“Alright. You go in disguises. Under false aliases. You can let people walk away, but you are burning that building. I give you pardon for killing anyone. But if your name is reported, you will be arrested, and will be prohibited to continue this project.” Z was holding Celine down at this point, and even she gave up after a while. This was not her fight. It was Jan’s, as all eyes were trained on him.
Jax’s normally bright, easy-going eyes, were hard, cold, and so unlike him. But something was off, Fey could tell that much. There was a glint, a blue that Jax could never perfectly disguise, the glint of curiosity, and Fey recalled what Jax had told her earlier. It was probably a test, Fey realized. The beginnings of a casual interrogation of who was leaking all their information, of who wasn’t loyal to their cause.
“What if we can’t get the information? We should go to a bigger stronghold!” Jan defiantly stated.
“You’re going to my chosen stronghold. King’s orders.” Jan glared at Jax, who was remaining expressionless.
Fey knew that if this was a test, Jan had failed.
Twenty-Five
UNKNOWN LOCATION, RAZED LONDON, NNR | JUNE 20, 326 T.E. | 13:20
Z KNEW something was up. He was no Fey Downcley of body language, but even he could sense some bad blood between his two fellow agents beyond their usual antagonism. This will be one hell of a ride, Z thought morosely, climbing into the back seat of the truck. Jan slid into the driver’s seat without a word, and Fey took her spot beside him. At least, that’s what Z guessed it was. Why else would she willingly sit beside him?
The car was a mess, to say the least. But the thing that was the most prominent to Z, was the dried blood on the walls and seat, probably from the small (correction: big) cuts from their small missions. But in the backseat, where Celine must have sat when she had Scorchen just under a month ago, there was a concerning amount. Coughing up blood was one of the symptoms. Z let out an involuntarily shudder inwards. Maybe there were other reasons that Fey didn’t sit in the back.
Either way, Z soon got used to it, even though he sat in the one seat that he was the furthest away from the crimson. He also got used to the silence inside the car, and the yells of the poor, Homeless people outside in comparison. The Homeless were those people that lost a home from the current economic depression they were in, or maybe were born into it from a family that had lost everything in the Great War.
Z bit the inside of his cheek, sensing the resent and anger that the Homeless had of their conditions. Z was by no means born into a well-off family, but his uncle had provided him with enough to keep them afloat, and it was a miracle that Z had the gift he had and was able to open his own shop—without it, he might be resigned to the same fate as those who were shouting angrily at him from outside the car.
And now he was a Strategist—residing in the king’s palace, roaming the streets of London in a half-beaten vehicle, but a vehicle nonetheless. Z just felt numb as the truck lurched forwards from the speed that Jan drove at hitting the potholes of a long-forgotten road, the shouts digging through his skull as they moved faster to evade the anger directed at them from the Homeless.
Soon enough, the voices drowned out and disappeared, which Z was grateful for, the screams were making him guilty, mad, and scared, all at the same time.
Not exactly a pleasant feeling. But outside of the tinted windows, Z saw things that raised goosebumps on his skin. They weren’t in the re-built London anymore, now driving in a long-forgotten territory of the Region that was probably once a battlefield of WWIII. His uncle had shielded him from much of the outside world—Z knew that—but to this degree? Of course, he knew about the Homeless, anyone who didn’t know would truly be living a life of bliss and ignorance. But seeing bodies dumped on the side of the road- ugh. Z had never been someone who would look at things such as rotting corpses, and even Jan and Fey, who Z thought were used to this stuff, looked away, veering their attention on their laps, or in Jan’s case, straight ahead on the road, center and clear of the lifeless bodies. The whole situation made Z sick just thinking about it.
The car was silent, and the sound of rocks being thrown around on the road wasn’t filling in the place of conversation. For one of the first times since being on the team, Z felt awkward. But that might’ve be due to the fact that Fey and Jan were trying to subtly glare at each other but fell short, instead looking as if to vaporize the other.
The environment overall, was just awkward.
Z would’ve normally tried to talk with Celine, who was probably safe and sound in Z’s favourite place, but she wasn’t answering her side of the comm. After trying for the first few times, all Z got was scratchy feedback (he would have to work on that when he got back), and he gave up, not wanting to risk his hearing anymore. Why was January so persuasive and charming when he wanted to be? —and why did Z even succumb to their pleading? This was not his scene, as much as he wished his confident demeanor portrayed.
The thought was almost enough to make him slam his head of curls against the wall of the vehicle.
“We’re here,” Jan announced, his voice low and uninterested, and it made Z wonder how this was the same smooth-talker that convinced him to join in on this mission.
“Okay, now what do we do?” Z asked, leaning forward in his seat.
Fey turned, stretching her neck to give him a brief glare. “Seriously?”
“Hey, you guys dragged me into this, and then stayed silent for an hour, low-key trying to vaporize each other, and made me go through a sight that no one ever wants to see. The least you can do, is explain, what the hell we’re supposed to do before I get one of you two, or more importantly, myself,” he added, with a charismatic smirk, “Killed. So yes. Seriously.”
Jan let out a breath, looking as annoyed as Z felt. “We basically go in, shoot anyone who sees us, try not to attract attention—which I know is hard for a drama queen like yourself, but try. Then, we get Fey safely to the control room, you hack in, Fey infiltrates, we get the info—which I still doubt is there—and leave. Oh, and we blow the place up.”
There was obvious contempt in his voice, and he made no effort to cover it up. Z wondered what he had against the king. Jax was kind, and yes, a little brash, but what else could you say? —Z would never imagine running the entire world at his age, or at all. The fact that he was doing something, yes, in an unorthodox way, but something, was really big. And he dealt with January’s nonsense constantly. Z gave him credit for that. A lot of credit.
“And where’s my gun?” Z asked, not even attempting to save his dignity as he mimed shooting a gun with his fingers and a click of his tongue.
In response, Fey threw a said weapon back at him. “There’s a decent strap back there, somewhere. It’s loaded. And if you need more, well ask one of us. You know how to fire a gun, right?”
“No, I obviously don’t. I just agreed to go on a stealth mission where I’m thrown into a ‘kill, or get killed’ situation, and don’t know how to fire a gun.”
Jan looked really confused. “So, do you?”
Fey whacked him on the head, sighing a sort of sigh that made Z wonder how they hadn’t killed each other sooner, and said, “He does, you idiot. Now let’s go. This place gives me the creeps.”
…
Z couldn’t agree more with Fey. The place gave him the creeps.
The building was straight-out of a horror story. It was beautiful and grand, and although Z was much more into machinery than architecture, he could appreciate it. The condition it was in though, oh good god. The windows were broken, then boarded, black paint covering every unbroken window pane, and there weren’t much. The grass was yellowed and crackly dry. And half of the building was literally crumbling.
As the trio walked closer, a column gave way, dust settling everywhere. Luckily, the portion that was supposed to be resting on the column was already destroyed, but Z couldn’t help but feel this was a warning to go. And while Z wanted to run away screaming and hide undernea
th the safety of his familiar desk in the palace, Fey and Jan were walking confidently in front of him, and he would feel guilty if he left them to fend off attackers by themselves. By all means, he had confidence they could kill everyone if permitted, but he was worried they would kill each other, without him.
“So-” Z started, jogging his way over. They both turned to glare at him.
“You’re being loud. Loud enough to cover Downcley’s tracks, which, believe me, isn’t easy,” Jan told him, and Fey shifted her glare to Jan.
Z ignored them both. “What kind of breaking and entering are we doing? Because I have around 3 Cerberuses, and this building is going to fall apart with a 1, so-”
“Or we can open the door,” Fey said, swinging the front door open with minimal flourish, and part of Z felt really stupid for bringing up using a Cerberus, one of his original bombs, at all. The other part was unimpressed by the mundaneness of the solution.
“Much less badass, Downcley. I’m disappointed in you,” Z said, stepping in over the sill after Fey. She looked back at him, with a small curtsy.
Jan looked unamused, his steel grey eyes scanning their surroundings. “Stash away the guns. We’re part of this place. We are rebels who hate the king.” Not that you’re far from it, Z wanted to add, though he knew it was dangerous and unfair. Jan deserved a chance.
“What? What happened to the direct ‘let’s kill everything’ approach?” Fey asked.
“Oh please, you’re much more like that,” he defended himself, shoving his gun in his boot. “Besides, if we want to chance it and get our information, it’s not going to work if we first blow the place up. We need you two to get to the control room, and we cannot, under any circumstances, draw attention to ourselves.”
“Why the sudden change in mind?” Fey crossed her arms at her chest, her body staking a defensive stance. Z panicked for a quick second, unsure of how to restrain Jan or Fey back from the fight that was sure to ensue, but he realized that he wouldn’t have to.
“Just trust me. Please, Fey.” She reluctantly dropped her arms and let him lead the way. Z naturally dropped back, so he was at the end of their short line, looking around the creaky, dim-lit house. Even from behind her, Z could tell that Fey felt something weird too; there wasn’t enough spunk in her walk, or purpose to her strides. Z had a feeling that she was just following Jan, trying to place her finger on what felt so different.
And then it hit him. January had called Fey, Fey. To her face. While pleading with her. Well, so far, it seemed like a day for impossibles. Z going on a front-line mission, now this; maybe they might get out of this disaster alive.
Twenty-Six
HOME BASE, THE ROYAL PALACE, NNR | JUNE 20, 326 T.E. | 14: 27
CELINE was anything but comfortable in Z’s chair. When the mechanic was there, no problem. But as soon as it was him in the field and her on the chair, it was nerve-wracking. It’s not like being alone with Jax was helping her anxiety either.
He was sitting in a chair facing away from her, doing some paperwork, claiming that the palace is going mad for NNR’s-yay-we-didn’t-die-though-we-are-constantly-being-terrorized-by-immortal-beings Day-plus-his-own-birthday (also known as Day of Armistice) and here was the place he could concentrate.
He was unwanted company. For some reason, ever since he had found out about her post-Scorchen condition, she dreaded being in the same room as him alone. She suspected it was due to the fact that he had even more leverage on her; in addition to being the king of NNR, he was now the only person with the knowledge of her practically destroyed body.
She trusted Jax—after all, he was keeping everyone safe enough so far, and was keeping the whole coughing up blood situation under wraps—but after the whole Paris commotion, Celine suspected that she could never trust anyone the same way she once did. And when you really looked into it, Jax was a politician, wasn’t he? He worked for the greater good of NNR, rightfully so, but what if her secret was in the way of the safety of NNR somehow? —she knew it was unlikely and selfish, but it still nagged her. Anyone just having that sort of power over her was just uncomfortable, even though Jax didn’t say a word about it since the day of the incident. She could feel the heat coming off him like a generator.
Right, bigger problems at hand.
Currently, the comms weren’t working. She tried everything, well, everything that she could do without possibly destroying the entire machine. That would be worse. But she knew that the comms were desperately needed, and she had an hour’s ride to do it. Z had tried to talk to her, according to the once moving line that suddenly went blank. She couldn’t hear them, nor could she give any of her own response. So she numbly stared at her screen, her mind racing, searching for a possible answer. But it was hard and Jax’s pen scratching into his paper wasn’t helping her concentration.
“Are they there yet?” Celine didn’t turn her head, instead focusing more on the flat line that was supposed to be going up and down.
“I don’t know,” she said, biting the inside of her lip to restrain herself from screaming.
“You don’t know?” Celine guessed he was raising his eyebrow at her, his voice pulling in that familiar slightly incredulous, yet still friendly questioning manner.
“We got a bit of a problem,” she finally admitted, giving a few clicks to pull up her currently failing troubleshooting.
“And what’s that?” She could feel his breath at the crook on her neck, and she realized, with a start, that he was directly behind her, looking over her shoulder. She fought the urge to turn around, typing on the keyboard rapidly, though she knew that the keys she was pressing made no sense. She just had to focus on something else.
“Comms aren’t work-”
Suddenly, it was her lungs that weren’t working. She felt her chest rapidly wrack inward, three, four, five times. Then, the soundless chokes came. She had been through this so much the past two weeks, but it still felt horrible. She felt the back of her throat get wet with- oh god. She couldn’t breathe, and finally, the dam broke. Air came rushing through, and this time, she almost choked on that. But she tried to control it, trying not to suck out the air so greedily.
She aimed to steady her breathing, and with a bit of difficulty, it evened out. Jax’s hand was clasped to her back, which supported her as she doubled over, but it remained there, the heat burning through the fabric of her shirt. Honestly, she didn’t care about leverage and power and whatever else was plaguing her mind right then. Jax was supportive beyond what she could ask for, after all, he didn’t have to accept the burden that Celine left on his shoulders, but he took it in stride—no amount of concerns could overshadow that, Celine decided. And support was useful, especially when said support handed over handkerchiefs without you asking.
Celine hated to ask for handkerchiefs, only to return it stained with blood. It was sadly becoming a routine though. Scorchen had not been easy one her, for sure. She gave a weak cough into the white cloth, which after she removed it, was stained red. Forcing back a disgusting grimace, she tried to fold the handkerchief as well as she could before handing it to Jax, who—praise for kingly manners—pocketed it without a single look of distaste.
“Thank you,” she weakly said, the two words not sufficing for the gratitude that was making her so guilty for not being to trust Jax, for all of his kind smiles and charming blue eyes.
“I’m not going to bother to ask you if you’re alright; you’re clearly not.”
“Well, a ‘I know how to fix this problem’ would be quite relieving in this current situation.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Well, I tried everything that Z taught me before-” Celine started, purposefully averting her eyes and fiddling with the monitor.
“Celine, have you told them yet?” And there was the question that she had been running away from for the past few days.
“What?”
“Have you told the rest of your condition?”
She shifted un
comfortably under his heavy glance. “No. Is there a reason why I should?”
“Celine-”
“I’m not going to die.” Liar, traitorous part of Celine’s mind called out, and she tried her best to subdue the thoughts. You can always die.
“They are your team!” he cried out, speaking with force for the first time in the conversation, and Celine tried to deny the sparkling concern in his eyes for her.
“And I am their leader,” she retorted, voice rising in volume as well. “Discouraging them with the fact that I can’t do anything but sit at a table, unable to fix a simple problem, isn’t what a leader does. I will brave a smile if it’s necessary.”
Jax was shaking his head, brows furrowed in disbelief. “That’s the point, Celine. You don’t have to. Is this about your position as the leader being threatened? Because if so, then that is the-”
“No!” she cut him off, quick to defend her actions. ‘Why does everyone think that?”
Jax quirked an eyebrow at her, and she felt very, very, annoyed at his knowing look, and was more annoyed by that nagging voice in her head that warned her that he probably was right. “You’re fighting again.”
“Why do I care whether I fight with you?”
Jax sighed, persisting his question. “Celine. Why haven’t you told them? Honestly?”
“Fix the damn comm, and I will tell you why the hell I haven’t!” While his anger was steely and silent, hers was fiery and vocal, her yell echoing across the room. She stopped, and she wasn’t sure if she was out of breath from yelling, or her previous coughing fit. There was silence, though in her head, Celine was kicking at herself, yelling and seething. She bit her tongue, shifting her glance downwards. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that, especially not to the king of NNR. Especially not to someone like Jax, who was trying so hard, for someone as great as he was, for someone who didn’t deserve her anger and hot-head.
There was a loud thud, followed by a dull buzz. Celine looked up suddenly, wondering what Jax had done to fix the machine. What she saw concerned her.
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