Vincent stared down at the large, fair man lying on the narrow bed. They'd had to bind him with chains strong enough to hold a tugboat; he'd broken every other chain or cable they could find.

Right now he seemed feverish, his eyes glazed, skin sheened with sweat. And yet he still managed to thrash and yell and swear a blue streak. When his words weren't gibberish, anyway. It was arguable if he understood the situation.

"Lemme go," he slurred for the hundredth time. "Nero… I gotta find Nero… Lemme go… I'll kill you...bastards…" The efforts were half-hearted at best, but still enough to have splintered the bed rails and snapped the first dozen varieties of restraints they'd tried on him. For several minutes he lay still, evidently exhausted by his efforts. Blearily, he opened his eyes and squinted at Vincent.

"...you're not Nero."

"Nero?" Vincent had been in the thick of the battle until this fellow had turned up. It had taken more effort than he cared to admit to subdue him. He hadn't had time, or the attention to spare, for anything or anyone else. Clearly this man was some sort of SOLDIER. He'd gone through the WRO troops like a behemoth on steroids. He was also out of his head, and fixing that wasn't in Vincent's skill set.

"Who's Nero? And what's your name?" he asked, keeping out of reach of the man's arms. Though bound, he still had enough power in those thick fingers to snap bone if Vincent came too close.

"Where is he? What'd you do…" The man groaned, squeezed his eyes shut in pain. "Tsviet: Immaculate, Weiss. General, Alpha Unit. 11742368."

Vincent sighed. "And who's Nero? Is he your CO? In charge of Deepground? Who is he?"

"S'my brother… You kinda remind me of him." Immaculate, Weiss fell back on the pillow, panting.

Apparently these were the ravings of an injured man. It made sense that family might be the foremost thing on his mind. Vincent still had no idea who this missing brother was. It didn't matter. This man was a formidable warrior and obviously worth something to Deepground. He'd have to try to contact Reeve or Veld, and see if they could use this.

The door opened a crack, and a WRO trooper, much the worse for wear, stuck his head into the room.

"Agent Valentine, we've got a prisoner asking to see this, um… man," he said, glancing at Weiss. "She says she's his mother."

Intrigued, Vincent waved a hand. "Bring her in, but keep your weapon on her. I don't need any rescue attempts. If she's anything like him, she could be major trouble."

'Major trouble', however, were not the first words that sprang to mind upon laying eyes on Immaculate's mother. She was tiny, perhaps just over five foot, and slightly built. Her uniform was dark gray, like those of the other Deepground troops, but included a cloak. Was she an officer? There was a decidedly Wutaian cast to her features. Her sleek black hair held hints of gray, and a patch covered her right eye.

"Sir," she said saluting and then moving right past Vincent to her son's side. Immaculate said nothing as she approached him and laid one hand on his arm. Vincent had expected him to smile, to call her 'mom', and perhaps try to hug her. Instead, he visibly relaxed at her touch, closing his eyes and sinking into the mattress as if asleep.

"What has happened to him?" Immaculate's mother asked.

"Battle injury," said Vincent. "His head came into contact with an immovable object." No need to tell her that the object in question had been Chaos, aka Vincent Valentine. "There's not a mark on him, but it must have rattled his brain. He's been like this ever since."

"No," she said quietly. "He was like this before. He would never complain, but I could tell that he was in pain. Weiss? Can you hear me, my son?"

Vincent blinked at the formal, almost arcane speech pattern, but any comment he might have made was cut off as Weiss groaned and turned to face the woman. He blinked at her blearily.

"Who're you?"

"A friend," she replied after only the briefest suggestion of a pause. "Do you not remember me?"

"No," he mumbled. "Should I?"

"It is of no matter," she assured him, stroking wild white hair out of his eyes. He flinched at her touch, but otherwise did not move. "Please know that I am here to see to your recovery. So long as I am by your side, you are safe."

Weiss blinked and squinted, trying to focus and failing.

"Nero…"

"Hush," she soothed. "You will stand beside him soon. For now, rest."

"Okay," he agreed, and closed his eyes.

"Ma'am," said Vincent. Something about this woman inspired him to treat her with more courtesy than one would normally accord a prisoner of war. "He'll be given what care we can provide, but we have no medical personnel on-site. Certainly no one with experience in the SOLDIER program. He is a SOLDIER, isn't he?"

"He is a Tsviet, which is very like a SOLDIER, yes," she agreed. "I will go with him, wherever you take him. Tell me, what of the rest of my children?"

Vincent blinked. "I...couldn't say. I'm not exactly privy to the family relationships of Deepground personnel. I fought this man, and when he fell I brought him here along with the rest of my unit, and a number of other prisoners. I have no idea who your children are, or where."

"They are not among your prisoners, then," she said. "You would have surely known if they were. My second son and foster daughter are yet missing. I ask that they be treated kindly should you come upon them."

"I can't make any promises. It's not entirely up to me. But we don't harm prisoners for no reason, I can assure you of that much."

What his co-commander would have to say about all this, he didn't know. They needed to talk, immediately.

"What is your name, please, ma'am? I'll have the guards bring in a pallet for you so you can stay with your son."

"You may call me Argento," she replied. "I too am a Tsviet; color silver. Weiss and Nero are my sons by blood, and Rosso is my daughter by love. Alas, their father is dead, so I must watch over them alone."

The idea of this petite woman watching over the hulk of a man on the bed would have made Vincent laugh, if he hadn't learned how deadly Tsviets were. They'd taken these two prisoner more by luck than force; after fighting for days, even SOLDIERs or Tsviets grew tired enough to make mistakes.

"I'll leave you here with him, then. Please don't attempt to escape or to harm the guards. They have orders to shoot to kill, and weapons that can do some damage even to SOLDIERs."

She seemed amused at that. "You will have more difficulty in keeping me from my son's side. Give me no reason to doubt you, and I shall comply in so far as it benefits my children."

"Sounds like we're on the same page, then. Give me no reason to separate the two of you, and we'll all be happier."

Suppressing an urge to bow, Vincent signaled the guard to unlock the door and slipped out.

Time to confer with Elfe, and find out what was going on with Reeve and the rest of the WRO.