Ellis had dedicated her every waking moment to research since Z-Day. She had not tried to curate a network for herself or made friends on more lucrative floors. She cared very little for anyone else in the bunker and in return she was mostly left alone which was exactly how she liked it.
Loss was a constant ache in her heart but if she buried herself in work then perhaps she could ignore it and eventually it would fade. It was strange how grief could be felt as absence. A part of her was missing and sometimes, when her eyes were too tired to focus and she had to call it a night, she wondered whether she'd ever feel whole again or if the unbearable loneliness was terminal.
Then she met the Tracys.
Ellis had learnt not to pay attention to any other residents. The bunker was a classic collection of elitists who cared little for the staff despite the fact that the very same people they looked down on were the ones who kept the place running. From the second she laid eyes on Scott and John Tracy, she knew they didn't fit in.
Oh, they certainly looked the part. They carried themselves with the same confidence and spoke with appropriately easy-going yet calculated words. But they were different and, as a sort-of outsider herself, Ellis was able to spot this.
With the exception of Noah Warren – who grated on her for some reason, always with that notepad and weaselly smile – Scott and John were the first people who seemed genuinely interested in her theories. She hadn't realised just how badly she'd needed someone to truly hear her until then.
She'd heard the rumours about them of course – stories spread like wildfire now that there were no longer any gossip magazines – that the eldest had suffered some sort of breakdown, there'd been an altercation with Belah Gaat, another brother was still receiving regular medical care and the youngest was a troublemaker who fancied himself as some sort of vigilante seeking justice on behalf of the workers.
It didn't fully add up, although she recognised some truth in the tales. Scott played the part and he played it well, but there was a certain sense of a mistreated animal about him. He was skittish at times. Always looked for the exits. Assessed each person as a potential threat. Instinctively leaned close to John. Flinched at sudden movements. Had a distinctive sharpness about him.
And then there was John, who seemed as if he were just waiting for an excuse to burn the world to ashes for a second time. If Scott looked for threats, then John looked for potential weapons. He nursed a deep-rooted anger but kept it carefully hidden.
There was a lot of sadness in him too – grief, which Ellis recognised from her own reflection. He had so many walls up that it was near impossible to get a read on him… until he interacted with his brother. Around Scott, all ice suddenly melted. There was such utter love between the two that Ellis buried herself in her notes to ignore it. It was like the sun – beautiful, but painful to look at directly.
And then she met the rest of the clan. Gordon was funny and clever with it too, far more than just a pretty face. He'd been hurt badly – on more than one occasion, Ellis suspected – but he was a resilient soul. Even on days when his ears rang so badly that he couldn't hear a word, he still had a smile for her. It was impossible not to like him. Jasmin, one of the little trio who had tagged along with the Tracys, clearly adored him. The hero-worship was very obvious, even if she tried to hide it beneath sarcastic quips and exasperated sighs whenever Gordon made a particularly terrible pun.
Alan. The baby of the family. Quick-witted, smart as a whip and fiercely protective with it – he hung back initially, observing Ellis before deciding she wasn't a threat. He evidently knew far more than his brothers realised but he seemed content to let them think that way. He wavered between subtlety and directness – switching on the TV subtitles on Gordon's bad days and sneaking out before anyone could discover it was his handiwork, but other times outright bossing Virgil into taking a break. He harboured guilt like a thick cloak. It constantly hung around his shoulders, threatening to drag him down. Ellis wondered how someone so young could bear it.
But Virgil. He made her want to cry. She never usually empathised with people so strongly. She'd been described as inhuman or a robot in the past for that exact reason. But there was something about Virgil which made her want to pull him aside and promise him that everything would be alright. He was so strong and yet fragile all at once. Ellis couldn't quite figure him out. He seemed determined to put twice as much kindness into the world for every cruelty it showed him. It was a dog-eat-dog society and she feared it would one day chew him up and spit him out a changed man.
So, she decided to help them. She was already doing the research – John's predicament was just another question and oh, she hadn't been so fascinated by a hypothesis since she'd first begun working on her PhD.
It took entirely too little time for her to grow attached. She'd warned herself against attachments after Pa's death but found herself looking forward to those times spent with the Tracys more than the rest of her days put together. It drew her loneliness into the spotlight now that she had the option to be around people again – safe people to be precise. And that was the trigger for a series of revelations.
Number one – she wanted to go with the Tracys despite the risks. They aimed to reach a GDF safe zone which reports claimed was situated somewhere north of Thunder Bay. The odds were against them but Ellis had weighed up her feelings on the matter and discovered that she would rather spend her final hours under the open sky surrounded by people she had come to care for than live out the rest of her years utterly alone in the bowels of the earth.
Number two – Noah Warren was not a friend nor an associate. He was not even truly interested in her work. She could tell the difference now that John was around because he asked questions and picked apart the data and raised theories that she seized upon like a starved animal wrestling for a scrap of meat. The contrast between John's curiosity and Noah's indifference was glaringly obvious.
So, if Noah wasn't actually interested, why the notes? Clearly he was working for someone else. It had to be someone with a lot of influence because Noah was not a bootlicker and besides, he was terminally ill. He had very little to lose. Whatever offer he'd been made had to be fantastic.
She set the problem aside to muddle over at a later date. Then John's condition worsened and he revealed details which raised more questions than answers. She'd always theorised that a vaccine would be less about genetic modification and more related to getting the body to recognise those parasitic cells which she believed already existed within it before they became activated.
Yet all of a sudden, Noah Warren kept pushing her to explore the DNA angle, despite her beliefs that it would be a wasted venture. Whoever his employer was, they were very interested in unlocking genetic secrets. The strangest part was the questions themselves – it seemed as if the mystery man believed there was a link between the hivemind and genetics.
The pieces began to fall into place after John explained Belah Gaat's – or to be precise, The Hood – connection. She still felt as if she were working with one arm tied behind her back though – she couldn't analyse anything without seeing the full picture. Unfortunately, the Tracys seemed to be even more in the dark than she was. Someone was masterminding the entire bunker and no one seemed to notice their puppet strings being pulled. Except, of course, for Ellis herself… and John.
"There's something else going on," he confided in her late one night, painted ghostly by holo-glows and lack of sleep. "I don't know what, but that doesn't bother me quite as much as the how, because I think the Hood is engineering the entire scheme and that should be impossible. He's incarcerated in a locked room. But he's talking with someone, and I'm not sure who. My top suspect was initially you – no, don't look offended, I've since ruled you out – but now I'm suspicious of Noah Warren."
"Warren has an invested interest in my research," she replied, trying to ignore the way her skin crawled at the name. "He seems particularly curious about the hivemind. He's developed some idea that it has a genetic link, which is ridiculous. Why would genetics come into it? He even made some ridiculous comment about twin telepathy which everyone knows is false."
John fell very quiet for a minute. "I told you that Scott and I are both connected to the hivemind. I left out a detail. We're also connected to each other. We don't know how or why, but I can… sense him and vice versa. When he was with the Hood… I heard him, El. As clear as if he was sitting right next to me."
"How is that…?"
"Possible?" John gave a tired chuckle. "Beats me. Welcome to the Twilight Zone, right? Anyway, that's not the point. When we rescued Scott, I let it slip that we're linked through the hivemind, which means the Hood knows. So, if your mystery man thinks there's a genetic component to the hivemind communication it's probably because the Hood's assumed Scott and I are connected because we're brothers. He wants to harness the hivemind for himself. It's been his plan all along."
Ellis took off her glasses, rubbed her tired eyes, then slid them back on.
"Alright," she agreed quietly. "So, Noah is working for the Hood. What do I tell him? I can't let him see our breakthroughs, not if it'll be fed right back to that bastard." She drew a sharp breath. "Are you going to tell the others?"
"No." John didn't hesitate. "Scott's doing better, but he's not in the greatest headspace. He needs to feel as safe as possible. I've told him that the Hood is secure and definitely can't reach him. I can't tell him that it might not be true. It would- It's not an option. Gordon's still recovering. I obviously wouldn't tell Alan. Virgil… He's dealing with a lot. He's keeping enough secrets from Scott at the moment without adding another to the list."
"So, it's just us?"
"Just us," John agreed.
He shoved his borrowed glasses into his hair, wincing at the dull headache from too-long spent staring at screens. Ellis pushed a bottle of water within his reach.
"Sooner or later, the Hood's going to make his move. When that happens, we're going to need a plan. Underestimating him is a bad idea. I've accidentally painted a target on my own back by mentioning the hivemind link, so he'll be coming for me."
Ellis stole a glance over her shoulder at the front door. It was locked but she couldn't shake the sense of being watched. She eyed her holo-projectors, wondering whether she was under surveillance after all. It didn't seem as farfetched as it ought to have done. Not for the first time, she wondered what she'd gotten herself into. Her Pa had always told her she was too darn curious for your own good, Els.
"Without his frequency, I have no idea how to block hivemind communications," she confessed. It was infuriating – being without knowledge was not usually a problem she struggled with.
John's frown looked sharper in the blue light. "Yeah, I know. As much as I'd like to…" A vein leapt in his clenched jaw as he bit back dark words. "…take him out of the picture, we still need him. He's the only person we know to have been bitten and since purged the parasite from his body."
"Any ideas on how to unlock those secrets?"
"One." John steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "But it's going to take a sacrifice from you. Sorry."
Ellis inwardly groaned. "Elaborate."
"Men like the Hood love to feel superior. I need you to leave out gaps in your explanation. Make obvious errors. Not too obvious though – he knows you're a genius. Just enough to let him boost his own ego by overexplaining to you."
"And when he explains…"
"He's likely to supply additional information, exactly. And if that's not enough, then there are always… other ways to make him talk."
"You're an astronaut. You have no military background. What do you know about torture?"
"More than I should," John muttered. "Anyway, I'm a trained first responder. I know human anatomy, which means I know where it really fucking hurts. So, if it comes down to it… I'm prepared."
Ellis studied him. "You want it to reach that point."
"Would it make you feel better if I denied it?"
"I prefer the truth in any situation."
John lowered his gaze to the scrawled notes under his hands without truly seeing them.
"Then here's your truth – yes, I hope it does happen."
There was a darkness in his voice which startled her.
"The Hood nearly drove my brother to kill himself. And I still don't know the full details of what Scott went through. All I have are medical findings and what little I could scrape from the projectors before they were scrubbed by security. But at one point I had him in my arms while he begged me to let him die. And I couldn't make it better. I couldn't do anything to make it hurt any less. All I could do was hold him. So, yes, I hope I do get to tear the Hood to pieces, but even then he'll never understand pain like that."
He drew a steadying breath.
"I'm telling you this in full confidence. None of it is to be repeated. Not to Virgil, not to anyone."
"Of course." Ellis hesitated. Comfort was not her speciality, but she felt like she should at least try. "I think, given the circumstances, you've done a remarkable job. Scott is lucky to have you."
John's laugh was brittle. He buried his face in his hands.
"No, he's not. I can sense his feelings through the hivemind, Ellis. I could feel this crippling desperation, but I ignored it because- I don't even know. I thought it would ease up. We'd finally reached a safe place – safe from the infected, anyway. I figured he'd sleep, get a decent meal for once and then… what? He'd be fine? Just like that? I lied to myself, so Virgil can claim otherwise but the truth is that I could have stopped it. I could have spoken up at any moment but I didn't."
"Why not?"
John blinked. The question had taken him by surprise. He was clearly used to easy platitudes. Ellis knew those wouldn't help him. You had to get to the crux of these things, lance to the heart of the infection before the wound could heal.
"I was scared."
John's voice was painfully small. He pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Ellis pretended not to notice the sheen of unshed tears.
"You were scared?" she prompted.
"There are two years between us. Two and a half, to be precise. Seemed like a lot when we were kids. Scott would lord it over me and it used to drive me up the wall, especially because he was the ultimate golden boy. Everyone loved him. He'd bring home the sports medals as well as the grades and it didn't feel like I could ever measure up, no matter how brilliantly I did in school. Christ, I resented him for it. Hated him, even. And I think - looking back on those years now – that probably hurt him more than he let on.
But then we lost our mom. And our dad… he didn't handle his grief very well. He didn't handle it at all, to be honest. So suddenly those two and a half years didn't mean a thing because Scott and I became equals. He couldn't handle it alone, although God knows he tried. And ever since then, we're still equals. He trusts me with things he wouldn't even tell Virgil. But the thing is… He's still my big brother. And it's made worse because he's such a big presence until he isn't, so the contrast is right there. So, there's a part of me which is terrified whenever anything happens to him, because… it's Scott. He's always been there."
He cleared his throat, scrubbed his hands down his face, attempted to sound more put together.
"I didn't say anything because I kept hoping that I was wrong. Once I vocalised it, suddenly my fears might become true. It's illogical, I know. The fucking irony is that if I'd spoken up then, we wouldn't have ended up in such a bad situation. And I know it's pointless to go over the past. In my line of work, what-ifs were a non-starter unless you wanted to drive yourself insane. But I can't stop thinking about it."
Ellis had learnt over the years that in most circumstances people didn't want solutions. They just needed to be heard. So, she sat back in her chair, folded her hands neatly in her lap, and listened.
"Here's a fact about my brother – he gets self-destructive when he's overwhelmed. It's his way of proving to himself that he's still in control. If that weren't enough of a problem, he has an abysmal sense of self-worth and I honestly have no idea where it came from. Add in survivor's guilt and imposter's syndrome and suddenly he's convinced himself that he deserves pain, so the self-destructive habits continue, only that makes him feel even worse and it becomes a vicious circle. In other words, he gets stuck in a loop which doesn't end until something knocks him out of it or he gets so low that he crashes for a few days until his brain resets itself."
John picked at the tiny grooves in the tabletop to distract his hands.
"He doesn't even recognise it in himself. He doesn't see when he's being self-destructive. If the tables were turned, he'd call me out in a heartbeat. He used to finish back-to-back rescues and then try to complete paperwork until he fell asleep at the desk, but he never thought it was unhealthy. One time he actually blacked out. The idiot still thinks I don't know about that occasion. The point is, it's obvious to tell when he's spiralling because he goes from reckless to downright dangerous. So, the signs were staring me in the face. But I ignored them. And now we're here."
Ellis waited until it was clear he had finished.
"John, I'll be honest – regardless of where the blame lies, does it matter? Feeling guilty doesn't solve anything. What's the point? Focus on moving forward, on healing. Surely that's the important part. What-ifs are just as dangerous in the apocalypse than they were on rescues."
John's smile was slow dawning but bright.
Ellis arched a brow. "What?"
"You're the first person here to actually call it the apocalypse."
"Oh, don't get me started on the End Times."
John let out an undignified snort. "They're living in a fantasy world."
"Believe me, I know." She shut down the holo-projectors. "Get out of here, John. Go see your family. I've got the results from earlier's tests to write up, anyway. Oh, and do everyone a favour? Stop blaming yourself. You criticise Scott for not recognising when he's being unnecessarily harsh on himself, but you're the exact same way. It's infuriating."
After that, they set the plan in motion. Except, of course, everything immediately fell to pieces. Scott got dragged into the hivemind and started acting strangely. John accidentally overdosed. Noah Warren began sniffing at Ellis' genetics research again. And now they were here, in the middle of their meeting with the Hood, at a loss. Ellis met John's gaze and read the unease in her friend's eyes because this was not the plan.
Ellis waited until John, Virgil and Scott had left the room, then rolled up her sleeves, pushed her glasses into place and mentally apologised to herself. All these years of fighting to be taken seriously and now she was going to deliberately play the fool to massage a rich man's ego. Unbelievable. Still. Sacrifices were necessary. She fixed a smile on her face and projected her edited, much-reduced timeline onto the wall.
"Mr Gaat, shall I talk you through my research so far?"
The Hood's eye gleamed.
Across the table, Gordon Tracy flipped his knife like an elaborate coin trick and stared as if he could see into their souls.
The Hood smirked. "Go ahead, doctor."
Ellis repressed a curse.
Scott didn't have Gordon's talent for reading body language, nor John's uncanny ability to know what people were thinking without needing to hear a word, but his instincts were unparalleled. He compartmentalised every other emotion and focussed on those feelings to identify lies versus truths, manipulative side comments as opposed to genuine observations, and every other detail dropped by the Hood during his explanation.
During that time, Scott came to a realisation which really wasn't all that surprising – the Hood was puppeteering the entire room, but John had set his own plan in motion. Ellis also seemed to be in on whatever scheme he'd cooked up. He was playing a dangerous game of chess against the Hood and it was unclear as to who was winning, but one thing was certain – the stakes were increasing.
The Hood took great delight in correcting Ellis' timeline. His knowledge of the parasite's evolution was disturbing at best and downright terrifying at worst. Scott had walked through the hivemind, yet even he didn't have such an intricate understanding of how it worked. He held himself perfectly still in his chair and listened, slotting mental puzzle pieces into place whilst trying to ignore resurfaced memories triggered by the Hood's voice.
In a world full of digital frontiers which continued to push boundaries beyond engineering limits, people instinctively reached for technology. Information was stored as data. Outside of academics, hardly anyone used physical copies unless it was their personal preference to pick up a book rather than a hologram. If it wasn't online, it was unknown and, often, it wasn't taken seriously. The parasite existed only in stories and a single sentence in a highly classified file on a secure GDF. It was destined to become a lost relic… until the Hood stumbled upon folklore tales of a god who had controlled the undead.
It was like the telephone game. Years had warped stories so that only a few embers of truth remained. Many leads were dead ends. It was easily one of the most irritating projects the Hood had ever embarked on. And yet. There was clearly some weight to the tales. Trek through history far enough and suddenly a wealth of information was revealed. Written works, spoken words, even cave paintings – the parasite was a myth rooted in reality.
The Hood was not a complete fool. He was very aware that there was no such thing as raising the dead to form his own private army. But the phrasing in itself intrigued him – the undead. He put out feelers amongst his associates in the area and uncovered a tale which had been written off as a horror story – a wave of sickness which shrouded the land in death and turned people to mindless monsters, who had seemed to be psychically connected and controlled by a mere thought by one, unnamed man who'd contracted the infection but had survived.
Psychic connection? That would be a game-changer. The Hood could own the world with little more than a thought. And if anyone opposed him – such a certain family who had a track record of meddling where they weren't welcome – then he could easily dispose of the threat. So. He dug a little deeper, sank more funding into research and turned to a recently acquired asset in the GDF, a disgruntled colonel whose hunger for power almost rivalled the Hood's own. Almost.
Richard Jenkins opened doors which had previously remained obstinately shut. The Hood would have his hands on a live sample of the parasite by early June. It seemed almost too easy, but he didn't dwell on the thought. He was about to unlock the greatest achievement of his life – why worry? But Jenkins was fast becoming an issue – the man wasn't far off being certifiably insane, describing global plans which were too extreme even by the Hood's measures. So, the Hood took countermeasures.
He sent word to the appropriate people to warn them of a potential attack on GDF-run Centres for Disease Control. He even attached his own name to the scheme to increase the validity. Jenkins, predictably, cut ties to cover his own ass, pretending that he had never been in contact with the Hood. Meanwhile, the Hood waited and watched for his chance to take a sample without having to rely on any psychotic colonels. Sure enough, it only took three weeks for the GDF to decide – against advice – to split the parasite into smaller samples and transfer each one to new secure locations.
Highly predictable.
The Hood sent his henchmen to retrieve a sample, staging a major incident on the NH-14 road roughly twenty miles outside the city of Palanpur. In the confusion, his team – one of whom had gone undercover as a GDF agent and so was in charge of guarding the sample in transit – stole the vial and attempted to make a run for it. Things did not go according to plan. There was a containment breach. Everything began to fall apart.
The Hood was faced with the sinking dread that he had made a grave error. It was not a feeling that he cared for. But he had the facts, and they were telling him one thing – it was time to get the hell off Planet Earth. He tapped into GDF intel to confirm his suspicions and learnt the truth – the parasite was already beginning to follow the same pattern as it had done throughout all of known history.
Hush-hush cover-ups began. Armies prepared for war. Bunkers, fortified safehouses, satellites – construction had never been such a lucrative market. The Top-One-Percent ensured their own safety and then secured their luxuries too. By July, every painting in the Louvre had been replaced by immaculate forgeries whilst the real pieces were locked away in vaults or tempted into rich hands at the wave of a wallet. The Hood, tucked away on his satellite, observing his wall of priceless artwork, considered the possibility that he might possibly have fucked up. Just a little. How was he supposed to own the world if there was no one left in it?
History didn't lie. Every three-hundred years there was an outbreak. It was normally localised, kept within a single village in the middle of nowhere where the entire population became infected and died off without ever reaching another settlement. But then the parasite seemed to go dormant. According to patterns, it should have risen up in second half of the twentieth century. Yet it remained silent.
"Why?" Virgil asked very quietly, glancing to Ellis for any proposed theories.
Ellis worried her lower lip with her teeth. "I suppose… We know the parasite is vulnerable to fire, this specific frequency and... radiation."
"Cold War," Scott realised. "There would have been an increase in radiation as a result of all the nuclear tests, right?"
"Nothing severe enough to impact humans," Ellis agreed, "But the parasite has a higher sensitivity."
"So… what?" Gordon sat upright, knocking several stacks of paper off the table. He cast Ellis a guilty look. "The parasite stayed asleep until the containment breach? And all of a sudden it's like, hey, these people don't seem very radioactive, guess I'll wake up now? Is that what we're saying? Because it doesn't make sense. Els, you said it's already incubating in every human, just waiting to be activated. But somehow it got triggered in a bunch of people globally. The world went dark in under forty-eight hours. If we're already infected, why didn't the hivemind just… take all of us?"
"The hivemind requires a host. Someone with immunity, to be precise, otherwise it automatically begins to consume them. It nests in their head and uses them to activate the cells in every person they come into close proximity with. It's evolved to use our very own adaptation against us. However, this uses a lot of energy, so it only activates the minimum requirement, after which it relies on the infection being passed on through bites."
The Hood observed their shell-shocked expressions as his words sank in.
"In other words, John, if you had been bitten during the first week of the outbreak, you would have triggered the parasite in each of your brothers." His twisted smile grew wider. "Just think about it. Do you know what it's like to actually turn? To feel the infection taking over? It's agonising. It feels as if your skin is melting, organs liquidising, every neuron screaming, followed by the hell of witnessing your own body breaking apart, feeling your teeth tear into the flesh of another human. Isn't in fun to consider how your very presence might have condemned them, Scott?"
Gordon surged from his chair to slam the Hood against the wall. He pinned him in place, tightening one hand around the man's neck until his breaths grew desperate and strained. The Hood couldn't struggle to free himself with his hands cuffed. His eyes bulged like a snared rabbit. He clawed at the concrete until torn skin dangled from his fingertips, oozing blood. Strange, garbled gasps escaped his throat.
"I'm going to let you down now," Gordon informed him in a deathly cold voice. "Keep his name out of your mouth or next time I won't stop."
The Hood staggered, only just managing to stay on his feet. He clasped his hands to his throat as best he could whilst in cuffs. He leant against the wall, gulping down air like a drowning man. His face was flushed, fingers smeared with blood, chest still heaving. He turned a baleful glare on Gordon and announced venomously,
"Would you like to know a fact about the parasite?" Speaking made him splutter, coughs rasping over his bruised windpipe, but he spat the words out regardless. "The most nutritious part of the human body is the brain, but it saves that 'til last, so they can take the largest energy gain before moving onto a new victim. That means the person is trapped in there, like a waking coma."
Gordon grew very still. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Anything you want it to." The Hood's grin bared teeth. "I do hope I haven't drawn up old memories."
Oh, hell no.
For someone who claimed to be a criminal mastermind, the Hood had just made an incredibly idiotic choice. Deliberately invoking the wrath of three big brothers, at least one of whom was already plotting the man's death, was short-sighted if not downright dangerous.
It also happened to be the most unintentionally helpful move he could have made as it cleared Scott's head for the first time all day. The rush of overprotective fury cut through the fog like a bolt of adrenaline. He didn't have time to let fear creep in at being so close to the Hood – he'd already moved, wrapping a hand around Gordon's bicep and tugging his little brother behind him.
Virgil swept in front of them, blocking Scott's view of the manic smile which haunted his memories. He tightened his grip on Gordon's arm subconsciously, nudging his brother a little further away whilst Virgil took up the role of human shield.
"Gords?" Virgil called without looking away from the Hood. "You okay?"
Gordon shook off unwanted memories.
"Yeah." He drew himself up to his full height, eyes cold with ex-military steel. "Never better."
Scott let him go with a final surveying glance. The only sign that Gordon was shaken by the comment was the fact he still held himself perfectly still, breathing kept to a precise pattern. He was leaning slightly heavier on his left foot so that the knife hilt pressed against his ankle, as if to reassure himself that he was armed. Clenched fists promised that he was mostly angry as opposed to upset, while gritted teeth whispered that the infamous Tracy Temper was only just being kept under wraps.
Virgil held the Hood's challenging stare without a word. Scott stepped up to stand at his brother's side. Tension seemed palpable, thick enough to choke on. It felt as if they were standing at a precipice and Scott was unsure as to which move would save them or tip them all over the edge. He was vividly reminded of that quarry cliff in the hivemind – and in his childhood – so much so that he could practically hear the roaring wind in his ears.
The Hood attempted to smooth creases out of his shirt. He lofted his chin, dark amusement spreading from his smile.
"You're all so easily riled, aren't you? Snappy little dogs with no real bite."
Scott lost track of any logical thought. Anger was fiery in his blood, spreading outwards until he curled his hands into fists. He let it envelop him, leaning into the rage. It pushed aside fear and left no room for doubt. All roads supposedly led to Rome, but his always carried him back to the Hood and he was done with it, with all of it. The world was ending but this bastard still managed to make everything worse.
Virgil caught his wrist before Scott could give into the temptation to knock that smarmy smile off the Hood's face. N.O.T. Y.E.T. H.E. S.T.I.L.L. H.A.S. I.N.F.O.
Scott reluctantly let the rage dissipate, but it didn't fade entirely, settling in the pit of dread and undying terror in his stomach. He turned away and caught Gordon's stony expression as his brother tried to repress thoughts of comas, grief and the idea that history ran in circles and was doomed to repeat itself just in slightly different variations – trapped in a monster rather than a hospital bed.
"In just under thirteen minutes, the effects of your frequency will wear off."
John's voice was clipped like snapping piano strings. There was something unreadable in his eyes and Scott couldn't pinpoint what, just that it was deadly. Based off Virgil's uncertain step backwards, away from his brother as well as the Hood, he was unnerved too.
"When that happens, the hivemind will be back in my head. Do I need to remind you that it wants you dead? Wants to tear you apart, to be precise."
John was skinny enough that a strong breeze could have knocked him over. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had been shaking like a leaf in Scott's arms at risk of his heart giving out. Yet somehow, towering over the Hood, smile icy with pure vengeance, he seemed stronger than any force of nature.
"You have one last chance. If I don't like what I hear, I'll let the hivemind take control. It can do with you whatever it wants."
The Hood studied John's face. "It would put your precious brothers at risk. You wouldn't dare."
John just smiled.
"Wouldn't I?" he taunted, in a tone which practically sang fuck around and find out.
Gordon's apprehension melted into a dangerous grin. "Try him. Go on, I dare you. Push your luck. See where it gets you."
Scott couldn't get a read on John. He couldn't tell if his brother would actually go ahead with it. After all, the Hood had a valid point – allowing the hivemind to take over would be a threat to all of them and there was no guarantee that Scott would be able to pull him out of it this time. Fire was losing its effect too. He instinctively reached for that strange, uncanny sense of foreign feeling which had tied them together for months, only to find his head empty. Right. The Hood had blocked the link.
"John," Virgil said softly. Nothing else. Just his name.
John's shoulders slumped ever-so-slightly. Barely noticeable. It was the only sign that he'd backed down – a deliberately small gesture that the Hood would miss but his brothers would pick up on. He cast a final cold stare over the Hood, then returned to Ellis' side, who was anxiously twisting her hands in the corner.
"You're immune. You were a carrier for a time. You cut the connection and purged the parasite from your body," John stated as if it were certifiable fact. The Hood made no attempt to dispute it. "How? The frequency alone wouldn't be sufficient."
The Hood deliberated over his next move. Scott caught John's exasperated glance and was suddenly struck by the urge to laugh. The entire situation was ridiculous. Seriously, what the fuck? It was the zombie apocalypse and the Hood was still trying to claw his way to the top. What was there left to own? Nothing. A few scattered bunkers and armed forces which were either corrupt or in complete disarray – not exactly anything to get excited about. It would be almost funny if the Hood's crazed hunger for power hadn't killed people in the process.
"It's a simple question," John snapped, finally losing his cool. He stormed back to the Hood and seized a fistful of the man's lapel. "How did you do it?"
A hint of desperation crept into his voice. His hands were shaking slightly, a vivid reminder that he had received emergency care less than a day ago. Scott wanted to haul him out of the room and maybe even march him down to Medical for a full check-up because dammit Johnny, stop pushing your luck. He was also excruciatingly conscious of the calculating light in the Hood's eye. Desperate people. He flattened himself to the wall and folded his arms across his chest, trying to ignore the way his skin crawled. It didn't matter how many threats they made – the Hood still seemed to be in control.
"Systemic radiotherapy."
Virgil went to speak, then paused. A puzzled frown crossed his features.
Ellis beat him to the chase. "Radiotherapy is a local treatment. Systemic passes through the entire body, true, but it still focusses on a specific area. The parasite doesn't show up as a tumour. It seems to mimic cells. How can radiotherapy work?"
The Hood sank heavily into his chair. Apparently being put in a chokehold had taken more out of him than he cared to admit.
"It doesn't need to target the parasite directly. Its presence is enough to create a hostile environment. The parasite tries to leave and in doing so exposes itself to the radiation." The Hood waved a hand vaguely. "There are, of course, side effects. The smaller the dosage the better, especially given your current state."
John bristled at that remark.
"The parasite shows up in tests when the hivemind is most active," Ellis pointed out, lowering her tablet as realisation dawned. "It's a reasonable conclusion that a stronger hivemind connection draws the parasite to the surface where it could be targeted. You could use a smaller amount and it would still be effective."
"You'd need a distraction," the Hood added with a distinct air of boredom. He examined the red marks where the handcuffs had rubbed his wrists. "Otherwise the parasite would realise it was under attack and might take… countermeasures before the radiation takes effect."
"How the hell do you distract the hivemind?" Gordon wondered aloud.
The Hood shrugged. "In my case? Using the frequency. But that also pushes the parasite back into hiding, so I required a larger dose of radiotherapy. It wasn't an issue for me, but your brother..." He turned a shark-smile on John. "You're too weak. It would kill you."
Scott tried to ignore that comment. He caught John's eye. "A frequency isn't the only way to distract the hivemind. What if…?"
He let John read the idea off his face, reluctant to give any hints to the Hood.
What if I willingly enter the hivemind and distract it?
John stared at him incredulously. In other words, what if you can't find your way back?
"We're dealing with too many what-ifs," Virgil remarked. "I don't like it."
"Then there's no harm in adding another to the list." Scott held John's gaze. "It's the best chance we have at kicking this thing out of us both."
The Hood's laugh was slow and unsettling. "Why bother?"
Gordon twisted to face him so quickly that he nearly gave himself whiplash. "What's that supposed to mean? Is this supposed to be another fucked up mind-game? Because let me tell you, buddy, I'm real' sick of those and I've got half a mind to shove this knife where the sun don't shine."
"Charming," the Hood drawled. "But no. I'm simply drawing your attention to the fact that humanity is running out of time."
"And what would you know about humanity?" Virgil interrupted, voice sharp-edged and accusatory. He'd moved his chair closer so that he could knock his knee against Scott's. "You're worse than the infected."
The Hood gave a dismissive sigh. "My personal humanity is not the question. I'm talking about humankind as a whole. Our species is at threat of extinction. Records suggest that the parasite goes through phases. Consider the metamorphosis of a caterpillar into a butterfly – each stage is very different in appearance."
Ellis plucked a stylus from behind her ear and opened up a new note on her tablet.
"Elaborate," she instructed, hungry with the desire for new information.
"Your theory that we already carry the parasite in our bloodstream is correct," the Hood began slowly, gaze flickering between Ellis' eager smile and John's pensive frown. "But has the question occurred to you of how it got there to begin with?"
Ellis faltered, stylus hovering mid-air as she slowly lowered it, notes abandoned. She opened her mouth to reply, only for John to gesture for silence. A long look passed between the two. John folded his arms and leant against the wall. A moment later, Ellis cleared her throat and motioned wordlessly for the Hood to continue.
"The parasite gorges itself until it has generated enough energy to produce spores."
Gordon tilted his head slightly. "Like fungi?"
"Similar, yes." The Hood recalled who he was speaking to and hastily added a glare. "These spores infect the remaining population and somehow is passed down through subsequent generations, lying dormant until activated."
"Immunity is an evolutionary response," Ellis murmured. "It's adapted to use our own defence against us." She tapped her stylus against the tablet thoughtfully. "Any theories as to how the spores spread? Water? Cross-species contamination?"
"Airborne." For once, the Hood sounded genuine. The word was twisted by dread. "In smaller outbreaks, it was never as much of an issue. The infected didn't travel very far and consequently the spores only existed within a small area. But this a pandemic. We're talking about the spread of spores on a global scale."
"Even if we save the world this time, we'd only be delaying the next apocalypse." Scott didn't realise he'd spoken aloud until he glimpsed the stark horror on Gordon's face. "There's got to be a way to stop the release of those spores."
"Ah yes," the Hood drawled, "Just pull another Tracy miracle out of thin air. Don't be ridiculous. It's not possible. You can't stop this. It's inevitable. There is no cure. There never was. This is it."
Scott lost his ability to breathe. The tightness in his lungs had returned, accompanied by a dull pain in his chest. Panic formed a burning lump at the back of his throat. He swallowed and tried not to draw attention to himself. He couldn't shake the nagging question which rattled around his skull like a cursed pinball machine. It was all he could think about.
If the Hood didn't believe in a cure, then why had he tormented Scott for those four agonising days? For his own amusement? To get his hands on immune blood so that he had something to trade?
Had all that suffering been for nothing? The only thing worse than the experience itself was the idea that it might have been pointless. Scott hated the fact that human trials had ended in tragedy but at least it implied that there had been an attempt made at a working vaccine. But now it seemed as if the Hood had never really believed in it all. It had just been a calculated move to stay favourable amongst other residents. His only true interest all along had been the hivemind.
"Why?" Scott demanded, uncaring about his own desperate tone or the way that his voice stumbled as he tried to gasp in air. "Why did you- Did you ever believe in a vaccine?"
The Hood barely spared him a glance and Scott wanted to scream at him, look at me! You at least owe me that much! You nearly killed me, I nearly killed myself, and for what?
"Scott," Virgil ventured, reaching for his wrist.
Scott smacked his brother's hand away. "Answer the fucking question."
"I hardly see the relevance." The Hood inspected the flecks of blood on his slacks. "If you must know then no, I didn't. But how else am I supposed to build an empire? People would sell their souls to get their hands on a vaccine. I would be their god. It doesn't even need to work - hope is a powerful agent on its own."
He locked eyes with Scott. Pure malice gleamed in his cold smile.
"Of course, I had to make it seem real initially. Blood samples from an immune subject, human testing and so on, just until rumours spread. I'll have the entire population – what's left of it, anyway – begging. I'll have complete control. And by the time anyone discovers the vaccine is a ruse, I'll have already won. Like I said-" His smile widened. "-I got what I needed from you."
And it was meaningless, Scott thought desperately, feeling as if the water had closed over his head again and he was sinking further from the surface.
Everything I went through was for nothing.
Weeks of pain, flinching from even the gentlest of touches, clawing his way through hell. Constant dread slinking under his skin just waiting for the next tragedy to occur. Memories which were still resurfacing. Seeing threat in empty shadows. Jolting awake screaming. Losing his grasp on reality as his mind tried to protect him from further pain. The tremors which never fully left him. Raised voices sending him back there. The litany of scars etched across his skin.
It had nearly cost him his life several times over, yet all of it had been pointless.
"Scott," Virgil was saying, more urgently this time. His hands hovered awkwardly above Scott's back, uncertain as to whether touch was on the cards. Gordon pushed himself from his seat and rounded the table, knife at the ready, only there was no enemy to attack, no way to undo what had been done.
Scott couldn't look away from the Hood's remorseless smile. The man even seemed bored. It shouldn't have been surprising but Scott still felt that indifference like a slap in the face. He dropped his gaze to the contrast of prosthetic versus scarred skin and recalled those same hands guiding a blade over his throat just shy of drawing blood until it met his frantic pulse, drugged out of his mind and unable to even twitch a fingertip as the Hood mused, knives remind you of that place, don't they? Maybe you're still there. Perhaps I'm an illusion and you never left…
"You said you got what you wanted." Scott forced out the words, nearly choking on them. His voice was as ragged as if the Hood had truly slit his throat all those weeks ago. "What was it?"
The Hood leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, amusement drawing his ruined face into a collection of shadows. Scott flinched before he even heard the answer.
"To own you." The Hood's laugh was stolen from every monster in each nightmare. "You'll never truly escape. You must have realised that by now. You will always be under my control because the mere thought of me will reduce you to panic. You'll never be whole again. You'll never be good, not when a part of you has been replaced by fear and dread. I broke you, Scott Tracy."
The aftermath only lasted for a split second, but in that instant time seemed warped, stretching out to an infinitely long moment. Scott's instincts were opposing forces – denial twisted into something bitter and hateful which longed to respond with violence versus an exhausted sense of acceptance which threatened to pull him from his body and leave him utterly detached yet again. The two cancelled out each other, leaving him frozen as if he'd been slapped.
Light-headedness played havoc with his vision. You didn't break me was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to voice the words for fear that they weren't actually true. Because what if the Hood was right? There seemed to be very little left of his pre-Z-Day self. The world had chipped away at his armour until it had shattered and then the Hood had sunk his claws into the exposed vulnerabilities which lay beneath.
His lack of reaction was probably a blessing because it prompted Gordon to abandon vengeance in favour of concern. That knife clattered onto the table with a heavy clang which knocked holograms into disarray. Gordon shot the Hood a final furious glare and whirled around to focus on Scott.
"I'm fine," Scott tried to persuade him, sort of frantic, trying to convince himself as well as his brother. He gripped the rim of the table behind him. Memories crowded at the edge of his conscious mind. He could sense them there – a great wealth of darkness like storm clouds gathered along a horizon. They threatened to topple over at any moment and he didn't want to remember.
Gordon kept his expression deliberately schooled, but he'd never been good at hiding the emotions in his eyes and right now they betrayed just how worried he was. His touch was firm but gentle as he caught Scott's biceps and eased him into sitting down, side-stepping to block the Hood from view. Steel anger held his shoulders taut. He was evidently itching to get his hands on the man who had caused so much unnecessary pain.
"I'm fine," Scott assured him, a hint of his own rage creeping into his voice. He tightened his hands around the smooth curve of the table. "Are we done here?"
"Oh, we're more than done."
Scott was unprepared for the sheer depth of darkness in Gordon's voice. He glanced to the knife, only to register that it was missing. Spatial awareness trickled back. It hadn't occurred to him just how detached he had been until the realisation crashed down. He pushed himself to his feet and shoved Gordon aside just in time to witness Virgil give into the silent, creeping desire for revenge.
The impact of knuckles against jawbone generated a distinct crack. The Hood's skull smacked against the wall with enough force to leave him disorientated. Blood smeared his chin from a split lip. He gingerly probed his throbbing cheek, examined the blood on his fingertips, and looked up with a dawning smile. The unhinged quality spread to his eyes. Pain was an adrenaline shot with the additional manic effect of a few too many strong drinks.
"Is that all you've got?"
Virgil rarely let his anger take control, but now, still breathing heavily, knuckles stained red by bruises and blood, all inhibitions had been discarded.
"Oh, believe me-" There wasn't a trace of his usual warmth, just pure, unfiltered venom. "-I'm just getting started."
"Virgil." Scott injected just enough of his Commander tones into his voice to make his brother pause. He caught Virgil's shoulder. "Don't give him the satisfaction. He's not worth it."
"He's not," Virgil agreed, still clenching his fists. "But you are."
The Hood's head lolled as he tipped back in his chair. His laughter dropped the room temperature. He seemed to almost dare them to lay a hand on him as if it were some sort of test.
Scott was convinced that there was some greater plan in motion and he was sick and tired of being a pawn in another's game. He was done with it. They had the Hood's frequency and basic knowledge of how to purge the parasite from himself and John. He didn't give a shit about the Hood's schemes. Not anymore. Right now, all he wanted was to take his family and walk the hell away.
"Virgil," Scott repeated, softer this time. He squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Let's go."
Gordon stepped into place on Virgil's other side to form a united front. "Scott's right. We've got nothing to prove, so I say screw this and let's get the hell outta here."
The fury in his eyes suggested that he secretly didn't agree with his own claim. Had Virgil not been present, he probably would have taken that knife and shown the Hood exactly much blood the human body could stand to lose. But not now. Not yet anyway.
"Virgil," John said calmly – and there was a certain icy quality to his voice which send a chill down Scott's spine because he had only heard John sound like that once before but this time the hivemind could not be blamed. "Leave him. You're not a violent person and you'll regret it. This is my time for revenge. I've been waiting for my chance. I've had to watch for years, always too late. Well, not this time. Never again."
Ellis backed away, uncertainty stamped across her features. She hugged a tablet to her chest like a shield. Scott surreptitiously drew her fear to Virgil's attention and bit back a relieved sigh when Virgil's caretaker instincts overrode that desire for vengeance, hurrying over to draw her out of the room, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in case she tried to look back.
The Hood swallowed, craning his neck to glimpse John's face. "Go on then. Kill me. See if it'll make up for all the times you failed him."
"He never failed me."
Scott couldn't keep the fury out of his voice. Attack him, sure, but not his brothers.
Sharp light snapped off the knife in John's hands. He seemed disconcertingly accustomed to handling such a weapon. The ice in his voice seemed to infect everything and everyone. Even Gordon appeared frozen, unsure whether to stop John or drag Scott from the room. Scott caught himself holding his breath. That same unnerved apprehension had taken root in the Hood's chest too as he tried to back up in his chair.
John didn't seem to draw any satisfaction from installing such fear. He didn't appear to entertain any emotion at all. He offered a final deadly smile then plunged the knife into the Hood's shoulder. It sank into the spiderweb of scars left over from Alan's attack, tearing through still-healing nerves and evoking a tormented scream. The Hood scrabbled at the armrests, unable to escape, held at a Tracy's mercy for the second time.
"You will never be able to comprehend the pain you have put my family through," John hissed through gritted teeth, twisting the knife. There was a godawful sucking noise as the blade sliced through tortured flesh. Blood soaked the ruined suit and the chair and dripped from John's hands. "But allow me to help you begin to understand."
The Hood's choked howl cut off as his voice broke. His nails splintered as they carved grooves in the armrests.
"You've got the devil in you," he spat, frothy blood pooling in his mouth.
John just smiled.
"Yeah, we're old friends." He yanked the knife free. "I'm not going to kill you, Hood. Not until you learn what it means to beg for your own death."
The Hood sucked in a wheezing lungful of air. "Would your father be proud of what you've become?"
"No," John replied sharply, "He wouldn't. But he's not here and I am. You made me this way. You created your own reckoning. You think I don't know about your schemes? You think you can still come out on top? You signed your own death warrant the second you laid your hands on my brother."
"John," Gordon whispered fearfully. He cast an uncertain glance at Scott. "I…"
John sank the knife through the Hood's hand and left him pinned to the chair like a dying butterfly. He turned back to his brothers.
"Leave."
"John," Gordon tried again.
"Get out. I don't want you seeing this." John took a deep breath. "Scott. Let me do this. He's the only one of your demons which I can kill. You know as well as I do that we're never going to be safe as long as he's still alive. This only ends one way."
Gordon looked between them with wide eyes, struck into silence.
Scott caught John's pleading gaze and held it. "I'm going to walk away now and I'm not going to look back. Whatever happens is your decision. But John – if you want my opinion? Don't kill him. Not for his sake, but for your own. We save people. We don't get to decide who lives or dies."
"I do," John corrected quietly. "I always have done. I chose which calls we responded to. I decided which were beyond help."
Scott took a deep breath. The room stank of copper. He could taste it and the stench threatened to tip him over the edge into a world of panic and desperation. He didn't dare look at the Hood. Gordon took hold of his arm, grip so tight that it was borderline painful.
"It's your decision, John," Scott repeated, suddenly exhausted. He felt sick with dread. "Do whatever you think is right. Just… don't condemn yourself in the process."
John reached for the knife. "Get out of here."
Gordon didn't hesitate. He yanked Scott out of the room then kicked the door shut behind them and the entire time Scott had to convince himself not to look back.
