WARNING: This chapter coincides with the events of Chapter 13 in SFTD. Warnings from there-the effects of abuse and the implications of it-fully apply.

Mordenna had thought today was going to be a decent day. As things would turn out, he'd rank it right up there with the day he'd realized the Elders weren't such hotshots.

His sister had been freshly captured and thrown into her cell and he was ready to head down to the Workshop to hopefully just work things out and not think too hard for a few hours or so. There were always tweaks to be done to his weaponry, of course, and he'd been meaning to experiment with a new woven mesh to his armored vest.

Mordenna's pace in the vents was casual, not too much minding the noise he might've been making. He was absolutely fine with spooking anyone below, though he tried to keep a cap on it with the Assassin captured. Wasn't a stretch to assume someone jumpy might think she'd gotten out and try to solve the problem themselves.

The first sign of trouble Mordenna got was when he was descending one of the ducts and felt an odd squeeze of his chest. Stopping in his tracks, he immediately sat down and inspected his vest. No, no pinching there. Wasn't like his clothes were constricting him, either. So why was his heartbeat speeding up a bit? The pace he was going at shouldn't have disturbed anything at all.

The chest squeeze continued, but there was an odd… disconnect, to the feeling. Mordenna's heart continued to race. "What the everloving fuck?" He muttered, a hand grasping the front of his armor. In a haste, he undid the vest and threw it off. Already, his mind was racing for a diagnosis. With their immune systems, modified by the Elders, they shouldn't be getting any sort of illnesses that might cause this. Was his body breaking down? Was it his fault? Why did he have to mess things up like this?

Wait.

Mordenna's brows furrowed. Those… those weren't his thoughts. How the hell—

That was when the pain started.

Mordenna collapsed in the vent, sucking in a gasp of air as a familiar, yet different feeling overtook his back. It felt as if he was getting one of his usual rounds of punishment—but it was not the striking, punishing force that Odin usually put forth. There seemed to be different spots being struck on his back in quick succession. As if to overload him. With the pain, Mordenna finally realized what was happening. Jax was getting punished, and it left him—and Fal-Mai, he bitterly thought—to deal with the ghosts of it.

But, this had to be different. Mordenna felt like his back was getting boiled alive. Surely it shouldn't be this powerful if he was just getting the ghosts of it, right? Mordenna had gotten afterimages of Jax's migraines that weren't as bad as the real thing. If this was the pain he was feeling…

The assault continued, and Mordenna curled in on himself, desperately trying not to make a sound. Jax's bewilderment was now his bewilderment, and he lost track of what room he was above, if at all. He couldn't betray what he was feeling to some nobodies. He couldn't let them know that the pain and the specter of Jax's feelings was enough to make tears squeeze past his eyelids as he took silent, shuddering breaths.

It was going on for far, far too long to be any round of traditional punishment. Cronus must've been trying to vaporize Jax on the spot. How would it feel, to experience a sibling's final death? Not even that, but a final death by being unmade? Of being slowly, painfully annihilated where he lay? Mordenna couldn't think. All he could feel was the pain, and how much he and Jax wanted it to stop.

All at once, it did. The pain at his back dissipated. The vents were silent once more.

Even so, the memory of the feeling left Mordenna curled in on himself, anticipating anything. A second round, another lashing of feelings… It was hard to tell if the dread suffusing his chest was his own, or not. Perhaps a mix of him and Jax.

Mordenna only uncurled and hissed out a breath when a flood of relief went through his system, movements gentle, as if he would stir up the pain again. Palming at his eyes, he took the moment of peace to regain stock of his surroundings. If he remembered correctly, he was right between two rooms, both of them frequented by soldiers. Best he didn't make any noise, after all. Not wanting to dwell on his feelings somewhere he might be heard, he gingerly collected his vest, put it back on, and began to move again, crawling near silently.

As he moved forwards, his thoughts went to what just happened. That… was far too brutal a lashing for just Fal-Mai getting taken, wasn't it? If Mordenna didn't know any better, it was like Cronus was trying to nip that potential last kidnapping in the bud—in the worst possible way, granted. He took a deep breath, trying not to think on the pain. It was fine. He was used to it. He could deal with it.

Eventually he reached the vent over the Workshop, opening it up and looking in. Empty. When he left the Bridge, Lily was still there. They'd had enough time to secure the Assassin and take off, so she must've gotten wrapped up in conversation and planning with the Commander. That all just worked to Mordenna's favor—he wanted isolation. He prepared to drop down.

ANSWER ME!

What should've been a regular descent turned into a free-fall as Mordenna lost control of himself, mind ringing with the force of spectral words as he landed on the floor in a heap. The pain of landing so harshly should've been nothing—but even still, Mordenna could feel his eyes stinging again. Of course. Jax was going through aftershocks. It was familiar… too familiar.

Mordenna took in a gasping breath, a hand reaching out and dragging him closer to his workbench. He had to be hidden. Lily could stumble in any minute now. But his trembling limbs wouldn't cooperate. Jax's terror and grief hardly needed to encourage his own when he was suddenly swept up in old memories. He'd just wanted to ask questions. He was built for efficiency. Why should he be struck when he merely performed his duty? Why should he be struck when he, not a perfect system, occasionally failed? Why?

He got as far as being half-hidden by the counter before he choked out a sob, curling up on the spot. Mordenna pressed a hand to his eyes, the other arm hugging himself. No. He was beyond this. He was past this. He'd gotten used to this. It may have hurt in the moment for him, but punishment wasn't supposed to mean anything anymore. But Jax's feelings aggravated his. Taking deep, shaking breaths, Mordenna tried to hold them for as long as possible before hissing them out. He hadn't openly sobbed in fourteen years, and he didn't intend to start now.

Tears streamed past his eyelids and he cursed every second of agony he had to go through. Maybe it wasn't Jax's fault—it definitely wasn't—but it was directly what Jax was feeling that was making him suffer like this. Seething, venomous thoughts rose. It'd be easier to kill him off when you get the chance. No more enduring this. No more having the past thrown in your face. He shouldn't be alive to shove his feelings into your skull. As much as Mordenna wanted to reason against it, another stab of his own memories surfaced and his next breath out threatened to be a sob.

He tensed, not of his own volition. Odin asked what he had to say for himself. "I-I'm sorry—"

His chest heaved, almost feeling like it was trying to turn concave. He hated this. He hated every single moment of time that passed. He hated Jax, he hated Odin, he hated himself. He hated how he had to feel. In his sorrow and the terror forced upon him, the only thing Mordenna could cling to was hatred and spite. One day. One day you'll strike back against him. He'll repay in blood. Father was right.

A bit of the edge of the storm was taken off, but it wasn't nearly enough. It wasn't enough to stop the plans of revenge, against who, it didn't matter. It wasn't enough to stop the thoughts that he didn't have to feel if he was dead. It wasn't enough. He didn't have to feel if he could just get over to his weapons. He knew his Darkclaw was on the table. He reached up, starting to right himself.

His fingers got to touching the receiver of his gun before the storm lifted more and more. Rationality returned, and Mordenna's hand slipped off of the table as he rested his forehead against it. What… what was he doing? This was just as temporary as it got. Once they had Jax, there wouldn't be anymore cataclysmic events like that. Just the standard fare. As he contemplated that, Mordenna stared blankly at the material of the workbench. He took in a breath.

"God, Mordenna," he muttered, voice shot, "you're pathetic."