After the war? Gilbert wants to die. He is ready to die.

He does not put up a fight when he is removed from his brother-son (doesn't even look back when Ludwig cry 's out for him in a voice very reminiscent of the boy he knows no longer exists). He does not put up a fight when marched to Soviet territory. He does not even try to fight back against Ivan. Gilbert is ready to die. He knows he doesn't deserve it, but he hopes it's quick.

But Ivan doesn't let him die. Gilbert doesn't have the energy, or desire, to think about why.

Days bleed into month. Beatings bleed into beatings to the point he doesn't remember why his arm is broken or his back is a shredded mess. At first it's just Ivan. Then the others under Ivan's roof are allowed to take their turn. But soon they stop coming. Gilbert doesn't really care to know why. Maybe Ivan just wants him for himself again.

He isn't sure how long it's been, but one evening he is summoned. And Ivan tells him to sit. On at chair. Across from his desk. He has a proposition for him, but he will only ask once and there will be no questions asked.

Gilbert will be given an apartment in what is now being called East Germany. He will be given a job. He will be allowed to travel and visit with those within their family. Gilbert could have a life again. As a man and a country.

All he has to do is, if he were to come across any unfriendly information that could put their family in danger and his own situation in danger? Is report it.

Gilbert doesn't ask any questions before saying yes. he moves into a small apartment (he knows he is being watched, but isn't he also watching? they all watch each other). it is not easy, but the others eventually let him in. They let him visit their own tiny bugged apartments. They begin to trust him as an ally. As a solider fighting the same battle they are.

Gilbert makes notes. He records. He collects proof.

He tells Ivan about Toly's late night meetings in basements helping print illegal papers. He reports of planed rebellions during state events in Czechoslovakia. He warns Ivan of upcoming strikes in Ukraine.

Gilbert now does what it takes to stay alive. And at some point, he finds himself becoming a believer. His life wasn't so bad, was it? it's a hell of a lot more stable then it was at any point. He had an apartment, some food, his clothing were clean. His job lets him sometimes get a hand on the good drugs and black-market goods from the West (at least the stuff Ivan doesn't want). If everyone just did what Ivan said, could't they be as content as he was?

He was doing his best to not think about what might be coming, but with Bowers refusing to answer his questions Simon had nothing to do but think as he shivered in the backseat. The rain had turned the May night cold, and Simon’s thin pajamas did little to keep him warm.

What if he’s taking you to an initiation.

Simon watched Bowers carefully, and waited until he was looking away while making a turn to feel the item Nora had dropped into his pocket.

What if they’re going to pin you down and -

It was a small metal and glass square. An MP3 player? A smartwatch? Simon didn’t want to take it out and look.

He’s not preybonded to you and Lara’s rules are gone, he can kill you. He can kill you.

“Please,” His voice was steadier than he expected, “Tell me what’s happening.”

“I would,” Bowers replied flatly, “But you wouldn’t like it.”

Yeah, no shit.

Matthew wouldn’t have let this happen.

Simon screwed his eyes shut, flinching from the pang of guilt.

Matthew-the-vampire wouldn’t have let this happen. He’s human now, and that’s a good thing. Whatever happens is worth it. Him being human and alive is worth it.

You’re not.

You’re not worth it.

Simon stared out the window and hoped against hope that the square meant help was coming.

~~~

“We can’t just run off without authorization!” Amber yelled.

“Bowers could discover they’re being tracked any second!” Matthew bellowed, “We’re leaving now!”

He and Gina burst out of the stairwell and into the parking garage, Amber chasing after them.

“You’re going to get yourselves killed!” she shrieked.

“What if they get on a plane, huh?” Matthew snapped at her, “What if they go somewhere we can’t follow?”

“We will figure it out!”

They reached Gina’s car and Gina opened the passenger side.

“We can’t wait for Dune to decide that Simon’s worth it,” Matthew kept arguing while Gina searched through her glove box, “I’m not letting him be taken again.”

“Neither am I.” Gina rejoined him, loading a pistol.

“But Bowers is a grade B, he…” Amber’s outrage melted into fear. “With only the two of you against him… He’ll kill you.”

“You could make it three.”

“I…” Amber slowly shook her head.

“You’re a fucking coward, Amber,” Gina spat.

“No, I’m not!” Amber’s voice echoed through the garage, louder and angrier than they had ever heard. “You think anyone will come after you if I go with you? I need to be here, to convince them to send you guys backup!”

Gina and Matthew exchanged a glance. Amber was right - she was the only one in a position to sway the VIU.

“Here.” Amber unstrapped her holster from around her waist and handed it and the gun it held to Matthew.

“Thanks,” he said, softening.

“Just… Survive as long as you can, and I will send backup ASAP.”

Amber stepped out of the way and watched as Gina’s car pulled out of the parking garage.

Then she sprinted back into the building, determined to do what she could.

~~~

Simon slammed into the ground, bruising his knees and scraping his palms raw on the wet asphalt.

“Get up,” Bowers ordered, closing the car door.

“I can’t!” Simon gasped. Bowers grabbed his arm and hauled him upright. He was done playing games. Simon cried out when his feet were forced to touch the ground, but no one was around to hear him.

They were in some sort of warehouse district; massive buildings loomed out of the dark around them, and Simon hadn’t seen a soul on their way in. Whatever Bowers needed this level of privacy for couldn’t be good. Simon’s earlier shocked calm, necessitated to keep Nora alive, had worn off and now he was truly terrified, trembling in Bowers’ grip.

Bowers half dragged, half walked Simon to the door of the warehouse he’d pulled his car up in front of. He threw open the unlocked door and shoved Simon through. Simon fell into the dark, bruising his limbs a second time as he tried to brace his landing. A moment later lights flickered on above him; he was surrounded by sky-high shelves full of plastic-wrapped boxes. He rolled over to look at Bowers, still posed by the light switch. Simon’s heart pounded and his breath came fast.

“Here’s where I come clean.” Bowers reached down and plucked up a length of pipe from where it leaned against the wall, as if waiting for him. It was about three feet long and two inches in diameter, and made of aged dark metal. The ends glinted bright where they were sawn off. 

Bowers started to take leisurely steps towards Simon, who began to pull himself backward along the floor, eyes glued to the pipe.

No.

“Everyone’s noticed by now, since the humans got the cure, and our man Yarl is out, the vampires being caught the fastest are the ex-clients of one Miss Lara Everett.” He twirled the pipe around. “That’s no good for us. No good for business.”

Simon rolled over onto his hands and knees, desperate to get away, to get away faster.

“But of course, none of them can kill you… Not directly, anyway. But I can. So I’m cleaning up, Simon. I took care of Isles and… You’re next.”

Simon froze, petrified.

Christian… dead?

YOU’RE NEXT.

Charged with adrenaline, Simon dug his feet into the floor and ran. The pain ripped a cry out of his throat. He made it two steps before the pain in his feet and his overworked legs made him stumble. His skinned palms crashed into the concrete floor yet again, then his elbow when his right wrist collapsed. But Simon moved through the pain, pushing himself up onto his left hand and his battered knees with a gasp. He could still move, he could still -

Bowers’ shoe stomped into his back, flattening him back to the floor. Simon twisted his head to look up, one cheek pressed against the concrete. Bowers leaned down, putting more weight on Simon’s back and ribcage.

“And since I have to do it anyway,” he smiled, “I may as well enjoy it.” He stepped off of Simon and raised the pipe. Simon twisted his body to the side.

“Please, don’t-!”

The vampire brought the pipe down with a tremendous clang onto Simon’s left hip and a crack shot through Simon’s pelvis. Simon shrieked as the pain lanced up his spine and down his legs like white hot fire. He had no time to process the hit before the pipe came down again, smashing into his femur with a crunch. Simon tried to curl up, to hide from the excruciating pain, to expel it through his mouth, but the next hit shattered his left shoulder blade. His existence felt like one unending screech of agony as he writhed on the concrete under Bowers’ merciless gaze. Bile rose in his throat and he gagged, desperate to fall unconscious, desperate for it to end. He couldn’t even form the words to beg. He could only breathe, scream, breathe, scream.

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to die.

“Fuck, you’re loud!” Bowers shouted over Simon’s ceaseless wailing, “Let’s see what we can do about that!”

He seized Simon by the neck and dragged him upright, his back against Bowers’ legs. This sent new waves of pain through Simon’s body as displaced nerves jostled against bone crushed against muscle. Bowers shifted his grip to Simon’s jaw, pulling his already screaming mouth open wider. He lifted the metal rod and shoved the end of it into Simon’s mouth, and pushed, the sharp metal edges tearing, ripping, scraping at the delicate tissue of Simon’s cheeks, his tongue, his throat, as Bowers forced the rod in further, not caring what damage he caused. Simon choked, on the rod, on the blood, on bits of flesh. His screams were finally stifled as he struggled to breathe. His arms flopped uselessly. His eyes rolled.

“Better,” Bowers grunted, “Much better.” He yanked the rod out, splattering blood, and dropped Simon back to the floor where he heaved and choked and spat out blood and chunks of his own throat. Gone was the screaming; now Simon could only agonizingly gag and wheeze.

Bowers raised the rod once more and brought it down on Simon’s right shoulder. Simon’s whole body jerked, but the only sound he made was a horrifying gurgle. He shouldn’t still be awake. He shouldn’t still be alive. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair. His brain reverted to primeval instincts: The danger is behind you. Crawl.

Simon dug his fingernails into the concrete and dragged himself, inch by inch, forward. It was the only thing he could do. Maybe, somehow, he could crawl away from the pain. Leave it behind.

Bowers stood back and watched Simon struggle, clawing at the floor until his fingernails broke. Going nowhere.

He laughed, and it echoed throughout the building.

BANG!

Matthew fired from where he stood by the door, gun raised and eyes full of fire. Bowers spun, his hand flying to his shoulder where blood burst from a bullet wound. He crouched and sprang back, taking shelter in an isle of shelves as another shot rang out. Matthew cursed and lowered his weapon, running forward towards Simon. Gina hung back, watching the room like a hawk. Matthew fell to his knees at Simon’s side.

Simon was lying face-down on the ground, silent and still. Blood seeped out of his mouth and bandages around his feet were stained red. Horribly dark and discolored blotches of skin peeked out from his t-shirt. His left leg lay at a sickening angle. Bruises littered his arms; his nails were cracked and bleeding.

“No, Simon…” Matthew reached out to touch him.

“Matthew, look out!” Gina shouted.

Matthew looked up and saw the vampire charging towards him, pipe raised, moving at an unnaturally fast pace. Matthew had just enough time to duck, and he felt the rush of air and heard a faint whistle as the pipe whizzed over his head. A second later and his brains would have been bashed in. Bowers kept sprinting past him, and shots rang out as Gina tried to hit him before he disappeared back into the stacks of boxes.

“Shit, he’s too fast, I can’t hit him!” she yelled.

Matthew stood, staring at the isle Bowers had disappeared into. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with a shaking hand.

“I need to call an ambulance now or it might not arrive in time - Gina!”

Gina turned in time to see Bowers making a run at her out of the stacks. She stood her ground, aiming and firing as he approached. Her shot landed in his chest, but he was unphased, and swung the pipe as he passed her. With no time left to dodge, Gina was hit squarely in the stomach and knocked to the ground. Her body convulsed as she dry heaved and gasped for the air that had been knocked out of her.

“Gina!” If she was down, Bowers would make his next blow a killing one. Matthew started to sprint over to her, but he heard inhumanly quick footsteps behind him. He started to turn but was hit squarely in the right arm.

“Ahhg!”

Pain erupted as his humerus snapped. His arm spasmed and his gun clattered to the floor. He stumbled and only caught a glimpse of Bowers as he vanished back into the maze of warehouse shelves. Matthew looked around wildly, at Gina, struggling to stand, at Simon, a mangled mess on the floor. He couldn’t protect both of them - he couldn’t protect either of them

Bowers was too fast.

Too powerful.

He was going to kill them.

Breathing hard through the pain, Matthew stuffed his phone back into his pocket and scooped up the gun in his left hand. Amber’s gun.

She wasn’t going to get there in time.

He heard Gina scream - a shriek of true fear, something he’d never heard from her before that poured ice down his spine - and he could only watch as Bowers flitted past her and knocked her from where she had just started to stand up back to the concrete with a horrible clang. She lay frighteningly still, a red gash at her temple. Bowers was already gone.

Matthew raised his weapon and spun around, frantically searching for Bowers. His right arm dangled, useless and excruciating. He heard footsteps, but in the large echoing building he had no way of pinpointing their location. They grew louder, faster, and Matthew pivoted to see Bowers rushing towards him, his eyes full of bloodlust and his knuckles white where they gripped the pipe. Matthew fired haphazardly, the first shot flying over Bowers’ shoulder and the second one hitting home in the center of his chest. Bowers finally stumbled, and instead of hitting Matthew with the pipe the vampire tackled him, pressing the pipe down over his throat. Matthew caught it with the heel of his good hand, still holding the gun, but was only able to resist the downward pressure for a moment before the vampire’s superior strength won out and the pipe pressed down on Matthew’s throat. Bowers held the pipe down with one hand and easily plucked the gun away from Matthew with the other, tossing it aside.

Matthew couldn’t breathe. He wheezed and reached up to claw fruitlessly at Bowers’ face. Bowers only smiled, baring his fangs, and bore down on the pipe harder.

“Not so tough now that you’ve been cured, huh?”

Matthew’s legs kicked uselessly against the floor. Bowers held him pinned there for what felt like an eternity. Matthew felt the air in his blood running out as his raised arm wavered and collapsed and his legs stopped moving. Spots filled his vision.

Suddenly the pressure lifted, and Matthew was able to suck in a stinging lungful of air. The relief lasted less than seconds, though, as the pipe was replaced by fangs. They sank into Matthew’s neck, and his chestful of air rushed out of him in a strangled cry. He was able to breath a little now, and movement returned to his limbs, but he could only wriggle and push at the vampire to no effect as Bowers fed, holding Matthew’s neck still with his teeth and his hands on Matthew’s shoulders.

Matthew had never been bitten before. It was expected to happen eventually in his line of work, but senior agents had always warned him: there’s no way of preparing for it.

There’s no way it won’t stick with you.

It’s slower than you think.

As Bowers leeched his vitality from him, Matthew found he could turn his head, ever so slightly, and look around. First to Gina, still motionless on the floor. Then over to Simon, his head in a pool of blood.

He could only be grateful he was dying among friends.

He began to feel cold, and dizzy. He lifted his hand to look at it: pale white and shaking. He could only hold it up for a second before it slumped to the floor. He refocused, as best as he was able, on Simon, who now looked very far away.

I’m so sorry. He couldn’t tell if he was thinking, or speaking, or just mouthing the words.

It shouldn’t have ended like this.

Not for you.

You deserved better.

I love you.

Bowers lifted away from him, and Matthew felt the blood run down his neck.

He must be done.

I must be dead.

Then he heard a horrible hacking cough. With great effort, Matthew rolled his head to look at Bowers.

The vampire was doubled over, clutching his chest, gagging and sputtering.

“No,” Bowers cried out, “No, no!”

He spasmed, and vomited up blood. He turned and screamed wordlessly at Matthew, spattering red. He heaved in a breath, and his own blood leaked out around his fingers where he pressed them to his chest.

“You poisoned me!” he wailed at Matthew, “Fucking turncoat!”

A smile crept over Matthew’s lips.

The cure.

It was in his blood.

It was turning Bowers human - and humans can’t survive two shots to the chest.

At least Matthew could die knowing the three of them had been avenged.

That Simon had been avenged.

His eyes drifted closed as sirens approached in the distance.

~~~

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