Featuring special guest appearance by Stella, the Red Army hacker - character belongs to depressedbat over on Tumblr.
"Where are we going, Tom?" Matt asked as he trailed after his long lost friend through the empty Red Army corridors. He didn't know what the time was, presumably morning, but it was way too early for any soldiers to be mingling about and see them walking around.
Tom had woken him up and snuck him out of the Infirmary without any of the nurses noticing. If any of them had caught them they would surely insist on Matt going straight back to bed and rest some more.
Once admitted, patients were not allowed to leave the Infirmary until they were discharged.
"We're having breakfast with Tord and the others." Tom told him, glancing back at him with a reassuring blink of his digital eyes.
Matt faltered, confused. "But we already passed the Mess Hall."
"We're not going to the Mess Hall." Tom said patiently.
He led Matt all the way to the Scarlet Wing, two levels higher than the Infirmary. Matt looked around in wonder at the exquisite and fancy decor of the dormitory hallways, red carpeting on the floor and gold and red tapestries adorning every wall, before Tom slipped inside a room labeled as Red Leader's office.
Once inside Tom summoned the shortcut lift and the two of them squeezed inside the tight space to make their descent.
"Whoever designed this lift should really learn about the concept of personal space." Matt grumbled, pressed up against Tom.
Tom chuckled. "This lift was designed for one person per use only. So I guess I am at fault here, but this is quicker."
Their descent took no time at all, and before they knew it, the lift doors slid open to reveal a cozy living room. Matt squeezed out first, taking in his surroundings as Tom followed suit.
"Good morning!" Patrick walked out of the kitchen to greet them.
Matt turned around in surprise. "Hello!"
"Matt, I would like for you to meet my friends here." Tom said. "This is Patrick. He is one of the Generals here in the army, and he helped me out a lot when I needed it most."
"It's a pleasure to meet you at last." Patrick extended his hand out to him. "I heard an awful lot about you."
"Oh, uh, the pleasure is all mine!" Matt squeaked, shaking his hand. He wanted to make a good first impression on this kind, high-ranking man Tom seems to admire. "Thank you for helping Tom out when we couldn't."
Patrick smiled warmly. "Don't mention it. Come! You must be hungry. We are making pancakes in the kitchen. Have a seat please."
The Polish man led them farther inside and into the kitchen area. Matt was so focused on looking around the pristine kitchen that he nearly jumped out of his skin once he noticed the eerie presence of the Red Leader seated at the head of the table, staring him down leisurely.
"Good morning." Tord drawled, cocking his head slightly.
"Morning." Matt whimpered.
Doesn't matter how many times Tom reassures him, Matt will never get fully used to the presence of Todd around him. He is terrifying! It's like he is a ticking time bomb just waiting for a trigger to set him off. He is unpredictable. How can he ever trust him knowing all the awful deeds he's done?
"You must be Matt!" A new voice snapped him out of his frightened thoughts.
Matt broke his gaze away from the Red Leader to see a new man enter the kitchen. He instantly recognized the Red Commander by his scar and bushy eyebrows, and he felt the tension in his shoulders ease away at the sight of his friendly grin.
"It's nice to meet you properly this time." Paul approached and gave him a hearty hug. "We're so glad to have you here with us!"
Matt giggled. "Thank you, sir."
"Oh please, drop the formalities. You can call me Paul."
"So now that introductions are out of the way, this is very exciting, you two are almost the same person and it's weird." Tom broke in with amusement. "You're both goofy, loveable, and wide-eyed innocent."
"What would you like to have with your pancakes? We have a wide assortment of jams, hazelnut cocoa spread, yogurt – do you like to have fruits?" Paul asked.
"Everything and a little more, please!" Matt beamed.
Paul laughed. "Oh we are going to get along just fine, you and I." He gave him a friendly little nudge on the back as they gathered around the table to eat.
Matt sat between Tom and Paul, with Tord seated directly across from him, and Pat sitting to the Norwegian's left. Taking a bite out of a piece of pancake dipped in hazelnut spread, Matt was acutely conscious of his tongue prodding around the metal piece that made up his bottom jaw. The edges were fortunately not sharp enough to cut his tongue, but it felt weird to chew and he was afraid to accidentally bite down too hard on his tongue.
"How's your new jaw, Matt?"
"Huh?" Matt looked up to meet Tord's gaze.
"Your jaw. Is it functioning properly?"
He opened and closed his mouth to show him. It still felt stiff and lopsided, and it ached if he lay on it during the night, but he knew the remaining muscles had mended because the pain wasn't so sharp it made him feel sick.
"It's… fine." Matt sighed. "Just needs some getting used to. Yanov said I have to take my time and eat carefully."
Matt's belly rumbled as if to remind him that he was still hungry. How will he ever experience the joy of eating amazing food without feeling self-conscious about it?
Tentatively he tried to eat another small piece. Chewing carefully and meticulously so as to not accidentally bite his own tongue.
Tord observed him carefully. "If you want I can make some adjustments for your jaw. Make it function more smoothly when it comes to eating." He offered. "Come see me in my office if you ever feel the need to improve."
Matt reluctantly nodded. He didn't want to think what kind of modifications Red Leader would make on him, and he certainly did not want to find out.
"Aw, I just realized you two are basically cyborg buddies now." Paul cooed over a mouthful of pancake. "You two even have the same malfunctioning eye."
Self-consciously, Matt lifted one hand to scratch at his robotic eye. The lenses in his irises zeroed in on Tord to study his reaction.
"Yes." Tord snorted dryly. "How… funny."
"Tom is sort of a cyborg too!" Matt pointed out.
Tom shrugged. "If I wanted to take off the visor I can, I just opt not to. Mostly because doing so would leave me blind, but you get the idea." He munched quietly on a stack of blueberry jam pancakes. "You two on the other hand have permanent prosthetics."
"So what have you got planned for us today, Thomas?" Tord asked, stabbing his pancake with his fork.
Tom clasped his hands together in excitement. "Okay so, I thought of a fun way for all of us to get to know one another better and get Matt accustomed to all of you." He explained. "It's nothing really special – just a run of the mill Q&A type game."
"Sounds fun. How does it work?" Pat prompted.
"It's simple. I will ask individual questions about the three of you, and Matt has to guess. For example; Matt, what do you think is Tord's favorite multi-sided polyhedral dice?"
Matt pondered the question for a heartbeat or two. "I think it's a… D20!"
"Alright. Tord, how right is he on the answer?"
Tord appeared impressed. "He's not wrong, actually. It is a D20."
"Hurray!" Matt cheered. "What do I win?"
"Well, Matt, you get points based on how correct you are but also it is up to them to decide how many points they will give you." Tom explained.
"What's the scale?" Tord asked. "How much should he be getting for each correct answer?"
"It's fairly arbitrary." Matt grinned.
"You can give him minus points, half points, you can even give points in the form of candy if you so desire."
"Matt, you've earned a packet of limited edition caramel popcorn biscuits." Tord said.
Matt turned huge eyed and gasped. "You guys have those? I thought they were only available in America?"
"Yeah, well, you tend to get some privileges when you have so many contacts spread all over the globe." Tord bragged, taking a drawn out sip of his coffee.
"I think we have some right in here if you want to go get 'em." Paul offered. Matt jumped off his seat and began looking through the cabinets. "Try looking on the top drawers – they have to be there somewhere."
Matt opened each and every drawer, looking eagerly for his prize, but with no such luck. He bent down to look at the bottom drawers. "Are you sure? I can't seem to find it-"
Patrick's eyes widened in horror. "Matt, wait! Don't look in there-!"
"Whoa!"
His warning came a little too late and Matt stumbled upon a drawer stocked full of sweets that gushed out the moment Matt opened the cabinet door. All sorts of different types of desserts could be found inside.
Tord snickered. "Oh oh, looks like he found Pat's secret."
Paul laughed while Patrick just looked utterly embarrassed.
Tom was confused. "Wait, what? What secret?"
"Pat here has a little sugar addiction. Ever since he was little. To say he has a sweet tooth is an understatement." Tord told him with a mischievous expression on his face, watching Matt rummage through the secret stash of sweets like a little kid set free in a toy store.
"Don't look at me – I am full of shame!" Pat cried out, hiding his face in his hands.
"But… how?" Tom asked. Never in his wildest dreams would he have ever guessed that the calm and collected Patrick was such a fanatic for sweets. He simply didn't look the part. "I don't understand how that's possible."
"Fast metabolism, baby." Paul replied smugly. "The whole family. He can eat pure sugar and it will be gone from his body with a snap of your fingers."
"Lucky." Tom conceded.
"I simply love to eat. I love desserts. I like to taste food, specifically the sweet variety. I can't help it!" Patrick whined.
"It's okay, Pat! I'm sure most people would have chosen the same lifestyle as you if they all had this wonderful gift of never gaining weight." Tord reassured, patting the General on the back. "Speaking of which, I have tried to run some experiments on Pat – to see if maybe I could pass this fast metabolism crap to others and stop the weight gaining process altogether. But Pat here refuses to cooperate with me!"
"Listen, I have a severe allergic reaction to being anyone's guinea pig, and with all due respect, you're not exactly all put together yourself, sir." Patrick argued.
"But think of how many people you would help! You could revolutionize the weight loss industry forever." Tord insisted. "C'mon! I experimented on Tom and he turned out fine. You can trust me with your life here!"
"So do you usually eat these dipped in ice cream or-?" Matt broke in, holding a tub of peanut butter and caramel ice cream in one hand and a package of exclusive kettle corn cookies in the other one.
Pat's eyes rounded with surprise. "Yeah! How'd you know?" He whipped around and stared accusingly at Tord and his fiancé. "Did one of you snitch on me?"
Matt ducked his head in embarrassment. "No, that's just what I do." He confessed.
Pat and Matt's eyes met in wonder, and thus a new friendship was born within that kitchen.
"Okay, we're losing track. Let's get back to the game, yes?" Tom suggested, his head still spinning by the sudden and unexpected turn of events that took place. They gathered around and took their seats once more. "Next question; Matt, what job did Paul have before joining the Red Army?"
Tord shook his head. "He's never going to guess this one. Even you don't know this one, Thomas."
Tom's plan has to work. It has to! Maybe by playing this game Matt will be confronted with his selective repressed memories of him and acknowledge the fact they were once best friends in the past.
Matt hummed pensively. "I reckon he was a barber. He seems like the type of lad that knows a thing or two about handling beards. Clearly he knows all about male grooming techniques of all sorts."
"Go on, Paul, tell us your answer." Tom murmured.
Paul chuckled. "So I have worked on a multitude of different jobs over the years ranging from; retail, power plant worker, security guard, bouncer, the night shift at a pizzeria – but my first ever job was as a barista at the Sparkledeer."
"LIAR!"
Tord's sudden outburst shocked Matt and Tom greatly and they stared at him wide eyed.
"Paul, we both know that you had another job before this." Tord went on slyly. "Don't act like it didn't happen."
Paul feigned ignorance although he was sweating nervously by now. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're really gonna sit there and play dumb with me? Fine. Have it your way." Tord turned to address Tom and Matt. "Paul's first ever source of income involved cat fishing foreign old sugar daddies online."
Tom spat out his coffee.
"That doesn't count as a first job!" Paul yelled, red in the face. "Cat fishing sugar daddies is not a viable profession, man."
"But it was the first and only way you earned money for quite a long period of time in your past." Tord argued. "And also... A great service to the community." He saluted.
"It was out of desperation and necessity!"
"How-?" Tom shook his head, completely baffled. "How?"
Paul sighed. "I would borrow my friend's pictures, with her consent by the way, to make fake dating profiles and I would lure in rich old men to give me money and free stuff."
Tord cleared his throat. "And…?"
Paul paused and gave a long-suffering sigh. "And sometimes I would go so far as to strip tease for them in disguise. There, y'all happy now?"
Patrick leaned closer to him to rub his shoulders comfortingly, while Tom and Matt just sat there looking equally perplexed.
"Wow! I guess I was way off." Matt conceded. "But it's okay, Paul. None of us judge you for it. It's all in the past, after all. It doesn't matter now."
"Okay, let's move along to the next question now." Tom said hurriedly. "Matt, what do you think is Patrick's favorite pick n mix? So he is in a supermarket or going to the movies, what do you think he would choose?"
"From what I've seen so far I think Patrick likes the chocolate variety. Caramel or toffee or maybe fudge I'm thinking. I don't think he likes licorice or the more artificial types of candy, even though he likes all things sweet under the sun, I'd say he has more of a preference." Matt responded after giving some thought. "How correct am I?"
Patrick nodded. "You're not off. You got most things right, but you did miss mini eggs which are my personal guilty pleasure of mine."
"Well done, Matt. That was a solid answer!" Paul congratulated. "I mean there were a lot of choices there. You could've gone with the sweet and sour variety, or bonbons, and whatnot; but you actually guessed right."
"Next question, and this one is about all of them. Matt, what is their best scar or best tattoo if they have any?"
Tord and Paul shared amused glances. "Well, the first part of the question is kind of obvious." Tord muttered, waving his robotic arm around for emphasis.
"Disregard the obvious ones. Do they have any other scars and how do you think they got them?" Tom mended the question.
Matt looked at each and every one of them. "I reckon Patrick is clean. He's got no tattoos or scars. Paul, not counting the scar on his eye, has two high heel prints down his lower back. He got them by marrying a stripper while drunk one time and when he sobered up he realized the mistake he's made, divorced her, and she wasn't so happy about it. No tattoos though."
Paul chortled and Tord and Patrick wore similar cheeky grins.
"What about Tord?" Tom prompted.
Matt hesitated. "Well… disregarding the obvious facial scars and the arm replacement, I think Todd has a scar down on his torso where he probably got shanked by an assassination attempt at some point or another. As for tattoos… I reckon he has some sort of Japanese styled art or font on his back or chest. He seems like the type of guy who enjoys Asian culture a little too much."
Tord perked up. While Matt was wrong in both answers, and got his name wrong yet again, he seems to remember vague details about him and that gave Tord hope that Matt will eventually come around and remember him.
"Guys, your final answer?"
Patrick spoke first. "So I have no tattoos, you got that part right. But I do have a scar across my chest that I got during a zombie outbreak in one of our previous bases in England."
Tord snickered. "While it is true that I have had way too many assassination attempts carried out on my person, none of them have gotten even remotely close enough to do any damage. With that said I do have nicks ad bruises all over my chest and lower torso, so I will give you half a point for that." He explained. "As for tattoos, while I don't have any as of yet, I'd say if I were to ever get one I would definitely choose a Japanese styled drawing so another point for that."
"You're not getting some weeb hentai sh#t imprinted on your body, Tord." Tom admonished. "I won't allow it."
Tord blew him a raspberry teasingly.
"So…" Paul began awkwardly. "I got no tattoos. As for the scars… no, I do not have high heel prints on my back nor have I ever married a stripper. I am one hundred percent strictly gay. Do I hate women? No, of course not. I wish the best for all of them. But I am incapable of feeling any sort of romantic or sexual attraction to the opposite sex."
"This man is incredible!" Tord cut in, wrapping one arm around Paul's shoulders. "He can look at boobs and feel nothing below the waist. Between you and Pat, you guys are practically a superhero duo."
Paul rolled his eyes. "I don't think being gay is a super power, sir."
"Quiet you!" Tord shushed him. "However, it is worth mentioning that Matt has also gotten another fact right, and that is Paul got married while completely plastered."
Matt's eyes widened. "To a male stripper?"
"Uh… no." Tord scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Paul and I… may or may not have gotten a little way too drunk in that one time in Vegas we don't talk about, and we sort of got married as a result."
"What?" Tom gasped. "I did not know this! Did you?" He turned to Patrick.
"I did. But this was a long time ago – way before my time here in the Red Army."
"It's okay. Paul and I sobered up the morning after and we promptly divorced, and now we're both free to marry our respective boyfriends." Tord went on. "I give Paul to you, Pat. He was mine first and while we may have had a very on and off relationship and plenty smooches behind the scenes, he is now yours to care for. Please water him and feed him, and if you ever break his heart I will dropkick you into the sun."
"Yes, sir." Patrick smiled and leaned forward to kiss Paul on the cheek.
"Awwwn!" Matt squealed. "You guys are such good friends!"
"Friends that apparently smooch?" Tom exclaimed, still in shock.
"Oh Thomas, you're not jealous now are you?" Tord wrapped his arms around the Brit. "That was in the past, and Paul was just a passing fancy at most. He's with Pat now! And you're with me, and I love you!" He nuzzled Tom.
"Yeah, I mean… Tord and I are just friends and that's it." Paul broke in. "We never went further than a few kisses here and there, and it was all experimental stuff. Just bros being bros."
"Exactly!"
Tom, however, was not impressed. But he did not press the matter further. "Let's just get on with the game, shall we?" He said.
Grabbing him by the waist, Tord pulled him up and onto his lap; nuzzling the top of his head affectionately, hoping somehow to ease up the tension between them and get Tom to forgive him for mentioning his brief past fling with Paul.
"So, Matt, would Tord rather go back in time and meet his ancestors and live there, or travel into the future and meet his descendants?"
"I think he'd go to the future just to check if he is still the one in power." Matt joked. "He's hoping to find his rotting corpse on a throne still ruling over everything. Definitely the future."
"I like the implication here that; long after he's dead, no one has tried to usurp his rule in the meantime so we're all just worshipping a corpse. He is still world emperor long after he's gone." Paul laughed.
"Tord?"
"Yeah, that's a no brainer. Who the h#ll would want to go to the past?" Tord said. "Everything was sh#t back then. No internet, no viable health care, and the life expectancy was like… 32 or something."
"But think how obsolete you would be in the future though." Pat pointed out.
"You catch up. Nothing can't be solved with a little learning." Tord replied.
"Yeah, but think of it this way. You have no idea what you are up against by traveling to the future. There could be a nuclear apocalypse. Aliens invaded the earth. The world is dead, or something. It's a bit of a risk." Patrick insisted. "But if you travel to the past you know what awaits you, and with the current knowledge you have you could even become like a king in the past."
"But what if he f#cks up?" Matt questioned. "What if he crushes a butterfly and wipes out all of the future? Or what if he accidentally winds up having sex with his own mother or something?"
Tord shuddered and cringed away at the thought. "Here's the thing; as far as I am concerned I personally could very well end up revolutionizing the past and changing the entire course of history as we know it." He said. "But if a regular person were to somehow travel back in time with the knowledge they have now they would be utterly useless. They can't build anything. They just know this stuff exists! They can't build a computer from scrap without the necessary pieces or primary components."
"How about a steam engine or something as simple as that?" Paul wondered.
"Paul, can you build a steam engine?" Tord demanded.
Paul puffed out his chest. "I'd have a go. I'd have a bloody good go!"
Tord leaned closer to him, a challenging gleam in his eye. "Tell me then; what are the necessary parts needed to create a fully functioning steam engine?"
"First I will need some iron piping!"
"You're in the past, by the way. You have to make all the parts yourself. How will you get this iron from?" Tord pointed out smugly.
"F#ck! Uhm, okay…" Paul floundered. "You dig in the ground and you find iron, and then you heat it, and then you pour it… dang it."
Tord frowned. "Your knowledge of mechanics boils down to video games, Paul. You would be f#cked if you were to end up stranded in the past."
"Basically, yes." Paul sighed in defeat.
"Moving on." Tom said. "Matt, how many dates does Patrick go on with someone until he introduces them to his parents?"
Matt blushed. "Oh I thought you were going somewhere else with that question, uhm."
Paul and Tord laughed while Patrick just looked utterly embarrassed.
"Well, I reckon maybe a couple of months' worth of dates. I don't know." Matt answered.
"A couple of months' worth? How many dates do you think you can squeeze in that time frame?" Tom asked.
Matt pondered the question for a hot second. "A good dozen dates."
"A good dozen." Paul grinned. "There can be some bad ones in there, but generally a good dozen."
"I guess what I am talking about is not necessarily how much time it takes for him to get to know the date in question, but rather inform his parents that he is going out with someone." Tom clarified.
Matt huffed. "That's a totally different question!"
"What would be the answer to this question then?"
"Oh geez, uhm…" Matt sighed. "Five and a half dates?"
Patrick giggled. "In the middle of a date, I just stop everything to inform my parents that I am dating someone." His eyes gleamed with mirth. "The actual answer to that would be: as long as humanly possible. My parents are wonderful people, and by that I mean kinda crazy. As an example, the first time I brought Paul over to meet my mom, she brought out a scrabble game to play him and see how smart he was and if he could come up with words on the fly. Why?" Pat shrugged his shoulders. "Because she could, I guess."
"That doesn't sound so bad." Matt said. "I think it would be worse if she were pressing you guys for plans for the future like wedding plans and starting a family or something. My mom does this to me all the time, and I am not even seeing anyone!"
"But that's normal parent stuff. Playing a game of scrabble to test someone's intelligence is pretty weird." Tom pointed out. "Might as well hand out an IQ test – it's practically the same concept."
"My step dad is pretty chill for the most part, but he often tries to engage Paul in friendly competitions." Patrick went on. "Like arm wrestling, drinking games, darts, poker; all that good stuff. I think he just wants to bond so hard with us that he ends up overselling himself, but overall he's nice."
Tom nodded. "Next question; Matt, what are the pet preferences for Paul, Pat, and Tord?"
"Paul seems like a dog person. He is goofy and energetic like you said, and I think he would get along great with any dog." Matt replied, scrutinizing Paul closely who beamed back at him. He turned to the Polish man next to him. "Patrick I think is the opposite. I think he likes dogs fine, so long as they are not too rowdy. I'd say either a cat or maybe a fish. Something easy to care for."
"Spot on!" Pat said, impressed.
"What about me?" Tord prompted. "Can you guess my preferred pet of choice?"
Matt stopped and looked at him, hesitating. He tipped his head sideways. "Uh… I think you like dogs. But only big ones. With sharp teeth and capable of dealing damage if necessary. Not those cute little ones that are to die for."
Tord frowned, deflating. I like reptiles – he should know this! He thought. But I guess canines come a close second.
"Matt, do you think Paul believes in life after death, ghosts, superstitions, and cryptids?"
"Hmmm, I don't know. Maybe he believes in ghosts? But he doesn't seem to be the religious type to me." Matt responded, unsure of his words.
Paul leaned closer, sitting at the edge of his seat with wide eyes. "I love ghosts! I love cryptids of all kinds. You're right, I am not religious in any way. I would want nothing more than to go ghost hunting, maybe visit some UFO hot spots, and go looking for cryptids like bigfoot and Mothman."
"Really?" Matt gasped. "That's so cool! You know, Tom and I have had our fair share of ghost and alien encounters in the past."
Paul gushed and squealed. "Really?"
"As fun as it would be to hear the two of you gush about ghosts for three hours, I, unfortunately, do not possess that amount of free time so if we could just carry on with the questions, please." Tord suggested gruffly, although not entirely unkindly.
"Moving on, what do you think is Tord's favorite sport?" Tom asked.
"To participate in or to watch?" Matt said.
"To both watch, and secondly to participate in."
"Is he as he is now or is he a more athletic version of himself?" Matt asked wonderingly, eyeing Tord with an awkward expression on his face.
Tom chuckled as Tord's frown only deepened.
"What are you trying to say?" Paul giggled.
"I am trying to be as diplomatic as possible here." Matt stated, lifting his chin. His robotic iris gleaming.
His words actually brought out a small chuckle out of Tord before he composed himself and stilled again. Matt stared at him awestruck.
"To watch; I think he might like football or basketball." Matt said. "To participate in; I'd say ice hockey or maybe rugby."
Tord's face wrinkled with disapproval and Tom openly laughed at his expression.
"Handball. I like to both watch and play handball." Tord muttered with a flicker of annoyance. This was an easy question to get it right, and yet Matt failed miserably.
Glancing at him briefly, Tom caught a glimpse of his disappointment and cleared his throat, ceasing his laughter to move on with the game and hopefully get Tord and Matt more accustomed to each other's presence. It seemed to have been working at first, and Matt is bonding just fine with Paul and Pat, but for whatever reason every question Matt gets wrong about Tord just seems to drive the Norwegian man more and more upset.
"If Patrick were to go to a bar, what would his default cocktail order be without having seen the menu?" Tom asked.
Matt debated his answer for a second. "I reckon he's got whiskey. Straight. Double. On the rocks. And he downs it like a shot."
Paul laughed. "Well if you had to live with me all day every day I guess you'd probably need something that strong to cope."
"I sure do!" Tord conceded, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Absolutely not, Paul. You are wonderful." Patrick soothed, and Matt's heart nearly melted at the fond look they shared between them. "I must admit; I am not much of a drinker. Generally if I were at a bar I would order the sweetest, fruitiest thing I can find. I am kinda picky when it comes to drinks, and most of the time if they are not as sweet as I hoped I would send them back and order something else entirely."
"Same." Matt nodded. "Personally, my favorite cocktail is Pina colada most of the time." He added, unaware of Tom's horrified face right next to him.
"And then, what would Patrick order Paul if they were to go to the same bar?"
Matt giggled. "So Pat is having a drink. He's gone to the bar all by himself. He turns around and notices a man, and it is Paul beside him! What a coincidence." He joked. "Now… what would Pat order for Paul? I am gonna go with a gin and tonic. A lovely, nice, crisp, refreshing gin and tonic."
Paul sighed and shook his head. "You described my least favorite drink on the planet."
Matt looked crestfallen that he got it so wrong. "No!"
"There is no cocktail I dislike more than a gin and tonic. I hate gin. I hate tonic water." Paul went on. "If I were to order something without having seen the menu it would be a Moscow mule."
"Oh, what's that?" Tom asked. "Whiskey and lime?"
"It's vodka, ginger, beer, and lime."
"Sounds nice." Tom licked his lips. God it's been so long since he's had a drink. "Alright. It's nearly time for the Morning Gathering so let's wrap this up with the final round of questions. Matt, can you guess what Paul, Pat, and Tord's favorite pie are? What are their go-to pies? When we say the word pie, what comes to their head. Matt?"
"So what is their preferred pie filling? Okay, uhm.." Matt turned to Patrick first. "Pat likes sweet things. We've already established this, and I think his favorite pie is no different. A sweet filling. And I think he likes… blueberry pie."
Patrick whistled. "Good guess. Not quite, but close. My favorite pie is apple pie." He said. "I mean, who doesn't like the classics?"
Tord shook his head. "You simple b#tch."
Matt rubbed his temples, his eyes clenched shut. "Paul… I reckon… oh God!" He hissed and groaned in frustration as he wracked his brain for an answer.
"Matt. Matt! MATT!" Paul yelled and shook him. "Look at me!"
"Lemon curd pie!" Matt shouted.
Tord face palmed and Tom and Paul both deflated.
"Lemon curd pie!"
"I am not even sure there is such a thing here in Norway." Tom pointed out.
"Lemon meringue pie – final answer!" Matt insisted.
A drawn out silence filled the kitchen table as they stared at one another with a mixture of amusement and disappointment. Paul leaned closer to Matt until they were nose to nose.
"What the h#ll is the matter with you?" He whispered, eliciting a barely audible giggle from Matt. Paul leaned back calmly. "Cherry. Cherry pie."
"Goddamnit!" Matt slammed his hand down on the table in frustration.
"Okay, Matt, this is your last shot. Guess Tord's favorite pie filling and maybe you'll redeem yourself." Tom said. "Think very carefully."
Matt took one good look at Tord, hand on his metal chin. Tord observed him calmly, but on the inside he was silently urging his friend to get the question right and prove there is still a chance for them to bond after all this time apart.
"I reckon Mr. Todd here, because he is from the cold hard tundra of the North, I think he does enjoy a meat pie so I'm gonna go with… oh God…" Matt took a deep breath. "Traditional… sort of… beef- beef and onion! Beef and onion pie!"
Tord's smile fell and the glimmer of hope in his eye died. "Onion is my least favorite food on the planet." He murmured. "There's nothing I hate more than onions, to the point where I will send things back if they come with onions and it wasn't listed on the menu. When I was little, if there was ever an onion in anything it would make me physically retch and I wouldn't be able to eat the meal despite my father's best attempts to convince me otherwise."
Matt stared at him, wide eyed and appalled. He grabbed the front of Tord's uniform and leaned closer. "So… you're not fond of a beef and onion pie?" He asked plaintively.
"Noooo." Tord drawled, shaking his head. "This is a real shame, because my favorite kind of pie is in fact a steak pie."
Matt had been so close to the right answer, but he guessed half right and half disastrously wrong.
This game was pointless. Matt doesn't remember a single thing about him or their bond! He's not even acting correctly half the time – often playing up whatever's left of his good looks for attention, trying to look all cute and innocent and defenseless. That's not the Matt Tord knows! What's wrong with him? Yanov warned him he might have memory issues after the incident with the blown up base, but Matt remembers Tom just fine, so what gives?
Releasing a weary sigh, Tord gently pushed Matt away and rose to his feet. "While this has been fun, for the most part anyway, I gotta get going now. I have to broadcast my morning report."
Paul and Patrick shared an uneasy glance, while Matt stared at him like a puppy that just got kicked into the rain. That look irked Tord to no end. Matt is not supposed to be like that! The Matt he knows and grew up with would never be this afraid of him.
His gaze flitted over to Tom, but his boyfriend wasn't looking at him. Tom nudged Matt and smiled at him, silently reassuring their friend everything was going to be fine.
A hot red wave of jealousy washed over Tord as he watched Matt smile back at Tom.
Without wasting another second in that room, Tord marched out wordlessly. He didn't bother taking the shortcut lift up to his office. He needed the long walk through the lab and all the way up the conference room to alleviate his thoughts and mood.
As if Tom acting weird around him wasn't enough, he now has to deal with Matt acting out of character as well. Or was he always like this and Tord is the one who remembers it wrong? Matt always prided himself in his handsome good looks and brilliant charisma to get anything he wanted, but surely he hasn't always been this daft?
Tord quickly shook away the thought. No. I'm not mistaken. Matt has changed for the worse. He figured. I have too much on my plate right now as it is. The sooner I can break through Matt and Tom the better.
His private conversation with Patrick yesterday came back into mind. As much as he wanted to set things right with Tom, he was still reluctant to admit there was something amiss to his boyfriend and create a problem where none might be found; hoping Tom's strange behavior as of late is just a figment of his imagination.
Bitterly Tord couldn't help but partially blame Tom for his current predicament with Matt. If Tom had never bumped into Matt and reunited, maybe then Tord would've had a better chance of getting through the fair orange-haired man.
"Red Leader?"
Much too soon, Tord arrived in the conference room.
His soldiers worked diligently around the room to begin the start of the broadcast, just waiting for his arrival. His loyal assistant, Scarlett, even approached him to give him his steaming cup of black coffee, as usual.
"We're ready to go live in five minutes, sir."
Tord drank his coffee. "Make that two minutes."
Finishing his drink, Tord set up the mic onto his uniform and sat down on his throne as the soldiers around him rolled the cameras closer to his position and readied to begin transmission at his command.
"We're going live on the count of 3… 2… 1."
Straightening his posture, Tord smiled at the camera and began his usual spiel. "Greetings, citizens of the glorious Red Nation!" He spoke loud and clear. "We are on day 1994 of the war and with good results so far for us. The Red Army are advancing fast South of Europe, and making good progress expanding Northwest of Asia as well. Congratulations are in order! The great country of Mexico held up great this far in the war with continuous resistance, however, they too have succumbed to our forces and are now officially part of the Red Nation, and we welcome them as one of us-"
All of the sudden, all the screens relaying his broadcast around the conference room cut off abruptly and turned into the colorful "no signal" image.
"What's going on?" Tord demanded.
"Our signal has been compromised, sir!"
"Affirmative. Someone has interfered with the broadcast." Stella added hastily, typing furiously without breaking eye contact with the computer screen.
Tord furrowed his eyebrows. "What? Who dares to-?"
Suddenly, the screens turned to static and the deafening sound of white noise echoed obnoxiously loud throughout the whole world. Everyone who had been following their day to day lives, trudging along and struggling with the war, stopped whatever they were doing as the Red Leader's morning report was ominously interrupted. This has never happened before.
The static lasted a total of twenty seconds before the screen flickered.
A man appeared on screen. His face obscured by a gas mask, wearing green and black as he stared directly at the camera.
"Greetings, citizens of the world. I am the Green Leader." The mysterious figure drawled out in a deep, rough and distorted voice. "A war has plagued us for far too long, and too many lives have been lost to the Red Army and their notoriously power-hungry leader. They think they can bully us around – take over and control us with their superior technology and vast numbers. Red Leader wants you to be afraid and submit, but I need you to remain brave."
Tord couldn't take his gaze away from the screen. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing.
"You are not alone. The Green Rebellion is ready to strike back. We may be small, but we are powerful. We have already begun to leave our mark on the reds. They are not the unbeatable force they want you to believe."
"They are the ones who have been attacking us!" Stella cried out but was quickly shushed by the others as everyone fixed their attention on the broadcast.
"I ask you to stand with me now. If we band together we can drive out this menace that has infested our home and bring back peace. This is no time to lose hope. When we get knocked down, we must rise up again. Stronger than before. Again and again. As many times as it takes." The figure continued with his announcement. "Red Leader, I speak to you directly now; stand down. You've asked us to reveal ourselves, and we complied. Now I demand you end the bloodshed, or else. The Green Rebellion has risen, and it is now at war with the Red Army."
"Sir!"
Tord tore his gaze away from the screen. The hologram map displayed on the round table that showcased all of their conquests over the years and which nations were allies and enemies started to change. The small speckled dots that made up the UK, west of the European mainland, turned from neutral gray to a vibrant green.
"Green Rebellion… drive out those pesky red rats out of our home."
The radios all over the conference room started going off at the same time. Soldiers rushed to respond but could not make out the words of their desperate comrades through the gargled screams and commotion in the background.
"What's happening?" Tord demanded, desperate to regain control over the situation.
"Our stations in the UK, sir…" One soldier shook their head in despair. "They are being overrun by the enemy. They are under attack!"
"Evacuate the premises at once!" Tord ordered. "Send out choppers and ships to bring our comrades safely home. The UK is now enemy territory."
His heart pounding, Tord contacted his Generals for an emergency meeting. This can't be happening!
"And this ends today's broadcast. Thank you one and all for your attention, and I request that all you viewers out there heed my words with caution, especially the Red Leader." The Green Leader seemed to make eye contact with Tord through the screen. "We will be in touch. And remember, the resistance never quits!"
The transmission ended there, cut back to static.
Tord couldn't believe how everything had gone so wrong in just one morning. How had he not foreseen this? An opposing organization growing right under his nose. How did his broadcast get hijacked? His web security is top of the line. He and Bing collaborated to create a firewall so powerful it was virtually impossible for anyone to have gotten through.
Well, evidently not.
He will have to contact Bing downstairs in his lab and ask the mad scientist to fortify their network. Should be no issue. Bing has been restless without a project to work on ever since Reagan slipped from their grasp; he should be glad to have some use left in his army.
While the unexpected transmission and recent turn of events shook Tord to his core greatly and made his blood boil at the audacity of whoever was the man behind the mask, Tord couldn't help but laugh. His one eye gleamed with renewed strength as he peered at the screens surrounding him.
This war had been a piece of cake thus far. So much so it had started boring Tord to death. But it seems a worthy challenger has entered the ring. He will humor them for now, but once his forces regroup and recover they will put the Green Rebellion and their mysterious leader back in their proper place.
Pressed down against the mud below the heel of his boot.
This should be fun.
