#essarr

The landscape around ADEF-FAC is more visibly modified than the area around Fair-co.  Metal-specked concrete blisters jut out of the earth around the sullen dome of the main building, crowned with dead lamps and the angles of communication relays, all dark.  Patterns of abandoned fields are still visible, spread out around the more obvious buildings; fallow now, with scrub already rising into new woodland at the edges, where the once-rigid treeline is bleeding out across the old margins.  The actual structures stand firm but their edges are beginning to soften, worn down by the gradual entropy of wind and rain pitted against old engineering.

The more violent scars in the landscape’s recent history are also showing signs of succumbing to inevitability.  Impact craters and the mouldering remains of old testing rigs, crumpled outbuildings and broken crates, all wrapped in fresh tendrils of bellbind and colonising moss.  Weedy opportunists, but green and alive, in contrast to the slime-blacked mess of the rotten barley fields that ring the Silo.  Even the great, shock-sharp crater in front of the main door has yielded a little.  Some of the alien smoothness to the sides has given: split stones have dislodged, rolled to the bottom in small piles of scree amongst muddy pools; animal tracks and burrows trace new pathways into the earth, between patches of dandelions sprung up alongside the still-trickling streams, fed by the open mouths of severed pipes.

But it is not only nature that has been busy, in Mother’s absence.

The – unusual – residents of the mouldering husk in the hillside have been gone for months now, and the last legitimate ones long before that.  Yet the building is no longer empty; the door standing forced-ajar, and there is the faint sound of distant music crackling in the air.

-

* The specific effects of time and neglect on the scene do little to catch S_R’s attention.  The damn place was a wreck when they left it, and it’s more of a wreck now.  Big deal.  He has other things to focus on - and the idle chattering of the AGRI mob behind him isn’t helping.  They have come to the edge of the treeline, just north of the FAC, and there is only unsettlingly-open ground between them and the building now.

*He turns to the hulking idiots in tow, and snaps his fingers a few times to get their attention.

[S_R] Right.  We - *he jabs a sharp gesture towards C_K* - are going to scout this out.  You lot.  Stay.  Here.  ...what?

*He stops, irritated, as an AGRI near the front raises one callous-mangled hand cautiously.

[Sage] Y’mean, like right here, or…?

[S_R] I mean don’t fucking waltz off and get yourselves killed.  Stay in cover, don’t go attracting attention.  Pick flowers.  Scratch your ass.  I don’t care.

[S_R] You’ve got the radio.  Don’t move until you hear from us.  Clear?

*A mumbled chorus of ‘yes’ follows, as the two remaining Mothermen spread out, dropping down to lower their profiles as they head out into the open space.

It wasn’t that C_K wasn’t listening to his Captain, more that he was paying more attention to the world around them. A tension between his shoulderblades, his head cocked slightly to one side and gaze turned away from S_R and the gathered AGRI Wards. Listening.

Listening to the faint sound of music filtering through air much fresher than he was used to. The rush of wind through the cracks in crumbling walls. The tiny sounds of creatures scurrying unseen. Waiting for something to come along that wasn’t as harmless as rats and insects. As always his primary objective was watching his Captain’s back. And then waiting for orders.

As soon as S_R was on the move, C_K fell into step behind him. Ever on guard and silent on his feet. Not needing an order to hunker down and make himself smaller, less visible to the naked eye. He knew the ropes better than most and as a unit, the two men were like a well oiled machine. Despite the bickering.

[C_K] Nice pep talk there, Captain. I think they’re really starting to warm to you.

[S_R] Imagine how much I care.

*There are a few rusting remains of old boobytraps still scattered around the barley, but the rotting stalks do little to hide them now, and they are easily avoided.  As the two men get closer to the Silo doors, skirting the edge of the crater, the sound of music is even more obvious to intently-listening ears.  S_R crouches down, batting with disgust at a few insects that buzz idly up from the disturbed flowers, and peers across at the wedged-open doorway.

[S_R] We closed that, didn’t we?

*Not much passed by C_K’s notice. Never really had done and it was something that he clung to. Not quite a photographic memory, but close. And they certainly had closed that door. But it was the tracks surrounding the silo that he had noticed first. Nothing that animals could have done. And it was from someone who wasn’t trying to hide. Who didn’t think that anyone else would be coming this way.*

[C_K] Made double sure we did.

*S_R nods, slightly.  He’s pretty sure - very sure, and it isn’t like he’s a man especially prone to self-doubt - but it is… reassuring, to have C_K’s assessment match his own.  He’s willing to admit to himself at least that the little prat’s tracking skills are rather above his own.  Which is fine.  That’s what delegation is for.

*The Mothermen make their way down the side of the crater - carefully, just about managing not to slip on the mud and rocks - and after a few more checks for new boobytraps, or ambushes, slip in through the opened doors.  The inside of the building certainly hasn’t improved since they were last here, and indeed the upper room looks even more of a wreck than before.  Not just from degradation of the previous damage, either.  Someone has been doing some serious scavenging, and S_R’s narrowed gaze tracks along the torn scars in the walls, where panels have been wrenched free and the empty shells of wiring insulation hang limp.

Music is floating up the stairs.  The two Wards spread out again, checking the room as they rotated around the stairwell; C_K’s fingers twitching; S_R’s pistol drawn.  Positioned in an opened pincer - they wait.

*A large segment of panelling joins them from the corridor, clattering against the grated floor. After a brief pause, a tall gentleman in a somewhat travel-worn green suit enters the room, swigging from a rather old-looking bottle of whiskey; some archaic brand. A freshly-torn bundle of cabling sits crammed into one of his suit pockets. He pauses, mid-step, then licks his lips clean of the strong alcohol. His lips break into a wide smile.

[Lennart] : Good morning, friends! Quite a day for endeavouring spirits such as ourselves, mm? What an opportunity, left to fester in the dirt~

*Lennart tilts the bottle-neck towards them meaningfully, looking around the cavernous space of the Silo’s entrance hall.

*Both Wards start slightly at the sudden clang, and for a few heartbeats the sharp poise in their movements gives out, as identical expressions of abrupt confusion staple across both bearded faces.  C_K recovers first.

[C_K] I… Fuck… What?

*Not his most eloquent moment. The Ward visibly shook himself and stood straighter, rolling his shoulders back and cocking his head slightly to one side. Green eyes narrowed on the taller man, annoyed by how he had to tilt his head back slightly to take him all in. A breath. Held. Let out slowly. The man was not like any he’d seen before, but he was absolutely certain his Captain would know what to do. And the slight glance to the man at his side along with an eyebrow raise said as much.*

*S_R takes a bit longer to react.  Considering the tangle of concerns, half-suspicions and paranoia that had wrapped around this trip in his mind - this isn’t what he was expecting.  Some overgrown idiot dressed like a bush and swigging something that smelled like solvent even from here.  When he does react, it’s closer to instinct, and the gun swings out in that familiar action, pointed at the new grinning face.

[S_R] Who. The hell. Are you?

*The stranger gives a broad, (not literally) disarming smile

[Lennart] : Lennart Pengersen, my friend! Here, I do remember…

*He gives an apologetic grin, patting himself down, rummaging in pockets and hidden compartments of the tailored suit.

[Lennart] : Ah, yes! Here we go! It has been some time since I’ve had to use one of these!

*The businessman presents a small card, stamped with a monochrome gear design and embossed with flourishing font, because of course it is. It reads ‘Lennart Pengersen - Businessman and Champion of Blessed Opportunity’. He holds it between the two Statesmen, making no real effort to move closer but taking an exceptionally real swig of the whiskey once more.

* S_R doesn’t move for another second or so, other than his eyebrows, which are making a break for his hairline.  Finally he nods C_K towards the card, not moving his aim from the big man.  Who seems annoyingly disinterested in having a gun pointed at him.

*His own eyebrows finally lower and after a quick scan for any weapons that might be about the man’s person, C_K reached out and took the card. Eyes quickly scanning it before letting out a little huff of disbelief.*

[C_K] Yeah… It really does say that…

*The card was turned over and over in gloved hands but it didn’t make sense from any angle.*

[C_K] He’s… Got his name on a bit of card…

[S_R] ...in case you fucking forget?

*Lennart looks between them, finds straight faces, and begins to laugh. His large chest heaves with mirth as he shakes his head, finishing the whiskey bottle and sitting down on a piece of debris (formerly a storage container, contents 26 x Can of Mushroom Soup).

[Lennart] : Oh, it has been such a long time since I have dealt with Mother’s Boys, forgive me!

*He sets the bottle down on the floor between them.

[Lennart] : Say we meet at a business gathering, and it is a very cordial affair, with much exchanging of information between businessfolk such as ourselves. Very useful! But in two months time, perhaps when you require my services, how will you recall it all? Surely it is much more… efficient to have all of the vital statistics kept before you in attractive font, yes?

[S_R] If I couldn’t remember, you clearly didn’t make much of an impression.

*The Captain is starting to unfreeze from his initial confusion.  Still has the gun raised, but his expression is settling back into a more habitual scowl, as his gaze tracks across the man in front of him.

[S_R] Alright, card-boy.  We’ve got your name.  Now - what are you doing?  Bearing in mind this is a State Facility, and you’ve sure as shit recognised what we are.

*Lennart smirks, leaning back against the wall.

[Lennart] Is it? It doesn’t look much like one, my friend. Why, usually one of your lovely little FACs has plenty more people, no? Some electricity, even? Maybe an AI?

*He examines the back of one of his gloves, thick and brown. Durable. He doesn’t actually remember buying them…

[Lennart] Seems more like a ruin to me, although I’m not an expert…

*S_R’s eyes narrow a little further.

[S_R] This A-D-E-F-Facility is under the purview of FAIR-CO, and the - * it isn’t a hesitation, not quite, but there is a flicker of fresh scorn somewhere under his voice that isn’t entirely aimed at Lennart* - ‘Mothermen’ Security Extraction Force.  All property, resource, personnel and anything nailed down or not: Is ours.

[S_R] So.  I’ll ask you.  Again.

[S_R] What. Are you doing.  Here?

*Lennart’s grin doesn’t falter

[Lennart] Listen, this does not need to be difficult, my dear, well-armed friend.

*He stands up, cracking his knuckles a little bit. A few more bones crack than are meant to in his older form.

[Lennart] We are both here for the same reason; just picking apart a wreck, no? The only difference is you get paid by your… facilitator, or something, and I am paid by you, ideally. I have retrieved plenty of valuable material, documents, components and equipment, and would be more than happy to part with them, with only minimal labour costs incurred…

*C_K had chosen to be silent for the moment. Straightening his back and rolling back his shoulders to be the silent shadow at his Captain’s side. Breathing slowing and form becoming completely still. Almost unnaturally so. As the strange man stood and cracked his knuckles, a further shift came over the Ward. An almost dangerous air as his eyes narrowed slightly and his hands curled into fists at his sides.*

[C_K] Careful…

*The card crumpled in his palm*

[C_K] We have no intention of giving you anything. But we will be taking back what you’ve stolen.

*Lennart’s eyebrows raise, his grin remaining fixed. He briefly contemplates the distance from his hand to the drill strapped to his back-plate, the distance from the drill to his conversation partners. Perhaps later.

[Lennart] Friend, friend. My ‘stolen’ items have not even left the premises…

[S_R] Then what - exactly - makes them yours?

*He studies Lennart again.  The faintest flicker in the man’s stare, under the irritatingly-jovial facade.  Something more dangerous.  More interesting.

Something that might be useful.

*S_R tilts his gun upwards, enough to take it out of line of the man’s forehead, and his expression returns to something more conspiratorial.

[S_R] Although I’ll admit, it saves us some time.  If you’ve found anything of actual use in this chlorinated shithole, I might be persuaded to forget we met you.  Or better.

*Lennart smiles wide, his older face creasing.

[Lennart] See, much better… Even in the State, business is important… deals might as well be my lifeblood, my boy…

*He suppresses a chuckle

[Lennart] But eh, forgive me, I don’t keep up with the young ones’ interests so much. What is of use to you, dear ‘Mothermen’? Enough to come back to a barely-chlorinated shithole by this point..?

[S_R] First?  I’m not your boy.

*He holsters the pistol, and instead fishes something out of one of the pockets of his jacket.  Doesn’t show it, just yet, but folds his arms firmly with his fists closed tight across his chest.

[S_R] Captain.  S_R.  I don’t have it on a card, so I guess you’ll just have to remember me.

[S_R] Operational records.  Functioning electronics; storage ideally.  The AI’s scrap and half the general systems are outdated and fried, so you can keep any of that garbage you’ve dragged up.  Anything with a State security mark above Rank Three, or looks like it’s been Redacted in a real fucking hurry.  And -

*now his fingers uncurl, revealing a small vial, with a copper cylinder inside, stained with ichor*

[S_R] Anything that looks like this.

*Lennart frowns, leaning in to squint at the vial-held substance.

[Lennart] Electronics..? You would be lucky, friend S_R. Please, tell me you can smell the burnt plastic in the air…

*He smirks, stepping back once again.

[Lennart] There is a reason I had resorted to liberating the basic wiring, rather than more… complex technology, ha ha. Records, those I may be able to help with. Your… Facilitator’s rooms are always bountiful with information~

[S_R] The less of this fetid tomb I can breathe in, the better.  *His nose wrinkles at the mention of burnt plastic.* Right.  You know what we want.  Our own team will be joining us for our work, and I seriously suggest you don’t get in their way, or try taking any blessed opportunities.

*S_R turns to C_K, still eyeing Lennart with sharp suspicion.

Departure of the Mothermen team from Fairco had historically been an event of some ceremony.  Captain W_A was always very keen on ‘showing support to your boys. What with us keeping you all safe and snug down in here.’  

S_R had put a stop to that. They have a fucking job to do, and it wasn’t running a damn parade.

The current preparations are more of a circus than he is happy with, but he has to admit that the chaos is… less than it might have been.  Arranging field kits for seven people – the three Mothermen themselves, and four AGRIs – as well as Reclamation gear, weapons and camp-rolls should, by all experiences he had had so far in this damn place, have been an abject nightmare to achieve.

Yet this time S_R finds himself bizarrely unopposed. Requisitions completed.  Maintenance checks done, in a timely fashion. Paperwork actually filled in.

It is weird.  And unsettlingly… welcome.

Most of the little group is now congregated just outside the main door, carefully passing out packs and distributing equipment.  The AGRIs aren’t new to this sort of work, but it’s infrequent enough that there is an unconcealed air of excitement about them, and S_R ignores the snatches of conversation that rumble on around him, predicting riches and possible treasures. It isn’t riches he expects to find in that chlorinated tomb, unless bleached, rotting concrete really does it for you.  But they don’t know that. Don’t need to know that.

The small canister containing Halstead’s damn battery seems to weigh unaccountably heavily against his side, shoved deep into one uniform pocket, and S_R tries to shakes off the leaden mood as he looks up towards the non-haulage parts of the team.

[S_R] You carry your own fucking kit.  So you might want to get to picking one.

R_V takes a deep breath and takes the step from cold metal onto the grass just outside. He strides towards the equipment in a pile by the Captain, making a point of nudging past his injured arm to collect a rucksack and sling it over his shoulder.

[R_V] Are you sure you don’t need someone to carry your kit too, Captain? You know, after the accident you had in the gym you should have more issue than usual.

He smirks and turns from the group to see the world outside of the Facility; the smirk quickly turns into a frown as his eyes dart from trees to plants to lake.

[R_V] Regardless, we should be on our way. Try not to hold us up too much Captain - see to it that he doesn't, hmm, C_K?

Forest green eyes narrow at the former astronaut as he purposefully brushes past the Captain’s injured arm. For the moment C_K say nothings. Merely adding it to the mental list of lashes to take out of R_V’s hide later. There would most certainly be a later. Gaze lowering, he picks up one of the packs and briefly checks through it. There is no doubt in his mind that S_R would have gone through them and checked at least five times, but his Captain had taught him to be thorough. And so he was going to check until satisfied.

[C_K] The Captain’s arm is well on the way to recovery. I for one am impressed.

A slight raise of his eyebrows but soon followed by a docile little smile, cocking his head slightly to one side as he pats R_V on the shoulder in a friendly manner.*

[C_K] But be assured I’ll keep an eye on him. With your good self on our team, I’m sure we’ll get there in no time.

He’s pleased that manages to sound genuine, despite the bile rising at the mere sight of the man.*

R_V glances at his shoulder and back to C_K, his scowl quickly becoming a grin after the compliment.

[R_V] Your medical knowledge may be lacking, I am however impressed by your optimism C_K, and rightfully so.

Another smug, chrome smile breaks out across his face as he places his hands on his hips just as he posed for his posters as he addresses the AGRI-Wards, a brief glance at S_R also..

[R_V] Well then, no time like the present - keep close to the Mothermen Extraction Unit at all times, do not attempt to flee, failure to comply will result in injury or expiration.

[Sage] No worryin’ Commander. Done this sorta thing before. We gotcha!

She lightly cuffs R_V on the arm, grinning broadly.

[Sage] Though if yer offerin’ t’stay close, I ain’t sayin’ no.

[S_R] If you’ve quite finished?

He glares daggers at R_V as he grabs the nearest pack, swinging it into place with minimal difficulty. That he totally hasn’t been practising. At all.

[S_R] We’ll hit the first waypoint around noon.  R_V, since you’re so fucking keen to show off, you can put your muscle where your mouth is and take a Rec bag as well.

R_V bends down at the pile again, slinging another bag over his shoulder. He stands again with arms held out, taunting S_R.

[R_V] Why of course Captain, you certainly won’t be able to carry it. In a way me carrying more will help you heal. It was lifting that injured you in the first place, after all.

He again glances from his arm and this time to Sage, he gives the woman a look of disgust.

[R_V] Close, S_G. Not that close.

Sage shrugs.

[Sage] Suit yerself. *She grabs a couple of packs, turning back to the AGRI group, and another amused rumble runs the circuit*.

[S_R] I am very aware of what ‘injured’ me. *His free hand twitches a little, but he swallows whatever other retort was rising, and his expression cools again.*

[S_R] Right. Let’s get this over with.

-

The journey falls into routine quickly.  S_R or C_K lead, familiar as they are with the route through the canyons and trackways that surround Fairco; one at the head of the party and one at the rear, swapping periodically with a brief exchange of update.  Mismatched stares of forest-green and black amber rove constantly; observing, watching. Wary even in this known path. The AGRI group are far less cautious - chatting, joking, occasionally stopping to grab handfuls of recognised weeds or herbs and stuff them into waiting pockets - but other than a few sharp rebukes when they get too loud, S_R mostly ignores this.

They reach the first waypoint indeed a little after noon. It’s a natural clearing in the woodlands either side, where thin soil and slabs of weathered surface rock have held back the trees, and there is a smooth stone set into the ground in the centre. Man-high, clad thickly with moss, and with unfamiliar symbols half-visible beneath the green layer.

S_R eyes the distinctly un-State marker with a faint flicker of something approaching discomfort. A reminder, that this borderland area was always at the very edge of Mother’s sight, and now…  He shakes off the mood and turns back to the group. The AGRIs have settled down, unwrapping the first of their ration packs, and S_R catches C_K’s eye; nodding.

Now.

[S_R] Commander. Time for another line on your arm: Recruitment posts.

[R_V] Recruitment posts, Captain? Is that how you ended up here? Random squabble amongst the wild? The quality shows.

S_R’s teeth grit and he leans in a little closer, dropping his voice slightly.

[S_R] You might think this is all a big joke, space-boy, but if I have to drag. You. Screaming. Into being a damned competent officer, then I fucking will.

[S_R] Now.

[S_R] Monitoring recruitment posts is going to be something you’d better get real interested in, really quickly. Because scraping starved Wards off branded landscape is very fucking dull.

R_V raises his brows briefly and smirks at S_R, hands behind his back he stands to attention.

[R_V] Competence and compliant are two things I learned to be way before the rank of officer Captain, perhaps this explains you - again.

R_V throws the bags he was carrying against the foot of a tree, kneeling down carefully beside them to retrieve a ration pack.

[R_V] Regardless Captain - this task shall be trivial.

[S_R] Then it should suit you completely.

C_K has been watching over proceedings with a keen gaze. Following his Captain’s orders silently and constantly, but subtly, checking over R_V and planning how to do this. They already have something set in stone, but plans change and the Ward is still very unsure of R_V. The man could be capable of anything. As soon as the former astronaut’s back is turned, C_K’s demeanour changes dramatically. Slipping from docile and compliant to something predatory. His movements are fluid and almost cat-like as he moves over to where Oak is sat (the large Agri who had taken a shine to him at the Blue Moon Ball) and retrieves the bag he needs, with a smile that was more of a baring of teeth than anything pleasant.*

[C_K] The Captain and I will be showing the new recruit how to monitor the Recruitment posts. You and Sage can keep an eye on things, yeah?

The large Agriward grins widely and pats C_K hard on the back before affectionately ruffling his hair. Something C_K kind of wishes he hadn’t done, but… He supposes it’s an Agri thing.*

[O_K] Don’ you worry, Seekay. I’m good at watchin’.

A brief smile that is gentler than the one before.*

[C_K] Good.

A nod, before that predatory grace is back and he moves to stand at S_R’s injured left side, slightly behind. Shoulders rolled back and standing to attention. Waiting.*

[S_R] Right, let’s get this farce moving again.

He strides off into the treeline, making for a trodden-in path amongst the undergrowth. Not as flat as the road, and with whip-like fronds of this year’s growth edging in from the sides.  

R_V follows, brushing vines and loose leaves and branches from his path with a look of disgust on his face.

The small clearing falls away behind them and is soon lost in the blur of trees.  There are few animal noises on the main road - a party with AGRIs in it does not lend well to stealth or naturalism - but with the three Mothermen alone, moving carefully, rustles and small sounds come back, filtering towards them as they walk.

R_V nervously glances around at each chirp of a bird or snap of a twig underfoot, a gloved hand resting on the hilt of a small dagger he carries with him on his belt.

[R_V] Quite a trek for a recruitment post is it not Brothers, amongst all these hideous trees - Tell me what kind of people do you expect to find around here?

[S_R] If we’re lucky? None. The last fucking thing we need is to be dragging some gibbering wreckage around with us.  Present company excluded, for professional courtesy.

He ducks under a low-hanging branch, letting it go behind him close enough to waft past R_V’s face.

[S_R] Wards, mostly. The broadcasts go out with co-ordinates, same as on the posters. And whatever flyover littering drops Hawkins has done recently. The Civs have fucked off, on the whole, or got their acts together a long way away from here, and Citizens are Mister Fairfax’s problem right up until they’re ours.

He glances back at R_V, sneering.

[S_R] So wasn’t it nice for you we pulled you out of that shithole directly?  Or you’d have been hanging around in these ‘hideous trees’...

[R_V] I would much rather bring back a Brother or Sister of the Chain that have to suffer another moment of conversation with a Citizen -

R_V trips over a loose root and stumbles forward, he disguises his fall by swiftly kicking the top off a nearby mushroom and glancing at the others.

[R_V] I may find the outdoors… disgusting, but I would have survived without your so called assistance - I’m not so sure about Mr. Vesalius however.

[S_R] While I’m not sure you can die from a lack of moustache wax - I think we have to agree on that.

C_K follows the other two silently, keeping one ear on the bickering - making sure his Captain isn’t being too antagonistic; yet - while the rest of his attention strays this way and that, drawn by the rustling in their surroundings.  He’s quite aware that out of the three of them, he is the only one who actually enjoys spending time outside the FAC’s walls, the only one whose glances after nearby scuttling noises is from curiosity, rather than wariness.  He likes these trips.  And this particular one has been coming for a while...

The small group continues for about ten more minutes, taking the occasional side track. There is no signposting here now, no visible landmarks past the shading autumn patchwork of the trees. No obvious path back to the road, if you didn’t already know the way.

It is - in short - perfect.

S_R stops, grunts, and lets his pack slide to the floor.  He tightens his free hand against his bound arm and grimaces slightly with apparent pain.

R_V looks around at the thick woodland around them, looking out for a road or path or clearing, finding none.

[R_V] Well this seems like the perfect spot to set up a watchpost. If a poor Citizen were to find themselves out here they’d never survive before we got to them. It’d make our job a lot easier.

[S_R] Oh, it does.

There is a click; a soft, metal noise that nonetheless manages to cut across every other sound in the clearing, and an abrupt point of threatening pressure settles against the back of R_V’s head.  When S_R speaks again, the earlier strain has gone from his voice, replaced with liquid threat.

[S_R] Don’t move, Commander.  Twitch, or try anything - anything - and I’ll blow your brains all over this wretched clearing.  We’re in the ass end of nowhere.  No witnesses; no chalked-up leeches to tattle on my misdeeds.  

R_V freezes in place, tensing his body, he clenches his fists and growls before raising his hands slowly, defeated after thinking about the gun to his head.

[S_R] I could kill you now, right where you stand, and I swear on Mother’s rotting heart it’s a tempting fucking option.

[S_R] But.

The Captain’s other hand - freed from the brace that now lies discarded on the leafy floor - jerks up, bunching his gloved fingers roughly in R_V’s hair, and pulls the bigger man’s head back more firmly against the pistol barrel.  S_R leans forward, the closeness of the raised threat only slightly diminished by the fact that he’s speaking into R_V’s shoulder rather than his ear.

[S_R] You want to be a Motherman, Arr-Vee?  Then you’re going to fucking learn when, and when not, to throw that bulk around. On. My. Orders.

[S_R] So. In the spirit of camaraderie, Brotherhood, and all that other rancid garbage you lap right up - I have a test for you.

C_K becomes as still as a statue. Eyes sharp as cut emeralds as he simply watches his Captain grapple with the taller man. The only movement for the moment a twitch of his lips into a slight smirk when S_R is not quite tall enough to make his movements as dramatic as he clearly desires. A sigh and a roll of his eyes as the brace is dropped to the ground. Movements liquid as he steps forward without fear and ducks down to pick up the brace. Turning slightly to S_R as he speaks in a lowered tone and with narrowed eyes*

[C_K] If you fuck up your Chain-Damned arm just because you wanted to be a melodramatic little shit, I will be displeased, Sir.

He steps back and turns swiftly on his heel to walk around the two men until he is facing R_V. His smile wide and welcoming, but there is something vicious in his eyes. Spiteful.

[C_K] Doing okay there, brother? I really wouldn’t move, he’s not kidding, you know. I wouldn’t call our esteemed Captain trigger happy, but he’s a man of his word.

R_V looks sickly white with fear.  He glares at C_K as the man approaches, his body still stiffly locked in place and then begins to nervously laugh.

[R_V] You know I think you might be right for once Brother C_K.  Now tell me S_R - is the bullet with my name on it even in the chamber? I doubt it is - if I recall I remember seeing it tucked neatly into that little ammo pouch of yours -

R_V slowly lowers his left hand to remove the small knife from his belt, tossing it to the ground in front of C_K, his pale smirk now faded he carefully presses his legs together tightly to conceal the small dagger hilt in his boot.

[R_V] Since I don’t really have a choice I’ll entertain this game or test or whatever you want to call it Captain, spit it out.

S_R laughs, but just once.  A low, rough single bark of something only slightly akin to amusement.

[S_R] You think I’ve only made one bullet for you?  R_V, you’ve got a whole fucking clip.

[S_R] Now, you’re going to walk slowly over to that big - *a pause, only slight, as a flick of uncertainty enters S_R’s voice* - ‘...beech tree - ‘

[C_K] *mutters, under his breath* That’d be an oak, Captain.

[S_R] ...big tree over there, and get your back against it.

R_V lets out a quick laugh at C_K’s correction before turning quickly to face S_R.  The barrel of the gun presses against his forehead.

[R_V] Smart man, you’ll need more than one bullet Captain.

R_V’s face is expressionless, he lingers for a moment staring down S_R before slowly walking backwards to the tree, finally pressing his back against it.

S_R’s teeth grind together audibly.  It would be nice if the overgrown moron could scrape together brains enough to look worried when he had a fucking gun to his head.  He locks gaze with the bigger man, black amber on unearthly-blue, and there’s a gravity in his fingers, as if the trigger beneath his touch is hauling itself backwards.

It’s easy.  He knows it’s easy.  He’s pulled this same damn trigger enough times.  He -

The rasp of failing mechanical tones; harsh and skipping like a Citizen’s broken record player, but still damnably clear enough.

I would - have looked you - in the eyes, Commander...’

S_R jerks slightly as the memory breaks, trying to cover his slip with a snarl.

[S_R] C_K. Rope. Now.

There is a moment in which C_K looks worried. Glancing over at S_R as his Captain seems to malfunction for a second. A brief furrow of his brow before he is lowering his head and hooding his eyes; the expression vanishing. He is very carefully blank. Something that his Captain would recognise, but hopefully R_V will not notice.*

[C_K] Yes, Captain. Right away, Sir.

His tone is as yielding as his body language. A Good Ward following the orders of his superior. His gaze almost glassy as he approaches R_V, unravelling the ropes between his hands. There is a slight edge of guilt piercing his chest for correcting S_R about the tree. They need to be a unified team, he can’t be seen to be insubordinate.*

[C_K] Hold still, kid… Would hate to have to ruin the glamour of all those posters of yours.

[R_V] Very good little dog, follow your master's orders.

R_V leans slightly into C_K’s neck as he wraps the rope around him, a wicked smile on his face.  With his eyes fixated on S_R over C_K’s shoulder still, he whispers in his ear.

[R_V] I really do hope the good Captain here has taught you how to properly tie a knot. You wouldn’t like to see what might happen - or… would you, hmm?

R_V leans back again resting his head against the bark of the tree, one eyebrow now raised as his gaze was now on the man in front of him.

[C_K] ~Whoops.~

The Ward jerks on of the ropes so it slips from around R_V’s chest to his throat. A slight tug to give the impression that he wouldn’t be above choking him for the fun of it. Tight enough to make breathing uncomfortable if not impossible. The risk of rope burn present if he struggled.

[C_K] With all due respect, Sir…

The word Sir spoken like it is filth coating his tongue. With none of the awe it had held when directed at S_R*

[C_K] You harm him again, not even Mother Herself could save you from me

The ropes are tightened and knotted. Bound by his hands, torso and throat. C_K gives a wide grin and pats R_V’s cheek before sauntering back over to his Captain*

R_V squirms uncomfortably, trying to ease the pressure of the rope against his neck and hands.  Angrily he stares down the two smaller Wards and spits on the ground in their direction, rather than risk trying to speak.

S_R keeps the gun pointed at R_V for a few more seconds, focusing on the welcome sight of that damn face twisted in discomfort for once.  Bringing himself back to now, back to here.  He’d seen C_K’s glance, knew the man had noticed his own lapse, but… he could live with that.  As long as R_V hadn’t.

When he’s confident enough that his hand won’t shake while he does it, S_R holsters the weapon, and gives R_V one last, withering glance.

[S_R] Now, be a good little lickspittle and try not to throttle yourself until we get back.  If anyone’s going to choke you, I’d like it to be me -

S_R stops, glaring aside as he hears the muttered ‘oh really, Captain?’ from C_K, then continues.

[S_R] Now, you’ve got a nice, long time to think about your position in this unit R_V.  I suggest you think real fucking hard about where your loyalties lie.

[S_R] Have a good couple of days, Commander.

[S_R] And hope we don’t find ourselves… delayed.

With that, the two free Mothermen pick up their packs, and head back the way they came.

*Laika sits patiently, as she has done for the previous days. Eat occasionally, sleep uncomfortably, wait apprehensively. The work… The work has been abandoned, for now. Packed up for travel, stashed into a satchel, carefully guarded between her dark, thin arms.

*She is sat in a curled-up position, knees to her chin, cradling the vital research. Her mechanical leg is charging, cannibalised wiring shunting into a myriad of sockets on the metallic part, imperfectly juddering, as if with anticipation.

*A curl of dust trails from the ceiling of the cramped workroom, her home for… some time, she supposes. Laika looks up, lips parting as a tile falls from the ceiling, bouncing off a sturdy metal table, clattering away. She squeezes the satchel tighter, one Mother’s Embrace to another, she supposes…

-

Whose brilliant bloody idea was this?

Fucking military decomissioning programme; unimaginative purse puckered paper pushers; just tip fucking concrete over everything?  Really?  Either let them leave or don’t leave fucking air holes.  But no - no you just seal come Civvie idiot down there to rot, and of course she gets our Glorious Leader’s phone number…

*S_R is not pleased.  He hasn’t been pleased for some time, even considering his usual state of mind, and his mood has been deteriorating rapidly over the course of the awkward, sweaty - fucking filthy - twenty minutes he’s been navigating the rusted, creaking, pigeon encrusted angles of the ASTROFAC’s main vent system.  He’s had to backtrack several times, digging his bare toes (because you’d be fucking insane to try and wriggle around in vents with your boots on - he knows that of old) into the disgusting metal surface, and wiggling in an utterly undignified fashion as he works back up his guide rope.

*It had to be him.  C_K’s a blocky little git, and his shit-eating grin that framed his ‘sorry about that, Captain!’ had been infuriating.  So it was him.  S_R.  Captain of this chainsdammed circus, stripped to his vest and wriggling down into the sealed earth.  This Civ had better be thin -

*And then the surface beneath him is giving way, old metal crumpling under weight and fatigue and rust, and S_R finds himself plunging abruptly downwards, accompanied by cracked tiles, assorted splinters, and his own cursing.

[S_R] Fuck-!

[Laika] AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

*Laika scrambles backward, screeching, stumbling from a curled-up position to a half-run, half-tumble across the room, the frayed wiring sparking as she yanks her prosthetic from her crude charging point. It takes her nearly a half-minute to calm down and come out from behind an upturned desk, poking her curly-haired head into the open.

[Laika] O-oh, um. Hello, there, ah… you…

*She trails off almost immediately.

*For a moment, S_R doesn’t move.  There’s a bloom of pain in the back of his head, where he’s hit something on the way down, and the sudden ringing in his ears is dying back along with the much more external cacophony.  He takes a quick stock - nothing seems broken, and while his head hurts there’s no muzzy edge of concussion to his thoughts - so he hauls himself more upright, glancing around.

*Workroom, of some sort.  Probably had been fairly wrecked up before he’d dropped in through the roof, or the room’s other occupant had taken abrupt cover, spilling even more debris out across the floor.

S_R turns sharply at the new voice, seeing the nervous brown face peering around furniture.

[S_R] ...so much for a dignified entrance.

[S_R] You’re the engineer?

*Laika nods slowly, clearing her throat. Dry, even more than usual down here…

[Laika] Um, yes. Practical applications of astrophysics…

*She stands up, clearing the space behind the desk. There’s some small clunking and judders from her mechanical leg as she flexes it experimentally, blackened electrical burns dotting the metal surface, consequences of her sudden uncoupling from charging.

[Laika] You’re the…

*Laika pauses, tries to find the right word.

[Laika] The um, gentleman on the INTER-FAC sent you.

*She eventually adds lamely, fumbling over her words. She still holds the satchel protectively, the leather bag not bearing a scuff or mark from the brief action earlier.

*S_R watches carefully as Laika comes around the table, his still-gloved hand resting on the pistol at his hip.  Distaste crosses his expression as he sees the prosthetic, eying it suspiciously, but it doesn’t look that much like a weapon.

[S_R] ...something like that.  You spoke with Facilitator Fairfax of the ego-trip - of the FAIR-CO Facility *He corrects himself, quickly.* I’m S_R, Head of Security and Captain of the… Mothermen Extraction unit.

*He hesitates as he glances down at himself.  At the streaked vent filth over his vest and along his bare arms.  He frowns.

[S_R] I usually have a uniform.  And shoes.

*Laika’s eyes drift over his vested and uh, barefoot form. She blinks a few times.

[Laika] Well, I did think the uniform standards had grown rather lax…

*She laughs nervously. Laika steps across the floor, her mechanical prosthetic crushing any debris beneath it as she pads over. The satchel remains in her arms, kept carefully with her body between S_R himself and the research. She adjusts a curl of her hair awkwardly, sections of the curls coated in the thin plaster dust that emanate from the torn tiles and miscellaneous ruins dotting the room.

*Laika looks up, frowning a little bit.

[Laika] Is there… someone else? Perhaps with a, um. Exit strategy?

[Laika] Or… some rope?

*S_R glances upward, his lips twitching irritatedly.

[S_R] Yes.  And… no.  This vent system was either designed by a lunatic, or someone overly fond of pipework crochet.  Or both.  *He shrugs* I had to unhook my guide rope what I think was two floors up.  The vents are wider there - *he looks down at her metal-coated leg, and rolls his eyes* - which it looks like we’re going to need.

[S_R] So.

[S_R] Consider yourself requisitioned.

[S_R] Now - can we go up, at all?

*Laika chews the inside of her cheek, slowly, carefully setting the satchel across her back. She mentally runs through the small section of the facility she’s been confined to. An office, a workroom (her usual home, of course) and a storage room very rarely used as a kitchen…

[Laika] Oh! I have an idea, yes!

*She motions for him to follow, stepping into the cramped storage room. There are a selection of empty crates, previously housing can after can of her meager food supply, and their salvation. A floor-to-ceiling vent she’d previously used as a chimney, coated in burnt detritus and ash. Laika runs a finger along the side of the vent, coating it in thick, dark ash.

[Laika] Well, um. It may not be a pleasant climb, but…

*She turns back to face the Motherman.

[Laika] I mean no offence, but it doesn’t look like it was a pleasant climb down, either~

*Laika gives a small, nervous laugh, which quickly dissipates at S_R’s expression.

*S_R eyes the vent with blatant displeasure.  His hand has drifted away from his pistol - given how idly the woman has turned her back on him, she’s probably not all that much of a threat.  Although he is acutely aware of his lack of footwear around that clomping case on her leg.

[S_R] ...wonderful.  Does that toy come off, or do I look forward to being deaf as well as fucking filthy by the time we get out of this tomb?

*She folds her arms, suddenly looking even less thrilled to be getting out. Her prosthetic twitches somewhat as she shifts on the spot.

[Laika] Let’s say it does not. Just based on how long I spent without one last time…

*Laika looks up, into the crude chimney, their route upward. Thick, ashen darkness.

[Laika] But feel free to go first, it is, ah. More of a job for you practical types, finding uhh. Handholds and such, yes?

*She steps back hopefully, her thick metal foot now thumping dusty black-stamped bootprints into the dented metallic floor of the storage room, Laika motioning for him to take the point with some hesitation.

*At least she won’t crush his toes this way.  Even if having a fucking ASTRO-aligned Civ at his back is enough to send all the hairs on S_R’s neck prickling.  She’s not R_V, he reminds himself.  And she’s clutching that damn satchel like it’s bleeding out, so she’s got most of her potential-shivving opportunities discounted.

[S_R] Fine.

*He reaches down, shaking out the wrap of fabric that still hangs loose around his neck, and pulls it up across his mouth and nose as he shoves a sturdy-looking crate beneath the vent, and climbs carefully up inside.

*It.  Is.  Horrible.  In here.

Layered soot and streaks of grease make getting the first handholds difficult, as he wedges himself spread-eagle against the walls and begins to shuffle upwards agonisingly slowly.  It smells like burnt food and scorched metal, and it takes a good few minutes before the lithe man has managed to pull himself up to a change in angle of the vent.  He twists around, bracing his knees against the sides of the flatter part, and leans back down with his arms extended and a grimace already on his face.

[S_R] It’s disgusting, and it gets worse.  Here - *he waves his gloved hands down at the woman, tensing for the boost in weight *.  Get a fucking move on, and think narrow thoughts.

[Laika] I’ve been down here for…

*She pauses. Huh. She mentally makes a note to check a calendar, post-escape. And recent technological and scientific developments, of course. Perhaps reversing the order of the two.

[Laika] Trust me, I am perfectly narrow enough!

*There’s a metallic clunk, and a shudder that travels across the entire vent, up to the ceiling, as Laika’s sturdy prosthetic slams into the thin metal venting, and she begins to haltingly climb, wedging herself as best as she can,  the satchel now strapped to her belly for safe-keeping. After an uncomfortable and long period of time, she sprawls out on the flatter area, as much as she is able to.

[Laika] H-hah… whew… huff…

[Laika] S-spend a lot of time doing this, do you, um…

*She pauses once more.

[Laika] ...Captain?

[S_R] I would really like to say ‘no’.

*He wriggles around further, getting himself better orientated in the vent.  It’s flat for a few more metres, presumably passing between floors to an access well, then turns more sharply upwards once again, narrowing as it goes.  That does seem to be about the right direction, and while the sides of his shoulders are touching the metal, it’s not that cramped.  Yet.

[S_R] Most extractions by now are from above-ground Facilities.  Anything lower than a couple of floors has pretty much flooded, fell in or blown up, if they aren’t powered.  If they are powered, we already know about them.  As you should have realised, if there’s actually half a brain rattling around in that skull.

*For the first time, Laika seems anything other than guardedly compliant, and a little ditzy. Her face hardens and she almost hisses, an edge to her voice as she follows S_R further upward. The cacophony of noise as she climbs grows even louder, the metal denting.

[Laika] I. Was. Busy.

*She seems to hiss, her teeth gritting as she follows, her satchel brought tighter to her lithe form for a second, perhaps as part of the motion of climbing, most likely not.

*After a long moment, Laika breathes shakily out, and trails behind S_R at some distance in silence.

*S_R continues forward, trying to work out where they are in relation to his descent.  Backtracking was annoying enough when it was just him doing it - he doesn’t fancy trying it with his current clanging backup.  His ears are ringing enough as it is.

*He pauses as the vent jigs around a T-corner, then goes abruptly straight upwards.  There are smears going along the other way - his own earlier tracks - and he nods to himself.  Couldn’t be that far now, and then C_K could do some damn hauling.  He pulls himself up into the vertical space, taking the opportunity to stretch, and the earlier snap replays across his attention.  Looks down, and back, towards the other figure.

[S_R] How ‘busy’, bricked into the basement of a dead FAC, from a long-fallen Ministry?  *He rolls his eyes.* ASTRO.  How extremely useful you lot have proved to be.

*He doesn’t wait for her response.

[S_R] FAIR-CO has use for engineers.  Has use for everybody, I suppose; but you’re the kind that gets half-decent rations for it.  *He hesitates, thoughts drifting for a moment.* It’s… better than the alternatives.

*As she’s gazed at, Laika looks down. Avoids his prying eyes, at least until the climbing is done. When they’re both together in the cramped space, she keeps her gaze low.

[Laika] I’m sure.

*Her voice has changed; is terse, mournful. She seems to fidget a little more, closing and unclosing her hands and shifting her mechanical limb. Seemingly anxious to move onward.

[Laika] I am an engineer whose… lifework turned into a coffin for an entire crew of our State’s finest, suspended in orbit…

*She adds, eventually. Hollowly.

[Laika] I will work as is necessary and continue on my own project otherwise.

[S_R] Entire crew.  I wish.  *He stops.  Debrief could wait, and ‘crammed into a vent’ wasn’t a good fucking time for whining at strangers.  Pull yourself together.

[S_R] I stepped out of PRI, straight into City militia.  And that’s gone as fucking fantastically as you might have guessed.

*He looks back at her again, and flashes an utterly humourless smile.

[S_R] Consider this an opportunity.  Because it’s a hell of a lot easier that way.

[Laika] If I can find resources to improve my work, it will be worth it. Everything else is, um. Irrelevant.

*She speaks certainly, looking pale in the dimness of the murky ventilation. Laika looks around the cramped space, then up into the next tunnel.

[Laika] Is it… much further, Captain S_R?

*She shakes her leg just a little, trying to ease out the halting stiffness that comes from a low-power and poorly-charged experimental limb prototype. The leg jerks somewhat, but seems to settle.

*S_R glares back at the renewed sound of clanging.

[S_R] What, is hauling your half-metal ass out of here inconvenient?  I’m not going to fucking carry you.

[S_R] We’re nearly at the main utilities shaft.

One more turn, and the vent ends abruptly in a dislodged grate, opening out into a metre-wide, vertical space.  Bundles of cables and lines of piping are laid thickly around the walls, all smeared and splattered with the fossil river of long-dried concrete once poured into the depths.  The artificial stone has formed a bumpy surface just below the open grating, where the old FAC-seal failed to come quite up to the level of the vent system, and there is a much more recent coil of knotted rope hanging down the centre of the open space.

*S_R yanks on the rope a few times, waits, and nods as an answering shiver ripples down the rope.  He steps aside, as much as possible, and nods Laika towards the rudimentary ladder.

[S_R] Inductees first.

*Laika stands up, grimacing as her back clicks after some time of crawling through cramped vents. She looks up, blinking somewhat at the light.

[Laika] ...Thank you for retrieving me, um. Captain. If you… want half-decent rations, and this change does help my work, I suppose I owe you some...

*She grips the bottom of the ladder, testing the weight of her clunky prosthetic on it before pulling herself up, rung after rung, the ladder swinging in the wider space.

*S_R watches her ascend, until she is nearly at the top, then turns and crouches down, pulling a small bag from its position hidden behind a chunk of concrete.  He quickly removes a small metal box and fixes it onto the largest of the pipes that still continues downwards: the one with a faint sheen of condensation still on its surface.  A flick of a switch, the timer set for ten minutes, and a small red light begins to blink atop the charge.

Get her out.  Flood whatever’s left.

Yes, ‘sir’.

[S_R] ...don’t thank me yet.

*The rope jerks again, ready for its next climber, and S_R swiftly begins to haul himself back up towards the surface.  And, somewhere, a fucking shower.

*The ambiance on Level One will never sit well with Chase. As large and lively as the area is the hallways during the day sound… off to her. Perhaps it's the muted sounds of gossiping clerks bleeding through the walls, stipulated by the metrical taps of heavy keyboards and the occasional supporting clack of an old-fashioned typewriter.

*Perhaps it's the fact that she doesn't visit this Level as frequently; only passing through when visiting Laurence. Perhaps the knowledge that this is indeed C_C’s floor as much as Level 6 is hers. She suppresses a shudder forming at the base of her spine as she passes over the threshold of Level 1, for once not turning towards the den of the painted weasels but the offices of the bipedal dogs, and C_K.

*Chase is still remarkably presentable for just another day in the week. Whispers of jealousy regarding a newest Fairco-employee do little but clarify the sudden change of appearance for the woman even if she'd starkly deny it upon confrontation.

*She carries with her a box, neatly tucked under one arm and a clipboard hanging limply from the other. The box is beautifully presented with a garish bow and crinkling, silver paper neatly wrapped around it, all blatantly salvaged from other packaged goods prior to this one.

*With a final sigh the woman drags herself over to the narrow corridor holding the meeting room and the Mothermen offices. A hardened knuckle taps on the shining stone of the portal, the only warning prior to her walking into the room.

*The inside of the Mothermen’s office is - to put it bluntly - chaotic.  Lockers are open on the far side of the room, expedition packs and their disassembled contents strewn over every surface, and the large whiteboard that hangs between the main desks is a tangled, drunken-spiderweb mess of crossed-out wrong-hand writing.

*S_R is perfectly aware that this level of repeatedly reviewing, rethinking and repacking all the field kits is bordering on paranoia.  It’s also bloody difficult with his arm still in a sling, but as much as he might want to take the damn thing off, there is still a core of scarlet humiliation burning in his brain; a constant hyper-awareness that it is his own fucking bravado that has gotten him into this mess in the first place.

*It can’t happen again.  It won’t happen again.  And if the only way he can be sure of that is to spend three days untangling every conceivable thread of packing possibility, then that is what he will do.

*This does mean, however, that he is rather unfortunately positioned - bending down over the back of a desk to grab at a stack of canteens that has rolled away from his single functional grip - when Halstead enters the room.

*She inhales sharply, head whipping to the side. Only the sound of the clattering clipboard might have muffled her alerted cry. She sucks in another wavering, almost simpering breath before she finds her voice again.

[Halstead] It's fine, Essar! I'm not the new alpha-pup… You don't have to present yourself like an omega-bitch to me.

* She puts a step forward, visibly putting her eyes on everything but the… sight before her. Turning half on her heel she bends down to pick up her clipboard, moving agonizingly slow before neatly putting it on top of the box for safe-keeping.  

[Halstead] Put it away… It's about time I saved you from irrelevance, it seems.

*The woman moves hastily past Essar and towards the desk of R_V. She places the cheerfully wrapped box on the edge of a table and briskly pushes some equipment out of the way. She picks up a small bag and examines it as she waits for Essar to put himself in a less… compromisable position.

*S_R freezes, as the eternally-unwelcome sound of Halstead’s voice breaks into his thoughts, even before he registers the content of the words and his breath locks.

*...really?  Really - you couldn’t have turned up five fucking minutes later?

Of course she couldn’t.  That isn’t how anything ever worked, is it?

[S_R] Got nothing better to do than ogle my ass, Halstead? *He straightens up slowly, biting down on the urge to jerk around - because he is not going to give the exhumed-wreckage behind him the satisfaction of seeing him react to her barbs - and glares at the unwelcome visitor, faffing around with R_V’s desk.  His lip curls.

[S_R] ...if you’re thinking of joining space-boy’s little fanclub fuckfest, for the love of Mother do it in your own room.

*Chase slowly puts the piece of equipment back down again, her hand reaches out to the wrapped package, pushing it so it almost topples on its side. Her face is neutral before it breaks in a brief moment of disgust, the majority of her expression still hidden behind the surgical mask.

[Halstead] This… This isn't… Chargehand—… I'm not vain enough to partner myself up with a portable mirror… And I require a bit more personality than a rehashing of the State Anthem. Which is strangely enough exactly what keeps the chalk-faced weasels happy... It's from one of them.

*She twists on her heels, her rubberized soles squeak briefly on the floor.

[Halstead] The main reason why I'm here is that I finally heard you're going to the Silo. Good, only took you a few months to get that sorted out. You're improving but hey better late than never. I'm here so you won't go into that Silo and mistake an unplugged toaster for the possible culprit.

[S_R] Playing delivery-brat now?  Envy of the glamourous Unward lifestyle just got too much to bear?  *He sneers, settling himself back on the desk.  He folds his free arm across the immobilised one, and lets out a sharp breath.  Hackles dropping, slightly.*

[S_R] Given that flashing the Facilitator an ankle isn’t one of my strategies, yeah.  It’s taken a while. *He snorts.* Since apparently ‘possible imminent risk of getting your FAC cored like a fucking apple’ doesn’t rank all that high on our glorious leader’s personal motivations.

[Halstead] He's never been particularly creative or imaginative when it comes to bad scenarios… Luckily that's where I can step in. I do more for him than flash my ankle and call him 'sweetheart', Essarr.

*She moves over to the clipboard and with a rustle plucks a few papers from under the iron clamp. Her eyes briefly glance over the information. It's a copy of a handwritten notebook detailing specialized wiring, machinery and cooling systems, accompanied by vague illustrations hastily implemented in what few open spaces remain.

*Chase rises from her position and walks over to Essarr, nonchalantly throwing the copies over to his desk.

[Halstead] Welcome to Dreggie Engineering 101. This'll come in handy if it's Dreglands interference we've experienced. These models might be slightly outdated but the principle should be similar. Anything that looks like it's hydraulic or pneumatic in nature is already a sign to be cautious. Pistons are your best bet here. Manganese steel — railroad track-metal is another thing to note. It's recognizable by its brown color and less than precise form in a finished product. And there's this—

*She shows her bionic once again, tapping a finger to the manganese used as the skeleton for the prosthetic. Her fingers dip deeper under the vinyl. The sound of metal and plastic twisting is briefly audible before she digs out a small metal cylinder about the size of the palm of her hand. With various iron nodules and hastily welded parts it resembles the wrong way a battery could be cobbled together. It leaks a dark brown fluid that reeks of rusted copper.

*S_R nods, half-idly, as she lists off the more recognisable engineering components, scanning down the list as he does so.  It is only when she stops that he actually looks up - and visibly recoils for a moment as she withdraws the cylinder from inside her arm.  His gaze follows the drips of fluid, distaste clear on his face.

[S_R] ...delightful.

*Chase scoffs at S_R's reaction, a deep sigh forcing itself through her nostrils as she lightly shakes the item in her hands before throwing it down on his table.

[Halstead] That's a bionic battery. Dreglands-make. Raiders or Trackers tend to chuck those away when they're drained. I doubt they could've attacked Fairco just like that so they must've stuck around for a few days to set everything up. If they are behind it someone must've left one behind. Don't get alarmed by the goop, it's dross — waste. It doesn't do anything but stain horribly. As long as you don't get that in your bloodstream you're not likely to fall dead because of it. I’ll be requiring that one back when you return.

*She pauses a moment, her one hand readjusting the wiring in her bionic as she thinks.

[Halstead] Most of our machines tend to run hot, reason why hydraulics and pneumatics are popular with us. It's doubtful that it'll be traceable this long after the incident but you've been to Level Six… Be sure to check the computers there as well for any sign of interloping.

*The woman pauses, finally readjusting her glove, reassuring the Captain of her normalcy once more.  

*S_R arches an eyebrow as he looks down at the leaking battery.  He reaches across to one of the opened-out field packs as Halstead talks, plucking a screw-topped plastic jar from a pile of general environmental sampling equipment.  Unscrewing it one-handed is a little awkward, and it takes him a few tries to herd the little cylinder into the jar, leaving a thin trail of gunk where it scrapes across the desk.

[S_R] I have searched a Facility before.  *He taps one gloved finger against the jar, rolling the safely-cased battery within, and frowned thoughtfully.* Don’t hold out much hope for the computers; they were pretty much fried when I did the initial sweep, and the whole thing had been cut off for years.

He rolls the jar around again, his lips thinning, and his gaze flicks across to R_V’s desk again.  Glancing across the package - but mostly just at the space itself.

[S_R] ...tell me.  In your interactions with the ‘portable mirror’ - whatever the fuck they are - has he mentioned seeing anything strange, at the Ball?

*S_R's antics are only rewarded with Chase raising an uninterested brow as he pathetically attempts to fit the piece of hardware into a container without touching it. Doing it with one hand results in little more than the resemblance of a squirrel or mouse battling with plastic.

[Halstead] And you did such a good job of it you're gonna have to go back.

*Her eyes follow those of S_R, back to the place she'd been lingering around mere minutes before. She looks back at the captain, her face blank with just a hint of confusion.

[Halstead] There have been no interactions between me and Dazzle. I tend not to tread on what Sees's clique claims as their own. Makes my life slightly easier and my paperwork that much cleaner.

[S_R] If the useless idiots we yanked out of there had had the decency to die during extraction, I’d have have more time for sightseeing.

*He frowns slightly at her other comment, looking at her sharply.

[S_R] Nothing you saw?  Nothing out of place in the simpering horde?  It’s not an opportunity I would have missed…

[Halstead] What are you on about? 'Out of place'… Were you around during this Ball? We've never met our quota of weird like that.

*She groans, looking down to the floor and then the ceiling, scratching her mind for anything of use. Her bionic crackles as she raises it, using spread fingers as an impromptu calculus device. Two digits are touched before she lowers her hand again, sighing in defeat.

[Halstead] You're gonna need to be more specific if you want something out of me.

*S_R sighed.  Of course a fucking Dreglander wouldn’t know anything.  Even a whispered hint of ‘Praetorian’ would leave anyone half-sensible with a shiver down their spine, but as far as he could tell, the only word that’d set a Dreggie’s hair on end was ‘soap’.

[S_R] Helpful as ever.

*He folds his arms again, awkwardly against the sling.

*Chase holds the silence, slowly looking away and shaking her head. Her glare hardens.

[Halstead] Perhaps come down from that little table, Rosewood. Before you break your face when you're pulled off of it. Either you explain or you shut up.

...rosewood?

*S_R’s teeth grind together.  He wants her to leave.  Halstead’s presence at the best of time is the personal equivalent of toothache, but something about her is really grating on his nerves today.  His heartbeat is all over the place, like there’s an angry insect in his chest, and she’s making his skin crawl.  Focus.  Fucking focus.

[S_R] I take it He hasn’t bothered to actually tell you…?  *He stops, shaking his head.* Look.  I’m not… sure.  But I have to be, and there have been too many things - just - off-

*It’s not a tightness, not a pressure, but the opposite: a shivering, sucking hollowness that seems to pull at his rising heartbeat and-

*S_R lets out a sharp breath, pressing his bound arm closer to his chest.  It aches, up and down and around his shoulder, but he can feel that.  Properly.  Enough to focus a bit more - and enough for angry embarrassment to flare as he blinks himself back to reality.

*The tense silence continues, she ends it with a roll of her eyes. The woman is getting curt, she is getting annoyed at the useless attempt at a back-and-forth that won't go anywhere. It didn't go anywhere on their first meeting and it won't go anywhere at their last.

[Halstead] I'm supposed to cry now? Because the Blue-Eyed-Bastard doesn't tell me everything?

*As S_R's tangent withers off like a wilting flower the annoyance on her face falls away for panicked bafflement. A delicate brow raising once more. She eyes his arm, his face, her voice wavers, uncertain.

[Halstead] Look… Essar. You can get painkillers for that thing…

*She takes a delicate step forward, fingers close to her chest, not knowing what to do exactly.

[Halstead] … You having a fit? You're not up to this. I can explain it to Seekay just as well… Maybe I just convince Laurence somehow that I need to go along…

*S_R jerks back from her half-approach, clarity returning to his expression, and he seeks balance in a scowl.

[S_R] I’m fine.  *He hesitates again, eyes flicking back towards R_V’s desk again, and he snorts dismissively.* The metalmouthed asshole’s about as restful a roommate as you might imagine.  And yet, if I throttled him in his sleep, I would be the bad guy.

*Chase stops in her tracks at the snarl. She is silent, judging eyes pinned on the garbled mess that would be the Captain. The person in charge of her safety… The muscles around her nose twitch with apathetic disgust.

[Halstead] You better be fine, Captain. FAIRCO doesn’t keep you alive to perform an adequate job no matter the consequences. Like anything in this sinkhole you are as interchangeable as the next… The new tool might be just around the corner… Perhaps it can even be considered an upgrade. It does come less scuffed and with a nice chrome finish.

*S_R’s lip curls.

[S_R] I am very. Aware. Of my requirement here. *He straightens up, abruptly, and stalks back around the desk; putting the furniture between them like a physical punctuation.  Gloved fingers tighten around the battery jar again, as he glares back at Halstead.

[S_R] And if you’d really prefer to leave your security in R_V’s hands than mine?  Good. Fucking. Luck.  Now, do you have anything else useful for me - ideally not yanked out of any even-less savory areas - or are we fucking done?

*She makes a point of striding to the door, heel noisily tapping with each step. She turns just at the frame, one hand gripping onto the sleek, black quartz.

[Halstead] Like you have somehow revolutionized our security since you crawled in… * She scoffs lowly, eyes rolling in their sockets. Her face twists with loathing and a touch of dread as she lingers on the comment. * What few qualities you didn't share with the great ape we're not likely to find in someone else either.  

*The woman's skin crawls with enough force that it slightly dislodges her hand. She stares at it for a brief moment before pinning her eyes back onto S_R, light eyes swallowed by the darkened brow.

[Halstead] Get results or get used to the pangs of nagging starvation. Unlike your recent track record… Ne déçoit pas, mon Capitaine. Bonsoir.

*She throws off her finely-crafted mask of articulated speech for just a brief moment. Her tongue speaks with the typical drawl of a Dreglands accent, thick but that hint of refinement somehow snuck in there. Eyes glinting with spite she turns the corner.

*S_R’s shoulders slump a little; a fragment of the tension in his body unhooking as he hears Halstead’s primped-point step vanishing away back down the corridor.  He looks back at the battery, and again at the sprawled-out mess of the opened field kits.  

*One wall of the Association space is made up of grey-black glass, an unbroken length of mirrored midnight that runs smoothly behind the seating and bookshelves, even backing onto the overlit pale foliage of the small garden.   Occasionally, if an observer were in the social area at a change in diurnal setting, the lowering of lights across the level seems to leave ghosts behind the glass, hints of movement or the faintest glimmer of something else within; gone, as fast as they appear.

*Some of the eerie quality of the hidden watchfulness beyond is lost when you are on those shifts, of course.  S_R can’t say that he enjoys observation duty – watching Association is almost as tedious as attending it – although at least nobody tries inane conversation on this side.  Usually it was just Breathers staffed in here, since sitting very still and staring forwards was about the upper limit of their practical skillset, but a few of the higher-ranked Clerks had clearance as well.  Usually, they were rarely on the rota, preferring their gawking to the snide, across-the-room glances, but S_R had noticed a change this week.  

*Unward Association schedules are different to the rest of the FAC, and generally avoided by everyone else, since there is really only so long that watching some addled idiot twitch at loud noises could hold any interest; or conceal much risk.  Which means that even Breathers try to skip the duty; so there being only one name on the rota today isn’t unusual.

*Except that C_C does not draw short straws.

*S_R doesn’t – overly – care why the primped petroleum-blond wants to eye up Unwards, but the man being alone, without his usual simpering shield of escorts, suits his own purposes.  Association is about halfway through when he slips silently into the narrow corridor that leads to the Observation space and opens the door, a little awkwardly still with the blue sling that holds his left arm against his chest.  The room within is long and narrow, with the shaded view into next door taking up the entire of one wall.  Computer consoles sit in bolted rows, behind the main observation desk that is regimentally arranged with thin papers and sharp pencils.

*C_C is standing pin-straight in the centre of the window, watching something intently. Unwards hesitate over a game of chess, inches behind the glass. He is studying them. S_R closes the door again, hearing the click of the lock behind him, and clears his throat.

[S_R] Functionary.  Having fun?

*He can’t quite avoid the comment sneaking through, and tries to bite down on his own sarcasm.

Not now, Captain.

*C_C snaps his scrutiny to the other man. He flicks his green eyes, that never seen beyond the angular underscape of State Facilities, up and down, once, measuring, calculating. In his hands are a clipboard and pencil.

[C_C] …within recommended parameters.

*The narrow room is dimmed; the Association area brightly lit.

[C_C] Do you have your Postseparation Unward Behavioral Checklist?

[S_R] Rarely.

*He steps further into the room, and stops between C_C and the door.  Not aggressively close, though.  Not immediately getting up in the other Ward’s face, for a change.  He meets C_C’s scrutinising stare coolly, trying to ignore the awkward echoes of their last exchange that danced across the back of his thoughts.  He had possibly been too free with his own words, not as cautious as he should have been in his anger at the Clerk; he was under little illusion that C_C wouldn’t have damn-near recorded every thing he’d said.  But...

*‘If you really want to see Sir, take him a black coffee – moderately hot, with two sugars – and knock very, very softly.’

*It had fucking worked.

*Let’s get this over with.  

*S_R tilts his chin, jaw tight, and fixes C_C with a fresh glare.

[S_R] Your advice about the coffee.  Was… accurate.

*There is something synthetic in C_C’s movement, turning toward S_R, raising his clipboard. The Clerk creaks in the layered plastic of his uniform.

[C_C] I like your.

*He pauses, and smiles. It is a strange and remote expression. A motion of muscle over skeleton, disconnected from emotion.

[C_C] Broken arm.

[S_R] It’d be a good look for you.  Remind me later.

*S_R’s opposite fingers tighten against the sling, a flicker of distaste passing across his face.  And a hint of embarrassment.

[S_R] Pleasantries aside: you were useful to me, C_C.  Makes a change from obstinate paper-fucking. *He frowns, for a second, then his expression settles back into something more collected.* So.  Like-for-like, is only polite.

*C_C tilts his head. His eyes rest on the cast.



[C_C] Your Functionary heard you cried.

*He pauses. Resetting his expression and posture.

[C_C] Did you?

[S_R] Ever had your shoulder yanked back into place by a sausage-fingered vet who’s working out of an equestrian manual? *He pulls a face.* If ‘my’ Functionary really wants a chunk-by-chunk reenactment of why C_K’s putting in for new shoes, he can use his damn imagination.

[S_R] Look. *Teeth grit, audibly.* I’m sure you want to get back to your Unward oggling.  I – am trying – to offer you the favour back, in kind.  Or we can keep going with this fucking delightful exchange until it becomes really awkward.

[C_C] Your successful social adjustment is beginning. You may report high levels of stress and or paranoia that may be caused by your social adjustment to Your Functionary.

*He scrutinises the other man and his voice softens.

[C_C] Before his inactivation, Your Functionary enjoyed a healthful friendship with Captain W_A. One day perhaps we too will Associate.

*S_R’s eyes narrow slightly.

[S_R] I’ve heard a lot about my predecessor.  Don’t hold your breath for a replay.

*His free hand comes up, pinching the bridge of his nose, and he exhales slowly.

[S_R] Bear in mind – I won't be taking or spending a bullet here.  Or making myself look like an imbecile. And if you're taking the piss, I'll fucking know. *He drops the hand, meeting C_C’s gaze again with his expression back to a careful neutral.* But. Useful is useful. So.

*His response is so curt and immediate there is no pause between S_R’s words and his own.

[C_C] I want to go to Level 6.

*His eyes remain unblinkingly focused on the Captain.

[C_C] Energistics.

*S_R blinks, caught a little offguard by the sudden statement.

[S_R] ...why?

*C_C turns back to the glass. He leans forward, clipboard in hands, staring intently at the Unwards beyond the mirror, inches from him, with a spider’s patience. He tilts his head, and speaks softly.

[C_C] To observe.

[S_R] Observe?  What, you want to get a real close view of Halstead’s fucking playroom?  What possible – ?

*He stops, gritting his teeth again, as his attention flicks back towards the window, and he snorts.

[S_R] ...fine.  *Fingers drum against the sling again, his lips pressing into a line.* Not easy.  Not quick.  And you need to back your fucking drones out of my shadow if you want this to happen.

[C_C] They will be removed.

*C_C turns to him.

[C_C] Those that do not comply will be modified to an Environmental Hazard on the floor of Level Six using a firm push from an upper balcony.

*C_C stares emotionlessly.

[C_C] Your Functionary is utilising humour.

*There is a moment of silence. Ventilators softly hum.

[C_C] They will in fact be beaten and shamed.

[S_R] Chain’s links, you're actually creepier when you try to be human.

*S_R rolls his eyes.

[S_R] Fine. I’ll look into it.  Do not expect miracles, or a leisurely experience, and don’t. Push. Me.

*C_C watches him passively.

[C_C] You are one of us. Brother. Until I say otherwise.

The muted silence of Level Four is broken by angry footsteps, and angrier voices, one struck through with not a little pain.

[S_R] This is – fucking – ridiculous.

*His teeth are audibly gritted, and as the bickering pair slowly descend the staircase, it is obvious that the Captain is the source of the sharpened breathing.  He is hunched awkwardly, gripping his right arm to his side with the opposite hand, and is visibly pale.

[C_K] No. Ridiculous is the fact that you decided it would be a great fucking idea to antagonise R_V.

*C_K’s voice holds the tone of an irritated father. One hand wrapping its fingers around S_R’s uninjured upper arm. Both to steady him and to make sure he wouldn’t just run off.*

[C_K] Ridiculous is the fact that you were going to try and set your shoulder back in with the fucking door.

*His pace quickens, as if he were afraid that the longer it took to get there, the more likely it would be for the Captain to do a runner*

[C_K] Ridiculous is the fact that you were going to forgo medical attention because of your fucking pride!

[S_R] I’m -

*He stops, choking a little on both the magnitude of the lie that his habitual ‘I’m fine’ would entail, and his own breath when his injured arm brushes against the wall as they step out of the stairwell.

[S_R] -nnghfuck-

[S_R] I am so - sick - of his bullshit.  And I know how to treat a wrenched -

*Another cut-short breath and S_R falls silent, keeping pace with C_K as they head towards the wide white door of the clinic.

*C_K forces a halt just before they make it to the door. Turning to look at S_R properly, but keeping hold of his arm. His voice a low hiss*



[C_K] And you think I’m not? You think I enjoy listening to that tin-toothed arsehole go on about his fucking exploits? You think I like hearing him talk like he’s better than us? No. I fucking don’t. But I need you in top condition because I am not taking orders from a fucking grounded spaceman!

* A deep breath and a gentle tug before he leads them through the door*

[C_K] Play nice… Just a little while longer. We’ll deal with him soon enough…

*S_R takes a few more breaths, his lips twitching violently, but then he nods.

[S_R] ...fine.  Let’s get this - over with.

*The medbay is, mostly, a quiet place. Mostly. Nix looks up with a slight frown from his desk and closes the files in front of him, placing them aside for a moment. The muffled voices from the other side of the door are incomprehensible, except for, for some reason, a rather loud: ‘...grounded spaceman!’

*Nix stands when the door opens. It takes only a few seconds to see there is something wrong with S_R’s arm.

[Nix] -Are You In Need Of Medical Care?-

*S_R’s eyes narrow and he takes a sharp breath as he reads the sign.

[S_R] N-

*C_K swiftly clamps the hand not holding S_R’s arm over his Captain’s mouth. A sharp look before smiling broadly at Nix*

[C_K] Had a bit of an issue in training the new guy, doc. Our good Captain got his shoulder dislocated and we’d really appreciate you popping it back in for him.

*S_R visibly snarls behind the hand - winces - than then deflates, nodding sullenly.  He settles for fixing Nix with a disparaging up-and-down glare.

*Nix’ face grimaces slightly, glancing at S_R’s shoulder. He points towards his examination table, leading the way. Nix looks back at S_R and gestures across the length of the table; ‘lie down’.

[Nix] -Please Remove Your-…-

*He keeps the rest of the card covered with thumb and tugs at his own shirt.

[S_R] Iffph hy cfan movhe

*The focus of his glare moves back to C_K, and he jerks his head against the restraining hand.*

*There is a brief moment in which C_K gives S_R’s jaw a warning squeeze. A narrow of his eyes and a cock of his head tells the other man to behave himself.*

[C_K] You need help removing your shirt? I’ll know if you lie…



*He removes his hand and takes half a step back. His tone stays low in an effort to keep the words between himself and his Captain.*

*S_R jerks away and stomps over to the bed, sitting down heavily.  There is an awkward few moments of pained wriggling before he relents, elbow wedged awkwardly in one strap of his vest.

[S_R] ...well?

*There is a brief moment in which C_K thinks he may start laughing. His facial features twist into something bordering on pain before he becomes carefully neutral.*

[C_K] Of course, Captain. Right away, Sir…

*The corners of his mouth continue to twitch in their losing battle against smiling as he approaches S_R. Hands gentler than one might think as he carefully removes S_R’s vest. Extra mindful of his injured shoulder.*

[C_K] He’s all yours, doc.

*A nod towards Nix before he goes to stand by the door. Both keeping guard and watching over proceedings.*

*There are already spots of angry colour on S_R’s face, even over the general pained palor, but now there is something more embarrassed about the expression.  His lips thin as he glares at Nix.  He doesn’t like the muted man.  It’s not quite personal, but there’s only so much sad-eyed silence he can take from some ill-assigned idiot who keeps looking unnerved that his patients can actually speak.

*Ultimately, he just objects to being sent to the fucking vet.  Maybe it's the best they’ve got, but that, in particular, is too close to the bone for him to be anything but prickly.

*Nix inhales deeply. He looks momentarily concerned when he notes C_K has removed himself from the scene by guarding the door. He can't blame him. Looking back at the tensing Captain, that is probably the best decision.

*Nix turns to S_R, wringing his hands in nervous anticipation. Fingertips barely touching S_R’s shoulder to assess the damage. After a moment of observation, he gently moves the arm in the starting position; the humerus parallel with the chest, the elbow flexed and the arm in a neutral position.

*He pauses. Perhaps asking for C_K’s assistance might not be such a bad idea after all. He looks up, still holding S_R’s arm steady; turns his attention from him to C_K as if he were about to ‘say’ something.

*Without warning, Nix turns S_R’s arm outwards, keeping the elbow in the same position. Two other swift movements follow directly after: pulling the upper arm up and then moving the lower arm back towards his chest. The shoulder pops back into place, as it should, and Nix takes a step back almost instantly.

*S_R has his head turned away from Nix’s attentions, lips pressed tight across his clenched teeth, as the silent Ward carefully assesses his injury.  He manages to keep most of his reaction to the contact down to a few sharp breaths, very deliberately ignoring the man’s turn towards C_K and -

*This time, he does scream.  Already-bruised muscle and bone jams hard, jolting back into place with a whiteout flare that freezes him in place, choking what breath remains after the initial howl.  For a few moments - heartbeat hammering in his ears - he can’t do more than hunch forward, clutching automatically at his abused arm and trying not to throw up, as nausea surges close behind pain.

*Nix waits a moment until S_R’s strongest reactions have all subsided. It’s only when S_R leans forward slightly to cradle his arm, Nix dares to come closer again. But before he does, he reaches out to a book on his desk and flips through the pages.*

*He places the book down in front of S_R. There is only one drawing to be seen: the muscle- and bone- structure of a horse’s shoulder. Nix points at the text next to the picture.*

-”Unless fixed, a broken or dislocated shoulder means an almost certain death for the equine.”-

*Nix smiles, tapping the word ‘fixed’ several times before gesturing at S_R’s shoulder.

*S_R manages to tilt himself up a bit, squinting at the proffered book with watery eyes.  He has gone very pale, and small muscles in his throat are still twitching.

[S_R] Do I - look like a - fucking horse?

*Nix makes a face and closes the book, taking it back to his desk.*

*C_K winces, and has to stop himself from charging across the room and knocking Nix to the ground. Hearing his Captain scream is unnerving at best and verging on terrifying at worst. That need to defend him crawling beneath his skin and making his fingers twitch. The glove muffled CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! of his fingertips snapping together as he regulates his breathing.*

[C_K] Depends on the angle…

*A weak joke, but it is all he can come up with his mind fizzed and rushed. Taking steady steps towards the table and quickly and carefully checking over S_R for himself. It isn't that he doesn't trust Nix and his capabilities, but he just wants to make sure.*

[C_K] Deep breaths, Captain.

*S_R winces a little as C_K touches him, reflexively tightening his own grip on his arm - which is a mistake.  The nausea clamps down again hard, and it is all he can do to hunch further forward, as acid surges in his throat and his stomach clenches violently.  He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and there was never a lot of that, so the overall result is noise rather than volume; unfortunately, C_K’s proximity only serves to maximise that impact.

*C_K knew it was coming but it still doesn’t give him the time to move out of the way. A long resigned sigh as S_R empties the contents of his stomach over C_K’s shoes. He glances down and gives his Captain a look that can only be described as withering.*

[C_K] Really? I suppose I should be grateful that you exist on a mostly liquid diet, otherwise that could have been a hell of a lot messier. Have you eaten anything other than breakfast today?

*A step back and he shakes one foot and then the other, trying to get rid of the mix of stomach acid, bile and what little food S_R had actually consumed.*

*S_R hauls himself up, scrubbing at his mouth.  He’s still pale and tilts his head back, eyes closed, as he lets out a shaking breath.

[S_R] ...my pride, apparently.

*Nix does little to hide his expression of baffled disgust when the few contents of S_R’s stomach spilled all over his freshly cleaned floor tiles. He lowers his brow, giving both men a stern look.*

*As he decides to avoid stepping into something he’d regret, Nix quickly searches through his pile of cards while taking position on the other side of the table.

[Nix] -You Are Required To Remain Still For The Duration Of This Procedure.-

*He bends down, grabbing something from a drawer underneath the table. His smile is far more reassuring as he shows S_R the dark blue sling for his arm.

*S_R takes a few more moments, sightlessly staring upwards into his own eyelids, before he inches one open and looks over at Nix and what he is proffering.  Much of the prickling tension has drained out of the Captain’s stance, and right now he just looks tired.*

[S_R] Fine.  Shall I just write ‘R_V was here’ directly on the damn cast, or is it calibrated for maximum embarrassment on its own?

*He swivels himself around, carefully avoiding getting any of the mess on his own shoes, and scowls at Nix.

[S_R] Get on with it.

*Nix ‘laughs’ by breathing out through his nose in short bursts. He avoids showing his teeth but can’t help to part his lips just a little bit. On the back of one of his cards, he writes something in pencil.*

[Nix] -’I also have a dog cone if you prefer.’-

[S_R] Hah - fucking - hah.

*C_K lets out a short bark of laughter and turns to grin at Nix. Something very genuine in his eyes; soon hooded. Another shake of both feet before he steps back further out of the mess and out of S_R’s way.*

[C_K] I don’t know, S_R, I think you’d look kinda fetching in a cone. It’ll really bring out the spite in your eyes.

*Another appreciative glance at Nix, then he staunters over to the door. Notably more relaxed now that S_R’s arm was back in place.*

Come here, Little Brother....

The stomp of boots down the corridor. Approaching his room with a steady gait. No rush because there would be no way of escaping. Nowhere he could go, nothing he could do could keep him from being under the gaze of dark brown eyes that looked more like coal when in one of those moods. Fear churning in his stomach. Tightening in his chest.

Little Brother...

He'd been gone for so long and yet that voice was always familiar. Chilling. Sneaking into the back of his mind. Wrapping around his thoughts as he slept. Trapped in the deepness of his sleep he could feel hard, gloved hands pressing against his shoulders. Gripping. Shifting. One to his throat. The other his jaw. Squeezing, choking pressure. Breath ruffling his hair as sardonic laughter echoed in his ears.

What do we say, Runt?

He was younger with tears in his eyes and blood in his mouth. The name of Mother branded on his tongue and his chest. He was younger and he was alone. Alone to fight the monsters forced into his own head. The demons controlling his hands. Teeth bared and barking at the slightest sounds in the night. Pale skin mottled black and blue and purple. The imprint of a boot on his back. Younger and so helpless. Clueless as to how to stop these things from happening again and again and again. The word NO in his throat. The word STOP in his mouth. But a tongue tied and split and bled had no right to say such things.

Say thank you, Captain...

His body now was sweat slicked and raw scratches from his own hands riddled his arms. Tangled in the sheets of his narrow, hard bed as the darkness choked him. Memories of a dead man very much alive in his head. The words trapped in his throat forced upwards by heaving breaths. Chest tight. Throat raw. A ragged, terrified scream wrenched from his lips followed by sobbed, broken words.

“Thank you! Thank you, Captain! I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry! Thank you, Captain!”

Better.  Mind your manners, runt.  It’s only polite.

-

He had heard C_K cry out at night before.  Cursing, more often than not; shouting, half-coherent things, and even the occasional oddly dog-like yelp – but he’d never heard him scream before.  The sound cut through the thin wall between rooms, breaking into the even-thinner veneer of sleep that S_R had managed to sink beneath, and jolted him violently back awake.  Opposite him, R_V grunted and rolled over, accompanied by the pinging of cheap bedsprings, and S_R sat up, with the hair rising on the back of his neck.

Forget night-time terrors – he’d never heard C_K make that sort of noise at all, even in that blasted ‘Siege state’ berserk.

“…what the fuck?” he muttered, swinging himself around and and stood up carefully, not wanting to further rouse his thoroughly unwanted – and definitely temporary, if he could find any way about it – roommate.  His bare feet pressed into cold tiles and he shivered, hesitating as he debated on his boots.  His gloves were under his pillow: as much as he loathed the idea of R_V seeing his hands bare, he had to take them off sometimes, and under cover of darkness and blanket was as good as he was going to get.  The hesitation had been long enough that the sound came again from the next room, and the raw terror in the noise twisted at S_R’s stomach, making the decision for him as he slid quickly out into the connecting space.

C_K knew plenty about him already.  He didn’t like it, but it was fact enough, and the little prat at least didn’t seem to want to do anything with the information that he had.

He crept over to the other door and paused, listening. The scream had stopped, cut out with an abruptness that was almost more disconcerting, but now S_R was closer he could hear the sound that it had bled out into, and that wasn’t any better.

“I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry! Thank you, Captain…”

Ice began to pool at the bottom of S_R’s spine.

What under the Chain was going on?

He glared at the door handle beneath his fingers.  Well.  If this was going to be another one of those things they never spoke about; another midnight incursion of the serrated shadows of history onto the borders of sleep – then fine.  Turnabout was fair play, and Motherknows C_K had shaken him out of the ghosts of flame and gunshots a damn sight more often than he was happy with.

Fine.

S_R opened the door.

-

Closed doors wouldn’t save him. They never had. A closed and locked door only seemed to anger the Captain. Sparked his rage and only brought more pain to the mix. And that pain was at the forefront of his mind now. And the fear that came with it. The sound of feet coming closer and a hand rattling the handle.

The door opened.

C_K’s body jerked and green eyes were wide, but they didn’t see anything in the room. He was in another room. From years ago. A room he was trapped in with a man who enjoyed nothing more than his fear. And that man was approaching him now. Sardonic grin wide and hands reaching for him.

“No…! Please, Captain… I followed your orders! I followed your orders! I didn’t make a mistake, I swear!”

-

This wasn’t what he had expected.  In all honestly, S_R wasn’t sure what he had expected - although ‘awkward misunderstanding that could be safely, if sarcastically, ignored’ was high on the hoped-for list - but it wasn’t C_K cringing backwards violently, as though even the faint light from the opened doorway was cutting into him. He was tangled awkwardly in the bedsheets and looked… smaller, somehow. S_R remembered with a jolt that his second was actually his younger in years, however it might sometimes appear.

The door swung shut behind him with its muted thump, and C_K jerked like he’d been slapped. Staring at him… no, not really at him.  He was staring through him.  Wherever the other Ward was right now, it sure as hell wasn’t here.

...and for a moment, neither was he.  Somewhere else, somewhere before, seeing a different pair of green eyes, horror-wide in a washed out face turned phantom by the gloom.  Hearing the repeated, half-sensical muttering that spilled from still-bloody lips, as S_Q’s rake-thin shoulders shook like a spasm.

“...I can’t - I can’t - they keep - keep telling me to - and I - I - don’t...”

Another gasp, drowning in air, and S_R pulled the thin blanket closer around his brother’s shoulders, pressing down against the shakes.  His own nerves were singing, stretched and straining for any noise of footsteps out beyond the Block dormitory walls, any hint of the scrape-click of the Warders’ boots.

Lights out meant silence, and the old PRIFAC echoed with every muted sound; every stifled sob, every whispered conversation.  If they caught you, they made you hurt.  There was no rancor in the thought, no hatred - not yet; that would come with time, when he learned to use the anger in his blood as knife and shield, but not yet - and S_R curled his own bruised fingers around S_Q’s.  There wasn’t anything he could say, when Q was like this; when the panic and the fear and the latest round of his failings were too real.  So he sat, and waited, with their hands clasped beneath the blanket; and listened for footsteps in the darkness.

Blinking, back to the now of it, and a frown ran down S_R’s face as he took another step forward and C_K shied back even further.

“What the hell’s got into you?” he said, perhaps a little more sharply than he’d meant to, but the echoes of old concern were catching at his thoughts and that was… uncomfortable.

-

What’s wrong, Runt? Not pleased to see me….?

It felt like the air was being sucked from his lungs. Caught between being asleep and awake. Caught still in his nightmare as he tried to thrash away from his aggressor. But in the here and now, the younger Ward was tangled in his threadbare sheets and raising his hands against blows that he was sure would come.

After all I’ve done for you… This is how you greet me?

A choked sound and his eyes blurred with tears. The shadowy figure in his room coming ever closer and there was nothing C_K could do to stop him.

Say you’re pleased to see me, Little Brother…

“No… Don’t…”

-

This was ridiculous. S_R hesitated as C_K cowered; actually cowered.  For fuck’s sake, he’d seen the man climb a six-foot Dreggie raider like a tree without batting an eyelid.  Shying away from him now, arms crossed in front of his face in a half-assed block, was… strange.

But not entirely unprecedented, is it?

It had been a while since C_K had looked at him with personal fear.  Since the word ‘Captain’ on his breath had not, in fact, meant him.  S_R’s jaw tightened. Other people's ghosts were none of his damn concern - and the skeletons that underlay this fucking FAC were a bone-yard nightmare he put effort into avoiding - but deliberate disinterest was far from the same as being oblivious, and he wasn’t a fool.  He had long since combed through every bit of information available about this place, this damned position, and while most of the records by or about his predecessor bore obvious marks of sanitation, the gist of the man was clear enough.

Captain W_A; 317-648-2.  Overgrown City-boy with an uninteresting set of Furtherances, for the most part, except for a thrice-modified level of ‘Interview and Interrogation’ that suggested someone who knew how to be persuasive.  A thug given office, who liked his position, and S_R had encountered enough of those over his life to be automatically unimpressed by everything else associated with them.  Bottom line: S_R was certain that he was better at this bad joke of a job than the preceding musclehead, and there his actual curiosity had ended.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, stepping quickly over to the bed and caught one hand around C_K’s forearm - near the elbow, because the other Ward’s hands were night-bared as well and he was not about to make this any bloody weirder than it was - and the other pressed flat to his shoulder.  Steadying, but not restraining, and S_R rolled his eyes as he hunched down. If he got a broken nose out of this, he was going to be deeply pissed off.

“It’s me, you idiot,” he said firmly, punctuating with a slight shake to C_K’s trembling arm. “S_R.  The Captain you haven’t killed yet.”

The statement wasn’t quite a shot in the dark, as the echo of C_K’s more normal voice sneering ‘I put that dog down’ slid across his recollection.  It had taken a while for him to pick up on that, past his own distractions, but from what he’d known about W_A, it hadn’t been a huge surprise.

And with this now, pinging unwanted comparisons back across twenty years, to unquiet memories that he had thought put far aside… well.  It didn’t exactly seem unreasonable. He sighed.

“Stop fucking flailing around before you hurt yourself.”

-

Bare hands.

There were bare hands touching him. Not the slick press of leather gloves. Not the grip of much larger hands. These were hands he recognised from recent times. Knew the grip well. Others wouldn’t take comfort from it. Wouldn’t even think of the shake and the rough, annoyed words as anything even close to comforting.

But C_K did.

And now he knew that the phantom in his room wasn’t the monster in his nightmares. Wasn’t the man who’d made the word Captain like poison on his tongue. Was someone who’d helped fight back his demons. Even if he didn’t know that fact (and C_K certainly wasn’t going to tell him). To say that this Captain took away a lot of pain… Felt strange. And sometimes felt like too much. They weren’t friends. But on some level, C_K felt that he was his…

“Brother…”

Voice rasped and sleep heavy as shaking hands gripped S_R’s forearms for a moment. Blinking blearily and looking around the room. Licking his lips nervously and searching for any sign that R_V had caught wind of his night terrors.

“I’m ok… It’s fine. I’m ok.”

-

It got weirder.

S_R blinked, allowing himself the moment of surprise under darkness’ cloak. He hadn’t expected that, either.  The shake in C_K’s fingers, tight against his arm as the Ward muttered, was unsettlingly familiar, and he felt hairs prickle across the back of his neck.

The usual barbed responses were right there, leaping automatically to the tip of his tongue.  The disparaging retorts he gave every time one of the blasted Clerks sneered brother like a word gone rancid; every time some wardling brat tried weedling sympathy with the term; hell, when anyone tried to pull that Mother’s Beloved Bastards garbage on him -

The snarl was right there.

And yet...

...damn.

“I doubt anyone in this fucking hole is okay,” he growled, waiting for C_K’s grasp to loosen enough that his own following movement didn’t seem like a recoil - really?  Really, this is what we’re doing now? - before disentangling himself enough to get hold of the bunched blankets, and yank the least sweat-drenched length up around the younger Ward’s goosebumped shoulders.

“Maybe tin-teeth’s enjoying himself, snoring away like a falling Tree, but he’s a long way from ‘okay’ on many fucking levels,” he continued, following C_K’s glance towards the adjoining wall, and shrugged as he sat back, resting his weight a bit more on the metal of the bed frame.  He looked across at C_K’s pale face, seeing the first tightening of embarrassment starting as sleep receded.

“Forget ‘fine’.  You here?”

-

“I’m here.”

Barely. But he was hanging on. The clinging shadows of a man long dead were loosening their grip. A more… comforting…(?) presence of this Captain. The only thing he had in this chain-damned facility that was close to family. An odd thing to hold onto, perhaps. But the only thing he had.

It had been a hard lesson to learn that Fairfax loved only Fairfax (and the contents of his wallet). That perhaps he was not as special as he had been lead to believe. His Facilitator. His Savior. He’d throw him out like all the rest once he found a shiny new toy. Even loyal dogs bite when pushed too far.

But S_R…

All he required of him was to do his job and do it well. There were no other motives he could see. And C_K had looked. Had searched and scavenged and hunted for any and all information about the snarling bastard who had stomped into his life. But he couldn’t find anything. And it was as unsettling as it was comforting.

Comforting like the blanket being pulled around his shoulders and the dip in the narrow, hard bed as S_R sat down. There was comfort there whether the Captain intended it or not. C_K’s breathing slowing to a steadier gait. Heart no longer hammering in his chest. Started to feel a little more… Human.

You’re just a mutt, Runt. Dirty little mongrel. No one would really notice if you were gone…

A deep breath and a hard swallow. Forest green eyes glancing to the side to gaze up at the figure sat beside him. He’d notice. There’d be no sentimentality attached. But C_K was sure that his Captain would notice if he were no longer here.

A reason for continuing?

Perhaps.

There were worse reasons he supposed.

“He had a way of making you feel… Sub-human. He made a beast of me.”

A slight shrug.

“But he’s gone now. It doesn’t matter.”

A shadow of his usual devil may care smirk played on his lips as he raised an eyebrow at his fellow Ward.

“Everything present and correct. Or as correct as they can be. Go back to sleep, Essar. You look dreadful.”

-

S_R snorted.

“And yet, still better than you.”

He stood up, noting the slight twitch to C_K’s lips as he focused, and rolled his eyes at ‘Essar’. Little idiot’d been spending too much time with bloody Halstead.  But if he was being sarcastic, he was present, and that was… better, too.

Maybe not good.  But better.

He hesitated - but he’d had no words then either; not really.  Instruction, and spite, and action, yes, but words that weren’t a weapon, a tool?  No.  Not like Sess, between rages, when she could go so strangely calm for something so volatile; or S_Q, with his gentle, clumsy fingers and the softness in his voice.  No; he planned.  He wielded revenge and contingency before they really even knew the terms, and it worked, more often than not.  But he’d never been kind.

And he certainly wasn’t about to make some ass-backwards attempt at it now.

“You’re breathing. He’s not,” he said, sharply, as he strode back towards the door, and tried not to think of gunfire echoing off regimented glass. “That counts.”

I hope.

The door swung shut behind him, and S_R did not look back.

-

C_K was silent as he watched S_R leave. Letting the words sink in. Considering what had transpired between them. Not much in word nor action, but there’d been… Something.

It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough. Enough for C_K’s chest to lose its tightness and his shoulders to relax. Enough that he was able to close his his eyes. The shadows were still there with their whispers. He could still feel the ghost of a gloved hand gripping the back of his neck. But he wasn’t afraid anymore.

You’re nothing, Runt.

“I’m still breathing. And I have him.”

A deep breath released slowly. It took a little while to find sleep again, but when he did, it was dreamless.

There are some specific challenges faced in the design of the sort of semi-subterranean, often-isolated Facilities that tend to exist this far from Mother’s heartlands. Drainage is one, with the pumps that keep Fairco dry being a background murmuration in the lower levels; sanitation is another, to which the constant patrols of mop-wielding Unwards will attest; and generally maintaining physical fitness amongst FAC-bound personnel is of particular note.

Prevention is better than cure, after all. Mostly because it is cheaper.

The gymnasium on Level Four is a product of this preemptive planning. Technically classified as part medical, and part recreational facility - thus straddling two clerical tracks, with according implications for Due Sum attribution -  the gym is bright, and clean, and carefully managed.  Calisthenic schedules are posted weekly on the notice board inside, in the near-print quality angular hand of the Clerks - times, activities, requirements and exclusions - and adhered to with the attendant obedience of FAC staff.

Two hours of moderate activity per week, per person, unless otherwise specified in section four, five or seven-b.  Hygienic practice to be maintained at all times. Towel hire, post-activity showering and wear on the equipment will be Added.  Report any Injuries or Injurious Behaviours promptly to your designated Functionary.  Inappropriate or unsafe use of equipment or facilities is Prohibited, under Penalty.

Other than that, the gym is normally visited only by those under extended physiotherapy protocols, the occasional Agriward, and the Mothermen, with the latter considerably more frequent in their attendance.  It is not technically their domain, but there is a general tacit agreement that the risk of being asked to join in is probably best avoided.

It is far from ideal, of course, but there is at least an element of exclusivity, of privacy, within those blue-white walls.

Or at least, there used to be.

-

*At the third precisely-pitched giggle, S_R has to try very hard not to bite through his tongue as his jaw clenches almost of its own accord. There is a gaggle of Clerks at the other side of the room, clustered around the ridiculous spectacle of R_V making a damn dramatic deal about weightlifting.  The primped-up prick had taken to the facilities with infuriating enthusiasm since his arrival, and while S_R can just about deal with the overgrown idiot grunting and flexing obnoxiously in the corner – with that same obnoxious smirk on his metal mouth every time the Captain’s attention drifts that way – it is the fucking fanclub that really pisses him off.

*He lowers himself down, letting go of the overhead bar carefully, and aims a glare over at the simpering horde.

[S_R] Either shut up, or get in your damn vest and do something.

*He cracks his knuckles, as emphasis, and sneers at R_V.

[S_R] Little hint, Commander? You lift with your legs, not your fucking ego.

*The Commander's attention shifts from his audience to the Captain, he bends down to grasp the barbell and quickly pulls it from the floor, the heavy weight rests on his chest for a second before R_V presses it above his head - the bar nearly bending from the pressure of the weighted plates attached to it. After a few seconds of holding it in the air, glaring at S_R he drops it to the floor behind him as he steps forward, it hits the ground causing a loud clang, the surrounding clerks begin to applaud and compliment R_V.

[R_V] That must be why you are doing chin-ups on that bar over there then Captain hm? Those stubby little things you call legs must be a real hinderance when lifting real weights like me.

*The surrounding clerks laugh along with R_V, one steps forward with a towel and very lightly and carefully dabs the sweat from the commander’s forehead.

[Towel Clerk] You are correct big brother, you have the most impressive physique out of all the Mothermen, we are all in agreement.

*S_R snorts, and trails an obvious, disparaging look up and down R_V.

[S_R] Oh no, my fragile self-esteem. Crushed. Beneath your mighty wit.

*S_R laces his fingers together and stretches over his head, smirking at R_V.

[S_R] Although, I’ll admit, I’m impressed with your progress in moving heavy objects slightly further away from where they started off.  Another couple of months, if you’re ever let out to play with the grown-ups, maybe you can carry the bags.   Or open particularly stiff doors.  A whole new world of competence awaits you.

*R_V sneer’s at the captain whilst stepping over the barbell again, he presses against it with his boot and it roll’s slightly towards S_R.

[R_V] Please then Captain, for once do the talking with that fragile little grown up body of yours and give us a respite from that maw of bitterness and envy - you’re breaking my concentration.

*R_V walks towards another piece of equipment in the gym, hoisting himself up onto two chest height bars and begins to effortlessly do multiple tricep dips, lowering and raising himself up and down - his eyes unmoving trained upon S_R and the barbell.

[S_R] What are you, fucking five?

*He ignores the barbell, moving towards one of the suspended punching bags and squares up in front of it, rolling his shoulders, before sending a sharp flurry of punches into the dull surface.  Stepping back, he meets R_V’s rigid stare.

[S_R] Believe me, Commander - you?  Have nothing I want. *Another round of jabs, punctuated by a roundhouse kick, and S_R glowers at the crowd of Clerks, who are carefully keeping their distance.*

[S_R] Have fun making yourself into a pumped-up pretty show-pony.  I’ve seen you fight.  You need a reminder of what my boot feels like?

*R_V lowers himself back to the ground and advances towards S_R, with his fist clenched tightly he swings, his fist connecting with an adjacent punching bag with an audible thud, the bag swings and spins wildly. R_V stares S_R down.

[R_V] Are you referring to the cheap shot ambush Captain? Hardly a fair fight - oh and I do have something you’d want…

*R_V pauses, grinning wickedly he points to himself and turns to the group of clerks, they all smile back at him.

[R_V] That’s right Captain, I’m more than just a pretty show pony as you so kindly complimented, you want my physique don’t you?

*R_V brings his fist back again, slamming it once more loudly into the bag sending it flying backwards again.

[R_V] My raw strength, my combat abilities - why else would you pay so much attention to me in the gym Captain?

*S_R pointedly ignores the other bag’s wild swinging, although his gaze does travel along R_V’s arm with the second punch.  The sneer is back just as quickly.

[S_R] Less from your mass, as your volume.  Sound a bit less like you’re about to piss a kidney with each rep, and I’ll happily ignore you.

*He swings around, pinning the still-swinging bag in place, and leans around it towards the larger Ward.

[S_R] Besides, I am Captain here.  Which means I already have your ‘physique’ - such as it is - for whatever I. Deem. Necessary.

*He looks, very deliberately up and down R_V.

[S_R] Which will be very fucking little unless you manage to convince me you’ve got any actual, practical value to this unit.

*R_V glances from S_R to the now stable bag that the captain is leaning against, his eyes widen as he takes a small step back to give himself a little distance. He grins.

[R_V] Very well then Captain, allow me to display some practicality.

*R_V suddenly steps forward in a flash before S_R can realise what's happening, lifting his boot to connect with the bag, sending it flying, he stands over the floored Captain.

[R_V] A proper practical display Captain, no? You foolishly left yourself vulnerable and now here I stand, Commander R_V - Above. You.

*S_R’s eyes narrow.  It’s only slightly, because there isn’t time for much else, as he kicks out sharply, with the same fluid accuracy of his earlier movement - and his foot slams into R_V’s crotch.  Hard.

[S_R] Bad idea.

*R_V winces in pain, he falls to one knee leaning forwards slightly, supported by his fist now tightly pressed onto the gym’s floor, he grunts through clenched teeth.

[S_R] So - *He stands up quickly, an unpleasant smirk bleeding onto his face* - about leaving yourself vulnerable…?  How’s that ‘raw strength’ going for you?

*R_V takes several heavy, deep breaths, from the corner of his eye he catches sight of the gloating S_R and launches himself towards him from his kneeling position, driving a fist into the captain’s gut.

[R_V] No more.. - *He takes a second to gather his breath, his teeth still clenched and brow lowered in pain* - cheap shots.

*R_V removes his fist from the hunched over man and shoves him out of his way, stepping towards the gym’s sparring ring, as he climbs in and through the ropes he stares down S_R.

[R_V] Convince me your combat skills have any practical value to this unit, Brother.

*This would not be a good time to throw up.  S_R’s teeth grind together as he straightens up, trying to ignore the acid rush threatening in his throat, and the new-burn of annoyed embarrassment under his cheeks.  In the privacy of his own head, he will admit that the puffed-up princeling does have a decent punch on him.  It would have been be better if it hadn’t landed on him, of course.

Because even the Clerks have gone silent now, although it is a tense, anticipatory sort of silence that sends the hairs on S_R’s neck prickling.

Fuck.  Fuck.

This is a terrible idea.  And he’s going to do it anyway.

He stalks over towards the other side of the sparring ring, rolling in under the ropes, and meets R_V’s smug expression with a glower as he stands up and cracks his knuckles.

[S_R] I’m going to peel that fucking Furtherance off your arm.

*R_V raises his clenched fists, keeping his elbows in tight to defend his ribcage and stares down S_R, his feet already shuffling on the mat as he moves slowly closer.

[R_V] Come on now Captain, we’re sparring - there’s really no need to be trembling so much. I’m not going to kill you.

*R_V flings a heavy right at S_R, missing by a whisker, and defensively backs off an arms length.

[R_V] I’m just going to maim you.

*On edge now, S_R avoids the swinging blow as he rises onto the balls of his feet, shifting his weight as he starts to move around the ring space.  Assessing.  R_V doesn’t have bad form - a bit formal, a bit idealised - which adds some weight to his theory that the Ward hasn’t seen a lot of brawling combat.  It shouldn’t get to him.  It shouldn’t.  But it does.

*He’s sparred with C_K often enough recently, plus the occasional Agri. True, R_V is bigger than most of them - even more so after the last three months of over-enthusiastic training - and S_R is aware he should be being more cautious here, but anger is sparking, hot and impatient and insisting.

[S_R] If you can even hit a moving target.

*For emphasis, he darts inward, aiming a sharp jab towards R_V’s face. Staying out of range of those damn teeth, but intending to split skin, draw blood.  Bring the fucker down a peg.

*R_V narrowly dodges the strike as he tucks his head down to his shoulder and ducking to the left slightly, the speed of the swing whistles slightly in his ear as it passes over him and from his hunched defensive position launches a right fist in an uppercut motion, aiming to connect with the S_R’s bearded chin.

[R_V] Quicker than I anticipated Captain, I’m almost impressed.

*He continues to sidestep and bounce on his feet, eyes locked on S_R, assessing his opponent by throwing a few mock jabs to watch the man react, the once smug expression upon his face now a look of pure focus and determination to take down the Captain.

[S_R] The only impression I intend to leave on you is from my knuckles.

*S_R avoids the jabs - mostly, one grazes his shoulder, and the follow-up skims past his nose a little closer than he would have liked - and continues to circle his opponent.  R_V has a few inches of reach on him, but that’s nothing new.  Just means he’s got to be careful - or take the risks.

[S_R] Bit more difficult than punch-jerking your own reflection, is it?

*He drops down sharply, the natural flexibility of his wirier form taking him underneath R_V’s latest pendulous cross.  He doesn’t stop moving, aiming a strike up at the base of the bigger man’s jaw, left open for a moment as the swing brings R_V’s chin forward out of his defence.

*R_V’s head jolts backwards a little as the punch connects squarely on his jaw, he stumbles backwards for a second before bringing his head back down and tucking his chin in, his footwork now a little bouncier and energetic as he steps forward, swinging a knee at S_R’s ribcage left open by the punch.

[R_V] Well observed Captain, quite the timing on the opening. It’ll be the last good punch you’ll throw with that arm when I’m finished with you.

[S_R] Run your mouth any more, Commander, and I’ll fucking break it.

*He swivels to avoid the knee - not quite fast enough to dodge to blow completely, but enough to roll with the momentum, bringing his opposite arm up as he pivots against R_V’s raised leg and jabs his elbow sharply towards his opponent’s nose.

*The elbow connects with the Commander’s nose and he stumbles backwards again slightly from the force of it.  Drops of blood spill to the floor, a small stream of it dripping from his nostrils; he runs his tongue along his upper lip, tasting the blood before changing his tone from smug and confident to calm and serious as he turns his head back to face S_R.

[R_V] You could have damaged my face; you are going to regret that. I am going to make you regret that.

*R_V darts forward and throws a fake straight right at the Captain's face, whilst swinging a wide, heavy left whilst he is distracted, carelessly aimed and seemingly headed for the side of the man’s neck.

* The satisfied smirk that plays across S_R’s lips as his blow lands is anything but pleasant. He shifts back again, jigging with boosted bravado as R_V recoils, because seeing the other Ward bleed is dangerously satisfying right now.  Let his little fucking fanclub gawk at that.

[S_R] I’ll regret it if I haven’t.

*He doesn’t get to continue the taunt as R_V strikes back, launching a dully-predictable  retaliatory head shot.  Dodging, S_R brings his own left arm up to deflect the following slow hook, intending to duck under the man’s again-extended guard and -

* - and R_V’s hand clamps down, suddenly-iron, around his forearm.

...oh shit.

*R_V twists S_R’s arm as he moves, positioning it behind the man's back and jolting him forwards.  He stands out of reach of the Captain’s free hand himself, whilst maintaining his grip and applying pressure.

[R_V] Tut, tut, tut Captain… this really is quite the position you’ve gotten yourself into isn't it? Don’t even try and move now or I’ll cripple you.

*The upper ring-rope digs into S_R’s ribs as he finds himself shoved hard against the border, twisting automatically as he tries to wriggle himself free from R_V’s grip, but the bigger Ward isn’t moving and neither is he.  Embarrassment is fast on the heels of surprise, because really?  Really?  Has he forgotten everything about fighting opponents bigger than him?  Like not letting them get ahold of your fucking arm.  But either one would probably be better than the anger that surges ahead of both, pouring ill-planned invective down his tongue.

[S_R] Screw - you -

*His teeth grind, as R_V applies more pressure and some of the twisted angles of bone start to burn.  He’s flexible, true, but there’s flexibility than then there’s having someone try and unscrew one of your limbs at the hilt, and he bites down on a sharp breath as he is tilted further.  Rising onto his toes, trying to reduce the leverage, and now would be a really good time to be placatory…

*S_R jerks his head back, trying to aim at his opponent’s already-injured nose.

Or not.

*R_V grins as the man’s attempted headbutt misses his face by a few inches, he nudges the arm further up the captain's back very slowly against the S_R’s resistance and holds it there.

[R_V] Nice attempt Captain - but a good militant man remembers his training. Are you ready to admit it now? In front of all of these people, that I, Commander R_V, have bested you? That you’re nothing more than cannon fodder?

*He presses the man into the ropes again towards the group of now-smiling Clerks, who had previously been observing with looks of concern on their faces.

[R_V] Admit it. Admit that I am, and always will be your superior, Captain, and I’ll think about letting you keep your arm.  Oh, and If you even move a muscle that isn’t connected to your mouth for once, it’ll be the last thing you do.

[S_R] You will - never - be my superior.

*His free hand is tight on the rope, taking some weight, his mind spinning frantically through options.  He’s been in worse situations that this; he’s hurt more than this.  Okay so none of them are happening right now, but it was something to focus on.

[S_R] You’re a washed-up - deluded - earthbound has-been - and being bigger than me doesn’t even make a dent in that.

*He twists, trying to ignore the fresh flare of pain in his joints, as he seeks out R_V’s smug gaze in the corner of his vision and sneers back.

[S_R] You’re Unward in all but declaration, “Pilot-Commander”.  Go.  Fuck.  Yourself.

[R_V] Yet again the good Captain's run his mouth without thinking of the consequences. I finally understand why you’re stuck at such a rank… so predictable, little brother.

*R_V grips S_R’s wrist tightly and places his other hand on the man’s twisted elbow, he presses forward, and up -

- and S_R’s shoulder vanishes in a white-hot flare of agony, as a very audible crack sounds like a gunshot in the anticipatory silence of the watching Clerks.

[R_V] Remember this pain as you sit in the medical bay Captain, remember that you had a choice, this was your decision and that you chose wrongly.

*S_R doesn’t scream.  Not exactly - he’s not silent, because anyone able to stay placid while their shoulder is being pried out of its socket has even more problems than S_R will admit for himself - but it’s a strangled, bitten-down sound; a breathless attempt to smother pain with anger, only half-successful as the rest of him goes rigid with the shock.

*R_V holds him there for a moment, then releases the arm and drives a quick kick to the back of S_R’s locked knees, folding him to the mat with the lifeless limb hanging awkwardly at his side, and a choked gasp breaking from his throat.  R_V looks down, then back up at the watching Clerks.

[R_V] Such a dreadful event to witness, hmm? Captain S_R hurting his arm trying to lift that barbell over there.  You all saw it.

*The group of Clerks all nod in agreement, laughing with the Commander as he ducks back under the rope, wiping away at the few drops of blood still clinging to his upper lip.  S_R hasn’t moved, eyes screwed shut and breathing through gritted teeth.  The Clerks turn away, flocking back around the larger Ward as they all make their way out of the gym.

*R_V halts at the door, looking back at the crumpled Captain.  He grins wickedly before stepping out into the hallway, not even sparing a glance for the other figure now entering the room, holding a jug of water.

*For a long moment there is silence, broken only by the harsh sound of S_R’s breathing.  And then -