This sucked. Tom stood pressed against the wall of the dusty courtyard, a crescent moon of pea-coated soldiers pinning him to its edge. He was starting to think that maybe running into the only open space in the entire base was a bad idea. Maybe.

Patryck and Paul stood across from him, Paul appearing mostly embarrassed whilst Pat just looked exasperated. He stood with a palm on his hip, staring tiredly at his ward. "Come on Tom this is getting ridiculous. You literally just needed to wait for Red Leader to wake up, why did you have to make this so hard?"

Tom had to resist the urge to flash his middle finger. He refused to let them convince him that this place wasn't hell on earth. A reasonable person would have taken the pause to collect their thoughts, assess the situation and come up with a somewhat solid plan to progress. But this was Tom Thompson, and he was far from reasonable. He stared down Patryck and Paul, the atmosphere like that of a duel in a tacky Hollywood western. Tom narrowed his eyes as he mimicked every TV Cowboy showdown ever and shifted into a lower stance, hell you could probably hear the tense music if you listened hard enough. He wriggled his fingers at his trouser pockets...and booked it away from the confrontation with a pivot.

Running for the far left of the crescent he muttered curses repeatedly under his breath as he kicked up dust. A man stood directly in his path, lifting his weapon in preparation, so naturally Tom dove for the soldier. He barreled into the man, gripping the gun and forcing it up far higher than the soldier had intended to lift it. The force slammed the barrel right into its owner's nose, giving Tom the chance to duck around the dazed and cursing recruit, celebrating with similar, colourful vocabulary as he sprinted for a set of double doors.

Patryck's indignation could be felt across the quad. "Oh for fuck sake- get him!"

And just like that Tom was being dogpiled by a small army of on-site personnel. He couldn't even struggle under the weight of a dozen well-disciplined soldiers. Some rando quickly clipped cuffs on Toms wrist's, and Tom reluctantly lifted his head to a sight that made him want to vomit. Patryck's condescending smirk was intolerable, second only to Matt's during an argument.

"Looks like you've finished wasting everyone's time." He nodded to a boy with a buzz cut, and a ponytailed blonde. "Get him back to his room, I'm going to tell Red Leader the fuss is over."

The group of soldiers began to dust themselves off and return to their posts, the man and woman specified lifting Tom from the floor. Most of the reds spoke idly as they walked away, some snickering at Tom's expense, others acting so carefree that Tom doubted they ever saw him as a threat in the first place. These guys were all assholes, Tord had certainly found his niche.

After the morning he just had, the truths he just discovered, Tom couldn't believe he was about to be led back into those walls. Not that he had truly left them in the first place. This place was a nightmare and the men causing it all were walking two paces ahead of him. He refused to go back through those doors. Fuck that.

With a very sudden, very unexpected show of coordination and sheer strength, he ripped his arms free from his captors and sprinted for Pat, kicking him so hard he tumbled into the nearest wall.

The move did not gain Tom his freedom, but it did give him satisfaction and that was almost as good. Paul was quick to react, punching Tom in the face and forcing him back into the grip of the soldiers whilst his head was still reeling. "You goddamn moron!" Paul spat and then went to his partner's side.

As Tom's vision cleared, something about the sight before him left him shaken. Patryck sat propped up against the wall, his head hanging as he took a moment to collect himself, it was only for a second and then he was back on his feet, but it was enough for Tom's memories to click into place.

ASDFLand.

The realisation actually hit him quite hard, he started piecing things together more and more, he'd seen Pat and Paul around before. And often. Too often to be convenience. He wasn't sure what this could mean. Had they been stalking him and his friends? Had Tord ever really "left" or was he watching from afar the whole time? Did the Red Leader know about him? Who was the Red Leader? Tom could have asked a hundred questions. But that would have been stupid considering the spectacle he just caused. Instead, he decided to push his luck one step further and play the only card he had left- petty retribution.

"You assholes think you've got one up on me? I've seen you in the field. Stepping over your half-dead asses in the ASDFLand arcade really gave me a good first impression of the red army."

He took note of Pat's shocked expression and decided to push it further.

"It was pretty irritating trying to play video games when the buttons were sticky though. You could have been more careful not to get your blood all over the controls." Not even close to the truth, but it had the desired effect.

"What is wrong with you."

Getting Tom back to the cell was an easy task despite his dedication to letting them drag him the whole way there. They had to form a human wall the moment they got him inside, as the second they let go he was sprinting for the door again. Eventually, the blonde soldier got a hit on him strong enough to knock him back and they were able to shut the door on him. Outside the room, the two lackeys saluted and were dismissed, whilst Tom slammed his fists repeatedly on the metal from within.

Paul called out to him to stop, but the stubborn man continued despite multiple reprimands from the soldier. It took Paul mimicking Tom to get the man inside to listen. "Tom. You're an idiot. You jumped to conclusions and now we're going to have to apply stricter protocol to the situation." He sighed as he leaned on the door. "Seriously, we're not looking for a fight, we just needed to watch you whilst we waited."

Pat scoffed. "Paul doesn't speak for everyone. I wanted to shoot you."

Paul looked at him extremely unamused. His tone deadpan as he reminded him -"Patryck you did shoot him. In the foot. At point-blank."

Tom was not having any of it. They could not legally keep him here and he knew it, being in some secret bullshit army doesn't make you above the law. "You can't keep me prisoner!"

Paul groaned,"You're not a prisoner! you...", and realised mid-sentence that prisoner was a pretty good label for him. "Just can't leave yet." He tried to recover by reasoning that -"We tried going about this the easy way, but since you decided to cause a fuss this is our only option. Think of it like a hotel with a 24-hour curfew."

He could almost see Tom roll his eyes, despite the three inches of metal between them or that he probably wouldn't be able to tell he did even if he was standing in front of him. "Sure, if a modern hotel included bolted steel doors, concrete desks, and a toilet 2 feet from the bed."

"Look, Tom it's only for a day with any luck, then Red leader can come and sort this all out, and you can go back to whatever you have to go back to up there."

"What do you mean by that?"

Fuck. Pat was glaring at him strongly, but even without the visual aid Paul knew he had fucked up royally. "What?"

"Up there? Just where the hell are we? Why the fuck is Tord living in an underground rebel base like he thinks he's in a Star Wars movie!"

Patryck seemed almost defensive. "Look. The world is a hell hole thanks to the assholes in government. At least Red Leader is trying to change that, that already puts him about everyone else in my opinion. Don't compare us to fiction. Our work here matters."

Tom paused from behind the door. "That's why you follow him."

Paul stepped in. "Yeah, the Red Army gives me hope, the General helps people when no one else will. Tord helps people. He's really not as bad as you think he is."

Tom shook his head, wanting to laugh. "You don't know him like I do. He just hasn't gotten what he wants yet, once he does you will all be old news."

Paul almost looked hurt. Tom listened to their retreating footsteps and made a split second decision.

"Hey! Can I at least get my one phone call?"

"Tom?" Edd's shock was visible through his voice, Tom could only imagine how his two housemates must have been suspicious over the last few days, one friend disappearing after another. He didn't blame Edd for not expecting him to call, he hadn't exactly been a good friend recently.

"Hi Edd." He winced.

The stream of questions started immediately. "Where are you? Where's Tord? What's going on Tom?"

Tom suddenly faced a dilemma. The truth would be easy, a few hours ago he wouldn't have even hesitated to shout down the line about Tord's villain origins and his subsequent victimisation. He would have thoroughly enjoyed it to be completely honest. But now he had doubts about revealing his condition. It wasn't that he feared Edd and Matt would reject him, they were too stupid to be afraid. He feared they would see it as a reason to let Tord stay, that they would conclude that Tord was needed in order to fix him.

"Yeah. I'm….. booked up in a Travelodge for a few nights. I need time to get my head together. Tord though, no clue where he is."

Edd went quiet for a moment. "That's odd. He left looking for you and hasn't come back, why would he just disappear again so soon."

"Maybe he got bored already, are you really surprised." Tom spat. He couldn't believe Edd seemed to be worrying more about Tord than him now. It left a sour taste on his tongue. But then again, it really wasn't that surprising. Edd had put Tord first for a while now, so afraid that his 'best buddy' would run away again the moment someone dared to say boo. Tom didn't know why he had called. Edd wasn't going to get him out of this situation. Hell, he hadn't even gone looking for him! Tord had! That realisation was the deal breaker. "Look Edd I have to go, stay away from my stuff." He hit the call end button before Edd could even respond.

In was the first hour after the phone call that Tom realised that maybe Paul and Pat were serious about the stricter protocol. After the second he accepted they were. After eight he went to sleep and, after 15, he started to comprehend just how long this impromptu servitude could last.

Tord woke up to a tray clattering beside him. Doctors bringing another round of pain medication. He scoffed. It would not be needed. What he hadn't expected to be brought in as a med report, similar to his own clipped to the end of his bed. It was a list of symptoms: seizures, confusion and elevated pulse, blood pressure and temperature.

All the very recognisable consequences of going cold turkey. It didn't take a genius to guess who the report centered around, although Tom's name was already at the top of the sheet. Tord gave the messenger a nod and a requested his right hands come in.

They were quick about it too. Tord suspected they had their hands full with Tom and were just overly happy to get some real direction in handling the situation. Pat's grimace didn't go unnoticed by Tord, whilst Paul seemed unfazed. The two men crossed the room in a brisk walk, eager to reach his side and take orders again.

Tord allowed himself a small smile. "Morning soldiers, how is everything holding up?" They both squared up at the question, so predictable.

"Everything is running smoothly Sir." Paul responded, and then paused. "Well, except for Sierra. We're having some trouble."

Pat snorted. "That's all we've been having. Speaking plainly Sir, your friend is one of the biggest pricks I've ever met."

Tord did laugh at that. "Consider my situation, I had to live with him for five years." The pilots' smiled. "So what's going wrong this time. I got the med report but I'd prefer to hear it from you."

"As per your orders, we have restricted his access to base rations, including alcohol. We didn't cut him off entirely at first, but during the second week he managed to find and slice up all the monitoring tech in his cell with a bottleneck."

Tord remembered that, the loss of his feed was a dampener on an already bad day. One where he had been having a lot of issues calibrating his prosthetic.

"We cut him off and he got sick not long after. It started off as the normal symptoms of alcohol withdrawal, grogginess, and nausea, but after a day or so his blood pressure and temperature spiked. We thought it was just from going cold turkey so tried to treat him as you would any other alcoholic." Pat's expression turned sour. "He started having seizures an hour ago."

Tord nodded. "How bad are they?"

"Not very, it could just be delirium tremens."

"No." Tord cut him off. "Tom has never quit drinking so suddenly before, so he has a low chance of getting DTs." Seems like alcohol isn't just a crutch for his personality.

"Just get the Quartermaster to bring over some liquor, we don't have time for this."

With that deciding sentence, he began to pull himself from the hospital sheets. Paul and Pat looked ready to object, but he knew they wouldn't. They respected his stubbornness. Tord was proud to say he only stumbled a bit once his feet touched the ground. Two weeks were a decent time gap to begin practicing with prospects. Although he knew very well that his arm would not be properly healed for another month or so. That wasn't going to stop him from taking a few of Tom's teeth once he saw him.

He crossed the room with bold but laborious steps and plucked his clothes from a neat pile on the counter. His arm worked nicely and he was able to slip on his hoodie and coat with little struggle.

"Right. Let's go sort him out."

Tord knew what to expect when he opened that door. Still, it was quite the scene that erupted. Tom wasted no time before beginning an onslaught of insults and demanding questions. Despite his every sentence being punctuated with rasping breaths and poorly masked pain. He was in a real state. His hair was plastered to his pillow and his body quaked beneath the sheets. It gave Tord some satisfaction to see karma working its magic. So it was with reluctance when he pushed a bottle of whiskey into Tom's face.

He looked pretty pitiful as he tried to recognise the bottle in his hand, but he was quick to chug the thing the moment he did. Paul and Pat looked almost concerned for him, while Tord only smirked when Tom eventually choked himself and spluttered alcohol down his chest. The bottle chimed as it shook in his quivering hand, yet there was an immediate improvement. He certainly looked a little less green in the face and his breathing was slowly evening out.

"How long has it been since you were last sober and why." Tord wasn't looking to talk to him, he would rather beat the shit out of him. It was pretty hard to control his anger, keeping it in check by reminding himself that gaining more knowledge on his experiment was more important.

Tom shrugged, too concerned with finishing off his bottle. Eventually, he reached the bottom and reluctantly pulled it from his lips. "A while. It's still just as unpleasant as I remember it."

"I need specifics here. We've got no time for dicking around so give me a straight answer. I know this isn't your body's normal response to being cut off so don't try to lie."

Tom huffed and acted like he hadn't heard him.

"Damn it, Tom, just answer us so we can get this over with." Paul prompted from the doorway.

Tom held eye contact with him for a moment before sighing and giving into the logic. "When I'm sober I get these headaches, but not hangover headaches. And my forehand hurts like hell, and my… whatever it's called- the area on your back above your butt."

Tord jotted it down. It seemed that a nature depressant like alcohol was able to suppress whatever was in the serum. He relayed this to Tom.

Tom didn't really react, proving to Tord that he was already aware of the fact. He stared into his whiskey glass with a frustrated expression. "Can't you just take that shit out of me?"

"Pssh of course not. If you leave a sponge soaked in red dye for eight years do you think the colour will come out of that?" The fact that Tord was not waiting another eight years to continue was left unsaid.

Tom scrunched his nose up "Whatever. Just an excuse for me to drink more then."

Tord scoffed. "No, it's not because you are going to learn to control it."

"Uh-huh yeah control it sure." Tom took a long swig from his flask and the relief was immense. His head was already starting to settle into a much more comfortable haze and his hands were considerably less shaky.

"It's true, it's what red leader wants and I'm pretty sure this should prove that you need to learn."

"Why."

Tord paused. "What?"

"Why is this guy so set on getting answers out of me. You've been working here for years, you could have just made some other dumb commie your guinea pig."

The sudden shift in the feel of the room made it clear Tom had just wandered into unstable ground. Tord's face implied a certain Lesley Gore song was playing in his head.

"If it was that easy I wouldn't be bothering with you right now. I've been reviewing your files for years on and off but I was so inexperienced when I began tests, there's no phase I trials let alone phase II clinicals. I didn't even keep track of sample size." His frustration was beginning to show. "As far as I know, you are just a statistical anomaly and all my research will end up being absolutely worthless!. And, now I have to dedicate extra time and resources to my prosthetic research in order to fine tune this arm, so I don't have the time to start from scratch even if I could!"

Tom continued to spout something dumb and ignorant but Tord wasn't listening. He was furious that after all the had recently occurred, Tom had the audacity to sit there and complain to him. To question subjects he knew nothing about and act as if he expected Tord to pull a miracle cure out of his arse. He was at his wit's end, a man can only take so much pain, stress, and stupidity before he needs an outlet. He had earned a couple of moments of stress relief. So he turned to Tom with an unreadable expression and asked -"Feeling better?"

Tom didn't know what Tord was playing at, but he sure as hell wasn't buying it. He just nodded curtly instead.

"Good."

With only that as a warning, Tord span and delivered a forceful kick to Tom's chest, sending the shorter man to the floor. Paul and Pat jumped at the sudden violence, before heading for the door. Even if they wanted to stop Tord, they knew better than to interfere now.

Tom gripped his torso, his head snapping up to snarl at Tord. "What the fuck!"

"Now we're on the road to being even." Tord shook out his prosthetic as he turned around. "We're nowhere near done yet though. So get up."

Tom couldn't help but growl, his fingernails drumming metallically against the floor tiles as he climbed to his feet.

When it came to fighting Tord, the last thing Tom needed was an excuse.

He swung a left hook, only clipping Tord's shoulder as the red sidestepped. With a pivot, Tord's prosthetic connected with Tom's hip. The blow almost sent Tom off-balance, but he was able to right himself from the nose dive and spun around, setting a vice grip on Tord's peacoat. With his new leverage, Tom sent a knee into Tord's gut. His opponent reeled back as a result, clearly winded.

Tom couldn't help but grin, despite it all, Tord's militant background, his years of discipline, Tom's pub brawl fight style was still enough to best that asshole.

Tord sent him a glare to counter Tom's grin and took a moment to smooth the new creases in his coat. He took one authoritative step forward, then another. And with a burst of power, he was pressing his forearm into the crook of Tom's neck, holding the Brit against the wall with ease. With his free arm he gave Tom a nasty black eye, then a slip lip, then a bruised nose.

"You really haven't changed at all have you." Tord snarled.

With a shout, Tom retaliated against the remark, kicking Tord hard enough to loosen his grip, and snatching his arm to try switching their positions. The plan quickly changed, however, when Tom felt skin part under his grip. He looked down in shock at where his fingers met flesh and was disturbed to find blood pooling quickly around his nails, each one embedded in Tord's remaining arm.

Despite how it must have stung, Tord was close to smiling, a faint smirk on his lips indicated that he had known something like this would happen. Bastard, Tom thought. Then, as if to add salt to the wound, Tord swung his arm in an arch, able to overpower Tom and fling him to the floor. Before Tom could recover his own arm was pinned down, Tord stomping down on the limb with unnecessary force. He took a long hard look at Tom's hands and noted that in the short moments since Tom grabbed him, the nails had formed pretty nasty looking claws.

They were thick and heavy, not what you would expect to see on the long thin digits of a human hand. In fact, they almost looked impractical. Regardless Tom had them braced, ready for his opponent should the man slip up and give him the opportunity to use them.

"Oh stop with the wolverine crap already. You look like a shitty comic book villain." Tord spat.

He was loving this, between his experiment rapidly developing and his prosthetic working perfectly Tord could almost ignore the urge to gut Tom with the bottleneck of a Diet Smirnoff.

As Tom struggled to get Tord off of him, Tord had to gloat. "You know I think I'm reconsidering your worth. You're nowhere near a challenge for me, and I'm crippled. If you cant even fight me then you're already a failed experiment. I might as well have you tossed out now-"

Before Tord could finish, Tom was able to free his arm and quickly pushed himself off the floor. Not hesitating to go for Tord. Tord reacted fast, avoiding Tom and planting his foot on his back as he barreled past. With Tom back on the floor, Tord laughed with more spite than humor.

"What's the matter? I think this the first time you've kept your loudmouth shut around me."

Tom growled at him. "I am done talking to you."

"Is that so." Tord sent an uppercut right into his jaw, ensuring that Tom would be true to his word. He grabbed the collar of Tom's hoodie and slammed him into the ground one last time, standing tall above him so his next words would have more power.

"Then you'll be more than willing to listen, won't you." He spat. " I am done with letting you do as you please. You get in my way and your selfish, shitty attitude drags down everyone around you. I'm not interested in helping you in the slightest, I'd leave you to rot in your mistakes if I could. But you have something of value to me, and it helps both of us if I find out how to control your condition. So I'm making you an offer. You can learn how to manage yourself in a controlled environment. I'll work with you every time to figure out how this monster thing works and how to turn it into an advantage. You will be able to go back to life as usual and stop using the drug as an excuse to be a total asshole."

For once Tord sounded like he was being completely honest. It was very uncomfortable to witness. The idea of Tord getting his way was making Tom feel sick, but what he was saying made sense. Tom was pretty okay living like this, it wasn't really hard, hell he didn't even realise something unnatural was going on till Tord threw the fact in his face. But now he knew why his love of alcohol became a need. Why he lost track of time that could have been spent doing something productive like watching TV or messing around with Susan. All these faults that he had blamed on poor health and accepted were suddenly very fixable. He wanted to fix them. This curse was hard work and he missed being able to waste his life his way. But still, Tord had just beat the shit out of him. Tom didn't want to consider it, but the look on the other man's face said he had to choose now.

Tom spat a bit as he forced his abused jaw to work. If this was going to happen, it was going to happen his way. "And I'll choose when and how?" He couldn't believe he was considering this, but it wasn't like people were lining up to fix his problems for him. He was going to use Tord to get rid of his issues and then get him to fuck off. After all, Tord was good at running away from his responsibilities, Tom just had to make him take the first steps.

Tord seemed to consider it before nodding. "You can come and go however it suits you."

Tom shifted his weight so he was laying on the floor more comfortably. This situation was a mess, but he the chance to steer the sinking ship and he had to take it. He locked eyes with Tord. "You're a fucking psycho. But my issues with you are clearly not as big as your current ones with me." There was a pregnant pause as he pulled himself off the floor. Then he nodded. "We do this my way." It wasn't a request.

Tord rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't expect any less from you."

Much later that day, once Tord and Tom had been patched up, they stood across from each other in the hall. Tord was occupied with a lot of different emotions and dilemmas but strongly relieved to see things had settled. Tom had always searched for the simplest conclusion in life and his lax attitude was handing Tord a major victory. It had taken a matter of days and some self-sacrifice but it was a victory. And that was enough to make Tord grin. He clapped his hands together, marking the end of the week's struggle and informed Tom "We can return to the house risk-free, Edd and Matt have waited long enough."

Tom blanched at the statement, looking utterly appalled. "We? You seriously think you're moving back in after all this crap? Once Edd and Matt know what you have been up too while you've been gone there's no way they'll let you stay. And I am not giving up my room for some son of-"

"Tom." Tord's focus was set in stone on his features. "I've already made a place for myself in their lives again. You can't change that, and they won't want to. I can set up my lab as an extra room, there's plenty of space and I can keep you in check from there."

The norwegian's sharp demeanor made Tom consider him skeptically for a millisecond, before shaking off his comments. "No way in-"

"Do you want to kill your only friends?"

And there it was, the ice that made Tom's thoughts go quiet.

"Cause that's what will happen if you don't listen to me. Maybe not in a months time, maybe not in a year, but eventually you will slip up. You can let the tension and pressure of the transformation build up without my help, or you can learn to control it and use it. You've already agreed to let me help, things will go a lot faster if that help isn't limited to time at this base."

The silence spread from Tom's head to the room. Tom's chest rose and fell with a feeling of pressure, in fact, all he could feel was a not-quite-there pressure. Like his body was tightly packed in cotton. He couldn't believe he was going to let this happen. Then Tord slapped his back, "You better call Edd." and begun to walk away.

As if on cue, a phone began to ring elsewhere down the halls. And for the first time, this isolated base felt truly like the statement implies. In the newly stagnant air, he was hyper-aware of the fact that he was miles under the earth, beneath the streets of London. This was real. He groaned. God Edd better have enough Smirnoff in the fridge.