It always lead back to Shinra... always Shinra. And yet, even Shinra was the victim of another twisted and manipulative entity. It was this entity that quaked Vincent's core. There was a resonance that both he and Nero shared. It burned with the same hate, lust for violence, and unquenchable desire for power. Just standing in Nero's presence, Vincent could practically taste the darkness in the air. Even for one who had been estranged from normal human understanding, Nero still elicited the same reaction of someone who had undergone trauma. This didn't undermine the fact that Nero was himself cruel and twisted. But Vincent understood this dichotomy well enough to know Nero wasn't fully to blame. Circumstances created individuals into who they were.

Seeing as Nero was quite familiar with the Restrictors, it dispelled a few things for him. "I see." So the reports were true that a very powerful secret black government had taken over the DeepGround military. This could either be to his advantage or a terrible mistake. "So they are what's keeping you here." Now Vincent knew why the most feared human weapons had not managed to break Shinra's chains. "Is this not the reason for your previous inquiry regarding my entry into this facility?" He already knew the answer. It was clear Nero was looking for a way out.... but releasing this man was a death sentence on the people outside.

@boundwithindarkness

"...our release is denied regardless of whether we are caged or not." Nero explained, pacing the containment they were currently stood within. "The restrictiors have control over chips implanted in our brain stems. It prevents any within Deepground to cause harm to a restrictor, and failsafes trigger should we make attempts to leave."

It was a vile enough place down there as it was; units fought against one another for survival, only the survivors moved up in rank. It was a plague pit of violence, and those of whom sat at the top of its strength - the Tsviet's - were of the most dangerous breed. A sort that even Shinra themselves likely regretted making for they were seldom able to be used due to their natures.

"My inquiry was a curiosity." Nero uttered, his pacing ceasing for but a moment - the vulgar poise of metal wings 'pon his back briefly flexing to shift the pressure of pain that forever lingered there, where metal conjoined bone and nerve alike. "I enjoy noting any failure in Shinra attempts at full concealment. Your entry here confirms one. Loathe though I am to stay, I am not so idiotic to attempt an escape." Not while the chips were still active, not while the Restrictors yet roamed with power.

"There are those of us who were born here. The pull of the outside world is forever strong." He takes pause; "...your presence will shake feathers, I'm sure."

Though Nero assumed innocence regarding the question, Vincent wasn't easily fooled. Every monster locked within the depths of Shinra's secrets were prisoners, either of their own mind, or bodily. It wasn't as though Nero was trying to just strike a conversation... those restraints told a tale of something morbid. Being a survivor of those horrors himself, Vincent couldn't blame Nero for being curious of any form of escape, no matter how impossible. He knew enough of Deepground to acknowledge that they would be a menace if loosed on the surface. But choosing to remain mute on the question would also have it's own consequences. He would provide at least something that was somewhat satisfactory.

"Not without difficulty," Vincent replied simply, turning over his gun at his side to draw attention to it. "This place... it might as well be situated in the depths of hell itself," hinting at how deep he had to travel. "A combination of brute force and external intelligences." He then paused gauged Nero's reaction to his final hint. "Does 'Restrictor' mean anything to you?"

Nero's eyes minutely squint toward the edges, a slight twitch of nerves that speak of his knowledge of how vicious life was down in the depths of Deepground - having been born to it, raised within its artificial lighting and long hallways of laboratories. Perhaps, had he the comparison of free life (-lived and experienced) to apply to it, he would be thrice as aware of how abysmal it was. In a way, his lack of freedom was a mercy, twisted though it was.

His eyes, expressive in their own right, focused heavily upon company at the mention of the restrictors, his poised stiffened and still;

"...of course." It's a clipped answer, one that spoke more through hints and tone than it did through the two words alone. "They rule each circle of this hell. Govern with cruelty, manipulation." With chips implanted within brain stems as a failsafe should those most capable find freedom or cause too much issue.

Nero's jaw tightened beneath the restraint of his mask; "...what of them?"

Cunning and sly. It certainly matched the aesthetics of this curious man in leather bonds. Shalua's reports had been useful so far, granting Vincent understanding of the secrets hidden in the depths of Shinra's dome. Nevertheless, data had been manipulated and all but fully destroyed; possibly by none other than Hojo himself. But what Shalua had been able to provide Vincent about Nero was that he was darkness in the flesh. As to what that truly meant, Vincent had to find out for himself. But ever since Nero had come into Vincent's proximity, the gunslinger felt something familiar. Could he really trust Nero? Vincent had learned long ago that no one was ever fully worth his trust without thorough assessment and trial. After all, he couldn't even trust himself when it came to his demons...

"How is it you got in here?" It is his greatest curiosity, not because he wants to use the very same means to get out - he knows such is nigh folly - but it is because he is curious as to the actual defences that hid Deepground from the wider world. There was a hole in there, somewhere, and he would very much enjoy the study of it, potentially exploit it. "ShinRa enjoy insisting that their defences here are impenetrable."

"Though, do understand - - I cannot leave here. Their leashes and cages run far deeper than what one can see with eyes." The vicious chip within his brainstem offered the only true restraint to the sable, the only preventative of him attempting escape into the wider world. "I ask... out of curiosity, and the satisfaction of their failures."

She knows that look, that sigh– she’s mirrored his own position many a night and morning. How no matter how much you try to sleep, eight hours of unconsciousness just didn’t feel like enough. Where they say sleep is supposed to heal the body and mind, you still wake up with aches and pains that plagued you when you were awake and alert. How easily it would have been, for Nero to simply lay back and fall victim to the alluring call of darkness. Her hand moves gently, fingertips apply gentle pressure where she knows his aches usually reside. Rem’s done this plenty of times before; hours upon hours of working through the knots and inflamed muscles in her youth. She had always tried to make Nero feel better. 

“Its salmon with a dill sauce and couscous. I made green beans to go with it.” 

Her voice is soft, an almost lazy as if at any minute, she’d be asleep. A confused look comes across her face when he mentions that she’s been busy before her gaze follows his to the piles of notebooks and her laptop resting to the side. Rem chuckles a little, waving a hand slightly. 

“Its just fer work.. I might need yer help later on though, there’s a few words I don’t know the meanin’ to. An’ I’m pretty sure some’o’these things aint my native tongue.” 

Heavy eyelids rest closed for the expanse of a moment, hum in appreciation of the way fingers helped to ease some of the constant pains he feels. Nero's body had never been one to relax, to be at ease; likely because of all of the stagnancy running through his veins. Nature wasn't kind to those that we're bred and created unnaturally. He had learned that the hard way.

"...sounds nice." Always was he easy to please when eating - - having no preference, no favourites, no dislikes nor allergies. From time to time he would particularly enjoy a meal, but for the most part it was an act that merely gave him sustenance. That being said... he never didn't appreciate Rem's work.

"...Always." He whispers, akin to a promise meant only for her. He had read much while trapped within Deepground, had expanded his knowledge of much through whatever he could put his hands on - - and there was always the whispers of the darkness itself that could unveil secrets if one only listened just right. He'd do anything - - for her.

He accepts the hand offered with no hesitation, stretches his legs once more before he heaved himself to standing.

"...words I can do." He squeezes her hand, gently smiles to himself as he follows behind like a lost little lamb.

Vincent might have settled for fight just to get on with his endeavors. But nothing was ever that simple in the realm of darkness and monsters. Instead, Nero took a notable interest in Vincent's investigations. There was an uncanny feeling emitting from Nero as he uttered the words. Though cast out by Shinra, Vincent was still a Turk at heart. And alarms were going off in his head. Just what interest would Nero have in his documents, Vincent couldn't fathom. Nevertheless, Vincent knew Nero wasn't to be taken lightly. The reports from Reeve and Shalua regarding DeepGround were beyond bleak. A glare and a pause of skepticism later, Vincent seemed to be drawing out answers from Nero's uncomfortable stance. Whatever he wanted, it couldn't have been anything good.

Nero's scrutinising gaze remains fixated, curiously, 'pon Vincent - the rolling of his consciousness reflecting on any ounce of information he had devoured about the man before him so it remained fresh at the forefront of his mind, should he need it. How interesting, though - - to have the male he had read about countless times now stood before him, somehow within the inner machinations of DeepGround itself.

"Satiation to curiosities." Because when one was locked away from the light of day, hidden from existence - any opportunity to experience or see something new was to be grasped with both hands and held onto tightly. Mental stimulation, aside from war games and such, was not common within the facility and Nero craved that complexity.

"I can answer your questions, if you answer mine in turn."And as much as he itched to ask how he got in there, and whether it was a possibility to get out the same way - - he wouldn't. There was far more at play than Nero wished to admit and though he would love to make a break for freedom, it simply wasn't that simple. There were too many fail-safes in place.

A fingertip lazily flips the page of her book, the paper barely making a whisper as she smooths it out and her eyes dart over the page. A pen has wedged itself between her fingers on the opposite hand, a small notebook resting beneath the heel of her palm with words written down– a random list of vocabulary in which she meant to find the definition of later. When she finds these tomes in her line of work, it takes her a few months to understand the text fully; some of the written language is foreign to her. She doesn’t seek help from the computers at ShinRa. She does it herself, asking those she knew (if anyone) who could understand some of the languages.  His voice derails her intent studying, lids blinking owlishly as she feels like sandpaper has drawn over her gaze. She must’ve forgotten to blink for some time. When Nero had come home, he was barely conscious on his feet and she had been there, like always, to unharness and lead him to comfort. His dinner was packaged, setting on the countertop in the kitchen with hers in a separate container– they always ate together. Her eyes soften, quickly dog-earing the page and setting all of her supplies off to the side of the bed when he starts to move. 

“Easy..” 

It’s breathed out in a whisper, hand reaching towards his elbow before helping him sit up. She chuckles softly, brushing some of the ebony hair from his face as he tries to get his bearings. Nero already gives her the intel, and she answers with a wave of her hand. Always about work, even when he wakes up. She remembers how she was just as eager, when Rufus handed her the standard issue gun and uniform. Rem settles a small hand in the centre of his shoulder blades, thumb rubbing just beneath the curve of his bones before sitting to face him a little more direct. 

He has slept for hours but it feels still as if he has not rested in the slightest - - no sleep felt quite enough and thus he slouches where he sits for the moment, silently drowning in the intensity of aches and pains. How comforting it is, however, to feel Rem's hand idly running up and down his back in softened motions - the pains beneath beginning to ease a smite.

"...starving." Nero admitted, not having taken much note of how hungry he was until the words reached his ears. He splay a hand out behind him, steadied himself where he sat and drew in a rather deep breath - - re-attaching himself to reality was difficult when the darkness of his sleep was so intoxicating, comforting.

"You've been busy--" He comments, eyeing the notebook with only a small amount of curiosity ere he stretches and sits himself up a smite more properly, offering a ghost of a smile.

She could probably easily take the Restrictor, but leaving Deepground unguarded did not seem a good idea in this moment. Once at the garage she pulls him into a car where her own personal guard sits to drive them. A russian man in a nice suit and darkened glasses. A restaurant would be out of the question with the way that Nero was dressed but she had an idea.

"Gregori, take us to the edge of the Biway, please." She leans back into the seat beside Nero and glances over at him. Just how dangerous were they to someone like herself? "Do you speak to one another down there?" She asks. "Or are you all confined to separate areas?" She wonders. How boring it would be to not even be able to speak day after day. Then again, for years, the only person that she spoke to was the Professor.

"Walk me through an average day down there. A week."

@boundwithindarkness

'T would seem a simple wish, he supposes - for those that had never known the extent of imprisonment that Nero had been subjected to for the entirety of his unfortunate existence thus far. The common folk of the world had very little idea beasts like him existed, and if they did - would they want them walking around? Experiencing the most simple and small pleasures of life? Unlikely.

In the car, Nero sits a smite awkwardly - leaned forward to allow for the metal expanse of those vulgar wings to settle in what little room there was. Were they removable? Yes- but the difficulty of doing so and the time it would consume made it largely not worth it.

"There are times we train together, yes." He adjusts a shoulder, curling it more into himself to allow for further comfort within his binds; "Despite being largely un-deployable - they do like us to remain sharp; few others can withstand us, so our only option is to train together." And those of Deepground that were sent toward any of the Tsviets? Usually didn't live to see another day. "The rest of the time, however - we are kept apart, in confinement, yes."

"Repetitive." Nero utters, the disembodied poise of his voice seeming to consume the interior of the vehicle; "Medical checks, research, sedation, prodding and poking-- training perhaps twice a week if lucky, experiments, new recruits... One never knows what each day will hold, but it's always a selection of the norm."

Imagine the force ShinRa would have if they did have some variety of control over the Tsviets, Nero thinks. Each of them knows how to command, have done so during mass war games within the facility and the average Deepground soldier would put a SOLDIER to shame - they'd be unstoppable. Unfortunately, their greatest weapons were also a threat to them, and not one of them held any respect nor loyalty to anyone in a commanding position within ShinRa.

A mistake on their part. If they had? Well, there would be no need for restrictors and their chips, would there? Possibilities would be endless. But no - they'd made an enemy of each of them; caged beasts simply waiting for opportunity.

I can't think with this thing breathing down my neck, can you? Her voice sounded not physically but within his mind. She peers over her shoulder and saunters off towards the Restrictor. "Excuse me, Mr. Restrictor. I need to borrow Nero for a mission. Would that be okay?" She smiles sweetly, but her eyes gleam with a silvery glow.

"I'll have him back, and you won't think anything of it. You're just going to keep standing watch as if all is normal. Now..." She points. "Unlock him." Her smile fades as he passes, and she turns to face Nero with a confident grin. The Restrictor opens the cell, and Isrieal steps forward.

"Try anything funny with me and this will be the last time you see the light of day." She warns quietly. She glances down towards her thigh. "These syringes could knock you out in an instant, and if you think you'd be faster than telekinetic force..." She merely chuckles and then steps aside so that he can step out.

"On to our mission then, shall we?" She lifts a brow and takes his arm to guide him out of the room, waiting until they are out of earshot before speaking again. "The thing about Jenova cells, they are so easy to manipulate." With a flick of her wrist, the metallic door closes behind them, leaving a long stretch of hall to an elevator that leads above ground.

"Anywhere in particular you'd like to see?" She chimes. Those sudden shifts in her tone between the dark warnings and the giddy tones were unsettling alone.

Sharp, sanguine eyes focus more closely 'pon company, the echo of her voice within his head rather unexpected and yet not disconcerting. Nero was, after all, used to the whispers of the damned filtering through the darkness he commanded, forever present within the confines of his consciousness. For the moment, however, he says naught in response - whether in the realms of their minds or aloud - - Nero uses the darkness to communicate, anyway, given the binding of his face.

Nero does, however, watch - and very closely, too. The way the Restrictor so easily buckles to what he can only describe as manipulation - quite how it had come to be, he doesn't know, but Nero is certainly no less curious. In fact, he finds himself more so - - for he is, at heart, a curious being. Dark and devious as he can be, Nero seeks knowledge more than aught else for knowledge, too, was power.

" 'Anything funny' would go against my intelligence." He isn't stupid enough to rebel, to run, to attack - - while Nero was perfectly content in his abilities and what they could achieve, he had absolutely no will to use them of current. Seeing where this path would take him was of far more use and worth to him than idle bloodshed.

He walks as guided, grinds his teeth at being touched but keeps his consciousness focused instead on the flooring ahead of him and where to step. A sense of freedom is presented and he doesn't quite know how to feel - - he's still bound, he is still owned by ShinRa and their vulgar scientists... but perhaps a taste of the outside world would do him some good.

"...Just to see the real sky."

Turning towards the voice and concentration of darkness, Vincent beheld a man bound in leather and mako-fueled veins. Daggers glistened from the appendages, and a most eerie darkness flowed at the figure's command.

That darkness... it felt familiar.

But even having the familiarity with it, the high concentration was even disturbing to the gunslinger. It was enough to keep the gunslinger at a respectable distance as he held his ground. Judging by the outfit, he could tell it was a member of the Tsviets-- likely the one known as Nero. Outside of that, he knew little of him. However, it was clear this Tsviet knew an uncomfortable amount of information on the gunslinger. "So," Vincent's eyes narrowed, Cerberus resting at his side. "You must be Nero the Sable." He knew the entity was dangerous, but he wasn't one to pick a fight unless forced. And from the looks of it, it didn't look like Nero was going to settle for a small chat. He wanted information just as much as Vincent did. "I'm here to find answers pertaining to a personal matter. I see no reason to confide the details to you." Vincent knew it wouldn't satisfy Nero, but he wanted to see just how far Nero was willing to take it.

@boundwithindarkness-archive

"How interesting--" Nero's observations continued in near silence, save for the single utterance he added for his own punctuation as opposed to actual conversation. Eyes of sharp sanguine watch with relentless precision, dainty details consumed and stored within the vaults of his consciousness to be contemplated and analysed another time. Every ounce of information could be of use, one simply never knew when.

"You're here for information... Information I may have. The old files are not restricted, though few are interested in their contents, those that oversee here most of all." Booted feet pace but thrice to the left, take pause and then thrice more - the general movement, though somewhat staggered, aiding in the Sable's thought process. Movement was not always granted freely and he ought to take advantage of it while it lasted. "...But I have naught but time, and their contents have proved rather interesting."

'T was only because of those files, fragmented and incomplete though they were, that Nero had any idea of who Vincent was - - and he had not imagined that their paths in life would cross, all things considered. The Sable was locked away in the hidden depths of ShinRa's bowels, in the greatest kept secret while the gunslinger carrying a harbinger had the length and breadth of the very world at his disposal. How unusual then, that they meet.

"Perhaps... I could be of use-" A shoulder attempted to roll to shift discomfort but the tightness of binds disallowed movement; discomfort, pain - - it was all he was granted. Comfort, solace... no-- forever were they out of reach.

Pyramid Head (Silent Hill 2 and etc) Raiden / Jack the Ripper (Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance) Nero the Sable (Final Fantasy VII / Dirge of Cerberus)

These aren't villains. They are individuals whose essence is far more complex.

Pyramid Head is the embodiment of punishment: his power lies in the inevitability of suffering from the evil an individual has committed. He symbolizes personal guilt.

Raiden is the embodiment of will: his power lies in overcoming the beast within and redemption. He symbolizes collective guilt.

Nero is the embodiment of emotion: his power lies in metaphysical pain, absolute love, and the cosmic abyss. He symbolizes planetary guilt.

It's also interesting to compare their superhuman abilities.

Power level comparison (power level is measured on the Battle Wiki scale system)

Physical: Pyramid Head (Silent Hill) - Wall level to Small Building level. Destroys walls and iron doors, but moves slowly. Metaphysical / Conceptual being (depending on perception). Energy of guilt, fear, and internal punishment. Psycho-reality / manifestation in consciousness.

Raiden (MGRR) - City level to possibly Country level (Nuclear / max human limit). Destruction of cities, battle mechs, tanks, and hyper-fast objects. Kinetic, electrical, technological, physical. Hypersonic speed. Nero the Sable (FFVII: Dirge of Cerberus) - Multi-solar system level to Galaxy level (Cosmic power): Absorption and manipulation of life force and souls, the dark energy of the stagnant Lifestream, partially influencing the planet and beyond. Metaphysical energy is an aspect of the Lifestream. A spiritual-physical hybrid/near-deity at the level of planetary balance. Superluminal speed.

Nero was also a curious subject in her eyes. Only the other experiments knew what she truly was, to an extent. Deepground was vaguely familiar to her, and naturally, that made her want to pry more, to try and get to know these denizens. One grew tired of Soldiers and other Jenova-infused beings when it was all that she spoke to. The other problem was that they never seemed to last. Half of them fell to death, degradation, or complete insanity. Nero didn't seem like someone who could just vanish from her circle, from what he just told her.

Should she be mingling with Deepground? Probably not. But the things she was not supposed to do were the things she desired to do the most. Chaos couldn't be controlled, but she was certainly a harbinger of it.

"Hm.." She glances over her shoulder at the Restrictor standing guard. Her escape attempts resulted in sedation, perhaps partly why sedatives had become a sort of addiction, at least the ones she created to numb her feelings. She flashes a slight smile at the Restrictor before looking back to Nero.

"You know, I don't quite understand why he forgot about you. Left you all down here to rot away. I think you have more potential than the Jenova project. In most cases..." As far as she was concerned, she was the only true success in that realm. "And I don't even like Jenova." She says with a chuckle. "Such competition when we all know I'm the better specimen now, something new...and not quite her." Her eyes narrow just by thinking of the alien.

"But this.." She gestures at Deepground as a whole. "Is such a waste. I would do so much more." She purrs.

"...Likely because he knew he created beasts he couldn't control." And that wasn't just thinking about those like Nero - - the Tsviets. While they were the most powerful of Deepground, they weren't the only problem. Injured or underperforming SOLDIER's were damned to go down there, be experimented upon, end up something else that not only had to fight for survival on missions, but within Deepground itself. With those alterations came more strength - - and just keeping the general Deepground infantry in order was difficult - - but the Tsviets? Nigh impossible.

Hojo had given up with Deepground because of the level of danger; it wasn't worth it in the end.

Nero gives as much of a shrug as he was able to while bound as tightly as he was; perhaps Deepground really did have much potential as a force, but the issue remained control. Even with the resistor chips implanted in their brains, much could be done before their activation - - of which had to be done manually and only through the Restrictors. But imagine the strength one could control if they won over those within the hidden facility?

His company was right - - they would be an immense tool if used correctly.

Isrieal continues to stare into the glass. He wasn't wrong. Just because she wasn't behind those glass walls didn't mean that she wasn't still in a cage. As much as she tried to deny it, a mental cage was far stronger than a physical one when physical ones ceased to hold her. The Professor had noticed that long ago. He had ensnared her by her mind and not her wrists. She breathes a sigh.

"I was like you once. Behind the glass, angry, wanting to escape, but..." She turns her gaze to her own finger as she trails it along the glass. "I thought, why not play the game?" She looks back at him. "And why not win it?" She says with a smirk. "A pawn cannot remain a pawn once at the top. Instead, a Queen that determines when the game will truly end." She grins and pulls her hand from the glass.

"Yes, I'm aware. If you had Jenova cells, I would be able to feel them, and thank gods I don't. Corrupt Lifestream, isn't it?" She eyes his suit. "And from what I understand, you cannot survive without it." She folds her arms across her chest and studies him.

"Is that why you are so content to stay here?" She wonders. "Because without the technology, you would die out there? Alone. Uncertain of what life you could even have among the normal people?"

There comes but only a hum from the Sable, the disconnected sound that should come from his mouth echoed instead betwixt the darkness that engulfs him and the glass of the containment pod. She was a curious subject, someone Nero didn't mind talking to in the slightest - - she showed cunning, intent, manipulation, all traits and intentions in which he could respect.

But they were still caged like animals; dangerous pets kept away from the eyes of the world.

"...Stagnant lifestream, yes- It is as much a part of me as I am it. A constructed Chaos, if you will." There comes an almost laugh, a half-chuckle; "...Their need to construct false eikons without the means to fully control them is pitiful. 'T is why I am bound - the mako prevents the idle stagnancy in the very air and world around cannot be absorbed by me if it cannot reach my skin - - - it limits what I can do." And he cannot take it off, either.

"...Ah, but thoughts of escape and a life unknown cannot be easily nurtured. You have not the chip in your brain that I do, that can and will shut down all function if obedience is disregarded." Which was to say, when reading betwixt the lines, that Nero did always eye for a way out - - but one had to wait for the opportune moment, when all other threats were eliminated through one means or another. For the moment, attempts at escape would be met instead with constant sedation - and far worse would come of that than what did now.

"...I could easily survive - - but having my brain scrambled ere I breathe the fresh air is not my intention."

Isrieal smiles as she approaches the glass. A smile that is far too sweet. Naturally, she knew more of the experiments above than the ones below, but she still held access to Deepground. That could be a very good thing, or a very bad one.

"It doesn't matter how many there may be.." The words flow whimsically. "I don't need to be the first or the last. I just need to be the favorite." She explains with a wry grin.

"Most others don't seem to last very long.." She says while gently touching the tips of her fingers to the glass. "They're very...unstable." Most outcomes with Jenova cells resulted in death or degradation. She just so happened to be the lucky one they merged with. "There's a reason he calls me his Perfection you know." She says with a chuckle.

"And if you were more like me...perhaps you wouldn't need to be locked up." She says with a slow tilt of her head as she curiously watches him.

"Favouritism unlocks doors--- but it does not remove the cage." He comments, the echo of his voice disjointed and detached from his person and yet still perfectly obvious it somehow came from him. Nero lingers at the glass, eyes company for but a moment longer before turning away, eyeing what else was out there in that room for the fourth time that day. Always the same, nothing different. "...So long as you're happy with the adornments of such cage - - does it really matter that there are bars?"

"...I wasn't constructed with Jenova cells. I'm sure you've read my file." Given her apparent access and close relationship with Hojo and his demands, one would assume she could read and request whatever she so wished. The files of those in Deepground were extensive at best, and Nero's likely more than any other given his branch off from the original project. To attempt to control terra corrupt was foolish at best, and out of countless attempts was there but one survivor.

"...Chaos cannot be easily controlled." For those that were not intricately intertwined with it, that was. Nero had an uncanny ability to control that in which he was fused with, but controlling him was another matter entirely. He was intelligent, sharp, observant - - fooling him into aught at all was impossible and thus no scientist nor visiting director could get a collar around his neck to make him obedient. He did the minimum that would not set off the Restrictor chip in his head, and that was all.

He owed those sadistic bastards nothing.

But this-? This conversation? It was curious enough to keep his attention for a while.