Chapter Text
To say Doctor Lar was not impressed would be an understatement. A “secure facility” that couldn’t hold 3 young adults? What a fucking joke.
He stormed down the cell block hallway, determined to see the carnage for himself. If anything, this newest escape attempt (and this would be only an attempt, he will make sure of it) would at least be good to show what the subjects were capable of when desperate. Lar rounded the corner, allowing the remaining guard to catch up. There were at least 3 complete bodies, probably too many handlers with too little time for Theraph to finish a full meal, but there seemed to be another arm (possibly a partial leg) very close to Murin’s open cell door. It was too mangled and shredded to fully tell. The remains of the torso were just visible in the corner of Murin’s room.
“Oh god…” The guard said shakily behind him. The doctor couldn’t help but roll his eyes. You’d think they would hire people with stronger stomachs given the nature of the job. He had seen Theraph do far worse than this mess to the mice he kept giving them. His escort seemed frozen in shock so it was up to him- as always- to do everything.
Crouching by the torso remains, it appeared that Theraph had made a good meal of the lungs and heart, leaving the spinal cord intact. Lar recalled that the beast did react well to Amor and Murin and recognised him so it was likely more intelligent then he first thought if it knew to avoid the brain and spine. The last thing he wanted was to find out his lab rat is susceptible to Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease due to this little transgression.
As he tilted one of the ribs to the side with his pen, Lar noted the tooth lodged underneath. He would have to test if they were loose like a shark when they retrieved Theraph or if he had lost it permanently.
Lar waved over the guard he was with. Hopefully, he was a better messenger than a handler.
“I have further investigations to do here but the retrieval teams need to be made ready. Go inform Brutus that Amor has escaped too. No doubt he’d want to lead the charge to get his project back.”
“Doctor, you need-” Lar whipped his head up to glare at the handler
“What I need is my test subjects. What I need is for you to do your fucking job correctly before I use you as Theraph’s welcome home meal.” The handler nodded quickly, eyes wide with fear, before turning tail and running down the hall. Coward.
—
“Oh, you bitch!”
“Roman! Language!” Patton flicks the band aid box over to his apprentice as the 19 year old pouts at him. The nature of Roman’s power often meant he didn’t notice any minor scrapes, bumps or bruises from the day until after he rubbed blood on something white.
Roman grumbled incoherently as he focused on wrapping the cat band aid around his cut finger. He liked this shirt and now there’s blood on it. He deserves to call some roses or whatever bitches. Because they are.
Pat finished sweeping up the discarded stem cuttings and leaves as Roman binned all the remaining ribbon offcuts. They’d had to close up the shop early to make some final touches on a wedding bouquet set for tomorrow and they still were here like 3 hours after they planned. Okay, maybe that was a bit exaggerative on Roman’s part, it was 45 minutes. Either way, Patton caved, letting his friend leave early as long as he delivered the collection tomorrow for him. Roman rushed to leave, throwing on his jacket and leaving the door ajar.
There wasn’t much left to do, mainly book keeping bits and cleaning, but the sun had dipped far below the horizon by the time Patton had locked up. It's a short drive back to his house from the shop- Logan told him he should have picked somewhere inner city for better business- but something about tonight feels different. It gives Patton the heebie jeebies.
Patton reaches his door and starts fishing around in his pocket. Leaning on his door, he quickly finds out he doesn't need them.
His door is unlocked.
Now Patton is scatterbrained, his friends can attest to that, but he's not that absent minded. Suddenly, the heebie jeebies feel valid. He enters slowly, careful not to make noise in his own home. The hallway is still dark but he can see light spilling out from the kitchen. Patton held his hand closed, floating some loose change out of his bag. It wouldn’t do much, especially if his new companions were also powered, but it was better than nothing.
He crept slowly towards his own kitchen, able to hear scrambled snippets of conversation over the blood pumping in his ears. Two different voices, one smooth as honey and the other nasally but achingly familiar somehow.
"- and I'm telling you, Reek, Mothman wouldn't be interested."
"Have you seen his ass? I can't not pass up on that chance, bitch."
Patton took careful steps closer, using the cryptid one (Reek?)'s cackling laugh to cover the sound of his makeshift coin weapon clinking as he shifted the change into a better position to swing it at the intruders. Bracing himself for what he'd find and-
"What are you doing?" Patton lets out a very dignified squeak, flinging the coins at the face of the person that startled him.
Or rather he tried. The coins bounced uselessly off the chest of the freaking giant in his hallway. Trying his best not to gawk, Patton scanned up to see the third intruder.
An inhumanly tall, pale adult blocked him from moving back to the door. A tangled mess of dark hair covered one of his eyes, the one Patton could see a vivid green, uneven stubble peppered gaunt looking cheeks. He looked as startled and scared as Patton felt, eyes wide and hands trembling.
“Virge? You good over there?” Virge’s head shot over to the kitchen and Patton took this as his chance. He tried to dash past the intruder, ducking round his side while he was distracted, but Virge’s arm shot out and he was scooped off his feet with alarming ease.
The suddenness of it all struck Patton dumb and was too surprised to even give up a real struggle as he was half carried, half walked into the kitchen. Patton was dumped unceremoniously in his own dining chair, facing the other two intruders.
Sat right in front of him, perched on the edge of his kitchen table, was a clone of Roman.
Well, not quite. His skin was less tanned and covered in scars, raised lines and discoloured splotches littering his face and exposed arms. Greasy hair that was streaked with grey struggled to stay in the worn hair tie and stands of it hung loose by his face. A scraggly looking moustache clung to his top lip, almost lost in his patchy facial hair as it had visibly grown out.
But the look on his face and curious scrunch of his nose as he tilted his head to look at Patton then up at Virge was so painfully Roman.
With both the uncomfortable familiarity and slight guilt from staring at a person with scars churning in his stomach, Patton flicked his eyes over to the one person left.
Patton’s heart jumped into his throat as he scanned over the third intruder. All their features were cut and sharp, like someone had carved him out of marble. His skin was clear of scars unlike the Roman clone sitting next to him, with the exception of a large red birthmark that covered his right eye. Compared to Virge and not-Roman, he looked far more cared for with a clean shave and cropped hair.
Holy lord, Patton is so gay.
Dark, intense eyes- framed with black curls and an arched brow- seemed to stare right through him. The feeling of being assessed like this made Patton's skin prickle.
“They were sneaking around. Telepath. Tried to throw coins at me.” Virge’s voice came out in a deep mumble, Patton straining to catch all the words. The other two didn’t seem to struggle, the one with the birthmark giving Virge a curt nod.
He heard Virge’s steps back up behind them. The door frame creaked as he supposedly leaned against it, shooting down Pat making a run for it again before he even thought of it.
He was trapped.