Disclaimer: Usual applies.

Chapter Four: Unleashed

Rykor was the first one to waltz in the prison bay, furious and yelling at the top of his lungs. "What in the Seven Hells happened here?" He froze in place when he noticed Rembrandt's former cell's shield was deactivated, and the brown echidna was nowhere to be seen. He spotted Spectre, sitting calmly in his own cell. "Answer me! What happened?" he barked.

When Spectre didn't answer, Rykor growled furiously and angrily deactivated the Guardian's electrical bars. He stormed in the cell and grabbed the younger one by his shirt, lifting him to eye level. "This is your last chance before I lose my temper. What happened here? Where are the two others?"

"Gone," Spectre simply said, staring off into space.

"Gone?" Rykor barked as he began to shake Spectre back and forth. "What do you mean, gone? Where did they go?" The dark male stayed silent which only served to further anger the sergeant. "Answer, you damned son of a bitch!"

Crack! The hand whipped Spectre's face brutally and the Guardian was thrown back onto the ground. He felt his teeth shake and repressed a yelp of pain when his wounds hit the metallic floor, hard. "If Lady Kommissar hadn't ordered to keep you alive you'd be dead by now!" Rykor spat. "It's a shame I'm unable to kill you, but I'll make sure you pay dearly for your companions' departure. Just you wait." And with that the sergeant stormed off, probably to find Lien-Da or Kragok, who knew.

Spectre just laid there, unmoving, as his eyes closed. It was just a matter of time until Lien-Da got her hands on him; all he could do was waiting. But for now he feared no nightmares: Thunderhawk and Rembrandt had escaped.

"Where is he?" Moonwatcher growled. "Where is that lame and stupid excuse of a Guardian?"

"Don't ever speak of my son this way!" Harlan replied. He gave his father a hard glare and focalised his attention back on the surveillance screens. "I suppose he went to help Spectre and Thunderhawk, as he said we ought to do."

"That's what I said. Lame and stupid."

"He did what he thought was right," Harlan said through gritted teeth. He hated it when his father Moonwatcher spoke of Rembrandt like that. True, ever since Jordan and Aaron had died the brown echidna hadn't been the same, but he couldn't blame him. Who would be after witnessing the death of his two sons?

"I know he did, son, but that's still stupid. Do you realize he went alone to fight against the whole Legion? Are you crazy enough to even think he will succeed?" Moonwatcher crossed his arms and laid against a metallic desk. "Not that I doubt your son's capacities or anything, but that's a bit too much if you ask me. At best he will be captured and tortured, at worst we'll have to build another grave. What's in for us?"

"Moonwatcher, the current situation is not your son's fault," Steppenwolf said calmly as he entered in the surveillance room. "Don't take your anger out on him."

"If he had raised his son to know better than run off alone to face the enemies I wouldn't," Moonwatcher grumbled.

"Well, Father, if you weren't bugging him every second of his life maybe he would have thought about it and reconsidered," Harlan shouted back, turning away from the screens.

"Well, son, I wouldn't be bugging him if he behaved the way a Guardian has to!"

"Oh, and you sure are an expert in that field! Sorry, I forgot you were irreproachable!"

"Don't raise your voice, son, not with me!"

"I raise my damn voice if I damn want to!" Harlan yelled, jumping to his feet. His father was quick to bite back something at him, and the fight went on from there.

Steppenwolf sighed and took the seat Harlan had left vacant. Things had been pretty much like this ever since the Brotherhood had found out Rembrandt was missing, the previous night. Harlan and Moonwatcher, who under normal circumstances were on good terms, kept going at each other's throat for no reason, and about topics Steppenwolf thought were ridiculous. And no was no exception.

"We wouldn't be in this mess if you had raised your parental skills to a minimum!" Moonwatcher hissed, nose to nose with his son.

"Well, excuse me, but I hadn't had the best father to begin with!" Harlan growled back. "I did my best with Rembrandt, and I think that is even more than half the things you did to bring me up! How could Mother stand you is beyond me!"

Edmund's son shook his head. Normally, he would have laughed at the situation and the topic, but things weren't funny: the two echidnas were serious. Dead serious, which annihilated any funny feeling.

"Would you two just shut up!" Steppenwolf shouted, his patience finally wearing off. But his two relatives never heard him or just ignored his call. "Ripping each other's eyes out won't solve anything! It won't bring back Spectre and Thunderhawk, and it won't make Rembrandt change his mind! Now stop or I'll be glad to add two brand new graves to the three ones we already have!"

At this Harlan and Moonwatcher stopped short; Steppenwolf never, ever mentioned his father's death, and even less used it in a threat. Same thing for Aaron and Jordan; Steppenwolf was very respectful of them. So hearing him talk about them like this had only one meaning: his nerves were wrecked and pushed over the edge. His sons often forgot he was very old, and patience isn't always something owned by a one hundred and ninety-seven years old echidna.

"Father…" Moonwatcher breathed.

"No. Don't talk, don't say anything. I have had it, just shut up." Steppenwolf leaned back in his seat, running his hands over his face. "Can't you two try to understand Rembrandt? You don't know how it feels to lose someone you love, and then know there are others who might die. Instead of fighting and rejecting the fault on someone else, you should be helping Rembrandt!"

"I think that won't be necessary," Harlan said in a calm tone.

"I beg your pardon?" Steppenwolf asked, blinking.

His grandson motioned to one of the surveillance screens. "My son managed to come back on his own… and he has Thunderhawk with him." Steppenwolf's head whipped around – and sure enough, Rembrandt could be seen running on one screen, carrying Thunderhawk in his arms.

Then he frowned. "Where is Spectre?"

"I couldn't save him," Rembrandt exhaled as his father led him to the sick bay. "I had no more time, and then the alarms went off and Legionnaires came from everywhere and-"

"Second-son, calm down," Moonwatcher said. "Take a breath, then you will talk." The red echidna had Thunderhawk in his arms. The young one appeared to be unharmed except for a few scratches and bruises, but the thing that worried Moonwatcher was his tear-strained face. From what he had heard Moonwatcher knew Thunderhawk wasn't the crying type, so there had to be a good reason for his tears.

By now they had reached the sick bay, where Hawking was waiting with bandages and cleaning equipment ready. Harlan pushed Rembrandt on one of the beds, while Moonwatcher gently set Thunderhawk down on another. "Now, talk. What happened?"

Rembrandt explained how he found Thunderhawk and Spectre, and tried to escape with them but ended up with only Thunderhawk out of the Dark Legion's base. "Spectre told me to go with his son," he whispered as Hawking bandaged the wound a Legionnaire had inflicted him while he was escaping. "I couldn't save him and now he's alone. I will never forgive myself…"

"Don't be too hard with yourself," Harlan told him. "It's a miracle you managed to get back with Thunderhawk alive. By the way, Hawking," – the brown echidna raised his eyes – "could you call Tressa-Ca? Inform her that her son has come back." Hawking nodded and walked out of the infirmary, probably to find a communicator.

"What will we tell her about Spectre?" Rembrandt asked.

"Nothing. That way she won't lose hope, but we won't give her false hopes neither," Steppenwolf said, thinking fast.

A few minutes later Hawking returned. "I called Tressa-Ca and sent Mathias to get her. She will arrive at Haven soon. And I… I met Tobor too."

"Where is he, then?" Moonwatcher asked. "Didn't you tell him his grandson is back? Doesn't he know that his own son is still captive?"

"Yes, he does," Hawking stammered. "And I told him for Thunderhawk. But…"

"But what?" Apparently Hawking was embarrassed, and Moonwatcher wanted to know why. "For Edmund's sake, speak up, boy!"

Hawking finally indulged. "He… he said he had better things to do."

"You mean you let them escape?" a brown echidna whispered dangerously into one of Haven's communicators. "How could you be so stupid?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Lord Moritori," a voice answered. "The Guardian was too strong and we were unable to win against him although he was outnumbered. That's why Lord Kragok ask you to avenge us."

"Avenge you? And how will I do that?"

"Lord Kragok didn't mention anything in special, he just said you could do whatever you wanted to make the Guardian Spectre's family pay."

"Whatever I want? Now this is interesting." Moritori Rex smirked to himself and chuckled. He had a vague idea of what he could begin with. "Tell Lord Kragok… that I'll do as I'm told."

And the Guardians won't be the only ones to suffer…

One hour later Mathias was back with Tressa-Ca, who ran to her son and hugged him for all she was worth. This had only been two days since they were separated, Rembrandt wouldn't dare to think of what her reaction would be if she hadn't seen Thunderhawk for months.

"Mom!" the young one exclaimed as he threw his own arms around his mother. "I knew you were all right! I told Dad you were all right!" Then the child's smile fell at once. "Oh, Dad! Dad is still trapped, Mom! And the bad guys harmed him too, and- Mom why are you crying?"

"Nothing, Thunderhawk." Tressa cracked a weak smile and wiped her tears, hugging her son even tighter. "I'm just glad you are safe, that's all." She pulled Thunderhawk closer and the lavender echidna nestled his muzzle in her shoulder.

"I don't like it when you cry," he whispered. "Dad says that a girl should never cry."

Smiling a little, Tressa-Ca turned her head towards Rembrandt, who was sitting on a bed. "And Spectre? How is he?"

The elder echidna sighed. "From what I saw, he was in a bad shape. Not critical, but if the Legion keeps this up it will be. I'm sorry, Tressa-Ca, I couldn't save him. If it wasn't for him not even Thunderhawk would be there."

"He's right," the young Guardian piped in. "Dad gave me to Grandfather then we escaped. I didn't want to leave Dad, Mom, I promise! But he made me." Tressa could see her son was feeling guilty for "abandoning" his father to his fate although he had nothing to do with it.

She softly caressed Thunderhawk's hair. "I know, baby, don't worry. I believe you." Her worried eyes once again fell upon Rembrandt. "Do you think there is a chance for him to escape?"

"I'll do my best to bring him back home, Tressa-Ca," Rembrandt solemnly swore. "I can't promise to do so within the next hours or days, but Spectre will soon be back. I'll have to think up of a plan because now, the Legion will probably strengthen its guard over Spectre. I'll need a strategy, material means and," he glanced in his relatives' direction "and help."

"You can count on me," she affirmed, and Rembrandt smiled.

"I know I can."

Darkness. Pain and darkness. Those were Spectre's only companions as he stood in his new cell. Funny, he thought, how the word "new" means a thing that has never been used before. This cell looks like a dozen people have been slaughtered in it. He looked around, trying to find if that dark mark on the wall was a burn or some blood.

From his position, shackled to the hard metallic wall, he couldn't very well tell. But then again, it didn't matter, for his own blood was probably soon going to coat these hard walls. His only relief was that Rembrandt and Thunderhawk had made it and were now safe. He could rest in peace knowing that.

Spectre's calm state of mind was brutally broken when the door to his cell, now a heavy metallic door, opened and a brief ray of light came in. A shadow entered in the cell, and the door closed swiftly once again.

The Guardian didn't even look up. "I was beginning to worry. I thought you had forgotten you had a prisoner to torture."

Lien-Da laughed darkly. "No need to be sarcastic, Spectre. You know I would ever forget you." When all she got was silence, she pursued: "Admit it, Spectre. Don't act all tough and admit it."

Spectre raised his eyes quizzically and saw Lien-Da suggestively make her way towards him. The restrained echidna growled, but he could do nothing shackled to a wall. "Despite your reluctant cover, I know that deep down, you want me." Her hand caressed his scratched cheek, and she grinned wolfishly. "And soon enough you will learn to love me."

"So you're back with that," Spectre growled, jerking his head away from her offending hand. She was much too close for his taste; so close in fact that he could feel her breath on his fur. And when he felt Lien-Da's hand on his waist, he thanked Chaos that neither Thunderhawk or Tressa was there to see him.

"They always go by pair, you know," the red female whispered. "Day and night. Life and death. Love and lust."

"No," he snapped angrily. "If there's lust then there is no love. I love Tressa because I care for her, because I like the way she is. I do desire her in a way, but it isn't lust. Lust is what allowed you to trick every single male Legionnaire here into sleeping with you and-" But Spectre never got the chance to finish his sentence; Lien-Da's hand cracked across his face like a whip, and his already damaged flesh screamed in protest.

"You should be thankful you're handsome; you would be missing an arm now if you weren't," she growled menacingly. But almost immediately the Legionnaire smiled and ran her hand – the one that seconds before had slapped the Guardian – through his dark fur. "In fact, I don't care. You're right, after all, but you will succumb as well. Just you wait."

Just you wait. The same phrase Rykor had said before leaving Spectre alone in his cell. A phrase that held many meanings. And as Lien-Da exited the cell, the black echidna sighed and let his head fall upon his chest.

He had been right. It was blood on the wall.

Family. Such a random word, isn't it?