The GDF had set up shop in an inconspicuous, squarish building which looked like a standard office block from the exterior. A single step inside revealed otherwise. It was spread across multiple floors with lower levels dedicated to physical preparation such as training, weaponry and technological development and upper levels run by admin, research and a collection of highly classified rooms.

The entire place felt like a ghost town. EDEN's avatar lit up the entire reception area, projected from the middle of the room like some sort of decorative fountain, but there was no sign of any human activity.

Scott had known that the GDF were understaffed but this was crazy. Just how many people had they lost in the early days of the apocalypse? No wonder they'd withdrawn and closed ranks to defend the Sanctuary; going on the offensive against hordes clearly wasn't an option. He recalled the bullet-strewn road and three corpses with a shudder. Maybe zombies weren't the deadliest attackers around.

EDEN directed him to an elevator which looked like something out of a horror movie. The lights flickered and the entire thing gave an unnerving groan as it shuddered upwards. Scott shrugged his jacket closer and counted passing floor numbers to distract himself from unwanted memories. Noah Warren's face featured in his nightmares frequently enough without making a daytime appearance too.

Lou met him in the corridor. This floor was busier, filled with the steady murmur of low-level chatter. It was an open plan series of rooms with a large screen across the far wall which displayed statistics and various other data. Holograms clustered above desks and the space was hot from hundreds of whirring computers.

A few curious heads popped up as Scott entered. He tried to ignore the rush of whispers which instantly grew hushed under Lou's shrewd stare. Warm smiles and welcoming she may be, but she still had a mother's ability to bring silence with just a look.

"So…" Scott lowered his voice. "Is this an interview or an interrogation?"

He was only partly joking.

Lou shook her head with a light chuckle. "Relax. Finn just wants to talk."

"About a job or International Rescue?"

"Both."

"Yeah, that checks out."

High-ranking GDF personnel tended to come across as cold in Scott's experience. They were stoic, logical people – it was a practically a requirement for the role. So, despite Lou's description of Finn Wolvin as friendly and humorous, he still expected an impassive, somewhat reserved man. The person he was met with was precisely none of those things.

A lone figure lounged in a rotating desk chair in front of the display screen. He didn't appear to actually be paying attention to any of the camera feeds. He sort of sprawled across the chair like an emperor, legs hooked over the armrest, steadily working his way through a glossy red apple. He was the only person in GDF uniform and also happened to be the only one without shoes. His bright yellow socks were a sharp contrast to his dark trousers.

EDEN's avatar materialised above his watch. "Lieutenant General Wolvin, you have a visitor."

"Really?" He took a decisive crunch of apple. "Sounds fun. Let's throw 'em a welcome party. What d'you say, EDEN? Do you have a disco light setting?"

"Disco lights are not part of my coding," EDEN replied haughtily, promptly vanishing.

Wolvin let out a loud laugh. "Aw, Ede. You crack me up."

He spun around to face them and rose to his feet, tossing the apple core over his shoulder. It landed in a wastebin with a distinct thud. No one looked up, evidently used to his antics.

"Scott Tracy, right?" His blinding grin was matched by sea-green eyes and artfully tousled blond hair. He stuck out a hand. "Finn Wolvin. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'd offer to discuss business over a few drinks, but the only bars around here have a serious zombie problem."

Okay, Scott had to admit that the guy was likeable. He had an easy-going charm which had earnt him not just respect but loyalty from seemingly everyone in the Sanctuary. That being said, Scott didn't hand out trust like free candy. He never really had but sure as hell didn't nowadays.

So, he kept the handshake firm and straightened into military posture. Rankings were weird because technically he'd been IR's Commander, but in the GDF's eyes it had never been a true title given he'd inherited it. Finn didn't seem like the sort of guy to give a shit about rank, but once bitten twice shy so Scott addressed him as sir just in case. He really needed to avoid rocking the boat this time; they needed resources only the GDF could provide.

"Oh relax, sugar." Finn tossed him another megawatt smile. "Call me Finn, everyone does." He turned to Lou. "Take the rest of the day off. Say hi to Corey for me. How is he? Simone told me he aced his math test. You must be proud. Take him for brunch, my treat."

Lou clapped a hand to his bicep. "Thanks. I'll see you for this evening's shift."

"I'm counting on it." Finn headed across to a door which had previously gone unnoticed. "C'mon, pretty boy," he called over his shoulder. "Let's get to know each other."

Scott stared after him with a single rotating thought of what the fuck?

Lou glimpsed his expression with a stifled laugh. "I did warn you about his sense of humour."

"Is he always like this?"

"Pretty much. You'll get used to it." She gave him a slight shove towards the door. "Good luck, Scott. Have fun!"

The side room was little more than a storage space. It had a tiny desk squashed under a square window and a bald lightbulb dangled from the ceiling. Finn yanked the blinds open to fill the space with natural light, then kicked out a desk chair for Scott to sit down. The gleam in his eyes dimmed now that there was no one else to keep the façade up for. Still, his grin seemed genuine as he took a seat on the desk.

"So… Mr International Rescue himself."

Scott made no move to sit down yet. "You realise IR was formed of a team, right?"

"Humble, huh? That's adorable." Finn drummed a hand against his knee. "Okay, let's cut the crap. Here's the basic rundown: I don't know shit and I don't have shit. If you're looking for answers, you're in the wrong place. My superiors probably knew a helluva lot more but they all either went underground in the early days or got eaten. What I'm wondering is how much you know."

"More than you, apparently."

There was a brief pause. Finn raised his brows. Scott reassessed his phrasing and tried not to cringe.

"That didn't come out as I intended."

"Didn't it?" Finn nudged the chair towards him. "Sit down, Scott. Look, I know I'm not what you expected. I'm sure as hell not what you're used to from the GDF. But look around. We have a survival stronghold that is thriving, so I must be doing something right. I can't take all the credit – the majority of it goes to the fantastic people here – but if this place isn't testament to my leadership then I'm not sure how else to convince you to trust me."

Despite his seemingly open expression, Finn's true feelings were hidden behind a carefully constructed mask. It was near impossible to get a read on him. The silence dragged on without either of them making a move to break it. Eventually, Scott sank into the chair.

"Do you trust me?" he asked quietly.

Finn leant back with an honest smile. "Yes."

"Dangerous. You only just met me."

"You've gotta have faith in people. Besides, who can I trust if not the world's heroes?" Finn snapped his fingers above a small holoprojector. The same data from the screen in the main room appeared on the wall. "Let me talk you through what we've pieced together so far. Maybe you can help me fill in some blanks."

"I thought you said you didn't know anything?"

"Well… maybe a few things."

The ensuing conversation continued for the rest of the morning and then beyond. At some point a nervous-looking GDF cadet poked their head around the door and asked if they wanted lunch which was some sort of highly spiced dish brought to them in reusable containers from the canteen downstairs. Information flowed freely and the data pile stacked higher and higher by the hour.

"What about other GDF bases?" Scott asked eventually.

Finn twirled a hand. "Comms went down early on. I'm aware of their existence, but little else. Some have gone completely rogue. Don't get me started on whatever idiot decided to get loose handed with goddamn nukes. Presumably there's been a change in leadership there because nothing's been dropped in months now. We've been trying to re-establish contact but so far we haven't had any luck. Although it's strange…"

"Go on."

"Well, the signal has been gradually improving over the past month. It coincides with when the infected started behaving erratically. My scientific team believes that something, somehow, has caused a breakdown of the hivemind. It seems insane but it's almost as if it was the hivemind which was jamming our radios."

Scott made a mental note to relay that theory to Ellis. "Insanity's the new normal these days."

Finn gave a loud laugh. "You should copyright that. Make it the official tagline of the apocalypse." He swept a hand across the sea of holograms. "I can picture the posters now. Man, it's like we're living in a movie."

He polished off his final bite of lunch and cleared his throat.

"So, Lou tells me that you're looking for a job? I've seen the footage; you're a good pilot. Too damn good to keep you grounded. There's just one slight issue: I don't have anything for you to fly."

Scott looked pointedly at the helipad outside the window. "I can fly rotary."

"Not the issue."

Finn braced his hands against his knees, leaning forward as though sharing a secret despite the fact that no one else could hear them.

"In the early days, we used to send regular search parties for survivors. But now? The only ones left are a greater threat than the infected. I've lost too many people to scavengers, hostile groups, bandits… The list goes on. So, now we send drones. If we spy survivors in need of help, then we send air support to pick 'em up. That's how we found you. But until we get comms set up, no one's going anywhere."

"What about further afield? Have you considered reconnaissance missions? Establishing the state of other countries?"

"Some nations have completely shut their borders. No one in, no one out. We got reports of countries shooting down anyone who flew into their airspace. Could it be ill-founded? Possibly. We lost comms before we could substantiate the stories. But I'm not risking anyone else unless it's absolutely necessary."

Scott tried not to consider the implications. What if they hadn't retreated to Thunderbird Five as early on in the apocalypse? What if they'd tried to find answers elsewhere? He fixed his sights on the rotating hologram of the planet.

"What about the UK?"

"No word," Finn replied grimly. "They went dark an hour before we did."

"Shit." An unwanted edge of dread twisted his voice. Scott tipped back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to repress dangerous thoughts. "I… Shit."

"Yeah, that sums it up nicely." Finn slid off the desk and stretched until his spine cracked. "Ah, man. It's been a long day. Go home, you look dead on your feet."

"Thanks," Scott deadpanned.

Finn winked. "Get some sleep, sugar. I'll see what I can do about a job. It won't be in the sky but it will be interesting, I can promise you that much."


It was one of those days which felt as though Scott had lived a year in a handful of hours. It was only three-ish, possibly a little closer to half-past, yet he already wanted to crash for the rest of the day.

For once, it seemed like he was going to get his wish. The house was quiet as everyone had yet to return from their various tasks. Gordon had been enlisted by Joanna to help with gym lessons at the Sanctuary's school, teaching self-defence and basic skills to evade rotters. Virgil was exploring possible engineering roles and Alan was God-only-knew-where. As for John, Scott could hear his voice through the open window, drifting up from the backyard where he was discussing something with Ellis.

The peace lasted for approximately two hours. Scott awoke slowly with the foggy feeling that came with having slept too deeply. He hadn't bothered to change out of his clothes and now they seemed uncomfortably clingy.

He rolled onto his back to glimpse Finch curled up at his side. She crawled closer to prop her head on his chest, eyes wide and mournful as if she carried all the worry in the world within her little heart. He ruffled her fur fondly.

Leaving the window open had been a poor decision. The temperature had dropped sharply in accordance with thick cloud cover. He hauled himself upright and hunted down a hoodie with goosebumps across his arms. Finch watched him, head tilted in curiosity as he stumbled over a discarded shoe and nearly faceplanted.

"You saw nothing," he warned, earning a tail thump. He sank onto the bed beside her for a moment, waiting for his faint shivers to die down. "You know, you're probably the only good thing to have come out of this apocalypse, Finch." He shook his head with a smile. "I'd still love to know Alan's reason for picking your name though."

Distant sound from downstairs revealed that the others had returned. It was mostly Gordon's chatter mixed with Virgil's voice, but Alan made the occasional comment too. Scott hoped desperately that it was a sign of good progress but he knew better than to assume that a single good day could win a war. He gave Finch a final pat and headed to join them.

The kitchen was warm with high spirits and enticing smells from the oven. Virgil's hair was streaked with flour and there was a good smudge of it across Gordon's nose too. Alan was curled into a chair at the table, listening to the familiar banter with a soft, nostalgic expression. Despite his smile, his eyes still looked unbearably sad. Scott loitered in the doorway, drinking in the sight of genuine happiness no matter how brief it may turn out to be, then retreated to find John.

The living room was engulfed in darkness save for a single weak lamp. John was stretched across the larger of two couches, feet propped on the armrest and face buried beneath a cushion. He was back in loose, warm clothes – thermal sweats and a thick hoodie with woollen socks for good measure – yet was still shivering. He lifted the cushion away when Scott draped a spare blanket over him.

"Wow," Scott commented. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," John snapped, yanking the cushion back over his face. "That's very helpful. I'll file that under the get fucked category."

Scott paused - an actual physical halt in the middle of the room. He eyed his brother dubiously, resisting the instinct to make an equally sarcastic retort. It was rare for John to lash out without reason so a seemingly unprovoked bark was usually indicative of another issue.

A lengthy minute passed in silence.

"Sorry," John mumbled into the cushion. "I feel like crap right now. Virgil's tapering plan is a bunch of bullshit. No side effects? I wish. This fucking sucks."

"Damn, Johnny. If we still had a swear jar you'd have bankrupted yourself."

John removed a hand from his pocket to flip him the bird without lifting the cushion. Scott took a seat on the edge of the couch, stifling a laugh.

"So. Withdrawal, huh?"

"Zoloft is kind to you. Your tapering plan hasn't thrown you any curveballs. But oh no, not mine. No, mine comes with aches. Full body aches. I am a human bruise." John smacked his hand away as Scott tried to lift his sleeve. "Not literally, idiot. I feel like I've gone through a very crappy re-entry from orbit. Actually, that would be better. At least then I'd have a vague timeframe for how long I have to suffer."

"To be fair," Scott pointed out slowly, "You were on an entire cocktail of meds. And you're nearly done with them completely. It's only a couple more weeks, right?"

"Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours of feeling like I got crushed in the Gravity Ring. That's over twenty thousand minutes." John cut him off before he could interrupt. "And don't tell me I'm being dramatic. I'll throw you out a fucking window, just you see if I won't."

Scott repressed another laugh. Did he hate seeing John suffer? Yes, absolutely. But he was also aware that John only got melodramatic over minor ailments. The time to worry was when he pretended to be fine. So, for him to be complaining? It really wasn't that bad. So, yes, Scott was going to laugh at him.

"One million, two hundred and nine thousand, six-" John let out an offended squawk as Scott swatted the cushion away and clamped a hand over his mouth.

"If you've calculated the seconds, I'll throw myself out the window." Scott yanked his hand back with a disgusted sound as John licked his palm. "Oh, gross. How old are you?"

"-and six hundred seconds," John finished triumphantly. "Screw you, Scotty. If I want to calculate the milliseconds, that's my prerogative."

Scott just looked at him.

John attempted an innocent smile. "One billion, two hundred and-"

"No. Don't you dare. Don't even think about it."

"-nine thousand-"

"John, I swear."

"-and six hundred milliseconds."

"And that's enough outta you." Scott snatched the cushion off the floor and held it over John's face, grinning at the muffled laughter and feeble protests. "Shh. Go into the light."

"Um…" Alan hovered in the doorway, brows raised. "Virg sent me to tell you that dinner's ready, but… Are you murdering John?"

John shoved the cushion away just long enough to call, "Scott's finally cracked. Run! Save yourself!"

"It's true," Scott deadpanned. "I'm on a killing spree. Gordon's next."

John twisted to glance up at him. "Why not Virgil?"

"Are you kidding me? Murdering him would be like murdering a puppy."

"Good point."

Alan slowly backed away. "So, uh, yeah. Food's ready. I'm gonna leave you to… whatever this is."

Scott watched him go before collapsing into helpless laughter. John whacked him with the cushion, which only made him laugh harder. He gripped the armrest to keep from sliding onto the floor, trying to catch his breath between chuckles.

"Huh." John sat up, trying to force a neutral expression despite the amusement in his eyes. "I was joking, but you really have cracked."

"Oh, shut up." Scott shot him a fond look. "I should've left you in the hivemind."

"Absolutely," John agreed with a faux-solemn nod. "A terrible decision on your part."

Scott offered him a hand. "C'mon, let's get some food before Gordon scoffs it all."

He surveyed his brother as John staggered upright, sweeping the blanket around his shoulders for safe keeping despite the fact that the kitchen would still be warm with residual heat from the oven.

"What?"

"Nothing."

John eyed him suspiciously.

"You just seem a little better already," Scott elaborated. "That's all."

"If you say some crap about laughter being medicine, I will strangle you with this blanket."

"God, no. That's the kind of sappy shit Virgil comes out with." Scott stole a glance sideways at him. "But… did it help?"

John shoved him towards the door with a sigh. "Maybe."

"I knew it."

"Scott."

"Shut up?"

"Now that would be a wise decision."


The one-year anniversary of Z-Day was dedicated to a memorial. There was a ceremony to be held in the town square at eleven but attendance was entirely optional. For many, the day was too painful to bear. For others, the only way to stay afloat through suffocating grief was to cling to those around them like a life raft.

Scott deliberated whether or not to go but came to the decision that it would be good to make an appearance not just to honour his own personal losses but to show the support of International Rescue, which seemed a strange thing to consider nowadays but apparently still meant a great deal to people.

The day dawned appropriately dark and gloomy. Murky clouds gathered in heavy lines, burdened with rain which initially fell as thin drizzle before developing into a torrential downpour. Scott was the first awake and looked out over the Sanctuary; the houses were warmed by various lamps and lights as people began to stir.

It was bitterly cold and the rain threatened to turn to snow in the not-so-distant future. He defrosted his limbs in the shower and if it gave him the chance to lean against the tiles and let the sadness wash away to be replaced with numb responsibility then… well, no one needed to know about that.

The house seemed unbearably silent; heavy grief infected every soul. The sky wept for all that had been lost while the humans below gathered the tattered remains of their hearts and tried to persevere in the face of adversity. But despite this shared pain, love swept in to soothe all wounds; smiles of solidarity; reassuring touches; fierce words of defiance because they owed it to the dead to survive.

They gathered in the kitchen with the exception of Alan who had yet to make an appearance. The windows were fogged with condensation but brief shadows proved that people were beginning to head over to the square. It felt safe indoors – warmed to cosiness, toast crumbs scattered on the table, Finch slumped across their feet and reassurance found in one another's presence – and so none of them made any move to leave.

There were no words. Scott absently petted Finch's head, trying to gauge his brothers' thoughts. As ever it was nearly impossible to read John, gaze fixed on the driving rain with a deliberately neutral expression. Virgil stared down at the table without truly seeing it, replaying memories on repeat despite the way this only drove the pain deeper.

"Someone should tell Alan to get out of bed," Gordon said quietly, voice rough with repressed emotion. He seemed paler than usual, washed out by grief and lack of sleep and made ghostly by his black coat. "We're gonna be late otherwise."

Scott glanced to the clock on the wall. It was only a short walk to the square but it still took nearly fifteen minutes; Gordon had a valid point. He glanced up at the ceiling in the hopes of hearing movement from upstairs but the house remained as still and silent as a cemetery.

He pushed himself from his seat. "I'll get him."

"You sure?" Gordon leant back to glimpse him. "I don't mind going."

"Stay here." He tousled his brother's hair on his way past. For once, Gordon didn't protest. "I've got this, Gords."

The upper floors of the house had taken on an eerie air. Perhaps it was the silence but maybe the atmosphere everywhere felt haunted today. The world was weary with memories and there was no place on the planet without grief.

Scott hesitated in the corridor outside Alan's room, distracted by the rain which trickled down the window like tears. He'd slept better last night than he had done in a long while yet he was still exhausted. It took a concerted effort to pull himself away from the sight as though the weather held a hypnotising quality.

There was no reply when he knocked on the door. The room itself was swamped in darkness with the curtains still drawn. Scott tugged them apart to let the feeble daylight inside and nearly tripped over Alan when he stepped back.

Alan sleeping on the floor? Not an uncommon occurrence. Nothing to be concerned about. Pre-Z-Day, anyway. But these days Scott found it worrying, especially when the kid didn't react to his presence. He sank onto the edge of the bed and braced himself against his knees.

"Is the floor comfortable?"

There was no reply. He ran a hand through his hair, repressing a sigh. There was a headache pressing behind his eyes – a throbbing pain formed of grief and tension. He softened his voice, nudging Alan's knee with his foot.

"C'mon, Allie. Talk to me. What are you doing on the floor?"

Alan blinked at him blearily. "It's real."

Ah, shit.

"Yes," Scott agreed slowly. "But the, uh, the bed's real too."

Alan returned his gaze to the ceiling. He was unnaturally still, fingers splayed across the floorboards as if to anchor himself. He was only wearing thin PJs and Scott could see the goosebumps on his arms where his sleeves had rolled up, yet he didn't seem to notice the cold.

"Doesn't feel real." His voice was scarily emotionless. "I don't either." He shivered – a full-body, painful thing which had him subconsciously curling smaller – but didn't register it. "Sorry."

"What for?"

"Just felt like the right thing to say."

The room was no colder than anywhere else in the house yet Scott was struck by a sharp chill. Dread settled like an icy stone in his stomach. He gingerly lowered himself to crouch at Alan's side, biting back a curse at the scraping protest from his bad knee. Alan met his gaze but still seemed dazed. His eyes were slightly unfocussed as if he'd suffered a mild concussion.

"Okay," Scott said gently, easing a hand under the kid's shoulder. "Time to get up." He cut off Alan's mumbles with a hollow smile. "Yeah, I know – the floor's real. But I'm real too, I can promise you that much. Come on, let's sit up. There you go. I've got you."

Alan melted against him, tucking his face into Scott's shoulder. He was still mostly unresponsive, switched onto autopilot to fly somewhere deeper in his own head.

Scott moved his hand higher to run his fingers through the kid's hair. Alan felt icy to touch which raised questions as to just how long he'd been on the floor. New worry tasted bitter. Scott tightened his hold, trying to transfer some of his own body heat. The real cure would probably be a hot drink and a shower, but he didn't want to let go. Not yet.

"I feel like I'm already dead," Alan whispered. His voice was muffled but Scott caught the words as clear as a bell. It was a toss up as to which was more terrifying – the actual phrase or Alan's robotic tone. "I'm not fully here."

Scott gripped Alan's bicep and squeezed until the hold was nearly tight enough to bruise.

"You're here. You're real. You're alive." He watched the clarity trickle back into Alan's eyes as the kid finally registered the dull pain. "Can you feel that? Focus on it. Are you with me?"

"Uh…" Alan inhaled sharply. "I, um- I don't know? I… feel weird."

"I know you do, bud. Dissociation's a bitch like that."

Impossibly, he huffed a damp laugh. "Swear jar, Scotty."

"That's… yeah, okay." Scott ran a hand down Alan's arm. "Let's get you a little bit more grounded and then you can remind me about swear jars, alright?"

Alan gave a mute nod although didn't appear to have actually processed the words. He dropped his head back against Scott's shoulder, grip tightening as he clung on fiercely. Scott closed his eyes and just held him for a few moments, cupping Alan's head as he eased some of the tangles away. He could feel Alan's heartbeat – frantic and fearful despite his numb exterior – and the idea of letting go seemed unthinkable.

"I'm sorry," Alan murmured. He coiled his fingers in the back of Scott's shirt. "I'm really sorry."


Despite Scott's protests, Alan insisted on attending the memorial service with them. His black raincoat swamped him, making him seem younger than ever and small which did nothing to make Scott feel any better. Alan appeared slightly more grounded but he was still mostly lost in his own head and it was not an event which facilitated an easy check in. Scott kept him in the middle of their little group, bracketed between himself and Virgil, and spared a silent thank you to the universe for sending them Theo who caught Alan's hand and held on tightly.

The rain had dissipated to a cold drizzle. Everything looked damp and sullen in the grey light. Low cloud obscured the tops of apartment blocks and the GDF hub. Even the flowerboxes and hanging baskets around town had been beaten into submission by the weather. Flags drooped at half-mast and the only sounds were the splash of footsteps through puddles and the low croon of the wind.

A podium had been constructed with a large screen so that everyone could witness the ceremony. There had been an open invitation for anyone to nominate themselves to make a speech or share a memory but the past was a private secret for many people. Even so, there were several waiting to step up to the mic and many more waiting to lay flowers beneath the plaque which read simply in memory of fallen friends.

The crowd was silent. A few children exchanged whispers, too young to truly understand the gravity of the event. They looked uncomfortable in their stiff, crisp clothes and dark coats. Scott spied little Lily, clinging to Joanna's sleeve with one hand and clutching that toy bunny in the other. Something painful twisted in his chest at the sight. He returned his attention to the stage, to the swaying wind chimes and lanterns which had been lit in place of candles.

Another gust rushed through the square, bringing a new wave of rain in its wake. Scott steeled himself against the chill. At his side, Gordon ducked his head, although Scott doubted that it was the wind which had brought tears to his eyes. The sense of grief was almost palpable here. Every person had lost someone. Pain formed a fraught undertone which transformed the wind chimes to a haunted melody.

A lonely toll called for silence as the clock struck the hour. For several minutes, not a sound could be heard. Even the children remained quiet. It was a time for reflection, to find solidarity within one another's grief. The wind's mournful cries sounded painfully similar to the howls of infected; for once the sound didn't bring fear but pure sorrow.

Scott felt it more keenly than others, recalling the desperation he had felt through the hivemind. He prayed all those infected were unaware, trapped in some peaceful space like the other world he had briefly experienced, but he suspected reality was far crueller. He fixed his gaze on the swaying wind chimes and pretended his blurring vision was due to the rain. He was aware of Gordon's sideways glance and then his brother shifted to press their shoulders together.

For once, Finn looked entirely serious. There was no trace of humour nor light-heartedness in his eyes as he stepped up to the podium. He was in full GDF uniform but had forgone his medals, hair slicked into place by gel and rain, all sharp lines and stony sadness. He gripped the edges of the podium and hesitated, scanning the crowd as if to reassure himself that he wasn't alone.

"Thank you." Finn took an unsteady breath. "Thank you to those of you who chose to be here today. I know it can't have been an easy decision."

He faltered, then discarded his cue cards.

"You know, I'm looking into the crowd right now and I can see so many different individuals. Some of us have very little in common but today we are united not only by our grief but by our own strength. Look around. Look at what we have accomplished together. We have created a place of peace and compassion not in spite of our pain but because of it. We have lost so much that it sometimes seems unbearable to carry on and yet here we are.

We must live because we owe it to those whom we love. Love, present tense, because those bonds which tie us together cannot be broken, not by any monster, not even by death. So, today we remember them. Then tomorrow we will pick ourselves up and we will keep surviving, knowing that they would be proud of us. I know this because I'm proud of us. The spirit of humanity lives on in every kind action and I can see the best of it in you."

Scott glimpsed movement in his peripheral vision and glanced back just in time to see Virgil pushing through the crowd, vanishing down a side street. No one paid him any mind, still listening attentively to the rest of Finn's speech, parting to let him pass without question.

"Scott," John muttered, moving close enough to whisper, "One of us should-"

"Yeah, I know," Scott cut him off. "Keep an eye on Alan. I'll be back in a minute."

There were a few disgruntled murmurs at he ducked and weaved his way through the crowds to reach the damp street Virgil had disappeared into. It was relatively narrow, serving as a wind tunnel and so funnelling the rain too. Scott flipped his coat collar up to keep water from trickling down the back of his neck, praying that Virgil hadn't gone too far as he tried to repress shivers. It seemed to have gone from early fall to winter overnight.

The street opened into a small park. The trees were heavy with rainwater, various shades of rust and copper while the grass was just a dreary stretch of mud at current, but it still seemed peaceful. Virgil was sat on a bench, uncaring that he was already completely drenched as the drizzle picked up again. He twisted his hands together in his lap, gaze downcast so that his expression was hidden.

"Hey." Scott dropped onto the bench beside him.

"You didn't have to follow me," Virgil replied heavily. He studied their reflections in the pooling water around their feet. "I just needed a minute."

"I know," Scott agreed simply. "But you've followed me enough times over the years. I figured I'd return the favour."

He lifted an arm to the back of the bench to serve as a windshield. The rain held an icy bite and he shivered as he shifted to block Virgil from the worst of it.

"Talk to me."

Virgil ground his shoe into the grit so that their reflections were broken by ripples.

"It's been a year." He paused to steady his voice. "And it hurts."

The raw pain stole Scott's breath. He tilted his head back to let the rain wash secretive tears from his face, suddenly thankful for the chill. Perhaps the numbness crawling across his skin would dull his emotions too. He loved it and hated it at the same time; wanted to feel but couldn't bear it all at once.

"Sometimes," Virgil continued quietly, "I can't believe that it's been an entire year. But then I also can't believe that it's only been a year. Which is ridiculous because of all people, we know too well how easy it to lose so much so quickly. And yet."

Distantly, voices filled the air with a song for the lost.

"After all this time," Virgil whispered, "I still can't believe this is real."

"I can believe it's real," Scott admitted, cautiously brushing his knuckles against Virgil's shoulder. When his brother didn't flinch, he shifted a little closer. "But I can't believe it's irreversible."

"This is it," Virgil recalled darkly.

"This can't be it."

"You can't change reality just by not accepting it, Scott."

Virgil gestured to the world around them; attempts at cheer dulled by rain; drooping branches as trees lost their leaves; gloomy clouds throwing darkness across the mourners; the steely imperfect rivets which held the metal plates of the wall together. And further still where homes were now cemeteries; radioactive dust engulfing cities; bunkers that promoted fear over compassion; an empty island which had lost its heart.

"Where does it end?" Desperation seeped into his voice. "We survived, but what's next? If Penny and Kayo aren't out there… This is it. This is the only certainty. Survival but no future. We're safe within these walls but it's not- I am sick of losing everything. You know what's missing from this place? From everywhere? Hope. People like you and Finn- You've still got this steadfast belief that we can somehow fix all of this but how can we? It's too big. It's too damn much."

"A lot of people said that when Dad first pitched the idea of International Rescue."

Virgil didn't even try to hide the tears in his eyes this time. "International Rescue is over. Our ships are gone. Christ, we couldn't even rescue ourselves."

For a few seconds, all Scott could hear was his own heartbeat, frantic and thunderous in his ears, drowning out the wind and the rain and the low cries of human agony which carried from the square. He let his mind drift back to a moment he had never truly understood until now.

The key to survival is hope.

Even after everything, it seemed that Jeff was still watching over him, offering answers when he didn't know what the hell else to do.

The key to survival is hope.

He glanced up sharply to glimpse the playground; colourful apparatus, seesaws, swings swaying in the wind. On sunnier days, children's laughter echoed from this place; mostly Joanna's kids who were only here because Gordon had been the one to initially save them. He had done that without Thunderbird Four, without any equipment, hell, even without any backup, because he was International Rescue. Their ships had helped but they were still IR without them and so surely they could become that symbol of hope themselves.

The key to survival is hope.

'Thunderbird One represents hope… think about what that makes you.'

'The only person I've ever followed is you.'

'You're still calling the shots.'

'If the Commander of International Rescue speaks up… people will follow you, Scott. They always have.'

And even longer ago in a memory so faded that it seemed more of a dream; Mom's voice reassuring him after an angry outburst at some injustice in life: change starts with one person, Scotty. That's all it takes. Just one person speaking up to inspire others.

Scott lurched to his feet so suddenly that Virgil nearly flinched. He turned back to his brother and held out a hand. Virgil looked at it dubiously and he repressed a fond sigh.

"Come on."

"What are you-?"

"Virgil." He met his brother's bewildered gaze. "Trust me."

Finn Wolvin hadn't been wrong in his speech. The Sanctuary was a place of peace and compassion. The apocalypse had driven humanity to the brink of extinction and so they had reverted to basic survival instincts honed throughout years of evolution. But what separated their species from any other living creature was not only self-awareness but their capacity to imagine. Too many people had chosen violent methods to ensure their own survival but the majority still imagined a better future and so acted accordingly.

Love persevered and so life continued. It wasn't due to any single person's choices – that would be far too much responsibility for one soul – but a collective decision and from that kindness grew hope of a new world. A traumatic, changed world certainly, but one which could be rebuilt in the image of compassion; one with children's playgrounds and music and true community rather than power grabs and fight rings.

You couldn't save everyone. But you could save someone, even if that person was yourself. If rescuing a life made you a hero, then by definition every person present could claim that title. Saving one person often lead to saving more; save one life then save the world.

Finn was just wrapping up his speech as they returned to the crowd. Gordon stepped back to fall into place beside Virgil, gently knocking their shoulders together until Virgil offered him a faint smile. Alan's expression was unreadable again, eyes filled with the same dark clouds as existed above them, but he seemed to be actively listening which was progress from earlier.

Scott hung back for a minute, lowering his voice so that only John could hear him. "You once told me that people would follow me if I spoke up. Were you talking crap or do you genuinely believe that?"

"You already know my answer." John looked away from the podium to study him. "Why?"

"Because otherwise I'm about to make a complete fool of myself."

"That's not unusual."

"Thanks, John. Your undying support is greatly appreciated."

Scott dropped the sarcasm, faltering as Finn's final words rang across the crowd.

"You said that we've lost sight of all possibilities beyond survival." He hesitated. "But losing sight of something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. There's still a chance at a better future. It kinda feels like people are scared to hope in it."

"Are they scared to hope in it?" John asked quietly. "Or are they afraid to accept it? Everything and everyone we've lost – I think a lot of people feel like building something better and allowing ourselves to be happy would minimise the sacrifices which got us this far." His gaze landed heavily on Alan. "The hardest part is believing in an abstract concept. It's difficult to have hope when you don't see any sign of it."

"Precisely."

John shot him a curious glance. "What are you planning?"

"Something stupid, probably." Scott took a breath and forced a confident smile. "The GDF are protecting today. They're keeping people alive on a daily basis. But saving the future? Kinda sounds like a job for International Rescue."

"With no ships?"

"We don't need our ships to save people, Johnny."

It was odd – Scott had been used to public speaking throughout practically his entire life. Yet now, as his impulsive decision landed him with the mic and Finn's watchful gaze on his back, he was suddenly struck by a rush of unease. Not quite nerves but certainly something similar.

He'd grown used to the anonymity of the apocalypse; the hundreds of eyes staring back at him now knew his name and his face and it was intimidating. Yet they didn't know him. The man they remembered from press conferences and newspaper headlines had died a long time ago. If by some magical chance someone invented a time machine, Scott wouldn't belong in his past anymore.

Just like humanity got to choose which type of future they were going to build, he got to choose who he would be. Whichever words he chose now would decide that person. It was both freeing and terrifying, but he'd borne the weight of responsibility for far longer than the world had been doomed so the words came easier than he'd ever imagined.

He curled his fingers around the rim of the mic. The cold metal dripped rainwater, steadily splashing over his shoes like tears, but when he looked to the sky he could glimpse the distant promise of hopeful blue on the horizon.

"Hi, everyone. I'm Commander Scott Tracy of International Rescue and I'd like to say a few words…"