A dreadful grind of the door's ancient hinges was the first thing he heard as the uniformed men outside brought in the usual evening meal. One stood in the entrance, a rifle aimed at the prisoner's chest, as the other deposited the plate on a small wooden table leaning against the stone wall of the cell.
"Steak again, how nice," the prisoner said, looking up at the skeletal man before him. "One would almost think I'm being better fed than you." His remarks failed to elicit even the slightest response from the men, and he leaned back against the wall with a dissatisfied sigh. "Really, you don't think the rifle is a bit excessive?"
"Any messages?" asked the man who'd brought in his meal.
"None that you'd deliver. You may leave, soldier," he replied, pulling the table towards his position on the wafer-thin mattress he'd been generously given.
Ordering men to do things they were going to do anyway was pointless, of course, but it had a tendency to make them absolutely furious when you were at their mercy. For a man in Edward Kirk's position there were so few pleasures available that one had to take even the slightest opportunity presented, because after it would only come another twelve hours of staring at a stone wall. In this case it had its intended effect; the soldier scowled at him, spun around, and left as if he were above responding to such a person.
It was an easy mistake to make, Kirk knew. He was absolutely filthy. Once blonde hair completely dishevelled, clothes covered in dust and grime, bandages around his midsection… hardly an intimidating visage.
The steak was quite pleasant, surprisingly enough. Medium-rare as he preferred it, a fine cut with almost no fat, and accompanied by a side of vegetables fried in some sauce he couldn't name. There was a chance that any number of people had spat on it before it arrived, but there was no use worrying about that. It wasn't as if they had a personal grudge against him, and he knew several of the staff (other than, of course, the cell guards) seemed to favour him.
Besides, he considered, nobody feeds good steak to a man condemned to death or life in prison. That'd be terribly wasteful, and Alvernia never had the food to spare for such extravagance unless it was needed for some manipulation or other. And it was needed for exactly that purpose. Since his last meeting with his captor, the frustratingly cryptic Anton Royce, he'd been left in his cell. None of the expected tortures had occurred; he was simply asked with each meal whether he had any messages to send and left to his devices in the small stone room they'd found for him otherwise.
He finished the last piece of the steak, savouring every moment of it in full knowledge it may be the last time he ever tasted something so exquisite, and put the empty plate back on the table. They'd even given him a steak knife, betraying either idiocy or confidence in their security. Perhaps the rifle wasn't so excessive after all.
His cell was cold, his bedding insufficient, and the only furniture the small table, a terribly uncomfortable little chair, and a screen built into the wall. The screen was not under his control, but it would light up once or twice a day to show some piece of news on the state channel that they wanted him to know about.
Left with little to do but think he resigned himself to the next twelve hours of near unbearable dullness. Some time passed, how much was entirely impossible to guess, but he amused himself by scratching out his thoughts on the wall with the steak knife. He'd considered many times accepting the offer, something that even seemed quite generous in his darkest moments. Yet every time that skeletal creature returned he couldn't stomach the thought of bowing and scraping to the scum. No, let it be imprisonment and satisfaction. He was not afraid to suffer, not if the alternative was humiliation and bondage.
The thought of Royce's disdainful sneer deterred him just as much as his pride. The mocking look in his pale eyes when he slammed the door behind him, the constant veiled insults scattered through his speech, and especially his refusal to be straightforward even when asking for Kirk's help.
Yet he had to admit, there had been less suffering than he'd anticipated. Alvernian military prisons had a certain reputation for unpleasantness, though it was difficult to imagine a military prison being anything other than unpleasant. But that was all foolishness. He threw his arms out into the cramped and stagnant air with a short and bitter laugh. The torture had begun the moment he'd arrived. What need was there for the rack and the knife for a man like him? Throw them both away, they were entirely unnecessary.
Soon it had to end, of course. They wanted him to pledge his allegiance to them, and fortunately for him everyone else with any real knowledge of his work (other than Royce himself and a few Borginian officials) had died a miserable death on Ibis Island. He'd even played a small part in that himself. Despicable, he knew, but it really had seemed necessary at the time. Murder (was it murder?) hadn't quite caused the emotional ruination it was famed for. He shrugged to himself. Plenty of time left for that to change.
His thoughts were interrupted as the room filled with blue light and the sound of a woman's voice. Another state address they'd deemed appropriate for his eyes, most likely. They were usually full of lies that even someone as starved of information as he was could see through, but even those were interesting enough.
" … And local prices of grain are expected to rise sharply due to the recent attacks on western storehouses. Trade officials insist the shortage will soon be remedied by increased foreign imports and that the newly proposed security measures will restore confidence to local business within the month," an attractive but completely unmemorable blonde newscaster said in that voice reserved solely for those in her profession.
"We now bring you to an official statement on the matter from the western command centre. Major General James Hereson will address the people first." The image changed, showing a wide shot of an impeccably decorated hall. An older man, perhaps approaching sixty stood at the podium, his impeccable navy blue uniform decorated with many awards and his face showing that stern yet fair expression men of his type loved so much. Other officers stood behind, but the camera focused solely on the leader. The crowd clapped politely as he greeted them, a group of perhaps two hundred under the careful watch of armed officials.
Kirk leaned back on the bed in some surprise. It was, at least to his knowledge, unusual for someone of Hereson's rank to directly speak to the public. The man had certainly never been willing to speak to him. The general filled the first few minutes with the usual pleasantries. Statements glorifying the strength of the nation and the iron will of the people and their leaders, all greeted with the same polite applause.
" … And that is why, dear citizens, such blatant hostility on the part of our enemies cannot be tolerated. They have one goal: our total destruction, and only so for the profit of themselves and their masters. There is no ideology, no grand idea – these men are the vilest sort of criminals," Hereson continued, his firm voice ringing out across the auditorium.
"They have struck, not at the government, not at the military, not at those who can fight back, but at you. Your food supplies, your homes, your safety. The freedom for your children to walk the streets of our city without being attacked by thugs, the freedom for you to meet a fellow citizen and not have to question their loyalties."
"And we have had enough. Western command has been authorised to use any means necessary to hunt down and destroy the cowards, and we intend to do so. As we speak our men move on a hideout in the south-western industrial district to confront the villains responsible for the theft of your grain and the destruction of your homes." He paused for a moment, taking a glass of water from an aide.
"For what is the ultimate goal if not peace and stability? They threaten the foundation of our society and must pay the appropriate price for it, must they not? If this challenge is left unanswered, if they are free to steal and kill as they please, then what we have will not be worth saving." He paused again, to a more spirited applause from most of the crowd, though Kirk noted with interest some sections that remained silent.
"Finance Minister Vorman," he turned, gesturing in respect to a tall, wiry man in a well-fitted black suit, "will soon make an address to discuss the government's response to the food shortages, but first, please welcome Colonel Anton Royce; he will explain to you the security measures taking effect as of tonight. Good day to you," Hereson finished, smiling in a reassuring fashion to the crowd before leaving with his entourage close behind.
Kirk leaned in closer at the mention of Royce's name. Could the bastard be sending him a message? If so, then what was it?
Royce rose to his feet, towering over the aide on his right, and stepped up to the podium. The crowd cheered with more enthusiasm than they'd shown for the general and he hadn't even said a word.
"It is a sad day, is it not, when our right to exist, our values as a people are so violently challenged? Attacks by armed insurgents have been growing ever more frequent since their emergence two years ago, and more and more of our people lose their lives to them with each month. Indeed, fourteen soldiers lost their lives defending our city last night. But what of the workers in those warehouses as they burned? What of the office workers in those armouries? The receptionist brutally executed at her desk, the father of two burned to death as he worked to feed the city?" Royce began, his tone filled with outrage and indignation. The crowd responded in kind, jeering at the villains and clapping at the man's outspokenness. His low voice, deep and commanding with just enough empathy, was everything they wanted.
"Are we so cruel as to commit atrocities such as this, do you think? Are human beings so loathsome as to enjoy this work, to do it for something as small as a day's pay?" he asked them, losing the grandiose tone and asking as if he were genuinely curious. The crowd fell silent, all awaiting his next words. Even Kirk found his unconventional approach difficult to look away from.
"I would not like to think so. And here I must respectfully disagree with the distinguished major general. There is an ideology at work here; there is a plan beyond callous opportunism."
"Prove it," shouted a dishevelled man near the front of the crowd. "I lost my house and my son to those fiends, and you want us to sympathise with them?" The guards moved to silence him but Royce stopped them.
"Sympathise? That is for you to decide. But your loss will not go unanswered, and your countrymen will not fail to aid you in your time of need," the colonel replied to more applause.
"I think it is time you understood our enemy more clearly, good people. We do not face a single entity, but several distinct groups using our weakness to strike independently. Two consist of local rebels, one vying for material wealth and control, the other revolutionaries fighting for social change, but I will not speak of them today."
"It has been known for some time that the most dangerous group, one with influence in Merestan and the entire western sector as well as southern command and Polostin by the mountains, has been equipped and financed by an outside entity. Today I will reveal to you the source of this funding, and the entity behind these tragedies."
Well, that'll be sure to make some lives difficult, Kirk thought as he watched. Far more entertaining viewing than rest of the addresses he'd seen, especially when he looked at the nervous expressions on the men behind Royce. Someone was sure to burn for revealing what he suspected was coming.
"Captured enemy operatives have revealed that Kosra's militia, as it is known, is both funded and actively supported by elements of the Borginian government. We now have decisive proof of their attempts to destabilise our nation and their treachery," Royce cried as the crowd erupted. Journalists rushed about, citizens shouted across the room, guards attempted in vain to control them, and many of the officials behind the colonel made a quick exit.
Minister Vorman stood up, hesitated, and then sat back down, but Royce's self-satisfied expression vanished when one of the men in the back stepped forward and whispered something in his ear.
They let a man without a uniform carry a rifle in there? His eyes narrowed as he looked more closely. Short blond hair, cold expression… could it be? The quality was so poor he couldn't say, but then he saw the bandages wrapped around his upper arm. The build and the hair could be coincidental, but this? It had to be the same man who'd hunted him down on Ibis Island. Certainly something worth knowing, he considered as he stood up and stretched, hands nearly touching the ceiling.
The broadcast shut off as abruptly as it had begun; he'd seen everything they'd wanted him to see. But what was the message? He thought of several likely possibilities, but was interrupted by a sharp knock on the rusty door.
"Stand against the back wall," a muffled voice ordered, and he did as commanded. The door groaned as it opened, scraping against the stone floor and filling the air with the sound of creaking hinges.
The intensity of the light outside the cell nearly blinded him, but as he shielded his eyes it became apparent that he had three visitors. The unnaturally thin, grim looking guard holding the key and a pistol, a short, lean man in an officers' uniform of some description, and… but that couldn't be right.
"This is the famous Edward Kirk? Well, famous might not be the right word. We'll leave you to it, but don't take too long," the short man said, his tone light and humorous.
"You talk too much, Mirzin. Make sure we're not disturbed," a dry female voice said, removing any of his doubts. Royce certainly had a sense of humour, having her of all people sent to speak to him. His eyes were well and truly adjusted by then, and he saw her for the first time in… well, he wasn't quite sure. She was tall, quite thin yet not even close to looking fragile, still with the same vivid red hair if a little longer.
The door slammed shut and he remained standing at the far wall, arms crossed and expression blank.
Regina leaned on the wall by the door and stared at him for some time, completely silent.
"What was it you told me?" she asked, held tilted to one side. "You cared about nothing except your experiment?"
He watched, moved to one side and then back. It was a display of discomfort, he knew. "Indeed I did, agent. You disapproved, as I remember it, but we didn't discuss the matter at length. Are you here to do so now?" he asked, allowing a slight smirk to show on his face. It was not natural, but few of his expressions were.
"No," she replied, pulling the wooden seat over with her boot. His eyes glanced over to the steak knife, just within his reach. "You're free to try," she said, quiet and not in the least bit threatened. "But if you're still looking to kill me then I don't think you understand the situation."
"I understand you're here because nothing else they've tried has convinced me to capitulate. I understand the Third Energy is suddenly of great importance, and that every other person who knew of it is rotting in the ground."
She grinned at him as if he'd said something amusing. "When they brought me here I wondered why you'd refuse. I mean, the offer's all you said you wanted, right? But it's simpler than that: you're just holding out for a better deal. Same old amoral piece of shit you always were, right Kirk? And here I was hoping I had you all wrong."
His hand curled into a fist, but he knew that was futile so kicked the flimsy table, snapping one of its legs in half.
"This is why I could never stand people like you," he muttered, running a hand over his filthy face. "So sanctimonious, so hypocritical. I could forgive you if it were merely cynicism, just some act to get what you want however you could, but you're completely genuine, aren't you?" Kirk said, sitting back on the bed as he found himself too fatigued to continue standing.
"Just what are you talking about?" Regina replied, leaning forward to look at him directly. The sarcasm had vanished.
"'Don't you see, your grand invention is just another weapon to be misused?'" he quoted, making full eye contact for the first time. "Only someone in your position could say that in all seriousness and be where you are now."
She fell silent, and he was sure he'd hit a nerve. He shrugged as if it didn't matter to him. "Perhaps the good Colonel doesn't intend to misuse it, what do you think?" His eyes shifted to her uniform. "I was under the impression that lieutenants weren't sent on three man espionage missions. A recent promotion, I assume. It's a very flattering colour, compliments your hair nicely."
"Are you trying to lecture me on ethics? You, of all people?" she said, voice seething with irritation. He found his gaze drawn to her, watching and judging each movement she made.
He laughed. "Why not me? I admit, I did say the lives of every person on that island were entirely inconsequential if only my work could be completed. That is only a shadow of what your masters say to themselves before sending you out to do their killing, and at least it's honest."
Now it was her turn to curl her fist in anger, but he didn't let that deter him. It'd been too long and he was too spiteful to stop there.
"After all," he continued, "you are a professional murderer, are you not? You kill for the state's benefit, and have been so well trained that you can chastise me for creating a weapon one day and then return on another and tell me what I do is acceptable, just not for your enemies? As I said, take that position if you must, but do not pretend to have some ethical high ground. We both abandoned any claim to that a long time ago."
"What do you know that you aren't telling me?" she asked, leaning forward and barely restraining her anger. That she hadn't struck him yet was a source of amazement, but he continued undeterred.
"I understand the allure, you must know. You're closer to the source; perhaps you can use that power for the good of the people. There must be a plan, of course. Surely he'll reveal the details in good time, and until then you can assume the best. Just like on Ibis Island when you were there to rescue me from those awful Borginians."
He stood up again, invigorated by the chance he'd been given. "I suppose you were told why they need my help?" He stopped and laughed again. "No, you weren't told anything. You don't need a reason, because you'll make your own up so you can come in here and moralise to me as if you were any better."
But she raised her hand and he stopped. For the first time he saw the tired expression, the uncertainty. "You're right about one thing. I don't know what they want your research for. I don't even know who 'they' are, or what their plan is - ,"she began, finally showing some emotion before he cut her off.
"And you must have seen the broadcast? Not a very united military, but it looks like your man's the people's favourite. I've known our friend Anton for longer than you have, be sure of that. Whatever he's told you is what he thinks you want to hear. Just what was that show about, anyway? I can't figure it out. Can you?"
Again, Regina remained silent.
"I thought not. But I think you know someone who does know."
"You really are a piece of work, Kirk," she muttered, sitting back down, the anger evaporating before his eyes. "I was here to convince you to join us, and I've just sat here and let you do all the talking."
He opened his mouth again but was cut off. She glanced at the door and leaned in towards him.
"Regardless of your suspicions, the only way you're getting out of here is to accept Royce's offer. He's subtle, and it doesn't look like you've suffered physically despite his impatience." She glanced at his bandages, the remains of the treatment following his last questioning.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Kirk replied, pacing the room in excitement. "He showed me one thing today, and that's disunity. Before long the Borginian conflict will be too much and the rest of them will come for me. Royce is a colonel; his rival's a major general. I can wait."
"You're an arrogant bastard, Kirk. Always so sure you've outsmarted everyone else. This isn't a military prison, this is one of Royce's private facilities in the middle of nowhere. Only his men know about it, and I mean his men. Unlike you, he seems to inspire loyalty in his people."
"I see you read those journals too. You'd think researchers of all people might have understood, but of course not," he said, disguising his sudden fear. His plan had been to wait it out until someone else decided he was too valuable to leave in the hands of someone who couldn't get a response. Clearly that had been anticipated.
"If we're to proceed I must know why you are here. What motivates you to convince me to develop the Third Energy for this government if it is indeed just a weapon to be misused?"
They watched each other, shadows cast on the wall by the flickering light. "I'd like to claim there was some grand plan, but there isn't. I'm here because I was asked to be here by a superior officer. What other option is there?"
"But is that how you want to live? Forever following orders; never understanding them? What if there was another way? You are not stupid, you see what he's doing could lead you to the execution ground. And for what?" He stretched his hands out, inviting her to answer.
This was it for him. He'd seen the slightest hint of uncertainty, of dissatisfaction, and that was his only chance. Why she'd allowed him to continue so long was beyond his understanding, but it was fuelled by the same sentiment he'd seen on Ibis Island, surely.
He leaned in closer, as if wary of being heard by the guards outside. "My entire life I have been manipulated and used by men such as these," he said, allowing some genuine emotion to enter his voice even if it was little more than bitterness. "They have taken everything from me again, and again, and I have grown tired of it."
"I know you agree with me. That I've been allowed to speak has proven that. What if we could find out? What if we could take back what they've stolen for themselves?"
She rose and stared at him, at the filthy, deranged prisoner before her, with a thoughtful if cautious expression replacing the guarded, blank, soldier's face. "If you genuinely believe that, you'll agree to work with Royce. He's taken Ibis Island from the Borginians already; all they need is you to work on the generator. You won't get another opportunity."
Kirk's eyes widened in shock, surprised at the boldness of the move. "That does change things. They won't let him keep it for long, not if he doesn't have the support of more men than those he commands already." He rose to his feet, finally seeing the opportunity he needed.
Regina took a step closer and he saw the shotgun strapped to her back for the first time. She began to speak, but stopped inexplicably. He watched and saw she was listening intently for something outside the cell.
And then he heard it too. Faintly in the distance something quite out of the ordinary was happening.
She pulled back from the door, expression and voice totally changed. "We need to go. Now."
"Are you breaking me out of prison? I'm flattered, really."
He felt a firm hand on his arm, and then she pulled him close against her on the wall next to the door Slightly uncomfortable, really, but he found it difficult to protest. And then he realised why, as the commotion outside came within his hearing range. Gunfire in the halls of Royce's private prison was not something he'd expected to hear, but there it was.
The door opened with its usual grind and Regina slammed the intruder to the wall, the shotgun pressed into his stomach.
"Hold it, it's me," he wheezed, clearly in some pain from her rough treatment.
"Mirzin? The fuck's going on out there, who's attacking?" she asked, taking the gun off her ally.
The short man laughed, but it was more deranged than humorous. "We're being raided by the military. The guards are holding them up in the foundry, but you need to go now before they get down here. It won't be long." Edward looked at him more carefully and saw a dark stain spreading down his uniform from the shoulder.
Mirzin pulled away from the door, holding onto it for support. "Take the corridor down, and then go left until you reach the ladder. This place used to be a sewer; you'll find your way out."
She ran after him. "Wait. Come with us. You don't need to die here," she shouted behind him, the sounds of the gunfight even more distinct outside of the cell.
"I have to clean up first or it's all over. Get out of here as fast as you can; I'll try and catch up. If I don't make it, well, do what you like, what's it really matter?" he said, running back toward the fight.
He stared at Regina as she watched the other man leave, entire body tense. As he turned the corner she looked back at him, exhaling in frustration. "Isn't this familiar? Are you coming, or do you want to try your luck with the soldiers?"
It was enlightening, really. She didn't have the time to take him by force and she knew it. More than that, she seemed to be waiting for him to make a free decision. Another burst of gunfire carried down the corridor and he decided. She was his best chance, both for escape and for what he really wanted. He nodded, and they both turned and ran. She checked each corner and crevice in the wall, shotgun in her hands, and he waited behind following every order. Nothing to be gained by pretending he was a soldier.
It didn't take long to reach the ladder. The tunnels were cramped, dark, and often unlit. A man waited there, submachine gun in hand. He watched as they approached, eyes widening when he saw Kirk. Ah, he thought, the ridiculous thin guard again. Shame he wasn't down the other end to get shot.
"Explain yourself immediately," he demanded, attempting to raise the gun but hesitating when he saw the shotgun aimed at his chest.
"We're being attacked from above, can't you tell?" she snapped, barely concealing her anger.
"By who? And why are you –?" he tried to continue before being cut off.
"Shut up and move or we're all dead. Where does this ladder lead?"
"Leads to a manhole in an alley just outside the old ironworks. We caved in all the other exits," he replied, stammering for a brief moment before regaining his composure.
She sent the guard down first; then ordered Kirk to follow. The ladder was old, built from rusty iron handles bolted to the stone walls of the passage. He reached the halfway point when the entire sewer began shaking. Dust fell from the ceiling and he had a terrible feeling the entire place would collapse in on them, but it was not so. The shaking ceased and he reached the bottom, nearly falling until the soldier steadied him. That was almost humiliating, but he let it go as Regina jumped down the last few rungs.
"Well, what a lovely place," she muttered as they continued on. As the man had said above, only one of the three passages was accessible, and it was barely standing. A dim bulb hanging from the ceiling was the only source of light, and it was so poor he found himself stumbling over loose stones. Water dripped from various places, and their shadows were cast on the curved walls as if the passage were filled with demonic beasts.
A few minutes in that foul-smelling cesspit brought them to an exit ladder, but the tunnel continued on beyond that. Regina stood back and gestured to the soldier, giving him the privilege of exiting first. Such a display of trust among allies he thought, smirking as his former captor was forced up the ladder.
A sound of water splashing from the far end reached them as the guard reached the top and opened the manhole, showering them with light. Regina pushed him up the ladder and crouched behind a column, but it was the same man from before. He collapsed in front of her breathing heavily. Even from the ladder Kirk saw the blood stain had spread from his shoulder down the entire left side of his body.
"Up now, all of you. I've set the entire foundry to detonate with the general's men inside. They've killed most of the guards already," he spat, but Regina paused and pulled him to his feet. "Twice now I've had to do this," she said, trying to sound reassuring and failing.
Still, despite the difficulty they all reached the exit alive. Edward looked at his new surroundings and saw to his surprise despite the warning that they were deep in one of Merestan's abandoned industrial zones. Thick columns of smoke rose nearby and he could smell the fire as a gust of wind blew down the alley bringing intense heat with it. Ruined, rusty factories and manufacturing complexes surrounded them; there was no obvious exit and no markings to indicate an escape route.
The soldier waved his submachine gun at them, standing at the far side of the alley. "There's a way through the munitions factory at the back, leads to another underground – "he began before a burst of gunfire ripped through his chest and he collapsed to the floor.
"Down the alley, move in and clean it out," shouted a man around the corner from the shaking body of the soldier. He dived behind a protruding brick column but didn't expect it to do much good. The injured officer collapsed on top of him and he saw he was wearing one of the same communicators the SORT team had used when capturing him. It was glowing bright blue.
He waited there, heart pounding, when he heard all he needed to know. A male voice shouted "Drop your weapon," accompanied by the sound of combat boots on brick. He looked around the side and saw two men in Alvernian uniforms pointing rifles at Regina. Her shotgun was raised, but it would do no good against the two of them.
"You behind the column, come out now or your friend's dead," he ordered, and Kirk did so. There was nothing to be gained by resistance. Still, he left Mirzin in the shadows where he lay, apparently undetected. She hesitated a moment longer as he approached but lowered the weapon until the speaker fell to the floor with a scream, a burst of bullets tearing him apart from behind. The dying guard he so despised had shot the man from the floor, a satisfied smirk on his face before he too was killed as the other man shot executed him on the spot. The soldier turned back and raised the gun again, finger on the trigger, but Kirk had had enough of being captured and treated like cattle. The man's actions showed he considered the ruined researcher no threat at all, though likely he knew who he was. He glanced over at Regina, but there was no message he could send. As he began to speak Kirk seized the rifle and pulled it into the air while he threw his full weight into the soldier. It wasn't much, and it certainly wasn't enough. The man thrust the rifle back, smashed his already damaged ribs with the stock and threw him to the floor.
His vision blurred and the pain in his chest was almost unimaginable. He held himself up on his hands and knees, barely breathing, and then vomited on the brick alley before he lost even that must strength and collapsed entirely. He was thrown back again and an incredible burst of heat washed over him as he heard a deafening gunshot followed by even more shooting in the street outside. By the time the pain subsided enough for him to look up from the floor the sky was filled with smoke and flame. The man he'd attacked was dead, his entire abdomen ripped apart by Regina's shotgun; the ground was covered in his entrails, blood running down the gaps in the pavement.
Kirk crawled up to the brick wall and leaned against it, his already disgusting clothes covered in vomit and gore. How had his life come to this? He turned his head with great difficulty and peered out the end of the alley. Regina was speaking to two men in grey clothes, vaguely military but in no uniform he recognised. Three corpses lay between them, but men were entering the alley with stretchers.
"What have we done?" gasped a voice by his side. Mirzin was leaning there, barely conscious, but his eyes were wide and fixed on the burning foundry in the distance. The officer burst into laughter, coughing up a mouthful of blood in the process. "I just killed an entire platoon of Alvernian soldiers. I just don't understand," he continued, pausing to take a deep breath, "why would they even attack us?"
Edward was in no state to answer, but he'd have liked to comment on the absurdity of asking a man who they'd been keeping in a dungeon under said facility for commentary on its fate. He expected unconsciousness to follow, never having experienced a more appropriate time for an easy exit. Of course it failed to eventuate, and he found himself placed in the uncomfortable position of watching more men in grey uniforms load him and the other man into the back of a truck.
It was an uneventful trip. The medical team operated on Mirzin's shoulder as he watched, extracting two bullets and sealing it up in the usual fashion. He was on occasion mistaken for an actual doctor, but he'd never known the first thing about medicine. The head doctor pressed a syringe into his arm and he was finally given some relief.
He awoke later in a hospital bed looking at yet another thick iron door. The walls were painted and the lights more modern, but for all its comforts it was still a cell. He sighed and let his head fall back into the pillow.
"So, not dead after all?" a voice to his right asked.
He looked over, instantly regretting his haste when he felt the spike of pain in his chest. Regina was leaning against the wall, but her uniform had vanished, replaced by a leather jacket and jeans. That in itself was a source of confusion.
"No," Kirk replied, exhaling as he pulled his head up again. "Would it be better if I were?"
She shrugged, expression relaxed in the way always adopted by people trying their best to be reassuring.
"Where am I, exactly?" he asked, too tired for anything more than bluntness.
"Another hidden little facility out in the ruins,' she replied.
"I'd gathered that. But are we on the run, are we outlaws?"
"Nobody saw us, nobody knew we were there, and officially the raid was targeting Borginian-funded insurgents. Hereson turned that one back on the colonel within minutes. I've got to admit, I don't think anyone thought he had it in him."
"Can't have been much of a public victory. How many soldiers died in that foundry?"
"Enough to piss the entire country off," she said, sitting on a metal stool next to the bed and leaning in.
"They're coming today. You need to accept what they offer," Regina murmured, making full eye contact without a hint of anything other than seriousness. "If you meant what you said back in that cell and weren't just fucking with me, I'll see what I can do, but you need to get out of here first."
He found it a tempting offer, all the sweeter coming from her. Still, the image of being little more than an indentured servant for even more military scum was no less sour, and he felt unable to answer.
There's a stain on their blue paint, he thought, eyes fixed on the back wall. When had he last seen the sun? It had to have recently; surely his imprisonment hadn't been for so long. On Ibis Island, perhaps. But all his memories of that place were of sterile halls, rooms deep under the earth, unending monitors and displays and lights. Everywhere he went the lights followed. It was a cold place. They'd built the facility in such a warm location, he knew, but that knowledge seemed incompatible with his memories.
He turned his head back to look at Regina, but she was lost in thought as well. Where was the sternness, the brutality he'd seen such a short time ago? The woman sitting before him hardly seemed the same one who'd just fired a shotgun into a man's stomach without a hint of remorse. Her expression was beyond his ability to describe, but it was undoubtedly familiar.
Finally decided, Kirk looked up at the ceiling and exhaled, drawing her attention. "I'm tired of being hunted like a beast." He was utterly exhausted. He gathered his energy despite that and pulled himself off the bed, managing at least to sit if not stand.
The door opened, sliding back into the wall with barely a sound. The man who entered was not the one he'd expected, and judging from the way Regina moved to the side of the room, hand calmly sitting near the pistol on her hip, she hadn't expected him either.
"Well, isn't this nice?" the man said as he closed the door behind him, smiling as if meeting his friends for lunch.
Neither of them responded. "Not the welcome home party I was hoping for either," he said, standing before the two of them.
"Harper? How could you possibly be here? You were sent to Ibis Island with Rick," Regina asked.
"That's Major Frank Harper, Lieutenant whoever you are. I like your red hair, very fashionable. Anyway, I assure you I've had a worse week than the two of you. Shot, nearly blown apart, and then they call me back to sort out your mess when I'm barely out of the hospital. Had to sneak into my own city through a sewer, and not the slightest bit of gratitude for it either,' Harper said, sitting in the vacant seat with a grimace.
Kirk looked at him more closely. His black hair was greying, his face angular, and his smirk was decidedly unpleasant. He couldn't have been much older than thirty. His years surrounded by officials, military men, and scum of all descriptions had given him a good insight into the personalities of those around him. This one was difficult to judge.
"Fascinating,' Regina replied, tone indicating it was anything but. "How are we doing this?"
"Hereson thinks you're dead, Doctor. There are so many burnt corpses under that old foundry that nobody can say for sure, so you're in luck. Even better, your lovely new friend here has argued on your behalf for a fairer arrangement," Harper said, grinning at the two of them. Kirk glanced over at Regina in surprise, but she ignored him in favour of watching the messenger.
Harper pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, looked over it for a moment, and shredded it. "You'll be given whatever resources we can manage to continue your work on the Third Energy. In return for support, security, financial compensation, and a guarantee that you can continue your work in peace, you'll be developing this technology solely for us. Not the Alvernian government or military as a whole, you understand." He shrugged as if it were obvious. "Of course you understand."
"That's not very specific," Kirk objected, surprised at the vagueness of the offer.
"Does it need to be? You're believed dead by the Alvernian military, but you're a wanted criminal if you're not. Borginia have some serious questions they want answered concerning the research facility you worked at and the sudden violent deaths of every employee other than you, and you have no assets to speak of otherwise," Harper replied, tone still light.
"Besides," he continued, "what other allies do you have?"
"That works both ways," Kirk replied, rearranging the bandages around his chest as he spoke.
Harper remained silent for a moment. "You're more right than you know. We'll all on the line, and that makes people desperate." He rose, the unpleasant smile already back on his face. "You'll be moved soon, but I wasn't told when. Oh, and Lieutenant, your friend gave me a message for you. But that can wait. Enjoy your day, Doctor."
And with that said he left, leaving the two of them alone again.
"That man is far too cunning. You'd do well to get rid of him before he does the same to you," Kirk muttered.
"You may be right, but neither of us is in a position to make that call,' Regina replied, heading for the door. "I'm sure you'll prove me a fool for doing this, but I've bought you your chance. Don't overestimate your value – this is the only one they're going to give you. I'll see you soon." She nodded back at him and left, the door locking behind her.
He lay back on the bed with his hands behind his head. He knew he could be eloquent, but charismatic? As Regina had alluded, his last research team despised him. If anything he said had convinced her, it was only because it played on pre-existing thoughts of her own.
Still, he considered, perhaps that was better. But if that was the case, then what were her intentions? And that man, Harper. He'd all but said that they were conspiring against both the Borginians and their own government. Had she picked up on that little detail? Not for the first time he found himself with nothing to do but wait for those with more power to return. Still, the circumstances were entirely changed, and he knew he that soon after they did he'd finally be in a position to make his own demands.