Chapter Text
… He won.
Robert Cross could barely even process what he'd seen. Mercer was faster than him, stronger than him--he'd had Cross within easy consuming range, even. But the tables had turned. A simple phrase had brought him to his knees, giving Cross the perfect opening to inject the parasite. Since then… Mercer hadn't moved. He laid there, chest rising and falling in wheezy attempts at breaths as the parasite started to destroy him from the inside out. The source of all of this, all this death and destruction, neutralized.
He wished he hadn't had to resort to the bastard's trauma just to take him down. Cross, of all people, should have known better than to do something as low as that. But the end justified the means, in this case. A dirty trick in exchange for the safety of New York.
"Bring in the containment unit." He turned away. Listening, waiting. Giving Mercer the chance to run, because God, he really did feel sorry for the poor bastard. He was just another Runner, aimless and driven solely by instinct. The mind rotted away. When he turned, though… Mercer was still there. Still struggling to breathe, still in too much pain to move. Whatever the hell those scientists had done, it definitely did the job.
Cross could sleep soundly, knowing he'd at least given the bastard the chance to run.
The sound of a helicopter had him kneeling down, grabbing Mercer under both arms (the sheer weight of the bastard made him scowl, thinking of all the people he’d devoured to get like this) and dragging him towards the containment device. He groaned, but his fighting back was weak, if there at all. The containment device, made from metal with a single door and small window, was just large enough for Cross to sit Mercer in. He stepped out, and the door shut immediately, sealing right with a hiss of air. The "Runner" wasn't given the chance to react before the helicopter was lifting off again, hauling him and his prison back to Red Crown.
"Another job well done, Captain," a voice called from his radio--General Randall.
"Affirmative, sir. ZEUS is contained and inbound to base now." A pause. "With respect, sir… what are you going to do with him?"
Randall chuckled, and Cross felt a chill run down his spine. But why? This was all according to plan. According to orders. He trusted Randall's word more than anything in the world. He shoved the thought off, regaining his composure as his commanding officer continued.
"You will be debriefed on that upon your return, Captain." A soft click signaled the conclusion of the message, and he exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. On to debriefing, then. He boarded the osprey that had delivered him, the pilot carefully getting back into position from where he'd hid from Mercer. Soon, they too were off the ground, the only survivors in the fight against Mercer.
As Cross watched New York City from the sky, the thousands of people it contained, he quietly assured himself that he had done the right thing.
______________
By the time Cross returned to base, the general was waiting for him--right alongside him, Dr. McMullen. Truth be told, Cross wasn't a fan of the man. Gentek was more responsible than Alex Mercer, given the fact they'd given him the means to create Blacklight in the first place. But he was well trained in the art of pretending he liked someone. He stood at attention before the two, ignoring the nervous excitement on McMullen's aged features to the best of his ability.
"At ease, Captain." Cross did as ordered, but the general turned his attention instead to McMullen. Great. “Dr. McMullen, go right ahead.”
“--I don’t think you realize the sheer scale of your accomplishments, Captain.” McMullen began almost instantly, clasping his hands behind his back and barely fighting off a grin. Cross gave him nothing but a deadpan. “With ZEUS captive and the pathogen at work, we should be clear to develop a cure from it. And once the cure is in place, we will be able to put a stop to the infection entirely. ZEUS is the key to it all, and because of you, we have it under control.”
“ZEUS isn’t human,” the general explained not even a moment after, leaning back in his chair and casting McMullen a quick, unusual glance. “It’s the Blacklight virus, in and of itself. It’s not a host, like the Runners you’ve dealt with in the past. It’s more than that. And you managed to contain it, Captain.”
“Just doing my job, sir.” Something was wrong. Both of them were giving him far too much praise, their body language and subtle looks far too eager. He was well trained in the art of reading people, and what he saw now made him more than a little uneasy. Randall’s gaze sharpened a fraction, something cold settling in his features that would have had any younger man quaking in their boots. He could tell.
“We’re entrusting you with guarding ZEUS. You clearly know how to handle it, particularly if it manages to break containment. Can you handle that, Captain?”
“Yes, sir. However, regarding New York, the Infection still hasn’t--”
“I will handle the Infection,” Randall snapped, slamming his hand against his desk as he suddenly stood. Cross didn’t flinch. “Your priority, and only priority, is ZEUS. Do I make myself clear?”
He met his commanding officer’s gaze, a feat no one but Cross could get away with and still keep their job. “Crystal.”
“Good.” Randall exhaled slowly, before taking a seat once more, pulling one of the files closer to him--Cross wasn’t close enough to read it. “Dr. McMullen, please take Captain Cross to where ZEUS is being contained.”
______________
He knew Blackwatch took prisoners. It wasn’t a practice he personally was all that fond of (people were better dead or alive and free), but it was better than war, and they at least treated their prisoners like people. But as the captain trailed after Dr. McMullen, his mood began to sour, worse than it already had been in fucking McMullen’s presence alone. It wasn’t the outside of a cell he was taken to, but an observation room: one-way glass stood between them and a vacant room, at the center of which stood a reinforced glass cell. Mercer paced it like a caged lion, face hidden by his hood. Cross didn’t need to see it to know he was frustrated and in pain; it was obvious from the way he held himself.
“With the pathogen at work inside Zeus,” McMullen began, getting little more than a blank glance from Cross, “a cure should develop soon enough. However, we have to let the pathogen feed on him. If he escapes and removes it, all our progress will be for naught.”
“Any chance he could just remove it himself?” Cross inquired, keeping his gaze locked on the pacing virus.
“Unlikely. While it’s focused on the injection point, each and every one of his cells are under attack. Besides, without the ability to properly transform, his only option would be to start ripping off his own skin. He has too much self preservation to attempt that.” McMullen narrowed his eyes. “Probably. Either way, your job is to oversee him--make sure he lives until the pathogen kills him, and that we all live, too. Can you handle that, Captain?”
The silent, deadpan stare from Cross said all the scientist needed to know. McMullen nodded, before heading out of the room, leaving Cross alone with buzzing machinery and low-ranked scientists. They cast him nervous glances as he stepped to the control panel at the window, skimming over the buttons before turning on the intercom. Unlike McMullen, he was actually interested in making conversation.
“Mercer.” His voice crackled through the speakers of the containment, and Mercer ceased his pacing--just long enough to scowl. The virus moved to the wall closest to the observation room, staring Cross head on despite the fact he couldn’t have possibly seen him. The scientists mumbled nervously; the captain didn’t even flinch.
“Bastard,” Mercer responded almost instantly, his raspy tone dripping with venom. He had to be in agonizing pain, and yet, he could spare some harsh words. Cross couldn’t help but respect that. “If you think some glass is gonna keep you safe, you’re gonna regret it.”
“Glass isn’t there to keep us safe.” He raised a brow, despite being fully aware Mercer couldn’t possibly see it. Or maybe he could--who the hell knew. “I get the privilege of staring at you for ten hours a day. You try anything, and you know what happens next.”
“Fuck you.” Mercer pressed both of his hands against his glass cage, making sure everyone in the observation room could see it start to crack under the pressure. He bared his teeth, pulling a fist back to finish the job--only to suddenly cry out in pain, staggering backwards and clutching his back. Tendrils thrashed off of him until his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees. Unable to finish his threat, he only groaned, wrapping himself in a tight hug.
Cross turned off the intercom. To think, less than two hours ago, he was fighting for his life against this man; now the latter had been reduced to curling up on himself, probably urging the pain to cease as the parasite ate him from the inside out. In that moment, the only thing Cross could really do was feel sorry for the poor bastard. If the general was right--he wasn’t human, he was Blacklight--he hadn’t asked for this. Not to be treated like a damn animal in a zoo, not to be poked and prodded at to make a cure. A feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time settled in him like an anchor, weighing him down. Regret.
A victory was a victory, but for once, he wished he hadn't been the one to win the fight.