Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eins.

"Cheeeck, one, two, check, one, two! This is Paul Landers speaking, are all units clear?"

"Sadly."

"Aww, come on! Not sadly! These things could save our lives!"

"Not with the amount of feedback they generate."

Flake looked down at the handheld two-way radio in his hand with a look of distaste and disappointment on his face. Despite the work that Paul had done on them, they were still rather noisy—squealing from time to time and emanating enough white noise to drown out the television even when it was on its highest volume. Such sounds could get them caught if they weren't careful. Flake, however, seemed to be the only one to care about that.

"Just a few more adjustments and it'll be better, Flake," Paul assured him, "They'll work like a charm!"

Flake scoffed, mumbling, "That's what you said about the last radios and now you have stitches in your arm."

"Stitches that you gave me." Paul stared at Flake for a moment, who wasn't looking at him. Flake wasn't one for eye contact or any sort of contact, really. He was quite barricaded and private. He kept to himself. Paul seemed to have a free pass, though. Standing from his chair in front of their computer, Paul walked over to Flake, smirking up at him as he gently knocked his fingers against his ribs. "It's not radios that will save us, Flake— It's us that will save each other."

Flake didn't believe his sentimental lies. They only fabricated the situation they were in. Paul did enough of that as it was. He didn't need to pull this and make it any worse.

"How am I supposed to save you when you're kilometers away and your radio is so loud that it gives away your position?" Flake asked bluntly, his tone harsh and eyes narrowed. Paul daringly looked into his eyes despite the bone chilling gaze. "You know the streets are dangerous. So do I. I hate that you go out there everyday when we could just—"

"When we could just what?" Paul interrupted, "Suck off the neighbors? Flake, they have kids! We can't do that to them!"

"They've offered before, so I don't see why not."

"They're offering because that's what neighbors do! That doesn't mean that we can take their food and supplies from them!"

Flake's lips formed a frown. "You're just sensitive."

"And you're too paranoid to even step foot out of the house, so once you do that, then you can talk to me about how we're gonna survive," Paul snapped at him. For a moment, something flashed across Flake's eyes. Whether it was fear, hurt, or betrayal, Paul didn't know, but it led Flake to scoff through his nose and look down.

Paul felt bad, but that was the reality of their situation. Paul left the house to get whatever they needed while Flake stayed home and made sure no one broke in, and to stay away from the crime that ran rampant in their Sector. Sector Six had been ranked the most dangerous of all due to the prison being shut down. The inmates were released and no one did a thing about it, leaving only the Sector's designated government agents to deal with what was happening.

Around each Sector were walls. They opened only for military personnel and government transportation. No trains ran between Sectors, nor cars or bike trails. Everyone remained where they were, whether they liked it or not.

Though there were Sectors, they didn't have their own governments. Instead, the leaders of the country would roll the dice and sic random agents to specific Sectors. Once there they would make sure that nothing got too out of hand— Riots, marches, and protests were forbidden, seeing as they'd cause turmoil and distress, and would also make it seem as if the government was waiting to be overthrown. If any were even thought of being conducted, they'd be taken down. It always seemed as if the government was one step ahead of them.

From the very beginning, Flake had been nervous. Construction began when he was only a boy of thirteen years. His mother had warned him about the walls they were building, but Flake didn't understand their full impact and use until he hit his late teenage years. Students stopped showing up to class when transportation became scarce and teachers vanished when the borders between Sectors began closing. Though it took years, it seemed as if overnight, everything fell into place. It was as if he woke up one day and the world finally ended. The government had split the country up into seven sections and left them with little to nothing.

Some parts of the Sectors didn't have electric whereas others did. Water was delivered in trucks by the government and given in moderation to those who came with buckets every three days for it. The water would be used for cleaning, cooking, consumption, and whatever else, and was expected to last until the truck came around again. Food could be acquired both from the government and local vendors. Flake was convinced that the water and food that the government gave them was tainted and laced with something sinister, therefore he chose not to consume it. He stuck to the water Paul found in a well and had Paul befriend the farmers in town to get on their good side when it came to food.

While Flake was nervous at all times and skeptical of everything, Paul couldn't be more different. He would leave in the middle of the night and take walks down the streets, he would go and wander around in the afternoon when Flake knew damn well that something shady was going on just around the corner based off of that feeling that he always got, and he would take whatever someone offered to him. He suggested that since they already lived in Hell, why not push his limits? Dying wouldn't be the worst. In fact, it'd be an escape.

"I have to go get us bread. We ran out and we have nothing else," Paul mumbled, grabbing his bag and jacket before heading for the door. Flake, by then, had sat down on the couch and was resting his cheek on his fist, his eyes focused on the floor. With Paul's fingers just barely on the doorknob, he sighed softly and turned to Flake. "Are you coming with me?"

Flake didn't respond. His jaw clenched as if he wanted to bite out a sarcastic reply, but one never came. Paul grew angry at this. Gripping the doorknob even tighter, he shook his head once before shooting Flake a look of disbelief.

"Are you deaf? Last time I checked, you weren't. I said, are you coming with—"

"No," Flake said, "Just go."

Every time Flake let Paul venture out alone, Paul felt a bit betrayed. He did everything for the two of them and Flake wouldn't even sit on the porch with him for dinner. All he wanted was to do something with him outside of this house of theirs. It wasn't a home, but it had potential to be. But only if Flake contributed and took his head out of his ass.

"Fine," Paul said quietly. Opening the door, he put one foot past it then looked at Flake again over his shoulder. "Channel five, by the way. In case you want to check on me while I'm gone."

With that, Paul left and shut the door behind him. Flake only turned his head once the door was closed, sighing from how empty the house suddenly felt. He didn't mean to be so critical or ungrateful. It was just how he was wired. If Paul could just see that and accept it then things would go a lot smoother. However, they were both two completely different people with differing outlooks on their current situation. Flake couldn't get past that, but that wasn't to say that he didn't care about Paul.

The two had met when Flake was eighteen. The walls were up, but the transportation hadn't been completely cut off yet between the Sectors, which weren't even called that at the time. With the economy beginning to fail and people becoming desperate for everyday necessities, it wasn't uncommon to see people brawling in public for a bar of soap or a case of canned peaches. What Paul had been fighting over, though, was a package of ground fucking coffee beans.

Paul wasn't very tall when pitted against most others in the country. He stood at five feet and seven inches tall, while Flake was a towering six foot six. Something about watching Paul get thrown to the ground after being lifted up like a child by the collar of his shirt made Flake want to help him.

However, Flake wasn't one for confrontation or fighting. He waited until their battle was over to approach Paul.

Flake asked him if it was worth it before he did anything else. Paul had had a busted open lip, eyebrow, and cheek, but he still found it in him to smirk at Flake and wink before holding up the bag of coffee grounds. He told Flake that he was small but skilled just moments before he lost consciousness and fell directly onto Flake. Flake considered stepping away and letting him drop to the floor, but he decided against it. Besides, Paul was badly beaten up and based off of his appearance, he hadn't taken care of himself recently. Helping him was the least Flake could do since it seemed like he was beginning to stray from valuing his own life.

Flake lived alone then. It wasn't his idea, but his father insisted he live on his own to find a sense of independence. Flake didn't like it, but he complied nonetheless.

He brought Paul back home with him by carrying him bridal style the whole way. Paul finally woke up once he was in Flake's bathroom and being taken care of for once. Rather than running, though, he stayed. He sat and watched silently as Flake fixed his cuts and bruises, then moved accordingly when Flake went to stick bandaids onto him. Neither of them said a word during this exchange, but words weren't necessary in that moment. It was the kind of instant connection that only came once in a lifetime.

Since then, the two lived together. Flake helped Paul get his life back on track (or he gave him a life since he didn't seem to have much of one when they met) and Paul eased Flake out of his shell... until the walls became impassable and they were trapped where they were. As if that wasn't terrifying enough for Flake, the prison released every last inmate of theirs and allowed them to wander around the Sector they just so happened to live in. One street down and they would've been in Sector Two, one of the finer Sectors to live in. But no. Not them. The universe didn't seem to pay favors to people like them.

Paul thought that Flake's debilitating fear to leave the house would subside as time went on, but it only got worse and worse as the years came. To some extent, he couldn't blame him, but then again, he just wanted the old Flake back. The Flake who would accompany him to the store and the Flake that would take walks with him to calm down. Flake never calmed down anymore. He was always in a constant state of panic and paranoia, even when Paul was around. He wanted so badly to take those feelings away from Flake and grant him some sort of tranquility, but nothing he did worked.

Then an idea came about.

Paul wasn't all that handy when the Sectors became private, but due to the amount of time he spent inside without much freedom, he learned a fair amount about computers and security systems. Thankfully, the two owned a computer and were able to keep it running for the most part. The good thing about living near Sector Two was that they could feed off of their public WiFi. Sector Six had gotten rid of theirs, and the electric most of the time, but Paul found ways around it. He had to make do somehow.

After a grueling three years of attempting to break into the Sector's security camera system, he finally did it. It was on a rainy night where the WiFi kept going in and out while the electric flickered, leaving Paul frustrated and nearly ripping his hair out. Before any strands could be harmed, he was met with a grid before him on the screen. He stared at it hard for a few moments before the pictures came into view. Due to the rainfall they were blurry at first, but after a moment he was able to make out what exactly he was seeing.

The streets downtown, the alleys outside the main buildings of what had been the municipal government, and everything else appeared ahead of him. He could see people walking, fighting, killing, and he could see lightning flashing in different frames. The shock he felt left him to nearly pass out in his chair, but he willed himself to stay conscious to look at what he had done.

At first, he wanted to tell Flake. He wanted to show him because it could convince him to go outside when it was safe or it could show him where all the bad things were happening and how far away the main threats were. He decided against this, though. Knowing Flake, he would unplug the computer and throw it away out of sheer terror that the government would find out and have their heads for being spies and breaking into their system. Paul couldn't risk that. He just couldn't. So he didn't tell Flake.

—

The loud squealing of the radio awoke Flake from his light slumber. He flinched hard, his feet hopping off the floor and hands jerking up towards his chest as his head snapped up. Wide blue eyes scanned the room until they landed on the handheld radio, which Paul was screaming into.

"Flake, I'm being taken! This is an emergency, you have to help me!"

Flake's heart sunk in that moment. Scrambling off the couch, he found himself lunging towards the desk the radio was on, slapping his hand over it and pulling it back to his mouth.

"Paul, where are you?!" Flake asked, worry and concern etched in his tone, "What happened?!"

Static was what he was met with. Fear flashed across his features and he inhaled sharply, his heart thrumming in his chest and his mind racing with thousands of possible outcomes.

"Paul, answer me!" He yelled, his voice shaking, "Tell me where you are!"

"The map, get the map, get the map and follow it, please! Please, Flake– I—" The signal cut out for a moment and came back seconds later, leaving Flake to stare at the radio in horror as Paul let out a pained scream. Voices could be heard in the background, as could the downpour of rain and the clatter of what sounded like something heavy.

"Paul—!"

"The school, Flake, th– they dragged me into the old—" Static once again. Flake rushed to get the map while he waited for the signal to come back, his hands shaking as he messily shifted through the papers littered across Paul's desk. He knew what the map looked like, but the tears in his eyes and the anxiety coursing through him practically rendered him useless.

"Paul, I– I can't, I can't find it!" Flake cried out, swallowing thickly before he whimpered and smacked his hand against his head, taking a tight grip on his hair to pull it sharply, "I– I'm useless, I can't—!"

"Quit your blabbering," an unfamiliar voice said through the radio. Flake froze, his blood running cold and heart stopping in his chest. His eyes, still as wide as plates, focused on the wall ahead of him as his throat grew tight, leaving him speechless as the other continued, "If you aren't here in twenty minutes, he's dead. You got that?"

"Flake, please!" Paul screamed, his voice shrill with fear and pain, "Help me! Help me, please, Flake, pl– please!" A sob was forced out of him after a grunt and a sharp blow to someone's body, most likely Paul's, could be heard. "Th– The map, Flake, use the goddamn—!"

Before he could say anything, the radio went dead. Flake stood in his place with weak knees and trembling arms, unable to say anything or think clearly.

This was his worst nightmare. Of course he feared being killed and he wasn't fond of the idea of being held hostage by former convicts, but nothing terrified him as much as the thought of losing Paul did. Despite all their fights, disagreements, and differentiating views, Flake needed Paul. Without him, he would've drove himself insane by this point. Hell, he probably wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for Paul.

Flake didn't grow attached to people easily, but Paul was his exception. He held his family close when he was younger, but at a distance nowadays. After they urged him to move out and live on his own just before the country was divided, he dropped all contact with them and hadn't restored it since. Everyone knew what was coming, but they acted on ignorance and denial—stating that nothing would be as bad as everyone made it out to be and that everything would turn around before it could get too out of hand. Flake always knew that they were wrong, but arguing with them was pointless. Besides, he valued silence over ignorance anyway.

Though Paul drove him up the walls somedays with his foolish antics and high hopes, Flake could tolerate him. Paul was a smart man, in all actuality. He found food that both of them had believed to have gone extinct and would make delicious meals out of it. He would befriend the roughest of vendors and get the best of what they sold, all to take care of the two of them. To save them from anything too harmful, Paul also spent quite a bit of time reading about anything and everything, ranging from medical books to books on how to reuse things as to not waste what they had. Flake did quite a bit of that as well, but he never went to the extents that Paul did. He was too busy worrying over everything for years to ever really contribute anything to their survival, he felt.

Now was the time to change that. Flake, in the midst of his breakdown, had gathered up the strength and willpower to find the map and rush out into the night with the radio in hand. That night, his feet hit the ground for the first time in twelve years. The last time he was outside was when he was twenty. He was now thirty-two.

He reacted as quickly as a mother would react to seeing her child pinned beneath a truck. He would later wonder how in the world he ran as fast as he did, but in that moment all he could think about was Paul. He had to save Paul. He couldn't fail Paul. Not this time. Not when his life depended on it.

His shoes hit the pavement and ran through puddles from when it had rained earlier, soaking his shoes and part of his socks. He didn't notice how his lungs burned as he ran nor did he take note of how he was mumbling to himself about how he needed to hurry and get to Paul before it was too late. From the one good look he had gotten at the map, he was able to memorize the streets he had to dodge down to reach the school that many in the area had attended as children. Flake's childhood school was located in Sector Two, as was the rest of his family, though no mind was given to that at the moment.

Visions of Paul flashed before his eyes as he sprinted. He thought about how Paul would turn on the television for them on nights where they couldn't sleep and pop a movie into the VCR player, then join Flake on the couch under a blanket. The first time he had done that, Flake didn't sit close to him. In fact, he sat on the other end of the couch. Over time, they naturally became closer and once a year passed, they were side by side on the couch. Another year went by and Flake finally allowed Paul to rest his head on his shoulder. One more year and Flake started resting his head on Paul.

Then a year after that, Flake had begun laying down with Paul on top of him. They had originally found themselves in that position on a cold winter night. They didn't have heat nor air conditioning, leaving them exposed and vulnerable to the outside temperatures. Snow covered the ground all the way up to their fourth, and last, front porch step, bringing the temperature to something that had been in the negative double digits. Paul, being quite small and frail, was freezing and Flake immediately noticed how cold he was. Flake wasn't much other than a tall skeleton, but he did what he could to warm them up.

Flake bundled them up in a layer of clothes then duct taped newspapers to their arms, legs, and torsos before adding another layer. The same was done until they had three layers of clothing on, paired with hats and scarves, and socks over their hands since they didn't have gloves at the time. After that, they joined one another on the couch and buried themselves beneath at least four blankets, finally finding solace in warmth from both their protection and one another.

That winter was harsh. It snowed for what felt like years and the temperature didn't rise until the middle of spring. Due to the weather, they weren't able to go out and get food and other supplies. Paul fell sick. He managed to burn a high fever despite the freezing temperatures and didn't eat for days. He lost weight and muscle mass, rendering him weak and susceptible to starvation and hypothermia. Flake lessened his own portion sizes and gave Paul half of his along with all of his own. He needed to nurse him back to health. There wasn't any question about it. Weeks passed before Paul finally felt better and by then, he was nothing but skin and bones. He praised Flake for years after, stating that he thought that some of those nights that winter were going to be his last. However, they weren't. He also said later on that what kept him going was knowing that he'd wake up to Flake taking care of him.

Flake and Paul remained close after that. Usually, Flake would've separated himself from someone after something like that, but he blamed being stuck in a house with Paul as to why he didn't keep his distance.

More winters came and went following that one. They were much more prepared for the future ones and didn't suffer as much during them as they did during the one that nearly took Paul from Flake. Paul stocked up on supplies year round, bought new clothes when the seasons started changing, and read books on how to survive extreme climates. Flake did what he could around the house to ensure that no cold air seeped in through the windows and doors. He even patched a hole in the roof by climbing into the attic and sealing it from within. The two made efforts to live and they did so together successfully. Flake couldn't let anything change that. Especially something like this.

With a loud clang of metal doors against concrete walls, Flake barged into the school, screaming Paul's name the second his feet were through the door.

Chapter Text

Zwei.

Oliver stood in uniform with a straight back and squared shoulders as he looked at the other man in front of him. Slowly, he lowered his chin and brought his eyes down to meet the other's, focusing on them without showing any signs of weakness or perhaps excitement. His teeth clicked together in his mouth as his jaw clenched, wanting badly to cock his head to the side to shake off the chill that ran up his neck, but refraining from doing so.

He knew this man. He knew him well. Maybe too well, considering it wasn't his job to get to know the others he worked with. He was here for one thing and one thing only— To survive.

Oliver didn't support the government in any way whatsoever, but he joined their military to provide stability for his family. If he became an agent for them, his family would receive housing in Sector One, where mostly military and government families lived. Sector One was the most pristine of the seven, with all of the luxuries that they had before the country was divided into sections, and even more. Oliver heard of the horrors from the other Sectors and knew right away that him and his family couldn't remain in Sector Five— The Sector notorious for having an abundance of war criminals and corrupt political hotshots. Though the two groups weren't necessarily violent, they were still unsafe to be stuck with in what was essentially a block. Oliver couldn't do that to his family. He couldn't let them live there.

Adjusting to the strict military lifestyle had been a culture shock, but it was one that Oliver would take over living in poverty and fear any day. Being screamed at and belittled was much better than wondering what two massive groups of dangerous people could do. That wasn't to say that the government and military weren't dangerous, but they offered more safety than Oliver's home did.

An older man named Till was in front of him. He was shorter than him, though an average height compared to everyone else, seeing as Oliver was an intimidating six foot seven, but built heavily. His arms were thick with muscle and his back was about as sturdy as steel. Till had trained Oliver for some time, but Oliver had been told to not grow accustomed to working with Till. He was simply around to train him and then Oliver would be sent off to put what he had learned to good use. That didn't seem to be the case in this situation, though.

Oliver looked into Till's eyes and searched for any hint of shock or happiness. He didn't find anything, which wasn't uncommon for him when he was in a setting like this. Till was an agent that the government loved and used as a mold and example when recruiting and training others. He obeyed, executed whatever mission he was given perfectly, and respected his higher ups all while remembering his own status and strengths. Till was a powerful, strong man with an iron will. He would do whatever he could to make sure that the job got done and that it was done smoothly. He had no tolerance for sloppiness or half-assed attempts.

Oliver could still remember the surge of adrenaline he felt when he had his first encounter with Till. Till had walked right up to him and stood in front of him, his head tilted up and back to get a good look at Oliver from his angle. Even though Till had to gaze upwards, he still managed to make Oliver feel like he was being looked down upon—he left Oliver feeling vulnerable and incapable; weak, in a way, though that would subside as time went on. Others warned him of Till and his strict policies and expectations, and it scared Oliver. He didn't want to fail someone who was apparently very hard to please. He also didn't want to seem incapable of doing his job and holding his ground.

Thankfully, he didn't do either of those things. Oliver was a quick learner. Till would show him something and Oliver would pick it up right away. Till would tell him something and Oliver would remember it word for word for weeks. Till would unexpectedly order him around and shoo him away to do what he said to without giving Oliver a moment to breathe and Oliver would still complete every task perfectly.

Till had met his match. Typically, this didn't happen. He was disappointed in everyone when he met them because he could tell by the look in their eyes and the expression on their faces that they would do nothing but fall short of his expectations. Oliver, however, had been unreadable. It captured Till's interest right away, which is why he selected Oliver as a main trainee of his for the nine weeks that Oliver was in training.

By the fifth week, Oliver wasn't seeing Till for just training— He was seeing Till because Till would call him into his office and treat him to dinner that the other agents in training didn't receive and talk to him one on one for hours. When it first happened, Oliver thought he was in trouble. He raked his mind for anything he could've done that may have possibly led Till to become disappointed in him, but he couldn't find anything. He entered his office with an expressionless face and an unwavering frame, though inside his nerves were close to snapping and catching on fire. Till ordered him to close the door without even sparing him a glance. Once Oliver did so, he gestured towards the chair in front of his desk. Oliver quickly took a seat and sat with a straight back and set shoulders as Till struck up a conversation with him that wasn't about the government or the military.

From then on, Oliver spent his evenings with Till. They would sit in his office and chat, eat, and pick each other's brains until Oliver was ordered to go to his barracks to get some sleep. At first, departing was easy, but once they reached the end of the seventh week, they both began stalling whenever Oliver was expected to return to his bunk. Neither of them wanted Oliver to go, but nothing was said regarding it.

It was the weekend between the eighth and ninth week of training that Oliver realized that maybe he was attracted to Till. Such a thought seemed absurd and childish, so he pushed it away for as long as he could, which only worked for two days, considering that was when he saw Till again. The two ran into one another early in the morning. Oliver was heading to the bathroom to freshen up since he had woken up early and Till was just entering the barracks when they crossed paths. The agent in training had only been wearing briefs whereas his trainer was wearing his full uniform. Oliver blushed and dropped his head in embarrassment for the first time around Till, though he wasn't punished for it. Till didn't say anything, in fact. He was too busy eating Oliver up like candy with his eyes to speak.

That was the start to Oliver's last week of training. He knew that their time was limited, but he wished that it wasn't. Whenever he could, he would find a way to be around or with Till. Till conducted the much harder physical workouts and while Oliver was in shape, he was still struggling when it came to all that Till had his group doing. However, that didn't mean that Till shoved Oliver away. When things got too intense for him, he'd take a moment to pull Oliver away from everyone and calm him down—maybe give his bicep a squeeze and his cheek a gentle slap before he urged him to rejoin everyone. Oliver did better each and every time, even if it left him sore and shaking as if he were the epicenter of an earthquake afterwards.

Aside from the workouts, Oliver managed to slip himself into Till's daily projects. All of the trainers hosted ones of their own, but Oliver had never been paired with Till for more than three days a week. Even if Till was his main mentor, he was still expected to work with the others to broaden his horizons and learn more. Till gave him a questionable look the fourth day that Oliver appeared in his group, but again, he let him stay. Just as expected, Oliver outdid everyone else in the project. He went above and beyond, finding ways to make things work even when they were deemed unfit. Till didn't think he was showing off, even if he was— Oliver was just naturally very intelligent and had potential.

On the day of graduation, Till yanked Oliver into his office and scolded him for having a crooked tie. However, when Oliver looked down, his tie was perfectly straight. Their eyes met and Oliver went breathless for a moment as he felt an undeniable pull between the two of them. He didn't and wouldn't act first. It was too risky for him. He convinced himself that he was reading the room wrong and that he was only crushing on Till and imagining that he felt the same.

Till did feel the same, though. He wasn't opposed to it, but he also didn't know how to go about it. Words couldn't describe how badly he wanted to grab that tie of his and pull Oliver down to kiss him, but he didn't. He couldn't. It was just as risky for him as it was for Oliver. Had someone walked in and seen them locking lips, Till would be fired and Oliver would lose his privileges. Neither of them could afford that.

Till settled on smiling at him and giving a nod of his head as his hand slowly slipped down Oliver's chest. Oliver tensed beneath him and sighed through his nose, mirroring the grin and thanking him for all that he had done. With that, Till dismissed him and Oliver left reluctantly, stepping down the hall with his feet heading one direction and his heart attempting to jump in the other.

Oliver graduated and didn't see Till for a month after. With each passing day, he grew more and more desperate to see him again, but he didn't say anything to anyone about it. It wouldn't have seemed odd for him to ask about an old mentor of his, but he didn't want to draw any attention to either of them. Maybe it was because he was clinging to what hope he had left for the two of them or maybe it was because he was waiting for Till to come back first, but whatever it was, it killed him. Every day without Till was hell. Had Oliver not been doing this for his family, he would've opted out, even if meant that he'd really never see Till again.

Now his luck was changing. Till was in front of him, looking as handsome and as official as ever in that uniform of his. It clung to his muscles and frame in all the right places and the dark green color of the jacket and pants made the bright green hue of his eyes pop. Not to mention that the red beret that sat atop black locks went well with his fair skin tone. Oliver had to stop himself from letting his gaze linger for too long on Till, though Till was certainly getting his fill of Oliver.

"Herr Feldwebel Lindemann requested you for the mission he's being sent on," Herr Stabsfeldwebel Kraft said, "He'll be briefing you on it shortly."

Oliver nodded once, not saying a word to Herr Stabsfeldwebel Kraft nor Till. Neither of the two broke their gaze until Herr Stabsfeldwebel Kraft motioned for them to follow him to a more private area of the building where they'd be able to discuss the details of the mission. With Herr Stabsfeldwebel Kraft in front of them, Oliver was able to turn his head slightly and look down at Till, who was already looking at him. Oliver inhaled sharply but softly, his shoulders flinching before he snapped his head forward again. His immediate compliance brought a prideful, cocky smirk to Till's face, knowing well that Oliver had been taught such obedience from him.

The walk was short, which both Oliver and Till were thankful for. Once the door was opened and had exposed an empty room with a desk and two chairs on either side of it, Oliver nearly breathed a sigh of relief. Till was the first to enter and Oliver followed in suit, glancing back towards Herr Stabsfeldwebel Kraft with an appreciative nod before the door was closed and the two were left alone.

Oliver felt tension slam into him the second he turned to face Till, who hadn't yet sat down and opted to stay standing right at Oliver's side. The shy soldier gave him a soft smile, though his mind was telling him to do much more than just that. Till, with pursed lips, smiled back.

"Just like old times, hm?" Till spoke up for the first time in weeks, his grin then shifting into a smirk, "I was starting to miss it."

Oliver blushed red and scoffed softly through his nose, his gaze falling from Till's as his head dropped down. "Mm... Mhm. Just like old times."

"Did you miss it?"

"Pardon, Herr Feldwebel?"

"Of course, that was terribly vague. Did you miss me?"

The question hit Oliver like a train. He wanted so badly to open his mouth and tell him yes over and over again, but he couldn't. Instead, Oliver shuddered softly and ended up chuckling under his breath, raising a hand to rub the side of his neck sheepishly. "I– I mean—"

"Look at me," Till demanded, grabbing Oliver's jaw and forcing his head up, his actions commanding Oliver to stay where he was even if he grew too shy to look him in the eye, "You know better than to look away when I ask you something so serious, Gefreiter Riedel."

"Yes, Herr Feldwebel, I– I'm sorry." Oliver swallowed and forced himself to look Till in the eyes. His irises could swallow him whole if he weren't careful. Till was a captivating man who could do wonders or create chaos within an instant. It all depended on what he wanted to use his strengths for and on. For Oliver, Till used them to sweep him off his feet and catch him in his arms before he could fall and hit the ground. Oliver was willing to fall so suddenly for the man, even if he didn't admit it aloud. Even voicing his next testament was difficult for him. "I... I missed you," Oliver whispered, his voice as light as a feather and as timid as an angel's, "I missed you a– a lot, Herr Feldwebel Lindemann."

"Till," he corrected him, "You can call me Till when we're alone together. Understood?" Oliver nodded and Till smiled. "Good. It's only fair since I call you by your first name."

"You're my superior," Oliver said, "You can call me whatever you'd like."

"Whatever I'd like, hm?"

Oliver froze. Till was smirking at him, confident and bold in his statements, knowing well that his words affected Oliver in ways that neither of them could currently act on. There was an undeniable tension between them, just as there had been when Oliver was still in training. Till couldn't do anything with him during those nine weeks and it killed him. To watch Oliver do everything he asked of him so perfectly and without hesitation was like watching the Gods create the Heavens.

Till wanted badly to take Oliver into his office some of those nights and lock the door behind him to leave them in private for hours on end, but he couldn't. It was far too risky. Along with that, it would've been seen as an abuse of his power. He was Oliver's superior and it would seem as if he were coaxing Oliver into something personal rather than doing so because they both felt attracted to one another. Till knew the rules and the consequences if they were broken. Of course others chose to stray from the rules and do as they pleased, but Till was not one of those people. Though he hated it, he stuck to the book in this aspect of his life, though he did add his own twists and turns to things he did. However, there seemed to be no way around this— Meaning Oliver.

When Till wasn't offered a response from his former trainee, he smiled softly and patted him on the shoulder, his head dropping before he lifted it to nod towards the table. "Sit down. We need to talk."

Oliver nodded and ignored the warmth that he felt from Till's hand. His palms were just as rough and calloused as his fingers. Oliver could feel it through the thick material of his uniform. Suddenly, he began wishing that his clothes were a bit thinner, or perhaps off.

He cleared his throat and shook the thought from his head before he went to sit down at the table. Scooting his chair away to give himself leg room, he sat up straight, his green eyes focused on those of Till, even as he threatened to tremble in his seat whilst under his gaze. Till could bring people to their knees quickly—mostly out of fear or to surrender to him. Oliver had wanted to cave in such a way before, but now he wanted to do so in other manners and situations.

He had to stop thinking and Till needed to start talking.

Thankfully, Till did.

"Two agents have gone rogue and found their way out of their assigned Sector," Till began explaining, his hands coming to rest on the table, his fingers locked between one another, "They were stationed in Sector Three. As you know, Sector Three is on the northern border of Sector Six, which is the Sector they've fled to."

"Why would they leave Sector Three for Sector Six when Six is...?" Oliver stopped himself before he could finish. Though no one within the government and military admitted it aloud, Sector Six was the worst of all. Poverty swallowed up the towns and dangerous people ran around committing crimes at every hour of the day. When agents were sent there, some didn't come back. The ones who did threatened to leave the military if they were ever sent back. Oliver cleared his throat with a quiet apology and a sigh before continuing, "How did they manage to escape their Sector and enter another?"

"We aren't sure. Their reasoning is unknown."

He scoffed. "That's interesting."

Till raised his brows with a confused glance. "What is?"

"I mean," Oliver mumbled, reaching up to rub the side of his neck as he looked away, fearful of Till's response, "They're our agents... Shouldn't we know why they'd want to disobey and leave the Sector they're stationed at?"

"We can try to create perfect agents, but even the best fail."

Oliver tensed up when Till said that. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he clenched his jaw before glancing down at his lap, too sheepish to say much else other than that. He didn't know why he thought Till had the answers to everything. Maybe it was because he held him on such a high pedestal due to his status or maybe it was because he looked up to him. Whatever it was, Oliver admired Till—maybe a little too much.

Till sighed and unfolded his hands, his eyes focused on Oliver. "Can I be honest with you?"

The younger man looked up. The look in Till's eyes was something he had never seen before and it took him by surprise. Furrowing his brows, Oliver parted his lips to respond, but his voice quickly failed him. He nodded instead, willing himself to keep their gazes locked to try and decipher what Till was feeling.

It took the agent a moment to respond. He looked as if he was struggling to get his words out—his mouth opening several times, only to close seconds later. Oliver didn't pressure him. He waited patiently, bracing himself for whatever his superior had to say.

"I know Sector Six isn't the safest area of the country, but..." Till paused, his voice trailing off into something even lower than a whisper. Oliver arched a brow and found himself leaning forward until his elbows were resting on the table. Till looked away first and glanced at Oliver's hands, smiling and chuckling through his nose with a small shake of his head. He groaned after and his hands came up to rub over his face twice, causing a smile to curve Oliver's lips as he watched curiously.

"You were saying?" Oliver spoke, his tone playful with a hint of laughter in it.

Till emitted a quiet laugh, which earned him one from Oliver as well. As the two chuckled in unison, Till lowered his hands to the table while one of Oliver's raised and formed a fist to prop his jaw on it. He would wait as long as necessary for Till. That meant he'd be alone with him in this room for the duration of it. He wasn't opposed to that by any means.

"They recruited me to go to Sector Six to find and arrest the agents gone rogue," Till finally said, "They told me I'd be able to bring someone along to help with the task and I... chose you."

"I know that," Oliver said through a chuckle, "I guess I'm just wondering why me?"

"Because I missed you." He came to a halt in his statement, a barely recognizable look of sheepishness on his features. "And because I wanted to be somewhere with you that isn't here."

Quickly growing shy, Oliver smiled widely and stretched his fingers across his face to cover his lips a bit. A familiar heat pooled in his cheeks and left them a faint shade of red, the coloration also tainting Till's face. The leap of faith that Till had taken left his heart beating wildly in his chest and occasionally sent tremors to his hands and legs.

"What... What will we be doing exactly?" Oliver brought himself to say, both in regard to the mission itself and being with Till, "Brief me."

"We'll be tracking down the threat, securing the borders, and arresting them," Till said, a smirk showing itself with his next statement, "Other than that, we'll be doing whatever we want."

Oliver breathed out a laugh and dropped his hand to the table, looking away for a moment to collect himself. Till meanwhile kept his gaze directly on the other, his smirk still intact and growing as the seconds passed.

"When do we leave?"

"When the clock strikes midnight."

"That late?"

"Don't complain, Riedel. They wanted to take us first thing this morning, but I convinced them otherwise."

"Because—"

"Because I remembered you aren't a morning person."

Again, Oliver looked away, now feeling flustered and overwhelmed by the lengths that Till had gone to. Not only had Till chosen him out of everyone else on base, but he had centered the mission around him. That was very uncharacteristic of the military's best Feldwebel. While it had potential to put his reputation on the line, it also posed as a threat to how well he'd be able to complete the task.

Neither party seemed to pay any mind to this. Their main focus was on one another.

What could a couple rogue agents do anyway?

"Go rest up," Till suggested, "We'll reconvene at a quarter till midnight at the transportation bay. You don't need to bring anything. There will be bags and supplies ready for us."

Oliver's eyes went wide when he heard that. "Will we be given a car to drive?"

Till snorted. "We aren't that fortunate. A car will drive us there, but we won't be given one."

"That's better than nothing."

"If you insist." Till grinned, looking Oliver over for a moment before he cocked his head towards the door. "Go get some sleep. I'll see you tonight."

"Yes, Herr. Um... Thank you for—"

Till cut him off with a wave of his hand and shake of his head. "Don't thank me. And don't call me that. It was my pleasure, and it's Till. Till Lindemann."

"Right," Oliver said through a quick exhale with a bright grin. "Till Lindemann. I'll see you tonight."

With that and one more respective nod to one another, Oliver left— His heart in his throat and a stride of confidence in his step as he made his way back to his barracks.

Chapter Text

Drei.

"You did what?!"

"I'm sorry! Don't get mad at me!"

"You're an idiot! An entire idiot!"

"Are you sure I'm not just half?"

"You little—!" Flake lunged towards Paul and grabbed him by the throat, shoving him against the wall as Paul let out a yelp. Squeaking when he was pinned against the concrete, he reached up and grasped Flake's wrists tightly, his knuckles turning white and cheeks burning red. Flake, on the other hand, was red all over. The blue in his eyes became angry as he seethed, shaking Paul a bit before he slammed his back against the wall. "You hacked into the Sector's security systems?! What is wrong with you?!"

"I just— Fucking let go—!" Paul said as coherently as possible. The grip Flake had on him was restricting not only blood flow, but oxygen as well. His wrists, which were cuffed, tried to move further apart so he could push Flake away, but to no avail. Gasping for air, Paul's neck strained as he whimpered, desperately trying to push Flake off of him with kicks of his feet and shoves to his abdomen. "I can't— I can't breathe, pl– please—"

The cock of a gun sounded and the voice next to them spoke, "Let him go. We need him alive."

Flake quickly released Paul and threw his hands up in defense, stepping away from the other and leaving him heaving for breath as he stayed put against the wall. Paul's eyes fell shut for only a moment before he opened them to look at the gun and the man holding it, his hands then shooting up just as Flake's had.

This was the man who hit him from behind with a crowbar when Paul had attempted to flee. It hurt, but not enough to make him give up. He had been heading home from the market when he stopped in the middle of the street. Though he often got the feeling that he was being followed, he couldn't shake it that time. Paul spun on his heel to glance around at his surroundings. The poor lighting of the streets paired with how dark it was outside proved to be completely unhelpful. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his anxiety began rising before he turned around to begin briskly walking home once again, his hand clutching the radio.

Paul only managed to walk another block before a gunshot in the alley to his left startled him. Due to his nerves already being shot from his anxiety, he fell to the ground and stayed put, eyes wide and hands shaking as they held him up on the pavement. Before he could move, a hand was clapped over his mouth as a rope was thrown around his neck from behind. He released a muffled scream as he was pulled back towards whoever had grabbed him, his legs kicking wildly and arms flailing in attempt to hit whoever was restraining him. A sharp hit to the side of his head left his ears ringing and his tongue recoiling at the taste of his own blood since he had bit through the inside of his lip, a groan passing his lips and making contact with the man's large hand.

Paul had tried to fight them off. He landed a few punches and kicks as he was lifted off the ground, and one directed to one man's groin was what granted him the freedom to run and call for help over the radio. However, shortly after that was when the other hit him. Paul's strength weakened significantly after that, leaving him susceptible to being taken wherever they were dragging him.

Now he was here, in the abandoned school with his hands up and cuffed, and Flake in front of him looking both furious and terrified.

"Christian Lorenz," the other spoke up, his head raising after he glanced at the handheld device he was carrying with him. He immediately looked at Flake before turning the screen towards him, raising his brows questionably as he nodded towards the device. "Is that you?"

"I— Yes, yes, that's me—"

"He goes by Flake," Paul interrupted. Flake hissed at him, to which Paul simply rolled his eyes.

The man didn't acknowledge their interaction. "No prior arrests, no criminal record, no driver's license... Nothing." He smirked. "You fly under the radar, hm?"

Flake nodded shakily and swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Yes, Herr, I– I don't like conflict."

The agent flashed a smile at him. "Good. We expect nothing but compliance from you. Him, on the other hand..." His voice trailed off into a sigh, only to pick back up with a scoff and an amused smirk on his face as he pulled the device back to himself to display Paul's record on the screen, turning it back to them once it was opened. "Heiko Hiersche. Two arrests, multiple charges both before and after the walls went up, and a suspended license for driving his car into a house."

The other agent holding the gun scoffed. "How did you drive your car into a house?"

"I was drunk."

"Ah! So that goes hand in hand with the public intoxication charge on here, then?"

"Yes," Paul hissed, glaring at him with cold eyes and a clenched jaw, "And it's Paul. Paul Landers. I don't go by Heiko Hiersche."

"So it's Flake and Paul, yes?"

"Yes. Don't forget it." Paul looked over the taller men with a look of disgust. He dared to spit on them, but refrained for now. "And who are you? I have a right to know since you dragged me here and beat my fucking ass in the process." He then scoffed harshly and growled with his words, "If you're gonna actually arrest me, let's go now so I don't have to wear these fucking handcuffs any longer. They're hurting my wrists. Not to mention that I feel like fucking shit since you physically assaulted me."

"Paul!" Flake hissed again, the look in his eyes desperate and pleading, "Stop being rude!"

"No, no, he's quite alright," the agent with the device said. Lowering it and slipping it into the bag he was carrying, he gave a faint smile. "I'm Herr Hauptfeldwebel Schneider and this is—"

"Yeah, I'm not gonna call you that shit," Paul spat at him, "Give me the name that normal people address you as or I'm not gonna say another word."

"Maybe you should just leave it at that, Schneider," the other man said to him, "He's offering to shut up for once."

"Hey!" Flake snapped, "Only I can be rude to Paul!"

"Yeah!" Paul piggybacked with a glare and scrunch of his nose, "Only Flake can be an asshole to me! Now tell me your names without the stupid fucking titles attached to them."

"Schneider," the agent with the device said, unenthused and annoyed, "Christoph Schneider. That's Richard Kruspe."

"We work for the military," Richard explained, "And we need your help."

"Our help? Why?"

"We ran from our post in Sector Three to expose the poor living conditions in Sector Six to the world," Christoph said, his tone now a bit more calm and collected, "You know of the government and military propaganda— They make it seem as if each Sector is treated equally and given the same amount of protection and whatnot."

"They lie to the world and paint the image that the country isn't suffering," Richard added, "We can't let that happen."

"Then why do you need our help?" Paul asked, his gaze moving over Richard then Christoph after, "If you want to make us your poster boys for how shitty the people in Sector Six live, we aren't doing it."

"We need your help because we're stuck and lost. We can't get out. We don't have access to this Sector's security cameras since we were only given the access codes for Sector Three’s system, but you do."

"How did you know that I have them?"

"You think the government isn't aware of who has hacked into the security systems and who hasn't?"

Paul tensed up with a sharp inhale. Flake had been right. Of course Flake didn't know about Paul's doings before now, but surely if he had, he would be in Paul's face chanting 'I told you so' again and again. Paul would inevitably knock the daylights out of Flake, but not without realizing that he was right.

"Why didn't they arrest Paul, then?" Flake spoke up, his voice small in contrast to his frame, "If they knew he was doing that?"

"Paul may have a track record, but compared to the others in this Sector, he's the equivalent of a kid who steals candy bars from the store."

"Meaning?"

"Paul's stupid, but he's not a threat. Especially since he didn't use the security footage to break out. He only used it to get around the Sector safely, it seems."

Flake turned to look at Paul after that was said and his hands fell to his sides. Paul sighed before looking at Flake, his own hands recoiling to his chest. He wasn't sure what kind of reaction the truth would yield from his roommate of twelve years, but he was hoping that it wouldn't be bad.

Flake's anger dissipated the longer he looked at the other. How could he be mad at him when he was only doing such a thing for their survival? He felt selfish suddenly for his initial reaction, but wasn't sure of how to backtrack on what he had done. With a hard swallow, Flake directed his gaze to the ground, sighing through his nose as Paul looked to the agents.

"Can you give us a moment before you force us to save your asses?"

"What do you mean 'us'?" Richard asked, "We only need you."

"No," Paul said firmly. The tone of voice he used surprised Flake and led him to glance at Paul over the rims of his glasses, his fingers raised to his lips to bite gently at the tips of them. Paul stood his ground confidently, staring Richard in the eye as he said, "You take the both of us or you can stay here and live in this shithole with us."

"Paul, I'm useless," Flake said. He had said it earlier, but this time, he meant it. "I... I can't do everything you do, I have too much anxiety and I'm not as smart or... anything..."

"I'm not leaving you behind without me," Paul told him, "I can't. I can't lose you, Flake."

Christoph looked to Richard, grabbing his elbow to gain his attention. Once Richard looked back at him, Christoph nodded towards the hall, silently telling his partner to give the two some privacy to talk to one another. Lowering the gun, Richard gave the pair one last glance before he allowed Christoph to lead him out of the room, shutting the door a bit and keeping it ajar as they waited outside.

Inside the room, Paul was walking over to Flake and grabbing his shirt in his hands, looking up at him with glossy eyes and parted lips. They seemed to tremble as he tried to find the right words to say and his fingers curled into the material of Flake's clothes to tug lightly.

"We don't know if they're telling the truth. We don't even know if their reason for being here is true. But what we do know is that they work for the government, they're armed, and they're a lot more skilled than us." Paul took a moment to let his words sink in for Flake, his eyes dancing between the two of Flake's as he sighed. "If you don't want to go with me, you don't have to. I won't force you to. I've never forced you into anything because I... respect you and I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry that I got us into this. I'm sorry that I got you into this. I didn't mean to, I shouldn't have ever breached the security systems to try and sneak around without getting attacked, I was so stupid—"

"You aren't stupid," Flake interrupted. With a shake of his head, he spoke below a whisper, "You aren't stupid at all... You did it for us, didn't you?"

Paul didn't want to answer right away. He was embarrassed of the real reason as to why he did it, but he couldn't keep it in forever. Not when they were possibly in a life threatening situation.

"I was worried about you," Paul began, his voice as soft as Flake's had been, "You hadn't left the house in years, Flake... I knew that everything was getting to you more and more as the days went on and I wanted to change it." A bite to his lip and he held Flake a bit tighter. "It hurt me to know that nothing I could do would make you feel better. It also ate me alive to know that you were terrified of what the world had become for you. You didn't deserve to live here. You still don't. You should've ended up in Sector Two with your family. Not here with me... So I did what I could to try and fix it. It took me three years to get into the security cameras. I spent three years trying to get into the system so I could show you that shitty things don't happen everywhere all the time—so I could get you out of the house for once and give you a chance to live."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Flake wondered. His throat grew tight and his eyes reflected one too many emotions for the both of them to decipher. Flake couldn't bring himself to care, though. His feelings were the least of his worries at the moment. "Why did you keep it a secret?"

"Because I was afraid you would freak out and destroy the computer. I didn't want you to get even more paranoid, so I kept it to myself and used it to see when it was safe to go out and get things for us."

"Why did you do that for me?"

Paul wanted to say something that he knew he couldn't. His gaze fell to Flake's lips to study their outline, just as it had done many times before now. Those glances, however, had been stolen when they weren't this close; when Flake hadn't been looking and watching with a blush on his cheeks and his hands suddenly raising to grasp Paul's biceps gently. The touch, even as timid as it was, made Paul gasp softly, his inhale nothing but a shudder.

For years, Paul had felt something for Flake. He didn't believe that it was solely because he lived with Flake and shared a bed with him— He knew that it was something deeply rooted.

It started after the winter where Flake had saved his life. That winter had occurred eight years prior. After that, Paul was determined to save Flake because Flake had saved him not once, but twice— First when they met and then a second time when the winter nearly took his life. Several years after that, Paul managed to break into the security system to try and ease Flake's nerves, but ended up keeping his success to himself for the sake of keeping Flake sane.

For twelve years, Paul had been the only one at Flake's side until this moment. Because of it, he was being forced to unearth something he had planned to keep buried for as long as possible.

"Because I need you," Paul finally said. It wasn't what he wanted to say, but it was what came out. Exhaling slowly through his nostrils, he rested his forehead on Flake's chest, shaking his head slowly. "I need you so much that it hurts. I can't even imagine a life without you."

"Paul..."

"You're the only good thing to come out of this— The country becoming what it is now. I hate the government. I hate the military. I hate our leaders, I hate the way we live, I hate that we don't have running water, I hate that our food isn't fresh, but I... I can't seem to hate you. Even when we fight and argue about the dumbest shit, I can't ever hate you. I just... can't."

Flake paused, attempting to collect the thoughts swarming his head. Flake was a detached person. He didn't oftentimes find himself growing accustomed to someone else, but with Paul, it was different. It had been since they first met. Had it been anyone else fighting for food in the store, Flake would've walked away and minded his own business. He didn't, though. He chose to stay and he chose to bring Paul home with him for whatever reason. He wished he could make it easy for himself and say that he did so because he felt bad for Paul, but he couldn't. He could've felt sympathetic for him and left him there, but that wasn't the case.

For whatever reason, Flake had felt the need to take this man into his arms and care for him. They weren't friends then. They were complete strangers who happened to meet by chance.

Flake now figured that maybe they crossed paths due to fate. Maybe chance wasn't the right term for them. It couldn't be. Not with all they endured together in the decade they had spent with one another. Pure luck wouldn't have that in store for anyone, but fate would.

"I can't hate you either," Flake whispered. Paul brought his head up, his eyes bright yet emotional—glossy and shifting from side to side as he looked up at him. Flake swallowed near the back of his throat and dropped his hands to rest them on Paul's slim hips, taking a gentle grip on them to keep him where he was. "I... hate everything... It isn't the hate you feel, because your hatred is just anger and you know it."

Paul cracked a smile. He laughed after, speaking softly with an additional scoff, "Yeah, yeah, I get it. You know me. You can read me like a goddamn book."

"I can only do that because I... don't hate you." The words were spoken so quietly and quickly that Paul nearly missed them. The smile on his lips faded as he looked up at the other again, a lump slowly forming in the middle of his throat. Flake looked vulnerable and scared, as if he were admitting the universe's deepest, darkest secrets. He ended up looking away in order to give himself the strength to continue speaking, his tone still as timid as the first spring breeze, "When I was younger, I always knew that I was different... I knew that I didn't like people as much as everyone else and that it wouldn't be easy for me to make friends. I can't explain how I knew that, but I did."

Outside the room, Christoph and Richard stood close together, listening in on the conversation and shooting curious glances to one another. Christoph's had the underlying hint of sympathy, whereas Richard's were accented with questionably raised brows.

Paul remained silent, even as his heart thrummed in his chest, listening intently as Flake went on, "I never fe... felt anything for anyone. Not even when I was a teenager and young and stupid."

"You were never stupid," Paul couldn't help but mumble, "You've always been smart."

"I wouldn't call being insensitive smart," Flake said flatly, "I knew I couldn't help it, but that doesn't mean that I liked it. I watched everyone experience the things that my parents did. The dates, the jokes, the kisses and touches... And I knew that I should've wanted it, but I didn't. Never once did I want to go out of my way to feel like that and do those things with someone else."

"But now you feel otherwise..."

Flake hesitated before he nodded. His gaze was still on the ground, as if he were attempting to bore a hole into it so he could sink to the center of the Earth and never emerge. Admitting such things wasn't an easy feat by any means, especially since feelings like these had been so foreign to him for a number of years.

He sighed shakily, grasping Paul tighter solely to center himself and keep himself grounded for the time being. "I have... I've felt otherwise since I met you."

Now Paul was shocked. His brows raised and his lips parted before a look of confusion fell across his features. He was sure that only until recently had Flake felt any sort of way towards him. However, he appeared to be wrong.

"Really?" He couldn't help but ask, "Since we met?"

Flake, again, nodded. "Yeah. I just... didn't know what it was."

"Well, what was it?"

"What was what?"

"What you felt when we first met. What did you feel when we first met?"

"I felt like it was my purpose to protect you," Flake said. Paul's expression softened and his eyes became glossy again, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth to tug at it. Flake finally found his gaze once more and attempted to focus on it, only to dart around nervously as he spoke, "And then I got used to you... I got used to us sharing a couch and a bed as the years went on and I was okay with only seeing and talking to you every single day, even when I felt trapped and too anxious to even look in the mirror. When I nearly lost you, I realized that I can't be without you. Even when we get mad at each other and we don't want to be around one another, I still can't imagine a life without you in it. I can't do it anymore because it hurts."

"You don't have to. I'm not going anywhere. Even when I leave to get things for us, I'm always going to come back."

"This time, it scared me because I thought you wouldn't." Flake stopped talking, his throat too tight at the moment to continue. He forced himself to speak through the string tight folds of his throat and did so shakily, "I– I... When you called over the radio, I thought you were going to die."

"Flake..." Paul breathed out with a soft, humorless chuckle. He reached up and placed his hands on Flake's cheeks to keep them facing one another, shaking his head as he smiled up at him. "You think I'd die without you? Come on, now... I only want to die when I'm with you."

Flake mimicked his weak laugh and looked down. He felt vulnerable; exposed and left open like a sore to the world and all that was capable of hurting him. That is why he was usually so silent. He feared voicing his emotions. Somehow, the universe would make it so his worst fears would come true. Admitting such worries aloud triggered a wave of anxiety to run over him, but it wasn't as intense as usual. Paul's hands acted as conductors and took the paralyzing sting of the anxiety away from him. Flake didn't want to pass it onto him. He didn't want to inflict any pain onto him in any way whatsoever.

"I need you, Flake," Paul said, breaking Flake from his trance, "Even if I don't like admitting it, it's the truth. I need you, and I have since we met. Maybe even before then and I just didn't know it."

"I know... I need you, too."

"Good," he whispered. Looking up at Flake, his gaze moved between his lips and his eyes. For years, he had wanted to know what his mouth would taste like. He could only imagine— Flake took great care of himself in terms of hygiene and only ever ate the fresh fruit that they had, along with bread. Maybe he tasted like plums, which had been his favorites as of recent, or maybe he tasted like the tea he drank from time to time. Paul didn't know, but every fiber of his being was itching to find out.

Pulling Flake down by the collar of his shirt, Paul leaned up with pursed lips. A squeak came from his left suddenly and Flake turned his head, resulting in Paul's lips making contact with his cheek rather than his mouth.

"We have to move," Richard said, heavy boots stepping across the floor until he came to a stop in front of the two. Flake scrambled away from Paul, to which Paul frowned. A glare shot towards the agent followed in suit and was met with an icy stare. "If you're done with your feelings party, we'd like to get going."

"Sorry, we were just about to fuck, could you give us an hour?" Paul spat at him.

"We apologize," Christoph chimed in before the two could get up in arms. He held his hands out as a peaceful gesture, attempting to still the room and stop any tensions that could further arise. "Our position's been compromised. We have to go."

"Where are we going?" Flake asked.

"The northern border," Christoph told him, "We only have a short amount of time to get there." Looking between the two men, Christoph masked the frown that wanted to curve his lips. Bringing the pair along may prove to be a failure or a success, but they were their only chance of getting out of the Sector alive. "Paul," he said, earning the attention of the shortest of the group, "We'll have to go to wherever the computer is so you can sync the data from the security system onto my tablet."

"I don't know how to do that," Paul said cluelessly, "I can't even remember how I hacked into it. That was years ago."

"I can do it."

"That's why he has the technology shit and I have the gun." Richard smirked and placed his hand over the gun as it rested in its holster. "Well... He has a gun, too, but you know."

Paul rolled his eyes. "What do you want, a pat on the back? Congrats, I guess. Now, will you take these cuffs off before we go? I'd like to hold onto Flake."

Christoph silenced Richard before he could say anything and stepped over to the Paul to free his wrists. Once the cuffs were gone and strapped onto Christoph's belt loop, Paul immediately reached out and grabbed Flake's hand, earning a soft flinch from him before he settled down.

"Alright," Paul spoke, eyes finding the door before nodding to it, "Let's go."

Chapter Text

Vier.

With a swift kick, the back doors to the school opened, slamming against the wall and creating a ruckus that echoed down the hall. Oliver and Till raised their guns in unison and began walking, their feet silent on the floor despite the heavy duty boots they both were wearing. Oliver kept his eyes peeled on the left side of the hall while Till scanned the right side, looking for any sudden movements and listening for any suspicious noises. All that could be heard was the wind whistling in through the windows and worn out ceiling, and the occasional shuffling of their clothes when they turned to look into the rooms they passed.

It was nearly one in the morning and the two were alone with one another. The signal within Sector Six was proving to be much poorer than expected, with the orders that Till was supposed to be receiving through his earpiece rarely coming in. The last thing he had heard was that the agents and two civilians were within the school. It seemed as if they had arrested the civilians for some unknown reason before fleeing with them. Other than that, no information was known.

All agents had trackers implanted in their arms. Due to the military being fearful that they'd attempt to remove them themselves, they placed them deep within the skin so that they could only be surgically removed. With the trackers still inside Schneider and Richard, the government could see where they were headed, but only when there was a signal. Thus far, it had cut off more times than they could count and the cameras around the Sector weren't too reliable either. Whether they'd lose signal or be covered up by someone in the midst of committing a crime, they proved to be nearly useless. However, this didn't deter them from sending Till and Oliver into the heat of the chase.

Oliver knew right away that the school was empty. The atmosphere was still and silent, without any life in it whatsoever other than his and Till's. He wanted to voice his beliefs, but stayed silent. Any time spent with Till would be worth something, especially if they were alone.

Oliver's gaze wandered from the side of the hall he patrolled and landed on Till. The sight of his superior with a gun firmly grasped and held in his large hands and muscular arms nearly sent Oliver into a daze. His index finger, hesitant and unmoving, hovered over the trigger while the fingers of the hand securely holding the grip flexed from time to time. His green eyes pierced through the dim lighting of the school, the occasional flicker of the lights providing Oliver just enough time to steal glances at him without becoming too infatuated. Till had always been a sight that Oliver looked forward to seeing. Back when he was in training, he woke up on the days where he'd be working with Till with confidence in his doings and his mind set on pleasing him; doing whatever he could to show Till that he wasn't going to do anything that would ever disappoint him. At first, he blamed it on his desire to strive for perfection at all times, but over time he realized that he was so geared towards doing exactly as Till said and expected because he wanted to stand out and make Till notice him.

Nowadays, Oliver didn't want to be the perfect soldier— He just wanted to be perfect for Till.

While Oliver had taken his time with realizing his own feelings for Till, Till had known right away that he'd be taking a peculiar interest in Oliver. The day they first met, Oliver was the only one to look him straight in the eyes when Till barked orders into his face. Though Till had gone down the line of bunks in Oliver's barracks and ripped the other trainees to shreds for the smallest of things, he came to a halt when he was face to face with Oliver. His gaze wandered over his lengthy frame for all but a second before it focused on his dark green eyes, his lips forming a frown to mask the puzzled look he nearly expressed. He couldn't yell at Oliver because nothing was out of place in his box of belongings nor with his bunk. Oliver was put together, much unlike the others. Till instead ordered him to perform nightly checks on those bunking around him, stating that it was Oliver's job from then on to make sure that everyone in his vicinity was keeping their bunks as flawless as his was.

Till could never find any faults in Oliver's way of work or lifestyle. Oliver did the best that he could with everything he was tasked or faced with. Even if the result wasn't perfect, it was still done with as much effort as he could muster. He didn't half-ass anything or stop when it got hard. Oliver pushed until the end, even if it left him exhausted and barely clinging to his sanity, strength, or consciousness afterwards. Till admired that, both as a person and as a trainer. Oliver had what many others didn't— He had perseverance.

Initially, Till successfully kept his feelings for Oliver dormant. He didn't think about them, act on them, or entertain them even in the slightest. However, that wasn't to say that he attempted to exterminate them. Till left them where they were and allowed them to grow stronger, even if he didn't act on any of them. To him, everything happened for a reason, even if he didn't know why or couldn't imagine how it would turn out. Till didn't want to question the unknown. He simply sat back and let life take the wheel when it came to how he felt towards Oliver, until one night life turned him around and sent him straight back to his trainee.

His hand had reached up to fall upon Oliver's shoulder as he walked. Oliver stopped and turned to look down at Till, a faint expression of surprise on his features. Oliver was like Till in the aspect of rarely showing any emotion on his face. Till couldn't help but smile then when he hid his shock so well.

Till, unaware and unknowing as to why he had suddenly interrupted the younger man's trek back to his barracks, nonchalantly offered a light compliment to him, stating that he appreciated how diligent and determined he seemed to be. Oliver wanted badly to both furrow his eyebrows and smile, but he did neither. He gave a simple nod and thanked Till, giving Till the impression that maybe nothing was felt on his end. This, however, did not stop him.

"All clear," Till said, breaking the silence that they had been walking in for the past thirty minutes. Oliver's head turned towards Till as he lowered his gun, internally grateful that he had been the one to speak up and confirm his suspicions. He wouldn't have done it, even if it got to the point of nearly driving him insane. Though Oliver was relieved, Till had a faint look of annoyance etched across his features. "If only the signal in this Sector was better, we wouldn't have such an issue with finding them."

"We'll find them," Oliver told him, his voice quiet but strong. Till looked at him and Oliver nodded once, as if confirming his own statement. "I know we will. We have you."

The annoyance faded and was replaced by a grin just before Till lowered his head and chuckled softly. Oliver cracked a smile of his own and looked away, slightly taken aback by what he had said.

"Sure. If you want to think of it that way," Till said, "It doesn't make this any less difficult, though."

"I thought you liked difficult things?"

"I do." He shrugged. "This is just harder than most other things."

Oliver's brows came together and his head cocked to the side curiously. "Why's that?"

"Before, I didn't have someone I was... besotted with."

"...Besotted?"

"You don't know what that word means?"

"I've never heard of it until now, so no."

Till let out a laugh and grabbed Oliver's shoulder to squeeze it lightly. Oliver was smart, yes, but his vocabulary wasn't up to par when compared to Till's. That was to be expected, though. Due to Oliver's young age of twenty-eight, he had been only sixteen when the country was divided, meaning he had barely managed to get a decent education towards the end of his days in school. Along with that, Till knew from their previous conversations that Oliver hadn't been the best student. He struggled with most subjects and was unable to receive the proper help from his parents, who were young and not very adept when it came to schoolwork.

"If we find a dictionary in here, you can look it up," Till teased, "You know how to use a dictionary, don't you?"

Oliver scoffed and playfully swatted Till's hand off of him. "Yes, I do. I'm not that dumb."

"I never said you were dumb," said Till, "I was just simply asking a question."

Another scoff. "Okay, sure. You were just simply asking a question."

The two smiled at one another before they fell silent again. Their conversations were much lighter now that they knew one another. During the times where Till would invite Oliver into his office in the midst of his training, they burned through the topics that stood out, such as childhood, first love and heartbreak, and what they feared and dreamt about. They were stimulating things to talk about and provided Till with a detailed insight as to why Oliver was who he was, but it wasn't a very friendly conversation. It wasn't something that they'd have whilst laying together in bed on a rainy morning, too lazy to get up and do anything better than stay where they were.

Till wanted to admit such a pastoral thought to him, but he kept it to himself for now. To build such a fantasy in his head was childish of him and he knew it, but due to the walls surrounding them, dreaming was the best he or anyone else could do. If they didn't dream then there wouldn't be any freedom left in their lives. Though Till was very loyal and faithful to his work, he wasn't blind-sighted towards their wrongdoings. He could see the manipulation and dehumanization of those who lived in the country. Just about everyone could, no matter how hard the government tried to keep things afloat and looking well on the surface.

From time to time, Till felt guilty for serving his country. Though he didn't support what they believed in and had done to his home, he felt the need to somehow protect others as best as he could. If he could be in a position of authority, maybe he could do more for those who were suffering. Oliver had joined the military for the same reason— Not because he supported it, but because he wanted to make life better for others. While he was specifically helping his family, Till was doing this for the greater good. He was doing it for those who had no choice but to sit back and watch the Sectors fall into shambles while the government officials reclined in their million dollar mansions and ignored the cries of the countrymen and women who were suffering day by day.

A sigh fell from Till's lips as he looked up and down the hall. Oliver was still trapped in his mind, too focused on whatever he was thinking about to watch as Till nipped at his lower lip and stared up at him through thick lashes and dark bangs. Rather than wearing his beret, he had gone without it. His dark hair lay against his forehead and rested just above his brows, the sides shaved a bit and the back short as well. Till was a good looking man both in and out of uniform, though Oliver had only ever seen him in the former.

"We're alone, you know," Till said, lowly as if someone was listening despite his words. His gravelly tone yanked Oliver from his thoughts immediately, giving a shake of his head to dismiss them before looking down at Till. Till smirked and scoffed softly through his nose. "We have a whole building to ourselves with hardly any service and no one around... Oh, what to do..."

Oliver's mouth went dry within a second. Till was straightforward most of the time, but for him to be so open-ended with a statement like that left Oliver reeling himself back in after he was thrown out like a sin amongst prayers. He inhaled sharply and clenched his jaw as he swallowed silently, willing himself to not say a word as to not expose himself for the new thoughts that then began swarming his head.

Many nights had been spent thinking about Till. Oliver once felt awful about it, but it was now such a common occurrence that it was odd for him to not think about Till. While some images he conjured were far from appropriate, others were domestic. He imagined them waking up together with their legs tangled and their arms lazily draped over the other—maybe even with their noses touching or their foreheads pressed together. He thought about how soft Till's lips must feel after a few glasses of wine and how delicate his hands would run over his skin when telling Oliver about how much he adored him. In his dreams, he envisioned the two of them in a house far away from their country without a care in the world— Robes on and land stretching out for miles ahead of them as the sun rose and cast its golden light down upon them as they sat on the balcony with sparkling cider in elegant glasses and books in their hands. Oliver was a visionary without a doubt and his mind never failed to access such possibilities when it came to Till.

"We could just stay here," Oliver sheepishly mumbled. Till brought his gaze back to him, his eyes soft and without any judgment in them. This didn't stop Oliver from focusing his own line of vision on the floor, though. "I mean... I– I know it's Sector Six and all, but... isn't this what you wanted? What we wanted? To be alone?"

Till was silent for a moment. A smile began to curve his lips as Oliver's words settled in and he emitted a quiet laugh, shaking his head at the other. "It's what we wanted, yes, but like you said— This is Sector Six. We're alone, but at what cost?"

"Who says this has to cost us anything?"

"This conversation itself could cost both of us our jobs. Then we'd really be without one another." Till stopped, his tone suddenly becoming serious, "We thought that being separated on base for a month was bad... Imagine how it would be if we lived in different Sectors and only saw each other once the walls came down in God knows when."

"Sector Five isn't far from Sector Seven. It's just East of it."

"I don't want to be just East of you if I'm in a completely different Sector. I want to be just East of you if I'm standing beside you or sitting with you or walking alongside you," Till suddenly snapped. He sounded angry, but the feeling wasn't directed towards Oliver by any means. It reflected how torn apart he felt on the inside by the country's doings when it came to the Sectors. Oliver stared at him before he sighed, his shoulders slumping and head angling itself down towards the floor. Till took a moment to collect himself so he wouldn't lose his composure once again, his eyes remaining hooded as he spoke, "It's just... This is a very difficult situation. I've risked a lot just by requesting you as my partner on this mission."

"Why?" Oliver asked, still not looking at Till, "Did you tell anyone about how you feel?"

"No," Till said, "I didn't even mention you once your training ended. I couldn't voice my thoughts or feelings towards you in any way because I didn't want to raise suspicions."

"Would they do something to us if we were to...?" His voice trailed off and he darted his glance between Till's hands and his own as they were poised in front of him, the gun still in them. He sighed through his nose, closing his eyes momentarily and shaking his head. "I just need to know."

"They might. They've stripped away so many rights already. I don't see why they'd hesitate with us."

"But with you? They'd punish you if you wanted to be with me?"

Till's jaw tightened. "I don't know," he bit out, "A part of me is bit hesitant to know if they'd do anything to us for this."

"Then why'd you bring me here?" Oliver raised his voice, snapping his head up to stare at Till with an icy, betrayed gaze. The look struck a chord within Till, leaving him to feel nothing but guilt as Oliver went on, "If you aren't sure if you want to find out what would happen to us if we were together, then why did you act so selfishly and drag me here with you? You even said it yourself— You could've taken anyone on base, but you chose me because you missed me, because you wanted to be alone with me." His chuckle that followed was empty and the shrug of his shoulders was nothing short of exasperated. "How am I supposed to feel about this? What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to keep running with your indecisive mindset or put my foot down and stop this and us where we are right now?"

"Don't stop this. You know you don't want to."

"Sometimes wanting to do something can't outweigh not being allowed to do something."

Till grew agitated and angered from Oliver's response. He didn't know what the other expected of him. If he could only see things from Till's perspective, he'd understand. He would feel the things he felt and he would take the same precautions that Till was taking. Oliver didn't like it, but Till was beginning to believe that Oliver didn't want to stop and think that Till didn't like it either.

Things weren't easy for them, and Till knew that they wouldn't be. He wanted to take the chance, though. He didn't have a reason to not pursue Oliver in the ways he envisioned when he thought about him at night and he didn't have anything telling him otherwise about how wonderful a life with Oliver would be. They would have to overcome uncertainties, fear, pain, and much more, but Till knew that it would be worth it. In the end, they would have each other and they wouldn't have to worry about being alone in the Hell that they called their lives. They would be at one another's side and do what they could to get through whatever they faced together and wouldn't have to worry about waking up by themselves the next day in a world where they were used as puppets and seen as nothing but dogs.

"I get that you're obedient and follow the rules to a T, but you need to understand something." Stepping up to Oliver, Till grabbed him firmly by the front of his uniform and pulled him forward. With wide eyes, Oliver allowed himself to be manhandled, his gaze stuck on Till's passionate stare as he growled out his words, "I did this for us. You think I didn't notice you were interested in me before now? I knew before you even had an inkling of your own emotions, Riedel. If you think you can stand here and try to tell me what my emotions are, I suggest you take a step back and think about your own inner conflicts before you come to me and attempt to exploit mine."

Till released Oliver with a shove and started down the hallway, his steps now heavy and echoing as the soles of his boots made contact with the concrete beneath his feet. Oliver's breathing was uneven as he looked down the hallway and watched Till walk away, his hands flexing over his gun in the midst of processing what was said.

He wanted to be with Till. It took him weeks to come around to the thought of it, and then several more to accept it, but he knew what he wanted. The future and what it held scared him, meaning that he couldn't necessarily be upset with Till for also having concerns about what could possibly happen to them if they were to expose themselves and what was budding between them. The situation itself was upsetting and Till's stubborn need to feel right and in control at all times didn't mesh well with Oliver's desire to feel supported and taken care of once he opened up. The two could work through it if they chose to. Oliver could understand that Till only wanted control of their lifestyle because he wanted to give Oliver what he deserved and Till could take the spotlight off of his adamance for a moment or two to offer Oliver the validation he needed to tame the persistent feeling that he had that he was being stepped on after expressing his emotions.

If they couldn't work with that, however, everything would fall apart.

Oliver couldn't let Till leave. He didn't want to be without him again. The month that they had been apart felt like centuries upon centuries of wandering aimlessly through a life that he was trapped in. But the second he saw Till, time stopped completely. They were at a stand still and the universe followed in suit. The planets ceased their orbit around the Sun, the Earth stopped spinning on its axis, and the stars, even the supernovae, stopped what they were doing to grant the two the time they deserved to be with and embrace one another. Life wouldn't do that for just anyone. It wouldn't even do that for the purest of loves, but it would do so for the strongest of them.

Oliver ran down the hall after Till before he could reach the door. His hand came into contact with his shoulder just as the other's stretched to grab the handle, causing him to turn and face Oliver.

The look on Till's face was hopeful and vulnerable. Oliver went breathless from the sight and dropped his hand from Till's shoulder, his train of thought suddenly derailing and leaving him to speak on a whim.

"I don't care where we are or where we end up," Oliver said, the words falling freely from his mouth without his thought process sifting through them. His subconscious had taken the reins and was guiding him in the direction he so desperately needed to head in, and Oliver didn't stop it. "As long as I'm with you, I know everything will be fine. Even if I get thrown back into Sector Five and they lock you up in Sector Seven, I'd find my way to you and I'd do anything I could for you."

Till gazed up at him silently, not daring to say a word in the midst of Oliver's confession. Thus far, Till had been the one to admit emotions such as these first. Now the tables were turning and Oliver was doing it for himself without any provocation whatsoever.

"I'm glad you chose me to come with you. Sector Six is a hellhole, but you make it seem like Heaven. All you have to do is look at me and the destruction fades, the crime stops, and everything's okay. It's like nothing ever changed."

"What does it feel like?"

"Home," Oliver said without any hesitation, "It feels like home. You feel like home."

Smiling brightly, Till lowered his head and ignored the sudden surge of his heartbeat in his chest. Oliver seemed to be taken aback by the same thing, and by his own admission, and fell silent, his hands trembling as they fell from the gun and left it to rest against his abdomen as the strap around his shoulders held it up.

"If home makes you feel safe, then that's all that matters," Till mumbled, his smile so wide that it laced his tone with a sincerity that couldn't be replicated in the midst of a sinner's confessions to a priest. He forced himself to look at Oliver even as he grinned, the color of his irises seeming to dance and shimmer in the flickering lights of the hallway. "I want you to feel safe. That's all."

"I feel safe," Oliver whispered, nodding slowly at first and then confidently after a second, "I feel protected when I'm with you."

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise."

"What about to us?"

Till scoffed and his smile shifted into a smirk. "Well..." A shrug of his right shoulder and he glanced at the scar on his forearm where the tracker had been implanted, his eyes finding Oliver's again after. "I'd like to see them try to do anything to us."

It was then Oliver's turn to smile widely. Till mirrored the expression and chuckled as Oliver ran his hands over the lower half of his face, attempting to wipe his grin away. He failed, but didn't mind much. He hadn't smiled that much in as long as he could remember, though he wasn't entirely sure that he ever had.

"We have a mission to finish," Till said lightheartedly, "Let's do what we came here to do, then we can tackle what comes next."

"Okay." Oliver nodded, taking a step toward the door before he stopped abruptly and bit his lower lip out of nerves, looking over at Till with arched brows. "Promise?"

"I promise," he told him with a nod of confirmation, "Cross my heart and hope to die." With that, he reached out and pushed the door open, gesturing for Oliver to head out first. "Now, let's go. The sooner we end this, the better."

Chapter Text

Fünf.

"Damn, you live like this?"

"Yeah, thanks to the shitty fucking government. And thank you, you two, for supporting it, even though you know how awful we live."

"I didn't know it was this bad..." Christoph glanced around the rundown house as he sat in the corner of the room. A plate rested on his knees, one hand poised with a fork and the other steadying the plate so it wouldn't topple over and create a mess on the floor. He frowned, examining the holes in the ceiling and the cracks of the windows, all while attempting to ignore how dusty the rest of the floor was. "Where I come from, life isn't this bad... And my Sector is down the street."

Flake shot him a curious glance and rested his glass down on the table. "You're from Sector Two?" Christoph nodded and Flake hummed, nodding once before angling his head down as he picked at his eggs with his fork. "I am, too. I was. My family still lives there."

"Is their surname Lorenz as well?" Christoph asked, his tone gentle.

"Unfortunately," Flake grumbled, "Why?"

"My family," Christoph began, "They're friends with your parents."

The room went still and silent. Paul looked to Flake and rested his hand on his thigh to calm him. Flake became easily agitated when his family was mentioned due to how carelessly they threw him out. Richard quickly noticed the shift in Flake's usually neutral attitude and gave a look of warning to his partner, which Christoph saw and promptly ignored.

"They're nice people," Christoph said, separating a bit of his scrambled eggs from the rest to take a bite before speaking again, "They enjoy the opera just as much as my parents."

Flake didn't say a word. The stare he gave Christoph was as hard as a diamond and as lethal as a snake's venom. The hand holding his fork tightened its grip on it, so much so that if he applied just a bit more pressure, it would bend in his grasp. Paul squeezed his thigh again, leaning in closer to him to provide him with a familiar sense of comfort and home since he knew that discussions about his family made him feel empty and furious.

"What school did you attend?" Christoph asked, his eyes still on his plate.

Flake didn't respond, so Paul opted to do so for him, "He doesn't like talking about his family."

"Oh. Okay." The agent looked up at Flake, noticed his gaze, and shrugged. "I'm sorry."

"And I'm sorry about him," Richard spoke up. He snickered as he glanced back at Christoph, a smirk on his lips. "He doesn't know when he's being a dick."

"As if you do?" Paul snapped.

"Oh, no. I know I'm a dick. I take pride in it."

"Figures. You're all the same."

Richard, with a hint of aggravation on his face, gave Paul a questionable look. "What do you mean?"

"Sven 'Richard' Kruspe. Born the twenty-fourth of June to a mother who stayed and a father who left." It was now Richard's turn to become angry. Paul didn't care. If Christoph felt the need to strike up a conversation with Flake about his family, Paul felt he had the right to do the same. "You're from Sector One. You're a military brat, just like the rest of the people there." Paul sent him an icy stare, a flick of his brows accenting his gaze. "How'd you manage to stay in Sector One if your father didn't stick around? Did mommy marry rich or into the military again?"

"Watch it," Richard growled, eyes narrowed and lips in a sneer, "How the hell do you know that?"

"Your dumbass partner doesn't have a password on his handheld computer."

Richard glared at Christoph, whose cheeks went red and eyes immediately fell to the floor. There was no need to have a password on it. He was the only one to ever use it. During the night, Paul must've gotten ahold of it and searched their names in the government database to find out more about them. Christoph wanted to be mad, but he couldn't. If he were in Paul's position, he would've done the same.

"For being in the military, you two are fucking stupid. You have this ditz over here who doesn't know right from left and we have you—" Paul motioned to Richard. "—who thinks he's the end all, be all. How the hell did you even get through your training?"

"I suggest you watch your goddamn mouth before I arrest you for breaking into your Sector's security system," Richard threatened, his tone just as ominous as what he posed. He slammed his palm against the table, causing both Christoph and Flake to flinch in their places. Meanwhile, Paul just glared at him without looking away from his searing gaze. "You've crossed the line and if you do it again, I'm taking you and him to Sector One just to show you what they do to people who break the law."

Flake's anxiety rose in that moment. With pleading eyes, he looked over at Paul, his breathing suddenly heavy and quick. His hand fell to rest over top of Paul's and shook as he squeezed it, earning the slightest of twitches from Paul's fingers as they curled around his thigh securely. One of Flake's worst fears was the government itself and their capital punishments. He was no stranger to the rumors that went around. Paul would tell him of those who would break the laws set in place and disappear for months, sometimes years, and either return a completely different person or not return at all. While neither of them knew how credible the sources were, they didn't want to press their luck, Paul moreso than he already had.

He had done it for Flake, though, and he would do it again if he had to.

"How long is this gonna take?" Paul asked, nodding between Richard and Christoph with a displeased expression still on his face, "And what's gonna happen to Flake and I once it's done? I can't imagine you'll want to keep us around after we help you. We don't want to be kept around either."

Christoph sighed and Richard clenched his jaw. Neither of them had thought that far ahead with their plan when it came to the two of them, thus putting proof beneath the insult that Paul had pegged on them. Paul expected a response, but wasn't shocked when one wasn't given to him— Neither was Flake.

"Do you want to cut a deal?" Christoph asked, standing from his spot in the corner of the room to set his now empty plate into the sink neatly. Wiping his hands off on one another, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter, focusing on the two civilians as he said, "We didn't have anything in mind, but we can figure something out for the two of you."

Paul knew what he wanted for him and Flake. He wanted both of them out of Sector Six. However, that wasn't to say that he wanted them moved to another Sector either.

Biting his lower lip, he shifted in his seat as he wondered aloud, "What's it take to get out of the country?"

The agents' brows raised as they shared a glance between one another. Both knew of how difficult it was to flee the country, but then again they had already defied the odds— They managed to find a way out of their Sector without any granted access or transportation and had yet to be caught. Without a doubt, the government and military had already sent other agents out for them, but had obviously had no luck thus far in tracking them down.

Richard was the first to break the momentary silence. He did so with a sigh as he ran his hands over his face, scrubbing softly before resting his temple on his fist with closed eyes and pursed lips. "Balls. Guts. Skill." Shrugging with a shake of his head, he scoffed humorlessly as he added, "A willingness to leave everything you knew and everyone you loved behind, and the strength to know that every day of your life from here on out, you'll be seen as a threat to the world by the remaining members of our government and their allies."

"You'll be tracked down like Richard and I are experiencing right now," Christoph said, "It's only been two days and the stress is eating us alive."

"Yeah. Living a life like this wouldn't be ideal."

"I don't know if you've opened your eyes and seen how Flake and I live currently," said Paul with a bite to his tone, "but anything, and I mean anything, is better than this. We don't have running water, our electric hardly works, we nearly starve to death in the winter, and at least six times a year, a new flu comes through the Sector and kills us by the hundreds, sometimes thousands." Paul paused before he let out a harsh laugh, throwing his unoccupied hand up in exasperation. "You think you're stressed out? I dare you to try and live here for a month, just one month, thirty days, and tell me once it's up if what you feel right now is stressful."

"All level of stress are valid," Christoph mumbled with a frown, "We all experience it in different ways."

"Oh, really? Entitled, privileged military pets experience the same debilitating level of stress that Flake feels?" Paul's voice was now raised as he stood from his seat, the force at which he stood knocking his chair to the ground. He pressed both hands against the table and growled as he leaned forward, his cheeks red with anger and his gaze ablaze with an inferno that he had kept bottled up for twelve years. "Flake left this rundown, piece of shit house for the first time since the walls went up because you two dickheads kidnapped me and threatened to kill me! You played on his worst fear and forced him out of the house to save me when you knew damn well that you wouldn't dare take my life because it was too valuable, but only for your own good! My existence wouldn't mean shit to you if it didn't benefit your own. And for you to pit Flake's stress against yours is fucking ridiculous."

Neither party said a word. Paul was left fuming with heavy breaths and his teeth grinding together. He wanted to say so much. He wanted to spew the hatred and anger he had felt since he was twenty-two when he and Flake became trapped in this Sector. It wasn't fair that they lived like this for so long and their only chance of reprieve lied within two military agents who were only using the two of them to save their own asses. It didn't matter in that moment if Richard and Christoph came here with intentions of exposing their country and how poorly they treated their individual Sectors— Richard and Christoph only cared about them because they were currently boarding them and assisting them with finding their way out. Also, 'cared' might've been too strong of a word. The two obviously didn't have an ounce of care for Flake and Paul. If they did, then they wouldn't act as entitled as they did around them.

Flake's fingers wrapped around Paul's wrist and lured his right hand off the table. The gesture was done slow and gently, and with so much ease behind it that Paul felt his erratic heart beat slow down in his chest. Flake dipped their hands below the edge of the table where they couldn't be seen to thread their fingers between one another's and squeeze his hand close so that their palms met. Flake's hands were always cool in contrast to Paul's seemingly consistently flushed skin. Paul returned the gentle squeeze and willed himself to stay somewhat calm and centered, even if every demon on one shoulder and each angel on the other was urging him to finally voice the beliefs and emotions he had suppressed for years upon years.

"You two want to do something good for this country," Paul spoke again. His tone was still rough, but had less of an edge to it. That alone earned him Christoph's gaze and a glance from Richard. Inhaling deeply and exhaling sharply after, Paul dispersed his stare evenly between the agents as he went on, "And you have to. It's what we need— All of us. Flake, me, the neighbors, the rest of this Sector, and everyone else in the other Sectors. If we even think about starting any sort of protest here, we'll be shot and killed on sight. Revolution begins as a thought, but earns its title once the first step in taken." Though it pained him, Paul had to speak the truth. "The first step is going to be taken by you two. You're the only ones who can do it. Your feet are already in the door since you're in the military. All you have to do is keep walking."

"We need your help," Christoph whispered, his blue eyes searching Paul's to attempt to find any sort of sympathy in them, "We can't start one if we're stuck here."

"You don't have to stay apart of it once we're out," said Richard through a tone of the same nature. He finally looked up at Paul, his head still lowered and eyes still hard. However, this didn't affect his tone in any way. "We'll do what we can to make sure that you two stay safe once we get out. We can't promise that the safety net will last long, but we'll do our best."

"What are you two going to do?" Flake asked. All eyes turned to him as he nervously nipped at the callouses on his fingertips. Though he didn't care much for Richard or Christoph, he couldn't help but wonder. "How are you going to expose the government for what it's done to us?"

"We have others who are willing to help. They're in the military and serve alongside us. They agree that what's happened to our nation is unacceptable," Richard told him, "Some are higher ups, some are on our level, and others are lower. We needed variety to able to hit different levels of the military when we put our plan into action."

"What's the plan?"

"We've each gathered footage, reports, and photos of the Sectors, the government and military agents, and data from the Sectors that we plan to release to the world," Christoph explained, "Three allies of ours are very important to how other countries view ours."

"We have the chiefs of information, data, and networking on our side. They're all willing to help."

"Our government is structured like a business. The military is as well. That's why everyone who works for either one is very supportive of the strict business lifestyle they've been brought up in and expected to uphold."

"But there will always be outliers," Richard mumbled. He looked at Christoph over his shoulder then glanced at his own hands as they rested on the table. "Those who will fight against what they were raised to believe in. Schneider and I are a part of that group."

Paul had his doubts about their plan, but it was better than nothing, which is what had had happened thus far. Other countries that were against theirs had attempted to change their government's way of thinking, but to no avail. The people within the country were becoming brainwashed the longer that they were dehumanized. They didn't feel like citizens anymore— They felt like lab rats.

For Paul and Flake to be sick of such treatment was to be expected, but for two military agents to stand up for the citizens of the country they had chosen to defend was unheard of. If other agents before them had ever attempted such a feat, neither Paul or Flake had known of it. It was more risky for them than it was for anyone else. Whereas the two civilians were deemed as nothing by the government itself, the military agents weren't. They were looked up to in terms of fighting for they believed in and for what the government wanted. If they were to fall out of line, there would be Hell to pay. Both knew of the consequences, but chose to do what they felt was right nonetheless.

Paul hated that he gave them credit and almost admired them for such a thing. They weren't polite to him and Flake, but at least they were doing something for the greater good.

"Then what?" Paul pressed, curious to know how extensive their plans were, "You have allies, you have your proof. What are you going to do with it?"

"We're going to start a riot," Christoph said, his tone serious and low, "Within the government and military."

"How?"

"Well... We were going to be captured for escaping Sector Three and thrown into the military prison, which is partially why we did it. An ally of ours is a guard for the prison. Only ex-agents who have somehow betrayed or threatened the government are kept there," Richard explained, "With his help and the help of others who are there, who he himself recruited for us and what we're doing, we're going to start a riot."

"He's going to release the prisoners and let them out first," Christoph clarified, "And from then on, the riot will commence."

"And what's this riot supposed to do? Don't tell me you're just going to run around like madmen and hope that it scares the government enough."

Christoph laughed softly and shook his head at Paul, amused by his statement. "No, no. We're going to be doing much more than just that."

"Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do, then?"

"Richard's going to kill der Präsident."

A joint look of shock painted Paul and Flake's faces. Flake's blue eyes had been shot wide open while Paul's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Richard, meanwhile, gazed at the both of them, unfazed as he shrugged his shoulders. Christoph gave them the same look, but his was paired with a grin.

"That's why he has a bigger gun, after all," Christoph said with a nod over towards the gun strapped against Richard's back, "He'll be needing it."

"What the fuck..."

"Do you have a better idea?" Richard scoffed. "If you do, I'm willing to hear it. I don't really want to do it, but I will if I have to."

"Wh– What are you going to do after you... kill him?" Flake asked, his voice shaking and rattling with fear, "What's going to happen next?"

"We hijack the government with our allies, open the borders, and let everyone go wherever it is they want to go."

"Even the international borders?"

"After a while, yes. Of course." Christoph shrugged, his brows furrowing. "Why wouldn't we? It wouldn't be much of a revolution if we didn't free our people."

"How do you know that this will work?" Paul asked. He shook his head quickly as he scoffed, eyes darting around the room as he attempted to make sense of the situation at sake. "I mean, what if it fails? Do you know what that means for us?"

"It won't fail," Richard said confidently, "We know it won't."

"How are you going to get us out of the country before you're thrown into prison?" Flake spoke again, "Will you be able to?"

"We can try—"

"No," Christoph interrupted Richard. Ignoring the look that was shot to him from his fellow agent, he extended his hand and gestured it towards Flake with a nod of confirmation as he said, "We will. We'll get you out of here before we end up in prison." He looked to Richard again, jaw tense for a moment before he relaxed and nodded again. "We promise."

Flake, albeit hesitant, nodded to what Christoph promised him before looking over at Paul. A solidified look of doubt was etched across his features, but held an underlying expression. Flake wasn't able to read it, thus raising concerns within him. After spending so much time with Paul, he had no issue with dissecting his emotions without Paul having to say a word. This was a rare occasion, however, where he couldn't.

"The four corners where Sector One, Two, Three, and Six meet," Paul said, disregarding what Christoph had said to Flake due to his distaste for such a promise, "I have the security camera footage for the walls that divide them where they meet. Military personnel pass through there often." He bowed his head forehead with raised brows, nodding to both Richard and Christoph as he asked, "Could you have one of your allies meet us there and escort Flake and I out of the country?"

"Sure. I don't see why not," Christoph said with a shrug, "Where do you want to go? You have Belgium, Netherlands, and Luxembourg just West of here. Up North is Denmark. Those are your closest options."

"Which country is willing to take refugees?"

"Belgium," Christoph inquired, "But that's still close to the country. If you want to stay further away, I suggest maybe something down South."

"France?" Flake suggested, "Or Switzerland?"

"Those work. Aside from those, you also have Poland and Czech Republic to the East, and you have Austria and Italy further South. If you wanted to go further North, there's Scandinavia— Norway, Sweden, and Finland, but you'd have to find your way there yourselves—same with Italy since it's not a direct border."

Paul looked over at Flake, waiting for his response. He didn't mind where they went, just as long as they were safe and side by side. If Flake wanted to flee a thousand countries, Paul would follow him. But first, they had to leave this one.

Flake, unsure and flustered because he was put on the spot so suddenly, shrugged and looked down at the table, pushing his glasses up as they began to slip down the slope of his nose. "I– I don't know... Can I have time to think?"

"Of course," Christoph said softly, "We'll have people waiting for us at the border when we arrive. I'm sure one will be willing to lead you two somewhere safe."

Flake gave the faintest of smiles, though it was cast down upon the table rather than being shown to Christoph. Paul sighed and rested his hand on Flake's head, leading Flake to pull both lanky arms of his up onto the table and bend them at the elbows, placing his chin on his forearm as Paul's fingers found their way into his hair.

"How long do you think it'll take to get to the four corners?" Paul glanced out the window as the sun shone through it, its rays illuminating the kitchen and the rest of the house. The dust particles shimmered in the light as they rested upon nearly every surface of the dining room, though Paul had grown used to it. Keeping things free of dust had become the least of his worries as the years went on. "I know we're pretty far South from them. Sector Two may be one street down, but people also forget that Sector Four is only about eight kilometers South of here."

Richard held up a finger as Christoph went to fetch his device. The two were impeccably in sync, which left Paul to wonder just how close they were. Him and Flake were the same, thus giving him the idea that maybe Richard and Christoph were, or were in the process of becoming, more than just partners in the line of duty.

Returning with his handheld device, Christoph quickly calculated the distance between their current location and the one they needed to be in. Before saying anything, he frowned softly and tapped away at something to confirm his responses.

"We are one hundred and seventy-five kilometers away from the four corners. If we had any transportation, we would be there within two hours, but on foot it will take roughly two days."

"Two days?" Paul blurted out, "Are you serious?!"

"Unfortunately," Christoph mumbled. Disappointed in his own results, he sighed heavily and turned the device off, leaning against the counter again with his forehead between his index finger and thumb, his eyes squeezed shut. "I wasn't aware of how far South Richard and I had come."

"How did you even manage to get down this far? How many days have you been out of Sector Three?"

"Two," Richard said, "So that'll be two to get here and two to get back."

"Jesus fucking Christ..."

"That means we should get moving now. We already wasted time by staying the night here. For all we know, whoever they're sending after us could be close," Christoph urged. Snapping up from his position, he went back into the room he had just come out of to gather his things, speaking loud enough for the group to hear as he did so, "Get your bags you packed last night and let's go. We can't waste anymore time. If we do... We're dead."

Chapter Text

Sechs.

Another building for Oliver and Till to inspect arrived in plain view the following day. With the sun beating down upon them and the cool wind blowing from the North, Oliver was half-tempted to stand outside in the relaxing weather and have Till check the house out for himself. When they finally received signal after a night in the school without it, they were told to immediately report to a house on a street that was rather notorious for being quite dangerous. The amount of robberies that occurred left agents who patrolled Sector Six avoiding it at all costs, even when they were specifically stationed there to keep an eye on that subunit of the neighborhood.

Oliver was already tired of the mission that they were on. Yes, it was rewarding to be with Till, but the work aspect of this getaway (if he even dared to call it that) was putting a damper on both of their moods. All it did was remind them that they were only alone together because of their work and what they were expected to do. Neither of them enjoyed the situation, but attempted to keep a cap on their emotions for the time being, instead opting to keep their opinions to themselves in order to continue with the mission without any further interruptions.

The night spent in the school was not one that Oliver wanted to experience again. Though Till had tried to scrounge up what he could to create a makeshift mattress for the two of them to sleep on, nothing seemed to work. Oliver was already quite bony and the stiff concrete floor didn't prove itself to be comfortable to lay on. Each time he turned, his sharp collarbones and hips would ache and throb with pain, leaving him to groan and bury his face in the crook of Till's neck. Till, who had much more muscle and build to himself than Oliver, didn't find the floor as uncomfortable as the other did. However, he hadn't slept well either, mostly due to how fussy Oliver had become.

When Oliver awoke after achieving nothing but three hours of poor sleep, his joints cracked and popped when he went to stand. A kink had formed in his neck—one so strong that it hurt to turn his head more than a few inches whenever he chose to try and look to his right. On the other hand, Till was fine, aside from the restless sleep he had. Oliver was almost envious of him because of it.

Now that they were entering a house, Oliver wanted to do nothing more than sit down and lay on the floor. Though it was wood, it seemed much more bearable to sleep on than concrete. His eyes, heavy with fatigue and blurry with exhaustion, began drooping the longer they walked through the calming atmosphere of the empty house. It had been months since Oliver had been inside a home. After training, he was sent to live in barracks full of others he had graduated with. He was told that purchasing a house would come later on in his years as a military agent, despite the fact that his family had been put up in a house of their own halfway through his training. Oliver couldn't complain now, though. Even the cheaply made, squeaky bunks within the barracks on base were far more comfortable than the floor.

Oliver halfheartedly held his gun out in front of him as he followed Till's lead around the single story house. It had a joint kitchen and dining room, a living room, two bedrooms with only one of which being used as such, seeing as there was a large, stained mattress on the floor of one room and nothing but books and other miscellaneous items in the other, and a bathroom. On the ceiling was a door that lead to the attic, which Till decided to check just to make sure that the house was clear.

The electricity in that unit of the Sector was off at the time, leaving the two agents to hear only the sounds of their own movements for the time being. The streets outside were silent, the neighboring houses could be mistaken as abandoned, and the wind was too gentle to create any ruckus as it blew against the house. Oliver sighed deeply and leaned against the wall, his head resting lightly against the doorframe to the room that was being used as such. He wanted badly to slip into the room and lay on the bed that seemed so inviting despite its raggedy nature, but refrained from doing so. He hadn't disappointed Till yet and wasn't looking to start now.

Descending from the attic, which had been clear just as Oliver suspected, Till pushed the ladder back up before shutting the door and clicking the lock into place to ensure that it wouldn't open suddenly and hit either one of them as they walked. Brushing dust off of himself, Till scowled until he turned to look at Oliver. Even though he was depending on the wall for strength to keep himself up, he still looked peaceful—his features softened, eyes closed, and lips parted slightly. Till smiled faintly to himself from the sight and stayed silent for a moment to admire Oliver as he began to drift into a state that wasn't entirely conscious.

Till couldn't blame Oliver for being tired. On top of them having a poor night's sleep, they had been sent on this mission at midnight and escorted into this Sector about three hours later. Without being given any time to rest once they had entered the Sector despite how late it was, it was only to be expected that Oliver feel so exhausted, especially since he had also not slept well once they caved in and gave up and decided to stay put in the school for the remainder of the evening due to the lack of service.

It just so happened that they didn't have any service at the moment either. Typically, Till would've found the lack of electricity infuriating, but he couldn't have been more content with it then. Without any power being sourced to the house and with the signal having no towers to bounce off of, he and Oliver were practically off the grid again for the time being. Along with it, the house was clear, meaning that they were once again falling short of their targeted group.

Till should've been more concerned and he knew it, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"You know," Till began, his voice low and calm as to not startle Oliver. Oliver forced his eyes open and looked down at Till, blinking until his vision focused and centered itself on his. Till grinned and nodded over his shoulder towards the room behind him. "A mattress would be much more comfortable to sleep on than a wall."

Had Oliver not been tired, his eyes would've went wide from Till's subtle suggestion. However, he opted to groan with a small frown instead.

"No... No, I can't," he said, his voice gravelly and deep, "We have a mission to do. I can't sleep when we're supposed to be doing our job."

"We can't do our job if I can't get reports from base."

Oliver then brought his eyebrows together in spite of a sense of relief washing through him internally. "You don't have signal again?"

With a shake of his head, Till smiled softly. "No signal. If you'd like to sleep, you can. I don't think those people will be coming back anytime soon."

"Are you sure?" He asked as he hesitantly stepped towards the room. At this point, he didn't care much for what could happen to him if he were to fall asleep in what could be deemed as the enemy's house. He had Till with him. Even if he didn't, he was still an armed soldier who had gone through extensive training to be able to defend himself in any sort of situation. As he entered the room, he looked around and sighed to himself, his shoulders moving up and down with his deep breaths. "I missed this... A room."

"A room?" Till wore a look of confusion on his face, even though Oliver had his back turned towards him. "What do you mean?"

"I haven't had a room of my own since I was thirteen. Mine was destroyed so I had to sleep on the couch," Oliver said. Slowly, he turned to face Till again, a small frown curving his lips. "I don't think I've ever told you about the incident at my house."

"No, you didn't. What incident?"

"People came down the street back in my Sector when I was thirteen and they tried to blow up every other house they passed. We were told that it was a form of protest, but... I saw it."

"You saw what?"

Oliver bit his lip and shrugged his broad shoulders. "I don't want to say. I don't want to end up in trouble."

"You won't," Till insisted. He looked up at Oliver and read the hesitant expression on his face before he could urge him on even more. Taking Oliver's wrist in his, he nudged him back towards the mattress on the floor and stopped once Oliver's ankles came into contact with it. He motioned for him to stay still and Oliver did so, remaining compliant as Till removed his utility belt and gun. Once Till gave him the go ahead, he sat down, but not without having Till crouch down in front of him to begin unlacing his boots as he asked, "What did you see, Oliver? It's okay, you can tell me."

Had it been anyone else in the military, Oliver wouldn't say a word. He couldn't trust anyone but Till. Till was the only one he had taken a liking to or even spoke to throughout his training. The others didn't sit well with him and he wasn't attempting to change that or test the waters.

With a sigh, Oliver gave Till the information he wanted through a soft confession, "It was the military. The walls weren't even up yet and they were patrolling Sector Five heavily because of the war criminals and people in politics. They came down my street in a tank and threw what looked like grenades at people's houses. I was home alone when a soldier threw one at mine. I barely got out before it blew up." He stopped, his frown reappearing as he swallowed. "He threw the grenade at the section of the house that my father had built on when they had me. My dog was sleeping on my bed and died instantly. I remember I dropped to my knees in the backyard and screamed at the top of my lungs so loud that the neighbors came running over to check on me. They thought I was hurt. I wasn't, physically... But emotionally and mentally I was."

"Why would they tell you that it was a protester who did that?" Till asked rhetorically, and mostly to himself. He set Oliver's boots near the mattress and looked up at him, his sympathetic, soft gaze flitting across Oliver's face. "Why would they lie?"

"Because it's the government and the military," Oliver said, "That's what they do. You know that."

Oliver didn't say anything after that. Laying down on the bed, he grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved his face into it as he spread his long limbs out. Till frowned as he watched Oliver find a comfortable position, withholding the urge to reach out and touch him even though he wanted to.

"I'm sorry," Till whispered to him, grasping his pants tightly as to not disturb Oliver physically, "I feel bad for asking."

"It's okay," Oliver mumbled into the pillow, "I just wish I had a room of my own."

Smiling sadly, Till nodded, swallowing before saying, "I wish you had a room of your own, too." Patting the side of the mattress, Till stood up after, his eyes still down on Oliver. He didn't want to leave him, but he didn't want to sit idly by as he rested in fear of disrupting the sleep he desperately needed. "Sleep, Oliver," said Till, softly with every ounce of care that he felt for Oliver in his words, "I'll make sure you're safe while you sleep."

Oliver smiled faintly and nodded before allowing himself to relax into the mattress. After having one last look at Oliver, Till made his way out of the room, keeping the door propped open to make sure that Oliver remained stable as he slept.

—

Four hours passed and nothing but a sudden surge of momentary electricity had come through the subunit Till and Oliver were currently in. Oliver, still resting, hadn't moved from his position, whereas Till had stepped outside more than once to try and catch any sort of signal for his radio. Though he had moved out into the backyard and the front yard near the street, nothing was coming in. Had he been alone, he would've been frustrated beyond belief and screaming his head off, but due to having Oliver with him, he was much calmer than usual.

He headed back inside each time with a sigh and a mumble to himself about how useless and pointless the mission seemed to be, considering without any signal or help from the government or military, they'd be better off in no man's land. Though Till had done a fair share for his country, nothing had even proven itself to be as much of a waste as this mission, excluding having Oliver at his side. It was a waste of Till's time, patience, and skill and he knew that he wouldn't be seeing any benefits from this. He wouldn't get a pay raise, he wouldn't get a bigger house, nor would he move up the ladder. He'd stay where he was, both financially and when it came to his status, and he knew it.

Though Till was seen as the picture perfect image of what a military agent should be like, he was beginning to wonder why he even defended this country in the first place. He didn't much care for the government and what it had done to the people of its country, nor did he take a liking to the way that military was run nowadays. Till joined to help and save others, and he knew that, but he was beginning to feel as if he was enabling the government and military by standing idly by and allowing them to do what they always did— Destroy the country and economy, and treat the civilians as less than human.

Till knew that thinking too hard about his predicament wouldn't do him any good, but he also knew that he could only run from it for so long. Eventually, the truth would catch up to him. It would hurt and confuse him more the longer he put it off, but he had to process his thoughts and feelings before any rash decisions could be made. Being in the military gave him a home, an income, and protection from living in the Sectors. On base, he was safe and had people who would defend him if necessary lest anyone attempt to hurt him. If he were to leave the military, he would be thrown back into what he came from, which happened to be Sector Seven, and he'd be without everything he had grown accustomed to.

However, he knew that that didn't outweigh what he was allowing himself to be a part of. Living in the Sector he came from wouldn't be ideal, but at least it wouldn't add any more guilt or stress to his subconscious.

Till's mind churned through the possibilities and outcomes that could come from parting ways with the military as he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets in search of something to eat. As if having no electric was bad enough, there was hardly any food. That was one thing that Till had come to love—always having his cabinets and refrigerator stocked with things to eat and snack on. He frowned to himself as he looked into the nearly empty cupboards, examining how much dust they had collected over the time that they had been vacant and sighing to himself with a frown on his face.

How people lived like this, he wasn't sure. His mind seemed to have blocked out the way he lived prior to enlisting and he could see why. These people, wherever they had fled to, had either taken what little they had with them or left all of their belongings behind. Till opted for the latter, seeing as they had abandoned everything else. Food was most likely the last thing they wanted to tote around with them.

Beneath the sink in the cabinet on the floor left of the stove sat a bag of rice. Till grabbed it, looked it over, and deemed it good enough to eat before grabbing a pot from the back of the same cabinet. However, when he went to turn on the sink, no water came out. Furrowing his brows, Till tried again and again. Not a single drop came out, earning a sharp hiss of a curse word from under his breath.

Rice was a no-go. Without water, it couldn't be made, nor could any of the other things in the lonesome cabinet. Nearly throwing the rice and the pot back into the cupboard, Till resisted the urge to slam it shut and sighed to himself. His stomach growled with hunger and he clenched his jaw to stop the wave of anger that wanted to roll over him, forcing himself to look around once again for any food that may have been in the house. What he had brought with him in his bag was only to be used for emergencies, and sadly being hungry wasn't an emergency. Had he been starving, he would've dig into his stash of dry meals, but for now he would have to do with whatever he found or deal with his hunger.

Till was too upset to continue looking at the moment. Throwing his hands up in defeat, he grumbled to himself with a shake of his head before he retreated to where Oliver was sleeping. If he got a couple hours of sleep in himself, perhaps he would be in a better mood.

A soft crunch could be heard when Till walked through the door. Bringing his gaze up from where it had been on the dirty toes of his black boots, he looked at Oliver, his eyes immediately widening.

Food. Oliver had found food.

Looking up to Till, Oliver slowed his chewing. At his side was a box of crackers and to his other was slices of cheese. Neither looked entirely fresh, but seemed to be decent enough to eat. Oliver wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand before grabbing the plate of cheese and moving it to his other side to pair it with the crackers, patting the spot beside them to invite Till to sit down.

Till did so quickly. Taking several crackers, he put slices of cheese between them until there were four layers of each, shoving his little creation into his mouth with a groan. Oliver watched at his side with a grin, biting off the end of his cracker with a soft, amused chuckle.

"You seem hungry," he teased, his voice just as gentle as his smile, "I found this beneath the floorboard. I stepped on it and it shifted so I lifted it up and found this."

"What else was under it?" Till asked, his mouth still slightly full.

Moving his foot to the side, Oliver hooked his finger underneath the floorboard and lifted it to show Till what was beneath it. Another box of crackers was joined by a loaf of bread, more cheese, four canteens of water, and apples. It wasn't much, but it looked like a jackpot to Till.

"I don't want to eat all of it," Oliver said, turning his head to look at Till, "I would feel bad."

"Why?"

"My family hid food like this. We kept it for when we ran out of everything else. And look." Pointing to the bread, he showed Till the areas where a few slices had gone missing—eaten along with some of the cheese that was stored in a cooler space beneath the floor. "They already started eating it."

If Till didn't feel guilty before, he did then. Sighing deeply, he swallowed what was in his mouth then glanced at the plates between them. Even though the targets were gone, Till and Oliver were not only using their house to relax, but they were also eating the last of their food. Things wouldn't be like this if people didn't join the military and make it seem as if they supported the country. The two people that lived here wouldn't have to live this life if people like Till and Oliver didn't selfishly immerse themselves into the military's promise to treat them better in return for their service.

"We can eat half of what's out already and then leave the rest here," Till decided, "Just in case they ever come back."

"How would they ever?"

Till frowned. It was as if he had forgotten what they were doing here. Even though they had been sent here to look for the two agents gone rogue, he knew that the civilians with them would be taken into custody as well, even if they were being held hostage by the agents.

Before Till could change his mind or let his train of thought stop him, he said what had been on the tip of his tongue as of recent through a mumble, "This is going to be my last mission. I can't serve this country anymore."

Dropping the floorboard with wide eyes, Oliver looked across Till's face desperately. He was scanning his features to see if he was lying. All he saw, however, was truth and shame.

With an agape mouth, Oliver stammered for a moment before finding his words, "I– What? What, why, why is this your last mission? Why are you leaving the military?"

"I can't support this," Till said through a humorless chuckle, throwing his hands out towards the room they were in as he looked around it. The paint was chipping all over, the ceiling was beginning to crack and dip in due to the amount of water that had clogged the attic from the rain they received, and on top of that, the house was barely standing. This house wasn't even a home. It was some place to stay inside during the night and a place to hide when it got cold during the winter. It wasn't anywhere near what anyone deserved. Till couldn't even fathom supporting the military and government anymore after seeing this. "This is no way that anyone should live, Oliver. You know that. You joined to escape Sector Five because of the poor living conditions."

"I don't want to go back," Oliver whispered harshly to Till. Grabbing his arm, he squeezed it and shook his head, a firm but scared look on his features. "I can't go back. I can't live in that place. Even if the military treats me like shit and boards me like a goddamn dog, it's better than living there."

"Then flee with me," Till blurted out. Silence fell between them as their eyes met. Desperation and truth shone in Till's bright green eyes, so much so that he could see the reflection of them in Oliver's dark green irises. Sighing sharply through his nose, he took Oliver's hand off of his arm to hold it securely in the both of his, looking straight into his eyes as he continued, "We'll be cowards, we'll be leaving everyone behind, but we've tried. We've tried to do whatever we could to help these people, to remain obedient under a government that uses us, to just... blindly accept the fact that some people live better than others in this country. We can't turn a cheek towards what's happening. We can't live like this."

"We can't just leave!" Oliver protested. When he attempted to rip his hand from Till, Till only gripped him tighter. Oliver glared as he spat out his words, "You joined because you wanted to help people and I joined to help my family. I hate this country and its government just as much as you do, but I am not leaving until we try just a little harder to save these people."

"Then what are we going to do?" Till desperately asked, "How do we help everyone?"

Biting his lip in thought, Oliver glanced around the room. He had daydreamed of someone standing up against the government, but he had never pictured himself as being the one to do it. He didn't believe he had the power or strength in him to do so.

"The agents gone rogue," he said with curiosity in his tone and eyes, "Do we know why they went rogue?"

"No," Till said, "No one knows. Why?"

"They left Sector Three and fled to Six—here. You've been to Three before. Why would they want to leave there and come here?"

Till shook his head, clearly confused. "I don't know. It doesn't make sense to me."

"Me neither. At least, not at first." Till's face pinched in thought as the wheels in Oliver's mind turned, giving him the answers that they needed. "What if... they actually went rogue? Not just because they left their Sector, but because they want to defy the military and the government? What if they wanted to see how others lived?"

As Oliver spoke, Till began catching on. While the reasoning behind the group's actions was unknown to the two of them and the rest of the military, Oliver seemed to be deciphering things quickly.

"What if the civilians they captured aren't being held hostage by them? What if they're helping them?"

"Maybe," Till said quickly, his tone hushed and eyes moving rapidly around Oliver's face, "Why would they need civilians, though?"

"To start a revolution." Their gazes locked and Oliver swallowed softly, motioning to the device that Till carrying with him, but hadn't yet used. "We need to find out who those people that are with them are. Do you think if we head towards Sector Two we'll be able to get service?"

"We might. We don't know who the civilians are yet."

"The neighbors do," Oliver said, "All we have to do is ask for their names then head towards the wall that separates Six from Two to get some service and look up their names in the government data base. From then on, we can see if these people might be ones that would usually raise some concern."

How quickly Oliver had pieced together a plan surprised Till. Smiling breathlessly at him, Till scoffed and ran his his hand through his hair, taken aback by the other and how intelligent he was.

"You could be a genius, you know," Till said through a mumble, looking up at Oliver after. Oliver blushed softly and dropped his head to mask his smile. Till nudged his arm to earn his attention. "I'm serious. You're very smart."

"No," he denied, "I just learned from the best."

Squeezing Oliver's hand, Till laughed at him and shook his head. He never knew what he had done to deserve to be so close to someone like Oliver, but wasn't going to question it. If life had handed him Oliver, he was going to take him with no hesitation.

"You're trying to flatter me, and it's working," Till said through a mumble, his smile still as wide as ever, "We have to go, though. The sun will be setting soon and we can't risk being in this area once it's dark."

Nodding in agreement, Oliver released Till's hand to clean up the mess he had made, neatly placing everything back into the empty floorboard before standing. They had a long way to go with their mission and although there was no telling how it'd end, Oliver had a feeling that he wouldn't be disappointed.

Chapter Text

Sieben.

"My feet are hurting."

"It's because you haven't walked anywhere besides around the house for the past twelve years."

"You said that jogging in place counted as exercise."

"Flake, I just said that to make you feel better."

Ahead of Paul and Flake, Richard was smirking to himself. Though the two seemed to butt heads, Paul found ways around genuinely upsetting Flake. While it was entertaining to listen to, Richard was set on not speaking to Paul much to avoid being faced with such an attitude.

Christoph, on the other hand, was becoming a bit annoyed. He didn't find Paul to be funny at all. At first, he could tolerate him, but now that they were going on their twentieth hour together, he was growing more and more agitated. Though Richard could oftentimes annoy him, he was bearable now in comparison to Paul. How Flake had lived with him and only him for over a decade was beyond Christoph. They had spent less than a day together and he was ready to drop him off to the next lucky agent who would hopefully be escorting him out of the country. Flake, however, didn't bother Christoph. He was quite quiet and private, which Christoph appreciated. Flake didn't seem to be a fan of people, even though he was finally mingling with some other than Paul for the first time in a while, and Christoph respected that. It seemed like he was already on Paul's bad side. He didn't want to be on Flake's.

The sun was setting and the rundown houses of the poor neighborhoods alongside the wall separating Sector Six from Sector Two were beginning to cast dark silhouettes. Between the breaks of the houses, sunlight peered through and illuminated the profiles of the group, displaying their shadows on the wall as well. Christoph looked over occasionally and studied how they were walking— He and Richard moved in unison with straight backs and sturdy legs, whereas Paul and Flake tended to drag their feet and slouch from time to time. Every so often, Paul would jump up after placing his hands on Flake's shoulders to give him an extra boost and Flake would duck down to ruin his chances of bouncing too high into the air. Richard smiled to himself every time Paul ridiculed Flake for soiling his plans, though Christoph had to zip his mouth shut to prevent himself from snapping at them and commanding them to stop fooling around.

Though his and Richard's plan to expose the government was well thought out, he still had his doubts. As a child, Christoph had never been much of a leader, though that wasn't to say that he was a follower. Richard had described them as outliers earlier in the day and Christoph wholeheartedly agreed with that term. Throughout his life, that's all that Christoph had been. His parents wanted one lifestyle for them and their children, which involved impeccable taste in clothing and food, many evenings spent at the Sector's finest restaurants either before or after watching an opera performed in God knows what language, and each child of theirs perfecting the art of playing a classical instrument. Christoph deep down had always known that he was different. He didn't want to appease to his parents' demands and standards when it came to their rather sophisticated lifestyle. He wanted a life of his own. He wanted to do whatever he wanted.

Rather than opting out of the mandatory military training most teenage boys living in both Sector One and Two were expected to complete, Christoph went into it headstrong. His older brother had went in and come out a completely different person at first, but he quickly succumbed to their parents' way of life before he could further uphold and strengthen the skills he had learned whilst in the military. Christoph knew then that he couldn't travel down the same path that his brother had. He had to prove himself and to continue to do so, even if he decided to return to his family rather than serve his country once his training was up.

Whilst in training, he had met Richard. They were paired together after three weeks of being constantly shifted around due to changes with trainees who had either opted out or were transferred to other barracks or groups ranked by skill, and from then on they had been inseparable. Christoph, who had been nineteen at the time, quickly took a liking to the eighteen year old Richard who called the top bunk the second they shook hands. Whether it was the color of his eyes or how calloused his fingers were, or maybe that boyish smile of his, Christoph was infatuated from the start.

During training, neither explicitly acted on the emotions they so obviously felt for one another. Though they'd oftentimes find themselves in the communal shower in their barracks together and alone in the middle of the night, washing one another tenderly and brushing their noses against each other's, they never did anything more than that. Richard's hands had always wanted to wander, and did so a few times, but Christoph managed to calm him by rubbing his ears gently—pressing the pads of his thumbs to the outer shells of Richard's ears and tracing them until Richard leaned in and rested his head against Christoph's collarbone with his arms wrapping around his waist and his hands resting just above the small of his back. Christoph always wanted to give Richard more than that. The weeks in training seemed to drag on for years, though in total it had only been about fifty days once he had met Richard.

Following graduation and proper enlistment, both Christoph and Richard had options as to how they wanted to be housed. They could choose between living in barracks once again, living on their own, or gathering up a roommate or two to live in a house either on or off base. Without asking one another, both opted to live in a house with a roommate, with said roommate being the other party. When they came to one another with the news, it was met by wide grins and quickly made plans.

The house they both invested in was off base, though it wasn't far from where they'd be working. Their first night in the small one level house with nothing besides a bedroom, a bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen was celebrated with drinking and whatever drugs they could get their hands on. Despite that night being marked as the first time they had officially took things to the next step on a physical level, they didn't count it as such due to the both of them being under the influence. The second night is what they deemed as their first time.

The second that Christoph stepped through the door after a long day of planning a project alongside others in his classes, Richard grabbed him and marched him to their bedroom where he pressed their lips together and kissed him as if his life depended on it. Christoph immediately brought his hands up to cup Richard's face in them— His fingers cradling his head and thumbs brushing along his cheekbones as their lips moved in sync with one another's and their tongues danced to a song that only they could hear. Both were nothing but sober by this point, making their actions much more put together than they had been the night before when their hands fumbled messily over one another and tore at the clothes they were wearing.

They took their time that evening. Christoph kissed Richard until Richard was panting and nearly falling to his knees on the floor, and in return Richard drove Christoph so far from sanity that he found himself saying nothing but Richard's name by the time they were both completely bare. Both had their fair share of ruining the other during those hours that they spent together that night. While some would say it set the bar high, they would say that things were only getting started.

Their relationship took off towards the stars in no time, though it did falter at times. Richard wasn't very acquainted with what love was and had issues with being faithful, which lead Christoph to have his doubts when it came to trusting Richard. Before he knew it, it became a common occurrence for him to come home from base on days where he'd be too wrapped up in his projects to accompany Richard home to find someone random on the couch, in their bed, or in the shower, either with Richard or being recently disposed of by him. This led to fights that would last well into the late night hours. Some evenings Christoph would walk out and stay with the neighbor, who he had slept with a number of times to get back at Richard, and others he would have to sleep on the couch to stop himself from smacking Richard until he learned that what he did was hurtful.

Eventually, Christoph developed the courage to sit Richard down and give him an ultimatum— Stay faithful and go to therapy or get out and never speak to him again. Richard quickly realized the extent to which he had gone when it came to hurting Christoph and opted for the former. Though Christoph was grateful, he was also exhausted and more than ready for someone to try and process the mess that was Richard's mind.

It wasn't uncommon for Richard to come home after therapy sessions and breakdown to Christoph. Whether he was upset about his childhood or his own actions when it came to betraying Christoph, he apologized profusely and begged whoever was listening to forgive and help him. It broke Christoph's heart every time it happened. It hurt knowing that there was nothing that he could do to go back in time and mend every wound of his from his childhood. Christoph badly wanted to stitch Richard together so that he would never feel another ounce of pain from himself or from an outside source. He didn't deserve it, even if he did cross Christoph a number of times. To some degree, Christoph couldn't blame him entirely, though at the same time he could. Richard and his emotions and doings were like an enigma whose puzzle pieces and mysteries shifted everyday. It kept Christoph on his toes, which is what kept him around and interested, as bad as it sounded.

Years passed and finally, Richard moved on from his infidelity. The road had been long and strenuous, but as of recent, he had been faithful for a staggering three years, which was a record for him. Christoph trusted Richard again, but he did hope that he wouldn't revert to his old ways one day. If he were to do so, he wouldn't know how he would react. Richard had hurt him many times before. One more wound and he might be down for the count.

When Christoph emerged from his own mind, he came to realize that the sun had set. In the distance ahead was a fire, just around the corner they'd soon be rounding. Glancing over at Richard, he noticed his hands were already positioned on his gun, signaling that he was ready for any threat that may be lurking ahead at what seemed to be the upcoming campsite. Christoph kept the strap for his gun tight against him, with his gun pressed to his back. If a threat exposed itself, he'd be able to access the pistols in the holsters at his sides. Richard's much larger gun would do the trick for them.

"Stay behind me," Richard commanded as they neared the glowing blaze. Flake looked ahead with wide eyes and immediately grabbed Paul's hand to squeeze it as anxiety coursed throughout him. Paul wore a much calmer expression than Flake and shrugged nonchalantly, holding Flake's hand in his securely as his other hand moved over to link its fingers around Flake's thin wrist.

Christoph's blue eyes flicked over to meet Richard's. Richard nodded back over his shoulder, motioning for Christoph to follow his orders.

"No," Christoph said, "I don't think anything dangerous is ahead."

"I'd rather be safe than sorry," Richard said lowly. His gaze slowly swept over Christoph's figure before he nodded behind him again. "I won't tell you twice. Get behind me."

"No," Christoph repeated. As Richard glared at him, Christoph slipped his hands over the guns at his sides, grabbing the grips of them with an exhale and a frown. "If there is something dangerous up there, I'm not letting you face it yourself."

"You sucked at shooting guns in training, you know." Richard scoffed. "At least now you're subpar at it."

"And you sucked at planning things out, which is why I'm involved in this," Christoph shot back with a smirk, "Even if you were subpar at it, it wouldn't go as well without me."

"You're getting cocky for a guy who didn't even know how to reload a magazine."

"That was fifteen years ago. Your last poorly thought out plan occurred fifteen seconds ago."

"Are you trying to make me hate you?"

"I could never. You like me too much."

Richard rolled his eyes and looked away as he grumbled, "Maybe on a good day."

Cracking a smile, Christoph allowed his gaze to stay on Richard for another moment before he turned his attention to the campsite that they were approaching. Makeshift tents could be seen now that they were closer, as could hunched over figures sitting around the fire. Paul and Flake had fallen silent behind them in the midst of holding onto one another, though Paul was still much calmer than Flake, and even Christoph.

As one figure moved to grab what looked like a can from beside them, Richard cocked his gun and snapped it up into position, causing Flake to gasp and Christoph's eyes to go wide for a moment.

"Richard, put your gun down!" Christoph hissed at him under his breath. Throwing an arm out towards the group of people, he pointed to the man who had raised the can up to his mouth. "It's just a drink!"

"It could be a weapon," Richard said lowly, "You don't know that it's a drink."

"Are you blind?" Paul spat at him through a harsh whisper from his place behind him. Richard's jaw clenched as he sighed sharply through his nose. "He picked the can up and took a drink out of it. You're just being paranoid."

"Being paranoid could keep us alive, idiot," Richard growled at him as he spun around. Dropping his gun, he shot Paul a look that would normally intimidate most anyone else, but didn't faze Paul in the slightest. If anything, Paul mirrored the expression and growled even louder in retaliation.

"Your paranoia is a load of shit around here. If you based every action of yours off of it, you'd be dead. I'm surprised you aren't already."

"And I'm surprised Flake hasn't clipped your vocal cords by now."

"Just because you have dick between your legs, it doesn't mean you can act like one."

"You little piece of fu—"

"Heiko?"

Turning to face the voice that had come from ahead of them, Paul stepped forward, still holding onto Flake's arm, though Flake stayed in place. Through the dim light of the nearby fire, Paul could make out the face of someone he once knew years before.

"Arnold?" Paul questioned. The statement was met by a wild laugh, one which Paul mimicked immediately. Releasing Flake, he ran to the man and embraced him tightly, patting him roughly on the back and throwing a handful of questions at him before he could do anything else.

Christoph looked to Richard, who raised his brows before turning to look at Flake. Richard nearly asked Flake who the man was, but realized quickly that Flake wouldn't know considering he had only been with Paul since the walls went up.

"It's my cousin!" Paul announced, his arm around the other's shoulders and a wide grin on his face, "I haven't seen this ugly fuck in years!"

"Do you normally call your cousins ugly?" Christoph asked, a judgmental tone to his voice and one of the same nature on his face.

"I'm just wondering if he calls himself ugly because he's not much of a looker anyway," Richard mumbled.

"Don't act like you're one," Flake whispered defensively. Richard glanced back at him again before sighing and meeting Christoph's gaze momentarily, breaking their eye contact to look to Paul once he spoke again.

"We can stay here for the night," Paul relayed, "Arnold says there's extra tents and food for us in the morning."

"We should just keep moving," Richard told him with an unamused, forced grin and a nod, "Thank you... Arnold, but we have very important business to do."

"Yeah! Heiko told me you're gonna kill der Präsident!"

"Jesus fucking Christ—"

"Paul... What the hell made you think you could just tell him that?"

"He's my cousin!" Paul said, "Besides, I think he's my only living family member."

"Yeah, we got that," Christoph said gruffly, his eyes piercing a hole through Paul as he stared coldly at him, "It doesn't matter if he's family. We need to keep that information to ourselves. Who knows who could be out here listening to and watching us."

"What if Arnold here is a spy?" Richard suggested. His hard gaze stared in the milky eyes of the man ahead of him, who didn't react at all, much like Paul, to the glance. "We can't trust him with information like that. We need to keep going, now."

"Aw, come on! Just give me an hour to catch up with him!"

"We don't have an hour. We need to get to the four corners as quickly as possible. You want to get out of here, don't you? How the hell do you think you're gonna get out of this shithole if you procrastinate the whole time?"

With his cheeks reddened with anger and his feet stomping against the concrete, Paul walked over to Richard and spit at his feet. "And how do you think you're gonna keep your fucking kneecaps if you keep talking to me like that?" Shoving his hands hard against the larger man's chest, he pushed him with enough force to send him stumbling back a few steps, earning a startled noise from Flake and command to stop from Christoph. Neither prohibited him from tearing into Richard further, though, "You prissy bitch, you don't know shit about this Sector and it shows. If we keep walking around like a bunch of dumbasses this late at night in a place like this, we are going to be skinned alive and eaten. People around here are lawless."

"As if you're much better!" Richard snapped at him, "You keep acting as if you rule this Sector when you don't! How do you think you can control our actions when you can't even control the part of your brain that makes you think you can act so goddamn entitled?"

"Like this— I know this Sector inside and out, and because of that, I am definitely entitled compared to yours and tweedle dum's government groomed asses!" Paul yelled at him, "You think that just because you have a plan to fuck over the government that you know of every twist and turn that this shit will take and you don't! You don't even have the slightest idea and it pisses me off!"

"You piss me off!" The words were accentuated with a swing of his arm. The hit was directed towards Paul's head, but was met with nothing but air when Paul ducked in time. Once on the ground, Paul grunted before sending his foot up between Richard's legs, kicking him where it hurt. Yanking his leg away before Richard could fall to the ground, Paul growled and delivered another rough shove against Richard's chest, sending his back to the ground along with the rest of him.

"You listen to me and you listen to me good," Paul said through gritted teeth. Grabbing Richard's wrists and pinning them to the gravel with an unforgiving force, he put all his weight onto his lower half as he sat on Richard to keep his hips to the ground, making it impossible for him to squirm away from the pain that was bursting up from his groin. Richard's neck strained as he groaned in pain and threw his head back, breathing heavily while Paul continued to speak, "We are stopping for the night before I lose my shit and take out all my pent up anger on you. You got that? So unless you want me to throw you against the wall and knock your teeth out, I suggest you take me seriously and agree to get up and get your ass into a fucking tent to sleep. As soon as the sun rises, we can go. That's seven hours of sleep at the most, which should be more than enough for your military princess self."

Richard hissed at him and caught his breath before leaning up and spitting on Paul's cheek. Paul, instead of reacting violently, reached up and wiped it away with his thumb, leaning down to make sure Richard was watching as he brought his thumb to his lips and sucked the other's saliva off of it with a grin.

Groaning in disgust, Richard attempted to snap up beneath him with his teeth grinding together and his hands forming fists. "You're fucking sick."

"No. I'm Paul Landers." Smirking at him, Paul gave a cocky flick of his brows before getting off of Richard. Standing quickly, he straightened out his clothes before looking to Flake and Christoph with a smile on his face. Christoph looked confused rather than stunned like Flake and Arnold. While he was very upset with the way Paul manhandled Richard, he couldn't blame him. He had done the same to Richard in the past when he became unbearable, and he'd be lying if he said that Richard wasn't being a bit like that now.

Richard stood shortly after with another groan and leaned onto Christoph for support, but not without snarling at him, "Thanks for helping."

"It's better to release anger than to let it ferment," Christoph said, "Your therapist taught you that."

Richard scoffed. "Yeah. She also taught me that physical violence isn't the answer."

"You grabbed your gun when you saw a man take a drink from his cup, Richard. You can't possibly play that card."

Knowing that his argument had been countered, Richard fell silent. He was mostly used to Christoph shoving him into place, but he did have his moments where Christoph's knowledge of how to get him to do so frustrated him.

With a limp in his stride, Richard followed the group to the small village of tents that surrounded the fire. Rather than people staring at the newcomers, they minded their business. No one said a word or halted their pre-existing conversations to acknowledge the group, which all of them were thankful for. Their introduction to Arnold hadn't gone smoothly and due to that, they weren't exactly looking to meet anyone else.

"Heiko, you and the tall one can sleep in the tent next to mine," Arnold offered with a gesture towards the tents he was mentioning. Thanking his cousin with a handshake and a pat on the shoulder, Paul flashed him a smile before leading Flake to the tent. Richard attempted not to glare at Paul as he watched him crawl into the tent, but failed.

"What about Richard and I?" Christoph asked, his arm around Richard to keep him steady, "You said there are more extras, yes?"

"Yes! Most are across the site. Do you mind the distance?"

"No," the two answered in unison. Their immediate response earned a laugh from Arnold, who then waved them along as he began heading towards the other end of the site.

Christoph glanced around as they passed the others and their tents to get to the one they'd be staying in. The people were much more ragged than Paul and Flake, who now seemed to have it good in comparison to these folks, with their skin clinging to their bones and exposing the sharp joints beneath what muscle they did have. Soft cries came from inside several of the tents they passed, raising Christoph's tensions the further they moved away from Paul and Flake. In Sector Two and in the military, they hadn't been exposed to any of this.

Retracting his tablet from his pocket as they walked, he opened the camera and began recording a video, taping the tents and people they walked by. Down one line of tents was a woman, naked and nursing what seemed to be a stillborn baby. Christoph inhaled sharply and tightened his arm around Richard, looking away with a horrified look on his face. Richard looked up at Christoph when he heard his gasp and grew concerned upon seeing his expression, deciding to wait until they arrived to where they'd be sleeping to say anything.

More terrifying sights came and went as they walked. A man, who was much younger than Christoph, was having a seizure outside of his tent in one section of the camp. Children ran around the remnants of what seemed to be a dead bird outside of their tent, arguing about who would be eating which part of it. An elderly woman sat off to the side, away from everyone, looking up to the sky and alternating between crying and laughing.

Christoph had never experienced anything like this, nor had he heard of anything like this happening. While it was traumatizing, it was only fueling his need to give these people the justice they deserved. They needed food and water, they needed housing, they needed lives. What they were currently in wasn't a life at all— It was a nightmare.

Once in their tent, Christoph sat his tablet to the side and laid down on the noisy cot at the back of the tent. Securing the tattered sheets that made up their shelter, Richard looked at Christoph over his shoulder before turning to him.

"What's wrong?" He asked while removing his weapons from himself, "You look pale."

"These people..." Christoph whispered. Shaking his head, he gripped the flattened pillow beneath him and shuddered. "They're suffering."

Richard ceased his movements and examined Christoph where he lay. He had never seen him like this. He had never seen him shake with fear and anger rolled into one.

With a frown, Richard removed the last of his weapons before sitting down on the cot. Reaching down, he rested his hand on Christoph's head and ran his fingers through his hair.

"We're going to make things better," Richard reminded him, "Soon, they won't even remember this time of their lives."

"But they need to," Christoph insisted, "Someone has to remember so it never happens again."

Richard pursed his lips together. He didn't do anything other than nod his head in agreement. The mission they had sent themselves on was draining and scarring, but if they didn't do it, nobody else would. The fear tactics that the government and military had exposed its agents to paralyzed most everyone and convinced them that even thinking of another country's government was nothing short of treason. How Christoph and Richard had snapped out of the trance was unknown, but what they did know was that they needed to help others out of it as well.

"It'll be okay, Christoph," Richard whispered after a few minutes. Christoph sighed through his nose and forced himself to nod in agreement, though he wasn't entirely sure of Richard's statement. When Richard nudged him gently with his knuckles, he moved back on the cot and left enough room for Richard to lay beside him. Now chest to chest, Richard repositioned his hand on Christoph to rest it on his cheek, his thumb still tenderly caressing him. "If you're doubting yourself, don't. You're strong enough to do this."

"What if I'm not?" Christoph voiced, "What if it's too much?"

"It isn't," Richard insisted, "You can do this. We can do this. You said it yourself, Christoph— These people are suffering. You and I... We aren't. We're exactly what Paul called us... We're privileged and fed into the system before we realized how poorly everyone outside of our bubble was being treated."

"I never meant to hurt anyone." Opening his eyes to expose the tears that had gathered in them, Christoph sniffled softly and swallowed hard. "I just want to make it better. I want to make things okay."

"And you will. You will, Christoph, you know that?" Leaning in, Richard pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes, now holding onto the back of Christoph's neck so he wouldn't pull away. "I believe in you, and if everyone else here knew what you were doing, they'd believe in you, too."

"What if I let them down?"

"You won't, my love. I know you won't."

"What if something happens to you?" Christoph reached up suddenly and held onto Richard's wrist, his hand shaking slightly. "What am I going to do?"

"Christoph Schneider," Richard said firmly, "Open your eyes and look at me right now." Both men opened their eyes at the same time. Christoph's eyes were still full of tears, but Richard's had a passionate blaze in them. "Nothing will happen to me, okay? I would never let anything happen to me. I couldn't leave you. I never would."

"Do you promise?" Christoph asked, his tone as broken as the expression on his face.

Richard smiled softly and nodded, his eyes dancing between the two of Christoph's as he whispered, "I promise. I'm never leaving you."

It took Christoph a moment to react, but once he did, he nodded. Swallowing hard, he released Richard's wrist to cup his cheek in his palm and guide him towards him. Their lips connected in a deep kiss and their eyes fell shut, a soft sigh filtering out from Richard's nostrils. He held Christoph as close as possible as he sank into the feeling of his lips on his, parting his own slowly to provide Christoph with the comfort he was looking for.

Christoph did the same after a moment and pressed several languid, emotional kisses to Richard's mouth before pulling away enough to mumble, "I love you, Richard."

Richard smiled and stole another open mouthed kiss from him, nipping at his bottom lip after to playfully tug at it before whispering his response, "I love you, too, Christoph. Get some sleep. You'll need it since you got all misty on me for a second there."

That made Christoph chuckle. Mumbling under his breath about Richard being rude, he pulled their bodies close together and wrapped his arm around Richard, leaving several kisses across his cheeks before he decided to settle down. Richard did the same then followed in suit, his chin resting atop Christoph's head and arms wrapped protectively around him to keep him safe as the night went on.

Chapter Text

Acht.

Life within the campsite began stirring once the sun rose. Whether people were waking up or finally drifting off to sleep, soft rustling could be heard from every other tent in each row. Oliver stopped in his stride and looked at Till, who brought his head up to face Oliver instead of the tablet in his hand.

The previous day, they had done what they could to find out who the civilians were that lived in the house that the agents gone rogue had last been at with them. The neighbor in the house to their right hadn't said a word. She looked both Till and Oliver up and down in disgust and fear, shoved her small children back behind her legs, then slammed the door in their faces before they could ask anything else besides who lived in the house beside hers. Oliver felt a bit defeated, but Till urged him to keep going. There was a house to the left of the civilians', after all.

Upon knocking on the door of the other house, they were met with a skinny man. With dark bags under his eyes and his lips chapped so badly that they cracked and bled, he chuckled before he leaned against the doorframe and asked through a slurred tone of voice if he was being arrested once again. Oliver had shot Till a look of confusion, which Till mirrored prior to clearing his throat and asking calmly who lived next door. The man, seemingly high out of his mind and unable to even remember his own name, hummed for minute or so as his eyes darted around, exposing the bloodshot veins and vessels within them. Oliver couldn't bear to look at him and chose to direct his gaze to the ground, whereas Till kept his eyes trained on the other. He doubted that he would try and flee, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Finally, the man gave them the answer they were looking for. A man named Paul lived next door and his last name could be seen on the mailbox that was on the ground near the front porch. Oliver's eyes had gone wide for a moment before he looked over at the yard, scanning it until he spotted the rusted mailbox nearly buried by moss and overgrown grass at the very corner of the front porch. As Till thanked the man with a smile and a nod, Oliver dashed away from the neighbor's house and ran back to where they had stayed. Till trailed behind him, allowing Oliver to take the lead.

Picking up the mailbox, Oliver brushed the dirt and bugs off of the metal container. Due to how much mud had caked itself onto the sides of it, he opted to spit on it and wipe it clean with the hem of his shirt. After a moment of scratching away the dirt, letters scribbled on in all capitals displayed themselves on the side of the mailbox— Hiersche.

Thinking that they had the name of the man who lived there, Oliver and Till then headed down the street and sped across the neighboring one to be in closer proximity to the wall that separated Sector Six from Two. Though the signal was weak, it came in strong enough for them to get onto the government's data base, which held information about every documented citizen of the country. Eagerly, Till typed in the name Paul Hiersche and stood beside Oliver with his lip between his teeth as they anxiously waited for the response from the data base. Once Till held the tablet up high against the wall, a soft ping rang from the device and gave them their answer.

Nothing. No one named Paul Hiersche lived in Sector Six.

Rather than cursing to himself like Till was doing, Oliver commanded him to stay where he was before he ran back to the house. If there was a mailbox, leftover mail could've been inside it. If not, something in the house must've had the homeowner's name on it.

Within five minutes, Oliver was back at the house. After finding nothing but more bugs and rust within the mailbox, he made his way inside and began sifting through the papers that littered the desks and countertops. Though most were filled with what seemed to be stories and poems, a few treasures lay beneath them. At the very bottom of the pile of paper near the wall on the desk sat a thick envelope. It looked nearly untouched from how white and unwrinkled it was. Tenderly grabbing it, Oliver looked it over before ripping the top of the envelope off and removing the papers from within it.

Medical forms, birth certificates, and licenses were then in his hands, containing not only the homeowner's name, but the name of the man who lived with him. Suddenly, Paul Hiersche became Heiko Hiersche and the man who lived with him was Christian Lorenz. Breathing out a sharp laugh, Oliver smiled widely at his own find before running out of the house with the papers in hand. Instead of rejoining Till, Oliver went back to the neighbor who had given them part of the information that they needed and knocked on his door.

Just like before, it swung open to reveal a very intoxicated man, who grinned widely at Oliver and laughed at the ecstatic expression on his face. Using the man's vulnerable state against him, Oliver bribed him into divulging in more information about Heiko and Christian in exchange for food. The man quickly caved and spewed out all that he knew about the two who lived next door, though he didn't know much about Christian. He stated that Heiko had relayed to him every now and then that Christian, who apparently went by the name Flake, didn't leave the house due to his crippling anxiety, which left Heiko, who always introduced himself as Paul, as the sole provider for the household. According to him, Heiko was around the age of thirty, short, with bright blonde hair. What Christian's appearance was like in detail, he wasn't sure, though he did say that Christian had an impressive height and that he also had bright blonde hair.

Now that Oliver had names and nicknames, descriptions, and personal information about them, he needed to know of their whereabouts and when the neighbor had seen them last, along with if he had seen anybody else with them. The information was only given to Oliver once he shoved three packs of pre-cooked meals into the man's hands.

Earlier that morning, he had seen Heiko and Christian leave the house with two men whom he had never seen before. The men accompanying them were wearing military uniforms, much like Till and Oliver, and didn't seem to be arresting them or holding them against their will. According to the man's recollection, Heiko was apparently laughing and practically skipping as they headed down the street and the military agents didn't seem to be threatening at all; their guns had been strapped to their backs instead of being held in their arms. Once they went down the street, they turned right to head North and that was the last that he had seen of them.

Oliver, although he was internally bursting with excitement, gave the man a polite smile and two more packs of food as a thanks and a parting gift before he left. As soon as he turned and heard the door close behind him, he sprinted down the street to reconvene with Till.

Without giving Till much time to react, Oliver had grabbed the tablet from him to type down all the information that the neighbor had given him. Rather than stopping Oliver, Till watched curiously and in awe, stunned by how quickly Oliver had gathered so much about the men who were complete strangers not even an hour earlier. Now they had full names, physical descriptions, a confirmation that they were with military agents, and an idea of the direction they had gone in. Till wanted desperately to act on the rush of adrenaline and emotions that he felt just by watching Oliver indulge in his talents and skills as much as he was, but refrained from doing so. They had a new mission to complete.

While knowing that the group had gone North after leaving the neighbor was valuable, it didn't give them all the answers that they needed. If they wanted to be more specific, they would either have to single out others who may have possibly seen them or rely on the military's tracking system to see where the agents had gone. Opting for the latter, Till radioed in to base. The signal, albeit weak, connected after five minutes of failed attempts, allowing Till to request information regarding the current whereabouts of the rogue agents and how they had gotten to wherever they were. Thankfully, the two were already on the right track. The agents had followed the length of the wall separating Sector Six from Two and were then stationed in a small village that was a nine hour walk North of them. With it being nearly nine in the evening and the sun setting quickly, Till and Oliver knew that they had to move as soon as possible. While all of Sector Six was unsafe, the area they were in was one of the last places that anyone wanted to be once the sun went down.

Following the wall from nine at night until six in the morning, Till and Oliver walked until they came to the village that the agents were last seen at. When Till attempted to call in to base to get an update on the location of the agents, no signal was present. This didn't shock him due to the nature of the village they were in. It looked far from inhabitable, with abandoned buildings and the remaining houses crumbling away and the tents that the people lived in nearly halfway torn. If the wind were to blow too strong, the sheets would be ripped to shreds, leaving the village's people without their last attempt of having a place to call home.

By this point, Oliver was nearly asleep while standing up, much like he had been in Heiko and Christian's house the day before. Till knew that they'd need to get some sleep, but they needed to gather more information before they could do that.

Gathering pictures of Heiko and Christian first from the government data base, Till resorted to the files he had been sent on the agents to download images of them. While he knew a handful of people within the military, he was unacquainted with both of the rogue agents— Hauptfeldwebel Schneider and Hauptfeldwebel Kruspe. After studying each photo, he waved Oliver along with him and began approaching people within the campsite, showing them the photos of the four men and asking if anyone had seen them.

Till would've been lying to himself had he said that the lack of people who had seen the four didn't disappoint him. He wasn't trying to hurt the group by any means, though he wasn't sure if he was attempting to team up with them either. If they were truly going to start a revolution with the help of Heiko and Christian for God knows what reason, then Till would form a solid plan once that was confirmed. For now, their motives were unclear, which left Till in a cloudy state of mind. However, none of this changed the fact that he still had to track them down and keep up with them.

Oliver trudged behind Till with exhausted limbs and tired eyes. Walking for hours upon hours had left him even more tired than he had been the day before. He yawned every couple minutes, earning him soft frowns from Till and gentle apologies. Oliver waved them off and allowed him to continue with what he was doing. Once Till finished, they could at least get an hour or two of sleep in before leaving again.

Just as Oliver was about to rest his head atop Till's when he approached a group of young women on their way to the fire pit in the center of the tent village, a voice came from behind them.

"More of you guys?" A man asked. Till and Oliver turned to face the man, all three of them wearing confused expressions on their faces as they looked at one another. The man's lips pulled themselves into a frown as he stared disapprovingly at the agents. "Two just left not even an hour ago. Is there something wrong?"

"No," Till answered immediately with a shake of his head, "But did you say that two other agents just left?"

"Yeah. They arrived alone in the middle of the night just as it started to get light out."

"Did you see which way they went?"

"No, Herr. I just heard them grab their things and leave."

Sighing in frustration, Till shook his head again and resorted to his tablet. Swiping to the pictures of the two agents, he showed them to the man. "Were these the agents you saw?"

The man studied the photos for a minute before he shrugged, his hand coming up after to brush over the stubble on his chin and jaw. "Might've been. I can't say. It was too dark last night to get a good look at them."

"Are you sure they arrived alone?" Till pressed, "These agents have gone rogue and may possibly be dangerous. If you have any other information about them, you need to tell us." Looking the man up and down, Till masked a frown by speaking again, "What's your name?"

"What's your name?" The man asked, a hard expression now on his face, "Show me your identification. Having military agents around here scares us, you know. The last time a squad of you guys came through, you shot up a whole row of tents thinking that someone you wanted had fled and hid here."

Oliver frowned upon hearing that. He dropped his head and swallowed softly, clasping his hands together in front of himself. Meanwhile, Till put on another facade and stood his ground. Reaching into the pocket on the inside of the uniform, he nudged Oliver's elbow as a way of telling him to do the same. The two held up their identification cards to the man, awaiting his reaction.

"Arnold," he said gruffly, cold blue eyes moving away from the cards that were held out towards him to shift his gaze between the agents, "Arnold Hiersche."

The surname flew over Till's head due to his less than pleased mood, but it smacked Oliver right in the face. Blinking quickly in realization, Oliver grabbed the tablet from Till and swiped through the pictures to find one of Heiko, turning the device towards Arnold and asking, "Heiko Hiersche. He also goes by Paul. Any relation?"

Arnold suddenly went a bit pale and froze. Till took a moment to catch up to what had transpired and inhaled sharply once he did, clearing his throat as he looked at Arnold again. The similarities between his features and Heiko's were faint, but there were enough present to peg them as family members.

"I don't know him," Arnold lied, "It's a common surname."

"If you lie to us, we can and will place you under arrest," Oliver threatened, "Especially because Heiko was last seen with the two agents who have gone rogue and are wanted by the military and government. I'll ask you again— Are you related to this man?"

Arnold hesitated, jaw tightening and throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. Looking up at Oliver, he sighed through his nose, shifting in place as he mumbled, "Yes. We're cousins. Heiko's father and my father are brothers."

Oliver nodded. "Good. Was he with the agents who were here?"

"Yes. Him and his partner."

"Christian Lorenz?" When Arnold gave Oliver a puzzled look, Oliver corrected himself, "He also goes by the name Flake."

That earned him a nod of confirmation. "Flake, yes. He was with Heiko and the others."

"If you know where they went, we need to know. If we catch up to them, we can assure you that they'll be safe. If someone else gets to them before we do, there's no telling what will happen."

"Who's to say that nothing will happen to me for this?" Arnold asked defensively with a hint of fear in his tone, "How do I know you aren't using me?"

"Because we're trying to help them," Oliver said. Till grumbled his name under his breath as a warning and kept his gaze away from Arnold. He knew that revealing such information was dangerous, but it was the only way to gain Arnold's trust. "We have reason to believe that the agents gone rogue are planning to start a revolution and that they recruited Heiko and Christian to help them. If we don't find them, then other military agents will and things won't turn out well for any of them."

"Heiko's fate rests in your hands," Till told him, his tone low and serious, "If you'd ever like to see him again, you'd do what's best for him and tell us where he and the others went. If you don't, his blood will be on your hands."

Till's statement was enough to rattle Arnold up. With a shaky sigh, he extended a skinny arm towards the North, showing the extent of the wall as the sun casted a long shadow of it from overtop of its height. "They went that way— North. Heiko told me last night about their plans."

"Which are?" Oliver asked. Again, Arnold grew uneasy. Getting what they needed out of him was proving to be difficult, but Oliver was persistent. If he didn't have all the information he needed, none of them would come out of this situation in good condition. "Arnold." Reaching out, he placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, making direct eye contact with the man as he spoke softly, "Please. My partner and I just want to help your cousin. I know what it's like to be protective of your family and to want what's best for them, and I can assure you that telling us about what he and the others are planning on doing will help him in the long run. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine... But Herr Feldwebel Lindemann is right. There's a good chance that if you don't tell us everything you know, Heiko might die, so please. Keep him in mind."

Arnold was frozen for another moment. Till stood in silence, both waiting for a response and admiring the dominant stance that Oliver had taken. In his training, Oliver was quite the leader, but for him to be more focused and engaged than Till was far beyond anything that Till could've ever imagined. Oliver never ceased to amaze him, though it was becoming a bit of a distraction.

Motioning for Oliver to kneel down, Arnold glanced around them before he leaned in, positioning his lips near the shell of Oliver's ear to tell him what he knew, "The agents found Heiko and kidnapped him when they entered Sector Six because they got lost after breaking in and Heiko had access to the Sector's security cameras."

Oliver furrowed his brows and whispered back, "How did Heiko have access to the security footage?"

"He hacked into the system. The agents told him that they'd release him once he lead them to the four corners, where Sector Six, Two, One, and Three meet. That's why they're heading North. They're also staying far enough away from the wall so that the signal isn't strong enough to track the agents."

"How does Heiko's partner fit into this?"

"Just like that— They're partners. They didn't want to be without one another."

Looking over to Till when that was mentioned, he sighed softly, almost silently, before nodding. "Makes sense. Now, did Heiko say what he and Christian were going to do once they helped the agents get to the four corners?"

"He said they were going to flee," Arnold said, "He doesn't want them to be in the country during what happens next."

"Which is?"

Arnold paused. Oliver could hear him gulp before he exhaled shakily against his skin, a chill running up Oliver's neck seconds prior to going motionless from Arnold's confession, "The agents they were with are going to kill der Präsident and start a riot in the government and military. Heiko told me that they came here to gather evidence that the government forces us to live in poor conditions even though they say otherwise when asked about the state of the nation. He said that they can't do it and that they're going to change everything."

"The agents are going to start a revolution," Oliver confirmed loud enough for Till to hear. Till shot Oliver a bewildered look before he stepped away, running his hands through his hair and stilling them at the back of his head, linking his fingers together as he breathed in and out heavily to let the knowledge settle in. Oliver calmed himself enough to pull away and look at Arnold with a soft smile, patting his shoulder as a way of comforting him. "Thank you. You just saved Heiko's life. How can we repay you?"

"By getting the hell out of here," Arnold said, his voice now shaking with paranoia. Stumbling away from Oliver, he shook his head and held his hands out in front of himself, as if preparing to defend himself. "Just go, go away. Don't come back."

Rather than saying anything, Oliver nodded, respecting his demands. He grabbed Till by the arm and handed the tablet back to him, guiding him away from Arnold with long, fast paced strides. Till looked up at Oliver in disbelief as they made their way out and away from the campsite, remaining silent for a number of minutes.

"You were right," Till finally said. Oliver looked down at him, slowing down just enough to read Till's expression. Till's green eyes moved across the smooth features of Oliver's face and his lips began curving into a faint smile, one that Oliver mirrored without even realizing. "You are so smart. You're one of the most intelligent people I've ever met."

"No," Oliver scoffed, his cheeks a light shade of pink. He brought his head up and shook it, the first rays of sunlight flooding over the wall and illuminating his face. Till couldn't take his eyes off of him, especially when the sun was shining so brightly down on him. Shimmering specks of gold highlighted the deep green shade of Oliver's irises, luring Till in even further. "You're just saying that."

"I'm saying it, but I mean it," Till insisted, his tone light and airy, "You're also beautiful. You're very beautiful."

Oliver blushed a deeper shade of red and scoffed a second time. "I thought only women could be beautiful?"

"No. Men can, too. Not many, but some. A rare few." He gave a genuine grin that time as his knuckles ran up the length of Oliver's exposed forearm, earning a soft inhale from the taller male. "Diamonds are rare and very strong, yet so beautiful. You, Oliver, are like a diamond."

"Are you trying to make me feel things for you?" Oliver teased through a laugh, "You're distracting me."

"And you're changing my outlook on most everything," Till admitted, "You're changing me."

"Don't say that. You don't mean it."

"But I do. Without you, I wouldn't be here. I would be committed to my job still. I would be tracking these men down with intentions of bringing them back to base so they could be imprisoned. I wouldn't have taken a moment to step back and think about anyone else as much as I have if it weren't for you."

"So you're telling me you were insensitive before you met me?" Oliver asked, as serious as ever. Arching a brow, he frowned softly. "This makes me question the extent of which your ability to care for others goes."

Now Till was frowning. "It goes a long way. It always has. I just pushed it away."

"Why?" Oliver asked, "That's selfish of you. Not to mention rude, too."

"I don't know. Maybe because I wasn't cared for. Of course I cared for people. I still do. Like I said, I joined the military to help people. What I meant is that I have never gone to the extremes that I'm going to now because of you. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be giving my all. I wouldn't be giving enough care and attention to the people and what they have to go through." Stepping in front of Oliver, Till grabbed his arms. Oliver looked down at him, his lips now in a line. Till parted his and said, "Don't demonize me for learning and growing. Not when you're doing the same."

Oliver sighed after a few seconds. Till had made a point. Nodding in agreement, Oliver timidly rested his hand over Till's wrist, squeezing it reassuringly. "You're right... You're right. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," Till said softly to him, "I think you're just tired. Do you want to stop and get some rest?"

"In one of these soon to be piles of rubble?" Oliver looked around at the buildings surrounding them and shook his head. "We'd have better luck sleeping in a lion's den. We should keep moving. The others can't be that far ahead of us."

Though Till was slightly disappointed in his answer due to how tired he was, he agreed nonetheless and positioned himself at Oliver's side again, releasing his wrist as they began walking. "Good idea. But if you need us to stop and rest, let me know. I won't be opposed to it."

"We should hold a contest. First to break and ask to stop for rest has to buy the other dinner once this is done."

"Deal. Get ready to pay for my dinner, Riedel."

"Yeah, right. I can already taste my sweet victory."

"You must be tasting whatever I'd be giving you after the dinner that you'll be paying for, then." Till smirked and Oliver blushed. Elbowing him affectionately, Till chuckled. "Come on. We can do this."

"We can do this." He nodded, flashing a smile down at Till. "And I can win. Just you wait and see."

"Sure, Ollie. Sure. I'm looking forward to it."

Chapter Text

Neun.

"I feel like something bad is going to happen," Christoph said suddenly. It was midday of the afternoon that followed the morning where they had left the campsite and continued their trek up North to the four corners. He looked over at Richard with a concerned frown on his lips, his brows furrowing together as they usually did when his subconscious was warning him of something. "I don't think we should pass through this next town."

"We can't go around it," Richard said, "Going around it will take an extra four hours that we don't have. If we go through it, we'll be out of there in two."

"I'd take the four hours instead of the two," Christoph mumbled under his breath. Turning his head forward, he sighed to himself. Throughout his life, he had had always been intuitive. His parents would oftentimes tell Christoph that he had a gift and was a psychic of sorts. Christoph didn't believe in such fantasies, however. Not when he knew how he was capable of doing what he could do.

Being the silent type allowed him to assess situations and process them quickly. Whilst everyone else moved wildly and spoke to others, Christoph studied everything. In buildings, he would look for exits in case of an emergency, he would single out suspicious looking individuals and flit his gaze over to them occasionally as the night went on to track their movements and actions, and he would plan for any and every worst case scenario. When he had first told his parents about how thoroughly he would run over minor details and prepare for anything that may come his way, they sent him to a psychiatrist, who then diagnosed him with anxiety. Christoph, while he was anxious, didn't believe that the mental illness was the cause of his thought process. He had done things like that since he was a young boy. It was just how his mind was wired.

Now that they were approaching another town,  Christoph felt the familiar sensation of heightened nerves plague his inner core. It started as a fit of faint butterflies before it progressed into a chill that ran up his back. While that transpired, he looked around them for a nearby threat that could've been triggering his subconscious ability of sweeping any area he was in, but found nothing. Whatever was beginning to bother him hadn't yet been stumbled upon— It was ahead of them.

Graffiti covered the large slabs of concrete that made up the sections of the wall. While most spray painted art pieces condemned and damned the government for their actions, a few symbols and slogans stood out to Christoph. He wasn't very familiar with gangs and dangerous hate groups, but he knew something sketchy when he saw it. For a moment, he had slowed down to look at something that had been drawn over the government's official seal and another shudder ran up his back. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, but he was sure in that moment that he never wanted to see it again.

"We need to go around," Christoph insisted, "Richard, we can't go through here. I have a bad feeling about it."

"Schneider, we can't." Stopping in his stride, which caused Paul and Flake to come to a halt behind him, he sighed sharply and dropped his shoulders. "It's too far out of our way."

"This town isn't safe, just look around us." Richard did as he was told and swept his gaze over their surroundings. While the area was quite ominous with its barren streets, shattered windows, and torched remnants of both cars and buildings, it wasn't much worse than anything they had walked through already. Why Christoph was singling out this town when they had already passed through ones that were nearly identical to it, Richard didn't know, but he didn't have time to decipher Christoph's hunch. Richard didn't have to say anything for Christoph to know that he didn't believe him. With a scoff, he looked away for a moment and shrugged. "I don't even know why I tell you about these things sometimes. You don't believe me."

"I believe you, okay, it's just—" Stopping himself before he could grow agitated with Christoph, Richard breathed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We have weapons. We're still military, too, mind you. If anyone tries to hurt us, they'll stop when they see our uniforms."

"I think they'd be hurting you because of the uniforms," Flake said, "I mean... Look around. Look at the graffiti everywhere." In unison, all four men turned their heads to gander at the vandalism around them. Whether people had written vague messages of hate or direct death threats to der Präsident himself, it was clear that they were in an area where people were far from accepting of what their country had come to. With Christoph and Richard still blatantly wearing their military uniforms with their insignia on their armbands, they were open targets. While Paul and Flake were on the safer side of things, that didn't mean that they wouldn't be hurt. Flake looked at Christoph and Richard warily, his tone soft as he spoke, "I think Schneider's right. I think we should just go around."

"Yeah," Paul piggybacked, "I agree. I don't think it's in our best interest to walk through a place like this."

Scoffing in defeat, Richard threw his arms out to his sides. Sticking his chin in the air as he tilted his head back and shut his eyes, he gave an exasperated wave of his hands. "Alright, alright! Fine! We can go around! But none of you are allowed to complain if your feet start hurting even worse than they are now. You guys are doing this and choosing it for yourselves. Just remember that." Bringing his head down, he gestured between them and himself as he spoke, "You guys wanted to go around and I wanted to walk through it. Now, let's go before you drive me up a wall."

"I wish I could do that literally," Paul grumbled, "That's all you want is to be on the other side of this stupid wall anyway. If I could piss you off enough to give you the strength to somehow scale up a six meter wall without anything to grip, then I'd not only be a God, but I'd be at ease again since I wouldn't have to hear you whining about wanting to be right and to have things go your way."

"Do you think it's fun to piss me off all the time?" Richard snapped at Paul as they began walking away from the town, looking at the shorter man over his shoulder with a glare, "I could change my mind about you and lock you up in prison for compromising your Sector's security system."

"I didn't compromise shit," Paul hissed, "I saved my own life by weaseling my way into the security system. If it wasn't for that, I could be dead."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Oh!" Paul chuckled harshly. Flashing Richard a sarcastic grin, Paul abandoned Flake and marched up to the agent, nearly shoving Christoph to the side in the process. "You think it's funny to shit on my existence when it's the only thing that's saving yours? Huh? Why, you must be dumber than I thought! Please, keep talking! I want to see just how many brain cells you're missing, Richard!"

Just like they had been since they met, Richard and Paul began fighting with one another, throwing fabricated threats back and forth in the midst of attempting to hit the other where it hurt. Christoph rolled his eyes and slowed down his pace to join Flake behind the rest of the group. Flake glanced at Christoph out of the corner of his eye without saying a word, keeping his back straight and gaze forward as they walked.

Christoph didn't mind Flake. Flake was quiet and stayed out of the fights that Paul always seemed to be itching to get into. How Flake had grown used to Paul's fiery attitude, Christoph wasn't sure, but as long as Paul wasn't acting like this with Flake in the solidarity of their own home, he couldn't judge Flake for turning a blind eye to Paul's constant willingness to argue and prove himself.

"I'm sorry I brought up your family yesterday," Christoph said to him. Flake heard what he said, but didn't say anything. Christoph didn't expect him to, so he went on, "It was rude of me. I didn't mean to. I don't like overstepping boundaries, but sometimes I do. We're human.  We make mistakes." Again, Flake said nothing. Christoph looked up at him and frowned softly as guilt rolled into him just as it had the previous morning when he upset Flake with what he said. Christoph didn't claim to be a people person, but that was no excuse for his actions. "If you want me to leave you alone, I can. I understand. I won't be upset."

"No," Flake said. The simple response almost caught Christoph off guard visibly, but he regained control of himself before he could allow that to happen. Though Flake spoke, he didn't look directly at Christoph. Christoph wasn't complaining, however. "You're right. We make mistakes."

With a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Christoph mumbled a soft 'yeah' and nodded. "That we do... I feel like our introduction didn't go well, so let's try again. I'm Christoph Schneider, but I just go by Schneider. What's your name?"

"You already know it," Flake said, unamused, "Why do I need to repeat it?"

"To have a proper introduction," Christoph told him, "It might help break the ice."

"Maybe I like the ice. It is summer, after all."

The smile on Christoph's face faded. Flake was much calmer in comparison to Paul, but he was on the opposite end of the spectrum when it came to the energy he radiated. Paul was a bursting ball of flames while Flake was a cold icicle hanging menacingly off of someone's gutters. If one got too close to Paul, they could be burned, but if someone dared to do anything to Flake, they'd be stabbed by his sharp exterior.

Befriending the civilians wasn't a part of Christoph's plans, but he did want to get to know them a bit better. It was the least he could do, given that they were leading Richard and himself towards the freedom that they couldn't reach themselves.

"What do you like to do for fun?" Christoph asked once the bickering between Paul and Richard became too much to bear, "Is there anything in specific that you would do back home to pass the time?"

"That wasn't home," Flake grumbled, "I don't have a home."

"Okay, well, at the house, then. Did you have anything you liked to do there?"

Flake weighed his options before he did anything. If he spoke to Christoph then a conversation would be short to follow and he'd be stuck in it until Paul got done ripping Richard a new one. If he didn't respond to Christoph, he'd be forced to listen to Paul growl insults and threats at Richard, and have to put up with Richard shoving them right back in his face. Neither option was ideal for him, but one involved two adults fighting like children while the other didn't.

"I like to write," Flake responded. He angled his head down and looked at Christoph, reaching up to push his glasses up on his long nose. "I also read."

"You do? What do you like to write and read about?"

"I write about what life is like— What Paul does when he's gone and what I do and think about while I wait for him to come back." Flake shrugged and kept it at that. He didn't want to mention that on some nights when his anxiety got the best of him, he would scribble down words and thoughts as fast as possible to get the horrible images out of his mind of Paul being stuck somewhere or hurt by someone who wanted to kill just to quell their need to release their anger. It happened more often than not. The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became towards Christoph, who had made one of his worst fears nearly come to life just a couple nights ago. However, he found the strength within him to push away the feeling and keep speaking to him, "I read about whatever I can. Paul will bring me books that he finds and we'll read them together."

"Aloud or separately?"

"Aloud. We will sit on the couch or in bed and read to each other. We take turns. Sometimes one of us will read one chapter and the other will read the next, sometimes it's just a page, and other times we each read one paragraph and let the other read the next— So on and so forth, you know."

That brought the smile back to Christoph's face. Flake and Paul seemed to be in a relationship without knowing. Based on the conversation that Christoph had heard bits of back in the school, he came to the conclusion that while both of them had feelings for one another, they hadn't acted on them. A part of him wished that he had done that with Richard. It would've saved him from heartbreak many times, and it also would've saved Richard from some of Christoph's uglier backlashes as a result of his actions.

Christoph shook those thoughts from his mind and nodded thoughtfully to what Flake said. "I like that. What else do you do together?"

"We talk about things. We fantasize."

"About what?"

"Leaving," Flake said, "It used to make me mad when Paul would talk about us living elsewhere. I told him he was being childish and giving himself false hope." He shrugged. "I guess he was right, though. Maybe wishing hard enough can get you what you want."

Christoph bit his lower lip and nodded a second time. It was hard to imagine Paul being so gentle with someone while he was overhearing him screaming at another person, but if Flake brought out that side to him, then more power to him. At least Paul wasn't completely unbearable.

"Have you ever done that?" Christoph asked, "Have you ever wished hard enough to get something you want?"

"No," Flake said, "I don't wish to have things. If I want something, then I'll get it. Wishing is for people who don't want to work for what they want."

"I disagree, but I respect your outlook."

The neutral response earned a nod from Flake. Paul would usually fight with him when they unearthed their disagreements, but Christoph was much calmer. He was open to hearing about what Flake thought and believed even if he didn't feel the same. It was refreshing, almost. But Flake didn't want to think about it too much.

He didn't get to, though. A rapid, loud fire of rounds being shot off from a gun disrupted his train of thought and stopped the men from talking. Christoph was the first to react.

"Find shelter!" He demanded, shoving Flake out of the middle of the street and pointing towards the rubble of a burned down house. Flake stumbled with long strides of his legs over to the remaining bricks that stood above the ground, tucking his limbs in close to himself to shove his head between his knees and shield the back of it with his arms.

Christoph drew his gun at the same time that Richard had after he grabbed Paul by his shirt and physically pushed him into the thick brush on the other side of the street, firing bullets in the direction of where the initial gunshots sounded from. Having served in the military for fourteen years each, Richard and Christoph had been in countless situations like this. The only difference was that none of them had occurred in Sector Six and were being done by an unknown enemy. Whether it was other military agents who had caught up to them or angry townsmen, they brought a hell of a reign of terror along with them.

Booking it away from the middle of the street, both agents darted behind short yet sturdy structures in the brush on either side of the road. With their guns propped up on the bricks, they looked through their scopes and shot at whoever they could from where they were, even if they were a good distance away in structures that they had passed a minute or two before.

From what Richard could see, the attackers weren't in any sort of uniform. They were wearing worn out clothes, much like Paul and Flake.

"They're civilians!" Richard yelled to Christoph as he fired his gun again, sending a parade of bullets into the already broken window of an abandoned shoe shop, "We might be able to stop them!"

"We're outnumbered!" Christoph called back. Rather than shooting, Christoph used the scope to find as many men as he could and counted all the ones he came across. There were more than two of them—even more than four. "There's seven of them!"

"Shit," Richard hissed to himself under his breath. Looking down to the ground with wide eyes, he reviewed his options. Though he could hope for the best, he knew that the two of them would fall pathetically short against the group of men who were firing at them. While this was a battle, it wasn't the one that he needed to be fighting or attempting to lose his life during. He couldn't let a bunch of protestors ruin his shot of giving them a sense of freedom.

"Grab Flake and go!" Richard shouted to Christoph, "Run and go, go North! Just keep running straight, Paul and I will find you!"

"I'm not leaving you behind!" Christoph yelled after lifting his gun up to fire at someone at ground level. He ducked down with his back to the remains of the wall he was against after, looking over at Richard with wide eyes as he shook his head. "I can't leave you!"

"You can and you will, now go, Schneider, now!" Christoph didn't move a muscle and Richard growled. He opened his mouth to yell at him again, but was caught off guard by a bullet hitting the corner of the brick structure he was behind. Cursing, he sent several bullets towards whichever target was visible and was met with a loud cry of pain after. Again, he looked over at Christoph and threw his arm out to point in the direction that Schneider needed to head in. "Go!" He bellowed, "Take Flake and go, Christoph! Now!"

Christoph let his gaze linger on Richard before he reluctantly moved. Quickly, he got to his feet and dropped back to where Flake was three meters behind him, his finger pulling the trigger to his gun several times before he grabbed Flake and pushed him through what was once an alley to guide him away from where they were leaving Richard and Paul behind.

Christoph's heart nearly gave out with each step he took. Had he not had Flake with him, he would've turned around and gone back to Richard, even if it would've made Richard upset with him. He couldn't leave him behind. He couldn't let Richard put himself in a position like this. Not after he promised that he wouldn't let anything happen to him.

Nonetheless, Christoph kept running with Flake, blinking back tears and choking down cries of Richard's name that he wanted to release the further away he got from him.

"Richard!" Paul screamed from behind him, his head just barely sticking up from the brush he had been pushed into, "Richard, we have to go! Stop wasting your bullets!"

"There's still too many shooting at us!"

"It doesn't matter!" Paul's voice cracked as he cried out, "We'll lose Schneider and Flake if we wait!"

Richard knew that Paul was right. The magazine in his rifle was running low and the longer he waited, the further in the opposite direction Schneider and Flake ran from them. With heavy breaths and his mind racing at a million miles an hour, Richard dropped to his knees on the ground and held his gun against him.

In order to head North, he and Paul had to run across the street. Though it wasn't wide, it was still an open space, meaning that they would be targets. However, it was their only way of reconvening with Christoph and Flake.

Locking eyes with Paul, Richard inhaled sharply and swallowed thick in his throat. His anxiety ran on high and his adrenaline wasn't short behind it, leading him to feel a burst of energy that he couldn't let go to waste.

"When I say so, we run," Richard told him loud enough for him to hear. Paul nodded in compliance and ducked back down beneath the brush, getting in position to run across the street when Richard gave him to go ahead.

Richard did the same. Getting up from his knees, he crouched down with his boots firmly planted on the ground and his gun clasped in his hands. His head bowed and his ears rang with each and every gunshot, which he began timing and tuning into to see where they were hitting. The consistent gunfire began to dwindle down to sporadic bursts, varying in intensity every time they were fired off. He couldn't let them stop shooting completely. It would only give them time to react instantly to seeing him and Paul run for their lives.

Richard waited until three more bursts passed. The first came and was short. Richard breathed in deeply following it. The second arrived eight seconds later and was again short. Richard exhaled that time.

The third wave hit and was longer than the other two. Richard didn't dare flinch, even when a bullet broke through a loose brick, just barely missing his lower back.

The gunfire stopped and Richard yelled, "Run!"

With their feet hitting the ground, Paul and Richard took off as fast as they could. Richard kept his legs straight and upper half turned as he fired off his gun, hoping to hit someone, anyone to reduce the chances of either of them being hit by a bullet. The last thing that they needed was someone being too injured to continue their journey to the four corners.

Though there were a few close calls, Richard made it to safety behind Paul in the same old alleyway that Christoph and Flake had run through. Lowering his gun, he sprinted as fast as he could with his heart pounding in his chest and the sound of gunshots growing fainter and fainter the further away they ran from the source of the action.

"Flake! Flake, where are you?!" Paul screamed between huffs of breath as he ran. His blonde hair blew back in the wind as he looked around wildly, his heart sinking and stomach clenching into a knot when he wasn't given a response. "Flake, answer me, where are you?! Flake!"

"Christoph!" Richard joined in, hoping that the sound of his voice and Paul's combined would earn their attention even if they were still far ahead of them, "Christoph, can you hear me?! Where are you?!"

The large buildings started to disappear as they ran. Soon enough, they were in a neighborhood that had been looted for all that it was worth, with abused houses littering what had once been a quaint street. With the sun beating down on them, the two were out of breath from both the heat and their sprinting. Paul slowed down in front of Richard and heaved for breath, his cries for Flake becoming quieter. Richard, rather than complaining, slowed down as well, releasing loud grunts as he tried to calm himself.

With their feet dragging along the ground, Paul and Richard found themselves nearly collapsing against a wooden house. The panels, which were rotting away, creaked and bent under their weight, forcing them to right themselves with exhausted groans and noises of disappointment. As they began to calm down from their run, they looked at one another with flushed faces and wide eyes. Paul's expression broke before Richard's, exposing the fear and sadness he felt.

"Where are they?" Paul asked, his voice breaking and eyes filling with tears, "Wh– Where's my Flake? Where is he, I— Where's he at?"

"I... I don't know." Richard looked down the street and swallowed heavily. He kept his gaze alert and focused for any signs of either of them, though he was mostly looking for Christoph. While he trusted Christoph and his survival instincts, he didn't trust others. Bringing his line of vision back to Paul, he shook his head and forced himself to remain calm. "I don't know where they are. I told them to run in this direction. They should've ended up here, I don't understand—"

"Richard!"

Snapping their heads towards the remains of the house that they had leaned against for a moment, they saw Christoph stick his arm out from the window that was barely above ground. Richard sighed sharply in relief and laughed, though Paul stayed on edge.

"Come down here! Stop standing out in the open!"

"Okay, okay, we're coming!"

Paul and Richard rushed as fast as they could into the house, all while being mindful of its poor condition. The floor creaked with every step and the stairs that lead down to the lower level seemed to bend under their weight, urging them to walk quickly.

Paul hopped down onto the concrete floor and immediately found Flake hiding in the corner. With a cry of his name, he rushed over to him and crouched down in front of him between Flake's bent legs, cupping his face in his hands and pressing their foreheads together.

"God, I thought I lost you. I thought I lost you, Flake, I was so scared," Paul said quickly, his voice tight and shaking. Flake grabbed his wrists and squeezed them tightly, bringing his knees in to keep Paul where he was between them. Inhaling raggedly, he sniffled and shook his head, whimpering with his words, "I'm so sorry, I never should've gotten into the Sector's security system. I shouldn't have because if I hadn't, we wouldn't be here, we would be at home with each other and we'd be safe and perfectly fine. I'm so sorry, Flake, I never meant to do all of this, I'm so—"

Before Paul could continue, Flake released his wrists and grabbed Paul by the sides of his neck where his jaw curved, his thumbs pressed tenderly against his cheekbones as he pulled him forward and connected their lips. Paul whimpered again before he kissed him back passionately, his own hands shaking as he held Flake's face in them.

"Don't scare me like that again," Richard scolded Christoph, "I thought you were dead. You heard me screaming for you."

"I thought you were dead," Christoph told him. His eyes reflected a look that Richard had only seen a number of times before now. It immediately broke him down and brought a strong feeling of guilt to his conscience, leaving him to sigh and curse himself for his actions. "Don't you ever wait that long to follow me out of something like that, you understand me?" Christoph grabbed Richard's chin and forced his head up to meet his eyes in an intense gaze. Richard allowed him to do so and nodded slowly, his hand reaching up timidly to rest on Christoph's wrist. Christoph sighed with a shake of his head, caving in and releasing Richard's chin solely to bring him into a hug. "I mean it, Richard. I love you. I'd fall apart without you."

"You fall apart with me," Richard mumbled, "You need to think of a better reason than that."

"Fine. Because you're the love of my life. Are you happy with that?"

The confession brought a smile to Richard's face. Inhaling Christoph's scent, he nodded and pressed a kiss to the side of his head, cradling the back of it with his fingers brushing through his hair. "I'm more than happy with that. Good answer."

Christoph chuckled softly and nuzzled his nose against Richard's shaved sides before he opened his eyes. At first, the sight was perfect. It was Richard's back and the backs of his thighs that coupled with the curve of his behind. Christoph loved the view, even though he had seen it many times. However, once he brought his gaze up, his heart stopped and he shoved Richard behind him with a gasp, his hands snapping down and back to remove both pistols of his from his holsters and aim them at the two military agents who were standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Who the hell are you and what do you want?" Christoph asked in a loud and demanding, yet controlled tone of voice. Eyeing the insignia on their armbands, he cocked the guns once he saw that he was being stared at by a superior who was nothing but a rank or two higher than him. "Give me a name along with identification and I won't shoot, Herr Feldwebel. You, too, Gefreiter."

With their unoccupied hands up in surrender, they reached into their pockets and calmly removed their identification cards, holding them up for Christoph to examine once he had stepped forward, the barrels of both of his guns nearing the chests of the two fellow agents.

Once he was satisfied, Christoph stepped back. With a hard expression on his face, he spoke gruffly, his eyes drilling holes through both of the others, "What are you doing here and how did you find us?"

"We followed you. Your altercation with the anti-government protestors gave us your location and we saw you run."

"As did others, I'm sure. That still doesn't answer my question as to why you're here."

"You're right. My apologies." Smiling, the highest ranked agent in the room arched a brow and put his identification card back into his pocket, his eyes focused on Christoph as he spoke confidently, "I'm Feldwebel Till Lindemann and this is my partner Gefreiter Oliver Riedel. We're here to help you overthrow the government and military."

Chapter Text

Zehn.

Till's left wrist twisted in the restraints of the cuff that was around it, the skin feeling sore where the metal was beginning to rub into it. The jostling caused the chain between the cuffs to rattle. Oliver looked down at his right wrist before looking at Till's hand, frowning when he was again reminded of how they were being held together.

Oliver knew that approaching the group wouldn't go well. He had tried to ease Till into it, but Till was too stubborn to listen. Somehow and for some reason, he believed that because of his status, the rogue agents would still uphold a certain level of respect for him. However, he couldn't have been more wrong.

Christoph paced in front of them. With his hands behind his back and his head turned towards them, he wore a frown on his lips. On the opposite side of the basement sat Richard, who was guarding Paul and Flake behind him and keeping them corralled into the corner they had backed themselves into. Till wanted to speak, but didn't dare to. Christoph had already kneed him in the gut once. He didn't need to feel such a thing again.

"Why should we trust you?" Christoph asked. His voice was naturally quite low, but never held a commanding and authoritative nature until he was in situations such as this. He slowed down a bit as he walked in front of them, but didn't still. Whether it was to get a head start on reacting if either of the two decided to try and move or whether he was simply walking off his nerves, it was keeping Till and Oliver alert, even in their fatigued state. When Christoph wasn't given a reply, he scoffed harshly. "You can't possibly be offended by my question. Not when you followed us here and gave us your names and what your original mission had been. How can we be so certain that you aren't attempting to trick us?"

"We aren't tricking you," Till said, unamused and impatient, "I don't like tricks."

"Neither do I, but you can understand how this feels like one, yes?"

Till clenched his jaw and locked gazes with Christoph. Cold blues met their match with frozen emeralds, but didn't even think of looking away.

"Yes," Till grunted, "What will it take for you to believe us?"

Christoph was the first to break the gaze. Turning his head, he looked at the wall and began thinking to himself. There was no way to be certain of Till and Oliver, and he knew it. While they didn't pose as a major threat at the moment, that didn't mean that they wouldn't later on. Christoph had heard of Feldwebel Till Lindemann before in passing, but he had never met him. The things that people had said about him revolved around how loyal he was and how strict of a superior he could be. Christoph was grateful for the distance he had from Till based off of how others had described him, but now it seemed that his luck had run short.

On the other hand, Christoph had never heard of Gefreiter Oliver Riedel, though that was to be expected. He was still in a lower rank, meaning that he was new to the military. This captured his attention.

"You," he said, pointing to Oliver and ignoring Till's question. Oliver looked down at him and remained still, emotionless. Christoph studied his lengthy frame before nodding towards Till with raised brows. "What are you doing here with him? You're completely different ranks."

"Feldwebel Lindemann chose me to go on this mission with him," Oliver explained. His voice was light and high, and contrasted to his rather intimidating appearance. Christoph grew confused. Oliver noted the expression and elaborated, "He was recruited to track down the two rogue agents... You and your partner... And he was told that he could bring a partner of his own along."

"Why you?" Christoph asked coldly, "Why not someone of a higher rank?"

Oliver hesitated and looked down at Till. Till's cheeks were a light shade of red before he pursed his lips and looked down at floor. Though he wanted to speak, Oliver couldn't. He didn't know what to say. Explaining his and Till's backstory would take too long and he knew that Christoph wouldn't be interested in hearing it. Oliver mumbled nonsensically for nothing more than a minute before someone else spoke up.

"Oh, my god," Richard mumbled. Looking between Oliver and Till with wide eyes, a smirk slowly formed on his face before he scoffed.

"What?" Christoph asked, still confused.

"They're fucking!" Richard accused through a laugh. Pointing to them, he looked to Christoph with a clearly amused expression. "They're having an affair! Look at them! Look at Till!"

"Shut up!" Till growled at him through clenched teeth, "We aren't fu— Having sexual relations!"

"Oh, yeah?" Richard chuckled and nodded towards Christoph with a smirk on his face and mischievous glint in his eye. Knowing the expression on his face all too well, Christoph began to warn Richard of watching what he was about to say, though like always, Richard ignored him and promptly said, "Schneider and I snuck around for years. We know how to tell when people are together."

Behind him, Paul gasped and pinched Flake's arm with a bright expression on his face, earning a soft noise of discomfort from Flake along with a look of distaste.

"I told you!" Paul whispered to him, "I knew they were together!"

"I didn't say they weren't," Flake mumbled with a frown as he rubbed the area Paul pinched.

"Oh, don't lie, you had your doubts!"

"But I'm not lying—"

"We wanted to be alone," Oliver spoke up, bringing an end to Till's growling, Christoph's scolding directed towards Richard, and Paul and Flake's lighthearted bickering. Clearly embarrassed and flustered, Oliver shifted his weight between both of his feet, unable to keep his eyes on just one person. Admitting such a thing made him feel vulnerable and susceptible to many things, even his own emotions. Though he was beginning to come to terms with them, running through them to himself in his mind was one thing and saying them aloud was another. Sighing in and out of his nose, he looked over at Till before he managed to direct his attention towards Christoph, since he had been the one to ask originally. "Till was chosen for this mission and they told him he could bring someone along... He chose me because... we like each other." Looking over at Till, Oliver's cheeks heated up and painted themselves a faint red shade, whereas Till looked at him with a somewhat guilty look on his face. If it weren't for him, Oliver wouldn't be here. Oliver recognized the look, but continued nonetheless, "But being together has made us realize things."

"Like what?" Christoph asked, unimpressed with Oliver's story thus far, "Don't tell me that love changed your perspective on things because I can tell you right now that that's a crock of shit. No one ever means what they say."

"Hey," Richard retorted defensively with his eyes narrowed and brows furrowed.

Christoph scoffed and gave him a rather dirty glance out of the corner of his eye. "What? It's true and you know it. You're the one who made me think like that."

"Schneider," Richard said cautiously, "Stop. We have a job to do. We can talk about this once it's finished."

"What did it make you realize?" Flake asked, mostly to spare everyone from the fight that seemed to be brewing between the two rogue agents. He looked at Oliver and Till curiously through thick lenses and subconsciously reached out to take Paul's hand in his again. "You can both answer."

"We both joined the military to help people," Till began, allowing Oliver a moment to recuperate from the blow that Christoph had unexpectedly sent his way without warrant, "We didn't do it because we accept and support what the government and military do. I did it because I believed that I could make a difference—that I could be different from the others and help everyone in the ways that they needed to be help. Oliver felt the same. He also joined to get out of the Sector he lived in."

"Which was?"

"Five," Oliver responded softly. With his gaze on the floor, he shrugged and rubbed the side of his neck with his hand. "We have the war criminals and political figures that never made it to office due to their views."

"Oh, shit," Paul said under his breath, his eyes a bit wide, "I never knew that was true. I thought people were just saying that."

"Why would they?" Oliver's face contorted into a look of disgust for a moment before the look faded. His toes inside of his boot began to dig into the floor beneath him, wiggling from side to side slowly as all eyes fell on him. Oliver didn't have to look up to know that everyone was looking at him. In fact, if he did, he would freeze up. Fixating his gaze on the floor and his own feet, Oliver went on after receiving a gentle nudge against his knuckles from Till's, "It was unsafe. My family couldn't live there anymore. I had to get them out of there. When I heard that the military offered housing for the agents and their families, I joined... Not because I support them, but because I couldn't let my family suffer."

"We met in training. Oliver was one of the best trainees I had ever seen, so I took him under my wing. I liked him right away, even though I knew the consequences. I didn't act on my urges and desires, and still haven't." A glare was shot towards Richard, who rolled his eyes with a shake of his head. Till growled before picking up where he had left off, "I chose Oliver for this mission for the sole purpose of us being alone together somewhere where we could be ourselves; somewhere where we could be unbothered and take the time to get to know each other better. Oliver was the one who pieced everything together when we were trying to find you. We didn't know why you two had gone rogue and Oliver figured it out. Once he had done that, both of us were pushed to our breaking point... We saw the way of living, we re-evaluated our own feelings towards the military, and we came to realize that... we can't support it. We can't let this go on any longer."

"We want to join you," Oliver said, now gaining the courage to look between the four of them, "If you'll have us. We could come of good use. Instead of heading into battle with you right away, we can keep up the act that we're still attempting to find you and just... fail."

"Fail?" Christoph raised his brows. His expression was nothing short of doubtful and the scoff he released was harsh. "So your plan is to make the military think that you're still following your mission while we do all this?"

"Well... Yeah. It's not a bad idea."

"It isn't," Paul agreed. Releasing Flake's hand and stepping forward past Richard, he went to stand by Christoph, looking all the way up at Oliver where he stood nearly a foot taller than him. Paul wasn't intimidated by the man in any way— Not by his height, stature, or military rank, albeit low. He looked at Oliver as if he was someone he had met on the street—a being that was insignificant and only around for the moment. Crossing his arms over his chest, Paul hummed in thought, his eyes taking in each of Oliver's features about his upper half. "You know what could make it better, though?"

"What's that?"

"We're going to be escaping through the four corners. That's where we're headed, if you couldn't tell. Schneider and Richard here have pals who are in on their little 'save the world' shebang that will be taking them to Sector One and then getting Flake and I out of the country. But—" Smirking, Paul chuckled to himself and motioned between Oliver and Till with a wave of his finger. "—You two make a great team. It also seems like you've distracted yourselves with one another considering it's taken you about two whole days to catch up to us. Do you agree?"

Oliver was the first to nod. Till looked pained from the weight that Paul's accurate statement carried, but he nodded anyway. This earned them an even wider smirk from Paul.

"Just like I thought," he said proudly, the smirk shifting into a beaming smile, "Now, tell me, agents... When a threat is out and about either within the country or between the walls separating the Sectors, what happens?"

"The borders are secured," Richard answered quickly. Taking a seat on the lower most step on the flight of stairs, he shrugged. "The ones that connect the Sectors between the walls, open up into them, or lead out of the country are locked up like a safe."

"Exactly!" said Paul, "And who is in charge of deciding when there's a threat present?"

"Whoever sees the threat first," Christoph responded.

"Who usually sees it first?"

"The guards. The people watching the borders."

"Bingo. And from then on, what happens?"

"Whoever's guarding that specific border locks down whatever entrances and exits are nearby, alerts the main base, and then all borders are secured."

"Great job! You're all very good agents!" Paul gave two thumbs up before lowering both to instead raise his right index finger with a smug look on his face. "Now... What happens if there's a threat at the border and the guards... miss it?"

"The threat can either break into or out of a Sector," Till said, slowly catching on as Paul went.

"Right. And who's supposed to be stopping us from doing things?"

"Oliver and I."

"Right again. So..."

"Till and I can radio back to base that we've managed to get ahead of you and will be patrolling the border that you're going to be attempting to head out of so that when you arrive, Till and I will be planning to stop and arrest you there," Oliver said quickly as his mind began churning with how well the plan would work, "But in reality, we'll just let you through."

With an enthusiastic gasp and a series of claps of his hands, Paul jumped up, his face bright and tone loud, "There we go! Ladies and gentlemen, we have a genius on our hands! Herr Gefreiter Oliver Riedel has just made us a plan!"

"But what will we do with these two after?" Christoph asked. Though he was onboard and convinced that the plan was quite good, he needed to know every detail to make sure nothing faltered or fell through. "Flake and Paul are being taken out of the country and Richard and I are being taken to the base by allies of ours who are going to pretend to arrest us so we can begin our plan. What about them?"

"How is the timeline laid out?" Till questioned, "I want to time it right."

"Richard and I arrive at the border. We're taken into custody by an ally of ours and taken into the military prison, where we and others will begin a riot after a guard, who's also another ally of ours, releases all the prisoners and other rogue agents that he's recruited himself, since most prisoners there have betrayed the military or government in some way. From then on, Richard and I make our way to the presidential wing on base where der Präsident will be by then due to the riots and Richard will... kill him."

"Kill him?" Oliver's eyes went wide as he looked at Richard, who looked less than pleased with the reality of the situation just like he had been when Christoph had told Paul and Flake the same information. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," Richard mumbled. Sighing, he cupped his cheeks in his hands as his elbows rested on his knees, looking between Oliver's shocked expression and Till's look of disbelief. "Someone has to do it. I'm good with a gun, so it might as well be me."

"I– I don't think killing him is necessary," Till said through a chuckle. Obviously stunned by the confession, he blinked quickly several times whilst trying to wrap his head around the dexterity of the situation at hand. Failing quickly time and time again, he scoffed and raised his free hand to run it roughly through his hair and take a sharp grip on the strands of it on the back of his head, his eyes wide much like Oliver's. "There has to be some other way to go about this. I don't like him just as much as the next person, but murder is a serious crime, Richard."

"You don't think I know that?" Richard spoke through a laugh, "It's been eating away at me since we realized that it was the best option. Killing someone is a big deal and it's a lot to handle, but... better me than anyone else."

"Better no one than anyone else!" Till protested, "Killing him is a horrible idea!"

"I don't see what's so bad about killing," Paul said nonchalantly, lifting his shoulders into a shrug and glancing around between the other five men, "I mean, yeah, it sucks, but he sucks. He deserves to be killed."

"You can't just murder him," Oliver said. He was appalled by the plan that the two agents had made for themselves, but the more he thought about it, the more tempted he felt to give them a bit of credit. Although what they had in mind was extreme and beyond any boundaries that he himself might've had, they were truly set on doing the right thing for their country. They were also beheading the evil from where it was being birthed, therefore it wasn't all that bad. "I mean... He's an awful human being and has been the main reason for a lot of suffering, but killing him is a big thing. Are you sure you want to do that?"

"No," Richard answered honestly through a scoff, "But we have to take a stand. We have to show them that we're serious. This is the only way to do that."

"It's not the only way!" Till bellowed.

"But it's the only one that will stop worse things from happening," Christoph said calmly. Till looked at him with wide eyes that burned with a fire and vulnerability that he hadn't displayed towards anyone except Oliver. The plan was absurd to him. Though he didn't favor their leader nor support his doings, he didn't wish death upon him. Why kill him when they could make him stay around to watch a handful of rebellious agents turn things around for the country he had destroyed? Till opened his mouth to speak again, but Christoph began talking before he could, "If it means anything to you, we aren't sure what to do with those he works with. We have yet to discover whether any of them are false testifiers towards what he's done, but if none come forward, we'll have to deal with all of them."

"You could hang them publicly," Paul said, again carelessly, as if he were talking about how he liked his coffee in the morning, "That would show people."

"Do you not understand the point of this?" Richard spat at him, "We want to promote peace—"

"Oh, like killing der Präsident is gonna do that."

"You didn't let me finish," he growled, "I was saying that we want to promote peace after we take care of the main threat. Does that make sense, Heiko?"

"Don't call him that," Flake said defensively with a frown on his face, "You can start promoting peace now by remaining neutral when Paul gets out of hand."

Richard, who was then stuck between glaring at both Flake and Paul, rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Christoph. With a look of deep thought on his face as he studied Till and Oliver where they stood, he raised a hand to brush his palm and long fingers over the stubble on his chin and jaw. Richard admired the sight while he could, seeing as Christoph wouldn't be snapping out of his thoughts anytime soon to react and scold him for eyeing him so noticeably. Not that it mattered, however, considering Richard had already aired out their dirty laundry to the group.

"How far are we from the four corners?" Christoph asked the two agents, "Do we have service or access to any internet waves that could help us pull up our location?"

"I'm not sure." Till reached down and extracted the tablet from his pocket, which was slightly different from Christoph's due to his higher rank. They both served the same purpose, but Till was allowed more clearance to certain government documents and databases, and more often than not, his tablet was more apt to gaining a signal whereas Christoph's wasn't. However, none seemed to be available in the basement. Cursing with a frown, he shrugged with a shake of his head before looking at Christoph. "I'm getting nothing. I could try heading outside to see if I can get something."

Nodding in agreement, Christoph stepped forward and wiggled his fingers to motion for Till and Oliver to bring their cuffed wrists to his open palm. Christoph grabbed the key to the cuffs from his pocket before undoing them, Oliver's hand immediately snapping over to grab his own wrist and rub the irritated skin that had been indented by the metal. Till frowned and looked over him for a moment before his bicep was taken into Christoph's grasp and he was pushed towards the stairs.

"Richard, watch him," Christoph ordered, nodding towards Oliver, "Till and I will be back in a few minutes."

"Herr, yes, Herr," Richard replied mockingly.

Christoph ushered Till up the stairs with a roll of his eyes. Meanwhile, Till chuckled to himself under his breath from the two's dynamic. Trekking across the rotting floor and stepping outside onto the equally unstable front porch, Christoph released Till to glance around at their surroundings and tap into his senses. Nothing seemed off, other than the fact that he was still riding off a slight buzz from the anxiety attack he nearly had from seeing Till and Oliver appear in the basement so suddenly without his instincts catching on. After scanning the area visually, he turned to Till and sighed.

"I've heard of you before," is how he began, his eyes focused on Till's with the precision of a trained and obedient agent, his lips in a line, "I never knew that this would be how we'd meet."

"Likewise," Till said with a pursed smile, "When I heard that you were one of the agents gone rogue, I was shocked."

"Were you?"

"I was. A colleague of mine had raved about you for years. I never got the privilege of working with you."

"Was your colleague a certain Herr Feldwebel Janik Schmidt?"

Till smirked with a flick of his brows, his arms coming to cross over his chest. He nodded once. "It just might've been. Why?"

"He was my neighbor." Christoph shrugged and glanced off to the side as he nonchalantly added, "I've slept with him just as many times as I've slept with Richard. Not recently, of course. Richard isn't unfaithful anymore so I've had no reason to come crawling to Janik's doorstep with a broken heart." Another shrug. "Except for he'd be the one crawling to me at the end of the evening. He was a good man. Very submissive, too. Well trained military agents are very apt to dominant and submissive lifestyles."

Though Till was a bit stunned by the sudden confession, he couldn't blame Christoph. It wasn't uncommon for many agents to be involved in things like that outside of their jobs. In fact, Till would be lying if he said he hadn't been recently involved in something rather inappropriate and far from expected from him.

Opting to nod along while keeping his own life private, Till said, "It would shed light on the wonders he spoke of you, which I think you've lived up to. It's not everyday that someone of a lower rank not only manhandles a superior, but plans to kill der Präsident."

Christoph chuckled from Till's comment and shook his head, offering him a smile that was much more welcoming than his aura had originally been. Till was understanding, though. Agents weren't supposed to come off as friendly or approachable. They were trained thoroughly, shoved into molds of perfection, and expected to uphold an unwavering exterior of authority mixed with a bit of insensitivity. Christoph hit every nail on the head when it came to having the qualities that the military seemed to lust after when it came to the state of their agents. Till couldn't blame his fellow Feldwebel for taking a certain interest in Christoph.

"I guess not." Christoph paused for a long moment. If the situation hadn't been daunting before, it was then. He was still teetering on the edge of whether or not he could trust Till and Oliver, but thus far, his intuition hadn't given him any red flags towards either of them. While it was a trustworthy source, Christoph couldn't be too careful. He had to make sure that both Till and Oliver both were as serious as they said were about this. Meeting Till's gaze again, Christoph motioned to the other's utility belt. "You got a knife?"

With a puzzled look, Till looked down at the belt around his waist. Along with the holsters for his guns, he had ones for several knives as well. "Of course," he answered, raising his head to look at Christoph with knitted brows, "Why do you ask?"

"A medical kit?" Christoph asked, ignoring Till's question.

"Oliver and I both have one."

"Are there any pills in there that help with sleeping and pain?"

"The last I checked, they were in there." Till, now unsure as to whether he should feel confused or a bit threatened, straightened his posture and flexed his arms absentmindedly as a way of preparing himself for what Christoph would say next. "What do you need knives and medical supplies for, Herr Hauptfeldwebel Schneider?"

"I don't think it's a good idea for us to split up," Christoph said. The statement caught Till off guard and the expression on his face showed it. What it had to do with what he and Oliver had on them, he didn't know, but he stayed silent and allowed Christoph to explain, "What we were talking about earlier— With you and Oliver going ahead of us to position yourselves at the four corners before we reach them. I don't think we should split up. Too many things could happen."

"How will he and I be there before you to clear it, though?"

"You won't. We'll arrive at the same time."

"They'll see us together. Our trackers."

"Not if you and Oliver remove Richard and I's." When Till's eyes widened in surprise, Christoph shrugged one shoulder and spared a glance down at his wrist. The scar from when he had gotten it implanted years ago had now faded, but in the right lighting it could be seen. Brushing his fingers over it, he wrapped them around his wrist and squeezed it after, as if prepping himself for the pain that he'd be feeling hours later. "If you want to prove to us that you're going to help us, you're going to do it by breaking one of the most serious laws there is— Removing an agent's tracker."

"But they're deep in the skin," Till said, his voice trailing off as he raised his own arm to look at his wrist. He had many scars littering his skin. The one from his procedure to have the tracker implanted was amongst one of the several he had in the same area, though he could vividly remember the ache he had felt in his forearm for several days after. "I don't know how well you and Richard will heal up if we remove them."

"It's a risk we'll have to take. If we step into an area with service and the military sees you and Oliver walking with Richard and I, they'll grow suspicious."

"What if I just say that we've arrested you?"

"Then that will mess up the plan that we have. If you take us into custody, we won't be able to meet up with our allies at the four corners. They won't be able to take us to base or take Flake and Paul out of the country. Additionally, Richard and I having the trackers taken out will help later on, too. Once the riots begin, they'll be looking for us and it'll be harder to do that if we don't have them anymore."

While Christoph's reasoning made sense, Till was still hesitant. Removing the trackers would be difficult and depending on how well they handled pain, they could very well be rendered useless when it came to firing guns or defending themselves physically if they were countered with a threat. However, the pros were beginning to outweigh the cons, though the cons were still valid and needed to be addressed.

Caving with a sigh, Till let his arms fall to his sides with a lazy shrug. "I hope you know that Oliver wasn't the best when it came to first aid. I trained him and even I couldn't get him to perform above a mediocre level."

"That's fine," Christoph insisted, "If you need help, I'm sure Paul and Flake will be around. They probably know a thing or two about things like that given they've gone without proper medical care for more than a decade now."

Nodding with a mumble of agreement, Till pushed up his sleeves and placed his hands on his hips. "That's true. Once Oliver and I remove your trackers, we can get going?"

"Precisely." After hesitating for a moment, Christoph turned to Till for advice for the first time, "And the trackers... Should we destroy them or keep them here?"

"Ah... Good question." Till thought for a moment, reviewing their options before offering one to Christoph, "There's a way to keep them concealed, you know— To make sure that they aren't picked up by any signals."

Christoph's brows raised. "Is there really? Even once they're out of the body?"

"Of course. There's a loophole for everything the military designs." Smirking as he ran over the details of his own plans, Till leaned against the doorframe of the house, arms coming back up to fold themselves across his chest. "During the procedure... We can have someone take photos of you and Richard posed as if you've accidentally taken your own lives in the midst of trying to get the trackers out of you. That way we can travel closer to the border after with the trackers kept in the magazine of a gun."

"They aren't detected when they're inside of a gun?"

"For whatever reason, they aren't. We'll just have to remember which gun has the trackers in them so that we don't use it or misplace it, though it'll be either Oliver and I who has the gun."

Taking in the details of the plan, Christoph nodded and urged Till on, "Keep going."

"I can radio into base as we travel that we're trailing you and the others closely and that we have reason to believe that you'll be arriving at the four corners soon. That way Oliver and I will gain access to the station within the walls separating Six and Two, which contains the controls for the borders. From there, we'll be able to sneak you lot in and out quickly, and then after you're gone, we grow suspicious of what's taking you so long to arrive. Oliver and I leave the station for about a half hour and 'find' you two in a nearby building, dead with the trackers sticking out of your bodies. I'll radio base and tell them we found you two dead, rule it as an accidental suicide in the midst of attempting to remove your trackers, and send the photos that we'll have taken during the procedure as evidence. More agents will come out to the area to look for your bodies and while they're doing that, Oliver and I will leave, keep the trackers there so it guides the agents away from us, and hijack a car to meet you back at base to join you in the riot."

When Till looked at Christoph, Christoph had wide eyes and lips parted into a broad smile. Needless to say, not only was he impressed, but he was onboard with the plan that Till had stitched together. Till himself was a bit baffled by himself. Until then, he hadn't come up with anything. Oliver had beaten him to it more than once. At least now they seemed to be even.

"I like that," Christoph said. Laughing, he nodded as his smile grew into a grin, his hand grasping Till's shoulder to squeeze it and pat it after. "I really like that! That'll work out perfectly! I'll let our allies know that you and Oliver are in on it and they'll give you access to the wing just outside of the prison, which is where we'll be released. Us four can reconvene there, if you'd like."

"What else would we do?" Till asked, his expression just as bright as Christoph's, "We can't leave after we help you out. You already have the other two doing that. Besides, I can probably think of ways to grant you access to wings that will be shut down in the midst of the riots."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Christoph looked concerned, worrisome almost. "This is a big deal. It's not an easy task."

Smiling reassuringly at Christoph, Till gave a confident nod. "Of course. This is what we're trained for— Tackling difficult situations and doing what we're ordered to do." Raising his arm, Till stood straight and gave Christoph a salute, a way of honoring the lower ranked agent as a superior. Christoph blushed lightly, flustered and unsure of how to react to the clearance he was just given by the older man, chuckling under his breath before righting himself to salute Till in return. "We'll do fine, Herr Hauptfeldwebel Schneider... I do have one question, though."

"Of course. What is it?"

"Is it possible for Gefreiter Riedel and I to get just a couple hours of sleep in before we operate on you? We haven't slept for more than a day and something about plunging a knife into your forearm while exhausted doesn't seem safe."

Christoph laughed and gave a playful shake of his head, followed by a sigh of the same nature. "Well, if you insist. We'll give you three or four hours. How does that sound?"

"Better than none, Herr. We appreciate it."

"'We'? It's just you here right now."

"I speak for Oliver. He's still ranked lower than me. I can control him as much as I want."

The two shared a chuckle that time. Smiling at one another, Christoph and Till gave a respective nod before shaking one another's hand.

"Welcome to the revolution," Christoph said with a smile, his tone serious and back straight once again, delivering a squeeze to Till's hand with his next words, "Prepare to go down in history."

Chapter Text

Elf.

The watch that was once around Richard's wrist beeped from where it lay on the floor as it turned midnight. Blood was splattered across its leather strap and was pooled just centimeters away from it. It led back to Richard's forearm, which was now wrapped and resting on top of a bucket. Richard had passed out during his procedure due to the pain and the amount of alcohol he consumed during it, leading him to lean back against Christoph with tears drying on his cheeks and his mouth agape. Watching Richard react so poorly to having his tracker removed only gave him a simple glimpse of just how painful it would get.

Till, who had been very right about Oliver's lack of medical skills, had recruited Flake and Paul to help with removing the trackers after he and Oliver had woken up from their naps. Though their bodies and minds were begging them for more sleep, the two had to keep pushing through their fatigue. If they were to rest any longer, their already time crunched plan would fall to pieces. The last thing they wanted was for the military to send out more agents to do their job for them.

After Christoph had moved Richard off of him and propped him against the wall with the bucket beneath his forearm to keep it somewhat elevated, he braced himself for the worst of it. Though he had downed the rest of the bottle of vodka that Richard hadn't finished and had taken a handful of pain pills, he still grunted in pain and threw his head back when the first incisions were made. The area had been numbed locally, but it wore off quickly once Till began cutting through a thin layer of muscles to reach the tracker. Christoph shook in his place and screamed at the top of his lungs as blood poured from his wrist, leaving his hand to tremble violently. While Flake had a grip on his arm to still it, Paul was behind him and alternating between rubbing his chest, back, and forehead to try and keep Christoph conscious, unlike Richard. It wasn't long before Christoph turned into a sobbing mess, grabbing Paul with his free hand and holding onto him for dear life as he shoved his face into his chest and made a mess of his shirt with his tears, snot, and saliva combined. Paul didn't mind. It wasn't the first time that that same shirt had been tainted by such fluids.

When the tracker was extracted from his arm is when Christoph lost consciousness. Till held it up for him to see as he held it between the tweezers in his own bloody and shaky hands, smiling at him faintly. That was the last thing that Christoph saw before his eyes rolled back and he put all of his weight back against Paul.

The only reason why Paul hadn't moved Christoph was because he hadn't been dirtied up by the procedure, which meant that he didn't have to clean himself up, and because Christoph was almost too heavy to move. With the bigger man situated between his legs and his head against his shoulder, Paul got as comfortable as he could against the wall while Flake found a stack of bricks to use as a prop for Christoph's forearm.

"Go get cleaned up, Flake," Paul said to him softly after he bandaged Schneider's wound securely. Flake looked over at him, his cheeks a bit pale and eyes wide. Paul simply chuckled at him and reached up to pinch his chin between his thumb and index finger. "You always wanted to be a doctor. How does it feel to have successfully completed your first surgery, Doktor Lorenz?"

While he was still rattled from what he had just done, he managed to calm down a bit from Paul's comments. "I– I... Not bad..." he whispered, his voice failing him with every other breath, "I tried as hard... as hard as I could."

"I know you did. And you did great, Flake. You did so good. I'm so proud of you." Flake cracked a barely noticeable smile, triggering a much wider one from Paul along with a giggle. "You're so cute. But I'm serious, go outside with Till and clean up. You're covered in blood and even though it's kinda hot, I can tell it's freaking you out, so go."

Nodding, Flake broke away from Paul and walked up and out of the basement on shaky, unsteady legs. His nerves were shot and his mind was racing in a thousand different directions. Why he had offered to help with the procedure itself was beyond him, but he couldn't deny that he did a much better job than Paul would've. Paul was better when it came to emotional support anyway. Emotions weren't, and never would be, Flake's strong suit.

Joining Till outside the house where several buckets of water were, Flake didn't say anything as he removed his shirt and pants. They were stained with blood and reeked of gore, making them unsuitable to wear ever again. He had two extra outfits with him, but he wasn't planning on burning through them quickly. With one down, he was already paranoid.

Till had also shed himself of his clothes, which had just been his uniform. Without it, he was still as bulky and intimidating as ever. Flake, though he was very tall and lanky, had nothing on Till when it came to size. Till stood several inches below him, but had enough muscle in his thick stature to push over a tree if he so pleased. That meant he could snap Flake like a stick if he ever annoyed him too much. That was why Flake stayed silent until Till addressed him.

"You would be a good doctor," Till told him. With a sock of his acting as a washrag, he dipped it into the water before running it over his arms to wash the blood off of him, grabbing the soap from where he had set it on the windowsill behind him after to wash himself as best as he could. "Your hands are steady, you don't panic, and you know your tools. Have you ever done anything like that before?"

"Yes, but I'm not licensed," Flake said quietly. Copying Till, he wetted his sock before running it over his arms, which were still shaking as blood ridden water dripped off his fingertips. "I've had to stitch Paul up a few times. I also read lots of books about medical things."

"Ah." Till nodded. Glancing at Flake over his shoulder, he ran his eyes up and down his lengthy figure before he smirked to himself and looked away. "You look like you could use a doctor. You're skinny."

"I can't imagine why," Flake said under his breath.

Detecting the sarcasm in his tone, Till laughed. "Quick wit. And here I thought Paul was the only one with an attitude."

"It's not an attitude. It was just a comment."

"A comment with attitude. I'm not complaining. There's nothing wrong with it. I like it, actually." Turning around, Till faced Flake. Without giving him time to see what he had in his hand, he threw the bar of soap to him. Flake's long limbs flinched all at once before a hand jerked out to catch the slippery bar, a strangled noise of surprise coming from the back of his throat before he managed to pin it to his chest and grab it. Till laughed from the sight and shook his head as he got down on the ground, kneeling in front of one of the two buckets that hadn't yet been touched. "You're funny. Does Paul tell you that?"

"Wh– Why would he?" Before Flake could get a response, Till was shoving his head into the bucket to wet his hair. Flake took a moment to quickly wipe himself down with the soap and his sock in the meantime, scrubbing off most of the blood before he wrung out his sock and threw it to the side. He grabbed the other as Till jerked his head up and wiggled his fingers for the soap, to which Flake said, "Give me a moment. I need to use it."

"That's fine. Just don't use all of it. We need it for our hair and the others need it in the morning."

"Do you have more?"

"Yes, but I like to preserve what I have. I don't want to waste anything."

Flake shrugged. Just as quickly as he had gotten the blood off, he managed to spread the soap across his body after coating his sock in it several times. He placed the bar in Till's hand before dipping his sock into the water to wipe himself clean, watching as he scrubbed it through his short black hair.

"How do you have so much muscle?" Flake couldn't help but ask. Even while Till was doing something as simple as washing his hair, the muscles in his biceps and back were flexing with every other movement— Flake didn't have anything like that. "I wasn't active a lot, but I still did some heavy lifting around the house."

"Some people gain muscle easier than others. You and Paul don't in comparison to people like me. Like Richard, even." Till shrugged. Tugging his fingers through the tangles he had, he scrubbed them into his scalp, the bar of soap pressed between his palm and head as he worked it into his locks. "Schneider and Oliver are in the middle. They can gain muscle, but it doesn't show as obviously as it does for Richard and I."

"Why's that?"

"I don't know. It's just the type of body they have." Till looked up and made sure Flake was prepared this time when he went to throw the soap back at him. Flake caught it much easier than he had at first and nodded as a way of saying thanks to Till after. The military agent grinned, dunked his head under the water to run his hands through his hair and rid himself of the soap in it, then came back up almost a minute later with a gasp. Laughing shortly after, he threw his head back, water splashing both behind him and out to his sides with the motion. "It feels good to be clean! This isn't as good as a shower, but it'll do."

"A shower?" Flake stilled the soap where it was at the back of his head and looked down. "I can't remember the last time I had one of those."

Guilt immediately slammed into Till. He didn't think before speaking. He was privileged and while he knew it, he oftentimes forgot the extents it reached to. He took for granted things such as running water, quickly made foods that he found himself complaining about when he didn't have time to make anything better, and clothes that fit, but didn't cling to his body in the ways he liked. Flake didn't have anything like that. Flake didn't have running water, a variety of meals, or clothes that fit properly. Flake had water that Paul had found nearby and probably wasn't even clean, food that was stale and tainted with whatever it was exposed to, and clothes that he had worn time and time again for the past twelve years. Till didn't realize how fortunate he was until now. He had had an idea of how poor the living conditions were, but the more time he spent with Paul and Flake, the more shocked he became.

"You'll have a shower one day," Till told him, his voice low. Flake shrugged it off, not sparing him a glance. Till wasn't tolerating that. "Hey," he said in a commanding tone. That earned him Flake's attention. Their eyes met and Till tightened his jaw before he nodded with his softly yet seriously spoken words, "You will. Before you know it, you and Paul will be out of here and living the life you deserve in a country that isn't this one. The rest of us will do the heavy lifting since we haven't since all of this started. It's time for you and Paul to relax. You don't have to fight for survival anymore after this. You understand?"

Flake's blue eyes ran over Till's facial features, studying them to find any fault or sign of doubt in them. None could be detected and while it sent a wave of relief over him, Flake pushed it down and told himself not to get his hopes up. He didn't offer a verbal response. He simply nodded then set the soap back on the window sill.

"I think I'm clean now," he said through a mumble.

Till looked him over to find any spots that he might've missed before he could let either of them retreat back into the house. "You aren't," he said, pointing to a spot on Flake's leg, "The inside of your thigh is still a little dirty. Just wash over it once more and you'll be fine." Flake looked down and pinpointed the area of skin he had missed, grabbing his sock and scrubbing it down before he brought his head up to look over Till. Till was spotless. In the moonlight, his slightly more pigmented skin tone shone. The shadows of the houses to either side of them cast silhouettes over his muscles and contoured them perfectly. Flake was staring— Not because he desired Till in any way, but because he wanted a body like his.

The gaze didn't go unnoticed, but Till didn't address it. He figured that Flake wasn't ogling over him to quell any fantasies that he might've had. During the short amount of time that he had known Flake, he could already tell that he wasn't the type of person to feel inclined to be interested in someone else in such a way. Besides, he had seen him with Paul. If he could feel anything like that, he only experienced it for Paul.

"Line the buckets up against the side of the house so they aren't as noticeable to any potential bystanders and then we can head in," Till instructed. Flake nodded and did as he was told, grabbing two of the four buckets and following Till in suit by placing them against the paneling of the house before taking a step back. With both of them still bare and a slight breeze blowing down on them from the North, goosebumps pricked their skin. Flake, in his frail state, nearly shuddered when he felt chills shoot up the back of his neck. Till didn't feel anything and no reaction was yielded from him.

The two headed indoors after. They made their way down into the basement in silence, save for the noises of distress that the house generated. Paul was still pinned to the wall with an unconscious Schneider leaning back and onto him, but he was sleeping seemingly peacefully. Oliver was crouched down next to Richard with his index and middle fingers pressed to a pulse point in his neck, taking his heart rate just to be safe. He looked up at Till over his shoulder and gave a soft smile before directing his attention back to Richard as he groaned in his sleep, his face contorted into a faint expression of discomfort.

Till and Flake dressed themselves in clean clothing and sat away from where the mess had been. Oliver, since he hadn't been of much help during the makeshift surgery, was elected to clean up the area after. He had done an excellent job from what Till could see in the dim lighting of the basement, provided by several candles that they had managed to find. The blood had stained and seeped into certain parts of the cracked concrete floor, but it had clearly been washed and scrubbed as hard as possible. Oliver was never one to not give his all when he tried to do something. Even though he wasn't gifted in the art of medicine, he still attempted until Till called the quits for him and recruited Flake and Paul instead. Oliver didn't take offense to it. He helped by wiping away any mass amounts of blood that he could both during and after the rather terrifying experience.

Flake nestled next to Paul and turned his head to nudge his nose through his hair. Inhaling his scent, he sighed after, visibly calming down just from being at his side again. Paul always made him feel safe. Even on the worst of nights where Flake's anxiety ran so rampant that he swore his heart was going to stop beating, Paul managed to bring him back to reality. He would cup Flake's cheeks in his hands and talk gently to him. Sometimes he'd even sing. He would recite commercial jingles that were on television when they were young or he would sing songs that were popular when they were teenagers. When none of that worked, Paul still didn't give up. He would grab books of poetry or fantasy stories and read to Flake. If that failed as well, he'd resort to singing random praises to Flake— Ones that he made up on the spot and were geared towards calming the other down. Those almost always worked. Flake didn't know why, but hearing Paul's soft, low voice sing sweet nothings to him brought him back to the light even when he believed he had sank deep into the unforgiving darkness that was his own mind.

Several kisses were pressed to the top of Paul's head as he slept. Flake reached up, his hands now steady, to brush his knuckles down his cheeks. Paul was a youthful young man at only thirty-four years of age. Flake was two years younger than him, but didn't look it. If anything, he actually looked older than Paul. His face was much longer and his features were larger, such as his eyes and nose, and though Paul had mouth lines that were evident when he grinned, Flake had ones that sat much lower and further out from the corners of his lips, thus giving the illusion that he was already aging. Paul never said so, but he loved how Flake looked. With his circular glasses, bright blonde hair that they had managed to dye with peroxide, and his very lanky stature, Paul could admire him all day. He could write down a hundred things he liked about Flake and would still have more to say after. He'd have to make hundreds, maybe even thousands of lists like that to explain what all he liked about Flake.

Minutes came and went before Flake moved closer and rested his head atop Paul's. His hand fell between them and his fingers hooked onto the belt loops of Paul's pants, just to keep them connected throughout the night. No matter what, he always found a way to stay in touch with Paul while they slept. He was always afraid that something or someone would come and rip Paul away from him. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't be without Paul.

Before he knew it, Flake was asleep. His lips parted and his jaw went slack as he turned his head a bit more to hide his nose in Paul's wild locks again, his fingers now limp, though still intertwined with one of Paul's belt loops. His breathing evened out and he gave a quiet noise prior to settling into a deeper state of unconsciousness.

On the opposite side of the basement sat Till and Oliver. Perched on the last step on the flight of stairs, they sat with bent knees and elbows resting on them, their backs hunched and heads angled downwards. Till occasionally snuck a glance of Oliver out of the corner of his eye and looked away before Oliver could notice. Little did he know that Oliver was doing the same.

The tension between them was thick enough to cut through with a knife. Had they still been back at base and somehow beside one another around others like they were now, they were sure that someone would have their suspicions about the energy radiating between them. They hadn't done anything except address their feelings verbally and emotionally at this point, but there was still enough unresolved desire and want in the air.

"Let's go outside," Till whispered. He wasn't offering— He was telling Oliver to join him. Oliver got the hint and stood as Till did without saying anything.

As quietly as they could, they hiked up the stairs and stepped across the noisy floorboards to make their way outside. Oliver turned to close the door behind them, slowly twisting the knob one way and then back the other to have it click into place before he went to face Till again. Before he could get a word in about why Till wanted him outside with him, the collar of his shirt was being tugged and he was being dragged down. His green eyes widened as he drew in a sharp breath through his nostrils, bracing himself for the kiss that didn't come, even though his lips were centimeters from Till's once Till had him where he wanted him.

"I'm sorry I never acted on this sooner," Till said softly. His tone took on a nature that Oliver had never heard before. His words were spoken timidly yet held as much weight as a ton of bricks. It settled into his soul and left him exhaling softly through parted lips, his hands slowly raising to grab Till's waist and pull himself closer. Till loosened his grip, but didn't release Oliver. "It killed me when you were in training... To see you outdo everyone and perform so well each and every day. You exceeded everyone's expectations. Even mine." He chuckled quietly under his breath and shook his head, his bright emerald eyes searching Oliver's as the moon shone down upon them. Oliver was beautiful in this atmosphere. The pale light blended well with his creamy skin and contoured the smooth yet sharp features of his face perfectly. Till reached up and cupped one side of Oliver's jaw in his hand, brushing his thumb over his cheek. Oliver first melted into the touch, and then again from Till's admission, "I knew you were something special when I first saw you. I didn't know what, but I was ready for you. I've been ready for you since the moment I laid eyes on you. Every second of my life has been building up to each moment that I have with you."

"Till..." Oliver breathed out, beginning to crumble from everything Till said to him, "I want to be with you, I... I need to."

"You are with me," Till assured him, "And I'm with you, Oliver, always. No one and nothing will take you from me again."

"Why were we given this fate? Why do we live this life?" Oliver couldn't help but ask. His eyes searched Till's for the answer, even though he knew that he didn't have one. Gripping him tighter, he pressed their foreheads together and allowed his eyelids to shield his gaze. "Why couldn't it be easy for us?"

"Easy is boring," Till replied, half jokingly and half seriously, "Without a struggle, things wouldn't be how they are now."

"I don't exactly want to be running from our own government and military, and in on a heist where some random agent will be killing der Präsident," Oliver said lowly with a hint of distaste in his tone.

"Nobody does. Except maybe Paul." He snickered softly from his own comment before nuzzling his nose against Oliver's, taking note of how the taller man exhaled shakily and stepped closer from the action. A smile curved his lips and he hummed lowly, thinking briefly before voicing what had been on the tip of his tongue, "Besides... It'll be an interesting story to tell our friends one day, hm? When we get out of this country and are really alone, away from all this mess... We'll have friends. We'll have a life together and our own separate lives on the side. We'll also have each other." The smile then shifted into a smirk. "And we'll make fate our bitch. How does that sound? Do you like the sound of that?"

Oliver couldn't possibly be upset with Till for his playful comments now that he had planted those thoughts in his mind. He envisioned them, hand in hand while sitting at a café with future friends of theirs and talking about how they were once accomplices in a major overthrowing of their homeland's government and military. It seemed far out, but Oliver didn't mind. He didn't have friends growing up nor did he go out or date anyone. All of this would be new to him. To make it better, he'd be experiencing it with Till at his side. Till would show him and give him the life he deserved. They'd make it out of this together.

"After all of this is done, I'll do anything in the world with you," Oliver told him through a whisper. Smiling from his own confession, he squeezed his eyes shut a little tighter for a second as he giggled. "But right now, there's only one thing I want to do."

"Oh, yeah? What's that? Perform another surgery and take out our trackers?"

Oliver laughed and shook his head, delivering a soft, teasing smack to Till's side. "Don't be ridiculous. There's no way that I'd ever do anything like that again."

"Not even for me?"

"I think I'd accidentally kill you if I tried, so no. Not even for you."

"You don't want to be with me till death do us part? Or do me part, I should say?"

"No," Oliver said with a shake of his head and another soft laugh, "I don't want you to die. We're together now. We live together and die together. We can't do one without the other." Opening his eyes, he saw that Till was already looking at him and blushed softly. "So if you die, I die, too. Sorry, Lindemann. That's just the way it is... And if you don't like it, I suggest you find your way out of this and away from me."

"I'd never want to do that," Till said, his gaze flicking down to Oliver's lips and back up to his eyes several times, "You said it yourself— We're together now. That's just the way it is."

Till leaned in and kissed Oliver deeply, his hand now on the curve of his jaw and fingers stretched out towards the back of his head to keep Oliver close. Oliver took less than a second to respond. He kissed Till as their eyes fell shut simultaneously and their hands gripped one another a bit tighter. It wasn't like anything he expected. He didn't feel fireworks or the rush that people normally felt during this kind of thing. Instead, a wave of comfort and security washed over him and engulfed him in a blanket that he'd never dare to shrug off. He was relieved by this. Had his heart begun racing and threatening to leap out of his chest, he would've felt anxious. Till never made him feel like that, so such a reaction would've raised a red flag for Oliver right away. What he was met with when their lips came into contact and moved languidly with one another's was what he was used to when it came to Till, and that's how it should've been.

Till's tongue was just as demanding as the rest of him. When it found its way past Oliver's lips, it commanded Oliver's to dance with it in sinful movements and intricate twists and turns that left their mouths meeting sloppily every couple seconds. Oliver, still gripping Till's waist, though it was now to keep himself on his feet, moaned softly into the heated kiss as Till emanated quiet groans that mixed with growls. When his tongue wasn't rendering Oliver useless by moving with his or venturing over the insides of his mouth, his teeth were meeting Oliver's gently, clicking together and nipping at the other's playfully, before tugging at his lower lip and pulling it back to tease him.

Oliver was breathless. A pitiful noise found its way out of him as he pulled Till forward abruptly, mumbling a plea into the kiss as their front halves met. Till immediately felt what he had done to Oliver and chuckled low, earning another whine from Oliver, this time out of embarrassment.

"I think I'll have to take care of that for you, Gefreiter," Till said to him, his voice now much lower than normal. He finally separated their lips and instead attached his to Oliver's neck, gently biting at the skin before taking several patches of it between his teeth to suck and flick his tongue over the flesh that he had taken for himself. Oliver's legs shook slightly and he whined again, his eyes squeezing shut and hands grasping Till almost desperately. His experience was rather limited, meaning that every touch felt like a jolt of electricity. It didn't help that it was Till who was touching him.

"Please," Oliver begged through a sigh, "I can be quiet, I promise."

"I know you can. That's why I'm going to help you out." Delivering a sharper bite to Oliver's neck after his mumbled response, he chuckled to himself and drank in Oliver's muffled whine of discomfort. He withdrew from the other and stood up straight, nodding towards the door of the house with an expecting smirk. "Go on. Lead the way, Gefreiter. Show me you can follow orders."

How Till was making something so authoritative so irresistible was beyond anything that Oliver in his now very overwhelmed state could comprehend. He followed along nonetheless and did as he was told, not wanting to let Till down even for a second.

Till wasn't disappointed that evening, just as he thought, and Oliver wasn't left unsatisfied.

Chapter Text

Zwölf.

"This shit hurts so fucking bad..."

"It does, but there's a lot worse that may come."

"Jesus. Don't remind me."

Christoph looked over at Richard and shrugged. It was almost noon and the six men were making their way to the four corners, just like they had planned. They were nearing the end of their journey and to be quite honest, both felt a bit humbled. If it weren't for Paul and Flake, they wouldn't be here. They would be stuck in the southern part of Sector Six and most likely dead or nearly dead. Paul and Flake didn't have to help them by any means, but they chose to nonetheless. Christoph would thank them for the rest of his days, and much to his own dismay due to his disliking for Paul, Richard would as well.

In addition, they had Till and Oliver to thank. If they had stuck to their orders, none of them would be here. They'd be in the military prison with little to no chance of escape. Not only did the two agents tasked with stopping the group and their upcoming heist not follow through with the orders they were given, they joined them and were aiding them with their plan. Though Christoph and Richard were confident in what they had planned in regard for their drive to overthrow the government and military, having Till and Oliver offering themselves and their positions helped. It also gave Christoph and Richard the extra boost of adrenaline that they needed to carry on with what they were doing.

Flake had bandaged their wounds once again when they woke up the following morning. Richard, who was extremely hungover and in much more pain than Christoph seemed to be, cried out and cursed at Flake while he gripped his arm and wrapped his wrist. Christoph had slapped Richard upside the head for being unnecessarily rude prior to grabbing his ear to tug him close and tell him to put a cap on his dramatic actions. Richard pouted, but did as he was told. He was overreacting, and Christoph knew it. He was the only one to ever call Richard out on it. Richard might've been able to get away with it in his rank and position within the military, but at home Christoph was sure to put him in his place.

As they walked, weapons strapped to their bodies and eyes alert and scanning the areas they were passing, Christoph and Richard talked quietly amongst themselves. The group traveled in lines of three. The two leading everyone were Till and Oliver, the couple in the middle was Paul and Flake, and at the back sat Christoph and Richard. While Paul and Flake were given weapons to protect themselves, the military agents still insisted upon guarding them as best as they could. Flake didn't complain, but Paul, being the hothead he was, took offense to it for a moment before shaking it off.

Paul's heart was racing in his chest as they neared the four corners. Once they arrived, he and Flake would be taken out of the country and would never have to deal with anything like this ever again. They could live the life they deserved. They could sleep in a house with running water and electric, and join one another in the shower after cooking a nice dinner for themselves. They could run out into the streets and maybe even wave to the neighbors as they headed to the markets together. They could also do whatever they wanted. They could go to the library, watch a film, see a play, anything and everything. The world would be theirs and they'd be able to live out the rest of their days in peace with one another.

Paul smiled faintly to himself and took Flake's hand in his. Flake didn't mind the gesture. If anything, he appreciated it. While Paul was bursting with excitement, he felt conflicted. Yes, they would be out of harm's way in the matter of a few hours, but they'd be leaving the people who saved their lives behind. He knew that he and Paul no longer served a purpose to them, but he felt as if he needed to help more. How could he let them continue with this without all the help they could get? Along with that, Flake also wanted revenge. While Paul was understandably up in arms about what the country had come to, Flake had his own qualms with it as well. He'd give most anything to wreak havoc on those who gave him enough anxiety to become a recluse for over a decade. They stole an entire chapter of his life from him and he wanted justice.

Flake, for now, didn't say anything to Paul about it. He knew that if he said it at the right time that he could get Paul to stay; he could convince him that they needed to do more than just lead the crusaders to the gates of Hell— They needed to follow them through them.

At the front of the group, Oliver was blushing lightly. A dull ache plagued the backs of his thighs and the lower most part of his back, causing him to uncomfortably shift every few minutes. Till did nothing but smirk whenever he caught sight of Oliver fidgeting at his side.

It was quite cruel of Till to do what he had done to Oliver, however Oliver never protested. He did the opposite, in fact. Every touch that Till had given him the night before felt like electric. The coolness of Till's palms contrasted against Oliver's heated skin and wrung gasps out of him, even when their lips were connected so Till could drink in every louder, obscene noise that Oliver nearly generated. While he never envisioned his first time with Oliver being on a vintage couch with a floral pattern to it, he couldn't see it in any other way. Granted, he didn't think he'd take things as far as he had, but past a certain point, neither one of them cared.

Both were unsure of what they'd do after this ordeal was over. Till figured that he would stick around for a bit and provide all the help he could to Christoph and Richard, but he wouldn't be opposed if they told him that he could step back and flee. While Till would feel guilty, he'd also feel relieved. He would be heading towards a life where he wasn't blocking out the mistreatment of the people in his country and he wouldn't be serving in the military solely to escape such a reality. He'd have to face the repercussions of living in such a place and state for so long, but if he had Oliver at his side, he wouldn't mind tackling every hurdle he faced.

Since Oliver was eight years younger, he had never gotten the chance to grow accustomed to a country that wasn't like this. He never saw what their homeland was like before this particular Präsident took office and then stayed there once the economy fell. Everyone in the midst of their panic fell victim to their leader's false truths about bettering the country and before they knew it, they were being herded and rounded up like cattle. No one could do a thing about it. Some became brainwashed by the president's statements and believed that dividing the country would be more cost effective and crime would be cut down, but others defied him and shouted protests to him. Nothing came of the protesters. Their words didn't affect der Präsident nor his colleagues, thus leading the country into the crisis it was currently in.

Oliver wanted to live elsewhere. He didn't want to have to worry about his parents' safety. Although they lived in Sector One along with other military families, Oliver knew that they deserved more. If he couldn't live a decent life, he wanted his parents to. They raised him as best as they could despite how young they were and how much turmoil the land they lived in was. Oliver couldn't ask for a better pair of guardians.

"I want my parents evacuated," Oliver suddenly said to Till. Facing one another as they walked, Oliver held his lips in line, firmly grounding himself in what he was saying before he went on, "I don't know what's going to come of all of this, but I want them out of the country before anything bad happens."

"How close do they live to base?" Till asked without questioning what caused Oliver to bring the topic up so unexpectedly.

"Five kilometers East of the where the airport is on base."

Till thought for a moment. He knew plenty of pilots, but whether or not they felt so inclined to join the resistance was unknown to him. For Oliver, though, he'd do most anything. If he had to fly a plane himself to ensure Oliver that his parents would be taken out of the country and dropped somewhere safe, he would.

"I'll take care of it," Till said, facing forward again with his hands flexing on his gun, "Don't bother Schneider and Richard with this. They already have enough on their plate."

Oliver nodded then looked ahead. He didn't know what Till had in mind, but he trusted him. Whatever he crafted would work. Till was a genius and didn't settle for anything less than perfect.

From the back of the group, Christoph spoke up with a frontwards nod of his head, "Till, I think this might be a good place for you and Oliver to radio into base and tell them that you're stationing yourselves at the four corners and are awaiting our arrival. Richard and I will call in our allies to pick us up and escort Paul and Flake out of here."

Till looked over his shoulder and nodded once, holding up a fist and stopping in place. The group followed in suit and went silent as Till grabbed the radio off the front pocket of his shirt, twisting a few knobs and adjusting a few buttons before stepping forward away from everyone.

"This is Herr Feldwebel Lindemann radioing in to base. Does anyone copy?"

"Yes, we copy, Herr Feldwebel Lindemann. What's your position?"

"One moment." Motioning for Oliver to step forward, Oliver did so and retracted his tablet from its holster. Turning it on, he allowed it to find a signal before using the GPS to pinpoint their location. Nodding, Till smirked at him, saying, "Ahead of the group of rogue agents and the two civilians being held by them. They're heading towards the four corners. Permission to access the station that leads Sector Six into the four corners?"

A short moment of soft mumbles came through the radio. Oliver and Till shared an expecting look, their brows raised and eyes darting down towards the radio when the voices grew louder.

Both relaxed when one said to them, "Access granted. Facial recognition will allow you to open the entrance to the station. Use the scanner on your tablet to locate the entrance. It isn't visible to the naked eye."

"Heard that. Thank you, Herr Stabsfeldwebel Kraft. We'll be arriving shortly."

The signal cut out and Till lowered the radio to return it to the pocket it had been in before. He and Oliver turned to face the group at the same time, a soft smirk curving Till's lips as he flicked a brow up.

"Gentlemen," he said lowly, back straightening and hands positioned behind his back. The stance of authority earned perfect posture and a salute from the fellow agents, and the attention of and gaze from Paul and Flake. Till, emboldened by the power he still held over the rogue agents, nodded once, allowing the men to break their forms as he said, "Rebellion begins now. Onward!"

—

"So this is the main entrance?"

"For military personnel, yes. That's why we have to use the tablet to scan the walls to find the doors."

"Why?"

"They don't want any civilians finding ways in or out of their Sector. Why put noticeable entry and exit points around the country?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot that the government and military hate us," Flake said. The four agents turned to look at him, their gazes sympathetic rather than upset. Flake simply shook his head and shrugged. "It doesn't matter now. The damage has been done." A frown curved Christoph's lips and Flake tightened his jaw, softening his gaze as he looked at him. "But we can fix it and make sure it never happens again," he added, "That's what we're here for, right? So... let's do that."

Though his speech was hardly motivational, it was what they needed to keep going. Till offered Flake a faint smile before leading the group deeper into the station, away from the entrance they had just come in from. On Christoph's tablet was the security system that Paul had hacked his way into, scanning the station to see if anyone besides them was in it, though it was already tagged as clear by base. Sneaking through the area that was usually monitored by others back at base shot a wave of anxiety through him, causing him to stop where he was.

Noticing Christoph's absence as they walked a meter or two ahead, Richard stopped and turned to speak to him softly, "Schneider? What are you doing?"

"We can't be out in the open in this station," Christoph said. Glancing around, he caught sight of a camera just around the corner, pointed to it, then looked at Richard. "They watch the live footage of these back on base. I know because I've been security detail for a few stations before."

"Shit," Richard hissed. His eyes went wide and he stumbled back into the blind spot that Christoph managed to find.

Both rogue agents coming to a stop earned the rest of the group's attention. Paul and Flake looked at them in confusion, whereas Till was catching on and looking around to find cameras as well. Oliver, on the other hand, was attempting to find something to use to transport them to the other side of the station without being caught by the cameras.

Across from where Christoph and Richard were in the corner of the hall was a door. Eyeing it with his bottom lip between his teeth, Oliver grabbed his tablet again before heading over to it. Before opening anything, he wanted to scan it and make sure that no one was in there already. Motioning for Christoph and Richard to stay still and behind him, Oliver held up his tablet as he stood in front of the door. With the device pointed towards the room, he turned on the tablet's scanner, a red light bursting from the back of the device and sweeping up and down the door in front of him. Silence hung in the air for a minute or so before the tablet chimed and the red light went out.

"It's a closet," Oliver said, "No one's in there."

"Why do we need a closet?" Paul asked, genuinely rather than sarcastically, "Is someone coming?"

"No," Christoph said, looking down at his tablet again, "We're still clear everywhere in the building, but we may not be the only ones watching this footage right now."

Opening the door, Oliver flipped the light on and looked around. A plethora of cleaning supplies littered the room, but was also coupled with janitorial outfits. Oliver shoved his tablet back into its holster and quickly grabbed the outfits, chucking two of them to Paul and Flake before grabbing Christoph and Richard to shove them into the closet with the other two outfits.

"Put these on," he said, turning his head to look at each pair of men, "They'll think you're staff here."

"But I thought they cleared this station?" Richard asked as he began to undress quickly.

Oliver's eyes narrowed and flicked around as he thought again. Just as a hand came up to rub over his chin, he looked at the supplies in the closet.

"I'll make a mess," he said.

"You'll make a mess?" Christoph gave him a doubtful look as he pulled on the janitorial outfit. "That's your plan?"

"Yeah. Give me your tablet," Oliver ordered, extending his hand for Christoph's device.

"Why? You have your own."

"Well, mine doesn't have the security cameras pulled up already, so—" Jerking his hand out towards Christoph forcefully, he repeated himself, "Tablet, please. Unless you want to be caught."

Sharing a look of disbelief with Richard, Christoph frowned before surrendering his tablet to the lower ranked agent. Oliver thanked him as he shoved past the two of them to grab a handful of cleaning supplies and bundle them into his arms. It was contradictory to make a mess using cleaning supplies, but he didn't have anything else to use.

"Till, can I have the radio?" Oliver asked after exiting the closet. His arms were full of materials and the tablet, but the optimistic look on his face was one that Till couldn't ignore or say no to. He knew that when Oliver had an idea, he ran with it no matter what.

Smiling softly, Till gave Oliver the radio and squeezed his bicep after. "Be safe. Meet me back here once you're done."

"Yes, Herr," Oliver said with a smirk. Starting off down the hall with everything in his arms, he held his head high with confidence, a sure feeling of success bubbling in him. However, he stopped himself before he could get too far. He came to a halt in the middle of the hallway and ran back to the group. "Wait, Paul and Flake!" He called out. The two turned and looked over at him, unsure of what he was doing. With a grin on his face, Oliver stopped in front of them and nodded, saluting as best as he could to them. "Thank you for... all of this. Without you, none of us would be here. You're both very important to this mission. Don't forget that and don't tell yourselves that you aren't."

Surprisingly, his words earned a faint grin from Flake and an amused smirk from Paul. Both reactions were uncharacteristic for the two, which only made Oliver smile more.

"Thanks, Ollie," Paul said, "You know, you aren't so bad for a military kid. If you're ever looking for people to hang out with, Flake and I will be around. Not here, obviously, but elsewhere. We need friends."

"We can become friends now before you go," Oliver said, "If you want."

"Okay." Flake nodded and stuck his hand out to Oliver. "We can become friends. Paul always says we need to make some."

Elated, Oliver grabbed Flake's hand and shook it. They squeezed one another's hand before letting go. Oliver repeated the action with Paul and sighed in relief, making Paul laugh.

"If you were planning on dying during this, you can't now. Flake and I forbid it," Paul told him. With a softer smile on his face, he reached up and patted Oliver's shoulder, his words sincere, "You're a know-it-all, but you weren't so bad to be around. Stay safe, yeah?"

"Yeah," Oliver said with a nod, his own grin growing fainter, "You, too. It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Flake whispered with a respective nod, "See you soon, Ollie."

Nodding again, Oliver chuckled breathlessly and looked between them, his heart admittedly sinking a bit. "See you soon, guys. Thank you, again."

With that, Oliver turned and ran down the hallway in attempt to find the blind spots of the cameras and dirty up somewhat visible areas. If he made a mess without being seen, he could claim that whoever was last in the station didn't clean up and that they called for janitors to tidy the place up, which would explain why the rogue agents and the civilians were dressed as janitors. They'd be seen on the cameras, but wouldn't raise any suspicions.

"This is Gefreiter Oliver Riedel radioing into base," Oliver said into the radio as he uncapped a bottle of soap and flung its contents over the walls and floors of the hall he had entered, "Herr Feldwebel Lindemann and I arrived to the station at the four corners and there seems to be a bit of a mess here. We've called for janitorial assistance. We are no longer alone in the station due to their presence."

"Copy that, Gefreiter Riedel. Thank you for the information."

"You're welcome, Herr Stabsfeldwebel Kraft. Over and out."

With a broad smirk, Oliver shoved the radio into his pocket and went back to making a mess, sparing nothing but the halls that they would be walking down from the disaster he was creating.

—

"I guess this is it," Till said as he looked at Paul and Flake. With his thumbs beneath his utility belt around his waist, he smiled faintly and equally divided his gaze between the two of them. Their time spent together was short, but that didn't mean that Till didn't feel indebted to them. Without their help, the plan might've failed early on. Till wouldn't have felt the push to break free of the mold he was forced into and Christoph and Richard wouldn't have come this far. Even if the two didn't feel like they were of much help, they were. Undoubtedly they were becoming one of the main founders of a historical event. "I'm not going to get all emotional like Oliver did, but... It was nice working with you two. I hope you know that you're very important in this process. You're cogs inside a revolutionary machine."

"You aren't so bad either, Till," Paul said with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest, "If you were anything like Richard, I would've absolutely hated you."

"Hey," Richard snapped from behind him, his tone less threatening than it had been previously.

His reaction brought an even wider smirk to Paul's face. "It's nice to know that he hates me, too. But you... I don't hate you. Of course I do feel some anger towards you for serving in the military, but I'm starting to get over it."

"You better be," Till spoke through a chuckle, "I'm not helping those two overthrow the government and military for nothing."

"You can tell us how things turned out when you visit us," Flake said, a bit sheepish. He and Till met each other's gazes. Till found himself smiling at Flake and feeling something inside his chest cave in for the man. Adjusting his glasses, Flake mumbled nonsensically for a moment before gathering the courage to speak louder, "And maybe then you can tell me how to get muscles like yours."

Unsure as to whether he wanted to melt and take Flake into his arms or laugh in amusement to his statement, Till chuckled under his breath before grabbing Flake's arm, holding it up to clap his palm over his nearly nonexistent bicep. "You're halfway there, Flake. By the time I see you again, you'll be even more built than I am."

Flake blushed, clearly flustered and overwhelmed. He knew Till was bluffing, but he wasn't about to rain on his own parade even more. He was already having doubts and regrets about leaving the country when there was still so much to do. He didn't need to throw hurtful words to Till to make it even worse.

"Maybe," Flake decided to say, his tone nothing above a whisper, "Thank you... for talking to me last night."

"You don't have to thank me. I think you're an interesting person."

"Is that bad?"

"No." Till shook his head, his close lipped smile broadening. "Quite the opposite, actually. Interesting is the best." Looking down at Paul, Till winked at him before nodding to Flake. "You got lucky with this one. He might be awkward, but he's as complex as they come. You'll never get bored."

"I'd never," Paul said. Linking his arm with Flake's, he squeezed it with his and smiled up at him. "Twelve years strong and I still find new things to like about him."

Flake's face burned red and he looked away, both to hide the blush on his cheeks and the expression in his eyes. He felt so much for Paul. He always had, but he had ignored it until now. How could he be so selfish to take away the one thing Paul had wanted since the start because he wanted to stay and take revenge on the people who put them into this position in the first place? He couldn't. He had to follow through with what Paul wanted not only for himself, but for the both of them. Paul was right— They had already fought their battle and they deserved rest. This wasn't their fight anymore.

Flake didn't feel that way, but he needed to. He needed to let Paul have the life he had craved since they first met.

"I'm sure we'll cross paths again after all this," Till said confidently to them, "Just don't go too far. And don't legally change your names."

"I will, but I'll keep it what I go by now. Paul Landers." Nudging Flake, Paul smirked. "He'll always go by Christian Lorenz on government forms. Just remember that. His parents didn't name him Flake."

Till laughed at Paul's remark and nodded, retaining the information and storing it away so he'd be sure to remember it. "Paul Landers and Christian 'Flake' Lorenz. I've got it." A look of longing deepened the gaze in Till's eyes. He was tempted to bring them into an embrace, but refrained from doing so. Instead, he nodded again and gave the two a confident smile as he opened the door that lead into the four corners out of the back of the station. "Here you go, boys. Your first taste of freedom. Stay safe."

"We will!" Paul said enthusiastically. Patting Till's shoulder, Paul grabbed Flake's hand after and lead him through the door.

As he was being dragged away, Flake turned to look at Till, who was already looking at him. Smiling bashfully, he raised his hand to wave goodbye to him, forcing himself to lock eye contact with Till for a moment longer. Till, in true military fashion, saluted Flake before smiling and dipping his head down as he slinked away from the door. Flake watched as it came to a close and locked behind him, blending back in with the wall.

Flake had only known Till for a day, but he felt a pull to him. It wasn't anything romantic by any means— It was moreso one that told him that in another life, he and Till would be good friends; that they'd be inseparable and would have one another's back without one of them leaving in the end. Flake couldn't decipher why he felt that way, but he let it linger as Paul ushered him over to one of the two military personnel vehicles that had been parked just out back behind the station.

The engines were already running, signaling that the rogue agents and the civilians needed to make their goodbyes short and sweet. Richard and Christoph stood by the vehicle they'd be taken back to base in, their eyes set on Paul and Flake. Paul, beaming with a smile, was tugging at Flake's hand as he jumped in place and looked around with wide eyes, admiring the sights around him. It must've looked like heaven to him—to see something that wasn't Sector Six after twelve years. While it was nothing but open space and walls, it was better than the mess of a piece of land that he had lived in for all of his life.

However, Christoph noted something as Paul took a moment to admire his newfound surroundings— Flake wasn't excited. The taller of the two glanced around for a moment with curious blue eyes, but ultimately looked down at his feet with a frown tugging at his lips. Christoph crossed his arms over his chest and studied him for a moment, curious as to why Flake was suddenly so seemingly upset. Paul hadn't been the only one to want to leave. Flake had expressed his desire to be taken out of the country before the riots began, but based on his observations, Christoph wasn't so sure that Flake wanted to leave anymore.

"Well!" Paul spoke loudly as he tugged Flake over to the two agents. For the first time since they met two days prior, Paul looked genuinely happy. A bright look shone on his face and a glimmer of hope twinkled in his eyes. Taking his hand out of Flake's grasp, he held it out to whoever was willing to take it first, saying, "It's been a good run, fellas, but it's time for us to go!"

Christoph smiled with pursed lips and took Paul's hand in his to shake it. "Thank you again. We wouldn't have gotten here without you."

"I know," Paul said, cocky and arrogant as usual, "In a few years, we expect to see our names in history books. Don't forget to mention us at press conferences, too."

"Yeah, sure," Christoph said through a soft, amused chuckle. Retracting his hand from Paul's, he dropped it to his side as he gave him a single nod. "We'll give credit where it's due, even if it nearly kills Richard."

Groaning beside him, Richard tore his eyes off of Christoph to look at Paul. The two glared at one another, but it didn't carry as much heat as it usually did. Neither would admit it, but what they had gone through over the past couple days brought them together, especially the near death situation they had caught themselves in the day before. Richard saved Paul's life. Had he not been there, Paul would've been shot on sight and wouldn't even be standing here. Richard could've easily run off and left him behind out of disdain, but he didn't. He chose to help Paul regardless of how he felt towards him.

"I don't hate you, but I don't like you," Paul said to him. He nearly had to force himself to hold his hand out towards Richard, but did so nonetheless. Not without a grimace, though. "I hope your hands aren't carrying any weird diseases. I don't trust you."

"I don't trust you either," Richard said through a grumble. With hooded eyes and a faint frown on his face, he slapped his hand against Paul's, gripping it tightly after as an act of dominance. He was met with an equally secure grip and a smirk from Paul when his expression cracked and showed one of shock for all but a moment. Richard immediately yanked his hand away and jutted his chin over to the vehicle waiting for them. "Get out of here before I kick your ass."

"Sure," Paul scoffed, "As if you could."

"I could. Don't forget it."

"I might. You don't seem like someone I'd care to think about often." The shortest of the four displayed a bright grin before he started walking backwards, his arms and shoulders raising in a shrug. "Sorry about it. Good luck with overthrowing the government!"

Richard glared at him as Christoph offered him a smile and a wave. Now only Flake was left to bid his goodbyes. He hadn't particularly grown close to either of them, but he didn't mind their presence after things had calmed down after the night they met.

"I have a tip for you before I go," Flake said. The two gave their attention to Flake, awaiting his response. "When you're taking someone captive, don't call their loved ones or roommate and say you'll kill them because odds are, they'll kick your ass. You're lucky I didn't. What you did was tasteless."

No reaction was yielded for a moment until Christoph broke and began chuckling to himself. Richard pursed his lips together and laughed through his nose, shaking his head absentmindedly as he looked up at Christoph.

"I think he has a point," he said, "There were better ways to go about it."

"He's right. You're right." Christoph looked at Flake and sighed softly, a calmer expression falling over his face. "We're sorry for doing that. It was insensitive." Glancing at Richard out of the corner of his eye, he shrugged, his arms raising to cross over his chest. "Thank you for helping us, though. We appreciate it. We'll be sure to credit you."

"You can visit us, too," Flake whispered. He looked down at the ground, watching how he dug his toes into the gravel. His shoulders raised into a shrug and he reached up to push his glasses up on his nose, sparing glances to the two men over the rims. "We told Till and Oliver to see us after all of this is over... You guys can find us, too, if you want." Flake paused momentarily then carried on with a shrug, "Paul might whine about it, but I think he'd like to see you two again."

Christoph felt a warmth spread across his chest from Flake's softly spoken words. They were far from expected from someone like Flake, which only made them mean even more to Christoph. Admittedly, Richard also felt a bit uplifted and appreciated. Flake was rather cold and withdrawn, giving little to no indications of his mood and outlook on others, much unlike Paul. Come to think of it, Richard didn't have much of a problem with Flake. Perhaps he'd come to miss him.

"I'll whine about it, too, but we'll be sure to pay a visit after all this," Richard told him before Christoph could speak for him. Showing the faintest of grins, he shrugged and raised his chin a bit. "Besides, it'd be nice to see how you adjust to living somewhere safe. We want to see growth."

"You'll do just fine out there, Flake," Christoph encouraged him, his smile a bit more evident than Richard's, "It'll be challenging at times, but I have faith in you. We have faith in you. If you managed to deal with no one but Paul for twelve years, you're unstoppable."

Richard snorted. "That's for sure."

Flake found himself smiling sheepishly before he even realized it. His head was now raised and he was looking between both Christoph and Richard, his heart sinking into his stomach. He didn't want to go, but he knew that voicing his desire to stay would only make the next steps even harder. He opted to stay quiet and nodded instead, a shaky hand of his raising to rub the side of his neck.

"Thank you for... this." He motioned to the vehicle behind him, which Paul was reclining in with his feet on the dashboard and arms propped up behind his head, bent at the elbow. "It's all that we've looked forward to since all of this started. Paul couldn't stop raving about it today."

Unable to help himself, Christoph raised a brow and asked, "And you? How do you feel about it today?"

Flake went silent. His expression remained neutral for a moment before it cracked and showed something that could've been classified as guilt, though he had nothing to feel remorseful over. Christoph eyed the look on his face with his lips pulling themselves into a line. Though Flake wouldn't say so, Christoph knew he wanted to stay, and now that Richard was witnessing Flake struggle to express how he felt, he knew what he wanted to do as well.

"Revolution doesn't begin and end in a day, Flake," Richard told him. Their gazes locked and the slightest perk of Flake's ears brought a smirk to Richard's face. He shrugged. "Just saying. Food for thought."

Christoph and Flake knew what he was hinting towards, but didn't criticize him for it. Instead, Flake nodded knowingly and Christoph smiled faintly.

"Okay," Flake whispered, cheeks now slightly flushed, "I'll remember that." Looking over his shoulder to look at Paul, he tightened his jaw and dropped his head when he turned to face Christoph and Richard again. "I... I have to go."

"That's fine," Christoph insisted, "Go, Flake. You deserve this."

"Yeah. It'll be nice to live somewhere that's not here. You don't have to put up with this anymore. We've got this. You can relax now."

Flake hesitated. He didn't want to move from the spot he was in unless he was stepping towards the convoy that was going to be taking Christoph and Richard to base. He couldn't leave during a time like this. He needed his revenge. He needed to show the leaders of this country that he was stronger than each stone they threw at him— He needed to let them know that there were also many others like him.

But he couldn't. Paul wanted to go. He wanted to live elsewhere, and he wanted to do so with Flake. Flake couldn't force Paul to stay and risk his life for him. Not again. Not after he had done that for twelve years straight.

Flake owed this to Paul and he'd follow through with it.

"Be safe, please," Flake mumbled to them, his tone sincere and soft, "I don't want to read in the papers that you guys have been shot dead."

"We won't die. Are you kidding?" Richard scoffed. "We're not letting some communist scum wipe us off the face of the Earth. We have plans after this, baby! We have to follow through with them!"

Beside him, Christoph laughed and nodded in agreement. "Yeah. What he said. Communism can't kill us. We have lives to live and save after this."

Flake's smile broadened for a moment before it faded, once again being reminded that he wouldn't be able to join them on their journey. He sighed and forced himself to nod, followed by a reluctant step backwards.

"If you say so. Well... Goodbye. Thank you for saving us."

"Thank you for making this possible. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you and Paul."

Flake couldn't take it anymore. The longer he waited around with the agents, the stronger his urge to stay grew. He couldn't give in. He wouldn't.

That's why with one last smile and a brisk wave of his hand, Flake turned on his heel and forced himself to walk towards the vehicle and join Paul in it, not daring to look at Christoph and Richard even when they began driving away between the walls dividing the Sectors.

Chapter Text

Dreizehn.

"They're dead. We've just found them a ways out from the station we were positioned at."

"What happened?"

"It seems as if they tried to remove their trackers themselves and killed themselves in the process. There's no sign of the civilians. They must've fled."

Till smirked at Oliver as they waited for a response on the radio, the younger of the two biting his lower lip to contain the laugh he wanted to release. What they were doing was dangerous and could land them in serious trouble, but what did they care? Even if they were thrown into the military prison, it would be cleared out in a matter of hours by Christoph and Richard. They'd be back in action before they knew it.

"Copy that," Till's superior said through the radio, disdain and anger present in his tone, "Send your current location. A squadron will be out soon to collect the bodies."

"Yes, Herr. One moment."

With the pictures from the operation they had completed on Christoph and Richard the night before ready and uploaded onto the tablet, Oliver first sent their location, though the trackers that they had hid in their guns were now out in the open where they were and sending their position back to base. After the location had been sent to their superior, Oliver went ahead and sent the photos as well to act as further evidence.

Till withheld the snicker he wanted to release and instead smirked broadly at Oliver. Oliver mirrored the curvature of his lips and lifted a hand to cover his mouth when he nearly laughed, breathing in and out deeply through his nose to keep himself at bay. Returning the tablet to its holster, Oliver and Till waited for someone to reply again through the radio.

"Thank you. Return to the station. A squadron is being sent now to collect the bodies."

"Heard that, Herr Stabsfeldwebel Kraft. Heading back to the station now."

Till cut off the signal to his radio before clipping it back into his pocket, turning to Oliver after with a cheerful laugh.

"We did it!" He announced as they stood in the remains of a house, "Now get rid of those sons of bitches! Go on! They're not our responsibility anymore!"

Oliver pulled the trackers from his pocket with a bright grin, watching them flashing faintly with a dull blue light before throwing them to the ground. With a laugh, he watched them bounce off the ground until they came to a stop by the wall, earning smiles and sighs of relief from both him and Till.

"We have to go!" Oliver urged through a laugh as he grabbed Till's arm and began tugging him away from where they were, "Come on, hurry up! We can't risk being caught!"

"I know, I know," Till grumbled playfully, smiling at Oliver as he continued to hold onto him as they left the house.

Christoph and Richard had left shortly after Paul and Flake departed. Once they had given both groups a head start on their separate journeys, Till and Oliver put their plan into action. They claimed that whilst waiting at the station, they grew suspicious of how long it was taking the group to arrive to the main entrance and stated that they were leaving the station to search for the men. This allotted more time for each pair to head further away from where they were and where a small amount of the action would soon be. Till and Oliver spent half an hour on their faux hunt for the men before radioing back to base that they had found Christoph and Richard dead with Paul and Flake nowhere to be seen. All that was left for them now was to hightail it away from where another squadron would soon be and hijack a vehicle of theirs to drive themselves back to base.

With the afternoon sun reflecting its rays off of their skin, Till and Oliver felt more energized than ever to carry through with what was to come. It was a daunting task and one that could easily lead to one or both of their deaths, but both knew that it was worth it. To attempt to save the lives of millions was much better than sitting back and doing nothing, which was what they had been doing prior to now. Had it not been for Till's change of heart and Oliver's moment of clarity, they'd still be agents tasked with attempting to stop Christoph and Richard. Whether they could or not was beyond them at this point in time, though Till would be tempted to say that Oliver would've found a way to outsmart them.

Oliver had been underestimated by most everyone other than Till. It wasn't until now that he unlocked his full potential. If the other trainers back in basic could see Oliver now, they'd wonder how he came to be so much more than just a leader amongst other trainees. It was one thing to stand out amongst fellow amateurs, but to wipe the floor with someone several ranks above oneself was unheard of. If Till used his rank as Feldwebel as a net to fall into whenever his confidence dropped, he would've hit the ground thanks to Oliver. Oliver deserved the title more than he did, but not in the military they currently served. He had potential and could offer his services, which would be much more appreciated elsewhere rather than here, to other militaries and do much better than he was currently.

However, Oliver didn't mind this. It wasn't exactly on his bucket list to overthrow the government and military of his homeland, but now that he was a part of this historic movement, he wondered why more people didn't have it written down. Yes, there was a big possibility that he'd lose his life, but one life lost was better than thousands. If he went down while fighting for and demanding justice, he would rest easy knowing that someone would find solidarity in his actions, if not the entire country. Oliver would do all that he could, and while he was aiming for saving the millions that lived in these conditions, he'd settle for saving just one person in the name of human rights for his fellow countrymen and women.

Arriving back at the station, Oliver and Till released one another before righting themselves and appearing professional for when the squadron arrived. Both were rather adept with slipping into a militaristic mindset no matter the circumstance, which proved to be helpful in this case.

Less than five minutes after returning to the station, the squadron joined them momentarily to gather information regarding the whereabouts of the bodies and their state. Till supplied them with what they needed whilst Oliver stood silent and compliant at his side, his face expressionless, arms behind his back, shoulders squared, and eyes forward. He didn't care to look at anyone unless they met his height. No one in the squadron even came close to being eye level with him, meaning none earned the right to his gaze.

The conversation between Till and the leader of the squadron ended with a salute and a nod. They remained in their place as the group of agents headed down the halls with loud stomps as their boots hit the ground, staying absolutely still and silent until they heard the door to the outside open then close, with the noise from the boots also subsiding. Oliver was the first to move. He leaned forward to glance down the hall, just to make sure the coast was clear prior to looking at Till with a smile beginning to pull at his lips.

"They're gone," he said softly, a lingering tone of mischief in his voice, "Are you sure you know how to hot wire one of those convoys?"

"Of course." Till smirked at him with a cocky look on his face. "I'm a Feldwebel. I know how to do most anything." Turning, Till started down the hall quickly, waving Oliver along with him. "Let's go, Riedel. We don't have much time to fuck around."

—

"Jesus Christ! Be careful!"

"There's no Jesus Christ here! Only you and I!"

"Jesus Christ will be here soon if you keep driving like this!"

Gripping the dashboard in front of him, Oliver looked over at Till with wide eyes. Though they weren't being followed quite yet, Till was still eager to stay ahead of anyone who may have wanted to intercept their journey back to base to join Christoph and Richard in the military prison before they released the inmates and began the riots. They had time to spare, but Till didn't want to risk anything. The sooner they arrived, the better. However, with how reckless and fast he was driving, Oliver was almost certain that they'd never arrive.

Till didn't pay any mind to the speed he was traveling at. He laughed with a bright smile on his luminescent face and gripped the wheel tightly as he leaned forward in his seat and kept his eyes peeled for anyone that may have been coming at them from the front. Though an agent stealing a vehicle from another agent wasn't exactly illegal nor would land them in serious trouble, Till was moreso worried about them catching onto their plan.

Without a doubt, the squadron had pieced together what they had done after they failed to find the bodies. Till knew that once something like this happened, all surrounding units responded quickly, no matter what they were in the midst of doing. Being trapped between the walls wasn't helping their case much either. Stations within the walls sat every few kilometers and inside a handful of them were agents who were ready to respond to anything and everything at any given time. Certainly they'd be quick to jump to their feet to stop two more agents who had suddenly gone rogue.

"Till..." Oliver said, his tone heightened with anxiety as he looked in the rear view mirror, "Remember when I was complaining about you driving fast?"

Till gave a sharp scoff followed by a laugh. "You mean do I remember you whining less than three minutes ago about my driving? Yes, of course, I remember. Why?"

"Because you need to drive a little faster," Oliver said, his voice growing higher as his nerves started to catch on fire within him. Pointing to the rear view mirror, his eyes widened and his hand shook. "We're being followed... and they're armed."

Within an instant, the amused expression fell from Till's face. Grabbing the mirror, he turned it so he could see what was approaching them from behind. He cursed under his breath and quickly snapped his hand down to grab the gear shift and thrust the car into its fastest speed. Both men were jerked back into their seats from the acceleration and Oliver inhaled sharply through his nose, looking at Till again.

"Do you want me to fire back if they start shooting at us?" He asked.

"No," Till said, "It's too dangerous. We can't waste our bullets either. Just stay down and—"

Before he could finish, a round of bullets were shot into the rear end of the convoy, earning a yelp from Oliver and a wince from Till. Oliver was still new to things like this, whereas Till had been in plenty of fast paced situations that very easily could've taken his life from him.

"Go faster!" Oliver yelled, ducking down in his seat with his arms jerking up to cover the sides of his head, "We can't die before we get there!"

"We aren't going to die," Till spoke through gritted teeth. Alternating his gaze between the mirror and the road ahead of him, he nodded forward and snapped his fingers to earn Oliver's attention in the midst of his upcoming panic attack. "Look ahead. You see that? It's the prison. The gates are open."

"Are they gonna stay open, though?" Oliver looked over at Till, who fell silent and clenched his jaw. Oliver recognized the look on Till's face and felt his heart jump in his chest, the breath nearly being sucked out of his lungs as his eyes went wide again and his fingertips dug into the sides of his head. He spoke again, his tone shaky and panicked as he asked, "Are those gates going to stay open?"

"I don't know," Till growled. Another lieu of bullets hit the convoy and Oliver flinched in his seat, cowering into his arms as his elbows moved to cover his face. Till knelt down over the wheel and slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, sending it all the way to the floor with an angry rev from the engine as it was pushed to its maximum speed and performance.

Ahead of them, the gates began to close. They were so close to their freedom from the fellow agents who were now trailing them too closely for Till's liking, but Till had his doubts about whether or not they'd be making it through the gate.

Thick digits took a tighter grip on the wheel as he kept his foot planted to the floor over top of the gas pedal. The convoy, shaking and rattling as round after round of bullets came into contact with it while it ran at its fastest speed, generated a deep noise as the gages on the dashboard suddenly throttled all the way to the right, signaling that the engine was finally responding, perhaps for the last time due to how Till was running it.

"Till, they're closing, they're closing!" Oliver shouted as he peered past his own arms to watch the gates near one another, "Fuck, we aren't gonna make it!"

"I know." Till kept his eyes focused on the road and swallowed hard. The gate was coming up fast and he had no plans of slowing down. Reaching over, he yanked Oliver's seatbelt tighter across his lap and shoulder before shoving him back into his seat, retracting his hand to tighten his own belt. "We're going to run through it."

"What?!"

"We're running into it, so stay relaxed, Oliver, just... Look at me and keep every muscle still and relaxed so it doesn't hurt, alright?"

Oliver's heart was beating just as fast as the convoy was traveling, but he managed to nod and turn to look at Till. Righting himself in his seat, he sat up straight and placed shaky hands on his own thighs, focusing his gaze on Till as the gate began to appear out of his peripheral vision.

"Alright... Alright, making impact in three, two, o—"

—

Out of the janitorial clothes that they had been given by Oliver back at the station, Christoph and Richard sat in a cell inside the prison, waiting for Till and Oliver to arrive before they set the plan into motion. Richard's leg bounced out of anxiety as Christoph adjusted the white button up shirt he was given by the guard, an ally of theirs, who would be one of the few prison workers releasing the inmates when Christoph gave him the signal.

Richard felt as if he could shake apart from the anxiety that coursed throughout him. He knew that this wouldn't be easy and he knew that he wouldn't back down, but then again he had his fears. What if this didn't turn out as well as they wanted it to? What if they were shot and killed right at the start and their plan fell to shambles before it even went anywhere? What if their allies turned against them and outed themselves as supporters of the government and military who had been tricking them all along? Richard couldn't shut his mind up no matter how hard he tried. Opting to stand from the rather noisy cot he had been sitting on, he rose to his feet with a ragged exhale, squeezing his eyes shut as he lifted his hands to scrub them over his face.

Christoph was nervous as well, but his nerves were nothing in comparison to Richard's. Richard would be the one killing the president. Christoph would simply be his righthand man and making sure nothing happened to him beforehand. Of course this put an immense amount of pressure onto him, but it wasn't anything that he couldn't handle. He had been a military agent for a grueling fourteen years. Every day he spent breaking his back and losing his sense of dignity for this country lead up to this moment. He wasn't going to let it slip through his fingers nor let it fail.

Beneath their clothes were bullet proof vests and pads. Undoubtedly, they'd be shot at despite their best efforts to reduce the amount of hits they'd take, so protection was necessary. However, they had nothing for their heads and faces. Neither complained, though. They wanted everyone who was sick in the head to look at them before they destroyed what they had built up over the years.

"You look nice in a suit," Richard mumbled to Christoph once his hands had fallen from his face. Christoph glanced at him over his shoulder and smiled softly, the compliment easing him a bit. "You look like a mobster."

Christoph snorted through his nose. "I don't think I fit that profile."

"Alright. A sexy bank robber. Is that better?"

"Mm..." Christoph hummed through pursed lips. He turned away from the mirror he had been looking into to adjust his shirt and angled his body towards Richard. He took hold of the other man's hand and brushed his thumb over his knuckles, smiling as he glanced down at him through full lashes. "It's better. I think something's missing, though."

"Oh, yeah?" Richard mused, though he wasn't paying much attention to what Christoph said. He focused on how their hands fit in one another's and tried to memorize every callous and crack of Christoph's skin as it rubbed against his own. God forbid this be the last time he ever held Christoph's hand. "What's missing?"

"Our hairstyles don't fit this persona we're going for," Christoph said, "We need to change things up."

"How so?"

"Well, I was thinking with your hair, maybe we could spike it up, like..." With his free hand, Christoph ran his fingers through Richard's hair and pulled the strands straight up. They stayed upright for a second or two before they fell, though the brief visual that Christoph had gotten satisfied him. "You need to do that to your hair. We need something to keep your hair spiked up."

"What? You don't carry hair gel around with you?"

"No. Why would I?"

"I don't know." Richard grabbed his utility belt from where it lay in the pile of janitorial clothes and studied it for a moment before locating a small holster on the back of it. Popping the cap off, he extracted a small tube of hair gel from it and held it up to Schneider with a smile. "I do. When times fall, beauty calls."

Christoph scoffed at Richard and shook his head at him, snatching the tube of gel from him with a playful roll of his eyes. "Of course. How could I forget?" Popping open the cap, he nodded toward the cot and nudged Richard's chest with his knuckles. "Sit down. I'll do your hair then we can figure out what to do with mine."

Nodding, Richard did as he was told and sat down on the cot. The springs squeaked and squealed once his weight was down against it, his legs parting so Christoph could stand in between them. Christoph returned the gel to Richard once he had enough of it in his palms and on his fingers to give Richard the hairstyle he had in mind.

As he worked his fingers through Richard's hair, he took a second to memorize the moment they were in. He didn't want to forget it. His confidence in their plan to overthrow the government was strong, but he wasn't oblivious to the fact that they could lose their lives in the process. Christoph would do what he could to save Richard's life and his own, but truth be told, he was geared more towards saving Richard than he was himself.

Richard was a pain in the ass sometimes and he had dragged Christoph through some things that Christoph would've rather not experienced, but that didn't mean that Richard wasn't deserving of a better life. Growing up, Richard didn't have the best childhood. His mother had remarried after his father left, leaving him to be faced with a step-father who was far from caring and loving, like the average father should've been. During Christoph and Richard's arguments, Richard would often reference the mistreatment he went through as child when it came to his inability to express and process emotions appropriately. At first, Christoph thought it was a crock of shit and nothing but a dramatized excuse to make him feel bad for him, but after Richard had begun to open up, Christoph saw that he wasn't lying.

How someone could've mistreated Richard as a child was beyond him. He was just a young boy when everything happened. He didn't know his father well and the only biological parent that he had left acted at times as if she didn't want Richard around. To make matters worse, the man that she married wasn't kind to Richard at all. Between all the fights, both physical and verbal, he never showed Richard any love or comfort, or even support, resulting in Richard comforting himself at times and convincing himself that love wasn't real. Certainly if it was, then he'd at least feel a little bit of it.

Richard ran away from home more often than not when he became a teenager. Whether he was sleeping under bridges or on benches, he felt fine most of the time simply because he was alone—he was away from the people that hurt him most. Of course when it became cold during the winter months, fleeing home wasn't very practical or safe, but he did so anyway. Anywhere and anything was better than being stuck in a house with a mother who seemingly hated her own child and a step-father who would rather yell at him than speak to him in any other tone of voice.

In basic when he and Christoph had met, Richard was quite the force to be reckoned with. The military showed him real discipline that would eventually knock him into place over time, but Christoph would be lying if he said that Richard wasn't unbearable at first. Despite that, however, Christoph had been attracted to Richard since they first met. Admittedly, he would want to strangle Richard at times during training for smart mouthing their superiors or nearly doing things with him that would get them nowhere but the office of their superior and kicked out of the military, but none of that made his feelings for the stubborn, guarded young man fade back then. All of the predicaments that Richard got himself into during training should've been Christoph's first red flag, but they weren't. If anything, they only drew him in more. Had he actually yielded and taken a moment to see through his smitten state of mind, he wouldn't be here right now and Richard wouldn't have grown and learned. Christoph would be alone and Richard would be emotionally immature and most likely living a sad life in Sector One, wasting his money and time on pointless fucks that he'd cry over later.

"There," Christoph mumbled as he retracted his hands from Richard's hair. Smiling at his work, he bent down and grabbed a discarded item of clothing to wipe his hands off. "You look good! Very sharp and threatening."

"Really?" Brows raised and lips lifting up into a smile, Richard stood from the cot and headed over to look in the mirror. Once faced with his own reflection, his eyes went wide and his mouth fell slightly agape. The hairstyle was just as Christoph had described it. It exposed the sharp features of his face, thus making him appear a bit more intimidating than before. Chuckling at the sight of himself, he turned to Christoph with a satisfied grin and sighed. "It's great! Schneider, I love it!"

Before he could register what he was doing, Richard took Christoph into a hug, pressing their bodies together and holding them close. Richard had done it subconsciously, but the second he felt Christoph's arms wrap around him, his smile faded and his laughter died down. He wanted him close before they left the cell. He wanted to remember what Christoph felt like in case something happened to either one of them.

Richard doubted that he could ever forget what it felt like to be in Christoph's embrace, but he didn't want to risk anything. What they were doing was dangerous and it rattled him to his core. Even if he wanted to attempt to appear as if he wasn't terrified of the potential outcomes of their plan, he couldn't. He shuddered in Christoph's grasp and ran his hand through the hairs at the back of Christoph's head, holding him as close as possible. Christoph didn't dare loosen his arms around Richard, even when it became a bit difficult to breathe.

"I love you so much," Richard mumbled through an exhale, "Please tell me you know that."

"I've known it since you first said it," Christoph mumbled back. Kissing the side of Richard's head several times, he inhaled his scent before shutting his eyes. "I love you, too. We'll be okay."

"I know," Richard forced himself to say. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded to the cot. "Let's sit down and do this. I doubt we'll be able to relax once all of this starts up."

Nodding in agreement, Christoph loosened his hold on Richard just enough for the two of them to move back towards the cot. Christoph sat down first and Richard followed in suit, placing himself in the other man's lap. The taller of the two scoffed softly and ran his hands up and down Richard's back with a shake of his head.

"There's a whole cot here and you choose to sit on me. Why's that?"

"This might be the last time we're together in a time like this... Where it's peaceful and we're alone with nothing wrong with either of us. Aside from the damaged wrists because of our trackers..." Richard's voice trailed off as he glanced down at Christoph's forearm. Bringing his hands to Christoph's face, he cupped his cheeks in them and brushed his thumbs over the tops of them, watching as Christoph's eyelashes fluttered before he looked up at him. Richard smiled softly, whispering, "You're not fighting with me on this..."

Christoph opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't at first. He couldn't argue with Richard because he was thinking the same thing. It was unlike him to do so and let it show, but his nerves were beginning to wear him down.

With a sad smile, Christoph brought his hands up to cover Richard's with them, speaking softly, "I can't fight with you when I've been thinking the same thing." Richard then reflected the hollow grin that Christoph wore on his face, nodding once. "Come here," Christoph commanded through a mumble, though he was already gathering Richard up in his arms to pull him into his chest before he could react. "Let's just hold each other until Till and Ollie get here. We can pretend like nothing's going to happen."

"Okay," Richard whispered quietly. His arms wrapped around Christoph again and his throat grew tight, tears pricking at his eyes and closing them to stop them from spilling. "Nothing's going to happen to us. We'll be okay."

Christoph didn't respond. He stayed just how he was— His head resting on top of Richard's with his eyes shut, arms around him, and his conscience subconsciously praying and reaching out to whichever higher power was listening to grant him and Richard safety.

—

Flake was damn near about to throw himself out of the convoy the further away they drove from the base. Though they had only been driving for fifteen minutes at the most, his mind was screaming at him to demand the driver to take them to base where the others were heading. He felt selfish for two reasons— One, he was having conflicting feelings over something he and Paul had wanted for over a decade and were finally getting, and two, he was choosing his own safety over helping save the lives of others who were like the two of them and living in such poor conditions. Along with it, Flake's persistent need for revenge was eating him alive. What was he showing the leaders of this country by fleeing? That he was a coward and leaving without providing much help at all because he was sick of living in a communist hellhole? Flake couldn't bear to think about it. He always knew that he was pathetic, but he didn't know that he was this bad.

With his leg bouncing anxiously and his eyes everywhere but on Paul, who was sitting beside him, Flake bit his lip to withhold the demands he wanted to blurt out. He couldn't take this from Paul. It was their first shot of freedom since the country started to go downhill. Just because he wanted to stay and do whatever he could, it didn't mean that he could sacrifice Paul's desire to live a better life elsewhere. Unless Paul said otherwise, Flake would keep to himself, even if that meant staying silent for the rest of his life.

Paul was chitchatting away with the agent driving the convoy, asking him what convinced him to join the military then naturally attacking him for his reasoning and calling him a killer. The driver reacted much like Christoph and Richard had— With disdain and annoyance. Paul noticed, but didn't seem to care.

"Is your mother proud of you for joining the military and supporting it for fifteen years before you changed your mind and decided to revolt?" Paul pressed on relentlessly.

"I wouldn't know," the agent replied gruffly, "She's dead."

"Ah! That's swell. Had I an Ouija board, I'd whip it out and ask her what she thinks of your choices."

Beside him, Flake cringed from what he said and turned his head in the opposite direction to watch the walls pass by as they drove. Paul was very against the government and insanely set in his ways—so much so that at times, he didn't realize how insensitive he was being, even to those who were helping him. If he ran his mouth too much, he might even cause the agent to drop them off somewhere and speed away without them. Flake realized then that maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea. They'd be picked up by other agents and thrown into the prison where the rest of their group was and they'd be together again. Flake remained silent, tuning into Paul's conversation with the man to try and block out his thoughts.

"What Sector are you from?" Paul asked when the agent hadn't responded to his comment about the Ouija board, "I'm from Six. Flake was from Two originally, but ended up in Six with me. We lived together for twelve years."

"Poor Flake," the agent commented to himself under his breath before providing Paul with a response, "Three. My father was in a gang. Members of his gang killed my mother."

"Interesting," Paul mused, "I don't know what happened to my parents. I left home and they didn't bother to find me."

"Six is a big Sector. They might be out there somewhere."

He scoffed. "I doubt it. If they are, fuck them. They saw the world turning to shit and didn't even bother to try and track me down to see if I was okay or not."

"Maybe they tried, but couldn't. Did you move far from where you were raised?"

"No. I ran into my cousin, Arnold, with the others as we were making our way here. He's the only family member of mine that I've seen since the walls went up."

The agent frowned and glanced over at Paul. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Shrugging, Paul dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "It's fine. He was doing alright for himself."

"Yeah? What was he doing?"

"Running a campsite made of beaten up tents for people who were either days away from dying or already dead," Paul said bluntly. Flake tensed up beside him as the images from the camp seeped into his mind. They strengthened his urges to command the driver to turn around, but still, much to his dismay, he kept his mouth shut. He took a tight grip on his pants as Paul went on, "We stayed the night there with Schneider and Richard. I went out to piss in the middle of the night and ended up walking around after. It was a mess." Chuckling with a shake of his head, Paul suddenly became a bit quieter and his expression began falling. "A mess... would actually be an understatement. It was bad there. Just... bad..."

Before his eyes, he witnessed what he had seen that night in the campsite. He saw a woman scratching away persistently at her arm, drawing blood and shaking as she rocked back and forth, mumbling to herself about she needed to get the bugs out of her skin. Paul didn't get close enough, but from what he could see, there was most definitely something festering beneath her flesh. He stepped away quickly with wide eyes and his stomach nearly twisting into a knot. With most of the food and water within the Sector being unclean, it wasn't uncommon for people to contract various diseases. It also wasn't unheard of for people to find themselves with lice in their hair or scabies buried in their skin at times. Paul had only ever had lice, thankfully. The thought of something alive within him made him want to wrap himself up in blankets for security and protection from such a thing, though there was no real way to prevent anything from happening whilst living in any of the poorer Sectors.

When he walked away, Paul stumbled upon a small child clinging to their older sister. Her hair was matted against her head and dried blood covered the lower half of her face. It had come from her nose, which was bruised and clearly broken due to the angle it was positioned in. As if that wasn't enough to make Paul uneasy, when he looked down to examine the rest of her, her clothes were torn and blood was pooling between her legs.

"Does it still hurt?" The girl's younger brother asked as he pressed himself to her side, worried eyes up on her, "I don't know where Mama and Papa are."

"I can't feel anything..." She whispered to him, her tone as light and airy as a breeze passing through a graveyard. Paul's heart sank into his stomach as the girl reached down between her thighs, hand trembling and fingers twitching as they dipped themselves into the blood that was spilling out of her. She didn't seem fazed when she pulled her hand up to examine it. She weakly dropped it to her lap and her head lulled back, her eyes falling shut and mouth opening. "It won't stop," she mumbled, voice cracking and chest heaving as she struggled for a breath, "It– It keeps... coming..."

Tears sprung into Paul's eyes as he watched as the brother remove his shirt and run around to the front of her to shove it in the space between her legs, his motions frantic and voice high and panicked as he spoke, "Do you think this will help? Sissy, is that okay?"

She didn't respond verbally, but she did nod. The little boy sat down beside her again, eyes glistening in the moonlight with tears and hands reaching out to grasp the remains of her clothing. From where he was, Paul could see the extent of her injuries and could piece together what happened. He couldn't stand off to the side while the girl suffered. He couldn't let her go like this.

Stepping over to the two children, Paul raised his hands to show them he wasn't there to harm them. The boy was the only one to look at Paul at first. Alerting his sister of the older man's sudden presence, he tugged at her clothes a bit harder until she came to and brought her head up. Immediately upon seeing Paul, she inhaled sharply and tried to move away from him, only to cry out in pain and snap a shaky hand down to shove her brother's shirt a bit closer to herself.

"It's okay," Paul said softly, his voice tight and wavering, hands still up and out in surrender, "I'm not going to hurt you... Okay? I won't hurt you. I promise. I promise, I'm... I want to help you."

"Are you a doctor?" The boy asked, looking at Paul with hope in his gaze, "Can you make her better?"

Paul knew he couldn't save her life. She had lost too much blood and with how often she was snapping in and out of consciousness, it was only a matter of minutes before she passed. Nonetheless, he nodded and offered a gentle smile with his whispered response, "Yeah, I can make her better. But I'm gonna need your help, okay? Can you help me make her better?"

The boy nodded eagerly and loosened his grip on his sister, only to release her clothes and grasp her forearm instead. Chuckling softly, Paul reached out to tousle the boy's hair, earning a giggle from him. Even in the midst of a moment so grim, a sound like that gave Paul a bit of hope for the future. If someone as young as this boy, who was giggling despite everything he had grown up experiencing and was currently enduring, had it in him to find even a bit of happiness within him, something good would come of the future. If the agents couldn't provide freedom and justice for these people, maybe this boy's generation could.

"Alright, kiddo, we're gonna make your sister all better, okay? Can you tell me your names? I'm Paul," he said, forcing himself to smile even as he glanced at the girl and noticing her struggling to breathe again.

"I'm Simon and she's Lena," the boy said, pointing to himself then her as he said their names, "I'm five and she's twelve!"

"Five and twelve, wow! You're both growing up so fast!" Paul kept smiling as he moved on his knees to gently place a hand on Lena's shoulder. She flinched weakly at first and flashed Paul a faint look of panic, her lips trembling and eyes watering. The sight nearly broke Paul apart. He hesitated, waiting for her to calm down before he touched her again. After a few moments, she swallowed softly and leaned over into Paul's touch, tears rolling down her cheeks once her eyes fell shut.

Every ounce of strength within Paul was being used to maintain his composure at that moment. In his grasp was a dying girl, bleeding out after being beaten and taken advantage of by another human being. Looking to Simon, Paul inhaled shakily then nodded to the hand of the wrist he was holding. "Grab her hand, Simon. Do you know how to sing?"

"Yep!" He said, grabbing his sister's hand in both of his own, "Lena says I'm really good at it!"

"I bet you are! How about we sing to her, hm? What's her favorite song that you sing?"

"'Abendsegen'!" Smiling at Lena, Simon squeezed her hand, proudly saying, "We're going to sing! Are you ready?"

Seconds passed before Lena managed to nod, her head now resting against Paul's hand where it was on her shoulder. With his other hand, Paul reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear, forcing himself to smile.

"Just relax, okay?" He whispered to her, eyes flitting around her face, "You can relax. You can rest now."

Together, Simon and Paul began singing, Simon's voice strong whereas Paul's wavered as the lyrics fell from his lips—

"Abends, will ich schlafen gehn,
vierzehn Engel um mich stehn:
zwei zu meinen Häupten,
zwei zu meinen Füßen,
zwei zu meiner Rechten,
zwei zu meiner Linken,
zwei die mich decken,
zwei, die mich wecken,
zwei, die mich weisen
zu Himmels Paradeisen."

By the end of the song, Lena was gone. Her head was still on Paul's hand as the fingers of his other hand tucked the last few strands of hair behind her ear. Her free hand had managed to take a light grip on Paul's thigh before she passed. Simon didn't realize it and Paul didn't want him to. Though tears burned like fire in his eyes, he looked at Simon and smiled, his mouth struggling to form the words he wanted to say.

"Good job, Simon," he whispered, his voice strained, "How about you get into bed, hm? I'll take care of Lena. It's late anyway. You need your sleep."

"Is she sleeping already?" Simon asked as he released his sister's hand, looking over her, "She must've been really tired!"

Exhaling deeply, Paul nodded and gave a weak smile. "She must've been. I'll make sure she sleeps well, Simon. I promise. Get to bed."

Simon nodded and stood from the ground, kissing Lena's head and bidding her goodnight and sweet dreams before heading into the tent. Paul waited in deafening silence for ten minutes until he heard a faint snore come from inside before he lost it.

Burying his face into the girl's hair, he began sobbing. The burning in his eyes immediately ignited an angry fire in his stomach and his chest, one that he couldn't put out even if he were to scream and yell at the top of his lungs. Not even finding the person who did such a thing to this young girl and killing them himself would make him feel better. If they weren't in this position, she wouldn't have died. She would've been in school, getting an education and making friends, growing up and learning about history and how not to repeat it, and she would've been happy. She would've been alive.

But she wasn't. She wasn't alive because she was living in a world without schools and education, without any real friends, without any chance of growing up and learning about history because she was dying before she could retain any information on how to change it. She wasn't doing any of that because the government and military had failed her and left her to die in the arms of the stranger and her younger brother after being tortured by God knows who and left to bleed out.

Paul did what he could for her. He grabbed a nearby piece of clothing after he found the strength to let go of her and wet it with some of the water he had in his canteen. Tentatively, he wiped her skin off as best as he could. Though she was dead, he still wanted to make her look presentable in case her parents returned. Once the blood was gone off her face and most of it had been wiped off of her legs, Paul pulled her clothes over her as best as he could before resorting to swiping a blanket from inside of the tent to place over her. He couldn't leave her exposed and cold. He didn't want anyone to do anything to her again.

Inside the tent, Paul found a journal along with a pencil. Ripping out a piece of paper from it, he brought it out into the moonlight, placed it on the ground, and wrote a note before he left, tucking it into the girl's hand.

"You don't know me, but I held this girl, maybe your daughter, during her final moments. Her brother and I sang to her. She went as peacefully as she possibly could. I cleaned her up and did what I could. I know it's not much, but I didn't want her to suffer. Justice will be served for Lena. I'll make sure that nothing like this happens to a girl like her ever again. The revolution starts now and cruelty ends here.

— Paul Landers."

Tears dripped off of Paul's cheeks as he sat in the convoy between Flake and the government agent driving them out of the country. He didn't say a word, didn't sniffle, and didn't alter his breathing in any sort of way. He stared straight ahead, his jaw tight and tense, and that same fire that he felt the other night raging out of control once again.

He didn't need freedom. He didn't want it if he and Flake were the only ones getting it. They weren't special. They shouldn't be getting a free pass to leave the country before something that they helped start went down. They couldn't do this. They couldn't leave.

Paul was going to put justice to Lena's name and to the names of the others who had lost their lives due to the living conditions in this country. Paul was going to wreak fucking havoc on the government and military.

"Turn around," Paul demanded, his voice hard and firm, eyes still straight ahead, "We aren't done. We're staying." Swallowing, he brought his head up a bit and said, "Take us to base. We're not letting history end here."

Chapter Text

Vierzehn.

"Did they get out okay?"

"I'm guessing so. We haven't heard otherwise yet."

"Oh." Oliver frowned softly and dug his toes into the floor of the cell. While he was eager to begin the riot, he wanted to make sure that Paul and Flake were safe beforehand. Behind him, Till stood with hair clippers in his hand, carefully shaving off the hair on the sides of Oliver's head. With Christoph and Till already sporting Mohawks of their own, Oliver was the last to get his own. He stayed still where he was seated, eyes on his feet and hands linked loosely together by his fingers. "Do you think we'll ever see them again?"

Nobody answered. Oliver knew that they all believed the same thing—that that was the last time that they'd ever see Paul and Flake. Even if they got lucky and saw them after all of this was over, there was no telling whether or not all of them would be present. Out of the four of them, someone was bound to lose their life during this ordeal. Nobody could say who it'd be, though.

Till, however, was willing and preparing to jump in front of any of the other three. While he had the most training out of all of them, he couldn't be certain of who and what they'd be up against. That wouldn't deter him from sacrificing himself for the others, though. They were his lower ranking agents and he'd do what he could to ensure their safety and survival over his own.

In the same boat was Christoph. Christoph believed that he had run his course when it came to what they had done. He convinced Richard to help him expose the government and military, and overthrow them, and he had stitched together their plans and recruited allies who agreed with them. What else could he possibly do? Maybe he had reached the end of the line when it came to being useful with this. If he stayed alive long enough to protect Richard and lead him to der Präsident so he could kill him, he'd be worthless afterwards. Richard had Till and Oliver, and countless others backing him up. Besides, if he gave up his own life to assure himself that Richard would be fine, he'd rest easy with no regrets or guilt.

"Done," Till mumbled behind Oliver. He turned off the clippers and set them down, running his hand through the vertical line of hair down the center of Oliver's head to spike it up with some of the gel he had put in his hand. His eyes flicked up and met Richard and Christoph's, asking, "Does it look good?"

"He looks... like a badass," Richard confessed with a flick of his brows then a narrowing of his eyes, coupled with a tick of his head, "Stand up, Ollie."

Doing as he was told, Oliver rose from where he was seated and stood, towering over the other three. Christoph was the first to react. His eyes widened and his jaw tightened before a compressed smile curved his lips, his dimples showing. Richard looked impressed and a bit taken aback by Oliver's new appearance, which was much more intimidating than it had been before. Till circled Oliver to stand in front of him and immediately smirked when he saw how he looked.

"A boy becomes a man when you least expect it," he said. Oliver blushed, scoffing softly trough his nose and looking away. Till chuckled. "You look amazing. Why didn't you do this hairstyle sooner?"

"I didn't even know it existed," Oliver mumbled. He reached up and rubbed the side of his neck bashfully. "You're sure it's not bad?"

"I like it, a lot," Christoph said with a nod and a reassuring grin, "You'll definitely scare the shit out of someone looking like that. Especially once you're armed."

"What kind of gun did you say he specializes in shooting again?" Richard wondered, looking over at Till.

"Gefreiter Riedel is a hell of a shot. During training, we found he has a good eye and aim when it comes to using the ever so popular M38 rifle."

"Huh." Richard smirked and nudged Christoph in the ribs with his elbow. "Not even Christoph is good with one of those."

"Hey," Christoph retorted halfheartedly with a faint frown, "You know I'm better with my HK417."

Till raised his brows before shooting Christoph a troubled look. "Those are heavy duty guns. Are you sure you can carry one?"

"Of course," Christoph confirmed, nodding, "I carried one for two days straight once during a tour I went on when I was twenty."

"Where'd you go?"

"I can't say. It's still classified."

"So it's ongoing?"

Christoph shrugged. "More or less, yes."

"If you can carry it, by all means, use it," said Till, "And you—" He pointed to Richard. "—What will you be using?"

"My MK 17 rifle. It's a little lighter than Schneider's."

"How do you guys carry such big guns?" Oliver asked, slightly in awe as he looked down between the two of them, "I mean... I'm strong, but even those guns are a pain to carry after a while."

"Practice," Christoph answered, "That, and the military used to be much more strict. It might seem difficult now, but it was a lot worse when us three joined. It was probably even worse for Till." Turning to Till, he asked, "When did you join, anyway?"

"When I turned sixteen. We were allowed to join at that age when I was younger."

"How many years ago was that?"

"Twenty," he said, "I'm thirty-six now."

Richard scoffed. "Old man."

"You're only four years younger than him," Christoph commented, "And I'm only three."

"So? You're both old, then. Oliver and I are young and limber. That's why we're doing the most important jobs." Smirking, Richard wrapped his arm around Oliver's torso and pressed their sides together, looking up at him and giving him a wink. "They only wish that they could be as talented as us. You and I are the dream team, baby."

Christoph and Till stood idly by with lowered chins and raised brows, their arms crossed over their chests as they glanced at one another out of the corners of their eyes. They couldn't complain about Richard's antics, though. It was nice to have a moment of playfulness before everything began.

For a series of minutes, the group stood in the cell. The chattering stopped, the bickering ceased, and the smirks and expressions faded. They all knew what was coming next.

Suddenly, being in one another's presence was the best thing in the world. Though they had only known each other for a little more than a day, what they had experienced thus far and the journey they were about to embark on was enough to bring them together. None of them could think of anyone else they'd rather spend these last few moments of serenity with. If even one of them hadn't been a part of this plan, they wouldn't be where they were now. Christoph would be forcing down his desire to change the ways of the government and military. Richard would be an ex-agent and drowning in depression and multiple sexual partners. Till would be brainwashed and upholding his status as the military's poster boy. And Oliver would be struggling to find his place within the military for the sake of his family. Each held an important role in what was about to happen, whether they knew it or not. None of this would be occurring if one of the four, or six, even, wouldn't have found their way to this fateful path.

Till grabbed Oliver's hand as he outstretched the other for Christoph's. Christoph looked down at his palm before he took his hand in his, extending the other out for Richard to take. Richard took Christoph's hand in his, squeezed it, then joined hands with Oliver. Rather than saying anything, the four glanced between one another before stepping in closer to close the circle they were now standing in, their heads bowed respectively and eyes shutting.

Christoph prayed. Richard willed himself to gather the courage to take their leader's life. Till forced himself into his militaristic mindset. Oliver breathed deeply to prevent himself from having an anxiety attack. No one moved a muscle or spoke a word, even when they broke hands simultaneously to wrap their arms around one another and bring their heads together in the center of their circle.

Each, at that moment, knew that they'd die for anyone in their group, even if that meant not seeing the change that they were desperately working towards. Their survival didn't matter— Justice for the people within their country did, and they'd do anything to give it to them.

—

"You only have a few minutes. At the end of the speech, you can unlock the gates, the doors, the cells, everything within the prison. We've already corralled the guards that didn't side with us into a conference room. They won't be getting out of it for quite some time."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. With no windows, two vents that are too small to crawl through, and a door that's made of thick pinewood... They'd have to have the strength of a hundred men to bust their way out."

"Or they'd have to be magicians," Richard commented to himself under his breath. Christoph glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but didn't do anything else.

Straightening his back and ignoring how his heart leapt into his throat, he looked at his ally and nodded once. "Alright. Are the weapons laid out?"

"At every exit, both inside and out. Guns, knives, magazines, clips. Anything, you name it." Their ally, a prison guard named Martin, motioned towards the microphone and the switchboard controlling the intercom that fed into the prison where five floors worth of inmates lived. "You can tell them about it in your announcement. Not that it needs to be said, but be as clear as possible with your instructions. You know some of these guys aren't all that smart."

Christoph scoffed, slightly unamused. "I could've gathered that much." Thanking Martin quietly through a mumble, he told him to stand outside the door with the three other agents, who were holding the team's weapons out for them, ready for their departure after Christoph gave his speech to the inmates of the prison. Once Martin was gone, Christoph turned his head slowly, looking at the three others over his shoulder.

He had one shot with this. If he didn't word his demands and beliefs correctly, this part of the plan would fail. If that happened, Christoph believed a domino effect would happen, which he couldn't risk, let alone think of. Christoph had to capture these people's attention and rile them up enough to feel the anger and heat that he felt. Though a fair amount of the prisoners shared his ideals, a good percentage of the others were simply dying to get out. He knew that some would only use this as a chance to snag freedom for themselves, but he didn't mind. That's what he was doing this for— Freedom.

With a deep inhale, Christoph looked away from the others and focused icy blue hues on the microphone. Next to its stand was a switch, reading 'audio' with two arrows beside it—one pointing up towards 'on' and the other directing itself downwards for 'off.' Reaching out silently, Christoph hovered his thick digits over the switch, eyeing it before he took a grip on it with his forefinger and thumb.

Before he could let his racing heart and the knot in his stomach stop him, he flipped the switch. The intercom hummed to life with an echo, earning the attention of everyone within hearing distance. Christoph did all but hesitate as he withdrew his hand from the switch to instead grab the microphone and angle it upwards toward his mouth, inhaling deeply through his nose and shutting his eyes.

'You can do this... You can do this...'

With that, Christoph spoke, "Attention, inmates of Base One Prison. This is a message regarding the state of the nation." Opening his eyes, he tightened his jaw, listening to the faint shouts coming from within the prison, which he could see from the watch room they were in, bordering the upper most level of the cells. Several seconds passed before he continued, "A man named Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, 'Every revolution was first a thought in one man's mind, and when the same thought occurs to another man, it is the key to that era.' Whether it be by fate, luck, chance, or the power of prayer, if you believe in the workings of the Heavens and Gods, you are all here today to cultivate this thought—to take the first step towards a revolution that will better our lives as we know it."

The shouts stopped, as did Christoph. He allowed his words to sink in for a moment as he gathered his thoughts prior to voicing them.

"Years have passed since we began living in a state such as this— Where some of us turned to join the military to ensure the safety of our family—" Oliver. "—Where some of us came to find the discipline and the lifestyle that was never presented to us properly as children—" Richard. "—Where a few of us found a sense of confidence and strength to ignore how belittled we felt by being forced to live through the horrors of our childhoods—" Till. "—And where some of us fled solely to convince ourselves that we weren't going to a be disappointment and that we were going to do something to stand up and stand out in a world where everyone is herded like cattle and treated like animals." Himself.

"Whether we like it or not, these choices have led us here. We did it to better ourselves, but where has this gotten us? Have we been the change that we so desperately wanted to be throughout our lives, as children and as adults? Or have we stood idly by and ignored the suffering of our people, of our families, and of ourselves, just to find a sense of stability, humanity, and the feeling of actually being worth something because we were without such things when we weren't a part of this institution?

"We have been brainwashed— Forced to believe that without these uniforms on our backs and without the titles that we uphold as agents from the moment we graduate from basic training that we are nothing but civilians that must remain silent and still before the leaders of this nation. They have presented to us opportunities that we wouldn't have had otherwise, yet the price that we've unknowingly, and yet also subconsciously knowingly, paid in not our blood and suffering, but in the blood and suffering of our neighbors, childhood friends, and strangers across the country is not worth it. Some of us joined for the benefits and the safety that the government and military promised us and our families, and some joined to find themselves because we were without any influential leaders and figures that could've given us a sense of who and what we wanted to be once we matured, but none of these reasonings are an excuse for what we have done. By joining arms with these corrupt leaders, we have given them the support, power, and drive that they've needed to bring this nation to the ground and stomp on it until it became nothing but compliant dirt beneath their feet.

"We are at fault. We are to blame for what's happened in this country just as much as our leaders are to blame for what they've done. While we personally haven't crafted the laws that they've passed, we've stayed within the military and remained obedient under their jurisdiction and allowed this to happen to those who didn't flee from the effects of communism in this country like we have. Because of that, we have just as much blood on our hands as they do. The blood of children, mothers, fathers, the elderly, and those who didn't even get to live a single day of life. Though you may look down and see nothing on your palms, I promise you that when judgment day comes, our fate as we know it will be decided for us due to the amount of bloodshed that we have allowed to spill and run deep into the roots of what this country once was and has recently become, and we will be cast down into the pits of Hell that others in this country have had to endure on Earth while we remained sheltered from that inexplicable torture like the cowards that we are.

"However, with fault comes second chances— Forgiveness. No longer will we stand idly by and allow our government and military to wreak havoc and destroy the lives of those we love and of those we do not know. The injustices and the wrongdoings of these people have caused us to live lives that are separated from everyone else based on class, familial status, and track records, and have been the reason why when we walk down the streets of the Sectors that we visit, we see bodies upon bodies piled up. If we continue to let this happen, one day a handful of us may be walking down those streets and see someone we know amongst those corpses, though I doubt that that hasn't happened before.

"In this moment, I urge you to think about what you've done, what's lead you here, and what you want to do about it. Are you going to sit down and take the abuse and the blatant mistreatment of yourselves and others or are you going to stand up and spit in the faces of those who have made life so miserable for the vast majority of us? Are you going to stand by the graves of those that we have killed and pray for them or are you going to get up and charge the government and military with all the fight that you have left in you to save someone else from being dead and buried? Are you going to close your eyes and will yourself to believe that this is all a dream or are you finally going to wake up and realize that what's happened here is a disaster that only we, us agents who have the upper hand when compared to civilians who have little to no power and strength to overthrow these two organizations, are the only ones who will be able to take the first step towards ensuring a better life for everyone who has, hasn't, or has barely lived theirs? What are you going to do? What are you going to do about this?"

Christoph slammed his hands down against the control board suddenly, causing the microphone to squeal and crackle with feedback. However, the sound was overpowered by the roar that came from inside the prison. Voices, high and low, soft and quiet, thick and thin, shouted back to Christoph. Some protested and others agreed, while many people took grips on the bars of their cell doors to shake them relentlessly, demanding through screams to be let out to take Christoph's words to heart and take a stand.

Chills ran up Christoph's back and stopped when they reached his neck. He stared out the window, his gaze scanning the prison and those within it. Clapping and stomping started, rattling and shaking the floor in the booth in which he and the three others stood. Behind him, Richard watched with wide eyes and an agape mouth, swallowing thickly as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Till stood close to Oliver, a hand of his clutching Oliver's and squeezing it tightly.

Christoph inhaled deeply and grabbed the microphone, leaning down and speaking into it, "The fight begins with us and the suffering ends here! We don't fight for freedom for us, we fight for freedom for all! Freedom for all or none at all! Freedom for all and tear down the walls!"

Cheering erupted from the prison and the stomps became harder. The claps and violent rattles of the cell doors nearly deafened the inmates where they stood in their cells, though none cared to stop. Whether they were in there for betraying the military or for petty crimes, they were ready to fight. They were more than willing to follow Christoph into battle and raise their fists and weapons high in the name of justice and freedom and rights for all.

Time was running short. Soon, someone would hear the commotion and come running, even if there were guards by each of the entryways blocking off anyone who was attempting to come in. Christoph didn't wait. His hesitance was long gone and never to be seen again.

"If you're with me, listen to me and listen to me good," Christoph demanded, his voice hard and commanding the attention of the rioters. He allotted a few moments for the noise to quiet down before he went on, "When these cells are unlocked and you're free, there will be weapons at each and every exit, both inside and out. There will be guns, knives, ammo, and protection. Run anywhere you want, run everywhere you can, and for the love of God, do not stop fighting until the only blood you have on your hands is the blood of a communist who would rather watch innocent people die than stand up and demand rights for the people of this country!"

Christoph stepped back, his shoulders heaving as he breathed heavily and swept his gaze over the levels of cells within the prison. The shouting resumed, but he didn't dare silence it this time. He grabbed the microphone again, angling it up as high as he could as he finished what he was saying.

"On the count of three, I'm opening these cells and letting all of you out, and you better do some fucking good by the people we've killed and betrayed, and fucking fight. Do you hear me?! Fight!"

The chanting of Christoph's original claim stopped and was instead replaced with that single word. The energy and anger put behind it had Christoph sizing up to the task at hand confidently, his jaw set, eyes straight ahead, and hand raising high in a fist.

"On three, we're starting the revolution," he murmured into the microphone.

"One—" His hand left the microphone and one finger stood.

"Two—" It found the switch controlling the locks for the cell doors and another finger stood. He paused, listening and drowning in the earsplitting cries and shouts of infuriated prisoners who would soon be out of their cages and fighting for what was right.

Christoph slowly extended his ring, and last, finger upwards, heading falling forward and eyes shutting as the hand over the switch flipped it, resulting in a loud alarm as Christoph said, "Three."

Chapter Text

Fünfzehn.

Hell broke loose before any threats could get inside of the prison. The disapproving guards in the room that they had been trapped in had no choice but to stay put and listen to what was happening outside of where they were as they clung to their weapons and charged the door repeatedly. With their pride running on high, they were driven to escape, but to no avail. Nothing could be done whilst they were locked in a room that was secured from both the inside and outside. Feet ran down the halls in sporadic groups, shots were fired, and voices called out various statements and chants, some of which Christoph himself had said to rile them up.

The weapons at the exits that lead out of the prison were taken and held in firm grips and bullets were fired off with an anger and heat that seemed to transfer into the guns themselves. Agents outside were shot down, given little to no time to prepare nor brace themselves for what was to come. The allies that sided with Christoph and Richard did the same. They charged the oppressors with their voices raised, guns aimed, and fingers pulling the triggers back again and again until all they could see was the enemy falling to their knees on the ground before them, succumbing to the change that needed to be.

Christoph and Richard had flipped to a radio channel that only people they sided with could access during the raid. With everyone splitting up, a form of communication was needed.

A handful of allies secured the entryways to the prison—from the outside where convoys were beginning to pull up and from the inside where various wings of the base were connected to the prison by hallways and underground passageways. Another group fled to the rooftop, alerting Christoph and Richard of any helicopters or planes that may have begun flying overhead. Other allies fought alongside the prisoners with the intention of stopping as many people as they could.

Till and Oliver stuck with Christoph and Richard in order to provide Richard with further protection. Christoph had done his part. Now all that he needed to do was thrust Richard into the right position to be face to face with der Präsident when he took his life.

With their guns steady in their arms and ammo strapped to themselves, the four left the booth that Christoph had given his announcement in and ran. Till walked backwards, checking over his shoulders for the other three as he protected them from behind. Oliver stayed to Richard's right side, monitoring the halls and rooms that they passed and firing nothing more than twice at whoever raised their weapon to him. On the left was Christoph, who was less forgiving with his gunfire than Oliver. With loud yells, he demanded people to stay back and away before firing shots at their feet. If they didn't run then, bullets would be sent into their abdomen to ensure himself that they'd be coming to a stop. At the front of the group was Richard, eyes narrowed and hands clutching his gun as he mercilessly fired at whoever dared to step in his way.

"How far are we from the presidential wing?" Christoph asked Till, eyes not moving from his side of the hallway.

"We still have a ways to go," Till said, "Oliver and I will have to split off soon. They're locking down certain areas of the wing already. I can try to find a way to unlock them."

"How long will that take?" Richard asked through a yell from the front, sending a bullet into someone's forehead before looking at Till over his shoulder, "And when do you plan on leaving?"

"When we reach the first level of the base, the control room is down a hallway that only I know of. They keep it closed off to most everyone else."

"Still?" Christoph's tone was flat despite his question, "Why am I not surprised?"

Till felt a feeling of uneasiness crawl up his neck, causing him to turn. He did so in time to see someone charging down the hallway at them, gun poised, raised, and ready to fire. Without hesitation, Till brought his gun up and sent an array of bullets into the man, grunting as the kickback from the gun took him off guard. A cry came from the man before he fell to the cement floor of the hallway, his blood quickly beginning to stain the area in which he collapsed. Till lowered his gun with a sharp exhale, his finger just centimeters away from the trigger as he followed the others in suit.

"The government and military like their privacy," Till gave as his late response, "Which gives me an idea..."

"We need to broadcast this," Oliver said, though he was moreso blurting out the first thought that came to mind, "We could grab the security footage from around the base to show what's happening and broadcast it across the nation. Maybe even into bordering countries."

"Do you know how to do that?" Christoph asked.

"No, but Paul—"

Oliver stopped himself and the group fell silent, save from the occasional gunshots. Glancing down at the floor, Oliver inhaled deeply through his nose and flexed his fingers over the gun, his mind churning quickly to think of another way to get the news and footage out to those who weren't in the midst of the action.

"I'm sure we or someone else can figure out how to do it," Till spoke up, sparing Oliver a sympathetic glance with a hint of a frown on his face, "It can't be that hard. We can probably do it from the control room, too."

"You better be ready to be shot at when you reach the control room," Christoph advised, "You can't be foolish and think that no one will be hunkered down there."

"Of course. We'll be safe."

Rather than saying anything, Christoph nodded. He didn't doubt Till. He trusted him, and he trusted Oliver as well. However, he didn't trust others. While the idea of splitting up put an immense amount of pressure on him, he knew that it was for the best. Without Till and Oliver claiming the control room for themselves, he and Richard wouldn't even get close to the president. He could defend Richard until they reached the presidential wing. If he could survive his tours in Russia and other countries in the midst of war, he could protect the love of his life for the sake of bettering the lives of those who lived in their country.

Richard kicked open the door to the stairwell at the end of the hall and ran in quickly, with Christoph and the two others following closely behind. Richard and Christoph aimed upwards while Till and Oliver directed their attention towards the lower levels of the stairs, ready to fire at anyone who may have been heading their way. Once they saw the coast was clear, they descended down the steps, boots heavy against the metal beneath their feet and breathing deep but soft as they kept their weapons positioned accordingly in their hands.

Oliver didn't know much about electronics, but he figured that he could piece something together once they got to the control room. Unlike others, he seemed to perform well under pressure. His mind generated complex yet manageable ideas all while keeping him within the realm of sanity. With Till at his side, who was experienced when it came to instances such as this, he was sure to think of something before anything could happen to themselves or to Christoph and Richard. For now, though, he could only hope for the best and keep watch for anyone that was coming up from downstairs.

Richard's trembling had ceased the second that he left the booth, though he was the first one out. Christoph's speech had effectively caused all of the anger and fury within him to burn like a fire inside of him, thus giving him the confidence and push that he needed to carry through with his duties. To be quite honest, he didn't know that Christoph's impromptu announcement would rile him up as much as it did, but then again, Christoph was full of surprises. He never failed to sweep Richard off his feet and show him a side to him that he was otherwise unbeknownst to.

Shots were fired and bodies fell, as did the weapons they had on them. As the group passed by, they took the weapons for themselves before they continued on their journey, only stopping once they reached the bottom of the stairwell at the main level of the base.

The four of them looked between each other as they caught their breath and readjusted the clothes they were wearing. With all four dressed in dress suits and white button-ups beneath their jackets, they looked nearly identical yet stood out amongst everyone else. They wanted to. This was their plan and they were the leaders. They had to show that they meant business during an event such as this.

"Oliver and I will head to the control room and watch to see if any threats are headed your way. We'll also work on broadcasting all of this," Till said lowly, lips pursing together after for a moment as he thought, "We'll keep our radios on and keep an eye on the security footage. If you need backup, radio us and we'll meet you where you are."

Christoph and Richard nodded, inhaling deeply and righting their spines to stand straight with their shoulders squared. Christoph was much less nervous due to his inclination of adrenaline and his natural desire to finish whatever he had started. Richard, however, had his heart in his throat as his palms became clammy whilst holding his gun. Sweat beaded on his forehead, not because he was hot, but because he was on the verge of suffering from an anxiety attack the longer they stood still.

"Let's do this," Richard said for the sake of his own stability, cocking his gun with a click of his teeth, "The sooner we finish this, the better. Remember, we still have all the aftermath to deal with once this is through."

The group gave a collective nod to Richard's statement. With one last look between each other, they stepped out of the stairwell, bid one another good luck and advised them to be safe, then divided themselves into two groups and headed in their separate directions.

—

Despite what he was told, Christoph wasn't being safe.

"Richard, just go! Run!" Christoph bellowed over his shoulder. Richard shook his head and tightened his jaw, firing off his gun ahead of him to aid Christoph with the group of men that was heading towards them. When Christoph's orders weren't taken, he growled and faced Richard with a hard glare. "I said go! I'll catch up to you!"

"I'm not fucking leaving you here!" Richard shouted back, his throat quickly becoming raw from the emotion that was present in his gravelly tone. He drew back and away from Christoph with his finger pulling the trigger of his gun, aiming with a sweep of his gun towards the abdomens of the first few men who stepped ahead of their group. Groans and screams echoed through the hallway, along with Christoph and Richard's back and forth argument.

"This is too dangerous for you!" Christoph yelled, "Richard, go! I'm not going to fucking tell you again!"

"I'm not leaving you, you fucking dick! I love you!"

Christoph didn't respond. He couldn't. Between how often he was shooting at the men in front of him and how his mind was fighting with his heart, a response wasn't something that he could provide at the moment.

Richard stared at him intensely before he felt tears form in his eyes. He cursed himself internally for becoming so sensitive so quickly and bit back the urge to yell at Christoph more. Now wasn't the time. His emotions could easily get in the way and cost them their lives. Without saying another word, Richard departed down the hall to his left and ran as fast as he could in the direction he needed to go in, leaving Christoph behind to deal with what he claimed he could handle.

Christoph felt Richard leave. He didn't have to turn around or raise his voice to address him to know that he was gone. No matter what setting they were in, he was always sure of when Richard was with him and when he wasn't. Even in the midst of being charged and shot at, Christoph felt a piece of him run off with Richard. Had he been foreign to gunfights, he would've been unable to react appropriately and undoubtedly would've been shot down before he could even get another bullet into those who were coming at him.

Their gunfire hit Christoph in the abdomen mostly, but was deflected by the thick bulletproof vest he was wearing beneath his clothes. He grunted with each and every hit, but stood his ground with his eyes set and focused through the scope of the gun, his arms steady, and his mind studying every movement of those in front of him. Though Christoph wasn't a fan of being in the infantry, he could thank his experience in it at this moment. Without it, he'd be a dead man.

Rather than reloading his gun when it ran through its magazine, he tossed it to the ground with the safety on and quickly grabbed the one from off his back. Christoph ducked down to the floor, one foot on the ground and the knee above the opposite foot right next to it to steady himself as he shot upwards towards the remaining men. The kickback from the rifle sent small aches of pain into his shoulder, but it was promptly ignored by Christoph.

The group dwindled down one by one until Christoph was left with only two men. With three shots fired at each, they fell to the floor— One with bullets in his chest and the other with one through his eye. Christoph didn't take a moment to bounce back. He quickly stood up and adjusted his gun on himself before grabbing the one he had thrown to the floor. Within the span of just a few seconds, he changed out the magazine in the gun and loaded it with more ammo, taking it off of safety to give it a test shot before he sighed sharply through his nose.

Now he needed to find Richard.

Running down the hallway that Richard had gone down, he kept his gun in his hands, though he allowed himself to focus on finding Richard more than tuning into his surroundings. It was a moment of weakness for him. Being without Richard made him anxious. Rather than worrying about his own wellbeing, he was stuck on Richard's.

What if he was dead? What if he had gotten shot when Christoph told him to flee by himself? What if he was taken captive by someone who somehow knew that Richard would be the one killing der Präsident? What if he was lost and stuck in a part of the base that Christoph didn't even know existed?

Christoph's throat grew tight as he kept running, traveling in a near sprint the more he thought about Richard. He needed to find him. He needed to be with him and protect him with his life. He knew that sending Richard ahead of him was the best thing to do, but he still didn't trust others. Their intentions would certainly not be good once they found out that Richard was one of the leaders of the resistance. With that in mind, Christoph forced himself to run even faster.

However, as he rounded a corner, he was met with a swift hit to his abdomen, one that sent him flying back with his limbs flailing and head snapping up so it wouldn't come into contact with the floor once he hit it. His tailbone hit first, earning a sharp cry from Christoph. The gun in his hands went flying several meters away and the other gun he had used was now pinned beneath his back. With his eyes wide and hands empty, he attempted to scramble back up onto his feet, only to be kicked down against the floor. This time, his head made contact with the concrete, leading him to groan and squeeze his eyes shut.

A heavy boot was pressed against his chest, keeping him down. As if that wasn't enough, the close cock of a gun told Christoph that the barrel of the weapon was right in front of his face. Opening his eyes, he looked up to who was keeping him pinned to the floor.

"Ja– Janik?" Christoph stammered out, the pain at the back of his skull nearly blinding him. Through his spinning vision, he looked up at his neighbor, allowing himself a moment to recollect his stability and train of thought with several blinks and shakes of his head before he spoke again through heavy pants, "What– What are you doing?"

"I never knew you'd be the one to betray the government and military like this," Janik said through gritted teeth, "You and Richard both. Do you know how funny it is to see you two working alongside each other like this when just five years ago, you were turning to me because he wouldn't even do so much as stand up for you in a meeting?"

Christoph growled, lurching against the other's foot and baring his teeth. "That's none of your fucking business."

"It is now!" He roared through a humorless, loud laugh. Shoving the barrel of the gun to Christoph's Adam's apple, he applied more pressure to his chest, making it difficult to breathe, solely to force Christoph to raise his head and bare more of his neck to him. Christoph inhaled sharply and tightened his jaw, his eyes still up on his neighbor as his heart pounded in his chest. "Your life and doings became my fucking business when you slept with me to forget how shitty he treated you. And now that you're starting a riot, it is definitely my business!"

Christoph wanted badly to respond, but he couldn't. Between the aching and pounding he felt in his head and the lack of oxygen he was receiving, he could do nothing but gasp and groan as he twitched beneath the man he once turned to in order to feel needed and loved. Now it seemed that this same man was going to be the one taking his life from him instead of his pain.

Another cock of the gun and Janik positioned his finger over the trigger. He chuckled darkly, his watery eyes down on Christoph as he watched him. Memories of Christoph played like a film before his very eyes. The first time Christoph came over, he was so shy that he could hardly speak. His eyes and cheeks were puffy and swollen from the amount of crying he had done and he couldn't even say a word before he broke down to Janik, leaning in and crying on his shoulder with his feet just barely through the front door. Janik had wrapped his arms around him and comforted him as best as he could, allowing Christoph to stay silent for as long as necessary before urging him further into the house so he could be of more help. It wasn't long after that that Christoph ended up in Janik's lap, kissing him and tugging him forward by his tie so that their chests were connected as Christoph rolled his hips down against his to have as much contact as necessary.

Christoph needed Janik in those moments. He needed to feel like he was worth something—that he wasn't just someone that could be underestimated and stepped on. That was how Richard made him feel at the time. Janik, however, didn't make him feel like that. He submitted himself to Christoph and allowed him to do what he wanted him to without any questions asked. It gave Christoph the stability and feeling of worth that he needed.

Once Richard began shaping up, though, Christoph didn't pay Janik any visits, other than to tell him that what they had was over. Janik had been understanding at the time, but Christoph knew that he harbored feelings of hurt because of it. He also knew that he felt a certain level of hatred towards Richard. Now it seemed that he was preparing to take Christoph's life to spite Richard.

"If I can't have you, no one can," Janik said, his voice suddenly breaking and tears running down his cheeks. Christoph's face was now red due to lack of oxygen and he was struggling beneath him, his hands snapping up to grab the gun, shakily, at that. "I'm sorry," he panted, sniffling with his words. Janik placed his finger over the triggered, his eyes locking on the pleading ones of Christoph as he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't let him have you."

Christoph shut his eyes and with that, the trigger was pulled. A gunshot went off and Christoph tensed up on the ground, gasping as the air escaped his lungs and blood covered his neck and face.

It didn't hurt, though. He didn't feel a thing. He laid there, panting for breath as the weight on his chest suddenly disappeared and the gun that had been pressed to his throat clattered to the floor beside him. Looking up at the ceiling, his mouth fell agape and his heart raced wildly in his chest.

Suddenly, Janik was joining him on the floor. As the gunshot rang in his ears, Christoph found the strength to turn his aching head and look at Janik.

The back of his head was split open. Blood ran freely from the wound and quickly began pooling around his face as it was pressed into the floor. Christoph snapped out of his trance and forced himself up with a sharp gasp, only to be met with a hand on his shoulder.

"God. That guy was dramatic, huh?" A familiar voice said. Christoph swallowed thickly before looking up, his heart stopping in his chest.

There stood Paul and Flake, dressed in bulletproof attire beneath their white button-ups and dress pants. Paul passed his gun off to Flake before extending both of his hands to Christoph. With wide eyes, Christoph took them and hoisted himself off the floor with Paul's help.

Once he was standing, Paul grinned at him and gave a playful huff. "So you started the revolution without us? Rude." His eyes then darted up to Christoph's head, eyeing his newfound hairstyle with a scoff. "Nice Mohawk, Herrcut Schneider."

"What– What the hell? How did you–?" Christoph asked through a series of stammers. Looking between Paul and Flake, he caught his breath before speaking again, "I thought you were leaving?"

"Are you kidding? We can't leave when we're so obviously anarchists." Paul scoffed, giving Christoph's hand a squeeze before releasing it and grabbing his shoulder instead. Their gazes met and Paul gave another bright grin. "If we win, we win together. And if we fail, we fail together, too." Winking at him, he patted his shoulder and nodded down the hall. "Now... Let's go overthrow the government. We've got a lot of work to do."

Chapter Text

Sechzehn.

"Where do you think he ran off to?"

"I don't know. I have no idea, I've never been to this area of the base."

"How many secret corridors are there?"

"Dozens, if not hundreds. I've only been down about fifteen of them."

"Fifteen?" Flake looked at Christoph with a frown on his face, readjusting his gun in his grasp as they walked quickly down the hallway. "That alone is too many."

"You're telling me," Paul grumbled in agreement, "What kind of government needs to keep that many secrets?"

"You'd be surprised what other governments do and hide," Christoph said with a nonchalant shrug, "Ours just happens to be pretty untrustworthy."

Christoph had come to know a lot about the inner workings of the government and military during his time as an agent. He knew that when someone of a high government ranking showed even the slightest shift in attitude towards der Präsident or any of his righthand conspirators that they'd be thrown into prison, away from anyone else that might've shared those same thoughts. He found out that people stole money from funding that was supposed to go towards the poorer Sectors and used it for things such as gambling, prostitution, and purchasing military weapons for them to have at home. It was illegal for someone to have a military grade weapon within their house, but many well liked military agents got away with it.

There were loopholes in the laws of the land for the rich, the powerful, and the higher ups. If anyone who was living below the lower middle class even dared to think about these things, they'd be arrested and thrown in prison. The more Christoph thought about it, the more angry he became. He knew that he had abused his privilege at times. He had no excuse for it. He also couldn't take it back, which killed him, but he could do something to better it— He could make sure that no one had to be the victim of an unfair justice and legal system that would pick and choose who could get away with breaking the law and who couldn't.

The hallway they were walking down was dark and musky. The blaring alarms from the main corridors seeped into the one they were in, echoing along with the sound of their boots hitting the floor and the hushed whispers of their voices. Knowing that they were close to a main corridor would've comforted Christoph had he been with Richard. Much to his dismay, Richard hadn't been found yet, nor had they found any evidence that could've lead them to him. Christoph wasn't sure how to feel about that.

He doubted that they would kill or harm Richard in a place like this—where anyone walking or running by could see what they were doing to him. Even in the heat of the riot, someone would attempt to stop any harm from being done to Richard. They also couldn't risk being seen killing someone if they were agents who worked in the higher ranks within the government or military. If the plan failed and someone had evidence or had observed them harming one of the leaders of the resistance, word would get out and another wave of angry protesters would be short to follow. Aside from that, they were trained agents. They knew how to privately handle threats who were planning on causing harm to someone who needed to remain untouched.

Christoph's mind ran amok with all the possible things that they could've done to Richard. Rumors had gone around over the years that spies that snuck into the country were tortured in animalistic ways. Some would have their nails ripped off with pliers and boiling water would be poured over the open wounds after. Others would be forced to live in cages that were hardly big enough for a dog and would be treated as such until they became obedient enough to state their business within the country. For those who ultimately didn't succumb to any of the physical torture and brainwashing would be used for a plethora of things. Christoph heard that one man was used as a test patient for surgeons in training and that when they went to operate on him, they'd strap him down, limb by limb, to make sure he wouldn't move as they cut into him without giving him any medicine to help with the pain. Another story that had gone around was that one man was used as a target for those who wanted to practice aiming when shooting. He was supposedly hung up by his wrists and had bulletproof attire covering the high risk areas of his body so he wouldn't die when he was shot. They mostly aimed for his arms, legs, and shoulders to ensure that he'd be feeling every bullet ripping into his flesh rather than dying. If he were to pass out due to the pain or from blood loss, they'd leave him there and resume once he woke up again.

The thought of that happening to Richard made Christoph sick to his stomach. He stopped walking and groaned, resting a hand against his padded abdomen and shutting his eyes as his head fell forward. Paul and Flake stopped alongside him, watching curiously to make sure that he was alright and that nothing had happened to him.

Paul and Flake were clueless when it came to this part of the plan. They had no idea where they'd fit in, but they were determined to help their group in whichever way they could. Whether it was by simply shooting at whoever came near them or doing something as important as distracting a guard so that someone could sneak into an area that was otherwise blocked off, they wanted to be a part of this. It was the least they could do, and along with that, they wanted revenge. They couldn't leave the country without showing the men and women who made their lives so miserable what they were capable of.

"Hey..." Paul stepped forward, resting a hand on Christoph's shoulder. He looked across his paling face and frowned. "Man, you look like shit. Are you okay?"

Christoph didn't respond at first. Between how tight his throat was and the feeling of bile bubbling in his stomach, he couldn't even open his mouth. He couldn't stop now. Every second that he wasted falling victim to his own hurt was a second that could've been spent saving Richard's life. Christoph couldn't be weak at a time like this. He could address his problems later when he had Richard at his side.

"We just need to find Richard," Christoph said through a mumble, "And I don't know where the hell we are, so I need to radio Till and ask him to see if he can spot us on any of the security cameras." Grabbing his handheld radio from the utility belt around his waist, Christoph turned it on and held it up to his lips. "Till, this is Schneider. I'm lost and I can't find Richard. Is there any way that you can pinpoint my location or his?"

Inside the control room on the opposite end of the wing they were in, Till was sending his knife into the left internal carotid artery of a man who had tried to shoot Oliver. He grunted, watching as blood spurted out from the wound and feeling how hot it ran over his skin before he yanked the knife out of the man's neck and shoved him to the floor, leaving him to bleed out.

Christoph's voice came through the radio again just as Till spun around and plunged the weapon into another agent's abdomen, earning a sharp cry from the very back of his throat as he doubled over onto Till. Till took a moment to grab his radio with his free hand and bring it up to his mouth as Oliver fired off his gun behind him.

"Sure. Give me a second," Till said carelessly. Dropping the radio into the front pocket of his jacket, he growled as he shoved the man who had landed on him off of him, alternating hands that the knife was in after to flick his wrist and send any excess blood off his fingertips.

Breaking into the control room wasn't hard, but it hadn't been easy either. Guards were positioned outside the door before they even got close to it. Due to the poor lighting of the hallway, since the lights had been shut off to misdirect anyone who happened to wander down that corridor, Oliver was able to hide himself in a hallway a good distance away from the room and lay flat on the ground with his gun propped up ahead of him. Till stood behind him, watching for anyone that may have been heading down the small hall they were positioned it.

Oliver, with the silencer on his gun, watched through his scope as the guards shifted in front of the door. There were five of them, all ranging in height and size. This didn't intimidate Oliver, though. His gun was powerful and the force at which it sent bullets out of its barrel was sure to knock down whoever was in his way. With an inhale through his nose, Oliver focused his gaze on his targets and slowly brought his finger down over the slender trigger of his gun, counting down from three to himself before pulling it.

The first shot had went through the nearest guard's neck. He gave a shocked cry before falling onto the guards next to him, who promptly shoved him off of them and scrambled to get their weapons and fire them at whoever they saw. Oliver, thankfully, was much quicker. His finger squeezed the trigger several times as he subtly adjusted the angle of his gun, jerking slightly from the small kickbacks it gave with every shot he fired. One by one, the agents fell to the floor, their weapons clattering onto the concrete along with them.

Till and Oliver waited for about a minute before they moved from where they were. Moving in too soon after an ambush was never good, considering there was a high possibility that one of the wounded could've been alive still. Oliver strapped his gun to himself again before removing the pistols he had from his belt, holding them out in front of him as he and Till encroached upon the room. Since Oliver had been the one to kill the guards, Till took it upon himself to nudge them with his foot when they neared the room to assure them that they were dead. With his breathing steady and motions silent, Till knelt down towards one of the guards, watching his stony face intently for any signs of movement or life as his fingers quietly unclasped the ring of keys from around the man's belt. Once in his possession, Till stood and quietly began trying each key in the door. With luck on his side, the third key granted them access to the room. Slowly with hardly any sound at all, Till twisted the doorknob and barely opened the door, grabbing his gun after as he took a step back.

With a swift, hard kick, Till busted the door open and opened fire, shooting at whoever he saw first. Oliver was short to follow. While Till had a much larger gun, the two pistols that Oliver had proved themselves to be just as handy. At least a dozen men were within the room, but during the first twenty seconds of Till and Oliver's arrival, five of them were shot down. From then on, it was easy. Till grew tired of using his gun and resorted to his knife instead, leaving Oliver and his weapons to shoot whoever was an immediate threat.

After three more gunshots rang out into the air, the two rioters were left alone in the room. As Oliver took a minute to breathe, Till quickly went back to the door to rip the keys out then slam it shut, locking it from the inside as he shoved the keys into his pocket for safekeeping.

"Where was Richard when you last saw him?" Till asked into the radio once he took a seat beside Oliver in front of the motherboard. Before him were dozens of small screens, providing them with live footage of the riots going on around and in both the prison and the base. Below them were switches for multiple things, such as locks, lights, and the volume for the intercoms and the alarms. Till eyed all of them for a moment before speaking again, "And for yourself, can you remember the last place you were that you recognized?"

"I passed by a sign that pointed to a boiler room. It was about three or four halls down after I took a left out of the corridor where the majority of the conference rooms are. Richard ran down the same way, but I wasn't able to catch up to him," Christoph said, "I took a left after I saw the sign for the boiler room. Now I'm lost because this hall is long and there's lots of turns, but no rooms."

Till mapped out the area in his head before doing anything else. He was familiar with most of the base, but there were areas that he hadn't explored for himself or even knew existed. Based on what Christoph said, he had a loose idea of where he was and could try to spot him on one of the cameras.

"Okay, good. Wave your arms and walk back and forth between the width of the hallway so I know it's you when I find you on one of the cameras."

"Got it."

Both put down their radios and did what they needed to. Christoph stuck his arms up and waved them from side to side slowly as he started pacing the width of the hallway he was in and Till tried to narrow down which camera showed the corridor with the conference rooms. Oliver helped as well, though his knowledge of the vast majority of the base was slim.

Between all of the action that was happening on the other screens, it was almost impossible to narrow down the one that Christoph had said he went down. Till looked away for a moment to collect his thoughts, his eyes running over the keyboard in front of him. He had been in the hallway many times for meetings, conferences, and luncheons that were hosted by his colleagues. There was always something about that hallway that stood out.

"The door that leads outside," Till said suddenly as he snapped his head up. Oliver looked over at him with furrowed brows, confused as to what he meant. Till immediately started scanning the screens again, looking for a small rectangle of light that could've been shining in from a door. "There's a door in that corridor that Schneider mentioned. I know because I've been there and I've walked through it. Most of the corridors don't have doors that lead outside because they're all in the middle of the building, but this one is the last one on the left, which means..." Hovering his finger through the air as his eyes darted from screen to screen, he finally spotted the hallway that Christoph had mentioned and pressed his finger to it. "It's this one. This is the one."

Thinking through Christoph's words in his head, he kept his finger where it was as he tried to map out where he had gone. Since the corridor was the last one on the left side of the building and Christoph had turned left to go down a hallway, that meant that it would direct him to the right side when someone was looking at him head on.

"The hallway he went down would be to the right if we were looking at him. Then he went three or four halls down..." Till mumbled to himself. Looking at the number in the corner of the screen for the footage he was watching, he noted that it had a label for it— C-11-0. "Eleven because it's the eleventh corridor when going from right to left and zero because that's the last hallway at the end of it, which means..."

"Schneider either reached the eighth or seventh corridor when he was running," Oliver said through a whisper, his own eyes now scanning the screens, "Would it be labeled with a 'C' still?"

"No. No, it would be labeled something else. It's not a corridor anymore at that point. It becomes like... a side street, essentially."

Oliver thought again. As they were heading down to the control room, he noticed different letters on the beginnings and ends of hallways. Some were labeled with 'C', whereas some were 'H' and 'P'.

"Are they considered hallways or passages?" Oliver asked.

"The one he ran down is a hallway."

"So he would be at H-8 or H-7." Jumping up from his seat, Oliver looked wildly over the corners of the screen to try and find something with the corresponding letters and numbers. Near the center of the screens, he found both, one right on top of the other. "Here, here, this is it. And he said he passed a sign that said boiler room, right?"

"Right."

"Okay, so..." Oliver nearly turned to walk away, his fingertips just barely leaving the screen before he pressed them to them again. "Here. Keep your hand here," he said to Till as he grabbed his other hand and placed it where his had been, "I'm going to look for a key."

"A key?" Till asked, "What do you mean?"

"A key. It's like an index. Each room that's important has its own number. Didn't you see the one outside the door? This is the control room so at the end of its label, it had a decimal number instead of a whole one, like the normal rooms do in hallways."

"I'm... lost."

Oliver stood and walked towards the cabinets on the other side of the room, explaining it to Till as he shifted through the papers and files within them, "Rooms that are used for everyday things such as meetings, presentations, testing, conferences, all that have whole numbers. In the corridors that we've run down, they're always labeled with 'C', corridor, the number of the corridor, we're currently in one, and the number of which room you're in. They start at the highest number and the further you get down the hallway, the smaller the number gets since the last room at the end of the corridor is always zero. That puts us at C-1, but since this room is a control room and not just an average room, it gets a decimal number." Grabbing the file he needed, Oliver walked back over to the control board and took the papers that he needed out of the file. He spread them over top of the surface and pointed to the index, running his finger down the alphabetical list before he reached 'B'. "Boiler room. There's several of them, but since we narrowed it down to H-8 or H-7, we just move on over to see if one corresponds, and..." Oliver's finger slid to the right and landed on the coordinates that they needed. "There we go. Schneider passed H-7-.5 and went down to H-4, then took a left, which took him down..."

"A passageway. Everything that isn't a corridor that splits off of a hallway becomes a passageway."

"So he's in P-4?"

"Yeah... Yeah, P-4. Look for it."

"Give me that," Oliver mumbled as he reached out for Till's radio. After retrieving it from his pocket, he turned it on and held it up to his mouth, his eyes once again glancing over the security footage ahead of him. "Schneider, it's Ollie. We figured out that you're someplace called P-4. To your South is H-4 and C-4, and to your North is C-15. After that, the presidential wing comes into view."

"Did you find Richard anywhere?" Christoph asked, worry present in his tone, "He still hasn't come around."

"No, not yet. We're still looking." Oliver glanced over at Till, knowing that what he said hadn't been the entire truth. "We're gonna find the security footage for where you are right now and lead you to us. From there, the three of us can go find Richard."

"I have a better idea," Christoph said, glancing at Paul and Flake as he continued walking back and forth, "Two old friends of ours found me and saved my ass. How about you take Paul to help with some of the security footage and I'll take Flake with me?"

"Flake wants to go with you?" Till asked, a bit shocked.

"They're back?!" Oliver spoke over him with a wide smile, "I knew they wouldn't stay gone! I knew it!"

"Oh, don't lie!" Paul yelled distantly from over the radio, "You thought we were leaving for good!"

"It doesn't matter because you're back now!" Oliver laughed, "We missed you!"

"We missed you, too, as much as it pains us to say it." Paul smirked up at Flake and wrapped his arm around him, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Flake here is gonna accompany Schneider on a little mission to quench his thirst for revenge. I'll help you and Till out since you obviously have no idea what you're doing."

Till playfully rolled his eyes and leaned over to address Paul through the radio, "Keep it up and I'll give you a friendly beating once you're here."

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

"You guys can talk when we get there," Christoph cut them off abruptly, his anxiety beginning to heighten the longer he was without Richard, "Find us on the cameras and direct us to you. Richard needs our help."

With a nod, Till and Oliver began getting to work, narrowing down the footage for where they were exactly and guiding them out of the hallway they were stuck in.

—

"You know how to shoot a gun, right?" Christoph asked Flake as he handed him several weapons of his own. Flake had a gun strapped to his chest and had another against his back. Along with that, he was armed with two pistols in his utility belt and was also carrying one in his hand as Christoph adjusted his bulletproof vest for hm.

Flake nodded shakily. "Yeah, I do. Not well, but I can do it."

"You don't have to be professional for this," Christoph said quietly, tightening the vest around Flake and looking up at him, "You just have to be angry enough."

Flake gave another nod and flexed his fingers around the gun. His nerves were telling him to stay with Paul in the safety of the control room, but he knew that he could do more than that. He hid inside a house for twelve years and was finally experiencing something that he never thought would happen. He couldn't let this pass him by, even if his heart was racing in his chest and each limb of his was trembling.

"Give a few test shots to those bodies over there," Christoph said as he nodded towards the pile of them outside of the door for the control room. Flake eyed them, unfazed from the sight. Even though he hadn't left the house, he had oftentimes looked out the window to see bodies outside either on the street, sidewalk, or in his or his neighbors' yards.

Raising the gun in his hands, Flake steadied his hand as much as possible before finding an area to attempt to hit. He aimed for one of the men's neck, just to give himself a somewhat large target. With a flinch, Flake fired the gun and shut his eyes, his shoulders jerking up from the echo the backfire sent throughout the air. Seconds later, he opened his eyes to see what he had done.

"Well..." Christoph mumbled beside him, clearing his throat and crossing his arms over his chest, "That was... okay."

"That was horrible," Flake said, watching as blood spilled from a man that he hadn't even been aiming for, "I wasn't even trying to shoot him."

"What matters is that you hit someone," Christoph tried to console him, "You could've missed entirely."

Flake frowned. He raised the gun again and repeated the action, hoping to yield a better result this time. But, to no avail. The bullet ended up in the arm of the same man that he hadn't been aiming for, earning an even deeper frown from Flake.

Christoph noticed how Flake's mood seemed to deflate due to the fact that he wasn't talented with guns and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Flake. If anything happens, I'll be able to cover for us."

"And I'll be able to accidentally shoot you instead of the bad guys," Flake grumbled, looking down at Christoph.

"I doubt you'll shoot me. Don't put those thoughts in your head." Giving his shoulder a squeeze, Christoph turned them around so they could start down the hallway. They were going to head in the direction of the presidential suite in hopes that Richard was nearing it and waiting for their arrival. Christoph ignored how the anxiety he felt caused his stomach to twist into knots and instead stepped quickly down the corridor with heavy stomps of his boots, his hand slipping off of Flake. "Everything will be okay," he said, mostly to himself, "And if not... then that's okay, too, because at least we tried."

Flake knew that he was talking to himself. When they had taken Paul from him and threatened his life, this was how he felt. He felt like the world itself was coming to an end and that if he didn't hurry quick enough that his life would be ripped away from him. Flake would've called it karma had he not any respect for Christoph and Richard, but he did. This wasn't happening because of what they had done in the past. It was happening because the people that they were framing for destroying the country were furious that they were being exposed and were attempting to kill one of the men who was apart of the resistance.

Flake could only hope that Richard would remain unharmed, though his blunt mind told him otherwise. Without a doubt, Richard, if he had been taken, was going through something painful at the moment. He only prayed that nothing irreversible would be done to him.

Flake and Christoph walked in silence, both set on finding Richard.

—

"How did you learn about computer stuff?" Oliver asked Paul as he sat beside him at the control board.

Paul flipped through several of the files that they had and hummed to himself before giving a response, "I had a lot of time to read when I was stuck in Six. That, and I hacked into our Sector's security system to see when it was safe to leave the house. I also did it to try and calm Flake's anxiety to get him out and about, but after I thought about it more, I realized that showing him what I had done would be a bad idea."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Flake's terrified of breaking the law. We've heard what these sick fucks do to people." Grabbing the mouse for the computers that were stationed in the corner of the motherboard after abandoning the files, Paul hovered over the multiple icons to choose from. He had managed to back out of the frames that had been displayed before and sift through the ones that were around the base. They were all labeled based on where they were. One read cafeterias, another read offices, and so on and so forth. Scrolling through them with his unoccupied hand below his chin in a fist to keep his head propped up, he shrugged. "I knew that if I showed Flake that I broke into the security system that he'd freak out and destroy the computer. I couldn't let that happen. It would've been three years of work down the drain."

"It took you three years to get into the system?" Till asked, suddenly growing apprehensive and wary of Paul's skills, "Don't tell me that this is gonna take three years, too."

"Nah. Maybe a year, at the least," Paul replied sarcastically with a smirk. Till glared at him from behind without saying a word. Paul instantly felt his cold, hard gaze boring into him, leading him to sigh and give a dismissive way of his hand. "Kidding, big guy. This system is a lot easier to deal with. It has labels. Thankfully, I know how to read."

"Did the one in your Sector look like this?"

"Hell, no. Six is a shithole, as is everything tied to it. Trying to decode the security system for Six is like driving blind. There's no labels, no direct way in or out of a faulty link, no nothing. Once I fucked up, I had to start all over again."

"Why didn't you just give up?"

"I was too dedicated by then to do that."

Oliver nodded, shrugging. "I can understand that." Looking over the labels of the icons within the list of them, he narrowed his eyes and leaned in. "Do you think they took him far from where Schneider saw him last, Till?"

"I doubt it. Richard seems like he knows how to fight."

Paul gave a roaring laugh and looked at Till over his shoulder. "You think he knows how to fight?! I pummeled his ass outside of the homeless camp we found my cousin at! That guy can't fight to save his fucking life!"

Not realizing the effect of his words, Paul continued laughing as he turned his attention to the computers again, glancing between them as he mumbled to himself about how poor of a fighter Richard was. Till and Oliver shared an unsteady glance and Till wore a frown on his lips. Hearing that Richard couldn't stand a chance against Paul raised some concern in him. Deep inside, he hoped that Paul had just caught him off guard or that somehow Paul was much stronger than he was. He doubted the latter, but he didn't want to assume the worst.

Before any of them could say anything again, the radio crackled to life. Broken bits of voices came through along with mumbles and the sound of metal clanking shut. The three stopped what they were doing and looked at the radio as it rested on the control board. Paul was the first to grab it, snatching it into his hand and pulling it to his mouth.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Help me, help me, they're gonna torture me," Richard whispered into the radio, his voice raw as a shaky gasp fell from his lips, "They have knives and guns a– and they're coming back soon, they're coming back soon, I don't know where I am—"

"Richard? Richard, just stay calm, okay? We're gonna find you, I promise," Paul said to him, his eyes wide and heart racing.

"What's the last thing you remember seeing?" Till asked, leaning down over Paul to be heard, "Can you remember your surroundings?"

"Stairs. Stairs, we went down the stairs," Richard gasped into the radio.

"Are you underground?"

"Yes, I'm underground. The signal is weak."

"Okay, okay, look for something labeled underground," Oliver told Paul as he looked back at the computers, "They have to have cameras down there, they have to."

While Paul and Oliver focused on finding the correct set of cameras, Till took the radio from Paul and looked at what he had written down regarding where Schneider had been.

"Okay, Richard? Breathe. Breathe and listen to me, okay?" Till coached him, keeping his voice low and steady as to not upset him further, "We found Schneider and he's okay. We also have Flake and Paul back. Now, when you ran down that hallway that Schneider told you to take, how many halls did you pass before you were taken?"

"Nine," Richard answered quickly, "I passed nine and I counted because the tenth one would've lead me to the presidential wing."

"Alright, good," Till said, writing down H-2 on the paper, "And what happened next?"

"They jumped out of the hallway to my left and grabbed me. I don't know how far they took me because they hit me and I passed out."

"Okay, hallway to your left... H-2. You don't know how far down they took you?"

"No, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Richard sobbed into the radio, "They hit me so hard that I just blacked out. I didn't mean to, I really didn't mean to."

"Richard, calm down, okay? It's going to be alright, we're finding you now," Till assured him. Oliver and Paul located H-2 on the security cameras and opened all of the footage from the hallway.

"Can we reverse it and see if we can see them taking Richard?" Oliver asked.

"I was just thinking that, too," Paul mumbled. At the bottom of the screen sat a rewind button. Pressing it, Paul watched as the tapes played themselves back. It took a minute or so before Richard came on screen near the middle of the hallway. An unmarked door was opened and he was carried through it, his unconscious body limp in the arms of two men.

"The stairwell is between H-2-7 and H-2-6," Oliver said as he looked to Till, "The door is unmarked, but it's definitely there."

"They're coming back," Richard whimpered over the radio, "Till, they're coming back, what do I do?"

"Just stay calm and hold your ground, okay? I believe in you. You'll be okay."

"Can you tell Christoph I love him?" Richard asked, his voice breaking with emotion. He let out a sob, the sound now becoming muffled as he cupped his hands around his radio. "Just tell him– Tell him I love him and th– that I'm sorry for, for everything I did to him in the past, okay? Please, please, you have to tell him that, you have to."

"Richard, don't say that," Till told him, his tone hard and sincere, "Don't say that, you're going to be fine, we're going to find you, and Schneider is coming to get you."

"I think I'm gonna die, Till. I think they're gonna kill me."

"We found him, he's right there!" Paul yelled, watching with wide eyes as he broadcasted the security footage onto the screens. Sure enough, Richard appeared. His forehead was split open and his body was chained to a chair, save for the slack around his arms.

Till's heart stopped in his chest before it began beating rapidly, bringing the radio back up to his mouth, "Richard, we found you. Get off your radio and drop it to the floor so they don't think you were using it."

Richard wheezed another sob and shook in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut as blood ran down into them. He wanted to speak, but he didn't know what to say. He wanted to beg them to relay his messages for Schneider to him and he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. He couldn't do either, though. The sound of guns being cocked outside the door and the shuffling of boots signaled that his time had run out.

Without another word, Richard dropped the radio to the floor and leaned back in his chair, blood mixing with tears as he awaited what would come next.

Chapter Text

Siebzehn.

"It's simple. All you have to do is state your business here and we'll let you go. No harm, no foul."

"Yeah? Should've told me that before I shot down about three dozen of your buddies."

"With that wound on your wrist from having your tracker removed? Impressive." The agent in front of Richard raised his chin, his eyes studying the wrap around Richard's wrist. Richard stiffened up in his chair, exhaling softly through his nose as his fingers slowly curled inward towards his palm to form his hand into a fist. The man scoffed, waving his hand dismissively in regard to Richard's injury. "Then again, I've seen plenty of men power through much worse. That's nothing but a cat scratch in comparison to other injuries I've seen men shrug off in the midst of battle."

"This isn't a battle," Richard spat distastefully, "It's a revolution."

"No. Currently, this is an interrogation that you don't seem to be taking seriously."

"Kind of hard to when you've tied me to a chair, including my legs, but made the stupid choice to keep my arms free."

"We'll be needing them. Well... Maybe just the one. Not so much the other."

Richard spared a glance at his injury. Since entering the room, they tore Richard's jacket off of him and unbuttoned the sleeve of the injured hand to push the material up and see what he had done to warrant the bandages he had over the area. Richard was expecting them to inflict further pain onto him somehow, but none came. He was met with words and negotiations that he wasn't going to be taking.

The tears that he had spilled had dried up on his cheeks, leaving his eyes an angry shade of red and causing small bags to form under them. Though he was very much stressed out and anxious still, he wasn't letting it show. Like most agents, these ones wouldn't take kindly to any signs of weakness. For them to witness Richard gathering himself just as soon as they walked through the door was enough for them to make a few comments to him. Richard couldn't break furthermore and show the fragility that was bubbling beneath the surface of his outer appearance. If he did, there was no telling what would happen.

The leader of the group who had captured him was one of the highest ranked agents on base, though he had introduced himself to Richard without a formal title, thus leaving him to be known as a man named Armin Royce. Richard had taken inspiration from Paul when Armin went to tell him his name—spitting out a growl of 'I'm not calling you by your stupid fucking rank.' It earned a smile from Armin, who simply nodded and went on without falter. Richard had been hoping that his sudden attitude would get a rise out of the man, but nothing came of it, leaving him to wonder just how far he had to push his luck to see if he'd actually do anything to him.

"Then you should've tied this arm up," Richard said, nodding to the left one where the bandages weren't, "Since it's uninjured and fully capable of doing whatever the hell I want it to."

Armin stood before him, chuckling with a shake of his head. His dark eyes flicked over to one of the others with him, giving a single nod before motioning to the table. Richard watched as the man approached him, his eyes focused on Richard's uninjured wrist. Suddenly, Richard grew apprehensive as a shot of fear coursed through him, leaving him to jerk in his seat and snap his arms behind his back. The fingers of his left hand wrapped around the thinnest part of his right wrist and squeezed unforgivingly, unwilling to release himself when the man that Armin had called over circled the chair to position himself behind Richard.

"This is your last chance, Richard," Armin told him, his voice suddenly lower and colder than it had been before. Richard inhaled sharply, his heart racing erratically in his chest and his eyes wide as he stared up at the other man. His foot began anxiously tapping on the floor as his stomach twisted itself into a tight knot, leaving him to feel that much more uneasy. Armin leaned down, his face inches from Richard's and eyes staring straight into his. "Tell us what your full plans are with this... revolution, as you call it, and we'll spare you."

Richard was at a crossroads with his moral compass spinning quickly. It pointed between right and wrong for a long moment—right being keeping his mouth shut to ensure himself that the country would still achieve freedom even if he died, and wrong being saving his own ass by telling this man what he and the others had in store for the government and military, thus leaving their grand scheme to fall to the floor and shatter into thousands of pieces. Richard looked across Armin's face, not to study him, but to react to each possibility that his mind was churning out for him to consider.

He'd never see Christoph again if he died, but that was a risk he'd have to take. His life over the lives of millions would be worth it, even if it broke his heart and took away a piece of Christoph in the process. Christoph would understand. It would hurt him and he'd spend the rest of his life blaming himself for Richard's death, but he wouldn't resent Richard for what he had done. He would praise him from where he was in reality whilst Richard carried on into the afterlife, if one happened to exist.

The thought of leaving Christoph on this earth alone felt as awful as a knife to the heart, but Richard couldn't hold either of them above everyone else. In no situation could he do such a thing. He knew that if it were Christoph in this position that he would take as many bullets and as much torture as possible before dying rather than caving in and betraying not only others, but himself as well.

Richard knew what he had to do, even if it brought tears to his eyes.

Hardening his watery gaze, Richard focused his eyes on Armin's. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took before he inhaled sharply, only to purse his lips and scrunch his nose before exhaling harshly, causing a ball of spit to make contact with Armin's face moments later.

"Fuck you," Richard growled, his tone shaky but confident in what he said, "I'll take years of torture before I tell you what we're doing."

Before him, Armin slowly and calmly raised a hand to wipe Richard's saliva off of his face with his fingers, giving them a look of disgust before dragging them down the front of Richard's dress shirt. Richard didn't react. He only glared hard at the man as he stood up straight and stepped away from him, his jaw tensing before it righted itself and clenched.

"If you want to play dirty, Richard..." Armin began saying, moving his gaze to the man behind him. Before Richard knew it, his arms were being pulled straight down, causing his back to crack several times as his shoulder blades came together. He arched away from the chair, crying out in discomfort with his eyes squeezing shut and teeth gritting together. He struggled in the man's grasp, attempting to fight his way out with jerks of his arms. The angle made the action difficult, however, and caused Richard even more pain. His feet dug into the floor to give him more leverage as he went to grab at the man however he could, which also failed. Armin watched him fall far from success time and time again before he chuckled and finished his statement, his words chilling Richard to the bone, "We can play dirty. Let's start with bloodshed."

Caught off guard by what he said, Richard's arms were easily manipulated. Within seconds, the left one was slammed onto the nearby table and held down as a strap was quickly slapped over his bicep and tightened to a point that was nearly unbearable. His right arm was then tied to the rods of the back of the chair, leaving it helpless and unable to aid his left arm, lest he attempt to free himself. Richard gasped for breath, looking up at Armin as he yanked against the straps that restricted his left arm.

"Funny that you thought we wouldn't let the other arm go unharmed, Richard," Armin mocked with a smirk. Another strap was secured over Richard's arm, a ways down past his elbow, but not yet reaching his wrist. Richard flinched wildly in his seat, panting desperately as he tried to slip his arm out of the straps, only to curse in pain when it pulled at the muscles in his shoulders. He watched with wide, terrified eyes as the man on the other side of the table unveiled a metal box and opened it to extract a rusty, blood stained scalpel.

"You sick fuck!" Richard cried out, his face paling and skin crawling, "You're fucking sick! You're awful, you fucking—! Don't put that shit anywhere near me or I swear to God—!"

"What? You swear to God what?" Armin asked in a faux innocent tone. Another low chuckle and he reached out, grabbing Richard's jaw and squeezing tightly to turn his head towards him. Richard had no choice but to stare straight ahead at the man who was soon going to be barking orders at the others to mutilate his hand. Richard shuddered in his seat as he noted the cold, soulless look in Armin's brown hues, his next gasp coming out as a whimper as Armin said, "There is no God here. Only order and obedience in the name of this country."

Richard couldn't reply. He didn't want to. All he wanted to do was get out of the restraints that he had been forced into and inflict the pain on these men that they deserved. He didn't want to back down and give up what he had been working towards, even if that meant having his hand cut open like a dead animal on a butcher's table. He could endure this. He had to. The fate of the country depended on it.

Armin released Richard's jaw and with a slap, sent his head to the left, forcing him to watch as the scalpel made contact with the prominent vein in his hand that ran down the center of the back of it. Richard cried out in pain and slammed himself back against the chair, his head tipping back and throat releasing a choked whimper. His fingers twitched on the table, daring to attempt to curl into a fist, which proved more painful than Richard anticipated. He shouted a loud curse and struggled for breath shortly before the scalpel was digging into the gash and cutting even deeper past a layer of muscle and nerves.

Richard wished then that he was drunk like he had been the evening before when Flake and Till were removing his tracker. Though it hurt then, the pain was a bit more manageable in comparison to this due to the alcohol in his system before he lost consciousness. Now that he was sober, shaking from anxiety, and strapped down against his will, it hurt worse than anything he ever deemed imaginable.

Stammered out cries and pleas fell from Richard's lips as tears ran freely down his cheeks. He shook in the chair he was in, his hand trembling as the sharp scalpel dug deep into his skin. Richard couldn't catch his breath nor could he focus long enough to do so. The pain subsided for all but a moment until the blade came into contact with several other veins in his hands. Rather than plunging into them, the man responsible for butchering Richard's hand split them all open prior to diving in deeper, starting with the one that bleed the most.

Richard wanted to die right then and there. Not even losing consciousness would make this better. Mixed with the pain he felt was a desperate yearning for death that he had never felt before in his life. If he died, the plan would still move forward and the country would be saved. He knew it would be because Christoph was leading it. If there was anyone who could this job, it was Christoph. He wouldn't stop at anything until justice was served for everyone. He'd tend to himself last, just like always, and maybe not even then.

Richard wondered if this was what it felt like all those times when he had hurt Christoph— When he cheated on him and brought other people into their home to fuck them in their bed or on their couch minutes before Christoph arrived. He wondered if Christoph hated him then as much as Richard hated this now. He didn't doubt it. He would hate himself, too. He did, in a way, but nowhere near the extent that he imagined Christoph hated him back then.

Every movement of the scalpel either on the surface of his skin or far below it felt like fire. His tendons burned so feverishly that sweat began running down the sides of his face and coating various crevices of his shirt, his once spiked up hair now beginning to fall across his forehead. Richard sobbed loudly, his screams broken and desperate as he began going limp in the chair. Blood flowed from his hand like water from a hose and pooled across the table before it reached the edges and spilled over, creating a waterfall of sorts as it splattered onto the ground beside Richard. His forearm, now soaked and beginning to stain, was warm with his own gore, causing him to heave as nausea hit him hard.

His fingers by now weren't twitching. In fact, he couldn't feel them much at all. They felt cold, frozen almost, as did his knuckles when he went to try and move them. Richard cried out again, his throat becoming raw as saliva dripped from his lips and fell to his chin and lap as he mumbled nonsensically.

His train of thought suddenly slowed and each sense of his followed in suit. His hearing went first. The sounds around him became muffled, as if someone had come around without him realizing it and shoved cotton into his ears. His vision was short to follow. Whenever he opened his eyes, the lights from the ceiling blinded him more and more until all he saw was nothingness, rendering him disoriented. After that, he was unable to speak or even scream. Richard fell silent, aside from the hitches of his breath and the occasional whine as his nerves were severed and cut through as if they were nothing but slips of paper.

Richard didn't register anything happening around him. He didn't hear the scalpel drop to the table just before the box of surgical tools fell to the floor with a loud clang, nor did he hear the series of gunshots and shouts that echoed throughout the empty room. His eyes were open, but didn't see a thing. They bounced around when they weren't rolling back into his head or falling shut as Richard dozed in and out of consciousness. Along with that, Richard couldn't even sense that Christoph had been the one to make all of those noises. The gunshots, the tools, the shouts, all of it. Richard was stuck in a state that didn't allow him to react to anything due to the physical trauma he had just gone through.

"Oh, my god... Oh, my god, Richard," Christoph breathed out when he saw Richard. His heart broke in his chest, shattering into a thousand pieces. His gun dropped to the floor beside Armin's body, which had been pierced over ten times by the bullets that Christoph fired at him. Flake stood at the door with his gun in his arms still, his eyes wide and throat tight as he looked at Richard. Christoph quickly walked over to him and grabbed Richard's face in his hands, sweeping his gaze across his features and patting his cheek with his hand. "Richard? Richard, honey, it's me, it's Schneider. It's Christoph. Hey, can you hear me? Can you hear me? It's me. It's me, I'm here, I'm here now."

Several minutes passed before Richard just barely snapped out of the state he was in. The first thing that came to him was Christoph's voice. He couldn't pinpoint the emotion in it or his tone, but he knew that it was Christoph speaking to him. He forced his eyes open after and blinked rapidly for nearly a minute, attempting to focus them on Christoph despite how violently his head was spinning. His voice came back to him after, but was only able to release a low groan.

Christoph would've smiled had Richard been doing better than he currently was. Instead, he held back tears and stared at him with his heart in his throat and his hands holding onto Richard desperately like he'd be ripped away from him again.

"Richard... Oh, my god, my poor Richard, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, this is all my fault... It's all my fault, I shouldn't have sent you alone..." Christoph whispered to him, sniffling softly as he brushed his thumb over Richard's cheek, "My angel, I'll make everything better. I will, okay? I will, I promise. I have to get you out of these straps now, alright? Alright, I'm gonna get you out of here. Flake and I both will. See? See, Flake's here, he's right there." Christoph looked over his shoulder as tears spilled from his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Flake looked at Christoph and Richard with a heartbroken expression, his gun trembling against him as his arms shook and his chest heaved with each unsteady breath he took. Christoph turned his attention back to Richard, looking him in the eye as Richard began grunting softly and fidgeting in his seat. "I'll get you out of here, okay? Trust me, Richard, I've got you. I'm here, I've got you now."

Richard didn't react. Christoph swallowed thickly and accepted the fact that Richard hardly recognized his presence as he went to undo the straps that held Richard down in the chair. As quickly as they had gone on him, they came off, falling to the floor around the legs of the chair before Christoph directed his attention to the mess that was now Richard's left hand. He inhaled sharply from the sight, his mouth salivating and stomach turning as blood streamed out of him steadily.

Stepping back, Christoph removed his tie and jacket, setting them down on the clean end of the table as he went to work on the straps over Richard's arm. He was gentle with them, not wanting to tug too hard and cause Richard anymore pain, if he felt any at the moment. Once they were off, he grabbed his tie and secured it tightly around Richard's wrist to cut off as much blood flow as possible. Following that, he folded his jacket longways to wrap it around Richard's wrist and hand, tying it up by the sleeves to keep pressure against the wound.

"I've gotta pick you up now, Richard. I'm so sorry if I hurt you, you know I don't mean to," Christoph whispered to Richard, his knuckles brushing down Richard's cheek. Richard still didn't react. His head bobbed up and down as he drooled on himself, his body otherwise motionless, even as Christoph reached down and grabbed him from the chair.

Situating Richard in his arms, Christoph turned to Flake with his eyes burning red and his heart racing in his chest. Flake didn't say a word. He glanced down at Richard, wincing from how pale and sickly he looked as he remained limp in Christoph's grasp. Flake knew that he had lost too much blood. There was no way that he'd be able to recover from this as well as he recovered from having his tracker removed. To be quite frank, though, Flake was unsure if he'd even recover at all.

"Take my radio and ask Till where the nearest office is," Christoph said, his voice failing him as his lips trembled, "Th– The offices have first aid kits... and b– bathrooms. Please, Flake—"

"I've got it," Flake said. Nodding, he reached out and unclipped the radio from Christoph's belt to turn it on and radio Till. "Till? Till, it's Flake... I'm assuming you just saw everything on camera, so... Richard's in pretty bad shape. We need to know where an office is. Schneider says they things there we can use for Richard."

"One second," Till mumbled over the radio. Flake and Christoph stood in silence for a moment, eyeing Richard as his head rolled off of Christoph's shoulder. Before Christoph could breakdown, which Flake sensed he was about to, Flake gently guided Richard's head back up to his shoulder, brushing his fingers through Richard's hair after to comfort him, if he could feel anything at the moment. Seconds later, Till got back to them, "Head up the same stairs you came from. Room H-2-1 is an office."

"Got it. Thanks." Flake turned off the radio and clipped it onto his belt as to not burden Christoph with it. Christoph was looking down at Richard with tears dripping off his chin and landing on Richard's shirt when Flake stepped out of the room with a cock of his gun, "Come on," Flake said, his gaze darting between Richard and Christoph, "Follow me. I'll lead the way."

—

Once in the office, Flake got to work on Richard. The first aid kit didn't have nearly as much supplies as he needed, but he worked with what he had. Rather than being able to stitch up or glue together Richard's open wounds, he had to settle for tape. He wrapped it around Richard's hand tightly, hoping that somehow it would bring his skin together. On top of the tape, he placed several layers of gauze for protection in case he were to hit it on anything. After that was another coat of tape, but only to keep the gauze in place.

Christoph fetched water from the bathroom after dumping out a bowl that had been full of pens. He brought it back and coached Richard into taking a few sips before using the rest to wash off his arm and face. Richard still wasn't reacting much, which sent up several red flags in Flake's mine. Christoph, meanwhile, was hoping for the best.

"Do you have a flashlight?" Flake asked, looking over at Christoph as they sat in front of the table that Richard was laying on. When Christoph gave him a puzzled look, he explained his reasoning, "I just want to check his pupils and whatnot... You know, to make sure he's okay."

Straightening up and letting the expression fall, Christoph mumbled, "Oh. Yeah, here." He handed Flake his flashlight then leaned back in his chair, eyes closing as the other got to work.

Never in his life had he felt this much guilt. Richard wouldn't be clinging to his life if Christoph had just been a little less paranoid and protective over him. Richard would've been just fine had he stayed at Christoph's side while he was holding off those men back in the corridor when they lost one another. One bullet wound to the arm would've been manageable, but having his hand nearly shredded to pieces and causing so much blood loss that he could hardly stay awake wasn't. There was no possible way that Richard would ever regain full usage of his hand. Even if he was lucky, he might not have been able to ever feel the majority of it again. For now, though, Christoph assumed that that wasn't that bad. If Richard was too traumatized and in shock to feel anything, it was better than being stuck in an agonizing state of seemingly never ending pain.

Christoph didn't have much time to sit alone with his thoughts. The hairs on the back his neck stood up as Flake finished up with checking Richard's left pupil, causing Christoph to sit up abruptly and turn his head over his shoulder, his ear now directed towards the door. Flake noticed his movements, but didn't say anything about them.

"Stay right here. Don't move or say anything," Christoph whispered to him. Flake ignored the anxiety that Christoph's instructions sparked in him, but nodded nonetheless, remaining still and silent as Christoph crept towards the door.

With his pistols and knives in his belt and his gun in his hands, Christoph paced across the tile floor without making a sound. Even in moments of pre-existing anxiety and stress, he was able to sense when something felt off. Luckily the threat wasn't within the room at the moment, but he feared that it would be attempting to break into it soon.

Seconds later, Christoph pushed the door open and was met with another group of agents. Christoph wasted no time when it came to opening fire on them after kicking the door shut behind him, his finger resting heavily on the trigger of his gun as he swept it from side to side, jerking as it sent a parade of bullets into the abdomens of those shooting at him. Inside the room, Flake flinched and jumped onto the table to cover Richard as best as he could, his arms caging his head in between his elbows and his legs bent on either side of Richard's thighs. His hands covered his own ears as he rested his forehead on Richard's, who was still far from reacting to anything going on around them.

With all the rage that was inside of Christoph, it took little to no effort to kill whoever stepped in his way. He raised his gun from where it was at his waist to rest his cheek against it and look through the scope as he took to firing at his targets' heads and necks. Blood coated the walls, himself, and the others as Christoph quickly worked through the wave of agents who had snuck up on them unexpectedly, his breathing remaining steady and calm throughout the ordeal.

Though the group had been shot dead as quickly as they arrived, Christoph took it upon himself to release his anger by shooting them time and time again where they were on the floor afterwards. He grunted and screamed as he resorted to kicking them with his heavy boots, sending the toe of them into their skulls, ribs, and faces when he wasn't stomping on their legs and hands. Tears burned in his eyes again as he took his fury out on his victims, his breathing now becoming uneven as he blindly shot at the corpses on the ground before him.

None of these people had been in the room with Richard when he was being tortured, but the fact that they were on the same as the people who did was enough. If Richard had to suffer, Christoph wasn't going to uphold any respect towards them, even if he had already taken their lives from them. His emotions quickly filtered out of him through his eyes after they built up past the rims, creating hot rivers on his cheeks as he sighed defeatedly and sobbed.

Dropping his gun against him and allowing its strap to take all the weight of it out of his arms, Christoph brought them up to slam his fists against the wall. He cried out at the top of his lungs and sobbed, not for himself, but for Richard. It was his fault that Richard was dying on the table just several feet away from him in a room owned by the people that they had been brainwashed by. It was his fault that Richard was going to lose all function of his hand if he happened to live through this. It was his fault that Richard would probably hate him for the rest of his life. He couldn't and wouldn't blame him for that, though. He'd hate himself too if he were in Richard's position.

If Richard lost all the trust and love he had for him after this, Christoph wouldn't be surprised. He wouldn't resent Richard for it and he wouldn't try to force him to feel otherwise. Had he just let his guard down for once and let Richard do something that he was fully capable of, Richard would be fine. Richard would be sending a bullet into their poor excuse of a leader and Christoph would've been basking in the feeling of how great it felt to kill the man who had taken the country and drove it straight into the ground. For the moment, though, it seemed as if their leader's legacy and impact had spread too far. There wasn't a break between the attacks and each one was a little less forgiving than the last. Christoph didn't know how much he could take if that meant that the next one would take Richard's life.

Christoph backed away from the wall and kept his gaze on the ground. He had to center himself in case Richard had miraculously come to whilst he broke down in the hallway. Sniffling and swiping the back of his hand under his nostrils to wipe them clean of anything, he blinked several times before bringing his head up enough to see the doorframe. He walked to it with his head hanging low and his arms defenseless at his sides. He reached out for the doorknob and twisted it, only to be shoved roughly against the door from behind.

Flake looked over from where he was on the table and watched as Christoph was then slammed repeatedly against the door through the small glass window that was above the door knob. His eyes went wide and his heart rate picked up, leaving his ears to pound with the sound of his own heartbeat as he laid there, protecting Richard whilst Christoph attempted to fight off whoever was behind him.

Just as Christoph reached down and was able to grab his pistol, the agent behind him grabbed him by the line of hair at the top of his head and forced his head back. Christoph had no time to react before his face was being sent into and through the glass of the window after, leaving him to cry out in pain as his right eye snapped shut as much as it could and quickly began bleeding. Along with the countless shards that gathered beneath his upper and lower eyelids, a large piece of glass had embedded itself into his eye after penetrating it. Christoph growled lowly and pressed his hands firmly against the door, forcing himself out of the window and blindly aiming his pistol to shoot whoever was behind him the second the barrel of the pistol made contact with them. They released a shocked grunt from the first shot, but went silent after that. Christoph stared down at them as best as he could with his left eye, but quickly became disoriented and fell back against the wall.

As he slid down to the ground, Flake rushed out of the room, shutting the door behind him and radioing Till, "Till, we need you and the others, Schneider and Richard are both down! We're still at H-2-1, please hurry!"

Flake set the radio down on the floor once he had crouched down beside Christoph. Christoph had his hand cupped over his eye as he gasped and groaned in pain, squirming where he was on the floor and letting out hisses of curse words as blood gradually seeped from his eye. Flake hesitantly placed his hand on Christoph's arm, giving it a soft squeeze as he looked over him.

"Schneider, move your hand. Let me see it. I have to see how bad it is," he spoke softly. Christoph trembled beside him and exhaled shakily, shaking his head at first as he swallowed. Flake frowned and rubbed his arm instead. "Please? I won't hurt you... I promise."

Christoph wasn't eager to see what had been done to his eye. The pain alone was enough. As if having something lodged in his pupil wasn't as bad as it could possibly get, he had a headache on top of it. He groaned as his lungs quickly expelled all the air within them, leaving him breathless as he forced himself to lower his hand and open his eye as much as he could.

It took everything in Flake not to flinch or show any signs of discomfort when Christoph unveiled his eye to him. Not only was it bleeding, but a large piece of glass was sticking out of the center of it. Its size prohibited his eye from closing all the way, leaving a trail of blood to flood over his lower lid every time he attempted to blink. Flake held up the flashlight that Christoph had given him and shined it over his eye, causing Christoph to wince and flinch in his spot.

"Well... You definitely have glass in your eye," Flake whispered, unsure of what else to say, "We can't keep it in there."

"Yeah, no shit," Christoph snapped. He wasn't angry at Flake. His reaction was a bout of misguided frustration due to the fact that he was disappointed in himself for this. Had he quit sulking for just a minute, he would've seen whoever had been lurking by the door and would've been able to stop them from blinding him in one eye. He sighed sharply and shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall with his hand raising to cover his eye again. "I'm sorry, I'm just... upset."

"I know. It's okay," Flake whispered. Resting his hand on Christoph's shoulder, he gave it a squeeze. "You're really strong, though. I think if I had glass in my eye, I'd cry."

"Well, I kind of am," Christoph said through a humorless chuckle with a sniffle to follow, "It hurts like hell."

"I can imagine." Flake frowned, looking Christoph over for a moment. To see a man as determined and strong as him fall apart was disheartening, but Flake couldn't blame him. With Richard's chances of making it through the night looking slim and Christoph's eyesight in his right eye seemingly very compromised, he couldn't think of anyone who'd have any will to stick to their guns after being forced to face such obstacles. He knew that he'd be stopped by the slightest of inconveniences, but that was to be expected. Christoph's downfall wasn't expected, ever. Not even when they first met. Flake squeezed his shoulder again and spoke softly, "It'll be okay, though. We still have a lot to prove."

Christoph didn't say anything. He wanted to tap into his drive to save the country, but he couldn't. With how much pain he was in and with how many thoughts were running around his head, he couldn't do much of anything.

Unexpectedly, Christoph slowly leaned over towards Flake. Flake went still, waiting to see what would happen. Without saying a word, Christoph rested his head on Flake's shoulder and kept his eyes shut as blood and tears coated his face. Flake was unsure of how to react before he decided to wrap his arm around Christoph and keep him close. If this was what Christoph needed to carry on, Flake would be happy to provide him with the strength that he needed. They were already down one leader of the resistance. They couldn't lose another.

Christoph and Flake sat in silence in one another's presence in the hallway littered with bodies as they waited for Till, Oliver, and Paul to arrive, both praying to themselves that Richard would wake up and face another day rather than meet his fate on one of the tables that once was used to write the laws that lead them to where they were now.

Chapter Text

Achtzehn.

The four men sat in the office together in silence, alternating between observing Richard and Christoph, and thinking to themselves about what could be done at this juncture. With the two men who had planned the entire ordeal injured too seriously to take another step out into the riot that they had started, they had to think of something else quick. Aside from Christoph and Richard, there were two other military agents who knew the inside of the base well enough to find their way around— Till and Oliver. They could certainly help, as could Paul and Flake, but in different ways. Both had enough pent up frustration with how they had to live to cause damage to those who attempted to kill them. Both groups were viable options, but they couldn't very well send the agents together and leave the two civilians alone. If anything were to happen, they would have to go in pairs— One agent to each civilian.

Though they had gotten a bit closer to the presidential wing by moving to the office where Christoph, Flake, and Richard were, they still weren't as close as they needed to be. With enemy agents beginning to breathe down their necks, things weren't becoming any easier. They couldn't stay stationed in the office for long. Something needed to be done in order to save the country and Christoph and Richard from obtaining anymore life threatening injuries.

In the bathroom of the office, Flake had aided Christoph with removing the glass from his eye. The biggest piece had to be taken out first due to the fact that with it in the way, the shards beneath his eyelids couldn't be reached. Christoph had grasped the counter tightly and leaned back against it as Flake held the flashlight in one hand and tweezers in the other. It wasn't safe to take a sharp object to Christoph's eye, but it was the only option he had at the moment. If he left the glass where it was, it could've caused an infection and blinded Christoph in that eye if it hadn't already. An attempt to remove it needed to be made in order to see if his vision could be salvaged.

The process was much more painful than Christoph would've liked it to be. Flake was quick with his movements, thankfully. Within the span of thirty seconds, he had taken the piece of glass between the ends of the tweezers, took a grip on it, and pulled it out of Schneider's eye with a quick movement, his arm steady as to not extract it from an angle and risk cutting through more of his pupil. Christoph exclaimed loudly in pain and snapped his eyes shut, his hands shaking as he forced them to hold the counter tightly as to not reach up and excessively rub at his eye despite how badly it burned and stung. Flake gave him a minute to handle the discomfort he felt before he had to carry on with what he was doing.

Pulling down Christoph's lower lid, he took a wet piece of gauze and gently placed it against the jagged pieces of glass that had gathered beneath it. Christoph breathed heavily with deep groans sounding from the back of his throat, but remained still and compliant nonetheless. If the glass wasn't removed then it would become embedded in his eye like the larger piece had been. That was one of the last things that Christoph wanted.

Once his lower lid was free of any foreign objects, Flake repeated the action for his upper lid, which thankfully wasn't as bad as its opposite. Upon finishing up, Flake consulted the first aid kit again and dug up what he could to make something that would fit over Christoph's eye and protect it. Holding a piece of gauze over the area, he took a thick wrap and placed it around the circumference of his head to keep the pad in place, securing it after with tape rather than pins. The last thing Christoph needed was to be stabbed by something else. Flake took a step back and examined his work, watching as Christoph flicked his left eye around to see if he could see out of it still.

How there was little to no glass in his left eye was surprising, but he wasn't complaining. One damaged eye was much better than two. With Flake's help, Christoph walked out of the bathroom, leaving him with just a headache and a burning in his pupil to deal with as he took a heavy seat at the table. He didn't say a word to anyone before resting his head on Richard's arm and closing both eyes, clutching him tightly as he willed himself to find some sleep.

The clock on the wall ticked as the seconds went by. The little hand was almost positioned over three as the bigger one was jerking upwards toward nine. With the night now at its thickest, the team had to do something. If this stretched into the morning hours without any major steps being taken, their chances of succeeding would grow slimmer and slimmer. Something needed to be done now or within the next few hours whether they liked it or not. If nothing was accomplished, there was no telling what would happen.

"Paul," Till called out suddenly, bringing an end to the blanket of silence that coated the room. All three looked at Till, though he was only addressing one of them. "How handy are you with a gun?"

"Pretty handy," Paul said with a shrug and a nod. Furrowing his brows, he asked, "Why?"

Till brought his lips into a line and glanced towards the door. Though he wanted to take Oliver with him, he knew that if something happened to the two of them when they went out to try and enter the presidential wing, it would leave all the pressure on Paul and Flake, who were unfamiliar with this area. It wouldn't make any sense to take the only military agent left standing, other than himself, on a mission to get further than they already had.

"Oliver is going to stay here with Flake and take care of these two," Till said, bringing his line of vision back to Paul, "And you and I are going to try and push a little further towards the presidential wing."

"Why can't I go?" Oliver asked with a hint of hurt in his tone, "I'll be fine."

"I know you will be, but we can't leave Paul and Flake here with these two if something happens to us," Till explained, "If Paul and I get taken, that leaves you, someone with a little experience of getting around base, with Flake, someone who doesn't, to pick up where we left off."

"So... If you guys don't reach der Präsident, Ollie and I have to do it?" Flake asked. Having such a heavy weight put onto his shoulders nearly suffocated him and nothing had even happened yet. Quickly, he began doubting his ability to do what was expected of him. He was inexperienced and couldn't shoot a gun well at all, and on top of that, Oliver wasn't all that integrated into the military lifestyle, meaning that he was just a little less clueless than Flake was. Shifting in his seat and bringing his hand up to nip at his fingertips, he shook his head, mumbling, "I don't know if I can do that."

"You can do it, Flake," Paul said from beside him. He rested a hand on his thigh and squeezed it, his thumb brushing over the area after. "Besides, I wouldn't worry about it. Look at Till and I. We're some of the toughest bastards around."

"So were Richard and Schneider," Flake mumbled.

"That's true, but hey, seriously—" His hand then moved to Flake's jaw, grasping it to turn his head and meet his gaze. He saw the hesitance and fear in Flake's eyes and it nearly made him fall apart in his chair, but he didn't. Till was putting faith in him to execute the job with him. He couldn't let him down. "Don't worry about it. Till and I are gonna do everything we can to make sure that we kill this asshole. All you and Ollie have to do is sit here and watch Schneider and Richard. You've got nothing to worry about. I promise."

Flake didn't believe Paul's words, but he nodded anyway. He knew that Till was a well trained agent and he knew that Paul was very aggressive and capable of defending himself, but he didn't trust others. There was always going to be someone who was stronger and smarter and faster than them, and Flake didn't want Paul to face that alone. Sure, he would have Till at his side, but Till wasn't Flake and Flake wasn't Till. If Paul lost his life, then Flake wanted to be with him when it happened—not boarded up in a room doing absolutely nothing but worrying.

Flake knew Paul, though. He was going to do whatever he could as best as he could. Once his mind was set on something, it was hard to break him out of it. Even if Flake wanted to, he couldn't make Paul think otherwise about running off with Till to face people that were more than willing to stand by in silence and support the oppressors that killed people like them for sport. If Paul wanted to do this, he would and nothing Flake said or did would guide him away from it.

"Just... stay safe, please," Flake told him. Grasping Paul's wrist, he squeezed it before moving his hand away from his jaw. He brought Paul's hand up to his mouth and kissed his knuckles softly, his thumb brushing over the back of his hand. The smile that curved Paul's lips was enough to brighten the dull room they were in and make Flake forget about how awful things were around them for a moment. Paul always had that impact on him, even back in Sector Six when he was held prisoner by his anxiety in their own home. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't lose me," Paul whispered to him with a smirk on his lips, "Are you kidding? They'd have to personally escort me to the afterlife themselves to get me to ever even think about leaving you behind."

Flake managed to chuckle softly from what Paul said before he shook his head. Though he wasn't big on physical affection, he didn't mind having Paul's hand in his. He tried not to think about how this could've been his last time ever holding it, but he knew himself better than that. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to overthink and obsess over the worst possible outcomes while Till and Paul paraded the halls and moved further and further away from the office they were in.

"Paul," Till said from where he was by the door. He had his weapons on him and a gun in his arms as he nodded towards the hallway. "We have to get going."

"I know, I know," Paul grumbled. Standing from his chair, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Flake's forehead. Flake leaned into the touch and Paul smiled as he pulled away. "I'll see you soon, alright? You and the other friendly giant are gonna do just fine in here. Till and I will be back before you know it."

Paul strapped himself with guns and various other weapons as Till broke away from the door. He rested his hand on Oliver's upper back, watching as he shut his eyes and leaned into the touch. Till couldn't help but frown.

"I'll be back soon," Till whispered lowly.

"You better," Oliver whispered back, his head still lowered, "Please stay safe."

Nodding, Till brushed his thumb over the back of Oliver's neck and said, "I will."

Withdrawing from Oliver to join Paul at the door, the two gave one last look at the other four before heading out into the hallway, shutting the door behind them and cocking their guns as they began walking.

–

The walk to the presidential wing didn't take long due to their proximity to it. Till felt a bit relieved by that, but didn't focus on it for too long. While they were close to where they wanted to be, they hadn't yet passed the gates for it. Once they did was when he could feel more confident with what they were doing.

With backup in the control room that Till, Oliver, and Paul had fled, they were able to keep the doors to the presidential wing unlocked and open for the time-being. There was no telling how long it would take before someone from another control room figured out a way to override the compromised one, meaning that Paul and Till had to move fast as to not miss their window of getting into the presidential wing.

"Can I admit something to you?" Paul spoke up suddenly as they walked.

Till glanced over at him and shrugged. "Sure. What is it?"

"This is a lot more terrifying than I thought it was going to be," Paul said.

Till didn't want to say so, but he agreed. It was acceptable for Paul to show weakness because he wasn't accustomed to this sort of thing. He hadn't been in the base before, he hadn't carried several military grade weapons ever in his life, and he hadn't gotten mixed up in a gunfight against trained military agents that he couldn't handle. All of this was new to him. It was understandable that he was shaken to his core. Till could excuse that for him, but not for himself.

Many times before, Till had been in situations where he should've died. He had been shot countless times in various areas of his body. He had been stabbed more often than he would've liked to have been. One time, he was even held as a prisoner of war for a span of a few days before the facility he was being held in was bombed and he was freed just before the rubble could crush him. Till had seen everything— He saw men and women fall to their knees after being shot pointblank in the face, he witnessed children losing their lives at the hands of others, and he had experienced pain like none other. He didn't have any reason to be scared of what he was currently doing— Not when he was one of the reasons why it got so bad that things had to come to this.

"You're going to be fine," Till told him after a moment of thought, "You're tough. You lived in Sector Six for over a decade. You've got some fight in you."

"Yeah, but not military trained fighting," Paul mumbled with a frown, "I seem like I know how to hold my ground, but I don't know if I stand a chance against these guys."

"Paul, the majority of the people in the military are idiots. I was an idiot when I joined. Richard and Schneider were definitely idiots when they joined, too."

"What about Ollie?"

"Oliver's still an idiot."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Till pulled his lips into a line before he frowned and looked ahead. Gunshots, explosions, and screams could be heard from outside of the base and from the bordering corridors and hallways, along with the alarms that hadn't stopped going off since Christoph released the inmates from the prison. All of it would've overwhelmed Till had he chosen to tune into it. Though he was quite strong, he still had moments where his senses picked up on too much at once and he was left paralyzed to them as they became overloaded with things they hyper-focused on. Sighing through his nose, Till looked further down the hallway that lead into the corridor they needed and shrugged. "Being an idiot isn't bad, though. We're all idiots sometimes."

"If this is supposed to be a motivational speech, it sucks," Paul told him with a snicker, "You're better at just being a scary military guy."

Till scoffed from what he said, a small smile pulling at his lips. "What? I didn't get any of the talent my father had when it came to words?"

"No, not at all." Paul laughed. "What did your father do? Public speaking or something?"

"No. He was actually a writer. He wrote poetry."

"Ah. I bet he had a field day with his poems when you joined the military."

"Of course. He had already written a handful of them about me and how hard it was to raise me, so writing them about how he resented me for joining the military came naturally to him."

Paul shrugged, nodding. "Makes sense. Do you talk to him still?"

"I can't. He died."

"Well, shit," Paul said under his breath. He frowned as he looked over at Till and said, "Sorry, man. I didn't know."

The other shrugged it off and shook his head. "Don't be. My mother is alive still and that's enough."

"Are you close with her?"

"Not really. We never got along."

"That's okay. I've never met anyone who actually got along with their parents."

"Oliver," Till said, "Oliver's parents love him. As we were coming here, a few allies of ours went out to pick up Oliver's parents and fly them out of the country because he wanted them to be safe. If you remember, that's why he joined the military."

"Ah, yeah," Paul mumbled, marveled at the thought of parents loving their children, "That's so odd. Having parents who love you seems so farfetched."

"Doesn't it? Imagine how successful we could've been had they actually cared about us."

The two laughed in unison from the thought as they continued their trek. Though what they were bonding over was grim and to blame for certain decisions they made, they were bonding nevertheless. Without it, they'd be marching in silence with their hearts thrumming in their chests and their minds overworking themselves. Maybe a laugh was what they needed to give themselves the extra push to carry through with what had been set on their shoulders.

Shortly after, they came to the end of the hallway and stopped. Till motioned for Paul to remain silent and stay behind him as he plastered himself against the wall. Paul did as he was told and followed in suit, going quiet and still as Till took it upon himself to step sideways closer to the curve of the hallway where it lead out into the corridor. He positioned his gun accordingly and held it firmly in his grasp, sticking the barrel of it out into the corridor first before slowly inching his head forward and look around the corner.

The doors that lead to the presidential suite were heavily guarded with men who were just as padded as Till and Paul in terms of bulletproof attire. On top of that, they also had helmets shielding their heads and visors covering their faces. Till sighed sharply and dipped back into the hallway with Paul, looking up at the ceiling as he thought to himself about what could be done. Going up against them with just the two of them would be dangerous. He couldn't risk his life or Paul's.

"We need backup for this," Till said lowly to him.

"What? Really? Why?" Paul asked, moving to step past Till and look down the hallway.

Till placed a hand on Paul's chest, pushing him back to the wall calmly so neither of them would be seen or heard. Though Paul frowned, he knew that Till had only done it to protect them.

"There's too many of them and they're covered head to toe in bulletproof vests," Till explained to him, "We step out there and we're dead."

"Well, who are we gonna call for backup, then?" Paul asked, his anxiety beginning to rise within him again, "Flake and Ollie?"

"No. They need to stay with Schneider and Richard." Extracting his radio from his utility belt, Till stepped further down the hallway as to not be heard when he turned the radio on. Paul followed him closely, his eyes wide and fingers tapping anxiously against the gun as Till spoke through the radio, "All units, this is Till Lindemann requesting backup at C-1 towards the presidential wing. Anyone who is able to round up a group of rioters or allies, please do so and send them our way. Come heavily armed and quickly."

A series of confirmations came through the radio after, stunning not only Paul, but Till as well. To hear that so many people were willing to help them in such a dangerous area was shocking. Till and Paul shared a look of disbelief as they swallowed thick in their throats, smiles beginning to bloom on their faces simultaneously. With help, they could do this. They knew they could.

—

"This is fucking crazy!" Paul yelled through a laugh as he was bundled up in the middle of a crowd of people who were rushing the entrance to the presidential wing from the corridor. He held his gun against him, his finger away from the trigger and the safety on as others around him screamed and aimed their weapons at the guards in front of them. Beside him was Till, who was aiming overtop of the heads of other protestors to shoot at the guards. Looking around him, Paul laughed again, a bright expression on his face. "Look at how many people showed up!"

"Yeah, it's great, now start shooting!" Till demanded.

"I'm too short!" Paul jumped up as best as he could, only to be temporarily lifted off the ground by how quickly people had moved up behind him. Now pressed between two much larger men, Paul looked over at Till with a smirk and winked at him. "I don't mind this."

Till tried to mask his upcoming smile, but couldn't. How Paul was able to make light of being caught in the middle of a riot was beyond him, but here he was, doing just that. Within minutes of calling for backup, the first group of protesters came down the hallway with bazookas and flame throwers. Till was intrigued by the sight. That time, Paul had to hold him back from moving out into the corridor. While Paul was also interested in the weapons they had, he knew that they needed to remain hidden until more people arrived.

Group after group came, bearing weapons of all kinds and wearing a variety of outfits. Some were still in their prison jumpsuits, others were in military uniforms with the badges and patches ripped off, and others had managed to find and wear other clothes that weren't government and military mandated. Whether the people were male, female, or in between the two, big or small, or trained or clueless as to how to wield a weapon, they were all doing their best to fight their way towards freedom for themselves and their people. Till and Paul couldn't help but stare in awe at them as they came and went.

Before the last few protestors could come in, Till and Paul snuck into the crowd of people and slipped their way into the middle of the group. Till could see the open doors that lead into the presidential wing and past them, he could see the gates that stretched across the corridor as another line of defense in case the guards were taken down. All they had to do was fight their way through the heavily protected guards and bust down the gates in order for Till and Paul to rush through and find their way to the presidential office.

However, Till saw something emerge from the end of the corridor past the gates that made him widen his eyes.

"Paul, you need to get out of here," he said as he turned to Paul and grabbed him by his shoulder. Forcing themselves through the crowd towards the side of the corridor, Paul gave Till a confused look over his shoulder and reached up to place his hand over Till's so he wouldn't lose him.

"Why, what's wrong? What's happening?"

"They've got armored land vehicles coming down the hall. They're gonna run them right into the protestors after opening the gates," Till explained to him, his tone now riddled with fear and anxiety. Shoving Paul out of the crowd, he stood near the break of it and pointed towards the hallway behind Paul. "Run through there and find any unmarked doors. They're stairs and will lead you downstairs. Once you're downstairs, keep heading North, okay? Go as far North as you can until you find more stairs. Go up them and they'll spit you out somewhere in the presidential wing. I'll try and get through this, and hopefully I'll meet you there."

"You can't stay here!" Paul yelled as his face broke with emotion. Slapping his hand over Till's wrist, he yanked it, attempting to pull him out of the crowd to join him. "You have to come with me, Till, please, I don't know what I'm doing!"

"You know exactly what you're doing, Paul," Till told him calmly. The rumbling of engines sounded from the end of the hallway and shouts erupted from the front of the group. The crowd began shifting, leaving Till to lose contact with Paul as some began to fallback and others opted to surge forward. "I'll find you! I'll find you, Paul, okay? Just go!"

"Till... Till, no, just—! Jesus Christ, Till, oh, my fucking—" Before Paul could reach out towards Till again, their eye contact broke and Till was shoved forward into the thick of the crowd. Paul searched the group of rioters with wide eyes and a pounding heart as he swallowed thickly and panted, forcing himself to remain silent where he was.

Till needed to him to do this. The country's wellbeing needed him to try. He couldn't succumb to his fear and anxiety at a time like this. If Till couldn't break through the crowd and withstand the force of the military vehicles barreling down the corridor towards them with loaded guns, it was up to Paul to find his way to where they were going and carry on with the plan.

Reluctantly, Paul turned his back to the protestors and ran down the hallway. He tried as hard as he could to not think about what could possibly happen to Till, but it was impossible to shut his mind up. If anything happened to him, he'd blame himself for not staying with him like his instincts told him to. Though Till had spent their time together protecting Paul, Paul had to return the favor. He wasn't doing so by running in the opposite direction and taking refuge in a less crowded area.

His eyes scanned the signs on the doors that he passed as he ran down the hallway. If Till said there was a door that opened up to a stairwell that lead underground, there had to be one. He knew that Till wouldn't send him somewhere where he couldn't do anything to contribute to what they were doing. Through his pants and stomps of his feet against the ground, Paul continued down the hall, his eyes peeled for any unmarked doors.

Down quite a ways is when he finally stumbled upon one. He came skidding to a stop just before he could pass it and grabbed the handle to steady himself. However, he quickly let go and grabbed the gun that he was carrying across his chest, aiming it down both ends of the hallway, one after the other, to see if anyone had followed him. Once he saw that the coast was clear, he opened the door and pressed himself against it with his gun still raised, sweeping the stairwell to look for anyone.

All that could be heard was his heavy panting. Shakily, Paul stepped away from the door, properly entering the stairwell and allowing the door to click shut behind him. His heart pounded in his ears so loud that he swore that someone else would be able to hear it if they stood next to him and his paranoia left him trembling as he pressed his back to the wall and began his descent down the stairs. Not even for a second did he lower his gun. He kept it raised and positioned against his cheek and shoulder as he went down the stairs, looking around wildly for any sign of anyone else.

Paul had to remain calm in order to do this. The fate of the nation rested in his hands at this moment. If Till was unable to power through the surge of the rioters or was shot down by one of the guards, Paul was going to be the only one left to finish the job, unless Flake or Oliver abandoned the office to come and assist him. Paul, however, was reluctant to accept any help during a time like this. He didn't want anyone to lose their life because he needed help. If he died doing this, then so be it, but he wasn't going to have someone die on his watch while he lived.

The stairs came to an end and filtered out into a dark hallway. It wasn't the same one that Christoph and Flake had found Richard in, but it was structured the exact same way. Pipes ran along the ceiling and thick, white concrete slabs made up the walls. Instead of tiling on the floor, it was nothing but cement with a few cracks in it. Paul stuck his head out from the bottom of the stairwell and looked around the corners with his gun sweeping the same areas that his eyes tracked. Eerily enough, no one else could be seen in the underground corridor. It should've eased Paul, but it didn't. If anything, it only made his anxiety worse.

He couldn't stop, though. He had made it this far. He just needed to go a little further and then he'd be set. Everything would be okay if he could just take a few steps in the direction he needed to go in.

Stepping into the hallway, Paul kept his back to the wall as he moved sideways against it, forcing himself to even his breathing. He couldn't risk being heard. Being an open target in an empty space was dangerous enough. If he made too much noise, he could attract or alert someone to his presence, which would automatically be a death sentence. Though Paul was willing to do most anything for the cause he was fighting for, he didn't want to die just yet. He really did want to live a life with Flake outside of the country. He couldn't do that if he was dead.

Thinking about Flake calmed him down and gave him the strength he needed to keep going. If Flake gathered up the courage to run out of the house to save him when Christoph and Richard held him captive and threatened his life, then Paul could get down this hallway and find the stairs at the very end of it. He stared into the darkness ahead of him, save for the flickering lights that were positioned high up on the walls, and clenched his jaw, tightening his fingers over his gun as he willed himself to keep going.

Flake was brave. Paul could be brave, too. It was daunting and nerve wracking, but it wasn't an impossible task. With the right mindset and the correct footing, Paul could very well make it where he needed to be without being shot dead.

Behind him, a door opened, only to shut quickly with a slam before he could spin around to see which door had opened. His heart rate picked up significantly and his eyes flared wide open for a moment before he told himself to move from where he was. He couldn't be out in the open anymore. He needed to hide until whoever was trailing him lost him.

Sliding over to the door that he was just feet away from, Paul grabbed the knob and forced it open, slipping into the room before shutting the door quietly and bringing his hand back to his gun. Immediately, heat slammed into him. He exhaled raggedly and turned around, examining the room that he had unknowingly entered.

Surrounding him were tanks, pipes, pumps, and levers. The heat was caused from the furnace nearby, which was currently on and crackling with an angry blaze within it. Paul eyed it for a moment as he breathed through parted lips, his chest rising and falling as sweat began to form on his forehead. Why the base needed an industrial sized furnace, he didn't know, but he wasn't wanting to find out.

Swallowing thickly, Paul moved away from the door. Though he wasn't keen on exploring the mechanical room, he also wasn't looking to be killed the second that someone walked through the door. His feet were silent on the floor and his breathing was masked by the low rumbles of the equipment around him and the deep groans of the furnace just ahead of him. The orange glow from the furnace reflected off of his pale cheeks and casted a dark shadow of his silhouette onto the wall behind him. Paul was frozen for a moment. He stared at the furnace before him, paralyzed with fear due to its size and intense heat. Even though he was several meters away from it, he could feel how furious the flames were inside of it. At all costs, he was going to try to avoid that piece of machinery, even if it killed him.

Paul forced himself away from the furnace and kept walking. If he couldn't escape from the door he had come through, he needed to find another to use as an exit. He hoped the map he had of his travels in his mind was correct because if they were, he could head East and hit another underground corridor that ran under the one that held the presidential wing. From there, he could run straight up the stairs and be where he needed to instead of having to cut through another hallway like he would've had to had he continued on his trek down the hall he had just left.

Just as Paul spotted a door in the corner of the opposite side of the room, a man jumped out from behind a tank. Paul had no time to react before he was being hit with a wrench on the left side of his head and being knocked to the floor from the sheer force of it. Snapping a hand up to cover the area that had been hit, Paul groaned in pain as his head spun and ached, his face contorting into a grimace.

While he was stunned from the force of the hit, the man dropped the wrench to the ground and grabbed Paul by his ankles to drag him back towards the furnace. Paul, now disoriented and experiencing too much pain to even open his eyes, fought weakly in the man's grasp, kicking his legs and attempting to twist his feet to slip out of his grip. This was only met with a harsh jerk of his body, leaving his back and head to slam against the ground.

"Fuck!" Paul cried out, his head now feeling as if it had been split open in several different places. He panted and heaved as he attempted to gather himself and his thoughts to react to what was happening. Thankfully, he did after a few moments, only to see the fate that was awaiting him.

Looking up at the man who hit him, Paul saw the branding iron in his hand that he had extracted from the furnace. He gasped and quickly scrambled to get up, his hands pressing themselves to the floor and pushing against it and his legs kicking violently in the air.

"No, no, no, please, don't!" Paul begged, squirming to get away as the man neared him with the iron.

It was inches away from his face and burning hot. The end was still glowing a dark orange color, it's shading showing Paul that the brand on the iron was none other than the government's insignia. Tears formed in his eyes as he was yanked closer by his feet, a desperate plea to be spared erupting from the back of his throat as he felt the soles of his shoes heat up from the temperature of the furnace, which was now behind the man.

With one more yank, Paul was close enough to the man and the branding iron was being pressed against the left side of his face. The flesh spanning from his forehead all the way down to the apple of his cheek sizzled beneath the rod, breaking open and burning deep as Paul struggled beneath the impact of it and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Paul had been burned before, but this was unbearable. Tears ran down his face and hissed as they boiled against the rod and his own skin, his throat going raw and nearly ripping as he continued to scream.

He couldn't handle this. He had to get away somehow.

Fumbling for his gun where it lay on his chest, he grabbed it as he sobbed and aimed it upwards, pulling back on the trigger time and time again. The first few bullets didn't hit the man, but the last bout of them did. One hit the man in the throat and he choked out a gasp, blood splattering on himself and Paul as the branding iron fell to the floor. Quickly, Paul grunted and forced his feet out of his grasp to kick him as hard as he could. Sitting up, he watched with one eye as the man fell back into the furnace, the blaze eating him up as he twitched violently and burned up.

Paul, heaving and sobbing, moved a shaky hand back to turn the safety on for his gun before curling up into a ball and screaming. His fingers, trembling and hesitating to touch his scorched skin, hovered over the white hot burn on his face. He could smell his own flesh burning and rotting, and he could feel the skin of his nearly burnt off eyelid burning his eye itself. Had Paul not any sanity, he would've thrown himself into the furnace with the man to end his suffering. He never deemed himself as attractive before, but now he definitely wasn't a looker by any means.

Paul couldn't do anything but scream and cry for several minutes. He sobbed on the floor as sweat coated his body and drenched him, leaving him to shudder from his pain and from how cold he felt despite being just feet away from a furnace.

He couldn't stay there. He knew that he couldn't, but he could hardly think, let alone move. With a loud cry, Paul attempted to get up onto his hands and knees, only to fall onto the floor on his gun. He allowed himself to cry for a minute longer before he tried again, fighting through the intense shaking of his arms and legs to start crawling away from the furnace.

Silencing himself was difficult, but he managed to do so after finding a cloth. He shoved it into his mouth to muffle his screams and cries of pain as he continued to crawl to the door that he had spotted before he was attacked. He needed to get out of here and find someone, anyone that could help him. He couldn't carry on like this. He had run his course and it was time to join Schneider and Richard back in the office.

—

Till sat in a hallway with his jacket tied securely around his knee. The crowd of rioters had rushed forward too quickly for him to react, leaving him to trip over his feet and everyone else's, and fall to the floor. He managed to curl himself into a ball and protect himself like that for a moment, but once he tried to stand, someone ran through and over him, stepping directly on his right knee and crushing it. Till could feel his kneecap shatter to pieces as he laid on the floor and screamed in pain, his hands coming down to grab the area as best as he could to try and stop the pain from spreading.

He had only been down on the floor for a minute following that. Before another wave of protestors could run through, they stopped, recognizing Till as one of the leaders. While everyone else pushed forward and opened fire and raided the vehicles that had been brought down the corridor, these people took a moment to help Till.

They lifted him onto his feet and carried him away from the middle of the corridor, out of the way from all the action and violence. They lead him through the busted down gates and stored him in a hallway on the left side of the corridor, tending to him for a few minutes to make sure he was okay. They gave him their water and a few snacks, as well as pain pills before one offered to wrap Till's knee with his jacket to stabilize it. The act of straightening his leg out as best as he could proved to be one of the most uncomfortable things Till had ever endured, but he fought through it by biting his own knuckles and breathing deeply.

Truthfully, he didn't want to be left alone, but he couldn't force the protestors to stay. They had to help finish what he and the others had started. It was already bad enough that they took the time to help him and give him some of their supplies in the midst of the riot. Till couldn't hold them up for much longer. They had a job to do.

After thanking them, Till ushered them off then called for backup. Oliver answered back in the office, saying that they were going to relocate to whichever room was available at the very beginning of the presidential wing where Till was. Till okayed the action then radioed the control room, asking for updates on the area he was in and how Paul was doing. Nothing was said about Paul. His location was unknown, as was his status due to the fact that he wasn't answering his radio. Till grew concerned, but he knew that there wasn't anything he could do. He could hardly move and was in so much pain that it practically hurt to breathe. He did what he could, but that wasn't enough for him. He was disappointed in himself.

As Till waited in the hall, he saw something out of the corner of his eye come out of the darkness. It was a small figure and was making grunting noises as it came closer. Till immediately grabbed his gun and looked through the scope, waiting for whatever it was to come into an area with better lighting.

The second that it became visible to Till, he gasped sharply and dropped his gun.

"Paul!" Till called out, "Paul, what... What happened? What happened, your face?"

Paul ripped the cloth out from his mouth and sniffled, whining and whimpering in pain. The burn was bleeding and was an ugly mixture of colors that ranged from white to a shade that was between red and purple. His eyes stayed shut as he blindly followed Till's voice to lead himself towards where he was.

Till grabbed Paul as soon as he was close enough. Paul waited until Till had guided his head into his lap to let out a sob, his hands grabbing Till's wrist and squeezing tightly.

"It burns!" He cried out, the saltiness from his tears only causing the wound to feel even hotter, "I– It hurts, it hurts, Till, I'm— I wanna die, please! Please, kill me, kill me, I can't!"

"Paul, it's okay," Till forced himself to say, his voice failing him as it cracked. He looked over the bubbling and blistering wound on Paul's face as it sizzled and crackled, forcing back tears as he ran his free hand through Paul's hair. "It'll be okay... I– I'm so sorry, Paul."

Paul didn't respond. He let out another sob as he held onto Till for dear life, all while wishing for death. In that moment, he decided that he was done. He couldn't push any further than this, even if he wanted to. It was too much to tackle.

Maybe they couldn't do this. Maybe it was too big of a task. There were only two main leaders to go after this and if they failed, there was no telling what would happen.

Chapter Text

Neunzehn.

The air and silence hung heavy in the room that the six men sat in. After a long, strenuous trek, they found a room in the presidential wing to board themselves in until further action could be taken. Richard lay on the table with Christoph sleeping in the chair next to him, his head resting on Richard's shoulder and his right eye still covered. Till sat with his leg propped up, throbbing with each beat of his heart and aching with pain. Paul leaned heavily against Flake, still crying softly and shaking in his grasp as Flake held his hands away from the burn that itched and begged for relief on his face. The only two left uninjured stared in horror at their counterparts, unable to say or do anything that could make what they had endured better.

Nothing needed to be said in regard to which ones in the group were the most capable of defending themselves. Christoph and Till were at the top of the list. Not far behind was Richard. After him was Paul, who was followed by Oliver. At the very bottom of the list was Flake. He and Oliver were the weakest when it came to this area of expertise, which didn't do anything for them at all in the situation that they were currently in. Tactics and planning could come in handy, but nothing other than the ability to stand their ground and remain unharmed was what would win them this victory. Both knew this, but were unsure of how to do what the others failed to, though it wasn't their fault at all.

Flake looked to Oliver as Oliver brushed Till's hair back into the Mohawk that it was styled in, just as his and Christoph's had been. He sighed as he studied the expression of discomfort on Till's face, wanting nothing more than to take the pain from him and grant him the relief that he needed. He didn't know how he was supposed to do this without Till. During training when he wasn't with him, he was unsure of how to feel confident and sure of what he was doing. This wasn't training anymore, though. This was a riot— A movement that needed its leaders to follow through with what they had started rather than back down now that things were getting tough.

Oliver pressed his lips to Till's forehead, kissing it several times as he shut his eyes and thought about what to do. He'd have to take the torch along with Flake and finish the mission. He couldn't do it by himself and neither could Flake. They'd have to rely on one another to do what needed to be done.

Throughout the ordeal, Flake and Oliver had been the ones who were most against taking the life of der Präsident. Now it was them who had to do the honors of killing him. Oliver couldn't help but think about the irony of the situation, though it was far from drawing any sort of joy or humor from him.

Both were still against killing der Präsident, but they'd be lying if they said they didn't feel a bit inclined to now that their closest friends and partners had been nearly killed by his supporters, save for Till. Being shot or stabbed was one thing, but having one's hand butchered, another's sight in one eye taken by being shoved through a window, and the other's face nearly burnt beyond recognition was another. They couldn't excuse those actions by any means. Not even in their darkest hours would they even think of harming someone in such a way.

If they were going to kill der Präsident, they were going to do it quickly. They weren't going to draw it out. They had already lost enough time as it was. The longer they dragged this out, the worse it would become. What had to be done needed to be finished just as quick as it started, no matter how it made Flake and Oliver feel in the end. It wasn't about them, after all, which they knew. They could swallow their anxiety, doubts, and hinderances to stop the root of all evil from spreading and ruining the lives of others within the country. They had to or else things would get worse.

"We have to kill him," Oliver mumbled loud enough for Flake to hear. He only continued once he felt Flake's gaze fall on him, his eyes still closed. Tensing his jaw, he swallowed, pulling his lips away from Till's head to speak clearly, "Flake, you and I have to kill der Präsident."

Flake knew this, but hearing Oliver say it aloud sent a chill down his back. He shuddered in his seat, flexing his fingers around Paul's wrists as he let Oliver's words sink in. This was their duty now. It was their time to shine. If they failed, nothing else could be done. The rest of the leaders had fallen and they were the only two left standing. Everything was now up to them whether they liked it or not.

"I know," Flake whispered, his throat bobbing with his choked out response. He remained silent for a moment, reaching up with an unsteady hand to push his glasses up on his nose. "What are we going to do? We can't get injured like these guys have."

"I know... I know, just... let me think."

There wasn't much that either of them could do when it came to being confident with their approach. Neither knew the base well enough and would lose all sense of direction even if they had instructions on where to go from the control room. Along with that, there were two of them and countless guards who were now on the lookout for them. Though Flake and Oliver had never raised any red flags for the government and military before, they would still be recognized if agents were to see either one of them.

That particular thought captured Oliver's attention. Maybe how well Flake had flown under the radar and remained obedient could do them some good. It was too risky for Oliver to surrender himself to the guards considering he was so loyal to Till, but since Flake had been seen as a hostage since everything began, they might have bought into the idea that Flake was still being held hostage and attempting to escape the group now that they were injured. It would also be much easier to believe Flake due to his clean record and jitteriness.

Looking to Flake, Oliver quietly asked, "Are you good at acting?"

Flake's eyebrows furrowed. Of all things that Oliver could've asked at a time like this, he chose that. Masking a frown, Flake gave a short reply of, "I don't know."

Oliver sighed sharply and gave a small shake of his head, sitting up in his seat and shrugging. "Well, for this, you need to be. If not, it won't work."

"For what? What's 'this'?"

"I need you to surrender yourself to the guards and say you were taken hostage. Tell them our plans to kill der Präsident, say I'm on my way, say that these four are injured. Everything. Don't hesitate, don't tell them that I told you to do this, just approach them with your hands up and mind blank."

Flake, mortified by the thought of even coming close to one of the guards that had attempted to kill them and others, stiffened up in his seat and tightened his grip on Paul again. He didn't know how he was supposed to lie to them when he couldn't even bring himself to break the laws that he so passionately hated even while boarded up in the privacy of his own home. His leg bounced up and down quickly as he mumbled nonsensically to himself before quickly shaking his head.

"N– No, no, I– I can't," he muttered, his heart racing in his chest from the thought alone, "I can't do that, it– it's too much."

"Flake, it's our only option," Oliver pressed, desperation evident in his tone. He rested an arm on the table and leaned forward, bearing his weight on it as he locked his gaze on Flake's. "If we don't do this, we're all going to die. Whether that's before or after they torture us, we will die and everyone in this country will suffer because we couldn't finish the job that we started. We need to do this... okay? We need to."

Flake stared at Oliver without saying anything for a minute. He knew Oliver was right. Fighting in hand to hand combat or with guns wasn't going to work out well for them, not only because of the fact that there were only two of them, but because even with Oliver's above average ability to shoot a gun, it wouldn't be enough to cover the both of them, which left them with little to work with. They had to trick the enemy and outsmart them. If Flake acted as the scapegoat, it could give Oliver a chance to do whatever it was he had in mind.

"What are you gonna do?" Flake asked, "I surrender myself and then what?"

"I'm going to radio the guys back in the control room and have them pull the blueprints for the ventilation systems within this wing, the presidential wing. I can't risk being seen, so I'm going to go in through the vents, find his room, then kill him."

"What about me? What happens to me?"

"We'll keep a radio on you. You'll have to keep it on the entire time and make sure that it's hidden."

"How is that going to work?"

"I'll hide it somewhere on you. Just speak clearly and loud enough so that I can hear you," Oliver told him, "Repeat what they say to you. If you turn right, say right, left, say left, and so on and so forth, alright?"

Nodding, Flake still wore a look of worry on his face. "What if they catch onto me?"

Oliver thought for a moment. Undoubtedly, Flake was going to be patted down upon approaching the guards, meaning that the radio needed to be well-hidden and so did some sort of weapon that wouldn't be felt through any of his clothes or vests.

Breaking away from Till, Oliver went over to the pile of guns that they had collected from the corridor where the rioters had passed through to enter the presidential wing, sifting through them carefully to find a pistol small enough for Flake to carry. The guns ranged in size. Some were large and heavy, whereas others were light and compact. For Flake, who wasn't that great of a shot and rather shaky, he needed something small and well balanced so that he'd have a better shot at hitting his target when he went to fire his gun.

Oliver's hand landed on a compact 9mm handgun and extracted it from the pile. Looking over it, he checked for any signs of damage, blockage, or anything else that might've seemed off before he stood up. He walked over to Flake and motioned for him to stand, looking over him in the process.

"If they do something to you, you'll have this to protect you," he said, holding up the handheld gun for Flake to examine it. As the shorter man's blue eyes ran over it, Oliver explained what he was doing, "They're going to frisk you after you give yourself up to them, okay? So we need to make sure that this and the radio are hidden in places that they aren't going to feel it well enough for it to draw any attention. That, and the gun needs to be accessible to you and the radio needs to be somewhere it can be heard clearly. Now..."

Placing the gun on the table, Oliver moved to the other side of it and grabbed the radio Richard had been using. He switched it to the channel that he was on and went back to Flake, looking him over again to see where he could place the two items. Much to his dismay, it would be a bit tricky attempting to place something as bulky as a radio on Flake's rather bony and frail body, but he would have to make it work one way or another.

"Here, I'm just going to—" Before he could finish his sentence, he set the radio down then reached out to unbutton Flake's white dress shirt. Though Flake was taken aback, he didn't stop Oliver from doing whatever he had in mind. After the bulletproof vest over his chest had been exposed, Oliver went to work on that as well, loosening it from around Flake's body to give it enough slack where he'd be placing the radio between the vest and his chest. He clipped the radio onto the top of the vest and tightened it again, then he buttoned Flake's shirt back up. He took a step back, scanning his figure before motioning for Flake to grab his own jacket. "You look fine, but button up two of the buttons on your jacket."

Flake looked down at his chest and noticed how it just barely stuck out a bit further than usual. Impressed by how Oliver managed to hide the radio so well, he did as he was told and buttoned up his jacket to further hide the fact that he had a radio beneath his bulletproof vest. Following that, Oliver grabbed the handheld gun and hummed in thought.

"I'm not sure where to put this..." His free hand rubbed over his stubbly chin in thought, contemplating the areas of Flake's body where he could successfully hide the gun without it being seen or felt. As his gaze wandered over towards Flake's left arm, he snapped his fingers and went to undo the buttons of his shirt again. "I'm sorry, I know I just buttoned this back up for you, but this gun... needs to go kind of under your armpit."

Flake then looked unimpressed. He scrunched his nose and hesitantly lifted his arm, allowing Oliver to work with the bit of slack that the vest had around his bony ribs near his armpit. "Really? Are you serious?"

"Very," Oliver replied. Tucking the barrel of the gun into the vest, he adjusted the handle so that the end of it stayed hooked over the curve of the vest that allowed Flake's arm to stick out of it so that it wouldn't fall down his side when he went to move. Oliver fixed Flake's shirt for him then stepped back again, giving him a smile as he looked him over. "There! Now if you need your gun, you can reach into your shirt and pull it out from under your arm. They won't feel it because of the vest and how I tucked it in."

"Are you sure?" Flake asked doubtfully, "If I die, it's on you."

Oliver inhaled sharply, his smile faltering. "Yeah. Yeah, I know, but I have a feeling it'll work."

Disgruntled, Flake shook his head before waving his hand at Oliver and turning his attention back to Paul. "Let's hope that feeling is right."

Oliver ignored Flake's comment and went back to the side of the room that Till was on. Now that Flake was set, he needed to figure a few specifics out for himself. However, Flake needed to be sent off before that could happen.

"Flake, it's better if we do this sooner rather than later," Oliver spoke softly, not wanting to further upset Flake.

Flake's fingers stilled in Paul's hair and he glued his gaze to the top of his head. He knew that the plan needed to be put into action, but he didn't want to leave Paul. He was injured and not doing well at all, leaving Flake to fear whether or not he'd still be around once he got back.

"Okay," Flake forced himself to say, his tone a hushed whisper, "Just... give me a minute."

Oliver frowned, but nodded and allowed it.

Flake crouched down on the floor next to the chair that Paul was sitting in, grabbing his wrists again to give them a gentle squeeze as he looked over the burn on his face. His Paul. His beautiful Paul. How could they do this to him? Who would ever even think of hurting someone like this?

Tears ran slowly down Paul's cheeks. Whenever they made contact with the burn on his face, he flinched and whined, his fingers curling into fists and biceps flexing while he grit his teeth together. He couldn't describe the pain he felt to save his life. It felt as if he were on fire, but he also felt cold all at once. It caused his body to break out into a fit of tremors from time to time. Up until then, Flake had been around to soothe him when that happened, but now he'd have to deal with them himself.

Paul forced himself to look at Flake, despite how badly his left eye burned. Grunting, he breathed raggedly and gently pulled his hand from Flake's grasp, placing his palm and twitching fingertips to his cheek. Flake leaned into the touch, his hands now grabbing only one of Paul's and brushing his thumbs over his knuckles.

"I love you," Paul whispered to him, "I do. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone or anything."

Flake was shocked by his words, his heart coming to a stop in his chest. He looked at Paul with emotion in his gaze, his hands taking a tighter grip on his.

He nodded, allowing the confession to settle in before he spoke, softly saying, "I... love you, too... As much as someone like me can love someone else."

Paul managed to smile weakly. Exhaling a barely audible laugh through his nose, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "It's funny... Hearing you say that made the burning stop for a second."

"When I come back, I'll say it until you don't feel any pain anymore," Flake told him, "I promise."

"You said 'when' and you promised me something. You're a changed man, Flake."

Flake blushed, then shrugged as his head dipped down to drop his gaze to their hands. "I guess love can change someone."

Paul displayed another faint smile as he opened his eyes again. He squeezed Flake's hands, grunting in discomfort before saying, "Just... hurry up and get back soon, please. I'm not feeling very well."

"I know. I will." Standing, Flake pressed his lips to the side of Paul's forehead that wasn't burnt. Paul sighed peacefully from the gesture and released Flake, his throat growing tighter as he heard Flake say, "I love you, Paul. I'll come back."

"I love you, too," is all that Paul could manage to say.

Though his heart was aching and attempting to leap out of his chest to join Paul's in his, he knew that he had to go. His fingertips lingered on Paul for as long as they could before he stepped too far away, his hand falling to his side. He wanted badly to look back at Paul, but he knew that he couldn't. If he did, he wouldn't be able to leave.

Passing Oliver and Till as Oliver guided Till into a state of sleep, Flake grabbed the doorknob and opened the door after checking out its window. The corridor was empty where they were. Echoes of cries and chants filtered down the corridor and surrounding hallways, sending a chill up the back of Flake's neck.

He took one step out into the corridor before he was stopped.

"Flake," Oliver said from behind him. Flake tensed before he turned, facing Oliver with anxiety written across his expression. Oliver noticed the look right away and gave him a single nod, his hands abandoning Till to reposition his gun across his chest. "I'll be with you the entire time." Flake didn't say anything. He only nodded. Oliver walked over to him, motioning for Flake to head out into the corridor before grabbing his gun. "Let's get going."

—

Flake was biting at his fingertips as he walked down the corridor, looking down each and every hallway he passed to see if he could spot any guards. Rioters and protestors passed him from time to time, whooping and hollering. Some brought cans of spray paint with them and drew designs and wrote sayings across the walls and doors, laughing as they cursed the government and made a mess of a building that was supposed to be respected by everyone in the country. Flake kept to himself as he walked amongst and through the crowds and groups of people, not saying a word or giving anyone a second glance. He needed to find guards and follow through with the plan that Oliver had laid out for him.

With every step he took, he was reminded that he was moving farther and farther away from Paul. If something happened to Paul or any of them while they were in the room, though Oliver assured him before they parted ways that a few allies would be joining the four in the room to ensure their safety, he wouldn't know what he'd do with himself. Until just a few days ago, Paul had been the only person that he had had any contact with since the walls went up. At first, he wished to interact with others, but as time went on, that changed. He realized that even when he and Paul fought, had breakdowns to one another, or did something to upset the other, he still wanted to be around him. He wouldn't want to raise his voice and expose his worst fears to, or become angered by anyone else other than Paul.

Suddenly, twelve years didn't feel like enough. Twelve years felt like twelve minutes. Their life and history together flashed before his eyes every time he passed someone in the corridor who was laughing, singing, or jumping around wildly. Paul did all of those things normally, except for now. Now Paul was in too much pain to even smile properly, which was very unlike him. Flake would give anything to have Paul feel like himself again. He'd give anything to just be with him again. Paul helped him survive when everyone else who supposedly loved and cared about him abandoned him and now, it was Paul who was leaning on Flake for survival.

Tears gathered in Flake's eyes. It wasn't often that he cried, but over the past several days, he had been on the brink of an emotional breakdown. It was embarrassing and terrifying to him. He didn't want to show vulnerability and lose control of himself around others, let alone himself. Flake knew that the second he cracked and let himself feel as poorly as he did, something would come around and make it worse. However, the thought only pushed him closer to the edge.

His steps turned into shuffles as he headed down the corridor. Tears blurred his vision. His lungs began expanding and retracting quickly, the oxygen within them being taken in and expelled through gasps. His vocal cords became as fragile as violin strings, being tuned and wound up so tightly that he felt as if they'd snap if he spoke too loud. No matter what he did, he felt more weight rest on him, whether it be from stress, depression, anxiety, all three, or an outlying source.

Flake didn't register the fact that he had stopped walking once he reached the end of the corridor. The alarms that had been going off for hours around the base blared loudly and their lights flashed an urgent shade of red in the dim hallway he was standing in front of. Shouts came from behind him and from his left and right, though to Flake they sounded like mumbles. His senses were becoming overloaded. It was all too much for him.

Flake fell to his knees at the end of the corridor where it met the hallway that lay just North of it, running horizontally from East to West. He didn't make a sound as he rested on his legs and brought his hands up to his face, shielding himself from the world as he began crying into his palms.

He wanted Paul back. He wanted a home where they could live together in peace and harmony. He wanted a family that didn't treat him poorly or throw him off to the side. He wanted stability when it came to his mental health so he wasn't a slave to his own anxiety every waking moment of the day. He wanted a life where he didn't live in this particular country under the rule of someone who let his people suffer. Flake wanted so many things that he should've had, but due to the circumstances, they had always been just dreams to him and nothing more. All he could do was sit and attempt to trick himself into hoping that one day, his dreams would become a reality. Thus far, it hadn't worked.

"We've got one. He's alone. No, he's not doing anything. He's on the ground, crying, it seems."

Flake heard the voice coming from his right, but he didn't move. He didn't stop crying either. Though he had initially been emotional over Paul and his own life, he was now on the brink of sobbing because he was terrified. Whether he liked it or not, it was his turn to take the plan and run. If he failed, then all of the stress would be put onto Oliver. Flake couldn't do that to him. He had to try.

"Get up," a man commanded, giving Flake a forceful kick to the shoulder with his boot. The kick was enough for the slim, lanky man to fall onto his side on the floor, his hands jerking away from his face to catch himself before he could hit his head. A tear ran down his long nose before he wiped it away, casting his blue eyes up onto the man who was aiming a gun at him. "I said get up," he repeated himself, his tone cold, demanding, "Ignore me again and I'll shoot you."

Flake didn't need to be told again after that. Scrambling to his feet, he threw his arms up into the air and sniffled, blinking quickly to rid himself of the tears in his eyes to stare at the man ahead of him as he whimpered, "Help me. Help me, th– they took me hostage in Sector Six and brought me here with my roommate, a– and... I– I escaped because they're injured and couldn't follow me. P– Please, please, help me."

The guard at the front of the group looked Flake up and down suspiciously. Unsure of whether to believe Flake or not, he rested his finger on the trigger of his gun and stepped closer to him. "Don't fucking lie!" He shouted, the volume at which he spoke causing Flake to whimper as another wave of tears fell from his eyes. His arms shook where he held them in the air and his face contorted into a horrified expression.

"Please, I'm not lying!" Flake begged through near sobs, hiccuping between his words and heaving as he attempted to catch his breath, "I'm– I'm not lying, Herr, I swear! Please, I swear. I– I know what their plans are and when I told them I was against them, they started saying that they were going to kill me, but instead they brought me here."

The guard didn't say anything to that. Hearing Flake admit that he was against their motives and knew of their plans captured his attention. His finger moved away from the trigger of the gun slowly, his eyes focusing on Flake past the scope rather than through it before he lowered his gun. The guards behind him kept their weapons drawn, though they moved their fingers away from the triggers, taking their leader's step down as a sign to fallback with their orders.

Heavy boots paced across the short distance that separated him and Flake. Flake failed at pulling himself together and hung his head low in shame, tears dripping off his chin and staining the white material of his dress shirt. The guard didn't say a word as he abruptly reached out and slapped his hands over Flake's waist, causing Flake to flinch and release a startled noise of surprise. His hard, dark eyes stayed on Flake's face for a moment longer before they moved down to follow his hands' movements as they began feeling along Flake's left thigh, searching for any weapons.

Flake remained still as he was frisked. The man had no shame once he had made his way back up Flake's opposite thigh, his hand immediately coming up to cup his groin and see if he felt anything. That time, Flake inhaled sharply and shot him a weak glare, which thankfully went unnoticed. His hands then moved up to Flake's waist again, patting his sides down. Flake grew apprehensive once he reached his chest. Keeping a breath sucked in so that the radio wouldn't be felt as much, Flake held his head high as the guard patted down his chest. Due to Flake's posture and the breath he was holding, the radio beneath his vest, shirt, and jacket went undetected. The same happened for the gun beneath Flake's left arm, though it was hidden much better than the radio.

"He's clean," the guard said, his head angled over his shoulder as he addressed his fellow agents. Turning back to Flake after, he tilted his head up to look at him, letting only a second pass before he reached up and took Flake's jaw in a tight grip. Wincing from the grasp he had on him, Flake had no choice but to look at the man handling him as he spoke, "What are their plans? If you say something valuable, maybe I'll spare you."

"They're going to kill der Präsident," Flake said without hesitation, "One is trying to find a way to do so right now, but he's a new agent who just graduated from basic training, so he doesn't know his way around. His name is Oliver Riedel."

"Oliver Riedel," the man barked over his shoulder. One agent extracted a tablet from its holster and quickly typed down the name that was shouted to him. Meanwhile, he addressed Flake again, "Alright. Do you know the names of the others?"

"Christoph Schneider and Richard Kruspe— Sven Kruspe, I mean. They're the ones who kidnapped me and my roommate, Heiko Hiersche. They took Heiko first because he hacked into our Sector's security system to get around without running into trouble and getting hurt, and since they were lost, they needed him and the security footage to help them get out of the Sector safely."

"Heiko Hiersche," he shouted to the same agent, "Where do you come in? What's your name?"

"Christian Lorenz—" Flake paused, allowing him to throw his name back towards the others before continuing, "—Heiko and I used radios whenever he would leave so he could tell me where he was when he was running late. They took his radio and told me that if I didn't come get him that they'd kill him. After I came, they held us hostage and used us to find their way out of the Sector."

"Has Heiko ever spoken out against the government and military in any way?"

"Yes," Flake answered honestly, "He sided with the agents that took us, then with the other two who joined us— Till Lindemann and Oliver Riedel. I couldn't leave because they were always watching Heiko and I since they needed us to get them through the Sector safely before they could lead us out of it."

"Whose idea was it to kill der Präsident, Christian?" He asked, his tone much softer now.

"Christoph Schneider and Sven Kruspe's," Flake told him, "But since they're injured, along with Till and Heiko, Oliver is going to try and do it."

"He's got a clean record," the agent with the tablet said. Breaking from the group, he came up to stand beside his superior, holding the device up towards Flake's face to compare the identification photo of him to how he looked now. "No arrests, no tickets, no charges against him... Nothing. As for the others, they all have records."

Hearing that didn't particularly come as a shock to Flake. He knew that Paul had a track record, but for the other four to have one as well was unsurprising. Christoph seemed like the type to have a few tickets for something minor and Oliver seemed like someone who just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Richard was unpredictable and a hothead, which could've lead to thousands of possible reasons to have a track record. As for Till, he believed it had to do something with how angry he could become. Till had a short temper from what he had seen and he wouldn't be surprised if that was what landed him in trouble.

The man pulled a look of thought for a long moment before dismissing his agent, his gaze falling to the ground. Flake didn't say a word. He swallowed softly and kept his arms above his head, even as they threatened to shake and fall to his sides from how long he had had them up. He hoped that Oliver had been right—that seeing that his record was clean after confessing that they'd trust him. If not, then there wasn't much else left to do other than become a victim to their violence like three of the injured four had been.

"You're coming with us, Christian," the guard decided. Bringing his gaze back up to Flake, he stared him dead in the eye, holding his hand out to him. "I'm Feldwebel Jonas Becker. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Flake nearly stared at him in confusion when he fell directly in line with the plan. With a few blinks, Flake lowered his arms and brought one hand to Jonas's, clasping it securely to give it a firm shake as he nodded.

"Herr Feldwebel Becker. Thank you," he whispered, his voice unsteady from crying and his rising nerves, "Th– Thank you, you... You have no idea how much this means to me."

"The pleasure is all mine. It isn't everyday that someone comes forward so bravely." The words should've been laced with a smile, but they weren't. All brainwashed agents seemed to have little to no emotion, leaving them to act nearly identical to robots. Flake didn't let this faze him. He nodded to what was said then broke his hand free of the grasp that it was in, dropping it to his side. "Let's get moving, boys," Jonas then said to the group of agents with him and Flake, urging Flake ahead of him as he grabbed his gun, "We have a country to save."

—

Flake did as Oliver told him to and relayed the direction in which he walked, though he did so slyly. He spoke to Jonas as he was being escorted towards the presidential office, telling stories, some false and others not, of his childhood. When describing where things were, he would state the direction in which they were. If he was turning left, he would mention in the story how something to the left captured his attention. If he was guided right, he would pretend to lose his train of thought for a moment, only to mumble to himself about where he left off prior to saying 'right, right, right' when he went to continue. With the information given, Oliver radioed the control room to see if they were truly leading Flake to the office. They confirmed that he was with each and every update on his location, relieving Oliver as he began working his way into the ventilation system of the base.

Though Oliver was tall, he was just as skinny as Flake. Soaking wet, he wasn't more than a hundred and eighty five pounds even at his height of six feet and seven inches, which was underweight for someone his size. He used his slim stature to his advantage to get through the small opening of the vents within the base, the slick material of his suit helping with how well he was able to move around.

Never did Oliver think that he'd be navigating his way around base by sliding through the air ducts, but then again, he never thought that he'd be on a quest to kill the leader of his own country either. Life was full of surprises for him, it seemed, and he wasn't sure of whether they were good or not.

"How close is he?" Oliver asked through a whisper, the radio placed to his lips as he paused, "And where am I? I'm at another cross section. I can either go straight or left."

"One more right turn and he's there. You, however, need to go left."

Oliver nodded and clipped the radio back onto his jacket before grabbing the corner of the duct to pull himself through the next one. With several grunts and huffs, he made it through, twisting and wiggling his way around before he grabbed the radio again in time to hear Flake speak.

"This is it?" Flake said softly, sounding as if he were in awe, "I never imagined it looked like this... It's so clean."

Oliver then continued moving, keeping his hearing focused on what Flake was saying as he entered the room.

The leader's desk sat at the back of the room, polished, organized, and full of papers and files. Flake looked around with wide blue eyes and an agape mouth, marveling at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The room had no windows due to it being in the middle of the base, but the lights from the chandelier were bright enough to replace sunlight. Flake had never seen anything so elegant in his life. From the small wood statues around the room to the minuscule details in the wallpaper that covered the walls, he was overwhelmed by how well der Präsident lived.

The paint in his and Paul's house was chipping off the walls. All the wood they had was what made the house itself, and even then, it wasn't strong nor polished. They didn't have statues, but they did have plenty of papers and files lying around, though none were nearly as important as what der Präsident had.

"Take a seat, Christian," Jonas said after dismissing the rest of the guards, excluding four to join the other two in the room who had been in there already when they came in. He motioned towards a seat in front of the desk with a gesture of his hand. "Der Präsident will be in with us shortly."

"I get to meet him?" Flake asked, the awe back in his tone.

"Of course. You escaped the hands of the rogue agents who held you hostage. He wants to meet someone as brave as you while our boys go out and look for Oliver Riedel and the others."

Snickering from where he was in the vents, Oliver continued on his trek to reach the office. He didn't want to leave Flake in there for too long. The pressure of keeping up the lie would weigh down on him too much, if it hadn't already started to, and could jeopardize the mission. The quicker that Oliver got there, the better.

"How are things looking for Flake?" Oliver asked, looking down the ducts ahead of him with a sharp sigh, "And how far am I from the office? My elbows are starting to hurt."

"Things are looking good," an ally of theirs, a man named Michael, said, "Der Präsident hasn't come in yet. Flake's still chatting with the guard that lead him there. There's six other guards in the room with them and they're armed. Your position is currently about five more turns away from the office."

"Five too many," Oliver commented to himself under his breath. Inhaling, he urged himself forward, moving as quickly and as quietly as he could as to not make too much noise and draw any attention to himself. He wasn't a fan of small spaces and being killed in one wasn't a plan of his. Coming up onto his next turn, he asked, "Left or right?"

"Right. The next one is a right, too."

"Four to go?"

"Yep, four to go, Ollie. How you holding up?"

"Well—" Oliver weaseled his way around the sharp corner with a series of muffled strained noises, taking a moment to right himself on his stomach again after before he began sliding through the ducts again. "Considering I haven't slept since... What day is it?"

"It's currently... Saturday, July 31st. The time is five thirty-three in the morning."

"And it's still 1999, right?"

"Unfortunately."

"Ah. Well, then, I haven't slept since Thursday evening, I'm starving, my... boyfriend has bone fragments for a kneecap, and I have a song from 'Top Gun' stuck in my head, but... I'm doing okay." Oliver shrugged, quickly coming up on the next right he was told to take and doing so with less struggle than the last, thanks to there being more space to turn. "I just took that other right, by the way."

"Take a left when you reach the next turn." Michael smirked, glancing at the cameras to check at the others before asking, "Which song?"

"'Through the Fire'," Oliver said, "Flake's okay still? The others? And you?"

"We're all good. And that's a good song! You're lucky you don't have a bad song from that movie stuck in your head."

"Yeah? What's a bad song from that movie?"

"'Mighty Wings'. They should've named it 'Bad Wings' because it's bad."

"Your parents should've named you 'wrong' because you're wrong."

"Shh, quiet, der Präsident is coming in."

Flake's leg bounced anxiously where he was sitting as der Präsident entered the room. Before him stood the man who had made his life hell since he was a child. His hair was no longer blonde like it had been when he first took office. It was gray and thinning, with his hairline receding on his forehead. His once picturesque face was now ridden and tampered with wrinkles and moles, and a five o'clock shadow. As he sat down, he groaned and several of his joints clicked and cracked, leaving Flake to hold off a shudder.

In that moment, Flake let go of any inhibitions or doubts about taking this man's life. He smiled at Flake with a row of straight, pearly dentures in his mouth and adjusted his pressed tie on his chest before he extended a hand to Flake.

"Christian Lorenz, is it?" He spoke, his tone of voice as falsifying as the rest of him was, "I hear you escaped the rogue agents after they held you hostage. Is that true?"

Flake forced himself to reach out and shake the other's hand, but did so with a faint grimace. As their palms made contact, he flinched from how soft his hands were. Though Flake had never done much, he had done enough to earn some callouses on his fingers and palms. Der Präsident, however, had none at all. The feeling of lotion transferred onto Flake's hand, the unfamiliar sensation leaving him unsettled when the handshake broke.

Der Präsident spoke again before Flake could, noticing how he reacted to the lotion that he had put on prior to joining him in his office, "Not a fan of lotion, son? If you'd like, I could give you something to wipe it off with."

Flake shook his head. "No, it's okay," he said, wiping his palm off on his own thigh before bringing his gaze back to der Präsident, "I'm Christian Lorenz, yes. And I did escape the rogue agents just a little while ago, actually..."

"Huh!" Joining his hands together, he rested them and his forearms against the desk, putting his weight onto them as he gave Flake a faint smile and nodded. "By all means, say what they did to you. It's not everyday that a civilian is taken hostage by our agents, let alone manages to escape." Flake grew a bit uneasy, earning a broader smile from der Präsident. "It's alright, kid. Go ahead. They won't hurt you anymore. We've got our men out looking for them right now."

"Which way?" Oliver asked.

"Right. This is your last turn."

Oliver stared down the ducts to his right and took a breath in. This was it. This was the last turn he needed to take. If he moved too suddenly and caused one of the ducts to shift and groan beneath him, the plan could fall to pieces. He had to be as careful as ever now.

"Okay... Okay," Oliver mumbled to himself. Staring at the light pouring in from the vent he was just meters away from, he angled himself accordingly to slide around the curve of the perpendicular ducts, being sure to not make any harsh movements that could draw any attention to himself. After a minute of articulated shifts of his body, Oliver managed to position himself in the last column of ducts that would lead him to the office where Flake was. He brought the radio to his lips and spoke quietly into it, his gaze still on the vent in front of him as he said, "Thank you for all your help. I mean it."

"Thank you for saving us," Michael said to him, his own tone hushed for good measure, "Good luck, Ollie. You've got this."

"Keep an eye on Flake and the others. Please."

"We will. Be safe, Oliver. Godspeed."

"Thank you. Ollie, over and out." Oliver shut off his radio and began moving forward, his heart pounding in his chest and mouth going dry the closer he became to the vent.

"...The one that is trying to kill you doesn't know his way around well because he just graduated basic, like I told Herr Feldwebel Becker," Flake finished, his eyes darting around the room for any sign of Oliver in the vents. There were several high up on the walls in the corners of the room and a few others down near the floor. He was unsure of which one would Oliver would appear in, leaving him feeling a bit apprehensive as the explanation that he gave der Präsident came to an end. "So... Yeah. That's what happened."

"You hadn't left your house for twelve years, Christian?" Der Präsident asked, his brows raised. Beside Flake, Jonas frowned faintly, almost too faint to notice. Flake nodded, earning a sigh from der Präsident as he brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose between his middle finger and thumb. "Christian... I am so sorry. We've been trying to put an end to the violence in Sector Six for years now. Ever since the prison closed, it's been a hectic situation that we've failed to get under control many times."

Flake immediately felt anger bubble within him. He knew that everything he was saying was a lie. He was the reason why the prison closed. First, they lost their funding from the government, then the minimum wage in Sector Six dropped to nothing more than a dollar, leading the workers of the prison to go on strike. Shortly after that, the prison closed due to the lack of workers, thus releasing all the prisoners into Sector Six.

The government did nothing to help Sector Six. After the prison was shut down, they withdrew most of their agents from the area. The ones that they did send in would end up dead more often than not and it would take months for them to send more in after. Having agents stationed at the borders didn't do anything for those living in the thick of the Sector, leaving the vast majority of the population susceptible to the worst of the worst when it came to violence, assault, arson, and murder. Even though Flake and Paul lived near the border of Six and Two, they still witnessed horrors of their own without even having to leave their home. Because of this, Flake didn't want to hear what der Präsident had to say about his attempts to help Sector Six, specifically because no attempts were made at all.

"Yeah..." Flake mumbled, his words hollow and eyes becoming a bit distant, "Living in Sector Six wasn't easy, so I just... stayed inside. It kept me alive."

"No one should have to live like that, Christian. I promise you, here at Base One, we're doing all that we can to help the people of this nation," der Präsident told him, "That's all we want to do, after all. We're a government that cares for its people. Without people, there is no country to govern—no country to love... But without government, there is no country. Does that make sense, Christian?"

Flake's eyes wandered from der Präsident and locked on the vent in the upper left corner of the room. Between the dividers of the vent was the barrel of Oliver's gun, propped up on its small stand with Oliver hovering over it. The two locked eyes for a second before Flake looked away, still appearing unfazed as he nodded to what was said to him.

"It makes sense, Herr," Flake whispered, forcing himself to focus his eyes on the man ahead of him. Fury began to rise within him the longer he stared at him, but he didn't let it show. To live in the Hell that he created was one thing, but to listen and witness him lying to a civilian about what he was doing for the country was another. Flake took a deep breath in before he spoke, his words coming out softly with a certain edge and bite to them, "I'm sure you're a very busy man. I can see how attempting to fix Sector Six for the good of the people within it can be something that falls towards the bottom on your list of things to do."

From inside the ventilation system, Oliver looked across the men in the room. There were too many of them. If he shot der Präsident right away, they'd think that Flake was the one to do it and shoot him in return. Oliver couldn't risk it. He had to take an alternate route.

Steadying his gaze on Flake for a moment, Oliver centered himself. This was it. This was the moment of truth. It was himself and Flake who would be taking this victory in for the win despite all odds.

Oliver looked away from Flake and focused his gaze through the scope of his gun. He angled it accordingly to find the guard closest to the door in the center of its crosshairs, hesitating only to tune into what Flake was saying.

"The people of this country still have heart and soul, Herr," Flake told der Präsident, his tone now a bit more confident and grounded, "I think it's foolish of anyone to think that they can successfully get a group of people to support just one thing. There will always be outliers. These people just so happen to be outliers who want to kill you and take their country back."

"We just had a few agents of ours take care of the guards outside the door and a few others replaced them. You two are safe and secure for now," Michael told Oliver. A pause. "The footage is live, Ollie," Michael said through the radio, "We're broadcasting this live on televisions across the country and in bordering countries." Oliver's heart raced in his chest as he heard that, his eyes squeezing shut and throat tightening so much that he could hardly breathe. "The eyes of the nation are upon you two now."

"Where's Oliver?" Till asked as he stared at the television on the wall in the office they were positioned in. Glancing across the screen, he swallowed heavily and grabbed Christoph's arm, squeezing it to attempt to calm himself. "Where's Oliver at? They said he was okay."

"I'm sure he's okay, Till," Christoph said, his left eye wide and watching the television, "Just... watch."

Oliver's finger rested on the trigger of his gun, his first target right where he needed him. With one eye open, Oliver waited a moment longer before firing, the silencer on his gun barely making a sound as a bullet was shot out through the barrel and ripped through the flesh of the guard's throat. The guard cried out and fell back into the wall, eyes wide as he gasped for air.

"We're under attack!" Jonas shouted, standing up from his chair with so much force that it fell to the floor. Flake quickly dropped to the floor and pressed his back to the front of the desk, covering his head with his arms and tucking his knees up to his chest. Just as suddenly as the first agent fell, a second was short to follow, blood spurting from a bullet wound on the side of his head.

"Call for backup, call for—!" A third agent fell mid-sentence, grunting and groaning as his hands clasped his throat and squeezed, causing blood to pour out of him and coat his hands.

"It's Oliver shooting them!" Christoph announced, pointing towards the vent in the upper left corner of the screen that was jerking ever so slightly with each shot fired, "He's in the vents! He's killing them!"

Till's face lit up as he watched, a smile forming on his lips as a laugh fell from him, tears of happiness pooling in his eyes. "My god! My god, look at him go!"

"Jonas!" Der Präsident bellowed, taking shelter beneath his desk with his head popping up just enough to see one of his righthand men spinning around frantically looking for the assailant, "Jonas, get down!"

"No! Not until I stop all of these stupid fucking, lowlife scum—"

He stopped talking suddenly, his mouth still open and hands still on his gun. Flake looked up at him, waiting to see what would happen next.

A steady stream of blood slowly overflowed from between his lips. No noise was made as it drenched the front of his uniform and stained the carpet at his feet. Der Präsident gasped in horror at the sight, though Flake simply watched with wide eyes. Jonas fell face first into the floor, inches away from Flake, giving him a bird's eye view of the bullet hole at the back of his head.

All around the country and those in bordering countries, people sat in silence as the broadcast that had interrupted the programs they were watching showed the murder of the agents within the presidential office. In the prison, a large projector showed the livestream footage of what was happening, creating another riot of protestors who began charging the doors again to head off and kill once more. Outside of the building on several walls that made up Base One, the same footage was shown, taking up the large spaces that were otherwise white and blank. People in the Sectors who had access to television reacted in their own ways. Some screamed in horror while others took to the streets, feeling empowered by what they had seen.

Before anyone could prevent it, riots and protests were sparked all around the country in each Sector. People ran from their homes with their fists and weapons held high, yelling and joining others who began running towards the borders to demand to be let out. People fired off their guns and gathered their friends and families as they went from house to house, recruiting others to join them as they decided to stand with the leaders of the revolution in Base One and start a movement of their own where they were. For once, they felt the drive and the power to do something— They felt like they had been given the world for once in their lives and they were going to make it theirs.

In the office, der Präsident rounded the table and grabbed Flake, pulling him up onto his feet. "Christian! Christian, we have to go, the threat could come back at any second!"

Flake allowed himself to be guided towards the door for a few steps, only to stop when they got there. Der Präsident turned to Flake, who stared at him with cold, nearly expressionless eyes.

"Christian? What's wrong?" Flake didn't reply, causing a look of fear and worry to wash over his face. "Christian... Christian, please."

"You're the reason why these people are rioting— Why we are rioting," he said, his voice as clear and strong as ever, "You have drove this country into the ground and treated us like animals since you took office."

"Christian, please—"

"You divided us not into two, but into seven. You let people die in the Sectors they live in and you don't do anything about it. You rip away lives from adults and dreams from children. You took away my sanity from the time that I was a teenager until right now at this very moment." Flake pulled his gun out from under his arm, steadying it without any falter whatsoever and aiming it at the other man's head. "The person who was going to kill you isn't coming anymore… They aren’t coming because they're already here."

"Shit," Oliver hissed from inside the vent, his eyes going wide and hands jerking away from the gun to cover his mouth, "Shit, shit, shit, holy shit!"

"Holy fuck," Paul said, sitting up with wide eyes. Christoph and Till looked at him, watching as he stood from his seat and walked over to the television. "Flake... Flake, oh, my god... Oh, my god."

"Sanity?! What sanity?! You're about to kill a man! There isn't anything sane about murder!" Der Präsident yelled, backing away from Flake with his hands raised, eyes blown wide, and breathing heavy, "You– You're crazy!"

To that, Flake shrugged, saying without a hint of emotion in his tone, "I've never felt more sane in my life."

The gun in Flake's hand went off and der Präsident came to a stop where he was. Between his eyebrows was a hole that quickly began spilling blood down the front of his face, his eyes still open and lips still parted. Flake didn't move. He kept his gun poised where it was and watched as der Präsident gasped with violent jerks of his chest and tremors of his body. Moments later, he fell to the floor, only for Flake to shoot him again, this time in the side of his head.

Silence came after that. Flake looked down at der Präsident. Oliver looked at Flake. Till, Christoph, Paul, and Richard, who was slowly regaining consciousness, looked at the television. Michael and the other allies looked at the screens before them. Millions within and around the nation looked as they saw a man drop his gun to the floor and step away from der Präsident, whom he had just killed.

Oliver shoved the vent out of its place, leaving it to clatter to the floor. Flake quickly turned his attention to Oliver and joined him on that side of the room to aid him with slipping out of the vent. Grabbing Oliver by his upper half, he wrapped his arms around him tightly and stepped back as Oliver slid out of the vent entirely, both of them grunting once they righted themselves.

The two looked at each other as they breathed heavily. The alarms stopped momentarily around the base and were replaced with sirens, ones that carried much farther than the alarms ever could've.

"Flake..." Oliver whispered, his voice shaking, "You just killed der Präsident."

Nodding slowly, Flake whispered back, "Yeah... Yeah, I did."

"Are you okay?"

"I think so."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I mean... He made my life terrible. Now he's dead because I killed him. So yeah, I'm okay."

Oliver couldn't help but chuckle from Flake's response. Shaking his head, he reached out and wrapped his arms around him, tugging Flake into a brief hug, which was surprisingly returned.

"We did it," Oliver told him, "Flake, we did it! We fucking did it!"

"I know," Flake said, a certain giddiness to his tone, "We did it. We did it together."

Pulling away with a laugh, Oliver shook his head again and grabbed Flake's hand. He turned the two of them towards the cameras of the room, giving his hand a squeeze before he raised their arms in victory.

They had done it. They started the revolution. Now all they had to do was create a better nation for their people to live in.

Chapter Text

Zwanzig.

"Herr Lorenz and Herr Riedel? You have visitors."

"Why do you always call them visitors? You can call them our friends. They're your friends, too, after all."

"Sorry, Herr Riedel. Our friends are here."

Nudging Flake with his elbow, Oliver stood his seat beside him with a smile on his face. Suppressing a grin of his own, Flake abandoned his chair behind the table to join Oliver as he greeted their friends at the door.

The door opened, exposing Paul, Christoph, Richard, and Till to the two of them. Flake couldn't hold his grin back any longer when he saw them. Paul was mostly healed, though he had a scar on the left side of his face where the skin was wrinkled and red. Christoph had lost all sight in his right eye and the blue of his iris had faded to a shade of gray, leaving him with just one piercing blue eye. Richard's left hand healed as best as it could, though it could do very little due to the damage it sustained. Till was still working on his knee, but within the upcoming weeks, he'd be able to walk without crutches.

After der Präsident was killed, their allies captured his secondhand man and the other higher ups who worked alongside him, throwing them into prison for war crimes and unjust murder. With neither Christoph or Richard being in any place to take control of the country like they had planned, they elected Flake and Oliver to step up and become the leaders that the people needed. They had been the ones to kill der Präsident. It was the least that they could do.

Flake had been hesitant to accept the offer at first. He believed that he had done very little. Compared to everyone else in the group, he hadn't killed many people nor did he make any real attempts to throw himself in front of the enemy. He stated that Oliver should be the main leader since he had been the one to craft the plan that ultimately lead to der Präsident’s death. However, Oliver turned the offer down and insisted that Flake take on the role himself. After a week of thinking it over, Flake finally caved in and took it on one condition: that Oliver be his second in command.

From there, Christoph and Richard assigned agents that they trusted most to work alongside Flake and Oliver, and to show them the ropes for how to work with the laws, the workings of the government, and how to control the military if need be. Though it was a lot to handle and learn, the two knew were set on doing whatever they could to ensure that their country would be getting back on its feet.

Oliver's parents remained outside of the country, residing in France as they watched their son's accomplishments from afar. Oliver contacted them often and gave them updates as to what he was doing and learning, and assured them that once things were under control that he'd be bringing them back to a brand new nation— A homeland that they deserved to live in.

Flake, on the other hand, still hadn't found his family members. None had come forward and they hadn't been found, leaving a piece of him feeling stuck and lost. He had never been very close to them, but he still cared about them. He wanted to know if the country and how it was before had claimed their lives or if they resented him so much that they purposely were remaining hidden and out of the public eye. Not knowing what they were doing or where they were weighed down on him, but he never said so. There were much bigger things to deal with nowadays.

During Flake and Oliver's first month in office, they demanded that the riots stop. They stated that they couldn't live in turmoil and amongst violence anymore, and that in return for peace, they open the borders within the country. The ones that lead out of it would open soon enough, but not until they were sure that all threats were secured and taken care of by the government and military agents who shared the same beliefs as the group.

Each border within the walls dividing the Sectors opened, allowing people to leave their Sector for the first time in twelve years. Tears of happiness were shed, cries and hollers of joy and freedom were shouted into the air, and people embraced other countrymen who had become strangers over the course of a decade because of how they were separated. Families and friends were reunited, people who knew nothing about the others who lived just seventy meters away from them on the other side of the walls met and befriended one another, and groups of people formed teams and stuck together, whether it be to help rebuild or to finally feel connected to others within their country.

After several days of allowing the people to mingle and adjust to open borders, Flake and Oliver called for a nationwide cleanup. Agents were sent around the country to aid the people in gathering up all the trash and rubble from what had been destroyed and abandoned over the years. Military vehicles were used to transport the trash that was picked up and to bring all recyclable and salvageable items back to Base One so that they could be reused. A portion of the trash was collected and taken to the old prison within what was once Sector Six so that it wouldn't be a waste of space anymore. Once that filled up, other rundown establishments in other old Sectors were turned to.

Rather the agents being the only ones to participate, civilians did as well. They rid their streets of the waste that they had collected and went into their towns to clear the sidewalks and streets as best as they could. The job wasn't easy, but people took part in it proudly. Whatever they could do to better their living situation, they'd partake in, even if that meant spending nearly ten hours a day sifting through trash and throwing wood, bricks, and tiles from the remains of buildings into piles that were designated for whether they could be used again or not.

As many things went on around the country, the four injured leaders of the revolution began healing. Paul and Christoph were the first to make a decent recovery. Though both had their scars and traumas showing what they had gone through, they were ready to stand back up on their feet and do whatever they could to help. Paul, like always, began running his mouth one day when he and Flake went back to where they once lived to clean up. It was then that Flake got an idea as to what Paul could do to help.

Back at Base One, Flake shoved Paul behind a camera and began filming him. Paul was confused at first, but quickly caught on once Flake started to feed him questions about what living in Sector Six was like. Paul answered with brutal honesty that never seemed to falter and spoke up loud and clear about how much fear he had lived in from the time he was a teenager up until now as a man in his mid-thirties. He demanded help from other countries, both those that bordered theirs and others that were halfway across the world, stating that if they cared that they would do what they could to help as they attempted to get their homeland back on the right track. Along with his message, Paul also stated, "If two civilians with no government or military experience can overthrow an entire communist establishment alongside four rogue military agents, you people in your big, rich, privileged countries are more than capable of aiding us when it comes to ensuring a better life for our people and for future generations to come."

The response that his hot tempered calls for actions received landed them right where they needed to be. Soon enough, countries within Europe began to help out. They sent in their own militaries to help with cleaning up, after they were approved of by Christoph, Richard, and other higher ups, of course, which helped tremendously.

Needless to say, Christoph and Richard still played a big role when it came to the country's military. Whether they were serving on the frontlines and helping others handle issues with protestors or threats, or simply electing people that they trusted to do important jobs, they were hands on with everything at all times. It was the least they could do. Besides, neither particularly hated the nature of their jobs before— They just hated who was in charge of them.

With Christoph and Richard being as fearless and as in charge as ever, Till was left to take some time to relax, though that was said loosely. Rather than putting himself in harm's way like he had been doing for the majority of his life whilst in the military, he stuck to smaller projects, such as recruiting people for specific cleanup jobs and grouping individuals together who seemed to work well to tackle whatever needed to be done around base. Till didn't mind the low stress job, especially because it allowed him time to work closely with others on a personal level rather than barking orders in their faces every other minute to assert his dominance. He respected those he worked with and they respected him as well—not because he was their superior, but because he treated them like humans. That was all that they needed after all that they had been through— They needed to be recognized as something other than an afterthought.

"Did you hear what Richard did?" Paul asked as he hopped up onto the desk that Oliver and Flake were now sitting behind once again, shoving papers out of his way in the process and leaving them to scatter themselves on the floor. Flake feigned a look of annoyance before shaking his head and shrugging. Paul beamed, saying, "He accidentally knocked some guy out with a shovel!"

"What?"

"I did not!" Richard said loudly. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Paul, his lips in a line. "You're being overdramatic."

"Well, at least I'm not knocking people out with shovels!" Paul stuck his tongue out at him with a laugh, snickering after. "Anyway— Flake! Flake, my love, my dear, my sweetness." Brushing off how Richard flipped his middle finger up at him, he turned his attention to Flake and grinned widely at him, batting his eyelashes dramatically. "Can I ask a favor?"

Raising his brows questionably, Flake said, "It depends on the favor."

"Open the international borders," Paul blurted out, "I think it's time."

"Paul..."

"I told him it was too soon," Christoph commented from behind him. With a soft frown on his face, he shrugged. "We're making great progress, yes, but I don't know whether or not we can sustain any other threats that may come into the country."

"Yeah, but if threats want in, they'll find a way in," Paul countered, looking over his shoulder at Christoph, "I mean, you and Richard are prime examples of that. You wanted to get into Sector Six to see how bad the living conditions were and you did, even though it was illegal." Christoph sighed softly through his nose and shifted in his place. Paul shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just saying. Besides, we can't keep these people here forever. They've got families elsewhere. We can only let them mingle with one another for so long. Before we know it, another riot will start and we'll be the ones getting executed."

"Jesus, Paul," Till mumbled, "You didn't have to take it that far."

"What is it with you guys and suddenly cowering away from the reality of things?!" Paul scoffed. He threw his arms out to the sides and shook his head, brows knitting together and hands gesticulating wildly to get his point across. "I mean, come on! We can't do that! We can't act like these people will put up with being stuck here for much longer! Yeah, dangerous people could come in if we open the international borders, but they're gonna find a way in anyway. All of us did that very same thing, and we did it in this building, too! Did you forget that all of a sudden?"

"We can talk about it more tonight," Oliver assured him through a leveled tone of voice, "I agree with you, for the record. I think opening the international borders will do us some good, but we have to talk about extra security and whatnot first. We can't just make a decision on a whim. There's a lot that goes into it."

"Yes, I agree," Flake piggybacked, "Once we get the details sorted out with everyone's help, we can open them."

"Can I at least release a statement tomorrow then about us opening the borders soon?" Paul asked.

"I don't see why not," said Oliver.

As Paul cheered to himself about the upcoming step, Christoph paced around the room, patting a random rhythm against his thighs before asking, "What was the reason you called us in here for?"

Righting themselves in their seats, Oliver cleared his throat and looked over at Flake. Flake didn't say anything. He offered a shake of his head before nodding to the others, which was his way of telling Oliver to be the one to break the news to them. Oliver thought for a moment with pursed lips, tensing in his chair as he felt everyone's eyes fall on him.

"Well... We called everyone in here to tell you that we've been offered another job..." Oliver said. He paused, looking between each of his friends then sighing. "All of us... But it's not exclusive to this country."

"What do you mean?"

"After seeing our work here, several other groups like the one we formed have reached out to us. They aren't flimsy, underdeveloped ones either— They're mandated and protected under something called the Collective Counsel."

Suddenly, Till scoffed. "You're kidding."

Richard was short to follow with a surprised chuckle of his own. "Yeah, there's... There's no way that they'd want anything to do with this country after what we just went through."

"Wait, I'm lost," Paul said, "What's the Collective Counsel?"

"It's a group of the most powerful countries in the world," Christoph explained, stopping where he was and dropping his hands to his sides, "They do what they can to stop wars and prevent countries from taking over one another."

For a moment, Paul said nothing. He took a second to let the information sink in before he abruptly shook his head with a throaty scoff. "No. No! There's no fucking way that we're joining them!" Paul decided. Hopping off the desk, he laughed, confused and taken aback by the sudden change in plans. "Why the fuck would we side with an organization that just sat back while we were suffering? I mean, I know that people didn't know just how bad shit was here, but still! They still knew what was happening!"

"I actually agree with Paul on this," Till said. Nodding to Paul, he shot Oliver and Flake a look of uncertainty as a frown tugged at his lips. "They watched as this country was burnt to the ground and did nothing. Sure, they might have made some attempts to prevent things from happening, but in the end they didn't do much at all. It was us who overthrew our own government and military because no one else was helping us, you know."

"I hate it, but I agree with Paul, too," Richard mumbled. Beside him, Christoph raised his eyebrows, shocked to hear him admit such a thing. Sighing sharply, Richard carried on, "It doesn't seem like a good idea. This country isn't even on its feet yet. We can't abandon it to go help other countries."

"I second that—"

"Fourth," Paul corrected Christoph with a raised index finger, "You're the fourth one to agree with me on this."

Christoph shot a weak glare at Paul before rolling his eyes. "Okay, fine. I fourth that... Our work here has hardly begun, let alone finished. We can't join these people and leave everyone. We did this, after all. Yes, we got rid of the past leaders and everything they created, but we can't leave them to deal with it themselves. While helping other countries would be noble, we have to fix ours first. We can't be like the United States when it comes to this."

Behind the desk, Oliver and Flake shrugged as they shared a mumble of agreement. Neither of them had come to a decision about this, which is why they reached out to the others about it. Besides, while they were the leaders of the country, they didn't want to be the only ones calling the shots as for what happened and what didn't. The other four had much more experience and outlook than they did and were integral parts as to how this country would turn out. They had just as much say as, if not more than, Oliver and Flake, and were therefore always going to be key parts in deciding what was best for everyone.

"We don't have to make a decision now. Just know that it's an option," Oliver said, "Along with that, we have a meeting with them next week to discuss what can be done about the country. They want to send people in to help."

"Before you ask, you four are attending the meeting, too," Flake cut in to save them from another argument, which most likely would've been instigated by Paul. Upon hearing this, Paul actually relaxed and sighed in relief before offering Flake a faint smile. "We don't want to make any decisions without you guys there. You're just as important as we are when it comes to things like this."

Paul awed, covering his chest with his hands as he batted his eyelashes at Flake. "Oh, what a sweet gesture! It's almost enough to make all of my depression and rage melt away."

"You could stand next to the sun and those would be the last two things to melt," Richard grumbled, "That, and how annoying you are."

"Why, thank you!"

"Dress presentable for it, please," Oliver butted in to save the group from a fight between Richard and Paul. Looking between the two of them, he pursed his lips together before allowing his gaze to wander to the others. "And if you'd like to contribute verbally to the meeting, we've been advised to write down the points we'd like to make and respond to beforehand just so we're prepared."

"Will you and Flake be speaking?"

"Unfortunately," Flake mumbled, anxiety present in his tone, "I plan to speak as little as possible."

"I'm sure the rest of us will have enough to say to save you from speaking much," Till assured him with a soft smile, "Don't worry. It'll all work out."

Flake hardly smiled before he nodded and dropped his head. "Thank you. Now, you can get back to what you were doing. Ollie and I have business to tend to."

"We aren't invited to it?" Paul asked.

"Not exactly. We can let you know how it goes once it's finished, though."

"Fair enough." Shrugging, Paul straightened out his clothes. He placed his hands on his hips and grinned at the five other men, a triumphant look of pride and confidence on his face. "You heard the man! Let's go so they can do their official leader shit!"

Christoph scoffed before he followed Paul out of the room, keeping his distance as to make sure he wouldn't be hit as Paul began swinging his arms back and forth. Richard was short to follow, whereas Till stayed behind in the room for a moment longer.

Turning to Flake and Oliver, he smiled a second time, saying, "You two are doing an excellent job. Not only are you running an entire country, but you're also controlling Paul."

"Paul is our biggest problem," Oliver joked, "But he's a big help. Without him, we wouldn't have done this. Without any one of us, this couldn't have been possible. We're all very essential to the operation."

Hearing Oliver speak so professionally filled Till's chest with warmth and pride. To watch Oliver grow even in the midst of something so stressful and unexpected was unlike anything he had ever imagined he'd witness. Had he known upon meeting Oliver that they'd embark on a journey such as this together, he would've been too intimidated to do anything. In all honesty, he might've even messed it up due to his nerves. It was better to head into this clueless and scared. He believed that if they hadn't been as nervous and as desperate as they were, things wouldn't have turned out how they did.

"I'm very proud of you," he said to him, a fond grin settling on his lips, "You've grown a lot."

From the chair he was sitting in, Oliver blushed lightly and smiled, clearly flustered. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from you."

"I wish I could say that you learned from the best, but... I think you learned all of this on your own."

"No." Oliver shook his head. "You helped. You taught me a lot."

"You taught me a lot, too," Flake added, his tone soft and gaze flickering between Till and the desktop, "You still teach me a lot. I'm very thankful for you and your guidance."

As if Till hadn't been overcome with emotion already, he was then. Scoffing softly with a sharp exhale, Till shook his head and waved his hand dismissively at the two leaders as he took several steps back towards the door on his crutches.

"You're just saying that. Focus on your work instead. It's much more important than me," he said.

"If it weren't for you, there'd be no work for us to do."

"...Shut up and get to work."

With one final smirk, Till left the room and shut the door behind him, leaving Oliver and Flake to smile softly to themselves. They were grateful for not only Till, but for the others as well. Even if at times they fought, they always overcame every challenge that they were faced with and found a solution to it. If one of them weren't there, no one else would be present either. They weren't one without the other. All of them depended on one another in similar and different ways, even if some were hesitant to admit it.

This wasn't a journey that they could go on separately. It was one that they needed to take on together, and that was the plan for as long as their adventure continued.