headquarters, sector seven slums ; 7:36 A.M.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓, 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓, and the occasion would feel like a rare treat were it not for the fact that he had purposely waited for it to be so. the roil in his gut reminds him that he ought to feel a sense of guilt for hiding ––– but his sense of self preservation outweighs the churning of his stomach. the quiet tick of the clock on the wall is an unrelenting metronome that offsets the way his footfalls seem to echo in the still silence as his boots strike the floor.
his eyes.
do they look like mine ?
the question had been innocent enough at the time ; the dread had come later, when the autopsy revealed––– either high levels of evo poisoning or, yes, the man had been a SOLDIER. the dread, then, had creeped in slowly. he hadn’t recognized the man, not by his face ; and the SOLDIER corps wasn’t big enough for jace to truly forget a face. was it? or was his memory now slipping so fast? not that he’d ever been a particularly social butterfly, but he knew ––– was certain ––– the man couldn’t have been 1st class. regardless, the implications plagued him, and the thought of SOLDIERs turning up dead at doorsteps was just another to tack onto his worries: he and fox being classified as deserters, after everything.
the physical evidence was under lock and key, but the key, he knew, was easily found if one knew where to look. he twirls it between his fingers now, eyeing the glint of the metal, the pale light of dawn reflected back at the window as it slants through the outer wall and the plate above. his top row of teeth have bitten his bottom lip raw by now, his deliberation as he twirls the key back and forth almost never ending. if he finds what he expects to in the evidence lock up, it further cements his fears.
screw this, he thinks, and stalks across the room in quick strides before he shoves the key into the lock. it turns with a satisfying click before he’s pulled the drawer open, reached inside, and withdrawn a single bag with a single bullet. holding it up to the light, he turns it this way and that, until unnatural eyes catch the fine engraving.
❛ ah–––––– ❜ but the moment is interrupted ; a splitting pain shooting white hot through his temple, jace drops the bag, and it falls to the floor with a muted clatter as his hands come to grip his head. wincing, his breath hitches as flashes of fuzzy memory swim in and out of his vision: an outstretched hand, palm open and reaching ; the dull aspect of a warm voice drowned out by the blur of faulty memory ; the weight of his broadsword at his back heavier, somehow, feeling the shape of the handle in his hands as they fall from his hair, empty. his fingers flex around the phantom weight as he stares with saltwater eyes.
swallowing the wild thumping of a rabbiting heart in his throat, he reaches back to pull his weapon from behind him: sees initials, there, at the hilt, but does not recognize either pair as his own. there is pain still pressing in, narrowing his vision as it throbs at the base of his skull and blooms over half his face. but it has dulled some, the acuteness of the sudden onset fading.
placing his sword once more at his back, he pulls his phone from his pocket and flips it open to shoot a quick text.
message
to: boss
subject:
msg: hq. asap.
