Hey there. Can I interest you in the beginning of a new arc? Aw. You thought it was angsty already. Oh boy. The next few chapters are uhhh... well, they're certainly something.
Morning – or at least the pitiful, grey-soaked sepia version of dawn with which they were presented following a brief bout of turbulence – brought further arguments. Problems just kept stacking up and solutions grew fewer and farther between. Supplies were once again running low – most crucially, meds – and they were going to have to find more fuel within the next forty-eight hours. They'd been flying aimlessly throughout the night without any set destination in mind. The idea of heading home had to have crossed each of their minds at some point and yet no one seemed willing to broach the subject. Possibly because that would mean admitting defeat. The answers to all their problems didn't lie in the South Pacific, nor on a satellite spinning steadily above their heads. Whatever the solution for saving the world was, they weren't going to find it by turning tail and running for safety. After all – humanity never got anywhere taking it easy.
Rations shared out, blankets more-or-less stowed and meds taken, attention turned to the main issue – where the hell were they going? What was their next move? A lot of questions and not a lot of answers. The entire mess was yet another headache on top of the one Scott was already nursing. That strange tension from yesterday was even more noticeable today, as if someone had taken their puzzle pieces had changed them slightly so that the full picture was now askew.
Gordon finally jolted awake as they fell into a disorganised squabble fit for five-year-olds. He hooked an arm over the back of his chair and hauled himself upright, tucking his chin over the top to observe them past bleary eyes and a mess of tangled hair.
"What are we arguing about?"
Virgil lifted the holographic map in answer.
"We planned to get you back," Scott elaborated. "We didn't think very far beyond that."
"And we've now been flying in circles all night because there was nowhere safe to land," Alan chimed in, sprawled hazardously across the cockpit floor as if preparing for a movie night back home rather than trying to plan their survival strategy. "So. You know. Fuel won't last forever."
"Duh." Gordon swung out of his seat, stifling a yawn. "Okay. Uh. Location. That's easy. Head back in the direction we came, pick up my car, and I'll plug in the coordinates for the GDF bunker I've been working with. I'm well overdue a check-in anyway." He considered that with a wince. "They probably think I'm dead. How long has it been? Yeah, okay, so they definitely think I'm dead."
"Hey Gords," Virgil muttered, massaging his temples. "Do me a favour? Stop talking about your death."
"Point taken. So…" Gordon drummed a hand on the back of the pilot's seat. "Is everyone's favourite lumberjack flying us there or am I taking the wheel?"
Virgil batted him aside and tried his best not to look too fond as Gordon sniggered. The ice between them was beginning to melt and with it so too was the tension holding everyone else captive. They took a minute or two to prep for flight – discarding wrappers from ration bars before Virgil could fly into either a rant or a fully-fledged cleaning spree, running scans for radiation and weather patterns, checking coordinates, strapping into safety harnesses and so on. John was the only one still asleep – or at least that vague hazy dazed-state between sleep and consciousness – and a silent decision was made unanimously not to wake him.
"Why do we need to get your car?" Alan queried after the worst of the turbulence was behind them. He stuck his head between the front seats where Gordon had stolen the left chair back from Scott after claiming official co-pilot's rights. "Has it got your security pass for the GDF in it or something?"
"No, he's just a sentimental nerd," John announced, finally joining them in the land of the (sorta) living. "Isn't that right, Gordon?"
"Yo space-case, screw you. Also, uh, hello, hypocrite much?"
"You've got to be kidding." Virgil gestured to the amber alert on the fuel gauge. "Gordon. We can't afford to waste fuel. And you're asking us to make pitstops to collect a car?"
"That car is my bestie. We've bonded. She's my partner in crime."
Alan elbowed him. "First off, uh, rude, I can't believe you replaced me with a car. Secondly, should Four be jealous?"
"Probably."
"Wow." Alan gave a solemn nod. "Okay then yeah, we should go get the car before you start crying."
"See?" Gordon reached around to pat his brother's head. "Alan gets it."
Virgil stared at him for a long moment but didn't divert from the planned flight path. Scott didn't bother complaining. It wasn't as if the extra mileage would take a giant bite out of their fuel allowance and, frankly, if saving a battered car would go even part of the way to putting a smile back on Gordon's face, then it sounded like a great idea. He twisted to catch John's eye, just in time to spy his brother lurch from his chair and rush for the corridor so hurriedly that he left the door banging in his wake - against protocol when in flight.
"Uh…" Alan made to move to his feet. Scott caught his shoulder and gently pushed him back into his seat.
"I'll go." He checked the flight time over Virgil's shoulder. "Five minutes 'til landing? Got it."
"Scott," Virgil called after him. "There's an orange box on the third shelf in the med-bay. They're the last of the anti-nausea tablets, so only if…"
"I've got it."
"Thanks."
"Five minutes."
"I know."
As it transpired, all Scott was met with was a closed door. Not just that, but a locked door. Which was becoming yet another tragic theme in his life. Too many secrets and not enough energy to pick them apart. He knocked on the door a few times until John threatened him with fratricide and a variety of other torture methods before relenting a little and announcing that nausea was not a life-threatening condition. In other words, back the hell up and give me some space.
"Are you sure?"
There was silence from the other side of the door. Scott knocked again, as if John had somehow managed to die in the twenty seconds without a reply.
"Yes," John answered finally, just the wrong side of too-sick to manage a sarcastic tone, but most-of-the-way-there all the same. He knocked back for good measure. "Now leave." There was a pause. "Please?"
There was that minute change in pressure – a slight fluctuation in the murmur of engines in the walls and in the trembling under Scott's hand on the door – as Two dropped into a final descent, VTOLs taking over from horizontal flight. He sank down to sit against the wall, reluctant to leave no matter how many times John demanded it, especially when- well.
"Are you asking me to leave because you genuinely want to be alone or-"
Yet more grating silence.
"Or what?" John prompted, tone acidic.
VTOLs picked up. That gentle rumble transformed to distant thunder.
"Or-" Scott began, trying to be delicate about his choice of words for possibly the first time ever. "Or is this a form of punishment because you feel guilty about that satellite?"
And because you killed someone yesterday.
Even with the door between them, he could just sense the death glare John was doubtlessly directing at him. The atmosphere grew icy as the temperature seemed to plunge.
"Fuck off, Scott," John said at last, in that definitive voice which put an end to the conversation, leaving no room for further argument. It was as good as a dismissal and while in other circumstances Scott would have stayed and pressed the matter, they'd just touched down at that godforsaken facility and he refused to let Gordon go rushing right back into the heart of zombie-infested grounds alone. So.
"If you need me, just call."
No response. He hadn't expected one.
Tyre tracks smeared ugly paths through ash and broken snowfall, spilt gasoline and blood trailing in the deep-set patterns where the bandits had made a quick getaway. There were no immediate signs of the infected although echoing growls and the grinding of molars against sinew betrayed their location as deep within the facility – presumably consuming the bodies of the bandits who hadn't walked away from yesterday's fight. Scott tried not to dwell on that thought. Yesterday's events had yet to sink in and part of him hoped they never would. But when did he ever catch a break like that?
It was icy. The last time he'd felt temperatures quite this cold was during that research station rescue up in the Arctic Circle. His console blinked red, unable to read the temperature. He smacked it a couple of times whilst fighting shivers – the heater in his suit couldn't stand up to the severe cold – but the same warning alert kept returning.
Gordon's GDF gear didn't have a heater to begin with, so he was back in his IR z-rated suit too. He held his wrist out for Scott to inspect his console, which was also blinking red.
"Temperature's too far below freezing," Scott diagnosed, examining the dull sky, bleached stony white as far as the eye could see. It was too cold even for snow. The air seemed solid, frozen, cold seeping into bones and blood so that each movement was stiff and painful.
Gordon cupped his hands to his mouth and blew as if he could rekindle some feeling through his gloves.
"I mean, on the plus side, it seems like the infected don't do so well in the cold either. They're sticking hella deep inside the buildings." He hopped from one foot to the other, knocking ice off his boots. "What is this, anyway? It's like… what was that old film? Where they froze where they stood? The snow movie?" He gestured vaguely. "C'mon, you know the one. With uh, uh, what's-his-name…"
"Helpful."
"Shuddup. It's too cold for my brain to work properly. Ooh, wait, I got it – Tomorrow something?"
"The Day After Tomorrow?"
"Yes!" Gordon slapped him on the bicep. "That's the one. Gee, that was bugging me so badly, you have no idea." He wrapped his arms around himself, teeth audibly chattering over the comm. "So. This. Very cold. Why?"
Nuclear winter, Scott thought privately, but didn't answer, eager to change the topic before a certain teenage eavesdropper could start listening to the comms. He rose onto his toes to glimpse over the snowbank, heels grinding into the human remains frozen beneath the ice. "Where's this car of yours then?"
Gordon took a reluctant step away from Two. The Thunderbird radiated heat – even her metal hull was warmer than the surrounding air so that she appeared to steam. The surrounding snow had melted in the force of the VTOLs and now trickled away only to refreeze as soon as it left the protective circle of heat. Two had never seemed more like a living creature. She trembled slightly as the ground cracked beneath her great weight, engines grumbling as they began to cool. With the green door of the module pressed to their backs, there was a certain sense of reassurance, like they had their very own guardian angel watching over them. Also, you know, Two was warm.
A distant wail shook snow from the overhang above the doors to the main building. Gordon's hand instinctively moved to his shoulder where his GDF gear had held weapons, but his IR suit only concealed a secondary radio. Along the horizon, the sky appeared to be leaking darkness.
"Gordon," Scott said quietly, observing that distant glaze settle across his brother's eyes, reminiscent of shellshock and all sorts of horrors which should have remained in Hell. "Hey." He took a step closer, bumped their shoulders together, felt his own pulse jump as something amid the snow seemed to move only to realise it was a trick of the dull light. He shivered. "Where's the car?"
"Uh…" Gordon closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Car. Yeah. That's um…"
He scanned the landscape for any familiarity and made a beeline for a motheaten collection of GDF trucks gathered under a thin layer of frozen snow like a herd of bison. Scott followed him, gun at the ready, keeping an eye out for any sudden movement – be it from bandits or the infected. Blood was vivid against the snow, smearing his own boots and coating Gordon's heels where his brother was a few paces ahead. How it fresh it was remained anyone's guess. Presumably from last night but Scott wouldn't like to bet his life on it, let alone Gordon's, so he remained vigilant, thankful that the biting cold kept sleep deprivation from fogging his mind.
The doors at the back of one of the abandoned trucks was partially ajar. Scott slowed to a halt, steps slipping in the ice, an instinct unexplainable by science pulling him closer to the dark depths as if he'd been caught in a gravity well once again. He stole a glance at Gordon, scanning the expanse of snow to check there was no immediate threat, and broke away from the path his brother had picked out.
The glowing lines of his suit alone wasn't enough to illuminate the interior of the truck, so he activated the flashlight on his helmet, gripping a handle on the rear door as he peered inside. There were no infected, but collections of crates, all marked with biohazard labels and the WHO logo.
"World Health," he murmured, suspicion prickling at the base of his neck.
"Who?" Gordon queried, voice crackling slightly with the low-level interference on the comms link.
"Yeah, WHO."
Gordon snorted. "Dude. No. I was asking… Never mind. So… World Health Organisation?"
"There are tons of crates in these trucks. All labelled World Health."
"Huh." There was an odd tone to Gordon's voice which Scott couldn't quite figure out. "Want some company?"
"Nah, I'm good. I'll be with you in a minute. Just want to run a scan, see if I can find anything first."
"FAB, mi hermano. See ya in a mo."
Without Gordon's chatter, the truck suddenly seemed too small, too constrictive, filled with too many shadows and a fear of the unknown that now wasn't entirely unfounded. Scott squared his shoulders, slotted one foot between the frozen tailgate and the edge of the door, and pushed himself into a crouch on the floor of the truck. The entire vehicle seemed to tilt precariously to the left and he froze for a second as it righted itself. It was by the far the least scary thing he'd done in months and yet his heartrate was accelerating. Something felt off.
"Scott?" Gordon asked, the radio unnaturally loud in the muted silence. "Did you find anything?"
"Not yet."
"Okay, well if you do… maybe grab a sample? Might be useful or something, you know?"
Scans revealed biological substances, most likely vaccinations, but was unable to provide any more data without a link to EOS. Scott ducked between the stacks, crawling through the small space between the front seats to reach a jagged piece of metal which had plunged into the windscreen at some point. The end had become wedged in the seam where the lid met the sides of the crate and he used it like a crowbar. The lid broke in two, one half splintering into the box and the other part flying over Scott's head. He ducked. It smashed against the side of the truck, deafeningly loud in the silence created by the snow.
His radio was blinking with Gordon's request for a call. He ignored it, hooking an arm over the rim of the crate and hauling himself upright, his bad knee complaining with the cold and strain he'd put it under but not giving out completely despite the stabbing pain. His flashlight reflected over glass vials, each one carefully secured. Several had shattered – from impact, from the cold, from a variety of stressors – and the liquid which had collected in the base of the crate had an artificial, chemically sweet smell, strong enough to make him gag despite the rebreather.
The labels on the side were unreadable. Ink had bled and what little text remained had been smeared with grime which didn't come off no matter how vigorously Scott scrubbed it with the side of his glove. Outside, a low whistle caught his attention and he stumbled back to his feet. Hesitation stopped him short, wavering by the exit. Curiosity won out. He tucked three of the vials in the best condition into his fist, taking care not to tighten his grip and shatter them, then ducked into the harsh light.
Gordon was waiting by a reasonably battered Explorer. There were traces of blood in the wheel rims. A large crack spiderwebbed across the front passenger window. A collection of survival gear, supplies and weapons were strewn across the backseats. Wrappers glinted in the footwells. A tiny frog plushie swung from the rear mirror.
Scott side-eyed his brother.
Gordon beamed at him. "What?"
"You're a slob."
"I prefer environmentally conscious. There are no rubbish cans in the apocalypse, Scotty. What was I meant to do? Chuck the trash out the window? Where it's gonna take centuries to break down?"
"That's such crap."
"Shh." Gordon yanked open the door before Scott could get another word in. "C'mon." He gestured to the passenger side. "Let's get this baby into the module." He cracked a grin. "Your ride awaits."
The car was surprisingly comfortable once Scott had brushed the remaining wrappers off the seat and into the footwell. There was a rifle jammed between the front seats, safety engaged, ready and waiting in case of a sneak attack. Inside, the dash had been treated to some GDF-level upgrades. Reports scrolled across the projector once Gordon started the engine, messages ringing in as the signal locked onto a new frequency.
"Yeesh." Gordon discarded the notifications, tensing as he eased the car into a controlled roll down the snowbank. "I was right – they totally think I'm dead." He glanced over as Scott nudged a knife out of the wrappers pile with the edge of his boot. "Hey, what did you find in the van?"
Scott uncurled his fist, letting the vials nestle in his palm, splaying his opposite hand across the dash as the car jolted violently. It was a short distance to the module but at this rate it felt like miles. There were too many hazards and the tyres struggled to grip the ice.
"Vaccines," he elaborated, clutching the vials to his chest to protect them. "Not sure what type. I picked a few up, figured they could be useful."
"There's a few World Health operatives at the GDF base we're headed to," Gordon mused, mostly focussed on keeping clear of the opening hatch, although his gaze kept flitting back to that vaccine as if it were a rare treasure. From down here, Two's cockpit looked warm and homely – golden light fighting back against the gloom – and a silhouette raised a hand in greeting.
The doors closed behind them. Gordon cut the ignition and folded over the wheel, expression hidden behind his elbow. Then, as if sensing Scott was about to ask questions, he gave the dash a fond pat and swung out of the car. Back in the elevator, the cheerful persona was back. The masks were doubling, the truth buried so far down now that Scott had to wonder if Gordon was trying to fool himself as well as everyone around him. But what was the alternative? This wasn't the kind of world you could fall apart in.
"GDF base?" he asked quietly, trying to judge whether Gordon's smile was relieved or tired and finding it incredibly difficult to get a true read on his little brother.
"Uh huh. They'd better roll out the welcome mat for their returning hero."
"Gordon…"
"Don't say it." Gordon stared at the doors as if they could rescue him from further questioning. "It's not… one step at a time. Let's get this shitshow on the road to recovery and then we can talk." He fixed that jokester's smile back on his face as the doors parted, just in time to play the part. He was disconcertingly good. In another life, acting may have been his calling. But in this life, Scott didn't find it impressive, only deeply, deeply concerning.
Gordon's coordinates for the GDF facility were only a hop, skip and a jump away, but radiation levels were ticking upwards again and Two's shielding wasn't entirely infallible, so they set course right away. In the short time it took to jet across half a state, Scott ran the vaccines by Virgil and then through the med-bay logs, but neither could identify it.
Virgil was not overly impressed by this. "You brought a random vaccine onto my ship without knowing what it is or any details?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
Scott tilted one vial in the light. The liquid was cloudy, colourless, and strangely tacky, thicker than any vaccine he knew of. He stowed it safely in a container in the med-bay for landing, still suspicious for reasons he couldn't quite pin down. He didn't trust the GDF – and not just because they'd been compromised in the past – especially since learning it was one of their mistakes which had resulted in this mess, and there were several elements about Gordon's involvement with them which weren't adding up either.
"Uh, Gordon? Are you sure about these coordinates?" Virgil brought Two in for a low hover, swiping aside holograms to get a better glance out the windshield. "Because I'm looking at a whole load of nothing. Nothing that looks like a bunker, anyway."
A patchwork quilt of snow-laden fields were interrupted by a long silver building which looked a little like an aircraft hangar, stuck out in the middle of nowhere. It certainly didn't have the typical appearance of any GDF facility. But around the side, just to the left, the lay of the ground looked different, as if the snow had recently been disturbed. There were faint indents in the earth, deep-set, and only visible from the air. It didn't take a scan to figure out that there was something hidden beneath.
"You can't just barge into someone's house, Vee," Gordon pointed out, reaching for the radio and scrolling through the channels. He had his GDF mask back in his lap, rotating a thin strip of metal on the inside of the fabric until the lining lit up blue, revealing concealed tech. Two's radio squawked a static response to the sudden new frequency emitted by the mask and Gordon met Virgil's admonishing look with a smug smile.
"You've gotta knock first," he finished, halting the constant static into uneven bursts of varying lengths. Not quite morse code, but certainly a pattern. He gritted his teeth at the lack of immediate response and repeated it. Below, the ground shivered as if a creature concealed beneath the snow were beginning to stir. The radio bleated three sharp bursts. Gordon directed a thumbs-up to Virgil and gestured to those indents. "Get ready to take us in."
Virgil went to speak – presumably to voice concerns about landing on an unstable snowbank in the middle of nowhere with another radiation storm headed their way – only to trail off as the ground opened up before them. Snow scattered, hard-packed layers splintering like frosting and cascading into the dark depths below. Metal doors widened, retracting like open jaws to reveal a seemingly endless mouth of the beast. A circle of white lights lit up around the rim, illuminating the top of what could only be described as a massive metal well, descending deeper than the lights could reach.
For a second, no one said anything. Gordon remained braced against the dash, tipped in that half-awkward angle between the radio and Virgil's seat. Scott gripped the back of Gordon's chair and peered over his brother's shoulder to try to get a better look. The darkness seemed impossible – as if it were swallowing light itself. A voice in his mind whispered the door to hell. He repressed a shudder.
"Home sweet home," Gordon stage-whispered with no small dose of forced humour. John wordlessly lifted a scan which was blinking red - attempt blocked, deflected, security measures discovered – be it the GDF or a private bunker, whoever lay at the base of that tunnel didn't want strangers knowing what was concealed down there.
"Woah," Alan breathed, ducking under Scott's arm to reach the dash. He rose onto his toes, struggling to glimpse the full extent of the sight. "That's… that's kinda cool. Sketchy as heck, but kinda cool."
"Sketchy is putting it mildly," John muttered, still uneasy about the blocked scan. He caught Scott's gaze and then Virgil's, when their brother twisted in his seat to look at them. "I don't like this."
"We don't have anywhere else to go," Virgil said quietly, tilting his head towards Gordon in silent question. "And it's the GDF. They're the good guys, right?"
"Life is never as black and white as good guys versus bad guys," Scott corrected, not missing the way Gordon had yet to defend his supposed friends or even reassure them that this was safe. "But… you're right. We don't have anywhere else to go. At the very least we can stock up on supplies."
Supplies translated to more meds for John and everyone knew it but no one was prepared to actually voice this aloud. Virgil returned his attention to the controls and, very cautiously, began the descent until they reached the rim of the tunnel.
"Scott?"
Scott stole a glance at Gordon, still braced against the dash, expression unreadable. The slightest move knocked their shoulders together. Crosswinds swept over the snow, scattering ice onto the windows where it melted almost instantly. Gordon ducked his head, jaw clenched, tension rooted in his spine. He put out a hand instinctively to steady Alan as the aircraft rocked and the kid nearly smashed his chin against the dash.
And in the end, it came down to trust, didn't it? Did Scott like this? No. Not in the slightest. But did he trust Gordon not to lead them into a trap? Absolutely. So.
"Take us in."
"FAB. Beginning descent."
The tunnel was wider than it had looked from the air. There wasn't much margin for error with only a few inches between Two's wingtips and the sides, but that was plenty of room for an experienced pilot like Virgil. As soon as they'd cleared the entrance, that metal hatch closed, loudly, sending a rush of air downwards that had Virgil tightening his hold on the controls. Alan dropped into a crouch, Gordon's hand still gripping his shoulder. The darkness seemed infinite. It was an abyss. It was like staring into the spaces between the stars.
There was a soft click as John released his flight harness and moved to join them. Gordon slipped out of his chair without hesitation, looping an arm around the back of Virgil's seat, examining the cold metal slowly passing by the windows and pretending his move had nothing to do with the fact there was now a chair available for John. John didn't say anything either. Maybe there was that silent notion of understanding passing between them without a need for words.
"This is creepy," Alan murmured, craning his neck to peer through the windshield back up at the hatch doors, now lost to the darkness.
As they plunged deeper, the lights they had left behind flickered out and new sets, level with their wings, switched on so that above and below were encased in shadows and they remained within the glow at all times. Alan coiled a hoodie drawstring around his thumb, tightened it, released it, repeated the movement thrice, but anxiety continued to haunt him, beckoned like all ghosts by the dark. Gordon exhaled slowly and moved his hand to catch Alan's wrist.
"This is normal."
Alan stared at him. "Dude. This is nightmarish."
"Yeah, but like- I mean, I haven't entered this way before, but I've seen people use this entrance over the cameras and shit."
"Cameras?" John probed.
Gordon rolled his shoulders, moving to sink his hands into his pockets only to recall there weren't any on this suit. He crossed his arms over his chest instead, blinking owlishly in the dim light under the weight of John's stare.
"Yeah," he replied quietly, drumming a hand against his bicep. "There's uh…" He nodded to the lights, sinking out to be replaced with the next row. "They're watching us right now. Running scans of their own."
"They know who we are." John passed a hand over the red holograms where all links to the surface had been severed by blockers within the walls. "And yet they don't trust us."
"I wouldn't take it personally, Johnny," Scott muttered, eyeing those lights as if he would be able to spy cameras blinking back at him. "They're military. They don't trust anybody, not even themselves."
"Speaking from experience?" John's voice was level, but Scott glanced at him sharply, trying to diagnose the hidden meaning and coming up empty handed.
"Something like that," he answered at last.
Virgil slowed their descent as readouts placed them close to the ground. The final rung of lights throbbed from white to blue before plunging them into darkness. Only the glow of the cockpit lighting kept them from being engulfed entirely, accompanied by the reflection of golden flamed VTOLs across the metal walls.
Nothing happened. The darkness remained. Scans bounced off blockers and transformed John's console into eerie red. Crouched on the floor, Alan shuffled ever-so-slightly until his back collided with John's knees, instinct playing havoc with logic, because nothing about this was natural and they had no prior experiences with which to create a concluding comparison.
Virgil cleared his throat, trying to remain focussed. "Gordon? What now?"
"Just…" Gordon faltered. "Wait a minute," he finished, hand hovering over the radio. The golden lines of his GDF mask glinted in the dull light. The bright blue of that integrated tech was pulsating in the same pattern that he had created in the static upon their arrival.
Alan hunched his shoulders. "I don't like this." There was that sharp snap of defence in his tone, not quite fear but anticipation of a new threat. He reached across to John's console to prompt another scan but that red error alert remained obstinate. "Does anyone else feel trapped? Like, if we fly back up, are those doors gonna open or are we stuck down here?"
"We're not stuck," Gordon cut him off before he could trail into a new tangent. "It's… that's not what… just give it a minute. They're checking us."
He twisted to face them all, backed by the shadows, the ghost of exhaustion threatening to overpower his masks for a second before the final rung of lights outside reignited.
"Actually, that's something we're all going to have to go through. New arrivals are screened. Medical checks, background checks as far as possible – because if you can't provide a useful service there's no point in you being here – uh, weapons, those'll be confiscated until you leave the complex and need them again, quarantine for twenty-four hours before we'll be assigned roles and rooms."
John levelled him with an icy look. "And you didn't warn us about this before… why, exactly?"
"Because I didn't think about it!" Gordon tossed up his hands. "Sorry, I was kinda busy saving your asses." He bit back further comment, exhaling slowly. "Right. Okay. Sorry I didn't warn you. But please, God, don't rock the boat with this. Just go along with whatever they say."
Scott finally stumbled upon that missing puzzle piece. "You're afraid of them," he realised in a rush, knowing he was right from the slight widening of Gordon's eyes, that faint flinch, the instinctive curl of fingers into a fist because Gordon would always choose fight over flight. "The GDF – they scare you."
Gordon forced a laugh. It rang hollow. Alan rose back to his feet, openly concerned, reaching out only to fall short because Gordon jolted away from him as if there were an electric current in the space between them.
"Look," Gordon ground out, shifting into a strange angle that looked painful to maintain, sorta twisted – blocking them from view of the cameras, Scott realised – and tilted back against the dash to provide a false sense of ease to any onlookers. "I've seen people push back. Families. Friends. It's not… If you fuck up, or start asking too many questions, they'll throw you out regardless of how useful you are. And your family stay here. It's like… okay, so if Virgil and I came here together and Virg was helping with first aid, but I started asking questions, then they'd throw me out but because Virgil would be providing a service they wouldn't let him leave with me."
"I'd be a prisoner?"
"Virg, did I say that word at any point?"
"You literally just said…"
"We can't leave," Scott concluded, successfully putting an end to that argument before it could spiral out of hand. He caught Gordon's uncertain glance towards the lights, where hidden eyes remained observing. Were there ears in the walls too? He didn't want to risk it.
John held himself perfectly still. Which was a red flag, because since when did John not share his opinions on any of them making an idiotic decision?
Alan took a step back. "Why would you bring us here?" His voice was very small, ringing with betrayal, and Gordon looked sick with guilt, curling a hand around the underside of the dash until the metal knuckles of his glove dug painfully into his skin.
"I didn't mean to… It's safe here. And we're together. We can stay together, be safe, figure out our next move, and…" He trailed off, voice faintly strangled as Alan shook his head, stepping to Scott's side, widening the canyon between himself and Gordon so that the cockpit felt as if it were a divided battleground. "Guys, c'mon, I didn't lead you into a trap. We're not prisoners. It's kinda sketchy, yeah, but it's not… it's safe. Just don't rock the boat, that's all I'm saying."
"I can't believe this." Virgil's laugh was hysterical. "I cannot fucking believe you."
"Virgil," Scott warned, hushed, because he could see just how brittle Gordon's mask was right now and yeah, he was angry, of course he was, and there was that underlying sense of betrayal which felt like acid in his veins, but at the end of the day he was still going to look out for his brother and Gordon was closer to the edge than he'd seen him in a long time. "Save it for later. Right now, let's get through this screening process."
"I did this to keep us safe," Gordon whispered, sorta choked, eyes wide and tearful. "To keep us together. Everything that… all of it, it's all for us, don't you see? Everything I've done. There's the big picture and then there's the slightly smaller picture and then there are the fine details and I- You wanna say I've stabbed you in the back? Fine. Think that. But we're in a bunker with supplies and support and we're together and if we're gonna figure out this issue with John anywhere then it'll be here, so I don't regret this. I don't regret any of it and I've done a lot so… All I'm asking is for you not to ask questions."
"You brought Scott and John into a place where we can't ask questions?" Alan sounded incredulous, which, to be fair, was valid because Scott and John had a track record of sticking their noses where they shouldn't. But there were higher stakes this time. You couldn't code odds. Couldn't change physical reality with nothing more than good cards against the dealer of fate.
Gordon swiped a hand across his eyes. "Play the game," he said at last, stamping out the tremble to his voice. "One problem at a time. We fix ourselves. Then we figure out how to get outta here. And then we save the world. But for now…" He stepped aside to reveal a new doorway parting to another tunnel. "Let's not screw this up."
