Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bells of the tower were mournful, that day. They'd always sounded mournful, to Victor, but today seemed particularly melancholy; in truth, he couldn't remember the last time they rang in some sort of celebration. The end of the Great War, perhaps?...though in hindsight, it wasn't so Great anymore. Not in comparison to the one that followed.

Victor adjusted the collar of his coat as he walked streets that still showed signs of the Invasion. They'd hardly been cleaned of rubble, it seemed, before the skies had opened up and a new threat had emerged; something from the stars themselves had arrived and was only interested in one thing: domination. Many had screamed of the end times, that God Himself had abandoned them; Victor had lost his faith in the previous years, so he had no such qualms to stop him from trying to fight for a world that, for the first time in history, had been united against a common foe.

For all the good that did.

The London he lived in would be hardly recognizable to the likes of his mother and father, had they not both perished in the Invasion. The Clock Tower was one of the few buildings that hadn't been destroyed, or otherwise 'improved'. To say nothing of the great structures in the river, leading towards the ocean; supposedly, he'd been told, the squiddies preferred salt water. Not that anyone dared called them squiddies except under their breath- after all, any sign of disrespect or disobedience was treated...harshly.

Even by humanity's own. After all, what better way to keep subjects in line except with the same, except given marginally more rank and status?

Red eyes combed through the shadows of the alleys, hunting for any sign of movement. The night had been quiet, for the most part, thank whatever powers were out there watching over them - or simply thank luck. Victor absolutely despised his role, but there wasn't much of a choice in one's positions nowadays. You either did what you were told, or you wouldn't do much at all; his heart felt a brief pang upon seeing a small, still form curled up in a mound of refuse. Most children who hadn't families were rounded up in to 'nurseries', which were more or less simply clusters of tiny cells for experimentation...

And, technically, part of his role was to find any 'strays' and bring them in. The question, then, laid, which was a crueler fate; being forgotten here and left to rot, or to be subjected to the squiddies' tender mercies. As much as his heart ached, it ached all the more knowing that he'd at least need to see if the poor thing was still alive. Taking a breath, Victor approached, not so much as thinking of the small baton at his side that was meant as a tool of enforcement. A sign of whatever wretched status afforded to him, but he certainly didn't feel much for it, at the moment. Quite the opposite; the ache in his chest had traveled down to his gut, a rolling unease as he lifted the young lad's (lass's, he corrected himself a moment later) hair and searched for any signs of breathing...

Their eyes opened blearily. Amber gold - a rarity, particularly in this day and age, which meant most likely they hadn't been altered or simply hadn't slid in to the more common red or blue. They were bleary, unfocused; a few blinks, though, and the light returned as a hand wearily raised to swat at Victor's. "Wha...?"

"Sorry, lass," Victor murmured, pulling back his hand. "Couldn't tell if you were all right." Alive, then, but he still clung to hope. "Can I take you to your parents?"

Hope that faded a moment later. "Don't got'm," she mumbled, reaching for some of the torn fabric she'd been using as a blanket. "Leave m'lone."

"Any family at all?" There must have been something in his tone, for she frowned up at him, squinting in the dim light. Finally, realization crossed her face, and with a sharp gasp she recoiled away from him.

"No, no- 'mfine! Go 'way!"

Instinctively, he raised up his hands, palm forwards; "Easy, girl, easy, I'm not going to hurt you-"

"-you're with them! You're a Squiddie-Guard!"

Any protest he might have made died in his throat not just from the truth of the accusation, but the tell-tale sound of humming electricity. The girl must have heard it too; her eyes widened as she looked past him, towards the mouth of the alley, and he turned, gut twisting all the more as he caught sight of green metal and glowing eyes.

Quintesson, his mind supplied.

[Identify.]

The voice was unmistakably inhuman; synthesized, somehow, through that mass of alien technology. Its tone was one that had grown to cause unease, distress even, in humanity as a whole; the voice of the invaders, those who come only to rule and ruin. Nonetheless, Victor drew together all of his composure, straightening up as he reached in to his coat to pull out a metal card.

"Victor Prentiss, Night-Guardsman oh-nine-nine of sector delta-nine," he supplied, the routine answer hardly a comfort when faced with a looming threat that had every chance of outright killing him if it deemed him defiant. He tried to seem as deferential as possible, offering the identity card as a means of proving his claim.

A light shone out from the Quintesson's eyes, highlighting the card and scanning its contents. Frankly, Victor had only so much idea what, exactly, was stored on it, or how it was done in the first place - but what mattered was that the Quintesson seemed satisfied...at least until it looked past him, in turn. [The child?] it prompted, and Victor's mouth went dry.

He'd hoped the lass had run by now, but memory quickly supplied the reason why; the alley was blocked at the other end. Any attempt to climb over it would no doubt attract even more attention; the tiny squeak he heard made it clear that she'd been hoping if she'd simply kept to herself, she'd be overlooked. No such luck. The Quintesson would round her up, he numbly realized, bring her wherever the rest of the orphans were stored, conduct their twisted engineering on her as though she was no more than a rabbit-

"She's mine," he found himself saying before he could catch himself. When the Quintesson looked towards her in query, he cleared his throat. No taking it back now. "I found her. She's mine," he repeated, desperately hoping to convince the squ- the Enforcer, that was what these ones were called, that he wasn't being defiant, he was simply stating a fact, he'd found her, that made her his, right? Surely they understood some sort of 'finders-keepers' mentality, though you couldn't own a child unless they were a slave, but-

[You have no children registered,] the Quintesson interjected through his thoughts. Was it just him, or did it sound bemused?

No point in trying to backpedal. "I, ah, hadn't gotten around to registering her," he answered, the words sounding wretched to even his own ears. "She's new. I was going to once the sun came up, I swear it," he desperately pressed as the Quintesson narrowed its eyes. As he heard motion next to him, he wondered just what the girl's reaction to all this was, but he didn't dare break his attention away from the armored form before him. "I didn't mean any-"

[Enough.]

Victor's jaw snapped shut, heart beating rabbit-fast. Tension grew all the more as he felt a small hand touch his arm, and he knew that this had to work, if there ever was a god or power-that-was, let it work-

The Quintesson reached a tentacle forwards. [Your card.] Stiffly, Victor handed it over, watching anxiously as the creature did some sort of manipulation to it before proffering it back. [The child has been added to your file. Your card,] it continued, a second tendril from its arm-mass reaching towards the girl.

She shrunk back against Victor all the more, and he found himself automatically moving - however slightly - to shield her. "She lost it," he lied, or, well, assumed he lied. "We were looking for it here. Weren't we?" he added, finally daring to look down at her, hoping against hope that she'd pick up on what he was trying to do...

Amber eyes met red for the briefest of moments, then looked down. "Didn't mean to," she mumbled. "'Msorry."

There were a tense few seconds of silence, where Victor couldn't bring himself to look back up at the Enforcer. Instead he found himself taking in the girl once more; in the slowly-lightening air of dawn, he could see that she was pale, underfed- not unlike any of the street children who managed to avoid being caught, however precious few there were. Her hair was dark, mussy, strewn about her head and in dire need of a good trim. A coat that seemed two sizes too big for her made her already small form seem all the tinier, and he wondered for a moment just how old she was.

Once again, the Quintesson pushed through his thoughts. [Obtain new identification as soon as possible. Further oversight may result in reassignments.] Despite the threat in those words, Victor could only think of one thing;

It worked.

Mindlessly, he confirmed and even bowed as the Quintesson turned to leave; his heart kept thump-thumping in his chest, the young lass's hand clinging tightly to his own coat as she mirrored the gesture. But only once the electrical hum of its armor left his perception did he finally release the breath he'd been holding, sagging against the wall in relief as his knees went weak.

"Thank God," he moaned, making a note to at least try and start believing again. Surely it was by some sort of grace that the squiddie had believed him, that the girl had gone along with it, the-

-the girl was gone.

He blinked towards the mouth of the alley, then back towards the wall he'd noticed - just in time to catch sight of a form dropping over. For a few more moments, he could only stare dumbly, before, of all things?

Laughing. He slapped his forehead, hand dragging down his face; of course she had no reason to trust him. Every reason not to, really, for all she knew he was going to hurt her, or worse. So Victor laughed, up until he noticed something very important;

His identity card was gone, too.

Shit.

As a Guardsman - regardless of shift - Victor's assigned residence was 'modern'...insomuch as it had been recently constructed. Between something Quintesson-designed or the worker slums, however, one was hard-pressed to make their choice. Yes, there was electricity, running water - but the loft was somehow sterile, despite his attempts to make it more comfortable. And far too big for him - an oversight, perhaps? He wasn't going to question it.

Scarlett would have made it feel like home.

He pushed the thought out of his mind, merely thankful that while an identity card made things far easier when it came to entering, it wasn't required - a mere combination allowed him entry. He slung off his coat and set it down on the couch, followed by his jacket and vest- and then he was reaching for the bottle of crude alcohol, pouring himself a generous portion before capping the bottle. As he set it back, he couldn't help but catch a glimpse of movement to the side, and even knowing what it was - turned to look at the mirror.

A man he hardly recognized stared back, his red eyes sporting heavy bags under them. They were set in a slim face, sharp cheekbones that led to a narrow jaw - but skin that seemed even after so long to be strangely smooth. A result of his 'modifications', the sort every Londoner had to go through - it wasn't just children who were experimented upon, every survivor had to line up to bear the stress in their own time - and if they fit a certain criteria, off to the mines with them. While Victor hadn't quite fit that scope - his changes seemed to be merely an uncanny sense of direction, he'd already known London well but now he could just about find his way blindfolded - he arguably didn't fit the criteria of 'Guardsman' either, one of those who were tasked with monitoring their own. Though, uselessly, his hair had changed; the brown had lightened, and though he still kept it short and groomed as well as possible, there was a golden hue to it now that he'd once, perhaps, considered striking. Now it was just a reminder of the state of the world, the state of its people - because it wasn't just Londoners who'd been enslaved.

He still remembered hearing the progress of the Invasion over the radio- so similar, yet so different from hearing the news of the Great War. He'd been too young to fight in that one, but his brother had gone - Victor raised his glass in solemn toast to his elder before taking a sip and moving towards the tiny kitchen. The technology contained in such a small area was astounding - it was a pity the food it made was so tasteless and bland, but at least it was edible. And maybe he should have eaten before he started drinking, but no changing that now.

She could have livened it up-

Why was he thinking so much about her, today? Victor frowned, taking another sip, for a brief moment not fighting the intrusive thoughts and instead allowing her memory to fill his mind, her brilliant red hair only outshone by her smile and laugh, the way she'd been so future-minded, the way she'd pushed him aside when they were all lined up like cattle-

Another sip and a closing of his eyes. A moment later, that fear, that alarm he saw in her face in his mind's eyes warped - rather, the face did. Instead it was a young girl's, trying to shove him away, too-

"You're a Squiddie-Guard!"

And thankfully, Scarlett wasn't around to see that. He made a face, at least able to make the connection, and perhaps now that meant he'd be able to dismiss it from his mind. Better he not think about either of them; both were gone, one longer than the other, and he wasn't likely to see the lass again. She'd probably trade the identity card for some food or clothing if she was smart, the sooner the better - as when he managed to get a new one, it'd be useless. Though supposedly, there was something of a black market where others had found ways to alter the information contained within...

It wasn't quite his purview, and far be it from him to go out of his way to try and gain favor. Some did - and yes, they were rewarded for it, but frankly? Victor wasn't interested in any of the boons one could gain. In all honesty, if he could abandon his position, abandon the city, find some untouched corner of the wilderness to live out the rest of his days untouched by any of this...

It was a nice thought. An impossible thought - there were no such untouched places left, as far as he knew, and even London itself was being 'harvested' in a sense. But it was a nice thought. One that he allowed to entertain himself during his meal, and even as he finished his drink, settled down, and tried to rest.

He hadn't realized he'd dozed off until he was startled awake by the sound of something falling in the other room. For a moment, Victor simply stared up at the ceiling, heart racing once again - the sound of quiet voices trying to shush one another did nothing to soothe him, but footsteps moving just a bit closer had him shut his eyes once more, hoping their tell-tale glow of surprise would be hidden-

-apparently, it worked, because a moment later he head a voice once more; "He's still sleeping!"

"Keep your voice down, stupid!"

And that voice he recognized - it was the girl's. Here? How did- his identity card. Of course. But what was she doing here, and why had she apparently brought fri-

Ah. Right. Thievery. He didn't blame them, really, but the poor lot was out of luck; he didn't have much to steal, other than his equipment, which had his eyes shoot open once more because if he lost all that, there'd be hell to pay in explaining what happened. As quickly and quietly as possible, he moved off his cot, creeping towards the open door before being treated to the oddest sight he could remember seeing in some time;

There were four children currently making a mess of his quarters, having all but torn through it in a search for, presumably, anything of value. The lot of them - which included that young lass - were currently gathered in the kitchen, apparently trying to figure out how to work the machines. For a few moments, Victor could only stare dumbly - then, as one of them cursed and pulled back a small fist to thump it, he cleared his throat.

Heads slowly turned towards him to stare. For a moment, no one moved. A standoff of sorts, four sets of wide eyes warily watching his form - and then, with a groan, Victor sighed and closed his eyes.

"The left column is the food type," he wearily explained. "Right side is food quantity, and in order to actually make it work, there's a bit more involved..."

Chapter Text

"What'll it be, Vick? Usual?"

Old Mac's wasn't, perhaps, the first choice of pub that Victor would have gone to given the choice - but nowadays, what choice did one have? The drinks were questionable at best, but the man who ran it was cheerful, at least, despite the gloominess that seemed to permeate the building. Supposedly there had been another pub here before, but whatever it was, was long gone; Mac's had come into itself fairly recently. And as surprised as Victor was that the Quintessons allowed such a thing to exist, perhaps he shouldn't have been; alcohol was a long-standing tradition of civilization, and perhaps having the supply somewhat more...regulated...was for the better.

Which wasn't saying much. Victor gave Mac a wry look, and the white-haired man just grinned before pulling out a pilsner and filling it up with god knew what before sliding it over to the Guardsman. "Just kidding - I was gonna have one of your kids make us a menu, but I couldn't track 'em down."

"They're not mine," Victor muttered without irritation, prompting a chuckle from Mac who then went off to tend to another patron. All for the better; Victor really didn't want to have an argument with him, and not just because he wanted to stay on his good side. But in truth, he could scarcely deny he'd been adopted by at least four of London's street-rats, though still only one remained on his file; Sadie, found in the alleyway all those years ago. She and the others - Joel, Renard, Simon, not to mention the others who occasionally could be found in his home to make use of a safe place to sleep - certainly made his life interesting...and somehow managed to earn some sort of keep. All told, his patrol sector was one of the most quiet -  any brewing trouble was either handled directly by the children (most often by shooing it off to the neighboring sector to keep his own clean) or reported to him so that he could take care of it. And despite what some thought of the Guardsman, he held no love for the squddies; more often than not he was willing to turn a blind eye so long as the work wasn't particularly stupid.

In short, he may not have been the Guardsman with the most reports or arrests - but he didn't want to be. As long as he understood what was going on and delivered just enough to keep the Quintessons happy, it was as much a living as one could hope for. Hell, the only bribes he took were more like favors; a willingness to overlook some contraband being smuggled through so long as those children of 'his' remained unaccosted and unreported. That didn't really make it any better, though. Nor did it balance out what sins he did have to commit, or otherwise condone.

Necessary evils, he'd heard someone mutter once. But was it, were they? Quite frankly, he dreaded the day when those murmurs of dissent became loud enough that the Quintessons heard, and ordered him to act on them; something in him whispered that it was coming soon. It was like a kettle nearing boil - you didn't know when it would bubble, but you knew there was only so much more heat it could take. And considering how humanity's last effort at fighting the Quintessons had gone...

He downed half the pilsner in one go, considering. The night before, he'd been pulled off patrol to assist with an 'import'; a transfer, really, a great deal of security required for moving a great deal of people. New workers for the Scar, the great cleft in the world just to the north of London where the Quintessons were harvesting something of great value. Whatever it was, of course humans were doing the work - and if there was going to be any sort of riot, that was the most likely moment, during the transfer. But while it had been quiet, Victor was coming to the realization it was quite possible he'd be transferred there to assist in overseeing the lot of them. And yet, the most prominent worry in his mind - over the suppression of his own people - was quite simply, what will happen to Sadie?

Her impish smile, her ill manners that were still somehow endearing - she'd wormed her way into his heart, and he'd realized some time ago that he'd do just about anything for her. Nevermind how much she strove to be useful, to make a habit of cheering him up when he seemed particularly gloomy - just the thought of the Quintessons 'confiscating' her kindled a flame of anger he'd thought long dead.

"She's mine," he'd said, back then. It was all the more true now. He gazed into the cloudy liquid of his drink, a frown stretching over his features. His face itched; he was starting to grow a beard, which, unsurprisingly, had the same altered hue as his hair. Whether or not he'd keep it, he hadn't yet decided. When he looked in the mirror, a stranger still stared back - but one, he could privately admit to himself, didn't look quite as haggard as he once had. Sadie's influence, perhaps. Along with the others - those three boys being the three who visited most often. Generally, one of the four was making use of his things or sleeping over - and nobody even so much as considered tattling on a Guardsman. Something his rank was good for, perhaps.

Mac swung back just as he finished off the drink, chuckling at the expression on Victor's face at its bitterness. But any offer of another round was halted by a low rumble, a vibration - bottles rattled on the counters, and all heads turned towards the door, which, for a moment, seemed to be holding back an onslaught of light.

Then came the noise.

It was, in a word, the most chaotic situation Victor had been since London had been first invaded.

He hadn't waited for his card to alert him to being pulled on duty; instead, he'd immediately gone out, pushing past orders and using what Sadie called his Guardsman-voice to order the rest back inside. "Find shelter, now!" he demanded, outright shoving at a few gawkers. "You fools, do you want to be standing there when the Enforcers come?"

That got them moving...for the most part. Victor cursed at the others - and at his distinct lack of baton, he'd left it at home seeing as his shift wasn't scheduled to start until nightfall, and it was still early in the afternoon - before breaking in to a run just at another flash of light and rumble- and distant screams. Fearful gazes looked out at him from whatever cover could be found, a few yelling at him to get to shelter, was he daft-

Well, maybe he was. Because he'd just stepped in to what felt like a warzone, and as he ducked some sort of projectile - the Quintesson's, based on the glow - he realized that in addition to missing his baton, he was also missing any visual identification of his status. So much for helping at ground zero, then, but he couldn't help but peer out from behind some new rubble to catch sight of what in blazes was going on.

Apparently, a riot. The one he thought had been avoided last night was in full swing, and he thought he caught some of the colors of the Underground - the most organized rebel cell in London, and one that at least had the good sense to keep themselves, well, underground most of the time. He hadn't dealt with them, personally, and was all the gladder for it, and yet- watching them in action? He quickly pulled back as another firearm discharged by him, realizing belatedly that his red eyes likely made him a target. For whom? Did it matter?

Another pair of glows caught his attention - these ones, blue. Blazing bright only so far away, they were accompanied by a second set, the two youths working in tandem to operate what appeared to be some sort of Quintesson canon. One called out, "This's for Yorkshire!" as the thing fired - Victor followed its trajectory with his gaze, watching it collide squarely with one of the Enforcers. Through the Enforcer - and for a moment, that twisting in his gut felt light, and he was with those two, striking a blow of resistance against their invaders-

-then another Enforcer took its place, its own eyes glowing with rage as it hefted a similar weapon, warbling in its native tongue. As Victor followed that discharge, he already knew what would happen, had a vivid memory of seeing it before;

bodies charred by heat, not even enough time to scream

He winced from the nearby flash of heat, not having the will to see if he was right. Instead, there was another flash of light some distance behind him, towards the center of the chaos, and he took the opportunity to throw himself forwards and away. There was nothing he could do here, but he could at least make sure the rest of the city was as safe as it could be. Indeed, it was only a few turns that he heard a familiar whistle from a sidestreet. Reflexively he moved in to it, catching sight of the fiery red hair of one of the boys.

"Joel! Are you all right? Where are the others?"

Joel quickly scrambled off the ruined vehicle he'd been perched upon, some soot and ash covering his features - just how close to the trouble had he been? "Ren'n'Sadie're trying to figure out what set this off - dunno where Simon is. Thought you'd need these," he added, holding out a familiar coat. Victor took it gratefully, shrugging it on - the weight felt like armor, and indeed it was, to identify him as a Guardsman aside from being made of a strange material that could absorb quite a few blows. The boy handed him his baton next, furrowing his brow. "You've gotta go fight the Underground, right?"

For a moment, he almost agreed - but seeing the look in Joel's face, Victor hesitated. He knew the boy had aspirations to join them, eventually, considered them heroes - Vector had tried to keep his thoughts to himself for the most part, but knowing that his friend would have to fight his idols....

"I think," Victor said after a moment, "I'm more useful making sure nobody's trying to take advantage of this. By looting," he clarified, at Joel's confused expression - an expression which quickly turned in to one of relief. That, apparently, the boy could handle without feeling torn, and indeed he pumped a fist in to his palm.

"I can help with that! What route you gon'take, I'll scout 'round and see if I can't find someone for you to bust!"

Relieved as much as Joel had been, the two quickly sorted out a plan before splitting up - but where Joel seemed optimistic, as Victor pulled out his buzzing identity card, he just hoped the Quintessons saw this as anything but desertion.

LOCKDOWN IN PLACE - ANY UNAUTHORIZED HUMANS OUTDOORS TO BE ARRESTED OR DESTROYED

It took the better part of the day to get things remotely under control - and then his shift began, and of course there wasn't a time for rest. There was a tension in the air, and every so often, another explosion-quake ran through the city - none so big as the first few, nor so showy, but enough to keep him on guard. Not for the first time, Victor was thankful his modifications weren't so extreme as to make him combat-ready; no doubt he'd be pushed further in to the thick of things, and the thought of fighting for the Quintessons in such a manner made him sick. It was enough that he was part of keeping what they considered 'peace' - but then, it wasn't so peaceful right now, was it?

I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.

It could have been the exhaustion talking. Or the fact that he was roped in to hauling off a few...remains, both Quintesson and human, and that did make him sick, however briefly. Especially as any surviving Quintessons were reported in, some sort of medic arriving in short order, and the humans...

He wiped the bile from his mouth, coughing at the taste. No alcohol could get that out of his mouth, even if the hand hadn't been his; he'd allowed it. When he'd hesitated, hands shaking as he tried to convince himself it was a mercy, the Guardsman he'd been paired with - a woman, however strange it'd once seemed - had simply put a hand on his shoulder to turn him away. But he'd still heard it, he hadn't stopped her, he'd-

he'd used every bit of his strength to keep himself walking while on patrol. Only that innate understanding of heading and location kept him from getting lost, because certainly, the streets were hardly recognizable. Not from debris or the like - most of the damage had been contained along the river - but things felt different. And yet - that had barely been a day. He remembered fighting lasting for weeks at a time, during the invasion, and something occured to him;

Was that just a distraction?

From what, then, if so? Victor looked skywards, briefly, clouds hiding any stars or signs that could answer his question. Things had gone by awful quick, and while some might attribute that to the brutal efficiency of the Quintessons, the more he thought about it, the stranger it felt. As he paused by the railway, looking up and down - for it was still in use, of course - he considered what possible goals could have been accomplished in the space of a few hours. For surely it wasn't just the Londoners who could have been looting while the Enforcers were gathered together to try and put down the uprising.

Thinking on this gave him a distraction from what had happened, and he took it, gladly, as he continued walking. Weapons theft, or armor - those rebel youths (God rest their souls) had gotten that weaponry somewhere, of course. But the Underground was smarter than to do it out in the open - indeed, the more he thought about it, the more a distraction made the only amount of sense. Would the Quintessons realize that, too, or would they see this as a brief burst of effort, easily quashed, and go about their business subjecting the human race?

Victor wasn't sure which he preferred. But he did remember that feeling, however brief it had been, of being with those two - even knowing he'd be only so useless in battle (as the aftermath proved), the thought of finally striking a blow had been as intoxicating as Mac's alcohol. And yet, what good would it do? Distraction at best for something else, and he hoped those who had fallen thought it worth their sacrifice. And those who lived...well, the Quintessons would no doubt have double patrols for a while, demand more information, especially from the 'quieter' areas such as his own...he gnawed the inside of his cheek, unsettled by the thought.

Too many thoughts. Too much for today. He was exhausted as the light of dawn began to pierce the clouds, and when his card alerted him that he was off shift, he could have sagged in relief. As it was, he somehow managed to find his way back home, somehow managed to climb those steps and slip his card in to the reader to grant himself access-

-and yet, he paused with the door only slighty open. There were voices coming from it, one he recognized but still found strange. Renard, who was normally quiet, was happily babbling along - in French, which Victor could scarse understand much less speak. What was more, a second voice, older, sounding just as tired as Victor felt. Steeling himself for whatever was inside, Victor pushed open the door and, for a few moments, could only stare.

Renard only briefly looked towards him, gave a quick wave of a hand, and then turned back to his new friend. Said friend looked to be about Victor's age, were he to guess, which was enough of an oddity of itself. At this alone, Victor would have been taken aback, and he held the gaze of the man for a long few seconds before the man nodded in what could have been greeting, and made to quiet Renard's chatter.

But the man - dirtied, clothing torn, a bandage around his upper arm - was not alone. Victor's eyes drifted past him, to Sadie, who was looking back at him - and looking worried. Her shirt was rolled up past her elbows, a bloodied cloth in hand and a few bowls of water next to her - and on the couch? Another form. A woman, as muscled as any coal miner Victor had ever seen, her body bloodied and bruised - but her breathing was steady, suggesting she wasn't quite conscious. Hair so light a blonde to be nearly silver...

Two strangers, then. Showing signs of combat, or at least catching the edges of the skirmish. That the children had clearly brought here for shelter, here, a Guardsman's quarters, and quite frankly?

"I," Victor declared, "am not going to deal with this right now." And so he went in to the other room, laid down on the cot, and closed his eyes. He heard Sadie's voice, that new man's, footsteps - one pillow pulled over his head later, however, and all that was tuned out. And in surprisingly short order, he was asleep.

Chapter Text

He awoke to a smell that was both strange and familiar; for a long few moments, he couldn't place it at all. But when he did, Victor pushed himself up in alarm, red eyes flaring in surprise.

A few feet away, another man startled with the makeshift tray he'd been carrying - not enough to drop it, but enough to jostle the contents just a bit. "Pardon," he murmured, clearly apologetic. "Je ne- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said a bit more slowly as he switched in to English.

"No, it's- it's all right," Victor said automatically, swinging his legs off the bed. He hadn't changed out of his clothing from last night, and felt an apology of his own bubbling up - manners died hard, it seemed - before he caught sight of what was on that tray. Eyes widened once more as he took in the spread, which almost looked...real, for lack of a better word.

The man must have seen his expression, because his voice took on an amused tone. "I have a talent with their technology," he explained, setting the tray down on the nearby table. "I thought a breakfast would be the least we could offer, after all your family has done for us."

Victor was already getting to his feet, momentarily pushing aside the 'family' comment. "'Us'?" he repeated, belatedly remembering the woman. Still, best to be sure. "How many are you?" he asked, already reaching for the - good lord, was that tea? He hadn't had a decent tea in what felt like ages, and as he took a sip, he couldn't help but half-close his eyes in a moment of appreciation. If the other was still amused, he hid it well. Now that he wasn't exhausted, though, Victor could get a better look at the man; French, obviously, sporting a full beard, Victor still judged them around the same age. His skin was a bit lighter than Victor's own, hair still what could pass as a natural brown. Slicked back, he didn't seem like much of a laborer, and Victor wondered just how he had gotten mixed up in the chaos of yesterday.

"Just two," came the answer. He brought a hand to his chest and bowed his head slightly, offering a slight smile. "Je m'appelle Aillard - the woman is Pravda, and she is content to remain in the other room until you are ready to speak. Shall I give you some time?" he continued, arching a brow just slightly - and Victor was reminded of just how disheveled he must look, a bit of color coming to his cheeks.

"Ah- yes, please. Make yourselves at home," he added, words sounding piddling even to his own words - but they must have been the right ones, for Aillard's face brightened.

"Merci, monsieur...?"

A clear enough prompt. "Victor." he said, offering his hand after another moment.

It was taken in a firm grip, surprisingly so given how the other man seemed more of a scholar than anything - but his smile remained warm. "Thank you, Victor." Another one of those tilt-of-the-head-nods - more of a pleasant acknowledgement rather than anything remotely subservient like the bows one gave to try and placate a Quintesson - and he quickly exited, closing the door behind him and leaving Victor to try and push the thought of the squiddies back out of his mind.

Not hard to do, looking over the food - were those eggs? He prodded them with a fork, realizing they couldn't be, but - the texture seemed almost identical, to say nothing of the sausage, the greens. And while, as he ate, he realized that no, they weren't quite the same, they were leagues beyond anything he'd ever gotten out of that bloody machine - apparently, he simply didn't know how to work it right.

By the time he'd finished, lingering over the tea for just a few more moments, he felt far more grounded than he had in...years, perhaps. Steady, stable, ready to take on whatever the day would throw at him - which was likely for the best, he solemnly thought to himself as he took in the final few sips of tea, considering what he was about to face. Two strangers brought in to his home, and if he had to guess, with ties to the Underground - which meant he either had to politely evict them and pretend he'd never seen them, or risk...

Actually, no, he didn't want to think about that right now, either. Instead, he cleaned himself up, dressed in some clean clothes (with the dirty ones set off to the side, the children had a habit of taking care of such things but he never expected it), and with a final breath to prepare himself - stepped in to the main room.

Aillard and - Pravda? - were in quiet conversation, a language neither English nor French that Victor didn't quite recognize. The woman was busy fussing over Aillard's upper arm, which Victor remembered seeing a bandage upon - right now, it had been stripped off, and the burns could be clearly seen. A near-hit with a weapon, Victor assumed, where Pravda...

Pravda seemed far, far better than she had been last night. He blinked, the lack of visible injury stunning to him - oh, there were some scratches and bruises, but for a woman who'd been passed out on his couch being tended to by Sadie, that seemed, well, inhuman to recover so fast. Which...made sense, if she was a worker. Her blue eyes abruptly pulled away from Aillard's, narrowing slightly as they spotted Victor; she offered a short nod of greeting, which Victor returned with his lips pressed in to a thin line as he looked around.

Speaking (well, thinking) of Sadie, where was she...?

"The young ones said something about scouting about," Aillard offered, looking over his shoulder at Victor. "They seem to be quite self-sufficient." He sounded impressed.

Victor, however, sighed as he looked towards the door. "They'd better be - only one of them is even 'mine'," he explained...before wondering if that was too much to share. A certain wariness was coming over him; trusting strange children in his home was one thing, but these two...

These two were different. Pravda, for her part, seemed to have a glint in her eye as she filed that away before clearing her throat to speak.

"They are good children," she slowly said, and Victor finally placed the accent - Russian. With how slowly she spoke, perhaps she didn't speak English all that well.

"We only asked for a place to shelter," Aillard elaborated, studying Victor. "When they brought us here, we could hardly say no. I am...very sorry for any inconvenience we've caused you." And, to his credit, he did sound quite contrite. Perhaps he did understand just what all this could mean.

Perhaps it made no difference. Victor made a gesture, not so much dismissing the apology as the inconvenience. "I would say 'teach me how to operate the food-maker and all is forgiven," he began, moving to take a seat at the small dining table. Aillard and Pravda took the cue and moved to join him, leaving but one seat empty. "But I must admit, I'd like to know just how you ended up needing shelter in the first place. Neither of you are from London," he continued, the words more a statement than a question; a statement Aillard nodded to confirm.

"Non. We were imported." As Aillard seemed the one more inclined to speak, Pravda seemed to be the one sizing up Victor and his reactions; she no doubt could tell the way he stiffened.

"Both of you? I had thought it only labor."

"For the most part." There was something in those words, something evasive - but Victor had no reason to push other than his own curiosity, and he supposed the two of them had more than enough reason to watch what they said. "There was an...ah...comment devrais-je dire cela?..." Aillard paused, briefly traded a few words with Pravda, and then went on- "A 'breakout', if you will, and we were caught up in it."

Perhaps even started it, Victor thought, keeping his face as blank as possible. "You weren't able to find a way to stay put?" he neutrally asked, evoking a snort of derision from Pravda. Or at least took advantage of it.

Aillard, for his own part, shrugged. "In the heat of the moment, you tend to act on instinct - ours was to run. And from what we saw, there were others involved, too, on the outside. A local cell?" He tilted his head in query.

"The Underground," Victor affirmed, dearly wishing for another cup of tea so he could at least occupy his hands. "They're the most organized around here, anyway. If I had to guess," he slowly continued, testing the waters, "they were working with whomever organized the escape. Perhaps even creating a diversion." Aillard's face remained neutral - but Pravda looked away. Ah, Victor thought, though he wasn't pleased by the 'affirmation'. So you do know more about it.

"Quoi qu’il en soit, it may be best for us to get in to contact with them, so we could shelter with them instead of imposing on you."

Now it was Victor's turn to look away - but this time, towards the opening door, where Sadie was peeking through before offering a sheepish smile for interrupting. Victor was quiet as he watched her enter, and when he did speak, his voice was a murmur. "I say this with all respect, Aillard - as much as I would love to see the last of you, I wonder what it means for the rest of London." He turned back just in time to catch sight of Pravda's fingers curling in to loose fists.

Aillard himself didn't seem bothered at all. "No offense taken," he assured. "I cannot see the future," and was it just Victor's imagination, or was there a hint of irony there? "but I can tell you we have no interest in making trouble for its people."

"Are you looking to leave the city?"

There was the briefest of hesitations, which said far more than the words that followed; "In time." But that, too, said much. Victor glanced back at Sadie, who was pulling out the fourth chair to seat herself- giving Victor himself a defiant look as if to dare him to shoo him off. He let out a breath, reaching up to rub his forehead in frustration.

"We are wasting our time," Pravda abruptly said, voice tight as she got to her feet. "We will find our own way."

"Pravda." Aillard raised a hand to touch her arm, but she pulled it away, glaring at Victor.

"This man is one of the Quintesson's tools. He will not help us."

Now, it was Sadie's turn to pipe up; "He's not a tool! I'm sure he'll help, right?" Her eyes were shining gold just a bit in indignation as they looked towards Victor, who abruptly found every reason to study Aillard's own reactions to this. He was hard to read, well-guarded in face - but his eyes, a similar blue hue to Pravda's, moved to meet Victor's. Was that a hint of pleading in them?

Further thought was interrupted by Pravda placing a palm on the table, leaning over it aggressively. "Help the Кальмары, I think - you are one of their guards, are you not?"

His back stiffened, but before he could retort, Sadie was placing her own hands on the table - with enough force for a slap! to sound through the room, and even Pravda blinked at the fire in the girl. "So what!?" she demanded. "He's doing the best he can! Yeah, he knows a couple Underground blokes, but he hasn't turned them in, so there!"

"Sadie!" A quick hiss and a tug on her jacket to pull her back in to her seat. "Mind your mouth!"

"It's true, and they should know it!" She jutted out her chin at him. "You don't like the squiddies, you've said so yourself!"

"Are you telling us this man," Pravda jerked her chin at Victor, "would not turn us in if he thought it would save himself trouble?"

The thought hadn't even occurred to Victor, and part of that must have shown on his face, for Aillard's brow arched as tilted his head in curiosity. Nonetheless, Sadie stuck her tongue out at Pravda. "Nuh-uh! He- mmph!"

"That's more than enough," Victor didn't-quite-hiss, hand over her mouth as he pulled her out of her seat. "Sadie, you have no business at this table, and I will thank you to keep out of ours for the moment!" She glared up at him, fighting his grip, and he returned that glare with his own as he wrestled her to the door of the other room. The girl fought him, of course, but she also seemed surprised - never had Victor treated her this way, and there was no small amount of betrayal in her eyes as he pushed her past the door.

"Vic-" The door slammed in her face, and Victor pressed his back against it, exhaling heavily and trying, at least for the moment, to ignore both Pravda and Aillard. He was having only so much success, keenly aware of the awkwardness of the situation - and the realization that he'd more-or-less, for the first time since meeting her, laid hands upon Sadie. He'd even trapped her in his room for what? An attempt to save face?

Aillard cleared his throat, catching Victor's attention. "I think," he slowly said, "it would be best if Pravda and I left now. You have our thanks for the shelter - with luck, this will be the last you see of us."

Perhaps the man hadn't meant to throw the words back in Victor's face, but they felt like a slap that stole his breath. Unable to speak, he nodded dumbly, helpless to do anything but watch as Pravda reached to pick up a heavy knapsack, slinging it across her shoulder effortlessly as she nodded for Aillard to proceed. The man offered her a smile, offered Victor a nod, and without another word, strode for the door.

As they passed, Pravda met Victor's gaze; there was something in her own that Victor couldn't read, but that made him feel even smaller. Disappointment? No, but something similar, he thought, trying not to visibly wilt before she turned away to follow Aillard out.

When the door shut behind them, he let out the breath he'd been holding - then turned, fumbling briefly with the door to his own room before managing to open it, "Sadie, I'm sor-"

There was no one inside. Over his bed, the small window that led to the outside was cracked open, and Victor nearly fell to his knees in despair. It wasn't the first time Sadie had left - or entered - in such a manner, but knowing there was a lockdown in place and he'd more or less chased her in to it...

What have I done?

"Do you think he will keep our trust?"

Aillard considered Pravda's words for a moment, half-closing his eyes in thought. "...Je pense," he said after another moment, glancing back towards the building they'd left behind. They hadn't spoken in the halls, well aware of how voices carried, and even now, their voices were low. He was well aware of the lockdown that the Quintessons had put in to place, and so they stuck to the shadows, ensuring there was no movement on the streets (or those terrible cameras, though he had a feeling no sights of them from such would make it to a hostile observer) before moving to the next. "He seemed...stupéfait, I think, when you brought it up."

They could have spoken only in French - but Pravda had asked him to help her with English, as she understood more than she spoke. So, the more they spoke it together, the more comfortable she would be in it - he was just lucky she spoke French, he supposed, though not quite as well as he spoke Russian. There was something to be said about picking things up easily.

Pravda adjusted the knapsack over her shoulder, which Aillard couldn't so much as lift an inch off the ground had he given it a try. She scanned the roads, then let out a huff of air. "Perhaps. He did nothing to stop us leaving, but I cannot trust him," she admitted, and Aillard reached to squeeze her shoulder.

"I did not say I trusted him, my friend." She gave him a bit of a smile at that, before a low whistle cut through the air to catch their attention. The two looked about, Pravda making a sound of surprise as she apparently spotted whatever it was - as Aillard followed his gaze, he was somehow unsurprised to see it was the girl from before. Sadie, he recalled, as she beckoned them across the road. A final glance to ensure their safety, and Pravda led the way, ducking her head as she trotted to catch up with the fille.

"Were you not being punished?" she questioned, voice still low. Sadie scowled, crossing her arms as she jutted her chin in a familiar manner.

"He's not the boss of me," she shot back. "But're you going to cause problems for him?"

"So long as he does not for us."

Pravda was blunt as always, and Aillard sighed before kneeling before the girl to meet her gaze. "I hope not," he clarified, watching the shift in expression in her face. "All we want is to find our friend safe and sound."

"Your friend?" Sadie looked from Aillard to Pravda, her brow crinkling at their silence. But Aillard could tell she was clever; a moment later, she confirmed it by saying, "With the Underground, right? I can take you to some of them, if they haven't been found out."

Clever, and helpful. Aillard bowed his head. "I would be in your debt, my young friend. But is it safe for you to be outside?"

"No." That was certainly one of the flattest tones Aillard had heard, and Pravda snorted in what could have been amusement. Truth be told, it reminded him of some of the deadpans line she'd delivered. "But it never is," Sadie went on to explain, moving to the edge of the shadow to peek about. "So let's go and stop being outside as soon as we can."

A brief shared glance - are you sure about this? I think so, yes, and we also don't have much other options, and they were following their new guide through the labyrinth that was an occupied London.

Chapter Text

To say Sadie didn't remember much of her life before meeting Victor would have been a lie; she remembered plenty, such as evading Guardsmen patrols, working with the other kids to try and scrounge up something edible that wouldn't make them sick, sitting in the remains of a bombed building and making up the most outlandish way to live 'when all this was over'. Because Sadie remembered it wasn't always like this; she distantly remembered having a mum and da, though their faces were hard to remember by now. She used to dream of being a princess, she thought, at least until the up until hearing news the King had died and the monarchy was more-or-less gone; no use being royalty then, now, was there?

If anything, she figured, she was a princess of the streets. And that suited her just fine; she hadn't wanted a new da, but Victor was close enough to an uncle that she didn't mind staying with him. He was nice, if a bit stern at times, and in dire need of cheering up in others; something she took to with gusto, as seeing him smile or even, more rarely, laugh reminded her of better times that she couldn't fully remember. Warm and fuzzy feelings, at least, not unlike a good meal. And while he'd fretted at first, he'd seemed to grow to accept that she wasn't always going to sleep over, wasn't always going to come back with something or other, and certainly wasn't always going to behave.

Which was why how upset he'd seemed, back then, still bothered her. He hadn't hurt her or anything, but it was the first time he'd ever been aggressive like that. Sure, she'd played keep-away once or twice, but that was play. This had been her left staring at the door for a few moments before squaring her jaw and immediately going to shove open the window. She'd figured that the other two wouldn't be long, and just as she'd thought, they'd been out before she could come to terms with her mixed feelings.

She wasn't angry at Victor, just...trying to think of what else she could have done, maybe, to make things turn out better. No use worrying now, though, she had to focus on guiding Aillard and Pravda through the city. They'd already had a close encounter, with Pravda abruptly grabbing her coat to haul her back. Aillard motioned for silence before she heard the tell-tale hum; it quickly loudened, and within seconds, a pair of squiddies were slinking down the street, making those strange sounds she assumed was them talking to each other. The three of them held their breath until the sounds died down once again, and then moved once more.

"How far to go?" Pravda murmured, and Sadie glanced over her shoulder towards the woman. The tall, big woman. Whom Sadie was tempted to ask for a piggy back ride from at some point, but-

"We go down over here," she explained, nodding towards the remains of a railway station. Unlike the one that was commonly used by the squiddies, this one hadn't been cleaned up at all from the invasion; anyone looking at it would have assumed it'd already been scavenged for supplies, and that there was nothing but more rubble underneath. Indeed, it was difficult to find the entrance - only someone who already knew it could find it easily, and even Sadie still had trouble trying to remember which underhang, which twist, "No, wait, wrong one, go back...aha!"

"How can you tell this from the other?" Aillard asked, baffled. Sadie just grinned and tapped a set of scratches - or what looked like them, at first.

"Coz it's got the Underground's mark!"

Pravda reached out, tracing the crude shape. But Sadie wasn't willing to wait out here for her to look even closer - she ducked down under a broken archway, using the handrail to stabilize herself as she moved down the steps. And maybe she wasn't as familiar with the tunnels as the boys, but what was the worst that could happen?

As soon as he was able to breathe, Victor was moving for his coat. Nevermind the fact he was allotted a few more hours of rest before his shift; walking as a Guardsman would e the only way he could be safe. Pravda's words echoed in his mind - one of the Quintesson's tools - but he pushed them aside as he slung it over his shoulders. His baton, too, just in case, though he briefly hesitated as his hand clenched around it.

A tool, indeed. Perhaps one day he'd have the courage to use it in another way - but was it courage to throw one's life away like those two youths from yesterday? They perhaps killed a Quintesson, yes, but how many of them and their friends had been killed?

How many would be killed, once the Quintessons found out their hiding spot?

...it wasn't to think of, right now. He needed to find Sadie before they did. Squaring his jaw, Victor set out, only briefly gazing at the tray Aillard had laid out for him earlier. The food, which had been so delicious and savory, now sat poorly in his stomach; nerves, no doubt. Perhaps a more paranoid man would have suspected poison, but it wouldn't be the first time (or, likely, the last) that a meal hadn't settled well. Instead, Victor swallowed to try and help calm his stomach as he moved for the exit.

"Prentiss?" Victor paused, briefly, glancing up at the voice. Morgan - one of his fellows, who took on a more center-city patrol, had his head sticking out of his own door with a frown, and a moment later, was stepping out to block Victor's way. "Did I hear someone else in your quarters?"

"Sadie's friends- look, I'm afraid I don't have time, I-"

"Your shift isn't until later." The suspicion on his face grew. "Where are you going?"

Victor clenched his jaw before deciding there was nothing else for it, and stepping forwards. "Not that it's any of your bloody business," he spat, hoping his (quite real) anger hid his unease, "but I'm following a lead. Now, if you'll excuse me." Without bothering to wait for a response, he reached and outright shoved the man out of his way, enough to move past. He heard something indignant, but couldn't spare the time nor effort to try and process if they were actual words or just a curse - Morgan could go suck up to the squiddies by tattling on his disrespect for all he cared, his record was spotless and there was no reason to tolerate his nonsense.

Every reason to keep moving. The air tasted of ozone; not the sort that came from the metal constructs of the Quintessons, but of incoming rain. Adjusting the collar of his coat, Victor moved at a quick pace, trying to mentally organize all of Sadie's favorite lurking spots - or any of the children's, really. As long as they knew he was looking for her, they'd keep their own eyes out, perhaps even pass on a message if he asked.

He wasn't sure he'd want them to. What would he say, I'm sorry? Better said in person, he thought, and there crept in another thought; if I can find her. For the streets - generally empty as a rule, aside from someone going to or fro on business or another Guardsman, or the rare Quintesson - seemed hostile in their silence, the tension he'd sensed yesterday still present in a twisted way.

When he spotted a Quintesson transport near one of the childrens' favorite hiding spots, his uneasiness grew. As he approached, he could see a pair of Enforcers, one manning the vehicle while the other was working in the back - which was odd, they rarely came out to man the streets themselves, but perhaps given the circumstances it wasn't so odd. He bowed when one warbled at him, immediately fishing out his identity card;

"Victor Prentiss, Night-Guardsman..."

[It is not night,] one of the Quintessons cut in, its red eyes narrowed and unamused. Victor noticed a fresh injury to its armor and decided caution was the better choice, here.

"I wished to assist beyond my shift." Hopefully, he wouldn't be rounded up in to whatever they were doing - but how else could he explain myself? "As such, I was patrolling for any citizens who had broken curf-"

[Irrelevant,] the other said, waving its braided arm-tentacles dismissively as Victor grew quiet. [Unrequired. You will return to your dwelling and await your shift.]

"...of course." There was no arguing with a direct order, but Victor thought he might persuade a little leeway as he opened his mouth to continue - before motion in the vehicle caught his eye.

Quintessons didn't bother dealing with dead humans, short of having them directed to a location for 'harvest and disposal'; even in death, they were given no peace, though some managed furtive funerals and burials in places they could find ground loose enough to dig a grave. The only time they collected humans was when they were collecting subjects for new experimentation - or if they had found an unauthorized 'nest'.

Simon's familiar eyes stared back at his, and the boy opened his mouth before a hand flew over it. Behind him, Joel leaned forwards, hissing a warning before meeting Victor's gaze at well, brow furrowed as a spark of hope entered his face. But at Victor's helplessly horrified expression, it quickly faded, and he swallowed before Simon managed to pull his hands down.

Sadie could be there, with them, but- no, if she was, she'd have already pushed her way to the front, wouldn't she? Even so, the sight of 'his' children being collected had him consumed in dread, and only when the Quintesson stepped in between to loom over him did he manage to recover. [Are your aural sensors damaged, human?] it demanded, prompting another low bow of subservience.

"No, I- I'll be off."

[Hold.] He froze in place, and tried not to shudder as the cold skin of its tentacles forced his head up. He instinctively wanted to pull back, away, and it took every ounce of self-control to hold himself still as it seemed to examine him, poking lightly at his ears. It looked him over - reminding Victor so much of how he'd seen someone once study a dog that had been whining from pain - before seeming satisfied enough and not-quite-shoving him away. Still, what strength was there was almost enough to knock him off his feet, unsteady as he already was, and he was unashamedly relieved when it turned its back on him. [Go. Report to the Third Spire before the end of the week for full examination.]

That was not a relief - quite the opposite, really - but Victor dared not err further and risk an additional correction, however benign it might have seemed at first. He stumbled away, numb, the vision of Joel and Simon trapped in that vehicle burned in to his memory. They weren't the only children there, he realized, but he didn't know the others.

He knew them.

So, what, the others don't matter?

Once more, only that innate sense of direction kept him from being lost as he turned a few corners - and then sagged against a wall, covering his face with his hands just as the first few drops of rain started to fall.

charred, burned alive

"-Quintesson's tools-"

He couldn't breathe, he was back in line for modifications, there as a Quintesson scanning them all and Scarlett squeezed his hand reassuringly, murmuring that whatever happened, at least they'd be together

the Quintesson pausing before the two of them, eyes locking on Scarlett's form

"This's for Yorkshire!"

no, he was back trying to shore up London's defenses, for King and Country neither of them could fall, water was falling heavily, now, soaking him to the bone

"Squiddie-Guard!"

he wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. His brother, his only brother, shot by some bastard in the trenches, Victor could only hold his parents as both of them sobbed freely

hands pulled at Victor's hair, his own hands, he distantly realized. Because he was still in London, and trying frantically to ground himself by whatever means necessary. The physical pain was all he had to distract himself from the pandemonium in his head, his heart, and he bit his lip as well to muffle whatever sounds he might have made in this state. Perhaps the noise of the rain may have covered it, but did he dare risk such a thing?

Oh, God. But how could a so-called kind and loving God allow any of this? His eyes watered, and he didn't fight the tears that began to spill as he shuddered in upset. How could anyone allow monsters to come from the stars and upheave their lives, enslave their world, use their children as fodder to say nothing of what other atrocities were happening day to day-

How could I allow it?

For, Victor understood, as much as he'd tried to convince himself otherwise - he was complicit. He may have been trying to stay alive and to mitigate the harm caused, but he was still a part of the system, and he had reached his limit. He simply couldn't do this anymore, and it sickened him to think that it took this long to realize such. And he had no one to turn to, no shelter to seek. Not unless he wanted to drown himself in alcohol, or worse.

It was that thought that had him finally release his hair, instead wrapping his arms about himself as he fought to regulate his breathing. To stop this- this wibbling. It was easier thought than done; his mind kept going back to Joel's face, to Simon being silenced, to him silencing Sadie...

I need to find Sadie.

He had to know whether she'd been taken in or not. And short of tracking down Renard - whom, if he was smart at all, was keeping his head as down as possible and keeping to himself, which meant Victor would never find him - he had precious few options. Perhaps...

Perhaps Old Mac's?

Keenly aware of how much time had passed, he staggered to his feet, using the wall to stabilize himself and make sure his footing was steady. Belatedly, he realized he'd been collapsed by an old storefront - a half destroyed sign indicated it might have once been a candy shop. The glass was long gone, the inside dark and full of debris. Useless to him, but for a moment, just a moment, he was struck with nostalgia for times long gone. This place must have once been full of people of all ages, hunting down a bit of a sweet treat - now, such things were only memories.

Except- the black markets had such things, still, hadn't they? He licked lips that were somehow still dry as he pushed himself forwards, considering. Somewhere in the city, someone was able to get sugar, or whatever it was they needed to create such things - he could have sworn he'd seen Sadie surreptitiously snacking on such, once or twice. Somehow, the people of the city kept what normalcy they could in a world gone mad, where over three-quarters of the city was tasked to mine the Scar. The others weren't exempt from being worked to the bone; all told, as a Guardsman, he'd had a rather cushy life. Was that part of the reason he tried to convince himself this was an acceptable life, that things could have been so much worse?

Victor paused, motion even in the rain catching his attention. He peered across the street, then sucked in a breath and quickly darted in to a shadow as a dim glow was just perceptible through the open entryway of the 'pub'. Movement again - another Quintesson Enforcer, this one, just visible within the building that housed Old Mac's. No vehicles in sight, but it was clear it was doing some sort of investigation, holding up some sort of device as it moved out of sight. Not an option, Victor concluded, not anywhere near brave enough to risk another encounter. For all he knew - and he wouldn't have been surprised for it to be the truth - one Quintesson knew what the others knew, and if he was sighted still out on the streets, he'd be soon joining Joel and Simon against his will.

But he had to do something. Go somewhere. His hand curled against the wall, a grimace spreading over his features as his fingers brushed the scratches

and then he froze, and spread his fingers once more. His head turned, and though the dim light of this shadow, there it was-

The Union Jack. Rough and crude, only recognizable to those who knew such a thing, but - such was the Underground's symbol. Which meant that he was very, very close to one of their entrances, and perhaps desperate times did cause for desperate measures. Victor could have laughed, feeling just a bit hysterical - for what, indeed, were his options?

Perhaps they'd simply take his gear and throw him out on the street. Odds were, though, they could still use it better than he had. Steeling himself, Victor followed the wall until he'd found a small stairway, and another Jack on the wall - and without any further hesitation, strode in to the depths.

Chapter Text

The railways had started before he was born, back in the 1860s if his memory was right. As it was developed more and more, so were its uses - indeed, during the war, Victor remembered huddling with his parents in the tube stations as the air raid sirens blared. There were plans to expand, of course, post-war - but the Quintessons had neatly cut short that project, and while they were aware of the tunnels, they mostly ignored them aside for a few lines used for human transport. The Underground, such as it had been, had left to fall in to disarray - and then to be utilized by rebellious forces, some of whom took its name as their own.

Generally, Victor avoided it; such was not part of his patrol, and he had no urge to stick his nose in to business where he'd be (or have been) more-or-less forced to act. Short of occasionally visiting one of the black markets that was never in the same place twice in a row (nor followed any real sort of pattern in placement, which made it frustrating to locate when he actually did want something), these tunnels were an unfamiliar maze. Even his sense of direction only helped so well down here, for how was he to know what tunnels turned where, which connected to which?

Still, Victor moved on, glad that at least it was dry. He still felt cold to the bone, but perhaps that was better than numb, and determination to find at least some sort of lead pressed him forwards through the dim light. The only thing keeping it from being absolute darkness was the tiny torch he had - Quintesson tech, a far more useful piece of Guardsman equipment than his baton in this situation. He still kept his hand on the wall to guide as much as for balance, moving slowly for the sake of caution. Already, he'd heard no small amount of squeaking from rats, and he had no urge to stumble in to a nest. Better he make sound, alert them, as well as any forces to his presence-

-so long as they weren't Quintesson. He wouldn't put it past the squddies to have patrols down here, and he swallowed thickly at the thought. Being caught twice up on the street was one thing; being caught down here…that would certainly put an end to any fragment of a plan he had, now, wouldn't it? Just the thought had him slowing down a bit more, walking heel-toe in an attempt to make less noise.

For a fleeting moment, he wished that whatever changes he had undergone had been more; perhaps nothing so extreme as those Beastmen he'd seen once or twice (and always in the company of a Quintesson, like some sort of pet), but something that would allow him to see the night as day. It was better than before, he thought, but mostly in dim light; it was why he so rarely used the torch. As it was, he kept it on a low setting - enough for his eyes to pierce the darkness, yes, to tell when there was a split up again - but what use was that when he had scarcely an idea of where he was going?

All he had coming down here was those scratches of the Underground's symbol - but he hadn't found another one, as much as he'd tried. He was just about to turn back when something other than squeaking caught his attention; he paused, briefly, then dared speak aloud - "Hello?"

There was no answer.

Naught but the sudden weight on his back and blow to his head.

Pravda was already wary of the man.

He wasn't the most insufferable sort she'd ever met, but something about him sent prickles down her spine. Perhaps it was paranoia, perhaps it was something else - Trentin had certainly not wasted any time, his folk immediately standing down once he gave the signal and escorting them to the railway station that was their current base of operations. And to their credit, they weren't stupid about it - the whole setup was mobile, easily torn down and moved in a hurry. It seemed as if they'd set up here within the past day or so, were she to guess. A train car kept in surprisingly good condition served as an office of sorts, where the man had hung up what looked to be some sort of Quintesson weapon modified for human use before turning to face them.

"Let's skip the formalities, eh?"

She should have appreciated that. And the way he immediately got down to business, Aillard serving as a translator once more for anything more…difficult to understand. They'd gotten the message, of course, was why they were ready to act and cover the escape of the two - three, wasn't it supposed to be? No, one had to be left behind, they were still trying to figure out how to get them out. Yes, they were vital, and both Aillard and Pravda were firm about not moving on with any sort of planning that didn't first prioritize their rescue. Trentin's expression darkened just a bit, but he relented with a grunt.

"You know where they're located, at least?"

"More or less," Aillard affirmed. "We have a way to stay in contact." Now that caught Trentin's attention, and the man's eyes glinted in interest. He seemed to have enough control to not ask for elaboration, though, short of something which did gain Pravda's approval-

"Is it secure?"

"Yes."

In short, there wasn't much reason to dislike him. Pravda credited her suspicion to habit, or, perhaps, to the fact she hadn't seen someone who seemed so…capable…in a while. Was she intimidated, she wondered? Impressed, certainly. But beyond that?…

"See something you like?"

Pravda pulled her gaze away from the weapon, belatedly realizing she'd been staring at it. "Mm. It is…unique."

Trentin bared his teeth in a grin. "Damn well better had be unique, considering the guy who made it's long gone." There was a brief silence, and then his grin grew just a bit more tight. "'Nother one of her tinker toys backfired on him a few years back. Still haven't found anyone who's that good with squid-tech as he was," he grumbled, glancing towards the large rifle. "Been a pain to keep it in working order, can tell you that much - if your friend's any good with machinery, the lot've you can stay as long as you want if you do some maintenance on our gear."

"We'll see if they're up for it," Aillard murmured. "I won't make any promises on their behalf."

"Either way, I lost a few other good ones covering your escape," Trentin continued, crossing his arms across his large chest as he looked from one to the other. His dark hair was cut short, but held hints of what could have been a natural curl. And his armor seemed to be patchwork, with what Pravda assumed were pieces of scavenged Quintesson armor assembled in to makeshift plates. It looked heavy; she wouldn't have been surprised for the man to have some strength, perhaps having originally been modified for a purpose similar to her own - labor. "All I'm saying is that you'd better be able to get us what you promised. We need more than just equipment, at this point - we bloody well need more connection with the other rebellions, if we're going to get any further than just small-scale."

To that, Aillard nodded along with Pravda. "Sans aucun doute. The Quintessons can easily manage localized forces - but that is where our ally may give us an edge as well, for-"

Before he could continue, the door slid open. Trentin narrowed his red eyes at the entrant, whom Pravda could see was perhaps a girl in her teens - her brown hair fighting to free itself of her ponytail, a few wisps floating about her face as she raised a hand to salute. "Beggin' yer pardons, but they sent me to tell you they found a Guardsman snoopin' bout one of the travel tunnels, got him trussed up for y-"

"A Guardsman?" Trentin immediately rose to his feet. Pravda glanced towards Aillard, eyebrows arched in wonder - he returned her gaze with a bit of concern. The man from before had been a Guardsman, hadn't he? "We'll finish this later," their host said, already moving for the door. "Need to find out if we've got a problem on our hands-"

"We'll come with you." Pravda got to her feet, Trentin giving her a brief look before snorting.

"Don't care if you do or don't- just don't interfere."

Hardly her place- but Aillard was touching her arm before she could respond, and she looked towards her friend, whose concern hadn't lessened. "I'm going to find the girl," he murmured. "J'ai un sentiment."

And that had the wariness return in full force.

Even if he'd wanted to, Victor wouldn't have been able to do much fighting back; it had all happened so quick, to say nothing of the pounding in his head that had outright knocked him prone. By the time he had regained his senses, there was a hood over his head, his arms had been bound behind his back, and a knife at the back of his neck as a gruff voice ordered him to march. Victor had considered the fact that he hadn't been outright killed a rather good thing, indeed, and hadn't resisted being led through…somewhere. The point was, they knew where they were going.

And they stayed underground. Which meant - based on that and what few bits of chatter he could overhear, before another voice snarled for silence - that he had, at last, found the Underground.

Lovely. Now what?

He hadn't really thought that far, to be fair. Glad his chagrined expression was hidden by the hood, Victor shifted in the seat they had shoved him in. Another poke at the back of his neck warned him to be still, and he took a deep breath before slowly letting it out. What could he say, that he was trying to get comfortable?

Thankfully, it wasn't much longer before he heard another set of footsteps, a new voice - and the hood was abruptly pulled off, sending him in to blinding light. He squinted, trying to readjust, only grunting lightly as for the second time that day someone grabbed his face to peer down at him.

"They must be getting desperate, you don't look like much of a Guardsman." The man who spoke was armored, and held in his hand what Victor would have sworn was more of a sword than a knife. "From what I hear, you didn't put up much of a fight, either."

All this time, and he'd scarce figured out something to say. Still, Victor took another breath. "I've no interest in fighting," he started, only to clench his jaw at the uproarious laughter of the other man. Around him, others joined in, because apparently what he'd said was quite entertaining. Still, Victor took this moment to try and get a look around, ignoring the flare of heat in his cheeks.

He seemed to be in some sort of station, were he to guess. Well, something that was once used as a station, perhaps for maintenance of the trains. By the faint odor that hit his nostrils, he assumed they must have been also near the sewers, and decided that he was quite happy not having the olfactory senses of a Beastman after all, thank you. The distant sound of running water in the background solidified this guess, and placing where he was on the city above - well, it made sense. But any further thought was first stolen away by a glimpse of silver-blonde hair-

Pravda?

-and then a harsh slap against his face to bring him back to the interrogation at hand. "Eyes on me, squidscum," growled the man, moving his blade to press its flat against Victor's cheek. "How many others're looking?"

"None," came the honest reply. "I came alone."

"You're either lying or stupid." The blade pressed, edge kissing Victor's skin. And despite himself, the ghost of a smile tugged at the (former?) Guardsman's lips.

"Desperate," he corrected, a bit too worn out to give much of a damn. He was rewarded by a frown from the other man, and behind him, that silver-haired woman stepped forwards.

"I know this one," Pravda said, moving to his captor's side. She looked down at him, cocking her head. "He is no threat."

Victor wasn't sure to take her vouch as a good thing or a bad thing, but the other man looked at her, unimpressed. "Don't tell me this is the one you were talking about-"

"Not a chance," she snorted. "But he is the keeper of the girl who came with us." Immediately, a surge of relief swept over Victor - she could only be speaking of one person. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath, missing how both sets of eyes moved back towards him. "You were looking for her?" Pravda pressed, evoking a nod.

"I was worried," he admitted, eyes opening. "With the situation up above - but she's here? She's safe?" The woman nodded, and another flood of relief - so strong, he could have cried.

"Touching as that is," the man drawled, not withdrawing his weapon, "I'm not convinced you came down here just for some child, and I'm also not convinced of you not sharing any of this with your fellows."

Morgan's face came to mind, suspicious and indignant, and Victor bit back a laugh as he tried to think of a way to explain. A short cry spared him for the moment, and the familiar sound of running feet- an instant later, Sadie had shoved her way between him and the other man, glaring up at the latter. "Mister Trentin! You leave him alone!"

Another woman immediately began to offer apologies to 'Trentin', something about a man helping the girl get through the other guards - Victor didn't care much. Nor did he care for the brief glimpse of Aillard, moving to stand next to Pravda, a bland look on his face that spoke volumes. What mattered to him was, for the moment, the sight of the the young girl who'd more or less become a surrogate daughter, attempting to protect him - oh, God, she wasn't harmed at all. "Sadie," he croaked, voice dry, and the fact that she whirled around to wag a finger in his face could only eke out from him a strained smile.

"And you! You know better than to come down here, you stupid-!" A fist briefly beat on his chest, and while it didn't hurt in the slightest, it was enough for Victor to drag himself out of his relief.

"Sadie. Sadie," he repeated, a bit more firmly, when she didn't meet his gaze immediately. But she did, and he tightened his jaw, ignored everyone else, and gave the real reason he was here; "They have Joel and Simon. The Quintessons," he added in useless clarification, for her eyes were already widening in horror as a hand moved to her mouth. "I couldn't…I'm sorry."

"You-!" She clenched her fist again, and then, abruptly, shoved past Trentin once more. "You can't just say that and-!"

Victor's heart sank once more as she pushed in to the crowd, growing keenly aware that they had more-or-less become the center of a little show. His gaze dropped, unwilling to meet anyone else's as a few long moments of silence stretched out before someone cleared their throat.

"The boy, Renard-" Aillard. "Did you see him too…?"

Victor shook his head. "I couldn't get much of a look," he admitted quietly. "As it was, they've ordered me for a full examination within the week."

Another stretch of silence. Shorter, but this time, because all of those gathered who knew what it meant. An examination was more than just a metaphorical doctor's visit; it was to submit to something akin to a second set of modifications. To be poked and prodded, and if one was lucky, one would only be used as a control in a test or two against another set of humans. If they were not…

It was Pravda who broke the silence. "You will be going in to one of the spires, with reason?"

"Pravda," came Aillard's voice, a cautionary murmur, "Don't."

"Don't what?" Trentin pressed, Victor finally raising his gaze in time to see him turning towards the woman. There was a moment of silence, and then Trentin swore. "He's a Guardsman, we're not about to trust-"

"Victor." Pravda stepped forwards, her blue eyes hard as she sought his gaze. Hard, but- as Victor met it, there was something there he could read, something more. "Can we trust you?"

His first instinct was to say no; for he was a Guardsman, wasn't he? But as Pravda studied him - he remembered his episode outside, his earlier thoughts of how he couldn't take much more of this. And he'd reached that breaking point, hadn't he? Far too late, but…

"I won't willingly betray you," he finally said, breaking her gaze to look past, to Aillard - and then to Trentin. "I cannot say that I would never, for I've heard what they do in there, but," he continued, thinking he understood what Pravda was getting at, "if they've no reason to ask me such questions, then I've no reason to answer, and if there's something I can do that would help get those two out of there…"

"'Two'," Trentin scoffed. "We're looking at three, at the very least. How do you expect him to get out of there with the group, though?" he asked with no small amount of irony. "Getting in seems easy enough, but we don't even know if your friend's in the same spire, or his wards."

At that, Pravda looked over her shoulder - and Aillard sighed, briefly rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I…we might be able to organize them all being together," he confirmed reluctantly. "But this is a conversation better had in another place, I think?"

Feeling just a bit - dare he describe it as hopeful - Victor managed another small, but real smile. He wouldn't dare hope that this would work out after all, but perhaps…perhaps, something could be done.

Chapter Text

Before the group of them could re-enter the train car that served as an office, Trentin caught Pravda's eyes and jerked his head to the side. She frowned, briefly, but obliged, approaching as he took a few steps away from the others. Just enough to give them some privacy as he lowered his voice; "I told you not to interfere."

Pravda pressed her lips together in a thin, unhappy line - then nodded. "You did," she agreed, her accent thick but words making it clear she had no trouble understanding.

Which made Trentin all the more irritated, narrowing his eyes as he scowled. "Am I going to have to worry about you trying to take over my rebellion?" he growled, bitterly amused at the flash of surprise in Pravda's eyes.

"How- of course not!" she protested. "We are working together!"

Resisting the urge to grab her by the collar as he would a man, he instead leaned in, hissing, "Then don't interfere with my people again." He reached up to push past her - only for his hand to be caught as her own eyes narrowed.

"Not with yours," she granted, squeezing as if to ensure he was listening. Her strength was formidable - perhaps comparable to his own - and it certainly caught his attention, his own red eyes glowing lightly as she continued. "But that one? He is not."

"One of yours, then?" Trentin snapped, tugging sharply to free his hand.

Pravda didn't resist, giving him a stern look. She didn't respond, either, instead turning to join her companion - and where a few of his officers had 'escorted' the Guardsman, after removing his bonds. The man hadn't resisted, no more fight in him than there had been in the beginning, if what his scouts had said were true; still, Trentin didn't trust him in the slightest.

There were very, very few people he did trust.

"…Ben." One of the twins was at his side in a moment. A blonde with natural blue eyes- handsome, really, in sharp contrast to his brother. But his brother couldn't do what Ben was best at; Trentin gave him a sidelong look. "Do some research on our 'guest'. Figure out just how much a Guardsman he really is - start with that kid of his."

"Of course." The man kept both arms at his side as he gave a slight bow, but it was still the decidedly more Eastern style that he favored with almost…everything, really.

"Hn." Fanatic, Trentin thought dismissively, turning away to join the others. At least, he decided, if they all turned against him, the other brother would be one of the ones standing guard - and he was just as formidable as his twin.

"So. Which Spire are we looking at?"

Trentin was looking through some of the papers - maps? - on a series of shelves as Aillard looked towards Victor, who didn't hesitate to respond; "Third. The one still under construction," he elaborated for the two non-natives.

Pravda nodded as she seated herself. "You have been there before?" she asked, making a slight face at Victor's head shake of 'no'. "Then- we are blind?"

"Not necessarily." Trentin had found what he was looking for, and unfurled the paper on the table - a few weights on the corners kept it flat and in place. "From what we've learned, Quintessons follow a standard pattern with them, regardless of purpose. Power, transport, administrative-" he pointed at the rough sketches of the levels.

Victor leaned forwards in keen interest, committing them to memory. "How were you able to get these?" he wondered aloud, to which Trentin smiled humorlessly.

"Couple moles. Some'f who died for it. Not exactly a safe lifestyle, being rebels," he jabbed, prompting Victor to find something far more interesting in the map than meeting his gaze.

A sigh came from Pravda at the bickering, and she tried changing the subject as Aillard fiddled with a small device. "These are like mazes," she observed, finger just above the paper as she traced the hallways. "Will you be able to find your way, if we find a path for you?"

"You won't need to worry about that," Victor said with such certainty, it brought all sets of eyes to them. His own were still at the paper, though they did briefly glance up as he spoke. "I don't get lost. So long as I remember the way, I could take it blindfolded."

"Hell of a boast," Trentin muttered, to which Victor could only offer a thin smile.

"We're not far from the Queens Road station, are we?" At Trentin's silence - justified, considering he'd been blind for the better part of the trip here - Victor continued; "Baywater Road should be directly above us. The station itself is…" he raised a finger, paused, then pointed. "…there, perhaps about a hundred and forty-"

"Alright, alright, so you're a bloody compass." Irritated, Trentin waved a hand. "Don't see how that's going to help us much-"

"Actually, it may help a great deal," Aillard interrupted. "We have no trouble getting you in, but there is still the matter of getting out, oui?" At the collective nods, he set his device on the table and slid it forwards. "That is where our friend comes in. Everyone - this is Primus."

For a moment, nothing happened, short of a soft smile appearing on Pravda's face. Then, there was an electronic crackle, and a new voice emitted from it; "Greetings, friends." Something in the tone made both Victor and Trentin frown, with Victor furrowing his brow in thought as Trentin eyed the device suspiciously. "I understand I will be seeing one of you in person, soon?"

"So it seems," Victor murmured, briefly looking towards Aillard before returning his attention to the…whatever this was. It looked to be a flat panel of sorts, with an almost crystalline aspect to its construction; more obvious on the face, which was emitting a light glow.

"I wish I could say that I am looking forwards to such, but I regret the circumstances. However, I will report that I have located two human children who match the descriptions I was given, and am ensuring they will be in the Third Spire when you arrive. I will note that-"

"'Human' children?" Trentin interrupted in a growl. "And just how can you 'ensure' anything, 'Primus'? That's not a 'human' name."

"You are correct. It was given to me by the Quintessons."

The voice was frank, matter-of-fact. Still, Victor felt a bit of his own unease, some of Trentin's suspicion rubbing off on him. "Are you one of their 'pets'?" he ventured, thinking back to some of the Beastmen he'd seen. Then again, standard humans were kept in such ways as well - what did it matter?

"In a matter of speaking." The voice hesitated, than continued; "It would be easier to show you than explain over comms, but I promise, I am on your side. I am…very tired of all this," it added, weary. "and knowing that there are still those who are willing to stand against the Quintessons is encouraging. I will do everything I can to help you, and all I ask in return is to help me escape, too."

"Primus's position made it too difficult for them to join us, originally," Aillard clarified. "There would be no way they could escape in such a manner - but quiet work, dans l'ombre?"

"I still don't understand how we're all to get out of there." Victor shifted uneasily as he spoke. "Four people, and that's assuming I'm not…kept…in the first place."

"You being kept for a time may be a good thing," Primus noted. "If you are temporarily reassigned to the Spire, then your presence will not be questioned. Furthermore, if have reason to oversee a group of children-"

"-then that brings you together." Pravda's eyes lit up - not literally, but there was a glint in them that seemed satisfied. "How long 'a time' would it be?"

"Perhaps a few days, before we can ensure his movement will not attract attention. A week at most."

At that, Victor leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes with a soft groan of despair as he rubbed his face with a hand. "I'm to spend a week in that abominable place?"

"Second thoughts, Guardsman?" That was Trentin again, smirking just a bit. "If it's too much for your spine to handle-"

"-I never said that," Victor muttered, glaring at Trentin through his fingers. "Only that I may need these days to prepare myself for such a stay. To say nothing of the children…"

"I'll be keeping the three of you as safe as I can," Primus offered, trying to reassure. "But there's something else I'd like to discuss with you, Victor." There was a brief pause. "However - with all respect to those here - it is something I would prefer to speak of in private." At that, both Aillard and Pravda reached; Aillard cocked his head, Pravda frowning just a bit before her eyes widened in realization. For a moment, it seemed as though either of them would say something - instead, there was a short stretch of silence, followed by another sigh from Victor.

"As you say," he said, resigned. "I take it we can speak when we meet?"

"We can - I'll make sure we're not overheard. Now, as for the route out…"

Sadie found him again not long after the meeting had ended. Trentin - "May as well call me Magnes if we're working together," he'd grumbled - had confirmed that he could shelter Pravda and Aillard for however long was needed, and 'your girl' could act as a go-between as necessary. The plan was for Primus to make contact with Victor as soon as possible, once the man had gotten inside; from then on, they would be the one serving as a messenger.

(Frankly, Victor found it strange that Primus was never referred to as a 'he' or 'she' - but considering Quintessons roamed the streets of London and he never asked their genders, he supposed it was a trifling matter)

He was just readjusting his coat in preparation to return when there was the sound of someone clearing their throat. Someone young- he hesitated to look, hands pausing where they were, before finally taking a breath and turning towards her. "…hello."

"…hi." She looked up at him with an unreadable expression, then approached closer. "I heard…you're going to go rescue them, aren't you?"

"…I'm going to try." He slowly let out that breath, looking her over. She was none the worse for the wear, thankfully; then again, it'd only been a few hours. "Are you coming back home with me?"

She made a face. "I mean, I have to, don't I?"

"Sadie." He knelt down, then, searching for her gaze as her eyes dropped. "You know you don't have to. I'd like you to," he amended, "but even though you're registered as 'mine', that's only by their records. I consider you my responsibility, but-"

He was interrupted by a fist to his arm. "That's not what I meant!" she protested. "Someone has to take care of you, too, you know? You can't just- try and take everything on yourself, that's why I was standing up for you, before!" Her eyes narrowed as her face turned in to a pout. "And now you're planning on going in to the squiddie's home to rescue two'f my best friends, and you're going in all alone, and-"

"-and they're my friends, too." He reached up to touch her cheek, offering as much a smile as he could manage. "And you lot have done quite a bit to help me through these years, and it's high time I repay the favor."

"Like you didn't help us already?" Her face tightened, and he began to recognize it as not aimed at him, but their situation. His heart ached for her as she went on, "And it's just- I'm worried that you're going to go in and not come out and-"

"-and if that's the case," he interrupted, voice gentle, "then you're going to stay with Miss Pravda and Monsieur Aillard for a bit, all right?" She blinked at him, surprised, but it wasn't as though he'd already thought about it. Indeed, Pravda had been the one to offer to watch over her, at least until they could find someplace safer. It was an offer he had been glad to take, even knowing how dangerous their lives were, but - weren't they all? Besides, Sadie wouldn't take doing nothing well, he knew; that way, she could still feel useful in a way that mattered. "Pravda's already suggested she teach you how to defend yourself, and I know you've always wanted to know that sort of thing."

Perhaps not the best thing for a woman to learn, but - these were strange times, and they would only get stranger, he sensed. Though momentarily distracted by his words, it only took a few teary blinks before Sadie seemed to remember how grave the situation was. And with a frustrated sound, she abruptly threw herself forwards, wrapping her arms about him in a tight embrace - a hug which he didn't hesitate to return, squeezing her tightly as he felt his own eyes grow moist.

"Don't say that," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "You better come back, or I'm- I'll never speak to you, ever again, you got it? Promise!"

At such a heartfelt threat, he could he argue? Though he had the urge to laugh, Victor instead gave Sadie another squeeze, his own throat constricting around a knot. "I promise."

Morgan was there when he returned. The man narrowed his eyes at the sight of Victor walking with Sadie's hand in his own, but apparently, the sight of her was enough to keep him from another confrontation. Perhaps that was Sadie's doing in more ways than one; she'd never hesitated to express her dislike of the man, and Victor kept his gaze forwards as they passed and Morgan muttered something under his breath. Best to not have a reason to scold Sadie for a face she doubtless made at the man, and instead to focus on opening the door.

"You'll stay with the others, when I'm gone?" he asked once she was safely in and the door shut behind her. Sadie gave a sigh, but nodded obediently.

"And stay out of trouble."

Victor managed a wry smile…then reached down to ruffle her unruly hair. She squeaked, automatically reaching up to bat his hands away. "Most trouble," he corrected. "I already know asking you to behave is a lost cause. Perhaps Mister Trentin," he could ask her to use his first name himself, "could use a laugh."

She snorted, but was smiling as she readjusted her headband. "I don't think much makes him happy," she wryly said, moving to sit down. "Maybe dead squiddies, and I can't do much of that."

Perhaps one day, Victor thought, only to be immediately saddened by it; war was nothing to be considered sport, though Sadie was likely extremely young during the Invasion. Too young to have much a memory of it.

She must have noticed his expression, because she gave him a smirk. "Maybe there's something. I'll keep an eye out for Renard, too," she added, which at least brought a real smile from him. Encouraged, she went on to say, "and I'll make sure all the other kids know to keep their heads down if they don't already. They're probably gonna lift the curfew in a day or two, right?"

"I don't doubt it." Victor was moving over to peer at himself in the mirror, doing a bit of adjustment, himself. "But until then - please don't give me another reason to worry?"

"I won't."

With that as a promise to take on patrol, Victor took it with a light heart. Even the next few days - they passed as easy as one could ask for, and, indeed, the lockdown was eased the day before Victor had tentatively scheduled his 'visit' to the Spire. He had almost hoped for the opposite - for something to happen, some reason to delay, some reason to stave it off even more despite the danger Joel and Simon were in. Despite receiving updates - through Sadie - of Primus reporting that they were at the last of the line for 'processing', and otherwise untouched by their captors.

And despite the fact he rarely did so, when he went to sleep that day, he dreamed.

At first, he was falling; slowly, without any real feeling, but enough moved past him that he could tell he was moving. His coat splayed behind him like wings as he rolled to try and find some balance, but there was none to be had. And for a moment, he began to panic, for how long had he been falling in the first place? How long he would continue to fall?

He was in water, he was falling deeper, and it was getting darker. Looking above, the light of the sun went further away - and he reached for it, desperate, as the foam of the ocean began to envelope him. It spread out to where he could see through its bubbles, and it was then that he thought strange that they, too, had a glow to them.

And then he realized he wasn't falling at all. He was instead floating among them. Panic began to wane, replaced by curiosity, as he tilted back in position and half-reached to try and grasp one of those strange glowing orbs - but they slipped through his fingers as he marveled at how beautiful they were, all different colors and swirls and he began to think they rather looked more like planets than bubbles. Entire worlds, rather than pockets of air.

Pockets of life.

He was flying. Amongst stars like some sort of traveler, he thought little of Earth, little of its people, little of…anything, really. He only moved across systems, galaxies, in wonder and awe of all of creation that was so vast and infinite and full of possibility, how could anyone but be humbled by being a part of it? Once again he looked up, not towards the light, but instead in to the darkness - and he was not afraid of that shroud. He knew it was in place for a reason, and though it made a division, it would never fully tear him apart from…

Eyes opened before he could grasp that final truth, and Victor could only stare at the ceiling as he came back to himself, feeling all the more empty and cold for the dream slipping out of grasp as quickly as he had slipped in to it in the first place.

Chapter Text

Once again, the coat was his armor. This time, though, it would do little good, for it was the armor of his enemies, and he was walking straight in to their den. Still, Victor clung to what comfort he could in the situation as the looming Spire grew nearer and nearer.

From what he understood, the Quintessons much preferred to dwell under the water; as such, the bulk of the construction formed the Spire's base and offered stability to the entire building. However, they still utilized humans for the labor - rather than equip them with diving suits, they instead pumped the water out of the areas where they worked, and utilized the upper levels of the Spire for the humans to be able to do their tasks. As well as doing tasks to humans; it was there that the children were housed, and there Victor would be heading for his 'examination'.

He showed his card to the Guardsmen who secured the sector; one fed it in to another machine as the other kept him under watch. A few moments passed before he was cleared, and given direction to a holding room. Only a few turns in, which was for the best in more than one way.

After all, the lot of them had decided if Victor was going in to the heart of the enemy, then he may as well confirm or deny the accuracy of their maps. While he had no method of communicating with anyone until Primus found him - and he was reliant on being found, rather than the other way around, because wandering about here without a destination in mind was certain to have him 'collected' in the worst of ways - he could at least commit as many things to memory as he could, beginning with the initial security.

The Guardsmen, of course, but there were small cameras tucked in many of the upper corners. To say nothing of the large halls housing Quintessons as they moved about their own business, paying no more attention to him as one would a stray animal. He walked with purpose and intent, glad at least his destination was close - and there it was.

The holding room was just that - a room to hold humans, directly overseen by a Quintesson. This one with the large bulk of a guard, its baleful red eyes looking over Victor as one would a stray mutt before muttering something in its language that Victor vaguely recognized as a 'get going' command. As he obeyed and began to descend down the stairs, he looked around proper. The entrance, such as it was, was higher than the rest of the room; it also served as the only way in or out. Those stairs led to a center pit of sorts, where a handful of people milled about. He knew that there were other holding rooms like this, for more long-term periods - those had sparse beds and other necessities, whereas this one merely had a handful of bench-like protrusions against the walls. None of which looked particularly comfortable, but then - since when did Quintessons care about human comfort?

No; this was merely a basket from which they would pluck whatever 'fruit' they wanted. The only thing that differed this one from the other pits was the fact that this one was for humans who had some sort of place outside the Spire; unsurprisingly, though, none of them wore Guardsmen uniforms. Those here wore labor-style outfits, and all of them eyed him suspiciously as they murmured amongst themselves; he caught wind of "-so not even they're above-" and smiled bitterly.

Not in the slightest.

Victor was prepared to wait as long as it took for things to process, but a shadow fell upon him before he could do much more than sit on a bench. He looked up, the lights from the ceiling all but silhouetting the form of the woman who glared down at him. Red hair sparked a twinge of memory, but her stormy expression staved off any reminiscing.

"Th'ell's a Guardsman doin' down 'ere?" she sneered at him. "You volunteer t'eat some squidshite?"

"Leave'm alone, Alice," another woman wearily called. "Don't need'm makin' things 'arder for us-"

"He ain't on the mines," 'Alice' shot over her shoulder before returning her attention to Victor, resting a hand on the wall as he began to rise. "No, no, don't get up, I'm th' one that should be kneelin' at yer feet, right?"

"I'm not here for any trouble," Victor murmured, gently raising a hand between them to try and pacify her - only for it to be abruptly grabbed by the wrist.

"Nah, yer here to kneel fer the squiddies, right?" she jeered, tightening her grip as Victor tried to tug free. "See if they can get you somethin' cushier, right? Maybe a nice pet'f yer own?" As she spoke, she pulled his hand forward, and his face went red as he made contact with her chest. Like most laborers, her chest was covered, and the women in particular tended to use a number of bindings for support rather than the elegant undergarments from before the War; it was still very obvious that she had been graced with ample assets. She laughed at his clear unease, continuing; "Or maybe you're looking for a nice lad, maybe-"

Victor moved.

As, more or less, a human meant to manage other humans - it went without saying that the Guardsmen were expected to handle themselves in a fight. Normally he had his baton, but Victor had been keenly aware that such was not his only means of defense - and, indeed, an older brother who had insisted on him learning to throw a punch had given him the basics. But throwing a punch hadn't been enough for Victor, and in the beginning, one of the other Guardsmen had taken it upon himself to serve as a mentor of sorts the others - a situation for which Victor was now very, very grateful had occured.

Without it, he wouldn't know how to reach forwards with his other hand, grabbing hers. She was stronger than him, he could tell that, but he didn't hesitate to turn his body as well for his leg to be planted behind hers. A twist, a shove of weight against the back of her knee before she could react, and the rest of the laborers shot to their feet as a loud WHUD resounded throughout the room from her back hitting the floor. She snarled, immediately moving to get to her feet, but by then Victor had backed away and resettled in to a defensive stance. And by that time, a few others had approached their fallen friend, hissing warnings while one looked up warily towards their Quintesson overseer.

Victor risked a brief glance as well. As he'd thought - they were watching, but hadn't so much as raised a tendril to try and halt the proceedings. Likely they wouldn't unless some sort of injury occurred that would inhibit the humans' work. Grimacing, he returned his attention to the group, firmly repeating what he'd said before; "I'm not here for any trouble. But," he continued, "I will not take any, either."

Alice's eyes narrowed, blazing red, and she opened her mouth to say something - her friend gave her a sharp smack on the back and the two traded some bickering. It was about that time that there was the sound of the doors opening above, and all heads turned, then, as a Quintesson slid inside. It wasn't nearly as broad as most of the others Victor had seen, but yet its slighter build seemed no more less malevolent as it peered over the edge at those gathered. Indeed, it seemed somehow worse - the kind of worse that came with a mind that considered them less than stray mutts - and whatever fight was brewing quickly dissipated as the gathered humans dispersed, seeking to avoid attention in their own ways. A couple simply sat and didn't-quite-shrink against the smooth walls, which held no corners to hide in; Alice and her friends simply grouped together, muttering amongst themselves, as if being in a group would somehow protect them.

Victor did none of these, turning instead to study the Quintesson who had entered. If he recalled correctly from what little he knew of Quintesson culture in itself, its slighter build designated it as a different caste than the larger ones - there seemed to be some sort of basic hierarchy based on their own bodies. But that gave him no comfort, no ease; if anything, he even better understood why the others had sought to avoid its attention as it gazed directly on him. For a few moments, his mind raced with horror stories he'd heard of those who had gone in willingly but never returned, or returned different - horrific mutants at best, though he assumed there were some crippled wretches who simply…did not walk out. And for those moments, he vividly saw himself as one of them, nothing more than a writhing subject of an experiment to whom death would be a mercy…

Its gaze moved on, breaking whatever spell he had been suffering, and Victor felt somewhat woozy as it spoke to the guard overseeing them. He swallowed, but was unashamedly relieved when another turned out to be their target. One of those who had sought the wall as solace was collected and in their wake was left a subdued sort of silence. Victor took a breath, then moved to sit on a bench again - this time, one as far away from the others as he could.

They did not approach again. Though Alice's was not the only set of eyes that glanced in his direction.

Another Quintesson, another gathered - and a third. Victor was entertaining the thought of perhaps he'd be let go without being seen (but if that happened, how would the two lads fare?) when he caught a beckoning gesture of tendrils in his direction. Pressing his face in to as neutral an expression as he could muster, he got to his feet and climbed to approach. This one, too, was a slighter build, perhaps only slightly larger than the first one he'd seen but still very much of the same type. Its eyes were gold, and seemed to regard him more curiously than anything else as it draped a set of tendrils over his shoulders.

[You know why you are here?] it questioned, to which he nodded.

"I was told to come for an examination," he answered without hesitation, trying to ignore the cold weight that was steering him as much as ensuring he could not run.

[Which is odd, considering your record shows a history of excellence.] Was it impressed? He hadn't learned much of their tones yet, and kept himself from responding rather than risk its ire. The Quintesson didn't seem to mind, continuing on. [You have taken to your assignment without complaint, and have kept your sector peaceful. One would think you are in perfect condition, and yet you gave reason to suspect otherwise?]

That - combined with the look in his direction - was a prompt for reply. He cleared his throat to buy himself a few more precious moments of time to think. "I was merely…surprised by the brief uprising," he admitted, which was, indeed, the truth. "I had thought the entire city peaceful." Not so much the truth, but white enough of a lie, he hoped. And believable enough of one?

The Quintesson made a sound that could have been thoughtful, its voice distorted through the humming machinery it wore. [Then we will ensure you will have no more surprises,] it said with a brief pat of a tendril, and Victor was nearly consumed with the urge to try and shake it off. His fingers dug in to his palms as he fought it off, just as they turned in to another room, and belatedly he realized he should have been memorizing the path, what good was knowing exactly where he was if he didn't know how to get out-

[Strip,] the Quintesson directed, and Victor's fingernails briefly dug in before he forced himself to relax - to obey. It had taken its limbs off him, at least, moving over to some sort of machinery and operating it as Victor shed his coat. Unpleasant memories of the previous time he'd done this came to mind - numb, moving like some sort of automaton toy that was off its bearings - but he reminded himself that there was a plan, there was a purpose for this…indignity. If he thought of it just as that, it was somewhat bearable, as opposed to a possible precursor to more.

Right?

He was directed to stand on a platform, and forced himself to move without hesitation. Immediately, a blue light surrounded him, and he kept himself still as it swirled about - scanned, that was the word - his form as if searching for any slight or scar. It lingered on a few scuffs and bruises, which he was asked to explain and dutifully reported as 'scuffles during the fighting'. Such was acknowledged and, apparently, recorded.

Some metal limbs moved out next, and he tensed as they poked and prodded at him. There was no explanation, but then, why did there need to be? Endure, he told himself, focusing on keeping his breathing steady as something scraped at the back of his neck, something else pricked at his arm. There were more of these samples taken, and by the time he was allowed off the platform, he felt rather like a piece of meat that'd been prepared by a chef to be roasted. That feeling only magnified as the Quintesson made a sound while he was reaching for his clothing, and held up a single tentacle;

[Hold.] Victor hid his unease as it worked its station a few more moments, then seemed to tilt its head. A few words were spoken to itself in its native language - then it seemed to realize Victor couldn't understand, because it switched back to English. [I require more testing. Move back to the platform.]

"I thought we were done…?" he ventured, nonetheless obeying as he stepped bare-footed back on to the metal which had grown no less cold for his earlier stance.

It made a dismissive gesture at his words. [Your genetic profile requires further examination. I will require assistance for this.]

Assistance?… the skin on Victor's neck prickled. "From- what the!?" He took a step back as about the base of the platform, something began to rise; clear walls shot up a moment later, trapping him in place. Instinctively he slapped his palms on them, red eyes bright in his own reflection as he stared out in rising panic. "What are you- in God's name!"

He threw himself back against the wall as the station the Quintesson has been working at - there was no other word for it morphed. What once had been a solid piece of metal folded and unfurled itself in an impossibly complex manner, beginning to snake towards him and his prison as Victor looked on in horror. The Quintesson seemed completely nonplussed - perhaps it hadn't even heard him - following it as one would a hound as the metal thing began to reform about the base of the platform. Immediately, blue light surrounded him once more, but this time it was nearly blinding; he threw up his hands to shield his eyes and still try to see, but it was so bright, he had to shut his eyelids tight and it still hurt

there was something pooling about his feet, his ankles, something warm and wet and tingling

panic rose

there's a reason

it was at his knees, he tried fumbling for an escape above but there was no purchase

there's a reason there's a reason

he began to tremble despite himself, an instinctual fear response as it met his waist, his chest

submerged his neck, he took a deep breath before it rose over his head

there was a jolt of something, that air burst out of his lungs

and he still couldn't see. He was blind? Oh, God, had they changed him already, had-

"I'm terribly sorry," a familiar voice suddenly rang in, "but this is the only way that we can speak safely."

His eyes widened uselessly, except - they didn't. He still couldn't see, but he couldn't breathe, either. Couldn't move his limbs, couldn't even look down to his limbs, what had-

"Please, slow down. I need you to think more clearly, right now it's too distorted for me to parse. Will you try and focus on my own words?"

Victor wasn't hearing it, per se. It wasn't really a voice. But it was familiar nonetheless, and he reached for it like a lifeline, grabbing hold with a sudden realization; Primus?

"Yes, it's me." The voice - Primus - seemed…relieved. "Again, I'm very sorry. I saw you start to panic, but I couldn't do anything at that point to halt the process."

Process? What's going on, how are we talking?

"Of an in-depth scan. We're communicating directly, mind to mind if you will; your neural pulses to mine in a thought-matrix. I know it's confusing," Primus said, somehow wry, "think of it as mind-magic, if it makes things easier."

It was so absurd that he could have laughed. Magic. All right. A pause. I still have no idea what you are, or how you even noticed any of that. No one else was there…unless… Primus didn't respond, so Victor continued his wondering. That…machine that moved. Like it was alive. Was that…?

"It was. Is," they amended. "I am a creation of the Quintessons, Victor, and I am in desperate need of help. And I think you, of all people, will be able to do what I need - because your modifications have already given you a ground that everyone else lacks."

My modifications? He didn't have anything special, just his eyes, and-

"-and your sense of positioning. Do you know where you are, right now?"

Victor thought about it for a moment. He didn't know exactly, except - he did. Just not where it was in context, but how useful was that?

"Let me ask you something else; do you know when you are, right now?"

A good question, but Victor assumed it wasn't too long before dark. A few hours, were he to judge.

"You judge correctly." The voice paused to let that sink in, then went on. "When and where are more closely related than some would think, in the grand scheme of things. Your species has not yet begun to explore spacetime, but the Quintessons are well aware of it - do you recall their spacebridges, when they first invaded?"

The memory of the skies opening up and great ships coming through was difficult to forget. Nonetheless, Victor gave acknowledgement, also recalling how the ability to seemingly appear anywhere, anywhen, still terrorized many a Londoner's nightmares. And, he presumed, the world's.

"I wouldn't be surprised. But the point I mean to make is that they've continued their research, here on Earth. They're focusing on smaller-scale spacebridges, to allow smaller groups to teleport across the world - and they are using humans as keystones in this project. However, the humans they have utilized so far have…mostly disappeared."

Well, that didn't sound good. I don't like where this is going, Victor couldn't help but 'say', wondering if his wariness went through.

"Well, if you could escape to another corner of the world - wouldn't you?"

To find some untouched corner of the wilderness to live out the rest of his days untouched by any of this…Victor pushed back the familiar thought as it arose, hoping Primus hadn't caught it.

If they had, they gave no sign, instead continuing their explanation. "Not only would your sense of direction guide you, Victor - but you have every reason to come back. If we can destroy the project through you, then not only will you stop something that could end any resistance here on Earth, but other worlds as well."

Wait. Other worlds?

"Yours is not the first to be conquered by Quintessons. As I said I am…tired of all this."

Despite himself, Victor felt his heart go out to this strange being. It sounded so weary without even making sound…and though he had every reason to wonder if this was some sort of trick? He thought of Aillard and Pravda's reactions when Primus's voice had first come through that strange device, the way they referred to them as their 'friend', how badly they wanted them out of Quintesson control…and with good reason, it seemed! Aside from how much use the various rebellions could use from such an ally, for someone who'd apparently been a participant in countless conquests…

What must I do?

"You would be moved to another Quintesson, the one overseeing the project. You would be modified in to something capable of utilizing the technology - and then we could make our escape with the children."

Joel and Simon-! He'd let them slip his mind, but felt no judgement from Primus, only a morbid amusement.

"You cannot process everything at once, Victor," they didn't quite scold him. "They're safe. If anything changes, I will tell you, but for now I can keep them at the bottom of the list. At most, they're bored."

Could I see them?

"…I think I can manage that. I don't know about being able to talk with them, but I should be able to reroute some cameras, temporarily. But it may be best to keep anything specific to ourselves, for now. I don't know for sure what will happen, or if the modifications will hold on you - sometimes things go…wrong."

But they could go right, Victor pressed. And if nothing happens, we still have our original plan, do we not?

"We would. But I want to emphasize, Victor, that there is still a risk in this. It is important for this project of theirs to be stopped, but we may be able to find someone else."

And you may not. Steeling himself, the man thought about a portal being opened in the midst of the Underground, of the Quintessons slaughtering everything in their path - men, women, and children alike. Of it happening in other cities, other worlds. I, too, am tired of standing by and allowing these things to happen. If we could stop it, Primus - can we do less than but try?

Chapter Text

Victor awoke in a bed.

It wasn't his own, but it was soft and comfortable, and he instinctively turned over to try and go back to sleep. A moment later, though, and his eyes shot open with a bright glow as he processed this was not his bed, he didn't even remember going to sleep, he was-

-still in the Spire?

He pushed himself up, the softest sheets he'd ever known falling away from him as he stared wide-eyed at the…walls? Curtains? Partitions that surrounded the small space. There wasn't much in here other than the bed, and as he looked around, then up…

Quintesson warbling confirmed that he was very, very much still in the Spire. He met the gaze of one peering down at him, only for it to turn and- another become visible? It seemed practically delighted, clapping some of its tentacles together as he gripped the sheets tightly but remained silent.

[Good morning!- that is what you say, is it not?]

He'd never been greeted by a Quintesson before, and he blinked in dumb surprise before realizing that he was expected to answer. "Ah- something like that," he agreed, not thinking it wise to correct it to 'evening'. Either way, the Quintesson seemed all the more pleased, and as he watched, it turned again. With a jolt of realization, Victor understood that the two faces he had seen belonged to the same creature.

[Forgive our enthusiasm,] the first one he'd seen said with a spread of its arms-tentacles. [It has merely been some time since we received a subject with such potential. You are comfortable, yes?] Victor nodded, still reeling as the second voice spoke from its other side-

[-we should hope so, only the finest for our experiments, the others can be as sloppy as they want-]

[-oh, enough, you're scaring the poor thing. Come out, little human, whenever you're ready. We'll have one of the pets prepare you some food.]

He'd never be ready, but Victor nodded again, looking down at himself and realizing he'd been dressed in strange clothes. Enough to cover his modesty, but somewhat flimsy compared to what he was used to wearing - no reassuring weight of an armored coat, here. Resisting the urge to drape the sheets about him like some sort of swathe, he took this moment to better take in the surroundings while keenly aware he was still being observed.

To begin with, there was a small sink, low enough that it could also have been used for relieving himself. He made a face at the thought, slipping out of the bed and sucking in a sharp breath as his feet met the cold floor. A pair of what could have been shoes sat upon a small chest, and he gladly took them as well as what seemed like an overcoat of sorts - not the Guardsman style, but something was better than nothing in this damp, chilly place. There was a wetness in the air that affirmed his suspicions they were lower, as well; perhaps actually under the water at this point, in the base of the structure, but he'd have to see more in order to be certain.

As Victor reached to push aside what seemed to be the door curtain, he could see that it led in a central area filled with some seating and a few tables - and a handful of other humans watching him as he exited or, well, entered what appeared to be a common room. They varied in ages and build, men and women both, and there was even one he'd have sworn was from the Far East - that one quickly turned their back once he realized he'd been noticed. All but two were dressed similar to him; those were dressed almost indecently, one approaching in a bow.

"Please, sir," she murmured, "if you would speak with Master Inquirata after your meal." A gesture towards one of the sides, where the partition was open and led to some stairs - this was, he realized, a modified holding room. Which made sense, but of all the tales he'd heard, none of them were quite like this. This seemed almost as if the Quintesson wanted to give some…well. Comfort.

And while the food wasn't nearly as refreshing as Aillard's had been, it was still levels beyond what he could make on his own. Eating, however, was a quiet affair; the others seemed in no hurry to introduce themselves, only curiously watching as he forced some substance in to him. He was too used to eating when he wasn't hungry to go without, though he couldn't rid the feeling of walking on a floor made of eggshells, uncertain when they would crack and send him spiraling out of sorts.

He could only linger so long, however, and mustering himself, he took the stairs at one of the 'pets' urging. The two-faced Quintesson from before was still there, of course; the higher level was large, an entire laboratory of sorts with strange devices and machines every which way. It was an organized sort of chaos that still made Victor's head spin, to say nothing of how the Quintesson itself spun around as it spoke;

[Now then,] it said, [Your record names you as 'Victor', correct?…lovely.] Another 'clap' of its tendrils. [You may call us Inquirata. You, my Victor, have been reassigned to my project due to a stellar genetic profile. Really, how you were overlooked before is beyond us-]

[Likely sloppiness,] chimed the other face.

[-but,] the first continued. [You are here now, and we have a simple task for you to accomplish.]

Victor couldn't help but blink, only barely getting used to the strangest Quintesson he'd ever met. Not only was it surprisingly fluent in English, but its manner - he wasn't sure if he was alarmed or relieved it was treating him like, well, a person. Pet, whispered something in the back of his mind, echoing its term from before as he thought of the two distinct garbs of humans down in the pit - but it was clearly expecting a response from him, wasn't it? (She? He? They?) "I- yes. What is it I can do?"

A set of tentacles came down, and with them - but, marvelously, hovering just above - was an odd-looking cube. [Open this box.]

The box set before him was…unique, and Victor couldn't help but move forwards to take a closer look. Glancing up for permission, he then took it in hand, turning it over. It was small enough to fit in his palm, and light with it being hollowed out - the edges of the cube were made of a strange gold metal, as filigreed as he'd ever seen. Within it, though…within it was an orb of sorts, but the orb was moving. Pulsing. He held it up to look more closely, but just staring at it was giving it a headache, and he lowered it with a bit of a wince. "What is it?" he ventured, feeling safe enough to at least ask.

A pat to his head was as much a reminder of his place as anything else could have been. [Nothing for you to worry about,] the Quintesson assured him. [You merely need to free what's inside. Why don't you give it a try, now?]

Without much of a reason not to try, he turned it over once more, frowning slightly as he tried to find some sort of opening. Tugging on the edges did nothing, to no surprise, and simply reaching inside made his fingers tingle; a 'tsk' sound from Inquirata implied such was a fool's errand. He glanced back up at it, then down, fumbling a few more moments before letting out a breath. "Is there some sort of trick to it?"

Inquirata made a warble that could have passed as a laugh. [There is, but you will learn it on your own,] they reassured him, reaching to take back the box. [Once we finish your new modifications, of course. Now, we've had the liberty of having your ward reassigned, so you needn't worry about them; we know how you humans feel about your families. Do well, and we’re sure you can have her back before too long.]

Was it aware of the unspoken threat in those words, or did it think itself benign…? Victor said nothing, merely nodding, and very glad he'd already made arrangements for Sadie.

[So, while we’re still preparing your first set of treatments - why don't you meet your new friends?]

Anna and Dorothy were a pair from up North; they'd been with Inquirata for some years, by now, and more or less served as dual matrons for the others here. "It's not so bad, given the other options," Anna remarked as she pet at Dorothy's hair, whose head was resting on her shoulder. "I've heard of other experiment groups who don't have half the niceties we have, and Inquirata seems to honestly care that we're happy. Something about us being more productive that way?" She shrugged, lightly, and Dorothy yawned a bit.

"If you do good on one test or another," she sleepily mumbled, "you can ask for some treats."

Once again, the hair on the back of Victor's neck prickled in warning. The years in captivity showed clear marks on the women, and he made a note to never become so complacent, no matter what. Even so, they weren't the ones who had been here the longest; that honor went to another woman, Katherine, whom had been the first to pull Victor aside once he'd returned to the holding room.

"Whatever you do," she'd hissed in warning, "don't. Mess. This. Up." And then she'd left him bewildered, which was when Anna and Dorothy had picked him up and ushered him over to the couches so they could learn about him. The man from the Far East - who went by Hei, and who was, in fact, from Japan - spoke English quite well. While he had been shy at first, he had eagerly come over when Anna had beckoned and was happy to talk about his own experiences. He'd been transferred from another facility, one all the way in his homeland, and was very happy with his new location because it was far, far better than his life had been even before the Invasion.

(Victor got the distinct feeling that Hei would have taken any life of loafing about doing nothing as a 'good thing'.)

There were others, and, of course, the 'pets' - which Victor interpreted as servants, though he got the implication that they would serve in other capacities as well if such was desired to keep the others 'happy'. He was reminded of Alice, from before, and merely nodded in acknowledgement when they were introduced to him as 'Mary' and 'Shane'. That wasn't the most twisted part about all this, however.

It was how much everyone simply accepted such things. Katherine seemed to be the only one vigilant, but even she seemed more paranoid than anything, as if things could change at a moment's notice - and perhaps they could, for it wasn't long before Victor had finished his introductions before he was summoned, once more, to the top, where a familiar platform awaited him. Knowing what to expect this time, he disrobed when instructed, stepped forwards, managed to keep from panicking when the walls came up in herald of the liquid, and-

"Sadie has something for me to say to you."

It was so odd and unexpected that Victor did startle, then - as much as he could, anyway. Pardon?

"She wishes to remind me of 'your promise'." Primus paused, then, and Victor remembered his oath to return - as well as the hollow, almost dead gazes of those who would be his fellows. He would have shuddered if he could.

I'm not likely to forget it. No, the sooner he was out of here, the better. But I must admit, I didn't expect to speak with you again so soon.

"We'll be speaking fairly often. I'll be assisting with your modifications as well as advising you on what is happening. I thought it best that you understand what, exactly, that box from before is meant to do."

Immediately, his attention was caught. It was so strange - is that the 'spacebridge' you were mentioning, before?

"It's meant to serve as one, yes. What you are meant to do is to be able to activate and - well, there aren't many words for it with your current sciences." He got the distinct impression of a sigh, and almost apologized before Primus caught his intent. "No, no, you'd have caught up eventually, it's just…I need to simplify, at least for now. Let's think of Earth itself as a sphere, at least to start with."

The image immediately popped into mind, so clear and distinct that he startled once again. Primus gave him time to resettle, then went on to explain, using the strange mind-image as an aid; the device, 'Rhisling' as it was called in the Quintesson's tongue, essentially would assist in 'pulling' a section of space through time and thus, allow transport. As odd as it was, once illustrated, it made a sort of sense, though Victor had no idea how time was involved aside from Primus's reassurance that spacetime was, in fact, one thing.

Does this mean that it could transport one through time, then, as well? he wondered.

"…hypothetically, yes. But even the Quintessons avoid that," Primus explained. "All attempts at changing the past have failed, sometimes catastrophically."

How catastrophically?

"Black holes, which have had the good fortune to collapse in on themselves before too long." At the images provided, Victor shuddered. "I fear, however, that should this project be a success, they may once again delve into such experiments once they can replicate the necessary genetic modifications."

Then we had best make sure they cannot, a grim Victor stated to Primus's agreement as they went back to his 'lesson'. By the end of it, his head was spinning, and Primus proclaimed they were nearly done with his treatment as well and that they would see about helping him check on the two boys next time.

"I will admit," they said, "this was as much a test to see how much your mind could handle as much as a lesson. I hope you don't mind."

No, no, that's fine. The visuals had very much helped, and it was better to know than not. If you're worried about me minding, just let me know ahead of time in the future. Before Primus could answer, something else occurred to him; Did you speak with Pravda and Aillard, this way?

"I did." Either Victor was getting more used to this matter of speaking, or he was imagining things, for he could have sworn Primus 'sounded' fond…or amused. Some mixture of the two, perhaps. "Aillard was the one who developed this method with me in the first place, and Pravda- well, when Aillard told her about me, she insisted on making my acquaintance."

Victor thought of the woman's forceful personality, and felt some humor of his own. Are they the only ones?

"No, but they were the first I dared speak to." Once again, the impression of a sigh. "We'll speak more later, Victor, because I'm about to release you - you'll feel unsteady, so let the others help you, all right? I know they seem strange, but…it's been a long time since someone like you was here."

Before he could ask what that meant, he was exposed to the air. Gasping for breath as he collapsed to his knees, his entire body felt burning hot and numbingly cold at the same time - a towel was immediately thrown about him, and arms (tendrils? he couldn't tell) ushered him off to the side. Eyes blurred beyond any sort of sight, he allowed himself to be half led, half carried until he was set on a bed once more. As weak and as uncoordinated as a kitten, it was all he could do to parse the gentle words that guided him to move his limbs so that he could be dressed, fed a cupful of warm liquid, and then, mercifully, left to himself with an exit murmur of, "The first one's always roughest."

Good, he thought faintly, because I'm not sure how much of this I can manage. It wasn't just the way his body ached all over, but the way the others took such in stride - how often were they subject to such? And they simply accepted it, their circumstances, this life in what amounted to a pretty set of cells?

He felt sick, and the food from before threatened to come up; thankfully, he managed to swallow it back down, and rolled over onto his back with an arm over his face. But he remembered how the cubicle had no ceiling, how, at any given time, Inquirata could glance over and see what any of them were doing - not a shred of privacy. No wonder Primus had resorted to such means for communication - who was to say that the other humans in these holding rooms were given any more quiet?

Eventually, the lights dimmed. He hadn't yet fallen asleep, restless in his suffering, and his thoughts drifted to Joel and Simon in their own holding area. At the very least, they had each other, and knowing them they perhaps even had a way of communicating without the Quintessons noticing. It was a bittersweet thought, but knowing that he was keeping them from this sort of torment, from the bland acceptance to the now-itch that was subsuming his body…

It seemed like ages, but eventually he fell in enough of a doze where his discomfort wasn't at the forefront of his mind. And this time, he did not dream.

Chapter Text

The very next time he was given the box, he could immediately sense something was different.

The buzzing in his skin had barely calmed before he was summoned up once again and handed the device, and this time he actually hesitated to take it; something in him, apart from the knowledge Primus had shared, screamed danger! Nonetheless, an impatient sound from Inquirata had him accept and turn it over, this time seeing it with a new…understanding.

He could tell there was something within it, now, not just a strangely moving orb of (not?-)substance. The orb itself still gave him a headache to look at for too long, but as his fingers traced over the intricate designs of Rhisling's edges, he couldn't help but wonder - if they were cutting a hole in the world, why wasn't it a knife?

"A knife is for three dimensions," Primus explained later. "You can slice a sphere into two halves, but the plane is still flat. Rhisling is more than meets the eye - what it is designed to do is cut while still keeping the plane intact, and in such a manner that will lead it to heal, afterwards. Even the Quintessons know better than to keep holes in the world in that manner."

Victor thought about the stories he'd heard of them 'harvesting' said world, about the Scar - and could only be grateful they at least had that sense of cleaning up after themselves. But furthermore - I won't have to worry about those 'black holes' or the like while I'm learning, will I?

"No." Primus was firm on that. "Rhisling's safeguards will keep that from happening, so long as you stay within spacial travel."

Which suggested it was possible to try and do more, but Victor wasn't about to try to run before he could so much as stand. He felt unsteady in more than one way, here - from the uncertainty in his developing senses to the lazy lethargy everyone seemed to possess when they weren't undergoing experimentation. Perhaps some of them were given different treatments (Hei gave a rather confused expression when Victor tried describing Rhisling to him), but they seemed to be all working towards similar things.

"'dbe nice to see if we could stop by France," Dorothy murmured in that sleepy manner of hers a few days in. "'Ve always wanted to see the mountains there." Such comments made Victor want to shake her, to yell and shout the mountains might not even be there, anymore!, but he forced himself to remain calm and, at least outwardly, placid. Sleepwalking, in a sense, for it could certainly seem that this was a dream. He could, on some level, understand their disconnection from the outside world - for there was no way for the outside to come in. Were it not for Primus, he would be completely cut off. As it was, for all he knew, this was how they kept sane at all - hadn't he seen a similar dead-eyed gaze in some of the men who had returned home, after the War, before the Invasion was on anyone's mind?

"Trauma has different forms," Primus advised him, the next time he was in that 'thought-matrix'. They'd been doing some experimentation as Victor had gotten more used to the space, and of the passing of images back and forth. With a bit of effort, he could outright imagine himself on one of the old bridges across the Thames, back before the Invasion. Gazing out over the water was somehow calming, and beside him stood a nebulous figure that he could imagine as Primus. "Humans weren't meant to be kept in spaces like this. No one is," the Quintesson creation amended, no doubt considering the breadth of their experience.

Would it be possible to get them out, as well? Victor wondered, gazing up and above at the night sky and its familiar constellations. Only a handful were distinct; the rest were blurred with an unclear memory. But there were no lurking ships overhead in their ever watching threat, only the clear skies and pleasant air. True, if he let his thoughts drift, so would the scenery - but he'd been taking the chance to experiment with Primus as his treatments progressed, and this took little enough effort to maintain in the first place. They've been in here so long - perhaps seeing the world as it is would be enough to wake them up.

Primus's hesitation was as much a reply as he needed, but they answered him properly nonetheless. "Not easily, and not without consequences." They were leaning over the railing, soaking in the sights that Victor presented with an endless curiosity. It was clear that they'd never seen the outside world, or at least never before the Quintessons had come through. "It would be one thing to focus on getting you, Joel, and Simon out - adding me to the mix will already cause an upset. But to entirely rid a project of all of its subjects?…we can only do so much, Victor."

As the days had gone on, Victor had grown more and more comfortable with speaking his mind with Primus. So he hesitated only a moment before looking back down over the water and admitting, It doesn't feel like enough.

"What would be enough?" countered Primus, though not unkindly. Victor understood, at least; in all honesty, he would be satisfied with nothing short of the Quintessons being but a footnote in humanity's history. But how to explain how he had been complacent, himself, for so long, serving as a Guardsman, he felt the need to do more? "You are already risking your life to save three others - myself included, and cannot comprehend the boost you have given the other two."

Oh. They know, then?

"Joel does, and I believe he told Simon." There was something in Primus's 'tone' that gave Victor pause, and he only had to think a moment before realizing certain implications that Primus immediately confirmed. "It was a deep scan, not a treatment, but…"

But what, Primus?

For the briefest of moments, Victor rather felt like he was looking over one of the street children who was being forced to admit something they had done wrong. "…he's a rather bright child," the other sheepishly said. "When he realized that I was talking about you, he insisted on being given a way to help. When I said no…"

I'll bet he said he'd find a way, himself, Victor finished, glum. He wasn't sure if he was exasperated, proud, or bemused. Did you tell him it would help to simply keep his head down?

"I did, but I get the distinct impression he wants to do more."

Victor gave as much a sigh as he could, the thought of rubbing his face manifesting as a sort of ghost-sensation in this strange place. Just like Joel, who idolized the rebellions so, to wish to join them - what boy wouldn't leap at the chance to become like his heroes, really? What are his options? he asked absentmindedly.

"There aren't many," they admitted. "His genetic profile doesn't make him a potential to join you - if anything, it would be in an energy manipulation experiment. Think of eels," they went on, looking down at the water. Victor followed their gaze, noting the swirling shapes that were very much not native to the Thames. "The Quintessons have more or less understood those sciences upon the human form; his assignment would be based on his younger age. It would separate him from Simon, however, unless they both were transferred."

Victor made a face at the thought. I'd like them to stay together, if possible.

"I know. I haven't had a chance to look at Simon's profile, yet; would you like me to?"

You might as well. Victor thought of the other lad. He might be a bit more cautious than Joel, but if there's something they can think they're doing while nothing is happening…

"A placebo treatment?" Primus considered. "I will see what can be done. Shall I tell the others, as well?"

Of course. Is there any news on their end?

There was not - other than Magnes complaining this was 'taking too long', to which Victor thought of something colorful enough in response to make Primus laugh. It was such a rare occurrence that he laughed, too, and it was enough to distract him from a thought that had been lurking in the back of his mind for some time;

How am I going to get you out of here, my friend?

When the box cracked open, it took him as much by surprise as Inquirata. He hadn't really intended to, at least not with what he was doing; by now, he'd realized that 'opening' wouldn't happen by normal means. And so he'd been probing, really, studying the orb before thinking he'd seen something, reaching out to try and hook a finger around it and-

salt water flooded through in a burst. Victor sputtered in shock as it promptly soaked him to the bone, one of Inquirata's heads immediately trilling an alarm of its own as he instinctively threw the device away from him. The Quintesson promptly hissed as they threw out a tentacle, Rhisling freezing in midair, and Victor felt a sinking feeling in his gut as Katherine's words came to mind - don't. mess. this. up. Had he inadvertently ruined everything…?

[Victor?]

He raised his head, refusing to show his unease as a fish comically flopped next to him. Inquirata seemed inclined to give him a chance to explain himself, at least. "I'm sorry, I was only-"

[You opened it.] It was not a question, simply a statement. And after a moment, Victor nodded, reaching up to wipe some of the water off his face. He couldn't help but stiffen as Inquirata whirled to its other face, moving forwards until it was centimeters away from his own. [Do it again,] it insisted, pressing the cube back into his hands. Hands which felt cold for another reason than the salt water soak, and clumsy to boot.

"I- I don't know if-"

[Do it again,] they pressed, both voices speaking at once, and Victor looked down at Rhisling with a growing sense of dread. Taking a breath and mustering what strength he had, he attempted to remember what he had done, fingers once again tracing the filigree. He'd seen something, he remembered, more of a glint of light, and he'd reached-

-this time, salt water did not come out. He instead felt a flash of heat, enough to scorch his hands from the water turning into steam, but this time didn't throw it away - he dropped it, recoiling back in an instinctive means of protecting himself from whatever that was. Inquirata was there, though, and caught it once more with their strange powers - what more, they seemed excited, quickly reaching for his form and shoving the device back at him-

[Again!]

The fish was twitching, now, the last vestiges of struggle as it tried to breathe in a hostile environment. Victor rather felt for it as he struggled with the urge to run, Inquirata moving tendrils behind him as if to cut off his escape. Perhaps one more would be enough, and with shaking hands, once more, he reached-

There was a blood curdling scream of pain from the pit, followed by sounds of shock and surprise. Blood and bits of flesh sprayed over Victor's hands before he could process what had happened, but he was unable to let go, the thing was opening and tearing through a living creature and-

It was Inquirata who forced his hands to close the portal, this time, and they gathered him up in one set of tentacles as one would a doll before moving for the holding area to investigate what had happened. But Victor already had a horrible suspicion, and he could only watch in dismay as Inquirata reached down and plucked up a still-screaming Shane. One of the pets, who had shied away from any attempts from Victor to get to know him as a person, acting like nothing so much as a dog that had been beaten by a previous master and now was desperately seeking not to gain the ire of its new one. He was clutching his side in agony, red pouring from his fingers, and Victor managed to tear his gaze away only for it to land on the fish from the first opening.

It was still, unmoving.

Dead.

He was not given a treatment, nor a deep-scan. Instead Victor was placed in his cubicle and left alone but for the few wary glances that peeked through. He shut his eyes tight, trying to block them out, but instead he was treated to the sight of that fish once more - except it was Shane, the poor man's limbs torn apart from his body and strewn about in different places across the world-

"Um…hello."

At first, he didn't respond. But then he allowed his eyes to open, the form of Hei slowly coming into focus. The man - young man, Vector amended, for he was barely out of his teenage years if at all - was sitting on the floor, leaning against the chest and facing Victor. One arm was wrapped about a leg, held to his chest; the other hand was in his lap, the other leg splayed forwards.

Hei offered a wan smile when he realized that Victor had seen him, and tilted his head just slightly. "Shane will be okay," he explained. "Inquirata was able to do some of their…magic." A hand raised to waggle fingers in emphasis, and his smile grew just a bit less wan at Victor's visible relief. They both knew it wasn't magic, of course - some Quintesson technology - but it was easier to call it such than try and explain, much less understand the details of what was going on.

"I'm glad," Victor sighed, reaching up to rub his face. "I didn't mean…it was an accident."

"Everybody knows." Hei licked his lips, thinking. "But…nobody has ever made progress that quickly. You have only been here a week."

A week? It felt like only days, but- as Victor thought about it, no, it made sense. Between treatments and recovery and the days being so very much the same, and to say nothing of Primus likely being the reason he had progressed so quickly in the first place…he swallowed, moving to swing his legs off the bed and sit up. His clothing was still stained with blood, he noticed faintly, and he looked towards Hei who took but a moment to understand what he was saying without words. Immediately, the other turned around to give him some privacy, but he didn't leave.

"Inquirata is very excited," he continued, as Victor hastily rid himself of the soiled clothing and cleaned himself up. "They wonder how quickly you will be able to make a stable portal, and if they will be able to replicate it in the rest of us."

"God forbid," Victor muttered, pulling on a new shirt. "If I never had to do that again, I'd be a happy man."

"But you will." The words were so sharp and certain that Victor paused, turning towards Hei. The man was barely glancing at him from over his shoulder, then, when he saw that Victor was decent, turned fully. His red eyes, normally half-lidded and lazy, were sharp and alert. "They will make you, until you disappear like the others."

With a sudden jolt of realization, Victor came to understand that Hei's complacency was not laziness; it was watchfulness, the sort that came with the intent to be underestimated. The young man clearly took in more than others thought, and Hei smiled just a bit as that realization spread over Victor's face. He approached, then, Victor automatically taking a step back as he offered a hand. But there was nowhere to go, and as Victor looked down at the hand, and then back up at Hei, he also understood that this- this was something important.

So, he took that hand. It was grasped firmly but not painfully, and Hei smiled. "If you need a minute for yourself," he said, voice bland, "I can help you."

The world ground to a halt with enough suddenness that Victor nearly lost his balance. Only - there was nothing moving in the first place. Except there was? With wide eyes, he looked down at his grasped hand, then up at Hei - and then about him. He sucked in a breath of shock as he began to realize that not only had the murmurs outside stopped, not only had that ever-present hum of machinery stopped

but

so had everything except the two of them. His loss of balance wasn't a matter of coming to a sudden stop, except it was - for the very movement of time had stopped, his Quintesson-amplified senses insisting that this moment was, quite literally, lasting forever.

When and where are more closely related than some would think, in the grand scheme of things, Primus had said. And here was, perhaps, the strongest proof Victor had found - the sort he could feel.

Hei smiled a bit more broadly as Victor came to these realizations. And when Victor could only stammer out, "H-how?" the man could only shrug.

"Magic," he said again, waggling the fingers of his free hand. Quintesson technology none of us understand. And with another sudden lurch, the world picked itself back up - and before Victor could lose his balance this time, Hei had moved forwards, abruptly seizing Victor in a tight hug that was as much to help him stand as to give an excuse to murmur right in to Victor's ear, "One minute, only."

Victor's arms slowly raised to loosely return the embrace, if only for lack of anything better to do. He started to look up, wondering if Inquirata was watching, only for Hei to give a brief squeeze (of warning?) before letting go. "I- thank you," he stuttered, before something else occurred to him. "…how long have…?"

"Long enough." A nonchalant shrug. "But I do not mind this place. I am kept fed," He gestured to his somewhat rotund belly - very much a rarity in this day and age, but not uncommon amongst Inquirata's other test subjects. Victor himself suspected he had gained a few kilos, just from the lack of regular exercise. "Which is more than I can say than when my brothers got to the table before me," he added, which managed to bring out a chuckle from Victor. It was enough to break some of the tension, and the two began to share stories of their families, their childhoods - something which was so benign and harmless that Victor almost forgot the vision of the Shane-fish, still twitching as it tried desperately to survive in an alien environment.

Chapter Text

Victor would have appreciated a moment to breathe, but the very next day, he was all but thrown back into a treatment - and this time, could not focus enough to imagine himself somewhere pleasant. For the first time, he felt his skin crawling, felt something pounding in his head - it was all Primus could do to make contact, because things were no less calm on their side, either.

"We have a problem."

I can tell, Victor sent faintly, trying to keep his thoughts as clear as possible. What is happening?

"To you? Inquirata is cementing your modifications and ensuring they will hold without further mutation. They want to use you as a template for the next steps, assuming the Judges approve their progress. And that is where our problem lies," Primus concluded, as Victor searched his memory for the term. It sounded important, and he thought he could feel Primus trying to help him visualize, but another burst of something momentarily stole all of his thoughts. It passed after a moment, leaving Victor dizzy in its wake. "We don't have to talk about this right now, I can try to make this easier-"

No! Victor would have grabbed on to whatever he could, given the chance. No, this is important- what is happening? Are the boys all right?

"Joel's recovering from his modifications. Simon's aren’t holding. Both will be fine," Primus assured him.

But the Judges- are they the problem? How?

"Because they are Judges," came the grim reply. "They are the highest of castes amongst the Quintessons - and the one coming to view the progress oversees the entirety of this continent."

Oh. Oh, Victor said, the weight of this slowly sinking in. He remembered what Primus had already told him about the importance of this project, and now that Inquirata had solid proof it could work on him…it won't be enough to just get out of here, he realized. We have to make sure they lose all information-! If he was being made into a template, surely he could just be copied. They could have as many humans in this as possible, but…

But wait. Perhaps he was looking at this from the wrong angle.

Primus, how many Rhislings are there?

Primus seemed taken aback by the question. "There's only the prototype," they explained, voice slow as their own mind no doubt raced to catch up where Victor's had gone. "It requires rare materials to stabilize something so small - these ones are from another star system entirely, and I don't believe the Quintessons brought more with them."

So if we took it with us…

"…then they would be hard-pressed to continue the project, even if they had the data. Victor, that's brilliant!" The creation's words came in just as another wave of disorientation swept over Victor, somewhat diminishing the effect of the praise. "I'm sorry, take a moment, we're almost done-"

Primus. It was Victor's turn to interrupt. How are we getting you out of here? Because they needed to address this sooner than later, and better now than when it came up. But Primus hesitated to respond, pushing Victor to press; I came in here not just for the boys. I came in here for you. And perhaps - perhaps he hadn't then considered Primus a friend, perhaps he had then considered them merely someone who would help them all escape. But now? The thought of leaving this man-who-was-not-a-man (much less a woman, for that matter, they were something else entirely but no less a person for such) abhorred him.

And Primus seemed to pick that up. If they were going to somehow protest, they didn't - instead their silence seemed akin to someone taking a deep breath. "You'll need to carry me," they began. "If I am not to be traced, then I need to shut off entirely, at least for a few minutes to cut the signal - Aillard should remember how to reactivate me, as we originally planned for me to go with him and Pravda. But Victor, I don't know how to get you the chance to so much as see me without Inquirata being involved. You'd presumably need only a few seconds to pick me up, and I can help you place exactly where the boys are before shutting down, but-"

But I have a minute, Victor realized, Hei's offer echoing in his memory. And that will be enough.

He would make it be enough.

The problem was getting the chance. Any further manipulation of Rhisling was closely monitored by Inquirata, even if there was quite a bit of it. Victor's initial resistance to trying to open it up once more was thrust against platitudes ("There's protections built in"), reassurances ("We can always get another pet or two"), and promises that came out as threats ("Don't you want to see your ward again?"). None of which did really anything to soothe Victor's unease, but he threw his own will into the mix - if only because he had to know how this worked. Not just for his, Shane's, the others' sakes.

This was bigger than any of them - bigger than Earth itself.

It was strange, though. He found himself growing comfortable sooner than he thought, and nearly as enchanted as Inquirata. When he fully opened the box for the first time, it was enough to take his breath away; Inquirata had directed his mind towards a placed stand on the other side of the room, attempting to give him some sort of focus, and a moment later - Rhisling had grown. Four corners of the front plane spread before him, framing a doorway large enough to walk through - and he saw himself, through it, turning round to look in bewilderment. And there he was, through another doorway of sorts, which had the other four corners spread out and in a slow rotation - a soft ring of golden light framed the two portals, ever-moving and ever-alive.

Inquirata practically hummed in delight, tossing a ball through one end. It came out the other side none the worse for its travel, but it was enough to break Victor's concentration; the door snapped shut, becoming a cube in his hands once more as he blinked down at it in awe.

[Again,] the Quintesson insisted, and so he did. Another spot in the room, this time, Inquirata's two voices somehow stabilizing Victor and keeping him from losing his sense of where. For once, he was grateful for the Quintesson's actual help - without it, he was not certain how many more grievous errors he may have made, and while he occasionally fumbled and lost his focus, there was never such a disastrous series of events as there had been that first try. By the end of the day, he was exhausted, sweating despite having barely physically exerted himself - he had no idea why he was so tired, but he sagged wearily against some machinery as Inquirata stroked his back in an attempt to soothe.

(The worst thing about it was that if he closed his eyes, he could imagine it was Scarlett doing so.)

[You've done very well, my Victor,] they praised him, and Victor was too tired to even think a bitter I'm not yours. [We're nearly to the point of being able to showcase it, but we would like to give you a boon before then.]

[A taste of what else you can get, should the demonstration go well,] their other side quipped.

Though he felt sluggish, Victor had been hoping for a chance like this; he pushed past the weariness to remember what he and Primus had discussed. "May I go outside?" he pleaded, raising his head to look towards the Quintesson. Its metal face showed no reaction, but he pressed his case nonetheless, trying to sound as pitiful as it surely considered him. "It's been so long since I've seen the sun."

Yes, it had been, and yes, he dearly wished to see even the stars again - but that wasn't the only reason he tried appealing to the Quintesson in such a way to cater to its own thoughts. Despite how 'pleasant' it was to him, to the other humans here, it was clear that they were still considered less; all of them were pets in their own way. Some were more useful than others, yes, but why would a pet ask for its freedom? No, at most, it had far more simple desire:

[A walk?] Inquirata raised some tentacles to one of their chins, considering as another set folded across their far chest. [We don't see why not. And here we thought you'd enjoy a break from all that patrolling they had you do as a Guardsman!]

"I have," Victor lied, forcing a smile, "but a short one would do me good."

[Then it's settled!] The many limbs wound together in a gesture Victor had come to interpret as 'excited'. [We'll have one of the workers escort you for…oh, an hour won't exhaust you too much, we don't think.]

[-but if you're feeling like you need to come back sooner, we insist you say something,] said the other face. [Your condition is extremely important to us, Victor - you may be the most important human in the entire Spire, at this very moment.]

Victor's forced smile wavered, but if Inquirata noticed, they didn't comment. Instead they shooed him off to his cubicle 'to get ready', and Mary - who had been avoiding him ever since Shane's injury - all but threw some things at him before fleeing to the common room. He was surprised to find, however, that it was the very same clothing he'd come in with - down to the coat's sloppy embroidery that Sadie had one day surprised him with as a 'birthday present'. It was only on a single sleeve, but as he traced his fingers along the yellow design he was surprised to notice how similar it was to Rhisling's filigree.

Then, movement from above. He finished changing, hastily throwing on the coat just in time for another Quintesson to come into view. Worker-caste, he thought, and clearly deferential to Inquirata as they spoke in their tongue. As Victor waited at the base of the steps - no one ever took them without direction, the most they did if they wanted Inquirata's attention was sit on them and wait to be noticed - he considered how it wasn't an unpleasant-sounding language, not like some he'd heard in the past (Hei had taught him a bit of Japanese, but it sounded awkward, especially from his own mouth). And careful observation had led him to believe that the tentacles were just as important to them as facial expressions for humans. Considering their faces were solid masks - or were those the faces, he wondered? - he wasn't surprised that such were used to gesticulate and emphasize. Still, he looked forward to the day when he'd never have to hear it again.

Today was not that day. Inquirata called his name and he took the steps slowly, acting as though he was still weary when in reality a second surge of energy was fighting to be released. With good reason, for not only was this to confirm his location in the Spire?

It was to confirm his path out.

Victor's sense of placement had been amplified over the treatments; as Magnes had learned before, he could already find his way when blindfolded. Now, though…now, as the new Quintesson (whose name, if it had one, was not shared) ushered him through the halls, he and Primus were about to test something more - if he could accurately judge distances without actually crossing them. After all, a spacebridge didn't seem to care about how many meters its entrance was from its exit; if he were to take Rhisling with him during his escape, and presumably continue to use it in the future…this was a skill they needed to discover if he possessed as quickly as possible.

They moved to a platform, which began to rise - a lift, Victor realized, as he felt them moving only through his senses. The quiet humming both from the Quintesson's metal bulks and of the machines about them masked any other sounds, though they did change in pitch as they moved up and upwards. He and Primus had discussed their options, depending on where, exactly, he was taken - and it seemed that Primus's inclination that he would be taken to the top of the spire was correct, for as he looked up, he could see a blue overhead that made something in him ache. Two weeks, it had been, since he had been outside…

And the air. Not recycled and filtered for breathability. He took in a deep lungful as the Quintesson none-too-gently shoved him off the lift, not even caring about how he stumbled. No, this was - this was intoxicating, after being cooped up in that space for so long. Given the chance, he would have soaked it in, bathed in it, even, and he realized that many humans simply would were they given the chance after what he'd been through. Perhaps that was one of the many reasons the Quintessons kept their experiments cooped up - what better way to reward them than with something so inherently needed, so wonderful in its simplicity?

But he had a job to do, and Victor opened his eyes to take a better look around.

He was the only human here, though this certainly looked like a space for his fellows - indeed, it was a tiny park, the subtle reflection on the sides suggesting that while there was the illusion of freedom, its inhabitants were still caged. Curious, Victor moved to one of the edges of the planters, reaching forwards and finding to no surprise that his hand met a resistance that made his skin buzz unpleasantly. He pulled it back with a frown, rubbing his palm and chancing a brief glance towards the Quintesson that had brought him here - but they seemed more bored than anything, settling to look off to another part of the roof that seemed to be used more for ships and cargo. As much as Victor wanted to take a closer look at that…first things first.

The man began to walk, not wanting to seem as if he was here to do anything but that, but as he did - he scanned the skyline. From here, one could get a better idea of just how much London had suffered. With most of her buildings in some state of disrepair or damage, Big Ben would have been the only thing to give most a vague idea of where they were in the city. Or what city they were in, period.

Not Victor, though. Not anymore. He only used the great clock to confirm what he had suspected - rather, where he had suspected. He'd known its heading, of course, but looking at it in the distance…

I could go there.

With Rhisling, of course. But he could go there, and use it as a temporary shelter. He didn't dare dream of opening a portal to it under Inquirata's supervision, but with Primus and the lads in tow?…assuming he could bring them at all, he realized. Inquirata had only thrown through a piece of metal - who was to say that any of them would survive the attempt? It was a sobering thought - so much depended on the five of them escaping through Rhisling, though something about that number seemed off. Him, Primus, Joel, Simon-

Hei.

Primus had mentioned adding more would be too dangerous, but Victor pressed his lips together. Surely, one more wouldn't cause a problem?…though if Hei suspected anything in particular, he gave no sign. The most he'd done was offer Victor 'a minute', but even that was telling. Did Inquirata know of his ability? If not, how had Hei managed to keep it secret?

Did Hei even want to leave?

It was a sobering thought, that someone could choose to stay in this place. Was Hei afraid, then, that the world outside would be somehow worse?…true, from a certain point of view, his life here was indeed 'cushier' than even Victor had ever known. Even the park, here, was more pleasant than the ones in his memory - even if it was distinctly artificial. He wondered if a human had a hand at all in its design, or if it was merely the Quintessons attempting to create a little oasis in their lair, and if so, what their own homes must be like…

A rustle in the bushes caught his attention, and he slowed to a stop as he'd thought he was alone. Turning, Victor couldn't see anyone else, and he frowned as he tried to spot just what had made the noise. It hadn't been the breeze - despite the altitude, there wasn't any wind up here. And Victor was almost willing to chalk it off to imagination when there was another rustle-

-and then a snarl, and a blur of silver.

He shouted in surprise, immediately throwing up an arm to defend himself as something lunged at him, something grasped onto his arm with a painfully tight grip. As he struggled to throw it off, he caught sight of a canine's shape - but the thought of a dog up here was insane, the Quintessons wouldn't keep dogs! Much less ones that glinted like metal. But he couldn't spare more thought, it was on him, knocking him down and tearing at his arm. The Guardsmen's coat held firm, protecting him, but the pressure increased and he beat at the beast frantically with his other fist, yelling for help-

-there was no one to help him-

-its red eyes glowed as a lion's mane flared behind its head, and Victor felt as though his arm was splintering apart-

There was a sharp scream that Victor only belatedly realized wasn't coming from his own throat. What was more was that it was a Quintesson making the sound, fast approaching as another's tendrils sought to separate him from the beast. He landed on the aggrieved arm, and bit back a scream of his own as pain flared like the sun. But he had to get away, or at least to find something to defend himself, but there wasn't-

-there was the Quintesson that had brought him up here in the first place screeching at another, which was just as heated as it held the creature (turbofox, Victor's pain-addled mind finally supplied, that was what they were called) in its tendrils. From what he could tell, the immediate danger was over, and he allowed himself to then look at what had been done to him. It didn't seem broken, but by God, it hurt. And by the time he was tugging down the sleeve to try and take a look, 'his' Quintesson was hauling him to his feet.

[We go,] it demanded.

If Victor had any argument that his hour was not yet up, it had died the moment he'd been assaulted. And with adrenaline starting to settle and leave weakness in its wake, he could only mutely nod.

Chapter Text

To say that Inquirata was incensed would have been an understatement.

Victor only knew a handful of Quintesson words, mostly by tone; nonetheless, he didn’t need to know the language when he was returned to the laboratory, for Inquirata all but howled in dismay as they saw his state. Immediately pulling him free of the other, they had set him up for a scan, all while castigating the worker Quintesson with enough force that Victor would have felt sorry if his arm didn't hurt so bloody much. And when they eventually pricked him with something that made him not really care much of anything at all…well, he simply allowed himself to float in that haze, only partly trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

Did the Quintessons really keep turbofoxes loose in the same area humans were allowed to walk?…well that was just sloppy, he thought indignantly. Small mercy that it had a keeper like him, but a greater mercy he had this damn coat. Where was it, anyway? The creature better not have mussed up Sadie's work, he'd ask Inquirata if such a creature was able to be skinned if so much as a single thread was out of place.

"You back yet, boy?"

That was Katherine. When had he been moved down here? He frowned despite himself, the fog thinning out just a bit as he became aware of a cold compress over his eyes and forehead, and a snug pressure around his arm. Not the bite from before, but…he tried to raise said arm, only to find it firmly held down.

"Don't you dare ruin my work!" She sounded rather irritated, and Victor thought it wasn't for much of a reason, seeing as she hadn't been the one assaulted. "It's enough you've been babbling nonstop since you were numbed, if you’re going to start fidgeting I’m going to have you tied down!"

Well, that didn’t sound pleasant. He obediently stopped trying to get up…at least, until her other words parsed. Then he sat up with a jolt, eyes wide as babbling pierced the haze. Katherine promptly squawked in outrage as she started to wrestle him back down, but the only resistance he gave was grabbing at her with his good arm, his red eyes bright with emotion as he sought coherency. "I can’t- babbling? What have I-"

A sharp smack to the back of his head shut him up, at least for the moment. "You stupid fool-! All you’ve been doing is whinging to whoever 'Scarlett' is. If I were her, I’d have written you off long ago."

Color heated his cheeks as he eased his grip on Katherine. "That’s it-?" he asked.

The elder woman rolled her eyes as she reached up to tuck a few strands of wispy gray hair back into place. "Oh, that's right, you also gave away your brilliant plan to rid Earth of the Quintessons," she deadpanned, before breaking out into snickering…and then pausing, at the look on Victor’s face. "…I’m joking, boy, nobody has one of those plans." Her tone suggested that if he did, he’d better forget it, and it was an allowance that Victor was damn well going to take.

"Of course," he breathed, forcing a smile. "We’re better off for them and all, right?"

She gave him a look, then lightly cuffed his head once more. "Too thick," she scolded. "I’ve treated enough stupid young men to know that I don’t want to know what’s in that head of yours, but remember what I told you earlier."

"About Scarlett-?"

"No, you oaf." She jabbed a finger into his chest. "About not messing this up." When she was satisfied she’d made her point, she snorted, reaching for his arm. As she went on to speak, she looked over her work, and Victor followed her gaze. It was in a metal sort of cast, his hand free from the armor-like wrappings that supported it. He flexed it experimentally, only for a light swat to discourage excessive movement. "Now - Inquirata has me watching over you while your arm heals, which should only take two or three days by their work. As it does, we're going to do some exercises to make sure you've kept all your movement and so everybody can stay on schedule for the big day."

Oh dear. "Do you know when that is?" Victor ventured, and Katherine shrugged.

"From what Inquirata's said? Five days, at the most, and that's assuming you suffered more damage than anyone thought."

He wet his lips with his tongue, then ventured something else; "Can we push it to six?" The more time he had to recover strength, the more time he had to plan. If Katherine knew what he was thinking, then she gave no sign other than her usual severe look as she took it in.

"I'll try," she finally said, much to his surprise, "if you tell me who this 'Scarlett' woman is."

They had met when they were children. Her family was steps above his own, which was just above what most would have considered 'poor'; he'd been relentlessly teased about taking a fancy to her, even when young and especially by his siblings, but something in her manner, her gaze, her wild red hair…she'd enchanted him since they'd first met, despite being a year his elder. He remembered sneaking peeks at her, only to find her peeking back and gracing him with the occasional smile.

Puppy love, it might have been called. All Victor knew was that she was the smartest, the most graceful, the bravest girl he'd ever known. This had only been reaffirmed when he'd found himself lost in the country one night, barely able to see the stars above as it started to rain. He'd been gone a full day and a half before she'd been the one to find him, tucked against a fallen tree while soaked to the bone and shivering miserably, and she'd been the one to help guide him home.

Perhaps some might have thought him foolish (his older brother certainly did, while his younger sister thought it was something out of a storybook), but from then on, she was as much his idol as his hero. And what was better was that she seemed to care for him in turn, not just as an awkward young boy half-tripping over himself to try and impress her, but she found him funny, smart, brave in his own way…

It went without saying that they would be wed when they came of age. But then came the Great War, and Victor's brother went off to fight while Victor himself was only kept from lying about his age for his concerns about Scarlett. Perhaps it was cowardice, but she had been grateful, at least, for his support. Her own two brothers had gone, and the only one to return seemed as though he was more dead than alive. He'd supported them, too, as best he could - for weren't they already family, in a sense?

When The War to End All Wars finally came to a close, they took each other's hand, said their oaths, and made it official in both faith and law as they looked forward to spending a life together in a healing world. Victor had secured work as an apprentice artisan thanks to his skill with delicate work; a steady set of hands was in surprisingly high demand, when many young men trembled with trauma.

Then the skies had opened up - great openings that he now recognized as full-scale spacebridges - and out came the Quintessons.

By now, Victor was old enough to fight, and he did - but it was Scarlett's family who was able to use their connections to keep him close at home. London needed protecting, after all, and if he was off elsewhere who else would protect their daughter? It was all he could do, it seemed, as first his family and then hers suffered loss after loss. Wealth and status was no shield against the squiddies, it turned out; his sister had been taking steps to become a proper nurse, and while she had proven quite apt at looking after her brother...it was all for naught when the house of healing was turned to dust. To say nothing of his parents, found with their hands clasped in one another’s in some final act of togetherness. 

By the end of it all, London was almost unrecognizable, and he and Scarlett had held each other tight as they were gathered with the other survivors to be 'processed'. No one had yet known what that meant, but Scarlett - ever reassuring, ever a shield in spite of being a woman - had promised that they would face it together, that she would be beside him no matter what.

Which made it all the more awful when a Quintesson had reached down for them, and she had looked at him with a flash of realization before violently shoving him away from her.

He'd shouted her name, fighting to pick himself back up, but the crowd had refolded around him before he could even so much as touch her coat. He'd reached up and screamed as she was taken from him, as he failed to protect her in turn, as they'd promised - and as the Quintesson had turned and taken her out of sight, something in him had cracked and broken, shattering into a hundred thousand little pieces.

"I’m sorry."

It wasn’t Primus’s doing, and Victor nearly said as much as they sat by the brook by which a young Scarlett had guided him back home, but the words died before they could more than half-form. Instead, he nodded, grateful at least that he could bring himself elsewhere; the treatments now were more to accelerate his healing than to adjust his genetic sequence, but the physical recovery was still in Katherine’s charge. And she’d at least agreed to try and convince Inquirata of the need to delay just a bit longer, for what if Victor somehow erred before the Judge? No, they had to be absolutely certain he was back at full strength, well-rested and well-recovered from his encounter with the turbofox.

What the devil was one of those doing up there, anyway? he wondered.

"It must have been a pet," Primus mused, their blurred, only vaguely humanoid form still somehow familiar and welcome in this place. "Did you encounter any, during the invasion itself?"

Of course. He shuddered, thinking of the beasts let loose upon a line of men. Rank and file had been torn apart by alien animals that cared not for bullets nor knives, their own maws full of blades. Just imagining it threatened to pull the memory into something more present, but Primus helped him keep it from becoming overwhelming.

Which was good, because he was in no hurry to see one up-close again.

"Quintessons keep them as companions, occasionally," Primus went on to say once it was clear the thought-matrix was stable. "Though they've moved on to humans, here. In other worlds, the other species were treated in a similar manner."

Did they also use them as forces?

"You -were- a Guardsman," came the wry response. "But- not for invasions, not with sapient creatures. Too much at risk - turbofoxes are sentient, but not intelligent enough to consider things such as rebellion."

Victor took a breath, then brought up something he'd considered some time ago; What of you, Primus?

"…what do you mean?"

Are there others like you? Were there others like you?

There was silence for a long few moments. Then, slowly; "I don't think so. My memory is long, but I think I'm something of an oddity even amongst the Quintessons' creations - at least, they've tried to replicate me, but nothing has turned out quite the same." The images Primus brought up were many; of a first awakening, of their first experience with a species other than Quintessons, a sensation of a great deal of passing time before finally arriving on Earth…

All of it held a sensation that Victor could only think of as lonely. And he remembered another thing Primus had said, how no one was meant to live like this. He wanted to apologize for what Primus had gone through - perhaps not dissimilar from how Primus had apologized for what he had gone through with Scarlett - but instead asked, What do you plan to do when this is over?

"Pardon?" It seemed to take the other by surprise.

When you're out of here, Victor clarified. When we've fought off the Quintessons. Yes, it was something of a pipe dream, but hadn't he and Scarlett shared a good few of them? Hadn't he and Sadie shared dreams of her one day going to a college, of charting the stars above in a ship of her own? Indeed, it seemed to be something distinctly human, to wonder so - surely, Primus, who was more a person than some of those he'd met, could do the same?

"I…" for a moment, Victor feared he had guessed wrong. Then, slowly; "I suppose I'd like to see more of your planet. As many parts untouched by the Quintessons as I can." Encouraged by Victor's clear approval, they continued; "I would like to study you, but not like the Quintessons do as though you were something to break apart - I want to learn," it emphasized. "how you are, just by being yourselves-!"

For a moment, there was nothing. And then Victor laughed, clearly starling Primus. They seemed to look at him quizzically, only for him to wave off any concern with a broad smile.

You've just described something we still don't understand, he explained, thinking of some of those pompous 'learned' sort from back in the day, especially an old teacher ever-ready to rap knuckles. So quick to assume they knew better than anyone else-! But I'm certain that you've got just as good a chance as any of us.

"Then perhaps all you need is a bit more help." If Primus had taken offense by his amusement, there was none to be seen - if anything, they seemed further encouraged. "I don't want to take those discoveries away from you, after all."

Perhaps, Victor conceded, still feeling lighter than he had in some days. Perhaps it was sharing his stories of Scarlett, perhaps it was the understanding that the others did still have some fight in them, in their own ways - but he wanted this moment to stretch out as long it could, needing such just as badly as he'd needed the rays of the sun. And even if the discussion did move into Primus pulling up a map of the Spire, showing him where Joel and Simon were being held and discussing how he could use that information to go there, blind…

Such was needed, too, and at least, for now, they had time.

The days had never passed more quickly.

While Victor had thought his waking hours were busy before, now nearly every moment he was either working with Katherine, working with Inquirata, or being further treated. He was sorely tempted to try and catch Hei's attention for that promised minute, but dared not risk it; better to only ask when they were ready to move. Instead, Victor dug in his heels as much as he could without being obvious about it, using Katherine's reactions as something of a cue. She was always grumpy, but as she was there giving the reports to Inquirata regarding his progress, he was able to at least catch her eye and pick up a bit of how she was guiding him to act in order to keep the ruse.

Inquirata was not pleased, not by any means, and despite how 'kind' they had been to Victor since he had been put under their care…it was becoming more and more obvious that Inquirata was still very much a Quintesson. At one point, they had raised Katherine up in the air by thought alone, not raising a single tendril, bringing her close to a face as she sputtered about Victor's progress being hampered by 'residual shell-shock'. It had taken every ounce of Victor's will to not hasten to her aid, and it was only done because she was so firm on pressing his mental state - but when Inquirata finally hissed and dropped her, Victor had instinctively rushed to the woman's side to help her up as the Quintesson gazed down at them both.

[You are such fragile creatures,] they said, sounding as if they, too, were holding back. [And you have yet to discover a cure for this affliction? Perhaps we should take it into our own grasp…]

"No!" It was too much, not just for the inherent threat to his own mind, but - Katherine glared up at Victor as the man stared up at Inquirata. "No, please- I will be ready. I want to be ready," he insisted, trying to think of what could possibly satisfy the Quintesson before it took more extreme methods. They loomed over him like some sort of baleful God as he went on. "I know how important this is, Inquirata, but I dare not put myself in a position where I could cause any sort of, of, embarrassment or accident, please, I-"

[Enough.] They held up a single tendril, and Katherine sucked in a sharp breath as if expecting to be torn from Victor's grasp. [You will not disappoint me - we have faith in your skill, Victor. We will go before Judge Deliberata tomorrow, and you will demonstrate your ability to open a spacebridge and travel through it, yourself.]

He could only nod as Inquirata turned around and moved away, one face remaining pointed towards the two humans as Victor guided Katherine's arm about his shoulders to help her to her feet. She mumbled a 'thank-you' as he helped her back down the stairs, and caught Hei's gaze as he eased her over to a couch.

Tomorrow, he mouthed. And Hei nodded in understanding, holding up a single finger in reminder.

One minute.

Chapter Text

Victor was given a new set of clothing to wear for the demonstration. The bottom layer hugged his body so close, so comfortably, it may as well have been a second skin. Over that was something of a dress uniform, the fabric similar to the coat of the Guardsmen while being just a bit firmer and more like armor than he’d ever had. It was amazingly light and flexible, and he couldn’t help but simply marvel at its make. Inquirata gave him no time to indulge, however, watching him dress and impatiently gesturing once he’d slipped on the heavy boots.

[Come,] they demanded, and Victor obeyed. This would only be the second time he’d been out of the laboratory, the first time being that disastrous ‘walk’, and he was intent on keeping his focus as to the distances and positions. He didn’t so much as think of Rhisling in the Quintesson’s grasp but for his affinity with it, fingers reflexively curling and uncurling as if to try and open a portal as they arrived at the lift. For a moment, he could almost imagine the familiar sensation...

This time, they went down. The air grew even more cold and humid as he folded his hands behind his back, if only to grasp his own wrists to keep from more fidgeting. And as they traveled, Inquirata spoke;

[You will not speak to Judge Deliberata unless they demand it, which is unlikely.] Victor could have sworn Inquirata scoffed at the thought. [However, you will obey them without hesitation or question, even above whatever directions we have given to you.]

[We are certain you will make us proud,] the other voice continued, voice soft as Victor was reminded of the old Inquirata, the one that he had first met, and his stomach did a flip-flop. Inquirata had no reason to be so kind, then, and yet they had been - but he remembered how they had treated Katherine, forced himself to think of how they considered the entirety of humanity nothing more than a grand experiment…

...I would like to study you, but not like the Quintessons do as though you were something to break apart…

How a species like this could have created a soul like Primus was beyond him. But he spoke none of his thoughts, only nodding, fingers digging into his skin from trepidation. Primus hadn’t been able to give him much advice as to how this would go, having possessed little to no experience with such demonstrations - they only warned him to be careful. Victor hadn’t needed the warning, but he had appreciated the sentiment that came with it. Especially knowing that Primus was relying on him, and so were Joel, Simon…

And if he failed here, then who would free any of them? But rather than bask in the thought of being so important, he was utterly terrified. Everything he had done here, every moment, every word and every action - it had all led to this.

Inquirata stepped off the lift, Victor followed, and the two stepped into a room larger than most buildings Victor had been in. Dozens of Quintessons lined the sides room, many sporting more than one face as Inquirata did; however, he caught sight of ones bearing three, one that perhaps could have been four - but his gaze was immediately drawn to the form at the far end. Five great and terrible masks adorned its metal body, and slowly rotated in midair as if to give every set of cruel eyes a chance to share the sights before them. Its lower tentacles barely graced the ground with their touch as the monster barely noticed Victor, instead seeming to focus on Inquirata as the two-faced Quintesson prostrated itself.

It was clear by both posture and tone that Inquirata was groveling to it as one would a king or a lord, and Victor only needed the slightest of pressures on his back before he dropped to the ground of his own accord, his face pale as he touched his forehead to the chilly metal of the floor. That was a Judge? Every instinct told him to run, to flee - or to simply freeze and hope he was overlooked. For the moment Victor indulged the latter, focusing on his breathing until another ‘push’ from Inquirata had him slowly rise to his feet. 

As he caught sight of it again and dropped his gaze, a horrific thought entered his mind; while Inquirata could move objects with their thoughts, what if his own could be read? He had no way of knowing, and fear seized his heart. He was already doomed, all of them were, surely the Judge would see his very heart and know that in the eyes of the Quintessons, he was guilty…

[Human Victor.]

It took a low hiss from Inquirata before the words parsed, his name parsed, and he forced himself back to the moment. He couldn’t bear to look at the Judge itself, and so he looked as near it as he dared, saying nothing but hoping that it was clear he was paying attention.

[Demonstrate,] another of the Judge’s many faces demanded, and Victor took a deep breath before looking up at Inquirata. The Quintesson was already lowering Rhisling towards his hands, and Victor caught it easily with fingers that were just shy of trembling. And yet-

And yet, this he could do. He perhaps could not do much more than this, but he had practiced so much that this now came as natural as breathing. It was an odd calm that spread through his veins, now, a sort of serenity-past-fear as he ignored his heartbeat and instead, took stock of the world itself.

As his senses had developed, he had realized that he was constantly moving - the world itself was hurtling through spacetime in an endless orbit, but more than that; its orbit was moving, too. The entire star system he called ‘home’ was a sort of traveler on an endless road, and while he could not quite make out its center - much less the destination - this was only one of a few truths he had come to learn over the past days.

Primus had mentioned that space and time were connected, arguably the same thing. It wasn’t just that, though; much as they were constantly moving, time was constantly moving. They were falling through it, inexorably pulled through its dimension not unlike how other forces constantly pulled them through space. And perhaps there was a destination, there, too, a final end of time - but it did not matter much to him, not at this moment. 

Indeed, he had come to think of existence itself as a river of sorts. Constantly flowing, constantly moving. And within it, him, and it was so very easy to gently reach for the water, to make a line to connect, here, he told the water of reality, just for a moment, flow this way-

Rhisling opened, and Victor stepped through. Countless murmurs echoed through the chamber as he promptly dropped to his knees once again, for Inquirata had not given him a direction to move - and so, he had placed himself directly before the Judge. He thought he heard the scientist say something, but he clung to the sensations of the world about him rather than try and process the words, hoping it would grant him calm.

Which was a good thing, for just as Rhisling closed and fell into one of his hands, he was lifted.

It was a peculiar sensation, and certainly enough to throw him into a panic if he wasn’t grabbing onto the box so tightly, if he wasn’t grabbing onto the world so tightly. As it was, he felt like a doll plucked up by a parent who found it particularly wretched. He struggled to breathe as the Judge’s faces filled his entire vision, so very tempted to shut his eyes tight as he was examined, inspected-

The Judge spoke, but not to him. Instead, in its own language, presumably to Inquirata - Victor couldn’t see them, his world still temporarily struggling to exist between the sheer presence of the Quintesson and his own wavering will, but he could just hear them speak. Another voice from the Judge answered, and a short discussion was had before Victor was set on the ground with a grace that surprised him. But legs that would not support him crumpled him into something he hastily turned into another bow, hoping desperately it would be taken as willing submission rather than anything else.

[Human.] Was it amused? Victor tried not to think about it. [Demonstrate once more.]

[Return to your master,] clarified another voice. 

And then, another spoke: [You have done well, and will be an excellent template for the future Navigators.] But the words stole whatever serenity Victor had managed, his blood going cold as he looked back over his shoulder to see Inquirata. The Quintesson was practically vibrating in smug delight, beckoning his return as Victor realized the project had been given approval. 

That they had run out of time.

No.

Pressure snaked around his throat before he realized he had whispered the words aloud. Inquirata’s eyes were bright and alarmed, but they weren’t the ones to speak; instead, one of the Judge’s many voices spoke from behind him, any amusement gone. [You will obey,] it said, squeezing tight in warning - tight enough for Victor to gurgle, instinctively reaching up to claw at nothing, no, no, no, he couldn’t, he would-

It released him after a final clench, and his hand wrapped around his throat as he hunched over, gasping for air. Any attempt to recover, however, was halted by the feeling of pressure once more, a warning, and he hastily nodded as he looked up towards the Judge and reached for Rhisling.

Once more, he forced a calm to better take in the world around him. But unlike before, he let his thoughts wander just a bit, thinking of the skies from which the Quintessons had first come, their ships like monstrous dragons to sear the lands below them-

He thought higher still, into the black emptiness of space. And then, he opened the box.

One of the curious features he had discovered with Rhisling was that the ‘faces’ of the cube were very much...well, only a matter of thinking in three dimensions. He had discovered, during one trial, that he could very much ‘open’ one that was not facing him, so long as Rhisling was still in his grasp. When he did so, he could not see the doorway, and as he was busy holding it open he couldn’t very well move himself through. As it turned out, he was more-or-less held in place by the particular act.

Which was a good thing, because everything else in the room did not have such a ‘brace’, and the effects of the open portal were immediate and intense. The Judge before him screeched as it was abruptly pulled forwards, the vacuum tearing at its very form. Metal was torn piece by piece as the hungry maw of space sought to consume the meal set before it, and indeed, Victor’s own breath was stolen away by its intensity. He couldn’t even hear anything over the roaring - or was that a sound in itself, the Quintessons reacting?

They’re coming.

He had some distance, but he could already feel himself being pulled - only his grip on Rhisling kept him stable. It wasn’t enough, though, there were glowing eyes looking over him, the Judge snarling in rage as its huge form fought against being pulled through the comparably tiny doorway, and Victor realized that he had made a grievous error. Its bulk was serving as a plug, keeping the disaster at bay, and he was about to suffer the consequences, he was choking-

"No!" he cried, trying instead the opposite. Instead of the vacuum of space high above - he refocused on the Earth below, of those sparse few lessons at school about what lay under her dirt and oceans. Of the heat that had scorched him back when Inquirata had pushed him to try again.

Rhisling’s far plane snapped shut, biting off another chunk of the Judge, and another plane opened to spew solid flame. Were it not for his spacial lock, he would have been thrown across the room - as it was, there was a chorus of shrieks as the Quintessons who had clamored to respond were suddenly greeted by the burst of what Victor could only assume was magma. Indeed, so close to the opening, he, too, could feel the heat - it was perhaps only because of his armor that he was able to bear it, for he had to turn his face away with a grimace, ducking it against his shoulder for protection.

By now, though, Judge Deliberata had a chance to recover. Victor felt his heart skip a few beats as he saw the wretched mass pick itself back up, tentacles thrashing in fury. As the pressure once again tightened around his throat, he allowed the side plane to close - and simply reoriented the doorway before opening it once more.

The Judge made a new gesture, and the surge of magma that sported out abruptly deflected off an invisible wall. It shrieked nonetheless, the heat more than enough to begin to sear its armor and skin. It was as if Earth herself was bleeding through Rhisling’s lesion, and the mere presence of her blood was antithesis to the Quintesson. And while some part of Victor wondered if he should have been pleased by the result, he just felt horrified even with the returned ability to breathe. He sucked in a lungful of scorching air as another sound cut through the chaos;

[Victor! Stop!]

A glance over his shoulder. Inquirata was struggling through the mass of charred Quintessons, reaching out for him. And for a moment, Victor had a flash of what could surely happen; he would stop, he would beg forgiveness and blame that shell-shock, Inquirata would perhaps not forgive him but they would- he would-

No. There was no chance of forgiveness from the Quintessons, even if he did want such a thing. But it was enough to have him shut the door, and then open a final spacebridge - one he took with his own feet, running away, because the intrusive thoughts terrified him as much as anything else in the past few moments.

It was just a bit disorientating, that sudden shift back into the laboratory, but Victor couldn’t spare the time to recover. He took a deep breath to stabilize himself as much as fill his lungs before he screamed, "HEI!"

Instantly - before even a single second had passed - Hei was by his side, grabbing his wrist. Perhaps he’d used some of his timestop to get so quickly to Victor, but there was no time to ask - instead, Victor felt the sensation of the world halting once more, and he spared the other man a grateful look as he took his wrist in turn. And as he pulled him towards a familiar construct, he asked, "Can we add another?"

Hei seemed surprised, but nodded after a (precious) second of thought. "Who?"

"Them." Victor pointed, and then grabbed on to a protrusion for good measure. Hei cocked his head, but appeared to focus, and while nothing happened at first - Victor had to trust it worked. "Primus, can you hear me?" he called, praying he hadn’t made another mistake because if he had, he had utterly no idea how to signal his friend that they were ready to move without the minute being over.

At first, there was nothing, and his gut flopped. Then Hei reached out, brushing Victor’s hand aside to touch the protrusion, himself. And to Victor’s endless relief, the protrusion promptly shifted, pieces of itself furling and unfurling on itself as it sculpted itself into a Quintesson-like form. Hei startled, but Victor squeezed his arm tight to help him keep from breaking the connection.

"Victor?" Primus asked, their voice so different from what Victor was familiar with and yet, so similar-! Even if they did sound alarmed. "There’s something going on, I can’t access all the systems but-"

"I’ll explain later," Victor promised. "For now- I need the boys’ locations. Hei, can you stay with Primus when I leave?" 

"Ah…" he looked between the two of them, from Primus’s alien attempt at a human face to Victor’s entreating expression. Then, he nodded. "Yes, I’ll do it!"

More relief. But there was no time to linger over it, other than a grateful look, for Victor was already opening Rhisling as Primus gave him a heading. Trusting that his friends would use the rest of the minute for whatever was needed to secure their safety, Victor released Hei’s hand and stepped through.

The holding room he entered was alive with people. It could have been a disaster...if Victor and Primus hadn’t already planned for it to be, and planned for him to enter above them all, above even the stairs in case someone was on them. Indeed, Victor was holding on to Rhisling’s open door as he looked about, and as voices cried out in alarm from the strange, armored man appearing in midair and looking about.

"Joel! Simon!"

"Down here!"

Even from a glance, it was clear whatever Quintesson monitored this project thought far less of its subjects than Inquirata...in its own way. There were no partitions at all, merely ugly benches serving as beds, tables, and seats all. And climbing up on one was Simon, waving his arms frantically as the crowd tried to decide how to react. Some were placing their backs against the walls, others crowding together, and a sparse few were reaching for Simon, as if realizing that the boy was about to be rescued…

Victor pulled Rhisling all the way through and, before he could fall more than a meter, reopened it as much to break his fall as to open a path for Simon to come to him. The boy looked at the portal that formed with wide eyes, but a roar of, "Simon, to me!" kicked him into motion. Immediately the lad climbed through with the sort of fearlessness that came only from youth, and Victor grabbed hold of him as he did lest he risk falling. Simon - all skinny limbs, it seemed, it hadn’t been that long but he appeared to have hit a new growth spurt - maneuvered about until he was clinging to Victor’s back and pointing across the room.

"Joel was left in one of the tubes, I dunno where the squiddie went-!"

Swearing aloud, Victor quickly caught sight of the boy suspended in a familiar, slightly tinted liquid. Primus hadn’t mentioned that, but perhaps there simply hadn’t been time to advise him of the complication. He nonetheless opened another of Rhisling’s panes to bring them through, already feeling as if he’d just run a half a dozen kilometers - but he could rest when this was over. For now, he was looking up at the machinery, only briefly wondering what alien mind was behind this particular treatment before Simon dropped off his back and began to frantically smack at the buttons.

"Simon-!" He grabbed at the boy, who looked at him defiantly. 

"Well, YOU turn it off!"

"Better idea." Taking another breath, Victor used Rhisling to open a window within - and promptly reached to pull the boy out. Joel sputtered as he came back to consciousness, and Victor was quick to shuck off his jacket and drape it around the boy. "All right, lad?"

"Victor-!" He was seized in a tight embrace, which he eagerly returned. "I knew you’d come, when the voice said you were here, when I saw you back on the street I knew you wouldn’t give up on us-!"

"We’ll talk later," Victor murmured, ignoring the way his throat clenched at Joel’s unshakeable faith. "Right now, we need to get out of here." And they had at least one more to collect on the way. As Simon helped Joel hastily redress, Victor raised his hands to open Rhisling once more, feeling the strain of every spacebridge he’d opened today. Instead of a finger dragging in the sand to make a path for water, it was like he was braced against a great stone, trying to shove it with all his might to open a path…

But open it he did, even if he did fall to a knee when they re-entered the lab. Simon and Joel took the moments to gawk at the change of scenery, while another set of hands grasped at his arm to help him up - then another, and he looked up in surprise.

"Damn fool," muttered Katherine, with Hei giving an impish grin on his other side. Just past, he could see Anna and Dorothy, peering over the top of the stairs with no small amount of curiosity. "Had I known you had all this planned, I wouldn’t have let you do this alone-!"

[YOU!]

All heads turned towards the wrathful form of Inquirata, who had just slid the door open to be treated to the sight of their experiment gone amok. They raised a tendril, and Victor felt a tug at his hands. He fumbled desperately, but Rhisling was torn from his grip, obediently snapping into the Quintesson’s clutches as it moved forwards.

[We have been kind to you,] they began, faces rotating furiously as they spoke, [taken care of you, sheltered you from those who would ruin you, given you every comfort a human could ask for, and you repay us with BETRAYAL?] It spread its many limbs like some horrific spider, and Victor’s heart sank as he realized that the closest thing he had to a weapon in this place had been taken from him. Something in him, too, wanted to grovel; so used was he to abasing himself that habit was pressing him to do so now, he had to, had to try and save the others here, surely Inquirata would leave the others alone if he fully surrendered...

Then Joel stepped forwards, gripping his fists. Victor half-reached for him, but the boy simply looked back at him and offered a grin before turning to face up at the Quintesson. They glared back, raising a tendril, no doubt preparing to swat him aside as a Goliath against the boy’s defenseless David-

-not defenseless, Victor realized, for Joel was sparking. There were tiny glints all about him, and then, in another instant, the boy shouted as he threw his hands forwards. Jolts of electricity shot forwards in response, and he stared in shock until a cold, metallic limb was placed on his shoulder.

"Victor - we need to get Rhisling away from them," said Primus. "I was able to sabotage the data, but unless we can get that device-!"

"Then this was all for nothing," realized the man as he pulled himself to his feet. He reached for Primus to help steady himself, only for Katherine to give him a light thwap on the back. 

"All you need is that weird box they have us mess with sometimes, right?" At Victor’s nod, the woman glanced back, reaching for Simon’s shoulder to pull him aside. "Girls! Get Mary and Shane to keep the boy here, safe - it’s time we made a stand!"

Chapter Text

Victor's personal experience in battles were limited to either the scuffles of youth or a handful of encounters during the Invasion. As Scarlett's family had done everything in their power to protect their new ‘son', he had managed to avoid the worst of the fighting. Instead, he had seen it from afar or the aftermaths thereof, which had been more than enough to convince him he didn't, in fact, want to get any closer.

But perhaps if he had, he would have been more used to this madness.

Inquirata screamed as Joel threw another burst of electricity, only for the boy to yelp and drop to the ground as a piece of machinery was thrown over his head. Dorothy was out of view, but Anna had taken charge of a half-protesting Simon, whose struggles seemed more token than any real urge to join in the fray. Hei had somehow gotten himself up on another piece of machinery, and was tearing at some of the cables as if he thought it would accomplish something. And Shane-

-Shane was by Victor's side, handing him a shiv. "You know what to do with one of these?" he grimly asked, a completely different man than the traumatized figure Victor had first met. Victor looked down at it, back up at Shane, and then towards Inquirata, who was now whipping its limbs at Hei in an attempt to grab the surprisingly nimble young man. Hei was using one of the torn cables as his own sort of tendril, whirling it about his head in defiance as it sparked angrily.

"I suppose it's better than nothing," Victor sighed, to which Shane barked out a harsh laugh. His side was still encased, Victor noticed, the wrappings visible through his flimsy clothing. And while Katherine was giving the ‘pet' a stern look, she said nothing, instead moving for some cover off to the side after taking a shiv of her own.

The others that Victor had met were nowhere to be seen, perhaps taking cover in their cubicles and hoping for all this to pass quickly. For everyone's sake, Victor hoped so, too; he took a breath and followed Katherine's lead, mind racing as he tried to think of a way to get Rhisling. Primus, following behind, was absolutely right in that they needed to get it away from Inquirata!

"I don't suppose you can do much?" he asked the creation as it reformed next to him. 

Primus grimaced and shook their head. "In all honesty, it would be best for me to shut down as quickly as possible. I am still...programmed to obey Inquirata," they explained, to which Victor shuddered. He absolutely did not want to fight against Primus, not after working with them for so long.

"You'd better do it, then."

"I don't want to leave you." Primus's upset was clear, even in their strange attempt at a human face, and Victor could only look helplessly at Katherine as if trying to find some answer there. She shrugged.

"May as well keep Inquirata's attention, if that's the case," she told him matter-of-factly. "I don't doubt they'll focus on you, once you poke your head up." 

...considering Victor was more or less the source of all this, he grimaced before nodding in agreement. But before he could do more than open his mouth to respond, there was another scream - human, this time - and it was painfully, painfully familiar. He looked about just in time to catch sight of Shane skewered through his midsection with a broken pipe, Inquirata pinning him to the wall like an insect on display. The Quintesson twisted their weapon, and the man coughed up blood, already growing weak - but his eyes met Victor's with a fierce determination.

If there was a message to be passed, Victor did not understand it. What he did know was that he would not, could not let Shane suffer once more because of him. Steeling himself, he gave Katherine a final look with a tilt of his head towards Primus - keep them safe, please - before throwing himself out and landing in a crouch, shiv at the ready.

"Inquirata!"

The Quintesson didn't need to turn to see him; the face on their 'back' (or was it their front?) sighted him the moment he'd entered its view, and their eyes lit up in rage as they pulled the pipe free of its victim. Shane twitched - the last vestiges of struggle - as he collapsed, but Victor could spare no more attention for him. Not with Inquirata raising its weapon, hissing in fury.

[We don't need you alive to template you,] they snarled, and if Victor had any last thoughts of possibly getting through this in one piece, they vanished into smoke as he took a few steps back. Just in time, for Inquirata lunged with blinding speed, and it was more luck than skill that had him stumble to avoid becoming skewered like poor Shane. Inquirata gave him no time to recover his balance, immediately lashing out again, and it was all Victor could do to keep away from polearm and tendril. His makeshift shiv swatted at the threats, only for a single tentacle to snap around his wrist and twist. He shouted in pain as the shiv was knocked out of his grasp, and grabbed at his captive arm as he was hauled up in the air.

[But perhaps keeping you alive and aware would be a fitting punishment,] Inquirata continued, and Victor's eyes shone bright with horror as he understood the implication. To know he was being used in such a way, to be helpless and unable to do anything to so much as protest - dread threatened to overwhelm him as more of Inquirata's tentacles wrapped about his form, holding him in place-

-and then, abruptly, there was a coil of cable about their eyes. The Quintesson outright squawked in indignant surprise, and another coil appeared just as quickly to further blind them. Chancing a look above, Victor's suspicions were confirmed; a pale-looking Hei had managed to get atop Inquirata, and was throwing the rest of the cabling off to the side.

"Oi, boyo!"

Joel caught it, and immediately started sparking. Any protest Victor might have had was immediately cut off by the surge of energy he felt. Even with his armor, his hair stood on end as he went rigid; however, Inquirata fared far worse, taking the brunt of the charge with a shriek. They spasmed, the grip on Victor loosening until he was dropped to the ground. He grunted at the landing, nevertheless counting his blessings as he scrambled to his feet.

"We need Rhisling!" he shouted at the pair- or, well, just Joel, for he couldn't see where Hei had gotten to. Whether Joel understood what, exactly, Rhisling was remained to be seen - the boy managed a nod nonetheless, dropping the cable-tether and moving to Victor's side.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, anxious. Victor shook his head, despite feeling a residual tingling in his very bones. 

"I won't tell you to hide," because, if nothing else, Joel had already proved his worth despite his age, "but I will tell you to be careful-!" 

A tired grin was all Joel could give, because with a loud SNAP, Inquirata freed themselves of the cabling. They half-collapsed, supporting themselves with their tendrils as a set of eyes locked on Joel and Victor with utter hatred. Spitting a few vile curses, they drew themselves back up as Victor caught sight of Rhisling still within its grasp. 

And then, abruptly, there was Hei reaching for the precious device. But he had been holding on to Inquirata, too, to stabilize himself, and perhaps the overuse of his powers had either brought the Quintesson in to them or he'd slipped - either way, the Quintesson immediately reacted by throwing the man to the side. Both Victor and Joel cried out in dismay as Hei crashed into a large piece of machinery, which immediately began to spark in turn. But there was no time to see to him, for Inquirata was already reaching for their makeshift weapon of a pole, and Victor shoved at Joel to urge him into moving. 

"Go, go!"

Joel needed no further encouragement. But despite the fact that Victor clearly held the Quintesson's ire, they had identified the boy as the biggest threat. They lunged after him, Joel crying out as he ducked, weaved, and bobbed to try and avoid the swatting tentacles. He was sparking, but seemed unable to bring forth another full charge - it seemed that he, too, had met his limit. Victor chased them both, feeling entirely useless up until the point he caught sight of Dorothy reaching out from some machinery to grab at Joel's arm. Then he felt a panic, for now Inquirata was in position to grab the both of them at once-

-up until both Dorothy and Joel vanished with a pop! Victor was able to stumble to a stop, but Inquirata wasn't so lucky; they slammed into the machinery with another squawk. And while Victor wasn't going to worry about how exactly that had happened, he was realizing he had something else to worry about; Inquirata now had nothing to distract them from going after him.

He turned and broke into a run once more, the Quintesson's angry warbling proving they were right on his heels. But he had seen how fast they were after Joel, and knew they'd catch up with him in a matter of moments. There was no chance of outrunning them, and so he ducked into some machinery, squeezing himself into what felt like the slightest of gaps as he felt something lash against his back like a whip.

[You rat-!] There was a tug at his neck, but it was nowhere near as strong as the Judge's had been, and as Victor managed to find a turn - it faded entirely. He breathed a sigh of relief, warily watching the tendrils stretch for him. [We will introduce you to a whole WORLD of pain! You will regret EVERYTHING you have done to us!]

"I'd rather not," Victor muttered, warily watching the tips flail mere centimeters away from his form. And there was nowhere else to run - he was well and truly trapped, unless one of the others caught Inquirata's attention, but even then - what could they do? He thought of Hei, of Shane, and knew in his heart he could take no more of such sacrifices. No, he had to think of something, but of what? There was no time to think, no space-!

-time. Space.

Rhisling made fools of them both. 

His eyes widened as a desperate thought occurred to him, and without much else of an option - he seized upon it. For didn't Rhisling care not for where it was positioned, except as an end to its dimensional pathway? Couldn't he open doors not facing him without even making physical contact with its frame?

Could he, possibly, open the door from the other end - to Rhisling, so long as he knew where it was?

He tried the familiar gestures, but nothing happened. Victor was just about to write it off, halfheartedly trying one final time when his finger caught something - not unlike that sensation when he was being led to meet the Judge in the first place - and so he gripped it with all his might and pulled, praying he wasn't about to make a terrible mistake.

Perhaps it wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, but four corners faded into view before him - along with a familiar golden portal that held a mass of writhing tentacles within. Victor cared not for those, instead taking a firmer grasp of Rhisling and pulling it through, and just like that - it was in his grip. He stared down at it, not believing his eyes, not believing it was so easy- could he have done this at the very beginning, and have avoided everything...?

If Inquirata had noticed their prize had been stolen from their grasp, they showed no sign, instead continuing to hurl threats and promises as they began to tear at the machinery to get at their prey. Thankful that he'd at least moved into a position where the Quintesson couldn't see him, Victor took a breath and opened another spacebridge - this time, bringing him down into the common area.

It seemed he still had some measure of intuition, for he immediately spotted Joel and Simon - along with Anna and Dorothy, who had been fussing over the boys. "Victor!" Simon shouted in surprise, and Victor immediately raised a finger to his lips while glancing up over his shoulder, back towards Inquirata. 

"Quiet-!" But no, it was too late. There was a brief burst of silence, then an earpiercing screech from above - loud enough that all of the humans winced or reached for their ears. 

"Take the boys, we'll distract them!" Anna shouted at Victor, who opened his mouth to protest before the lads were abruptly shoved into his arms. He looked down at them, and then back up in time to see Anna climbing the stairs two at a time, Dorothy merely finding a place to duck down - but the sleepy woman winked at him, suggesting there was some sort of plan. Victor had to trust that they knew what they were doing, because exhaustion was creeping in once again. If he stopped moving, he feared he wouldn't be able to get started again.

"Stay close," he ordered his charges, trying to find another reservoir of strength. Somehow, there was enough to open Rhisling once more, and he told himself there'd only be a sparse few more of these before he could finally rest - for now, he was catching sight of Anna appearing by Dorothy with a pop!, hearing Inquirata snarl in frustration-

-and then moving through to where he had left Primus and Katherine. The two were still there, thankfully, Katherine immediately reaching to brace Victor as the world spun about him. "Fool," she scolded, nonetheless looking him over.

"Yes, a large one," he agreed, which earned looks from all four of the others. Desperate to finish this, he cleared his throat. "It's high time we weren't here- Katherine, will you join us?"

She gave him a long stare as Primus began to fold themselves down into a small cube...then, much to his dismay, shook her head. "I told myself this's where I'd meet my maker a long time ago," she explained, voice oddly soft. "Besides, the two girls'll need someone to patch them back together when all this is over."

"ANNA!"

The scream was so heartwrenching, so broken, so familiar to Victor's own ears - for a moment it was him in the pit, reaching for Scarlett. The blood drained from his face entirely as Katherine swore, then gave him a harsh slap across the cheek. "Don't," she warned him as he reached up to rub the skin with a blink. "There's nothing you can do, but I might be able to help - get going!"

"...right." He steeled himself once more, then looked from Simon to Joel as Katherine pushed past all of them to move into the open. He could hear her calling for Inquirata, but forced himself to reach for the shape that was Primus's form. It was surprisingly heavy, for such a small size, and it must have been apparent on his face for a moment later, both Simon and Joel reached to support it. He looked at them seriously. "We're going to the clocktower. I need the both of you to carry Primus through - I'll join you in a moment."

"You promise?" a suspicious Joel asked, nearly bringing forth a laugh from Victor as he helped them take Primus's form so that he could open Rhisling. 

"I'm in no state to fight," he assured the lad as its portal formed. Together, the boys picked up the heavy cube, sharing its weight as they began to step through the opening. "Frankly, all I'm in shape for is a tea and a nap, perhaps a-"

Another earpiercing shriek heralded a swipe of tentacles - Victor's concentration snapped shut with Rhisling's doorway as the limbs swatted him like a fly, knocking him off his feet in an instant. He slammed into the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of him, and felt himself rebound on to the edge of the holding pit before falling into it. It was pure luck that had him land on a cot, and for the briefest of hysterical moments, Victor told himself this was not quite the time to nap!

And then Inquirata was there, and plucked him up once more.

[You will die screaming,] they promised, spreading his limbs apart and beginning to pull. Victor gasped from the pain, straining - quite literally - to keep himself together. But when every piece of him wanted to do nothing more than scream as he was brought up before the Quintesson's face...it was emotionless, only its rancor-filled eyes giving any sign to the fury within.

And past Inquirata's form, Victor could just catch sight of three others. One with its head twisted in a lethal angle - another, clutching that form and weeping. A third was motionless, its own head - no, Victor couldn't tell, he didn't want to be able to tell, he was screaming now, shutting his eyes in agony-

[And we will locate your ward,] Inquirata went on. [She cannot hide from us forever.]

The words pierced Victor's skull like a bullet. His eyes shot open, blazing red, as he instinctively pulled with a shout.

And Rhisling - Rhisling, which had fallen from his grasp, but to which timespace was a plaything, to which gestures and motion were far less important than the focusing of intent, a quantum-level reaction to an attuned observer impressing their consciousness - opened once more.

There was screaming. He was screaming, Inquirata was screaming. They were falling, and he could hear in the distance other people screaming, too. A chorus of fear and terror, a maelstrom of flying fabric and furniture. A black hole, Victor thought dazedly as he fell, fell, fell-!

Below him, above him, Inquirata reached for his form while shouting his name like a curse. But forces beyond ken had torn Victor out of their grasp, and were tearing them further apart. Victor himself was past reacting to their foul words, his eyes wide as he looked up at the portal of light falling away from them. No, he thought, and just like that - it closed. 

The screams went quiet. The only sound was Inquirata's final, fading howls of mania - and then he was left alone in silence.

Alone, and floating in a space that was both as light as day and dark as night and everything in between, all at once.

He closed his eyes in exhaustion as a torn partition brushed against his hand. At least - at least it was over. And that thought soothed him as he laid in this void, or stood, he had no idea what direction was up or down or even left or right. All he knew was that it was now quiet but for his weary breathing...and even that began to slow as his heartbeat returned to its normal pace, as adrenaline left weariness in its wake. As he thought that at least he could get that nap even if he couldn't get any tea...

...as something else brushed against his hand. This time, something about it had him slit open his eyes, and then his breathing stopped entirely as he recognized a familiar sight - his Guardsman's coat. Specifically, the sleeve Sadie had embroidered...it was brushing against his hand as if someone else's was reaching out for him. 

And just like that, her voice came to mind. "You better come back, or I'm- I'll never speak to you, ever again, you got it? Promise!"

That was right - he'd promised. Victor gathered the coat to his form and, with old habit, pulled it on one sleeve at a time. Then he gazed above, to where the portal had been, except-

Except 'up' was a fallacy, wasn't it? And he'd already discovered that to open Rhisling, all he needed was to have a place in mind - whether a start, or an end. It just so happened there was a place he knew so well, he didn't need to waste thought on judging distance or location or anything of the sort. A place where a young girl had entered his life and reminded him of what it was to care for another. Where two strange people had sought shelter and brought upon him a storm of change. Where he had once dreamed of flying, and he did so, now, propelling himself through this strange-yet-comforting space and into a shining portal of gold. 

And through it, Victor went home.

Chapter Text

When Trentin had sent him on this mission, Ben hadn't expected to find too much. The Guardsman hadn't impressed him in the slightest, seeming more like a coward after his own skin than anything else. Still, it was important to be thorough. He'd started with subtle questions on the street, slowly working his way up until he was ready to be a bit more...hands-on. And while the Sadie girl had protested at first, she'd finally agreed to let him into the apartment - so long as she was there to supervise.

Fine. Whatever. He could deal with a brat. (Though at the look the new woman, Pravda, gave him when they set off...if he had any brief thoughts of dealing with young Sadie in a forceful way, they immediately fled and did not return.) At least most of this trip was to confirm what he'd already learned; the man was used to riding off the coattails of others, seeing as he'd done so for most of his life in one way or another. 

Ben couldn't help but sniff in disdain as he picked up a small figurine, ignoring Sadie's fierce glare. It was clumsily made, but any decoration in this time and place was outlandish; better others spend their efforts on more important things. But he supposed that even some of his fellows needed a diversion, and true, he did enjoy poetry, himself, particularly the arts of the Far East...

He had just set it down when there was a sudden WHUMP from the other room. Immediately, his hand moved for his weapon, while Sadie's head snapped up before she began to move towards the sound. Instinctively, he reached out for her, but she just shrugged off his hand as she pushed open the door-

-and promptly gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. As he looked past, Ben immediately saw why - for there, sprawled on the bed, was the very Guardsman whom he'd been tasked to investigate. Face-down and fully dressed (albeit it looked like he had something odd underneath that coat of his), for a moment Ben thought the man dead, and apparently so did Sadie. She ran to his side, and needed only a moment to determine his state- immediately she began to weep, throwing her arms around him in an embrace. 

But even Ben knew those tears were not those of sorrow, or grief - instead, they were a sign of pure, unrestrained joy. Shaking his head, he looked about for how the man had entered, but there wasn't the smallest of signs. Frowning, he moved forwards, ready to draw blade if need be - and, indeed, as the Guardsman groaned groggily, his hand tightened around the hilt. 

"Wh...Sadie?"

"You made me wait-!"

Sighing, Ben looked away to give them some privacy...only to frown as motion out the window caught his attention. He moved over, peering through - then sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of what must have been dozens of Quintessons swarming the streets.

Heading straight for the building they were in, were he to guess.

"What did you do!?" he demanded, whirling about in time to catch sight of the man just sitting up. He was pale, a sickly pallor to his skin, but it didn't stop Ben from grabbing at him to haul up against the wall. Victor - that was his name - grunted as his back hit the wall, and Sadie immediately began beating on Ben's side. Ben, however, merely shoved a bit harder to force the man's attention to him. He only peripherally took in the strange dress armor Victor wore underneath the coat, but there was no time to admire the make or quality. "There's a full fleet of Quintessons heading for us-!"

"Oh, only that many?" Victor dazedly mumbled, his eyes unfocused. Ben made a sound of disgust as he let the man drop, moving for the door and trying to think of a path back to safety. But the man reached out, catching the end of his coat, and he looked down with a scowl.

"I don't have time for this, I need to get out of here-!" If there was still a way out. Quintessons could move damn fast when they wanted to, and already, Ben could hear the distant hum that heralded their presence. Had they already cut off the escape routes?

And yet, a wry smile formed on the man's face as he placed his hand flat against the wall. Ben's eyes widened as large as saucers as as a hole formed there, ringed with gold and cornered by strange rotating shapes.

"Perhaps," Victor said, sounding far too bland for Ben's taste as Sadie ooohed and aaahed, "I can help you with that?"

There were more tears when the three children reunited, and when Victor gathered Primus and opened another spacebridge to where he had last met with the others - there were even more, for Renard had been posted as a scout of sorts. The four of them clung to each other and babbled incessantly, and for a few long moments, Victor only watched them with the softest of smiles on his face. Nevermind his bone-deep exhaustion, nevermind the Quintessons up above-

This? This nearly made it all worth it.

A nudge from Ben had them move, however, for the man insisted it wasn't safe. With Joel's tales only silenced by the promise of 'You can share it with the Underground, once we meet up with them', the small group trekked in relative quiet. And while at first Sadie hung back to stay with her friends, she kept shooting glances up towards Victor - and, before too long, reached up to catch his hand. When he looked down at her, she smiled up at him with worry clear in her eyes, a silent question in her face.

He squeezed her hand, shaking his head. Not now. Indeed, if she was wondering if he was all right...he rather felt like he was running on fumes at the moment, forcing himself to watch his own steps less he stumbled. With Primus still shut down (for which he was actually grateful; let Aillard explain them, for Victor would have done many a thing to avoid that conversation) he felt even more off-balance, but Sadie, in an odd way, helped.

And then they took another set of turns, and then Ben gave a sharp whistle of a signal - and then, there were far, far too many people.

Victor had been given a taste of the Underground's population before, but it almost seemed as though it had tripled in size. A part of him wondered if this was just a matter of having been around but a handful for so long, while the rest of him fought to keep from simply turning tail and running, or worse, reaching for Rhisling. His fingers twitched, and he tightened his grip on Primus as if to use them as a shield, but-

-but there was someone grabbing his shoulder, pulling him away. Magnes, he realized, who was barking orders, and, after taking a single look at him?

"And someone get this man a stiff drink!"

Another set of hands grabbed at him, and he flinched as for a moment, he thought they were their snakelike limbs, ready to wrap around and pull - but a familiar, welcome voice cut through the haze.

"Victor, tu as réussi!"

Pravda was moving to block him off from everyone else as Aillard grabbed his hand - then the man took one look at his face and said something to Pravda. The two promptly ushered him away, Pravda plucking Primus's form from trembling hands that wouldn't still, no matter how much he wanted them to. Victor grabbed at his own arms, feeling a chill despite the coat's warmth, and there were a few more murmurs as he was brought past a partition in to a room-

-except it was so unlike the one he had been kept in for the past weeks, he nearly collapsed. 

Two bedrolls were set on either side of a crate that served as a makeshift table as well as storage. An oil lamp offered a small, but steady source of light - further magnified by its glass shade, which allowed a reflection off the ceiling which was but a few comforting feet over his head. And while it was clear that the two occupants didn't have much to their names, what little was there was somehow more human than anything Victor had recently experienced. Made by humans, for humans - rather than an outsider's attempt at giving false comfort.

Patchwork blankets. The faint smell of burnt food, some crude plates neatly stacked and ready to be taken away. The sounds of countless conversations outside which had been so overwhelming before now served as a nearly pleasant background as Victor sagged, held up only by Pravda's easy strength as she guided him down. Aillard took over, then, quickly and efficiently helping him out of his coat and working him out of the armor.

"Êtes-vous blessé, are you hurt? Non, non, do not worry yourself with speaking," he added a moment later, gripping the man's shoulder. "I know. You are safe, mon ami, it is over."

"Aillard," Pravda called from across the room, "Когда у вас есть момент."

"Juste une seconde-!" Aillard answered, not tearing his eyes from Victor as he began to notice the deep bruising on parts of his skin. The armor had done its job, taking the greater majority of the damage without complaint, but there were more wounds than just the physical. Yet as Victor rather felt like he was beginning to float again and observing his own body from above, Aillard gently tapped his cheek. It was enough for Victor to blink and come back to himself, turning his gaze towards the other man. "Victor- is there something we can do for you, at this moment?"

"Ah-" That was a good question. "I don't- I don't know," he admitted, eyes closing slowly. "It's...been quite a day."

"Oui, I can imagine." Was that some morbid humor? "Tell me - shall I leave you be, shall I stay? I can give you silence-"

"No!" Victor's hand reached up as his eyes shot open, clutching the first part of Aillard he could reach - his vest. "Please, I-" He flushed, well aware of how he must have seemed, but there was no judgment in Aillard's eyes. Indeed, it was such an expression, one that said I Know so clearly that it nearly broke Victor's resolve. "I need…"

"Anything." That was Pravda, her voice gentle as well as she stood just behind Aillard. 

And that did crack Victor's resolve, his eyes growing wet as he shut them once more. With a deep, shaking breath, he spoke. "I need...to not be alone. To know that I'm out of that awful pla...that...that place," he miserably stuttered, turning away from them both.

A hand - too large to be Aillard's, it must have been Pravda's - reached to take his. "Then I shall stay," she declared, a voice that would take no argument, "until you send me away. Aillard, go help Primus," she added in a lower tone. Victor assumed that there was some sort of reaction, for the man made a noncommittal noise before extracting himself from Victor's grip. 

As Victor laid down onto his side, unable to face the room, he could feel motion beside him; he assumed Pravda had sat down as well. He tried not to imagine how pitiful he must have seemed, tried not to flinch at her touch to his shoulder. But the touch immediately pulled back, and he took a deep breath before mumbling permission. 

"You are certain?" Pravda asked quietly. At his affirmation, she sighed before replacing that touch, so feather-light he thought it was his imagination at first. But without the armor's durable material, with only the bodysuit still on his form, there was so little to shield him from the world outside, from-

She kept talking. First, about Sadie, about how helpful the girl had been to all of them, not just herself. How quick she was to learn, how worried she'd been for Victor. Her steady voice helped keep Victor steady, too, and he began to be able to offer small sounds of conversation as she continued. Eventually, she asked if he would like to change into different clothing; he only briefly thought about it before shaking his head, not quite ready to move. And, thank God, she took it in stride - simply going on to talk about other things, so bland, just like what Hei and he used to discuss and-

"I left them," he whispered, so sudden that it cut short Pravda's one-sided conversation. When she didn't respond, he continued; "I left them behind. They fought for me, and I left them behind, I left..."

"Shh." She squeezed his shoulder. But it was not a sound meant to silence his words, only to offer comfort. But he wanted to scream at it, to rail against her support, for he did leave them behind, and nothing would change that. They died for him, and...

...and he was biting back tears once more, despite Pravda still murmuring at him. He trembled with self-loathing until her next words cut through like a knife;

"I know, mой друг."

He raised his head over his shoulder, just enough to see her face in the dim light. There was something to it, something haunted - and he realized she did know. But of course she did, for hadn't she escaped with Aillard at the cost of Underground lives? To say nothing of what happened on the inside - of how she surely must have had friends within, and yet, only she and Aillard had gotten free. How she had left Primus behind, and until Victor himself had gone in, she perhaps wondered if she'd ever see her friend again.

Pravda met his gaze with a grim solemnity and nodded as if to confirm some of his thoughts. Then, she spoke again, voice slow and deliberate as she sought the right words. "They deserved a better end than they were given, and much more than we could ever give. They..." and she paused then, brow furrowing, murmuring briefly in her mother tongue before returning to English. "...they maybe did not know exactly why they were doing it, and I do not think we ever will know. But we will remember, and we will carry that weight with us. Forever. But also, we will carry their hope."

It was, perhaps, not the most inspiring speech that Victor had ever heard. But it did not need to be; instead of some old man preaching about things like valor and courage, Pravda instead spoke from a heavy experience and grief of her own. With it came the comfort of empathy, of understanding, and the knowledge that she did know-

Victor broke, then. His body shuddered in great heaves as he still fought to somehow bear the pain, but then her arms were wrapping around him. Not at all like Scarlett's, but the sensation of being shielded, sheltered - it was just as overwhelming as her words, and he clung to her, weeping like a woman. But God, hadn't it been women who had fought for him, too? Died for him? Was Scarlett not a woman herself, God rest her soul, and here he was, hardly even a man-

Another set of arms wrapped around him, and, to his surprise, so did a third. He focused through tears, Aillard's face coming through, but not only his - Primus was there, holding them all, and with another sob, Victor ducked his head and allowed himself, at least for now, to crumble.

When he was ready, he knew they would help him become whole once more.

It was a good while before Magnes got him that drink.

By then, Victor had slept and eaten, and while he had tried to go back to sleep once more...despite his body having grown used to a surplus of such, he was restless. And so he'd gone for a walk, only to be utterly unsurprised when the rebellion leader had slid up to him with a torch and pointed ahead with his free hand.

"You'll want to make a left."

Victor rather thought he had enough of being told what to do...but he obeyed nonetheless, and they walked in silence for a bit before Magnes gave him another direction. It became clear that he wanted Victor to see something, and so he allowed himself to be led while biting back any questions. After all, if this was merely being taken out back to be shot…

But he didn't get that sensation, despite their first meeting. Magnes kept watching him out of the corner of his eyes as if seeing him for the first time, and Victor was growing rather tired of it. He was just about to make an irritated remark when Magnes raised the torch and pointed ahead once more.

"We're here."

Victor frowned at him, then followed his gaze to see what appeared to be nothing more than a wall. He glanced back with a look of disbelief, only to receive an impatient gesture from Magnes - go look, it said, and with a sigh, Victor reached for the torch. It was handed over without question, and he used it to light his way as he stepped forwards for a closer look. They had arrived at a station of sorts, long decrepit, its entrances to the surface choked with rubble...

But when he saw the carvings on the wall, he sucked in a sharp breath of air. He'd known of the Underground using carvings by way of signaling shelter or paths - the Union Jack had guided him down here in the first place, after all - but these were not symbols.

These were names.

A hand raised of its own accord as he scanned over the first few, and then followed them down the line. There must have been hundreds of them, thousands, all carved in crude letters. Some were more distinct than others, engraved with a more certain hand, but all of them- every single one of these was a person, he realized. A human immortalized within London's very veins.

"They're the dead," Magnes said, as if it needed to be made clear. He had moved to the wall, himself, and was searching it for a few moments before apparently finding what he was looking for. His own hand briefly scraped the stone before he cleared his throat. "Now, the details of what you went through's none of my business - right now, anyway - but if it was enough to throw the squiddies into such a fit...I'm guessing there was more than one person involved." He gave Victor a sideways look, waiting for a nod before continuing. "And I'm going to guess maybe there's a name or two you'd like to add?"

"I…" He was taken aback by the offer. Such a kindness seemed almost ludicrous, coming from a man who had held him at bladepoint only so long ago, but Magnes had a solemn sincerity about him as well as his usual impatience.

"Here." The man was offering him a well-worn knife, hilt-first. So different from Shane's shiv!- Shane, skewered to the wall. He looked away to hide his expression, and Magnes snorted but said nothing about the motion. Instead, he shook the blade just a bit, trying to recapture Victor's gaze. "Either take it or take off, Prentiss, I know you can find your way back."

Victor took it, offering the torch in return...then frowned once more. "You know my name?"

"I had one of my men do some research." Magnes shrugged a bit as he looked back at the wall, following Victor as the man searched for a place to start his memorial. "I know a bit about you - your family, your lady, your lady's family, your posting during the Invasion." He snorted lightly, making it clear what he thought about such, but Victor brushed it off. Considering Magnes seemed older than him, he didn't doubt the other man had fought in the Great War - Victor would grant him some allowance, based on what he'd no doubt gone through. 

Even so. "Not much of a posting," he admitted under his breath as he knelt down and began to work.

"Right," Magnes matter-of-factually agreed. "Which is why it's so surprising you came out of that place in one piece. I'd have thought you'd have either stayed there of your own accord, come out a plant, or been turned into recycled material." 

"What are you getting at, Trentin," Victor wearily asked, pausing in his scratching of the wall. He'd barely made the upper diagonal of a crude 'S' - he wasn't about to try his hand at curved letters, not yet, at least. Hopefully, never. "If you think I'm a spy…"

"Spies don't come out looking like they'd just faced down the Devil Himself," Magnes interrupted. "They definitely don't come out with gear we can reverse-engineer, or the strange sort of power Ben says you have. Can I see it?" he asked suddenly, cocking his head to the side.

Victor looked up, debating...then sighed and decided that it was harmless enough. With a gesture to help focus his mind, he called Rhisling from whatever place it was currently residing, or, rather - one of its panes. Magnes let out a low whistle as its portal appeared in midair, barely the size of his head. The place Victor had connected to was the clocktower, where he'd sent Joel and Simon to shelter with Primus - and while he more-or-less had to guess where some empty space was, Primus had at least given him an estimation of where that was in the first place. 

Maybe another day he'd see it for himself. For now, he was shutting the portal and turning back to the wall.

For a good few minutes, there was naught but the sound of the blade scratching at the stone. "A spy would've already gotten the hell out of here," Magnes finally said, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. "No, you're somehow more real than half the blokes I've sent in there-" 

And that has to be a story all in itself, Victor thought. 

"-and I have to say, I'm impressed."

Wonderful. Great. "So glad I could get on your good side," muttered Victor, taking a moment to eye his work before starting on the next name. He'd never learned any of their family names; this would have to be enough. "Does this mean you're not going to threaten me with a sword, again?"

Magnes barked out a short laugh, moving to squat down near Victor for a look at his carving. "Not unless you ask me to," he answered cryptically, and Victor made the deliberate decision not to think much about that remark. Especially since the man quickly moved on to say, "As it stands, you're welcome to stay with us for a bit. We could use someone like you, aside from the fact that apparently your assigned housing is under...remodeling."

Victor thought of what Ben had said, about a whole fleet of Quintessons on their way, and shuddered. He'd only vaguely parsed it then, but it was clear they knew who was at blame for the chaos. Another deliberate decision was made to not think too much about it, and after he'd carved the second name, Magnes handed him a flask. A quick draft to wet his throat, a few coughs at the bitterness (and a laugh from the other man), and he was back to work - for whether or not some of his fellow subjects had survived, would survive, they deserved to be remembered.

Chapter Text

Still uncomfortable with crowds - especially ones torn between heralding him as a hero for coming out of the Spire alive, and villainizing him for the monstrous surge in Quintesson activity up above - Victor stayed with Pravda and Aillard for another night before Magnes was able to make room next to them. At that point, Sadie took it upon herself to 'move in' as well, and was nearly inseparable from his side. The three boys took turns accompanying Victor as well, his own little bodyguards, though Joel and Simon were just as often with Magnes or some of the other ranked rebels. They were happy to talk about their experiences, and, in Joel's case, showcasing his abilities. 

Once or twice, however, Victor awoke to hushed voices that were clearly trying to stay quiet. When he opened his eyes and met one of the boys' sheepish gazes, he merely made room before patting the bedroll next to him.

Despite the resilience of youth, the stint in captivity had clearly left its mark on the boys. Victor's heart went out to them both, and he offered what support he was able. Others did so as well, the Underground having its own share of those who had been modified by the Quintessons and more or less having adopted the boys as their own...though no one's modifications were so extreme as Joel's, or 'Jolt' as they nicknamed him. Much less Victor's own.

It was clear Magnes wanted to make use of both as much as he could. Indeed, Victor got the distinct impression he was holding himself back from outright demanding it by the fact he was more preoccupied with Primus, and whether or not the liberated creation would somehow endanger them all. But Primus - who more or less kept to Pravda and Aillard's little section, for despite their clear curiosity they knew that most humans would have difficulty accepting them as they were - seemed unable to take offense, and, indeed, soothed the ruffled feathers of Pravda and Aillard when their friends all but surged to their defense.

It would have been a little funny, if Victor wasn't himself preoccupied with the fallout from all that he'd done.

He'd shared his own story, of course. All of them had spent time in Magnes's new office (which seemed to actually have been an office at one point, if only for ticketing), often with someone else as a means of support. If Magnes was irritated by the additional presences, he showed no sign; he was surprisingly professional with the debriefs, taking notes and asking specific questions - what did they call the project? You said it had more than one face, could you describe them? Draw them?

And he flat out gawked when Victor brought up his encounter with the Judge. It was clear he knew the weight of the title, and as Victor gazed down at his hands, relating the encounter in an emotionless voice - Magnes abruptly called a halt to the debrief, getting to his feet.

"We'll pick it up tomorrow. Christ and his Apostles, a Judge," he hissed, running a hand through his shaggy dark hair. "No wonder the streets are still a no-man's-land. Prentiss, if you somehow managed to kill it, those bloody bastards won't stop until they find you."

"If he goes, we go," Pravda said evenly, having been the one to accompany him this time. 

Magnes waved her off with an irritated growl. "I didn't say you had to leave, just- forget it. Get out of here, calm him down." 

And he wasn't mistaken with that order; Victor's eyes were shut tight as he focused on breathing steadily, something Primus had worked out with him to help from falling into a panic. It helped, some, but he was still grateful for Pravda's help and ushering him out (though, had Magnes called a halt because he'd noticed Victor was becoming upset? If so, it was oddly considerate). As he opened his eyes while they began to walk, he caught sight of Sadie moving to his other side, a smaller mirror of Pravda to offer him support. 

"Your room, or ours?" Pravda asked him, and he had to think for a moment. She and Aillard often phrased their questions to him in such a way, giving him a clear choice rather than something open-ended where he had to find words, but they welcomed a 'neither' answer as much as anything else.

This time, though? "Mine." A squeeze to Sadie's hand reassured the girl that her presence would be welcomed, and Pravda didn't even ask about her own. Instead she made a noise of affirmation as they moved through to where the other rebels had set up their sleeping areas. Only a handful had any actual privacy - Aillard and Pravda kept theirs out of a need to keep Primus away from others' eyes, and Victor, well.

Apparently, Victor had earned his. 

Pravda guided him in, and while she hesitated to leave, Victor had shown vast improvement since he had first arrived; she finally left with a, "Find me if you need help," that was as much to Sadie as to him. The girl nodded with a small smile, waving as Pravda went back through the curtain, and then focused her attention on Victor - who had laid himself down on the fabrics that served as a bedroll, draping an arm over his face with a heavy sigh.

"Are you- do you want a drink?" she asked, as ready to help as a squire to a knight. Victor chuckled wryly at the mental image - from what Pravda had said, she certainly wielded that baton of his like a sword - and decided that yes, he could do with something or other.

"Just water, if you don't mind." He could hear her move about, and focused on the sounds lest his mind fell into a spiral. As much as he wanted to reach for the comforting pulse of the world around him, its slow but steady movement, focusing on that too much brought a reminder of floating in that strange between-place. He wasn't certain if he was ready to talk much about that, and dreaded the point in the conversations when they arrived there. For the more he thought about it, the more he wondered about those black holes Primus had mentioned, wondered about the other test subjects who had merely taken shelter during the fight, wondered about them being drawn into a relentless void…

But that hadn't been a void, had it…?

"Here you go." 

He pushed himself up with a brief sigh, accepting the chipped mug offered to him. "Thank you, dear," he said, much to Sadie's clear delight. She was still clearly worried, though, and sat down next to him with a cup of her own.

"I'm glad you're back," she admitted, as if it wasn't already clear as day. It brought a chuckle from Victor nonetheless, and he ruffled her hair fondly.

"I'm glad to be out of there," he agreed. "And I'd be glad to never go back."

Sadie nodded. "Joel'n Simon said the same," she said, before making a face. "You'n I both know that even though Joel puts on a brave face with his new powers, he gets scared at night if he thinks he's alone." 

Victor nodded, thinking back to the previous night. All four children had stuffed themselves in here with him, which made it rather tight, but it was an odd comfort to fall asleep to their breathing. "A good thing, then, he isn't alone."

"...what about you?"

"Mm?" He paused with the cup at his lips, not quite understanding.

Sadie gave him a sideways look, mostly pointed towards the curtain. "I know Miss Pravda and Monsieur Aillard are helping you, and so's Primus," and there was a bit of a scrunched-up face, because even she was a little wary of the creation despite the two boys clearly regarding them as a friend, "But...I see how you kind of look away, sometimes. Like you're listening to something."

The pulse of the world...he let out a slow breath, wondering if he even could put it into words, much less if he wanted to. "...it was a strange time, Sadie," he finally said. "I'm still trying to understand much of it, myself."

"Does talking help?"

"Sometimes." He took another sip. "Sometimes, it makes me feel like I'm back there," he admitted. "The boys had it harder, though."

"No, they didn't." Sadie's voice was so certain that he looked at her in surprise. "They just had it different. Just 'coz you had a 'nice' squiddie doesn't mean they were any less mean." 

Victor blinked at her - he hadn't mentioned Inquirata to her, but then realized. "You've been listening in," he sighed, which had Sadie raise her chin in that defiant way of hers. She didn't have to say as much - the gesture was confirmation enough - though he did scold, "You know those are private."

"Maybe, but how'm I supposed to help if I don't know?" she countered. "Maybe I don't need to know everything, but it's not fair if you keep me out!" Her grip on the cup tightened, and Victor pressed his lips together before letting out another breath. But before he could answer, she added a final nail to his heart: "I just...I feel like you're not really back, like part'f you's still there, and I wanna help."

There was silence for a long few moments as Victor considered the words. Perhaps there was, indeed, part of his soul still trapped, and if there was a way for him to retrieve it he did not know. But his arm moved after a few more moments, wrapping around Sadie and drawing her close in a gesture she did not resist.

"I don't mean to keep you out," he began quietly, acknowledging her upset. She made a little 'mmm' in reply, so he continued. "But please understand, this is still...it's all very fresh for me, like a wound I'm just now able to treat." Unconsciously, his gaze fell to his forearm, where only a few thin white lines suggested there had been any recent injury. "It's best that it stays covered and protected, with those who know how to tend it, tending it. Rather than everyone else poking and prodding." Such was one of the reasons Magnes was the only one of the Underground to whom he was telling his tale; if Magnes wanted to share the information further, he could, but even he was second in detail to the likes of Aillard and Pravda who had their own first-hand experiences to compare.

Sadie was quiet for a few moments of her own before it was her turn to sigh, leaning against him. "I guess," she said sullenly. "But it's not fun being useless."

"You're not useless."

It was her turn to look up at him with a bit of a frown, and he reached down to tuck a bit of her hair back behind her headband. "Putting aside all the stories of what help you've been to others, while I've been gone - I thought of you, often. It helped to remind me why I needed to come back out - after all, I'd made you a promise, hadn't I?" His lips quirked up in a wry smile, but to his relief, Sadie mirrored it with one of her own.

"Then promise me you're gonna get better." There was that familiar impish look, as if she'd found some sort of loophole to trap him in. And Victor, despite himself, chuckled. "That you're not gonna give up."

"I'll do my best," he assured her, patting her head. "I can promise you that much, at least." 

"And that you'll take me somewhere nice, when you feel better."

That brought him a laugh, and he gave her a friendly nudge as she giggled in response. "Somewhere 'nice', you say?" he pressed. "I could take you to my old school, if it's still standing, that was a nice place." At her expression, he grinned. "Or maybe-"

"-somewhere I'd think is nice!" she interrupted, returning his nudge with a shove. Not that she was very strong, but he laughed nonetheless, falling back on an arm as a few drops of water splashed out of his cup. "Somewhere amazing!"

"Amazing, hmm?" He thought for a few moments, and then - of all places - the strange not-space. For now that he reconsidered, he was starting to doubt that it was, in fact, a black hole. It wasn't at all how Primus had described, a great heavy place collapsing in on itself and drawing the world with it - no, he thought, remembering how light he had felt within. It was almost…

...almost pleasant, actually, compared to the chaos that had occurred just before.

Sadie's voice cut into his thoughts, sounding sad. "You have that look again."  

Victor blinked, pulling himself back to here and now. Except, wasn't that space here and now, too?... "I'm sorry," he said ruefully. "I was just...thinking of a place that maybe I could show you one day. Maybe," he repeated, seeing the light in her eyes. "If I can confirm it's not dangerous."

"Really?" She practically glowed with delight, and, indeed, there was a subtle shine from her eyes that wasn't quite human. Or, all things considered - perhaps it was, for hadn't most humans gone through Quintesson tendrils at some point or another?

"Really," he agreed, finally deciding that no, the space he'd been in wasn't a black hole. Primus had said Rhisling had protections from such catastrophes, and, if it did turn out to be a hostile place, one from which he needed to escape? "Even if it is," Victor declared, meeting Sadie's eyes, "I have a safeguard of my own to guide me through."

For a moment, she seemed puzzled - and then, it clicked. She ducked her head, suddenly bashful, as Victor chuckled and resettled to finish the rest of his cup.

It was a few more days before Victor was able to reach the end of his story, and all of them - Magnes, Pravda, Aillard, and Primus as well - were present when he described his experience within Rhisling itself. It was clear that if they hadn't seen Victor's abilities with their own eyes, all of them would have thought him mad - though Primus was, admittedly, pensive.

"Perhaps it was merely how your senses interpreted the space," they mused. "For all we know, you were experiencing a hyperdimemsion instead a temporal one, and even with your modifications you couldn't understand-"

"Hell," Magnes interrupted, only briefly glancing at Primus, "if you don't understand, nobody will. What matters is you got out, and we've got a path to anywhere if we need it." It wasn't the first time he'd said such a thing, and as Pravda shot him a dark look, Victor rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I don't think it's that easy," he said slowly. "While I'm willing to experiment with that space, I need far, far more practice before I can go 'anywhere' without having been there before." Magnes waved his hand to dismiss the concerns, but it was Aillard who spoke next.

"It may come into play sooner than you think. Magnes, did you not mention that the Quintessons are starting to probe into the tunnels?" At Magnes' nod, he looked towards Victor. "Would you perhaps help in a temporary evacuation? If the Quintessons find nothing, no sign at all because there are no signs to be found…"

Magnes' brow furrowed as Victor first thought about it, then nodded. "I would need to be certain how long I could keep open the spacebridge, and it would take some time," he admitted. "But it would be...something I could do, once I knew where they were being taken. And I don't know anywhere safe."

"Wouldn't be too difficult to send some scouts outside the city," Magnes mused. "Mina's been itching for a chance to stretch her wings, it'd do her good to be above ground for a change." Victor thought of the Beastman - Beastwoman? - he'd seen amongst the rebels, and nodded his agreement. "Once we find a place, Prentiss, we'll smuggle you to it, and have you open a path back to us. Worst case, if they find you on the way…" He shrugged. "Go into weird-space, and take the scouts with you. If you can survive, so can they." 

It was as solid a plan as one could get, though Victor grimaced at the thought of subjecting anyone else to the disorientating locale. "I suppose. I just hope we can find a place to shelter everyone." For even if he hadn't grown close to any of the Underground, he still felt, in a way, responsible for them - if only because he'd called such a storm down upon their heads.

Magnes flashed him a handsome grin. "Got all types with us. We'll be fine - biggest problem'll be cleaning up after ourselves and making it look like we were never here in the first place." Which they were already quite good at, in Vector's opinion, and so he only nodded once more.

"If you're planning on leaving London, then there is something you should know." While all heads turned towards Primus, Primus's gaze was solely on Victor. "I apologize for not bringing this up before, but I felt you had too much on your mind, already; I did not want to overwhelm you."

"Overwhelm me?" asked a bewildered Victor.

"Yes. For you see, I was able to locate Scarlett."