He's trying not to feel annoyed. He's really trying, he is. Central knows how easy it is to get caught by a purifier patrol and become stuck between Lost and a hard place as the ADVENT units call in backup, and yet as he leans out from the corner of a crumbling building, his chest burns with irritation as he sweeps his gaze across the AO.
It's a few blocks down, where the main street going forward is cut off by an overturned truck. He can make out the forms of Reapers stationed on top, hear the pop of their guns as they fight off the waves of shambling zombies that come from either direction.
Somewhere above him he hears the knock of Kelly's boots as she scrambles up a ladder onto a roof. Across the street, a solider named Peter crouches next to a storefront's dull brick.
Central lifts his gun up and peers down the scope, nails a few of the Lost as they turn at the sound of Kelly dropping back onto the ground on the front side of the building she's scaled. One of the faster ones who's avoided the Reapers' gunfire makes a break down the road at her, only to be felled by Peter.
All things considered, he thinks, they're doing pretty good.
The sweater, silent until now, speaks up.
what's wrong with them?
"What do you mean?" he mumbles, as softly as he can.
the humans you're shooting.
Central grimaces. "They're not people," he says, pauses to take a shot as a new pod of Lost come around the corner, hisses between his teeth as he misses.
but they look like it.
He feels curiosity and sadness from the garment, tries to ignore the cold stone it sets in his stomach. "They're not," he says. "Not anymore."
The thought 'because you failed' flickers across his mind, and he cringes inwardly. The sweater sends the impression of a person shaking its head.
you didn't fail.
"Arguable," Central says, and falls quiet after that, because the guilt lodges itself in his throat. The sweater hums in his brain, and he feels it tighten about his wrists — attempts at comfort. He shakes his head.
Peter dashes up along the sidewalk, and Kelly follows behind; they make their way staggered behind each other, and he follows Kelly, ducking behind a long dead car halfway up the street. She takes cover near the front wheel of the automobile, and across and up Peter shelters behind a burned out streetlight.
The Reapers are making work of the rest of the group of Lost that appeared from around the corner, that throw themselves uselessly against the truck, and Central thinks perhaps that's the last of them for a while.
can't you fix them?
It sounds vaguely like something he might have said once when they understood so little about the aliens and how they worked, what things they could do. It makes his heart hurt. He swallows the sudden dryness in his mouth and shoots covering fire for Kelly as she slashes at a pair of Lost that come at her.
you haven't tried.
"It's not a matter of trying," he says, quiet quiet. "And I'm not letting anything the Fog Pods have contaminated anywhere near the Avenger."
The sweater considers this.
it's still sad.
It is sad, he thinks. It's massively sad. He's seen the child sized Lost, he's seen the bodies of parents curled around their kids, he's —
"Central, watch out!"
He's snapped back to reality just in time to yelp indistinctly and try to use his gun as a last ditch barrier as a Lost runs up on him, but it's still too close, too close for anyone else to try and take it out without risking wounding him, and it's going to bite him, he knows this and there is nothing he can do to stop it.
He waits, realizes he's holding his breath. Realizes he's squeezed his eyes shut. Realizes he's still able to realize and isn't distracted by pain like he should be.
Central opens his eyes.
The Lost is dead (again) on the asphalt, cut clean in two horizontally. Kelly is crouched in a duck, which she wasn't in before, and is staring at him, mouth gaping, saying... something. He can't hear over the blood roaring in his ears.
don't let that happen again, says the sweater. I can't do it again. not for a while.
"Do what?" he asks weakly.
A image in his head: him, seizing up with the assault rifle a poor last effort, and then a purple ring of energy emitting from him, bursting out and felling the Lost along with slicing Peter's streetlight in two and peeling off the top of the car he and Kelly are using for cover.
"What the hell?" he says.
"— what I've been saying! Central, when in the world did you get psionic abilities? And why didn't you ever tell anybody?" Kelly sounds incredulous.
"I'm not psionic," he answers.
"Then what was that?" asks Peter, gesturing wildly with a hand at the streetlight.
"I don't... know?" he says, and it's a weak answer.
"Is now really the time for self discovery?" calls a Reaper from atop the truck.
"Just give us a second!" Kelly calls back, and walks over to him. She glances him over, brow knitted. "Well, it didn't get you, so I guess we should be grateful for whatever it is that just happened," she says.
"Yeah," he says, "but let's make sure it doesn't happen again. I don't think whatever that was will happen again if..."
She nods, returns to her place near the front wheel. Peter is giving him a look, but his attention is drawn away as the Reapers climb down from the truck and approach.
The tallest of the Reapers cocks their head at Central, looks as if they're about to speak, but the person to their left interrupts: "Tail us as we finish going home, and you will be rewarded."
Kelly and Peter look to Central. He hesitates. "Can we know who we're helping first?"
The tallest Reaper nods. "I'm Shad," they say. They tip their head at the left Reaper. "That's Molly." Another tip of the head, to the right now. "That's Roach."
"Roach?" says Peter. "Why would you—"
"Be nice," says Central. Peter grumbles something, but quiets.
The sweater emits confusion.
but he is right to be puzzled. they are not an insect. and humans don't usually like insects.
"We'll follow you," he says to Molly, who nods silently and turns on her heels. Shad and Roach fall in step behind her, and Central starts after them.
He doesn't hear Kelly behind him. He pauses, looks back. She and Peter are exchanging looks.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asks Central as she crosses the distance between them.
"The Reapers are friends; we'll be welcome there," he says.
Kelly shrugs. Peter looks unconvinced, but when he starts walking again, he hears both their footsteps follow him.
you didn't answer my question.
The sweater sounds put out. Central offers the feeling of apology to it. "If I start talking to myself, it won't look very good," he murmurs under his breath.
you've always talked to us, it says, and he understands 'us' to be objects in general.
"Not where people can hear it," he answers. "To answer your question, I think it's a nickname."
but why Roach?
He gets a sense of fear from the sweater. A sense of… something crawling, something chewing at the threads. The sensation is gone as quickly as it comes, almost as if the sweater is trying to hide its feelings, but it all clicks then.
"You think roaches eat sweaters?"
moths eat sweaters. moths are bugs. so is a roach.
"Not all bugs eat fabric," he says, and he's smiling. He mentally pats the sweater, which is making the internal telepathic equivalent of a child's crossed arms and pout. "Don't worry about it; they won't eat you."
i am too strong to be eaten by a human, or a moth, or a roach! i am an artifact of power!
"Right," he says, a snort of laughter escaping him, and the mirth stays in his chest all the way to the Reaper's rooftop camp.