't we make things more interesting?" Tord prompted, still grinning. "Let's make it a game of twenty questions. I will ask you one question, you'll answer them honestly, then you get to ask me any question, and I will answer back truthfully. How does that sound?"

Tom Inwardly cringed at the thought. Tord would still get to ask him questions about his condition. He as to avoid it from happening any way he can.

"But how can we even trust each other to answer honestly?" Tom asks. "Nothing is stopping us from lying and it's not like we can disprove it either."

"Well, how about this? If one of us lie or avoid giving complete answers, the other gets the right of giving a short answer in return." Tord proposed. "So, unless you don't want answers that badly, I recommend you answer these questions the best way you can."

"But how will we know the other is lying?" Tom asks.

Tord placed his robotic hand over his chest, above where his heart is. "As leader and commander of the red army, I give you my word that I will answer all your questions in the best of my capabilities." He vowed. "I can only expect the same kind of respect from you in return." He gave Tom a lopsided grin.

Tom glared and scoffed, turning his head away. "Your word means nothing to me." He snarled, but eventually sighed in defeat as he turned back to Tord. "But, I still want answers, and If this is my best bet in getting them, so be it." He murmured. "Fine Tord, I will play your stupid little game."

Tord clasped his hands together in glee, the tablet being held under his normal arm. "Excellent! Then I'll begin." He took out his tablet once more and began to flicker through it. "Now, let's see here…"

"Wait, why do you get to begin with the questions?" Tom demanded, feeling irritated at this point.

"First of all, I am the one in charge here, and I can do whatever I want." Tord spoke smugly. "Second, you asked me two questions already; three, counting this last one. Third, while my questions can be rather simple and easy to answer, I suspect otherwise of your questions, and they will require longer explanations to satisfy your curiosity. Fourth, so far I have answered all of your questions with equally satisfactory answers. Need I say more?"

Tom blinked at Tord, impressed by how ready he was to answer him. He rolled his sockets, groaning in irritation. "Alright Tord! You can start."

Tord chuckled once more before flipping down on the tablet. Tom watched him in apprehension. What is he going to ask him?

"Alright Tom, here's my first question…" Tord began, making Tom grasp the chains of his restraints in horrid anticipation. God, here it comes. He thought, already expecting the worst and how he can explain himself.

"When was your last doctor's appointment?"

Tom let's out the breath he was holding in relief. Tord blinked, waiting for him to answer. Tom bit his lip as he thought about it. When WAS the last time he went to a doctor?

Well, he did need to get treatment for his arm that one time… wait, no, he bandaged it himself. There was that time he got hit by a car… Oh wait, he walked it off. There was also that one time when he got sick; food poisoning from eating a rotten fish, and he vomited constantly, sometimes even blood… No, no, he isolated himself in his apartment for days until it passed, that's right. What about that time he got jumped in an alleyway and- Definitely not!

Tom cringed at the memory with a shudder running through his body. He still remembers their fear stricken faces and motionless bodies in front of him; torn members and ripped flesh all around him. Blood soaked his hands. Iron taste in his mouth and bile rising up his throat.

Tom clutched his eyes shut, shaking his head to get rid of the horrible memory haunting his mind. Not now. It's been a couple of days since he'd last had any alcohol, and even then he got drugged in the process. The alcohol withdraw was finally taking effect on him, and the memories he tried so hard to forget were coming back.

"Tom?"

Tord's voice snapped him back to reality. He looked down to see Tord, still patiently waiting for an answer. As much as he did try to remember, Tom could not recall the last time he'd seen a doctor; any doctor for that matter. Regardless, he tried to answer his best.

"Sorry, I blacked out a little there. Uh, to be honest, I don't remember." Tom says. "But if I had to guess the estimate date of my last appointment, maybe, uh, two years and a half ago?"

Tord frowned, narrowing his eye. "I see." He muttered, typing down his report. "Now, I believe it is your turn to ask."

Tom pondered his options. With this opportunity open up to him, he realized how many questions he had accumulated within the short time of his captivity. Especially in the aspects regarding Tord. What should he ask first? He thought maybe something a little simpler at first, then ask the real questions as they go on. The one question that kept popping into his mind constantly was the one he decided to go with, since it's been plaguing his mind since he arrived in the facility.

"The pub, the one where I was taken, both Paul and Patrick were there; with Patrick even working there. So it's safe to assume you own it." Tom deduced. "Did you build that pub just to lure me in?"

Tord laughed, so much so he had clutched his sides and bend over. Tom glared at Tord, flushing with embarrassment and feeling completely flustered. Was he too quick to assume?

"Oh, classic stupid Tom, you are such a riot!" Tord laughed, wiping a tear from his eye and regaining his composure. "I know you are a very important and essential part of my project, but do you think so highly of yourself to honestly assume that I would build and own a pub just to get to you?" Tord pointed his finger in Tom's direction, so close he flicked his nose mockingly.

Tom growled. "Then why do you own a pub for?" He asks irritably.

Tord grinned in return. "Why do you think? This facility isn't going to pay itself, and none of the equipment or weapons sprout from the ground." He explained.

Tom's sockets widened in surprise. "You? Paying for this?" He echoed. "Are you kidding me, Tord? You have no qualms in going on a murder spree, shooting down any civilians you see on your way; heck, you destroyed our house and nearly killed Matt, Edd and I with your stupid giant robot! Why don't you just steal the money and materials that you need?" He pointed out angrily.

"I do not have any qualms in stealing whatever my organization needs. But I do have qualms with police, and when they were getting too close for comfort I just had to find other means of supporting it all." Tord explained calmly. "I started out little at first, finding any jobs I could and take whatever money offered. Paul and Patrick helped. Eventually I got enough money to keep us afloat, and I created our own business to cover up all of our activities."

"Yeah, before the pub we used to have our own theme park; ASDF land!" Patrick spoke up from the other side of the room. "It was quite the business we had going, until the outbreak that is…"

"I worked so hard in making that roller coaster…" Paul mourned, with Patrick consoling him.

Tord shot them a look, clearing his throat. "I appreciate the impute, but try not to spoil the game you two." He scolded lightly. "It would be no fun otherwise." He grinned.

"Wait, you created ASDF land?" Tom exclaims in shock, even more questions raising in his mind. He distinctively remembers the park he and his friends spent the day in, until they realized the place was swarming with zombies. Were they the cause of it?

"Ah ah ah." Tord waved his robotic finger condescendingly. "You asked three questions already, now it's my turn. And to make things fair, I get to ask you three questions as well. Wouldn't want you getting greedy now."

Tom fumed, but remained silent; giving him permission to carry on.

"Does your family have any history with diseases?" Tord asks, reading it off from the tablet. "Diabetes, cancer, heart conditions; any of the sort?"

Tom just gave him a deadpanned look. "My mother was a bowling ball, and my father a pineapple. I don't think I'm running any risks with this." He replied, like the answer was obvious.

There was an awkward silence as Tord typed down the answer. Tom glanced over to Paul and Patrick, both of which were confused and astonished, as they tried to understand the logic behind him. Tom rolled his sockets. "Don't ask about it. It's a long story." He muttered.

The soldiers shrugged and went back to work.

"Have you had any broken limbs as of late?" Tord asks.

Tom thought for a moment. The only real time he remembers breaking anything in his body was when he tried to destroy Christmas with the use of Zanta's sled, which he had stolen, and was blown to smithereens by a missile. He ended up with most of his body broken that day. But nothing of the sort happened to him lately. After all, breaking bones and immediately having them fixed as his body re-shapes doesn't count, right? Right.

"Nope. Last I had it was six years ago." Tom answered simply. "Broke almost all of them; had to wear a body cast." No need to give him the full details of the situation.

"How often do you drink alcohol?" Tord questions, looking up from the tablet.

Tom stiffens. Shit. He is aware Tord knows he is an alcoholic, everyone knows he is one. But he started to drink a lot more after the first few incidents. He even switched actual food for Smirnoff just to keep it under control. He is already dreading the question Tord might be building up to, so how can he explain this without raising any red flags?

"Uh, one- no, at least three bottles a day for the past month." He said only half the truth.

Tord narrowed his eye at Tom, tapping his robotic fingers over the tablet in a rhythmic fashion. He sighed. "You know; you would make things a whole lot easier for all of us if you just say the truth to begin with." Tord murmured in disappointment.

"But I am telling the truth!" Tom insisted, throwing himself forward in his restraints as far as it would allow him. "Why would I lie about this anyway? It's not my fault you're too stupid to tell a lie apart from a truth." He became aggressive fast. A common trait when you are being defensive.

Tord shot him a glare, composing himself. "Fine." He placed down the tablet. "So, to answer your last question: yes, we were the owners of ASDF land. It used to be one of our bases. Above ground my soldiers worked as employers, entertaining the blissful ignorant masses, and earning money for our cause, while I worked on my project underground."

Tom heard him explain until he paused. He was waiting for him to carry on and give more information, but Tord took out the tablet again. Tom realized because he had lied, Tord wouldn't give him anymore answers until it was his turn to ask again. Tom hissed in frustration.

"Have you been suffering from back pains or aching joints?" Tord asks, not looking at him.

Yes! Tom almost blurt out but reframed from doing so. "Kind of. I mean, drinking and sitting on a couch for long periods of time does take its toll on my back. But no joint aches." He answered truthfully. "Now it's my turn, how many test subjects were there before me?"

Tord looks up, a mischievous smirk present on his facial features, making him look rather sinister. "Let's just say… there's a reason why you are called test subject #1826." He answered cryptically. "After getting enough resources to finally carry on with my work, I held my project in secret; right beneath the theme park. Of course, to test the serum out I would need test subjects, so I would abduct some of the park's visitors and try it on them." He proceeded to explain. "But unfortunately, the serum has drastic side effects when there's too much of the primary element. Not only does it burn the subject from the inside out, melting most of their organs in some cases, they die and come right back as zombies."

"We didn't dispose of the failed test subjects. Instead we placed them in a containment cell for further evaluation for future references." Patrick added, walking up to them with a rather large needle on his hand. Paul trailed after him. "But we didn't count on having so many failures; and so after many tries, the cells were too populated and there was an outbreak in the park. We had no choice but to evacuate the premises after our failed attempt in cleaning up the mess."

That would explain the zombies then. Tom thought grimly, watching Patrick walk around him. He tried to crane his neck, look over his own shoulder and see what the soldier was going to do. Suddenly, the bottom part of his hoodie was lifted up and he felt the tip of something sharp poke his back.

Tom immediately started to struggle in panic, already expecting the worst. Patrick tapped his spine lightly with two fingers, searching for the right spot for the procedure. But with Tom moving around too much and disrupting his focus, Patrick frowned, reaching out his hand and grabbed the brit by the back of his neck to still his movements.

"Stop moving, please. You'll just make it hurt more otherwise." Patrick advised, putting the needle to position.

Tom started to hyperventilate in panic until his frantic thoughts were cut off by muffled giggling. His eyeless gaze landed on Tord, who was covering his mouth with his hand, trying to stifle his laughter while watching Tom struggle. He bared his teeth and growled down at the norsk. Tom took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists as he calmed down and braced himself for the pain that was about to come. Come on Tom, you are stronger than this! You've been through worse! Don't let that commie bastard get to you now!

Tom took a few more deep breaths, feeling completely calm now he nodded for Patrick to carry on. He raised an eyebrow in return, as if asking: "Are you sure about this?" Tom nodded again, bracing himself.

The pain was immediate. Tom clenched his fists, grabbing onto the chains of his restraints, trying to distract himself from the sharp pain spreading across his lower back, and raising up his spine. He bit the inside of his cheek, preventing from crying out and show Tord any sign of weakness. But the strange thing about it, is that it wasn't quite as bad as he thought it would be. He still fell immense pain, and it hurts like hell; but he had already endured so much over the months with the feral side that it barely compared.

Tord watched Tom with interest, one eyebrow raised. He barely moved or made any sound. Tom's face was clenched in pain, but that was his only indication he was feeling anything at all. Tord made sure to note this down for further evaluation.

Tom let out a sigh of relief when he felt Patrick pull away the needle from his spine. He shook his entire body to relieve the rest of the lingering pain. The faint sound of clapping brought his attention back; metal against wool. Tom looked at Tord to see the norsk clapping his hands with a smug expression on his face.

"Well, well, well; I must admit Tom, I had underestimated you." Tord says, still clapping slightly in a condescending way. "I was completely certain you would have started crying during the lumbar puncture, especially when you're doing it without any anaesthetic. But, once again you have proven me wrong."

Tom glowered at him. "Good thing I haven't lost my touch then."

Tord walked closer. "To keep me entertained?"

"To prove you wrong!" Tom snarled, shooting forward and being inches away from Tord. He did not flinch at the sudden proximity, as he is fully aware of the powerful restraints keeping the brit from coming any closer or doing him any harm.

Tord smirked. He grabbed Tom's chin with his metallic hand, bringing him down to his eye level. Tom scowled in response. "Is your pain tolerance direct consequence of the serum currently running through your veins?" Tord questions. "Or, is there something deeper going on?"

Tom glared at Tord, not breaking away eye contact. He didn't want to say it. Not to Tord. Not anyone. But if he doesn't, he won't get answers. At this point, Tom could care less about the answers now. He could probably have an easier time convincing Paul or Patrick to tell him things rather than play games with the communist prick.

"No." Came his simple reply, tearing his head away from Tord's grip and slumping back against the restraints. "And even if there was, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you." He huffed.

Tord let him go with a frown. He sighed, crossing both his arms behind his back and turning away from Tom. "Fine, I can see that you have grown tired of our little game." He murmured, voice dripping in disappointment. "I will leave the remaining questions for our next round."

"And what makes you so sure there will be another round of questions?" Tom asks indignantly, failing to notice the presence creeping up behind him.

Tord looked back at him over his shoulder, a smirk spreading on his face. "Oh Tom, I know for a fact that you will ask again, because you still haven't asked the right questions!"

Tom was taken back by surprise. He wasn't expecting that kind of answer. He was just about to demand what he meant when he felt a sharp pain hit between his shoulder-blades. It was quick, and felt much like a stapler but the pain still registered. Tom wasn't expecting that and gave a yelp.

"Ow! What the-?!"

Tom twisted his head around and saw Paul, standing behind him and looking up to him with an apologetic expression, holding a syringe in his hand. Tom glared at the soldier. "Is this how you expect me to forgive you?" He exclaims angrily.

"Well, you are certainly doing a dang good job in proving me wrong." Tord speaks up jokingly. "And here i thought you grew immune to pain."

It's easier when you have alcohol. Tom thought grimly. "What did you do anyway?" He demanded.

"Paul just implanted a chip into your spine, granting us access to your vitals for better management and check-ups to your current physical state. So if there are any sudden changes to your condition during the procedures, we'll know right away." Tord explains. "The chip also serves as a tracking device, so if you ever attempt to leave or go into any unauthorized areas, we could be alerted. As well as some rather… interesting features."

Tom turned away from Paul, switching his eyeless, dark gaze back to the Norwegian leader. Patrick walked up to Tord and handed him a couple of files, dipping his head slightly in return. Tord thanked him and returned his attention back to Tom.

"Well, I guess that is all for today. I have other business to attend to, so I'll let Pat and Paul escort you to your quarters now." Tord waved, shooting Tom a sly grin, earning an infuriated scowl from the brit in return. "See ya tomorrow, old friend!" He called, walking out of the room.

Paul and Patrick tried to approach Tom and free him from his restraints, but Tom just trashed around in them. "Wait! What did you mean by asking you the right questions?" Tom demanded.

Tord nearly reached the doorway when he stopped walking and turned back around to face him. A smug look on his face. "I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually." He reassured. "Much like I'll do to find out what you are hiding from me." He promised wickedly, raising his robotic hand to just below his chin. "Time to use one of those features!"

Before Tom could get another word out, Tord pressed one of the buttons on his arm and a jolt of electricity shot through him. The shockwaves coursed through his entire body, feeling immense agony, convulsing with pain. Tom tried to hold in any sounds he might emit, stubbornness making him refuse to show any weaknesses. But the move itself was just so unexpected that he accidentally let out a few agonized screams.

Paul and Patrick watched Tom get electrocuted right in front of them in mixed expressions of horror and sympathy. But essentially, they knew it was needed for their plans. Tord just watched silently in morbid fascination. Something about watching the eyeless man howl in pain as he struggled against the chains holding him up was fascinating. But yet, at the same time, Tord felt… bad for him? Something in his agonized screams in particularly caused that feeling on him, but Tord couldn't quite explain why.

He snapped out of his thoughts when his robotic arm started beeping, alerting him that Tom had fallen unconscious. He pressed the same button again and the electric zaps stopped. Tom has his head and arms hanging down by the restraints, and was completely motionless. Tord frowned at his immobile form. Now that Patrick mentioned it, Tom really does look thin and weak. Is he not eating properly? Tord exhales in contemplation. I guess i'll just have to fix that up too.

"Escort him to his room and make sure he stays there!" Tord orders as he turns around and leaves.

"Yes sir!"

(Meanwhile.)

Rain poured outside and stained the windows. Inside his little apartment, Edd paced around his living room in worry. His footsteps echoed throughout the space as he walked around the couch from one side of the room to the other. He bit his lip and chewed on his fingernails, occasionally checking his cell phone before shoving it back into his pocket.

A knock sounded on his door. Edd jumped and hurried over to open it, feeling hope fill up inside his chest, but immediately felt disappointment when he realized it was only Matt on the other side of the door. He was soaking wet with his hoodie raised and carrying grocery bags on both hands. Edd stepped aside to let him in.

"Did you find him?" Edd asks worriedly.

Matt shook his head. "There's no sign of him anywhere." He murmured sadly.

Edd groaned, sighing exasperatedly. He ran a hand through his hair and went back to pacing, taking out his phone once again. Matt watched him, placing the groceries on the counter desk before turning back to Edd.

"Where could he have gone to?" Edd wondered. "It's been three days, Matt! He should've come back by now!"

Matt fiddled with his fingers, not exactly sure what to do. He wanted to comfort and reassure Edd, but he was worried for Tom too. It's unlike him to be gone for so long. Usually he would just go to the nearest bar, get drunk and return, at the very least, on the following night.

Matt was snapped out of his thoughts by a loud bang as Edd punched the wall in frustration. He rubbed his injured hand, hissing at the pain. His gaze cast downwards, and his bangs covered his eyes. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have pushed Tom over the edge." He lamented. "I thought, maybe, that if I pestered him enough he would finally open up to us. But instead I just pushed him further away."

Matt frowned, reaching into the plastic bag and taking out a cola can. He smiled a little, trying to appear more reassuring. "C'mon old chap, don't be like that." He called, walking up to the green hooded man and offering him his favourite drink. "Tom is… well, kind of mysterious in his own right and keeps a lot of things to himself, but maybe he has his reasons to." He argued.

Edd looked up at him through his bangs with sad eyes. "But, we're his friends." He pointed out. "Whatever it is he's going through; he should tell us. I know that I will always count on you and Tom to help out with my problems, so why can't he do the same?"

Matt shuffled around on his feet, adjusting his position. "You know Tom; he is more introvert and closed off. It is unlike him to admit things so easily, especially if it concerns his emotions." He pointed out, putting his arm around Edd's shoulder, still offering the can out to him.

Edd gingerly took the can from him, still a little hesitant to open it. "But what if he never comes back? What if this time I pushed him away for real? Or worse, what if he turns out like Tord did?" He murmurs worriedly. "He did say not to expect him back so soon…"

"Look, people tend to exaggerate things when they're angry. He'll come back!" Matt reassured him. "He just needs some time for himself, think things over, and reflect for a bit. I'm sure once he realizes his mistake he'll come back."

Edd started smiling a little now. "You really think so?"

"Of course!" Matt grinned as Edd cracked open his can and took a sip. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Tom showed up at the doorstep right about now."

The doorbell rang.

Edd choked on his drink and nearly dropped the can if it weren't for Matt holding him. They looked at each other in astonishment, then at the door, then right back at each other. Edd's eyes were wide, and his mouth opened and closed without any sound. Could it be? Edd asks silently, and as if he could read his thoughts, Matt nodded. Suddenly, a rather large grin made its way onto Edd's face and he rushed off towards the door; not caring if he spilled his favourite beverage along the way.

Matt breathed a sigh of relief, running after his friend in excitement. Things were finally going to get better form here.

When Edd made it to the doorknob, he gripped it tightly in his hand, twisted, and swung it open without any hesitation.

"TOM-!"

However, his ecstatic expression faded almost instantly once he realized it was not his friend who stood at his doorstep. Instead, two police officers towered over him. One was leaning against the railings of the stairs with his hat covering most of his face, arms crossed over his chest, blonde tufts of hair could be seen poking out from beneath his cap, and a lit cigarette poked out of his mouth. The one who presumably ringed the door bell was a tall man with ginger hair, one-o-clock shadow, blue eyes, sideburns, and pale white skin. As soon as Edd opened the door, the man straightened his position, removing the cap from atop his head.

"Mr. Edd Gold?" The Officer asks.

Edd looked at each of them nervously, taking a step back inside and closing the door a little. "Um, y-yeah, that's me." He answered hesitantly.

The officer dipped his head a little. "I'm officer Bennet, and this-" He introduced, then turned back and motioned for the other cop standing behind him. He gave a little wave of acknowledgement in return. "Is my partner, Lenny. I'm afraid we've come to give some bad news for you, sir."

"Edd? What's going on?" Matt asks, coming up behind Edd and taking notice of the two stranger at the doorstep. When he saw their uniforms and badges, he realized then that they were police. He gulped, afraid as to what this might lead to.

Officer Bennet narrowed his eyes at Matt. "Is he your relative?" He questions.

Edd looks back at Matt nervously. "No, he's just a, uh, friend…" He stammered. Getting a sudden burst of courage, Edd closed the door a little more and proceeded to glare at the officer. "Look, we're kind of busy right now, so if can just say what it is already-"

"It's about Mr. Thompson, sir."

At his words, Edd shut up immediately and opened up the door fully now. His eyes were wide and held many expressions; notably worry and hope.

"You found him?" Edd asks taking a few steps forward. "How is him? Is he okay? Where did you find him? We were worried sick! Can I see him?" He kept blurting out questions.

Officer Bennet looked uncomfortable, fiddling with his cap and avoiding eye contact. "Mr. Gold, I'm sorry. It is with great displeasure that I must inform you that, Mr. Thompson is dead."

Time seemed to slow down for Edd. His heart stopped only to give a mighty leap and beat against his ribcage. Oxygen escaped his lungs and for a moment he felt like he couldn't breathe. His hands were shaky and he let go of the cola can, still on his hand, spilling it all over the floor. His eyes remained fixed on the officer in front of him and he took a hesitant step back. He barely heard Matt gasp beside him, or feel his hand touch his shoulder. He felt as if he was fading in and out of existence; he wasn't feeling the moment, but feeling too much at once to be something concrete.

"H-how?" Edd managed to ask rather shakily. Breath wavering, his throat dry, and already feeling tears clog his vision.

"We found Mr. Thompson's body in a ditch earlier this morning." Bennet reported. "He had several bullet wounds and deep lacerations to the skin. Autopsy still hasn't confirmed if he had died instantly or struggled with blood loss."

Matt placed both hands to his mouth to muffle his gasp of horror. "H-he was… Murdered?"

Bennet nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid so." He confirmed. "Though, we still haven't found any clues that could lead us to the perpetrator."

Not bearing to hear any more of this, Edd turned around, shoving Matt out of the way and bolted back inside.

"Edd-!"

Ignoring Matt's cry, Edd continued to run. His world was spinning out of control, all noise was drowned out with blood rushing to his ears and his hammering heart. Tears already welled up in his eyes, trailing behind him as they fell. Despite not being anyone else in his apartment, Edd felt the urge to cover his eyes with his sleeve.

He made it to his room and slammed the door shut, locking it behind him. Edd rested his back against the door, breathing heavily and trying to regulate it back to normal; arm still over his eyes. He let the officer's words finally sink in and the reality of the situation took its toll on him.

He lowered his arm, tears welling up until he couldn't contain them anymore and they streamed down his face. Edd allowed himself to cry. He covered his face with both hands and sobbed as he slowly leaned down, slumping against the door frame until he was on the ground hugging his knees. Many thoughts were running through his mind at that moment, but only one kept repeating itself and coming back constantly.

"I'm sorry, Tom. I'm so sorry!"

Chapter Text

"Are you out of your mind?!"

Tord was leaned back in his recliner chair, feet propped up over his desk and gaze fixed on the ceiling fan of his office. His lips were pursed with both arms crossed behind his head in boredom as he suffered through one of Patrick's lectures. This time, the Polish soldier was pacing around the room and ranting on and on about his treatment in regards to Tom, all the while Paul watched the argument in the far corner of the room; fiddling with his fingers, gaze cast downwards and completely silent as if he was afraid to speak up. This might take a while.

"I can't believe you've done this! After I pulled you out of the room to talk privately, specifically told you about my concerns regarding his weight loss and to take it easier on him; you just went ahead and electrocuted him!" Patrick exclaims angrily, still pacing from one side of the room to the other.

Tord shrugged. "Oh stop exaggerating, Pat!" He sighed exasperatedly. "It was just a controlled shock; the voltage isn't even that high. He was clearly struggling against the two of you so I thought it would've been much easier if he were unconscious. No need to get your panties in a twist. Geez!"

"I don't care what you thought, because you clearly didn't!" Patrick snapped. "Tom is incredibly underweight for someone his size and age, this leaves him very frail and extremely weak. If we are not careful, we could accidentally kill him without even going through any of the procedures." He warned.

Tord blinked at him deadpanned, sitting straight in his chair. "Alright Pat, you got a point. I will go easier on him from now on." He sighed. "But if he steps out of line, I will discipline him if necessary." He warned, turning his chair to look at the mirror on his left, immediately running his robotic hand through his hair and fixing his fringe.

"For our sake Tord, I do hope so. Tom might be our last shot of success in perfecting the serum. If we lose him, the project you worked so hard on will be no more." Patrick states angrily. "I recommend we give him a special diet before the procedures, enough for him to gain back the lost weight and build up his strength to resist blood loss." He advised.

"Very well, you go on and do that. For now, we'll leave the serious experiments for when Tom has a full recovery." Tord says, still looking at his reflexion.

"I'm afraid my hands are full on this matter, sir." The soldier grumbles, causing Tord to glance at him through the reflection.

"Hmm?"

"With all due respect sir, you already put me in charge of taking care of his mental health. I am no psychologist, so I have to read everything and anything on the matter to accomplish this." He elaborated. "You, on the other hand, put yourself in charge of his overall health. If anyone should plan his diet it should be you."

Tord glared at him clenching his fists but sighed in defeat as he realized the soldier's words did have truth in them. "Fine, I will take care of his diet. You can go on with your lessons, just don't forget to check the test results for his blood and spinal tap." He murmured. "Paul, you and I will take test subject #1826 for some light physical activity tomorrow, so I suggest you come up with something for then."

"Yes, sir!" Paul saluted.

"Dismissed." Tord ordered, his back still turned to them but watched them leave his office through the mirror.

Once they left and Tord was finally alone, he dropped the authority posture and allowed himself to relax. What a busy day. He thought tiredly, walking to his chair and leaning back as far as it would go, stretching his limbs.

He opened his computer with a frown, typing in the password and gaining access to all of the base's personal files and reports. But he was not interested in any of that at the moment. He was currently more preoccupied in finding ways of recovering Tom back to his proper health.

I don't understand. How could he have gotten to this condition? He's barely just skin and bones, there is literally nothing in him. Tord thought worriedly, researching different sources and pages for the absolute best. Did he do this to himself? If so, why? I need to keep a close eye on his condition…

Tord's thoughts drifted into various directions and possibilities. For now, he will give Tom the benefit of the doubt that he just has a terrible sense of self-care, and hopefully, nothing deeper was going. But then again, he's dealing with Tom. There is always a catch.

He is hiding something, and if Tom won't admit it, then I will figure him out myself. He vowed silently.

(Later…)

Blurry images were flying through his mind, but they were so fuzzy he could barely make them out. Blood rushed through his ears, drowning out the noise; his heart hammering in his chest. Stop.

He could faintly see a few places that looked familiar to the depths of his mind. A park, an alleyway, the bar… a yellow house. Stop it.

Next thing he hears are screams; shrills of panic and horror all around him. He tries to understand what was going on but all he sees as his vision clears are people running away from something. He looks behind him but there was nothing there. He realizes then that these people were running away from him. Stop it!

He tries to plead for the people to stop, try and make them understand, but they just kept staring at him in horror. He clutched his head in distress. P-please no!

He hissed in pain when he felt something sharp poke his head. He was confused by this and slowly drew his hands down, only to discover that in place of his hands, he had sharp blood-stained claws instead. NO!

He thrashed and turned violently as he saw people get mutilated left and right. His claws seemed to have a mind of their own as they slashed through them mercilessly. I don't want this!

Blood and guts spilled everywhere. He felt immense pain coming from his jaws as his gums expanded and sharp teeth started to grow out of his normal ones. Something heavy swished behind him. A tail. His tail. He pounced on a frightened woman and tore her face off with his jaws, mauling her limb to limb. Make it stop!

But he couldn't stop it. He would never stop until the pain in his stomach finally ceased and his hunger for flesh is satisfied. His appetite has been neglected for far too long. A loud roar escaped his lips once his eye surveyed the bloodstained fields; no signs of life. Until he heard a gasp from behind him. No! No! No!

He turned around, slowly and rather clumsily due to his large size. Standing behind him with expressions of shock and horror were two familiar figures of a ginger and a brunet in hoodies. Something clicked in his mind at the recognition, but his stomach growled louder at the sight of them. Not them!

He crouched low on the ground, a growl rumbling through him as his eye narrowed at them. His huge claws raked the ground in anticipation. His mouth watered.

PREY.

NO! DON'T-!

KILL.

He pounced on them, claws raised and ready for mutilating as the two forms cowered away in fear. Next thing he knows; blood is soaking his form. His friend's blood.

"NO!" Tom shot up straight, sitting up in alarm. His eyes were wide and he started to pant for breath, trying to calm down from the adrenaline as he trembled in fright. He looked around frantic but was relieved to find everything he had experienced, for the most part, was merely a dream.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief, taking deep breaths to calm his rapid heartbeat. He laid back down staring at the ceiling. It was just a dream. Edd and Matt are fine. You did not hurt them, they are safe and sound back at home. The monster will never hurt them now.

As he gained back his bearings, Tom noticed the somewhat soft surface he was laying on top of. On closer observation he realized he was indeed lying on a bed. He looked around the place he was in. The room was plain gray with no windows or anything else really. Just the bed.

Last (night's?) events slowly but surely reappeared into his memory and he remembered how Tord played a stupid game with him before knocking him out via electric shocks. Tom huffed in annoyance. Dam commie. Didn't even have the guts to knock me out himself, he had to do it from a safe distance.

Tom noticed two doors, one positioned to his left; large and made out of steel, and the other in front of him at the far end of the bed. One must lead outside while the other was possibly a bathroom. Again, possibly… This is Tord he is dealing with after all.

Tom sat up again, his legs dangling to the side of the bed. He tried to get up when he felt a pull towards his wrist and a slight pain followed. Tom looked down and saw a thin, transparent line coming out of his sleeve. He pulled it up, the line going inside his veins. Tom followed the line, his eyes directing towards the rather large IV bag on a pole, connected to the lines.

"An IV?" Tom stared down at his wrist in confusion. They must've put that in while I was unconscious… right on my injured wrist too.

Tom didn't have much time to pull it off before the door to his cell slid open. Tom jumped in surprise, letting out a little yelp until he realized who was on the other side. The familiar silhouette of pointy hair was enough to tell who it was before Tord strolled into the room, a wide grin on his face and carrying a tray of, supposedly food with him.

"Good morning!" Tord greeted in a sing-song voice. Tom stared at him deadpanned, not saying anything just raising one eyebrow questioningly. "Hope you had a good night's rest, cause' today we have a lot to do."

Tom glared. Tord is never cheerful unless there is pain involved. Great. The Brit remained silent, crossing his arms and glaring at the other man. Tord's smile wavered at his behaviour.

"Ah, the silent treatment I see. Don't tell me you are still upset for me electrocuting you yesterday?" Tord says, earning a harder glare from Tom causing him to chuckle at their situation. "Really? Come on old pal, as if you were expecting anything different from me at this point!" Tord laughed, but slowly diminished as Tom remained silent and fuming. "Oh. So you are serious about this." Tord blinked in realization that maybe making fun of his only hope to get the serum done, especially when he is in such a condition, wasn't the best idea.

Tord sighed, clearing his throat. "Fine. Maybe I exaggerated and I shouldn't have been so quick to electrocute you." He apologized while avoiding uttering the specific words to his supposedly arch-nemesis. Patrick's words echoed in his mind. "As long as you don't try anything funny, I won't do it again. I promise."

Knowing this is the closest he will ever get to an apology coming from Tord, Tom dropped his arms with his glare turning to the tray of food the Norwegian was still holding in his hands.

"Anyways, I brought you breakfast." Tord simply says handing him the tray. "And please try not to take out the IV without proper assistance. I had it put in to help restore you back to health and I would hate it if you were to be stubborn about it."

Tom took the tray from him, setting it down on his lap. The food given was as simple as it could be: Just a bowl of bread chunks, a small dish of butter with a plastic knife, and a glass of water. Talk about generic prison food. But the food itself didn't really matter. Even if he were presented with a cheeseburger or a large, juicy steak he still wouldn't eat it. He can't risk getting strong again.

"I'm not hungry." Tom muttered, looking away while ignoring the pain in his stomach grow at the sight of food.

Much to his surprise, Tord laughed in response, looking down at him with amusement. "Patrick warned me you would use the same excuse twice, didn't think you actually would though." He stated. "To my knowledge, you haven't consumed anything in the last 54 hours. No normal human being can go on so long without any nourishment."

Tom inwardly grimaced. Damn, he is on to me. He glared up at Tord. "I don't have eyes, my parents are inanimate objects, and I currently have a super-potent serum running through my veins. I am by no means normal." He growled.

Tord shrugged. "True. But you are still human despite all of that, and you need to eat sometime." He says, nudging the tray.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "So what happened to the quality meal I was promised when taking your stupid deal?" He challenged, remembering the night Tord had come to him to hear his answer and told him of the things he would expect to get if he accepted his proposition. "If this is what you have for a quality meal, then I really don't wanna know what you have for your average one." He held a chunk of bread between his fingers, holding it up to his eye he inspected it.

Tord frowned. "I'll have you known that this is some of the finest bread that we have." He stated, somewhat offended by Tom's comment, as he held a lot of pride for his army. "And concerning the conditions of our deal, a change was in order." At this Tom put the chunk of bread down, looking at Tord curiously. The norsk sighed. "Due to your alarming condition I had to research and plan your diet carefully. So from now on, instead of two quality meals a day, you'll get plenty of small snacks once every two hours: Bread, protein bars, soups. Small but nutritious, and easy to consume."

Tom narrowed his eyes as his blank stare met with Tord's own gray one. He may know about his malnourished state, but he barely scratched the surface of Tom's condition; he has no idea what he is dealing with, and Tom plans to keep it that way for as long as he can. So until Tord addresses the issue directly, he will just play along.

Once again, Tord nudged the tray of food closer to Tom. "Well, go on and eat up then. When you are done, I'll escort you to the gym where Paul will be waiting for us." He ordered.

Tom looked down at the food in disdain. His stomach was growling but he went for so long without eating anything that he kind of lost his appetite due to his self-control. The chunks of bread didn't look particularly appetizing either.

Tord frowned, sensing Tom's hesitance to eat and figured he wouldn't do it on his own initiative. He sighed. "You know, there are still lots of questions you haven't ask me yet." He said, gaining the Brit's attention. "Tell you what: You may ask me any questions you want; I promise to answer them all truthfully. But for each question you ask me you will eat one chunk of bread in return."

Tom rolled his empty eyes, groaning in annoyance. Leave it to Tord to solve all his problems with a deal or a game. He has been for approximately three days in this stupid base and already he couldn't stand Tord or his methods. He vaguely remembers the Norwegian's ominous words from their last game. The right question? He thought. I do want answers, and I don't know when I'll get another chance to talk with Patrick or Paul on my own; or if they will even answer me then. Tom looks down at the bowl of bread on his tray, slowly lifting his gaze back to Tord; standing in the middle of the room with his hands folded behind his back.

Tom didn't want to give in just yet, his stubborn side rising within him. "And what if I refuse?" He challenged, crossing his arms and folding his legs; careful not to let the tray fall from his lap.

Tord frowned at him. "If you don't eat, then I guess I will just have to make you." He spoke, icily calm. "And believe me Thomas, I have many ways to make you do whatever I want. I am just being nice and giving you the chance to choose to do it the easy way or the hard way." Tom wasn't fooled by his calm demeanour. Tord was practically radiating anger, he just kept it in check. Tom scowled but sighed in defeat, knowing better than to argue further at this point. "So what's it gonna be?"

Tom stared at the ground, adverting his gaze. "Fine. I'll take your offer." He muttered.

Tord smiled, regaining his posture. Good, he is learning. He thought, pleased with the result. Maybe one day he won't resist me anymore and just do as I say without protest. Hopefully.

"You may begin whenever you are ready." Tord declared, straightening his back and clasping his hands together.

Tom narrowed his eyes, remembering his previous questions and the information he learned in response. He scratched his chin and hummed.

"Alright, uhm, I assume we are currently in your army base or something…"

"One of many." Tord put in. "This one is actually my main base, and the largest of all of them. Do keep going."

Tom raised one eyebrow. Geez. How many bases does he have in total? And why so many? He thought of asking, but he shook his head. Focus. One question at a time! I can't eat too much so I have to think carefully about my questions.

"Well, if this is your main base, then how come I barely see anyone around here?" Tom asks. "I mean; I saw a few people wandering through the halls when Patrick first escorted me. But how come I only seem to interact with the three of you and no one else?"

Tord grinned, moving to lean on the wall next to him while crossing his arms. "The serum project is a highly confidential plan only accessible to higher ups and with my permission. It is a very delicate procedure that I would very much like to keep it hidden from any form of unwanted attention." He explained, an edge to his voice. "So, to prevent unqualified assistance or possible traitors to get close to my last shot in this project, I made it perfectly clear to my soldiers to stay away from the lower area, which is the entire floor you reside in and we perform our experiments. Any members of the red army found wandering about the halls of this floor without direct permission from me will be-"

"Killed?!"

"Punished." Tord finished, his grin turning into a sour frown. "I may be trigger happy, Tom, but I wouldn't kill my own soldiers for a little bit of rule breaking." He paused, contemplating his thoughts. "Well… Unless they annoy or piss me off, and break the rules far too often; in which case they lose their value and become easily dispensable. And this project is a very serious issue, so now I am not quite sure what I'll do if someone were to come down here and find out…"

Tom felt an involuntarily shiver run down his spine at the sound of that. He began to wonder what kind of punishment Tord delivers to those who break the rules. Knowing how sadistic the Norwegian man could be, Tom wouldn't be surprised if it involved medieval torture methods; or at the very least some finger chopping or back whipping. And how exactly would he dispose of the "dispensable" soldiers? Tord's favourite method of killing has always been guns, but again, he is a sadistic f#ck; he most likely wouldn't settle for just a simple shot in the head. Tom's gaze drifted down to Tord's synthetic hand, currently rubbing his chin in thought. Another shiver ran down his spine. Something told him that cold, metallic hand held a lot of deaths in its grasp. And he suspected it wasn't only by choking either.

"Regardless, you will only interact with Paul, Pat, and I throughout the whole experience and no one else." Tord declared, brushing off his previous thought.

Tom snapped out of his thoughts. "So your soldiers-"

"Ahem." Tom was abruptly interrupted by Tord's obnoxious throat clearing. The Norsk was looking down at him expectantly, but Tom just stared back in confusion. "Eat." He ordered, motioning to the tray.

Tom looked down, realizing what he was expected to do. He inwardly grimaced, not feeling up to eating anything at the moment, or ever for that fact. But if he didn't, Tord would force him to do it regardless, and he doesn't need the humiliation of having the commie force-feeding him against his will. It's just best to comply.

Tom surveyed the contents of the bowl, careful to pick the smallest chunk possible. He raised it to his eye level to inspect it. The bread is brown and white with grains in it, soft to the touch and yet held a certain hardiness to it near the border. Gingerly, he stuck his tongue out to give the bread an experimental taste. Tom clicked his tongue. Tastes like bread alright.

Tord watched him in amusement and slight annoyance, doing his best to keep from giggling out loud. He debated whether he should just tell him that the bread held no drugs or poison in it, but held back. Tord decided he found Tom quite adorable when he was suspicious and wary of things.

Tom stared down at the piece of bread for a moment longer before popping it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, and rather hesitantly as he rolled the bread around his mouth with his tongue. It crunched beneath his teeth, the grains making themselves apparent. The taste was rather bland. But to Tom, who hadn't eaten anything for so long he barely remembers the last time he did, the bread tasted divine in his mouth.

Still, he did not let it show he enjoyed. "Not bad." He mumbled while still chewing.

When the chunk was gone from his mouth and descended down his throat, Tom still felt the bread taste on his tongue. He held the urge to lick his lips. His eyes unintentionally fixed back on the bowl, and his hand was ready to take another chunk but he quickly reframed from doing so. His hand twitched and he clenched into a fist in response. Stay under control. He reminded himself.

Although subtle, Tord took notice of the hand twitch. Looking at Tom's facial expression he could detect a hint of hesitation, as if he was struggling with himself. Tord raised an eyebrow in interest. Hm, seems as if he's having some trouble in containing himself. Not sure if this is his stubborn side refusing to actually enjoy something I am giving him, or something else entirely… He contemplated, rubbing his chin. I'll order Pat to have a session with him tomorrow; today if possible, and see what he can figure out.

Tom managed to repress down the urge to eat more, for now, until he could ask more questions. "So how did you get your army?" He blurts out. "Did you actually get followers or did you blackmail them into joining you?"

Tord just shot him a sly grin. "I earned my soldier's respect fair and square. They approved of my way of thinking and agreed to join the cause. My cause." He declared with pride, placing the palm of his robotic hand over his heart. "Of course, I started only with a handful of soldiers; Paul included. But overtime we recruited more members to join us, and that's when Pat came in. I never had any use to blackmail anyone."

Except for me, you dumb bastard. Tom silently added, scowling. "But how did you manage to recruit more members without being tracked or found out by the authorities?" He questions. "Like, with you being wanted and all I guess it's safe to say you didn't just go out in the open to demand more members or anything. So you probably had a strategy for this sort of thing." He pointed out, recalling the time he was walking down the street with the keys of his newly-bought apartment twirling on his finger when he found the wanted poster.

No matter how much time seemed to pass since that incident, his mind somehow always drifted to the catastrophic events of that day. Sometimes he wondered what would've happened if he had never found that poster. Would Tord have turned his rage on Edd and Matt instead? Or would he have left peacefully?

Tord's grin widened. "Very clever Tom, maybe you aren't as stupid as I thought you were." He purred in delight, motioning with his hand to the bowl once more. Tom got the memo right away and took a small chunk of bread; eating while he listened to his answer.

"Yes, I had to work around the issue with the authorities in order to expand my numbers. So we were very careful when selecting our members; only choosing those who held special skills and stood out among the rest." Tord explained. "But overtime as our organisation grew we became more open to members, but still careful in our selection to make sure we don't get any spies or undercover cops. So now we have a new system of selection."

"Which is?" Tom questioned, glancing sideways and taking note of the small tray of butter to accompany his meal. He gingerly grabbed the plastic knife and proceeded to swipe it over one piece of bread.

Tord smirked. "Our pub of course! It turned out to have more use for the army aside of just financing our organisation." He exclaimed. "We keep an eye out for frequent clients; the ones who seem miserable and have a reason to come so often. One soldier goes to them undercover, gain their trust, gets info on them, and we offer them a place in the group. If they refuse, we erase their memories from the event; but most cases they are willing to abandon their lives for this new style."

Tom swallowed another chunk of bread, rolling down his throat with great difficulty. It's been a while since he last did this. He grabbed the glass of water and took a sip, still paying attention to the details.

"But it's not just the pub that we use. All soldiers are equipped with fake names and identities so that they may interact with the outside world whenever they want. If they were to stumble upon a person of interest that fits in with our requirements, they are offered a place as well." Tord went on, seemingly not minding in giving away even the most secretive of details regarding his army. He held a lot of pride for his hard work and wasn't afraid of showing it. "Most of the people who take our offer like to delete their previous lives, either by hacking the systems or just simply faking their own deaths; taking entirely new identities as their own and committing themselves fully to the army."

Tom looked up at him. "So your soldiers are basically dead to the world." He concluded grimly.

As much as he disliked Tord and everything he stands for, including the whole army thing, he can't really blame the people for joining him. They must've had their reasons for abandoning their lives. Sure, there could be the occasional communist prick like the leader himself, but what of those people that were in a similar predicament as him? Depressed and lost. Maybe they were in the brink of death before a second chance showed up to them. Tord and the army could be bad but maybe it was the only chance these people had of living.

Tom shook the thought off his head, repressing it down. No person associated with the army deserve his sympathy no matter what their reason was. Himself included.

"Does that mean they all live in the base? Or bases, considering you seem to have more than one." Tom mumbled, taking another sip of water.

"Most of them, yes. But there are those who still hold on to their everyday lives. Think of them as the ones who have a foot in each world. The blissful ignorant world of today's society, and that of the red army's." Tord continued. "They work mostly as spies; feeding us any and all intel they may acquire during their outings, then sneak back to the base and report everything. Most of these types of soldiers have a lot of use to us with their positions: Doctors, bankers, and especially cops."

Tom nearly choked on his drink, but managed to place the glass down and swallow the liquid before it could take effect in his lungs. Tord had a lot more power than he initially imagined if he had undercover soldiers working in important positions. Even if by some miracle he were able to escape, Tom would never be able to go out again; else he will get easily tracked down and just brought back. Heck, after learning this tad bit of information can he trust anyone else ever again? After his experience with the pub, definitely not.

"Are all of your soldiers just that? Soldiers? Or are there different positions?" Tom asks, calming down before glaring daggers at the norsk. "And what about children? Do you take them in as well? I bet you brainwash them in following your messed up ways you sick, communist, bastard-"

Tord pursed his lips, narrowing his eye as he raised one finger to silence him. "Despite what you might think of me, Thomas, I do not take in children. Never had, never will. Only individuals above the age of eighteen are allowed to join. Sure there are some smartasses who think they can fool us into believing they are above the age, just because they think being in an army sounds cool. But our system never failed to detect them, and we erase their memories from the event. But we do keep a tracker on them for future reference." He explained, standing up from his spot against the wall; walking closer to Tom. "And yes, we do have other positions in the army: Doctors, nurses, scientists, engineers, cooks, cleaners, etc. Not all of the people we take in share the same enjoyment as me in going on a killing spree. Anything that can benefit the army in any way possible."

Tom followed his movements as Tord got closer to him. He was baring his teeth into a scowl and his eyeless gaze set into a glare. Tord stopped, towering directly over him.

"I believe those were four questions, so… Eat up!" Tord pointed out.

Tom growled. "I don't feel like eating anymore." In a sudden burst of defiance, he shoved the tray of food off his lap; splattering the remains on the floor. His gaze not once leaving Tord's.

On the other hand, Tord was fuming silently, anger boiling up inside of him ready to burst. He felt the urge to hold Tom in a choke hold in order to teach him a lesson for his defiance. His hands clenched, ready to lash out when Patrick's words echoed in his mind, reminding him of his predicament. Tom is his only and last shot, as much as he hates to admit it. And he can't be too rough on him or he will get damaged in his current state.

With this in mind, Tord takes a deep breath to calm down. He smiles down at Tom, taking him by genuine surprise.

"Tsk tsk, oh Tom, always making a mess of things." Tord cooed, shaking his head.

He extended his robotic hand out towards Tom, making him flinch and try to lean back; but at the same time, he didn't want to show signs of weakness and urged to stand his ground. Tord leaned closer, his hand just inches away from his face. Tom kept his gaze fixed on the Norwegian's single gray eye, completely still.

When they come in contact with each other, Tom grit his teeth and grumbled in irritation. The robotic hand ran through his hair and ruffled him. He hated the touch, it felt like Tord was possessive of him somehow. But strangely enough, it felt affectionate as well. Tom almost leaned into the touch if it weren't for the fact he kept reminding himself as to whom exactly it was ruffling him in the first place.

Tord grinned. "Well, I am glad you took such an interest in my line of work. I hope the information I provided you with was enough to change your mind about a few things." He murmured, still running his robotic fingers gently through Tom's messy brown locks. "Overtime, who knows? You might actually start seeing us as your friends. Maybe even your family perhaps-"

Tom grabbed the robotic hand firmly, halting it in its tracks as he glared up furiously. Tord stared down at the dark sockets, surprised by the rage fuelling behind them.

"Forget it, commie!" Tom snarled, pushing the hand away from him. "I might be your little test subject for your sick experiments, but I am most definitely not part of your stupid army. You are not my leader, and neither are you or anyone else around here my friend." Spitting out each word, Tom shoved him away, making Tord almost stumble back.

In the action, Tom took note how almost effortlessly he managed to shove the other one away. He hadn't felt this strong in a long time. It felt good, but at the same time he knew it was bad news.

Tord recovered from the move, staring back at the brit wide eyed. For someone who is so underweight, he sure is strong. He regained his composure, fixing the collar of his uniform while throwing a little smirk in Tom's direction. "Whatever you say." He chuckled, making Tom fume.

Tord cleared his throat, turning his back to him and sliding the door to the cell open. "Come along now." He glanced sideways back at him. "We have important things to get to. The sooner we go, the earlier we get things done."

Tom grit his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Joy." He muttered in annoyance, following Tord out the room. "Can't wait to see what kind of torture you'll put me through first."

"Oh, you'll see."

Chapter Text

The door slid shut behind them as they stepped out into the hallway, stretching both ways to his left and right. The walls were bland in colour, only greys and whites with black marble floors so shiny you could practically see your reflection gleaming back at you.

Tord turned the left hall. "Follow me, and please don't fall behind." He commanded, walking at a steady pace with his arms folded behind his back.

Tom was quick to follow, trailing behind to look around his surroundings in curiosity. There wasn't much to look at though. They passed by some rooms, but they didn't seem to hold anything of interest. Tom was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the base. If this is the lower floor, how big is the entire base in total? He wondered.

He fell in step with Tord, walking to his left side where the red leader side glanced back at him. A grin stretched upon his face. "Impressed?" He asks smugly.

Tom turned back to Tord, his face contorting into a scowl. "Not really. This place is huge, sure, but there isn't much around here." He answered truthfully.

Tord nodded in understanding. "Maybe not down here. Like I said: this level is reserved only for you and the serum experiments." He says. "The upper levels are where most of the activity happens."

Tom turned to him with interest. "What is on the upper levels?" He questioned.

The Norsk hummed. "Training rooms, dining hall, soldier quarters, the medical bay; all of the main areas of interest for the army." He replied, turning to give a lopsided grin in Tom's way. "If you behave yourself, I can give you a tour of the upper area. But only if you behave."

Tom pursed his lips. "Doesn't sound worth my time." He muttered.

"Suit yourself." Tord shrugged and turned away, still leading them down the hall before turning right in the next intersection.

A long silence followed between the two of them. Tom kept his gaze fixed to the ground, occasionally looking up to check his surroundings. He had a few more questions he was thinking of asking, but considering how the last two times ended up against his favour; chances are he won't be asking anything from Tord any time soon. Paul and Patrick are his better shots now.

Tord glanced back at Tom through the corner of his eye. Tom was silent; face stretched into a frown and his dark sockets aimed at the ground.

Should I tell him? Tord contemplated. He's the one who requested me to do it, but still… He nearly spent the entire night researching diet plans and treatments for Tom's current condition. He was about to fall asleep on his desk when he got a mission report back from the soldiers he sent out under specific set of orders in a very special mission.

He inwardly sighed. As leader, I carry the responsibility of delivering news to all my soldiers; both good and bad, no matter how hard it can be. He thought determinably. Sure, Tom isn't a soldier, but he still has the right to know. I owe him that much.

"The news have been delivered."

Tom looked up at Tord in confusion. "Huh?"

The Norsk sighed. "Our deal, remember?" He murmured without looking back. "I sent two of my soldiers in an undercover mission as cops and had them deliver the news to your friends." He made sure to put emphasis in 'your friends'. He side glanced back at Tom, his face devoid of emotion. "From now on, you are officially dead to the world."

Tom felt a cold chill run through him. "So, Matt and Edd… They-?" He tried to ask; but his mouth felt numb, as if it wasn't his.

Tord nodded solemnly. That's all Tom needed to confirm it.

His gaze fell down to the tiled floor once more, looking back at his reflection. It is done then. He though gloomily. Matt and Edd now believe that I am dead. I am out of their lives for good. They won't have to worry about me anymore; and I am not going to burden them ever again. Tom kept repeating the same arguments in his mind. He wasn't sure if this ritual was to reassure him that his friends would be alright, or to relieve himself of the pain that came along with the hard decision.

Tord glanced back at him to see Tom hunched over with his gaze never leaving the ground. The Brit's dark, soulless eyes were narrowed. To anyone else they would be enigmatic and could never tell what he was feeling or thinking. But Tord knew him. He could tell Tom was sad and was trying not to let his emotions get the better of him, or let it show. Tord felt a stab of sympathy for him. He kept in mind that despite hating each other, they did once live in the same house and got along; to an extent at least.

He pondered whether he should offer him some sort of comfort to relieve him of the sadness, but opted not to. Not because he thinks Tom should suffer this way, despite having a certain enjoyment to see him in pain, not even he would desire to see his old comrade suffer through this. He knows the feeling very well himself. But because Tord knows Tom wouldn't appreciate any sort of sympathy or comfort coming from him and would just mistake it for pity. So he left him be.

Tom continued to stare at the ground as they walked, keeping his breathing steady to calm his racing, anguished heart. I did what I had to, to save Edd and Matt. I finally did something right for once. They will get over me; I know they will, they probably already did.

Tom was so deep in thought he failed to notice Tord stop in his tracks, making him bump into the red leader. Tord shot him a small sly smirk. "We're here." They stopped before a set of metal doors that slid open with a hiss.

Tom stared in amazement as the doors revealed the room before them. A large gym stands on the other side of the doors. It has everything! Treadmills, dumbbell racks, lifting benches, leverage systems, suspension trainers; there's even a track field! Tom stared at the scene before him in awe, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Tord grinned, suppressing his laughter down as he watched the eyeless man's reaction to the room.

"I take it you are impressed, now." Tord smirked triumphantly as the doors slid firmly shut behind them.

Tom regained his composure, shooting Tord a slight glare before crossing his arms and looking away with a scoff. He followed Tord into the room, still observing his surroundings in awe. He understands that Tord is the leader of an army, has multiple bases and whatnot, but he clearly underestimated his budget. Most items and apparel in the gym looked shiny and brand new. Did he have all this set up just for him?

Now that he got more used to his surroundings, Tom realized it wasn't just him and Tord in the room. He recognised the large, bushy eyebrows from afar. Paul was standing there, a few feet away from them doing push-ups and warmup rounds. He wasn't wearing his usual cobalt blue trench coat. He was only in his red sweater and dark pants, no shoes either, just socks. Tom was just about to question his reasoning for being there when he remembered what Tord told him the other day. Oh yeah, Paul is supposedly in charge of my physical state or something. He recalled dryly. Despite the hard feelings he still bares towards Paul, he was not going to argue. At this point, Tom is just glad he gets to interact with someone other than Tord now.

Paul had his back towards them, but he looked over his shoulder when he noticed their approach. "Ah, good morning sire! Good morning Thomas!" He cheerfully greeted them, still stretching his arms. "I hope you had a nice rest and you're ready for today's schedule."

Tom shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets and narrowing his gaze at the soldier. "Oh yeah, I just had the most pleasant sleep in a long while." He spoke sarcastically. "I don't know about you, but I just love being induced to sleep after getting electrocuted until I pass out. It does wonders to you!" He glared at Paul, then turned his dark, empty gaze to Tord. "Maybe you should give it a try sometime."

Paul's smile faltered slightly, and Tom could see him visibly sweat drop. Tord, on the other hand, kept on smiling. He gave Tom a half-hearted pat on the cheek, making him fume in anger. He wished he could lash out and defy him, but he knew that he could keep this up just for so long until Tord gets fed up with him, stops playing "nice", and goes complete sadistic mode. Tom knows better than to cross that line. Ever. He just grits his teeth and growls as the Norsk ruffled his hair before leaning away from his filthy touch.

Paul clasped his hands together, drawing their attention back to him. "Okay then. Let's get this started, shall we?" He prompted, motioning for Tom to come closer and, presumably, join him. Tom was just about to head over when a hand clamped down on the back of his hoodie, making him halt. Tom shot a questioning glare at Tord.

"I don't think you need me to remind you the consequences if you do anything remotely funny." Tord reminded coolly, letting go of his hold on the Brit's hoodie.

"What is this, the fifth time you tell me this?" Tom complained, about to walk away when Tord blocked his path with his robotic hand. He groaned in annoyance.

"Consider this your last warning then." Tord hissed into his ear, his tone laced with authority. "Play nice, or else."

He finally pulls his hand away, allowing Tom to pass. He rolled his empty sockets and walked away, making his way to stand right next to Paul. Tord watched his movements with a calculating gaze, opening his jacket to pull out the tablet from his inner pocket.

"Now Tom, for today we're gonna-"

"ARGHH! Dritt!"

Tom and Paul simultaneously jumped, startled by the sudden loud curse. Something fell and slammed to the ground, shattering in the process. The two of them whirled around. A tablet was broken and lying on the floor, the screen completely cracked. But what really got their attention was the red leader himself. He was hunched over, face scrunched up in pain as he gripped his robotic arm.

Tom raised one eyebrow as he noticed the way the red, metallic hand twitched and clenched, seemingly all on its own.

Paul quickly left his side and hurried over to Tord. "Is everything alright, sir?" He asks worriedly, helping his leader stand upright.

Tord hissed, leaning over Paul slightly for support before pulling away. "I-I'm fine Paul. Thank you." He muttered, still clenching his synthetic arm. "It's just the glitch acting up again. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Paul prompted, clearly still worried for his leader's well-being. "Would you like me to escort you to your quarters, sir?" He offered.

Tord shook his head. "No. It's fine, I'll walk there myself." He reassured, making his way out the room. "You stay here and go through with the routine you planned for test subject #1826. When he's done, give him his uniform and send him to see Pat. I'll come back to check on you later if I fix the glitch in time." He waved away with his good hand as he stepped out of the room before the doors slid shut again.

Tom continued to stare at the door with intrigue. "What was that all about?" He prompted Paul, as he re-joined him.

Paul shook his head. "Boss's arm has a lot of uses aside from just being a limb replacement. Surely you must've noticed it by now." He murmured, scratching the back of his neck uneasily.

Tom recalled when he communicated with Pat after taking his deal, making the chair he was tied to into a wheel chair; and most recent, electrocuting him via the connection with the chip implanted on his spine. Tom inwardly shuddered at the reminder. Just the thought that Tord held so much control over his life was bad enough, but knowing he could do anything to him at any given time thanks to the stupid chip just made his situation a whole lot worse. He wondered what other things Tord's arm could control, and what other commands the chip was installed with. On the other hand, he doesn't want to find out.

Tom nodded. "Yeah, I noticed. What about it?"

Paul walked past him, heading over to a pile of exercise mats and dragging out two of them towards the centre where there's more room for them. "It wasn't programmed for this, originally. But leader is stubborn, and insisted on installing a bunch of commands and gadgets to better control the base." He continued, setting down the mats as Tom watched him. "The arm gets overworked at times and glitches. Sometimes it's just merely stiff clogs and bad wiring; but worst case scenario the arm gets overloaded and causes a haywire on the whole base."

Tom raised an eyebrow at this. "Is there anything in particular that sets it off?" He asks, voice laced with concern; when in reality it is merely used to conceal his immense interest in that bit of trivia.

"Not that I know of. It happens at random it seems, and always catches the boss of guard." Paul mumbled, not really paying attention to Tom as he prepped the mats down; unfolding them neatly on the ground.

Tom made a mental note of that. So far he came to realize Paul is incredibly ingenuous, not once suspicious of his questions or cared too much if he gave away any pivotal information regarding his leader. Which could be a good thing, considering Tom still has lots of questions and he is sick, and tired of Tord. Maybe he could use this as a chance to learn more without making any stupid deals.

Paul dusted his hands. "Alright Tom, please take off your shoes, get yourself on the mat, and then we will begin." He instructed.

Tom was about to step in when he says this. He halts and brings his foot up, clumsily taking off his shoes. "So, hm, what exactly are we doing?" He could help but ask; placing his shoes aside near a bench. After all the sh#t he went through in these last couple of hours, heavy exercise is the last thing going through his mind right now.

Paul seemed to have noticed his lack of enthusiasm, and offered him a friendly smile. "Don't worry. It's nothing too complicated." He assured. "Because of your current state, we can't risk you do any activities that might go beyond your physical capabilities."

Tom processed this. "So… No running or weight lifting?"

"Nope!" Paul smiled, emphasis on the "P". "So until we get any sort of change on your condition, we'll be doing simple stretching and warm up exercises."

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He never been really fond of physical activity, and was always a strain to him. Maybe as a kid he might've once liked; when he was young, naïve and energized. But now that he is older, drunk most of the time, and an honest to god mess by every definition of the word; he simply didn't have it in him to do much most of the time. Two push ups and he is out cold. Unless his life is on the life he won't do much. And even then, that might not even be true anymore.

Tom stepped on the mat, taking his hands out form his pockets as he stands next to Paul, waiting for his instructions to begin.

"Alright, let's start off with something simple. Step your right foot all the way forward, and lower the rest of your body into a lunge. Place your fingertips on the mat." Paul ordered, doing the same to show Tom how exactly it is done. "Like this! Stay like that for 30 seconds then switch with your other leg."

Tom did as he was told, and copied Paul's movements; getting into position. But his mind wasn't focusing on the exercise. What should I ask him? He contemplated. Who knows how long it will take Tord to fix the glitch in his arm, and he may not get another chance to talk with Paul on his own.

"So, uh, where do you guys get most of this stuff?" He opted for a more ordinary question to test the waters. According to what Tord told him, they had multiple jobs to pay for the equipment because it's more low-key than simply stealing the stuff they need. But even so, he never specified from where he got them. Tom doubted Tord would waltz into a store and buy this sh#t like a regular person; specially with his face splattered everywhere in wanted posters.

Tom shifted his position as the 30 seconds were up, and changed to his left foot on the front. "Oh, most stuff we have here was already in the base when we found it." Paul responded, also changing his position. "Though back then it was a complete dump with dust and cobwebs everywhere." He joked.

"Wait, you guys didn't build the base then?" Tom asks, glancing back at him sideways.

"Nah, this base is old. It was built during the first world war, improved in the second but then it was left to rot; gathering dust and forgotten through time." Paul replied, standing upright. "Alright, now stand with your feet tucked close together, and raise your arms straight above your head. Clasp your hands together, with your fingers interlaced and pointer fingers extended. Inhale as you reach upward." He instructed. "Breathe out as you bend your upper body to the right. Take five slow breaths. Slowly return to the center. Repeat on the left side."

Tom did as he was told, gathering his breath and leaning to the right with his hands clasped together above his head. "Like I was saying; the base was here this whole time. When Tord bought the location from our supplier, we cleaned this place up and made some improvements to better support the army." Paul went on. "That's why this base is our main one; it's the biggest one we have and is right in red leader's home nation."

Tom whirled around, so fast he nearly got whiplash. "Wait! What are you saying?" He exclaimed in shock. "You mean that, we aren't in England?"

Paul looked back at him, startled by his sudden reaction. "We are in Norway, Tom." He answered, as if the fact was obvious. "Did red leader not tell you this?"

Tom shook his head. How long had he been asleep since the incident in the pub? To travel from England all the way to Norway, and not once waking up. It seems Tord thought up of everything in order to make Tom's capture a success. Even if he were to escape, he would have nowhere to go.

"Are you okay?" Paul asks worriedly, watching his expressions carefully. "I'm sorry, I thought you already knew this."

Tom put his hand up, gesturing him to stop. "I-It's fine, I just- I guess I just wasn't expecting this. But knowing Tord, really, I should've."

Paul shot him a sympathetic look. "Are you going to be okay?"

Tom nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'll be fine." He ran a hand through his hair. "Let's just… Get on with the exercises."

Paul looked at him with concern but didn't say anything. He nodded and went back to the stretching exercise; starting to count his breaths from scratch. Tom followed suit, stretching his arms and leaning to the left. He felt his shoulders crack as he stretched his limbs. It's been a while since he did anything of the sort. Back home, he spent most of his time drinking and watching TV; among other activities… Even when he did leave his house to make short walks to the market or the bar, it still wasn't enough, and now his joints feel like cracking so effortlessly.

After he was done stretching, and frankly, cracking most of his joints at this point; Paul turned toward him once more. "Okay, now stretch your right arm ahead of you, and fold your left arm beneath it to support it; Like this!" Paul demonstrated the move, showing Tom how's done. "Stay in this position for 20 seconds then switch arms."

Tom did so, his eyes furrowed and his mouth drawn in a frown. "You mentioned something about a supplier."

"Ah yes, they have been a great help to get the army to its feet." Paul commented. "Not sure how red leader met them, but ever since we struck a deal with them our armoury and tech have gotten a whole lot better."

Tom switched his arms, listening intently to all the information he was being given. "But wait a minute, isn't Tord supposedly a genius or something?" He inquired. "I mean, if he could build a giant robot, sofa cubes, and… the serum. Surely he would have been able to improve stuff around here on his own."

Paul laughed; not mockingly, but a genuine one. "The boss is good, but not that good! He still needs the right equipment and tools to create things. He didn't create that robot out of nothing!" He answered in amusement. "Not even the serum itself he created on his own! He has a good knowledge on chemicals and that sort of thing, but he still needed the primary element-"

"Primary element?" Tom exclaimed in confusion; more questions swirling through his mind. "What's the primary element?"

Paul stopped, looking at him with an expression of nervousness mixed with concern. "What's in this serum anyway?" Tom demanded, stepping closer to him with narrowed eyes. "And who is this supplier exactly?"

Paul rubbed the back of his head uneasily. "Uh, look, please don't take this personally; but I'm not allowed to talk about this sort of thing with you. Red leader's orders." He admitted hesitantly, as if he were afraid to accidentally trigger the Brit's rage. "I shouldn't even be mentioning this stuff to you in the first place! I guess I got a little carried away there, and to be quite honest I am not exactly the best person to answer these questions anyway." He smiled sheepishly.

Tom clenched his knuckles in frustration but did not say anything against the soldier. He looked down in disappointment and backed away.

"If you really want to know these thing, then you should ask Tord himself." Paul suggested. "You may not believe this, but he likes it when you ask him things; especially if they are about the army!"

Tom rolled his empty eyes and scoffed. "Of course he likes it! Because that gives him a leverage to ask things from me in return with his stupid deals!"

Paul fumbled with his hands nervously, shuffling his feet with his gaze cast downwards. "Come on, let's go back to the exercises." He nudged him gently. "No more questions for today."

As he began to instruct on the next couple of positions, Tom's mood quickly fell. He had a silver platter of answers, practically handing itself to him with no strings attached; and yet he managed to screw it up for himself. He should've controlled his eagerness to know more, but he couldn't help it. Paul was being so nice and giving away answers so freely he got enthusiastic. Damn it! He seethed silently.

The rest of their exercises went on quietly now that Tom was no longer pestering Paul for more answers. It went calmly, and in Tom's opinion, kind of boring. Just stretching the muscles in a bunch of different positions. Kind of awkward as well with the silence. Then Paul changed tactics a bit and made Tom do 35 jumping jacks. And here he was thinking he would get only a session purely out of limb stretching. He was already out of breath by the tenth, and he was completely red and sweaty by the time he finished. He felt like he was about to pass out.

Then Paul ordered him to do ten push-ups. Tom could barely pass the first one before his weak arms gave out underneath him and he fell face first into the mat. He groaned and laid there for a while, trying to catch his breath. Paul looked down at him with concern.

"You know, I think that's enough for today." Paul concluded. Tom quickly figured the soldier was pitying him and his miserable state. "Why don't you go take a shower, and then you can go and see Pat."

Tom breathed heavily, slowly nodding in agreement to his suggestion. He struggled to get back at his feet; feeling his muscles burning and sweat drenching most of his hair and face. From the corner of his eye he saw a hand extended out towards him. Looking up, Paul was with his hand outstretched in his direction and a friendly smile; lending him assistance to get up. Tom hesitated a little, but took the offered help anyway. Paul hauled him up, making him stagger sideways.

"The showers are back there." The soldier gestured in the direction, keeping a hand to steady Tom from falling back down out of exhaustion. "You go ahead, and when you're done you can change into your new clothes." He turns back momentarily, and hands Tom neatly folded clothes consisting of a white shirt, dark gray pants, and a pair of socks.

Tom takes the clothes from him. He stares down at them in thought, giving a curt nod in response. He walks away and heads to the showers as Paul puts back the mats in their proper places. Swinging the restroom's door open, Tom followed the white-tilled corridor, turning the corner he was met with a startling sight. Himself. He gasps out of surprise and backs away, hiding behind the corner and pressed his back against the wall. He takes a moment to calm down his racing heart. It's been a while since he last saw his reflection; and for good reason.

When he deemed himself calm enough, Tom walked out from the corner but kept his gaze casted downwards. Don't look at it. He repeated the thought in his mind as he walked past the mirrored wall to his left, and made way to the shower stall at the far end. He sets his clothes down by the sink, when he notices an air vent standing above him. Careful to keep his gaze away from the mirror, he narrowed his eyes at the vent. It's small, and yet big enough for him to fit in. If he was ever thinking of escape, he would try using the vent. But since he wasn't, he wouldn't bother with it. Tom knows there is no escape for him at this point. Alive anyways.

Rather reluctantly, Tom took off his clothes and headed into the shower. The warm, steaming water fell over his back and drenched his hair. Tom flinched at the contact at first; the heavy torrent against his bare back, but eventually settled in with the pain that ran along with the scars and bruises scattered all over his body. He closed his eyes and just stood there, feeling the water run over him. It was strangely soothing. Or maybe it's just the fact that he hadn't showered for such a long time, that could probably have something to do with this feeling.

After the seemingly long shower; consisting mostly of Tom just standing in the steaming water deep in thought, he dried himself with the fluffy, white towel; still making sure to keep his gaze away from the mirror. Don't look at it. He had the urge to slam his fists furiously against the reflective, glass wall but he reframed. Paul would undoubtedly hear the commotion and barge in on him with a towel. He doesn't want to go through this humiliation, even if it were to save him from looking at himself again. And even if he weren't to hear him shatter the mirrors, someone would notice sooner or later and confront him about it. He doesn't want to explain himself or give Tord more leverage over him.

Tom starts to put on the new set of clothes given to him when he stops rather abruptly at the sight of his new shirt. It is short-sleeved. The simple white shirt has a name tag with his subject numbers #1826, and even though it made Tom feel more like a prisoner than he did before, it's the sleeves that got him most peeved. He put on the shirt, feeling it be rather loose on his thin frame, and stared down at his own body. He can't possibly wear this! The short sleeves displayed his injured arms like a sore thumb. They will question him about it, and what will he tell them? Tord knows him too well and would pick up any lies from a mile away. He already knows of his malnourished state; granted, it doesn't seem like he connected the dots, yet, but he will see the various bruises along his arms and he will know then that something bigger is up. Tord can never find out.

That's when Tom quickly solved the issue, by putting his blue hoodie back on. Sure, it stinks, he hadn't washed it in weeks, is torn in some places with a few holes from being worn out so much; but he frankly doesn't care. It's his best solution at this point, and if anyone asks he'll say he doesn't want to let go of his hoodie for personal issues. Fake a sad look, and anyone will believe he's talking about his previous life. Besides, with Tord gone he only has to convince Paul to keep the hoodie. Easy peasy!

He straightened the edges of his hoodie, making sure his sleeves are down and covering his scars. Once he was content with his clothing, Tom walked out of the restroom. Paul was still there, looking around at the gym equipment; making sure everything is in their proper place and in nice condition. Tom cleared his throat to bring his attention.

Paul turned back to him with a look of surprise. "Oh, are you done?" He notices the dirty blue hoodie clinging to the Brit's frame. Tom nodded in response, feeling uncomfortable under the soldier's curious stare as he went forward and placed his shoes back on.

"Yeah I'm done. I hope there's no problem in keeping the hoodie, though." Tom spoke before Paul could question him about it. "You understand, don't you? It's the only thing I have left of my friends…" He trailed off, faking a sad expression on his face for effect. That seemed to do the trick, as Paul gazed at him with sympathy and a small frown on his face.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "W-well, I suppose the boss won't mind…"

Tom inwardly cheered, keeping his deadpan façade on de outside. "Thanks."

Paul nodded back in understanding, smiling slightly. "Now that you're done here, I will escort you to Patrick. He's waiting for you and your appointment." He says, walking by Tom's side and nudging him forward.

"Appointment?"

"Hm! For your mental evaluation protocol, remember?" Paul reminded him eagerly. "Pat's put in charge of your mental state to make sure you are up for the experiments."

Tom kept his face neutral, but he inwardly cringed and groaned at the notion. Thankfully he's dealing with Patrick, not Tord in this situation. And speaking of the devil, the horned bastard himself was standing right outside the doors as they slid open. Tom nearly bumped into him if it weren't for Paul keeping one hand to steady him.

"Oh? You two are already done?" Tord questioned, tilting his head slightly. His eye narrowed, however, as it fixed its steady gaze on Tom; looking down at him in a somewhat scrutinizing manner. "Why is he not wearing the uniform?" He inquired.

Tom intervened before Paul could give a proper response. "I am wearing the stupid uniform underneath the hoodie." He answered irritably, lifting up the bottom of his hoodie just enough to show he's telling the truth. "Chill out, will yah?"

Tord kept staring at him, his eye calculating and cold. "Take it off."

Tom reared back in surprise, bewildered by the sudden and blunt request. "What?"

"Your jacket is a mess, and smells absolutely putrid." The norsk leader stated simply. "Take that off."

Tom backed away nervously. "Uh, I was wondering if I could keep it? You know, for sentiment reasons and stuff?"

Tord's gaze softened a bit, but he shook his head. "You can keep it, but at least take it off now so we may wash it." He pointed out. "It's dirty and a complete mess."

Tom's nervous look turned into irritation. "How do I know you'll give it back after washing?" He argued. "As far as I know, you could just trash it and not even care."

Tord sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a similar expression. "I give you my word we will give it back to you as soon as it gets cleaned and mended."

"I don't believe you!" Tom spat, glaring at him.

"Enough! Take the hoodie off, Tom." Tord demanded, his patience running out. Paul watched the two of them anxiously, feeling the tension rise between them. But Tom was not going to back down. Not this time.

"No."

Tord's expression darkened. "What did you say to me?" He growled, stepping closer to him, stiff with fury rising inside of him.

Tom was not intimidated. On the contrary actually; he felt confident and angry at the same time, and he directed everything toward the person standing right in front of him. "You know what? I had it with your stupid ways and rules! I'm not listening to you anymore!" He snapped, glaring at the Norsk with pure hatred, and one finger raised in his direction as he marched towards him. "You think you are so special with your stupid army, ridiculous position, absurd goals of taking over the world, and sh#ty fancy base? What are you without any of these things?" He continued to shout, stepping closer and closer to Tord, without noticing the sense of danger looming over him. Tord's face darkened more with each step taken, each word spat his way; he felt his anger boil more and more. His hands clenched tightly into fists, and yet his face is neutral, and devoid of emotion.

"I'll tell you what you are without any of these things; and that is NOTHING! You are nothing more than just some scared little kid, trying to act mighty and tough, hoping in vain that he will be anything of value in the future." Tom was now just inches away from Tord, and he glared up at him without fear in his dark orbs. His vision is hazed and tinted with a certain darkness that made it focus on solely at the source of his anger, which in this case, is Tord himself. But the haze, despite hurting his head and pulsate with something indescribable, it made Tom feel better; strong and powerful. He finally is on top of things! "Is that why you ran away like the coward that you are? Is that why you abandoned Edd, Matt and I for? Because you know you are nothing without this stuff? Well, because guess what? You are still NOTHING!"

Then the next few seconds happened in a blur; it all went down so fast Tom's mind barely registered until it was too late. The foggy haze in his mind was gone, and it was replaced with confusion and fatigue. He was panting heavily, not sure what just happened. Strangely enough, he felt a soft fabric being held in his left hand. He looked down and felt his blood run cold. In his hand, he held a black eyepatch dangling between his fingers, and his nails have small traces of blood on them. Tom began to tremble at the realization. Oh f#ck, it's getting strong again. But that's not the only thing that got him worried with apprehension.

Tom looked up, seeing Paul's completely horrified face as he covered his mouth with both hands and stared back at him wide eyed. And standing right in front of him, stood the worst. Tord had his face turned away, his right side facing him. The scars were shown more prominently now with the absence of his eyepatch. A ring of bloody nail marks surrounded his exposed eye, which was clenched tightly shut. His eye suddenly snapped open and Tom felt his heart stop and lose his breath. Tord slowly turned to face him, a scowl present amongst his features. His right eye, which was previously covered, was exposed for Tom to see; displaying the glazed over and scarred eye which despite being obviously blind, still managed to set its sights on Tom.

Tom tried to back away, find some sort of excuse for his sudden erratic behaviour. But there's no going back now. Tord lashed out at him with his metal hand, and gripped him tightly by the throat. Tom choked and tried to pull the hand away to allow oxygen in his lungs once again, but his grip on him only tightened.

Tord brought him closer. "You really shouldn't have done that." He snarled to his face.

Quite unexpectedly, Tom felt the room whirl and swirl all around him before the pressure on his throat was released and he was suddenly thrown away. He landed on the stack of dumbbells, breaking the shelf in half, and most of the heavy weights landing on top of him. His back hurt from the heavy landing and he felt stunned by the sudden hit. Before he could have a chance to recover, Tord was already towering over him and he attacked. Tom and Tord were stuck and locked together in a furious, writhing tussle that flipped and somersaulted around the gym. Tord punched and kicked, trying to rip off Tom's hoodie by force; while Tom clawed and bit back in defence.

Paul watched them from the corner, wide eyed and shaking in apprehension as he wasn't sure what to do in the situation. He pulled out his communicator from his pocket, and pressed the call.

"Patrick, we got a problem here!"

"What's going on?~"

"Red leader is going absolutely berserk!" Paul flinched as Tord threw Tom across the other side of the room. "Test subject #1826 provoked him and ripped off his eyepatch, and now red leader is giving him a beating!"

"Stop him then!~"

"I-I can't!"

"What you mean you can't?~"

"I don't know what to do Pat!" Paul cried out, trembling with nervousness as he kept an eye on the ongoing struggle. "If I stop I will be defying the boss's orders and he will get angry! Well, angrier than he already is."

"Believe me when I tell you, he will be a lot worse once he realizes he accidentally killed his last test subject.~" The voice answered through the static amidst the commotion. "I'll be there in a jiffy. Try to keep Tord at bay from harming Tom any further until I get there!~"

"Roger that!" He turned off his communicator, ending the call.

Tord got Tom pinned against him, his arms encircled tightly around Tom's waist and chest as the he struggled against him. Then Tom felt the collar of his hoodie get pulled back forcefully and tighten around his neck. Tord had gripped the collar with his normal hand while his robotic one kept its hold on Tom's waist, and he was tugging hard on him. Tom felt a terrible pressure on his throat. Unable to breathe, his survival instincts kicked him and he started to panic. He writhed and twisted in the Norwegian's hold, but each movement only made the pressure worse.

Retching and gulping for air, Tom summoned up all his remaining strength to pull away from Tord's grip, but to no avail. He noticed how the way that Tord was holding him up, off the ground, was meant to choke him while the bottom part remained free; leaving a spacious area which he could easily slide through. He knew this is part of Tord's plan, to force him out of his hoodie. But his instincts to survive were stronger. So with a last deep breath, he kicked back hard into Tord's leg, earning a hiss of pain from him and loosening his hold. Tom took this opportunity to slide out of Tord's grasp, pulling away from his beloved hoodie completely.

Tord stumbled away from him, fumbling with the mess of blue cloth in his hands. Tom remained crouched on the ground, taking in ragged breaths of air. His relief didn't last long, however, as a heavy weight suddenly slammed on his back and pinned him down. He got dazed by the blow, and was turned around; his back on the floor and face up.

Tord was straddling him, with his legs positioned on either side of tom's ones. Tom tried to land in a punch, but Tord easily caught it with his robotic fist and grabbed both his hands in his grasp; keeping them raised above his head. Tord glared down at him with a somewhat mischievous smirk, as his gloved hand rumaged through his uniforms inner pocket.

"Remember, you brought this upon yourself." Tord spat, pulling out some handcuffs and some strange looking collar. Tom struggled underneath him but it was futile. Tord easily overpowered him and got both his wrists shackled together. Then, once he was deemed immobile enough Tord bent forward, nearly laying on top of him, and clasped the metal collar around Tom's neck before pulling away.

Tord got off of him, standing up, while Tom sits up to catch his breath. His face is completely bruised due to Tord's assault on him, which went along nicely with his other bodily injuries; thankfully to which Tord still had yet to take notice of.

"I run an army, Thomas. Don't think that I don't know discipline." Tord growled, towering over the shackled, and bruised Brit panting heavily on his knees. He narrowed his eyes; gripping Tom's chin harshly with his normal hand, he lifted his head up to look directly at him. Tom met his cold gaze with a glare of his own, baring his teeth at him in a snarl. "If you're going to behave like an animal, I can treat you like one."

Tom's only response was a deep growl rumbling in his throat. Tord narrowed his eyes further before pulling away. "Maybe this will teach you a lesson then." He says, as he raised his robotic hand up and pressed one of the buttons.

Suddenly, the collar around Tom's neck started to tighten; the pressure getting increasingly larger by the second as his air cavity was blocked. Before long, Tom fell down to his side and started to writhe on the floor; fighting in vain for air. He choked and gagged desperately, trying to claw at the collar with his shackled hands but to no avail. At one point, amidst his struggle, he locked eyes with Tord who was watching him in morbid fascination. Tom, despite the pain and lack of air, still managed to throw him a mocking smile. "K-kinky." He choked out, his vision blurring with black spots.

Just as he was about to succumb to the approaching darkness, the pressure was suddenly lifted away, and air immediately flooded his lungs. Tom snapped his eyes back open and took large gulps of air. He felt relief for this, but couldn't help but feel disappointed as well. So close!

He sat up and looked around the room. Tord was being pinned down by Paul, who held him face down and one hand securely placed upon the deadly, metallic arm. Tom was watching them when a new set of hands clasped his shoulders and gently heaved him to his feet. Looking up, he discovered the owner of said hands is none other than Patrick; his face was full of concern but also held irritation in his expression.

"What do the two of you think you're doing?" Tord growls out, glaring back at the both of them. "Let go of me!"

"You've gone too far, Tord. You can thank us later for preventing you from doing something you would've certainly regretted." Patrick stated, still keeping steady hands on Tom so he wouldn't fall over from fatigue.

"I am your leader!" Tord continued to struggle. "You do what I say!"

Patrick shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Not with that kind of attitude." He decided. "Paul, please escort him to his office and give him something to calm down his temper. I will go ahead with Tom to our appointment."

Paul gave a curt nod of understanding. "Yes, Pat!"

Tord trashed around even more fiercely at this. "Treason! Mutiny!" He spat at them. "You dare go up against the words of your leader?"

Patrick helped support Tom as they started to walk out of the room. The gym's doors slid open with a hiss, but before they stepped out, they paused, and Patrick turned to gave one last look in Tord's direction. "Like I said, you can thank us later." He then sighed in exasperation. "Honestly sir, you really shouldn't let your anger get the best of you this way. And here I thought you were making progress."

They started to walk again, but before the doors could slid shut again; Tom risked one last look behind him. Tord had stopped struggling, tiring himself out and was left panting for breath. His cold gray eyes then locked with his solid black ones again, earning a small gasp out of him; and the doors slid shut again with a hiss.

Patrick escorted Tom to his office, letting him lean on him for support as he was limping slightly. His hands were still shackled together, and the metal collar clasped around his neck weighted heavily. Tom was still having a hard time catching his breath again. After the whole ordeal and nearly choking to death, the collar was still bothering him. The walk through the bland, gray and white corridors was long and quiet. With neither one of them saying anything.

Finally, Patrick decided to break the silence. "You are an idiot." He simply says, earning an emotionless glare from Tom. "Did you honestly think irritating the red leader would end up good for you in the end?"

Tom shrugged in response, not bothering to defend his reasoning. "Maybe if the commie hadn't insisted on something I wasn't willing to comply, none of this would've happened." He pointed out tiredly. "He should've just drop it and let it slide."

As he spoke, Tom failed to realize Patrick's eyes scanning over his form. He looked up and down at him, analysing his thin stature; but most importantly, the deep purple bruises and cuts littered seemingly everywhere along his arms. Patrick adverted his gaze away immediately when he sensed Tom's eyes shift back to him, not giving anything away with his expressionless face. But he made a mental note to inspect the bruises at a later date. You know, once Tom was deemed calm and compliant enough.

They eventually came upon an oak wooden door, out of place amongst the advanced technological setting they were in. Patrick turned the knob and swung the door open. Tom almost gasped at the sight of the room. If the door was already out of place, the rest of the room made it seem as if he just went through a portal. Wooden floor, wine red carpet, books neatly stacked on the shelves, a fireplace, glass desk, and two large recliner chairs that looked extremely comfortable.

Tom continued to look in awe around the room, as Patrick helped him in and set him down on one of the large chairs. "Sit here, I'll be back in a little while." He told the him, hurrying out the room through another wooden door.

Tom fidget in his seat a little before relaxing; sitting back, and enjoying the comfortable leather cushions against his back. Shame his hands and neck were still shackled, otherwise he would've enjoyed the feeling at its fullest. His fresh bruises also stung and hurt a little, but did not bother him too much. He was already used to the feeling, after all. However, he was used to pain being inflected on his body; mostly his arms and torso. His face is a different manner. Tom, as much as he hates himself by any definition of the word and had urges to harm his face, couldn't risk the others finding out. With his arms and torso, it's easy to hide with the help of his hoodie. But he can't hide his face from them.

Tom jumped a little on his seat when Patrick came back into the room. The Polish man approached him, holding some kind of tool in his hand. He knelt down next to him. "Hold still. I won't hurt you." He reassured him, taking the tool to his handcuffs. Tom watched him fumble quietly with his shackles before a resonating 'click' sounded and his cuffs were released. Tom rubbed his sore, red wrists to relieve a bit from the pressure as Patrick turned his attention to his collar. He craned his neck to the side, giving him more access and room to work with. Before long, the heavy clasp around his neck was relieved as well, and Tom immediately felt relief in being able to breath comfortably again.

"Better now?" Patrick prompted, standing back to his feet.

"Y-yeah, much better. Thanks!" Tom says, still rubbing his sore wrists and neck.

"You're welcome." Pat retreats back to the same door he came out previously from.

Tom tried to lean sideways and take a peek in the other room, but all he got was a glimpse of a bright room with white tiles. A lab of some kind? He heard a loud noise coming from the other side of that door, and Tom began to wonder what Patrick could possibly be doing. He wanted to get up and explore around the room during the Polish man's absence. But after going through a routine of exercises and getting the living sh#t beaten out of him by the commie bastard, his muscles felt sore and hurt just from lifting them. So Tom decided to keep still in his seat.

The door swung open again, with Patrick strolling into the room with a plastic cup in his hand; an orange straw poked out from the hole at the top of the transparent dome lid. Patrick approached him and offered the cup. "Here, drink this."

Tom shifted his gaze from his face to his outstretched hand with the cup. "What is it?" He asks, narrowing his eyes; filled with suspicion.

"I took the liberty to concoct a special drink for you. Seeing as how it's been at least an hour since your last meal, and after going through that whole dramatic ordeal; I thought you might be hungry." Patrick explained. "I put together different kinds of fruits, carrots, ginger, beets, milk, ice, a little bit of sugar, and then blended everything together to make you this healthy energy drink."

Tom hesitantly took the cup from him. He stared down into the clear lid and analysed the cup's contents. The juice inside is orange, with a few specks of red and green along with the floating chunks of blended ice. He gave a light sniff, but couldn't smell anything aside from fruit. "What else is in it?" He prompted, turning his dark gaze back to Patrick.

The Polish man sighed. "I understand your ill feelings towards me and Paul for putting you through all of this. But we already apologized, and there is nothing more to be done about it now." He said tiredly. "There's no reason for us to drug you anyway. Besides, you made a deal with red leader about the use of anaesthetics on you and that includes any sort of drugs that might induce sleep. So you don't have to be worried about us drugging your food."

He does have a point. Tom let himself relax, going with his way of thinking did make sense. He stared down at the cup again, judging and debating whether or not he should drink it. Tom realized there really is no more reason for him to be denying to eat at this point, since it will only make Tord angry and bring nothing but bad things for himself. Pat just reassured him they won't drug him again, unless he asks for them himself. Even if he hates the mere notion of feeding his suppressed side, Tom knows that there is nothing else he can do to prevent it from coming out now. His last and only hope now, is for Tord to fail his plan. If he does, then Tom will finally be free from this wretched curse plaguing his mind with horrible thoughts, voices and visions; and defiling his body in such a way. In fact, the only reason he refused to eat anything at first despite their deal was because Tom didn't want to give in to Tord so easily. But most importantly, it was to keep the beast at bay a little while longer. But now, he senses it's return.

Patrick watched him curiously, turning away to take the seat across from Tom, but never taking his sights off him. He observed as Tom kept his gaze furrowed, solely focus on the straw before he finally took the straw between his lips and took a sip of the cold drink. Tom's eyes widened, pulling away and licking his lips. "This is… Great!" He exclaimed with genuine surprised, taking another eager sip.

"I'm glad to hear it." Pat smiled slightly, pleased with himself for managing to bring out a different emotion from the test subject; other than deadpanned or moody sour. "Hopefully, if you like this drink well enough, it might be a new healthy substitute for your Smirnoff addiction." He commented.

Tom shot him a small glare his way, pulling away from the straw. "As if." He scoffed. "I mean, this drink is good and all, really freaking good; but nothing could ever replace my love for Smirnoff!"

Patrick sat back in his dark brown, leather, recliner chair. He pulled a thin pair of glasses from the breast pocket of his blue coat, and a black tablet from the coffee table next to him. He flipped the tablet open and placed the glasses neatly over his eyes. "So Tom, let's get started with our appointment, shall we?" He inquired. "Why don't you start by telling me a bit more about yourself?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Dinner and a movie first, buddy."

Patrick stared back at him, his face turning deadpanned. "Tom…" He started, using a lighter tone his reprimanding voice.

Tom rolled his eyes, 'tsking' in response and placed his drink on the small table next to him. "No offence, but, I don't think this is going to work. I don't do well with psychologists, and you are not even a real one!" He pointed out, crossing his arms. "Besides, you are working for commie! Anything I tell you goes directly to him, and there's no way I am telling you anything about me." He argued.

Patrick pursed his lips into a thin line, humming in thought. "Fair enough."

"Huh?"

"I understand your concerns, Thomas. So, to make this a more pleasant experience for you, I will be doing it your way for a change." Pat decided, meeting Tom's black gaze evenly. "You are already forced into this mess as it is, might as well give you a little bit more freedom; and I hope to get, at the very least, a bit more compliance from you in return."

Tom stared back at him with wide, black eyes. "R-really?" He couldn't help but stutter. Pat just gave a smile and nod to confirm. Right there and then, Tom would've rushed at him and given the polish soldier a tight hug, if it weren't for the fact he was trying to act cool and defiant all the time. Finally! F#cking finally, somebody was actually willing to hear him out for once! Not force him to do it their way despite being uncomfortable with the situation he's in. Patrick just became his favourite person in this entire base at the drop of a hat. Sure, maybe he got along better with Paul with his somewhat shy and upbeat attitude, but Tom hasn't entirely forgiven him for the pub incident, or the chip implanting behind his back. And Tord? Pfft! As if there's any contest with him around. F#ck the commie!

"So how would you prefer we do this?" Patrick prompted, fixing the glasses to their proper position on his face.

Tom fumbled with his fingers. "I will go along with our "psychologist appointment" without any fuss, if you promise me three things. Number one: if along our talk we go into any sort of topic which I am not comfortable in discussing, I will have the right to not talk about it if I want to." He demanded, earning a curt nod from Patrick. "Second: You can't tell none of the things I tell you to Tord. Real psychologists keep their sessions private, and between the two of them. So, I think it's fair you do the same. I am putting my trust on you."

Patrick typed down his demands, to keep it as reference for future appointments. "Anything else?"

Tom looked away, fumbling with his hands nervously and his face flushing from embarrassment. He mumbled something, but so quietly it was incomprehensible. Pat leaned in his seat to hear him better and requested for him to repeat it. Tom flushed more. "Have a cup of this energy vitamin made for every session." He spoke out loud, looking down at his feet in embarrassment.

Patrick chuckled in amusement, making Tom flush even more out of embarrassment. "Don't laugh at me!" He whined.

"No, no, no! I'm not laughing at you!" Pat corrected politely. "I merely find your hesitance to accept things amusing. It's okay to admit you like something. This room is supposed to be a free environment for you to speak freely without any fear of being judged. So, you don't have to be bashful in here."

Tom relaxed, feeling his shoulders sag and he pressed his back against the chair. Gingerly, he grabbed a hold of the cup and took another sip.

"Very well, Tom. I will try my best as your psychologist, to meet up with your demands." Patrick vowed. "Now that we have this settled, where would you like to begin?" He inquired.

Tom set the drink down again, his gaze cast downwards. "I guess I could talk a little about myself." He suggested hesitantly, earning a reassuring nod from Patrick in return to carry on. Tom sighed. "Man, where do I even begin? I, uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Why don't we start with your family?" Patrick offered. "How was your relationship with your parents growing up?"

Tom blinked. "Right. Uh, so like I previously mentioned before, my parents were a pineapple and a bowling ball. It's weird thinking back now, but they were all I got back then and I didn't mind it." He murmured. "They didn't talk much, but they always tried their best to keep me happy."

"Any fond memories of them?" Pat inquired, typing down bullet points in his tablet.

Tom nodded. "Yeah, I remember this one time it was raining a lot. I might've been four or five at the time, I'm not sure. I used to be afraid of storms back then; cowering whenever lightning struck." He reminisces wistfully. "My parents comforted me; stayed with me the whole night, reassuring me that storms don't last forever." He remembers that night like it was only yesterday. He was just a frightened little toddler, hiding beneath the covers of his bed with his yellow onesie and light blue strap pants with red buttons. He shivered and clutched his Tomee bear tightly close to him. Light flashed across his dark toom as lightning struck outside, thunder booming loudly and he cried out in fright. His parents came into the room, hearing his cries, and they stayed with him the whole night until the storm had passed. It brought back longing memories of his childhood. The good old days when everything was simple and innocent. What Tom wouldn't give to go back to that time.

Patrick continued to type down on his notes. He made bullet points to better classify the different aspects of Tom's life. He typed down: Happy upbringing – Good relationship with parents. "That's good to hear, Thomas." Pat murmured, fixing his glasses. "Do you still keep contact with your parents?"

Tom's small smile fell into a frown, and his gaze cast downward in expressionless sorrow. "They're dead."

Patrick froze at this. "Oh, I-I'm so sorry. I had no idea." He apologized calmly; careful not to say the wrong thing by accident and set him off.

Tom shrugged. "It's fine. They have been gone for a while now, so it doesn't hurt as much as it once used to." He muttered, not meeting Patrick's gaze, sitting across from him. "My father was killed when I was eight. We were out fishing when he got shot, by all things, a bear with a gun." He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Then it was only my mother and I for the longest time. Dad's demise hit her hard, but she still managed to take her time to care for me. She died when I was seventeen, just a little after I graduated from school. But by that point I was already planning on moving out to live with my friends-" And Tord, the slimy bastard. "- Anyway."

Patrick nodded in understanding, humming along as he typed down a different bullet point beneath the family category. Possible childhood trauma? He put a question mark in there, as he still need to see any clear signs on Tom's behaviour that might point him towards this direction. So far, from what he observed from Tom's attitude and response, the eyeless man seemed cool and collected when talking about the deaths of his parents, but Patrick could still detect the sadness laced beneath his tone of voice.

"Do you have any other relatives aside from your parents?" Patrick asks curiously.

Tom shook his head. "None that I know of." He sighed deeply, closing his eyes momentarily. He went on to grab the cup and take another sip, but the straw is already scraping the bottom contents of the leftover juice. Tom whined in discontent as he felt the light weight of the cup.

"Well, is there anything in particular you would like to discuss about your family?" Pat questioned, folding his legs neatly. "Any particular issues, problems growing up, or anything of the sort?"

Tom pursed his lips, deep in thought. He recalled his childhood and all the moments spent with his family. Tom figured, no, he never had any issues with them. You know, aside from the fact they are objects and not actual people, but that never bothered him to begin with; even now when he is old enough to know it's kind of messed up. But for what they were, his parents were good and they did their best to raise and care for him despite everything. Too bad it ended up with the mess that he is now; as if he couldn't get more messed up!

"No. I think I'm good." Tom replied nonchalantly.

Patrick took his time to type something down. "Right, now how about we talk about your friendships-?"

"No!"

Patrick jumped a little in his seat, startled by Tom's sudden loud outburst. He stared at the Britt, wide eyed and blinked. Tom quickly composed himself, clearing his throat. "I, uh, sorry about that, it's just-" Tom kept stammering, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I am not comfortable discussing this now. Maybe a different day, but right now I am feeling tired after the whole ordeal with Tord and whatnot; if you don't mind."

Tom explained his reasoning, and for the most part, it is true. His head and back are still aching from being thrown around like a ragdoll by Tord, his left eye stings and Tom presumed it was at least slightly purple by this point; and not to mention his incredibly sore throat from being nearly choked to death. Thankfully, the healthy drink Pat gave him certainly helped soothe his aching throat somewhat, but he could still feel the tight clutch of the metal collar around his neck.

Tom felt immense relief overflow him when Patrick nodded in agreement. "I understand. Then I shall mark our next appointment for same day and time next week. What do you say?" He inquired, earning a nod in response from Tom. "Splendid! Though, I do hope you learned your lesson about messing with Tord. You know now he is not to be trifled with, and you're lucky to be living now after pulling that dangerous stunt with him."

Tom sniffed, but didn't reply to his remark. Lucky isn't exactly the word i would use. His stubborn side is defeated, and he might as well just accept things the way they are without complaint. Easier said than done, especially when he has no trouble accepting the facts when it's Patrick talking to him; but with Tord it would be a completely different story altogether. However, for now he wasn't too keen in getting another beating so soon; even if the pain did help him come with terms with his problems.

Tom was brought out of his thoughts by Patrick's loud clasp of his hands, as the Polish man got up from his leather seat, putting the tablet aside and stretching out his arms lazily; yawning. "Then we are wrapped up for today!"

"So, what happens now?"

"You are probably very tired by now, after everything you been through today; it's been quite eventful, I admit!" Pat commented, putting away his glasses back into his pocket. "So I will be escorting you back to your quarters, but we will have a quick stop by the lab office on the way. I need to take a few more samples from your blood, if that's alright with you."

Tom shrugged with indifference. "Fine by me, I guess." Suddenly, Tom's vision started to blur. An immense pain filled his skull and made his jaw clench. Tom moaned in pain and gripped his head, feeling light headed, swaying from side to side.

Patrick observed him with concern. "Thomas, are you feeling well?" He noted the ill look on his face, skin shade turning a sickly pale colour and Tom looked as if he were about to fall over on his feet and face plant into the carpeted floor.

Tom tried to turn around and look at him, but the dizziness only grew more intense. He moaned out a few more incomprehensible words before he fell over on his back with a loud, heavy thud, eyes shut. "Tom!" Patrick immediately rushed to his side, crouching down next to him. He grabbed his wrist to check for the pulse when he stopped and took a closer look at it. Tom's wrist is completely lacerated, with deep reddish-purple bruises all over it. The scratches even stretched out to his arms, and possibly even more along his body. Patrick was shocked to say the least. What kind of horrors has he been put through? Shaking the thought aside, Patrick focused his attention to the current task at hand. He placed two of his fingers between the bone and the tendon on Tom's wrist; breathing a sigh of relief when he found a faint pulse.

Tom moaned again, seemingly in agony. Patrick looked up and placed the palm of his hand over the Britt's forehead. He felt a distinct heat that certainly wasn't there before, but it was still imperceptible. A fever perhaps? But it was so spontaneous and sudden, without any signs beforehand that it seemed very strange. Tom wasn't displaying any forms of sickness prior, or during their session. They will have to observe him up close. Patrick quickly took out his communicator from his back pocket, pressing in the call.

"Patrick to red leader, test subject #1826 is down! I repeat, test subject #1826 is down!"

Chapter Text

A storm raged on a dark, cold night.

Lightning flashed the clouds, and thunder soon followed with a booming roar. Heavy rain poured down upon the town, and the wind howled so strongly it swept everything away in its path. The streets were empty, with a few occasional cars running up and down the road, and the light poles dimly illuminating the way. With the ravaging storm, no one dared leave the safety and comfort of their homes, especially in such late hour.

All, but one.

A solitary figure trekked along the sidewalk, soaking wet and freezing cold. Hunched over and arms crossed over his chest, shivering as the strong, cold wind blew against his soaking wet form. Most would've hurried back home in this condition. But not him. He pressed on, looking around the streets wearily.

He waited hours on end back home for his companion to cease knocking, and calling out to him through his door, just so he could leave. Now his companion was fast asleep back in their apartment, blissfully unaware of his nightly outings. At least he thinks so. They haven't seen each other since they got the news-

Another shiver racked his body and the man sneezed, nose running. Using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the snot away, he kept on going.

He peeked into dark alleyways, and looked all around the streets; as if searching for something. Weary narrowed eyes squinting against the shadows, trying to make out any shapes within. When his eyes found nothing, he decided to move on. A loud clatter of a garbage can that fell over made the man jump, startled. He peeked back into the dark alley. A shape moved around. Hope filled the man's heart.

"Tom?!"

Lightning struck again and lit up the place, revealing the mysterious shape hidden in the alleyway as a black cat with a bristling pelt. It jumped and hissed, startled by the storm. It quickly scampered away back into the shadows.

The man looked down in disappointment. Sadness and guilt consuming him.

"Oh Tom… where did you go?"

With a tired sigh, he carried on with his hopeless search.

(Meanwhile…)

The door slid open with a slight hiss, and walked in the stoic figure of the Red leader himself. His face expressionless as he entered the small, simple quarters, of his present test subject. The door slid shut behind him as he took over the scene.

Tom lied in slumber on his bed. The slow rise and fall of his chest as he snored softly indicated the deep sleep stage the Brit is under. A bit of drool seeped down from the side of his mouth, staining the pillow. Tom's usual spiky, and messy brown locks are a bigger mess than usual; containing a serious case of bedhead.

All in all, nothing too out of ordinary as of late.

It has been a couple of days since Tom passed out unexpectedly. When Patrick alerted him of what took place, Tord had felt his heart come to an abrupt stop. Despite their fight and still being angry at the Brit for openly defying him, Tord still couldn't afford to lose Tom. He is too valuable for his research; his army. His plans. And so, the Norsk had found himself racing through his base's long corridors, all the way from his office to the labs belowground, as fast as his legs could carry him, to evaluate the situation as quickly as possible.

Poor Paul. The devoted soldier tried to keep up with his pace at the time, only to come close to passing out as well.

Tord, cooled down from his earlier struggle with his test subject, but now worried and anxious for his wellbeing; quickly got to work. He checked Tom's vitals through the connection of the implanted chip and his robotic arm, but it showed nothing out of ordinary. After doing a thoroughly check-up, they came up with no definitive answers. They proposed a theory for this sudden occurrence.

Tom, from what they have observed so far, hasn't been in the greatest of conditions. Malnourished, bruised, addicted, and even more prone to violence; clearly something is up with him. They theorized that the recent events; with the whole drugging, kidnapping, testing, and… "discipline", put Tom under a lot of stress which caused his body to shut down. Makes sense, considering that since Tom arrived in the facility the only sleep he got was forcefully induced upon him. But they will just have to wait and see when he wakes up to get any proper answers.

Tord continued to stare down at Tom's sleeping form. His one-eyed gaze wavered down to his heavily, bandaged arms.

When he came in to analyse Tom's condition at the time, he was rather shocked to see the full state that he was in. Various bruises and cuts decorating the Brit's pale skin, extending from the arms to the torso. He was somewhat baffled for missing such a detail when he first removed the man's hoodie; and looking back at it now, Tom's defensive behaviour made sense at the time.

He was trying to keep them from seeing the wounds.

Tord let out a low chuckle. Tom is far too proud for his own good. Even at his lowest, the eyeless man refused to give up or show any form of weakness in front of him. His stubborn attitude surely made things interesting. Too bad it also makes his progress go at a lower rate than he would've wanted.

In his mind, things seemed a lot easier:

Kidnap Tom?

Check!

Bargain with him to become his "willing" test subject?

Check!

Experiment on him?

Unfortunately, this is the stage where their entire progress halted.

Everything was going exactly as he had planned, until they realized the malnourished state the eyeless man is in. This called for a special process, and a slow development. And now they find out he is decorated entirely out of bruises and cuts. This was the last straw. Tord wasted almost nine years working on this experiment, to fail time, and time again; at this point he can no longer afford to waste any more time.

They need results.

Tord's gaze narrowed down at Tom, still blissfully asleep in his bed.

They need the serum to be ready, now.

The door behind him hissed open once more.

The Red leader did not turn around, already knowing who it is. Patrick walked into the room, carrying a small tray which contained a special ointment, fresh bandages, and an IV bag. He barely acknowledged Tord's presence in the room as he set to work straight away. Carefully, Pat began to unwrap the bandages around Tom's arms. Tord watched the procedure in silence, deep in his thoughts.

Damn. Tom is way too out of it and unfit for the experiments. He realized, observing the process. Considering his state, we'll have to wait for a complete recovery before the serum tests can begin. Speaking of which; the thought reminded him that he needs to speak with his supplier about a new shipment of chemicals for his experiment. Good thing he already scheduled a meeting with them for this afternoon.

He snapped out of it when Tom uttered a low sigh as Patrick gently applied the ointment to his sensitive, bruised skin. But he still did not stir, flinch, or gave any indication that he might wake up. The Polish soldier carefully resumed with the treatment.

The sight reminded Tord of a small detail he forgot to ask before.

"How did the appointment go?" The Norsk spoke up. His metal hand pressed against his cheek, as his other arm supported beneath it.

Patrick just gave him a quick side-glance. "It was fine."

"Did he behave accordingly?" Tord prompted with clear interest. "I can just imagine the hard time you must've had to get this brute lunatic to ta-"

"Oh no! Quite the opposite, actually!" Patrick exclaimed, interrupting his leader's rant. "I mean, I admit that at first he refused to cooperate. But considering what he's been through, I can't really blame him." You could just make out the invisible outline of a smirk in his voice, as he shot another glance at the Norsk. "But after I complied with his demands he was much more open."

"Demands?!"

Tord stared at his soldier, utterly flabbergasted at what he has just heard. His straight posture deflated at his words. A sharp and quick pain pierced the side of his gut; it came and went by so fast he would've missed the feeling completely if it weren't for the sudden emptiness surging inside him. What is this that I am feeling? He wondered silently. The emptiness was being quickly replaced with a more familiar sensation. Anger. But why? Tord couldn't quite figure out the meaning or reason for this. Even stranger was the fact that this anger was being targeted directly at Patrick.

Tord pushed down the unneeded anger, though not without some amount of effort on his part.

"Well, I suppose the only proper way to get anything out of Thomas is by bargaining." Tord coolly commented with a shrug, trying to ignore the tingling sensation within him. "Did he reveal anything of interest to you? Any information that we might benefit from?" He waited expectantly, the uncomfortable sensation still pricking him. But his confusion grew as his excitement dwindle when Patrick had not uttered a single word in response.

Tord frowned.

"Are you purposefully ignoring me?" He prompted, a hint of warning in his voice.

"Absolutely not, sir." Pat replied, lacing new bandages over Tom's arms with careful precision. "I am just not allowed to disclose any personal information my patient entrusts me with to anyone else."

A long silence echoed in the room. The only thing remotely audible was Tom's soft snoring.

"What?"

Patrick paid him no mind. As soon as he was done changing Tom's bandages, he moved to replace the nearly empty IV bag with a new one. He is well aware of the imminent danger that loomed over him, but remained calm in the face of the situation.

Tord, on the other hand, was fuming and trying very hard to keep his proper posture and anger at bay.

"That was the terms of our agreement, sir." Patrick continued. "He shares anything he wants with me, and in return I cannot disclose anything said to you or anyone else for that matter."

Tord lost his cool now.

"Excuse me? Since when does Thomas have any sort of power in this base? I don't remember ever granting him any." He argued indignantly, casting a narrowed eyed glare in Tom's direction. "Second, I am your leader, not him. This is my facility. My base. My army! And you are supposed to obey every order I give out." He turned his glare back to Patrick, who finished placing the new IV bag in place, and calmly turned around to face him. "In fact, you have been acting out quite a lot recently. Continue with this behaviour, Patrick, and I just might demote you. Or worse."

The Polish soldier kept his face expressionless, seemingly unfazed by his leader's threat. He simply folded his arms behind his back, and kept their gazes locked. He chose his next set of words carefully. He's stepping in thin ice right now, and one wrong move could result in a lot of trouble. Trusted soldier or not, Patrick isn't foolish enough to put it past Tord when it came to his threats.

"Sir, I assure you that all my actions thus far have been for the better benefit of the Red Army. It may not have been what you ordered, or the way you wanted, but I'm still very much loyal." Patrick stated coolly. "As my leader, I trust your judgment. However, with all due respect, when your anger gets the better of you, your mind tends to get a little clouded and loses all reasoning." Though not directly mentioning, he was clearly referring to the most recent incident between his leader and their test subject. "What's the use in warning him not to mess with you, when you keep aggravating him?"

Tord's jaw dropped in disbelief. "I aggravated him?" He echoed, still not grasping the concept. "He attacked me!"

"Only because you wouldn't back off him." Patrick countered. His expression softened as he let out a tired sigh. "Sir, I know you two share a history of animosity. From what you told Paul and I about your experiences prior to creating the red army, it's clear you two despise each other. We get it." He stated solemnly. "But for this to work out, we're going to need the two of you to cooperate with each other's standards. Thomas will obey as long as you give him some space and freedom; otherwise he will just continue to retaliate against you. Yes, your threat over his friends lives still poses, but when it comes down to rivalry and pure anger, reason doesn't have much space to work with." He stared at Tord with an enigmatic expression. "You know that better than anyone else, don't you sir?"

Tord clenched his teeth and straightened his jaw. God, he hated when Patrick was being a smart-ass. Especially because he was always right. No matter how angry Tord could get at him, he values his wisdom way too much to foolishly ignore it for the sake of his pride. He cast another quick side-glance at Tom, still peacefully asleep and unawares of their conversation.

"As always Pat, you're right." Tord admitted, immediately feeling his heart feeling the crushing defeat. Ouch, my pride. "I suppose i was being rather brash." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I will try to control myself around him in the future."

Patrick nodded, glad he managed to get through his leader without too much of a hassle. "By the way, sir. I thought best to remind you cause it's most likely you have forgotten it by now; that you are to leave, first thing in the morning."

"Huh? Why?"

Patrick clicked his tongue, having his assumption proved right. "Because sir, you are required to go to all of our existing bases and inspect their development. This may be your main base, but don't forget you have other ones to look after." He explained, finishing patching Tom up. He placed the palm of his hand over the Brit's forehead, feeling for fever.

Tord huffed in discontent, placing both his arms on his hips. "Well then what's the use in appointing Lieutenants to lead your multiple bases if I still have to look after them? Seems rather pointless if I say so myself."

Patrick sighed, still very much patient. "Like you said, it's your army and they are just your Lieutenants. Do you really trust them enough to lead things all on their own without your consent or knowledge?" He pointed out. "What if they're leadership skills are lacking and something goes amiss?"

"They should know better than to displease me by now, Pat." He flexed his robotic arm, bringing his organic one up to crack his own knuckles against the metal. "Otherwise I wouldn't have named them so in the first place; much less leave them in charge of my bases."

Patrick placed a wet cloth over Tom's forehead, to try and bring the fever down. Tom moaned at the contact but did nothing more than that. "Besides, with Thomas's current condition he will be out of commission for a while. So the serum experiments will definitely be put into a halt until he improves." He states, looking up at Tord. "Until then, you can be quite busy with your other army related activities while Paul and I work to set him straight."

Tord glanced at Tom, taking note of his patched bruises, bone thin figure, and pale skin. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

Patrick: 2. Tord: 0.

The polish soldier took note of his posture, and although he did not let it show openly, he did have a little smirk of victory. "Honestly sir, where would you be without Paul or I?"

Most likely dead. His mind replied dryly. Preferably in the wreckage remains of my failure.

Tord yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be heading up now." He informed, turning away to leave the room. "Notify me right away if there's a change to his condition."

"Yes, sir."

The door hisses open and he walks out of the quarters. In quick strides, Tord walks through the immense corridors of his laboratory. The shiny marble tiled floor and walls gleaming his reflection back at him wherever he goes. The cobalt blue coat of his uniform is only half-done, letting free the vision of his red hoodie underneath.

With only the heavy footsteps of his boots against the marble floor, he marched towards the elevator and went up, pressing the -4 button.

The elevator ride was quiet, despite the constant humming of the lift as it went upwards. Tord leaned back into the mirror wall surface, his hands grabbing the handles behind him with a sigh of content. His shoulders slump as the tension left him. He idly ran one of his hands through his hair, looking at the ground before his gaze fell on his prosthetic arm. A small frown made into his facial features as he continued to stare at it.

He flexed his robotic fingers.

It's been a year since the incident and the amputation, and yet, he still isn't used to the new arm. Sure, he has made a lot of improvements to it, and he certainly likes the feeling of power it brings him. He loves especially when he sees the fear in the eyes of his newer soldiers the first time they see his arm. However, it seems no matter how long it passes, the arm was still a stranger to him.

He turned his hand over.

It was… Funny. The new arm is a part of him now. But it will never be him. At least, not in the way that it was meant to be.

Tord slowly rose his hand up to touch his scarred cheek. He could feel the cold, metallic surface against his permanently damaged face. But his hand could not feel the scars and burns along his flesh. He closed his eyes; painful memories from that terrible day began to resurge.

Being rushed to the infirmary on a stretcher. Blood gushing down his arm. Paul and Patrick's panicked and horrified faces.

His doctors, practically all of them, analysed his case but it was hopeless. He had to cut it off. He already knew this was going to be the outcome. That's why he took the robotic arm from the wreckage. It doesn't take an expert to know that his arm was beyond salvageable. He went on with the procedure. Paul and Patrick assisting him with hesitance for what he was about to submit himself to.

Tord took a shaky deep breath at his next memory.

He had failed his mission. He had only one objective; to infiltrate the home, take the robot, and fly back to the base for his plans to commence. But he failed. If any of his soldiers were to fail their mission, he would punish them. He is their leader. He should be setting up an example for them. That failure isn't an option. If he can't do that, what kind of leader would he be? No. He failed his mission, and he deserves a punishment.

That's what he told himself; when he ordered his doctors to cut his arm off without giving him an anaesthetic.

Everyone was horrified by his orders. Paul and Patrick tried to plead for him to reconsider, and not put himself through the pain that he was about to subject himself to. Tord figured he already suffered the worst. He went on with it anyway.

All he remembers next was putting a cloth in his mouth to bite down, and Paul and Pat holding him down as the doctor got closer. Then there was an agonizing pain. His bloodcurdling screams muffled by the rag. Tears welled up in his eyes. Trashing around the surgical table. The horrible snap and crunch from his bone. He nearly passed out after that, as his vision blurred with the shock and blood loss. He closed his eyes for one second, and when he opened them again; his arm had already been replaced.

Sure, it wasn't the same arm back then. It was only a prototype for him to use until he could fix the one he is currently using now. But still, the memory haunts him just as much as the confrontation with his former friends.

Tord dropped his arm back to his side, releasing another sigh. The elevator ride was short, just going up one level; and yet it was feeling like an eternity.

Alas, the elevator ringed and the doors opened as he finally reached his desired level. Tord recomposed himself, pushing all his dark thoughts away, and plastered a confident smirk on his face as he strolled out.

The sight of his soldiers greeted him. They were walking through the hallways, chatting with one another; most likely heading for training. They cheerfully greeted and saluted him as he passed by, and he returned the gesture.

"Good morning, sir!"

"Morning, sir!"

"Hello, sir!"

"How's the morning, sir?"

Tord raised his head with pride, acknowledging their presence with a curt nod and a small smile. The soldiers who have been in the army the longest have grown used to their leader's presence enough to feel at ease, and still hold respect for him. The recruits always tend to cower away in their first time meeting him face to face. But overtime they grow to trust and respect his authority rather than fear it. But of course, he still occasionally makes sure to let it be known for all members in the army; his power is not to be tested. He is a just and merciful leader, but he won't hesitate to teach a lesson to those who defy him.

"Excuse me-! Red leader, sir!"

A young woman hurried over to his side, falling in step with his quick strides. The soldier wore their trademark red and blue army uniform, with her name 'Scarlett' written on the tag, huge round glasses, and she carried a couple of folders with her. Her red mahogany hair was tied in a messy bun, with two strands of hair flowing elegantly alongside her face.

Tord glanced at her with a tilt of his head, prompting her to speak. "I thought I would let you know of your schedule for today." She stated, pulling out her notebook and pen from her pockets. "Not that I am complaining about you sir, but you did leave me in a wild goose chase earlier. Looking all over the base for you!"

Tord chuckled. "My apologies, I was quite busy this morning down at the labs. You know how it is."

She pushed up her glasses, looking at him with a slight frown; clearing her throat before speaking. "Well, Commander Paul requested your presence in the training hall. He would like you to evaluate the progress of our newest batch of recruits. Then I suggest you head over to the conference room for the meeting you scheduled with the army's supplier immediately after. You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting." She advised, throwing him a narrowed glance.

Tord shrugged but nodded regardless. "Affirmative." He smiled.

"Then you have weapons inspection, scheduling the cafeteria's menu for next month…"

"Nah, clear the rest of my afternoon for me." Tord cut her off, waving his hand in a careless manner. "I'm going down to the labs again after the meeting. Have one of the lieutenants go in my place instead."

The girl groaned in exasperation. "Sir, this is the 5th time this week you ask me to clear your schedule from all your other activities." She stated. "At this rate, I'm gonna run out of things to say to the soldiers!"

"I am confident you can handle this task; otherwise I wouldn't have appointed you so." Usually it was Patrick who dealt with Tord's daily agenda. But since he was too busy looking after Tom, as well with his other duties, Tord needed another secretary and thus he appointed Scarlett for the job. She's not a soldier, although she is battle trained. She's in charge of keeping track over the army's archives, records, and files down at the library; and is infamously known for being very well organized. So clearly, she was the ideal choice for the job. Though he was quick to figure out she doesn't deal well under pressure.

Scarlett sighed, scribbling rapidly on her notepad. "Very well, sir." She bowed her head and left his side, presumably heading back to her office in the base's library.

After she left him, Tord continued down the path of the long, fancy hallways. Taking turns; left, right, going up a few flights of stairs. It would've have been easy to just take the elevator up to the level he was heading to. But Tord likes to stroll around his base whenever he could, make sure everything is in order, and admire the secret empire he so expertly constructed beneath the very foundations of his home land.

Pride swelled in his heart at the thought. His army has grown exponentially since he first founded it. The number of new recruits have diminished as time went by, but that did not bother him. His army is large enough as it is. It's only a matter of time now for the red army to rise above ground and begin their reign over the entire world. Once he finally gets his desired result with the serum experiments, only then he will put Tom to some good use. And to think, that his "former friend" is going to aid him in his quest. The notion itself made Tord immensely happy.

Before he knew it, Tord arrived in the training hall. The glass doors sliding open with a 'swush' and he strolled in. The polished floor gleamed with the reflection of the lights. Various equipments displayed on both sides. And in the centre of the room, where a large area is cushioned with blue mats, a line of soldiers is standing in a straight posture and staring straight ahead of them at the wall.

They hadn't notice their leader's presence in the room yet, due to them facing away from where he is. Not to mention the fact that they were too busy focusing on their Commander walking along the line, facing each one as he addressed them all.

"Three months ago, you came to us and joined our ranks. You have all trained very hard since then." Paul spoke, looking at each soldier as he stepped by them. "However, by no means does this give you the right to slack off. You still have a long way to go before you move up the rank from private to soldier."

He halted his movements, fully turning to face them. "We're gonna have a little test today. Remember, this may not be your final assessment yet, but I will still judge your improvement and skill just as seriously." He stated, shifting his calculating gaze over the privates.

Tord had to clasp a hand over his mouth to muffle his chuckles. Paul sure knows how to put up a good show. He watched the performance with keen interest.

"Your goal in this test is to pin me down, before I do the same to you." Paul announced, observing the trainees for a reaction out of them. They gave nothing away. He gave a curt nod of approval. "If you succeed; then congratulations! You get the highest mark. If I pin you down though, you'll fail, and I will give a score to your performance." Paul walked ahead of them, turning his back to the privates as he faced the wall with hands clasped behind his back. His steps even. "Now. Who would like to go first?"

Without the hesitation of a moment's heartbeat, one of the privates broke away from the line and rushed at Paul while he had his back turned. The dark-haired man threw a punch his way, but Paul, already experienced with training privates over the years in the army, had expected the move coming from a mile away. He side stepped at the very last second, catching the private off-guard instead of the other way around. Paul then grabbed the man's other arm, kicked out his legs to make him stumble, but before he could fall over on himself; Paul hurled him backwards clean over his head and threw him down onto the mat.

The private groaned in pain as his back slammed down hard on the cushioned floor. Paul held him down with one foot. "I like your initiative. However, that ain't gonna be enough to save your ass on a real battle." Paul commented, looking down at the man. "You have a lot to improve on. I'll give you a 2 out of 10." He pulled his foot away, letting the private up. The man quickly nodded and stepped away. "Who's next?"

A girl hurled herself at him, so fast she was barely just a blur. Paul swiped downwards, aiming for her head. She dodged at the last second, and jabbed him in the ribs and shoulder. Paul staggered back, letting out a low groan of pain before he grabbed one of the girl's arms as she went in for another jab, this time aimed for his face. He twisted her arm behind her back. In retaliation, the private kicked out with her legs against his knee, making him buckle under his own weight. He did not let go of her. Instead, he used the opportunity to switch their positions around as they fell, so that she was the one who lands on the mat instead of him.

"That's more like it!" Paul admired, brushing himself off the ground. "7 out of 10."

He was barely done with his sentence when he was jumped on by three different privates all at once. Tord shook his head, clicking his tongue. These privates were about to learn a lesson they weren't soon going to forget.

Paul made a grab for the nearest private, who had taken a hold of his arm, and was trying desperately to use his own weight to bring Paul down. The Red Army commander grabbed the private by the collar of his uniform and easily threw him off, hurling him against the other private; who had lunged at him only to get hit head-on by her own comrade. The remaining private had snuck up behind Paul and tried to take him by surprise by putting him in a headlock.

"Not bad." Paul commented with a grunt, a sly grin on his face. Suddenly he hurled backwards, slamming the back of his head against the private's face. A crunch was heard, and the private let go of Paul as he moaned in pain, and gripped his bleeding, and broken nose. However, Paul did not let up. He swiped one foot from beneath the private's feet, knocking him over; only to grab the man's arm and hurl him down against the other two knocked-out privates.

Paul spat on the ground, looking down at the pile of winded trainees with disdain. "Usually I would give a good scolding to those who try to team up to take me down." He commented, fixing his sleeves. "But you guys are barely worth the effort. 3 out of 10."

Before another private could step out of line for their turn, the sound of clapping got everyone's attention. Tord stepped out of the shadows, from where he was watching the whole thing, and made himself known. He applauded rather condescendingly. His robotic hand slowly coming down against his organic, gloved one.

"Well, well, well… That was quite the show." Red leader chuckled, approaching the group. He took in the privates looks of awe, shock, and apprehension at the sight of him. "However, I must say I am quite disappointed in the lacklustre performance of these recruits." He eyed the defeated bunch, letting his gaze waver over each one of them. They all bowed their heads and adverted their gaze away from him.

"In their defence, they had only three months of training so far and they were only shown mostly defensive moves." Paul shrugged, facing his leader. "Clearly they still have an awful lot to learn before they can become proper soldiers."

Tord grunted in agreement. "Indeed." He crossed his arms behind his back, straightening his posture as he strolled alongside the line; addressing the recruits with his authoritative figure. "I will admit. For recruits, you lot are brave to attack with no hesitation and with so little combat experience." He stated, his voice loud and clear. "But there's a fine line between bravery and recklessness. And bravery alone won't be enough to keep you alive in the battlefield." He stopped walking, and turned to face them. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder here on out. I expect nothing less than the very best of my soldiers. It's the least you can do for us, after taking you in and giving you lot a second chance. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!" The privates saluted in unison.

Tord nodded in approval. "Dismissed."

The trainees didn't need to be told twice. They immediately scampered out the room, shooting weary glances at their leader along the way; whispering quietly to one another as they did so. Tord shot them a wicked smirk and a glare their way, and they were quick to flinch and leave the room.

Tord chuckled slightly at their reaction, shaking his head. "Hmph! Amateurs…" He scoffed, turning away and facing the commander. "Well, that was a waste of my time. Why bother bringing me here to witness this unexperienced display?" He questioned, earning a half-hearted shrug in response.

"Thought you needed to lighten up a bit. You have been spending way too much time down in the labs worrying over To- I mean, test subject #1826!" Paul answered, quickly recovering from his mistake. "You used to enjoy evaluating the privates' performance and training; especially if it gave you a chance to intimidate them out of their boots. What changed?"

Tord sighed, heading out the Training hall with Paul trailing behind him. "That was in the beginning! You know? When the army was small, we barely had anything, and any shred of development had my most immediate attention." He stated genuinely, glancing back at his Commander over his shoulder as he spoke. "But 9 years is a long time to get used to it, my friend. I have seen privates training time, and time again. Unless they have any special abilities I should know about, I don't see the point of looking into their development for myself anymore; with the exception being their final assessment." He explained, a feeling of nostalgia hitting him. They may have had their struggles keeping their base a secret and afloat at the start. But it sure made all the more joyous when things were improving. Although of course he is very proud of his army, he is a busy man with a tight schedule; Tord doesn't have time to keep observing his newest members training. "I have better things to do with my time."

"Like looking after Tom?"

Tord halted abruptly in his steps, nearly making Paul bump into him. He turned his head around stiffly, and shot Paul a dry glare. The red army commander looked skittish, and laughed nervously. "Ha ha. Very funny." Red leader scoffed sarcastically.

Tord said nothing more, before resuming his travel along the base. Paul followed, breathing a quick sigh of relief. "Uh, where we going?" He asks hesitantly.

"To the conference room." Tord replied. "I'm having a meeting with the army's supplier."

Paul groaned audibly at this. "I don't like those guys! They are way too shady for my books." He complained.

Tord rolled his one visible eye. "Like them or not, we need them. They have helped us plenty in the past, and they never disappointed with my demands." He explained calmly, as if reasoning with a child. "Sure, they may be rather annoying to deal with at times. But never anything too harmful!"

"I guess."

As the two of them walked along the army base's corridors together, other soldiers spotted them along the way. They greeted them with respect, and murmured quietly to each other while shooting glances their way.

"Ey boss!"

All soldiers, including Tord himself, froze at the sound of the heavy accented voice that came from somewhere far behind them. Simultaneously, the exact same thought flickered on their minds in response to it.

Oh f#ck no.

"Sh#t."

"It's Reagan!"

Immediately, the soldiers, that were around him mere seconds ago with excitement; scattered into different directions as quickly as possible. Some of them were even pushing each other out of the way to leave faster. Tord inwardly winced and let out a long, exasperated sigh. He wished he could go with the others. But he has places to be, and a leader doesn't run away from anything. Even if it bothers him to no end.

He let out a long, resonant groan of aggravation; pinching the bridge of his nose. He braced himself for the migraine that was about to be bestowed upon him. One quick glance told him that Paul was not faring any better. His huge eyebrows are pointing down, and his face was a mixture of a permanent frown and a scowl. Whatever good mood he had with him after the assessment has completely vanished without a trace from his features.

Much like he anticipated, a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder. "Heyo! So nice to run into yah, boss!" The soldier laughed. "I've been trying to contact you for the longest time now, but you never picked up my calls!"

"Yes, well, I have been quite busy with my work Reagan." Tord muttered in disdain, finally turning around to face the obnoxious soldier.

The man in question was not much taller than Tord himself. Messy blonde hair, starkly bright green eyes, a stubble, and a seemingly permanent sh#t-eating grin always present on the Irish man's face. Reagan laughed at his comment, and placed an arm over Tord's shoulder to lean on. Tord mustered all his self-control not to push the man off.

Reagan glanced sideways and took notice of Paul's presence next to them. "Oh! Hey Paulie!~ " He greeted with a sickly-sweet voice. "How's Patty?"

Paul's fists clenched, and he glared at the Irish soldier. "Just fine!" He huffed, crossing his arms. Reagan giggled at his expression.

"Anyways, what can I help you with?" Tord questioned, taking Reagan's attention away from Paul, and back to himself. He had a feeling if Reagan kept pestering Paul, the red army commander might actually sock the officer right on the jaw. As pleasing as the notion would be, Tord doesn't want to lose the trust of his soldiers. Even ones as annoyingly irritating as Reagan.

The blonde soldier turned his gaze back Tord, with a large smile plastered on his face. "I was just looking to report the case of my latest mission, boss." He spoke, bringing himself with an air of smug confidence.

"Your partner, Officer Bennet, has already reported to me all the details of the mission." Tord answered with a lack of emotion in his voice, proceeding to shrug off the arm clinging around his shoulders and continue along his way.

Reagan did not seem bothered. "Speaking of witch, have you seen Benny-boy anywhere?" He asks, still following them. "Went off for a drink, he left without waiting, and now I can't find that son of a b#tch anywhere!"

Tord felt genuinely bad for Bennet. He is a good officer. Had given plenty of years of loyal service under the Red army. A reliable spy. He most definitely did not deserve to be paired up with Reagan. But someone had to. Reagan is wild, and out of control. Bennet is calm and reasonable; he can put Reagan in check. But Bennet can be kind of a push over with his kind nature, and he does not possess any trace of ambition or that much confidence in himself. Reagan is clever, sly, and cunning. He will use whatever means necessary to get what he wants.

Teaming up the two of them together was the obvious choice; they complement each other. However, the same thing was said about the other six soldiers Reagan had teamed up with in the past. And none of them turned out alright.

The Red leader sighed. "He gave me the mission report digitally, before personally meeting me in my office." He stated coolly. "He is currently away from any army related activities, in a 7-month licence."

Reagan blinked. "What's that mean?"

"It means, that he will be gone for seven months to care for his family and new-born child." Tord sighed patiently. Usually he wouldn't give such a long time for his soldiers, but again, Bennet was a good officer. Besides, god knows he needed a holiday break from Reagan.

Tord winced when the Irish soldier let out a loud gasp of shock. "What?! Benny-boy is married this whole time, and I never knew?" He echoed in disbelief, clinging onto Paul; who glared at him in return. "Blimme me! That sly dog! How come he never told me?!"

"Probably because he doesn't want you anywhere near his family." Paul grumbled under his breath. "Honestly, I don't blame him." If Reagan heard his comment, he paid no heed.

"Also, boss, is there any chance I can change my fake identity?" He requested, completely changing the subject. "I mean, Lenny? Seriously? That's just a plain dumb name! Doesn't exactly fit with me, you know?"

"I find it quite suitable, if I say so myself." Paul muttered.

Tord narrowed his eye. "You are in no position to make demands out of me, Reagan." He states, glancing back over his shoulder with a cold gleam in his eye. "If anything, you are lucky that I haven't thrown you out due to your delinquent behaviour."

Reagan chuckled, not the least bit intimidated by his leader's serious tone of voice. "By the way, boss, who was that creepy looking fella you ordered us to eliminate?" He asks, changing the subject yet again. "The poor bastard didn't even see what was coming to him, nor did he stand much of a chance against us. Must've been his freakish lack of eyes!"

Immediately, Tord knew who he was talking about. "That's classified information." He answered, feeling somewhat defensive on the subject. "But let's just say that he owed me one." He left it at that.

"Oohh! Cryptic!" Reagan echoed, clear interest showed in his mischievous green orbs as he fiddled with his hands. He then proceeded to laugh, clutching his sides. "Oh man, I just remembered the best part from the mission!" He wiped away a tear from his eye. "As if disposing that freak wasn't good enough by itself, delivering the news to his friends was a riot!"

Red leader's confident strides slowed down, until he was merely just walking. All noise was muted, focusing only in Reagan's voice.

"I wish I had a camera to film their reaction though. It's a real shame I didn't!" The Irish soldier went on with his retelling. Being as casual about it, as if he was merely speaking of his eventful day. "The look on their faces was priceless! We brought their hopes up, only to bring it down. Then we brought them up again, only to shatter them in a million pieces." He continued to laugh. Paul, who walked next to him, was shifting his gaze nervously back and forth between him and his leader. Dreading, but anticipating, the outburst to happen. "The guy in the green hoodie was specially devastated. He dropped his soda, and ran back inside his apartment; crying like a little baby! To be fair, the ginger guy wasn't faring any better. He was nearly bursting into tears himself when he sent us away."

"Is there anything important you might be leading up to with this information, Reagan?" Tord whipped around, and snapped through gritted teeth. His one eye blazed with fury, and Paul could see that he was barely holding his rage inside.

Reagan shrugged. "Not really. I just like to chat."

"Well, keep the details to yourself." Tord snarled, turning away with a scowl. "Unless I order it, I am not interest in them."

"Whatever you say, boss!"

Paul thought this was going to be the end of it. Reagan would take the hint, and scamper away to annoy somebody else. But this is Reagan. He never takes the hint that he might be taking it too far. And thus, he stuck around them for a little longer.

"Hey boss, I heard from some guys that the labs are off-limits." And by that, he literally means he eavesdrop on some people talking. Because no one in their right mind will ever associate themselves with him. "Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tord was drastically losing his patience. He just wanted to get to the meeting, end it, and go back to his work. Was that too much to ask?

Remembering his anger-management exercises with Pat, he took a deep breath to control himself. "Because I ordered it so."

"Does it have something to do with the secret project you have been working on for so god dam long?" He pressed on, imminent interest in his voice.

Tord gave him a long-side glare. "That's classified information."

Reagan beamed. "But if I were to be promoted a rank up, would I get access to said information?"

The Red leader stopped abruptly in his path. So that's what he is after! "Perhaps. But I don't see a reason why you should get promoted at all." He snaps, whipping around to face the man. Tord brought his robotic arm up, and began to tap into some buttons; bringing up a screen which showed a file. "In your four years of service to the Red army, you managed to break 18 out of the 26 rules. Push away all your previous designated partners. Constantly disobeys orders. Provokes fights between other soldiers. And you keep smuggling cigarettes from our canteen, time and time again; and never paid any of it." He read the file.

"Pfft! I would never!" Reagan scoffed, crossing his arms and looking away rather dramatically. "You got no proof!"

Tord smirked, tapping a few more buttons before inverting the screen. "This is footage from one of our CCTV cameras. That's you, isn't it?"

The video showed a soldier, clearly Reagan, walking by the canteen with both hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked around, checking to see if anybody was looking. He then grinned and proceeded to stuff his pockets full of cigarette packets from the stand before running off.

Reagan looked dumbfounded, while Paul snickered quietly next to them.

"That footage was tempered with." Reagan tried to argue. Tord raised one hand to silence him.

"Enough! That's proof enough to show me, that you aren't ready to become a sergeant." He turned around and walked away. Thinking he had the final word. But Reagan was not one to give up so easily.

"C'mon boss! Please! Give me a chance at least!" He practically begged, running up ahead of Tord and walking backwards as he just continued along his way. The Red leader paid no heed to him. "I am a changed man, I promise! Let me prove it to you!"

As the Officer continued to pester him, Tord felt his patience about to burst. From the corner of his vision, he spotted Paul looking upwards at the ceiling with a pleading look. He didn't need to read minds to tell that the Commander was silently praying for Reagan to go away. Tord couldn't blame him.

Reagan is… effective in the battlefield. But he can be reckless, and sometimes goes a little too far. If it weren't for other soldiers accompanying him on missions, there would never be any prisoners to interrogate. He is most definitely not to be trusted with tanks, planes, or any heavy machinery. One good trait that was evident about the man though, and really; the only reason the Irish man is still around in the first place, is his charisma and way with words.

He could manipulate people with extreme ease. In the beginning, when he first joined the army, Reagan would always charm-talk his way out of trouble. Maybe that was a bad thing to let happen. Now the man is too cocky for his own good, and is not afraid of authority. A thing Reagan is known to do as well; whenever there are new recruits in the army, he would manipulate and trick them into doing certain chores for him. That's why other soldiers are quick to advise the newbies to stay as far away from Reagan as possible, because the man is just trouble.

If only there was a way to use Reagan's abilities, benefit the army in some way, and get rid of him enough to stop bothering them-

A lightbulb lit up atop his head.

Tord halted, and a wide grin stretched along his face, as he slowly turned to face the Irish man. Paul raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion, but kept his mouth shut. He was keen to know what his leader has in mind.

"Reagan.~" Tord practically purred, as he placed his arm around the officer's shoulder. "I may have judged you too harshly, and for that, I am sorry. I think you are absolutely right in deserving a chance to prove yourself."

"Really?" Both the man in question and Paul gasped simultaneously.

Tord nodded. "I am going to give you a very especial task." He went on, words dripping with honey as he grinned through half-lidded eyes. "It shouldn't be much of a hassle for you anyways. After all, with that silver tongue of yours, this should be a walk in the park for you."

"Well, what is it?" Reagan prompted eagerly.

Tord clasped his hands over the man's shoulders, turning him so that they were facing each other. "Reagan, I want you to take part in this year's recruitment program."

"The recruitment program?"

"Yes."

Reagan was rather amazed at this sudden turn of events, though he was not complaining. Another quick look in Paul's direction, told Tord that his commander did not agree with his decision. He was shaking his head, and raised his hands; shaking them as well to signal that this may not be the greatest idea.

"Why the recruitment program though?" Reagan questioned.

"Because, I think this task will put your talents to better use for the good-will of the army." Tord explained smoothly. "Tell you what; if you can successfully find, and convince five new members into joining the army as new recruits, then I might consider promoting you to sergeant."

Reagan tapped his chin, and hummed deep in thought. "Will I get my very own private quarters?"

"Anywhere you want!" Tord nodded, still grinning widely.

"Access to the premium selection on the cafeteria menu?"

"Of course!"

"A different name for my fake ID?"

"I don't see why not?!"

"Granted access to the super-secret project down in the labs?"

Tord's whole façade nearly shattered at this; it took all his self-control to keep it up. His smile faltered for a millisecond, and his eye twitched. He resisted the urge to choke the Irish man where he stood, and continued to hold his charade. Just barely though.

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves." He chuckled forcefully. "But who knows? Anything can happen!"

Reagan smirked triumphantly. Paul, at this point, was just staring at the ground in dismay; still shaking his head.

"Alright boss, I'll take on the task." The blonde officer agreed, brushing the invisible dust off his shoulders in a stuck-up manner. "Just you wait and see; when I come back with the army's five newest members, you'll finally see the competent soldier that I truly am."

"I expect no less from you." Tord stepped back, folding his hands behind his back.

"See yah around, boss!" Reagan raised two fingers to his forehead, giving a little salute of farewell before walking away in the opposite direction.

Tord waved his robotic fingers, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth might shatter. When the blonde soldier turned the corner, and disappeared out of sight, both the red army commander and the leader breathed out a sigh of relief. Their shoulders slumped; both feeling absolutely drained from the experience.

"He's gone at last." Tord breathed, his anger slowly dissipating. He pressed a button on his robotic arm, and opened a compartment containing aspirin. He gave one pill to Paul, and one for himself.

Paul side-glanced at him in concern. "Sir, please tell me you didn't mean anything of what you said to him." He asked pleadingly.

Tord shrugged. "To be fair, most of what I said was just to get rid of him. He was getting on my nerves." He replied truthfully. "But with that said, at this point I am just giving him the benefit of the doubt."

"By putting him in the recruitment program?" Paul crossed his arms, raising one of his bushy eyebrows questioningly. "Was that really such a bright idea?"

Tord sighed tiredly. "Yeah, I know. Kind of risky, I admit." He raised one finger. "But, at least we'll be rid of him for a while until he completes his mission. And get new members for the army as a bonus!"

"I don't know sir, Reagan is very impulsive. Not to mention that the recruitment program is a very delicate operation. One wrong move on his part could jeopardize everything we build over the years!" Paul pointed out worriedly.

"Do you think I hadn't thought of that?" Tord demanded, narrowing his eye. "Yes, I am well aware of the risk. But I don't think we'll have to concern ourselves with it." He stretched his arms, re-focusing his mind to his goal and continuing along the path he was originally going. "Reagan may be plenty of things, but he is far from stupid. He knows better than to speak about the army so openly in public." He reasoned, glancing over his shoulder to see his Commander trailing behind him. "Honestly, I don't know why I haven't thought of this idea sooner. It's perfect for a person with Reagan's capabilities!"

"I don't think I quite follow…" Paul murmured in confusion, tilting his head.

"Isn't it obvious? Reagan's biggest trait, aside from his constant nagging and rather annoying personality, is his manipulation skills." Tord explained. "The recruitment program is all about sending our best socially skilled soldiers out into the world, and convince potential recruits into joining us. This is our chance to finally put Reagan to good use!"

Paul was silent, making sense of his leader's idea. "I guess that could work…" He trailed off hesitantly. "But, doesn't it take months, possibly more than a year, just to target and prey one person and convince them to join us?"

"Precisely.~" Tord smirked mischievously, chuckling under his breath.

Understanding suddenly dawned on Paul and he reared back in realization. "Oh. Oh! Sir, that was ingenious!"

"Why, thank you!" Tord laughed, giving a mock bow in return with a smug grin.

"To be honest, you should've done it sooner." Paul added, laughing slightly before his expression turned to worry once more. "But you're not seriously going to promote him if he does succeed, right?"

"A leader always keeps his word. But thankfully I only said that i might, MIGHT, consider in granting him the promotion. Never said I would indubitably! So there's that." He reasoned with a confident smirk. "But like hell am I ever going to grant him access to my project, or clearance to the lab! Last thing I need is him meddling in places that he shouldn't."

The mere idea of Reagan being involved made Tord feel noxious. As if he doesn't have enough trouble as it is with Tom alone. A drifting thought made itself known in his mind; a possibility that made his spine tingle in all the wrong ways. Tom and Reagan in the exact same room. A shudder ran down his spine at the scenario. That's a recipe for disaster, if he'd ever seen one. One pisses him off to no end, to the point of wanting to rip the hair out of his scalp. The other is Reagan.

No. Just… no.

Before he realized, they finally arrived in front of the huge double doors to the conference room. The doors so huge, it reached the ceiling.

Pushing one of the heavy doors, Tord and Paul slid inside, making sure to shut it behind them. The room was huge, yet, filled with an empty space. There were no lights, but only the flickering static of the huge screen that covered the opposite wall illuminated the room. In the centre, there is a small platform raised a few steps above the ground, and on top of it there is a throne with two control panels on either side of it's arms.

Tord walked up the steps and sat down on the tall, comfortable seat; immediately set to work, and typing the commands into the control panels. Meanwhile, Paul stepped ahead of the platform. He began to fiddle with the camera that was positioned directly in front of the throne.

"Is everything ready?" Tord questions.

Paul gave a thumbs up, flicking the camera on. "Yes, sir!

Tord nodded. Paul quickly made his way to stand by the Red leader's throne; crossing his arms and with a straight posture.

"Starting the call… Now!"

He pressed the switch, and the large screen ahead of them flickered to call sign. Tord sat back in his throne, placing both hands beneath his chin intently, as he patiently waited for his ally to pick up the call.

At last, the screen changed, as the call was finally answered.

"Ah! Red leader! It's been a while since our last negotiation."

The screen switched, and showed two men. One of them, the one who spoke; is a man with dishevelled brown hair, white shirt, and brown eyes. Standing just behind him, is his assistant. A man with dirty blonde hair, wearing a tuxedo, and one of his eyes is covered up by an eyepatch.

"Indeed it has, Mr. Bing." Tord replied smoothly.

"To what may I owe you this pleasure?" The mad director questioned, leaning back on his reclining chair. "Is it the usual order, I assume?"

Tord clasped his hands together. "It is. But that is not the only reason for this call." He announced, deciding to be direct and not beat around the bush any longer. "Along with the next shipment, I would like to request a barrel of the "purple stuff" as well."

"Oh? You're still on that silly project, boy?" Bing prompted, leaning his head against his hand rather tiredly. "Let me guess; the last barrel I sent you went down the drain along with your failed attempts?"

Tord's eye twitched in annoyance at being called a boy. Paul uttered a low growl next to him, glaring directly at the screen. But Tord made a subtle sign for him to step down, and not do anything rash.

Tord masked his irritation with an amused laugh. "I am not one to give up so easily, my friend." He stated, tapping his fingers along the arms of the throne. "And this time, I had a breakthrough in my research. I am close to my goals, and I won't stop now for anything."

"Whatever you say, Red." Bing shrugged, seemingly disinterested. "However, I don't have to remind you the cost for getting you one of those things. This chemical stuff is really hard to obtain. Especially after the incident with the plane crash, the chemical spill, and the short zombie apocalypse you managed to cause."

"I am well aware." As he spoke, Tord sent a glare towards his commander through the corner of his eye. Paul smiled and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "What is it you want in return this time, Bing?"

At that, the evil director hummed, deep in thought. "You wouldn't happen to have an anti-gravity device or a shrinking gun, would you?"

Paul and Tord exchanged an uneasy glance. "We have a prototype of a shrinking laser… But nothing like an anti-gravity device..."

(Time skip)

Darkness seemed to have consumed his vision. He's been in the dark for so long. But how long? There wasn't a sense of time in this place. Not that he could tell. It was a familiar feeling though, but not one that he was glad to welcome. Hisses and whispering voices echoed in the distance, but he couldn't make them out.

I want to get out of here!

He felt like he was eternally falling.

No. Worse.

He felt like he was drowning. It was suffocating. It's dark. His movements were sluggish and slow. The sensation was very much like he was cast into the ocean with a cinderblock chained to his ankles; dragging him down to the bottom. And no matter how much he flailed and struggled, he couldn't get free. He was stuck in the darkness, just staring upwards at absolutely nothing as if he anticipated something to come out, grab him, and pull him out of the eternal dark abyss that he has fallen into.

But he has seen this before. No one ever comes. Why should they?

After a while of struggle, he would just lean back in defeat and let himself drift further down; staring ahead of him numbly.

It's for the best, anyway.

He would simply close his eyes and drift aimlessly until this was over. Sometimes he would get flashes of events happening somewhere else. But this time, there was none of that. It was rather strange, but he was not complaining. It's a welcomed change. Now he wasn't disturbed with the guilt anymore. Despite the choking feeling, he wouldn't mind keep floating in the dark for the rest of his miserable existence.

It's what he deserves.

Unexpectedly though, the fuzzy pressure on his head began to uncurl, and the choking sensation he felt previously lifted away. He knew what it meant. He was gaining back consciousness! Dread filled the pit of his stomach. What would he find outside?

A bright bean of light flash down from above him. He refused to look. He did not want to know what awaited him on the other side. But the light began to brighten, more and more, until even with his eyes closed he felt blinded.

Tom finally opened his eyes. Slowly, and he squinted them against the bright light shining above him. He raised one hand to block out the brightness from his dark sockets. Although his vision was blurry at the start, it progressively got used to its surroundings; enough for him to realize he was in his room.

No. Not his room. His quarters in the red army base, deep underground, somewhere in Norway. That's right.

He heard a soft snore next to him. Blinking sluggishly, he turned to look and noticed the other presence in the room. The Red leader is seated in a chair next to his bed, though he wasn't conscious. His scarred cheek was pressed against his robotic palm that rested on one of the chair's arms, leaning sideways, as he slept.

Tom's breath hitched at the unexpected sight, but he was quick to slap a hand over his mouth to cease making any noise that might arouse the Norsk from his slumber. His gaze wandered his sleeping form, watching the steady rise and fall of Tord's chest. It was a rather unusual sight to see, but he had to admit that the man looked peaceful. You know, without the smug look on his face towering above his, or the one of unrelenting rage that threatened to seep the life off him; it was a good change of pace.

Too bad it only lasted a couple of seconds.

The tranquil atmosphere of the room was suddenly interrupted by a loud beeping. Tom jumped, looking around panickedly. He searched for the source of the noise, when his gaze landed on the Norsk's prosthetic arm.

His eyes widened. Mother f-

He didn't have time to finish that thought, as the beeping grew louder and Tord jolted awake. Tom grimaced, quickly shutting his eyes and willing his heartbeat to slow down enough for his breathing to reach a steady pace.

Tord panted, caught off-guard by the notification alarm coming from his arm. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He didn't mean to fall asleep. Last he remembers, he came in to check on Tom, and then-

The train of thought disbanded when Tord stiffened in realization. He checked the screen on his arm, and sure enough, it displayed a heart monitor; showing the sudden change to the usual rhythm it has kept over the past few days. It could only mean one thing.

Alert, and fully awake at this point, Tord shifted in his seat and glanced at his "supposed sleeping" test subject. "Tom?" He called out, hoping to receive an answer this time. "Tom, I know that you're awake. The chip I've implanted on you gives me direct access to your nervous system, and it's currently telling me that you are awake."

Despite already knowing his cover has been blown, Tom did not open his eyes. He doesn't want to face Tord. Not now, nor ever.

On the other hand, Tord was starting to grow impatient. He crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow expectantly while tapping one foot repeatedly as he waited for Tom to realize he wasn't fooling him.

He grinned. "Hm, must've been another glitch from my arm. This stupid thing!" He banged his prosthetic against the wall with frustration. "Oh well, I guess I was mistaken." He shrugged with a sigh, still grinning maniacally. Not that Tom could see it, anyway.

Next thing he knows, Tom hears footsteps distancing themselves away from his bed; and the familiar hiss of the door as it slides open and closes again. Tom strains to hear anything else but he is met with absolute silence.

Is he gone?

Tom takes the risk. Squinting one eye open, barely just a slit; he sees the room Tord-less. No signs of the Norsk.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He opened his eyes and sat up on his bed, running one hand through his messy locks. "That was close." He murmured. "What a weirdo! Talking to himself like that-!"

"You are not much better yourself."

Tom practically jumped on his bed, and yelped in surprise when Tord peeked out from beneath the bed. The Norsk laughed; mighty pleased with himself for causing such an effect on the eyeless man. He clutched his sides as he rose from the floor.

"You should've seen the look on your face!" Tord continued to laugh, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye.

Tom stared at him indignantly. How dare he do this to him? He huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at the Norsk as he waited for him to finish his fit of laughter. "Are you done yet?"

Tord nodded, nearly out of breath. He sighed contently before recomposing himself. "That was worth it." He kept grinning that stupid, trademark smile of his.

An awkward silence hung in the air between them as the laughter died down, and they simply stared at each other. Neither of them knowing what to say in their current position. Tom wasn't too uncomfortable though. He was still rather tired, and he just merely blinked at the man before him with a deadpanned expression; waiting for him to leave so he could be in peace at last.

Ultimately, it was Tord who broke the silence. He cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck. "So… how are you feeling?"

Tom shrugged. "Fine. But tired." He stretched out his arms above his head as he lets out a huge yawn. "Mostly tired." It was then that he was startled to realize he has wrappings on both arms. Curious, albeit rather wearily, he turned his arms to inspect the bandages so expertly wrapped around his limbs. From the tip of his finger, all the way to his shoulder. And judging by the slightly pressure applied to his abdomen, chances are, he has even more bandages.

"You were in quite a sorry state, my dear friend." Tord's voice broke him out of his personal inspection. Tom turned to glare at him. "I can't help but worry, what could've possibly been bestowed upon you to leave you such a sorry mess?" He questioned, mildly interested.

Tom did not even bother to rebuke with the usual reply for being referred to as a friend, by the Norwegian man. His shoulders slumped, not feeling particularly aggressive right now. He simply glanced away. "Just a usual night at the bar taken too far, I guess." He answered tiredly. "I got drunk around other drunk people, and it escalated from there."

The reply took Tord by surprise. He wasn't expecting such a genuine answer from him. Now, whether or not he is actually being honest is debatable. But Tord is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now, until he has some compelling evidence disproving otherwise. Or Tom admits it himself.

Tord nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Thomas, what was the last thing that you remember?" He questioned.

Tom tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"You passed out unexpectedly, and we got no clues as to why. Only mere hypothesis." He explained the situation calmly, trying to refresh the Brit's memory. "You have been asleep for nearly a week."

"A week?!" Tom gasped, bringing a hand to his forehead in disbelief. Was he gone for that long? More importantly, what did he do while he was gone?

"Can you tell us any reason as to why that happened?" Tord went on, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed; anticipating Tom's answer. He seemed to be cooperative. Maybe the other times he was merely cranky due to lack of decent sleep. Tord laughed at the notion. Whatever the case may be, he will take advantage of Tom's unexpected willingness to comply. "What was the last thing you remember, Thomas?"

"I… I remember our fight in the gym." Tord visibly winced at that. He was secretly hoping he had forgotten about that little ordeal. "Then I went to talk to Patrick… Tasty juice…" Tom subconsciously licked his lips at the memory. He wished he could take a sip of that right about now. His head stung, as he struggled to remember the rest.

"And? What else?" Tord pressed on, anxious to get any sort of information that might prove useful out of him.

Tom shook his head slightly. "I just felt really dizzy all of the sudden." He continuously rubbed his head. "A bad headache, and then… nothing." He hissed in pain, still feeling the sharp lingering remains of said headache.

Tord stood up, walking to the bedside table Tom failed to notice, that contained a cup and a jug of water. He poured water onto the cup, then settled the jug back down before he opened the compartment in his arm containing aspirin. "Here, take this." He offered to him.

Surprisingly, Tom did not question about the contents. He was just glad to have something to relieve him of the pain, and drench his sore throat. He popped the pill in his mouth and drank the entire glass in one swig.

"Better?" Tord watched him curiously.

Rather than answering, Tom just leaned forward in his bed and grabbed the jug from the bedside table before chugging it down. Tord stared at him in silent awe. The Brit nearly managed to drain the entire thing of its contents before he placed the jug back down; wiping his mouth with one hand. "Now I am."

The Norsk chuckled at his antics, shaking his head slightly as he moved to sit down again. He began to fiddle with his hands, his expression softening. "Has this happened before?" He asks.

"Sometimes." Tom rubbed his eyes in a fruitless attempt to stay awake a little longer. "But I don't know what triggers it." He paused, his face grim.

Holding his own chin, Tord hummed deep in thought. "Thomas, do you by any chance have been getting trouble sleeping?"

The Brit's empty gaze lifted, and met his. "For a while now." His voice, barely a murmur.

"Why is that?" Tord asks.

He shrugged in response. "I don't know."

Tord frowned, somewhat disappointed he wasn't getting any clear answers. Another mystery to add to the jumble. He pursed his lips, tilting his head. "Then this sudden blackout and short coma could be as we had anticipated." He deduced. "Perhaps your lack of sleep has simply been trying to keep up with you. And when your body couldn't handle it anymore; your system running on fumes just to keep working, your body shut down until you got enough energy back."

"You mean like, a computer restart system, or something?"

"Precisely like that." The Norsk nodded. "And the only way to stop it from happening, is to get plenty of rest until you are back to proper health."

"If you say so." Tom muttered, not the least bit fazed by this information. It's easier said than done.

Tord stared at him in dismay, not sure how to fix the problem. "Is it insomnia, or nightmares?"

"Nightmares." Tom answered begrudgingly, eyes closed shut.

The Red leader blinked in surprise. He actually answered him truthfully that time. Maybe Tom is finally warming up to him after all! An idea suddenly hit him, and he started to rummage through his uniform's pockets. "I have just the thing that can help you friend! Here-!" He pulled a tiny black disc out from his chest pocket.

Tom blinked as Tord placed the tiny thing on his hand. He brought up to his eye-level for a closer inspection, turning it in his fingers. He has no idea what it is. But it looks rather tasty. Tom numbly tried to take a bite of it.

"Wha-? Tom no! You're not supposed to eat it!" Quick as lightning, Tord took away the disc from Tom's hold before he could actually damage it.

The brit whined in disappointment. "It isn't? But it looks like a tiny burned cookie!" He stared at Tord's hand; the one which currently held the disc. "What is it then?"

"This, is a special device that I personally invented to help users gain a peaceful sleep, undisturbed by nightmares. I created it for my own needs, but I figure you need it more than I do." Tord explained, turning the disc around in his hand; inspecting it for any substantial damage inflicted by Tom's baby-bite. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong, thankfully. He leaned closer to Tom. "All you have to do is place the device in your ear, and then press this switch right here to activate it. Then you just go to sleep, and the device shall do its magic." He instructed, showing him exactly what he needed to do. He carefully placed the device into his ear, like so, and backed away. Tom scratched behind his ear, a little bothered by the thing; though the sensation wasn't that much different from wearing an earphone.

Another uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Red leader took a deep breath, running one hand through his own hair. Somewhat hesitant now, he cleared his throat. "Tom, I am going to be away for a while." He announced.

Tom raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Away?" Echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. "How long?"

"Hopefully, this shouldn't take more than a couple of months. But still… it will be a while." Tord murmured, glancing down at the ground. "Paul and Pat will be looking after you while I'm gone. I merely request that you behave accordingly, and be nice to them." He paused, shifting his weary gaze back to Tom. "One thing is for you to aim your anger and frustration at me, for all the sh#t I put you through; and rightfully so. But they are good people. They are only following orders, and don't deserve to be mistreated. So please don't be difficult with them." He requested, before a sad smile graced his features. "Though, something tells me you won't be nearly as stubborn with them as you are with me. You seem to get along with them far better than we ever have."

If he detected the wistful tone in his voice, Tom showed no signs. "Where you going?"

The Red leader straightened himself, fixing the collar of his uniform. "I need to check my other bases. As leader, duty always calls." He answered. "Oh. It's also best that I should warn you now before I go. Since you haven't consumed any alcohol these last few days, you will probably start feeling the effects of the withdrawal soon enough. It ain't gonna be pretty." He advised. "These next couple of weeks are going to be… hm, how do you so eloquently put it? Oh, that's right! Lame."

"Nice." Tom says sarcastically.

Tord chuckled. "But I'm sure you'll be fine. After all, you're gonna have both of my best soldiers looking after you." He reassured, though Tom wasn't entirely convinced. Tord's expression softened. He leaned forward and ruffled Tom's hair slightly. "I suppose this is goodbye for now, old friend."

A low grumble was uttered by the Brit, but he did not voice a complaint or displayed any signs of aggression at the contact. Once more, all he did was blink with a blank expression.

"See you in a few months!" Tord smiled, waving his test subject farewell as he stepped away and made his way out the room.

"Wait."

At his call, Tord halted in front of the door. He glanced back at him. "Yes?" He blinked expectantly.

Tom shifted in his bed, feeling conscious all the sudden. "I… Shucks I'm going to regret saying this, ain't i? Uhm..." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his head nervously. He sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry for the way I acted before. And ripping off your eyepatch. I don't know what came over me, but I didn't really mean to do it. You just… get on my nerves."

At this point, Tord is sure this is just a dream. He is still sound sleep on his chair, he will wake up, and see that Tom hasn't awaken; proving that this is all just a figment of his imagination. Tom is apologizing? Surely this can't be real? The only thing Tord could think to explain the weirdness of this situation, is that Tom might be suffering the effects of the withdraw, and that's why he's been so unresponsive than usual.

Subconsciously, he touched his eyepatch. "It's fine, Thomas." He reassured. He took a deep breath, remembering Patrick's words from earlier. "I am… sorry as well. I shouldn't have provoked you, and I acted immaturely for a leader." And for the second time that day, the Red leader felt his pride get wounded. He could practically see Patrick's triumphant smirk if he were to see this development.

When there was nothing more to be said between them, Tord gave him a nod of acknowledgement. The door slid open with a hiss, and the Red leader left the room with a final wave of goodbye.

Breathing a tired sigh, Tom fell back on his bed; gazing at the ceiling. Things are finally going his way it seems. Life decided to take pity on him at last, and grant him a few months free of Tord. Yeah, the withdrawal sucks. And he's still at the red army's mercy. But at least he won't see Tord's smug face anytime soon.

But he had more pressing matters to worry about. More notably, his blackout. He wasn't lying when he said that it happened before. But the thing is, it wasn't triggered by lack of sleep. The real reason is worse. Much worse. Thankfully enough, nothing seemed to have happened this time. But it's only a matter of time until the thing gains its strength back, and manages to break free one more. Tom dreads that day. All his hard work to keep it under control, and it was for absolutely nothing in the end.

He picked the tiny device from his ear and held it up to his face, twirling it in his fingers as he dived deeper into his own thoughts. Whatever happens here on out, Tom will just have to toughen up and take it. But one thing is for sure. By the end of the year, either one of two outcomes will come into fruition.

The worst-case scenario; Tord ultimately wins. He finds out all his secrets, and finally gets what he wants from him. Using him in his schemes as he sees fit. Or the best possibility; Tom becomes just another one of Tord's failed attempts, and he joins all the other fallen test subjects. He will die during the experiments. It would definitely be the better outcome out of the two. He wouldn't let Tord win. The monster will be gone forever. And he won't hurt anyone ever again. His miserable existence will finally be put to a rest. He knows it's for the best.

Dark thoughts continued to drift around in his mind. He hadn't realized it, but tears were pricking the corners of his empty sockets.

Chapter Text

It's another stormy day in England. It's been raining for several days now, and the weather shows no signs of stopping. Hopefully, one of these days, the sun will finally get a chance to shine through again. But until then, the people of the town will just have to endure it.

A lonely figure climbed the steps towards his apartment. His coat and hoodie soaking wet from the rain. He carried four plastic bags, overfilled with groceries. Shaking himself to get rid of all the water still clinging onto him, he managed to toss the hoodie back from over his head; revealing his bright ginger hair into view.

Walking along the corridor, Matt stopped in front of an apartment door; not his own, but of his companion. Anxiously, he began to knock on it. "Edd? Are you there?" He called out, pressing his ear against the wooden surface to hear anything. But no answer. "Come on Edd. open up, buddy! It's me! Matt!"

It's been nearly a month since they got the dreadful news about their friend's unfortunate passing. And worse still, it was the last time since he'd seen his green hooded friend. Edd took the news hard. He locked himself in his apartment, and refused to go out. He didn't talk. Matt is pretty sure he hasn't been eating either, considering he never saw him go buy any groceries as of late. It worried him a lot.

Matt was helpless in this situation. He came by Edd's door every day, more than twice sometimes, to knock repeatedly, and call out to him only to be met with more silence; resulting in him going back to his own apartment in defeat. He'd tried everything at this point. He knocked on the door multiple times, so much so his knuckles were starting to turn a light shade of purple. He rang the doorbell to the point it broke. He called Edd's phone constantly, but it was never picked up.

"Edd? Please talk to me!" Matt pleaded through the door, still knocking. "Please? I just want to know if you're alright." He leaned his forehead against the door tiredly. He's been doing the same routine every day. Matt wasn't sure how long he can keep this up. How long Edd can keep this up. But for Edd's sake, he needs to keep going. They already suffered so much in the past. And now, with him gone…

Sighing in defeat, Matt backed away from the door; staring at it intently. He began to make his way to his own apartment. He was standing directly in front of his door, keys in one hand, about to open it when he hears an unexpected noise.

He stiffens at the sound, dropping his keys in the process. The loud buzzing noise echoed in his ears. But the weird thing, is that the source of the sound seems to be coming from the apartment left of his.

His apartment.

Cautiously, he tiptoed his way towards the door and pressed his ear against it. The sound was definitely coming from within.

Matt backed away, fearing a burglar might've broke in. Or maybe a deranged homeless person, making use of his friend's stuff. He retreated into his own apartment, dropping the groceries on the counter before grabbing a bust of his own face as a weapon, in case whoever was inside attacked him.

Shakily, he approached the door. The buzzing on the other side still loud and going. With a startling realization, Matt noticed that the spare key was still lodged in the lock. Somehow, whoever was inside found out about the key's location beneath the fire extinguisher.

Trembling from head to toe in apprehension, Matt turned the door knob. He paused, gulping and dreading what he may find waiting for him. He braced himself. Swinging the door open, it slammed against the wall. Matt let out a terrified shriek as he held the bust in front of him like a shield, waiting for the worst to happen.

"Hey Matt!"

At the sound of his name, he stiffened and did a double take at the sight before him. "E-Edd?" He was not imagining things. His friend is really standing right in front of him; currently vacuuming the floor. That would explain the loud noise he heard. "Is it really you?"

Edd chuckled, seemingly amused by his shocked reaction. "Of course, silly!"

Matt breathed out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagged as he relaxed. Now the spare key in the door made sense, and he felt the sudden urge to laugh at his overreaction. "Oof, thank goodness!" He put the bust down, no longer having need for it. "You scared me for a moment there." He laughed half-heartedly, before it trailed off into an awkward cough as the reality of the situation suddenly hit him. This is the first time they've seen each other since that fateful day. Recalling his friend's reaction and all the countless days he had spent calling out to him at his door, worry instantly gripped him. "So… H-how- how are holding up?" He asks hesitantly, afraid of setting the green hooded man off by saying the wrong thing.

"Oh, I'm fine actually." Edd responded. His voice held the same cheerfulness Matt was so used to hearing. In fact, nothing about him now would ever indicate the sadness that he once felt when they learned about their companion's whereabouts. "I went to fetch you for breakfast early this morning, but you had already left." He went on, still vacuuming the floor. "I made pancakes! They are on the counter if you want."

Glancing in the direction of the kitchen, Matt spotted a stack of freshly made pancakes; steaming with butter and syrup as the contents melted down over the sides. His mouth couldn't help but water at the sight. Edd's pancakes were always the best. His stomach voiced its opinion rather loudly, and Matt recalled that he hadn't eaten anything before going out. And so, he was more than happy to take the offer. "Thanks!"

He moved to sit on one of the stools by the counter, taking a fork and knife out the drawer, Matt began to scarf down the pancake hungrily. In the process, he couldn't help the hum of delight escape him. It's been so long since he'd last eaten one of Edd's infamous pancakes! He usually saves making them only for weekends or special occasions.

"Where did you go anyway?" Edd's question brought him out of his meal, and he glanced up at him.

Matt swallowed before answering. "Oh, I was just out in the market buying groceries. Nothing much." He answered, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

In that exact moment, Matt's eyes shifted and fell on the other end of the kitchen counter. His face contorted into a puzzled expression. Another stack of pancakes laid before him, neat and untouched. Syrup and melted butter coated its sides, but this stack was implemented with a fancy swirl of whipped cream at the top, and various blueberries were scattered around the plate. Matt tilted his head. Is it Edd's? Guilt instantly overcame him. Edd went out of his way to make breakfast for the both of them, even waits for him to come back for them to eat together; and yet he goes and eats his own stack without a second thought. Matt chuckled dryly. He did always say I'm absent-minded. He mused with a pang of sadness.

"Well that's great! After you finish eating you can help me clean up this place. It's a mess!" Edd's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Sure! No problem!" Matt responded through another forkful of pancakes. "But why exactly are you cleaning T- I mean! Cleaning the apartment for?" He couldn't help but ask. It was weird enough seeing him look so cheerful, much less finding him here in all places. Although he does not condemn Edd for being happy per say; but something just doesn't feel quite right here.

Edd's answer was enough explanation.

"For when Tom comes back, silly!"

Matt instantly chocked on the pancake he was so fondly eating before. Fist beating against his own chest to clear up his throat. He coughed, gasping for breath as he stared at Edd; disbelief was shown on his face.

"I mean, just look at this dump! It was a lot worse before I got here, I tell you that." Edd continued. Matt's shocked reaction went completely unnoticed by him. "But Tom can come back any moment, and I want to surprise him. Just imagine how glad he is going to be when he finds his apartment clean again!"

Now things were starting to make a little too much sense, and Matt wasn't sure he was ready to handle this. Suddenly the pancakes have lost their appeal, and they look a lot less appetizing than they were. The chunk that was still in his mouth felt dry, and tasteless; he swallowed the lump in his throat with great difficulty. His stomach churned with discomfort. His eyes accidentally wandered to the opposite end of the counter, to where the other stack stood.

Those pancakes weren't meant for Edd. But for him.

Matt felt his legs start to quiver. "E-E- Edd?"

"Oh! And I went ahead and bought a few bottles of Smirnoff for him. The original ones this time!" He kept on going. "Placed them in the fridge already, and threw away all the diet ones. That really was a stupid move on my part! I just hope he can forgive me…"

Matt pushed away from the counter, and stood up from his stool in shaky legs. He stared at Edd; weary, anxious, scared, but most of all, worried. He had no clue what to do in this situation. Edd is obviously in denial about the whole situation. Should Matt remind him of the truth, and risk upsetting him? Or should he just go along to spare his feelings? He cares so much about him, and his wellbeing; he really wished he could keep the pain away. But deep down, Matt knows that being delusional about the truth won't do Edd any good either.

Concerned, and yet determined, Matt stepped closer to his friend.

"I'm nearly done with the living room. The kitchen is mostly cleaned, except for the dishes, but we can do that later! Then it's Tom's room next." Edd was still ranting. His voice joyful, with a closed eyed smile on his face. "When we're done I thought we could, maybe, play some video games or something to pass the time until he comes back. I don't wanna leave in case Tom returns and we're not here to greet him!"

Matt approached him with apprehension. He raised one of his hands and shakily placed it over his friend's shoulder. He felt Edd stiffen at the contact. He did not turn around, nor did he stop vacuuming the room. Matt sighed. "E-Edd, you know as well as I do that…" He paused, trying to find the best way to break it to him without further harm. "That he- he isn't coming back."

The vacuum cleaner turned off.

Matt took a step back, withdrawing his hand away. He stared at Edd anxiously, waiting for the outburst to happen. Instead, the man in the green hoodie glanced back at him over his shoulder; still smiling. "Don't be silly, Matt. Of course Tom's coming back!" He told him, voice filled with optimism. Though Matt could tell it was rather forced. "Sure, he was upset with us when we last saw him… But he just needs some time to cool off, and before you know it, Tom's gonna be back like nothing ever happened!" He beamed. "Just like you said!"

Matt stared at him in dismay, sadness brimming in his blue eyes the more he observed his appearance. Judging by the dark bags beneath his eyes, he could tell Edd hasn't been getting a wink of sleep as of late. "Edd…" He tried to reach out once again, only for him to take a few steps back; his smile faltering ever so slightly.

"Just you wait and see! Tom's coming back, and everything will be alright again." Edd kept insisting, his voice wavering for a tiny fraction as he turned away from his ginger companion. "And then we can watch Return of the insane zombie pirates from hell 6: The final revenge of the curse! And who knows, after that we may go on more adventures just like… We once used to." The volume of his voice got increasingly lower as he went on, turning into a mere hushed whisper by the end.

"E-Edd, you're scaring me…" Matt shrunk back, genuinely unsettled by his friend's behaviour. "Please, snap out of it."

The man in the green hoodie looked back up at him, with a large smile plastered on his face. But what really got Matt's attention, aside from the creepy smile, was the fact that there are tears spilling from Edd's eyes. He was trying, and failing miserably to keep up the illusion despite Matt's protests. "What do you m-mean, Matt?" He asks softly, shaking his head. "Snap out of… What? Exactly?"

Matt gulped. A freezing chill spread around his insides with a sense of dread. He could feel his own eyes start to water the more he stared at his friend. This situation was rapidly running out of control, and Matt was in the verge or bursting into tears himself. He was only able to get a hold of himself just for Edd's sake. He is in more distress than himself, and he needs to be strong enough to console him.

He lurched forward suddenly, throwing his arms out and around Edd; enveloping him in a tight hug. Matt felt him stiffen in his hold, but he did not step away. "Edd, please, I know this is hard to accept… But you're gonna have to, sooner or later!" He sniffled, trying his damn hardest to keep himself from trembling. He held in the tears that were threatening to spill over, and he tightened the hug; at this point, he is unsure whether or not he is actually doing this for his own comfort or for Edd's. He buried his face in his friend's shoulder, afraid of uttering his next words loud and clear. "He is never coming back."

Edd clenched his fists.

"What do you know?"

Matt looked up, confusion replacing sadness. He glanced at Edd, and was shocked to find him glaring at him through glistening green eyes. "Edd?"

"You know, Matt, I never took you for being sceptical type. If you even know what that word means." He told him coldly.

The man in the purple hoodie flinched, and reared back; completely baffled by Edd's sudden change in attitude, and spontaneous rude demeanour. "I'm just- I'm only trying to help you!"

Edd shoved him away, breaking the hug. "I don't need your help!" He states confidently. "I know that I am right! Tom is going to come back."

"Please listen to me!" Matt begged, hardly containing his emotions at bay. "No matter how much you wish otherwise, he isn't coming back."

"Yes, he is!" Edd insisted.

"Tom's dead!"

Edd flinched for a millisecond, before glowering at him. "You know what? Since you're so discontent with the way things are, why don't you just leave?" He snapped. "The door is right behind you, and I can clean this whole place on my own. But when Tom comes back, don't come crying back to me hoping he'll forgive you!"

His words genuinely hurt Matt, and he felt painful tug in his chest. "Edd please!"

"Get out, Matt." He demanded as he turned away from him, crossing his arms. "You already caused enough damage."

The ginger haired man stared at him in dismay. He was torn between insisting or heeding his words. But considering how upset Edd is, he opted for the latter. Defeated, Matt began to head out. When he reached the door, he shot one last glance at his friend over his shoulder, sad to find him still with his back turned to him. He sighed and left the apartment, silently closing the door behind him and leaving Edd to his own devices.

The man in the green hoodie breathed out a sigh of relief, attempting to calm down his troubling thoughts and rebellious emotions. With Matt gone, he can now go back to his task of making Tom's home presentable for his return. It's the least he can do for his eyeless friend, after what he put him through.

Once he made sure everything was set and done in the living room, he pulled the vacuum's plug off the socket, and moved to his next destination. Tom's room. Walking along the corridor, Edd fumed quietly. "Stupid Matt. What does he know about Tom? Can't even get his fricking name right at the best of times! Why should I listen to him? I know I'm right! Tom is fine, and he will come back! Why is that so hard to believe?" He ranted, grumbling under his breath even though no one is around to hear him. His heart clenched whenever he remembered his eyeless friend. Although it hurts, to Edd; it was best to keep on remembering than to forget him entirely and pretend he never even existed. He should know… Edd regrets what he did, but the memory was simply just too painful to keep. But he won't make the same mistake twice. He owes Tom that much.

Finally, he reached the end of the corridor where he stood before a lone, blue door. Swiping his troubles and thoughts aside, Edd grabbed the door handle. Hopefully his mind will be too distracted with his current task to think of anymore problems. But as he twisted the knob, and opened the door with a resonating creak, he found himself growing anxious at the sight he was met with.

The room is a mess. Absolute shambles!

Dirty clothes were scattered all over the floor. Many bottles of Smirnoff were littered around the room, some of them are even shattered. The mattress had large gashes running along its surface, the stuffing and springs from within are poking out in tufts. The bed sheets were piled in the far corner of the room in a messy bundle; as if they were tossed away in a careless fashion. The pillows were shredded, barely even scraps, with clumps of feathers lying around all over the place. One of the wardrobe's doors was barely hanging on its hinges, while the other door had a chunk of it missing. Some of the drawers were missing from their cabinets; and although the window blinds were close, a little bit of light from outside shined through the broken gaps. The only thing that's remotely in good condition at all is Susan, leaning against the wall in the corner; but only because the base had already been through so much and looks better in comparison to everything else.

Edd stood by the door, completely frozen, as he took in the scene before him with wide eyes. The fact that Tom had forbidden them from ever coming anywhere near his room was starting to make sense to him now; and he wasn't sure that was a good thing. Not taking his eyes off the scene, Edd subconsciously began to feel the walls for the light switch. The room is absurdly dark. His fingers flipped the switch on, but nothing happened. He repeated the motion a couple of times before adverting his gaze away from the room to glance upwards. The lights are busted.

Edd gulped. Making sure to keep the door open with the light from the corridor shining behind him, Edd took slow, and weary steps into the ominous room. The atmosphere he found hanging around in the air felt suffocating and full of dread. It made him nauseous.

A resonating crunch sounded when he took another step. Glancing down at his feet, Edd found various shards of glass scattered on the floor; presumably more broken bottles. Upon closer inspection, Edd took notice of long scratch marks decorating the walls and floor. Odd. Considering Tom never had any pets, nor did he like Ringo enough to let the cat freely wander around his apartment.

Looking around the creepy room, Edd didn't even know where to begin. The vacuum cleaner laid uselessly next to him. It will take a lot more than that just to fix this mess. Maybe the bathroom is in better condition. He decided, heading for the door positioned to his left.

Oh, how dead wrong he is.

He attempted to open the door, but it wouldn't budge beyond a small gap. Edd then tried to forcefully push the door open, but to no avail. Getting frustrated, he started to slam his own body against the door to slam it open. After a couple of attempts, he managed to burst through only for his breath to hitch in his throat, as he gasps at the sight.

Blood.

Blood was everywhere.

The dried crimson liquid was coating the white surfaces of the bathroom tiles, the sink, towels, shower, the curtains; pretty much everything. Edd glanced around wearily, taking a shaky step into the bloody bathroom. He felt as if he just stumbled upon a crime scene from a horror movie or something, and at this point he was half-expecting the killer to pop out and pounce on him at any given moment.

More crunching noises sounded from beneath his footsteps. Edd raised one foot, to see shards of glass scattered on the rug and floor; blood coating their edges. His gaze drifted upwards to look at the sink, and was surprised to see his distorted reflection gazing back at him from the confines of a shattered mirror. Its glass fragments were scattered over the sink in a bloody pile, along with dull, and rusted razors.

Edd carefully picked one of the razors, and lifted to his eyelevel for a closer inspection. The blades are tainted with dried specks of blood, and the edges are crusting brown with rust.

He gulped, a shiver running down his spine as he backed away from the scene. Surely there is a reasonable explanation for all of this? Maybe Tom was trying to shave one day and accidentally hurt himself… and broke the mirror… which hurt him more… which then resulted in the bloodied state of the bathroom. That's reasonable, right?

Edd tried to come up with various possible scenarios that could explain his findings, as well as sooth his ever-increasing worries for his missing friend. This shouldn't be hard! After all, it's not like Tom is secretly a murderer, or that anything serious is going on with him, right?

Little did Edd know, he isn't that far off from the truth…

(Meanwhile...)

Gripping the sides of the porcelain seat tightly in his hands, Tom hunched over and hurled out whatever contents still resided in his pitiful stomach. The taste of bile was familiar to him by now, and his throat ached with how often this seem to happen. A comforting hand gently patted his back. "There, there… Just let it all out, buddy." Paul tried to soothe him, looking awfully uncomfortable with the situation and not really sure how to handle this.

To say his situation is lame would be putting it lightly.

It hasn't been that long since Tord left the facility, a week and a half at most, and the Red leader had been correct in his assumption about Tom's condition. The eyeless subject was undergoing through a severe alcohol withdraw. He could barely muster up the strength within himself to do anything. Ever since it started, Tom hadn't left the confines of his quarters. Not because he wasn't allowed, but simply because of his constant lack of energy, and weakness in his limbs. Tom once tried to take a walk around the halls, taking advantage of the Norsk's absence in the base, only for him to end up on the tiled floor; curled up into a ball, on his side, in the corner of a corridor with his own arms wrapped around his abdomen, moaning with pain.

Pat had found him and helped him back to his quarters, deeming him too unfit to leave unsupervised. It was degrading to say the least.

Feeling his stomach subside, Tom slumped back; panting for breath. "Feeling better now?" Paul asked, earning a silent nod from his head. Effortlessly picking Tom up, Paul carried him back to his bed. The Brit did not voice any complaint, nor did he make any sort of fuss. He is far too tired to fight against the humiliation of being carried around like a baby. Good thing Tord isn't here to tease him, at least. The Norwegian man would never let him live this down.

Being placed down upon his bed, Tom turned to lay on his side and curled up; hugging his knees to his chest.

"Do you need anything else?" Paul offered, staring at him with concern. Unable to speak, Tom simply shook his head in response. "Pat will check on you soon, alright? You should try and get some rest till then."

Easier said than done. Tom rebuked silently, a spasm rippled through his body and he clenched himself tighter. If he had trouble sleeping before, the withdrawal was a constant hammering against his skull that won't ever let him rest. He watched the Red army Commander leave, the door sliding close behind him, and Tom was once again left alone.

Miserably he nuzzled against his pillow, in a weak attempt of gaining some sort of comfort. His ragged, heavy breathing echoed in the room; the air felt smothering hot and Tom was sweating profusely. His mind is fuzzy, and unable to focus. Tossing and turning in his bed, he tried desperately to close his eyes, rest, and escape the surging pain that wracked his body with so much intensity. But every time he did, Tom would be haunted by the horrific nightmares that continuously plagued his mind. Bodies being torn apart in savage, and horrendous ways by his own hands. It was a hard dilemma. Either he remains awake through the withdrawal, doing absolutely nothing but lay down in pain, vomit, and wait for time slowly pass by. Or he goes to sleep and re-visit his worst fears. What do?

Usually he wouldn't mind going through pain. It keeps his mind busy; focusing on something else other than the primitive urge that fluctuates within him at random intervals. It may not be ideal, but it does its job, and Tom learned to put up with it, and maybe even enjoy sometimes. It's a reliving sensation. But this pain is nothing like a stab or a cut. It was agonizing. Now, whether he prefers withdrawal over shifting it's a different story. It's been a long time since the last time he–

Another spasm travelled through his body. Tom groaned, and curled up tighter on himself. His situation is hopeless by every definition of the word. He continued to pant heavily for breath. His chest rising and falling excessively with his respiration. Through his half-closed eyes, Tom's blurry vision could make out the small, flat circular disc on his bedside table.

The device Tord had given him.

He never used it; highly distrusting the Norwegian man and his intentions. Tom placed it away from himself, swearing through stubbornness that he'll never use it out of spite. But the withdrawal was getting to him. Tom reached his arm out, gingerly grabbing the device and bringing it over to him. "This, is a special device that I personally invented to help users gain a peaceful sleep, undisturbed by nightmares." Tord's words echoed as Tom looked over the tiny object in his fingers. "I created it for my own needs, but I figure you need it more than I do."

In his agony, Tom shrugged and decided to give in. What's the worst that could happen to him at this point? Nothing would ever compare to his nightmares, and not many things faze him anymore. His only concern, was the fact that Tord stated he had created the device for himself. Tom shudders. I swear, if I put this on and dream about some sh#tty hentai, I'm gonna kill that commie f#ck next time I see him!

Not having many options left, Tom placed the device into his ear; doing exactly as Tord had instructed. Feeling the tiny switch on its surface, he flipped it. He tried his best to accommodate himself on the bed, but the constant pain surging through his body was a bothersome problem. Getting comfortable, Tom did not bother in going under the covers; he feels warm enough already. Closing his eyes, Tom buried his face into the pillows, and waited for his fatigue to do its work and put him to sleep.

Being so used to this scenario, Tom was half-expecting the bloody imageries of his recurring nightmares to pop up and make him jolt awake.

Instead, he was met with a rather startling sight.

But in a good way.

A tiny speck of light glimmered in the distance, growing brighter and brighter until it enveloped him completely. Tom was sure if he had any eyes, they would be burning up right now at the light's intensity. The harsh glare of whiteness that blinded him progressively faded away, revealing a clear blue sky above him. Tom blinked in confusion. This isn't his quarters. But then again, this isn't some dark alley for him to shred people in, so there's that. He suddenly found himself laying on solid ground, and something tickled the back of his neck and hands.

Sitting up slowly, Tom was greeted with a huge, lush green meadow; stretching far over the horizon. Flowers of all kinds bloomed all over the place. A passing breeze flowed by, rustling the grass blades as it came and went. A large lake loomed ahead, the crystal-clear water glistened with sparks of sunlight on its still surface, and a large willow tree stood at the edge.

Tom stared dumbfounded at the beautiful landscape he found himself in. He was laying on top of a blooming hill, overlooking the scenery. The cool breeze brushed against him, ruffling his hair just slightly while also refreshing his warm skin. He clenched his hands over a patch of grass, feeling the blades and dirt in his fingers. This feels so real!

Tom stood up in shaky legs, looking down at the hill as the sun shined above him. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes as he felt the wind blow on his face, and stretched his arms out before plummeting forward. Tom rolled down the grassy hill, the flowers softening his fall as he continued rolling until he no longer could, and came to a stop at the very bottom, where he laid on his back; panting for breath as he stretched his arms out to feel the grass and flowers around him. The sensation was so realistic, Tom could've fooled himself into thinking this as reality and not a dream.

He laid there on the meadow for what seemed like ages, appreciating the scent of flowers, quiet setting, and cool breeze. Butterflies would occasionally flutter by his eyes, going from one bloom to another as they gathered around, some even landing on him. Tom continued to stare at the sky, taking deep breaths as he took in the smell of fresh air he hadn't felt in days. He spotted a couple of doves perched on the branches of the willow tree not too far away from him, before unfolding their wings and taking flight. A sense of tranquillity washed over him. Tom folded his arms beneath his head. Real or not, there was no doubt that he was at ease here. No voices tormenting him. No psychotic commie to piss him off. No people to maim. No monster. No problems. Tom could finally rest in peace here. Tom smiled, sighing contently as he slowly closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was disappointed to find himself staring up at the bland white ceiling of his quarters. Tom groaned in a mixture of annoyance and disappointment. And here he was, thinking he had somehow escaped this dreadful place and found peace. Tom flipped off the switch on the device, and plucked it off his ear. He stared down at the device in silent contemplation.

He was startled out of his thoughts when the door slid open with a resonant hiss, and Patrick strolled in the room.

"I'm sorry! Were you sleeping?" Pat asks worriedly, carrying a tray with him. "Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you."

"It's fine." Tom grumbled irritably.

Patrick stepped closer to him, carefully placing the tray over the bedside table before sitting down at the edge of the bed. Tom watched as he changed his bandages and cleaned his wounds, his fingers still fumbling with the tiny device in his hand.

When Patrick was finished with his bandages, he moved to the other side to change his IV bag. "Can I ask you something?" Tom spoke up, after several long moments of silence.

Patrick stared at him in surprise. "Of course."

"What can you tell me about this?" Tom questions, showing him the device held in his hand.

Pat narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to inspect it. Wordlessly he silently asked the Brit if he could take the device from his hands for just a mere moment. Tom nodded, dropping the tiny disc in the Polish soldier's hands.

"Ah, I see… This is creation #276, The Dreamcatcher. One of Red leader's most prized and cherished creations." Patrick evaluated the object. "Where did you acquire this?" He asks, shooting him a look of suspicion.

Tom glared at him, crossing his arms. He was not in the mood to be challenged. "I did not steal it, if that's what you are asking. Tord gave it to me before he left." He argued defensively. "But what does it do?"

"Did he not tell you?" Pat inquired curiously.

"All he said was that it is meant to help users get a peaceful rest without any nightmares." Tom told him. "But I want to know exactly how it does it."

Patrick hummed deep in thought, scratching his chin. "Well, basically as the name already insinuates, the device fends off nightmares by replacing it with good dreams." He explained. "But it doesn't replace it with any sort of good dreams. The device has a tiny holographic laser that goes into your brain, diving in to your deepest desires and bringing forth to your subconscious."

Tom blinked at him deadpanned. "Speak English!"

"Your nightmares are replaced by your dreams, and your dreams are your greatest desires." Patrick told him bluntly, handing him back the device. "Whenever you use the Dreamcatcher, you will dream of whatever you want the most."

Tom stared back at him numbly, watching as the Red Army General replaced his IV bag, and handed him a plastic cup with the special drink Tom grew so fond of. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" He asked the Brit.

Tom took a sip of his drink, relishing in the sweet taste. "No thanks." He grumbled.

"Alright, you should rest up a bit more." Patrick advised him. "I'll tell Paul to check on you later than usual, so as to not disturb your sleep. Okay?"

Tom nodded, waiting for him to leave the room already. When the door hissed shut, Tom fell back on his bed, staring at the ceiling deep in thought. So the device shows him his greatest desire whenever he dreams? Tom knows exactly what he desires most in this world, and even if it's not for real, he will take it over his nightmares any day, easy.

After hurriedly finishing his drink. He placed the empty cup aside and quickly placed the device back into his ear. Tom turned on the switch and closed his eyes, anticipating sleep. Funny. Mere hours ago, Tom was absolutely against the idea of sleeping, to avoid catching glimpses of his terrible actions. Now he wants it more than anything. Beats laying down all day staring at the wall at least. Tord gave him the device, and Tom will sure as hell make some good use out of it.

He drifted off into sleep once more, and he found himself back in the beautiful meadow; watching as the sun began to set down over the horizon, and lighting the entire sky in orange and golden hues.

Chapter Text

Time flew by swiftly, and before long the green foliage of trees have decayed; turning into various shades of brown, yellow, and orange. They fell from their branches, leaving the trees barren, as they fluttered down to scatter among the other dead leaves covering the ground. Summer is gone, and autumn has arrived.

Although the temperature dropped considerably, today was one of those rare days when the rain would cease its rampant assault, and give the townsfolk a moments rest to leave their homes without the worry of getting wet, and enjoy the beautiful, dry sunset that without a doubt wouldn't last for very long.

A hand steadily ran over soft gray tabby fur, low purrs rumbling from the feline curled lazily over her owner's belly. Edd laid down, sprawled out on the sofa as he continued to stare up at the ceiling with a blank expression on his face, and petted Ringo for comfort. For weeks, he refused to leave Tom's apartment; anticipating his friend's return every single day. Now he is practically living here. Today, much like the previous ones, went about the same way. He would pace around the room, glancing at the clock every now and then, until the day neared its end and he would space out on the couch for the rest of noon.

So here he was now; doing absolutely nothing while his cat enjoyed the attention. Turns out petting Ringo makes for a good stress reliever. Edd sighed softly, his hand continuing with the motion, making Ringo purr loudly in content before nuzzling into his chest. Edd chuckled at his cat's actions, before his expression turned void again. He was thinking about Tom. He grew the tendency to do that over these past few weeks. Where could the eyeless Brit be? Was he okay? Was he taking good care of himself? When would he come back? Did he ever think of them? What if he is still angry with them?

Edd hoped Tom's okay, wherever he is.

He stretched his arm out to grab the remote control, lying on the table between the couch and the television, and he turned on the TV. The screen flickered to life to show that Professor Why was currently going on. Edd was too lazy to change the channel, and truly he wasn't seeking to distract himself. He merely turned on the TV because he was tired of the silence hanging in the air, and wanted some kind of noise to fill it in. Edd stared at the screen numbly; not paying attention to what was going on in the show, but simply watched stuff happen as his mind jumbled into thoughts.

I remember watching this with Tom. Edd recalled, a faint smile appearing on his face. He remembers when they were sitting on the couch of their old home, watching the show with annoyed expressions. They complained about every little thing wrong with the program, shouting out curses, which then escalated into cracking jokes and making fun of the show. They were hysterical! Laughing their asses off as they could not believe what they were watching! It had been a very entertaining evening for them.

The little smile vanished, being replaced with a frown as his heart clenched at the thought of Tom. Oh, how he wished he could go back to simpler days. To a time where the three of them went on silly adventures almost daily, avoiding near-death experiences at every corner through sheer, dumb luck, and Edd's biggest concern back then was whether there would be sufficient cola waiting for him when they returned home.

But those days came to an end, when he returned.

Everything was great before he showed up again into their lives, spewing smooth lies and deceit from his mouth as it was in his nature. Edd, naïve as he is, had been so easily fooled by him. But not Tom. His eyeless friend ironically managed to see what he couldn't and he fended the Norsk away.

But the damage had already been done, and in more ways than one.

And to think that he nearly replaced Tom with him, was just another hit to his gut. Tom had more than proven himself then, and Edd valued his friendship all the more. Too bad that wasn't enough to stop Tom from leaving though. But Edd had vowed to better himself, and once Tom returns he will make it right with him.

He was so busy with his thoughts that Edd almost failed to acknowledge the sound of keys sliding on the lock of the apartment's front door. Ringo sat up with pricked ears, staring at the door in surprise. Edd followed his cat's instincts and immediately stiffened when he heard shuffling behind the other side of the entrance. Hope soared in his heart, though he kept his expression the same. Could it be-? He longed to see his dear friend in the blue hoodie, spiky hair, and empty eyes stroll in and casually greet him; just so he could hug him tightly, tell him how sorry he is and just how much he missed him.

Needless to say, Edd wasn't at all surprised when it was revealed to be just Matt. Edd frowned and laid his head back down, already used to being disappointed.

Although he was still kind of mad at Matt for saying all those dumb, stupid things about Tom, the ginger haired man insisted in being around him at all costs. Edd avoided and ignored him at first when Matt would go back to saying those ridiculous things. Edd had made abundantly clear to Matt that he would not speak to him, unless he dropped the subject and accepted the way things are. Thankfully, Matt was quick to take the hint for once and never brought up the subject again unless it was to confirm Edd's beliefs. It may not be ideal, but it was better than to listen to Matt ramble on some nonsense about Tom never coming back.

He is coming back. Edd echoed firmly.

"Hey!" Matt greeted him softly. The ginger haired man looked awfully pale, and instead of his usual attire he is wearing a long, dark coat over his purple hoodie. Edd did not greet him directly. Ringo, however, was quick to jump from his lap to welcome Matt by purring loudly while rubbing herself against his knees. Traitor. Edd narrowed his eyes at his cat, watching as Matt bent down to pet her with a chuckle. "Oh, hello there friendly chump! How are you?" He asks, moving to scratch beneath Ringo's chin. She mewed contently and coiled her striped tail around one of Matt's legs.

The ginger haired man glanced up, hoping to meet his friend's gaze but Edd had adverted his attention to the television with his arms crossed; electing to ignore him yet again. Matt tried not to feel hurt by the lack of response. He cleared his throat and stood up. He said nothing as he walked past the couch and made his way deeper into the not-so-abandoned apartment.

Edd's gaze followed Matt as he walked by. He scrunched his eyebrows in a mixture of confusion and curiosity. Just what was the ginger up to this time?

The purple hooded Brit made his way into his late-friend's bedroom. His eyelids felt heavy, and Matt wished he could simply fall over and get some rest; leaving all the problems of the real world behind. It didn't help that Tom's bed looked so tantalizingly appealing to his tired eyes. Matt shook his head, snapping out if his fatigued daze. He cannot rest yet. There is something really important that he must to do; something that he wished he could avoid doing but ultimately knows that it has to happen.

Since his first "confrontation" with Edd and seeing what became of his grief-stricken friend, Matt tried everything to make him see to reason but to no avail. It only caused him to shut Matt out further more. In order to keep himself from being shunned away completely so that he could still have a chance in helping Edd, Matt changed tactics and started to go along with his friend's hopeful rants and beliefs. It was the only way he could remain close to him, but whenever he had to pretend Matt always felt… Awful. He felt like he was using Edd, somehow, or taking advantage of his current condition. It left a bitter taste on Matt's mouth, to say the least.

Now, he will just have to go along for, hopefully, the last time. After this, things can finally run their proper course and they can move on from this overall terrible experience. Unfortunately though, things will never be the same ever again between them.

It's only Edd and him now.

Matt breathed out a sigh and walking into the pristine room. He had to admit, Edd made a great job in cleaning this place up. True, he's never been into Tom's room before… But he'd imagine it wouldn't be in the condition that it is now.

Reaching the foot of the bed, positioned right next to the window, Matt bent forward and grabbed the dishevelled looking plushie that laid with half its body underneath the covers, leaving only the head out and resting against the pillow as if the plushie itself was napping. Matt carefully stuffed it in his coat's pocket, cautious not to damage it any further than it already is.

Hearing footsteps stepping closer, Edd turned his attention back to the TV and pretended to be watching the show as Matt re-entered the living room. Through a quick side glance, Edd noted the way his friend had stuffed both his hands into his coat's pockets, and was shuffling on his feet with clear discomfort.

Edd raised one curious eyebrow at him.

Matt sighed. "Come on, Edd. Let's go out for a bit." He suggests, fumbling with his pockets. "It's the perfect weather right now to get some fresh air, and stretch your legs for a bit before the bloody rain comes back."

Edd shot him another quick glance, but did not turn to acknowledge him. "What for?" He prompted, kicking his leg up to lay it lazily over the coffee table. "I am fine with where I am, and honestly I don't feel like going out right now…"

"We're going to see Tom."

Not even an entire fraction of a second passed by and Edd had already bolted upwards from his position on the couch, and was staring at his friend with huge, wide eyes. Did he hear him right? Edd blinked, feeling confused and shocked at the same time. Surely this must be some sort of joke on him? He searched Matt's gaze, expecting to find humour in them, but was instead surprised to discover his blue eyes staring back at him with something akin to solace and warmth. "Y-you found him?" Edd stammered anxiously, feeling his heart hammering against his chest. "B- bu-but how? W-where? When? I-"

Something flashed within the ginger's eyes, but it came and went by so fast it was hard to even notice it happen to begin with. Matt nodded slightly and gave him a brief, reassuring smile. He extended his hand out towards Edd with a tiny chuckle. "It's alright, Edd." He told him softly once he noticed the brunet's spiralling emotions. "We'll get through this together."

Edd stared at his stretched-out hand, hesitant to take it. Don't get him wrong; Edd wants Tom back more than anything. However, would it really be that easy? There were so many things he wished to ask. And yet, even with doubts being thrown around in his head, Edd still couldn't help keep the joy and hope from swelling up inside of him, to the brink of making his heart burst. Although he felt tears pricking in his eyes, a smile stretched across his features as Edd wiped them away before they could properly form and he grabbed Matt's hand; hauling himself off the sofa.

"W-well what are we waiting for then?!" Edd exclaimed, his voice wavering with barely restrained excitement. "Let's go out and see him already!"

Shoving his shoes on, the brunet hastily got himself ready. He hurriedly re-filled Ringo's bowl of food, turned the TV off, and gave his hair a quick fix before grabbing Matt, and leaving out the door.

Stepping outside of the building they were immediately hit with a cold breeze that chilled their core. Matt shuddered at the bitter sting, and hugged himself for warmth. Puddles of water, formed by the extensive rainstorms, were scattered around the street and pavement. Cars passed by and rolled over the ponds, splashing water as they drove away. Small droplets of water that had gathered on the few remaining leaves, fell on their hair once in a while, as they walked down the street.

"So where is he?" Edd asks with enthusiasm. His brown eyes brighter than they have ever been in these last couple of weeks. "Is he at the police station? The hospital? The bar?"

"Tom is, well… he is waiting for us at Winchester park." Matt replied, albeit uneasily, as he led the way.

The name rang familiar in Edd's ears but he could not recognise it. He brushed the sensation off and kept walking, making sure to fall in step with his ginger companion to not lose sight of him.

"Have you seen him? How is he?" Edd bombarded Matt with anxious questions, not noticing him visibly wince.

For reassurance, Matt placed his hand inside his coat's pocket and squeezed the soft plushie he carried. "Yeah, I've seen him a couple of times." He sighs. "I know you'll find selfish of me to bring you to him only now after everything, but-" Matt paused, his words getting choked in his throat as he tried to recover.

A hand was gently placed upon his shoulder, taking him by surprise. Matt glanced behind him to lock gazes with Edd, who stared up at him with a sad smile. "It's okay. I understand." He murmurs softly. "You wanted to talk to Tom on your own, and sort things out between the two of you. It's alright." Matt winced again. He isn't wrong. He thought.

"Y-yeah." He replies; voice wavering for a tiny fraction.

"Matt?" Edd spoke up, adverting his gaze toward the ground. Matt stopped walking and turned to face his friend with a raised eyebrow, beckoning the brunet to go on. "I- I just wanted to tell you th-that I'm sorry." Edd continued. "I'm sorry for the way things have turned out, and for the way I have been… Treating you. You have always looked out for me, and in return I was ungrateful."

Despite his heart clenching even tighter inside his chest, and the cold static growing in the pit of his stomach; the ginger haired Brit still managed to give his friend a small, and yet reassuring grin. Matt bent forward and grabbed a hold of Edd's arm, gently tugging him along as they resumed walking. With every step they took, getting increasingly closer to their destination, the heavier the pressure became upon Matt's chest; to the point that even breathing was getting to be a struggle. But he still pressed on. I don't want to hurt Edd. He kept on insisting over his own contradicting worries. But I have to do this. Sad as this may be, and no matter how hard Edd might take this; this has to happen. And then we can both move on!

Unaware of Matt's troubling thoughts or of his newfound determination, Edd skipped after his friend. He took the time to admire his surroundings. The orange lighting of the setting sun made the town shine in a whole new light in Edd's eyes. Possibly because of his uplift in spirit at the prospect of seeing his dear good friend again.

However, his little excited steps progressively slowed down as they neared a large, open metal gate with the name: Winchester park; engraved on top of it in a morbid font.

Edd stared at the gate dumbfounded. A sick realization beginning to dawn on him as Matt kept on walking, making his way through the decaying grass field. Edd felt an uncomfortable chill crawl up his spine in apprehension as he froze at the very edge of the park's entrance, trembling and clenching his fists tight as sweat ran down his forehead. "M-Matt?" He tried to call out for his friend to come back, but his voice was merely a whisper against the howling wind whipping his hair around in the air.

His legs shook so much beneath his own weight due to weariness that Edd feared he would lose balance and fall over. Yet, he managed to keep himself steady. Swallowing the heavy lump that formed in his throat, Edd realized that Matt had stopped walking and was standing there; glancing over his shoulder and patiently waiting for him to follow. Edd wanted nothing more than to turn back and run away from this place, and never look back. But a tingling sensation in his mind popped up, gently prompting him to go forward. Hope fluttered back into his heart. Maybe… Tom really is waiting for us here.

Feeling slightly confident with his reassuring, and yet deceitful thoughts, Edd stepped through the gate and into the open field; making his way towards Matt, who shot him a sympathetic look.

They walked side by side in silence, trekking along a trail between the tall encrypted stones surrounding them. Edd refused to look directly at any of the slates or statues; holding on tight to his hopeful expectations. But with every step taken, his hopes would diminish away in tiny amounts. Not a lot, but just enough for him to notice that his denial of the whole situation won't save him for what he's about to encounter. Edd's mind is a whirling storm inside his own head. No. Not a storm. But a war. Two sides fighting each other for different outcomes, and only one of them is the true winner as anxious, and dreadful thoughts that are well aware of reality are trying to scream the facts out, but they kept being continuously drowned out by other thoughts of blissful ignorance to calm his ever-worrying mind.

Climbing up the slope of a green hill, a weeping tree came into view. A few more monuments stretched out ahead of them, scattered all over the place in neat files that extend as far as the eye can see. Edd and Matt walked past the tree, weaving their way between the tall slates. Edd kept his head down, his bangs covering most of his eyes as he stared downwards. From the corner of his vision he managed to spot various flowers left at the foot of the stones.

He gulped, a heavy feeling of dread and apprehension rising within him, and completely overpowering whatever's left of his rapidly diminishing positive thoughts. Edd clenched his teeth, his hands curling into tight fists on either side of his body. His legs started to feel like piles of sandbags, and with each step he felt his feet drag across the decaying grass. Suddenly, the thought of turning back now and never return to see this place again made itself known yet again in his mind; and the idea sounded very appealing too. To go back to Tom's apartment, and wait in vain for him to come back just to keep the illusion going for a while longer until he was properly ready to face the harsh reality.

And yet… Edd pressed forward. Despite his resurfacing fears and panicking urges, he kept going. All that… just for a proper sense of closure.

Edd was so involved with his own thoughts, he failed to realize that Matt had stopped walking. Edd turned to look at him, seeing his friend uncharacteristically quiet and solemn looking. Matt's blue eyed gaze stared downwards with an expression of deep sorrow. Edd gulped. He knows what comes next. Trembling, he followed his friend's gaze until his brown eyes landed on a single, distinct shape standing right in front of them.

Tears begun to well up in his eyes at the sight before him.

A tall encrypted slab loomed over them. A neatly arranged bouquet of flowers was left at its base; yellow, blue, green and black roses. But it was the words embedded on the stone that made Edd's heart stop and his breath hitch.

In loving memory of…

Thomas Thompson

1990 – 2016

R.I.P.

It felt like an eternity went by with Edd just standing there and staring at the engraved words; memorizing every single detail, no matter how tiny or insignificant, until the image burned in his mind.

This isn't real.

Edd trembled, his vision blurring due to the tears in his eyes.

This can't be real!

Next to him, Matt fumbled around with his coat's pocket. Although Edd did not take his eyes off the tombstone, he managed to see the ginger haired Brit pull something out of his pocket from the corner of his eye.

How could this happen?

Edd's eyes widened at the sight of the teddy bear. But this wasn't any teddy bear… it was Tomee bear.

How could I let this happen?

He watched with quickened breaths as Matt stepped forward, bent down and carefully placed the old battered plushie next to the flowers by the foot of the slate. Taking a step back, Matt turned to face his companion. Edd's eyes are wide, glistening with tears and yet they were devoid of emotion as they kept fixated on their friend's tombstone. His mouth clenched, and his chest heaving rapidly.

I wasn't good enough to save him.

Edd fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. The grass and soil was still soggy due to all the rain from these past few days, and drenched his pants. He paid that no mind.

I failed to save my friend!

And with that thought, the heavily constructed dam that had previously been blocking the ever-growing flood of emotions he managed to neglect over the past few weeks; broke down and gave way to a furious torrent. Letting out a heart wrenching sob, Edd lurched forward and wrapped his arms around the tombstone. At last he faced reality and allowed himself to cry, letting go of his bottled-up emotions as he mourned the loss of his dear friend.

Matt stood little ways behind him, watching Edd break down before Tom's grave with great sadness. Despite having already mourn over Tom himself, Matt could not help the tears that pricked his eyes or the sniffles and tiny hiccups that escaped as he tried to swallow them down. In the end, he stood by as quietly as he could and permitted his friend to let it all out.

Little did they know; the two friends weren't the only ones in the graveyard.

From behind the weeping tree that they've passed earlier, a mysterious figure watched the scene play out. He kept his distance, but even from afar he managed to hear the heart-breaking sobs from the brunet. He felt a pang in his heart at the sound, but did not move away from his spot. The figure simply stood there. Hair swaying in the cool breeze, looking down the slope where the two Brits are.

If only they could know the truth about their friend… He shook his head at the silly thought. They'll only get in the way of his plans.

With every sob he let out, Edd's body would wrack with grief and more tears would gush out; trailing down his face until they reached his chin and fell to the ground. I'm sorry! He screamed internally. I never meant for any of this to happen! I should've done more!

A hand gently moved to rest upon his shoulder, momentarily snapping him out of his breakdown. Through teary brown eyes, Edd glanced over his shoulder to meet with Matt's sympathetic blue one's. "We must be getting back now." He murmured, motioning towards the darkening sky up above; with clouds already gathering over the horizon, preparing to strike the town with yet another strike of rain. Edd opened his mouth, about to argue, but Matt beat him to it. "We can come visit him again tomorrow if you want. But it's getting late now." He gently added.

Though he wanted to stay longer, or better yet, not leave the grave site at all, Edd slowly nodded in agreement. He turned back to the tombstone. Clenching his eyes shut and tightening his grip around the slab, Edd tried to imagine he was hugging Tom instead. But it didn't have the smell of alcohol Edd grew so fond of over the years knowing Tom, nor could it hug him back awkwardly and reassure him that everything's gonna be okay. Tom is dead. Edd mused sadly. He gave the tombstone one last tight hug before letting go. I miss you. I miss you so much!

Goodbye Tom…

Rising to his feet, Edd cast the grave a wistful look before following Matt. He wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve, making a mess of things. Matt silently offered him a tissue, to which Edd gratefully took.

On their way back, when they passed by the weeping tree again, Edd stopped. The hairs of the back of his neck standing as he felt an intense stare burn his back. He knew this feeling; it's the sensation of being watched. Edd looked around, his eyes puffy red from crying so much, and his vision still somewhat blurred. There doesn't seem to be anyone else in the graveyard other than him and Matt.

"Edd?"

He turned back when Matt called out to him, gazing at him with curiosity and worry as he waited for him to follow suit.

Edd gave his surroundings another look, still finding nothing. "I'm coming." He sniffled, somewhat suspicious. He was sure he was being watched.

The two walked away, heading for the metal gate. The mysterious figure watched them leave from behind a statue of an angel. When he was sure they were gone, he stepped out from his hiding place. He stood still for a couple of moments, looking at where they had been previously standing.

Bowing his head in defeat and sighing, he slowly made his way over to the grave they were mourning over.

(Meanwhile…)

"Ouch!"

"Hold still!"

Wincing in pain, Tom obeyed Patrick's stern order as the Polish soldier applied an ice bag to his wounded head. After an hour and a half of just light exercises with Paul, Tom's limbs were painfully sore. They didn't do much, thankfully. Just a couple of stretches, jumping jacks, some failed push-ups, and a horrible attempt at the monkey bar that tragically, and yet admittedly comical, ended with him face planted to the ground and left him with the previously mentioned wound on his head.

Seeing the stunned Brit laying on the ground, barely moving, if at all; Paul panicked for a bit and called for Patrick's presence in the situation immediately. He soon arrived at the gym, calmed Paul down, and checked on Tom for any signs of a concussion. Thankfully, he doesn't have it, but the swollen wound on his head is really ugly.

"I can't believe you actually tried to have him do the monkey bar in the current condition that he is in!" Patrick complained, sitting next to Tom as he carefully applied the bag to diminish the nasty swelling.

"I didn't make him do it! I asked if he was up for it, and he said he could handle it!" Paul defended himself, still somewhat freaked out from the ordeal.

"You guys know that I am still here, right?" Tom spoke up dryly.

"Shush." Pat directed his attention back to him, narrowing his eyes slightly. "As for you; how could you have been so foolish to think that you could manage it? You know better!"

"I'm fine! Really, I am!" Tom exclaimed. "You're exaggerating. Besides, I had it perfectly under control!"

"Yeah, I can clearly see it by the tennis ball sized wound atop your head." Pat commented with dry humour in his voice, earning a small grumble of irritation from Tom. He let his eyes wander over the rest of the eyeless man's form.

Overall, Tom's appearance has changed for the better since he first arrived in the facility. His sickly pale skin is finally getting its proper colour back, the dark bags underneath his eyes had disappeared over time since he started using the Dreamcatcher, and Pat checked his weight weekly and was pleased to find that Tom has gained a substantial amount.

At this rate, Pat estimates that Thomas will be back to proper health in two months or so.

"Well, other than this nasty looking swell it appears that you are fine." Patrick deduced. "Are you capable of walking by yourself?"

Tom chuckled. "My head is hurt, not my legs. I can walk just fine." When Patrick shot him a doubtful look, Tom staggered to his feet and walked for a bit to prove his point; still holding the ice bag to his head. "See?"

"Fair enough." Pat crossed his arms. "But don't attempt to do that again, or I might just leave you lying on the floor with a possible concussion next time!" He threatened playfully.

Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Pat!"

Across from both of them, Paul cleared his throat and rocked on his feet. "So, what do we do now?"

Patrick looked down at his watch. "I guess we can call it a day." He suggested. "Most of our tasks at the base are completed, the Lieutenants should have everything under control until lights out, and Tom's routine is done for today. So I guess it is one of those days."

Paul's eyes lit up like a child in Christmas eve. "You mean- ?"

Patrick nodded. "That's right."

The bushy eyebrowed soldier did a celebratory fist pump. "Yes!"

"Wait what? What's going on?"

Blurting out in confusion, Tom looked back and forth between the two Red army soldiers; waiting for an explanation.

"Oh forgive us Thomas! Allow me to elaborate." Patrick quickly says. "You see; on rare days such as this, when we complete all of our assignments under the time frame, by the end of the day we are left with a free window till lights out. So Paul and I usually use this time to do whatever we want until then."

"Huh." That was all Tom could say as he processed the new-given information. He blinked, and began to walk away with the ice bag. "Well, have fun you guys! I'm gonna be in my quarters, probably taking a nap or something, if you need me!"

As they watched him leave, Paul and Patrick turned to look at each other. For a couple of moments, they stared at each other in silence, realizing that they got the same idea in mind a smile stretched across their features.

"Hey Tom!" Paul called out, halting the Brit in his tracks. Tom glanced back at him questioningly. "Would you like to join us?"

Taken by surprise by the invitation, Tom reared back in shock and his empty sockets widened. "I- uh- what- I mean? I guess I could? - I mean? Uh…"

Paul and Patrick shared amused expressions as Tom continued to stutter in his attempts to make intelligible words. "Don't you get bored staying in your quarters and do nothing but sleep and shower the rest of the day?" Paul asks, raising one of his eyebrows.

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. He has a point. His daily routine mostly consisted of eating and sleeping, and not much else. Of course there are his sessions with Pat, and the physical workouts with Paul; but they aren't everyday occurrences. And Tom doesn't have much else to do other than simply sleep and shower to pass the time.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Tom admitted. "But, I mean… Am I even allowed?"

"Of course you are!" Paul assures, stepping up to stand in front of him with Patrick by his side. "You behaved the whole time since Tord left! Plus, we believe you could use a break."

"That's right. Regardless of how you may see this chance, a reward or a break, a change of pace would be great for you." Patrick added.

"Well, uh, okay then. I guess I could… Hang out?"

Paul beamed in excitement. "Splendid!" He tugged on one of Tom's bandaged arms and began to lead him out the gym and into the long hallways. Tom nearly stumbled and fell, trying to keep up with Paul's fast strides as he kept his strong grip on him.

"Slow down, Paul." Pat advised, coming up from behind. "He is still recovering from his fall. Not to mention his arms are in a delicate state."

"Ops! Sorry!"

Paul was quick to let go of Tom, and he walked at his own pace; rubbing his sore arm he gave a grateful nod at Patrick. They kept on walking. With Paul on the lead, and Pat at the back, Tom walked between the two of them feeling out of place and maybe even a little bit nervous.

"So, uh, what do you guys usually do when you get free time?" He asks.

"Watch movies or play video games, mostly!" Paul replies, glancing back at him over his shoulder.

"Doesn't Tord get mad at you guys for fooling around?"

He nearly jumped when Pat began to laugh. "Not at all! In fact, on the rarer occasion when he gets free time as well, he usually joins us." He responded. "It's not often that we get the chance to hang out together, so we make the most of the opportunity when it presents itself."

"And if Tord finds out about me hanging out with you guys, won't he be furious then?" The last thing Tom needs right is to cause trouble for them. Not that he cares for to them; they did kidnap him after all. But he much rather be in their company than in Tord's, additionally because they have been nothing but kind since the Norsk left, so Tom would be damned if he brings Tord's wrath down on them just because he was bored.

Bringing him out of his thoughts, Paul wrapped an arm around Tom's shoulder in reassurance. "Trust us; he won't!" He says. "Tord left us in charge of taking care of you and the whole base. As long as you are with us he won't mind at all."

"If you say so…"

They trekked through the long, empty hallways; with Tom occasionally asking them about their daily routine in the base and what it is required for them to do, and they politely answered him as best they could. At last, they reached the familiar looking oak door and turned the knob; entering Patrick's study where he and Tom usually have their sessions. They crossed the room over to the wooden door on the opposite side.

Paul led the way, pushing the door and keeping it open for Tom and Pat to walk through. The white tiled room Tom only caught glimpses of whenever Patrick would go in and out with his special drink, turned out to be a kitchen. A shiny, dark marble balcony on the left that stretched all the way from one wall to the other and curved into a small "L" shape at the end, with cabinets, and a dishwasher beneath it. Cupboards hanging off the wall, a tall ebony fridge standing across from where they entered the room, a glossy silver sink, and an oven in pristine condition. In the centre of the kitchen, a marble island with black cushioned stools, a fruit basket, and a wooden cutting board.

Looking at the fancy kitchen with awe, Tom turned back to the two soldiers. "So now what?"

They exchanged a look between themselves before Patrick clasped his hands together. "Well, usually we would cook up some tasty treat for us to enjoy while we entertain ourselves." He commented, walking over to the cabinet next to the fridge. "Any ideas or preferences?"

"Oh! I know! How about chocolate cake?" Paul suggests.

A hum was emitted from the Polish man and he shook his head. "Sorry Paul, there isn't any chocolate powder left. We're in need of restock." He glanced back at him apologetically. "How about we have apple pie instead? We do have all the ingredients we need for it…"

"Sure!"

"Are you fine with apple pie, Tom?"

For the second time that day, Tom glanced up in surprise. "Yeah, fine by me." He murmured, still somewhat taken back by the situation he was in. "I will eat just about whatever you decide to make."

"You don't have any allergies, do you?"

Tom shook his head.

"It's settled then. Apple pie it is!" Pat exclaims, grabbing the ingredients needed from the cabinet, and then proceeding to grab a bowl from one of the cupboards above. "Hey Paul, while I get things started here why don't you show Tom around our quarters?" He suggested.

"Alright! Come along, Tom!" Carefully tugging on the Brit's bandaged arm, Paul led the way out of the kitchen through the large opening on the right side of the room. "That was the kitchen, obviously. And here's the living room! It's where we usually hang out."

Immediately drawing Tom's attention as he entered the room, a 75-inch flat screen TV hung upon the wall and was connected to several different consoles and other equipment that were placed on the drawer directly beneath the TV. A long, beige couch stretched out in front of the television with burgundy pillows neatly placed over it, and a coffee table standing in the middle of the room over a white, fluffy looking carpet.

Looking around the room in awe, Tom's gaze met Paul's. "I take it your impressed?" He prompted curiously, raising one bushy eyebrow with a small smile; rather amused with Tom's silent astonishment.

"Woah! You guys have a great set up here." The eyeless man states, taking a few steps farther into the room as he observed his surroundings. "Man, I definitely underestimated the perks of being a test subject!" He joked sarcastically.

"Oh well, I'm glad that you liked it." Paul motioned towards a door, little ways behind them. "The bathroom is over here, if you need it." He headed down a small hallway that ended with another door. "And that's our room at the end there." He turned back to face Tom, and casually walked closer to him. "How's your head? Do you need more ice for that?"

"Nah, I think I'm fine." Tom shook his head, gingerly placing down the empty bag that contained nothing but cold water inside.

"Is it hurting at all?" Paul carefully grabbed a hold of his head, and gently tilted it downwards as he took a closer look at the wound on his head. Tom blinked in surprise at the unexpected gesture; more so with how delicately the Red army commander was handling him. For a moment, he thought of pushing the man away, but for some odd reason he couldn't really bring himself to. Tom shrugged, reasoning he was just tired after the long day and didn't want to ruin his chances of doing something fun for once now that he is there, at their invitation. After a few decisive moments checking up on him, Paul stepped back and took the empty bag from him, moving back into the kitchen. Not wanting to be left behind in the strange and cosy environment, Tom followed him.

"Ah Paul, do you mind grabbing some cinnamon from the canteen, please?" Patrick requested politely. Various ingredients laid out across the counter before him. "I have everything else I need except for the cinnamon."

Almost instantly, Paul's shoulders sagged and he frowned. "Is cinnamon absolutely necessary for the pie? I sure can live without it, and I think Tom won't mind either." He complained.

Pat threw him a stern look. "Paul…"

"What? Don't blame me!" The red army commander crossed his arms and pouted. "The cafeteria is so far away, and even when we are free of tasks the other army members keep pestering me about stuff I most likely won't know how to resolve!"

Shooting him a sympathetic glance, Patrick gave him a brief hug and a small pat on the back. He rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a baby." He teased. "It's a quick walk if you hurry; you'll be back before you know it. And then you can relax as much as you want!"

Breathing out a sigh, Paul backed away. "I guess I'll just have to use my amazing stealth skills and expertise to manoeuvre my way around the base to go unnoticed!" A cheeky grin stretched across his face, wriggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner towards Pat; who rolled his eyes in response, but a tiny grin formed on his face as he gave Paul's shoulder a light punch. "One packet of cinnamon coming right up!" And with that, Paul walked past Tom, whistling as he left the room.

Tom followed his movements into the living room, where Paul halted in front of a wall and pressed his hand against it. Confused by his actions at first, Tom blinked and emitted a barely audible gasp when the wall opened up to reveal a small elevator; where Paul walked in, pressed one of the buttons and disappeared as the wall closed up again.

"Why do you guys have another elevator here?" Tom asks incredulously. Although he was not allowed to use it, he had taken notice of the lift at the end of one of the immense hallways of the lab he was confined to during his many strolls around the facility.

"It's a short-cut, but it only leads to Red leader's office." Pat's response echoed from the kitchen. "Paul will have to make his way around the base to reach the canteen and back here. But at least the odds of bumping into people lessen this way."

Shifting his gaze back to the wall where the secret elevator resided, Tom's eyebrows quirked upward in surprise. And to think, Tord is usually just a lift away from where he resides. "Let me guess; he likes to be at a close distance to his experiments?" He questions dryly, walking back into the kitchen.

"Certainly! Our leader always holds a keen interest in the development of all his creations." Patrick replied, looking up from his work in separating the ingredients on one side of the counter while he got some apples. "But then again, it is a short-cut to hang out whenever he gets free time without being disturbed by people along the way. So there's that as well." He added, then turned his gaze onto Tom. "Would you mind lending me a hand with this?"

"Huh?"

"While we wait for Paul to return with the cinnamon, we can get started with the rest of what we have here." The Polish man calmly explained to him. "I'll peel and cut the apples, while you mix all of the ingredients together. Think you can manage?" He opened one of the drawers and handed him a whisk. "I've already taken the liberty of taking the right measurements of each of the ingredients, so that leaves you with the easy part."

Somewhat dumbfounded by the sheer scenario he was put in; baking an apple pie with the soldiers who kidnapped him while simultaneously hanging out with them, Tom stretched out his hand to take the kitchen utensil from Pat, but was interrupted when said man cleared his throat. Tom gazed up in confusion. "What?"

Tilting his head sideways, Pat motioned towards the sink and then pointed at his hands. Tom got the message, giving a low grunt of annoyance but complied with the request anyway. It's the least he can do after being invited here.

As he turned on the tap, and washed his hands under the freezing, cold water, Tom felt the sudden urge to burst into laughter. What the hell am I doing? He never could've imagined he would ever find himself in his current situation. Is this for real? Is this really happening? After all the hardships he had to endure thus far; cooking, seems so out of the ordinary from his usual painful routine. It felt like an alien concept being taught to him for the very first time.

He turned off the tap water, and grabbed a hold of a towel next to him; drying off his hands. Tossing the towel away, Tom stepped closer to the balcony where the ingredients were waiting for him. He began to pour them into the empty bowl; starting off with the flour.

"So, how are you holding up thus far?" Cutting the silence short, Patrick shot Tom a brief side-glance.

He shrugged. "I admit, this situation is very odd." Tom replied, pouring sugar into the bowl. "I never got to really cook before. I think the last time I did, I was helping my mom out in the kitchen. And I was like- what? 7 or 8 more or less?" Fond memories of his childhood flooded him. Being a pesky, and excitable little kid standing on his tippy toes as he watched his mom cook before offering to help her out.

"How about everything else?" Pat added, rinsing the apples in the sink.

Now it was Tom's turn to shoot him a quick side-glance, as he added butter into the mixture. "If you're talking about the wound on my head, it stopped hurting a while ago."

"That's not what I meant."

Tom's dark sockets drifted away from his task, and watched Patrick pull out a knife from one of the drawers from the corner of his vision before expertly peeling the apples. "Then what exactly do you mean?" He demands, fixing his gaze on the blade that cut through the fruits with such a masterful precision.

Blinking out of his focus, Tom paid attention to the current discussion as he returned to the task at hand.

"How are you adapting to your new life? You seem to have accepted your fate without too much of a fuss." Patrick elaborates, tossing the peels into the trash before cutting slices out of the apple in his hands.

"What? Are you disappointed I haven't tried to escape, or something?" Tom retorts, his voice all bark but no actual bite to it.

"No- no, of course not. I just mean that in a general term." Pat corrects, dropping the slices of apple into a separate bowl and throwing away the remains. "What you've done wasn't easy. Not for anyone. I am merely concerned with the side-affects that this type of transition; heck, this type of situation could affect you in."

Mixing the last of the ingredients together in the bowl, creating a dry dough, Tom clenched his jaw. I wonder who's fault is that! He wanted to say, but maintained himself quiet. Last thing he needs right now is to get kicked out and have a guilt trip about it later. Patrick is, after all, one of two people he gets along with in this base. Tom scoffed. "Don't take this the wrong way, or anything, but why exactly does it matter to you? If the Red Army gets what they need in the end, my condition shouldn't be important then."

"That may be so." Patrick soothed. "But that does not stop us from caring about you regardless, Tom. It is only natural to grow attached when you spent so much of your time with an individual that was put into your care. Even if it was by orders, and the circumstances are less than ideal."

The words that were forming in Tom's mouth evaporated into thin air right at the tip of his tongue. His black empty sockets are wide with bewilderment. Care? Impossible. The concept was strange to him. Not that Tom was incapable of caring, no, far from it. The truth is that he does care. He cares a lot more than he lets on. However, that isn't the issue here. The real strange thing to him was being in the receiving end of the care spectrum. It's not often, if at all, that Tom is placed in said position. Sure, there were many times that Edd and Matt showed comradery and affection for him. But even so… Tom fears otherwise. He does not blame them either; Tom hates himself too. And now to think, that Pat and additionally Paul, have grown attached to him in the short amount of time- Well, at least Tom hopes it's been a short time, he can't really tell otherwise, since he'd lost all sense of time from the get-go- is just unbelievable.

So how come Tom's heart is fluttering inside his chest with a small, warm, elevating tingle? Doing his best to ignore the fuzzy sensation, Tom suppressed it and turned his overall demeanour back to neutral. "Yeah right." He scoffed softly, padding the dry dough into the dish to create what would later become the pie's crust. "Don't be so dramatic, Pat. Or else I might just start to think you are getting soft on me."

Breathing out a small sigh, Patrick rolled his eyes. "If you're so sure about that." He murmured quietly. "And what about your friends? I'm sure you must miss them a lot even though you have, not once, mentioned them the entire time since you got here."

Grateful his back is turned, Tom flinched slightly at their mention. "Well, of course I-"

"ARGH! Shi- Kurwa!"

The sudden loud sound of a knife clattering against the marble balcony, along with Patrick's spontaneous hissed out curse of pain made Tom jump in alarm. He whipped around, only to freeze and tense up in shock. Blood was leaking and dripping down Pat's hand, as he clutched it tightly to his chest.

"God damnit." Patrick continued to curse, more in annoyance than so in pain, as he inspected his injured hand. He then turned away to the sink to wash out the blood.

With gaze locked on his back as Pat kept muttering to himself, Tom slowly backed away. His black empty eyes wide, and he trembled ever so slightly from head to toe. The copper, tangy smell of blood, hit his nostrils as Tom's breathing quickened, and it began to flood his senses. Tom's eyelids fluttered shut in a dazed state of intoxication, and for a brief moment there, he found himself relishing in the familiar scent.

Snapping out of the trance the smell of blood put him under, Tom slapped a hand over his mouth and nose, and hurried out the kitchen only to run into Paul.

"Oh, hey Tom!" He greeted the panicked looking Brit. "I brought the cinnamon!" He showed the packet in his hand, before his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he took a double-take on Tom's facial expression. "What's wrong?"

Gasping for air as he hyperventilated, Tom tried to conjure up proper words and explain the situation. But his mouth is dry and he's having a hard time maintaining focus. "I- pf- Pat- sh- I- uh" Tom shook his head. He suddenly grabbed a hold of Paul's shoulders and started to shake him with exasperation. "Patrick is bleeding!" Was all he managed to say, as he let go of Paul and resumed his struggle to keep calm.

Hearing a gasp from Paul, Tom watched him hurry into the kitchen. He did not stay long to watch what happens next, after that. Tom made his way into the bathroom; slamming the door shut, locking it behind him, and then having his back pressed against it.

He clenched his eyes shut, breaking into cold sweat as he attempted to bring his breathing back to normal. However, no matter how much he breathed his lungs consistently felt depraved of oxygen. Tom stumbled forward, grabbing onto the sink to keep himself steady, and leaning forward as he dry-heaved.

Tom kept remembering the smell. It was just a tiny cut, there wasn't even that much blood flowing out of Pat's hand; and yet, that small bleeding cut was enough to throw Tom off. Lurching forward he retched. Tom clasped a hand over his mouth, trying to contain from being too loud for any prying ears that might be listening out there. He continued to heave and gulp, nothing but drool spilling out from his mouth; sticky saliva coating his fingers.

Gagging and gasping, Tom turned the sink's faucet, and began to frantically splash cold water onto his face repeatedly. Stay calm. Keep cool. Get a hold of yourself! He kept telling himself, panting heavily while also slapping his own face. But in doing so, Tom glanced up and accidentally made eye contact with his reflection. He froze; black sockets staring back at each other through the mirror until Tom could've sworn he saw the flection form a sickening grin, consisting of razor teeth, and the previously aforementioned dark holes for eyes flashing a deep shade of purple for a brief second.

At once, his body shuddered with great intensity and Tom's heart turned cold; freezing it in place, and knocking all the wind out of him before it came back to life, and gave a massive leap into his chest. Moaning with pain, Tom clutched his chest and kneeled down, still holding on to the sink.

Tom panted, his head leaning forward as he stared at the ground wide-eyed. His vision was shaky, getting increasingly blurred with the familiar dark haze taking over his sight. It is one of these moments when Tom wished he was in possession of a sharp object right now…

An abrupt knock on the door brought him out of it.

"Tom? Are you okay in there?"

Tom gasped, feeling the effects cease and allowing him to go back to normal. Tom swallowed, his mouth and throat insanely dry. "I'm fine, Paul!" He replied, his voice hoarse. "It's just the withdrawal acting up again!" He lied, his breathing still ragged. "I'll be out in a moment."

Holding his breath, Tom listened for footsteps distancing themselves away from the bathroom. Once he was sure that Paul was gone, Tom went back to regaining his breath. He felt drained from strength, and when Tom tried to get up his legs buckled beneath his weight and he sat back down. Wincing with effort, he used the sink as support and scrambled to his feet. Tom was careful not to commit the same mistake twice, and he kept his gaze fixed downwards onto the rushing water of the tap.

Tom resumed washing his face, his thoughts troubled with dismay. That was a close call. Too close! Tears pricked the corner of his eyeless sockets, and he fought the urge to sob. I'm such an idiot! He seethed silently. And to think that I had any chance of being normal, even if for just a while! I'm a fool. Tom's heart rate steadied into a slow rhythm, and his breathing fell in a comfortable pace. Turning the faucet off, and dried his face with a towel. I can't do this. Clearly coming here was a mistake! He decided. I will go out there, and tell them that I'm not feeling so good. They'll understand, right? Then they can enjoy their free time without me.

Tom made sure his appearance looked adequate before he unlocked the door and left the bathroom. The excuse he had prepared died on his tongue at the sight he was met with.

Facing toward the TV and away from him, Paul and Patrick are sitting on the couch; awfully close to one another as they conversed quietly. Tom approached them wearily, unsure whether to speak up or not, but decided for the latter. He gulped, and took a tentative whiff of the air surrounding him; relieved to find that the scent of blood has been replaced with a much warmer, and pleasant salty smell.

"Does it hurt still?" Paul whispered worriedly.

Tom focused on the pair of soldiers on the couch, standing like a statue in the corridor as he listened to their conversation.

"Don't be silly. I told you, it was just a little cut!" Pat chuckled soothingly. "I'm fine. Thanks for helping, Paul."

Even standing a few feet behind the couch, Tom could see Paul shuffle a little closer to Patrick. "Do you want me to kiss it to make it better?" Next thing he knows, Pat scoffs and throws a light punch at Paul, who giggles in return. "I can give as many kisses as you want, just to make you better!" He teased Pat, who had crossed his arms. For some reason, Tom imagined the dignified Red Army General adverting his gaze away from the Commander, and with a light pink tint flushing in his cheeks.

Paul laughed again, and he enveloped his arms around Pat to cuddle closer, who in turn bent down to give the top of his head a small peck.

Watching them interact this way made Tom's face heat up with embarrassment. He felt like he was intruding in on them. All the more reason to leave them alone. Tom stepped back until he was next to the bathroom door, to which he opened and closed again rather loudly to announce his presence in the room.

The two soldiers looked up at him in surprise.

"Ah Tom! Glad you're alright!" Paul greeted him. "Are you feeling better now?" Tom nodded. He was just about to speak, when Paul beat him to it. "You were looking awfully pale when I came back, so I was kind of worried for you."

"I- uh I'm fine now, thanks. But i-"

"Oh! And don't worry about the pie. Paul and I finished the remaining touches while you were in the bathroom." Patrick added, interrupting him. "It's in the oven right now. It should be done in in a few minutes."

"And we made popcorn!" Paul exclaims, picking up the overflowing bowl and handing it out to him.

Still shaken from the whole ordeal, Tom gingerly accepted the offer and grabbed a little bit in his hand. He turned his gaze onto Patrick, his sight landing on the injured hand. "Are you okay?" He couldn't help but ask.

"No worries. I am good as new! See?" Patrick responded by showcasing his bandaged hand. "Like I said to Paul; it was just a measly little cut. A stupid mistake of mine, if nothing else." He tsked. "Such a nuisance."

Paul clasped a hand on his shoulder. "Come now, don't be so hard on yourself." He comforted. "You were always a bit too cocky with knives anyway, you were bound to cut yourself sooner or later! You were just lucky that it happened while the boss is gone, otherwise you wouldn't hear the end of it." He teased, muffling a giggle as Pat faced him with a deadpanned expression.

"Cloudberg."

Paul snorted with laughter, while Tom simply stood there in confusion, and yet amused by their interaction.

"Anyways, now that you're here we can pick which game to play!" Paul announces, wiping away an invisible tear in his eye.

"Actually guys, I have been thinking and-"

"Here! These are all the games we have." Paul stood up from the sofa, and crouched down beneath the Television to open up the drawer. Peering over his shoulder, Tom was perplexed to find various types of games lined up in a neat roll. "You can take first pick."

"Huh?"

"Usually when we hang out, we sort ourselves to take turns in picking what we're doing. Whether it be watching a film or a game." Patrick explained, still sitting on the couch. "Since this is your first time here, you should get the honors of going first."

Tom looked at him with bewilderment, then turned his gaze down to the pile of games in the drawer. He wanted to tell them no. That he couldn't stay here any longer. For fear of accidentally hurting them. Tom blinked. Now where did that come from? Tom doesn't care about them… Does he? They kidnapped him! And just look at where he is now because of them.

However, with that said, Tom hasn't forgotten how they've shown him plenty of kindness ever since he got here. And in hindsight, there isn't any reason for it. And yet they respect his boundaries, and treat him with patience. They invited him to hang out with them. Surely this must mean something?

After a few more moments of hesitation, Tom analysed the collection of games. There were a few titles that he recognised among the selection, but in the end, he picked a random race game; the cover bright and colourful. He really needed something fun and uplifting after the recent episode he just had.

"I'll pick this one, If that's alright." Tom decided.

Paul nodded, taking the game from him and loading into the console. Tom sat on the far end of the couch, while Pat is on the opposite side. He offered the Brit some more popcorn, to which Tom gladly took. After inserting the game disc in, Paul skipped back to the sofa and sat between the two; handing a controller each. The main menu came on screen and they pressed start, choosing their characters and race track. At first, Tom kept mostly to himself. Staying silent with a few quips here and there. But as the game progressed, he found himself having fun alongside the two soldiers. They joked, laughed, cheered, cursed, and eventually ate the apple pie they made.

I want to pretend to be normal for a while longer. Just this once.

It was a very enjoyable evening overall, despite Tom's earlier issues. For the first time in a long while, Tom had actually found himself having fun.

(Meanwhile…)

It is another cold and rainy night in the English town. The city's residents aren't fazed by the bad weather at this point. They just went about their own, usual way with a shrug of the shoulders; maybe even uttering a curse or two of annoyance at the rampant storms.

Staring out the window, watching the heavy rain splatter the glass and the branches of a nearby tree swaying against the strong wind; a pair of tired brown eyes blinked in the dark with only the lighting coming from outside to light the room.

When the duo returned from their trip to the cemetery, Edd had come to accept the fact that Tom is dead and he won't ever come back. Matt comforted him as best he could, even offering to stay the night with him. Edd appreciated the gesture but refused the offer. He wanted to spend one last night in Tom's apartment before going back to his own for good. Like a one last bid of farewell before he was ready and fully committed to move on with his life.

Despite the closure he had earlier, Edd's heart still ached with the loss. It had been weeks, and he could still detect a faint trace of Tom's scent lingering around the apartment.

It won't be long now for it to fade away completely.

Even when all was said and done Edd could not, for the life of him, settle down and go to sleep. He feels tired, and restless and the same time. Edd fears that if he were to close his eyes and sleep now all of his memories of Tom will disappear for good. A childish fear? Perhaps. But one he does not want to risk.

Ringo, his faithful feline companion, was curled up and pressed against his side and snored softly. Edd glanced at his pet with envy. He wished he could have that easy life. Edd stroked Ringo's gray tabby fur, earning a low purr in response.

Once again, Edd tried to close his eyes and go to sleep. He hasn't gotten a proper night's rest for many days now, so in theory this shouldn't be hard to achieve. Edd tossed, fidgeted, and turned around in the bed but nothing seemed to help.

Giving up on his failed attempts of going to sleep, Edd decided to do the next very best thing.

Walk.

He hopped off the bed and got himself dressed, putting on a dark coat over his green hoodie. Since he first received the news about Tom, Edd had taken the habit of taking long walks after dark. Sometimes he would search for Tom, in hopes of finding and bringing him home; but it was mostly to cope.

Ringo sat up, taking notice of her owner's warmth and presence that was previously laying next to her is now absent. She mewed questioningly, tilting her head as she watched her owner dress. Edd patted Ringo's head in a soothing motion, silently reassuring the cat that he'll be back.

With that, Edd grabbed his keys, pulled on the hood over his head, and walked out of the apartment.

(Meanwhile…)

Not far from where the duo resides, a humble looking bar stood in the street's corner. The sign flashing above read "Mustacheos Bar", with a few letters missing due to its cheap lights failing to turn on during the rainstorm.

Suddenly, the bar's doors swung open and a blonde man was tossed out roughly into the streets, being shoved to the ground next to some trash cans and bags. The man wore a dark overcoat and jeans, as he held a bottle of beer in one of his hands.

"And don't come back here again! You hear me?!" The bar manager shouted.

Wincing at the landing, Reagan took a swig of the bottle before throwing the man a glare. "I was just leaving. You didn't kick me out, I left cause' I wanted to!" He shouts drunkenly. "And guess what? I wouldn't want to come back to this sh#t hole anyway cuz the beer ain't all that special! It's too f#ckin' expensive for plain bottled up piss!"

"You drank nearly five bottles!" The manager angrily argues. "That's the sixth one you are holding onto, you slimy little pest!"

"Yeah? Good for me I guess. Hurray!" Reagan slurs, throwing his hands in the air in a lazy cheer. The manager grunts and storms back into the bar, slamming the door shut on the way in. Reagan scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Arse hole." He spat, taking another long swig at the bottle.

Next to him, a strange and sinister looking figure rose up from a trash can; wearing a red sweater, a brown trenchcoat, and fedora. The tramp also sports ginger hair, bushy eyebrows and heterochromatic eyes.

Reagan looked up, seemingly unfazed by the man's weird appearance.

"You stink." The beggar bluntly states.

Reagan stared at him. "Well, look who's talking!" He retorts. "As far as I'm concerned you don't smell like a pile of daisies either, so that makes us two stinkers."

The sinister bum blinked. "Got a dollar?"

"… No."

Scrambling clumsily to his feet, Reagan stood up swaying from side to side as he regained his footing. Chuckling and emitting a rather loud burp, he churned the bottle in his hand to take another sip.

He had arrived in town not too long ago to fulfil the designated task assigned to him; find five recruits and persuade them to join the Red Army. Reagan gladly accepted the mission, but he knows that Red Leader just wanted to get rid of him for a while. That's fine, Reagan can't say he blames the boss there.

The recruitment program takes a very long while to complete. From finding the perfect target, to slowly infiltrating into their lives, and then finally the big decisive moment that determines whether they want to join the army or not. However, Reagan may or may not have broken protocol by targeting multiple people at the same time. He detests wasting time and he lacks the patience to spend his efforts on one target at a time. So to hurry things along, Reagan cheated the system a little and already got himself four targets; whom he shadowed for a couple of days to observe their routine and have a better insight in their lives before fully inserting himself in it.

Things were looking up for him. However, he has yet to find the fifth, and final target. Reagan has walked through town from top to bottom, observing the people around him with a keen eye. He had stalked a few potential candidates, but they didn't meet the army's standards. So he kept on searching.

Heck, If the army wasn't so damn picky, Reagan would've offered the position to the creepy looking homeless guy next to him just so he could get the job done; but something told him that the man may not be completely stable.

Tipping the bottle all the way, Reagan drained every last drop of beer that it contained until it was empty. As he did so, Reagan hardly acknowledged a figure walk past him.

When he is in the beer zone, nothing else matters until he's done.

"Hey buddy! Do you got a dollar?" He heard the sinister beggar ask. Next thing Reagan hears is the sound of hands fumbling against pockets before the distinctive noise of wrinkling paper appears. "Oh wowee! This must be my lucky day or somethin'!" The tramp tipped his hat. "Thank yah good hearted fella!"

"You're welcome, I guess?" A soft voice mumbled.

Reagan was looking through the bottle, checking if there was any beer left, when he stiffened at the sound of the voice. It was… familiar. Reagan is sure he heard it somewhere before.

Turning around, Reagan only saw the figure of a man, wearing a dark coat with his hands stuffed inside the pockets as he walked away. Squinting his eyes against the drizzling rain, Reagan spotted a green hood over the guy's head.

The voice… and a green hood…

Reagan snapped his fingers as recognition flashed in his mind. He hasn't forgotten his favourite moment from the last mission he went to! No. Reagan would never forget such amusing reactions so easily!

He watched the man, Mr Gold if his wasted mind is right, walk away. Reagan observed his posture; noting the subtle way his head was slightly bent downwards. That's usually a sign of weakness, or at the very least means that he's deep in thought.

He probably hasn't gotten over it.

An idea popped up in Reagan's head as soon as the thought drifted away. Here he is, in the middle of the street, in the rain, without any beer left and with nothing else to do. Might as well take this opportunity to get back to work. Who knows? Maybe he won't waste his time with this one.

Tossing the bottle away, the glass shattering upon contact with the ground, Reagan adjusted his coat and proceeded to tag along; making sure to stay far enough not to be noticed but still sufficiently close so as to not lose sight of his target.

Edd continued to walk down the street, unaware that he was being followed. After several minutes, he finally arrived at his destination. Edd breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the open gate. For a brief moment there, Edd feared he might've had to break in.

He passed through the gate, and not so far behind, Reagan followed. The Irish man raised one eyebrow with curiosity as he observed the engraved letters on top of the entrance. Winchester park, eh? He mused. Sounds like fun.

Strolling through the cemetery in the dark of the night, Reagan hurried along the rolls of tombstones; reading some of them as he passed by. Looking up he was momentarily worried he lost sight of Edd, but through a quick scout of the area Reagan found him kneeling down in front of a grave.

He moved slightly closer, and quickly hid behind one of the tombstones. From this distance, Reagan could hear faint murmuring coming from the brunet. He peeked over the slate and observed the scene; a hand behind one of his ears to hear him better above the sound of rain.

"Hey Tom." Edd murmured. "I know I came to visit you earlier with Matt, but I couldn't sleep. I… I thought if I were to come and see you again, it would make things better." He paused, taking a wavering breath with a sigh. "I don't know what I'm gonna do without here, to be completely honest. It's only Matt and I now, and none of us are like you. Strong."

This is kind of depressing. Reagan frowned, and then shrugged with indifference. But pretty useful too.

Edd chuckled softly. "Out of all of us, you were always the one who kept calm no matter how dangerous the trouble we got in was." He went on, his eyes starting to water. "You were also the bravest. The way you faced off against… the- that giant robot. I wish I could be half as great as you were." He sniffled, wiping away some of the tears that were threatening to spill. "I want to move on, Tom. I really do. But I don't wanna forget about you either, you know? I promise I'll come visit you, but I don't think I can go on like this. For Matt's sake, I will try my best to get better from here. You understand, right?"

Listening in this rather intimate little moment, the gears inside Reagan's head shifted as he processed all of the given information; learning what he could solely based on the man's grieving words. Reagan grinned maliciously, and his vibrant green eyes glinted.

It would seem he found his fifth candidate at last.

Chapter Text

Done with his exercises for the day, Tom finished his shower and put on a new change of clothes. He was happy to see his old hoodie back, neatly folded over the sink, clean and fixed; good as new. It's been ages since he'd last seen it, when he was forced to take it off in favor for his new uniform, and Tom thought Tord had gone back on his word after their fight and threw the flimsy thing away.

It seems he was proven wrong about him.

After questioning, Paul explained to him that Tord wanted to have him accustomed to the uniform since that's what he will be wearing for most of the time during his permanent stay in the base. But because of his good behaviour during the Red leader's absence, Paul and Pat decided to give him his hoodie back. They figured Tom would want it, since it's the last thing he had to remember his past.

As he put it on, Tom couldn't be more thankful for the kind actions of the two soldiers. He was, quite frankly, tried of wearing the same boring uniform every day. The numbers that were engraved on the tag above his heart always made him feel like a prisoner, or someone inferior to everyone else around him.

Nevertheless, as Tom dressed himself he realized with a start that his hoodie felt somewhat tight on his form. Did they shrink it by accident? The two soldiers, although very nice and polite once he got to know them, weren't always the sharpest tool in the shed. Tom wouldn't be surprised if they did make some sort of mistake when washing it.

However, Tom quickly figured that, it wasn't the hoodie who had shrunk. He's the one who grew into it.

The last time he wore his old hoodie, Tom had been severely malnourished. His clothes hanged loosely around his frame, and hadn't been washed in a while.

Since then, Tom has been kept in a pretty strict diet, done various forms of exercise throughout his stay, and his form is in a much healthier state. Now his hoodie is clinging to his shape quite nicely, and Tom couldn't help but wrap his arms around himself; wistfully recalling his good old days.

"Tom, are you nearly done?"

A knock on the bathroom door, followed by Pat's voice, snapped him out of his brief moment of nostalgia.

"Yeah, hang on!"

Passing a towel through his hair to give it one last dry, Tom quickly adjusted to give off his usual spiky appearance, and walks out.

"Was I in there for too long?" He blurts out, nearly bumping straight into Patrick as he exits the bathroom.

"It's fine." The Polish soldier states, leading them out of the gym and into the hallways. "We're still within our schedule. After all, you must've been pretty tired after the bout of exercises you just did, so I wasn't going to rush you out of your shower." He continued. "Paul told me you did very well on your performance today. He was impressed."

Tom perked up a little. "Really?"

As his condition improved, so did the difficulty of Tom's exercises. At first, he started out with only simple stretches and some warm up rounds; nothing too hazardous for him at the time. But now that he is faring better, Paul would have him run laps around the gym, do pull ups, lift weight, and all kinds of workout tactics that took a lot out of Tom, and by the end he would be completely spent.

Tom wasn't entirely sure why he was expected to do all of this. Sure, to be in perfect condition for the experiments that he dreads so much, that's the main reason why he did these in the first place. But now that his condition is better, how come the exercises are a lot more intense? Tom's best guess is that they don't want to underestimate his improvement and want to keep him as best fit for the experiments as possible. But even that line of reasoning has flaws. His initial exercises were fine enough on their own, especially with the diet he's been kept on.

So why put so much emphasis on physical activities?

Tom tried straight up asking Paul, but the usually carefree soldier avoided his question and just dumped a bunch more exercises for him to do instead.

That certainly did its job in putting Tom off. He sure won't make the same mistake twice and ask him that again. Tom isn't keen on exerting himself more than necessary.

He decided to try his luck out with Pat. It can't possibly end worse than it did with Paul, and it is worth a shot.

"Oh yes!" Patrick nodded, continuing their conversation. "Although he admits you run out of breath quite easily, and you still struggle with some of the exercises, he told me that you have a lot of endurance and what you lack for in stamina, you make up for it in speed. Not bad if I say so myself." He went on. "With a few more weeks of practice, I am sure you'll be more at ease."

"Yeah, that's kind of what I wanted to ask about." Tom broke in, choosing his words so he won't set the Polish soldier off in the wrong way like he did with Paul earlier. "Why am I required to go through all of this? I get that's for my condition and all, but I feel this is all much too complicated just to keep me in shape."

Pat's demeanor changed, and his expression darkened slightly. Tom watched him wearily, waiting for a response and somewhat unsettled for the sudden mood reversal.

Patrick sighs. "I wish I could tell you, honestly I do." He shook his head. "But Red Leader would not share with us the reasoning behind this decision." Glancing back at Tom, he continued. "We send him updates regarding the improvement of your condition while he is away; his orders, you know? When we agreed that you were suitable enough to try out more complicated activities, Red Leader issued an order for us to do so until his return."

Tom frowned. "Seriously?" He asks incredulously. "Doesn't that seem kind of shady to you? Keeping secrets and sh#t?"

"Well, he is our leader." Pat points out with a matter-of-fact tone. "Although I agree that we should've been consulted before making a decision regarding this project, or whatever it is he has in store for you, as his loyal soldiers we must trust the judgement of our leader. He isn't stupid, after all. A bit rash at times, and reckless; certainly! But he knows what he's doing most of time."

"I wouldn't trust Tord so much if I wer-"

Tom's words died out as he broke off into a coughing fit. Pat stops and glances at him in concern.

"Thomas? Are you alright?" He approached the Brit. "I hope you're not getting sick again, or that'll be terrible." He placed the palm of his hand over his forehead, checking for his temperature.

Tom brushed him away. "I'm fine- it's just a sore throat."

Pat stared at him and then nodded his head in acknowledgement. "I'll make you some tea when we reach my study. That should fix it."

Tom glanced up at him with disappointment. "Tea?" He echoes. "You mean, no more of that juice I like?"

"Just for today." Pat suppressed a chuckle of amusement as he observes Tom pout, reminding him of a child who's been denied having ice cream before dinner.

Before long, they had reached the familiar oak wooden door. Patrick twisted the knob and stepped aside, letting Tom enter the cozy study first before following him in.

They made some small talk as Pat prepared their tea, mostly chatting about their drinking preferences, which progressively escalated into other topics; mostly morning routines and breakfast.

"No way!" Tom laughed, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Are you serious?"

"Trust me, sometimes I wished I was making this stuff up, but I'm not." Standing next to him, Pat shot him a glance while rummaging through the cupboard for teacups. "I swear, when those two are off-duty they behave like a pair of toddlers." He continues. "Thankfully their antics often fall more in the cute category rather than obnoxious. However, I admit it's difficulty at times to take their ranks seriously when I know what they're really like behind the curtains."

Chuckling, Tom swept a hand through his semi-dry locks. It's so odd to think just how much he's gotten used to the presence of the two soldiers, his environment, and day-to-day basis in general. It all felt natural to him now.

Tom theorized things would be a lot more different if Tord hadn't left, but he isn't going to contemplate what it could've been and instead he'll just enjoy what he got. Tom hopes things stay this way for a while longer, with Tord as far away as possible.

When all was set and done, Patrick handed him his tea and they returned to the study. Tom settled down on his usual leather seat, careful not to spill any of his beverage on himself or the expensive looking carpet. Across from him, Pat sits down on his own seat and pulls out his tablet and the delicately, thin glasses that he keeps in his breast pocket.

"So Tom, how are you feeling today?" He began.

The eyeless test subject sipped on the blue teacup; filled to the brim with steaming hot tea laced with honey, gently blowing on it so he would not accidentally burn his own tongue.

"I'm fine, I guess…" Tom muttered between the tiny sips he took from his tea.

"What about your withdrawal? Have you been feeling nauseous lately, or any other symptoms?" Patrick prompted, sitting back in his recliner chair with his reading glasses on, and typing on his tablet.

"A little. I haven't puked in a long while, so there's that." Tom shrugged, placing the tea down over the glass table that separated him and the Red Army General.

"How would you describe the overall experience?"

"Would not recommend." Tom jokes with a slight chuckle. He then paused. All traces of humor gone from his features, as his expression grew somber. "It was terrible." He answered quietly. "For the most part, it felt like someone was scraping my bones constantly or something." He murmured under his breath, his gaze drifting downward. "Or like, I don't know… spiders crawling through my veins, that have been simultaneously set on fire." He stopped, reframing himself from getting too carried away and spill unneeded information on his condition.

The worst sensation by far, is when that same fire goes out and leaves Tom with an empty, freezing feeling. It's what he'd imagine dying must be like. And just when he thought he'd gotten used to the cold, the fire ignites once more, and the process starts all over again. Going in and out of death repeatedly.

Living and dying…

"Don't get too ahead of yourself now…~"

A dark haze suddenly surrounded his mind and tainted his vision. Breathing out a tired sigh, Tom mustered all of his self-will to not flinch or react in any way at the unexpected, intrusive thought.

No. Not a thought…

But a voice.

The voice.

He was wondering when it would show its ugly presence back into his messed-up life. It would've been a matter of time anyway. Since he no longer has access to alcohol or anything sharp on standby, of course the voice would show up again sooner or later. Tom just wished he had more time to brace himself for this occasion.

Not now.

A cold, and yet amused chuckle echoed throughout his head, sending shivers down Tom's spine.

The voice is just that. A voice. It has no form, shape or appearance. However, it still feels very physical. Tom has gotten so used to its antics that he could detect its presence whenever it starts to act up, mostly because the atmosphere around him immediately gets tense until the voice quiets down again. It always gave Tom the impression that it was lingering somewhere behind him, hovering just a bit over his shoulder to whisper nasty remarks and sweet nothings into his mind; like a thought, drifting in the back of his head. And it sounds very reminiscent to the hiss of a snake, with poison dripping from each word it utters to burn, and brand onto his skin. The volume constantly fluctuates as well. A mere hushed whisper and a loud, booming shout at the same time. Not to mention that every word spoken by it felt like a different sensation running through him each time; ranging from the feeling of cold hands with sharp nails roaming along his body, to various methods of injury being inflicted on him. The amount of pain he would receive usually depending on what exactly the voice says.

It is a painful process that usually takes a lot out of him, especially back in the first few incidents. Now days, Tom barely reacts, if at all, when being administered with this mental torture. On the outside, he may be calm and collected. But on the inside, Tom felt he was cast in a dark room, strapped to a chair and relentlessly tortured. It's been a while since the last time he went through with this, sure, but a few months of its absence in his life is nothing compared to the years he had to endure with it in the first place.

And Tom has tried to get rid of it, in non-harmful tactics that is, before going to more extreme measures.

He knows it is not real.

There is no one behind him.

Nothing impaling or stabbing through him.

And there's definitely no intrusive, probing hands roaming over his body.

It's all just a figment of his head. Nothing more than a trick, crafted by his broken mind to play a sick joke on him. Of course he told himself those things!

But the comments the voice makes just get to him, growing increasingly more excruciating than the last.

After a while though, Tom just had to face the fact that the voice, whatever it really is, just isn't going away by mere use of logic, reason, or even wishful thinking.

Back to reality, Tom watched Patrick type something down in his tablet through half-lidded eyes, doing his best to ignore the mocking presence currently looming over him.

It's a shame that; whatever trace of good humor he had acquired during his previous talk with Pat, or even his earlier run of exercises, as tiring as they may be, with Paul, has been completely ruined by the voice's arrival.

"That was kind of a… morbid way to put it. But somewhat poetic as well." Pat commented, slightly baffled. "Are you a fan of poetry by any chance?"

"Me? Nah! Not really my thing." Tom shook his head. "But musician on the other hand-" He snapped his fingers. "That is more my area of expertise." He leaned back on his chair, deep in thought. "Back when I was in early high school, I used to write some tunes on my notebooks during class; mostly out of boredom. Then I would later play them with Susan."

Patrick continued to type as he talked. "Susan?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow and shooting him a curious glance. "Your girlfriend by any chance?"

A small laugh escaped the Brit. "My bass guitar." He corrected.

"My apologies." Pat bowed his head in understanding, typing another bullet point. "So you play the bass. And those tunes you mentioned, do you still play them?"

"On occasion." Tom replied with a shrug. "Susan is unfortunately kind of old, and has definitely seen better days. But I still love the old babe."

"How ironic! ~" The voice exclaims with a taunting tone. "You claim to love it, and yet you still let it get all broken up and mangled; not even bothering to properly repair it afterward. ~" It hissed harshly into his ear. "Is that any way to treat the ones you value? Use them however you want and then leave them broken? Like how you did with your friends…~"

Clenching his jaw so tight he was sure his teeth would shatter, Tom inwardly flinched at the remark.

Shut up!

"Did I touch a sore spot? ~" The voice continued to mock. A cold, phantom and yet tangible hand trailed upwards cross Tom's back. "Ops~"

His fingers curled inward until his knuckles turned white from the pressure.

"So you like music." Patrick commented, adjusting the glasses on his face and completely oblivious to Tom's discomfort. "When do you think this interest first developed?"

Tom wracked his brain for memories. "I think I might've been six-ish?" He replied, not too sure of himself. "My dad took me to see a music festival that was happening near town. Everything was so colorful, bright and loud back then it ended up making an impression on me." He recalled fondly, too busy remembering the details of his past to mind the lingering voice at the moment. "Ever since then, I wanted to get a guitar of my own really badly. But my parents weren't the best ones off financially, and dad dying worsened things…"

"His death is on you. It should not have happened. ~"The voice butted in to comment absentmindedly. Spectral limbs roamed along Tom's back and arms, tracing over his scars with pointy-sharp nails. Tom suppressed a shiver from rippling down his spine. "That was your fault. If you hadn't insisted on going fishing that day, your father would still be alive. It's your fault he is dead! ~" The intrusive hands did not halt their actions when Tom held back from crying out at the sudden, excruciating sensation of getting impaled through the chest.

"It wasn't until years later I finally managed to save up enough money to buy Susan." Tom went on, nearly choking in the process but managing to hold himself together despite the burning pain he felt in response to the voice's harsh remark. "And I practiced with her ever since."

"Interesting." Finishing his last bullet point, Pat clasped his hands together. "Now Tom, I would like to go a little off topic for a moment. If you wouldn't mind, I think discussing this next issue could be beneficial for you."

Tom raised one of his eyebrows quizzically. "Okay?" He grew even more weary when more phantom limbs joined the first pair and massaged his arms. Tom tried his damn hardest not to shiver, but the hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms stood up uncomfortably. If the voice had a shape, Tom suspects it would be grinning insanely right about now.

Patrick sighed. Here goes nothing.

"Let's talk about your friendships."

Tom's reaction to the request was immediate. At once, Pat noticed Tom's feet tap anxiously against the carpeted floor. The Brit had folded his arms; a sign of defensiveness, and his black sockets looked at anywhere but him. Patrick noted down these reactions, filing them under a separate bullet point.

"Thomas?"

"Is that really necessary? I mean, what benefit will that give you in your experiments? Absolutely nothing in the end, let's be real here." Tom began to argue, feeling the presence lurking up behind him grip his shoulders tightly with a different set of hands. "Not to mention that I don't wanna talk about it." He mumbled that last part quietly.

Pat had expected this would happen. "Tom."

"And while we're at it, what is the point of this mental evaluation business?" The Brit continued, going on a rant. "I highly doubt you gave the previous test subjects that kind of treatment, so what makes me so special? And I am positively certain that, whatever my state of mind is, it won't affect anything in the experiments so it just seems like a gigantic waste of time and effort on your part." He argued defensively, attempting to evade the brought-up subject.

"I am simply heeding Red Leader's orders." Patrick responds calmly, looking at Tom with patient eyes. "I know how hard all of this is for you." He gestured to his surroundings.

Duh! Tom narrowed his eyes. You don't even know the half of it! He felt the tight pressure build on his shoulders as the presence continuously towered over him.

"But I need your collaboration here, for your own wellbeing."

The voice barked out a cruel laugh. "Wellbeing? That's just a cute way of saying that they need you to be their obedient little subject for the sake of their world domination plans. ~" As it spoke, Tom felt it grip the back of his scalp tightly, and pull, creating an awful pressure in his head. Tom did not have much time to dwell on it, when he sensed another phantom hand snake around his neck and repeatedly tap the side of his throat with sharp nails. "After all, why would anyone in their right mind care for whatever happens to you, unless it benefited them? ~"

Tom took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm and ignore all the uncomfortable sensations running through him right now. "I just- I really don't wanna talk about this."

"Is this about Tord?" Pat's question cut through him. "If that's the case, you can leave him out-"

"No! It's not about him!" Tom protested, and then paused. "Well, it kind of is. But that's not the point I'm trying to make here!"

Leaning forward in his seat, Patrick stared at him from across the coffee table. "Then what is?" His honeyed green eyes blinked sympathetically.

Glancing away and still fidgeting in his seat, Tom breathed out an exasperated sigh. "Just- just everything!" He cried. "I miss them a lot, Pat. I miss them so much, and it hurts to even think about them, let alone talk!" Tom blurted out, using every ounce of strength within himself to maintain calm. "How can you possibly expect me to just forget everything that happened so far, and just talk about them as if there's nothing wrong?" From behind, he practically could feel the entity smirk. "Aww, are you about to cry? ~"It mocked him. Something pointy and sharp wandered over his shoulder blades. "You're so weak, and pathetic! Can't even handle your own problems properly! ~" It continued to hiss into Tom's head. "But I admit; It is highly amusing to watch you struggle. ~"

Patrick blinked perplexed. He'd already guessed the Brit's feelings on the subject, but to hear them being confirmed out loud by Tom himself was an improvement. It was clear that Tom has grown to trust him, and Paul as well. Of course, it's not all sunshine and lollipops for the three of them; Tom tends to argue with them once in a while, but Pat and Paul have spent far too much time with their leader to be troubled by Tom's stubbornness. Still, the last thing Patrick wants to do right now is break this carefully built trust.

Pat's gaze softened, sensing his discomfort. "Keeping these feelings to yourself won't do you any good either." He murmured, choosing his words carefully to gently coax the eyeless man to follow his line of thinking. "I am by no means demanding you to outright tell me everything. It is only natural to keep things to yourself in an environment such as this, and in your situation. I understand, believe me I do. Take your time, and go at your own pace." Pat reassured him. "Speak what you can, even if it's the tiniest detail or seems to be insignificant to you. Trust me, by the end you might feel a little more relieved."

"I- I can't."

"You won't know for certain unless you give a try." Pat added.

Before Tom could fully process his words, he felt the pressure on his scalp be released, and the spectral limb move downward to grab a firm grip of the back of his neck, while the other hand that had been poking the side of his throat went unusually still. Tom knows all too well at this point that this is a warning sign to watch for what he is about to say next.

Breathing in a shaky sigh, Tom composed himself. I-I can do this. He echoed, already beginning to feel upset at the mere idea of what he is about to reflect on.

Tom hasn't spoken one word about his friends since his first day in the facility. But perhaps Pat's words hold some truth to them? Maybe he can relieve a little bit of the burden haunting him by calling out to fonder memories? I can do this! He thought decisively."W-we met in kindergarten."

"Uhum?"

"I think it might've been one of my first days." Tom recalled. "I was really nervous and excited, but mostly terrified."

"Any reason in particular?" Pat questions, not looking up from his tablet.

The Brit shrugged. "I was a tad bit shy in my younger years. I wanted to make friends really badly, but I had no idea how to do it." He replied. "I didn't go out a whole lot before starting school, or had much contact with the outside world; so to be suddenly thrown in a strange environment with lots of other kids was overwhelming at the start."

"I see." Pat murmurs with a tiny nod. He was surprised by the Brit's statement. He would've never suspect Tom of ever being shy. "Please continue."

Tom sighed, flexing his fingers to relieve his hold on the chair's arms. Images flashed in his brain, reminding him of two very important people he was forced to leave behind. Pain stabbed Tom's heart; for once, not induced by the voice, but homesickness. It hurt nonetheless, far more than any blade could possibly inflict on him.

"We were in the classroom, just messing around doing kid stuff…"

(Flashback!)

Inside a colorful classroom, various children played together. Shrills of excitement filled place as the young toddlers participated in different activities. Some played tag, others played with dolls and toys, and a few other kids were quietly scribbling on a blank sheet of paper with crayons.

Among the group of quiet kids, a boy with spiky hair and black, empty eyes, furiously scrawled on a piece of paper he grabbed from the teacher's desk. His brows are furrowed and his tongue is subconsciously poking out of his mouth in deep concentration.

He pauses to admire his work, nodding in silent approval at his progress before resuming. "Something is missing…" He observed with a pensive hum, looking at the crude drawing of him and his family, smiling together as they skipped around in a meadow. "Of course! It needs more colors!"

He stretched out his hand towards the red plastic crate, stocked full of various art supplies, next to him and randomly grabbed any crayon he could reach. Adding it to his drawing he quickly switched to a different one, swapping colors repeatedly throughout the whole process.

Blowing away the tiny specks of crayon that lingered on the paper, the child picked up his drawing. "That's better!" He exclaims. "Now I just need one more color…" He reached for the crate again, expecting his fingers to wrap around the familiar, small object of his choosing.

Imagine his surprise when his hand met something warm and clammy instead.

The child jumped in his seat in surprise at the unexpected contact. He whipped his head, his gaze landing on a boy, looking as equally as startled as he is, standing next to him by the crate of art supplies.

"Sorry!" He blurts out, tearing his hand away from the other kid with a small tinge of crimson coating his cheeks in embarrassment.

The other boy looks down at his hand, curious more than anything. His gaze swerves back to meet with the child's eyeless ones. "It's ok." He answers softly.

The kid in question is a tall boy with brown hair, brown eyes, round facial structure, and fair white complexion. He's wearing a short-sleeved, bright green shirt, with a dark shirt underneath with longer sleeves poking out, beige shorts, and green shoes.

They stared shyly back at each other.

The boy in green rocked on his feet. "Can I take a few things please?" He asks, fumbling with his hands and briefly motioning toward the crate.

"Sure!" The eyeless child nodded toward the crate. "Just- please don't take any of the crayons. I'm using them, ok?"

"I won't." The brown-haired boy nodded, and started to rummage through the art supplies. With that out of the way, the spiky-haired boy turned away and resumed with his drawing; watching the other boy leave through the corner of his vision. He thought that was the end of it, and he would just go back to his not-so-quiet solitude.

But that was not the last he'd seen of him.

Throughout the whole course of the day, the boy clad in green kept returning to take something else out of the crate; looking increasingly more chipper each time he did. The eyeless child at first simply tried ignoring him, but his curiosity increased, and every time he dropped by, he would find himself peaking at the other boy. Strangely enough, he noticed overtime that the brunet was getting messier with each visit. Colourful smudges stained the boy's hands and clothes.

It was when he returned again, this time with a purple stain on the bottom-left of his cheek, that the eyeless child decided to quell his curiosity.

He pretended to be drawing, busying himself as he watched the brunet sideways. The boy was rummaging through the crate again and picked out two jars of paint, before hurriedly leaving the room; occasionally shooting worried glances at the teacher, who was too busy settling a quarrel between two crying girls to really notice him sneaking out.

The eyeless child seized the chance and followed suit. He stored his drawing away in his bag before heading out of the room.

He stepped out of the classroom and found himself in a dim corridor, just in time to see a pair of green shoes disappear around the corner and into the boys' restroom. He hurriedly toddled after, both eager and curious to see what the brunet was up to. Of course, he could just be doing what any other sane person does when going to the restroom. But if that's the case, why was he bringing a bottle of paint with him? Something fishy was going on…

The eyeless toddler grew even more confused when he heard laughter and voices coming from the other side of the restroom door.

Opting not to beat around the bush any longer, the unusual looking toddler pushed the door open.

Truth be told, he wasn't sure what he was expecting to find in there. Was the brunet pulling some sort of prank with the jars of paint, and was anticipatively waiting for some poor fool to wander into the stalls? Just when the eyeless child seriously began to consider in turning back, he froze on the spot; stumbling into the scene before him.

Colourful splatters of paint tainted the white tiled walls, even the floor and mirrors. The giggles are louder now as he stepped farther into the room, until he came across the brunet at the end of the bathroom hall, accompanied by an accomplice. A boy with pale skin, round blue eyes, and bright, well-groomed ginger hair, wearing a baggy purple hoodie, jeans, and purple sneakers sat next to the brunet; looking just as messy as him with stains all over his clothes.

Jars of paint littered by their knees where they sat. The spiky-haired boy watched wide eyed as the brunet dipped his hand into one of the bottles, scooping a handful of blue paint before splattering the white walls.

"See this?" The boy in green pressed his against the wall and smeared the paint all over it. "I'm making the sea!"

The ginger boy clapped excitedly, bouncing on his knees as he watched the display. "Oh! I know! I'm going to draw a huuuge mountain over here!" He proclaims, folding back the sleeves of his hoodie to dip his hand into the jar of black paint. "And with a beautiful forest at the bottom too! Lots of trees and pretty flowers-"

"And animals too! Don't forget about the animals!" The brunet piped in, wiping the paint off his hand on his own shirt.

"Of course n- oh!" The ginger boy stiffens mid-dip into the green jar, his eyes fixed on the peculiar child just standing there, mouth agape in awe as he watched them.

The brunet noticed his companion's reaction and halts. "What?" He turns around, following his line of sight. He perked up in surprise when he saw who it was, and smiled. "Oh hey, you're the kid with the crayons!"

With a tiny, barely audible gasp the eyeless boy steps back and adverts his gaze, fumbling with the straps of his overalls.

"Hello!" The ginger boy waves at him, bursting with glee in an over-exaggerated manner.

The child with spiky hair shyly waves back. "H-hi." He slowly lifts his head back up. "What- what are you doing?" He stutters quietly, almost hesitant to get the question out.

"We're painting!" The brunet replies, gesturing to the smudged wall behind them.

"In the bathroom?" The eyeless boy cocks his head to one side. "The teacher has lots of paper on her desk. If you want I could go and get a few for you-"

"No thanks, we're ok with the wall. There's plenty of space to draw this way!" The child in green responds dismissively. "Hey! Do you wanna paint with us?"

"M-me?!"

"Yes you!" The brunet laughed. "Come on, there's lots of colours to go around and a bunch of space to use."

"And it's real fun too!" The ginger kid added with a wide grin.

Shuffling his feet, the peculiar looking child silently contemplated. These two boys seem very nice and friendly so far, and he'd never been invited to participate in any of the activities by the other kids. He didn't show it much but he was legitimately excited to join them. And the white wall behind them does look very tantalizing to paint on.

"Ok!" He smiles, all previous signs of shyness gone, and he skips over to join the others.

Together, they began to paint the bathroom walls, turning everything from top to bottom into a ginormous mess. An explosion of colours blended into a deformed rainbow of sorts. The three young boys giggled and laughed along with their fun, occasionally showing off their artwork to one another. Various bottles of paint were left open, some even tipped over and scattered all over the floor.

The eyeless child scooped up a load of red paint into his hand, and using just one of his fingers, drew a long line into the white tiles; doing countless swirls, loops, dips, going up and down, left and right, and all over the place.

"Woah!" The brunet watched in awe, kneeling next to him with a dumbfounded expression. "What is it?"

The eyeless boy stepped back with a grin. "A rollercoaster!" He states proudly. "I'm making a theme park!"

"Cool!"

"Hey guys, check out my drawing!" The ginger child calls out to them, gesturing towards his somewhat crummy drawing of a castle.

"Neato!" The bright, eyeless child commented.

"Is there a princess that lives there?" The boy dressed in green prompted.

"Nope! But there is a very beautiful prince!" The ginger goes on, puffing his chest and striking a pose. He raised his chin with a grin. "A wonderful, charming, and very handsome prince-" As he ranted proudly, he lifted one of his hands up to his hair to run it through his striking ginger locks, forgetting that his hands were stained with fresh paint.

"Wait!"

"No don't-!"

The boys tried to stop him, but it was too late. The grimy hand swept through the ginger's hair, tainting it in paint.

"-Who was loved by his, uh, what are they called again? Subjets? No, that's not quite right. Hm." As he continued to contemplate his words, he just kept fumbling with his own hair, creating an even bigger mess. The brunet boy bit his lips, trying to hold in a giggle. The eyeless child stifled a gasp and watched the mess unfold with a gaping mouth. The ginger snapped his fingers, recognition flashing in his blue eyes. "That's right, peasants! He was dearly loved by his peasants!" He paused, taking notice of his friends' reaction. "What?"

"Uhh-"

The ginger rubbed his head in confusion, staring at his companions until reality finally hit him. His eyes widened with shock at the realization, and he stiffened. Slowly he brought his hand down, his hand trembling, looking almost like a scene from a horror movie as he looked back at his paint-tainted hand with despair.

The brunet and the eyeless boy exchanged a worried glance.

"Are you ok-?"

In a fraction of a second, the ginger child rushed past them, heading toward the nearest mirror. He froze once his eyes landed on the dark, smudgy mess that were once luscious orange locks and he shrieked in horror.

"My hair! My beautiful hair! What have I done to you?!" He cried out, grasping the sink with desperation. "Oh no what am I going to do?! My mom is going to kill me!" He gasps, dropping to his knees. "What if I have to cut all of my hair off?!" And with that, the waterworks let loose and he started to cry. "I don't wanna be bald!"

The two boys stood there and watched the ginger sob to his knees, looking concerned but unsure of what to do in this situation.

The eyeless boy rubbed one of his own shoulders, shuffling on his feet. "Should I get the teacher?" He offered.

The brunet's brown eyes brightened and a smile etched onto his face. "No. Stay here with him, I'll be right back!" With no further explanation on whatever it is he's got planned, he bolted out of the bathroom, the door swinging close behind him.

Left alone with the sobbing child, the eyeless boy nervously approached him. He shakily places a hand on the ginger's shoulder and started to pat him in a soothing motion. "It's ok. Everything is going to be ok, don't you worry." Rather than calming him, his words had the opposite effect and the boy clad in purple sobbed more. The eyeless boy stared at him in dismay. "C'mon don't be like that. Your hair isn't even that bad. If anything, I even think it looks cool on you."

Sniffling, the ginger kid risked a glance at him. "Do yo- do you really mean that?"

"Well yeah, of course I d- ARGH!" His words died out when the ginger suddenly enveloped him in a tight hug, his face buried into his chest as he continued to cry. The peculiar looking child wasn't used to hugs, let alone coming from people he hardly knows. Still, he tried his best to console the sad kid dressed in purple. He slowly wrapped his arms around him and patted him on the back. "There there."

The bathroom door swung open as the brunet returned, smiling widely from ear to ear. The eyeless child's expression turned from relief at the sight of him, to confusion when he noticed what he was wielding in his hands.

"What are those for?" He asked quizzically, nodding toward the set of tools the brunet brought with him. A mop. A plunger. And a broom.

Rather than answering him, the brunet threw the items onto the floor, keeping the plunger while he twirled it in his hand. The eyeless boy's furrowed further in confusion. Just what is this guy up to? Even the ginger halted his crying to peek at the scene.

The brunet shot them both a wink, and cleared his throat. "Hear ye hear ye, tragic has befallen the beloved prince!" He announces loudly, as if he were revealing news to a big crowd. "The handsome prince has been cursed by an, uh-"

"An evil witch!" The eyeless boy exclaims, catching onto the brunet's antics and going along with his act. The ginger looked at him with teary blue eyes. "An evil, and very ugly witch!" He went on. "Who was jealous of the handsome prince's beauty."

While he spoke, the boy dressed in green scooped up a bit of red paint and started to doodle on one of the mirrors. "That's right! And now it is up to us-" He backed away, showcasing his exaggerated drawing of a witch. He gestured toward the boy with spiky hair. "-the knights, to defeat the evil witch and break the prince's curse!"

Jumping into action, the unusual looking child pulled away from the still visibly upset ginger kid, and grabbed a hold of the broom. "You'll pay for what you did you mean, old thing!" He vows, aiming the broom at the mirror.

"I'll- I'll fight too." Sniffling, the ginger cracked a small smile and rose to his feet, clearing away the remaining tears clouding his vision. He grabbed the mop.

"Attack!"

With a battle cry, the boy dressed in green charged. Plunger in hand, he stabbed the rubber head onto the mirror, directly onto the witch's face. "Take that!" He laughed victoriously. He tried to pull the plunger out but found it firmly stuck onto the reflective surface. "Oh no, the evil witch set up a trap! And I fell for it!" He cried out, gripping onto the plunger and trying to pull away.

It released with a loud 'pop' sound, making the brunet stagger back in surprise with the force of the pull. In doing so, his feet slipped over the paint drenched floor and he fell onto his back, staining himself in various colours of paint, mixed together.

"I've been hit!" The brunet boy cried out. "Avenge me, friends!" With his last words, he closed his eyes and played dead, sticking his tongue out for dramatic effect.

"No!" The ginger wailed in distress, seeing the body of his fallen companion. He whipped around to face the witch in the mirror. "You may destroy my good looks, but no one hurts my friend and gets away with it!"

Using all his strength, he swung the mop toward the mirror, hoping to strike a hit on the mirror witch. However, it missed its mark a few centimeters too short and hit the sink instead, knocking the tap off and causing water to erupt. The ginger yelled in alarm when the water splashed him square in the face, the strong torrent forcing him to back away.

"My face!" He gagged through a mouthful of water.

"I'll save you!" The eyeless child shouts, running up to the mirror which now contained the deformed drawing of the witch; smudged due to previous attacks. Wielding the broom, he swung it down hard with all of his strength, smashing the mirror with the blunt end of his weapon. The glass shattered into various fragments, distorting the reflection.

The child grinned. "I did it! I got the witch!" He cheered victoriously.

"My hair!" Whirling around he saw the ginger, completely soaking wet, standing before the untouched area of the mirror with relief and admiration in his blue eyes. "My beautiful hair is back! Look!" Running his fingers through his wet hair repeatedly, he appreciated the vibrant soggy orange locks, now spotlessly clean from any evidence of paint. "Woah, I forgot how beautiful I looked." He grinned and cupped his own cheeks, peering into his reflection.

The brunet staggered to his feet, his clothes entirely smudged in paint. "We did it! We broke the curse!" His green eyes gleamed with triumph. "And we restored the prince's beauty!"

"Hurray!"

They cheered simultaneously, celebrating their success.

But it was short lived.

"Uh guys? What are we gonna do about all of this?" The ginger points out hesitantly, gesturing towards the ruined bathroom.

There is paint splattered all over the walls and floor, water gushing out of a broken sink, a shattered mirror, and their own dishevelled appearances.

"Oh." The trio stared at the results of their mess with wide-eyed blank faces.

The eyeless boy turned toward the two. "That was a lot a fun though!"

"Yeah."

Almost before they were done speaking, the sound of low giggles could be heard. The boy with spiky hair whirled around in confusion, only to realize that the brunet was shaking next to him with suppressed laughter, which he tried very hard to keep down. But his chuckles increased to light-hearted chortling that filled the room. The ginger and the eyeless children shared mutual expressions of bewilderment. But the brunet's laughter was just so contagious and enjoyable that, in the end, they couldn't help but laugh along with him. And looking back at the mess they created, it was kind of hard to stop it.

Their laughter abruptly came to an end when a shrill of absolute horror rang throughout the room.

"What have the three of you done?!"

Immediately the three boys snapped their gazes toward the bathroom door, where the teacher stood, completely dismayed at the scene. "The bathroom is in ruins! Just what do you think you're doing?!"

The three of them looked at one another with smiling faces.

"Painting!"

"Fighting off an evil witch!"

"Washing my hair!"

The boys got into a whole lot of trouble.

They were taken to the principal's office immediately after the scandal, where they were forced to wait after class for their parents to come and pick them up.

The eyeless boy fumbled with the straps of his overalls anxiously. How will his parents react to the mess he made? Will they get mad at him? They aren't the type of parents who get angry very easily. In fact, he doesn't even remember the last time he'd seen them angry. At most he fears they will be more disappointed in him more than anything for getting into trouble so soon after getting into Kindergarten.

He sat between his accomplices, the brunet to his right and the ginger to his left. The brunet was unusually quiet, staring at the ground and whistling a soft tune, but not looking particularly upset. The ginger was looking upbeat, fidgeting in his seat and rocking his legs back and forth with a grin. He looked so untroubled despite their situation, even though his mother is already inside at this very moment talking to the principle.

"So, is this a normal situation for you two?" The eyeless child spoke up, attempting to make a small talk to relieve himself from the tension.

The boys dressed in purple and green reply. "Yup!"

"But it's not just the two of us." The brunet continued. "We have another friend who participates on our games as well. He was supposed to be here for the bathroom painting, but he got sick and couldn't come. I think you would've liked him! He's pretty quiet, but lots of fun once you get to know him!"

"He talks a little funny though." The ginger added.

"But you are pretty fun to play with too!" The brunet commented, throwing a brief glare toward the ginger before turning back to the eyeless boy. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new?"

"Ye-yeah." He stammered shyly, fumbling with his own hands.

The ginger emitted a loud gasp, his hands rising up to his own face cupping his cheeks with wide eyes. "Does this mean you got no friends?" He asks with shock on his face. Before the eyeless boy could answer him, he was enveloped in a hug and had his face shoved against the ginger's chest. The arms wrapped around him tightly and he suffocated rather quickly. "Oh you sweet poor thing!"

"I-I can't breathe!" The eyeless boy choked, trying to pull away from the ginger.

"Matt, let him go. You're squashing him!" The brunet scolds.

"Oops! Sorry!" The ginger quickly lets him go, throwing him an apologetic look.

Right at that moment, the door to the principal's office swung open. A tall woman with dark ginger hair, wearing a purple dress and high-heels strolled out with her hands on her hips. "Unbelievable! Never have i heard such audacity!" She rants angrily. "My sweet little angel would never do such a thing! Isn't that right, Matthew?"

On cue, the ginger boy threw a cheeky little grin, and made the cutest face conceivable to mankind. His mother instantly fell for his act of innocence, and she grabbed his hand with a smile. "See? I knew you were a good boy."

The eyeless boy watched perplexed. No wonder the ginger wasn't afraid of getting a scolding, he got his parents wrapped around his finger!

"Now, let's head home sweetheart." The woman cooed. "It's getting late, and I'll prepare your favourite meal for dinner."

"Hurray!" The ginger cheers with glee. As he walked away with his mother, he glanced back over his shoulder and waved at his friends. "Bye guys!"

"Bye!"

"Goodbye Matt!"

"Matt?" The eyeless boy cocks his head, echoing the name.

Just then it suddenly dawned on the brunet that they forgot to introduce themselves to each other, despite their amazing adventure today.

"Yeah! His name is Matt. And I'm Edd!" The boy dressed in green, Edd, finally introduced himself. "What's your name?"

"It's Thomas."

"Thomas, I'm calling you Tom for short. Is that ok?" The peculiar looking toddler nods with a grin. "We had great fun today, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but the principal does seem awfully mad at us for what we did." Tom murmured, hugging himself.

"You'll get used to it. He is always a grump." Edd reassured him dismissing any worries. "Wait until our next big adventure!"

Tom blinked at him, genuinely taken back by his last comment. "O-our bi- our next big adventure?" He stuttered confusedly, as if the words had gotten stuck in his throat and he choked to get them out. "As in, you guys… and me?"

Edd laughed. Not a mocking type of laughter, but more like a light-hearted chuckle. "Of course!" He nudged Tom. "You are one of us now!" He suddenly turned serious, and grabbed a hold of Tom's face; squeezing his cheeks. "And don't think about getting out of it. There's no turning back now. Ok?"

"Ok?"

"Good!" Edd brightened up again, as if nothing happened.

Right at that moment a couple walks out of the principal's office, and without a word the woman beckons Edd to come along.

"I gotta go now." Edd jumps from his seat, grabs his bag and hurries off after his parents. He glanced back at Thomas over his shoulder and continuously waved him goodbye. "Bye Tom!"

"Goodbye!" Tom waves back.

"I'll see you Monday!"

"See yah!"

Watching his new-found friend leave from a distance, Tom breathed out a sigh and slumped against his chair. Despite being nervous for landing on the principal's office so soon after he just started kindergarten, and how his parents might react, Tom couldn't help but feel content.

He found friends! Sure they are a little weird, but they're also so energetic, cheerful and creative.

He can't wait to see them again! Who knows what kind of trouble they'll get themselves in next time?

A comfortable silence fell over the study as Tom finished telling his story. He kept his distant gaze fixed intently at the ground. A sad little smile on his face as he slowly fumbled with his own hands, trying absentmindedly to distract himself from the overflowing emotions coursing through him, however pointless it may seem.

On the outside, Tom appeared to be calm and collected, doing his best not to shed any tears as he recalled on the fond memories of his childhood. However, on the inside is a different matter altogether.

Tom felt shackled, his movements restrained as the sensation of various cold, spectral hands holding on to him in a tight grip, and keeping him down. What once used to be at least five hands grabbing him at first, now seems like hundreds. It felt hard to breathe. Tom could never tell if this was consequence of the overwhelming emotions he'd repressed for so long consuming him as he acknowledged them out loud, or the many hands constricting him all at once. As if all of that wasn't enough, there are blades littered all over his backside. Plunged deep and sticking out of his body like a set of spikes; courtesy of the voice's many words of wisdom. Each new wound added to the collection whenever the voice would make a nasty remark or impute a hurtful comment in the situation.

Tom is in a lot of pain. Emotional, but painful nonetheless. As much as he is writhing and crying out in pain on the inside, Tom could never show it on the outside. Tom doesn't want to appear weak in front of others, especially his captors; no matter how friendly they may be. But most importantly, it was mainly about Edd and Matt.

I don't want to worry them. Is always his reasoning. They have other stuff to worry about, they don't deserve another burden to take care of. Tom has had a lot of training in the past, controlling his facial expressions and behaviour to never let show any obvious signs of discomfort or pain. No one should know.

Across from him, Patrick quietly typed on his tablet. Tom tried to read his facial expression through half-lidded eyes, but couldn't decipher what exactly the soldier was thinking at the moment.

"I see." Pat murmured quietly. His tone of voice is soft, while his eyes held a glint of humour in them; possibly entertained by the story he just witnessed. "The three of you definitely sound like a handful!"

"Yeah, we sure were." Tom spoke softly under his breath as grief stabbed his heart. Memories flooded Tom so powerfully that he could hardly breathe, and guilt seared his body.

Taking off his glasses, Pat put the tablet down on his lap. "How do you feel now that you let some emotional baggage out of your chest?"

Well, ain't that the million dollar question of the day. Although doubtful at the start, Tom did feel relief once he started talking about Edd and Matt, how they met, and the impact that it had on his life. However, the whole experience and meaning behind the moment was completely tarnished by the voice relentlessly torturing him. Sure it felt good to talk about what's on his mind aloud, but to keep remembering the awful things he's done in the process made it difficult to balance an exact emotion.

"Good." Was what Tom went with, nodding his head slightly with his lips pursed in a thin line.

Patrick's eyebrows furrowed in suspicion, staring back at Tom through narrowed eyes. "Is everything alright? You seem pretty quiet." He observed.

Tom suppressed a shiver as anxiety spiked through him. "I'm okay." He replied as casually as possible, ignoring the pain he felt rippling on his side. "Just uh- It's just hard, you know, to get so much out of my chest like this. Especially after everything that's happened."

For a moment he believed he managed to fool him. Patrick's expression softened and he regarded him with sympathy. However, before Tom was even given the chance to sigh in relief, Pat spoke up again.

"I can see you are bothered by something. Clearly in discomfort. You know you got nothing to worry about in here. I won't tell anything of this to Red Leader, not even to Paul."

Tom blinked in bewilderment. "What do you mean? I already said I'm fine. It's just the topic that's a little hard to get through, that's all-"

"Tom."

He flinched at the sound of his name. Afraid where this conversation could potentially lead up to, Tom stared at the ground and shuffled his feet around in apprehension, unable to meet Pat's gaze which he could feel borrowing into him.

"Is something going on with you, that you're not telling?"

Tom took a deep breath at that, attempting his best to keep his composure calm at the face of near-revelation. He numbly shook his head with a tiny shrug.

"You know if there's anything wrong you can tell me, right? Or Paul if you are more comfortable with." Patrick's words were so soothing, Tom couldn't help but to flicker his gaze back up to look at him. He was startled with the amount of patience and understanding he found staring back at him from honeyed, kind green eyes. "Despite what you may believe, we do really care about you. So if you are having problems with anything at all, we will do our best to help you- within reason, of course."

A flush of warmth washed over Tom at his words, genuinely touched by the offer. Something flourished inside of him. A small speck of light ignited; bright and warm, that relaxed Tom's tensed muscles and soothed his soul. Hope.

It seems so easy- so within reach. To finally confide in someone of all his problems, his fears, what he's been enduring on his own this whole time, and just how there is something seriously wrong with him. Tom longed so much for the chance to finally admit his problems, but dreaded all the same. How would they take it?

Patrick seems like a trustworthy guy, he hasn't done anything truly harmful to Tom since his arrival. Not once has Pat ever lost his temper when dealing with him, he's a good listener, and seems to know exactly what to do in most situations. He'll understand him, surely? Pat already appears to be so insistent in helping, maybe he can find a solution to Tom's problem.

He won't have to keep quiet about this anymore. He can be free of this burden!

With hope soaring in his chest, Tom felt a burst of determination to speak.

"You don't honestly believe he cares about you, do you? ~"

At once, Tom stiffens and his muscles tensed with apprehension. His words died instantly in his mouth. He'd forgotten that the voice was still active. The phantom arms that still encircled him tightened their possessive grip, while three others slithered upwards; two of them constricting around his throat until it became impossible to breathe, while the other one latched over his mouth, as if to stop him from speaking.

"Have you forgotten who this man is? What his motives are? And more importantly, who he works for? ~" The voice reasoned harshly, as if scolding a petulant child. "He doesn't care about you. This little therapy-play the two of you put up is nothing more than his job. Don't you think he would rather be anywhere else other than stuck here with you, hearing you moaning about everything? He probably has better things to do with his time. If it weren't for Tord ordering him so, he wouldn't waste his time with you. ~"

Tom trashed wildly under the constraining hold on him trying to bury him alive, desperately tugging on the limbs wrapped around his neck to free himself. You're wrong! He objected futilely. Why would he bother hanging out with me then? Commie wouldn't have ordered that!

The voice tutted with mock sympathy. "You poor fool, that's only to gain your trust. ~"

Tom stopped struggling.

"If you trust them, you'll be more willing to abide to their commands. They are using you. ~"

Chilling cold claws gripped his insides and twisted them hard. Tom doubled over and clutched himself in pain with a startling cry. Amidst his suffering, Tom tried to cast a glance at Patrick through the thick, darkened haze that surrounded his vision. He seems so innocent… Could it be he's been playing him all along?

Tom doesn't wanna believe it, but he can't deny the possibility sounds plausible.

"Besides, if this man truly does care for you, why would you freely dump all your problems onto him like that? Hasn't it occurred to you that he already has his own problems to deal with? ~" The voice pointed out casually. "The world doesn't revolve around you. People have issues they got to deal with on their own, and it's not fair for him, or anyone else for that matter, for you to throw your baggage at them! ~" A spear stabbed through Tom's back, poking out of his chest. The scream that ripped out of his throat was drowned by the spectral limbs clamping his mouth shut. The agonizing sensation of fire, static, and ice shot through him all at once and left him nearly breathless against the tightness still wrapped around his throat.

"Are you selfish enough you would willingly cause another person to suffer for your problems? ~"

Back in reality, Tom stared at Patrick with hidden dismay while in an inner conflict with himself. The determination he once had was annihilated by the voice, along with the spark of hope that it brought. It would be so easy to blurt out something- anything in regards to his situation. But Tom couldn't get the words he needed out his mouth, try as he might. The invisible hand lodged over his mouth refused to let him speak up, and the other two around his throat just tightened even more until Tom was out of oxygen.

Breathing out a tired sigh, Tom accepted defeat. "There's nothing wrong." He replied solemnly, his gaze cast downwards. "It's been a long day, that's all."

Tom felt a cruel hand comb through his hair with sharp nails. "Good boy! ~" The voice praised him with a mocking purr.

The dark haze in his vision cleared away, returning to normal. The various limbs wrapped around his body, holding Tom down, released him. Tom's shoulders sagged, relieved that the voice finally quieted down and that the horrible experience was over.

For now, anyway.

"Then I guess we can conclude our session for today." Patrick put away his glasses and placed the tablet down. He stood up from his seat, and made his way toward Tom. "I have to return to my duties now. Will you be fine heading back to your quarters on your own?"

"I'll be okay." Tom nodded numbly.

Patrick followed him out the study. "I'll have Paul bring your dinner later. Do you want anything in particular?"

Tom shrugged. "Not really. So as long there isn't any meat included."

"Fish or chicken, I know."

The two briskly parted ways; their interaction vastly different from what it once was earlier. Tom made the long walk back to his quarters in silence, practically dragging himself along with sluggish movements and a bleak expression on his face. His head is pounding, and he felt drained of energy. I'm so tired…

The immense, empty corridors of the lab level seemed to stretch on forever; when really, all it takes is a few turns to reach his destination. And yet, Tom struggled along his journey with some difficulty. The voice consumes a lot of energy out of him in order to manifest itself. Although neither it or any of the phantom limbs are around to bother him right now, the mental wounds left behind are still fresh and stinging.

Tom almost felt like a warrior, and not in the glorious or courageous type. He felt as if he just went to fight in a huge war, but instead of slaying his enemies he was the punching bag- a distraction to advert all the fire toward himself and getting most of the damage out of it. Now here he is, dragging himself pitifully back home, littered from top to bottom with wounds, and he is bleeding all over the place; leaving behind a trail of blood wherever he went.

The walk back to his quarters was painfully long and slow. The door slid open with a hiss, and Tom dragged himself in before immediately falling over his bed with a tired sigh.

"What are you waiting for? ~"

Just as Tom was getting ready to take a nap, the haunting question announced the voice's return. The dark haze back to taint his vision. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the chilling sensation of something breathing down at him. He isn't surprised that the voice was so quick to return after manifesting mere minutes ago. Being gone for so long, it's to be expected that it would become sporadic.

Tom slowly sat up, blinking tiredly.

I'm waiting for the right time.

Tom sensed the voice shift agitatedly around him.

"And when will that be? ~" The voice challenged. "You should've ended your existence long ago. I can see through your memories; you had plenty of opportunities to off yourself. And yet you didn't. I wonder why… ~"

It's not as easy as you say it is. Tom argued defensively. I can't just go crazy and kill myself like that. If I get caught in the act, or use a not very effective method to do so I won't have another chance. Tord and his soldiers will do whatever it takes to keep me alive for the sake of their plans.

An uncomfortable stinging sensation rose from his cheeks, and Tom could imagine the voice ripping into the flesh of his face with sharp nails.

"You're hoping that they fix you, aren't you? ~" The voice howled in an animalistic fashion, barking with laughter. Tom did not cower at the harsh noise in his head, but he remained stoically still. "You're such a coward you can't even own up to your own troubles! It's so like you to leave your problems for someone else to solve. Even when they are blatantly not doing it for your sake, but for their own benefit! I don't think you realize just how truly damaged you are. ~" It went on, the nails trailing down Tom's face to pierce his shoulders. Tom flinched with a hiss, wishing he could swat the cruel hands off his person. "It seems I missed a lot more than I thought while I was away. But what an interesting development do I find here? Our former red accomplice is still alive! Guess you can take that one out of your consciousness. Not that it matters much in the great scheme of things; you still killed plenty other innocent people. ~"

Tom bristled at the comment. Commie is far from innocent!

"And you who are you to judge? As far as I'm concerned, your number of confirmed kills is much higher than Tord's. You are dangerous, and that's all there is to it! ~" The voice hissed scornfully. "What makes you so especial you should live above all those you killed? They had hopes, dreams, ambitions- lives worth living. You are absolutely worthless! Nothing more than a burden. It's not fair on them that they should be robbed of their lives in such a brutal manner while you are still living. You are practically mocking them with your continuous existence, you know? ~" Tom's heart sank at the harsh words spoken to him. He sat in silence while listening to the voice's angry rants, not making much of an effort to defend himself; feeling much like a child receiving a scolding.

"But now we got a situation in our hands. Tord intends to use you in order to conquer the world. Unless you want to be responsible for more deaths, I suggest we stop him from achieving his goal. ~"

And what do you want me to do? I can't stop the commie from doing what he wants. Tom reasoned with blatant contempt. If I keep on defying him and refuse to collaborate, he'll turn his eye back on Edd and Matt! I can't let that happen either!

There was a moment of silence that followed, so quiet even his heartbeat became inaudible, and stretched on for a while. Breaking the wary silence, the voice murmured. "You know what you have to do. ~"

Slumping back with a sigh, Tom did not respond. He didn't need to. He knows what the voice is talking about. How couldn't he? For countless months, it's the only thing running in his mind! And yet, the idea filled him up with dread whenever it popped into his head. His throat clogged, and the lump bobbed uncomfortably as he tried to swallow it down. His mouth felt dry; tongue like sand paper. Tom slowly convinced himself that it's the right thing to do, and a sense of peace would be instilled in him.

That's how it works.

"You have to die. ~"

Tom choked back the tears that rapidly welled up in his eyes. His mind betrayed him yet again, flashing images of happier times in his life against his better judgement. Memories of his friends were the first thoughts he conjured up, and Tom felt the overwhelming sadness that came with it. They already believe I'm dead. Dying for real won't change anything. He told himself, completely dense to the truth of his own feelings. Then his mind flashed to the two soldiers he befriended through the course of his stay. He recalled playing video games, cooking, and laughing with them. Was that all just for show? Did it mean absolutely nothing to them? As painful as it was to admit it, Tom could see the soldiers pull something like that on him. They work for commie for crying out loud! Did he really expect anything good to come from people associated with him?

And to think Tom once believed that out of all of them, Matt was the easiest to fool. Evidently not.

Emotions running rampant, Tom hunched over and curled himself into a tight ball. He hugged his knees to his chest, trying to hide his face and pretend he wasn't sad, or about to cry. The familiar set of feelings he'd gotten so used to, courses right through him again like jab of electricity.

"Fear. Regret. Helplessness. Despair. ~" The voice surrounded Tom with a resonating echo, giving a name and face to each emotion as it fed off of him. "This is what you spread. If Edd and Matt had never befriended you, they would've never felt any of these emotions so strongly. ~" It continued, casting a bleak shadow over him. The voice paused in contemplation. "Perhaps, Tord wouldn't have changed either, and the three of them could've been happy together. But you took that away from them when you decided to stick around. ~"

Tom listened to the voice with anguish, feeling like he just got kicked repeatedly in the gut. He took deep rhythmic breaths to stop himself from having a major breakdown; his head pounding, and his energy draining fast. Tom slowly untangled himself from his position, and fell back on the bed. He could barely muster up enough strength to grab the Dreamcatcher from his bed stand. It was only thanks to his fear of the dreadful nightmares that awaited him otherwise, that granted him sufficient strength to make the extra effort.

Grabbing the device and putting it into place inside his ear, Tom curled up on his side and waited for his energy to deplete entirely. Even the simple act of thinking has become too much of a struggle. His breathing slowed down, body shutting down, and the haze in his eyes turned foggy with tiredness. Tom released a faint sigh, and progressively drifted off.

His eyes closing, the voice had one last comment to make before he fell asleep.

"Wherever you go, you always bring misfortune with you. ~"

(Meanwhile…)

Despite the beautiful, sunny weather and clear skies that had blessed the town, a chilly breeze blew through the trees, rattling the branches and sending a few more dead leaves to whirl through the air. Dusk light filled the sky, and one spot on the horizon was flushed with pink and gold, showing where the sun was setting.

Watching the pretty scenery, Edd let out a soft sigh; shoulders sagging. He sat on a bench by himself a few feet away from a large pond, with a packet of seeds in his lap to which he uses to occasionally feed the ducks that swam around in the area. He'd been sitting in that exact location practically the whole day, doing nothing but lollygagging, just waiting for time to go by. At this point, he feels like he's become one of those crazy bird ladies with how long he's been sitting there; and rubbing his sore backside, Edd is pretty sure is ass just turned square shape.

Edd's shivers increased as he felt a pricking cold sensation sinking through his skin, and he snuggled deeper into his jacket. He rubbed his hands together against the freezing wind, and let out a breath to warm them further. With night fast approaching, the temperature will be dropping considerably. It's going to be a real hassle to sit out in the cold for much longer.

Stretching his limbs, Edd gathered his belongings and slowly rose to his feet. He threw away the last remnants of seeds into the pond, where the ducks happily gobbled it all down. Edd shoved his hands in his pockets with a tired sigh, and then looked around the park. There weren't many people out and about at this hour. A few couples with their kids, and some old folks strolling around, most likely ready to leave the park as well.

Choosing a random direction, Edd started to walk away, head down and hands in his pockets as the grass crunched beneath his shoes. He pulled out his phone to see four missed calls from Matt, and a few text messages, all of which say relatively the same thing: Where are you? When will you be back home? And the most frequent one, are you okay? Edd rolled his eyes and stuffed his phone away. He knew Matt was only trying to help, but sometimes he wished his ginger friend would realize he needed some time alone to clear things up; and being alone wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Ever since Edd was forced to accept the truth about Tom's passing, Matt has been constantly fussing over him. It was grating on his nerves to say the least.

He checked the time, and was somewhat relieved to learn it was only 6 PM. Edd knows he should be heading home straight away; but he isn't quite ready to go back to his apartment yet. He'd been sitting outside in that bench the entire day, trying to avoid his involvement in whatever fate is to be bestowed to Tom's vacant apartment and the rest of his belongings. Edd couldn't bear to witness the end, the true end, of Tom's existence. To stand by and watch whatever traces of Tom were left behind to be wiped away.

He managed to salvage Susan, at the very least. No way would Edd allow Tom's most prized possession to be taken away.

In any case, sooner or later Edd would need to return home. He was bored of sitting outside anyways. He even brought a notepad along with him to draw and pass the time, but Edd had no luck when it came to inspiration. All he could do was mindlessly doodle random things; which oddly enough, resulted in various drawings of pineapples and bowling balls.

Strolling out of the park and heading onto the street, Edd turned right and continued to walk, opting to take the long way home. He knew by now where this path would take him, but he doesn't intend on stopping by Winchester Park this time. Edd had promised he would move on from his grief, and it wouldn't do him good if he kept visiting the grave site every chance he got, so he started to lessen his visits to a minimum.

Edd walked, and kept on walking for a while. The places he walked past all seem like a blurry mess in his vision. Unfocused and unimportant. Edd barely paid his surroundings any mind, keeping his head low and his gaze fixated on the ground in front of him. However, once in a while Edd would break out of his trance-like state whenever he passed by something that stirred fond memories from within him.

A camera for sale that's on display in the window of a shop across the street caught Edd's eye. Instantly he remembered the time when Tom spent all of their savings into purchasing a video camera for them to create a film of their own. The film may not have been all that great in the end, and the camera proved to be more trouble than it's worth, resulting in them returning it; but they had so much fun with the project that it hardly mattered. Edd sighed wistfully. There won't be any more of that now.

As he walked, Edd continued to head down memory lane, both literally and figuratively; unaware that the path he walked was far more familiar then he first realized.

Months may have passed since Tom's passing, but the tightness in Edd's chest hadn't eased. Along with the good, fond memories of the times they spent together on crazy adventures, Edd often recalled the last time he saw Tom. Strong waves of guilt and sorrow would always take hold of him then. Edd couldn't forget how he had failed to save Tom. I feel as if nothing good will ever happen again. He lamented. His heart was so heavy he could barely carry it. Had I known that was the last time I would ever see him, I would've never tried pressuring him into talking. I should've trusted him to confide in us when he was ready.

Deep in thought, Edd had hardly noticed his surroundings have changed as he kept walking through town. Now he realized that he had left the busier side of town behind him and was trekking past a roll of houses in a quaint suburban area with a grass field stretching beyond.

Edd stopped in his tracks at the sight of the familiar neighbourhood. He didn't mean to end up here, but his feet had other plans in mind it seems. Edd's heart started to race. Just a little farther he could glimpse the scorch marks and charred remains of a house that is no longer standing.

Edd contemplated turning back the way he came. It wasn't too late to change his mind and race straight home, make some popcorn, and sit on the couch with Ringo to watch a film or something for the rest of the evening. He avoided coming to this place since the day they left it, and the memory that came from it was still too painful to recall.

However, even with that line of reasoning, his feet were still in motion; albeit at a slow pace. Something was luring him closer to the charred ruins. Morbid curiosity, perhaps?

Edd drew closer to the wreckage. Despite having been a whole year since the robot incident happen, he could pick up traces of the terrible smell of burning lingering in the air. Edd flinched, needing to pause for a moment with his eyes tight shut, as all the memories of that dreadful day came rushing back. He could hear Eduardo's anguished cries as he held onto Jon's body, and almost see Tom's scared face through the smoke as he shot him with a missile.

Forcing himself into motion again, Edd could see that most of the debris from the explosion had been cleared away, probably by the authorities. All that remained were a stretch of earth where the grass had burned away, broken bits and pieces of debris, and a crater where the house used to be.

Even though Tom was buried at Winchester Park, Edd felt closer to him here, the place where they shared so many fun moments together.

Unfortunately, it also carried the terrible reminder of his betrayal; though Edd tried not to think about him right now. Heck, to be completely honest he wasn't even sure if he is even alive. For all Edd knows, he could've perished in the robot crash after Tom shot him down, so Edd really has no idea what became of him. But it's not like he was ever curious enough to find out the answer anyway, even after Matt suggested they should check out the crash site. Edd preferred to keep his fate a mystery.

Edd raised his face to the sky and closed his eyes. It was as though he were drowning; it was hard to breathe. Something that felt as heavy as a stone sat in his chest, where his heart had once been.

I'll still mourn Tom, and I'll never forget him, but my life must go on.

Edd opened his eyes, and looked again at the leftover wreckage of their old home. "Stay safe." He murmured. "Wherever you are now."

As Edd turned away to leave this place, and go back home, a rumbling sound reached his ears. Edd froze, trying to identify the noise and the source of it. It sounded like a low pitched groan. Edd turned around, attempting to pinpoint where it was coming from when a slight movement among the wreckage caught his eye.

"Huh?" Curiosity pricking him, Edd kept his gaze fixated on the spot.

The pieces of debris and charred stone shifted aside, only to reveal a strange man lying among the ruins. Edd gasped in surprise. "What the-?" The question died away on his tongue, and he hurried over to help the stranger. He shuffled and side-stepped through the torn up wood pieces littering the place, watching his step as he reached the man.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Edd inquired worriedly, tugging one the stranger's arms to help him to his feet.

The strange man coughed, and a small cloud of dust and ash manifested around them as the shifting debris settled. "Y-yeah, I'm fine." The man looked up at him. "Thanks for helping."

Adjusting him to his feet, Edd gave him a good look. He didn't look like your average homeless man taking shelter. The stranger is a lithe man, with dishevelled blond hair, a stubble, chiselled jawline, and the greenest shade of eyes Edd's ever seen. The man in question is wearing a long, dark grey overcoat, jeans, grey fingerless gloves, and black shoes.

The stranger yawned, throwing his arms out in a long stretch. "Man, what time is it?" He asks, blinking blearily. His voice is slurred, and laced with what sounds like an Irish accent. He paused, looking at his surroundings. "Wait- Where am I again?"

Edd stared at the man in dismay. "Are you drunk?"

The man turned to face him. "Maybe." He drawled out.

Edd fixed him with a look of suspicion and placed his hands on his waist. "Right. Do you at least remember what happened before blacking out?" He asks, already used to being in this situation. Edd failed to not reminisce helping Tom out of the same predicament, and a pang of hurt stung his chest at the memory.

The stranger shook his head. "Last thing I remember was leaving the bar." He scratched the back of his head. "I thought for sure this was the way back-" He broke off into a coughing fit.

Taking pity on the disorientated and clearly hung-over man, Edd placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Here- I'll help you." He proceeded to sling one of the man's arms around the back of his neck and over his shoulders. He adjusted the man's weight, letting him lean against himself. "Alright, do you remember where you live?"

"I'm staying in a quaint, little hotel. Uh, Harrybrook I think it's called?" He replied sluggishly, his eyebrows furrowed as he wracked his fuzzy brain for details.

"Ah, I know where it is." Edd nudged him forward. "Come on; I'll take you there."

"Thank you."

Together, they left the semi-peaceful neighbourhood behind and made their way back to the busy streets. It was silent between the two of them. Edd threw occasional glances at the man leaning so heavily on him. The familiar action of supporting a half-drunk person with his own body as they walked through the bleak streets had Tom flashing in his mind. Edd recalled fetching his eyeless friend from bars after drinking too much with fondness. He remembered the countless times he had to practically drag Tom home and scold him for his reckless drinking. A sad smile formed on his face at the memory. At the time he'd always been irritated and worried. But now, helping this stranger, as weird as it is, made Edd realize just how much he missed doing this.

"So, you're staying in a hotel uh?" Edd began, unable to stay silent for a moment longer. "I take it you're not from here then?"

The man chuckled. "You got me."

"What are you here for anyway? This town isn't exactly known for its tourism." Edd prompted curiously, a glimmer of humour in his eyes. When was the last time he joked so freely?

"I'm here for business, actually." The stranger replied. "Things are looking up pretty great for my life."

"By getting completely plastered and passing out in a pile of ashes?"

The man paused for a moment, fixing him with a steady gaze. "Are you criticizing my life's choices right now?" His voice was deadpanned, but clearly not offended.

Edd shrugged with a cheeky grin. "Well what else am I meant to say to someone who is supposedly "working"?"

Now it was the stranger's turn to shrug. "Fair enough." He admitted. "But beer is too good to quit. Business or no business."

Edd chuckled, but then his expression turned sombre. "You should really be more careful of how much you drink; especially if you are in a place you are not completely familiarized with." He murmured. "This town is far more than dangerous than it may seem. You never know what can happen to you out here if you aren't in the right state of mind." Tom's death flashed in his head, and Edd had to stop himself from physically flinching.

The stranger scoffed. "Oh c'mon, how bad can this place possibly be? It's not even that big of a city-"

"Just take my word for it." Edd cut him off. He took a deep breath and sighed; exhaustion from the past few days taking a toll on him. "You could be killed when you least expect it."

The stranger eyed him with a mixture of weariness and curiosity. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but one look at Edd told him there wasn't much room for arguing, so he simply settled with: "If you say so." And left it at that. They returned back to silence for a brief while before the stranger laughed unexpectedly. Edd stared at him perplexed. "You know; you went so far to help me, some random drunk stranger, get back to his hotel room and yet we haven't even introduced ourselves!"

Edd realized with a start that the stranger had a point. "Guess you're right." He adjusted the stranger leaning against him. "I'm Edd Gold."

I know. "Fitzroy." The man introduced with a cough. "Reagan Fitzroy."

The sun has long since disappeared from the sky by the time they arrived at the hotel's foyer, and the moon and stars took its place in the pitch black night up above them. Reagan recovered half-way to their destination and insisted on walking the rest of the way; arguing Edd helped him out way too much already. Still, Edd hovered close to him in case he needed assistance again.

They climbed the steps to the main entrance, and the blond man turned to face Edd, breathing out a relieved sigh. "Well, here we are at last." Reagan extended his hand out to shake Edd's. "Thank you so much for the help. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it." He grasped the blond's hand in his own, and was surprised by the firm grip he was met with.

"No, really- I am super grateful for your help." Reagan insisted, his tone of voice deadly serious. "If it hadn't been for you, I might still be buried under all that pile of rubble. Heck, who knows? I might've gotten even more lost, and even mugged!"

Edd shook his head, beginning to feel flustered at Reagan's intense gratitude towards him. "It's fine, just, be more careful in the future okay?" He pulled his hand back and turned away to leave. "See you around!" He threw a little wave.

"Wait, Edd!" Reagan called out, halting Edd in his tracks. The brunet faced him with a raised eyebrow and a quizzical expression. Reagan shuffled in his feet, as if hesitant to continue. "I was wondering . . ." He paused, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"What?" Edd asked.

"Well, I've been thinking about what you said. How wandering around at night can get you killed if you ain't careful." Reagan replied. "I don't know this town all that well, so that got me thinking- Could you possibly be my guide during my stay?"

Edd was so surprised by the blond's unexpected suggestion, he couldn't speak.

Reagan went on. "I admit I've had trouble finding my way around ever since i got here. I won't stay in town for very long, and I could even pay for your troubles. If you could, I'd be eternally grateful for your kindness."

It was strange, but Edd felt an odd connection to this newcomer. Reagan had been found lost and alone in the place where his home once was. The same location that once held so many joyous memories, but now serves as a painful reminder of what was lost in that one, fateful day. His betrayal had put a bigger dent on Edd's relationship with his friends than he cared to admit. Things were shaky between the trio after that day, and Tom's death only worsened the condition. Perhaps, if Edd had been a better friend, both Tom and Tord could still be here with him today.

A sudden compulsion to help pricked every hair on his skin. Somehow, Edd thought, it would be like second chance at helping Tom, and this time, he could succeed.

"Alright, I'll do it." Edd said decisively, giving a curt nod.

Reagan perked up with a bright smile. "You will?" When Edd confirmed with another nod, his eyes blazed with glee. "Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You won't regret this, I promise! I will make this worth your while!"

Watching the ecstatic Irishman practically jump up and down in front of him, Edd had to stifle back the laugh of amusement that bubbled inside of him. Afterwards, they handed each other's contacts and went along their separate ways.

As Edd walked down the street and made his way back to his apartment, he reflected on the events that just took place. He felt good about his decision of helping Reagan. He felt better than he had in a long time. The short time he spent aiding Reagan made Edd realize just how reclusive he has become as of late. He doesn't remember the last time he genuinely laughed, or felt happy with anything. Sometimes he would smile or chuckle, but it has always been rather forced in an attempt to fool Matt into thinking he was fine. But what he felt back there was real.

Hanging out with someone other than Matt for a change might lead him toward the path of recovery. Edd felt a prickle of doubt and guilt nag at him at the idea. Matt is a good friend, and he is doing his best to console and support him; however, Edd can't deny that the ginger wasn't the best at subtlety. Matt tries to pretend things are alright when they really aren't, and when he senses Edd's overall mood, he tends to become overly "mother hen-ish". Most days Edd can handle, but other times, when he didn't feel particularly well with life, that kind of behaviour got under his skin.

Nearing his home, Edd braced himself for the earful he will undoubtedly hear from Matt; wondering where he'd been all this time, why he hadn't answered his text messages, and will probably try to lecture him in some way. But for once, Edd threw any worries he had out the window. His encounter with Reagan was invigorating in a way, and he wasn't about to let Matt dampen his mood. He shouldn't feel guilty about this! He is finally moving on!

After bidding goodbye to one another, Reagan remained on the steps of the foyer and watched Edd's retreating form fade in the distance. The friendly smile on his face slowly shifted into a sly grin. "So gullible." He chuckles under his breath.

It greatly amuses Reagan to no end how people can be so easily fooled by a pitiful individual in need; even if they are a complete stranger. No one would suspect a lost, semi-drunk outsider of having any ulterior motives. Admittedly, Reagan hadn't intended to make contact with his target this soon. It was by complete coincidence that he passed out in that wreckage after a night out drinking, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Reagan would take the opportunity presented and make the most of it.

Second step of the mission is completed- First interaction has been made. Reagan thought with satisfaction, taking out a notepad from his pocket and making a tick on it. Now it's time for the third step- Fully integrate myself into target's life.

Chapter Text

Matt narrowed his eyes as he glanced out the window. The days are getting shorter. He observed, taking note of the sun's position in the sky. And the nights are getting colder. Soon winter will be here. It was hard to believe that it's been exactly eight months since Tom's untimely demise. He never would've thought he and Edd would be able to cope with the pain they had felt back then; but they are moving on. Slowly, but surely.

"Matt? You alright in there?"

The sound of Edd's voice coming from his living room snapped Matt out of his thoughts. He opened the microwave and pulled the freshly-made bag of popcorn out. "Coming!" Reaching toward the cupboard, Matt poured the salty treat goodness into a bowl. Before leaving, he stopped by the fridge and grabbed a can of coke. He bought a boxful the day before and left it in his freezer just on the occasion Edd would come over to his place. This will surely keep Edd in a cheerful mood.

"Have you picked a movie yet?" Matt asks, stepping out of his kitchen and into the living room. When he didn't get an immediate response, his gaze landed on his friend; who is currently sitting on the magenta couch with his legs crossed. He'd invited the brunet over to his apartment in hopes of rekindling their shaken friendship with a casual movie night. Edd was fumbling around with his phone, staring at the screen intently and a little coy smile on his face.

"Edd?"

The brunet looked up startled, almost as if Matt had caught him doing something wrong. "Wha- what?"

Matt jumped back started, careful not to let any of the bowl's contents spill over. "Whoa easy there!" He laughed, albeit a little uneasily. "I asked if you picked out a film?"

Blinking rapidly, Edd shook his head. "No- sorry. You were taking some time, and I guess I got distracted." He rubbed the back of his head apologetically. Matt didn't miss the way the brunet's eyes flicked briefly to his phone screen.

"It's fine." Matt shrugged it off. "What you doing anyway? Are you talking to someone?" He tried to peer closer to get a good look at the phone, but Edd swiveled out of his range of sight.

"It's nothing." Edd replied briskly. He must've realized how odd his reaction was, and immediately relaxed and added with a sigh. "It's just some prompt requests and offers. Nothing tremendously exciting."

"Oh right, yeah…" Matt chuckled half-heartedly, trying to lighten up the mood again. He sat down next to Edd on the couch, setting the bowl of popcorn between them. "How's the- how is the art coming along?"

Breathing an exasperated sigh, Edd stuffed his phone away and leaned back on the sofa. "Not very good." He admitted. "I haven't been able to draw anything worthwhile for some time now. I just can't find any motivation to do so."

Matt patted him on the back and offered his friend the coke. "Ah cheer up! Maybe all you need is something to relax over and refresh your head." He reassured. "A good movie afternoon with some snacks will surely do the trick!"

Edd regarded his words and smiled. "Guess you're right."

"Of course I am!" Matt laughed. "Just you wait, you'll be back to drawing in no time." He clasped his hands and rubbed them together eagerly. "Now; what are we waiting for? Let's get this show on the road!"

He handed Edd the remote control for the TV. They started flicking through the various movies available, searching for something they'll both enjoy.

"We've watched plenty of horror films in the past. How about an animated one for a change?"

"Sounds good to me!" Matt agreed enthusiastically, grabbing a handful of popcorn and stuffing it all into his mouth.

They navigated through the large selection of movies displayed on-screen, occasionally expressing their thoughts to each other whenever they pause by a possible choice before moving on with their search. Being a lover of all things animated, Edd isn't picky when it comes to animation. He has some preferences, sure; but he isn't about to turn up his nose if a particular style doesn't appeal to him. He likes cheap, crappy horror movies for Christ sakes, his taste isn't exactly refined!

After nearly half an hour of browsing and discussion, they eventually settled with a stop-motion flick. It was on Edd's watch list since it first came out, though he never got around on actually watching it, and Matt was a sucker for the awkward movement and, in the ginger's opinion, "cutesy" animation. So they shrugged their shoulders, decided "why not?" and selected it for their afternoon movie section.

Edd pressed play, sat back, and took a sip of his cola as the logos came on screen.

After what he's been through lately, watching a film with Matt of all things really never crossed his mind. Probably because it seemed so mundane and… out of the norm from how he usually spent his days. Moping around, and doing nothing particularly exciting with his time until night fall. Mostly because all his attempts of performing tasks that usually brought some sort of emotion out of him, whether it be a positive or negative one, was replaced with empty numbness despite Edd's best efforts to cope.

They duo sat there, watching the movie play out in silence, save for the occasional comment here and there and the sound of munching popcorn.

About twenty minutes into the film, when the main character was attempting to converse with their dead relative for guidance before being chased down by evil ninja-witches, and Edd's attention was fixated on the screen with interest; loud noises could be heard coming from right outside of the apartment. Although obnoxious and kind of distracting, Edd didn't pay them much mind.

Just lousy neighbors. He figured dismissively, eating more popcorn. They'll leave soon enough.

However, the sounds hadn't eased- quite the opposite happened, in fact. The noises coming from the hallway outside only grew louder in frequency, followed by voices that weren't even trying to keep their tone down.

Edd shifted in his seat with clear discomfort. He debated with himself whether he should go out there and outright tell them to be quiet, or try his best to ignore and pay attention to the film. He shot a questioning glance at Matt, wondering what he preferred but the ginger didn't turn to look at him as he raised the volume of the TV to its highest setting.

Upon closer look, Matt seems uncharacteristically stiff and rigid for some reason.

Edd brushed his doubts away, and turned his attention back to the screen. He tried his best to focus on the movie but every time he felt even slightly immersed in the story and characters, his mind would drift away back to the noises. A familiar tingle of dread made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but Edd couldn't tell why. Something in particular about the voices outside set this feeling off in him, however he could not put a finger on it for the life of him.

The loud bumps and knocks that accompanied them didn't help matters.

Growing increasingly restless, and unable to keep his curiosity down and neither the alarm bells ringing in his head; the brunet finally conceded.

"The hell do you think the neighbors are up to out there?" Edd prompted with feign nonchalantness as he took a sip of his beverage.

"Meh, who knows?" Matt shrugged indifferently while grabbing a chunk of popcorn. "Probably nothing exciting."

Edd wasn't satisfied with that answer. He couldn't help the lingering suspicion that Matt might be hiding something from him, and it might be connected to the neighbors out there in the hall.

A tremor coming from his pocket jolted him out of his thoughts. Taking the phone out, Edd read the message.

(RF): So can you make it tonight?

He went to unlock the phone in order to reply when his eyes briefly flickered over the date displayed above the message:

Friday, 6th of July.

There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary for this date. However, something seemed to finally click into place in his head. The loud noises outside. The neighbors who wouldn't stop talking. Matt's stiff posture. It all made sense now.

It's moving day! Edd deduced with a start. The people making so much noise are our new neighbors; and they are moving in to the apartment next door. Tom's apartment. His posture deflated with a pang of sadness when he realized what it meant, but quickly brushed it off. He shouldn't feel sad- he already knew this was happening one way or another, and leaving the apartment vacant to gather dust won't change the fact that Tom is dead. It's best to put it to good use for someone who actually needs a place to live.

Even if it meant-

Edd grimaced at the following thought.

Even if that the person leaving in the mornings to check the mail wasn't his grumpy, eyeless friend; Edd knew this was the best course of action to take.

He breathed out a heavy sigh. Taking a second glance toward his orange-haired friend with this new information in mind, it's no wonder Matt looks so stiff and uncomfortable. He thinks I'll get upset if I figure out what's really going on out there. Edd resisted the impulse to bristle at the insinuation that he may be too emotionally weak to think rationally. He couldn't hold this against Matt. Tom was still kind of a sore topic to touch upon whenever he was mentioned between them, and Matt was just doing what he thought was best in his own anxious way. Edd can't really fault him for that.

A loud bump disrupted his thoughts. Edd shifted his focus to the noises coming from the hallway, trying to hear what they were saying. Funny enough, the voices stirred an itch of familiarity within him; though he couldn't quite place it. He's definitely sure he heard these voices before… but where?

Edd shook his head. He wasn't getting anywhere with this, and he is fairly sure he lost some pivotal plot points from the movie. "Alright, that's it." He jumped to his feet.

Matt looked up at him, startled. "Where you're going?" He asks worriedly through a mouthful of popcorn.

"I'm going to tell our neighbors to pipe down. They are making too much noise, and I can barely hear what's going on in the film." The brunet crossed the short distance between the couch and the door.

"Wait, Edd! It's fine- really!" Matt cried out, scrambling from his seat to try and reach out for him. "I- I don't wan- I don't really mind the noise all that much. I can try to-"

"Matt!" Edd abruptly cut him off, an edge of impatience in his voice.

The ginger instantly clamped his mouth shut, and fixed his worried blue gaze on his friend. Realizing he sounded harsher than he'd intended, Edd shot him an apologetic glance over his shoulder; his posture sagging as he released a tired sigh.

"It's fine, Matt." He tried again, this time with a much softer tone. "I mean it, really. I know what's going on and you don't need to hide it from me anymore. It's okay!" Matt ducked his head down in shame, his gaze downcast. When he lifted his eyes again, Edd was surprised to see sorrow and guilt brimming in his friend's stare. It honestly unnerved him in a way. What's the big deal?

Figuring Matt was just upset he got caught trying to keep things from him; Edd shrugged it off as him simply being overly emotional.

"I know things haven't been exactly the same between us since… you know. But you don't have to keep every little thing that has to do with Tom a secret from me." Edd continued uneasily. "I know you mean well, but I am not unstable. We've discussed about renting out Tom's apartment, and I might've been upset at first, but we both agreed it was the best course of action to take." He grabbed the door handle as he spoke.

Matt's eyes widened. "Wait, Edd-!"

"Calm down, it's fine." The brunet opened the door just a crack. "I'm just going to tell the neighbors to quiet down a little, nothing worth so much drama. Maybe greet them into the complex while I'm at it."

"That's not what I-"

"I won't lash out at them over this. You worry too much, I'm telling you it's fine!" Edd insisted. He opened the door before Matt could make another protest, and he peered out into the hall.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I know you guys are new but could you please keep the noise down a bit? We're trying to watch a movie and-"

He froze. His words instantly dying out on his tongue when he saw two men he had never thought he'd see again standing before him; their belongings scattered around the hall whilst in the process of moving to their new apartment.

One of them was leaning back on the door frame of an apartment on the opposite side, sipping on a can of coke- diet coke, Edd noted with vivid disgust; while the other man was half-way through removing their belongings from a crate. They don't appear to have changed much since the last time they've seen each other.

Edd stared at them in disbelief. After all the crazy adventures he'd gone through, he had thought nothing else could shock him, but for a heartbeat he forgot how to breathe.

Staring curiously back at him, both looking perplexed and mildly confused, were none other than Eduardo and Mark.

"Eduardo?"

"Loser-? I mean- Edd?!" Eduardo blinked at him in disbelief. "You live here?"

"Uhhh, yeah?" Edd answered, highly uncomfortable with the situation that he's gotten himself into. Edd isn't exactly sure what their current stances are now. Are they still rivals? Are they… cool now? It's hard to tell after a whole year of not seeing each other. Doesn't help that the last time they crossed paths ended up being a terrible tragedy for both groups. "What- what are you doing here?"

"What's it look like?" Mark retorted, dusting his hands as he settled the crater down. "We're moving in, of course."

Edd's blood ran cold, and he gulped apprehensively. What did he expect? There is literally no other reason why they would be here now, today of all days, with their stuff all over the place. After a second to recompose himself he prompted. "You- you two are sharing the flat together?"

"What? No. There isn't enough space for the two of us in one apartment." Mark clarified, surprising Edd with his assertiveness.

In the past, Eduardo had always been the more vocal one of the group. But now the dark haired brunet was just standing in silence with his favorite beverage in hand, his face giving nothing away.

"Eduardo's taking the vacant apartment adjacent to yours, while I'll be living in the one across from his. Simple as that."

Though he'd already guessed, hearing his suspicions being confirmed out loud only made his blood run cold with dread; chilling him to the core. Out of everyone in this town looking for a place to live, Edd internally winced. Why did it have to be Eduardo of all people to move in Tom's apartment?

Sensing anguish welling up fast inside his chest, Edd decided it was best to end this interaction immediately. It's bad enough running into them when he wasn't even sure what their relationship is; he doesn't need the humiliation of showing vulnerability in front of them on top of that.

"That's, uh, great I guess." He choked out stiffly; attempting to clear his throat to mask the uneasiness that he felt. "I'll be heading back inside now. Sorry for interrupting."

He was half-way behind the door when Eduardo called to him.

"Wait, Edd."

Edd stopped, but didn't step out again. Instead he merely peeked from the remaining gap of the door, his heart growing colder by the second. He could hardly stand to look at the other man. He's always so cocky and arrogant and pleased with himself. . . . He recalled with nagging frustration.

Then Edd realized that he seemed different now from how he had been before the incident. He hasn't made a single snarky remark to me… yet.

"We heard what happened to your friend." Eduardo murmured, seeming uncertain of his own actions. It was weird to see the usually brash and arrogant man be so hesitant and act sympathetic. But he held a look of genuine sadness in his eyes. Edd grit his teeth at the indirect mention of Tom. You weren't supposed to know about that! "I'm sorry."

Edd stared at him, unsure how to respond. He tried to choke out a "Thank you" because he knew that was what he was supposed to say. But his throat felt as if it was full of ash, and his grief rose until he felt it might burst out of him.

Still, he kept his emotions in check. His eyes blurred with sadness, Edd only gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement and headed back inside.

The door clicked shut behind him and his strength vanished, leaving only a familiar numbness that he'd grown so accustomed to the past days. Edd's shoulder's sagged and his gaze was downcast.

"Edd?"

He looked up at the sound of his name. Matt was still sitting on the couch, movie paused, his knees hugged to his chest with his face half-hidden as he stared at Edd with wide dismayed eyes. "Are you okay?"

Edd's mind was whirling. He couldn't think beyond this moment; he only suspected his best friend's involvement in the situation. He narrowed his eyes. "Did you know?"

Matt let out a long sigh, closing his eyes briefly as if he had to nerve himself for what he was about to say. Then he faced Edd again.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but there was never a right time." His blue eyes were seared with guilt.

In other words; you were afraid to make me upset. Edd couldn't keep the bitterness out of his thoughts. Although he appreciates the sentiment, he would've appreciated more if he'd been warned ahead of time to better handle the situation. Doesn't Matt know by now that keeping things from me don't make them go away, but make them worse?

Edd took a deep breath. "Why did you tell them?"

"Tell them what?" Matt prompted, clear confusion evident on his features.

"About Tom!" Frustration made Edd hiss through gritted teeth. "Why did you have to tell them what happened?"

"I didn't!" Matt's eyes were genuinely mystified, and Edd realized the ginger was telling the truth; he hadn't revealed Tom's terrible fate to their so called former rivals. "The landlord must've probably mentioned to them or something. I would never say something so personal to those guys! I promise!"

For a moment that lasted a heartbeat or perhaps a full minute, Edd simply stared at him. Tension easing off his shoulders, Edd finally decided to relent and spare Matt from further distress. He looked away and sighed; running a hand through his hair as he went to sit back on the couch.

"Edd?"

"I'm fine, Matt. Just press play on the movie." Edd leaned back with arms crossed over his chest. He kept his gaze on the screen, but could still sense the ginger's gaze on him.

He heard Matt sigh in defeat and the film resumed; though neither of them appeared to be paying any real attention to the rest of it, now that tension was thick in the air between them.

Edd stared at the screen blankly, admittedly enjoying the aesthetic of the animation but never getting quite sucked in to what's going on; when a slight tremor coming from his pocket caught his notice.

Edd pulled out his phone to see another message, realizing with a start he'd forgotten to reply to the message before.

(RF): Eddie?

(RF): Oi! Don't leave me hanging bud!

He began to type back, glad to have something to distract him from the awkward occurrence that he'd just gone through.

(EG): Sorry!

(EG): Got kind of sidetracked…

(EG): But yeah, I can make it!

An instant reply popped on screen.

(RF): Splendid! :D

(RF): Same time and place sounds good to yah?

(EG): Yup

(RF): Great!

(RF): Till then

Edd closed his phone with small grin, feeling moderately better than he did now that he has something to look forward to at the end of the evening.

(Meanwhile…)

Wind swept across bleak and icy mountains, carrying with it flurries of sleet. Dark clouds blocked out the sun entirely from view, casting the landscape in shadows that only subsided for a split-second by the occasional flash of lightning that ripped through the sky.

Patrick stood firmly still amidst the storm, umbrella in hand, as he watched the soldiers work about the runway. His eyes squinted against the heavy rain and the strong, howling winds buffeting both his hair and uniform wildly in the air.

A pair of white lights appeared in the distance, heralding the approach of a helicopter. The steady sound of the rotating blades reached Pat's ears above the clamor of the storm, and before long, the aircraft itself came into view.

He observed in silent anticipation as the helicopter neared the helipad. One of the soldiers stood right in front of it, acting as a marshall, and used the glowing batons in each hand to signal the aircraft forward to land.

The helicopter's door slid open before the craft could even fully touch the ground, and a figure jumped out, seemingly not caring about the horrible weather he exposed himself to. If anything, he appeared to relish the freezing sting of the gale and rain against the injured side of his face.

"Home sweet home." He sighed contently.

"Welcome back, Red Leader."

Patrick greeted him with a courteous dip of his head, extending the umbrella over his leader's head to shelter him from the rainstorm. "It's good to have you back, sir. Hope you had a pleasant flight despite the dreadful weather."

"Indeed." Tord regarded his surroundings with a wistful glance.

After having to travel to four different bases in a matter of months, dealing with the idiocy of some of his soldiers and putting them back in line, Tord had longed to return home and resume his work on more important matters that actually deserve his time and attention.

He raised one hand and flicked his fingers, signaling for the soldiers who had been accompanying in the helicopter to move out. The soldiers exited the aircraft at his silent order, bringing with them a sealed tight crate. It was labeled "confidential" on the side with big letters, and etched in red.

"Should I know what is it that you got there with you, sir?" Patrick inquired, his gaze following the mysterious box with curious intent as the soldiers carried it inside.

"All in good time, Pat." Tord smirked. "Although frustrating at times, my time away has also been very fruitful. I managed to gather information that will prove to be most pivotal for our research."

And that's all he would say in the matter.

Tord headed for the hangar's exit, Patrick following right behind him, walking at a brisk pace. The Red Leader, although acknowledging the presence of his soldiers with a curt nod as they walked past him, barely paid them any mind. He has more pressing affairs to attend to, and he was eager to see his test subject's development up close after being gone for so long.

"So, how's subject #1826 doing?" Tord brought it up as soon as they got into the elevator, and out of earshot from the other Red Army members.

Patrick shot him a side-glance as he pressed the -3 button. "I thought you already knew the answer to that by now. We have been updating his progress all along after all." He said, closing the umbrella and letting it lean on the side of his leg.

"Yes, well, the last update you sent me was nearly a month ago and I want to know all the precise details." The Norsk stated, a hint of impatience edged in his voice. "Did he behave?"

"Yes, sir. He behaved exceptionally well in your absence." Pat replied. "Perhaps you should consider leaving again to keep on Tom's good graces?" He teased, a small smirk forming on his face.

"Oh ha ha! How clever of you!" Tord fake-laughed, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he narrowed his eyes. "Astounds me how you didn't become a comedian instead of working in this dump." He paused, his tone softening. "Still; it's good to know he wasn't being difficult with either of you."

Sighing, he ran one hand through his partially wet bangs. "How is he otherwise?"

Patrick shifted his feet. "His physical condition has improved drastically since we first acquired him. His body mass and weight are back to normal measures, all his injuries have healed, and there is no trace of sickness in him. Truly, he is in the best shape possible and I think you'll be glad with the end result."

"Is Paul putting him through more advanced exercises now that Tom's faring better?"

"Yes; and I believe they are in gym as we speak, sir." Pat continued. "We also altered his diet plan. We are serving him three meals a day, with small lunch breaks in between like fruits or crackers."

"And his mental condition?" Tord pressed.

Pat's gaze drifted away. "I'm not entirely sure. Thomas is very closed off, and it's hard to read him." His shoulders slumped and he leaned back against one of the elevator walls.

Tord blinked at him with surprise. For the first time in a long while, perhaps because he hadn't seen the Polish soldier in months, Pat looked genuinely tired.

"Pat?"

At the sound of his name, the Red Army general immediately composed himself with a tiny shake of his head. "Mentally; the results are still inconclusive. I need to perform a few more sessions to be sure."

Tord regarded him for a moment longer.

"You think he might be ready for the experiments?" He demands. His eyes narrowed.

"Soon; but not yet, sir." Patrick responded, clearing his throat. "Since we don't know much about the serum's nature, we have no way of knowing if it has any correlation to the subject's brain activity." He went on. "If were to start the experiments on Tom with the slightest chance of him being unstable, we have no idea how well that would translate with the serum."

Tord looked at Patrick and solemnly nodded his line of reasoning. "Very well." He conceded.

"Also-" The General added hastily. "The shipment of the purple stuff you ordered from our suppliers arrived last month. I took the liberty to store it in the lab for your use when the time comes."

"Did Tom see it?"

"Negative, sir."

"Good."

The elevator's doors slid open. Patrick stepped out; expecting his leader to do the same, but glancing back over his shoulder the Norsk remained unmoving.

"Aren't you heading for your office?" Pat suggested. "Being gone for so long, I thought you'd be dying to return to your quarters."

"Later. I want to check Thomas' progress for myself first." Tord answered briskly. He was restless to see Tom again, and how much he's changed. "Contact me should you need anything."

"Yes, sir."

They both nodded curtly and the lift's doors closed.

Alone in the elevator now, Tord raised the palm of his robotic hand and placed it over the panel in the wall where a scanner is situated next to the buttons. It is meant to read soldier IDs for clearance reasons. Not everyone is allowed to take the elevator, and some floors are off limits; especially the -5 level, where the serum experiments are being held in.

The scanner read the small screen that his palm displayed, and the confirmation sound rang above him. Tord pressed the button and leaned back as the lift set in motion once again. He was absolutely ecstatic to see the progress his test subject had made.

(Meanwhile…)

Breathless and sweating profusely, Tom sprinted as fast as his tired body would allow. He panted but kept on running despite his body's pleas to stop. His heart was hammering against his chest so hard that Tom felt as if it lodged against the bottom of his throat, and nearly suffocate him. Blood roaring loudly in his ears.

He leaped over the obstacles standing in his path smoothly, regardless of his rapidly decreasing energy. Tom's mouth felt parched, and it was tough to swallow. He was tired, and yearned for a pause to rest; yet the exercise felt rejuvenating to his being.

Using one last surge of strength in him to make it through the end of the lap, Tom pelted for the finish line. He felt eyes following his movements as he did so, and Tom risked a quick side glance to the far right of the tracks where Paul was standing. Although brief, he accidentally made eye contact with the Red Army commander; the latter even giving him an encouraging nod and a flashed a little, friendly smile.

Tom snapped his focus back to running, shaking his head dismissively. The world seemed to slow down despite his speed, and everything turned a shade darker. A sudden weight manifested on his back and coiled around his shoulders, like a snake constricting against its prey. Tom resisted the instinct to flinch when he sensed a cruel pair of sharp hands press up against his jugular.

"Don't be fooled. ~" The voice hissed in his head. "You know they are after only one thing, and that's why they are treating you so decently. ~" It reminded him sternly. "It's all a ruse. Nothing more than an act for you to let your guard down. But now that you are onto them, they'll start to get desperate to regain your trust. You better not forget that! ~"

I won't.

The voice vanished; allowing him the chance to complete the rest of the circuit.

Upon crossing the finish line, Tom skidded to a halt and hunched over to his knees, panting to catch his breath. His forehead was coated with sweat and his face was flushed red with heat.

"44 seconds!" Paul exclaimed, pressing the stop button on his stopwatch. "You are 8 seconds slower than last time; but considering this is your fourth lap today, I say it isn't all that bad."

Tom did not respond. He was too busy catching his breath back to his lungs to properly process the results.

"Think you can do 2 more laps?" Paul prompted, handing him a water bottle.

Tom snatched it out of his hand, still not speaking, and tipped the bottle into his mouth. A little bit more desperate to quench his thirst than he'd intended to, he drank the water clumsily and some of it dribbled down the corners of his lips and dripped off his chin and onto his sweaty shirt.

"Sure." He finally answered, breathless. "Just uh- just give me five minutes or so."

"Still having the lungs of a pug, I see?"

The unexpected, and yet familiar voice made Tom stop mid-swig and choke on the water. Spitting out what remained in his mouth, Tom looked up with wide eyes; thinking perhaps it was just the voice playing another prank on him. But there was no dark haze clouding his vision, and no ghostly limbs holding him. Not to mention the speaker sounded smooth and cool. Sure enough, Tom's fears were confirmed when his gaze landed on the imposing figure standing by the gym's entrance. A coy smirk was plastered on the man's face, hands folded neatly behind his back, and his one visible eye was glinting with what appeared to be a mixture of enthusiasm and interest.

Paul instantly straightened himself and saluted the Norsk as he strolled into the room. Tord acknowledged his commander with a nod as he approached, before turning his attention to Tom. "Hello, old friend."

A wave of dread and resentment spiked through Tom at the sight of the Norwegian man.He narrowed his eyes. "F#ck, you're back already?"

"Thomas! Is that any way to greet your leader?" Tord pretended to gasp, his eye sparkling with amusement.

"You're not my leader, much less my friend." Tom growled.

The Red Leader did not respond to his remark. Tord stepped closer to him, his gaze raking over the Brit with interest. Patrick wasn't kidding when he said Tom made a full physical recovery. The test subject who had arrived in the base underweight, sickly pale, and gaunt all those months ago has made a miraculous improvement.

Tord began to circle him, taking a closer and more detailed look at him.

Tom's skin tone took a healthier hue despite not getting any sunlight, and his frame is no longer frail bone and skin. He wasn't wearing any bandages, and Tord could see that most of the bruises were healed except for a few faint scars. He'd developed a good mass of muscles too; most notably on his arms and torso. His legs and thighs have also grown sturdy and fit from the exercises, and the dark bags that had accentuated his eyeless sockets have disappeared. Despite being a sweaty mess right now, Tom looks generally better than he did since the last time they saw each other. The pictures certainly didn't do him enough justice, and Tord was all the more glad he took his time to see Tom's development for himself.

On his part, Tom was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the lack of personal space between him and the Norsk, and the intense gaze roaming his body didn't make it any better. He kept his attention on Tord as he circled him, making sure to keep the Norwegian man on his line of sight at all times. Tom did not enjoy the way Tord was looking at him, and he found himself glaring at the man pacing around him.

"Not bad. Not bad at all." Tord murmured under his breath, nodding in approval as his gaze wandered Tom's form from top to bottom, and back up again one last time. His gaze eventually settled on Tom's unique black eyes, and he cocked his head to one side with a tiny smirk. "I see the life of a soldier is treating you quite well."

Tom turned to him fully and narrowed his eyes. "Uh, I think you mean the life of a test subject? At least that's the official term from what I've heard?" He pointed toward the number tag on his shirt, as if to prove his point. "Still; can't say the same for you." He gestured to the burned side of the Norsk's face.

"Anyways, where were you before I interrupted?" Tord quickly changed the subject, and switched his attention to Paul; seemingly ignoring Tom's comment altogether.

Prick. Tom fumed irritably, taking another sip of his water bottle. Commie's been here for five minutes, and he is already grating on my nerves.

"I'm having test subject #1826 run laps around the tracks, sir." The Red Army Commander reported, showing him the timer on the stopwatch.

Tord eyed the numbers with a critical eye. "Decent, but I wouldn't go writing home about it." He hummed pensively. "Mind if I stay and watch? It would be a good way to learn where his strengths and weaknesses lie for when I begin his training."

"Training?!"

For the second time that day, Tom spat out his drink. He wiped his face clean with the back of his hand, and shot the two soldiers an incredulous look. "What training? What are you talking about?"

The Red Leader pinched the bridge of his nose with sigh, his lips quirked upward in the form of a small grin. "Oh Tom, you mean to tell me you haven't pieced it together?" He teased. "I know you're dense, but surely you must've suspected something out of the intense exercises we put you through? All of this isn't just for the sake of keeping you fit, you know. If that were the case, I would just have you running on a treadmill with a bottle of Smirnoff hanging on the other end and it would probably work just as well!"

"The hell you talking about?"

"What do you think? You are going to be a soldier, Tom."

Tom froze with shock at his words. He felt as if he'd been hit in the chest by a ten-pound sledge hammer, and was standing there stunned and staring in disbelief at the f#cker who assaulted him. For a second, Tom hoped he just imagined or misheard what Tord said; however, judging by the clear satisfaction on the Norwegian's face it was evident he'd heard correctly.

Anger soon replaced shock, and Tom clenched his fists with a scowl. He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to say. What? Why? F#ck? No? Uh? Knowing he would make a blunder of himself if he attempts to speak, Tom resorted to follow his most basic urge at the moment.

He flung the water bottle at Tord's face.

Foreseeing his moves, the Red Leader effortlessly caught it mid-air before it could strike him. Tord felt Paul shrink back in shock beside him, looking back and forth between him and Tom anxiously; anticipating the situation to escalate any moment now. But Tord was calm- in fact, he was amused by the eyeless man's antics.

He looked at the bottle in his hand, then turned back to Tom. "I'll let it slide, this time." He warned.

His comment seems to stir Tom's fury further, and the Brit marched up to him stiff-legged until they were practically nose to nose. "No. There's absolutely no f#cking way I will ever be another one of your stupid soldiers!"

Tord frowned. "Your future is non-negotiable at this point, Thomas." He pointed out matter-of-factly. "You signed your life over to the Red Army when you took the deal, remember?"

"To be a test subject for your stupid plans. That's it. I didn't know about this garbage when I agreed!" Tom snarled.

"Admittedly, at the time this wasn't part of my plans either. But after giving some thought on the situation, I realized it's the best course of action for you." Tord reasoned coolly. "We can't afford to transport you out in the middle of the battlefield. What's the point of a super-secret weapon if it's impractical? You'll be of much better use in the front lines, where you may shift if we ever need to turn the tides of battle to our favor."

Tom stumbled backward, hardly believing what he was hearing. Being the commie's test subject was bad enough; but now he wants him as a soldier too? Tom shivered in disgust at the thought of being just another one of Tord's stupid, brainless, and obedient pawns. The image of wearing the ridiculous red and blue uniform made him nearly visibly retch.

From the sidelines, Paul stepped closer to them. "Sir, I sincerely urge you to reconsider." He spoke up. "All Red Army members joined by choice, and Thomas should get the same rights as they did."

Tom glanced at him in surprise. He wasn't expecting Paul to jump to his defense against his own leader's judgement. However, Tom was quick to crush any presumption that Paul was doing this out of some resemblance of care he may have for him.

Tord turned to his Commander with narrowed eyes. "I already gave him the choice to join us, and he did so willingly." You forced me into it you prick! Tom bristled at the reminder of the threat put over his friend's lives. "I don't see why I have to give him a second chance if he's already part of our organization anyway."

Paul shook his head, looking troubled. "Pat's not going to like that, sir."

"Then Pat can discuss this with me himself." Tord retorted through gritted teeth, his patience running thin. Paul sighed in defeat, dipping his head toward his leader and stepping away again.

A sudden pressure increased inside Tom's head and his gaze darkened. "Shouldn't you be happy? You're getting promoted from lab mutt to loyal hound! This is the greatest thing you will ever achieve in your miserable existence. Might as well commit to the position. ~" The voice commented ponderingly with a hint of a chuckle, patting his head forcefully. "Or… you should take this as a bigger incentive to go through with your plan. Whichever you prefer. ~" The hand patting his head grabbed a hold of his scalp, sinking nail like claws into his skull and pulling hard. Tom winced. "Vacation is over! Time to start acting, or else! ~" The heavy weight constricting his brain seemed to uncurl and release him, and his vision dimmed back to normal.

"Now then, if there aren't any further arguments perhaps we should resume with your exercises." Tord clasped his hands together, straightening his posture and with his chin raised to assume a more authoritative appearance. His one gray eye gleamed back at Tom mockingly, as if daring him to challenge his power.

Tom glanced back at him, muscles still stiff with outrage- or maybe it's just from all the exercises he's done so far. He wanted to argue. He wanted to keep on defying him for every little thing, and throw insults at the commie's face. But what's the point of any of it anymore? Not give Tord the satisfaction of obeying him? You would think with the constant desire to die floating around in his head, he would have gotten better on his priorities, but evidently not. Tom's rivalry with Tord is not something easily brushed over no matter what circumstances they're in.

Mustering all his self-control, Tom simply sighed and nodded briskly. "Fine." He begrudgingly relented.

Catching Tom's gaze, Paul cleared his throat and nodded solemnly. "Two laps."

Tom took a deep breath and walked over to the starting point, well-aware of the Norsk's gaze following him. He took position; standing with his feet about shoulder-width apart with his right leg just behind the starting line- and waited for Paul to give the signal.

From the corner of his vision, Tom could see Tord standing off to the side of the tracks next to Paul. Tom elected to ignore his presence, and pretend he wasn't currently in the same room as him; or that he was standing in such a close proximity of the Norwegian man. He caught a glimpse of Tord's robotic arm and remembering what happened the last time he'd been present on his physical evaluation, Tom stared at the device intently- silently urging it to glitch again to get Tord out of the room. It's times such as these Tom wished he'd been given psychic powers along with the rest of his gifts.

"And… go!"

At the signal, Tom pelted away at once as Paul pressed start on his stopwatch. Tord watched Tom race through the tracks, his gaze pinned on the eyeless man as he leaped over the obstacles at a decent speed.

Not taking his eyes off the test subject, Tord addressed his Commander. "Anything unusual happened while I was gone?"

"Unusual, sir?" Paul echoed, raising one eye-brow in confusion.

"With him." Tord nodded in Tom's general direction. "Has he demonstrated any odd behavior changes as of late?"

Paul shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary, sir."

Tord pursed his lips, unsatisfied. "Any more fainting episodes?"

"Negative, sir. Ever since his withdrawal subsided, Thomas hasn't displayed any signs of fatigue or illness." The Commander fidgeted. "Although he does get sluggish from time to time, and he often complains about headaches."

Tord hummed thoughtfully, his hand trailing over the designs of his prosthetic one continuously. "And what are you giving him? Pat mentioned you changed his diet according to the improvement of his condition."

"Normal meals. Mostly what the mess hall serves for the day, with the exception of red meat."

The additional information caught the Red Leader's interest, drawing his attention away from the tracks to look at the man beside him intently. "No red meat? Why is that?"

"Tom made his distaste abundantly clear when we served it to him the first time." Paul admitted. "After that, he insisted on only fish and chicken."

Interesting bit of trivia. Tord narrowed his eyes. He was brought out of his thoughts when Tom raced past them, panting profusely as he crossed over the finish line. His face was flushed red with the heat of the exercise, and his pacing was slow, if a little sloppy.

As soon as he reached the end, Tom collapsed to the floor; chest heaving as he fought to catch back his breath.

Tord looked over to Paul.

"50 seconds- slightly slower than last time." He states, showing him the timer on his stopwatch.

Tord frowned. His stamina leaves a lot to be desired. He thought exasperatedly. Then his aggravation gave way to determination. But I know he can run much better than this!

Fortunately, Tord knows just what exactly he needs to bring out the best of the eyeless man.

He walked up to where Tom was splayed on the floor, still panting. Tord loomed over him with his arms folded behind his back and nudged the test subject's body with one foot. "Get up."

Tom looked up at him. "Yeah yeah- just uh- just give me a second."

"It's already been a second." Tord stated firmly. "C'mon. The sooner you are done with this, the faster you can take a shower. You smell awful."

At the insult, Tom's gaze drifted from the ceiling to glare at the Norwegian man towering over him. Wincing at the effort in his tired limbs, Tom heaved himself to his feet. "Fine. Let's get this over with." He spat.

The Brit walked back to the starting point and readied himself into position. He still occasionally swayed from side to side, having not fully recovered yet; however, he patiently waited for Paul to give him the signal.

Watching him intently, Tord managed to suppress the grin the threatened to form on his face as he played his plan over again in his head. Let him have a head start.

"And… go!"

Tom rushed away immediately. He pushed himself forward despite the constant protests of his body for him to stop and rest, but he'll only be able to do so after he's done with the dumb exercises. Tom's chest tightened with the lack of breath, and he felt his lungs practically screaming. The world seemed to close around him, but he pushed onward, his vision narrowed to a tunnel, fixed only on the tracks.

Suddenly, the sound of thrumming and fast footsteps catching up to him reached his ears. Before Tom could fully process it, Tord appeared right next him; matching his pace effortlessly. Tom looked at him in bewilderment.

"What the f-?!"

"Why so shocked, Jehovah?" Tord taunted knowingly. "At the rate that you're running, even a crippled turtle would outrun you."

Tom scowled. "Give me a break, you stupid commie! This is my sixth lap today to your first – cut me some slack, will you?"

Tord smirked. "Grouchy much?"

They jumped over the obstacles standing in their way together, with Tord taking the lead by a few inches ahead of Tom. However, despite his lazy speed it was clear the Norsk was only pacing himself to stay in step with the tired test subject. He can ditch him any time he wants but opted not to yet just to aggravate the Brit further.

While Tord leaped over the barriers in his way with smooth precision, Tom was clumsy in his lack of energy and his foot accidentally caught the upper-edge of the obstacle; slowing him down as he staggered forward and knocked the barrier to the ground. He quickly put his hands out in front of him to prevent himself from face-planting the floor.

"Classic stupid Tom! ~" Tord laughed, leaving him behind as he raced on ahead. "Watch your step, or you're just going to keep eating dust."

Fuming with anger, Tom hared after Tord as fast as he could. No way he was gonna let the commie get the best of him.

"Take it easy!" Paul called after him. "It's not a race, remember?"

Tell that to Tord! Tom raced harder.

"C'mon Thomas, don't be like that. Second best is nothing to be ashamed of!" He heard Tord laugh way up ahead.

His lungs ached. A cramp stabbed his ribs. Tord was already halfway back. At this rate, the Norsk would be able to lap him by the time he reached the finish line. How can he run that fast? He's a smoker! Tom thought incredulously. He forced himself to keep going. The floor flashed beneath him as he fought for each breath. Tord stopped running and stood next to Paul by the end of the tacks to watch him. Dragging in another breath, he hurtled the last few meters and skidded to a halt beside them.

"I- I did it! Ha ha…" Tom cheered pathetically, throwing his arms up but giving up half-way to let them rest by his sides. "In your… face!" He pointed at Tord, jabbing him on his chest weakly.

"The best soldier is the one who's still fighting at the end of the battle. Don't use up all your strength in the first fight." Tord advised coolly.

Tom frowned. "Whatever; just give me the damn water bottle."

Deciding he had enough fun tormenting the poor Brit for today, Tord obliged to his request and tossed the bottle over to him. He turned to Paul. "How was the time this lap?"

"42 seconds! He did much better this time around." Paul exclaimed.

Of course he did. Tord thought smugly. Tom would never let me best him without trying. All he needed was a little motivation. And though it was not his intent, he actually had a lot of fun racing Tom; even if it was just to nag him into hurrying up. It reminded him of the good old days when they had physical education together as children.

But Tom can still improve. He pushed the childish thoughts aside and shifted back to his leader persona.

"I think Thomas needs a little demonstration on how it should be done." Tord decided. "Paul, will you please do the honors?"

"Yes, sir."

Paul tore away, following the line of the tracks at a steady pace.

Tord beckoned Tom over. "Watch him closely." He ordered as the Brit neared and stood beside him. Upon closer inspection, Tord realized how completely spent and unsteady Tom was on his feet. He placed one hand on the eyeless man's shoulder to steady him. He immediately felt him tense in his grip, and Tom tried to brush him away; however, although his grasp was not firm, it was persistent and kept Tom from nearly falling over.

"See how much space he covers with each step. Watch how he stretches forward each time his feet leave the ground. Speed is vital, but you need to be in control of the speed." Tord murmured.

Tom watched attentively how Paul curved his leg with each stride. The Red Commander was at ease with his movements as he raced through the tracks, and doesn't appear to be the least bit tired by the time he skidded to a halt beside them.

"One last lap. Got your breath back?" Tord asked.

Tom sighed. "Yeah."

"Don't aim for speed." Tord warned. "You need your strength later."

Tom dipped his head and walked over to the starting line. As soon as Paul gave the signal to go he broke into a run, not pushing hard at first but gaining rhythm and speed as he crossed the tracks. He focused on each bound, reaching out with his feet a little farther before they touched the ground. He pushed harder with every stride until he was aware of nothing but the steady thrumming of his feet and the way his breath fell in time with his pace. He was suddenly moving with ease and hardly noticed any shortage of oxygen in his lungs.

"Much better! You got 32 seconds this time around." Tord's voice surprised him. He'd completed the lap of the running track already, so focused that he hadn't seen him. He pulled up, slowing to a halt before turning and strolling back to his side.

"Nice work, Tom." Paul acknowledged him with a dip of his head. "I think we're done for the day. Go ahead and shower."

"Yes!" Tom breathed in relief. "Thank god, I thought I was about to throw up my lungs all over the floor from so much exercise."

Tord rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, Thomas." He flashed him a knowing grin. "You'll get used to them in time."

Merely scoffing in reply, Tom picked up a fresh change of clothes and headed for the restroom in the back of the gym. Tord watched him leave, getting farther away until he entered the bathroom and disappeared from sight.

"So…"

Paul's voice jerked Tord out of his thoughts, and he blinked in confusion. "So?" He echoed.

"Why didn't you tell us you were planning to make Tom a soldier?" Paul crossed his arms, staring at him as he patiently waited for a reasonably good explanation.

Tord sighed. "I had a hunch Tom might've grown attached to the two of you, and vice versa, in my absence. I didn't want to potentially sour this little trust triangle you got going on by having either of you feeding him that information." He admitted. "Tom has a tendency to take things a lot more personally than they're intended to be. He's… interesting that way." He paused, running his organic hand through his locks. "He wouldn't have taken it well had you or Pat told him. It's best to have his anger target someone who already had plenty of experience in the past."

"Hm, and have three people be disappointed in you as opposed to only one – yes, very good planning on your part if I say so myself, sir." Paul muttered somewhat condescendingly. "You could've just ordered us to not tell him, if that were the case!"

"It wouldn't have worked – Tom would've just taken that as a bigger offence." Tord stated coolly. "Anyway, It doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done, and now you know."

Paul tsked, his eyes gleaming in anticipation of trouble ahead. "You're the leader. But Pat ain't gonna like this one bit. You know how he is with keeping vital information from the two of us."

Tord shrugged stubbornly. "Patrick will just have to accept the decision."

"If you insist, sir." Paul frowned. "However, I must remind you that our schedules are kind of in a tight fit. Between dealing with the formal aspects of the base and evaluating Tom's condition twice a week; it will be hard for either of us to find time to oversee Tom's soldier training on top of all that."

"Don't worry, Paul. I already took all of that into consideration when I made my decision." The Norwegian man dismissed his concerns. "Which is why I had my schedule re-organized to fit in time for Tom's training."

Had he been drinking, Paul would've surely spat it out all over the floor by now. "You'll mentor him?" He sputtered, staring at his leader incredulously. "Is that a good idea, sir?"

Tord crossed his arms. "Why shouldn't I?" He asked, feeling annoyance beginning to sour his good humor. "This isn't the first time I personally train soldiers; and Thomas is a special case."

"Because you two don't get along." Retorted Paul matter-of-factly. "Leaving you alone with him is the biggest recipe for disaster I ever heard. Anything goes wrong, and you'll immediately go at each other's throats – you said so yourself! Wouldn't it make more sense to have either Pat or I to mentor him? You know… someone he actually trusts?"

Tord hesitated. There was some truth in what Paul said, but Tord knew that he couldn't give the task to any other person. He had to have Tom under his own guidance to keep a close eye on any signs of the serum affecting his performance, and make sure he stayed loyal to the Red Army. He knew the most logical choice would be to have either of his most trusted soldiers to train him. Yet something made him reluctant to give Tom to either of them. They don't have quite the same extensive knowledge about Tom the way that he does.

"My mind's made up." He stated curtly. "He's part of the Red Army one way or another, so he'll have to get used to my presence eventually. We can't keep delaying that, so might as well cross that bridge as soon as possible."

A curious, and yet somehow teasing hum reached his ears. Tord turned to Paul, blinking in surprise when he noticed the Commander staring at him disbelievingly. He narrowed his eyes in return. "What?"

"Sir… do you still harbor feelings for him after all?"

Tord's mechanical fist immediately clenched. Paul's words have probed a Pandora's box of emotions he'd so carefully locked away and abandoned in the deepest part of his subconscious; buried beneath an endless pile of duties and future plans he would so often lose himself to, in order to feed his ambition and aspirations as an army leader, and thus, keep him blissfully ignorant of their existence.

His mood turning stone cold, Tord was quick to grab a hold of himself before he could be swept back to the contents of that particular box, and fixed Paul with a deadly glare. "No, I don't." He snarled, straightening his posture to a more authoritative attitude. "Tom is nothing more than a test subject, who just so happens to be the key to victory to my conquest for world domination. Other than that, Tom means nothing to me. Are we clear on that fact?"

Paul opened his mouth to reply, when another voice cut in.

"Hey Paul! I think the ventilation system in the bathroom is busted – it's way too hot in there!"

They looked up just in time to see Tom exit the restroom, wearing only pants as he dried the bare upper part of his body with a towel.

Tord's face heat up at the sight of Tom's shirtless form standing several feet in front of him, melting away all remnants of his anger as he stared at him in awe. His one-eyed gaze raked over the eyeless man's features, tracing every detail of his well-built and toned chest. Tord realized with exhilaration that Tom was still wet and coated in water as the tiny specks caught the light and gave his appearance a more radiant look, and the Norsk watched as the eyeless man dried himself slack-jawed in amazement.

"Well, I can certainly see why you're called the Red Leader."

Paul's teasing remark cut through Tord's thoughts and he immediately blinked back to reality. With greater difficulty than he cared to admit, Tord tore his gaze away from the shirtless Brit, and glanced at his Commander who's looking up at him with a smug expression.

Tord froze, feeling panic rise within him. "Was my staring really that obvious?"

"You were practically drooling, sir." Paul replied simply, unable to keep the mirth out of his voice as he gestured toward the moisture coating the Norsk's chin.

Flushing in embarrassment, Tord wiped away the dampness from his chin with the back of his hand. Despair seized Tord, as the terrible realization that Paul had been right dawned on him.

No… no! This cannot be!

What was supposed to be nothing more than a childish crush for Tom – something Tord had taken great lengths to get over and forget about in order to pursuit his goals, has come back to haunt him. The emotions he worked so hard to shoot dead and bury six feet under, have risen from the grave like a strike of lightning through his body.

He risked another glimpse of the eyeless man, mortified at the notion of Tom having seen his slip up and dumbfounded stare. Tord breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed Tom had been too busy drying himself to really pay attention to what they were doing. His stare lingered a couple seconds longer and watched the Brit put on a shirt; all the while despising the familiar fluttering sensation stirring in the pit of his stomach as he admired the sight.

Anger and frustration flared up inside of Tord, quickly squashing down these invasive emotions with an iron fist. I am the Red Leader, and future ruler of the whole world. He reminded himself solemnly. I cannot be distracted by insignificant emotions – they lead to weakness, and I am not weak! He'd already made an exception for Paul and Pat in his life, he can't afford to be soft-hearted now.

"First you want Tom as a test subject, then as a soldier… next step I guess would be to have him as your-"

Tord did not let the Commander finish his sentence. He spun around, looking furious, and Paul instantly regretted his words as he was grabbed by the front of his uniform by the Red Leader.

"This changes nothing." The Norwegian man stated, his voice deadly quiet and yet very clear. "Mark my words; if this ever gets out to anyone other than the two of us, the soldiers will be wondering why we haven't had a taco Friday for the last two years, capiche?"

Paul blinked at him, more bewildered than afraid by his leader's threat. "Yes, sir."

"Uh… am I interrupting something?"

Tord let go of Paul at once, and they quickly composed themselves as they turn to address Tom; who'd been standing there for a while in clear confusion.

"Ah yes! The ventilation system. Right." Tord cleared his throat, straightening himself. "Paul, would you be so kind to have a look at it while I escort Thomas to his quarters?"

"I can walk there by myself, you know." Tom remarked dryly.

"Oh, I am sure that you can!" The Norsk grinned, his voice smooth and condescending. "However, there are some things that I must discuss with you."

Tom groaned in exasperation and appear to roll his non-existent eyes, but remained quiet as he walked past Tord and headed toward the gym's doors. Tord chuckled softly under his breath and followed suit, keeping pace with the huffy test subject.

Paul hadn't uttered a word throughout the exchange, but Tord noticed that his eyes were glowing with amusement as his gaze followed the pair leave. His interaction with Tom was obviously entertaining the Commander greatly. Tord felt a self-conscious prickle ripple through his skin, and he looked away awkwardly; keeping his gaze anywhere else as he exited the gym with Tom.

As soon as the doors slid shut behind him, Tord felt instant relief flood through him.

Together, they trekked through the long corridors of the lab level. Tord appeared to have something on his mind, and Tom grew increasingly impatient.

"Alright." Tom began with a weary sigh. "What's so important that you just had to make me put up with you for longer than I would've liked?"

Stifling the laugh bubbling in his throat, Tord merely regarded the eyeless man walking alongside him intently. Tom already hasn't taken the news of his soldier training very well, so imagine how he'll react when Tord tells him that he's going to be the one in charge of said training? Tord shrugged. No matter what way he goes about it, Tom's anger is inevitable; so he might as well out with it.

"Paul and Patrick have done an excellent work with your improvement thus far. However, as their duties to the army come first, neither of them will be available to aid in your training as a soldier." Tord paused and watched Tom's expression shift slightly as he listened carefully. "So I will be personally in charge of overseeing your training."

He waited for anger to spark in the Brit's dark, empty sockets, and a resentful curse to be spat his way as he was pinned to the nearest wall by the neck. But Tom merely looked at him, took a deep breath and said: "Fine."

Tord turned to him in bewilderment. "Wait… you're okay with this?" He asked, genuinely stupefied by the reaction he got.

Tom shrugged. "What's the point of getting angry over something that's out of my control? Yeah it sucks, but it's not like I can do anything to change it now."

Who are you, and what have you done with Tom? Tord nearly said out loud, but curbed his tongue at the last second. Looking closely at the test subject now, he realized how miserable and defeated Tom appeared to be. Even after he'd taken a shower, Tom remained tired. Tord couldn't help but frown in disappointment. He'd been expecting – anticipating even! – for Tom to revolt like the stubborn little spitfire that he knows and-

Tord slammed the breaks on that train of thought at once. Goddamn it, Paul! Frustration welled up inside of him. Why did he have to say anything? Tord had his emotions and thoughts well under control until he had them pointed out to. Now that he is made aware of their existence one more, Tord is struggling to keep cool and not acknowledge them at any given chance.

Doing his best in disregarding them, Tord jerked out of his thoughts and realized they were standing in front of Tom's quarters.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss and Tom strolled inside, with Tord peering into the room from the entrance. He was surprised to find that Tom's living arrangements have gained a lot more character since the last time he'd been here.

There were shelves attached to the wall opposite the doorway, with a limited selection of books. Tord guessed Pat had lent some to Thomas after the latter complained of boredom, and possibly to reward him for his good behavior as well. There's a simple, cube-shaped, navy blue radio by his nightstand displaying the time and date in neon green numbering; next to a lamp. A stack of blank sheets of paper are kept in one corner of the room, with a few pens scattered around. And glued on the surface of a dart board, hanging on the bathroom door, was a crude drawing of Tord with darts stabbed all over the drawing.

Tord raised one eyebrow in amusement. "I can see you made yourself right at home." He chuckled.

"Yeah yeah, laugh all you want; but I couldn't stand taking naps all the time, and this was the best Paul and Pat could do for me." Tom turned around to face Tord with arms crossed over his chest and sighed tiredly. "When… will we start training?" He hesitantly asked.

"In two weeks, more or less." Tord murmured, making a quick mental revision of his schedule for the next few days. "You don't have to worry about the specifics. I will come for you when the time comes."

It dawned on him then that Tom wasn't worried about missing the training, but rather, dreading it. Idiot. Tord berated himself for his mistake, then followed up with a chain of curses for even caring about it in the first place. Why should the Red Leader care whether or not his test subject is happy with his fate? It's not his fault Tom hadn't seen this coming when he signed his life over to him!

And yet… how come he felt melancholic all of a sudden?

It is then that Tord remembers how much he despises when Tom became curt and unresponsive, no matter how much he'd tease the Brit. Tom is no fun when he's like that. Uh yeah! It's boredom that I'm feeling – no way in hell this could be a sadness of any kind. He tried telling himself that, when an idea sparked inside his head and he grinned. And I know just the thing to get a reaction out of him.

"Ah! I almost forgot. I got something for you." Tord practically purred. He fumbled with the inner pocket of his uniform, looking for something. Tom's eyebrows shot upward in sudden interest, but he eyed the Norsk wearily; as if he were expecting the man in red to pull a dirty trick on him. "You behaved so well while I was away, and you did good today. I think you deserve a reward."

Tom didn't know what he was expecting to get, perhaps a box of dog treats because that's how petty Tord is. However, as soon as the Norwegian man pulled out his prize from his pocket, Tom let out a barely audible gasp as he stared at the familiar teddy bear with the iconic unibrow in place of its of eyes.

"Tomee bear!"

Tord held the plushie out for Tom to take, and it took everything he had to not swipe his childhood bear immediately out of the Commie's grasp. For all he knows, Tord is just setting a trap for him. How did he get this? Tomee bear is back at- Tom looked at his dear plushie for several heartbeats, his expression turning to one of confusion before settling on shock as he slowly pieced the pieces together and looked back up at Tord.

Horror welled up inside of Tom. "You… you went near them?!"

Tord regarded him with a curious gaze and cocked his head to one side. "Define: near."

Horror gave way to fury, and Tom bristled with rage. There was nothing holding him back from attacking Tord right here and now. Tord broke his end of the deal, and Tom doesn't have to obey him anymore.

He was about to launch himself at the Norsk and attack, but Tord had predicted his reaction and pressed a button on his robotic arm. Tom blinked in surprised when his body went rigid against his will, his muscles cramping at once, and found himself unable to move.

"Ah ah ah! Let's not break your streak of good behavior now, Thomas. It would be a shame if I had to take away some of your privileges so soon after my return." Tord tutted.

A muffled growl of frustration rumbled from Tom's throat as he tried in vain to move any of his limbs, but they were all unresponsive and tucked close together against his body.

"Don't bother. It's another feature of the chip we have implanted on your spine, remember? Be thankful I hadn't used a controlled shock this time! Your body is completely paralyzed until I decide to free you again." Tord went on, messing around with the teddy bear in his hands whilst simultaneously mocking Tom, as if to say: I got your precious bear, and you can't do sh#t about it! But Tom was more furious at the notion that the Commie went anywhere near the friends he was trying so hard to keep safe and was now parading freely in front of him without fear of any repercussions.

"Guess I can't really blame you for reacting the way that you did. But to be fair; you never specified the meaning of "near" when we made our deal. So as far as I know, "near" could mean one meter of distance." Tord reasoned with a shrug, stepping closer to Tom's frozen form.

The test subject could do nothing but watch as the Norsk towered over him. He couldn't even shrink back to put some space between the uncomfortable proximity they were in. Tom screamed internally when different types of hands, one made of skin and the other out of metal, cupped the sides of his face. Get off of me! Tom desperately wanted to slap the hands away from him but found himself still as a statue despite his attempts to struggle.

"However, though I know my word doesn't mean much to you, I can assure you I did not interact with them in any way." Tord continued speaking. "I admit, I did see them… but they were a well good ten meters away from where I was, and they had no idea I was there." He paused, his tone softening. "It just so happens that they were visiting your grave at the time."

Tom stopped his futile struggles and listened.

"They wanted to give your precious Tomee bear back to its rightful owner, and so they left it by your tombstone." Tord went on. "Me, watching the entire scene from far away, thought to myself right then: "Hm… It sure would be a pity to leave my test subject's most prized possession to rot here when all Edd and Matt want is to give it back. So why not fulfil their wish?" So I went ahead and took it as soon as they left." He clarified, peering into Tom's unique, dark eyes. "So you see? I haven't infringed our deal at all! Even though you never specified the terms of "near", I did keep my word and never interacted with them. Which means that our deal still stands in full."

Edd and Matt are still safe. Understanding slowly dawned on Tom, and his temper cooled significantly. And they… miss me? He felt touched by the implication. Unfortunately, he couldn't quite appreciate the notion with Tord still holding his face and infringing his personal space like that.

As if he had been reading his thoughts, Tord pulled away from him, and Tom breathed a small sigh of relief. "Now that everything is cleared up, I am going to release you from your paralysis, and you won't attack me." He instructed carefully. "Then you can either accept the gift I so generously fetched for you or refuse it; whichever you prefer. But one wrong move, and you're going to regret it. Am I clear?"

An awkward silence met his words. Tom couldn't speak or nod, so they just stood there until Tord realized that for himself and face palmed. "Uh… make a noise if you understand." Tord repeated.

He heard a low grunt from the eyeless man in response. Satisfied, Tord pressed the same button on his arm and set Tom free from his statue-like state.

"Ah! You f#cker!" Tom cursed loudly as soon as he could move again. Feeling his muscles were stiff, like he'd just been electrocuted, Tom made quick work to check all his limbs were working properly by stretching and gently massaging them.

Tord grinned, happy he managed to bring out the good old Tom he found so endearing to pester.

Endearing?

Fun! Tord corrected his thoughts, growing increasingly frustrated at himself at this point. This is getting ridiculous.

Choosing to ignore his traitorous thoughts for now and deal with them later, Tord offered the odd teddy bear out to Tom again. The eyeless man paused in his ministrations and regarded Tomee bear with a suspicious stare. He looks up at Tord with the same look; as if to ask him "no more tricks?"

Tord nodded encouragingly.

Tom narrowed his eyes but reached for the stuffed bear regardless. As soon as he had his cherished teddy bear out of the Norsk's grasp and into his own, Tom was hit with an immense wave of emotions. Tomee bear had been a gift from his father, and since his death, Tom had taken great lengths to cherish the bear by keeping it close to him at all times. Now that he is stuck in this forsaken base, and will most likely die here as well, Tomee bear now serves as a reminder for his friends too.

Tom hugged the plush tightly to his chest and nuzzled it. He could care less if he was being vulnerable in front of Tord right now. The Commie has no emotional connection to the bear whatsoever, and by god, Tom is not going to be ashamed to cherish the hell out of it even more.

Tord watched the scene with growing fondness and a small smile on his face. Even after all these years… He thought warmly. He still loves that stuffed bear with all his heart. He felt a familiar, but not at all unpleasant tingle in his chest.

"Thanks."

Tord snapped out of his thoughts when Tom spoke to him, albeit reluctantly judging by his low tone of voice. The Norsk flushed in embarrassment. "Oh! Uh y-you're welcome?" He stuttered, and immediately cringed. Today is not going the way that I expected. He recomposed himself and cleared his throat, lifting his chin with an air of authority to him. "Yes- anyway, I have pressing matters to attend to at the moment, so I'll leave you be to your peaceful solitude." He said, recovering from his slip up with what he deemed sufficient grace.

"You do that…" Tom muttered.

Without another word, Tord quickly stepped out of the room and let the door hiss shut behind him. He let out a long sigh of exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it all! Tord cursed, his jaw clenched.

He began to put as much distance between himself and Tom's quarters, quickening his pace in longer strides as he headed for the elevator, whilst continuously chastising himself for being caught off guard by his weak emotions.

"This doesn't change anything." Tord kept telling himself under his breath. "I lived just fine with these emotions before, and that doesn't mean I'll go soft-hearted now. I'll just have to stay as far away from Tom until his training begins; I can easily neglect these feelings again until then." And maybe Paul, just in case. Tord isn't taking any chances. He can't go back to be who he once was – that version of him isn't strong enough to face the future he'd planned ahead. Red Leader, on the other hand, is powerful. To lead his army to glory and achieve his goals, he must be more like the Red Leader he had envisioned, and less like the weak dork that he had vowed he would never be again.

Friendship and love are worthless to me in the long run. Tord reminded himself sternly. There'll come a day when I'll be so powerful, I'll have no need for anyone else. And when that day comes, the world will bow down to me. He smirked wickedly at the thought.

However, his thoughts came to an abrupt stop when he turned the corner only to bump into a very livid looking Patrick. The General's eyes flashed at him.

"What's this Paul tells me?" Pat demanded. "Is it true that you are going to train Tom as a soldier without consulting us first?"

Faen. Tord cursed his luck.

(Meanwhile…)

Rain fell steadily, drumming on the hard pavement that led between unending rows of city blocks. From time to time a car thundered past, its headlights glaring, and people scurried along their merry way to escape the rainstorm.

Wearing the hood over his head and both his hands stuffed in his pockets, Edd looked both ways and hurriedly crossed the street when he deemed safe enough to proceed.

Harsh yellow light angled across him, and he flinched as a car roared around the corner, throwing up a wave of filthy water that reeked of rubbish. Edd let out a startled yelp as the water slopped around his feet and the spray splashed his clothes.

"Argh, great." Edd muttered sarcastically, looking down at his wet clothes.

Despite his current condition, Edd was excited to be out here. When his disastrous evening with Matt didn't go the way they had been expecting to, Edd was looking forward to meeting with Reagan and spend some quality time away from all his problems. He really needed to catch a break.

Barely visible through the clouds, the moon was at its height by the time the Harrybrook hotel came into view. Edd hurried his step, eager to get this night going. He reached the foyer of the hotel and looked around for Reagan but found no signs of him anywhere. Edd frowned. Is he getting ready still?

Pulling his phone out Edd quickly began to type in a text.

(EG): Hey!

(EG): I'm here

(EG): Wh-

"EDDIE!"

A loud voice practically shouted in his ears and a pair of hands came down and clutched his shoulders in a tight, and sudden grip. Edd did not budge or react in any way. He raised one eyebrow, evidently not impressed and looked over his shoulder.

"Hey Reagan." He greeted casually, not fazed by the Irishman's attempts of scaring him.

Reagan frowned. "Wha- ? You didn't get scared?"

Edd shrugged. "Meh. Kind of hard to get scared when you greet me the exact same way every time we go hang out together."

Reagan placed one hand over his own chest, where his heart should be. "Are you calling me predictable?"

The brunet smirked. "Well, I'm not calling you original, so…"

The Irishman let out a fake, exaggerated gasp before narrowing his eyes. "So that's how it is then? Well… I guess this means I just have to try harder from here on out." His mesmerizing green eyes glowed with mirth. "That's quite alright; I am always up for a challenge. But I'm warning you now – you're going to regret it."

Edd laughed. "Ooh! I am terrified!"

A large grin stretched across Reagan's face. "It's sure good to see you, buddy." He chuckled, giving a tap on Edd's shoulder so hearty that it almost pushed the brunet off balance. "What do you say we go to a pub and drink, maybe eat some fries, and do some stupid sh#t together?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Alrighty then!"

Reagan looped his arm around Edd's shoulders, bringing the Brit closer to him as they began to head down the street; jovially laughing along the way.

Following their initial meeting several weeks back, with Edd agreeing to be Reagan's guide for the duration of his cryptic job; they began spending more casual time together. It mostly consists of them goofing about, doing stupid stuff, and Edd showing the Irishman around town.

They walked though the dim, rainy streets for a while, not caring for the bad weather going on around them. Occasionally Edd would stop and point out something about the town to Reagan, going over briefly about the locations they strolled past before carrying on their way.

They came across a bar and decided to settle there. Reagan burst in with vigorous delight, his green eyes bright like a child's in a candy store as he sat in one of the stools at the bar stand. Edd followed suit a little slower. He checked his surroundings wearily, inspecting the other bystanders in the establishment before taking a seat next to Reagan.

Edd's no stranger to bars. He just doesn't go to them very often.

The bartender asked for their orders.

"Beer. Just beer. Any beer. Doesn't matter just as long is it is beer." Reagan told the middle-aged man behind the counter.

The barkeep raised one eyebrow, and then turned to Edd.

"Iced cola for me, please."

Reagan appeared to scoff and throw him an incredulous look as the bartender left to go get their drinks. "Cola? Really?"

"What?" Edd turned to him in confusion.

"Dude, you know that I'm the one paying, right?" The Irishman continued. "You can have anything you want, and you go for cola?"

Edd shrugged. "I am not much of a drinker."

The blonde man tsked. "Aiight, if that's what you are most contented with that's fine by me." He nudged the Brit's elbow with his own and sent a wink his way. "But hey, if you ever change your mind I'll be glad to abide."

Edd opened his mouth to reply when the bartender returned with their drinks in hand. Reagan immediately downed his drink in one swig and slammed the glass back on the table. "Another." He licked his lips clean.

Edd chuckled quietly in amusement. Reagan sure likes his beer. He thought, taking sip of cola. He churned the dark beverage in his glass, his smile faltering. He's a bit like Tom, in a way. His heart twisted with a sudden and terrible ache in his chest.

Thoughts of earlier events that day returned to the front page of his mind, and they soured any semblance of good humor he had. Edd sighed.

"Why the long face, Eddie?" Reagan asked, snapping Edd out of his thoughts. "You look as if you got plenty in your mind."

"You have no idea." The brunet mused bitterly.

"Would you like to share with moi?" Reagan offered, tapping one of his fingers against the marble table in a rhythmic fashion.

Edd bit the inside of his lips unsurely. Although they would tend to tap into heavier subjects once in a while; for the most part, these nightly outings served solely as a good distraction. However, its not like he has anyone else to talk to about these things. Matt is too gullible and dim-witted to comprehend what Edd's main issue is. Reagan is an outsider who could perhaps have a better angle at things.

"Where to even begin?" He breathed out tiredly and rubbed his own face.

Through the gap between his fingers, he saw a glass of beer slide across the counter and stop perfectly in front of him. Edd blinked and glanced at the Irishman sitting by his side. Reagan nodded toward the beverage encouragingly. "Let's start with loosening up a little bit."

Edd raised an eyebrow skeptically. Again; he has had beer before, and although he didn't dislike it was far from being one of his favorites drinks. However, the blond's offer still enticed him. Surely one glass won't harm anyone?

Making his mind up, Edd grabbed the glass determinably and tipped back his head and started to consume the bitter beverage.

"Chug! Chug! Chug!" Reagan chanted beside him, edging him on until Edd drank the entire glass. "Wooo!"

The brunet wiped away the foam from his face with the back of his coat's sleeve, clicking his tongue to taste the remnants of beer in his mouth. Edd sighed. "It's just… some stupid neighbors moved into my building today."

Reagan raised an eyebrow, his attention peaked with interest. "Oh? What kind of neighbors?" He questioned. "The lousy type? Party animals? Junkies? The lewd type?"

A shiver of disgust rippled down Edd's spine at the thought and he cringed. There's no way in hell he is going to keep the imagery in his head for the reminder of the night. He gestured the bartender forward and ordered a beer for himself. Just in case.

"No. It's nothing like that." He explained. "My friends and I used to be neighbors with them before. But we weren't exactly in friendly terms back then."

"Rivals eh? Sounds fun." The Irishman bent forward to listen closely. This information may prove useful, after all.

"Not really." Edd muttered. "But the thing is…" How can he explain this next part without going into much depth? "There was a gas leak in both of our houses and they blew up." He half-lied. He wasn't going to admit the true events of that day to anyone outside of that incident. There were too many risks, and the memory still hurt. "We haven't seen each other since that day, and now that we are neighbors again I have no idea what our current stand is."

"Why would it have changed at all since then?" Reagan narrowed his eyes.

Edd flinched. He took a sip of his cola to calm his nerves, but dread was still eating away at him. Had he known his true nature then, Edd would've never allow him to return. "Because the gas leak was kind of my fault." He gulped. "And one of my neighbors – there were three of them then – died that day because of it."

He waited for a shocked gasp to reach his ears. Instead, Reagan stared steadily back at him and sort of nodded in understanding. "Awkward." He took a sip of his beer.

Edd looked at him in disbelief. "Woah, you are taking this surprisingly well all things considered." He pointed out.

"Meh." Reagan shrugged unimpressed. "Accidents tend to happen all the time. I've kind of grown used to it by now, and so nothing really fazes me anymore."

Truth be told, Reagan knows Edd just lied to his face. The guarded and uncertain tone in the Brit's voice gave him away. Although he was curious to learn what really happened, Reagan wasn't about to push his luck just yet. He needs to establish a stronger bond with his target before he can get to the juicy, tragic bits and use them against him. Though he assumes it has something to do with the charred ruins where he first made contact with the brunet.

Still, he'll let that obvious little lie slide. For now.

"Well, anyway." Reagan went on as normal. "Can't say that I blame you for feeling the way that you do with them back in your life." He grinned inwardly. "What about your friends, what do they think of the situation?"

The reaction he wanted was instantaneous. Although Edd didn't outright flinch, Reagan did feel him tense up next to him, and it took everything he had in him to keep down the Cheshire-grin that threatened to stretch out across his face.

Edd's breath wavered and he tried to steady himself. "Matt knew they were moving in." In Tom's apartment. He did not dare complete the sentence out loud.

"And he didn't even tell you?" Reagan exclaimed, pretending to be shocked.

The Brit mentioned his ginger-haired companion to him before, and from what he heard so far, this Matt fellow wasn't going to be a threat to his goals. But he needed to sever that bond in order to make Edd more susceptible to his manipulation. He doesn't have to break them apart completely; but where was the fun in that?

Reagan shot him a sympathetic glance. "He doesn't sound like much of a friend to me." He observed. "I mean, what kind of friends keep things from each other?"

Edd felt a tinge of defensiveness at the Irishman's words. After all, Reagan doesn't really know Matt.

"He's a great friend." He responded. "But… well, things haven't been the same between us since-" He bit down on his own tongue, holding the words before they could get out.

"Since?" Reagan prompted curiously.

Edd shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Could he really say something so heavy and personal to Reagan? The Irishman has certainly been a great deal of fun over these past few weeks; helping him move from his grief and let him forget his problems. But Edd wasn't quite confident in entrusting Reagan with this information yet.

But I promised I would get over and move on. He recalled. If I can't even say this out loud, am I doing any progress at all?

Edd tensed, his hands clenching into fists. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words seemed stuck in his throat like a hard piece of candy, and were just as difficult to dislodge.

"Before our friend died." He admitted at last, thinking longingly of the time when he, Matt, and Tom went in all kinds of crazy adventures together. The tension in his shoulders relaxed as he let go of the long-held grief.

The blond man's expression fell, and he cast his gaze to the ground. "Oh. I'm… sorry to hear." He murmured sympathetically. "I didn't mean to – I mean, you don't have to-"

"It's fine." Edd cut him off. "It's been a few months since, but I guess neither of us really got over it."

The Irishman was silent for a while, his green eyes staring at the brunet with a calculating gaze; whilst concealing his true face inside. Wonder how he would react if he learned that I'm the one behind his freaky friend's death? He mused with mirth. As fun as the idea would be, Reagan can't let him know that dirty little secret just yet. He needs Edd to join the Red Army first, or he would never get that promotion. Maybe a few years from now, when we're both deep into the global domination schemes, I could tell him. Ha. He'll probably laugh when all is said and done.

Recomposing himself, Reagan cleared his throat to stifle the bout of giggles that bubbled inside of him. "Anyways, about the neighbors…" He continued from where the main topic left off. "I understand how weird this situation is, but do try to play it cool and keep a low profile." Edd turned to him, listening to his advice intently. "I mean, why should you have to feel guilty for what happened? It's not like you intended to kill the poor guy!"

"Of course not!" Edd snapped. Then he paused, his humor deflating as he recalled encounter with Eduardo earlier. "When I crossed paths with them today, they weren't hostile toward me. They were… okay? I guess? But the whole thing just felt weird to me, and I have no idea what it means for our stances with each other."

Reagan contemplated for a second, his lips pursed. "Do you reckon that maybe they know what happened to your friend?" He asked. "And because of that they think you are on equal ground? Like a: "now you know how I felt back then" kind of deal?"

Edd tensed. The Irishman's words filled him with apprehension. Could Reagan be right? Eduardo does seem like the type of person who would find justice in such situation. But surely even Eduardo wouldn't find enjoyment in this? Edd shook the thought away. "I d-don't know." He stammered. "Everything's so confusing at the moment."

Reagan chugged down his third glass of beer. "Don't sweat it, buddy." He gestured toward the untouched beer Edd had ordered a while ago. "Just tip back your head and drink your worries away. You seriously need to relax."

The Brit glanced at his drink then back to his companion. "God, I'm so sorry." A flash of guilt flared up inside of him. "We came out here to have fun and I spoiled the whole evening by rambling about my problems."

He was about to apologize again when a finger came up to his lips and shushed him. "Less talking, and more drinking." Reagan told him playfully stern.

They clinked their drinks together, sat back, and drank their fill of the bitter beverage. By the time he got all of it down, Edd was feeling tipsy and he swayed a little from side to side.

"By the way, you never quite told me what your job actually is." The brunet pointed out, his words slurred.

"I haven't?" Reagan put his elbow on the table and leaned against his hand, looking at the Brit though half-lidded eyes as the alcohol started to take effect. "I am an entertainer. I thought that much was obvious by now."

"Oh! Like a comedian or a magician?" Edd asked, taking a sip of his cola next to balance out the alcohol in his system.

Reagan grinned slyly. "Not that type of entertainment, silly Eddie. I mean that I am a stripper." His smile grew wider as Edd choked and spat out his drink. He burst into a fit of laughter and slammed his hand repeatedly on the counter. "Haha! Oh man, you should've seen the look on your face! Haha!" He wiped away a stray tear from his eyes.

"H-ha- haha yeah." Edd laughed weakly whilst coughing. He could feel his throat burn badly from the intensity of choking on soda. He beat his own chest a couple of times to clear the airways. "G-good one."

Reagan's laughter died away. "But seriously though, I can't tell you what it is." He told the brunet. "I would if it were up to me, but since it is kind of a work policy not to reveal it out in public, I can't."

"Woah, are you a secret agent of some kind?"

"Can't quite answer that either – It goes against the company's policy, remember?" Reagan shrugged and laughed, teasing the Brit further.

They went back to drinking and chatting merrily. Reagan kept urging Edd to drink more and more, making the brunet relax and put down the sealed tight, steel walls he surrounded himself in. The Irishman payed very close attention to Edd's ramblings about his life; especially the part concerning his friends and his fears of losing every single person he ever cared about, and how he won't be able to stand if anything happened to the ginger doofus.

All that vital information Reagan saved away for later reference.

Chapter Text

Sobbing, muffled cries echoed throughout the, otherwise quiet, fuchsia living room.

Despite being alone in the apartment, Matt insisted on crying as quietly as he could. He hugged his knees to his chest, concealing his face as he cried softly. He kept trying to wipe away the tears that continuously brimmed in his eyes and threatened to spill over.

Ever since things have gone oh so horribly wrong for their little group, Matt had always tried to toughen up; be more supportive of his friends and be less of a whiny crybaby.

In a lot of ways, he'd looked up to Tom for that. His eyeless friend had always been so stoic and reserved, rarely displaying any emotion; and despite his reckless drinking habits, Tom had been the voice of reason of the group and always had an idea to get out of any tough situation. Matt wished he could be like him.

But that's just it. He isn't.

Matt was never leader material of the group. He'd usually let Edd or Tom take charge of the situation and he would step back and follow. Though he always wanted to help out, he knew it was easier to let the others handle things because he always messes things up more somehow. Matt had never been good with words, and he was clearly not the brightest out of them. Frankly, he wasn't sure what he's good for anymore. And now that Tom is gone and there's only Edd and him left, he has to step up to the plate and be there for Edd in whatever way he could. Even to the point of putting his own grief aside for Edd's sake.

However, he doesn't seem to be doing a very good job of helping Edd. His best attempts only seem to push the brunet further away.

He had woken up this morning with hope that things could go back to normal, away from the sorrow and regret they both felt these past months. But his heart had sunk when Edd insisted on being alone after Matt had suggested they do something together. Matt hadn't argued then, just wanting his friend to be happy again. But he was saddened that he'd been left all alone, again.

Matt doesn't like to be left on his own with only his thoughts, because it's hard to be strong like Tom when there's nothing to distract him from the overwhelming sadness he felt for everything that's happened. Thoughts of grief always creeped up on him in these moments, and Matt would inevitably break down.

Even the multiple portraits of himself, which used to cheer him up on any occasion, could do nothing for him now but make him feel even more utterly alone.

He misses Tom so much.

Though Tom hadn't always been the most affectionate one in the group, or even that compassionate at times, he did attempt to lend them comfort whenever they needed. Matt wished his friend could come back, even if it's for a brief period, just so he can talk to him properly and maybe ask him for advice on what he should do next; and hug him tightly of course.

He wondered if Tom would have been such a disappointment to Edd if their places had been reversed. Maybe Tom would have known how to make things better.

Matt shoved the thought away. He shouldn't think like that. Edd needs him! If he starts doubting himself, then what hope does he have to help his friend?

Matt wiped his eyes once he realized he was all out of tears to shed. Still sniffling, he headed for the bathroom and washed his face, making brief eye contact with his reflection in the mirror. His puffy red eyes contrasted drastically against his fair complexion, but Matt couldn't bring himself to care about it too much at this point. Though maybe if he did, it would give him a bigger incentive to choke down the urge to cry every time he was left alone.

A sudden and very distinct smell of something burning reached his nose, and Matt instantly panicked as recognition dawned on him. "Oh cr#p!"

His sadness forgotten, he burst out of his bathroom and hurried to the kitchen where the scent is strongest. Matt peered through the glass door of the oven, and saw the batch of cookies he had been preparing this morning were burning. Grabbing his pink mitts, Matt quickly turned the oven off and pulled the crisp, coal-black cookies out.

Matt sighed in relief. "It doesn't look that bad." He analyzed the damage optimistically. "I must've caught it just in time."

Much like leadership, Matt was never one to take charge of the cooking either. It was usually Edd who prepared the meals, and sometimes even Tom would volunteer to make dinner when he was in a good mood. Matt tried to learn and once attempted to make a high-quality, deluxe dinner to treat his friends; but it didn't go over well. Tom and Edd had spent the next few hours throwing up and brushing their teeth constantly. They claimed Matt was a kitchen hazard and prohibited him from doing anything with food ever again, so Matt happily obliged and let others make the meals instead.

Grief threatened to overwhelm him at the memory, and Matt had to turn his head away – fearing if he didn't he would taint the cookies with his tears. Wow Matt, I'm impressed you didn't burn the whole place down. He could practically imagine what Tom would say if he were still here. You're getting better. Who knows? Maybe by next year you could finally make something edible!

Though Tom's words sounded harsh, they really weren't. They were playful despite the deadpanned tone, and Matt would probably laugh in response before offering some to Tom.

The urge to cry at the thought of his dear, grumpy friend he will never get to see again gripped him strongly. Matt felt his heart crack. So much pain. He won't hear Tom's sarcastic voice make remarks toward him, or give Tom surprise hugs when he least expects, or show off his latest trinkets to Tom in hopes of impressing him ever again. Even when Tom acted cold and uncaring, Matt always knew deep down inside Tom was really just a softie who didn't like to display it very often. Matt still remembers the time he got sick over eating too many sweets after going trick-or-treating the day before, and Tom made him stay in bed while Edd prepared a soup for him.

There won't be any of that anymore.

Keeping his breathing under control, Matt managed to push his anguish aside and focus on the present day. He has a very important meeting in a couple of minutes and it is of outmost importance that he makes a good impression on his hosts.

Matt still can't believe he's actually doing this, but hopefully all the awkwardness he'd been feeling for the past couple of days will finally be over after today.

Putting the batch of cookies down on a plate, Matt made one last glance-over in the mirror to make sure his appearance was presentable enough, then grabbed the tray and went out the door.

With slow, hesitant steps he neared the door diagonal from his; heart racing in his chest out of sheer nervousness. He stopped halfway and glanced back to his apartment wistfully, nearly changing his mind but decided to follow through with the idea.

Don't be such a scaredy-cat, Matt! He firmly told himself. Be fearless; be more like Tom!

His gaze flickered over to the apartment door on the right side of his own. Matt had contemplated whether he should inform Edd about this and invite him to come along, but the brunet had made it abundantly clear he wanted to be left alone today. Besides, Matt figured he wouldn't be keen in joining.

Matt took a deep breath as he reached his destination and shifted his feet uncertainly. Here goes nothing. He pressed the doorbell and waited, the building anticipation making his heartbeat drown out all noise from his ears and making him anxious.

Matt nearly jumps out of his skin when the door opened and Mark stepped out to greet him. "Ah it's you. You're here earlier than I expected."

Matt frowned. "You did say I could come whenever I want." He mumbled with a hint of impatience.

Yesterday evening Matt got the surprise of a lifetime when his blond rival knocked on his door and invited him over to have tea the following day. Understandably so, Matt was hostile and suspicious of Mark's intentions at first. But after Mark elaborated, explaining that this was a peace offering between their groups, Matt had relented.

The four of them have been living in the same building for two weeks or so, but Matt was already sick and tired of the uncomfortable feeling that pricked his skin whenever they accidentally stumbled upon each other. He would go out to collect the mail from his mailbox or head out to do some shopping only to bump into one of them, and Matt would immediately retreat back to his apartment out of sheer awkwardness. He had waited for either of them to begin with the harsh taunts, but they never came. Matt would've preferred if they did; at least then he would've finally learned what their current stance is and things didn't have to be so tense around them.

He often wished he could discuss these odd sensations with Edd, but after finding out they were moving in, Edd didn't seem content with talking about any of this. In fact, it seems Edd was distancing from Matt further away with each passing day. And Matt is absolutely clueless as to why.

Matt shoved his thoughts aside and focused on the blond man standing at the door. He held the tray out toward him. "I, uh, made some vanilla cookies." He muttered awkwardly, still expecting this turning out to be just an elaborated prank. "Wasn't sure what type you liked."

Mark eyed the charcoal-crisp cookies critically but did not dare make a comment as he courteously accepted the tray. "Thanks." He stepped aside and opened the door wider. "Well, in any case you're welcome to come on in."

Matt hesitated a heartbeat longer before he fully stepped inside, and he looked around wearily.

He'd never been to their rival's residence before – there was never any need to, given their animosity toward each other in the past. But Matt was kind of shocked to find the high-quality luxury the place held. Rosy punch-pink walls, neatly organized rows of books in an ivory bookcase, pretty paintings decorating the place, a huge vintage triple mirror on one corner, a fancy red, blue, and purple carpet stretched across the living room, and various ornaments and figurines were neatly laid out in various spots.

Matt looked on wide-eyed in amazement. Everything seems so shiny and fancy and – is that a chandelier?! Matt was absolutely speechless.

Mark chuckled at his reaction. "Please, make yourself at home." He quietly shut the door and walked past the stunned ginger toward his kitchen. "Will Edd be joining us?"

His words snapped Matt out of his daze, and the ginger haired man looked away timidly. "No. He… he rather be left alone." He murmured quietly. "So it's only just me, if that's okay."

"Understandable." Mark acknowledged. He grabbed a ceramic jar and proceeded to slide Matt's cookies inside of it before placing the lid back on top. "Eduardo is also taking a bit of a time off, but he'll arrive soon. So for now it's just us."

Matt stepped farther into the strange and yet surprisingly welcoming environment, looking around the place with awe. He always saw Mark as this egotistical and snotty version of himself, and although Matt wasn't outright jealous of his blond counterpart they did have their fair share of clashes to prove whose looks were superior. But now, looking around his rival's flat he realized they were really much alike.

Though, from what he can gather thus far, Mark seems a lot more organized with his belongings than he is.

"Do you have any tea preference?" Mark's question cut though Matt's thoughts.

"N-no. I, uh, I'll drink whatever you have, I don't mind."

"Nonsense!" Mark blew him off, waving a hand casually as if to dismiss his nervous reply. "You are my guest, and I insist you take something that you enjoy the most. Now; what will it be? Green, chamomile, or earl grey?"

Matt blinked in bewilderment. Today is definitely going to be a weird day. "Uh, chamomile sounds nice."

He looked away out of nervousness and his gaze found a tray of cupcakes settled on a coffee table in the middle of the living room. Matt's eyes lit up at the sight and began to near the tray, subconsciously licking his lips as he eyed the frosted treat. The pastel colors and the beautiful swirls taunted him, but Matt held back from taking one.

These could be off-limits for all he knows.

"You can take one if you want, you know."

The gruff sounding voice right behind him made Matt whip around in alarm, only to come face to face with none other than Eduardo. The tall brunet towered over him with an unreadable expression on his face, and Matt shrank back. Mark may have been his rival, but Eduardo is far scarier than the blond – he remembers the intense rivalry between him and Edd vividly, and Matt always held a bit of a fear of him.

After all, he was known to punch things that annoy him in the face. Matt touched his cheek consciously. Though Eduardo hadn't been the offender that time, he wouldn't put it past him.

"Ah Eduardo, so glad you could make it." Mark reappeared from the kitchen, carrying a tea set on a silver tray before carefully setting it down on the table.

In response to his comment, Eduardo scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "Well yeah, of course I would. We planned this whole thing together, after all."

Mark raised one eyebrow. "Then how come I'm the only one getting everything ready?"

"Because that's your specialty and I burn everything I touch."

As they began to bicker, Matt watched them interact with intrigue. They're still kind of scary, but strangely enough they do not behave that much differently from how he and Edd so often did. It was weird to see them now as anything more than bullies.

His fear diminished a little at the comparison, but his anxiousness persevered.

Matt sat down on the cream-colored sofa behind him, trying to calm his nerves when his eyes landed on a pile of magazines stacked next to the cupcakes. He leaned forward to take a closer look, his eyes widening once he spotted the cover of "Beautiful and unaffordable" – by far the best and most expensive brand of beauty tips magazine out there.

With a quiet gasp, Matt quickly reached for it and opened to look at the wondrous contents inside. It's been so long since he last indulged his looks, or even so much as did anything remotely to do with his vanity. He always felt strangely uncomfortable and somewhat selfish to do so with everything that's been happening, and thus Matt started taking less care of himself as a result. But there's no way Matt can deny the opportunity to take a peek at this rare gem.

Whilst the orange-haired man was distracted, Eduardo stepped closer to Mark and grabbed a tea cup for himself."What kind of tea is this?"

"Chamomile."

"Nice." Eduardo nodded in approval. Then his mood changed, and he cleared his throat with a frown. "I, uh, I'm not sure I'll be able to stay here for very long. Some things came up and I really need to check'em out."

Mark paused and looked up at him with a disapproving glare. "You promised you were going to be in your best behavior."

"I know I know; and I'm gonna. But I have to see what that's about." Eduardo insisted.

The blond man narrowed his eyes and sighed. "Fine, I can see there's no use in arguing – you already made your mind up about this." He relented. "Just let me do most of the talking, alright?"

Coming to a mutual agreement, Eduardo helped Mark set the rest of the things down and poured each of them a cup of tea. Matt hastily puts the magazine away as his hosts settled down around him, and graciously accepted the cup of tea from Mark.

"So now that we're all sorted out, I would just like to start off by thanking you for accepting our invitation." Mark began politely. "It really means a whole lot to us that you decided to come."

Matt was taken back. This is all so weird! "Oh! Uh, well… you're welcome?" He stammered and smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head nervously. His eyes accidentally strayed away from his blond lookalike toward Eduardo, who's simply sitting across from him; his facial expression giving nothing away. Matt found his presence thoroughly off-putting, but he did not dare say anything. He sipped his tea to calm down instead. "But uh, if you don't mind me asking… why did you invite us over? After everything we put each other through…"

The two neighbors swapped a meaningful glance with each other. Eduardo steadily stared back at Mark and gave a curt nod. The look made Matt curious. What just flashed between them?

With a small sigh, Mark started to speak again. "You are right to question our motives, given our history of animosity in the past. But a lot has happened since those days of petty rivalry – for both our groups." Matt didn't need to be smart to know what he was referring to. A pang of sadness clenched his heart at the reminder and his grip on the teacup tightened.

"We simply wish to put our past rivalry behind us, make amends, and start anew." Mark went on coolly. "We've… matured a lot since Jon's passing and we don't want to cause trouble anymore. We just want to get on with our lives in peace."

"Yeah, and we're just as uncomfortable about this whole "living together again" deal as you guys are." Eduardo added assertively, though Matt could've sworn he saw him grimace briefly at the mention of Jon. "We don't like this arrangement any more than you do. We don't enjoy the awkward standoffs whenever we bump into each other on the hallway, but it's not like we can afford to move someplace else now. So here we are."

"Cool your temper, Eduardo." Mark advised smoothly and shot his life-long friend a warning glance, jumping in quickly to take over the situation before his companion could get ahead of himself and ruin their attempt at peace. Eduardo looked away and sipped his tea with a simple grunt, but settled down nonetheless. "While it's true we never meant to cross paths with you lot again, it can't be helped now. The only thing that we can do though is settle our differences once and for all and forget about that whole nonsense of being rivals. Otherwise none of us are going to live in this building in peace."

Once he finished speaking, a steady silence filled the room. Matt reflected on their words carefully, his expression still divided somewhere between awe and confusion as he tried to decipher the meaning behind their odd actions. His blue eyes lit up suddenly. "Oh! You mean… you want to be friends?"

The duo sitting before him both choked on their drinks, albeit in different manners.

Mark outright spat out his drink and started coughing convulsively while beating on his own chest. Eduardo, on the other hand, tried hard to keep down his own drink as he shook his head profusely, wide eyed, as he repeatedly muttered: "No. No. No. Nope! Uh-uh. No."

Having caught the duo off-guard, Matt couldn't help but snicker at their flustered expressions. His blue eyes glinted with a mischief he hadn't felt for what seemed like years. Not so scary now, huh?

Recovering from their stupor, Mark quickly recomposed himself and took over the situation once more. "Uh… no. Not necessarily anyway." He coughed. "I think we're good with just peace, thanks."

"Yeah, agreed. Peace. Totally enough."

"So what do you say?" Mark prompted, shifting the topic back to its original focus.

Matt's gaze was intensely thoughtful as he reflected on their words. "I think I speak for both Edd and I when I say… peace between us would surely be a welcomed change." He says at last, looking a little bashful. "But then neither of you will pick on nor harass us ever again?"

He watched Eduardo and Mark swap another meaningful glance, and they nodded to each other curtly.

"Of course! It would be very counter-productive if we went back on our word after arranging all of this." Mark grinned as he sipped his tea. He then gave his companion a long side-glance, as if inviting him to speak next.

Eduardo scowled at him briefly before turning to Matt with a small sigh. "We won't do any of that anymore, we promise." He speaks earnestly and then continued firmly. "But we will not hesitate to respond if either of you provoke us either."

Matt narrowed his eyes in return. Like we ever started anything with you guys! He thinks with indignation. He opens his mouth to retort, but Eduardo abruptly rose to his feet right at that moment and looked at his watch.

"Oh, look how time flies fast! Sorry, I must get going now - gotta head back to work."

Mark rolls his eyes but says nothing as he continues to stir his tea. Matt watched the broad-shouldered man begin to turn away and leave when his eyes caught sight of the cupcake tray again. His eyes glinted with interest much to Matt's amusement. But rather than taking one or two from the tray, Eduardo grabbed the whole platter instead. Matt grinned but resisted the temptation of laughing by biting on his lips.

The task was even harder when Mark suddenly slapped Eduardo's hand away, and the brunet glared at him indignantly.

"Hey!"

"Don't be so greedy, Eduardo! I made those for our guest." Mark admonished, gesturing to the ginger sitting across from him.

"It's not like he's gonna eat all of them!"

"He can have them; I don't mind." Matt tried to speak up between fits of suppressed giggles. They're acting as if they are an old, married couple!

Despite his protest, Mark appeared to not have heard him. "I understand your work is very important, and I have given you a pass for leaving us early; but I don't appreciate your gross and unhealthy habit of eating nothing but sugar for the reminder of the day." Then he paused, and appeared to reconsider his words when a mischievous idea struck him. "But of course… if you really insist you should at least be reasonable and take something else." He smirked. "You'll find a jar in the kitchen with a fresh batch of vanilla cookies. You may take them instead."

Matt shot Mark a questioning look. Mark returned his gaze with a silent message for him to hold his tongue.

Blinking in surprise, Eduardo glanced back toward the kitchen and, sure enough, spotted the cookie jar on the counter. He took a moment to consider for a bit and then shrugged. "Alright, fine by me." He relented, stalking away from them and take the whole jar with him on the way out. Eduardo's glance swept across Matt and Mark, and he gave them a tiny nod of farewell before he left.

"Sorry about that. Eduardo tends to have little to no sense at times." Mark broke the silence. "I know he might appear a bit intimidating, but don't let his size and attitude fool ya. He's just a big ol' softie underneath that tough exterior."

Matt said nothing – simply bent forward to take one of the colorful cupcakes. Should he take his leave now? They have concluded what they had set out to do, but Mark hasn't dismissed him yet. And truth be told; Matt wasn't keen to return to his lonely, sad apartment any time soon. If he does, Matt knows he'll do nothing but wallow in his grief and break down again.

"Anyway," the blond went on, trying to lighten the mood. "Guess it's just us again, huh?"

"Yeah…" Matt took a bite out of the swirly treat and his eyes brightened with delight. It's delicious! It could even rival Edd's cooking. He licked the frosting around his lips and thought carefully. "If you don't mind me asking… where have you guys been this whole time?"

He half expected Mark not to answer. The blond held him motionless for several heartbeats with his penetrating blue gaze. Then Mark relaxed, and his expression was replaced by a distant look of memory and loss.

"After our house was destroyed that fateful day, Eduardo and I didn't have many options. Thankfully, Eduardo's grandmother was kind enough to take us in; even with such short-notice. She could never turn away her beloved grandson, especially after such tragedy." Mark murmured, bending forward to refill his cup with more tea. "The living conditions weren't exactly ideal per say. Small and cramped place, no room for whatever belongings we could salvage from the wreckage, and there were her dogs too."

He shivered with repulsion at the memory of the two large brutes he had to coexist with. Mark had nothing against dogs, but he had a clear preference to cats. They're quiet and drool less. "But it was the best we could do until we found a new place for ourselves."

Listening to the story, Matt realized just how lucky he and Edd were that Tom found a new place to live before everything went down. If it weren't for Tom, they probably would've had to stay with Matt's grandparents; similar to Eduardo and Mark's case. Oh Tom… we owe you so much! He thought with anguish.

"Does it ever get any better?" He asked eventually.

Mark tilted his head in confusion. "What does?"

Matt hesitated before replying, and Mark thought he was looking slightly awkward. His feet shifted uncomfortably, and when he spoke, his voice was a low murmur. "The… the grief, I mean."

For a few heartbeats there was silence. Mark was staring at Matt with an unreadable expression on his face. Matt swallowed nervously and placed the cupcake he had been eating down on the table, his appetite gone. Maybe he overstepped his boundaries too far this time. I'm so stupid! Matt inwardly winced, wanting to smack himself upside his head for his foolishness. If Tom were here, he wouldn't have hesitated to do so for him. Just when we start making peace, I go ahead and ruin it in less than ten minutes

But the blond man didn't appear to be upset. Instead Mark held him with that serious gaze for a moment more and took a deep breath. "I wish I could say that it does. But truth is… it's a lot more complicated than that." He responded solemnly.

Matt blinked at him with surprise. He had not been expecting a genuine answer out of his former rival. Matt gave a little nod, as if the answer satisfied him. In truth he wanted to ask for more advice on how to handle this messed up situation, but refrained from doing so. They only just stopped being rivals; it would be incredibly awkward if he were to keep on probing on such a delicate subject.

Across from him, Mark could right away tell that the ginger had a lot on his mind. He frowned. Both went through the same experiences and are suffering for it. From having their house blown up to losing a close one. Their rivalry may have ended, but it seems to have left a greasy stain on their relationship that will be hard to wash out.

And Mark would be lying if he said that he couldn't see said stain either. After all… why should he care? Even if they aren't enemies anymore, they're just neighbors, right?

(Meanwhile…)

"So Tom, how are you fairing today?"

"Pretty awful." Tom replied quite bluntly, taking a sip of his special juice through the orange straw as he leaned back against the reclining chair.

"You had your first training session with Red Leader this morning, how did it go?" Pat asked, opening a new file on his tablet for today's topic.

Tom uttered a dry scoff. "Why bother asking me that? You were there – you know what happened." Resentment and frustration burned through him.

His soldier training with Tord earlier that day had been a disaster, just like he had predicted. It wasn't physical exercise heavy, and at first Tom thought that was a good thing, until Tord made what was supposed to be a simple lesson on gun handling a f#cking nightmare. Tom had never felt so stupid quite like today; with the way Tord scolded and kept correcting him for the smallest of mistakes made him feel like he couldn't do anything right. Tom was certain the Norwegian man was just being picky for the sake of getting under his skin.

Heck, even after he shot most of the targets square on the bullseye Tord still found a way to nitpick – claiming Tom wasn't trying hard enough otherwise he would've gotten all of them and he was just being a lazy slop like he always is.

Needless to say, Tom had a real hard time controlling his powerful urge to turn the gun on the Commie and shoot him. But alas; it was a paintball gun and wouldn't have done any damage, other than maybe pissing Tord off and getting a few hundred pushups as punishment.

The voice certainly had a great deal of fun picking his confidence apart throughout the training, practically ganging up with Tord against him – which would sap away his energy, making him lousier with his training and resulting in Tord berating him again and the whole process goes full circle.

Tom wished Paul were still in charge of supervising his training. He had never treated him like an idiot. But the two trusty soldiers had a lot of things to deal with around the rest of the base right now, and now Tom is stuck with Tord. Paul and Patrick kept telling him that it was an honor to be trained by the Red Leader himself, but Tom wasn't convinced he was such a great mentor; much less that this situation was in any way a good thing.

Though very busy, Patrick had insisted on attending this first training session – to make sure Tord and Tom could be in the same room without a hitch, and advise his leader with his mentoring skills whenever needed. Tord was admittedly brutal in his teachings. But Pat had to keep in mind that this was an army and that Red Leader was training a soldier. The army is harsh and it's best Tom learns that now; which is why he so rarely intervened when Tord would criticize the eyeless man, even though it was clearly grating on Tom's nerves.

Pat guessed the Brit might hold some resentment toward him after that. "Nonetheless, what are your thoughts?" He pressed, adjusting the reading glasses on his face.

Tom breathed out an irritated sigh. "I'll tell you my thoughts; Tord is an annoying, f#cking, piece of sh-" He followed with a long line of colorful vocabulary, getting increasingly more intense as he went on. A few sessions ago, Patrick had given him permission to cuss out the Red Leader however much his heart desires and Tom has since always abused that privilege when given the opportunity to. "Stupid ass Commie always thinks he is better than everyone else, and he is always so smug and cocky and I just wanna punch his face in every time I see him."

"I see…" Pat typed down a bullet point. "You truly hate him huh?"

"Like there was ever any doubt about that!" Tom crossed his arms and took another sip of his drink with a scowl. "Commie is an awful person and there is nothing else to it."

Patrick nodded in understanding. "Alright Tom, there is a reason why I wanted to have this session with you right after your training." He admitted, watching the eyeless man sitting across from him fume silently while gnawing at the straw of his drink in anger. "Because today we get to dive in to the main source of all your problems."

At that, Tom tensed and stared at the Polish soldier with a mixture of confusion and horror. Source of my problems? He echoed, nervously sipping at his juice. Surely he couldn't have found out my secret? There's just no way! And yet, apprehension made Tom listen with abated breath for Pat's next words; praying with every non-believing fiber of his being that this wasn't the case.

"Let's talk about your relationship with Tord."

Tom heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Oh thank god." Then he realized Pat was looking at him oddly and Tom needed to elaborate so as to not cause suspicion. "I mean, I get to cuss the sh#tty Commie out some more. That's… good."

"Actually, if you don't mind, I would like to talk in depth about your relationship with Red Leader." Patrick went on. "Your history together, how it developed over the years, the source of this rivalry you have toward each other, and hopefully understand why the two of you behave the way that you do now."

Tom emitted a scornful sniff and rolled his empty eyes. "Didn't he fill you in already? Being one of his most trusted soldiers I thought he would've shared his past with you."

"He did." Pat confirmed. "But I would like to hear it from your perspective of things and get a better understanding of where all this hatred originated from."

Even as he was saying this, Pat's mind instantly thought of the recent rise of his leader's conflicting feelings. Paul came to him the other day with a big secret to tell him, but Patrick was somewhat disappointed to hear it was merely about Tord's obvious attraction toward Tom; as if this was supposedly anything new to hear about.

A long time ago, when Pat was only an Officer in the Red army, Tord had opened up to Paul and him about his past. He was a little drunk at the time, which perhaps would explain why he went into such great detail about it. Tord talked about his family, his friends, his hopes and dreams with the army, and specially his major infatuation for Tom.

At the time, Tord had claimed he was over it and would only dedicate himself exclusively to the army and his goals. However, it was clear as day that, despite the attraction growing stale over the years, Tord continues to carry feelings for the eyeless man.

Maybe this was another reason why the Red Leader was so particularly strict with Tom today in training. He wanted to prove his emotions wouldn't get in the way of his duties. Evidently the Norsk has no idea how to deal with these feelings.

Patrick will confront him about it eventually, when his leader's mood is a bit more agreeable for this discussion. "You've known each other for so long; surely you got some good memories with him?"

"I doubt it." Tom muttered, and then emitted a long and loud exasperated groan. "Ugh, where to even start?"

"How about when you first met?" Pat prompted. "From what I gathered, your friends seemed to already know him when you met them for the first time."

Tom frowned. "Yes, they did." He recalled with a hint of wistfulness in his voice. His face furrowed as he wracked his brain for details. "I don't remember much about the way we met – it wasn't as impactful as meeting Edd and Matt."

"Odd, considering the great rivalry between you two today." Patrick noted with narrowed eyes.

"Yeah, well, believe it or not we didn't start out throwing punches at each other." Tom scoffed, his voice edged with annoyance. Even though he was thankful they weren't going to talk about his condition like he'd feared, Tord was still a touchy subject to discuss. All Tom can remember from their past together was how much Tord liked to pick on him and grate on his nerves; how they often clashed in heated arguments and physical fights, and how Tord absolutely hates his guts.

Tom reciprocates the notion.

Thinking hard about his past, he tried to remember the time he met the Norsk. After the finger-painting in the bathroom incident and meeting Edd and Matt, Tom recalled it was weekend after that. His parents had scolded him for getting into trouble in school, but after he gleefully chatted about the new friends he made and just how much fun he had, his parents were merely glad he was unharmed. He had spent the whole weekend anticipating school day to arrive just so he could see his friends again and play more with them.

"Really, it wasn't a big deal when we met." Tom continued, a little quieter this time. "Once the weekend was over I was excited to see Edd and Matt again…"

(Flashback!)

Tom waved his parents goodbye as he rushed toward his school. He greeted his teacher in a hurry and practically tossed his schoolbag into the shelf where his name was tagged. The eyeless boy looked around wildly for his friends through the crowd of playful kids, until he finally spotted them sitting on a small, round plastic table over one corner of the room.

Edd made eye contact with him from across the room, smiled, and waved him over.

Tom weaved his way through the large group of kids surrounding him with an excited skip in his step. However, his glee gave way to nervousness when he realized there was someone else sitting among his friends.

He slowed down as he approached, and looked over the new kid with curiosity.

Sitting between Edd and Matt is a boy with weird, messy caramel-brown hair that almost resembled horns. He is wearing a red hoodie with what appeared to be the face of a robot etched on the front, dark pants and red sneakers. The strange boy was too busy showing a drawing he made to Matt to acknowledge Tom's presence among them, until the ginger nudged him and the boy finally looked up.

Tom froze, feeling shy under the other boy's silver-gray gaze.

"Hey Tom!" Edd piped up enthusiastically.

Matt waved. "Hello!"

The boy in red looked at both his friends in confusion, but remained quiet as he turned his attention back to Tom.

"Oh right!" Edd jumped to his feet when recognition flashed in his head. "Tom, this is Tord – the friend we mentioned, remember? Tord, this is Tom – I told you all about him during the weekend."

Tom waved timidly. "H-hi."

The boy clad in red, Tord as he is called, stared at him for a couple of heartbeats before responding. "Hey." He grunted. And just like that, he resumed work on his drawing; seemingly losing interest on the newcomer.

Tom frowned in dismay. It appears Tord isn't quite as receptive to him as Matt and Edd were.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. "Don't worry." Edd reassured him with a comforting pat. "Tord is very quiet and shy, but he'll warm up to you."

Edd let Tom take his seat, right next to Tord, while he went to grab another chair for himself. Tom fiddled the straps of his overalls nervously as he sat beside the stern-looking boy, occasionally shooting glances in his direction to see what he was doing. Tord barely acknowledged he was even there.

Tom frowned. He hoped this wasn't going to put a damper on his new-found friendships.

"So you didn't like each other then?" Patrick questioned, interrupting the story.

Tom shifted in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. "I wouldn't go quite to that extent." He muttered reluctantly. "We just sort of looked at each other… and didn't think much of it? It's kind like receiving a birthday gift you're not very enthusiastic about – we just didn't know what to make of each other. That's the best way I can put it."

Pat thinned his lips as he thought this over. "So you weren't exactly on bad terms, but not on friendly grounds either."

"Yup."

"And how did that made you feel then?"

The eyeless man did not answer right away. His gaze fell to the floor, his face held an unreadable expression on his face as he continuously tapped one foot. He really doesn't like today's topic.

Tom shrugged stubbornly. "Didn't care much."

"Tom." Pat admonished, seeing through his blatant lie.

Tom winced and cast him a smoldering glare, shifting in his seat; a clear sign of discomfort. "Alright - Fine! I may have been… slightly upset about it." He reluctantly confesses out of frustration. "But only because- I- well- being the shy and naïve kid that I was back then, who rarely interacted with other people and was so nervous about it only to get these amazing friends, I was afraid that- maybe- if I couldn't get Tord to, urgh, like me I couldn't be their friend anymore."

With every word he spoke, Tom felt a bit of his dignity die. This is much too personal and he hated having to talk about this now, to a person he hardly knows is trustworthy enough. However, Tom is well aware that it's futile to even try to lie or give short answers because Patrick seems to tell right away and immediately coax him to tell the truth.

But when you really think about it; what's the harm?

If in fact, Patrick is just gathering Intel to use it against him later on in the experiments, as a tool to manipulate him or something and this whole therapy-play is all a ruse, then Tom should be safe.

A sense of dull calmness instilled on him, and Tom let down his guard. Jokes on them, I'll be dead long before they get the chance to experiment on me. Internally, he laughed bitterly. I won't let them bring it back out. I mustn't!

Although not active right now, Tom was vaguely aware of the voice's presence swimming around his mind; cackling along with him at the idea.

Patrick can learn all he wants about him and his past, he could even tell Commie about it for all he cares, because none of it will matter in the end. Heck, maybe Pat will even see how messed up Tord truly is if Tom opens up about it. Whatever they decide to do with the information he's giving them, it will inevitably amount to nothing once he puts an end to his misery.

So yeah, Tom will play along for now until the time is right. But he won't let them take advantage of him – not if he can help it.

"So what did you do then?" Patrick questioned, jerking Tom out of his dark musings.

"I was friends with Edd and Matt like normal, and we would go on our "little" crazy adventures, even if Tord didn't seem that ecstatic about having me around." Tom explained, a tiny smirk tugging the corners of his mouth, barely visible. "And, well, I was trying to… impress Tord I guess? In hopes of us-"

He paused and took a deep breath, bracing himself for the next words he's about to say.

"Becoming friends."

(Flashback!)

Following the days after his first encounter with Tord, the group of friends stuck together ever since. Doing all sorts of crazy stuff and getting into trouble whenever they could. The teachers even dubbed their little group as: "a storm in the making."

Amidst their everyday activities, however, Tom was struggling in his efforts to properly befriend Tord.

Much like Edd and Matt had said, Tord didn't speak very often and when he did he sounded kind of weird. Turns out he wasn't from around the area, and came from a place up north. When Tom found out, he enthusiastically tried asking Tord a bunch of questions about where he came from, hoping he would open up and be friendlier but to no avail. Tord would only respond with short, direct answers and nothing more than that.

Tom was crestfallen. Nothing he did seem to appeal Tord enough to finally warm up a bit.

In fact, the only one Tord seems to be most talkative with was Edd. They are pretty close, and they always stuck close together. Wherever one of them is, the other is never far behind. Though Edd is the one who comes up with ideas for their adventures, Tord appears to have a hand on their schemes too. Often times, Tord would lean in and mutter something to the boy clad in green, causing him to chortle.

Thankfully, their closeness and Tom and Tord's lack of it did not put a damper on the groups' games of mischief. Though Tom often wished they all had the same tight bond as those two. Matt didn't seem to mind and was just happy tagging along in whatever they got planned, and assured Tom that he was one of them no matter what. Easy for him to say – Tord doesn't mind when he gives one of his infamous crushing hugs, or when Matt asks him for help during arts and crafts.

Regardless, things continued the same way.

Until…

Tom arrived in school like normal, but dropped his bag on the shelf with less excitement this time around. He looked around for a place to sit and found Tord sitting by himself on an empty table, messing with a toy robot in his hands. Their other friends nowhere in sight. Tom sighed nervously and walked over to join him.

It's been two days with no sign of the other two boys. According to Tord, Edd went traveling with his family somewhere, and Matt is stuck at home with a cold. So this week, until both of them return Tom and Tord are stuck with each other.

Tom sat down with a quiet greeting. Tord merely grunted in reply, not taking his focus away from his toy to properly acknowledge his presence. Feeling the familiar pang of hurt in his heart, Tom turned away and begun to fiddle with whatever toy was closest to him.

Neither of them spoke a word to each other as they waited for class to start.

It started to rain at some point, and they were forced to have recess inside instead of going out to the playground like they usually did. Tom decided he absolutely hated not having Edd or Matt around. After Tord continuously ignored him, Tom tried to play with some of the other kids but they weren't any better than the Norwegian boy. Some kept staring at him with curious and weary looks, others backed away in apprehension, and there were some who liked to pick on him.

The last straw for the eyeless boy was when a girl tried to stick a crayon into his sockets to see how deep it would go. He struggled away from her and retreated to the far off corner, away from everyone where he could play with a stack of building-blocks in peace.

Tom felt like crying. This isn't fun at all! He wanted his friends here with him, but most of all, he wanted to leave this awful place. He hugged his knees and started to sob quietly, curled into a ball and wishing he were somewhere else.

A sudden and loud clank had him look up in surprise. Through teary eyes he saw Tord a few feet away from where he sat, rummaging with an air vent. Curious, Tom wiped the tears away with the back of his sleeve and approached. Like usual, Tord did not seem to notice his presence until he spoke up.

"What are you doing?"

The question got Tord by surprise, and he jumped in alarm only to bang his head on the edge of the table above them. With a quiet hiss, the Norwegian boy rubbed his injured head and turned to look at Tom; who shied away from his gaze.

"Leaving." Tord replied curtly through his thick accent, turning his attention back to the vent. Upon closer inspection Tom could see some type of tool in his hand that he was using to lose the screws with.

"Where did you get that?" Tom asked. Without glancing up from his work, Tord motioned toward the janitor's tool box a couple feet away from where they are; left out in the open without adult supervision for any kid to grab. "You shouldn't steal." He fiddled with the straps of his overalls. "And we're not allowed to leav-"

A hand clamped over his mouth. "Shh!" Tord glared at him with a finger over his lips, signaling for silence. After a few seconds he let go and returned to fiddle with the air vent. "Don't care. I'm leaving." He repeated firmly.

With a quiet hiss of cheer, Tord pocketed the tool away and opened the vent. Tom stared at the Norwegian boy as he prepared to crawl in with a mixed set of emotions, until they overflowed and he couldn't take it.

"Can I come with you?" He blurted out.

Tord whirled around in surprise but did not say anything. Tom sighed and rubbed his arms together. "I don't like it here without our friends… I want to go home!"

For a few heartbeats Tom thought he wouldn't let him come along; and indeed, Tord just blinked a couple of times and crawled into the vent without another word. Tom sighed in dejection and turned away to head back to his secluded corner when Tord called out to him.

"Coming or not?"

Tom didn't need more incentive than that. He quickly gathered his stuff and crawled into the tight space of the vent, just big enough for him to fit, and followed Tord's lead through the dim ventilation system. He followed Tord through the darkness until the Norwegian boy pulled out a flashlight to illuminate the way. They were walking along a tunnel that sloped up and down, winding first one way and then the other.

On and on they went. How far have we come? Tom began to wonder.

"How do you know where to go?" He piped up suddenly. He'd been so enthusiastic about leaving it only hit him now that Tord might not even know the way out. "Did you do this before?"

"Duh! Of course!" Tord snapped from up ahead. Tom heard the shuffling of paper in front of him, and Tord twisted around as far as he could to face him. "I have map." He showed Tom a drawing scribbled in crayon.

They eventually made it out of the vents and exited out the very back of the school. Rain was still pouring down and Tom felt a cold shiver ripple down his spine as they jumped down and got instantly soaking wet. It's too bad they didn't bring an umbrella with them.

"Now what?"

Tord nodded the tall fence surrounding the school grounds. "We need to get over that. Just need something big…" He peered around for a solution. He had his hoodie on to protect his horn-like hair as best he could from the pouring rain. Tom envied him for the little shelter that he had from the bad weather. "Aha!" Tord's eyes lit up when his gaze landed on a trash can. "Perfect! We push this closer to fence and we jump over."

Tom shuffled on his feet in discomfort and glanced back at the school longingly. He kinda regrets coming along now that he is all drenched wet, but it's too late to turn back now. Not that he plans to anyway. School stinks without Edd and Matt around, and he can't leave Tord to go on his own now that they've come this far.

"Are you just going to stand there?"

Not wanting to get on Tord's bad side any further, Tom quickly jumped into action and helped him move the garbage can over to where they need it. Side by side they left the school behind and climbed over the fence. But as Tom and Tord dropped down onto the grass on the other side, they were met with nothing but swaths of tall trees as far as the children's perspective can see. Tom looked at the looming trees towering over them in awe, but felt a foreboding feeling creeping at the back of his neck the longer he stared.

"So like… where are we?" He prompted, hoping his companion would have some idea of where they're going.

Tord glanced at him with a grin. "The woods." And then took off into the dense woodland. Tom stared after him in dismay.

"Wait for me!" He cried out, desperate to keep up and not be left behind.

The two boys ran into the woods. Tord led the way with glee; swerving past branches, stones, and fallen trees with ease. Tom followed him, purely out of despair since he did not want to be left behind in the middle of the woods and never find his way out again. The overarching trees surrounding them provided a little shelter from the rain, to which Tom was thankful for.

"Through the woods is home!" Tord shouted encouragingly as he led the way deeper into the dense terrain.

Tom could only hope that the boy clad in red truly knows the way and wasn't just leading him a stray. His worries diminished considerably however, when the undergrowth began to thin out, and the sound of roaring cars drifted through the trees. Before long, Tord and he stood together at the edge of the tree line, staring out into a road.

The eyeless child breathed out a sigh of relief. Thank heavens! They are still within reach of civilization, and they won't have to spend the night out in the woods and scavenge for food. But now there's a new problem…

"Do we have to cross it?" Tom asked anxiously. His parents always told him to stay clear off any roads unless he was with his parents or teachers. But he isn't.

Tord simply nodded as he neared the sidewalk's edge. Worried he was going to take off and leave him behind again; Tom quickly reached forward and grabbed Tord's hand. The other boy turned to him in surprise.

"My mom said it's important to hold hands when we cross a street!" Tom smiled innocently. "And to look both ways too."

Tord rolled his eyes with a huff, but did not raise any complaints.

They waited for the cars to go on by until it was safe enough to cross. Even after they made it to the other side though, neither of them let go of the other's hand as they kept on walking. They strolled right through people's gardens. Tord said it was quicker this way, but Tom found it awfully disrespectful to invade people's property like this. But hey, anything to get him out of the rain sooner!

He nearly bumped into Tord when the latter abruptly stopped moving. Tom shot him a curious look and saw him point at a green house across the street from them. "Edd!" He exclaims, further confusing Tom as he looked around wildly. Edd? Where? Wasn't he supposed to be traveling?

Tord shook him and motioned toward the house again. "Edd!" He repeated more firmly.

That's when it hit him. "Oh! You mean that's where Edd lives?"

Tord nodded fervently and continued walking, pulling Tom along with him. The eyeless child wanted to ask how he knew where Edd lived, but was distracted when he realized that they were heading straight for a white house on their left. "Where are we?"

"Home." Tord replied, walking up the small steps to the front door.

"Ah, so you and Edd are neighbors then!" Tom's cheerfulness suddenly dwindled as worry began to creep up on him with a startling realization. "Wait! How am I going to get home?"

Tord turned to him with an inquisitive tilt of his head. "Know where your home is?"

Despite trying his best to think of an answer, he knew it was futile. His parents always dropped him off in school by car, and though he looked out the window on his way there every time he never memorized any of it. He looked around the foreign neighborhood he was currently in; hoping to find some clue of his whereabouts but to no avail.

Tom ducked away shyly and began to fiddle with the straps of his overalls. "No." He admitted.

He almost expected Tord to make some sort of rude comment about his stupid decision of following him all the way here, but the other boy was quiet. Tord bent down to pull out a key from underneath the 'welcome' mat, and unlocked the door to his home. Tom stared at him in dismay, fully expecting to be locked out in the rain and be left to find his way home by himself.

Just as he turned away to leave, Tord unexpectedly grabbed his arm and pulled him inside the house.

Tom blinked in surprise as the door closed behind them, and then stared at his surroundings in awe. Everything is so shiny, clean and pretty! Not to say that his own house isn't clean or nice. But Tord's home is so stark white it seemed to carry a lustrous glow everywhere he looked.

Tord nudged him and motioned for him to remove his shoes by the door, and Tom complied. "Where's your mom?" He couldn't help but question, noting the massive size of the house but seemingly no one occupying it at the moment.

"Working." Tord hummed, heading straight for the kitchen and opening the fridge. "She'll be home later."

"And your dad?" Tom shuffled closer. He was uncomfortably aware of the fact that he is soaking wet from the rain, and he was dripping water all over the polished wooden floor. His mom would not approve of any of his actions today.

"Not here." Tord took out a bunch of different kinds of food and placed them all on the table in front of them.

After asking for the bathroom, Tom managed to get himself semi-dried; his clothes still soggy and cold, but it was the best he could do with no spare clothes to put on. He returned to the kitchen and was met with the sight of Tord preparing snacks. He glanced at the eyeless child then; their gazes locked, and he patted the empty seat next to him.

They had lunch together. Tord made himself a sandwich while Tom pulled out the lunch his mom had packed him for the day – a chocolate milk carton and some crackers. It wasn't much, but neither Tom nor his mom could've ever foretold the series of events that transpired today. He was really thankful when Tord was kind enough to make a sandwich for him too.

As they finished eating, Tord began to put everything away again while Tom looked out the window, watching the sky darken and the rain continuing to pour down. It won't be long for school to end, and his parents will come to pick him up only to realize he's not there anymore. Tom sighed. How will he ever get home?

Tord must've taken his worried sigh as a sign of boredom, because as soon he was done clearing everything away he grabbed Tom's hand and started leading him up the stairs.

Upon opening the first door to the right, Tom was met with a semi big and yet simple looking bedroom. It consisted of a bed, a dresser, and a bright colorful toy box that contrasted with the stark white of the rest of the room.

Tord drew away from Tom to approach his bed, and revealed a walkie-talkie from under his pillow. "Edd!" He exclaimed, holding the blue device up and pointing at the window where their friend's house was in view.

Reaching to take the walkie-talkie from him, Tom could only hear static coming from the other end. "It probably doesn't reach wherever Edd went to." He observed, taking the hint that Edd has the other device. "Hey Tord, I really should be getting home. Do you think you can help me get there, please?" He asked shyly.

Despite Tord's usual cold demeanor towards him, Tom hoped he would at least be willing to help him now. Tom won't be able to return home on his own otherwise.

The other boy stared at him for a few heartbeats with a tilt of his head and then turned away from him, and began to rummage through the large toy box. Tom watched him curiously until Tord returned to him with a couple of figurines in hand.

Tom's concerns faded away almost instantly as he got distracted by the toys Tord was handing him.

They played together for quite a long while until Tom caught a glimpse of the alarm clock by the bedside table. He tried asking Tord for help again, but he merely kept showing him more toys and even took him to his living room to play video games whenever he brought up the subject of leaving. Admittedly, Tom was having lots of fun playing with Tord, but he felt guilty for the amount of worry he was placing on his parents the longer he stayed.

Tom glanced at the clock and realized school had ended about an hour ago. He then gazed out the window and jumped to his feet when he noticed it was no longer raining. Now was his chance!

"Tom?"

The eyeless boy turned to Tord, who looked at him with an inquisitive expression.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go home now." Tom glanced over his shoulder toward the front door. "It's getting late. My parents will be wondering where I am."

Tord hopped off the couch and moved past him to where a collection of board games were stacked up against the television. He grabbed one and returned to Tom with an excited skip in his step.

Tom stepped back. "No, Tord. I have to go." He repeated more firmly, but still apologetic. "It's been fun playing with you, but my mom and dad are waiting for me."

"But you don't know how to get there." Tord pointed out.

Tom sighed. "I'll back-track our trail all the way to school. From there… I'll just have to go by memory I guess."

Hearing his insistence, Tord looked visibly upset and shifted his feet in awkwardly. Tom took his silence as a victory and started getting ready to head out again. He grabbed his backpack and put on his shoes while Tord watched him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey, it's okay. We'll see each other tomorrow in school!" Tom exclaimed, trying to cheer up the other boy. Tord dropped his gaze and fidgeted with his hands. "Besides, your parents are probably on their way home right now."

"No. Mom doesn't arrive until after bedtime."

"What about your dad?" Tom asked.

Tord looked away. "Not here." He repeated the same words from earlier, this time with some strain in his voice.

Taken back, Tom swept his gaze around the house again. It's certainly a very big place, clean and organized. But it's also kinda depressing upon closer look. The home was devoid of any color or personality. On his frame of vision, Tord is the only speck of either of those things among this whole bland household; and he looked so utterly small in comparison to everything else.

Tom felt a stab of pity for him. Tord must feel really lonely being cooped up in here with no one to play with. No wonder he'd been so insistent in trying to keep him here.

"Do you… want to come with me?" Tom offered. An idea just slid into his mind. Tord turned to him in surprise and he elaborated. "We'll play together some more, and you can sleepover at my place! My parents won't mind you staying over – I bet they'll even like you! Besides, I would feel a lot safer if you were accompanying me on the way there."

Tord didn't waste a heartbeat. "Okay!" He brightened up and immediately tore away up the stairs to pack his things.

Tom waited by the door for him, but it wasn't long before Tord descended the steps again; backpack hanging over his shoulders. He went to the kitchen and wrote a quick note to his mom regarding his whereabouts, left it on the balcony, and neared Tom.

"Ready!"

"Alright, let's go!"

Tord locked the door as they stepped out, and together they proceeded to retreat back the way they came. They passed through people's gardens again, crossed the street, and raced through the darkening woods once again until they reached the school grounds.

The two boys checked their surroundings wearily as they stepped out from the undergrowth for any signs of the teachers. No doubt their absence was noted at some point during their escape, and it would be really bad if they get caught back here now.

"Where to now?" Tord turned to Tom expectantly.

Biting his lip deep in thought, Tom's face scrunched up as he tried hard to remember the brief memories of the car rides from home to school and back again.

"This way I think." Tom nodded the street to the right.

Their pace slowed down considerably now that they were threading in fairly unknown territory. Tom had to pause a lot throughout their journey to recall the right way to go. He would look around for anything remotely familiar, follow his gut, and choose a direction. Tom hopes they're heading in the right path, and that they'll get home before the sun goes down.

They held hands whenever they had to cross a street, and Tord tried to cut path through people's gardens again but Tom stopped him; insisting they had to stick close to the road for him to get his bearings clear, and because it's rude to invade people's properties. Tord had grumbled a complaint but sulked after him obediently.

"Look!" Tom pointed towards a familiar blue house just a block away from them. Relief flooded through him at the sight of his home. "We're nearly there!"

They crossed one last road and started to the house together. "Mom! Dad!" Tom cried out in joy, seeing his parents waiting for him by the front door. He drifted to a halt and swept his parents into a hug. Remembering he was not alone, Tom quickly introduced them to Tord. "This is my friend from school, Tord!" He gesture to the other boy, who stared at them in complete bewilderment. "He helped me get home. Can he spend the night over with us, please?"

Tom glanced back and forth between his parents in silence.

"He left a note for his mom."

Silence.

Tom smiled gleefully. "Yay! Thank you mom!" He placed them down and turned to face Tord. "They said yes." He grabbed Tord's hand and dragged him inside the house.

Tom showed Tord around his home, then he showed him his toys – it's not nearly as big of a collection as Tord's, but he still has plenty of them. "This is Tomee bear!" Tom held out his plushie teddy bear with the unibrow for Tord. "My dad gave it to me for my birthday!"

They played together for a quite a while, then Tom's parents made them pasta for dinner. They played around some more after that, until Tom's mom announced it was bedtime. Since they didn't have an extra bed, Tom had to share his bed with Tord; which is fine – if anything it makes the sleepover experience all the more fun!

Even though they have to wake up early for school the next morning, they talked for quite a while into the night, way past the time they were meant to be asleep. Didn't help that Tord had brought a whole load of candy from his home for them to share.

"Hey Tord?"

"Hm?"

"You awake?"

"Yeah."

"Do you like me now?" Tom asked bluntly.

Tord raised his head from the other side of the bed and peered back at him with a questioning glance. "What you mean?"

Tom fidgeted with his hands. "It just seemed like you wanted nothing to do with me before today, and now we're having a sleepover and stuff." He mumbled. "Does this mean we're friends now?" He looked at Tord expectantly.

The other boy steadily stared back at him for a couple heartbeats before he broke away his gaze and stared at the ceiling instead. "I never hated you." He admitted. "I just… didn't know how to act around you. Edd and Matt told me so much about you I got nervous."

"I think you're pretty cool." Tom commented casually.

"Thanks. I think you are great too." Tord yawned, stretching his arms lazily. "Yeah, so I guess this does make us friends."

Tom smiled and hugged Tomee bear tighter. "Yay!" He whispers excitedly under his breath.

It sure took them quite a while to finally drift off to sleep.

Needless to say, Edd and Matt were overjoyed to see them getting along so nicely when they eventually returned to school.

Tom sank his head onto his chest. His eyes shut as if he were in pain by the memory he recalled from his past. He was silent for so long that Patrick wondered if he was about to end the session now, but the eyeless man said nothing yet. Then Tom's features finally smoothed, and he took a deep breath.

"We were… inseparable, for a while." He murmured quietly. ""Best friends forever" – we would tell each other back then." A hint of bitterness could be detected in his voice, and then his face twitched with the bare hint of a faint smile. "Tord loved inventing and making plans. Every year he would sign up to robotic courses, and every year he would attempt to create something new. He won several awards for his projects throughout our academic period." He chuckled. "I remember when Edd gave him a chemistry kit for his birthday when we were very young. Tord loved it. He was such a dork."

Conflicting emotions stirred inside of Tom like a deadly storm. What the h#ll was he feeling? It was warm, but with a hint of bitter frost beneath all that. He felt empty, but steadily brimming up at the same time. The voice could be sensed at the very back of his head. It seems agitated for some reason; though it remained silent.

"Tord and I would go over to each other's houses all the time, and sleepover too in most cases. Tord would tinker away in his garage and I would watch him work; sometimes play the bass too to pass the time. We would talk about video games and stuff, but we stayed mostly quiet and just did our own thing." Tom continued, unsure of his feelings but sensing a strong urge to keep on talking for some reason. "Tord, being great at picking things apart and rebuilding them anew, would offer his services to fix broken things to earn money. I would often tag along and we would ride on a bike together to our destination." He snorted softly. "One time, Tord was called in to fix this old lady's furnace on the outskirts of the town. I went along with him and I remember that after Tord had it fixed, the lady made us lemonade and we sat on her porch where there were a bunch of fireflies out and about. I think Tord was feeling a bit down that day, I can't remember exactly why… So I tried to cheer him up by gathering a bunch of fireflies and bringing them closer to him. It was pretty cool up until one of them flew inside my eyes and we both started to panic, trying to get it out. But at least he stopped being sad, so I guess it worked in a way."

Patrick observed his facial expressions carefully as he listened with intrigue. Was that a glint of fondness he could hear in the Brit's voice? Pat grew hopeful at the idea that there could still be some semblance of endearment in Tom for their leader despite their broken friendship. There's a slim chance their prideful rivalry could end if they were open with each other. Unfortunately, knowing Red Leader's superiority complex and Tom's habit of holding grudges, chances are, they will never overcome their differences.

If only. Pat thought with regret.

"When… my father died… It was one of the worst moments of my life." Tom said with a somber tone. He recalled that specific memory with a pang in his heart as he thought of, not only of his dad, but how he changed so drastically by one tragic incident. Tom went from being a cheerful kid with a lot of love in his heart to a pessimistic and grumpy child. Who knew he would end up being a barely-functioning and utterly broken man by the end of his days? Tom mourned the loss of that child. "I would shut myself off from the others and cry constantly. Edd would come and console me as best he could during those hard times. Matt tried to comfort me in his usual not-so-subtle way of hugging." Tom looked down at his hands. "But Tord… he would just sit close by, not saying anything, and just… be there. It was strangely comforting to be completely honest." A small, shy grin appeared on his face.

Patrick swallowed. It was now or never. "What happened between you two?"

The Brit's grin faded, to be replaced by a sorrowful expression. "When we were about 14 years old we started to get reckless. We began to drink and smoke at an early age without anyone else knowing… well, Matt might have known, but he never did anything aside from giving us distasteful glances." Tom murmured. "Tord and I started to crave for bigger thrills as we got older. The adventures the four of us would go on were great and goofy, but didn't exactly fulfill our needs. So he and I initiated a series of minor heists or as we liked to call it then, crimes."

Patrick leaned forward in his seat. "Go on." He urged quietly.

Tom blinked several times, as though trying to get his thoughts in order. "They were inoffensive at first… just shoplifting here and there, or making elaborate pranks in school." He went on. "But eventually we moved on to breaking into places, stealing whatever we wanted – usually things Tord needed for some new wacko invention of his – and doing some dangerous sh#t. But we never seriously harmed anyone! That's not what we were about. Tord and I were partners in crime for a while; and for what's worth, it was admittedly fun while it lasted. " His expression turned pained. "As you can probably expect from a duo of stupid kids doing even stupider nonsense, we were eventually found out."

His voice fell silent then, his face a mask of anguish, before licking his lips and continuing. "We went too far one day and people got truly hurt that time around. We got questioned. I was scared but not too worried about the consequences because, well, Tord was with me. We caused this mess together, we were partners in crime, and we would face the consequences together." His voice wavered as he went on. Tom paused and took a deep breath. "But that's not what happened."

Patrick's chest tightened with sympathy, but he nodded for the Brit to continue.

"Tord…" Tom choked, and then tried again. "He didn't want this incident to foil his good reputation as a top grade student, or his chances of being a successful inventor in the future. Tord had big aspirations, even back then, and he knew that if anyone found out of his involvement he would be branded; possibly for life." He shut his eyes and turned his head away. "So of course he did the only logical thing he could do in this situation. He threw me under the bus. He told the cops, the principle, our parents – everyone who ever questioned us that I did all those things by myself and he only knew about them but never participated in anyway. " Tom took a long, shuddering breath.

"I got all the blame. Even when I tried to tell people what really happened, no one believed me. How could they? It's the word of an honor student against that of a dumb child with an attitude problem. Tord also told them about my illegal drinking habits and my father's death – thinking that in some way would cushion the blow and lessen my punishment somehow. But I know he only said those things so they wouldn't suspect him anymore. They started referring to me as a "problem child" – I was forced to go to counseling and got suspended from school for a while."

Tom fell silent for a few seconds, staring off into space. He felt his throat constricting as grief and anger threatened to choke him. Whatever warmth he was feeling before has been completely dissipated and now he only felt cold. He dug his nails into the arms of the chair.

"I know that doesn't change the fact that people really did get hurt because of me. I understand that I wasn't completely innocent either. But to have everyone turn against you like that… I'm just thankful that Edd and Matt never gave up on me." He trailed off and winced. I definitely couldn't have told them what the matter with me is. Tom thought, thinking of his current predicament. They would've been so afraid of me if I did. They wouldn't want anything to do with me anymore; not after everything stacking up against me. Maybe it's for the best. "I confronted Tord on the matter eventually. I wanted to know why he would betray his best friend like that… Ha! Oh the irony. Do you want to know what he said? What his line of reasoning was?"

Now his voice was a low, bitter chuckle, with a strange note of mirth in it. Patrick's stomach churned with apprehension, but he had no other choice but to press on at this point.

Tom set his jaw. "Like I said; he did it to protect his reputation. But also because it was more likely that I would do something like this, sooner or later, given my lack of talent and failing grades in comparison to him." Resentment flared up inside of him, and for a split-second he swore he saw his hands turn into claws. "Basically – I was a failure. He wasn't. No one with a bright future would do those things, so obviously the problematic one had to be culprit behind everything. I was the perfect cover up. Can you believe he had the gall to not only tell me not to take it personally, but act as if nothing ever happened when I finally returned to school? I wanted to punch him so badly then. But of course, given my history of violence I couldn't do anything unless I wanted to be expelled. When I finally got him alone though… I did not hold anything back. We were rivals ever since."

Pat remained silent; all he could think about was the feeling of utter betrayal Tom must've felt back then. To have someone you grew up with and think of as a friend, only to suddenly turn on you. A chill ran though him at the thought of what that must have been like. No wonder Tom carried so much hatred for his leader.

At first Pat wanted to console the eyeless man of his situation, but instantly decided against it. This incent was years ago, and Tom was not the type of person to accept pity from others. Patrick has to thread carefully now.

"Did… your friends ever learn the truth?"

"No." Tom choked out. "As far as I know, they think we only hate each other because of some petty arguments and misunderstandings as we grew older. When we finally started living together, it was only for their sake that Tord and I merely tolerated each other's presence and tried to be, you know, civil."

He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. If only his friends had seen Tord as he had before the robot incident; putting his ambition and pride above all else, searching for dangerous thrills no matter what cost, and provoking any reason he could to use his guns with wild-eyed hunger for bloodshed. The memories gave Tom strength. Whatever it had cost him, he was the only one who could stand in Tord's way now. Only he knew what the Norsk was capable of.

"The day he left was the happiest I've ever been by far."

"So that incident is your main source of conflict then?" Patrick prompted.

"It's the key reason as to why we're enemies, yes. But as the years went by our fights and arguments escalated, the incident just became the kick-starter. Like, of course I haven't forgotten much less forgiven the commie for what had happened, but we simply can't stand each other. The bastard loves Christmas – practically relishes it. I absolutely hate it. He smokes. I drink. He's a Commie, and I'm a Jehovah's Witness. See what I mean?"

Pat nodded in understanding. "Have you ever wanted to get revenge on him?" He ventured cautiously. His answer would be critical.

Tom took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then slowly let it out. He thought hard about the question. Did he ever want revenge against the commie for what he did? Maybe at some point in the past, but now Tom is too far-removed to really care about it at this point. Revenge is the least of his worries, and probably at the bottom of his bucket list if he had to double check.

"I foiled his world domination plans and made him lose a limb. I say that's revenge enough." Tom played cool while inwardly snickering; thinking on how he will take his own life right before Tord's eyes, foiling his plans yet again when the experiments finally begin. His last chance at the monster serum… gone for good. Tom will have the last laugh in the end. Too bad he won't get to see the look on the Commie's face when it happens, but it's the thought that counts. Tom just wishes he could die somewhere a bit more pleasant than an evil laboratory.

His friends instantly came to mind and the dark amusement he felt dissipated, replaced by an overwhelming wave of grief. Tom will never get to tell them how much they meant to him now.

"Thing is…" He began quietly. "Tord and I may have gotten along in the past, and if the incident hadn't happened nothing would've changed. But that's the point, isn't it? I never meant anything to him. None of us did. We were simply pawns for him, just waiting for the perfect chance to be played. It just so happens I got used first. So in short… Tord and I were never friends." He finished; his voice cold.

The Polish soldier nodded solemnly and typed on his tablet. Possible use of denial as a defense mechanism?

"I'm done talking about this now." Tom sighed, feeling his emotions disappear and leave him hollow.

Patrick put away his glasses and placed the tablet down. "That's alright. Thank you for your cooperation, Tom." He led Tom toward the door, placing a gentle hand on his back. "I'll deliver dinner a little later than usual today. My schedule is a bit tight."

"That's fine." Tom answered absently. How come he always felt like sh#t after every d#mn mental evaluation?

He stepped out into the hallway and walked away with a small wave of goodbye to Pat. The Polish soldier watched him go with a worried gaze until he was out of sight, and then left to return to his duties.

Tom's whole body felt numb as he walked, and his head spun with images of Tord – the old Tord. The one he grew up alongside of and went to school with. The one he nearly considered a friend – flashing in his mind. Tom wanted to have the familiar sensation of anger burn brightly through him at the thought of the Commie bastard and all he put him through. It was in there somewhere, but its spot was currently taken by a hollow melancholy that made him sway on his feet.

The hallway itself seemed different, even stranger to Tom than the day he had arrived in the facility. Nothing was real; he felt as if the walls and floor could dissolve like mist within a moment. A vast, unnatural silence covered everything.

Forget it. Don't think about it. It's in the past. Tom kept telling himself. This is all part of their manipulative schemes. They want me to see the Commie as more than just a rival to win my loyalty. Well, it's not going happen. Out of sheer stubbornness, he begins to recall the memories of Tord at his worst. The giant robot. Their many fights. Getting his face shoved into the cake on his thirteenth birthday by him. Using Tom as an escape goat –

That particular scene of his youth replayed over and over in his head. He saw again the scrutinizing figures standing before him as he was being thoroughly interrogated, and felt the hostile and terrified stares burn him wherever he went. He remembered how his mom and friends would try to console him despite everything, and even support him. He flinched again at the harsh voices talking down to him for his misdeeds and for a split-second he felt like cowering away.

But most of all, Tom recalled his dismay and disbelief as he confronted Tord, and realized that he had betrayed him to the authorities to save himself and his precious reputation from suffering the same fate.

Tom had stared at the guy whom he considered a friend; someone he thought he could confide in with everything. He thought he had known him well, but he couldn't recognize him at all then.

Instead of feeling anger like he wanted to, Tom only felt an intense pang of hurt. On the one hand he's feeling something now at least, but it's not nearly as prominent or long-lasting as rage.

"You know, instead of trying so desperately to feel emotions again why don't you spend your time doing something more productive? ~" The voice chimed in his head suddenly. Its arrival pressurized his skull with great intensity and the world turned a shade darker.

Ah! There you are. Tom thought with a flicker of sarcasm. I was wondering when you were going to show up. Let me guess; by productive you mean-?

"Killing yourself – yes! ~" It interrupted, circling a pair of specter arms around Tom's neck and shoulders casually. "Haven't you noticed you're running out of time? It won't be long now before they begin the experiments. ~"

Tom realized what the voice was saying is true. He is back to full health, and is even training as a soldier. Surely the actual experiments won't be far behind if that's the case then? A shiver of dread ran down his spine at the realization.

If everything goes my way, I won't have to do anything until then. Tom thought decisively. The idea is that Tord kills me in the process of perfecting his serum. That's why I told him not to use any drugs on me; to heighten my chances of dying.

"But they are being too careful with you. Even without the drugs they won't let go of you so easily if they can prevent it. ~" The voice reasoned, tightening its grip on him as another set of limbs circled his waist. "What then? If you don't die the way you're expecting to, what will you do? ~"

It won't come to that. Tom snapped assertively. There were 1825 other test subjects before me and they all died the same way. Why would I be any different?

Without warning, Tom felt a shriek being ripped out of his throat as a cleaver suddenly cut deep into his left shoulder. He nearly staggered forward in pain, but in reality he merely whimpered under his breath to keep the facade out in the open. "Because the serum works with you! You know that! ~" The voice snarls at him.

Commie doesn't know that. Tom pointed out through rasped breaths. This pain was unbearable.

"What if he finds out? What then, you low-life maggot? ~" A clawed hand moved up to grab him by the neck, earning a strangling cry from Tom. "You think he doesn't have ways to figure out? He is smart, unlike you. He is better than you. Who knows? The proof could show up in your blood sample and you wouldn't even know! But they do, and they are playing you for the damn fool that you are. You have to die now! ~"

The voice prepared to stab him – Tom could feel another blade forcefully poking his abdomen, ready to pierce his flesh right through – when a sudden explosion seemed to startle the voice away, and jolt Tom back to reality.

"Faen!"

Tom looked around wildly; the dark haze gone from his vision, confused as to what just happened when his gaze landed on a door a few steps up.

The test room.

His heartbeat slowed and he calmed down. His concerns momentarily forgotten and replaced by curiosity, Tom decided to investigate the commotion. It's not like he had anything better to do and he was no stranger to the test room. He'd entered before on one of his many strolls around the laboratory – aimlessly looking for something to take his mind off things.

It had been open only once, and then never again after that first visit.

Tom assumed Patrick had it locked after tracing his location via chip, though the Polish soldier never said anything to him about it afterwards. Guess they don't want him snooping around where he shouldn't, but how was Tom supposed to know? Tord never mentioned that in the rules. Besides, it's not like Tom could make any sense of that room. It's all just a bunch of heavy machinery and weird junk.

Cautiously, Tom pushed the door to the test room open and slipped inside. The room is semi-dark, with only the distant flare and the roar of a blowtorch to guide the way. Strange machinery of all sorts loomed around the room like a maze, their purpose unknown, and the place untouched since his last visit. Tom weaved his way through the labyrinth of junk as he followed the only source of light in the room.

When he made it to the center, Tom found a figure hunched over a table just ahead of him; and judging by the devilish-styled hair it was definitely none other than Tord. No surprise there, Tom had already guessed it was him the moment he heard him curse.

Naturally, with his curiosity mostly satisfied, this would usually be the time Tom would turn away and leave to avoid any form of interaction with the Norsk. But Tom stayed where he was.

He watched Tord work with a strange fascination. The Norsk is completely focused in his project and whatever it was he was doing. Probably creating his next big world domination device, if Tom had to guess. The sparks of fire from the blowtorch created an eerie glow around him that made him look… almost ethereal in a way. The sight was strangely alluring.

The peace of the scene was shattered when Tom sneezed suddenly.

The blowtorch turned off instantly, and Tom's gasp hitched in his throat.

"Å for faen!"

Tord whipped around, his face concealed by a welding mask. Tom winced and tried to back away and make himself unseen among the many machines around him, but to no use. Tord spotted him at once and marched up to him; ranting in his native tongue. "Flott! Akkurat det jeg trengte nå – forstyrrelser!" As the Norwegian man drew nearer he lifted the mask off his face to reveal his features, evidently annoyed by the interruption as he glared at the Brit.

"Kan aldri få gjort noen ting i dette dritt hølet!"

An awkward silence stretched out between them once Tord finished his mad foreign raving, as if he were waiting for the eyeless man to respond. Tom stared at him perplexed for a while. How was he supposed to answer when he had no clue to what had been just said?

"Uh… what?"

"What are you doing here?" Tord narrowed his eyes accusingly.

"I, uh, was just passing by on the way to my quarters when I heard you." Tom told him lamely.

"Awn, and you decided to check up on me? I'm flattered!" Tord chuckled mockingly. He turned away and returned to his work. "Didn't think you would want to see me so soon after our disastrous training session this morning."

Neither did I. The though escaped Tom before he could even process it. His anger toward the Norsk for this morning's events has faded away after his mental evaluation with Patrick. The melancholic feeling returned as he looked at Tord now. "What… what are you doing?"

"Tinkering. What's it look like?" Tord retorted without looking up from his work. He gathered the tools spread out across the table and brought them closer to inspect them for damages.

"Shouldn't you be like, I don't know, leading an army or something?" Tom prompted quietly, acting completely opposite to his usual behavior around Tord.

"I just got out from a particularly annoying meeting with my generals, and I would like to cool off a bit before I decide to shoot the next person that pisses me off." Was the Norsk's dry reply.

At the very back of his mind, Tom could feel the presence of the voice shift in excitement and silently urged Tom to do so. Had he been in a foul mood, Tom would have no problem in complying. But since he wasn't feeling particularly angry or cocky at this moment in time, Tom did nothing but stare at Tord.

"If you want to stay here then I suggest you keep quiet and don't interrupt me." Tord warned as he began to fiddle with a couple of wires, igniting a small spark.

Tom didn't bother replying. His gaze scanned around the room, pausing briefly over all the weird machinery around them with curious awe. Did he make these all by himself? He wondered. What kind of evil intent are they capable of?

He began to investigate the contents of the room, for once mindful of Tord's warning. Tom had no idea what the matter with him is. Minutes ago he was talking about how much he hated Tord, and now he can't even bring himself to feel so much as a flicker of distaste for the Norwegian man. Any other day Tom wouldn't have hesitated to mock Tord despite his anger, or just storm out of the room seeing as there was no one else to interact other than him.

So how come he is still here when he got every reason not to?

Truth be told, the recent episode with the voice left him a bit spooked. The sudden and repetitive warning ringing in his head that he had to die now shook him to his core. And Tom could still feel a bit of the old nostalgic sensation deep within from when he was talking to Pat. So this seems like a good distraction.

While Tom worked to distract himself, Tord's focus started to slip away from his work.

As he tightened one of the bolts to his newest invention, Tord's gaze seems to flicker back to Tom every now and then; making sure the Brit doesn't mess with something he shouldn't. In reality he was starting to regret his hasty decision of letting Tom stay in close proximity when all he wanted was some peace and quiet while he worked.

Tsk… what a nuisance. Tord thought irritably and went back to tinkering. And yet, no matter how hard he tried to ignore him, he would inevitably halt progress and return to watch Tom inspect his inventions with curious intent. Despite all his efforts over the past two weeks, Tord couldn't entirely suppress the recently awakened emotions he still feels towards Thomas. Tord would be lying if he said he didn't feel a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest when he finally saw the Brit again – much to his annoyance.

Now Tord observed his test subject stroll about the room, watching his every move as his single-eyed gaze raked over the eyeless man's form.

The Norsk still blames his Commander for the return of his unrequited emotions. Tord understands that Tom could never feel the same way towards him, so why bother with these feelings all over again? And despite priding himself in acting more like Red Leader than Tord nowadays, he could never follow through the persona's attitude of "take what you want" in this subject matter – even he has principles!

At least Tord can have the small satisfaction at the fact that; with Tom working with him so closely in his army he can't belong to anyone else.

"So… what is all this?"

Tom's voice suddenly cut through Tord's thoughts, effectively snapping the Norsk back to reality. He'd been so busy admiring Tom and contemplating his situation he barely acknowledged the fact that he wasn't feeling angry or stressed anymore.

"This, if you haven't realized, is the test room. It's where I dedicate my time into creating new inventions without being interrupted." Tord swoop his arm to gesture their surroundings and shot Tom a pointed glare.

Tom turned to him with furrowed eyebrows. "I figured that. But like, don't you have a board of scientists to create things for you instead?"

"And miss out on the opportunity to make a breakthrough in science and change the way of life as we know it? What's the fun in that?" Tord grinned. "Besides; I like tinkering! It helps me with my temper." Tord explained coolly, though a hint of excitement could be detected in his voice.

Initial frustration aside, he was behaving like the bold and enthusiastic kid Tom had once cared for and was even friends with, giving Tom an even more agonizing sense of what they had lost.

Pushing his silly thoughts aside, Tom directed his attention to the ceiling. "Don't you need better lighting to see what you're doing?" He pointed out casually. "Why is the room so damn dark?"

"I think you've been spending a little too much time around Patrick." Tord observed dryly.

Tom shrugged. "It was your orders, if you remember." He then smirked. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you're trying to imitate the phantom of the opera."

"Excuse me?" Tord sputtered in surprise.

"I mean, you can already play the part." Tom elaborated casually as he continued to look at the machines. "Creepy guy living underground, half his face damaged, considers himself a great genius, and is obsessed with his work. All you need is some poor fool for you to pine after and you're practically the same."

Tord did his best to laugh without tainting it with his nervousness at Tom's comment. He observed the eyeless man wander about the room intently. There was something particularly… off about Tom. He seems at ease in his presence now, and he wasn't making any aggressive remarks just good-natured comments. Recalling his schedule, Tord knew Tom must've ended his evaluation with Pat not too long ago. What did they talk about for Tom to be so… tame?

"So these are your inventions." Tom murmured. "Are they all weapons?"

"Oh no! Not at all! These are all… mostly harmless." Tord chuckled as he removed the welding mask off his head and moved closer to Tom. "I merely design the weapons and let my scientists take care of those. But these inventions are merely the result of my passion for tinkering; and though most of them may never see the light of day, I have hope that I'll get to implement some of them into society once the world is finally mine."

Tom's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What kind of inventions you have?"

When Tord's head snapped in his direction with a big wide grin on his face, and his one visible eye sparkling with interest and enthusiasm, Tom instantly knew he had accidentally wind up the right key to get him into motion.

"I have plenty more! Would you… like me to show you?" Tord offered with barely suppressed giddiness, and proceeded to extend his robotic hand out for Tom.

In any other moment, Tom wouldn't think twice about scoffing and slapping the hand away from him. But he simply blinked in surprise instead, and found himself genuinely considering the offer. Was this a sign he was developing Stockholm syndrome? Being incapable of rightfully resent the man that ruined so much of his life seems to fit in with the criteria well enough.

"Uh, sure? I guess I coul-"

Tord grabbed a hold of his arm suddenly, effectively cutting Tom off before he could even finish his sentence.

"Wonderful!" The Norsk beamed brightly and began to drag him along as he led the way through the lab. His stride was so energetic and fast Tom had to practically run just to keep up with him and not stumble to the floor.

"Now, let's see… Aha!"

A box on one of the tables, with the label "creation #258" etched on the side in black marker, caught Tord's eye and they approached. Tom leaned closer and peered inside to look at the contents of said box, and Tom raised an eyebrow at the dozens of tiny white discs he found inside.

"These are voice modulators." Tord elaborated, picking one of the discs carefully between his fingers and raised it to their eye level. "Their primary function is to change the user's voice."

Tom looked at the tiny invention in awe. It was barely the size of a bottle cap!

"They were supposed to be powerful enough to record and store many voice files for the user to change around at will. However, the technology I used to create them is not exactly ideal to store such huge amount of data – hence why there are so many of them."

"So what you're saying is that each one of them has only one voice?"

"Precisely; though I do plan to change that in the foreseeable future." Tord confirmed as he analyzed his own invention. "You just attach it to your neck like this, and it will externally connect to your vocal cords." He explained as he placed the tiny disc on his own neck, receiving a brief zap of shock when it connected.

"Shouldn't be long to take effect; I just need to keep talking until it finally kicks in. Have no idea what kind of voice I'm going to get though. I really need to start labeling these discs for future reference."

Tom and Tord stared at each other wide eyed as the latter's voice changed mid-sentence to a feminine tone. Tord grinned in amusement and started to laugh; his voice reverberated around them, smooth and silky. Tom took a few steps back in bewilderment. "Oh sh#t!"

"Surprised, Thomas?" Tord asked teasingly, trying out his new voice. "I created these modulators to aid in undercover missions – you know? Make it harder to expose the wearer's identity. And hey, we also live in an age where people are forging themselves a brand new identity; so this can also be quite profitable if I ever release it to the public."

"Okay, I get the idea now – can you please take that off?" Tom demanded, hiding half his face behind his hands as he stared at Tord incredulously. "Urgh, that voice with your face just doesn't fit. It's disturbing to hear it come out of your mouth!"

Tord giggled. "Well… I was thinking of keeping this on throughout the rest of the day and maybe prank Paul with it, but if you insist." With one final exasperated sigh, which he totally made with the intent of teasing Tom, he removed the modulator from his neck and places it back in the box. Tord cleared his throat. "Now, shall we continue?"

"Can I pick the invention this time?" Tom prompted.

"Be my guest!"

Tom glanced around, looking for something to catch his gaze, while Tord watched him with anticipation. His eyeless vision landed on a strange looking gun-like device on a shelf. It's dark blue in color, darker than his hoodie, with weird white spikes surrounding the barrel and spine.

Following his gaze, Tord grabbed a hold of the device. "This is creation #319, the Goofynator."

"The what now?" Tom sputtered.

"The Goofynator." Tord repeated like there was nothing unusual about his statement, and it was in such a casual way Tom simply stared at him with a strange look, not sure whether he should be confused or laugh it off. Sensing his mixed bag of emotions, Tord sighed proceeded to elaborate. "It decreases the target's intelligence by 99%, leaving them only a margin of 1% clever for the next 48 hours. Weird invention, I know; but I like inventing stuff no matter how stupid it may be, and our supplier tends to ask for some pretty strange things whenever we make deals. So it can come in handy."

Tom eyed the device wearily. "Does it work?"

"Meh, never tried it out. Can't seem to find a good time or candidate to test it on." Tord shrugged. He then grinned and aimed the device at the test subject. "Would you like to do the honors?"

"No thanks." Tom veered the odd gun away from him with one finger. "Think I'm good."

As Tord turned away to put the device back in its place, Tom caught a glimpse of a big cylindrical device across from them. It has pipes attached to itself in several areas, and a screen plastered on the front with a control panel of some kind.

"I would prefer if you stayed away from that one." Tord intercepted and pulled Tom away from the machine before he could properly inspect it. The eyeless man looked at him in wonder.

"Why? What does it do?"

"That is creation #151, and it's very unstable so far." Tord nodded toward the large contraption. "It's supposed to be a type of DNA splicer – artificially combining the genetic material of two people together to create a whole new being."

"What for?"

"Well… It can prevent deformities and genetic disorders from passing down, ensuring perfect health. You can manipulate how the final product will look like and which genes to pass on. Can help both infertile and same-sex couples. And it's safe…" Tord glared at the machine. "Or at least it's supposed to be! But every time I tinker with this damn machine it blows up in my face!" He kicked it for good measure. When an ominous growl was produced deep within the contraption, Tord and Tom wearily backed away.

Tom stepped back and regarded the machines for a few seconds, a mild expression of awe forming in his features. "Incredible." He breathed, oblivious to the Norsk puffing with pride at his side; basking in the praise. "How do you come up with so many inventions?"

"Oh! It's quite simple really." Tord smiled. "Thinking of new projects to create is the only way to get me through boring meetings and huge stacks of paperwork." Then he paused, a mischievous smirk making its way on his face. "Well… hentai also helps-"

Tom put his hands up, palms out, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Okay, okay. I should have known better than to ask where a mad scientist gets his ideas from."

Tord tilted his head slightly. "You… consider me a mad scientist?"

His voice was nowhere near menacing, even his facial expression showed more curiosity than anything else, but Tom still froze at the inquiry. Was he offended by his comment?

"Well, yeah?" He replied with a shrug. "I mean, what else would you call a crazy guy living underground working on weapons and hell-bent on world domination?"

The Norsk stepped closer to him. When Tom went to take a step back, his hand was instantly grabbed by the Norwegian man's own robotic one. He stopped and watched in total bewilderment as Tord enfolded his hand on both of his own. Tom flushed in embarrassment at the situation, feeling completely flustered. What's happening?

"It's quite all right." Tord soothed. "It's as accurate a term as any, really." He glanced at their hands with an unreadable expression on his face, save for the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "I suppose that by most standards, I am quite insane. Mad as a bag of cats, one could say. I would have to be, after all, to want to take over the world – and honestly I believe that frees me from a lot of the constraints of other more simple-minded folk. I can… envision the world I want, and the means to accomplish what must seem like a ludicrously lofty goal for most people."

Tom's gaze flickered from their hands to his face; his expression was a mask of tightly controlled unease, and he was vaguely aware of the heat creeping up on his cheeks the longer his hand was held by gentle, metallic fingers.

"Tord." He began quietly, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Why do you want to take over the world so badly?"

Despite his better judgment, Tom felt like he needed to know the answer to that question before he dies. He needed to know the real reason behind Tord's actions – what drives him forward, and why he does the things that he does at such a personal high cost.

It won't change anything, but Tom wants to know anyway and hear it from Tord himself.

Tord appeared to grin at the question and tugged Tom closer. "I want what I think most people want – a better world."

Tom scoffed dryly and rolled his non-existent eyes. Figures. Why did I think I would get a logical answer from him? "Yeah, right! You're greedy, Commie. Pure and simple. You only want power over everyone else." He mocked, feeling much like his usual self and tried to rip his hand out of the Commie's grip but to no avail.

The Norsk chuckled. "You know; if you're simply going to disregard whatever answer I give, why ask at all?" He observed with a sly grin, not at all offended by Tom's comment. "But I speak the truth, whether you believe me or not." Dipping his head, he went on. "Yes, I confess that my goals were selfish and greedy at the start – power and glory over the masses is a very seductive idea, after all. However, as I matured over the years through hard training and sheer discipline, I began to look at the bigger picture and all the possibilities that are open to me once I do take over. I can mold the world in whatever way I want! I can, and will, fix everything that's wrong with our current society."

"Wow, it sure must be windy in that high horse you got yourself onto!" Tom cut in with a snarky comment. How the hell did he get up there anyway? He wondered with disbelief. "Are we going to drink the Kool-Aid later, oh great and powerful Red Leader?" He did a tiny mock bow at the end of his remark.

Tord laughed, greatly amused by the Brit's jabs. It's not often that he hears someone poking fun at him good-natured like this. His soldiers either highly respect or fear him, and there are others that tend to be bootlickers. If anyone dared to make a wrong comment, one glare in their direction is all it took to reduce them to a stammering mess; always desperate to please him. There's none of that with Thomas. He will always speak his mind, no matter who he is addressing, and he is brutally honest when he does so.

"Well, at least I'm bold enough to try such a daring plan." Tord smirked, lifting his chin with an air of superiority as he let go of Tom's hand. "People complain all they want about the current state of things, but no one wants to get their hands dirty when it comes down to it. That's what sets me apart from the rest! I am going to be remembered for making history!"

A little unnerved by the intensity of Tord's ambition, Tom stepped back and looked around the room again. His gaze fell on a red horned helmet on a table on top of some blueprints, grabbing his attention. "I wouldn't be so cocky about it if I were you." Tom cautioned as he neared the table. He picked up the helmet in his hands for a closer look. It felt heavy in his grip. "Few people have tried before you, and things didn't turn out so well for those guys."

"They didn't have a monster with them."

Tom froze and continued inspecting the helmet, trying not to show how much those words affected him and act naturally. He risked a quick glance in Tord's direction, and had to will himself not to gulp in apprehension at the sight of the huge grin on the Norsk's face.

"You should be proud, Thomas. You're going to play a very pivotal role in all of this. You'll help me achieve my goal, and you will become a meaningful part of history. Have you thought about that?"

A shudder of pure dread washed over Tom so strongly he's sure he was visibly shaking. Help him? Never! His stomach dropped and he felt nauseous all of the sudden; but by some miracle, Tom managed to disguise his hidden panic well enough to look composed on the outside. He took a deep breath and glanced at Tord again. The Norwegian man is wearing a smug wicked grin on his face with his arms folded behind him as he waited for Tom's response.

What happened? Just a moment ago Tord was positively ecstatic about showing him his wacky inventions, and now he was talking like a dictator again. It was like someone flipped a switch on the Norsk. Perhaps Tom made a mistake in trying to understand him.

"There's the person you used to be somewhere in there. At least, there's got to be pieces." Tom ventured wearily, still weighting the helmet in his hands as a disguise for his skyrocketing nerves. "You've grown with that filthy ambition inside your head for so damn long, and I understand there's no going back for you at this point. But you don't need to be this either."

He raised one eyebrow quizzically when the Norwegian man threw his head back and laughed in response. Tom stared at him, face devoid of emotion as Tord flicked a stray tear from his eye and sighed.

"Ah, I find really funny that you think I need your approval to do anything I want." He smirked wickedly, a wild and crazed gleam was growing in his visible eye again, and Tom realized that whatever fragments of the old Tord were there had gone.

No longer could he see the good humored glimmer or the last remnants of the enthusiastic inventor he grew up with. Tord was back to sadistic prick mode again, and Tom could feel a numbness spreading throughout his body; and he knew that this conversation was over – lest they want to escalate into a heated argument.

Not in the mood for this, Tom heaved a heavy sigh and nodded stiffly. "Yeah. Whatever." He put down the helmet and shrugged, casting a last smoldering glance at the Norwegian man. "Bye Tord."

Squaring his shoulders, Tom braced himself to walk past Tord to reach the room's exit. Will he try to stop me? But Tord did nothing other than follow his movements with a one-eyed gaze as he left, though Tom could've sworn he saw disappointment flash across the Norsk's face briefly.

He ignored the look, thinking Tord had just been itching for an argument with him, and left the test room.

Watching the test subject walk past him, so tantalizingly close, Tord was beginning to realize that outside threats could very well rise up and destroy his army, but it was emotion that would destroy a single soldier from within. I want things to be simpler. He thought. All this messy emotion only weakens a person. I'd rather live my life without it.

With a low grunt, Tord turned back to his work and placed the welding mask back over his face.

Stepping out into the hallway, Tom found himself alone once more. "Damn." He sighed tiredly and soon resumed the long journey to his quarters.

Why did he waste his time bothering with Tord? Tom should know better than to try by now. Did he even learn anything new about Tord from this experience? Walking, his thoughts jumbled together in a incoherent mess as he tried making sense of things. Tom glanced down at his hand in wonder; still feeling the tingling sensation of Tord's distinct set of hands on his own. His expression softened slightly.

Tord still just as passionate about inventing as he was when kids. Tom mused wistfully. I guess he also has some good intentions, though I'm not sure if that's entirely true.

Tom will never confess out loud, but if there's one thing he both secretly admires and is fully envious of in Tord, is his confidence. Even as kids, Tord always knew who he was and what he wanted out of his life. He is an inventor; there's no doubt about that. He plans to conquer the world and Tom is convinced he can actually do it – monster or not.

But him? Tom could never figure out what he wanted out of his life. Definitely not what he got in the end, that's for sure; but a little too late to change that now. Growing up, Tom always thought about doing something to do with music, but that never went anywhere. Tom wished he could get his life sorted out, but it doesn't matter anymore.

In a couple of days at most, he is going to die; and as far as Tom is concerned, Tord can do whatever he likes.

Never again. His heart was crying, reminding Tom yet again of the high price he will have to pay for his misdeeds. It seems the closer the fateful date gets, the more anxious his thoughts become. No more adventures, no more silliness, or crazy happenings with my friends. No more laughter shared or dangers faced together. It's over.

(Meanwhile…)

Moonlight filtered through the blinds of the dimly lit apartment, dappling onto the many sheets of paper scattered all over the place. A lamp in the near center of the room provided the only source of light for the resident of said apartment; as he peered at the pegboard in contemplation.

"Damn." Eduardo growled in frustration, tapping his foot on the floor repeatedly as he reached for another cookie in the jar before stuffing it in his mouth and munched angrily.

The cookies Mark had insisted for him to take were terrible, but not too unbearable to eat when he needed to occupy his mouth with something – lest he wanted the god awful taste of ink on his tongue and a pile of broken markers to trash. The cookies tasted of nothing but ash, and to anyone else they would be considered inedible; but due to Eduardo's insistence and strong stomach, he kept on eating them.

With every bite he took, Eduardo would catch the barest hint of vanilla underneath the powerful flavor of coal, which made it for a more bearable and interesting mixture. Kind of reminded him of Jon's cooking back when he was first starting out. They were only teens then, and every week he would bake something new for Eduardo and Mark to try out and give him constructive criticism. Jon wasn't good at first, but overtime he had become an undeniably great cook.

Eduardo sighed. He might as well throw in the towel for the day if all he's going to so is stare at the board and wait for an answer to magically come to him. What time is it anyway?

He glanced at the clock. It's nearly seven! Eduardo blinked in surprise. He hadn't realized it was this late already. It's common for him to get absorbed into his work, but Mark usually snaps him out before it can get out of hand. Speaking of which; didn't they plan to head out for pizza? Mark should've knocked on his door by now.

Dusting cookie crumbs out of his shirt, Eduardo hastily fixed himself and stepped out of his apartment to go over Mark's place.

"Mark?" He knocked on the door.

"Come in!"

Hearing the muffled reply through the door, Eduardo walked in only to immediately halt at the scene presented before him.

Mark and Matt are sitting on the couch together, surrounded by a load ton of cosmetics spread out all over the coffee table and floor. Their hair had been recently done judging by the glossy, shiny look to them, and they were just finishing clearing away the last remnants of, what Eduardo can only guess, a facial mask.

"What the-?"

"Hi Eduardo!" Matt cheerfully waved at him, his nails filed.

"What-" Eduardo restarted his sentence and tried again. "What's going on here? What happened while I was out? How did this-" He blurted in complete bewilderment, gesturing to the mess of beauty products surrounding them until his gaze paused on the two men sitting close together. "Happen?"

Mark snorted in amusement. It's not often he gets to see Eduardo being flustered, so this was absolutely gold. "Nothing much, honestly." He smirked. "After you left, Matt and I simply talked for a little while and we eventually came upon the subject of our vanity."

"And so we decided to try out some of these tips!" Matt finished ecstatically.

"I must say, Matt, you have a really good eye for nails." Mark analyzed his fingertips contently.

"Oh and I loved what you did to my hair! I feel as if I could run my hand through it for hours!" The ginger gestured to his gleaming hair with glee. It had been so long since he last took actual time and proper care of his hair. To dedicate his whole day on taking care of himself and his looks felt great! "And your recipe for the facial mask works wonders! My face feels so smooth and soft now!"

"But anyway, what about you?" Mark turned his attention back to Eduardo, his gaze curious.

Recovering from his earlier shock, Eduardo regained his composure and tried to look nonchalant. Mark doesn't need to know he wasted his time on a dead lead. "I just got off work, and I thought we decided on pizza tonight."

The blond man glanced at the clock. "Oh my, time sure flies fast when we are having fun. Just give me a few minutes to get ready, will you?"

"Awn, but Mark you said we could do makeup next!" Matt whined in disappointment.

Mark smiled. "Maybe some other time. We live right next to each other, so we'll get plenty of opportunities to do so."

Satisfied with his answer Matt looked a little brighter and jumped to his feet. "Well, I guess I gotta get going too." He rubbed the back of his head and glanced back and forth between the two men. "Thank you for having me over, it was… surprisingly nice." He confessed sheepishly.

How weird is it that just this morning Matt had been apprehensive of being anywhere near his counterpart, and now he is getting along with him? If someone had told him in the past that he and Mark were going to get along, Matt would've probably laughed it off as a joke. But here they are.

His thoughts broke off as he backed into Eduardo by accident on his way out. Matt jumped a little in alarm and whipped around. Eduardo fully expected him to scurry around him to get to the door, but the ginger took him by surprise by grabbing one of his hands instead.

"Hey maybe next time you should join us – lord knows your nails really need some work done." Matt took a closer look at his fingernails with an analytical eye, further astonishing the burly brunet.

One quick glimpse of Mark snickering on the couch was enough to snap him out, and Eduardo quickly ripped his hand back with an indignant scoff. "No way! That type of stuff is not my thing." He crossed his arms stubbornly.

Unoffended by the response he got, Matt simply smiled and shrugged it off. "Well… have a nice time out!" He sidestepped Eduardo and reached for the door, glancing back at them to wave farewell.

"Buh-bye!" The two neighbors casually waved back at him.

When the door closed, Matt couldn't help but hug himself and twirl; feeling immensely happy. Not only did he survive an encounter with the neighbors completely unscathed, but he also had fun spending time with Mark and taking care of his appearance after neglecting it for so long. He brought his hands up to his face and massaged his smooth cheeks. Matt feels positively great! This might've been the first time in a really long while since he had any legitimate fun.

"Matt?"

Jerking out of his gleeful thoughts, Matt turned around to face his life-long friend with a bright smile. "Edd!"

"What are you doing out here? And-" The brunet broke off as he took in Matt's sleek appearance and his eye widened. "Whoa! You… got a makeover?"

With his mood still elevated, Matt bounced up to Edd excitedly; his blue eyes glowing. "Edd! I had the most amazing time today – you won't believe it!" He proceeded to elaborate on today's events in great detail. All the while he was speaking, Edd stared at him with an array of emotions flickering behind his eyes; constantly switching back and forth and it was hard to get a good read on his overall reaction.

"Huh, so they really don't want to bother us anymore?" Edd echoed, his voice laced with a hint of skepticism as he raised an eyebrow.

Matt nodded fervently. "They aren't as bad as we made them out to be. I think they really mean it when they say they've changed!"

He expected Edd to be relieved at the prospect of no longer having to deal with their once rival neighbors, but the brunet's face was expressionless as he nodded distantly instead. "Oh… I see."

Matt searched his friend's eyes worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong." Edd shook his head, but the tightness in his voice was unmistakable. "It's just weird that they want to make peace after all this time."

An awkward silence followed his words and hung heavily in the air between them. Matt swallowed; his earlier glee dissipating. How strange is it that he had been so happy with his former rival not even ten minutes ago, and now he feels miserable again in the presence of his best friend? Everything is topsy-turvy now days!

"They invited both us to come over and talk with them." Matt added after a few heartbeats of silence and shifted his feet with discomfort. "I knew how much you wanted to spend the day to yourself, and you don't like to be in their presence; so I went alone."

Finally Matt felt as if he'd done the right thing with Edd for once, because the brunet glanced up back at him with an appreciative smile. "Thank you for understanding, Matt." His brown eyes softened with gratitude, and the weird tension between them seemed to diffuse.

After a bit of hesitation Matt pressed on, hope surging in his heart. "I was wondering, maybe, since we haven't spent so much time together lately… we could go to an ice cream parlor one of these days? – or if you prefer something else, I heard there's a carnival fair in town! We could go together if you want-"

"Eddie!"

Matt was abruptly cut off and jumped back in alarm when a strange blond man came running up the stairs and wrapped his arms around Edd in a sudden hug. He watched wide-eyed in bewilderment as Edd was spun around the hall in the other man's hold.

"Reagan? What are you doing here?" Edd exclaimed, looking just as startled as Matt but there was a glimpse of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I thought I told you to wait for me outside!"

"What? And freeze to death out there?" The blond man inquired and placed Edd back on the ground. "After all the trouble of getting us dinner this is the thanks I get?" He exhaled dramatically, holding out a fast-food bag.

Edd laughed jovially and punched the man lightly on the shoulder in response. Matt watched them interact in confusion; his heart weighting heavier inside his chest the longer he observed them. How come I can't make him laugh like that? He thought with a twinge of sadness and envy.

"Edd, who is this?" Matt nervously asked, interrupting their laughter as his gaze flickered between the two of them.

The blond man's vibrant green eyes flashed at him, seeming to take notice of Matt's presence at long last. "Oh my, how rude of me! The name is Reagan Fitzroy, ginger." He stepped closer, shooting him a wink as he extended his hand out for Matt to shake.

"I'm Matt." The orange-haired Brit eyed him wearily and attempted to smile as he introduced himself. He could feel his gut churn apprehensively as he came into contact with the Irishman, and Matt had to force himself not to wince at the tight grip his hand was held in.

"Ah Edd's friend! He told me an awful lot about you." Reagan grinned, shaking hands in an eagerly fashion. "It's certainly a pleasure to finally meet you."

Though Reagan's words sound friendly enough, Matt couldn't help but feel threatened for some reason. He pushed the weird sensation aside and pulled his hand back with a confused expression. "You heard of me?" He chuckled nervously. "Funny I… don't think I've heard Edd mention you before."

Unoffended, Reagan merely stepped away from him in favor of draping a lose arm around Edd's shoulders and leaned on him. "Ha! I wouldn't think so. We've been hanging out together for – what? – nearly two months now?" He glanced at Edd as if to confirm his train of thought, but Reagan carried on before the brunet could reply. "But anyways, night is still young and we best get going now."

Matt glanced at Edd crestfallen. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah, sorry Matt." Edd ducked his head apologetically. "I kinda have this ongoing thing with Reagan. We practically hang out every Wednesday… and every other Saturday sometimes."

Matt opened his mouth to object, only to halt at the last second. This might be the first time he'd seen Edd genuinely happy in a really long while; how can he bear to take it away from him now? He can't deny the intense feeling in his gut telling him that Reagan is a shady guy, but he will put it aside for now. For the sake of Edd's happiness.

"No, no it's fine." Matt quickly lied, his voice wavering half-way through. "You go on ahead and have fun. I'll just… watch a movie or something. Just take care out there, Edd." He said the last part with a meaningful gaze directed at his dearest friend.

"Will do!" Edd waved him goodbye and smiled as he walked away.

"It's been nice meeting you, ginger. Love the hair by the way! See yah! ~" Reagan followed suit, but before he stepped out Matt was sure he saw the Irishman glance back at him with a smug grin and a predatory glint in his eyes as he left.

A shiver of dread raced down Matt's spine, but he did not speak up; convinced his mind might be taking his first impression of Reagan a little too far. Perhaps he can discuss his concerns with Edd regarding his new friend next time they see each other. Edd will surely put everything to light and reassure him it's all in his imagination.

But for now, much to his dismay, Matt realized he's been left alone again.

Chapter Text

A cold bitter wind swept over the town like an icy wave. Patches of snow covered the streets and sidewalks, glittering under the sunlight. Cars roared up and down the roads spewing fumes into the air; visible by the contrast in temperatures.

Exiting the department store, Eduardo breathed out an exasperated sigh; releasing a puff of steam into the air.

He absolutely hates to be away from work for long periods of time, but Mark had insisted they go out shopping together today. Eduardo didn't mind too much at first, seeing as how he is running low on basic goods and needs to replenish his stock.

Loud chattering following close behind him elicited a tired groan from Eduardo, and he kept on moving.

"Wowie! I can't believe I never considered getting a membership here – this store has absolutely everything! And for such a cheap price too!" Matt exclaimed joyfully as he walked out of the store alongside Mark, carrying shopping bags on both hands.

Eduardo rolled his eyes and frowned. He couldn't understand Mark's logic of inviting the ginger doofus to tag along with them. Hadn't they agreed to only make peace with their neighbours? Why is Mark being so friendly towards the airhead?

If Eduardo had to make a hunch; he'd suspect Mark was just happy to find someone with shared interests to hang out and go shopping with. Now that they are no longer rivals, it seems that the two narcissists have found each other like in those lame soul mate romance novels and saw how much they got in common.

Of course, if Mark wants to go ahead and be pals with their neighbour, he is more than free to do so. Especially since Eduardo doesn't have to allow or forbid anything in his life. But does Mark have to try and involve him on it constantly?

He tuned out their voices as they continued on their way home.

Matt jovially laughed at their shenanigans. He'd been spending more time with the duo over the past week. Ever since they made peace, Matt looked forward to their next "self-care" session. Eduardo is still pretty terrifying and he doesn't stick around for very long for Matt to really interact with him; but Mark just naturally clicks with him. It's nice to have someone who understands you.

"Anyways, how is Edd doing?" Mark inquired Matt after their laughter died down. "I don't believe I've seen you two together once since we moved in."

At the question, Matt's stomach tightened and he avoided the blond's gaze; searching for something to say. "Edd is... fine, I guess." He mumbled. "He's been pretty busy lately, so I haven't seen him as much as I used to."

"Well, sounds an awful lot like a certain someone that I know." Mark shot a pointed glare at Eduardo, who walked a pace ahead of them and merely huffed in response to the comment.

Worry jabbed Matt's chest as he reflected back on his current predicament with Edd. His first and brief meeting with Reagan haunted him. He can't shake the notion that there is something deeper going on. He gave a lot of thought to this situation to find the best way to go about this without upsetting Edd, and in the end, Matt decided he'll talk to the brunet as soon as he can.

Doubt gnawed away at him. I just need to play it cool – act natural! Matt reasoned nervously the closer to home he got. Edd won't suspect anything if I'm laid back.

His thoughts came to a crashing stop when his feet suddenly slipped on the icy ground as they were crossing the street, and Matt fell forward. Letting out a startled yelp, he instinctively raised his arms out in front of his face as the ground neared. "Ah! Not the face!" However, a hard tug on the back of his coat quickly put an end to his fall.

Matt looked up wide-eyed as he was hauled back to his feet, and realized that it was Eduardo who saved him from a nasty fall.

"Watch your step, dumbass!" The burly brunet scolded.

Gratitude flooded through Matt and he nodded fervently. "Y-yes! Thank you, Eduardo!" He squeaked, shrinking back a little out of fear. Please don't punch me! He closed his eyes and begged silently.

But Eduardo simply released his hold on him and walked away. Matt blinked in surprise. He's amazed that he hadn't received a punch yet, not even once since he started hanging with the duo. Eduardo hasn't so much as raised a fist at him so far. That gave Matt comfort, though he's still pretty weary of him.

He continued to chat with Mark for the reminder of their journey home, talking about more beauty tips and things they could do together.

"I guess I should start getting dinner ready, huh?" Mark spoke up, looking down at his watch as they climbed the steps to the hallway of their home. "Since it's pretty cold today, how about we have a good ol' beef stew?" He suggested.

"Sounds good to me!" Eduardo agreed. Being so busy with his work and having no culinary skill whatsoever, it's times like this he really appreciates his companion's wonderful cooking ability.

"You are invited to join us if you want, Matt." Mark continued, turning to address the ginger next to him. Eduardo resisted the temptation to roll his eyes and groan in frustration.

"Oh! Thank you!" Matt sheepishly scratched the back of his head. "I'll just… I think I will check on Edd first, and see how he is doing."

Mark nodded in understanding. "No problem. It will be a while before dinner is ready, but I'll leave my door unlocked for you!"

"Good! Guess I can take this chance to get back to work while we wait-"

Eduardo was about to stalk off to his own apartment when his ear was grabbed and pulled back abruptly by none other than Mark.

"Oh no you don't!" The blond man admonished. "You're not getting away so easily this time, Eduardo! I already let you off the hook last time and I had to set everything up by myself. But today you're going to help me prepare dinner!"

"Ow! Are you mad?" Eduardo exclaimed indignantly, trying to pull away. "Do you want me to set the food on fire?"

Mark huffed as he dragged the protesting brunet by the ear to his apartment. "Don't be so dramatic! It's high time you learned how to cook anyway."

Matt giggled as he watched the pair argue. They seem angry at each other, but he knew this quarrel was entirely good-natured. Mark and Eduardo have the tendency to get into a lot of arguments with each other for the littlest things; but they never escalate to dangerous levels.

When they had gone, Matt quickly put away his shopping bags aside, and padded up to Edd's apartment door. "Edd?" He called out and knocked. "Are you there? I'd like to talk to you." He pressed his ear against the door.

"Come in!"

Hearing the muffled cheery greeting through the door gave Matt hope. He must be in a good mood today!

At the invitation, Matt walked right in. The room was bright, the curtains drawn back to let sunlight filter through. Seated in the dining table, Edd leisurely sipped a mug of coffee with a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him. Ringo weaved her way around the chair, tail held high as she rubbed against her owner's leg.

"Hey Matt!" Edd smiled and waved tiredly.

Mirroring her owner's voice, Ringo meowed a particularly loud greeting as well; melting Matt's heart. But he did not gush over her for long, as his gaze settled on the contents on the table.

"Hey! Uh, are you… having breakfast right now?" Matt couldn't help but ask, confusion evident in his voice. It's nearly four in the afternoon, for crying out loud!

Edd chuckled. "Yeah. I woke up a little while ago." He broke off into a yawn. "I came home later than usual last night."

The brunet seems so upbeat as he scarfed down his meal. Matt can't recall another moment as of late where Edd behaved like his old self. This was how he used to look, back when there were three of them; for a while, after Tom's death, Matt had been afraid that this Edd had vanished forever.

Upon closer look though, Matt realized there were dark bags under Edd's eyes. Sensing his stare, Edd blinked back at him. "What is it?" He asked, words muffled by a mouthful of food.

"Were you out with Reagan last night by any chance?" Matt asked.

"Yup!"

"But I thought you only went out with Reagan on Wednesdays and Saturdays?" Matt inquired, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He is pretty sure yesterday was a Tuesday.

"I do. But apparently a client of Reagan's or something cancelled their plans together, and he invited me to hang out instead." Edd explained calmly, taking another bite out of his meal.

Pulling out a chair for himself, Matt sat down next to him; remembering his own advice of playing it cool. Since they're on the topic of Reagan, he might as well just go with the flow from here. Matt took a deep breath. "So… who exactly is this Reagan fellow anyway?"

He looked down at his hands nervously, bracing himself for Edd's humour to drop – thinking perhaps he overstepped his boundaries in asking. But when Matt looked up again, there was nothing in his friend's eyes except for intense interest.

"Reagan… well, he's an… interesting guy." Edd began coolly. "To be honest, I am not entirely sure what he does. But he is staying in town for a little while." He paused to take a sip of his coffee. "He doesn't know his way around the place, so he asked if I could be his guide during this period, and I said yes."

Matt thought over his words carefully. "Oh so… this isn't a permanent thing then?"

"Haha no." Then Edd's expression darkened as realization dawned on him. He had been having so much fun going out with Reagan, he hadn't considered that the Irishman isn't going to stick around town forever. What will he do when the time comes to say goodbye? "No I… I guess not." He muttered dejectedly, his posture sagging.

Sensing his sudden shift in humour, Matt panicked; desperately searching for a new topic to change to before things go downhill. But his mind was running so fast he couldn't think of anything appropriate to say or do. What do I do?

"Mrrrow!"

Coming to his rescue, Ringo hopped onto her owner's lap and peered at the food intently. Edd laughed, running his hands through her soft tabby fur. "Why you cheeky little thief! You've been eyeing my breakfast this whole time, haven't you?" He teased, blocking the food out of Ringo's sight. She mewed indignantly and tried pawing his hand aside. "Don't be so edgy! I just filled your food bowl. It's over there if you're hungry."

Matt laughed as the brunet placed the cat back on the ground. Thank you, Ringo!

"Anyway, what have you been up to?" Edd asked casually.

"Oh, nothing much honestly." Matt confessed, leaning back on his chair. "I haven't added anything new to my collection of trinkets in quite a while now. I've been hanging around Mark and Eduardo a lot lately. And there isn't anything new to watch on Webflick either-"

"Wait, what?"

Matt went rigid with alarm. Had he been too laidback? "What?" He echoed in confusion.

"You've been hanging with Mark and… Eduardo?" Edd spoke the last name with a mixture of venom and disbelief in his voice.

"Yeah?" Matt still wasn't sure what the big deal is. "I already told you they don't plan to bother us anymore."

Edd frowned. "And you believed them? I thought you knew better than that by now, Matt." His words caused a twinge of hurt within the orange-haired man, making him wince. "I mean, I can kinda understand you and Mark getting close; being vain and all that. But Eduardo? Really?"

Matt felt as if something massive got lodged in his throat. This wasn't how he had intended their talk to go. "They're not so bad." He began defensively, shifting around in his seat with clear discomfort. "I don't get to interact with Eduardo all that much, I will admit. But he hasn't done anything so far, and Mark is actually a really smart guy! They even invited me to have dinner with them – why don't you come join us for once? I think if you just try and give them a chance, you might find yourself warming up to them too."

But Edd wasn't so easily convinced. "Are you kidding? Eduardo and I in the same room? That's just asking for trouble!"

"It really isn't!" Matt insisted, frustration welling up inside of him. He so desperately wanted this arrangement to work. Maybe then Edd wouldn't need to keep going out with Reagan. "Eduardo won't even so much as glance at you; he's far too busy worrying about his mysterious job to say or do anything."

Sighing in defeat, Edd closed his eyes and leaned back on his chair. For a couple heartbeats, neither of them spoke. Then Edd turned to face him again. "Fine. I will... consider what you said."

Matt smiled, his heart fluttering with hope.

"But as for today, I think I will have to decline the invitation."

"What? Why?"

Edd stretched his arms. "I just woke up! I want to get some commissions done before I go out tonight."

"You mean… you're heading out with Reagan again?" Matt stared at him, huge eyed with dismay.

"Yup!" His friend drank the reminder of his coffee, none the wiser to the ginger's concerns. "I mean, I can't just say no now - Reagan is expecting me to meet him today. We'll probably eat junk food somewhere and get drunk-"

"I think you're making a big mistake, Edd!"

A voice suddenly exclaimed, and Matt realized with horror that it had been him. He slapped a hand over his mouth. His concern must have driven out all thoughts of being tactful, or of not upsetting Edd in the process. But it's too late to take it back now.

Edd stiffened and stared back at him through narrowed eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Matt took a deep breath. "About Reagan." He confessed, ducking his head nervously.

"And what makes you say that?" Edd sounded as calm as ever.

Gulping, Matt hesitated and shifted on his seat. It seemed clear that blurting out his suspicions the way he did hadn't been exactly the most sensible way to go about it. But I can't stop now. I have to tell him what I think!

Edd waited in silence. Matt couldn't tell what was running through his mind. "I am not… entirely sure. But when I met him I just didn't feel right about him." He went on, nervously aware that it was too late now to change his mind. He really regrets not having rehearsed this conversation prior this talk now. "There's something undeniably off about him – I can't exactly put a finger on it."

"So I'm supposed to take your word for it just because you have a bad feeling about him?" Edd asked, his voice still deceptively calm, contrasted with his rigid posture and glaring eyes. "No offence, Matt, but you only met Reagan for a total of two minutes. It's not exactly enough to judge a person's whole character off of."

"I know, I know! But I can't shake this impression that Reagan might be up to no good; and that you might have some part to play in it somehow." Matt continued. "Don't you think it's a tad strange to spend so much time around someone you hardly know? You don't even know what he does for a living! For all we know, he could be dangerous and involved in some shady business."

As he spoke, Edd began to look troubled, narrowing his eyes so that only the faintest sliver of brown showed in his eyes. He let out a long sigh. "I can see how in your point of view Reagan could be seen as suspicious." He murmured. "We haven't gone in any adventures for a while. Heck, I believe this might be the first time we've actually sat down and talked to one another. But there's no need for you to be jealous."

"Jealous?" Matt parroted incredulously.

"I see now that I have been ignoring you for a while, and I'm very sorry for that. I promise I'll make it up to you soon." Edd went on as if he'd never spoken. "But you don't need to hold it out against Reagan. He's a real swell guy!"

Matt blinked, incapable of believing what he was hearing. Could it be true his suspicions had been only conjured up by his envy towards Reagan? He literally has nothing else going against the Irishman but his first impression of him. Aside from that one time, he knows nothing about him. Who is he to judge? It is true that Matt misses spending time with Edd just like they used to. He supposed Edd did have a good reason to think he is jealous.

A twinge of apprehension flickered in Matt's belly as he remembered the look in Reagan's eyes when he and Edd had walked out the door. Those vibrant green eyes had glowed with mirth and something akin to triumph, Matt is sure of it. His gut was telling him that the Irishman should not be trusted, and he must somehow convince Edd of that, for the sake of his safety.

"You've… changed, Edd. I feel as if you're not the same person anymore. Truth be told, I'm having a hard time confiding you with anything because… I- I'm- I am always afraid of how you're going to react." He ventured. "We've only just started getting over our grief and get back on our feet when this guy shows up out of nowhere. Don't you think that's even a little bit odd?"

Edd looked up at that; his eyes trained forward with interest. For a heartbeat Matt hesitated to continue sharing his concerns about Reagan, but his determination to keep his friend safe gave him the courage to go on.

"I know I may not be the most reliable person you can count on. I forget things quite often, I'm clumsy, I mess up a lot – believe me, I get it. But we've been friends for a really long time now; so much so that we are practically family at this point." Matt didn't dare mention how short their already small family has become, and simply moved on. "We've been through adventures and hardships together, travelled through thick and thin and to hell and back again – literally! We trust, confide, and look out for each other no matter what! I don't have any definitive proof, but I just know for a fact there is something suspicious about Reagan. I… I don't want to lose you too! Please trust me, Edd; I really think you should stop seeing him. I sense something bad is going to happen if you don't." He gazed at him imploringly.

For a few heartbeats he thought Edd had not heard him, he was so still. Then he pushed his chair back and rose from his seat, staring at him with a stone cold expression. "And you fully expect me to stop meeting Reagan altogether just on the assumption that you have bad vibes about him?"

Matt blinked. "I just thought—"

"This isn't what I expect from you, Matt!" Edd growled. His usually warm eyes glittered like ice. "You would do better to mind your own business than to come here telling tales about Reagan." He studied him for a long moment. "Don't you trust me to take care of myself?"

"I—I'm sorry!" Matt stammered. "But I thought I should tell you the truth."

Edd let out a long breath. All the interest he had shown before had vanished, leaving his expression cold and remote. "Go." He ordered. "I'll talk to you later. And never—never— mention this to me again. Do you understand?"

Matt stood up wearily and began backing out of the room. "But what about Reagan? He—"

"Just go away!" Edd spat the command.

Wincing, Matt's feet scrambled against the wooden floor in his haste to obey. Once out of the apartment and closing the door behind him, Matt came to rest when he had put a good distance between himself and Edd. He felt utterly bewildered. At first Edd had seemed prepared to listen to him, but as soon as he suggested he should stop seeing Reagan, he had refused to hear any more.

A sudden chill swept through Matt. For a short time, Matt had let himself hope that he could make Edd understand how dangerous the Irishman could be.

God damn it! He thought. Now he won't hear another word against Reagan. I blew it!

Confused and unhappy, Matt made for Mark's apartment, almost unconsciously. Like the blond man had promised, he kept the door unlocked for him, and Matt walked in dejectedly. While Mark worked on the stove, Eduardo was busy cutting vegetables. There were several ingredients gathered in front of him.

"See how easy it is? I told you could manage!" Mark nudged his partner encouragingly, eyeing Eduardo's progress with approval as the brunet handed him a portion of sliced carrots to add to the stew. Mark wore a frilly white apron as he cooked. "Honestly, you were so stiff at first it was like you were genuinely expecting the vegetables to spontaneously combust or something!"

Eduardo grumbled under his breath and obediently continued slicing more vegetables.

Matt numbly stood there and watched them for a moment without speaking. He felt sad, drained after the quarrel with Edd. He couldn't help wishing it were Edd and Tom here cooking together instead of Mark and Eduardo.

Choking down his anguish, Matt offered to set up the table; hoping to take his mind off things and move on with his day.

(Meanwhile…)

Soft snores echoed faintly throughout the room as Tom peacefully dozed off, a book sprawled over his chest, Tomee bear clutched close in one arm, and a dribble of drool trickled from the corner of his mouth. The door to his quarters slides open with a hiss, and a shadow falls over Tom's unconscious form.

Nearing the bed where his test subject laid, Tord paused to study him. Look at this lazy ass motherf#cker. He snickered quietly, watching the steady rise and fall of Tom's chest. He'd come to escort Tom to his soldier training, only to find the eyeless man in the middle of a nap instead.

Any other day, Tord wouldn't think twice about jolting Tom awake to get on with their schedule for the day. Tord is a busy man, after all. However, looking down at Tom's relaxed expression as he slept, Tord's features softened and he couldn't bring himself to do it. He's so… cute!

Tord shook his head to clear away the intrusive thoughts. What am I saying? I am the Red Leader for goodness sake! I can't think like this.

Deciding to get this over and done with before his thoughts can betray him once more; Tord hastily adjusted the settings on his mechanical arm. The repulsor on the palm of his hand switched to a speaker, and Tord chose the 'air horn' setting.

Lifting his hand close to Tom's unsuspecting face, Tord grinned. Just like old times.

He braced himself and blasted the obnoxiously loud air horn noise through the speakers in his hand. Tom instantly shot up from his bed in alarm, falling off the side of the bed with wide eyes as he whipped his head around wildly.

"Wha- what?! What's happening?!" He asks panickedly, still bleary from sleep.

Tord couldn't help but burst into laughter at the Brit's dazed reaction. Tom's gaze finally fell on him, and putting the pieces together he glared at the Norsk.

"Rise and shine, soldier!" Tord grinned.

"What the f#ck, Commie?" Tom scrambled to his feet, clearly irritated by his rude awakening. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, especially not without the Dreamcatcher device, but this was still a pretty awful way to wake up to.

The Norsk stared at him in amusement and chuckled. "Somebody's cranky."

"And somebody needs to shut f#ck up." Tom fumed.

"Oh come now, Thomas; don't be so offended." Tord soothed, programing his arm back to the repulsor. "It if makes you feel any better, I play this exact same trick on Paul and Pat when they think they can sleep in!" Before they moved in to the same quarters, that is. "Now come, we have training to do."

Tom caught up with Tord as he headed for the long corridor and fell in step behind him. "Will Paul and Pat be joining us?"

Tord replied without looking back. "I've ordered them to help ensure that everything is top notch with the rest of the base. It's going to be just you and me."

Tom's heartbeat quickened and he gulped at the notion of being left alone with Tord. If something were to go wiry between them – and it very well could, given their relationship – there won't be anyone to help Tom if Tord decides he's had enough. Tom will just have to tread carefully from here on out. In theory, Tord won't hurt him unless he is provoked; so as long as Tom reframes from doing stupid sh#t he should be safe.

"What do you mean? Isn't that our end goal? ~" The voice pointed out with a scornful hiss, trailing a set of sharp fingertips teasingly along the side of his throat. Tom winced. "So what if it comes sooner? I say you mock him to your heart's content and just spill out everything you ever wanted to tell him right to his face before he pulls the trigger. ~"

Right, because that's not f#cking suspicious at all. Tom retorted dryly despite the fact that the voice's nails were digging into the flesh of his neck; drawing blood. He could feel the warm liquid tickling down onto his shirt but Tom elected to ignore it. This won't be the first time today that the voice will shed his blood. Even it isn't real. I have to play it cool. One wrong move and Tord could very well decide that any threat over my life won't be enough for my cooperation. Besides, not even Tord's anger management issues will be enough for him to lose all reason and kill me.

He heard the voice tsk in distaste. "Excuses, excuses… you'll run out of them sooner or later, but it will be far too late for you then. When that happens…I will be there to remind you of your place. ~" Tom could sense the voice grin against the back of his neck right before a set of claws scored down his back in a quick motion; from the base of his neck all the way down to his waist. Tom whimpered and the voice disappeared, its foreboding warning still ringing inside his head.

Returning to reality, Tom and Tord walked together along the large hallways of the lab level. Tom's mind raced as he shot quick glances in Tord's direction. This will be the second training session he's having with Tord; and if things weren't awkward enough before, they are definitely so now after their chat in the test room. What does he have in store for me this time? By the time they reached the training room, Tom's nerves were skyrocketing but he succeeded in maintaining his expression nulled.

They made their way across the immense gym toward the fighting ring that stood elevated just a meter above the ground. Tom followed Tord as he climbed the small steps leading into the ring and jumped over the railing into the cushioned arena.

"Now Tom, as a soldier it is important for you to be prepared for anything. Everything counts in the battlefield and you must be ready to face it." Tord explained as he strolled to the centre. "You can't be expected to rely solely on anything else aside from your own wits." He went on, turning to face him. "Depend too much on your gun, and when you find yourself without it you'll be done for. Like I said; anything can happen. Run out of ammo, get disarmed, captured, yatta yatta you get the idea." Tord raved on, twirling the fingers of his robotic hand in a dismissive gesture. "And sure, you'll be fighting alongside the rest of my army, but that's still no excuse to slack off. Teamwork may be key, but don't be surprised when you have to fend for yourself at some point."

Tom began to tune Tord out as his vision darkened once more. He whined as the all too familiar sensation of sharp digits grabbing hold of his shoulders made itself known to him.

"You hear that? Don't depend on anyone else. ~"The voice cooed mockingly into his head. "You are on your own. If you can't do things by yourself, don't bother asking help from others. You'll merely burden them more. ~"

"I want to concentrate on your fighting skills, and I want you to concentrate on them too—which means no distractions." Tord continued, pacing back and forth in front of Tom, emitting an air of authority to him.

"No one cares about you other than what you possess. ~"Whispered the voice, another set of phantom hands wrapping around Tom's waist while one sharp digit trailed his jawline and another pierced the flesh of his cheek. "If it weren't for the valuable serum currently running through your veins, believe me, people would not bat an eye if you were gone. As they should! ~"

Sudden movement flashed right in front of him. A blur of blue and red whirled past his nose, and Tom fell backwards as his feet were knocked lightly from underneath him. He landed flat on his back over the cushioned mats of the ring. Before Tom could get a chance to properly recover from the blow, the wind was knocked out of him by a heavy boot pinning him down over his ribcage. Gritting his teeth in irritation, Tom glared upwards to see Tord towering calmly over him. "Do I have your attention now?" He growled, although his one visible eye sparked with mirth.

Blinking, Tom realized what had just occurred and composed himself. "Yeah, you got me. Now let me up!"

Tord pursed his lips, as if genuinely considering the idea. "I'll let you up, if you address me properly." He smirked.

Rolling his non-existent eyes, Tom grumbled. Tord leaned downwards while simultaneously increasing the pressure of his boot over Tom's ribs. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Mind speaking up a little bit more?"

Clenching his eyes shut, Tom hissed at the building pain in his lower abdomen. At least the Commie managed to shut the voice up. He acknowledged, before sighing in defeat. "Sorry, Sir! It won't happen again, sir!" Tom growled hastily, glaring into his gray eye.

Satisfied with his answer, Tord lifted his boot off and stepped back. "That's better." The Norsk murmured, watching Tom stagger to his feet. "As I was saying; Thomas, you have been with us for many months now. Although you were never directly involved with any of the army's activities, you are no stranger to this type of environment." He commented, referring to their little adventure in the army countless years ago. Ah, the fond memories! "You have had some fighting experience; you are familiar with guns and… other weapons." Tord's voice slightly lowered, and Tom did not need to be a genius to know what he was implying with that remark. "Not to mention that you are quite clever and agile… when you want to be, that is."

Tom crossed his arms and stared at him deadpanned. "Are you going to keep on babbling or are you getting somewhere with all of this?"

He received a cuff to the back of his head for his snarky comment. It didn't really hurt, since Tord used his organic hand – it's more of a reminder to keep quiet and listen when the leader is talking. But Tom found himself rubbing the sore spot with a frown regardless.

Shaking his head, Tord tutted. "Patience is a virtue, Thomas. A virtue you unfortunately do not possess an abundance of." He went back to pacing. "Where was I? Oh yes! You are quite the formidable opponent when put in the right circumstances. But one day you will meet an opponent who is all of these things as well, and perhaps so much more – quick, fierce and clever." Tord noted, his voice lowered to an intense hiss. "And it is my duty as your leader and mentor to prepare you for that day."

Tom nodded, surprised to find himself so caught up on the Norsk's words. It's not in any way normal to hear Tord compliment him; and gathering from past experiences, Tom knows this doesn't usually end well for him. Tom's senses were fully alert, and on guard.

"Show me how well you fight." Tord ordered. "Attack me. Try to pin me down."

Tom blinked. Usually he would be static at the chance of punching Tord's stupid smirk and face in, just to payback for all the sh#t he pulled. But Tom couldn't help but hesitate, his fingers curling into fists in a repeating motion. There's something undeniably suspicious about this.

"Really? Just like that?" Tom raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"What else is there to it? A kiss on the cheek for good luck?" Tord argues, shrugging with indifference. He then smirks. "I didn't realize you would be so scared of going up against a half blind amputee, Thomas."

"Shouldn't you begin by teaching me some basic moves? Jumping straight to fighting seems really out of left field!" Tom tries to reason.

"I'm sorry, which one of us runs an army?" Tord remarked with a chuckle. "We both know you are not defenceless, Thomas. Before I can start teaching you I would like to see what level your skills are right now, so that I may pick up from there. No point wasting time teaching you things you already know." He explained coolly.

Seeing no other way out of this, Tom scoffed and rolled his non-existent eyes. He decided not to give Tord the benefit of seeing him flustered and just get this training session over with as soon as possible.

Narrowing his eyes and getting into focus, Tom analysed Tord's form, sizing him up and wondering the best way to go about this. Tord wasn't much bigger than himself; but what the Norsk lacks in height he makes up for it in muscle, surely. Nearly ten years leading an army – Tord can't possibly be weak.

Tom's mind flashed back to the incident when in a fit of rage he'd ripped out Tord's eye patch and invoked the Norsk's wrath. Perhaps because at the time Tom had been so weak and malnourished, but Tord definitely isn't someone he ought to mess with.

With that in mind, it would be a waste of effort to begin with mere punches and wrestling. The next best thing Tom could think of would be to aim for one side. But which one? Tord may be blind on his right side, but Tom isn't foolish enough to think that the Norwegian man would let himself be open to attacks with such a weak spot being exposed. Not to mention that his right has the deadly, metallic hand; currently flexing his fingers with anticipation and making faint whirring sounds.

"Today if possible, Thomas." Tord teased, taking notice of the Brit's clear discomfort and frustration as he could practically read his every move.

Grumbling a low growl, Tom shifted his attention to the Norsk's left side. Looks simple enough, aside from the aforementioned muscle strength. But here's the thing; would Tom rather be hit with a very probable painful punch to his face from a hand made out of flesh and bones, or from a robotic fist made out of hard metal and steel?

"What's this? ~" The voice returned to haunt him. "Afraid of a little pain? ~" Tom could practically feel it grin right up against his ear, and he suppressed a shudder.

Ignoring the voice's sharp claw-like nails grazing over his injured back, Tom focused his attention back to training. Perhaps if he could trick Tord into going a certain direction, while aiming for the other one, Tom could go behind his back and unbalance him with a powerful enough blow.

With a plan set in mind, Tom braced himself. Disturbingly enough, Tord hasn't taken his silver-gray eye off him for even an instant. Tom stared back at him and dashed forward.

He pretended to aim for Tord's right, and when the Norsk tries to block his blow, Tom would divert to his left on the last minute to land a punch on his side.

But Tord was more than ready for him.

Rather than blocking Tom's feint attack, like he had been hoping for, Tord lashed out with his robotic hand and tried to punch him square in the face.

"What the-?!"

Tom abruptly halted, blinking in confusion and barely managing to dodge the strike. He tried to retract his steps and go the other way around, still going along with his plan, only for Tord to block his path and grab a hold of him; easily flinging him away. Tom felt he had been knocked away like a bothersome brat. He hit the cushioned floor hard and lay winded for a moment, catching his breath, before scrambling to his feet.

"What the hell?!"

"Interesting strategy." Tord commented slyly. "But you'll have to try a lot harder than that. Again!"

Getting over his initial shock, this time Tom looked at his shoulders but aimed for his legs. When Tord attacks, Tom would knock the legs from underneath him as he ducks. Tom felt a surge of satisfaction as he charged, but it turned into confusion as Tord unexpectedly sidestepped out of the way and let him skid his leg into nothing where he had stood just a heartbeat before. Tord timed it perfectly – and before Tom could catch his bearings and formulate another plan of attack, Tord landed a kick with painful precision on Tom's stomach; knocking the wind out of him.

Panting, Tom staggered backwards with a wild look in his eyes. He spotted Tord coming his way, and in his haze, succeeded in blocking a couple of punches until Tord head-butted him, and pushed him backwards. Stunned, Tom fell on his back as Tord pinned him down, squashing the breath out of him.

"Now how about you try something I won't expect, hm?" Tord hissed into his ear, climbing off him and backing away with a challenging gleam in his one gray eye.

Tom scrambled up, panting, and shook himself crossly. He hissed and charged again. Tom was determined to win no matter at what cost. But Tord is just as equally determined to not go easy on him, or let him win at all.

Tord remained absolutely still, not moving a muscle as he watched Tom get nearer. Fuming, the test subject tackled him head on and tried to use his own weight to bring the Norsk down with him. However, Tord had endured the force of the impact with his legs digging into the floor. He watched with blatant amusement, as the other man tried in vain to overpower him. He is slowly, but surely succumbing to frustration. Tord mused. He almost felt bad for Tom at this point, seriously considering going a tad bit easier on him.

Well… Almost.

Keeping one of his legs tightly secured in the ground to keep his balance, Tord twisted his other one around Tom's, and used his hands to shove him away. Tom staggered backwards, tripping over Tord's leg in the process. He tried to regain his balance last minute, to stand up and keep fighting, but Tord kneed him in the gut and he flopped heavily onto his back.

"Thomas."

Above the roaring rush of blood pulsating in his ears, Tom barely managed to hear Tord's soft voice above him. Blinking his eyes, Tom saw the Norsk extend his robotic hand out to him. Knowing he didn't have the strength to get up by himself at this point, Tom accepted the offer without complaint. Once the Brit's hand was in his mechanical one, Tord hauled him up until he was back on his legs. Still stunned and dizzy, Tom nearly fell again until Tord grasped his shoulders to keep him steady.

A hand gently grasped Tom's chin, and raised his head to make eye contact with the Red Leader. "Tom, listen to me. You're strong and quick, but you must learn to keep control of your speed and body weight so that it's not so easy for me to unbalance you."

Tom batted the hand holding his chin aside pathetically. "Isn't all this a bit too much?" He complained, still panting. "I mean, what are the chances we fight other soldiers like this? In a real war, everyone is going to be equipped with guns; at least I sincerely hope so. Also, even if we're unarmed, the other troops will surely have guns and they'll kill us way before we get the chance to get near them and do something. So, I don't know, this all seems kind of pointless to me."

Tord chuckled. "Trust me, you'll be plenty thankful to have this set of skills on you if the occasion ever arises." He continued. "It may sound silly and improbable at first, I know, but it is a training requirement for any army and I cannot just overlook it." Once he was sure Tom wasn't going to topple down if he lets go of him, Tord walked away to stand on the opposite side of the ring. "Whenever you are ready, try again."

Tom backed away; hot, sweaty, and out of breath, until he found himself leaning against the elastic ropes of the arena. Groaning in exasperation, frustration raged through him. He just wants to get this stupid training session over with, so he can go take a shower and return to his quarters for a quick nap before his dinner arrives. Now more than ever, Tom is determined to get the better of the Commie.

He took his time in recovering and made another quick observation of his opponent, searching for any weaknesses he could exploit to his advantage. Standing all the way over to the opposite side of the fighting ring, Tord was stretching his limbs, popping some of his joints in the process. Tom watched him with something akin to fascination. The Norsk looks so at ease, and confident in his abilities. Was there even a bead of sweat on his face? The long, cobalt blue coat really made Tord's overall form and shape stand out. It gave an empowering and dominating air to him, but also graceful and elegant too. Sure, Pat and Paul wear them too, but for an unknown reason Tom thought it looked a lot more appealing on Tord.

Feeling reinvigorated now, Tom snapped his mind back on track. "I'm ready now."

Tord shot him a brief glance. "Well? What you're waiting for, Thomas? An invitation?"

Narrowing his eyes at Tord's teasing comments, Tom rushed at him. The Red Leader smirked and positioned himself into a defensive stance. Once he was within proximity, Tom raised one fist and swung it towards the Norsk's left cheek. Tord ducked to avoid his strike and raised his robotic hand, ready to swipe down right onto Tom's head. Thinking quickly, Tom fell back to the ground to avoid the blow, and in one fast movement, struck his legs forward to kick Tord straight on the gut. Taken by surprise, Tord hissed as he felt all air be knocked out of him. He doubled over and staggered backwards. Tom took his chance now that the Norsk is momentarily winded, and he swiped his leg against Tord's own.

Tord was knocked down and fell back onto the cushioned floor with a grunt.

Tom flipped himself over and leaped to his feet. He felt jubilant. He observed Tord's form, lying down completely still with the exception of the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in heavily. Tom approached him, his movements sluggish from fatigue, and yet for the first time in a long while he actually felt proud of himself.

Towering over him, Tom found Tord's one visible eye glinting proudly back at him.

"That... was much better." The Norsk puffed, out of breath. Tom smirked just a tiny bit, and lends him a hand, to which Tord gratefully took. Tom heaved him up, helping Tord to his feet as he adjusted his uniform and hair. "But you forgot to pin me down. That was a mistake."

Smirk wiped away instantly, Tom got no time to react as Tord pulled him forward hard, knocking him to the ground, then retreated and let Tom pick himself up before rushing at him again. Tom braced himself for impact, but Tord bowled over him easily.

"Look at my size, Thomas! Don't try to stand up against my attack. Use your wits!" Tord instructed, pinning him down with his boot. "If you are fast enough to avoid me, then avoid me!" He stepped off.

Tom scrambled to his feet again, preparing for Tord's next attack. This time he didn't dig his heels into the cushioned floor, but stood lightly, keeping his weight on his toes. As Tord advanced toward him, he hopped neatly out of his path, and struck out a punch against the side of Tord's face, sending him spiralling onward past him.

Tord regained his footing and whirled around to face him. A sly grin on his face as he rubbed his sore cheek. "Excellent! You learn quickly." He praised with glinting gaze. "But that was an easy move. Let's see how well you deal with this one!"

Tord sprang at him, slamming into Tom's side and knocking him off his feet. Tom writhed as he was firmly pinned down by the Norwegian man. Tord's silver-gray eye stared back at him when a mischievous expression crossed his features.

No harm in teasing him a little bit, right?

"Say, does this remind you of something?" Tord purred with mock contemplation. Tom stopped struggling to look up at him in confusion.

"No? Not really?-"

He cut off abruptly when Tord deeply inhaled, his nose scrunching up and his throat rumbling. Tom froze, his eyes widening. He knows exactly what the Commie has in mind. The snicker-snag!

Back when they were teens and started living together, it was common for Tom and Tord to get into lots of petty arguments and fights to breakout between them for the littlest things. Tord especially liked to tease Tom by pinning him down and subject him to a snicker-snag; a disgusting move where he would dangle a thread of saliva over his face until it eventually falls, and slobbers him. At the time, Edd would usually come to his rescue before such fate could happen. But Edd isn't here to save him now.

With that in mind, Tom's panic kicked-in and he started to trash around wildly, trying to escape but to no avail. His struggles only escalated when Tord began to droop the bead of drool, inching closer and closer to his face. "No! No! No!" Tom screeched, shaking his head frantically as his mind went haywire the closer the strand got until he couldn't take it anymore, and simply turned his head away. Eyes clenched shut as he waited for the humiliating defeat with one last desperate scream.

But it never came.

Tord slurped the thread back before it could reach Tom, and stared down at him as he laughed. "Jesus, Tom!" He wheezed. "With the way you're screaming it sounds like I'm subjecting you to some painful torture! Not a snicker-snag!"

Tom opened one of his eyes and gazed back up at him, annoyed that he's being made fun of, but at the same time relieved Tord wasn't going to go through with it. Or so he thought, before Tord's laughter died down and he let his saliva hang from his mouth once more.

"Oh c'mon!" Tom renewed his struggles, writhing beneath Tord from side to side to try and slip away. "Since when are snicker-snags included in soldier training, for f#cks sake?!" He hoped Tord would pull the disgusting slob back up again to give some witty remark, but unfortunately Tord merely chuckled and continued his insistent teasing.

In a last desperate effort to escape this awful humiliation, Tom thrust his legs up hard into Tord's belly, successfully throwing the Norsk off of him. He miraculously managed to dodge the droplet of spit at the last second, twisted and jumped to his feet before Tord could catch him off guard.

They continued training for hours in that gym. Without even feeling the presence of time pass between the two of them, they kept sparring for the reminder of the day. They laughed and bantered through the many punches and kicks being thrown at each other, but there was no sign of animosity between them. Only competitive playfulness.

All previous thoughts of suspicion, defiance and disdain have disappeared. There is only now; Tord and him, facing each other.

"That's enough for today." Tord stopped and gathered to his feet.

Tom couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief. He's completely spent after today's workout. Though he would personally never admit it out loud, he enjoyed the training session with Tord. Mostly because it was the only chance he got to pummel his fist in Tord's face without any repercussions after holding in his anger this whole time. But there was also this underlined pleasant sensation Tom couldn't possibly ignore that manifested sometime during training.

It felt weird.

He followed Tord out of the ring. The Norsk seemed a little tired; stiff and with a slight limp but he still walked with grace. Tom fell in step next to him, panting heavily and still a little exhilarated from their training.

"Good work, Tom. You did great today." Tord began as they walked into the hallway.

Tom glanced at him and scoffed. "Yeah right! I couldn't even manage to pin you down!"

Tord chuckled. "To be fair, no one can. Maybe Paul can, but he hasn't so far. When I set the challenge for you I knew you wouldn't succeed, but I wanted to see how you would try to anyway; and just as I expected, you did not disappoint." He went on. "You get frustrated very easily and that tends to cloud your judgment when it matters, but you are a quick learner and that'll be essential for the rest of your training."

Only half-listening at this point, Tom realized something strange. He wasn't feeling the least bit tired; in fact, Tom felt quite the opposite. He feels as if he could run laps around the track all day, his feet skimming the ground as the exhilaration of speed coursed through him, and Tom had a feeling he could stand up to anything. This sensation was new and refreshing to say the least. Tom wanted more.

"Hey Tord." Tom spoke up after a few brief minutes of silence. "Am I allowed to use the gym whenever I want?"

Tord glanced back at him questioningly and hummed. "I suppose."

"Then if it's all the same to you," Tom stopped walking and glanced over his shoulder. "I think I'll head back and train a little more by myself."

Tord stared at him in surprise, and then Tom glimpsed a flicker of disappointment in the Norsk's eyes before he settled for a calm demeanour and a lazy grin. "As you wish. But don't be surprised if you get a scolding from Patrick later for overworking yourself. I practically have to put up with it every day!"

Tom forced himself to chuckle casually before whirling around and going back the way he came. Something about Tord just then unsettled him. Why did he appear disappointed so suddenly? Tord had that exact same expression at the end of their talk in the test room. It had been brief, but it was still there.

Is Tord expecting something from me? Tom couldn't help but wonder. If so, what?

(Meanwhile…)

Reagan whistled a happy little tune as he led Edd toward their destination for the night. He couldn't stop thinking back to the ginger-haired man he encountered a few days ago. It was hilarious how awfully easy it was to unsettle him, and he can't wait to play more games with him in the future. Will he be brave enough to even try? Or will he stand back and watch as I steal his friend away? Reagan snickered quietly to himself. He surely can't wait to see.

"Hey Reagan, are you sure you know where we're going?" Edd's voice cut through his musings and he glanced back at him over his shoulder. "I must admit I've never been to this part of the town before, so I am kinda blind here."

Reagan clasped a hand on his shoulder dismissively. "Don't worry. I've been to this place a bunch of times over the past few weeks – I practically know this area like the back of my hand at this point."

Edd blinked in surprise. "Really? Why?"

The Irishman hummed pensively, grinning as he fished his pocket for a cigar. "Work related stuff, mostly."

They continued walking through the suspicious looking neighbourhood. Despite Reagan's reassurance, Edd remained on high alert; his brown eyes flicking all over the place.

The buildings they passed by were old and rundown, their windows cracked or barred with wooden planks. The streets they tread in were narrow and dark with barely any light posts to illuminate the way. The farther they went the fewer cars seem to drive by the area, leaving them in an eerie silence with nothing to take its place.

It was only when a bottle shattered ominously close by their location, startling Edd so badly he visibly jumped, did he finally voice his increasing worries.

"Reagan? Are you absolutely sure this place is safe? Because I got a really bad feeling…"

Expecting to hear another reassurance to calm his nerves, Edd was completely unprepared for Reagan's response.

"Well… I said that I know this place – didn't say anything about being safe."

"What?!" Edd exclaimed only to slap a hand over his own mouth in fear of attracting unwanted attention. He grabbed Reagan by the shoulders and started shaking him in desperation. "You mean to tell me we are currently walking through a danger zone and you are okay with this? Are you mad?"

Reagan stared at him wide eyed before smirking. "This is the fastest shortcut that I know of. Plus I thought you trusted me, Eddie. I would never lead you into danger on purpose unless we didn't have any other choice. But I promise you, as long as you stick close to me, we are safe." He brushed Edd's hands off his shoulders. "Trust me."

Edd stepped back hesitantly, still unnerved by the reality of the situation. "I do trust you, Reagan. It's your judgment that worries me a little." They resumed walking. "I mean, what if we get jumped on by a mugger? Or surrounded by a gang of bandits? Or worse?"

"Calm your tits, Eddie. I'm sure we'll get through this just fine."

"You know, there's been a lot of rumours and sightings of a beast wandering the area. Well, it's been a while since the last report, but in any case, I think we should be careful-"

"Beast? Seriously?" Reagan interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Where the f#ck are we? The eighteen-hundreds? Sh#t Eddie, I forgot my pitchfork and torch at home – guess we're f#cked!"

"I'm serious! People got killed by whatever it is, and it was a huge deal a while back. It kinda became this town's version of the Mothman or Bigfoot; everyone knows about it."

"As fascinating as it sounds, I'm still confident we got nothing to worry about." Reagan eyed him curiously. "You seem to know a great deal about this case though."

"It was all over the news when it first started occurring; it's kinda hard to not pay any attention to it when it's everywhere! Besides, it's quite an interesting case." Edd half-lied.

True, he had watched the news back when everything first happened, but Edd had never given the situation much thought. He was concerned for Tom and Matt's wellbeing at the time and often cautioned them to be careful. Then there were no more news about it and Edd thought everything was all good again.

Until Tom died that is.

When Edd finally snapped out of his denial, there was a stage in his period of grief where he tried to find the culprit behind his friend's murder. During his search, Edd had stumbled upon many articles surrounding the mysterious cryptid but Edd instantly brushed it off. Not that he doesn't believe in the supernatural in any way – his adventures have more than proven their existence. But it's highly unlikely this creature had anything to do with the situation, since Tom's death did not match the description of any of the other victims. Still, didn't stop Edd from doing his research on the matter.

"But I don't think we got to worry about anything. No one's going to jump us, and if they do, I'll make them regret it." Reagan's voice cut through his thoughts, jerking him back to reality.

"How can you be so sure?" Edd prompted.

Reagan gave a low chuckle. "I got… briefed before arriving in this town. Let's just say I know exactly what I am dealing with." He then paused, his tone taking a serious turn. "But I can't guarantee your safety if you decide to come here on your own for whatever reason. So I advise you to stay clear from this area when I'm not with you, or you're going to get beaten to pulp with an inch of your life left."

Before long they finally reached the end of the dreadful alley and left the horrid neighbourhood behind them. Edd released a sigh of relief when Reagan nudged him, prompting him to look up.

Their destination turned out to be a bowling alley. Reagan thought it would be fun if they played a few rounds and ate Chinese takeout together. Edd squinted as he took in his surroundings. The dim lighting combined with the harsh neon lights that bordered each one of the bowling tracks and walls hurt his eyes, and the obnoxiously loud pop music that blasted from the speakers didn't help matters. It genuinely feels as if they're on a rave rather than a bowling alley.

They sat in a booth on the far side, closer to the lanes and away from the other players in the establishment. While Edd busied himself on setting all their food down, Reagan went ahead and got the game started.

"And… strike!"

The blond flicked his hand forward and released the ball, flinging it across the smooth lane with such strength it thundered loudly above the blasting music. However, contrary to the Irishman's wishes, the ball dashed straight to the gutter and harmlessly passed by the pins.

Reagan frowned. "Boo! Game's rigged!"

"Tough luck." Edd chuckled, opening the last of the food wrappings.

"It's your turn now." Reagan turned to him, holding a bowling ball out for Edd to take. The brunet swallowed.

"I, uh, why don't you go ahead and play my round as well? I'm sure you can make a strike this time!" Edd suggested nervously.

The Irishman raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "That's not how this game works, Eddie." He shoved the ball into the Brit's hands. "C'mon! I'm the one paying for all this; the least you could do is try and enjoy yourself!"

Shoved closer to the lane, Edd staggered forward and approached wearily. He had never gone bowling before – In the past, Tom would forbid Edd and Matt from ever stepping foot into one of these establishments. It's not like he's here to complain now. Edd thought uneasily as he crouched into the address stance. Still feels wrong to be here playing though.

Pushing his nagging anxiety aside Edd held the ball up to his face, preparing to throw. However, as he peered at the dark holes of the ball, it appeared to shift – morphing into a face with empty eyes and spiky hair, glaring back at Edd as if scrutinizing his actions and a pang of guilt scorched through the brunet. Edd leaned closer to the apparition, yearning for the real thing to manifest out of it and change his reality from what it currently is.

"Hey Eddie, are you gonna throw the ball any time soon or are you planning on frenching it first?"

Reagan's teasing jab cut through Edd's thoughts, effectively erasing the illusion and jerking him back to reality. Blinking rapidly, Edd hastily threw the ball and watched as it went straight for the gutter.

"Yeah, sorry… I'm not very good at this game." Edd laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly as he tried to brush off his embarrassment. "I think I will just... sit down and eat instead. I'm really hungry. Maybe you should take a break too?"

Reagan stared at him intently for a couple of heartbeats before shrugging. "Whatevs, Eddie. I am gonna keep playing, if you don't mind."

However, not a minute later and Reagan called it quits when the ball went to the gutter again. They sat down on the booth and began to chow down their food and talk.

"So Reagan, what did you do before coming to this town?" Edd asked through a mouthful of food.

Reagan tsked. "You know I'm not allowed to answer that."

"Oh not work – I mean, like, life in general?" His earlier argument with Matt caused a bit of unease within Edd. He knows Reagan better than Matt does, that's for sure, but the Irishman is still as enigmatic as the day he first met him. The weight in his conscience would lessen considerably if Reagan were to shed some light into his background.

Humming deep in thought, Reagan tapped his chin repeatedly. "Not much, honestly." He took another forkful of his meal. "Just hopping from one place to another, looking for new thrills, hang around for a while before eventually moving on to the next best thing. Guess I was kind of a wanderer before settling for my job."

Edd contemplated his words. "Sounds nice, but also a bit lonely though." He stirred his food with one fork. "Don't you have a family to get back to? Or a home, or something?"

"What? And be tied down to only one place and having to depend on others all the time? Pass!" He scoffed, raising his chin. "I can't think of anything worse than being held back by others when you can accomplish so much more out of your life. I like to be free, thank you very much! I met a lot of people in my travels, and I can tell you, no one sticks around forever – and hey! Life is short! Can't afford to settle for a handful when there's a whole world ripe for the taking." He finished his speech with a wide grin on his face. "Why despair when there's a bar in every corner of the world?"

Edd opened his mouth to protest, but stopped short when Reagan reached for one of the fortune cookies. Rather than cracking one open to take the fortune from within, like you're supposed to, he simply tossed the full thing in his mouth and started chewing without a care in the world. Edd stared at him wide eyed.

"Reagan… you do know that's not how you eat fortune cookies, right?"

The Irishman stopped chewing, staring back at Edd in confusion. "What you mean?"

Flabbergasted he was actually going to have to teach such a basic concept to someone who claims to be so independent, Edd took the remaining fortune cookie and cracked it open; taking the slip of paper to demonstrate.

"Oh!" Reagan deadpanned in understanding. He stuffed his fingers inside his own mouth, poking around the mush of food inside. Edd nearly gagged in disgust and had to look away. Reagan finally pulled out the wet slip of paper from his mouth. "Blimey! You mean to tell me all these years I've been eating fortune cookies wrong? Well, this is embarrassing."

Edd chuckled half-heartedly, brushing the incident off. "So what does it say?"

Reagan unfolded his fortune to read, flicking away the bits of food clinging to it. "The greatest danger could be your stupidity." He deadpanned, earning a chortle out of Edd. "Aiight, sounds sensible enough. What about yours, Eddie?"

The brunet unwrapped the slip of paper eagerly. "All things are difficult before they are easy." His smile fell as he read the words out loud, the phrase resonating within him. It seems things are always difficult. He thought frustratedly. The image of a ginger-haired Brit smiling brightly back at him flashed in his mind, and Edd shifted in his seat uncomfortably. I shouldn't be here.

"I think I'm gonna head back home now." Edd stood up from his seat, ready to leave.

Reagan's head snapped up to look at him before he'd even finished his sentence, giving him a look; one that says he'd mistepped. Instantly, Reagan's hand shot up to grab Edd's elbow to stop him. "Whoa whoa whoa! Not so fast, Eddie." He spoke coolly. "Are you forgetting that I'm the one paying all expenses here tonight? After all the trouble of booking a place for us, you mean to tell me my money is going down the drain cuz you can't put up staying out a little bit later?

Silence descended between them like a thick fog, and stayed for a full minute as Edd contemplated his words.

"C'mon, Eddie!" Reagan grinned, tipping his head lazily to one side. "Where's your sense of adventure? Live a little!"

Edd bit his lip. He squirmed uncomfortably under that smile; it made him feel like a dull-witted child who still needs parents' permission to stay out late with his friends, and a tight knot of anxiety congealed in his stomach. Giving in with a small sigh, Edd shrank back into his seat and dropped his gaze, sipping his cola from time to time to relax.

"You know Eddie, I gotta be honest with you man, from one friend to another; but I think you might be just a little bit too uptight."

"Huh?"

"I mean, just look at your lifestyle!" Reagan motioned to the Brit's entire being. "You are an artist, hoping to strike big someday, and maybe even find yourself a fancy lady to court – or dude; I don't judge! – And you are really open with people." The blond narrowed his eyes. "And that's dangerous."

Edd stared at him, perplexed by the Irishman's way of thinking. "What do you mean?"

"Well, how many other people out there do you reckon have the same goals as you do? It's gonna be a competition, regardless if you think you got talent. Someone out there could be even better, and what will you do then?" Reagan kept going, acting composed and laid back as he delivered some harsh truths to really knock some sense into Edd's reality. "Put it this way, Eddie; you keep letting people in, you are just asking to get yourself hurt. I speak from personal experience that they will leave you in the end – one way or another."

Contemplating his ominous words, Edd couldn't help but tilt his head to one side. "Why are you telling me this?" His eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, watching Reagan tip back his head and take a massive gulp of his beer.

"Because we're friends! I thought that was obvious enough by now. I care about your wellbeing, especially since you lost a friend not too long ago, and I don't want to see you get hurt." Reagan responded as he slammed the tankard on the table, oozing confidence to back up his words. His tongue swiped around his lips briefly to clean away the foam the tasty beverage had left behind. "Those rose-tinted glasses you have on can only take you so far before it becomes too much for you to handle, so I advise you to start building some walls."

Edd drank his cola, unsure of how to respond and just letting Reagan's advice replay in his head. "Kinda bleak way of viewing the world, don't you think?" He speaks at last, a small faint smile on his face as he tries lightening the mood. "The world is pretty harsh, and life can be tough on us; but it's not all bad! There's so much more to it."

"Sometimes people die, sometimes they live, and sometimes they break apart." Reagan murmured coolly, slowly churning the beer in his glass. "In my line of work, you know, you learn the worst of humanity, and you sure don't see a lot of best to balance it out."

His sombre tone convinced Edd that he was speaking from personal experience. He felt a sharp prick of curiosity, wondering for the life of him what could Reagan's mysterious job be, but Reagan said no more, and Edd didn't feel that he could ask him about it.

Chapter Text

Ear tips aching with cold, Edd sullenly kicked a pile of snow that was standing on his path. It was only the beginning of the day but he was already in a foul mood.

In front of him, Matt was chatting rather loudly with Mark; discussing the best brands of hair mousse, or something or other. Eduardo took the lead walking a couple paces ahead, while Edd did the same for the rear end of the group.

Some time has gone by since Edd and Matt's argument. Thinking he had given both of them sufficient time to get over it and move on, Edd tried to make more of an effort in spending time with Matt, and hopefully make amends. But things didn't go as he'd expected. Matt was more than happy to accept the offer, but only if their so called "former rivals" accompany them and Edd give them a chance.

Edd had begrudgingly agreed, but he wasn't the least bit happy with this arrangement. He wanted to spend time with Matt all by himself! Can't Eduardo and Mark have the least bit of sense and take a hike?

The supermarket came into view just right up ahead of them. The ground was more slippery the farther they walked, and Matt slowed down his pace exponentially until he was merely shuffling along. He remembers the near fall he had the other day and he doesn't want a repeat of that! The others were already well ahead of him, and Matt searched for the best way to go about this without the risk of slipping.

His gaze landed on the layer of untouched, fluffy snow beside him and Matt got an idea. Edd noticed the look in his friend's eyes and watched Matt hop right into the snow; immediately sinking knee deep.

"What are you doing, Matt? Get out of there!" Edd admonished. "The snow is a lot deeper than you think – you're gonna sink right through!"

"Nonsense!" Matt brushed him off, hopping from one leg to another in the snow as he sank deeper and deeper, trying to keep up with the rest of the group. "I won't risk hurting my beautiful face when there's a perfect good way to go about this- AH!"

His words cut off abruptly as the next step he took resulted in him sinking his entire weight through the snow until he was nearly shoulder deep.

Edd shook his head unimpressed. "See? Now look what happened!"

Matt's eyes widened in shock. "H-help!" His hands scrambled against the snow, desperately trying to claw his way out of the hole he made; but his hands merely sank through snow, creating an even bigger hole.

Edd rolled his eyes and quickly moved to help him. However, before he could reach him, Eduardo had turned back around and reached out toward Matt; grabbing the ginger by the back of his hoodie and hauling him out. Edd watched his actions in surprise before instantly switching to suspicion. His brown eyes narrowed, body going rigid as he prepared to jump in to Matt's defence at the slightest sign of aggression from his counterpart.

"Th- th- than-ks, Edu-Eduardo." Matt uttered through chattering teeth.

"Don't mention it. Bloody idiot." Eduardo grunted.

He released his hold on Matt as soon as he was standing back on the ground, and hurriedly moved away to put a good distance between himself and the others. Edd kept his gaze fixed on his rival the entire time.

They finally reached the grocery store, and Edd wasted no time going off on his own. If Matt prefers their company so much over his own, then Edd won't waste his time trying. Yet, even after he zigzagged his way through the aisles, trying to lose sight of the others, Edd conveniently could hear their voices just right behind at all times.

He glared back at them over his shoulder as they entered the cereal aisle. Mark appeared beside him, looking over the vast selection of cereals for the healthiest choice. Edd hunched his shoulders as the blond settled next to him. Couldn't he stick close to Eduardo and leave him in peace?

"What a shame. There are only kid brands here!" Mark tsked in disappointment when he couldn't find what he was looking for.

"Who cares?" Edd sniffed. "It's cereal. No one ever eats cereal to be healthy; not unless you're the boring kind of person."

"Oh c'mon, don't be grumpy." Mark nudged him good-naturedly. "I already have to deal with one grump; don't make me deal with another one." He gestured toward Eduardo standing a few feet away from where they are.

Edd rubbed his nose with one hand, trying to warm it up. "You can thank Matt for that." He grumbled under his breath and stalked away. He found Matt standing by the bakery section, gazing pensively at all the fresh baked goods. Edd neared him and when Matt was within reaching distance he pulled him aside. "I know what you're doing. Don't think that I don't!"

Matt blinked in bewilderment. "Oh? And what am I doing?"

"You're trying to get me to be friends with them! It's not gonna happen, Matt." Edd warned ill-tempered. The mere idea that Matt genuinely thinks he can get all four of them to be friends is absolutely ridiculous! Doesn't he see all the bad blood between them? And Matt has the audacity to bad talk about Reagan, when he is hanging around people like Eduardo!

"You said you would give them a chance." Matt ducked his head, looking at him imploringly.

Edd glowered. "I said I would consider, and I concluded that this arrangement is a bad idea." Matt opened his mouth to retort, but Edd barged past him before he could take the chance to do so.

The brunet marched his way toward the soda aisle, letting his bad temper run freely as he did so. Edd felt resentment and frustration flare up so intensely inside of him he lashed out at anyone who so much as breathes in his general direction. Even Hellucard, who greeted him in his usual cheery way didn't escape Edd's wrath unscathed, and got shoved out of the way right into a stack of soup cans. Edd was itching to pick a fight with someone – start a riot, or do something completely crazy and out of his league! Anything to snap the mundane facade that's been trying to mask his broken reality as normal; because things are absolutely not normal!

Tom is gone, and his rivals aren't rivals. That's not how things were supposed to be! Even Matt seemed happier nowadays.

Traitor.

Had he forgotten about Tom?

Edd grabbed a pack of cola at the same time as Eduardo appeared next to him, grabbing his own disgusting preference of the brand. Edd rolled his eyes. "I see you still like that trash." He growled. "Guess you haven't changed as much as you claim."

His words sounded lame even to his own ears, but at this point Edd was desperate to release his frustrations with a good fight – and he knows only Eduardo can deliver what he is looking for. His rival is so temperamental, Edd is sure it wouldn't take much to get Eduardo to throw a punch at him. Even with the major possibility he gets his ass handed to him, at least Edd will have let out some steam.

But both to his surprise and dismay, Eduardo only fixed him with a disinterested glance and turned away from him. Edd couldn't believe his eyes. He ignored me?! He glared at the burly brunet as he walked away from him.

Determined not to let Eduardo get out of this so easily, he hurried to catch up and ducked in front of him to stand on his path. "Oi! I'm talking to you here!" Anger flared up in Edd's eyes, and he took a pace forward that brought him practically nose to nose with Eduardo. "What's the matter? Not tough enough to pick on me anymore?"

Eduardo's nostrils flared minutely as he released a patient sigh. "I'm not giving in, Edd."

"What?"

"I'm not giving you what you want from me. Trust me, it's not worth it." Eduardo murmured calmly and narrowed his eyes. "I understand you're having a bad day and all; but this doesn't give you the excuse to act like a d#ck or treat the rest of us like trash."

Edd snorted. "Oh, act like you, you mean?" He flexed his fingers. "Don't pretend you suddenly grew a heart and you care for me all of a sudden! You may have Matt eating at the palm of your hand, but I know your tricks!"

"Edd, stop it!"

The shrill cry jerked Edd's attention away from his rival. He glanced behind him to see Matt and Mark watching their argument; in fact, he was causing such a scene that literally everyone in the supermarket stopped what they were doing to observe. All around him, people stared at him as if he'd gone mad. Matt looked upset as he approached the two of them, putting himself between Eduardo and Edd to stop the argument from escalating any further. He fixed his glistening blue eyes on Edd the whole time though.

"What's gotten into you?" Matt demanded, his usual chirpy tone hardened. "You've been sulking ever since we left home!"

Edd stared back at him, breath catching in his throat as he was momentarily caught off guard by Matt's spontaneous assertiveness. For a split second he felt almost ashamed of his actions, especially since he was making a scene over absolutely nothing. But then his eyes caught sight of Eduardo behind Matt, and irritation exploded inside of him.

Without another word, he whipped around and stormed away. Matt tried to catch his eye, but Edd simply ignored him.

"Sorry." He heard Matt squeak apologetically. "He must be in one of his moods."

How dare Matt apologize for him? After paying for his groceries, Edd shouldered his way out of the supermarket and into the streets. Taking any random direction he started to walk away, one hand shoved into the pocket of his hoodie while the other carried the shopping bag. The icy ground was slippery beneath his feet, and the freezing breeze made him shudder with cold.

He's in one of his moods! Edd fumed as Matt's words echoed in his ears.

He stomped farther down the street, trying to ignore the guilt pricking at his skin with every given step. It's not Matt's fault he felt so angry all the time. Every morning since Tom had died, Edd wakes up to the same hollow sadness opening like an old wound inside his chest. His body always cold and numb – feeling empty. It should be Tom helping Matt out of the snow, not Eduardo. If Tom were still alive, he would be the one accompanying them to the supermarket instead of their not-so-new neighbours. Why wasn't he here?

Things are too different – I can't keep up! I don't want to!

A few steps on, the path he randomly took widened and Edd emerged into an enclosed familiar area, surrounded by wire fences and tall buildings in crude painting. An empty playground lay ahead of him, which gave way to a narrow and shadowy path between two of the buildings.

An alleyway.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Edd stepped closer and peered into the shadows. Trash cans were tipped over next to a dumpster. The alleyway ended in a turn, with shadows moving around the corner. Loud and rough voices could be heard coming from within.

With a start, Edd recalled his many outings with Reagan and the grim warning the Irishman gave him the other night regarding venturing into this area on his own.

But Edd felt angry enough to take on a whole army of brutes. He was anxious to pick a fight with someone for once, and forget his troubles. Edd took a careful step forward into the alley. Even though his common sense was screaming at him to turn back, Edd pressed on despite himself. Avoiding some of the trash that littered the ground, trying to make the least amount of noise as possible, Edd stalked farther in. He pressed himself against the wall just a he was about to turn the corner. The voices were louder now; complaining and discussing things beyond Edd's understanding.

Edd stiffened, ready to fight, as footsteps thumped closer to him. His breath hitched, panic taking over for a brief moment before he braced himself.

He was about to rush in when a hand came out of nowhere and clamped over his mouth. Edd gagged, eyes widening and he began to struggle when pulled back down the other end. Once standing outside the alleyway the mysterious person let go of Edd, who whirled around to meet with Eduardo's furious stare.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He growled incredulously. "Don't you know there are thugs around?"

"Of course I do!" Edd snapped back. Sh#t, I didn't notice him following me!

"There's probably a whole bunch of them in there." Eduardo nodded toward the alleyway. "Just waiting for some dumbass like you to wander in and give them an easy time." Edd met his stare defiantly but didn't say anything. "Do you really think you can take on all of them?"

Edd opened his mouth for an angry retort when something stirred deep inside the alley— the sound of voices growing increasingly louder and garbage cans tip over and rattling against the hard floor. Two looming, and distinctive human-looking shadows appeared from around the corner, followed by a pair of gruff voices—fear shot through Edd.

Eduardo whisked behind him and shoved him back the other way. "Hurry!"

Glancing over his shoulder at the shadowy alley, Edd let Eduardo guide him back along the path. His heart was racing as they reached the safety of the busy streets.

Eduardo turned his head and observed his surroundings for a couple heartbeats. "No one followed us."

Edd lifted his chin, hoping Eduardo couldn't sense his relief. "Where are the others?" He asked between breaths.

"I told them to go ahead on their way back home," Eduardo told him, "and get brunch started for all of us."

Without another word, Edd nodded, feeling numb, and turned his feet toward home.

"Hold up, loser!" Eduardo's voice halted him. "We're not done here yet. I want to talk to you." He swept the excess of snow from the nearest bench with one hand, then sat down and cleared another space beside him. "We're not going back till you tell me what's going on, right now."

Edd grit his teeth. He didn't feel like talking to Eduardo. He didn't feel like talking to anyone. He just wants to go home and curl up in his bed, far away from the snow, the cold, and his neighbours. Is that too much to ask?

"There's nothing wrong." He began tightly, forcing himself to approach his former rival. "I'm just cold and tired."

Eduardo's stern gaze didn't stray from his. "We're all cold and tired. But it doesn't give us the right to be rude or reckless."

"I wasn't being reckless!" Edd snapped.

"Oh really, now? You were about to challenge some thugs in the back of an alley!" Eduardo's voice hardened to anger. His gaze burned so fiercely that Edd averted his eyes to study his feet; his ears suddenly hot despite the freezing air around them. "How do you think the airhead would have felt if you'd been beaten to a pulp, huh?" Eduardo went on. "He's only just recovering from Tom's death. He doesn't need you to die on him as well!"

Anger flashed through Edd and he scowled at him. "I wasn't going to die!" He insisted.

"Then what were you going to do, eh?" Eduardo challenged. "Invite the bandits to come home for supper?"

Edd sulked and looked away with a stubborn shrug.

"Now, sit the f#ck down and tell me what's wrong!"

Reluctantly Edd sat down beside him. The bench felt cold and damp as he sat, and he involuntarily shivered. "I'm just having a bad day, that's all."

"Well, it seems like every day is a bad day with you."

Shut up! Shut up! Edd would give just about anything to make Eduardo stop talking and leave him alone, but his wishes went on unheard.

"We each have to do our best when it comes to moving on from a hard situation. But as far as I can tell, you're not even trying." Eduardo murmured. "You act like everything's a chore. Sometimes I feel like we're all wasting our time trying to help you. You're so bad-tempered with everyone you meet they're starting to avoid you."

His words stung like needles, and Edd found himself shrinking inside his hoodie as he went on. At least Reagan likes me.

"Why should anyone try to look after you if you won't do the same for them, huh?" Eduardo continued more firmly. "I know you. Not on a personal level, by any means, but I know you enough to see that this isn't like you. News flash: acting like a complete jerk isn't going to bring your friend back from the dead any time soon!"

"Nothing will, anyway." Edd muttered crossly.

Eduardo's eyes narrowed. "And that's an excuse to be as much a prick as you want, then?"

"I—I..." His voice choked, his eyes glistening. "Everything's gone wrong!" There was a heavy pause. Edd hated himself for feeling the urge to burst into tears; especially in front of his supposed nemesis. He then looked up, surprised when he felt an awkward hand pat him on the back.

"You miss your friend." Eduardo continued solemnly. "Of course you do. But you gotta move on – no amount of grieving is going to bring him back."

"What do you know?" Edd bristled, lifting his chin. "All we've ever done is fight one another! Don't try to pretend now that we are friends or something. You are never going to replace him!"

Eduardo pulled his hand away, blinking with surprise. "Wait, what? Don't be ridiculous! I'm not trying to replace him. Where did you even get such crazy idea from?"

"Are you sure?" Edd glared at him accusingly. "Because it sure as hell seems like it!"

Eduardo met his gaze, unblinking. He took a deep breath or two to maintain his patience. "Look-" He resisted the temptation to call him loser. This was not the time for this. Eduardo sighed. "You are going through a rough patch, your emotions are confused and this is leading you to do reckless things out of anger and frustration." He continued more calmly. "I know you don't really mean the things that you're saying right now. Nor do I believe, as stupid as you may be, that you would purposefully seek out trouble."

Edd's eyes blazed and he bristled with anger, before his fury deflated all at once and he looked away unsurely. Truth be told, he was kind of dumbfounded with how on point Eduardo is.

"You know that I am not trying to take your friend's place in your life. Heck, I don't think it's even physically possible given how close the two of you were!" Eduardo kept on ranting. "But… Tom would've wanted you to move on and be happy, just as you were before."

How do you know? Indignation washed over Edd again.

He dug his nails into the wood of the bench as Eduardo took a shaky breath. "I wish Jon were still alive, too." He murmured, with a sadness so intense that it nearly nulled Edd's fury away. Then he shook his head and stood up, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head. "But he's not, and we can't grieve forever. Your dumb friend needs you. Concentrate more on what you're doing now, rather than what you could've done. Otherwise you'll just be repeating the same mistake all over again before you know it." His voice was brisk as he began to walk away with his hands on his pockets. "It'll give you something else to think about."

Edd stood up from the bench, his legs so numb with cold that he staggered clumsily as he did.

Eduardo glanced back at him. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Inspecting his surroundings for a few heartbeats, Edd released a tired sigh. His rage hasn't gone away completely, but he can't deny he felt more like himself now that he's had the chance to talk about it for a bit.

"Yeah, I guess… I just…" Edd mumbled, and then shot one last glare at Eduardo. "Can we pretend today never happened?"

Eduardo steadily stared back at him before shrugging. "I can deal with that."

(Meanwhile…)

"Hold still – this will only take a few seconds."

Obeying Patrick's instructions Tom remained frozen as the Polish soldier circled him, measuring his height and width with a tape. At the end of every month Tom is always brought to the lab for a basic check-up, to make sure his condition was up-to-date and his treatment was working. This time however, Pat was also taking his measurements for Tom's new soldier uniform that Tord had requested for him. Tom frowned in distaste at the idea but went along with it without complaint.

Tom jerked out of his thoughts by his rumbling stomach. He hates how dependent he has become over the course of time living in this dreadful place, and how he doesn't have the same endurance as he once did. Tom used to go days on end without food, with only Smirnoff to satisfy him. But nowadays, if his meals are even a few minutes later than scheduled his stomach starts cramping with pain.

But he will take hunger over today's alternative any day.

"Do I really have to go?" Tom whined. "Why does he feel the need to have dinner with me? I practically see him all the time; he can easily stop by my quarters and discuss matters with me without a hassle. Why start on the formalities now?"

"Red Leader was adamant on his request." Paul answered, sitting on the edge of a desk. "He merely wishes to discuss your future in the Red Army, just in a more formal setting. Boss does take his title very seriously, as you can tell by now. And last I heard he seems to be really proud of how your training is shaping up."

Paul and Patrick looked at Tom with admiring stares—it was considered both an honour and a privilege to dine with the Red Leader. Tom didn't share their excitement. The last person he wanted to share a meal with was Tord.

"Don't worry though! Just think of it as a chat with a meal on the side." Paul tried to reassure, but Tom could detect the amusement in his voice even as he attempted to curb it into a more neutral tone.

Tom raised one eyebrow quizzically. He didn't understand what entertained the Commander so greatly about this. It was even stranger when he caught a glimpse of Patrick shooting a warning glance at Paul. What just flashed between the two soldiers?

"Well, after you're done talking to him do you want to join us in our quarters later?" Patrick offered, looking up from his work. "Things are running smoothly today and we think it's going to be one of those "freebie" days."

"We're thinking of watching a scary movie about ghosts! Or maybe this documentary that I found about creepy haunted locations! Or anything to do with ghosts really!" Paul added, his eyes gleaming with excitement at the idea. Tom stared at him in surprise.

"Funny, I never took you for a believer of the supernatural."

"Not just a believer! I am a paranormal enthusiast! Ghosts, aliens, cryptids, and conspiracy theories – you name it!" Paul jumped off the desk in his enthusiastic raving and started pacing around the Brit. "My biggest dream is to go to a haunted location and see a supernatural occurrence with my own eyes! Boy let me tell you; when Red Leader first found this base I was so ecstatic! I mean, it's an abandoned military base that had been used for world war one and two – there had to be something spooky lurking around! And I checked this whole place, top to bottom, and stayed awake for many nights trying to find ghosts… but no. Unfortunately this is just an old, admittedly impressive, historical military base."

Tom listened to Paul's non-stop babble, not entirely interested on the subject matter, but he couldn't help but admire the Commander's passion for the supernatural. Patrick on the other hand merely rolled his eyes unimpressed, but with a clear hint of affection in his honeyed-green gaze.

Paul laughed. "I'm even planning on renting an abandoned house or book a haunted room in a hotel for Pat and I's honeymoon!"

"Absolutely not!" Pat interjected, his face flushed pink at the mention of a honeymoon. "I refuse to spend a night in a haunted location – sceptical or not!"

Taken back by Patrick's reaction, Paul chuckled sheepishly and lifted his hands, palms out.

Tom stifled down the laugh the bubbled in his throat as he continued to watch the pair argue. These two are definitely meant for each other. Despite his many concerns, it was strange how attached he grew to the two soldiers.

There's Paul, whose sense of humour closely resembles his own and serves as a good way to brighten what's left of his bleak life. The Red Army Commander would sometimes sneak a muffin from the canteen for him, and since Tom is not allowed any contact with the outside world, Paul also shows him some funny posts and videos on his phone.

Then there's Patrick, whose level-headedness and patience often soothes Tom's nerves, and has helped him a thousand times more than any real therapist in the past. A shame it will have all been for nothing, but it was admittedly kinda nice while it lasted.

Tom watched the pair with a wistful fondness. Even if this whole thing is all just an act to get him to cooperate with their schemes, they undoubtedly made an impact on Tom.

He will miss them when the time comes.

"These two are really good actors, I will commend them on that. ~" The voice murmured with a low growl, casting Tom's surroundings in shadow as it leaned over his shoulders; as if to observe the scene. "But we both know what they really are. Don't try to pity them for what you plan to do – your miserable existence doesn't need help being sadder than it already is. ~"

I know. Tom conceded. His time was running out; maybe just one more week, and then everything will be over. The thought made his heart clench up tight in his chest and a sob nearly hitch his throat. The fact that he was not alone in his room right now was the only thing that forced Tom to keep it down.

"Oh come now, don't start with the waterworks you big miserable f#ck. ~" The voice soothed, dragging a long sharp digit along Tom's cheeks to wipe the few deceptive tears that managed to escape his control. "The biggest reaction they'll get from your demise will be disappointment for their schemes not going according to plan. They don't care about you. They never have. If anything, everyone will be relieved not having to deal with you anymore. ~"

The two soldiers were too busy discussing about possible wedding plans and ghosts to take notice of Tom subtly wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie.

One more week. The foreboding date echoed in his mind.One week left to live.

The voice barked out a mocking laugh. "Hardly. It's not like you can perform your last few wishes here till then. ~" More spectre limbs surrounded Tom, wrapping him up in a morbid hug of sorts; subduing him in his proper place. "But don't think too much about that. What you intend to do is for a worthy cause – perhaps the only good you've ever done! Imagine how thankful everyone will be that the burden is finally gone. ~"

With his physical health fully recovered and the training sessions getting intense with each passing day, Tom figured the experiments wouldn't be far off now. So in a week or so… that will be it. Tom tried not to think about the specifics of his death, as the thought only filled him with even more dread.

Bleeding out on a surgical table by a Commie bastard...

"Sounds like the punch line to a very funny joke. ~"

Is it considered suicide if you give someone the right circumstances they'll need to unintentionally kill you?

"If that's the intention you're going for, then yes! ~"

He focused his attention back to the present. "Yeah, I would love to hang out with you guys." He broke through the pair's conversation. "Especially since I'll need something to make up for the dinner with the Commie."

"Splendid!" Patrick nodded, clasping his hands together and then looked down at his watch. "Well, I think we are done here. Seems like everything is in order with you, and you need to get going now. We don't want to keep Red Leader waiting."

Tom rolled his non-existent eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Whatever."

He followed Paul and Pat as they led the way out of the lab into the long hallways, chatting about mundane stuff that happens at the base. Amidst the conversation, they eventually came upon the topic of Red Leader when Tom decided to ask a question that's been plaguing his mind for a while.

"Have you guys notice anything… strange about Tord lately?"

Paul and Patrick exchanged glances with each other. Paul's eyes were gleaming with mirth, but other than that he was maintaining his expression nulled. Patrick, with a professional poker face, was the one who replied. "Not that we can tell. Why do you ask?"

Tom fumbled with his hands. "He's been acting really weird recently."

Hand covering half his face, Paul quietly snickered in amusement. "Oh? How come?" He slyly asks. He could sense Patrick's stern gaze on him, silently sending him the message to not give away their leader's feelings. As if he would do a thing like that! Paul can just imagine the great Red Leader, blushing every time he stands too close to Tom, or floundering in embarrassment whenever he was caught staring at the test subject for too long. He wouldn't be surprised if his leader's attraction for the eyeless man had grown stronger roots and the Norsk outright flirted with Tom at this point.

But Tom's answer wasn't at all what they were expecting.

"Well, he's been getting more aggressive in training sessions than usual. Hell, he dropped a f#cking car on top of me the other day during an obstacle course to test out my reflexes or some sh#t!"

Paul and Patrick blinked at each other, wide-eyed. "That's… certainly quite odd of him." Paul confessed, still glancing unsurely back at Pat.

They arrived in the duo's quarters through Patrick's study as Tom elaborated on the strange ways Tord's been behaving as of late, including the glimpses of disappointment he would often catch on the Norsk's face. The two soldiers shared a steady glance at one another.

"As worrisome as this sounds, I don't think you should take it so personally, Thomas." Pat coolly advised, his eyes narrowed. "Red Leader is a busy man with lots on his mind and plenty of work to concern himself with. It's likely he just got a bit stressed and was taking it out on you as a result."

"Stress…" Tom echoed the word just loud enough to be heard; clearly he didn't believe it, but he wasn't prepared to press the soldiers for more answers or even outright accuse them of lying.

"With that said; his behaviour is still inexcusable." Patrick continued. "We will discuss this matter with him at a later date, I promise."

The two soldiers led Tom to the living room in their quarters. Paul neared the wall on the opposite side, pressing his hand against a panel that's come to life and scanned his palm as the small lift revealed itself. Tom watched anxiously. As much as he was dreading his meeting with Tord, he was also excited to finally leave the confines of the lab level. It's not the surface, but it's at least something different!

The elevator's doors slide open with a resonating hiss, prompting Tom's heart to race faster in his chest.

"This is it, then." Paul shifted beside him. "This lift will take you straight to Red Leader's office, where he's waiting for you."

Pat stepped forward and started fixing Tom's hair and clothes. "Please be in your best behaviour, alright? Don't provoke him, and eat all your food, okay?" He fussed over the test subject, trying to make him look presentable for their leader when Paul gently pulled him away.

"I think he got this." The Commander smiled reassuringly.

Tom rolled his non-existent eyes. "Yeah I'll try, but it will depend on how annoying the Commie is going to be." He crossed his arms and scoffed. "Besides, what's the worst he can do to me now?"

Patrick looked at him for a long moment and sighed. "After you've been dismissed, you may wait for us here." He told him. "We shouldn't take long to complete all the tasks."

Tom nodded curtly. Paul neared the wall again and pressed his hand on the panel before giving the Brit a quick thumbs up. "Good luck!"

The doors slide shut, and Tom was left by himself as the elevator started to make it's ascend. Lights waving past his form with every passing level, Tom slumped against the wall of the lift and took deep breaths to calm himself. He dealt with far worse than a mere dinner with the Commie; this should be a walk in the park. But why was he so nervous then?

Perhaps because this is the first time in several months Tom will find himself out of his familiar element and in close quarters with none other than Tord. And why the formal setting? Not once has Tord ever bothered with that sort of thing with him before. Tom has a gut feeling this will be more than just a causal chat with meal on the side.

The elevator stopped. Gulping, Tom braced himself for what was about to happen next. The lift doors slide open, and Tom was met with the sight of a mahogany red room.

He blinked, expecting to hear the familiar teasing comments greeting him into the foreign room at any moment, but nothing happened. Cautiously, Tom leaned his head forward to take a peek. "Commie?" He called out quietly. When he received no answer, the eyeless man stepped fully into the room. The elevator slid shut behind him and a bookcase appeared where it once stood; effectively sealing him into the office.

"Tord?" Tom called out again, surveying the room.

There were bookcases on both sides; two sets of double-doors behind him and to his right, and another door to his left. A dark wooden desk positioned at the far front with a huge red chair behind it, and a blue and red tapestry with the army's insignia plastered at the far end wall.

But no sign of Tord.

"It seems the Commie forgot about our meeting." Tom observed out loud before shrugging. "Oh well, guess this means I won't need to have dinner with him after all!"

Whistling a happy little tune, Tom turned away to go back to the lift; but there was only one problem. The bookcases look all the same, and Tom can't remember which one he just appeared out of! Or how to summon the elevator for that matter.

Tom felt around the bookshelves for some kind of button or lever – he even pulled on some books, thinking one of them was the trigger to the lift, but nothing happened.

"Great." Tom groaned sarcastically and backed away in defeat. It's so like Tord to make an overly complicated secret contraption!

Accepting his fate, Tom decided to wait around for his captor to show up by taking a detailed look around the office. Give thanks to Tord's brilliant idea of leaving him waiting in his office unsupervised!

Scanning the rows of books, Tom let his gaze wander over the vast collection of titles briefly. Tom could identify English, and of course, Norwegian works; but he was surprised to find some German and Russian tomes among the collection as well. I didn't know Commie could speak more than two languages.

Nothing in particular caught his interest aside from that, and Tom decided to investigate the doors.

He first went to the main doors behind him, which no doubt leads to the rest of the base. Tom tried the door but it wouldn't budge. He steps away in disappointment, turning his attention to the double doors to his right. Before trying the knob, Tom pressed his ear against the door to listen for any sounds. When he couldn't hear anything coming from within, Tom twisted the doorknob and swung it open.

Inside the room was a large oval table with a detailed map laid out on the surface, several chairs, and more tapestries on the walls. Tom deduced this was a meeting room of some kind and promptly left.

His gaze rested on the last door, opposite of him. Tom crossed the room and pressed his ear against the wooden surface for noises. When there was nothing, Tom tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge.

Locked. Tom seethed. He then bends on his knees and peers into the keyhole, but all he could see on the other side was red. Tom figured this most likely is Tord's room.

That just leaves Tord's desk.

Tom walked around the desk and settled himself down on the great chair. He breathed a little pleased sigh when he leaned back on it and let his weight sink in. "Great chair." Tom gave a few experimental spins and kicked back his legs over the desk in a relaxed posture. "Man, if sitting on this chair and boss people around all day is what Tord does then no wonder he is obsessed with his goals!"

As he spun around, Tom caught sight of a row of glass casings and shelves just behind him; hidden from view by the desk. He instantly jumped to his feet to investigate. As it was expected of Tord, there was a collection of various types of weapons on display; most commonly guns, but there were also blades as well. Tom's gaze scanned the small space of trophies when he caught sight of a frame hanging on the wall. He leaned closer to inspect it and his eyes widened upon realizing it was a doctor's degree. Damn, Commie really did get busy while he was away!

On one of the shelves, Tom recognised at once the infamous hat Tord treasured so much to the point of prioritizing it first above his giant robot. He grabbed the pickelhaube off the shelf and put it on for sh#ts and giggles. However, his spiky hair impeded the headgear from fitting on his head.

As he moved to place the spiked hat back in its proper place, Tom's gaze flickered upward for a tiny fraction and he froze in apprehension. Above him, mounted on the wall as some sort of morbid reminder, was a lacerated arm encased in glass with the date "March 16, 2016" engraved at the bottom.

Holy stampede on a cruise ship – who in the everlasting f#ck keeps their amputated limb around?!

Goosebumps suddenly rose along his spine, and Tom felt warm breath tickling the back of his neck.

"Hallo, gamle venn. ~"

Tom jumped in alarm and immediately whipped around, coming face to face with Tord; towering over him in all his glory with a smug grin on his face. F#ck! Tom silently cursed himself for being so careless and getting caught off-guard in such an embarrassing manner. How did he get in here without making a sound?

"How-?" Tom swallowed, his throat so dry his words were getting stuck in his throat. "How long have you been standing there?"

Tord shrugged. "A while, actually. Glad to know you like my chair as much as I do." He slyly replies. Hiding his mortification behind a scowl, Tom glared at the Norsk. However, his reaction only prompted further amusement from Tord, and the Norwegian man chuckled. "You're so cute when you're mad." He patted the Brit's face condescendingly.

"Yeah? Well I'm about to get really f#cking adorable!" Tom fumed, balling his hands into fists and knocked the offending hand away.

"In any case, I owe you an apology for keeping you waiting." In the blink of an eye, Tord's posture and mood shifted, fitting a more professional demeanour as he dipped his head politely and taking Tom by surprise. "I got caught up in a meeting with some of my Generals and lost track of time."

Tom blinked, his anger and embarrassment fading away. Only then did he take notice of the dark circles underneath the Norsk's visible eye, as though he hadn't rested for quite some time. Tom knew the effects of sleep deprivation all too well to recognise them.

"Are you… okay?" He ventured, the hesitance clear in his tone. It was a silly question, really – nothing about Tord is okay, and Tom has no reason to care either – but Tom couldn't help but ask anyway.

Tord's brow furrowed. "Whatever do you mean?" He tilted his head.

"You, uh, got dark circles under your eye." Tom gestured vaguely at his own left eye, mumbling under his breath. "You look like you haven't slept in days." He wasn't even sure why he was so concerned about this to begin with. If Tord wants to work himself to the point of passing out, that was ultimately on him! Patrick's words from earlier resonated within him. Maybe he really is just stressed. But something about this whole ordeal was ringing off alarm bells in Tom's head, and he can't put a finger on it.

"Oh, that. I've just been working hard on a couple of projects." Tord waved his hand dismissively. "I've had a great many things on my mind. More so than usual these days. In fact, the reason why you're here in the first place is so that we may discuss some of these." He stepped aside, smiling as he gently guided Tom to his seat on the opposite side of the desk.

Tom eyed him wearily. "But why over dinner, though?"

"I thought you would appreciate a change of scenery." Tord grinned, settling down on his own seat across the eyeless man. "Being confined to the lab levels for several months must be driving you mad! Plus a meal to go along with our talk will diffuse some of the tension quite nicely."

"What tension?" Tom snorted.

Tord shrugged. "You tell me." He smirked slyly. "You're the one with tense shoulders here."

Frowning, Tom forced himself to sit back and adapt a more lazy posture. "Coming from personal experience, nothing good ever comes when you're trying to get chummy with me." He glared at the Norwegian man sitting across from him. Eerily enough, the Red Leader was leaning forward in his seat with his arms propped on the table and fingers interlaced with each other under his chin; his one-eyed gaze staring intensely back at Tom and a large grin on his face. Off-putting, to say the least.

"Do try to relax." Tord murmured. "Our food should arrive any minute now."

Easier said than done. Tom huffed silently and crossed his arms.

Tord cleared his throat. "While we wait, let's get to business; shall we?" He said, prompting Tom to look at him questioningly. "Your training has been coming along great so far, but you still have a long way to go before you are deemed a proper soldier. I shall speed up your training by dropping your physical evaluations with Paul and replacing them with more training hours. They are more than enough exercises for you."

"Does this mean Paul will take over my training then?" Tom dared himself to hope.

"No." Tord instantly replied, shooting a quick glare at the eyeless man for even suggesting such a thing. "As his duties to the Red Army come first, I will need him to supervise the rest of the base while I'm busy overseeing your training."

Tom stared at him indignantly. "What? That's bullsh#t! You're obviously more important and busy than Paul is. Why can't he train me instead?"

Tord stiffened. "I decide the future of my soldiers, Thomas. Not you." He cast him a warning glance. "My decision is final."

Swallowing his frustration, Tom begrudgingly backed down. Giggling drowned his thoughts as his vision darkened, and Tom found himself frowning in confusion. What are you laughing at?

"Why are you so concerned over a mundane thing like training? ~" The voice howled with laughter, seeming to grip on to Tom's shoulders for support. "You will be dead in a week, remember? You won't have to worry about who is going to train you, because you will be dead long before it can matter. ~"

Tom inwardly grimaced. I suppose…

"Anyways." Tord stirred their conversation back on track. "You should probably know that there will be an assessment by the end of your training to grade you on all your skills."

"What happens if I were to fail the assessment?" Tom prompted. When Tord fixed him with an unamused glare, he corrected himself by trying to appear modest and cleared his throat. "Hypothetically speaking?"

The Norwegian man smirked. "Then you will merely return to training as usual, and your welcoming ceremony will be delayed for another few months."

Tom blinked. "Welcoming ceremony?" No one said anything about there being a ceremony!

"Ah yes! I suppose I have neglected to inform you what happens after your training is completed. Guess this is a good time as any to elaborate then." Tord continued more decisively. "The welcoming ceremony – or rank up ceremony – is when recruits have successfully completed their training and are ready to be made into soldiers; earning their place among our ranks. They are to stand in presence of the other army members and swear an oath of loyalty to yours truly." He finished with a sly grin directed at Tom.

The Brit bristled. "F#ck that! You're never gonna get me to willingly swear some stupid oath to you! Or wear those ridiculous uniforms for that matter." He turned away deliberately. "Red is not my colour. There's nothing your dumb army has to offer me."

Tord raised one eyebrow at the challenge. "Did I ever mention the Red Army doesn't celebrate Christmas? As big a fan I am for the holiday, I recognise that due to the vast diverse nature of my soldiers it wouldn't be very appropriate. So I allow my soldiers to celebrate whatever they want on their own time." He grinned immensely when he caught the flicker of interest in Tom's gaze hiding behind a sulking expression. "Nonetheless; those who failed to pass their assessment have their memory promptly erased and are put back where they were found. Because you are a special case, your place in the Red Army is already guaranteed. It's just a matter of being prepared for it."

"Whoa, hold on! You mean you kick out people that fail?" Tom exclaimed, his empty eyes wide in shock. "Just like that? No retakes? Didn't it occur to you that you're sending away valuable numbers to add to your stupid army? For someone who wants to take over the world, shouldn't you need as many people on your side as possible?" He stopped himself, clamping his mouth shut once he realized he was ranting at a mad man, who took his ambitions very seriously and doesn't like to be challenged.

Tord was silent for a couple seconds before a sly grin re-appeared on his face. "Well... I didn't realize you took my hobbie this seriously, Thomas. I'm glad you've finally taken an interest on it though." He purred, and there was a note of fresh interest in his voice. "As for your questions… I believe I told you the origin for most of my soldiers, have I not?" Tom nodded cautiously, recalling their conversation many months ago. "The Red Army is their second chance. They were unsatisfied with their ordinary lives, one way or another, and we offered them the choice of a new life. One with far richer pickings and greater possibilities than they could've ever achieved under normal circumstances. All I ask in return is their loyalty and nothing short than their absolute best. I don't need slackers in my army taking advantage of my generous offer; so if they fail their assessment – good riddance!"

Tom opened his mouth to ask more questions when a sudden knock on the door brought their conversation to a halt.

"That's our food." Tord rose from his seat. "Wait here. I'll be right back." He went around the desk and past Tom in long, graceful strides toward the door. He briefly ruffled his test subject's hair as he passed, soliciting the Brit to angrily bat his hand away in return.

From his seat, Tom watched Tord answer the door; barely open as he conversed quietly to the mysterious person – most likely a soldier – on the other side. He saw Tord dip his head politely and take the tray of food from the unknown sender before closing the door and making his way back to the desk.

Even from across the room Tom could somehow detect the smell of hot food, and he found himself sniffing the air for more. The delectable scent made his stomach growl, reminding him of his hunger. Tom could almost tolerate Tord's presence and annoying attitude for the sake of finally filling his empty stomach.

His mind started to wander as Tord returned with the tray in hand, the scent of food growing stronger in his nostrils. I hope it's fish. Tom thought, resisting the urge to lick his lips as he envisioned food inside his head. Oh, fish would be great about now! With white rice, some steamed beans, and maybe with potatoes coated in butter, too.

"Don't you have better things to think about? ~" The voice deadpanned, tapping one finger repeatedly on his arm in an irritated gesture. "It's not like you deserve to be fed anyway. He's only feeding you to keep you from dying on him – like that's gonna do any good. ~" It appear to grin at the end.

I already agreed to die, what more do you want from me at this point? Tom retorted, pushing aside his usual fear of the entity living inside his head. Can't I enjoy the thought of food until then?

Tord returned to his seat, setting the trays of food down on the desk; one for each. Humorously enough, while Tord received a glass of wine to accompany his meal, Tom only got a carton of grape juice. He didn't even bother commenting on the silly choice of drink, as it was a par for the course with Tord at this point. Tom merely sets his sights on the tray, rubbing his hands together in anticipation before lifting the lid off of his meal, ready to chow down-

The indistinguishable tangy smell of meat hit his senses like a truck, making Tom freeze in place as he stared at his dinner in horror.

It's meat.

Bloody, juicy, rare done meat.

Suddenly all the hunger Tom previously felt before doesn't seem as prominent anymore.

"Something wrong, Thomas?" Tord's silky question brought Tom to his senses. He looked up to meet with the Red Leader's intrigued, but evidently smug gaze. "Why, just a second ago you looked absolutely famished; now you're staring at your food as if it had grown a head and started talking to you."

"Yes… I thought you wanted to enjoy your food before the time comes? ~" The voice joined in on the teasing, throwing Tom's own words back at his face.

The Brit gulped. "I, uh, I'm… you probably didn't know about this, but I'm a semi-vegetarian now." He scratched the back of his head, diverting his gaze anywhere but his plate.

Tord barked out a laugh and stared at him disbelievingly. "Do you take me for a fool? We grew up together, Tom. I know you better than anyone else here, and I know for a fact that you despise vegetables. And everyone knows you have a bit of a problem when it comes to certain fruits too." He pointed out, stabbing his fork into a particularly bloody piece of meat in his plate and started waving it in front of Tom's face teasingly. "So how is it that you have become a vegetarian, hm?"

"He's onto you. ~" The voice's warning had more layers than meets the eye. Tom's shoulders sagged and he released a deep sigh of defeat.

"Okay, you got me. I will confess…" He closed his eyes briefly, as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. "When you left us, all those years ago, you would have been right to doubt me. But then…" He inhaled deeply. "There was this one day Matt was insisting that I watch a movie with him, and he wouldn't stop pestering me until I sat down and complied. So I did! And he found this movie with a cute cow or something on the cover and automatically thought: "Ah what a cute little cow! I bet this movie is going to be adorable!" but the idiot didn't realize it was actually a documentary about the food industry and all the horrible sh#t that animals go through on a daily basis to get to our plates! Long story short, neither of us had a good time watching that and I can't stand the thought of eating meat anymore. Just looking at it makes me-" Tom gagged mid-rant and turned his head away. "Nauseous."

He wasn't even pretending to retch – that was just Tom's natural reaction to meat nowadays. And he had rehearsed this story with the voice so many times it might as well be the truth. Obviously he can't admit the real reason as to why he doesn't eat meat anymore, so Tom had to get a believable excuse ready if the occasion ever arises.

And good thing too; because Edd had taken notice of his peculiar dislike for red meat way back when and questioned him about it. Tom told him the exact same story as he did now, and Matt was so dense he naively agreed with him despite the fact that this never actually happened!

Apparently his lame story worked on Tord to some extent as well, because the Norsk slowly lowered his fork away from Tom's face. "I see." He nodded in understanding. Though the steely glint in his gaze says something else entirely. "Now, where were we?"

Tom bit his lips anxiously. "Uh, kicking failed soldiers out?"

"Ah, yes!" Tord gracefully took a bite out of the same piece he had previously offered Tom. "As I was saying, privates who fail to meet our expectations have no place in this army. We make this abundantly clear in their first weeks of training; and fortunately, the great majority has good sense to not throw away their second chance like that. Everyone takes their training very seriously, so failures are incredibly rare to come by nowadays."

Absently, Tom hummed and nodded along with whatever the Norsk was saying. Poking at his meal with a mixture of weariness and disinterest as he tried to set apart the few vegetables there were from the steak on his plate.

"That reminds me – now that you're back to proper health, we should begin the serum experiments as soon as possible." Tord went on as usual. Tom perked up at that and raised one eyebrow questioningly. "As it is our main priority right now, this means both your training and mental evaluations will be put on hold for an undetermined amount of time. Once we finally get some results out of you, then we may proceed with the planned schedule as usual. "

One more week. The date echoed ominously in Tom's head and he gulped.

"You mentioned that most of your soldiers join you because they want a second chance in life…" Tom spoke softly, changing the subject away from the experiments and his inevitable approaching doom. "But that doesn't really explain why they would be crazy enough to join you and your evil schemes."

"Evil?" Tord echoed in genuine surprise.

"Yeah." Tom went on more firmly. "You claim you have good intentions – that you want to make the world a "better place" – but here you are; building weapons, creating an army, and… making monsters to get what you want. You are ready to put thousands of lives on the line for the sake of your selfish goals. And I'm not just talking about your soldiers either, I mean all the innocent people out there who will have to endure the war you want to put them through."

Rolling his eye, Tord tsked in distaste and glared at Tom. "You always had a strong tendency to villainize me." He muttered, straightening his back so he was leaning comfortably in his chair. "Tell me, Thomas; does that make you feel better about yourself? Making me the bad guy of your story who must be stopped at all costs? I couldn't help but notice you staring at the little memento I keep back there." He inclined his head briefly to the side, swirling the wine in his glass fluidly. "Did you get satisfaction out of that? Knowing you were the one who foiled my plans that one time and did this to me? You must be pretty damn proud of yourself for accomplishing such a feat – taking down the big bad Red Leader! Not everyone can say they did it, I'll give you that much."

Tom stared blankly back at him, a bit dumbfounded by the aggressive mini-rant he had been subjected to. I must've struck a nerve there. The idea he somehow managed to offend Tord using only facts was mind-blowing by itself, but that he had the gall to make himself out to be more innocent than he actually is just takes the cake.

"Well, what the f#ck else am I supposed to think?" Tom exclaimed exasperatedly. "If you really mean to make the world a better place, then you would find a peaceful way to go about this other than war! But I know you; and you are a bloodthirsty and egotistical genius who only wants the thrill of leading your own soldiers into battle."

Taking a long sip of his wine, Tord cast him another smouldering glare. After another few heartbeats of uncomfortable silence, he lowered his glass and turned to Tom with fresh interest.

"Oh Tom, I never took you for being so naive." He murmured almost condescendingly, as if he were about to lay some important life wisdom on a helpless child. This ignited a spark of fury within Tom, but he refrained from retorting and merely nibbled on a piece of broccoli instead. "As nice as the notion of taking over the world through peaceful means sounds, it just isn't realistic. The world leaders will never surrender their power over to me just because I ask nicely – heck, most won't do it even at the cost of putting the safety of their citizens at risk!"

"If you are smart enough to build a giant robot, then you can definitely find a peaceful solution." Tom argued dryly.

"It's not that simple." Tord sighed. "Thomas, for once do try to see things from my perspective."

"I would, but I don't think my head can go that far up my ass."

"Peaceful means never last." Tord was trying really hard to maintain his patience in explaining his logic to the Brit. "Look throughout history for example; you will find many examples of great wars, but can you name one instance where a peaceful solution was applied successfully and consequences lasted until today? Probably not from the top of your head, and I'll tell you why. It's because, as horrible as wars are, they leave a greater impact on the world. It's a grim fact, but that's just how it is. People have better chances of conforming to new changes when put in devastating situations rather than just… politely asking them to."

Tom jerked his chin up defiantly. "You know, as a better alternative you should consider just subject people to some of your horrible hentai anime weebo sh#t." More quietly, he added: "It's devastating enough to traumatize anyone, and doesn't kill people!"

He expected an annoyed reply in return for his snarky suggestion; however, Tord simply regarded him with a curious look and a large knowing grin on his face. Tom was unsettled to say the least. Some instinct told him there was a secret here.

"I see you have some strong opinions on the matter. Though I can't help but wonder if it's targeted more towards me than the actual topic itself." Tord acknowledged smoothly. "Since you've been cooped up in this base for several months without any connections to the outside world, I can't exactly blame you for being so ignorant."

Stabbing the carton of juice with a straw, Tom fumed. "Alright, humour me then; just what kind of "better world" you plan on making then?"

"Why are you trying so hard to reason with him? ~" The voice inquired, running its hands through Tom's locks as if he were a cherished pet. "It's beyond your control at this point and shouldn't be a priority. If you are so concerned about the world you're leaving behind, remember that you will destroy his most destructive weapon on your way out, and all the harm he will do is not of your concern anymore. ~"

I know, I know. I shouldn't care about that, but I still do. Tom soothed sadly. I just don't want to talk about the experiments. Anything but that. Just the mere thought of them was enough to twist his heart in ways he'd never thought possible, and a terrible pain sear in his chest. But Tord is hiding something… any idea what it could be?

A long, drawn out hum echoed in his head as the voice pondered. "I agree. He has the expression of a cat that swallowed a canary. ~" It ceased petting Tom, eliciting a small sigh of relief from the eyeless man. "Perhaps he knows more than he lets on? ~"

Tom wanted to ask what it meant by that, but Tord began speaking and jerked him out of his thoughts.

"I'm glad you asked! How about a world where everyone has equal chance to live and work and thrive, regardless of their financial standing?"

An awkward silence dragged between them for a couple heartbeats. Tom shifted in his seat with pursed lips. "That sounds… actually kinda nice." He admitted with a contemplative tone.

"Or how about a world where people who are sick don't have to worry about the cost of their treatment over their own lives? Or doctors who care more about the lives they're saving than finances for that matter? But most importantly, a world free of prejudice! And that's only just a few noteworthy mentions." Tord continued, getting progressively more intense. "Just look at the current state of the planet right now, Thomas. The economy is failing, people are dying left and right; driven out of their homes, and openly persecuted. A war now would be a good reset button."

"Well… maybe." Tom couldn't argue with the vision Tord set in front of him. Anyone in their right mind would love to have a world where suffering was lowered to bare minimum. But there was just one teeny tiny little problem with that idea, and he was staring straight at him.

"But now who's the naive one here?" Tom fixed the Norsk with a thoughtful gaze. "Is that what you tell people to get them to join your dumb army? I genuinely feel sorry for those poor bastards who are this desperate and don't know any better."

Tord's gray eye widened; for a heartbeat he looked almost genuinely hurt. Fury blazed up inside of Tom. How dare Tord claim that his plan to take over the whole world is for a greater good?

"You have no intentions of going through with any of that, and you know it!" Tom sneered. "This is all just so you can feel good about yourself for once and get power over everyone else."

Staring back at him with a look of blatant disinterest, Tord sighed. "So… even after all of that… you still insist on viewing me as the bad guy?" He murmured; so softly it could almost be mistaken for melancholy.

Tom thought he could see a gleam of menace in his eye, but he shrugged it off and continued. "That's right! If you think some fancy words are enough to convince me of anything, then you're dead wrong." He narrowed his eyes. "You lie to everyone without a single shred of remorse. Why should I take your word now, Commie?"

He thought he had the last word. That this would be the end of what he knew right from the start would be a terrible meeting. Tom hoped that Tord would merely dismiss him with clear disappointment or frustration, and he would be free to leave and meet up with Paul and Pat for an evening of spooky movies. But to his astonishment, Tord shook his head and chuckled.

"Liar?" Tord echoed bitterly. "I suppose I am not the most honest or trustworthy person out there, I'll give you that. But what does that make of you then, huh? Are you a saint now all of a sudden? Are you really any better than I?"

Tom watched him in confusion. "What? What are you talking about?" He demanded. "Of course I'm more truthful than you! By a long shot!"

"Hypocrisy doesn't suit you, Thomas." Tord countered unexpectedly – the insult ringing in Tom's mind like the alarm bells he had on earlier.

"Okay then; tell me one instance that I lied! Go on! I dare you!"

Tord met his eyes steadily. "How about the fact that the serum works this entire time, and you tried to keep it a secret from us?"

Tom's blood ran cold and he sat rigid in his chair. For a few frantic seconds, words utterly failed him. No... Absolute horror gripped Tom and the colour drained from his face. How could he have possibly found out?

Tord took his stunned silence as his cue to keep going. "Come now, did you really think I wouldn't figure it out sooner or later?" He paused, his tone softening with something akin to remorse. "I didn't want to have come to this. I gave you one chance after another to prove yourself; to confess in your own time and come clean without fuss. But you just had to be difficult, didn't you?"

Tom looked at him for a long moment. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. "How long have you-?"

"Ever since I returned from my trip." Tord replied coolly. "Between visiting each of my bases I stopped by our old home to look for clues about your condition, and found more than sufficient evidence to support the fact that you could transform into a monster this entire time." His gaze darkened. "Haven't you wondered why I even bothered to get your Tomee bear in the first place? It's because I was in the neighbourhood at the time."

The eyeless man across from him didn't respond. His eyes were wide, staring blankly ahead, horror-struck as if he were witnessing the destruction of everything he had ever worked for.

"This was your last chance, and you failed to comply." Tord held Tom's panicked gaze evenly as he slowly rose from his seat. "For concealing pivotal information regarding the serum project from your superiors, and consequently caused us to waste valuable time that could've been used for more pressing matters; I hereby strip you of all your privileges, and the experiments will commence at once."

His words triggered a fight or flight instinct within Tom. However, he knows by now he stands no chance to take down Tord; and even if he did, then what? Paul and Patrick would side with their leader and turn on him too. That leaves flight as his last option. But where would he go? Where could he go? There's a slim probability that the main doors were unlocked now, but the hallways out there were bustling with Red Army soldiers who will tackle him down on sight if necessary.

"There are other ways to escape… ~"

Almost automatically, Tom's gaze flickered down to his plate where his knife lay untouched. His heartbeat picked up, his mouth dried up and his breathing quickened. The weight of what he's about to do hit him full force and Tom hesitated.

"Do it now, you fool! Do you want to be responsible for ruining even more lives? ~"

The incentive worked like a shove and Tom's hand reached out for the knife against his will. Then everything escalated from there.

Tord was on him in an instant, just as his fingers closed around the blade. Robotic digits latched onto Tom's locks and forced his head down on the desk hard; the knife was ripped away from his grasp and his hands were pinned against his back by one of Tord's knees pressing on to him.

"Trying to stab your leader, Thomas?" Tord hissed into his ear. "You've pulled off some amazingly stupid stunts in the past, but this one might just take the cake."

The pressure in Tom's skull increased tenfold as his head was squashed between the desk and Tord's weight on top of him. It wasn't at all his intention when his body lurched for the knife, but he wasn't about to correct Tord on that. It's best he believes he was trying to rebel than let him in on another secret.

A sudden pinch to the base of his skull, just behind his ears where the neck muscles connect to the jawline, alarmed Tom and he started thrashing around to escape the tight grip. Tord added more weight to immobilize him.

"No- no! Wait!" Tom cried out hysterically. "The deal! I said no drugs or the deal is off!"

"Even though you broke the rules and even went so far as to try and attack me, I will keep my word. I'm not drugging you." Tord told him with blatant coldness. "But I had enough of you for one day, and there are plenty of ways other than drugs to knock someone unconscious." He maximised the pressure to the back of Tom's head. "I'm merely triggering the pressure point situated on your head. You should be unconscious soon enough."

To Tom's absolute dismay, his body started to slacken and his eyelids grew heavy. He tried to renew his struggles but he knew it would be futile. He could never dislodge Tord off of him in this state. Didn't help that the Commie was caressing the top of his head in a soothing motion to lull him unconscious. Light washed over his eyes, fading to leave nothing but darkness.

Ah, there it is, the f#ckening. In hindsight, Tom should've known something was seriously wrong when his day had been going way too great up until his dinner with Tord.

"You should've died when you had the chance. ~" The voice spat with fury before fading away into a distant echo.

A soft, black tide was rising to engulf him; Tom made one final effort to get up, but his body would not support him, and he fell back into nothingness. As the last fragments of consciousness faded away from his mind, Tom was vaguely aware of his body being carried somewhere as a soft voice spoke to him.

"Come, my little test subject; we have work to do…"

Chapter Text

"Reaching estimately three hundred victims in the last six years, the Beast still continues to puzzle the authorities with its grotesque killings and mass property damage. Though there are plenty of eyewitness reports and evidence to suggest it is the work of something greater at play, the police persist the culprit behind these strange occurrences is nothing more than a deranged and resourceful maniac of the most sadistic and cruel kind.

Not all victims have been identified, due to the gruesome way in which they were killed in, as the few body remains that were found in the crime scenes offered insufficient results needed for a thorough examination.

Witness descriptions of the Beast vary from person to person. Some say it's a gargantuan creature whose footsteps tremble the earth and has been known to trigger car alarms; while others believe it to be man-like in stature, ranging from 6 to 8 feet tall, often seen lumbering on four legs. The Beast sightings happen most commonly at night in the surrounding areas of Durdam Lane, and its colour is tough to discern; sometimes described as black, other times as purple.

When asked about the possibility of employing military help on the case, the chief of police assured citizens they're doing everything they can to stop the attacks and keep the townspeople safe. He advised the residents of the area to avoid the streets late at night and keep pets indoors as there have also been reports of gruesome animal deaths."

As he finished reading the news article, Tord's gaze flitted over to the figure slumped against the wall across from him.

Arms tucked tightly against his heavily chained torso, Tom was forced to listen to the Norwegian man as he relayed all the evidence he gathered in his off-time regarding his condition. The chains wrapped around the upper part of his body were constricted hard enough to immobilize any movement from his arms, but it had sufficient space where it didn't hurt to breathe either. While the chains dangled from the wall behind him, limiting his mobility space, his legs were sprawled out uselessly on the hard tiled floor.

Tom had woken up in the dimly lit room with only a bright harsh light illuminating above Tord's head, where he casually lounged on a chair with his feet propped up on a table with a crate labelled "confidential" resting beside him. It took a while to jog his memory, but Tom managed to recognise the very first room he had woken up in when he was first brought to the base several months ago.

Back to where it all began.

"You made quite a reputation for yourself! Could almost rival my own with how much mayhem you caused." Tord hummed with clear interest in his smooth voice as he puts away the article back in the evidence crate. "Not so innocent anymore, huh?"

Tom remained unresponsive.

"Did those poor bastards deserve it at least? To go down in such a brutal way they must have pissed you off pretty badly I assume. But pets? Really Thomas?"

With a shaky pained breath, Tom shut his eyes. The fact that Tord seems to be implying that he would willingly do all these horrible things chilled him. Is it something I would really do? Maybe he is a worse person than he realized if that's the case.

"I think you're taking this whole "I have the right to remain silent" thing a little too far, Thomas." Tord observed teasingly, though he secretly didn't mind the Brit being nice and quiet for once. "When we first acquired you all those months ago, you came to us bruised and malnourished. I always wondered how you could've gotten to that state; so I took the liberty to investigate."

He pulled out a file from the crate with several papers plastered inside before flipping it open. His one eyed gaze scanned the contents inside in a calculating manner.

"Checking the records of your bank account, the only products you've purchased on the market in the last eight years had been strictly large amounts of Smirnoff – far more than deemed normal for consumption. Even for an alcoholic like yourself! More interesting than that is the fact that you also had purchased a significant amount of razors over the years. But little to no edibles." Tord continued, reading the receipts and unmasking each one of Tom's secrets one by one. "At some point you must've realized you were the one behind the attacks, so you tried to curb your vicious tendencies by starving yourself in hopes of never transforming again. The excessive Smirnoff consumption is self-explanatory enough. However, it probably wasn't enough to stop you completely so you resorted to punishing yourself by self-mutilation to maintain in control. Considering the last reported Beast sighting was December 31st 2014 it is pretty safe to assume that it worked – though at the cost of your own wellbeing."

Tom uttered a dark low chuckle. "Congratulations, Sherlock, you figured me out. What happens next?"

Tord regarded him for several heartbeats. "As I've already mentioned, we will start with the experiments. Now that we know that you can in fact transform into a monster, it's clear the serum was a success. But one question still plagues me." He murmured pensively. "How come the serum worked with you when it failed with all the other test subjects? The formula you received was the very first one I ever concocted. The test subject I was experimenting on at the time died not even a day after injection, but you somehow managed to survive and show the results that I have been seeking. I thought perhaps it was because you drank the serum mixed in your coffee, or because of your unique parentage."

The only response appropriate for that was to shrug, as Tom didn't know any more than Tord does when it comes to how the serum works.

"That's what lead me to investigate your condition in the first place. I wanted to find clues as to why you survived when others hadn't. I didn't find any answers for that, but uncovering your monster side was a pretty damn good trade-off for now." Tord went on; rising from his seat to approach his test subject's chained form. "While the experiments will focus mostly on getting you to transform and understand the serum's true nature, we'll also be working on discovering the reason behind your curious success."

"What are you planning to do with me?" Tom inquired quietly.

Upon reaching him, Tord crouched down in front of the test subject so that they could be at eye level with each other. Tom however kept his gaze fixed on his feet, refusing to acknowledge the presence smugly looming over him.

"Oh, just some basic tests – nothing too drastic… at first. And we're gonna have to change your diet to a strict meat only from now on, to ensure faster results."

A shudder of disgust washed over Tom. Just the thought of eating nothing but meat made him sick to his stomach.

A robotic hand suddenly grasped his lower jaw, forcing him to look up at the Norsk. Tom glared at him numbly.

"You know Tom; you got yourself in quite a predicament by withholding crucial information from us." Tord commented coolly. "You wouldn't be where you are now, in the position that you are in, if you had been open with us from the start."

I didn't even tell my best friends about any of this, did you really think I would ever tell you of all people? Tom so desperately wanted to counter with, but his lessons with the voice kept him subdued and his mouth remained shut up tight.

"But it doesn't have to be this way." Tord continued, his voice growing softer as he leaned closer to the eyeless man. His warm breath fanned over Tom's face, who wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell of smoke that seems ever present with the Norsk. "If you cooperate with me now, you can return to the comfort of your quarters instead of being held in some dark room in chains. You will be allowed to eat whatever you want, and you may continue seeing Paul and Pat as much as you want – since you seem to prefer their presence far more than my own, I consider their companionship to be a luxury for you. You can get all that back… if you simply turn. Do this, and I won't have to resort to extreme measures to get what I want. You don't want to end up getting dissected on an operating table, do you?"

I don't. But I have to. Tom thought to himself in defeat.

The hand on his chin tilted his head up again, snapping Tom back into focus. A gray eye steadily peered into his empty sockets.

"Turn."

The one word command sent a shiver of apprehension down Tom's spine, and dread hollowed in his stomach. Even though he is far from having any semblance of control over the monstrosity inside of him, Tom feared his body would betray him and actually obey Tord.

For several heartbeats, there was only intense silence between them. Then anger surged within Tom, and he mustered all the hatred he ever held for Tord as he met his gaze. "My hate for you runs deeper than your ego. I am not doing anything you order me." He retorted coldly, trying to hide how scared he truly felt inside.

The robotic hand withdrew away from him, and Tord's expression darkened. "So be it." He abruptly stands up to leave, and Tom drops his gaze back to the floor.

"You have changed a lot, Thomas. It was hard to tell at first, but now that I got all the evidence…" Tord trails off, smirking as he glances back at his defeated form. "I have all that I need. But it is a shame really. Right now I cannot even tell to whom I am currently speaking to. Classic stupid Tom, or…" He paused, eyeing him with a curious gaze.

"Something else entirely."

Tom winced at his words but said nothing. Thinking he had the final word, Tord turned to leave.

He was halfway across the room when he heard the sound of chains rattling far behind him. Tord casually glanced back over his shoulder, surprised to find the test subject having raised his head up to glower back at him, with a fierce determination gleaming in his dark, empty sockets. Tom staggered to his feet. The chains so heavy that he stumbled and almost fell, but he managed to stay upright and face Tord.

"Funny you should say that." Tom snarled. "I could say the same thing about you."

Having his full undivided attention, Tord turned to face him with a quizzical expression. He cocks his head to one side, waiting with anticipation to hear what his dear old friend has to say.

"Most of the time I can't tell whether I am talking to Tord-" Tom spat out the words with venom in his voice. "- or to Red Leader!"

A suspenseful stillness crashed in the room. For a while, neither of them did anything. However, Tom noticed his words must've caught Tord off-guard in some way. The Norwegian man's posture was rigid and his facial expression blank as his words resonated in the air. He looked almost… upset?

All of a sudden, Tord's features hardened into a scowl and he flexed his hands as he stalked toward Tom. The eyeless man barely had time to process what was happening before a powerful kick collided with his gut and sent him tumbling to the floor. The chains surrounding him rattled noisily with his movements. Tom landed on his side, gasping for breath as he lay momentarily winded on the ground. A pressure landed on his hip, making Tom wince, as Tord pinned him down hard with one boot.

"I have been pretty lenient with you so far, but I won't tolerate this kind of attitude from you any longer." Tord snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "You are a lowly test subject. It's about time you learned your place in this army, #1826. I am your leader, and you will show me the proper respect fit for my authority. Do I make myself clear?"

Hardly acknowledging the fact he had been reduced to a serial number, Tom nodded numbly. But his response left Tord far from pleased, and he increased the pressure of his boot over the test subject's hip. Tom whimpered.

"Do I make myself clear?" Tord repeated.

"Yes, sir." Tom breathed through clenched teeth.

The Norsk stepped away from him. Tom released a small sigh of relief. The anger died from Tord's eye, to be replaced by something dark and shadowed. "I must go now, and get the tests ready for you. I will bring you something to eat when I return." He stated, sounding breathless and a little dazed. Then more assertively and like his usual self, he added with a cold look at Tom: "Mark my words; you will turn before the week is over, one way or another – even if I have to disassemble you limb by limb to make that happen! You won't delay my plans any longer."

Tom stared up at him dully, feeling as though his body was being robbed of every scrap of warmth and leaving him a husk of nothing.

Tord promptly left the room soon after, leaving Tom to pick himself back up and slouch against the wall behind him – a difficult thing to achieve when your arms are tied against your torso by heavy chains and your body seems frailer than usual.

The only light source in the otherwise dark room seemed to flicker and dim until Tom was cast in nothing but shadow. An imposing presence manifested above him. Tom could practically feel the anger crackling from it.

"Your plan has failed. Why am I not surprised? ~" The voice hissed contemptuously. "I told you time and time again to kill yourself before it was too late. But no! You insisted on waiting for the right time – that you had everything under control; and now look what happened! Your plan has blown up spectacularly on your face, just like I told you it would. ~"

It continued to berate him, digging its sharp fingers through his belly suddenly and twisted his entrails hard. Tom screamed, his legs flailing futilely against the floor in a vain attempt to escape the entity's wrath. A spectral limb wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air supply and making him feel lightheaded as it continued to roughly prod around his insides.

"And you remember what I told you would happen if you failed? ~" The voice purred with barely suppressed delight.

Wait! Tom implored through the agonizing sensations running through him. The plan is still on!

He knew his words must've caught the voice off guard, for not a second later the limb constricting around his throat loosened.

"What are you yapping about now? Look where you are right now! Tord found out one of your secrets and he'll do just about anything to get what he wants! ~"

Exactly! Tom cut if off. Tord said he will start with the easy tests and go up from there. Our deal still stands, so he can't drug me. When none of the other tests work out Tord will start running out of options and then he will have to dig deeper – especially if he really expects to get results by the end of the week. He said so himself when he mentioned dissection earlier. Nothing has changed!

"You do realize that means you have to endure a bunch of other tests that could potentially work just to get to that outcome, right? ~" The voice pointed out.

I can handle it. I got this far without shifting; I can deal with another week to finally end it all.

"Ahh, but it wouldn't take much to get you to transform now that you are strong here- ~" Spectral hands massaged his muscles for emphasis, making Tom grow tense under its ministrations. "And so very weak here. ~" Another phantom limb prodded the top of his head roughly.

"Like I said; I can manage it. Tom insisted urgently.

The voice seemed to take his words into consideration; Tom could sense that it was thinking carefully about this whole matter, and hope flared up inside of him like a tiny flame.

"Very well, worm. You'll have one last chance to off yourself… but if you fail... I will take charge of the situation. ~"

(Meanwhile…)

Edd shifted his hands to try and warm them. It was too cold to stand still. The ground was lightly dusted with snow. The sky is clear, and stars sparkled over the town. Chilled to the bone, Edd did his best to keep up with his energetic companion as they travelled through the shady part of town; their outing reaching its conclusion.

"So Eddie," Reagan began after a brief moment of silence between them. "I've been thinking…"

Edd snorted. "That's new for you."

He laughed as the Irishman playfully elbowed him in response. "We've been hanging out together for quite a while now, and I enjoy your company very much." Reagan continued. "I would like to introduce you to some friends of mine. Just a little get-together, nothing big or anything."

The brunet blinked in surprise. "Oh? That sounds nice but uh… what's the occasion if you don't mind me asking?"

"I just thought that; since I won't be staying in town for very long now, it would be nice to have a fun time with all my pals before the fateful day comes." Reagan responded vaguely. "Everyone else has agreed to it – they're all dying to meet you. It will be fun! No bowling alleys this time, I promise."

Edd pursed his lips and nodded distantly. Reagan observed him steadily; disappointed he didn't react more excitedly to his offer.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing!" Edd blurted a little too quickly, and then turned his gaze away.

Truth be told, he is a little taken back by the fact that Reagan has other friends. Edd isn't stupid – he knows the Irishman was hard to like; what with his loud and cocky attitude and his rule breaking tendencies. Just the other week he caught Reagan stealing some poor guy's wallet straight out of his pocket to pay for a pretzel!

"Thief? That's a little harsh, dontcha think? Nah, I'm not a thief! I'm just really good at acquiring things that aren't mine." That was Reagan's defence when Edd had berated him back then.

Still, even with all that stacked against him; Edd had felt drawn to Reagan from the moment they met. His behaviour is troublesome but can be kinda charming in a weird way. He's living a lifestyle not many are daring enough to even consider. Edd can almost admire that in a strange way.

"So what do you say eh?"

"Hm?"

Reagan rolled his eyes. "About meeting up with some of my colleagues?"

Edd looked away unsurely. "I don't know, Reagan. I may have sort of agreed to spend more time with Matt – you remember him, right?"

"Of course." Reagan responded through a tight lipped smile.

"And I have some commissions that I really need to work on-"

"Oh c'mon, Eddie!" Reagan cut him off, slinging one arm lazily over the Brit's shoulders. "You need to take some time for yourself too, you know! You keep overworking that big ol' noggin of yours, you'll just be miserable for the rest of your life."

Edd gently draws himself away. "Who are these friends of yours anyway? I don't recollect you mentioning them once."

Reagan frowned. "Oh, they're merely good acquaintances of mine. I'm sure you're gonna love them!"

"But—" A faint cry interrupted him. "What was that?"

Reagan shrugged. "Some stray cat, maybe."

The cry came again, this time a clear panicked shrill. "No!" Edd exclaimed. "That's someone in trouble. Come on!"

He headed for the alleyway in the direction of the cry. Edd expected his companion to follow suit, but when he glanced back Reagan stood unmoved; balancing back and forth on the heels of his feet and his hands folded behind his back.

Edd stared at him expectantly. "Come on, Reagan! Someone is in need of help!"

"We could help… or we could leave and no one would know." Reagan suggested with mock pensiveness.

"Reagan!"

The Irishman glared at him. "What? It's not our business if some unlucky bastard was dumb enough to waltz into this area!" He then nodded the alley behind Edd. "By the sounds of it I would guess someone just got jumped on by some thugs. Poor bastard is as good as dead."

"All the more reason we should go and help!" Edd reasoned.

"Hey look – I'm just doing what my fortune cookie said. Who am I to stand in the way of fate?"

Edd's eyes widened. Who would've thought that Reagan could be so selfish and cowardly?

"Please, whoever they are they sound like they are in real trouble." Edd winced as he heard gruff voices accompanying the cries of despair. "We can't just leave them there and do nothing!"

"Hmm, you know what that sounds like? A whole lotta of not my problem, buddy." Reagan insisted stubbornly. "Now let's get the f#ck outta here before we're targeted next."

But Edd couldn't bring himself to leave. He considers himself to be a moderately adequate fighter, but even then he knows he doesn't stand a chance on his own. Thank goodness Eduardo was there to stop him from doing just that earlier that day. By all accounts, Reagan has a point. It's not their problem and they shouldn't be putting themselves in danger for some stranger.

However, the image of an eyeless man wandering drunk and defenceless through the dark streets, right before getting attacked in an alley just like this one… his life being stripped away in a slow, brutal manner… alone, and with no one around to help…

It haunts Edd's mind, and he'll be damned if he's about to allow someone else to share Tom's fate.

Determination and a surge of bravery coursed through him, and Edd turned to face his companion. "It's alright, Reagan. I understand." He murmured. "You don't have to come with me if you don't want to. But I have to go!"

The Irishman snorted disbelievingly. "Are you insane? I thought you were supposed to be the reasonable one from the two of us!" Then his eyes widened as realization suddenly dawned on him. "Oh god… this means I am the reasonable one here now! Eddie, how could you?!"

"Just wait here for me, please." Edd cut him off through gritted teeth. Every second he spends here arguing, are precious decisive moments he's wasting. "If I don't make it back, call the cops."

He ran off before he could hear Reagan's response and lose his sudden bravado.

Meanwhile, Reagan merely stood there – blinking dumbfounded and frustration bubbling up inside of him as he watched Edd disappear into the shadows of the street, hand reaching out toward the retreating Brit before clenching it as if he were changing his mind halfway through. "Come back!" He whisper-shouted through gritted teeth before running a hand through his messy blond locks with an exasperated sigh.

"F#cking idiot has a death wish…" He chuckled. "And right after I warned him from the kindness of my heart, too!"

Now he's stuck in a dilemma. One that he would've solved instantly with no regrets or consequences any other time.

Should he help?

The obvious answer Reagan would've gone for is: no. It's not his problem if the Brit wants to make way for an early grave, and hey! Maybe getting his ass beaten with an inch of his life left will teach him a valuable lesson on not playing hero!

But Reagan can't risk Edd dying on him now. He is one of his targets; and if he perishes before Reagan can get him to join the Red Army, then he will never get his promotion and all his time spent working on chipping Edd's morale away will have been for nothing. And if there's one thing Reagan detests is wasting valuable time.

Well… that among many other things.

The Irishman tapped his foot repeatedly on the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets as he fumed in contemplation.

Edd pelted through the dim alley in the direction of the cry. It came again, closer but fainter, a horrible choking sound followed by low rough voices. He ducked behind a wall and took a quick peek.

Three burly men surrounded another forth figure, slumped and coughing on the ground. Edd couldn't quite make out their appearance in the darkness. He winced when one of the men threw out a harsh kick against the victim's side as they floundered and gasped for air.

"C'mon now… don't make this more difficult than it has to be." A sleazy voice purred contemptuously. "Give us everything of worth you got, and we'll go along our merry way and you can keep on breathing a while longer."

One of the three figures stepped forth. Taller than the other two but lither in frame, the man nudged the defeated form on the ground with one foot to turn it face up. Edd gasped when he recognized the dirty blond bleeding from his nose.

Hellucard!

Edd definitely can't turn away now. Shame and anguish washed over him as he recalled earlier events of that day; when in his unfair rage he shoved the poor friendly man into a stack of soup cans.

Embarrassment was soon replaced by anger as it floods throughout his body. He will make it up to him now.

Making a quick scan of his surroundings, Edd looked for any form of weapon he could use against the thugs. His gaze landed on an empty bottle amongst litter scattered on the floor. But will that be enough on its own? Edd grabbed the bottle on one hand and looked for something else that might help; eventually settling for a trash lid.

Edd took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. These thugs don't appear to be armed, but things can go so messy from here on out…

He shook his head and braced himself for what he's about to do; focusing on bringing his earlier rage back out to give him the strength needed to step out of his hiding place and rescue Hellucard from a potential gruesome fate.

His vision turned red and Edd rushed in with the trash lid raised in front of him like a shield.

He barrelled into the three thugs at full force – they didn't even see him coming and had no time to react as he knocked them away from the injured Canadian on the floor.

Bowling isn't so bad after all. Edd snickered quietly to himself.

"Quick, Hellucard, run!"

Still dazed from his bruises, Hellucard blinked sluggishly before waving at him. "Oh, ey hedd!"

"Really not the time!" Edd retorted with a flicker of annoyance. "Just hurry up and get out of here!" He ordered, before turning on one of the thugs who had threatened him. Hellucard scrambled to his feet, wincing at the effort, and raced away.

"Oi! He's getting away!"

"Don't just sit there and stare, you pansies – f#cking do something!"

One of the muggers, a huge man with shaved head and a beard, tried reaching out for the fleeing Canadian as he raced past. However, Edd impeded him by slamming the glass bottle down hard on top of his head; shattering it into tiny little fragments everywhere. The thug instantly turned his attention back to Edd.

"Well, well, well – looks like we got ourselves a little runt playing hero…" The owner of the sleazy voice stepped forward from between the other two men, approaching Edd with an amused but dangerous glint in his blue eyes.

Before long, Edd found himself surrounded by the three thugs – prowling around him with eyes glittering with smug superiority and hatred. Forcing himself not to tremble or show fear, Edd held his ground and kept a firm grip on his weapons; making sure to keep all of them in his line of sight.

"Hope you've realized the grave mistake ye have committed here." The leader, a tall man with short red hair and sideburns, wearing a dark purple trench coat drawled out condescendingly. "Now that our prey has gotten away, guess this means you're the one paying us our due tonight. Hope it was worth it, runt."

"Just try me, you useless heaps of garbage!" Edd spat back pathetically, putting as much bravado in his voice to conceal how scared he felt in this situation.

Edd launched himself against the nearest thug. No way would he give them the advantage of attacking first!

He slammed the tin lid against the grunt's face, and then swung a punch at another. The first mugger knocked the trash lid out of his grip and grappled him, trying to force him down to the ground. Edd staggered back and pushed back against the thug, his arms screaming at the strain in his muscles.

Panic took over his head. He's alone – three against one. If he gets knocked down now he'll be vulnerable, and then he'll be in serious trouble.

Thinking quickly, Edd lunged forward and head-butted the thug. A sickening crack followed, confirming a broken nose as the man in question backed away with blood dripping down his face. Edd was about to deliver a kick when he was suddenly grabbed from behind in a chokehold and pulled back abruptly. Edd twisted around to look over his shoulder to see the sleazy man; staring back at him narrowed, mocking eyes.

Edd's eyes widened in fear – thinking this might be the end for him.

Suddenly, he thought he saw a glimpse of a figure standing behind the man. A silhouette with spiky hair and dark husks for eyes stared back at him, and shot him a reassuring grin and a solemn nod.

The apparition gave Edd strength, reminding him why he's there in the first place. Rage roared in Edd's ears, and with a burst of energy he ripped himself free from the mugger's grasp, and twisted around to throw himself at the man. As he threw a series of swift blows Edd glimpsed a flash of spiky hair beside him again, and for a moment he was sure he could smell Smirnoff in the air. Edd wasn't religious in any way, though he had many encounters with the supernatural in the past – but the thought that his friend was back to fight beside him once again; just as they did many times on several zombie apocalypses and even a clone invasion, gave him hope.

Tom had come to help Edd avenge his death.

Edd continued with the flurry of vicious punches, blinded by grief and anger; he hardly noticed the other two thugs sneaking up behind him until it was too late. A heavy punch struck Edd on the side of his head, followed by another punch to his lower jaw. Pain ripped through Edd like fire, and he staggered back. He blinked, trying to gain his senses on the situation and keep fighting back, but he was shoved and kicked roughly to the ground.

"You can hold yourself pretty well; I'll give ye that, runt." The sleazy man drawled out from somewhere behind them. "But those were only kitten blows compared to what we're going to do to yah in return."

The muggers towered over Edd now, kicking and stomping on him mercilessly as he writhed on the ground; trying to get back up again and get away but to no avail. Pain seared all over his body. The repeated blows to his chest and stomach had driven all breath out of him, leaving him curled up on his side to try and protect the rest of his body and lessening the pain just a tad. At this rate, Edd wouldn't be surprised if one of his ribs were broken. He could taste his own blood in his mouth.

Edd whimpered in agony. Help me, Tom! I'm sorry – I am so sorry, but I can't do this alone!

Suddenly the attacks stop and the weight on his back was wrenched off of him. Edd blinked and lifted his head in confusion. Reagan! The Irishman stood motionless in front of him, shoulders squared as he held one mugger in each hand by their throat.

"What?" Reagan glanced back at him, sensing surprise on the Brit's stare. "Thought you could have all the fun to yourself, did yah?"

Edd didn't have enough breath to respond. He'd never been more relieved to see Reagan again in his life. Couldn't he have come sooner though? Edd will have a ball trying to explain his bruises to Matt, who is already paranoid enough as it is about him.

Reagan made quick work of the thugs. He smashed their heads together and swiped a leg under their feet, knocking them out almost instantly. He grinned a toothy grin and shrugged as if it was nothing before turning his sights on the last man.

The sleazy man looked Reagan over with insolent blue eyes. "Now who the hell are you, eh?" He demanded. "Last I checked, this town wasn't thriving with this many heroic twats."

Reagan chuckled and stalked closer. "I'm from outta town, that's why. Guess you're not used to being challenged often, huh?"

"Do I know you by any chance?" The sleazy thug asked, eyes narrowed into slits. "You seem familiar…"

"Maybe, maybe not." Reagan shrugged lamely before smirking. "Does it even matter to you lot?"

There was a thick cloud of tension cackling between the two men as they confronted one another – Edd could feel it radiating from where he stood, leaning against the wall behind him and rubbing his sore cheek. Then he glimpsed a flash of something shiny being pulled out of the thug's coat, and Edd's eyes widened in alarm.

"Reagan, look out – he's got a knife!"

His warning came a second too late as the mugger drew out a blade and rushed toward Reagan. However, the Irishman had already anticipated his opponent's movements and jumped back just in time to dodge the first strike.

He continued to evade the following series of stab attempts with fluid motion, ducking and sidestepping effortlessly. Reagan grinned when he saw surprise flicker in the other man's eyes as he couldn't land a hit on him.

Time to move away from the defensive to attack position.

Edd's eyes widened in amazement as he watched Reagan whirl around the sleazy man in circles, darting in to strike a punch or a kick and immediately leaping back out of the blade's range. The mugger tried to keep up with his movements and finally land a hit on the damn f#cker, but Reagan was moving so fast that by the time he managed an opportunity to slash at him, the Irishman had already moved on. He was untouchable.

"You're too slow!" Reagan teased. "Missed! Missed again! Swing and a miss! Not even close! Are you even trying? I just might have to text you later if you miss me so much!" He blew the thug a kiss.

The mugger clenched his jaw in frustration, fatigue setting in. This was supposed to be an easy gig! – pick a target, jump on them, threaten and beat them up a little, kill if they resist, and take away all their valuables. That's it! He's been doing this sh#t for years and he'd never had come across a more annoying pest than this bloke right here. Well, except for maybe…

A hard blow caught the thug on the side of the face, driving him off his feet and tumbled him to the ground. Distracted by Reagan's impressive, but nonetheless irritating skilful fighting technique, he had slipped his focus just enough for Reagan to land the finishing blow and end the conflict. As the mugger hit the ground a surging of black spots covered his vision from the force of the blow, and as it cleared he glimpsed vibrant green eyes looming close to his own. A hand clamped down on his neck.

"Reagan!"

The Irishman looked up at the sound of his name. Edd neared him with awe and concern in his gaze.

"I'm alright, Eddie – I didn't get hit once." Reagan bragged. "You on the other hand…" He gestured the Brit's dishevelled appearance.

Edd swiped a bead of blood that trickled down the side of his mouth with his hand. "I'm fine. It's nothing serious." And he was truthful. Aside from a busted lip and a purplish bruise below his left eye, Edd didn't feel anything else. The pain in his lower abdomen was already subsiding. He was lucky Reagan showed up when he did. "What you just did – that was amazing! I… I didn't know you had it in you."

Reagan stared steadily back at him. "You don't know a lot about me." He responded curtly. "Now that we've met our quota of heroism for the night, let's get outta here before anything else happens."

"Shouldn't we call the authorities?" Edd asked, glancing at the unconscious thugs.

"Do you want to spend the rest of the night being badgered and answering to a f#ck load of nosy questions?" Reagan countered dryly.

Edd shook his head.

"Then let's go already! Sheesh Eddie, night is young but not if you insist on doing hassling stuff all the damn time-"

"Foley…"

The raspy murmur halted both men in their steps. Edd spun around and realized that the leader thug was still conscious, though he was lying down on the filthy ground of the alleyway and he seemed a bit dazed as he lifted his head to observe them.

"It is you, isn't it?"

Edd couldn't make sense of what the man was saying. He glanced at Reagan questioningly, expecting to find his own confusion mirrored in the blond's eyes. However, Reagan was frozen solid, muscles rigid and eyes dead open. The expression took Edd by surprise. He'd never seen the Irishman appear so taken back.

"Hmm, doesn't ring any bells… I think you got a bit of a memory issue there." Reagan sniffed disinterestedly and with a lazy, albeit strained grin on his face. "That pretty nifty punch to the face probably didn't help matters, did it? But no, sorry, don't know anyone by that name…"

The sleazy man choked out a harsh laugh. "Look at yah – shaking like a leaf… yeah, you're most definitely Foley alright." He struggled to sit up. "You're the only one I know who trembles at the sound of his own name. Thought you were dead, yah son of a b#tch! Where have yah been all this time, you slippery little bastard?"

Switching back and forth between his companion and the thug, Edd watched the interaction play out with great perplexity. This man seems to know Reagan in some way, though he was referring to him by a different name – but on the other hand; the Irishman appeared to be indifferent but also uncomfortable with the situation forced upon him. And considering the fact that this was Reagan that has to mean something is going on here.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Reagan taking a pace forward; the usual mischief gone from his gaze and his smile was crooked. For a heartbeat he looked the mugger up and down. "I don't know what you're talking about." He snarled, surprising Edd further with the uncharacteristic menace in his voice. "Life on the streets must've damaged your brain, ye bleedin tick."

"Glad yah haven't gone soft, Foley." The sleazy man drawled, rising to his feet. "I spent a lot of time and effort on you, and I would've hated to see it gone to waste."

"Listen to me very closely now." Reagan growled, evidently struggling to keep his cool as he took another threatening step forward. Edd could've sworn he saw him twitch. "I have absolutely no idea who you are, what you are talking about, or who you are referring to – so why don't you just drop dead now and let us go our merry way before things get worse, hm?"

"Or what? You gonna throw a temper tantrum like old times?" The mugger taunted. "Guess it's true what they say about yah; once a Foley, always a-"

Apparently that was the last straw, because with a roar of fury Reagan lunged at the man. They both toppled to the ground. Edd watched horrified as Reagan mercilessly began pummelling the mugger square on the face in a frenzy. His vibrant green eyes were flared up with unbridled rage and hatred; the likes of which Edd never would've associated with the Irishman until now.

Unable to watch this play out any longer Edd snapped into action. Yeah, the thug tried to attack and maybe kill Hellucard and then himself, but no one deserves this kind of fate. He grappled Reagan's shoulders and dragged him off. "Reagan, that's enough! Stop it!" He shrieked. "What are you doing?"

Startled by the terror in his voice, Reagan froze; wild eyed. The thug lay unconscious on the ground, bright red blood bubbling at his heavily damaged face. Was he even breathing?

Panting and spitting with fury, Reagan ripped himself away from Edd's grasp before rounding the Brit. "Stay the f#ck away from me!"

Edd backed away, startled, his eyes wide and scared as the Irishman barged past and simply left him behind.

He stood in that alleyway for what felt like an eternity, wondering what the hell just took place.

(Meanwhile…)

"I think I'm gonna throw up…"

"Do it and I'll make you eat everything back up from the floor." Tord warned sternly as he stabbed the last piece of bloody read meat from the plate and brought it over to Tom's mouth.

They've been at this for nearly twenty minutes now – far longer than Tord had anticipated! But Tom was being difficult as usual, and refused to cooperate. Even now, at the very last bite left, the eyeless man fussed and turned his head away to avoid eating.

Tord released an exasperated sigh and rolled his eye. "Such a baby…"

With the fork still in his robotic hand, he used his organic one to pinch Tom's nose. The Brit tried in vain once again to hold his breath for as long as he could to drag this out; but after repeating the same motions over and over in such a short span of time, it didn't take very long for Tom to give in for a mouthful of air, and Tord use the opportunity to shove the fork in his mouth before clamping it close with his metallic hand.

Tom gagged against the prosthetic palm over his mouth, trying to spit the disgusting food out but to no avail. It's beef! It's only beef! Tom repeated to himself like a mantra, trying not to be disgusted as he chewed hastily. Its cow meat, or bull meat – it's not human, it's what matters.

"Hmm… but if Tord is trying to bring out the beast, then wouldn't it make sense to be human? ~" The voice appeared to ponder, though by the slyness in its tone it was clearly just messing with him. "After all, we both know he will do whatever it takes to get what he wants; and serving you human flesh is not out of the realm of possibility. ~"

It cackled maniacally as Tom hunched forward and retched at the idea, rattling the chains surrounding him, but forced himself to swallow the last piece and finally get this embarrassing torture over with. It was absolutely humiliating to have Tord force feed him like that, but Tom had the nagging feeling that this wouldn't be a one-time thing.

Setting the empty plate aside, Tord proceeded to unclasp the chains connected to the wall and wrap each one a lap around Tom's cocooned torso to fortify his restraints, and then half carry half drag him out the room toward their first test.

Tom was still recovering from the awful taste in his mouth when he was hauled backwards through the hallways. He didn't actively struggle, since it would be entirely pointless at this point, but that doesn't mean Tom will just willingly go along with any of this. He'll be as stubborn as possible to make this whole experience infuriatingly frustrating for the Commie.

With that thought in mind, Tom deliberately relaxed his legs and let them drag loosely on the floor as they walked; sometimes going so far as to casually dig his heels on the floor to slow down their pace.

However, The Norsk did not seem perturbed and continued heaving the test subject toward their destination.

With every passing second, Tord's expectations for the experiments grew but his excitement for the outcome also lessened considerably whenever he has to interact with the Brit in any way. Tom was such a dramatic pest! He'd agreed to the conditions of their deal and willingly take part in the experiments, and then he had the gall to keep it from him and behave like a fussy toddler.

Are you Tord or Red Leader?

The question kept ringing inside his head ever since Tom flashed those words at him earlier.

Tord clenched his jaw in frustration. He knows who he is – so why does the question bother him so damn much? He's the Red Leader! He is powerful, insanely clever, charismatic, and fears nothing! That's what the perfect leader should be! Tord was nothing more than an emotional goofy dork, not suited to dominate the world and make the big changes he hopes to accomplish. No. He's already been through this enough times as it is – there's no room for weaknesses. He can't be Tord anymore.

If I'm not that dork anymore, then how come Tom keeps getting such an effect on me?

He briefly glanced back at the test subject from the corner of his eye. He could perfectly envision a sulking scowl on the eyeless man's round features, and his unique dark eyes glaring at everything to pin the blame for his misfortune; an expression so adorable Tord secretly gushed at the idea of nuzzling the grouchy Brit close-

Are you Tord or Red Leader?

I am Red Leader damnit! I feel nothing for Tom!

How can he, anyway? Tord blew whatever chance he might've ever had with Tom when they were just teens. Tom never forgave him for selling him out and dumping all the blame for their mischief on him. He never even gave him a chance to properly explain himself or apologize for his actions afterward. No. Tom hated him with every fibre of his being from that day on, all because Tord made a few mistakes. It was not fair! Tord cared about him, and frustratingly enough in a way, he'd never stopped caring and yet Tom refuses to let go of his contempt and hear him out. So what the f#ck is he supposed to do with these feelings? Suppress and turn them into hatred.

Tom means nothing to me. Tord kept telling himself decisively, even if his heart twisted painfully inside his chest. Those days are gone. My devotion is only to the Red Army, and I have no friends other than Paul and Pat. They're not even friends, really – allies, more like it.

He gave Tom one last glance, then pushed open the doors to the lab and stepped in; bringing the test subject with him.

Fidgeting in his restraints, Tom strained to see his surroundings. He tried hard not to show it but he was terrified of the experiments he'll have to go through to reach his end goal. Hospitals and doctors of any type in general unnerved him; but to have the Commie play mad scientist with him is ten times worse than any common doctor's appointment.

He broke out of his thoughts when he was suddenly heaved up and sat down on a table of sorts. Tom blinked in surprise and quickly surveyed the room. It looked similar to the "clinic" room he often visits for his monthly check-ups with Pat, but this place was more… professional looking, was the best way he could describe it.

There were weird machines, and tables with all sorts of tools surrounding them; and it didn't take Tom to be a genius to realize he was currently seated on an operating table. Tom swallowed apprehensively at the implication of this. There was a slightly metallic smell to the air, and an oppressive mechanical thrum buzzed in his ears.

Tord efficiently worked on undoing the several layers of chains restraining Tom's arms and torso, not once looking directly at the Brit.

The silence was agonizing, added with the thick tension pressing down on them it was unbearable.

Anxiety getting the best of him, Tom decided to break the silence. "So…" He began nervously, watching the Norsk unwrap him from the chains. "What are we doing?"

Tord's gaze flickered briefly to his face before returning to his bindings. "Just a scan." He replied brusquely. "To check if there are any anomalies in your body from consequences of the serum."

"So it's just an X-ray?" Tom prompted, feeling a little more alleviated.

"A little more complex than just a mere X-ray, but same principle."

The last of the chains came undone, and Tom breathed a little pleased sigh and stretched his stiff arms in relief. He did not enjoy his fleeting freedom for very long however, as Tord shoved him flat on his back and quickly clasped his wrists and ankles down on the table. Tom panicked for a moment and struggled against the idea of being held down and be left in such a vulnerable position.

"Keep still." Tord hissed through clenched teeth.

Tom ceased all movements, but not because of the Norsk's command. His eyeless gaze peered past Tord's towering form and stared at the ceiling; where a large mechanical circle with a harsh, bright white light glowed in the middle. But the real kicker are the vast selection of slender appendages hanging from the ceiling, surrounding the light, with what appeared to be utility pincers at the end of each one. The design was so unsettling it looked straight out of an alien horror movie.

The eyeless man froze before panic kicked in. "What- what- what-" He stammered, trying to get his thoughts to focus long enough for a sentence to come out. "What is that?! What the f#ck is that?" He tried pointing at the creepy contraption above, but his wrists had already been restrained to the table.

"What?" Tord blinked, genuinely mystified by Tom's spontaneous hysteria. He looked up, following Tom's gaze. "Oh, that? Those are my assembly surgeon tools." He replied nonchalantly.

"Your what now?" Tom exclaimed, his empty eyes wide open.

"Assembly surgeon tools! I have another one like this in the test room for tricky tinkering procedures, but that one is simply called: Assembly tools." Tord continued, completely oblivious to his test subject's escalating fear. "This one right here is for the purpose of operating on test subjects if the occasion ever arises." He looked up at the contraption and sighed proudly. "Such magnificent design."

Oh f#ck. Tom thought full of dread. So this thing is what's going to kill me then? This is somehow way worse than the Commie.

"You see; as much as I love science, tinkering, and all that good stuff – I'm not really a big fan of messing with-" Tord paused, poking Tom's chest with disdain as if to make a point. "Biological matter. Too messy for my tastes."

Tom scoffed disbelievingly. "Seriously? Killing people is totally okay in your books, but performing surgeries is taking it too far? What? Are you squeamish all of a sudden?"

Tord shot him a brief glance. "Of course not! I just… I have a preference of fixing machines rather than people."

"If you don't like it, why did you bother getting a doctor's degree then?"

"So that I can know what I'm doing when experimenting on my test subjects and don't accidentally kill them?" Tord retorted, stepping away from him to mess with some panels on the far left. "Books and internet articles can only take you so far. Plus; I love a good challenge to expand on my knowledge."

Contemplating this new information, Tom smirked faintly. "Does this mean you prefer astrology over biology?"

A shadow fell over him, blocking the light, and Tord reappeared by his head and stared down at him with a disapproving frown. "Astrology. Is. Not. A. Science!"

Tom shrugged innocently. "Sorry." He mumbled.

It was admittedly entertaining to push Tord's buttons on this particular topic and see his reaction, especially since Tom didn't understand much of it and could easily use his ignorance to poke some fun at the Norsk.

Tord stepped away again and returned to his spot by the panels, taking a seat and crossing his legs. "But yes, biology is my least favourite form of science." He answered, picking up a tablet and typing something down. "I mean, biology has many subcategories within itself, and I do enjoy some of them. Biomechanics? One of my favourites – if not, my favourite one by far; but simply because it is used for the creation of prosthetics, which is another recent hobby of mine I quite enjoy. But the area about plants and animals? It's such a bore! Even though I got excellent grades on all science subjects back in school, biology was still such a pain to sit through!"

As the Norsk continued to rant about all things science and his pros and cons of biology, Tom listened diligently; not because he was interested in the topic itself – heck, he can't comprehend half the things Tord was babbling about! – But Tord's excitement on the subject matter did help soothe Tom's nerves somewhat, and he avoided looking back up at the scary contraption looming menacingly over him.

"Anyways, let's get back on track shall we?" Tord stopped himself short mid-rant and looked over at Tom from where he stood. "I'm gonna scan you now, and I'm going to ask you a few questions while we wait for that to be done with. And since I know your dirty little secret now, I expect you to be more honest with your answers this time around."

Tom shot him a glare and opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by one of the robotic appendages above him whirring to life and descending down to his eye level. Tom immediately tensed up against his restraints and watched the camera-like device near him.

"Can you calm down?" Tord spoke up with an edge of annoyance to his voice. "Your heartbeat is accelerating and that can tamper with the scan results. Just take deep breaths, please."

Calm down – right. Tom wanted to laugh, but forced himself to relax as instructed instead. This lab – this operating table right here is where he is going to die, and he is somehow supposed to calm down knowing that fact. But sure! He'll calm down!

A red light turned on the device above him, and slowly began drifting down his body.

"Alright, let's get on with the questionnaire." Tord began, looking up from his tablet. "Firstly; have you been feeling ill at all in the past week? Headaches? Nausea? Fever? Dizziness?"

Tom pursed his lips. "No. A few minor headaches, but nothing dramatic." Hearing voices don't count, right?

"Did he include them on the question? ~"

No.

"Then there you go, you f#cking moron. ~"

Tord typed down the answer on his tablet, just as the red scanner passed over the test subject's face. "Okay, that's all I'm gonna need for your physical condition since we have accumulated all other related data over the months you spent here with us. So we'll get on with more complex questions from here on out, alright?"

Tom shrugged. "Yeah, whatever."

"Do you have any sexually transmitted diseases?"

Tom's mind actually made a record scratch sound at the question and he turned to Tord wide eyed. Didn't take long for him to make things weird, did he? But Tord stared back at him nonchalant, still typing away at his tablet.

"No?" Tom replied, but his confusion made it sound more like a question.

"Are you a person of risk?"

A person of risk? Does he mean-?

"Do you overshare drugs with needles or perform unprotected sex often?"

Whoa, never mind!

"Commie, these questions are really creepy." Tom whined, getting concerned over what all this is potentially leading to.

"It's protocol. Just answer the question." The Norsk replied, his voice surprisingly flat.

"No, I'm not a person of risk!" Tom snapped, growing increasingly exasperated.

"When was the last time you had sex?"

"W-what?!" Tom spluttered, his face turning a light shade of red. "Okay! – Time out! How is any of this related to the monster serum?"

"Don't be so offended. I'm only following protocol." Tord soothed, though there was some slyness evident in his tone this time around.

Tom blinked. "What kind of sh#t protocol is this then?"

Tord steadily stared back at him and unfolded his legs. "You will find out soon enough. Now… your answer, please?"

Still flustered by the unexpected turn of events, Tom decided to focus his attention on the scanner hovering over him. It neared the bottom of his feet where the device halted, made a loud confirmation ring, and then restarted; the light turning from red to green as it scanned his body back up again.

Tom heaved an annoyed sigh. "Five, maybe six years ago?" He revealed, albeit reluctantly.

"Oh… running a little bit rusty then, huh?" Was all Tord had to say on the matter. There was something peculiar in his voice though, however Tom couldn't identify if it was amusement or interest. No mockery, though; strangely enough. "You always did have trouble with the ladies…"

Tom winced. While it is true he doesn't have the easiest time finding partners to spend a night with, much less an actual relationship, that's only partial reason for his stagnant sex drive. The fate of his last one-night stand partner still haunts Tom's mind, just like all his other victims. From waking up in a blood soaked, shredded bed with body remains scattered on the floor, to the brief flashes of memories he'd get when trying to sleep. Just… the way he split her body in half so effortlessly… and the ear splitting scream that followed the sickening snap.

The gruesome memory made Tom shudder, but it didn't deter him from appearing composed. "Most people just aren't fond of eyeless guys." He stated with a casual shrug.

Fools. The thought slipped through Tord's mind before he could even process it; but rather than get frustrated with it, he simply elected to ignore it and move on to the next question. However, his heart skipped a beat once his gaze skimmed over the next set of words.

"Have you ever had sex with another man?" He drenched his voice with blatant apathy, his head lowered and tablet shielding his face from the eyeless man. As much as he wanted to glimpse Tom's face for his reaction, Tord opted to remain on a low profile and wait for the answer with bated breath.

He hates how he's been reduced to a high school chick trying to ask her crush out when this was so much more than that.

Tom didn't skip a heartbeat to reply as he uttered a dry laugh. "No."

The tension left Tord's shoulders the moment he got his answer. His mouth felt insanely dry, and he released a shaky breath as he nodded numbly and typed on the tablet. "Have you ever taken illegal drugs with a needle even one time?"

"Nope."

"Have you ever had an acupuncture?"

"Nah."

"Have you ever been to jail?"

"No." Probably should've.

They continued with this for quite a while, with Tord asking him questions about his general lifestyle and wellbeing and Tom being surprisingly honest with his answers; or at the very least concealing the more gory details to himself. The scanner drifted up and down his body, shifting to different colours every time it reached the end of his form before taking on a new shade and retracing its movements.

"Alright, the scan is nearly over and there's only one question left." Tord announced, breaking their monotonous pace.

Tom sighed in relief. "Oh, thank god."

Truth be told, his body was starting to get stiff from lying down in the exact same position for so long. He was looking forward for today's experiment and his insufferable daily dose of Tord to finally end. He'll most likely get wrapped up in chains again and stored away in some dark room until the next test; but when you are nearing the end of your life it comes to a point where you stop caring about your living conditions.

So much for enjoying the time that I have left.

"Have you ever come into contact with someone else's blood?"

Silence hangs in the air. When Tom refused to answer, Tord looked up from his tablet to peer over at him. The test subject had his head turned away and upon closer look, his muscles were tense and his hands clenched. Tord cocks his head to one side and patiently waited for a response.

"Does eating people count?" Tom's voice wavered as he finally broke the silence; his eyes clenched shut as if he were in pain.

In a way, he is.

Even though there's a harsh bright light glaring down at him, Tom found himself shrouded in darkness and excluded from the rest of the world. Worse still, there were huge shards of glass protruding from his chest, stabbing right through his body and buried deep into the operating table. Tom twitched in weak spasms, choking on his own blood with a horrible gurgling sound as a new glass shard sank deep into his throat. He couldn't breathe.

The pain was unbearable; but the voice says its good practice for him not to chicken out on the real deal. Besides, it's only a fraction compared to the pain he'd put other people through.

Tom was able to snap back to harsh reality with Tord's response breaking the ominous silence. "It does." The Norsk murmured, typing something down. "But you haven't attacked anyone in quite some time, you claim to feel fine, and all the blood tests we ran so far showed no signs of you contracting any illnesses. Further testing must be done to investigate the matter closely."

"Then that's it? We're done here?" Tom prompted as the scanner shut off with a low whistle and returned to its original position on the ceiling.

"With the scan, yes. But, oh, we're far from done."

Tord made his way around the panels toward him. With graceful strides he reached the operating table and stared down at his test subject with newly reinvigorated interest and excitement. "I told you we're going to get results out of you before the week is over, and I plan to do just that."

Staring back at him, Tom gulped apprehensively. He felt sure his heart was pounding hard enough for Tord to hear without the help of any device. He immediately tensed up when both sides of his face were gently cupped by a mismatched set of hands.

"The next few days will be very important for the both of us; we're gonna be performing tests one right after the other non-stop – with the exception of bathroom breaks and feeding hours, of course!" Tord revealed with barely suppressed giddiness.

Tom's heart pounded faster; and he wished he could shrink away from Tord's intense gaze and touch, and just disappear into thin air. "But-b-but but what about sleeping? A-and your work as leader? Surely you have other important things to do?"

Tord circled him, letting his robotic hand drift downward and slither over his chest. It felt like a snake, cold and heavy. Tom stiffened in discomfort at his touch. It was too gentle to be trusted.

"What could be more important than finally getting to see my greatest creation come to life?" Tord whispered smugly, flicking the fingers of his organic hand under Tom's chin teasingly. "I've waited ten years for this project to go somewhere, and now that I'm this close to have it be realized I won't stop for anything until I get my monster."

Well, this just complicates things; but perhaps Tom can use it to his advantage. If they both exhaust themselves by the end of the week, Tom will be weaker – not enough to stop himself from shifting by any means, but enough to dent him significantly – and Tord will be prone to making more mistakes. So when the Commie decides to have a closer look on how he ticks... just one wrong incision could do the trick, and Tom's nightmare will finally be over. Thanks to their deal, Tord can't use anaesthetics or any type of pain relieving drugs so his chances of dying are doubled.

"But don't worry, Thomas." He broke out of his thoughts as Tord continued speaking. The Norsk appeared triumphant as he walked his robotic hand on two fingers farther down Tom's chest with a huge contented grin on his face. "I'll have you well looked after. I take good care of all my test subjects."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Is that why they're all dead?" He shot back in a deadpanned tone.

His body suddenly convulsed and cramped up in pain as jolts of electricity shot through him. Tom hissed in pain and writhed against his restraints. Tord stared down at him, still smiling, but obviously in disdain as he administered the controlled shock on the test subject.

This will be, perhaps, the longest week of Tom's entire life.

Chapter Text

Shrieks of agony and horror split the air; ringing so loud it felt like a high pitched buzz to his ears. He could only hear the roaring blood pounding inside of him.

His actions were hazy, not yet fully registered in his brain, but they were precise and swift as he slashed through the fleeing helpless figures with ease as if they were made from paper. The surge of power coursing through his body felt great.

He felt alive, more than ever before.

As one person after another fell lifelessly to the ground, good chunks of their body missing, while others fled in terror from his massive raking claws and sharp teeth he knew this was what he had been born for. How can it not? This feels wonderful!

There was no trace of fear or a shred of remorse left within him - only a thirst for the highly addicting rush of power.

There came a moment when there was nobody left. Everything has gone eerily silent. He was left panting, surrounded by rows and rows of mutilated corpses. He bared his teeth in the beginnings of a snarl, tail lashing in disappointment. No more of that wonderful coordination of muscles, teeth, and claws? No more of the light of fear in his prey's eyes as they were about to die?

A hitched gasp broke the silence, and one of his ears swivelled back instantly.

He whipped around; claws stretched and ready to strike, only for him to freeze halfway as his gaze landed on the pair shrinking back away from him.

A brunet with brown eyes and a green hoodie, and a ginger with blue eyes and a purple hoodie.

A surge of fondness and warmth took over him at the sight of his best friends, replacing the frenzy inducing rage he felt earlier. But as he went to take a step closer and call out to them, Edd and Matt shrieked and scrambled to get away from him.

"Stay back!"

The words halted his movements. He watched them – hurt by their reaction. Then he took a better look at them. They were holding on to each other as if their life depended on it, staring at him with horror and disgust, trembling and with tears glistening in their eyes. They were terrified of him.

"T-Tom, how could you?" Edd let out a broken sob. "We trusted you! W- we live- we lived with you, and this entire time you were…you were out killing people?"

What?

No. No! He would never-!

His actions finally registered and he gazed around the piles of bodies in despair. What had he done? He never meant for this – for any of this to happen!

But it had felt good...

The bodies stared at him with blank accusatory eyes and he cowered away.

"Get out of here, Tom." His friends' voices echoed ominously. "We want nothing to do with you anymore. You're too dangerous."

That's not true! He would never hurt them!

"Well done, Thomas."

A sly voice purred behind him, turning his blood to ice. He spun around only to come face to face with Red Leader's silhouette, grinning back at him with shining red eyes.

He backed away from the figure with apprehension.

"Such a good job you've done here." The Red Leader praised, stepping closer to him. "I'm so proud of you."

Something tight and kinda heavy manifested on his neck to the point of nearly choking him, and it appeared to jingle with his movements. He looked down, horrified to discover a metal collar around his neck with the Red Army sigil branding the pendant.

A broken whimper startled him, and instinctively he whirled around with his claws outstretched and sank them into the source of the noise.

A child.

A child with spiky hair, bright yellow shirt, overalls, and dark husks for eyes was the source of the noise – staring back at him with vivid terror and despair as he clutched his stuffed bear with tears streaming from his eyes.

He watched numb with horror as warm blood welled between his claws; the pool of dark scarlet spreading wider and wider through the boy's clothes. The child spasmed, choking on his own blood, then fell limp on the ground to join the rest of the bodies with a faint whimper.

Red Leader appeared beside him. "Oh, you're a monster, no doubt about that." He rasped in his ear. "My monster."

Tom jolted awake with a strangled cry, gasping for air and in cold sweat. He automatically tried to sit up, but found that his body couldn't follow through due to the restraints holding him down. It took him a couple heartbeats to remember where he was and realize it had been just a nightmare. Tom panted, trying to calm down and blink away the tears that threatened to fall.

"My, you weren't kidding about the nightmares, huh?"

Letting out a frightened little yelp at the familiar sounding voice, Tom turned his head to the right and found Tord seated comfortably in a chair with a tablet on his lap; observing him with clear interest in his single piercing gray eye.

A wave of embarrassment flooded through Tom as he realized he'd not only succumbed to fatigue at some point during the experiments, leaving himself vulnerable for Tord to mess with to his heart's content, but he just had a near violent reaction to a nightmare in front of the Commie.

If there were a way for a person to die from embarrassment, Tom would've died right then and there.

To be fair, as hard as he tried to stay awake the entire time it was next to impossible to do so with the current schedule he has on. The whole week Tord performed various tests on him, sometimes taking him out of the lab and drag him back and forth in chains through the hallways, feed him nothing but meat, and stick him with needles Tom wasn't sure would give or take something from him, and other times Tord would bombard him with questions regarding his monster form. Things like:

"How often do you used to transform?"

"Is the transformation process painful?"

"How do you feel once you've turned?"

"Do Matt and Edd know about this?"

Questions Tom refused to reply, mostly because answering them would go against the voice's command to be silent; doesn't matter if Tord already knows about the monster secret. If Tom so much as mentions anything regarding his situation, the voice won't be happy.

But neither was Tord when he refused to answer to his questions and administered several controlled shocks as punishment. At this point, Tom was in a "pick your poison" type deal, and he chose the lesser of two evils.

Throughout the experiments Tom would slip in and out of consciousness, barely acknowledging what was going on before snapping his head back to focus and remain awake. He needed to keep an eye on Tord to make sure he doesn't do anything fishy – like hell would he trust the Commie with his body! – And he must weaken himself as much as possible for the big moment to heighten his chances of dying.

"F#ck…" Tom breathed frustratedly and slumped against his restraints, his breath coming in gasps and his heart hammering in his chest like a panicked rabbit. "How much did you see?"

Tord slowly blinked. "Of you screaming and crying in your sleep? The whole thing."

"I did what?!"

"Nah, I'm messing with you! You only whimpered and flailed around a little bit." Tord chuckled, palms out as he slowly approached to show he meant no harm. "You dozed off. Didn't think much of it since it doesn't affect the experiments, so I let you get some rest. I concluded the tests by myself and went to look at the scan results that just came back when you started whining in your sleep."

"And it didn't occur to you waking me up would be a good idea?" Tom asked, clearly irritated.

Tord shrugged. "I wanted to see just how bad these nightmares were to the point of sleep deprivation."

"In other words; you stood by and watched all in the name of science." Tom deadpanned.

The only reply he got from that remark was a smug little smirk from Tord as the Norsk walked past his line of sight. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Tom wanted to laugh at the ridiculous suggestion. "With you? Definitely not!"

It was then he took notice of a stinging sensation running through his right arm. Not painful, just uncomfortable. Looking down at his arm, Tom was shocked to find a long thin tube jutting out of a vein from his limb and guiding the blood flow all the way to a blood bag.

"What… what are you… doing to me now?" Tom asked softly, licking his lips. His mouth felt insanely dry.

A shadow suddenly loomed over him, blocking out the harsh light above. Tom tensed up as Tord returned to his side, glimpses of his nightmare still reeling through his mind. The Norsk was holding a glass of water in one hand with a long, funny swirly straw out toward him.

After a brief moment's hesitation and a few questioning glances at Tord, Tom leaned forward in his restraints and clumsily sipped at the straw.

"While searching for answers behind your strange success, we managed to get a lock on your DNA and find traces of the serum imbedded in your blood cells. We're not entirely sure why it worked with you out of all test subjects yet, but we deduced your blood might be the key to have the serum perfected at long last." Tord explained coolly. "Since it appears to match with the serum components and give off the result I've always wanted, I plan to extract your blood and use it as the new serum formula. There's something in your blood in particular that makes the difference, I just don't know what… if only I had a sample of your DNA before you'd taken the serum to test it out."

Tom pulled away from the drink, wide eyed. "Wait… you're not planning on injecting someone else with it, are you?"

Tord eyed him steadily. "No. Not for now, anyway." He responded. "There are plenty of things we gotta do with you first before we can get there. See the monster for myself is my top priority – speaking of which… do you plan on turning any time soon? You do know today is the final day before things get intense from here on out, right?"

His words chilled Tom to his core. Dread hollowed his belly, and his heart rate picked up. F#ck… this soon? He'd hardly noticed how fast time went by during the experiments. His life expectancy just turned from one week to a mere couple of hours at most, maybe. Even though he just drank water, the realization made his mouth feel parched.

"No can do, Commie." Tom retorted, struggling to hide the prickle of fear that crawled along his spine; and play along with Tord's suspicions of him being in control of his other half.

The less he knows about the truth, the better.

"Oh, c'mon Jehovah! Can't you be smart for once in your life?" A robotic finger jabbed his cheek playfully, then slithered down to trail along his jawline. Tom scowled in response. "Think about the pain you're going to put yourself through by insisting on being stubborn. I'm trying to go easy on you, I really am, but you are really trying my patience." Tord murmured, his gray eye peering down at his test subject intensely. "You're not gonna win this fight, Thomas. It's not even a fight, really – a fight would mean you stand a chance of winning – but regardless; I am getting my monster sooner or later anyway, so why don't you just put your pride aside now before the painful tests can begin?"

Tom did not reply to him at once. His muscles were tense but his expression was vacant, giving nothing away. It would be so easy to make fun of Tord, knowing what he knows. To mock him right to his face and brag about how he has no intentions of being kept alive for much longer, or how he doesn't mind the pain he's subjecting himself to with his choice.

As satisfying as getting the Commie off guard would be, it can't happen. It mustn't! The price wouldn't be worth it, and the voice could change its mind and take control of the situation. Tom dreaded the thought.

"The answer is still no."

"Then your pride is matched only by your stupidity, but suit yourself." Tord chuckled darkly. "You are an extremely cantankerous man to work with indeed, Thomas." He rolled his eye and flashed the Brit a sly toothy grin, which only widened when Tom narrowed his eyes and huffed quietly in response.

Tord suddenly clapped his hands together in excitement. "Oh yes! As I've already mentioned, the results to your scan came back and we found out some pretty interesting things… ~" He hastily turned away to gather some files he'd left by the control panels, and returned to his test subject with an enthusiastic skip in his step. "I'll start off with the good news – the blood of the victim's you've ingested over the past few years hasn't infected you in any way, so you are on the clear!"

"Sweet." Tom droned.

"On the other hand… hehe… we discovered a hidden layer of fangs hiding right beneath your gums! Take a look-see!"

He showed Tom an X-ray image of his skeleton, and sure enough, just below his teeth were rows of sharp fangs lying in wait underneath his normal set of teeth. Tom stared at the picture in bewilderment. Ten years living with this condition and he only learns about this now. Creepy; to say the least.

"Well, my body just turned ten times more terrifying than it already waauhgh-"

Tord abruptly grabbed him by his lower jaw before he could finish his sentence. His robotic fingers pried his mouth open, spread his lips apart to show off his teeth and roughly started prodding them; all the while Tom flailed around in his grip with clear discomfort.

"You really should brush your teeth more often." He heard Tord mutter out loud.

Like your teeth are any better than mine, tobacco breath! Tom wanted to counter, but his words came out as an incoherent mumble through the intruding fingers in his mouth.

"Hmm… I wonder what would happen if I were to pull out a tooth of yours? Would a fang take its place?" Tord contemplated, studying his test subject's teeth with a calculating fascination in his gaze.

His voice was so dead serious, Tom wouldn't be surprised if the Norsk were to pull out a wrench and attempts to forcefully remove a tooth from him right now. The near crazed look Tom glimpsed increasing in his single eye wasn't helping matters either, and he genuinely began to fear this scenario as a major possibility.

A knock on the lab doors drew Tord away from him, and Tom sighed in relief whilst clicking his tongue to rid of the taste of metal in his mouth.

"Enter."

The lab doors flapped open and Paul strolled in, carrying a tray of what appeared to be food in his hands. Tom brightened up at sight of the soldier. He hadn't seen him or Patrick since prior his dinner with the Commie. He fixed his eyeless gaze on him intently and craned his neck as much as he could, trying to catch the soldier's eye.

"Your meal, sir." Paul approached his leader, his voice strangely flat. His eyes trained forward the entire time.

Tord heaved a sigh. "Just place it down somewhere, thank you."

With a polite dip of his head Paul did as he was told, setting the tray down on the nearest table. For a brief second, there was a moment when Tom was sure Paul would turn to look at him; hoping for some sign of reassurance from the soldier in such bleak times. But the bushy-eye browed soldier turned away without a second thought, and promptly left the room without so much as a glance at him.

Tom watched the lab doors swing shut with anguish.

He… he didn't even acknowledge I was here…

"Why should he? ~" The voice hissed, digging sharp digits into his skull and pressed his head down harder on the table. "Tord most likely informed them both about the monster and what you've done. No one in sane consciousness would want to associate themselves with the likes of you after learning a thing like that! ~"

Tom's heart lurched, knowing that's most likely the case.

Oh… that's okay… I understand. I wouldn't stick around me either if I had the choice. He tried to think dismissively; hoping to stop the pang of hurt welling up inside of him from bursting out into the open. It's better this way. Less people to care about, and I won't stick around for much longer, anyway...

"They don't care about you. They never cared about you. Nobody does. ~" Malicious claws curled around his heart and squeezed tightly, driving all breath out of him and sending spikes of blazing cold jolts agonizingly through his entire body. "It was all an act and you fell for it! ~"

Tom stifled the cry of pain rising in his throat into a low whine. He was so consumed by numb misery he barely acknowledged the Norwegian man back at his side, towering over him.

"Aside from your interesting extra set of teeth, no other anomalies were detected on your anatomy." Tord broke the silence that had settled between them during Paul's brief visit, continuing from where they'd stopped. "A bit disappointing, but I guess that was to be expected. You'll be glad to know your liver is in good condition despite your excessive drinking, though..."

He trailed off once he noticed the distant expression upon his test subject's face. Tord regarded him curiously with a tilt of his head.

Of course, it's not like he'd been expecting Tom to show immense interest in his work, but some investment would be nice! Especially since Tord doesn't have anyone else to share his exciting discoveries with at this current time. When he informed his two most trusted soldiers the truth about Tom's condition, his sentence, and the beginning of the experiments – they hadn't responded well.

Paul pleaded for him to reconsider his choice, stating that Tom must've had his reasons for keeping things from them and this shouldn't be enough to warrant this type of treatment – to which Tord argued is a far tamer punishment compared to what he would usually do. But out of the two, Patrick had it worse. Paul at least tried to be sensible with his suggestions and respect his authority as leader. Pat just threw all reason out the window and outright questioned his judgment. He'd claimed Tom was not mentally stable for the experiments and that they should proceed with caution, not treat him like "a lab rat" as he kindly put it.

Their reactions were… baffling, to say the least.

Tord knew the two soldiers had grown a bond with the test subject in his absence, but he didn't think that would be enough to cloud their common sense. They knew from the very beginning what was to become of Tom – sooner or later, the experiments had to happen; and Tom's secrecy was an offence Tord couldn't blatantly ignore either!

Dismissing their arguments and quickly reminding them of their loyalty, Tord remained adamant on his decision. However, this was perhaps the closest instance he's ever gotten to demoting Patrick for his misconduct. But he kept his cool, telling himself Pat is just being sensitive as he usually is; so he merely let them go with a warning and forbade them from interacting with Tom throughout the experiments.

Now they were in rocky terms with each other, and Tord found himself with no one to share his discoveries with other than Tom's less than willing ear.

He draped his robotic arm across the eyeless man's chest, snaked it around his neck all the way to his cheek, and turned Tom's head toward him so that they were facing each other.

"Something troubles you, min gamle venn?" Tord whispered inquisitively.

Tom stared back at him, clueless as to what the second part of that sentence means. "Let me think…" He faked contemplation. "I've been tied up on this wretched table for an entire week, staring at the ceiling, unable to shower or rest properly, and with only your ugly mug around to talk with." And I'm dying… but I'm supposed to be glad about that. "I believe anyone would be miserable in my place, so apologies if I'm not exactly talkative right now."

Shrugging, Tord shot him an apologetic grin. "Well, you wouldn't be in this situation if you had been open with us from the start."

"Yeah yeah, my fault – it's always my fault; because when are you ever in the wrong?" Finding fragments of anger sparking inside of him, Tom reached out to hold on to it to avoid the numbing coldness that threatened to engulf him otherwise.

Feeling something, no matter how negative it is, is always better than feeling nothing at all.

"Say, doc, what's stopping you from cutting me open right here right now, huh?" Tom provoked, frustration turning him reckless. "If you're so damn curious about me and insistent on getting your monster, why not just cut to the chase?"

Pulling his hand away, Tord frowned down at him. "In time. But not yet." He narrowed his eye. "There are plenty of other tests we must perform first, and any of them have a chance of getting you to shift; plus, I would rather avoid the dissection outcome as much as possible. Far too many risks." Then more firmly, he added: "But make no mistake, if you refuse to transform by then, I will have no choice but to go through with it."

Tom snickered mockingly. "Look at you! Being so cautious and know-it-all about every little thing! Your mom must be really f#cking proud of you, huh Commie?" He went on. "Though I guess holiday dinners must be pretty awkward, huh? I mean, what do you even say you do for a living? I don't think she would take world domination very well-"

"My mother is dead."

An uncomfortable silence fell in the lab, broken only by the occasional beep from the control panels and the continuously mechanical thrum ever present in the background. Tord's facial expression was stone cold, devoid of emotion as he stared his test subject down.

Tom stared back at the Norsk unmoved. "What? Shot her with a giant robot, too?"

Back arching and hissing in agony, electricity shot up through his veins suddenly as a controlled shock was administered. Writhing on the table, Tom was vaguely aware of movement flashing past him through the corner of his eye as Tord turned away from him. So he might've gone a little too far with that comment, but at this point, Tom couldn't help himself. The ire radiating through him was all he had left to hold on to.

The current faded out, leaving Tom weak and breathless in his restraints as he panted for air. With effort in his sore limbs, he craned his neck as far as it could go to track Tord's position.

"She died of stress, if you can believe it." The Norwegian man spoke so softly it was hard to hear him above Tom's own heavy breathing, but there was a clear hint of bitterness in his voice. On closer look, his shoulders were sagged with his back turned toward Tom as he stared at the far wall across from him. "About a year ago, maybe."

Looking at him through new eyes, Tom barely noticed the rage he had been holding on to fade away as if it had slipped right through his fingers.

So his mother is dead, whoop-de-do! Big deal! Tom thought irritably, even though he couldn't exactly feel anything right now. A bunch of people lose their parents at some point; this doesn't exactly make them deserving of sympathy! However, despite thinking like that he knew his common sense would win over. Tom is not a jerk and doesn't want to be remembered as a one in the last few hours before his death. Besides, he knew how much of a delicate topic this is.

From what he can remember from their childhood, Tord's mom was barely around – if at all. Tom only glimpsed her perhaps twice the entire time he'd been friends with Tord, and both times lasted less than five minutes. Despite Tord living with her, their relationship had been non-existent with her time being mostly occupied by her job, and thus resulting in Tord becoming independent right from a very early age.

Tord's whole family situation was complicated, really.

Feeling like sh#t now that he remembers what a serious issue this was to the Norsk, Tom swallowed his pride and looked up at him.

"Okay, look, that was a low blow on my part; I'm sorry." He apologized between breaths. Then he paused, his tone softening. "And I'm sorry about your mom. I didn't-"

"It's fine." Tord cut him off, still not facing him. "Really, it's okay. I don't mind." His voice had grown tight, as if he didn't want to think about the woman who had mothered him – the neglectful woman who had always placed her career as first priority over her own son's wellbeing. "It's better off this way, anyway. I meant nothing to her, and she meant nothing to me. Simple as that."

The eyeless man was silent for a while, his dark husks for eyes digging holes into Tord's back as he stared at him deep in thought. He looks so vulnerable. So… human.

How can this be the same guy that, not even ten minutes ago, threatened to pull off one of his teeth?

A calm wave of anguish suddenly flooded through him as an awful realization struck him. Tom had always imagined he would have a chance to tell the people closest to him his real thoughts once a date for his end was set. And why not? After all, with little to no regard for his own life anymore he might as well just come clean and go out with a clear conscience.

But Edd and Matt are not here… and they already believe I'm dead. Tom realized with a sinking feeling of dread. And Paul and Pat… I guess they don't care about me after all. But I still wish for the four of them to be happy once this whole mess is over.

Ironically, the only other person left Tom has unfinished business with is none other than Tord himself.

A faint flare of resentment threatened to rise up again, however his thoughts deflated in defeat. I'm dying, and whether I like it or not Commie is the only one left. Tom closed his eyes and heaved a long-suffering sigh. There's no more room for resentment. If I'm going to go down in peace, then I should be honest with him.

"Just not too honest, worm. ~" The voice chimed in warningly. "Be very careful in what you say next. If you so much as give him a hint of our plans, I won't hesitate to dissect you myself! ~"

There won't be another opportunity to talk to him. Ignoring the entity in his head, Tom inhaled slowly through his nose and opened his eyes. Tord hadn't moved away from his spot.

Tom ran his tongue across his dry lips. Here goes nothing.

"You're a piece of sh#t, Commie."

Off to a great start. Tom inwardly cringed. He thought if he could just blurt out the first thing that came to mind, he would instantly know where to go from there. But how do you recover from that?

He wouldn't be surprised if another controlled shock is administered in his system for that. However, nothing happened. Risking a quick glance at the Norsk, he realized that Tord hadn't moved an inch from his spot. He wasn't even facing him. The only indication Tom could see that he was even listening was the slightest bare hint of his head tipped to one side.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Tom continued. "You are an annoying prick who thinks way too highly of himself and doesn't know when to stop. You have no common sense. You're selfish, and a God awful friend, and sometimes I wish I never met you."

"Thank you, Thomas." Tord broke in, his voice dry and sarcastic. "I never would've imagined that's how you really feel towards me-"

"Be quiet, I'm not finished." Tom snapped. He knew he was treading in dangerous territory by talking back, but nothing can hold him back from speaking his mind now. "I honest to God hope you succeed in your efforts of taking over the world. I really do. Just so when you finally reach where you want to be, you look around yourself and see how many people you have left standing by your side."

There came a brief pause.

Tom swallowed. He knew what he had to say, though the words stuck in his throat like a stubborn piece of disgusting red meat. Somewhere in the back of his mind, whatever was left of his pride to keep resenting Tord, urged him to stop right there and go no further. But none of that mattered. His pride and stupid rivalry will amount to nothing at the end. It's all meaningless compared to the massive weight of the burden he carries. He won't submit and give Tord the monster he wants. But he needs to let go of his headstrong contempt and talk while he still can.

"But with that said... I haven't forgotten the few good moments we had."

At last, Tord turned to glance back at him; surprise flickering in his one working eye. Clearly he hadn't been expecting to hear those words out of Tom.

Tom stared back at him, his anger starting to ebb into some kind of deep sadness and regret. "Despite everything, it's not as easy as you think it is to hate you. Maybe it's because I know what you're like when you're happy. Maybe it's because I can remember the last time you laughed and cried and actually seemed human, and not this... fearsome leader who plots and schemes the best way to execute thousands of lives. Sometimes I wish things were different between us." He went on quietly, still unsure of what to say and trying to find the right words to express himself while not giving away too much.

Still gathering his thoughts, he hardly dared to breathe as Tord drew closer and appeared to study him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Looming over Tom now, he gave him an especially long scrutiny. Tom tried to meet the staring gray eye, wondering uneasily what was going on through the Norsk's head and when would he start mocking him for his silly words, right before punishing him.

However, his worries evaporated the instant Tord placed the palm of his hand over the eyeless man's forehead to check his temperature.

Tom frowned. He seriously believes I'm getting ill? He would've laughed at the naivety; but to be fair, if their roles were reversed and Tord started telling him how he may or may not hate him as much as he claimed to, then Tom would probably think there was something wrong with him, too. He rolled his non-existent eyes. Fine. Whatever. I can work with this.

He sighed. "It's a real damn shame you turned out this way, what with all your "brilliant genius" being wasted on less than moral plans. But I know that ship has long since sailed, so I'm not gonna bother anymore."

Tord looked down at his robotic arm and opened up the data displaying all information on Tom's condition. There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with him. Did he take too much blood from him?

"I don't forgive you for any of the things you've done, though – not even for a second!" Tom continued more firmly, but still holding the air of melancholy to his words. "But I- I'm- I am-" he choked, recomposed, and tried again. "I'm sorry for the damage I caused you. The arm… your face. I'm relieved you're alive, even if you are a major dick. Don't get me wrong; I don't regret what I did. You deserved it. For destroying our home, and betraying Edd and Matt – hurting them,"

and me.

"Don't be selfish. This isn't about you! ~"

"I couldn't let you get away with that. I had to make you pay. I had to… protect my friends, and make sure they were safe."

I should've never survived that day. Tom lamented. If I had died then, so many things could've been avoided, and I wouldn't be here struggling with having to do it myself. But I had to make sure Edd and Matt would be fine without me before I left…

"So what I'm trying to say is; I'm sorry for nearly killing you, but I don't regret what I did."

There was still so much left unsaid. Tom yearned to tell him how he truly felt; about their deteriorated friendship, all the unfinished business between them, where and how everything went wrong, and why neither of them bothered trying to fix it. But Tom knew if he tried to go down this path he wouldn't be able to hold back the tears that already threatened to fall just thinking about the end. Besides, Tord wouldn't take him seriously, and even if he did the voice is strangling him enough as it is and wouldn't be pleased to see him acting "out of character". He'd learned the hard way that some things were best kept secret.

If only he could write a note to let Tord know, after he was long gone. Then he wouldn't have to worry about being made fun of or risk his schemes being stopped.

Tord stared down at him, unsure how to take in all that's been said. He held Tom's gaze steadily. "Thank you for your honesty, Thomas." He dipped his head in acknowledgment. His head was reeling in confusion. What was that all about? An apology? A confession? And why? Tom was getting stranger and stranger with every passing experiment. Tord hoped this was a sign that he was due to transform soon. He brushed these questions aside for now, and cleared his throat. "Do you feel lightheaded by any chance, Thomas?"

"Now that you mentioned; yeah, I do." Tom lied, going along with the ruse of not being well. Commie will realize the true meaning of this conversation when I'm gone. "I feel all kinds of woozy, too."

"Alright, okay, I suppose that's enough blood donation for you for one day." Giving Tom's hair a quick – and perhaps even affectionate? – ruffle, Tord proceeded to take out the tube from the Brit's vein and put the bag of collected blood away in a safe storage. "You're weak. You should get some rest while you still can. Today's final experiment will be an interesting one, and I need you in your best shape for it."

"Oh, there will be plenty of time for the worm to rest, once he's gone for good! ~"

(Meanwhile…)

A little bell rang out as Edd entered the unfamiliar establishment. Looking around he saw there were a few people drinking and playing pool. The decoration of the place was a nice mixture of red, black and blue; though mostly red, with blue carpet coating on the floor, and shiny black marble tables. A nice soothing, low jazz played in the background.

It had been a tough week for poor Edd.

He hadn't heard from Reagan ever since the skirmish with the muggers, and Edd's worries only seemed to increase with every passing day without any news from his Irish companion. The sheer wrath and violence he saw Reagan display when fighting those thugs unnerved him; and when one of the muggers referred to Reagan by a different name and set him off, that just raised even more questions.

Edd felt immensely guilty over what happened. If he hadn't insisted on playing the hero then he wouldn't have upset Reagan. He still remembers the blazing fury in those green eyes when he turned on him.

Throughout the entire week, Edd sent various messages to check up on Reagan and apologize to him. But the Irishman never responded. To take his mind off things, Edd tried making more of an effort in spending time with Matt, and consequently Mark and Eduardo. But no matter what, he couldn't stop worrying about Reagan. Edd might've been there with Matt and the others physically, but his mind was wandering far off with concerning questions.

What was Reagan up to now? Is he alright? Was he mad at him? Does he not wish to see him anymore?

He suspected Eduardo noticed his odd behaviour judging by the occasional side-glances he shot him, though he'd never challenged him. Ever since their little "heart to heart" Edd grew to respect the burly brunet, though he doesn't show it often. He still doesn't trust him, but at least Edd does not attempt to pick a fight with him anymore.

The week was coming to a near end, and Edd was on the brink of an emotional breakdown so ridden with guilt that he was, when he got a text notification on his phone.

It was Reagan.

His heart had soared with hope and relief once he saw who was it from, but then turned into confusion when he read the contents of the messages.

(RF): We need to talk

(RF): If you are still up to it, meet me at Roten Fuhrer pub tonight

Mind still plaguing with questions, Edd wasted no time heading out the door. Now he found himself here, in this strange pub he never even heard about before! Though to be fair; bars are not his usual hangout places of choice.

Still surveying his surroundings for the blond Irishman, Edd wearily approached the counter where the bartender diligently cleaned a glass in his hands.

"Excuse me, have you seen a blond fellow with green eyes and a stubble around here by any chance?" Edd asked the man behind the counter. The bartender appeared to heave a heavy annoyed sigh and roll his eyes at the description, to which then he motioned to the far back of the establishment.

With quick grateful nod, Edd walked deeper into the place. He noticed unnervingly how some of the patrons of the pub were watching him; conversing with one another quietly with their heads bent close together and shooting him glances as he walked past.

Edd hurried his pace. His palms sweaty from how nervous he was.

When he spotted the tuft of blond hair peeking over one of the booths all the way in the back, Edd's heart began to race.

"Reagan!"

At once he started forward to end the distance between them and greet him. His steps faltered, however, once he noticed the other man's posture. Reagan's head was lowered as he peered down at the glass of beer in his hands, and a pensive expression on his face instead of the usual cocky grin and mischievous eyes Edd was so familiar with.

"Oh my gosh! Are you okay?" Edd blurted anxiously, still nervous about this whole thing. Reagan didn't even turn his head to look at him; merely motioned to the seat across from him with a flick of his fingers. Gulping apprehensively, Edd followed the silent instruction to sit down. "I haven't heard from you the whole week – I was so worried for you, Reagan! I'm so sorry for what happened. With the thugs. It's all my fault. I never meant to make you upset-"

"Pipe down, will yah?"

Taken back by the unexpected growl, Edd froze and ceased talking at once. He stared at Reagan in dismay, and watched as the blond man tipped his head back and down the entire tankard of beer in three massive gulps before slamming the glass back on the table rather harshly. His green eyes flickered over to the counter where he gave the bartender a tiny nod for another beer.

A loud exasperated sigh could be heard from the back.

Reagan then fixed his gaze back on Edd, his face devoid of emotion. Edd forced himself to meet his stare evenly and not show how unsettled he was. He wished he could be back at home, watching some stupid documentary about cosmetics with Matt.

A waiter came by to deliver another glass of beer to Reagan, and then he sighed.

"I lied to you."

Edd stiffened, his heart quickening as he blinked in surprise. He wasn't sure how he'd expected for this conversation to start, but this was not what he had in mind!

"Lied?" He echoed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand. What did you lie to me about?"

Reagan took a huge sip of the new beverage before slamming the glass down and licking the foam off his lips. He turned to Edd with narrowed eyes. "Back when we first met. I told you I was new in town and needed a guide during my brief stay." He murmured. "But that's not true at all."

"What do you mean?" Edd gasped.

"I used to live here, a long-ass f#cking time ago."

Edd stared in disbelief. There was nothing he could say or do but wait for the Irishman to explain.

"Remember what I told you about my lifestyle? How I don't like to stay fixed in one place? Yeah, this town is part of my history. I lived here for quite a while before settling for the job I have now." He began, thrumming his fingers on the table. "However; my time spent here isn't filled with the fondest of memories. It's a past I often prefer to forget about, if I'm being completely honest. Shady business, you know?"

"Is that why that thug recognised you?" Edd prompted.

Reagan nodded solemnly. "I was… I used to be a member of their gang." He added, raising his head. "Did you guess that much?"

Edd shook his head. But putting the information together like puzzle pieces in his head, it made perfect sense. "How did you even end up with them anyway?"

Reagan shifted and glanced away. "I was taken from my family at a young age, and forced to join them."

A wave of sympathy washed over Edd. "But what about that name?" He demanded, curiosity making him unguarded. "When that mugger called you Fo-"

"Don't."

Cutting off, Edd was alarmed to see Reagan flinch at the bare mention of the label. He ducked his head in shame. With a deep intake of breath, Reagan appeared to relax though he spoke the next words through gritted teeth. "Don't mention that wretched name."

"Why? What does it mean?"

His eyes met Edd's, suddenly clouded with a pain that tugged at his heartstrings. "It's… well… It's how I used to be addressed as, back in the day. That's what they called me." He murmured, scratching his head uneasily. "They used my own family's name against me. Now every time I'm referred to by that, instead of thinking about my family, I'm only reminded of all the painful years spent under their rule." He let out a bitter laugh. "What's the difference when you really think about it? They raised me for so long… they might as well be the only family I have left." His grip on the beer glass visibly tightened.

"Why are you sharing this with me?" Edd asked.

Reagan looked up and met his gaze. His green eyes brimmed with so much sorrow and pain that Edd couldn't bear to look.

"I saw how scared you were when I overreacted back there. I'm sorry. I just… lost control. Seeing those guys again, and then being referred to that forsaken name – I snapped! I'm so sorry you had to see that, Eddie. I truly am. But you're not afraid of me now, are you?"

"Well, I'm considerably more afraid now that you said it like that, yes." Edd admitted uneasily.

The Irishman looked away and sighed with a small frown. "It's okay. I understand if you no longer wish to stick around me after witnessing a thing like that, and knowing what you now know about me. I mean, who can blame you? I was part of a gang and you saw me nearly kill a guy! Thanks for stopping me back there, by the way. I don't even want to think what could've happened if I hadn't snapped out of it. Nowadays I'm trying to better myself, and leave behind the guy that I used to be. I promise I'm working to improve, but I won't hold it against you if you do decide to leave. Just wanted to clear some things about myself before you do."

Neither of them spoke after that. The silence between them was taken up only by the soothing jazz track in the background and the occasional loud clinking of glass. Edd stared at Reagan motionless for several heartbeats with his dismayed brown gaze.

Edd felt good to be asked, to know he had this man's respect and trust to be confided in with such personal information and still have the choice to back out. He knew he shouldn't like Reagan as much as he did. He's not from around here, and he breaks rules all the time, and he's rude to just about anyone . . . but he's fun, and different, and he always says exactly what he thinks. He felt drawn to Reagan from the moment they met, and maybe this was the reason why.

A second chance… to help someone in need…

Leaning forward in his seat, Edd gently placed his hand over Reagan's and gaze it a tight reassuring squeeze. He felt the Irishman go rigid in his touch, but immediately relaxed again.

"Thank you for telling me the truth, Reagan." Edd answered, realizing how much he must trust him to have revealed his past to him like this. "This was a pretty big revelation, not gonna lie, but the fact that you mustered the courage to tell me proves that you're really trying to do better. I'm not going to turn my back on you because of that."

Reagan blinked at him genuinely perplexed. "Eddie, it's absolutely fine for you to do so. I hurt and killed plenty of people, for crying out loud!"

"Doesn't matter. That was in the past." Edd shook his head. "You're not the same as you once were; and even then, I'm guessing you didn't have a whole lot of choice but to follow through with their commands. But it's alright, now. Just as long as you don't get out of hand again like you did in that alleyway, I'll continue to stick by you like glue!"

Reagan grinned, then raised one hand and examined his fingernails. "Well, of course you will." He murmured coolly, behaving more like his usual self. "It's not like you could get rid of me even if you wanted to, anyway."

Edd's skin flashed with a prickle of irritation at his smugness, and yet he sensed that Reagan was much happier than he was prepared to admit. There's something sort of . . . lonely about him. He thought.

Playing off his comment with a snort of laughter, Edd lightly punched the blond's shoulder from across the table. "C'mon. Have another drink, I'll pay tonight."

"Actually, I have a tab and discounts in this joint – so really, the drinks are on me." Reagan explained and then proceeded to motion the bartender for more drinks.

Edd raised an eyebrow. "Really? That's odd."

"Meh. Just company benefits." The blond shrugged indifferently.

Their drinks arrived and Reagan wasted no time drinking his full. Edd bit back a grin. He never thought he would miss this Reagan as much as he did during his estranged absence. He was so thankful towards him for his companionship during these harsh times. Losing Tom… and getting a break from Matt's overprotectiveness… Edd wished there was a way to properly thank him other than going out drinking all the time.

Then an idea suddenly struck him.

"Hey, Reagan." He began decisively. "So I've been thinking about your suggestion – you know, the one from last week about hanging out with some colleagues of yours? – I gave it a bit of thought and I decided that I'll go."

The blond man set his beer down in gleeful surprise. "Really? That's great! Thank you, Eddie."

As they continued chatting, drinking, and laughing all night long, Reagan couldn't help the immense joy and triumph he felt for his accomplishments tonight. All it took was one good sob story to erase last week's incident from Edd's mind and keep him firmly tied to him; and now he is even willing to go so far as to keep him pleased! Reagan couldn't have wished for a better outcome!

As for the skirmish with the thugs, it was bound to happen sooner or later anyway. Reagan didn't choose this town as his destination for the recruitment program for no reason! Oh no. He has two missions here. Find and recruit five soldiers for the Red Army, and go after the bastards that raised and then left him for dead. It's a shame his first reunion with his old gang didn't turn out the way he'd wanted. Edd playing hero meant Reagan lost his element of surprise, and then when he was recognized he couldn't even finish the job. Edd had stopped him, and even if Reagan had ignored him and continued beating the mugger to death, he would've surely frightened Edd away. He nearly did. Reagan was absolutely furious for having to let them go. However, he knew he had to play his cards just right in order to strike two birds with one stone. So over the past week he ignored Edd's messages, building up the Brit's panic and desperation until he was certain the poor man was miserable enough to buy any tragic past he invented. Well, mostly invented anyway. He wasn't about to reveal the true significance of his wretched name, for one.

And while he kept Edd in the dark, Reagan had set off to end the business left unfinished with some certain thugs.

He had tracked them down like the miserable prey that they are, and slaughtered them with no second thoughts. Still, he will admit he faltered a bit when it came to his sleazy former mentor… for about ten seconds. Sure, the man taught him everything he knows and is perhaps the closest thing to a father figure he's ever gotten, but since when does that make anyone free of repercussions? The f#cker had this coming for a really long time, and Reagan took immense joy finally delivering his revenge. However, this was only the beginning. He has a long list of people deserving karma in his life, and he fully intends to go after every single one and make them all pay; and Eddie is totally unaware he is gonna help him with that, along with all his other recruitment targets.

A new world order is about to rise. The Red Army will dominate the globe, and Reagan will fight on their side – the winning side – and with the promise of a promotion he will hopefully be one of the top dogs of the organization.

Never again will he be a bottom dog!

Never again will he get hurt for the benefit of others!

(Meanwhile…)

With the push of a button, the operating table shifted from horizontal to diagonal position. Tom blinked wide-eyed as he was slowly propped upright.

"Now, Thomas, despite our best efforts in trying to get you to transform you still remain both a mystery and a pain in the ass." Tord announced as he paced back and forth agitatedly in front of him. "We've tried plenty of tests to understand what sets you apart from all past test subjects. So far; we got no conclusive results back, other than it might have something to do with your blood composition. And as for getting the monster here…" He paused, eyeing Tom with a calculating gaze. However, a hint of mirth could be detected in his eye. "I must say; while I'm disappointed you haven't obliged to my orders yet, I admire your persistence to keep me from getting what I want."

Tom scoffed. "Thanks. I aim to please."

"However, just as I told you earlier, this is a fight you can't win – and hopefully after this experiment, you won't be able to hold back anymore."

Before Tom could process his words, Tord snapped the fingers of his organic hand and the lab doors swung open. Paul strolled in, wheeling a dolly cart that carried a large yellow barrel. What really caught Tom's attention though was the radioactive hazard symbol plastered on the front.

With a wave of his hands, Tord shooed Paul away after the latter set down the barrel by the desk, and returned his attention back to Tom. The Red Army Commander promptly left the room after that.

"Any idea on what this is?" Tord questioned, his robotic fingers thrumming over the lid of the barrel.

Tom shook his head wearily.

"This is the primary element that makes up most of the serum's composition." The Norsk proceeded to remove the lid, revealing a bubbling pool of vibrant purple liquid. "We call it: purple stuff."

"How original."

"It's an extremely rare material; even I do not know its natural source. It's so rare it hasn't even been added to the periodic table yet. Highly acidic. And unlike all the other elements, it is a sentient being! It's not capable of movement, mind you, but we've discovered it's more than capable of rational thought when it comes to finding a vessel. For you see, Thomas, on its own it doesn't do a whole lot. The real kicker is when it gets into contact with objects!"

To demonstrate his point, Tord pulled out a mini figurine of an army soldier from his pocket and tossed it into the barrel of purple stuff. It sizzled as it sank. But not even a minute later, a tiny green figure crawled out; much to Tom's amazement.

"I live! Haha! I am capable of thought!" The plastic figurine exclaimed hysterically. "So many wonderful things to think ab-"

In the blink of an eye, Tord pulled out a pistol from his holster and shot the figurine to smithereens.

"Yeah, I think you get the picture." Tord blew the smoke from the barrel of his gun. "The purple stuff has an interesting effect on inanimate objects, but when it comes to other life forms… it's a tad more picky." He continued, taking some of the chemical into a becker and walking to a nearby table where his equipment was already prepped. "Because of its highly acidic nature, it burns and eats away all the flesh, and in most instances turns the beings into zombies. However, there's a chance of taming the more aggressive tendencies of the purple stuff long enough to be harmlessly injected to someone, and then harness this aggression to give off a different effect."

Tom sighed. "Turn them into monsters."

"Precisely." Tord answered, skilfully mixing chemicals together into a vial, his back turned to Tom. "You, for whatever reason, have something that the purple stuff wants, or needs, for it to have attached itself to you and not zombify you like it did with all others." Sighing contently, Tord glanced back at his test subject with a foaming vial in his hand. "You're a puzzle, indeed!" Tom was caught off guard by the amusement in his voice. "Fortunately, I am quite fond of puzzles."

The hairs on the back of Tom's neck stood up, and a shiver ran down his spine. For whatever reason he sensed Tord's words had a double meaning there.

"I don't understand." Tom shook his head, feeling as if he were missing something. "Why are you telling me all this?"

Shooting the eyeless man a smirk, Tord hastily returned to his work. Tom tried craning his head in an attempt to look over the Norsk's shoulder and see what he was working on so diligently. He didn't have to ponder for long, however; as Tord whipped back around branding a huge needle in his hands. Tom went rigid with fear.

"What? Afraid of a little needle?" Tord teased slyly, taking notice of his test subject's dismay.

Tom gulped. "Our definitions of little must be very different."

However, on closer look he noticed the needle was filled with a distinguishable purple liquid inside. That's when it finally hit him. Tord intends to inject him with another dose of the serum to force him to shift! Tom's blood ran cold. He already has some of the serum inside of him – half a dose, if he recalls correctly. Living with this condition for ten years now, and being on the brink of self-destruction, Tom knows its effects better than anyone else. If everything he's been put though is only half a dose, what could another full dose do to him?

Not wanting to find out, and his mind overriding with panic, Tom started to trash around in his restraints. "N-no! No! Wait!" He was vaguely aware of Tord stepping closer, needle raised toward him. "Think about this, Commie! The fact that the serum worked at all with me the first time was extremely dumb luck. But how can you be certain I won't turn into a zombie this time? Your last shot will be ruined then!"

He wasn't sure how he felt about the possibility of being turned to a zombie. Would that technically count as dying? Would that work just as well as bleeding out? He hopes for that outcome, but Tom had a feeling Tord has no intentions of making him a zombie if he can help it. And the Commie's answer only cemented that.

"If the serum didn't turn you into a zombie the first time around, I doubt it would make you one this time." Tord answered matter-of-factly. "Besides, I made this serum formula in specific tamer in comparison to all previous versions. So in theory, this should just trigger your transformation and nothing else."

This didn't help soothe Tom's nerves at all, and he continued flailing around to escape his inevitable fate. No! Please no! I can't transform into that thing again! I vowed I would never do it again if I can help it!

"What's the matter? ~" The voice hissed menacingly. "I thought you said you could handle whatever he threw at you if it meant the outcome of dissection? ~"

But this totally changes things! Tom pleaded. What if I can't contain myself and turn? The plan will be ruined!

His last words died away as a heavy spectral hand clenched around his throat, while another clamped over his mouth, smothering him. Tom could hardly breathe through the haze of panic clouding his mind.

"Well then, you better hope you can contain it, worm. Or else! ~" The voice warned contemptuously. "You made your bed, now lie in it and choke down the crocodile tears, vermin! ~"

"I warned you to transform earlier to avoid trouble, Thomas; don't start complaining now." Tord drawled, the needle glinting dangerously close now.

Tom couldn't hold back the desperate cry that slipped out of him. He felt a hot stickiness in his throat, as if he were in a nightmare where he could only watch the terrible event about to unfold, and not do anything to stop it. Tom flinched as the needle drew closer to his neck, and he clenched his eyes shut – waiting in terror for the inevitable to happen. However, not a second later, his eyes flew open in shock when he registered a quick kiss on his cheek. He met Tord's amused gaze in immense confusion.

"For good luck. ~" Tord whispered huskily.

Before Tom could even process what just happened, or even ask what's gotten into the Commie, Tord grabbed a fistful of his hair to force his head aside and expose his neck, and stabbed the needle right into him. Tom screeched at the sharp pinch to his neck, and he felt a burning sensation spread from his throat to the rest of his body. He writhed in discomfort.

Pushing the rest of the purple chemical into his test subject's system, Tord clamped a hand over Tom's mouth to stifle his cries of pain. He watched as the veins on the Brit's neck turned a purplish-black tint before fading away, and Tord stepped back.

"There there." He patted Tom's head soothingly as the latter breathed heavily. "Good boy."

Tom's vision began to spin away in a dark spiral, but he kept on struggling to stay conscious. His body felt ungodly warm but insanely cold at the same time, and he fidgeted in discomfort. Tom kicked and trashed, but it was no good. Unable to hold on any longer now that his adrenaline was subsiding, he slipped into the dark depths of unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Standing tall above the world, Tord watched in immense satisfaction and pride as his soldiers saluted while the common people bowed down to him. The leaders of the world have submitted to his demands and put him in charge without much trouble. All they needed was a brief show of force to demonstrate who they are going up against, and the rest was history.

He did it. He took over the world, and is now ready to lead it forward to a new glorious era!

He was brought out of his musings unexpectedly by a pair of arms wrapping around his neck. Tord turned, surprised to find Tom of all people standing by his side at a time like this. But when he peered into the man's dark and unique set of eyes, instead of finding the usual contempt blazing straight back at him, he only found intense longing and warmth.

Tord's heart skipped a beat, and his breath hitched in his throat at their closeness. Tom leaned into him, and almost automatically, he wrapped his mismatched set of arms around the eyeless man. Their faces were inches apart from each other now. Their lips parted…

Blinking his eyes open, Tord stirred awake from his nap – feeling deeply confused, hurt, content, and frustrated all at once.

He hastily removed the Dreamcatcher from his ear. Even his own inventions have betrayed him. Tord had hoped for dreams of grandeur, not taunts of an outcome he could never have! Now he remembers why he stopped using the device in the first place, and handed it to Tom instead – the Dreamcatcher was a cruel invention. Showing what the wearer wants, so tantalizingly close and within reach, but in reality so far from the truth.

Groaning, Tord sat up in his chair and rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eye. While he popped some of his joints in the process of stretching his limbs, he looked over his test subject; still propped up on the operating table in upright position.

Since the serum injection, Tom has been slipping in and out of consciousness and appeared to be dazed whenever he was "awake" – babbling incoherently as he panted for breath and trashed in his restraints.

Tord lifted his robotic arm to check on the data. They're about to hit the twelve hour mark since the time of injection, and Tom's vitals show promise as they continued to be in stable condition. But nothing extremely exciting seems to be happening at the moment. Tord sighed. He knew Tom wasn't going to turn immediately after giving him another dose of the serum, but this is taking too long!

Just thinking about his greatest invention finally coming to fruition sent spikes of excitement jolting through him. He can't wait to witness the transformation! His monster is nearly within reach; all that stands in his way from getting what he wants is an infuriating, grumpy, dishevelled, handsome former alcoholic eyeless man.

"Argh!" Tord fumed. He stood up abruptly from his chair and made his way around the control panels towards his test subject. "Why do you keep on having such an effect on me? I'm supposed to be over you!" He growled out loud, albeit under his breath.

He wasn't too worried about Tom hearing him. The Brit was so out of it thanks to the serum; he couldn't pay attention to anything that was going on before he blacks out again. Tom's eyes were closed, head slumped forward, though he continued whining quietly in discomfort and his breathing was heavy.

Taking another pace forward until they were practically nose to nose with each other, Tord eyed his test subject with a calculating gaze. "What are the odds that you of all people get to be the one thing I'm missing to complete this project?" He pondered, his eyes narrowed. "I hope you know that I never meant to give you the first dose of the serum. Had I known it would bring you back into my life like this, along with these annoying feelings I have for you, I would have tried a lot harder to stop you from drinking that tainted mug of coffee."

The only response he got from the semi-unconscious Brit was a low agonized moan.

Tord frowned. "It's just not fair! I don't want these dumb emotions – I don't need them! Love-" he spat out the word venomously, "doesn't benefit me in any way. It won't get me in future history books, nor make me a brilliant inventor; much less put me in supreme command of the world! So why should I care, huh? Especially when it concerns a guy that hates my guts and I blew any chances I might have ever had with him?" He found himself pacing back and forth, ranting quite lividly to the passed out test subject.

Are you Tord or Red Leader?

Digging his fingers into his scalp, the Norwegian man hissed out through gritted teeth at the repetitive words ringing inside his head.

Red Leader! Dammit – I am Red Leader – I'm supposed to be Red Leader!

He couldn't understand how these insignificant feelings could cause such damage to his Psyche. If the Red Leader can be toppled this easily, then what hope does he have taking on the world?

He stopped and stared at Tom indignantly. What's so great about love anyway? Paul and Patrick were the first thing that came to mind. How the two soldiers often held hands, looked out for one another, and kept gazing into each other's eyes with such care and devotion. Tord doesn't get it, but he admits they're tooth rottenly sweet together. But he doesn't want that for himself! To be seen as some love sick fool pining after a guy way out of his league. He's meant to be better than that.

If there's one thing his absent and neglectful mother ever taught him, is that love isn't worth a damn.

Tord can't remember a time when his family was ever the ideal loving home that it was supposed to be. He can't even imagine such ludicrous idea, but it existed, at one point. His parents and him, together and happy. That only lasted a whole four years, before his mother decided to take off to England with him in tow, and leave his father behind in Norway because of a condition he couldn't help after he started displaying signs of being seriously ill. Because that's what you do when the people you apparently love become too much trouble to handle. You give up on them.

Of course, Tord hadn't given up on his father. Throughout his childhood he would travel back to his homeland every winter to visit his dad and grandparents – perhaps the only parenting he's ever gotten, but a whole lot better than the alternative from his dear mother, which was none. However, as to be expected his father eventually lost the fight… and that's when his mother's lesson sunk in. You either give up on people, or allow yourself to get hurt as a result. Clever. Cruel, but clever.

He was brought out of his thoughts by another set of incoherent mumbles from Tom. He fixed his focus on him. Tom's eyes were open now, barely slits, looking around the room blearily and his body trembling all over.

Tord's gaze softened. Tom had looked so frightened when he had approached with the serum filled needle it broke Tord's composure, and in a moment of weakness he had actually stooped forward and given the eyeless man a kiss on the cheek. Tord's face flushed red just thinking about it. That was so stupid of him! And then after a pitiful attempt of covering it with a lame taunt, Tord proceeded to stab him in his panic with the needle before a proclamation of disgust or rejection could be made.

God, he was pathetic.

More agonized moans slipped out of Tom.

Still, it can't be helped.

Mentally shrugging, Tord lifted his hands to cradle Tom's face only to flinch back in alarm. Tom was ungodly cold, like a chip of ice.

Tord quickly checked his vitals through their chip implant connection with his arm. Tom's heartbeat is a tad slower than usual, but nothing alarming other than that.

Being reassured everything is fine, Tord proceeded to gently cup the Brit's face in his hands and slowly lifted his head. He swore he felt his heart skip a beat when Tom unconsciously leaned into his touch. All the warmth and affection he had once felt for Tom threatened to well up again inside him, but Tord ruthlessly pushed it down again.

Tord gulped. "Can you hear me, Thomas?"

Tom blinked slowly, but remained unresponsive.

Shaking his head he sighed, and steadily began massaging the sides of Tom's face to lull him to rest. Had he really loved him once? Tord had been a different person then. Now he was the Red Leader, and he walked a path Tom couldn't even dream of. For a brief moment Tord couldn't help but wonder how his life would've turned out now if he hadn't messed things up with Tom. Could they have had a chance? Did they ever? Would Tom be faithfully standing by his side like he saw in his dream?

Perhaps he should get some more sleep himself. There's no point lamenting the past now, and all that could've would've should've. Maybe after resting he can put aside his confusing unwanted feelings, and hopefully, wake up just in time to witness Tom's transformation.

(Meanwhile…)

Matt narrowed his eyes as he glanced out the bakery's window at the setting sun blazing between the buildings on the far horizon. His feet ached. He went out of his way to visit this brand new bakery Mark had recommended to get some pastries for their chick flick movie night, just to make a nice gesture for his neighbour. Eduardo, as always was too busy with his job to join them, but Matt didn't mind.

However, despite his exciting plans for tonight, Matt was overwhelmed with concern for his best friend. Edd is meeting with Reagan again.

Matt already distrusts Reagan as it is, but the last few notable times Edd had gone out with the Irishman only caused his worry to spike. Firstly the night Edd had come home bruised and with a black eye. Matt had a fit! Edd told him he was fine and nothing happened, but judging by the haunted look on the brunet's eyes he clearly only said that to stop Matt from fussing over him. Then yesterday Edd rushed out in the middle of their afternoon tea after getting a notification on his phone, and Matt instantly knew it was Reagan.

Now they're heading out together again in a few days.

"Here are the éclairs you ordered, sir!"

Breaking out of his troubling thoughts by the cashier's voice, Matt quickly paid for the pastries, thanked the woman behind the desk, and took his leave.

The cold breeze chilled him at once as he stepped outside the establishment. Matt adjusted the scarf around his neck and sighed.

A sudden loud car honk made him jump in alarm, and nearly drop his box of éclairs.

"Watch where you're going, stupid idiot!"

Investigating the sound of the commotion, Matt realized it was only a car driver on the opposite side of the street; shouting at some poor pedestrian for not being more cautious. However, Matt's pity and shock quickly shifted to surprise once he spotted a tuft of blond hair belonging to a scruffy looking man with stubble and green eyes.

Reagan!

The Irishman scurried past the car, blew the driver a raspberry, and continued along his merry way.

Matt observed him from across the street. If Tom were here instead, what would he do? His fears for Edd felt more important than anything right now. It occupied his mind, leaving no room to think about anything else. Matt came to a hard decision—if Edd wouldn't listen to reason, then perhaps this Reagan fellow would.

With a plan in mind, Matt scampered to the other side of the road and began following Reagan from afar. The snow that had been threatening all day finally began to fall. It was fluttering steadily all around by the time Matt had a clear view of Reagan in his sights.

However, his pace slowed once it dawned on him the reality of the situation. What will he say once he catches up to Reagan anyway? Matt didn't have long to ponder that, as far ahead he watched Reagan make a sharp turn to the right and disappear from view.

Hurrying to catch up, Matt came across a narrow dark street where Reagan must've ducked into. Matt swallowed. Hyper-alert, he wearily walked into the unknown location and began looking around for the blond man.

The rattling sound of a trash can tipping over the ground made Matt freeze.

Realizing the mistake he might have made following a man he hardly knows and doesn't trust at all into a shady area, Matt urgently ducked behind a dumpster. Who knows what or who could be dwelling in this town's every nook and cranny?

Matt turned, still crouching, and began to creep away. He heard glass crunch behind him. Matt glanced over his shoulder, his heart pounding. Through a quick peek from the corner of his eye he saw Reagan step out into the open, a lit cigarette between his fingers.

"Aiight, ginger." He called out flatly. "Come out now. I know you're there! You're not being exactly stealthy with your flashy hair."

Matt didn't move.

"Ginger, this part of town isn't known for its docile residents." Reagan sounded impatient now. "I seriously advise you to come out now and get this over with before some less than friendly folk decide to join us!"

Seeing no other choice now that he's been caught, Matt crept slowly from his hiding place.

Reagan stared at him, a wide grin on his face. "Well, isn't this a nice surprise? Sup, ginger!" He took a long drag from his cigar and blew smoke into the air. "I must say, that was pretty ballsy of your part to follow me. Even if I did see you coming from a mile away. Ever thought of working the blizzard shift in a traffic with that hair?"

Clenching his hands, Matt let him poke fun. Too nervous to stand up for himself.

"Anyways, what can I help you with?" Reagan turned nonchalant.

"I was looking for you, actually." Matt whispered, painfully aware he was in a dangerous area.

"Really? Well, congratulations – you did it! Good on you. See yah around, ginger!"

Reagan turned away to leave without a second thought. Panic and irritation seized Matt, and he dashed forward and ducked in front of the Irishman to block his path. Reagan stared at him, wildly amused.

"I came to talk to you about Edd." Matt pressed.

Reagan tipped his head. "Why? Is something the matter with him? I hope not."

Matt was irritated by his casual attitude. "He's fine!" He growled, his caution swept away by annoyance. "But he won't be for much longer if he carries on meeting you!"

The Irishman blinked, looking hurt and genuinely perplexed. "Whatever do you mean?"

Matt took a pace forward. "Listen here, buddy; I don't trust you one bit. Ever since you got here and showed up in Edd's life you caused nothing but trouble for us! Edd was going to recover. He was doing fine until he met you and started acting up again!" Now that he spoke these thoughts he's been having for months out loud, Matt couldn't control the resentment and anguish he felt for his situation to remain subdued. He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "I want you to stay away from him. His life is coming apart with you around. If you care about him at all, if you really do, you would listen to me!"

Panting, Matt stood with bated breath for a response. To his surprise he felt icily calm. A flicker of hope surged inside of him when Reagan appeared to contemplate his words. But that hope was dashed when he let out a boisterous cold laugh.

"I think you're a little bit confused there, my ginger associate." Reagan drawled slyly. "Are you sure you are not doing this for yourself rather than Eddie's sake? If he was unhappy with me being around he would just simply tell me. But the fact that you're here instead proves you're the only one suffering from this arrangement we have going." He took a threatening step forward, his eyes darkening. "My my who knew you could be this self-centred? Your friend is finally getting happy, and you want to take that away from him, huh?"

Matt took a few steps back apprehensively, but refused to back down.

"I only want what's best for Edd!" He hissed decisively, holding his ground by meeting the blond's gaze evenly. "And I'm pretty sure you're not it; so if you can kindly keep your distance from us-"

"No can do, ginger." Reagan cut him off with a shake of his head and shrugged. "I mean, hey, it's not my fault you can't make Eddie happy anymore."

His words were like a slap to the face, and Matt reared back in shock; eyes wide. "W-what?" He stuttered.

"I didn't wanna say anything, but taking into account everything Eddie has told me about you, it's clear you have no idea what you're doing." Reagan went on maliciously, driven by the spike of despair he saw flash in the Brit's blue eyes. "So why not just leave things as it is? Accept you can't help him, and look out only for yourself? Then neither of you have to be miserable."

Matt could hardly believe what he was hearing. Is he for real? He shook his head crossly. "No way! Edd is my best friend," he spat, "and I won't let you hurt him!"

"Hurt him?" Reagan echoed. "Now now, who said anything about hurting anyone here? We're merely friends ourselves. No crime there, surely?"

"Look, I don't know what your intentions with Edd are, and to be completely honest I don't really care to know about it either." Matt murmured firmly. "I only want to keep him safe and happy again." He continued with a newfound determination coursing through him. "And if you wanna get to him, you're gonna have to get through me first, pal."

Delight sparked in Reagan's eyes. "Sounds fair." He began to look him over. Matt had to force himself not to tremble as the other man's gaze hovered over him. "Hmm, purple is a good colour on you, ginger. It suits you."

Matt's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Wha-? He glanced down at his hoodie.

In the instant he was distracted; a fist struck him square in the face. Matt staggered back in alarm, lost his balance, and fell. The box of pastries he carried flew from his grasp and the contents scattered all over the filthy ground. The pain finally registered in his brain, and the fact he'd just been punched in the face dawned on him.

Reagan eyed him coldly, still grinning. "Oh yeah. Purple is definitely your colour."

Stunned, Matt carefully touched his own face to analyse the damage. His fingers grazed over his rapidly swelling eye and he whimpered. Memories of a similar event flashed briefly through his head.

"Go home, ginger." Reagan took a threatening step forward. "You're out of your league here. The sooner you accept Eddie is as good as mine, the better off you'll be. And if you try to get in my way again, I'll just have to decorate the rest of your pretty face the same lovely shade of purple."

Matt stared at him in dismay, his eyes glistening. He didn't know what Reagan meant when he said that Edd is as good as his, but fear swelled from deep in his belly. Then without another word he turned away and fled deeper into the shadowy narrow streets, stumbling blindly through the unknown area as tears began to shed.

Watching the retreating Brit with immense satisfaction, Reagan cracked his knuckles. The idiot is heading deeper into dangerous territory. Although, if his old associates were to stumble upon the ginger and make prey out of him, Reagan wouldn't bat an eye. If anything, it will aid him getting more leverage over Eddie into joining the Red Army.

Reagan shrugged and left, returning to the busy main streets.

(Meanwhile…)

It was already night time by the time Eduardo began his journey home, after another day wasted on useless information and dead ends. Frustration bubbled up inside of him. You would think he was already used to the feeling of disappointment after going out again and again, only to be met with the same results. But Eduardo was stubborn, and doesn't know when to quit. He will head out and investigate every damn time if there's even the slightly chance of truth behind the claims.

Nearly a year of looking for answers, and he's still hasn't gotten anywhere with this.

His steps faltered until he came to a complete stop. Breathing out a tired, weary breath, Eduardo found himself peering up at the dark starry sky. A sudden wave of longing and grief welled up inside of him.

If only Jon were still here…

Dismissing his thoughts, Eduardo forced himself to carry on.

I wouldn't be out here in the first place if he were.

He resumed his walk home. It's not exactly advisable to be on the verge of a breakdown in such a dangerous part of town, even if he is already used to roaming through this area.

Crossing the street, the sound of muffled sniffles suddenly made itself known to him. At first he thought it was just a trick of the wind, but when he heard a particularly loud sob he halted in his steps. He gazed around wearily. Sounds like someone crying and possibly in need of help, but Eduardo is no fool. This could also be a trick to lure unsuspecting victims into an ambush by the many gangs that dwell in these parts.

Cautiously, he decided to investigate; keeping his footsteps light as he followed the noise to its source. Eduardo began to creep slowly forward, ducking behind corners and trash cans for cover to peer out from behind.

He could glimpse the looming figure of a playground just ahead of him. The paint scraped off, long since eroded by the rain and wind, and most of the equipment was worn down and broken. Eduardo paused to listen. The crying was definitely coming from there.

Leaning out from his hiding place for a better look at his surroundings, Eduardo stiffened when his gaze landed on a figure, back turned toward him, sitting on the only functioning swing. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, he blinked in surprise. The colour of the man's hair was unmistakable; as even in the night, the bright orange hair still gleams under the moonlight. It was Matt.

What is the airhead doing here?! Eduardo thought in exasperation, fully stepping out of his hiding place to confront the man. First the loser, now him, too? Do they have a death wish by coming here or something?

"Hey, you!"

Matt glanced halfway back at him, the left side of his face concealed. His gaze shimmered with surprise at the sight of him.

"What do you think you're doing out here on your own?" Eduardo snapped as he approached. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this place is, especially at night?"

Trembling, Matt backed away from him; still keeping his face hidden from the aggressive brunet.

"E-Eduardo! I- I-I'm sorry!" He sniffled, trying to choke down his sobs. "I- I- I went out- I went on a stroll and got- must've gotten lost."

Eduardo looked at him in disbelief. Matt was quite clearly distressed by something, and the fact he was trying to lie and hide his face doesn't make things better. Something unexpected surged up inside of him he couldn't quite explain.

"Were you ambushed by muggers?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"W-what?"

"Tell me!" Eduardo stepped closer; trying to get a good view of the other man's face but Matt kept turning away from him. "Something happened, didn't it?" He grabbed Matt's hands and forced them apart to stop them from covering his face.

"No!"

Eduardo froze.

There were tear stains running down the ginger's face, but most startling of all was the large purple-black bruise around Matt's right eye, which has swollen shut. Carefully, almost gently, Eduardo grazed his fingers past the wound. Matt flinched and closed his eyes, as if he were bracing himself for another punch. An action Eduardo saw one too many times in the past; and that stirred something deep within him.

Levelling the fury in his voice, Eduardo composed himself enough to finally ask: "Who did this?"

Matt winced. "P-please-"

"Get it together! What happened?" Eduardo shook him urgently for answers.

That apparently did it. Matt burst into tears and threw himself at Eduardo, his arms flying out to wrap around the larger man as he buried his face on the burly brunet's chest.

Eduardo went rigid, his arms stiff on either side of him.

He looked down at the desolate man bawling his eyes out on him, babbling incoherently through sobs about something. Eduardo tried his best to listen.

"I- I- I was- I- I was only trying to help Edd! I'm s-so worried about him! He isn't- he hasn't been the same ever since Tom died, and then Reagan showed up and made everything worse! I'm afraid that Reagan is going to take him away and I'm gonna lose Edd forever and so I tried to warn Edd, but he wouldn't listen to me! Then I tried to warn Reagan and- and- and-"

"Okay, okay! Calm down!" Eduardo drew away, huge eyed as he tried to process all the information that's been dumped on him. "I'm not sure I understand what's going on, but its best we get out of here and continue this conversation somewhere safer."

Matt's shoulders drooped and he let out a heart wrenching sob. "What was I thinking? I'm such an idiot!"

He sounded so upset that it momentarily melted Eduardo's anger and concern. "You're right, you are an idiot." He grunted softly. "But your heart was in the right place."

Still covering his injured eye, Matt leaned against him wearily.

"Come on." Eduardo nudged him forward. "Let's go home."

With a steady hand on the other's shoulder, Eduardo guided the way home. With his free hand, he quickly messaged Mark to inform him of the situation. He had a feeling Matt would be more comfortable once the wound is properly taken care of.

There it is again. Eduardo took notice of the strange feeling that had overcome him just then. When he saw Matt's bruise, and all the other times the ginger had needed help. Why? He pushed these questioning thoughts aside for now, and focused on escorting themselves safely back home.

(Meanwhile…)

Time ticked by agonizingly slow for Tom.

He felt cold and warm at the same time, his body weak, drenched in sweat as he panted for air that never seemed sufficient enough for his lungs. He fought to stay awake, fearing that unconsciousness would mean the monster's return; but his eyelids were so heavy and his body drained of energy so fast. The voice kept cackling in his head. Taunting him to make it through with this, or else.

To make this horrible experience somewhat bearable and get his mind off things however, Tom tried to block out the voice and the pain shooting through his veins to concentrate on his memories. His friends, more specifically.

Tom's eyes closed again, taking deep breaths. Was that the cold tugging him to unconsciousness, or was that longing for home? His heart ached to see his friends again. How are they faring without him? Were they happier now? He hoped so. Tom held back a smile when he thought of all the crazy adventures the duo might be getting into nowadays. He wished he could see them one last time. Tom never thought he would miss Matt's bone-crushing hugs or Edd's painful puns as much as he did.

Home. Longing seared through his chest.

"Fool. ~" The voice hissed contemptuously, enveloping him in a shroud of despair and stabbing sharp little needles all over his body. "You don't have a home. You belong nowhere. ~"

Of course, Tom conceded wistfully, they are doing better now without me around to give them more things to worry about.

It took a long time, but after a while the burning sensations running through his body had ceased, and now Tom felt both cold and empty. Sparks of pain ignited deep in his guts. All was darkness and cold. Tom had never been so cold. He felt as if every scrap of warmth and life were being sucked out of his body. His legs twitched as painful cramps clutched at them. He imagined that he was made of ice, and if he tried to move he would shatter into a thousand brittle fragments.

A sudden blaring alarm jolted Tom back to earth. He blearily opened his eyes in time to see Tord rouse from his slumber on the desk across from him. The Norsk stretched his arms out with a massive yawn.

"What a nap!" Tord slurred in mind-yawn. "How far along we are now?" He lifted his robotic arm up to his face to check the data, only for his facial expression to fall the next second. Tom raised his eyebrows. "We hit the twenty four hour mark."

The Norsk swivelled his head to look over Tom, their gazes locked. For a while, all they did was stare at each other. Tom didn't understand what that statement meant, but judging by the way the Commie hopped off his seat and stomped his way over to him, Tom guessed something had not gone according to plan.

Tord glared at him as he approached. "How," he seethed through clenched teeth, "have you still not shifted yet? You haven't even displayed any signs of the serum having affected you! How's that possible?"

It took a while, but his words finally registered in Tom's brain and realization dawned on him. Does that mean I did it? He thought, holding back a relieved sigh. Instead, he mustered the strength to let out a weak laugh and shrugged.

"Just don't feel up to it."

Tord scowled at him.

"Wait! I feel something!" Tom suddenly blurted out, his body going rigid and his expression dead serious.

Tord blinked, his single eye sparking with fresh interest. "What is it?"

The Brit did not answer. His body started convulsing, twitching here and there on occasion. Tom heaved for air. "So-something i s going on! I-I think it's happening!" From the corner of his eye he noticed Tord, lean in closer; ambition flared up in his gray eye as he gazed at him.

Tom could see in his gaze how desperately he wanted him to turn monster. Tord was focused on him as if he were the most intriguing thing in the world. It unnerved him. But he pushed his concerns aside for now and poke fun at him while he still can. When Tord leaned even closer, excitement buzzing through him as he expected Tom's body to start bending and breaking any second now, Tom suddenly stilled. The Norsk blinked, still expecting something to happen.

All of a sudden, as he leaned in closer, Tom lurched forward and belched right to his face. Tord jerked away in disgust.

"Ops! False alarm." Tom jeered smugly.

Apparently, Tord didn't think the prank was particularly funny. Tom hardly had time to process what was happening before the restraints that had been previously holding him down clasped open with the push of a lever. Scowling, Tord lunged at him and grasped him by the throat. He struggled, wailing, as Tord dragged him out of the laboratory down the hallway, and flung him into a bare empty room. The door slammed shut behind them, and Tom found himself in an enclosed space with a very pissed off Norwegian.

"I had enough of your silly little games and pointless resistance, Thomas! It was entertaining at first, but now it's just pissing me the f#ck off." Tord stalked closer to him, the hem of his uniform swirling around his legs. "You're going to transform. Now!"

Tom staggered to his feet, his body drained from strength. "Don't feel like it, Commie." He chuckled. Self-preservation was tossed out the window a long time ago.

"Now, Thomas. I'm not asking." Tord growled.

"Tell you what; I'm gonna give you a hint." Tom mock contemplated. "You want the monster? You're gonna have to take a deeper look-see in here." He jabbed a finger to his own chest to insinuate his point.

Tord chuckled darkly. "Oh, I will. Once I'm sure we've exhausted all other options first, of course." He towered over the test subject, staring him down and stifling the urge to discipline him now. His creation was within his reach; he can feel it!

"Now,"

Everything went down fast. With precise and swift moves, Tord had grabbed a hold of Tom, turned him around to pin him against the wall, and wrenched the Brit's arms out behind his back hard. Tom hissed out in pain, his head pressed firmly against the wall, and struggled to escape.

"Turn."

Tom spat on his face in retaliation.

"Turn!" Tord's grip tightened until he felt the bones in his grasp grinding.

"F#ck you, Commie!" His snarl finished off with a whimper of pain.

"Last chance, Thomas. Turn."

In a sudden burst of strength, Tom heaved up and slammed the back of his head repeatedly against Tord's face until the latter released him. Once free, Tom quickly put some distance between them.

A sharp, metallic scent drifted to his nostrils and Tom tensed.

He turned around. Across from him, Tord was hunched over with both hands covering his face. He lifted his head, revealing a trickle of blood trailing down his bruised nose and coating the corners of his mouth. Tord glared at him, curling his lip. The sight of the crimson fluid dripping down the Norsk's face made Tom freeze and his mouth involuntarily start to water. Gulping, he took a couple paces back; trying to keep his breathing even and focus his sights anywhere else but the blood.

However, his sudden shift in attitude and strange behaviour caught Tord's eye. He scrutinized the eyeless man; taking note of his stiff posture, wide empty eyes, trembling legs, and the bare hint of saliva glistening on the corner of his mouth. All these factors added up perfectly in his head, and Tord suddenly smirked.

"Oh," he practically purred with delight, dabbing his robotic fingers in the blood pooling above his lips. "You want human blood, is that it? Well, why didn't you say so before?" It was so logical! If Tom had issue eating ordinary meat, of course he would react negatively to the sight of blood. Why didn't he think of that before?

Seeing the crazed look growing in his working eye, Tom instantly knew he was in deep trouble now. Mind racing, Tom tried to think of a plan to escape, or at the very least resist the temptation the fresh blood was driving him. However, before he could so much as conjure up an idea for his dire situation, Tord had pressed one the buttons of his arm and Tom's body locked up at once; his limbs going stiff and tucked up close. Tom's panicked shout was muffled by his forcibly clenched jaw.

He could do nothing but watch apprehensively as Tord drew nearer, blood glistening in his fingers. He grabbed Tom by his lower jaw, leaning uncomfortably close to his face until the stench of blood overwhelmed Tom's senses. The eyeless man tried to resist by closing his eyes shut and holding his breath. But Tord waited too long to be delayed now. He expertly pried Tom's mouth open, and dipped a blood soaked finger across his tongue.

He quickly stepped back, released Tom of his paralysis, and watched the eyeless man fall to his knees and gag.

Tom continuously retched on the ground, one hand up to his throat, trying to rid of the disgusting taste of blood in his mouth. But it was too late. Already he can feel the beginnings of an ungodly energy pulsating through his body.

His hands clenched. A shudder rippled through his body. No… please no...

Tord watched him with bated breath. "You are worth for nothing, Tom." He growled. "All I want from you… is my monster. That's all you're good to me for."

"You want the monster so badly?"

Tom spoke with a wavering breath. He slowly lifted his head to meet Tord's expectant gaze. His empty eyes narrowed to a glare, tears pricking the corners. Purple wisps billowed from his sockets.

"Then you can have it…"

The moment he finished speaking, his body started convulsing more violently. Tom screeched in agony and fell on his side, clutching at his head. Another desperate cry of pain erupted from Tom, and then broke off with a ghastly choking sound. His body convulsed, limbs jerking and flailing as they turned purplish-black. His hands enlarged, the tips of his fingers shredded as large sharp claws grew out from beneath the skin. His teeth started falling off one by one, being pushed out by the layer of fangs hidden beneath his gums. Through the powerful haze of pain clouding his mind, Tom watched his shifting limbs with continuous horror and despair. He had failed. What will become of him now? His screams and grunts of pain turned to snarls of rage half-way through the transformation. His consciousness was gone. His feet broke, snapped and mended, shifting to a more beastly look. His ears elongated to the point where they were nearly as tall as his head. A long tail manifested behind him, lashing back and forth rapidly. His hair grew longer; wilder somehow. A pair of pinkish-purple horns grew out from the top of his head, puncturing through the skin, and loomed tall as the creature stood at its full height with a loud roar.

Tord watched the process in awe, a triumphant smile crossing his features. However, he could not admire his creation for long as the half-human half-monster creature rounded on him, baring his teeth in the beginning of a snarl and ears flat against the sides of his head, before lashing out at him with one massive claw.

Tom, or whatever was left of him now, grabbed Tord by the front of his uniform and roared at his face. Quickly jumping into action, Tord charged the repulsor of his robotic arm. The creature lunged forward, teeth bared and aiming for the Norsk's throat. Tord blasted him back with a couple shots of his repulsor before stilling.

Repetitive use of the repulsor could cause overheating and trigger glitches, so he had to be cautious and use it sparingly.

The monster staggered back, landing on a crouch and on all fours. He shook himself, as if to get rid of the damage. He then growled at Tord in rage, circling him briefly, tail lashing, before pouncing with outstretched claws.

Tord aimed his repulsor to blast the creature again. However, before the beast could even come close to reach him several chains appeared seemingly from out of nowhere and latched around the monster's neck and claws. It pulled the asset back with a harsh tug, cutting off his snarl into a cry, and had him chained to the wall as he trashed around to free himself and get to his prey.

"Are you alright, Red Leader?"

Tord blinked in surprise and whipped around. Paul and Patrick stood stoically behind him, next to each other. Patrick held a controller in his hand, presumably to the chains that had impeded the monster from reaching their leader. Their faces were inexpressive for the most part, but Tord could see the concern and shock in their eyes as they gazed back and forth between him and what once used to be Thomas.

"I'm fine." Tord breathed, turning back to his creation; still snarling and feebly trying to reach him with his claws, jaws snapping at the air. His eyes softened and he began to chuckle lightly.

"I… I did it. I finally got my monster."

Chapter Text

"Hold still for me, please."

Matt did as he was told as Mark applied the ice bag up to his wounded eye. Behind the blond, Eduardo paced back and forth agitatedly, shooting him glances every now and again. His attitude genuinely puzzled Matt.

"Now, let's try this again; slower this time." Eduardo's voice was taut with urgency. "Tell me what happened out there."

Matt flinched. He didn't want to revisit the humiliation of what had occurred to him in his disastrous attempt of talking Reagan out of going near Edd, but now he has definitive proof that the Irishman is not to be trusted, and if he wants any hope of keeping Edd safe he can't do this on his own. He wanted to. Matt so desperately wanted to take matters into his own hands and help Edd by himself – without needlessly shoehorning in others to solve his problems like he always did. It was Matt's turn to take care of him now, and he failed miserably. Before Tom's death, even when things got tough, Edd would always have a joke or a cheerful remark. Now his carefree spirit had vanished, leaving something darker and heavier in its place. Something in Matt's gut was certain Reagan was the one feeding him that. But can he trust his old rivals with such delicate information? Matt pushed the old bitterness aside. They're way past that, and Matt even sees them as friends. But do they think the same?

Well, here goes nothing.

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Matt proceeded to tell his former rivals everything about the situation with himself, Edd, and Reagan. The neighbours appear to be listening to him diligently. More often than not, Matt would see concern flash in the duo's eyes. They stayed up until the moon had almost set.

His voice shook, and he had to make a massive effort to continue. Tears brimmed in his eyes. "Yesterday, while I was out I saw Reagan. I thought… since I couldn't get through to Edd I should try to warn him off instead. But then…"

"He punched you, didn't he?" Eduardo cut him off with a growl rumbling in his throat. His dark brown eyes narrowed into daggers.

Matt didn't reply; he just nodded, looking miserable.

"This sounds serious." Mark spoke up, his blue eyes calm and calculating. "But why do you think he is targeting Edd for any specific reason? I mean, maybe this is all just some misunderstanding and you're just-"

"I am not jealous of Reagan!" Matt snapped abruptly.

Mark and Eduardo exchanged a dubious glance before the blond raised his hands, palms out, in a surrendering gesture. "Alright, calm down. That wasn't what I was going to say." He smoothed, still alarmed by his reaction. "I was going to suggest if there's any possibility that you might be looking at the picture in the wrong way. I mean, from what you told us about this Irish fellow, maybe he's just naturally aggressive?" He shot a quick glance at Eduardo as he spoke.

Matt was struggling to comprehend what he was listening. Was Mark really trying to justify Reagan's actions? He shook his head crossly and lifted his chin. "Would you interpret any differently after being punched in the face and threatened?" He enquired dryly.

Mark tucked a lock behind his ear sheepishly. "Point taken." He conceded. "Just making sure we don't jump into this situation with the wrong conclusion."

"There is no wrong conclusion, I'm telling you!" Matt urged. "That guy is up to something, and he is after Edd!"

"But you don't know why?" Eduardo finished.

Matt was silent, which was answer in itself.

"Yeah, look, I'm sorry you and Edd are going through a rough patch and all; but there's nothing really either of us can do." Eduardo admitted with a tone of sympathy to his voice. "It's not our place to intervene and we know next to nothing about the situation. Why should we help anyway?"

"You helped once." Matt said suddenly, without really meaning to. Eduardo regarded him steadily. "That day on the supermarket, when the four of us went out together… you noticed he was in a bad shape then. I don't know what exactly happened between you two, but when you guys returned together Edd was acting better than he did previously."

Eduardo scowled. "Yeah, but that didn't last very long now, did it?"

"But you can get through to him again!" Matt protested, almost pleading for them to help him. An idea had just slid into his mind.

Eduardo reared back, his expression giving nothing away. "What exactly are you trying to ask of me?"

Matt took a deep breath and braced himself for what he was about to say. "You can talk to Edd. Try and reason with him to stay away from Reagan." He proposed.

"Are you out of your mind?" Eduardo interjected incredulously, his dark eyes glittering with disbelief. "What makes you think he will listen to me? He didn't even listen to you – and you are his best friend!"

"Because he listened to you the first time. And… you have a… way with words?" Matt added sheepishly.

Eduardo glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Now, now-" Mark stepped between the two, trying to diffuse the situation. "I think what our acquaintance here is trying to say, is that you won't be as easily swayed in an argument as he is. You can hold you ground."

Matt winced; half expecting to be dismissed out of the apartment for his ludicrous idea, but to his relief Eduardo was looking thoughtful. "Even if I did as you asked, how are we going to arrange it? I was lucky I had any opportunity at all to talk with Edd the first time. And how willing to listen will he be if he learns that you have talked to us first, trusted this deep and personal information to "rivals", without his knowledge?" Not waiting for Matt to reply, he shook his head and went on: "No. I'm sorry. I wish I could help, I really do, but I can't discuss issues that you have with a guy I know nothing about,much less met before in my life, to someone who hardly trusts me!"

"What if you were to meet him?" Matt prompted. "He's coming to pick Edd up for a camping trip later today. If you were to observe just long enough to get a good reading of him, then will you talk to Edd?"

Eduardo and Mark exchanged knowing glances. Then Eduardo gazed back at Matt with narrowed eyes and shrugged with a deep seated sigh. "Look, I'm sorry. But I already have an awful lot on my plate as it is, and I can't get side-tracked now to solve your problems."

Matt's heart dropped like a stone in his chest as he watched Eduardo walk past him and leave. Perhaps it was too much to hope for a bit of help.

Oddly enough, Mark didn't look the least bit concerned and he merely 'tsked' before taking the melted ice bag and heading to his kitchen for a cup of tea. There was a knowing glint in his eyes as he smirked. "Don't worry. I'm sure everything will turn out fine." He reassured.

Matt blinked, wondering how things could possibly turn out fine when he is so lost. And what does Mark know that he doesn't?

(Meanwhile…)

Restrained and properly muzzled, Tom's monstrous form was sprawled on an examination table, hissing and spitting at the three figures surrounding him with awe. Chains looped around his powerful claws to keep him from swiping at them, and a muzzle placed over his face. More heavy chains weighed down the rest of his body to immobilize his movements.

Tord's gaze raked over every single detail of the creature displayed before him. He couldn't believe what he'd seen. At long last, his creation was standing before him in all its glory! Although, Tord couldn't help the prickle of disappointment that coursed through him every now and again.

He knew he couldn't shape the serum to give off the exact monster design he wanted, but he'd always imagined it would be bigger and more monstrous. The news articles he read about the beast case seem to have been implying it as such. But this is just Tom with a few modifications and extra features! Still, Tord hoped he would prove to be more destructive once they get the true testing started.

"Look at the size of these claws!" Paul murmured in amazement, staring wide eyed at Tom's long and sharp claws. He bent down for a closer look, receiving a rumbling growl of warning from the asset as he neared. Paul hesitated, then decided the better of it and stepped back.

Tord was so excited with this development he had no idea where to start the analysis, so he decided to follow Paul's observation and start off with the claws.

He passed by Patrick, who was keeping his distance and staring at Tom with sympathy and dismay. Tord frowned, rolling his eyes but didn't say anything. They weren't on speaking terms yet, apparently.

Approaching the test subject, Tord stooped down and took one of the massive claws into his hands.

It was hard to believe the paws used to be about the same size of his hands – they're huge now! It was nearly the size of his torso. The paws are wide against his palms, but the real kicker are the claws. They're long and held a purplish tint to them. Tord hummed, slowly dragging a digit along one of the claws. He barely flinched when the tip pierced his skin and drew blood.

"Pretty sharp." He noted. It wasn't hard to imagine the creature slitting people's throats with ease. It would only take one fast and precise blow.

Paul reappeared next to him, taking a look at the other claw eagerly. But not even a moment later he sighed in disappointment and lowered the claw again. "No paw beans?" He murmured dejectedly.

Tord rolled his eyes. "Makes sense. Paw pads serve as cushioning, while it seems his paws serve solely as support for the main thing, his claws."

He turned away, and was quite sure he heard Paul mumble "like a sloth's paw" under his breath as he maneuvered the massive paw in his hands. Patrick cleared his throat hard to cover a snort of amusement. Tord rolled his eyes and sighed, but refused to comment.

He eyed the horns next; spikes shooting straight up from the top of Tom's head. They don't look particularly sharp – and really, as he trailed his digits along the length of one of the horns, he got no cuts. Perhaps if the creature were to ram it hard enough it would stab through a person easily. Then again, anything can stab you if plunged hard enough…

His gaze accidentally strayed to the beast's eyes, staring straight back at him. Tom's eyes. Still identical, and yet, so very different. Whenever Tord looked into Tom's eyes, even though they were empty husks, he could still see them glimmer with emotion – even when Tom's facial expression showed none. But when Tord looked into his eyes now in this form it was like gazing into the deep depths of the night, shrouded where no gleam of light can reach.

Tord shook off the apprehensive feeling he got from staring at the eyes, and proceeded to grab a hold of the horns by their base.

The creature roared suddenly, rearing back in his restraints. His powerful tail whipped around and slammed Paul into a nearby shelf; breaking it in half and scattering its contents.

"Paul!" Pat cried out in alarm.

"I'm okay!" The Red Army Commander yelped in reassurance, slowly picking himself up from the wreckage.

Tord instantly let go of the horns. The monster's movements subsided, though he continued to trash around; trying to escape and get at them. Cautiously, Tord approached again and took the horns by their tips this time. The monster huffed and puffed, out of steam, but he tried to shake his head to get rid of Tord's grip.

"Sensible horns, eh?" The Norsk mused, stepping back to jot it down on his research notes. Every piece of information could prove crucial!

Having recovered, Paul returned and wrestled with the trashing tail to subdue its movements. He firmly held it down against the table with his own weight as it continued to flick to and fro.

Tord took a look at the mouth guard piece. "I wanna take a closer look at his fangs." He decided. To Patrick he added, "help me remove the muzzle."

"Would that be wise, sir?" Paul spoke up, shooting his companion an uneasy glance. "I mean, it was such a hassle to put it on him in the first place, I think we should really consider carefully – what if he bites one of you?"

"I appreciate the concern, but I already know the risks." Tord broke in roughly, his hand up for silence. "Help me here, Patrick."

For a moment, he thought the Polish soldier was going to refuse. His pale green eyes scrutinized the restrained test subject with pity, but a heartbeat later he obediently joined Tord. Even if they're in less than good terms with each other for their disagreement over Tom's treatment, Tord knew he would never outright refuse an order from him. Especially now that he's on thin ice.

Together, they worked on undoing the straps of the muzzle. Tord unclasped the ones in the front, directly facing Tom, while Pat undid the straps at the back of the asset's head.

The muzzle came lose with a resonating 'click'.

With a jerk of his head, the monster tossed the mouth guard piece aside and knocked Patrick a couple steps back. His hair bristled with rage as he sets his sights on Tord, who stood directly in front of him. He bared his fangs into an angry snarl and growled menacingly, rising as much as he was allowed to stare the Norsk down. His muscles bunched and he lunged forward with a shriek, sinking his teeth into Tord's arm.

"Careful, Thomas. You don't wanna break your teeth now, do you?"

Tord watched in a mixture of awe and amusement as Tom latched onto his robotic arm, biting him. He could see dents starting to form in the metal where the fangs tried to pierce him.

He knocked him back, dislodging him from his arm, and grabbed a fistful of Tom's hair – or was it fur, now? – and pinned his head down on the table. The creature hissed in protest, and kept trying to veer his head around to snap at his forearm.

"Aw, what's the matter?" Tord cooed mockingly, watching the asset struggle beneath his hand. "Can't speak while in this form? What a shame."

All he received was a loud rumbling growl in response.

With a nod, Patrick took his place in holding down Tom's head while Tord crouched down and pried the test subject's mouth open to have a better look at the fangs. He kept biting down on his metallic fingers. Peering closely, Tord took note of the long sharp teeth. Curiously, it appears that Tom's tongue has also changed. It turned forked, like a snake's. Other than that there wasn't anything else of particular interest. There were no rows and rows of sharp teeth extending along the mouth cavity, like sharks do, or venom in the canines. Although, since the effects of the serum range so closely to zombification, could Tom's bite be contagious and spread the same monstrous outcome? That would make things a whole lot easier.

Tord elected to test that out for later.

He quickly strapped the muzzle back on Tom, who kept hissing and growling at him and tossing his head from side to side.

"Will you quit hissing at me already?" Tord snapped, glaring down at the test subject. Then he grinned. "You know, Tom; if I didn't know any better I would think you enjoy being in this form-"

The monster thrust his head forward and head-butted him right in the face, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Tord staggered back with a yelp of alarm, holding his already injured nose which openly started to bleed once more. "Argh! Not again!" It had taken a while and multiple tissues to stop the first bleeding, so to have it restarted was a pain in the ass.

The monster made a rough noise, a mixture of a bark and a growl, almost as if he were laughing at the misery he imposed.

Tord glared back at him balefully. "Why you-!"

A soft chuckle followed by the clearing of a throat broke in. "Sir, I think it might have been the horns." Paul pointed out.

Tord blinked. What is he talking about now?

"I mean, he has horns; he probably sees you as a threat or something." Paul continued, gesturing toward his leader's hair with barely suppressed amusement.

His words finally clicked with Tord and he scowled at the line of thinking. "Oh haha ha. How clever! He has horns. I have horns. We're two males fighting for dominance – clearly he is imposed by me. It's not like – oh, I don't know – that's just Tom being Tom or anything!" His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Now, are you gonna make any more ridiculous animal comparisons or can we continue to analyse the specimen?"

Getting back on track, Tord swiped away the dribble of blood from his nose and turned his attention to Tom's ears; which flickered every now and then.

He cautiously ran his fingers along the twitching appendages. Tufts of fur sticking out their tips and insides. What is their hearing range? They're so long, Tord wouldn't be surprised if Tom could hear every heartbeat in this room. He can't wait to see the full extent of all the monster's senses!

His hands drifted to the test subject's hair. Passing his hands over and over it, Tord can't tell much difference from Tom's ordinary hair. However, farther down nearing the back of the neck the hair tinged from light brown to a faint purple.

Tord pursued his lips and yanked a few strands of hair, one brown and the other one purple, and put the samples on a petri dish each. The monster howled and flailed around, but Tord ignored him. He wondered if there were any differences between the properties of both samples.

"Patrick, get me a snippet of his horns." Tord ordered with a flick of his wrist, as he continued on with the inspection. His gaze raking over the elongated arms and legs.

He reached the tail, where Paul was still restraining it, and shooed his Commander aside to take over. He grabbed the trashing tail by the tip. The fur, which Tord's sure is what it is this time, felt velvety to touch unlike Tom's hair. It continued to writhe in his grasp, trying to escape and swipe him away like it did with Paul.

The tail is pretty strong. He mused to himself, feeling the tissue of muscles constricting in his grasp. To have flung Paul away so effortlessly like that…

His train of thought was cut off abruptly by Paul's high-pitched squealing. Tord and Pat whipped their heads in his direction.

"What happened?"

"He has toe beans!" Paul announced, beaming with excitement as he held up one of Tom's feet and showed the paw pads as he pressed down on them, sheathing and unsheathing the claws repeatedly. The asset let out an indignant hiss and kept trying to pull his foot back out of Paul's hold.

Tord face palmed with an exasperated sigh.

He only wants to have a detailed look at Tom and understand his monster form, is that too much to ask? When he wasn't dealing with Patrick's silent treatment, he had to deal with Paul losing his sh#t over the minimalist of things! Of course, Tord was just as equally excited about this discovery as he is, granted! But couldn't Paul at least curb it like him and be more professional about it?

Tord pinched the bridge of his nose but wisely decided not to comment on Paul's misplaced enthusiasm. On the upside, it seems his Commander has forgotten he is supposed to be disappointed in him.

He turned away and grabbed a syringe. A sample of Tom's blood in this form could be useful – he wants to take a sample of everything if it means getting closer to understanding the monster.

As he stabbed the needle into the back of Tom's neck, eliciting a loud barking cry from the test subject, Patrick approached at the same time with a tool in his hands to chip off a tiny piece of the horns. Tord watched him. His eyes narrowed as he glimpsed the flash of sorrow in the Polish man's eyes as he glanced at Tom, and quickly chipped the tip of one of the horns for a sample; as if he did this to spare Tom from prolonging the pain.

"Thomas is fine." Tord told him with a mixture of annoyance and concern, but he hid the latter behind a matter-of-factly tone. "He's been shifting into a monster for at least the past ten years. Any pain we put him through should be the equivalent of a pinch, and that's it."

Patrick glanced at him, his honeyed green eyes dull as he gave a curt nod of understanding.

Tord fumed, but stifled the urge to sigh out loud or rebuke him. He won't let his deputy ruin the fun of researching and investigating Tom's monster form now that he finally has what he wants! The experiments are just getting started.

"I think we're done with the inspection for today." He decided, laying the samples they've collected on a table for further research. "We'll collect more samples if needed later on. Now, let's transfer Thomas to the enclosure and observe what he is capable of."

(Meanwhile…)

The sun had started to set, and shadows began to stretch across the city. As Edd put on his jacket and headed toward the building's exit, thinking longingly about what this camping trip might entail, he spotted Matt stepping out of his apartment and approach him.

What does he want? Edd wondered nervously.

He halted to wait for his friend. "Don't start complaining or arguing!" He burst out, before Matt had the chance to say a word. He knew it wasn't advisable to speak to his friend this way, but he just couldn't stomach another overly-worried lecture. "Reagan is waiting for me, and I'm going, whether you're happy about it or not."

"I'm not happy about it." Matt admitted, his eyes narrowing. "But maybe not for the reason you think."

What does that mean? "Don't you think I can look after myself?" Edd retorted, a growl in his voice. "Listen to yourself—you almost sound like my mother! I'll be fine."

Matt nodded, unexpectedly serious. "I know that. But I can still be worried about you, Edd." He shifted his legs uncomfortably. He's been acting strangely jumpy as of late. "I've been giving a lot of thought about this." He admitted. "Don't you think you might have become a little too reckless since Tom died?"

Edd was already on edge, and the mention of his dear, eyeless friend made his self-control snap. Just when I finally feel like I don't have to feel guilty every moment . . . "I don't want to hear about Tom anymore!" He spat.

Matt's blue eyes widened in a mixture of shock and dismay. He stared at Edd in silence for several heartbeats before he spoke again. "How can you want to forget Tom?" He asked incredulously.

"That's not what I meant—" Edd began, horrified that Matt believed he could ever feel that way, but the ginger had already spun around and retreated to his apartment.

Watching Matt's retreating back, Edd felt needles of guilt stab his heart. Of course I'm not trying to forget Tom. I didn't mean it like that! Did I?

He searched his heart, and realized no, he didn't.

He never wanted to forget Tom, his dear friend, who had always been able to make him smile; even if unintentionally. All he had wanted was to push away the painful memories, and not always think about how much he was missing him. But Matt hadn't given him a chance to explain.

He heard a loud car honk coming from right outside the building. His ride is here, no doubt.

Deciding to talk things out with Matt when he returns, Edd grabbed his bags and left.

"Eddie!" Just as he'd expected, Reagan was standing outside by a dark moss green van; his arms wide open to greet him with a hug.

"Hey, Reagan!"

Edd returned the gesture, completely unaware of the lone figure watching them from one of the balconies of his building, through the lens of a digital camera.

"So you're the bastard stirring up trouble, huh?" Eduardo muttered to himself, gritting his teeth as he observed Edd hug and chat with the Irishman. It's a shame he couldn't hear what they were saying from this distance. But thankfully, with the help of the zoom in feature of his camera he could just as easily read their lips to figure out.

He snapped several photos of their interaction, and made sure to snap one of the car's number plate for good measure.

He gotta hand it to the airhead – this Reagan fellow sure is shady. Several times Eduardo felt a churning sensation in the pit of his stomach as he watched them interact. Also he could've sworn at some point, when the Irishman looped an arm around Edd's shoulders and guided the brunet toward the car… he grinned and stared at Edd with a look of greed and something else more sinister. As if Edd were a great prize to own.

How does the loser not see anything wrong with this? Eduardo wondered, completely baffled. That guy has "bad news" written all over it!

"Investigating, I see?"

The voice, although somewhat unexpected, did not startle Eduardo at all as he glanced over his shoulder.

Mark blinked at him smugly. "I knew you wouldn't stay out of this."

"Congrats. Want a medal?" Eduardo snorted dryly, and continued watching the scene below.

"Does that mean you'll take the case?" Mark questioned, stepping closer to him.

"Case?" The burly brunet echoed, a light chuckle to his voice. "This is hardly a case! No, no. I'm just… confirming if the airhead's suspicions have any weight to them. That's all."

"You care about Matt, don't you?"

Eduardo nearly had an aneurysm hearing that. He quickly recovered and scoffed disbelievingly. "Don't be ridiculous, Mark! Of course not – me? Caring about that doofus? Why would you even suggest that?"

"You can't fool me, Eduardo. I've seen the way you keep looking out for him whenever we're together." Mark argued, his blue eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't be out here following his suggestion if you didn't. Plus; you seemed pretty upset that he got punched in the face."

For a while, neither of them spoke. Eduardo ignored his friend's accusation by focusing on the situation happening below them. He watched as Edd got in the car with Reagan, and the van drove away.

"Here," Eduardo handed his camera over to Mark. "Tell me what you think." He changed the subject.

Mark began to flip through the pictures he'd taken; humming deep in thought as he carefully looked over each one of them. He blinked slowly. "Well, it does seem like there's more to this story than meets the eye." He observed, pausing on one of the many pictures of Reagan – this one of him staring at Edd with a look of triumph. "No normal person looks at someone like that unless they have ulterior motives." He turned to Eduardo. "So Matt's suspicions are legitimate – though I never doubted him. But what are you going to do about it?"

"Me? Nothing." Eduardo shook his head with a disdainful sniff. "I already told you, I'm not getting involved in this. I only wanted to take a look to see if this situation is as bad as the airhead described. Now that I have my answer, I will simply return working on the job I already have and not stick my nose in other people's business."

"A little too late for that, don't you think?" Mark retorted scornfully, his blue eyes glittering like ice. Then he relaxed, his expression softening. "I know you better than anyone else, Eduardo. You're already involved, and I know you won't sit back and let this play out without trying to do something about it."

"What the heck do you want me to do, huh?" Eduardo demanded, his muscles tensing. "I'm just a jerk who bullies people, not some knight in shining armor! I'm not the right person to help in this situation. The loser is on his own."

"And what about Matt? Are you willing to let him handle this by himself, too? You saw the state he's in - he's desperate! Desperate enough to trust us for help."

As he spoke, Mark glimpse the burly brunet wince at his words; looking away to avoid displaying emotions. Years living together, Mark could read him like a book. He can tell Eduardo was torn about some inner conflict. Then realization dawned on him, and his eyes sparked.

"He… he reminds you of Jon, doesn't he?"

He noticed the way Eduardo went rigid at his question, and even though he didn't so much as glance back at him, that was sufficient answer for itself. Mark's gaze softened, and he stepped closer to rest a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I don't blame you. I can see how you would think that way." Mark began, his voice low. "They're both wide-eyed innocent and naive. Sometimes I make that connection myself."

Eduardo swallowed thickly. "I'm not trying to replace him."

"I know you're not. Never imagined that you would." The blond comforted. "But I also know you never truly forgive yourself for what happened to Jon, and I think – correct me if I'm wrong – that you see Matt as a chance to redeem yourself."

His words resonated deep within Eduardo. He felt a shard of ice pierce his heart. Could it be true? Did he make the connection between Jon and the airhead without realizing? It would explain these strange sensations he's been having around the ginger. All the times he'd "saved" him, and then the sudden burst of anger and protectiveness he felt when he discovered the dark bruise swelling on his eye.

Unable to answer, Eduardo bowed his head and sighed, his shoulders sagging.

"Take the case, Eduardo." Mark urged sympathetically. "I know deep down you really want to – you wouldn't be here otherwise."

"But," Eduardo choked, fighting back the overwhelming wave of emotions that run rampant through him. "But what about my case?"

"It can wait for now. You've been at this for little more than a year now with no definitive leads." The blond reassured solemnly. He glanced away. "Chances are, there won't be any conclusive leads for a while."

Eduardo sighed, the wind buffeting his hair and jacket. "I… I miss Jon." His voice was hardly more than a whisper.

"I know." Mark gave him a sad smile, looking away to peer at the dusk sky. "I miss him too."

Eduardo regained his composure, and turned away with a hardened expression of determination. "Invite the doofus over to my place later. If I'm gonna do this, we need to do it the proper way. We have things that need to be discussed."

Mark stepped back and followed him inside, a faint smile on his face. "As you wish."

(Meanwhile…)

How can you want to forget Tom? Matt's words echoed in Edd's mind as he and Reagan drove up the hill toward their destination. Even though he kept reasoning to himself that wasn't the case at all, the words continued replaying like a broken record; frustrating the h#ll out of him.

Edd pushed the thought way, refusing to acknowledge it any longer.

"We're here." Reagan announced, breaking the silence. "Pull over." He told the driver, who simply nodded and did as he was told.

Edd looked out the window. He could glimpse the looming silhouettes of the cabins contrasted with the rosy blue sky of sunset. The city long gone behind them. Around them, a swath of tall trees stretched in every direction. A large lake could be seen shimmering between the trees, the sky reflected on its surface.

They stepped out of the vehicle once it came to a complete stop. Edd and Reagan picked up their stuff, and started walking toward the camp.

On their way, Edd noticed a sign that said "Welcome to Camp Littlepine!" Edd furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Uhh, Reagan? Where exactly are we?"

"I did tell you we're going camping, right?" Reagan glanced back at him, taking the lead.

"Yeah, but… I thought you meant like the "pitching tents" kind of camping." Edd explained.

Truthfully he wasn't complaining. It's been a really long time since he last went camping - he probably would've spent the night in a crummy badly pitched tent and be exposed to the freezing cold.

"Nah, this is even better; I promise you. This camp is abandoned, and is ours for the taking." Reagan told him simply, staring far off into the trees. "And I think our companions are already here and waiting for us."

Edd followed his gaze, spotting a flicker of light from a fireplace in the distance. They continued the haul their bags along the path leading toward the camp. The only sound was the faint creaking of branches as a breeze wafted through the trees.

At last, they arrived at the camp and were met with a group of four standing by the campfire in the center. They all turned to look at them as they approached.

"Sup, guys!" Reagan greeted with a lazy wave, dropping his bag as soon as they reached the group.

"Reagan! Hey, you made it."

Edd followed a little slower, regarding the four strangers with an appraising gaze as they each greeted Reagan.

"Everyone here knows me… so go on and introduce yourselves!" Reagan invited, waving his hand at the five people surrounding him to encourage them to come forward.

A young woman with wavy dirty blond hair, fawn white skin, and huge round glasses over a pair of green eyes, glanced around shyly and ducked her head. "My name's Sasha."

"I'm Benjamin!" An even younger man with chestnut messy hair and warm olive skin gave an eager little bounce as he spoke. "It's great to be here!"

"And I'm called Michael." A man with dark brown skin and buzz-cut stepped forward with a friendly smile.

Edd shuffled his feet nervously as he gazed at the strange faces around him. He found himself accidentally locking eyes with a young woman with pale skin, monolid eyes and long black hair. Her soft round face didn't match with her glaring gaze. Though she was slighter and softer in looks than the others, her dark brown eyes were sharp and intelligent.

"Rosalyn." She grunted simply.

Edd waved around to everyone, trying to be friendly. "Hello, I'm Edd."

They mingled around for a little bit, chatting and making small talk with one another. Reagan watched them interact, very pleased with himself as he unpacked the beer from his bag and started handing cans around to everyone. They'll start off stiff and awkward around each other for now, but give it time to socialize and a bit of alcohol in their systems to loosen up and the five will be best buds by the time this trip is over.

"Aiight everyone!" Reagan clapped his hands together loudly, strolling to the center to draw everyone's attention. "Now that we're all here, our camping trip can finally commence! Thank you all so much for accepting my invitation – I really want to spend some quality time with each and every one of you before my business trip is over. I hope we get to share some unforgettable moments in this trip."

"Sooo… why exactly is this camp abandoned, anyway?" Benjamin prompted, gazing around the camp with wide blue eyes.

Reagan opened his mouth to answer, but Michael beat him to it. "Don't you know? There was a massacre here not too long ago. Only a handful of campers survived."

Everyone exchanged alarmed glances.

"Ma-massacre?" Sasha stammered, her eyes darting around nervously.

"Great! Just what I needed to hear." Rosalyn muttered. Then to Reagan, she narrowed her eyes and added, "what made you think camping here was a good idea?"

Reagan shrugged slyly. "No one comes here, so we have the whole place to ourselves. No work pitching tents when we got cabins. And who doesn't like a spooky story to add to the place and make things more interesting?" After a moment's hesitation, he could tell none of them were reassured by his words. His eyes darkened. "Oh, c'mon guys, this place has been abandoned for four years. Nobody comes up here!"

Edd stayed silent throughout the argument, just listening. It was creepy to think they've been brought to a place that held such tragedy and horror, and are expected to spend the night here; but on the other hand, he always was one for adventure and exploration so he didn't particularly mind the setting all that much. If anything, it reminded him of the sort of mischief he and his friends used to do.

"You don't think there are bears around here, do you?" Sasha squeaked, suddenly looking frightened.

Rosalyn didn't seem fazed. "Well, even if there are I don't think singing kumbaya around the fireplace and make friendship bracelets will help us much."

"Does anyone remember the talk of a beast wandering around killing people not too long ago?" Benjamin reminded nervously. "What if it's still out there?"

Reagan watched the on-going argument with frustration rising within him. Not this beast nonsense again. Perhaps luring a bunch of stupid sheep together had been a bad idea. He shook his head. No. If the five of them develop a bond toward each other, the more likely they will join the Red Army when asked. If one goes, the rest will follow.

"Aiight everyone, simmer down will yah?" Reagan spoke up, waving his arms around to diffuse the conversation. "This place, despite what may have happened here, is completely and utterly safe! I wouldn't have deliberately brought us to spend the night here if I wasn't sure if it was." Oh no. That comes in later. "So let's all just relax, lay back, drink a couple beers and bond, aiight? There's nothing to worry about."

One by one, everyone began to settle down; finally reassured by Reagan's words.

They started chatting to one another again. Edd found himself conversing with Sasha and Benjamin; the latter describing a hiking trip he went to last spring. Edd listened politely to the end of the story, chuckling and already feeling the effects of the alcohol starting to kick in.

"Oh, so guys," Reagan interrupted, walking up to them, "I found something, kinda amazing."

Edd furrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. You have to come see it for yourselves. Come on, it's this way."

"Where?" Sasha prompted, appearing hesitant to follow but complied a heartbeat later so as to not be left behind on her own.

"Right around here, guys. Gonna blow your mind." Reagan led the group down a path around the lake, taking the chance to show them around the whole camp. "Pick whichever cabin you want to sleep in." He suggested casually. "We can even have a whole cabin for every one of us if you don't feel like sharing."

"Sweet!" Benjamin whistled, glancing from side to side, his blue gaze taking in every detail.

"Uhh, you're not gonna catch me sleeping in that cabin over there." Rosalyn spoke up, drawing everyone's attention to the last cabin on the far right, right in front of the lake.

The cabin was in shambles; the door barely on its hinges and flapping audibly in the wind with a resonating creak. Some of the windows are broken, but disturbingly enough there was what appeared to be blood stains smeared on the glass, and the little steps leading up to the door are wrecked. The group, minus Reagan, all gulped apprehensively at the sight.

"Oh man, that must be where the massacre took place." Michael broke the silence uneasily.

"Dude, I dare you to go inside." Reagan grinned widely at him.

Michael shook his head, taking a couple steps back. "No way, man."

"Just a quick little peek." Reagan rested a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Unless you're too much of a chicken to go?"

Michael glared at him. "I got self-preservation and common sense, unlike you. I am not going in there!"

"I can go." Edd happily volunteered, if only to stop the argument from escalating any further and because he's always been one for exploring even the most morbid of places.

Everyone turned around to glance at him in surprise as he stepped forth. Reagan clapped a hand on his back hard as he passed, nearly tipping him over. "Way to go Eddie!" He smirked. "See? Eddie here's not a coward – he ain't afraid of a little bit of dried blood!"

Reagan's words caused a chill of unease to ripple down Edd's spine. For some reason he thought the Irishman could be goading the others for not behaving accordingly. But that's ridiculous; why would Reagan care about the way they act?

He pushed his thoughts aside and pressed forward. He climbed the broken little steps cautiously. A cold breeze blew, ridging the surface of the lake and rattling through the reeds that edge the shore and the windows of the rundown shed, creating an almost eerie sound of a low pitched whistle. Edd pushed the broken door aside and slipped inside.

The place was a mess, but no bodies. Thank goodness. Edd breathed a relieved sigh.

Just because he likes adventure, doesn't mean he wants to see a legitimate dead - not undead; he'd seen plenty of those to be a normal occurrence by now - body.

The beds are upturned and dishevelled, bed sheets sprawled around on the floor and pillows ripped to shreds; feathers littering the place. A large hole gaped one of the walls, as if something huge had burst through. Dried blood splattered all over the floor, beds, walls, and windows. It looked like a scene straight out of a horror movie.

Edd paced further into the cabin, the wood creaking beneath his feet with every step taken. An overwhelming sense of dread followed him the longer he stayed. Edd noticed what appeared to be scratch marks along the walls and floor. An animal did this? He wondered.

The sudden crunch of glass splintering beneath his heel drew his attention.

Lifting one foot wearily, Edd inspected the item he just stepped on. A broken frame with what appears to show a squad of campers posing for the picture. The people in the photo look barely old enough to be teenagers. A chill ran down Edd's spine, making even his bones feel cold. He bent down to pick up the picture, careful with the shards of glass, when something soft and light fluttered against his fingers; he drew back to see a tuft of fur snagged on the corner of the frame.

Shaking, Edd gently teased out the fur and leaned closer to inspect it. He held it up to the shaft of moonlight that filtered through the various gaps of the rundown cabin. His eyebrows furrowed.

Purple fur? He wondered how that's even possible.

"Oi Eddie!"

Startled, he spun around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. Reagan was standing behind him, surveying the place with blatant disinterest.

"You were taking too long." The Irishman told him. "What did you find?"

Edd showed him the unusual clump of fur he found. Reagan peered at it, but seemed ultimately unimpressed.

"So… a bear did this?"

Edd blinked. "Wha-? No! What kind of bear has purple fur?"

"I don't know, Eddie. I'm not a f#cking bear expert!" Reagan retorted with a roll of his eyes. "C'mon, the others are waiting."

Edd followed Reagan outside to where the others were gathered. Edd debated whether he should show off his discovery to the rest of them, but opted not to. They're already weary of this place enough as it is, it wouldn't do any good to spook them further. Edd kept the more gruesome details to himself as he told them what he found inside.

They didn't have long to ponder on the scene as Reagan urged the group on to whatever discovery he wanted to show them. The ground started to slope more steeply, with rocks jutting out here and there; patches of grass and small shrivelled bushes were rooted in the gaps between the rocks, growing more visible as winter nears its end.

Reagan reached the top first. Halting on a flattened boulder, he called back, "Come and see this!"

Edd, Michael, and Rosalyn sprang up beside him, with Benjamin and Sasha right behind. Even though the last of the sun had long gone and shadows gathered everywhere, Edd could make out the wide wooden structure just ahead of them. The half-moon, shining through thin clouds, cast beams of light that better revealed the sight before them.

It was a shed, far smaller than the sleeping cabins, with a long fence and bench with a gun rack on the side. Beyond the wooden fence, several objects ranging from bottles, sandbags and bull's-eyes lay spread out on the field ahead.

"Ta-dah!" Reagan stepped forward to show off the location. "Pretty sweet, right?"

"A… shooting range?" Rosalyn quirked an eyebrow.

"I know, right?" Reagan didn't seem to pick up on the dryness of her comment, and instead gushed over the guns. "C'mon! Just take a look at these beauties."

The group drew closer, inspecting the structure with wide curious eyes. But Edd took everything in with confusion. This is what Reagan wanted us to see? He couldn't see what the big deal is, but maybe that's because of his history of weird adventures. If anything, the shooting range caused a thorn to prick his heart with a pang of hurt.

He knows a certain someone would love this place if he were here…

"Strange… why is this even here though?" Edd observed out loud.

Benjamin blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why is there a shooting range here to begin with? I thought this place was for children?"

Reagan shrugged. "What? Just because this place used to be for brats means they couldn't learn how to shoot? Relax, It's just for fun – no harm done." He pointed out, grabbing one of the rifles. "C'mon! Let's see which one of us shoots the most targets!" He grinned.

Everyone simultaneously shrugged and decided "why not?", and took a rifle each to try their luck. Just to pass the time with a bit of fun. Reagan pretended to join in on the fun, even though he was the one who suggested he only wanted to observe.

He didn't care much for friendly competition. He only brought them here to test out their potential skills as soldiers. It wouldn't do any good to his image if he brought five lousy recruits to Red Leader! Oh no. His boss only deserves the best, and once he sees the hard work he put in ensuring a batch of new soldiers for him, then he'll have no choice but to give him that promotion!

Reagan paced along the fence, observing each and every one handle a gun and their aim game.

Edd hit most of the targets, but wasn't really trying to. His shots were half-hearted. Reagan whistled behind him.

"Niiice! You handle a gun pretty well, Eddie."

Edd glanced at him, surprised to find the Irishman lurking behind him. "Oh, uh, thanks. I guess my time in the army hasn't gone to waste."

"Oh?" Reagan perked up immediately, grinning immensely wide. "You've been in the army before?" If Eddie is already experienced with this environment all the better. Red Leader will be impressed!

"No kidding?" Michael spoke up from the side, overhearing their conversation. "That's pretty dope."

"Impressive. But I bet you can't shoot the farthest targets!" Reagan challenged, eager to see the brunet's skills.

Edd took aim of the empty bottle standing on top of a tree stump, barely visible in the dark, and far away where it seemed to be the size of a mouse. He peered through the scope, squinting his eyes to make out its position. His finger curled on the trigger.

A shot rang out, and the bottle shattered to pieces.

"Whoo! Nice shot, Eddie!" Reagan praised.

Edd blinked at him in surprise. "That… wasn't me."

They stared at each other. Then they look around at the others, finding equally confused faces, until the line of curious looks all turned to face the last person left who turned out to be none other than Sasha; who's still taking shots at the targets and hitting every single one of them with precise motions. She only noticed their staring once she placed the rifle down, and instantly reverted to her shy attitude.

"S-sorry!" She flushed red in embarrassment, shifting her feet from side to side and pushing her glasses back to her eyes. "I used to go on hunting trips with my grandfather when I was little, so wielding a gun doesn't feel all that strange to me."

Reagan nodded, shooting her an impressed and amused look. "Duly noted."

Then the six of them returned to the fireplace and gathered around once more; drinking and telling each other stories about themselves. Oddly enough, Reagan hadn't said a word throughout the whole exchange. He seemed content just watching them interact, and drink his beer of course. Though he often pushed the others to keep on drinking more.

As the night wore on, they drank more and more, and at some point during the conversation the topic shifted from light-hearted and funny stories to sombre melancholic tales about their past.

The others' eyes were filled with sorrow, and their heads and gazes were drooping. Edd became aware of a great tide of grief and loss surging through his companions. His own lost ones came back into his mind, with pain sharper than knives.

Tom . . . and Tord. He might not be dead, but he's lost to me, just as if he were.

"Should we drink away our sorrows? I think we should drink away our sorrows. Who's game?" Reagan spoke up after a moment of silence had fallen over the group.

Before anyone knew, they began spewing their deepest darkest secrets out to each other; unknowingly prompted to do so by their so called mutual friend, who had orchestrated this entire meeting solely for the purpose of turning them vulnerable.

The five fools are pathetically easy to manipulate. Each one of them going through their own issues, but every single one of them fell for his tricks. Benjamin, who lives in an abusive household with a younger brother he would do absolutely anything to protect. Sasha, who's a top grade student but struggling to make ends meet in this economy and help her family, is totally on board for a solution, no matter how radical it may seem. Michael, a man who lived in the shadow of his more successful siblings would die for a chance to stick out and excel someplace else. Rosalyn, who was a bit more difficult to manipulate due to her guarded and distrustful nature, but after a lot of insistence on Reagan's part he managed to get through to her though exterior to find that she cared deeply about someone who's stuck in an abusive relationship and would like to help free them no matter how. And then of course, there's Edd; who's grief over the loss of his friend made him so desperate and eager to stop the pain in his heart he latched on to the first thing that promised him a chance to forget it all.

They're all so distraught, and desperate for a solution to their problems. Reagan is more than happy to deliver it to them. It feels nice to be needed like this. It really does.

(Meanwhile…)

The longer Tord watched, the more confused he felt about Tom's behaviour.

After the inspection, they had chained and escorted an angry and hissing monster through the hallways, trashing the whole way, and freed him into the enclosure Tord had made especially for the serum monster. A huge, spacious room with ledges to climb and stand on, and a pool of water. He'd been trying to get Tom to collaborate with him in the tests, but to no avail.

The test subject has done nothing but snarl, pace, hiss, jump, and growl his way ever since he was freed from the restraints and put in the enclosure. Even when Tord had administered the controlled shock on him, Tom didn't subdue. If anything, it only got him more agitated as he paced around on all fours, tail lashing back and forth behind him.

Tord wasn't sure what this meant – is this a new way of rebellion Tom was playing by acting like an absolute animal?

He watched the asset from the observatory, looking out the window separating him from the monster. His one working eye narrowed into a slit.

"I don't understand." He began thoughtfully. "Tom said he's in control, but now he won't stop behaving like… that." He glared pointedly at the test subject as he scratched his ears with one of his feet, much like a dog would do. "Is it something to do with the new serum? Is this just a temper tantrum he's throwing? Maybe since Tom has avoided turning for so long, his control isn't the same as he believed so? I don't know. What are your thoughts, Patrick?"

"So now you want to hear my input on the matter?" Pat couldn't help but retort, a flash of rage pulsed through him.

"Watch it, Pat." Tord cautioned tightly. "I have a high tolerance for misbehaviour when it comes to either of you, but I won't stand for it any longer if you keep this up."

Patrick ignored him. "You told me I am not allowed to meddle with the experiments, and I intend to follow your orders, sir." He snarled. "I can only tell you what I told you before. Tom is not mentally stable. It's likely that the serum has affected his brain in ways that compromise his sense of reasoning."

Tord glared at him, hands on hips. "Why do you care so much for him?" He couldn't help but ask.

The Polish man stared at him in dismay. "I… relate to him. Empathy just so happens to be a strong trait found in humans, and whether you like it or not, you just so happen to be one yourself." He replied. "You care for him too; you're just too damn stubborn to admit it. But when you realize it for yourself it will be too late to do a damn thing about it."

Tord blinked, shocked to silence.

Patrick glared at him for a heartbeat, then spun around and stormed off. "Now, if you excuse me; I have mountains of paperwork to deal with." The doors slid open just as Paul arrived with a tray of food in his hands. He smiled at the sight of Pat, but the Polish man walked straight past him. Paul's smile fell and his gaze landed on his leader.

"What happened? Did you guys argue again?" In hindsight, leaving those two together by themselves when they're in bad terms wasn't such a good idea.

Tord shook his head crossly. "Never mind that." He didn't understand what Patrick was trying to get at with that statement. Feelings are worthless, and his silly little compassion for Tom just proves it. "Did you bring test subject #1826's meal?"

Paul sighed, pulling the metal lid off to reveal a bloody juice steak. "Red meat… just like you demanded it, sir."

"Excellent!"

He took the tray from his Commander and walked over to the control panel and turned on the mic into the enclosure. "I hope you're hungry, Thomas – your meal is here!"

The monster's ears pricked and he let out a feral growl.

Tord paced over to the dispenser and placed the tray of food inside. He's not insane enough to go into the enclosure himself! When he was done delivering the asset's meal, he dusted his hands and turned around only to halt at the sight of Paul scribbling on a blackboard.

"Paul… what. Is. That?"

The blackboard held a drawing of a score table between "cat vs dog" and a question above saying: "what is the monster?" Paul smiled sheepishly.

"Well, I just thought that, maybe, for research and all we should test whether Tom is more cat or dog like in this form." The Commander explained, wincing with every word as if only now he realized how silly this idea is. "You know… for science?"

Tord frowned and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Where to even begin?

"First of all…" The Norsk began after recomposing his patience. "We are not going to see what animal attributes Tom has in this form, because that would not only a gigantic waste of time but also incredibly ridiculous. Secondly, the world isn't exclusively divided between cats and dogs. Thirdly, get that blackboard out of my sight right now or so help me god."

Paul hurriedly complied with his request, wheeling the blackboard out of the room with a disappointed sigh. With a shake of his head, Tord turned back to observatory window; just in time to see the monster sniff the delivered meal cautiously. Tord frowned. What is it this time? Tom suddenly lashed out at the tray and swiped it aside with one massive paw, the contents slamming against the far wall and scattering everywhere.

Tord bristled. He pressed the button on his robotic arm and delivered a controlled shock on the test subject. The monster screeched, writhing on the floor until the jolts subsided and he began to roll around as if to lessen the pain he just received.

"How dare you?" Tord roared, absolutely livid. Tom rejecting his food – again – wasn't that surprising; but toppled with Patrick's insubordination and Paul's misplaced excitement; it became a tipping point in his temper. "Hate it to break to you, Thomas – but you've already turned! Can you stop this pointless resistance against eating meat already?"

Tom growled his way, his hair fluffed up.

"You know, I considered for a long time whether to change back your diet to chicken and fish only since you did comply with my request for shifting." Tord went on. "But, you have also been an incredible pain in my ass by resisting constantly and those dirty little tricks you played on me doesn't help matters. So red meat only it is!"

Hissing and snarling, the monster scored the steel floor with his claws repeatedly, creating an agonizingly loud high-pitched screeching sound that grated on Tord's ears. The Norsk glared down at the asset. "Will you knock it off, already?!" He snapped.

The creature dropped to a crouch, muscles tensing in his legs, glaring straight at him on the other side of the glass. He suddenly charged at Tord, pelting across the enclosure to ram against the glass head on. Tord stepped back, wide eyed with alarm. Thankfully the glass was heavily fortified, so no dents or cracks were made by the impact. But that didn't stop the monster from continuously claw and snap at the glass, trying to get at him.

"Awn, bless your little bromeliaceous brain – I'm not in the same room as you!" Tord jeered as he drew closer. "Did the serum make you grow dumber by any chance?"

He watched in awe as Tom reared back on his legs and slowly rose to his full height, easily towering over him in his form with his teeth still bared in a snarl. Tord craned his neck back to look up and forced himself not to be intimidated by the big change of height between them. He was so used to being an inch or two taller than Tom, but to suddenly be turned into the definitely short one was alarming.

"Tom," Tord regarded the monstrous figure standing before him steadily, "I know we have our fair share of stand-offs, but we usually know when to quit and start taking things seriously." Tom's ears twitched. "You lost, Thomas. You transformed – get over it! I would greatly appreciate if you could stop this unruly behaviour and cooperate with me from now on."

A deep growl rumbled from the monster, his tail whipping to and fro. With one last contemptuous hiss, he turned and dashed away; leaping to one of the ledges with one powerful jump and settled himself at the top, still glowering down at Tord even from afar.

Anger flared in his eye. "You know what? Fine! Be that way." Tord shouts, unable to take the stress of arguing with Pat, Paul, and then deal with Tom's sh#t all in the same day within the spam of a few hours. His earlier excitement was gone and replaced with frustration. Things just weren't following through as they should. "Be as difficult as you want – see if I care! Just hope you don't regret it later, Thomas."

Tom yawned, showing a mouthful of spiky teeth and his tail curled. Tord observed him. His expectations for the monster project seem so far from reality now. He hopes all these issues piling up against him don't put a damper on the experiments...

(Meanwhile…)

Inside Edd's apartment, Matt poured cat food into Ringo's bowl and petted the gray tabby as she started eating in quick famished gulps. It worried him how skinny Ringo has gotten, and he dreaded the possibility that Edd might have started neglecting her, albeit unintentionally, in favour of Reagan. Edd didn't even instruct him to take care of her while he was gone.

A knock sounded on the door. "Matt? Are you in there?"

Matt perked up at the sound of Mark's voice. He breathed out a sigh, wondering what his blond counterpart wants now. He doesn't feel up for a makeover session tonight; being too distressed with his predicament with Edd.

He opened the door to greet him, his gaze downcast. "Oh, hi Mark. You need something?"

Mark eyed him from head to toe, taking in his worn out appearance. "Are you… doing okay?" He prompted worriedly.

"Not really, actually." Matt shook his head, unable to go into further details without heading into a three hour rant about his problems. Mark wouldn't want to listen to him whine about his life, anyway. "But anyway, what can I do for you?"

"Eduardo wants to have a word with you."

His words caused Matt to freeze in shock, and his blood to turn ice cold in his veins. Eduardo wants to talk… to me? Apprehension flickered inside of him at the thought. Whatever for? Even though the burly brunet did somewhat comfort him after his last encounter with Reagan, the man still unnerved him greatly. He seemed especially upset after he asked him for help, and Matt felt foolish for even trying.

As if reading his mind, Mark continued with a more reassuring tone. "Don't worry. It's nothing bad, I promise." He turned away, gesturing for the ginger Brit to follow him. "He… well, he only wants to discuss a few things with you. You know; about your little problem."

Understanding dawned on Matt, and he obediently followed suit. Nervousness still pricked at the hairs on the back of his neck with each step, wondering what exactly Eduardo wants to talk to him about. Maybe he wants to drive home how stupid my idea was. He thought gloomily.

He tried to stop his legs from trembling as they drew to a stop by the door to Eduardo's apartment, loud crashing sounds and heavy rustling could be heard coming from inside along with muffled curses. Matt raised an eyebrow but wisely did not comment on it. Mark rolled his eyes and knocked on the door.

"He's here."

The noises inside ceased, as if that were confirmation to proceed.

Mark faced Matt again with a nod of his head. "You go right on in. It's okay."

Matt's eyes stretched wide with apprehension. "You mean, you're not coming in with me?" He exclaimed. "I'm talking to him by myself?!"

"You're gonna do just fine in there. This discussion is between the two of you only." Mark told him, clasping the ginger's shoulder in a comforting manner. "Don't be scared. Remember what I told you about Eduardo?"

Matt furrowed his eyebrows, thinking hard. "That… he can look intimidating," he recalled, "but deep down he's a softie?"

The blond nodded in approval. "I'll be back in my place, if either of you need me." And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Matt on his own in front of Eduardo's doorstep.

Gulping, Matt lifted his chin and reached for the doorknob as bravely as he could. If he can survive an encounter with Reagan, then Eduardo should be a walk in the park! But the idea of meeting the burly brunet by himself still stirred conflicted feelings within him. When he first proposed his wild idea the previous day, at least Mark had been there to quell the other's temper if things got out of hand.

Now, he's on his own.

Please don't punch me. Please don't punch me!

He opened the door, peeking inside wearily. "Hello?" He called out, feeling as if he were stepping into the lion's den. No answer. "Eduardo? Are you there?" He slipped inside, his gaze flicking all over the dim place. With a pang in his heart, Matt remembered who this place used to belong to. He could hardly recognize it now. The blinds were shut, and papers scattered everywhere, and in the far corner of the living room was a board of sorts covered up by a sheet.

But no sign of Eduardo anywhere.

Matt squinted his eyes, stepping closer. What was behind the sheet? Walking farther into the apartment he reached out his hand, ready to grasp the sheet and pull it back.

"Don't."

Instantly flinching back, Matt whipped around in alarm and met with Eduardo's stern stare boring down on him. "E-Ed-Eduardo! I'm so sorry - I didn't mean to-" He started apologizing profusely, breaking to sweat.

"It's fine." Eduardo cut him off coolly. "No harm done." His gaze flitted over the covered board next to them and sighed. "It's just… it's something from my work, you know?"

Matt rubbed his own shoulder uneasily. "Right, yeah…" He trailed off.

"How's your eye doing?"

The question took Matt by surprise. He touched his healing eye subconsciously. "Fine! It's- it's doing fine, actually."

Eduardo nodded, shifting his feet in discomfort and cleared his throat. "Anyways, let's get on with this." He sighed, and gestured for the man opposite of him to take a seat on the couch. Matt scampered over to comply as quickly as possible, and sat down with both hands on his knees as he waited for Eduardo to begin.

The broad-shouldered man paced in front of him. "I, uh, thought about what you told us of Edd and, well, I decided to follow your suggestion."

"You did?" Matt sat on the edge of his seat.

Eduardo nodded. "I observed them from my balcony, and yeah, I agree with you that something is not quite right about this."

"You do?!" Matt's heart soared with hope.

"However," Eduardo continued, his voice hardened. "With that said, I cannot intervene in this situation without any legitimate proof. If Edd is to stop meeting with that guy, then I'm gonna need to have some dirt to convince him."

Matt tipped his head, seeming confused. "Okay… but I'm not sure what do I have to do with this?"

"It means, that in order for me to snoop around where I shouldn't without getting into trouble about it, I'm gonna need you to formally hire me."

His words took Matt by surprise. He blinked, wide eyed. "Hire you?" He echoed, staring at the man before him with a mixture of wonder and bewilderment. "I don't understand… what exactly is your work, anyway? You always seem so busy whenever you mention it."

Eduardo sighed, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin to adapt a more "professional" outlook. "I'm a private investigator. A detective, of sorts…"

Hearing this, Matt gasped and looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time; awe glowing in his eyes. "You mean you're like… Sherlock Holmes?" He whispered, barely containing his excitement at this revelation.

Eduardo frowned. "Yeah, just like Sherlock Holmes." His voice rumbled so deeply it sounded more like a growl.

Matt gasped, his hands flying to the sides of his face in amazement. "Oh my gosh! Have you ever defeated any bad guys? Oh oh! What sort of crimes have you solved? How do you know when you found a clue in a crime scene? Oh, do you have a pipe like detectives usually do-"

He broke off as Eduardo clamped his mouth shut with one hand. The brunet stared him down.

"Focus. We're not here to talk about what I do for a living, I need you to focus and give me something to work with here. Besides, none of the things you just asked apply to what I do. My work tends to be a lot more subtle than that." Eduardo sat down across from him once he was sure the chatty ginger wasn't going to go off in another excited bout of questions. "Now, I want you to start from the beginning and tell me everything there is to know about this Reagan douche. Anything you can remember. It is vital for the investigation."

"Hang on, so you're saying that our plan to stop Edd from meeting with Reagan… is to what exactly?" Matt prompted, trying to keep up with everything that's happened once his excitement dwindled. This was a lot for him to take all in at once.

Eduardo face palmed. "The plan is for you to hire me to investigate Reagan, so I may find something to present Edd when I try and talk him out of it. I can't dig around into people's private lives without a justifiable reason, so opening an official case on Reagan is the only way to go about this. And if I go up to Edd empty handed he won't take me seriously, I know it." He explained as calmly as he could, holding in his temper from bursting. "He won't like that I'm involved in this; however, if he sees that we have gathered evidence against Reagan, showing that he is indeed dangerous, this should be proof enough to steer him away for good."

"But what if you can't find it?" Matt questioned, concern crossing over his features. "What if all of this really is based off a hunch we had and Reagan is completely normal?"

I doubt it. Eduardo narrowed his eyes. Given the way he saw the Irishman interact with the loser was any indication, he knew there had to be something more going on in this situation. Still, he answered as professionally as he could. "Worst case scenario, we find nothing on the guy and we were wrong – but at least we can be reassured he is not someone to worry about. But c'mon, do you believe that for even a second?" He prompted, one eyebrow raised. Matt shook his head after a moment's hesitation. "I thought so." Eduardo crossed his legs and sat back. "Now, tell me everything you know about this fellow – anything you can remember. Even the smallest details can be important."

"Okay!"

Unprompted, Matt began to fumble around with the inner pockets of his overcoat. Eduardo stared at him in confusion.

"Wha- what are you doing?"

Matt glanced back at him questioningly, holding out a piggy bank from his pocket. "I- I just thought that… since I'm hiring you and all, shouldn't I have to pay you for it?"

Understanding dawned on Eduardo, who immediately shook his head profusely, palms out. "Oh no no, you don't have to. I mean, we're only doing this for formality sake – I'm the one offering to go through with this for you." He placed his hand on the piggy bank and pushed it back to Matt's chest. "Seriously doofus, I can't accept this. Keep it."

Blinking, Matt gazed at him in awe. "Thank you, but... why do you suddenly want to help me? What changed your mind?"

Eduardo stared back at him; taking in the ginger's wide blue eyes piercing right into his soul with an innocent and hopeful gaze, and an image of Jon briefly flashed through his brain for a split second. He sighed and shrugged. "I just… thought better of it. It's nothing, really-"

He cut off abruptly as arms wrapped tightly around his torso, squeezing the life out of him. His eyes stretched so wide they might as well be bulging out of his skull.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Eduardo!"

Eduardo awkwardly patted Matt on the head. "Yes yes, this doesn't mean I want you hugging me – now knock it off!"

A loud throat clearing had his head snap up, and he locked eyes with none other than Mark; who entered the apartment with a tray of tea in his hands and a wide smug grin on his face as he looked upon the scene.

"I brought you guys tea."

Eduardo glared at him. "One word out of you about this and I will knock your teeth out!" He mouthed back to him over Matt's shoulder, who still hasn't let go of him.

Chapter Text

It all happened so fast, it's hard to tell exactly where everything went from bad to worse.

Edd hurtled himself at the nearest thug and swung his fist square into the man's face, toppling him to the ground. He was left standing there amidst the chaos, panting as fatigue began to creep on him. He swiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, hair dishevelled, observing the on-going commotion all around him.

As their camping trip neared to an end, Reagan had the brilliant idea of finishing the expedition off with a series of minor escapades. The group of five were sceptical at first, but eventually relented. Adventures are always fun, after all.

"Just because it's a bad idea doesn't mean it's not going to be a hell of a lot of fun." The Irishman had told them, eager to break some more rules before his time in this town came to an end.

It was all fun and games at first – the six of them goofed around, hopping to different places, partying and laughing in areas where they shouldn't be and were free to do whatever they wanted. However, somehow trouble always seems to find them and most of their small adventures end in the exact same way. With a skirmish for their lives.

He tipped his head to one side as he thought he heard a whisper behind him. "Edd—now!" His head whipped around. Had he really heard Tom? There was no spiky haired shape in the shadows, no eyeless husks staring at him, but the call to battle was compelling.

Just in front of him, a large tall thug had Benjamin pinned to the ground while he kicked the young man mercilessly.

These thugs… any one of them could be behind Tom's demise… he won't let them hurt any more people. What if Matt were next? He can never let that happen!

Seething with fury, Edd leaped on top of the thug with all his strength. Grunting in shock, the thug reared up in an attempt to throw him off. Benjamin staggered to his feet while the thug was distracted and vanished into the clamour. The thug lost his balance and Edd succeeded in pulling the mugger down on top of him and he punched and kicked at the thug's stomach ruthlessly. In retaliation, the mugger lashed out a punch on the side of his face and managed to stagger away. Blinded by pain, Edd let him go.

For a heartbeat he stood panting, looking for his next opponent. No sign of Reagan anywhere. He whipped around to confront a lithe man charging at him. Edd just had time to dodge to one side, and stick his leg out as the thug slipped past him, successfully tripping the man over.

Elsewhere, at the centre of the frenzy, a massive slim man pinned Reagan to the ground and drew up his head triumphantly. His skin a russet, reddish-brown, and greasy bleached hair. "Foley?" He growled incredulously. "How dare you show your face back here? You should be dead!"

Reagan snickered. "Should I? You guys didn't make a very good job of it, clearly." His green eyes glared up full of hatred. "I told yah karma's gonna come collect your debt."

Fast as lightning, he twisted and threw the thug off with hard shove. He swiftly drew out a blade from the inner pocket of his coat and lashed deep into the man's throat. Blood gushed from the wound, pulsing onto the floor. The thug stared in astonishment and lifted one hand to his neck. Legs buckling, he collapsed.

Reagan grinned at him maliciously and held his arms out on either side of him. "Here I am." He spat back, watching the thug convulse and die before him, unflinching.

The desperate cry for help from one of his targets rose above the clamour, bringing him out of his gleeful daze. Reagan rolled his eyes. While it was smart of him to go after his old gang with backup – because even he is not suicidal enough to go up against an entire criminal organization by himself – it didn't help that most of these idiots were too skittish to fight to save their own hides. Too righteous to shed blood. Still, he can't allow one of them to die on him now. Hopefully they will lose these qualities once they're properly settled into the Red Army.

Tucking his blade away, Reagan returned to the fight. He found a wiry thug pinning Sasha up against the wall by her throat. The poor girl trashed around in distress, feebly beating at the man to let her go but to no avail.

Reagan started forward and tackled the thug that had threatened Sasha away from her. Unable to use his secret weapon in plain view, he resorted to punching the man's face repeatedly before finishing off with a harsh slam against the ground; knocking the thug unconscious. He looted the man for weapons. "Here," he said, handing Sasha the thug's pistol. "You're the best shot of all of us."

She reared back in surprise, wide eyed and hesitant to take the gun. "M-me? B-but-but I don't- I never- I mean, I don't want to kill anybody!"

"Then you can either incapacitate or disarm. Your choice!" He ordered her, gesturing to the mess around them to prove his point, then jumping back into the chaos.

Edd ducked under a counter to take a breather from the commotion. Michael and Rosalyn on either side of him, panting and dishevelled from the fight. Rosalyn has a small gash bleeding on her shoulder while Michael has some purple bruises coating his face. Edd looked worse for wear as well, and he could feel his ribs cramping with pain with every movement. But the adrenaline kept most of it off, and he almost wanted to get back in there to let out all his frustrations on the fight. He knew though that the wisest thing would be to spare himself from further damage; lest he wants more nagging questions from Matt when he gets back home.

He doesn't want to give his friend any more ideas about Reagan.

"You're holding back."

The trio glanced up just in time to see Reagan tower over them, his green eyes narrowed to slits which did not match at all with the huge smirk on his face.

"Dude, are we seeing the same mess out here?" Michael glared balefully at the Irishman. "We need to get the f#ck out of here, right now. There's too many of them for us to fight our way out."

"Don't bail on me now. You signed up for this." Reagan murmured disinterestedly, striking another thug to the ground.

Michael bristled. "I never signed up for this! – None of us did! All we signed up for was a good time!"

Edd watched the on-going argument apprehensively. He wondered how Reagan was fairing in these last few incidents with the thugs. He had no idea if any of them belong to the same gang Reagan used to be in, but knowing the Irishman's past history with these sorts of criminals Edd wouldn't be surprised if he were taking out his frustrations on this mess, too. Strange how everywhere they go they seem to bump into these thugs.

"Do you ever stop and consider that you're an awful person?" Rosalyn glared daggers at the Irishman.

Reagan's lips pursed, as if he were genuinely thinking about it. "Not usually, no. If it ever happens I ignore it and the feeling goes away." He shrugged slyly.

"We can't stay here and keep fighting these impossible odds! These guys are armed for sure. If we stay here, we're definitely screwed!" Michael urged. "We need to get out of here, right f#cking now!"

Reagan scowled. He was suddenly more aware of the weight in his pocket, and his fingers itched for the hidden blade but contained himself at the last minute. He can't expect them to keep fighting when they're frightened and wounded, lest he wants to lose any chance of convincing him to join him. He was put in a position where he has to choose between revenge or ambition.

Begrudgingly, Reagan made his choice. "Fine. We'll leave." He agreed thickly, straining to conceal the rage out of his voice. "I'll go grab our ride. But I'm gonna need you guys to keep this lot distracted whilst I'm gone. Is that manageable?"

"I can do that, but it will cost you an arm and a leg." Michael told him bluntly.

"Does it have to be my own arm and leg?" Reagan grinned, his eyes lighting up with a malicious intent.

"Just hurry up and go, already!" Rosalyn snapped.

Together, Edd and the others jumped back into the fight and took on the thugs closest to them. Swinging punches left and right, and narrowly avoiding blows. Reagan bounded away. He hesitated at the doorway and glanced back at the chaotic scene behind him. His face was grim, his eyes furious slits. Then he turned away and left.

Edd whipped around as a thug swung a punch at him. The blow struck him hard on his left cheek and sent him stumbling backward, pain blooming in his face. As he thumped onto his back, he felt a hand press down on his throat. He met the thug's vicious stare as he pressed harder. I can't breathe! He felt his head throbbing as the thug choked him.

A figure flashed in his mind. Matt! The thought of him hit Edd like a lightning bolt. He's safe and sound back at home, none the wiser to where he is or what's happened, just anxiously waiting for his return. He can't die here and leave him to wait with no idea of his fate! He won't make him go through that again!

Fighting panic, Edd mustered all his strength to tuck in his legs and then shove them hard against the thug's belly, flinging the man away from him long enough for him to jump to his feet. Rage turned into energy as the thug charged at him again. A loud gunshot echoed loudly in everyone's ears. Edd and the others went rigid with apprehension, wondering which one of them was going to fall to the ground dead. However, the thug that had been advancing on Edd toppled over instead; clutching his right knee in agony.

Looking around wildly, Edd was relieved to find out that Sasha was the one who pulled the trigger. The blond girl proceeded to aim and shoot at a couple more thugs that were locked in combat with the rest of their friends, giving them the chance to back away.

A car honking right outside the warehouse got everyone's attention, signalling Reagan's return and the call to retreat.

They wasted no time. At once they pulled and struggled away from their opponents, hurrying toward the van. They hopped into the vehicle and it tore off without further delay. Once they were safe and well enough away from the conflict, the five breathed out relieved sighs. The adrenaline in their bodies subsiding.

The car suddenly veered sharply to the right, and they all violently lurched forward.

"Reagan... you do know how to drive this thing, right?" Edd asked cautiously, quickly strapping in his seatbelt.

"Well normally, I'd lie and say yes, but considering the fact that I almost flew us into that building, I'm going to assume you know the answer to that by now."

"Oh h#ll no, I did not just escape a fight with some gang members only to die in a car accident!" Rosalyn pushed Reagan aside and took over the wheel.

"We're all fine, by the way." Michael snorted with a pointed glare at the Irishman. "Some of us better than others." He fixed his gaze on Benjamin, who doubled over in his seat with pain. Sasha's seated beside him, trying to help him in whatever way she can.

The young man shook his head profusely. "It's fine! – really, I've been through a lot worse than this- ow!"

"That's no excuse for letting yourself get hurt!" Sasha admonished.

Reagan's gaze swept over each and every one of them. "See? You guys are fine! Minor injuries aside, we could've easily bested those bastards back there." He then paused with a pensive gesture. "Weird how we keep bumping into trouble, though."

"Yeah… how odd, indeed." Michael turned to fix his gaze on the blond, his narrowed eyes cold and steady.

Alarm swept through Edd at the accusing tone in the man's voice. Does he think Reagan meant for us to clash with the thugs?

But Reagan didn't appear to have noticed, or if he did he blatantly ignored it. "You know, if you guys keep running from every fight how are any of you supposed to stand up for yourselves?" He argued. Benjamin and Sasha hung their heads in shame. "Are you just gonna bend over backwards whenever a tough looking guy stands in your way? No wonder you guys can't get a break in life. You won't get anywhere like this."

"There was no way we could've won that fight!" Michael growled back at him. "They had us outnumbered. Benjamin and Rosalyn are injured. We'd all be dead by now if we hadn't left when we did."

"Easy, buddy!" Reagan innocently cautioned with a polite gesture of his hands. "I'm not trying to pin blame on anyone or anything. I'm sure you had your reasons to retreat, and I'll respect them."

Far from soothing Michael, Reagan's words had quite the opposite effect. "Are you insinuating that I'm a coward, by any chance?" He spat.

Reagan tutted in the face of the other man's fury. "No, of course not. Whatever makes you think that?"

"Enough!" Edd interrupted, desperate to quell tensions from spiralling out of control. Once he got everyone's attention, he continued, "we're all tired and distressed by what happened tonight, but it's over now. Let's just head back to camp and settle down, alright? No more fighting."

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances and eventually nodded in mutual agreement. Michael turned away from Reagan with a disdainful sniff, and the Irishman squeezed in beside Edd and slumped back in his seat. Edd shifted in his seat awkwardly.

"Hey, so... you doing alright?" He asked under his breath as casually as he could, mindful of the other people seated so close to them. "Are you hurt anywhere? I mean, I know it must be really tough facing those thugs back there given your history and everything-"

"Stop."

"I just meant that-"

"No, I know what you meant. You know, seriously, I'm over it. I just wanted us to have a really good time, you know? Forget about it, Eddie." Reagan turned away to look out the window.

Reagan isn't the sort of guy who is particularly open with his feelings, but Edd respects that. Even if it is to keep the Irishman close as opposed to accidentally driving him away like he tends to do. The rest of the ride back to camp was silent. Edd stared down at his hands and feet, shooting occasional worried glances at Reagan. He couldn't help noticing the hunger blazing in the Irishman's green eyes as he stared up at the moon.

A shiver of dread ran down his spine. Why does it feel as though Reagan has something in store for them?

(Meanwhile…)

Seventy two hours passed since Tom's transformation into a monster, and there have been no drastic changes in his behaviour since.

Tord diligently took notes about every little aspect of the serum and its effects; observing Tom's behaviour and movements with heavy scrutiny. He hasn't had a wink of sleep since before the experiments began and he isn't about to now – too many things can happen and he needs to be here to witness every little detail! Tom hasn't had any rest either, as he paced back and forth along the enclosure, his tail lashing behind him, and occasionally taking shots of charging at Tord only to slam head first against the glass wall and then retreat to the small space beneath the ledges. He hasn't eaten anything either, which worried Tord greatly. He even made the begrudging decision of returning his diet back to fish and chicken only, however the monstrous test subject promptly rejected as seen by the splattered remains on the far wall.

His behaviour infuriated Tord to no end, as it is per usual of Tom; he supposes. Usually he would have no trouble marching in there and force feeding his meals, but one good look at the sharp teeth and claws the Brit now brandishes and he instantly knew not to set foot in there with him.

He reread everything there is to know about the beast case for any answers, looking through details he might've missed the first few hundred times he read them. Tord lifted his gaze briefly to peer into the enclosure and locked eyes with the asset, still glowering at him from the shadows; the tip of his tail twitching.

Tord narrowed his eye. What's Tom up to now?

He thought all along that he would be able to predict Tom actions and deal with the monster side of him with no trouble whatsoever. But evidently just reading and researching about the damn thing isn't enough to control him. He needs more data to analyse, but to get data Tord has to have Tom's cooperation; however, Tom is set on being as difficult as humanly possible and not comply with any of it. Tord several times tried to get the monster to perform a series of tests to try out his new skills, but all Tom did was snarl and try to attack him. Even after he administered several controlled shocks, the test subject did not comply; though it does momentarily stop Tom from snarling at him like some sort of deranged animal.

His tests were getting nowhere.

Tord went back to scribbling in his notes – writing about the serum, the new formula derived from Tom's blood, the analysis results of the samples he'd collected, the effects observed so far… but nothing yet on why Tom in specific is the key to making it work. Several tests were made on Tom's DNA samples, but nothing stands out of the ordinary.

Why? Why Tom of all people? What is it about him that makes it work?

He was brought out of his thoughts by Tom stalking closer to the glass, growling gutturally, emitting what sounded like a series of clicking sounds as he drew nearer. Tord glared back at him, wearily observing his movements. The asset was standing right before him now, ears flattened against his head. His warm breath condensed on the glass. Without warning, he slammed one massive paw on the glass. Tord flinched. His reaction prompted Tom to violently lunge forward and scrabble frantically against the glass, snapping his jaws and trying to get the man standing on the other side.

This behaviour was seriously grating on Tord's nerves. It's as if Tom was stuck on a loop! That, combined with his lack of rest and constant arguments with his deputies was taking a toll on him. Who would've imagined he would miss Tom's classic annoying tendencies as much as he does now? At least then he could always counter with some witty banter and a show of strength. How is he supposed to keep this mangy beast in line?

He promptly pressed the button on his arm to administer a controlled shock. The monster screeched and rolled away fervently, thrashing around on the floor. He then jumped to his feet, shrieked at Tord and bounded away.

Tord debated whether or not he should conduct another controlled shock when he stilled. A theory popped up in his brain, brought up along with Tom's last spoken words.

You want the monster so badly? Then you can have it…

A terrible, and yet, interesting thought manifested with that. He pressed a button on his robotic arm to turn on the communicator.

"Paul, go upstairs to the research facility and grab me one of the lab rodents used for testing, please. Over."

"Sir? "

"I have a theory I would like to test out on Tom." That was as far as Tord was willing to elaborate. The communicator turned off, leaving Tord to his thoughts.

He kept watching the half-man half-monster pace around in the enclosure until he settled on one of the ledges with one easy leap, dread and excitement surging inside of him at the thought of what this test will result into. His mismatched fingers drummed against one another in a pensive gesture. If it doesn't work, then Tom is still conscious and he can be assured this behaviour is entirely out of stubbornness to submit to Tord's commands. But if this does work…

The door hissed open behind him. Tord glanced back to see Paul walk in with a white and black rabbit in his hands, repeatedly running his hands through its soft fur. The Red Army keeps an assortment of small animals in the base to test out new inventions on them. Tord frowned and took the rabbit from him.

"I don't understand why you want it. What are you going to do with it?" Paul asked, worry shone in his gaze.

"I want to see if Tom would like a bit more kick to his meal."

Tord dropped the rabbit into the dispenser unceremoniously, and watched as it hopped into the enclosure in quick bursts.

The monster noticed the new presence immediately. He stilled, tail raised and ears angled forward as he fixed his eyeless gaze on the rabbit. Tord watched his movements with bated breath. Surprisingly, he found himself silently urging Tom to not do anything – to merely ignore the rabbit's presence and continue throwing what Tord hoped is just a temper tantrum and nothing more. As much as he would like to see his monster in action, he didn't want to deal with the implications of what this could mean otherwise.

The rabbit strayed closer to the foot of the ledges. Crouching low, the monster stepped paw by paw as he slowly climbed down. Ears flat and teeth bared, the asset sprang with outstretched claws and landed squarely on the rabbit. Its cry abruptly cut off by a sickening crack as the monster sank his teeth into its spine and flailed it around, blood splattering the floor and walls.

Tord watched the disturbing display wide eyed. The monster lifted his chin and stared straight at him. The rabbit hung limp from his jaws. Grabbing its lower half with one claw, the monster wrenched his head to one side and proceeded to rip the rabbit clean in half, spilling its entrails, and gobbled down its head first. Tord felt a shiver ripple down his spine at the insinuation he got behind that gesture, as the monster refused to break eye contact with him.

This is what I'll do when I get my claws on you.

Beside him, he heard Paul gag in horror. "Oh God! He gutted the poor thing."

They continued watching the monster finish his gruesome meal. Once every bit of the rabbit was gone, the monster swiped his tongue over his blood-stained claws to clean himself; his face and clothes dripping scarlet. The fact that the beast still looks every bit like Tom was what gets to Tord the most about this disturbing scene.

This goes to prove one thing: Tom is not in control, and judging by the horrid actions the monster committed in the past, he might have never been in control at all. Why lie then? Tord wondered. Why assume responsibility for something as grizzly as murder when you had no control over it? The more he discovers about Tom and his monster form, the more questions he gets, it seems. Just how many secrets is Tom keeping?

(Meanwhile…)

The sun was rising in the violet sky as the moon sank below the horizon. A cold breeze ruffled Edd's hair as he stepped outside the cabin, carrying his bags. After their disastrous misadventure the group returned to camp Littlepine about three hours ago, and everyone went their separate ways to pack away their stuff and leave in the morning.

He saw the others gathered around the dimming campfire. Their heads were bent very close together and conversing quietly with each other. Curious, Edd walked over to join them. Soon Edd was near enough to hear them speak.

"Think about it; we only go wherever Reagan wants us to go, and everywhere we go we bump into trouble! If that ain't shady as f#ck…" growled Michael.

Edd's eyes widened with shock. It sounds like they're discussing their suspicions about Reagan!

"But why would he want us to get into trouble?" Sasha asked. "Sure he is… you know. But even so, what kind of person would want that?"

Suspicion rose along with the hairs on the back of Edd's neck. Could Reagan be purposefully leading them to the thugs? It's a silly thought, Edd knew, but the idea that they were being sheppard around for some hidden agenda made goose bumps crawl up his skin. Reagan isn't that sort of guy. He likes to break rules and do radical things, but he wouldn't intentionally lead them into danger just to maybe get revenge on his former group.

Edd sincerely hopes he's right.

"Because he is not right in the head!" Came Rosalyn's menacing answer. "The moment we met I knew he was bad news, but this whole ordeal just cements it. Always talking about making something "more" out of your life, and "seize opportunities" or something or other. Just what is he after?"

Benjamin's voice sounded now, high-pitched with suspicion. "And the way he just instantly knows about things. How does he do that?"

"I say we confront him and get some answers now!" Michael suggested.

Edd had heard enough. His mind racing he finally reached them, prompting everyone to lift their heads and turn to look at him. "You guys don't seriously believe Reagan is doing everything on purpose, do you?" His gaze swept over each one of them. "I know he can be eccentric-"

"Eccentric?!" Rosalyn cut him off with a snort. "Eccentric doesn't even begin to cut it! We're talking about a guy whose idea of fun is to hop in lava and see who lasts the longest."

Edd shrugged. "Fair enough. Reagan has his fair share of problematic tendencies, I'm not gonna lie. But he only wanted to have a fun time with us before he goes away for good." He argued. "I'm sure he hadn't meant for us to bump into trouble. It was all just a big bout of bad luck on our part."

"A pretty convenient bout of bad luck, I'd say." Michael muttered darkly, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. "For real now, Edd, do you honest to God believe in any of that? Tell me none of this seem the least bit shady to you."

Edd felt an icy ripple along his spine. He has his own doubts about Reagan, and whether or not he truly meant to go after the thugs on purpose. But then he reminds himself of all the good times he had with the Irishman, and the trust he placed on him by shedding light in his backstory. Surely if Reagan meant to lead them to trouble all along he wouldn't have told him about his past? Besides, he has done so much for him in these last couple of months when dealing with the changes going on around him. To back him up now is the least he can do for Reagan.

Edd shifted his feet awkwardly. "I trust Reagan, and I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He's done so much for us… surely you guys feel the same way, too?"

"Well said, Eddie. But you guys are right to be suspicious."

Everyone whipped around in surprise at the sound of the new voice among them. Out from the shadows, Reagan stepped out to reveal himself; wearing an unusual attire consisting of a cobalt blue overcoat and a red sweater underneath. Edd and the others shared confused glances and stared at the Irishman with both curiosity and apprehension. An uneasy silence fell over them.

"So there is more to this story!" Michael took a pace forward. He spoke slowly, as if he was thinking about every word. "Tell us; did you mean for us to clash-"

"Ah ah ah!" Reagan tutted condescendingly, cutting him off. "All will be explained. If you allow me to speak first, of course."

Michael scowled, but kept his mouth shut. Reagan padded noiselessly up to stand in front of them so that everyone could see him. His long coat drifting behind him as he walked. He surveyed them for a few moments, his green eyes burning. Then he took a deep breath and began. "My friends, you are all aware that my stay in this town is purely for business purposes; and while I thank every single one of you for your warm hospitality during my brief visit, I came to realize the awful plight each of you go through in your lives! And in return for your kindness and companionship, I have come to extend you all… an offer."

Edd thought that his heart had stopped beating from so much anticipation. A thick silence hung in the air, as though everyone had been turned to ice.

Then Rosalyn called out. "You're kidding, right? You nearly got us killed at every given chance, and now you suddenly come to us with some random deal?"

Reagan blinked. "You will want to hear this, as it is in everyone's best interests. This offer, however, is exclusively to the five of you alone, and must never be mentioned to outside parties." He drawled, and then continued as if he'd never been interrupted in the first place. "I work for a secret organization known as the Red Army, that'll soon rise to absolute worldwide power. Our main objective is to take over the world, but also to offer a second chance to those who've been doomed by society's unjust system and life's cruel jests. People who are suffering and are in need of a little help, like you lot."

The five, still silent, listened anxiously.

"I have observed each and every one of you, and you all fit our criteria! The Red Army offers you the chance of a brand new life, to start over; where in return for your hard work and services you can get new living arrangements and get paid handsomely well, too!" He caught a gleam of interest in Sasha's eyes when he mentioned payment, and felt a surge of satisfaction. "The Red Army offers you any help you need. Why should you continue to struggle in your predicament that's hardly your fault to begin with? You played by life's rules, and yet you still get f#cked over time and time again. In the Red Army you won't be helpless anymore." Now Rosalyn was starting to look interested in his words as well, though she remained with a neutral expression on her face. "Thousands of opportunities will open up to you if you simply join us."

"That doesn't answer my question." Michael growled. "Did you or did you not mean for us to fight those thugs?"

Reagan stared him down and lifted his chin. "Of course not. What do you take me for? I wanted to test your potential, not put you in any actual danger." His expression was unreadable as he bowed his head. "You will be expected to fight for the army with your life if necessary. I am merely demonstrating to you lot that; although the rewards are great, you'll still be required to lay down your life for the organization that took you in and helped you. The last thing I want to do is give you guys false hope. You'll get everything you can ever dream of… but at a price."

Benjamin gulped. "This is… a lot to take in."

"You'll get extensive training, of course, but if this is too high a price I will completely understand." Reagan went on. "If you prefer to continue with your mundane little lives, I won't judge. Hey, at least you'll be safe; am I right? I'm sure you can sort yourselves out on your own."

Uneasy murmurs rippled through them as they glanced at one another. Edd felt sick to his stomach.

"Is this army very big?" Benjamin asked quietly, his eyes wide.

Reagan scoffed. "Plenty big!" He replied. "We're talking about global domination here! To take the world away from the grimy hands of a generation that refuses to go away and constantly screw us up every given chance."

"You know this whole thing is crazy, right?" Michael blurted out. "Secret army… world domination – this is actually insane!"

"Understand that I do not make this offer lightly. I'm taking a huge risk right now just telling you about the organization." Warned Reagan. "When it comes to joining us, you have two choices. You can either fully integrate yourself and become one of us, leaving all aspects of your previous life behind. Or you can live a double life – reporting for duty whenever your Army needs you, and still keep your ordinary life on the surface."

A cool breeze stirred the surrounding trees, ruffling Edd's hair. He shivered, not with cold, but with excitement at the incredible possibilities opening up in front of him.

"I do not ask for you answer now." Reagan murmured coolly. "You must each go away and consider my words. I'll give you lot three days-"

"I'll join!"

Shocked gasps greeted Benjamin's words as he jumped to his feet. Everyone stared at him, huge eyed. He's the youngest in their group. Reagan looked at him for a long moment and nodded with approval, barely holding back a grin from stretching across his face.

"Whoa, are you really sure you want to do this, man?" Michael asked, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Like, really sure?"

"Think carefully about this, Ben." Rosalyn cautioned beside him, her eyes narrowed to slits. "This is an army we're talking about. It's pretty intense business." She shot Edd a glance, as if inviting him to speak next and agree with her on the matter.

Edd shifted. "Yeah, the army is a really though place." He conceded quietly. "There's a lot of hard work you have to do and little time for rest, and it's not something you can easily quit either."

Benjamin made a noise that sounded half chuckle, half snort. "My parents would send me to the army one day to toughen me up, anyway. They said this way I'd end up as brave as a real soldier or else dead, and either of those would be an improvement." He paused, his tone softening. "You guys barely know half the things I go through every day with them. I'm tired of being afraid all the time!"

A wave of sympathy washed over all but Reagan. They know only a few details of the young man's harsh home life, so they can understand why he would be so desperate to get away he would instantly consider joining a super-secret army.

Sasha grabbed a hold on Benjamin's arm. "But what about your brother? Would you really leave him behind on his own?"

For a split second Benjamin looked hesitant, and then he whipped his head to face Reagan. "Can my brother join this Red Army, too?"

Reagan sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Sorry mate, but the organization has a strict policy of no underage members. But-" he paused for dramatic effect. "I can give my boss a good word in for you, and we can work something out."

Benjamin dipped his head. "Do it then. I'll join the Red Army. But only if my brother gets to go, too!" He said, his voice heavy with resignation.

Reagan grinned. "Then it shall be done."

Looking around, Edd noticed people were suddenly not as weary as they were prior Benjamin's eager response. Michael, who'd been perhaps the most vocal on his suspicions of Reagan, now gained a gleam of interest in his eyes as if he were genuinely considering the offer now. Rosalyn stared at the ground, her expression unreadable. And Sasha fidgeted from side to side anxiously, as if she were holding back the urge to give out her answer immediately, too, to instead think about this entire situation rationally. Meanwhile, Edd had no idea how to feel.

Reagan spoke again, his voice sounding arrogant and strong after Benjamin's answer. His gaze swept over the remaining four, green eyes glittering. "The rest of you have three days to make your decision. Give me your answer then. Choose me or lose me. I'm not a backup plan and I'm definitely not a second choice."

Everyone nodded in understanding. An uneasy mood settled over them as Reagan concluded his offer with a bow. They started to gather their belongings, whispering urgently to one another. Edd found himself drifting away from the group, his mind reeling.

"Eddie!"

He glanced over his shoulder, and watched the Irishman approach him. "You aiight? You're pretty quiet." Reagan prompted.

Edd shrugged, feeling numb. "So this is your mysterious job, huh? Soldier recruiting?" He tried to keep his tone light hearted, but couldn't hold back some bitterness from seeping through.

Reagan doesn't seem to mind, though. "Beats living in the streets." He whispered. Slinging one arm lazily around the brunet's shoulders, he continued. "Look, I know this looks bad but I promise this has nothing to do with the reason I am here." He told him, like the liar he is. "I did what I came here for, and now I am willing to risk my neck on this job to help you guys out, because I see just how much you need help. Especially you, Eddie."

"Me?" Edd blinked dumbfounded. "Why would I want to join this rad army for?"

"Red army." Reagan corrected. "Because I can see you are not happy here. Think about it; from the moment I met you you've been grieving over your best friend's death, but there's clearly this cheerful, adventurous glimmer you carry around with you that's almost contagious, but it's being choked out by this constant sadness you always have. I mean, obviously I don't blame you – best friend dying and all that – but toppled with ginger constantly up in your case, and those pesky neighbours you told me about, I say what you need most right now, is a drastic change of pace."

Edd was so surprised, he couldn't speak.

Reagan went on: "You can't go on like this, Eddie. You'll never get better and be happy unless you leave this crummy old town, and everything else behind."

Edd stared at him in horror. Through all their difficulties, his fear and guilt warring with his excitement, he had never really imagined that he would have to leave the place he'd always called his home. "Reagan, I can't!"

Reagan shook his head. "Will you at least think about it, please?"

Reluctantly, Edd nodded. "Alright. I will."

He is being offered the chance to turn his life around in the most drastic way imaginable. To put all his anger and misgivings into fighting for a good cause, and forget his problems. But could he really abandon everything to live like that?

What about Matt?

The image of his lifelong best friend popped into his mind, and at once he thought of refusing the offer right then and there. Then two more figures appeared next to Matt. Eduardo and Mark. Taking up all the space beside the orange-haired Brit, and how much happier he seemed to be in their company. Edd grit his teeth at the thought.

Maybe Matt would be better off without him.

(Meanwhile…)

Tord furiously scribbled on paper after paper as he dealt with the various mountains of paperwork he'd actively ignored over the past few days in favour of putting all his focus on Tom and the serum project. After putting it off for so long, and with the experiments currently on halt, Tord had no choice but to put his mind elsewhere. He grumbled to himself. Usually Patrick would berate him for doing nothing but work, and recommend him to get some much needed rest after avoiding sleep for the last few days. But the Polish soldier was strangely quiet on the matter, for once.

Jaw clenched, teeth grinding, Tord kept his gaze fixated on the paper he was signing; trying to focus on the current task at hand and ignore the pang in his heart he refused to call hurt. His head started to pound. Too many things were running through his mind, and added with his lack of sleep, it gave him a throbbing headache.

Paperwork is so boring! Wish I could run more tests on Tom… Patrick is pissing me off. Can't Paul talk him out of it? Why so emotional? Don't need them! Need to make this serum work! The army is flourishing. I will begin my conquest soon. Why did Tom lie? What else is he hiding? Need to talk to him when he turns back to normal. Why does he have to make everything more complicated? Why Tom?

Are you Tord or Red Leader? Tom's voice echoed louder above his thoughts, and he winced; gripping his own head with a quiet hiss of pain.

How many more times do I have to go through with this for it to stop? Tord thought incredulously through the blinding blaze of agony in his skull I. Am. Red Leader! Tord is nothing but weakness. Too soft. I will achieve great feats no one could ever best. I am unlike any other. Tord is… His thoughts derailed into a jumble as the beeping grew louder throughout his office.

Wait... beeping?

Startled, Tord blinked back to reality only to realize that the repetitive beeping came from his mechanical arm. He folded it towards him to inspect it. A screen displaying data of Tom's vitals stared back at him; the heart rate monitor spiking up to dangerous levels. Tord blinked blearily, trying to process the information being given to him. Once it finally registered in his sleep deprived brain, his eye widened. Tom's heart rate is off the charts!

Several floors below, the halfling creature sat alone, hunched over with its head between its claws. Its tail flicked to and fro as it uttered low growls rumbling deep in its throat. All of a sudden, it threw its head back with an ear-splitting roar and its body started to pop and bend, followed by the sickening sound of snapping bones. Its form began to enlarge at a rapid rate. Its clothes ripped apart as its body turned far too big for them. Its eyes painfully merged together into one.

Tord watched as the rhythm of the heart monitor on his arm spiraled out of control. No one can survive this kind of stress!

Before he could get to his feet, or even so much as conceive a thought on the matter, sparks flew from his robotic arm and it suddenly burst with a jolt of electricity shooting through Tord's body, sending the Norwegian toppling to the floor with a cry of pain.

A thunderous roar shook the entire base to its core.

Chapter Text

Paul and Patrick were about to settle in for the night, their duties finally done for the day, when all the lights around them shut down unexpectedly, leaving them in the dark for about five seconds before the hallways lit up again; bathing them in bleak red lighting as sirens started to go off all over the place. They looked at each other, confusion and apprehension reflected in their gazes.

"Something's wrong." Paul muttered.

Patrick scoffed. "What was your first clue? The red lights or the ear-bleeding siren?"

Paul shook his head. "I'll go check on Red Leader. He might know what's happening." He decided. "You should get the lieutenants and round up the soldiers to the gathering hall, until we know for sure what's going on."

Giving a solemn nod to one another, they parted ways and dashed through the long base hallways. Paul tried to take the elevator to Red Leader's office, only to find the lift out of service and glitching. "Great!" He muttered crossly under his breath before making a mad dash for the stairs.

"Head for the gathering hall!" Pat ordered hurriedly as he passed by panicked looking soldiers, trying to get everything and everyone in order before things can get way out of hand. Soldiers were stumbling out of their quarters with bewildered faces, most of them still dazed by sleep. "Keep an eye on your companions. Don't lose sight of one another." He felt an eerie calm within him, like a pool of icy water, while noise and panic raged on around him. His mind reeled. Tom! Concern for the eyeless test subject took hold of him. If the soldiers were confused on what's going on, Tom must be terrified; even if he's not quite himself at the moment. Still, someone should make sure he's okay. Patrick ordered the nearest lieutenant to get everyone to the gathering hall, and bounded away toward the laboratory level as chaos erupted.

Reaching the Red Leader's office, Paul wasted no time with formalities and simply barged into the room; nearly knocking the doors off their hinges. "Sir!" He stopped himself short by the sight before him. Tord was leaning against his desk with a pained expression on his face, clutching his right shoulder while his robotic arm twitched and spasmed beside him. Several wires jutted out of the red metallic surface, and sparks were flying in all directions. Paul's eyes rounded with shock. "Oh, so that's what is causing the whole base to go haywire. It's another one of your glitches!"

"Don't just stand there!" Tord's growl turned to a whine of pain by the end as another jolt coursed through him, his prosthetic moving seemingly with a mind of its own as it writhed around. "Help me get this thing off!"

Snapping out of his daze, Paul wearily approached him. He had to duck his head at the last second as the robotic arm jerked in his direction, nearly striking him in the face. His hands grabbed a hold of the prosthetic's base by Tord's shoulder, trying to undo the latches that connect metal to flesh when a current pulsed again and Paul flinched back. Biting back a hiss of pain that bubbled in his throat, Tord mustered all his focus into undoing the latches of his robotic arm and fight through the painful waves of energy coursing through his body. As fast as possible, although it felt agonizingly slow for Tord, he released the seals connecting to his flesh one by one with Paul's help until the robotic limb finally fell to the floor. Tord collapsed against his desk, his energy completely spent. The robotic arm continued twitching and jerking around on the floor, sparks still shooting out of it. Panicking, Paul started relentlessly stomping it in order to make it, and by extension the glitch affecting the rest of the base, stop.

When the prosthetic limb lied motionless at last, and the sirens stopped blaring in his ears, Paul let himself sigh in relief. "Told you not to install so many devices on your arm." He grinned. "Thank God I was here to lend you a hand, huh?"

Tord shot him the nastiest glare he could muster in his current condition. He was about to open his mouth for an angry retort when a booming roar resonated throughout the base and made the entire structure tremble. Tord and Paul glanced at one another, wide eyed.

"What the h#ll was that?" Paul whispered, alarm flaring in his gaze.

Tord didn't answer him, but judging by what triggered the glitch in the first place he may have an idea; and the thought filled him with both excitement and dread.

The communicator strapped to Paul's belt went off. "Paul!~" Patrick's voice hissed through static. Hastily, the Red Army Commander pulled out the device to reply. "Pat, I'm in the Red Leader's office right now. The commotion was triggered by a glitch in the leader's arm, but we successfully managed to detain it in time. Is the rest of the base secure, now?"

"The base is fine. I got word from one of the Lieutenants that everything has turned back to normal, and all the soldiers are accounted for.~" Pat's frantic voice sounded from the device. "However, I'm afraid we have bigger problems to deal with. ~"

"What do you mean?"

Several feet below their position, down in the lab level of the Red Army base, Patrick stands alone in the empty enclosure where not mere minutes ago held their test subject captive. Ahead of him, a massive gash opened like a cave in the steel wall and deep within the mountain structure the base was settled in; the edges of the gaping cavity sizzling, having been recently melted to expose the earth and rock underneath. If he stays quiet and pay close attention, he could hear something huge shifting deep down in the newly made tunnel.

Patrick trembled with shock at the sight and the implications it brought along. "Tom escaped."

(Meanwhile…)

Outside, a storm raged on. Thunder rumbled ominously through the dark clouds blotting out the sky and moon, and rain pelted down viciously. The ground was shaking, harder and harder, an earthquake trembling through all the veins of the mountain. An enormous crack appeared in the earth, and out from within the stone surface a massive creature erupted from the mountainside and into the tempest; throwing rocks and dirt in its wake. The monster rose to its full height, snarling and full of rage, finally free from both the confinements of the lab and the tiny form that had kept it imprisoned for so long.

Shaking its pelt, it parted its jaws slightly to let the fresh smells of the mountain reach the scent glands on the roof of its mouth. Instinct was screaming at it to find and kill – driving it forward to sink its teeth into flesh and let the warm gush of blood race down its throat. It swivelled its neck from side to side, expanding on every direction, scanning the landscape for something in specific when it stilled. Through the darkness of night and the flurry of rain, specks of light can be seen glowing in the horizon.

Lights… means civilization… and civilization... is where all the prey is… preeeey... ~

Rearing its head back and raising its tail high, it roared with triumph and announced its return. Lightning cackled behind it and split the skies, almost as if it were rejoicing this moment with it. It lifted its head, relishing the wind and rain on its fur. Then without further ado, it launched itself down the steep mountain; pawsteps thrumming the earth as it bounded away, its powerful muscles bunching and stretching as it drove itself on. Making its descent, its eye continuously focused on the glow on the horizon, branding its goal to mind.

Kiiiiiill… ~

(Meanwhile…)

A chorus of worried shouts and murmurs filled the immense control room, where most of the Red Army's movements and activities were monitored. After the incident with the major glitch had been dealt with, soldiers were looking at each other in shock and dismay upon word getting out that the army's secret weapon had escaped containment during the chaos. Tord, Paul and Pat quickly gathered the Generals for an emergency meeting in the control room to discuss the matter at hand. Seated at the head of the large round table, Tord had his attention divided between the meeting and tinkering with his damaged arm. He hated how vulnerable having only one functioning arm made him, and he worked tirelessly to fix his prosthetic as fast as possible. Although, it would go a lot faster if he had two hands!

Paul and Patrick sat on either side of him. To his left, Paul leaned closer to peek at his progress on the repairs of his arm. "You're keeping that feature? What for?" His bushy eyebrows rose critically. "Sir, get rid of the features you certainly don't need, lest we want another glitch overriding our systems again. Haven't you learned anything from this incident?"

"Paul, if you don't shut up and let me work I will wax off your eyebrows in your sleep!" Tord hissed back at him through gritted teeth, his patience running thin. He's lack of sleep combined with the stress of the glitch, toppled with Tom's escape, had taken a toll on him and he was in no mood for jokes with his Commander.

Dipping his head politely, Paul thankfully backed out of his personal space and made no further arguments. He shot him a concerned glance and turned his attention away.

A second form! How did I not think of that? Tord wondered, both livid and excited by this new discovery. What I've seen so far must have been some sort of transitioning stage between Tom and the monster. Whatever is out there right now is the actual Beast all those articles referred to. My monster! Now all they need to do is concentrate on capturing Tom and bring him back to the base so that he can continue his research.

"Where's the asset now?" He asked without looking up from his work. He begrudgingly heeded his Commander's advice and deleted the less useful features of his prosthetic.

Using the connection between his arm and the chip they had implanted in Tom all those months ago, the soldiers were able to track Tom's movements. A map appeared on the screen for all of them to see, and a red target moving farther and farther away from their location. "The asset is within our perimeter still, sir!" One of the soldiers answered. "Currently going at 40 kilometres per hour and heading southeast."

"What's southeast of here?" Patrick questioned, his arms crossed and a concerned gleam in his eyes.

The map widened, and to everyone's dismay a town popped up on the screen. "Lillehammer, sir. Population: Twenty eight thousand. Approximately a hundred sixty three kilometres from our base, sir."

An eerie hush fell over the room. Paul swallowed. "How long we have until he- the asset gets there?" He corrected himself on the last second.

A countdown appeared on screen. "Estimately four hours, eighteen minutes, and fifty four seconds, sir."

Panicked gasps broke out all over the room. Soldiers were staring at one another as if they could find a solution for this terrible situation in the faces of their comrades. Tord stared at the screen with a narrowed eye. This is worse than I thought. If the monster leaves the base's perimeter and heads for the city, there's no doubt it will go on a rampage; especially considering that Tom had it suppressed for quite a while now and is probably more aggressive than usual as a result.

"This is terrible!" General Keaton; a stout, short man with greasy gray hair and olive skin, exclaimed. "If the asset leaves our border we risk exposing our entire organization for the whole world in order to retrieve it."

"That's what you're most concerned with?" Flashed another General. A young woman with short curly, dyed green hair, monolid black eyes, and tawny beige skin. "How about the fact that thousands of innocent lives have been put in danger unless we can stop this monster from reaching the city?

"General Helene is right! And if the city is destroyed and word gets out of a monster roaming about, our efforts for a secret weapon would have been for nothing!"

"What about our border patrols? Surely they will impede the asset from going any farther?" A General with spiky blond hair and blue eyes known as Yuu, pointed out.

"Our patrols are not equipped to deal with this level of threat!"

Patrick nodded toward the control panel. "Inform the east watchtower! Call the border patrol back and to stay put until further notice."

"Yes, sir!"

While Tord waited for them to settle down again, he worked on fixing his arm. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to unscrew one of the more intricate panels. A screwdriver appeared suddenly beside him. Tord blinked at the offering hand, and glanced back to find a boy with a white cap and shirt and a lollipop in his mouth looking up at him, round eyed, as he handed him the tool. Tord dipped his head politely to show his thanks.

The child, despite being obviously underage to be part of the organization, is a valued member of their ranks. They found him during the evacuation of their secret base in Britain during the zombie outbreak over three years ago. He doesn't speak, and they couldn't locate his parents, so they simply took him into the army and nicknamed him AK - in honour of the weapon he wielded then, and because Paul and Pat found him in the arcade zone. Tord had to admit, the kid sure knows how to fend for himself. Even so, he is not allowed in the training grounds until he becomes of age, so he is simply an engineer assistant, under General Yuu's supervision, for now.

"Red Leader."

All the noise in the room died down, and everyone wearily turned toward the speaker. Tord's gaze flitted over calmly to the other side of the large table. General Erica, a woman with ebony black skin and long dreadlocks cascading down and around her face, beads and rings decorating all the way down to golden tips at the end of each lock, stared back at him with narrowed dark brown eyes. Her posture demanded respect, her head held high and fingers interlaced neatly on top of the table.

"Since the secret weapon is of your own design, and you've been devoted in its development for nearly a decade now, it's safe to assume you are the person with the most knowledge on the asset in this room." She continued, her orotund voice ringing throughout the room as she addressed her leader. "Perhaps you'd care to shed some light on us. What exactly are we dealing with?"

All the information Tord had absorbed on the Beast case, and the latest tests he managed to run on Tom, came flooding back to the forefront of his mind. While he may not have had a chance to study the actual monster in person yet, and most of the information he has is superficial at best, there were still a lot of things he put together from just by looking back at the old blueprints of his monster serum.

Tord smirked. "I won't sugar-coat it; our chances of stopping the monster and getting it back are not great." He told them bluntly. Hitched gasps met his words, but he went on as normal. "We're dealing with a perfect killing machine here. It managed to dig through a wall of solid steel and several layers of rock to escape containment." He turned to Yuu, and added: "By the way, I expect a team of engineers to fortify the enclosure. It would be entirely pointless to bring the asset back and not mend our mistake from happening again."

Yuu dipped his head. "A team is down in the lab levels to work on repairs as we speak, sir."

"Good." Tord nodded before continuing. "As I was saying; I designed this monster to destroy and take hits. A living tank. No ordinary weapon can defeat it. And I imagine even if it could get hurt by conventional means, we wouldn't want to risk harming and potentially killing our best bet of winning the war. So we have to go about this carefully."

"What do you suggest, sir?" Erica prompted coolly.

Tord blinked slowly and took a deep breath. Now that the moment of revealing his plan had come, he felt strangely reluctant. No doubt his next set of words will earn him plenty of protests and concerned looks; especially from his two most trusted soldiers. But they will see there's no other way. They must! Time is of the essence; and every second they waste arguing here are precious moments they could be using to retrieve Tom before it's too late. "There's only one weapon in our possession we can use. The only one that can come remotely close to stand on an equal level to the monster's power, and neutralize the threat without actual harm."

Pat's eyes widened. "You… you don't mean-?"

Tord nodded solemnly.

As he'd predicted, an uproar broke out among the Generals.

"The mecha? It's only a prototype!"

"Not even that! It's a prototype of a prototype!"

"And need we remind you, sir, that you had ceased all progress on its development after your… accident?"

Tord sat motionless as he listened to the crescendo of voices around him, his eyes closed. When he'd given up on the serum and decided to go for the giant robot as his plan B for world conquest, he had given his engineers the blueprints of his mecha to recreate it and mass produce them. But then the incident with his friends happened… ruining his schemes and proving the plan to be too flawed for world conquest. But perhaps it will prove to be more efficient for such a simple and dire: find and retrieve mission such as this.

"I understand how risky of a move this is, but we don't have a lot of other options laid out in front of us at the moment. By all means; send every single soldier we have – every weapon at our disposal to head out there and bring back the asset, but we'll only be sending them to their deaths." Tord reasoned, his voice ringing out so that every person in the room could hear him. "The giant robot replica, despite being unfinished, has a nuclear powered cannon! And according to my research; nuclear energy could be a potential weakness of the asset's." During his time away investigating and finding clues to the truth about Tom, he had found an article about a Beast sighting where there have been immense amounts of nuclear energy readings detected in the area where it had been spot. Although, the article itself was a little fishy with the mention of superheroes fighting each other or something or other. It's a far-fetched idea, but this was the only lead Tord has to a possible way of taking down Tom's monster form and bringing him back to the base; and since time is of the essence, he was willing to take the shot with this theory.

His Generals, however, weren't so easily convinced.

"Potentially?" Keaton's voice rose to a shrill of disbelief. "Are you saying you're not even sure this will do the job of stopping it?"

"Besides, do we really want to risk using the giant robot for a thing like this?" Paul pointed out.

Tord frowned. "Well, we're not going to be using it for anything else and it's just sitting in the hangar, gathering dust, so we might as well put it to some good use." He glanced around, wondering whether he was winning the support of his Generals. He snapped his fingers. "I want all engineers not working on fortifying the enclosure to finish construction on the mecha, and I want it done in one hour tops."

"Yes, sir!" Yuu saluted.

"That's all well and good, however, there's still one last matter to settle." Erica reminded sharply, her gaze sweeping around the room as she faced each one of them in turn. "Who's going to pilot the mecha and capture the asset?"

Without batting an eye, Tord bluntly responded. "I will, obviously."

"What?!" Patrick rose from his seat and slammed both hands on the table. "After your last experience with the giant robot? Absolutely not, sir! Someone else should go instead."

Tord stiffened, his gray eye narrowed to a slit as he met his right-hand General's challenging green stare. A part of him was irritated that Pat opposed him so openly, and even went so far as to insinuate he's too weak to fulfil the mission, but he knew this was just the Polish man's concern for his wellbeing speaking louder than common sense, yet again.

"I agree with General Patrick, sir." Helene spoke up. "Being the leader of this whole organization, it would simply be too much of a risk to have you undergo such a precarious operation. If you were to fall-"

"Right. And you're down to one arm only, as of the moment." Keaton added.

Hearing the last comment, Tord made a show of slowly clasping his robotic arm back on the stump of his severed limb. Everyone present in the room fell silent and looked at one another with suspenseful bewilderment. Once the arm was set back into place, Tord flicked the switch off maintenance mode and watched the prosthetic whirr to life. He flexed and waved each digit experimentally until he was satisfied with its conclusion. It's not perfect – he sensed it was stiffer than usual in its movements. Not acting quite as smoothly as he'd hoped, but for the time being it would have to do.

He lifted his head, daring anyone to say a word about his condition now. General Keaton shot him an appraising glance but kept his mouth shut. Beside him, Tord caught Erica smirking with an amused expression.

"I still firmly believe you shouldn't be the one going, sir." Patrick insisted.

"And why is that?" Tord inquired, tipping his head. "Not only am I the only person in this entire base with experience flying the mecha, but both it and the asset are my creations! I know what I am dealing with, and that's what's important. I won't have some random soldier go in my place just because they're more expandable than me."

"Red Leader is right." Erica acknowledged coolly. "Besides, we've all sworn the Red Army oath. If none of us are willing to put our own lives on the line for the sake of our cause, we can't expect the same respect from our soldiers."

"So are we all agreed on what we have to do?" Tord's gaze travelled around the room, studying their facial expressions with heavy scrutiny. No one made a move to object. When his eye fell upon the Polish man to his right at last, he could see the distress on his features but he merely bowed his head in resignation instead. Tord dipped his head in approval. "It's settled then."

The meeting came to an end. Their plan was set. The Generals returned to their designated posts, while Tord, Paul, and Pat headed for the hangar where the mecha prototype was being finished. Tord watched his engineers work, arms folded behind his back, as he waited for the signal to board.

"Paul," he turned to his Commander. "I want you to board a chopper and follow me, but keep your distance until the situation has been handled."

Paul blinked. "Sir?"

"Once test subject #1826 has been neutralized and secured, we'll need to transport him back to the base. Plus, to be quite truthful, I don't know how good a shape the mecha is going to be in after the whole ordeal is over and done with." Tord explained, and then added more quietly, "and if the worst happens and the robot isn't enough to take down the monster, it would be good to have a tranquilizer on standby."

"I'll come, too." Patrick quickly volunteered.

Tord whipped around. "No." He objected. "I need you to head back to the control centre and monitor the mission from there." The Polish man looked at him incredulously and opened his mouth to give off an angry retort, but Tord went on before he could. "Be reasonable, Pat. With Paul and I gone, someone needs to be left in charge of the base until we return."

Pat sniffed, appearing to reconsider. Tord could tell he wasn't at all happy, but he couldn't think of any reason to object. "Fine. But I really don't like any of this."

"You don't have to like it, Pat. You just gotta do as I command." Tord retorted with a roll of his eye.

ASSEMBLY COMPLETED – MECHA SET FOR TAKE-OFF IN T-MINUS: FIVE MINUTES

Hearing the announcement through the speaker, Tord straightened his posture at once. His heart began to race. This is it. He was anxious to see the monster up close and personal and witness what it was capable of. But at the same time, the thought of piloting the giant robot again after what happened last time filled him with overwhelming dread. Tord shoved his fears aside. No harpoon guns will take me down this time.

He and Paul approached the bridge together, while Pat hung back and watched from afar. As they drew nearer, Tord cast an analytical eye upon the new mecha. It was based off of his original giant robot design, but since it had been left unfinished and they were on the clock as of the moment the engineers didn't have time to recreate an exact mirroring copy of the original. It was missing the red paint job, leaving it in the bare blank dark gray and black colours, and it did not have the same likeness to himself as the previous robot did. But just as long as it can fly, take hits, and shoot without fail, Tord supposes it would have to do.

"Well, I guess this is it then." Paul murmured, and watched his leader hop right on in the robot's pilot seat. The Norsk adjusted himself, shifting around quite a bit as he muttered the controls repeatedly to himself under his breath. Paul pursed his lips into a thin line, a glint of concern in his eyes as he sensed his leader's nervousness. "Are you really sure you wanna do this, sir? We can still call this off and find somebody else to go in your place-"

"I'm fine!" Tord broke in roughly. He cleared his throat and lifted his head to meet his Commander's gaze. "There's no time to be concerned. We have to stop Tom and bring him back before it's too late! That's all that matters right now."

Paul nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir."

An awkward silence fills the air between them. A tiny flicker of guilt ignited within the Norwegian man for the way he's been treating his most trusted soldiers as of late. His consistent lack of rest and obsession with his work is no excuse to snap at them at every given chance. He inwardly bristled. I'm their leader! I don't owe them anything.

Paul shifted uncomfortably and lowered his gaze. "Good luck on your mission out there, sir."

Turning, Paul padded away down the bridge and joined Patrick, who was waiting by the deck. As Tord got a hold of the controls of his giant robot, trying to get accustomed to them and recalling on the action of every single button there was before take-off, his gaze flickered upward and he watched his deputies interact from a distance. He could see them holding hands, their heads bent forward as they conversed. Tord could imagine Pat bidding the Commander caution on the mission. Paul cupped Pat's cheek, no doubt reassuring the other that everything will turn out okay and he'll return safe. The Polish man threw his arms around his larger frame and they embraced with a kiss.

Tord felt a pang in his heart. Would it be so bad to have someone of his own to care this intimately for him? To wish him off safely, and be the first to greet him upon his return from a dangerous mission? Someone legitimately happy to see him? For a moment, Tord found himself envying the bond between his deputies. He shook his head stubbornly. That's just silly. He thought gloomily. Why would I want such a thing when I can have the whole world in the palm of my hand?

MECHA SET FOR TAKE-OFF IN T-MINUS: TWO MINUTES

Tord snapped out of his daze by the announcement. Ignoring the ache in his chest, he quickly focused his mind on the task at hand and began to flip the switches to get his robot ready to take flight.

The wings were deployed. The rockets ignited. An alarm blared throughout the hangar, counting down the seconds remaining for take-off. The bridges surrounding the mecha shortened and backed away; soldiers scurried to and fro to stand clear of the launching mecha. Tord put on the headset and strapped himself in before taking hold of the controls once more, silently waiting for the countdown to strike zero.

TEN

His chest tightened. His organic hand felt incredibly sweaty all of the sudden.

NINE

His heartbeat escalated, and he could practically feel it thumping hard in the back of his throat. He broke into a cold sweat.

EIGHT

His mouth felt parched, as if he hadn't drank anything for countless days. Just a few more seconds and he'll take flight… Oh god, what am I doing?

SEVEN

I can't do this again! His mind started to screech and run wild with panic. What if I get shot down again? What if I am not as lucky as last time? I can lose a lot more than just a limb and an eye this time around!

SIX

Get a hold of yourself! He berated himself sharply. You're the Red Leader, for crying out loud! The Red Leader doesn't allow past mistakes to haunt him, no matter how traumatic they may have been. He moves on and looks ahead toward the bright future he intends to shape.

FIVE

Closing his eye, Tord forced himself to relax by taking deep breaths. I am the Red Leader. I have always devoted myself to my army.

Are you Tord or Red Leader? Tom's voice echoed through his head, much to his building frustration.

FOUR

Tord's fists clenched around the controls. I am the Red Leader. Powerful, clever and fearless! Nothing can stand in my way.

His mantra didn't quite sit right with his mind, unexpectedly enough; but that wasn't because of his panic. It was because of Paul and Patrick, and, most of all, Tom. Their images flashed briefly through his head. As if that wasn't painful enough, two more figures were added to the incoherent jumble that is his mind. A cheerful brunet in a green hoodie, and a narcissistic ginger. All of them smiling.

THREE

I am the Red Leader. He insisted, muscles tense. I don't have friends-

TWO

And I am not in love with my test subject!

ONE

He barely heard the signal blare in his ears before he instantly pulled on the levers at his sides and lifted the mecha into the air at full force. His eye flew wide open. The lights and busy atmosphere of the hangar were suddenly replaced by a rainy night sky, watching the ground grow farther and farther away.

The altitude triggered a series of memories to flash in his head. The mountains were replaced by the suburban neighbourhood of Durdam lane. Any moment now, his robotic appendages would turn on him and start trying to beat him out of the sky. "I thought we were friends!" Edd's pained voice echoed inside his brain. Tord shook his head, his mind consciously wandering towards his left arm, remembering the sensation of a harpoon barely grazing past his form and the panic he'd felt then. Just a few inches off, or else he'd be dead. "I am NOT your FRIEND!" He remembered hearing Tom's outraged cry. He barely had time to acknowledge that he hadn't, in fact, accidentally killed the eyeless man before a harpoon plunged right next to him. His throat closed up at the reminder, his lungs felt tight. He couldn't breathe.

"Sir? ~" Patrick's voice prodded through the intercom of his headset. "Sir, can you hear me? Are you alright? ~"

Gah! Of all the damnable times to have a panic attack! Tord squeezed his eye shut and took slow, deliberate breaths. Freaking out now would only prove his deputies' point that it should have been someone else piloting the robot. But he's the Red Leader, and he's stronger than a disturbed memory. After a few moments of gaining his breath back to normal, he felt his throat start to unclench and release him. He felt light.

"Sir? ~"

"I'm fine!" He whispered breathlessly, carefully opening his eye. "I'm fine." He asserted more firmly, taking hold of the mecha's controls and propelling it forward. "Let's get on with this. Is everyone in position?"

"Yes, sir! ~"

"Right behind you, sir. Boarding the chopper in about five minutes, sir! ~" Paul's voice joined the intercom.

"Don't forget to bring the tranquilizer gun and the sedatives with you." Tord reminded sharply.

"I know, I know! I'm not that forgetful! ~" Something whizzed in the background, followed by the sound of something heavy slumping to the ground. An awkward silence fell on the intercom.

Tord narrowed his eye. "Did you just shoot someone with a sedative?"

"Nooo… ~" Paul drawled sheepishly. "But on the off chance that I did, how powerful a sedative are we talking about here? ~"

"Plenty powerful. These things are not to kid around, and we don't have a lot of them just lying around to use freely at our disposal, so use them with caution!" Tord muttered, tapping at the monitor in front of him to display a map of the area below. "Patrick, where's the asset right now?"

"Still heading southeast, although it seems to have slowed its pace down a bit for whatever reason. ~" Pat responded. "You have thirty minutes before it makes it past our border. ~"

"Affirmative."

Pulling the switch to his right Tord accelerated the mecha, while pressing the green button to his left activated the radar to get a sweep of his surroundings. It's hard to pilot a giant robot in the dead of the night during a raging rainstorm. The turbulence against the strong gusts of wind and rain caused a little unease to stir inside him; though Tord would never admit it out loud. He can only hope the weather improves and sides with him before his fateful encounter with his long awaited monster.

He must've been piloting the mecha for about ten minutes or so when Patrick spoke through the intercom again. "Sir… ~"

"What is it?"

"The asset… it just stopped. ~"

The words took a couple of seconds for Tord to finally register them. "Come again?" The transmission cut out abruptly from Patrick's end. "Pat?"

"What's going on, Pat? ~" Paul's voice joined in, greatly concerned.

It took a few tries for the static to cease, and reset the connection back to home base. Tord barely had enough patience within himself to not punch the communicator of the mecha, just to get it back to working faster. When the static finally cleared up, Pat's voice was a shrill of distress.

"We got an emergency call from the east watchtower! The border patrol we had intercepted earlier has been compromised – they are under attack! ~"

Tord didn't need any more clarification. For a moment he was frozen with horror and disbelief. "Tom!" He pulled the levers as far as they could go and blasted off across the sky at full power. Those soldiers won't stand a chance! He thought, fighting back panic. Then a more cynical and selfish thought echoed in his mind that Tord couldn't restrain. It's damn lucky on our part the patrol was at the wrong place and at the wrong time. This will buy us time to reach and capture the monster before it can leave our borders and head toward the city. It was a terrible thought; but it was true, and he had to take advantage of the opportunity presented here.

Patrick's voice cut through his thoughts. "You're right above them, sir! ~"

"I'm on it." Tord pushed down the levers at his sides and prepared to descend. His heart rate picked up speed. This is it. He flipped the switch to his left, and prepared the nuclear cannon over the mecha's right shoulder; should the monster advance on him on sight he will be more than ready to meet it.

As the robot landed, cannon ready and mecha poised in a defensive stance, Tord flipped the flashlights on so he could see the commotion more clearly. The patrol's vehicles were strewn about, flipped over and smashed to smithereens. Patches of fire burned here and there, and soldiers were running amok in blind panic. Screams of terror tore through the air, accompanied by thundering growls and gunshots. In the centre of the chaos, a massive quadruped shape stood out; moving around deftly as it swiped at the fleeing figures and plucked soldiers right off the ground and into its merciless jaws.

Tord flashed the light at it, heart pounding and blood roaring in his ears.

The monster finally noticed the new presence and whipped around to face him, giving Tord the perfect opportunity to get a good look at it. A helpless soldier hung from its teeth, writhing around and crying out for help. The monster tipped its head back and snapped its jaws shut; her screams abruptly cut off by the sickening crunch of bones snapping.

The monster is entirely made up of dark purple, nearly black, fur. Massive front paws, with long and sharp curved claws. Lithe back legs that stood disproportionately in contrast to the rest of the immense body. A long, muscular and slender tail with a whip-thin tip. Large pinkish horns crowned the top of an arrow-shaped head, and a singular empty socket for an eye stared him down menacingly. Fangs protruded from the hinge of the jaws, the slightly gaped mouth opening to a long and razor sharp row of teeth ready to rip apart the closest flesh body. A magnificent specimen, indeed.

Tord was a little horrified by the sight of the monster hunting down his soldiers like a cat in a nest of mice, but couldn't help but admire his creation in all its glory. A smirk crossed his face. This is what he long sought after. Ten years of research and experiments have all led up to this, and it certainly does not disappoint. The key to world domination was standing right in front of him, and it's everything he ever hoped for and so much more!

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to gush over his creation and success for long. The monster lifted its head and roared at him challengingly, muscles rippling under its sleek wet purple pelt.

"All right, everybody, stand down!" Tord commanded the surviving soldiers to clear the area, knowing things will get out of hand from here on out. He didn't tear his gaze away from the asset, not even for an instant. It was hard to believe this gargantuan creature standing before him once used to be classic stupid Tom. The monster roared again and started to charge at him at full speed. With the push of a few buttons, Tord aimed the nuclear cannon right at the approaching monster. "Sorry, but your rampage ends here, and you're coming straight back to the lab!" He pressed the button to fire the cannon, only for a message to pop up on his visor.

NUCLEAR CANNON CHARGING. READY TO FIRE IN T-MINUS SIX MINUTES.

"Wh- what?!" Tord's eye bulged in alarm, his sense of triumph dashed. "Charge? What do you mean 'charge'? Why wasn't I informed of this? Someone is so getting demoted-"

His words cut off mid-sentence as the monster barrelled into him; hitting him like an explosion and sending the giant robot staggering backwards. Tord could feel his teeth rattle from the force of the impact. Thinking quickly, he pulled the levers at his sides to dig the mecha's feet into the ground and stand a chance against the attack. The robot's hands grasped the monster's horns, trying to hold off the snarling beast away. Sh#t, this is bad. Tord thought, trying very hard not to let his mind run wild with panic again. If I want to take down the monster, I'm gonna have to stall it long enough for the nuclear cannon to charge. I have no choice but to fight!

The monster shook off his hold on the horns and reared up, claws outstretched and burying them into the robot's shoulders. Jaws gaping wide, the massive creature lunged for the robot's head where Tord was seated.

Thinking fast, Tord pushed down the levers to fling the monster away from him, just in time. Snap! Its jaws closed on the air in front of his face, missing him by a thread. The monster gave a snarl of surprise as it was thrown clear. Tord followed his attack with a series of repulsor blasts from the robot's hands. At least that didn't need charging. The monster staggered a couple of paces back, growling with fury.

It's taking direct hits like it's nothing! Tord peered down at the progress bar of the nuclear cannon as he continued blasting the asset. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! Hurry up!"

"Sir? ~" Paul's voice hissed through the intercom.

"Not now, Paul. Little bit too busy here."

"Sir, should I take the shot? You seem to be having problems and I got a good visual of the creature from over here. ~"

Tord didn't get a chance to respond. With a hiss of rage, the monster narrowly avoided the repulsor blasts, and darted forward like a snake to clamp its jaws down on one of the robot hands; mangling the device beyond repair with just a bite. Instinctively Tord used his free hand to lash out with a swift punch. His fist caught the side of the monster's head, successfully dislodging the beast off.

Then with a deep rumbling growl, the monster reared up on its hind legs. Tord watched wide eyed as the creature loomed over him, its massive paws ready to slam down on top of him. With its slender tail bristling, it looked even bigger.

The monster roared as it slammed its front paws down hard on the mecha's chest plate, putting its whole weight into the impact and nearly sending the robot, and by extension Tord, toppling to the ground.

He's trying to pin me down! Tord realized with dread, fighting back to keep the mecha balanced while also trying to remove the snarling beast clinging on top of him. If it manages to unbalance him and get him on the ground, then Tord is as good as dead. There's no way he can get back on his feet in time before the monster pounces and rips the mecha apart to get to him.

Claws scrabbled and slashed furiously at the metal shoulders and chest, the monster pushing itself forward to sink more of its weight on Tord in another attempt to force his fall. Tord remained resistant and put everything into keeping the mecha standing. Then the monster's jaws opened wide; from Tord's perspective he had a clear view of its gaping mouth, and could see a faint glow growing brighter at the very back of its throat.

Tord gulped in realization. "Oh no."

The monster unleashed a blast of fire breath straight at the visor. Tord was blinded by the jet of fire encasing him. Thank goodness he used heat resistant parts for the creation of the mecha, or else he'd be a crispy toast by now! Still, it's no good to keep on taking the heat for much longer. Something vital could get damaged.

Swinging his fists around blindly through the fire, Tord managed to land a punch on the monster's lower jaw and snapped its mouth closed; seizing its flaming assault. Then the monster scored its claws down across the mecha's chest, and followed up with a flurry of vicious swipes that battered and nearly tore the giant robot into pieces. In retaliation, Tord fired an arsenal of rockets in an attempt to dislodge the monster off; but it hardly budged under the heavy artillery assault.

Tord gritted his teeth through the unbridled attack, writhing helplessly and struggling for enough space to even defend himself. If things keep up like this, I won't last much longer…

"That's it. I'm taking the shot! ~" He barely heard Paul amidst the commotion.

"No! I can still do this!" Tord insisted, his voice nearly a shrill of desperation. "I got everything perfectly under control. Trust me." He gasped in surprise and relief when a message appeared stating the nuclear cannon had fully charged and ready to use. Tord thanked the heavens fervently before aiming the cannon at the rampaging monster. "This ends now!"

He pressed the button and fired, only for the monster to lunge forward and bite down the barrel of the cannon; breaking it in half as if it were a twig.

Tord froze.

WARNING: NUCLEAR ENERGY OVERLOADING. IMMINENT SELF-DESTRUCTION IN T-MINUS ONE MINUTE.

"Aw, come on!" He yelled. "Can't one thing go right for me tonight?"

Apparently not; the monster continued its assault by tearing off huge pieces of the robot apart with its teeth and claws. It's a miracle the mecha was still standing at all! Breathing hard, Tord assessed the situation, and his stomach churned as he tried to come up with a new plan. He is currently wedged between a bloodthirsty monster and a beaten down mecha on the verge of blowing up in a wave of nuclear energy.

That's it! There was one last thing he could do.

With the push of a button, the protective glass visor in front of him flew open and ejected. The first drops of rain splashed onto his head. The monster gave off a curt surprised and indignant growl as the visor thunked its muzzle on the way down.

Tord whistled loudly. "Hey! I'm right here – come get me, you overgrown purple goat!" He taunted, his gaze flicking briefly toward the countdown and seeing there was ten seconds remaining. It's crucial he times this just right.

The monster glowered at him, a deep growl rumbling in its throat; fangs gnashing as it drew closer. It opened its jaws wide open and lunged forward.

Now!

Tord slammed the eject button and was sent flying through the air, still on his seat. The monster clamped its jaws shut on the empty space where he'd been a second before; just as the countdown hit zero, and the mecha exploded. Tord covered his face with one arm as a harsh bright green light ignited, followed by a massive cloud of dust. His parachute deployed, and he started his slow descend back to the ground. The rain eased into a steady drizzle. He peered down, squinting his eye as he searched through the thick smoke for signs of the monster. Did it work?

The dense barrier of smoke slowly dissipated, revealing a bare empty clearing with scraps of metal littering the place. But no sign of the monster anywhere.

"Sir?! ~"

"Is everything alright? ~"

Hearing the panicked voices of his most trusted soldiers through the headset, Tord startled out of his observations to reply. "I'm fine. I managed to eject just in the nick of time!" He reassured them, hearing both release an immense sigh of relief. "Paul, any visual on the asset?"

"Uh… negative, as far as I can tell. ~"

Tord landed on the ground, swiftly undoing the straps of his seat. He stood up and surveyed the damage. "Well, there goes our last giant robot. May we never do this ever again." He growled as he neared the wreckage of what's left of his mecha. "Patrick, send out a team to come collect the remains. I don't want everything to have gone to waste, and we could salvage parts to create better weapons in the future."

"Yes, sir! ~"

"And Paul, have the chopper land close by. The surviving soldiers will come with us back to the base, and we need to transport To- AH!" His sentence cut out abruptly with a shocked yelp as his gaze landed on the motionless form sprawled on the ground, butt naked and unconscious. Tord's heart skipped a beat as he focused on Tom's face, and then scanned down the smooth curves of his naked torso for a good minute or two.

"You found Tom, sir? ~" Paul asked, a teasing edge to his voice.

Tord blinked, suddenly aware of how much of a pervert he was being, and dropped his gaze to a point on the ground between his feet before settling for turning his whole head away instead. He was, after all, staring at an unconscious nude man. That he was breathtakingly beautiful had nothing at all to do with it. Nope. Nothing at all.

"Yeah."

"He's on his birthday suit, isn't he? ~"

"Yeah."

"Thank goodness I predicted this would happen and brought an extra set of clothes! Now who's the forgetful one here? ~"

"Just have someone dress him up and brought to the chopper, please." Tord pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to calm down and refusing to turn around for even an instant.

To distract himself from his embarrassment, Tord decided to take a closer look at the wreckage of his mecha; trying to appear as if he were doing something important with this inspection. He poked the dents made on the metal. The monster sure did a number on the robot. He thought absentmindedly. Then he caught a glimpse of something jutting out of one of the panels. It was long and thick, and it glinted in the bleak lighting. Tord approached it curiously. He reared back in surprise upon realizing that it was one of the monster's claws.

It must've torn off at some point during the fight! He realized, pressing onto the headset. "Paul, do me a favour and make sure Tom has all his fingers intact? No particular reason, but it doesn't hurt to check."

"O-okay? ~"

Tord was studying the claw again. He reached out carefully and touched it with his organic hand. I wonder what Bing could do for me with a sample like this? He mused, looking up at some of the soldiers and beckoned them closer. "Hey! You three! Help me get this claw out of the wreckage and load it into the chopper!"

Before long, all soldiers were aboard the chopper along with the monster claw and the unconscious test subject. Tord was the last one to board, making sure everything else was settled before hopping in. Tom had been put in a cage. He doubted the eyeless man was going to wake up so soon, but the surviving soldiers were on edge after the terrifying ordeal they've been through – coupled with the deaths of some of their comrades – so Tord had the unconscious test subject put in a cage and one soldier to watch over him; just to calm everyone's nerves down.

As the chopper lifted into the air, he glanced at the survivors now. A patrol of twenty five, cut down to a mere seven now. They're all quiet, heads bowed and gazes dark with grief. Tord straightened himself. As their leader he should probably say something. He cleared his throat, and looked steadily back at his soldiers. "Tonight was a tragic event. We've lost good men and women, but rest assured; our fallen comrades will be properly mourned once we're back at the base." His voice was strong and deep.

After a moment's pause, the soldiers all nodded in quiet and sombre agreement. Nodding in approval, Tord turned away to join Paul by the cockpit.

(Meanwhile…)

A lone soldier guarded the imprisoned monster, still passed out on the bottom of the cage, thankfully dressed, inside the cargo hold. The soldier smoked through his eighth cigar that night, silently grieving the deaths of his close comrades. Two hours ago they were all bantering and going on another run-of-the-mill border patrol. Who would've thought things could change so drastically in the drop of a dime?

Suddenly he hears a low groan coming from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder, one hand instantly clenching around his rifle. The monster was awake; freaky empty eyes, barely slits, stared up at him dazed. The soldier glared back at it. If this thing wasn't the army's secret weapon and the Red Leader's pet, he wouldn't hesitate to open fire on it the minute he was left alone with it. Knowing the beast that killed his comrades was lying right before him, unpunished, made his blood boil.

"Help…" The test subject rasped, one hand reaching out for the soldier from behind the bars. "Help… me…"

The soldier glowered. "Help you?" He asked incredulously, flicking away the end of his cigar to the far corner. "You're lucky I don't blow your f#cking brains out right now!"

"P-please…"

The soldier slammed the blunt end of his rifle into the test subject's face, who recoiled away with a hiss of pain. "Shut up, will you?" He growled, turning his back to the cage once again.

Leaning back against the bars he rummaged through his pocket for another cigarette. He pulled out the lighter, ready to ignite the flame when something long and muscular wrapped around his neck and slammed him back against the cage. He dropped the cigarette and the lighter, hands instantly flying up to his neck to try and free himself. A resonate hiss could be heard right next to his ear, drowning the sound of snapping and mending bones from behind. Warm breath fanned over the nape of his neck. He gulped, breath limited by the tail coiling around his throat.

He was slammed against the bars again, until he was nearly squeezing in between them. The tail coiled over his mouth, muffling his screams as the snarling monster behind him started to sink its teeth into his shoulder; ripping off large chunks of flesh as he spasmed.

Blood coated the cargo hold floor. Soon enough, the soldier's movements subsided and he lay lifelessly by the cage. The monster growled softly, reaching out with its bloodied claws to bend the bars and squeeze its way out.

(Meanwhile…)

Back on the cockpit, Tord and Paul conversed quietly; out of earshot of the two pilots handling the aircraft. Tord leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a blank expression on his face as he talked with his Commander.

"What's gotten into you?" Paul questioned, dismantling the tranquilizer gun and putting it back in the suitcase. "Lately you seem to be... more reckless than usual. When was the last time you had a full night's rest?"

"It doesn't matter." Tord broke in roughly, analysing his robotic digits. "We got Tom back, and managed to get a glimpse of the monster's true potential. Aside from a few casualties, I say tonight was a win in my book."

Paul frowned, concern showing in his gaze. "You had quite a couple of close calls back there. You were so adamant in doing things by yourself, I ponder why even bother bringing me along with the tranquilizer if you were just going to insist on doing things alone anyway." He argued. "Sir… are you sure you're okay?"

Tord's composure wavered for a tiny fraction, but his expression gave nothing away. "What do you mean? I'm perfectly fine! I am the Red Leader, am I not?" Paul could've sworn he saw the Norsk twitch. "I always know what I'm doing."

Paul opened his mouth to argue when the door to the cockpit slammed open. They whipped around at once to see a soldier with striking ginger hair standing by the doorway; her green eyes wild with fear, struggling for breath. "Red Leader!" She gasped. "It's the asset! It escaped containment – we're under attack!"

Tord stiffened with shock, his blood turning to ice. Impossible! He thought. Tom is supposed to be unconscious for several more hours. But perhaps more worrying than a half-shifted monster freely roaming the aircraft to massacre everyone aboard, was the fact that their only hope of stopping it has just been disassembled and put away!

He and Paul exchanged a long knowing look. "I'll go and stall the monster with the rest of the soldiers." He ordered. "Get the tranquilizer ready as fast as you can!"

Paul appeared exasperated for a split-second, and seemed ready to argue otherwise, but he simply released a resigned sigh and saluted instead. "Yes, sir."

As he turned to follow his soldier out, Tord tried telling himself that he was doing this because he knew the most about Tom and the monster half – that he was the only one skilled enough to stall it, and that it's his responsibility as Leader to tame his creation. However, his mind kept flashing to the image of Paul and Patrick close together back in the hangar, parting ways and reassuring one another; and with a pang in his heart he secretly knew of the weakness plaguing through him at the mere idea of losing either one of them. Worse still; lose one, and having to tell the other the unfortunate news.

It's not a risk he's willing to take tonight. I am the Red Leader. I know what's best!

As he stepped out into the main area of the aircraft cabin, he was met with the sight of the remaining soldiers standing rigid and tense; rifles clutched close. A tall, broad-shouldered soldier stood by the doorway to the cargo hold, his back pressed firmly against the steel door to barricade it. Loud snarls and heavy bangs could be heard coming from the other side, and Tord instantly pictured the monster furiously trying to barge in.

"All right, everybody, calm down." Tord commanded, his voice clear above the angry growls. "We have to stall the asset for as long as we can, until Commander Paul can assemble the tranquilizer and sedate it. Under no circumstances are we to aim fire at the asset, do I make myself clear?"

"Are you mad, sir?" A soldier exclaimed. "We are in a metal death trap with an angry monster, and you are more concerned with us hurting it?"

Tord narrowed his eye. "Enough! The asset is currently our only advantage to win the upcoming war. We shoot it dead and, well… we might as well throw in the towel while we still can."

He knew he was exaggerating. The Red Army was very well technologically advanced – thanks to him – and they developed plenty of weapons that will prove useful when the time comes. But Tord needs his soldiers to cooperate and not shoot Tom on sight. He has no idea how resistant he is in his half-shifted form, and he hasn't gotten results back from all the blood samples he took from Tom to know if it is a suitable replacement for the serum. If they kill Tom now, that's the end of the project.

Yeah. That's precisely the only reason why I don't want Tom dead.

"Oh, all right." The soldier backed down, dipping his head irritably. "I really want that thing dead more than anything, but we'll do it your way, Red Leader."

"Great!" The soldier barring the doors hissed. "Then how the h#ll are we supposed to stall it? 'Cause let me tell you, I got a feeling these doors won't stay shut for much longer-"

His words died out with a strangled gasp, his mouth open in a soundless wail, as a claw impaled right through the door and his torso. The other soldiers backed away with shrieks of horror, some of them gagging. Tord remained unmoving; stunned by the sudden sight of the bloody claw tangled in the soldier's guts. The claw retreated just as suddenly, the soldier's body collapsing to the ground as his intestines were pulled through the gaping hole in the door. Horrible guttural growling sounds could be heard on the other side as the beast feasted.

The claw reappeared through the hole again, followed by deep growling. The soldiers instantly reached for their guns.

"Nobody move." Tord rasped each word quietly through gritted teeth. "Whatever you do… don't… move… a damn… muscle."

The steel doors pulled apart with a heavy creak, revealing Tom in his half-shifted stage, forcing the doors apart with its blood-stained claws. Its face was smeared with blood and saliva, caking its shirt crimson, and dripping on the floor. Ears pricked, it curled its lips and bared its teeth into a snarl. The monster paused by the doorway, scanning the cabin with its strange, and alluring empty eyes.

Staying true to Red Leader's orders, nobody moved. No one made a sound. They simply stood there for what felt like an eternity, frozen in the building suspense.

Tord took shallow, quiet breaths, trying unsuccessfully to slow down his racing heart. The monster hissed, the noise slithered around the room like smoke, and approached quietly; stumbling forward in two legs, hunched over, and tail flicking to and fro. It stepped over the corpse of the soldier by the door without so much as a glance.

It drew closer.

And closer.

Like a predator hunting for prey.

One deliberate step at a time.

Hurry up, Paul! Tord silently willed the Commander to appear from behind him, and sedate the asset before any more blood can be spilled. He can't fully trust the repulsor function of his mechanical arm to protect him this time. His arm was still fragile from the glitch incident and would most likely malfunction if it gets too overheated.

The monster swung its head from side to side, snarling at the soldiers but never approaching them. For a while, there was a feeling that everything would turn out okay. If no one moved or made a sound, then there won't be a reason for the monster to attack them, and Paul could reach them without havoc breaking out.

But things just couldn't go the easy way.

The soldier that had alerted him of the situation sneezed beside him, shattering the silence. The asset's ears instantly swivelled in her direction and it released a deep rattling hiss. Oh no.

The monster made the move to round on her, but the soldier standing on her other side swooped in and punched the asset on the side of its face, and followed up by slamming the blunt end of his weapon on top of its head. The monster showed its teeth, hatred twisting its face, as it advanced on them. It reached out for them with outstretched claws, but was pulled back by another soldier grabbing its tail and tugging it back hard.

Tord's fists clenched from how hard he willed himself not to face palm instead. "You fools!"

The monster roared, a sound of pure rage and hatred. Ripping its tail out of the soldier's grasp, it twisted around and launched itself at him. The soldier could only stagger a few steps back before the monster was on top of him, burying its claws deep into the soldier's throat, fastening its teeth into his scalp and ripping the head clean off his shoulders with one simple wrench of its head.

"No weapons my ass!" Another soldier shouted with indignation, pulling up his rifle to take aim of the test subject as it rounded on him next. "I'm not about to be massacred by some creepy half-ass lab experiment!"

The monster rose to its full height as it regarded the armed man, whipping its tail around and slamming two other soldiers back against the wall as it lunged for him.

Tord narrowly avoided the tail; his eye widened once he made sense of the situation before him. "No!" He gasped, reaching out to try and stop the soldier from pulling the trigger a moment too late.

A gunshot rang throughout the room as the soldier shot the asset at point blank range in the chest, sending the monster staggering a couple paces back. Astonishingly enough though, that's all it did. A dark bloodstain appeared through the shirt, but other than that the monster didn't seem too fazed by the shot to the chest, and soon enough, it was back on its feet; letting out an enraged shriek as it sprang at the soldier.

The soldier let out a screech of shock and fear, doubling back to escape the monster's claws for another chance to shoot it again. But the asset was too fast for him, and it lashed out with one claw; scoring across his stomach and spilling his entrails all over the floor. The monster pounced on him and finished him off with a few famished bites to his neck.

That's it! Tord can't stand idly by and watch as his soldiers fall victim to his creation's claws. He quickly charged the repulsor blast of his robotic arm and fired at the asset.

The monster let out a bellow of pain as the repulsor blast seared its shoulder. It swung its head from side to side, and then turned to fix Tord with a baleful gaze. He smirked. "Recognize me yet?"

A forked tongue flicked out between its teeth, swiping around its blood soaked jaws. Tord summoned every scrap of skill and strength he possessed. This isn't just an ordinary sparring session with Thomas anymore. He knew the monster could kill him if he makes one wrong move, but in spite of that he felt strangely free. In this moment, it doesn't matter who he is. There was only the clean danger of battle and trying to survive.

He aimed another repulsor blast at the asset's neck after he was certain he'd given enough time for his arm to cool down, but the halfling monster swung its head to one side and dodged the blow. It darted forward and lunged for him. Tord jumped back, narrowly avoiding a killing bite to his throat. The monster flexed its haunches to pounce again. Tord kinked his robotic fingers, taunting it to come for him. With an ear-splitting shriek it threw itself at Tord, but at the last moment he darted aside. He fired another blast as the asset landed, and struck a hit on the side of its face.

The monster shook its head furiously, evidently annoyed by Tord's strategy. It won't be enough to defeat it, but it is a sure way to keep it distracted long enough for Paul to arrive and end the conflict.

The asset glowered as the Norsk taunted him again. "Come on, beastie! Don't you like your meal half medium rare?" He purposely displayed the scarred half of his face.

The halfling monster pounced at him again. As Tord turned to sidestep out of the way, he was jerked back by a harsh tug on his robotic arm. At first he looked down in confusion, but it quickly turned into dread once he realized that the asset had managed to sink its teeth into his prosthetic arm and stop his escape attempt. It swung its tail around and swiped Tord's feet off balance, knocking him over and on his back. Snarling, the monster started to trash its head around and tug back hard; pulling at the robotic arm. Tord hissed at the building pain jolting up the stump of his arm. Although he couldn't exactly feel the teeth sinking into the metal, the prosthetic was still attached to his nervous system for mobility purposes, and having it forcefully ripped out of his body isn't exactly a pleasing notion.

The monster had the robotic arm gripped between his teeth and continued to tug, and tug back hard. Tord felt a terrible pressure at his shoulder. The asset slammed one paw down on his torso, sinking its claws into his chest to immobilize his movements. He writhed and twisted, but each movement only made the pressure worse as the tugging continued. Tears pricked the corner of his eye, and Tord hated himself in that moment of weakness.

All of a sudden, the ginger haired soldier appeared in his peripheral vision and slammed her rifle down repeatedly on the monster's head. It let go of Tord with a startled growl, turning its attention on the soldier.

Tord instantly sat up, clutching at his shoulder and peering down to analyse the damage on his robotic arm. He could still move the prosthetic around, but there was a gash above his forearm where the cables were visible. He didn't dare shoot another blast from the repulsor in this condition.

The monster faced the soldier, swiping the rifle right out of her hands. She froze in fear as it approached, its head low, its teeth bared and dripping with blood. Then it rose to its full height and lunged forward, sinking its teeth in her face as she let out a blood-curdling scream.

"Ella!"

The last surviving soldier threw himself at the monster, forcing it to let go of its prey; her body toppling to the floor lifelessly. The asset snarled and reared back, trying to dislodge the soldier off. It whipped around and sank its vicious claws into his throat. Blood welled out as the halfling monster ripped him down to the crotch with a single slash.

The soldier let out a gurgling cry and crumbled to the floor, body convulsing as his guts spilled out of him, leaning back against the wall. The monster towered over him now, fangs bared and ready to tear him to pieces. The soldier regarded the creature with a blank, glazed look in his eyes, before pulling the gun from his holster and aiming at his own head.

He pulled the trigger.

Knowing he was the last man standing now, Tord quickly snapped his mind back into action and moved to remove the gun from his holster; anticipating the monster to turn its attention back on him and finish what it started. But the monster didn't move away. It was strangely still, staring down at the body at its feet. Then it did something unexpected.

Ears drooping, it crouched down and reared back its head and started to wail. A loud, high-pitched shrill of agony. Upon closer inspection, Tord was stunned to find tears streaming down its face.

"What in the world?" He muttered out loud, his voice attracting its attention as it turned its head towards him.

The halfling monster slinked towards him, whimpering. Before Tord can react and take the gun from his holster, it was upon him and unexpectedly nuzzled its head against his mechanical palm, nudging it so that it rested on top of its head; just between the horns. Tord's heart throbbed hard on the back of his throat, but now he felt less afraid and more confused than anything else. It climbed half of its body into his lap, while the lower half sprawled on the floor.

Tord watched the monster weep into his palm, curious and a little worried. "What… what happened?" He wondered.

"K- k- kill…"

Tord perked up at the choking sound it uttered. Was it trying to speak? At first Tord thought it must've been a trick of his mind, but the closer attention he paid the more it sounded like words were being said. Tord went on looking down at the bloodied monster. Somehow his fear had drained away.

"Ki-kill… m-me…"

Tord stared in horror as he made out what it was trying to say. "Tom?" He leaned closer and spoke urgently, his stomach churning. "Tom, is that really you?"

A thin wailing came from Tom, which gradually formed into words. "P-please, kill me."

"W-what?"

Tom's eyes opened wider and he fixed his cloudy eyeless gaze on Tord. "I- I- I can't take this anymore. Please!"

But before Tord could do anything, something small came whistling through the air and thunked into Tom's neck.

Tom jerked back with an animalistic snarl. Tord flinched with a surprised yelp, and lifted his gaze to see Paul standing by the doorway to the cockpit, tranquilizer in hand as he took aim of Tom again. He shot another sedative, this time hitting Tom in the shoulder.

Tom wobbled, his head starting to droop as he slowly collapsed forward onto Tord's lap. "You… you have to… kill me…" His voice was barely a mumble as he fell unconscious.

Tord stared down at him in stunned horror the entire time.

Chapter Text

In his apartment, Eduardo paced back and forth while continuously mumbling under his breath as he skimmed through the evidence files he'd gathered during his investigation on the loser's new BFF. Over the past week since he started this new investigation, he'd been deeply invested in looking into everything there was to know about the enigmatic troublesome Irishman that's been lurking around Edd over the past few months. Eduardo went through a h#ll lot of trouble to acquire so much as a full name, and he had to break some big work policy rules here and there to get anything done at all; and although it wasn't much, what he found in the end should be more than enough reason for Edd to steer clear of that shady as f#ck guy.

"Edu!"

The file in his hands was tossed high in the air as Matt appeared unexpectedly right next to him, startling him. Eduardo caught the file mid-air as he quickly composed himself, and shot the ginger a hard stare.

"S-sorry!" Matt squeaked and backed away sheepishly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Eduardo narrowed his eyes and scoffed. "I didn't get scared! You just… you surprised me, that's all." He insisted. "Anyways, what are you doing here? Don't you have to be stupid somewhere else?" Good thing he made sure to clear away all evidence of his hobby from his living room earlier that day.

"Not until six!" Matt lifted his chin proudly. "Mark and I are going to watch a bunch of chick flick movies. You want to join us?"

"Can't. We have a plan going here, and I need to stay here to talk with Edd, remember?" Eduardo highly doubted Edd would hear him out if he simply approach him, so they devised a plan to get them in the same space by themselves long enough for him to show the evidence, and convince him of keeping his distance from the Irish menace. "Besides, I'm not a big fan of chick flick movies."

"How do you know, you big grumpy pants?" Matt challenged slyly. "Have you ever tried watching it to find out?"

"I used to watch them with Jon whenever he insisted on it."

Matt tensed. He didn't mean to bring up Jon! No doubt his late friend was still a sore subject for Eduardo to talk about, and the last thing Matt wanted was to make the burly brunet upset, or worse, evoke his wrath. He instantly opened his mouth to apologize but Eduardo continued.

"Jon didn't like that I was only into violent action movies, so he'd try to get me into other genres of movies. Mostly chick flicks and animated films." His voice was soft and grave; a faint smile on his face. "Didn't really enjoy most of them, but Jon was happy with the arrangement so I put up with it. Jon liked the more light-hearted films, especially those with bouncy musical numbers."

Matt stared at him in surprise. Talking about Jon seemed to have made him happy, even though he was dead. Was that how it was when you lost someone you loved? His thoughts drifted to Tom. Even thinking of his friend made Matt's chest tighten with grief. I could never talk about Tom happily. Not after what happened. And even then, he had no one to talk to. Edd barely even looks at him, nowadays.

After today, hopefully that'll change…

"Don't you find it hard to talk about him?" Matt couldn't help but ask.

"I like to remember him." Eduardo answered. "And it's easier now that some time has passed." He bowed his head. "He was the kindest, sweetest person I've ever known, and I miss him every day. But missing him doesn't have to feel so sad anymore because... I try to call on his memory with fondness, you know?"

Matt held his gaze, saying nothing. The grief in his heart seemed to melt into warmth.

"Is everything going according to plan?" Eduardo asked, putting the evidence file on the kitchen counter.

"Yes! I invited Edd over, and told him we're gonna chill together – all four of us!" Matt told him, shifting his feet. "He… surprisingly agreed to it." It's been three days since his friend returned from the camping trip with Reagan, and the brunet has been acting strangely quiet since then. Well… more so than usual anyway. "You sure I can't take a peek on the evidence file? I think it would bring me some relief if I knew what we're dealing with here."

Eduardo shook his head. "I'll handle this, doofus. Just know that you were right to be suspicious." And that's all he was willing to share on the matter.

"If you say so…" Matt chuckled, rubbing his shoulder. "You know, it will be nice to have Edd back once this whole ordeal is finally over. Things can finally go back to the way they were…" He trailed off; realizing things could never be the same as it was before. Tom is still gone.

For a brief moment, Matt entertained the possibility of Tom still being alive somewhere and coming back to them. He knew it would never happen. He's dead and buried in Winchester Park. But he couldn't help but think of a scenario where Tom returned, intimidated Reagan from ever coming close to them again, and the three of them would be happy once again to go on more crazy adventures. If only...

Mark joined them a few minutes later, and they took their time while Edd has yet to arrive to discuss the details of their plan. "Okay, so let's recap. The loser will come in through that door at any minute now, and we're all gonna act natural. Then once the loser has been lured into a false sense of security, you two find an excuse to leave us alone, and I'll talk to him. Is everyone clear on what you're doing?"

Matt and Mark nodded in unison.

Just then, the apartment doorknob jiggled. Everyone tensed.

"He's here." Eduardo narrowed his eyes. "Remember, act natural!"

They settled themselves around the kitchen counter, appearing as if they were chatting. Eduardo made sure to keep the evidence file out of sight as the door flipped open, and Edd strolled in with a can of cola in his hands. Although there was an easy-going smile on his face, his expression was unreadable and his eyes were dark.

"Hey." Edd greeted, his gaze sweeping around the place.

Eduardo grunted. "Sup, loser."

"So, uhh... what- what are we doing?" Edd questioned. "Matt only said we'd be hanging out, but I didn't really understand what this entails. By the way, I won't be able to stick around for very long. I have somewhere to be later on."

Eduardo narrowed his eyes. Meeting with Reagan, no doubt. He opened his mouth to reply, thinking of something casual to say, when Matt beat him to the punch.

"Oh NO!" Matt exclaimed dramatically, hand flying to his forehead as if he were a damsel. Beside him, Mark jumped in surprise. Even Edd looked startled. "It seems I have FORGOTTEN SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT back in my APARTMENT!"

Eduardo's composure wavered, and he had to will himself not to face palm. Perhaps he should've clarified to have Mark make up an excuse to leave instead – the doofus was far from subtle. He caught a gleam of amusement in Mark's eyes as the ginger continued.

"Oh, the HUMANITY!"

"What thing?" Edd asked, his eyes narrowed and an annoyed edge to his voice. "Matt, whatever it is, do you really need it right now?"

"YES!" Matt said, louder than before. "This is ABSOLUTELY TOO IMPORTANT!"

"Well, perhaps-" Edd started.

"MARK, would you be so kind as to ACCOMPANY ME back to MY PLACE and HELP ME LOOK FOR IT?" Matt practically bellowed. "I'm afraid I WON'T find it by MYSELF."

Hiding his laughter, Mark answered as curtly as he could. "Of course."

With a hand on the ginger's shoulder, the two of them made their way around the counter and passed by Edd, who stared at them incredulously as they exited the apartment. "What… what just happened?"

Eduardo shrugged and rolled his eyes innocently. "H#ll if I know." That… could've gone better, but they did their job. He thought, fixing his gaze on the brunet standing across from him. Now comes the hard part… No matter what way he goes about this, once he mentions Reagan the loser will undoubtedly lose his temper and become defensive. He just needs him to listen long enough to supply him with the information he found. Now whether this ruins whatever respect they have for one another, Eduardo couldn't honestly care. He might as well just spill it and get it over and done with.

He took a deep breath, his hand gripping the file on the counter. He has to choose his next words carefully.

"Last week, when you were leaving for your trip, I saw you with a strange blond guy." He began. Edd's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he listened silently as Eduardo continued. "I couldn't help but notice some strange looks he was giving you. Have you known that guy for very long?"

He immediately noticed Edd's posture go rigid, though his facial expression remained partially indifferent. After several long moments, Edd spoke. "Who I spend my time with is none of your business." He sipped his cola.

Eduardo glared at him. He could feel tension cackling in the air between them. He wanted to avoid a possible fight from breaking out, but if Edd decides to make things difficult he won't hesitate to go for the hard way instead. Eduardo took a pace forward, towering over the loser who glared back at him indignantly. He will try to keep things peaceful until there's no other choice. "Your friend is worried about you." He growled. "And after everything I found out about your supposedly "new friend", I agree with him."

"Matt…" Edd hissed through gritted teeth, crushing the empty cola can with one hand. "Of course he would involve you in this mess. What a great friend he is. Telling everyone about my personal life! Ha! I swear to god, I'm gonna kill him-" He trailed off as he abruptly stood up and made a move the leave.

"Oh no, you don't!"

Eduardo surged forward and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back hard and shoving him back down on the couch in one fluid motion. Edd blinked wide eyed, wondering what just happened. "You're gonna sit the f#ck down and hear me out, you understand?"

Edd sat up, his eyes narrowed to furious slits. "Keep your big fat-ass nose out of my life, will you?"

"Just listen to what I have to say." Eduardo insisted, trying hard to keep his anger in check and not let a fight break out. "If you don't want me in your life anymore after this, then fine. I'll leave you well enough alone. But at least listen to what I have to say first before you come to a decision."

Edd scoffed, but begrudgingly remained where he was. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Eduardo the entire time.

Eduardo sighed. "I've been investigating this Reagan fellow closely over the past week after doofus told me what was going on."

"Pretty sure that's an invasion of privacy." Edd muttered crossly.

"Not in my line of work, it isn't." Eduardo replied steadily.

"Oh, great!" Growled Edd. "So Matt paid you to spy on my life, huh? That suddenly makes it all better then!"

"I wasn't spying on you, I was spying on Reagan!" Eduardo shook his head. "But that's beside the point; thing is, you shouldn't trust that guy. He's clearly up to something, and for whatever reason you seem to be the only one naively blindsided to notice."

"Excuse me?"

Eduardo pulled out the evidence file and flickered through it. "Your so called friend used to be part of a criminal organization from around these parts." He revealed. "He worked for them for several years by mugging, kidnapping, and killing people-"

"Yeah, I already know all that."

Eduardo stiffened with shock. His eyes widened as he stared at Edd. "Wait… you already know this? And… you deliberately continue to hang out with him? Are you mad?!"

Edd shrugged and rolled his eyes. "What's the big deal? He told me all of this himself, and he said he doesn't do this kind of stuff anymore." He lifted his chin confidently as he said this. "He's changed! And I believe him."

"Are you telling me you trust him purely because of that?" Eduardo exclaimed, hardly believing what he was hearing. "Haven't you considered he might've lied to your face about that? You hardly know him!"

"Neither do you. But you think you know him well enough to say he can't be trusted." Edd countered.

Is he for real? Eduardo stared at him completely dumbfounded. "Don't think I haven't noticed your wounds! I've seen you limping ever since you returned from your so called "camping trip"." He pointed out. "He's been making you do stupid sh#t, hasn't he? Probably picking fights with some thugs or something."

"It's not his fault we kept bumping into trouble." Edd admitted, knowing that wasn't completely true. "The thugs… just happened to be there."

Eduardo snorted disbelievingly. "Oh, that's rich! Sure. And he just so happened to have been one of them, too. Maybe still is." His stare hardened. "Even if what he told you was true, hasn't it crossed your mind he might be using you as a means of getting revenge on them? How are you totally okay with this?"

Edd shook his head profusely. "He wouldn't do that." He insisted. "He's my friend!"

For a few moments Eduardo was kinda speechless by the loser's bind faith. Okay… so he knows about the criminal organization stuff. There goes that useful little bit of trivia on the Irishman. Then he flipped over the next page on the file and his eyes darkened.

"You don't know who you are dealing with." He murmured coolly. "You think you know him based on your experiences, but you couldn't be more wrong. Reagan is not who you think he is."

Edd stared at him evenly. "I know enough."

"Oh, really?" Eduardo challenged. "Then I suppose you also know that your little friend has been legally dead for the past five years?"

Stunned, Edd stared with disbelief at the man standing over him. His eyes widened. "What?" He gasped, refusing to believe what he had just heard.

"Reagan has been dead for five years." Eduardo repeated more firmly, trying not to show satisfaction of finally having caught the loser off guard this time. "So this guy you've been hanging around has obviously lied to you about who he truly is. Face it, Edd. This guy is too dangerous to be trusted, so give it a rest and stop seeing him!"

Edd was still struggling to deal with what Eduardo had just told him. But the more he really thought about it… it kind of adds up. He recalled the night on the alleyway when they fought the thugs, and how one of them had not only referred to Reagan by a different name but they had also thought of him as dead, too. Add up with everything the Irishman told him of the organization he currently works for – the Red Army – things started to piece themselves together like a puzzle.

Perhaps Reagan faked his death to get away from the criminal life on the streets to join this Red Army? This theory certainly fits with everything else Reagan had told him about his life.

Relief washed over him, but he held back a sigh. He can't really explain all of that to Eduardo; even if he wanted to. Reagan said no outside parties must know about his deal or the Red Army. Besides, it's none of Eduardo's business, anyway.

An icy calm flooded through him as he faced his former rival, lifting his chin and raising his gaze to meet his. "This means nothing to me." He growled solemnly. "I know who Reagan truly is. I am the one who actually went out and got to know him; not you, nor Matt! Neither of you should get to decide who I'd rather spend my time with. And after this bullcr#p both of you pulled on me… I think I want nothing to do with any of you anymore!"

A long pause followed. Eduardo tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "What are you saying?"

Anger swelled up inside Edd, but he forced himself to stay calm and think carefully about his next words. "Reagan is offering me a chance to get my life sorted out." He admitted, while not going into much detail over what exactly this offer entails. His words hung heavy in the air. "A chance for me to leave everything that's been dragging me down behind, and move on with my life."

Eduardo was silent, his gaze locked with Edd's. "Loser," he said in a tight voice. "If I thought for one minute that you'd actually consider this —"

"You and Matt should probably stop trying to intervene with my life," Edd cut in scathingly. "When you know what's on the line. But don't worry. I haven't decided yet. I just want you to know exactly what's on the table, so you can think about that the next time you guys tell me who to be friends with."

Eduardo stared at him flabbergasted. "Are you sh#tting me right now, loser? How can you still insist there's nothing wrong in this picture? No. Better yet! – How can you choose some shady f#ck you've known only for a couple of months over your own best friend?" He glared at him in complete disbelief. "What would Tom think about this?"

Too little too late, Eduardo realized the fatal mistake he made.

Edd bristled, his eyes furious slits. He barged past him roughly. Eduardo didn't bother trying to stop him from leaving this time, knowing it would be a lost cause. This conversation was getting nowhere. Shooting one last furious glare at him, Edd slammed the door shut behind him; nearly causing the whole building to tremble.

"Sheesh!" Breathing out an exasperated sigh, Eduardo ran a hand through his hair and retreated into the kitchen. His attempts of helping Edd see to reason has ended catastrophically bad, and their argument took a lot out of him. "That could've gone better." He mutters under his breath, opening the fridge to take out a can of diet cola.

Soft knocking on the door roused him out of his tired musings. Eduardo knew better than to hope it would be Edd, coming back so soon after his angry outburst. "Come in."

The door slowly creaked open revealing Mark, standing in the apartment's entrance holding a cup of tea in one hand. "Everything okay?" He asked softly, his eyes shifting around the place. "I heard the commotion-"

"I'll be surprised if you didn't." Eduardo mumbled, taking a sip of his drink.

"-So I decided to check up on you." Mark finished, unfazed by Eduardo's moody comment. "Edd didn't take your suggestion well, I presume?"

Eduardo glanced at him briefly as he walked right past and into the living room. "What was your first clue, smart-ass?" He plopped down on the sofa, coke in hand and switched the TV on. "How's doofus? Did he hear us?"

Already used to this kind of behaviour from his companion, Mark did not take it personally. "Oh, he's fine! He actually dozed off five minutes into the film we were watching; so he didn't hear anything." He sat down neatly next to Eduardo, taking a sip of his tea as he waited for the anticipated frustrated rant that was about to ensue.

"That damn loser thinks he's got it all figured out."

Yup! There it is.

"I just don't get it! I gave him every possible and conceivable reason not to hang around that shady character – warned him about his friend's worries over the subject, and he still won't listen!" The words seem to stumble out of Eduardo's mouth. "He is so goddamn stubborn, I just want to bury my fist in his face repeatedly until he finally gets some semblance of sense!"

Enjoying his tea, Mark patiently waited for him to cool down and finish his mad ravings. After a particularly long sip, he gazed down at his drink pensively and gave a low hum of understanding. "Hmm, sounds like a handful." He observed, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Reminds me of a certain someone who went through a similar issue in the past."

At that, Eduardo scoffed. "As if! You didn't see me hanging around obvious charlatans." He protested defensively. However, after a few moments of silence between them, only replaced with the sounds coming from the television, did Eduardo really reflect on his own behaviour. "Was I really this difficult to deal with?" He mumbled uncomfortably, as if he didn't want to admit the possibility out loud.

"I would argue you were worse, but then again, I don't know much about the current situation to make a clear judgement yet." Mark shrugged with a tiny grin.

Eduardo shot him an annoyed glare. "I hate when you're right."

Running a hand exasperatedly through his messy locks, Eduardo emitted a long drawled out groan of annoyance as he stood up. Mark watched him with amusement and curiosity. "Where you heading off to?"

Eduardo put on a jacket as he replied. "I'm gonna stop the loser from making the biggest mistake of his life."

(Meanwhile…)

Cold. So cold. Everything was darkness and cold. The bitter frost deep inside of him, freezing his guts, burned fiercely; driving him forward to seek a way of making this agonizing sensation stop. He could see shadowy blurry shapes all around him. Impulsively, almost as if it were instinct, he pounced and sank his teeth into one of them. He paid no mind to the loud noises they made, or the struggle they put on, as he felt the wet gush of warmth seeping into his mouth. He barely chewed, just swallowed the whole chunk and felt it travel down his throat all the way to his stomach where the warmth spread throughout the rest of his body. He nearly shivered with delight when the freezing sensation subsided at long last.

For about a few seconds.

Before long, the warmth evaporated like mist and he was left feeling as if icicles were stabbing through his abdomen. The cold had taken over again. He took a few more famished bites in a desperate attempt at igniting the warmth back into his body; but as the movements of the figure he clung to weakened, so did the warmth, and soon, he was gnawing at a lukewarm chunk at best. He abandoned the motionless figure in favour of one of the more lively ones.

Bright flashes of light faded in and out of his vision. In between them, he caught glimpses of figures moving around him. Blood splattering the walls. Screams of terror. Frightened faces. A warm bluish glow in the palm of a hand; the sight of it made him flinch in pain for some reason. It made his skin burn, but he could still feel ice running through his veins.

As he slowly regained consciousness, Tom became more and more aware of how stiff and sore his entire body felt. His chest in particular was aching a lot, and his stomach felt weird. These sensations feel familiar, though he couldn't exactly tell why that is. He struggled to blink open his eyes. The light above him was harsh and nearly blinded him. Groaning, he lifted a hand over his face to shield his eyes.

"Tom."

At the sound of his name, Tom blinked rapidly. His vision progressively cleared; his surroundings coming into focus. He was back in his room… his room in the lab level of the Red Army base. But why? Wasn't Tord experimenting on him? Shouldn't he be in the laboratory? He lifted his head, noticing a figure standing at the foot of his bed watching him. Tom blinked a couple of times until the blue and red blur melded together to reveal none other than the Red Leader himself. His gaze dark, and his expression unreadable.

"Commie?" Tom slurred, feeling as if the whole room were spinning. He tried to sit up in bed, only for a headache to force him back down. "What… what's going on? What is this? Why are we here?"

Tord didn't answer him right away. He tipped his head to one side and continued his silent observation of the eyeless man. Tom felt uneasy. Just what about him intrigued the Norsk so much?

"How much do you remember?" Tord asked, his one eye narrowing.

Tom blinked. "Of what?"

"This last week. What can you remember?"

Licking his lips, Tom suddenly realized just how dry his mouth and throat were. He squinted his eyes, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to think. "Uhh… we were… in the lab. You were running tests on me."

Tord nodded. "What else?"

Tom clenched his eyes shut as a splitting headache momentarily took hold of him. "I don't…" He rasped. "I don't know. I don't understand! What is this? I'm not in the mood to play your little games, Commie."

"You really don't remember any of it?" Tord inquired, worry darkening his gaze. "Think hard, Tom. What is your most recent memory?"

"I don't-"

All of a sudden, it came all flooding back. He sat up so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. Recollections of waking up in this exact same state, only with no clothes on, dead bodies gruesomely piled around him, and a horrible sinking realization of what had previously occurred. But even then he knew – in his heart he knew – that he must've done something similar to those previous incidents. Oh, please no…

"Did-" He choked, struggling to get the dreadful words out. "Did I shift?"

Tord held him motionless for several heartbeats with his penetrating gray gaze, his face giving nothing away. "You did." He revealed at last. "You've been in your monster form for approximately a week."

Tom hardly heard him. A week?! I've never been gone for that long! Blood pounded in his ears and he started to hyperventilate. Oh no. What have I done? He half expected the voice to barge in his head with an ear-splitting screech of fury, knowing that he failed to fulfil his promise. But the voice was silent. It felt like static crackling in his head. Just eerie white noise while it waited for its opportunity to strike. Tom knew it was active. It was there, and even with all the pain it induced he'd rather have it talking and hurting him then silently biding its time. If it intends to get rid of him, just get it over and done with already!

"Do you remember what happened?" Tord asked.

Tom lowered his head. "I… we fought in the lab. Was that when-?"

"Yes."

Processing all of this, Tom tried to look on the bright side of things. Sure, he failed to live up to his end of the bargain and the voice won; but he shifted in a heavily fortified military base secluded from the rest of society! Surely no one must've gotten hurt by him this time around?

Then his gaze flickered over to Tord, and he noticed little puncture marks on his chest with small blood stains.

"I'm guessing I tried to kill you, huh?" He swallowed nervously and chuckled lightly, trying to hide his growing inner dread. "If you know me, then you must've realized that isn't much different from how I usually act around you-"

"Tom."

Tom hesitated. The Commie didn't seem to be in the mood for teasing, either. God, what did he do this time? He tried to search the Norsk's gaze for clues, but could not find any hints of anger in his expression. That's a good sign, right? Although, there were glimpses of something that Tom could mistake for concern in his one eye. Could Tord suspect something is out of place with him? Surely not. There's no reason for him to think that!

"Do you have any memory of what happened while in your monster form?" Tord demanded.

Clenching his eyes shut, Tom tried to call forth his latest memories in a vain hope of remembering. He usually only gets out-of-order glimpses through brief flashes. He only gets to see the full extent of his actions after several nights of disturbing nightmares.

Giving up, he shook his head, looking up at Tord for a detailed explanation with a troubled gaze.

Tord sighed. "The monster managed to escape the base. It was heading for the city, but it crossed paths with one of my border patrols instead… I- I managed to detain it, but by then it had already killed several members of the patrol." Tom's mind whirled with horror. He wanted to ask how many were killed in total, but Tord wasn't finished. "You'd been reduced back to normal… or so we thought. On the way back to the base you woke up and shifted again; and massacred what was left of the survivors."

Bewildered and horror-stricken at Tord's words, Tom gagged. "How many did I-?" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"Twenty four." Tord replied calmly. "The only survivor is in the infirmary in critical condition as we speak."

Tom reared back, horror twisting his belly. Bile rising in his throat. The mere notion that he had attacked and most likely eaten more innocent people made him physically retch. Huge eyed and trembling, he pushed himself out of bed and stumbled over to the bathroom on the opposite side of the room. Tord watched his every step.

"Tom, it's no use." He said, as Tom bent over the toilet; gasping and gulping. "We had your stomach pumped while you were unconscious. There's nothing left in you."

Too horror-struck and disgusted with himself, he barely acknowledged the implication of Tord's words. That helpful little piece of information didn't stop Tom from throwing up regardless; his body releasing nothing but bile and saliva. Still shaking, his body heaved whatever contents he had left in him, which wasn't much, into the toilet. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes from far more than just the mere strain of puking.

Feeling there was nothing else left to empty, Tom flushed the toilet and backed away into the bedroom where Tord remained motionless. He turned to face him. His legs trembled beneath him. All the secrets he'd been carrying suddenly felt like stones in his belly. If he were dropped into the ocean now, they'd drag him straight down to the bottom, never to see the light of day again.

Tom leaned forward. "Wh- what- so what are you going to do?" He whispered; a challenge edged in his voice, the challenge of someone who's on the brink of desperation. "What's going to happen to me now?"

"Nothing."

Tom blinked.

"We're going to proceed with the experiments as usual." Tord went on. "What happened was an unfortunate accident, but we mustn't let that get in the way of our plans."

"An accident?" Tom echoed, still shaking. "No. An accident is when you hit someone with your car unintentionally. What I did… was just plain massacre." He finished quietly, turning his head away.

Silence followed his heavy words. As it dragged on, Tord raised his head again. "Something else happened out there." He began calmly. "When the monster set itself free on the chopper, it… it stopped and started crying. I think seeing one of the soldiers kill himself might've set it off somehow. And I think… I think you snapped out of it."

"Did I?" Tom's whisper was barely audible.

"You spoke to me then." Tord went on, staring evenly into the eyeless man's empty sockets. "You begged to die."

There was a suspenseful pause. Numbness crept beneath Tom's skin, deadening his heart, slowing his thoughts. Then, "Don't be ridiculous!" He snapped, feeling dizzy with horror. "You must be mistaken. I would never-"

"I heard you loud and clear as you clung to me." Tord retorted, his stare hardened. "You plead to me, more than once, to kill you. And I want to know why that is!"

Tom felt sick. The room was spinning out of control, and the following silence was drowned out by the frantic pounding of his heart inside his chest. Tom wrapped his arms around himself. He wanted to run away, hide where no one can ever find him, and stay there forever with his arms over his head.

"N-no -"His voice cracked; a shrill of disbelief. "No! You're wrong!" He shook his head stubbornly. "You must've made a mistake. I wouldn't have said that – I couldn't have said that!"

"Why not?" Tord inquired.

The question made Tom freeze in place. A sudden pressure started to increase in his head, and his jaw clenched shut; refusing to answer the questions that hit too close to home. The voice had trained him well. "Because," He licked his lips nervously. He swallowed and started again. "I just couldn't!" He blurted insistently; much like a child would.

"Why are you so distressed?"

Trembling and on the brink of tears, Tom realized just how "out of character" he was behaving at the moment. Very suspicious, indeed. The voice didn't punish him for it, though. It was silently drumming its sharp nails in the very back of his mind, patiently waiting for its turn to confront him.

When Tom failed to come up with some sort of believable response, Tord continued. "All those bruises on your arms… your severe weight loss, the lack of self-care, continuous reckless behaviour, and exaggerated alcohol consumption…" He spoke slowly, thinking about every word as though piecing the pieces of a puzzle together. "It's no coincidence, Thomas. You… you've been on the path of self-destruction this entire time, haven't you?"

The accusation thickened the air around them. Tom didn't answer. He couldn't. He stood there, visibly shaking as darkness rushed into his vision and sucked all the breath out of him. All his secrets were gushing out like water breaking through a dam, and there was nothing Tom could do to avoid this. One way or another; his lies will unveil here and now, and he will finally be exposed for the murderous burden that he is.

The voice has truly won.

Once again he failed to reply. Tord stalked closer and shook him by the shoulders. "Speak! I want answers!"

"And I want to feel safe in my own skin. Looks like we're both keeping each other from getting what we want." Tom blurted out in a deadpanned voice, his eyes wide and empty; conveying nothing.

Shocked, Tord stepped back and let go of him.

Tom stared back at him numbly. He could not bring himself to care for the impact his words might have on the Norsk anymore. Anger rose within him like bubbling lava in an active volcano. If Tord wants him to speak… oh, then he will speak.

Tord stared at him in disbelief. "W-what happened to you? You were always the strongest out of all of us, and now you're… you're…"

"Broken? Yeah, you can only pull a rubber band so hard before it snaps." Tom spat.

"How did this even happen?" Tord asked, his voice hollow.

"Honestly, there's no point in lying to you to spare your feelings anymore, so I'm just going to come out and say it. Everything that's happened – all the deaths, the pain, the hurt… It's all your fault." For a heartbeat, Tom sounded dazed. Then rage welled up inside of him as he met Tord's wide stare. "You gave me the serum. You made me this way." He snarled, taking a threatening pace closer to the Norwegian man.

Tord stiffened with shock. "I never meant to give you the serum!"

"But you did!" Tom spat in return. "You dropped the damn thing on my coffee mug, and stood by and watch me drink it; all to keep your precious new project a secret from the rest of us. Because that's what's most important, wasn't it? Even after you lost your first test subject and knew what could happen to me, you still didn't do anything about it. You simply didn't give a damn if I died then if it meant your plans were never discovered." He drew himself up, fists clenched. "I used to look up to you, you know? I might have even respected you at one point." He froze suddenly, leaning forward. "For a time, all I ever wanted was to come even remotely close to being anything like you. Just someone who can do something relevant without f#cking up every time." He shook his head, his posture softening. "But that's just it – I'm nothing like you. I'm not an inventor, nor a genius, neither a leader – I'm a failure! And then when I needed you the most, you turned your back on me! So how dare you – how f#cking dare you keep on referring to me as a friend, when you've proven time and time again that I mean so little to you?"

With every word Tom said, a new wound opened in Tord's heart. He stared at the eyeless man in dismay. Tom made a noise of despair and pressed his forehead, gritting his teeth, as though he were trying to keep his head from splitting open. Tord stepped closer, reaching a hand out for him.

"Tom, I-"

His hand was batted away.

"You need to fix this!" Tom lifted his voice in a wail, jabbing a finger into Tord's chest. "My plan would've worked fine if you hadn't kidnapped and brought me here for your sick experiments! I should've died long before any of this happened."

As he listened, Tord had felt like a child struggling to stay afloat in a rushing river, with nothing solid to hold on to. Now it was as if his feet had slammed against the bottom, leaving him stunned.

Tom… was going to kill himself? What?

"You know what you have to do." Tom continued, chuckling darkly. "C'mon. I slaughtered your soldiers! Just like a dog that shows signs of aggression, you need to put me down. It's only fair."

A gleam of some emotion that Tom couldn't identify woke in Tord's gaze. "Absolutely not!" He protested, shocked that Tom would even suggest such a thing. "You don't have any control over what your monster form does."

"Exactly. It's only a matter of time before I act out again and kill you next. You cannot hope to control it." Tom argued smoothly. "If you really meant every word you said about making this world a better place, then here's your chance to prove it. Kill the burden!"

There was only one answer to that challenge. Tord met his gaze evenly and didn't hesitate. "No." He stepped back. "You are my test subject, and my secret weapon to win this war. You're too important to throw away."

Tom stared at him incredulously; a flame of anger flaring in his eyes. "You have my blood, don't you? You can use it to recreate the serum and give it to some other fool – I don't care! Have someone else be your secret weapon, because I'm done!"

Tord drew himself up, head high; his voice clear and cold as he answered. "No. We don't know if that will work. We can't take any risks."

A heavy silence dragged on for eternity after that. His words sunk in. Tom met his gaze as his fury ebbed away and he bowed his head in resignation.

"Figures." He tsked. "I always knew you were full of sh#t, Commie." Balling his hands into fists, his limbs trembled at his sides. He leaned forward, head lowered; jaws clenched, and stared hopelessly at the floor as numbness spread throughout his body. Tom could feel something uncomfortable scratching away at his insides, making his eyes prick, and in that moment of weakness he kept his head bowed. "I'm supposed to be dead…" He hissed, desperate to hold on to any form of emotion he could reach – the closest being anger; for being denied the end to his suffering, and at the man that is to blame for it. "Had I only fulfilled my promise, none of this would've happened!"

Tord towered over him. "Promise? What promise?" He stepped closer and rested one hand on Tom's shoulder, and for a moment the eyeless man didn't move away. "What are you talking about? What did you promise?"

Tom shook him away. "I don't know why I even bother with tears or anger at this point. It's not like I am actually capable of feeling anything at all!" He shouted; knuckles clenched. "Ten… years… of dealing with this. Do you have any idea what I've been through? Having to put up an act and pretend that everything is absolutely fine and dandy so as to not worry anyone; incapable of feeling emotions… I see people laugh or cry, and I just stand there… unable to feel anything. I'm just stone cold inside, and it hurts! It's so painful!" His voice broke. Something wet trickled down his face. "There's not a day that goes by where I don't wish you hadn't missed that missile that fateful day."

Tord opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. What could he say? Tom may carry a deep seated resentment for him, but he seems to carry an even bigger one for himself. Besides, it's not his place to comfort him. He's the Red Leader, after all; and Tom's just a test subject…

With a heavy heart, Tord distanced himself from Tom and turned away. Tom drooped his head and slowly dragged himself back to his bed. Tord shuddered. "I must go now. There are other business that I need to attend to-"

"Don't come back unless it is to put a bullet between my eyes, you hear me?" He heard Tom call out to him as he headed for the door. He winced, hesitating briefly at the doorway, but ultimately hurried away without answering.

Tom heard the door hiss closed behind him; he didn't turn around to check if Tord was gone. There was no need. With a shaky, wavering breath the light in the room dimmed and he was cast in shadows. The unmistakable sound of nails scratching on metal rang agonizingly in his ears.

"You… failed… ~" The voice announced with barely suppressed giddiness. The hairs on the back of Tom's neck stood on end. "Not only have you failed in killing yourself and resist transforming, but you also killed even more innocent people, and to top it all off, you proceeded to confess your secret – to your arch enemy, no less! ~" Tom sat motionless, his eyes closed. "Have you anything to say in your defence, worm? ~"

Tom wanted to laugh – nothing he says will change what's about to happen – but he wouldn't dare. There's a slim chance the voice could go easy on him if he just submit without a fight. But knowing that he broke its rules and failed so spectacularly, toppled with the voice's sadistic nature… highly unlikely.

"N-no…"

At once, a thin and sharp tendril snapped around his left arm, and looped tight just below his shoulder. Tom hissed as it tugged hard and began to cut deep into his skin, drawing blood. The more he pulled against it, the deeper the rope would cut. Panicking, Tom tried following the direction of where the rope was being pulled to, hoping to avoid further pain. He was stopped short when another tendril coiled around his right ankle and started pulling him in the opposite direction. He was going to be torn apart!

His scream of terror cut off with a strangled gasp as more tendrils appeared and tightened themselves around his throat, slicing into him.

"Shhh… we'll have none of that now. ~" The voice sneered. "This is nothing compared to the pain you've inflicted upon others. It's only fair you receive the same treatment in return. ~"

While Tom was forced to play tug of war with the voice inside his head, back in reality, Tom was digging his fingers into the bed sheets. He sat hunched over in his bed, facing the wall, his back turned toward the door. With every cry of pain he uttered in his head and felt it sear all over his body, he would only let out the occasional soft grunt or whine. No one can know how much pain he's in. He can't burden people more.

At some point, as the mental torture went on, his eyes started to light up with an eerie pinkish glow.

(Meanwhile…)

Edd's head spun with weariness. After his camping trip with Reagan and the others a few nights ago, he constantly felt short of sleep and restless whenever thinking about the chance he's been offered. During the day he had to pretend to Matt and the others that he was as fine as ever, that there was nothing going on in his life at all.

You can't go on like this. A small voice warned him.

Reagan had said the exact same thing, too.

But how could he give up his life, give up his aspirations, his home, his friend? Yeah, Matt and Eduardo were driving him up the wall from how nosy they are, and he may have threatened to leave, but he knew deep down that was only his rage talking back then. He didn't really mean it. Maybe. But Reagan had brought a new level of thrill he'd never felt before, and it served as a great distraction for his troubles. Whatever decision he made, he was afraid he would not survive the loss.

Close to the meeting point, he scanned the area for any signs of Reagan; every hair on the back of his neck prickled with excitement as he spotted the familiar figure standing in the distance, and a heartbeat later he made out the lean blond Irishman waiting for him in the shadow of an alley.

"Reagan!" He called, bounding forward.

"Eddie!" Reagan waved him over.

Edd quickly scampered over to him.

"I'm so glad you could come." Reagan greeted. "Did you have any trouble getting away from your neighbours?"

"Uhm… maybe a little bit." They hugged briefly. "Did we really have to meet here? This place kinda gives me the creeps."

Reagan pulled away, fishing his pockets for a cigarette. "Well, I figured since this should be a quick meeting we wouldn't waste our time in some fancy place." He reasoned, popping a cigar to his mouth and quickly lighting it. "Anyways." He drawled out a long inhale before breathing out a puff of smoke. "The others have already given me their answer, and they've all agreed to join. Now it all comes down to you. What's it gonna be, Eddie?"

Edd took a deep breath. He was about to reply when they suddenly heard the distinct sound of a can getting crushed coming from behind him. He spun around. I swear to God…his temper ignited.

"All right, Matt, come out!" He snapped. "We know you're there."

There was a brief silence. Then a figure turned the corner and out stepped not Matt, but Eduardo.

"Whoa, my goodness! You never told me you had a hot brawny twin, Eddie!" Reagan commented slyly, his gaze raking over the newcomer with interest.

Edd couldn't bring himself to correct his companion, or even be disgusted with his pathetic attempt of flirting with Eduardo of all people. He was too shaken with dread to answer properly.

"What . . . what are you doing here?" He stammered, casting an anguished glance over his shoulder at Reagan.

Eduardo stepped forward and faced him calmly. "You know what I'm doing, Edd. I warned you before, but you wouldn't listen. So I'm here to tell you that this has to stop."

Edd stiffened. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play dumb with me, Edd. Not with that f#cker standing right behind you."

There was anger in his brown eyes, but mostly concern. His steady gaze pinned Edd like a nail, until the younger man had to look away. "I suppose Matt told you to follow me, too." He muttered.

"Matt? No. All he wanted was for me to reason with you." Eduardo admitted bluntly. "But when that didn't work, I decided to take a more direct approach and I came to see what was going on."

"Look hot stuff, this here is none of your business." Reagan began, throwing his cigarette aside and stepping forward to Edd's side with a wide sleazy grin on his face. "This is between me and Eddie. He owes nothing to you, so don't start thinking he's betraying anyone here."

Eduardo fixed him with an angry glare. Reagan tensed and clenched his jaw, his grin never fading. Edd's belly lurched, terrified that the aggressive Irishman might attempt to fight off the larger man.

"It's okay, Reagan." He reassured. "I can handle this." Reluctantly he added. "You'd better go."

"And leave you alone to get beat up?"

"Eduardo won't do that." At least I hope so. "Please." Edd begged.

Reagan hesitated a moment longer. Then he swung around and stalked away; Edd's gaze following him until he vanished around the corner. Turning back to his former rival, Edd shifted his feet in discomfort with the situation. "We aren't doing any harm." He started.

"Edd!" Eduardo's tone hardened. "You can't trust that guy. You don't know for sure if he really is who he claims he is. Whatever he promised you, it's too good to be true if he needed you to do so many shady things first."

"I wouldn't be mad if you guys trusted me to be by myself!" Edd snapped defensively. "Everyone treats me like I'm made of glass; that I am about to break at any given minute. Do you have any idea what it's like to have people constantly edge around you, afraid of saying what's on their mind so as to not risk upsetting me? I'll tell you – it doesn't help the situation at all!" He continued. "Hanging out with Reagan for these past few months felt like a breath of fresh air compared to living with the three of you!"

"Perhaps." Eduardo agreed quietly. "But can't you see how dangerous he is?"

Memories of the times when Reagan and he confronted the thugs instantly came to mind. He recalled catching a glimpse of the unbridled rage gleaming in the Irishman's eyes as he dealt with the gang members. The terror he felt as he watched him nearly beat a man to death before he stopped him; or the reckless determination to stay till the end no matter what. But then Edd remembered the moments of vulnerability Reagan had displayed to him, and even entrusting him with details of his past.

"You don't know anything about him."

"Neither do you!" Feeling he was reaching the limits of his patience, Eduardo quickly took a deep breath to recompose himself. "How can you even think of leaving your life-long friend for that fake bastard? He's clearly using you, and you are the only one who's too blind to see it!"

"It's not fair!" Edd hissed. "It's not your decision to make! I shouldn't have to keep feeling like cr#p just because Matt will be too upset otherwise."

"Of course you don't; that's not what this is about. Emotions can be overwhelming, but that doesn't mean you should start doing whatever you want for the sake of ignoring them. You have to acknowledge them if you want to get better, not dismiss them. That f#cker knows this and is exploiting that fact to get what he wants. Getting an adrenaline rush in life-threatening situations can only get you so far before it proves too much for you."

Every word he spoke tore into Edd like a knife. You don't get it. He wailed inwardly. No one does. Fury surged inside him. "You can't possibly understand!" He spat. "You've never loved anyone!"

Eduardo's gaze rested on him, unspoken thoughts flickering in his eyes.

"It's easy for you to say." Edd went on bitterly. "Because you've never actually cared for anyone other than yourself."

A long and deadly silence followed his words. Only the howling wind and the distant sound of cars driving past could be heard.

Eduardo clenched his fists, his expression turning into a scowl. "What do you know about me?" There was the hint of a snarl in his voice. "You have no idea how I feel or think every single day since one of your friends took away one of mine!"

Edd flinched. He had never seen Eduardo this angry; not even when they used to be rivals.

"Jon shouldn't have died the way he did! I treated him like sh#t every day of his life, and he died believing that he meant nothing to me… I- I never got to…" Eduardo's words died away and his eyes clenched shut. "You'll come back with me—now!" He growled. "And stop this nonsense for good. It's for your own sake, Edd. Meeting Reagan can't be right if you keep only getting worse. Matt needs you!"

"No! I won't come!" A wave of guilt and anger swept through Edd. "I'll go on seeing Reagan whenever I want to, and there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

Eduardo's eyes flashed and he launched himself at Edd, reaching out to grab him. Edd turned away and ran. As he fled, all he knew was that he must escape from that accusing stare. He could vaguely hear Eduardo shouting at him as he gave chase, but at some point Edd managed to lose him.

But he still kept on running, and never turned back.

The city whirled past him as if he were caught up in the wind, and when exhaustion finally forced him to stop he wasn't sure where he was. His legs were trembling. He was standing in the middle of a street covered in fog, with only light posts faintly illuminating the surroundings. The space farther ahead opened to reveal a wooden bridge-like structure stretching beyond. The sound of waves, and the smell of salt-water reach Edd's senses.

Suddenly relief flooded his heart. The docks!

He could be completely alone there, without Reagan pleading with him to leave, or the fear that Eduardo would somehow find him.

He padded on, more slowly now, until he reached the starlit sea that lapped at the port's shores. By the time he reached the edge of the dock he was staggering from weariness, but the sight of the glimmering water below gave him strength.

Edd sat down, dangling his legs off the edge as he peered at his reflection swaying in the waves deep in thought. What should I do? He thought helplessly. I feel like there's nothing left for me here. Matt doesn't need me; he has Mark and Eduardo now.

He continued to stare at the rippling waters below, his vision blurring slightly from fatigue as the adrenaline rush he had from the chase finally subsided. Edd rubbed his eyes in an attempt of brushing the tiredness out of them, when his gaze fell on the waves and caught sight of a figure next to him. Edd peered into the reflection with a puzzled expression. It was hard to see it clearly through the constantly shifting waves and the darkness of the night, but once he could finally make out the shape beside him, Edd felt his breath hitch in his throat.

Sitting next to his own reflection, wreathed in mist, was his dear friend that he'd longed so much to see again; looking exactly the same as last time. Deadpan expression, hollow black eyes, dishevelled spiky hair, messy blue hoodie, and laid back posture as it appeared as if he were staring back at him through the mirroring image.

"What a night, eh?" Tom pulled out his signature silver flask from his pocket, unclasping the cap before taking a sip of what could most definitely be Smirnoff.

Edd smiled faintly. "What a night." He echoed.

"Guess it could've gone better." Tom glanced at him with a knowing look. "So what now?"

Edd felt a lump rise in his throat and he held back tears from shedding. "I don't know." He admitted, on the brink of breaking down and spilling all his problems onto the illusion of his long gone friend. "I don't know what to do. I can't stay here anymore!"

Tom's distorted reflection appeared to shuffle closer to him. "I know what it's like to be lost. To feel as if you are alone and everyone is against you, or that no one could ever understand what you are going through."

"Please tell me what to do!" Edd begged, his eyes brimming with tears. "I can't bear this! I don't know if I can stand living in this town anymore. Matt doesn't want me; he has other friends to help him now."

"Don't take it so personally. Matt can be gullible and dense; but understand that, like you, he is merely coping with the losses in his own way, too." Tom reasoned. "If Matt found happiness in Mark and Eduardo, and they give him the strength to move on, it's not right to judge him for it. Be more generous to him."

"But they are always there." Edd muttered stubbornly. He knew he was being unreasonable. "I'll try to understand." He promised with a sigh. "But Matt isn't the only reason why I'm considering leaving. It's hard to move on from everything that's happened when the whole town has so many memories attached. We grew up here! The four of us, together, since we met back in kindergarten – going on all sorts of dumb adventures along the way." His voice, that once held frustration, was now replaced with a wistful tone. "It's difficult not to think about those moments, or connect them to the worst situations. It's painful to remember those days, but they are everywhere! No matter where I am in this city, I am constantly reminded of what it once was and what we've lost."

Tom stared at him, and nodded solemnly. "You don't want to remember anymore."

For a couple of heartbeats, Edd stared at the reflection with guilt searing right through him. "Yeah."

"And this Reagan fellow, he promised you a chance to forget?" Tom took another sip of his flask.

"It's not like that." Edd was quick to correct. "He is giving me an opportunity for a change of pace. To get away from all these reminders, and properly move on from grief. It's just what I need." He paused, his tone softening. "But on the other hand; if I go, I feel I'll be giving up something vitally important. The last remnants of our friendship— it will be gone forever. I don't know if I can stand that either."

He sighed, his breath wavering from confessing his turmoil out into the open.

"We miss you so much, Tom." Edd continued. "Things were so much easier back when there were four of us. You never should have died the way you did. It's not fair!"

The eyeless man did not reply directly. His reflection rippling on the surface of the water merely stared back at him with a pondering look. "No one can make that choice for you." He murmurs at last. "However, that doesn't mean things can't go back to the way they were. Not in the exact same way, of course; but perhaps in the change of pace you're searching for."

Edd stared at the reflection of his friend, wide-eyed and rigid with shock. When did he get so wise?

Tom smiled at him. "There can be four again, if given the right chance."

Edd sat up straight, feeling as if a bright light had shone straight into his mind. "You mean, you won't mind if I choose to leave?"

Tom shrugged. "There's no point in staying if you're going to be unhappy." He looks away, his face unreadable. "Friendships aren't meant to drag you down."

Confused by his friend's words, Edd was about to ask what he meant when his eyes caught a glimpse of another figure rippling in the reflection of the waves. Edd found his eyes glistening as he recognised the figure clad in red and the iconic horns for hair sitting on the other side.

His throat seemed to clog, and words were stuck in his tongue as he simply kept staring at the reflection.

"Is- is that the- is that how you felt when you left?" Edd finally mustered the strength to ask, trying to keep his voice levelled and calm so as to not betray the array of emotions he was feeling. However, the accusing tone in his voice was unmistakable. "That we were holding you back?"

The blurry figure did not respond. His eyes were blank, and his expression lacked any emotion; giving nothing away.

"Eddie!"

At the sound of his name he spun around, surprised to see Reagan walk down the pier in his direction. Jumping to his feet, Edd immediately forgot about the images of his friends and turned to greet the Irishman.

"Reagan! What are you doing here?"

"Well, you told me to go, but didn't specify where to, so I just stuck around the neighbourhood." Reagan explained, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Considering the shouts I heard and the fact that you're standing out here on your own, I'm guessing the talk with that guy didn't go over well?"

"It could've gone better." Edd admitted uncomfortably. "Listen; I thought about what you said – about joining the organisation."

Reagan's eyes sparked with interest. "And?"

"I've been so scared, Reagan—scared about leaving my home and friends for good. I don't have much left." He began. His heart thumped as he realized that Reagan thought he was about to reject his offer. "But I've come to realize that, yeah, I hardly have anything left. Matt has new friends, so he won't be alone when I'm gone. My aspiration as an artist isn't getting anywhere. And this town is too filled with bad reminders. Honestly, I would do great with some change right about now."

Reagan drew in a sharp breath. "When you're gone? Does that mean . . . ?"

"Yes. I'll join."

Edd could hardly bear to look at the blaze of happiness in Reagan's eyes. His belly twisted with nervousness. He couldn't let him down now. He had to go through with this.

"Thank you, Eddie. I promise I'll do everything I can to make sure you won't regret this." Reagan clapped him on the back, nearly toppling the brunet over in his grip.

"When do we leave?"

"Five to ten days, at most. Should be enough time to pack your things, say your goodbyes, and tie up any loose ends." Reagan replied, looking down at his watch. "I'll be taking the flight back to home base in a couple of hours. There, I'll sign the five of you up and hand off your files to the system for them to enlist you. You should get a confirmation then."

Edd gulped. "Is there a possibility we can be rejected?"

"Relax! You got nothing to worry about." The blond man laughed. "Heck- if I got in, so will all of you!"

Edd tried to smile at his reassurance; however, he was only filled with dread at the idea of what the next days to come will mean to him. On one hand, he is glad he'll have the chance to say goodbye to Matt and explain the situation. But he also suspects that it will cause nothing but anger and pain and confusion, and after tonight there's no doubt the others will try to change his mind.

"You're right." Edd tried to sound brave and optimistic. Reagan and the others are my friends; and I'll make many more! He recalled what Tom's reflection told him, and felt a speck of hope surge within him. There can be four again!

"That's the spirit!"

Chapter Text

Tord wandered the school hallways, looking for Tom. He needed to know if his friend had forgiven him yet. It’s been approximately two weeks since the eyeless boy had been suspended from school after taking the blame for their misadventure. He returned to school today, and appeared to be fine; laughing and smiling with them like nothing ever happened despite all the whispering and rumours going on about him behind his back, but Tord couldn’t get a chance to talk to him during class. Now it’s break time, and he headed for the courtyard behind the school building. As he approached the football field where other kids were playing around, he heard a familiar voice. “Tord!”

Tord felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Tom had forgiven him after all? He followed his friend’s voice, just in time to catch a glimpse of him slipping into the maintenance shed.

He followed and called quietly into the gloom, but he couldn’t see Tom anywhere. He stepped farther in. Suddenly something crashed into his side with a mighty force, knocking him to the ground. Tord spun around, all his senses alert. He saw Tom towering over him with his fist raised in the air, silhouetted in the dimness.

Tom punched him square in the face and kicked him in the gut. Tord gasped for air, the pain in his skull intensifying with every hit. Flailing to try and get away, Tord managed to land a blind hit on Tom’s chin and momentarily stopped the assault.

“What are you doing?” Tord spluttered with a shrill of shock.

Tom scowled. “You sold me out! You ruined my life!” He aimed another punch. Tord ducked just in time and he backed away wearily.

“I didn’t mean to! But it- it was the only way!” He insisted, trembling. “What if they had separated us? We couldn’t be friends then!”

Tom flew at him and knocked him backward. The two boys tussled, punching each other. “Liar! You just don’t want to take the blame!” Tom snarled, leaning over him. “How could you do this to me?”

Tord struggled, staring up at him. “I didn’t mean to make matters worse.”

For a split second, he could’ve sworn he saw Tom’s eyes flash with pain. Blinded by anger, Tom dug his nails into Tord’s neck. “Too late for that!”

Tord flipped Tom over and together they rolled on the floor; writhing in a furious tussle as they threw violent punches at each other. The shelves and supplies clattered to the floor as the two teenagers bundled into them. Tord screeched with pain as Tom bit his forearm. He thrust upwards with a punch and struck Tom above his eye. Tom retaliated by pulling his hair back hard.

“Stop it! Stop fighting!”

The desperate shout made Tord and Tom freeze in place. Matt was standing by the doorway, looking at the mayhem with glistening dismayed blue eyes.

Panting, Tom stared down at Tord, trembling with rage. “I don’t believe you...” He breathed, voice cracking. “I never meant anything to you, did I?”