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Chapter Text

"Execute her," Jack snarls. "Your loyalty is to us now."

As if your loyalty is so easily won. As if they have any right to it. As if this impudent, lowblooded filth- No. Lisa may not be entirely lowblood anymore, but to use the term as an insult would be to say that she was less than perfect.

Lisa was always perfect.

Lisa is perfect, despite the cold metal grafted to her limbs. You stalk through the darkened, deserted hub like the predator you are - but you're not hunting, not for Lisa. Never for Lisa. You're just so ANGRY- wait. Brown blood on the floor, a stark contrast to the dark purple and rust you're trying not to think about. There's no choice now, because you're the only one who knows why this can't be happening.

For the first time ever, you wish you really were a brownblood, because then it could be yours.

But it's not.

You've never hated the rich purple flowing through your veins as much as you do in this moment. Not when you had to smother your rage again and again (you never wanted to hurt anyone); not when you had to hide it, to infiltrate Torchwood Three (you didn't want to deceive them); not even when you knew you would outlive Lisa by centuries (your heart never listened to reason).

But there's brown on the floor, and that means someone else is down here.

Bursting through the door, the first thing (the only thing) you see is the blood.

Blood everywhere.

And there, on the ground, Lisa's bloody, broken body.

You fall to your knees. If the floor is cold, you don't feel it. You don't feel anything. Are you screaming? You're crying; you can see the tears. You can't bring yourself to care.

Someone's saying your name. Looking up automatically, you see the pizza delivery girl - with an ugly wound across her forehead. She says she's Lisa. Is she? You look again at the body in your arms. Was she?

The Lisa you knew would never have become a murderer.

Then again, the Lisa you knew wasn't a purpleblood.

You did this to her.

Each transfusion, every drop of your blood in her veins, pushed her a little closer to insanity. You can deal with your darker urges and the madness that plagues your caste, but Lisa... Sweet, harmless Lisa was born for the dark burgandy that she had (that she needed to be).

You have to fix this. She deserves better.

Your team crashes through the door, only to stop short at the sight that greets them. Two bodies side by side; one brown, one purple-rust, both cradled in your embrace. You think you're bleeding too, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not now, when you've finished killing your (former) matesprit. Not now, when you know you condemned her to something worse than death before you realised what you were doing (or maybe you just didn't care, if it meant you still had her). Not now, as your lilac tears stream down your face, washing away the chemicals you use to turn your irises to mud.

Chapter Text

"I never liked camping," you say, shattering the silence in the dark cellar. I never feel comfortable if I'm away from the ocean for too long, you don't add. You look over at Tosh, and she's already stood up and examining every inch of your prison. The mix of emotions on her face is obvious, even in the weak torchlight; fear, yes, but also... Exhilaration? Excitement? She always was the adventurous type, always wanting to be the heroine and save the world.

But there are no computers here. No databases to hack into and wipe. Here, she is just another rustblood.

"Who'll save us?" you ask, but what you really mean is "Who'll save you?"

The cerulean female leads you out. There's something not right about her, but you're still too unsettled from the shoes and the fridge to focus on it. As she pulls and is pulled into a kiss by her matesprit, you finally realise what's going on.

Cannibalism.

Worse, the matesprit is a purple - so it's not illegal, as long as they don't try to attack a seadweller or anoth-

Another purpleblood.

You tell Tosh to get ready to run, but before you can do anything else he's turned back to you and he's TOUCHING her HOW DARE HE and you focus and push in a way you haven't for years because you never liked being the centre of attention, not like this, and your horns ache but it's a good ache and you want to laugh as everyone's eyes are drawn to you. He slinks away from Tosh, threatening you but you don't care so you give in to the mad grin building inside you and headbutt him. In the face.

You think you broke his nose. It's definitely bleeding, and a small part of you absently registers that he's a shade lower than you.

Tosh escaped. You hold onto that thought as the villagers attempt to "tenderise" you. They're too accustomed to low- and mid-bloods if they think they're doing anything more than lightly bruising you - but then, they don't know you're a highblood.

You feign unconsciousness as you send your chucklevoodoos (and don't you hate that word) after Tosh and her purple pursuer. You aren't used to projecting over other trolls - but if you can make a room in the Hub unnoticeable for Lisa, you can hide Tosh.

However, you were never so distracted when you were in the Hub - and the room wasn't running away. It's fortunate that you've used the hiding part of your power so much, but you aren't immune to psychic burnout.

You hold on as long as you can, and hope that it's enough.

When you come to, you have a bag over your head. Your horns ache again, but it's a bad ache and it sets your teeth on edge. There's a faint whimpering (that olive boy you saw earlier?) and you have no more time to think because the villagers are coming back. Dragging more victims, by the sound of it. Rough hands grab you, yank you up onto your knees and pull the bag away. Blinking, you take a moment to register that the entire team is captured (except Jack) and the purple troll is retrieving a cleaver. To bleed the meat.

Of all the ways to be outed!

It hurts just to think, they probably believe the (purple) blood on your face is from the nosebleed you gave the (other) highblood and at least Tosh doesn't look badly injured (you should probably go to Owen when this is done, if you're still alive). There's a roaring in your ears that you think is just in your head but it turns out to be Jack, on a tractor of all things, and he's shooting and everything's over.

You should've known it wouldn't end there. It never does. When the drones arrive, there is no chance to escape. Jack's only an olive (is he?); if he was even suspected of attacking (let alone seriously injuring) a purple, he'd be culled on the spot.

But your purple is higher than his, so you have a free pass.

You stand, calling on every scrap of schoolfeeding you've ever had on drone protocol. Stepping forward, every inch the highblood, you take control.

All it takes is a name and a blood sample. It makes you sick (better this than your team dead). (When did they become your team? The debacle with Lisa wasn't all that long ago.)

Outside, once again in the cool, night-time air, you turn to face your companions. You owe them an explanation; the game is up, the die is cast, and the secret you tried to bury is uncovered.

(If this is the price of their survival, you can't bring yourself to care too much.)

Chapter Text

"What's wrong?" Adam asks. You want to laugh, because what isn't?

"My diary," you say. "You're not in it. Everyone else is." A pause. Silence.

Suddenly he's slamming you back against the wall.

"Cross me, and I will fill you full of fake memories until your head is on fire. That's what I do. Memory is a very delicate thing, you know! I could rewrite your entire life. I could destroy everything you've ever cared about, without you even knowing. I could drive you insane!" He grabs your head. "Remember this!"

---

You're in an alley. It's cold and dark. There's a girl in front of you; she looks distinctly uncomfortable (she should), glancing around at the (un)deserted path. She can't see you. No-one can, not when you don't want to be seen. Not invisibility, nothing so pedestrian, but the subtle art of passing unnoticed.  You advance.
Dark red tears leak from her eyes as you grasp her throat and squeeze. (You see the moment her life fades from her. You're the last thing she'll ever see.)

"I didn't do this."

"Oh yes you did. Remember this!"

---

Another girl; slender horns, slender body. It's raining this time.

"You don't mean to keep doing this."

She thrashes as you hold her down.

"You just can't stop yourself."

Her blood mixes wth the rain on the ground. It looks like tears. (It's beautiful.)

"They're always rust-red," he mocks. "You don't want to break the law. Remember this!"

---

The third girl is a darker shade, almost brown. She fights back, catches your arm with her sharp nails. You barely notice (the struggle makes it sweeter). She cries (they all did, they all begged and pleaded, and the power is glorious).

"Good old Ianto. Loyal Ianto. Harmless, brownblood Ianto, roaming the streets at night for cullbait."

Her blood stains your hands, gleaming almost black in the moonlight.

"I help you dispose of the bodies."

Her corpse, wrapped in a sheet. You lift one end; Adam takes the other. As your arms take the strain, you feel the sting of the scratches she gave you.

This is... exhilarating (horrifying).

"I'd almost forgotton what a rush it is, feeding in the bad."

You don't notice him leave.

You sit there, on the cold, hard floor of the Hub (or is it the street?). You're shivering. You don't know what from.

---

Jack comes in. He doesn't notice you (that's how it starts).

"Jack." He turns, sees you. "You need to lock me up."

"What?!"

"I killed three girls." (He has to understand!)

Your blood rushes through your veins. You can see everything, your senses razor-sharp. This is who you were always meant to be (no it's not help me).

He doesn't believe you (he should, he must).

"I murdered them in cold blood." (And isn't that a joke; the higher the blood, the colder it runs - and you're of the highest caste that doesn't have gills.)

"The most accurate lie detector on the planet," he tells you.

Strapped into the chair, you stare - unblinking - into the bright green light in front of you.

"My hands around her neck, squeezing." Your hands flex as you remember.

It remained green.

"I watched as the light left her eyes."

Green.

"It reads as true!" (it is)

"I don't believe that. Tell me about the next girl."

You close your eyes for a second, then open them again. You have to know (you have to make Jack understand).

"I forced her to the ground, pinned her... I put one hand over her mouth, and tore out her throat with the other."

Strong, steady green.

"The gutters ran red, that night."

"NO! It's not true!"

You look directly into Jack's eyes now. The rage rises within you (you've spent your entire life holding back), and you bare your teeth (no this isn't me I'm better than this).

"The third girl. She was stronger. Not strong enough. Her blood drips from my fingers, even as she draws a few drops of... mine..." Something's not right. Your face slackens; your gaze drifts to your lap. You don't notice the light flicker (neither does Jack; you're drawing on your 'voodoos but you can't quite bring yourself to stop). "It was just a scratch, a thin line of... brown... Only burgandy, always legal..." You don't need to limit yourself to rustbloods to stay on the right side of the law (there's no justice in that, but-).

Suddenly, you look up. Jack flinches. You're leaning forwards.

"I was bleeding brown," you breathe. Jack looks confused.

Without thinking, you slip out of the restraints (did they break?) and stand up. He flinches back, more violently than the last time (you barely register the movement).

"I can't bleed brown."

You dig your nail into the flesh of your arm.

"It never happened."

Purple blood beads up against the grey background of your skin.

"I don't understand!" Adam snarls. "I didn't make any mistakes! There's no way you could've known!"

Your gaze doesn't waver. Your hand doesn't shake.

"I'm not a brownblood." You shoot. Adam dies, dark red splattering the ground. You should feel regret, feel something- But the monster he awakened is still too close to the surface.

Jack offers retcon.

You don't hesitate.

Chapter Text

"All the servers at the Turnmill Power Station are offline."

"Right; Tosh, Ianto, stabilise those systems. Make that a priority. Owen, what's it like at the hospital?"

"Every single machine is down. It's a disaster."

"Okay, we are going to fix this. We are going to put this city back together, and we are going to find Jack."

You look at Tosh, meeting her eyes. This is going to be difficult.

---

Unfortunately, you're right. Everything you've tried so far has done absolutely nothing to bring the systems back online.

Tosh is becoming visibly agitated now.
"We need to restart the terminal servers soon, or the reactor will go into meltdown. The psionic backlash will kill anyone below teal within a hundred-mile radius!"

There are no more options left.
"I'm going up there," you say. "If we can't fix the remote service, there must be something I can do onsite."

Tosh is looking straight at you. She's terrified. You can almost see her mind racing, trying to come up with another plan - any plan at all.

"That'll be suicide!" she says - but you can see she knows it's the only way.

"We can discuss it or we can do it."

(Something inside you aches to see her like this, but there's no time so you ruthlessly quash the feeling.)

A second passes. Another.

"Okay, but we both go."

You ignore the voice in your head screaming no stay away stay safe it's too dangerous and nod your assent.

---

"Without that signal, he'll be buried forever."

Suddenly, an ear-piercing shriek sends Tosh to the ground. You stumble a little, but remain upright; the psychic signal dies down to a more manageable level after a few seconds, but you can see dark red leaking from Tosh's nose as she staggers to her feet again. Instinctively, you move to protect her - and it's a good thing you do, because weevils are swarming up from the sewers.

Grabbing her, you half-carry half-drag Tosh into an empty alleyway. There's no way you can both get through to the power station now, so you voice your concerns over the comms.

"Ianto, leave it to me. I can do it," Owen replies. "I'm the King of the Weevils, remember?"

"No, you're on the other side of the city; you'll never make it in time," you say. "I'll go on alone."

"But Ianto-"

"I'll be fine, Tosh; I can hide myself from them."

"Is that your oh-so-secret psionic power, then? Making yourself unnoticable?" Owen snarks at you. You pause.

"Yes, actually."

"What, really?"

"There's no time for this!" Gwen cuts in. "Do your powers even work on weevils?"

"I'll let you know."

---

As it turns out, they do. You send the technician on her way with a polite smile and a can of weevil spray before turning to the wall of complex wiring and displays. You take a moment to appreciate how Owen would be completely out of his depth here. Then again, you're not much better off. You contact Tosh, only for her to tell you the reactor's about to go into meltdown; she's about to re-route power to your location when the line goes silent.

"Tosh!" Nothing. "Tosh, can you hear me?" Nothing. "TOSH!"

There's no answer.

Long minutes pass. You pace the room, waiting anxiously for something - anything - to happen. Tosh isn't responding, and you're struggling to control your panicragefear until suddenly-

"That's it, Tosh, I've got power now." The wave of relief nearly drowns you, but... "Are you alright? What's going on there?"

"Just a machine malfunction," Tosh pants.

There's something wrong.

"Are you hurt?"

"Who, me? No. I'm fine. It's just my arm; I'm sorting out another painkiller."

You're not convinced, but there's nothing you can do.

Then she tells you that you can't stop the meltdown.

You act as directed, typing commands and authorisations into the computer where required. Finally you're finished; the psionic wave will be contained entirely within this one room.

"Ianto, get out of there! There's a power surge, it'll trigger an emergency lockdown! You'll be trapped!"

But the warning comes too late.

The doors slide shut with a heavy thunk. Now it's your turn to fall silent.

"Ianto! IANTO!" Tosh is shouting for you. Drawing upon your mental strength, you take a deep, ragged breath and answer her.

"Anyone below teal, right?"

"No. No! Tell me you're not-"

There's the faint sound of footsteps from her end, followed by shouting. You smile faintly, though no-one can see it. Jack's there, as well as Gwen and Owen. It's obvious what's happening.

"You lied. You're not fine, are you?" you state. Owen's with her - she'll be alright; you don't have to worry about her now. You sag against the the wall, sliding down to the floor.

"Ianto, where are you?" That's Jack's voice.

"In the power station, sir. It's about to go into meltdown."

"What?! Get out of there!" He sounds frantic, rough and worn from whatever ordeals he has just suffered through.

"I can't. Emergency lockdown has been initiated," you pause. "Tosh, you said it would be fatal for anyone below teal."

She's obviously struggling, but she still manages to answer you.

"Yes, but since all the energy is concentrated into one room, the intensity is much higher. You'd have to be at least an indigo to survive. A very lucky indigo. Maybe not even then."

You close your eyes for a long moment.

"I'm sorry," you say, and you're not surprised to hear your voice wavering a little. "I should've told you earlier."

"It's okay, Ianto, everything's going to be fine," Jack says, words sounding choked with tears. You smile slightly, shakily.

"I'm not really a brownblood."

There. It's done. You've said it. As if in a dream, you watch as the alerts flash and the alarms blare. Far-off voices are yelling in your ear, but they seem to fade in and out as the psionic pressure in the room begins to build. A final, pained whisper escapes your lips as blood begins to pour from our nose, your mouth, your eyes -
"I'm not a brownblood, I'm a purple."

Then you start screaming.

---

You open your eyes.

It's bright - too bright. Blinking, you try to move - but then your body reminds you why you were unconcious in the first place.

Your pained groan seems to summon people to your bedside. You manage to arrange your face into an approximation of a smile, probably looking more like a grimace - but Jack's there. He can smile for you both.