Tord rubbed his temples with his robotic fingers, trying to alleviate the migraine that plagued him since earlier this morning.

He'd only just got out of a particularly hectic emergency meeting with his Generals to discuss the best course of action moving forward and how they planned to deal with the Green Rebellion situation. After much back and forth they decided to send out an air raid on the UK as soon as possible, deploying them from the East rather than the North to get them by surprise.

Now he walked through the hallways with newfound determination, clutching the device in his pocket. This has to work!

Tord arrived in the infirmary. No one stopped him as he made his way through the white marble corridors. Everyone was too tied up in their work to think of bothering him as of this moment. The recent news shook the entire army.

The door to Matt's quarters came into view and Tord strolled inside. Sitting up in bed, Matt had been fidgeting with his hands non-stop until he spotted him. He snapped to attention at once at the sight of him. Clearly, despite their friendly little quiz game this morning, Matt was still spooked by Tord's mere presence.

It's time we put an end to this, once and for all. Not for Tom, not for me, or even the army, but for Matt. I have to show him the truth. It might hurt him… but he will thank me once he realizes how much better off he will be afterwards.

"How are you doing, my friend?" Tord asked gently.

Matt shrunk under his piercing gaze. "F-fine?" A fearful look flickered in his eyes. "Todd- sir- I wasn't expecting to see you here again."

"I came to check up on you." Tord cautiously sat down next to him, trying not to spook the orange-haired man further. "I'm sure it won't be long for you to be discharged."

Matt didn't answer, looking away from him timidly.

Tord narrowed his eye. "There's something I need from you."

Matt faced him wearily. "What is it?"

For a moment Tord sat in silence, not sure where to begin. Get on with it! He told himself. You started this, so you'd better finish it. "It will be easier if I show you."

Rummaging through the inner pocket of his uniform, Tord pulled out a red ray gun. Not just any ray gun. The memory gun.

He'd given the original memory-eraser gun to his friends when he left them over fifteen years ago. Matt's selective lapse of memory must've been caused by said invention making him forget all about Tord, their friendship, and most importantly himself.

Huge eyed, Matt instantly jumped to his feet at the sight of the "weapon" he now wielded. He tried to bolt out of the room, but Tord was quick to block his only exit. Matt won't be allowed to leave until Tord has had his say so.

"Calm down, Matt."

"Pl-please don't hurt me!" Matt cowered away, his back pressing against the wall trying to put as much distance between himself and the Red Leader. "I won't try to leave again, I promise, Todd."

"Yeah, see? This is precisely why I have to do this, Matt." Tord murmured, slowly taking aim with the memory gun. "It's for your own good. You need to be true to yourself, only then can we be proper friends again. Please don't make this any harder than it has to be."

Even after his calm explanation Matt continued to stare back at him with that wretched fearful gaze. Tord took solace that it wouldn't take much longer for Matt to quit being afraid of him. If everything goes to plan, Matt will be back to his usual former self and then Tord can finally get to work by properly apologizing to his friend.

"Stop looking so scared of me!" Tord squared up his shoulders. He stepped closer to Matt, cornering him, only for his friend to freeze in place like a terrified rabbit staring up at the looming fox, trembling. "I'm sorry, okay? But I have to do this. Don't you see? It's for your own good! A good leader will do whatever it takes to keep his people safe. I promise I only have the best of intentions here."

"Please, don't do this!" Matt begged.

"Now this might hurt just a little bit." Tord warned, his finger on the trigger. "But it will be over soon, I promise."

"W-wait!"

Tord zapped him with the memory gun before Matt could get his words out, and the whole world went white.

It's so much.

In the blink of an eye, an entire lifetime of memories flashed across his mind, instantly overwhelming Matt. Younger versions of Edd, Tom, and Todd played with him in the intervals between classes as they grew up together. Pranks and adventures Edd had planned for them always ended in mischief and laughter.

Everything came back to him, clearer than ever before.

The day he met them. Their bond throughout the years. Tom and Todd's fall out. Their vow to stick together no matter what. Everything!

Todd… no, that's not right.

Matt suddenly recalled with a rushing whirlwind of emotions how he and Tord used to be close in the past. Not just close, but very good friends.

Tord had given him private lessons to tutor him in Maths and sciences when his grades had gotten low. They spent father's day together along with Tom, bonding over the fact neither of them had a dad present in their lives anymore.

A distant conversation from so long ago came back. Matt and Tord were in the science lab as their classmates picked out a class representative. Matt had encouraged Tord to follow his ambition. They talked about their shared interest in history and ruling the whole world someday as supreme leaders.

Matt's stomach dropped as he recalled that conversation. Is he the one who drove Tord to become what he is today? Did he enable him to start a war that would ruin countless lives? A terrible sensation of overwhelming guilt destroyed whatever other fond memories he might've experienced then.

What have I done?

Gradually the memories brought forth started to lessen in their intensity and Matt found himself back in the present.

"Shhh. It's alright. ~" Tord was embracing him, keeping him steady against him and ruffling his hair back in a soothing manner as he spasmed in his grip under the weight of all his forgotten past.

Matt blinked up at him groggily. A thin trail of blood dripped from his nose. "Tord?"

Tord stared back at him expectantly. Matt gazed at him and he saw the moment when understanding flashed into his mismatched eyes. His voice was scarcely audible, no more than a breath.

"I- I-"

"What have you DONE?!"

The door to the room burst open and Tom marched inside, looking incredibly pissed off as he ripped Matt away from Tord's grasp. The quick unexpected motion made Matt's head ache more and he found himself becoming sick as Tom kept him securely away from Tord's sight.

Tord stared Tom down. "He's fine. Better than ever, if you must know."

"Doesn't look like it to me!" Tom observed worriedly as a spiraling flock of emotions was chasing through Matt's eyes: horror, shock, grief, and then memories upon memories, thicker than a blizzard.

"This is of no concern to you, Thomas."

"I- I remember now… everything… I remember everything." Matt's words were coming so fast that Tom and Tord could hardly make them out. Matt's chest heaved up and down as long-buried memories continued to surge through him like a flooding river in a rainstorm. "Tord is our friend… Edd made us promise to stick together… but Tord left and then betrayed us."

Matt's incoherent mumbles were drowned by Tom's angry snarl. "Does he look alright to you?"

"It will pass. Give him some time." Tord answered calmly.

"My head hurts!" Matt whined.

"Should be no more painful than a mild migraine."

"Have you lost your goddamn mind, Commie?" Tom hissed. "In what world is this an improvement?"

"At least he remembers me now!" Tord shot back. "You would've done the same thing if our positions were reversed. But because he remembers you oh so fondly you never had to struggle with being so easily forgotten."

Matt froze, and he doubled over suddenly to empty the contents of his stomach all over the floor.

Tord eyed him. "Okay… that's not normal."

He tried to reach out to Matt only for Tom to block his way again. "Keep your hands off of him! Haven't you done enough damage for one day?" Rage sharpened Tom's voice.

"I'm only trying to help."

"By messing with his head without his consent?" Tom retorted.

"It's for his own good!"

"Oh yeah, sure, Matt clearly looks way better now than he was before." Tom snapped dryly. "Admit it, Commie; you only did this for yourself, as per freaking usual."

Hearing the ensuing argument made Matt tremble. His chest tightened. A sob welled up in his throat. I just want things to go back the way they were!

Tord's voice was a little more than a whisper. "I just wanted him to remember me. Is that such a bad thing to want?"

"You can't force him to be someone he's not!" Tom argued. "You hurt him! This time one of your ridiculous selfish ploys could have seriously damaged one of my friends."

"He is my friend, too!"

"Please stop fighting!" Matt wailed, unable to listen anymore. He curled up on the floor, clutching his head in pain with both his eyes clenched shut.

Tom and Tord ceased their argument for now in favor of helping their distressed friend.

Seeing as how Tom would not allow him to come any closer, Tord decided to leave them be and fetch Yanov to come check up on Matt for him. This did not go as planned.

Tord didn't have the heart to go anywhere near the infirmary for the rest of the day after what he did to Matt, his argument with Tom still fresh in his mind. Yanov assured him he would keep him updated on Matt's condition should anything else happen.

The memory gun shouldn't have elicited such a strong reaction from Matt, but apparently the initial erasure of said memories caused a bigger gap to form in his brain than Tord had first anticipated. Hopefully there won't be any ever-lasting damage to result from this.

Tord closed his eye as though in pain. "What is this feeling of doom that just settled on me?" He asked the ceiling.

He can only hope Tom and Matt will come around and forgive him. Tord tried to ignore the regret gnawing in his belly.

I didn't have a choice. Matt didn't remember me. How was I supposed to apologize and befriend him if he couldn't even remember the fact we grew up together?

But I know he's my friend. Should I have found another less intrusive way to make this work?

No. Matt's memory was completely broken. He wouldn't have remembered me no matter what I did, and he even forgot who he was. I am on the right!

Nothing helped. Tord hadn't really thought about other options before he went through with his plan. It was impulse and jealousy and wanting to prove something to Tom.

I try to do what I think is right, Tord thought gloomily. But I am always wrong.

Tord briefly debated contacting Patrick to vent his frustrations on until he remembered the Polish soldier was most likely busy with the upcoming wedding preparations. That's just fine with Tord. He didn't want to hear confirmation of how much of a terrible person he is for incapacitating his own friend.

For now its best he keeps his distance from both Tom and Matt. Time heals all wounds, after all.

Alone once more and more dejected than ever, the Red Leader went about his business.

(Meanwhile…)

Reagan started awake to the feeling of something uncomfortable pressing against his arms and legs. He kept still for a moment with his eyes closed, trying to figure out where he was and what was happening.

It felt like he was tied down to a chair. His surroundings were eerily quiet. No cars roaring up and down the pavement, which means no roads nearby. It felt as though he'd gone deaf.

His arms and legs were bound tightly, tucked close to his body. Cracking open his eyes, Reagan saw only darkness. Taking a deep breath through his nose he realized there was a god awful smelling sack over his head. More disturbingly, some kind of metal-like device clamped his jaws shut.

Which meant using his toxic saliva to escape was out of the question.

It also meant that whoever had caught him knew precisely what they were dealing with. They were smart enough to tie him up. They probably knew about his powers and venomous breath – or they might just be wary of his silver tongue.

For a moment panic flooded Reagan's senses, guessing the worst had happened. Some Red Army soldier spotted him, recognized him, and had taken him straight back to the lab. He could already imagine the sadistic delight sparking in Bing's face the moment he was delivered to his hands, ready to resume with his invasive experiments.

But keeping him tied up to a chair in the dark didn't seem like Bing's style.

Forcing himself to calm down, Reagan tried listening again for clues; straining his ears to pick up the smallest sounds, but all he could hear was the distant sound of rain splattering outside.

I'm not underground. Reagan breathed a sigh of relief.

He took solace in that there was no mechanical thrum surrounding him that he'd grown so familiar with in his time spent locked up in the lab. Wherever he is now is not Bing's laboratory.

Still, it didn't mean he wasn't being kept in some Red Army facility, on his way to the lab.

But wouldn't he hear soldiers marching down the hallways if that was the case? This place, wherever he is, is far too quiet to be a Red Army base.

Reagan sat there for a moment, trying not to groan. Every bone in his body ached; his head hurts especially bad – worse than any hangover he's ever had; every inch of skin on his body felt as though it had been scraped raw. He was pretty sure he'd bitten his tongue when he got knocked out. He could taste blood in his mouth.

Heavy feet thudded outside the room he was being kept in.

"Did you get the asset?" Asked a snotty voice.

"Yeah. Easy catch." A hoarse voice responded. "He was on his own like we assumed. Didn't even put up a fight or anythin'. Pretty pathetic, actually."

So they are soldiers. Reagan thought. But whose side are they on?

He wasn't willing to wait around and find out for himself, he needed to get out of here before he was delivered to whoever it was they worked for. Reagan flexed his hands, wondering if he could shift and rip himself free.

Before he could try, however, a heavy door creaked open and the sound of footsteps gradually approached his position.

"Are we equipped to deal with him until we are ready to have him delivered?" Said the first soldier. "You know our necks are on the line if we fail to fulfill our mission."

"Sure we are." Said the one with the voice of a heavy smoker. "He's not going anywhere."

Something sharp jabbed into Reagan's neck violently and his screams were muffled by the muzzle. At once his muscles relaxed and went numb, keeping him subdued. The flux of energy from the serum that he'd been trying to conjure forth in order to transform dissipated like mist, and Reagan was left weakened and at the mercy of these soldiers.

Something told him they won't be as nice to him as Dante was.

Speaking of which; what became of the Agent? Surely he must've noticed his absence when he didn't return from the bathroom. Did he think he escaped?

Darkness consumed his thoughts and his consciousness faded away once more.

"Pst! Reagan!"

Something lightly tapped Reagan's cheek, and he woke up with a small groan.

"I know you're not in good shape right now but I really need you to wake up." Hands lifted the sack off Reagan's face, and something blurry came way too close to his face to peer at him.

"Mmmmf!" Reagan said through the muzzle. He tried to bat the something away, but his hands were still tied.

"C'mon. I am going to let you out now." Said the familiar little voice. "We have to go before they come back."

"Mmmmf," Reagan said again. His head hurt. His whole body ached. He leaned back to rest on the chair and blinked until the world came into focus.

A dark friendly face with huge blue eyes hovered only inches away from his, and in the back of his head Reagan instantly recognized the figure. Falls.

"Shhh. Keep still, I am going to try and remove your muzzle now." Dante whispered, untying him. "Any chance you can shift and get us out of here?"

Reagan paused and reluctantly sat up so he could look around. The pain in his head flared viciously, and he had to close his eyes until it receded into a dull throb.

When he opened them again, he realized that the blurriness around him wasn't just his eyes. They were in pitch black darkness, with only shafts of sunlight filtering beneath the gaps of the doors and boarded up windows.

They brought me to a warehouse.

Reagan flinched with a muffled snarl when he caught a glimpse of a pocket knife so close to his face.

"It's okay! Hold still for just a second while I wire the muzzle open." Hissed Dante. "I am trying to free you, idiot."

Reagan clenched his hands and obeyed, eyeing the tiny blade as it bobbed closer. It was hard to see exactly what the Agent did, but he felt the knife's pointy end hook into some kind of latch on the metal band, then twist and pull. The muzzle slipped open and off, and Reagan's mouth was finally free.

"We have to go now. Can you walk by yourself?" Dante whispered. He pulled Reagan to his feet and dragged him away.

Reagan nodded numbly. "How did you find me?"

"When you didn't come back I went to look for you. The hotel staff were incredibly unhelpful, but thinking back to it now they might have been in on this." Dante explained, herding him along in front of him, talking fast as they stumbled towards a small gap in one of the walls. "Anyway. I saw you get dragged away by these shady, suspicious figures and I planted a tracking device on their van and followed them here."

"Wait… you gotta give me one of your guns." Reagan said, his head still somewhat fuzzy.

Dante stared at him, hesitating. "I'm not sure that's the best idea-"

"I need to be able to defend myself – my life is on the line here!" Reagan hissed under his breath. "They injected me with something. I can't transform now no matter how much I insist."

"Who says we're going to fight anybody here?" Dante pointed out. "There's only two of us against a whole squadron of them, and you're incapacitated. Our chances of fighting our way out of here aren't good, Reagan. Our best bet forward is to get out of here without being seen."

Dante dropped to the floor and looked out of the hole.

"All clear. Quick, while they're not around to spot us."

Following Dante, Reagan crouched and wriggled his way out through the hole in the wall. Outside Dante grabbed his hand and took off running with him, eyeing every corner on the lookout for Reagan's captors.

The most powerful man in the world had been reduced to a pathetic figure who is always someone else's prisoner, at the constant mercy of others, and currently running away for his life. This is embarrassing to say the least.

They had just reached the edge of the outer courtyard when he heard shouts behind them. "The asset is getting away! Stop them at once!"

Without looking back Reagan and Dante continued to make a run for it.

At first Reagan was willing to give Dante the benefit of the doubt. Being an agent for the U.B.P.D. meant more espionage and less fighting, so he couldn't really fault Dante for running; especially when they were incredibly outnumbered. But Reagan figured the agent would have some kind of trick up his sleeve to cut off the soldiers pursuing them.

He waited to see what Falls would do next, seeing as how their escape attempt had been compromised.

"Run! Keep running!" Dante darted away, and Reagan bolted after him.

They reached the treeline of a small stretch of woodland and plunged into the undergrowth, weaving around the trees and boulders in a zigzag formation to try and lose their pursuers.

Reagan let out a small huff of frustration. He could see a road just ahead from between the tree branches. But while civilization might mean a better chance of losing the soldiers chasing them at their heels, and a temporary respite to hide and recover, Reagan much rather turn back around and face them. End this all right here once and for all.

Suddenly they plunged into the busy streets. Cars and trucks drifted to a halt abruptly and honked aggressively at them as they made the perilous crossing, flashes of startled faces peering out the vehicles' windows at them.

"They are getting away!"

"This way!" Dante veered and twisted to a sharp left, slipping into a narrow street corner. Which, frankly, seemed like a poorly thought-out plan: Reagan could see a small patrol of mystery figures splitting away from the rest of the main group to race ahead and try and cut them off in the street up ahead. They adorned pure black uniforms that covered them from head to toe. There was no distinguishing them apart.

They waited far up ahead, waiting to ambush Dante and Reagan.

To his surprise, Dante didn't slow down as they charged full speed toward them. The figures ahead squared up, ready to tackle them on sight as they rushed forward to meet them halfway.

But then Dante grabbed Reagan by the arm and suddenly banked right – their pursuers crashed unceremoniously where they previously stood and let out shouts of fury and groans of annoyance before giving chase again.

There's way too many of them. They are everywhere! Reagan thought. How are we ever going to escape?

"Any idea who we might be dealing with?" Reagan asked breathlessly as they plunged down the nearest empty street.

"The Green Rebellion, maybe?" Dante said rapidly. "Why else would they hide their identities in enemy territory?"

"But how would they know about me?" Reagan demanded, breathing hard. He'd never run this much for this long in his life. His sides ached and his feet hurt and his eyes were blurry and his heart felt like a grenade about to explode.

"Same way they knew how to target the bases with you in it." Dante snorted. "Traitors, probably."

Reagan started slamming things behind them, trying to block the path of the people hunting them down. He tipped over trash cans, fruit stalls, and even purposely tripped over people along the way; anything to make it more difficult for their pursuers to keep going after them. They have to lose them, and soon.

The street abruptly ended, spilling them out into a park; the streets bustling with life. The vast circle was covered in grass and flowers, full of playground structures carved from real wood, dark and smooth. Buildings encircled the entire perimeter of the streets.

"Duck your head. Keep a low profile. Walk quickly, but not too fast." Dante warned. "Let's head into one of the abandoned buildings. If we can get to it without being recognized we might be able to take shelter there until the coast is clear."

Weaving between the crowd of people, Reagan followed suit. With their heads bowed submissively they blended in with everyone else.

From a distance, Reagan strained his sensitive hearing and listened as the people who were chasing them arrived near the edge of the park. One of them was issuing commands to the others to keep a lookout for them, but not to cause a scene and frighten the citizens.

"Almost there." Dante whispered.

When they were close enough to one of the buildings Dante yanked Reagan closer. They ducked under a set of boards that closed off the vacant building's entrance and slipped inside. Reagan tripped over a box carelessly lying on the floor and Dante grabbed a hold of him, strong arms keeping him steady.

"Did we lose 'em?" Reagan asked, panting as they pressed themselves against the wall to wait for their pursuers to hopefully walk on past their hiding place.

Dante peeked out one of the windows to investigate. "For now, at least." He murmured.

Breathing a sigh of relief Reagan slumped against the wall. "What the h#ll was that all about?" He demanded. "If they really are part of the rebellion, what do they want from me?"

"You are the Red Army's secret weapon. It makes sense to take away our biggest advantage of winning this war."

"But if that's the case why didn't they kill me? They had me right there, they could have easily chopped my head off if they really wanted to." Reagan pointed out.

Dante tipped his head. "Maybe they don't want to kill you. Maybe they want to have you side with them against the Red Army." He suggested.

Reagan huffed and crossed his arms. "They could've just asked! I would be down to join them and help take down the reds, but after this… they are on my hit list now." His eyes flashed purple briefly with the promise of a long and painful death to anyone who dares cross him.

Having escaped from his captors for now, Reagan took the chance to look around. The building was rundown and decrepit, which is a shame because given the interior design it looked as though it used to be some sort of fancy hotel or resort with the intricate wooden carvings of the grand staircase and tables. There were cobwebs in every corner, and dust littered every surface in the vicinity.

It was clear that this place had seen better days, and after its initial closing – presumably because of the war – people started to break into this place and ransack it for goods and valuables. Reagan wouldn't be surprised if there were refugees taking shelter here as well.

But one thing above everything else caught his eye.

On the far right, on top of a grand stage there was a piano highlighted by a single shaft of sunlight pouring down from a hole in the roof.

Reagan eyed the large instrument and approached wearily, climbing the steps onto the stage.

Slowly following his movements Dante watched him intently wondering what was going through the Irishman's head. "What is it?"

"N-nothing, I-" Reagan hesitated, looming over the piano. He swiped away the dust with one hand to get a better look at it. The instrument was pure black with beautiful golden carvings.

"You know what a piano is, right?" Dante asked.

Reagan snorted ruefully. "I know what it is!" He hissed defensively. He paused, his face and voice softening as he gazed at the piano once more. "I just… I'd never seen one of these in person before."

He pressed one of the keys experimentally and a soft tune rang out, echoing across the room. Reagan pressed a few more keys and was delighted by the sound they created.

Dante continued to watch him, entranced by the performance. Warmth steadily brimmed in his chest. "Have you ever considered playing an instrument before?" He asked shyly.

Reagan shook his head and played another note.

"You know, it's not uncommon for people to express themselves via various art forms." Dante began softly. "Some people take up drawing or painting, others like to write, and others learn to express themselves through music. Have you really never tried anything like this before?"

"I didn't have the means to." Reagan said hollowly. "Growing up… I never had a voice of my own. Even if I did, no one would have bothered to hear me anyway. So it's not like taking up a hobby would've helped me in the long run. My entire life no one cared enough to pause and ask what I wanted for myself. I never had a choice in the matter. It has always been about survival."

Dante sensed there was more Reagan wanted to say but his words ended there.

He glimpsed the gradual sadness brimming in his companion's green eyes as he continued to fixate steadily on the piano, still experimenting with the notes. Dante did not know much about Reagan or his past, but in that moment it all became so vividly clear to his eyes.

The grief for a life unlived.

All those possible outcomes that were so crucial to any upbringing that should've been his – a loving family, a stable home, loyal friends, academic success, the chance to explore his own individuality. Reagan had been deprived of everything from the moment he was born. Was it too late for him to reclaim it all back?

Dante's heart cracked inside his chest, crying out for Reagan's plight and mourning alongside him. He tentatively reached out to gently rest his hands on Reagan's arm. "I'm… I'm really sorry."

Reagan closed his eyes, holding back tears, trying not to think about that. How can he mourn a life that was not his to live? What's done is done, and he is what the world has made him. There is no turning back for him now no matter how hard he tries.

Maybe in a different life he would've had better chances to learn to play such a beautiful instrument. But not in this life.

"It's fine." Reagan choked, hastily wiping away his face with the back of his sleeve. He cleared his throat and recomposed himself. "C'mon. Let's get out of here before we are found out again."

He turned away abruptly and headed deeper into the decrepit building, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the piano one last time as he departed. Dante watched after him sympathetically, wishing he could do more to help and get to the bottom of the mystery that is Reagan.

I could help him. I will help him! He thought with a fierce determination surging through him. If only Reagan would let me in…