#lostmxrbles

Zero had always thought that if he ever saw Wyatt Cain again (if anyone could find a way out of a Tin Suit, after all, it would be him), killing him would feel somehow fulfilling. The end of the Old Order, the beginning of the New. 

That it just so happened to coincide with the capture of the rogue princess should only have enhanced that feeling, really. They were one step closer to their goal - to her goal.

And it had felt like victory, for perhaps an hour afterwards. All the way back to the tower, he kept looking over his shoulder, watching the Northern Palace disappear behind them. What was he looking for? For Cain, riding hell-to-leather like some Mobat, bearing down on them? Some ghostly specter, perhaps?

He’d scoffed at the thought, turned his attention back to the road, and then a few minutes later his skin would start to prickle again, and he’d have to look.

By the time they reached the tower - with a distinct lack of apparitions or vengeful spirits - it felt distinctly, awfully, like disappointment.

Perhaps that was why he’d picked up the headcase. Ambrose was part of the Old Order too, after all, even more than Cain. He was the Old Order, in many ways; the problem solver, the inventor, the innovator.

Look at him now. 

In the cells, Ambrose looked smaller and more battered than he ever had before. 

Broken. The ultimate failure. 

Zero smiled. 

He rapped the bars of the cell.

{ DUDE WHAT. I DIDN'T SEND THIS. OMFG. }

“Glitch,”

There was a degree of hesitancy in her tone that she had not heard in a long time, so Oz only knew what he must have thought upon hearing it. But the subject was a delicate one, one that had been playing on her mind ever since she had first heard him refer to this Azkadellia woman as ‘the Witch’.

{ I mean. I can pull up mobile Skype. But actually maybe you should just GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP. }