It's just… a bunch of ants. The problem of supplies is important to both me and these ants. Clay dropped another small piece of bread on the ants' path. A colony lives and breathes because of drones and workers. Persisting in the service of a Queen. They're so smart - but so simple, too. I wonder if they would, in time, realize I am the one feeding them? I know they're not as smart as birds, but do they have enough sense to recognize a source of food? Could I train ants? Not that I need or want to, but maybe -

"Are you feeding ants?" Zack said, nearly giving Clay a heart attack. 

"What the hell, man?" Clay blurted out before he could stop himself.

"You weren't answering your phone," Zack said. "So I slipped in through one of the holes in the roof. C'mon. I could use your help. Also, maybe don't feed the ants in here," he added.

Clay collected himself. If Zack needed his help then it was for a break-in. And considering Clay had already given half a loaf of bread to the ants over the course of several hours, he could do with some food himself. He nodded to Zack, gesturing him to lead the way.

Luckily it wasn't long - the path to Warehouse District from the Shanty wasn't exactly busy. "Today we're raiding some apartments," Zack said during the walk. "Nothing too heavy - just some light shopping, basically. I picked out a few where the people don't always come back early, so we should still have time. Still, eyes out, bud. Keep it quiet and it should all be fine." Zack did the 'breaking in' bits, so Clay was mostly just backup in case he triggered an alarm. Clay didn't mind - safety first and all that, and in any case it was better than staying home and feeding ants. 

"Here's first stop. Field up, bud," Zack said. Clay concentrated for a second and sound melted away, replaced by the blessed sound of nothing. 

It only took a minute for Zack to get the lock. The two of them stepped inside. Zack went straight to the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets in search of anything useful to fill his backpack. Clay, meanwhile, merely looked inside the fridge for a second, and, finding nothing too tempting, settled on a nice glass of wine. He took a seat on the floor, tilting his back and closing his eyes as he drank (faster than he probably should) and letting the mute field relax - enough that he didn't need to concentrate, just enough that it was still muted enough to hide the sound of banging cabinets. Zack would take a little longer, so why not enjoy a good drink?

---

Felix froze outside his front door, keys in hand. It was open. Only a few inches but definitely not double-locked, which was how he left it this morning. 

Fuck. He’d been broken into. So much for a relaxing fucking evening. He carefully placed his satchel and takeout to one side in the hallway, momentarily lamenting that his halloumi would be getting real cold. He stepped toward the door, listening keenly for any noises inside his apartment. Hearing nothing, he sighed in relief and pushed the door open to step inside. He stepped tentatively toward his kitchen-diner stopping every couple of steps. The stabbing of last night still fresh in his mind, his imagination had clung onto the possibility that there was a knife-wielding gang in his kitchen and it refused to let go. 

Nearly at the archway and still hearing no noise at all he chided himself for being stupid. If anyone at all was in his flat he’d have heard them by now. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Get your shit together man and promptly turned on his heel, collected his bags and walked straight into his kitchen. Everything happened at once.

He immediately registered a black guy in a tracksuit rummaging one of his cupboards, jars of spices falling onto worktop and floor. He then noticed a blonde guy sat with his back against his fridge, eyes shut drinking a glass of his wine! Before he could stop himself, his body reacted. Takeout, satchel and keys dropped to the floor and the shout of “HEY!” was out of his lips before he could stop himself. It was only then when he heard his own voice muffled as though smothered by someone else’s hand or echoing from a distant apartment that his mind caught up with his subconscious. The clattering cupboard door. The many falling glass jars. His shout. There was no noise. 

---

The sound of 'Hey!' was muted, like a whisper through verbal fog. It took a second for Clay to realize that the soft sound was of someone's voice, and not Zack's. His eyes slammed open to the sight of a man who looked distinctly not pleased. He scrambled to his feet, spilling some wine on his red shirt. Mouthing a Fuck, he strengthened the mute field to a near total silence, drawing the hand with the wine back (keeping a careful grip on the glass) and reaching his other hand forward. The stance was meant to evoke some sort of offensive power, though in reality he had none, but the other man didn't know that. Zack also turned, putting his hands up slightly in a more non-violent gesture.

Zack gestured to Clay, who let the field go to nearly normal volume levels so Zack could talk. Clay's eyes flicked over to the mess of spices and jars and felt a little guilty - mostly over the mess, if not the stealing bit. Eyes going back to the stranger, he put on his best serious face.

"Look, bud," Zack said, his tone placating, "this doesn't have to go bad or anything unless someone makes a move. Don't scream or my friend here will mute you again. There's two of us, one of you, and we can make you quiet, so we just have to be reasonable. So, ahh…. Maybe just let us go with what we have, and we'll let you off nice and easy." 

---

Felix met the sitting stranger’s eyes as they opened and couldn’t help but take a step back as he scrambled to his feet, wary of the outstretched hand. He was a Variant. One of them was causing the silence but the other might… well… be able to do anything. His mind went automatically to the news from last night and the redacted details in Connor’s file and he couldn’t help but gulp nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing. The lack of any noise at all was incredibly disconcerting. Even more so when his mind, none too helpfully, jumped to the thought that: no one would even hear me scream...

He was reaching for his phone when he realised it may be a futile gesture in a dome of silence. Proven when the generic white noise of his flat came flooding back to him all at once. The hum of the fridge and the bustle of the street outside, both suddenly deafening. As was the voice of burglar seemingly in charge. Felix went to open his mouth to respond but quickly stopped as he realised the seriousness of the situation. The guy that was covered with half a glass of his refrigerated white had the bizarre ability to cancel out sound. But if that was the biggest threat the guy could make… then that meant he didn’t have any offensive powers himself. Right? It was a gamble, but Felix was fairly certain he was safe. Well… safe-ish. He still couldn’t fight them both off if push literally care to shove.

With him judging the silent fridge raider the biggest threat, he looked the blonde up and down. If he’d have passed him in the street he’d have probably given him a second glance with that handsome face but up close the unkempt (and now wet) clothes and a stale smell gave away the fact that this heist was less for a kick and more for survival. He’d done much outreach as part of his father’s church before the incident. Helping the community was why he’d become a teacher. He was reminded of the previous night and the bright, deep, inky eyes of Connor’s brimming with admiration for his good deed. These guys were Variants. Like him. And he’d help them if he could. They just didn’t have to know he was one too. Right…? He stared straight into his hazel eyes and finally spoke. 

“Okay,“ he said quietly moving his hand away from his pocket. ”Take all the food you want but then please leave, unless you want my help…?” He hoped that was the right balance of acceptance and confidence as he continued to stare the brown-eyed blonde down. If only he knew that the teacher was like him too. That he could genuinely help him. But given the situation he wasn’t sure the other guy would give him a chance. 

---

 

"We'll take the food, but we -" Zack started.

There was a pulse in the mute field where everything got very quiet for half a second then returned to normal. Zack recognized it - a signal from Clay to stop talking. He stepped back, and Clay stepped forward.

Clay lowered his arms, staring intently. What was the stranger's game here? Helping a bunch of robbers, regardless of how bad Clay imagined they must look, was a move from left field, especially since the robbers were robbing him. The stranger wasn't visibly a Variant, but that wasn't a guarantee. Still, Clay wasn't one to flat turn down an offer. 

Realizing he'd been staring without talking for a fair few seconds, he spoke, his voice soft and calm. "Why help us, what's in it for you, and how can you help?"

"Cl-" Zack began to protest. Clay immediately turned up the mute field before Zack said his name aloud. Clay put a finger up to his lips and mouthed no names before letting the sound in again. 

"Condor," Zack started again, using Clay's alias, "We don't know this guy. He's a stranger, a non-Variant, and we broke into his apartment. What makes you think we should risk it, especially after -" his eyes flicked over to the stranger for a second "- all that stuff yesterday?" 

Clay thought for a second before replying. "We take what we can. He seems harmless enough. I say we give him one chance," he said, emphasizing the one. 

Zack opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he opened it again. "Maybe. But we have a lot of mouths to feed. One guy helping can't feed the whole Underground. We still need to steal what we can, too." 

Clay nodded, making a sort of reluctant expression and waving his hand vaguely. Then, to the stranger, he said, "What can you do for us that we couldn't walk away with right now?" He took a sip of the wine he still had in his glass, then frowned as he looked at the spilled wine on his shirt. Oh well.

---

Felix felt his pulse throbbing in his neck and the sweat beading on his temples as he watched the muted exchange in front of him. He quickly abandoned trying to understand their conversation - who was he kidding - he couldn’t lip read. At least it gave him time to come up with a decent answer to the stranger’s questions…

Why? Because he was a nice guy? Because of the guilt he felt at owning a nice apartment? Because they obviously needed help and he could provide it? Because he was also a Variant?

How did he benefit? Shedding his guilt of being so comfortable when others were not? Him helping Variants without him being public about his abilities? That warm fuzzy feeling from helping someone? Them not stealing any of his more expensive belongings in return for some help?

How could he help? He could offer them money.. Hell - he had enough from years of ‘donations’ in his name. But if they knew that, things could turn ugly real quick. He’d seen what greed did to people who were far less desperate than these figures appeared to be. He had a bag of old clothes in his closet that he was meaning to take to the thrift store down the road that they might want. But they could just as easily take that as well...

Suddenly, the sound flooded back into the room, momentarily disorientating him again. How did they cope with this happening over and over again? "What can you do for us that we couldn't walk away with right now?" 

He turned to face the blonde one more and fought down the irritation at him continuing to drink his Chardonnay in front of him. But the momentary glance the thief gave to his shirt sparked an idea.

“I mean a hot meal, a shower, laundry or even a warm bed for the night?” he suggested openly. Then, realising that sounded a bit creepy and weird, “it wouldn’t be a problem, it’s only me here.” And with that he mentally kicked himself. One - that was even fucking creepier and two - now you’ve told them that you live alone, so no one will come looking for you. Fuck. “I just want to help.”

---

Clay's face remained neutral, but inwardly he was thinking fast. Technically most of those things weren't priority over what they could walk away with right now.

"That's all good, but this is only one apartment. We can't just…" There was a noticeable slip in Clay's voice for a half second as he really thought about it. How would it feel to finally have a hot meal? To be clean again? To sleep in something besides a sleeping bag? Just thinking about it made him acutely aware of how hungry he really was. It had been so long…. But this wasn't about him. This was about the Underground. But then again…

Clay covered up the small pause by taking another sip of wine, inwardly cursing at himself for making such a clear verbal slip up. "Okay, look. I know we broke in and, uh, broke some stuff, but if we're talking like this, this isn't aggressive negotiations. Reasonably, if you're offering to help, I assume you mean for more than just a one-time thing?"

Zack shot him an incredulous look. "What the hell are you doing? We're not here to recruit people."

Clay muttered back, "But we take what we can, remember? We're being given an opportunity for support past a one-time break in. Just let me talk." Zack nodded reluctantly.

Besides, something Zack had hinted at earlier was stuck in the back of Clay's head. What happened yesterday - Variants were usually already given shifty looks at the best of times. Right now was distinctly not the best of times. Of course, Clay wasn't visibly Variant, but considering where he currently lived - that abandoned house, filled with stolen goods and what little personal stuff he had - conclusions could be jumped to pretty easily if someone found his hideout. Food is still a high concern, but shelter and safety were becoming increasingly more important.

Picking his words slowly, Clay said, "Look - I, personally, appreciate this offer. I also know you're only one guy, so I don't expect you to hand us enough food to feed every Variant in New Haven. I'm a little suspicious, but you seem alright, sorta. Maybe my friend here can skip this apartment completely in return? I mean, we have other places to get food from." And also I really want a good meal for once and a night's sleep not spent shivering in a sleeping bag and hot water running all the dirt away and a roof that rain doesn't leak through, he thought but did not verbally express.

---

Not aggressive negotiations? Felix struggled to muffle the look of incredulity as it crept across his face. They’d only gone and broken into his apartment, smashed up his stuff and then threatened to attack him with some unknown Variant abilities. Non-aggression - my ass! And yet there seemed to be a ring of truth to the stranger’s words. Felix was warring with two conflicting thoughts as the interloper stood there confidently sipping wine that was not his. Either this guy was so casual because he was very dangerously powerful and Felix would never be considered a threat, or he was telling the truth and they genuinely meant him no harm. 

He could lend little thought to the issue as he strained to follow the conversation that was being had opposite through the bizarre audio vacuum that his kitchen had become. His quandary was solved with genuine surprise thought at with the fridge-raider’s response. So they were both Variants after all. Here to collect food for not only themselves but others in need. The existing twisting conflict within Felix surged into a tempest. 

He wanted to help these guys even though they had broken in. Even more so now he knew they were Variants like him, facing even more prejudice than usual given yesterday’s events. Yet if they were affiliated with Pariah Underground he risked getting involved in something that may result in illegality or his secrets becoming exposed. He had a good life now…

And who was he kidding, the guy was right. He was one guy with limited means. How could he support an entire ostracized group of society? But a Maya Angelou quote from the battered notice board of his old community centre surfaced from his repressed memories: “giving liberates the soul of the giver”. Shouldn’t he still try to help? Anyway, maybe helping Variants would provide more undisturbed nights of sleep like last night? Sure, it was a selfish thought but it further supported his desire to help. 

“You’re right,” he replied, holding up his hands in admittance. “I know I can’t do much but I’d like to help in any way I can. Even if it’s just helping you, so that you can help others...” He hoped he was making sense, but wanted to appease the small worry still in the back of his mind that he was about to end up dead, beaten, robbed or all three. And so before he could stop it - the statement burst out of his mouth: “Please stay and give me a chance to talk because well...” What are you saying?! “I think there might be another way I can help...”

---

There was a strange sort of silence, tinged with a sort of awkwardness and mild shock. Clay and Zack were surprised enough to be holding a conversation with their 'victim', and now he was offering to help them more than they asked for? 

"What else can you do? I mean, unless you're hooking up with the head of NOVA or something, I can't imagine what else," Clay said, managing to keep his vaguely bemused grin down. In a slightly more kind tone, he said, "I already appreciate a place to rest for a bit. What more could you offer to some petty Variant thieves, especially after yesterday?"

Zack shuffled a bit. "A little too generous," he whispered.

"Nah, just nice, maybe," Clay whispered back. Clay was aware he was probably being a little too friendly with someone whose apartment he broke into, but hey, what the hell. Not every gift horse needed to be looked in the mouth, right?

---

Felix sensed that the blonde guy was warming to the idea, definitely on a personal level. But it was also becoming obvious that he was going to need to tell them the whole truth if they were ever going to believe him and leave his apartment without robbing him blind, or should the phrase in this instance be mute?

“Okay, hear me out.” he started, before taking a deep breath. “I’m more like you both than you think.” he continued, the words loaded heavily with suggestion. “That’s how I can also help you and your… friends.”

---

Clay couldn't help but smirk. "So you're a Variant? I mean, that's the only way I can see you being 'like us' being beneficial." Clay was about to speak again, but forced himself to pause a second. He needed to be a bit more tactful; he had found the hint in the stranger's words a bit pointless when he could've just said it outright, but then again, Clay had met plenty of Variants who, for instance, hated themselves just for being Variants. Not everyone was a 'proud' Variants, and even around other Variants they might hesitate to identify as one of them. It was understandable - like muscle memory, an instinct to not reveal something as potentially socially damning as it could be.

"Well… uff…" he exhaled slowly. "We… definitely started off on the wrong foot. Let's, uh, all calm down?" He smiled disarmingly. "Sorry for breaking into your house and drinking your wine and also breaking some jars? But, yeah, if you are a Variant, we can always use some help. Or help you, if you need any." Zack, meanwhile, seemed more skeptical. However, he wasn't butting in, so he didn't seem to have too big a problem with wherever the discussion was going. "Look, man, we - well, Iwould be happy to help. We're not bad people, we just needed food. We're not going to hurt you and, well, I guess we won't take your food since you've already seen us both and you say you can help anyways. If that helps."

---

Felix let out a sigh of relief, his whole body visibly sagging. ”Thank fuck for that.” Felix replied. Picking up his bags to place them on the breakfast bar before motioning at the blonde guy to move out of the way. God he really did smell...

Felix grabbed a large wine glass and the loud glugs of his pour filled the room promptly followed by a collection of loud gulps as half the glass’ contents disappeared down his throat. Felix leaned back against the worktop now within touching distance of the guy he had only moments ago considered a criminal. "Yes I’m a… Variant," he managed to admit. ”But I have my reasons for wanting to keep it a secret.” 

The teacher looked around the kitchen at the destruction of his normally immaculate space and started to pick up some of the larger shards of glass. He just kind of wanted them to leave if neither were going to take him up on his offer. ”I’ll clean up and you can take the food by the way,” he admitted, looking at Zack. ”Next time just ask, but promise me it’s going to good use?” He didn’t mind supporting the homeless or less fortunate but he drew the line at fuelling a criminal organisation or a squat full of junkies. 

---

Zack scoffed. "Of course. I don't steal for drugs, I steal to help my fellow -"

"Ah, ah, no preaching and try to play nice with the kind man," Clay teased. Turning to the stranger, he continued, "Glad we could talk business, sorry about the mess. Looking forward to working together, thanks for the drink. And, uhh… sorry for real. Didn't really mean to put you through something too stressful or make you tell us you're a Variant." He paused. After a second he pulled out a sticky note and a pen (two things he never left 'home' without) and wrote a number on it. "This is me," he said. "You can put that in your contacts and text me or something. I wouldn't expect to use it often, but you can never be too careful. And your secret is safe with me. And him." He gestured vaguely towards Zack, who was already moving towards the door with the backpack of food.

Clay took one last sip and put his glass down. "Catch you on the flip side, partner. And hey, maybe I'll take you up on that warm bed you promised some day," he said with a smirk, then immediately felt embarrassed of himself.

As he opened the door out, he suddenly felt tired to the bone. Today he'd talked more than he had all last week, and of course he had to be friendly and chatty - and vaguely assholish - to someone they were robbing. Of course he had to flirt a little, practically not on purpose, just because it felt good to talk to someone. Someone who, again, was getting his apartment robbed by Clay. He sighed. Time to go to the sleeping bag and stay in there for a couple days, he thought to himself. A wooden expression, dulled and neutral, slid over his face like a mask as he walked away, trailing behind Zack. Time to calm down.

---

Felix’s downtrodden expression quickly morphed into one of silent fury.

“try to play nice with the kind man...Glad we could talk business...thanks for the drink.”

The dickhead had broken into his flat, broken his stuff, stolen his food, threatened him and drank his wine. And yet despite Felix letting them both go scott free with not only his pantry but his secret, he still had the tenacity to make comments like that. 

He looked down at the crumpled post-it by the fridge and stifled a laugh. The irony of this being the first time a guy had either given him a number or been inside his flat since his move to New Haven over a year ago, was not lost him. Nor was the suggestive nature of the guy’s final comment as put down the other wine glass, now empty. Now he was being hit on?! The cheek. He needed guys to literally break into his apartment to get a date. God that was truly sad. 

He followed the two interlopers out of his flat and watched them walk down the hall. Of course it was just his luck to be burgled by a confident, attractive, gay Variant. Despite his relief at them leaving, his indignation at the intrusion and the rising panic that now three people knew he was a Variant, his own body chemistry betrayed his true emotions as he felt his cheeks flush and fists clench.

“I’d make you shower first before getting into my bed.” he replied with a weak smile. ‘My bed’. God what a stupid thing to say. Why did he just insult and simultaneously flirt with a criminal?! He turned to head back into his flat, gasping as he realised his hand was bleeding from where a shard of broken cardamom jar had sliced his palm. Oh great. Just great. 

---

Clay was nearly down the hall when the stranger spoke up - "I'd make you shower first before getting into my bed." Clay's stride only paused a second when he heard it, but mentally he made a series of assumptions along the line of was that… an insult or just him getting in the last word? I don't smell that bad, do I? I made him angry, didn't I? Out loud he didn't say anything. He was tired of talking now that the adrenaline of the situation was going away. Now he just wanted to go back home and feed the ants. Well, mostly he felt like maybe going home and sitting down and never moving again, letting nature decompose his body right on that spot, but he couldn't exactly do that.

"We still have a whole list of places to hit, even if we avoid this area specifically," Zack said once they were outside. "We need to be more careful, especially on watch -"

Clay waved his hands vaguely and shook his head. "I'm going home. Too much talking."

Zack's face, for just a split second, took on a furious expression. Then it smoothed into mere irritation. "Fine," he muttered, waving his hands in a gesture that seemed to mockingly mimic Clay's. Still, Zack knew Clay couldn't be swayed to change his mind, so off went Zack to do what he could alone.

Clay watched him go for a second, then sighed. Well, if there's anything I can do, it's push people away, he thought. Just like his old friends, his family, and now, apparently, his fellow Variants. Whatever. And he began the walk back home in resounding silence.

Calvin Langley/Minitaur

Warehouse District

It took Calvin a minute of walking around to realize he had gone into the wrong warehouse. He shook his head in annoyance because of this being a more common experience than he would like to admit. The buildings all looked the same dammit and as good as he was at getting the route right he could get confused still if he wasn't paying attention to which one he walked into. Oh well, guess he could take just a little bit of time to himself enjoying the fresh air before he headed over and as he walked out into the evening it was pretty nice. He didn't come up too often unless it was a get-together or job just because he was a little too obvious, though he did occasionally pop up for food or personal reasons.

Things were more simple before this but I don't have much of a choice now. He thought reminiscing about how his life was before the change.

Minitaur stalked around as quietly as he could do feasibly just in case there were any regular people hanging around or cops patrolling. The last thing he wanted to do was blow the cover of one of his favorite places in the city. It was pretty quiet though besides one or two people walking or just moving about mostly on the streets so the alleys between the buildings were refreshingly clear. He milled around for a little bit just getting some nice sights in before heading to the actual meeting place, not the imaginary one nearby. Then he went by his usual route to gently pry off the boards on one of the side entrances so he could squeeze in and then use his hand to hammer it back in so it looked like it hadn't been tampered with by any passerby. As he came into the main room he could hear a little bit of talking so he must've been late since he dawdled.

"Hi guys! Sorry, I'm late!" Calvin said moving over to have a seat and putting down his backpack so there were snacks available for everyone. "You wouldn't believe the traffic tonight."

Vivian had her music blaring. She had the entire flat to herself. At least, as much as someone under house arrest can. It wasn't a house really, but an FBI safehouse that had since become her place to stay. She had another thirty minutes to kill before the next handler was going to come in with the regular folders of work and photographs of people and she figured that if she was going to get a headache doing her work, it wasn't really going to make things too much worse if she started with one too. She bumped the volume up until she couldn't hear her hearing anymore. She didn't have money, but she had a lot of expensive shit for someone in her position. It worked on a trust and probation sort of scheme. If she was honest, did her work and proved she could be trusted with whatever it was she asked for, she'd get it, though not entirely without strings attached. She had a small netbook but they monitored her internet access and could cut it on a whim. Which meant that any contact with her friends in the Underground was a big no-no. Not that she was stupid enough to try and do that anyway, it'd get them in as much shit as it would her. She hadn't even touched any of her accounts since the trial anyway. She stopped her punk-rock 'I'm alone in this room and I can freak the fuck out if I want to' dancing to be sad for a moment. She hoped everyone was doing alright.

The last month and a half had been decent despite the situation. She'd had three handlers so far, each going for about two weeks before cycling through. She'd only hated one of them, who obviously didn't like being put on babysitting duty. While Vivian kind of felt sympathetic about that - she didn't really figure babysitting a punk rock Variant would be a lot of fun, it was the shitty attitude that ticked her off. If you weren't going to make the effort to be friendly then you could go and take yourself and fuck yourself by yourself. While the music wasn't exactly helping her, she breathed out and calmed herself down. The other two weren't bad. Let her do what she wanted mostly. One of them even chaperoned a visit to the local offie so she could browse their finest in $15 gin. It was disgusting, and no amount of lemonade could chase away the aftertaste. She was pretty sure it could be substituted for paint thinner.

She still drank the bottle, though.

She heard the door rattle with the key, then open. While she knew in her heart of hearts that she was a prisoner here and that they didn't have to knock because it was a government safe house, she still felt it was rude every time they just let themselves into 'her' house. She walked out in her usual attire of comfy worn-in pyjamas and yawned as she waved to the agent. At a month and a half she probably should still worry about first impressions, but with a power like hers, a first impression was way more their problem than hers. She stared at the agent casually, trying not to give away that she was trying to read her. She'd been practising a lot. Not out of want, but out of necessity since if she didn't do her job, they could restrict literally anything about her life that they wanted to. Not that they ever went for the essentials, but introducing a sound system just so they could take it away if she dropped a name or two down the quota? That was low.

Susan Taylor. FBI, though originally a servicewoman within the Army as a Technological Support Specialist. Signals and Operations. Served six years and came out while also working on her degree within the Army's education programs. Wrote her thesis on Solomon Asch's theories of impression formation. Applied for a job within the Federal Bureau as a Telcom and Telephone liaison and was accepted due to her previous service through a government scheme to hire ex-service members. Paints using oils and watercolour in her spare time, and often regrets her time spent in the military thinking she missed out on living out her twenties, she hates coffee and tea and prefers regular hot water to both and has a scar down her left foot from when she stepped on broken glass when she was six and-

Vivian took a moment to compose herself, without breaking eye contact and without letting on that she was pretty sure her brain was going to melt through her nose as a liquid. There wasn't a mirror on hand to see just how well she was doing at hiding it, but considering the monkey-cymbal crashing amounts of pain in her head, it couldn't have been convincing. She waited patiently for the agent to introduce herself before talking, knowing full-well she might just blurt out her name. While she could've used her powers to unnerve and freak people out - she didn't like to. Not too often, anyway. She didn't exactly have her pick of the litter when it came to people to talk to, and while she wasn't likely to jump in bed (metaphorically or otherwise) with any sort of federal agent (her assorted anti-police patches had long since been stitched onto her new black denim jacket), she got lonely.

"Nice to meet you, Susan. I'm Vivian. You can call me Viv, if you want." She rubbed her face, while it was a bright and early 1:00 PM, she'd not even brushed her teeth yet, let alone actually rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Do you mind if I get a coffee before we start working? - I'll get you a hot water."

Susan had opened her mouth to ask for it, and instead just found her mouth open.

---

Though the melancholy expression on Connor’s visage revealed a less than sublime experience, his treck through a hospital riddled with the unfortunate victims of a catastrophe put his situation into perspective. Indeed, the boy was cursed for his nature, but the stage he now found himself on spoke of actual suffering. No mean words, or false accusations, but rather, ripped limbs and torn spirits. Gripping the strap of his shoulder bag, Connor’s obsidian gaze traced itself across a lobby of murmurs, and tears. A Variant caused this, all of it. A Variant was the reason for so many eyes fixing themselves on the ‘Monster’ upon his entrance into a filled hospital.

Tensing, Connor’s sharp teeth clenched at the thought. It was just like back at school, as if he was in that cafeteria all over again. ”I’m here to..,” the boy tried, speaking to a receptionist with the occasional glance spared those accompanying him. ”Mom works here, Claire Everest,” he continued, ”I brought her dinner,” the teenaged Variant finished, raising a paper bag into view of the clerk.

“Do you know which floor she works on?” A question arose, clearly indicating that the receptionist was a new addition. Connor was not a person easily forgotten, his appearance and presence offering a more memorable repertoire than most.

”Yeah, the ER,” Connor informed.

“Alright, you know your way around, then,” the receptionist stated, her fingers dancing across a keyboard, “it’s pretty hectic right now, so you will have to excuse the stress.”

”Yeah..,” the Variant returned, a quiet mention before he started towards a constantly moving elevator. Little more than a single button-press brought him closer to the boy’s mother, but with every consecutive step, the aftermath of what had transpired in Midtown made itself very clear.

---

Stephanie sat in the nurse’s lounge to take a quick breather between patients. She had thought that transferring from the ICU to the ER would be a nice break from the constant pressure of managing patients in critical condition, but then the city fell apart and those hopes were dashed. She stared into space and tried to and tried to remain steady, absently smoothing the thin fabric of her scrub bottoms against her thighs.

The past two days had been the most tumultuous emotional roller coaster of her life. She was still trying to process the events of her brother being wheeled into the ER barely alive, and sitting with him on the recovery ward yesterday still felt like a dream. That gut-wrenching feeling of watching his motionless body get pushed passed her, while she screamed hysterically, returned to her full force as she replayed it in her mind. Stephanie knew that he had started working with a new department in the FBI, but he never talked about the specifics of his job. She figured he was just helping catch criminals, flashing a badge around in a suit and tie just like in the movies. And during the couple of times she had met his friends, telling them to take care of him had been more in teasing than out of real worry.

They were the scariest thing she had ever seen come through those ER doors, wearing all of that gear and armed to the teeth, and looking like they had just been through hell. Was that the reality Sebastian faced every day? She could not wrap her head around him being part of such a team. The memories she had of her brother were of a kind man with a good heart, not a dangerous killer. At the edge of her mind was the realization that in the many years he had been away, Stephanie could not remember a time that she actually knew what he was doing other than serving his country.

Trying to make sense of all of this, and thinking of what it meant for him after he was out of recovery, upset her all over again.

Stephanie had not noticed the entity appear in the door of the nurse’s lounge at first. However, she finally caught the shape out of the corner of her eye and involuntarily looked in that direction. The sight before her was confusing, but at first she didn’t know why. It was a boy, though as the seconds past it became obvious that it was no normal boy at all. He was pale, whiter than Stephanie had ever seen, and he was peering at her through black, pupil-less eyes that were unnaturally large. He was carrying a paper bag, but it was not gripped by human fingers but by black claws that resembled spikes.

Stephanie stood slowly, unable to look away from the boy’s unnatural eyes. She was the only one in the room, and she did not think that he could have possibly come to see her. She pulled her two long, light brown braids over one shoulder and fidgeted with them nervously.

“Hi,” she managed to stammer out. “Are you… lost? Or… can I help you?”

---

Those white walls accompanying a sterile interior had elevated themselves to a second home for the young Variant. He could still recall his earlier days, where he at times waited for his mother to end her shift, all the while killing time in the employee lounge. Six years had passed since that development, and many of the nurses had moved on to other venues throughout the years. The few who still recognized Connor’s presence afforded the boy tender smiles, in between hurried movements.
It was heavily contrasted, however, once the ‘Monster’ had stepped into a less hectic location. Though scarce in decoration, and with humble furniture, the employee lounge was designed to allow for safety, and a moment’s breath. Beyond a single door loomed a battlefield, a buffet for the Grim Reaper. ”Ah, hey,” Connor spoke, his obsidian orbs meeting a young woman who was clearly a new addition to the floor. At the very least, it seemed like the New Haven State Hospital was acquiring more staff, and it took little to realize that the healthcare system was critically underfunded. There was a time when Connor himself considered following in his mother’s footsteps, but a simple gaze across those clawed digits would quickly dispell the notion. He was not built for this, literally. The Variant would sooner cut someone, than aid them in their plight.

”I’m Connor,” the boy spoke, raising his hand to offer a faint wave. She appeared tired, and somewhat disheveled, this young woman who otherwise displayed a pretty visage. She had been through the grinder, more so than many of the other nurses, which was evident from a moment’s consideration. ”My mom works here,” Connor continued, ”Claire Everest, she’s.., been here for a while,” came a quiet chuckle, the boy’s ghostly voice trickling past his pale lips affording a mixture of his teenaged self, and something else entirely. ”I brought her dinner,” Connor revealed, his claws clicking against the fridge handle before he pulled it open to slip the hard-working woman’s food into its confines, before closing it shut. The act, in itself, exposed his familiarity with the locale. ”Maybe I should have brought some for you, too,” Connor joked, his shark-like teeth laid bare before a playful grin. ”You look pretty beat up, are you okay?”

---

Stephanie managed a nervous smile when Conner introduced himself. He mentioned that the senior-most ER nurse, Claire, was his mother, and by the way he seemed right at home in the nurse’s lounge Stephanie suspected that he visited often. The unearthly nature of his voice as he spoke was unsettling, and somewhere in the back of her mind the word ‘Variant’ seemed to give her pause, more out of curiosity than anything else. She remained outwardly neutral, though, so as not to offend him.

“Oh, I know Claire,” Stephanie told him. “I’ve been working with her for a week now.”
She watched Conner put his mother’s dinner in the refrigerator and smiled sweetly as he mentioned that he should have brought her some as well. “I appreciate the thought,” she offered.

But ‘beat up’? The comment had taken a moment to sink in. Stephanie shifted around self-consciously. She supposed she probably did look quite a mess. Her eyes were puffy and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. The weariness and emotional strain likely made her look as much like a zombie as she felt. At least she had the mental wherewithal to grab the appropriate sized scrub top today, unlike yesterday, when she had been trying frantically to stuff herself into an extra small and had a complete nervous breakdown when she couldn’t pull it over her. Claire had had to calm her down and hand her another top.

“Your mom is actually on another floor with my brother,” Stephanie told Conner. She clenched her jaw at the thought of Sebastian and everything that had happened, but she was determined to keep some semblance of a smile on her face. “She’s making sure all the charting was transferred. He got… hurt.”

Claire had told her to stay off the recovery ward while she was on shift. There were other people who needed help, after all, and she needed to stay focused on her job. Stephanie pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her scrubs and looked at the time (even though she was wearing a watch). She had a few minutes to spare and a perfectly acceptable excuse to go see him now.

“I can take you there, if you want,” Stephanie said smiling and hoping that she did not seem overly eager. “I’m sure she would love to see you, and you can tell her that dinner is waiting.”

---

Another family member confined to the walls of a crowded hospital. Connor’s heart sank into a pit in his stomach at the mention, and his unnatural eyes lowered themselves to the floor in regret. Not everyone had found themselves on the surface of a medical bed due to Subject Seven’s attack, but considering Stephanie’s composure and her obvious discomfort, acceptance of the situation had yet to sink in. As had been established, Connor had very few skills, and fewer abilities he could consider useful, but the young painter was perceptive. This nurse had been through a lot, and behind those black, unnerving orbs resting above Connor’s small nose, sympathy was abundant. A single Variant had caused the chaos which now echoed through the New Haven State Hospital, and several terrified expressions meeting him from unfortunate patients were not lost on the boy.

”I’m.., really sorry,” Connor began, his claws quietly fiddling with one another as the teenager attempted to think of what else he could say to perhaps ease the situation. Naturally, there was nothing he could manage which would even dent the misery spread throughout. Today, he had been blamed for this whole disaster, because as far as Connor could tell, he was the only visible Variant in the immediate area. Of course, there were others. One of them destroyed a massive part of Midtown. However, it appeared far more common for Variants to present themselves as completely human, where Connor would sooner fit into a fictional setting. ”Sure,” the boy forced a smile, his clawed digits moving towards the strap of his shoulder bag, which they proceeded to gently grip. ”I’d appreciate it, uhm.., if it’s no bother,” he tried. Bringing a Variant to someone who had, presumably, been hurt by recent events, could backfire drastically. However, this nurse didn’t seem to mind Connor’s nature. Indeed, his appearance came as an unexpected addition to anyone viewing him for the first time, which he held against no one. Though, so far, Stephanie, who remained unnamed, had been polite and courteous, despite obvious distress. If she was ever interested in what this specific Variant could do, New Haven State Hospital was where the teenager had been registered, and his information was clearly available, more so than in any other institution. Connor was aware that if she decided to have a look at his documents, the next time she saw him, her forced comfort would likely crumble. He could be the source of this chaos, just as much as Subject Seven, and he was certain that such a glaring fact would be held against him more than once.

”I’ll stick close to you,” Connor stated, before placing a hand on the doorknob, ”I don’t want to scare any of the others,” he finished with a small chuckle, but there was no jest in his statement.

---

The first thing Sebastian noticed when his visitors arrived was his sister’s smile brighten up the entire room as she came through the door. He met her gaze evenly, but only for a moment. With all of the sedative and pain medication finally out of his system, he was himself again. Sebastian was back in reality, where he didn’t deserve the way such a smile from her made him feel. He knew she had a million questions that she was too afraid to ask. He knew that even if she asked them, he wouldn’t want to tell her the answers. And so he averted his gaze from Stephanie’s beautiful face, and instead regarded the second thing he had noticed.

A Variant had come in with her. He took in every detail of the scene unfolding in the room with total scrutiny. It was a boy. He heard the nurse who had been working on the computer in his room call him Conner. It was her son. He had brought her dinner and had met Stephanie in the employee lounge of the ER, who had then brought him to see his mom.

In his mind, Sebastian rapidly rifled through dozens of Variant profiles that he had memorized, the SRHRT ‘hot list’ of those Variants that needed to be taken down on sight and with extreme prejudice. Short, ghostly white, claws for hands, unnaturally large and black eyes- none of it matched the description of any Variant on the list. He considered that N.O.V.A. may have him categorized in their database, but he didn’t care what they thought.

His intuitive nature took over when the technical evaluation was done, and he realized that the boy, Conner, was clearly not a threat. In fact, he seemed more afraid of the people there than they were of him. Sebastian noticed the way the other staff looked at him. He noticed that it made Conner uncomfortable.

This was something they had in common at that very moment.

He looked at Stephanie again, but she had stepped over to the other side of the room and was in the middle of a conversation with the nurse who had been checking his chart, Claire, the Variant boy’s mom. It sounded like his sister was being admonished for coming to his room again. He shook his head. He couldn’t keep inconveniencing everyone like this.

Not only that, but there was work to be done, injuries be damned.

He looked Conner again, who was waiting politely for his mother to finish her conversation. Sebastian decided that it was refreshing to make contact with a Variant that didn’t involve him having to shoot at it. There was true evil in the world, both Variant and human. However, there was also true innocence among them all. This was the other side of the story that he always reminded his team never to never forget.

“Hey,” he called discretely to the boy to start a plan in motion. He gestured with his head for him to come nearer. He did, though he was very precautious.

“Conner, right?” Sebastian said quietly. “You know, I noticed that you’re not a real big fan of this place. I’m not either, if I’m honest. To crowded. And the people? Can’t stand them. Present company excluded, of course.” He nodded toward his sister and Conner’s mother.

He didn’t have much experience talking with young people, but he was trying to be relatable and get Conner to relax a little, so he turned the next part into a little game for them.

“So here’s the deal,” he said directing Conner’s gaze toward his hand. Sebastian was holding all of the wires from his telemetry device, which he had disconnected, and the catheter from his IV, which he had removed himself.

“What do you say, you want to help me bust out of here?” he asked with a friendly wink.

---

”Hey,” Connor offered, his clawed hand rising in a friendly wave, the boy revealing a small grin in unison. Someone who wasn’t afraid of him? That made a handful, at this point, but it was always a refreshing addition. Sebastian was the man’s name, and his athletic, clearly battle-hardened frame confessed to an active life-style. Throughout Connor’s young existence, he had learned a miniscule amount about bodily damage, and basic life support from his mother. Nothing to actually consider a useful skill, but enough to pinpoint a vague assessment of a man’s injuries. Sebastian hadn’t fallen down the stairs. That much was obvious. ”It was.., nicer..,” Connor answered, ”before Midtown was attacked,” he proceeded with a short sigh, the teenager’s unearthly voice trickling past a blanket of quiet noise filling Sebastian’s room.

Managing a slight grin, Connor’s sharp teeth revealed themselves along with the silent chuckle soon following, ”I kinda’ expected you to bail, the first chance you got, Chris Redfield,” the teenager finished. He enjoyed video games as much as the next kid, and this man gave off very specific vibes.

Connor turned his attention towards his mother and Stephanie who both left the room following a short exchange. Not enough nurses, far too many patients. Most would feel sorry for them, and Connor most definitely did. He couldn’t recall the last time his mother was home long enough for a movie night, or game session. With a slight breath, Connor was unable to hide that growing smirk on his face. Warm-hearted, polite, and laid-back, indeed, but he was still a teenager, and it would be foolish to write out mischief from the Variant’s repertoire of desires. ”Fine..,” the boy feigned exasperation, a dainty, clawed hand extended to help Sebastian from his bed. ”But if we get caught..,” Connor stated, mimicking the man’s playful wink, ”I’m your hostage.”

---

“You kidding me?” Sebastian said taking the boy’s clawed hand carefully when the two nurses had left. “I’m going to tell them the whole thing was your idea.”

He wasn’t sure why Conner had called him Chris, but it was of little consequence. With Conner’s help Sebastian got to his feet. He almost toppled forward on his unsteady legs, but he forced himself to stay on his feet. He gritted his teeth with an audible grunt of pain and his hand went to his side where the bandages were holding him together. But Sebastian had suffered similar wounds in environments much less hospitable than a recovery ward, and lived.

And he wasn’t about to stop now.

“Let’s move,” he said, and it felt good to hear himself give the command; he was still in the game.

They made their way to the door. Sebastian leaned out to clear both sides of the hallway as if he were about to lead a stacked team down a corridor full of hostile combatants. Nobody paid him much mind. Nurses didn’t care about any patients except their own.

They both walked out together and made their way to the nurse’s station.

“Mr. Albright, you shouldn’t be-“ the charge nurse started to say.

“Give me an AMA form and my patient bag, please,” he interrupted her as politely as he could, expertly concealing any amount of pain he felt from showing on his face or in his voice.

“I don’t think-“

“Just do it,” he interrupted again not so politely, and the look in his eyes withered away from the woman any further resistance she may have wanted to give him.

As she got up to comply, however, there came a frantic voice from behind them.

“Sebastian, what are you doing!?”

It was Stephanie. She rushed the nurse’s station, dividing her attention between her brother and the charge nurse. “What do you mean AMA, have you – do NOT give him that- have you done this before or something?”

“Get the form,” he told the nurse who was looking at them wide-eyed and confused. Then, to his sister: “Hospital’s aren’t really my thing. Got work to do.”

“Work!? You have a few stitches between you and bleeding out, you can’t possibly-!”

“I’m not staying,” he told Stephanie harshly. “This?” He held his hands away from his body to let her see the bandaged surgical site. “This is what I do. There’s a lot of people here who get to live normal lives, and feel sorry for themselves when they get the sniffles or stub a toe. You should probably go see if any of them need a glass of water or a nice warm blankie while they lay in bed wasting taxpayer money.”

The look on Stephanie’s face and the tears that rolled down it broke Sebastian’s heart, and he knew that he had just pushed away the only thing he still cared about. But he couldn’t let himself remain her burden. What was done was done.

“Fine,” she whispered, and disappeared down the hall crying into her hands.

“Just sign me out, or whatever you people do,” Sebastian told the charge nurse. “I’m out of here.”

He turned to Conner. “Shall we?” he said and began dragging himself toward the elevator still dressed in his hospital pajama bottoms.

---

The tough guy was also an asshole. That wasn’t unique, nor completely unexpected, though Connor knew better than to get in between Stephanie and her brother. There was clearly far more beneath the surface, and Connor would require time, and insight for that to be revealed. After all, people were like paintings, and every brush stroke was a purpose, a desire.., or a regret. Lowering his obsidian gaze to the floor, the teenager, maintained his silence. Even if a stranger’s interjection was welcomed, this was most certainly not the place for that. Equally so, he wouldn’t have been taken seriously, especially not by Sebastian.

Did Connor agree? In a way, yes. Some people didn’t have the luxury of feeling sorry for themselves, because a moment’s doubt could very well lead to another’s demise. However, the way this was handled could be compared to furious strokes across an already torn canvas.

The teenager followed along, seeing how elevator doors slid to a close after they were encased by the metal box. Naturally, only one floor would suffice, the entrance. ”Soldier,” Connor guessed, and correctly so. ”No-Bullshit attitude, nerves of steel..,” the boy spoke as they waited for those doors to open, once more. ”Duty above your health..,” Connor continued, his claws gently clicking against the metallic wall of which he leaned against, ”you’re a soldier,” the teen stated, an assessment, more so than a question. Sebastian’s body surely helped in the assumption. ”I’ll have outlived my usefulness as a resource in about.., ” the Variant paused, considering a thought, ”five minutes,” he mused. ”What’ll happen, then?” Tilting his head, Connor studied the older, battle-scarred male. Indeed, the teen was unlike most. He was quirky like few, and the Variant’s ability to simply go with the flow was evident. He didn’t seem troubled, or stressed, but rather curious. Recent events had caused discomfort, without a doubt, but his core state of being was yet to be damaged. ”Am I the annoying kid, pestering the hero, right now..?” Connor asked, a question aimed mostly at himself as a dainty claw rose to gently tap his chin. ”Damn. I don’t want to be a cliche,” he sighed.

Whatever Sebastian was considering would leave him in far worse shape, that much was obvious. He could barely stand, and those stitches resting beneath bandages begging to be displaced would likely tear, and he’d find himself in the middle of conflict again, before the day’s end. That’s how these things went in the movies, and sometimes, fiction reflected reality in perfect detail. ”Ah, right, I didn’t scare you,” Connor noted, tracking back towards his previous statements, ”another point to the ‘Soldier’ persona,” came a playful, sharp-toothed grin. ”N.O.V.A? Mh.., no,” he shook his head, eyes narrowed, ”they’re all mysterious and agent-y,” a word he had made up, but it certainly worked. ”Army? It’s the army, right?” Connor finally decided, just as those elevator doors opened to allow for a long awaited exit.

---

The elevator doors closed. Sebastian hated himself for how he had talked to his beloved sister. But he knew he would hate himself even more if she got close and hated what she found there. It was an act of mercy for both of them, by his estimation. Maybe when the world was a safer place, maybe when he was a better person, she would understand and forgive him. As much progress as he had made in turning his world perspective around, Sebastian realized that he still didn’t know who the hell he was.

Conner had said a bunch of stuff, he just realized, and began reconstructing the words in his mind that he had been too lost in thought to hear the first time. His comments about having a no-bullshit attitude and nerves of steel struck a dull chord of humor somewhere inside him. He certainly would not have described himself like that. He was just a guy trying to do the right thing.

“You’re not annoying me,” he started out with. “Thanks for being my accomplice. You’re not a resource, you’re now an ally. There’s a big difference. Maybe you understand that.”

He sighed. “What you saw back there, with my sister; it’s complicated. I know it probably makes me look like a bad guy.”

He looked at the boy, hoping that Conner could possibly understand the remorse he felt for talking to Stephanie in such a way, that he didn’t truly believe the patients in that hospital were a waste of time or money. He had dedicated his life to protecting them and every other citizen. The words were meant to serve a purpose, and they had succeeded. Other than his sister Sebastian did not care one bit what anyone thought of him, but for some reason being on the receiving end of Conner’s judgment was unbearable. He represented everything he existed to protect. The feeling he had was something to the effect of, if he had failed in Conner’s eyes, he had failed completely.

But it was what it was.

“Good eye, though” Sebastian said taking a deep (and painful) breath and trying hard to sound nonchalant. “I’m definitely not N.O.V.A.” He wasn’t about recount his service history in an elevator, however. It was just too long and difficult of a story.

“I was in the Army, once,” he said simply. “In another life. FBI, now. Part of a special team that deals with Variant trouble makers. But, if I’m honest, most of the problems we’ve had have been with good ‘ol fashioned humans.”

His eyes flashed darkly as the events leading up to his hospitalization, and subsequently him meeting Conner, replayed in his mind. She had been a little younger than Conner, he guessed. It occurred to him with no lingering doubt that he would have done the same thing if it had been Conner in that office instead.

The elevator doors opened on the ground floor and they walked through the lobby, drawing all manner of looks from the people they passed, until they were outside.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian told him as they stood in the chilly air. “If you want to help an old soldier out, now that we’re allies, do me a favor. When you come to see your mom here, check up on Stephanie for me. I’m the last person she’s going to want to hear from for awhile. And if you ever need anything, you can call me. I’ll come running.”

He tried to smile, but it just wouldn’t come out.

He looked at his bare torso and feet. “Oh, and one more thing; can I use your phone?”

---

An ally. It most certainly sounded better than ‘resource’, even though the statement was somewhat odd. Connor had never thought of that statement in reference to himself, or anyone. Ally, it was rather official, and reserved for situations of conflict. However, there was something else which quickly confiscated the boy’s attention. ‘Variant Troublemakers’. At the mention, Connor paused, his posture visibly faltering, if only for a brief moment. If Connor ever took leave of his sanity, someone like Sebastian would come for him. Someone battle-hardened and with a finger ready on the trigger. Yes, it was supposed to be like that. Variants were far too unpredictable and blatantly dangerous. The world needed order, and such critical organization was hindered by emotional turmoil. Though the boy wanted to answer, there was little he could offer in regards to the statement, while walking a half-naked man out of a hospital. It was an interesting discussion, however, one Connor had considered many times, in the past.

Time was not left wanting before Sebastian and his accomplice felt an evening sun gently blanketing their frames. One of them clearly found it less comfortable than the other. ”Here,” the boy stated, handing his phone to a battle-hardened soldier he never before expected to come across. A single call introduced the upcoming waiting game, where Sebastian’s friend eventually arrived in a car to spirit the wounded soldier away.

”Sebastian,” a ghostly voice trickled through the evening air, obsidian eyes meeting the soldier’s, as he entered the car. ”I’ll check up on your sister when I visit mom,” he began, a short pause lingering before the teen continued, ”but I don’t think you’ll ever convince yourself..,” the Variant stated, his expression unwavering. ”You’ll always be the first person she wants to hear from,” a tender smile crossed the boy’s slender lips, ”because you’re her brother, and you always will be.” It was a powerful statement, one which Connor was unsure accompanied appreciation. However, with a soft wave in the direction of Sebastian’s ride, the boy started on a straight path home.

---

Inhaling a long breath, Connor was unable to resist a series of laughs echoing throughout his living room. Merely a moment needed to pass before the boy was tackled to the floor, with a massive canine aquinting him with a large, sloppy tongue. ”Cerberus!” Connor tried, his giggles soon fading beneath a happy bark. ”We’ll never get out unless you move your fluffy ass!” The Variant exclaimed. This was a pleasant variation from what he had gone through since that morning. Never before did he think that words would stick, quite like this. It actually bothered him, to be blamed for an atrocity. Only a day before, Connor was under the impression that nothing could pierce his ghostly skin, and that everything bounced off as if he had been carved from titanium. Perhaps he was wrong.

Pulling himself out from beneath Cerberus, Connor dusted his clothes off with a huff, ”thanks, Cerbie..,” came a faded whisper, ”you’re always there for me.., you big goof..,” the little ‘Monster’ smiled, his arms finding home around Cerberus’ neck in a tight, loving hug. ”Now let’s see if I can get you into a harness without bribing your fat ass,” Connor smirked, his claws moving to gently scratch the canine behind his large, fuzzy ears.

---

It had been a long couple of hours but Felix finally sat down at his desk to consult his diary, hoping against hope that he didn’t have many admin tasks scribbled down for the evening. His plans for a relaxing reflection had dissipated rapidly upon finding the interlopers in his apartment. What followed was a miserable takeout, a good deal of scrubbing tumeric stains and writing an extensive grocery list of pantry replacements. But he’d decided that buying new spices and condiments was a small price to pay for coming out of a burglary with nothing valuable stolen and no physical harm. What he hadn’t yet fully processed was the fact that two more people, other Variants no less, also now knew his secret. Even more bizarre was the fact that one of them had given him his phone number in what had initially seemed to be a flirtation.

The young teacher flicked open his diary and saw that he only had one item listed that demanded his attention this evening and groaned.



Understandably (given his evening so far), he had completely forgotten that he’d been asked to follow up with Connor’s mother after the event witnessed at lunchtime. All he needed to do was call her up, let her know what happened so she could be sure her son was alright and that he, and the school, would follow procedures and continue to support Connor in anyway they could. It was a standard enough conversation that he’d had before whenever one of his students had encountered bullying.

5minutes later, he’d logged onto the school system remotely and accessed the contact details for Claire Everest. He sat back in his chair as the dial tone rang, his eyes were distracted by the crumpled post-it stuck over today’s date in his diary.

---

An ever-repeated struggle in getting Cerberus to wear his harness left Connor out of breath, and out of shape. It was no surprise, naturally. The boy was about as physically inclined as a bedridden sickling. In a way, the comparison wasn’t too ludicrous. Connor’s abilities took a toll on his body, and leaving the teenager perpetually fatigued to a certain extent was simply something he could not escape. No matter the hours spent training, nor the copious amount of food he could ingest, he would remain the same for an eternity to come. A scrawny figure, whose skin glowed ever so dimly in response to darkness. He had yet to learn this fact, but it would come, in time. The one resource Connor had far too much of, and a pain he had not grown to understand. Not yet.

”Huh?” The Variant wiped his forehead, raven eyes turning towards a sudden intrusion of noise. Their telephone was ringing. He gently placed a hand atop its shape, and brought the archaic device to his pointed ear. Claire and Connor had considered getting rid of that thing. Few still retained their landline, and cellphones had long since overtaken the market. ”Hello?” The Variant spoke, a leash still dangling from clawed digits, and yet to be used.

It was uncommon to be contacted in this fashion, as the house phone had claimed the role of decoration, more so than anything. Despite this, Connor felt the unfamiliar sensation of a plastic device against his skin, waiting for a voice to trickle through those small, prickled dots in its shape.

---

Felix was momentarily disarmed hearing Connor’s voice at the end of the phone and not his mother’s. Of course! She worked at the hospital. A nurse he seemed to recall. She may still be at work - especially after last night’s events. But it was still worth an ask.

”Oh hi Connor, it’s Mr Pernass,” he replied, ”Is there any chance I could have a quick word with your mom?”

If the boy said no, well he’d just pop Mrs Everest an email and head to bed. His head had started to pound slightly and he was still itching at the non-existent cut on his palm.

---

A day full of unexpected events, with some less surprising tidbits sprinkled onto the hours now morphed into a quiet evening. This Tuesday was one Connor would remember, for better or worse. Did it all accumulate with Mr. Pernass’ voice flowing through a barely used landline? ”O-oh, hey, Mr. Pernass..,” the Variant spoke, his voice faltering for a brief moment, before he collected himself. Had he done something wrong? No, Connor never engaged in conflict, even though he sometimes wished for the nerves to do so. Then, why was his teacher calling, and much more, seeking the boy’s mother? ”She’s at work,” Connor informed, softly lowering himself to the armrest separating a larger sofa from the Variant’s frame. ”Is there.., anything I can help with?” The teen continued, his fingers absentmindedly combing their way through Cerberus’ fur, where the large canine approached, still eager to head outside.

---

He always hated when a student picked up the call instead of their parents. He remembered the feeling of panic himself all too well, even if the call were actually of a celebratory nature. ”Oh no that’s alright, I’ll try her at work.” he assured the teen.

He paused before his goodbye, to double check that that little shit Luke Hemmings hadn’t said or done anything else warranting concern. ”Are you ok this evening? Anything else happen this afternoon worth chatting about?”

---

Raising a brow, Connor considered what his teacher said. Yes, a lot of things had happened. He had been used as a scapegoat for murder, he helped Chris Redfield escape a hospital, he likely damaged the man’s relationship with a very distrought sister, and now he was going to walk his dog and pretend like nothing of note happened. Clenching his teeth, the boy felt a sense of frustration washing over him. It was unexpected, to say the least. Why on earth did he feel.., angry? ”I’m..,” Connor tried, his voice yet again cracking, ”yeah..,” the boy lied. He seldom ever did. In fact, he could not recall the last time he spoke a blatant lie. Connor wasn’t okay, but blaming what had transpired in the cafeteria for this turmoil would be disingenuous.

There was no simple answer. He was angry because people were dead, he was sad because others were afraid of him, and he was frustrated because he was unable to maintain a stable string of emotions. They bounced back and forth like a rubber ball. The moment all of this faded into the background, he found himself smiling, but once thoughts of reality glaring him down returned, he felt a massive sting boring itself into his chest. ”I’m okay, Mr. Pernass,” Connor lied, again.

How far could a Variant be pushed before falling off the deep end? How long did it take before someone completely snapped? When did the intoxication of destruction overtake a fragile mind? Clenching his teeth, Connor found himself trembling. No, there was no easy answer, no way to pinpoint the source of his unidentifiable mixture of emotions. ”Thanks for checking in on me, Mr. Pernass..,” the teenager spoke, a sense of fatigue gripping every word, ”but I’m..,” Connor paused, his claws moving from Cerberus to the armrest he was sitting on, where they dug into the fabric. ”Okay..,” the boy finished. ”Have a nice evening, Mr. Pernass...”

---

Elaine Townsend looked at Alpha One, as he looked at Director Harkins, who, in turn, sat looking back at him. The Alpha Team leader had walked into the tactical operations center a few moments ago, dressed in civilian attire per the director’s orders. They were the only three in the silent room. The monitors were all off. All of them felt awkward for their own reasons: Alpha One because he knew he was in for some bad news, Director Harkins because he was the one who was making the call, and Elaine because she was the one who was going to give him the details.

And it was going to be painful.

“So, are you going to tell me why I’m sitting here in the TOC without my team, Sir?” Alpha One finally asked.

“How are you feeling, Sebastian?” the director asked. “Cam told me you started bleeding all over his car on his way to take you home. I’m not even going to get into why you thought it was a good idea to leave the hospital in your condition. You were lucky Davenport was willing to meet you there to put you back together.”

Elaine enjoyed the sound of Alpha One’s real name; most of her contact with the man was over a secure net, where she had to address him by his call sign.

“Davenport?” Sebastian said, addressing the tone and inflection of the director’s voice. It implied that she had been around a lot more since their mission a week ago.

“We needed a fourth man in the stack,” Harkins said. “And after what happened to you, it was obvious that having a medic on the team was actually a pretty good idea.”

“Well, you don’t need a fourth man now,” Sebastian replied. “But you didn’t call me in here for a routine check up, so what’s the situation? I’ll get the team kitted up and we’ll be ready to execute.”

Harkins ran a hand down his face and sighed. “Listen,” he began reluctantly. “You know I can’t medically clear you for combat right now. Not that I would, anyway, I mean you-“

“Sir,” Sebastian interrupted. “With respect-“

“Shut up and listen to me,” the director interrupted in return, and Alpha One complied. “I wouldn’t put you back out there even if I could. Those men can’t depend on you right now. If you get in the shit and go down again, one of them could get injured or worse. I’m suspending you from direct action operations effective immediately.”

He let that sink in for both of them. The last thing he wanted was to take his most valuable operator out of the fight, but it was the right call and everyone knew it.

Elaine swallowed hard as she watched the conflict happening in Sebastian’s green eyes, but he did not outwardly defy the director’s words.
“Now that that’s settled,” the director continued after the initial tension had subsided, “I also can’t just let you sit around and do nothing. You’re the most expensive weapon in this goddamn division, for fuck’s sake, never mind the entire New Haven branch altogether. I’d never hear the end of it.”

He remembered the fight he had had over the sheer percentage of the Department of Justice budget it had required to secure a Delta Force operator for the new Variant division, but Sebastian had proven to be worth every last one of their bureaucratic pennies.
“Luckily for us, we have a highly sensitive mission that I need you to personally oversee. This is a top priority coming from FBI proper, and they’re asking our division for help.”

He looked at Elaine, who had been so engrossed in watching Sebastian’s every little reaction to the director’s words that she had completely missed her cue. The way he set his jaw, the way his body tensed in his grey t-shirt when he wanted to say something but held himself back…

Then the man’s own intense gaze fell upon her as the two waited, and she was jolted back to reality.

“Right,” she stammered clearing her throat and pushing her glasses up with a finger. “For some time now, our intelligence branch has been secretly protecting a Variant asset. They’re using conventional special agents to keep her secure in a safe house but have recently expressed a need for personnel with a more appropriate skill set to get involved.”

Elaine pulled her shiny blonde hair over a shoulder and opened the file folder in front of her on the conference table. She forced herself to remain professional as she continued with the brief:

“Her name is Vivian Gregory. Twenty-one years old. N.O.V.A. Variant classification is a Class Three mentalist.” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever that means,” she said under her breath.

She composed herself and continued: “In any case, we intercepted her from N.O.V.A before they could get their hands on her. She seems to have the ability to discern Variant from human at a glance, which apparently had N.O.V.A all hot and bothered. She-“

Sebastian snatched the file from her impatiently, scaring her half to death.

He silently scrutinized the small stack of papers in the file for a few moments, memorizing all of the pertinent data and then stopping on the eight-by-eight photo of the girl. Piercings, bad haircut, defiant look on her otherwise pretty face; she looked like one of the punk kids around Midtown that only came out at night and were generally up to no good.

Elaine furrowed her brow at his perceived interest in the picture of the girl.

Sebastian closed the file and flicked it across the table back to the operations chief. “What’s this got to do with me?” he asked the director.

“Asset protection of the highest order,” Harkins answered. “Priority level one. Your mission is to-“

“You want me to babysit,” Sebastian almost spat. “Sir, with respect, I-“

“If you interrupt me again, I will punch you in the mouth. Do you understand me, soldier?” Harkins slapped a hand on the table. “Delta or not, this girl is now your responsibility until you are fit for the rigorous duty of leading my SRHRT. Alpha Romeo will assume command in your absence. Is any of this not getting through that thick head of yours? Am I clear on what your mission is?”

Sebastian glared at the man heatedly. “Roger fucking that.”

Harkins understood that Sebastian’s contempt and rare use of profanity was at the thought of being benched, and not in any way meant as disrespect toward him. His expression softened slightly as they stared each other down.

“It’s just until you’ve healed up,” the director offered. “You deserve some time off. Just take it. Hell, take that Heckler and Koch you love so much with you for when you get cold at night. Take all your shit with you, if you want. You’re still Alpha One.”

He looked at Chief Townsend. “Anything else you have to add before he packs the diaper bag and meets the parents?”

Many things, Elaine thought. Send someone else, maybe? Don’t send Sebastian Albright to go live with another girl, off the grid and his voice off her headquarters net for God knows how long? A monkey could do this job?

“Nothing, Sir,” she said looking at the table.

“Alright, then. You’ll be linking up with an FBI agent named Susan Taylor. She’s on the conventional side of the house and will contact you when she’s ready. And Sebastian, it would be great if you could please refrain from killing our asset.”

Sebastian stood up and left the TOC without a word.

She’d decided. Susan was the best one so far. Even though she’d jumped the gun on knowing her favourite hot drink before being told, it’d seem to have worked out in her favour. She caught the agent offering friendly smiles which was a smile more than she’d gotten from any of the rest of them. Maybe they’d picked her for that reason alone, a handler who was a bit more friendly to try and disarm her. Even with that thought in her head, she decided that Susan was one of the nicer ones. They were about halfway through the sheaf of different folders of Variants and interesting persons that the FBI were interested in. Though with today’s quota, it was much more ‘people’ and a lot less ‘freaks’.

She took a hard look at the fuzzy grain photo she’d been given. A street camera or something similar. Hoodie up and face covered - while she was exactly the same she resented the person for being so careful. It made her job harder, but it was still just as crackable. Hal Davis, Chimera Operative. Focused in network security and counter-intelligence. Part of several anti-Variant groups and ousted his brother from the family when he found out he was a Variant. Misses him. Hates him. Laying low since the recent raid on Chimera warehouses snatched up his friend-

It was like the grain from the photo entered her brain, and then her eyes. Everything went grey for a moment as her head felt like it had just been pulled into the table. Susan tried not to look concerned. She failed, but Vivian was too focused on her brain being put through the blender to notice. She pressed both of her palms into her forehead and pushed against it, a cathartic attempt at trying to push the migraine out of her head. It didn’t work, but she felt a little better as time went by. Another five minutes later and she looked to Susan sheepishly. It was embarrassing to be watched while you had a mini-meltdown every ten minutes. The fact that she liked this handler made that fact worse.

“So...Chimera, huh?”

Susan gave her that look. “I can’t divulge any information about Chimera to you. The same as how I couldn’t tell you about N.O.V.A. and our relationship with them or anything regarding the Pariah Underground.”

Worth a shot, at least. “He’s with them.” She flicked the photo over to the agent. “Hal Davis. He’s clever with computers. Networks, staying hidden and all that. Laying low after someone raided something and picked up...someone.” She hated this. She wasn’t a professional, she didn’t even want this job and yet she still felt like the world’s biggest idiot when she got vague and nonspecific. Like she was doing a bad job. Like this was even a fucking job! It made her angry. It made her want to break shit, and go outside and get trashed and vandalise buildings.

She calmed down in a visible slump as her head rested against the desk.

“Let's take five.” Her handler said.

“Music?” Vivian asked.

“Not a chance.”

Worth a shot.

It was about twenty minutes into that five minute break that Susan’s phone started ringing. After checking the number, she gave an apologetic nod and look to the punk. As per usual, Vivian excused herself. It was an odd way to do it, but Vivian’s room was the only one that had thick enough walls to mute the sound of a possibly confidential call. She’d only just got comfortable before the knocks came to her door. She trundled to her feet and past the door.

Susan offered a hand. To shake. “It’s been nice working with you.”

Vivian looked at her with scrutiny. For a moment, Susan was scared she was reading her. But no, just suspicious. “Only two days?”

“New orders. Not my decision. I’ll be meeting up with them at the Bureau, passing over the information you’ve already helped with. I’ll leave the rest of the files with you in case you feel like working anymore today.” She could share that much, at least.

A little defeated, Vivian shook the hand. Susan saw the look, but didn’t say anything.

As soon as she was out of the door, Susan quickly rang the number of the replacement babysitter.

Sebastian rested his dark aviator sunglasses on his short brown hair as he walked through the lobby of the FBI main headquarters building, his black tactical boots creating a dull thud with every step across the tiled floor. His Kimber .45 was tucked into the small of his back under the waist of his jeans with no holster, concealed beneath his short-sleeved button down shirt. He drew eyes from the other agents in the building as he made his way to the elevators but he paid them no mind. Sebastian had made this walk before under more pressing circumstances.

Everyone recognized Alpha One when they saw him.

He stepped into the elevator and began the ride up to the operations office, ready to get the meeting with the special agent over with. A twinge in his left flank as he shifted his weight to that side reminded him he didn’t pick this assignment. The surgical site was healing nicely. By his estimation, he would be free falling onto a hot DZ in no time. The elevator doors opened onto the intelligence branch floor and he made a direct path to the agent’s desk.

Special Agent Susan Taylor stood as she saw the man making a determined approach toward her, suddenly a bit nervous. She tossed her long black ponytail behind her and smoothed her black cut away blazer against her body.

“Mr. Albright,” Susan said extending a hand when he was standing in front of her. “I’ve heard a lot about you; it’s nice to meet you in person.”

“Sebastian’s fine,” he replied flatly returning her handshake firmly but half-heartedly.

He eyed her rapidly and discretely. She looked like the typical special agent. Nice dress suit, white blouse tucked into black pants. 9-milimeter Sig Sauer P226 holstered on her hip in plain sight next to her badge. Thin and carried herself well. Young and pretty.

He’d done a little homework, too: “25 series,” he said referring to her Army background. “Shoe-in for this branch.”

She was taken aback slightly by his insight into her former occupation but recovered quickly. “Yes, well, I understand that your own background in the military made you quite a catch for the FBI, as well.”

Susan had been prepared for the intimidating, strong figure possessed by Sebastian Albright. She had seen surveillance footage of Alpha One in action a few times. He was dynamic and relentless. What she was not expecting was the serene and intelligent gaze of his green eyes that seemed to engulf her all-knowingly. Her experience with the FBI’s conventional special response team had left her less than impressed. Sebastian was different.

“So what do you got for me?” he asked her directly crossing his arms.

Susan could tell he was not looking forward to the job. It was evident in the impatient tone of his voice and showed in his body language.
“I won’t bore you with the details,” she replied and picked a couple items off her desk. “I’m sure you have been thoroughly briefed. You have her location. She is currently being monitored via an ankle alarm that will respond if she steps outside.”

She handed him a small PDA and a file folder held closed with a paperclip. “The alarm is linked to this device. It will generate a detailed report of any violations and track the ankle alarm by satellite. The file contains all the intel we have on her.”

“Thanks,” he said and turned to leave.

“Sebastian,” she said before he could take a step. “I know you’re only involved in this project as an alternative for medical leave. We were all on pins and needles waiting for news on your condition, and we’re -I’m- happy you’re back on your feet.”

She pursed her thin lips, feeling silly for speaking to the man as though he were a rookie agent. But Susan had a responsibility to make sure this operation remained successful.

“However you may feel about it, protecting this asset is a matter of national security. You may be in this for the long haul. She’s not a bad girl. Get to know her, and place her safety above all else.”

Sebastian regarded her expressionlessly for a few moments. He genuinely respected the level of commitment that Susan Taylor had invested into the project. There was clearly more to Vivian Gregory than what was written in any file. But he didn’t need any special agent to tell him what it meant to be a guardian of national security.

He turned again to leave without a word. So much for that free fall, after all.



Sebastian put his duffle bag full of tactical gear, extra clothes, and personal items in the back of his Jeep next to the rifle case that contained his HK416. The vehicle itself was an upgraded, tactical version of the civilian model. He got in, dropped his aviators down, and began the drive toward the safe house.

No sooner had he pulled onto Main Street heading toward the Warehouse District than the PDA Susan had given him started blinking and beeping. He snatched it off the passenger seat and clicked it on. The alert message scrolling across the top of the screen was telling him that the asset, Vivian, had left the building. Data and satellite images were being generated but Sebastian didn’t have time to worry about that.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered to himself as he floored the gas pedal and began weaving through traffic. Five minutes on the job and he had already lost control of the situation. He looked at the encrypted GPS display on his dashboard and took the most direct route possible to the safe house.

The transition from Midtown to the Warehouse District was separated by one street, passing from the crowded business district and into the artsy atmosphere almost instantly. The trendy buildings soared past him until he slammed on the brakes and screeched into a parking space in front of the target location.

He couldn’t afford to blow his over by suiting up, nor did he have the time to pull it all out even if he could. He snatched the PDA and dashed up a set of stairs to the second story door, quickly turning the key to unlock it. His Kimber was out in a flash as he threw the door open and settled into tactically clearing the room.

The place was empty, but rock music was blaring from somewhere. Open living room and kitchen, nicely furnished. He saw two rooms on the opposite wall. With the .45 held at the high ready Sebastian smoothly crossed the carpeted space and threw open the first door.

Clear.

The second room, then, obviously lived in by the asset, and the source of the deafening music, but clear.

He took a knee inside the girl’s room, against the wall at the door’s edge, and looked at the PDA. He scrolled through the text data quickly then accessed the satellite tracker. The blinking location icon placed the asset right on top of him, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Right on top of him.

He ran to the window at that thought, opened it and peered out. As he had guessed there was a fire escape that went all the way up to the rooftop of the building. He climbed out the window and made the assent in a few bounds.

And then he saw her, sitting calmly on an HVAC unit and facing away from him. He levelled his Kimber at her and slowly made his approach, ignoring the burning he felt in his side. His movement was ghostly and silent, perfected to be unnoticed even in the stillest of environments, although the music from her room provided cover enough. Then the barrel of the .45 APC was against the back of her head.

“Boo.”

As soon as Susan was out the door, Vivian put on some music, and had a flick through the remaining photos. She only had a couple cursory glances before deciding to leave the folder on the table. It was future-Vivian’s problem now. She set the volume from loud to ground-shaking and decided it was time for some mischief.

While the locks on the door were extensively difficult to crack, the windows leading outward hadn’t had the same federal treatment yet. An oversight to be sure, though from what she’d gleaned by reading the last couple handlers, this place was mostly a new asset for them. She was just helping beef up security. And maybe freaking out the new handler a little bit. What were they gonna do, lock her up?

Heading to the kitchen, she poured herself what remained of the gin and mixed it with lemonade and then out the window and up the fire escape. She camped out on the tile roof. It was already dark outside and due to the lack of rain, it was nice and pleasant to just sit out and bask in the light-polluted air. She poured herself a drink and enjoyed the first real little freedom she’d had in months - until she sipped her drink. The freedom didn’t stop it tasting any less like paint thinner.

She closed her eyes let hands hang low as she laid out on the tiling. She had just enough time to get relaxed before feeling the metal of a gun push against her head with an accompanying...

“Boo.”

Vivian wasn’t steely-nerved enough to stay where she was, her instinct was to immediately spin around. Her drink slipped out of her hand in the shock, ran down the tiles and smashing onto the street below. She turned, skidded down a tile or two in her panic and got a hard, albeit shaky look at the gunman.

Sebastian Albright, 33. Dutiful, lonely, cold. Special Operative working for the FBI as part of a rapid response team specialising in counter-terrorism, asset retrieval and hostage rescue. Recently took part in two raids, retrieving a Chimera-operative in the first and raiding a Chimera facility in the second leaving him injured and left unfit for active combat. He has a younger sister called Stephanie, and enjoys writing in his spare time, his favourite poet is Conrad Aiken, though he would never tell anyone and he’s afraid of-

She wasn’t trying to read him. She didn’t even mean to. The panic and shock set off the ‘Variant’ part of her brain and it wasn’t as soon as she’d looked at him that she let out a pained scream. Her hands clamped over her temples as she disregarded him, the gun, and the fact that she was now teetering on a rooftop as she scrunched up her eyes and tears rolled down her face as she assumed the fetal position and grit her teeth in the backlash of that sensory overload. She wasn’t crying anymore, at least - not audibly. The tears were rolling down her cheeks but she was sucking in air through her teeth to try and manage the pain.



Sebastian watched blankly as the girl proceeded to freak out. He had scared her, obviously. And guns were scary, he got it. But whatever was going on with the asset- his asset, now- seemed a lot less like gun shy and a little more like suicidal.

The kid’s about to ace herself.

In the same fluid motion Sebastian flicked the Kimber’s safety on, tucked it back in his pants, and dashed over to Vivian, taking hold of her wrist and guiding her fall to the tile of the rooftop instead of over its edge. The girl was crying quietly and had curled up in a ball, hyperventilating like she was having a panic attack. The first responder in him evaluated the situation. She was breathing. She was not bleeding.

And that was where he would usually hand this goddamn Variant off to someone else.

How he longed to be able to get on the net and request support from the TOC. But what would he ask for, a social worker? Twenty minutes into the operation and Sebastian was already drowning in the sea of unfamiliarity that surrounded his specialized area of expertise. Crying girls was not in his wheelhouse.

“Hey,” he said kneeling beside her. “Relax. You’re alright. You left the safe house. You know that’s a big no-no. The way you reacted I might have shot you myself, if you hadn’t tried to kill yourself first.”

He wasn’t going to tell her that there was nothing about her behaviour that had even allowed the thought of pulling the trigger to enter his mind. Right now she was a crying girl. But the FBI didn’t have her locked up in a safe house for no reason.

There is evil and there is innocent. In some cases it took a little time to decide which one he was dealing with.



She heard the talking but she couldn’t pick apart the sounds to make it make sense. It was just noise trying to get through the impenetrable grain and fuzziness of the ringing headache. The tone was soothing, in a gravelly kind of way. She knew she was fine, but she needed the minute or two before she even felt like taking her hands off her head. A minute or two of agonising waiting and she finally slowly removed them, triggering another numb ache that throbbed every other beat of her heart. Whenever she wasn’t using it, she kind of secretly liked her power. Just after using it, she wished she was normal.

She wasn’t sure what foot to put forward. She was embarrassed, sheepish - did she apologise? Thank him? She put enough pieces together to realise she was almost another statistic in the book of rooftop suicides, or however else it would get framed by federal agents. Another deep breath in, and another deep breath out later she finally looked at Sebastian again.

“I’m good, I’m fine - thanks. It’s just a -” She really didn’t want to explain it. “Did you read my file in the hospital or something?” Without looking she gestured right to his left flank, where the bullet had got under the plate and almost killed him. In almost the same motion she offered a hand out, still in pain quite obviously by the look on her face but managing enough for a conversation.



Sebastian sighed; he gets one little scratch and never hears the end of it.

“Does everyone in the bureau know about that, including Variant assets?”

He took her hand and helped her up, already beginning to deduce how Vivian knew of his injury. He had every detail of her file dedicated to memory, including her ‘Variant detector’ skill, and the recorded sessions she had had with other agents describing her ability to know intimate details about things and people just by looking at them. It also led him to realize that her breakdown was not because of him, but because she had been reading him. There was one glaring conflict between the operations file and what he now saw in front of him, however:

The eight-by-eight photo did not do her justice.

“I may have skimmed over it,” Sebastian answered her question in a low voice, locking eyes with the girl. “I guess you can tell by now that I’m no Variant. But keep digging around in there-“ he tapped his head with a finger- “and you might find out I’m something much worse.”

He took a step back and showed her his hands, letting the hostage negotiator in him take over.

“No guns, see? But you have to get back into the safe house now. Nice and easy. Can you do that for me?”

She opened her mouth to correct him, but considering how she didn’t really want to ostracise herself from the normal right away, she let him figure it out on his own. She gestured to the fire escape with a shrug of her shoulders. “Considering my drink is now coating the street in a fresh layer of broken glass and I was loud enough to elicit a 999 call, I’m all for getting inside.”
She climbed back in and once Sebastian followed, shut the window she’d jimmied open and walked over to the kitchen, shedding her patched hoodie in favour of the short-sleeved band shirt as she got two glasses and poured the pitiful remains of mixed alcohol into both. She offered him a glass. “It’s gin and lemonade. I’ll have it if you don’t want it.” She said with an indifference that showed she really wouldn’t mind if he refused.



The girl seemed content to return to the safe house. Sebastian followed her back down the fire escape and through the window. He watched Vivian close the window and ditch her jacket, then make her way out of the room. He followed, but on his way out Sebastian stopped at the girl’s stereo and shut down the ear-blasting music before walking into the living room.

He stood and watched her in the kitchen as she poured drinks and offered one to him. There wasn’t much left of the gin and he could tell she needed it more than he did after her breakdown on the roof. He couldn’t blame her, either.

“An alcoholic Variant,” he said as he observed the way she was eyeing the booze. “You go right on ahead. I’m all set.”

He laughed (or the closest thing to a laugh that he could muster) inside at the intentional irony of calling her an alcoholic. He once had those same eyes for the drink, but Sebastian had defeated that foe long ago, after it almost did him in. All the Delta guys loved to go out and drink, but most of them did not have the powerful propensity for alcoholism that he did. His commander had had enough and ordered him into rehab. It was probably the best thing that ever happened to him.

He regarded her choice in drink and, with memories of the poison he did once prefer, added, “Wouldn't drink that swill if you paid me.”



“Alcoholic?” She scoffed before downing the first drink in a practiced and perfunctory manner before sliding the empty glass onto the kitchen counter before slouching at the table where the folder still sat, her remaining workload for the week. She paid much more attention to nursing the mixture of that vile gin and fizzy bubbles. “And I’ve got a name, Sebastian.” She said. Maybe that was counterproductive to making friends, but she didn’t like being called Variant. It was the same as being called a freak. “Plus, I couldn’t pay you if I wanted. Not here by choice and all.”

She shut up a moment, looking at the folder, looking at her drink - then decidedly meeting the steely gaze of the operative in front of her. She looked a little too long - not intending to put across the idea that she was ‘reading’ something from him again, only trying to get his measure. She decided to open up first, level some of the ground a little. “I used to really idolise Chimera - y’know, back when they were an ethical group who hit big-money and government and weren’t so…-” She let the sentence run out before starting a new one. “Before they started doxxing and hurting regular people and running their anti-Variant propaganda.”

As odd as it was, she started laughing a little. “I- I uh, I wasn’t really expecting a GI. - Is that something you say here? I’ve only had people in intelligence or operations come look after me.” Another pause. She decided to lay another few cards on the table. “I know that N.O.V.A. have been after me is that getting worse, or are you just uh...next on the babysitting rota?” She indulged in another cringe-inducing sip of mixed paint-thinner. Smart wasn’t the best word to fit Vivian. But aware? There was a lot of knowing that backed those headaches, that was for certain.



He watched the girl down her drink like a pro and nodded his head at her in approval. When it seemed to him as though she were trying to read him again, he peered directly into her eyes, inviting her every attempt. This was a game he had prepared himself to play the entire time he was there if he had to. His expression darkened, though, as she told him of her fascination with Chimera before they become the corrupt terrorist organization they were today.

“My apologies, miss- Vivian, was it?” He had not forgotten, but was just being difficult. “And If by ‘doxxing’ you mean kidnapping, extortion, murder, and threatening national security, then sure; that’s them. Great role models for the disaffected youth.” His voice was harsh and intense as he expressed his disdain for the organization.

He leaned against the back of the couch and crossed his arms. Sebastian had taken notice of Vivian’s lilting accent. It reminded him of the many operations on which he had cooperated with the SAS. They were solid men, and great drinkers. But what could he tell her about his involvement in her security detail?

“First of all, I’m not a G.I.,” he stated. “Second, I’m not here by choice either. But apparently you’re too much to handle for the nerds the FBI has been using to change your diapers, and give you your binky when you start crying. So, now I get to do it.”

He had picked up on her eyeing a folder on the table and dispensed with all of the witty banter as he continued.

“As far as N.O.V.A. goes, I wouldn’t worry about it. I know about the work you’re doing here for the FBI. My real job is to keep you out of N.O.V.A.’s hands. If they, or anyone else looking for trouble, come knocking, I’ll be here waiting. And as long as I’m still standing, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

He may not have wanted the assignment, but we was here, and it was his now. He alone owned the responsibility. Success depended on his willingness to give himself completely to the mission. It was the only way he knew how to operate. While Sebastian remained within these walls with her, Vivian would be the only reason he drew breath.

But she didn’t need to know any of that, and Sebastian decided that he was wearing too much of his conviction to protect the punk Variant on his sleeve.

“You do your job, I’ll do mine,” he said in his normal flat demeanor once more. “It doesn’t have to get any more complicated than that.”



She didn’t seem comfortable, not really. Even though she was sure that he was honest and that all he was here to do was protect her, she was still the prisoner, and he was most definitely the jailer. Not to mention she was still a little shook up from the rooftop escapade almost becoming an impromptu base jumping session. She was honest, and blunt - which meant it was obvious that she didn’t like how he spoke to her, or maybe just didn’t like him or what he did, after all, while she’d had federal agents in a revolving door coming and going, she hadn’t had a true blue killer until now.

She pursed her lips, scared or not she didn’t like authority. “No need to get aggressive - just wanted to level the playing field. I know a bit more about you than is comfortable for me, so you get to know a little too much about me.” She gave a shrug of her shoulders. “But I appreciate the openness. Even if I could read it from you - I don’t want to. Not out of some sort of trust about you and yours keeping secrets from me for ‘my safety’ or whatever but because it really, really sucks to ‘do my job’.” She paused.

“Though I guess I’m preaching to the converted when it comes to not liking what I do.”



Aggressive? Maybe he had been a bit too direct in trying to appear completely detached from it all. But Sebastian was wired tight to execute tasks that required nothing less than aggression. He was still trying to navigate his way through how he was supposed to deal with his current assignment. At length, he was comfortable leaving things where they stood with Vivian. After all, he had nothing but time to deconstruct and evaluate his every move and make adjustments as necessary.

He did like what he did. The problem was that this was not what he did.

“I’m going to go get my gear,” he told Vivian after a few moments of silence. “Do me a favor and don’t try to leave town as soon as I walk out the door.” The punk rock girl gave the softest shrug of her shoulders in reply.

Sebastian left the safe house and returned to his Jeep, deciding that he would fix his hasty parking job later. He pulled his duffle bag and weapons case out and wondered when he would ever need any of it while working in the safe house. There was a buzzing in his pocket and he took out his civilian phone. Cameron had sent him a text.

[Don’t forget to burp after feeding.]

He shook his head and didn’t respond. It was going to be a long campaign.

---

Sometimes, his human emotions were annoying. A self reflection brought from a moment of standing in one place for seemingly too long. His path was impeded by a wooden door that normally stood no chance against him. Anxiety kept him on the outside of it, and he wasn’t sure where it came from. He did not feel it when he saw what the media considered a tragedy simply two days prior to this one.

A variant had attained to some sort of insanity or something similar, as it went on a rampage through New Haven. It was along the way to the meeting with his fellow Undergrounders, his seeker eye caught view of shadowy creature. It killed indiscriminately, and killed many. Brought destruction with it too. NOVA Agents and Soldiers made their way on the scene to chase the creature down and contain it.

The task took them longer than The Watcher calculated. It even managed to take some of their lives as well. It looked dangerous, and even tapped into Rhamses compassion for the surface. He would have stepped in to try his hand at containing the creature, but they managed to corner it. Volts of electricity weakened it enough to be drawn away from the area.

His seeker eye saw this, recorded it to memory. Soon after, when he met with the others, he shared the recording as a projection. The reports that followed did not present variants in a favorable light, and was only going to prove to increase tensions between human and variant kind moving forward. It was advised to keep a low profile for some time, even lower than they normally did. This was concerning...Baba was taken by humans, for a purpose unknown to him.

Rha’s brain recollected this information, and used it as motivation. To summon up the courage to knock on Connor’s door. It was strange, that he felt dread pass through his system. His heart’s pace quickened, and the slight breeze decreased in temperature, causing his skin follicles to clump together; goosebumps. It was odd to feel this considering the boy was much smaller than he, however he felt the need to be more direct this time.

For one, he was delaying a little longer than The Watcher anticipated that it’d take for him to walk out with the canine creature. For the second...Rha was overthinking the simple task of knocking on a door. In order to prevent any further delay, he raised his hand to the wooden prism, and…

Knock, knock, knock

---

It wasn’t long after Connor had lowered the phone that he heard a knock on the door. Calling these series of scenarios an eventful evening was an understatement, by far. For a brief moment, a split second one might say, Connor froze. Was it the police? Did they want to take him into custody as a precaution? No, that was ridiculous, a result of the boy spiraling into a downhill series of thoughts. ”Pull yourself together,” the Variant mumbled, his petite frame moving in tune with annoyingly recurring distress.

”I am sorry for all the distractions, Cerberus,” the teen forced a smile down at his beloved companion, ”we’ll head out, soon,” he finished, attaching a leash which maintained itself as a formality. Cerberus overpowered his owner with ease, and a leash managed little in regards to control. However, one ought to keep up appearances.

The click of claws tapped against a metallic door handle as Connor pushed it down, and dispelled the barrier between himself and a crashing wave of emotional chaos.

So different, but yet, so alike. Memories made flesh, longing and sadness personified beneath dark, brown skin. An onlooker would likely find it odd, the Variant once more freezing, but this repeated reaction lingering due to justification. Legs grew weak, a body trembling, and obsidian eyes watering from the sight. Connor’s fingers fell limp, the leash soundlessly meeting with a carpet by his feet. A single step back made him feel a thud against his backside from Cerberus’ wagging tail, curious grey eyes gazing at the lengthy figure towering above the beast’s master. There was a distinct presence Connor knew all too well, a flash from years now long gone, and a wound only somewhat healed, though slightly torn every time he held onto cherished headphones.

With a shaky breath, the Variant attempted to grip his senses as to not completely lose control of an already damaged equilibrium. ”R-Rashie..?” The name was one which had remained unsaid for ages, Connor’s pale cheeks now wet with streaks of glistening tears teasing at his throat, all the while. A trembling hand extended towards an old, vanished friend, as if the image was hard to believe, only for salty pearls to grow more prominent as Connor’s dainty appendage came in contact with a dear memory.

---

At first, there was an unfamiliar sense of tension in the air that Rha can say that he never felt before. Something strange, as though excited and afraid at once, and this feeling only extended upon the door opening. His human eye gleamed its once natural color, trying to understand what Connor’s reaction was. In that way, they both seemed frozen, the door’s archway a barrier.

The sudden thickness of the air was filled when the name was said. One that panged a piece of his memory. He heard it before, from this voice, and the feeling was something that words could only barely describe. Many images came of this boy’s face, albeit, he was smaller. They were often smiling, and varying piano tones played in his head. An inner warmth that brought a small smile to his face, after many days that he didn’t. There was never a reason before this moment.

“Felice di vederti, Connor.” Were his words, consumed by a form of nostalgia that he could only liken as being…childlike? The phrase felt familiar to his tongue, and yet so foreign to his memory. The words he said were italian...inherently, yet, from seemingly nowhere. Yet, it felt nice to say them, as his emotions could confirm in this moment; it was ‘nice to see him’, again.

---

Swallowing his tears, the Variant moved a hand towards his eyes before a futile attempt to dry those pale cheeks followed. There was no use in seeking stability, anymore. Without another word, Connor stepped forth, his slender arms wrapping themselves around the taller individual, tightly gripping him in a desperate embrace. ”I thought you were dead..,” came a weak string of words, Connor’s attempt at clinging to his friend ending only once the hug reached a natural, if reluctant conclusion. ”Everyone..,” the Variant continued, shaking his head softly, ”thought you were dead.”

Rha’s disappearance and presumed death had been reported on several times, and once the investigation was abandoned, Connor’s heart sank into a pit in his stomach. He could recall it, still. A best friend, an only friend, lost and gone from this world without anything to come from it. ”What.., what happened to you, Rashie?” Connor continued, his dark gaze rising towards Rashawn’s features. This was not the same person from all those years back, clearly.

---

The hug was an abnormal gesture to him. Something that his brain could logically define, yes, an affectionate embrace that usually involves one being looping their arms around another. But the emotion in the moment transcended the definition entirely. Those were real tears that Connor was releasing, and to be honest, he could feel the stinging behind his eye as well. He tried to process what Connor was saying as he pulled at least one arm up to his back. His dreads drooped down from where they were under the hood and rested around the smaller boy’s head.

Rha tried to process his words, taking in what was already new information. Connor apparently thought that he was dead. When he extended the phrase to ‘everyone’, it seemed, this past person his bare memory could only somewhat piece together was very important to Connor, as well as the people they interacted with. Furthermore, his absence, being the catalyst for the belief of his passing.

His thoughts carried him out of the moment for a second, coming back only when their hug ended. Rha blinked back, and his seeker eye glowed brightly, as if it had momentarily went to sleep. Connor’s question became one that hit his psyche perhaps a little harder than he thought it would. His arms shook a little and his expression defaulted to dumbfoundedness. He couldn’t even cry, and the look of desperation was a little more obvious than he may have wanted to let on.

“I...I don’t know.” He admitted, voice cracking a little, sounding like an audio recording glitching. He looked over his shoulder to peer down the street. Paranoia set in as he wasn’t sure who was listening, despite there being only sparse foot traffic on the block at the moment.

“I don’t know anything…” He confirmed his earlier statement, turning his head back to Connor. By now he noticed his slight tremble, and stopped himself consciously.

“All I know is you.”

---

Reaching past his friend, Connor pushed the door to a close. Sadly, Cerberus would need to wait for a fair bit longer before that promised walk. ”So you disappear..,” the Variant spoke, a small sigh making its way past his lips, ”and return a.., cyborg..? And you don’t remember anything,” he continued, more a statement than a question. Letting his arms fall to his sides, Connor stepped back and dropped onto the same armrest he had considered ever so comfortable only a few moments earlier.

Unable to stifle a chuckle, the pale Variant raised his hand, wiping what remained of those tears, even though they were soon replaced. ”Today’s been so fucked up..,” he grumbled, though paused soon after Rha’s final statement. Clenching his teeth, the boy raised his dark eyes to meet the taller figure, ”I’m pretty hard to forget..,” came a small joke, desperately forcing itself through the sadness in an attempt at humor in this emotional hour. ”I guess I could ask you a million questions.., but honestly..,” Connor started, his clawed digits moving together where he sat, ”it doesn’t seem like you can answer them, so.., all I can ask is..,” the teen paused, considering the notion before eventually speaking, ”you’re here now, that’s what’s important, right? What.., do you plan on doing now?”

---

As the emotional high seemed to be evening out, Rha’s logical mentality slowly began to trickle back in. Honestly, he was a little surprised that Connor believed and recognized him so quickly. Regardless of that though, he took in his question. He felt the urge to look around again, but didn’t give in to his paranoia this time.

“I have to find Baba. Men with suits took him away, and I can’t determine where. My mind tells me it was the same people that took us…” Rha’s eye aimed toward the ground. “Though, I remember what that place is, and how it looks...I can’t pinpoint where. Memory indicators are foggy.” His Seeker eye started blinking, and Rha felt the past couple of days weigh on him.

“Life Support Systems, forty percent…” He said quietly, again with an android’s echo. There was a moment of silence as he thought, face aimed toward the floor. 40 wasn’t great and he definitely needed some time to recharge, but Rha significantly cared less about that in the current moment with Connor.

“My hope in finding you again is if you have any information about what happened to me. Hopefully that could lead me back to free Baba…” Rha explained, aiming his eyes back up.

“Please...I must find him.”

---

Attempting to compute with everything a long lost friend had been saying, Connor raised his hands, gently rubbing at his forehead. The worst thing this Variant had been expecting when waking that morning was more prejudice. However, what he got by far surpassed the fears brewing within. Despite the short span of time which had passed between each, and every event, Connor was barely able to link them together, anymore. It felt like days, even weeks, had managed to pass across the period of a few moments.

”I..,” Connor tried, lowering his dark gaze to the floor, ”I don’t know anything, Rashie,” the boy spoke, his senses back to what could be considered normal. ”And, wait.., forty what? Are you hurt?” A moment’s lapse in composure caused the young Variant to stand from where he had been sitting, ”maybe we should go to the hospital, Rashie, I mean.., no, we definitely should but I’ve watched enough movies to know that the people who are after you..,” he stopped. Trailing off was not ideal, right now. With a deep breath, Connor shook his head. He needed to stay calm. No good decisions were made in panic. ”I’ll.., I’ll help you find him.., I mean.., of course I will,” the Variant stated. It was obvious, and there was no other path to take in this scenario. ”But.., I don’t even know where to start.”

---

A sharp pang hit Rha in the chest when Connor came to the revelation of not knowing anything. The stinging behind his eyes got worse, and his skin flashed white only very briefly before he quickly regained his composure. It was as though his world had come to a startling crash around him, as this was his sole lead. Connor was a key piece to his memory, and even him not knowing what happened was disheartening.

It was in these moments of doubt that he missed what Connor had said partially, but picked up when he mentioned a hospital. He quietly blinked but slowly nodded at his friend redirecting his interests away from a physical facility. It wasn’t what he needed, but he could tell the information was overwhelming Connor to an extent. A comforting warmth radiated from within as, even though having no idea what was going on, he promised to help Rha anyway. The bionic being smiled.

“I only require access to a common electrical outlet...There I can recharge my energy...It’s been several days.” Rha explained to answer Connor’s concerns about his health earlier.

“A place we can begin is perhaps discovering what happened the last you saw or heard from me, or Baba perhaps.”

---

---

Relaxation was a desperate pursuit, one which would allow for a moment’s rest, and a spell of respite. A week embraced by chaos and destruction, alongside confusion and countless questions. Rashawn was alive, and a Variant to boot, Midtown had been attacked, and Mr. Pernass also joined the ranks of local ‘Monsters’. Though, in regards to that most peculiar statement, Conner would be lying if he claimed that doubt hadn’t been sown.

The smiling, quirky young man who maintained a positive outlook appeared to have taken a backseat to melancholy. How fickle it was, a teenager’s state of mind. Where it at one moment allowed for laughter, the next scene expressed tears and a quivering voice. Indeed, emotions were a chaotic tune, and pinpointing them was at times a herculean task.

He could hear the shuffling of feet accompanying a ceaseless trickle of machines beeping in tandem with heartbeats and stability. The song of a hospital, a never changing string of lyrics Connor had memorized, and could very well turn into a painting with closed eyes. An ironic thought, marrying sound and color in an attempt to witness harmony, or discord, depending on the long awaited result.

Slowly, each claw clicked against the long since chipped table Connor had adopted in regards to homework and assignments. Not an activity native to Saturdays, but responsibility overpowered comfort. Though, having been promised dinner with his mother for the first time in what felt like a millennium, Connor could not abandon a chance at the scenario. Something he had been looking forward to. An odd prospect, perhaps, for what teenager wanted time spent with their mother? It was a vacancy only truly understood if felt.

Closing his book, Conner exhaled a long breath. Maths, his worst enemy. The Variant would rather have stood beneath the sun than withstand another hour of numbers circling his mind like merciless blades. Rather, Connor substituted his notebook with a sketchbook, which in itself offered a world of difference. He dragged his pen across the page in a repeated fashion, the boy’s free hand resting beneath his chin. A knight slaying a dragon, the forces of good striking down at those of evil intent. The display caused Connor to chuckle quietly. If only the world beyond his sketchbook was as easy to manage. If only it was as black and white as the image coming to life before him.

Easy to manage, a curious string of words, indeed. Reality was anything but simple, and the many shades of grey coating a beautiful, yet cruel world made itself known through every action rippling across time and space. Connor could still recall the term for it. ‘Butterfly Effect’. Everything was a chain reaction. No matter how miniscule an act, no matter how complex or pedestrian, monuments find their infancy in pebbles.

It was impossible to tell what had led to Midtown’s unfortunate disaster, as a slideshow of events would end in the very beginning of time. However, what continued to branch from such misery had found its way far closer to home.

An explosion echoed throughout the New Haven State Hospital, causing Connor to nearly fall from his chair. Cries of agony and terror shot through every corridor like banshee howls, the scene shifting from a mellow, if relaxing moment to chaos, and destruction. The transition was abrupt, a line in the sand which promptly shifted calm past to disastrous present. Despite being on the fourth floor, Connor saw how walls shattered in response to an attack, every calculated strike rippling from within the hospital by enemies who knew exactly where to position themselves.

An attack. When the situation dawned on him, Connor found himself frozen by the threshold separating a long corridor from the nurses’ lounge. Dust particles floated throughout the building, remnants of interior which the now paralyzed boy tried to summarize within his mind. An attack. One reads of this constantly, every news outlet covering one disaster after the next but no matter how close, Connor found it impossible to equal that with what he was feeling at this moment. Dread. Never before had he understood the true meaning of such a word, as when he stood in the middle of a warzone.

If he was to describe the situation, slow motion would likely do it justice. He was unsure if he remembered to breathe, or even blink. Every second passed as if a prolonged eternity, chaos swirling like a tornado across what he had once considered a second home. Once the shock began to slowly settle, it was instead replaced by deafening screams, accompanied by what could only have been inhuman powers. It was an assumption which bore fruit, as Connor’s obsidian gaze slowly turned towards the end of a shattered hallway, where three Variants were paving a path through bloodied shapes coating a previously white floor in red crimson.

Another explosion echoed across the fourth floor of New Haven State Hospital, only moments before Connor felt himself pushed into the nurse lounge. His ears were ringing, body aching from the pain of a shockwave, but the Variant could still note a presence above him. “C-Connor..,” came a forced statement, the boy’s eyes widening as he saw his mother shielding him.

”Mom..,” the little ‘Monster’ tried, a warm sensation seeping through his clothes, and blanketed the pale skin beneath. ”Mom!” Connor exclaimed, his eyes adjusting to the dust-ridden sight, clawed hands attempting to gently move his mother over, where a sanguine picture confirmed every terror and fear which had been building since the moment Connor regained his composure. ”Mom!” The boy repeated, tears now forcing themselves through black orbs where they were fixed, on his mother who had protected her son from devastation. Splinters filled her back, wooden debris forcing itself through her frame haphazardly. A mere look further down would reveal for Connor a black substance trickling down his side.

Words were traded for cries, trembling hands attempting to lift the woman enough to meet her gaze, a faded lifeless expression which caused Connor’s heart to stop beating, if such a thing was possible.

The sound of footsteps across shattered glass and splintered wood turned the boy’s attention forward, a gathering of three Variants standing in front of him. Pain, fear, and anxiety gripped the boy with iron fists. A lifeless mother laid motionless in his arms, breathing growing heavier, and less stable. ””M-Mom.., please.., wake up..,” Connor pleaded, his consciousness slowly fading in response to a wound tearing itself through his side.

“Come with us,” a voice pierced the silence, though it was not possible to deduce who of the three had spoken.

With his claws nearly digging into the body in his arms, Connor’s tear-filled gaze fixed itself on those who had joined him in what remained of the nurse lounge. It was anger, the feeling taking over every fraction of the little ‘Monster’. The anger which remained hidden behind countless layers of confidence, security, and alleged understanding. Anger which soon turned to hatred, which in turn resulted in an inferno. Much like Connor had learned the meaning of dread, he would also soon understand the meaning of absolute, unhindered hatred.

There was no response to the trio, but rather, a roaring scream, the boy’s ghostly voice shaping itself into its true purpose. A spectral shout, a warcry, accompanied by an extended hand which had been coated in a liquid darker than the deepest of night. As if a wind, a torrent of force manifesting itself into a furious wave of crashing energy, Connor called forth a necrotic judgement slamming into the Variants before him.

Skin was ripped from place, flesh melting, and rotting in response. Limbs were torn from their sockets, eyes withering into nothing but liquid. Screams once belonging to victims were soon replaced by attackers’ anguish, their bodies ripped asunder beneath Death’s embrace. With wounds ripping themselves open across the Variants’ frames, mortal coils flayed and rotted, little remained other than faded memories of shattered bones. It was followed by absolute darkness, and at long last, silence, where Connor’s vision faded into obscurity alongside his consciousness.