For my part in a MegOP gift exchange, for @itonakoart!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Prompt; Any continuity. Megatron and Optimus take a break from the fighting and in the middle of a war torn area, sit down to catch their breath. They both realize they're getting too old for the constant battles and have one civil conversation. Tone is friendly, tired but there's a hope somewhere that things might end or change.
So I'm not 100% sure I got the 'friendly' tone right, but I was thinking mostly of the G1 cartoon while writing this (with some obvious IDW influence) and Megatron's kind of a cranky old man; if it can helps, you can think of Megatron adding an, "It's not like I respect you or anything, b-baka!" at the end. Still, I hope you like it, itonakoart!
@tiesthatbind-tf verse, quintesson-era [late 1920s actually I did a timeline we're in 1930 pretty much]
cw; Aftermath of violence (medical treatment & triage)
—-----------------------
The Underground was familiar with losses, but these were different, somehow. Even the outsiders sensed it, Victor himself moving off a short distance to fight off his guilt. The children joined him, though Joel first had to be seen by a medic before he was allowed out of the makeshift camp. It didn't take long - with only so many supplies, they were in triage mode, and aside from a few sprains he was more-or-less unharmed. Certainly well enough to walk on his own.
Others were not so lucky. There were the walking wounded, there were the wounded, and there were those who faced a difficult decision. But surprisingly, Primus stepped in, albeit accompanied by Aillard; the creation was well-familiar with the human body, and though they were hesitant at first, the doctors quickly realized their use in identifying specific injuries and advising what was needed. Pressure, support, or necessary surgeries - if anyone had doubted their use before, such doubts were quelled with the lives saved that night. And while some may have lingered as to whether or not Primus had led the Quintessons to them in the first place...
Those whispers, at least, had the tact to remain quiet in the aftermath of the battle. Watches were posted, makeshift camps were made, and those who could, rested. Those who could not were quickly roped in to foraging - assuming they were capable of such in the first place. And if lack of knowledge was a problem, they were at least grouped with someone who did know what was poisonous and what wasn't.
In a twist of fortune, one of the parties had found a wild boar. And in good fortune, they had a few members who were not only armed, but knew how to use their weapons properly. There was a stew bubbling in short order, which, combined with the results of foraging? Was likely the best meal many of them had eaten in some years.
It didn't solve all of their problems - certainly, there was the matter of how to keep them fed when they could no longer 'relieve' proper supply stations - but it did wonders for morale. And with their current shelter more or less the outskirts of a thin forest, to say that these tunnel-dwellers felt exposed was an understatement.
Victor tried not to think about it, instead forcing himself to eat his food almost mechanically. It must have set an example for the children, for they ate, too, though even Sadie was as silent. Up until the point where there was the sound of someone approaching through the brush, where all heads turned towards the noise.
"This a private supper?" Magnes asked rhetorically, eyes on Victor.
There were only so many things that he could be doing here. "I was just finishing," Victor sighed, setting his mostly-empty plate aside.
Magnes nodded, then briefly cast a glance towards Joel. "Good work, today," he offered, a praise Victor suspected was as rare as it was meant to distract; the boy quickly ducked his head, but his own delight was palpable. As his friends - including Sadie - gawked, Victor neatly extracted himself, following the other man a short distance.
(Somehow he suspected that Sadie would trail after them before too long, but far be it from him to mention that.)
"How's the shoulder?" Magnes' voice interrupted his thoughts.
Victor frowned slightly, reaching up with his good arm to touch the bandage. As Primus had observed, the armor of his coat had done him a great deal of good, softening what could have been a permanent injury into something that was a 'temporary' inconvenience. Even if, well. "Hurts like hell," Victor admitted, to which Magnes laughed.
He was sporting his own share of dressings, Victor noticed. A set around his head that also covered an eye, and besides the bulk about his torso that likely hid some underneath, he was favoring his right leg in a slight limp. Not that any of this was brought up, of course. "Whatever doesn't kill you, right?" he offered instead, reaching about to slap a friendly arm about Victor's shoulder. And even if his hand ended up on Victor's 'good' one, it still had him wince, fighting the urge to push him away.
"I- suppose." Victor reached up to rub his face. "Magnes, about the others, I-"
"Don't." The word was so sharp and so strong that it shocked Victor into looking straight at him. Magnes' humor seemed to have vanished as he gave the other a serious look. "The only reason you'd have to make an excuse is if your woman was on your mind the whole time, which I'm going to assume she wasn't."
Some sort of warning? Victor didn't know, but he did frown, because, in all honesty? "She wasn't," he affirmed.
Magnes patted him on the shoulder once more before pulling back his arm. "Good to know you can prioritize," he drawled. "And for a rout, that could have gone a hell of a lot better, but..." He shrugged. "Without you, we wouldn't have had a chance to get away at all."
"Please tell me you didn't pull me aside to try and stroke my ego," Victor said almost desperately, inadvertently pulling forth another laugh from Magnes.
"Hell no. I'm just saying - you're paid." At Victor's blink, he rolled his eyes before elaborating. "You got my people out. And while we could damn well still use you, I know there's no way you're going to stay without going after her, first." He seemed almost to be begrudging the admission, which, all things considered...
"I appreciate your 'permission'," Victor said, matching Magnes' earlier drawl, "but I suspect you have something else to say."
There was a lopsided smirk. And then, bluntly; "You taking the girl with you?"
Victor opened his mouth to reply, paused, closed it, then opened it again- and then made an irritated sound at Magnes's laugh. In truth, he hadn't thought much about the journey itself - Primus hadn't even given him a heading - but if this was anywhere far, then the fact remained, not only could he use a camp of sorts, but the thought of taking Sadie with him...she may have behaved herself earlier, but was she truly prepared for such a trek?
Was he?
"I don't know," he admitted after another few moments. "Is this where I ask if she can remain in your care?"
If Magnes was going to respond, then it was cut off by an indignant cry of, "You are not leaving me behind!" And if, in turn, Magnes was surprised by the girl quickly trotting up to join them, he showed no sign. He merely cast her a brief glance, then returned his attention to Victor - who, himself, was turning his own attention to Sadie with a frustrated breath.
"Sadie, this isn't up for ar-"
"You saw how good I was before, and you've said I'm useful, and-"
-and there went Magnes, Victor saw out of the corner of his eye, a self-satisfied smirk suggesting that things had gone at least partially to plan. Whatever plan that was, Victor didn't know; he had more important things to handle, like a girl who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer despite his best arguments.
"I haven't even the faintest of ideas where we're going, it might be halfway across the world!" he pointed out, to which she crossed her arms in a huff.
"So you don't know I can't go!"
Victor grimaced in frustration at her simplistic thinking. She was forgetting the most important thing; "We'll likely be facing Quintessons," he argued, feeling as though he was talking to a brick wall. "I will not bring a child-"
"-Joel can fight them-"
"-and Joel was kidnapped in the first place-"
"-and I want to go with you!"
"Sadie!" He reached out, grabbing her arms to shut down her raising voice. She bit her lip, clearly chagrined by how loud she'd been getting, but still held that defiant look as he continued. "Sadie, I will not take you. And if you follow like you're so prone to do," he continued, cutting off her objections, "I will take you back to safety, and if need be, I'll-I'll have Magnes himself keep an eye on you, I don't care what he'll ask in return!"
That shut her up. She didn't quite scowl, but she swallowed, then stubbornly pulled her arms free. It wasn't hard - he didn't have a tight grip - but for a moment, Victor feared she'd flee. When she didn't, he only felt some relief, because she was taking a deep breath of her own. "It's not fair. You need me. You said so."
Something in her words struck him like a slap across the face, and for a moment, he was speechless. It felt like forever before he could speak. "I need to know you are safe," he corrected her, "and that you are where I can find you. Sadie..." She looked away from him, sullen, and he sighed. "Sadie, my dear, as much as I worry about you, and am happy to worry for you, I can't...I can't add this on top of that. Today was different, we had Mina watching over us, but I can't ask her to come with me."
"So you're going to go alone?" She finally looked back, and in all honesty, Victor had to admit she had a point. So he gave it a moment's thought before shaking his head.
"I'm going to first find out where Scarlett is, and then I'm going to see if anyone can serve as a guide. And even then, we'll likely be coming back every so often." He likely would have anyway, if only because it would be a 'safe' shelter once it was properly structured. But something else occurred to him, and he reached for her chin as he sank to a kneel. "And I don't just need to know you're safe, but I need your eyes, here."
She frowned, not understanding. "What do you mean?"
"You and the boys served as my eyes on the streets," he explained, thinking rapidly as he spoke. "I need you to be my eyes once more. This isn't London, and there isn't as much ground to cover, but - how will I have an idea of what's gone on while I've been gone?"
To say Sadie looked dubious would be an understatement. She squinted at him suspiciously, then shrugged a little. "It's not like much should happen," she mumbled, kicking at the ground. "Like you said, I should be 'safe'. And you've just gotten back in the first place." And maybe she had a point there as well, but she at least seemed more resigned than anything else.
Victor lowered his hand, letting his hand rest in his lap as his mind raced further. "Things can still happen...and I will make you a promise. If you promise to stay behind and at least try to keep out of trouble, if there comes a chance I can bring you along for a time, to see something or another...I will." Encouraged by how her gaze brightened, he continued. "I did already promise to show you something amazing, and I don't doubt I'll see some strange things - and there may come a time when I do need you out there, and if so, I won't hesitate to find you. But I need to know where you are in the first place for that to happen."
For a long moment, there was silence...then, with a sigh, Sadie dropped her gaze with a final nod. "...fine. But you better not be away for more than a few days at a time."
"Not willingly, and not without warning," he promised, reaching forth for an embrace. Sadie stiffened at first and he almost pulled away, but she apparently changed her mind and leaned in, burying her face against his shoulder.
"I don't want you to go away again," she murmured as she clutched at him, and there was another meaning that Victor could sense - one that they'd spoken about before. He let out a breath as he gave her a squeeze.
"I won't."
I won't leave you alone.
—---------------------
The trek to their destination took longer than they'd originally planned, but considering the recent events - it wasn't a bad thing. Once again, Victor and Mina - with Sadie in tow - set off alone, but this time they were moving at even a slower pace, desperate to avoid any sort of sign of their location. It was inevitable that the Quintessons would be searching for where their prey had escaped, and the one thing they had on their side was that their enemy had utterly no idea where they'd gone.
Moving across the open hill, however, was nerve-wrecking - it felt like they were field mice, and that a vast, predatory bird would swoop down at any given moment to seize them in its clutches. At least they weren't approaching the buildings near its summit; instead, Mina led them to its far side, where there appeared to be some sort of open, church-like courtyard.
"This isn't exactly hidden," Victor remarked as she landed, gesturing at the gates that led to darkness.
Mina shrugged lightly. "We can make a new entrance," she pointed out, "For now, this should work." As she led them inside, Victor had to admit that these, at least, seemed made for humans - perhaps not as a dwelling space, but to house people, one way or another. Mina described them as 'The Hellfire Caves', and chalk walls meant they could be enlarged, improved - perhaps they'd need to find a way to dispose of the material, but it was workable. And before long, they were returning to the camp, bringing through a small group to serve as final determinants.
Magnes was there, of course, flanked by Ben and another man that was introduced as his twin, Burt - though they were hardly comparable. Burt's crooked face and misshapen form was a sharp juxtaposition against his brother's, who looked as if he could have been carved from marble by a master sculpture. But even if they weren't related, they clearly were used to working together; Ben took point, Burt watching their backs, with Mina herself leading Magnes on a tour as Victor lingered near the entrance to watch for trouble. It didn't take long for the group of four to return, Magnes seeming dissatisfied but resigned.
"It'll do," was all he said, which Victor took as a sign to open another spacebridge. And while this transport wasn't as quick as the escape's had been, they at least weren't pressed for time; he allowed himself to rest, the groups taking these opportunities to settle and divide the caves into separate sections. Medical, supplies, quarters...
By the end of it, he felt weary but not exhausted. Well enough to find Primus, at least, who was still helping with the medics in their work. The creation didn't hesitate to excuse themselves, however, moving to a small nook to speak.
"This is about Scarlett?" Victor nodded, and Primus did as well. "I don't have much information to tell you, other than the facility of origin for her records - and I'm afraid it's no short journey for you."
"Even with...?"
"It would be further than you have traveled before," Primus explained. "Is there some sort of map?"
Magnes had one, as it turned out, though he wanted to be there for the explanation - and so the group relocated to what had become his suite, spreading out a well-worn map of the world. Primus scanned it for a brief moment, then touched a part.
"Here."
Victor's heart sank as he saw the Red Sea next to Primus's finger. Perhaps not halfway around the world, but Primus was right - it was far, far further than he'd traveled before, much further than he dared try at once. "Ah," he said, as Magnes himself let out a low whistle.
"That's a hell of a trip, even if we still had transport." He glanced sidelong at Victor, clearly trying to read the man's face; Victor set his jaw, leaning over the map to take a closer look.
"'Jeddah'," he read, noting the cities around it. "I think I've heard of some of these places. Would any of your people know them, Magnes?"
The man let out a somewhat frustrated sound, reaching up to rub his neck. "I'll have to ask - I've got a couple who've been around, but I don't know where offhand. Either way, that's what, four, five months of travel? And getting across the channel in the first place."
"I should be able to manage that with a spacebridge," Victor mused aloud, thinking of how he'd used Rhisling to 'hold' himself in midair in the past. He didn't think he could use that way of traveling for the entire length of the journey, but across some miles? Perhaps. "But beyond that...I wouldn't mind an escort."
"Then you are lucky I did not plan on letting you go alone."
Magnes made that frustrated noise again as Victor and Primus turned towards the voice - Pravda's. The woman had some light dressings and burns of her own, but seemed to have mostly recovered from her stand against the Quintessons; she showed no sign of pain as she approached, taking a brief look at the map.
"And from what he has told me, Aillard knows where we can find a guide."
That took Victor by surprise, and Magnes, too, apparently. The man frowned, glancing back at the map. "You got another friend you didn't tell me about?"
"Yes. Here." She touched the map, a second city that wasn't quite halfway between start and endpoint. "The Μετέωρα - if we can get here, then we can find a guide to nearly anywhere. There is a resistance," she explained, which made Magnes' widen. "And you did want to establish communications with other groups, did you not?"
The man snorted, but there was a faint smirk on his face as he shook his head. "Good memory. I'll see if someone can get you there, instead. You lot can figure out the rest," he said with a wave of his hand, moving towards the side to briefly speak with Burt, who stood guard outside.
As he did, Victor looked towards Pravda in mild confusion. "You're coming...?"
A nod, and a faint smirk of her own. "Your daughter asked as a favor," she noted, "and also, I owe you a debt." She cast a meaningful look towards Primus, who shook their head.
"Pravda, you need not worry about-"
"I want to," she insisted, cutting off Victor's intention to add his agreement. Looking from one to the other, she took a breath. "It is important to me that I help you. And, as I said..."
After a few moments of silence, Victor sighed...but he was smiling. "...I suppose if Sadie asked you, then neither of us have a choice, do we?"
@tiesthatbind-tf verse, quintesson-era [late 1920s actually I did a timeline we're in 1930 pretty much]
cw; violence, unnamed character death & injury, named character injury
—------------------------
One of the patrols hadn't checked in.
The relief was there when Magnes and Pravda arrived, nervously pacing from wall to wall, but they were quickly sent off after a short, tense explanation that left the two staring at each other in unspoken concern. Magnes didn't need to explain, and Pravda didn't need to hear it; given the situation, any deviation from the norm was cause for alarm. The two began to move down the tunnel, Magnes unshouldering the hefty rifle and readying it for use. He was just about to turn off its safety when Pravda abruptly grabbed his wrist to stop him.
He scowled at her, then, once he met her eyes - looked back down the tunnel. A moment later, he heard it, too; a soft, almost imperceptible hum of electricity, growing louder by the moment. Something that had become so associated with danger! to the both of them that it took everything he had not to swear, and instead to look up as he hauled Pravda to the side, scanning the ceiling for something.
Pravda didn't ask, not daring to add her voice to the sounds. The Quintessons not bothering to mask their approach could have been an attempt to flush them out, and she tried to figure out how to communicate this before Magnes abruptly angled the gun and fired.
The noise of collapse echoed in the tunnel, more accurately revealing their position than anything Pravda could have done. She hissed even as she raised her shirt to cover her mouth from the dust, eyes bright blue from anger. How could he have done something so stupid, so-
"Come on!" He was grabbing her and moving, and she swore, casting a glance behind them as they ran - from what she could tell, he'd triggered some sort of rockfall to block the path. It was hard to tell through the dust, but even if it was the only thing that made a remote amount of sense-
"They will break through that in moments!" she snapped at him, to which he bared his teeth in a snarl.
"Moments we didn't have before!" he shot back. "And this way, everyone else knows they're coming-!"
"And they know we are here-!"
Further argument was stayed by a loud, booming sound from behind them - but neither wasted a glance over their shoulders. Instead, Pravda slowed before spinning around, arms flinging out as her fingers curled into loose claws. Behind her, she heard Magnes shouting, but didn't need to know what he was saying.
"Go!" she ordered. "I will give you more time!" For that was what mattered here, more than anything else - her personal feelings for Magnes did not matter. And even if they did, they were outweighed by the fact that he and his people had sheltered her and her friends, and for that alone, she owed them a great deal. The fact that they had helped to cover her escape from the Quintessons in the first place meant even more - and now, she would finally be able to return the favor, if only in part.
Thus, as there was another great THOOM, Pravda did not startle or falter. Instead, she took a deep breath, centering herself - and beginning to strain muscles as what the Quintessons had done to her, what Primus had done to her, began to manifest.
She still remembered their discussions as if they were yesterday - their concern that she would be able to handle such power, much less desired it in the first place. But what had convinced Primus was the fact that Pravda did not care about the power itself; what she cared about was her friends, her people - and the desire to protect them. If this power was needed, she would wield it, but only when necessary to quell chaos. Such as the chaos that had plagued her homeland before the Quintessons had arrived...
Indeed, the civil war that had embroiled Russia had only begun to see a possible end when the skies had opened and brought ruin. And while disagreements had been put aside, brother once again reaching for brother's hand, it was too little and too late. Those memories, too, would never leave her - and they served as perfect fuel to bring forth the white fire.
Plasma, Primus called it. Agitation of the local atoms, to where they're electronically volatile. Pravda had, admittedly, felt like a fool despite Primus trying to simplify, but to be fair? She had always been one to learn by doing rather than being told. And once she had done it the first time, it had become simple to bring forth the heat in her hands, the crackle of power, that which began like lightning but quickly became ghostlike wisps of a brilliant, shining light...
You will not get to them, she silently told those breaking through the barrier. And once the first armored tendrils pushed through, dragging an armored form behind them...
She clapped her hands together and unleashed what was now a familiar energy. It first wrapped around her arms like snakes, sending every hair of her body on end before surging forwards, away, and towards its goal. The Quintesson guard didn't even have time to shriek before it was seared, burned, cooked - but did her own people have time to scream, themselves, when they had been under fire?
Another broke through. Pravda took a step forwards, then another, spinning to generate momentum to throw out another burst of light. This time, the Quintesson had enough time to fling up its arm-tentacles, but another was bursting through even as it fell - then another. And another. She would run out of strength long before they ran out of numbers, she knew, but that didn't matter so long as Magnes had time to organize the escape!...
...Magnes, who was right beside her.
Magnes, who was opening fire with his rifle, his bared teeth a savage smile of challenge to the Quintessons before them.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, frantically trying to count how much time had passed. He merely adjusted a setting on his weapon, this time, a glut of its own plasma emitting from its mouth.
"What I'm good at!" he retorted. "Ben'n'Aillard can handle the retreat - there's no way I'm letting you take all the credit for this!"
"It is not about-" She cut herself off, desperately hoping he was simply joking, because at that point the rest of the Quintesson forces broke through and it was all she could do to, at least for the moment, stand her ground. But with Magnes focusing on one side, she could at least focus on the other - and there were more Underground here, too, with their own weapons. Even the boy, Joel, had come, though he looked as nervous as a hare. But Pravda could not justify sending him away, not when he was clearly here of his own will.
And so, as one, they fought for those who could not.
—--------------------
Word spread like wildfire, even if the distant sounds hadn't made it clear; we are found. Move. Still, Aillard hesitated, even as he slung both his and Pravda's packs onto his shoulders. After all, their best escape route depended on them being in a known place.
"You sent the message?" he asked of Primus, who nodded, their face mirroring Aillard's expression of concern.
"They know. They should be here soon."
"'Soon' isn't good enough," interrupted Ben. A tall man with sharp features, Aillard had met with him earlier when they were discussing the evacuation plans. He had hoped that none of them would come into play so soon, but here they were, with half of the combat-capable forces gone to stall for time. Even Pravda had joined them, and while he worried for his friend, he had faith that even she would know when the time had come to run. But apparently, Ben thought that time was now; "Either they're here within the next thirty seconds, or we're mov-oh, for God's sake!"
Aillard reached for his sidearm as well as the crowd's murmur abruptly turned into a sharp cry of alarm - but he saw the source quickly enough, as did Ben. A golden ring of light above their heads, through which a head was almost comically poking out and, very politely, asking them all to 'back up a few meters, if you would'' before it all vanished as quickly as it had come.
"Never going to get used to that," Ben muttered, and even Primus made a sound that could have been a chuckle as the portal reopened in the newly-created space. This time, Victor stepped through fully, looking about for what one assumed was an authority. One that Ben was quick to provide, raising his voice and barking out, "Everyone, one side!"
Now with enough room to see, the man was quick to approach the other three. Before either of them could ask, he already began to give his report. "We haven't yet reached the site, but we've found cover - Mina says it should be able to shelter us until the morning, as long as we're quiet."
"All of us?" Aillard cast a glance over Victor's shoulder. There were quite a few of them, of all sorts; men, women, and children made up the Underground, and even with the portion that had joined Pravda in an attempt to delay, it only made so much of a dent in their numbers. But Victor merely looked towards Ben, who nodded.
"If Mina says so, she's probably right," he said thoughtfully. "How's this going to work?"
"Fairly easily." But for all Victor's bravado, Aillard thought he saw a lingering concern. Politely, he didn't bring it up, only searched for his friend's gaze as the man kept his eyes on Ben. "Civilians first, I assume?" At the nod, he went on to say, "Then I'll get started, if you can get them in a line."
As Ben began to reorganize, Aillard moved closer to Victor, lowering his voice. "'Fairly' easily?" he repeated, to which Victor gave him a wan smile.
"I haven't practiced, but..." He took a deep breath. "My thought is, if I was able to do so many in a short period of time during my escape, surely a single one for longer won't be that difficult?"
"And with so many people?" Aillard prodded.
Victor shrugged in reply. "I don't think it matters what goes through," he explained. "My only thought is to watch myself, but you're welcome to keep an eye out as well. But I have no urge to...make a mistake."
There was something there, some story - but this time, Aillard did not prod, only reach out to squeeze Victor's shoulder. "Do not push yourself," he advised. "We still must gather Pravda and Magnes - they are covering us. And while I trust Pravda's abilities, even I know they have their limits, just as yours."
Another wan smile, and Victor nodded - by now, Ben was reapproaching, and Aillard took a step back to give Victor some space as the two exchanged some short words. Then Victor took a step of his own and a deep breath, and Aillard had his first good look at just what this entailed.
Victor was reaching forwards, almost as if reaching into something invisible - but other than a slight blur at his fingers, there was nothing. At least, until movement caught Aillard's attention; there were four shapes forming in midair, a shining gold, and then Victor was spreading his arms apart as another gold shape formed between them - this, a circle. And it kept forming as Victor spread his arms apart as wide as possible, a look of focus on his face as the portal grew to an enormous size.
"That's new," Primus observed, having been quiet during most of the exchange. "But then, we were never truly able to test his limits."
Aillard cast them a glance. "Oh?"
The creation's gaze moved to meet Aillard's as they nodded. "We didn't have the opportunities," they explained. "Unlike yours and Pravda's, Victor was part of a much smaller group, monitored far more closely - and he only had the chance to practice while supervised. I would wonder if there was a further genetic development, only Inquirata was certain to cement them to prevent mutation."
"Then he could do this all along?" Aillard asked, looking back towards the sight with wide eyes. Primus made an affirmative sound, also watching as the Underground slowly trickled through their new escape route.
"After a point, yes. He did mention trying out new applications during his escape, which could account for Rhisling's collapse into its pocket dimension, but - I believe that there may yet be more he can accomplish, even assuming the safeguards are still in place."
"...I imagine those were put into place for reasons."
"Yes." Primus's voice was serious. "We will need to watch him carefully."
—-----------------
Victor's focus wasn't so much broken when he heard the shouts, but he did feel something give in his 'grip'; apparently, the others noticed as well, for what had become a semi-orderly procession quickly faltered as Ben demanded a halt. As Victor worked to stabilize the portal before ensuring it was safe to let close, he heard other voices from behind him, including some familiar:
"We've got wounded!"
He cast a weary gaze towards the source, grimacing as he saw the group of people hastily approaching through another tunnel. A glance back at what was left, and - yes, he thought he could finish this, there was only so much more. Apparently, keeping the portal open for so long was a bit of a strain, or perhaps that was merely how large he'd stretched it. Either way, there was no time to waste; Victor took another breath and prepared to reopen Rhisling, before something cold and metal touched his shoulder.
"Breathe," Primus asked, and he closed his eyes with a sigh as he wanted to protest, but...did not. "I don't think you're at your limit, but you haven't much more to transport."
"I know," Victor murmured, reaching up to touch the thin, spindly hand. "But I need to finish this."
"We can afford a few seconds." Primus moved around to Victor's vision proper, looking up with solemn concern. "Let them stabilize their friends."
There were quite a few to stabilize, Victor saw, and Aillard was already moving to help. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall for support, watching as those still here helped their companions with taking their burdens or tending their wounds. Pravda herself was carrying a pair, one on either shoulder, but by the look on them Victor did wonder if they were beyond any aid that could be given. He looked her over, too, brow furrowing as he noticed how pale she seemed. She was already fair-skinned, but there seemed to be something less about her, something sapped out...
Did he look like that, he suddenly wondered? A look towards Primus, but the creation offered nothing in their gaze. They were merely studying him, and for the briefest of moments, Victor was reminded how someone else used to look at him as though he held some sort of secret, some key...
Swiftly banishing the thought from his mind, he pushed himself upright and cleared his throat. "I'm ready to continue," he told Primus, who managed a dubious look before there was a noise like thunder. Heads turned towards whence the others had come from, though it was hard to tell the exact source of the noise; it seemed to be coming from everywhere, and was more than enough to hasten Victor to reach for Rhisling once more.
The fact was, it didn't matter if he was ready to continue or not. And this time, it was Magnes' voice who rang through; "Move!"
With a thunder of their own, the Underground hastened to obey - and perhaps it was best that most of those left behind were the soldiers, for they held a certain discipline as they moved into position. Rather than the crowded shuffling of before, they formed three lines; the injured and those carrying them in the center, flanked by the able-bodied who were helping as needed. And a handful, including Magnes and Pravda (who had given her burdens to someone else) remained behind, ready to make whatever final stand was necessary.
Which was just in time, for about then, the Quintesson force had arrived.
Victor forced himself to turn his back, the better to focus on keeping his grip on Rhisling's structure, but he heard it well enough. The sounds of fire, the feel of heat, the sense of something whizzing right by his head- it all blurred as he strained to focus on Rhisling, and only Rhisling. Only the path from here to there, which wasn't a path at all, not even a step - this is how you connect, he told reality. 'Reminded' it. And maybe reality was trying to distract him with other matters, maybe he heard a scream, but-
-something slammed into his shoulder. He stumbled, the portal briefly faltering as he fought the instinct to grab on to his shoulder. Primus was there, grabbing on to him, and once again an unpleasant familiarity was about him, grabbing him, pulling him-
"Victor!"
It was not Primus's voice; it came through the portal. He looked up, eyes wide as he caught a familiar fluff of brown hair pushing its way through the crowd, and his stomach twisted for an entirely different reason. "Sadie, go back!"
"No, you come here!" She flung herself to the side, briefly hitting the wall as once again, the portal seemed to flicker.
And now Primus spoke, their grip loosened to merely support, rather than hold or grasp. "It may be safer for you to hold it from the other side- if you weren't wearing armor, that would have crippled you."
As if his arm didn't already hurt enough to feel useless-! Still, Primus had a point. Victor hissed out a breath, then drew in to call out, "Hold!" Perhaps uselessly, for the only ones here at this point were the ones who were still desperately holding their ground. And, of course, Sadie, moving over to help him up with a determined expression.
"You can't help anyone if you get yourself shot!" she said crossly, though her face revealed the 'anger' in her tone for the worry that it was.
Victor forced himself to at least try and look at least reassuring, despite how he wanted to grimace from the pain. "Then we'd better get all of us out of here, hadn't we?" he offered, reaching for Rhisling once more. But with his arm hurt, he wasn't certain he could do it, and it felt like it was slipping through his grasp-
-then, just as he was starting to despair, it opened.
Wide and strong, Rhisling's golden glow shone like a beacon as the last of the Underground gathered itself to flee - Victor cast a final glance as he himself was helped through, sucking in a sharp breath as the Quintessons broke through the blockade. Screams filled the air, and there was the scent, once again, of charred bodies, and others practically tripping over themselves as they hastened to reach safety before their pursuers-
-he almost tripped once he moved through, the portal's edges starting to waver-
-and just before it faded completely, Magnes and Pravda fell through, beaten and bloodied, but very much alive as evidenced by Magnes' grousing of, "That could have gone better."
@tiesthatbind-tf verse, quintesson-era [late 1920s]
humanity's enslaved; my thought process was that while most of them are being used for manual labor, why build a completely new infrastructure if they can just live in the ruins of their old lives when they're not actively being used
only give the nice new stuff to the ones who help enforce your rule
...whether they want to or not
The bells of the tower were mournful, that day. They'd always sounded mournful, to Victor, but today seemed particularly melancholy; in truth, he couldn't remember the last time they rang in some sort of celebration. The end of the Great War, perhaps?...though in hindsight, it wasn't so Great anymore. Not in comparison to the one that followed.
Victor adjusted the collar of his coat as he walked streets that still showed signs of the Invasion. They'd hardly been cleaned of rubble, it seemed, before the skies had opened up and a new threat had emerged; something from the stars themselves had arrived and was only interested in one thing: domination. Many had screamed of the end times, that God Himself had abandoned them; Victor had lost his faith in the previous years, so he had no such qualms to stop him from trying to fight for a world that, for the first time in history, had been united against a common foe.
For all the good that did.
The London he lived in would be hardly recognizable to the likes of his mother and father, had they not both perished in the Invasion. The Clock Tower was one of the few buildings that hadn't been destroyed, or otherwise 'improved'. To say nothing of the great structures in the river, leading towards the ocean; supposedly, he'd been told, the squiddies preferred salt water. Not that anyone dared called them squiddies except under their breath- after all, any sign of disrespect or disobedience was treated...harshly.
Even by humanity's own. After all, what better way to keep subjects in line except with the same, except given marginally more rank and status?
Red eyes combed through the shadows of the alleys, hunting for any sign of movement. The night had been quiet, for the most part, thank whatever powers were out there watching over them - or simply thank luck. Victor absolutely despised his role, but there wasn't much of a choice in one's positions nowadays. You either did what you were told, or you wouldn't do much at all; his heart felt a brief pang upon seeing a small, still form curled up in a mound of refuse. Most children who hadn't families were rounded up in to 'nurseries', which were more or less simply clusters of tiny cells for experimentation...
And, technically, part of his role was to find any 'strays' and bring them in. The question, then, laid, which was a crueler fate; being forgotten here and left to rot, or to be subjected to the squiddies' tender mercies. As much as his heart ached, it ached all the more knowing that he'd at least need to see if the poor thing was still alive. Taking a breath, Victor approached, not so much as thinking of the small baton at his side that was meant as a tool of enforcement. A sign of whatever wretched status afforded to him, but he certainly didn't feel much for it, at the moment. Quite the opposite; the ache in his chest had traveled down to his gut, a rolling unease as he lifted the young lad's (lass's, he corrected himself a moment later) hair and searched for any signs of breathing...
Their eyes opened blearily. Amber gold - a rarity, particularly in this day and age, which meant most likely they hadn't been altered or simply hadn't slid in to the more common red or blue. They were bleary, unfocused; a few blinks, though, and the light returned as a hand wearily raised to swat at Victor's. "Wha...?"
"Sorry, lass," Victor murmured, pulling back his hand. "Couldn't tell if you were all right." Alive, then, but he still clung to hope. "Can I take you to your parents?"
Hope that faded a moment later. "Don't got'm," she mumbled, reaching for some of the torn fabric she'd been using as a blanket. "Leave m'lone."
"Any family at all?" There must have been something in his tone, for she frowned up at him, squinting in the dim light. Finally, realization crossed her face, and with a sharp gasp she recoiled away from him.
"No, no- 'mfine! Go 'way!"
Instinctively, he raised up his hands, palm forwards; "Easy, girl, easy, I'm not going to hurt you-"
"-you're with them! You're a Squiddie-Guard!"
Any protest he might have made died in his throat not just from the truth of the accusation, but the tell-tale sound of humming electricity. The girl must have heard it too; her eyes widened as she looked past him, towards the mouth of the alley, and he turned, gut twisting all the more as he caught sight of green metal and glowing eyes.
Quintesson, his mind supplied.
[Identify.]
The voice was unmistakably inhuman; synthesized, somehow, through that mass of alien technology. Its tone was one that had grown to cause unease, distress even, in humanity as a whole; the voice of the invaders, those who come only to rule and ruin. Nonetheless, Victor drew together all of his composure, straightening up as he reached in to his coat to pull out a metal card.
"Victor Prentiss, Night-Guardsman oh-nine-nine of sector delta-nine," he supplied, the routine answer hardly a comfort when faced with a looming threat that had every chance of outright killing him if it deemed him defiant. He tried to seem as deferential as possible, offering the identity card as a means of proving his claim.
A light shone out from the Quintesson's eyes, highlighting the card and scanning its contents. Frankly, Victor had only so much idea what, exactly, was stored on it, or how it was done in the first place - but what mattered was that the Quintesson seemed satisfied...at least until it looked past him, in turn. [The child?] it prompted, and Victor's mouth went dry.
He'd hoped the lass had run by now, but memory quickly supplied the reason why; the alley was blocked at the other end. Any attempt to climb over it would no doubt attract even more attention; the tiny squeak he heard made it clear that she'd been hoping if she'd simply kept to herself, she'd be overlooked. No such luck. The Quintesson would round her up, he numbly realized, bring her wherever the rest of the orphans were stored, conduct their twisted engineering on her as though she was no more than a rabbit-
"She's mine," he found himself saying before he could catch himself. When the Quintesson looked towards her in query, he cleared his throat. No taking it back now. "I found her. She's mine," he repeated, desperately hoping to convince the squ- the Enforcer, that was what these ones were called, that he wasn't being defiant, he was simply stating a fact, he'd found her, that made her his, right? Surely they understood some sort of 'finders-keepers' mentality, though you couldn't own a child unless they were a slave, but-
[You have no children registered,] the Quintesson interjected through his thoughts. Was it just him, or did it sound bemused?
No point in trying to backpedal. "I, ah, hadn't gotten around to registering her," he answered, the words sounding wretched to even his own ears. "She's new. I was going to once the sun came up, I swear it," he desperately pressed as the Quintesson narrowed its eyes. As he heard motion next to him, he wondered just what the girl's reaction to all this was, but he didn't dare break his attention away from the armored form before him. "I didn't mean any-"
[Enough.]
Victor's jaw snapped shut, heart beating rabbit-fast. Tension grew all the more as he felt a small hand touch his arm, and he knew that this had to work, if there ever was a god or power-that-was, let it work-
The Quintesson reached a tentacle forwards. [Your card.] Stiffly, Victor handed it over, watching anxiously as the creature did some sort of manipulation to it before proffering it back. [The child has been added to your file. Your card,] it continued, a second tendril from its arm-mass reaching towards the girl.
She shrunk back against Victor all the more, and he found himself automatically moving - however slightly - to shield her. "She lost it," he lied, or, well, assumed he lied. "We were looking for it here. Weren't we?" he added, finally daring to look down at her, hoping against hope that she'd pick up on what he was trying to do...
Amber eyes met red for the briefest of moments, then looked down. "Didn't mean to," she mumbled. "'Msorry."
There were a tense few seconds of silence, where Victor couldn't bring himself to look back up at the Enforcer. Instead he found himself taking in the girl once more; in the slowly-lightening air of dawn, he could see that she was pale, underfed- not unlike any of the street children who managed to avoid being caught, however precious few there were. Her hair was dark, mussy, strewn about her head and in dire need of a good trim. A coat that seemed two sizes too big for her made her already small form seem all the tinier, and he wondered for a moment just how old she was.
Once again, the Quintesson pushed through his thoughts. [Obtain new identification as soon as possible. Further oversight may result in reassignments.] Despite the threat in those words, Victor could only think of one thing;
It worked.
Mindlessly, he confirmed and even bowed as the Quintesson turned to leave; his heart kept thump-thumping in his chest, the young lass's hand clinging tightly to his own coat as she mirrored the gesture. But only once the electrical hum of its armor left his perception did he finally release the breath he'd been holding, sagging against the wall in relief as his knees went weak.
"Thank God," he moaned, making a note to at least try and start believing again. Surely it was by some sort of grace that the squiddie had believed him, that the girl had gone along with it, the-
-the girl was gone.
He blinked towards the mouth of the alley, then back towards the wall he'd noticed - just in time to catch sight of a form dropping over. For a few more moments, he could only stare dumbly, before, of all things?
Laughing. He slapped his forehead, hand dragging down his face; of course she had no reason to trust him. Every reason not to, really, for all she knew he was going to hurt her, or worse. So Victor laughed, up until he noticed something very important;
As a Guardsman - regardless of shift - Victor's assigned residence was 'modern'...insomuch as it had been recently constructed. Between something Quintesson-designed or the worker slums, however, one was hard-pressed to make their choice. Yes, there was electricity, running water - but the loft was somehow sterile, despite his attempts to make it more comfortable. And far too big for him - an oversight, perhaps? He wasn't going to question it.
Scarlett would have made it feel like home.
He pushed the thought out of his mind, merely thankful that while an identity card made things far easier when it came to entering, it wasn't required - a mere combination allowed him entry. He slung off his coat and set it down on the couch, followed by his jacket and vest- and then he was reaching for the bottle of crude alcohol, pouring himself a generous portion before capping the bottle. As he set it back, he couldn't help but catch a glimpse of movement to the side, and even knowing what it was - turned to look at the mirror.
A man he hardly recognized stared back, his red eyes sporting heavy bags under them. They were set in a slim face, sharp cheekbones that led to a narrow jaw - but skin that seemed even after so long to be strangely smooth. A result of his 'modifications', the sort every Londoner had to go through - it wasn't just children who were experimented upon, every survivor had to line up to bear the stress in their own time - and if they fit a certain criteria, off to the mines with them. While Victor hadn't quite fit that scope - his changes seemed to be merely an uncanny sense of direction, he'd already known London well but now he could just about find his way blindfolded - he arguably didn't fit the criteria of 'Guardsman' either, one of those who were tasked with monitoring their own. Though, uselessly, his hair had changed; the brown had lightened, and though he still kept it short and groomed as well as possible, there was a golden hue to it now that he'd once, perhaps, considered striking. Now it was just a reminder of the state of the world, the state of its people - because it wasn't just Londoners who'd been enslaved.
He still remembered hearing the progress of the Invasion over the radio- so similar, yet so different from hearing the news of the Great War. He'd been too young to fight in that one, but his brother had gone - Victor raised his glass in solemn toast to his elder before taking a sip and moving towards the tiny kitchen. The technology contained in such a small area was astounding - it was a pity the food it made was so tasteless and bland, but at least it was edible. And maybe he should have eaten before he started drinking, but no changing that now.
She could have livened it up-
Why was he thinking so much about her, today? Victor frowned, taking another sip, for a brief moment not fighting the intrusive thoughts and instead allowing her memory to fill his mind, her brilliant red hair only outshone by her smile and laugh, the way she'd been so future-minded, the way she'd pushed him aside when they were all lined up like cattle-
Another sip and a closing of his eyes. A moment later, that fear, that alarm he saw in her face in his mind's eyes warped - rather, the face did. Instead it was a young girl's, trying to shove him away, too-
"You're a Squiddie-Guard!"
And thankfully, Scarlett wasn't around to see that. He made a face, at least able to make the connection, and perhaps now that meant he'd be able to dismiss it from his mind. Better he not think about either of them; both were gone, one longer than the other, and he wasn't likely to see the lass again. She'd probably trade the identity card for some food or clothing if she was smart, the sooner the better - as when he managed to get a new one, it'd be useless. Though supposedly, there was something of a black market where others had found ways to alter the information contained within...
It wasn't quite his purview, and far be it from him to go out of his way to try and gain favor. Some did - and yes, they were rewarded for it, but frankly? Victor wasn't interested in any of the boons one could gain. In all honesty, if he could abandon his position, abandon the city, find some untouched corner of the wilderness to live out the rest of his days untouched by any of this...
It was a nice thought. An impossible thought - there were no such untouched places left, as far as he knew, and even London itself was being 'harvested' in a sense. But it was a nice thought. One that he allowed to entertain himself during his meal, and even as he finished his drink, settled down, and tried to rest.
He hadn't realized he'd dozed off until he was startled awake by the sound of something falling in the other room. For a moment, Victor simply stared up at the ceiling, heart racing once again - the sound of quiet voices trying to shush one another did nothing to soothe him, but footsteps moving just a bit closer had him shut his eyes once more, hoping their tell-tale glow of surprise would be hidden-
-apparently, it worked, because a moment later he head a voice once more; "He's still sleeping!"
"Keep your voice down, stupid!"
And that voice he recognized - it was the girl's. Here? How did- his identity card. Of course. But what was she doing here, and why had she apparently brought fri-
Ah. Right. Thievery. He didn't blame them, really, but the poor lot was out of luck; he didn't have much to steal, other than his equipment, which had his eyes shoot open once more because if he lost all that, there'd be hell to pay in explaining what happened. As quickly and quietly as possible, he moved off his cot, creeping towards the open door before being treated to the oddest sight he could remember seeing in some time;
There were four children currently making a mess of his quarters, having all but torn through it in a search for, presumably, anything of value. The lot of them - which included that young lass - were currently gathered in the kitchen, apparently trying to figure out how to work the machines. For a few moments, Victor could only stare dumbly - then, as one of them cursed and pulled back a small fist to thump it, he cleared his throat.
Heads slowly turned towards him to stare. For a moment, no one moved. A standoff of sorts, four sets of wide eyes warily watching his form - and then, with a groan, Victor sighed and closed his eyes.
"The left column is the food type," he wearily explained. "Right side is food quantity, and in order to actually make it work, there's a bit more involved..."
WE'RE BACK, FOLKS, AND PICKING UP RIGHT WHERE WE LEFT OFF
cw; recaps, discussion of trauma, recovery, & mental health
----------------
Victor Prentiss fell back in his chair, feeling as though the world had upheaved itself. In a way, it just had, despite his senses continuing to take in the world's ceaseless movement through time and space. That hadn't changed, not in the slightest - the world still turned, the seconds still passed.
But Scarlett had been found.
"Sh- she's alive?" he croaked, voice strained as he stared wide-eyed at the Quintesson creation that was Primus. They had adopted a sort of half-form between humanoid and Quintesson; a human face (or at least an approximation thereof) carefully studied Victor's reactions before offering a slow nod.
"From what I could tell at the time. My download was interrupted by your escape - I didn't have time to finish gathering all the information, but the subject matches your memories."
"'Memories'?" Trentin - Magnes, Victor reminded himself, he'd asked to be called Magnes and Victor was at least trying to be civil with him - cut in. "Since when can you read another's bloody memories-"
"-when they're shared with Primus in- en premier lieu," Aillard interrupted. "Have you not been paying attention? The sharing of thoughts was mentioned before, it was the only safe way to communicate there." He spoke from experience of his own, Victor knew; the man had a close relationship with Primus, perhaps closer than anyone else here, including Pravda.
He could just make out the muscular woman in his vision, clearing her throat both as a way to command attention and stave off any potential argument. "Who is Scarlett?" she asked, looking from Primus to Victor.
Victor took a deep breath, wondering how he could possibly describe her in this space. It was easier without words, and yet... "My wife," he finally said, though the term was far, far too little to explain what she was to him. "She was my wife," he nonetheless repeated, looking from face to face, "and we were separated during...processing."
All of them knew what that meant. When the Quintessons had finished quelling a location, the survivors were promptly herded into captivity. Some could be there for months until their captors finally found a 'purpose', whether for general labor or for specific experimentation. And that was assuming they weren't modified for other reasons, such as to keep their fellows in line. Victor himself was a former Guardsman, patrolling the streets of London up until he willingly went into the Spire on a desperate rescue attempt. The results, well...
There was a reason that London's resistance, the Underground, was keeping to themselves as of late. It was too dangerous to so much as poke one's head above a tunnel; from what Victor understood, not only were harsh curfews in place, but any travel even to so much as pick up necessities was being monitored. A human caught without an escort - be it a Guardsman or Quintesson itself - was a human about to be plucked off the streets for 'questioning'. And despite the fact that his surrender would no doubt quiet things down, at least in part, it was on no one's mind. Not even Victor's own guilt would send him willingly back into that place, and that assumed he had the choice in the first place.
No; with his new attunement to 'Rhisling', a Quintesson artifact ("A hypersphere inside a hypercube," Primus had once observed), Victor could open a spacebridge to anywhere...or, rather, almost anywhere, but it was enough to make him invaluable to the Underground. So long as he had a sense of direction and distance, he could bridge; even so, he had nearly become lost in space-between-space during his escape from the Spire. And he couldn't help but recall that the Quintesson Scientist known as Inquirata had been in there with him, and, presumably, was still there...
Victor let out a heavy breath, realizing that everyone was still looking at him. "I...I need to think about this," he admitted, pushing himself to his feet.
Aillard and Pravda immediately followed suit, and Magnes let out his own sigh while rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You couldn't have told him after the evacuation?" he asked Primus, annoyance clear. Primus - still learning how to act around humans, despite their vast experience - managed a shrug so very much like a human that Victor would have chuckled if he wasn't so preoccupied. Already, he felt a bit dazed, off-center; as he moved for the door, Aillard took his arm to gently help guide him out of the room.
"Pay no mind to Magnes," he said reassuringly. "He has details to sort out, anyway, on evacuating these tunnels - there is plenty of time for you to process this."
Victor flashed him a relieved smile as they began to move back towards the sleeping quarters, where a few blankets had been hung to create makeshift rooms. But instead of heading for his own, Victor instead took a turn to the left, following a path that Magnes had first shown him the day after he returned. "I suppose," he said, as Aillard trailed just behind and to the side, "But he does have a point. This is...this will be on my mind, greatly so," he admitted.
Aillard shrugged. "And what is the problem with that?" he asked. "Better you know sooner than later - Primus perhaps should have shared it sooner, but I think they can be forgiven, considering how...how..."
"How I've been for the past few days," Victor finished for him, voice wry. Positively fragile, really, as he had finally allowed himself to process everything he'd been through. While talking about his memories had helped, some of them were still visceral - and upsetting - enough to bring another to his side in aid. Generally, that was Pravda or Aillard themselves, who had more-or-less 'adopted' Victor as one of their own - a Quintesson survivor.
Aillard gave him a humorless smile, reaching up to grip his shoulder and give it a squeeze. "Everyone heals at their own pace, mon ami. You know of my own scars."
To that, Victor nodded. In helping support him, the two had shared some of their own experiences; Aillard's quest to help Primus find a way to shake off their programming, and Pravda's honing of her abilities while still keeping them a secret. Perhaps the fact that they had been captives longer than he had led, in some part, to their difference in recoveries - they had longer to grow accustomed to it, in a sense, where Victor himself had only begun to acclimate before pressures forced him to enact his desperate plan. Indeed, Pravda was often tense and wary, only relaxing around Aillard (and now, Victor at times) - and Aillard himself had trouble sleeping for any proper length of time, restless when there was nothing to occupy his mind.
"But now you know," Aillard continued, "and the question is, what are you going to do with that révélation?"
Victor thought about it as they paused only to collect a lantern before continuing to walk. Primus had mentioned the subject...which likely meant she was still in Quintesson captivity. He hated to admit it, but he was in no state to launch another rescue, even with a different plan than the last - and relying on others to rescue her, to have no part? It wasn't that he would demand to assist, but while the potentials of his abilities had only begun to be explored, they would undeniably be of use. Though, using them to evacuate the Underground as the Quintessons probed deep would be as much as he'd dared push them since his encounter with Inquirata.
"I need to know more," he finally said, taking another turn. "I need to know where she is, and how she's been...used." For labor, experimentation, or something else...the first of which, while at one point unthinkable for a woman to slave so, wasn't nearly as far out of the question nowadays. Quintessons thought rather little of the differences between the human sexes, it seemed. "I want to see her, of course, but I...I'm worried." At Aillard's soft 'mmm' of prompt, he took a breath before concluding, "I don't know what she's been through these past few years, much less whether she's still in a state to...remember me."
For a time, they walked in silence. Victor's sense of direction would have guided them even were the path not familiar to him by now, as he'd walked it nearly every day since it was first shown. They had just arrived at the crumbling old station when Aillard seemed to have decided on his thoughts.
"While it is...possible she may have changed, or been changed," he slowly began, "so have we all, throughout these years. And you still care for her, non?" At Victor's nod, he continued. "Perhaps she, too, thinks much of how you parted - and if you have known each other long, then surely you would be remembered just as long?"
Victor barked out a short laugh as they crossed the rails. "We've known each other since childhood," he explained, helping Aillard climb back up onto the platform. The other man chuckled, helping Victor in turn.
"You see? Such would not be easy to forget, even with everything considéré. Keep heart - it is as likely she worries for you just as fiercely."
Easy for you to say, Victor thought, though he did manage a small - though real - smile. Aillard was clearly trying to cheer him up, and maybe he should have been more enthused...but what should have been joyous news still hung over him like a gray cloud. He let out a slow breath as they arrived at the far wall, where he lowered the torch to illuminate his goal.
The wall was covered with carved names; some large, some small, some clumsily 'written', others more elegant. The ones Victor had carved were simple but clear, a testament to those he had left behind during the confrontation with Inquirata. Some of their fates were unknown to him, and in truth, the Quintessons might have been able to save them all for all he knew...but 'save' would be the wrong word, in such a case. Kept alive for further experimentation, or worse...
Aillard was quiet as Victor traced a hand along the names which were carved just as indelibly upon his very soul. Whether or not Aillard had been here before - or even carved his own - remained to be seen, but he did appreciate his friend's presence. As well as his respect for silence, allowing Victor to process his own thoughts on the matter as opposed to trying to distract. When he finally looked up at the Frenchman and offered a somewhat easier smile, Aillard returned it with one of his own before tilting his head, a silent, shall we return?
Any response Victor would have made was cut short by the sound of rubble shifting. Both men looked sharply towards the sound, which was already growing louder, more chaotic- and there was a panicked shout, as if someone had just stumbled over debris. Aillard was the one to take the lantern, to hold it up high, and Victor squinted in the dim light as his Quintesson-altered eyes pierced the darkness. Perhaps not so well as some, but it was enough for him to make out a vaguely humanoid shape.
"Hello?" he called, already on guard. Were they followed? Surely, only the Underground would venture here, but with the uptick in Quintesson activity - another Guardsman wasn't out of the question, and his fingers flexed in a now-instinctive preparation to call Rhisling...
There was an animal-like squeak, and then a few rapid clicks - the two men briefly shared a glance before Aillard cleared his throat and took a step forwards. "We mean no harm," he offered, though Victor imagined he was no doubt wondering whether it was just some sort of creature, perhaps- well, he didn't know any that made those sorts of noises, but-
-but as that humanoid figure ducked its head, then began to move forwards, his thoughts of it being a mere animal disappeared. "I'm sorry," they - she, it sounded female - said, "I didn't want to scare you, I just wanted to look..."
Her way of speaking was odd, as if she was having trouble forming her mouth around the words - and Victor realized why a moment later. Aillard, not able to see in low light quite as well, merely offered a warm smile. "Non, you are welcome - come into the light."
There was silence in response. Aillard's smile faltered just a bit, a bit concerned that he'd said something wrong, but as Victor stood he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "It's all right. You're that Beastman, aren't you? I've seen you around, I think."
"Mmhm." The shadow-shape bobbed its head in a nod, then took a final step forwards. In the light cast from the lantern, the shadows made it seem as if she was something of a monster - great flaps of leathery skin hung from her arms, like an organic version of the draping sleeves of royalty from yore. Said arms were covered by a thin layer of fur, which spread forth to cover her entire body to a degree far beyond even the most barbaric of humans. And her face-! Like something out of nightmares, with a flat and hoglike nose set below beady black eyes that were ringed by red. But the expression held concern in its strange features, a hesitant worry for being shunned for her appearance.
And, to be fair, it was Victor who inhaled sharply - he'd never seen her this close, only from a distance, and to be also fair she stood out in the crowds - but Aillard merely relaxed, chuckling as he shook his head. "You have also come for the mémorial?" he asked.
The woman nodded, her hands close to her chest. Victor noticed that they, too, didn't seem quite right; a thumb and two fingers, unless the others were hidden in the shadow. Nonetheless, she was holding something even stranger. "For my friends," she explained, her eyes briefly scanning the wall before apparently finding what she was looking for. She took some steps towards it, kneeling before carefully setting down the page of pressed flowers. "The ones left behind."
The silence that followed was far from awkward; both Aillard and Victor knew such a sentiment far too well. Before long, though, Victor couldn't help but ask, "Where did you find those- Mina, was it?"
She looked up with what Victor assumed was a smile. "My last patrol," she explained, "before we had to pause them." At Victor's rueful expression, her smile broadened into a toothy grin - her prominent fangs glinted in the lantern's light. "If there's ever been a reason, we have it - it's about time someone bloodied the Quintesson's noses." She snickered, a strange hissing sound, but it was still enough to ease some of Victor's tension.
"You may be resuming them sooner than later," he offered, noting the way her eyes seemed to glint with surprise, then eagerness. "There's talk of an evacuation, with their interest moving into the tunnels."
There was another of those clicking sounds as she brought a finger to her mouth in thought. "Evacuation?...I'm not sure how the rest will take it, but I've always said we shouldn't keep our nest so close to the Spires. Sure, it makes it easy to hide, but..." She shrugged, as if letting the situation speak for itself.
"...but when you are no longer hidden, it becomes a problem," Aillard noted wryly. "Pravda and I have always thought it was only a matter of time until the Quintessons looked deeper, with there only being so many places to hide in the first place." Mina nodded in agreement as he gave Victor a serious look. "Remember, it was not just your work that started all this - we escaped, too. Which led to your young friends being captured in the first place."
Which was half the reason Victor had gone into the Spire, and why Primus had given him the choice to sabotage a project that threatened more than London, more than even just Earth. And while Victor couldn't imagine that any of them could have possibly predicted just how things had progressed, perhaps the increase in Quintesson activity was inevitable, one way or another. "Perhaps," he sighed, guilt only so eased at the thought that an evacuation should have already been planned, "but at least once we find a space, I should be able to make short work of the trip."
"So it's true?" Mina cocked her head, peering curiously before moving towards him. "You can create portals, like the Quintesson ships?" She was smaller than he, thinner, too, but as with so many of the Underground there was a certain stature to her that Victor imagined was a byproduct of their harsh lives. Her sex had nothing to do with it, nor even those beastly modifications the Quintessons had done to her. Meeting those odd eyes, he saw something in there that was undeniably more human than some of the Guardsmen he used to work with.
And so Victor offered a crooked smile, whimsically hoping that perhaps she, too, saw something - or at least didn't find him lacking. "Spacebridges, and in a sense," he explained. "We still haven't found out their limits yet, but we do know others can travel through them. Once I know where I'm opening, anyway - I'll likely have to see the space with my own eyes."
Mina considered for a long few moments before nodding, apparently deciding on something. "Then- come with me. Out of London," she clarified at his bemused expression. "I already have a place in mind, and Trentin already said it might work as a shelter - the sooner we find out, the better."
Victor arched his brow. "You're not going to wait for him to - no, there's no time to wait," he reasoned in a softer voice. When they could be found any day, any hour at this point...he looked towards Aillard. "Would you mind letting Magnes know of our plans...?"
Aillard chuckled, waving a hand in acknowledgement. "Consider it done - though you might practice your powers by bridging back from time to time, just to test."
It was a good idea. With a nod, Victor turned back to Mina, gesturing for her to lead - she clicked excitedly before moving back for the tunnels, and the man was quick to follow at her heels.
CW; attempt at writing london slang, some sexual harassment (no Quintessons involved) and bit of violence/self-defense. Also remember how we mentioned non-consensual human experimentation? We got that in here (stripping, needles, nothing particularly explicit). Brief panic, not so much an attack as a justified "OH GOD WHAT". General warning that we're getting in to the thick of things and the following chapters are going to be a bit harsher than the previous.
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Once again, the coat was his armor. This time, though, it would do little good, for it was the armor of his enemies, and he was walking straight in to their den. Still, Victor clung to what comfort he could in the situation as the looming Spire grew nearer and nearer.
From what he understood, the Quintessons much preferred to dwell under the water; as such, the bulk of the construction formed the Spire's base and offered stability to the entire building. However, they still utilized humans for the labor - rather than equip them with diving suits, they instead pumped the water out of the areas where they worked, and utilized the upper levels of the Spire for the humans to be able to do their tasks. As well as doing tasks to humans; it was there that the children were housed, and there Victor would be heading for his 'examination'.
He showed his card to the Guardsmen who secured the sector; one fed it in to another machine as the other kept him under watch. A few moments passed before he was cleared, and given direction to a holding room. Only a few turns in, which was for the best in more than one way.
After all, the lot of them had decided if Victor was going in to the heart of the enemy, then he may as well confirm or deny the accuracy of their maps. While he had no method of communicating with anyone until Primus found him - and he was reliant on being found, rather than the other way around, because wandering about here without a destination in mind was certain to have him 'collected' in the worst of ways - he could at least commit as many things to memory as he could, beginning with the initial security.
The Guardsmen, of course, but there were small cameras tucked in many of the upper corners. To say nothing of the large halls housing Quintessons as they moved about their own business, paying no more attention to him as one would a stray animal. He walked with purpose and intent, glad at least his destination was close - and there it was.
The holding room was just that - a room to hold humans, directly overseen by a Quintesson. This one with the large bulk of a guard, its baleful red eyes looking over Victor as one would a stray mutt before muttering something in its language that Victor vaguely recognized as a 'get going' command. As he obeyed and began to descend down the stairs, he looked around proper. The entrance, such as it was, was higher than the rest of the room; it also served as the only way in or out. Those stairs led to a center pit of sorts, where a handful of people milled about. He knew that there were other holding rooms like this, for more long-term periods - those had sparse beds and other necessities, whereas this one merely had a handful of bench-like protrusions against the walls. None of which looked particularly comfortable, but then - since when did Quintessons care about human comfort?
No; this was merely a basket from which they would pluck whatever 'fruit' they wanted. The only thing that differed this one from the other pits was the fact that this one was for humans who had some sort of place outside the Spire; unsurprisingly, though, none of them wore Guardsmen uniforms. Those here wore labor-style outfits, and all of them eyed him suspiciously as they murmured amongst themselves; he caught wind of "-so not even they're above-" and smiled bitterly.
Not in the slightest.
Victor was prepared to wait as long as it took for things to process, but a shadow fell upon him before he could do much more than sit on a bench. He looked up, the lights from the ceiling all but silhouetting the form of the woman who glared down at him. Red hair sparked a twinge of memory, but her stormy expression staved off any reminiscing.
"Th'ell's a Guardsman doin' down 'ere?" she sneered at him. "You volunteer t'eat some squidshite?"
"Leave'm alone, Alice," another woman wearily called. "Don't need'm makin' things 'arder for us-"
"He ain't on the mines," 'Alice' shot over her shoulder before returning her attention to Victor, resting a hand on the wall as he began to rise. "No, no, don't get up, I'm th' one that should be kneelin' at yer feet, right?"
"I'm not here for any trouble," Victor murmured, gently raising a hand between them to try and pacify her - only for it to be abruptly grabbed by the wrist.
"Nah, yer here to kneel fer the squiddies, right?" she jeered, tightening her grip as Victor tried to tug free. "See if they can get you somethin' cushier, right? Maybe a nice pet'f yer own?" As she spoke, she pulled his hand forward, and his face went red as he made contact with her chest. Like most laborers, her chest was covered, and the women in particular tended to use a number of bindings for support rather than the elegant undergarments from before the War; it was still very obvious that she had been graced with ample assets. She laughed at his clear unease, continuing; "Or maybe you're looking for a nice lad, maybe-"
Victor moved.
As, more or less, a human meant to manage other humans - it went without saying that the Guardsmen were expected to handle themselves in a fight. Normally he had his baton, but Victor had been keenly aware that such was not his only means of defense - and, indeed, an older brother who had insisted on him learning to throw a punch had given him the basics. But throwing a punch hadn't been enough for Victor, and in the beginning, one of the other Guardsmen had taken it upon himself to serve as a mentor of sorts the others - a situation for which Victor was now very, very grateful had occured.
Without it, he wouldn't know how to reach forwards with his other hand, grabbing hers. She was stronger than him, he could tell that, but he didn't hesitate to turn his body as well for his leg to be planted behind hers. A twist, a shove of weight against the back of her knee before she could react, and the rest of the laborers shot to their feet as a loud WHUD resounded throughout the room from her back hitting the floor. She snarled, immediately moving to get to her feet, but by then Victor had backed away and resettled in to a defensive stance. And by that time, a few others had approached their fallen friend, hissing warnings while one looked up warily towards their Quintesson overseer.
Victor risked a brief glance as well. As he'd thought - they were watching, but hadn't so much as raised a tendril to try and halt the proceedings. Likely they wouldn't unless some sort of injury occurred that would inhibit the humans' work. Grimacing, he returned his attention to the group, firmly repeating what he'd said before; "I'm not here for any trouble. But," he continued, "I will not take any, either."
Alice's eyes narrowed, blazing red, and she opened her mouth to say something - her friend gave her a sharp smack on the back and the two traded some bickering. It was about that time that there was the sound of the doors opening above, and all heads turned, then, as a Quintesson slid inside. It wasn't nearly as broad as most of the others Victor had seen, but yet its slighter build seemed no more less malevolent as it peered over the edge at those gathered. Indeed, it seemed somehow worse - the kind of worse that came with a mind that considered them less than stray mutts - and whatever fight was brewing quickly dissipated as the gathered humans dispersed, seeking to avoid attention in their own ways. A couple simply sat and didn't-quite-shrink against the smooth walls, which held no corners to hide in; Alice and her friends simply grouped together, muttering amongst themselves, as if being in a group would somehow protect them.
Victor did none of these, turning instead to study the Quintesson who had entered. If he recalled correctly from what little he knew of Quintesson culture in itself, its slighter build designated it as a different caste than the larger ones - there seemed to be some sort of basic hierarchy based on their own bodies. But that gave him no comfort, no ease; if anything, he even better understood why the others had sought to avoid its attention as it gazed directly on him. For a few moments, his mind raced with horror stories he'd heard of those who had gone in willingly but never returned, or returned different - horrific mutants at best, though he assumed there were some crippled wretches who simply…did not walk out. And for those moments, he vividly saw himself as one of them, nothing more than a writhing subject of an experiment to whom death would be a mercy…
Its gaze moved on, breaking whatever spell he had been suffering, and Victor felt somewhat woozy as it spoke to the guard overseeing them. He swallowed, but was unashamedly relieved when another turned out to be their target. One of those who had sought the wall as solace was collected and in their wake was left a subdued sort of silence. Victor took a breath, then moved to sit on a bench again - this time, one as far away from the others as he could.
They did not approach again. Though Alice's was not the only set of eyes that glanced in his direction.
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Another Quintesson, another gathered - and a third. Victor was entertaining the thought of perhaps he'd be let go without being seen (but if that happened, how would the two lads fare?) when he caught a beckoning gesture of tendrils in his direction. Pressing his face in to as neutral an expression as he could muster, he got to his feet and climbed to approach. This one, too, was a slighter build, perhaps only slightly larger than the first one he'd seen but still very much of the same type. Its eyes were gold, and seemed to regard him more curiously than anything else as it draped a set of tendrils over his shoulders.
[You know why you are here?] it questioned, to which he nodded.
"I was told to come for an examination," he answered without hesitation, trying to ignore the cold weight that was steering him as much as ensuring he could not run.
[Which is odd, considering your record shows a history of excellence.] Was it impressed? He hadn't learned much of their tones yet, and kept himself from responding rather than risk its ire. The Quintesson didn't seem to mind, continuing on. [You have taken to your assignment without complaint, and have kept your sector peaceful. One would think you are in perfect condition, and yet you gave reason to suspect otherwise?]
That - combined with the look in his direction - was a prompt for reply. He cleared his throat to buy himself a few more precious moments of time to think. "I was merely…surprised by the brief uprising," he admitted, which was, indeed, the truth. "I had thought the entire city peaceful." Not so much the truth, but white enough of a lie, he hoped. And believable enough of one?
The Quintesson made a sound that could have been thoughtful, its voice distorted through the humming machinery it wore. [Then we will ensure you will have no more surprises,] it said with a brief pat of a tendril, and Victor was nearly consumed with the urge to try and shake it off. His fingers dug in to his palms as he fought it off, just as they turned in to another room, and belatedly he realized he should have been memorizing the path, what good was knowing exactly where he was if he didn't know how to get out-
[Strip,] the Quintesson directed, and Victor's fingernails briefly dug in before he forced himself to relax - to obey. It had taken its limbs off him, at least, moving over to some sort of machinery and operating it as Victor shed his coat. Unpleasant memories of the previous time he'd done this came to mind - numb, moving like some sort of automaton toy that was off its bearings - but he reminded himself that there was a plan, there was a purpose for this…indignity. If he thought of it just as that, it was somewhat bearable, as opposed to a possible precursor to more.
Right?
He was directed to stand on a platform, and forced himself to move without hesitation. Immediately, a blue light surrounded him, and he kept himself still as it swirled about - scanned, that was the word - his form as if searching for any slight or scar. It lingered on a few scuffs and bruises, which he was asked to explain and dutifully reported as 'scuffles during the fighting'. Such was acknowledged and, apparently, recorded.
Some metal limbs moved out next, and he tensed as they poked and prodded at him. There was no explanation, but then, why did there need to be? Endure, he told himself, focusing on keeping his breathing steady as something scraped at the back of his neck, something else pricked at his arm. There were more of these samples taken, and by the time he was allowed off the platform, he felt rather like a piece of meat that'd been prepared by a chef to be roasted. That feeling only magnified as the Quintesson made a sound while he was reaching for his clothing, and held up a single tentacle;
[Hold.] Victor hid his unease as it worked its station a few more moments, then seemed to tilt its head. A few words were spoken to itself in its native language - then it seemed to realize Victor couldn't understand, because it switched back to English. [I require more testing. Move back to the platform.]
"I thought we were done…?" he ventured, nonetheless obeying as he stepped bare-footed back on to the metal which had grown no less cold for his earlier stance.
It made a dismissive gesture at his words. [Your genetic profile requires further examination. I will require assistance for this.]
Assistance?… the skin on Victor's neck prickled. "From- what the!?" He took a step back as about the base of the platform, something began to rise; clear walls shot up a moment later, trapping him in place. Instinctively he slapped his palms on them, red eyes bright in his own reflection as he stared out in rising panic. "What are you- in God's name!"
He threw himself back against the wall as the station the Quintesson has been working at - there was no other word for it morphed. What once had been a solid piece of metal folded and unfurled itself in an impossibly complex manner, beginning to snake towards him and his prison as Victor looked on in horror. The Quintesson seemed completely nonplussed - perhaps it hadn't even heard him - following it as one would a hound as the metal thing began to reform about the base of the platform. Immediately, blue light surrounded him once more, but this time it was nearly blinding; he threw up his hands to shield his eyes and still try to see, but it was so bright, he had to shut his eyelids tight and it still hurt
there was something pooling about his feet, his ankles, something warm and wet and tingling
panic rose
there's a reason
it was at his knees, he tried fumbling for an escape above but there was no purchase
there's a reason there's a reason
he began to tremble despite himself, an instinctual fear response as it met his waist, his chest
submerged his neck, he took a deep breath before it rose over his head
there was a jolt of something, that air burst out of his lungs
and he still couldn't see. He was blind? Oh, God, had they changed him already, had-
"I'm terribly sorry," a familiar voice suddenly rang in, "but this is the only way that we can speak safely."
His eyes widened uselessly, except - they didn't. He still couldn't see, but he couldn't breathe, either. Couldn't move his limbs, couldn't even look down to his limbs, what had-
"Please, slow down. I need you to think more clearly, right now it's too distorted for me to parse. Will you try and focus on my own words?"
Victor wasn't hearing it, per se. It wasn't really a voice. But it was familiar nonetheless, and he reached for it like a lifeline, grabbing hold with a sudden realization; Primus?
"Yes, it's me." The voice - Primus - seemed…relieved. "Again, I'm very sorry. I saw you start to panic, but I couldn't do anything at that point to halt the process."
Process? What's going on, how are we talking?
"Of an in-depth scan. We're communicating directly, mind to mind if you will; your neural pulses to mine in a thought-matrix. I know it's confusing," Primus said, somehow wry, "think of it as mind-magic, if it makes things easier."
It was so absurd that he could have laughed. Magic. All right. A pause. I still have no idea what you are, or how you even noticed any of that. No one else was there…unless… Primus didn't respond, so Victor continued his wondering. That…machine that moved. Like it was alive. Was that…?
"It was. Is," they amended. "I am a creation of the Quintessons, Victor, and I am in desperate need of help. And I think you, of all people, will be able to do what I need - because your modifications have already given you a ground that everyone else lacks."
My modifications? He didn't have anything special, just his eyes, and-
"-and your sense of positioning. Do you know where you are, right now?"
Victor thought about it for a moment. He didn't know exactly, except - he did. Just not where it was in context, but how useful was that?
"Let me ask you something else; do you know when you are, right now?"
A good question, but Victor assumed it wasn't too long before dark. A few hours, were he to judge.
"You judge correctly." The voice paused to let that sink in, then went on. "When and where are more closely related than some would think, in the grand scheme of things. Your species has not yet begun to explore spacetime, but the Quintessons are well aware of it - do you recall their spacebridges, when they first invaded?"
The memory of the skies opening up and great ships coming through was difficult to forget. Nonetheless, Victor gave acknowledgement, also recalling how the ability to seemingly appear anywhere, anywhen, still terrorized many a Londoner's nightmares. And, he presumed, the world's.
"I wouldn't be surprised. But the point I mean to make is that they've continued their research, here on Earth. They're focusing on smaller-scale spacebridges, to allow smaller groups to teleport across the world - and they are using humans as keystones in this project. However, the humans they have utilized so far have…mostly disappeared."
Well, that didn't sound good. I don't like where this is going, Victor couldn't help but 'say', wondering if his wariness went through.
"Well, if you could escape to another corner of the world - wouldn't you?"
To find some untouched corner of the wilderness to live out the rest of his days untouched by any of this…Victor pushed back the familiar thought as it arose, hoping Primus hadn't caught it.
If they had, they gave no sign, instead continuing their explanation. "Not only would your sense of direction guide you, Victor - but you have every reason to come back. If we can destroy the project through you, then not only will you stop something that could end any resistance here on Earth, but other worlds as well."
Wait. Other worlds?
"Yours is not the first to be conquered by Quintessons. As I said I am…tired of all this."
Despite himself, Victor felt his heart go out to this strange being. It sounded so weary without even making sound…and though he had every reason to wonder if this was some sort of trick? He thought of Aillard and Pravda's reactions when Primus's voice had first come through that strange device, the way they referred to them as their 'friend', how badly they wanted them out of Quintesson control…and with good reason, it seemed! Aside from how much use the various rebellions could use from such an ally, for someone who'd apparently been a participant in countless conquests…
What must I do?
"You would be moved to another Quintesson, the one overseeing the project. You would be modified in to something capable of utilizing the technology - and then we could make our escape with the children."
Joel and Simon-! He'd let them slip his mind, but felt no judgement from Primus, only a morbid amusement.
"You cannot process everything at once, Victor," they didn't quite scold him. "They're safe. If anything changes, I will tell you, but for now I can keep them at the bottom of the list. At most, they're bored."
Could I see them?
"…I think I can manage that. I don't know about being able to talk with them, but I should be able to reroute some cameras, temporarily. But it may be best to keep anything specific to ourselves, for now. I don't know for sure what will happen, or if the modifications will hold on you - sometimes things go…wrong."
But they could go right, Victor pressed. And if nothing happens, we still have our original plan, do we not?
"We would. But I want to emphasize, Victor, that there is still a risk in this. It is important for this project of theirs to be stopped, but we may be able to find someone else."
And you may not. Steeling himself, the man thought about a portal being opened in the midst of the Underground, of the Quintessons slaughtering everything in their path - men, women, and children alike. Of it happening in other cities, other worlds. I, too, am tired of standing by and allowing these things to happen. If we could stop it, Primus - can we do less than but try?
@tiesthatbind-tf verse, quintesson-era [late 1920s actually I did a timeline we’re in 1930 pretty much]
cw; Sexism [misogyny], modern Turkish when the language should be Ottoman Turkish but I can't find a translator for it so this is what you get
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"Lida Glaros," Aillard had said. "I do not know if she still lives, but if she does - she can help."
He'd said more, of course, touching on how they'd met - during that brief period between the end of the War and the Invasion, they'd begun a close friendship. Mostly through letters and the like, but they had continued to communicate as the Quintessons launched their assault. Her work had apparently been instrumental in helping humanity last as long as it had, but it was only through the Quintessons - through Primus - that Aillard suspected that such work still lived on in the form of Titanomachia. A single name connected to it, her codename during those years-
Logos.
The youth introduced himself as Hektor once they began the hike up towards the surrounding rocks. They were mountains in their own right, and as tempted as Victor was to simply spacebridge to the top - instead, he followed Hektor and Pravda up the winding stone staircases. They seemed ancient, and he wondered just how old they were. He also, briefly, wondered just how difficult it would have been to climb the steps if he hadn't built up strength over the past two months.
Mina, at least, showed a discomfort of her own as they began to climb - and eventually took to the skies, herself. Hektor only briefly paused in the climb before continuing up, and before too long they had finally reached what appeared to be an old monastery. Were it not for it clearly being their destination, Victor would have written it off as more ruins - albeit ones in a fairly decent state.
Aside from the people moving about, that was.
There weren't many, but there were enough to explain that 'watched' feeling - especially with the equipment they had, one lowering a set of binoculars just as they crested the top of the stairs. Hektor gave them a wave of his hand, but- was that a finger-signal, as well? It was too fast for Victor to tell, and before he could ask, they were being led further within the complex. He cast a look at Pravda as they walked, noting the subtle tension in her frame; unthinkingly, he reached up to squeeze her shoulder, much as he'd seen Aillard do in the past.
She looked at him with only a brief flash of surprise; then, of all things, managed a thin smile. Victor returned it, himself relieved that he hadn't crossed some boundary, then turned back to the monastery itself as Mina came to land beside them.
It had clearly been repurposed into a headquarters for the Titanomachia, despite the attempt at keeping at least the outer areas in that 'ruined' state. But as they moved inside, there were more and more signs of its inhabitants; the sounds (and smells) of people, the noise of electrical equipment, the warm air...Victor was also unsurprised as they took a set of stairs down that seemed far newer than the rest of the rooms, presumably in to the rock pillars themselves. They certainly seemed to be carved out of such, and he made a note to suggest to Magnes he discuss the methods used. Surely, the new enclave - nicknamed as 'Hell's Labyrinth' - could benefit from such.
Then Hektor knocked at a set of wooden doors, and led them into some sort of library. Bookshelves filled the walls, more taking up whatever floorspace they could - he couldn't even begin to tell the size of the room, so full was it. But what surprised Victor most was that Hektor moved towards the side, flipping some sort of switch in a pattern - the lights dimmed, flickered back on, and dimmed once more in response. When they came on for the last time, he gave the youth a quizzical look - Hektor only smiled, motioning to wait.
Abruptly, Mina raised her head like a dog smelling danger - following her gaze, Victor heard the sound of footsteps but a moment later. And then he saw it - her, rather. A woman, dark-haired and strong-featured, holding a notebook of her own as she looked from one stranger to the other, and then to Hektor, arching her brow. Again, the young man made some hand gestures, and as she reacted with her own, Victor realized they were communicating. He'd known those without hearing had some manner of language, but this was the first time he'd seen it...
Hektor moved forwards, holding out the charm Pravda had given him - the woman looked it over, briefly, then nodded her approval. As if this was some sort of sign, Hektor turned back to the other two. "This is Logos," he explained, "our leader."
Pravda tilted her head. "You bring us directly to her?" she asked, clearly taken aback, and Victor couldn't blame her - that was taking quite a risk. While the Quintessons were the obvious enemy, there were humans who had willingly submitted, seeking favor by betraying their own...
As Logos offered the charm back to Pravda with a thin smile, Hektor nodded towards it. "The Roma would not give you their sign if there was no trust. We trust them."
Just as Victor trusted in turn. He cleared his throat, eyes on Logos even as he spoke to Hektor. "Forgive my assumption, but would either of you be familiar with a 'Lida Glaros'?" As Hektor translated, he noticed Logos's eyes widening, and offered her a smile. "Then - might our new friend also know the name 'Aillard Toussaint'?"
She moved quickly, more quickly than anyone had expected. Immediately, Logos reached for Victor's hands, clutching them with brightly shining eyes as her mouth moved as if to try and form words - but all that came forth were unintelligible sounds. Pravda quickly moved to try and shove her away, but Victor managed to push him between them, recognizing the reaction for what it was.
"He's safe," he assured her, trusting Hektor to help - though Logos's, Lida's eyes seemed glued to his own mouth. Reading lips, perhaps? He slowed down, repeating himself, even knowing it was possible she couldn't understand English. "He's safe. We have a way to speak with him, if you'd like." Everything else could wait, he'd already decided, and even Pravda softened just a bit at his reassuring tones as she finally determined there to be no threat.
Even so- "Don't forget Magnes," Mina muttered, and Victor managed a short nod as Lida 'spoke' rapidly to a somewhat perplexed Hektor.
"...we should move somewhere with more light," he finally admitted, turning to move back towards the hall. Reaching for one of Victor's hands, Lida followed, and with their own mixture of confusion, amusement, and simple relief for being welcomed - so did the rest.
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Lida's joy at 'hearing' of her old friend's health and safety transcended any language barrier there could have been. Even so, there were more matters at hand than just that - ones that needed far more than just light. But when Victor described what he planned to do, the two were admittedly dubious - after all, the thought of harnessing the same power of the Quintessons, to open portals in the sky?
But then, these weren't in the sky. And jaws practically dropped when Victor spread his arms, opening the spacebridge...and brought a number of people through. Yet a quick message to Hektor was all Lida spared before rushing for Aillard, clutching him in a fierce hug - one the man was quick to return, laughing and patting her back before breaking apart to sign with her.
Magnes only briefly spared them a glance, more intent on taking in the area than anything else. Beside him, Burt peered at some of the faded fresco, half-reaching up to touch it before Mina hissed at him in admonishment. He quickly pulled his hand back, coughing into his fist as Pravda sighed and moved towards Primus.
Victor noted that despite giving warning that they would be bringing forth a strange bunch, Lida hadn't even given them a second glance. Nonetheless, when Hektor returned, it was with armed guards who tightened their grips on their weapons at the sight of the Quintesson's former servant. Primus, apparently impossible to offend, merely gave them a nod of acknowledgement before resuming their conversation with Pravda. A final set of claps from Lida, and seats were taken for the meeting.
It went fairly well, all told, with Primus once again serving as a translator...though they took a moment to understand the nuances of the hand-language. But it was a start, even if Victor was uncertain of the suggestion that his abilities be used to transfer supplies and personnel. He was, however, quite grateful for that to be tabled for now; instead, they settled for keeping a unit of the Underground here temporarily, to help set up communications while Victor and Pravda set on the next stages of their journey.
Which had to be delayed, at any rate.
"There is no one here who can take you," Hektor had said, much to Victor's frustration. But the young man continued a moment later with, "However, there is a man, a..." He fumbled for words, then shook his head. "A travel-man. If anyone could lead you, he can."
"But he is not here?" Pravda pressed, to which Hektor managed a wry look.
"He comes and goes. We will try to find him for you."
And while Victor resigned himself to wait even longer, it was only a few days before there was a message that their guide had not only arrived, but agreed to the task. Feeling almost giddy, he made his way to the courtyard, shielding his eyes briefly from the sun as he looked around. The message said to meet him here...
"Günaydın~!"
The fez caught his attention first - well, other than the voice. Ottoman, Victor's mind supplied, noting next the friendly red eyes and the impressive handlebar mustache just above a warm smile. The man's entire form seemed to exude amity, and Victor could not help but offer a smile of his own as the other offered his ringed hand.
"Good morning to you, my friend! I take it you are the gentleman I shall be escorting for the next months, hm?"
"Assuming you were called as a guide, yes." He took that hand and squeezed, the other man's grip firm but friendly in return as he chuckled.
"Yes, yes! Nearly to Mecca!" He whistled softly. "A trip I have taken many times before, but not for some years. I am sure you can guess why." Eyes sparkled as if making some sort of joke, and Victor managed a somewhat uncertain smile before the man abruptly laughed and reached forth to pat him on the shoulder. "But enough of that! I am Soner - last of the Derici family, or perhaps the new beginning?"
At least the man was optimistic. "Victor," came the response, looking about. "Pravda should be joining us shortly, I'm not sure if they sent her-"
"A woman?" Soner waved a hand dismissively. "She can stay behind, unless, perhaps- you are her husband?" He eyed Victor curiously, smirking just slightly at the flush on Victor's features.
"We are- friends," he answered stiffly. "I'm already married." Albeit he thought he'd been a widow up until recently, but-
Soner raised a hand in an attempt to pacify. "I meant no offense, my friend," he soothed, patting Victor's shoulder once more before drawing back. "These journeys are simply nothing to take on alone, especially when one is a woman, eh?"
As he smiled again, Victor thought of the fact that both of his escorts so far had been women and decided to hold his tongue. No need to ruffle feathers, though; he pressed his lips together, biting back his feelings on the matter, and simply nodded. "You said you hadn't been there in some time," he observed. "Do you still feel comfortable taking us, given...?"
"Of course!" Soner half-turned to gesture out at the sky. "I am well used to escorting those who would hide from the kalamar, I know all the tricks as well as having a few surprises, eh?" He shot a wink back over his shoulder. "And from what words pass my ears, the most Quintesson activity to be had is where you are from!"
Victor looked away at that, trying not to think of London. He'd managed to distract himself from the activity there, what with focusing on the journey, and he hadn't asked much about its condition but...his gut twisted at the thought of the innocent people still trapped in the city and dealing with the results of his actions. "I see," he managed to say, keeping his voice as neutral as he could while avoiding Soner's gaze - and suddenly very, very grateful for the approaching Pravda. He raised his hand in a wave, and the woman returned the gesture as she looked over Soner with visible curiosity.
"You are our guide?" she asked, prompting another warm smile from Soner as he looked her over.
"Soner, at your service," he affirmed with a flourish. "And look at you! One modified for labor, I take it, with a body like that?"
Though Victor knew very well that she had been, he was surprised at Pravda's bemused response; "I looked like this before." But considering she had grown up on a farm - perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised.
Even so, Soner whistled softly, and cast Victor a look up and down. For a moment, Victor thought he was looking for something - but if Soner was, he didn't seem to find it as he turned away. Feeling oddly unsettled, he only paid half attention to the conversation for the moment, instead glancing back out towards the horizon before something caught his eye to the side. Something flickering with a familiar light-
-turning in startlement, Victor scanned the courtyard for the source of the glimmer only to find the lack thereof. There was motion, of course, mostly those tending the gardens, but the tools they used weren't nearly the same shade of gold. Had it been a mere trick of the light? He frowned, casting a look around once more before turning back and realizing somewhat belatedly that both Soner and Pravda were looking towards him expectantly.
Forcing a smile, he returned to planning, trying to dismiss the odd deja-vu from his mind. There were more important matters at hand, anyway.
—----------------
That night, Victor stepped outside once more, taking in the cool night air with a pensive expression. Leaning over the fence railing, he gazed out over the lands below, their lively green and brown a rich contrast from some of the sights he had seen on the journey. Indeed, one could almost imagine that, aside from the abandoned village at the base of the pillars? This was a world untouched by the hands of any but humans. Far from the wounds and wastelands he'd seen on the way here…
He wondered, not for the first time, what Scarlett would think of such a view. Drawing in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine - what would she look like, now? It had been five long years, so certainly, there was some difference to her face, her features - but even then, all that came to mind was her charming smile, her laugh of youth, her-
There was the sound of someone clearing their throat. He managed to hold back his startle, instead turning to see whom it was - to his surprise, Lida was there, holding one of the new slates in hand. It cast a dim glow that illuminated her face in an eerie light, but the smile she held was warm and impossible not to return. By Victor's guess, these past few days had been the best she'd had in some time - he gestured for her to take a place beside him, and for a long few moments, they simply gazed out at the night sky.
After a time, the screen slid into his view - Aillard told me about you. You are a brave man.
He blinked down at the message, then laughed weakly. "I don't think so," he admitted. "I'm simply doing what I...oh, that's right." She couldn't hear him, could she? Or read his lips in this dim light, likely. But when he took the tablet to type a reply, he paused, uncertain how to answer.
Finally, he gave a simple thank you. Anything more seemed to be brushing her off, but it was odd, considering he had been doing so easily when speaking aloud, but- there she was, writing a reply.
I must ask a favor. I know you were using your home as a camp before - as much as you are our friend, I must ask you not to do the same here.
He raised an eyebrow. Interesting. I wasn't planning on it, but you have my word.
Thank you. She gave him an apologetic expression, making sure he saw it before continuing. I trust you, but Soner still has much to prove.
Should we be worried?
I don't think so. Victor saw her hesitate and scrunch up her face in thought before continuing the message. But Hektor doesn't like him, and I trust Hektor.
Very interesting. The two didn't look much alike; was this another adoptive relationship, he wondered, like Sadie? It wasn't his business to ask, but he couldn't help but press just a bit. He seems friendly enough.
Lida looked out over the countryside once more before turning back and giving him a long look-over, as if trying to read something in the dim light. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head before reaching up to touch his cheek. Victor stiffened just a bit, unused to the contact, and she pulled back with an apologetic look before offering a response. I'm sorry. You remind me of someone from before the war. I'll have my people finish your supplies tonight, and they'll be ready for you in the morning. After making eye contact once Victor had read, she offered a final smile and a nod of her head before moving back towards the structure.
Victor watched her go, somewhat at a loss as he reached up to touch his cheek where her hand had been. His thoughts drifted to how he had told Mina that he trusted Aillard, and now the friend of Aillard's friend was wary of their guide...did that trust extend, though such a connection?
Deciding he'd at least be on his guard, he let out a breath before following Lida's path back inside. Considering they were going to set out at dawn, he should have been in bed some time ago.
cw; even moar stockholm syndrome, violence, torture, named character injury & death, furmanisms. Another harsh chapter; consider this the boss battle/climax. SPOILER FOR THOSE WHO NEED IT
Remember that Friday will have TWO WHOLE CHAPTERS to wrap up this arc!
------------------------
Victor's personal experience in battles were limited to either the scuffles of youth or a handful of encounters during the Invasion. As Scarlett's family had done everything in their power to protect their new ‘son', he had managed to avoid the worst of the fighting. Instead, he had seen it from afar or the aftermaths thereof, which had been more than enough to convince him he didn't, in fact, want to get any closer.
But perhaps if he had, he would have been more used to this madness.
Inquirata screamed as Joel threw another burst of electricity, only for the boy to yelp and drop to the ground as a piece of machinery was thrown over his head. Dorothy was out of view, but Anna had taken charge of a half-protesting Simon, whose struggles seemed more token than any real urge to join in the fray. Hei had somehow gotten himself up on another piece of machinery, and was tearing at some of the cables as if he thought it would accomplish something. And Shane-
-Shane was by Victor's side, handing him a shiv. "You know what to do with one of these?" he grimly asked, a completely different man than the traumatized figure Victor had first met. Victor looked down at it, back up at Shane, and then towards Inquirata, who was now whipping its limbs at Hei in an attempt to grab the surprisingly nimble young man. Hei was using one of the torn cables as his own sort of tendril, whirling it about his head in defiance as it sparked angrily.
"I suppose it's better than nothing," Victor sighed, to which Shane barked out a harsh laugh. His side was still encased, Victor noticed, the wrappings visible through his flimsy clothing. And while Katherine was giving the ‘pet' a stern look, she said nothing, instead moving for some cover off to the side after taking a shiv of her own.
The others that Victor had met were nowhere to be seen, perhaps taking cover in their cubicles and hoping for all this to pass quickly. For everyone's sake, Victor hoped so, too; he took a breath and followed Katherine's lead, mind racing as he tried to think of a way to get Rhisling. Primus, following behind, was absolutely right in that they needed to get it away from Inquirata!
"I don't suppose you can do much?" he asked the creation as it reformed next to him.
Primus grimaced and shook their head. "In all honesty, it would be best for me to shut down as quickly as possible. I am still...programmed to obey Inquirata," they explained, to which Victor shuddered. He absolutely did not want to fight against Primus, not after working with them for so long.
"You'd better do it, then."
"I don't want to leave you." Primus's upset was clear, even in their strange attempt at a human face, and Victor could only look helplessly at Katherine as if trying to find some answer there. She shrugged.
"May as well keep Inquirata's attention, if that's the case," she told him matter-of-factly. "I don't doubt they'll focus on you, once you poke your head up."
...considering Victor was more or less the source of all this, he grimaced before nodding in agreement. But before he could do more than open his mouth to respond, there was another scream - human, this time - and it was painfully, painfully familiar. He looked about just in time to catch sight of Shane skewered through his midsection with a broken pipe, Inquirata pinning him to the wall like an insect on display. The Quintesson twisted their weapon, and the man coughed up blood, already growing weak - but his eyes met Victor's with a fierce determination.
If there was a message to be passed, Victor did not understand it. What he did know was that he would not, could not let Shane suffer once more because of him. Steeling himself, he gave Katherine a final look with a tilt of his head towards Primus - keep them safe, please - before throwing himself out and landing in a crouch, shiv at the ready.
"Inquirata!"
The Quintesson didn't need to turn to see him; the face on their 'back' (or was it their front?) sighted him the moment he'd entered its view, and their eyes lit up in rage as they pulled the pipe free of its victim. Shane twitched - the last vestiges of struggle - as he collapsed, but Victor could spare no more attention for him. Not with Inquirata raising its weapon, hissing in fury.
[We don't need you alive to template you,] they snarled, and if Victor had any last thoughts of possibly getting through this in one piece, they vanished into smoke as he took a few steps back. Just in time, for Inquirata lunged with blinding speed, and it was more luck than skill that had him stumble to avoid becoming skewered like poor Shane. Inquirata gave him no time to recover his balance, immediately lashing out again, and it was all Victor could do to keep away from polearm and tendril. His makeshift shiv swatted at the threats, only for a single tentacle to snap around his wrist and twist. He shouted in pain as the shiv was knocked out of his grasp, and grabbed at his captive arm as he was hauled up in the air.
[But perhaps keeping you alive and aware would be a fitting punishment,] Inquirata continued, and Victor's eyes shone bright with horror as he understood the implication. To know he was being used in such a way, to be helpless and unable to do anything to so much as protest - dread threatened to overwhelm him as more of Inquirata's tentacles wrapped about his form, holding him in place-
-and then, abruptly, there was a coil of cable about their eyes. The Quintesson outright squawked in indignant surprise, and another coil appeared just as quickly to further blind them. Chancing a look above, Victor's suspicions were confirmed; a pale-looking Hei had managed to get atop Inquirata, and was throwing the rest of the cabling off to the side.
"Oi, boyo!"
Joel caught it, and immediately started sparking. Any protest Victor might have had was immediately cut off by the surge of energy he felt. Even with his armor, his hair stood on end as he went rigid; however, Inquirata fared far worse, taking the brunt of the charge with a shriek. They spasmed, the grip on Victor loosening until he was dropped to the ground. He grunted at the landing, nevertheless counting his blessings as he scrambled to his feet.
"We need Rhisling!" he shouted at the pair- or, well, just Joel, for he couldn't see where Hei had gotten to. Whether Joel understood what, exactly, Rhisling was remained to be seen - the boy managed a nod nonetheless, dropping the cable-tether and moving to Victor's side.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, anxious. Victor shook his head, despite feeling a residual tingling in his very bones.
"I won't tell you to hide," because, if nothing else, Joel had already proved his worth despite his age, "but I will tell you to be careful-!"
A tired grin was all Joel could give, because with a loud SNAP, Inquirata freed themselves of the cabling. They half-collapsed, supporting themselves with their tendrils as a set of eyes locked on Joel and Victor with utter hatred. Spitting a few vile curses, they drew themselves back up as Victor caught sight of Rhisling still within its grasp.
And then, abruptly, there was Hei reaching for the precious device. But he had been holding on to Inquirata, too, to stabilize himself, and perhaps the overuse of his powers had either brought the Quintesson in to them or he'd slipped - either way, the Quintesson immediately reacted by throwing the man to the side. Both Victor and Joel cried out in dismay as Hei crashed into a large piece of machinery, which immediately began to spark in turn. But there was no time to see to him, for Inquirata was already reaching for their makeshift weapon of a pole, and Victor shoved at Joel to urge him into moving.
"Go, go!"
Joel needed no further encouragement. But despite the fact that Victor clearly held the Quintesson's ire, they had identified the boy as the biggest threat. They lunged after him, Joel crying out as he ducked, weaved, and bobbed to try and avoid the swatting tentacles. He was sparking, but seemed unable to bring forth another full charge - it seemed that he, too, had met his limit. Victor chased them both, feeling entirely useless up until the point he caught sight of Dorothy reaching out from some machinery to grab at Joel's arm. Then he felt a panic, for now Inquirata was in position to grab the both of them at once-
-up until both Dorothy and Joel vanished with a pop! Victor was able to stumble to a stop, but Inquirata wasn't so lucky; they slammed into the machinery with another squawk. And while Victor wasn't going to worry about how exactly that had happened, he was realizing he had something else to worry about; Inquirata now had nothing to distract them from going after him.
He turned and broke into a run once more, the Quintesson's angry warbling proving they were right on his heels. But he had seen how fast they were after Joel, and knew they'd catch up with him in a matter of moments. There was no chance of outrunning them, and so he ducked into some machinery, squeezing himself into what felt like the slightest of gaps as he felt something lash against his back like a whip.
[You rat-!] There was a tug at his neck, but it was nowhere near as strong as the Judge's had been, and as Victor managed to find a turn - it faded entirely. He breathed a sigh of relief, warily watching the tendrils stretch for him. [We will introduce you to a whole WORLD of pain! You will regret EVERYTHING you have done to us!]
"I'd rather not," Victor muttered, warily watching the tips flail mere centimeters away from his form. And there was nowhere else to run - he was well and truly trapped, unless one of the others caught Inquirata's attention, but even then - what could they do? He thought of Hei, of Shane, and knew in his heart he could take no more of such sacrifices. No, he had to think of something, but of what? There was no time to think, no space-!
-time. Space.
Rhisling made fools of them both.
His eyes widened as a desperate thought occurred to him, and without much else of an option - he seized upon it. For didn't Rhisling care not for where it was positioned, except as an end to its dimensional pathway? Couldn't he open doors not facing him without even making physical contact with its frame?
Could he, possibly, open the door from the other end - to Rhisling, so long as he knew where it was?
He tried the familiar gestures, but nothing happened. Victor was just about to write it off, halfheartedly trying one final time when his finger caught something - not unlike that sensation when he was being led to meet the Judge in the first place - and so he gripped it with all his might and pulled, praying he wasn't about to make a terrible mistake.
Perhaps it wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, but four corners faded into view before him - along with a familiar golden portal that held a mass of writhing tentacles within. Victor cared not for those, instead taking a firmer grasp of Rhisling and pulling it through, and just like that - it was in his grip. He stared down at it, not believing his eyes, not believing it was so easy- could he have done this at the very beginning, and have avoided everything...?
If Inquirata had noticed their prize had been stolen from their grasp, they showed no sign, instead continuing to hurl threats and promises as they began to tear at the machinery to get at their prey. Thankful that he'd at least moved into a position where the Quintesson couldn't see him, Victor took a breath and opened another spacebridge - this time, bringing him down into the common area.
It seemed he still had some measure of intuition, for he immediately spotted Joel and Simon - along with Anna and Dorothy, who had been fussing over the boys. "Victor!" Simon shouted in surprise, and Victor immediately raised a finger to his lips while glancing up over his shoulder, back towards Inquirata.
"Quiet-!" But no, it was too late. There was a brief burst of silence, then an earpiercing screech from above - loud enough that all of the humans winced or reached for their ears.
"Take the boys, we'll distract them!" Anna shouted at Victor, who opened his mouth to protest before the lads were abruptly shoved into his arms. He looked down at them, and then back up in time to see Anna climbing the stairs two at a time, Dorothy merely finding a place to duck down - but the sleepy woman winked at him, suggesting there was some sort of plan. Victor had to trust that they knew what they were doing, because exhaustion was creeping in once again. If he stopped moving, he feared he wouldn't be able to get started again.
"Stay close," he ordered his charges, trying to find another reservoir of strength. Somehow, there was enough to open Rhisling once more, and he told himself there'd only be a sparse few more of these before he could finally rest - for now, he was catching sight of Anna appearing by Dorothy with a pop!, hearing Inquirata snarl in frustration-
-and then moving through to where he had left Primus and Katherine. The two were still there, thankfully, Katherine immediately reaching to brace Victor as the world spun about him. "Fool," she scolded, nonetheless looking him over.
"Yes, a large one," he agreed, which earned looks from all four of the others. Desperate to finish this, he cleared his throat. "It's high time we weren't here- Katherine, will you join us?"
She gave him a long stare as Primus began to fold themselves down into a small cube...then, much to his dismay, shook her head. "I told myself this's where I'd meet my maker a long time ago," she explained, voice oddly soft. "Besides, the two girls'll need someone to patch them back together when all this is over."
"ANNA!"
The scream was so heartwrenching, so broken, so familiar to Victor's own ears - for a moment it was him in the pit, reaching for Scarlett. The blood drained from his face entirely as Katherine swore, then gave him a harsh slap across the cheek. "Don't," she warned him as he reached up to rub the skin with a blink. "There's nothing you can do, but I might be able to help - get going!"
"...right." He steeled himself once more, then looked from Simon to Joel as Katherine pushed past all of them to move into the open. He could hear her calling for Inquirata, but forced himself to reach for the shape that was Primus's form. It was surprisingly heavy, for such a small size, and it must have been apparent on his face for a moment later, both Simon and Joel reached to support it. He looked at them seriously. "We're going to the clocktower. I need the both of you to carry Primus through - I'll join you in a moment."
"You promise?" a suspicious Joel asked, nearly bringing forth a laugh from Victor as he helped them take Primus's form so that he could open Rhisling.
"I'm in no state to fight," he assured the lad as its portal formed. Together, the boys picked up the heavy cube, sharing its weight as they began to step through the opening. "Frankly, all I'm in shape for is a tea and a nap, perhaps a-"
Another earpiercing shriek heralded a swipe of tentacles - Victor's concentration snapped shut with Rhisling's doorway as the limbs swatted him like a fly, knocking him off his feet in an instant. He slammed into the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of him, and felt himself rebound on to the edge of the holding pit before falling into it. It was pure luck that had him land on a cot, and for the briefest of hysterical moments, Victor told himself this was not quite the time to nap!
And then Inquirata was there, and plucked him up once more.
[You will die screaming,] they promised, spreading his limbs apart and beginning to pull. Victor gasped from the pain, straining - quite literally - to keep himself together. But when every piece of him wanted to do nothing more than scream as he was brought up before the Quintesson's face...it was emotionless, only its rancor-filled eyes giving any sign to the fury within.
And past Inquirata's form, Victor could just catch sight of three others. One with its head twisted in a lethal angle - another, clutching that form and weeping. A third was motionless, its own head - no, Victor couldn't tell, he didn't want to be able to tell, he was screaming now, shutting his eyes in agony-
[And we will locate your ward,] Inquirata went on. [She cannot hide from us forever.]
The words pierced Victor's skull like a bullet. His eyes shot open, blazing red, as he instinctively pulled with a shout.
And Rhisling - Rhisling, which had fallen from his grasp, but to which timespace was a plaything, to which gestures and motion were far less important than the focusing of intent, a quantum-level reaction to an attuned observer impressing their consciousness - opened once more.
There was screaming. He was screaming, Inquirata was screaming. They were falling, and he could hear in the distance other people screaming, too. A chorus of fear and terror, a maelstrom of flying fabric and furniture. A black hole, Victor thought dazedly as he fell, fell, fell-!
Below him, above him, Inquirata reached for his form while shouting his name like a curse. But forces beyond ken had torn Victor out of their grasp, and were tearing them further apart. Victor himself was past reacting to their foul words, his eyes wide as he looked up at the portal of light falling away from them. No, he thought, and just like that - it closed.
The screams went quiet. The only sound was Inquirata's final, fading howls of mania - and then he was left alone in silence.
Alone, and floating in a space that was both as light as day and dark as night and everything in between, all at once.
He closed his eyes in exhaustion as a torn partition brushed against his hand. At least - at least it was over. And that thought soothed him as he laid in this void, or stood, he had no idea what direction was up or down or even left or right. All he knew was that it was now quiet but for his weary breathing...and even that began to slow as his heartbeat returned to its normal pace, as adrenaline left weariness in its wake. As he thought that at least he could get that nap even if he couldn't get any tea...
...as something else brushed against his hand. This time, something about it had him slit open his eyes, and then his breathing stopped entirely as he recognized a familiar sight - his Guardsman's coat. Specifically, the sleeve Sadie had embroidered...it was brushing against his hand as if someone else's was reaching out for him.
And just like that, her voice came to mind. "You better come back, or I'm- I'll never speak to you, ever again, you got it? Promise!"
That was right - he'd promised. Victor gathered the coat to his form and, with old habit, pulled it on one sleeve at a time. Then he gazed above, to where the portal had been, except-
Except 'up' was a fallacy, wasn't it? And he'd already discovered that to open Rhisling, all he needed was to have a place in mind - whether a start, or an end. It just so happened there was a place he knew so well, he didn't need to waste thought on judging distance or location or anything of the sort. A place where a young girl had entered his life and reminded him of what it was to care for another. Where two strange people had sought shelter and brought upon him a storm of change. Where he had once dreamed of flying, and he did so, now, propelling himself through this strange-yet-comforting space and into a shining portal of gold.
