#naniroxy

“Meow,”

A sudden kitty paw to the face startled Edd out of his stupor, him kicking his legs out in shock. He couldn’t stop the small yelp. After taking a moment to recover from the sudden jumpscare, Ringo continuously pawing his face, he smiled and stroked the kitty’s head.

“What’s up, Ringo? Hungry?” Ringo leaned into his touch, purring all the while, “May as well get you some food, I’ve been sitting on this couch for…” Edd glanced at the nearest clock and his eyes instantly grew wide, “far, far too long. Geez--” He stood up, and almost instantly wobbled in his stance, “whoa,” He paused in his advance to crack his back to let the blood flow back into his legs, and then continued what he intended to do.

“He’s not the only one hungry,” Tom called out from his room down the hall

“You’re a full grown man, Thomas! You can get your own food,” Edd responded with a hard edge, his voice overlaid with the whirring sound of the can opener

“I’m hungry too!” Matt yelled from the couch

“Ugh--” Edd’s own stomach growling interrupted his grumblings, “Fine, I’ll order some pizza,” He dumped the can’s contents into Ringo’s bowl, with said cat digging in instantly. Edd whipped out his mobile, “What toppings sound good?”

“Meat lovers!” Tom peered out of his room, an uncharacteristically large grin on his face

“Hawaiian!” Matt challenged, earning him a more-in-character glare from Tom

“Don’t do that,” Edd stopped the childish debate before it started while scrolling through Google results, “We can have more than one pizza and/or toppings on them (here we go),” He tapped the screen and brought the phone to his ear, “Tom, go ask Tord what he wants,”

“Wha??” The eyeless man was a bit taken aback from the sudden question, and then childish anger settled in, “Why me?? You know the two of us don’t get along!”

“His room is right there! You’re the closest,” Edd responded

Tom stepped out of his room, “Why not send Matt? He hasn’t done anything at all all day! (most of all thinking,)” Tom added under his breath, seeing the wall-eyed stare of the ginger man

“Look, it doesn’t matter. All you’re doing is knocking on his door and asking a question, it’s not like I’m asking you to make out with him, (dang)” He brought the phone away from his ear

Tom groaned; he had a point, “Fine,” He walked down the hallway a ways, out of sight of the others, and stood in front of that blasted door. Today was going so well, any one single day without sight of the hair-horned Norwegian psychomaniac was a good day. Well, with any luck, all he’d get to witness of Tord was his voice through the door. Taking in a deep breath he knocked on the door.

No response

Tom raised an eyebrow, and knocked again. Still nothing, “Hey Commie!” He called out, “Edd’s ordering pizza, you want any?” Silence. Tom smiled a bit, “If you don’t answer, I’m just gonna assume you don’t want any… Alright then,” He began to step away, grinning

“Don’t you dare, Tom!” Edd called from the kitchen, “See if he’s in there!”

And here’s where Tom’s happiness for the day took a nosedive. If there’s anything remotely worse than that Commie, it’s his room and his freaking laboratory. Everything about that hole in the wall reeked of his evil genius, and stepping in there was reserved only for dragging the man out to get to a bomb shelter. In this case, the bomb in question was Edd’s disappointment rage. It wasn’t entirely that the Cola loving man was very threatening, he can be in the right situation, but with the superpower incident, anything that got his blood boiling was a slight cause of concern. And so, scowling all the while, Tom about faced and approached the door again.

He knocked again, “Tord, if you don’t answer I’m coming in,” The dead air gave him his answer, “Alright then, here I come. Feel free to stop me at any time,” He turned the knob slowly and with a creak, the door gave way.

The stench of chemicals was what hit him first, him turning up his nose in disgust. Ugh. Seems he’s playing with his chemistry set this time around. He opened the door a bit more, a sparse, wan light was all that was giving signs of life. He was now a bit curious, and he opened the door all the way.

Yes, the lab was open, but it was dark. The desk in the corner had the lamp on, the only thing in the room giving light, revealing beakers full of multicolored liquids, papers strewn about everywhere, and the figure of a man slumped over the desk. A slight pause in movement revealed light snoring.

/Huh, he’d fallen asleep,/ Tom thought to himself with no trace of malcontent, /wonder how long he’d been awake for. Oh well,/ he made to close the door

And he paused

A thought had hit him, or rather, the memory of a plan. Tord was always on guard all the time, meaning it was next to impossible to sneak up on him. Such a fact made Tom want to, just once, give him a good jumpscare; catch him off guard and give him a fright JUST ONCE, and be done with it. But alas, Tord always seemed so hyper aware of his surroundings at all times that such a plan couldn’t be enacted, and so the idea had been forgotten. Until now. Until this golden moment. Tom couldn’t stop the rush of excitement, and the subsequent silent giggle as he slithered quietly into the room and tiptoed closer to the unconscious man.

Of course, Tord was Tord, so Tom checked every step he made to make sure they weren’t booby trapped. It took a minute, but eventually Tom passed carpet and stepped onto tile, and then right behind Tord’s chair. Tom’s grin grew wider, but he suppressed the maniacal giggle. He can’t screw this one up, not with such a blatant opening

Taking in a deep breath, Tom grabbed the seat and threw it back and forth, letting out a loud and strange scream. It had the exact effect he wanted.

Tord woke instantly, and with a satisfying, terrified scream. He was spasming instinctively, grabbing at everything to try and do anything. He was mostly grabbing at papers and blueprints, so it didn’t get him very far. He was stumbling to his feet, and the hilarious struggle made Tom lose it. His grip on the chair weakened, and he lowered his head in wheezing laughter. He didn’t need to see what Tord was doing, all he needed was to hear was Tord slipping on papers already on the floor and the clinking of beakers to make him laugh even harder. His laughter went falsetto and his vision was clouded with tears. Oh joy, oh joyous joy, you really can’t ruin thi-

SPLOOSH--CRASH!! Tink tink ti-tink...

Something glass had broken, and something wet had spilled as well. Most likely a beaker or so. That would’ve been fine and all, if a good amount didn’t manage to get on his arm.

“Well done, Thomas,” Tord’s tired voice was laced with anger, “that’s five months worth of theory work on the tile floor,”

“Hey, I didn’t spill it, you did,” Tom hadn’t yet looked at Tord, he was too busy shaking the concoction off his arm

“Ha ha, very funny. You come into my room uninvited and scare me awake and then blame me for the mess. Yes. There are better ways to wake someone for breakfast than a heart attack,”

“Breakfast? It’s 5 in the afternoon,” Tom finally looked up at Tord’s tired face, which was at the moment surprised

“Afternoon? I must have been asleep much longer than I thought,” Tom’s vision twitched to Tord’s arm, noticing it was slick and shiny, reflecting the light of the lamp. Some got on him too then, “I am hungry,”

“Edd sent me in here to ask what you want on your pizza. None of us had eaten anything all day,”

“Really? Just pepperoni for me,”

Tom glanced at his arm, “What even is this? Is it a cause of concern?”

Tord had sauntered his way to a corner of the lab and grabbed an industrial broom and a powdery bottle, “I can’t even begin to list it’s scientific name in it’s entirety, and I doubt you really care. It’s meant for medicinal use; you know, intended to be on human skin. We’re fine,” He tilted the bottle and shook it gently, white powder pouring out and settling over the spill and glass. After he put the bottle back down, he held the broom out right in Tom’s face, glowering at him all the while.

The eyeless man flinched back a bit, “Uh--”

“You spilled it, you clean it, Jehovah’s Witness,”

Expression fading from surprise to annoyance, Tom swiped the broom out of Tord’s hands, “Fine,” As much as he hated to admit it, this was his fault, and as such was responsible for at least a little bit of it’s cleaning. He began to swipe the bristles over the liquid and powder, Tord watching with his arms crossed.

“Circular motions, Thomas,” Tord wiggled a finger in a circle.

Growling in annoyance, Tom obeyed.

“Tom??” The shadow of Edd was heard calling out from down the hall a bit, “I heard yelling and glass breaking, is everything ok?”

“We’re fine,” Tord called back, “just annoyed,”

“Oh, Tord! What do you want on your pizza?”

“Pepperoni, please,”

“Got it,” the shadow shifted away

“So what exactly is the purpose of this witch’s brew?” Tom asked as he wiped his arm against his hoodie, trying to dry the last few drops of the mystery liquid from his arm

“It’s to help with skin grafts and limb reattachment (get all the glass in the powder); make it easier and more comfortable for the nerves, tendons, veins and whatnot to mend itself back together. It was just a prototype and hadn’t been properly tested yet,”

Tom stood up straight again, “So what? Are there going to be some adverse effects?”

“Pfft, the worst that could happen is a bad rash. I said it’s meant to make things more comfortable, it’s not going to make our arms explode. That’s good enough, I’ll get the dustpan,” He walked off and returned with said item. Tom was quick to sweep the dirty powder into the pan, making sure some of the free dust kicked into the holder’s face. Tord coughed a resentful cough, “Thank you for that,”

Tom grinned, “Heh,”

“Now get out of my roo--” Tord had thrust his wet arm out to gesture wildly towards the door, and it had brushed against Tom’s own splashed hand. No cause for concern, if their hands didn’t suddenly stick together, the inertia of Tord’s gesture swinging Tom’s arm and causing him to step forward a bit.

“What?” Tom’s voice wasn’t yet full of concern, mostly just confusion, “Is it a bit sticky?” Tom tried to wiggle the other hand free of his, to no avail

Tord, on the other hand (heh), held his eyes wide open in an expression of panic, the color from his face draining, “I-i-it’s su-pposed to help wounds mm-end together and, and,” His voice was trembling as much as he was, him getting up from his crouch slowly and shakily, “It’s supposed t-to be more than just st-icky,”

Tom, not quite getting it, raised an eyebrow, “Wha--??” The most disgusting feeling gripped his arm, and with his own eyes wide, glanced down at his hand

There are a few things one expects to see when glancing down at a hand; skin, veins, fingers, the impressions of the bone structure underneath, whatever. What you don’t expect is a totally foreign hand to be sprouting from it like a tumor, the edges of the two appendages becoming indistinguishable from one another.

That’s bad enough, but that wasn’t all. The feeling, oh the horrible feeling. It hurt, it hurt on a level no one should ever feel. Their tendons were ripping, they could feel it. There was a second heartbeat, it was racing just as much as his own. Little rivulets of blood sprouted from the edges of their skin as it tore open to accept the new “skin graft.” The bones in their fingers, oh the strange agony; melting to fuse.

Tom and Tord just stared at their hand slowly becoming one, wide eyed and stock still. It wasn’t until the slimy gurgles and crunchy grinding hit Tom’s ears did he truly begin to freak out.

There was no thought, only instinct. Their fusing hand writhed with Tom’s attempt to shake Tord free of himself. The fingers clenched and unclenched, the hand shaking violently into the air like someone shaking themselves free of water, tugging sideways in an attempt to rip away. He could hear the fusing through his head, THROUGH HIS HEAD. Oh god, get it off, GET IT OFF! GET IT AWAY!!

His vision was blurred with panic until a backhanded slap to his cheek knocked him back to his senses. Tord’s yelling voice was the first thing he registered when he recovered from the blow, and from the sound of it, he didn’t start yelling when he slapped him,

“--ade it worse! Now not just our hands are fused, but now our arms are starting to as well!” Tord grunted in pain, “And we are powerless to stop it!”

Tom didn’t need to look down to know this, as the mashing and grinding he felt on his lower arm told him the whole story, but that didn’t stop him from looking anyway. Ugh, he was beginning to feel nauseous, and his knees began to knock.

It wasn’t easy to tell whose flesh exactly it was that was bubbling and traveling up and down the fusing portion. Sure, the hand was still going, some fingers melting together and some not, but that wasn’t the most gruesome thing happening. The flesh on their forearms were pulsating and moving on their own accord, following instructions that were certainly not sent by their own minds. They both watched as veins bulged and flesh migrated, as skin tone splotched then melded, as the sticky sounds and sickeningly sweet smell assaulted their senses. Tord wrenched his gaze away and pursed his lips heavily, using his free hand to cover his mouth. The edges of Tom’s vision began to fade as the tickle in his throat demanded attention. He bent over and coughed aggressively, eventually expelling a small amount of bile. He spat and wiped his mouth with his free hand.

“You’re cleaning that up too,” Tord’s tone was tight and terse; he was clearly holding back vomit of his own.

They spent the next few minutes in the exact same position: not looking at each other, definitely not looking at the arm, Tom hunched over, and Tord holding his mouth shut. They tried to ignore the horrible bubbling and cracking sounds with little success, the sounds alone giving them a mental picture enough to impress Junji Ito. Not to mention the pain and smell. Ugh, let it be over, please…

Please…

It felt like forever before the arm fell still again, the only after-effect was a tingling similar to a limb that had fallen asleep. Tom didn’t want to look, he didn’t want to look oh so badly. But there was a tugging in his mind; morbid curiosity. Protesting every millisecond, he turned his head…

And vomited again

It was disgusting, an abomination. The skin tone was both theirs and neither, but stuck in between the two with vitiligo-like splotches. It looked sickly. The fingers were long and misformed, some having four or more joints while others had branching distal phalanges with their own nail beds. There were two thumbs, one on each side; Tom could swear that his thumb was positioned lower than Tord’s. Anyone would count eight in total, minus the branching nail beds.

Then there was the forearm itself, and if the hand didn’t send you running to the bathroom, this did. Chunks of flesh that wrapped and clung like tumors close to the top, and then became more stable the closer to the hand one got.

Not only that, the forearm was long, too long. The wrist began about where their knees would be, so the fingers would most likely drag along the ground if one were to slouch.

Horrible. Vile. Nauseating. Tord couldn’t hold in his own vomit any longer. It splashed over his papers and blueprints. He mumbled out some vile words in his native tongue under his breath.

Someone had to say something, anything, to diffuse the discomfort somewhat. It hardly mattered what it was, just someone had to have the courage to say something.

“I don’t think I want meat lovers anymore…” Tom didn’t register he said anything out loud until he saw the look on Tord’s pale face. Such a look of disgusted disappointment normally would make him chuckle wryly. Not here, not now, “So...what n--”

“Tom! Tord!” It was Matt’s shadow that was seen on the wall, that square chin doesn’t lie, “Edd asked you not to make out with one another!” And he was getting closer, “Your sloppy makeout session could be heard from the next house over!” He popped his ginger head into view, backlit and shadowed. He had opened his mouth to say something else, but paused as he saw the eldritch abomination that was the combined arm.

His expression was of confusion at first, him standing in the doorway looking perplexed for about ten seconds, before the message pierced his brain fog. His eyes widened and breath hitched, him running away with his hand over his mouth.

“Secret’s out, it seems,”

“I’d rather drink all the chemicals in here at once than make out with you,”

“Hey, the feeling’s mutual, buddy,”

“TOM!! TORD!! GET IN HERE AND EXPLAIN WHY MATT VOMITED ON THE TILE FLOOR!!”

-------------

Walking wasn’t going to be fun. The height difference between the two tethered men meant some of the inhuman fingers were going to touch the floor occasionally. The difference in their gaits would make the skin tug and shift, each of them feeling alien muscles and tendons with every pulse. Tom walked slightly faster, leaving Tord to power walk. They stepped out of the room, down the hallway, and into the sight of the kitchen.

There was the expected yelps of horror as they walked out, Edd dropping his Cola can and reeling back to end up tripping on a chair. Ringo had arched his back and hissed at the sight in front of him. Matt had walked off somewhere out of sight, the aforementioned vomit right by the kitchen counter.

After Edd had collected himself, he gestured to the couch for the two to sit down. After a moment of under-their-breath arguing about where exactly to sit, Edd resorted to shoving them onto the couch. Tom got to explaining

“... and then you called us out here,” He finished his long-winded spiel about ten minutes later

Edd’s face was read as easily as a book: confused, disgusted, angry, just generally not pleased. He had his hands in a prayer pose close to his face, pushing his glasses up further on his nose. He honestly was trying not to glance at the limb that looked like it went through a wood chipper; it wasn’t going too well.

He took a deep breath in, “That was horrifying,” That was an understatement, and everyone knew it, “Unless you want to take a hacksaw to that thing, I suggest ATTEMPTING to get along,” Tom scoffed bitterly, “I mean it,” He shot the man a hard glare, “I know you two don’t get along at all, but in a situation like this, you’re kind of out of luck with simply avoiding each other like normal,” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, “All I ask is no 3 am spats, ok?” The two tethered men mumbled in agreement, “Good. Let us light sleepers sleep through the night, if you please,”

Matt came out of hiding, wearing fresh clothes and carrying rags and cleaning supplies, “If you can’t do anything else, why not try and find a positive out of all this? Wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

“Guess not…” Tom mumbled under his breath, “If you got any I’m all ears,”

“My five months of theory work wasn’t wasted,” Tord answered with less venom than most expected, “We inadvertently tested it. I just need to streamline what exactly the serum needs to bind together, what we’ve got is too broad-spectrumed and powerful,” He sounded more like he was talking to himself than the people around him

“Peachy,” Tom spat, “Now what’s it gonna take for you to find a cure for this?”

Tord narrowed his eyes at the other, “One doesn’t usually ask for a cure to a skin graft, Thomas,” There was the venom everyone was expecting

“Great. Now what?”

“I can try something. Can’t guarantee it would be anytime soon though,”

“Figures,”

“You wouldn’t happen to be right handed, yes?” The question caught Tom off guard a bit

“I’m a lefty. I’ve known you since primary school and you don’t know that?”

The deadpan look on Tord’s face was quite irritating, “One, like I’d care enough to remember, and two, I’m right handed. If you were to rub two brain cells together you would see why I asked,”

Tom understood the moment Tord said he was a righty; their dominant hands were fused. This meant daily tasks were going to be at least five times harder. He didn’t appreciate the brain cell quip, though. He opened his mouth to retort

“Tom,” Edd’s voice was loud and sharp enough to stop Tom dead in his tracks, “Don’t; just… don’t. It’s useless arguing, it’s not going to solve anything. Like Matt said, at least attempt to find a positive somewhere,”

“Positive? Positive??” Tom was getting sick of this act, “How would you like it if you and Eduardo had this happen t--!!!” Tom had meant to raise the few fingers/phalanges that belonged to him in a fist in the air to demonstrate his point. Instead, every finger and finger part on the arm obeyed Tom’s will.

The two of them looked on at the fist in abject terror, both white as a sheet. Tord felt Tom clench the fingers, but he had gotten the signal that it was he who did it; that it was just as much his effort as it was Tom’s. Tord’s heartbeat grew exponentially, causing goosebumps to pop up on his skin. And yes, the goosebumps traveled down the arm and back up to Tom, who knew these goosebumps were foreign, but his brain was telling him the opposite. The two looked at each other in the eyes, seeing the same wide-eyed look mirrored on one another’s faces. After a beat, they slowly began to turn away, looking rather green.

Edd wasn't sure what exactly they were suddenly horrified by, but he recognized the look of imminent barf. He took a few steps back

DING DONG

Oh good, the pizza no one’s in the mood to eat is here. Knowing what was coming and not wanting to see someone spew again Edd turned around and powerwalked to the door. He flung the door open, apparently right as the pizza guy was gonna ring again.

The dude was olive skinned and lanky, and a little taken aback at the moment. His eyes were wide and it took him a few seconds before he found his voice, “Uh, you ok there, buddy?”

Edd’s eyes were wide open and his eyebrows scrunched together, sending a look of disgust and confusion all at once. His forehead was beaded with sweat, and his glasses askew. Along with his already pale complexion, his face was devoid of color. He looked about ready to collapse.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just some excitement--”

HOOOOOAARRRFFFF

“.... I believe you,” he shoved the two extra larges into Edd’s arms, “total comes to--” He was shoved several wrinkled bills in return

“Keep the change as tip,” Edd none-so-politely slammed the door. He walked back into the kitchen and tossed the pizza boxes onto the table. He glanced over at the couch, now sporting a trail of bile yellow and chunk bits. Apparently it was Tord who upchucked, as the trail led to where he was sitting only, and Tom held his free hand over his mouth. They both had a sickly pallor and were shaking like leaves. The conjoined arm was twitching, with the fingers still in that tight fist, so tight the knuckles were white. Matt was nowhere in sight

“You know you have to clean that up, right?” Edd was barely holding it together

“Yes, yes, just…” Tord took in a deep breath, “give me a moment,”

“Fine,” Edd pinched his eyebrows, a headache was forming, “just don’t take too long, please,” He walked away, towards his room. He needed a dark place to sit and destress. Ringo followed close behind.

The door closed and locked behind the Cola lover, the living room in silence once again. The two conjoined waited on the couch for about 30 seconds before any attempt to move was made. Tom made to stand, but the skin on the arm tugged, and all the disgusting thoughts and feelings came rushing back. Tom moaned woozily as he attempted not to add to the barf mess, but his thoughts were interrupted by a burst of pain in the dreaded arm. His attention whisked right to the mass of flesh

There was a needle sticking out of it, Tord pushing the plunger down.

Tom grabbed it and yanked it out, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Tord grabbed it back, “It’s a neuromuscular blocking agent! We both are sickened by feeling one another’s muscles move, so I reasoned this would work for now,” He stuck the needle back in, this time in a different place, “Any objections now?”

Tom looked away, “No,”

“Good, now let’s get this dritt gone before it begins to really stink,”

They stood up in unison, not feeling anything nauseating this time. Slightly relieved, they let out a breath of air. They coordinated their steps, getting to the pantry at the same time. Grabbing towels, baking soda, air freshener, and the vacuum, they got to work. In about five minutes, the only evidence of vomit was the line on the couch. That would stain, unfortunately.

Now they didn’t want to sit on that couch, so they sat at the kitchen table. With Matt off somewhere other than where they are, and Edd staving off a possible migraine, it was quiet and ultimately, awkward.

It was more of an effort to not sit still and stare at the wall than any real appetite, honestly, but Tom open and took a slice of pizza anyway. It was Hawaiian, not his favorite, but anything is better than stifling silence with...that man

“Why did you have a syringe full of paralysers on you?” Tom said through a mouth full of pizza, “and where did you keep it, you’re in your boxers and tank top,”

“Don’t question me, Thomas,” Tord wasn’t looking

A moment of silence, then Tom grinned, “You know, now that we’ve got this condition, we’ve got no choice but go everywhere and do everything together,”

“I am aware, your point?”

“I tend to get very lonely at night,”

“THOMAS YOU WILL NOT COMMIT SUCH AN ACT WHILE I AM STUCK TO YOU!!”

At long last, I finish the little story I promised @naniroxy; eh, rather his side blog @bad-idea-factory. The picture of inspiration seemed to have vanished, and so I just decided to make the fused arm far more mangled than what was shown in aforementioned picture. Twisted, mangled, chunky, now that’s the body horror I like.

“Are you going to tell them?” Paul asked, holding Patryk’s hand as they sat in Tord’s office, looking out over the yard through the large window. Tord looked away from his paperwork, turning his gaze to the panicked soldiers. “I mean, the crematorium has set dates. Doing this now is just-”

He stopped as the Norwegian raised his hand, face calm and calculating. Patryk could see him thinking, and gave Paul’s hand a squeeze, asking him to be silent. “I think...” he began, making Paul and Patryk turn to face him. “If you two permit it, I’ll tell them what’s become of you. This whole...” he gestured towards them, “...thing, it’s been under wraps. What would you have them call you?”

“Paul and Patryk,” came Paul’s answer.

“Can’t we have a new name?” Patryk asked.

“No, we’re different people.”

“But still, this is something new-”

“Your point is?”

“It’s like turning over a new leaf.” Patryk sighed and rubbed at his face. “This... this could be something new.”

Paul frowned at the statement, doing his best to cross their arms, despite only controlling one of them. “Then what?”

Tord’s chair creaked as he leant forward, silencing the two. He had his chin on his hands, and the look in his eye was serious, thinking hard. After a few moments, he smiled and sat up straight, hands on his desk. “The men can refer to you as Paultryk. I will ask that they stop using the names “Paul” and “Patryk” unless they wish to address one of you personally. I’ll also ask them not to speak to either of you until they are spoken to, or until you are both ready to address people under your new identity. Is this alright?”

They looked to the left and then the right, mulling the decision over. It was too much to take in, and Paul felt Patryk shutting down, noting the way his hand loosened its grip and his body began to tip over. “Patty?”

Patryk gave no answer, continuing to slump over. Tord quickly stood, hurrying around the desk to catch Patryk, and by extension, Paul, before they hit the ground. Paul’s hand twitched, trying to grab onto something. “Is- Is he alright?”

“He passed out.” Tord’s voice was quiet as he sat Paul onto the chair again, making sure he could sit straight. “I’ll call a nurse to bring a wheelchair.”

Paul gave a hum of understanding as the Norwegian grabbed his phone, dialling a few numbers. He reached into his breast pocket, withdrawing a cigarette and placing it in his mouth. “I find it amusing,” Paul began, leaning forward as best he could when Tord offered a lighter. “Patryk wanted us to share a name, and he’s the one that passes out when we get it.”

The cigarette bobbed up and down as he spoke, but Tord managed to light it. Paul leant back, taking a deep breath of it while using his arm to grab the desk for support.

“I don’t think he expected me to agree so fast,” came the simple answer, making Paul stop. Tord spoke into the phone quickly, ordering someone to come up before setting the phone back down. “You know I like to ponder my choices.”

“I do,” Paul answered as Tord sat down in the chair again.

“I’ve been thinking about this for some time,” Tord continued. “I had wanted to bring it up but...”

This time, Paul said nothing. He understood, and it seemed like Red Leader knew that. Taking a deep drag of the cigarette, he let the smoke surround him, relaxing under the hit of nicotine. It didn’t last long though, with the doors opening to reveal two military nurses and a chair. “Sir?”

“Hm?”

Paul looked to Tord with a smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem... Paultryk.”

The word felt funny coming off Tord’s tongue, and it took Paul a moment to understand how he’d been addressed, but he nodded in acceptance. The nurses lifted them into a chair, and Paul felt himself sink into it. With only a few words swapped between the medical staff and Red Leader, they began to wheel them away.

“Sir?”

The nurses stopped, and Tord stood. “Yes?”

“May we have a new name tag, Sir?”

Tord laughed. “Of course.”