Collaboration with Glorifiedscapegoat.

Even in death, VC-17 continued to plague him.

The long hall outside Officer Rashi's office was wide and tile-floored. The lighting was muted and cool, one of the LEDs flickering where the bulb had gone bad. It made an aggravating buzzing sound that Rashi had long since gone deaf to. Somewhere not far above him, people strolled into Horizon Labs with their punch cards, logging into their computers and submitting reports to upper management in order to avoid another tax audit.

Rashi's boots echoed on the ground as he stormed toward his office. He clenched his jaw, his heart hammering in his chest like a wild bird.

After leaving the Doctor's office that afternoon, Rashi had been followed back to Section M by a young man in a solid white coat with the Horizon Lab's logo stitched into the lapel. Officer Rashi recognized him as one of the Doctor's top lab monkeys, but Rashi had never paid enough attention to him to remember his name.

The lab monkey fell into step behind Rashi, looking at his clipboard and pretending not to survey the officer's movements. Rashi narrowed his eyes and glared over his shoulder.

He wasn't an idiot. He'd been tailed before. After a VC died under "mysterious" circumstances in Section M three years ago, the Doctor had tasked a handful of agents to follow Officer Rashi and report their findings back to him.

Rashi hadn't needed to act any differently because he'd had nothing to hide. The VC's death had been a fluke, an unnatural occurrence that no one had quite been able to explain. Sudden arrhythmic death syndrome, the Doctor reported, etching it permanently into the VC's records before filing them away. A rare happening that plagued a notable 0.16 out of 100,000 people. The fact that it had happened under Officer Rashi's care had been nothing more than a strange coincidence.

This time, the lab monkey's presence made Officer Rashi uneasy and embittered. The tape holding his index and middle fingers together ached. It was bad enough he'd had to relearn how to use his right hand; to realize that he might be unable to move his middle finger, even with surgery, felt like a punch in the gut.

Frustration clenched in Rashi's stomach as he stepped into the elevator. Section M was down a few levels from the Doctor's office―where Rashi had spent the past forty-five minutes being lectured on the importance of keeping his prisoners properly nourished.

"I understand this might be a difficult position for you, Officer," the Doctor had intoned, looking as bored and distant as he always did. "But it's imperative for you to acknowledge that VC-221 is not VC-17, as much as you might wish it otherwise."

Rashi's teeth plunged into his lower lip as the lab monkey slid into the elevator beside him. It was big enough to accompany a hospital gurney―which sometimes became necessary when transporting VCs to new Sections―but Rashi felt cramped and uncomfortable as the lab monkey's brown eyes peered over at him.

"Going down?" Officer Rashi hissed.

The lab monkey's lips drew back in a blank smile. "Yes, actually. I'm heading to Section P to review the condition of one of the VCs."

I didn't fucking ask. Rashi knew it was a lie, all the same. The lab monkey had been tasked with monitoring his condition after leaving the Doctor's office.

"Hmm, indeed." Officer Rashi forced a smile on his face. His jaw ached from the force of his teeth grinding together.

He pressed the button that would guide them down to the floor where Sections M-P sat. The door squeaked closed, and then, with a gut-churning lurch, the elevator plunged down the shaft.

The lab monkey didn't say a word to him during the whole minute and a half ride, and Rashi didn't know if he preferred silence or idle chatter.

When at last the elevator door creaked open, it was a struggle for Rashi not to sprint out of the door to avoid being trapped inside with the Doctor's spy. He hung back, looking at the lab monkey in his periphery until it was too awkward to keep waiting.

The lab monkey, taking the hint, walked out of the elevator, and then, heart still hammering, Rashi followed him out into the hall.

Section M and Section P were on opposite ends of the floor. Rashi turned to head toward his own Section, and at least the lab monkey clung to his false story and turned in the direction of Section P.

Rashi ground his teeth as he stormed toward Section M. The Doctor's words bounced around his skull like a nest of pissed off hornets.

VC-221 is not VC-17.

I know that, Rashi thought, hatred bleeding his vision red and gray. Don't you think I fucking know that already?

VC-17 had been slaughtered in a cabin in the woods, too far away from the Lab for Rashi to have any satisfaction over it. It had been his right to punish that sharp-toothed bastard, and it'd been stolen away from him by a cruel twist of fate.

Officer Rashi kicked the door to his office open. It banged against the eggshell-white walls, leaving a deep gray scuff in the paint. Section M's administrative branch was due for an upgrade, but the budget was tight this year. It'd been tight for many years, their available resources bleeding into "nourishment" for the wretched things kept in their shiny, expensive cages.

Rashi had been vehemently against the upgraded cages in the past, especially since they encroached on the cosmetics budget for his office. The VCs were nothing more than animals in a zoo. The cement walls and iron bars were more than enough to keep them contained, and if they weren't, then the VCs were obviously too dangerous and should be euthanized. What was the point of wasting more money on their livelihood?

And yet...

He flexed the fingers on his right hand. The ones he could still move, anyway. VC-17 had bitten off his pinkie and ring fingers, spitting them back onto the tiled floor as Rashi pressed his hand against his chest to staunch the heavy bleeding.

The digits had been too mangled to reattach by the time the medics made their way to him. 17's serrated teeth shredded the nerves within the stumps down to jagged flaps of skin and tissue that a surgeon had needed to cut away in order to properly close the wounds.

And now, more than a decade later, VC-17's brat had bent the remainder of his fingers back to the point where his middle one might not recover. The index and middle fingers were bandaged together with tape to prevent damaging movement.

"An unnecessary injury," the Doctor had intoned, regarding Rashi's ruined hand with the same interest one might inspect a smudge of dirt.

Rashi suspected the Doctor meant the words as a reprimand for his carelessness. It made his blood boil. What else had he been expected to do? Let that whelp storm his way through Horizon Labs, leaving destruction in his wake?

He yanked his desk chair back with his left hand and flopped down in it. The wheels scraped on the ground; the right two seemed to be permanently locked, and the whole thing swung to the side when Rashi shifted too quickly. He clenched his jaw. The office equipment budget had been lowered, as well, in favor of feeding the beasts.

He surveyed the assortment of screens spread out before him. Section M was the smaller of the branches, tucked neatly in the back of the Lab's main building. Horizon Labs was built like a massive tower with a handful of smaller, white-brick buildings jutting around it. Much of the research took place in the central section of the tower, where the laboratories, testing facilities, and primary cages were kept under strict surveillance.

But Horizon Laboratories was much like an iceberg. Below the surface ran a deep chasm of hollow rooms and blast-proof walls where the more severe tests could be administered without rousing civilian suspicion. What better way to test if a VC's immunity to toxins also protected them from the effects of radioactivity? Where better to inject a venomous VC with a steroid and force them to maim their fellow VCs in order to test the limit of their poison gland's capabilities?

Officer Rashi had been in the lower levels, long ago, but Section M had become his baby, of sorts. His reward for suffering at the hands of a maniac VC who, for some unknown reason, left him alive after shredding the throat of his companion officer.

Even now, nearly two decades later, Rashi could remember the gurgling sound Shinji made when 17's sharp teeth punctured his throat. Those wicked teeth slid into the skin and muscle as if they were little more than an over-ripened tomato, severing the officer's life in a matter of moments.

A bullet wound to the shoulder hadn't been enough to quell 17's indomitable wrath. It'd only driven him further. The results of the escape that night had led to an increase in the caliber of bullets used by the security team.

The report painted a dark picture of what had occurred that fateful night. 17 took seven bullets before bleeding out. One in the stomach, two in the thighs, and four straight in the chest. He came roaring out of the cabin like the monster he was, serrated teeth flashing in the light. It was only pure luck that he hadn't managed to slaughter them that day. The Lab had learned from their mistake―keep 17 at a distance, and he was little to no threat.

The agents managed to drive him into the living room of that pathetic, patchwork cabin before punching a bullet hole straight through his heart. Rashi hadn't been there to watch the monster get taken down for good, but he'd seen the photos on the agents' phones. They'd had to be deleted to stay in accordance with Section 8, Subsection 9's protocol: All photos, videos, and various media must be permanently removed from phones and recording devices intended for personal use.

Rashi could still remember the one photo that'd stuck out the most: Agent Sugihara squatting down beside 17's pale corpse during the body retrieval, holding his head up by the hair. 17's lifeless black eyes stared at the camera screen as the photo was snapped, a harsh contrast to the massive grin painted across Sugihara's face.

Rookies. They got to have all the fun.

Rashi hadn't been permitted to join in the capture―he'd been promoted to Section M as a head administrator, and as such, was no longer cut out for fieldwork―but the retrieval team understood that 17's capture was particularly important to him.

Takaya Mirai brought him a small box the next day, grinning from ear to ear as she placed it on his desk. She'd been desperate to get in good with her supervising officers, and Rashi was no exception. He dismissed her with a wave of the hand, but Mirai had simpered and said, "Take a look, sir. I'm sure you're going to love this."

And love it Rashi had.

He glanced over at the mason jar he kept at the corner of his desk. The Doctor had taken a few of them "in the name of scientific research," but Rashi got to keep the majority.

A handful of serrated teeth, twenty in total, glinted back at him.

Rashi reached out and jabbed the jar with his finger. A couple of them still had dried blood on the gumline, where the pliers had yanked out root and tooth at the same moment. He knew they were sharp and hard as diamonds. He'd felt them in his skin, the pain so hot and sudden that his mind had gone blank. If the crazy doctor could find some way to manipulate their chemical makeup into something useful, Rashi supposed he didn't mind giving a few of them up.

He looked at the monitors. His heart blackened at the sight of the brat curled on his striped-bare cot, knees tucked to his chin and arms folded as if he could crush the nightmares away.

VC-221.

Nezumi.

VC-17 wasn't here for him to punish. Officer Rashi had hoped to trap 17 in one of these cages, across from that whore he'd snuck off with, tormenting them both for the remainder of their days. Their whelp would be sent to another Section, so far from his parents' cages that their faces would become but a distant memory.

That dream was simply that: a dream.

Rashi clenched his fingers into a tight fist. So he'd been instructed not to starve the brat. So what? There were plenty of other methods to torture his dead enemy's progeny.

The Doctor had instructed him to feed VC-221, but he hadn't forbidden oversalting the food. A scoop of Kosher salt to the bottled waters they delivered to the cage every day was small enough to go unnoticed for a time.

The water would remain off until Rashi was instructed to turn it back on. Showers were a privilege, not a right. If the brat wanted a shower so badly, he could wash his hair in the toilet bowl. At least until Rashi had it drained.

He narrowed his eyes at the camera feeding him video footage from VC-221's cell. That cocky little shit might have ratted him out to the Doctor, but there were plenty of ways to ruin his life without alerting the Doctor to his intentions.

If it was a war that piece of shit wanted, then it was a war he'd get.

⁂

"God! Do you have any idea how bad you smell?"

Nezumi narrowed his eyes at Inukashi. He sat curled in the corner, pretending to be the defeated little puppet the Lab expected him to be.

The base of his spine hurt where Officer Rashi's boot had connected with it. The jackass had all but kicked him into the room, snarling at him to "have fun" before slamming the door shut.

The officer was beginning to become unhinged―more so than usual. Nezumi no longer knew if it was a wise idea to keep pushing him.

"No shit," Nezumi spat.

"Geez!" Inukashi held their hands up. Their beady black eyes squinted at him; they were frustrated by his outburst, but also mildly concerned. Nezumi didn't have to be a mind reader to see it on their face. "What's got your panties all in a twist? Why don't you just take a shower?"

Nezumi lifted his head. In one corner of the room, there was a toilet, surrounded by a curtain for a bit of added privacy. The curtain didn't provide protection from the cameras, though. Nezumi had never wanted to hide more in his life than he did in this moment. His hair felt heavy and thick, greasy and wild in a way it'd never been. Even on the road, Nezumi had managed to wash his hair in a stream or when it rained.

"I'd love to," Nezumi snarled. "You think I like being like this?"

Inukashi reeled back.

Nezumi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. If Rashi was watching from the cameras―Of course he is, you fucking idiot. When does he ever stop watching?―then he'd revel in Nezumi's misery.

He wanted a shower. He wanted to sleep. He hadn't been able to last night. Rashi must have cranked the AC up in his cell, because goosebumps prickled his arms and legs through the rough fabric of his jumpsuit. The paper-thin blanket, pillow, and sheets had been stolen away from him, leaving Nezumi to curl into a fetal position to get even a glimmer of relief from the cool air.

He didn't look forward to another meeting with Lab Coat, but at least this time he might be able to get his blankets back. Or a shower. Lab Coat had made it clear that he wouldn't bathe his test subjects, but if Nezumi could somehow get him to understand that he wasn't on a hygiene strike, maybe he'd get a chance to wash the grime off his skin.

He wanted to focus on a new escape plan. He had to. Shion might have been gone―the thought still ached, but Nezumi's heart was too numb and dead to cry anymore―but he would want Nezumi to fight.

But it was difficult to focus on anything but the thickness of his hair and the stench radiating off his skin. His thoughts were permeated with hunger, despite the fact that he'd been receiving food from the officer (at random intervals, though), and the overwhelming sense of boredom that came with pacing his cell all day without stimulus.

His interactions with Inukashi were his only reprieve from Rashi's abuse and the boredom of his stark white cell, but even those had been limited to half an hour. Just as quickly as Rashi kicked him into the room, he yanked him out and tossed him back into his cell like a scolded housecat.

"You're probably right," Inukashi sighed. "A diva like you probably can't function without a shower at least once a day."

The jab didn't sting as much as Nezumi expected it might have a few weeks ago. In fact, it seemed almost…friendly, in nature. Not that Inukashi seemed capable of friendship.

Despite everything, Nezumi's lip quirked up at the corners.

Inukashi paced the room, giving Nezumi's corner a wide berth. Even in human form, their sense of smell was sharper than most. Nezumi had learned that a few sessions ago. He stumbled into the room, and Inukashi had reeled back, gagging at the sudden wave of odor that struck them in the face. They'd quickly put distance between the two of them, barking out, "What the fuck, man?"

Nezumi folded his arms and burrowed his face into his knees. His time with Inukashi would be coming to an end soon. Rashi had been scaling back his sessions, a minute shorter each day. It was only a matter of time before he cut out Nezumi's socializing privileges completely.

"Couldn't you just…" Inukashi waved their hand. "Ask someone to let you shower?"

"Ask someone?" Nezumi scoffed. "Ask who?"

"I don't know." They glanced up at the camera, sitting like an abusive parent in the corner.

Nezumi took the hint and supplied, :He's feeding me again, but not much. If the water gets turned back on, it'll probably be cold or something.:

"You're worried about freezing your ass off?" Inukashi snorted. "Be better than smelling like a dumpster."

Nezumi pressed his lips together. A cold shower was one thing. A frozen shower would leave him worse for wear. Especially with the AC cranked up.

Giving him hypothermia seemed right up Rashi's twisted alley.

Inukashi paced in a circle, humming to themselves as they tried to think up something. Nezumi could see the wheels in their skull working, scrambling together an idea and then quickly tossing it aside as soon as it became clear that it wouldn't work.

Using his powers made Nezumi feel strange. He hadn't tried reaching beyond what he could see right in front of him. He didn't feel like testing it just yet. If Lab Coat was keeping an eye on his ability as much as Nezumi assumed he was, then he didn't want to rouse suspicion.

Was Lab Coat interrogating the VCs within the vicinity of Nezumi's cell and trying to figure out if he'd been tampering with their thoughts? Was he working on a way to properly monitor Nezumi's mental pushes, like an audible scrambler that would chime or light up when Nezumi's mental impulses brushed past it?

The thought was unsettling.

"Look," Inukashi said after a moment. "You probably don't want to hear this―and honestly, I can't believe I'm saying this―but I think you should…" Their eyes darted to the cameras, and then they said in a hushed voice, "I think you should tell that creepy doctor what he's doing."

Nezumi gave them a piercing glare.

"I'm serious," they went on in a whispered voice. "If he's preventing you from bathing regularly, then you should say something. That's how you got him to give you food again, right?"

He didn't want to ask Lab Coat for help. Rashi might have started feeding him again, but the food was bitter and oversalted, and the water bottles shoved into his meal box were tampered with.

Nezumi closed his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. He had another session scheduled with Lab Coat in a day or two. He'd gone this long without a shower―what was a couple more days?

The door slammed open, and Nezumi jerked upright.

Inukashi bolted into the corner, the edges of their form blurring in panic. They decided not to turn into their dog form, instead choosing to remain human and ducking their head into the crook of their arm.

Officer Rashi stormed into the room with his lackeys in tow. Tsuyu followed on his heels, a look of uncertainty flickering across his face. He risked a glance over at Nezumi, but his gaze didn't linger.

The expression on Rashi's stone-cold face made Nezumi's stomach clench.

"Get up," Rashi snarled.

Nezumi uncurled himself from the floor and started to climb to his feet.

"I said, get up!" Rashi's hand darted out―his unwounded left―and snagged Nezumi by the back of the neck. His fingers dug into the loose strands of Nezumi's hair at the base of his skull and he hissed in pain as Rashi yanked him to his feet.

Tsuyu's eyes darted to his superior officer. "Uh, sir, maybe you shouldn't―"

"Shut up." Rashi's hand released Nezumi's neck.

Nezumi sucked in a loud, surprised gasp of air. A flash of pale blue flashed in front of his eyes as Rashi's hand reached for the buzz baton at his side.

"Wait!" Nezumi choked. "I haven't done anything―"

The world turned black as Rashi jammed the buzz baton forward and connected it with Nezumi's sternum.

Rashi had used the buzz baton on him without reason in the past. It wasn't new. But this time, the buzz radiated through Nezumi's body, stinging like a thousand red-hot needles embedding in his skin. His knees buckled beneath him.

Rashi plunged the buzz baton forward again, and pressed the burning tip against Nezumi's chest. It ached, drawing his strength out and dispersing it in an electric burst that danced over his skin.

Nezumi heard a shout come from somewhere off to the right, but the world around him crumpled like a piece of paper.