Edwards was in the breakroom, a small, non-too-sinister place, with its large table and colorful seats. COFFEE was helpfully written on the wall in big friendly letters surrounded by dancing cookies characters. On the wooden bar, a series of black and white mugs waited in line, the kind of mugs Churchill called 'the stern manager mugs.' "The 'I am a manager and I drink coffee like all of you low-level employees,' mugs," Churchill had explained that time, "the 'but I'm not really like you' mugs, the 'I have a serious black and white logo cause I'm important and you're not,' mugs, the 'I make five times your salary, so take that' mugs."

The 'red bracelet' kind of mug. The 'call me sir' kind of mug. The 'experimenting on live, uncontaminated humans' kind of mug.

Edwards's eyes stopped on the girl for half a second, before resting on Elizabeth.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," she answered.

The lack of "sir" hovered between them, which was crazy. Elizabeth had not called him "sir" for ages. They had slept together, it had to count for something. Still, the unsaid word was there, buzzing in the air with little black wings and a worried look.

"We have a guest," Elizabeth announced. She explained how she had found the kid, a kid who was perfectly still, petrified at Elizabeth's side.

Almost not breathing. Not holding Elizabeth's hand anymore. Elizabeth's tension grew.

She finished her story. Edwards did not move, did not ask any questions. "She needs help," Elizabeth concluded, "more help that we can give her. But I wondered— I don't know how the Center might react if we tell—"

"They're not going to send an evac for it."

"Yes, that's what I feared. We need to, hum. I don't know. Maybe hide her existence. Tell nobody, not even Coulson…"

"Do not use 'her'."

"I'm sorry?"

"Use 'it'." Edwards nodded toward the child. "It is not officially human."

The Official Caste System. Red, purple, green, blue, grey. At the bottom, people in the Lost Areas. No bracelet, lost indeed, stripped of everything, even human rights. "We have to make hard choices," the officials had said on TV, at the time. "To reestablish civilization. We have to focus on the most populated territories. We need roads, electricity, food. Schools. We cannot—we have to make choices."

"This was a war classification," Elizabeth whispered. "To… For triage. To set priorities. These rules are not applicable now."

"On the opposite." How could Edwards be so unnaturally still? He had not moved, not taken a sip of his coffee since they entered the room. The child hadn't either. Two statues, Elizabeth in-between. "This is a Lost Area. We are a military organization, under military rules, the classification very much applies."

"In theory. But…"

"You call me 'sir', Ms Moore. And it has no rights. In fact, the most humane thing is to euthanize it now."

Three statues in the room.

"256," Edwards said, snapping his fingers. The child fell onto her knees. Then she bowed her head, parting her hair.

Waiting for the syringe in her neck, Elizabeth realized. Waiting for euthanasia.

A beat.

Silver lining? Yes, yes, there was one. Silver lining, Elizabeth's mind was perfectly clear. Nervousness, ambiguity had vanished. Everything was bright, crystal.

She gave Edwards her most brilliant smile.

"Interesting idea, sir." She moved casually, positioning herself near the opposite side of the table.

Once upon a time, people. Sitting there under the merry COFFEE sign, using the blue expresso machine, eating complimentary cookies. Trying to go with the flow of the décor, 'look how cool and relaxed we are,' aren't we all having a good time, having a break in the breakroom.

While all this time. In the lower levels.

The door, on the left. Five feet behind. The child, still down on her knees. Still parting her hair. Elizabeth, still smiling.

"I would like to propose another option, sir. Let's keep her alive—she—itits existence is proof… Proof we could use against them. Evidence. This pertaining to your, to your previous discussion with Coulson—last time?"

"Hum," Edwards said, thinking. Elizabeth took a step backward, Edwards was still considering the idea, he was taking it seriously, he was actually giving it some thought as if Elizabeth was not obviously stalling for time—a shiver ran along her spine, because how could he be so blind? She was being very unsubtle—but Edwards—he just—he didn't—a suspicion began to worm its way in, a terrifying, twisted idea—

How long were forty seconds?

"No," Edwards replied. "Thank you, Ms. Moore, I appreciate your attempt to think out of the box here. Know that I will always welcome your input. What we should do though, is go down to the labs and gather the more expensive apparatus. A lot of rare metals, just laying there, that we could sell easily on the black market, if we… I do believe we should begin to prepare our own exit strategy." Elizabeth did not move.

"But as for the girl… No. The situation is too complicated already, it would be another body to protect. Let's just…"

He took a step forward the child and Elizabeth flipped the table over, hitting Edwards and destabilizing him for a mere moment—then, grabbing the girl's hand and hauling her toward the door, the child took the hint quickly enough, they rushed for the exit, once outside Elizabeth banged the door close, moved the lever in lock position—Edwards would not be able to open it from the inside, but this, this would only earn them a few moments, the breakroom had other exits, Elizabeth had to find them and block—

Another door opened and Edwards stepped out into the corridor on their right. Like, fifteen feet from then. Like, their escape attempt had just been a tad ridiculous.

Elizabeth drew the gun and took aim. Edwards raised his hands slowly. "Elizabeth, what the hell are you doing?"

"Get behind me," she ordered the child. "His orders are not valid, ok?"

The child hesitated. She looked at Edward's red bracelet. At Elizabeth's blue one. And she did not move an inch.

Great.

Edwards frowned. "Where does the gun come from?" Elizabeth did not answer. "Ok," he said after a few moments. "You want to keep it. This is needlessly sentimental. I mean, even waving the legal…the lack of human rights issue, it is deeply damaged. There is no possible recovery here."

Elizabeth did not waver. Edwards sighed. "Very well. It's not as if we were lacking food. And I need us both on the same wavelength. With only the two of us here… To be blunt, I cannot afford to alienate you. So if you really want to keep her, I suppose we could—"

"I think," Elizabeth stated slowly, the gun still high, still pointed at Edward's head, "that you are contaminated. Mutated. I think," she added slowly, "that you're Frank. I think you opened the doors."

"Frank?"

"The Girl in The Gas Station syndrome. I— It's you."

Edwards scoffed. "Of course not."

"I believe you're not even conscious you're doing it."

"Don't be ridiculous. And please use 'sir.' I understand you are in an emotional state right now, but as I said, the direr the situation, the more we've got to stick to the rules. The caste system exists for a reason, and it is to help us make hard decisions. See, this—all of this, this girl…is the perfect example. You would not be hesitating if you just—"

"When you were bitten. When I injected you the antibiotics…"

"It had not been forty seconds."

Elizabeth tried to recall the exact sequence of events. To estimate time. "I don't know," she said sincerely.

"Will you lower this gun, please? You're making me uneasy."

Elizabeth's arms were getting tired anyway. She lowered her weapon. "Keep your d."

"Oh, come on."

"Keep your d, or I will shoot you. Sir. Now listen to me closely. The way your personality has occurred a radical change…" Not exactly radical, to be honest. From an asshole to an ever-bigger asshole—after he had been bit. "The way you talk now. The symptoms… Anger. Lack of empathy. Psychopathic tendencies. It fits."

Edwards seemed genuinely puzzled. "Psychopathic— Why?"

"Did you really take the test that day? After the bite?"

"Obviously," Edwards answered, looking offended. "I—" He stopped. A long pause. He frowned. Another beat. "No. No. Actually, I do not believe I did."

"Why?"

Edwards looked briefly lost. "I—" The silence stretched for a moment.

"Would you take the test now? Sir?"

"Of course." The uncertainty that had flashed on his face disappeared. "I will take the test, if only to dispel this misunderstanding, Ms. Moore. You are— You are obsessing about this, while someone else is there, opening the doors and trying to murder us."

Edwards activated the lever and walked back into the breakroom—Elizabeth waited, already rejoicing at the idea of having two psychopaths with her in the building, because if she was wrong, if Edwards was not contaminated, then who—

A few minutes passed. Edwards wasn't coming back. The girl was still at her side. Their eyes met, then they both looked in the direction Edwards has disappeared. Elizabeth hesitated, then prudently pushed the door open with her foot.

Edwards was inside. At the bar. Sipping his coffee and reading something on his tablet.

"Hello," he said distractedly when Elizabeth entered.

"Are you ready to take the test?"

Edwards raised his eyes from his reading material. "We just did."

Elizabeth stayed speechless. Then she took two prudent steps forward. Keeping her d, oh yes.

"No, we didn't. Don't you remember? We were in the corridor, you said you would do it, to dispel the misunderstanding…"

"Oh. Yes." That brief uncertainty again. "This whole process is quite unnecessary, though." Edwards gestured towards the tablet. "Believe me, I am not working for—for the pack. I have been slaving on this for eight months, and I may be close to a breakthrough…"

"What about a deal?" Elizabeth said with her most beguiling smile. The gun—still in her hand. "You take the test, sir, and I will consider putting the girl down."

Obviously a lie. The fact that Edwards did not see it was jarring.

"Ok." Edwards sighed. "Fine." He rose from the high stool and followed them both in the corridor.

"After you, sir," Elizabeth said with the utmost politeness, Edwards did not even react, he walked toward the infirmary at the end of the corridor, Elizabeth and the child followed. Elizabeth pressed the girl's hand once, hoping she understood the game.

Edwards entered first. Elizabeth and the girl remained at the door.

The story might not be lacking for wolves, and the infirmary did not lack for tests. Edwards grabbed one of the boxes. "You will remember, I hope, Ms Moore, how I am willing to compromise, even if I should not need to—from a hierarchical point of view."

"I am deeply grateful, sir."

"You think—" Edwards looked at her, and here he was again, real light in his eyes. The man who almost joked with her. The one she drank whisky with, the one who kissed her. "You think I am heartless," he said. "You think what we did in the lab was wrong, and obviously— From an outsider's point of view—"

"Sir—"

"We had doubts, of course we did. When they said the decision was up to the labs? We took a vote, it was, it was a draw, and—there were families in there…"

Edwards looked away. Silence. A gust of wind outside—there was an outside, Elizabeth had almost forgotten. And Edwards seemed so—so sad for a moment there, that she wanted to cry, for him, for his victims, for all that had been lost, lives and souls alike—don't—stay focused—don't waver, don't…

"We decided," Edwards continued. His voice raw. "To rely on the system. This is why the castes were made, to choose. Who to save and who to sacrifice. We were so close to a breakthrough. We had to test the— We had to—"

Darkness had befallen the land, and it had engulfed them all.

"Sir, will you take the test?"

Edwards sighed. "Of course."

He put the box on the table and sat down. A beat.

"You see?"

Elizabeth did not move an inch. "What am I supposed to see?"

"The test? I told you." Edwards met Elizabeth's blank stare and added, "I told you I was not contaminated."

She was so cold. "You did not take the test."

"I just did."

"The box is unopened."

"Oh." Another beat, if you took them all, you could start a musical. "Oh, but, no. This is because I—" Silence.

"Will you take the test, please?"

"I find your insistence of the utmost rudeness, Ms Moore." Edwards was staring at the unopened box. "Do not worry, I know where my loyalties lie." Still staring. "I wonder, though. Why I—" Still looking at the box. "I honestly believed I…" A beat.

"Sir, listen. You are a scientist, you understand facts. You are losing chunks of time, you—I suspect you cannot take the test, you cannot even open the box, so—see—if you put all the data together—the cameras, the Red Door, the…" She continued, Edwards was listening to her, actually listening, all his scientist focus on the specifics she was giving, sometimes he glanced at the box, and Elizabeth saw it on his face, the change, when he understood, when he actually got it, she stopped dead in her tracks, in the middle of a sentence, because what the hell was she doing exactly?

She was convincing a man that he was—that he was—

What was exactly her goal here?

"I see," Edwards said, his voice very neutral, and again she saw it, the evolution from conviction to, to the, to the next state, and first there was—there was relief, deep relief, "thank you," he said, she felt herself petrify, then he raised his eyes to Elizabeth, and just—looked at her.

She banged the door shut.

"When I say 'Go'," she whispered to the girl. "You run. You run like hell, you go to the—to the place. Like we decided. Remember the place?"

"I see what you're saying," came the voice, on the other side. "The evidence does seem pretty damming. But even if—if it were true, it doesn't mean— You can open the door, Ms Moore. I am not… You can open the door."

Elizabeth raised the gun. Aiming in the table direction, just in case. She opened the door.

Edwards was just there. Not sitting anymore. Standing right there, at the door, ten inches from her, smiling. "You see," he said again, and his—his smile—and then he jumped.

Snarling.

Teeth barred.

Elizabeth fired, screaming, the bullet hit Edwards' shoulder, projecting him backward. She banged the door shut, no lever here, "Run, RUN, GO!" she said to the girl, but the child seemed petrified, Elizabeth grabbed her hand, the door was already opening so she fired behind her, blindly, "256! Stop!" Edwards ordered, and the girl—stopped.

Elizabeth turned around. Edwards, at one side of the corridor, she and the girl at the other.

"One step, and I'll shoot." Her voice, unsteady. Her aim, not much better.

"Forgive me, Ms Moore, if I believe your threat less than persuasive. Your track record—with this gun—is contestable at best. 256. Here."

"Don't move!" Elizabeth yelled at the girl, who hesitated, torn, a magnet between two opposite forces, blood on Edwards' shoulder, Elizabeth got him, of course she got him when he jumped, he didn't seem to know it, didn't seem to feel it, but—she shot him once, she could do it again—the girl took a hesitating step forward—

"Stop." Elizabeth ordered. "He is contaminated. His red bracelet doesn't—doesn't count. Anymore."

Edwards seemed scandalized for a second—hilarious in any other circumstances—but all it did was remind Elizabeth that they almost were friends, that she ought— "Can you—do you—do you realize what you are doing?"

Uncertainty flashed again. "You do not want to bite me, right? To contaminate me? You want to get out of here? To work in a lab again—you were so close, so close from a breakthrough?"

But this was a mistake, she realized, because—of course there was no breakthrough, of course, deep inside, Edwards knew that there had never been any breakthrough. The light flickered, then died, and when he raised his eyes again Elizabeth was in the presence of the Enemy.

"True. Let me show you," he said, and he jumped—Elizabeth fired, missed, grabbed the child's hand, they ran in the direction of the stairwell, the steps, Edwards on their heels, snarling, fire, blood, Edwards' arm, he stumbled back. Out of the stairwell into the labyrinth, another stairwell, another series of corridors, the girl was running like hell, whatever spell he had on her momentary dispelled. Back in Building Two, running still, into an office at random, "I think we lost him", Elizabeth whispered, "we cannot go back—we cannot go back home."

The girl nodded. They stayed there for a minute, breathing, and then to the lair they went.

Elizabeth checked the hall to verify that she did not leave anything damning behind, anything that could lead Edwards to them, anything that said, "this apartment right here," all clear, so they got in, closed the door behind them, Elizabeth changed the code for the last time, barricaded the exit from the inside, the girl still watching, she led the child to the sofa, and there they stayed, perfectly silent.

They were alone in the Center, with 84 000 zombies, and the Wolf.