Hello everyone! This is Flower1815 here, bringing a new chapter of MLTS as a special way to celebrate my 22th birthday! It's been quite a while since my last update, and a lot has happened since then. For instance, Eddsworld returned! :D Right on the exact same day I returned to Brazil too. I'm hyped! Still, you guys are going to have to wait a little while more until I can return with the frequent updates again. Currently working on chapter 33 as I post this. But I promise it will be worth your while. These next batch of chapters are going to be... intense, to say the least.
But anyways, thank you guys so much for all the beautiful fanart and support you guys have shown me. Don't forget to leave a review telling me your thoughts. I hope you enjoy the new chapter and I'll see you guys later! ;)
Tord stirred awake from his sleep. It had been almost three weeks since he'd last had a good night's rest, and it felt so wonderful to recover his energy; he almost questioned why he had put it off for as long as he had. Although, his bed is a lot firmer than he remembered. Has it been so long he'd already forgotten how his own bed feels like? His pillow also feels a little weird now that he was slowly gaining consciousness. It felt strangely prickly under his chin as he nuzzled into it, tickling him slightly. He furrowed his eyebrows but didn't think too much of it as he opted for a few more minutes in bed before getting his busy day started.
Sighing contentedly, Tord wrapped his arms around the pillow… only for the pillow to hug him back.
Fatigue entirely forgotten, his eye flew open only to be met with Tom's peaceful sleeping face inches away from his own.
Oh f#ck!
It took every ounce of strength and control in Tord's body to stay absolutely still and bite back the startled scream that wanted to rip out from his mouth. Looking around the room he realized he was not in his quarters, but rather the laboratory; and he was lying beside Tom on the operating table with a blanket on top of them.
His heart felt like it was about to explode out of his chest. How did this happen?!
At once, he worked to recall last night's events to solve this mind boggling enigma. He remembered comforting Tom after his confession until the eyeless man exhausted himself and fell asleep on him. Tord had gently pushed him back down onto the table and slipped the Dreamcatcher into his ear. So far so good. After that, he recalls getting a blanket from Paul and Pat's quarters to gradually get heat back into Tom's body. He then shifted his focus onto his vitals to make sure he wouldn't go into another spasming fit. Still normal. Then he remembered the sudden wave of drowsiness that had washed over him then. His lack of sleep and stress caught up to him. He'd swayed on his feet and fought to stay awake. Someone needed to watch over Tom, but he needed rest, too.
Tord stiffened as he recalled his thought process for what happened next.
He'd looked over the operation table with Tom on it and decided to rest then and there alongside the eyeless man. His sleep deprived mind saw nothing wrong with that logic, and he squeezed in beside Tom under the blanket and cuddled up to him to sleep.
Oh my god, I am such a f#cking idiot! Tord internally screamed at himself. What the h#ll was I thinking? Dumb! So dumb!
He snapped out of his own scolding when Tom sighed and nuzzled into him, tucking his head into the cleft of his neck just below his chin. Tord's face flushed, his heart skipping a beat. For as stupid as this idea was, he won't deny that a part of him was absolutely giddy to be so close to Tom. Then the more reasonable part of him berated for taking advantage over Tom's condition this way. It's not like that. He reasoned. I was tired and didn't know any better. Besides, sharing body heat is a good way to warm Tom up anyway, so… no harm done, right?
Still, he hoped with all his being that Tom hadn't woken up at any point during the night and realized what he'd done. Although, judging by their current closeness, Tord would safely assume no.
Taking time to calm down his racing heart, he observed every little aspect of Tom's face. The eyeless man snored softly, his face relaxed; no sign of the pain and grief he carried in silence for so long bothering him now. His breathing was steady. He'd never looked so peaceful. Tord was happy for him.
However, for as much as he'd like to stay in and secretly cuddle Tom some more, he knew there were urgent matters that needs his immediate attention. Starting off with his Generals' suggestion of terminating the monster project. On the other hand, Tord was reluctant to leave Tom alone in case he goes in another fit and he's not around to help him out again.
Relishing five more seconds of contact with the sleeping Brit, Tord reluctantly pulled himself away and out of the table; careful not to wake Tom up, and tuck him in under the blanket. Once he was certain Tom would not wake up, he pulled up his robotic arm to check on his condition.
His vitals were stable. Heart rate normal. His temperature is still a little low, but nothing alarming.
Tord proceeded to turn on the communicator in his arm. "Paul? Patrick? Can either one of you come down to the lab and watch Tom for me? I will explain everything when you get here…"
(Time skip)
Needless to say, Tom was more than a little surprised to blink his eyes open and find he still exists. The voice hadn't come for him in his sleep. In fact, his dreams had been filled with nothing but fond memories of his friends. It wasn't until he reached into his ear did he realize that the Dreamcatcher was given to him at some point in his sleep. Still, there's no denying what he's done. He told the truth. He confessed his plans and motives to Tord of all people. The voice should've done something to him by now. And yet, he could not sense its presence anywhere in his head. He should be relieved by that, but it only filled him with more dread.
He twisted the tiny device between his fingers pensively. Tord was nowhere in sight when he woke up. What is he doing right now? Plotting what the best way to manipulate him into collaborating with his plans, perhaps? How to take advantage of his weaknesses? When he cried his heart out, he expected a smug triumphant look to grace Tord's features – waiting for the immense satisfaction to surge at watching his rival breakdown before him.
But Tord didn't look at him like that. He looked at him with something he could not describe. Something Tom never thought he'd see in Tord. What does it mean?
Tom stared absentmindedly at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling with his steady breathing; wondering what he is supposed to think or feel now. His fate is uncertain, and that unnerved him to no end.
The lab door slid open, rousing him out of his thoughts. Tom slowly shifted his head sideways to see who entered, expecting to be Tord. His empty eyes widened and he perked up in surprise when he saw Patrick, approaching him with a tray of food in his hands. He hasn't seen the Polish soldier for so long… he didn't think he would ever again.
"Hey, Tom." Pat greeted him softly, his honeyed-green eyes meeting his empty ones. "How are you feeling? Paul and I were worried sick for you."
Tom grimaced. What a question to ask at a time like this! Instead of answering, he narrowed his eyes and wearily watched the soldier approach. "How much do you know?" He demanded, cutting straight to the chase.
Patrick hesitated. He thought Tom would be happy to see him again after going through this whole ordeal. Red Leader and he have finally made amends, and he was once again allowed to freely interact with Tom. But it seems that, despite opening up about his condition, he was still pretty guarded and defensive; which is to be expected in this situation. For so long he kept this a secret from everyone in fear of a negative reaction.
Pat dipped his head politely. "Paul and I know what you've been through, yes." He admitted cautiously. Although he'd always suspected something was amiss with Tom. "Tord told us what happened. But I want to assure you that none of us think any less of you for it, nor do we plan to use it against you. We just want to help you now."
Tom stared blankly back at him. "Even knowing that I can kill you at any given moment?"
Patrick didn't hesitate this time. "I'm not afraid of you, Tom. This isn't your fault. What the monster does is beyond your control, and we understand that. Given time, we'll be able to help you with that and anything else you need."
Will you, now? Tom thought sceptically. Somehow I doubt that.
"Anyways, I brought you food." Patrick drew closer and placed the tray down on a table close to where Tom was lying. It was still warm, freshly reheated.
Tom wrinkled his nose. "I'm not hungry." He had no appetite. Even the thought of food made him queasy.
"But you must eat something." Pat reasoned. "You haven't eaten anything in the last twenty-four hours."
"Well, I don't feel like eating." Tom turned away stubbornly and hid under the blanket. "I just want to be left alone." He closed his eyes, trying to go back to sleep and forget his current reality with more dreams of his friends. However, his blanket was ripped away from him and he opened his eyes with an annoyed groan.
"I'll let you rest some more once you get something in your stomach." Patrick admonished, looking sternly down at him.
Turning back to face the Polish soldier, Tom cast him a smouldering glare.
"Come on." Pat's gaze softened. "At least two spoonfuls? Pretty please?"
Reluctantly sitting up, Tom examined the food he's been given. It appears to be some sort of soup, with a few vegetables strewn about. Doesn't look like there's any meat in it. Next to the bowl was a cup with a plastic dome lid and straw with the vitamin drink he likes so much. He looked back up at Patrick, who stared at him expectantly, and he frowned.
"Aren't you bothered?" He questioned. "Knowing what you know?"
Patrick blinked. "Whatever do you mean?" He tipped his head.
"I mean-" Tom floundered, unsure of how to proceed without losing his temper. "Why- why- why are you taking this so well? Aren't you frustrated, scared, or angry at all?"
"Well, I am concerned for you, more than anything. But why would I be frustrated or angry?"
Tom slumped as though defeated. He avoided meeting Pat's gaze. "I don't know! Because… I'm making such a huge deal out of nothing? That I was going to the extreme for a dumb, selfish reason? That there are people way worse off than I am who would be thriving in my place and I shouldn't feel this way?"
"Do you think I'm here to scold you? Clearly it's a big deal to you." Pat's gaze darkened. "I won't judge or undermine you for it, and to argue over it doesn't make it any less hurtful or real to you."
"But I don't even know who I am anymore. I can't feel anything. Can I even be considered human?" Tom went on, his voice flat but throbbing with sorrow. "All this time, have I been just a set of problems gradually getting worse? Nothing more than a burden? What can anyone do to help me now? I'm clearly incapable of change. If I can't help myself… do I even deserve to live?"
"Of course you are!" Patrick's eyes rounded with sympathy.
Tord had warned him beforehand that Tom might be sensitive, and he suspected as such after a decade of bottling up his feelings. Tom was like an injured wild animal they were trying to rescue; too hurt and afraid to let them close, and distrustful of their intentions. He hopes that overtime Tom will calm down long enough to see they're only trying to help.
"You don't get it. Of course you don't." Guilt tore at Tom's heart and he lied down again, turning his back on the Polish man. "I don't expect you to. How can you? You probably dealt with all your problems with no difficulties. Must be great to be so smart, independent, and responsible the way you are. I could never be someone like you, for example. I just know how to bother everyone else."
Patrick lifted his chin, taken back by Tom's unexpected praise of him. He didn't take the chance to be warmed by it though, too concerned to bring Tom out of his crisis. His eyes glittered with unspoken thoughts as he stared down at eyeless man. An idea slipped into his mind and he knew exactly what could help in this situation.
With the little space there was in the operating table, Pat sat down beside Tom. He felt the Brit tense up. "Tom, I'm… flattered that you think so highly of me. But what you said couldn't be further from the truth."
"How come?" He heard Tom's muffled mutter. "You're a highly respected soldier in this crazy army, even Commie respects you-"
Pat resisted the urge to snort at that. If only he knew all the disagreements we had…
"You got a cool and supportive… boyfriend, husband, whatever Paul is to you. I could never get these things; they're way beyond my realm of possibility." Tom finished bitterly.
"I don't see why that is." Patrick reasoned matter-of-factly. "Besides, do you think I've always been this way? Level-headed and independent? Oh Tom, I used to be a mess."
Tom scoffed disbelievingly. "You? A mess? Oh, please-"
"No, really! A complete, and utter mess. God, I wish I was the way I am now, it would've saved me so many problems. But no one is perfect, and I am thankful for that every single day or else I might not have ended up with the great life I lead now." Pat insisted, meeting his eyeless gaze with cloudy eyes. "You told me your story, Tom. Now please let me tell you mine."
His interest piqued, Tom sat up and shifted the blanket around him and over his back, settling himself beside Pat. He stared at the Polish man with anticipation as he waited for him to go on and hear what he has to say.
"Growing up in Poland, it was just me and my parents. They were both fire fighters, and very proud of what they did. Maybe a little too proud, in my honest opinion." Patrick began, releasing a heavy sigh. "They wanted me to follow in their footsteps. To become just like them. However, I never really had any interest in the career; but they would bring me along to their workplace for as long as I can remember since a very young age."
Tom's eyes widened. "Uh, was that a safe thing to do? Bringing a child to that kind of environment doesn't sound like a good idea."
"Well, my parents were a bit- not exactly irresponsible per say, but they were a little reckless. They saw every mission they did as an adventure more than a life threatening situation. But I was never part of the action. I was just there to "assist" by carrying equipment around, and the most action that I got was riding in the truck from time to time." Pat explained, a wistful tone to his voice. "As I've stated, I wasn't fond of the whole idea of becoming a fire fighter myself. Actually, I wanted to be a pilot! I longed to fly a plane of my own and soar through the skies!" He paused for a moment and bowed his head. "When I told my parents exactly that, they didn't take it so well."
Listening diligently, Tom hadn't even noticed that he'd subconsciously reached out toward the tray of food and placed the bowl of soup on his lap; his gaze never leaving Pat not even for an instant.
Looking up again, Patrick shook his head sadly. "They were disappointed in me. They had so many plans for me, and I let them down by choosing to follow a different path from their own. My dad especially; he could barely look at me after that. I felt like such a complete and utter failure in their eyes. Nothing I did would ever please them. Our relationship became estranged; our talks curt and formal, and we didn't interact with one another outside necessity. We were strangers to one another, rather than an actual family." He continued. "They didn't kick me out or disown me, but it sure felt like they did."
Tom felt a stab of sympathy for him as he listened. It's always been a fear of his to have the people that he loves turn their back on him after revealing that something might not be entirely right with him. It is exactly why he choked down his suffering for as long as he had.
Pat opened his mouth to continue, but at first no words came out. He tensed. Tom could see how much effort it took when he finally began to speak again. "There was a big, terrible fire one day… my father died on duty, and my mother got permanently wounded. I was devastated. Not only have I lost my dad, but the thought that he died thinking of me as a failure or a burden consumed me. I thought about giving up on my aspirations of being a pilot, just so I could honour my parents." Patrick's voice kept getting quieter, and his gaze turned away as if his past were manifesting before him. "With my father gone and my mother wounded, I had to quit school to work and support us. Needless to say, I was under a lot of stress at the time. Suddenly it didn't matter what I wanted; with no education I would never become neither a pilot nor a fire fighter, and my mother still refused to acknowledge my presence. Her grief made her despondent, and further away from my reach than ever. My future seemed so bleak and distant. It seemed things would never get better, and I wondered what was the point of even trying anymore."
Still as a rock, Tom stiffened as he stared wide eyed at the Polish man. Did he really once consider…? Ice crawled through his veins at the thought.
"Truth be told, I feel a little selfish thinking about it now." Patrick admitted quietly, his head ducked as if embarrassed. "I mean, after everything you've been through my plight might sound like nothing in comparison."
"No!" Tom instantly protested, appalled he would think of him as more deserving of sympathy. At least Pat was hard working and good. What did he have going for him? "This shouldn't automatically disregard the pain you've been put through! You were still hurting from the things you were experiencing then. It meant a lot to you. I understand how it is to feel as though you're stuck with no way out."
Patrick regarded him for several heartbeats before nodding. "Yes, that is true." He conceded. "People experience different things in their lifetimes, and they deal with it in their own ways. Not one life is exactly the same as another; nor one is more important than the other. People suffer. No matter how or who they are."
"But I am not good enough to feel the way that I do." Tom confessed, stricken with guilt. "My life isn't… that bad, all things considered. At least I had good parents! My friends were good… for the most part, anyway. Didn't go through any traumatic experiences. I am not that bad off financially. So why can't I just get over it like any decent person can? Why can't I just be grateful my life isn't complete sh#t and act human for once?"
"You just told me not to disregard my pain and compare it to yours; why are you doing exactly that for yourself?" Pat narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Tom seemed determined to make himself out to be a bad person no matter what. "Plus, that's not entirely true. Don't forget; you watched your father die when you were only eight. Someone you once trusted and considered a close friend betrayed you. After that; you grew up with a nasty reputation staining your name – that of someone dangerous and not worthwhile. I think that's what stuck to you the most after all these years. And to top it all off, you are forced to transform into a monster, making you disgusted with yourself for actions that were beyond your control, and yet you find yourself immensely responsible for." He met Tom's gaze. "So you see, you have your own traumas, and it's completely understandable why you feel the way you do." He drew closer and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You feel guilty. That's normal. You are way too hard on yourself, because you care so much. But please don't dismiss your own pain just on the basis that there are people worse off than you, or that you're not entitled to feel the way you do. That doesn't help, and it's not good for anyone."
Tom didn't respond. He averted his gaze and nodded numbly. He didn't know who to trust. Everything Patrick was saying goes against the voice's teachings that have been embedded into him for as long as he can remember. He wanted to believe him… but the voice won't be so keen to let go of him so easily, if it can help it.
"How… how did you end up in the Red Army?" Tom asked, wanting to change the subject.
"I'm coming to that. Now, where was I?" Patrick pondered, tapping his cheek pensively. "Ah yes, in the pit of despair!" He joked, earning a small chuckle from the eyeless man. "It was around then when I first met Paul, who was in town at the time for a mission from the Red Army. I was returning home from my late night shift at work when he approached me for directions, and I-" He trailed off into a fit of giggles.
Startled, Tom's eyebrows lifted as he watched him recompose himself. "What?"
"I may or may not have had a full on mental breakdown in front of him when he did that." Patrick chortled, running a hand through his hair sheepishly.
Tom could not believe his ears. "You did not!" He gasped.
"Oh, yeah. That happened!" Pat's eyes gleamed with amusement at the memory. "I told you I was a mess. Full on sobbing, snot dribbling down my nose, hysterical – the full package!"
Sadness momentarily forgotten, Tom stared at him flabbergasted. He could not imagine the calm and collected General of the Red Army bursting into tears after being approached by a stranger for directions. The image seemed too surreal for his mind to conjure up. "And Paul? How did he react?"
"Oh, Paul – the poor thing! He tried to help me, but he was so startled and anxious about the whole thing. I can't blame him! He just wanted information and then accidentally caused some guy to breakdown in the middle of the street!" He hid his face in his hands, trying to hide his embarrassment as he laughed.
Tom face palmed as he listened, astonished by the circumstances of Paul and Pat's fateful meeting. Of course these two would meet in such inconvenient manner! He chortled.
"So what happened next?"
"We sat down on a bench, and he comforted me until I calmed down. Then we talked for a little bit and I gave him the information he wanted, then we went our separate ways." Patrick continued with the story, his voice taking a more dreamy tone as he recalled the past. A faint smile on his face, and a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks. "But we bumped into each other a couple times after. We talked some more, eventually traded phone numbers, sometimes he'd visit me in my workplace, and we hung out together more often. It was the most fun I've ever had! I never really had friends before. Not that I was a social outcast or anything, I just didn't care much for friends when I was younger; always opting to sit by myself and read instead. Paul was… a positive force in my life. He brought me some well needed peace of mind."
"And then?"
"Paul eventually fulfilled his mission. He did what he set out to do and he was needed back here, in the main base. I was sad to see him go, but I was ready to say goodbye to him. However, Paul wasn't." Pat released a heavy sigh. "He told me about the Red Army. What he was there for, what he did, what the organization planned to do. Everything."
"And how did you react?" Tom asked curiously.
"How could I react? I was… shocked, to say the least. Part of me thought he might be joking just to avoid the sad mood between us." Patrick went on. "Then he asked me to go with him. To leave Poland and join the Red Army. I didn't know what to say. I- I was unhappy for so long, and thought I deserved as much, that a chance to turn everything around seemed too good to be true. But I trusted Paul, still do, and I realized this was not only a good opportunity to earn money to sustain my mother, but was also perhaps my one and only chance to become a real pilot. Plus, I would have Paul with me."
Tom couldn't help but compare the two soldiers to forbidden lovers, planning to run away together into the night.
"I accepted the offer. I travelled to Norway with him the next day, but when we got to the base the reception was... less than welcoming." Patrick winced at the memory and carried on. "Let's just say that Tord wasn't exactly enthused by my presence. The Red Army was still growing out from the ground, their secrecy was everything, and they were wary of who to trust and let in their midst. But Paul stood by my side and insisted that I would make a valuable member, and I vowed to work hard. After a lot of arguing, Red Leader agreed, but would watch my development closely; and one wrong step on my part would result in immediate expulsion. So no pressure there!"
Prick. Tom immediately thought when Tord was brought up. Then a flicker of guilt ignited right after, when he remembered how determined the Norsk was to stay by his side the previous night when he broke down about his condition, and comforted him. Would the Commie really go that far to manipulate me? Doubt gnawed away at him.
"As to be expected, training was tough but I was determined to make it through and do everything right. Paul was very supportive and helped me out when I needed most. He and I grew closer, and we started dating some time after I was promoted to Lieutenant. After several years of service, I eventually earned Tord's respect and trust, and I climbed my way through the rankings and became a General."
"Did you get to become a pilot though?" Tom interjected, not realizing that he'd been so entranced with the story he finished his meal.
Patrick noticed the empty bowl and cup, and he smiled. "I had a chance, yes. I learned to fly and became a pilot for the army for a little while. It was everything I ever wanted." He responded. "But I wasn't really that good at it. In fact, Paul and I ended up crashing lots of planes and I had my flying licence revoked. But at least I got to try, and I hope that I can earn my licence back and go flying again one day."
Tom processed his words. Even though Patrick's dream didn't turn out quite the way he wanted, he seemed content with his life. Quietly, he asked, "Did you ever see your mother again?"
Releasing a sigh, Pat nodded. "Yes. I returned home to visit her, and make sure she was doing okay. After all the years of discipline and heavy training in the Red Army I think I finally found enough confidence to confront her about the past." He answered, taking a deep breath before continuing. Tom thought he could see his eyes glistening. "She was… they were never really disappointed in me. A little at first, but they were proud in their own way that I wanted something else for myself, and in the end managed to reach my dream by working so hard. She apologized to me for neither of them showing how much they actually loved me and put so much pressure on me. We made amends. Our relationship is better now. I still go back and visit her; I already introduced her to Paul. She actually remarried about four years ago, and I got two little sisters."
Silence followed the end of Patrick's story. Tom grew a profound new respect for the Polish man, but he wasn't sure of what to take from this tale. How can he ever come close to achieving the same? He is awful. Nothing more than a burden. What's the point of existing if he is just going to keep making others suffer?
As if reading his thoughts, Pat placed a gentle hand on his shoulder; effectively cutting off his self-loathing doubts. "I know it seems difficult to imagine now, but things can get better, Tom." He murmured encouragingly. "There is a lot more to you than just the monster; just as there was more to me than a disappointment to my parents. Don't let your lowest moment cloud your future. Things will improve, you'll see."
Tom looked down at his hands, fidgeting with each other. "Maybe… maybe there is a chance for me yet." He conceded softly, the first hopeful thought he had about himself in years. He shook his head. "But that still remains to be seen. Truth be told, I'm not sure I made the right choice in not following through with my plan. I don't know what will become of me now."
Patrick narrowed his eyes. "Only time will tell, I suppose. Just-" He nudged Tom, then stepped back to meet his gaze. "Please never feel like you need to suffer alone again. We're on your side. No matter what, you can trust us with anything."
"Really?" Tom swallowed the emotions that bubbled in his throat.
"Of course."
For the first time in forever, Tom felt genuine hope burst through his being. Maybe his story can have a happy ending after all.
"So, how are you feeling right now?" Patrick's question took him by surprise.
Tom paused to contemplate, searching deeply within himself. "I don't know. I guess I'm scared… maybe sad… a little relieved? Some weird amalgamation between the three. I feel weird."
"That's alright." Patrick nodded in understanding. "Is there anything you need?"
"Actually, now that you mentioned… a shower would be great about now. I've been stuck in this forsaken lab for weeks! Can you believe the Commie wouldn't let me shower during that period? I mean, I know he doesn't mind going weeks on end without showering, but I don't!"
Hopping off the operating table, Tom followed Pat through the long corridors, still ranting on about Tord's lack of hygiene.
(Meanwhile…)
"Red Leader!"
The field medic saluted curtly as Tord entered the infirmary. He just got out of the meeting with his Generals, trying to convince them to not terminate the serum project; insisting that he worked too hard to get where they are now only to throw it away at the first sign of trouble, and that given time the asset will be trained to follow the army's instructions without fail, and be a wonderful addition to their ranks. He didn't like talking that way about Tom, but he needed to keep his leader persona standing firm in the face of his Generals if he wanted them to change their mind and let him help Tom. It was a close call, but the Generals relented and agreed to keep the project and the asset around, but another mishap from the monster and they will shut it down. He followed up with a meeting with Bing, who insisted on getting his hands on the serum to replicate his success. Tord blatantly told him to shove it, make his own serum, and then gave him the claw sample they recovered from the incident to keep him content; asking if there was anything he could do with it.
There was still the financial issue to resolve. The monster's escape and attack on the border patrol caused a lot of damage that needed repair, not to mention that some of the soldiers that were killed in the massacre were part time soldiers with lives still attached to the surface and they needed to cover up their sudden deaths somehow. The army's income wasn't enough to pay for all damages as of the moment, so he needs to think of a solution soon.
The reason behind his sudden visit to the infirmary today was to check on the one survivor of the border patrol massacre. He usually doesn't check on his injured soldiers, but he made an exception this time around because it concerns the serum project.
"Lieutenant Yanov." Tord greeted with a polite dip of his head. "What is the status on the survivor?"
Yanov let out a weary sigh. He led Tord farther inside the medical centre and handed him the patient's file as he elaborated. "Fourteen hours of face reconstruction surgery and in critical condition. To be frank with you, none of us thought she would make it through the night." The Russian paramedic stated nonchalantly.
"But she pulled through in the end?" Tord asked, his gaze sweeping over the file in his hands and landing on the name. Ella Stewart.
"Indeed, she did. However; she'll be hideously scarred for the rest of her life." Yanov warned. "We couldn't save the hearing in her ear, or her eye. It's a miracle at all that the monster's teeth didn't puncture her frontal lobe despite the damage done to her skull."
"Will she still be viable for duty?" Tord demanded.
"I don't see why not. After a few weeks of recovery and rehabilitation, she should be good as new." Yanov responded, shooting him a brief sideways glance. "Of course, so long as she hasn't been infected by the asset in any way and poses a threat, I guess she's good to go."
Tord looked over the file extensively for every detail. He pulled his robotic arm up and opened all the catalogued data of the serum, calculating the chances of the monster attributes passing over to the soldier from the consequences of the bite to her head. If the purple stuff can cause zombification, and that's passed around by bite, there are chances the same could happen with the monster, too. However, it's hard to tell with so little tests done on the monster so far. He will have to order a blood sample from her and compare it to Tom's to see if that's true.
And if the test turns out positive… Tord isn't sure what will become of her. It's already hard enough to convince the Generals to keep one monster around; to have another one might be asking too much.
"She also had a bit of a hysterical fit during the night. Probably some form of PTSD from the border patrol massacre." Yanov's voice jerked him out of his thoughts. "We had to sedate her, but she seems stable now."
"She's awake? Right now?" Tord asked, earning a nod of confirmation from the Russian. "Is she fit yet for a conversation? It's vital that I discuss with her about keeping details of the asset as classified as possible." Last thing he needs is a soldier causing disarray and spreading panic throughout the base, and putting Tom's life at risk.
"Sure thing, sir. I will just give her a heads up and you can go right in." Yanov replied.
"Also, if you could get me a sample of her blood for analysis that would be great."
"Yes, sir."
Tord hung back a few ways behind as Yanov drew back the curtains and slipped inside the space the injured soldier was placed in. He shifted impatiently as he waited. Tord was anxious to get all of his tasks over and done with so he can go hurry back down to the lab level and check on Tom. If he is having another fit Tord needs to be there to help him. Patrick hasn't contacted him in a while, so he will assume everything is fine until proven otherwise. He hoped Tom was feeling better.
He didn't have to wait for very long before the Russian reappeared, a needle in his hands, and gave him a nod to go on.
Stepping through the curtain, Tord pushed his concerns for Tom aside for the time being and shifted into his leader persona; head held high and posture straight. As he walked in, his gaze immediately flitted over to the wounded soldier. Ella was sitting up in bed, the right side of her face heavily bandaged and her ginger hair matted. She raised her head to meet his gaze as Tord approached, but her remaining eye was heavy and dull, and it looked as though she were still under the effect of sedatives.
The sight sparked a rush of memories in Tord, from a time when he was in a similar position. His arm amputated, the right side of his charred face enveloped in gauze, dizzy with pain, lying in bed in the infirmary as he recovered his strength while making mental notes on what features he'll add to his prosthetic once he's deemed well enough to tinker again. For a brief moment, Tord was hit with a concern that the injured soldier would be unable to cope with her horrifically changed appearance. What future lay ahead for a person whose scars would remind her forever of this tragic incident? Tord made it through his own scarring fine, save a few minor issues; but that's only because he has his leadership status to uphold. How would a common soldier take it?
"Red Leader…"
The hoarse greeting brought Tord out of his thoughts. The wounded soldier tried to salute him.
"At ease." He raised one hand to stop her. His voice was soft, but he made sure to keep authority into his tone as he spoke. "I'm glad to see you're recovering. Firstly, allow me to express how truly awful these circumstances are for you, but rest assured you will receive the best care from our medics-"
"My frie- my squadron… are they okay?"
Cut off unexpectedly by her question, Tord regarded her with a minor flash of annoyance for the interruption, in time to see a wistful look cloud Ella's remaining eye.
"Did anyone else survive?" She inquired again in a faint voice.
Tord stared at her and blinked at the question, heart sinking, pausing momentarily as he thought of an appropriate response. No one told her yet? His head tilted back and he sighed, his gaze locked with hers, telling her exactly what she didn't want to hear.
"I'm afraid you're the only one who made it."
Silence followed his ominous words. After a few moments, Ella gave a long sigh and broke her gaze away; nodding numbly. Tord waited a few more minutes before continuing, wearily watching her reaction. If she breaks down on him now he won't know what to do.
When she showed no signs of doing such a thing, Tord lifted his chin and cleared his throat. "Surely you must understand, despite our... hindrances," He gestured toward the damaged side of both their faces, "we are needed as soon as possible. I will allow you some time off duty for you to properly recover and grieve, but your presence is required as soon as possible. The army still needs your services. Once you're fully recovered you will be assigned a new squadron, and things should go back to the way they were."
"Sir… what's going to happen to that... thing?" Ella blinked up at him and asked in a hoarse voice. Her one eye seemed to be holding back tears.
Tord stiffened at the mention of Tom, feeling a tad insulted by the term used to reference him. Still, he held back his temper and answered as diplomatically as he could. "The asset has been punished sufficiently and accordingly enough, but the army's plans have not changed. The secret weapon will be put to use when the time comes." His stare hardened. "I must insist that you maintain your silence about all matters of the asset and keep the details of this tragic incident to yourself. As our secret weapon, it is imperative that it remains confidential to the rest of the army until its proper reveal, to avoid information leaking to the surface and ruining our element of surprise, or have greedy individuals thirsting after our success. Can I trust you to keep this our secret?"
Even though he phrased it like a question, Ella still understood the blatant command to keep her mouth shut about the monster. As much as she would like to insist that the project should be terminated at all costs, and keep that thing from harming anyone ever again as she wouldn't want such a gruesome fate to befall another person, Ella is not foolish enough to argue with the Red Leader; especially when she isn't in any position to demand this, and wisely held her tongue.
Instead, she simply nodded. "Yes, sir…" Her voice shook.
Tord blinked slowly, and then dipped his head satisfied. "Very well. I will leave you to it now."
Done with the conversation and eager to get back to Tom, he left the room in a hurry and made his way out of the infirmary in quick long strides. With all his tasks completed and the most pressing matters have been dealt with, he can finally go back to his main concern with helping Tom.
"Red Leader!"
At the sound of his title Tord halted in his steps and turned around, trying not to show disappointment in his face as he faced General Helene walking up to him. He wanted to reach the lab without any complications or interruptions, but it seems things won't go as he wished.
"What can I do for you, General?" He greeted politely through a tight lipped smile.
Helene dipped her head as she neared, and Tord realized she was holding a couple of files in her hand. "I apologize for intercepting, sir. However this is about the recruitment program, more specifically the soldier you endorsed to the program: Officer Reagan Fitzroy."
Oh, great! Tord rolled his eye and groaned at the mention of the Irishman. This conversation might not end as quickly as he'd hoped. "What about it? Actually don't tell me. I don't wanna know how badly he f#cked up this time." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, before you start ranting to me about how bad of an idea this was, I will confess I did it explicitly to get rid of him and give the base a little peace-"
"Uh, sir? That's not… Fitzroy is back from his mission. He found and recruited five new members to the army, just as you've requested."
For a few heartbeats Tord thought he might be sleeping, and this was a dream turned nightmare, and any second he is going to wake up back in the lab still cuddling Tom. God, he seriously hopes that's the case. Surely he misheard her? "Come again?"
"Reagan did exactly as he was told and came back successful." Helene repeated. "I have the files on the new recruits and I wanted you to have a look at them; since you're the one who sent him on this mission to begin with, maybe you should be the one to decree if these are acceptable or not."
Hesitantly, Tord took the files from her, still not quite believing the reality he currently inhabited. "But- but how? He's only been gone for a couple of months at most! Most members of the recruitment program take years to build a bond with just one target, and he had five to go after!"
"This is strange indeed, and I wouldn't be surprised if he broke some of our regulations to achieve such a feat. I'll admit I was plenty doubtful of him when you first sent him to my department." The General admitted, flicking her green hair away from her eyes. "But hey, who knows? Maybe we finally found some good use for Reagan, after all. If he can give us more numbers effectively in such a short span of time then I see no downside; especially after the border patrol massacre. Of course, with your approval first, Red Leader."
Tord was at a loss for words as he nodded numbly and dismissed his General.
He slowly made his way back to his office, his thoughts trying to catch up with the situation presented here. Reagan returned much sooner than he had hoped. Tord started skimming through the files, still in disbelief as he looked over the potential new recruits. They appear to be normal so far. Nothing out of the ordinary, nor anything alarming about them. It seems Reagan actually put effort into this job. Huh, maybe my idea was better than I thought. He conceded, albeit slightly reluctantly. Perhaps this time my plan won't blow up as spectacularly in my face as Paul had warned...
Tord's thoughts derailed into an abrupt stop as he flipped the last file open. His heart stopped, and time followed suit. Shock and anguish threatened to overwhelm him the longer he stared at the file and the familiar face inside he thought he'd never see again. No… Tord tensed. His hands clenched the file harder in his grip, heart sinking in his chest.
His despair quickly turned to anger. Trembling with barely suppressed rage Tord lifted his robotic arm up to his face. "Scarlett," He hissed into the communicator. "Call Officer Reagan Fitzroy to my office immediately."
(Meanwhile…)
Whistling a happy little tune, Reagan swaggered through the base's hallways as he made his way down to Red Leader's office. Most soldiers who spotted him scampered out of his way at once. He arrived in the facility the day before, and immediately sent the files of his targets to his superiors for evaluation. Reagan would have preferred to deliver the files to Red Leader's hands personally to show off his good work, but the boss was busy with other matters at the time. But now his time of triumph is at hand. He's just been summoned to Red Leader's office, and that can only mean good things. Reagan wasn't the least bit worried. Why should he? He'd done everything right, and his targets are all fit for the army.
He slowed down his step as a trio of soldiers came into view.
"Hello, my fellow comrades!" Reagan greeted joyfully, smiling from ear to ear. "How you all doing in this fine day, hm?"
The soldiers exchanged confused and wary glances. "Uh…"
"Can't talk now – I am about to be promoted!" Reagan bragged with laughter and continued along his merry way, ignoring the strange looks he received along the way.
Sergeant Reagan Fitzroy. He mused to himself, immensely pleased by how well the title fits him. However, this was just another step closer to full security. The more power he acquires, the less control people will have over him. As a Sergeant, he will become leader of his own squadron and order the lower ranks as he pleases. But this isn't enough. He will have to achieve something even more impressive next time if he wants to climb the next rank to Lieutenant, and eventually General.
And then, that's when things will get interesting…
He will finally get access to the super weapon project boss had been working on for so damn long. With that kind of power in his reach he won't be controlled by anyone ever again! And if the General rank isn't enough to grant him clearance, then perhaps he might have to get rid of the big red cherry on top of this massive cake they live in.
Reagan reached the doors to Red Leader's office and knocked contently.
"Come in." A quiet voice called out from the other side.
With permission granted, Reagan burst through the doors in his excitement. "Heyo, boss!" He exclaimed loudly as he entered the office. "How long has it been? Did you miss me? You look great, by the way. Looking imposing and regal, as always, boss."
The Red Leader was seated behind his desk, hands interlaced beneath his chin as he coolly regarded the Irishman. His face unreadable. Looking as though he'd been carved from stone, any emotions chipped away as he gestured to the seat in front of him.
"Sit."
Following the one word command, Reagan approached with an excited skip in his step; completely oblivious to the thick tension building in the room as he sat down on the opposite side of the Norsk.
"Reagan, it has come to my attention that you've successfully fulfilled your mission in bringing me five new recruits to add to the army." Tord began, his voice soft with menace, though Reagan didn't seem to notice. "In such a short amount of time, too! I am impressed."
"Oh, it was nothing, boss." Reagan ducked his head, trying to appear modest. "I figured you would want new recruits as soon as possible so I did my very best to grant you that wish, and here we are."
"I am curious, though." Tord hummed, his eye narrowed to a slit. He pulled out the files on the potential recruits and displayed them on the desk. "How did you manage to convince five targets at the same time? Tell me all about it."
Reagan chuckled. "Oh, it was laughably easy! I shadowed potential targets from afar, to find out if there were any weaknesses I could take advantage of for when I needed to convince them to join us. It took a little while to find the right targets, but once I started preying on them the rest was history."
"What kind of weaknesses?" Tord tipped his head, knuckles clenched.
"Insecurities. Fears. Desires." Reagan's grin widened. "Grief. You know, the usual."
Unsatisfied with the answer, and barely holding back his temper at this point, Tord opened the fifth file. "This particular individual piqued my interest." He pushed it closer to the Irishman. "What can you tell me about him?"
Reagan's eyebrows perked up. "Ah, good ol' Eddie! He sure was fun to play with." He inclined back on his seat, arms folded behind his head casually. "Remember the freak you ordered me and Benny boy to dispose of a couple months back? He's the freak's friend! When I shadowed him, he was still moping about it. So miserable. So… pathetic. It was kinda sad, actually, how easy it was to gain his trust. I played on his insecurities over his friend's death to keep him nice and obedient to me, and he fell for it! His ginger haired companion tried to intervene, but he was no match for me." He cracked his knuckles as if to insinuate his point. "Oh, you're gonna love Eddie, boss! He is already experienced with the army, he can stand on his own in a fight just fine, and I'm sure he will be a nice addition to the Red Ar-"
He cut off abruptly as a robotic hand lashed out and clenched around his throat. Reagan's eyes widened with shock and confusion, his hands instantly scrabbling against the metallic hand as it cut off his air supply.
Tord slowly rose from his seat, jaw clenched, dragging Reagan to stand along with him before lifting him off the ground entirely. His gray eye gleamed with fury and he pulled the Irishman closer until his breath blew hotly on Reagan's face. "Did you really think you could get away with such a lousy performance?" He snarled. "Trying to convince me that these poor, sad excuses for human beings are anywhere suitable to being soldiers? Clearly you are as stupid as you are annoying!"
He flung Reagan against one of the bookcases, scattering his books everywhere but Tord could not bring himself to care at the moment. Rage took over him, clouding his mind. All he knows is that he needs to make Reagan pay for what he did.
Scrambling to his feet, Reagan stared up at him wide eyed. "Have you gone mad?" He demanded incredulously. He couldn't understand where he went wrong here. "You wanted five new recruits for your army, and here they are! I gave you five good soldiers! What's the big deal?"
Tord struck him across the face with his robotic arm, effectively silencing the blond man. "I am trying to build an army to conquer the world, in case you haven't noticed. I need only the best men and women at my disposal to fight for me, and yet you come to me with this? Some broken individuals you took pity on and played with?"
He followed up with a swift punch to Reagan's gut. The Irishman doubled over, gasping in pain as the air was driven out of him. He didn't let Reagan recover from the blow before he kneed him exactly where he'd just punched him, making him topple down to his knees and spit blood at his feet.
"You think so highly of yourself, don't you?" Tord roared looming over him, a look of venomous hatred blazing in his one gray eye. "Thinking you can play with the lives of others without repercussions, but you forget your place! You are just as weak and worthless as the rest of them, and just as expendable, too. It's pathetic that you actually believed I would ever grant you a promotion, successful or not."
Reagan curled his lip into a snarl. He could feel the wetness of blood welling on his nose and dribbling down his face. He tried in vain to stand up and fight back, but Tord deflected his punch at once and slammed him back against the bookcase. For all his training and years spent growing up under the rule of a criminal organization, Reagan was still no match for the Red Leader's wrath.
"I'm done with you! You irritated me for the last time." Tord hissed contemptuously. The repulsor in his mechanic arm ignited to life, glowing brighter as he raised it directly over Reagan's face, ready to blast him beyond recognition for messing with his friends.
"Sir!"
Tord paused abruptly as the door to his office swung open. He whipped his head around to glare at the intruder, barely holding back from blasting them at the last second as he realized it was none other than Patrick, standing by the doorway.
"What's going on?" Pat demanded, his eyes narrowed.
"Patty, help!" Reagan yelled frantically, still pinned to the bookcase. "Boss has gone nuts!"
In response, Tord kneed him in the gut again to silence him, not bothering to take his gaze off of Patrick for even an instant. Reagan coughed and gasped for air in his grasp. "Stay out of this!" He warned, panting with rage. "You don't know what he's done." He tilted his head toward the files on his desk.
Wordlessly, the Polish soldier walked into the room and made his way to the leader's desk where the files were placed. One good look at the contents inside one of them was enough explanation. No wonder Tord is so unhinged.
"Sir," Pat cautiously stepped closer. "Before you decide to carry out any extreme measures; need I remind you that due to recent events the whole army is at a delicate state, and if word got out that you killed a soldier with no apparent good reason-"
"It's Reagan. Literally no one cares about what happens to him." Tord cut him off roughly, his grasp on the Irishman's throat tightening.
"Maybe so. But the case still remains that now is not a good time to be losing soldiers." Patrick pointed out calmly. "And if you can't give the Generals a proper reason for his execution, then they might reconsider going back on their word on other matters…"
The serum project. Tord filled in the blanks with dawning realization. Tom. Concern momentarily washed away his anger, allowing him to think more clearly. As much as he wants to kill Reagan here and now, and make him pay for the manipulative tricks he played on his former friends, there's no way he can explain to his Generals the reason why. Reagan is annoying and breaks the rules, sure; but that's not enough to warrant an execution. If he wants to get rid of Reagan, then he will have to confess his connection to Edd and Matt to his Generals to justify his actions, and put their lives at risk. If he doesn't... then Tom's life could potentially be on the line instead.
Gritting his teeth, he begrudgingly released Reagan and let him topple to the floor. The blond took a massive intake of air, trying to get his breathing back. He looked up at Tord with fear and hatred in his eyes.
"I would gladly kill you otherwise." Tord spat at him.
Reagan was silent as Tord stood back and allowed him to stand up.
Tord stared at him. "Perhaps you need more training to be reminded of our rules and learn a helpful little thing called discipline." He growled, lifting his chin. "For your insubordination, mediocre effort, and consistent disregard to our rules; I hereby strip you of your rank as Officer, and demote you to recruit."
"What?!" Reagan exclaimed with outrage. His green eyes glittered with disbelief and rage. After all my hard work, I can't go back to square one! "You can't do this to me! I haven't done anything to earn this!"
"Be thankful I have shown you some mercy, Fitzroy." Tord hissed. "Let's hope this time around you actually learn to be a proper soldier, or else. Now, get out of my sight!"
The two stared at each other for a moment longer, refusing to break away their gazes. Both panting with fury. However, as Reagan peered into Red Leader's eye he thought could recognize a trace of fear as well as concern underneath all of the rage in the blazing gray eye. He's afraid… He realized with a jolt. Something I did must've put him off somehow. Something to do with the recruits. He inwardly smiled. Seems that I may have found a weakness.
Biting back a massive sly grin of satisfaction from spreading across his face, Reagan bowed low. "As you wish, sir." He drawled.
Without another word, Reagan turned and stumbled out of the office; limping a little and wincing in pain at his bruises. Rage pulsed through him, and his eyes glowed with newfound determination. After all the trouble I've been through to get him new recruits, he dare humiliate me? He thought indignantly, his fists trembling at his sides with anger. Mark my words, Red Leader. I will find your greatest weakness, and you will pay for what you did to me!
Back in the Red Leader's office, Tord yelled with rage and slammed his robotic arm down on his desk with so much force it nearly split the table in half. "I'm such a f#cking idiot! What was I thinking?" Tord shouted at himself, shoving his books to the floor. "Can't I do anything right by them? They have already suffered so much, and I just made it everything worse!" He slammed a chair to the ground. "F#ck!"
"Sir, please try to calm down." Patrick placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You couldn't have known this would happen. This was a terrible coincidence, but you mustn't blame yourself this harshly."
Tord hardly heard him. His gaze fixed back on the picture of Edd in the recruitment file, and his heart twisted painfully inside his chest. First Tom, and now Edd, too? Will he ever stop screwing up his friends' lives? He betrayed Edd, hurt him, took Tom from him and made him believe he is dead; and now Reagan messed with his life, manipulated him, and harmed Matt. Part of Tord, however, was somewhat thrilled at the idea of Edd joining him on his conquest for world domination. They've always been close friends before Tord turned his back on him. They could reconcile and work together again, and fight side by side. Imagine how happy Edd will be when he learns that Tom is not dead!
Grief stabbed at his belly the longer he stared at the picture.
On the other hand, would Edd be as willing to join the Red Army had he known the truth about who was leading the organization? Would he want anything to do with him when he learns what he's done to Tom? Who knows what kind of lies Reagan fabricated to ensnare him in his web and convince him to join, but one thing is certain; Edd does not belong in the Red Army. At least, not yet. If Edd is to join him in his endeavours one day, Tord needs to gain his forgiveness first and then offer him a real choice. No manipulation. No strings attached. Just a question.
Tord has only just begun to see the error of his ways, but he still has a long way to go to work properly on himself before he can confront Edd and Matt and apologize. Until then, neither of them are to be anywhere near him or the Red Army.
"How is Tom doing?" He asked quietly, changing the subject as his mind gradually cleared. His shoulders drooped as the tension left his body.
"He is doing fine. Paul is with him right now." Patrick replied. Probably telling Tom his version of events from when we first met. "What would you like to do with the potential recruits?" He gestured toward the other four files cast aside.
Tord glanced at them disinterestedly. "Send them to our other bases, and keep them separated. They may join our ranks, but I don't want them anywhere near Reagan."
"And… the fifth file?" Pat prompted.
Raking his gaze through the contents of said file one last time, Tord sighed. "I will deal with it myself."
Now, be honest with me guys. Did you enjoy see Reagan finally eat sh#t? :)