Heartache

He didn't learn about any of it until that night, when he went to meet Ricochet for their nightly coffee. She wasn't in the mess hall waiting for him, like she normally was. She wasn't at the range either; her other favorite place in the Pit. But he'd seen both Beachhead and Dial-Tone headed for the war room. He didn't learn the truth until he check on her barrack. Bathsheba the Second was lying on her bed, along with the Ruger Nine that she preferred as her sidearm. Neither weapon had been fired, nor had they been cleaned and tended to with her trademarked care.

That meant something had gone wrong. Horribly wrong.

It was Dial-Tone that eventually found him. Low-Light hadn't moved from the center of her room, staring at the weapons laid out like a memorial on the bed.

"She's still alive." Dial-Tone informed him. "At least, she was an hour ago when they discovered the live radio still on her."

Turning slowly, Low-Light fixed the older soldier with a thousand-yard stare. Instead of being cowed away by it, Dial-Tone crossed the threshold and joined him in Ricochet's room. He'd trespassed earlier to lay her weaponry out.

"Mindbender traded her for the lives of all the hostages. Sounds like he's got some delusion about her being his missing daughter."

Low-Light's expression darkened further with the news, his mouth pressing in a tight line.

"Duke's looking at putting a team together to spring her from Broca Beach. If I were you, I'd get in on that mess. We listened in on the radio frequency as long as we could. She's going to get hit with the Brainwave Scanner, Low-Light."

Something in Low-Light's head snapped. He spun on Dial-Tone, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him back against the wall. Those few extra inches of height the sniper possessed became an intimidating loom, but the cold fury rolling off the sniper was immensely more terrifying. "You left her in the hands of that madman! You abandoned her. If they hurt her-"

"I'm never going to forgive myself," Dial-Tone finished the threat for him. He genuinely regretting not raising more of an objection. "She knew, man. She knew what was waiting for her in there. I bet she knows that we're gonna come rescue her, and you're gonna be right in the thick of it."

Low-Light fought to keep a hold of the anger. It was protection, really. If he was angry, he couldn't give into the doubts, and the fears. If he was angry, he couldn't imagine what would happen to her. But Dial-Tone was right. Ricochet had taken action to save lives, entrusting the rest of her team that she wouldn't be abandoned.

Dropping his death-grip on Dial-Tone's shirt, Low-Light took a step back, and scrubbed his face.

Sensing the situation defused, Dial-Tone smoothed out his togs, and made sure the open door was at his back this time. "C'mon. Let's go get you in on the rescue op."