Heeeeyyyyyyyyyyoooooo! It's-a me!

Okay, I hope that you all enjoy drama, because this chapter is full of it.

RECAP:
- The bounty hunters have been successfully rescued, and are in an abandoned container out in the desert for now. Alfred still refuses to believe that his brother is alive.
- Arthur has Chalydrantis, and is starting to die.
- Ayshe has promised to testify in Yao's defence during his trial, which is fast approaching.

WARNINGS: Some violence and swearing I think.

Anyway, please REVIEW to tell me what you think, and enjoy!

An abandoned shipping container,
Draak-Zafi Forra, Nyma
Late at night, 27th Maarch

Their situation only took a moment to change from mildly unsavoury to terrible and strange.

Their stay as of so far had passed easily enough. After Alfred's fight with Gilbert, Romeo had forced the pair to opposite ends of the container they were trapped in, and enforced a set distance between the two. Feliks had wisely chosen to follow Gilbert to his corner, given that Alfred was angry at him, too. Arthur had scowled at everyone and slumped back against the wall, seemingly avoiding making conversation with Roderich, who looked like he was trying to instigate one. Leon and Mei had huddled near Arthur, while Natalya and Yael had struck up a conversation with Tori.

The others ended up started their own quiet conversations, while Vash himself had resumed his previous engagement of glaring at everyone lazily. He sighed. This was hardly what he had expected when he'd accepted this job. Clearly, the whole drama happening at the moment in the resistance was further reaching than he'd thought. A major figure could cause this sort of turmoil, but this was their headquarters, not an outpost…

No, it had to be their leader who was involved in something major. Perhaps they had died, and some sort of leadership quarrel was happening now? Vash shook his head. Trying to psychoanalyse rebels was a pointless task. Their motivations were almost completely lost on him. He would admit, since meeting Lovino and Feliciano, he had come to understand the reasoning behind their cause more. Those two deserved to have their planet back, and Vash resented that it had been taken from them in such a way. He didn't consider himself sympathetic enough to actually aid the rebels in any way, but he understood their reasoning, in a detached sort of way.

He frowned as his thoughts turned back to Lovino and Feliciano. It had been over 10 days since he'd last seen them, and though he knew, objectively, that that was a small amount of time, he felt something akin to anxiety rise within him when he imagined the two of them alone back in Bibesti, susceptible to any sort of threat. Lovino was no weakling – he had killed before and could kill again – but Feliciano was a different story. For someone who had lived a life of such poverty and hardship, the boy was exceptionally light-hearted and compassionate. He was endearing in every sense of the word. Though Vash couldn't quite relate to him on the level that he could to his bitter, more violent older brother, he still liked him. But Feliciano was no fighter, though Vash suspected that Lovino had shown him a few techniques. He shook his head. He should be worrying about himself, not his neighbours over in another system.

He tried several times, without success, to divert his thoughts from the two brothers by himself, and decided to seek out a distraction. Luckily, Vash found himself seated next to the noisiest of the bounty hunters by far. Upon realising this, he quickly engaged Matthias in conversation. It started as a few cursory questions about his injuries, but the bounty hunter quickly launched into a fascinating story about a run-in which he'd previously had with law enforcement, a plumber and some very angry lawyers on Rityl. It was far more entertaining than Vash let on, and he almost had to physically restrain himself from laughing at a few points. The tall blonde had just finished his story when the Syhvvanian rebel Romeo stood and slung his gun over his back.

"Alright, I'm done for the night. Now, your conditions will be a little different overnight, which is what I have to explain." The young teen sighed, obviously annoyed by this. "Now, you guys aren't actually going to have a guard from about 11pm to 6am. This is due to the simple reason that we actually do need to sleep. We realise that sometimes, shit goes wrong, so, if you guys need serious help or anything similar," he held up a small signaller, "you guys use this. Just press the middle button three times, and one of us will come and help you out. It's not to be used unless it's an actual emergency, got it? We don't have the time to be running to and from here constantly." Romeo set the small device on the table, eyeing them all suspiciously. "Remember, you guys need to stay as quiet as possible, or it's your heads on the line." Without another word, he scooped up a small rucksack which he had brought with him, and disappeared out the door, unfortunately remembering to padlock it before he went.

Almost the minute that their guard was gone, Natalya was plotting.

"This is almost too easy," she said smugly as she turned the small signaller over in her hands, "All we have to do is call them here, overpower them and leave." Though Yael nodded at the idea, and Alfred also looked keen to escape the container, Francis rolled his eyes.

"Oh yes, we'd be free! We'd be defenceless, and without food, water, clothes, money and transport while in the middle of a desert, but yes, we'd be free to go!" he looked at Natalya. "Be realistic. They know this terrain better than us. There's only so far that one can travel on foot, and they have vehicles and weapons." Natalya huffed, but placed the signaller back on the table and slumped against the wall again.

"Francis makes a good point." Vash added. "The rebels are far better organised and trained than the Union ever risks giving them credit for. I don't think they'd be so forgiving if we tried to escape after they risked their lives to stop our executions, also." Francis nodded at Vash's words, giving Natalya a look which said, see? I'm in the right here.

"Unless you stole one of their weapons." Berwald said quietly. They all looked at him in surprise; he wasn't known for his valuable contributions to conversations.

Natalya nodded at him, while Antonio sighed and hauled one of the sleeping bags which they had been left towards himself.

"Well, you guys can plot as much as you like. I'm going to sleep, considering that we didn't get much of it last night." He shot them all one last grin before yanking his blankets around himself. It didn't take long for the others to all follow suit, though Vash was more hesitant – given the fact that the last time he'd slept on this planet, he'd nearly gotten shot in the face, he was slightly more wary to fall asleep than he had been before.

He ended up next to Francis, who moved over a little to give him more room, and begrudgingly snuggled down into the surprisingly comfortable blankets. Vash had expected that his instincts would keep him awake, but to no avail; he was asleep in minutes.

Francis' first thought when he was shaken awake was that a) Vash had accidentally rolled onto him in his sleep, b) some sort of Nymian reptile had snuck into the container and was preparing to bite him, or c) Natalya had decided to go through with her plan to try and trick the rebels and escape.

It was none of the three.

Francis blinked blearily, wondering why he was being waken up at such a god-forsaken hour – and he knew that it was ridiculously early, given the fact that everything before him was pitch-black – when he realised that it hadn't been intentional. He could feel someone clambering over the top of him, and a quick swipe to his right side indicated that it had been Vash. Groaning, he rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows.

"What's going on?" he murmured sleepily, not quite managing to suppress a yawn. He could hear shuffling and whispering to his right, accompanied by the sound of low, laboured breaths. He frowned rubbing at his eyes as he forced himself into a sitting position. He could feel Antonio still sleeping, and he heard whispering coming from another direction.

"Does this mean that we're going through with my plan after all, then?" it was Natalya. He felt her crouch down next to him. "Why are the others awake?" he inquired. He shrugged, then, realising that she was as blind as him in this darkness, responded.

"I'm not sure," he whispered back. He raised his voice a little. "What's going on?"

"Something's up with Arthur." A voice called out of him. Antonio.

Francis frowned "What do you mean?"

"His breathing is a bit uneven, is all. I don't think that there's anything seriously wrong with him, though."

Francis could almost hear Natalya's grin. "In that case, we have an excuse for calling them here, don't we?" he heard someone sigh. Natalya, having not heard any objections to her idea, fumbled around before she obviously found the small signaller. He heard three small beeps and knew that she'd called them there.

"All we have to do now is wait." She said.

"I don't trust it." Matthew glanced over at Tino, who was glaring at the small signal receiver as though it had personally wronged him. "What could have possibly happened in only 4 hours? It's more likely that they're trying to escape, if we're realistic."

Matthew couldn't argue with that logic. "That does seem most likely." He conceded. "But there's also the chance that something has happened." Tino sighed.

"You're going to go and check on them, aren't you?" Matthew smiled at him, shrugging.

"What can I say, you know me too well." Tino was grinning.

"Well if I can't stop you, I might as well join you." Matthew smiled at his friend, grateful to have the company.

"If you're headed over there, I might as well come too." They both turned, looking at a weary Lukas in surprise. The young Fynknian shrugged. "I'm slotted in for the first watch of the day anyway. Might as well stay." Matthew hesitated a moment, but nodded, looking between the two of them.

"Okay, a party of three it is."

He gave them both about five minutes to change into actual clothes (since they'd all been in pyjamas) and grab a few other things. He chuckled a little when he saw Lukas grabbing a few apples and stowing them in the pockets of his oversized jacket. Tino had already pulled his mask over his face. He jerked his head towards the small trunk where Matthew's was also hidden.

"Not wearing the mask, then?"

Matthew stiffened slightly. He had thought about it, but the idea of hiding his face even more was just exhausting. He knew that the middle of the night was hardly the best time to spring the news that he was still alive on his younger brother, but he had no patience for melodrama, and their family situation quickly seemed to be building up to that. He shook his head. Tino shrugged, but didn't question it, and followed him and Lukas out as they headed into the woods.

By the time footsteps became audible outside the container, everyone else had been woken up. Roderich, Mei and Leon, upon hearing that Arthur was sick again, had rushed over towards him, though Roderich seemed far more concerned than the two younger teens, which puzzled Francis a little. As far as he was aware, Arthur had known Roderich longer, but the kids seemed to be a lot closer to him. He had merely shrugged it off, as Natalya took advantage of their very limited time to try and work out some semblance of a plan.

They didn't have much, admittedly. The only idea that they really had was to overpower whoever came, steal whatever they had of use on their person, and run for it. They would figure out the rest later. Natalya had said that it was better that they were free than continually trapped by the rebels. Francis couldn't exactly argue the fact that their stay, so far, had not been very pleasant. Yes, they'd been reunited with their friends at long last, but they had also been borderline starved, almost been executed, and shuttled around in captivity like cattle.

Francis wasn't very keen on the idea of fighting the rebels. He had heard a lot about their prowess in combat, and didn't exactly want a repeat of what had happened when their friends had been kidnapped. Surprisingly, Feliks, Gilbert, Tori and Roderich, the four who arguably had the biggest reason to resent the rebels, given their long captivity, were all adamantly against the idea.

"They aren't bad people!" Gilbert had argued earlier. "They didn't have to risk anything for us, but they executed one of their own to keep us alive. Not to mention everything they did to save our lives when they were getting us here!"

"They were only keeping you guys safe so that we'd pay your ransom." Alfred had argued. "They aren't doing any of this for us, they're doing it because they've been ordered to do it."

Gilbert had shaken his head, looking furious.

"Well I'm not going to fight them." He had said sharply. Alfred had rolled his eyes, but hadn't argued. Feliks and Tori had similarly reluctant, as had Roderich. Francis sighed. They weren't exactly going to force them too, though it was frustrating that they were declining to even try.

The sound of shuffling and footsteps from outside became audible, and Francis tensed. Everyone else seemed to go still as well as the chains jangled and were pulled away from the outside of the doors. Finally, there was a loud creaking noise as the door swung open, and a slice of moonlight pierced the darkness. The sound of the footsteps became louder as someone moved inside.

"You called. What is it?" a rebel's voice, oddly familiar, met his ears. Antonio spoke up.

"Our friend is sick." The rebel didn't move towards them.

"Sick how?" they asked. Francis could identify the voice as male, but there was something else about it which made his head spin with confusion. He had heard that voice, and recently, too. He tried to force the thoughts away. What did it matter? He should be easy enough to overpower.

"His breathing's all uneven, and he's been ill the past few days as well." Antonio elaborated. Francis felt a chill run over him, as a very familiar voice met his ears.

"One of them was pretty out of it when we brought them here, I'll admit." Francis cursed. The second voice belonged to the masked Lieutenant who had escorted them here with Colonel Jakolin. They had hoped that only one rebel would come to check on them. There was a moment of silence, before the first rebel spoke up again.

"Fine. Let me take a look at him."

And that was when Francis recognised it. This rebel was the same one who had uttered that single word – "Nesset" – before shooting one of his own dead. His blood ran cold. This rebel had had no qualms about killing his own ally. It was unlikely that he would hesitate to kill a criminal that he didn't know.

As if the situation couldn't get worse, suddenly a third pair of footsteps, lighter than the first two, met their ears. Francis exchanged a worried look with Matthias in the near-darkness. Shit. There were three of them.

He forced his thoughts to remain more positive. Yes, there might be three highly trained and potentially deadly rebels inside their container, but there were seventeen of them – thirteen if he factored in that Gilbert, Tori, Feliks and Roderich didn't plan on fighting them – surely, they could overpower them?

But one of them – or all – could easily be armed.

The first rebel had started to move towards Arthur, navigating very well despite the relative darkness. Francis saw his silhouette drop down as he knelt next to the pirate's side. The rebel turned on some sort of small torch and shone it over Arthur, though the beam was directed in such a way that the rebel's face was still out of sight. He looked over him for a moment, before Francis saw his frame stiffen.

"Shit." The rebel cursed, fumbling for a bag he had slung over his shoulder.

"What is it?" Mei's voice rang out, deep with concern. "What's wrong with him?"

The rebel simply muttered a curse again and then braced his hands on Arthur's torso, pulling him so that he was lying on his side, and tilted the pirate's head upward a little. Mei repeated her question.

"There's something affecting his breathing." The rebel finally deigned to respond. Without further explanation, the rebel bowed his head a little closer to the pirate and, without warning, stuck his fingers down his throat. Arthur made an awful choking noise, and the rebel turned the blonde's head to the side as he retched. He lowered his head back onto the floor, but his breathing was still off.

The rebel swore again. Mei was starting to look panicked.

"What is it now?" she asked.

"There's nothing in his oesophagus, so that means that whatever is messing up his breathing is in his actual lungs, which is bad."

Mei whimpered, and Francis saw Leon put a hand around her shoulder.

"But…you can fix it, right?"

"We'll have to see…Lukas?" the rebel called out. The third pair of footsteps grew louder, as the last rebel entered the container. "I could use a little help here." the first rebel said. Francis saw the rebel move past him and also kneel at Arthur's side. He felt Matthias tap him gently on the arm.

"This seems a lot more serious than we initially thought." Matthias whispered to him. "What do you think is wrong with Arthur?" Francis shrugged. Looking discomfited, Matthias leant away, frowning at the pirate's slumped form on the floor. Even Francis had to admit that he was starting to get concerned. Arthur's health had been dodgy at best the last few days.

The third rebel – Lukas – sucked in a breath. He had been gently probing Arthur's chest with his fingers, but now he drew away.

"There's fluid in his lungs." Lukas said. "He's essentially drowning on dry land." The first rebel cursed again, and moved to find something by his side.

It was that moment that the others chose to strike. There was a sudden silence, as if everyone was holding their breath. Then, the container was alive with noise and shouting.

When they'd been captured and thrown in a cell alongside their friends, the rebels had done a cursory check for weapons, and removed any guns that they had. But they were criminals. Being criminals, they always made sure to have a back-up plan. In most of their cases, that 'back-up plan' was having a small but wickedly sharp knife slotted into the lining of their boots. Francis could guess from the figures he saw darting past him that Alfred, Natalya, Leon and Antonio were among those attacking the rebels. Francis heard noise behind him, and turned as the door slammed shut. The torch that the rebel had been holding was skittering around wildly on the floor as people struggled, throwing light randomly on people's faces.

Francis turned as Berwald charged towards someone behind him, evidently attacking the Lieutenant who had been standing by the door.

Francis could hardly see a thing, but he could hear shouted curses and yelps of pain. One particularly loud cry of pain came from Alfred, and Francis spun, trying and failing to locate his obviously injured friend in the chaos. Seeing no other real option, he flattened himself and crawled underneath the table. If he couldn't fight, he might as well get out of the way. but no sooner than he had slid under the wood, an awful, piercing shriek exploded to life inside his head. He clutched at his ears, but the sound was relentless, erasing every thought in his head.

It abruptly vanished, and he sat in shock, ears ringing. There was complete silence. He heard what might have been a voice, before the container was flooded with light. Evidently, someone had had the sense to turn on the lights. Shaking, he dragged himself out from underneath the table to survey the damage that had been done. He turned his head to the side and noticed a small pool of blood on the floor. He grimaced.

Everyone else seemed as taken aback as he did. The source of the noise – whatever it had been – didn't seem to be immediately visible. He heard a groan to his right, and saw Matthias look in that direction. Francis was more shocked at how fast their leader blanched than he had been by the shrieking noise. Slowly, he turned, feeling shock wash over him as well.

Berwald had charged towards the door to take out the Lieutenant. It had been a wise decision, strategically speaking – Berwald was, excluding Ivan, the one with the most physical strength on their whole crew. The Lieutenant who had escorted them across the desert had been relatively small in stature – just taller than Leon – and rather slim. Berwald was probably about twice his size.

Yet Berwald was on the ground, with an assault rifle pointed at his face, while the small Lieutenant looked no worse for wear, mask still in place. Francis' jaw dropped open. The rebel had, it seemed, easily overpowered their friend. The Lieutenant had his foot planted on Berwald's face, pushing his shattered glasses into his face. Francis cold already see several cuts on the left side of the man's face. The Lieutenant looked up at them.

"The ingratitude that you all have is appalling." He spat, voice laced with fury. "Trying to attack us when we're saving your friend? How typical." The way he spat the last word made it sound like an awful insult, and Francis felt himself bristle a little. Matthias was glaring at the Lieutenant.

"You expect us to be grateful, when you've kept us locked up for days?" Matthias spat at him, scowling. The Lieutenant shifted the gun so that it was pointed at their leader.

"Don't tempt me to shoot you." The rebel scowled

Matthias extended his arms mockingly. "Go ahead and try it."

"Matthias!" Feliks said, looking horrified.

"I've used those guns before," Matthias said, nodding at the high-calibre assault rifle that the Lieutenant was holding, "The kickback on them is so strong that half the time the shooter doesn't even hit their target." The Lieutenant was still for a moment, before he started to laugh, lowering his gun a little.

"That's true for most shooters, yes," he said, "But I'm not most shooters."

Matthias sneered at him. "How so?"

The Lieutenant lowered his gun, letting go with one hand. He placed it on his hip, cocking his head to the side. Francis swore, despite the mask, that he could almost see the man smiling grimly. There was a beat of silence before the man responded.

"Well, you'll find, bounty hunter," he said as he reached up and pulled the mask from his face, "that I don't miss."

If Matthias had been pale before, he was almost ghost-like now. The Lieutenant grinned, aiming his gun at their leader again. "So, do you want to test me, or not?"

For once, Matthias seemed to actually suck up his pride, and shake his head. Francis couldn't blame him. How many times had he seen that face, first in the Index, and then plastered over digital displays in the Krios District? He knew it well – after all, the Union only displayed the faces of their most wanted on those boards. When a new face appeared, people tended to take notice. He had to admit, it was quite something to see it in real life.

Tino Vainamoinen; by far one of the most infamous modern rebel fighters. Known for his immense and unforgiving prowess with a gun. He was a sniper – one of the most efficient the universe had ever seen. His bounty was, the last time Francis had checked, about 3 billion marks.

The Lieutenant – Tino – removed his foot from Berwald's face, muttered a low 'stay down' to their friend, and moved towards the group. He knelt down right in front of Matthias.

"I don't think any of you have properly gauged the situation. If you escape from here, you'll die. If you get locked in here forever, you'll die. If you try to fight us, you'll die. It isn't a hard concept to grasp." He reached out and seized Matthias by the hair, dragging him forward so that their faces were very close together. "Your continued survival depends entirely on us. Trying to gut the people responsible for your life isn't a good move." He released their leader, then held out his hand. "Your knives, if you will."

They all hesitated for a moment, before reluctantly handing over the few weapons that they had. Some of them had to scour the floor to locate them. As they did, one of the other rebels stood from behind the table. He was young, shockingly so, and obviously Fynknian. He looked relatively unharmed, save for a vicious cut across his hand which had left his fingers drenched in blood. Upon noticing this, Tino went still.

"So, you actually managed to land a few hits." He said, voice soft and deadly.

"More than a few." The first rebel groaned as the sound of shuffling met their ears. "Though don't worry, we got them back in kind." The man finally stood, dragging someone behind him. Francis caught sight of his face, and felt shock course through his body.

Evidently, Feliks and Gilbert had been telling the truth. It also explained, in part, why the rebel's voice had seemed so familiar. The man was tall – taller than Francis – and was almost the mirror-image of Alfred. Their facial features were almost identical, though this doppelganger had higher cheekbones, and his face was less square than Alfred's. His eyes were a pale shade of violet, while his hair, which was pale blond, was long and curly. He also wore glasses, and bore a vexed expression on his face. As he moved towards them, Francis noticed that the man's neck was slick with blood, as were his hands.

He unceremoniously dumped Alfred – who he seemed to have given quite a beating to – next to Vash and straightened up. Alfred clearly hadn't seen his face yet – a cut on his forehead had coated his eyes with dark, sticky blood, which explained why he wasn't freaking out. The man, who must be the famous Matthew, looked around at them, scowling, though his expression softened marginally when he laid eyes on Gilbert, Feliks, Tori and Roderich. True to their word, they hadn't gotten involved in the fight, and were all unharmed.

"So, your four understand that we're not the enemy, at least." Matthew muttered. He frowned when he spotted the vicious, darkening bruises on Gilbert's jaw. "What the fuck happened to your face?" Gilbert blinked, fingers moving across his jaw.

"Uh, I, uh, fell."

A simple glance at Matthew showed that he didn't believe a word, but the rebel didn't argue further, as he moved away to lean against the table, picking up a teacloth to press to his neck. Judging by what Francis could see of the wound, the cut was small, but judging by how much blood there was, it was very deep.

Matthew eyed them, before glancing towards Alfred. Still pressing the cloth to his neck, he moved forward, shoved their friend onto his back, and pulled at his leg, stuffing the un-bloodied end of the cloth into his mouth in the same motion, as their friend screamed with pain. Now that Matthew had turned him, Francis could see what had injured their friend. A wickedly long blade – 15 inches at least – had been driven hilt-deep into the top of Alfred's thigh. Unfortunately for him, it had been stabbed in diagonally – the other end could be seen sticking out just above the underside of his knee. Matthew surveyed the knife with a critical eye, before shrugging, repositioning himself, grabbing the hilt and yanking it out in one swift motion. Alfred's scream was muffled by the cloth, but Francis winced at the sound nonetheless.

Matthew turned the knife over in his hand, wiped it on his jeans and stowed it in his belt – it belonged to him. Francis felt vaguely ill as the blonde calmly removed the cloth from Alfred's mouth, and pulled open the bag he'd brought with him – which Francis could now see was a medical kit. He pulled out a tourniquet, and quickly tugged it tight around Alfred' leg, above the entry wound. Matthew stood, and moved towards the small water bucket they had in the corner, dumping the cloth inside and wringing it out. He moved back towards them, ignoring that they were all watching him silently. He pulled a small bottle from the medical bag, popped it open, and poured the contents onto Alfred's wound after shoving the now-wet cloth back in his mouth. Again, Alfred's scream was still audible even through the cloth. He yanked the cloth out when Alfred was done screaming and, using the end which hadn't been in Alfred's mouth, wiped away the blood caked around his eyes.

Alfred blinked a few times, rubbing at his eyes with his own sleeve, and finally, looked up and made eye contact with Matthew.

Alfred swore that he had never been so still in his life.

The man kneeling in front of him, who had just tended to his leg and face –

They were identical. Not completely, but the resemblance absolutely floored him. The memory of him yelling accusations at Gilbert – hitting him – for what he had claimed were lies, swam into his mind –

And he felt ashamed. Because why would his friends lie? They knew how messed up his past had been, especially where family was concerned. He had taken his friends' pasts seriously, and they had taken his seriously too.

They weren't lying.

His brother was in front of him.

How long had it been? How many nightmares had he had about that day? How many hours had he spent thinking about the crushing masses and the screaming and the awful realisation that he had let go of his brother's hand?

Too long, and too many.

His leg was still burning. The pain was so bad – he knew that he was on the verge of passing out. He wished that he could ground himself to reality, but black spots swirled in the corner of his vision. They were dispersed, just for a moment, as the rebel (no, not just a rebel – his brother) continued to wipe away the blood around Alfred's eyes and temple.

(Say something. Say something to him. The pain can wait, can't it?)

"I'm just going to let you know," Matthew said (and he sounded like Alfred, but softer, a little quieter), "If you ever try to slit my throat again, I'll break your neck." The words were said shockingly bare of malice. Purple eyes met blue, and Matthew must have seen that he was fading away. He smiled, ever so slightly. "I'll still be here when you wake up again."

And sleep took him.

Matthew felt relief wash over him as his brother passed out from the pain in his leg. Two of the other prisoners helped him lower him to the ground. All of the adrenaline which he'd had during the fight had just drained out of him. He felt tired and worn. There was silence, before one of the prisoners – a blond dressed in camo pants – spoke up.

"What was the point in muffling his screaming?" he asked, tone clinical. "That noise you let loose on us was far louder."

Matthew felt himself stiffen. He had guessed that Lukas had done something to subdue them all, and had assumed that it had been some sort of noise, judging by how they had clutched at their ears. Lukas' expression was impressively blank, but the prisoner didn't seem to be convinced.

"None of you seemed to be affected by it." he said, tone accusatory. "Which doesn't make sense, since it was so loud and all. And anyone who was close enough would definitely have heard it, so it would be pointless to muffle Alfred's screaming."

The leader of their crew sighed. "Vash, let it be. Does it matter that much?"

Vash was staring at them, some sort of realisation dawning across his face. "You three didn't hear it. That's why you weren't affected at all. How did you manage to target only certain people with it? You don't have the ability to get inside our heads–" Vash abruptly went silent.

Matthew's entire body had gone rigid. His gaze was on Vash, expression hard – warning him against continuing. But he didn't have to. All of the prisoners' eyes were on him, and no-one missed it when he got to his feet, and his eyes slowly moved from Matthew to settle on Lukas.

"Well, perhaps one of you can." He said, voice quiet. Lukas stared him down, looking very much so like he was about to either run for the door or stab Vash in the neck. Their tense standoff was broken, when a choked sound came from their left. Lukas looked over, frowning, as Matthew realised. Of course, their friend was still sick.

Matthew quickly walked over to him, kneeling down next to him. Lukas still hadn't moved, and now the leader of the bounty hunters – a tall, loud blond – was slowly rising to his feet like Vash had. Vash made to move forwards, and, to Matthew's immense surprise, the other grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Vash whirled around, glaring at him.

"Let go of me, Matthias."

But the man's eyes weren't on Vash, they were on Lukas.

"As I understand it, if you are who Vash seems to believe you are, you can help us." he nodded towards Arthur. "He has fluid in his lungs. Shouldn't that be an area of expertise of yours?" Matthias's tone was measured, but everyone had noted that Arthur was beginning to turn blue, and his voice was a little strained. Lukas stared him down, and Matthew had to admire the bounty hunter's resolve as he met the Fynknian's gaze head on. Lukas had quite the glare.

Keeping his eyes locked suspiciously on Vash, Lukas slowly made his way over to where Matthew was crouched with the pirate. He knelt down next to him, and ran his fingers across Arthur's chest, no doubt sensing how much liquid was in the man's lungs, and where it was. He abruptly drew his hand away, and let it hover in their air above his chest. He sent Matthew an inquisitive glance. Matthew shrugged.

"I think they've already worked it out." He admitted. Lukas nodded slightly, sighed so quietly that Matthew almost didn't hear him, and pushed the pirate onto his side. He barely looked conscious, but a simple brush of Lukas' fingers against his temple made the man wake up more.

"Breath out when I say." He said softly, moving his fingers so that they hovered over the man's chest again. Arthur breathed in, the noise little more than a wet rattle. "Exhale." Lukas murmured, and as the pirate complied, Matthew watched him twist his fingers in the air and make an odd motion – as if he was pulling on the end of a rope. Watery red fluid rushed from Arthur's mouth, and he made an odd, coughing noise, but his breathing evened out, the odd noise gone.

Lukas drew himself to his feet. Matthias still had his hand locked around Vash's arm, watching Lukas.

"Thank you." the blond said, bowing his head slightly. Lukas didn't say anything, just stared at him. Vash was still trying to pull out of Matthias' grip, but it seemed that the assassin had finally met someone who matched him physically.

"Matthias–" Vash growled. Matthias didn't even budge.

"I know that he's very pretty, Vash, but we should show at least basic gratitude that he saved Arthur. After all," he looked at the assassin, "without Arthur, you don't get paid." Vash finally seemed to calm down, and Matthias released him. The assassin growled at him, but sat back down. Matthew had to stifle a laugh as Matthias looked back at Lukas, noticed him staring, and winked. Lukas didn't even afford the bounty hunter his usual eye-roll as he moved past him and exited the container, expression stony.

"Harsh." Matthias commented happily, before turning to Matthew. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked, nodding at Arthur. Matthew bit his lip. He wished, sincerely that he could say that the man would be. In the scuffle, the wool cap that he'd been wearing had come off his head. His hair…half of it was a mottled mess of grey. Matthew had been around long enough to know that there was only one disease that did that to a person. Looking down, he noticed that the pirate had slipped into unconsciousness. Sighing, he scooped him up and carefully laid him down on a mattress, gesturing for them to all gather around him. Once they had obliged, he pointed out the grey sections of his hair.

"He doesn't have much of a life left, I'll be honest." He sighed. "Greying of the hair is a symptom of the very late stages of Chalydrantis. Coughing up blood is another, now that I think about it." he looked up at their collectively stunned faces. "He has a week at most." He ran his bloodied hand back through his hair. "I'm sorry, but there isn't much that I can do for him."

They were all silent, before one of the young Yanish teens, who had started to cry, spoke up. "What about that treatment stuff? Don't you have any of that?" Matthew hesitated.

"Malthecs? We might, but I can't make any promises." He noted her saddened expression. "I'll take a look at our medical stores and see." She nodded, wiping at her eyes. He smiled sadly.

"Well, since this drama is now over, I think that'll I'll be following Lukas back to camp." Tino spoke up. He glanced at Matthew. "You coming?"

Matthew checked his watch, which had remained miraculously undamaged throughout the fight. It was almost 5am. He sighed, and shook his head. "I'll take over Lukas' shift. Do you wanna do the honours of checking our stores for Malthecs?" Tino shrugged.

"Sure. Next guard will show up at about noon. I'll cover you at base." Matthew nodded, throwing him a lazy thumbs-up. Tino turned, making sure to scoop up both his mask and rifle as he went, and left Matthew with the prisoners.

28th Maarch

Tino sighed in exhaustion as he rifled through the stacked boxes. He'd slept far less than he had hoped or wanted to. He'd been lucky to stay pretty much uninjured during the fight, save for a well-aimed punch that the big guy had landed directly in his kidneys which was paining him. As far as he knew, the resistance didn't store much Malthecs. They were more the kind of people to shrug, say "that's too fucking bad" and either wait for the illness to take them or ask their superior to shoot them.

But Matthew had asked him to check, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to have to bury anyone. Lukas had joined him in his task, though the boy had been completely silent ever since they had left the container. He had barely mumbled a 'thank you' when Tino had disinfected and bandaged his injured hand. Tino shot a look at the teen. True, he had never been the most talkative person, but even this prolonged silence was somewhat unusual. Tino was just considering what to say to him when Lukas finally spoke.

"I'm sorry." Tino turned, looking at him in bewilderment. "I used my abilities. They know who I am now." Lukas elaborated. Tino stared at him a moment, then shook his head and sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"What am I to do with you." He murmured. "Lukas, if you hadn't used them, Matt would be dead. You saw his neck – he nearly got it slit open. You could have lost a few fingers, if not your whole hand. It's not your fault that that prisoner happens to be an expert at fucking deductive reasoning." Lukas remained silent. Tino walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Listen, it'll be okay. The Union isn't going to find out that you and Emilia are here, I promise." Lukas finally sighed, nodding.

They both turned back to the boxes, continuing to sift through. It took another 20 minutes of searching before Lukas made a noise of victory and held up a small bottle and a syringe. "Found some." He said, smiling softly. Tino grinned at him.

"Awesome," he said, taking it from Lukas' hands and dropping it into the pockets of his jacket, "I'll go a little later and deliver it." he was about to speak again, when a knock rang out on the wooden door, and a muffled voice said "Lieutenant Vainamoinen?" Tino and Lukas exchanged a look, but Tino called out, "yes?"

The door opened, revealing a girl of maybe 16 or 17, with a slip of paper in her hands. She blinked in surprise when she spotted Lukas, but turned her attention to Tino.

"He's been helping me fetch morphine for Kabeeta." Tino lied smoothly, in response to her inquisitive look. The girl nodded, holding out the paper.

"It's for you." She said by way of an explanation. Tino's brow furrowed as he took the paper from her.

"What is it?" the girl shrugged.

"I don't know. Vice Admiral Asgar told me to deliver it to you." Tino blanched. Vice Admiral Asgar? She was among the highest-ranked officers in the entire resistance. She used to be an Admiral – the leader of their entire navy, but had gracefully stepped aside and taken a smaller role when Ayshe had been promoted.

"Thank you." Tino managed. The girl gave a small bow and scurried off. Tino shut the storeroom door, gazing at it.

"If you don't open that thing soon, I'll be the one dying of anticipation." Lukas spoke up. Tino rolled his eyes at the Fynknian, but opened the slip up and read it out loud.

"By order of Vice Admiral Raneem Asgar, First Lieutenant Tino Vainamoinen has been drafted to give testimony at the trial of Yao Wang, on the 29th of Maarch, 4512CC." he blanched further. "Shit. This is a fucking subpoena. I have to testify tomorrow." Lukas' eyes were wide.

"Isn't it a little late to be sending those out?" he inquired. Tino shook his head.

"Not really. They would only have finalised who was going to testify recently. There's no way in hell that Octavia wants me to be a witness – she knows that I'm a supporter of Yao's, so either Yao's chosen me to testify for his side, or Raneem's drafting me as a neutral party."

Lukas was silent. "We need to find that spy, don't we?"

Tino nodded. Lukas sucked in a breath. "If anyone asks after me, tell them that I'm very sick." He said as he headed for the door. Tino stared at him, puzzled.

"What? What are you doing?" Lukas paused.

"I'm going to spend the time until Yao's trial sifting through the minds of every person in the resistance." He said. "I just need to…detach my mind from myself, I guess, so I can seek out any traitorous thoughts. It's like…looking at radio signals. Everyone's thoughts are raging around in this vast cacophony. I need to be in among them, to listen out for the sorts of things that a traitor would do and say." Tino frowned.

"That doesn't sound entirely safe. What if you try to get back to your own mind but can't?"

Lukas smiled grimly. "Then someone will probably end up possessed, or I'll be an empty shell forever. In any case, I need to at least try." He didn't give Tino any time to argue further, and marched out of the storeroom, expression set with determination.