Authors note: hello again! so first off, happy valentines day! secondly, I passed all my GED exams (halleluJAH) so I can start working on personal projects for a while again! : im planning on going to college this year, but even at the soonest it most likely won't be for months, so i'm gonna try to squeeze in as much ~me time~ as i can. With all that being said, i hope everyone enjoys what i have planned, cuz to put it bluntly this chapter is where shits gonna start popping tf off and im nervouS but excited as to where its heading, thanks for reading! ❤

Trigger warnings for this chapter: Mild torture, death, violence, your general angst fest

POV: Doyle

Auuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh.

UuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuUUuUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh.

Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I hoarsely groan myself awake, my head pounding like a drum, and the wind piercing my ears. The wicked hangover is of course making every sound deafening, but I still mentally swear at the air for existing.

As I go to stir, I can feel a pressure on my shoulder. I prepare my eyes as best as I can for an imminent barrage of light, only to squint and wince as soon as they're open.

For a moment though, if only for a moment, the pain becomes a background thought. It's Ila. And not in some romantic, fell-asleep-on-my-shoulder kind of way that I can use to flirtatiously annoy her with in the morning. She's laying upside down on the couch, her head dangling off and her legs propped up against my side. Surprisingly, my few remaining brain cells remember how she ended up like this. Her final decree of the night was, and I quote, "Man, fuck bats, I'm stronger, I could stay here all day."

As gently as possible, I lean away and try to sneak towards a bathroom in search of some Ibuprofen. The pounding in my head increases with each step. It's like an orchestra up in this bitch. The rasping winds are like awful violins that keep tempo to my heavy pulse.

Through sheer willpower, I'm able to reach a bathroom and begin rummaging through the medicine cabinet, like any good stranger in somebody else's home would do. My stomach starts to sink. Uh oh, I think. It's been years since I've drank myself to the point of getting sick. I brace my hand against the toilet, just in case. On second thought, I'm not sure it is my stomach after all. Something's making me uneasy. I can't even think over the howling of wind though. Why is it so loud?

. . .

Whyyyyy is it so loud?

I exit the room hastily, making a stealthy beeline for the front door. It's shut and locked, tight. My tension settles a bit. I can still hear it though. This house is nice and doesn't seem very old, and in our situation, I don't feel comfortable brushing any suspicions off. My anxiety lures me through the hallway, following the wind until I'm standing in front of one of the bedrooms. I can't remember which ones were vacant, so I knock. Getting no response, I grab the knob and open the door slowly. Yknow, like a dumb white girl in a horror movie.

A wave of cold air hits me immediately.

The window's wide open.

Biiiiiiiiiiiiitch,

The next sound I hear is the floor creaking behind me.

BAM!

The wind is finally quiet, but only because it's been replaced with a high pitched ringing. I realize I'm on the ground, and man, fuck a headache, this feeling is skull splitting. Instinctively my hands go to the back of my head, sensing a trickle of blood. The past few days have been kinda rough, but this is icing on the 'how am I still alive' cake.

There's a tug on my ankle, and when I find the strength in my neck to look up, all I can see is a silhouette. I don't care who or what it is. I kick at it, landing a pretty good blow to the groin. They immediately double over. Lmao.

Momentarily, I start to feel alert again, though nowhere near what I could usually be. Shaking it off, I struggle to get to my feet. That's when I see the silhouette fall forward, a very awake but equally hungover Ila standing there with a broken wine bottle in her hand. Hell yeaaah. Fuck bats. You're stronger.

Before long, the shadows seem to grow around us. I come to realize that it's not just an intruder. It's a planned attack. I've trained for this scenario, I've trained Zak for it, I've prepared the house for- . . . Hm. I'm not in my house. I don't know where Zak is. And also, I can't think straight because I've been drinking like a frat boy all night. Something to feel guilty about later, I suppose.

By the time I can process my surroundings again, they have her by her arms and are trying to do the same to me. Distantly, I feel like I can hear Zak shout, and it happens to strike some adrenaline into my system. I elbow one in the face, blood immediately spurts from their mouth. I have this under control, I think to myself, before an ironic and swift kick to the side topples me.

I startle awake this time, my head still reeling, but definitely sobered.

I'm in a room that looks vaguely reminiscent of a waiting room. As in, no tables, no decor, just chairs and tile. The only major differences are that I'm ziptied on the floor, and there's no magazine racks.

By the door, there are two vaguely familiar men standing guard. One of them has wine stains on their coat (courtesy of Ila) and the other has a split lip (courtesy of my elbow). As I continue to scan the area, I notice Ila and Zak are lined up to my side. He looks tired, but mostly unscathed. Ila looks justifiably pissed.

"Hey."

Her gaze softens as she turns my way, while Zak's brightens.

"You okay?"

I manage to sit up with a loud groan.

"Yeah. What about you guys?"

He gives me a hard nod, while Ila opts for a comical shrug.

"Was kinda hoping to save that wine bottle. Put it on a shelf or something. Oh well."

I give her a 'what can you do' smile in return. As the vibes try to settle, Zak impatiently puts on a boastful expression.

"I put a guy in a headlock!", He brags. I pretend to look impressed at his remark, except that I'm not pretending.

"How long?"

"Like 20 seconds, I would've had him tapping if the other guy hadn't come in." He says, his voice trailing into disappointment.

"Eh, at least you did better than I did." I reply.

We share a moment of comfort, but as usual, our downtime doesn't last for long. The entrance to the room creaks open. A man enters, and I can tell by his walk, his look, that he's the one running this. This isn't my first rodeo. I know an eccentric sociopathic supervillain when I see one.

His long brown coattail follows him. His hair is a dusty blue, straight and parted to the side, aligning with his eyes. Well, his eye. The right one is concealed by a dark patch. Wow, I think sarcastically to myself. So original.

He looks my way for a moment, before passively turning his attention to his phone. Okay, actually, that did throw me for a loop. What, is there an app for writing evil monologues?

I brush his odd mannerisms off with a feeble attempt at taking control of the situation, starting with my usual style of reckless threatening.

"I know who you are."

"Doubt it." He replies, scrolling idly.

"You were the ones chasing us on the snowmobiles."

He scoffs.

"Your memory is failing you. I don't do dirty work."

"No, I bet you don't. You look a lot more like the kinda guy who wants to sit on a throne made of human skulls and bark demands at his evil henchmen."

The room goes silent. His gaze finally lifts from the phone to me. The look he's giving me is hard to parse. It's cold and blank, yet inquisitive. The aura he has is something I've never come across before, and it gives the air a horrible tension.

Finally, he gives me a nonchalant shrug before looking back down.

"Yeah, I guess that'd be pretty cool."

What. The Fuck. Is up with this guy.

With that, I give up on taking control of the room and simply resort to asking questions, hoping something will come of prying. He seems like a bad guy who can't resist the dramatic flare of revealing all his secrets to his opponents.

". . . How did you find us?"

"Mm, pretty easy," He says, with sudden intrigue, pocketing his phone and pulling up a chair to give me a smug smile.

"Considering that you have a traitor in your midst."

Aaand there it is.

After another moment's thought, I shoot a rather vicious glare Ila's way.

"What did you do."

"Me? I've been in your line of sight since we met, how could I have-"

That unsettling feeling that I'm missing something big comes my way again. It seems to have dawned on Ila as well.

". . . Where's Van Rook?"

And just like that, speak of the devil and he doth appear.

"You're late." The man in the chair chides, as the door creaks open again. Van Rook enters the room soundlessly. We lock eyes, like two swords clashing. To say you could hear a pin drop is a violent understatement.

"Forty bucks to your name, huh." I spit out. His silence envelops me and crashes like waves, only making me less and less patient for an explanation.

"How much did they really pay you."

He averts my slowly hardening gaze, I can't tell if it's from guilt or just apathy. Eventually, he gives me a casual shrug.

"Enough to get by."

"You said money wasn't important." I press on, my voice like sandpaper.

When he looks at me again, this time it's accompanied with a daring smile.

"No actually, What I said was, it's not as reliable."

My blood starts to simmer. I can't believe this. Here I was drilling self preservation into Zak, and I trusted a man who was such a snake he was practically hissing. My thoughts are scattered, I ask the only question I can think of.

"Why?"

"Times are hard, people are crazy, yada yada. You know this as well as I do."

My head falls to my chest, shaking in disbelief.

"Things have always been 'crazy'."

I catch only a glimpse of his aggravated face as he turns his back to me.

"Whatever, I don't have to answer to you."

"I answered to you for MONTHS." My voice accidentally breaks into a yell. It's received with more silence. Good. I'm tired of listening to him.

The man from before, who up until now looked very uninterested with our whole affair, decides to chime back in.

"I'm Enki. By the way."

He turns his attention to a somewhat irritated Van Rook.

"Sorry, I'm bored."

The name Enki strikes me as oddly familiar, drawing back images back from the library. There was a story, an ancient legend where a Sumerian god named Enki slayed a giant serpent referred to as 'Kur'. Not a particularly comforting recollection. Still, it makes this a little less intimidating, knowing this man really just opened a history book and stole an alias like a 10 year old boy playing pretend at recess and telling everyone to call him Goku.

His gloved hand gestures Van Rook to the door.

"You're dismissed."

As he walks past, he doesn't dare look my way again. I still stare him down, hoping he'll feel the heat from my eyes like flames. The man before us props his chin up on his arms, it's just us now.

"So. Who's Kur."

The question pours from his mouth like it's nothing. Like it doesn't hit us all like a punch in the chest. Like it doesn't have the power to destroy everything, everyone we've fought so hard to protect. We seem to be collectively holding our breath, waiting as seconds tick by.

"Fine, we can just kill you all."

"Wait!" I shout, before realizing it's echoed between the three of us. There's a brief somber pause before Enki lets out a laugh that would put argost to shame.

"Oh my god. I was bluffing. But I get it, you all were gonna try to claim it's name right off the bat? All right. Interesting. This is may take longer than I thought."

The guard to his left pulls opens a box for him, from which he pulls out a long black whip.

"We can start with something basic."

I want to laugh. I really do.

"You're holding. A whip. That is. The antonym of basic."

"Oh relax. I'm not actually going to kill you."

"You want to talk this out over tea?" Ila jests.

He rolls his eyes, gently unraveling the whip and taking a few practice cracks to the side of us. It's close enough that I can feel the air warp next to my head, but I don't dare let this little gremlin see me flinch.

"Ok, don't relax that much. It's just that, hypothetically speaking, if Kur can keep coming back however it chooses, doesn't it make more sense to deter it? Instead of just killing a devil over and over again, why not. . ." He shrugs, with another crack. "Make it so it doesn't want to come back."

His words send a shiver down my spine. This is fucked. This is so fucked.

"Don't give me that look. You know I'm right. I mean, the solution is pretty simple for you, you confess, and whoever's innocent gets to leave. You can't let empathy get in the way of your rationality. Your logic."

Logic? What part of any of this is logical? Where is the rationality? These concepts have been extinct for months. They've shriveled up and died in the cold, and I can guarantee they aren't going to be found again in this room.

"Empathy isn't illogical or irrational. It's human." Ila says, her voice strong but affected. He scoffs again, this time out of indignation.

"Of course not. What, you think I don't have any empathy? That I'm not human? I'm trying to protect the world from one thing that could destroy it. That's more than an equal trade. Even a child could understand that."

In the corner of my eye I can see Zak turn his eyes to the ground, his hood crumpling a bit around his face. I'm glad I can't see his expression. I think it'd just make me wanna kill this guy even more. I look back up at him, trying to infuse that malice into my own expression.

"That's a pretty black and white idea of empathy."

"Agree to disagree." He says, waving his arm as his guards come our way. Before I can react, there's the sound of a knife opening, and in a flash, I feel the restraints on my wrists loosen.

"Everyone stick out your right hand."

I know lately things haven't been completely normal, but I don't know if I've ever been this confused by someone's presence. None of this makes sense. Even if Van Rook hasn't already told him, everybody knows Kur is a child. Everyone fears the white streak, and the orange eyes. All he has to do is look a bit closer and the cat's out of the bag. He doesn't seem stupid, just twisted. He knows. He has to know. Why does he want us to say it? Why is he trying to drag it out of us?

"I'm not asking again." He smiles.

None of us budge. This guy definitely doesn't get humanity as much as he thinks he does. For instance, most people would rather die than do what they're asked of by someone they hate.

Prefacing with yet another eye roll, he gives the guards a nod, and suddenly my hand is forced forward. I have an idea of what's about to happen, and if it does, I hope he's ready to lose the other eye. Can't roll what you don't have.

"I'll give you one last chance. Tell me which of you is Kur."

I stare him down, concealing any and all fear with an incredulous response.

"You already know."

W-psh!

I feel a fiery sting as a red hot line appears across my hand. Ohhhh. My god you bitch. You huge, huge bitch.

"You're naive. . . There's more to this than just observing the obvious."

He coyly takes a step to the side, stopping in front of Ila.

"You look like a local." He mutters. She gives him a dead eyed stare.

"You look like a rejected Vocaloid design."

I bite my lip, hard, screaming on the inside. I try to mask it by pretending it's just pain, but I'm losing my mind. Why did she have to make the funniest roast while that man is holding a whip right in front of us. I'm going to die.

". . . You don't have to be here. I can tell. Why do you stay? Why do you enable your own destruction? Why do you protect a monster?"

I watch on as her eyes sharpen to match his look, his aura. Despite how calm her usual vibe is, she rivals him incredibly.

"I think you're underestimating me."

"If this is the hill you choose to die on, I won't hesitate to lump you all in together. I'll take you down, one by one, till there's nothing left."

"Okay, now I think you're overestimating yourself."

His poker face finally turns to one of disdain.

"You will confess or you will all be treated as Kur. I'm not taking any chances."

Her gaze stays hard, but her speech now takes on a new tone. It's a tone I've heard from her a few times already, though not much before we met. It's another concept that's nearly extinct in the times we live in. A voice of reason.

"Okay, I get it. You're scared. But you're acting like we aren't. Like the eleven year old to my side isn't. You admit you'd be willing to take down innocent people for your cause, and that makes you just as bad as the monsters you're to destroy. But you don't care, as long as you're the monster that wins."

The calm, tense air completely snaps into a violent, angry one.

"CONFESS!"

He strikes his whip at her, and she strikes back, grabbing it midair, letting it wrap around her hand with a presumably painful snap before yanking. He trips, and suddenly, they're slammed face to face. Or should I say, head to jaw. He covers his mouth, blood spilling slightly between his fingers. 90% of me is in shock over the fact that without a doubt, that was the coolest thing I've ever seen anyone do, and 10%, that was the hottest thing I've ever seen anyone do.

"Watch out!" Zak yells as a guard approaches her, ironically with the same knife he used to free us. She's quick to unwrap her hand and brandish her newfound weapon, but is overtaken by the fact that she, like most normal people in this day and age, has never used a whip.

The guards hold her, and the slow dripping of blood to the floor is the only sound that fills the hushed air. It's not long before Enki recovers, grabbing the knife and holding it centimeters from her face.

"An eye for an eye."

Just as things seem to be heading south (and I mean, clear across the border), a short text jingle seems to play from his phone, providing a pretty good dose of mood whiplash. N̶o̶ ̶p̶u̶n̶ ̶i̶n̶t̶e̶n̶d̶e̶d̶.̶

He holds his ground against her for a moment, before curiosity seems to get the better of him. A casual glance down slowly turns to one of contempt. Whatever he just read, he didn't like. He collects himself, letting a smile creep across his face. I can't help but feel as though it's an act. The knife is returned, along with a whisper to a guard before he departs again, taking him and leaving us and just one man. Hah. Big mistake.

". . . Is your hand okay?" Zak questions, quiet as a mouse.

"Mhm. Hardly a scratch." She lies.

"Shut up." The man warns. As he moves, I catch a glint towards the back of his belt. Oh, you have got to be joking. They're carrying guns, and they're out here using whips and knives? I see. I'm dealing with an 'aesthetic over efficiency' villain. Well, this should be a breeze.

"What do you think, we're plotting something at full volume with you in the room?"

He takes another step. Good. Keep it up.

"I didn't ask what you were doing,"

One more.

"I said,"

There.

I leap at him, right for the holster. Now this is more my style for taking control of a situation.

"Stay back."

Feeling the cold metal in my hands jolts me, and I realize that I didn't completely grasp where I was taking this scenario. Am I gonna shoot a man in front of my kid nephew and this stranger who's just along for the ride?

"Go ahead, shoot me, I'd rather die than aid the devil."

. . . No. Apparently, I'm going to shoot this man outside, where nobody will see. Perfect. A+ plan.

"Go. Now." I aim towards the door.

". . . Doyle-" Zak urges.

"It's okay." I still can't will myself to look at his face. Especially not now.

"I said, go."

With as much reluctance I've ever seen a man muster, he takes a few steps out the door. Me and my new little friend follow him, maybe a little too closely.

"Where's the exit."

Silence. You'd think I'd have enough of hearing these guys talk, but I really don't know how many more of their ~dramatic pauses~ I can take. My grip tightens. Ila's powerful question comes to mind. "Is it worth it". It echos. It pounds at my brain. Actually, I might still be a little hungover.

I never used to ask myself if what I was doing was best, as long as I knew it would work. Right now, this trigger would solve so many problems, but cause so many more. She's right, it's not just my own consequences anymore. How can I teach somebody they're not meant for evil if I let evil become our only option?

My hand falters. I see that familiar white hair in the back of my mind, this time, telling me to take the high road. Ugh. I hate the high road.

W-psh!

The gun goes flying from my hand. In my moment of distraction, he had managed to pull out his own whip.

"What the fuck! Do all of you have those? That's- . . . that's really weird, man."

"I know."

It flies past me this time, I have to nearly bend over backward to dodge it's return. Before he can rev up for another, I charge him and throw a punch. He throws one too, and we start a back and forth. Fists are flying so fast I can hardly keep up with them. This catches up to me, and he decks me hard in the stomach. I collapse to one knee, and with the rest of my strength, grab him by the abdomen and push. He falls, the whip sliding away from him.

In desperation, I grab it and wrap it around his neck, choking him till I can think of a new plan. I need more time. I just need time. Where are we. Stop moving. Where did we come in at. How many exits are there. How many other guards could there be. Quit struggling. How are we going to get around without a snowmobile. Could we make a run for it. I'll kill you.

. . . What if evil is our only option?

In my hands, I feel no more movement. I slump back against a wall.

Looking down at what's left, I surprisingly don't feel that bad. But in a weird way, not feeling bad is making me feel secondhand bad. It seems like I keep doing something wrong to protect the one person who needs to know he's in the right. And I keep it up in hopes I'll reunite with the only people that could ever be more disappointed with me than I am with myself. I don't want to get up. I don't want to face-

Bang!

My entire body jumps. The thud that follows seems to last forever. I turn to see another guard, knife in hand, laying in a pool of his own blood. So. There's three guards. That answers one of my questions, I guess.

When I turn back, I'm shocked to see van rook standing there, holding a brown bag in one hand, and a smoking gun inches above my head in the other.

"YOU! FUUUUCK YOU-"

"Yeah fuck you too, let's go."

He whistles towards the room with Ila and Zak, who are quick to join us in a sprint.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I'll explain later."

"What the fuck is in the bag?!"

"God, do you even have ears? Can you please tell me if you have ears. Have you had them checked. Do they work."

Wow. I am, somehow, immediately down for murder again!

We continue our escape with Van Rook leading the way, though I quickly figure out he has no idea where he's going either. While that room was simple, the hallways and corridors around it are like a winding labyrinth. Your typical bad guy interior design.

We turn a corner and stop dead in our tracks. It's the man of the hour, Enki, and he looks just a tad bit unhappy that I went and asphyxiated one of his men.

"You're not going anywhere."

He looks down at the bag in Van Rook's arm, seemingly interested in what it contains.

"I see. That's all you wanted. Hm. It's kind of pathetic, trying so hard to protect the thing that will bring your end. It's a shame you all have to go down the same route to-"

I grab the gun from Van Rook and fire a warning shot into the wall next to him. It ricochets, causing him to yelp and cover his ears. No more killing tonight if I can help it, but I can't lie, it feels pretty good to shut him up.

We take off again, making sure to follow a different route than before. Yeah, this looks different.

"Isn't that the door we came out of?"

. . . Nevermind.

"All right, let's take a left up here at the-"

The noisy shatter of glass cuts me off. I spin around to see Zak's claw outstretched against a window.

"Guys, we're nearly ground floor, let's just go!"

We all share a quick glance before funneling out into the cold. I guess the easy solutions don't always have to be bad ones. I just hope he holds onto that.