It was not the first time Nero had woken up starving and in pain, submerged in dark mako. However, the plexiglass tube was new. For a moment he drifted, confused, wondering where he was? It looked like a lab, but not the one he was familiar with. A flicker of white caught his eye; red hair, a prosthetic hand. Shelke's sister, Shalua. Nero shuddered as it all came crashing down on him.

He tried to sob, but the forced-air mask prevented the extra-deep breath. Lungs already burning convulsed in protest. Nero's heart and soul would have withdrawn from mortal life, but his body had other ideas. Lack of oxygen triggered adrenaline, triggered panic, and a sudden acute desire to go on breathing. Out of the corner of his eye he noted Shalua rushing to the machines clustered around the mako pod. For a terrifying moment the oxygen cut off. Lungs on fire, he clawed at the mask, trying in vain to tear it off. He coughed, gagging slightly, as a cool, fresh wave of mako spilled down his throat. It seemed to wash away the urgency, the terror that had driven him to fight for his next breath. Exhausted, Nero shivered and let himself go limp. Thicker than water, the mako held him up; suspended in purple like a specimen for study.

"You okay?" Shalua's voice was distant and fuzzy- more from the double-plated glass than the mako.

Nero met her eyes briefly and looked away.

"I'll let you rest," Shalua said gently.

Distantly, he heard her fussing with the machines, making notes, but it barely registered. Everything hurt. Nero could have dealt with that if only it were purely physical pain. A Tsviet's metabolism ate up analgesics before they could do any good, which made them all adept at accepting discomfort as just one more thing. It was the phantom pain inside that he could not handle. Although his failed attempt had blistered his skin and scorched his lungs, it had drawn no blood. Yet Nero felt as if something vital had been ripped from him- just as Chaos had torn out Rosso's beating heart- and left a jagged, gaping wound that still gushed blood. He could feel it throbbing with every misbegotten beat of his heart; raw flesh pulling with each labored, half-drawn breath.

Why couldn't he have done it properly the first time? He was such a screwup he'd managed to botch his own death. How the hell he'd stayed alive for so long in Deepground he'd never know. Now when he wanted to leave the damn surface for good, he was dragged back and patched up again. The mask forcing mako in and out of his lungs meant he could not even ask why they'd gone to so much trouble. Didn't they understand that he didn't want this? Then again, when had anyone ever cared about what he wanted?

Shalua had wandered to the far side of the room, fussing with papers and other objects unfamiliar and indistinct. Her back to him, she seemed engrossed in her work.

It occurred to him that he had removed every microchip from every survivor except his own. He wasn't even sure he could. Shelke had brought the Deepground mainframes back online, which meant if he crossed the electric fence, the chip would explode. Even if it didn't, it would take anyone looking for him so long to find him that it wouldn't matter.

Nero would have sighed in relief, except the mask prevented it. He would only have to deal with this for a little while longer. The room was dim, plenty of shadows crowded inside and outside the mako pod. Nero relaxed, expecting to fall through the floor of the tank into familiar darkness, but nothing happened. Pushing himself down in the pod, he poked at the shadow that fell across the floor with his foot. Nothing. Panic rose up in him to compete with the pain. He reached, trying to stretch through the glass to a shadow cast by a nearby machine, but it was impenetrable. His shadows were gone. He was trapped. Truly, irrevocably trapped.

Ice and fire shot up his spine into his brain, and Nero shoved against the mako pod suddenly desperate to get out. He tried to scream, but searing pain made him cough and choke instead. With one hand he pulled at the mask, but the strength to yank it off eluded him. With his free hand he beat the glass, wishing he had Weiss' strength. Surely the mako pod would not have lasted thirty seconds against his brother's brute muscle. But Weiss was gone, and Nero did not possess the strength to free himself. That did not stop him from kicking and clawing, making the pod rattle dangerously against the bolts that held it fast to the floor.

"Nero!" Shalua was at his side instantly, false hand pressed to the glass. "Nero, what's wrong?"

He did not answer, only continued to struggle, the mako frothing violently as he thrashed.

Vincent headed straight for the WRO infirmary. Nero might not be ready for visitors, but Vincent intended to be there when he was. With no real plan aside from camping the waiting area until he was needed, Vincent stopped short. The emergency light above Nero's door was flashing red, and a pair of nurses had just rushed through the door. This could not mean anything good. Not breaking stride, Vincent followed.

The mako in the pod frothed and boiled, a miniature maelstrom behind glass. At its eye, Nero kicked and thrashed, making the tube rattle dangerously against the bolts that fastened it to the floor. The two nurses- both of them men- were struggling to keep the pod and the surrounding equipment in place. Shelke stood facing Nero, both hands pressed against the glass, speaking soothing words that went unheard while her sister grappled desperately with the various bits of apparatus that kept Nero alive.

"What's wrong?" Vincent demanded.

"I don't know!" Shalua said, trying and failing to keep one of the IV lines steady. "He just started thrashing!"

The pod lurched as Nero struggled, his eyes glowing a uniform gold in the dark liquid. Shalua tried to press a syringe into the tubing again, but the line jerked and skipped as Nero fought to escape.

"Nero!" Without thought, without hesitation, Vincent lunged and seized Nero by the shoulders. At once, Nero froze.

"Nero?" Vincent asked gently.

Nero started back at him, terrified, his entire body heaving with every labored breath.

"It's alright, son," Vincent told him. "You'll be okay."

Awareness faded and Nero's eyes rolled back, the muscles of his arms going soft under Vincent's hands. Shalua straightened and breathed a sigh of relief, then blinked, empty syringe poised in one hand.

"Vincent?"

It wasn't until that moment that Vincent realized everyone was staring. Looking down, he saw why: he'd reached straight through the glass as if it were not there. Vincent jerked his hands back with a start. It still creeped him out a little, but at the moment he was glad he shared Nero's affinity for shadows.

"Thank you," Shalua told him as the nurses checked to be certain the mako pod was secure and then took their leave. "I've no idea what set him off."

Shelke looked thoughtful, but said nothing.

"The CPAP mask?" Vincent guessed. "Being in a mako pod?" Gods knew such a turn of events would not have sat well with Vincent himself. Who knew what Nero had had to suffer in Deepground's laboratories? Maybe he had unpleasant memories of mako pods as well.

"I know you said he's not up for visitors, but is it okay if I hang around?"

Shalua let out a deep sigh. "Vincent, I know you're worried, and I'm glad you were here to help, but Nero's really not in any shape to interact. I was planning on keeping him sedated until he's had a chance to heal a bit more."

Hopes sinking, Vincent nodded. "I just… I just want to be here if he needs me."

"I promise you'll be the first person I call," she said, resting a consolatory hand on his shoulder.

Nero had not cried as a child. None of them had. This was second-hand knowledge to Shelke, but it had been related before, and was evident in the other Trueborn. Once the babies were taken from their Mothers, it didn't take them long to learn that crying got them nothing. Before they could talk, or even cut their first tooth, they learned that no one cared.

Shelke had seen Nero get his left arm snapped clean in half by a very apologetic Weiss. She'd seen him chained to the Punishment Pole more times than she'd care to count. Nero had been tortured for minor infractions all his life. He had never cried once. Now, he was making up for it.

Curled up as much as the narrow walls of the mako pod would allow, Nero sobbed uncontrollably. It wasn't a tantrum, though sometimes his anguish had a raw, razor's edge brought on by anger. Although his hospital room was hardly public, for him to break down with complete abandon like this made Shelke cold inside. To anyone else, Nero was just venting the pain of a deep and terrible loss. To Shelke, the open display of emotion was far, far worse.

If he were caught sobbing like this in Deepground, it would have been seen as a blatant and unforgivable display of weakness. To one used to looking through the lens of cruelty and domination, it didn't mean self-soothing, or a healthy release of grief. Nero had given up. He no longer cared about his own safety. Perhaps he wished the old rules still applied; that if he were caught, it would mean a punishment he wasn't likely to walk away from.

Shelke took a deep breath, trying to steady her own emotions, but it was no use. Tears welled up, beading on her eyelashes. The double-plated glass of the mako pod only dampened the sound of Nero's sobs, making his keening sound like a wounded animal. Willing herself not to break down as well, she bit the inside of her cheek.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump, almost made her cry out. Shalua's reflection had appeared on the glass behind her own. Releasing a shaky breath, Shelke leaned back against her sister. How could she tell Shalua that all this was pointless? Nero didn't want to get well, didn't want to be here at all. How could they even begin to treat a wound so deep?

Shelke froze as a second, softer voice edged into the space between Nero's sobs.

"Hush a-bye, don't you cry, my dear little baby

When you wake you shall have all the pretty little horses…"

Dear gods. Nostalgia hit Shelke like a blow, a wave of half-forgotten memories crashing down on her. Their mother had sung that song to both of them when they were very little. Later, before Shelke had been taken by Deepground, Shalua alone had sung it to her.

"Black and bay, dapple and gray, all the pretty little horses…"

Nero's sobs had quieted. Although he did not look at either of them, he'd opened his eyes. A look of bemusement was evident behind his mask. Sniffling a bit, he listened as Shalua began the second verse. Rather than listen, Shelke joined in, doing her best to harmonize.

"Way down yonder, in the meadow, there's a sweet little lamby

Bees and butterflies, fly before its eyes, poor thing callin' for its mammy…"

If she thought about it, the song was actually slightly morbid, but Nero wasn't likely to notice. Shelke would be willing to bet he'd never been sung to before. Hell, he probably barely knew what singing was. Music hadn't exactly been common in Deepground.

"Hush a-bye, don't you cry, my dear little baby

When you wake you shall have all the pretty little horses

Black and bay, dapple and gray, all the pretty little horses…"

Nero had quieted, but would not face them. He might not be sobbing openly, but Shelke would have bet money that the salinity inside the mako pod was slowly yet steadily climbing. The liquid rendered his tears invisible; absorbed and dissolved them as soon as they were formed. Grief, like anger, could sometimes be so much worse when silent. Shelke herself had not cried since those first horrible nights in Deepground, had learned to bury her emotions so deep that even she barely felt them. But this was too much. Turning, she faced her sister and did something she had not done since she was very little. She threw her arms around her and hid her face in Shalua's white coat. The fabric was heavy, and was unlikely to betray the noiseless tears she was powerless to stop.

Vincent might want to stay continually by Nero's side, but it was Shelke who virtually never left. For hours she would simply sit with Nero; not speaking, not even looking at him. Sometimes Ned left the mako pod to sit in her lap. Stroking Ned's fuzzy, strangely corporeal body made her think.

Nero was obviously unhappy. He'd barely acknowledge either herself or Shalua, and did not seem to even notice that the other nurses and hospital staff existed. He would not interact with anyone, not even his beloved pet. He'd shut down. Normally when Nero was distressed, he would vanish for hours, or even days, hiding down in his mako caves. Why then, was he still here? Shelke had always assumed Ned and his fellow squeakies were a direct result of Nero's shadow magic. Now, however, she wasn't so sure. If Ned was coming and going on his own, without Nero's help…

He'd gone into a panic for seemingly no reason, thrashing against the tank like an animal in a cage. It wasn't possible to cage Nero. All paths were open to him so long as there was shadow. ...but what if that portal through reality had been closed? It took a certain amount of MP to cast a spell, though to her knowledge, no one had ever tried to measure how much magic it took to walk through shadow. Perhaps he was so depleted he truly was trapped.

"How is he?"

Shelke started from her thoughts and turned to see Veld enter the room.

"I...I don't know," she stammered, feeling numb from her revelation, if revelation it was. "I think I might know why he freaked earlier."

Veld tilted his head to one side, intrigued. "Oh?"

"Think about it," Shelke said. "He started thrashing, almost rocked the mako pod off its base. With anyone else I could understand, but this is Nero. If he truly wanted out, he could have escaped anytime he wanted."

"His shadows," Veld said, remembering the many instances Nero had popped up unannounced. "So you don't think he's following orders to get well by staying put?"

Shelke shook her head. "I think he was trying to escape and then realized he couldn't and panicked."

Veld nodded, turning this over in his mind. If Nero truly had lost his ability to travel by shadow, at least it would force him to remain in one place and recover. However, whether or not he would ever regain that ability would remain to be seen. His magic might return as he recovered. However, it might not. There was no way to know.

"His shadows were what made him special, made him powerful," Shelke said softly. "It was the reason the Restrictors were so afraid of him. What if they don't come back?"

"They'll come back," Veld heard himself promise. But what if they didn't? Omega might keep Nero's heart beating, but at what cost? Vincent was haunting his own body, possessing his own flesh. What if the same was true for Nero? How would having a force of nature fused with his body and soul affect him?

Veld started as Nero suddenly looked up. Rather, he lifted his head, though his eyes were closed. Off to one side, one of the machines started beeping urgently. Nero's head jerked again, his body shivering and his eyelids fluttering rapidly.

"Shalua!" Veld called sharply, but she was already running into the room.

"What is it, what's wrong with him?" Veld asked tensely as Shalua fiddled with the various machines. She did not answer until Nero's long body had gone limp, and the machines had stopped beeping.

"It's the microchip," she explained. "It's slipped and it's making him seize."

"Can you remove it?"

Shalua shook her head. "I don't know."