On the sixth day since the meeting, the phone he now carried around finally rang. Thankfully, he wasn't in the middle of anything that time, just perched atop the roof of a building to scan the area. He fumbled with the phone, searching for the 'answer' button. The memories sloshing about in his biomass made it confusing - each type of phone had their own thing going on, some even having the two buttons in reversed places.

"Dana Mercer?" asked the gruff voice on the other side. Cross, again.

"Guess again," he answered. The line was silent for a moment.

Eventually, Cross spoke up, irritation clear in his voice. "I should lecture you about the value of property, especially when it doesn't belong to you," he grumbled out. "But that would be a waste of breath, knowing you." His tone shifted to be more neutral, business-like. "I'll tell you now that this line isn't monitored. You can speak freely."

Alex arched his brow. "So, the other one was?"

"Yes."

Of course it was, he should have guessed. Why his line was monitored and Dana's wasn't was beyond him when it came to discussing state secrets, but he wasn't compelled enough to ask for the reason. Most likely, he assumed, it was because Blackwatch was aware of Cross's communications with Alex but not with his sister. Cross could just be telling a bold-faced lie, too.

He mulled through the options in his mind, sifting through what Cross probably could and could not answer. "Why was I handed a draft plan at the briefing?" was the question he decided to ask. If Cross didn't know, then Alex doubted the man would have much power to actually help him with the upcoming mission.

"Draft plan?" Cross repeated. "Oh. You're mistaken, Mercer. That's the real one. For you." Yep, he thought so. "The higher ups are being tight lipped about it. The other plans are beyond my position." Cross let out a sigh. "It's embarrassing the way they're handling this."

"Embarrassing?" Alex couldn't help but ask. Hearing Cross be honest about his thoughts when it came to Blackwatch was a first.

"They've got their heads so far up their asses they can't see what's right in front of them. They just want you out of the picture," he elaborated lowly. "You'll never hear me say anything like this again, so savor it: You're useful, Mercer. You're a thousand trained men in one, with skills in just about everything, and brute strength to match."

Alex couldn't recall the last time he received a compliment. He didn't know how to respond, or how he was even supposed to react. So, he stayed quiet. They both did, until an entire minute passed with nothing being said.

"...Regardless, that's related to what I was going to call your sister about," Cross said, continuing as if nothing happened. Relief filled Alex as the moment passed. Dana would tease him relentlessly if she ever heard about it, so he filed the call away in his head as 'do not touch.' "I was going to go through her to get into contact with you, but it seems that won't be necessary."

"Yes," Alex agreed stiltedly. He squatted down, scanning the street below for any infected. Unfortunately, it was clear. No distractions for him. Even the Redlight on the nearby buildings have diminished to a point where only small veins could be detected.

"I'll be returning to Manhattan soon along with my Wisemen," he said. Alex narrowed his eyes. The Wisemen were no threat to him, as even the elite of the elite die when their throats get torn out. But, to have his squad reformed spelled action in the near future. "It'll be after you leave. With you gone from the city, we'll be gassing the whole place with Bloodtox to clear out the last of Redlight. My squad and I will be in charge of that operation."

"Why're you telling me this?" He couldn't fathom a reason why Cross would go out of his way to let him know if he wouldn't even be there to see it.

Cross scoffed loudly on the other side. "I assumed you'd want to know what would happen to Manhattan while you were out," he said, a touch incredulous. "It does concern the Blackwatch deal, though."

Alex shot to his feet, snarling. "In what way."

"Calm your shit, Mercer," Cross ordered. He could imagine the placating gesture the captain was making. He settled down some, though his glare remained. "Not in a bad way. They still want Dana as leverage, but they'll be handing her off to me. But only if everything goes right, on both my side and yours."

What.

"That doesn't sound like Blackwatch," he growled out. They existed to make his life addendum to the existing deal that would be almost entirely in his favor. And it didn't seem like additional leverage, considering they kept it from him. Perhaps Cross was told to tell him about it. Perhaps Cross was lying. There would be no way to know unless he quartered the man and consumed him, but that would just be another huge mistake in a long line of huge mistakes.

"Sure doesn't," Cross agreed. "But orders are orders. You follow yours and I'll follow mine, and I'll see what I can do about Dana. Don't get your hopes up."

With that, Cross ended the call before Alex could respond.

xxxxxxx

A young woman and a man raced across the rooftops beside each other. Each placement of their feet was steady and sure, as if they had done so a hundredfold. Considering their situation, they could very well have. They sprinted wordlessly in near perfect synch, leaping over gaps and obstacles, towards the billowing red smoke in the distance.

They skidded to a stop on the roof of a squat building closest to the source - a flare. And by the flare sat two large orange boxes side by side attached to an undecorated and torn up parachute. Their lifeline.

Silently, she addressed the man with a light brush against his shoulder, then gestured towards their surroundings and to the airdrop. He nodded, and gingerly stood. The area was unoccupied, but it would take only one wrongly placed movement, one word spoken too loudly, and they would be overwhelmed. There was one chance, and one chance only to get it right.

But, just as the man was about to slink his way to the ground, three men wearing metallic masks entered the street from an obscured alleyway. Bandits. He crouched back down to rejoin her as the three almost leisurely strolled up to the airdrop and began fiddling with the latches.

"Fuck!" she hissed through her teeth. "That was the third one this week…"

He clasped her shoulder comfortingly, and she relaxed at the touch. They slid to the floor, backs against the thin roofing wall. She rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh.

"Amir, did Lena say how much we had left?" she whispered. The man in question nodded, and spared a glance at the three men below. Two were packing the supplies into more mobile packages while the third stood watch, a solid pipe in hand.

"We have enough for the next few days," he replied in a mutter. "But at this rate, if we keep being beaten to it…" He didn't need to finish his sentence. He placed his calloused hand over hers and gently squeezed it, threading his fingers through hers. They sat by each other for a few moments more. The heat from his body warmed her, more and better than a fire ever could.

They both slowly and deliberately took to their feet once more. The bandit watchman thankfully didn't notice the movement, and they made their exit back the way they came.

Roof to roof they leapt, the Tower in sight. The glow of the evening sun bathed the dead city in a serene orange. While the sight was once a source of comfort and beauty, now it only spurred their movements frantically onward. About halfway back, she slowed, though didn't stop, to activate her radio. Amir slowed alongside her and listened in.

"Brecken, do you read?" she spoke into it. "We-"

"Jade! Thank God- Are you and Amir alright?" the voice on the radio crackled back, interrupting her. "The two of you were gone all day. Did you manage to get the drop?"

They jumped over a gap between two roofs and rolled to safety before she answered. "We're fine. No, we didn't get the drop. The bandits beat us to it."

"Again? Fuck!" The line was silent on his end for only a moment. "There is another one coming soon, but…" His voice became resigned. "We can try to send someone out at dawn. Just come back for now."

"Understood, we are returning now." With that, she ended the transmission. As if on cue, they heard the telltale rumble of a plane flying overhead, and saw a billowing parachute drop from it somewhere nearby. They gave each other a look.

It was in reach.

She changed directions to start running towards the red smoke when Amir grabbed her by the arm, stopping them both in place. "Stop," he ordered, though in a voice softer than his words. "We won't be able to carry it all back before the sun sets."

"But we can get at least one parcel each," she protested. She glanced quickly between the Tower, the setting sun, and the smoke. They likely had little under half an hour left, based on the stretching shadows. "That way, if the morning crew misses it, at least we will have some supplies."

Amir's hand stayed, squeezing slightly. He was silent. Weighing his options. They had no time to decide. Jade gazed defiantly into his eyes. Her expression sent a clear message: 'I will do it, with or without you.'

He sighed and relented. He never could go against her, that headstrong woman.

"Let's go, then."

xxxxxxx

The month passed by quickly and, surprisingly, without much incident. Almost suspiciously so. He would leave to clear out the remaining Infected and catch a meal, return to Dana for a quick report, then leave to bound across the city looking for something to do. The marines, when they spotted him, tried to ignore him as he cleaved his way through the crowds. Whenever he noticed them driving too closely to Dana's apartment, he would posture and threaten until they left. No killing marines if he could avoid it, but it would be their own fault if they didn't flee.

Unfortunately, however, the rainy season was beginning to rear its head.

Alex could do many things. He could recite hundreds of books word for word. He could outplay a master at cricket. He could juggle. He could drive an armor that required four men by himself, pilot a helicopter through gaps so thin that a jet would have trouble, and sneak into maximum security military bases that were expecting him.

But he could not dodge rain.

He could only hope that Harran would have lower precipitation levels. None of the screaming masses within him knew much of anything about the city beyond the name, so he would have to look it up later if he found the time. The thought of carrying an umbrella briefly flashed through him, but was just as quickly dismissed; It would be too difficult to keep an umbrella intact. If Blackwatch knew that rain of all things hurt him…

He hopped from roof to roof, and glided by a helicopter. It was tempting to rip it out of the sky - so tempting, his arm automatically shifted into a whipfist and attached himself to the cockpit window. The pilot eyed him warily, nearly hyperventilating, as he ran through his choices. Blow it up, hijack it, or leave it be. He had no particular use for it other than to fly into the base in style. Explosions were always a thrilling sight, but he had promised to kill fewer soldiers. So, he regretfully tore himself away from the chopper and continued his glide. There would always be another time.

On the surface, the job was simple. Easy, almost, if not time consuming. But his prior experiences with the military and Blackwatch combined with both his and Dana's misgivings made him absolutely certain that the actual job wouldn't be how they described it. There was always something that would be wrong about it, some unforeseen - or perhaps in this case, foreseen - complication. He knew betrayal was to be a certainty, he just couldn't see in what way. They had to know that stranding him in another country couldn't stop him from just breaking out and killing them all later. There had to be something else that he wasn't seeing.

To execute Dana while he was away? He doubted it; they could do so at any time he wasn't in the apartment. To set up a trap on his readmission? Most likely. Something that would take months to set up, something he couldn't be present for it to work. But if a nuke couldn't take him out, he couldn't imagine what else could.

He readied a jump from the top of the nearest skyscraper, his tendrils coiling within his legs - and leapt. He adjusted himself mid-air, gliding for a moment to position himself directly above the base, then shot straight down. The brass wouldn't be too happy about it, but as long as no one died, they couldn't do much to him.

With an earth-shattering impact, he landed in the middle of the base, sending chunks of concrete flying in all directions. It sent up an explosion of dust, coating both him and everything around him with it as it settled. The blast proof windows rattled madly, and all nearby soldiers were knocked from their feet, luckily dodging the stray concrete chunks.

For a moment, everything was silent. No one dared to even breathe. Then -

"ZEUS!"

He was quickly surrounded by a cacophony of shouting men, though none of the soldiers approached. He struggled to hold back his smirk. A single man broke free from the crowd and stormed towards him, rifle pointed directly at the virus's head. His finger was poised on the trigger, trembling as if he was only just barely holding himself back.

"ZEUS! What the fuck was that!?" Sergeant Wilmot nearly screamed, veins popping in his head. The man's face flushed a deep red, so much so he resembled the stains that littered the streets.

"Reporting for duty," Alex said, only a bit smug. It would be his last act of wanton destruction until he was able to return, after all. He had to make it count somehow.

"You stupid motherfucker! You could have killed my men!" the sarge shouted. Alex cast a quick glance around, slipping into thermal vision. All of the men were standing and very much so alive, and all pointing rifles at him. He shrugged.

Sarge radioed in, visibly seething. "Red Crown, do you read? Requesting authorization to neutralize ZEUS, over."

"Request denied. Provide justification for the intended action," chattered the voice neutrally over the radio. Alex blinked in surprise. They had an excuse to try to kill him and weren't taking it?

"The justification is that he almost caused the casualties of my entire unit!" he bit out, glaring daggers down at the virus. He saw Wilmot's finger twitching over the trigger, practically begging him to make a move. Alex just watched impassively, waiting to get permission to be allowed into the building.

The radio was silent for a moment. "...Justification acknowledged. However, the request remains denied," the voice said, though a note of regret seeped into it. The communication ended with Wilmot still held onto the radio, hands shaking. With rage or with fear, Alex didn't know. Probably both; The man was slightly too far for him to smell it, though his heart pounded near deafeningly, pumping him with acidic adrenaline.

He considered if adrenaline would be a useful compound to synthesize for his own use. Humans briefly became supermen when it coursed through them. He had heard stories, and witnessed many himself. They moved faster, could lift cars and rubble - though not as efficiently as he - and gained impressive reaction times. Sometimes, an attack of his would fly over the head of a human just because he underestimated them. Though, those mistakes were always quickly corrected barring a single case. What effect would adrenaline have on him, then? He dismissed the idea, but filed it away for later.

During his train of thought, the sergeant radioed permission to allow Alex to enter the base, though he could see by the man's face that it wasn't easy for him. "Go!" he ground out, as if it was all he could say without devolving into threats and spitting. The rifle point never strayed from Alex's head as he was steered to the entrance.

Once again, he was escorted through the disgustingly sterile base interior. Nothing of note changed, though he detected a note of Bloodtox wafting from some rooms. He decided to deconstruct his olfactory organs for the remainder of the tour, as even the quick scent of the stuff almost made him expel the morning's meal. It didn't help too much - the sticky and prickling sensation of Bloodtox clung to his false skin. Even though by now he was certain it couldn't kill him anymore, it was still unpleasant.

Instead of taking the same route as before, they led him elsewhere. As they walked, he mapped the facility in his head, noting where each hallway led and which door opened to where. Humans walked so frustratingly slow. He itched to bound ahead, maybe bring the whole place down on their heads and blow it all to hell with help from the thermobaric armor he spotted on the outside. He couldn't help a tiny smirk as he reminisced about his fun with the armored hive, but wiped it from his face when a soldier to his left glanced at him suspiciously.

Eventually, they reached a door with another retinal scanner. Like before, his entourage radioed permission and opened it, and ushered him in.

The room was enormous, to say the least. It was the interior of the hangar he saw from outside. A sterile, grey hangar. But the room wasn't his focus. There were rows and rows of sleek-looking jets sat in formation, stretching from where he stood all the way to the distant exit. Jets! He couldn't help but wonder about the firepower they packed, and very nearly licked his lips in anticipation. It was some of the only equipment that the military hadn't thrown at him and therefore some of the only equipment he hadn't been able to try out for himself. There was no way in hell they would let him pilot one, so he resolved to steal one later when he got the chance. There had to be at least one member of the Chair Force around the place.

They kept walking, cutting a line through the parked jets. Thankfully, there was enough space between each one that his entourage didn't have to get any closer to him. He suspected they were grateful for that as well. After some time trudging through, they met up with a bearded man and a younger man beside him. There was no spark of recognition within his biomass, so they either were not of high rank, or were from another base out of the city. The two of them flashed a salute at Sergeant Wilmot.

"Sir! Is that ZEUS?" asked the younger one, looking at Alex curiously. Considering Alex was the only one out of uniform in the entire base, he wondered why he even felt the need to ask.

"Yes," Sarge answered curtly. At his words, the two immediately tensed up and set up their guard. The older man studied him carefully, while the younger one stared openly in apprehension.

Wilmot shoved him forward with his rifle, and he allowed himself to stumble towards the two. "You follow their orders, no matter what they are," Sarge grit out. "If they tell you to bark, you bark. They tell you to sit, you sit. They tell you to jump, you fucking jump. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Alex droned. So these two were to be his handlers, at least for the time being.

"Brief it and give it the radio," Wilmot ordered the two. He bristled slightly at the 'it', but held his tongue. "It's under control of Blackwatch at the moment, so it's docile. Anything goes wrong, you call the General. You have authority to call in reinforcements any time, and make sure you do. Got that?"

"Yes, sir!" they piped up in sync. With that, Wilmot and the entourage left the three alone. The younger one glanced around nervously, and the older one took out a radio from one of his chest pockets to hand it to Alex. He took it without comment and slipped it into a pocket where it pressed coldly and uncomfortably against him, right next to the other cold and uncomfortable phone Dana gave him.

"This is a standard issue military radio," the older one explained, only slightly hesitantly. "There's a communication jam in Harran at the moment, but this can break through and communicate back to base." A communication jam? So the damn phone wasn't going to work anyway. He made a mental note to tell Dana, and scowled as the man continued. "We're going to fly you to Fort Drum, then we'll be taking a transport craft to Harran."

The young man seemed excessively nervous. Alex could practically taste the fear rolling off of him as he turned his gaze to him. "We- we were told not to take too long, with you in there," he stumbled over his words. "So you can choose to either be sedated for the ride or be put into the cargo. Or both."

Was this really the military's best choice of handlers? They jumped at every move he made. Hell, the younger one looked like he was even close to crying. Was the brass expecting him to do something they'd all regret?

"Can't be sedated," Alex growled, and they startled. "Just have me sit in the back. I can behave." He added only a little sarcastically.

It struck him, suddenly, that he would be in an aircraft for several hours alone with two humans, hungry and with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Of course they were scared out of their minds. There was no in-flight entertainment in the world that would keep him occupied for that long. He hoped vainly that they would use one of the more modern planes that could cross the pond in just a handful of hours, but they were most likely not willing to wait for refuel over international waters with him in stow.

…Shit.

xxxxxxx

The whole ordeal was hellish. Though Doctor Mercer had been on planes in the past, as well as nearly everyone in his biomass, he decided that he, as Alex, despised being a passenger. On the flight to Fort Drum, he was placed in the cargo hold. They didn't seem to trust him enough to put him in the same hold as them.

It had been bitterly cold, so much so that his movements were forced to a minimum in order to maintain a level of heat to prevent virion death. There was no room to pace when he became restless, though he most likely couldn't have anyway with the level of turbulence and frigidity. Thankfully, the lack of oxygen wasn't going to kill him, though it put him into an almost comatose state. Hypoxia, his addled biomass had provided for him.

When the jet finally landed, he hadn't been able to stand on his own until his body warmed up to a manageable level. Unfortunately, he found out immediately that the fort was situated just a few miles below Canada, and therefore shared the country's fate of being a frozen hell. It wasn't subzero like the flight, but still he was slowed.

He was expressly forbidden from interacting with any of the humans there. There had even been civilians, he noted. It was a base, after all. He even recognized a few of them, owing to his biomass. But he kept his head down as ordered; He only had to play along for a bit longer. The cold had numbed his hunger somewhat, so he was able to hold out despite watching the curious heat signatures meandering about.

Every time the duo pilots ordered him around, he resisted the very real temptation to tear them to bloody chunks and add them to his biomass. He had to play along, play nice, he kept reminding himself, but he was fucking pissed about the ride. He committed their scents to memory. If they forced him into the cargo again, he would track them down to the ends of the fucking earth to murder them.

He had voiced the complaint as nicely as he possibly could in the state he was in, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. He then decided that he would rip apart the shorter one first when it came to it.

They didn't spend long in the fort, only about an hour at most. During that time, they took stock of inventory, fueled the jet, and took turns watching him to make sure he didn't do anything. He paced relentlessly, itching to get some action, but didn't end up 'doing anything.' He couldn't help but snarl any time they came close, however.

When it came time to corral him back into the cargo hold, he had to physically stop himself from mutilating the two. His claws were out and inches away from them, but he held back, just barely. Unfortunately, that made them want to keep him away from the passenger hold even more so.

He had an incredible temptation to forgo his restraint. He shook with the effort it took to not kill them both on the spot. But in the end, he was forced back into the cargo hold, and the flight across the Atlantic began.