CONTENT WARNING! (Last one of the fic! Yay!) Nothing good happens in this chapter. Everyone gets bodied, whether via physical torture or emotional abuse, it is all real bad. The good news is, it's all uphill from here! \o/ (It's the Rebellion Chapter, so it's time for everyone to get rebelling!)

Freefall

Shuuseki had grown impatient with how much time Enzan was spending at the Ministry of Science.

It usually wasn't a problem. The Net Savior job was amazing for PR, a way to show that IPC was giving back to the country. There was a whole section of the company website dedicated to feel-good stories about the brand, and Enzan's activities were often breathlessly reported there, exactly as planned. After all, when Enzan had first received the offer, that was how he'd pitched it to his father. But this was a more internal matter, with no big, flashy headlines coming out of it.

More importantly, it brought Enzan's activities at the Ministry directly into conflict with the business interests of IPC. The issue of reform had become much more pressing, because his father had scheduled a meeting for the two of them in a few days—and Enzan was sure the subject would be withdrawing from this project he wasn't telling anyone else the details of, if he wasn't prepared.

So he set up a workspace in the third-floor office he and Meiru had converted into a de facto tearoom early on in their partnership. (Meijin was not about to get away with putting whatever awful slop he drank into Enzan's Aeropress a second time, and the same went for dumping one of Meiru's specialty tea blends in rapidly boiling water before she could get to it.) With everyone scouring the Internet for any sign of Netto while Laika carried out an investigation of his own, the mood was tense at the Ministry of Science, and Enzan needed a place away from all of that emotion to have any hope of convincing his father with his presentation.

The days ticked by, and the presentation took shape. Within it was no mention of Netto, or of the Dimensional War, or of how it felt to be the beneficiary of something that caused so much hurt. Just statistics and facts and other things that his father could understand.

"This won't work," Enzan admitted to Laika on the eve of his meeting. Even though the presentation was finished and he knew what he was going to say backward and forward, he was still poring over it once more, on alert for even the smallest mistake. "I know it won't."

"It won't if you can't speak for it convincingly, I agree," Laika said. "Moreover, you know your father best. If there's no persuading him, just resign."

"…But I can't just walk away."

"Then you obviously believe there is an outside chance, even if subconsciously," Laika pointed out. "So act like it."

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Two had set up shop in what appeared to be an abandoned mental hospital straight from a horror film. It was weirdly fitting, and not only because it was ready-made for conversion into another field lab. Netto had only meant to stop her awful experimentation, and instead he had broken her heart. She made a perfect monster, consumed as she was by grief, and this was her lair.

Netto didn't fight the men once, even as they marched him inside, stripped him of his disguise, and strapped him to a table. Nor did they raise a hand against him, other than to manhandle him into and out of various spaces. They all looked beyond tired, like they'd lost their souls in the battle at the harbor.

They all left him alone in the dark, immobilized. Netto could only hope they were going outside to take a well-deserved break. You never stop to consider the people around you, criticized an echo of the General from inside Netto's head.

"I didn't think it would get this far out of hand," he whispered in reply.

It took an uncharacteristically long time for the fluorescent lights to flicker on and for Two to appear, long enough that Netto's joints were starting to ache from being pressed into the steel table.

"Well?" she said. "Haven't you got anything to say for yourself?"

Netto looked into her face, but said nothing.

"So, you do realize there's no point trying to defend yourself," Two said, dispassionate as ever. "You could, however, apologize."

"I haven't done anything to apologize for," Netto said.

This was what got a reaction out of Two, her eyes widening at the perceived slight. "You killed her," she said coldly.

"I didn't bring the Net Saviors to the harbor," Netto insisted. "I promise you I didn't."

"Of course it was you," Two said easily. "Who else would care so much about some pitiful outsiders, yet not at all for his own allies? Four forgot about the way you used to look at us like we were scum on your boots, but I never did."

"I could lie and tell you what you want to hear, but that won't help, will it?" Netto said. They were just putting off the inevitable like this.

"Suppose I believe you. If you didn't direct them, who did?" Two asked.

Netto set his jaw. He wasn't about to give up his Navis to her, especially not when they were safe at Atsuki's side.

Two's eyes narrowed, her hand balling into a fist at her side. "You know who did."

He would rather die than tell her. At the nonexistent mercy of Two's sorrow, he probably would. "Isn't it good enough that it wasn't me?" Netto asked on the outside chance, smiling wanly.

As answer, Two summarized what would be his last hours on Earth: "First, I will collect all the samples I might possibly need of your body. Then, if I have not done so already, I will extract a confession from you. If I am feeling particularly merciful, I may let you die afterward rather than returning you to Darkland." She reached toward Netto's face, and then the left side of his vision blinked out of existence as she removed the lens. "You won't be needing this anymore."

He could only hear what she was doing, rummaging through things made of metal in the blacked-out field where the rest of his sight should have been.

There was no escape. No rescue waiting, no give in the restraints, no mercy in his captor's eyes, no strength left in the face of sheer dread.

There never was.

"Tell me who sent the Net Saviors," Two said affectionlessly, as Netto felt her knife cut deep enough into his upper arm to scrape bone.

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The presentation itself went well, of course. Enzan had spent too much time on it for it not to.

There was no getting around the initial hit in profitability as IPC invested into reforming their mineral sourcing, so that was gotten out of the way relatively early. As well, there was a new PET model in the pipeline for the first quarter of next year, and some delays were expected with the switch, but being able to brand it as a new, sustainable PET would be a major boon for marketing.

Overall, though, this would make the pipeline run smoother than ever. Investing in a safer, cleaner environment for the miners would mean fewer worker injuries, which in turn meant fewer unexpected delays. It would make the system more resilient to the effects of climate change. And, of course, stable incomes would mean a new market for brand-new PETs. Most of the PETs in Afrikku were second- or even third-hand, models so old they'd fallen out of memory in places like Japan. The majority of new PETs were from no-name companies, cheap and unreliable. When people could afford IPC PETs, they would surely switch over readily, feeding more profit back to the company.

As well, this would position IPC as ahead of the curve in brand image. The general public felt concern about the environmental and societal impacts of the situation in Afrikku, if it was brought to their attention; it was just that PETs were a necessity, and nobody had taken the step forward to give consumers a choice they could feel better about making. Happy consumers were repeat consumers, as well as consumers who would extol the brand to others, and those added up to steady profits.

It was clear by the end: the benefits both in brand image and in long-term profitability outweighed the initial price. They would be more than recouping the cost in only two years' time.

His father's expression was thoughtful, almost regretful, and for a moment Enzan thought he had won.

"I should have known this would come to a head eventually," his father said. "I never should have allowed you to take the Net Savior position, no matter how well it reflected on the company."

Enzan's blood ran cold.

"I did notice, years ago, when you began to believe too deeply in these childish ideals you were acting as a surrogate for. I thought that with time and maturity, you would outgrow them, learn to use them in a more superficial manner, as we all must. It is unfortunate that I let this go unchecked for as long as I did."

For one horrifying moment, he was eight again and this was another lecture on the realities of the business world. But he was eighteen, and things were different, his friends were not wrong, he just needed to breathe. "I'll–"

"You'll do what? Resign?" His father made it sound like an immature, unreasonable whim, not like something Enzan had been thinking over for days. "Every fortune in this world is built on these kinds of transactions. Everything we consume, from the clothing we wear to the technology we build, would be unaffordable to most of the public without inexpensive labor. That's simply the reality of the system we live within."

Everything he'd done to communicate his point, playing his father's game of presentations and statistics and pleasantries, and Shuuseki dismissed it like he wasn't already aware of all of that. Like his opinion still didn't matter at all, even after all those years of work.

"Resign from the Net Saviors, and refocus on your duties here. Once you've matured enough to take on a larger role in our international affairs, I will educate you on the realities of the situation myself."

But outside of the little bits of input he was specifically instructed to give, his opinion never really had mattered. Because Enzan had learned the wrong lessons from the Net Savior job. Because he was merely meant to be a continuation of his father's power and legacy, not his own person. Because he knew the situation better than anyone else in the building, but his answer wasn't what his father wanted to hear, so it needed to be changed until it was 'right'.

But this time, it wasn't going to change. Enzan had outgrown the box he was meant to fit into, and his father couldn't stuff him back inside.

Enzan looked into his father's emotionless face, keeping his tone polite and his own expression neutral. "I resign from my position as Vice President of IPC, effective immediately. Thank you for the opportunity you have given me."

Enzan spun on his heel to leave, but only made it two steps before his father's threat made him freeze. "If you walk out of this room, you will have nowhere to return to."

"Fine," Enzan said before the more timid part of his brain could catch up and try to smooth this one out. "Once I'm finished packing, I'll leave the keys under the doormat."

He didn't linger long enough for Shuuseki to belittle him further. If he stopped moving, he would have to wonder where he was going to go.

Rather than suffer the shame of taking a limo that had been bought by his father and was driven by someone paid by his father, Enzan rode the subway home to his (father's) townhouse to pack his things. He was careful not to take anything that he felt was not his. The tailored suits that Shuuseki's money had paid for remained in the closet; the more casual clothes his own Net Police stipend had bought were packed into his rolling suitcase. The credit cards in his wallet were left on the bedside table, save for one; he was just thankful he'd had the foresight to create a separate account for the money that came in from places that weren't IPC, since he knew his father wouldn't want him having access to those accounts any longer. The office setup all stayed, though Enzan made sure to wipe the computer of anything even remotely personal; various goofy mugs Meiru and Meijin had bought for him over the Septembers were carefully wrapped in newspaper and packed into a duffel bag.

He'd never told anyone at the Ministry his birthday, other than the month. He wondered if this would be the year they finally cajoled it out of him.

In hindsight, the disco cat one was hilariously fitting. Smiling, Enzan packed it away, zipped the duffel bag closed while mentally noting the lack of his own silverware otherwise, and glanced over to see half of the reason why the mug was so fitting. Tango blinked at him from the kitchen countertop, puzzled.

"We're moving out," Enzan explained. "I don't have the finer details worked out, but we can't stay here."

Tango, silent as usual, thought this over; then, he meowed and jumped onto Enzan's shoulder. It was hard to tell if Tango meant it as solidarity or if he just really liked riding around there. The pair gave the townhouse one last walkthrough, though Enzan had been thorough on the first pass and didn't find anything else that was his to take along.

Then, Enzan locked the door for the last time, took the key off his keyring, and slid it under the mat. He left his physical IPC badge next to it; Blues could delete the digital access code in his PET perfectly well on his own.

His car had been purchased with family money, so it and its key got left behind in the garage. Duffel bag carefully slung over his shoulder and his suitcase behind him, he set off toward the Ministry of Science.

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Netto didn't hear anything when Two finally managed to peel off the last of his right index fingernail, depositing it and the scrap of bloody flesh that came off his finger with it into a test tube. His own screaming drowned everything else out.

"So that's what did it," Two remarked as though this was all another experiment. "You'd gone so quiet after all those tissue samples; if it weren't for the tears I would've thought you weren't feeling anything at all."

If anything, it was too much feeling, blood on wounds on hard metal. He'd thought his voice had given out, but it all just kept going.

Netto heard Two open a drawer, metal hitting metal as she rummaged inside. "I know hurting you like this won't bring Four back," she admitted, stabbing a fresh pair of surgical scissors into the raw flesh of his exposed nail bed. Wiggling the scissors open and shut in the wound, she mused, "But at least I can make you suffer like she must have. And that's… as much comfort as I'll find, I suppose."

Netto couldn't think on her words at all anymore, just cry.

Two peered into his face, her large eyes drinking in his pain but remaining cold and unsatisfied. "But this isn't working. You'd rather endure this than give me even a scrap. No wonder General Haine threw you in Solitary for so long."

Even through the haze of pain his mind was in, the sound of Two preparing a needle was sharp and clear. There had been so many of them over the past five years, going into his tailbone or his belly or even more sensitive places, that even the sound caused him to tense up, a keening whimper of sheer dread escaping from his throat.

"Oh, don't worry, this'll just loosen your lips," Two said, rotating Netto's hand so the veins on the underside of his arm were exposed. "What a nice sound that was, though," she remarked as Netto felt the needle burn its way into his arm and deliver its contents.

He could feel it shooting through his veins like knives, finding each cut Two had already left like acid, sowing itself into his heart and lungs like thorns. It was all he could do to not scream but it hurt every tiny inhale and exhale hurt hurt hurt–

"Tell me who sent the Net Saviors," Two said somewhere over his head. He felt a scalpel cutting into his skin just over his stomach, but whatever she'd given him amplified it to where it felt like fire.

"Tell me who sent the Net Saviors." The next cut was lower down his gut, longer. But Netto would have rather died than give up Rockman and Punk, and in that moment that seemed like what was going to happen. The pain was so intense that he couldn't form words anyway, just mindlessly scream.

"Tell me who—"

For some reason, the end of the sentence never reached Netto. But Two didn't need to do anything else; the pain from the wounds she'd already inflicted on him just intensified as whatever she'd given him continued to take root.

Some time later, Netto heard a new voice over his own ragged screaming. "Sir," the agent addressed Two, as was the custom. "We need to get you to safety."

"Bring the Seventh along," Two said. Then, from the far end of the room, she added, "I still have more to collect."

By the time the remaining pair of men had unshackled Netto, stuffed his undershirt and boxers back on him, and hauled him to his feet, Two was gone. Whoever was in here was obviously a serious threat, if she had been evacuated that fast. Netto just hoped their intruder was feeling more merciful than Two, and would end him quickly rather than let him continue to suffer.

"Jesus," one of the men muttered somewhere above Netto's spinning head. It seemed he had managed to fall over, even with his arms gripped tightly in his captors' hands.

"We're all going to end up like him at this rate," the other said, sharp with desperation. "He's not moving!" There was a pause, broken only by whimpers, and then a prolonged mix of crashing and screaming drifted up to their ears. "…What was that?"

Whatever it was, it was apparently more than enough for the first agent to make a decision. "We can always retrieve him later," he said in a rush. "It's more important to Darkland that we protect the Second."

They left Netto in a heap on the ground. Everything hurt so much that he was certain this was the end after all.

He had imagined this moment happening in so many ways. Maybe as one final comeuppance to the General, flashing peace signs on the way out. Maybe laughing maniacally like Four had been so fond of. Maybe with a "you can't fire me, I quit!" line that was, to be honest, a little cliche. But always by his own hand with no hope left for him, not succumbing just when he'd finally thought he had broken free.

They were supposed to go to Kingland together.

He didn't know how long he'd been there on the floor, pain mercifully fading with his consciousness, when he felt rather than heard a presence arrive at his side. Taking him by the shoulders, turning him over, staring in horror into his eye as his vision finally blurred into oblivion.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He tried to tell Atsuki "I'm sorry," but it was far too late for that.