Warnings: same as always, PM me if I need to put in any
A/N: [looks at the word count] I've made a mistake. Hold and Secure was going to be only 2 parts but uh...
I know it happened in late September but I'm still happy that I met MoA at London Comic Con! plus I got to ask some (many) questions to Duncan Rouleau. a lot of things got answered! like, Six is Chinese (it's been confirmed before but I think my recording is the first public recording?), One is Japanese (guessed right!), Six's magna-blades were built by Knight and Six and are a counter to Rex (spot on), White Knight and Six met because Knight was assigned to kill Six (:0), and, most importantly, White Knight's canonically gay and was in love with Six (to the surprise of...nobody, but to the excitement of everyone). which basically buries Expiration Date in the grave that I've dug and marked out already.
I'm glad to see that more Generator Rex authors have cropped up in the time I was gone (which was way too long, I hope my writing skill hasn't deteriorated. much)! thanks for keeping this ghost town kinda-running. one cool fic is the Rex+Six accidental fusion via nanite fic, except awkwardly I had planned out a Rex+Knight accidental fusion via nanite fic (/tagged/Duke on my Tumblr), but given my track record I probably wouldn't have written it...
also, have you noticed the sweet new cover image? I've also set all of their appearances (/image/156832510433) but since these are "past" chapters, Holiday and Knight look different. Knight doesn't have the hoodie and Holiday has a whole new combat suit
anyways I forgot to mention anywhere in the fic that Rex has vitiligo so chapter 1 has been edited slightly to accommodate
The screen screamed at Rex.
No A.I. (which would have been super cool, he tried to explain to Six, who denied his request to build an "artificial intelligence like in those movies? The ones that are red and eventually turn evil? But without the evil part" for the base), but the little alarms blared, flashed, sung their tune at him anyways.
Was it morning already?
He wished he could slap his hand on the top of an alarm clock to get it to snooze, like in those cartoons he'd watched, but to turn off the alarm he had to get up and reach the screen. At that point he'd be one-hundred percent awake and one-hundred percent grumpy.
Rex yawned and rubbed his eyes, blurry vision trying to focus on the main screen in his office. His bed was a bit away from his table (mostly so Holiday wouldn't nag him on how messy it was. He needed that many pillows, alright?) and the jolt from dreaming to awareness didn't help much.
The dream was faint, slipping from his mind like sand through hands. Bright colours, laughter, familiarity that he wanted to achieve again — grass instead of tiles. He was running with others, chasing. Wind, the smell of nature, instead of recycled air. There was a cow, maybe?
But —
Providence was his duty.
A hollow feeling settled deep in his chest as he stretched, empty space surrounding him, a void with no personality. Or personal belongings. It felt worse today.
The room, tinted red to rid it of blue light emitted from all the LEDs in his room that would certainly throw his biological clock even more off balance, came into view as his eyes focused. The three UV lamps at his back were off and he had no desire to turn them on any time soon. Warmth radiated from the heaters nearby.
Physically comfortable, emotionally lacking.
(Had the room always been this red? Maybe they were testing how much blue light needed to be cancelled out. He had been getting better sleep lately, surprisingly given the… recent developments. He maybe-remembered Six saying something along those lines.)
He shook his head, a headache forming behind his eyes.
The light hurt. Fell said that would happen eventually, his body reacting to the sudden lack of melanin, but knowing what would happen did nothing to lessen the pain. The alarm, still not shutting up and leaving him be, only made the pain worse.
He crawled out, grumbling, still in his motorcycle-print pajamas and wrapped up cozy in one of his blankets. Not at all ready to start the day, but it was something.
Flinching at the feel of cold tile against his bare feet, he stood up and plopped himself right in the seat of his white office chair. The finest, softest, whitest office chair government funding could buy. It groaned under the weight of him and his blanket, but Rex ignored it — not like it was broken yet. He'd leave that for future Rex.
He wanted to go right back onto his air mattress.
It was on the floor near his bed. The Committee, Consortium, Council, whatever other ominous name that started with a C they decided to call themselves this week, didn't want to send power tools in so he could construct a bedframe for himself, but he didn't mind. It meant he could go from work to flopped on his bed in a matter of seconds; he had, before, in a monotonous debriefing, where he scared Holiday by toppling offscreen.
The temptation to curl back up under the sheets for the entire day was strong. He would have, if it didn't mean seemingly every adult in Providence would be at his throat.
Rex curled up on his chair instead, white blanket draped over his back.
"G'mornin," he said to nobody in particular, stifling another yawn. Just in case someone from the Committee was checking up on him. Eyelids heavy, he stretched again, cracked his knuckles, and —
— why did the clock read 1:28 AM.
Now that was a slap to his face. His brain went into overdrive, clarity rushing into him as he fully woke up. The alarm he originally mistook as his wakeup call still rang, needy, now taking on a darker tone as he realized —
The emergency lockdown alarm had the same cadence, the same colour.
Of course, the giant letters blocking out "EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN PROCEDURE" helped.
What was more worrying was "SECURITY COMPROMISED" right underneath.
No, no, no, he didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to think about any of it.
Deep breaths. One at a time.
Compartmentalize.
"Oh. Oh jeez, the procedure, uh," Rex started, rambling to collect his thoughts. Whatever the second part meant could come later. The blanket fell from his shoulders as he stood to attention, fingers ghosting the screen as he reached out, took back, trying to remember what he had to do — had it sent the warning to all of HQ already? Should he forward it? There must have been some agents still awake, right?
...what sections were under lockdown, anyways?
He tapped the X to dismiss the alerts. Instantly, the crimson in his room faded to a darker, softer shade and the screen returned to its unblemished, bright self.
With a swipe of his hand, he brought up the connection to the security cameras, listed in order from floor to section to specific camera — thankfully, whoever created the system also included a way to rename and search for a camera, making Rex's job slightly easier.
The camera views flicked across Rex's vision, never straying from places he regularly 'visited' but never staying either; the meeting space outside of his room, the lab, the war room (which was green. Rex stopped for a second. Why was the rest of Providence drab and grey but the war room green?), Bobo's room —
Finger hovering over the 'next view' button, Rex stared at the emergency call line.
The button positioned right underneath the view, a private, two-way connection directly between him and help.
Directly to Agent Holiday. Directly to Doctor Fell and Six.
(If you use it without an actual emergency being present, there will be consequences, his higher-ups bolded in the email they sent to him in his first week, Do not argue on this. Your life must be threatened.
So what counts as an emergency?, he sent back, still exploring what he could do in the confines in his office — odd, back then he thought it was almost limitless. The Providence network and the Internet, right at his fingertips. Maybe it was, but nowadays…
No papercuts. Only amputations.
Wow, way to be cheerful :^(
This is no laughing matter.)
He wasn't panicking, per say, but there was a noticeable tremor at his fingers and a heavy weight had settled in his chest.
Thousands of what-ifs rattled in his head. He wasn't the one that set off the alarm — sure, he liked pranking people, but setting off a lockdown alarm was a few steps above playing a faint but noticeable nightcore remix in the cafeteria speakers — so who was it? The rest of Providence was professional. No pranks. Was it an intruder, using it to disorient the base?
Was something actually loose?
Was someone targeting Providence?
Was he...in danger?
The thought felt alien to him. Everything was on a screen, beyond the walls — it was more like a game. Send some commands, the people on the screen moved. Fight the monsters, get to the objectives, win. Most of the time the control didn't run that deep; watching idly as the soldiers did their thing, contain or capture, rush Knight in to cure it and then rush him out to keep him a secret. Sometimes kill, Rex supposed, but they didn't allow him to watch that.
Dull red shifted to light blue as he pressed the screen, signalling that the channel was open — the Committee was busy, Agent Holiday was busy (surprisingly, as she should have be sleeping. She was too perceptive to leave her indicator as "busy" by accident. Maybe she's just getting some fresh air), Doctor Fell was busy (why was everyone busy? Did anyone sleep in this base?!), and Six—
Connection established.
From halfway across the world in another Providence base, a live video of Six appeared on screen.
White and grey background, barren appearance, blocky shapes that strictly adhered to Providence's ascetic aesthetic — if it wasn't for the local time and location being clearly displayed in the bottom right, anyone could have confused it for Headquarters.
Or any other Providence base, actually.
Rex almost skipped to the next contact, cutting the connection. What could he do about this?, Rex thought, looking down the list of agents. Calan was next. Except, when he thought about the issue more, finding someone to physically fight, to be there with him in headquarters, was not his goal.
Rex didn't know what the issue was, exactly, to see what was going on he had to switch to the right view. And the screen didn't automatically show him where the origin of the lockdown was because he was just the White Pawn, he didn't need to do anything about it except sit pretty in his office and wait it out.
He needed guidance. He needed someone to talk to.
It wasn't as if Six was preparing anything important either, just scribbling in the bare minimum of a report, pressed up against the desk and looking like he would rather be anywhere but there.
"Hey, doc!"
"…Doc?" Six raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to look at the screen in front of him. The pen was put aside, a show of respect towards his 'boss'. More of a habit than anything.
"Yeah! That can be your nickname!"
"Six is already —" he paused, cutting off the sentence as if rethinking his words. "Six is already a short name. I don't see a point in a nickname."
"It's all for fun! Like, Agent Holiday can be Holi and," the image of the cure snarling at him beyond the screen flashed in his mind, "Knight can be—"
"No swearing."
"Come on, purest human on Earth over here?" Rex huffed, leaning back into his plush chair. Despite his indignant tone, a small smile formed on his face. "Do you really think I'd—"
"Yes."
Rex grinned. Six knew him well.
He wanted to believe that it was of natural causes, picking up words here and there while scrolling through the cameras of Providence. Anything from pawns swearing when Bobo took in all the poker chips (again) to oh-so mysterious technological failures that definitely had nothing to do with Rex being bored and fiddling with the building's controls, oh no.
It was a bummer the Committee decided he couldn't be trusted to keep his hands off of Providence. Whatever, he led the place! Kind of.
But —
He checks on sites, to "determine the public's view of our organization ". Mostly an excuse to browse the web in slow times. He ignores the sites that call for his death. That was where the rest of his colourful vocabulary came from.
Rex knew he was stalling. That's why his expression turned serious, he told himself, Just going into business mode.
No "personal problems". No weakness.
"I… called you for a reason."
That tone got Six curious. At least, Rex thought it was curiosity. One of his eyebrows was raised and his head was tilted to the right, a silent permission for him to keep talking.
"Do you know how to check what areas are under lockdown?"
The eyebrow shot up further. "Lockdown," he said, less of a question and more of a statement. "Did you lock a wing by accident?"
The brief flash of indignation fizzled out as Rex realized, yeah, he would probably do that. Self-reflection was key to improving yourself, after all.
"Six, I am one-hundred percent serious here, Providence is under lockdown and—" his voice cracked. Just puberty, he told himself, it wasn't that he was genuinely frightened and tried to cover it up with bold words and smiles. "— I don't know why, it could be a drill, it could be someone breaking into HQ, there could be a rampaging E.V.O. outside my room right now—"
"Noted. Tap on the alarm icon with your thumb and hold it down."
Rex followed his instructions. A brief flash of light signalled the completion of a thumbprint scan, and in no time at all a cross-section of headquarters appeared in all its white, black, and grey glory, crimson staining the area where the lockdown signal originated.
Yeah. Like that made more sense than, say, having a button with words that clearly marked what it did.
Who designed these things? Did the minimalist aesthetic really take precedence over accessibility?
Whatever. Not like he could fire the Providence graphic designer anyways.
Rex gave silent thanks to Six's no-nonsense attitude, no lingering looks that screamed 'it's that easy, how did you not know, you aren't qualified for this'.
No spiteful glares, no feral growls, no unsaid promises to rip Rex apart.
Unlike some others that Six hung out with, for some reason.
"Are you in any danger?" Six asked. Must have seen his expression sour. Rex looked up from the blue- well, whiteprint, and saw a fleeting expression of concern before it melted back into professional stoicism.
"What, you gonna pilot a jet from Hong Kong to here?"
Six coughed.
"Seriously?"
"Where is it?" Six changed the topic, but Rex let it slide. Time was of the essence. Probably. If it wasn't a prank. "The lockdown, I mean."
"According to this, right here," Rex said, zooming up on the red and jabbing it with his pointer finger. Not that Six could see what he was pointing at, but the ability to broadcast images that weren't him in his office was taken away after a notable cup ramen incident. And Bobo's 'takeover'. And who couldn't forget impromptu movie night? Point was, it was mostly a customary thing, a show to put on for Six. "The Petting Zoo and areas around it."
In a tone almost too soft for the mic to pick up on, Six muttered, "And the person in charge of the Petting Zoo is in Hong Kong half the planet away."
"C'mon, it's not your fault! You couldn't have planned for this." Rex made a vague sweeping motion over the screen, to indicate the lockdown. "There are tons of doctors still at HQ. And even more agents. We've got it under control."
Six stayed silent, lips pressed in a thin line. Suspicion, Rex noticed, was oozing out of the small cracks in his stoic expression.
Did he think this was a setup?
For what?
The last remarkable E.V.O. that had been 'delivered' to Providence was Knight. He was tucked away in a corner of Providence, not the Zoo, and was —
Rex brought up a window over the diagram of headquarters, a list of names and locations blurring past as he scrolled down to "K".
— yup, still in his room. With Agent Holiday visiting him, which was odd, but she still had tons of beef with Knight so maybe they decided to settle their scores with a fistfight.
…or Six could be doubting his command. His ability to lead. Maybe he was right, that Rex was a pawn with only the illusion of control to cling on to, but he was going to milk that illusion for all its worth!
He had to.
This was the only life left for him.
Rex's gaze was unfocused, screen blurring as he blinked away tears. Why was he so emotional today? Was it puberty too? Sure, that sounds right, he directed his thoughts elsewhere. To the lockdown. That would be the most useful.
Gathering his composure, bringing his shoulders back to get rid of his slouch, Rex wiped the forming tears with the back of his sleeve and concentrated on the image of Six.
"So…" He hoped he would pick up on the visual and auditory cues, anticipation displayed in the way his eyebrows creased and body leaned closer to the camera. He was responsible now. Asking for instructions would be a show of irresponsibility, that he couldn't lead himself. Fishing for guidance was another thing entirely. So, what now?
"The security cameras may provide vital information. Check the Zoo and the areas around it." Six shoved his papers to the side in a semi-neat pile. The usual paperwork about what an E.V.O. looked like and what its abilities were, information that he probably gleaned from "studying it in its natural habitat" (which was a fancy way of saying "Six punched it in the face, probably"). "The Hole should be the first priority."
A wave of relief washed over Rex. The gears in his head spun, churning out plan after plan to deal with the lockdown. It was manageable now. Not an unknown.
"Thanks. For everything." Rex sloppily saluted and smiled. "Rex out."
"Just doing my job." Typical Six, but a hint of amusement was in his tone of voice. The salute was returned. "Six out."
The emergency call went dark, taking Six's guidance with it.
Rex clapped his hands together, taking in a deep breath as Six's name went dark. Probably heading out to the field now. Now that this was pretty much settled, Rex could kick back, relax, flip through the cameras, report any freaky happenings, uh —
Move onto the next problem?
Something was missing, Rex realized, dread at the back of his mind clawing to the forefront.
— oh, shoot.
He forgot.
He completely repressed his panic over —
"SECURITY COMPROMISED" remained at the top of the screen, a persistent notification in size 12 bolded red — whatever, he could bring it down and —
11 alerts that someone broke into the network and did something, covering their tracks like a phantom thief in the night.
11 alerts all centered around the Petting Zoo.
The cameras couldn't have been pulled up faster, cold shakes running through Rex's body.
Concentrate, he told himself. Smile for the camera. No fear. Everything will be alright.
He hoped.
To his surprise, Knight didn't topple.
He expected another meeting with the tiled cell floor, not two hands grabbing him by the shoulders to keep him upright.
Two gloved hands belonging to someone he loathed to lean on.
Someone who had grabbed him too many times already.
Breath shaking, gold fading from his skin as he willed his body under control, he stood up and pulled away from Holiday's grasp. Vertigo hit him — the world swayed and spun as he staggered to create distance between the two of them.
He doesn't want to admit the weakness. He could barely hold down his disgust in private, it would be foolish to think he would be calm and relaxed in public. In front of a high-ranking Providence Agent that could report any of his mistakes, his shortcomings, to her superiors —
— preferably not Rex, Knight would prefer Captain Calan over the jeering of a prepubescent boy.
His back hit the wall. Cold permeated through the thin fabric of his top as he subconsciously flattened against the enclosure.
If he snarled, he would have been the spitting image of a wild, cornered animal.
The siren rang again. A high, shrill note, increasing in pitch before repeating the cycle over and over. Red, black, red, black, light streaking across first Holiday's sister then Holiday herself.
In the dim light, the night vision goggles sitting atop her head were a mirror of the spider's eyes.
Accusing, almost.
Knight couldn't think. Not with the alarm blaring. Not with the stares from Holiday, from her sister.
From the phantom stare of Six once he learned that Knight failed, he failed, Knight wasn't as good as Six seemed to think he was —
Calm down. Control yourself.
What do you need to do?
A flash of anger, timed to the alarm reaching its fever pitch. He wanted to rip it apart. Watch it disassemble into barely recognizable chunks in his hands. Too loud.
That would be a start.
… but he was… middle-aged, at least, and throwing a temper tantrum was beneath him. He was graceful. He was powerful. He was Knight.
Wall to palm, a thump echoing through the cell — ignoring the searing pain, Knight slammed his left hand against the tile and bent the alarm to his will.
Sparks flew.
Glass cracked.
Like a scream cut short by death, the siren fell silent.
The speaker unbuilt itself, controlled by nanites that were in turn controlled by Knight. The light itself stayed, continuing to bask the cell in its red light. Knight refused to think about how it made every stain look like blood.
"Are you done?"
Knight growled, anger rising up inside of him that he didn't know how to suppress. "Yes." He clipped his voice, refusing to let his illogical emotions leak through. His vision was turning the same shade of red as the alarm and everything blurred as his ears rang. "I'm. Perfectly. Fine."
Holiday's lips pressed together, as if holding back a quip of 'liar'.
The yellow flickered —
There was something —
— before fading with his outburst.
He was panting. He was dizzy. He was still leaning on the wall with one hand, sweat rolling off of him, emptiness clawing at his flesh and a void where his guts should be.
The feeling could have been described as holding something down, but Knight knew there was nothing inside of him.
He hadn't eaten anything in hours. What was there to cough up? Bile?
Throwing up right on his shoes would be awful for all parties involved. Well, if the sister had enough mind to comprehend what was happening around her, otherwise it would be yet another show of weakness and another pile of laundry to throw into the chute.
Beep beep.
Like flames roaring back to life from smouldering ashes, his frustration threatened to rise up to uncontrollable levels — the alarm's broken, why is it sounding? Why is it still —
He almost sent his nanites to shred it into unrecognisable pieces, but exhaustion mixed with a nagging familiarity stopped him.
Right next to Knight's outstretched hand, a screen flared to life.
"Hello? Any intruders in —" Rex stared, mouth hanging open, wide-eyed. "— whoa! Holiday?! Aren't you suppose to be like, on the other side of HQ?"
"Sir."
"Don't sir me — what's going on in there? Why're the cages open?!" Of all the people to barge in, of course it was Rex. White light cut across the darkness of the Hole from the screen a pajama-clad Rex was displayed from, a sleepy expression on his face as he leaned in closer. The security camera swept through the cell, clearly controlled by the White Pawn. "Knight's there too?!"
Affronted, Knight spoke over Holiday, facing right at the screen. "This can easily be explained—"
"If Knight was the one that hacked Providence and locked the Petting Zoo, I swear on my white hair that—"
"I didn't!" Knight felt stupid shouting at the tiny screen in the wall but most of him didn't care. "And 'swear on my white hair'? Really?"
"Just let me finish my sentence and—"
"You cut me off first, and you still haven't let me explain myself. Or rather, let Holiday explain the situation."
"You just cut me off again! Right there! Holiday, c'mon." Rex's expression changed, softened as he turned his chair to Holiday. More than necessary, Knight cringed, as the chair wheels squeaked when Rex rolled half off the screen. "If he's causing you trouble he's gonna get smashed with the ol' exo-arm."
"He's not. I brought him here. Had an eye on him ever since," Holiday snapped, an agitated edge to her voice. 'End the useless arguing quickly', her pointed expression said it all.
Rex opened his mouth, but apparently words had failed him since he closed it soon afterwards. The tenseness in his muscles eroded away and he flopped back into the plush office chair and spun it around. "Fine, whatever. You two go frolic with Holi's sis and I'll be off tracking down whoever thought it was a great idea to open all the cages in there."
No proper sign-off like 'Rex, out' as the screen fizzled to black, but then again, the Director of Providence was a pre-teen. Unprofessionalism at its finest.
An unknown, possible hostile, was behind this mess. Shit. Knight ground his teeth together, a remnant of his previous fury, the desperation to leave and eat building. It wasn't panic, he told himself, it was self-preservation. Survival instinct.
Inhale. Exhale. The cage's door was closed. Agent Holiday was next to him. If worst came to worst, he could always leap at the assailant and rip out their nanites so there would be nothing but dust left.
But that was disgusting (dust in his boots. Dust on his clothes. Dust in his hair) and frankly, he didn't want an enemy born from fear in Providence.
Failed step one, then, Knight glanced at Holiday, her finger ghosting the trigger on her tranquilizer gun. Maybe she was thinking of letting her sister nap for a bit, or shooting anyone that planned to attack them in their little fort, but Knight trusted her as far as he could throw her.
Which, if he thought about it, was a decent distance even without his builds. Holiday didn't look heavy. Less weight without her equipment.
Whatever.
Right now they had to work together, trust or nothing.
But one thing was bothering Knight —
"You told Rex?"
"I've known you for less than a month. Rex is practically my—" Holiday's grip on her tranq tightened and Knight raised an eyebrow, studying her movements. Ready to dodge a shot, automatically. "Nevermind."
Curiosity clawed at his thoughts, tempting him with blunt questions that would shatter what little mutual respect they had for each other.
What do you mean?
Like a son? Or…
Do you see Rex as a replacement for your sister?
He stayed quiet. Just like the broken siren. Just like the spider E.V.O, throat long hoarse from screaming (the agent's sister, he reminds himself, a concentrated nanite source, another part of him says).
An involuntary twitch. Hand clenching, nanites crying out, faint electricity against his skin that made him flinch —
— he ignored the little look that Agent Holiday gave him. He didn't want any disgust — it had to be disgust on her face — when there were other things in the room to be disgusted at.
He wanted food.
Holiday wouldn't oppose killing and eating one of the animal E.V.O , right?
He glanced at her, a tiny movement of his head, but she saw it anyway. Her head snapped up. Their eyes met and without a minute passing he decided he was better off not taking any risks. Holiday looked busy, in her own mind, maybe processing information that she wanted to deny; Knight didn't want to hit the wasp's nest with a stick.
So he stayed put, the background noise a mix of Providence's mechanical hum and the occasional rasp by the spider E.V.O.
If there was one word to describe every fiber of his being, it would be 'uncomfortable'.
His legs were stiff but he couldn't sit down. The ground was dirty from their boots and her sister's skittering — he wasn't going to wallow in dirt just to have a few creature comforts. A shiver went up his spine as his eyes zoned in on a particular clump, wet from the swamp and smeared lightly over the tiles.
Holiday didn't seem to mind it, sitting down next to her sister, shushing and patting her on the head. Calming motions, Knight presumed. He made some of his own, scraping the dirt off one shoe with the other and kicking it far away from him.
"Will you stop that?"
"Stop what?" Knight continued cleaning his immediate area to the best of his ability. Still too dirty. Impure. Frustrating.
"The kicking," she said, tone flat. She didn't want to argue. Knight wasn't going to budge. "It's bothering her."
"The dirt is bothering me."
Holiday snorted, continuing to smooth her sister's wild hair, shooting him glares to quiet down every so often.
If Knight had to stay here for the rest of the day, cramped in one room with only clipped conversations and the hissing of a mutilated E.V.O. to keep him company, he was going to break.
Now that he thought about the hissing, that was the only thing his mind could focus on. The volume stayed the same — if anything, it was louder. The wet noises of spit built up and flung. Splashing against the ground. Had some dried near him?
Perhaps — and Knight loathed to admit that he was following orders — Holiday was onto something.
He stopped in his tracks. The tiles had streaks of their original colour showing through the layer of grime whose origins he didn't want to think about. His boots were in a similar shape; an almost unrecognizable shade, a disgrace to the colour white everywhere. Knight would have gotten them in a colour that would make dirt easy to ignore, but there weren't many options when picking from the Providence catalogue.
'Picking', as if he had any say in what clothes they deemed fit to throw on top of his bed. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He paced around, legs desperate to start running, to carry him far away from the discomfort that settled in his skin. His muscles felt too tight. Ready to spring at any moment.
"How long will it take?" Knight asked, holding back on any anger that may have bubbled up to the surface. He'd seen Providence agents out on the field, through glimpses on screens or past a door. Sometimes they even let him sit in the briefing or war room when missions became complicated and they were forced to inform him. One thing was for sure though — as a whole, they looked as incompetent as their leader. Hopefully they would reach them without tripping over their boots.
"Be patient."
This was him being patient. His expression soured — from the amount of scowling he had done since he woke up, he expected to see 10 more wrinkles on his face.
"Then how about: status report." He wasn't yelling or shaking anymore, which was a plus. Instead he was narrowing his eyes, stance wide and intimidating, hands clenched into fists.
Holiday didn't grace him with her full attention, still staying near her sister — unfair. They were both E.V.O but at least Knight was better companionship. He could talk. That was more than some people in the room, apparently, as the silence stretched on.
"You remind me of Rex. Somewhat," she replied, gaze distant. It took Knight by surprise; one, she answered later than the acceptable answering period (which would be around 10 seconds, more if she was thinking hard), and two, her answer had nothing to do with what they were talking about.
"Isn't he 13?"
"I said somewhat."
No elaboration, huh. Knight huffed and returned to pacing and staring at the grimy ground, disgust shown in his drawn-up lip. He attempted to keep his footfalls light (or rather, as light as they could be coming from someone of his build with no stealth training. That he could remember) as he raked over the conversation again.
What, did she think Knight was unworthy of saying commands like Rex was? That Rex could take in a status report and spit out a plan better than he could? Poison dripped in his mind, twisting words and meaning into loathing. Was he not good enough for her? Did he need to lick her boots and beg for any sort of explanation? For any sort of extended human contact? At this rate he might as well just lock himself up in another cage, Holiday seemed to get along just fine with that sister of hers —
God, and she had the audacity to just have a cryptic look in her eye and faintly smile like it was high praise to be compared to Rex —
It was all turning into loathing. He knew the spiral, familiar as the broom closet they called his room, and he hated it, he hated it, he hated it, he hated it,
He had stopped. Stopped pacing, stopped controlling his breathing, stopped noticing his surroundings, stopped thinking rationally. The feeling was not unlike drowning, if the water was boiling hot and the depths were a blinding, blinding white.
Dragged down by a chain attached to the collar that was suffocating him.
… Maybe he'd leave the poetry to Six.
So many outbursts today, overwhelming. He wanted to collapse into a heap, push away his hunger and his worries to the next day and instead let sleep take over. Focus, Knight snapped at himself, standing up straighter. He was professional. He wouldn't let something like an empty stomach stop him. Like the floodgates had opened, his irritation trickled out as he forced himself into the present.
It left a void that he wasn't quite sure how to fill.
Despite his efforts to keeping his stance menacing, broad shoulders back and feet apart, he felt exposed and small. Like a cat fluffing itself up to seem larger than it was when faced with a horrifically stronger enemy. A hand rubbed his arm — his hand, soothing, eyes skittering around but not at Holiday or her sister. Denying that the motion was copied right out of Holiday, refusing that it was working.
The nails dug into his skin. It would be painfully easy to dig in deeper, to draw blood, to let his nanites fix it up later in a blink of his eye, but drawing the attention of every carnivorous or omnivorous E.V.O. was counter-productive, to say the least.
He settled with goosebumps (From the cold, he repeated to himself. Definitely from the cold) and filed away the thought that he should ask for warmer clothing for later.
Watched. He was being scrutinized by the Agent, a phantom burning sensation that he couldn't shake off. What a disaster; how many wild swings had he had today? How uncooperative was he? How many mistakes would Holiday report back? The cold wasn't physical anymore, a deep fear that he tried to stomp out clawing at his mind. Providence wouldn't put him down. They could degrade him but they wouldn't put him down.
He'd take them down with him.
Holiday stood up. Or rather, Knight heard her stood up, combat suit shifting and the sounds of a placid E.V.O. fading into the normal grunts (which sounded too human) and hisses (better). It was followed by the sounds of boots on tile, a mimic of the powerful clack-clacks that high heels might have produced without the fuss of high-heels. Closer, behind him —
Knight wanted to keep his distance but running while they were trapped in the cell wasn't an option. When the sounds of Holiday approaching finally stopped and the feeling of someone staring right at his neck intensified to the point where he swore it was physical pain, he did the only thing he could do in his position.
He flinched.
Rather, he made himself a little smaller, head down and shoulders up, hunching over, clearly expecting — he wasn't sure what, but his mind was screaming at him to brace — and while his little jump may have looked like flinching he sure as hell wasn't calling it that.
"...Knight?"
"Reporting."
He didn't turn to her. He wouldn't allow it, wouldn't allow her to notice how his carefully groomed air of power was faltering. She would tear him apart. Knight wasn't family, she wouldn't even feel bad about it this time.
Knight was easy pickings.
"Are you…" Hungry? Tired? A complete idiot? Whatever the last part of the sentence was, it was taking her an awfully long amount of time to finish. Easy disarming tactic, to keep the other on their toes by never allowing them to predict what was coming next. "Okay?"
… what?
He twisted his torso so that Holiday appeared on the side of his vision. Knight was expecting her to be smiling, a wicked and cruel smile that would mock him, but instead…
Genuine concern?
Oh.
Oh.
She was a bleeding heart.
She was a top Providence Agent and she felt sympathy for him.
With the silent implication that she looked down on him. Just as suspected.
Ignoring that, how was he supposed to answer that question? The correct reply was 'yes, perfectly fine', he was sure of it. Like he was reading his lines from a script. Nothing was wrong. He was happy. At the same time, Holiday might refuse 'yes' as an answer given his earlier fits.
Mouth open, mouth closed, eyes darting between staring at Holiday and trying to avoid her. What —
The cell door rang.
Not another alarm, that was a relief, but more like the sound when a hammer hits a gong; reverberating through the room, shaking his bones, body kicking into overdrive as it sensed danger.
Someone was knocking at the door, and it wasn't a Providence agent.
And selfishly, Knight was glad he didn't have to give an answer.
He wasn't sure who moved first; Holiday leaping away from the vault entrance, hands shooting for her weapons, him brushing his hand over the control panel to scream 'stay closed, stay closed, stay closed' at the nanites until they complied, or the spider E.V.O. screaming. In surprise, pain, or both.
"What was that," Knight said, more demanding than questioning, mind whirling in a display of instinct; he, the one in control of his body and therefore his base needs, was holding back from complete panic like a soldier holding back an advance.
Holiday said nothing, pulling out her tranquilizer and loading bullet after bullet in, her steely gaze locked onto the cage entrance. The place was built to be featureless, nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. There was no cover.
Well, there was — her sister, near the back of the room, unable to move and unable to fight. Holiday had positioned herself halfway between her and the vault door instead of hiding behind her mass. Knight was awed by her determination to protect her family and from how tactically idiotic that move was.
He shuffled back, still facing the door, following Holiday's lead. He couldn't do anything else with the collar on him. Just reaffirming that the entry was working and running. Step by step, he backed up behind Holiday and was about to head behind her sister when a jab to the stomach knocked the air from him.
"We're securing this room." Did she just elbow him? Her arms quickly went back to her original, ready-to-shoot stance. Her head didn't move to glare at him, but the force of her voice kept him grounded. "We."
"Am I the bait, then?" He shot back, not moving farther back but simultaneously not moving forwards to her position. What was he going to do, if he wasn't a distraction? Punch whatever was approaching in the eye? "You know I'm dead weight with this on."
The collar.
"Here," one of her hands darted from the tranquilizer to a pocket, taking out a knife. "Catch."
She flicked it behind her.
Knight sidestepped the blade as it clattered and slid uselessly to the floor. A hiss of frustration escaped her lips. "You were supposed to catch."
"You're unofficially in charge of me." Take the hint, goddamnit. "Unofficially in charge of the collar."
Still as a statue. She didn't move, he didn't move, nothing except their breathing, controlled with brief shakes.
Another crash against the wall cracked the facade; he heard her sharp intake of breath, mirrored by his own involuntary exhale.
Whatever it was, it knew they were in there and it wasn't stopping. Time was running out.
"Either we fight it under-equipped in a suicide mission, we run when it's distracted from eating your sister, or you take off the collar. Your pick, Agent Holiday."
Another silent pause, their breathing more ragged. The spider E.V.O. had decided to shut up — smart, if it weren't for Holiday he'd be half-tempted to keep her quiet himself.
"We're staying."
Pause.
The light blurred across his vision.
No. No way. Was Holiday planning to fight? Wait it out and pray that it wasn't going to tear into the cell?
Again, the cell rumbled. Again, the room was thrown into a brief darkness, the glint of red piercing through the veil. Again, Knight was trapped and at the mercy of whatever was beyond his cage.
Again, he was exhausted.
"I —"
Another crash. The door shook.
"What are you waiting for?!" Holiday's tone took on an edge of irritation as she dropped her stance, looking at him with impatience in her eyes.
"You're really going to—"
"Yes, get over here and sit down."
A shiver of disgust ran through him, goosebumps forming on his skin. Dirt. Spit. Blood. God knows what else. This was hardly the time for revulsion; swallowing thickly, he ran over, closed his eyes, and sat knees bunched against his chest. Curled up small.
Holiday lowered herself behind him. From the noises — fabric shuffling and a small thud — she sat with her knees to the ground, leaning towards his back.
Knight ignored it. How he was wallowing in filth, how open and exposed he was, how easy it would be —
A dagger in her hand, small but still long enough to slip through his ribs and —
His neck, protected only by the collar, not nearly enough to stop —
"By the way, the resulting shock if I fail to take this off properly will probably kill you."
How reassuring. He had gathered as much from his first attempt.
The gloves she wore were cold, rough, an unnatural prickling at his skin as she felt the collar. It was sturdy. Warmed from Knight's body heat. Casting another red glow from the light at the front signalling it was active that he did his best to not think about day after day.
(At night, though, it was his only company.)
"There should be a maintenance panel around here." Holiday tapped it. Knight grunted in response. "Look, I've taken off a collar manually before, you should be fine."
The phrase 'margin of error' echoed in his mind. He didn't relay his thoughts.
The next few minutes were spent in an uneasy silence only interrupted by the banging on the door. Knight couldn't see behind him for obvious reasons (hmm. Camera build? Only useful for expanding my vision, they can't be separated after all…) and could only rely on his sense of touch. Every time Holiday's gloves brushed against his bare neck, he suppressed the urge to flinch and lean away, but at the same time —
It was weird, but it felt a little nice. Being handled gently. Rather, the collar being handled gently and him as an afterthought. If he closed his eyes and drifted off from the situation, it was almost like someone he trusted to watch his back was caring for him.
But that wasn't realistic.
So instead, his hands curled into fists with nails that dug into his palms as he sought to expel the agitated energy.
The clattering of metal brought him back, a sharp intake followed by the almost irresistible urge to turn around. From the noise, meek, it was small. Not small enough that the possibility of it being a weapon was erased.
"That was the maintenance panel."
Like she read his mind. Dangerous, if left unattended — was he predictable enough that she could counter any of his moves in a fight?
The other explanation was terrifying. That he wasn't getting predictable, that she knew him deeply in the brief time that they knew each other. His behaviour, his personality, his fears. Paranoia threaded his thoughts, sweat rolling from his forehead.
The walls were too close, the air stifling— he was going to choke. He was trapped. He knew, he had known since they had stepped in, that they were cornered in the cell but it hadn't set into his bones, hadn't stopped his breath short in the chaos.
Could Holiday see him, erratic motions and wild breathing? Pupils dilating not only to let in light in the dark, but in a growing panic?
"So," Holiday began, a welcome distraction from his thoughts, which were spinning in circles blindly. Her hands darted across the collar now, quicker, presumably feeding in code and prodding the wires. "Why did you attack Rex?"
Maybe not so welcome.
"Is this an interrogation?"
"It's a courtesy. I told you about her."
Ah. Knight wasn't expecting that to bite him in the ass so soon.
"It's because…" He didn't know where to begin, Providence, trampling over his kind's lives? Wresting control away from deserving E.V.O in the name of justice? Fighting a losing battle against the evolution that had gripped mankind?
Well, not losing anymore, Knight's thoughts turned bitter. He's the cure, which was ironic given how much venom was coursing through his thoughts.
"Rex is the poster boy of Providence." A more literal interpretation, given his mottled mug was pasted on every wall and every pole in Providence-infested areas. "The figurehead. Chop off the head…"
"And nothing would happen. His position is more decorative than functional. At least, for now."
Right. Like the kid was going to grow up a fine leader instead of a sheltered wreck.
"You missed the fact that it would be a huge morale boost for every E.V.O. not wanting to be killed or contained by your employers. A huge morale blow to you."
Holiday's fingers stiffened, collar stilling to rest on Knight's neck. The stillness, the silence, unnerved him — had he overstepped?
"It's nothing personal." Knight shrugged, fingers idly tapping his thigh. Not entirely true. He's sure he hates him now, but back then Knight was focused on his position, not his bratty personality. "He is, tactically speaking, a prime target.
"You speak as if this is a war."
"Isn't it?"
No answer. She had resumed working on the collar, beyond his sight.
"I do feel a bit bad about Noah, though. Paying him to betray Rex like that," Knight added a small laugh at the end, brought on by his nerves. It was embarrassing, admitting that; he was superior and above those pretty notions. He couldn't see Holiday's expression, which was worse in his eyes — Distaste? Disinterest? Looking down at him? He tried to cover it up, "Took all the money I saved for a week, and I didn't even get what I wanted."
Her hands had stopped, leaving a void where warmth once was.
"Noah? As in, the blonde kid that Rex is friends with?"
"'Is'?" Knight straightened and turned his head to look at her disbelievingly; he already paid him. Was he expecting another paycheck anytime soon? No — three weeks had passed. He must be desperate. "He's still around?"
Holiday's expression went dark. Red light danced across her face as the alarm light rotated, adding another layer of unease. Her hand drifted to the tranq on her hip. "Not for long."
Another dent appeared on the door. Holiday started, hands once again on the collar around Knight; he had to stop himself from shaking or flinching, lest the collar activate on accident.
He squeezed his eyes shut — not that it helped, the banging against the vault door rang in his ears as a constant reminder that they had little time left. Like a clock ticking down.
"Is it almost off?"
"Wait."
He couldn't. Not anymore. The crashes were getting more frequent, louder, door groaning under the weight of something slamming into it over and over —
In two neat chunks, the collar fell to the floor.
Knight stood, shaking off Holiday, raised one foot, and stomped.
Hard.
The crunch was satisfying.
Power.
Coursing through his veins like lava — he had almost forgotten what it was like to be free. A smile, perhaps the first one that had graced his lips that day, spread across his face. Wide, teeth shown, eyes alight with pure joy —
With a brief cacophony of metal on metal, a flash of grey and gold, his hands returned to their true form. Simple but functional. Brilliantly white, sparking with electricity and controlled enthusiasm.
It was like he was unshackled; he was energized, limbs lighter than before despite the two mechanical fists that were his lower arms and hands, untamed energy filling him up just waiting to be used up.
It didn't have to wait for long.
Metal bent underneath him. In a leap, he had travelled to the other end of the cell and slammed into the door. He barely felt it, it was like he was merely crumpling paper, the vault door buckling and snapping as two forces hit it.
One E.V.O. and the other, something unstoppable.
The other E.V.O. — monstrous, almost alligator in appearance, barely stood a chance. If it wasn't reinforced steel piercing its hide, if it wasn't the weight of a meter of metal slamming into it —
Just like paper.
Its mouth, lined with too many teeth to be a product of nature, hung open and useless as red splattered across the floor. Across the walls. Across Knight.
Revulsion shot through Knight before being replaced with triumph, the thrill of a kill. This was his element. Showing off his strength, existing and loving it. Spitting in the face of people who'd rather see him locked up or dead.
The corpse, what was left of it, disintegrated in his hands. Nanites flooding in. He wanted more. He needed more.
"Knight!"
Oh, right, her. He turned his head, grin etched on his face like it was there permanently.
Was that a bit of fear in her eyes?
His mood fell. Disappointment. She wasn't impressed?
"We still need to stay here, remember?"
Right, her sister.
"I can reinforce it." Knight motioned at the scrap heap around him. "Block up the entrance. You'll both be safe."
Holiday scrutinized him. Mostly his arms. The night vision goggles hid her eyes, her expression, but her posture said everything.
Could I stop you?
The answer, of course, was no.
"To open the Petting Zoo doors in a lockdown situation, there needs to be two elements," Holiday said, slowly as she stood up and brushed off her suit, "Someone opening from the inside and someone opening from the outside."
"All the more reason for me to go out there. We're not going to get rescued if they can't reach us."
"Either that, or someone high up in the command chain opens the door. That's Rex, in our case."
Knight groaned, letting his arms drop in an almost childish gesture. Rex was in charge of whether or not their rescue could reach them in time.
"Give him some credit. He's learning."
"I'll give him credit when he earns it."
End of conversation. Forever, Knight hoped. Everyone had to claw their way up the food chain, except for Rex, it seemed, who landed a cushy desk job position from someone else's procedure and someone else's work on nanites.
Not that a desk job, wearing fancy suits and sitting around all day was anywhere near appearing. Knight would take being on the battlefield over that boring job any day.
Hissing from behind him. Not a monster, but instead the door to The Hole opening.
Footsteps echoed in corridor as a beam of light cut through the dark, swinging around. Knight spun on one foot in an instant, hands ready to punch whatever was going to attack them into a pulp —
Which was Doctor Fell, carrying a flashlight in one hand and a comically out-of-place pair of scissors held like a weapon in the other. "Knight? Are you there?"
"Doctor Fell, how —"
"Running some late night tests. Unfortunately, the alarm sounded before I planned to leave."
"You're not authorized for that." Holiday pushed forward, through the rubble and the viscera, to face him with suspicion. The tranquilizer gun was out again, and Fell eyed it with a detached interest.
"I am when Rex tells me I am."
That piqued her interest, head tilting to the side as she dropped to a less aggressive stance. Maybe it piqued her suspicion. "What else did he tell you?"
"Captain Calan and a few other agents are to reach you, Agent Holiday," Doctor Fell turned his attention onto Knight, an uncomfortable feeling welling inside of him. "And I am to bring Knight out."
"Why aren't they with you?" It was suspicion, for sure. "You should have met with them first. You're a non-combatant."
"I was going to, until Knight… disposed of the E.V.O. that blocked my path to him. He will be my guard."
"But—"
"Do you want to live or not?"
All eyes on Knight as the focus shifted. At first, he didn't realize that the last question was pointed at him, as their argument had become heated — suddenly thrust into the spotlight, his plan was nonexistent.
A part of Knight wanted to stay behind with Holiday; her company wasn't the best, but she didn't give him the creeps like Doctor Fell did. He couldn't pinpoint why. His voice oozing with contempt and disdain, maybe.
At the same time, he needed to get out of there and Holiday was perfectly fine on her own.
Fell seemed to take his silence as a 'yes', motioning for Knight to follow him.
He did.
Knight was tempted to shoot an apologetic look back, instead turning to look at Holiday, her face unreadable. The Hole was cleared out by then. It was just a matter of Knight locking the door behind him with an arm that he changed into its human appearance.
Before long, Knight had shifted his other arm too, metal pieces falling off of him onto the soil. They were strong, but loud with their whirring and clanking as they hit the trees and smacked the bushes in the Zoo.
Nothing attacked them, either by luck or by the more prey-like E.V.O being scared off by a predator in the area. He was disappointed; a good fight was sure to keep his excitement up and thoughts of hunger down.
His hacking abilities unfortunately could only be used by human limbs, too. That was a pitfall he could overcome later. Now, it was central to getting them out of there, forcing the door to open when ordinarily they wouldn't budge.
Fell took off into a sprint the moment the door closed behind them, bars sliding back into place. At least, Knight assumed he did, the quick pitter-patter of feet and the conspicuous absence of the doctor when he spun around.
Growling, Knight followed the sound; it wasn't hard, not like Doctor Fell was trying to be stealthy, but it was annoying. Seeing the tail of his labcoat disappear down his corner before turning it and finding Fell was already gone.
He had a surprising amount of energy in him, given his position as head scientist. Knight assumed he did nothing but write reports all day.
Fell was getting slower though, Knight could feel it — a glimpse of more of him in the dark, the light from his flashlight brighter in the white corridors. The darkness didn't suit Providence, all jagged shadows and dim screens when Providence clearly bathed in white.
Soon, Fell had stopped right before a door.
Another flash of irritation. At Fell and at himself for not memorizing the route they took, twists and turns in the halls of Providence that all looked the same.
"What was that?" Knight caught his breath, legs burning from the run.
"I needed to know that you wouldn't run."
"So instead you ran."
"You took chase, didn't you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Nevermind. In here." Fell pressed a button near the door and entered a code.
Dimly lit, the solitary light in the middle over an operating table that casted sharp, unnatural shadows, a pseudo-lab stood before Knight when the door opened. It looked hastily thrown together, all equipment strewn about unordered and wires snaking across the tile to cameras.
Too hasty for Providence. Despite their leader seeming otherwise, they were about plans and order; something Knight could grudgingly respect them for.
...Was this place even legal?
He turned —
Sharp pain on his shoulder. An expressionless face. A tranquilizer gun pointed at him, hidden until now, and he couldn't help but think of Agent Holiday. He couldn't trust her. He couldn't trust…
Six. There to talk, to reminiscence, even if Knight wasn't whole. Missing. Meandering. What was happening to him?
He toppled, a low exhale escaping his lips as his limbs dragged him down, down, with nobody to catch him this time, onto the tile with heavy eyelids and a muddled mind.
Two blurred copies of the world swam as his eyes refused to focus, dark greys with bright whites cutting through the dark around him. Groaning, he raked his mind for information. Where… Providence?
He rolled over on whatever he was lying on —
He couldn't. Locked into spread-eagle position, his head lolled to the side uselessly. Cold bit at his skin where it met the table he was strapped to, a contrast against his flushed face. That got his focus back, heart rate up, and muscles tensing.
Or at least, most of it. His limbs were numb. A reflection of his own mind, which was grasped at thoughts to keep himself afloat.
"You're supposed to be sedated."
Doctor Fell?
Something brushed his sandy blonde hair aside, sending a shiver of fear running down his spine. The touch lingered on his forehead. Like needles digging in.
A gloved hand — disgusting, disgusting, there was something slick on it and he smelled copper — Fell's gloved hand, cupped his chin and jerked him up. Brown to green, his eyes to Knight's, one filled with triumph and the other…
He bared his fangs, a growl building in his throat.
Which cut off as his head slammed onto the observation table.
"No need to be testy," Fell spoke, voice light. Fingers were around his throat now, a collar pressing down on the sides — pounding, blood pounding as he gasped at the sudden pressure. He couldn't — he couldn't —
Breathe. The fingers relented, dragging roughly across his skin in a warning. Knight answered with coughs as his lungs drew in air. Desperate. Through the haze, pain spiked in his chest and his head throbbed.
"Your body destroys nanites at an incredible rate." Fell walked around him, ignoring his heaves, a vulture to dying prey. "If Providence can take that power, wield it correctly, we could program human bodies to consume the nanites before they consume us."
Knight didn't give him a satisfaction of an answer, instead glaring at him with all the fury he could muster. Which should have been a lot, dissatisfaction and anger at the chaotic state of the world churning within him, but as he tested the clamps holding his limbs and head down a pit of uncertainty opened up at his core.
They wouldn't budge. The cold metal dug into his skin, pain flaring as he pushed again to no avail.
"So many variables; what's the maximum rate of consumption? What side-effects may occur? Where do the nanites go once used?" Circling closer now, going in for the kill. The light shining down on him felt like the desert sun, scorching his pale skin. "What happens when you starve?"
He was already so, so hungry.
Imagining it intensifying hurt.
It — it hurt, sparks across his nonreactive, drugged body, trapping his form. Wheezing. From across his body, not just his uneven intakes. Like embers being stomped out before they could blaze anew, brief metal patches ghosted across his skin before sinking back in.
He tried to keep control over his spasming limbs, his shaking form, his builds half-forming and deconstruction.
With a growing sense of horror, he wasn't sure he could.
"The mechanical E.V.O—" Fell's eyes lit up, half realization and half wild wonder. "It was you, wasn't it? I was content with just having you, the cure, but you, that E.V.O..."
What?
"Why is it such a surprise that I'm biomechanical?!" Knight's fear funnelled into anger mixed with confusion, nails digging into the palm of his hand as he pulled against the restraints. "You've seen me build before!"
"No, no, not this form. Not you." Fell's hands swept across his body. His undefended, unfortunately human body. "The huge biomechanical E.V.O. that destroyed a Providence fleet and levelled a city. The specimen that Holiday reported as dead. You blew up and became… humanoid. Why?"
"I would have preferred if this didn't happen either, but I don't remember why!"
Fell's eyes narrowed. Distrust hung in the air, almost palpable.
"It doesn't matter what you remember. What matters are the scientific revelations that your body holds."
His skin crawled. Not completely because of the grey underbuild appearing and disappearing.
Metal sliding on metal; from his position, he couldn't turn his head to see what Fell was doing. Control was slipping from his fingers like sand.
"You should be happy. You're going to be the evology breakthrough everyone has been waiting for." Fell was grinning, light glinting off of his glasses as he moved around Knight. His arms waved around, wild and dramatic — it didn't take long for Knight's eyes to zero in on the shining blade that was his scalpel. Fell, meanwhile, wasn't looking at him, the person. He was looking at it, the nanite-infused thing that was nothing near human. "You're going to be so useful."
A pang went through Knight's heart before he could stop it — useful, that word resonated within him, almost echoing in the hollow feeling in his gut. He wanted to be useful. To be the cure that Holiday — no, the world needed. He was practically made for —
— what?
Under no circumstance did he want to be dissected and die by the hands of a half-rate scientist.
Heat built at his core. He could feel it again — rage, untamed, vision blurring and lips curling up in a snarl as his breath became quicker and thrashing more forceful.
Knight wasn't their tool. Knight wasn't their pet E.V.O. Knight was going to rip them apart until they bled and begged and kneeled in front of him, treated exactly how he should be.
Fell flinched. Good. Knight's eyes were wide and filled to the brim with unbridled anger, growls replacing words and metal desperately trying to replace flesh. Gold flashed on his skin, a warning.
It wasn't panic. It was survival instinct on overdrive.
The air — no, the nanites around him — felt hot, suffocating, congested, all of them drunkenly swirling from his half-formed commands. Attack, attack, attack.
Kill, kill, kill.
Screaming, visceral and guttural, pained as much as it was angry. No growling anymore, just the howling vocalisations as he pulled against his restraints; the metal dug into his skin and drew blood. He didn't notice or care.
Blurred, drugged vision sharpened to clarity focused to a sword point — a sword pointed to nobody in particular, lashing out wildly, caring for nothing but the death of its enemies.
The death of one person, figure red and filled with nanites, whose smug look fell into one of disbelief.
As wires jutted out of his skin and plates built from his flesh, amalgamating human and machine, that expression changed further to fear.
He could feel it, almost taste the blood-like iron — metal bending from his strength, his nanites, the horror in the air from what he was and him alone — he was in control. He was in control.
And he won't be anyone's prisoner anymore.
