It was hard to get himself to eat again, and for sure, he could just starve until his body repaired itself. He was tempted to test just how much he could put his body through before the regenerative powers he had gained from Raizel's intervention kicked in. If it hadn't come at such a cost, Frankenstein would have already started experimenting and finding out the best way to utilise it against his enemies.

Food tasted like ashes in his mouth and even the thought of revenge was cold comfort. He ate, if only to reassure Raizel that he wasn't trying to rebel against what Raizel had done for him. A part of him wanted to, but he had crushed it as soon as he'd thought of it. Raizel wasn't a valid target to vent his frustrations.

Frankenstein cooked and cleaned, because doing housework was all he had left for himself. At least when he didn't have his memories, he spent hours poring over the scant few he did have. He would sort them, catalogue them painstakingly and obsess over little details. He had read his notes. Even for one in such a disadvantaged position, he had tried his best to survive, to resist his fate and fight what had been inevitable.

None of that mattered now.

Again, he had made too much food. More than he was willing to eat and more than what Raizel would willingly partake. He still took meals up to Raizel – for he was unable to come down with his own strength – and he watched over as Raizel ate. It was the only time he felt even a little bit of peace, and he suspected that it was why Raizel would eat whatever Frankenstein brought him. He wouldn't even refuse green vegetables right now, though Frankenstein did not have the heart to test out that theory.

He set two plates on a tray, one for himself and one for Raizel, and walked upstairs. As soon as he entered Raizel's room, his phone started to ring and he almost let go of the heavy tray in surprise. Who would call him? Who even knew his number? He placed his burden on the side table and plucked his phone from the back pocket.

It wasn't a number he had seen before, but it was at least not from outside the United Kingdom. He dithered in Raizel's room for a few more moments before excusing himself and taking the call right outside the door.

"Hello," he said, shutting the door behind him so that Raizel wouldn't be able to hear. Not that he could prevent him from finding out, but.

"Dr. F?" A familiar voice and Frankenstein found himself tensing further. He'd forgotten about these two because of all that went down. "This is M-21."

"Yes, what is it?" He asked.

"The kids, they have been kidnapped again."

Frankenstein almost dropped his phone. Oh no. "What?"

"Jake and Marie," M-21 whispered over the line. "They caught wind of our activities as they were also in the same country and they decided to clean up our mess."

Frankenstein did not know what to say. Or do, for that matter. Given his current predisposition, he did not really care if a bunch of kids got themselves kidnapped. And knowing those two, they'd certainly end up dead within a few hours. He just didn't know if Jake would shoot them or pummel them to death with his fists alone. That was the kind of man he was and Frankenstein had never liked him. Still, he shouldn't care. Immortal though he may be, he had no desire to out himself to the Organisation and lose his normal life.

What normal life, he asked himself, disgusted.

"Where are they?" He found himself saying into the speaker. There was no way he could abandon a bunch of innocent children now, could he? No matter what kind of a monster he was. He did not know what he could do for them either, but he had to try, or else he wouldn't be able to live with himself. And considering he was immortal, that would be a hell of a lot time spending loathing yourself.

Over the line M-21 told him everything.

The children came from a kind world, a gentle world where they could go to school, have friends and normal problems like exams and love troubles. Frankenstein wouldn't presume that their lives were easy, but he could at least think that they didn't have to struggle for survival like he and the other children caught by the Organisation had to. Like he had to. He would never want such a fate for someone else.

And for that purpose, he was willing to go out and do something about it.

He set everything in order and put on some nondescript clothes. He would have to take the train the London and then find the address M-21 had provided him with. He just hoped the kids wouldn't already be dead by the time he got there. The only thing left for him to do now was to slip out of the house before Raizel got the wind of this. He knew that Raizel would also want to help the children – there was no way he wouldn't. Using more powers in his condition wasn't going to do him any favours either.

He picked one of his journals and tore an empty page out of it, scribbled a hasty apology and bit his lip. He wasn't sure what Raizel would think of it. He should probably call someone to make sure that Raizel was okay. Frankenstein would return, of course, but in what state, he did not know. If he failed to save the children, he might not be ready to face Raizel. But abandoning Raizel was not a good option either. No, it was the worst possible thing to do to him.

But how could he face Raizel if he failed to save the sweet children who had been so nice to him? They hadn't known back then whether Frankenstein was involved in their kidnapping or not. And yet, they had chosen to trust them simply because.

Whatever they saw in someone as worthless as him, Frankenstein did not want to let them down.

He folded the note neatly and walked to Raizel's room, intending to slip it below the door and then leave. He hesitated only briefly, and that was enough time for the door to swing open and Raizel's pale face to peek through. There was no accusation in his face, or reproach. He just glanced at the piece of paper in Frankenstein's hand and then back up at him.

"I'll come with you."

"No," Frankenstein replied immediately. "You can't. You're –" He hadn't even been able to go back to his child form.

"I won't be a burden, I promise," Raizel said. He opened the door completely and came outside.

"Please," Frankenstein was almost begging. If that was what it took, he had no reservations about going on his knees and pleading.

"I have to go, Frankenstein." Raizel's tone was apologetic yet firm. Frankenstein could readily sympathise with the Lord now, remembering how Raizel had shot down his attempts to do Frankenstein's bidding as well.

Still.

"Should we call Ragar then?" Frankenstein gave up. He could see how much of a strain it was to simply stand up for Raizel. And yet he was determined, so Frankenstein couldn't disrespect his will. He couldn't insult him by constantly asking him to step back. Raizel had always been far too kind to everyone except himself. "For faster transportation."

Raizel nodded. Frankenstein sighed and waited as Ragar materialised from the thin air, not even bothering to make his entrance subtle. Raizel's summons had to have been urgent then. As he understood now, Ragar's speciality was speed and he was the one responsible for doing all the legwork in the realm of these beings. It was certainly handy that he could still do short-distance teleportation, even though he had given up all his other powers.

There was no need to explain anything to him either. He wasn't fussy like Gejutel. Besides, none of them would disobey Raizel's direct orders.

Raizel and he placed their hands in Ragar's and the world fell away, fading into non-existence for a few brief dizzying seconds, and then rematerialized, depositing them on the sidewalk next to their intended destination. Ragar pulled his hat down and looked at the building.

"Are you sure I should leave, Sir Raizel?" He sounded reluctant.

"Yes." But of course Raizel wouldn't wish him to use his other powers by accident and cause him pain. Ragar, too, could not argue with Raizel, nor did he try unlike Frankenstein. He simply bowed respectfully and disappeared, promising to return to pick them up later.

Frankenstein and Raizel entered the building without further discussion, each able to tell what the other was thinking, and began their rescue mission.

When Frankenstein had still been in the Organisation, he worked mostly as a chemist. He was gifted with good memory, and he'd had great luck with synthesising and discovering new kinds of poisons. He also dabbled in raising bacteria cultures and spent the rest of the time experimenting in bio-weapons. Of course, he wasn't the only one doing it. There was Dr. Crombel, Dr. Aris, and of course, Ignes. Ignes wasn't a real scientist, since her father refused to let her work on her own. He was overprotective and overindulgent, and that had led to Ignes having a warped personality. Frankenstein suspected that she was warped from the start, however, as he hadn't had that bad an impression from her father, Rocitis. He was no Urokai, after all.

Of course, now he knew that Rocitis had been one of traitors. And the fact that he'd betrayed Raizel and the Lord over Ignes.

They all worked with the Eighth Elder, under his direct supervision. Except, Frankenstein had immunity granted to him by the First Elder, so the Eighth had never been able to get his grubby paws all over Frankenstein.

Frankenstein did not know what had led to the First granting him such a reprieve. It wasn't as if he'd ever gone face to face with him, or was it a her? He had no idea.

Back then, Frankenstein did not really care. All he focused on was to make sure to stay afloat in the petty rivalries between the scientists, the attempts to sabotage each other's research and take it for their own, and then oust anyone who appeared to falter. The entire system was self-defeating and Frankenstein understood, now, why they had never made headway with things.

Frankenstein spent most of the time cooped up in his lab during the day time, and during the night, he'd go out in the training grounds and train his body. He couldn't just be on the top of his game mentally; he also needed his body in good shape in case he ever managed to escape – which he had, eventually.

The chance had come when he and an entire team of grunts was sent with him to a sleepy town on an island in the pacific. There was only indigenous population over there, with scant tourists scattered over the map. It was an ideal place, according to the Eighth to test their latest weapon. If something did happen and they all died, everything could be blamed on a sudden outbreak of disease.

Frankenstein was tasked with mixing the entire suitcase worth of vials – full of the poison he had concocted himself – into the water supply of the town. Fortunately, he knew that a lot of the people who were the original inhabitants drew their water from the river on the island, but the outsiders and people who didn't work the land, they got their water from the water supply. The Eighth had asked to poison the river itself, but Frankenstein had argued that it would require a mass production of a substance that they didn't even know would work. It was better to test the waters first, so as to speak, and then go full-scale.

The eve of their departure, Dr. Crombel came into Frankenstein's private quarters. As a rule, he had enough authority to go anywhere he wanted, but everyone knew that Frankenstein did not enjoy anyone's company. Anyone that was high up in the Organisation, and it was a point of contention often. Frankenstein always drew a sort of perverse joy in how frustrated they all felt with his position and untouchable self, as much of that had been projected by Frankenstein himself.

Frankenstein greeted Crombel perfunctorily, and continued packing his bags. All his journals were secured inside a flash drive, hung around his neck in a dainty silver chain. It once belonged to Tesamu, and well, he did not wish to dwell on that.

"F," Crombel said, leaning against the door and regarding Frankenstein with open hunger in his eyes.

Frankenstein suppressed a shudder and folded more clean laundry so he could place it inside his suitcase. "Dr. Crombel," he returned with ease.

"What a shame that you'll be gone for a while. I asked the First Elder to let you be accompanied by a good bodyguard but as usual, my request was refused." Crombel laughed a little. "I had suggested Yuri, so as to remove my influence, but he wouldn't hear of it."

"The First Elder knows that I'm perfectly capable of defending myself. Yuri works for the security detail of the other Elders, no need to bother with a lowly scientist like me."

"Frankenstein, you devalue yourself too much," Crombel said and sauntered into the room. He placed a hand on the open suitcase and smiled, knife-sharp and poisonous. "I wouldn't send you to such unimportant missions."

"I know," Frankenstein said, finally turning around to look at Crombel. "That you're next in line to become an Elder, Doctor. But I have no desire to become your lackey. I'm happy as it is."

Crombel's grin widened, losing all the humour it might have once contained. He kept it up for a several tense seconds before he tilted his head in acknowledgement and left without another word. Frankenstein closed the suitcase and sat down on his bed, exhausted. It was becoming harder and harder to keep Crombel at bay. The moment he ascended to the seat of an Elder, he would have a lot more clout. And with his cunning, Frankenstein was sure that he'd just wrestle Frankenstein out of the First's hands. He knew that Yuri possibly worked for Crombel too, though he had no proof to back it up.

There was also Dr. Aris, of course. She would have cut him open that one time had it not been for Frankenstein's well-honed reflexes. She hadn't cared for the First Elder's orders either. But she was a brilliant scientist – though Frankenstein had his doubts about that, as her mind was also scrambled by the Eighth Elder to suit his fancy often – so there wasn't much done to punish her either for playing with the First's toy.

It wasn't an active protection either in any case. The First had simply outlined his position within the scientific wing of the Organisation and left it at that. Frankenstein was mostly on his own, and while he used those words freely, he knew that sooner or later something would give.

Hence the current situation.

He flew out of the base next morning, his breakfast sitting in his room congealing untouched, and the taste of bile still lingering in his throat. He was going through the withdrawals of the drugs they kept him on and as result, every nerve inside his body screamed from pain. He'd have to take the injection after the flight to keep it going longer. He wasn't allowed to bring a bigger dose with him outside the base, and that meant he'd have to finish the job and return in three days or risk going into another set of withdrawals.

As it was, he was keeping it for the time when he wouldn't be able to bear with it anymore. He clutched desperately at the small case placed on the next seat and looked steadily out of the window. The plane was mostly empty, all the members of his team in the class below. He outranked them by far and they wouldn't dare sit in the same space as him, even though he was known to be nicer to the people on the lower rungs of Organisation's hierarchy.

He threw up twice before the plane finally landed and he was hit by the tropical heat as soon as they deplaned. At least it helped conceal the sweat beading on his brow and the clamminess of his skin. The feeling of malaise only deepened as he looked at all the people around him in the resort itself where he'd be staying. He knew he was going to be responsible for their fates in the next twenty four hours, and the knowledge sat like a heavy rock inside his gut.

Frankenstein didn't eat that day either, because the mere thought of food was making him retch. The withdrawal symptoms were getting worse and worse but he didn't want to give in and use the drug. He'd be okay then, but it would come at the expense of his mind and conscience. He knew that once he took it, his morality would be compromised. He'd do as he'd been told to do, without qualms, and certainly, in his younger days, he'd resorted to the numbing effect of the drug.

Except later when he was able to think right, he'd realised just how casually he had sacrificed hundreds – even thousands of people without remorse. He'd done it by wilfully blinding himself. So he'd always take the drug with him, only taking it once the mission was accomplished. He didn't want to forget or look away. He didn't want to forget his sins like he'd forgotten other things.

He spent his evening cooped inside his room, typing on his laptop to record the events until now and tried not to move around too much. At eleven in the night, one of his men knocked on his door and signalled him to start the mission. Frankenstein put on his clothes, hung the flash drive from his neck and went to the overhead water tank. It was perched atop a hill next to the resort and next to it was a steep fall into the jungles below.

As the men worked to unscrew the lid open, Frankenstein stared desolately out at the expanse of green treetops dark under the faint moonlight. It was hard to stand, though the stiff breeze helped dry his sweat and ground him. His mouth tasted foul. And he wondered, not for the first time, why he did this to himself. He knew why, had justified to himself, but when it all came down to it, it was tempting to take the easy way out. Who would blame Frankenstein for being weak?

Well, except for himself, that is.

Frankenstein sighed a little and opened his briefcase. The vials were arranged inside a frame to keep them intact, and he brought out three of them – about a quarter of them, that was – and cracked the fragile glass neck on the edge of the water tank. Pouring them wasn't strictly his job, but he didn't want to taint the hands of others with his sin. He was the one who had made it, so he might as well go all the way and finish the job.

They came down from the hill afterwards, and Frankenstein collapsed the moment he returned to the room, unable to take the drug as he'd planned to.

The next morning he woke to an uproar. He dragged himself to the window, groggy with sleep and weak with the constant onslaught of pain from withdrawal, and saw that the front of the hotel was littered with corpses. The experiment was a huge success. The bodies were disfigured by boils, and a fetid stench wafted from them, making Frankenstein gag even so far above. Just a few millilitres of this stuff, and the scale of devastation was beyond his comprehension.

Frankenstein sank to his knees and spent the morning with his face buried in his knees. He didn't feel sick, nor did he cry. There was only emptiness inside him where once his humanity might have dwelt. The only thing he could count as relief was that nobody had the formula for his latest invention. He'd promised to log it once he deemed it a success – and what a great achievement this was.

The relief was short-lived, he knew, because the moment he stepped back into the fold of his base, he'd be forced to log and reproduce the stuff upon demand. If he refused, he'd be forcefully drugged and made to comply, and that hadn't happened for several years already. No, he couldn't go back. He couldn't. The Organisation had started to research into bioweapons only lately, and if this thing went live, they could hold entire cities hostage if they so chose.

But where could he go also? On this isolated island with no way out without attracting the attention of other agents. Besides, how far could he go without the drug anyway? The drug. Frankenstein looked at it, feeling fury build up inside him. He snatched the tiny case and smashed it against the chair, breaking it open and the small bottle of colourless liquid fell out. It smashed upon impact with the ground and the drug spilled wantonly on the floor. Frankenstein watched it with a sick sort of fascination as he knew that he'd thrown away his only chance at oblivion, but he knew the cost. He had always known.

He couldn't stay here.

Frankenstein staggered to the door. There was one of the guards from his team stationed outside. He looked at Frankenstein in concern but Frankenstein waved him away, saying he wanted to go to the water tank to investigate. The man acquiesced, but he followed Frankenstein anyway. It didn't matter. Not now.

The breeze was even stronger today and Frankenstein stood to the side, leaning on the railings as his guard went to work, unbolting the lid and trying to open it. When he was sufficiently occupied, Frankenstein looked below, at the sheer drop and an entire sea of green. If he got lost in that, they might not be able to find him. But to get there…

"Doctor F!" The guard screamed as Frankenstein swayed on his feet, abandoning the tools in his hands to grab at Frankenstein.

But Frankenstein had already pushed his weight behind him, sliding over the railing and breaking the rusted bars under his weight. His stomach dropped as wind whipped his hair past his face. He was falling, about to die – but he would die a free man, and that was okay.