Chapter Text
“Can you repeat that?” Till wrote in his notebook.
Isaac looked at him with clear annoyance. The exhaustion was plainly written all over his face, so he couldn’t really blame his bad mood. Even so, what he had just said definitely deserved some clarification.
“The recovery team from Sector 13 has returned with several subjects sealed inside medical capsules,” Isaac began again, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry away what little energy he had left. It was no wonder. This operation had been a real headache.
Ever since the fall of Alien Stage seven years earlier, the organization among the rebels had been chaotic. Some had remained with the main group, licking their wounds and trying to rebuild what had once been their home (Isaac being a prime example). Others let their anger toward Mizi consume them and formed their own isolated factions, becoming little more than mercenaries and drifters.
And the rest chose to embrace the destruction and revolution sparked by Mizi’s outburst, dedicating themselves to relentlessly attacking the aliens.
Isaac’s group held the most neutral stance. Focused on the well-being of free humans, they carried out raids mainly to secure supplies and, above all, maintain their safety and independence. Of course, every now and then someone would get bold and attack an alien facility or two (cough cough Till cough cough).
His latest “excursion” had resulted in five extra mouths to feed, some bearing traits painful to look at.
The upside of the children with modified DNA was that they had managed to slow Till down, tempering his almost suicidal tendencies.
With the last remnants of his family running around, the gray-haired boy had devoted a big part of his time to caring for them.
That discovery, however, had also opened the floodgates for the third type of rebel group’s hunt for alien genetic laboratories. On their latest mission, they hit the jackpot, uncovering numerous genetic maps, experiments, and several humans used as sources of genetic material.
The aliens weren’t as skilled as they believed when it came to cloning or creating humans from scratch, Luka’s many congenital illnesses were proof of that, so they needed living samples. In fact, those five children might well have been the first successful experiments.
Which brought them to the current problem. After analyzing the condition of the humans kept inside the medical capsules, they had contacted Isaac’s group because they had found something interesting.
“We believe one of them is Luka. The original.”
Till grimaced. Apparently, he hadn’t misheard the first time.
Banners and billboards bearing Luka’s face, announcing his return, flooded the city. Heperu had claimed that, after the Alien Stage incident, his injuries had been so severe that he required years to recover. Many humans, however, didn’t buy such nonsense and suspected that the Luka being shown was nothing more than a clone. A new toy for the masses.
Neither Till nor Isaac, for different reasons, was pleased by Luka’s existence, but both were forced to verify it.
Now it was Till who let out a sigh as he began to write in his notebook.
“When do we leave?”
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
A large man with glasses was the one who greeted them upon arriving at the rebel camp. Though calling it a mere camp was an understatement. This group of rebels had somehow taken control of what looked like a massive building complex. How they managed to keep the aliens from destroying it, despite being so exposed, puzzled Till.
Once inside, he understood why a bit more.
The entire perimeter seemed to be guarded by heavily armed humans. It was clear that any attack on this base would result in heavy losses on both sides, and perhaps that was why the aliens were reluctant to act. Still, Till doubted the situation would last long.
They weren’t called the suicidal unit for nothing.
The gray-haired boy had to admit he had been tempted to join them more than once, lacking a clear direction in life. However, since finding those children in the museum, he had abandoned the idea. The moment he saw those piercing, unforgettable eyes framed by hair of such a painfully familiar shade of pink, he knew he could no longer gamble with his life in the same way.
Not that he hadn’t been careful before as he had always tried to honor the gift of survival his family had secured for him through their sacrifice, but each day had been getting harder and harder to rise from bed.
At least, that had been the case before the children arrived.
They weren’t the only children at his base, but it was undeniable that all of them felt a special connection to Till and he returned the feeling just the same.
How could he not, when he could see the last fragments of his family running around?
How could he not grow attached to those little ones when he could see Sua’s exasperated expression at her “siblings’” antics, Ivan’s grimace when he disliked something, the shine of his own hair as it moved under the sun…
He couldn’t help the smile on his face as he remembered the pleading looks they gave him upon learning he would be gone for a few days. Even the two older boys had begged for his swift return, no matter how much it weighed on them to appear so childish.
Now Till had something to return for, so he firmly ignored the men and women ready for combat around him. They were also the only group of humans who didn’t treat Mizi as a despicable witch (another reason he had once considered joining them) so the temptation was always there. Yet, he fought against it.
His goal being here was clear: confirm whether the one they had rescued was Luka and, if so, take him back to their base.
As much as his presence might hurt them, Isaac firmly believed it was what Hyuna would have wanted. Besides, seeing the children created from their combined DNA would be a torture disguised as a gift for the blond so there was that.
As they walked toward the infirmary where the rescued people were being held, their guide began sharing more information about them.
“They’re a group of ten healthy adults, both men and women. They were used as pure samples of valuable DNA. The aliens believed they could create more ‘interesting’ humans from them, but since the process took so long, they kept them in a semi-comatose state. They couldn’t fully cryogenize them without causing a massive cell death, but they didn’t leave them in normal conditions either, in order to prevent injuries and illness.
The capsules they were kept in maintained their bodies in optimal condition, slowing their cellular degeneration to the point that they’ve aged far more slowly than normal. Some of those poor people have been in there for years. There’s a girl with naturally green hair who’s been inside one of those capsules for decades and still looks like a teenager so you can imagine how long those bastards have been running this kind of experiment.”
“Damn monsters,” Till heard Dewey curse. He completely agreed, though he wasn’t surprised. Having suffered firsthand under the “care” and twisted desires of those beings, Till had a clear idea of what they were capable of. He quickened his pace as they approached the wing where the rescued people were being held.
“Yes, they built up a collection they considered interesting: the green-haired girl I mentioned earlier, a man with heterochromia, another with such a fast metabolism he can’t gain weight no matter what he eats. One unfortunate woman was extremely fertile so they used her as a surrogate for many of those experiments…” he shook his head in pity. “It took them days to start waking up and orienting themselves after we got them out of there. Most are responding well now and can move around, which is why we contacted you. We identified one of the rescued as one of the finalists from the last Alien Stage. A man chosen for his looks, singing ability, and submissive personality, according to his file. We thought you’d be interested.”
Isaac, who had already received the reports, nodded. “We’re grateful. Unfortunately, my group has direct ties to that place.” Both men glanced at Till, who was ignoring them for the most part. It has been years since he had stopped being a circus act to be observed or a victim deserving of pity. Besides, they had reached their destination, and he wanted to be over with this as soon as possible.
He stepped into the infirmary the moment he was allowed, ready to face the damned blond diva.
Isaac continued speaking behind him. “To be honest, when we found out you had Luka, we weren’t entirely sure what to do with him.”
“Luka?”
Till caught the confusion in the other man’s voice, but he didn’t have time to question it. He didn’t need to. What he saw in front of him was enough.
Rows of beds surrounded him, occupied by people clearly lacking strength (and yes, there really was a woman with green hair), but his gaze went straight to one of the last beds.
There lay the infamous finalist, his attention focused on the person taking his vitals.
Except… where Till had expected fluffy golden hair, there were wavy locks as black as ebony. Where he had expected a smaller, more delicate man, there was someone quite tall, taking up the entire bed.
Where he had expected a broken puppet… there was a dead man.
Only he didn’t seem so dead anymore.
Till’s legs gave out, and he would have hit the floor if not for Dewey’s quick reflexes, catching him just in time under the shoulders. Till barely registered him. His eyes were locked on the impossible figure lying in the bed before him, moving and breathing like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Alive.
The man turned to look at them after hearing the commotion.
Greenish eyes met familiar black ones.
“I… Ivan”
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
By the time the room stopped spinning, the impossibility was still there.
Till didn’t understand anything. Was this some kind of joke?
Or worse, a clone? Maybe the man in front of him wasn’t his Ivan, but just an imitation.
A very good imitation.
With a trembling hand, he wrote all those doubts in his notebook and showed it to Dewey who repeated them outloud, trying not to look toward the bed where the dark-haired man lay.
“None of the rescued people are clones. The aliens need natural specimens, completely unaltered, so the genetic material was kept as high quality.”
One blow after another.
So this man really was his Ivan. The Ivan he had grown up with, fought with and faced in Alien Stage. The one who had sacrificed his life to save Till’s, who had accompanied his days and his dreams (nightmares) long after he was gone.
That person, with everything he represented and the confusing emotions he stirred inside him, had suddenly returned to his life. Without any warning.
Alive Alive Alive Alive
And opening up a world of possibilities that Till wasn’t sure he could face. He had only just begun to pick himself back up, to look at life with a smile again a few months ago.
He had thought finding those children was the turning point in his life. Never once had he imagined another vital change would come so soon.
Just when he had gotten used to seeing those black eyes every morning without feeling his heart shrink, he now found himself face to face with the originals.
But… Ivan was right here in front of him.
Ivan was alive, breathing and real, not some cruel illusion meant to remind him of everything he had lost. Everything he had been blind to.
Till was no longer that ignorant, wounded twentyone-year-old. Now he was an adult, a human who had lived several years in freedom (almost as many as in captivity). He had a support group that hadn’t hesitated to help him face his demons whenever possible.
And that adult had just been given something many would dream of. Would kill for.
A second chance.
A chance to start over, this time with open eyes, facing every misunderstanding head-on, with the time and opportunity to fix them.
With his heart pounding loudly in his ears, he turned back toward the man in the bed. Ivan hadn’t stopped watching the newcomers, seemingly unaffected, but Till knew there was a whole world hidden behind those detached black eyes.
“Ivan,” he called again, with what little voice he had. He had started speaking more often after interacting with children too impatient to read all his notes, but it still wasn’t easy.
Ivan looked at all of them, analyzing. He barely blinked before shifting his attention to the medical staff finishing his checkup.
“Who are these people?”
Though slightly hoarse, it was unmistakably his voice. The impact of hearing that deep tone again hit Till hard in the chest. Almost as hard as what he said once the rush of emotion gave way to processing his words.
Till quickly looked at the doctor, silently pleading for an explanation. Did Ivan have amnesia? How could he not recognize him?
“They are from another group of human rebels different from us but, Ivan, don’t you know who Till is? You were together in the garden.”
Ivan nodded slowly before looking back at everyone present, his gaze lingering a little longer on Till’s frozen figure.
“He really looks like him… but that’s not Till,” he said at last.
What the hell was going on?
“Ivan, I want you to tell me the last thing you remember,” the medical staff insisted calmly. Till admired their patience as he was on the verge of grabbing Ivan and shaking answers out of him.
Ivan stared at the ceiling thoughtfully for a few seconds before speaking. Each word only twisted Till’s stomach tighter.
“I remember the laboratories. Blurry moments, not very clear, where I was moved from place to place. I remember lab coats before a burning sensation. Cold and dampness. After that… nothing. At least until I woke up here.”
“And before that? Do you know how old you are, or who you are?”
Ivan nodded again. “Ivan. Human. Around twenty-two years old. Blood type B+. I was participating in the Alien Stage singing competition before being taken down after my defeat.”
The doctor wrote everything down with a calmness that stunned Till, as if they had expected that answer. Meanwhile, the gray-haired boy’s mind was in chaos. What did all of this mean? If Ivan remembered everything up until the day of his “death,” why couldn’t he recognize Till?
“Ivan, I need you to listen carefully,” the doctor continued, not allowing anyone else to intervene at such a delicate moment. “You didn’t die that day, as you can see. The aliens retrieved your body and treated you until they stabilized your condition, saving your life. After that, you were held in their laboratories for years. Seven years, to be exact.”
Ivan said nothing. He began examining his hands in silence.
“That explains the nails. Unsha would never have allowed them to look this neglected,” he remarked, observing his fingers. His nails had grown several centimeters, unchecked. For someone who had always projected perfection, the state of his cuticles was perhaps the clearest sign of time passing.
Not to mention his hair. Strands as dark as ink fell over his shoulders, reaching down to the middle of his chest. His body had also lost its athletic definition after years of inactivity.
All of it only made the situation more real. Ivan wouldn’t have appeared so unkempt willingly. Not even in death.
“Does that mean I’m twenty-nine now?”
The calm way Ivan seemed to accept having lost such a large part of his life was astonishing.
“You were born twenty-nine years ago, but physically you aren’t that age. The machines they kept you in slowed cellular growth and deterioration. In practical terms, your body has only aged a few years. You’re closer to twenty-four or twenty-five than thirty.”
“Of course… they wouldn’t want a specimen to go bad too quickly.”
“I have to admit, you’re taking this far more calmly than expected for someone in your situation.”
Ivan seemed to consider his answer as he examined the ends of his hair.
“For someone who thought his life was over, losing a small part of it doesn’t seem so bad. Besides…” Finally, he shifted his attention back to Till, looking him up and down. Till hadn’t taken his eyes off him for even a second, still unable to fully believe what was happening before him. “So, you’re Till… twenty-eight, huh? You haven’t aged the way I expected,” he remarked, with a critical gaze.
It was definitely Ivan. Only he could make Till want to punch him in the face during what was supposed to be an emotional reunion. Before he could react, Ivan continued. It seemed he wasn't done.
“You look healthy. Doing well. I’m glad,” he finished, a faint, tired smile forming on his face.
That damn, confusing bastard.
It seemed that, despite everything, he was still his Ivan.