[ FLASHBACK ] █ : // 1/1/16 - 12:46 HOURS : SITUATION ROOM, UNDERGROUND BUNKER.
TICK TOCK, goes the c l o c k ; and now what should we PLAY ?
Divine i c h o r— the blood of the gods is liquid gold, ethereal and deadly. All THANATOS sees is red. It cakes his fingernails. It seeps from wounds inflicted with brutal efficiency. It blossoms on once pristine white walls. If he was the type to revel in the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins, this would be a victory won; as it stands, however, he’s never cared much for the c o l o r.
❛ Fourteen minutes, ❜ he notes, affecting a tone of nonchalance despite the crimson painting his features. Fourteen m i n u t e s until the hour is up. Fourteen m i n u t e s until pandemonium grows silent— until all is still in a mass of corpses. ❛ We need to move. ❜
❛ Not y e t. ❜ Her tone brooks no argument. Though unspoken, the command is clear— ‘ We move when I say we move. ’ GAIA is vengeance personified, a fury draped in navy blue. There is no remorse in those obsidian depths; there is only thinly veiled satisfaction. T h i s is the Gaia he remembers— this is the woman carrying Olympus on her shoulders.
TICK TOCK, goes the c l o c k ; and then what shall we SEE ?
Glass s h a t t e r s. Bullets rain. Thanatos moves on instinct, dropping to the floor as lead pierces the air. Nearby, he sees Gaia do the same.
❛ Now, now. Is that any way to greet an old f r i e n d? ❜ Her voice is laced in saccharine sweetness, hydra venom spilling from ruby red lips. HYPERION is cloaked in onyx, appearing before them as though she’d emerged from the pits of Tartarus itself. ❛ Was that a rhetorical question? ❜ Despite the gravity of the situation, the words slip from Thanatos’ lips easily— self-preservation be damned. There is no crunch of glass, no footfalls to track; Hyperion is a ghost amongst mortal ruins. Thanatos had always e n v i e d that about her.
Another shot rings out, noise dulled by the blood pounding in his ears. They’re half hidden behind a supporting pillar, faces masked in the shadows. Hyperion is shooting b l i n d, baiting them— forcing them into a corner.
No one has a c l e a r shot.
TICK TOCK, goes the c l o c k ; and all the years they FLY ! TICK TOCK, and all too s o o n ; You and I must D I E.
❛ E n o u g h. Take her out. I want her dead. ❜ Gaia snarls. Like he hasn’t been t r y i n g.
The director’s Glock lies several feet from their reach. ❛ Pity our reunion had to be this way, Thanatos. ATLAS and I had a much more intimate affair, I assure you. ❜ A bullet ricochets off steel and he doesn’t hesitate; he returns the fire with calculated fervor. Beside him, he can tell Gaia is growing i m p a t i e n t. He sighs— now or never.
T h a n a t o s, god of merciful death— touch gentle in spite of such dreaded divinity; alone amongst the gods. Alone in the pulsing of his heartbeat amidst a sea of corpses. He steps out of the shadows to be greeted by her, perched atop Gaia’s desk. Her long, willowy legs were crossed at the ankle, face i m m a c u l a t e as she drew her weapon. He mirrors her, SIG-Sauer P226 trained on her heart.
Neither m o v e s.
❛ How honorable, ❜ Hyperion muses. There is no fear in hardened cerulean, eyes taking in the latest development with something akin to unadulterated glee. He’s hesitating, he knows. The memories threaten to cripple him. Thanatos is rarely sentimental; he does not yearn the past. He is not Atlas. But she was his friend o n c e. She had sheltered him from death’s omnipresent gaze on countless occasions. She had accompanied him to his older brother’s funeral. She had baked him a cake for his twentieth birthday, for fuck’s sake.
A bullet whirs p a s t him and he hears Gaia curse. ❛ Don’t spoil my fun, darling. ❜ Blood falls from an open wound at her palm. A pistol strikes the ground behind them.
It happens in an i n s t a n t. Gaia stands behind him, cold glint of steel pressed against his neck. He doesn’t fight it. She is his director. She commands the pantheon. In the grand scheme of things, Thanatos understands— only one will walk out of this room a l i v e. For the greater good, he must die. Gaia’s knife digs into his skin as she hisses, ❛ Kill her n—- ❜ A shot rings out. A rose blooms from the director’s forehead. Red splatters, the knife clatters to his feet.
❛ Victim of her own rifle, isn’t that poetic? ❜ Hyperion is g i g g l i n g, her former mentor’s Glock laying idle on her lap. He knows Gaia is dead. There is no life in twisted limbs and glassy eyes. He doesn’t lower his weapon. Thanatos’ fingers are on the trigger -- hesitation no longer marring his features -- when Hyperion winks. ❛ Your agents are still in the building, Kai. What’s more important to you: v e n g e a n c e or saving countless of l i v e s? ❜
He’s always hated ultimatums.
TICK TOCK, goes the c l o c k ; there is no time to MOURN her.
❛ Enact evacuation protocol n o w. I’m overriding Gaia’s orders— all agents are to get the hell out of here. Do you understand? ❜ Thanatos barks into the comm line with poorly disguised fury. ❛ Not until I hear from Gai—- ❜ Hermes starts, voice a mess of static interference. ❛ Gaia is d e a d. This placed is rigged to explode. Do not argue with me, Rowan. ❜ The line goes silent.
Seconds later, he hears an a n n o u n c e m e n t overhead.
