Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Why was it that, even when he had the entire world in your grasp, it was a world that was not worth living in?

It was another day he had to force himself to sit up, or else he would be tempted not to get up at all; this wouldn’t do, as he simply had too many tasks to complete everyday. The sound of his alarm filled the room, and it was about the only thing louder than the pounding in his head.

He squeezed his viable eye shut, trying to blurt out the screeching alarm and the same phantom pain that haunted his arm. Tried to blurt out the same pounding in his head and face every morning. Tried to blurt out the guilt of what he had done.

What he had done to them. 

Snapping his eye open suddenly, he sucked a breath in through gritted teeth and swung his feet down to the floor, carpet meeting his feet as he stood. The first thing he did, before even silencing his alarm, was head over to the long, black case he had rested on a chest at the foot of his bed. With his left, currently not useless hand, he felt around in the dark for the five locks holding the chest closed, then opened the case. His shiny, metallic arm glinted slightly from the blinds, which allowed the last hour of moonlight to spill into his room. He grabbed the arm by its bicep, sucked in a deep breath, then shoved it into the stump of his arm.

Pain gripped his shoulder and he stifled a shriek, trying to control his breathing as he flipped switches on his arm in the particular order he had designed to turn it on. The pain of attaching it was particularly worse today; sometimes it would only sting a little, but other times the pain would almost make him black out. Today was the ladder.

Tears streaked down his left cheek as his arm powered on, causing the artificial muscles to twitch to life. The pain subsided from sharp stabbing to a dull throb. He sighed in relief; he could deal with that.

He rolled his shoulder forward and back, then flexed each of his joints to ensure they were all cooperating today. He let out another sigh of relief as he turned around and silenced his alarm.

It was 5:04, which gave him about an hour to complete his morning routine, eat, and report to his office for the day’s tasks. Lots of writing, signing, and sending orders, no doubt. Sometimes he wished he had some sort of assistant to take the load he bore off of his shoulders now and again. Alas, it did give him a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Maybe an assistant was a bad idea. He needed these responsibilities.

Rubbing the sleep from his eye, he trudged from his bedroom to his bathroom. His uniform was hung neatly on a hook next to the shower, which he had meticulously starched and ironed the night before. It was important that he looked good, even if his day would just be filled with busywork.

He reached out with his mechanical arm and turned the knob on his shower. It rained down, cold and wet, on his waterproof arm. He shook the droplets away, then stripped and got into the shower, shivering as the water sprayed his body.

He missed hot showers. They were therapeutic to him, back in college and his early twenties. But now he had come to terms with the fact that he could not, but not for a lack of trying. The burns and scars on his face throbbed and hurt throughout the day already. Hot showers felt like fire, and he knew moving forward he would have to make small sacrifices in order to keep his new health problems under control. 

After five minutes he turned off the water and grabbed for the towel draped on the sliding glass door. He patted himself down, the shivering slowly subsiding as the warmth of the fabric dabbed away the freezing water. He gave his mechanical arm a shake, thankful that he designed it to be completely waterproof. Although he could wash himself and do basic tasks one-handed, he didn’t particularly enjoy it. Anything he could do to make himself as normal as possible, he did it.

He stepped out of the shower onto his fuzzy red bath mat. It was a small thing, but it was something that made him feel a little more human. A little less like a robot. He carefully removed the pieces of his uniform from the hangers, donning each piece methodically and using his mirror to ensure everything was tucked in or folded correctly. He frowned as he noticed his name plate was a little crooked on his trenchcoat. He removed the tacks and replaced the positioning, almost pricking his index finger in the process. He looked back up at the mirror, making sure it was perfectly straight against the top seam of his right breast pocket. He blinked slowly as he read his nameplate through the mirror-distorted image in front of him: Red Leader.

The Red Leader quickly combed and blow-dried his hair, still maintaining the same signature haircut he’d worn since he was a kid. He set his brush down, then made sure his hair maintained the position by drenching it in hairspray. He accidentally locked eyes with himself in the mirror.

Disgust. Resentment. Hatred.

Red Leader bristled and curled his lip, looking away with a scoff as he left the bathroom to put on the remainder of his uniform. Socks, a glove, and, of course, his mask, not dissimilar to the one in Phantom of the Opera. It was a metallic red, akin to the shade of his mechanical arm, and had no hole for the eye. He couldn’t allow anyone to see his face naked; not even his closest colleagues and general, Paul and Pat, knew what he looked like under the mask. Should there ever be a situation where the scarred half of his face was exposed to anyone, they were to look away promptly and never mention it. This has only happened a couple of times, luckily, and each time his face was only exposed for a few seconds. If the Red Leader could barely stand to look at himself without the cover, how could anyone else? Each time he looked at the scar-morphed face, the grayed, milky eye, he was just reminded of his biggest failure; securing his life creation. All because of stupid–

Red Leader bit the inside of his cheek as if he were about to spit out the name. 

He left his bedroom and padded over to his kitchen, deciding to skip the cafeteria today. As he was the leader of the Red Army, he had the leisure to be able to do most things within his own quarters or office. This worked perfectly for him; as much as he did need to speak with people in meetings and engage in other diplomatic services or activities, he much preferred to keep to himself whenever he could. Although he was considered a world leader, he managed to keep a mysterious air about him. There was a lot that even his own army didn’t know about him, much less outsiders such as The Resistance. Red Leader’s lip curled at the thought of that barbaric, roguish alliance.

He never understood why more people weren’t willing to join his cause. While he may have been predisposed to using anger or force to achieve whatever he wanted in the past, he knew this approach would not work in the scheme of world leadership. He’d matured much since his twenties, realizing that mutual respect was much more appealing than fear. He treated his soldiers well, giving them many liberties within the main facility so long as they kept a good standing and completed their designated tasks that fell within their job title. Although there were many of them, Red Leader tried to personally get to know each of his soldiers, and attempt to memorize at least their name and where they were from before the Red Army. He knew respect went both ways, and was vital in order to keep his facilities running. He knew he was doing something right when people of many different countries began flocking to his cause. 

There were times when violence was needed, however. Red Leader tried to keep these altercations few and far in between. Although much of the media portrayed him as a cynical, barbaric, psychotic killer, he only ordered violence when it was absolutely necessary. If the safety of one or more of his soldiers was compromised by outsiders, he had no problem pulling the trigger. His job, as far as he was concerned, was to keep his soldiers safe. They were loyal, talented, and deserved a leader that would speak for them; Red Leader was that leader.

Red Leader always believed the world would be better under one government. While, in practice, this usually failed due to tyrannical leadership, he did his very best to keep himself in check and ensure that his top priority was his army, and then him. He hoped that, one day, he would no longer need to call it an army.

He had made himself a cup of coffee using his self-built coffee machine, designed to reduce as much waste as possible. That was another thing he was quite passionate about; saving the planet before it’s too late. Between capitalism and mass production, the state of the world was looking quite grim. Although the outbreak a few years prior helped to curb this slightly, things seemed to be slipping back into how things were prior to it. Red Leader gripped his coffee mug angrily. 

He wasn’t sure what exactly had him so worked up this morning. It wasn’t entirely unusual, though. Many days he would wake up and hate whatever the hell the world had become. He had a cynical distrust for others, believing that most people thought with a selfish “me, myself, and I” mentality. Although he had built all of this, gotten so much further than he ever thought he would… it still didn’t seem to change fast enough. Too many people resisted. Didn’t they see what he was trying to do?

He stifled a grunt as he sipped his black coffee, blinking slowly as he shifted the subject in his mind to something more productive; what he needed to do today. He heard there was a scuffle of sorts near the base (which worried him; he didn’t want war, especially on his own turf) that he likely would need to attend to. He dreaded the fact that he might need to kill today, all because of a stupid scuffle. Unfortunately, people who discovered the base couldn’t simply be let go; they either join, be held captive… or be killed, should it come to it. Red Leader sighed deeply at this fact, wishing it didn’t need to be this way. But he couldn't compromise safety. He hoped that whoever was involved in this brawl decided to join his cause rather than try to fight. Situations like those didn’t come up often, but when they did, Red Leader really dreaded it.

With a small sigh, he downed the rest of his coffee in a few large gulps, hoping the caffeine would kick in relatively soon. He set the mug in the sink and decided to skip breakfast, just like he usually did; it made him nauseous. He went over to his couch, where his boots were propped up, and quickly slipped into them and laced them. He checked his watch; 5:29. With a large sigh, he stood from the couch and left his flat. His door locked upon closing, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He took a step out into the hall, his boots softly echoing against the tile. 

Tord-–no, not Red Leader—had been morbidly depressed his entire life. Again, not Red Leader; he couldn’t afford to be depressed. Even now, with the world beginning to fit in the palm of his hands, getting up everyday was damn grueling. It was a weakness Tord always had, and it was a weakness he tried desperately not to associate with Red Leader. Alas, there were days where his depression would bleed into who he wanted to be, and it gave him a reason to stop it and do everything in his power to regain his composure as a world leader.

Tord? As far as he was concerned, Tord was dead. Tord died with his robot, when he left behind his old life in the messiest way he could. Tord was a coward. It was one of Red Leader’s many responsibilities to make sure Tord stayed dead. Tord Jensen was too damn weak to lead the Red Army.

Red Leader strolled down the hallway with his arms tucked neatly behind his back. His eye was squinted due to the bright fluorescent lights beaming in the hallway. It was still a little early, so he didn’t expect many of his soldiers to be out of their quarters yet. He walked down the long corridor for a couple of minutes before reaching an elevator. He pressed the button and waited patiently for it to rise up to his floor. His flat was on the highest floor—the tenth floor—so sometimes it did take a few minutes for the elevator to reach him. There were other ones, but, for some reason, he really preferred the one he usually waited on.

After a couple of minutes, the door slid open, and he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button labeled ‘1.’ He tapped his foot as he slowly descended, keeping his eye fixated on a random spot near the top of the door. The door slid open again, revealing a fluorescently lit, very large lobby. Although the lighting was harsh, Red Leader had tried to make it cozy enough with comfortable chairs, plants, and various pieces of art that hung from the walls. He noticed one of his soldiers shuffling papers at the front desk. They looked up at the elevator as it dinged, then gave a soft smile before sitting up and saluting.

“God morgen, sir,” The soldier said. Tord returned the salute and then folded his arm back behind his hand, allowing his soldier to drop theirs as well.

“God morgen, Pat,” Red Leader said softly as he neared the front desk. “Would you accompany me to my office? I want to make sure I’ve got everything sorted for the day.”

“Of course, sir.” Pat rounded the table and joined their leader’s side obediently. “Did you sleep well, sir?”

Red Leader chuckled bitterly. “About as well as I do any other night.”

Pat simply hummed in response. They were never much of a talker, which made them and Red Leader a pretty good fit. Pat was one of Red Leader’s oldest friends—well, at least a friend he still talked to—as well as one of his two trusted generals. The fluffy-haired Polish brunette had always stood diligently along his side as he built everything he had today, much of which he couldn’t have even done without them. He was grateful for both them and Paul every day, and hoped that, maybe one day, he’d be able to properly repay them for everything the two had done for him.

The two walked silently down another hallway, stopping at the last room to the right. Red Leader held up the back of his mechanical hand to a scanner next to the door. Shortly after he did so, the office clicked open and Red Leader walked in, followed closely by Pat. The smell smoke hit him as soon he set one foot in his office. Although it was a nasty habit, Red Leader felt he needed it just to keep himself sane.

The office was spacious, and in the center back wall was his large, mahogany wood desk, carved especially for him as a gift from Paul. Red Leader smiled fondly at the memory of him receiving it; it was the closest he’d come to crying after the incident.

Red Leader rounded his desk, sitting in his comfortable maroon swivel chair. One of the best things about being the boss was having a huge fancy swivel chair. Pat had brought in some papers from the lobby, shifting through them as Red Leader folded his hands together on his desk.

“So,” Pat murmured, almost to themself. “You’ve got a few meetings today, two of which Paul or I will be accompanying… a few applicants, but I’ll be reviewing those…”

Red Leader tapped his finger against the desk, somewhat impatiently. “What happened outside the courtyard last night?’

Pat swallowed. “Well, that would be in Paul’s report.” They scratched the back of their neck, looking at their leader nervously. “He did give me a couple details…”

Red Leader nodded, urging his general to go on.

“Three men tried to breach the walls around 20:00. The courtyard patrol caught them, but they didn’t go down without a fight. Paul took them into custody shortly thereafter. No one is badly injured.”

Red Leader felt a bit of relief upon hearing the last comment. “Have they been identified?”

Pat shrugged, setting their folder of papers down. “I don’t know, sir. Paul’s report should have more details.”

Their boss nodded. “Send him in as soon as you see him. I’m going to hope it isn’t too troublesome, but I still want to investigate it. You may leave.”

Pat nodded and left his office, leaving Red Leader feeling a little troubled. Although these three supposed men—three very, very foolish men—hadn’t breached the perimeter, it was still very troubling to him that they knew where the base was. His stomach dropped, and he hoped again he wouldn’t have to kill today.

For the next hour or so, Red Leader preoccupied himself with filling out paperwork he should have done the day before. Around seven, he heard a knock at the door. He stood from his chair and approached the door. Through the peephole, he could see Paul’s ID card visibly. He opened the door, stepping aside to let his other general in.

“God morgen, sir,” Paul said with a deep, revered nod. Red Leader returned the gesture.

“God morgen, Paul. Please sit.”

As Paul sat at the chair across from him, Red Leader returned to his seat. “I want to hear about what happened last night.”

As Red Leader regarded his soldier, he noticed that Paul looked anxious—unnerved, even. “Right.” He had a journal in his hands, which were shaking. Odd. He flipped through the pages, then stopped at a page in the middle. “At 20:09, I got a report that there was a… disturbance, near the north side of the courtyard. There were three men attempting to breach the perimeter. The courtyard patrol caught them before any security was breached. All three were overpowered and taken into custody around 20:26. No notable injuries…”

“Anything notable about them?”

Paul flipped through the journal, squinting his eyes; undoubtedly attempting to read his own chicken scratch. "None of them have been identified by name. They're all fairly tall, likely over six feet...male one is a brunet with facial hair; male two, a ginger with notable scaring on the jaw and right eye. Male three..." Paul swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing, "...noted as a perceivable threat. Brunet, unusual eyes-"

Red Leader cocked an eyebrow, glaring down at his general. “How is the last one a perceivable threat?”

Paul’s eyes darted from his boss to his journal several times before he answered. “He wanted to see you, sir.”

Red Leader looked at his general incredulously before bursting into laughter, causing Paul to jump. “Oh, that’s rich! Only soldiers of the Red Army have the privilege of seeing me. Who does this guy think he is, a celebrity?”

Paul watched his leader with dread. “Sir, you don’t understand. He wanted to see you.” Paul bit his lip, almost drawing blood. “Tord Jensen.”

Red Leader stopped laughing. A thick silence hung over the air, and he just stared in disbelief at his general. No one knew his name. Who the fuck was this asshole? It couldn’t possibly be… no. He suddenly stood, causing Paul to jump. “They’re in the basement, yes?”

Paul nodded quickly, standing with his leader. “I can take you to them. They are separated, though—I put the threat on floor two.”

“Then take me to floor two.” Red Leader’s voice was cold and assertive. Paul nodded and they left his office. Feelings of both anger and dread swelled in his chest. Deep down, he had a suspect feeling that it had to be the person he thought it was. The person he hadn’t spoken to in years. The person who took every turn he could to make Red Leader’s life a living hell. 

The person who shot a fucking harpoon at him.

Red Leader grit his teeth as he followed Paul down the stairs, as there was no elevator on the basement floors. He shoved the thought out of his mind. Surely, his old housemates wouldn’t be so foolish as to breach his base, especially considering how heavily guarded it was. Was the Resistance really getting so desperate? When did they get so bold? He wondered who was leading it currently; they were barbaric, yes, but not blatantly stupid in the past.

At the second floor of the basement, Paul pushed open a metal double door, swinging them open to reveal a dark basement. Red Leader flicked on the lights as he passed, the fluorescent lighting flickering as the two entered. Paul looked up at his leader, hesitating near the door.

“Where is he?” Red Leader commanded, looking down the corridor of cells. It was empty; he hadn’t had any, well, prisoners, for a while now.

“Last cell to the right.”

Red Leader curtly nodded, tucking his arms behind his back as he moved through the cell room. His heart was slamming against his chest, and he cursed his anxiety as he stopped at the cell that held his new prisoner.

The brunet sat with his head hanging. Once he heard the shuffle of feet, he whipped his head up, glaring at the figure that stood before him.

“Tord.”

“Hello, Thomas.”

Chapter Text

“Hey. Wake up.”

Tom fluttered his eyes open, light spilling from the open tent into them. His vision blurry, he was able to make out his brunet friend peeking his head through the entrance. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, hoping the blurry vision would eventually go away.

The Resistance was close. So damn close. Tord had to be nearby. Tord and his stupid base and his stupid army. He felt resentment bubble up in his chest. How the fuck had he gotten this far?

Obviously, Tord’s ploy for world domination could and would not go unanswered. Countless battles, numerous lives lost… It was time for this war to end. Unfortunately, the Red Army was extremely powerful, considering it had thousands of recruits. While The Resistance was beginning to rival this number, the Red Army was much more put together, and overall much more prepared for war than the Resistance. But since the governments and armies around the world didn’t seem to be doing shit, Tom, Edd and Matt had taken it upon themselves to stop their crazed old friend— if you could even call Tord that—from absolutely ruining the world. The three knew first hand what the reckless psycho was capable of. Apart from small pockets of the media, the world seemed to have no idea just how ruthless, manipulative and downright terrible he was. And they probably wouldn’t until it was too late.

Tord was extremely smart, which Tom also knew firsthand. If he was anything like he used to be, he knew Tord would use his wits as well as his recklessness to force others to submission. Hell, he would’ve killed them all with his huge robot he hid right under their noses had Tom not found Tord’s wanted poster that day. Tord proved himself to be some sort of mastermind that certainly could take over the world. But, as long as The Resistance still stood, that wasn’t going to happen. Tom swore up and down to himself he wouldn’t let that happen.

Tom sat up, stretching briefly before climbing out of his tent. The bright morning sun stung his eyes and made his nose tickle. He cursed to himself, feeling the twinge in his head that usually happens minutes before a migraine. They had gotten particularly worse over the past few months, but he was too invested in his duties to visit an infirmary. He’d been apart from the main base for months, since he was out on this mission with his two closest friends to try and locate the Red Army’s base. Surprisingly, it was quite hard to find. He wasn’t sure how, since he knew that Tord’s entire army was housed under one base. With those numbers, the base had to be huge; there was no way it wasn’t. Both he and his friends, as well as other soldiers in the Resistance, were completely bewildered and, quite frankly, exhausted that they hadn’t found the damn base yet. But they couldn’t give up. Not yet.

Tom’s head began to pound as he sat in the small clearing they pitched their camp at. He fished a granola bar from his bag, hoping it might ease the pain that was wrapping around his head. It was a futile hope, but maybe one day it would change. It didn’t help that the bright white snow against the ground seemed to glow, making Tom’s head pound even more.

That was another problem. Tom felt that he was having much more trouble acclimating to Norway than his friends. Tom never liked winter much, and everything he hated about it seemed to be much more prominent in this foreign land. The coldness seeped down to the bone, leaving them feeling sore and brittle. The mountains they’d traversed were also very different from what he was used to. Before the outbreak and the rise of the Red Army, Tom had never really fathomed the idea of ever leaving England. In fact, he was perfectly content with living in London with Edd and Matt, and he would have been perfectly content with it staying that way for many years to come. But unfortunately, life can pull some nasty strings, and Tom was coming to terms with the fact that his life would never be that simple again. He sighed and unwrapped his granola bar before taking a large bite.

“I think we’re close,” Edd murmured, sitting next to Tom with a large map of Norway in his hands. “If I read the compass and made my calculations right, we should be right about here.” He rested his calloused finger on a point in the northeastern tail of the country, which neared the border with northwest Russia. Tom looked on, uninterested.

“I’m just bloody tired of traversing all these mountains. Why couldn’t the bastard be closer to actual civilization?”

Edd shook his head and sighed. “That would defeat the purpose, now wouldn’t it? Tord’s smart; if he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.”

“Oh, yes, he will,” Tom spat bitterly, taking an aggressive bite into his granola bar. “We’ll make sure of it.”

A cold wind blew through the clearing, causing the map to rustle and the two men to shiver. Edd folded up the map, drawing his arms and legs into his chest with a huff. “I just hope we find it soon. This weather is driving me crazy.”

“You and me both,” Tom murmured, gritting his teeth to prevent them from clattering. “But it’ll all be worth it the moment I get my hands around that brute’s neck.”

“You can’t take all the credit in killing him,” Another familiar voice chimed in, the sounds of rustling ensuing as Tom watched his ginger friend leave his tent. “Quite a few of us want him dead by our own hand.”

“Morning, Matt,” Edd greeted with a curt head nod. To Tom’s surprise, he didn’t ever have much to say about wanting Tord dead. He supposed one of them needed to be level headed, after all. “Do you have everything ready for the next stretch of the journey? I was telling Tom that we should be very close.”

“Yeah, everything’s ready. We just need to bring the tents down.” Matt replied, fishing out an eyepatch from his pocket to cover his right eye.

Tom gazed wistfully at his ginger friend, who began removing the tent stakes from the snowy ground. Matt had always valued his complexion more than just about anything, up until the war broke out. Though his wounds in that particular battle ended up not being serious, it left his face permanently morphed. Now, Matt could barely stand to look at himself in the mirror. As stated to his closest confidants, he felt as if he was just a figment of his past self. It crushed both Tom and Edd to see his self esteem fall so far, and it still crushes Tom to this day.

It was all Tord’s fault.

“Thomas,” Edd stated sternly, snapping the spiky-haired brunet from his thoughts. “You need to bring your tent down. We’re already behind schedule.”

“Right, right,” Tom mumbled, taking the last bite out of his granola bar. “Sorry.”

Tom lifted himself to his feet, trying desperately to ignore the quickly worsening pain that seemed to prevail behind his eyes. He scrunched up the granola bar wrapper before stuffing it in his coat pocket—along with the other granola bar wrappers residing there. He may have been in a near post-apocalyptic world, but he refused to litter. He tried not to harm the earth more than it already had been harmed.

The black-eyed male rubbed his eyes again before walking over to his tent, kneeling down to begin removing the tent stakes from the ground. He stifled a yawn, wondering if today would be the day that the three finally found Tord’s stupid base.

“Do you think we’ll find him today? See him?” Tom found himself blurting as he removed the last stake from the ground, watching his tent topple over. He felt a pair of eyes burn into the back of his neck, causing him to turn around.

Edd was looking at Tom warily before letting out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know, Tom. I don’t want to be overzealous…but I do believe we’re almost there. It’s gotta be nestled between one of these mountains.”

Matt let out a half-groan, half-sigh. “I never want to climb another mountain again after this. I miss England.”

Edd pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Look, I get it. You’re both tired. I am, too. But you also didn’t need to make this journey with me.”

“Yes, we did.” Tom shot a glance at his bearded friend as he began folding up his tent. “You aren’t the only one with a grudge. With bloodlust, even.”

“That’s not the point.” Edd shook his head, looking lost in thought as he chewed on his nail.

“Then what is?” Matt chimed back in, stuffing his own tent in the tent bag that he had strapped to his hiker’s backpack.

“If we find this base, it’s a game changer for The Resistance.” Edd snapped back to reality, stuffing his own folded tent into his tent bag. “We have leverage. Think about it; the entire Red Army is housed in that base. All we need to do is locate it, calculate the coordinates, and we’re golden.” Edd sternly rested his gaze on Tom. “That is all we’re doing. No perimeter breaches, no fights, no grand feats of heroism…”

Tom groaned, struggling to fit his tent into his bag. “That’s all? I want to find that bastard and punch him a new face!”

“ All. We’re. Doing.” Matt snapped, mounting his backpack upon his shoulders. “We are in no way prepared to face off against an entire army. We’re just three men, Tom.”

After a minute of wrestling with his tent bag, he finally managed to fit it in and put on his backpack. “What’s the fun in that? Don’t you want to at least poke a little fun at the patrols, if we run into one?”

Edd groaned frustratedly as he donned his own backpack. “ No, Thomas! We aren’t going to get that close to any patrol! The patrols are heavily armed and they’re known to pursue. Didn’t you listen to Laurel?”

“Fine, fine!” Tom spat, turning on his heel and crossing his arms. “No fighting. Got it. Fine. But I’ll defend us if anything bad happens.”

“Not with that measly pistol, you won’t.” Matt mumbled sarcastically, standing beside Edd, who was looking intently at his map. 

“At least I’m prepared.” Tom rolled his eyes, trailing behind the two as they began their umpteenth traverse into the snow-covered land.

As the sun began to dip below the mountains, Tom began to feel defeated. The three had been trekking all day, much of what felt like was in circles. Edd assured him he knew where he was and where he was going; which was a bloody miracle, considering how everything was under a thick blanket of white.

“We’ll probably need to set up camp for the night,” Edd said, sounding just as defeated as Tom felt. Matt looked exhausted, and his hands trembled as he brought them to his face.

“This is beginning to feel hopeless,” Matt sighed, crossing his arms after rubbing his eyes. “I swear, we’ll never find–”

Tom perked up. “Wait, hush!”

The three immediately fell silent, running over to a patch of trees and crouching to the snowy ground.

Voices.

Tom held his breath as he strained to hear what they were saying. Edd and Matt were both at high alert, slowly lowering completely to the ground under the brush. Tom rolled his eyes at the two, still listening attentively to the voices’ conversation.

Whatever they were saying, Tom couldn’t understand. They spoke rapidly and in another language. Thankfully, the voices were getting quieter, signaling to the three Englishmen that they were moving away from them.

Once he deemed the voices out of earshot, Tom quickly slipped off his backpack and retrieved his gun. Edd and Matt looked at him incredulously.

“What are you doing?” Edd demanded, a hushed whisper but nonetheless threatening.

“Following them, obviously!” Tom responded, looking at Edd with bright eyes. “They were speaking Norwegian, I’m sure! They have to be one of the evening patrols. I bet they’ll lead us right to the base!”

Matt rolled his eyes. “I would think they’re speaking Norwegian. We are in Norway…”

Tom emerged from the brush, looking expectantly behind him. “Are you guys coming or not? This may be our chance! ”

Edd and Matt exchanged uncertain glances, before slowly removing their backpacks and joining Tom on either side. His chest surged with determination as he took off silently in the direction of the voices, his two closest friends trailing right behind him.

The voices picked up again, causing Tom to move slower and with caution, as to not alert what seemed to be three men. Only three…Tom, Edd, and Matt could surely overpower them, with the fighting experience the three had accumulated throughout the years.

Twilight began to swallow the land as the three followed in somewhat close pursuit of the patrol over the next thirty minutes. Slowly, trees became more sparse as the three approached a large clearing. Dead in the center was a huge facility, at least ten stories high. On one of the walls was painted the disgustingly familiar logo of the Red Army. 

Tom’s heart was thrumming in his chest. He looked to Edd, who had a spark in his eye that he hadn’t seen in a while. “We made it.”

As Matt slowly approached them, a twig snapped rather loudly under his foot. Tom’s heart dropped as the three men they were following whipped around.

“ Hva var det?” One man shouted, the language foreign yet familiar to Tom’s ears.

“ Hvem går dit?”

The patrol, with rifles armed, began marching towards where the three Englishmen were hiding. Panicked, Edd quickly picked up a rock and threw it far away from the three, landing somewhere in some brush with a loud rustling sound. The patrol snapped their heads towards the new sound, charging toward where Edd had thrown the rock. Matt heaved a sigh of relief, smiling sheepishly at Edd when he gave him a disapproving glare.

Tom slowly rose to his feet, looking both ways before stepping carefully into the clearing.

Edd panicked again. “ Tom! What are you doing?!”

Tom whipped his head around, glaring at his two horrified friends. “Getting closer! While they’re distracted…” In Tom's mind, they needed to be closer to figure out how to infiltrate the base.

He took a couple more steps into the clearing, ignoring Edd and Matt’s curses and pleas. He got about ten steps in before a click and the barrel of a rifle pressed into the soft flesh of his neck. Fuck.

“Halt!” The man glared down the barrel of the gun, Tom giving him an evil side eye. “How did you get here?”

Tom held his breath as the two other patrolmen surrounded him, rifles pointed straight at his head.

“I walked.” Tom replied snarkily, deadpanning at one of the patrolmen in front of him.

“Are you alone?” One behind him sneered, pressing the barrel into Tom’s back. He shivered, dipping his gaze to the ground momentarily before answering. “Yes.”

The first patrolman’s eyes narrowed. “He’s lying. Find the others.”

As the two other patrolmen whirled off, Tom, in one swift movement, gripped the barrel of the gun in his neck and twisted it, causing the soldier to jump. The gun went off, causing birds to shoot out from the trees. Tom’s head whirled and his ears rang, but he managed to get the rifle away from the soldier. He held the rifle by the barrel and whacked the soldier over the head, causing him to yell out and hit the snow with a thud.

Tom threw the strap over his head as he donned the gun, whirling back around to face the two soldiers that were back in pursuit of him. He aimed at one, but, to his surprise, he did not back down as he charged towards Tom.

Panicked, Tom fired the weapon, but the violent recoil caused him to miss completely, ending up hitting a tree. He backed up desperately, nearly tripping over the soldier he’d knocked out. The soldier fired, missing Tom by an inch and causing his ears to ring again. He was about to turn and bolt down the clearing, until he saw his two friends slowly emerge from the brush, knives wielded, as they lunged for the two soldiers that were in pursuit. As Matt tackled one soldier, Edd got the other in a headlock, pressing a measly pocket knife to the soldier’s exposed throat. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Edd snarled, glaring daggers at Tom. It was a look that Tom hadn’t seen on Edd before. It was savage. Primal, even.

“I–” Tom didn’t have a chance to respond as another gunshot was heard, this time from the soldier Matt had tackled.

“ Matt!” Tom dashed through the snow over to Matt and the soldier. They were in an aggressive tussle, Matt slashed furiously as the soldier under him struggled to get leverage. Tom swung the butt of his rifle down to the soldier’s temple, knocking him out cold. Matt sprung up, glaring furiously at Tom. “You blithering idiot! We may be killed here!”

The sounds of yelling and stomping could be heard. Tom turned his head back towards the base, where ten or fifteen men came crashing towards them. Tom's stomach dropped. The gunshots must've alerted more soldiers to flock to the scene.

“We’re fucked.” Edd said, dropping his weapon and raising his hands in the air. Matt followed suit and, reluctantly, Tom finally groaned and dropped his weapon, slowly putting his hands in the air. Three men circled around each of him and his friends, thrusting their arms behind their backs and tying cold, heavy chains around their wrists.

Tom glared at his arrester as he stood in front of him, two other men gripping him harshly by the shoulders. “Any words, fool?” Asked the man, resting his hand on his hips. Tom saw Edd and Matt getting carried away with bags on their heads. Anger swelled in his chest. If it weren’t for Tord...

Tom huffed, gritting his teeth at the man as another man with a bag approached him.

“I need to see Tord Jensen.”

Murmurs rippled across the men as a bag was tossed over his face. Something heavy came down over his head, knocking him out cold.

Chapter Text

“ Tord.”

“Hello, Thomas.”

Something that resembled panic bubbled in Red Leader’s chest. How the hell did his old housemates even find the base? How long had it taken them? Thomas looked nearly emaciated. They had to have been at this for months. If Red Leader was anything, he damn well knew he was at least discreet. And who knew what positions Tom, Edd or Matt were in? The damage they could potentially do. They may have the upper hand; he had to figure out something. Fast. Red Leader forced away his anxieties, assuming a calm and cool demeanor as he blinked at his very animated ex roommate.

“So…” Red Leader leaned towards the bars of Tom’s cell, looking at his mechanical arm as he flexed his fingers. “What brings you to the Red Army, Thomas? Couldn't stay away from perfection?”

“Perfection!” Tom mocked, a fake laugh escaping his throat. “You’d be damned if you ever thought I’d want to join the likes of you.” He glared into Red Leader’s exposed eye, venom lacing his words. “The hell happened to your face? And your hand?”

Red Leader tipped his head to the side, ignoring Tom’s rudely asked questions. His eye seemed to glow under the shadow that was cast upon his face. His mask gleamed a harsh red, causing Tom to squint.  “Why are you here?”

Thomas grit his teeth, glaring furiously into Red Leader’s eye. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Red Leader sighed, dipping his gaze to his nameplate and adjusting it so it wasn’t crooked. “Fair enough, Thomas. I suppose we’ll have to save questions for later.” He blinked, glancing momentarily down the hall where Paul still stood, arms crossed. “You look hungry. Would you like some breakfast?”

Tom’s expression morphed, his eyebrows still furrowed. “What?”

Red Leader stifled an annoyed sigh. “I’m offering you food. I’m not stupid, I know you aren’t eating well. I’m sure you’d like water, as well.”

Tom side eyed the looming figure that stood at the other side of the bars. Red Leader couldn’t entirely read his expression; Tom was hard to read, largely due to his unusual black eyes. He looked suspicious. “Why? What do you get out of that?”

Red Leader couldn’t suppress his sigh this time. “I’m not a monster , Tom. We may not like each other, but I’m not going to let you starve. Especially in my custody.”

Tom looked away. Red Leader hoped he was hungry enough to accept; he was right. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.” His expression changed again; anger. “Where are they? I need to know you haven’t hurt them.”

Red Leader laughed. “They’re fine. Being treated better than you, actually. You were the threat, yes?”

Tom’s eyes shifted, which Red Leader assumed to be Tom rolling his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.” He smirked. “I’m flattered you considered me a threat. Just wait until–” Tom suddenly stopped, looking away with another unidentifiable expression filled his eyes. “Nevermind.”

Red Leader couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Tom, Edd and Matt were a part of The Resistance, no doubt. If they’d been followed…no. That wasn’t going to happen. Not on the Leader’s watch. He chuckled bitterly. “Trust me. No one is going to find you three. No one is coming for you.” Red Leader leaned in and gripped a bar with his metallic hand, causing Tom to flinch ever so slightly— fear. That was good. “You’re in the middle of nowhere. Civilization isn’t around for hundreds of miles. Your stupid Resistance won’t find you. A futile attempt, really.” Red Leader chuckled again, waving his mechanical hand as he turned towards the exit. 

“If you think I'm a fool…” Red Leader murmured, throwing a glare towards Tom as he walked away, “Then you are sorely mistaken.”

“You’re not getting away with anything, Tord!” Tom snarled after him. “I will personally make sure of it!”

Red Leader laughed again, folding his arms behind his back. “Whatever you say, Jehovah’s!” 

His smile fell as he locked eyes with Paul, who straightened as his leader approached. As the two left the cell room, Red Leader’s expression twisted into an angry frown. “I want security around the perimeter doubled,” He commanded, whipping his gaze to his general. “More patrols, more men. We cannot afford The Resistance finding our base.”

“And what of the prisoners, sir?” Paul questioned, pulling out a notepad and scribbling down Red Leader’s orders.

“I’ll see to that. Make sure they’re fed in the next hour. Also, fill in for my meetings today.” Red Leader closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need time to think.”

“Yes, sir.”

*

If Tom weren’t chained by his wrists, ankles and waist to his chair (which was bolted to the ground), he would be pacing like a madman. His thoughts raced as his eyes darted around the dark cell, trying to find a way to escape and free his friends; undo this mess he made. After an extremely uncomfortable night sitting in his chained position, he figured he'd go mad if he spent another second confined.

Tord’s accent was thicker than ever—he sounded like a different person. “If you think I’m a fool…then you are sorely mistaken.” 

Tom grit his teeth. Of course Tord—or whoever the hell he was trying to be—wasn’t a fool. How else would he have amassed such a large following? It was scary, really; thinking about all of the brainwashed Red Army soldiers who were manipulated into believing that they were on the right side of history. In fact, he knew Tord’s food offer and strangely civil manner was all a manipulation; an attempt to loosen Tom’s tongue for any sort of information. Though Tom was desperate enough to get a square meal, he would not be swayed to betray The Resistance, no matter what Tord did to him. Tom had already done enough to hurt its efforts in the past day. He had to find a way to keep his friends safe, and plot a way to get revenge on his greatest enemy.

As far as his demeanor went, Tom didn’t suspect anything was too different about Tord. He was still snarky, manipulative, conniving, and an absolute pain in his ass. But his appearance…? A shiver ran down Tom’s spine. He still had that sadistic gleam in his silver eye, and his hair still held its two signature cowlicks. But the right side of his face was completely hidden by a metallic mask, the same shade of red as his robot and what appeared to be his mechanical arm, or at least hand. It’s like he was trying to cross the boundaries between human and robot; perhaps a glimpse into what Tord wanted for his army. For the world.

He couldn’t get away with anything. 

Tom snapped out of his thoughts, his reality settling in around him again. As much as he wanted to blame Tord for his current situation, this was his fault. His hatred for Tord got them all captured, and their plans may have been frozen in place at best, or needing to start from square one at worst. His stomach sank as he thought of him and his best friends being trapped here until Tord decided he wanted them dead. How would he do it? Slow and painful? For Tom, probably so. Surely, he’d spare Edd and Matt from a gruesome, long death. But if he didn’t…

Tom shook his head; he was spiraling again. He couldn’t give up, not so quickly. His friends depended on him. He got them into this mess; he needed to find a way to get them out of it.

He jumped as he heard the door to the cell room open, scattering his thoughts to the back of his mind. Anger brewed in his stomach as the clicking of boots approached his cell.

“Back so soon, Tord?” Tom taunted, struggling against his chains. “You can’t keep me like this forever, you know—”

An unfamiliar Red Army soldier approached his cell door, holding a tray of food—it smelled delicious —in one hand and fishing in their coat pocket for something—probably keys. They wore a nearly identical uniform to Tord, but their royal blue coat was buttoned up and, luckily, had no creepy red mask or mechanical hands. They had long, fluffy hair, pale green eyes, and tanned skin that complemented their red turtleneck. Tom examined their uniform, hoping to find answers. They wore four stars, a general’s rank, on their epaulettes—just one less than Tord had; odd. They donned many ribbons and a nameplate, which read “Dancewicz.” On their right shoulder, they wore a patch of the flag of Norway, and on the other a patch of the flag of Poland—they must be from there. Underneath each flag was an embroidered stitching of the Red Army’s emblem—which Tom was getting quite tired of seeing. They remained silent as they fished a large ring of keys from their jacket pocket, muttering slightly as they tried to find the right key.

Tom squinted at the soldier as they found the right key and began unlocking his cell door. They looked up, taking note of the aggressive glare. “I have a taser, should you try anything.” Their accent was foreign. It sounded slavic, confirming Tom’s suspicions that they were likely from Poland.

They unlocked the door completely, swinging it open and walking in. They locked the door behind them, turning around to set the tray on the bolted-in table to Tom’s left. Although Tom’s expression changed, he still watched Dancewicz’s every move, and plotted how he could possibly overpower the general. They took note of this and cocked an eyebrow as they pulled out a very large taser from a pocket in their coat. They pressed a button, a large shock dancing around the probe before they turned it off and put it away, glaring indignantly at Tom. “In case you had to see it to believe it.”

Backing down, Tom sunk in his chair. “Fine, fine. I get it.”

“Good.”

Dancewicz flipped through the keys on the ring, finally stopping when they reached a glinting silver key. They kneeled down to unlock the chains around Tom’s ankles. The chains loosened around his ankles, setting them free. In a bold, futile attempt, Tom raised his left foot suddenly and kicked with all his might towards the general. Unluckily for Tom, the general anticipated his move and quickly dodged, leaping back up to their feet gracefully. They glared daggers at Tom, their pale eyes narrowing. “ Taser. I’d prefer not to use it.”

They rounded the chair to Tom’s backside, where they unlocked the chains around his wrists and let them fall to the ground. Tom let out a gasp of relief, whipping his arms to his frontside and flexing them, trying to get the blood flow running correctly again. He rubbed at the red rings on his skin they had left, taking in a sharp breath as the general rounded the chair again.

“While you’re at it,” Tom mumbled, glaring up at the fluffy-haired brunet. “You could free my waist. This is quite uncomfortable.”

“Can’t, sorry,” The general murmured, grabbing the tray in their hands and turning to face Tom. “Here's your food.”

“Why? Worried I might overpower you? Even with your taser?” Tom snapped snarkily, unable to suppress a smirk as he glared into the soldier’s eyes. 

Dancewicz met his gaze evenly, blinking while still holding Tom’s tray. “Nope. Just what Red Leader ordered.”

“You can’t seriously listen to that idiot.” Tom huffed, hoping to get a stir out of the soldier. To his surprise, the general seemed unfazed, still holding Tom’s tray as they looked expectantly at Tom. “He’s literally just some guy that decided his dick was big enough to try and control the world. He’s just…fucking Tord. No better than you or I.”

Dancewicz tipped their head to the side ever so slightly. “Are you going to eat your food or not?”

Tom crossed his arms, glaring suspiciously at his food before squinting at Dancewicz again. “How do I know it isn’t poisoned?”

The general rolled their eyes; that was a reaction enough for Tom. “It’s not. Respectfully, sir, you aren’t important enough to poison.”

“Jeez. Rude.”

Tom cautiously accepted the tray, his mouth watering at the smell. On a paper plate was a large scoop of scrambled eggs, a couple slices of bacon, and a small stem of grapes. On the side there were a couple packets of salt, a small styrofoam cup of what looked like orange juice, and a larger cup of water. His stomach growled, and he swallowed the excess saliva that was pooling in his mouth. He looked up and glared at Dancewicz, who had their arms crossed, staring expectantly at Tom. “Uh…do you mind?”

They blinked and shrugged, leaning against the cell door. “Protocol. Sorry.”

Tom rolled his eyes as he picked up the small plastic spork placed neatly next to his plate. He quirked his brow as he bent it back, nearly snapping it in the process. The flimsy thing sprung back up, a deep groove now in the handle. He gave the general a deadpan expression. “Really?”

“Can’t do much with a flimsy spork, now can you?” The general said, almost smirking.

Tom sighed. “Whatever…” He scooped up some of the eggs and took a cautious bite. Under normal circumstances, he would recognize that they were dry, overcooked and under seasoned. But he was starving. It was a drastic change from his single rationed granola bar he usually ate in a day, along with whatever berries or nuts he would scarcely find. He began wolfing down his food, making uncomfortable eye contact with his monitor the whole time. To his annoyance, they seemed unfazed.

“So,” Tom began, taking a large swig of water before continuing. “What’s your name, anyway? This is getting too intimate to not know.”

“Dancewicz.” They replied, unresponsive to his joke.

“Well, duh,” Tom said, irritation bubbling in his chest. “I can see that. What’s your mama call you?”

They let out a deep sigh, glancing behind them momentarily before responding. “Fine. I’ll entertain you, for now. It’s Patryck.”

“Great to meet you, Patryck,” Tom set down his spork and reached out to give them a handshake. “The name’s Tom Rosenthal.” 

Patryck blinked at him. “I know. And I’m not shaking your hand.”

“C’mon, just shake my hand.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“ No.”

Tom sighed with annoyance, taking the spork back into his hand and taking a rather loud slurp of orange juice. “Well, Patryck, I see you’re a general around here.”

“That’s correct. One of two.”

Tom put a grape in his mouth, speaking with his mouth full. “Who’s the other one?”

Patryck just stared at him with a deadpan expression.

Tom squinted. “Well…?”

No response.

Tom shook his head. “You’re not very fun to talk to.”

To Tom’s annoyance, Patryck left him on heard again.

“Well, Patty–”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine—Patryck. If there’s two generals, what’s Tord’s rank?”

Patryck continued to stare at him. Tom was beginning to get really irritated with this guy. “Why won’t you talk? Are you always this quiet?”

Their response was more silence. He groaned frustratedly, tossing his now empty tray to the ground. “There. I’m finished. Will you go away now?”

“I need the spork.”

Tom side eyed the breast pocket of his coat, where his nearly mauled spork resided inconspicuously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can't leave your cell until you give me that spork.”

Tom grinned wickedly. “ Come and get it.”

Patryck rolled their eyes, reaching into their pants to retrieve their taser.

Ah, fuck.

Agony shot through Tom as Patryck’s taser met his neck. Electricity ripped through his muscles, leaving him in a tremendous amount of pain while being unable to yelp or scream. After what felt like hours, Patryck finally backed off, clearing their throat as they snatched the spork from Tom’s pocket. Tom’s head went limp, and he groaned in pain as the muscles in his neck began to twitch violently. “Fucking… asshole …”

“All that for a spork.” Patryck shook their head before picking up the mess Tom left, including the chains that had fallen around him when Patryck partially freed him. “I’ll be back to serve you lunch later. Good to meet you, Rosenthal.”

Tom swore he heard the head general snicker before unlocking and leaving the cell, ensuring every part of the door was locked behind them. Tom’s head whirled as the footsteps faded, and he heard a heavy door slam. Patryck had left. Jesus, was everyone a damn sadist in this stupid army?

Feeling weak, Tom felt the usual band of pain begin to wrap around his head. He groaned, a bit angry with himself for provoking the Polish general enough to taze him. He had what seemed to be around 12 hours of relief before his debilitating migraine returned. He dearly hoped he wouldn’t vomit up his breakfast.

Remembering he was partially freed, he pushed past the pain and patted down his pockets, trying to find his weapons. He groaned as he realized his gun and both of his pocket knives had been taken. Not surprising, but nonetheless irritating. He huffed in annoyance when he patted his epaulettes and realized his insignias had also been taken. That just seemed petty.

Nonetheless, Tom needed to find a way to escape. He tried with all his might to squirm out of his chains, but they were simply too tight. With each struggle pain ripped through his waist, digging relentlessly into his body. He would most likely have bruises the next day. At least it was a bit of a distraction from the migraine searing in his head.

He twisted around, looking around the room for anything he could use to try and free himself. The freed hands and ankles were almost more cruel. It’s like Tord knew he would struggle and struggle and struggle more the closer he got to “freedom.” It must have been some kind of twisted game Tord was playing with him. Maybe it was designed to tire him out enough to comply with whatever Tord’s bidding may be. But, if that were the case, Tord obviously didn't remember Tom very well; the more he struggled, the more determined he would be to escape. With all of his might, he pushed against the chains, a guttural yell tearing through his throat as he tossed his pain aside and attempted to break them.

Snap!

Tom gasped as relief settled in his bones, the tightness that was once there gone in an instant. He watched in disbelief as the chains unraveled and fell around the chair. That actually worked?

Tom stood, a little too quickly. Darkness clouded his vision as he staggered, attempting to stay upright. He stumbled against the bars, pressing against them momentarily until he regained his composure. He swallowed, slowly straightening himself out before thinking more methodically on how he could escape his cell. He looked around the room, eyes resting on his chains as an idea popped into his head. If he could somehow bend the bar, even slightly, he would likely have enough room to squirm out and try to find Edd and Matt. Though unconventional, those sorts of ideas seemed to be working well for him today; so far. This is a longshot, but maybe…

He approached the chains around the chair, unwinding them and snagging them away before wrapping them around one of the bars. He gripped the ends of the chains, letting out a small breath of hair and breathing in deeply. Here we go…

And he pulled.

He pulled, and pulled, and pulled, with every fiber of his being, as if his life depended on it; in a sense, it did. Every time his shoes slid, he readjusted and planted his feet firmly against the cement floor. His body and head ached relentlessly as he tried to pry open the door with the chains that once held him captive. His knuckles turned white and his grit teeth began to ache as he tried to get the bars to bend.

C’mon, he thought. This has to bend at some point—

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Oh, shit. Tom had been so immersed in his endeavor that he didn’t even hear the cell room door open and close, nor did he hear the clicking of boots approaching. Tom swallowed and slowly craned his head to view a very confused soldier; one he hadn’t seen before. This one had scruffy, furrowed brows above dark brown eyes that regarded Tom in a confused yet harsh manner. “No, I mean seriously, the hell are you doing? These bars are tempered steel, they aren’t bending with the force of some measly chains. Did you break those?”

The soldier blinked in disbelief. Tom opened his mouth, but his throat failed him. He dropped the chains, his palms throbbing from the brutal grip he’d had on them.

“I can’t even say I’m upset,” He murmured, reaching into his breast pocket for something. “Just…bloody impressed, actually. Didn’t know the Resistance hired people with actual talent, ha!”

Tom could barely react as the soldier tore a hand through the bars, grabbed a stupefied Tom by the collar and, in one swift moment, jabbed a needle into his neck. Tom gasped, his entire body beginning to feel like jello as he grew exponentially tired by the second.

“Maybe I could make a case for you, Thomas,” The soldier said, though Tom could barely understand him as he sank to the ground. “Unlike your friends, you could be useful to the Red Army.”

Tom forced his eyes open, panic gripping his chest. “No…” He managed to slur out. “Don’t…hurt…”

Within a second, Tom had fallen completely unconscious.

Chapter Text

06.01.2028

Three Resistance soldiers (if you could even call them that) have very foolishly breached my base. Three I know all too well. It was only a matter of time, really. I always knew those three were the brains behind that sloppy little rebellion. It shows in how boorishly it’s run. How they so idiotically stagger into every battle, just to lose them all the same.

Those three were always the ones to wear their hearts like armor. They think it makes them stronger. But they’re just naively stupid and terribly predictable; especially Thomas.

I’m not writing to be sentimental. I always have been and always will be a step ahead. I’ve been planning; expecting the worst. Unluckily for Jehovah’s, I have plans for him, especially.

“He what?”

Paul and Pat glanced at one another, both of them looking terrified. Paul cleared his throat and swallowed before continuing. “He, uh…he broke out of his chains, sir.”

Red Leader whipped his head over to Pat, who flinched under his gaze. “Weren’t you supposed to put a muscle relaxant in his orange juice?” 

Pat chuckled nervously, pulling at the collar of their turtleneck. “I, uh, forgot?”

“Fucking imbeciles,” Red Leader snarled, standing suddenly from his chair and glowering at his two generals. They shrank underneath his shadow, grimacing. “And I call you my generals. I could trust my damn privates more than I could you two!”

Pat tried to speak first. “Sir—”

“Out of my office. Both of you.” Red Leader said menacingly, placing both palms on his desk and slowly balling his hands into fists.

Paul swallowed. “But, sir—”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses from either of you.” Red Leader pitched the bridge of his nose, his brow twitching. “Just…wait at the end of the hall for further instructions. I’ll find something easy enough for you to do right.”

With a final huff and a gesture with his robotic arm, his two generals whirled around and scampered out of his office. A thought crawled from the back of Red Leader’s mind; he broke out of his chains? Fascinating.

Forcing his thoughts away for the moment, Red Leader breathed out a harsh sigh and rounded his desk. “I guess if you need something done right,” He murmured to himself, fixing his coat in the full-length mirror beside his desk, “Then you’ve got to do it yourself.” Red Leader closed his eyes and fixed his hair before looking at himself. He blinked slowly, straightening his posture and raising his chin to be parallel with the ground. His mask glinted harshly in the fluorescent lights as he let out the breath he’d been holding.

“You’re a damn powerhouse, R.L.,” He said under his breath, turning towards the door of his office. “You can handle Thomas without killing anybody.”

He bit the inside of his cheek viciously as he exited his office. Pat and Paul were lingering towards the end of the hallway, speaking in hushed voices. Both jumped and stood at attention as Red Leader approached, looking on-edge but nonetheless furrowing their brows as their leader approached. “Good morning, sir,” the two said in unison.

Red Leader rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Drop the formality, for now. Pat, go see that Edward and Matthew are fed. Try to pry any information out of them. And for fuck’s sake,” He glared into Pat’s eyes, who mustered the fakest smile they could, “Make sure they get muscle relaxants . Paul, with me.”

Pat took off while Paul settled to Red Leader’s side, matching his pace to his boss’s. “What do you need from me, sir?”

Red Leader glared ahead as he spoke to Paul. “Thomas broke out of the chains. Grade 43, correct?”

Paul looked to his leader, quirking a furrowed brow. “Yes, sir.”

“Very impressive, yes?” Red Leader threw Paul a side eye, who nodded in turn.

“I thought so, sir.”

Red Leader suddenly turned on his heel to face Paul, who staggered but managed to stay upright before taking a step back. “I need more raw strength like that in the Red Army.”

A smile played at Paul’s lips. “I agree wholeheartedly. What do you need me to do, sir?”

Red Leader was nearly nose-to-nose with his general. “Get a dorm ready for him.”

Paul's eyebrows shut up, but he nodded. He partially turned away, until he furrowed his brows and looked back to his leader. “Will it be that easy, sir? We can’t keep drugging him until he complies.”

A sinister smirk crawled across Red Leader’s face, causing Paul to draw in a breath. Red Leader examined his mechanical hand before answering Paul’s question. “I have an offer he cannot refuse.”

“And what would that offer be, sir?” Paul asked, almost sceptically. Red Leader threw him a glare, and the odd expression on his face was wiped clean.

“Prepare a room for him,” Red Leader said dismissively, turning away to complete his own objective. “Make sure it’s on the same floor as mine. Close to it, preferably. Packet on the desk, uniform on the bed. He’ll need to know how we operate around here—very quickly.”

Paul looked quizzically at his leader as he walked away, before turning, muttering something under his breath, and disappearing into the hallway to execute Red Leader’s orders.

Boots clicked down the hallway as Red Leader smirked sinisterly to himself, folding his hands behind his back. It was the perfect plan, really. He’d give the offer to Thomas (knowing him, he definitely wouldn’t refuse), utilize Tom’s strength in his army—maybe sample it somehow—and have his enemy right underneath his thumb. As for Edd and Matt, unfortunately, he had no use for them. That was unless Pat could somehow get them to spit up any sort of information about the Resistance, which was very unlikely. Red Leader’s jaw twisted as he forced the two out of his mind; Tom was his focus. Tom and Tom only.

After marching through several common spaces and humming responses to numerous soldiers that had stood at attention for him, he came to a small corridor in a largely unknown section of his base. He approached a door at the end and swung it open, revealing a cascading set of stairs that spiraled downwards; to the basement. 

Footfalls echoed against the cement walls as Red Leader descended the stairs. The air slowly grew colder; more stale. He passed the first door, where he recognized Pat’s authoritative voice ringing from behind the cracked door. He decided to slow to a stop and listen for a moment.

“Where’s Tom?” an all-too familiar voice boomed from behind the door. Red Leader’s stomach twisted. Edd.

Red Leader could practically hear Pat’s eye roll. “For the millionth time, he’s fine. Just a floor under you. ”

“We aren’t telling you anything until we see him.” Another voice—Matt—spat out.

Swallowing, Red Leader continued down the stairs when an uncomfortable tightness arose in his chest. Tom and Tom only, he reminded himself.

The cold seemed to swirl around him now. Another door crept into his view, and as soon as he reached it, he gripped the handle and swung it open. An echo reverberated through the cell room as the door slammed behind him, the lights automatically flickering to life. Red Leader could hear a choked voice near the back end of the room.

A smirk returned to his face as he reveled in his exciting objective.

***

“ Ah, caralho… ” 

Tom had awoken, but not without a fight. His tongue felt like sandpaper, and dragging his eyelids open was a chore. His entire body still felt like jello, his mind spinning as he tried to focus on heaving himself up.

The echo of boots hitting the ground slowed to a menacing pace. Straining to get his head up off the floor, Tom’s stomach dropped as a set of combat boots appeared on the other side of the cell. They stopped in front of Tom, and it didn’t take a genius—nor a half-drugged prisoner—to figure out that snarky, egotistical, and accent-thick voice that rang out into the cell room. “Thomas! Glad to see you’re awake.”

Tom stirred, each movement feeling like he was picking up several pounds of lead. In his exhaustion, he failed to slip out of his native tongue. “Filho a puta!”

Tord shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Vulgar today, are we? Clean up the act, I’m here on business.”

Tom managed to prop himself up on his elbows, his biceps trembling as he lifted his head. “You drugged me.”

“No, I didn’t drug you,” His ex-roommate said with a faint smirk, wagging a mechanical finger at Tom. “I ordered my soldier to drug you.”

Tom flashed him the meanest look he could muster. “Same thing, asshole! God, I thought you’d have matured at least a little since I last saw you…”

In his visible eye, something scary flashed before them. “Oh, I’ve matured, Thomas.” He kneeled suddenly, his head tipping eerily as he grinned wickedly at Tom. “But you’re the one who needs to make the oh-so-grown-up decisions, today.”

Tom scoffed, balling his hands into fists as he glowered into Tord’s eye—and his creepy mask. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Like I said, I’m here on business. And I like to make my business quick.” Tord’s smile vanished, leaving Tom with a harrowing feeling. “So, I have a proposition for you.”

“What business could you possibly want from me—”

“I’m speaking.” Tord spat coldly, causing Tom to flinch—just slightly. “As I was saying…I need more men under my chain of command. People are hard to trust nowadays, always fending for themselves, and whatnot…”

Tom’s heart dropped into his stomach as he stared, wide-eyed, at Tord’s half-concealed face. “What do you want.”

Tord’s eyes flickered. He looked excited. “I want you to join the Red Army.”

Tom jolted, a sliver of life returning to his body as he tried to grab at Tord. He missed, and Tord didn’t even flinch. “Ha! Do you realize how stupid you sound?” Tom’s face darkened, and he spit out his next words. “I would never join the likes of you.”

“Oh, really? That’s too bad,” Tord replied, almost pouting. “I guess you’ll have to declare to Edd and Matt how loyal you are to them when their heads are in baskets!”

Tom’s heart seemed to stop dead in its tracks. His lips curled into a snarl, eyes flashing at Tord—he looked amused. The bastard. “What have you done to them? What in the bloody hell are you hiding?”

Tord examined his hand nonchalantly. “Oh, nothing, yet. But I do have plans for them, should you not comply. So, here’s the gist: you join the Red Army in exchange for Edd and Matt’s freedom.”

Tom’s breathing turned rugged as thoughts whirled in his head. Why was Tord doing this? What did he have planned? Why did he want him? “What kind of fucking deal is this?”

“It's quite simple to me, Thomas. You have a luxury waiting for you—a dorm, three square meals a day, and free from those   chains you somehow broke. You’ll have plenty of liberties, within reason.”

Tord leaned closer to Tom, but he was frozen in place. “It is a very generous offer. It would take years of service to get to the rank I’m offering you—Sergeant Major of the Red Army.”

Tom scoffed, his eye twitching. “You realize I’m a major, right? And that is a reduction in rank, yes?”

A cold chuckle erupted from Tord’s throat. “Well, I can’t just give you your own battalion without proving your worth yet! Besides…you’ll be closer to my side than anyone else in my army.”

Tom’s lips curled back again— this time in disgust. Tord’s eye narrowed, regarding Tom with pure ice. “It is a privilege, what I’m offering you. An honor. And should you accept, your little friends get to run free. I’ll have them delivered right back to the Resistance base, free of harm.”

Tom let out a shaky breath. “You’re bloody insane.”

Tord shrugged, his expression almost playful. “It works, doesn’t it? I run things better than Edd’s cute little uprising you blindly follow.”

Thoughts spiraled in Tom’s mind. He couldn’t accept…but Edd. Matt. “What will you do to them if I…”

“Oh, Thomas, you aren’t stupid. I think you know.” Tord drew his mechanical hand to his throat, creating a slicing motion with his finger and making a popping noise with his tongue.

Tom felt violently nauseous. “You’re a monster,” Tom uttered, eyes wide with disbelief. “They were your friends, too.”

Tord threw up his head and laughed, the violent reflection of his mask catching Tom’s eye and making him wince. “Friends that served me no purpose, Thomas; especially in the end. I usually discard things that serve me no purpose. But I’m being merciful…for now.” Tord stood, looking down his nose at Tom before turning. “You have one day. But I’d recommend you choose quickly…in case I change my mind.”

Tord began to walk away, footsteps heavy and echoing against the cement walls. At this point, Tom was hyperventilating. His entire body shook underneath the weight of Tord’s dangerous proposition. His own freedom for Edd and Matt’s. It was so obviously a trap. It had to be. The only thing Tord knew was to control . And Tom would be no exception. But, if there was any way, any hope at all, that Edd and Matt would go unharmed…

The footfalls got softer.

“Wait!” Tom called out, the word dragging out of his dry throat in a painful rasp.

His footsteps stopped dead in their tracks. Something lingered in the air.

“Fine,” Tom wheezed, trying his best not to gasp out his breaths. “Fine, you win! I accept! But under one condition.”

“...Oh? A negotiation?”

Tom listened as Tord’s boots brushed the ground in an about face, approaching the cell again. When Tord reappeared into view, curiosity gleamed in his eye.

“I want to see them. To make sure you haven’t hurt them.” Tom coughed, watching Tord’s expression as he was finally able to heave himself to his feet.

Tord rolled his eye. “Ugh. You three and your sentimentality. It’s pathetic. But I suppose I can arrange that.”

Tom’s shoulders sagged slightly, a brief sense of relief washing over him at the prospect of seeing his friends again, despite the circumstances. His hands trembled as Tord fished a key out of his breast pocket, whistling a familiar tune as he unlocked Tom’s cell. The cell door rolled open, and Tord immediately gripped Tom’s arm with a cold, mechanical hand. Tom yelped, goosebumps spreading across his body.

“No time to waste,” Tord said, beginning to tug the (still drugged) taller man with him. “Let’s get the gang back together.”

Chapter Text

Steel dug into flesh as Red Leader marched down the corridor, the sluggish English-Brazilian man trudging along beside him.

“Try to keep up, yes?” Red Leader spat out, once again having to match his pace to the man he was quite literally dragging out of the cell room. “Edd and Matt will have died of old age by the time I get you to their cells.”

“You drugged me, remember?” Tom hissed back, his bicep flexing angrily underneath Red Leader’s grasp. “One of your henchmen jabbed a damn tranquilizer into my neck. You try getting dragged around right after waking up from that.”

Red Leader craned his neck around, about to give Tom a clever retort; but something caught his eye. Tom’s eyelids should have been relaxed , especially after being dosed with the sedative Paul had given him just hours prior. He was squinting, like the lights were too bright. It was unusual, given the sedative and the fact that Tom’s dark eyes were practically made for taking in large amounts of light without needing to squint. So…why was he?

In his perplexion, Tom had caught up to him, glaring indignantly into Red Leader’s exposed eye. “What? I’ve caught up. The hell are you glaring at?”

Red Leader huffed, continuing forward with slightly slower steps. “Too bright in here for you, Thomas?”

Tom snorted, looking away promptly. “No brighter than any other room with fluorescent lights. Why? Trying to take my eyes, too?”

The exit to the cell room loomed before them. Red Leader reached out with his left hand, opening the door and ushering Tom through it. “You’re squinting. Like you can’t see in the light. Just odd.”

“What do you care whether I can see or not?” Tom snarled, blinking a few times to adjust to the dark staircase as the two slowly ascended the stairs. He didn’t deny Red Leader’s words.

“Well, as a high-ranking cadet in my army, I’d think being able to see is a little important.” Red Leader replied, his patience running thinner than he wanted it to. “Now shut up. We’ll be there in a few moments.”

Slowly but surely, the two ascended the cold stairwell, anticipation thrumming through Red Leader. Although anxious was a strong word, this would be the first time he’d been face to face with all of his former housemates since the events that transpired at their old house. There was a fairly good chance it wouldn’t go well. But Red Leader had it all under control; he had to.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as his arm jolted suddenly, the stubborn man he was leading trying to rip away from his grasp. With a smirk, metal dug into Tom’s flesh, earning a yelp before he retracted his arm and slammed Tom into the wall, causing a loud thud and a grunt.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Red Leader said coolly, maintaining his stance as he tilted his head at his prisoner. “You have no idea how powerful this arm is.”

Tom’s head dipped, coughing before he slowly composed himself. “Just…thought I’d try.”

“Well, don’t.” Red Leader’s words were laced with venom. With a tug, Red Leader was dragging Tom up the stairs again, blocking out Tom’s rasped wheezing.

The door to the first basement came into view, and Red Leader nudged open the still-cracked door. Fluorescents buzzed overhead, and Tom flinched away from the light as Red Leader pulled him into the room.

Pat was still there, arms crossed as they glanced over in Red Leader’s direction. They quirked their brow, eyes dragging from Red Leader to an unchained Tom by his side. Red Leader gave his general a curt nod, to which Pat turned and walked towards the exit, brushing lightly past his boss as they left the room.

Red Leader could feel Tom tremble underneath his grasp as they inched closer to the two cells holding his other two prisoners. The rustle of chains could be heard as a voice rang out. “Whoever you are, I’m not giving you anything—”

Edd’s voice cut short when Red Leader and Tom appeared in front of the bars, a sinister smirk crawling across Red Leader’s face. “Edward! It certainly has been a while!”

Edd blinked, his eyes locked onto Tom. “Thomas…? What is this?”

“It’s not what it looks like—” Tom began, his voice choked.

“Oh, but it is!” Red Leader said snarkily, resting his left hand on his hip. “I want you to meet my newest Sergeant Major!”

Chains rustled in the companion cell, a blue eye flashing in the dark. “What? Tom, tell us that isn’t true!”

As soon as Red Leader was about to retort, Matt’s face caught his eye. His stomach dropped.

Deformed. Scarred. A useless, milky eye.

The same side as his own face. 

Red Leader swallowed hard, the fallout between the other three turning to white noise as he fixated onto Matt’s scar-razen face. Matt met his gaze evenly, his eyes narrowing.

“What?” Matt snarled lowly, his lips curling back. “Can’t handle the fact that I’m ugly now?” Matt’s teeth ground together, something that looked like a smirk playing at his lips. “Ugly like you?”

Red Leader bristled, but only momentarily. He ignored the chill that ran down his spine—something dangerously close to grief. He leveled out, resuming his snarky grin as if the mask had never slipped. “Such petty insults, Matthew!” Red Leader let out a low chuckle, tilting his head. “You’ve got bigger fish to fry than your vanity, for once.”

He watched as Matt’s scar-toughened jaw twitched and looked away, clearly stung by the comeback. Red Leader’s eye narrowed, his eye falling back into Edd. “I’ll be borrowing your Resistance pet for a while. I think that he’ll be more useful with me than with you.”

A small sound escaped from the back of Tom’s throat. “Edd, I can explain everything. This isn’t what I wanted—”

Something vulnerable flickered in Edd’s brown eyes, rugged around the edges from exhaustion. “You know what?” He looked away, blinking harshly. “At least you're safe.”

Red Leader watched Tom closely. Watched the devastation in his eyes deepen. Watched the slight tremble of his lips as they closed and parted several times. “Edd…”

“So what of us, then?” Matt chimed in harshly, his glare cold as ever. “You’re just gonna let us rot in here while you parade as Red Leader’s puppet?”

Tom’s eyes widened. “No! I’m trying to save your lives!”

Edd watched Tom boredly as Matt stared in disbelief. “Right, right,” He continued, crossing his arms over his chained chest. “Because abandoning your cause to join the enemy really screams ‘saving my friends’ lives.’”

“I know, I know, just…” Tom took a second to catch his breath, gazing over at Edd. “You’ve got to trust me…”

Red Leader let out a loud, incredibly fake yawn as he reached into his holster. “Ugh, such a touching reunion. But I’m bored now.” 

He pulled a tranquilizer dart gun from his belt, causing Edd and Matt to recoil softly. “As you can see, Thomas,” Red Leader said boredly, fishing in his breast pocket for one of his darts and reloading his gun. “They are fine. I’ve upheld your part of the bargain.”

Tom tensed beside him as Edd bristled. “Bargain?”

“Edd, it’s not—”

Red Leader aimed with perfect precision as he shot the first dart straight into Edd’s neck. “Oh, yes. A very compelling bargain, if you ask me!” He chuckled, watching as Edd’s eyes grew droopy and his muscles slumped. “Quite the negotiator, really!”

He quickly reloaded with the second dart, Tom looking at him as if he’d gone mad. “This was not what I meant!”

Red Leader shrugged nonchalantly, aiming at Matt. “Well, you didn’t exactly specify, did you?”

“Oh, bugger.” Matt muttered as Tord’s finger curled around the trigger. The second dart shot out, hitting Matt in the neck. His head lulled, but he managed to shoot a glare at Tom.

“You better know…” Matt slurred, “...what you’re doing.”

Tom watched desperately as Matt’s head slumped forward, muscles going limp. His gaze tore over to Red Leader, anger burning in those dark eyes. “This is not what I agreed to!”

Red Leader shrugged, grabbing his pager from his belt. “Like I said—you never specified.”

He pressed a button with his thumb while Tom glared at him indignantly. “Paul, Patryck, I need you both down on basement level one.”

Static crackled on the other end of the walkie as Paul’s voice came through. “Heard.”

Red Leader let out a content sigh as he slipped the device back into his holster. He glanced over at Tom, who was looking desperately between Edd and Matt. 

“Oh, don’t look so glum,” Red Leader said, releasing his grip on him to pat his shoulder. “You’re with us now! We’ll keep you good company.”

The door to the cell room cracked open, and a figure loomed hesitantly in the doorway. Red Leader waved his hand to call him over, and the man obliged.

“This,” Red Leader began, paying no mind that Tom was still fixated on his two unconscious friends. “Is Paul. He’ll be your escort, for the time being.”

Tom blinked and looked briefly over to Paul, then did a double take as Paul gently grasped him by the shoulder. “Hey. You’re the fucker who drugged me!”

“He’s got a foul mouth, that one,” Red Leader warned, his eyebrow cocking as Paul tugged Tom to his side. “Might try to run. Just watch him closely, yeah?”

Paul nodded once, waiting for further instructions as Tom inspected him critically. 

“Take him to the lab for a routine check-up,” Red Leader continued, flicking his eye momentarily to Tom’s scrunched face. “Looks like he needs one.”

“Yes, sir,” Paul replied, turning and nudging Tom along to follow.

“Why’s your name plate upside down?” Tom asked, the two heading towards the exit.

“Detail from Red Leader.” He responded flatly, the two slipping through the door as Red Leader watched coldly. With a sigh, he pulled his walkie to his lips again. 

“Dancewicz, where are you?” His voice boomed. Static quickly ensued right after his words.

“Coming, sir. My apologies.”

Red Leader let out a strained sigh as he looped the pager back to his belt. He glanced over at Matt, unease curdling in his stomach. Taking a step forward, he ran his eyes over the visible part of his face. It was puckered with scarring, the skin pink and leathery. He bit the inside of his cheek. It was likely his army’s doing. Perhaps even he, himself. He hated how his mouth went dry.

The door clicked open again, and Pat came in and stridded down the hallway and to Red Leader’s side. “Yes, sir?”

“See his face?” Red Leader murmured, hardly above a whisper.

Pat tilted their head as they examined Matt’s face. They looked unbothered. “Clean healing. Probably from burns or shrapnel. What of it, sir?”

Red Leader swallowed, his lip trembling. “I’m going to fix it.”

Pat’s eyes widened—a rare display of emotion from them. “Wh…what do you mean, sir?”

His gaze flickered about Matt’s face, something resembling disgust swallowing his chest. “It’s disgusting. Matt was always vain—could barely go a day without swooning in the mirror. And that was stripped from him. I’m going to give that back to him.”

Red Leader turned his gaze to Pat, whose arms were crossed and eyes still wide. 

“He’ll thank me,” Red Leader said, almost choked. “I’ll build him anew.”

“Without his consent?” Pat whispered, their eyebrows knitting together as they regarded Matt unsteadily.

“He won’t know the favor I’m doing him until after the fact.” Red Leader declared, recomposing himself as he straightened. “He’ll be beautiful again. Carved from the perfection of steel. Unbreakable.” 

He gazed at his general, who seemed shellshocked. “Prepare a cart with everything you need to replace an eye and jaw. I want it done before he wakes up.”

Pat was frozen. “Sir…this is not a good idea.”

Red Leader’s eye flashed, causing Pat to flinch. “Are you questioning my authority?”

Pat sucked in a breath, their face white. “N-No, sir, it’s just…unnecessary, the cell is filthy—”

“You’ve done more invasive surgeries in dirt, ash, and blood,” Red Leader snapped. Pat took a shaky step back. “Do the surgery. Have your medics prepare for it. You’ll be back down here to do it after Tom’s check up.”

Mouth ajar, their lips trembled before whispering, “Yes, sir.”

Lingering a moment too long as they gazed at Matt, they finally whipped around and staggered down the hall, walking faster than usual. Red Leader watched until they left the room, his gaze slowly returning to Matt. His mouth parted gently.

“I’ll give you what I didn’t deserve.”

Chapter Text

The maddening buzz of the fluorescent lights persisted as Tom and Paul ascended to the first floor of the base. Blood roared in Tom’s ears as his heart palpitated. Though he was physically freed, spiraling thoughts imprisoned his mind.

Tord was planning something, and, for whatever reason, Tom was the centerpiece of it. It was some sort of ploy for control. He must have thought that if he manipulated Tom into joining the Red Army, Tom would sell out the Resistance’s vulnerabilities or secrets. Or maybe, he was planning something worse; something not even Tom could foresee. The taste of bile crept up Tom’s throat as he followed Paul through the corridor, the haze of his uneasy thoughts trailing behind.

“You must be important,” Paul said suddenly, pulling Tom from his thoughts momentarily.

Tom’s eyebrows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

The toothpick between Paul’s lips twisted. “Red Leader doesn’t normally make prisoners his soldiers. Not without very good reason.”

A scoff escaped Tom’s lips, his irritation boiling over. “Oh, I’m honored. I love being forced into joining a cause I’ve devoted my entire life to ending.”

Paul glanced at Tom, something like a warning flashing in his eyes. He said nothing more as they strode down the hall. The base halls seemed to twist and turn, opening up to rooms and lobbies and more hallways that Tom could hardly wrap his head around. The unfamiliar terrain did nothing to ease his mind. He bit the inside of his lip. He had to remember why he was doing this; for Edd and Matt. If he ever lost sight of that, he’d be just as lost as any of the soldiers who joined the Red Army in the first place. Even so, Tom’s stomach was doing nauseating twists.

The two of them passed through what seemed like a cafeteria, where several dozens of soldiers in training gear or Red Army uniforms ate and mingled. Those standing stiffened to attention as Paul passed. “Good afternoon, General—”

“Rest!” Paul snapped, irritation thick in his voice. The soldiers immediately loosened and looked away, murmuring to one another as they stole curious glances over at Tom. The hostile gaze of one soldier lingered for a moment too long. He swallowed as he followed Paul down another winding hallway, a cold sweat beading at his hairline.

The two must have walked for at least ten minutes before they arrived at a set of large steel double doors. Paul placed his finger in the biometric lock next to the door, causing it to click open seconds after. He opened one of the doors, motioning for Tom to enter. He lingered near the doorway, crossing his arms defiantly before finally striding in. Cold air hit his face, sending a chill down his spine.

The sterile smells of alcohol and bleach invaded Tom’s nose, making his stomach curdle. Even with boots on, the white linoleum underneath his feet felt cold. Perfectly white walls loomed over Tom’s head, making him uneasy. Metal workbenches filled the room in neat lines, pieces of perfectly clean equipment adorning them. One soldier sat, hunched over a notebook, scrawling down something next to a test tube. It was filled with a viscous purple substance; it looked completely unnatural. Just like everything else in the bloody base.

The door shut softly behind him as Paul stepped inside, hovering by the door. Soft footsteps echoed from somewhere within the lab. A door hissed open and out came a medic, lab coat flawless and blonde hair slicked back into a tight sock bun. She held a clipboard firmly in her grasp, nails tapping along the back. She looked up and nodded at Paul, who turned and left the lab silently. Tom’s eyes traced after him, heart slamming against his ribs. Tom was never one to feel small, exactly. But under the sterile, monotone walls and the medic’s cold stare, he wished he could melt into the floor. He felt more like a caged animal than whatever stupid position of power Tord was thrusting him into. 

Her cold, clinical voice broke the silence. “Please follow me this way, Sergeant Major Rosenthal.”

Tom’s stomach twisted. They’re already calling me that? They know my goddamn name? Jesus fuck. He’s been planning this, hasn’t he? Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic. Not fucking now.

Tom tried to swallow down the sickening taste in his mouth as he reluctantly followed the medic down a white corridor. The entire lab was too white. Too sterile. It made his head ache and spin, sweat curling down his temple. Despite his long sleeves, he shivered, causing him to grit his teeth so they wouldn’t clatter. The medic stopped by a stadiometer and scale near the center of the corridor. 

“I need to record your height and weight. Go ahead and slip off your shoes, then step up here.”

Tom bit the inside of his cheek, hands trembling at his sides as he easily slid out of his hiking boots. Everything was moving too fast, and he hated every second he had to spend in the unbearably white lab. He almost stumbled when he stepped upon the scale, red numbers flickering on the small screen. They eventually settled at 67.3 kilograms. A barely audible yet sharp gasp erupted from the medic.

“Jesus…” She murmured, scribbling something onto her clipboard.

“What?” Tom asked sharply. “Is it that bad?”

The medic ignored his question as she furrowed her brows. “Step down, heels against the wall under the stadiometer.”

Tom obliged, his blood running cold. The medic reached up and adjusted the sliding headpiece, tapping his hair gently. She muttered something under her breath as she recorded Tom’s height.

“188 centimeters,” She said uneasily, stepping away from Tom as she read her own writing, looking doubtful. “You’re…underweight.” She said her words as if they might hurt him, flicking her eyes to Tom’s momentarily before turning on her heel. “Follow me.”

Tom slipped back into his shoes and followed hesitantly, realizing for the first time how baggy his own clothes were on his frame. It made sense; he, Edd, and Matt had hiked several miles a day with a scarce amount of food for months on end, just days prior. He wondered what that meant for him as Tord’s new project. His stomach turned uncomfortably as he tugged at a too-loose sleeve.

The medic scanned into a locked door a few paces down the hall, lights flickering to life as the two stepped inside. It was a small exam room, with medical tools lined too neatly along the desk across the entrance. The examination table to the left was lined with a fresh sheet of paper, to which the medic gestured for Tom to sit. Tom crossed his arms tightly against his chest, eyes scoring the table as if it might spring a trap at any second.

The medic blinked. “Please.”

Tom’s mouth went dry. He finally inched towards the table, his breathing rugged as thoughts circled in his head like vultures. He didn’t have to do this. He could run, somehow. Run far, far away. Run from this room. From the base. From his responsibility.

From Edd. From Matt. Fuck.

His heartbeat pulsed in his wrists and ankles as he lifted himself onto the table, legs swinging. In a flash, something clicked across the room. Two metal cuffs shot out from beneath the table, cold steel meeting Tom’s ankles.

He finally cracked.

Something guttural and terrible ripped from Tom’s throat. He lurched against the restraints, head spinning and lungs ablaze. His heart felt as if it were being crushed underneath the weight of his own chest as he thrashed for freedom. The paper tore loudly underneath his weight as his body twisted, helpless against his strapped ankles. His back arched, terror raking his mind. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t win.

Everything was too white. Light flashed. Blurred.

The cell. His cell. His cell. 

Suddenly, the restraints hissed free. He didn’t hesitate. Tom twisted onto his palms, practically flying backwards and tearing across the exam table. It screeched against the ground as Tom hit the wall, something crashing behind him as he dove for the corner. His heart palpitated as he collapsed into himself. In his panic, Tom hadn’t noticed the bewildered look in the medic’s eyes, nor the request for backup into her pager. “General, we have a problem in exam room six—” 

Another cry. White. Too white. The light, the goddamn light—

The door clicked open. A commanding presence entered the room. It wasn’t Tord.

“Out.” Patryck ordered, their voice tight. 

The medic didn’t hesitate, darting swiftly past the suddenly commanding general. The door slammed shut, leaving only Patryck and a panic-stricken Tom in the room.

“Goddamn interns,” Patryck muttered under their breath before they crouched near the exam table to glance over at Tom. Their eyes widened slightly.

Tom looked like hell . He was curled into the corner like some terrified animal, shaking as shallow breaths heaved through his ribcage and out of his mouth. His hands cradled his head, tense fingers raking through dark, sweat-slick hair. Eyes wide with terror, they snapped to Pat, who had slowly lowered onto their knees. They turned their palms outward instinctively, as if showing Tom they had no intention of hurting him. They were completely different from the stoic general who had tased him just a few hours prior.

“Hey, Thomas.” Patryck said, their voice surprisingly gentle. “It’s just me and you now. You’re safe.”

Although Tom knew very little about Pat and their intentions, the feeling of his chest splitting open eased slightly. It was something he needed to hear—something he hadn’t been told, something he hadn’t felt— in a long time. The words rang in his head. ‘You’re safe.’ They weren’t magic. Just… real. Spoken. Nearly tangible—nearly.

He wanted to believe it. He really, really did.

What were these people doing to him?

Tom gulped, the tightness in his throat relaxing ever so slightly. He managed to focus on Pat’s face. It was calm, their blinks slow and deliberate—not calculated, but practiced. Like they’d done this before. Sweat beaded down his forehead as he eased his knees from his chest, hands trembling as he placed them against the tile. The cold kissed his palms, a welcoming distraction from the chaos in his mind. He closed his eyes, the reprieve from the blinding white helping to further ground him.

A few moments passed before Patryck spoke again. “She wasn’t supposed to restrain you. That wasn’t protocol.”

A strained noise came from Tom’s throat; something between a wheeze and a bitter laugh. “Sure seemed like it.”

The pounding pain in his head lessened into a dull throb. He finally opened his eyes again, glancing over to Patryck. An exhausted groan slipped past his lips as he sank into the wall.

“Do you need anything?” Patryck asked quietly. 

Tom’s throat bobbed, his request coming out in a pathetic croak. “Can you dim the lights?”

Patryck nodded once. “Sure.”

The general stood slowly, pacing quietly over to a small sliding switch near the door. The lights dimmed as they slid the tab down. The nausea in Tom’s stomach seemed to ebb. He flinched when a crack of static sounded from Patryck’s belt.

“Dancewicz,” Tord’s voice boomed, tight and on-edge. “What the hell is going on in there?”

To Tom’s dismay, Patryck didn’t react to the page. Didn’t even flinch when it came through. They settled back down to their kneeled position across the examination table, their eyes soft. Their gentleness was almost threatening. Tom slowly slid his walls back up, narrowing his eyes at Patryck.

“You don’t have to watch me like I’ll vanish into thin air,” He snapped, cursing himself for how his shaky voice betrayed him.

Another crackle. Tom flinched again. “Patryck! Answer me!”

Patryck blinked, then calmly, silently, reached for their pager and switched it off. When Tom looked at them, gobsmacked, they simply shrugged. “I could tell that wasn’t helping.”

Tom blinked, mouth slightly ajar. “He’s gonna kill you.”

“Oh, well,” Patryck said casually. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

Impossibly, after a beat, Tom barked out a laugh. “You…” Tom pointed a shaky finger at Patryck, a rare smile playing at his lips. “Are something else, Patryck.”

They blinked. Their eyes searched Tom’s, shuffling thoughts like cards in a deck. “You can call me Pat.”

Tom’s expression softened. A ghost of a smile traced Pat’s lips, as if it was something they had forgotten how to do. 

They stood slowly, taking the few steps back towards the desk. They fiddled with a few of the instruments, casting their cool green glance over to Tom momentarily. “I’ll be right here whenever you feel ready to complete the physical.”

Tom didn’t respond; not right away. Sweat still clung to him like a second skin, and his head still throbbed. He weighed the scene that had played out before him like a stone; vulnerable. Intimate. Neither of which he particularly desired to be in front of a Red Army general. They were his enemy. Despite it all, his breathing had evened and his chest didn’t feel like it was filling with sand. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and let out a huff of air.

“You won’t…restrain me?” Tom asked, his voice still shaky.

Pat shook their head. “No interns, no restraints.”

Tom’s tongue twisted in his mouth. A physical was the last thing he wanted to do in that particular moment. He flicked his eyes over to Pat, who was typing something into the computer next to their tools. He suppressed a sigh as he slowly rose to his feet. His legs shuddered underneath him, and he braced himself against the wall until the tingling in his extremities subsided. He rounded the examination table, crossing his arms again as he regarded Pat. 

They swiveled their chair around to face Tom. “Are you ready?”

Tom took in a deep breath, glancing at the mangled medical paper on the examination table. “Yeah, sure. Let’s get this over with.”

Pat nodded, rolling over to rip the paper off of the table. “You can sit. I need to make a new medical file for you. It’ll only take a second.”

They had already turned back towards the computer and begun typing furiously before Tom could even react. As he gazed at the table, his heart rose to his throat again.

No interns, no restraints.

He shut his eyes as he climbed the table once more, the sensory hell from the medical paper no longer there. His feet swung against the side, and his heartbeat rose as his palms grew sweaty again.

He waited. He waited, he waited, he waited. No click. No restraints.

He let his shoulders ease. Just slightly.

Pat hummed softly as they clicked a few buttons on the screen. When they drifted their eyes to the notes on the clipboard, they paused, mouth agape for a second. They immediately composed themself as they donned a stethoscope from the desk, grabbed the clipboard, and turned slowly towards Tom. Their eyes were still soft, but their posture was perfectly straight; it would have been intimidating had the previous exchange between them not happened. They began scrawling into the paper on the clipboard. “Alright…Cadet 17011, Sergeant Major Thomas Rosenthal…”

The words sent a chill down Tom’s spine. His jaw twitched as Pat continued. “Any complaints or symptoms?”

“Yeah. Don’t call me that.” Tom muttered, focusing on a blank corner of the room.

“Just protocol.” Pat said coolly. 

Tom scoffed. “You seem to like saying that. So much protocol nonsense.”

Pat shrugged casually, then scribbled something down before setting the clipboard back on the desk. They picked up a thermometer and swiveled back over to Tom. “I’ll need to take your temperature. I’m just gonna swipe this across your forehead.”

Tom rolled his eyes as Pat reached up to his forehead with the probe. “You don’t have to walk me through everything you do. I’ve had physicals before.”

Pat’s eyebrow quirked, but they didn’t say anything as the thermometer beeped. “37º,” they murmured, almost to themself, as they wrote the number on the clipboard. Tom noticed how neat their handwriting was.

“Nice handwriting…for a doctor.” Tom muttered.

Pat’s eyes flashed, some unreadable expression in their face before they blinked and reached for the blood pressure gauge, calm as ever. “37º,” They muttered again, a slight twitch in their left eye.

The two were silent as Pat wrapped the sleeve around Tom’s bicep, pumping it up before sliding his stethoscope underneath it. Tom grit his teeth as he felt his arm begin to throb, the sleeve slowly releasing with a hiss.

“98/69, a little low, but good,” Pat murmured, scrawling more numbers into the clipboard. 

Tom had zoned out for the majority of the physical; it was his line of defense to ensure he didn't have another panic attack. He only snapped back to pay attention when Pat said a few buzz words; bradycardia after checking his heart. Something about how his ribs jutted out. Shaky hands. Thinning hair from malnutrition. Everything important, though, was fine.

Tom felt fine. That was until Pat pulled out the light.

“I’m gonna need to shine this in your eye to check your retinas.” Pat said calmly, extending the instrument towards Tom’s eyes. He immediately flinched, looking away like a child about to receive a shot.

“No.” Tom snapped, shielding his eyes away with a hand. Panic bubbled back up his chest.

“It’s just a part of the procedure.” Pat said softly, as if trying to be reassuring. Tom sucked in a breath, crossing his free arm against his chest.

“I said no.” Tom said adamantly, ignoring his blurring vision.

“Thomas,” Pat said, reaching out with their hand. 

Something snapped. Again. 

Tom quickly smacked it away, causing Pat’s eyes to widen.

“ Get away!” Tom spat in Pat’s face. They flinched, then their eyes narrowed into a deadpan expression. 

They sighed deeply. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me, Thomas.”

“I don’t want your bloody help.” Tom snarled, straining away from Pat. “I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with my eyes.”

Silence fell between the two, an unreadable expression donning Pat’s face. Tom swallowed, sucking in a breath and shifting his eyes. “Look, I just—”

The door suddenly swung open, a familiar figure with a red prosthetic sweeping into the room. The heavy door shut behind him, and Tord looked at Pat with a hardened expression; something that looked like controlled anger.

“Great,” Tom huffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “The goddamn Big Bad Wolf himself.”

“You must be referring to yourself,” Tord shot back, his eyes narrowing but eyes still glued to Pat. “With all that spitting and cursing you like to do.” His mechanical fingers flexed, a soft whirring noise ensuing. “I’ve been trying to page you.”

Pat looked miserable. “So you were.”

Tord’s lip twitched. “For an hour.”

Pat’s brows furrowed slightly. “You know I don’t like to have my pager on during medical procedures. It’s distracting. Please, sir, let me get my work done.”

Tord hummed, his eye shifting over to Tom. "Doesn't seem like you’re getting much done here.”

Pat let out an annoyed sigh, shoulders tense. “He won’t let me look at his eyes. And the black sclera is going to make it harder to see any abnormalities behind the iris.”

The Norwegian stalked closer to the two, a wicked smile playing at his lips. “Maybe I can help.”

Before Tom could retort, he jolted as a cold mechanical hand gripped his face, causing him to let out a surprised gasp. Each time he tried to squirm, Tord’s grip would tighten to a painful extent.

“Ass…hole…” Tom struggled out, glaring indignantly at his ex roommate as Pat sighed and the light shined into his eyes.

Tord smiled wickedly. “Oh, Jehovah’s… I’ve almost forgotten how easy it is to get under your skin. So sensitive.”

Tom bristled. “I am NOT—“

Pat cleared their throat, setting aside the light tool and taking off their gloves. Tom took note of the uneasy expression on their face. “You have masses behind the irises of both eyes. I think it may be serious.”

Masses…? Tom blinked several times, trying to get his blurred vision to focus. His cheeks twitched as Tord retracted his hand. That can't be. My eyes are fine. “I’m sorry, what?”

“They could be tumors; possibly uveal melanoma,” Pat said coolly, turning away quickly and brushing imaginary dust from their lab coat. “I’ll need more imaging to be sure, but…the size, the pupil distortion…it’s suspicious. If it spreads, your vision isn’t the only thing you’ll lose.”

“WHAT?” Tom roared, his anxiety spiking. “You throw me in a dungeon, drag me to this stupid room, tell me I could have cancer and now you want to gouge out my eyes? Fuck you!”

Tom launched spit from the back of his throat, which landed squarely on Tord’s nameplate. Tord sighed as he wiped it away with his coat sleeve. “So very childish. Haven't changed a bit, have you?” Tord shot Tom a glare before peering at Pat, something unreadable in his menacing gray eye.

“I’m going to schedule an ultrasound for tomorrow,” Pat interjected, squeezing some hand sanitizer into their palm. “After I have a definite diagnosis, we can plan from there.”

Pat’s pen clicked, and they looked briefly at Tord before nodding at Tom. Despite their cool tone, they looked unnerved. “For now, Paul will be your escort around the base. He’ll help with your training, bring you meals, things of the sort.”

“It’s an honor, really,” Tord chimed in, something sadistic in his eye. “Being hand-picked by me, and trained by my best.”

Tom rolled his eyes. A trap, disguised as “honor”— very fitting for Tord. He hated the sinking weight of goddamn everything that settled in his chest, right beneath his ribs. I might have fucking cancer. Great. 

The door clicked open again, and Paul strode in. Red Leader paid him no mind as he dipped his head in reverence. His eyes flicked to Tom.

“Your dorm is ready,” Paul said, voice clipped. He either didn’t read the room or didn’t care about it in the slightest. Tom bet the latter. “You can follow me.” 

Tom looked to Tord, his unease growing. He returned Tom’s gaze, giving him a firm nod before looking back to Pat. “Go. Patryck and I have things to discuss.”

“Things.” Tom murmured flatly, shakily lifting himself from the table. His body still felt like lead.  “So dignified.”

Tord flashed him a look, and he lingered for a moment more. Paul awkwardly placed a hand on his shoulder, nodding his head towards the door. “Your room…sir.”

“Don’t call me ‘sir.’” Tom said sharply, eyes still locked on Tord. As he turned, he could feel Tord’s gaze burning into the nape of his neck as he and Paul left the room.

The door clicked shut behind them.

***

As soon as Tom and Paul had left the room, Red Leader whipped his head over to Pat, who was reading over their medical notes from Tom’s visit.

“His condition…” Pat murmured, almost to themself. “It’s a little concerning.”

“Are you sure?” Red Leader said suddenly, crossing his arms and gripping his coat as if it was the only thing keeping him steady.

Pat hummed softly, flashing their eyes at Red Leader momentarily before going back to skimming their notes. “Pretty sure. It looks like ocular melanoma. The ultrasound will confirm, though.”

Red Leader’s grip tightened, his knuckles whitening. “And if it is?”

Pat’s tongue clicked. It was beginning to piss Red Leader off how cool they were about it. “Depends, really. At best, he’ll lose his vision. At worst…it’s an aggressive cancer. The liver goes first. Pretty poor prognosis.”

A lump built in Red Leader’s throat as he looked to the floor, tapping his foot. “How long?”

“If it spreads? A year, tops. That’s if he’s lucky.”

A sour taste coated Red Leader’s tongue as he shut his eyes, trying to soothe his spiraling brain. “He’s my centerpiece, Patryck. If he dies—”

“I’m aware, sir,” Pat said, a little softer this time. “I’ll do everything I can.”

“Good.” Red Leader said curtly, shoving away his thoughts. “What else is concerning?”

“He’s severely underweight and malnourished, especially for his height and frame,” Pat answered, tapping a couple of numbers in their intern’s handwriting on the clipboard. “Coupled with his eyes and mental state…I don’t think he’s fit for cadet activities.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Red Leader demanded, eye twitching with irritation. “He’s fine. The stubborn bastard always pulls through.”

Pat’s grip on the clipboard tightened. “He won’t have the energy to complete the training modules. He’s going to need extensive amounts of nutrients just to build his body fat percentage back up. His mental state—”

“His mental state.” Red Leader echoed flatly, arms crossing his chest. “You don’t know the man like I do. I could put him through all of our training modules in a day and he wouldn’t even break a sweat.”

Pat snapped. “He’s already had a panic attack, no doubt from the stress YOU’RE putting him under. He needs at least a few days to adjust.”

Red Leader’s teeth bared. “I don’t have days. I need him now.” He inched closer to Pat, the tension between them like a string about to snap. “And do not speak to your leader with that tone, General.”

Pat was visibly shaking underneath the weight of words they couldn’t say. “He…he’s not going to be a good cadet if you throw him straight into your training on day one. He needs time, rest—”

“Stop coddling him,” Red Leader spat. “That was always a weakness of yours. You’re not his savior.”

Pat’s eyes narrowed. “But you are?”

Red Leader let out a huff, shaky with anger. “Schedule the ultrasound for tomorrow after his first training module. I want results by the end of the day.” 

He turned on his heel sharply, casting a sidelong glance over his left shoulder. “I need you in the basement in fifteen minutes. Your cart is ready.”

Red Leader heard Pat gasp as he opened the door. “Sir—”

He shut the door before Pat could say anything more.

Red Leader drew a hand down his face, shutting his eyes as he swiftly left the lab, ignoring the two medics that had popped to attention for him. 

He didn’t bother to wait for Pat. They would follow. They always did.

He tried to outpace the emotional toll of everything as he marched through the base. The last thing he needed was a cancer-ridden Sergeant Major and a defecting general; he needed everything to be perfect. No matter how many cadets he needed to break to get there.

Tunnel vision prevented him from returning each “God morgen, sir” that his cadets greeted him with. The hum of fluorescents and the scraping of his boots against the floor created a cacophony of sound in his head, drowning out the noise of everything else. He reached the basement in about five minutes, head still buzzing and hands clenched stiffly at his sides. He opened the basement door, breath shaky as he stepped in.

The basement was eerily quiet. The sharp smell of alcohol stung his nose. Surgical light spilled out from a cell a few paces down. He walked over and peered inside the open cell.

Matt was restrained tightly to a gurney, arms pinned to his sides. The dart had been removed from his neck, and an orange iodine mixture was swabbed lazily over his scarred features. He was hooked up to a portable monitor to read his vitals. He had already been sedated, as noted by the IV attached to his arm. Various sterilized tools lined a portable medical table, along with the perfect steel prosthetics Red Leader himself had designed. Red Leader’s eye shifted across Matt’s condition, the beeping from the monitor already driving him up the wall. It was ultimately inadequate for surgery, but it would suffice

All he needed now was his surgeon.

Hardly five minutes had passed before the basement door clicked open again, and a shaky general entered. Their arms were crossed tightly against their chest as they slowly approached Red Leader.

“You’re early. Are you ready?” Red Leader asked, voice colder than the harsh winter beyond the base walls.

“I want to talk you out of this.” Pat said. Despite their body language, their voice was strong and steady.

“Don’t waste your breath.”

Pat stepped closer, looking more uncomfortable by the second. “Why are you doing this?”

Red Leader’s gaze snapped to Pat; they didn’t flinch. “Isn’t it obvious? Is the vision I’ve engrained into each cadet not obvious to my own general?” He turned, fully facing Pat. “The Red Army is building a new future out of the ash and blood left behind by our predecessors. A future of carbon and steel.” 

His gaze shifted to Matt, gaze softening ever so slightly. “His own flesh betrayed him, just as mine did me. I’m giving him a selfless gift; he’ll recognize it in due time.”

Pat swallowed, taking a step forward. “Do you really think this is going to change the world?”

Red Leader’s vision became hazy. The monitor droned on, diligent as ever. “It’s the first step. People are too stubborn to change. Sometimes you need to take matters into your own hands.” He met Pat’s gaze evenly. They looked away. “Your surgery has been prepped. Should everything go right, Matt can be bandaged and prepped for return to the Resistance base by tomorrow morning.”

Pat hesitated by the cell, hands tensing into fists. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

Red Leader suddenly chuckled, a cold and hollow sound. Pat looked to their leader, eyes wide.

“You think I’m giving you a choice?” Red Leader said, his voice lethally low. “Get in there. I’m here to ensure everything goes properly. You aren’t going anywhere—” Red Leader stepped closer to his general, resting a cold, mechanical hand on their shoulder. “You never do.”

Pat’s lips quivered, and Red Leader gave them a nudge towards Matt. “Go on. I’ll be watching.”

Shakily, they approached the table, hands shaking violently as they picked up a scalpel. They looked up towards their leader again. He nodded slowly, something dark dancing in his visible eye.

Pat turned back towards Matt, closing their eyes to collect their thoughts for a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” They said, hardly above a whisper, as they pressed the scalpel to Matt’s skin.

***

06.01.2028

Surgery on subject #6094 (Matthew Heathers, 33 y.o. male): Success.

Right orbital implant stable. Jaw reconstruction is pending an alignment check. Appears sound.

This was the biggest mercy I could have given you. You’ll understand, in time, what the gift of steel can bring. You’ll be better. You’ll thank me.

The past is broken. I can take it and build it anew.

I am doing the right thing. I am not a monster. I am righteous.

The future is beautiful. The future is Red.

-R.L.