Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Tom noticed when he opened his eyes, was the amount of red.

The carpet.  The cloth lining on the chairs and couch.  The accents on the wallpaper.

His skin.

The second his gaze landed on himself, he retched.  His mouth tasted vile.  Lacerations decorated his naked chest, dried blood and bruises covering his torso and arms.  Sickening.  If he’d had food in his system, it would’ve certainly been out by now.  Instead, all that came out was bile, sticky and disgusting.

Tom’s breathing was erratic.  With his eyes shut tight, he tried to recall where he was and how he got there.  What happened before he’d been knocked out?  Nothing came to mind.  He opened his eyes a sliver when he was finally sure he wouldn’t throw up again.

Ah, yes.  It was starting to come back to him now.  He knew where he was.  The few empty bottles around him and the jacket hanging up on a coat rack told him exactly what had happened.  He was with the enemy.  The Red Army.

The exact details of what had transpired, he couldn’t recall.  Blurry details, however, were fleeting memories.  There had been soldiers, guns, knives.  And blood.  A lot of blood.  Not only on himself, either.  An image of Edd and Matt covered in red was there in his mind.

His… friends.  Where were they?  They clearly weren’t with Tom anymore.  He was by himself.  How exactly they had gotten separated during the mission was beyond him.  There had been a pact to stick together the entire time.  So where were they?  What had gone wrong?  He strained his mind for more but found nothing.

Tom heard the door behind him open, and he spun around on the carpet.  He would have stood if it weren’t for the fact that his legs ached.

Oh.  It was him of all people.  Of course it would be him.

“Tord,” Tom spat, eyes narrowing.  He almost wished his vision-goggles were gone, so he couldn’t see the shit-eating grin on Tord’s face.  Would have been better that way.  Just the sight of his face made Tom want to vomit again.

“Ah!”  Tord clapped his hands together joyfully.  “Good morning, Thomas.  Glad to see you’re awake.” He shut the door behind him, striding into the room with a confident swagger.

The use of his full name made Tom grit his teeth.  He bit back a comment, eyeing up the man stood by the door.  Tord looked different from the last time they’d met, whenever that had been.  It had to have been at least a decade since the “robot incident,” as Edd had less-than-fondly referred to it.

Tord donned a jacket similar to the one on the coat rack.  The fabric was thick, enough layering to fight the harsh winters of northern Europe.  It was blue and red, with a white fur collar attached.  The same colors as the Union Jack, but used as a symbol for something more sinister; a fascist dictatorship that strived to gain control over the country, and then eventually the world.  On his feet were tall boots, probably leather and steel-toed, Tom guessed.

But his wardrobe wasn’t what caught Tom by surprise.  Red metal peeked out from Tord’s long sleeves, where his right hand should have been.  It rivaled Iron Man's own metal hand, Tom could see the impeccable craftsmanship even from where he was.  His eyes rose up to meet Tord’s eyes, one of which he noticed was not a real eye.  His left one was normal, a small pupil sitting inside of grey irises.  Where the right eye should have been, there was a pitch-black orb.  In the center of it, imitating an iris and pupil, was a single red, glowing dot.  Robotics?  Could Tord see out of it?  The scarring that surrounded the unnatural eye was brutal looking.  Shades of deep red littered the surface.  And his right ear was just plain missing, brownish red marking the spot where the ear would have been.  The flesh of his cheek and chin were ripped away, as if something had clawed at his face mercilessly.  Pink and white scarring filled the obvious gaps, but not nearly enough to make the skin anything akin to smooth again.  The severe damage made Tom’s own skin crawl.  The amount of physical pain Tord must have endured during the injury (injuries?) had to have been unbearable.

But he had no pity for a man who had repeatedly tried to ruin him and his friends' lives.

Breaking his thoughts away from Tord’s appearance, he remembered just what the situation was.  He was trapped in a room with the one man who they had set out to assassinate.  Rage bubbled within him.  Tom clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

“You son of a bitch,” he growled, standing up.  Or, rather, attempting to stand up.  He wobbled as he shifted his weight to his feet.  What was the issue?  Why couldn’t he get up properly?  Something felt off.  The only feeling it compared to was the feeling he used to get when drunk.  But this feeling was different from the countless other times he had downed a drink.  Perhaps he was drugged?  Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough for his to feel the effects of it when sitting.  But the second he tried to get up…

Tom’s head spun as he lost his balance.  Toppling over, his skull slammed against the wall to his right.  The pressure caused a jolt of pain to shoot through his body.  Tom hissed.  Refusing to shut his eyes, he chose to glare at the smiling man before him.  He took a breath and managed to right himself.  His legs shook, but he was up, at least.  Better than being stuck on the carpet.

His nostrils flared.  Logically, Tom knew he shouldn’t try anything.  Yet, there was a part of his brain that refused to listen to logic.  Was it the drugs in his system?  Who cared?

“I don’t know what you’ve done here,” Tom began, his body tensing.  “But you’ll pay for it!”  He lunged forward, hoping to catch his captor off guard.

As it turned out, maybe that hadn't been his brightest idea.  Instead of feeling his fist connect with Tord’s face like he’d planned, he got the sharp feeling of a knee to his stomach.  And it hurt like a motherfucker.

Tom doubled over, spluttering and coughing.  He groaned in pain, his fingers pressing into his stomach in reflex.  Immediately, he realized his mistake.  His whole torso shook in pain.  His eyes watered behind the goggles.  Opening his mouth to speak only earned him a kick to the chest.  Yep, definitely steel-toed.  Tom didn’t have to look down at his chest to know that the attack had reopened a healing wound, one that he had woken up with.  More bile.  A strong, metallic taste on his tongue.  He would be willing to bet his own life that his teeth were pink with blood.

“You’ll have to clean that up, you know,” Tord said, sliding past Tom.  “Staying here with me doesn’t mean you get a pass on your filth.”

Tom ignored him, panting.  He was bent over on the ground, unable to move.  Every breath felt like it could be his last.  And knowing Tord’s reputation as Red Leader, it very well could be.

“What have you…” Tom managed to get out after some time.  His voice was weak, hoarse with fatigue.  “What have you done to me?”  He had to have been drugged.  Tom’s body wasn’t working right.

Tord laughed from somewhere behind him.  Tom didn’t have the energy to turn and see it.  What was Tord planning to do with him?  Torture him?  Murder him?  It suddenly occurred to Tom that he may be the last of his friends to be here, alive.  His arms trembled as he tried to hold himself up.

“Where are Edd and Matt?” he demanded, unable to mask the unsteadiness in his voice.

“Alive.”

That wasn’t a good enough answer.  Tom needed to know for sure that they weren't gone for good.  He coughed.  Tord was lying to him, he knew it.  The guy had a reputation of deceit.

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.

A noise on something wooden.  The desk, maybe?  He wished he had upgraded his goggles with the ability to see behind him.  He had been given the chance before, why had he passed it up?  There was no way to know whatever sick thing Tord was doing back there.  He could be getting a gun, a knife, or God knows what other sadistic weapons he probably kept with him.

“It’s of no concern to you,” Tord spoke, slowly.  “They are alive.  You have my word.”

“Bullshit, your word means nothing to me.”  Tom’s breathing was labored as the fatigue began to hit him more.  “Tell me the truth.”

Tom wanted nothing more than to beat Tord’s face until it was broken and bloody.  He wanted to see his curved nose break to the side under his fist.  Tom had never felt such anger within himself.  Slumping down to the floor, exhaustion overcame him.  Using his muscles wasn’t doing anything to benefit him.  The side of his head was pressed against the carpet, and he angled his neck to see behind him.  He was met with nothing more than a sideways image of Tord perched atop his desk, next to a nameplate that showed "Red Leader" in large lettering.  Legs crossed, he appeared older than he really was.  The years had really hit him hard, apparently.

“That is the truth.”  Tord lifted his arms in an exaggerated shrug.  The sleeves of his coat fell down he did so, revealing more of the robotic prosthetic on his right side.

At least half of his arm was replaced.  Anything above the elbow was not visible, but Tom guessed it to be the same.  It was not the time to be pondering the arm’s abilities, but he couldn’t help but wonder.  How functional was it?  Did it have nerves?  Would it be a weak point on his body, or should Tom stay away from it the next time he attacked?

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.

Metal fingers against oak.

Tom didn’t have a chance to ask about his friends again.  Before he could get the strength (and to a lesser extent, the courage) to speak, Tord stood from his position on the desk.  In four strides, he was before Tom.

“Do you know how this happened?” He asked, gesturing to his right arm.

Tom would be risking more physical injury if he opened his mouth again.

Tord frowned.  He bent down close enough for Tom to get a detailed look at his face.  It was far worse up close.  He could see that the skin had burn scars as well.  Faint, but they were there.  Some were the type you would get from sticking a finger into a car's cigarette jack.  The right side of Tord's lips were a darker shade than the left.  And that eye.  Staring into Tom’s own.  He couldn’t pull his gaze away from that red dot.

“What,” Tom’s voice cracked.  “You gonna laser me to death with your robot eye or something?”  He really should shut up now.  Running his mouth wouldn’t do anything except harm him.

Tord sneered.  He reached down to Tom and grabbed him by the hair.

As Tom’s head was lifted, his neck cracked.  It hurt, but it was nothing in comparison to how the rest of his body still felt from before.  He barely felt it.

“This happened because of that harpoon you fired at me,” Tord continued.  “You tried to murder me.”

“You fired a rocket at me,” Tom choked out.  It was hard to speak when his throat was twisted the way it was.  Was Tord really trying to push the blame on Tom?  He snorted.  As if he’d expect anything different from Tord.  “You tried to murder me first.”

“And what a shame that it didn’t work.”

Tom bared his teeth and tried to pull his head away from Tord.  It was no use.  Tord’s grip was too strong.  And Tom was powerless under his control.

“Aw, cute,” Tord cooed at him.  “Still trying to fight?”

Before he could respond, Tom’s hair was released, his head hitting the floor with a loud crack.  He groaned.  His ears were ringing.  Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on nothing.  He felt the lull of unconsciousness grasping at him.  No more fighting.  He gave in, with the promise to himself that he would figure a way out of here when he woke up next.  But as it was, the thought that he might not wake up again and have to suffer more injury from Red Leader was oddly comforting.

“Going to sleep again already?  Suppose I’ll have to wait longer to play with you, then.  Pity.”

He barely heard Tord’s voice.  The pain in his body dulled as he drifted away.  The vague knowledge that he could wake up with a bullet in his head was his last thought.

Life really sucks when you’re a prisoner of war.

Chapter Text

Days passed.  Sometimes, Tom wasn’t alone.  Usually, he was.  At first, he hadn’t minded so much.  Being left alone in the office was far superior to being treated like shit by Tord.

There were times where Tom was woken with a swift kick to the leg or arm.  Days where he hadn’t slept from the immense pain in his body, and he’d be met with Tord striding past him, dropping a bottle by Tom’s side with an order to drink up.

Alcohol.  He wanted it.  Craved it.  Since he’d been captured and held captive in the Red Leader’s office, all Tom had wished for was alcohol.  And Tord had obliged, happily.  Tom knew the ulterior motive there.  It wasn’t that Tord wanted to be courteous and treat his “guest” with respect, no.  It was a way of keeping Tom there.  Tom couldn’t escape if he was drunk on whatever the hell was Tord was providing that day.  And Tom couldn’t fight his inner need for inebriation.  He missed the feeling it gave him.  The past addiction came to head and he was never able to stop himself.  At least it helped the pain from his injuries a bit.

He wouldn’t be surprised if one day Tord decided to poison one of the bottles.  Not that Tom cared.  With the way things were, with the chance of being released from captivity seeming smaller and smaller by the day, Tom would welcome never waking up again.

Tom took a swig from the bottle in his hand.  Vodka.  A harsh taste that burned on its way down, but his throat was used to it.  And it was worth it, if it meant that his body might hurt a bit less.  He was pretty sure that one or two of his left ribs were broken, or at least heavily fractured.  He hadn’t been given his shirt back yet.  The purple-red blotches all over his torso were incredibly vibrant.  And the possibility of a concussion wasn’t out of the question, either.  The dull aching in his torso kept him immobilized.  Sitting with his back against the wall was the only way he could he sit without extreme pain.  He’d lie down, but that only meant he’d be forced to get up whenever Tord came back, resulting in more pain.

Everything hurt.  Every day felt worse than the last.  But the alcohol numbed his body and mind.  Just like years ago.  Before Edd had convinced him to stop.  He laughed quietly, remembering back to the day that he’d promised Edd he’d put the bottle down forever.  That he’d never let the addiction come back again.  What a joke.  If Tom hadn’t started drinking whilst captured, he certainly would have by his own accord.  Untreated depression and self hatred tended to foster that kind of lifestyle.  He may have been on a dry streak before, but it would only have been a matter of time before he gave in.

Was it worse to relapse by your own hand, or by someone else’s?  Did it even matter?

He still couldn’t remember much from before waking up in the room.  Only vague memories.  And even then, were those memories real or made up?  Was his constant inebriated state causing Tom to create false ideas of what happened?

Tom had woken up near a lot of bottles.  So it was possible the memories were wrong.  He didn’t know when he’d first drank anything.  And he’d been drugged.  Or at least, he thought he’d been.  Tord still hadn’t given him a clear answer on that.

Thinking of Tord made Tom’s fists clench.  He ground his teeth.  There wasn’t anything Tom could do to Tord at the moment.  He’d have to plan.  Catch Tord when he was off guard.  Tom knew deep inside that to do that, he’d have to stop fueling his addiction.  He also knew that he didn’t hold the willpower necessary to stop.

Turning to the right, he suddenly felt a sharp stab of pain on his left side, causing him to grunt.  He slumped down, falling to the floor.  The side of his goggles absorbed most of the fall for his head, saving him from the extra pain.

On impact, there was a small click.  And then… a tunnel of blue light in front of him.

Tom blinked.  He stared at the carpet in front of him.  There was an image at the end of the blue light stream.  It was stretched out and hard to see, and the carpet’s shag was too bumpy for a clear picture.  But it was a picture nonetheless.

He suddenly remembered.  His goggles.  Of course.  How could he have forgotten the camera and projection features?  Maybe Tom had been smart enough to use his goggles to take photos of the night he was taken.  If so, he could take a look at them.

Hope warmed his insides.  Or maybe it was vodka from a few minutes ago.

Getting up from his position on the floor wasn’t possible, but Tom was able to turn his head to face the ceiling.  A flat surface.  Perfect.  He moved a hand to the side of his goggles.

Click.

Tom pressed one of the small buttons, displaying the first photograph in the collection.  It was Matt and Edd, sitting in their shared kitchen.  Tom’s lips curled up in a small smile.  The photo would seem unimportant to the average person, but Tom kept it for a specific reason; it was a happy photo.  From before the wars began, and before the trio had decided to form a plan against the Red Army.  It was a better time, when the biggest stress in their life was over what cereals to buy that week.  It was photos from moments like those that kept him going.

His chest suddenly hurt.  But it wasn’t like the other pains.  It wasn’t quite physical.  He missed his friends dearly.  Hopefully they were alright.

Sighing, he pressed the button to view the next image.  And the next.  And the next.  Each one was from a different moment in Tom’s life, one after another.  It felt like those scenes in movies, where the protagonist’s life flashes before their eyes.  Tom didn’t know if he was the protagonist or not, but the thought made him snort in amusement anyways.

He froze on one photo in particular.  It was of Matt and Edd, taken after they had come back together.  Tom flicked between that photo and the one prior.  They were years apart.  It wasn’t surprising that Tom hadn’t taken photos after he and the others had split for a while.  Nothing during that time had been important enough for Tom to have snapped a photo.  It wasn’t a time he had wanted to remember.  Being reminded of it wasn’t doing anything positive for his mental state at the moment, so Tom pressed on.

Scrolling through more and more photos, Tom found that none of them were very important to the situation at hand.  He started to feel frustration within him, until he found a set of blurry photos.  The most recent ones.  Biting his lip as he looked through the set, he found that the father he went, the blurrier the pictures were.  He must have taken them during the fight.  Despite the subpar quality of the images, Tom grinned, making a mental note to pat himself on the back when his body would allow him to.  Past Tom had indeed thought ahead and taken pictures.

As he continued looking, his smile disappeared.  It was hard to make out what exactly was happening in each image.  Not even superior technology was immune to motion blur, it seemed.  Tom went through the photos multiple times, trying to piece together the events.

Minutes passed.  It took longer than Tom would have liked, but he managed to come up with a loose set of events that matched the photos:

1. Tom, Matt, and Edd ambushed a set of Red Army guards, unmistakable by their uniform colors.  They’d gotten the upper hand on the enemy; it was clear from the second photo, where Edd was firing his gun at a guard.

2. A flash of bright white, whatever caused it was unidentifiable.  Probably a firearm of some sort?  Definitely not from something Tom, Edd, nor Matt was using.

3. More guards appeared, meaning that the trio had been outnumbered.  Oddly enough, Matt stopped appearing in any more photos after one where he was extremely blurry.

4. Blood.  Lots of it, all over Edd.  One of Tom’s hands was visible in a photo, also covered in red.

5. The last photo was most likely of Tom’s final moments of consciousness.  It was nearly impossible to make out whatever was happening.  There was a lot of red and blue blurred together.  A hand near his own face was the only clear thing in the image.

He wished he hadn’t skimped out when purchasing the goggles.  Maybe if he’d paid in full like he’d promised the designer, he would have been given the option to include a video recorder, not just a camera.  The camera function alone just wasn’t good enough to give him a proper idea of the events.  Regardless, there wasn’t any use in cursing his past self, as stingy as he’d been.

Tom frowned, turning off the image function on his goggles.  It sure would be nice to get his memory back.  If he’d been drugged, which Tom was pretty sure had happened, his memories probably wouldn’t come back.  The only thing he seemed to remember was seeing all the blood.  It wouldn’t leave his mind, especially now that he’d seen the camera photos.

The sound of the office door opening made Tom wish he could turn his head.  Tord was back, most likely there to deliver more pain to him.  Or maybe it was one of the two guards Tom saw sometimes, here to bring him his food for the day.  God, did he hope it was the latter.

“Tom?  Are you awake?”

No such luck.  It was Tord.

“Yeah,” he replied, choosing to just go along with Tord this time.  “I’m awake.”

“Ah, good!  I’m glad you’re up,” Tord said brightly.  “I’ve got something special for you.”

“Is it more vodka?  ‘Cause this one’s nearly empty.” Tom gestured to the bottle nearby, which he’d drank from before.  He had to be careful with what he said.  There was information on his goggles that he didn’t want to let slip; the images.  Not only would the goggles probably be confiscated, leaving Tom sightless, but who knew what Tord would be able to modify them to do?

“No, I didn’t bring you anything like that.  Not this time.”  There was a shuffling sound from Tord’s direction, as well as a muffled vocal noise.  “I have something different for you.”

Tom kept his lips shut, waiting until Tord was in his line of vision.  Next to Tord was someone else.  A young man, hands tied behind his back and a layer of silver duct tape keeping him from talking.  Or rather, screaming.  That was probably closer to what the guy wanted to do.

“Tom, I’d like you to meet John.”  As he spoke, Tord’s fingers gripped the edge of the duct tape.  He pulled it quickly, a sickening rip sound cutting the air.  John yelled as his skin was left raw, his face twisting in pain.

“John?” Tom asked.  The guy didn’t seem very interesting or noteworthy.  He was plain.

“Yes.  He used to worked for me.  But he wasn’t so… cooperative, and he lives alone in a cell now, as a prisoner.  Just like you.”  Tord smiled down at Tom, bearing his teeth. “Except, he wasn’t given the special treatment that you’re receiving.”

“The special treatment,”  Tom repeated, rolling his eyes.  “If by special you mean how you’ve kept me incapacitated for God knows how long, then yeah.  I’m special.”

Tom took more time to look at John.  Brown hair, small eyes.  Tom saw terror in those eyes.  John.  The name was familiar, and seeing those qualities on this man… it made something inside of him resurface.  Tom chewed his lip.  He resembled Jon, Tom’s old neighbor.  Who Tord had easily murdered in front of them all, years ago.

Tom’s eyes met John’s.  He couldn’t do anything.  His body was in no shape to be used.  Tom was stuck on the ground, as always.  Powerless.

“Get acquainted with each other.”  Tord pushed down on John’s shoulders.  John seemed to get the hint, as he knelt down on the carpet immediately.  “I’ll be back shortly.”

The second Tord left the room, John moved.  Shuffling on his knees, he was in front of Tom in mere seconds.  Up close, Tom saw how John’s lips were chapped from the tape.  It must have been stuck on him for quite a while.

“Please, you have to help me.  Please,” John begged.  “I’ve been here for so long.  Just get me out of these,” he wiggled his arms, jostling the handcuffs with a metal clinking sound.  “And I can take him down.”

Tom snorted.  As if.  The guy was scrawny.  Probably malnourished.  His arms were practically sticks, they’d likely snap in half before he could do any real damage.

“I’m a bit under the weather at the moment, if you couldn't tell.”  Tom gestured to his chest, displaying the multitude of bright colors.  “I can’t really move much.  Ribs are broken.”  He could have laughed at the expression John gave him.  It was like the guy was just realizing the tattered shape Tom’s body was in.  What an idiot.

John moved his face closer, sniffing the air.  “You smell like alcohol.” His face crinkled in disgust.

“Do I?” Tom definitely wasn’t drunk.  A little tipsy, maybe.  But not drunk.  Tom focused on the ceiling, pulling his gaze away from John.  He idly fiddled with his goggles.  John seemed to take notice.

“Y-your goggles!  Can’t they, ah,” John fumbled with his words, his hands moving and making the handcuffs clang against each other again.  “Can’t they like, shoot lasers or something?  Maybe?”

Tom laughed, before realizing John wasn’t sharing in the amusement. “Oh, that wasn’t a joke?”  He diverted his eyes, choosing to focus on a loose string of carpet that stuck out farther than the rest.  “No.  They can’t shoot lasers.  Wish they could.  They can-”

He froze for a second.  The next words out of his mouth could have been detrimental.  This other guy didn’t seem very… stable.  Nor trustworthy.  Damn, why did he have to be such an idiot?  He couldn’t keep talking about his tech, he might let something slip.  Who’s to say that John wouldn’t tell Tord everything about the goggles?  He almost cringed at the thought of having them stolen from him.

It wasn’t that he feared the blindness.  No, he’d gotten used to that in the years between the accident and when he’d received the tech.  Blindness didn’t scare him.  But Tord did.  Tom feared letting his technology fall into the wrong hands.

“They can…?” John urged Tom to continue speaking.

Tom kept his mouth shut.  No talking.  He couldn’t let any information loose.  The door opened again, signaling Tord’s return and saving Tom from more of John’s questions.

“I’m back,” came Tord’s voice from the doorway.  Tom and John looked over to see Tord’s face pulled into an expression of surprise.  “Oh, I see you two have gotten close since I’ve been gone.”  The door slid shut behind him.  He stepped further into the room, before placing a hand onto John’s head.  He stroked the brown locks in a way that seemed to claim ownership of John.

“If I wasn’t handcuffed like this, I’d beat the shit out of you,” John spat, shaking his head away from Tord’s fingers.

Tord laughed, sharp barks of laughter that seemed almost cartoonish enough to be fake.

“You’ve got such a great sense of humor, John,” he said, patting John’s head again.  “What a shame.”

Silence.  Something wasn’t right.

“Wh-” Before John could finish, Tord interrupted.

“Turn around,” he accompanied his order with a shove of encouragement to John’s shoulder.  “Face the wall,” he pointed.

Tom stayed quiet during the events, just simply observing.  There wasn’t much to say, and his brain wasn’t thinking of too much.  Tord’s words worried him, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it.  What did Tord mean?  Tom’s stomach twisted.

“Tom.”

At the sound of his name, Tom looked up from where his eyes had been fixated on John.  Tord had something in his hand.  Tom was starting to piece together what was happening, and he didn't like it one bit.  Still choosing not to speak, he watched as the Red Leader paced to him and squatted down next to him.  They would have been at eye level, had Tom been able to sit up and meet him face to face.

Tord leaned into Tom, who instinctively arched away.  His ribs throbbed in dull pain as he did and he let out a hiss.  No more moving.  Too much pain.

“Don’t move too much, comrade.”  Tord’s voice was low, dripping with something sinister.  “Don’t want to hurt yourself too much.”

“Already bringing out the Russian-isms, huh?  Aren’t you Norwegian?  I mean, I know you’re a dirty commie and all, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.”  He knew Tord had been joking with the ‘comrade’ line, but it was never too late to be a jerk to Lord Asshole next to him, he supposed.  Keeping his mouth shut wasn’t one of Tom’s skills.

His comment eared him a hard punch to his upper thigh, from Tord’s mechanical arm.  It stung.  He bit his tongue.  There would definitely be a dark, knuckle-shaped bruise there tomorrow.  Oh well.  Just another injury to add to the last one.

“You hit like a little kid,” he was really egging Tord on now.  The small enjoyment Tom got from insulting the Red Leader ended up not being worth it, as the next thing he knew, there were fingers pressing into his broken rib.  “Ah, shit,” Tom grit his teeth, muscles tightening.  He would have taken being stabbed over it, the pain surely wouldn’t have been worse.

“You never shut up, do you?”  Tord took his fingers away, opting to put an arm under Tom’s own.  He lifted Tom from the ground, into a sitting position.  “Maybe that’ll teach you to keep your mouth shut.”

Tom felt Tord’s face close to his ear.  Being lifted hadn’t hurt much less than when he’d tried to move before.  He wanted to shift away from Tord, but found he had no energy to do so.  All he could do was slouch and hope that the dull ache in a new area didn’t mean more fractured or broken ribs.

“Now, Thomas,” Tord’s voice was smooth, sending a chill down Tom’s spine.  “I need you to do something for me.”

Tom didn’t respond, his eyes on John.  The poor man was still facing the wall, unmoving except for the quivers racking through his upper body.  It’d been a while since Tom had seen pure fright on someone like that.  It made him realize just how little he cared for his own safety.  He hadn’t shaken in fear the entire time he’d been here, despite the things Tord had put him through so far.

His realization was interrupted by something being pressed into his hand.  Tom looked down, holding the object.  Black with red accents.  Looked like something out of Hot Topic.  Just what he’d expect a pistol owned by Tord to look like.

“What’s this for?”  He knew the answer.  But maybe he was mistaken.  Maybe Tord didn’t want Tom to-

“Shoot him,” Tord whispered into his ear, soft enough that John hadn’t heard.

“No.”  Tom wouldn’t let his voice shake.  His blood ran cold.  Tord barely moved an inch before Tom was pointing the barrel of the gun at him.  He held the front firmly against the Red Leader’s chest, trying to ignore the pain in his own chest from the movement.  Tord’s eyes widened in slight surprise, before he smiled.

“Oh my, poking me with your gun already, eh?  That’s a bit forward, don’t you think?”

At the sound of the word “gun,” John started squirming.

“Stop moving!” Tord shouted, a stark contrast from the soft tone he’d taken before.  “Stay still, or I’ll come over there!”  John’s body stiffened at that, and Tord looked back to Tom.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” Tom growled.  His finger rested on the trigger.  The gun was still against Tord’s chest.

“Why should I?” Tord cocked his head.

“I’m serious.  Shut it.”  Tom was ready to fire the second that Tord moved.

“Or what?  You’ll shoot me?  Yeah, right.” Tord rolled his eyes.  “I know you.  You wouldn’t shoot me.  It’s not rewarding enough.”

Inside, Tom knew he was right.  Tord wasn’t deserving of something as simple as a gunshot death.  He deserved a death that caused him pain equal to, or greater than, what he’d caused others to feel.  But this could be Tom’s only chance.

Tom’s jaw tightened and he pulled the trigger.  His hand rose with the small recoil, the loud noise a bit jarring.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John jump in surprise from the sound.  Tom expected to see Tord on the floor, red blooming from the gunshot wound.  Instead, Tord was unmoving, no red on him save for the red cloth of his uniform.

“So you do have it in you,” Tord said curiously, placing his fingers on the barrel of the gun.  “Interesting.”

Tom didn’t say anything.  He’d fired a blank.  No bullet.  Tord was still there next to him, unharmed.

“Did you really think I’d give you a loaded gun?”

Of course he’d been given blanks.  Tom didn’t know what he’d expected.  He’d been desperate enough to put hope into something that he knew, deep down, wouldn’t work.  Tom said nothing, and Tord shrugged.

“I just like fucking with you.”  Tord said in explanation, patting Tom’s shoulder.  He then slid behind Tom, his arms coming around Tom’s body.

“What are you-” Tom started, fear starting to set in.  The gun was taken from his hand and tossed aside.  In its place, another one.  At the same time, Tord gripped Tom’s right wrist tight enough that he found he couldn’t move them.  Presumably, this gun was loaded.  He wouldn’t be able to turn to shoot Tord this time, thanks to the secure hold on his wrist.  But maybe if he moved at the right moment, he could just…

Something hard pressed against the back of Tom’s head, cutting his thoughts off.  It didn’t take a genius to know what it was.  A threat.

“If you try to shoot me again,” Tord muttered close to Tom’s ear.  “I will kill you.”

The uncharacteristically serious tone almost made Tom shiver.  He knew Tord wouldn’t hesitate to fire.  Death was practically staring him in the face, or at least the back of the head.  Even if he found a chance to turn the gun on Tord, there just wasn’t any way he could shoot Tord before he himself was shot.

Conflicting thoughts swarmed his mind.  He could do as Tord wanted, but that would make Tom a killer.  John didn’t seem bad.  On the contrary, he seemed rather harmless.  Tom had shot people before, of course.  When you’re fighting against a dictator, you’re bound to get a few shots out.  But those people had been evil.  Like Tord.  Tom didn’t want to hurt someone innocent, and John seemed pretty innocent.

“Jesus, just how many guns do you carry on you, huh?”  Trying to cope with jokes wasn’t working.  His lighthearted question made Tord chuckle, but that only made Tom’s anxiety ramp up.  “What’s he even done to deserve this?” Tom asked, referring to John.

“Let’s just say that he got involved with someone he shouldn’t have, and became a threat to me.”

“If that’s so, I would have thought you’d want to get rid of him in some other way.”  He was stalling.  Buying time so that he could think of some way out of this.

John turned his head slightly, getting a glance at the two behind him.  Immediately, his eyes widened and he yelped as he saw the gun pointed at him.  He started to frantically shuffle on his knees, before Tord growled.

“What did I say, John?” Tord shouted angrily, snatching the gun from Tom’s hands and standing back up.

Tom thanked a god he didn't believe in.  He’d been given a chance to think of a way out of this.

Tord stomped over to John, holding both guns in one hand and reaching into a jacket pocket with the other.  He pulled out a roll of silver tape.  Using his teeth, he ripped off a large piece.

“Ah, no, please!  Not again!” John begged, cowering.  “I’ll stay still, I promise!”

“Shut it, you had your chance.”  With that, Tord put the tape over John’s mouth.  “I’d kill you myself if we were alone.”  He forcibly turned John to face the wall again.  “This is what happens to traitors.”

Tom watched the events play out in front of him, frozen.  He suddenly thought back years ago, to the Tord that he knew in his youth.  This wasn’t the same man he’d had a fierce, yet admittedly childish, rivalry with.  This was someone who’d let himself get corrupted by evil.  If it hadn’t been clear to Tom before, it sure as hell was clear at that moment.

As Tord paced back towards him, Tom realized he hadn’t thought of a plan.  He muttered a curse to himself, eyes darting around the room for something, anything, that could help him.  There was nothing.  Luck really wasn’t on Tom’s side that day.

“Now,” Tord said, moving to get behind Tom again.  “Back to business.”

Tom gathered strength, and jutted his elbow back, nailing Tord in the stomach as hard as he could muster.  Tord made an “oof” sound, and Tom smirked.

“The hell was that for?”  Tord grunted, smacking the side of Tom’s head.

Unfortunately, Tom hadn’t thought about his inability to do much else, and he frowned. He was getting a migraine again.  Not answering Tord’s question, he realized that all he’d managed to do was stall time.  John was still there in front of him, albeit a bit away, unwilling waiting for a bullet in his back.  Or skull.  Whichever Tord decided.

Tom didn’t have much time to think before a gun pressed against his head again, and a gun was placed into his hand.  A robotic hand wrapped around his wrist, the metal harsh against his flesh.  As he was forced to point the gun at John, Tom didn’t resist.  No point in fighting the inevitable.  And no point in fighting when there was the barrel of a gun digging into the back of his skull.  In the face of possible death, he couldn’t bring himself to try anything.  Again, he was completely powerless to change fate.

Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion.  His body didn’t feel real anymore, and his hand was losing feeling from the tightness of the grip around his wrist.  His head filled with static as he stared at John’s back.

“No blanks this time,” Tord mumbled into Tom’s ear.  “Just one bullet.  You can do it, Tom.”

Tom barely heard it.  The other gun tapped the back of his head a few times, a reminder of what he was supposed to do.  The sound seemed to echo.  He could hear the soft noises of Tord’s robotic eye and eye socket working, making him more nervous.  If his wrist hadn’t been held so tightly in place, Tom’s arm probably would have been shaking uncontrollably.  He took a deep breath.  It was either him, or John.  And with the way things looked, even if he chose to let himself die, John would as well.

His finger twitched on the trigger, and he swallowed a lump in his throat.

Bang.

Tom’s head hurt.  Though there was very little recoil, the force behind the shot was still jarring to his body.  He stared at the blood that immediately soaked through John’s shirt, in the upper left of his back.  He watched as the body slumped forward.  It silently fell to the floor.  For a few moments, the only sound was Tom’s heavy breathing.  He hadn’t even noticed how ragged his breaths had been until then.

The second that Tord let go of his wrist, Tom was pointing it over his shoulder.  Over and over, he pulled the trigger.  His arm injuries ached and screamed at him to stop.  He knew it was hopeless; the gun was empty.  After the fifth time, he let his arm fall to the floor.  Tord was still holding the gun to his head.  Tom wanted nothing more than for that gun to fire.

Caught up in his own regret and pain, he barely noticed Tord stand up.  He felt Tord’s hand on his shoulder, praising him for a job well done.

“Very good.  To be quite honest,” Tord began, walking to his desk across the room. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to do it.  I was worried I’d have to shoot you for not following instructions.”  Tord sat at his desk, opening the laptop sitting there. “But then I’d lose you, and then who would I have my fun with?” he finished with an amused laugh.

“You’re sick,” was all Tom could reply with.  He let his body sink to the floor, not willing to keep himself held up in a sitting position anymore.

“Ja, tell me something I don't know, Tommy boy.”  Tord started to type into his laptop.  He continued for a few minutes, neither of the men saying a word.

Tom simply watched Tord type away, fingers moving faster than the average computer user.  He must be on there a lot, Tom concluded.  But doing what, exactly?  Tord sure was typing a lot on there.  Was he keeping a log?  Sending orders?  It piqued his curiosity, but Tom was too distracted by recent events to care at the moment.

Tom closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion sweep over him.  He tried to forget about the corpse a few feet away from him.  The body that he stole life from.  The empty gun lay near him, a reminder that Tom wanted to forget about as well.

He heard Tord close the computer and get up.  Footsteps, coming closer.

“I’ll be back later.  I have business to attend to.  I’ll send someone in to give you your rations and to collect it.”

Tom didn’t need his eyes open to know that Tord was referring to John.  He simply nodded, and there was the sound of the door opening and closing.  Once again, he was left alone.  He told himself over and over that he’d done the right thing.  Shooting John had been to keep himself alive.

As Tom lied there with only his thoughts, he made a promise to himself.  He was going to get out of there.  He was going to survive.

Chapter Text

The injuries were healing.  Unusual, as generally Tord didn’t let that occur.  The second Tom seemed well enough, he made sure to maim him enough to make up for it.  And after a while, Tom found he didn’t care.  It all blended together; events from a week ago seemed only hours ago, and vice versa.

Despite the healing, Tom wasn’t free to go.  Far from it, actually.  Instead of his injuries prohibiting his escape, now it was something stronger.  Iron.  In the form of handcuffs, wrapped around his bruised wrists.  And no matter much he’d struggled to free himself of the bonds, the metal showed no sign of releasing him.  The cuffs connected to a long chain that wrapped around a pole in the office.  It was long enough to give Tom room to move if he so wished, but only in what he guessed was a three-foot radius.  He’d never been good at judging distance.  It wasn’t much room, but it was better than before.  At least he could move.  It was an improvement.

He’d turned on his goggles a total of two more times since the time he’d done it accidentally.  Only when Tord was gone, of course.  Couldn’t let him know about the photos.  It was only photos, but they meant the world to him.  If Tord got ahold of them, who knows what he’d use them as leverage for.  The man was insane.  And he needed to keep the goggles around for his own use.  The pictures calmed him.  Edd and Matt’s happy faces in the photos were nice to look at.  Death was constantly on his mind in his current situation, and it certainly helped to have a reminder of why he wanted to stay around.

There was a sliding sound; the door.  He frowned.  Tord’s entrance was an instant mood-killer.  Just as it’d always been. The door closed with a click.

“Morning Tom,” Tord singsonged from the doorway.  He held a cloth bag, similar in shape and size to a briefcase.  “Hope your breakfast was delicious.” 

“Yeah.”  It’d ben disgusting, actually.  Mystery meat and green beans.  The meat had ben better than previous ones, but the green beans had been soft and runny.  A pretty gross side dish.  The only side dish Tom wanted was a potato.  Fried, preferably.

“Are you addressing me?” Tord loomed over Tom.  “I’ll let you try that again.”

Right.  How could he have forgotten.  He was in the presence of true royalty, after all.

“Yeah, Red Leader.” he corrected himself.

Tord gave a curt nod and paced to his desk.  He pulled a laptop out of his bag, a commonality recently.

Tom opened his mouth, ready to say anything snappy that came to mind, but his head throbbed as Tord typed.  The peaceful quiet Tom had grown to enjoy was gone.  He shut his mouth before something he’d regret slipped out.  It was probably for the better, anyways.

For a while, Tom did nothing.  He sat, unmoving as Tord typed away.  It resembled many other days.  Whenever Tord wasn’t butchering Tom’s confidence with his beatings, he was doing something on his computer.  Usually typing what seemed like an impossibly-high words per minute.  It piqued Tom’s curiosity, but he knew better to question it.  But if he never asked, he’d never get an answer.

“You rewriting the Communist Manifesto or something?” Tom asked.  He wasn’t expecting a real answer, not even a response.  It wasn’t below Tord to completely ignore Tom sometimes.  But to his surprise, Tord spoke.

“Pardon me?” Tord didn’t even look up from the laptop screen, which cast a faint blue glow onto his face.  It made the glowing dot in his robotic eye look purple from where Tom sat.

“Is that what you’re always doing on there?  Rewriting it to fit your shitty views?”  Tom leant back against the wall, craning his neck up.  No more than ten minutes since Tord had arrived, and he was already tired of seeing him.  “I’m surprised your keyboard hasn’t broken yet, honestly.  You press those keys pretty hard.”

“It’s none of your business what I’m doing.”  His tone was light, no trace of anger.  A good sign that Tom could pester him as much as he wanted, without punishment.

“Marx would’ve hated you.”  Petty, but whatever.  It served no purpose to talk to Tord, yet he found himself wanting to.  Perhaps his loneliness was starting to really get to him.  Even childlike insults were better than silence.

“What I do is no concern of yours.”  For the first time since he’d sat down, Tord looked at Tom.  “Go to sleep or something.  It’s nighttime.”

“Is it?”  Tom had no concept of time, in the office.  On any other day, he would’ve dropped conversation.  “I’m not tired.”

Tord pushed himself up from his desk, sighing.  “I really don’t have time for this right now.”  He went to a cabinet and opened one of the doors.  Tord fished around inside, pulling out a bottle of what Tom could only assume was alcohol.  After reading the label briefly, he walked closer to Tom.

“This’ll help,” he said, holding out the bottle.  “Sleep so I can finish my work before my meeting.”

Tom took it.  He turned it in his hands.  It was heavy.  He couldn’t read the label, just like the ones before, but it was probably whiskey.  “I don’t want this.”  He did.  Oh, how he did.  Blocking out the bad thoughts only worked for so long.  And having Tord in the vicinity wasn’t helping.  His thoughts were still swimming with unwanted images and ideas, and he wanted nothing more than to forget it.  But his life, and his friends’ lives, were on the line.  Sure, on the surface, he wanted to forget everything.  Wanted to drown it all out.  But deep down, he knew that it wasn’t a solution.

Edd’s words from years ago echoed in his mind.  He’d promised his friend he’d stop drinking.

Self control.  Something he needed to learn.  He’d failed, but now it was imperative to succeed from now on.  He felt an odd mixture of pride and sadness as he placed the bottle far away from him.

“Do I have to make you drink it?” Tord asked.

Tom shook his head.  Tord bent down, close to him.  He grabbed the alcohol, thrusting the drink out to him again.

“Do it,” he ordered.

“I’m not drinking it.”  Tom turned his head away from the bottle in his hand.  He didn’t like that eye staring at him.  It felt invasive.  The “real” one, he could deal with.  It was that robotic one that freaked him out.

Tom expected a slap, a whack to the skull, some sort of physical punishment.  Instead, Tord’s grip loosened on his wrist, and he stood.

“Fine.”

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” Tom asked.  It was weird.  He wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“I’m enjoying you, Tom.  Having you here has been nothing but a pleasure.”  Tord slid the alcohol into an inner pocket of his coat.

“Gross.”

“Wish you’d take orders better, though.”  He paused for a moment.  “I I like it better when you’re obedient.”

“Double gross.”

“You know,” Tord trailed off, before curling his lips into a smile.  “You weren’t supposed to live this long.  Twenty-four hours at the most.”  There was a beat, before Tord continued.  “I was going to have you bleed out in front of Edd.”

Christ.  Tom’s stomach churned at the thought.

“But, ah,” Tord waved a hand.  “Things don’t always go according to plan.  You’re interesting.  Fun, even.  I don’t have a lot of fun things in my life anymore.  It’s a shame.”  Tord’s expression softened.  “You’re lucky to be here, in my tender, loving care.”

Lucky definitely wasn’t the right word.  And Tord’s so-called “care” was anything but tender and loving.  Yet, Tom was thankful, somehow, that he hadn’t been murdered in front of his best friend.  Being Tord’s plaything was shit, of course, but the alternative was worse.

“Anyways,” Tord said, clapping his hands together.  He didn’t wait for Tom to respond.  “You’re distracting me.  I need you gone so I can get my work done quickly.”

A wave a panic shot through Tom.  He bit his tongue hard enough to taste copper.  He let Tord continue.

“You’ve been a good boy recently, not acting up anymore.”  Tord went back to his desk.  There was a squeak of wood as he opened the drawer.  “So I’ll give you a reward.”

Tom half expected Tord to pull a box of dog treats from the drawer.  What he saw instead wasn’t much different.

“Is that a fucking leash?”  His question was ignored.

“Your friends are alive.”  Tord shut the drawer, straightening the leather as he walked to Tom.  “I’m taking you to them.”

Tom sat up straighter.  He chewed his lip.  His friends were here, still alive.  His friends were here.  In the same building as Tom.  Closer than expected.  A small glimmer of hope shined within Tom.

“Mhm.”  Tord gave him a curt nod, kneeling down in front of Tom.  As he attached the silver loop of the leash to both of Tom’s handcuffs, Tom eyed him.

“I don’t suppose this is free, though, right?”  Tom knew it.  Tord didn’t do “nice” things like this for free.  Or nice things in general.  That wasn’t how he played.  “You want something from me in exchange.”

“No, not this time.”  Tord put a hand on his hip.  “Am I not allowed to be kind to you sometimes?  I’m doing this out of the good of my heart, and you’re questioning it?”

“I’m not even sure if you have a heart.”  And if he did, it was cold and black.  No love inside.

“Do you want to see your friends or not?”  He tugged on the leash, and Tom’s hands were pulled forward.

“Yes.”  Tom bit his tongue.  Shit-talking would get him nowhere.  Now wasn’t the time for it.  Now was the time to be pleasant.  “Please.  I… I want to see them.”  It was disgraceful hearing those words come from his own mouth.  Begging was pitiful.  But it was needed sacrifice.

The two locked eyes with each other, Tord’s fingers tightly around the leash handle.

“If you try to escape or attack me while we’re out, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head.”

A shiver ran up Tom’s spine.  The room felt colder.  He’d heard Tord say similar things before, of course.  Something was different this time.  Tom nodded.

“Follow me,” Tord said, yanking on the chain.  Tom’s arms lifted up with it.

“Alright, alright.  Hold on,” Tom said, stumbling to his feet.  He struggled balancing on his feet.  “I’m coming.”

Tord led Tom out the door.  Immediately, Tom was met with light.  Not just light, but natural light.  How long had it been since he’d last seen natural light?  It was brighter than the fluorescence in the office.  His eyes burned slightly from behind his goggles.

Tord’s boots clacked against the tile floor, loud and commanding.  He suddenly felt very small, his bare feet making no more than a slapping sound.

Tom scoured the long hallway with his eyes, looking at every detail.  There were small windows providing a minimal amount of light; almost all of the light surrounding Tom was from skylights on the ceiling.  Around the window frames were decorative swirls of gold paint.  Probably real gold, Tom guessed.

It was refreshing.  He hadn’t seen anything but Tord’s office for… months?  Maybe weeks?  He hadn’t had any way to tell time in the office.  The room lacked windows of any sort.  There was no sunshine telling him when the morning was.  No moon to tell him when to sleep.  Time didn’t exist in that room.  But out there, he saw time.  And life.

Speaking of morning, hadn’t Tord told him it was nighttime?

They turned a sharp corner, and other soldiers came into sight.  There were around ten of them, in pairs, posted at doors.  Whatever small talk they were making with each ceased immediately.  Their hands shot up to their foreheads.  Each soldier gave a quick “Morning, sir” as they held their salutes.  Tord paid them no mind.

Tom pretended not to notice the looks he got.  He focused on the tiles below him, trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling within him.  Tom hadn’t interacted with more than three people since he’d arrived (and even then, two of those three were the soldiers who brought him his meals).  The more people that stared at him, the sicker he felt.

He wanted to go back to the office.  This was new territory.  The pale walls of Tord’s office called to him, soothing in a way that he’d never expected.

Tom shut his eyes.  Focus on the surroundings.  Not on the people.  Don’t worry about them.

He tried.  But focusing on anything but the stares was proving to be difficult.  He glued his gaze to the tops of the doors.  The numbers went up the further they went, one by one.  220, 221, 222.  Red door, blue door, red door again.

But the hand on his wrist was too tight, and he couldn’t find himself able to ignore it.  It brought him back to reality. 

At least he was wearing a shirt, he supposed.  It could be worse, he told himself over and over again.

He tried to breathe, and remember that he would be with his friends soon.

Tord stepped into an elevator, and Tom followed suit.  The doors closed, leaving behind a hallway that Tom tried to commit to memory.  It’d be useful to remember the building’s layout.  There was a ding as Tord pressed the button with a three on it.  Slowly, they started their descent.  The room whirred.  Two floors passed by, before the doors opened, revealing a hallway that looked incredibly different from the one he’d been in before.

Everything was gray.  And concrete.  Nothing was painted like the other hallway had been.  Tom could see iron bars in the distance from where they stood.

It smelled like sweat and mold. 

They walked into the area and the elevator closed behind them.  Tom didn’t want to ask any questions.  He knew where they were; the building’s prison area.

The pair went by different types of cells.  Some contained prisoners, others were bare.  Most of them had the iron bars on the front.  A very select few were solitary confinement rooms, with a steel door and no way to view the inside.  Were Edd and Matt in those?  He hoped not.  Edd could probably handle it, but there was no way Matt would be able to, even with his enhancements.  And who knows, Tord could have stolen those away from him anyways. 

He kept an eye out for a black trench coat or bright ginger hair.  Minutes went by.  The only sounds in the prison were Tord’s footsteps.  His boots hit the concrete, imitating a ticking clock.  No sign of his friends.

Tord stopped abruptly, in front of a barred cell.  Tom peered inside, breath catching in his throat.

There was a man lying down on a small cot.  The bed was too short for his tall body, even in the semi-fetal position he was curled up in.  His eyes were closed, and his hair disheveled.  Still had that trench coat on, too.  A smile snuck its way onto Tom’s lips. 

Tord stomped a foot, and Tom flinched.  The sound echoed through the prison, and someone shouted from far away in response. 

“Edd, get up!” Tord snapped, his harsh voice grating to Tom’s ears.  Edd jolted upright.

Even from their distance, Tom could see the wear and tear on the other man.  His eyes were red, and the scarring on his neck was now visible.  The scars looked… awful, to say the least.  They were pink, the skin raised up in messy marks.  From what Tom could see, the scars continued further down, spiderweb-like underneath his shirt.  They were probably incredibly painful when receiving them.  And they definitely hadn’t been there before they’d been captured. 

He wondered just how far down they went.  Did they still hurt?

“You have a visitor,” Tord said, pulling the leash to bring Tom closer to the cell.  “Tom is here to see you.  I thought this might cheer you up a bit.  It’s so boring seeing you sulk like a teenager for days on end.”

Edd chose not to speak.  Tom made eye contact with him.  It felt so foreign.  Edd’s brown eyes were clouded, not bright like they used to be.  But then Edd smiled, and it felt like home.

Tord unclipped the leash from the handcuffs.

“I’m leaving you here for an hour or so.  Maybe more, we’ll see.  Enjoy it.”  Tord started to walk away, stopping a few feet away to look over his shoulder.  “Don’t try anything, either.  Breaking him out isn’t an option,” Tord said.  He gestured to the cell.  “Those bars have electric currents running through them.  Touch them, and you’ll be out cold.  At best.”

The clicking of Tord’s footsteps started again, and continued until he presumably entered the elevator.  Edd pulled a chair in the cell up, taking a seat, and Tom sat down on the floor.  His legs were exhausted.  They ached more than when Tord had targeted them during an especially angry attack.  He wasn’t accustomed to walking anymore, so the little bit they’d done today had been enough to fatigue him greatly.

“…Tom?”  Edd asked, hesitantly.  The look in his eyes was unusual.  There was something there that Tom couldn’t place. 

“Hey, Edd.”  He found himself unable to take his focus away from his friend.  Realistically, he knew they hadn’t been separated for very long.  Or at least, he thought so.  It felt like months.  It definitely hadn’t been that long, but Tom’s brain couldn’t judge time very well anymore.  The environment and circumstances had messed with him too much.

Tom was at a loss for words.  And it seemed that Edd was struggling with the same problem.  Something felt off between them.

“You’re injured,” Edd said, his leg starting to bounce.

Ah, yes.  The anxiety.  Tom knew it well.  And so did Edd.  He’d never seen Edd struggle with it until they’d reconnected after the split, years ago.  Whatever had happened to Edd when they’d been separated, Tom didn’t know the full details.  Edd had become more distant, shielding himself from Tom and Matt’s prying questions.  Whatever it was, it had situated itself deep enough into Edd.

“Tord,” Tom offered as an explanation.  They were so close to each other, only a couple feet away.  Arms reach.  Tom could probably touch his best friend if he wanted to.  But the barrier was there.  And Tom really didn’t feel like having two hundred volts of energy coursing through his body.  Maybe another day.

“What a bastard,” Edd muttered under his breath.  His leg stopped bouncing and he shifted in his chair.

“Yeah.”  Neither of them said a word for what felt like a while.  Tom felt a wave of guilt rush through him.  He was suddenly reminded of just how high his general alcohol intake had been since he’d gotten here.  “I’ve been drinking.”  The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them.  He never had much of a filter when he was with Edd.  Something about being with his friend made him want to tell the truth.  And he hadn’t really spoken to anyone except for Tord in a long time.

“You promised.” Edd spoke shortly, but it was enough for Tom’s ears to burn in shame.

“I know.” He’d made a promise.  And broken it.  It hadn’t been all Tom’s fault, he knew that.  But he still felt awful.  Edd’s silence said more than anything he could have said aloud.  He felt warmth in his cheeks.  “I’m sorry, Edd.  I’m sorry.  I promised I wouldn’t drink again.  But I did.”

“I mean, I kind of knew you wouldn’t be able to.” 

“Ouch.”  Not even his best friend had believed in him, apparently.  It was like a knife to the chest.  He would have rather taken a few hits from Tord’s metal arm than experience this.

“Hm, how are you getting booze in your cell?”  Edd leant back in the chair.

“I’m… not really in a cell,” Tom said.  Explaining it was uncomfortable. “I woke up in his office after the fight and haven’t been outside the room since.  This is the first time he’s let me out.”

“That’s kind of weird.  Sounds like you’re his pet or something.”

“Feels like that sometimes, to be honest.”  He held up his arms, showing off the handcuffs.  “The only things missing are a collar and a doghouse.  And some kibble. 

“Careful, he might be listening.  Don’t want to give him any ideas.”

“Yeah.”  He let out a laugh but it lacked energy.  Tord’s pet.  Was that all he was?  He supposed so.

“Oh, I’ve got something for you.”  Edd got up from his chair, pacing to the small desk to his left.  He picked up a small stack of papers, flicking through them.  Placing about half of them back onto the table, he held the other half tightly in his fingers and came back near Tom.  “I was going to have a guard take these to you, but you ended up coming here before I could send them out.”  He reached forward, and Tom jolted upright.

“Wait!  The bars, the electricity.”

Edd froze.  “Oh, right,” He laughed, and it felt almost too genuine.  “I almost forgot.”

Tom rolled his eyes.  Edd was as impulsive as always, it seemed.  He reached out a hand, being careful not to touch the bars with his fingers.  Edd did the same.  They pushed the papers through one at a time, as slow as possible.  There were a few close calls, where Tom’s heartbeat nearly stopped.  But in the end, both had come out of it unharmed.

Tom held the papers in his hand, studying them.  Most were covered in fold lines, splitting each page into thirds.  One in particular was crinkled, different from the rest.  Had it been scrunched up at one point?  Tom flipped through them again.  They all had Tom’s name written at the top.

“Are these letters?” He asked glancing back up at Edd.  “Addressed to me?” 

“I asked the guards if I could write to you and Matt.  They agreed, as long as they can read them before I send.  I’ve been… writing a lot.  It’s the only thing keeping me sane in here.” Edd gave a sheepish smile.  “Haven’t sent any out yet, sorry.  I was going to do it tomorrow since it’s the weekend.  But you’re here now, so…” 

Tom folded the stack of papers.  It gave him a sense of ease knowing that he wasn’t the only one who missed the others. 

“Why not just tell me whatever’s in here?” Tom asked, shaking the stack.  “You know I hate reading letters.”  He had a habit of leaving them on the counter back home, and never reading them.  It was a wonder his bills got paid on time.

“Aw, come on, Tom.”  Edd waved a hand.  “We used to write them to each other all the time when we were kids.” Edd gave Tom a look.  “Don’t you remember?”  There was a sense of urgency in his voice.

Ah, so that’s why Edd did this.  It made sense now.

He held the letters tighter in his hand.  Tom needed to read them as soon as possible.  Alone.  No prying, robotic, eyes.

“Of course I remember,” he said as nonchalantly as possible.  The words had more meaning than it sounded.  He would have said more, but as Edd had mentioned before, Tord may be listening in on them.  Tom wouldn’t put it past the guy.  Tord was hungry for power and control; he was most certainly watching.

Tom slipped the letters into his shirt’s front pocket.  They bulged out, the fabric straining against the pressure.  His chest itched. 

“I’ll be sure to read it soon.” He nodded.  “Right when I get back to the room.”  He needed to change the subject.  Make it seem natural.  “Have you heard from Matt at all?”

Edd stiffened at that.  His right hand fiddled with his shirt, almost seeming to touch something beneath.  Tom thought he caught a glimpse of pink and red skin underneath the fabric’s hem, but he was unsure.  Trick of the lighting, maybe?  The cell wasn’t lit particularly well.

Edd’s leg started to bounce again.  Clearly, this wasn’t a good time.  Tom knew better than to press on when Edd’s anxiety flared up.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Tom ran a hand through his unwashed hair.  It was full of grease. It clung to his fingers and h grimaced. “We don’t have to talk about that.”

Tom hoped Matt was holding up.  The guy was probably pretty freaked out.  Due to certain circumstances, Matt wasn’t exactly naturally equipped to deal with certain situations; that included being alone.  And knowing Tord, that’s exactly how he was keeping him.  Maybe even in one of the solitary confinement rooms he’d passed earlier.  Matt would be completely by himself in one of those, nothing but the thoughts in his head to keep him company.  Tom couldn’t bear to think of the possibility that Tord had taken away Matt’s “enhancements.”  The repercussions of that could be difficult, whenever they reunited.  But, he’d worry about that later.

The rest of their visit was nice, relatively speaking.  If he ignored the bars, and handcuffs, and the cold draft of the room, it almost resembled conversations they used to have.  It put Tom at ease.  The hour seemed too short for everything he wanted to say.  Before he knew it, he heard the distant sound of the elevator.

“He’s here,” Edd said, any trace of positivity leaving him.  The cold, self-protecting stare found its way onto him again.

Tom slouched in his chair.  His spine cried out in pain but it was nothing compared to what he’d endured before.  Before thinking twice about it, he pressed a fingertip to his vision goggles, snapping a photo.  If Edd saw him do it, he didn’t show it.  The photo went straight to the album in the device, and Tom made mental note to look at it later.

As Tord approached, a smirk stretched across his lips.  His chin held up high, his one “real” eye scrunched the same way a kid’s would be when joyful.  Except there was no trace of joy there.  Just sadistic pleasure. 

Reluctantly, Tom stood.  He extended his hands at Tord, meeting the handcuffs halfway.  They clicked around his wrists.  The sinking feeling was back.  Tord tugged on the leather leash, and Tom followed.  He turned his head back to see Edd one last time before his friend left his field of vision.  The pain in his head made him sluggish as he tried to keep up with Tord’s quick footsteps. 

“I don’t suppose you’re taking me to see Matt.”  Speaking was proving itself to be difficult.

“Maybe next time.”

He really wasn’t looking forward to being paraded down the hallway again.  But there wasn’t anything he could do.  Try to escape, and he’d be killed on the spot.  No doubt about that.  Tom got goosebumps on his arms as they entered the elevator together for the second time that day.

They made their trek back to Tord’s office, Tom once again trying to ignore the other soldier’s glares.  Back in the room, Tord mentioned his meeting again and promptly left after reattaching Tom’s cuffs to the pillar.

Tom stretched his arms, which had started to cramp up from the lack of bending recently.  He still had the letters from Edd with him.  Tord definitely knew about them, but he clearly didn’t consider it enough of a threat to stop.

He could always read them tomorrow.  It’d hardly been a few hours since he’d woken up, maybe four or five if he was guessing.  But his body was fatigued from the unusual exercise.  A bit of shuteye might do him good.  He reclined on the carpet, closing his eyes.

And then Tom realized something.

Tord’s laptop was still sitting on the desk, unprotected.

Chapter Text

Tord’s desk was extremely tempting. The wall behind it had a faint multicolored glow from the screensaver on Tord’s laptop. The lines of the image were too slight to make out the image. He felt compelled to look at it; not just the screensaver, but the whole contents of the laptop. It called out to Tom, pulling him towards it.

There wasn’t currently a way he could get over there with his hands cuffed. There had to be a way out of them. Like he’d done so many times before, he fiddled with the lock section. And like every prior attempt, it was fruitless. He needed to try something different. The metal was strong, and Tom was weak. Even before his current malnourishment, he had probably been too weak to break it.

A small blip of an idea began to form in his mind. He put his foot on the section connecting his hands and pulled his arms up. The metal dug into his skin. There’d be bruises there later. Tom grunted, low and guttural as he angled his shoe more. If he could just-

The door opened and Tom jumped, taking his foot back. The scent of wafted to him.

“Am I that scary?” An unfamiliar voice asked.

Tom turned. A man in a uniform strode forward, holding a tray in his hands. Underneath a blue jacket similar to Tord’s but with less accouterment, he wore a red turtleneck sweater. The other soldiers Tom saw in the base had been wearing a different uniform. Usually, when they came in to feed him, they wore a plain jacket.

There was a symbol sewn onto the front of his jacket. It resembled normal military insignia; blue stripes sat on a black background, placed in such a way to create a rounded diamond. Above it was the Red Army’s signature icon, a stark, bright crimson. If Tom had to guess, using his minute knowledge of military insignia, this man probably held a high rank.

His hair was short and brown, like Edd’s. And like Edd’s unkempt mop of hair, it was like he couldn’t be bothered to even brush it in the morning. Despite that, it looked soft to the touch. Fluffy, even.
Between his lips was a cigarette, unlit. It moved as he spoke.

“Your dinner,” he said as he placed the tray on the floor near Tom. The tray was small.

“You’re new.” Tom racked his brain for anything about the man, coming up short. Even when Tord has brought him out to visit Edd, he hadn’t seen anybody resembling this man.

“No, just new to you, kid. I’ve been here for years.” His voice was gruff, deep and lacking the emotion that Tord’s held.

The cogs in Tom’s head turned as he got an idea. He introduced himself, shooting the other a friendly smile. He knew he looked disgusting and there was nothing charming about his lack of showering, but it was worth a shot. He very literally had nothing to lose.

The man introduced himself as ‘Paul,’ and promptly made to leave.

“Wait!” Tom’s shout made Paul look back at him with an expecting look. “Usually they let me out of the cuffs to eat.”

Paul rolled his eyes. “Nice try.” He turned to leave again.

Tom spiraled through a million thoughts at once. “They never leave me alone when they do it. They stay with me to eat, then lock me up again.”

Paul sighed, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. His boredom and general disinterest would be difficult to get past. But Tom was never the type to give up so quickly. Paul shoved his hands into his pants pocket. There was a jingle as he pulled out a set of keys.

“You’re lucky I’ve been having a decent day,” Paul said. He came back to Tom, who held his cuffed hands up. The key fit into the lock but refused to turn. Paul jiggled it for a few seconds, before trying another. “Too many damn keys,” he mumbled. One by one, he put keys into the lock and turned, until there was finally a ‘click’ as one turned. The cuffs fell off, the iron hitting the floor with a small ‘clang.’ Tom bent his wrists back and forth to stretch the muscles. The cuffs were tight enough to restrict movement, so being freed felt incredible.

As Paul sat down in front of him, Tom sized him up. He was bigger than Tord. He had a good half foot on him. More body fat, but there was definitely a lot of muscle hidden underneath. There was no doubt that Paul was stronger than Tord. Any hope of escape via Paul was immediately thrown out. If Tom couldn’t take Tord, he most certainly couldn’t take Paul.

“Eat up.” Paul’s eyes were glazed over in the way Tom’s used to be during high school. Zero interest. It was intriguing; shouldn’t a supposed higher-up be attentive and focused?

Tom picked up the metal spoon on the tray and scooped some potatoes. The skin was dark, charred. Leftovers from the Army’s cafeteria, most likely. “Black potatoes seem to be the Red Army’s specialty.”

Paul snorted, a smile flickering at his lips. The first sign of emotion he’d shown so far. “You can say that again. I’ve been begging Red Leader to fix the menu for years.”

“Kind of shitty that you eat the same stuff I do.”

“Eh, it’s not exactly the same.” Paul shrugged. “My rank gets me some meats and dairy. Most prisoners eat worse than you, if you can believe that.”

Paul’s comment had Tom shift his eyes down to the white slop on his plate. Tord was giving him special treatment. He wasn’t treating Tom well by any means, but he didn’t know what to do with the information. He dragged the spoon through the mush, writing an ‘X’ in it.

“Tord’s always been weird,” was the only thing Tom could think to respond with.

“Red Leader.” Paul corrected, giving a curt nod.

If Tom were in any other situation he would have groaned. Before he could say anything, Paul spoke again.

“He’s our leader. It’d be insubordination to call him anything but his name.” Paul’s face changed. He lost his smile, looking more serious. “He’s fighting for the greater good,” he supplied. “He deserves the respect.”

Tord was evil, through and through. There wasn’t a good bone in his body. Every ounce of good from years ago was gone. But there was no use in fighting Paul; brainwashing to create a mob mentality was a powerful tactic that Tom didn’t want to interfere with.

Instead, he supplied a question that’d been on his mind since he’d arrived. “What’s going to happen when he takes over everything?”

“He’ll fix the world’s problems,” Paul said after a few moments of silence. “He’ll make everyone equal.”

“Hm,” Tom hummed. Paul’s claims were far from the truth. Tom knew how Tord’s brain worked. He was leading them to a future without human agency and difference; he supposed it was technically equality, but not the kind that the world needed.

The two continued to talk as Tom ate his food. They spoke very little of Tord. When Tom had finished eating, Paul pulled the keyring out of his pocket and locked Tom up in the cuffs again. It had been nice while it lasted.

Paul left with the empty tray after nodding a quick goodbye, and Tom was left to his own devices again. Tord’s laptop sat open, tantalizing. He itched to take a look at it. It was probably password protected, but that wouldn’t be difficult to bypass for Tom if he could get himself over there. Like earlier, he wedged his shoe between the cuffs. He pulled and pulled, but the metal would not budge. There had to be another way. His eyes scanned the area around him as he tried to think.

The only thing he hadn’t tried was friction.

Twisting both hands, he walked on his knees to the pillar. The lengthy chain would be perfect. Tom manipulated the chain to wrap around itself and the part connecting to the cuffs. He started moving his hands in a circular motion, similar to how he had been taught to get out of zip ties. The smell of metal against metal made him feel sick, and the screeching made his ears feel like they were bleeding. He held his breath.

At the spot of contact, the chain was turning a bright red as Tom continued to make friction.

He continued to wear the material down, but the sound was becoming unbearable. He’d never heard anything worse in his entire life. Just when he started to consider stopping, there was a ‘snap,’ as one of the chain links between his cuffs broke.

The first thing he did was spread his arms out on either side of him. The muscles were sore, having been unused for so long.

It felt strange to be free. He’d been free with Paul in the room, but being alone and free was a completely different feeling. The limit on his freedom was still there; he was still trapped inside the base with no way to escape. Sure, he could physically get out of the room. But he had no plan for afterward. The second he got out, Tord’s army would recapture him. If they didn’t shoot him point-blank first, that is. Tom didn’t want to think of what Tord might to do him in the event of being recaptured. He might never see Edd nor Matt again.

The laptop was a dark grey, almost black. The keyboard was red. There was a small sticker of a dog on the space between the screen and edge. Reds and purples swirled around the screen in random shapes.

It was a cheap-looking laptop, but Tom was hesitant to touch it; it was possible Tord’s computer was locked with recognition software. It wouldn’t be surprising. Tord was good with machinery, and Tom could see him using his engineering skills to modify it. After all, why bother spending money to get the best, when you could buy the cheapest and make it high-tech yourself?
But Tom had to take the chance. The possibility of new information but too exciting to ignore.

He touched a finger to the touchpad, and the screen flickered away from the screensaver. Tom stared at the desktop for a few moments, not sure whether to laugh or roll his eyes. The wallpaper was exactly the sort of thing he’d expected; some blonde, cat-eared anime girl with large… features.

Oddly enough, there hadn’t been a password required. It made Tom suspicious, but he continued nonetheless.

Icons were strewn about the desktop haphazardly. It was comforting to see. Tord sure looked put-together on the outside, but it was good to know that he was still the unorganized mess he had always been.

Tom double-clicked on a folder near the center of the screen. It opened, revealing a bunch of headshots. Each one was of a different person, wearing uniforms that matched the ones Tom had seen outside of the room. As he scrolled down, he noticed just how similar they all looked. Not just in terms of the uniform, either. In general, everybody’s hair was short, save for a few. Near the bottom was a set of photos that he assumed were higher-ups. Paul was in one of them, next to a man with long hair. They both seemed to be wearing the same uniform that Tom had seen on Paul earlier. The others wore different uniforms but not much of those were visible in the headshots.

Tom clicked out of the folder and scanned the other folders on the desktop. He had to be quick. Tord could walk in at any moment and Tom didn’t want to be caught red-handed. None of the folders had very interesting titles.

“You’d think he’d be better at naming things,” Tom mused, clicking on a folder labeled “pet.” It was away from the cluster of other folders, and the name stood out against the sea of folders with names like “stuff1” and “pics8.”

One by one, the images loaded. Tom’s stomach churned. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. The contents didn’t surprise him, but it still felt awful looking at the photos. After all, it wasn’t every day that you got to see photos of your own body, beaten and bloody.

He should’ve stopped there. He should’ve clicked the little red X and gone back to the cuffs. Instead, Tom dragged two fingers up the laptop’s trackpad, scrolling down the folder contents. In most of the photos, Tom’s eyes were closed. He could picture Tord standing over his unconscious body, a camera in front of a sinister grin, snapping photos as he cackled. It was fucked up.

Tom closed the window. His stomach lurched, and he struggled to keep his lunch down. What purpose did those photos serve? Did Tom even want to know? He tried not to think about it as he took some deep breaths. Clicking through a few more folders, he came across a text document. The title was a series of numbers, seemingly random.

“Six, eight, two, four,” Tom read. He hesitated on opening the file but continued.

There was a lot of text in the first document. Line after line, no paragraph breaks nor indents. It was nearly impossible to read without straining from focus. As he read more and more, Tom started to put the pieces together.

It was a diary, of sorts. Filled with day-to-day activities like meeting summaries and descriptions of people Tord met that day. There were anecdotes about world leaders he hated, and even things about Tord’s personal emotions during certain events.

Tom put a finger on his goggles, tapping the photo button multiple times as he scrolled down the document. There was no time to read everything right now, but he might not get a second chance at Tord’s computer. He worked quickly, stopping only when he heard the sound of distant footsteps.

He started to panic, eyes widening as he realized just how much trouble he would be in if Tord walked in to see Tom at his personal laptop. Tom closed the document and quickly put the computer back in sleep mode. He made a move towards the spot he’d been sitting earlier when something caught his eye. There was a piece of paper sticking out from the large bookcase near Tord’s desk. He listened to his gut and snatched the paper before darting back to the column. The cuffs were still broken, but there was nothing Tom could do about that. He shoved the paper inside his shirt to hide it.

As he settled in his spot, the door opened. In came Paul, holding a folded-up sheet of paper. He walked to Tom and dropped the paper in his lap.

“This is for you,” Paul said before heading towards the door again. On his way out the door, he paused. “It’s from your friend in the cell. He forgot to give it to you earlier. If you want to write back, let someone know.”

Tom unfolded the paper as Paul left. He hadn’t noticed the unbroken chain, which was a blessing in itself. Getting a letter from Edd was the cherry on top. He scanned the contents of the letter, smiling. He hadn’t been able to read over the other letters he got from Edd yet but wanted to get to it as soon as he could.

After Paul left, Tom began reading over Edd’s letters. They tugged at something inside him. He took note of certain things Edd said with their code. Nothing big so far, mainly just small things about Tord or the Red Army that Edd had learned over the time spent in his cell. Until the last of the letters. The smile that had formed on his face disappeared. As he read over the letter, his mind drifted back to when he’d been with Edd at the cell. He knew his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. He had seen scar tissue under Edd’s clothes.

Tom apparently wasn’t the only one who’d been beaten after arrival. Tom’s right hand became a fist and he punched the ground in anger. The second he had the upper hand on Tord, he’d pay for everything he’d done.

After finishing the letters, Tom mulled over the newly acquired information, mentally sorting it into categories based on usefulness. And as Tom started to realize, there had been nothing about Matt in any of the letters. Neither he nor Edd had been given any contact with Matt. Edd had mentioned he was able to send letters to Matt, but going by how Edd hadn’t sent out any of his letters to Tom, Edd probably hadn’t sent any to Matt either.

At least Tom knew where Edd was, and knew he was relatively safe. He had no idea where Matt was or if he was injured. Tord said he was in the base, but that’s all Tom knew. Sighing, Tom knew he couldn’t dwell on it. Sooner or later, he’d figure it out. Maybe Matt’s status was in one of the diary entries Tom had taken a photo of.

Before he started on the photos, Tom pulled out the paper he’d grabbed earlier. Drawn out on the paper in very neat pen lines, was a map. Or at least, part of a map. It only showed about twenty or so rooms, and Tom knew there had to be way more than that in the base. Nevertheless, the map would be helpful for an escape plan.

Remembering the photos he’d taken, Tom clicked on the image gallery on his goggles. He opened the first one, starting the long read that he knew would take hours. One by one, Tom read through each diary photo. By the time he’d finished, he’d learned a great deal about Tord and the Army. Most of which was useless. Tom didn’t care that Tord denied the Prime Minister a drink when she’d visited, nor did he care about the capturing of prisoners Tom didn’t personally know. He would’ve cared about those things had the circumstances been different, but at the moment Tom was only concerned with a few things.

But there had been a few important bits of information hidden within the entries:

1. Tord was planning something huge. What exactly it was, Tom didn’t know.
2. There was a device hidden within the base, which had to do with whatever Tord was planning.
3. The device had the ability to wipe out entire areas, leaving nothing behind. Probably some sort of bomb, if Tom guessed.
4. Tord was the only person with the code to the device.

Tom stood from his spot, going to Tord’s desk for a pencil or pen. When he sat back down, he started scribbling words down on the back of Edd’s most recent letter. He needed to tell Edd everything, as soon as possible.

And for weeks, all Tom did was write letters to Edd. Edd always responded, but the one-to-two day waiting period always felt like Hell. Since he couldn’t see Edd, the only way of knowing his friend was still alive was through the letters. Each received letter was a breath of fresh air in a smoggy room.

Keeping up the code within letters was a challenge. Had his life not been riding on the line, Tom would have given up ages ago.

And there was something nostalgic about exchanging letters with his best friend. Like they were kids again, sending secret notes about schoolyard gossip.

Tom was just finishing the last few words in his latest letter when the door slid open. He saw a pair of steel-toed boots out of the corner of his eye and scowled.

“Writing another letter, I see.” Tord reached down to pick up the lined paper. He cleared his throat in a dramatic fashion and began reading the words aloud.

Tom’s face flushed. His letter sounded childish, nothing like himself, especially when spoken out loud. Each work choice was very purposeful so that Edd could decode it, but Tord didn’t know that.

“You write like a child, very interesting. I thought your small brain was more developed than this, but I guess I thought too highly of you.” Tord shrugged, tossing the paper down to Tom.

Tom’s ears turned red. He was itching to bite back, to tell Tord that he was wrong and show just how much code he and Edd had been exchanging. But he held his tongue. “Welcome back,” he opted to say.

Tord lifted his robotic hand to his heart, expression changing to an over-exaggerated mix of surprise and delight. “I’m touched, Tom. You never greet me like that when I come back.” With a small flick of his wrist, Tord marched to his desk.

It was a wonder how Tom had managed to keep his broken shackles hidden from Tord’s sight. There wasn’t a day that went by where Tom wasn’t terrified that Tord would notice. Tom didn’t want to think about whatever punishment he’d get for something like that. He’d been very good for Tord, no talking back since he’d broken the shackles. Talking back could mean Tord coming too close and seeing. As long as Tom kept Tord at a distance, and kept his hands close together, the brokenness was less visible.

Tom sat in silence for the most part, as he usually did when Tord was around. Seeing him sitting at his computer was strange now, having seen the contents of the laptop. The corner of Tom’s mouth turned upwards as he saw Tord start typing almost furiously.

“Writing in your diary, Tord?” He was pushing it, very much so. But the comment was vague enough.

Tord scowled at him, giving him no more than a quick glance. “As a matter of fact, I’m updating my log on the whereabouts of your friend. Not writing in some silly diary.”

Tom’s ears pricked up, his smile disappearing. “Edd? Or Matt?” He asked.

“The latter,” Tord said, shutting his computer after a particularly hard press of what Tom guessed was the period button. “Matt’s been moved to a new location.” Tord held up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “And no, you can’t visit him. I’m far too busy to take you on any more trips like before.”

Tom slumped against the wall.

“That visit with Edd was the last time you’ll be leaving this room.”

It was so tempting to fight back with a quick ‘until I escape’ or something of the like, but Tom chose to simply frown instead. Getting to Matt was a priority but living long enough to get out was more important. At this rate, he wouldn’t be seeing Matt until he escaped. And that was assuming he and Edd would even be able to find Matt inside the giant building.

Tom continued his letter, which detailed a possible escape plan for him and Edd. It wasn’t the first of its kind, but it was the best one he’d come up with so far. And by the looks of it, it was pretty viable.

He didn’t know how much longer he could last in Tord’s captivity, if he was being honest. Every day, Tom felt himself growing closer and closer to what felt like insanity. Sitting alone in an office, with the only human interaction being with Tord or whoever brought him his food… it was driving him crazy. The new escape plan seemed plausible. Tom was willing to try anything. And by Edd’s letters, it seemed Edd was as well.

The only problem was that he still didn’t know the whereabouts of Tord’s device. And if he couldn’t find it on their way out… the entire mission would have been a failure. Everything they’d worked towards for years before they were captured, it would all have been for nothing if they couldn’t even destroy something of Tord’s. They had the find that device and disable it.

Before he knew it, Tom was all alone again. He laid out the map he still had hidden in his shirt and dragged his finger along a line he’d drawn earlier. The escape route. It was a long way, but it was the best way out, Tom thought. If he could get to the cafeteria at a certain time, there’d be lots of places to hide. At least, he thought so. Of all the rooms drawn out on the map, the cafeteria seemed the most likely to have closets and spots behind counters.

Edd was to meet him there. There wasn’t a plan for that part since Tom didn’t have the layout of that area of the base. But Edd was a quick thinker. He trusted that his friend could get to the cafeteria without any help.

From the cafeteria, they’d start searching for Matt and Tord’s device. They wouldn’t have a lot of time at the point. Whatever alarms were in the building would probably be going off by then. The whole base would be looking for them. No doubt about that.

With Matt, and hopefully the device, they’d make their grand escape. Edd’s photographic memory, paired with the compass installed in Tom’s goggles, could get them out of there.

It’d take a miracle for all of this to work. So much of the plan was… unplanned. A single hitch could ruin the entire thing. But after everything he’d been through, there was no other option. Tom needed to take that chance.

And if it didn’t work, at least he’d die with dignity, laying at the side of his two best friends.