Chapter Text
G4 District. Monday, 06/02/2081.
The doctor turns around after having assessed, for the umpteenth time, the scarring on his body.
The chained restraint of his neck is weak; he messed with it himself. He can feel it loose as he tilts his head this way and that.
He lunges.
The doctor’s throat has been torn before they could even wheeze. Only gurgling comes out of the mangled mess of bloody flesh where their vocal cords used to be.
🕊
“B-Blake!” A figure rushes quickly as he screams, almost stumbling on himself, but not loud enough; his lack of breath made the yelling weak. “BLAKE!” The man retries his bellowing, bearing an expression of utter terror. The gravel crunches under his shoes, emphasizing his haste.
The man he calls, busy as he is watching the clouds come together to hide a sky that keeps on turning darker, gets reasonably irked that his little, insufficient, insignificant break has been interrupted. ‘Goddamnit. I can’t even take a smoke in peace.’ He lowers his head, eyes straying down from the atmospheric distraction, to watch a man wearing a laboratory coat run at him as if the devil himself were chasing him. He’s suffocated and heaving, sweating under his clothes, with his messy hair sticking to his pale face. ‘Richard Emanon, was it?’ It should be, if his memory serves him right; a minor researcher. “What is it?” He asks with an unschooled annoyed expression, whilst the panicked nuisance holds onto his own legs, trying to catch his breath.
Dr. Emanon looks up at him; labeling him alarmed would be an understatement. “The l-last experiment, he has escaped...you must do s-something about it!” He screams desperately, gesticulating with his hands.
Mr. Blake clicks his tongue and tilts his head derisively. “And the guards? Are they picking at their noses, by chance?” He takes a drag of his cigarette, scowling at the man openly.
The scientist shakes his head violently. “He’s maimed many already, and the rest have been unable to find him!” He fusses around with his arms. “Myers will have our necks if he escapes the facility!”
Mr. Blake releases the smoke in his lungs. He looks up to the sky again, in an attempt to keep the rest of his slipping cool; he can feel a vein pop in his forehead. He rubs his face, hand cold to the touch. ‘Bunch of useless idiots.’ He throws the half consumed cigarette to the floor, stomps on it, and starts walking in hasty long strides towards the entrance. “Where is the Janitor?”
“He went with Mr. Myers, that’s why I’ve come to you.” Dr. Emanon follows him quickly, but with much less elegant steps. “The other remaining agent is not on duty.”
‘Of course he would come to me when half the personnel has been wiped out. It’s not like Claude could’ve done anything if he were here, for his skill is not hunting. The lazy fucker doesn’t have what’s necessary to catch a rabid cyborg that’s escaped containment all on his own.’ Mr. Blake thinks harshly.
His eyes become sharp as soon as they enter the underground building. Whoever has escaped has guts, intelligence and patience; he wouldn’t have been able to, otherwise. In other words, he’s bound to be a pain in the ass to recover.
🕊
Rapid footsteps make their way in the hallway under him. Their rhythm is like that of soldiers: perfectly matched and loud. Their thunderous symphony has been created solely for him.
He had secured himself the spot of head attorney in the Legal Department of Myers Corporation by working hard, in an attempt to save himself from a solitary, empty life without purpose. In order to finally belong.
Turns out, what happens in the back rooms is something seemingly out of a conspiratory theory; a reality he had been made aware of, in order to complete his task. He had tried to ignore it, tried to feed the cognitive dissonance so as to remain sane after all his (wasted) efforts, and prayed that it wouldn’t come for him. He pretended it had nothing to do with him, and believed he could extract himself from the situation if the aftermath proved menacing.
But Mr. Myers is so very greedy, like an open maw constantly waiting for sacrifices that will never be sufficient to sate his gluttony. Just working for him wasn’t enough, he wasn’t enough as he was. But of course, after so much sweat and tears to get here, spilling some blood too doesn’t sound so bad, right? “Just for the company, Vincent. Give us a little more.”
He has endured atrocious things.
He was remodeled. He was reduced to a smelly insect, crawling around as he wailed in pathetic desperation, eager to escape the small place he was trapped in to be observed, along with many others who suffered a similar fate. Most of them eventually succumbed to another doom, which he refused to join, if out of spite.
He waited patiently. He let his body recover, encouraged it to regain its human façade as he fed on what was provided, and let the wounds heal with uncomfortable hyper-awareness of the way his flesh fused back together. He held back until they thought him utterly broken through, thoroughly and without fight. He bided his time for the researchers to avert their eyes to other more important and urgent matters, for his relevance to die, until they let their guard down.
He had to wait, but it eventually worked.
He tore down a wall of steel after getting rid of that one doctor first. Then, he tore through more flesh, cracked more bones, marred more skin and burst more heads to wreak havoc. He dented metal doors and hid amidst the rubble and holes. He had left the reeking chamber behind, and there was no way he would return.
He killed so many without batting an eye. He feels no remorse whatsoever; all he feels is the adrenaline still being pumped through his veins, and the loud drum that his current artificial heart sings to him, giving the footsteps of the guards below his feet an appropriate chorus. Another group of them makes a round; he won’t take any chances with their dart guns, for he’d rather die than get back in there.
He feels the skin of his scars itch, but he keeps still, not daring to move in their presence.
“There’s no way he could’ve escaped, Mr. Blake!” One of the armored men swears up and down to the single man that sticks out amongst the armed party.
‘That one doesn’t look like a guard in the slightest.’ Vincent thinks as he sinks his gaze on the individual. He has his back to him, wearing an all black suit and gloves. With this attire radically different to that of his companions, and his fiery red hair, he stands out like a sore thumb, for the rest all have helmets on and look all the same with their gray vests and suits.
“I don’t think I should trust your judgment, given how he has escaped confinement while under your surveillance in the first place.” The man retorts in an ironically cheerful, but actually chastising and condescending tone; his tone is smooth and charming, but also blunt. The guard in question lowers his head sheepishly. “Still, I do agree that he must be inside; he didn’t have enough time to get out, and he doesn’t know where the exits are. Keep looking around for him. You know what will happen if we don't find him before Mr. Myers returns.”
The scared guards scatter like ants; half of them turn to one side of the hallway, while the other half goes the opposite way. The man stays put.
It takes a while for him to stop hearing the reverberating stomping of their march, but as soon as they’re gone, his hearing joins his sight in its focus on the strange agent still below him. It doesn’t look like he’s in any rush to leave, which only puts him on edge.
The redhead lifts his head just barely. “You should come out of the vent, now that there’s nobody around and I’m asking nicely.” He suddenly says.
His new stomach makes a flip. It’s obvious the man is talking to him, which means he’s been discovered. ‘How in hell—?!’
The suspiciously astute man turns around and locks eyes with him through the grille.
‘Shit!’ He curses in his head, curling his lip. While the agent is most certainly human, he didn’t expect is for him to have such a modification done.
“It was easy to see you with this nice pair of eyes.” The man taps his left temple with his finger to make emphasis. He bears a particularly smug smile. “Thermal camera; courtesy of Mr. Myers.” He lowers his hand. “Now, I’d rather not repeat myself.”
He makes no movements.
“No? What a shame.” The man shrugs, puts his right hand inside his coat, and takes a glock out, all while smiling coldly at him. “I guess I’ll have to encourage you.” He aims the muzzle at him.
He springs to action with no hesitation.
He falls from the vent door, practically dropping himself like a spider upon a worthy meal. His intention was to fall right on the redhead, but the other one dodges and easily shoots at him. Due to renewed strength and reflexes, he’s able to roll out of aim, but he has to think, and quickly.
While dodging his bullets, and trying not to leave any marks of his presence around him, an idea occurs to him; a highly risky one that could potentially go wrong, but he has very little options.
This man is too cold. He has to warm him up.
He keeps miraculously dodging the bullets, jumping from wall to wall, ceiling and finally the floor, where he reaches the attacker. He dodges the hit with the gun’s butt, as the man has seemingly run out of bullets. He tries to rip the agent’s face off, but as the man manages to dodge his attack, he swats the glock out of his hold.
He pushes the guy to the floor, and lunges. As he straddles him, choking him with a vice grip, he declares: “There’s no way I’d lose to a strawberry-haired mutt.”
The man, who was busy taking hold of his wrists, glares at him openly, then snarls. “STRAWBERRY—?!” Before he can maim him, the man releases his wrists, only to land him a hook on the left cheek. The hit emits a raucous metallic sound and throws him to the side.
The agent stretches his arm out, trying to reach the gun, but he composes himself quickly. He lunges again, grabs his ankle and pulls; but to his surprise, the man manages to push him again with a single hand as soon as he has him under him again.
He’s thrown against a wall, back screaming in pain. As he’s trying to comprehend where the redhead could derive such strength from, he catches a glimpse of his red wrists as he manages to recover his weapon. ‘Does he have mechanical arms too?’
While he’s screaming at his body to move, the guy recharges the glock, gets close and points it directly at his forehead. The muzzle is almost touching him. “Good game, but I’m getting tired of playing with you. Time to get back to the cage, metal mutt.” He says mockingly with a sneer.
“No…” He mutters with a desperate tone as he stares at the cannon, eyes almost crossing comically. “...but thanks for the offer.” His tone goes flat; without needing impulse, he butts the glock so hard that it flies off of the agent’s hand again.
The irate man lunges for his weapon again, but he throws himself over him. He straddles him and makes sure to quickly secure his wrists over his head.
The man scowls up at him, while he leans down to tear his throat out; he opens his jaw wide open, ready to break his cranium with the force of his bite, when he hears distant approaching footsteps.
In a rush, he changes course of action in a second; he butts the agent’s forehead and knocks him out. He reaches for the gun, locks the safety clamp and puts it in his trouser pockets, then throws the unconscious man over his shoulder, and finally jumps up into the vent hole in the ceiling. He makes sure to silently close the grille behind him.
As the footsteps approach, and he’s sure the agent in here with him is regaining consciousness, he puts him in an improvised lock: he tugs his right arm taut to the left and back, using it as a gag of sorts while still keeping the limb in check. He uses the left arm to pull it the other way and keep the man’s legs trapped against his chest. He won’t be able to move with him as a wall behind him.
The redhead struggles as he remembers what just happened, forcefully yanking his own arms. But he doesn’t relinquish his hold, only tightens. He rests his chin on the man’s shoulder. “Keep moving or say anything, and I’ll tear off your spine.” He whispers very low in his ear.
The agent goes still.
The footsteps get near, and he sees them below. “I’m sure I heard gunshots!” One of the guards yells.
“It must be your fried brain playing tricks on you.” The other answers. “Come on! The boss will have our heads! I want to keep this job, you know? And my life.”
The first one shakes their head as they look around. “I’m telling you, I know what I heard!” Suddenly, the guard looks up into their spot by pure chance. “Could he be hiding in there?”
He tenses up. His captive releases a heavy huff, rolling his eyes.
“We already checked there.” The second one growls, ready to leave as they turn around. “We’ve wasted too much time. Let’s go back!”
“Let me check again, just in case!” They approach with the gun at ready.
He’s ready to fight.
The second one groans. “Goddamnit—”
“EY! WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING IN ‘ERE? STOP MESSIN’ AROUND, YA LAZY FUCKS!” A third guard, probably from a higher rank, yells at them from the other side of the corridor.
The first guard relents reluctantly and follows the second, going on their way.
He cannot afford to waste any more time. “If you help me out, I won’t have to get rid of you.” He whispers in the man’s ear again. “Loyalty has no reward here. You’ll end up just like me; judging by your looks—,” He looks at the man's wrists. “—he must’ve toyed with you already. It wouldn’t be that hard to change the rest of your body.”
As the footsteps disappear completely, he loosens the arm that covers the agent’s mouth, just enough for him to be able to respond. “And what makes you think he would dispose of me like that? I’m a good asset. Were you?” He answers smugly.
He grins bitterly. “I’m the lawyer that prevented this place from going into bankruptcy. Usefulness, to him, has a sell-by-date.” The redhead remains silent. He pauses, and leans over his shoulder to get closer to his face; now he can see his robotic red eyes, which focus on him with cat reflexes and clear disdain. “Help me get out of here. I will help you in return.”
“That you will help me? How arrogant of you to think you can help me, when you couldn’t even help yourself! You must be desperate.” The agent mocks him; when the other doesn’t fall for it, his face goes blank for a few seconds. “...Let’s go.”
‘Huh?’ He buffers severely for a few seconds. “Pardon?”
“Didn’t we just strike a deal? I’ve decided to help you. Isn’t that what you wanted?” The redhead raises an eyebrow at him. “Get rid of the guards and the cameras, and I’ll lead the way.”
“...How can I trust that you’re not setting me up?” He looks down at him menacingly. “You wanted to drag me back there just a moment ago.”
The man smiles ambiguously. “You’ll have to trust me as I’m willing to trust you with the ‘helping me’ part. It’s not like you have much of a choice; this place is a maze.”
He pierces the redhead with his bionic eyes for a few more seconds. He smirks. “If it turns out you’ve lied, I’ll break your arms and legs for Myers to deal with you as he wishes, then kill myself.”
The redhead remains calm and only gives him a small smile in return.
They get out of the vent; him first, the agent the second.
They turn the opposite direction to that the last guards took, and find themselves in another long but far wider hall with quite a lot of rooms. As they go, the redhead warns him of the cameras as they move around, before they can catch him on footage; he doesn’t want to be blamed for his escape. It is also for that reason that, each agent they encounter, he has to get rid off. The redhead does knock out a distracted bunch, but that’s the extent of his involvement in this matter.
He makes sure to look over his shoulder constantly, not losing sight of the potentially traitorous snake behind him. As the rooms go on and the halls stretch, his tension grows, thinking that all this collateral damage is the agent’s way to make him lower his defenses, or that he’s leading him to a dead end.
After a few more turns, three more cameras broken, and another two guards and one researcher less, the agent declares they’re getting near one of the exits, which turns out to be true, but he still doubts.
Night has settled outside. He doesn’t even know the date.
“I did as promised.” The redhead speaks behind him. He turns around to look him in the eye. “All you have to do from this point on is run.” He raises a hand towards him, palm open.
He realizes, and returns the glock—not without taking out the bullets, of course.
“Thank you.” The man cheerfully pockets his gun back where it was inside his jacket. “Now go, before I change my mind and get a bullet in your skull.” He smugly shows a hidden packet of bullets, leaving him perplexed. The agent turns around and starts walking back into the building.
He is nonplussed. “Wait.” He blurts out. The other man looks back. “...Thank you, uh—”
The redhead huffs. “Victor. It’s Victor Blake.”
“...Vincent Edgeworth.” Vincent responds awkwardly.
Victor gives Vincent a sarcastic smile. “Now that we know each other—get out!” He barks the order.
“Wait!” Vincent halts him again. “My promise—find me in the forest!” With that he turns around, runs to the gate, climbs it and jumps.
The now dumbfounded Victor gets back inside. ‘The forest…?’
🕊
“So, let me get this straight.” Mr. Myers rubs his temples with one hand—dramatic effects, rather than an actual headache. “You—” He points at the guard that had been knocked out by Vincent at the beginning of his rampage. “—let the lawyer escape, and now I have to pay for the repairs of the ruckus he’s caused, plus recovering him?”
“...U-uh…” Said guard trembles, ready to piss themselves in their pants.
Mr. Myers points to another one. “And you—” Who also tenses up. “—knocked out my agent?” He points at Victor behind him, who has a clear bruise on his forehead.
The guard’s eyes go wide in fear. “W-what? Sir, I didn’t—!”
“Silence.” Mr. Myers orders without raising his voice, but effectively quiets the entire room with his authority—not even breathing can be heard. The employer puts a hand to his cheek, pouting like a petulant child. “What do I pay you all for?” He inquires to nobody in particular, and quickly relaxes his countenance. “In the meantime, you’ll both serve as a replacement for him.” He declares nonchalantly while pointing to the two aforementioned guards.
“W-WAIT, MR. MYERS—!” The first one cries, falling to their knees, while the second freezes on the spot.
“No, no, no, don’t give me that.” Mr. Myers waves a hand at them in dismissal of their pleas. “You’ll be useful now, at least.” While those two are dragged away, he looks at the rest of the remaining guards of the previous shift, who don’t look any better than their just sentenced peers. “The rest of you will be fed to the cyborgs. I have no other use for incompetent fools.”
As soon as he finishes the sentence, he turns around. Victor observes how the guards from the new shift, up from the high and secure points of the room, point down at the new cattle with their rifles, pinning them in place.
Mr. Myers approaches Victor as the latter straightens his posture from leaning on the wall; he puts an arm around his shoulders and leads him into an adjacent room. From there, through a bulletproof window, they watch as Cyborgs and husks alike are let into the circular room, and Victor observes the carnage with an impassive face.
Mr. Myers seems bored out of his mind. “My poor Chaser…you’ve not a moment to breathe.” He looks down at Victor and delicately lifts his chin, grin sharp. The redhead looks him in the eyes with a purposeful lack of emotion. “You did and still do me well. I should give you a raise.” Victor is let go with a squeeze to his shoulder, and Mr. Myers goes to attend to other matters.
Obviously, that guard did not knock him out, but he had to make do. It’s not like he pities the guy; he was a fucker that often laughed at the experiments’ misery and mocked them further. This is Karma in its straightest form: mechanization—successful, or not. Victor is not sure what outcome would be most just.
As he looks at the creatures tearing off the flesh from bones and hears the screams of their victims, desensitized as he is, his mind wanders; he cannot stop thinking about his conversation with Vincent, nor Vincent himself.
He had other weapons hidden in his clothes besides the glock, along with tranquilizer darts, which he could’ve used. He could’ve kept moving or yelled while he was inside the vent with him. He could’ve struck as they went on their way, any time Vincent was distracted by another obstacle.
He did none of those things. He had not wanted to; his mind had screamed at him not to do so, and his body had complied. Was it Vincent’s offer that kicked his original plan out of the window? After all, what Vincent had told him was far from a lie; there will be a day when his services are no longer needed, and Victor will end up just like many other employees have—if he even survives what’s in store for him, that is. Vincent saved the company as a whole, and wasn’t spared.
Victor didn’t even care for his help. He could put the glock to his head and pull the trigger if he wants to escape before his time comes. The reason he has betrayed Monsieur M this way is just a secret way to say “fuck you”.
But Victor thinks it’s admirable how resilient Vincent is. He has gone through hell and back, and he still had the patience and the gall to pull something like this, when the stakes were high against him. It was clear that he’d rather die than stay in that chamber like a good, obedient boy.
Victor feels ashamed.
All he’s done until now was to please others; he’s never given any serious thought to what he wants. This way of living has resulted in him having no purpose in life, other than the duties he must fulfill. Right now—as he watches other employees get eaten by creatures that also used to be other employees, but might never recover from what was done to them—he remembers how many times he’s observed similar scenes, and has never done anything about it.
He’ll end up like them. He’ll end up the same as Vincent, but there’s no promise he’ll be able to resurface as he did just hours ago.
Unless.
🕊
He runs.
He keeps running even when his lungs burn. He keeps running despite the limp in his right leg. He keeps running even if the recently closed wounds ache, or open, or ooze. He keeps running, even if peebles and broken crystals crunch under his feet and pierce his skin, even if he stomps on suspicious-looking liquids.
But he doesn’t just run. He also ponders.
Vincent has always looked only after himself. He has done everything on his own, for his own benefit, to reach his own goals. This is how he’s always been; a solitary man with no one’s help.
So it’s somewhat reasonable that he wants to go back. Now that he’s finally out, he wants to go back—turn around, find Victor and drag him out. He wants to be just as merciful to Victor as he has been with him. He wants to save him from that inferno.
Victor could’ve abandoned him, could’ve just followed orders and done a quick, clean job. But he didn’t.
He feels grateful. He feels curious. He feels happy.
Despite the torture he’s just been through and having been close to almost dying or succumbing to madness, he gets up when he stumbles, bawls his eyes out in a mix of emotions, feels the concrete and grass under his feet—for he wants to live.
He laughs gleefully.
G4 District. Friday, 06/09/2081.
‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’ Victor laments as he pants.
Thinking about the last thing Vincent told him a week ago, it was not hard to figure that by ‘forest’ he meant the massive woods in the middle of the suburban area of G4. So, against all common sense, he uses the free days he was given by Myers to go hiking (search for him). His only plan is to reach the middle of the area, and if he finds nothing, he’ll be out by late evening.
‘Why am I doing this? I’d like to know the answer myself!’ He keeps on protesting in his head.
So now he’s in the middle of nowhere with a compass in hand, no phone signal, and with the sounds of unidentifiable birds being annoying all around him. He has to be thankful that it’s morning at least; plenty of light, even if the foliage dims it a bit. Since he arrived a few hours ago, he’s already walked quite a lot and mostly follows the river.
There’s a moment when the uphill ends and becomes an esplanade. He rests for a moment then, sitting himself on a dry patch of grass and drinking some water. While he’s swallowing it down, a glint blinds his right eye for a moment; he stops drinking, putting the bottle down. He squints his eyes hard, trying to focus his vision.
‘There!’ He can see the glint between the trees in a thicker area.
He gets up, and starts walking towards it. Once he enters that zone, it is only a matter of time until he finds a building: it’s a big, white mansion consisting of two stories. Given how surrounded it is by trees, it would be hard to find out unless you know what you’re looking for.
‘I’ve been lucky.’ Victor thinks as he hovers his eyes over the windows above. ‘Could this be it?’ He approaches the door, and rings the doorbell right beside it.
No answer.
Victor frowns, and reaches for the handle—only for the door to be suddenly opened from the inside, and two arms yank him in forcefully by his jacket.
He’s knocked down to the floor of the entrance, the slam of the door being closed reverberating through the dark corridor. When he opens his eyes after the impact, Victor sees two glowing pinpricks staring at him in an open glare—until those eyes blink in confusion, then become human. “...Victor?”
He squints. Vincent’s silhouette takes shape in his sight, and he hisses in pain while rubbing his head on the spot he’s just hit on the floor. From his laying stance, he glares up at his attacker. “Could’ve knocked me down harder while you’re at it!”
Vincent reaches his hands towards Victor with a remorseful expression. “I-I’m terribly sorry. I thought it would be one of his men.” He realizes what he’s doing, and puts those arms around himself instead, in a protective gesture. Victor’s glower softens. “I was convinced you wouldn’t come…”
Victor sits up, putting his hands in between his legs. “I thought I wouldn’t, either…but here we are.” He looks up at Vincent. “I could still be one of his men. You shouldn’t trust me like that.” And warns, somewhat teasingly.
Vincent blinks at him, and Victor can see his internal debate, evident by a slight tensing and relaxation of his brow muscles. He decides his answer. “No, you are not.”
They stare at each other.
‘He doesn’t look as menacing with this clothing as when he wears all black.’ Vincent notices he’s wearing a more casual attire, with a black turtleneck, a red leather jacket, black pants and black boots.
Victor is analyzing him in return. Vincent’s hair is a bit disheveled, down to below his shoulders. He wears a wrinkled dressing shirt, with trousers just as wrinkled. No shoes. If he squints his eyes enough, he can see the still tender scarring in some areas.
“Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?” He hears Vincent ask in front of him, alarmed.
Victor realizes he has unconsciously grasped at his chest. He shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.” He gets up, supporting himself on the wall. “You, on the other hand, don’t look so fine.” Something tells him Vincent doesn’t usually dress this carelessly. “Have you been here since last monday?”
Vincent grasps at his shirt. “Yes. It’s my property; I bought it in cash in case the inevitable happened. I couldn’t possibly go anywhere else.”
Victor looks at Vincent’s hands. Their flesh looks raw, as if it had recently covered the endoskeleton. He has long, red scars along his palms, around his wrist and into the sleeve, where they probably follow the rest of the arm. “Have you eaten anything since then?” He asks, already suspecting the answer. He hears a gulp, and looks up at Vincent’s face to see a worried expression.
“It all tastes terrible, and nothing I swallow will stay down.” Vincent admits with a frown. That information is not surprising to Victor. “Still, I haven’t felt hungry until today. Is that normal?” Vincent gives Victor a somewhat confused but hopeful smile.
Victor sighs. “Yes, that is normal. But the reason you vomit it is because…” He doesn’t want to be the bearer of news, but somebody has to, and there’s nobody else but him. He bites the skin of his lower lip. “...that food is not necessary anymore.”
Vincent’s smile wanes, puzzlement settling in. “Do I no longer, need to eat?”
Victor tenses his jaw, his face solemn. “You do need to feed still, just not the food we’re both used to.” Vincent tilts his head at him, not getting it yet. He tries to refresh his mind. “Vincent…do you remember what they fed you while you were in that chamber?”
Vincent looks to the side, thinking it over. He squints his eyes. “...I think it was raw meat, but I don’t know why—” His eyes open wide, but the stare itself turns vacant; he’s come to realize why that raw meat was special, and why his rampage was so successful. The blood quickly drains from his face, leaving him looking even more sickly than mere moments ago. He puts a hand to his mouth, about to retch.
‘So it has dawned on him.’ Victor abuses his lower lip with his teeth.
Vincent suddenly loses his balance, and hits his back hard on the wall. He drags himself down the wall, and eventually sits on the floor, back hunched.
Victor feels the urge to do something to alleviate the pain he must be going through once more. He remains still, his arms extended, but ultimately dropping to his sides in lack of action. “...I’m very sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I knew it could happen, and I still stayed.” Vincent speaks to him in a flat, lifeless tone. He swallows, and keeps grimacing, the desire to puke not gone. “I ignored my gut feeling with all my might, and denied justice to those who had the same fate before me…heh.” He chuckles bitterly. “I guess I kind of deserve it, now that I think about it.”
Victor frowns. He puts a hand to his forehead, rubbing the skin in an attempt to calm himself down. “You didn’t deserve to go through that, no matter how naïve your choices were.” He can feel Vincent’s eyes on him, observing him with cold disbelief while in his vulnerable state.
Vincent hums, pondering. “So I’ll have to…” They both know what he’s trying to say, even if he doesn’t spit the words.
Victor sits down and leans his back on the opposite wall, facing Vincent. He rubs his face. “After that fiasco with the G4 Cyborg Incident, anybody would think it’s the corporation’s doing. They took you after causing you an accident on the road, didn’t they?” Vincent nods, swallowing. “They probably tricked the authorities with the corpse of another, or outright bribed them. Everybody must presume you died in a car crash; there’s no way you could be suspected, as long as you tread carefully.” Vincent mulls it over, looking around absentmindedly. Victor looks to the left, into the house that is tomb silent, except for their breathing and clothes shuffling. “Wouldn’t you rather leave? You could move to another district—”
“If I move, he’ll find out. The only reason he hasn’t found out yet is because this place is isolated, but that won’t last long either if I don’t do something.” Vincent cuts Victor off in a soft tone. He throws his head back, resting against the wall. “What am I to do now…I don’t want my life to end, not like this…so pathetically.” His face hardens suddenly, his hands fisting on his pants. His eyes are wide, clear in whatever he’s decided. “I have to kill him.”
Victor’s eyes go wide as saucers. “What?”
Vincent laughs, covering his eyes. “He won’t stop looking for me. I’m as good as dead if I don’t don’t deter him.” His hand drops over his mouth, simply covering it, but not muffling his words. “And if I get that researcher out of prison, maybe I could strike back…maybe I could—”
In seconds, Victor is right in front of him, grabbing him by the shirt. “Have you gone nuts now, Vincent?!”
Vincent looks at Victor with surprise, not having expected his outburst; he looks angry, but not like back then with the guards.
“You were lucky enough to survive mechanization, and managed to escape. Now you want to provoke him? What good did it do for me to help you out, then?!” Victor bares his teeth. He doesn’t understand why he’s having such a visceral reaction. Vincent could doom himself all over again, and he could escape by killing himself in any case.
Vincent grasps his fisted hands carefully, trying not to irk him further. “Victor, I’m very thankful to you for helping me escape. But your help would be in vain if I let him catch me.” He gets closer to his face. “He will catch me if I just hide. I have to do something.”
Victor bites his lower lip again, a nervous, frustrated mess. “You can’t go against an entire organization such as Myers Corporation on your own. You can’t; it won’t work!”
He has seen some employees try to leave the organization because they wanted a change of job, or because they couldn’t deal with the knowledge they possessed about the inner workings. Some others welcomed their fate with open arms and avid zealotry. But what he knows is that, no matter their circumstances, they all ended up down there, at the hands of other employees. The place is a cult, through and through.
“That’s why I’ll get Dr. Loomis out of prison! I’m sure he can help me somehow, and he won’t have to spend the rest of his days there because of me!” Vincent reasons with him. “You can’t just expect me to lay down and wait for the inevitable!” He breathes fast, then suddenly stops. “And what about you?”
Victor raises an eyebrow at him. “Me? What about me—?”
Vincent kneels in between his legs and grabs him by his jacket, turning the tables. “He will eventually get you too! He will do what he did to me, to all humans within his reach!” He looks into his eyes, then to his arms. “He’s already changed you, for god’s sake!”
Victor goes almost limp in his grasp, and Vincent sees his aura change, a gloomy ambience setting in. “You think you know everything about me just because I lent you a hand, right?” He smiles with venom.
Vincent bites his tongue, regretting what he just spit from his mouth. He releases his hold on Victor, and the other readjusts his clothes with a huff. “...I’m sorry Victor. I spoke out of turn.”
There’s another lull in which they plan their next words.
Victor sighs, and his hard expression softens. “You know, you’re quite the adorable man, worrying about me like that.” He speaks with his eyes closed, but opens one of them to glance at Vincent, who despite the darkness, is looking quite red in the face in reaction to his words. Victor chortles. “Forgive me. I reacted like that because it’s a very sensitive topic for me, but it was still harsh and unwarranted.”
Vincent’s soft gaze is one of forgiveness.
Victor lowers his stare. “The reason I look like this is because of an accident during a mission. The details are unimportant; all you need to know is that this was the best outcome I could’ve gotten.” He says, lifting his arms as if to show them up. “At least Myers was not foul enough to dispose of me right after, and gave me replacements.”
“He gave them to you because you’re currently useful.” Vincent looks at him, entirely unconvinced.
Victor smiles uncomfortably. “I know.” He scrutinizes his hands with nostalgia.
Vincent also looks at them, out of reflex. “Still, you must get out of there while you still have your humanity left. I don’t…” His voice wanes, being somewhat aware that what he will say might be inappropriate for the circumstances. “...I don’t want this to happen to you. I don’t want you to keep getting hurt by him.”
Victor smiles, then breaks into laughter. The ironic kind, Vincent can tell, for it makes him uncomfortable; it’s the kind of chuckling that admits a lack of care, that foretells a hard confession.
Victor responds once he’s done. “...Every aspect of my life has been decided by my parents up until I entered Myers Corporation. They were complacent with how I turned out, and now they no longer have any interest in me.” He begins chuckling again. “They didn’t even care about my accident; everything is fine, so long as I’m still of use to Myers and don’t burden them.” He grimaces mid laughter, his eyes becoming glassy. “I don’t know what I’ve been doing up until now, to be honest. I don’t really care about what happens to me, because I’ve never had a reason to care.” While fat tears roll down his checks, he looks up at Vincent with a weary smile. “And you appear out of nowhere. You make me rebel just because of a feeling, and you tell me that you care about my wellbeing, despite me threatening you to drag you back by the hair to that rancid cage?”
Victor keeps on cry-laughing, and Vincent has the urge to comfort him. “But you didn’t.”
Victor stops. He tilts his head, looking drunk in his misery. “Huh?”
Vincent grasps his arms below the shoulders. “You didn’t drag me back.” His own vision blurs. “You gave me back my freedom. All I’ve looked forward to was Myers Corporation, and look where that led.” He tightens his hold, and inhales with heaviness. “And yet, now I have a new opportunity to live again. I want to help you get yours, too.”
Victor stares at him, mouth agape, astonished. “How…?” Is all he can muster with his broken voice.
Vincent’s face becomes determined. “Join me, Victor.” He sees Victor’s face shift to puzzlement. “You say I can’t dream about going against Myers Corporation alone, so join me.” He shuffles closer. “We could help eachother out. Please…you know there’s nothing there for you to go back to.” He grits his teeth, beseeching, then hides his face on Victor’s shoulder.
Victor is feeling rebellious again. He also grits his teeth, closing his eyes shut, trying to make a sensible decision. “I cannot support myself without a job—”
“I will support us both, then!” Vincent sounds desperate. “I have the means to do so, both from heritance and working. It won’t be a problem.” Victor feels him shake. “Please, for the love of god, don’t go back there, Victor…” His shoulder is getting wet. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Victor doesn’t understand why he’s so affected by that prospect—but he accepts it without fuss. He cannot help but hug the poor man by his waist, while the other hugs him back by his shoulders.
It’s not like many would miss him. He doesn’t give a fig about his parents. Monsieur M sure would miss him—not because he cares, but because he’s losing an asset. Claude might worry, but would eventually forget.
The reason he won’t escape through other means, he now knows, is because he didn’t want to; he did want to live, but just had no true motivation. He felt the rush of satisfaction from giving his middle finger to Myers’ back, which was also a middle finger to his parents, and this senseless life he’s been living.
Vincent is giving him a goal. He’s giving him a better plan of escape.
He inhales, filling his lungs with oxygen and courage for what he’s about to do. “Very well.” Vincent’s head immediately lifts, and Victor encounters a hopeful face. “...I will not stop working there. Not yet.”
Vincent’s face immediately twists into horror. ‘No, you can’t, I can’t let you return!’ He thinks anxiously. ‘You saved me! I can’t let you go back there!’
But Victor leans back. “You want revenge, don’t you?”
Vincent stares at him, not knowing what to say, gritting his teeth with his mouth closed. He’s been clenching his jaw so much lately that it hurts.
Victor cups his face to ground him, taking Vincent off guard. “You do. And you’re wrong: I do have things to return to. If I stay there, at least until it’s time, I can feed you information from within. We could rip the corporation’s efforts to shreds.”
Vincent is ready to protest.
Victor squints his eyes at him. “I’m not defenseless. I’ve survived until now; I can do well for a little longer. He won’t suspect a thing.” He smiles at him, confident. “You get Loomis, and I will help you out any way I can. What are your intentions?”
Vincent blinks a few times. “I’m going to kill the core members; I’ll use them to feed. If Loomis knows how to keep them in check after mechanization, that will also be useful; I know some of the cyborgs don’t make it and become beasts, and that would be ideal to keep myself safe in here, so some of them could be used for that purpose, too.” The corners of his mouth curl up just barely.
‘Ah, intelligent move.’ Victor would be lying if he said he wasn’t amazed by the brains and confidence this guy has. He ponders, nibbling on the nails of his prosthetic hands. “...You should be careful with the rest of the agents. As soon as Myers smells you, he’ll put them all to work—including me, of course, but that won’t work for him. Claude would be the least worrying one, because he’s not really that invested in the corporation’s objectives; it’s just work for him. But he can pretend to be someone else to fool you, so keep that in mind.” He looks to the side. “The most loyal one would be Dino, and definitely the most worrying.”
Vincent munches the knowledge and swallows it down.
Then he suddenly springs, startling Victor. “I haven’t even invited you in!” He says, somewhat panicked at his own lack of manners despite the exceptional circumstances—and Victor releases a hearty laugh at his expense, which only embarrasses him further.