My little test subject

by flower1815

On his quest for world domination, Tord develops a serum that will turn a man into a giant, horrible monster. But after countless failures, he finally realizes what he was missing to perfect the serum formula all along; and he will help him, willingly or not. Dark and angsty Tomtord fic. WARNING: Torture, blood, foul language, and drug use; viewer discretion is advised.

9. Chapter 9

Hey guys, this is Flower1815 here, bringing you a new chapter of MLTS! I thank you guys so much for your support, appreciation and patience. I know how eager you guys are to find out the rest of the story. I was kind of busy with tests and exams. Then summer vacation hit and I thought I would have more free time to write and update a bunch of things, but I travelled to Brazil to visit my family and friends. I had to split my time between writing and spending time with people I only get to see practically twice a year; so I apologize. And my writing spirit has been diminishing a little bit. That does not mean, by any definition, that I am planning to discontinue this; MLTS means too much for me to quit now. Just, having a hard time setting my mind straight into finding the right words. But all your reviews, follows, and favourites always manage to make my day and give me strength to keep going. I am doing this for myself, but your support helps a lot to assure me that my work isn't going in vain. (cheesy, I know! :p)

Also, some of you have been asking me if Fanart is allowed. Dudes. Go crazy! Just the mere idea of someone drawing stuff based on this fic is amazing by itself. Just link me to the post so that I may see it! (And fangirl over it!)

I have many things planned for this fic. I am creating a playlist, and in the end there will be a Q&A, trivia facts, a little bit of behind the scenes, and share with you guys some of the scraped concepts for the story. I am so excited!

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter, and I'll see ya all later! ;)

A storm raged on a dark, cold night.

Lightning flashed the clouds, and thunder soon followed with a booming roar. Heavy rain poured down upon the town, and the wind howled so strongly it swept everything away in its path. The streets were empty, with a few occasional cars running up and down the road, and the light poles dimly illuminating the way. With the ravaging storm, no one dared leave the safety and comfort of their homes, especially in such late hour.

All, but one.

A solitary figure trekked along the sidewalk, soaking wet and freezing cold. Hunched over and arms crossed over his chest, shivering as the strong, cold wind blew against his soaking wet form. Most would've hurried back home in this condition. But not him. He pressed on, looking around the streets wearily.

He waited hours on end back home for his companion to cease knocking, and calling out to him through his door, just so he could leave. Now his companion was fast asleep back in their apartment, blissfully unaware of his nightly outings. At least he thinks so. They haven't seen each other since they got the news-

Another shiver racked his body and the man sneezed, nose running. Using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the snot away, he kept on going.

He peeked into dark alleyways, and looked all around the streets; as if searching for something. Weary narrowed eyes squinting against the shadows, trying to make out any shapes within. When his eyes found nothing, he decided to move on. A loud clatter of a garbage can that fell over made the man jump, startled. He peeked back into the dark alley. A shape moved around. Hope filled the man's heart.

"Tom?!"

Lightning struck again and lit up the place, revealing the mysterious shape hidden in the alleyway as a black cat with a bristling pelt. It jumped and hissed, startled by the storm. It quickly scampered away back into the shadows.

The man looked down in disappointment. Sadness and guilt consuming him.

"Oh Tom… where did you go?"

With a tired sigh, he carried on with his hopeless search.

(Meanwhile…)

The door slid open with a slight hiss, and walked in the stoic figure of the Red leader himself. His face expressionless as he entered the small, simple quarters, of his present test subject. The door slid shut behind him as he took over the scene.

Tom lied in slumber on his bed. The slow rise and fall of his chest as he snored softly indicated the deep sleep stage the Brit is under. A bit of drool seeped down from the side of his mouth, staining the pillow. Tom's usual spiky, and messy brown locks are a bigger mess than usual; containing a serious case of bedhead.

All in all, nothing too out of ordinary as of late.

It has been a couple of days since Tom passed out unexpectedly. When Patrick alerted him of what took place, Tord had felt his heart come to an abrupt stop. Despite their fight and still being angry at the Brit for openly defying him, Tord still couldn't afford to lose Tom. He is too valuable for his research; his army. His plans. And so, the Norsk had found himself racing through his base's long corridors, all the way from his office to the labs belowground, as fast as his legs could carry him, to evaluate the situation as quickly as possible.

Poor Paul. The devoted soldier tried to keep up with his pace at the time, only to come close to passing out as well.

Tord, cooled down from his earlier struggle with his test subject, but now worried and anxious for his wellbeing; quickly got to work. He checked Tom's vitals through the connection of the implanted chip and his robotic arm, but it showed nothing out of ordinary. After doing a thoroughly check-up, they came up with no definitive answers. They proposed a theory for this sudden occurrence.

Tom, from what they have observed so far, hasn't been in the greatest of conditions. Malnourished, bruised, addicted, and even more prone to violence; clearly something is up with him. They theorized that the recent events; with the whole drugging, kidnapping, testing, and… "discipline", put Tom under a lot of stress which caused his body to shut down. Makes sense, considering that since Tom arrived in the facility the only sleep he got was forcefully induced upon him. But they will just have to wait and see when he wakes up to get any proper answers.

Tord continued to stare down at Tom's sleeping form. His one-eyed gaze wavered down to his heavily, bandaged arms.

When he came in to analyse Tom's condition at the time, he was rather shocked to see the full state that he was in. Various bruises and cuts decorating the Brit's pale skin, extending from the arms to the torso. He was somewhat baffled for missing such a detail when he first removed the man's hoodie; and looking back at it now, Tom's defensive behaviour made sense at the time.

He was trying to keep them from seeing the wounds.

Tord let out a low chuckle. Tom is far too proud for his own good. Even at his lowest, the eyeless man refused to give up or show any form of weakness in front of him. His stubborn attitude surely made things interesting. Too bad it also makes his progress go at a lower rate than he would've wanted.

In his mind, things seemed a lot easier:

Kidnap Tom?

Check!

Bargain with him to become his "willing" test subject?

Check!

Experiment on him?

Unfortunately, this is the stage where their entire progress halted.

Everything was going exactly as he had planned, until they realized the malnourished state the eyeless man is in. This called for a special process, and a slow development. And now they find out he is decorated entirely out of bruises and cuts. This was the last straw. Tord wasted almost nine years working on this experiment, to fail time, and time again; at this point he can no longer afford to waste any more time.

They need results.

Tord's gaze narrowed down at Tom, still blissfully asleep in his bed.

They need the serum to be ready, now.

The door behind him hissed open once more.

The Red leader did not turn around, already knowing who it is. Patrick walked into the room, carrying a small tray which contained a special ointment, fresh bandages, and an IV bag. He barely acknowledged Tord's presence in the room as he set to work straight away. Carefully, Pat began to unwrap the bandages around Tom's arms. Tord watched the procedure in silence, deep in his thoughts.

Dam. Tom is way too out of it and unfit for the experiments. He realized, observing the process. Considering his state, we'll have to wait for a complete recovery before the serum tests can begin. Speaking of which; the thought reminded him that he needs to speak with his supplier about a new shipment of chemicals for his experiment. Good thing he already scheduled a meeting with them for this afternoon.

He snapped out of it when Tom uttered a low sigh as Patrick gently applied the ointment to his sensitive, bruised skin. But he still did not stir, flinch, or gave any indication that he might wake up. The Polish soldier carefully resumed with the treatment.

The sight reminded Tord of a small detail he forgot to ask before.

"How did the appointment go?" The Norsk spoke up. His metal hand pressed against his cheek, as his other arm supported beneath it.

Patrick just gave him a quick side-glance. "It was fine."

"Did he behave accordingly?" Tord prompted with clear interest. "I can just imagine the hard time you must've had to get this brute lunatic to ta-"

"Oh no! Quite the opposite, actually!" Patrick exclaimed, interrupting his leader's rant. "I mean, I admit that at first he refused to cooperate. But considering what he's been through, I can't really blame him." You could just make out the invisible outline of a smirk in his voice, as he shot another glance at the Norsk. "But after I complied with his demands he was much more open."

"Demands?!"

Tord stared at his soldier, utterly flabbergasted at what he has just heard. His straight posture deflated at his words. A sharp and quick pain pierced the side of his gut; it came and went by so fast he would've missed the feeling completely if it weren't for the sudden emptiness surging inside him. What is this that I am feeling? He wondered silently. The emptiness was being quickly replaced with a more familiar sensation. Anger. But why? Tord couldn't quite figure out the meaning or reason for this. Even stranger was the fact that this anger was being targeted directly at Patrick.

Tord pushed down the unneeded anger, though not without some amount of effort on his part.

"Well, I suppose the only proper way to get anything out of Thomas is by bargaining." Tord coolly commented with a shrug, trying to ignore the tingling sensation within him. "Did he reveal anything of interest to you? Any information that we might benefit from?" He waited expectantly, the uncomfortable sensation still pricking him. But his confusion grew as his excitement dwindle when Patrick had not uttered a single word in response.

Tord frowned.

"Are you purposefully ignoring me?" He prompted, a hint of warning in his voice.

"Absolutely not, sir." Pat replied, lacing new bandages over Tom's arms with careful precision. "I am just not allowed to disclose any personal information my patient entrusts me with to anyone else."

A long silence echoed in the room. The only thing remotely audible was Tom's soft snoring.

"What?"

Patrick paid him no mind. As soon as he was done changing Tom's bandages, he moved to replace the nearly empty IV bag with a new one. He is well aware of the imminent danger that loomed over him, but remained calm in the face of the situation.

Tord, on the other hand, was fuming and trying very hard to keep his proper posture and anger at bay.

"That was the terms of our agreement, sir." Patrick continued. "He shares anything he wants with me, and in return I cannot disclose anything said to you or anyone else for that matter."

Tord lost his cool now.

"Excuse me? Since when does Thomas have any sort of power in this base? I don't remember ever granting him any." He argued indignantly, casting a narrowed eyed glare in Tom's direction. "Second, I am your leader, not him. This is my facility. My base. My army! And you are supposed to obey every order I give out." He turned his glare back to Patrick, who finished placing the new IV bag in place, and calmly turned around to face him. "In fact, you have been acting out quite a lot recently. Continue with this behaviour, Patrick, and I just might demote you. Or worse."

The Polish soldier kept his face expressionless, seemingly unfazed by his leader's threat. He simply folded his arms behind his back, and kept their gazes locked. He chose his next set of words carefully. He's stepping in thin ice right now, and one wrong move could result in a lot of trouble. Trusted soldier or not, Patrick isn't foolish enough to put it past Tord when it came to his threats.

"Sir, I assure you that all my actions thus far have been for the better benefit of the red army. It may not have been what you ordered, or the way you wanted, but I'm still very much loyal." Patrick stated coolly. "As my leader, I trust your judgment. However, with all due respect, when your anger gets the better of you, your mind tends to get a little clouded and loses all reasoning." Though not directly mentioning, he was clearly referring to the most recent incident between his leader and their test subject. "What's the use in warning him not to mess with you, when you keep aggravating him?"

Tord's mouth hanged open in disbelief. "I aggravated him?" He echoed, still not grasping the concept. "He attacked me!"

"Only because you wouldn't back off him." Patrick countered. His expression softened as he let out a tired sigh. "Sir, I know you two share a history of animosity. From what you told Paul and I about your experiences prior to creating the red army, it's clear you two despise each other. We get it." He stated solemnly. "But for this to work out, we're going to need the two of you to cooperate with each other's standards. Thomas will obey as long as you give him some space and freedom; otherwise he will just continue to retaliate against you. Yes, your threat over his friends lives still poses, but when it comes down to rivalry and pure anger, reason doesn't have much space to work with." He stared at Tord with an enigmatic expression. "You know that better than anyone else, don't you sir?"

Tord clenched his teeth and straightened his jaw. God, he hated when Patrick was being a smart-ass. Especially because he was always right. No matter how angry Tord could get at him, he values his wisdom way too much to foolishly ignore it for the sake of his pride. He cast another quick side-glance at Tom, still peacefully asleep and unawares of their conversation.

"As always Pat, you're right." Tord admitted, immediately feeling his heart feeling the crushing defeat. Ouch, my pride. "I suppose i was being rather brash." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I will try to control myself around him in the future."

Patrick nodded, glad he managed to get through his leader without too much of a hassle. "By the way, sir. I thought best to remind you cause it's most likely you have forgotten it by now; that you are to leave, first thing in the morning."

"Huh? Why?"

Patrick clicked his tongue, having his assumption proved right. "Because sir, you are required to go to all of our existing bases and inspect their development. This may be your main base, but don't forget you have other ones to look after." He explained, finishing patching Tom up. He placed the palm of his hand over the Brit's forehead, feeling for fever.

Tord huffed in discontent, placing both his arms on his hips. "Well then what's the use in appointing Lieutenants to lead your multiple bases if I still have to look after them? Seems rather pointless if I say so myself."

Patrick sighed, still very much patient. "Like you said, it's your army and they are just your Lieutenants. Do you really trust them enough to lead things all on their own without your consent or knowledge?" He pointed out. "What if they're leadership skills are lacking and something goes amiss?"

"They should know better than to displease me by now, Pat." He flexed his robotic arm, bringing his organic one up to crack his own knuckles against the metal. "Otherwise I wouldn't have named them so in the first place; much less leave them in charge of my bases."

Patrick placed a wet cloth over Tom's forehead, to try and bring the fever down. Tom moaned at the contact but did nothing more than that. "Besides, with Thomas's current condition he will be out of commission for a while. So the serum experiments will definitely be put into a halt until he improves." He states, looking up at Tord. "Until then, you can be quite busy with your other army related activities while Paul and I work to set him straight."

Tord glanced at Tom, taking note of his patched bruises, bone thin figure, and pale skin. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

Patrick: 2. Tord: 0.

The polish soldier took note of his posture, and although he did not let it show openly, he did have a little smirk of victory. "Honestly sir, where would you be without Paul or I?"

Most likely dead. His mind replied dryly. Preferably in the wreckage remains of my failure.

Tord yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be heading up now." He informed, turning away to leave the room. "Notify me right away if there's a change to his condition."

"Yes, sir."

The door hisses open and he walks out of the quarters. In quick strides, Tord walks through the immense corridors of his laboratory. The shiny marble tiled floor and walls gleaming his reflection back at him wherever he goes. The cobalt blue coat of his uniform is only half-done, letting free the vision of his red hoodie underneath.

With only the heavy footsteps of his boots against the marble floor, he marched towards the elevator and went up, pressing the -4 button.

The elevator ride was quiet, despite the constant humming of the lift as it went upwards. Tord leaned back into the mirror wall surface, his hands grabbing the handles behind him with a sigh of content. His shoulders slump as the tension left him. He idly ran one of his hands through his hair, looking at the ground before his gaze fell on his prosthetic arm. A small frown made into his facial features as he continued to stare at it.

He flexed his robotic fingers.

It's been a year since the incident and the amputation, and yet, he still isn't used to the new arm. Sure, he has made a lot of improvements to it, and he certainly likes the feeling of power it brings him. He loves especially when he sees the fear in the eyes of his newer soldiers the first time they see his arm. However, it seems no matter how long it passes, the arm was still a stranger to him.

He turned his hand over.

It was… Funny. The new arm is a part of him now. But it will never be him. At least, not in the way that it was meant to be.

Tord slowly rose his hand up to touch his scarred cheek. He could feel the cold, metallic surface against his permanently damaged face. But his hand could not feel the scars and burns along his flesh. He closed his eyes; painful memories from that terrible day began to resurge.

Being rushed to the infirmary on a stretcher. Blood gushing down his arm. Paul and Patrick's panicked and horrified faces.

His doctors, practically all of them, analysed his case but it was hopeless. He had to cut it off. He already knew this was going to be the outcome. That's why he took the robotic arm from the wreckage. It doesn't take an expert to know that his arm was beyond salvageable. He went on with the procedure. Paul and Patrick assisting him with hesitance for what he was about to submit himself to.

Tord took a shaky deep breath at his next memory.

He had failed his mission. He had only one objective; to infiltrate the home, take the robot, and fly back to the base for his plans to commence. But he failed. If any of his soldiers were to fail their mission, he would punish them. He is their leader. He should be setting up an example for them. That failure isn't an option. If he can't do that, what kind of leader would he be? No. He failed his mission, and he deserves a punishment.

That's what he told himself; when he ordered his doctors to cut his arm off without giving him an anaesthetic.

Everyone was horrified by his orders. Paul and Patrick tried to plead for him to reconsider, and not put himself through the pain that he was about to subject himself to. Tord figured he already suffered the worst. He went on with it anyway.

All he remembers next was putting a cloth in his mouth to bite down, and Paul and Pat holding him down as the doctor got closer. Then there was an agonizing pain. His bloodcurdling screams muffled by the rag. Tears welled up in his eyes. Trashing around the surgical table. The horrible snap and crunch from his bone. He nearly passed out after that, as his vision blurred with the shock and blood loss. He closed his eyes for one second, and when he opened them again; his arm had already been replaced.

Sure, it wasn't the same arm back then. It was only a prototype for him to use until he could fix the one he is currently using now. But still, the memory haunts him just as much as the confrontation with his former friends.

Tord dropped his arm back to his side, releasing another sigh. The elevator ride was short, just going up one level; and yet it was feeling like an eternity.

Alas, the elevator ringed and the doors opened as he finally reached his desired level. Tord recomposed himself, pushing all his dark thoughts away, and plastered a confident smirk on his face as he strolled out.

The sight of his soldiers greeted him. They were walking through the hallways, chatting with one another; most likely heading for training. They cheerfully greeted and saluted him as he passed by, and he returned the gesture.

"Good morning, sir!"

"Morning, sir!"

"Hello, sir!"

"How's the morning, sir?"

Tord raised his head with pride, acknowledging their presence with a curt nod and a small smile. The soldiers who have been in the army the longest have grown used to their leader's presence enough to feel at ease, and still hold respect for him. The recruits always tend to cower away in their first time meeting him face to face. But overtime they grow to trust and respect his authority rather than fear it. But of course, he still occasionally makes sure to let it be known for all members in the army; his power is not to be tested. He is a just and merciful leader, but he won't hesitate to teach a lesson to those who defy him.

"Excuse me-! Red leader, sir!"

A young woman hurried over to his side, falling in step with his quick strides. The soldier wore their trademark red and blue army uniform, with her name 'Scarlett' written on the tag, huge round glasses, and she carried a couple of folders with her. Her red mahogany hair was tied in a messy bun, with two strands of hair flowing elegantly alongside her face.

Tord glanced at her with a tilt of his head, prompting her to speak. "I thought I would let you know of your schedule for today." She stated, pulling out her notebook and pen from her pockets. "Not that I am complaining about you sir, but you did leave me in a wild goose chase earlier. Looking all over the base for you!"

Tord chuckled. "My apologies, I was quite busy this morning down at the labs. You know how it is."

She pushed up her glasses, looking at him with a slight frown; clearing her throat before speaking. "Well, Commander Paul requested your presence in the training hall. He would like you to evaluate the progress of our newest batch of recruits. Then I suggest you head over to the conference room for the meeting you scheduled with the army's supplier immediately after. You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting." She advised, throwing him a narrowed glance.

Tord shrugged but nodded regardless. "Affirmative." He smiled.

"Then you have weapons inspection, scheduling the cafeteria's menu for next month…"

"Nah, clear the rest of my afternoon for me." Tord cut her off, waving his hand in a careless manner. "I'm going down to the labs again after the meeting. Have one of the lieutenants go in my place instead."

The girl groaned in exasperation. "Sir, this is the 5th time this week you ask me to clear your schedule from all your other activities." She stated. "At this rate, I'm gonna run out of things to say to the soldiers!"

"I am confident you can handle this task; otherwise I wouldn't have appointed you so." Usually it was Patrick who dealt with Tord's daily agenda. But since he was too busy looking after Tom, as well with his other duties, Tord needed another secretary and thus he appointed Scarlett for the job. She's not a soldier, although she is battle trained. She's in charge of keeping track over the army's archives, records, and files down at the library; and is infamously known for being very well organized. So clearly, she was the ideal choice for the job. Though he was quick to figure out she doesn't deal well under pressure.

Scarlett sighed, scribbling rapidly on her notepad. "Very well, sir." She bowed her head and left his side, presumably heading back to her office in the base's library.

After she left him, Tord continued down the path of the long, fancy hallways. Taking turns; left, right, going up a few flights of stairs. It would've have been easy to just take the elevator up to the level he was heading to. But Tord likes to stroll around his base whenever he could, make sure everything is in order, and admire the secret empire he so expertly constructed beneath the very foundations of his home land.

Pride swelled in his heart at the thought. His army has grown exponentially since he first founded it. The number of new recruits have diminished as time went by, but that did not bother him. His army is large enough as it is. It's only a matter of time now for the red army to rise above ground and begin their reign over the entire world. Once he finally gets his desired result with the serum experiments, only then he will put Tom to some good use. And to think, that his "former friend" is going to aid him in his quest. The notion itself made Tord immensely happy.

Before he knew it, Tord arrived in the training hall. The glass doors sliding open with a 'swush' and he strolled in. The polished floor gleamed with the reflection of the lights. Various equipments displayed on both sides. And in the centre of the room, where a large area is cushioned with blue mats, a line of soldiers is standing in a straight posture and staring straight ahead of them at the wall.

They hadn't notice their leader's presence in the room yet, due to them facing away from where he is. Not to mention the fact that they were too busy focusing on their Commander walking along the line, facing each one as he addressed them all.

"Three months ago, you came to us and joined our ranks. You have all trained very hard since then." Paul spoke, looking at each soldier as he stepped by them. "However, by no means does this give you the right to slack off. You still have a long way to go before you move up the rank from private to soldier."

He halted his movements, fully turning to face them. "We're gonna have a little test today. Remember, this may not be your final assessment yet, but I will still judge your improvement and skill just as seriously." He stated, shifting his calculating gaze over the privates.

Tord had to clasp a hand over his mouth to muffle his chuckles. Paul sure knows how to put up a good show. He watched the performance with keen interest.

"Your goal in this test is to pin me down, before I do the same to you." Paul announced, observing the trainees for a reaction out of them. They gave nothing away. He gave a curt nod of approval. "If you succeed; then congratulations! You get the highest mark. If I pin you down though, you'll fail, and I will give a score to your performance." Paul walked ahead of them, turning his back to the privates as he faced the wall with hands clasped behind his back. His steps even. "Now. Who would like to go first?"

Without the hesitation of a moment's heartbeat, one of the privates broke away from the line and rushed at Paul while he had his back turned. The dark-haired man threw a punch his way, but Paul, already experienced with training privates over the years in the army, had expected the move coming from a mile away. He side stepped at the very last second, catching the private off-guard instead of the other way around. Paul then grabbed the man's other arm, kicked out his legs to make him stumble, but before he could fall over on himself; Paul hurled him backwards clean over his head and threw him down onto the mat.

The private groaned in pain as his back slammed down hard on the cushioned floor. Paul held him down with one foot. "I like your initiative. However, that ain't gonna be enough to save your ass on a real battle." Paul commented, looking down at the man. "You have a lot to improve on. I'll give you a 2 out of 10." He pulled his foot away, letting the private up. The man quickly nodded and stepped away. "Who's next?"

A girl hurled herself at him, so fast she was barely just a blur. Paul swiped downwards, aiming for her head. She dodged at the last second, and jabbed him in the ribs and shoulder. Paul staggered back, letting out a low groan of pain before he grabbed one of the girl's arms as she went in for another jab, this time aimed for his face. He twisted her arm behind her back. In retaliation, the private kicked out with her legs against his knee, making him buckle under his own weight. He did not let go of her. Instead, he used the opportunity to switch their positions around as they fell, so that she was the one who lands on the mat instead of him.

"That's more like it!" Paul admired, brushing himself off the ground. "7 out of 10."

He was barely done with his sentence when he was jumped on by three different privates all at once. Tord shook his head, clicking his tongue. These privates were about to learn a lesson they weren't soon going to forget.

Paul made a grab for the nearest private, who had taken a hold of his arm, and was trying desperately to use his own weight to bring Paul down. The Red Army commander grabbed the private by the collar of his uniform and easily threw him off, hurling him against the other private; who had lunged at him only to get hit head-on by her own comrade. The remaining private had snuck up behind Paul and tried to take him by surprise by putting him in a headlock.

"Not bad." Paul commented with a grunt, a sly grin on his face. Suddenly he hurled backwards, slamming the back of his head against the private's face. A crunch was heard, and the private let go of Paul as he moaned in pain, and gripped his bleeding, and broken nose. However, Paul did not let up. He swiped one foot from beneath the private's feet, knocking him over; only to grab the man's arm and hurl him down against the other two knocked-out privates.

Paul spat on the ground, looking down at the pile of winded trainees with disdain. "Usually I would give a good scolding to those who try to team up to take me down." He commented, fixing his sleeves. "But you guys are barely worth the effort. 3 out of 10."

Before another private could step out of line for their turn, the sound of clapping got everyone's attention. Tord stepped out of the shadows, from where he was watching the whole thing, and made himself known. He applauded rather condescendingly. His robotic hand slowly coming down against his organic, gloved one.

"Well, well, well… That was quite the show." Red leader chuckled, approaching the group. He took in the privates looks of awe, shock, and apprehension at the sight of him. "However, I must say I am quite disappointed in the lacklustre performance of these recruits." He eyed the defeated bunch, letting his gaze waver over each one of them. They all bowed their heads and adverted their gaze away from him.

"In their defence, they had only three months of training so far and they were only shown mostly defensive moves." Paul shrugged, facing his leader. "Clearly they still have an awful lot to learn before they can become proper soldiers."

Tord grunted in agreement. "Indeed." He crossed his arms behind his back, straightening his posture as he strolled alongside the line; addressing the recruits with his authoritative figure. "I will admit. For recruits, you lot are brave to attack with no hesitation and with so little combat experience." He stated, his voice loud and clear. "But there's a fine line between bravery and recklessness. And bravery alone won't be enough to keep you alive in the battlefield." He stopped walking, and turned to face them. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder here on out. I expect nothing less than the very best of my soldiers. It's the least you can do for us, after taking you in and giving you lot a second chance. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!" The privates saluted in unison.

Tord nodded in approval. "Dismissed."

The trainees didn't need to be told twice. They immediately scampered out the room, shooting weary glances at their leader along the way; whispering quietly to one another as they did so. Tord shot them a wicked smirk and a glare their way, and they were quick to flinch and leave the room.

Tord chuckled slightly at their reaction, shaking his head. "Hmph! Amateurs…" He scoffed, turning away and facing the commander. "Well, that was a waste of my time. Why bother bringing me here to witness this unexperienced display?" He questioned, earning a half-hearted shrug in response.

"Thought you needed to lighten up a bit. You have been spending way too much time down in the labs worrying over To- I mean, test subject #1826!" Paul answered, quickly recovering from his mistake. "You used to enjoy evaluating the privates' performance and training; especially if it gave you a chance to intimidate them out of their boots. What changed?"

Tord sighed, heading out the Training hall with Paul trailing behind him. "That was in the beginning! You know? When the army was small, we barely had anything, and any shred of development had my most immediate attention." He stated genuinely, glancing back at his Commander over his shoulder as he spoke. "But 9 years is a long time to get used to it, my friend. I have seen privates training time, and time again. Unless they have any special abilities I should know about, I don't see the point of looking into their development for myself anymore; with the exception being their final assessment." He explained, a feeling of nostalgia hitting him. They may have had their struggles keeping their base a secret and afloat at the start. But it sure made all the more joyous when things were improving. Although of course he is very proud of his army, he is a busy man with a tight schedule; Tord doesn't have time to keep observing his newest members training. "I have better things to do with my time."

"Like looking after Tom?"

Tord halted abruptly in his steps, nearly making Paul bump into him. He turned his head around stiffly, and shot Paul a dry glare. The red army commander looked skittish, and laughed nervously. "Ha ha. Very funny." Red leader scoffed sarcastically.

Tord said nothing more, before resuming his travel along the base. Paul followed, breathing a quick sigh of relief. "Uh, where we going?" He asks hesitantly.

"To the conference room." Tord replied. "I'm having a meeting with the army's supplier."

Paul groaned audibly at this. "I don't like those guys! They are way too shady for my books." He complained.

Tord rolled his one visible eye. "Like them or not, we need them. They have helped us plenty in the past, and they never disappointed with my demands." He explained calmly, as if reasoning with a child. "Sure, they may be rather annoying to deal with at times. But never anything too harmful!"

"I guess."

As the two of them walked along the army base's corridors together, other soldiers spotted them along the way. They greeted them with respect, and murmured quietly to each other while shooting glances their way.

"Ey boss!"

All soldiers, including Tord himself, froze at the sound of the heavy accented voice that came from somewhere far behind them. Simultaneously, the exact same thought flickered on their minds in response to it.

Oh f#ck no.

"Sh#t."

"It's Reagan!"

Immediately, the soldiers, that were around him mere seconds ago with excitement; scattered into different directions as quickly as possible. Some of them were even pushing each other out of the way to leave faster. Tord inwardly winced and let out a long, exasperated sigh. He wished he could go with the others. But he has places to be, and a leader doesn't run away from anything. Even if it bothers him to no end.

He let out a long, resonant groan of aggravation; pinching the bridge of his nose. He braced himself for the migraine that was about to be bestowed upon him. One quick glance told him that Paul was not faring any better. His huge eyebrows are pointing down, and his face was a mixture of a permanent frown and a scowl. Whatever good mood he had with him after the assessment has completely vanished without a trace from his features.

Much like he anticipated, a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder. "Heyo! So nice to run into yah, boss!" The soldier laughed. "I've been trying to contact you for the longest time now, but you never picked up my calls!"

"Yes, well, I have been quite busy with my work Reagan." Tord muttered in disdain, finally turning around to face the obnoxious soldier.

The man in question was not much taller than Tord himself. Messy blonde hair, starkly bright green eyes, a stubble, and a seemingly permanent sh#t-eating grin always present on the Irish man's face. Reagan laughed at his comment, and placed an arm over Tord's shoulder to lean on. Tord mustered all his self-control not to push the man off.

Reagan glanced sideways and took notice of Paul's presence next to them. "Oh! Hey Paulie!~ " He greeted with a sickly-sweet voice. "How's Patty?"

Paul's fists clenched, and he glared at the Irish soldier. "Just fine!" He huffed, crossing his arms. Reagan giggled at his expression.

"Anyways, what can I help you with?" Tord questioned, taking Reagan's attention away from Paul, and back to himself. He had a feeling if Reagan kept pestering Paul, the red army commander might actually sock the officer right on the jaw. As pleasing as the notion would be, Tord doesn't want to lose the trust of his soldiers. Even ones as annoyingly irritating as Reagan.

The blonde soldier turned his gaze back Tord, with a large smile plastered on his face. "I was just looking to report the case of my latest mission, boss." He spoke, bringing himself with an air of smug confidence.

"Your partner, Officer Bennet, has already reported to me all the details of the mission." Tord answered with a lack of emotion in his voice, proceeding to shrug off the arm clinging around his shoulders and continue along his way.

Reagan did not seem bothered. "Speaking of witch, have you seen Benny-boy anywhere?" He asks, still following them. "Went off for a drink, he left without waiting, and now I can't find that son of a b#tch anywhere!"

Tord felt genuinely bad for Bennet. He is a good officer. Had given plenty of years of loyal service under the Red army. A reliable spy. He most definitely did not deserve to be paired up with Reagan. But someone had to. Reagan is wild, and out of control. Bennet is calm and reasonable; he can put Reagan in check. But Bennet can be kind of a push over with his kind nature, and he does not possess any trace of ambition or that much confidence in himself. Reagan is clever, sly, and cunning. He will use whatever means necessary to get what he wants.

Teaming up the two of them together was the obvious choice; they complement each other. However, the same thing was said about the other six soldiers Reagan had teamed up with in the past. And none of them turned out alright.

The Red leader sighed. "He gave me the mission report digitally, before personally meeting me in my office." He stated coolly. "He is currently away from any army related activities, in a 7-month licence."

Reagan blinked. "What's that mean?"

"It means, that he will be gone for seven months to care for his family and new-born child." Tord sighed patiently. Usually he wouldn't give such a long time for his soldiers, but again, Bennet was a good officer. Besides, god knows he needed a holiday break from Reagan.

Tord winced when the Irish soldier let out a loud gasp of shock. "What?! Benny-boy is married this whole time, and I never knew?" He echoed in disbelief, clinging onto Paul; who glared at him in return. "Blimme me! That sly dog! How come he never told me?!"

"Probably because he doesn't want you anywhere near his family." Paul grumbled under his breath. "Honestly, I don't blame him." If Reagan heard his comment, he paid no heed.

"Also, boss, is there any chance I can change my fake identity?" He requested, completely changing the subject. "I mean, Lenny? Seriously? That's just a plain dumb name! Doesn't exactly fit with me, you know?"

"I find it quite suitable, if I say so myself." Paul muttered.

Tord narrowed his eye. "You are in no position to make demands out of me, Reagan." He states, glancing back over his shoulder with a cold gleam in his eye. "If anything, you are lucky that I haven't thrown you out due to your delinquent behaviour."

Reagan chuckled, not the least bit intimidated by his leader's serious tone of voice. "By the way, boss, who was that creepy looking fella you ordered us to eliminate?" He asks, changing the subject yet again. "The poor bastard didn't even see what was coming to him, nor did he stand much of a chance against us. Must've been his freakish lack of eyes!"

Immediately, Tord knew who he was talking about. "That's classified information." He answered, feeling somewhat defensive on the subject. "But let's just say that he owed me one." He left it at that.

"Oohh! Cryptic!" Reagan echoed, clear interest showed in his mischievous green orbs as he fiddled with his hands. He then proceeded to laugh, clutching his sides. "Oh man, I just remembered the best part from the mission!" He wiped away a tear from his eye. "As if disposing that freak wasn't good enough by itself, delivering the news to his friends was a riot!"

Red leader's confident strides slowed down, until he was merely just walking. All noise was muted, focusing only in Reagan's voice.

"I wish I had a camera to film their reaction though. It's a real shame I didn't!" The Irish soldier went on with his retelling. Being as casual about it, as if he was merely speaking of his eventful day. "The look on their faces was priceless! We brought their hopes up, only to bring it down. Then we brought them up again, only to shatter them in a million pieces." He continued to laugh. Paul, who walked next to him, was shifting his gaze nervously back and forth between him and his leader. Dreading, but anticipating, the outburst to happen. "The guy in the green hoodie was specially devastated. He dropped his soda, and ran back inside his apartment; crying like a little baby! To be fair, the ginger guy wasn't faring any better. He was nearly bursting into tears himself when he sent us away."

"Is there anything important you might be leading up to with this information, Reagan?" Tord whipped around, and snapped through gritted teeth. His one eye blazed with fury, and Paul could see that he was barely holding his rage inside.

Reagan shrugged. "Not really. I just like to chat."

"Well, keep the details to yourself." Tord snarled, turning away with a scowl. "Unless I order it, I am not interest in them."

"Whatever you say, boss!"

Paul thought this was going to be the end of it. Reagan would take the hint, and scamper away to annoy somebody else. But this is Reagan. He never takes the hint that he might be taking it too far. And thus, he stuck around them for a little longer.

"Hey boss, I heard from some guys that the labs are off-limits." And by that, he literally means he eavesdrop on some people talking. Because no one in their right mind will ever associate themselves with him. "Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tord was drastically losing his patience. He just wanted to get to the meeting, end it, and go back to his work. Was that too much to ask?

Remembering his anger-management exercises with Pat, he took a deep breath to control himself. "Because I ordered it so."

"Does it have something to do with the secret project you have been working on for so god dam long?" He pressed on, imminent interest in his voice.

Tord gave him a long-side glare. "That's classified information."

Reagan beamed. "But if I were to be promoted a rank up, would I get access to said information?"

The Red leader stopped abruptly in his path. So that's what he is after! "Perhaps. But I don't see a reason why you should get promoted at all." He snaps, whipping around to face the man. Tord brought his robotic arm up, and began to tap into some buttons; bringing up a screen which showed a file. "In your four years of service to the Red army, you managed to break 18 out of the 26 rules. Push away all your previous designated partners. Constantly disobeys orders. Provokes fights between other soldiers. And you keep smuggling cigarettes from our canteen, time and time again; and never paid any of it." He read the file.

"Pfft! I would never!" Reagan scoffed, crossing his arms and looking away rather dramatically. "You got no proof!"

Tord smirked, tapping a few more buttons before inverting the screen. "This is footage from one of our CCTV cameras. That's you, isn't it?"

The video showed a soldier, clearly Reagan, walking by the canteen with both hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked around, checking to see if anybody was looking. He then grinned and proceeded to stuff his pockets full of cigarette packets from the stand before running off.

Reagan looked dumbfounded, while Paul snickered quietly next to them.

"That footage was tempered with." Reagan tried to argue. Tord raised one hand to silence him.

"Enough! That's proof enough to show me, that you aren't ready to become a sergeant." He turned around and walked away. Thinking he had the final word. But Reagan was not one to give up so easily.

"C'mon boss! Please! Give me a chance at least!" He practically begged, running up ahead of Tord and walking backwards as he just continued along his way. The Red leader paid no heed to him. "I am a changed man, I promise! Let me prove it to you!"

As the Officer continued to pester him, Tord felt his patience about to burst. From the corner of his vision, he spotted Paul looking upwards at the ceiling with a pleading look. He didn't need to read minds to tell that the Commander was silently praying for Reagan to go away. Tord couldn't blame him.

Reagan is… effective in the battlefield. But he can be reckless, and sometimes goes a little too far. If it weren't for other soldiers accompanying him on missions, there would never be any prisoners to interrogate. He is most definitely not to be trusted with tanks, planes, or any heavy machinery. One good trait that was evident about the man though, and really; the only reason the Irish man is still around in the first place, is his charisma and way with words.

He could manipulate people with extreme ease. In the beginning, when he first joined the army, Reagan would always charm-talk his way out of trouble. Maybe that was a bad thing to let happen. Now the man is too cocky for his own good, and is not afraid of authority. A thing Reagan is known to do as well; whenever there are new recruits in the army, he would manipulate and trick them into doing certain chores for him. That's why other soldiers are quick to advise the newbies to stay as far away from Reagan as possible, because the man is just trouble.

If only there was a way to use Reagan's abilities, benefit the army in some way, and get rid of him enough to stop bothering them-

A lightbulb lit up atop his head.

Tord halted, and a wide grin stretched along his face, as he slowly turned to face the Irish man. Paul raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion, but kept his mouth shut. He was keen to know what his leader has in mind.

"Reagan.~" Tord practically purred, as he placed his arm around the officer's shoulder. "I may have judged you too harshly, and for that, I am sorry. I think you are absolutely right in deserving a chance to prove yourself."

"Really?" Both the man in question and Paul gasped simultaneously.

Tord nodded. "I am going to give you a very especial task." He went on, words dripping with honey as he grinned through half-lidded eyes. "It shouldn't be much of a hassle for you anyways. After all, with that silver tongue of yours, this should be a walk in the park for you."

"Well, what is it?" Reagan prompted eagerly.

Tord clasped his hands over the man's shoulders, turning him so that they were facing each other. "Reagan, I want you to take part in this year's recruitment program."

"The recruitment program?"

"Yes."

Reagan was rather amazed at this sudden turn of events, though he was not complaining. Another quick look in Paul's direction, told Tord that his commander did not agree with his decision. He was shaking his head, and raised his hands; shaking them as well to signal that this may not be the greatest idea.

"Why the recruitment program though?" Reagan questioned.

"Because, I think this task will put your talents to better use for the good-will of the army." Tord explained smoothly. "Tell you what; if you can successfully find, and convince five new members into joining the army as new recruits, then I might consider promoting you to sergeant."

Reagan tapped his chin, and hummed deep in thought. "Will I get my very own private quarters?"

"Anywhere you want!" Tord nodded, still grinning widely.

"Access to the premium selection on the cafeteria menu?"

"Of course!"

"A different name for my fake ID?"

"I don't see why not?!"

"Granted access to the super-secret project down in the labs?"

Tord's whole façade nearly shattered at this; it took all his self-control to keep it up. His smile faltered for a millisecond, and his eye twitched. He resisted the urge to choke the Irish man where he stood, and continued to hold his charade. Just barely though.

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves." He chuckled forcefully. "But who knows? Anything can happen!"

Reagan smirked triumphantly. Paul, at this point, was just staring at the ground in dismay; still shaking his head.

"Alright boss, I'll take on the task." The blonde officer agreed, brushing the invisible dust off his shoulders in a stuck-up manner. "Just you wait and see; when I come back with the army's five newest members, you'll finally see the competent soldier that I truly am."

"I expect no less from you." Tord stepped back, folding his hands behind his back.

"See yah around, boss!" Reagan raised two fingers to his forehead, giving a little salute of farewell before walking away in the opposite direction.

Tord waved his robotic fingers, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth might shatter. When the blonde soldier turned the corner, and disappeared out of sight, both the red army commander and the leader breathed out a sigh of relief. Their shoulders slumped; both feeling absolutely drained from the experience.

"He's gone at last." Tord breathed, his anger slowly dissipating. He pressed a button on his robotic arm, and opened a compartment containing aspirin. He gave one pill to Paul, and one for himself.

Paul side-glanced at him in concern. "Sir, please tell me you didn't mean anything of what you said to him." He asked pleadingly.

Tord shrugged. "To be fair, most of what I said was just to get rid of him. He was getting on my nerves." He replied truthfully. "But with that said, at this point I am just giving him the benefit of the doubt."

"By putting him in the recruitment program?" Paul crossed his arms, raising one of his bushy eyebrows questioningly. "Was that really such a bright idea?"

Tord sighed tiredly. "Yeah, I know. Kind of risky, I admit." He raised one finger. "But, at least we'll be rid of him for a while until he completes his mission. And get new members for the army as a bonus!"

"I don't know sir, Reagan is very impulsive. Not to mention that the recruitment program is a very delicate operation. One wrong move on his part could jeopardize everything we build over the years!" Paul pointed out worriedly.

"Do you think I hadn't thought of that?" Tord demanded, narrowing his eye. "Yes, I am well aware of the risk. But I don't think we'll have to concern ourselves with it." He stretched his arms, re-focusing his mind to his goal and continuing along the path he was originally going. "Reagan may be plenty of things, but he is far from stupid. He knows better than to speak about the army so openly in public." He reasoned, glancing over his shoulder to see his Commander trailing behind him. "Honestly, I don't know why I haven't thought of this idea sooner. It's perfect for a person with Reagan's capabilities!"

"I don't think I quite follow…" Paul murmured in confusion, tilting his head.

"Isn't it obvious? Reagan's biggest trait, aside from his constant nagging and rather annoying personality, is his manipulation skills." Tord explained. "The recruitment program is all about sending our best socially skilled soldiers out into the world, and convince potential recruits into joining us. This is our chance to finally put Reagan to good use!"

Paul was silent, making sense of his leader's idea. "I guess that could work…" He trailed off hesitantly. "But, doesn't it take months, possibly more than a year, just to target and prey one person and convince them to join us?"

"Precisely.~" Tord smirked mischievously, chuckling under his breath.

Understanding suddenly dawned on Paul and he reared back in realization. "Oh. Oh! Sir, that was ingenious!"

"Why, thank you!" Tord laughed, giving a mock bow in return with a smug grin.

"To be honest, you should've done it sooner." Paul added, laughing slightly before his expression turned to worry once more. "But you're not seriously going to promote him if he does succeed, right?"

"A leader always keeps his word. But thankfully I only said that i might, MIGHT, consider in granting him the promotion. Never said I would indubitably! So there's that." He reasoned with a confident smirk. "But like hell am I ever going to grant him access to my project, or clearance to the lab! Last thing I need is him meddling in places that he shouldn't."

The mere idea of Reagan being involved made Tord feel noxious. As if he doesn't have enough trouble as it is with Tom alone. A drifting thought made itself known in his mind; a possibility that made his spine tingle in all the wrong ways. Tom and Reagan in the exact same room. A shudder ran down his spine at the scenario. That's a recipe for disaster, if he'd ever seen one. One pisses him off to no end, to the point of wanting to rip the hair out of his scalp. The other is Reagan.

No. Just… no.

Before he realized, they finally arrived in front of the huge double doors to the conference room. The doors so huge, it reached the ceiling.

Pushing one of the heavy doors, Tord and Paul slid inside, making sure to shut it behind them. The room was huge, yet, filled with an empty space. There were no lights, but only the flickering static of the huge screen that covered the opposite wall illuminated the room. In the centre, there is a small platform raised a few steps above the ground, and on top of it there is a throne with two control panels on either side of it's arms.

Tord walked up the steps and sat down on the tall, comfortable seat; immediately set to work, and typing the commands into the control panels. Meanwhile, Paul stepped ahead of the platform. He began to fiddle with the camera that was positioned directly in front of the throne.

"Is everything ready?" Tord questions.

Paul gave a thumbs up, flicking the camera on. "Yes, sir!

Tord nodded. Paul quickly made his way to stand by the Red leader's throne; crossing his arms and with a straight posture.

"Starting the call… Now!"

He pressed the switch, and the large screen ahead of them flickered to call sign. Tord sat back in his throne, placing both hands beneath his chin intently, as he patiently waited for his ally to pick up the call.

At last, the screen changed, as the call was finally answered.

"Ah! Red leader! It's been a while since our last negotiation."

The screen switched, and showed two men. One of them, the one who spoke; is a man with dishevelled brown hair, white shirt, and brown eyes. Standing just behind him, is his assistant. A man with dirty blonde hair, wearing a tuxedo, and one of his eyes is covered up by an eyepatch.

"Indeed it has, Mr. Bing." Tord replied smoothly.

"To what may I owe you this pleasure?" The mad director questioned, leaning back on his reclining chair. "Is it the usual order, I assume?"

Tord clasped his hands together. "It is. But that is not the only reason for this call." He announced, deciding to be direct and not beat around the bush any longer. "Along with the next shipment, I would like to request a barrel of the "purple stuff" as well."

"Oh? You're still on that silly project, boy?" Bing prompted, leaning his head against his hand rather tiredly. "Let me guess; the last barrel I sent you went down the drain along with your failed attempts?"

Tord's eye twitched in annoyance at being called a boy. Paul uttered a low growl next to him, glaring directly at the screen. But Tord made a subtle sign for him to step down, and not do anything rash.

Tord masked his irritation with an amused laugh. "I am not one to give up so easily, my friend." He stated, tapping his fingers along the arms of the throne. "And this time, I had a breakthrough in my research. I am close to my goals, and I won't stop now for anything."

"Whatever you say, Red." Bing shrugged, seemingly disinterested. "However, I don't have to remind you the cost for getting you one of those things. This chemical stuff is really hard to obtain. Especially after the incident with the plane crash, the chemical spill, and the short zombie apocalypse you managed to cause."

"I am well aware." As he spoke, Tord sent a glare towards his commander through the corner of his eye. Paul smiled and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "What is it you want in return this time, Bing?"

At that, the evil director hummed, deep in thought. "You wouldn't happen to have an anti-gravity device or a shrinking gun, would you?"

Paul and Tord exchanged an uneasy glance. "We have a prototype of a shrinking laser… But nothing like an anti-gravity device..."

(Time skip)

Darkness seemed to have consumed his vision. He's been in the dark for so long. But how long? There wasn't a sense of time in this place. Not that he could tell. It was a familiar feeling though, but not one that he was glad to welcome. Hisses and whispering voices echoed in the distance, but he couldn't make them out.

I want to get out of here!

He felt like he was eternally falling.

No. Worse.

He felt like he was drowning. It was suffocating. It's dark. His movements were sluggish and slow. The sensation was very much like he was cast into the ocean with a cinderblock chained to his ankles; dragging him down to the bottom. And no matter how much he flailed and struggled, he couldn't get free. He was stuck in the darkness, just staring upwards at absolutely nothing as if he anticipated something to come out, grab him, and pull him out of the eternal dark abyss that he has fallen into.

But he has seen this before. No one ever comes. Why should they?

After a while of struggle, he would just lean back in defeat and let himself drift further down; staring ahead of him numbly.

It's for the best, anyway.

He would simply close his eyes and drift aimlessly until this was over. Sometimes he would get flashes of events happening somewhere else. But this time, there was none of that. It was rather strange, but he was not complaining. It's a welcomed change. Now he wasn't disturbed with the guilt anymore. Despite the choking feeling, he wouldn't mind keep floating in the dark for the rest of his miserable existence.

It's what he deserves.

Unexpectedly though, the fuzzy pressure on his head began to uncurl, and the choking sensation he felt previously lifted away. He knew what it meant. He was gaining back consciousness! Dread filled the pit of his stomach. What would he find outside?

A bright bean of light flash down from above him. He refused to look. He did not want to know what awaited him on the other side. But the light began to brighten, more and more, until even with his eyes closed he felt blinded.

Tom finally opened his eyes. Slowly, and he squinted them against the bright light shining above him. He raised one hand to block out the brightness from his dark sockets. Although his vision was blurry at the start, it progressively got used to its surroundings; enough for him to realize he was in his room.

No. Not his room. His quarters in the red army base, deep underground, somewhere in Norway. That's right.

He heard a soft snore next to him. Blinking sluggishly, he turned to look and noticed the other presence in the room. The Red leader is seated in a chair next to his bed, though he wasn't conscious. His scarred cheek was pressed against his robotic palm that rested on one of the chair's arms, leaning sideways, as he slept.

Tom's breath hitched at the unexpected sight, but he was quick to slap a hand over his mouth to cease making any noise that might arouse the Norsk from his slumber. His gaze wandered his sleeping form, watching the steady rise and fall of Tord's chest. It was a rather unusual sight to see, but he had to admit that the man looked peaceful. You know, without the smug look on his face towering above his, or the one of unrelenting rage that threatened to seep the life off him; it was a good change of pace.

Too bad it only lasted a couple of seconds.

The tranquil atmosphere of the room was suddenly interrupted by a loud beeping. Tom jumped, looking around panickedly. He searched for the source of the noise, when his gaze landed on the Norsk's prosthetic arm.

His eyes widened. Mother f-

He didn't have time to finish that thought, as the beeping grew louder and Tord jolted awake. Tom grimaced, quickly shutting his eyes and willing his heartbeat to slow down enough for his breathing to reach a steady pace.

Tord panted, caught off-guard by the notification alarm coming from his arm. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He didn't mean to fall asleep. Last he remembers, he came in to check on Tom, and then-

The train of thought disbanded when Tord stiffened in realization. He checked the screen on his arm, and sure enough, it displayed a heart monitor; showing the sudden change to the usual rhythm it has kept over the past few days. It could only mean one thing.

Alert, and fully awake at this point, Tord shifted in his seat and glanced at his "supposed sleeping" test subject. "Tom?" He called out, hoping to receive an answer this time. "Tom, I know that you're awake. The chip I've implanted on you gives me direct access to your nervous system, and it's currently telling me that you are awake."

Despite already knowing his cover has been blown, Tom did not open his eyes. He doesn't want to face Tord. Not now, nor ever.

On the other hand, Tord was starting to grow impatient. He crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow expectantly while tapping one foot repeatedly as he waited for Tom to realize he wasn't fooling him.

He grinned. "Hm, must've been another glitch from my arm. This stupid thing!" He banged his prosthetic against the wall with frustration. "Oh well, I guess I was mistaken." He shrugged with a sigh, still grinning maniacally. Not that Tom could see it, anyway.

Next thing he knows, Tom hears footsteps distancing themselves away from his bed; and the familiar hiss of the door as it slides open and closes again. Tom strains to hear anything else but he is met with absolute silence.

Is he gone?

Tom takes the risk. Squinting one eye open, barely just a slit; he sees the room Tord-less. No signs of the Norsk.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He opened his eyes and sat up on his bed, running one hand through his messy locks. "That was close." He murmured. "What a weirdo! Talking to himself like that-!"

"You are not much better yourself."

Tom practically jumped on his bed, and yelped in surprise when Tord peeked out from beneath the bed. The Norsk laughed; mighty pleased with himself for causing such an effect on the eyeless man. He clutched his sides as he rose from the floor.

"You should've seen the look on your face!" Tord continued to laugh, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye.

Tom stared at him indignantly. How dare he do this to him? He huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at the Norsk as he waited for him to finish his fit of laughter. "Are you done yet?"

Tord nodded, nearly out of breath. He sighed contently before recomposing himself. "That was worth it." He kept grinning that stupid, trademark smile of his.

An awkward silence hung in the air between them as the laughter died down, and they simply stared at each other. Neither of them knowing what to say in their current position. Tom wasn't too uncomfortable though. He was still rather tired, and he just merely blinked at the man before him with a deadpanned expression; waiting for him to leave so he could be in peace at last.

Ultimately, it was Tord who broke the silence. He cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck. "So… how are you feeling?"

Tom shrugged. "Fine. But tired." He stretched out his arms above his head as he lets out a huge yawn. "Mostly tired." It was then that he was startled to realize he has wrappings on both arms. Curious, albeit rather wearily, he turned his arms to inspect the bandages so expertly wrapped around his limbs. From the tip of his finger, all the way to his shoulder. And judging by the slightly pressure applied to his abdomen, chances are, he has even more bandages.

"You were in quite a sorry state, my dear friend." Tord's voice broke him out of his personal inspection. Tom turned to glare at him. "I can't help but worry, what could've possibly been bestowed upon you to leave you such a sorry mess?" He questioned, mildly interested.

Tom did not even bother to rebuke with the usual reply for being referred to as a friend, by the Norwegian man. His shoulders slumped, not feeling particularly aggressive right now. He simply glanced away. "Just a usual night at the bar taken too far, I guess." He answered tiredly. "I got drunk around other drunk people, and it escalated from there."

The reply took Tord by surprise. He wasn't expecting such a genuine answer from him. Now, whether or not he is actually being honest is debatable. But Tord is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now, until he has some compelling evidence disproving otherwise. Or Tom admits it himself.

Tord nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Thomas, what was the last thing that you remember?" He questioned.

Tom tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"You passed out unexpectedly, and we got no clues as to why. Only mere hypothesis." He explained the situation calmly, trying to refresh the Brit's memory. "You have been asleep for nearly a week."

"A week?!" Tom gasped, bringing a hand to his forehead in disbelief. Was he gone for that long? More importantly, what did he do while he was gone?

"Can you tell us any reason as to why that happened?" Tord went on, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed; anticipating Tom's answer. He seemed to be cooperative. Maybe the other times he was merely cranky due to lack of decent sleep. Tord laughed at the notion. Whatever the case may be, he will take advantage of Tom's unexpected willingness to comply. "What was the last thing you remember, Thomas?"

"I… I remember our fight in the gym." Tord visibly winced at that. He was secretly hoping he had forgotten about that little ordeal. "Then I went to talk to Patrick… Tasty juice…" Tom subconsciously licked his lips at the memory. He wished he could take a sip of that right about now. His head stung, as he struggled to remember the rest.

"And? What else?" Tord pressed on, anxious to get any sort of information that might prove useful out of him.

Tom shook his head slightly. "I just felt really dizzy all of the sudden." He continuously rubbed his head. "A bad headache, and then… nothing." He hissed in pain, still feeling the sharp lingering remains of said headache.

Tord stood up, walking to the bedside table Tom failed to notice, that contained a cup and a jug of water. He poured water onto the cup, then settled the jug back down before he opened the compartment in his arm containing aspirin. "Here, take this." He offered to him.

Surprisingly, Tom did not question about the contents. He was just glad to have something to relieve him of the pain, and drench his sore throat. He popped the pill in his mouth and drank the entire glass in one swig.

"Better?" Tord watched him curiously.

Rather than answering, Tom just leaned forward in his bed and grabbed the jug from the bedside table before chugging it down. Tord stared at him in silent awe. The Brit nearly managed to drain the entire thing of its contents before he placed the jug back down; wiping his mouth with one hand. "Now I am."

The Norsk chuckled at his antics, shaking his head slightly as he moved to sit down again. He began to fiddle with his hands, his expression softening. "Has this happened before?" He asks.

"Sometimes." Tom rubbed his eyes in a fruitless attempt to stay awake a little longer. "But I don't know what triggers it." He paused, his face grim.

Holding his own chin, Tord hummed deep in thought. "Thomas, do you by any chance have been getting trouble sleeping?"

The Brit's empty gaze lifted, and met his. "For a while now." His voice, barely a murmur.

"Why is that?" Tord asks.

He shrugged in response. "I don't know."

Tord frowned, somewhat disappointed he wasn't getting any clear answers. Another mystery to add to the jumble. He pursed his lips, tilting his head. "Then this sudden blackout and short coma could be as we had anticipated." He deduced. "Perhaps your lack of sleep has simply been trying to keep up with you. And when your body couldn't handle it anymore; your system running on fumes just to keep working, your body shut down until you got enough energy back."

"You mean like, a computer restart system, or something?"

"Precisely like that." The Norsk nodded. "And the only way to stop it from happening, is to get plenty of rest until you are back to proper health."

"If you say so." Tom muttered, not the least bit fazed by this information. It's easier said than done.

Tord stared at him in dismay, not sure how to fix the problem. "Is it insomnia, or nightmares?"

"Nightmares." Tom answered begrudgingly, eyes closed shut.

The Red leader blinked in surprise. He actually answered him truthfully that time. Maybe Tom is finally warming up to him after all! An idea suddenly hit him, and he started to rummage through his uniform's pockets. "I have just the thing that can help you friend! Here-!" He pulled a tiny black disc out from his chest pocket.

Tom blinked as Tord placed the tiny thing on his hand. He brought up to his eye-level for a closer inspection, turning it in his fingers. He has no idea what it is. But it looks rather tasty. Tom numbly tried to take a bite of it.

"Wha-? Tom no! You're not supposed to eat it!" Quick as lightning, Tord took away the disc from Tom's hold before he could actually damage it.

The brit whined in disappointment. "It isn't? But it looks like a tiny burned cookie!" He stared at Tord's hand; the one which currently held the disc. "What is it then?"

"This, is a special device that I personally invented to help users gain a peaceful sleep, undisturbed by nightmares. I created it for my own needs, but I figure you need it more than I do." Tord explained, turning the disc around in his hand; inspecting it for any substantial damage inflicted by Tom's baby-bite. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong, thankfully. He leaned closer to Tom. "All you have to do is place the device in your ear, and then press this switch right here to activate it. Then you just go to sleep, and the device shall do its magic." He instructed, showing him exactly what he needed to do. He carefully placed the device into his ear, like so, and backed away. Tom scratched behind his ear, a little bothered by the thing; though the sensation wasn't that much different from wearing an earphone.

Another uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Red leader took a deep breath, running one hand through his own hair. Somewhat hesitant now, he cleared his throat. "Tom, I am going to be away for a while." He announced.

Tom raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Away?" Echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. "How long?"

"Hopefully, this shouldn't take more than a couple of months. But still… it will be a while." Tord murmured, glancing down at the ground. "Paul and Pat will be looking after you while I'm gone. I merely request that you behave accordingly, and be nice to them." He paused, shifting his weary gaze back to Tom. "One thing is for you to aim your anger and frustration at me, for all the sh#t I put you through; and rightfully so. But they are good people. They are only following orders, and don't deserve to be mistreated. So please don't be difficult with them." He requested, before a sad smile graced his features. "Though, something tells me you won't be nearly as stubborn with them as you are with me. You seem to get along with them far better than we ever have."

If he detected the wistful tone in his voice, Tom showed no signs. "Where you going?"

The Red leader straightened himself, fixing the collar of his uniform. "I need to check my other bases. As leader, duty always calls." He answered. "Oh. It's also best that I should warn you now before I go. Since you haven't consumed any alcohol these last few days, you will probably start feeling the effects of the withdrawal soon enough. It ain't gonna be pretty." He advised. "These next couple of weeks are going to be… hm, how do you so eloquently put it? Oh, that's right! Lame."

"Nice." Tom says sarcastically.

Tord chuckled. "But I'm sure you'll be fine. After all, you're gonna have both of my best soldiers looking after you." He reassured, though Tom wasn't entirely convinced. Tord's expression softened. He leaned forward and ruffled Tom's hair slightly. "I suppose this is goodbye for now, old friend."

A low grumble was uttered by the Brit, but he did not voice a complaint or displayed any signs of aggression at the contact. Once more, all he did was blink with a blank expression.

"See you in a few months!" Tord smiled, waving his test subject farewell as he stepped away and made his way out the room.

"Wait."

At his call, Tord halted in front of the door. He glanced back at him. "Yes?" He blinked expectantly.

Tom shifted in his bed, feeling conscious all the sudden. "I… Shucks I'm going to regret saying this, ain't i? Uhm..." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his head nervously. He sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry for the way I acted before. And ripping off your eyepatch. I don't know what came over me, but I didn't really mean to do it. You just… get on my nerves."

At this point, Tord is sure this is just a dream. He is still sound sleep on his chair, he will wake up, and see that Tom hasn't awaken; proving that this is all just a figment of his imagination. Tom is apologizing? Surely this can't be real? The only thing Tord could think to explain the weirdness of this situation, is that Tom might be suffering the effects of the withdraw, and that's why he's been so unresponsive than usual.

Subconsciously, he touched his eyepatch. "It's fine, Thomas." He reassured. He took a deep breath, remembering Patrick's words from earlier. "I am… sorry as well. I shouldn't have provoked you, and I acted immaturely for a leader." And for the second time that day, the Red leader felt his pride get wounded. He could practically see Patrick's triumphant smirk if he were to see this development.

When there was nothing more to be said between them, Tord gave him a nod of acknowledgement. The door slid open with a hiss, and the Red leader left the room with a final wave of goodbye.

Breathing a tired sigh, Tom fell back on his bed; gazing at the ceiling. Things are finally going his way it seems. Life decided to take pity on him at last, and grant him a few months free of Tord. Yeah, the withdrawal sucks. And he's still at the red army's mercy. But at least he won't see Tord's smug face anytime soon.

But he had more pressing matters to worry about. More notably, his blackout. He wasn't lying when he said that it happened before. But the thing is, it wasn't triggered by lack of sleep. The real reason is worse. Much worse. Thankfully enough, nothing seemed to have happened this time. But it's only a matter of time until the thing gains its strength back, and manages to break free one more. Tom dreads that day. All his hard work to keep it under control, and it was for absolutely nothing in the end.

He picked the tiny device from his ear and held it up to his face, twirling it in his fingers as he dived deeper into his own thoughts. Whatever happens here on out, Tom will just have to toughen up and take it. But one thing is for sure. By the end of the year, either one of two outcomes will come into fruition.

The worst-case scenario; Tord ultimately wins. He finds out all his secrets, and finally gets what he wants from him. Using him in his schemes as he sees fit. Or the best possibility; Tom becomes just another one of Tord's failed attempts, and he joins all the other fallen test subjects. He will die during the experiments. It would definitely be the better outcome out of the two. He wouldn't let Tord win. The monster will be gone forever. And he won't hurt anyone ever again. His miserable existence will finally be put to a rest. He knows it's for the best.

Dark thoughts continued to drift around in his mind. He hadn't realized it, but tears were pricking the corners of his empty sockets.

Ta-dah!

What did you guys think? Getting pretty good, huh? I hope so. So Tord is going away for a little while, but don't worry! It's just to serve as a type of time skip, because you guys don't need to see the entire process of Tom's recovery. It wastes time, and if I were to go that route, this story would be more than fricking 50 chapters long! Tord will be back, possibly in two or three chapters.

Also, what did you guys think of Reagan? Quite a jerk, am I right? Well, you will see a lot more of him, and I guarantee you; the further we go in the story, the more you'll want to punch his face in. Man, I created him and even I hate his guts. I'm so proud! If i had to describe him though, and give you a small tease for his future appearances; he is that annoying guy you had at school, or workplace who simply doesn't take the hint and never shuts up. But there is a whole lot more to it then he lets it show. Muahahah

Okay, so remember how a few chapters back I said that this chapter would be a doozy, and yet there wasn't really all that much going on here? Aside from Reagan and the Bing cameo? That's because, originally, this chapter would contain a very important scene for the subplot. But the chapter is massive by itself, and would've taken longer to finish it. Plus, there's already the scene at the start; which I guess is more of a sneak peak of things to come. Hehehe.

Anyways, I hope you guys have enjoyed it! Thank you all so much for your support, and especially for putting up with my lack of updates recently! See yah all next time! ;)