Now.

"So. The mutation," Elizabeth whispered. Edwards watched her in silence. "The virus. It was true. I mean, it is true."

"It is. But we had orders to— Could you imagine the panic if it had been widely known?"

She could.

"The rumor had it wrong," Edwards explained. "This… This is an extremely rare occurrence, thank God, because otherwise… We would have lost. We would have lost the war. And it has nothing to do with sociopathy. Zombies are hunters, skilled predators. The Call, the hive mind, the pack—they seem like simple creatures, but they are anything but. So, in the very uncommon case of this mutation, the contaminated human, they… They slowly lose empathy, ethics, any sense of human connection, till their loyalties are not human anymore. Till they are actually working for—for the pack."

So. The rumor had it exactly right. Churchill had it exactly right, for fucking sake.

"And Coulson knew," Elizabeth whispered.

"Red range?" Edwards shrugged. "Of course."

Was it cold in the room? It felt cold.

Elizabeth shook her head. "The reason we are discussing this… You think someone mutated. Here. You think there is some guy with… You think there is a Frankenstein monster, running around in the Center. Opening doors."

Edwards seemed so tired.

"Someone is activating the levers. Leaving them open, not establishing contact with us, not making their presence known."

"Ok." Headache. "Ok. But… Why would you jump right to this conclusion? This could be just…another human. With nefarious intentions, maybe, but someone like—a burglar."

"Maybe," Edwards said. "But I have reasons to believe the worse option—is a possibility."

"Reasons that you cannot share with me, because of, let me guess, clearance?"

Not that she needed him to answer, or that it was difficult to guess. The B-13 experiments, so that's what they were doing down there, or a part of it, playing with fire, Doctor Frankenstein, creating monsters, and now…

And now.

-XX-

"Are you positive you secured your basic safety zone?" Coulson asked.

Well, the communication console asked. With Coulson's voice. Maybe Coulson was dead. Maybe an AI with Coulson's voice had replaced it. Maybe there had never been any Coulson, and Elizabeth had dreamed him.

Maybe everyone was dead, all around the world, and Elizabeth and Edwards were really the only humans left.

Maybe she was going slightly mad.

"It is," Edwards answered. "We checked."

"Ok," Coulson commented. "Good. First, let me state that you are both jumping to conclusions here. There might be a mutated subject in the Center, but we cannot know this for sure."

"There is an intruder though."

"There is. Now, I want you both to make the rounds every morning and every evening at eight, checking all doors in your perimeter. Then message me an 'all clear'. Mr. Edwards, you should give Ms. Moore all your security codes."

No answer. "Ms. Moore?"

"Sure, boss, we'll get right on that," Elizabeth answered, voice thick with sarcasm. Edwards raised his highbrows—Coulson and his red bracelet was of much higher status than Elizabeth after all. "We will do what you say, because you earned our trust, right?" she continued. "All necessary info was given for our survival. It is so great, that we can count on you—that we can believe everything that comes out of your mouth. This…relationship. Founded on cooperation and truth. So precious."

Subtle. Well. She was angry.

There was a surprised pause on the other side. Or at least Elizabeth assumed it was surprised.

"Are you going to get us out of here?" Edwards asked, his voice dangerously calm.

"I am…going to try." Said Coulson. Or the AI. Or—who cared. He clearly did not.

"Someone infected—mutated—might be running around the Center, right now," Elizabeth added, irony and rage still included. "Someone with, presumably, the intention of…killing us. Eating us. Someone with actual, functioning intelligence. Maybe this data point could play in favor of our evacuation, Mr. Coulson?"

"It could," Coulson said dryly, and stopped there. God. Last time, Edwards had punched the desk in frustration, maybe Elizabeth could too.

"This doesn't make sense," she blurted, not knowing whom she was talking to. "How—where does this intruder comes from? How does he—how did they survive? Medicine, food… I mean, how does he eat?

None of the men answered. A conspicuous silence, in fact. A 'two guys wearing red bracelets both knew something she didn't and had decided not to talk' kind of silence. To hell with them both, Elizabeth thought, till her attention was diverted by the intensity of Edwards' voice and another, brutal change of paradigm.

"There are sensitive scientific data here. Plenty of it," Edwards stated slowly. "Expensive material, classified documents. And evidence. Evidence it would be better, for everybody—" he paused. "Evidence that should not leave these walls."

Elizabeth froze. Wow. Wait. Blackmail?

"And?" came Coulson's placid answer.

"And this…person could get their hands on our proprietary info," Edward continued. "Sell it or publish it. If our suppositions are right, and we have a mutated enemy, we are talking about someone with a brain, functioning as a human for a few days still, maybe a few weeks. A human with greed, cunning, and no morality left to stop him. It would be in everyone's best interests to send a team to eliminate the threat…and bring us back."

Elizabeth hardly dared to breathe. An infected human running around the labs, half-starved, half-scared, would not be in the right state of mind to discover, much less understand classified scientific documents. Edwards was smart, Coulson was too, so, back to interpretation number one: this was blackmail, from Edwards. 'Get us an early evac or I will use everything, every classified info I can put my hand on to burn you,' this was what Edwards was saying, with a half-convincing varnish to allow him to deny it all later.

A pause. "I see," Coulson said. "Thank you for helping me plead your case," he added, his voice so impersonal, Elizabeth shivered. "I will keep you informed of the proceedings."

The communication was cut off.

Elizabeth was cold. She shivered again. Not only psychological. It was late, the room was not heated, the temperature had dropped, and—she was, yes, cold, cold everywhere.

Edwards turned to her. Pale and determined.

"Want to have sex?" he asked.

"God yes."

-XX-

- I could not tell you. Classified information. -

Elizabeth ignored Coulson's text, she almost threw the phone away, almost angrily hurled it in a garbage disposal somewhere—but then she just slid it in her pocket—her throat hurt, like she wanted to cry, except her reaction was absurd, she had no reason why.

-XX-

Sex though. We highly recommend sex.

Especially in a cold, grey building surrounded by death. Sex is what you need then, the proximity, the intimacy, the warmth, skin. Elizabeth was a vampire, hungry for life and connection, same for Edwards, presumably.

Falling asleep next to someone, hearing him breathe. Waking up in the morning in someone else's apartment, a chasm in the routine; she was with a man, in his bed; like she had gone clubbing and got herself a one-night stand, and for a second the sun shone through the half-closed blinds, its warmth on her skin, and she was existing again.

-XX-

Breakfast. Edwards's apartment was just like hers. Same floor plan, same happy white and grey camaieu. Except, no dried plants, no baskets of nuts, no nettle soap experiments. Just piles and piles of files, papers everywhere, three hard drives, at least two tablets, and five different screens.

Morning kiss. Morning coffee. Even a morning laugh, and this might be going somewhere, Elizabeth thought, when they were kissing again and talking about all the different kinds of breakfasts in the world—not broaching any unpleasant subjects, like, let's say, blackmail and all the possible consequences.

Kitchen table, kitchen chairs, Elizabeth stretched, she put her naked feet on Edwards' lap, he began massaging her ankles, and this was great, more than great, Elizabeth was touch starved, and sure this was an artificial attempt at affection and domesticity, but they needed it, and suddenly the unpleasant subjects were broached because Elizabeth just blurted:

"The blackmail attempt. Is it crazy that it scares me even more than Frank—than the Frankenstein monster?" Edwards just looked at her blankly and Elizabeth explained. "I mean, the intruder. Possible intruder. It's terrifying, but really, the way the Witch will react—to your demands… It feels even more dangerous."

"They need us," Edwards said. "What are they going to do, send a team? Kill us all, replace us with two other peons?"

"Well… Yes?"

Yes. Yes, they could. The MMR. The Modified Military Rules. The military did not kid around. Death for desertion, that rule was never got modified. Not that they were not deserting exactly, but…

"Money is one of the reasons they are not evacuating us," Edwards said. A strange feeling, to be clad in a large tee-shirt and underwear, to have your feet on the lap of a handsome man, and to listen to his rational, precise speech about life and death. "As we already discussed, our presence here is worth millions. But they have to…in layman's terms, it has to look good. To the government. To the Secretary of State. Killing us and replacing us is not going to, well, look good."

"You think evacuating us and leaving the Center empty is going to look better?"

Elizabeth felt, more than saw, Edwards getting angry. It was in the tension of his thighs, the way his stance got more rigid. A blue bracelet, questioning a red one. An admin, questioning a scientist.

What about respect, Elizabeth? What about the caste system, Elizabeth?

"Well, that's our play," Edwards answered coldly.

That's your play. And Elizabeth had become tangled in it. Anger came back. "You and Coulson. You are still hiding info. Still lying."

"Hiding things above your clearance level is not lying. You are not intellectually or emotionally equipped to know."

Oh, yeah. She and Edwards? The romance of the century.

Elizabeth gave the man her brightest smile. Her only ally in the place, you do not alienate your only ally in a place filled with eighty-four thousand zombies.

"I'm sure you're right, sir. So, what's the plan exactly?"

For all his high IQ, for all his diplomas, for all his…fucking red bracelet, Edwards was not intellectually or emotionally equipped to see through her blatant, placating lie.

"Coulson is right on one thing: we check the perimeter every day. We check the doors, the rooms, we look on for anything unusual." Edwards gave a small smile. "And then…we just wait for the Witch's next move."

-XX-

Dear Ms. Moore,

This is your last warning. We have not received your completed reports owed by Friday, 5pm, nor have—

Oh. Come. On. Come the fuck on. Didn't Coulson say he took care of it? But Coulson was a liar, a treacherous liar who lied, and maybe he lied about this too, except, maybe not, because the Witch was a cold, pitiless administrative machinery, and maybe someone said to Coulson that the problem was taken care of, and maybe this someone even sincerely thought it was, except the huge machine just kept trundling on its own, crushing everyone and everything in its path.

Fine. She would not ask for Coulson's help. She took one hour to request official PTO; it was a complex process, a lot of files to fill, she had already used her normal allotment and if she asked for more it could lead to a blame which could lead to a belated extraction, or no extraction at all—that's why she wanted to avoid it—but, FINE.

"Thank you for your request," the next email said. "We will take it into official consideration. You will receive an answer in the next 48 hours."

Very generous of you, Witch.

-XX-

Coulson tried again, the next day.

- A lot of birds in the sky. A lot of things I could not tell. -

Elizabeth ignored him. Anyway, she had to work and make up for lost time. Even if the PTO was accepted, she still had a mountain of administrative tasks to climb back up.

-XX-

"A lot of birds in the sky," Jesse said. "Sam, are you kidding me?"

Coulson sighed. "She's a civilian. I have to be pretty obvious."

Jesse smirked, then leaned back upon his impressive brand-new VIP leather chair, near his impressive brand-new VIP mahogany desk. Regulation military haircut, expensive civilian clothes. Big salary, shining new title. This is what happened when you were ambition-driven, when you survived the war with a ton of medals and you didn't make the mistake of quitting just when the tide was turning, like Coulson did.

Jesse was still Jesse though. He kept one Z-knife on him at all times, despite regulations—Z-knives were also pretty efficient against humans. Coulson had the same weapon, almost the same serial number, in a custom-sewn pocket into the left side of his expensive suit.

"Half of intelligence is following your discussions on the radio now, thanks to Edwards and his inane attempts as extortion."

Coulson sighed. "He is an idiot."

"He is, but now that he's raised interest, I'm not sure how longer I can hide your little side gig, you and Elizabeth Moore, with the phone." Jesse tapped his fingers on the desk. "What's going on here, Sam? You want to fuck the girl? You want to fuck the guy? Both?"

Coulson stayed comfortably tugged in his own chair. "It is my responsibility to protect them. I'm just doing my job."

"Come on. We had many jobs."

"And we always did them well."

Just the discreet undercurrent of bitterness. Jesse pointed his finger to the ceiling. "The first thing I did when I moved here was debug this place. No…birds in the sky here."

"You're never going to let this go."

"I'm just saying," Jesse continued, "you seem very invested. In this particular, tiny part of your job description."

"Yeah." Voices outside in the hall, Diagne and his team, going to their 11am. Here in Jesse's office it was mostly silent, but the conference room's windows opened on a busy street, you could hear the town buzzing. Coulson had been back for eleven months now, but after four years in the Center, the noise still felt strange. "It's why I quit," he said. "To do something else than… To protect people. I'm protecting."

Jesse lifted a placating hand. "I am not saying it's hopeless. You are stubborn as hell, maybe you'll get your emergency extraction. But you're damaging your career digging your heels in like this… I know, I know, you don't care, but I'd be a shitty friend if I didn't mention—"

"Are we friends now?"

It was familiar banter, and Jesse's gave his most dangerous smirk. "Do you want me as an enemy?"

"You wouldn't risk it."

"Back to the subject at hand. Before you throw around big words like 'honor' and 'morality,' let me state this: have you considered that you were wrong, and the Witch was right? To veto the evac?"

The Witch had many faces; in this case, it meant a bunch of colonels on one hand, and the members of the boards of the Science Secretary of State on the other.

Coulson was—tired. "How are they right?"

"Getting your two protégés out of there in ten months as promised had already been budgeted. An expensive line of budget, sure, but ok, it's in the books, and Edwards and Moore keep the project going. If we extract them now, if the Center closes a year before schedule, we lose—I don't remember the last estimate—around a hundred million."

"I am aware."

"These are millions we're using for research. Research, remember? That's why we're here, arguably. That's what all this mess is all about. Saving people, isn't that what you want? Because a hundred million rightfully invested, finding that fucking vaccine, for instance, that's saving many, many more lives than those of two wayward Center employees."

"Sure. Except, how exactly will the project go on if they let Edwards and Moore die? Those millions going to be lost anyway."

"That's assuming the Witch would reveal the truth. Instead of pretending there's still someone alive in there."

"In that case, why don't they evacuate my protégés, as you say, and then pretend there's still someone alive in there?"

Jesse just shrugged; they both knew the answer. Because then it would be an active lie, engaging the Center's responsibility, and someone could be sued. Obfuscating the truth was different.

-XX-

"Have you ever heard of survivor's guilt?" Jesse had asked Coulson, three years ago, when he heard that Coulson was quitting the army—not that he was leaving far. As soon as his resignation was official, Coulson had instantaneously been hired by the civilian part of the Center. Someone with his credentials, who already had clearance for everything, it was a godsend.

So basically, Coulson just changed offices, and his bracelet turned from bright red to brick red, from "military intelligence" to "military adjacent."

"Survivor's guilt?" Coulson gave a dry smile. "More like, murderer's guilt."

Jesse raised his beer. "How about, just guilt?"

"I'll drink to that."

"The way I see it," Jesse began later, when they were both quite drunk. The pub waitress scowled every time they asked for another pint, not that she refused them service—red range will get you a lot of leeway. "The way I see it," he repeated, "is that we were in a war and humanity was losing. Remember how it was touch and go, for a while? "

Coulson remembered. Accurately. Civilians may not have realized how close it had been, really.

"We did what had to be done and won," Jesse continued. "I would do it again. And I refuse to feel guilty about it."

-XX-

"She's pretty," Jesse said now, in his VIP chair, behind his mahogany table, looking at his screen. "A little mousey, but cute. Pretty fucked up, but aren't we all. Young though. What are you, nine years older?"

Of course, Jesse would have read Elizabeth's file. Coulson just lifted his brows—not reacting at all would have been telling.

"The guy is hotter," Fury continued. "He has a hell of a profile. All those shining diplomas. Do you know what he's been doing in that lab?"

"Yes."

"Does she?"

-XX-

Little Red Riding Hood took off her clothes and got into bed. She was greatly amazed to see how her grandmother looked in her nightclothes, and said to her, "Grandmother, what big arms you have!"

"All the better to hug you with, my dear."