Spider was hurled through a door that slid back in place to become one with the cell. He rammed against the walls of his enclosure, shouting, in Na'vi, at the animals who caged him. His fists struck, his feet kicked, but nothing would give. Spider backed away to the centre of the room that was tyrannical in its white, sterile harshness. There were no distinct smells to take in, the floors did not react when touched, and the colourless light overhead did nothing to enrich. It was a void of brightness more terrifying and more sinister than being trapped in the dark, for it taunted its captives by magnifying their aloneness.

Spider's indignation boiled over, and he charged at the wall once more. He fell back in the recoil. His whole side ached, but the obstinate youth would try again, and again, and again till his muscles failed him, and even then, he would still keep trying. He had to show the dogs he wasn't going down without a fight.

Ardmore watched him through computer screens in a dark room. Present, was Ismael Serrano. "That's Sully's son?"

"No, sir," Ardmore clarified. "Our sources say he's nothing more than a sidekick he kept around."

"Then he would know everything about the insurgents?"

"Likely."

"But he won't talk?"

"Not yet. Give him time. He will."

Spider lay supine on the white floor, with his tan dreadlocks fanned out like his arms. Hours passed, but time stalled in that cell. His mind was in upheaval, still refusing to accept how utterly cut off he was. This situation wouldn't last, he told himself. He just needed to hold out. He was a Pandoran, and Pandorans were strong. His eyes ran down the lines of panelling above until he could not distinguish one from the next. Shapes lost their sides, and everything became a fog. Sleep captured the prisoner before he knew it.

He heard voices—a baby crying. A feeling of helplessness seized him as if he no longer had an able body. Goblins with no faces hovered over his bleary eyes. Their bipedal shape was the only thing human about them. He begged them for warmth, for one brush of compassion, but their hands were guarded behind their surgical gloves.

A pair of blue hands grabbed him.

Spider was rudely awakened by a swarm of soldiers, robbing him of the sleep he was in desperate need of. The young man fought ferociously and managed to secure the arm of a burly man who failed to secure him. With one twist, Spider broke the goon's humerus, and in the scuffle of agonized cries and beastly snarling, they retaliated by stunning the pugilist with an electric rod, subduing him instantly. The injured soldier was carried out, but his comrades remained to avenge their brother. They grabbed Spider by his dreadlocks and dragged him down a series of dimly lit halls. The Pandoran was brought to a grim industrial room where he thought he detected the faint, inexplicable scent of Na'vi, only for it to be overpowered by the stench of polished leather. The soldiers dunked him in a basin of frigid water; its icy bite stretched his eyes, and he could hardly breathe as he sputtered. They whipped his head back and held him in place, forcing him to look up at the only thing colder than the treatment, someone he instantly despised with every fibre of his being.

"Cooled off yet?" she asked impassively.

"What do you want from me?" his frosty tone bit.

"Tell us about Sully."

"Sorry, lady, but he's spoken for."

"Cute."

Spider was dunked in the water once more until the commander waved her hand; her indifferent face leaned in on the one gasping for air. "I spent three years in Brazil dealing with macaquitos like you, and there ain't a Geneva Convention holding me back. So watch what you say, boy."

"Zize'ìl sngivap ngat!"

"String him up."

The POW was hoisted by his arms and hung from a pipe that ran across the ceiling. His toes brushed the metal floor as he dangled from his restraints.

"When you do change your mind about talking," she said as she unclipped the rawhide from her belt, "do it in the proper language."

The fury of the leather tongue was unleashed across his back. He had been stung by hellfire wasps, struck by cillaphants, and once suffered the bite of a viperwolf, but none of those compared to the pain of her whip. His screams reverberated throughout the bowels of Bridgehead until they became aphonic. In the reprieve between lashes, Spider stared up at the ceiling, his spinning mind stopping on the one thing that gave him hope.

The unmerciful whip lashed again, the strained mouth brimmed with spit, but throughout it all, the warrior managed to work out a single whisper.

"I love you."

Quaritch was alone in his cabin back at Homestead. His body was still healing from the several burns he sustained, but they were injuries that paled in comparison to another's. The colonel's mood, like everyone else, was dour; no one had died, but the whole team was in mourning. Zhâng's absence was strongly felt, and the toll it took on the once bubbly CJ was painfully noticeable.

With a heavy sigh, the colonel continued folding the clothing on his bed, trying to occupy himself from the thoughts that weighed down his mind. As he was preparing his dirty laundry, he cleaned out his pants pocket and rediscovered the bone. He held it up, having completely forgotten about it, along with his reasons for keeping it. Seeing it again only reminded him of that boy.

In the aftermath of the incident, as Quaritch recovered at Fort Styx, the feral human was whisked away to Bridgehead along with CJ and Zhâng, and that was the last he heard of him. If he had the time, he would've extracted answers for the questions burning in his mind, such as why he pilfered his grave or what impelled him to warn him about the trap.

Quaritch scratched his head with said bone, briefly held it up to his arm to appreciate the size difference, then slipped it into his back pocket. He hoisted his laundry bag over his shoulder and exited the cabin.

Outside, the scene was still sombre. Recombinants carried out their daily chores but without the usual humour. Quaritch strolled past CJ, sitting on her cabin steps, preoccupied with aggressively cleaning her boots.

"Keep going at it like that, and you'll put a hole in it."

She stared up at her colonel, then returned to polishing. "I'm almost done."

"I can see my reflection already. You're done."

When she noticed he was right, she set them down with a shrug. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Quaritch dropped his laundry bag as well. "Looks like I owe you my thanks a second time."

"We're soldiers. We're supposed to protect our team," she droned.

"Yeah, that's very true," he grunted as he sat down next to her, having forgotten, once again, what was in his pants. CJ blinked at his sudden yelp and then again at the sudden presence of human remains.

"Uh, sir?"

"Little souvenir I picked up."

"Please tell me that's yours."

"Yup."

"What are you going to do with it?"

He balanced it between his hands. "I have no idea. You want it?" He arced it over, but she pulled away.

"No, thanks."

Quaritch was pleased he managed to get a smile. "We found this on that boy we captured. I wonder what possessed him to rip off my arm. I mean, with my reputation, I'd chalk it up to fanaticism."

CJ jostled a shoulder. "Why don't you ask him?"

"Can't—don't know his whereabouts. I'd have to ask Parker, but I'm too busy right now." He made to get up but stopped halfway. "Unless you wanna ask for me?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, that is, if you don't mind?"

CJ was neither here nor there but agreed. Quaritch stood fully and called over to Bridgette. "Walker, get the RTV ready. You're to drive Casey into the city." Miles helped CJ to her feet. "Just ask him for updates. For some reason, he has more luck asking Ardmore for things than I do."

"Will do, sir."

The two entered the garage to the sound of Walker jangling her keys. "Get in," she instructed.

Miles opened the front door for his emissary. "He's probably at the ward right now, so you're to check there first, alright? You good?"

CJ nodded as she buckled up. When Quaritch shut the door, he discovered Walker leaning against the RTV, giving him a look.

"Subtle."

He waved away her smirk. "You don't say anything."

"I'll keep it secret, just like our yoga sessions."

"Don't you say that out loud!" he hushed, looking around him. "Git in!"

"Yes, sir," she purred.

Clad in his loincloth, Spider lay on the cold, desolate floor of his tiny cell. His latrine was a grate in the corner. Water was a luxury only doled to him when his captors deemed fit. His back was constantly trying to recover from the torture, and the healing process stole every ounce of his energy. He shivered in the fetal position, rubbing warmth into his legs; the animals had purposely lowered the temperature to his cell and denied him food for days, sending his internal body temperature to dangerous lows. He stared at the white tips of his shaking hands. His fingers stroked the hard ground that would not give way like the soil he used to scoop up to watch the dirt fall between. The sterile floor was similar to the avatar clinic, but there was no Kiri to keep him warm—no one to comfort him—and the only faces he was allowed to see were ones devoid of compassion.

He was moments away from falling asleep, something he hadn't been able to do successfully since his capture, when a sound hissed, and a section of wall retracted. In walked the demoness. She stood before him and shivered.

"Whoa, chilly in here."

Spider scowled at the stoney face.

She smacked her gums. "You're impressive, kid. No food, no sleep, no nothing, and you're still not talking. Sully hasn't made a single attempt to get you back, and you're setting the table as if he's coming home for dinner." She shook her head. "Must have quite the hold on you."

His silence continued, and Ardmore's eyes ran over his pale frame. She caught the string of beads wrapped around his loincloth. She knew enough about the Na'vi to recognize it as a songcord. With one tug, she ripped it off, and several baubles scattered over the floor. Incensed, Spider flew at her, but in his anemic state, it only took a gentle shove to knock him back.

"Awfully touchy about your trinket."

"Go to hell," he murmured with all his strength.

She squatted over him, and Spider's tired eyes narrowed at her ugliness. She put away his songcord and replaced it with her equivalent; only, the songs it recorded were screams. She held it before his face. "You want this again?"

He stared back at the whip, his eyes following its vicious curl. He knew the whip's sting was fleeting while the pain of betraying his family would torture him forever. He summoned as much saliva as he could to spit in her face.

"Ardmore?"

The general came to a stand at the sound of Serrano's voice. She discreetly put away her whip, and Spider swallowed his attack.

"Governor Serrano," she greeted.

The curious man walked in to afford a peak at the feral prisoner. "Has he talked yet?"

"No, sir," she replied dully. "I would say so if he did."

"Right." With odd fascination, Serrano continued to stare. "He looks so weak."

"Don't be fooled by appearances. That kid sent a full grown man to the ward—split the bone in two."

The pressed shirt backed away a step, then nudged the general's arm to bring her outside. "General, uh, we've had this boy for almost a week now, and he still hasn't talked. Now, I'm wondering if maybe…we should try a different approach?"

She chuffed incredulously. "You have a better idea?"

"Well, you said you found tags on him."

"Yes. For some reason, the magpie was in possession of Quaritch's old DMT."

"I think that suggests a possible fondness, don't you?"

"Fondness?"

"Have you asked him about it?"

"Asked who? The boy?"

"No, no, I mean…" He rolled his hand, still reluctant to repeat the colonel's name.

"Quaritch?"

Serrano nodded.

Ardmore rocked her body in contemplation. "He did mention that the boy tried warning him about the explosives."

Serrano beamed. "You see? Fondness."

"What the hell are you getting at, Governor?"

"You might have more luck if you let"—Serrano swallowed—"him do the talking."

Inside the washing house, some recombinants sat around the machines as their laundry took a spin. One of them was making more noise than the rest due to the bone rattling on top. Alexander gave his colonel an uneasy look, and Quaritch, who was biding his time perusing through his field guide, stared back. "You got a problem, soldier?"

Alexander replied by shifting his eyes over to the oddity.

"Oh, c'mon. Don't tell me you're unsettled by that. It's just a bone, for Pete's sake."

"But why is it on top the washing machine?"

"Simple, I haven't started my whites yet."

The load finished, the bone stopped its dancing, and Quaritch put away his book. Once his chore was completed, he headed back to his cabin and tossed the bag onto the porch. I gotta get rid of this thing, he thought as he stared at the humerus, and so, left to seek out the dumpster.

After sauntering on over, he stood before the smelly bin, bobbed the bone, ready to pitch it, when something stayed his hand: the mental picture of his old body discarded alongside that morning's waste. He once boasted that he didn't care for any ceremonious send-off but found himself now unable to back up that claim.

I could fashion it into some sort of memorial? He toyed with the idea but then dismissed the thought. Ain't no way I'm becoming a knick-knack. He scratched his face. Bury it? Nah. I'm not that feral. Quaritch stood in place. Am I? His cogitations were interrupted when he detected smoke and remembered the incinerator. Well, if what was left of me went up in a blaze of glory, the rest might as well too.

He hiked over to the industrial furnace where workers were feeding dead beasts and other refuse onto a conveyor belt. Quaritch casually strolled near the belt, looking ahead at the gnashing steel teeth and the hellish white fires beyond.

"Is that human?"

Quaritch blinked at a man in coveralls, pointing aggressively at the humerus; the recombinant stammered, realizing he had no easy explanation. "Uh, no. Well, yes, but—"

"Human remains have to be reported. You can't just toss it in the incinerator."

The Marine smiled nervously. "Well, you see, uh... He would've wanted it this way."

"You get that bone out of here," the man fumed.

"Right, right. Of course." He tittered and took his opportunity to exit gracefully.

As he trekked back to Homestead, he was passed by an MPV that immediately stopped. The colonel watched as a soldier hopped out. "You Officer Quaritch?"

"Yeah?"

"The general wants you. Get on."

Since the recombinant would not fit inside, he climbed the six-wheeled armoured vehicle and squatted on the roof as it made a U-turn for the city. Enjoying the unconventional ride, it wasn't long before buildings began growing up like weeds from the horizon and even shorter before they were tunnelling down alleys of high-rises. From the vista, framed by passing buildings, he saw the marina that grew in width to an unobstructed view. The recom's sights panned over the waters where he noted the awesome might of Bridgehead's navy, with their fleet of Sea Dragons being the most impressive. There was also no want of space to maneuver the large ships, for the circumference of the city was so vast that Quaritch could not see the sea wall beyond. As he looked out upon the bay, he espied a great body, half obscured by blinding sunlight, suddenly breach the surface and crash down again. The man rubbed his eyes, thinking this moon was playing tricks on him again.

They parked at a section of tarmac not far from the docks, and when the HAF troopers exited the vehicle, the recombinant hopped off, not expecting their destination to actually be the marina. "Why are we here?"

"This way."

Quaritch followed his escort party down a row of drab structures built on the quay and almost hurled from the stench of decaying fish wafting through the air. He was left to guess what unholy operations Bridgehead conducted near the ocean to create such a noisome odour.

He was led to a stout building with no markings to indicate what it was for. One soldier tossed him a breather before entering the vestibule, and the recombinant followed. Inside, there was piping, generators and nondescript computer equipment. The two men instructed Quaritch to stand on a section of tread plating. He was still looking about the suspicious room when the square lowered, and the lift descended into the dark underworld. The scenario reminded him of the morning he was summoned to Hell's Gate's lower levels; he was just as confused then, too. Once the lift stopped, he walked with the stoic men down Bridgehead's intestines.

They stopped before a room with no intention of entering themselves, and so Quaritch, having been invited by their directed palms, ducked under the doorway to face what awaited him. The space was dark save for the light of several monitors mounted on the wall, and before the grim setup was the room's sole occupant, glimpsing into the cells of the city's unwanted.

"General Ardmore."

Her eyes shifted over to him, and she nudged her head to the bottom row of screens. "That's the boy you found."

Quaritch immediately gravitated towards the figure huddled in a corner, wasting away in a fetal position with face hidden behind dreadlocks.

"I can let you in if you want to see him that bad."

"Excuse me?"

"You're touching the monitor."

Quaritch jerked his hand back, and Ardmore made a grunt as she leaned forward to wipe the screen.

"Is he the reason you brought me down here?"

Ardmore took a long sip from her mug before reaching into her pocket and tossing him something. "Found this on him."

He nabbed the object, and when he beheld his old face, Quaritch was dumbfounded.

"Seems to have an odd fascination with you."

"So you want me to talk to him, is that it?"

"You catch on fast." Before he could give any response, Ardmore pressed a button and requested that the captive be cleaned up and brought to a holding room. When her finger lifted, she addressed him again. "Don't interrogate. Just talk and see what happens. Got that, Quarrie?"

He fought the urge to recoil. "Understood."

The detainee found himself in a new room similar to his cell with its gaunt interior and want of love. His cuffed hands rested on the empty table he sat at. The door opened, and he cast a suspicious glare at his new guest only to discover it was him.

The recom sauntered in, gave his breather a use, and walked over. "Hello, aga—" the face dropped.

Free of the visor, dreadlocks pinned back, and expression not distorted by a scowl, Miles Stephan Quaritch had his first good look—the only thing missing was the mud-covered overalls.

"What do you want?" the human sneered.

Quaritch leaned over the table as he continued gazing at him. "What's your name?"

"Spider."

"What's your real name?"

"Spider," he spat.

"Got it. Well, Spider. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Yes."

"Good start. Good start. Well, seeing as how I don't mind, I'll go ahead anyway. Why did you warn me about the bombs, Spider?"

The accused scowled and twiddled his thumbs rather than look at him.

"Alright, how about this." Quaritch slid the ID tag over to him.

Spider reacted by flinging it against the wall; he then kicked back his chair as he came to a stand and bellowed at the recombinant. "Forget it! I want nothing to do with you! You understand that? You're a genocidal maniac who should've stayed dead!"

The recom calmly crossed his arms. "Gonna rip my arm off and beat me with it?"

"I might."

Quaritch laughed; it wasn't haughty but filled with admiration that made the boy even angrier.

"Tsaheylu a spark plug."

"If you hate me so much, why'd you pinch my tags?"

"To make an effigy and watch it burn."

"I can do you one better. You had a front-row seat to the whole event but gave it up. Why did you warn me, Spider?"

The boy looked away, refusing to answer. Remembering Ardmore's orders not to interrogate, Quaritch decided to play it safe and switch gears. "Alright. Since you don't want to answer any questions, we'll let you do the asking. Do you have any questions for me?"

Spider stared at him; there was something he desperately wanted to know, and Miles saw it in his eyes. "Did you…ever have siblings?"

"Siblings?" He winced. "No. My parents took one look at me and said never again."

Spider snorted and tried to hide it. "Any…other family?"

"I had an uncle my father didn't like to talk about. Never did find out what the charges were."

"What about…kids?"

The man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What are you getting at?"

"You said you'd let me ask the questions."

"Fair enough. No, I didn't have any kids. Wait… That's it! You think I'm your papa, don't you? Well, there is a resemblance—you're my spittin' image. Is that why you saved my life?" On this revelation, Quaritch was touched.

"So you're not my father?"

"Disappointed?" He smiled.

Spider frowned, then pulled away; Quaritch regretted his wording. "It's a hard thing not knowing your dad. My own left a lot to be desired—might explain how I turned out. In your case, even rotten ol' me is better than nothing, right?"

"Shut up."

Quaritch took another sip of air. "Tell you what. Suppose I were to go out and scrounge up who your real parents were. Would that make you a little less moody?"

The foundling immediately looked into him, about to speak, but hesitated.

"Don't worry. I don't expect anything in return. You've done good by Sully—keepin' quiet." The blue eyes studied him curiously. Quaritch had to take a moment to pull up his breather; after doing so, he sat on the table. "Don't be surprised. I value loyalty above anything else. It's a rare and valuable quality—years to cultivate and everything to defend. Now, Sully, he, uh, raised you, I take it?"

"Pretty much. He'd always come by Hell's Gate to see me. Taught me everything I know—how to fish, hunt, climb trees, use a bow. And he told me that even if I was your son, that it would never change how he sees me." Though his wrists were bound, Spider pointed to his own heart as he recounted Jake's exact words.

The Marine digested all of it.

"You guys are crazy if you think I'm gonna talk."

"Then don't." Quaritch struck his legs as he came to his feet. "Alright, I'll make good on my word. I'll dig up what I can about your real family. Can you give me any leads?"

"Yeah." Spider reached for his waist but stopped. "Oh, never mind. Well, when Jake found me, I was wearing an ID bracelet with a name on it, but I never went by it."

"What's the name?"

"Miles Q. Socorro."

Everything was hushed—as if all the room was affected by the man's pensive shock.

"You…know it?"

His eyes darted around Spider as he lowered down on one knee to be at eye level. "You're Miles Quaritch Socorro?" he breathed in disbelief.

The captive backed away with a gulp. "I thought you said you didn't have any kids!"

The colonel was at a loss for words and pressed his brows, trying to think of something to say.

"Am I or am I not your son?" he yelled.

"You were going to be…" he whispered. Quaritch palmed his face and returned to a stand, feeling like a complete fool.

"I don't understand," Spider whimpered.

"I don't either," he gruffed and stormed out of the room.

Quaritch returned to Ardmore's office, chugging back the air from his breather for the words he would have with her. He kicked the door open and pulled himself inside. Ardmore only glared at him.

"You release that kid!"

Her eyes ran calmly up his built frame. "What fer?"

"That's Miles Socorro in there. He's the son of my pilot, Paz. I'm not going to stand by and let you torture her son. You release him now, or I'll bust him out myself."

"No need to go rogue, recom," she replied icily. "I'd hate to have to put you down. Really."

Miles straightened out his back, grimacing at her infuriating, collected manner while she took a sip of coffee.

"You talk to me like that again, and I'll have you neutered. You understand?"

He lowered his head.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I don't like men who are in the habit of losing their s***, even for a son."

He gave her a look.

"You don't need to pretend with me. You're serving in HAF now. Whatever you did while in SexOps is beyond my jurisdiction. But frankly, I just don't care."

"Will you release him?"

"I'll consider it."

"I'm not leaving here without him," he growled.

She leaned back in her chair. "In that case."

Spider was returned to his cell, but this time, his mind was too distracted to hurl obscenities. He purposely sought the centre of the room to sit cross-legged in order to process the bizarre encounter. The meditation didn't get very far when the door abruptly reopened.

He was surprised to see Quaritch again, but before he could speak his name, he heard the crack of electricity, and the recombinant collapsed with a yelp; his drop revealed Ardmore, standing in the doorway.

"Figured this way, you two can have some father/son bonding time. Pace yourself drinking back that carbon cocktail, okay recom?" She smirked, then stepped back, letting the door reseal.

Spider came rushing over. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he grunted, trying to get up. "Nothing like a few hundred volts to keep the blood pumping. Thought you didn't care about me?"

"I don't. Why did they throw you in here?"

"Lost my temper with the boss, as you can see."

"Over me?"

"Yup."

Spider looked back at the closed door. "Her temper's as nasty as her stench."

"You noticed that too?" his voice pitched.

"Who wouldn't?" Spider chuffed.

Miles chuckled even though it hurt and went to rest against a wall. He took a conservative sip from his breather. "Well, Spider. Looks like we'll both be in here for a while."

The young man was feeling conflicted. "What did you mean when you said, 'I was going to be'?"

Quaritch sighed. "Remember, I can't talk much because of this," he reminded, holding up his apparatus. "Fine, fine. You want your storytime." He readjusted himself so he was upright and not overworking his lungs. He had several ways of starting, but none of them seemed right, so he decided to start from the beginning.

"Your mother was a pilot named Paz Socorro. She flew my gunship, the C-21 Dragon Assault. She was a…very…very special woman."

Spider scooted in closer.

"Now, you see, I was under a strict code."

"Marines aren't allowed to fraternize?"

"That's right. Sully taught you that?"

The head nodded.

"Well, he's right about that. You see, fraternizing interrupts the chain of command. Aside from that, the company I worked for didn't tolerate people getting too friendly on base—I trust I don't need to go into details. To make sure my unit conducted themselves accordingly, I led by example. Always have. Then Paz came into the picture."

Spider dwelt on the way the eyes fell to stare into a memory.

"One day, I looked at her and realized how much she meant to me. And from what I understood, she was on the same page."

"So, did the two of you mate?"

"What? Oh, right, that's your Na'vi vernac'." Quaritch chuckled and looked away. "No, no. I conducted myself around her…too much. I didn't have time for relationships. I had a job. My responsibilities came first." He stopped to use his mask. "Till one day, she put down the ultimatum and asked me to marry her. Can you believe it? That was Paz for you—bold as hell and not apologizing for it. If she hadn't been taken early, she'd have been recom'd, too."

"So…you didn't get together?"

The happiness he felt reminiscing about Paz dissipated. "No. I told her it wasn't going to happen and to give it up. Maybe I coulda been more delicate about it, but that's not my style. Things carried on. She continued serving. Then, one day, she goes on maternity leave. I never did find out who the bastard was that got her pregnant." He ceased to take another sip of carbon dioxide. "The last time I saw her, you were nursing in her arms. You were this tiny and had the appetite of a starving hog. I swear, when you looked at me, I genuinely wished I was the father. 'You had your chance,' she told me. Harsh, but I deserved it. We argued. I stormed out. Stupidest thing I ever did.

"Few months later, I was told she died of cancer—too much exposure to Polyphemus' radiation—one of the more common causes of death on Hell's Gate. Paz had no family, so you were all alone in the world. I decided right then I was going to adopt you—least I could do for the best damn pilot I ever had. Only problem was, when I asked, I was given the complete blowoff. Told you were going to be shipped back to Earth with your father—whoever the hell that was. No one told me anything else. I guess your dad changed his mind."

"Do you have any idea who he was?"

"None. I even thought it was the administrator, Parker Selfridge, for about two seconds. You see, for Paz to have gotten a decent maternity leave, the father must have had some influence within the RDA, enough to push me away."

"If you're not my dad, then why did my mom name me after you?"

"Had the same question. Sentimentality, I guess? I didn't ask. Let her have that one piece of me. I denied her everything else."

It was nearing the end of the story, but Spider only had one more question that really mattered. "Did you love her?"

Quaritch's eyes lingered on the boy as his mind left to seek the answer. "Yeah. I loved her."

The protagonist sat back, unsure what to make of his own backstory. He didn't find out who his father was and yet learned far more than he ever dreamed of knowing. "Maybe it's better you didn't adopt me."

"Because you think I'm a genocidal maniac?"

"Well, yeah." Spider shrugged. "But also, my name would've been Miles Quaritch Quaritch, and that's just stupid."

The colonel belted out a hearty laugh. To pay for it, he had to take several strong inhales and felt like an asthmatic.

"Don't waste that."

"Yeah, you're right. I don't think she has any intention of refilling it either."

"How long can those things last?"

"Don't know."

"If you fall asleep with that on, you'll blow through it faster."

"I'll have to stay awake then, or that'll be the big sleep."

"Almost happened to me once. My EXO pack batteries can go for eight hours, but mine were old and weren't holding as much charge—they died while I was asleep. My friend heard it stop, and she carried me to safety."

"She?"

"Uh, Kiri. She's…my best friend," he stammered with a nervous scratch of his neck.

"Uh-oh," Quaritch remarked, looking away. "Well, good thing we got you out of there when we did."

"What?"

Quaritch returned his dumb gaze with the cock of his eyebrow.

"She's not—"

"You sweet on her?"

Spider faltered.

"You're sweet on her…"

"What's wrong with that?" he snapped.

"Be realistic, Miles. Just because Sully got away with it doesn't mean you could've."

"My name is Spider," he growled.

"Alright. Spider. No need to get huffy. I'm just pointing out the obvious."

Socorro went quiet and left Quaritch to go huddle in a corner which exposed his back, and the colonel saw firsthand just how far the young man's loyalties went.