Archive of Our Own

JANUARY 2014

there was a day that had seemed like any other day, one that mat hadn’t paid any attention to, let pass between his fingers. looking back on it, it’s the day that his life changed forever. 

it’s been just about two years now, that he graduated from the police academy and got to work. to protect and serve! he remembers thinking, being so eager to really make a difference in people’s lives. and he’d been a good detective. a really good one. so much so that his boss had called him in to discuss a promotion, and who happened to be sitting there but this old man, eyes narrowed and nose long like a beak, hunched in the little chair across from the chief.

if mat could be honest with himself, he’d know that he didn’t see anything wrong in the moment, that the only thing he’d thought was that he’d never met this guy before. the only thing on his mind then was the promotion offered to outstretched hands, the knowledge that he’d been specifically picked out for this golden opportunity. in retellings, though, he’d let everyone know that his detective senses were on high alert, practically smelling the malevolence off the older man, making the hairs on his arm stand on end. 

“who’s this?” mat remembers asking, one hand on a jaunty hip as he motions to the other.

“this is headmaster tempest of minerva collegiate.”

the title speaks for itself. mat lets out a low whistle. lots of questions bubble up on a wanting tongue, and he forces them aside in favour of pleasantries. “it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” reaching over to shake the other’s hand, offering up an almost grim smile. “what could minerva want with us? we’re just local law enforcement.”

the chief motions for mat to take a seat, and he quickly does, legs apart and a hunch in his back as his legs bounce. eager to get to the bottom of whatever’s happening. “patrick,” he begins. “i called you here because i believe your talents would be best suited to the minerva task force.”

that sounds pre-tty important, in mat’s opinion. he straightens up, almost preening before he can even get a rundown on what qualifies him for such an honour.

but his chief doesn’t get a chance to continue. instead, the man with the cane — headmaster tempest, he recalls — raises one wrinkled hand to silence the man. he takes a moment to relish in the silence before he speaks, lips parting to reveal a low, almost sultry voice that mat was not expecting from such a wrinkly, scary guy. “far be it from me not to assign credit where it is due.” his voice is accented, though mat’s not really sure what accent he has. if he had to place it, it would probably be old english, but that’s… impossible. “your chief provided me with a number of candidates for this position. it was me who hand-selected you. you see, the students we house at our fair school are not far from celebrities. the public eye follows them wheresoever they go. it stands to reason that they would be under… considerable amounts of stress. and they are naught more than children.”

mat takes this in quietly. he’d never really thought of it that way. he’d always heard that if you go to minerva, you’re set for life. hadn’t really considered what kind of mental toll it would take to be so widely recognized at such a young age. arrogantly thinks that he’d probably be able to handle that, if he’d had any kind of special talent for them to pick up on. 

“for this reason, should any… incidents… occur at our school, we require only the best of the force — those with the ability to keep the matters of our students discreet .”

“oh, i’m plenty discreet,” mat babbles, not putting much thought into it.

“you are young yet,” dismisses the headmaster. “this promotion will cement you as a member of our task force until the day you hand in your badge. all that occurs at this fair school of mine, you must never speak of, neither privately nor publicly. of course, you would be handsomely compensated, with a much more lucrative salary than that of your peers. but should you decide against signing away your career to this force, there would be no penalty. i shall review your decision once every five orbits of the earth.”

“no need,” says mat. “i’d love to work for minerva.”

tempest’s smile is crooked and sinister. mat had signed that contract immediately. he doubts he would have chosen otherwise if he’d had some time to think about it. all he’d been thinking about in the moment was being personally recommended, hand-picked out of who knows how many qualified candidates! in his mind, headmaster tempest trusted him. 

two years later, he’s visited minerva a couple times — headmaster tempest or teachers at minerva have invited him to speak on issues of drug safety, bullying, even mental health. he likes doing it, and he’s been told he’s great at public speaking. always makes sure to take lots of pictures, keeping a photo album in his desk where he keeps all his fond memories. but that’s not all he’s done. when the headmaster had talked about incidents at school, mat hadn’t realized he was referring to… gruesome stuff. suicides, murders committed out of jealousy… but the hardest parts to stomach was when gil insisted that they’d need to fabricate bodies and witness reports to obfuscate the truth. the whole force agreed — the reputation of the whole school couldn’t suffer because one kid couldn’t handle it.

but what about their families? he’d always wondered, gritting his teeth against the thought. as much as he turned it over in his head, he couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but agree. imagine how people would react if they knew the truth behind some of these encounters. no one would ever go to minerva ever again. their talents would never be recognized. and those poor kids who went to that school hoping to be set for life? their names would be ruined! still, it doesn’t sit right with him, itchy lips wanting to spill what he knows now to be government secrets.

he’s sitting at his desk going through unrelated incident reports — always the guy who likes to get his fingers in anything he can — when a shadow looms over his work.

mat glances up to find a smirking guy, lean and muscular with a hand on his hip. flanked behind him is a familiar face — someone that’s apparently been employed at minerva for decades. mat’s done enough research to know this is coach dennis clarke, the former ultimate football star and one of the rare minerva dropouts. the fact that he decided to return as a staff member is totally alien to mat, though — if he was loyal to the place, wouldn’t he have stuck through his studies? not like being a football star would require much in the smarts department.

“don’t think we’ve met,” titters mat, suddenly shy in the face of a stranger. there’s something about this guy that radiates power and control, prestigious and — 

realization hits him like a glacier. this is claude von riegan, heir to the affluent von riegan foundation. he used to be a minerva student, mat knows — he’s sort of made a point of knowing who the school takes in, what sort of private affairs he can’t let slip. over the years, he’s realized a lot more rides in the balance than just the school’s reputation. there’s also the parents to consider; most of minerva’s elite come from wealthy families with lots of influence to throw around. he can’t imagine many of them would be happy to have a scandal associated to their name.

“claude,” remarks the guy, and mat’s eye gets drawn to the envelope in his hand. his stare flicks from the documents back up to claude’s face. 

“i’m detective matthew patrick,” says mat. “my friends call me mat.”

“detective,” echoes claude immediately, showing teeth in a way that make alarm bells start ringing in mat’s head. “i wanted to see the lead guy handling our cases. really had to convince the headmaster to let me drop off the papers instead of having the usual people courier it to ya.”

“i’m guessing that’s why coach clarke’s here?” it’s a deliberate attempt to shake claude, try and get some power back in the exchange. 

“right on the money. apparently, these docs are so important that i need some muscle with me to make sure i don’t tamper with ‘em.” he shrugs a shoulder over to the older man, whose mouth is set in a permanent grimace. he’s restless, shuffling from foot to foot. 

mat takes the envelope out of claude’s hand, mustering up a smile in the face of obvious scrutiny. he knows how to act when he’s under the microscope — though he doesn’t know why anyone would bother to observe him in the first place. would be the first to admit he’s some average joe, with maybe a bit more puzzle-solving prowess under his belt than usual. “well, thanks for the drop-off.”

claude promptly leans on the detective’s desk, practically sitting on it. “so, what’s in it?”

mat titters. “i’m pretty sure that’s confidential.”

“and i’m a benefactor of the academy.”

when claude leans in conspiratorially, the atmosphere in the station seems to drop a few degrees. and it seems like mat’s not the only one that notices. claude moves back, a strange and almost ashamed look in his eye. 

mat realizes what’s going on immediately. while he likes that his coworkers paid enough attention to sense his unease, he shouldn’t be excluding a potential friend just because he’s trying to play some sort of chess game with minerva secrets. so he smiles and tugs the information a little closer — knowing he could lose his job for any leaks. “i hear ya, buddy. it’s rough being a benefactor and knowing there’s information handled by a top-secret force. but it’s all just student affairs stuff. stuff that’s supposed to be handled with a special team so that personal information doesn’t get leaked. doesn’t… your pr team do that for you?”

claude chuckles. “i should probably give them more credit for that.” and with that, he steps back, gives mat a long, appraising look. offers up a smile that’s a little more than just teeth. “didn’t think i’d have cops watching my back when i was a student.”

“well, you did,” replies mat smoothly. “we watch out for all the students at the school, and we have for a long time.”

the words come easy to his lips, even if he wonders if they shouldn’t. these sorts of confidential reports never mean anything good — though nothing much about his position is strictly classified as good . lots of messy stuff happens in the lives of celebrities, he tells himself. doesn’t change that the people who do graduate are set for life. claude soon gets a call from a business associate, mentioning something about having to see minerva’s internal auditor, and coach clarke heads back to the school to report the successful drop-off. and mat cracks open the envelope.

“deva jian-hale,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair with a long sigh. “missing person.”

it’s not like he expected anything else. and he’d be lying if he claimed he felt anything but a deep-set exhaustion behind his eyes at the thought of missing persons paperwork, how the department won’t bother to divert resources except for what’s strictly necessary. 

they can all guess where those kids end up. it’s outside their station to ask too many questions. know that the end of their career with minerva is going to be marked by a tombstone, if they even get that luxury.

instead, mat sets the folder aside and scrubs at his eyes. “geoff, make your coffee break quick, we got a missing persons.”

“sure thing,” says his coworker. “i’ll get your usual. this is gonna be a lot of paperwork.”

“yeah,” mat echoes, stretching until his spine pops. “a lot. ”

OCTOBER 2014

whenever mat gets the good fortune to get invited over to give a speech at minerva, he likes to book the whole day off, really spend the day hanging around the school. he tells himself it’s because he wants to get to know the people there — and he’d be hard-pressed to find any untruth to that. mat’s always been a people pleaser, after all! used to sit with every clique’s table in high school. always welcome with the cheerleaders, the mathletes, the drama kids, the delinquents. it always used to send a thrill up his spine and send his heart into his throat when people’s eyes would light up with recognition, shuffle over and make a spot for gangly limbs and sunshine smile. nowadays, he has wrinkles set around his nose from grinning so much, but it’s no loss to him. just proof of how amiable he is! and laughter’s the best medicine, he’s always thought.

he checks into the main office before the school’s even officially open, grin bright as he signs into the visitor’s form. out of habit, he scans the list, tries to pick out any names that he remembers. lips moving with a barely audible whisper as he commits the names to memory. 

for a moment, his eyes glaze over, blue ink swimming in his vision. truth is, it’s the second time he’s visiting the main office today. and he should know better! has given talks at the academy before, knows exactly when the office opens. but he’d gone through the charade of visiting the main building before the sun had even risen. not that he’s a waking up at the crack of dawn kind of guy, not usually. but getting to visit the famed school winds him up like a spring, fills him up with energy he doesn’t know how to get out. so he tells himself he could use an early-morning walk and practically wanders onto minerva property. he flashes his badge to the security and they let him in with ease; the minerva task force is allowed to come onto campus whenever they please, after all. and he’d wandered all the way over to the athenaeum (baudelaire, the students call it, and he agrees — baudelaire athenaeum is just so wordy and latin, no one’s going to want to say that), sitting on the steps with hands clasped into a strange kind of fist. there’s no one to talk to this early in the morning, and he belatedly kicks himself for not hanging back with the security guard who had let him in, but he hadn’t liked the way the guy had looked at him, probably grumpy from pulling an all-nighter, so he hadn’t wanted to wear out his welcome.

but then, like an angel coming to answer an unspoken prayer, mat picks out a pink-clad figure approaching from further up the pathway.

if it was going any faster, he probably would have ignored it. but the pink dot on the horizon is so blaring and just keeps approaching, so he ends up staring, transfixed by the almost mechanical movements of the power-walking, arms swinging back and forth as she slowly but surely comes up into view.

it’s stelsa, the school’s accountant. mat doesn’t get a chance to talk to her much, and has only really heard some stories about how talking to her is like being in a head-on collision with a cement truck. it’s a vivid mental picture, to be sure, and it made him both curious and wary of the woman. bubblegum pink comes closer and closer, and mat stands up, pointer finger raised like he’s trying to flag down a taxi and mouth opening and closing. “it’s… stelsa, right?”

and as she opens her mouth, mat suddenly understands what everyone was going on about.

“yes it’s stelsa i haven’t had the chance to speak with you before let’s walk and talk i like to power-walk every morning so that i have enough energy to face the day’s demands!”

she speaks like she’s talking in all caps, so fast that it feels like she never uses punctuation. mat can’t help but laugh brightly at such obviously quirky behaviour, and immediately falls into step with her. he starts mirroring her back-and-forth arm movements, a little exaggerated because of how weird it feels. still, it makes him feel kind of sportsy. stelsa sure seems like the athletic type, if her muscles are any indication. “sure! i mean, i’m no athlete. it’s great that you walk every day.”

“thank you!” she responds, and continues on in her motor-mouth fashion. she gives off a very golf mom kind of vibe, mat thinks, the kind of woman who’s always looking for a networking opportunity so she can send her kid to ivy league. “if you’d like to join me i always take my walk at the same time every day five a.m. sharp i chose to live on campus to eliminate the costs of commuting to campus and the rent here is very affordable!”

“it sure is!” mat jumps in, wound up like a spring and ready to shove himself into every crack he can find. conversing with stelsa is definitely a challenge, but mat’s sure he’s up to it. he even finds himself mirroring her, raising his own voice. kind of a funny mental image, come to think of it. the two of them swinging their arms and yelling at each other. “i wish i lived here! it’d be nice to, ah, take walks with you every day! keep me in shape!”

“i believe everyone should invest time into improving their health and wellness!” explains stelsa, pretty emphatically if you asked mat, which nobody did, but he likes to be the peanut gallery to his own life from time to time. “you never know when you need to be in shape to complete a pressing task! for example, i regularly move the filing cabinets in my office in the event of an attack on the school!”

“that’s — ” mat starts, blinking in surprise. “that’s really prepared!” a laugh bubbles up, almost self-conscious. “if i started doing that, i’d probably get really muscled up.”

actually, mat thinks, fiddling with the pen in his hand and smoothing out the sign-in sheet with his palm, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start training for something. he doesn’t know what he’d train for — privately considers stelsa to be a little paranoid — but he thinks it might be nice to start setting some health goals.

the office door chimes with a soft bell when someone enters, all cotton-candy-coloured hair and bright smile. he lets in someone else, a taller guy with blue hair. funny how they look like a county fair together, muses mat. very seasonal! he remembers how he used to want to take his friends to the fair. take someone special up onto the ferris wheel, share cotton candy with the group and stick close to each other, playing those rigged fair games and just having a great time. the blue-haired guy has a snack-size bag of chips in hand — looks like something he just got out of a vending machine. either way, mat’s pinned him immediately as a really chill guy. it’s always nice to meet the students, see their colourful personalities. and colourful hairstyles, if these two are anything to go by!

“hey!” he bubbles up, rushing over to the kids. “i’m detective patrick. nice to meet you two! you, ah, here to do the morning announcements?”

“detective?” the pink-haired kid shrinks back with a somewhat nervous smile. “nothing… happened, right?”

“nope! everything’s all ship-shape here. headmaster tempest just called me in to give some talks about school safety.” 

mat’s pleased to see the kid visibly relax, a sweet smile on his face. “oh, okay. i’m soma, and this is guilherme.”

“soma and guilherme, huh?” mat muses on it for a second, trying to sort through names and faces in his head. “you two aren’t in the same classes, are you? i’m pretty sure one of you’s a first year.” after a second of pause, he points at guilherme with both fingers, hands clasped into a fist. “it’s you, right? guilherme, the ultimate puzzle-solver.”

the guy nods, and mat whispers a quiet, “yes!”. he’s always prided himself on remembering the new kids. not that it isn’t practical to know their names; he never knows which one of them’s going to show up in his incident reports. “class of 2018, huh?”

“yeah,” says the guy. “it’s weird that so many people in my class are younger than me. i am not going to leave this place until i’m twenty-one.”

“legal drinking age,” babbles mat. “that’s a pretty good way to celebrate graduation.”

guil chuckles. “that is true.”

soma seems pleased that the two of them are getting along, eyes bright as he regards them. but that sweet mood soon gets dampened, an almost sleepy presence overwhelming them. 

mat doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is. instead, he smiles. “hey, madira.”

he’s always been a little nervous around her, with her hooded eyes and doll-like appearance. though next to soma, she looks a lot more mature — something that kind of shocks mat, if he’s being honest. or is it just that she looks so much more tired now than she used to? in any case, she opens her eyes to speak to him, orchid-coloured and pretty. it’s easier for him to relax around her, he finds, if she’s looking at him. “good morning, detective patrick. have you come to speak to our classes?”

“you bet!” announces mat, perking up with the sound of his name. he taps his shoulder bag with a proud hand. “even got some goodies from the station for you guys! there’s some pens, and i think i got some other stuff…”

as he speaks, he hears the office door open, an ashen-faced kid with a bright smile coming over to heckle soma. mat’s listening out of one ear, rummaging in his bag to show madira one manipulative after another. apparently, this kid — deimos, he heard his name was — is looking to join the baking club, which soma’s the president of. but to mat, it sounds like the guy’s really just looking for an excuse to pelt people with flour and eggs.

when he looks up at madira, however, the look she’s giving him is wistful and pained. it doesn’t take a genius to realize something’s up with her. after a moment of hesitation, mat decides to take the plunge.

“hey, listen… you seem pretty tired, you know? don’t — don’t feel like you have to do all this extracurricular stuff. right, i mean, you go to minerva, you’re set for life.”

he notices out of the corner of his eye that soma had mouthed the words alongside him, young eyes taking on a peculiar shine.

madira weighs his words and offers up a weary smile in response, one more genuine than her usual contented look. “i… appreciate it. i’ve just had some personal issues to attend to.”

“i hear ya,” mat chirps. “life doesn’t stop just because you’re america’s finest.”

years later, he’d remember how she answered. it was so mundane, but it had been the first time she’d seemed to look at him and actually see him, a smile playing on her lips, a soft glint in her eye. “no,” she answers, faintly amused. “it doesn’t.”

APRIL 2015

madira’s house smells like incense, heady and perfumey. it hits mat like a punch in the nose when he enters, but he tries not to pay any attention to it. the task force had already been prepped on this one. madira was a student the headmaster had long had his eye on, and it had worked out perfectly in his favour when she became fast friends with deva. their disappearance made her reckless, listless. a perfect segue into a faked suicide.

mat was the one who wrote the note, knew how she spoke better than anyone else. it’s not like he’d liked doing it. at this point, he doesn’t like being a detective at all. but it’s the contract he signed, his life away to the hawk-eyed headmaster and his stupid school. dragging his feet as he attempts to be polite to madira’s guardians, and then directing the cops over to her personal computer. the tech team would already have put the file on her computer by now. 

the detective himself doesn’t stick around for long after the note’s found. it’s… too painful. the perfumed air too suffocating. and he ends up going back to minerva, of all places, taking in its gorgeous architecture and the bustle of students. students who are still alive. some who will graduate, some who will kill themselves… some who’ll get taken and have mat write their suicide note.

and yet, he can’t stop his feet from carrying him to the chapel, speedwalking with his arms tightly crossed over his chest. he’d always found it strange, that there was a church on campus like this. he’s heard headmaster tempest denounce christianity, so he’s kind of confused about why it exists in the first place. maybe he just likes the aesthetic — stained glass and organ music, all of that sort of thing. this whole place is pretty… uniquely designed. but hey, even if he is the fifth, and all of the previous headmasters really look like him in their oil paintings, it’s totally possible that they don’t have the same opinions… or whatever. it’s not a big deal, mat figures. not like a church is out of place among all the other fancy buildings on campus, and besides, it’s always got good attendance. he hears lots of clubs like the ambience of the place, enough that there’s almost always something going on. not that mat’s looking to go where all the action is, but even with all the extracurriculars, the chapel provides a sense of calm, the silence almost unsettling as he enters through the double-doors.

the detective makes a beeline for the sanctuary, admiring the stained glass and the symmetry of the pews. sits in one near the back and folds his hands, bows his head. breathes deeply into his fists, then opens up his palms to hide his face within. his breaths warm up his hands, make him feel a little bit more alive. he remembers writing her suicide note, using bits and pieces of things he’d heard her say, things people had said about her. crafted a story that he almost believes, except that he knows she’s beneath him now, tortured wails echoing off bloodied walls, concrete blocking them from escaping. he had access to her files, knew what she told the guidance counsellors behind closed doors. knew first- and second-hand that she’d been declining in the past year. it all got worse in january, he knows. her words haunt his ears, hands like ice over his eyes.

mat grabs hold of a book in front of him. a bible. he heard someone say a long time ago that if you open up a bible when you’re feeling really bad, the verse it’ll land on is going to be something you need. don’t get him wrong, he’s never been a religious guy, finding the whole spiritual schtick a little bit outside the realm of the practical. but he sometimes wonders if there’s someone out there pulling the strings, or if they just set the world in motion and left it to turn. he’s not sure what he prefers.

“john 11…” mat starts, dazed eyes flickering to the page before him without really looking. the print’s so small, it’s hard to really pay attention, and this isn’t one of those red-text bibles that sometimes make things stand out a little more. but then he sees something flit by him, something flimsy and white-looking, and his heart leaps up to his throat.

“boo!” comes a cheery voice, a woman springing up from behind one of the pews, and mat manages not to flinch, instead meeting the stranger with a critical eye. she’s got a fancy hat with a little branch in it, but besides that, everything about her seems so eccentric that it’s hard to get a good read on everything going on. “aww,” she laments, summoning a white wisp to her side. “i was hoping to get a reaction out of you.” her voice is high-pitched and earthy at the same time, sounding both childish and sinister.

the detective titters awkwardly, eyeing what he assumes is some sort of prop ghost attached to her fingers with suspicion. “not sure today’s a joking day, to be honest.”

she promptly lets go of the ghost-thing, who immediately swoops around the sanctuary, and props herself up with her arms, regarding him with glittering, curious eyes. “and why’s that? life’s full of ups and downs, but it’s easy to surf the waves once you get used to it.”

mat fiddles with the bible in his hands. unsure of what to say, unsure of how to proceed. he’s never been much of someone to open up, even as genuine as he is, or fancies himself to be. “we’ve just had some tough cases recently at the station. it’s hard to stomach, sometimes.”

the woman nods sagely. “humans can really commit abhorrent acts, don’t you think?”

“yeah,” comes the answer. “i know.” he remembers telling madira that she should take it easy. that she shouldn’t commit to more than she could take. he never imagined that the school would have chosen her for…

he’s interrupted by the sound of a lovely voice floating into the sanctuary from the foyer, and mat looks up as if compelled. he can hear the clack of fine shoes on tile, and the click of something else hitting the ground alongside it. 

“hu tao, if you don’t finish the painting, then the whole production schedule is going to be thrown off,” she’s saying, striding into the sanctuary while swatting away a ghost with an irritated hand. “so please stop with all of this… this, and get to work.”

it’s then that mat gets a good look at her, all sapphire eyes and fine clothes, beautifully made-up face and not a hair out of place. she has a matronly look, despite not seeming much older than mat himself. there’s a blue-haired student following her into the sanctuary, too, holding all sorts of supplies and looking at the teacher starry-eyed. mat can’t say he blames her. he stands up immediately, bible clapped shut and tucked under one arm. “hey,” he starts awkwardly.

the weight of her full attention lands on the man, and he almost flinches. instead, he waves, and her posture straightens up even more — not that it was ever crooked to begin with. “oh, hello.” she strides purposefully to him, looking him up and down before finally smiling pleasantly. “my name is anastazja stefanik. i’m the art history teacher here. and you are?”

“luule kaljurand,” replies the student self-importantly. “the ultimate horror seamstress.”

anastazja offers the girl a placating smile. “i know your name, dear. i was speaking to this man here.”

the girl, luule, apparently, peeks behind her giant stack of supplies to get a good look at mat, looking a little annoyed that he’s there. mat chooses not to comment, though he privately decides he doesn’t like her too much. “detective matthew patrick,” says mat as confidently as he can muster. “i work on the minerva task force.”

it might be his imagination, but he could swear she frowns a little at that. but anastazja soon recovers, if she ever faltered at all. “please forgive me. i didn’t realize any of you would be coming onto campus today. i thought…”

that they’d be investigating madira’s disappearance. the words go unsaid. instead, mat forces a smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. “so, what’s this about painting?”

the subject change is wholeheartedly welcomed. anastazja gestures to the front of the sanctuary, where there are some unfinished pieces of furniture waiting. “the drama department asked the art department to help with some set pieces for their upcoming production. they’re painting the sets, but we’re working on creating some prop furniture for them. luule here is one of my best students, and she volunteered to help as well.”

“sounds exciting!” mat can’t keep the interest out of his voice. “i used to work behind the scenes in the drama club at my high school. maybe i could give the two of you a hand?”

anastazja smiles, and mat’s heart soars. a rare silver lining to the day.

LATE 2018

“were you two close?”

the second mat asks it, it feels like a stupid question. of course deimos and sanford were close. why else would he be going in like this to try and save him? sure, the society against evil fights all evil, but hes pretty sure everyone in here has some sort of other agenda. not that there's anything wrong with that! its noble to want to save people from death, especially when you're part of the reason why they're there in the first place.

mat’s stomach twists, a familiar mop of blond curls coming to mind. condemning someone to death is never easy, but it's even worse when its because you failed them. he can imagine nikita probably feels the same way about roi, wonders how death would have treated the easygoing guys. if they’d be twisted into something unrecognizable.

overactive mind quickly backtracks, voicing reassurances that it'll be just like old times — isn't that why mat’s doing all this in the first place? he’ll find the people he met in everlock and bring them back… and whatever happens next, he hasn't really figured it out. it should be fine, though! quick platitudes that race through his head like nothing.

“yeah.” it’s like the fight gets momentarily sucked out of the perpetual jokester, replaced with a weird resignation. deimos fiddles with his hands. mat notices riza climbing up a shelf to grab something, and wonders if she’s ever heard this vulnerable side to deimos. a thought that lances a throbbing stab of jealousy through a wanting chest, the knowledge that the two of them are close in a way that mat isn’t to them. even their arms have matching tattoo sleeves, mercenary brands peppered along their skin and showing that they were with each other every step of the way. but riza got branded on her shoulder, and deimos got his on the back of his hand, just like mat did. 

mat claps deimos on the back with his branded hand, feeling a strange heat radiating from it. like his life energy’s getting poured into deimos — like he's got some kind of radiant light magic coming from his palms. “don't worry, buddy. we’ll get him out of there.”

“you think?” deimos’ voice cracks with a sort of vulnerability, and he immediately winces as a result. mat can definitely empathize with that. it’s rough, being so open with a fellow guy. especially being someone as aloof as deimos? mat can’t help but puff his chest out with pride.

“i know so. you and riza? you make a great team. i saw you two at minerva, back when i worked there. if anyone’s gonna get sanford out of there, it’ll be you two. and i’ll be there too! and if there’s anything i know about society against evil missions, it’s that there’s a lot of puzzles. luckily, that’s my forte.”

deimos chuckles. “yeah? what’s something that gets bigger the more you take away?”

“easy!” mat beams. “a hole, right?”

that earns him an impressed whistle. “not bad.”

it’s then that riza brushes past him without so much as a glance, and he feels a protective shudder wrack his frame. sure, the two of them are fellow sae members, with matching jackets and everything, but he’s not sure that means they have any sort of relationship. she’s always put him off. with her chattering to deimos in a language he doesn’t understand (has tried to pick up, just to feel like he’s part of the group), and the way she looks at him like he’s a pest, an insect? he always gets shaken up, looking at her and seeing silver hair when he almost expects to see blonde hair and a side braid, messy makeup under the eyes and pink lips that tremble with disgust.

she speaks quickly to deimos, the sounds guttural. he turns to her with a grin, joking nature returned, and responds to her with something that sounds witty followed by a curt laugh. a stab of jealousy rises in mat, and his lips twitch in an attempt to not let it show. he knows full well that the two of them are best friends. it doesn’t change that mat used to have that, once, and it was taken away from him by… by…

well, he tries not to assign blame, he tells himself, because when he thinks about it, his first instinct is to say that they were taken away by the society against evil. but that’s… that can’t be true. he knows the society. they’re against evil. they’re the good guys! and mat being a part of it means he’s going to save lives. he’s going to bring back the good people that were taken away to save that sleepy town in the 1970s. he’s going to get his best friends back. he’ll get his life back.

and though his heart does ache for deimos, knowing that whatever happened between him and sanford, it’s clearly something deimos blames himself for, he can’t help but feel a tug of annoyance, knowing that deimos still has someone left.

he has joey, he knows, and nikita too. but sometimes it just doesn’t feel the same. when mat presses in close to joey and offers up some witticism to lighten the mood, sometimes joey doesn’t respond for a little bit, or just lets out an insincere, oh! to appease him. and nikita… well, nikita’s been off doing her own thing, leaving mat to chase the tug-of-war between them. rivalry forged in everlock turning into something that feels sinister, something he can’t live without. she stopped wearing pink for a long time after everlock, and then started wearing little hints of it. accents. she did her own thing trying to cope, and mat didn’t agree with all of it. but he did help her out with some. they’re… closer. 

closer, he thinks with a little press of his lips, recalling the times their arguments got too heated and he did something he didn’t regret. closer, he thinks, remembering how the same thing would happen with joey after one too many drinks. and he’s fine with all of it, fine with it as long as they are. but he still longs for more, longs for what deimos and riza have. has to remind himself firmly that if he died, nikita and joey would run into purgatory to save him. they brought him back once already.

riza’s set up a target for archery — not that she needs to practice with her uncanny sharp-shooting skills. mat watches her with something akin to curiosity. her poor english has made it difficult for him to communicate with her, but a language barrier shouldn’t be wide enough for him to get to know her. who knows! maybe she’s not as intimidating as she looks. so he claps deimos on the shoulder, offers up some consoling words, and moseys on over to his mercenary partner.

“hey! you’re, uh, you’re thinking you’re gonna use that bow and arrow a lot on the mission?”

“i remember you.” her words are clipped and accented, sentences short and simple. 

mat’s not immediately sure how to respond, warring emotions clashing steel against his ribcage and into the depths of his stomach. flattered that she remembers him, offended that she didn’t acknowledge his greeting… no, no. this is progress, right? definitely, it’s progress. her remembering him is just proof that he’s left an impact! that she’s noticed him in her day-to-day! “well, yeah! we’ve been coworkers for a little while now. on the same mission and everything.”

“no,” she replies, letting an arrow fly. it hits dead centre on the target. “minerva. you were police.”

“a detective, actually.”

“you built tower lego for class.”

“and you knocked it over! yup, i… i remember.” he remembers because it had stung, though he doesn’t express that to riza. isn’t entirely sure how much she’d understand. from what he’d observed on the occasions he’d get on campus, she’s the kind of person that would just knock things over for the fun of it, sow chaos wherever she goes because she feels like it. mat’s never understood why people would do things for no reason. as someone who sticks to a strict moral code, or, at least, some code in general, he has no idea why he’d ruin anyone’s hard work without a good reason. it’s just not very… nice. though he figures there are tons of people out there who don’t particularly care about being nice.

he watches as riza shoots an arrow dead centre again, splitting the other arrow in two. it’s impressive, but it gets less impressive as she does it over and over. 

“why are you doing this mission, anyway?” he tries not to make it sound accusing, but he’s honestly curious. he’d always pegged her as someone that’s self-centred, someone that wouldn’t sacrifice for others or form enough meaningful relationships to want to bring anyone back. “it’s… dangerous. going into purgatory, trying to save people.”

“all mission is dangerous.” riza lowers her bow, adjusts her hat. he’s never seen her without it, come to think of it. “me, i kill. where they go? i do not know. here, i see.”

mat feels a sort of warmth blossom in his chest. knowing that he had died back in everlock, that he knows what’s beyond life on earth. no one’s ever asked, so he’s never told. but he’s curious. wants to know if riza, ever the pragmatist, would choose not to follow deimos if her curiosity was sated. “you know, i died before.”

she had raised her bow to shoot again, but lowers it now in shock. her catlike eyes practically glow in the room, a striking yellow trained on mat. she’s practically unblinking. “what is like?”

and mat tells her. he tells her about the church, about seeing jael and ryu there, how he’d been in purgatory. what it felt like, everything he saw. no one’s ever asked him what it was like, so he weaves a story with all the uncomfortable details. paints the picture because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance to do it again. it doesn’t hurt that riza’s a captive audience, listening intently even if he knows she’s not getting everything he’s saying. and when he’s done, she bows her head, processing. 

finally, she speaks. mat can’t help but lean in to hear her better, pushing closer without even truly noticing it. “it is better than what i imagine.”

“what did you imagine?” mat’s pretty sure he knows already.

“fire. flame.”

“had a feeling.”

there’s a pause, but it’s comfortable enough. way easier to handle than it would have been before. and right when mat’s about to open his mouth to ask her something else, she speaks without being prompted. “this does not change mission. sanford was good agent. you, deimos. you want to bring them back. you will not be stopped. i will fight so you do not die.”

i will fight so you do not die. the thought warms his heart for a long time.

JANUARY 2019

mat has no issue admitting this to himself, but he doesn’t much like headmaster tempest. headmaster tempest, he remembers to call him, because the guy is way too old and creepy for him to feel comfortable calling him gil. gil’s like a weird friend whose parents were a little behind the times, naming him gilligan or gilbert. a well-meaning, kinda awkward guy who’s just trying to make the most of the bad hand he’s been dealt in life. mat’s pretty sure headmaster tempest is the bad hand being dealt in life. something about his perpetually wide, unblinking eyes, the way he angles his head forward with a crooked-beak nose, prowling around the cramped attendance office that mat had purposely decorated to be cozy and sizing up everything he sees.

“what?” mat titters, trying for a joke. “not up to code, captain?”

he leaves out how meticulously he decorated the place, making sure that there are nice touches around for every holiday (literally every single one! he remembers all the weird looks he got for national hot pastrami sandwich day ) and always having photos and posters up on the walls. he likes seeing the memes up around the walls, gets a laugh out of them from time to time. he sees headmaster tempest eyeing one of them with a severe frown, and his stomach roils with misplaced shame. then, the headmaster chuckles lowly, and it doesn’t soothe mat any. instead, the hairs on his arm prick up, senses on high alert as he warily eyes the older man in his space. prowling. like a predator. ready to rip things apart.

sure, mat’s a naturally social guy, but he can dislike people. just as long as the headmaster never gets the sense that he does. so he forces the grimace off his face and tries for a smile. points to the meme on the wall and says, “that’s a good one.”

the headmaster finally angles his ancient head and regards the secretary with a smug look. “yes… yes. this ‘meme’ fair pleases me. the little miqo’te expresses such discontent.”

mat’s pretty sure none of what he said was english, but he laughs and says, “yeah! have you ever seen arthur?”

the headmaster stares at him unnervingly.

“it’s a tv show. that girl over there, the… meekow?”

“miqo’te,” tempest corrects him.

“miqo’te, right.” still has no idea what that means, but whatever helps the headmaster sleep at night! “yeah, her name’s d.w.; she’s the main character arthur’s little sister. it’s — it’s actually a pretty good show! it’s a kid’s show, i know, and pretty old, but people still like it, you know?” he privately suspects that the students just roll their eyes at his dated memes rather than sharing a genuine love for them, but he never said he was opposed to making a spectacle of himself.

“i must needs familiarise myself with this arthur ,” muses the headmaster. “the miqo’te girl does not resemble those of my years.”

“she’s an aardvark,” pipes up mat. “just putting it out there.”

though the headmaster stares at him more than mat’s strictly comfortable with and continues his weird commentary about everything in his room, he leaves with a shooing wave without offering any kind of criticism. it’s probably a good sign, right?

and when anastazja comes to the main office with two hairs out of place and a harried look in her eye, complaining about headmaster tempest coming to her office and nitpicking every little thing she said and did? mat can’t help but feel a little smug.

JANUARY 2019

“hey!” mat bubbles out a giddy laugh. the custodian keeps his head down, dutifully mopping. mat finds he doesn’t mind as much as he normally would — the guy’s, what, seventy? pushing it, at least . and with his head ducked like that, mat can see that gross burn curling up his ear, red and inflamed even though the scar looks decades old. 

he comes up closer and reaches to clap anthony on the shoulder, earning him the custodian’s (full?) attention and a somewhat dazed look. “hey, my man, what’s going on?”

once anthony recognizes his face, his features smooth out into something resembling a smile; mat takes pride in being able to recognize that expression, since he’s well aware that only coach clarke gets that particular look out of his… brother? mat’s never really understood what signals he was picking up from them, but based on that overly gentle way dennis looks at anthony, he’s pretty sure dennis is the older brother. that, or they’ve got some weird roleplay going on that mat’s not interested in knowing the details of. the point is, mat takes a lot of pride in knowing what anthony looks like when he smiles. he usually smiles closed-mouthed, with his eyes glinting with a smug light. sometimes — very rarely, mat’s found — he’ll try for something more toothy, but that always ends up looking more like a grimace than anything else. showing his teeth never reaches his eyes. he’s tentatively decided that the custodian isn’t capable of being deceitful, so mat’s elected to take every smile he gets from him as genuine.

when anthony straightens up, thinning hair matted to his forehead and custodian’s garb looking like a second skin, mat can’t help but lean in, wanting to soak up every insane thing he says. there’s just something so sad about him, that he can look at someone so much younger than him and nod along to everything he says like a child. he’s sort of like the granddad mat figures he never had. or maybe it’s something more sinister than that. honestly, he’s not sure why he keeps seeking the guy out. maybe because he sees how the students whisper about him and give him looks, or how even the staff just hurry by him without wanting to make eye contact. maybe it’s just that he knows inside and out that anthony’s a good, honest guy. he can tell from the way he cleans up his office, quiet and meticulous with his hands shaking and his pupils trembling. and unlike a certain headmaster, he always seems to pay attention to what mat says, even if what he responds with isn’t quite what mat’s looking for. 

“oh, i’m mopping the second floor,” anthony explains, as if that’s not apparent. he gestures to the wet floor. “when they come in from recess, they keep leaving footprints.”

mat’s pretty sure he means lunch, or free period, or anything other than recess. also, he’s not really sure if they’re leaving footprints so much as the stray snack wrapper or a couple shoe scuffs. minerva isn’t like your average high school, so there’s no time when there wouldn’t be people frequenting the hallways. besides, they’re on the second floor, not the hallway leading in from the courtyard. 

he doesn’t vocalize any of this. “that’s good! you’re always hard at work, bud. but, ah, don’t you think it’d be a good idea to wait until after the school day to do the mopping?”

anthony scratches his balding head. “you think?”

mat preens, glad to be influencing the custodian even if he is a pretty easily influenceable person. “well, if you’re mopping in the middle of the day, you’re going to have to put a wet floor sign,” and he takes the opportunity to point it out with a purposeful finger, “and the students will probably just ignore it or leave footprints anyway.”

he seems bewildered by this, watching a group of two students walk into his freshly-mopped area as if he hadn’t noticed they were there before. leads him to scratch the top of his balding head, burnt ear on full display. mat’s lips twitch, wanting to ask. but then anthony speaks, offers up a sullen, “i kinda like mopping.”

it’s such a simple answer that mat’s lips twitch again, fighting the urge to laugh. instead, he breaks into an almost pained smile, wondering — how can this guy be so dumb? — without sparing it a second thought. it’s endearing, almost. he’d never survive a zombie apocalypse, or a world-ending mission, or anything. if he were ever on mat’s team, he’d be indebted to the former detective. mat would always have to save him, swoop in in the nick of time and act like a real guardian angel. he’d never admit that this very fantasy is a large part why he likes anthony — doesn’t even realize it himself. he just thinks anthony is sweet, charming in his bluntness. and when he leans in closer to speak to the guy, he doesn’t think twice besides that he’s just happy to be talking to someone, with an occasional passing wondering about if anyone bothers to talk to this guy.

“well, if you like mopping, feel free to keep going!” encourages mat, smile wide. “you won’t mind having to do it again, then. right?”

“still, it’s probably not good to waste the cleanser.” it’s a surprisingly astute observation, though anthony is still staring at his mop bucket like a lost lamb. “i guess i’ll just wait until later.”

mat’s heart beats in his throat. this is a great opportunity. he can’t let it pass by. “well, if you’ve got nothing to do, why not make some rounds with me?”

“oh,” anthony starts, and a few agonizing seconds tick by. “that’s probably fine. i think it would be fun to see anastazja teaching her class. she has tenth grade art right now.”

mat’s honestly surprised that someone as… dazed-looking as the custodian has the ability to keep basic facts like schedules in mind, but he graciously keeps that thought to himself. “well, sure! we can walk by her class.” and then — “i didn’t know you two were friends.”

anthony brightens at that, pride shining in his eyes as he puffs out his chest. “she said i’m her fellow historian.”

the gesture is sweet, though a stab of jealousy lances through mat as he wonders if anthony brags about his compliments like he does anastazja’s. though it does pique his interest, knowing that anthony’s good at something that mat just doesn’t have a head for. “so you like history?”

“i like the witch trials,” says anthony easily, packing up his custodian’s supplies. “it really tells you a lot about what people will do when they’re scared.”

that strikes a chord in mat, and he can’t help but cross his arms, stammering out a, “wha-what do you mean?”

anthony starts to walk towards the stairwell. “it’s… that…” and his brow furrows, like he’s chasing a memory he’s forgotten. “a lot of people died then that didn’t have to die.” he presses the button of the elevator, waiting for it to come to their floor. “at first, people took advantage of the witch trials. the church wanted land, and stuff. but then the townsfolk started getting paranoid… sacrificing each other over grudges because they were scared that if they weren’t careful, they’d get reported and executed. and people could never pass a trial. no one was thinking straight, they were so scared.” the elevator dings open, and anthony pulls his supplies in before holding the door for mat to come in too. “when you start thinking it’s you against everyone else, or when one person’s holding all the cards and everyone else is scared… pretty bad things happen.”

the radio on anthony’s hip crackles, a familiar sound to the former detective. anthony holds it up, inspecting it with a curious eye, the kind that old folks always have with technology they’re not sure how to use. he listens to the staticky voice on the other end, and then looks apologetically over to mat. “dennis made a kid throw up in gym class. i better get over there.”

“that’s okay,” answers mat easily. “you gotta do what you gotta do, right? i’ll say hi to anastazja for you.”

anthony smiles back at him, dazed yet content, and mat heads out of the elevator to take the stairs, waving even as the doors close, obscuring the custodian from view.

FEBRUARY 2019

“saw you talking to anthony.”

the statement takes mat totally by surprise, glancing up from his pasta to the guy towering over the cafeteria table. sure, he knows coach clarke isn’t exactly quiet, but the two of them have never really interacted all that much. not alone , anyway. he can’t say exactly that it’s intimidating, seeing the clarkes, but there’s just something so… intimate, about the way the two of them stick close together, murmuring to each other like they’re two best friends against the world. can’t help but imagine them leaning over a table or arcade machine, murmuring something like, they’ll never come between us. never. and for a guy like mat, that’s more than a little bit of a challenge. not that he doesn’t like challenges! it’s why he likes to hover around the custodian while dennis is coaching, so that he doesn’t have to worry about coal-dark eyes blazing into his back. in any case, he notes that dennis mentioned seeing him and anthony together. he can’t exactly rule out the possibility that anthony mentioned their conversation, either, since the guy isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the box. but it’s not a certainty. 

not that mat’s really sure if he wants anthony to be telling dennis about him. but he doesn’t not want that. it’s complicated, he figures, and leaves it at that, focusing his attention instead on leaning forward with his lips pressed together, suddenly very aware of his comparatively scrawny body. being the resident gym teacher for something like fifty years and the former ultimate football star of all things, dennis is ripped even at seventy-something. and mat’s seen his strength firsthand. gone early to one of minerva’s football games just to rally the old spirits and saw dennis doing the drills right alongside his players. pumped and excited and really loving the sport. makes mat wonder why he ever dropped out. not that he’d ever ask if he wanted to keep his bones unbroken.

“yeah, he comes into my office sometimes,” says mat semi-cautiously, not wanting to seem confrontational but also not entirely sure how to read dennis’ reaction. he’d have to be living under a rock to not know about the decades-long mystery of what the clarkes were to each other. brothers? married? common-law? friends with benefits? the rumours aren’t exactly the first thing on everyone’s minds, considering they’re so old, but every now and again, the rumour mill spurs back to life when the clarkes do yet another wacky, insane thing. someone would claim they saw them holding hands, and then it would become a whole thing of, well, mr. clarke has mobility issues, i think, and then, no way. it’s just the weird burn on his ear, and, brothers hold hands too, right? and do you think they have sex? questions that make the tips of mat’s ears burn with embarrassment, and he awkwardly titters and steps away from the conversation. not old enough to be hearing about all that , thank you very much.

but being faced with dennis now, those rumours all come flying back to the surface. in mat’s humble opinion, he’s pretty sure they’re brothers. anthony is a little slow, and he can’t really imagine that he’s all there enough to be initiating any sort of romance. besides, they have the same last name and don’t wear wedding bands. mat’s pretty sure they’re clingy enough to be wearing rings if they had them. 

“really?” dennis narrows suspicious eyes, sniffs and wipes his nose before planting himself at the table. he leans in, stares at mat dead-on. the secretary can’t help but feel a little fluttery under the attention. “for lunch?”

“yeah, sometimes!” sounding a little more excited than he wanted to be, mat shrinks slightly. thinks about dennis growling and his fists opening and closing like he wants to wrap meaty palms around mat’s neck and squeeze. instinctively, he touches his neck, feeling for imaginary bruises. “he doesn’t really say why or anything, but i guess he just likes watching people come and go, or something.”

dennis softens a little despite himself, bleeding heart wrenched at any mention of his favourite staff member. “yeah, he’s a dumbass. i always have my lunch free, but he keeps wandering into different offices.”

there’s something in mat that withers when dennis says that, shrinks at the insinuation that the only reason why the custodian wanders into his office is just because he forgot where dennis’ was. he’s always had a soft spot for the poor guy, puffed out his chest with pride when the normally quiet old man started to ramble to him, listened to him with blank and impressionable eyes. mat’s never had a brother, and, sure, anthony’s way older than him, but he can probably pretend that anthony’s a little brother to him. he just feels like that’s the sort of dynamic they share. when anthony comes into his office and sits quietly and eats a sandwich, like the attendance office is a safe place, like mat makes it a safe place. though, with a frown tugging at his features, mat considers that dennis is pretty much saying the same thing. that anthony sees him like a brother — you know, because he thinks he’s dennis? — and that’s why he keeps wandering in.

then mat perks up, realizing a way he can win this. because when anthony comes into the office, from time to time, he’ll actually talk about dennis. something he wouldn’t do if he was just mistaken. too emboldened by the possibility of being right, mat doesn’t think before he starts saying, “well, i think he’s just a pretty friendly guy! i think he goes to anastazja’s office too, but i usually see him in the attendance office. like i said, he’s a big people-watcher.” masking that he thinks the real reason is because he makes anthony feel special, special in a way that dennis doesn’t. that’s probably not the case, but a guy can dream, right?

dennis takes a long moment to consider him. mat has to wonder what he’s thinking about, what gears are turning in that meaty head of his. he’s not above the common stereotype of jocks being book-dumb, and dennis certainly hasn’t shown him any reason to think otherwise. still, the clarke duo is… fun. a word that he chooses carefully, picks out from his extensive vocabulary. taken apart they’re interesting, and mat tries to get them alone as much as he can — hates being the third wheel to whatever dynamic the two of them have — but they have this effect on each other that’s almost just as fascinating. dennis, piercing and aloof and occasionally downright sadistic, mellows out and talks soft to his brother, voice practically wistful when he regards the other. and anthony? anthony tends to show a lot more personality when he’s around coach clarke, leaning in to whisper to him and making a lot more comments in general. when dennis isn’t around, anthony tends to wander like a lost puppy, but he’s more grounded with the other. 

to be expected, mat says, putting on his psychology cap to ease the sudden sting of rejection, because the two of them definitely have a strange relationship. it’s not normal for two brothers to work at the same school for decades, for there to be no one else. no wife, no kids… practically no friends. mat would have thought that dennis was limiting anthony somehow, that he was being too territorial, but closer inspection makes that theory impossible. anthony likes the attention, seeks it out. and the custodian has friends — mat himself being a prime example — and though dennis gets a little weird about it, he ultimately concedes. he even seems kind of happy that the guy’s getting some social time in. coach clarke, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to spend time with anyone but the custodian unless he’s being forced to. hence why this conversation is so surreal, mat leaning in to catch more of it. he wants to learn more about dennis, even with the voice at the back of his head growling: you got no chance, buddy. no chance.

mat shakes away the nerves and speaks again. “besides, anthony and i are pretty good friends. i wouldn’t ever turn him away if he wanted a place to have lunch. i’ve seen the custodian’s office, and buddy, it’s pretty cramped.”

“that’s why we have a staff lounge,” snaps dennis, nostrils flaring. “the gym office, the courtyard, wherever he wants to go!”

“the rose garden’s nice to sit and eat at,” mat pipes up, unsure of how to handle the sudden burst of anger.

dennis huffs, leaning back in his seat and crossing bulky arms over a wide chest. “yeah, i bet anthony would love that girly crap. smelling roses while he eats his sandwich.” the statement’s met with a sniff of disdain, and dennis focuses his eyes off in the distance. it’s clear he doesn’t usually spend time in here, probably keeping to himself in his office instead. it reminds him of namie, one of his more mysterious coworkers. she also likes to keep to herself, has an unshakeable cold front that mat’s only just starting to thaw. they’ve had some nice conversations from time to time, and he can just tell that she likes him more than the others on the team. the thought always makes his chest warm with pride.

“i-i mean, when you put it like that,” mat starts, and dennis actually smiles, subtle against square features. mat focuses for a second on his skin, leathery and wrinkled yet still drawn taut under considerable bulk. tries to imagine dennis with lighter hair and a cop uniform with alarming success. he opens his mouth to say something else, but quickly loses his train of thought when he sees the very woman he was thinking about striding into the cafeteria, long silken hair following her like a sweet-smelling cascade. she brushes by him as she walks, seemingly oblivious to the way he totally loses himself, turning to watch her with a, “hey, namie,” practically whispered under his breath. 

when he looks back to dennis, the man’s smirking, and mat feels an indignant flush rise to his cheeks. knowing he’s the butt of some private joke. but he can’t say anything before dennis is mocking him, coming up with a high-pitched, “ hey, namie, ” all hands up and eyes rolling. 

“does mat like namie?” the blunt question is asked by a hapless-looking custodian, shambling over to sit next to his brother without a second thought. but anthony’s quickly looking over at mat, trying to confirm what’s going on. it’s then that mat realizes that all this mocking was probably for anthony’s benefit, dennis’ attempt to lure the guy in. not that he needs any luring. he’s not exactly intelligent, in mat’s opinion, even if his head is stuffed full of historical facts.

“oh, hell yeah he does,” answers dennis confidently. “he got all doe-eyed when she passed by. she didn’t even look at him. typical.” he nods to mat. “what you gotta do with girls like that is prove you’re really serious. do something big she won’t forget.”

anthony nods, primly unwrapping his sandwich. “i think anastazja is throwing a valentine’s dance. you can invite namie to go. she works here, right?”

“uh,” mat starts. “she’s not really an official staff member. i think she’s in the books as a representative of nebula.” which, by all accounts, she is. but her job is more accurately a medical researcher, with a side of… disciplining students that are out of line. dennis has that side job too, something that makes mat’s stomach turn. it’s weird to see him chatting like this, easily enough despite his intimidating appearance and gory occupation. and in all fairness, he feels similarly towards namie. isn’t sure how exactly she stomachs her job, how she can stand doing it. if she would do the same to him if he were one of those kids. still, the thought of asking her to a dance is a little… thrilling, in a terrifying sort of way. sort of like the thought of asking an evil sorceress to the school dance. it would be a night to remember if she says yes, heavy emphasis on the if. “you think she’d say yes if i asked?” he realizes how eager he sounds, apples of his cheeks heating up at the sound of his own voice.

dennis rolls his shoulders. “if you play your cards right, sure. and anthony can put in a good word for you, right? he’s a great wingman.”

somehow, mat doubts it, but at least the next time he sees dennis, he remembers the sight of his smile instead of the image of a strongman blazed into the backs of his eyelids.

JUNE 2019

mat sort of has a little problem. he usually gets a little weak in the knees when people press close to him, proximity making him woozy and overly excited, but he’s starting to notice it a lot more with one particular person. he’s sure the clarkes’ teasing doesn’t help, has only heightened his reactions when namie’s near. making him notice when she’s looking at him from across the room. making him flush when she backs up his points during debates between the members of the research team. making him sweat buckets when she leans into his personal space to pick up a pen he was using. not that he’d call it a crush — that’s a little… juvenile? he thinks so, anyway. he’s a grown man and he’s long outgrown crushes. even though the idea sends butterflies to his stomach and makes him grin and even laugh a little to himself. he’s never been someone that really fell for others in the obvious sense — that they were the most important person to him, he’d do anything for them… he’s always figured that’s just not his style. oblivious to all the times he’s centred his world around perfect strangers, idealizing them and moulding them to fill that hollow space in him, that companionship he’s always craved like a drug fuelling every one of his actions, even going so far as defining who he is. mat’s always been oblivious to just how abnormal his interactions are, always citing himself as a real people person and just trying to mosey into everyone’s business. because he’s interested in it! and he’s an all-around nice guy. people used to call him a boy scout, if you’d believe it.

so when namie stands by him and he feels a little woozy from her perfume, he chalks it up to something pretty normal. anyone would be a little charmed by her, he figures, though he’s well aware that namie is one of the less popular people in the staff room. let’s just say no one’s really itching to grab a coffee with someone so harsh and judgemental. he’s seen the group chat! she’s not exactly shy about voicing her opinions.

but that’s the funny thing — mat really loves it when her name pops up. she’s just so… unaffected by what people think of her. and as someone who’s pretty much defined by the group, that’s fascinating to the detective. so much of life is about considering people’s expectations, making sure to fall into them when necessary and defy them when appropriate. but gosh, namie is just so consistent! never changing herself for someone else’s sake, never mincing her words… and it doesn’t hurt that she usually agrees with whatever mat’s saying, arguing his less-favoured points for him without batting an eye at the backlash.

he has to wonder if that’s part of her culture, or something. hasn’t really met many people who grew up in japan, but he’s heard people are a lot more disciplined there. not that it really matters — he’s ultimately an individualist, by which he means that he cares about every single person, warts and all. an altruistic standpoint, he knows, though saying as much makes him feel like something is curdling inside him.

but maybe it’s namie’s very aloof nature that attracts mat to her. always vying for her approval since he knows it’s rarely given — and when he’d backed her up in a group debate in the research team, she’d even smiled! that kind of rarity is worth more to mat than diamonds! he tells himself he just likes brightening her day, but he’d be lying if he hadn’t noticed how she occasionally gets him tongue-tied.

like when he swings by their shared office (his second home, located in the bowels of the institution) and she’s sipping away at her black coffee, tapping on the keyboard of her desktop computer with rhythmic perfection, and he can’t help but stare, a little awed, before offering up some sort of greeting. “namie, hey! you’re working late.” 

and she flips her perfumed hair over her shoulder and remarks, “i could say the same for you.” looking up at him, actually making eye contact as she sips her drink, which warms mat much more than the coffee would warm her.

“aw, it’s not really work,” starts mat, but he gets a somewhat disdainful look from her and quickly changes his tune. “well, i was mulling over that recent hypothesis samantha posed.” leans in, places two hands on her desk as if he’s caging her, studying her reaction. “what do you think about it?”

namie leans back in her chair and mat tries hard not to look at the way the fabric of her sweater clings to her slender frame. swallows hard because he knows she’s way out of his league even if she sticks up for him from time to time. “it’s a little basic,” is what she decides, tactless as ever. “a research team at minerva collegiate of all places should move beyond a carrot-and-stick approach. though i suspect dr. veta’s worried about the morality of a straightforward brainwashing.” she taps her nails against the side of her mug. “i should make a few calls. shingen is unreliable, but… mm.” 

“shingen?” mat’s curiosity is immediately piqued.

namie’s eyes widen just a sliver, and mat can’t help but feel a little special realizing that she hadn’t meant to start musing out loud like that. “just a former coworker of mine.”

“with nebula?” mat rubs his hands together, grinning ear-to-ear. namie really makes him feel like a real detective.

she looks him over and runs two careful fingers through her hair. “yes, but he’s never been very involved with the company’s goals.”

“what’s, uh — ” and mat takes a fraction of a second to settle on what he wants to ask — “i mean, i know you’re a part of nebula, but i never really asked what it’s all about.”

namie takes a long sip of her coffee. “we study the paranormal.”

mat’s smile falters.

“it’s hard for me to believe as well. i wouldn’t be the type to believe in something so frivolous if its existence hadn’t been proven before my very eyes.”

now that, mat can agree with. he’d never been into all that supernatural paranormal mumbo-jumbo until everlock, and now that he’s been raised from the dead, he’s not exactly in a position to say it’s not real. he’s living proof of it, after all. it’s nice to see another similarity between them — it bolsters him in a way that’s practically electrifying. “so, uh… how’d it get proved to you?”

namie stares at him for a few seconds, really scrutinizes him. he can’t help but flush under the attention, fidget with a finger pointed out and an arm tucked against his chest. “my uncle attracted nebula’s attention by bringing home…” she falters. mat notices it immediately, a hawk attuned to every minute change. “…something they were looking for. a cursed object, of sorts. it was because of this object that i relocated here from japan and that i elected to work for nebula in the first place.”

“must have been an important object,” mat says a bit noncommittally.

mat could swear namie replies with, “she is,” but it’s too quiet for him to hear. he opens his mouth to ask more questions, but then dr. veta and sunapi come back from their dinner break, and namie immediately bristles, turning away from mat and back to her work. he’s gotta admit, it’s pretty nice knowing that namie likes him the most out of the whole research team.

“looks like we’re all pulling a late night,” comments mat by way of greeting. making sure to clap sunapi’s hand in a sort of handshake. he’s still just a kid — baby fat still clinging to their cheeks and too much enthusiasm when they talk. always rambling, wanting to try out new things… and mat would be lying if he hadn’t noticed the way the student gravitates towards studying certain subjects over others .

samantha sighs. “believe me, i’d rather go home, but we have an issue.”

the smile drops off mat’s face. he looks to namie for any sort of clarification, but she’s pointedly ignoring the crew of researchers. so he looks back at the lead researcher, parroting her words right back to her. “issue?”

“one of our disciplinarians killed a subject,” pipes up namie, fist clenched beside her mouse. “ again .”

samantha huffs out a little bit of a laugh. “that’s it exactly. luule is…”

“passionate,” sunapi tries.

namie flips some hair over her shoulder. “unstable.”

“ hot-headed, ” finishes samantha. “she has a temper. and when she loses it, the subjects die.”

“we can’t — ” and mat relishes the way the whole team looks to him — “talk to the headmaster about it?” even to him, the suggestion sounds trite.

“it’s a nice thought, but i doubt the headmaster cares. the students have always been expendable to him.” 

dr. veta crosses her arms, considering how she’d elaborate, but mat’s blood is roaring in his ears, his stomach turning violently. expendable. the word that makes him hate his position. wonder why the heck he’s still a part of this whole thing. but he knows minerva’s way bigger than him. that the world needs what it provides. 

the greater good. the very thought makes him feel sick. he ends up going home earlier than the rest, and he can’t help but feel a vindictive joy knowing that the debate ended with him, that the rest of the team just followed him out.

AUGUST 2019

mat’s not exactly fond of hu tao. they’ve had conversations once or twice, and he’s decided that she’s not too bad on her own. he can see a silver lining in her from time to time, even with her sordid occupation. he can’t imagine running a funeral parlour. making a livelihood by profiting off death. he figures someone’s got to do that, but… the gleam in her eyes when she talks about the dead… that playful way she sort of… disregards it?

it makes him shudder, if he’s being honest. even before everlock, he’d have felt weird about it. don’t the dead deserve respect? he’d ask, a nervous titter tinging his words. because if he were dead, he’d want respect. a funeral director that’s serious. someone that doesn’t… revel in it. someone that’s kind.

but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to get to know hu tao better. maybe it’s just blind optimism talking, but he wants to see if she’ll prove him wrong. if she’ll be better than his assumptions. in a way, he almost expects her to. wouldn’t ever admit it, but he wants her to be better than he thinks so that he won’t have to dislike her. he likes getting along with people! nothing wrong with that! but if she doesn’t prove him wrong, well… then he was right from the start, that she’s insensitive. not to be trusted.

when she strides into the basement, she lets out a low whistle. “are those the bodies?”

mat’s lips press together, shoulders locked and tense. “yeah, those are… those are the bodies, yeah.”

hu tao rolls her shoulders. “there’s more this time than last time.” still bright and jovial, but mat catches the way she furtively looks over to him. “i wish i could contact the families.”

“yeah, well.” mat doesn’t have anything else to say to that. he wishes they did, too. wishes he never had to forge those suicide notes or write false reports. he always told himself it was for the sake of the organization. all for the sake of protecting the country, and isn’t that what detectives are supposed to do? protect people? the thought now curdles in his stomach.

“i know.” hu tao smiles. “at least i can send them off. hopefully their spirits aren’t mad that it took so long. the headmaster never emails me on time. but i knew to come today cause luule was complaining about the smell.”

that makes mat’s nose wrinkle, disgust touching his features momentarily. he doesn’t exactly like luule, and for the two of them to be dating… it really doesn’t give him much hope for hu tao’s character. “one of them started rotting. i guess he just slipped under the radar. i think he was luule’s, dennis’ maybe. one of them didn’t file the paperwork for when they use excessive force. ” the disdain doesn’t leave his voice.

hu tao sighs. “that girl, always sending people to their early graves! all things come in good time. don’t fear the reaper, but don’t rush into his arms head-first!” she clicks her tongue. “it’s not good disrupting the natural balance of things. die at your time, and don’t come back!” 

the way she giggles about it makes mat suspect she’s seen someone else like him. the hairs on his arm stand up on end. “wha — what do you mean, come back?”

she makes a big show of trying to look creepy, raising her arms and waving them around like a zombie. for a second, he thinks he feels green mist around them, thinks he can feel the crawl of the crypt on his jacket. he forces himself not to visibly react, blinking quickly to rid himself of the vision. “some people can be brought back from the dead… with a steep price. i find it’s impossible to be happy when your soul belongs to death. that’s why i plan to kidnap little qiqi when i go back home to visit…” she gauges mat’s horrified expression, then laughs. “kidding! i know qiqi wants to survive despite the suffering she faces from being undead. i’d never kill someone unwilling and unworthy.”

her gaze flicks to the corpses, and mat sees it warring on her face. “well, i should get the ritual started. you’re welcome to stick around.”

years ago, mat might have jumped at that chance. now, death makes him squeamish. instead, he takes a long shower, tries to remember how to breathe with phantom hands around his throat.

FEBRUARY 2020

“your turn~!” sings luule, skipping out of the torture chamber with light steps. she’s covered in blood, the remains of her laughing fits clinging to her tone. it doesn’t take a neuroscientist to see she’s over the moon, elated with her toolbelt of torture tools and pleased as punch that she got to use them. mat has to try his best to force a smile, even if everything in him wants to throttle her right here. it’s no use, he knows. this is his fate, to be locked down in minerva with everyone else that’s here. and he’s seen the piles of bodies, with even the funeral rites not being enough to quell the queasiness in his stomach. it doesn’t matter that luule adds to the number of corpses every day. doesn’t matter that the headmaster is pushing for results now, with the tragedy raging on outside. mat has to push himself not to think all sorts of nasty things, heart racing in his chest, pounding against his ribcage as he brushes past luule and enters the room. immediately catches sight of who luule’s victim had been, a shock of premature white hair dyed crimson in blood. they watch him with caged eyes, but mat can see how their posture instinctively relaxes once they realize who it is.

he won’t tell them that he was working for the police when their grandma got taken off life support. that he was part of the team that wrote the bogus report after they got a lookalike corpse from the genetic engineers. he convinces himself that none of that matters right now. 

instead, he’s got a secret burning a hole into his coat pocket. 

the minerva employees are bugged, and the students are all branded and shackled. it’s worse than a maximum-security prison, and mat knows what waits for him if he gets caught defecting. he knows what’s waiting for him better than anyone else, actually — has been there once before. and with nikita gone and joey double-gone, no one’s left to save him if he heads there. still, he forges onward, impulsive and hurting and disgusted with himself.

he takes deva to the student lounge, a place that’s stacked with propaganda magazines and training equipment designed to look like games. it’s a nice place to take the students when he wants to boost their morale, all things considered. and the students are usually brainless after being tortured, pliable enough to trust him implicitly. but mat’s not being crafty for deva’s sake, what with the student being practically concussed. as he goes to hang his coat, he knocks against the side table with the magazines, sending everything flying. a quick hand movement ensures the newspaper falls somewhere amongst the propaganda.

“ope! didn’t mean to, ah…”

“i’ve got it,” deva says without thinking, kneeling down to pick up the magazines as mat picks up some of the others. their fingers brush the newspaper. by all accounts, maybe even to deva, it looks like an accident. an accident that the headline is close enough for them to read. that it’s a newspaper from forever ago, obfuscating when they might actually have seen it. that the limited information they can glean from it is enough for them to realize exactly what the test subjects are being prepared for. they slip the article into one of the magazines, tidying it all up and stacking everything into place.

when they look at mat, he smiles apologetically, and that seems to tell them everything they need to know. 

APRIL 2020

mat’s never seen this kid in his life, but he knows him. he sees the features twisted from unconsciousness into a calm expression and knows them because she used to sleep in a cot in the research lab from time to time, when the work was a lot and the pressure was ramped up. he sees the warm skin and the youthful, round cheekbones and knows them because he used to admire the apples of her cheeks when she smiled. he sees the body lying there, unmoving, and knows it because he’d just seen her, forever asleep and never coming back.

he never knew samantha had a son, but he could pick cassidy out of a crowd because he knew his mom. 

deva worries a navy hand through their bangs, teeth clenched with anxiety. “i don’t know where he came from,” they tell mat, voice pleading, like they’re dying for some direction.

“we can't just let him go,” mat says, considering.

avis looks to him with interest. “please explain. i see no disadvantage.”

“it’s way too risky,” shoots back deva, eager as always to jump to mat’s defence. “he knows what happened here.”

“i…” starts estran nervously. screws up her face with anxiety before continuing with a, “…um, i don’t think he has anywhere to go.”

mat understands where deva’s coming from, honestly. cassidy’s a total outlier, just some unlucky kid who probably snuck in to see his mom. and mat was just dragging that body to what deva calls the greenhouse — named because the bodies are going to make a great fertilizer someday. they looked to mat for approval then, and he granted them a weak laugh. death still makes his hands shake, still makes his throat dry, and he thanks his lucky stars that he joined the winning team before it was him in that stack of corpses.

it would have been easier if cassidy had died, decides mat easily. sure, people do horrible things to survive, but most days he wonders if survival is overrated. nurses a stiff drink that he never used to drink before — he's always been more of a fruity cocktail with the cute umbrellas kind of guy — and feels the scorch down his throat and wonders if death would even be so bad, as long as he was with them. he wonders if they're all in super hell together, if they even think about him. he quit the society so soon after the purgatory mission; he doesn't know what ended up happening. if colleen or bretman ended up joining. if they had to fight against joey once he got in contact with junko. the thought makes his stomach turn.

joey had looked so handsome on those magazine covers. had fit in perfectly with junko’s brilliant smile. mat hates to think of what became of their little group, just them against the world of evil. 

and that’s just how it goes, he figures. joey’s got a body count of hundreds, and mat’s shovelling corpses into the greenhouse waiting for them to rot. he stares at cassidy’s unmoving body, takes some degree of solace in the way he can see the kid’s chest rising and falling ever so slightly. he’s a survivor. and once he wakes up, he’s going to wish he wasn’t. mat can’t help but feel a kinship toward him. poor kid. he had no idea what he was signing up for.

but then again, no one ever does. not in everlock, and certainly not in minerva.

“load him in with the others. we can’t risk it.”

and they do.

JULY 2022

he didn’t like her much when she was alive. it’s something he’d obviously never tell deva — the pharmacist, they’re called now, he reminds himself — but she’d always gotten under his skin. reminded him a lot of something long buried, unable to place that sinister tone but hairs on his arms raising because of it. she almost always looked like one of those dolls with eyelids that were too heavy, closing when you tilted it a little too far one way. but he couldn’t deny that she was useful, her haunting voice and talented fingers able to pluck the heartstrings of those around her.

he could never quite get past the if she were in everlock thought, one that he doesn’t think too much, not with everyone he meets, but he can’t escape it with madira. if she were in everlock, i’d vote her every time until she’s gone. can’t shake the idea that she’s too dangerous, worrying that if he spent enough time with her, she’d rob him of his free will. hypnotize him into acting like a total zombie. half-remembers that pang of jealousy when he remembers how deva used to team up with her, resentful when he remembers how integral she’d been to the planning of the riot. always the silent last resort, hypnotizing any student who’d been broken too far. he knows for a fact she killed some of them, too — a fact that deva turns a blind eye to, and he doesn’t push them about. there’s no pure way to beat minerva. and anyway, each and every one of those kids is a soldier. practically born and bred to be one.

and as much as he wants to say she wormed her way into a top spot of the plan because she was deva’s girlfriend, he can’t deny she was helpful. sure, she was a little weak physically, but her talent made her integral to the mission. he’d seen her hypnotize a minerva staff member to place a gun to their head and pull the trigger — it was in her audition tape. something minerva obviously never publicized, but it made mat sick to his stomach remembering her just sitting there, serene as she played the piano and sung to him, the curve of her lips as he pulled the trigger and it clicked. mat remembers heaving a loud sigh of relief when he saw it. leaned back in his seat and scrubbed his hands down his face. he’s heard enough gunshots not to want to hear another one.

she wouldn’t kill someone, he’d told himself, even though he knew that was the exact reason why she’d be accepted. even before her first day of school, the headmaster was talking about how they’d get her in the program.

and yet, he now he sits in a darkened room, itchy and alone, eyes raw and bloodshot, on the edge of his seat. headmaster ibu cranes his neck this way and that, mirroring the mastermind on the other side of the simulation. that’s the thing about masterminding — you know the answer, can feel it twisting at the bottom of your stomach and turning you inside-out, but you’re always on the edge of your seat wondering how people will figure it out. and this one is… it’s a doozy. madira being there in the courtroom with them is enough of a sign that she’s the guilty party. but since luule isn’t actually dead, he figures she’ll just get away with it. a slap on the wrist, kind of thing. nothing in the rules against attempted murder, and mat’s obviously not keen on killing the poor girl again. he wouldn’t do that to deva, to avis. to estran too, he guesses.

soma watches madira despairingly as she shows her shoes to the room. smooth-soled shoes, like the ones luule’s poisoner was wearing. he speaks quietly, unvoiced emotion in his tone. “do you have anything you want to add, madira?”

madira echoes him, her voice almost sharp as she speaks louder than her ai ever has. “anything i want to add? ” she laughs, a bright, melodic sound. mat’s heard that laugh of hers. he’s heard it in real life, echoing off the walls as she’d been tortured. he’d heard her singing to herself too — had told him once she was hoping to hypnotize herself into not feeling any pain anymore. he knows that the flip of the coin, the way she launches into her tirade, would scare everyone in the room except for those who knew her. the people in this simulation who really matter. his people. somehow, it warms his heart seeing her fight for the same cause they are, even if she doesn’t know the truth of it. even if she isn’t there anymore. 

the real madira never truly knew about the tragedy. never knew what kind of a woman junko enoshima was, or the full extent of her influence. her friends and family didn’t die to the tragedy; they died to hope, or whatever twisted version of it minerva was promoting. but her heart still shines through her monologue, speaking as if possessed, hatred lacing her tone and acting as vindication for the masterminds of this game. headmaster ibu turns his head as mat takes in avis, then deva. watching how both of their stares are trained on madira, speaking as eloquently as she did in life. with that same fervour. that haunted-doll look that she used to carry, sharpened by deva’s teeth and mat’s sense of justice.

“when i saw that… that… creature, with the painting of the woman who started it all… the goddess of death, the one who caused so much death, destruction, despair… i knew it for a fact. that some of you were corrupted by her influence. some of you would awaken to your true natures.” she turns to soma, giggles and covers her mouth. “don’t you feel it? suddenly feeling oh… so… brave? or you,” punctuated with her striking stare on claude, “how does it feel, having your mind clear of that endless fog?” mat’s got to hand it to her, honestly — he’s pretty sure that if he were in her situation, he’d think claude and soma were pretty suspicious, too. had barely realized initially how much of a shock it would be to see guilherme handing soma a portrait of junko enoshima herself since he knew it was all a simulation anyway. but to madira? that would have set her on red alert. and with soma’s and claude’s changes in behaviour? she’d jump to conclusions quickly, especially considering her talent being all about slowly influencing the mind, awakening it to things it wouldn’t consciously consider.

“and luule,” madira caps off, “finally admitting. that she’s a horrible person. that this is all a game to her. that she deserves death.” the ultimate composer looks around the courtroom, meeting the horrified faces of the entire class. “can any of you blame me?” she sounds practically elated. “would any of you have done differently, in my situation?”

soma is the first one to speak, small frame shaking. “i can’t say what i would have done. but i do know that i didn’t do this. luule cannot be forgiven for her actions, that’s true. but no. i do not feel it. my friends are being murdered.”

that sets madira off immediately, her reaction coupled with a flinch from mat. it’s a sort of poetic irony, this whole thing. all these people, war criminals, pretty much, who are so convinced they couldn’t hurt a fly. when he’d seen soma come to the students himself to apologize, to cry over how unfair their situation was. when he’d seen firsthand how much that hurt the poor kids. madira starts to laugh hysterically, voice screeching across the walls of the bunker. “you murdered my friends!”

claude regards madira coldly, immune to her outburst. mat’s immediately seized with a memory that doesn’t belong to him, the sight of those cold eyes in guilherme’s trial. accusing mat, turning everyone against him. the mastermind’s fist clenches. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.” mat grits his teeth, forces bloodshot eyes to remain on the monitor, ibu staying perfectly still on his perch. “but you’re right, i can’t blame you. the only thing i would have done differently was not get caught.” he sneers at her, laughs cruelly. mat shuts his eyes against it.

“you’re crazy,” dennis interjects, tossing an arm around anthony. 

but no one has time to react before luule starts to speak, tone matching madira’s and arms trembling. in hindsight, mat can’t remember a thing she said. all he can remember is the surge of movement, how luule flings herself across the courtroom with the glint of a knife in hand. he doesn’t have time to think. doesn’t have time to react. doesn’t know where she even got the weapon.

“i’d side with despair if it meant going against someone like you.”

actually, mat does remember one thing. he remembers that luule stared into madira’s eyes with a sadism that sickened him to his core. watching eagerly for the life to drain from her eyes.

mat doesn’t know what happened after that. he hears avis screaming, then deva. he’s emptying his stomach on the floor. when he drags himself back to the monitor, the courtroom is empty save for the pharmacist, on their knees in a pool of madira’s blood, head buried into gloved hands hard enough to muffle their agonized screams.

AUGUST 2022

this body isn’t mine. he thinks it for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. it’s mine, but it’s not. reckless and impulsive in the face of deva bloodied and beaten, imagines their encounter in what used to be the student lounge in the bunker to be more heroic than it was. less impulsive, less frightened and selfish, and more because he couldn’t stand to see them hurt. it’s not that it’s not true. it’s more like it’s half-true, not that this splintered, rotting mind could tell the difference anymore. alone for months, ribs caving over sagging skin and his face gaunt, eyes red-rimmed and crusty from staring at screens all the time. no food except what minerva had in its coffers, the canned apocalypse stuff that inhuman headmaster stocked up on. like he knew all along that this would happen. mat lets himself agonize over that regardless of its truthfulness, uncaring as long as he could find something else to latch onto. feeling as though he’s been rolling around on the ground with blows being rained down onto him from all directions. no rest for the wicked, he thinks sardonically, and tries to forget.

forget how he saw estran ask the pharmacist to meet at tate, how the two of them walked over to the shooting range all by themselves. mat thinks he idly noticed deva fidgeting, wonders in hindsight if they knew what estran was planning. there’s no way they wouldn’t, mat decides. no way someone so guarded wouldn’t think that estran might kill them. mat remembers how they used to talk about her, how they’d never liked her. mat didn’t have much of a relationship with her, either. she just… never seemed to really exist. all mat remembers is sunapi’s obsession with her, something he’d always chalked up to a childish crush. a crush, he thinks distantly, weight in hand, raised for the strike.

he doesn’t know what he was thinking. he just saw deva get struck down, saw estran starting to stab them with arrows with all the precision he knows the minerva disciplinarians used to use on them, and he knows he can’t let this happen. not again. not after madira. not after avis. he’s going to save someone. he’s going to save someone, for the first time in his life.

maybe that was his concrete thought. or maybe it had been something else. he dragged avis out of her pod, her body cold like a real corpse. eyes glassy. he’d barely paid attention, fingers flying over the master computer’s keyboard before mat’s stuffing himself in and squeezing his eyes shut. 

next thing he knows, he’s in this body. a body that doesn’t belong to him, but does. he doesn’t think about what he’d left behind. all he thinks about is what he’s losing now. bolting up in bed and barely sparing a glance to namie before fleeing the room. in hindsight, he’s thankful she hadn’t noticed. all he was thinking about in the moment was how far the dorm is from tate. mat’s always run like a newborn fawn, but it’s worse, with his corpse unused to the skin it’s wearing, body too youthful for his blood. 

he can’t remember if estran screamed. all he remembers is the pharmacist, wincing with pain and looking at him like he’s their saviour. it’s the one good thing, he thinks, about this whole setup. nothing’s okay, none of it, but they’re safe, and the two of them are together. deva could barely move, but they’d gotten to their feet regardless and helped him out.

mat barely remembers that part, if he’s being honest. doesn’t remember where deva got the hacksaw to start slicing estran apart. the towels he used to soak up the blood and get it all spick-and-span again. not perfect, but good enough. there’s no way the “ultimate detective” would just leave the body behind. 

the pharmacist seemed to be thinking the same thing. “everyone else just left the job half-finished. half the fun is hiding the body!” trying to brighten the mood, though all they earn is a soft breath, something between a sigh and a chuckle.

they load what remains of estran in a garbage bag and start lugging it back in a trusty custodian’s cart. his custodian’s cart, thinks mat absently, but can’t put his finger on the pulse of what he means. name stubbornly refusing to come to the surface. he does faintly recall, though he doesn’t remember when, that he put avis’ student card in his breast pocket, letting riza’s clatter with the others in his larger pockets. 

it’s only when he pulls himself into the woodward student bathrooms (where no one would be sleeping, claude wouldn’t bother going so far when everyone else was sleeping near to the fulton building — though the possibility still remains, so mat’s movements are made with his heart in his throat, running through bone-tired excuses for why he’s covered in blood and incinerator ash) that he can even start to think properly. flashes of estran’s arms, the stench of her blood. he’s never killed someone before. not by his own hands. as much as he’s seen, lived through, he was hoping he’d never have to. if the pharmacist were here, he’d have living proof that it wasn’t in vain, but he can’t help but feel glad they’re not here. needs the quiet to himself, to ruminate over a body (his body) that shouldn’t exist. that he was never meant to live in. the gangly guy with sunshine lenses, namie’s boyfriend, the ultimate detective — he doesn’t exist anymore. his cherry-apple cheeks are gaunt and colourless, with only the shower steam creating a semblance of life in them. 

it’s okay, the people pleaser decides. he’ll resurrect the boy scout come morning.