The hallway was white and his hands were red. Why were they red? Red red red, the colour of his Captain's hair and her lipstick and all of her life, but why on him?

His cheeks felt wet and when he touched his face, his fingers came away dotted with tears. His chest hurt but it wasn't a wound and the blood on his hands didn't belong to him. But it hurt. It was a deep throbbing ache that wet his eyes and suddenly he realized he was crying and those gasping sounds were coming from him.

Looking down at himself, he recognized his trendy sky blue Burberry coat with distinct lining. He remembered buying it right off the Autumn/Winter runway in 2019 using his phone, and his Captain had been right there with him in the front row of the show, urging him to snap it up before anyone else did.

In front of him was a sliding door, but no way to open it. He palmed his way along its frame, trying to find some sort of button, or latch, or security pad but to no avail.

Bracing his brow to the small window it housed, he tried to peer inside.

Red red red, the colour of his Captain's hair and her lipstick and all of her life; Grell Sutcliff was on the other side of the door and she was covered in red and in tears and she pressed her palm to the glass.

For some reason there was a sense of urgency and the ache in his chest stabbed sharply and he's pounding at the door desperately, calling her name and pleading for her to open the door but she won't do it, and she weeps as she tells him she won't do it and he knows, yes he knows he's going to lose her again, his Captain, his Red Captain and-

'Emergency security procedures have been activated'

"You have to go, Pup," she's crying and it kills him to see her like this, "you don't belong here. Go."

And then he's running and running through halls of white, and his hands are red and his eyes are wet and she's dying, dying, dying again and he can't do anything for her again and he knows it should be him on the other side and not her, no not his Captain, his Red Captain and-

"Ronald? You have to go, Ronald," a voice spoke gently, a hand on his shoulder to rouse him "you don't belong here. Go."

When he wakes there's not a trace of red to be found, and the face in his view wasn't weeping but familiar and kindly, and it belonged to Dr Isaac Priestland.

"We're done for today and there's another team waiting to use this space." The man explained, helping him off the examination recliner and back on his feet. "Daisy's waiting very patiently for you outside. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

"Thanks Doc." He managed a smile and a nod, taking a moment to gain his bearings before fetching his sky blue coat from the rack and making his way out of the laboratory. True to his word, the little golden retriever pup sat attentively on a chair in the hall.

"Hey Daisy," Ronald murmured, scooping her up into his arms and pressing kisses to her soft fur. "thanks for bein' such a good girl."

He's exhausted and his vision glasses over every now and then, as though he'd been out drinking but he knows he's done nothing of the sort. He wandered down what seemed like endless halls of white, letting his legs carry him down unfamiliar hallways and his surroundings grew quieter and quieter until he realized he hadn't seen another person for quite some time.

There's something that made the hair on his neck stand on end, as though his body could sense something he couldn't see, couldn't quite place, and there's a sick feeling in his stomach as he approached the white door ahead. Daisy gave a quiet whine, and he nosed her fur and hushed her.

'Is someone out there?'

There's a voice on the other side of the locked sliding door, and Ronald peered through the small window to locate its owner.

A blonde boy sat behind a wall of glass, palm pressed to it, and stared straight at him with bright, inhuman eyes.

He was faltering; she could feel his fatigue in her metal heart. Her own limbs shook from exhaustion; repairs hadn't been completed by the time she had been deployed- no one expected them to be attacked after all. He was still stubbornly resisting her requests to return to base and it was nearing three days and she was nearing the end of her tether.

"William, I can't sustain us out here for much longer," Grell tried to explain, "the Trooper wasn't at 100% capacity when we were deployed. I need to get us back or the cockpit will be breached by radiation and for pity's sake you've barely slept!"

"He was there," William rebutted sharply, "it was Agent Slingby who helped carry you back to base when you fell to that Demon." He gritted his teeth so hard Grell fancied she could hear it. "The least I can do is to bring him home. I am not returning to his family empty-handed, do you understand? The only reason you are here is because of him."

"We are getting nowhere and you can't run on rations and simulated sleep forever!" She forcefully pivoted, and the metal spider groaned with the effort. "I am taking us home."

"No, I will stay out here for as long as it takes for me to find him!" She could hear the underlying panic and desperation in his voice, and his sunken eyes were bloodshot from fatigue. "I will do this on my own, and if you want to return to base you are free to do so."

"So you brought me back only so I could lose you in return?" Grell hissed, and she had had more than enough now. "We are no use to anyone, let alone Eric and his family. We are going home and you are getting rest and I am getting repaired and then we will try again."

William stayed silent, jaw set hard, and for a moment she thought he'd kick the cockpit open and leave. He did not, much to her relief, but she could tell he wasn't happy conceding to her plans. She knew how he felt; she could see the guilt as if it were written all over his face.

Grell softened and soothed her voice.

"We will try again and we will find him."

"Ohfuck."

"Ohshit."

Those were the last two words Eric expected to hear in the afterlife. The darkness came back, and that was good with him. Dying bloody well hurt, and this was the second time he'd done it.

He couldn't recognize his surroundings, but they felt safe and familiar to him anyway. It was dusk somewhere and everywhere, the climate warm and pleasant without being humid and cloying.

This wasn't how he recalled death, and he'd know; he'd died once before already and it had been nothing but darkness and agony and the crushing depths of the Stella Maris.

It was everything but this.

When he looked to his side he found a slender young woman gazing out at the horizon, her painted black lips curved in a wistful smile.

Ohholyfuck.

He collapsed into a prostrate bow, trying to keep the tremor out of his bones. Typhon he'd butted heads with, and no high-ranked Celestial could coax a shred of respect out of him (Raph the exception since he was a big motherhen and looked after Marnie well). But her?

She giggled, and he felt soft fingers card through his hair and muss it fondly. That she would come for him in person- that she would show herself to him of all people…

"Eric. You've grown so big, little wolf."

"Lady Death." He swallowed thickly, still not daring to look up at her.

"Stand up, silly!" She laughed and helped him back on his feet and when he darted a glance at her, she simply smiled in her cheery, sweet way.

"My Lady…" What did one say to Death? "Am I- are you- is this…it?"

"The End?" She tipped her head. "No, not yet I'm afraid." Her hands, like the rest of her, looked like they'd been cast out of porcelain; her slender white fingers fit in his palms just like Charlotte's. A pang in his heart caused it to twist at the thought of his Poppet.

"It isn't your time, little wolf." She laughed, squeezing his hands. "There is much to do yet."

"What would you have me do?" Eric searched her face for any kind of clue but found nothing but her mysterious wan smile.

She raised a finger to her lips and hushed him with a wink.

"Say hello to the other pups for me, alright?" Tipping up on her toes, she cupped his face and coaxed him to lean down so she could kiss his brow. He closed his eyes and the darkness was a cloak of warmth this time, and the sweet scent of funeral lilies lulled him back to sleep.

They had royally screwed up. Oh, they were so fucked. Morties, they'd attacked Morties when the intel said that team would be Company Arkists. They grabbed the armoured body and threw him in the APC. Getting him back to the bunkers was a dicey thing, and only Ugly Fred's previous experience with Morties kept them from trying to ditch the corpse. What looked dead to them was actually in a furious state of repair, how much of the Mortie ( .) could repair itself remained to be seen.

"Noddy met that Lady Death about sixty years back, remember? Said he thought she was a shredder, but in a few days she fixed up enough to move along."

Noddy - at the extreme age of ninety - was not happy. Their cybernetics engineer called them the most sorry stupid sons of bitches ever whelped. How they ever figured out how to suck at a tit was amazing.

"Morties can't take regular implantation procedures, their bodies push 'em out. It's greymetal or nothing - we have ten kilos that cost as much as all the armour in the regiment put together."

"Let 'im croak."

"You fecking stupid bastard, do you want a lot of angry Morties finding this place?"

"… shit."

"Good and right. Bring 'im in and let me get started."