Writing this chapter was driving me up the fucking WALL. I really thought I was going insane. I am so happy I can finally post it. Please be nice to me.
Thank you to mr. lassify for listening to me rant about this chapter - you absolutely helped me to stay sane. Also thank you to chillbunnie for beta reading this chapter for me!
Thank you to mirage, F0RG0T33N, LightXCVII, YourLocalAsexualLoser, and Psy-Kick for your awesome reviews!
There are several bombs in this chapter! Proceed with caution.
Enjoy xx
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Anya leapt across the stairs three at a time, trying to think how she could get to the school gates as fast as possible, when a noise of indignance scraped through her mind.
Are you serious, Anya? These are just regular kitchen ingredients!
Unused to Becky being able to just talk to her through her mind, Anya did her best to divert more of her concentration to just not tripping over the stairs.
I swear that's the recipe! Now are you gonna make it or not?
Why why why hadn't she learned any of the blueprints for Eden College, like Twilight did? The Imperial Scholar corridors were the absolute worst, turning every floor into a maze, when it would have been so much easier to just jump out of a window and leap across the rooftops, like her mother's style…
But, Anya had to admit, it would have been far too obvious. Eden College had windows and classrooms everywhere, and there was no telling how much attention she could accidentally draw to herself when she needed to be stealthy, like her father…
Speaking of.
When Anya had asked Becky to borrow her phone, she had handed it over reluctantly ("You'd better give it back!") before she ran to the kitchens, and Anya's fingers flew across the keys immediately, typing out the number that she had had memorised for nearly her whole life.
He picked up halfway through the first ring, as she knew he would.
Loid shaded his eyes with his hand, appreciating the warm sunlight of the morning. Even the wind had warmed, dropping its winter chill over the last few weeks, and bringing with it the promise of spring. It wouldn't be long before the cherry blossoms would be out in bloom, and then it would be officially springtime.
Bond tugged on the lead, and Loid chuckled at the dog's impatience.
"We're almost at the park, Bond," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "There's no need to rush."
But Bond continued to use his strength to pull on the lead, making Loid wonder if Bond was particularly excited to get to the park that day, where he knew that Loid would let him off the lead and he could run all he wanted. Bond had been rather agitated that morning, huffing in impatience as Loid had readied his coat to take him out for his morning walk.
Sometimes, he missed being Twilight, but now that he was no longer employed by WISE, Loid found that he rather enjoyed the extra time on his hands. It was nice to be able to cook breakfast for his family, to be able to run errands during the day if he needed to. He had even dropped his role as a psychiatrist to part-time, but in truth, early retirement had allowed him for the first time ever to think of what he wanted to do. Dr Forger could continue to be a psychiatrist, or he could retire and change careers… anything was possible.
Bond started barking just a few seconds before his phone buzzed in his pocket, and Loid chuckled. Sometimes, he forgot that the dog was clairvoyant.
He frowned at the Caller ID on the screen. It wasn't familiar…
"This is Dr Forger," he answered on instinct, and when he heard the voice on the other end, his entire body was alert.
"I'm on my way."
He ended the call, leaned down to the dog, and unhooked the lead.
"We're going for a run, Bond," he said seriously. "We've got a mission."
As Loid got closer to the grounds of the school, he could already see the crowds of security at each entrance, particularly at the main entrance of the school, and the familiar sight of pink hair standing apart from all of them.
"Papa!"
She waved him over as soon as she spotted him - or more likely, as soon as she sensed him - and Loid noted the swell of relief that had washed through him to see her safe.
"Anya," he called her name as he got closer, Bond close on his heels. "What's going on?"
It was a general, nondescript question, but if there were any eavesdroppers in the group of security guards, they would have thought that it was an innocent question. Over the phone, Anya had kept all details brief, only saying that there was a suspicious man on the roof, so they both knew that "what's going on?" translated a bit more accurately to "status report".
"Right, er, so," Anya began, somewhat tentatively, and then she launched into what she knew: the man, his location, the few things that she had gleaned from his mind already…
"So you used Becky's phone to call me, very resourceful," Loid nodded to himself. "So where is she now?"
"Er…" Anya looked away, and started to fidget with her hands. "I may have… instructed her to make some peanut bombs…"
Loid stared at her.
"... but only because I thought it would get her out of the way! She's really pushy, and-"
"You did what?"
"-she wouldn't leave me alone otherwise!"
"You got a civilian involved?"
"I know it sounds bad, but-"
"You gave her the peanut bomb recipe?"
"I just really think it would be useful -"
"Anya!" Loid exclaimed, and then flinched once he realised that he had accidentally attracted the security guards' attention.
He lowered his voice: "You get her to stand down immediately, do you hear me?"
Anya crossed her arms. "I thought it could be a good idea…"
Loid caught himself between a sigh and a groan, but only stopped himself when he was faced with Anya's disappointed expression.
Could he blame her? Not really. With the way that Anya had experienced the world so far, didn't it make sense for her to try to take things into her own hands?
Yet, at the same time, Loid knew that he had responsibilities as an adult, and that was to do whatever he could to keep his child - and her friends - safe. If he had been training her as diligently as he should have been, Anya would have known the rationale to stand down, and would have known to listen to his direct orders, and certainly wouldn't have involved any civilians, not even her friends…
"You did the right thing to call me," he said quietly, conscious of the security guards of the school. "I'll take care of this."
Loid stepped away, and then halted immediately when he noticed Anya falling into step behind him.
What do you think you're doing? He glowered at her.
Aren't you training me to be a spy? She responded, her tone laced with confusion.
Loid tensed, and a thousand thoughts ran through his mind in the space of a fraction of a second. Thoughts of Anya getting in too deep, of getting hurt, of getting found out, executed, extricated from her home, forced to flee, to shed her identity and forge a new one, time and time again.
That wasn't a life. And as a father, he wanted so much more for Anya than what he was given, he wanted so much more for her than what WISE had to offer. There was no doubt that she would be brilliant - but would she be happy? Would she be safe?
Loid sighed. She was not going to be happy with him.
"You are not to set foot on school grounds while there's a potential perpetrator on the loose."
"WHAT!"
"He has weapons, Anya-"
"But that's not fair! And everyone has weapons, it's not like this guy is suddenly more dangerous than everyone else-"
"It's too risky!"
"But I can do it! I've been doing it already for so long!"
"That was a mistake!" Loid yelled, and as soon as he did, regret flooded him immediately.
Because he raised his voice at her, in a moment so tense that it startled her, and Anya looked up at him with the hurt visible in her eyes.
Loid clenched his fists, and then took a steadying breath, trying to recenter himself.
"It's my mistake," he clarified, purposefully softening his tone. He should have known that his sharpness would hurt Anya, would startle her in a bad way.
"Anya," he said in a low voice, putting both of hands on her shoulders so that they would meet eye-to-eye. "None of it was ever your responsibility. It is still not your responsibility. You have to understand, I would never wish this for you."
"But…" Anya blinked at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. "But I can do it. I can fight, I can protect everyone, I can protect myself-"
"You've been protecting everyone already for so long. You did well, but it's time to stand down. It's time to let yourself take a step back, let someone else do the work, please Anya, please," he rasped, and was stunned to hear the emotion in his own voice. "Please for once, let me protect you ."
Anya only stared at him, stunned into silence, and Loid took that as his cue to stand tall once again, and he called Bond over to him.
"Keep her safe," he told the dog. "And off school property, until I return."
"Borf!"
"Papa, wait-!"
He leapt away before he could hear the end of her sentence, before he could be convinced by her, because Loid knew as much as Yor did that Anya was right, she could fight, she could protect everyone, she could do whatever it took -
But that was exactly the problem, wasn't it?
Becky held out the small plastic tub in front of her, incredulously reading the label.
"Unbelievable," she tutted to herself. "Fucking bicarbonate of soda." And then she carefully measured it out, tapping the powder into each of the three containers in front of her, all the while keeping half an ear out for any sign of movement in the small student's kitchen.
Up until this point, Becky understood that the student kitchens were mainly used for cooking and home economics classes…
…and making peanut bombs, apparently. Although, that last part was really an Anya specialty.
Are you sure about this? She had wanted to ask Anya, when a melodic voice chimed through her head.
It can't hurt right?
Becky shook her head. "Oh, that feels really weird."
"Sorry."
"No, don't be," Becky said as she rubbed her temples. "I'll, uh, I'll get used to it."
Becky had never seen a media example of a person being best friends with a telepath… but, well, it didn't mean that she couldn't learn the ropes herself, right?
"Thanks, Becky," Anya softened, giving her best friend the tightest hug that she could muster, until Becky tapped on her shoulder, wheezing.
"Too… strong…"
"Oh, right! Sorry!"
Anya hastily let go and stepped back, with Becky's phone in her hand. "I'm trusting you with this okay? I have to, um, do something else, but I'll be back soon!"
"Yeah you'd better be! I refuse to be expelled for being in possession of explosives," Becky tutted with mock-annoyance. "On school property, anyway," she finished with a wink.
Becky didn't feel particularly reassured that Anya had to run away straight after teaching her how to make a peanut bomb, but at least she wasn't being shut out any more…
With her tongue sticking out (in a very cute ladylike fashion), Becky measured ingredients into the container as if her life depended on it - because who knows, maybe it did. At least, it certainly felt like it, given that the liquid now in her hands contained ammonium nitrate, and she hadn't forgotten what that did to her father's warehouse.
"Easy does it, easy…"
Becky poured it into the first container, then the second, and she hovered it above the third container ready to pour, when a voice reached her from the doorway.
"Aren't you supposed to be at the press conference?"
Becky tensed, and glanced at the slim form of Alice Paulette, who stood in the doorway with her hand on her hips.
"Why would I want to be there?" Becky scoffed, and though she avoided eye contact, she could still see Alice rolling her eyes.
"Please. You can drop the act! I don't believe for one second that you and Damian aren't actually the best of friends," and then to Becky's indignation, she chuckled. "Honestly, you and Forger are just as bad as each other."
At that, Becky allowed herself a small smile, in memory of the days when her best friend drove her mad with denial.
But the pleasant tone of the conversation did not last long, because then Alice's eyes narrowed at the materials in Becky's hands. "What are you doing with those…?"
"Extracurricular… science experiment!" Becky exclaimed, internally cursing at how much sweat started to bead on her forehead.
"Oh!" Alice's eyes lit up, and she stepped forward. "I'm taking the advanced chemistry module with Glooman, I can help!"
Becky thrust a hand out in protest.
"Wait, no!" Becky panicked. "Don't come any -"
And in her panic, the liquid slipped from her hands.
Falling into the container below.
Despite his new status as retired spy, it was still remarkably easy for Loid to switch into Twilight mode. Twilight didn't exist on paper anymore, but that didn't mean that he was discarded entirely. In that second where he settled back into his secret identity, Twilight had already analysed the situation from what Anya had told him, and came up with several hypotheses:
First: Anya had only detected one mind, located on the rooftop of Eden College, nearby the Eastern Auditorium. Twilight knew from memorising the blueprints of Eden College that the surrounding buildings reached a height equal to halfway up the height of the windows, making them a likely vantage point, if the perpetrator's target was indeed in that building. The high windows of the venue were supposed to be beautiful, and the architecture was designed to let in as much light as possible - which, unfortunately, meant that whatever was inside the building, could also be clearly seen from those particular vantage points.
Second: if the perpetrator was preparing long-range weaponry on top of a building nearby to the Eastern Auditorium, it could be reasonable to assume that the target was someone inside of it.
And the key piece of information: it was Damian Desmond's press conference today.
A perfect opportunity to strike: for what, he did not yet know. Was it vengeance for Donovan Desmond's crimes? Was it in retaliation to the mass firings that took place as a result of the evidence presented? Was it in protest of Damian Desmond's appointment to CEO? (Because he was too young? Because he was still related to Donovan Desmond?). They were all merely hypotheses of course, but Twilight needed to be as prepared as possible
Twilight kept his back pressed to the building as he tried to look out for the man that Anya had identified, hoping that he couldn't be seen by any passers-by.
According to Anya, classes were still in full session, which meant that there was still time before the perpetrator could use the resulting crowd to make his disappearance, and crucially, there would be as few civilians in the vicinity as possible.
He was now a few buildings away from the Eastern Auditorium, and Twilight was all too conscious of their high windows, almost the perfect target, but he also knew that these types of schemes rarely unfolded as originally planned. He had to stay alert, knowing that the plans could change at any time. Anya had only identified one possible attacker, but there was always the possibility that he wasn't working alone…
Satisfied that there were no eyes on him, Twilight jumped up to grab the windowsill on the floor above him, and swung from it, using the momentum to propel him further upwards still, where he could grab on to the edge of the tiled rooftop and pull himself onto it.
He sped across it, before resting behind a nondescript chimney, and used his handheld mirror to see behind him.
A man crouched on the roof, rummaging through two large black bags. He seemed intent on his job, concentrating on assembling his materials together. Twilight recognised the style as vaguely para-militaristic - what criminals would often use to transport weapons - and if that was true, then Twilight would have to contend with the new fact that there were probably military-grade weapons on school grounds.
Oh, this was not good. Thank goodness for the fact that Anya was out of range, with Bond by her side…
The man pulled out a long, thin case with straps on either side of it, and he very carefully slid it into the nose of the chimney behind him, using the straps to keep it securely stored.
If Twilight had to guess, it looked like he was… storing the weapons? In the very buildings of Eden College?
But what for?
Twilight shook his head to himself. Did it matter that he did not know what the weapons were for, if the bigger picture was that there should be no weapons at all on school grounds, especially the one that his daughter went to every day.
The man could be anyone: a sniper, a scout, or even more dangerous, a rogue with goals of his own, but Twilight couldn't afford to wait and find out. At the same time, the longer that he stayed quiet, the more information that he could collect.
He couldn't help but think that something was… odd.
If it was just a straightforward attack, why not just bring one gun? Why bring multiple bags of what appeared to be rifles - the high-tech military kind with scopes - if there was only one perpetrator?
A buzzing noise startled Twilight, and he strained to listen out.
"...crrrk… wants to know… setup position…"
Dammit, why wasn't his hearing as good as Yor's?
"Yeah, I got everything here," the man responded with a grunt, keeping his volume low. "I'm at the third vantage point. Trust me, I'll be back by dinnertime."
The voice on the radio crinkled with something else that Twilight couldn't quite catch, and the man laughed.
"I don't know, man! She said the less I knew, the better, so you just don't ask questions, you know?"
Twilight frowned, trying to tease out as many pieces of information from the man as he could. As a (former) master spy, he had accomplished far more with far less, but Twilight still couldn't shake the feeling that he was overlooking something huge, and potentially life-threatening.
It was one of the outcomes that Twilight had feared: that the man wasn't working alone, and that there were external accomplices.
The perpetrator was using a VHF radio, which had a radius of about four miles, but Twilight had already studied the blueprints for all of Eden College, and he knew that the school grounds covered an area of about two-and-a-half miles in each direction.
Which meant that there was a high probability that the accomplice was already on school grounds…
If Twilight called Handler, he could get her to send in active agents to investigate the surrounding areas, while he tailed the primary perpetrator…
But he wasn't a spy anymore. Twilight was only a pseudonym, a man that didn't exist, and never existed in the first place. He didn't have a place in this world anymore.
Even so, he had to try. Even without a plan, without an operation or a target, it was still clear that there were lives at stake. The lives of the students, the teachers, maybe even Damian himself, if his suspicions were right…
And if he ever let something happen to Damian, how could he ever expect to look Anya in the eyes again?
Twilight thought of the pistol stored in his inside jacket. What to do, what to do…
He tilted his head once more, trying to see between the pillars of the chimney, when -
BOOM!
An explosive noise came from the nearby building, and in his shock, Twilight's footing on the roof faltered, and his shoe scraped on the roof tile.
Shit, shit, shit, Twilight panicked internally, praying that the noise wasn't audible to the perpetrator, but when he checked behind him again, the man had gone.
In an instant, Twilight whirled back to see a knee driving directly towards his face, and he barely ducked out of the way before the man's knee struck the chimney behind him, shattering it into pieces.
The man clicked the radio active.
"Protector, we got a situation -"
Twilight cursed, and he didn't have time to let himself wonder how the man had managed to sneak up on him without him noticing, because then he was fending off one attack after another. He caught a punch to his face, but then had to block a kick from below, and dodge another attack to his head -
His eyes widened, with the realisation that he had completely underestimated the man in front of him. It was like he had turned into a different person, from making jokes into the intercom, to attacking Twilight like a machine, and even though his posture appeared terrible, and he looked too thin, he packed enough strength to keep Twilight on guard.
Even his reflexes were faster than Twilight could have guessed, constantly evading Twilight's attacks while retaliating with ones of his own, his eyes hard as stone, all traces of laughter and casualness vanishing in the single split-second when the explosion went off.
The smell of - nutty? - smoke permeated the air, carried by the wind from the building that Twilight had identified must be where the student kitchens were.
He couldn't help but feel like Anya had something to do with it.
But he didn't have time to find the source or the reason for the explosion, because then the man in front of him brought out a hidden pistol from his jacket -
Aiming it at Twilight.
"What the fuck was that?" Alice coughed, waving the smoke from her face. "Either you got the formula wrong, or your science experiment is seriously messed up."
Becky pushed herself up from the ground - having dodged behind one of the tables - and coughed into her elbow, her mind racing with worries and thoughts through the overpowering smell of burned peanuts.
Anya didn't tell her it could do that.
It's only a precaution! She had said, but Becky almost couldn't believe that she could make something so potent with only kitchen ingredients. How had Anya not patented the recipe already? Or sold it to the explosives manufacturing industry -
Oh, right, Becky realised. She was the literal heiress to the explosives manufacturing industry. She could see why Anya would think twice about having to explain her knowledge of explosives to her best friend…
A melodic voice blazed in her mind:
Becky! Are you okay? Are you hurt?
Just my pride, Becky thought instinctively, wondering if Anya was able to hear her message from… wherever she was. Anya had told her almost nothing about the supposed plan in her mind, only saying that she needed to borrow Becky's phone, and could she please make a few peanut bombs just in case please…
Never again! Becky sighed, and dusted herself off, before standing to check the rest of the damage.
Thankfully, it was only smoke that remained, and Becky breathed a sigh of relief to see that the other two peanut bombs had been untouched, probably protected by the fact that Becky had sealed them both just before working on the third one.
The smoke wasn't too thick, but already, Becky had a bad feeling.
She looked up at the smoke detectors above her.
"Shit," she cursed, at the exact second that the alarms went off.
Alice's hands flew to her ears. "Really, Blackbell, did you have to set that thing off?!"
Becky tried not to wince at the noise herself. It penetrated through her skull, rattling in her ears, but she knew that she had to get out of the kitchens as fast as possible, or risk getting a Tonitrus Bolt…
Becky paled.
… Oh, she was going to be in so much trouble.
But! There was still the man on the roof, who Anya didn't say much about, but Becky could tell just from her expression that things were not looking good. Becky knew what her friend looked like when she was secretly worried about something, or some one - she liked to think that she was well practised at it, after all these years.
With all the practised confidence of a weapons heiress, she shook off her anxiety, and picked up the ingredients again, closing all the lids, quickly putting them back into the cupboards where they belonged -
"What are you doing?" Alice hissed. "You'll be caught!"
"It takes three-and-a-half minutes to get here from the teacher's lounge," Becky said evenly, not breaking her concentration. "If I just make it look like a fluke, then maybe-"
BANG!
Goosebumps erupted on Becky's skin, and she paused, ears straining through the alarms that echoed through the walls.
Because. She had never heard that sound in person - but it was unmistakably a gunshot.
It was a sound so foreign to every student in the school. None of them had been alive during the war. None of them had known the terror and fear of being on a battlefield - yet, it was unmistakable, because of its ferocity, its strength, and the raw chill that dripped down Becky's spine.
Becky stilled, and her and Alice's eyes met through the still-dissipating smoke of the peanut bomb.
"You heard that, right?" Alice said over the noise of the fire alarm, her voice shaky with disbelief and Becky nodded.
"Come on!" she said to Alice, and scooped both of the remaining peanut bombs into her arms, before grabbing Alice's shoulders and pulling her along towards the Eastern Auditorium.
"Where are you going? We need to evacuate!" Alice panicked, but she let herself be dragged along by Becky through the Imperial Scholar's corridor, through which the blaring alarms echoed.
"We need to get to Damian!" Becky wheezed, trying to juggle both containers in her grip while also pulling Alice away, suddenly wishing that she hadn't pushed her way into one of Anya's crazy situations.
"Did you not hear that? A gun just went off! A gun!"
"I know!" Becky hissed, barely keeping herself together. "And it's Damian's very public press conference! What does that tell you about what might be happening?!"
Becky almost heard the moment where it clicked in Alice's head, and she started running faster alongside Becky, the panic taking over her, too.
"The upper balcony of the auditorium isn't far from here," Alice gasped. "But what can we do?"
Becky glanced at the peanut bombs in her hands. "Whatever we can."
Twilight stared into the barrel of the gun.
His instinct was to return fire with his own pistol, to roll and duck and retaliate before the assailant would even know what was coming, but Twilight was hyper-aware of his own environment, of being on the school ground of Eden fucking College - the home of the children of the elite.
How could he hide if a gunshot went off, attracting the attention of everyone in the school? It would no doubt draw immediate attention, and though Twilight needed to neutralise the threat, he also could not afford to be noticed…
But then if he held his hands up in surrender, would he get injured too? Would the assailant just take the shot, making sure to eliminate any and all witnesses?
And then how could he protect Anya? How could he protect her if he was injured, or worse, dead?
Twilight stared into the barrel of the gun, and in under a second, he had calculated his next move.
He ducked below the below the barrels aim, and using the force of his foot planted firmly on the tiles, he propelled himself upwards, slamming his palm into the man's fist -
The heel of Twilight's hand hit the bottom of the pistol, forcing it to eject out of the man's grasp, and Twilight reached for it, intending to keep out of reach of the rooftop perpetrator, but the pistol flew through the air, spinning, once, twice -
- only to be caught easily by another hand.
It wasn't Twilight, and it wasn't the original perpetrator.
A second assailant stood on the roof, now with the first man's gun in his hand, as well as his own.
He wore all black, along with a black mask that covered the entirety of his face and his hair, his eyes shaded by a reflective visor that mirrored Twilight's confounded expression back at him.
"Protector!" The first man said, and he noticeably paled. "I have it all under control, I swear -"
And then the second man - the man called Protector - spoke.
His voice was low, grating, and though he faced Twilight, his ire was clearly directed towards the first man.
"Clearly," said the Protector dryly, the single word dripping in sarcasm and disappointment.
"Stand down, Soldier." He clicked both guns, and Twilight took a step back, suddenly unsure of what to do. "I'll eliminate the witness."
Every single nerve in Twilight's body fired at the same time, and his instincts took over.
He pushed all of his force into his legs and feet, jumping to the next rooftop over as soon as he could, and he didn't need to turn his head to know that he was already being pursued.
The original assailant - Soldier? - had fallen quickly behind, his body clearly not used to making such large leaps, but it was a different story for the Protector. He jumped as though he were flying, leaping through the air with grace and ease, and Twilight almost caught himself staring, trying to figure out his technique, when he reminded himself that he actually needed to be running.
Twilight landed on the next rooftop, quickly using the chimney to swing his momentum around and create an obstacle between himself and the Protector.
Dammit, dammit, dammit! He clenched his teeth as he ran, trying to control his slowly rising panic as the Protector stayed on his tail, keeping an easy pace with him.
No - he was catching up. Though Twilight could barely hear the Protector's impossibly light footsteps coming up fast behind him, and he seemed to be able to mask his presence the same way that Twilight knew how, he only knew that the man was behind him at all because of the sensation of his intense gaze on Twilight's back.
The Protector was following him - but he hadn't fired, and the moment that Twilight found himself wondering why, the answer came to him.
Of course! Twilight thought with victory. The Protector was clearly running an operation that relied on stealth - which meant that he didn't want to draw attention to himself just as much as Twilight…
So, he was shepherding Twilight out of the boundaries of Eden College, where as soon as Twilight stepped over the boundary, he would be executed.
A bead of sweat started on Twilight's forehead as he quickly understood that he wouldn't be able to outrun the Protector - so he turned to face him, bringing his own pistol out of his jacket and cocking it immediately.
He had hoped that would be enough to startle the Protector, or panic him, given their shared need for stealth, but to his immediate disappointment, it did no such thing, and the Protector swiftly brought out his own pistol, already cocked.
There was a half-second of silence, where each evaluated the other in the rooftop stalemate, and Twilight realised with some level of dread that somehow, while intending to escape, the Protector had managed to manoeuvre him with his back to the high windows of the Eastern Auditorium. If he turned around, he would be able to see the beauty of the stained glass behind him, but as it was, he had to focus on the new enemy in front of him.
The Protector.
He didn't have the luxury of analysing the situation, of deducting or thinking in any capacity. There was only survival, in the form of action and reaction.
It happened in slow motion: the series of movements from the tension in the Protector's shoulder, to when he drew his elbow inwards, stabilising the pistol in his hands, and squeezing the trigger -
Twilight mirrored his movements, pulling on his own trigger -
BANG!
He fired, and at the same time, Twilight dropped to the ground, dodging the Protector's bullet at the last millisecond.
His torso hit the rooftop tile just as the glass shattered behind him, and he rolled on his side, but he had put too much acceleration into his escape, and his body nearly rolled off the rooftop, if he hadn't struck out first with his hand, and used the residual momentum to swing himself back up, ready to fight -
But once he had restored his footing on the rooftop, he quickly saw that the Protector was nowhere to be found.
He had escaped.
No-one would have heard him curse over the shrieking fire alarms, and the cries of panic from the crowd inside, but although Twilight's hearing was nowhere near as accurate as his wife's, his well-trained ears managed to pick out the sound of something that made his blood run cold.
The sound of something heavy.
Falling to the ground.
Anya gritted her teeth as she watched her father leap away, leaving her stuck outside of the school gates.
It wasn't fair. She understood his rationale, his perspective, but didn't he know how much she had trained? How good her skills were now?
She paced along the pavement at the side of the road with her hands behind her back, and Bond trotted after her, intent on carrying out his master's wishes and keeping an eye on her like he promised.
Must protect…
Anya sighed, and gave Bond a pat on the head. It wasn't his fault that Twilight had forbidden her to return until he was done.
One of the security guards eyed her as she did, looking at Bond with a curled lip. "You'd better keep that animal away from the school grounds. Dogs in the property are strictly forbidden."
"I know," Anya replied, and barely held back from rolling her eyes. Bond borfed, expressing his offence.
And then -
BOOM!
The noise from the explosion rattled the air, and Anya's stomach dropped, immediately thinking of Becky and the task that she had set her just before she left.
Becky! Are you okay? Are you hurt?
Just my pride, came Becky's tired response, and Anya sagged in relief. Meanwhile, the security guards around the school's entrance all burst into a restrained panic.
"Was that a bomb?!"
"This wasn't in the brief!"
"Stay calm! We don't know if it was a student, but we have to act accordingly. You two, abandon post and find the source, you contact the SSS and emergency services, you stay here and stop anyone from leaving or entering-"
"Borf!"
Bond's ears twitched, only becoming more restless as more time ticked by after the explosion, and after a lifetime of his visions, Anya recognised the signs almost immediately.
She kneeled before him, and tuned into his mind almost automatically, letting his vision filter into her mindscape.
Anya put her hands on either side of his fuzzy face, not because she particularly needed to, but it helped her to make the picture in her head as detailed as possible. She had spent too much of the last two weeks practising how to shut off her power, all for Damian's sake, but in Bond's old age, the quality of his visions had only become fuzzier, and so she needed to tune into as much of her power as she could, to see the picture in his mind…
… which she regretted immediately, upon seeing the vision communicated to her.
Blood. Spreading slowly. A podium.
Her own stricken face, frozen in despair and devastation.
And Damian, in her arms.
The vision itself was drenched in urgency, in the feeling that she had to move, now, and the message of the vision hit her like a gunshot: Damian is going to die.
Damian is going to die.
Damian is going to -
Her breath came in ragged gasps, tearing itself out of her throat, and her body trembled in pure rejection of the vision's message.
Her mind whirred, trying to think of what to do what to do what to do, but dammit, she wasn't a fully trained spy like her father! She didn't have the skills to analyse on her feet and consider the options when she was running out of time like this - she only had her instincts to guide her.
There was… there was so much blood…
…coming from him…
Damian is -
No. No. It wasn't happening, because she wasn't going to let it happen.
Bond barked at her, immediately understanding what she was planning to do, but Anya knew that she did not even have time to spare him an apologetic glance, as she first jogged backwards, keeping the school gates in her sight.
A guard noticed her sudden movement, and called out: "Hey! What are you doing?"
Anya ignored him, and pushed all her energy into her legs, going into a full-powered sprint, and she leapt over the school gate.
She felt, rather than heard, the mind of Bond barrelling through the security guards at the gate, leaving their confusion behind.
"Miss Forger! No running in the school! And is that a dog?!"
"Is that Forger? She's so fast!"
"Don't you dare run on the grass!"
"Check it out! There's a dog following her!"
"Miss Forger! Get down from there this instant! Are you - did you just break into a window?! That's destruction of school property!"
Anya knew in the back of her mind that she was going to get into so much trouble - she had already collected at least three Bolts in the last twenty seconds, maybe more - but her panic powered her to keep going, keep moving, and ignore all of the shouts that followed her.
She could feel Bond's guilt, that he had failed his master, feel his confusion at the new scene unfolding, and she could also feel his worry for her, for all of them.
But Bond had shown her the future thousands of times throughout her life, and if Anya had learned anything at all from all of those times, it was that she had the power to change the future.
Every step forward thundered through her like her heartbeat, each one another tick closer to zero.
The light was too bright in Damian's eyes, but he tried not to turn away from it. The sunlight could at least be tolerable, but he only hoped that a stray cloud could come and shield him from its penetrating glare.
Sweat had started to gather on his forehead, at the back of his neck, but he tried to ignore it as he continued to answer each question posed by the various journalists, reporters, and shareholders that had made their way into the press conference, answering each of them with the precision of a bullet.
He tried not to smirk at that last image - maybe he had absorbed more of Yor's teachings than he thought.
He took a sip of water, trying to at least cool himself from the heat of everyone's gazes, if not the permeating sun's rays on the side of his face.
"Lord Desmond," another reporter began, and Damian cringed on the inside. He would never get used to it. "At what point would you consider -"
BOOM!
An explosion sounded, and the crowd in the Eastern Auditorium gasped at once, reactively ducking in their respective spaces.
Damian's fingers could have slipped on the edges of the podium from how much he was sweating, but he gripped the wood hard, suddenly overcome with a deep sense of foreboding.
A few seconds later, the fire alarms tore through the air, and through Damian's eardrums, and Mr Handel approached the podium with haste.
"Sir," he implored. "We need to get you to safety, the staff had said there was no plan for a fire alarm today. If you come with me, we can go…"
But Damian had frozen, suddenly wondering why there was the smell of burnt peanuts.
"Sir," Mr Handel said again, his voice rising in urgency. "We must evacuate-"
The students must have reached the same conclusion, because they sprang from their seats, all except Ewen and Emile, who glanced around in panic, watching the chaos unfold before them.
Professor Henderson leapt to his feet, using his cane to point to the exits at the rear of the auditorium.
"All students," he boomed. "Head to your nearest exit immediately, and make your way to the courtyard behind the Western Auditorium. All Imperial Scholars, escort your fellow students as quickly as possible, and follow Fire Escape protocol. Leave all belongings at your seats, and remember to stay calm. This is not a drill!"
The journalists couldn't contain their looks of awe and surprise as the students of Eden College did, in fact, stay calm, and they were on their way to filing out of the room, when Professor Henderson addressed the crowd of reporters.
"Those who are here for Mr Desmond's press conference, I am afraid to say that it is the end of it. You may join the evacuation to rear of the Western Auditorium, where our security will return your bags and belongings, before guiding you through to-"
But the rest of Professor Henderson's instructions were lost, as a burst of panic erupted from the balcony seats at the very rear of the auditorium, where it appeared that a single body was pushing against the tide of students.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
"You're going the wrong way!"
A collective gasp came from the journalists below, all looking up, and Damian lifted his gaze, to the balcony seats above -
Anya Forger had pushed her way to the front of the seats, climbing unceremoniously onto the balcony bannister above the crowd of reporters and journalists.
And
then
she
jumped.
It was only a second, but that second drew out in front of him as if it was in slow motion. He saw the wildness of her hair, floating behind her like a halo, saw the look of pure panic in her eyes as her hand reached for him, almost soaring above the crowd to reach him on the podium.
"DAMIAN GET DOWN!"
Her outstretched palm slammed into the centre of his chest like cannonfire, stopping his breath completely as she pushed him back with all her force and her power, and suddenly he was falling backwards, unable to breathe -
BANG!
The wide windows shattered beside him, and every person in the room took cover from the falling shards.
His back hit the wooden floor of the stage and Anya landed on top of him, squeezing all the air out of him with a wheeze.
"Lord Desmond!"
"Bossman!"
Panic and shouts filled the air, but the loudest sound to Damian was the sound of Anya's laboured breathing in his ear while he gulped his breath back.
"Anya-"
He expected her to roll off of him on her own, but when she didn't, he started to panic.
"Anya?"
Time suspended itself as he closed himself off from everything else happening around him, and he gently held the back of her head, before rolling her off of him, and he pushed himself up from his elbow.
She slid away from him far too easily.
"Anya?"
He watched, paralysed, unable to even breathe, as she drew a shaky breath, and looked up at him with wide green eyes.
"You okay, Sy-on?"
Damian couldn't move. Couldn't even blink. What just happened? How… was she here… and the window was broken, and there was… an explosion? What? Why…
…why was she…
…bleeding?
"I got here in time," she mumbled. "Thank goodness…"
No.
The black fabric of her uniform hid it well, but the red seeped into the cracks beyond her shoulder, betraying the truth of what happened.
No no no no no.
On instinct, he moved closer to her, trying to hold his breath against the iron tang that had seeped into the air, but it was too potent, permeating through his nostrils to the back of his throat, and he thought he was going to be sick. It felt like his chest wanted to burst apart, partly from the pain of holding his breath, and partly because of his not-yet dulled heartbreak, but mainly because Anya just took a bullet for him.
This isn't happening.
Damian hurried to stop the bleeding, motivated by some faraway recollection from a first-aid course he had taken years ago, and he hurried to press his palm into the space where her neck met her shoulder, but the positioning of it was too awkward, and he had to fight against the feeling of his palm threatening to slip away from her.
This can't be happening.
He kneeled over her, completely unable to tear his eyes away from hers, because at least they were still open, she was looking at him, she was still seeing him -
"Your tie," she whispered, and her voice was so raw that he wanted to cry.
A small hand reached up and she stroked the silk at his neck.
"It matches my dress…"
And then she lost her strength, and her hand fell away, and Damian was powerless to help her.
Memories screamed through Damian's mind; Anya, fainting in the middle of the crowd, the fire alarms screaming around them; Anya, pale and soaking wet, unconscious in his arms as he ran from the lab; Anya, unconscious and bleeding, looking so close to death in his arms after falling from the tournament's climbing wall. He remembered thinking that was what she must look like if she were dead, or close to dying.
Oh, he was so wrong.
It wasn't even close.
"Anya, no, no no no, don't go, please, don't…" He gasped desperately, and every breath sliced his chest open, spilling out his resolve and what little strength he had left, because Damian had always needed Anya. Just as trees needed sunlight, just as the ocean needed the moon, just as his body needed his heart to keep beating.
What happened to trees without sunlight? How did the ocean move without the push and pull of the moon's gravity? And without his heart, how could he…
He had given his heart to her, and now…
With his hand on the space between her shoulder and her neck, his thumb reaching just beneath her jaw, he almost could have looked like a man tenderly caressing his lover, and Damian couldn't help but think that it was a mockery of everything they had been through together, a cruel distortion of their relationship until now.
"I can't lose you," his voice was hoarse, desperate. Hot tears ran down his face, dripping onto hers. "I can't…"
His own tears ran down her cheeks, like she was the one crying, and he pressed his palm into her, begging the sky, the sun, begging any god that would listen.
"Anya, please," he heard his own voice, as though the words were being spoken by someone else.
It just - it wasn't - this couldn't be -
Not when he was so close. Not when they were - he was almost - he was ready -
White lights flashed in his eyes. A barrage of them, accompanied by the relentless clicking of cameras.
A large, reassuring hand on his back: An ambulance is on the way, Mr Desmond, just keep doing what you're doing…
White light took over his vision, and the world closed around Damian, pulling him under. He tried to resist it, but the cold white light was blinding, and in the millisecond between each flash, Anya's fallen figure haunted his sight.
Her emerald eyes stayed open, staring at him, but the light behind them was slowly fading. Her grip on his wrist, slacking. He pressed the heel of his palm into the bullet wound as hard as he could manage, but it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough, it would never be enough.
He was losing her. Right before his eyes, he was losing her, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Sunlight streamed through the shattered window, a spotlight for his stage of despair.
Damian thought that he might be sick. He wanted to fall over and curl into a ball. He couldn't even think about anything else that was around him - not the sirens, or the alarms, or the residual smoke, or the screaming, or the sound of his friends trying to reach him through the surging crowd beyond the edge of the stage.
Not one of them mattered. Nothing mattered.
Because Anya was -
White lights flashed in his eyes, and the image of a clinical room flickered into view, and Damian felt half-pulled into the familiar flashback, all the while trying to resist because Anya needed him -
"The boy is of no use to me."
His father's voice felt as real as if he was in the room, and at the same time, at the same time, he could still see Anya, feel the heat of her bleeding wound, but the cold of the lab kept clawing him back. It was a tug of war between reality and memory, cold and warm, present and past, and somehow Damian was stuck in both at the same time, seeing the images overlay each other.
"You are interrupting the procedure. I'll return him when I am done."
Her cold voice raised goosebumps on his arms. His breath shook through his lungs as the white light reached its' particulate fingers into his retinas, dragging him under, dragging him through the memory of the cold, cold lab.
"No," his father's voice struck him. "He is just a spare. Not necessary for my plans."
It had hurt, when he heard those words for the first time, and it hurt for months afterwards: when he wished so fervently that he hadn't been discarded by his father, that he could have been successful in his eyes, but he was forced to understand just how he thought of Damian as useless.
The emerald green threads of Anya's eyes kept him half in reality as the white lights from the cameras drowned him over and over, and Damian waited for the memory to end, to play itself out as it did before, while he was paralysed by it all…
But unlike last time, the white light didn't fade, and the Director's cold voice came back:
"I will need a replacement."
No.
"Bring me a girl, this time."
No.
Cold liquid trickled down his spine, and Damian's heartbeat roared through him, beating a pain that he had never felt before: the agony of his entire body rejecting what he was seeing.
Surely, it wasn't a memory. This was… this was a nightmare. This had to be a nightmare.
Black spots dotted in his vision. The flashing camera lights dazed him over and over, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy, and then the world started to spin around him as he felt himself reach his own limits. Distantly, Damian was aware that if he fainted right there and then, he would probably just fall right off the stage…
Something warm huffed against his face, and the white light subsided, just a fraction, blocked by something that had moved in front of him, and let him lean his body against.
All he could see was white…
…but…
Damian couldn't understand it. There was white, but it looked muted, soft…
Borf!
Damian blinked and the white lab faded a little more, the black spots disappearing. His hand still pressed into Anya's shoulder, still rising and falling from her slowing breaths, and then there was Bond at his side, shielding him from the penetrating reach of the flashing lights.
"Bond…" Damian choked, a fraction of relief passing through him.
Damian didn't question why Bond was there, but he felt an unexplainable sense of relief that the dog didn't move from his chosen position, shielding both Anya and Damian from the relentless cameras.
He didn't leave, not even a second explosion shook the air. Not even when the smoke appeared, carrying with it the smell of burnt peanuts.
He didn't leave, not even when a shrill scream sliced the air like a knife, overpowering every other voice in the auditorium.
He didn't leave, not even when the paramedics took Anya away, and it was all Damian could do to let her go.
He didn't leave, and instead he nuzzled himself closer to Damian, nudging him so that his arms were around Bond's wide neck, and automatically, Damian's hands embedded in Bond's fur, red streaking on white, as what remained of his heart collapsed to ash.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Because the only thing worse than being on bad terms with Anya... is the possibility of losing her entirely.
(Fear not, my friends. Trust me. Trust the process.)
JeJe - You can see why I didn't want to spoil it for you on Twitter! But your prediction was right!
Next chapter: 3rd August 2023
It's a shorter one (Loid's and Becky's POV) so I'm confident I'll be able to get it out in a week!
Thank you all so much for reading. The is the longest chapter I have EVER written in my life (8.8k words!) and I couldn't do it without you. This is such a challenging project that every chapter brings me closer to insanity, but getting to read your comments, your hypotheses and theories, your reactions and support and encouragement, is just about the only thing that keeps me going.
I promise, I will give you a story you will never forget.