Shrieks of agony and horror split the air; ringing so loud it felt like a high pitched buzz to his ears. He could only hear the roaring blood pounding inside of him.
His actions were hazy, not yet fully registered in his brain, but they were precise and swift as he slashed through the fleeing helpless figures with ease as if they were made from paper. The surge of power coursing through his body felt great.
He felt alive, more than ever before.
As one person after another fell lifelessly to the ground, good chunks of their body missing, while others fled in terror from his massive raking claws and sharp teeth he knew this was what he had been born for. How can it not? This feels wonderful!
There was no trace of fear or a shred of remorse left within him - only a thirst for the highly addicting rush of power.
There came a moment when there was nobody left. Everything has gone eerily silent. He was left panting, surrounded by rows and rows of mutilated corpses. He bared his teeth in the beginnings of a snarl, tail lashing in disappointment. No more of that wonderful coordination of muscles, teeth, and claws? No more of the light of fear in his prey's eyes as they were about to die?
A hitched gasp broke the silence, and one of his ears swivelled back instantly.
He whipped around; claws stretched and ready to strike, only for him to freeze halfway as his gaze landed on the pair shrinking back away from him.
A brunet with brown eyes and a green hoodie, and a ginger with blue eyes and a purple hoodie.
A surge of fondness and warmth took over him at the sight of his best friends, replacing the frenzy inducing rage he felt earlier. But as he went to take a step closer and call out to them, Edd and Matt shrieked and scrambled to get away from him.
"Stay back!"
The words halted his movements. He watched them – hurt by their reaction. Then he took a better look at them. They were holding on to each other as if their life depended on it, staring at him with horror and disgust, trembling and with tears glistening in their eyes. They were terrified of him.
"T-Tom, how could you?" Edd let out a broken sob. "We trusted you! W- we live- we lived with you, and this entire time you were…you were out killing people?"
What?
No. No! He would never-!
His actions finally registered and he gazed around the piles of bodies in despair. What had he done? He never meant for this – for any of this to happen!
But it had felt good...
The bodies stared at him with blank accusatory eyes and he cowered away.
"Get out of here, Tom." His friends' voices echoed ominously. "We want nothing to do with you anymore. You're too dangerous."
That's not true! He would never hurt them!
"Well done, Thomas."
A sly voice purred behind him, turning his blood to ice. He spun around only to come face to face with Red Leader's silhouette, grinning back at him with shining red eyes.
He backed away from the figure with apprehension.
"Such a good job you've done here." The Red Leader praised, stepping closer to him. "I'm so proud of you."
Something tight and kinda heavy manifested on his neck to the point of nearly choking him, and it appeared to jingle with his movements. He looked down, horrified to discover a metal collar around his neck with the Red Army sigil branding the pendant.
A broken whimper startled him, and instinctively he whirled around with his claws outstretched and sank them into the source of the noise.
A child.
A child with spiky hair, bright yellow shirt, overalls, and dark husks for eyes was the source of the noise – staring back at him with vivid terror and despair as he clutched his stuffed bear with tears streaming from his eyes.
He watched numb with horror as warm blood welled between his claws; the pool of dark scarlet spreading wider and wider through the boy's clothes. The child spasmed, choking on his own blood, then fell limp on the ground to join the rest of the bodies with a faint whimper.
Red Leader appeared beside him. "Oh, you're a monster, no doubt about that." He rasped in his ear. "My monster."
Tom jolted awake with a strangled cry, gasping for air and in cold sweat. He automatically tried to sit up, but found that his body couldn't follow through due to the restraints holding him down. It took him a couple heartbeats to remember where he was and realize it had been just a nightmare. Tom panted, trying to calm down and blink away the tears that threatened to fall.
"My, you weren't kidding about the nightmares, huh?"
Letting out a frightened little yelp at the familiar sounding voice, Tom turned his head to the right and found Tord seated comfortably in a chair with a tablet on his lap; observing him with clear interest in his single piercing gray eye.
A wave of embarrassment flooded through Tom as he realized he'd not only succumbed to fatigue at some point during the experiments, leaving himself vulnerable for Tord to mess with to his heart's content, but he just had a near violent reaction to a nightmare in front of the Commie.
If there were a way for a person to die from embarrassment, Tom would've died right then and there.
To be fair, as hard as he tried to stay awake the entire time it was next to impossible to do so with the current schedule he has on. The whole week Tord performed various tests on him, sometimes taking him out of the lab and drag him back and forth in chains through the hallways, feed him nothing but meat, and stick him with needles Tom wasn't sure would give or take something from him, and other times Tord would bombard him with questions regarding his monster form. Things like:
"How often do you used to transform?"
"Is the transformation process painful?"
"How do you feel once you've turned?"
"Do Matt and Edd know about this?"
Questions Tom refused to reply, mostly because answering them would go against the voice's command to be silent; doesn't matter if Tord already knows about the monster secret. If Tom so much as mentions anything regarding his situation, the voice won't be happy.
But neither was Tord when he refused to answer to his questions and administered several controlled shocks as punishment. At this point, Tom was in a "pick your poison" type deal, and he chose the lesser of two evils.
Throughout the experiments Tom would slip in and out of consciousness, barely acknowledging what was going on before snapping his head back to focus and remain awake. He needed to keep an eye on Tord to make sure he doesn't do anything fishy – like hell would he trust the Commie with his body! – And he must weaken himself as much as possible for the big moment to heighten his chances of dying.
"F#ck…" Tom breathed frustratedly and slumped against his restraints, his breath coming in gasps and his heart hammering in his chest like a panicked rabbit. "How much did you see?"
Tord slowly blinked. "Of you screaming and crying in your sleep? The whole thing."
"I did what?!"
"Nah, I'm messing with you! You only whimpered and flailed around a little bit." Tord chuckled, palms out as he slowly approached to show he meant no harm. "You dozed off. Didn't think much of it since it doesn't affect the experiments, so I let you get some rest. I concluded the tests by myself and went to look at the scan results that just came back when you started whining in your sleep."
"And it didn't occur to you waking me up would be a good idea?" Tom asked, clearly irritated.
Tord shrugged. "I wanted to see just how bad these nightmares were to the point of sleep deprivation."
"In other words; you stood by and watched all in the name of science." Tom deadpanned.
The only reply he got from that remark was a smug little smirk from Tord as the Norsk walked past his line of sight. "Would you like to talk about it?"
Tom wanted to laugh at the ridiculous suggestion. "With you? Definitely not!"
It was then he took notice of a stinging sensation running through his right arm. Not painful, just uncomfortable. Looking down at his arm, Tom was shocked to find a long thin tube jutting out of a vein from his limb and guiding the blood flow all the way to a blood bag.
"What… what are you… doing to me now?" Tom asked softly, licking his lips. His mouth felt insanely dry.
A shadow suddenly loomed over him, blocking out the harsh light above. Tom tensed up as Tord returned to his side, glimpses of his nightmare still reeling through his mind. The Norsk was holding a glass of water in one hand with a long, funny swirly straw out toward him.
After a brief moment's hesitation and a few questioning glances at Tord, Tom leaned forward in his restraints and clumsily sipped at the straw.
"While searching for answers behind your strange success, we managed to get a lock on your DNA and find traces of the serum imbedded in your blood cells. We're not entirely sure why it worked with you out of all test subjects yet, but we deduced your blood might be the key to have the serum perfected at long last." Tord explained coolly. "Since it appears to match with the serum components and give off the result I've always wanted, I plan to extract your blood and use it as the new serum formula. There's something in your blood in particular that makes the difference, I just don't know what… if only I had a sample of your DNA before you'd taken the serum to test it out."
Tom pulled away from the drink, wide eyed. "Wait… you're not planning on injecting someone else with it, are you?"
Tord eyed him steadily. "No. Not for now, anyway." He responded. "There are plenty of things we gotta do with you first before we can get there. See the monster for myself is my top priority – speaking of which… do you plan on turning any time soon? You do know today is the final day before things get intense from here on out, right?"
His words chilled Tom to his core. Dread hollowed his belly, and his heart rate picked up. F#ck… this soon? He'd hardly noticed how fast time went by during the experiments. His life expectancy just turned from one week to a mere couple of hours at most, maybe. Even though he just drank water, the realization made his mouth feel parched.
"No can do, Commie." Tom retorted, struggling to hide the prickle of fear that crawled along his spine; and play along with Tord's suspicions of him being in control of his other half.
The less he knows about the truth, the better.
"Oh, c'mon Jehovah! Can't you be smart for once in your life?" A robotic finger jabbed his cheek playfully, then slithered down to trail along his jawline. Tom scowled in response. "Think about the pain you're going to put yourself through by insisting on being stubborn. I'm trying to go easy on you, I really am, but you are really trying my patience." Tord murmured, his gray eye peering down at his test subject intensely. "You're not gonna win this fight, Thomas. It's not even a fight, really – a fight would mean you stand a chance of winning – but regardless; I am getting my monster sooner or later anyway, so why don't you just put your pride aside now before the painful tests can begin?"
Tom did not reply to him at once. His muscles were tense but his expression was vacant, giving nothing away. It would be so easy to make fun of Tord, knowing what he knows. To mock him right to his face and brag about how he has no intentions of being kept alive for much longer, or how he doesn't mind the pain he's subjecting himself to with his choice.
As satisfying as getting the Commie off guard would be, it can't happen. It mustn't! The price wouldn't be worth it, and the voice could change its mind and take control of the situation. Tom dreaded the thought.
"The answer is still no."
"Then your pride is matched only by your stupidity, but suit yourself." Tord chuckled darkly. "You are an extremely cantankerous man to work with indeed, Thomas." He rolled his eye and flashed the Brit a sly toothy grin, which only widened when Tom narrowed his eyes and huffed quietly in response.
Tord suddenly clapped his hands together in excitement. "Oh yes! As I've already mentioned, the results to your scan came back and we found out some pretty interesting things… ~" He hastily turned away to gather some files he'd left by the control panels, and returned to his test subject with an enthusiastic skip in his step. "I'll start off with the good news – the blood of the victim's you've ingested over the past few years hasn't infected you in any way, so you are on the clear!"
"Sweet." Tom droned.
"On the other hand… hehe… we discovered a hidden layer of fangs hiding right beneath your gums! Take a look-see!"
He showed Tom an X-ray image of his skeleton, and sure enough, just below his teeth were rows of sharp fangs lying in wait underneath his normal set of teeth. Tom stared at the picture in bewilderment. Ten years living with this condition and he only learns about this now. Creepy; to say the least.
"Well, my body just turned ten times more terrifying than it already waauhgh-"
Tord abruptly grabbed him by his lower jaw before he could finish his sentence. His robotic fingers pried his mouth open, spread his lips apart to show off his teeth and roughly started prodding them; all the while Tom flailed around in his grip with clear discomfort.
"You really should brush your teeth more often." He heard Tord mutter out loud.
Like your teeth are any better than mine, tobacco breath! Tom wanted to counter, but his words came out as an incoherent mumble through the intruding fingers in his mouth.
"Hmm… I wonder what would happen if I were to pull out a tooth of yours? Would a fang take its place?" Tord contemplated, studying his test subject's teeth with a calculating fascination in his gaze.
His voice was so dead serious, Tom wouldn't be surprised if the Norsk were to pull out a wrench and attempts to forcefully remove a tooth from him right now. The near crazed look Tom glimpsed increasing in his single eye wasn't helping matters either, and he genuinely began to fear this scenario as a major possibility.
A knock on the lab doors drew Tord away from him, and Tom sighed in relief whilst clicking his tongue to rid of the taste of metal in his mouth.
"Enter."
The lab doors flapped open and Paul strolled in, carrying a tray of what appeared to be food in his hands. Tom brightened up at sight of the soldier. He hadn't seen him or Patrick since prior his dinner with the Commie. He fixed his eyeless gaze on him intently and craned his neck as much as he could, trying to catch the soldier's eye.
"Your meal, sir." Paul approached his leader, his voice strangely flat. His eyes trained forward the entire time.
Tord heaved a sigh. "Just place it down somewhere, thank you."
With a polite dip of his head Paul did as he was told, setting the tray down on the nearest table. For a brief second, there was a moment when Tom was sure Paul would turn to look at him; hoping for some sign of reassurance from the soldier in such bleak times. But the bushy-eye browed soldier turned away without a second thought, and promptly left the room without so much as a glance at him.
Tom watched the lab doors swing shut with anguish.
He… he didn't even acknowledge I was here…
"Why should he? ~" The voice hissed, digging sharp digits into his skull and pressed his head down harder on the table. "Tord most likely informed them both about the monster and what you've done. No one in sane consciousness would want to associate themselves with the likes of you after learning a thing like that! ~"
Tom's heart lurched, knowing that's most likely the case.
Oh… that's okay… I understand. I wouldn't stick around me either if I had the choice. He tried to think dismissively; hoping to stop the pang of hurt welling up inside of him from bursting out into the open. It's better this way. Less people to care about, and I won't stick around for much longer, anyway...
"They don't care about you. They never cared about you. Nobody does. ~" Malicious claws curled around his heart and squeezed tightly, driving all breath out of him and sending spikes of blazing cold jolts agonizingly through his entire body. "It was all an act and you fell for it! ~"
Tom stifled the cry of pain rising in his throat into a low whine. He was so consumed by numb misery he barely acknowledged the Norwegian man back at his side, towering over him.
"Aside from your interesting extra set of teeth, no other anomalies were detected on your anatomy." Tord broke the silence that had settled between them during Paul's brief visit, continuing from where they'd stopped. "A bit disappointing, but I guess that was to be expected. You'll be glad to know your liver is in good condition despite your excessive drinking, though..."
He trailed off once he noticed the distant expression upon his test subject's face. Tord regarded him curiously with a tilt of his head.
Of course, it's not like he'd been expecting Tom to show immense interest in his work, but some investment would be nice! Especially since Tord doesn't have anyone else to share his exciting discoveries with at this current time. When he informed his two most trusted soldiers the truth about Tom's condition, his sentence, and the beginning of the experiments – they hadn't responded well.
Paul pleaded for him to reconsider his choice, stating that Tom must've had his reasons for keeping things from them and this shouldn't be enough to warrant this type of treatment – to which Tord argued is a far tamer punishment compared to what he would usually do. But out of the two, Patrick had it worse. Paul at least tried to be sensible with his suggestions and respect his authority as leader. Pat just threw all reason out the window and outright questioned his judgment. He'd claimed Tom was not mentally stable for the experiments and that they should proceed with caution, not treat him like "a lab rat" as he kindly put it.
Their reactions were… baffling, to say the least.
Tord knew the two soldiers had grown a bond with the test subject in his absence, but he didn't think that would be enough to cloud their common sense. They knew from the very beginning what was to become of Tom – sooner or later, the experiments had to happen; and Tom's secrecy was an offence Tord couldn't blatantly ignore either!
Dismissing their arguments and quickly reminding them of their loyalty, Tord remained adamant on his decision. However, this was perhaps the closest instance he's ever gotten to demoting Patrick for his misconduct. But he kept his cool, telling himself Pat is just being sensitive as he usually is; so he merely let them go with a warning and forbade them from interacting with Tom throughout the experiments.
Now they were in rocky terms with each other, and Tord found himself with no one to share his discoveries with other than Tom's less than willing ear.
He draped his robotic arm across the eyeless man's chest, snaked it around his neck all the way to his cheek, and turned Tom's head toward him so that they were facing each other.
"Something troubles you, min gamle venn?" Tord whispered inquisitively.
Tom stared back at him, clueless as to what the second part of that sentence means. "Let me think…" He faked contemplation. "I've been tied up on this wretched table for an entire week, staring at the ceiling, unable to shower or rest properly, and with only your ugly mug around to talk with." And I'm dying… but I'm supposed to be glad about that. "I believe anyone would be miserable in my place, so apologies if I'm not exactly talkative right now."
Shrugging, Tord shot him an apologetic grin. "Well, you wouldn't be in this situation if you had been open with us from the start."
"Yeah yeah, my fault – it's always my fault; because when are you ever in the wrong?" Finding fragments of anger sparking inside of him, Tom reached out to hold on to it to avoid the numbing coldness that threatened to engulf him otherwise.
Feeling something, no matter how negative it is, is always better than feeling nothing at all.
"Say, doc, what's stopping you from cutting me open right here right now, huh?" Tom provoked, frustration turning him reckless. "If you're so damn curious about me and insistent on getting your monster, why not just cut to the chase?"
Pulling his hand away, Tord frowned down at him. "In time. But not yet." He narrowed his eye. "There are plenty of other tests we must perform first, and any of them have a chance of getting you to shift; plus, I would rather avoid the dissection outcome as much as possible. Far too many risks." Then more firmly, he added: "But make no mistake, if you refuse to transform by then, I will have no choice but to go through with it."
Tom snickered mockingly. "Look at you! Being so cautious and know-it-all about every little thing! Your mom must be really f#cking proud of you, huh Commie?" He went on. "Though I guess holiday dinners must be pretty awkward, huh? I mean, what do you even say you do for a living? I don't think she would take world domination very well-"
"My mother is dead."
An uncomfortable silence fell in the lab, broken only by the occasional beep from the control panels and the continuously mechanical thrum ever present in the background. Tord's facial expression was stone cold, devoid of emotion as he stared his test subject down.
Tom stared back at the Norsk unmoved. "What? Shot her with a giant robot, too?"
Back arching and hissing in agony, electricity shot up through his veins suddenly as a controlled shock was administered. Writhing on the table, Tom was vaguely aware of movement flashing past him through the corner of his eye as Tord turned away from him. So he might've gone a little too far with that comment, but at this point, Tom couldn't help himself. The ire radiating through him was all he had left to hold on to.
The current faded out, leaving Tom weak and breathless in his restraints as he panted for air. With effort in his sore limbs, he craned his neck as far as it could go to track Tord's position.
"She died of stress, if you can believe it." The Norwegian man spoke so softly it was hard to hear him above Tom's own heavy breathing, but there was a clear hint of bitterness in his voice. On closer look, his shoulders were sagged with his back turned toward Tom as he stared at the far wall across from him. "About a year ago, maybe."
Looking at him through new eyes, Tom barely noticed the rage he had been holding on to fade away as if it had slipped right through his fingers.
So his mother is dead, whoop-de-do! Big deal! Tom thought irritably, even though he couldn't exactly feel anything right now. A bunch of people lose their parents at some point; this doesn't exactly make them deserving of sympathy! However, despite thinking like that he knew his common sense would win over. Tom is not a jerk and doesn't want to be remembered as a one in the last few hours before his death. Besides, he knew how much of a delicate topic this is.
From what he can remember from their childhood, Tord's mom was barely around – if at all. Tom only glimpsed her perhaps twice the entire time he'd been friends with Tord, and both times lasted less than five minutes. Despite Tord living with her, their relationship had been non-existent with her time being mostly occupied by her job, and thus resulting in Tord becoming independent right from a very early age.
Tord's whole family situation was complicated, really.
Feeling like sh#t now that he remembers what a serious issue this was to the Norsk, Tom swallowed his pride and looked up at him.
"Okay, look, that was a low blow on my part; I'm sorry." He apologized between breaths. Then he paused, his tone softening. "And I'm sorry about your mom. I didn't-"
"It's fine." Tord cut him off, still not facing him. "Really, it's okay. I don't mind." His voice had grown tight, as if he didn't want to think about the woman who had mothered him – the neglectful woman who had always placed her career as first priority over her own son's wellbeing. "It's better off this way, anyway. I meant nothing to her, and she meant nothing to me. Simple as that."
The eyeless man was silent for a while, his dark husks for eyes digging holes into Tord's back as he stared at him deep in thought. He looks so vulnerable. So… human.
How can this be the same guy that, not even ten minutes ago, threatened to pull off one of his teeth?
A calm wave of anguish suddenly flooded through him as an awful realization struck him. Tom had always imagined he would have a chance to tell the people closest to him his real thoughts once a date for his end was set. And why not? After all, with little to no regard for his own life anymore he might as well just come clean and go out with a clear conscience.
But Edd and Matt are not here… and they already believe I'm dead. Tom realized with a sinking feeling of dread. And Paul and Pat… I guess they don't care about me after all. But I still wish for the four of them to be happy once this whole mess is over.
Ironically, the only other person left Tom has unfinished business with is none other than Tord himself.
A faint flare of resentment threatened to rise up again, however his thoughts deflated in defeat. I'm dying, and whether I like it or not Commie is the only one left. Tom closed his eyes and heaved a long-suffering sigh. There's no more room for resentment. If I'm going to go down in peace, then I should be honest with him.
"Just not too honest, worm. ~" The voice chimed in warningly. "Be very careful in what you say next. If you so much as give him a hint of our plans, I won't hesitate to dissect you myself! ~"
There won't be another opportunity to talk to him. Ignoring the entity in his head, Tom inhaled slowly through his nose and opened his eyes. Tord hadn't moved away from his spot.
Tom ran his tongue across his dry lips. Here goes nothing.
"You're a piece of sh#t, Commie."
Off to a great start. Tom inwardly cringed. He thought if he could just blurt out the first thing that came to mind, he would instantly know where to go from there. But how do you recover from that?
He wouldn't be surprised if another controlled shock is administered in his system for that. However, nothing happened. Risking a quick glance at the Norsk, he realized that Tord hadn't moved an inch from his spot. He wasn't even facing him. The only indication Tom could see that he was even listening was the slightest bare hint of his head tipped to one side.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Tom continued. "You are an annoying prick who thinks way too highly of himself and doesn't know when to stop. You have no common sense. You're selfish, and a God awful friend, and sometimes I wish I never met you."
"Thank you, Thomas." Tord broke in, his voice dry and sarcastic. "I never would've imagined that's how you really feel towards me-"
"Be quiet, I'm not finished." Tom snapped. He knew he was treading in dangerous territory by talking back, but nothing can hold him back from speaking his mind now. "I honest to God hope you succeed in your efforts of taking over the world. I really do. Just so when you finally reach where you want to be, you look around yourself and see how many people you have left standing by your side."
There came a brief pause.
Tom swallowed. He knew what he had to say, though the words stuck in his throat like a stubborn piece of disgusting red meat. Somewhere in the back of his mind, whatever was left of his pride to keep resenting Tord, urged him to stop right there and go no further. But none of that mattered. His pride and stupid rivalry will amount to nothing at the end. It's all meaningless compared to the massive weight of the burden he carries. He won't submit and give Tord the monster he wants. But he needs to let go of his headstrong contempt and talk while he still can.
"But with that said... I haven't forgotten the few good moments we had."
At last, Tord turned to glance back at him; surprise flickering in his one working eye. Clearly he hadn't been expecting to hear those words out of Tom.
Tom stared back at him, his anger starting to ebb into some kind of deep sadness and regret. "Despite everything, it's not as easy as you think it is to hate you. Maybe it's because I know what you're like when you're happy. Maybe it's because I can remember the last time you laughed and cried and actually seemed human, and not this... fearsome leader who plots and schemes the best way to execute thousands of lives. Sometimes I wish things were different between us." He went on quietly, still unsure of what to say and trying to find the right words to express himself while not giving away too much.
Still gathering his thoughts, he hardly dared to breathe as Tord drew closer and appeared to study him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Looming over Tom now, he gave him an especially long scrutiny. Tom tried to meet the staring gray eye, wondering uneasily what was going on through the Norsk's head and when would he start mocking him for his silly words, right before punishing him.
However, his worries evaporated the instant Tord placed the palm of his hand over the eyeless man's forehead to check his temperature.
Tom frowned. He seriously believes I'm getting ill? He would've laughed at the naivety; but to be fair, if their roles were reversed and Tord started telling him how he may or may not hate him as much as he claimed to, then Tom would probably think there was something wrong with him, rolled his non-existent eyes. Fine. Whatever. I can work with this.
He sighed. "It's a real damn shame you turned out this way, what with all your "brilliant genius" being wasted on less than moral plans. But I know that ship has long since sailed, so I'm not gonna bother anymore."
Tord looked down at his robotic arm and opened up the data displaying all information on Tom's condition. There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with him. Did he take too much blood from him?
"I don't forgive you for any of the things you've done, though – not even for a second!" Tom continued more firmly, but still holding the air of melancholy to his words. "But I- I'm- I am-" he choked, recomposed, and tried again. "I'm sorry for the damage I caused you. The arm… your face. I'm relieved you're alive, even if you are a major dick. Don't get me wrong; I don't regret what I did. You deserved it. For destroying our home, and betraying Edd and Matt – hurting them,"
and me.
"Don't be selfish. This isn't about you! ~"
"I couldn't let you get away with that. I had to make you pay. I had to… protect my friends, and make sure they were safe."
I should've never survived that day. Tom lamented. If I had died then, so many things could've been avoided, and I wouldn't be here struggling with having to do it myself. But I had to make sure Edd and Matt would be fine without me before I left…
"So what I'm trying to say is; I'm sorry for nearly killing you, but I don't regret what I did."
There was still so much left unsaid. Tom yearned to tell him how he truly felt; about their deteriorated friendship, all the unfinished business between them, where and how everything went wrong, and why neither of them bothered trying to fix it. But Tom knew if he tried to go down this path he wouldn't be able to hold back the tears that already threatened to fall just thinking about the end. Besides, Tord wouldn't take him seriously, and even if he did the voice is strangling him enough as it is and wouldn't be pleased to see him acting "out of character". He'd learned the hard way that some things were best kept secret.
If only he could write a note to let Tord know, after he was long gone. Then he wouldn't have to worry about being made fun of or risk his schemes being stopped.
Tord stared down at him, unsure how to take in all that's been said. He held Tom's gaze steadily. "Thank you for your honesty, Thomas." He dipped his head in acknowledgment. His head was reeling in confusion. What was that all about? An apology? A confession? And why? Tom was getting stranger and stranger with every passing experiment. Tord hoped this was a sign that he was due to transform soon. He brushed these questions aside for now, and cleared his throat. "Do you feel lightheaded by any chance, Thomas?"
"Now that you mentioned; yeah, I do." Tom lied, going along with the ruse of not being well. Commie will realize the true meaning of this conversation when I'm gone. "I feel all kinds of woozy, too."
"Alright, okay, I suppose that's enough blood donation for you for one day." Giving Tom's hair a quick – and perhaps even affectionate? – ruffle, Tord proceeded to take out the tube from the Brit's vein and put the bag of collected blood away in a safe storage. "You're weak. You should get some rest while you still can. Today's final experiment will be an interesting one, and I need you in your best shape for it."
"Oh, there will be plenty of time for the worm to rest, once he's gone for good! ~"
(Meanwhile…)
A little bell rang out as Edd entered the unfamiliar establishment. Looking around he saw there were a few people drinking and playing pool. The decoration of the place was a nice mixture of red, black and blue; though mostly red, with blue carpet coating on the floor, and shiny black marble tables. A nice soothing, low jazz played in the background.
It had been a tough week for poor Edd.
He hadn't heard from Reagan ever since the skirmish with the muggers, and Edd's worries only seemed to increase with every passing day without any news from his Irish companion. The sheer wrath and violence he saw Reagan display when fighting those thugs unnerved him; and when one of the muggers referred to Reagan by a different name and set him off, that just raised even more questions.
Edd felt immensely guilty over what happened. If he hadn't insisted on playing the hero then he wouldn't have upset Reagan. He still remembers the blazing fury in those green eyes when he turned on him.
Throughout the entire week, Edd sent various messages to check up on Reagan and apologize to him. But the Irishman never responded. To take his mind off things, Edd tried making more of an effort in spending time with Matt, and consequently Mark and Eduardo. But no matter what, he couldn't stop worrying about Reagan. Edd might've been there with Matt and the others physically, but his mind was wandering far off with concerning questions.
What was Reagan up to now? Is he alright? Was he mad at him? Does he not wish to see him anymore?
He suspected Eduardo noticed his odd behaviour judging by the occasional side-glances he shot him, though he'd never challenged him. Ever since their little "heart to heart" Edd grew to respect the burly brunet, though he doesn't show it often. He still doesn't trust him, but at least Edd does not attempt to pick a fight with him anymore.
The week was coming to a near end, and Edd was on the brink of an emotional breakdown so ridden with guilt that he was, when he got a text notification on his phone.
It was Reagan.
His heart had soared with hope and relief once he saw who was it from, but then turned into confusion when he read the contents of the messages.
(RF): We need to talk
(RF): If you are still up to it, meet me at Roten Fuhrer pub tonight
Mind still plaguing with questions, Edd wasted no time heading out the door. Now he found himself here, in this strange pub he never even heard about before! Though to be fair; bars are not his usual hangout places of choice.
Still surveying his surroundings for the blond Irishman, Edd wearily approached the counter where the bartender diligently cleaned a glass in his hands.
"Excuse me, have you seen a blond fellow with green eyes and a stubble around here by any chance?" Edd asked the man behind the counter. The bartender appeared to heave a heavy annoyed sigh and roll his eyes at the description, to which then he motioned to the far back of the establishment.
With quick grateful nod, Edd walked deeper into the place. He noticed unnervingly how some of the patrons of the pub were watching him; conversing with one another quietly with their heads bent close together and shooting him glances as he walked past.
Edd hurried his pace. His palms sweaty from how nervous he was.
When he spotted the tuft of blond hair peeking over one of the booths all the way in the back, Edd's heart began to race.
"Reagan!"
At once he started forward to end the distance between them and greet him. His steps faltered, however, once he noticed the other man's posture. Reagan's head was lowered as he peered down at the glass of beer in his hands, and a pensive expression on his face instead of the usual cocky grin and mischievous eyes Edd was so familiar with.
"Oh my gosh! Are you okay?" Edd blurted anxiously, still nervous about this whole thing. Reagan didn't even turn his head to look at him; merely motioned to the seat across from him with a flick of his fingers. Gulping apprehensively, Edd followed the silent instruction to sit down. "I haven't heard from you the whole week – I was so worried for you, Reagan! I'm so sorry for what happened. With the thugs. It's all my fault. I never meant to make you upset-"
"Pipe down, will yah?"
Taken back by the unexpected growl, Edd froze and ceased talking at once. He stared at Reagan in dismay, and watched as the blond man tipped his head back and down the entire tankard of beer in three massive gulps before slamming the glass back on the table rather harshly. His green eyes flickered over to the counter where he gave the bartender a tiny nod for another beer.
A loud exasperated sigh could be heard from the back.
Reagan then fixed his gaze back on Edd, his face devoid of emotion. Edd forced himself to meet his stare evenly and not show how unsettled he was. He wished he could be back at home, watching some stupid documentary about cosmetics with Matt.
A waiter came by to deliver another glass of beer to Reagan, and then he sighed.
"I lied to you."
Edd stiffened, his heart quickening as he blinked in surprise. He wasn't sure how he'd expected for this conversation to start, but this was not what he had in mind!
"Lied?" He echoed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand. What did you lie to me about?"
Reagan took a huge sip of the new beverage before slamming the glass down and licking the foam off his lips. He turned to Edd with narrowed eyes. "Back when we first met. I told you I was new in town and needed a guide during my brief stay." He murmured. "But that's not true at all."
"What do you mean?" Edd gasped.
"I used to live here, a long-ass f#cking time ago."
Edd stared in disbelief. There was nothing he could say or do but wait for the Irishman to explain.
"Remember what I told you about my lifestyle? How I don't like to stay fixed in one place? Yeah, this town is part of my history. I lived here for quite a while before settling for the job I have now." He began, thrumming his fingers on the table. "However; my time spent here isn't filled with the fondest of memories. It's a past I often prefer to forget about, if I'm being completely honest. Shady business, you know?"
"Is that why that thug recognised you?" Edd prompted.
Reagan nodded solemnly. "I was… I used to be a member of their gang." He added, raising his head. "Did you guess that much?"
Edd shook his head. But putting the information together like puzzle pieces in his head, it made perfect sense. "How did you even end up with them anyway?"
Reagan shifted and glanced away. "I was taken from my family at a young age, and forced to join them."
A wave of sympathy washed over Edd. "But what about that name?" He demanded, curiosity making him unguarded. "When that mugger called you Fo-"
"Don't."
Cutting off, Edd was alarmed to see Reagan flinch at the bare mention of the label. He ducked his head in shame. With a deep intake of breath, Reagan appeared to relax though he spoke the next words through gritted teeth. "Don't mention that wretched name."
"Why? What does it mean?"
His eyes met Edd's, suddenly clouded with a pain that tugged at his heartstrings. "It's… well… It's how I used to be addressed as, back in the day. That's what they called me." He murmured, scratching his head uneasily. "They used my own family's name against me. Now every time I'm referred to by that, instead of thinking about my family, I'm only reminded of all the painful years spent under their rule." He let out a bitter laugh. "What's the difference when you really think about it? They raised me for so long… they might as well be the only family I have left." His grip on the beer glass visibly tightened.
"Why are you sharing this with me?" Edd asked.
Reagan looked up and met his gaze. His green eyes brimmed with so much sorrow and pain that Edd couldn't bear to look.
"I saw how scared you were when I overreacted back there. I'm sorry. I just… lost control. Seeing those guys again, and then being referred to that forsaken name – I snapped! I'm so sorry you had to see that, Eddie. I truly am. But you're not afraid of me now, are you?"
"Well, I'm considerably more afraid now that you said it like that, yes." Edd admitted uneasily.
The Irishman looked away and sighed with a small frown. "It's okay. I understand if you no longer wish to stick around me after witnessing a thing like that, and knowing what you now know about me. I mean, who can blame you? I was part of a gang and you saw me nearly kill a guy! Thanks for stopping me back there, by the way. I don't even want to think what could've happened if I hadn't snapped out of it. Nowadays I'm trying to better myself, and leave behind the guy that I used to be. I promise I'm working to improve, but I won't hold it against you if you do decide to leave. Just wanted to clear some things about myself before you do."
Neither of them spoke after that. The silence between them was taken up only by the soothing jazz track in the background and the occasional loud clinking of glass. Edd stared at Reagan motionless for several heartbeats with his dismayed brown gaze.
Edd felt good to be asked, to know he had this man's respect and trust to be confided in with such personal information and still have the choice to back out. He knew he shouldn't like Reagan as much as he did. He's not from around here, and he breaks rules all the time, and he's rude to just about anyone . . . but he's fun, and different, and he always says exactly what he thinks. He felt drawn to Reagan from the moment they met, and maybe this was the reason why.
A second chance… to help someone in need…
Leaning forward in his seat, Edd gently placed his hand over Reagan's and gaze it a tight reassuring squeeze. He felt the Irishman go rigid in his touch, but immediately relaxed again.
"Thank you for telling me the truth, Reagan." Edd answered, realizing how much he must trust him to have revealed his past to him like this. "This was a pretty big revelation, not gonna lie, but the fact that you mustered the courage to tell me proves that you're really trying to do better. I'm not going to turn my back on you because of that."
Reagan blinked at him genuinely perplexed. "Eddie, it's absolutely fine for you to do so. I hurt and killed plenty of people, for crying out loud!"
"Doesn't matter. That was in the past." Edd shook his head. "You're not the same as you once were; and even then, I'm guessing you didn't have a whole lot of choice but to follow through with their commands. But it's alright, now. Just as long as you don't get out of hand again like you did in that alleyway, I'll continue to stick by you like glue!"
Reagan grinned, then raised one hand and examined his fingernails. "Well, of course you will." He murmured coolly, behaving more like his usual self. "It's not like you could get rid of me even if you wanted to, anyway."
Edd's skin flashed with a prickle of irritation at his smugness, and yet he sensed that Reagan was much happier than he was prepared to admit. There's something sort of . . . lonely about him. He thought.
Playing off his comment with a snort of laughter, Edd lightly punched the blond's shoulder from across the table. "C'mon. Have another drink, I'll pay tonight."
"Actually, I have a tab and discounts in this joint – so really, the drinks are on me." Reagan explained and then proceeded to motion the bartender for more drinks.
Edd raised an eyebrow. "Really? That's odd."
"Meh. Just company benefits." The blond shrugged indifferently.
Their drinks arrived and Reagan wasted no time drinking his full. Edd bit back a grin. He never thought he would miss this Reagan as much as he did during his estranged absence. He was so thankful towards him for his companionship during these harsh times. Losing Tom… and getting a break from Matt's overprotectiveness… Edd wished there was a way to properly thank him other than going out drinking all the time.
Then an idea suddenly struck him.
"Hey, Reagan." He began decisively. "So I've been thinking about your suggestion – you know, the one from last week about hanging out with some colleagues of yours? – I gave it a bit of thought and I decided that I'll go."
The blond man set his beer down in gleeful surprise. "Really? That's great! Thank you, Eddie."
As they continued chatting, drinking, and laughing all night long, Reagan couldn't help the immense joy and triumph he felt for his accomplishments tonight. All it took was one good sob story to erase last week's incident from Edd's mind and keep him firmly tied to him; and now he is even willing to go so far as to keep him pleased! Reagan couldn't have wished for a better outcome!
As for the skirmish with the thugs, it was bound to happen sooner or later anyway. Reagan didn't choose this town as his destination for the recruitment program for no reason! Oh no. He has two missions here. Find and recruit five soldiers for the Red Army, and go after the bastards that raised and then left him for dead. It's a shame his first reunion with his old gang didn't turn out the way he'd wanted. Edd playing hero meant Reagan lost his element of surprise, and then when he was recognized he couldn't even finish the job. Edd had stopped him, and even if Reagan had ignored him and continued beating the mugger to death, he would've surely frightened Edd away. He nearly did. Reagan was absolutely furious for having to let them go. However, he knew he had to play his cards just right in order to strike two birds with one stone. So over the past week he ignored Edd's messages, building up the Brit's panic and desperation until he was certain the poor man was miserable enough to buy any tragic past he invented. Well, mostly invented anyway. He wasn't about to reveal the true significance of his wretched name, for one.
And while he kept Edd in the dark, Reagan had set off to end the business left unfinished with some certain thugs.
He had tracked them down like the miserable prey that they are, and slaughtered them with no second thoughts. Still, he will admit he faltered a bit when it came to his sleazy former mentor… for about ten seconds. Sure, the man taught him everything he knows and is perhaps the closest thing to a father figure he's ever gotten, but since when does that make anyone free of repercussions? The f#cker had this coming for a really long time, and Reagan took immense joy finally delivering his revenge. However, this was only the beginning. He has a long list of people deserving karma in his life, and he fully intends to go after every single one and make them all pay; and Eddie is totally unaware he is gonna help him with that, along with all his other recruitment targets.
A new world order is about to rise. The Red Army will dominate the globe, and Reagan will fight on their side – the winning side – and with the promise of a promotion he will hopefully be one of the top dogs of the organization.
Never again will he be a bottom dog!
Never again will he get hurt for the benefit of others!
(Meanwhile…)
With the push of a button, the operating table shifted from horizontal to diagonal position. Tom blinked wide-eyed as he was slowly propped upright.
"Now, Thomas, despite our best efforts in trying to get you to transform you still remain both a mystery and a pain in the ass." Tord announced as he paced back and forth agitatedly in front of him. "We've tried plenty of tests to understand what sets you apart from all past test subjects. So far; we got no conclusive results back, other than it might have something to do with your blood composition. And as for getting the monster here…" He paused, eyeing Tom with a calculating gaze. However, a hint of mirth could be detected in his eye. "I must say; while I'm disappointed you haven't obliged to my orders yet, I admire your persistence to keep me from getting what I want."
Tom scoffed. "Thanks. I aim to please."
"However, just as I told you earlier, this is a fight you can't win – and hopefully after this experiment, you won't be able to hold back anymore."
Before Tom could process his words, Tord snapped the fingers of his organic hand and the lab doors swung open. Paul strolled in, wheeling a dolly cart that carried a large yellow barrel. What really caught Tom's attention though was the radioactive hazard symbol plastered on the front.
With a wave of his hands, Tord shooed Paul away after the latter set down the barrel by the desk, and returned his attention back to Tom. The Red Army Commander promptly left the room after that.
"Any idea on what this is?" Tord questioned, his robotic fingers thrumming over the lid of the barrel.
Tom shook his head wearily.
"This is the primary element that makes up most of the serum's composition." The Norsk proceeded to remove the lid, revealing a bubbling pool of vibrant purple liquid. "We call it: purple stuff."
"How original."
"It's an extremely rare material; even I do not know its natural source. It's so rare it hasn't even been added to the periodic table yet. Highly acidic. And unlike all the other elements, it is a sentient being! It's not capable of movement, mind you, but we've discovered it's more than capable of rational thought when it comes to finding a vessel. For you see, Thomas, on its own it doesn't do a whole lot. The real kicker is when it gets into contact with objects!"
To demonstrate his point, Tord pulled out a mini figurine of an army soldier from his pocket and tossed it into the barrel of purple stuff. It sizzled as it sank. But not even a minute later, a tiny green figure crawled out; much to Tom's amazement.
"I live! Haha! I am capable of thought!" The plastic figurine exclaimed hysterically. "So many wonderful things to think ab-"
In the blink of an eye, Tord pulled out a pistol from his holster and shot the figurine to smithereens.
"Yeah, I think you get the picture." Tord blew the smoke from the barrel of his gun. "The purple stuff has an interesting effect on inanimate objects, but when it comes to other life forms… it's a tad more picky." He continued, taking some of the chemical into a becker and walking to a nearby table where his equipment was already prepped. "Because of its highly acidic nature, it burns and eats away all the flesh, and in most instances turns the beings into zombies. However, there's a chance of taming the more aggressive tendencies of the purple stuff long enough to be harmlessly injected to someone, and then harness this aggression to give off a different effect."
Tom sighed. "Turn them into monsters."
"Precisely." Tord answered, skilfully mixing chemicals together into a vial, his back turned to Tom. "You, for whatever reason, have something that the purple stuff wants, or needs, for it to have attached itself to you and not zombify you like it did with all others." Sighing contently, Tord glanced back at his test subject with a foaming vial in his hand. "You're a puzzle, indeed!" Tom was caught off guard by the amusement in his voice. "Fortunately, I am quite fond of puzzles."
The hairs on the back of Tom's neck stood up, and a shiver ran down his spine. For whatever reason he sensed Tord's words had a double meaning there.
"I don't understand." Tom shook his head, feeling as if he were missing something. "Why are you telling me all this?"
Shooting the eyeless man a smirk, Tord hastily returned to his work. Tom tried craning his head in an attempt to look over the Norsk's shoulder and see what he was working on so diligently. He didn't have to ponder for long, however; as Tord whipped back around branding a huge needle in his hands. Tom went rigid with fear.
"What? Afraid of a little needle?" Tord teased slyly, taking notice of his test subject's dismay.
Tom gulped. "Our definitions of little must be very different."
However, on closer look he noticed the needle was filled with a distinguishable purple liquid inside. That's when it finally hit him. Tord intends to inject him with another dose of the serum to force him to shift! Tom's blood ran cold. He already has some of the serum inside of him – half a dose, if he recalls correctly. Living with this condition for ten years now, and being on the brink of self-destruction, Tom knows its effects better than anyone else. If everything he's been put though is only half a dose, what could another full dose do to him?
Not wanting to find out, and his mind overriding with panic, Tom started to trash around in his restraints. "N-no! No! Wait!" He was vaguely aware of Tord stepping closer, needle raised toward him. "Think about this, Commie! The fact that the serum worked at all with me the first time was extremely dumb luck. But how can you be certain I won't turn into a zombie this time? Your last shot will be ruined then!"
He wasn't sure how he felt about the possibility of being turned to a zombie. Would that technically count as dying? Would that work just as well as bleeding out? He hopes for that outcome, but Tom had a feeling Tord has no intentions of making him a zombie if he can help it. And the Commie's answer only cemented that.
"If the serum didn't turn you into a zombie the first time around, I doubt it would make you one this time." Tord answered matter-of-factly. "Besides, I made this serum formula in specific tamer in comparison to all previous versions. So in theory, this should just trigger your transformation and nothing else."
This didn't help soothe Tom's nerves at all, and he continued flailing around to escape his inevitable fate. No! Please no! I can't transform into that thing again! I vowed I would never do it again if I can help it!
"What's the matter? ~" The voice hissed menacingly. "I thought you said you could handle whatever he threw at you if it meant the outcome of dissection? ~"
But this totally changes things! Tom pleaded. What if I can't contain myself and turn? The plan will be ruined!
His last words died away as a heavy spectral hand clenched around his throat, while another clamped over his mouth, smothering him. Tom could hardly breathe through the haze of panic clouding his mind.
"Well then, you better hope you can contain it, worm. Or else! ~" The voice warned contemptuously. "You made your bed, now lie in it and choke down the crocodile tears, vermin! ~"
"I warned you to transform earlier to avoid trouble, Thomas; don't start complaining now." Tord drawled, the needle glinting dangerously close now.
Tom couldn't hold back the desperate cry that slipped out of him. He felt a hot stickiness in his throat, as if he were in a nightmare where he could only watch the terrible event about to unfold, and not do anything to stop it. Tom flinched as the needle drew closer to his neck, and he clenched his eyes shut – waiting in terror for the inevitable to happen. However, not a second later, his eyes flew open in shock when he registered a quick kiss on his cheek. He met Tord's amused gaze in immense confusion.
"For good luck. ~" Tord whispered huskily.
Before Tom could even process what just happened, or even ask what's gotten into the Commie, Tord grabbed a fistful of his hair to force his head aside and expose his neck, and stabbed the needle right into him. Tom screeched at the sharp pinch to his neck, and he felt a burning sensation spread from his throat to the rest of his body. He writhed in discomfort.
Pushing the rest of the purple chemical into his test subject's system, Tord clamped a hand over Tom's mouth to stifle his cries of pain. He watched as the veins on the Brit's neck turned a purplish-black tint before fading away, and Tord stepped back.
"There there." He patted Tom's head soothingly as the latter breathed heavily. "Good boy."
Tom's vision began to spin away in a dark spiral, but he kept on struggling to stay conscious. His body felt ungodly warm but insanely cold at the same time, and he fidgeted in discomfort. Tom kicked and trashed, but it was no good. Unable to hold on any longer now that his adrenaline was subsiding, he slipped into the dark depths of unconsciousness.
Hey, what's up you guys! This is Flower1815 here, hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Don't forget to leave a review, I would love to hear your thoughts! You guys can also hop on by my tumblr Heather1815 whenever you want to chat and submit fanart if you want to. Don't forget to check out the official playlist as well: www youtube com/playlist?list=PLoel78Oq6AUTzlVttmhbFtKLRvEBU9fIQ (just insert the . in their proper places in the link and you should be good to go!)
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