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Chapter Text

Aram and Oliver

Trapped in the basement of Dr. Glasglow's house, Aram and Oliver could only hear the faint hum of the outside world. They sat against the cold, damp walls, their minds racing with thoughts of escape and worry for Joe.

"How did we get here?" Oliver muttered, his voice echoing softly in the confined space.

Aram sighed, running his hands through his hair. "We underestimated Glasglow. We thought we could just sneak in and save Joe, but now we're the ones who need saving."

Their thoughts drifted back to the previous night—the alarm going off, the frantic search, and the basement door slamming shut, sealing their fate. They had found traces of Joe, signs that he had been held there, but no sign of where he was now.

Oliver goes over and tries the Door again but it doesn't work and he lets out his anger by shaking the door.

“ARRRRGGHH” Oliver screams and then composes himself. Sorry about that," he tells Aram looking over at the shocked face of witnessing his outburst.

“No worries, I would have done the same.” Aram jokingly replies.

Oliver sits back on the ground against the wall looking defeated.

Joe

Joe's head throbbed as he slowly regained consciousness. His vision was blurry, and he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. He was in a dimly lit room, bound to a table, his mouth gagged. Panic surged through him as he realized he couldn't move or speak.

Then he remembered—Dexter Morgan. The name alone sent shivers down his spine. He recalled the conversation he had overheard between Dexter and Langford. They had plans for him, and none of them sounded good. Joe knew he had to stay strong and find a way out before it was too late.

Dexter and Langford

Dexter stood over Joe, his expression unreadable. He had followed Dr. Glasglow's instructions to the letter, but a part of him wondered about the doctor's true motives. He glanced at the clock, knowing Langford would arrive soon to discuss their next move.

Langford entered the room, his demeanor as cold and calculating as ever. He surveyed Joe, then turned to Dexter. "We need him alive, but you're free to have your fun," he had said, his words chilling in their casual cruelty.

Dexter nodded, his dark smile hinting at the chaos to come. He was a killer with a code, but this situation tested even his boundaries.

As he turns away and goes over to his makeshift lab area he thought about the day his son killed him but he was still alive.

Ralph, Connor, and Donald

In prison, Ralph, Connor, and Donald waited anxiously for news. The previous day's events played over and over in their minds. The visit from Dr. Glasglow, and the absence of Aram and Oliver during visitation hours—it all pointed to something going wrong.

"Do you think they're okay?" Ralph asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Connor clenched his fists, frustration, and worry etched on his face. "I don't know, but we must stay strong and determine our next move. We can't let Glasglow win."

“Well aren't you meeting him later, you should be careful but see if you can get anything,” Ralph says to Connor as a chime rings through the prison.

Donald remained silent, his thoughts focused on the mysterious note he had received. Its cryptic message still baffled him, but he knew it was important.

“Well, I'll see you guys later.” He gets up and heads off.

“I hate these new changes,” Ralph replies relaxing back on his bed laying on his back.

Dr. Glasglow

Dr. Glasglow sat in his office, reviewing the security footage of Aram and Oliver's failed break-in attempt. He allowed himself a small smile, satisfied with how things were progressing. He had them right where he wanted them.

His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. It was Langford, confirming that Joe was secure and Dexter was handling the situation. Glasglow nodded, his mind already planning the next steps in his twisted game.

"Everything is falling into place," he murmured to himself, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

He looks at the clock he had a session with Connor later and devised a plan.

Chapter Text

The Doctor and Connor

Connor sat in the sterile, white office, the air thick with tension. Dr. Glasglow sat across from him, his usual calm demeanor intact.

"So, Connor, how are you feeling today?" Glasglow asked, leaning back in his chair.

Connor's eyes narrowed. "Where's Joe?"

Glasglow's smile didn't waver. "Joe? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. He's not here, and as far as I know, he hasn't been for some time."

Connor felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He knew Glasglow was lying, but the way he spoke made Connor doubt himself. "He hasn't shown up at work. And Oliver hasn’t been by or visited."

"Perhaps they had other matters to attend to," Glasglow replied smoothly. "But I'm sure they're fine. Why don't we focus on you for now?"

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Connor shouted at the doctor when the door opened and a guard appeared.

"We're fine, thanks," the doctor waved the guard off. "Careful now, you don’t want to end up in solitary again, do you?”

Connor's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of truth from the doctor's carefully constructed lies. He decided to play along, hoping to glean more information. "Fine. Let's talk."

“Good, now where to start? When did you notice Oliver not showing up?” Glasglow asked.

“It’s been a few days, I guess? I mean, I don’t know,” Connor stammered.

“What about your sister? Isn’t she about due soon?” Glasglow asked, watching the mixed emotions on Connor's face. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to her now, would you?” he remarked.

Connor got up off the chair and approached the doctor. “You will not touch my family.”

The doctor got up and approached him face-to-face. “Well, that’s up to you now, isn’t it?” he trailed his hand from Connor’s cheek down his chest and slowly caressed his cock.

Connor tried not to give in but let a soft moan out.

“Good boy, seems you still can’t help yourself,” the doctor gloated and leaned in, whispering in Connor's ear. “Now kneel.”

Dexter's New Task

Dexter's phone buzzed, the name 'Glasglow' flashing on the screen. He picked up, his voice flat. "What is it?"

"We have that issue still at the house in the basement. Take care of it."

Dexter then received a photo of the two men in the basement he trapped where Joe was previously held.

“Anything you want to be done to them or eliminate them?” Dexter asked.

“Just separate them and make sure you don’t harm them.”

Dexter's eyes darkened. "Understood." He hung up, turning his attention back to Joe. "Duty calls," he muttered, leaving Joe bound and gagged.

As he reached the car, his phone buzzed again, and the screen showed an unknown caller. As he got into the car, he answered it. “Hello, this is Dr. Morgan.”

“You’re alive! I thought you died,” the feminine voice on the other line replied.

Dexter hung up and started to have a panic attack. How did she get my number? He tried to think about many options as he started the car and drove off.

As he drove, he found out the two men's names in the basement and, as he turned off his phone, it pinged. He checked to see a new message from Langford: "Pick up Aram, leave the other one. Doctor's orders."

Dexter smiled as he continued to drive, tossing his phone in the passenger seat.

Brain's Versus Brawl

In the basement, Aram and Oliver huddled together, their minds working overtime. They knew someone would come for them eventually.

"We need a plan," Aram said, his voice steady. "If someone comes, we can't just sit here."

Oliver nodded. "We could use the element of surprise. Maybe we can overpower them if we work together."

Aram agreed, a spark of hope igniting within him. "Let's do it. We need to be ready for anything."

Oliver hesitated. “I mean, Connor only taught me some fighting though, so,” he paused just as a sound could be heard from above.

Dexter approached the house, his senses alert. He entered silently, making his way to the basement. Aram and Oliver were ready, springing into action as soon as he appeared.

Aram lunged at Dexter, aiming to tackle him to the ground. Dexter sidestepped, using Aram's momentum against him and sending him crashing into the wall. Oliver swung a piece of broken wood at Dexter, but Dexter caught it mid-swing, twisting it out of Oliver's grasp.

Oliver threw a punch, landing a hit on Dexter's jaw. Dexter responded with a swift elbow to Oliver's ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Aram, recovering from the initial impact, charged again. Dexter spun, delivering a precise kick to Aram's knee, causing him to buckle.

The struggle continued, chaotic and desperate. Aram and Oliver fought with all their might, but Dexter's training and ruthless efficiency quickly overwhelmed them. With a well-placed injection, he put them both to sleep.

Dexter called Langford. "I've got them. Picking up Aram, leaving Oliver. Inform the doctor." He touched his jaw where Oliver punched him.

He chained Oliver to the wall, ensuring he wouldn't escape. "Sorry, kid. Orders are orders. But good punch."

Donald's New Cellmate

Donald sat in his cell, his mind still on the cryptic note, when the door opened. A guard led in a new cellmate. "Meet Derek," the guard said, then left.

Donald froze. He recognized Derek from an old cold case, a connection that sent a chill down his spine. "Derek?"

Derek smirked. "Long time, no see, Detective. Looks like we have some catching up to do."

Donald took a second to look at Derek and noticed that he had a collar on.

Derek could feel Donald staring at it. “Yeah, it's a new thing they started.” He stated and itched at it.

“Yeah, you came at a bad time. Everything is changing,” Donald said, then remembered the note in his pocket telling him that something like this could happen.

“So, what got you landed in here?” Derek asked, taking a seat on his bunk. “Not every day a secret agent gets busted, especially in your field of research,” he raised an eyebrow.

“Let's just say I got in with some bad company and leave it at that,” Donald replied, trying not to think about Elizabeth dying in his arms.

Langford's Torment

Langford entered the room where Joe was held. He looked at Joe, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Hello, Joe. Let's talk about your past." He removed the gag from Joe's mouth.

Joe's eyes widened in fear as Langford brought up names from his past. "Candace... Love... Remember them?"

Joe's heart pounded in his chest. Langford knew too much. "What do you want?" he managed to ask.

"To see you suffer," Langford replied, his voice dripping with malice. "And to remind you of the chaos you left behind."

“Why does that matter to you?” he responded, his throat hurting from dryness.

“Well, you see, your file recently came across my desk and I saw what you were doing time for a while back and must say for someone like you to get caught.” Langford replied.

Joe thought back to the day he was met with criminal charges. Somehow they linked every one of his murders to him.

Ralph and Frost

During visitation hours, Ralph sat at a table, glancing around nervously. Frost approached, taking a seat across from him. "What's up?" Frost asked.

"We need help," Ralph said, his voice urgent. "From Speedy."

Frost raised an eyebrow. "Speedy? You think he can help you out of this mess?"

Ralph nodded. "He's our best shot. Can you reach him?"

Frost thought for a moment, then nodded. "I'll see what I can do. But it's a long shot."

Ralph sighed, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "It's all we've got."

“But Ralph, even if he responds… He still blames you for Iris and Nora’s death."

Ralph opened his mouth, then closed it. “You know it was the only way to handle the situation." He paused. "Just please try.”

“Sure, will do,” she responded and got up to leave.

As she left, a guard came to Ralph. “Dibny, doc wants to see you,” and led Ralph out of the visitation area.

Chapter Text

Dexter and Aram

Dexter arrived at the hidden location, carrying Aram's unconscious body. He opened the door to the dimly lit room where Joe was already restrained, bound and gagged on a table, the cut on his cheek scabbed over. Dexter positioned Aram on another table next to Joe and secured him in the same manner, ensuring he was immobilized.

Joe's eyes widened as he saw a new person being brought in. He struggled against his restraints, muffled sounds of protest escaping through the gag. Dexter ignored him, finishing his task with methodical efficiency.

"Now you two can keep each other company," Dexter muttered, a grim smile playing on his lips. He turned and left the room, locking the door behind him.

As he closed the door, Dexter made a phone call. “Hey, it's Dexter. I have who you want. What is my next task?” he asked, stopping by a nearby counter to pick up his keys.

“Do nothing. I'll deal with Oliver,” Langford said over the phone. “Don’t forget to tell the Doctor as well.” He hung up the call.

Dexter closed his phone and left the warehouse, deciding to grab some coffee. As he walked down the street to the nearby coffee shop, his phone rang again, flashing an unknown caller. He decided not to answer and let it go to voicemail, stepping up to the counter.

“I’d like an oat milk latte, please.” He took a look around while the barista typed in his order and saw a familiar face, but when he blinked, it was not who he thought it was.

“That will be $1.39, sir,” the barista said.

“Oh, right,” Dexter replied, fishing out his wallet and swiping his card. He grabbed his drink and went over to a table to sit. Lots of stuff happened today. His phone rang again, and he ignored it.

Gemma's Visit

Gemma entered the prison visitation area, her eyes searching for Connor. When she saw him, she smiled, but there was a tension in her movements.

"Hey, Connor," she greeted, sitting down across from him.

"Gemma, it's good to see you. How are you holding up?" Connor asked, concern etched on his face.

"I'm managing," she replied, placing a hand on her swollen belly. "I just wanted to see you, to make sure you're okay."

Connor reached out, his fingers brushing hers. "I'm fine, but I'm worried about you and the baby."

“Yeah, the baby is good. I actually came to ask you about Oliver. I haven’t seen him in a while, and his mom called me asking about his whereabouts,” she told him.

Connor looked shocked. “I wouldn’t be too worried. You know how he gets sometimes,” Connor lied, his heart dropping.

As they talked, Gemma suddenly gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "Connor, I think my water just broke," she said, as a stream of water could be heard from under the table.

Panic surged through Connor. "We need to get you to a hospital, now!" he said, looking around. “Guard!” he waved one over.

The guards quickly escorted Gemma out, leaving Connor in a state of helpless anxiety. He watched as she was taken away, his mind racing with fear for her and his unborn nephew or niece.

Oliver's Despair

Oliver groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. Pain radiated through his body from the fight with Dexter. He tried to move, only to realize he was now chained to the wall. Panic set in as he looked around the room and noticed Aram was missing.

"Aram? Aram!" he called out, his voice hoarse and desperate.

There was no response. Oliver's heart sank, despair creeping in. He tugged at the chain around his ankle, but it held firm. Tears welled up in his eyes as he felt the weight of hopelessness pressing down on him.

He looked around for anything, but the chain only had a short range, tugging him back. He noticed that the wooden beam he used earlier was also gone.

Oliver took this time to keep trying at the lock, thinking about where Aram could be or where the person who attacked them took him.

Oliver gave up after some time with the lock and sat there, then noticed the cup of water and food.

Suddenly, Oliver heard the basement door open and backed up to the wall, grabbing the tray to defend himself when Agent Langford appeared in his view.

“Hello, Ollie. Remember me?” Langford said, going over to grab a box and sitting down in front of Oliver.

Old Encounters

Donald sat on his bunk, studying Derek. The tension between them was palpable, but there was also a familiarity that couldn't be ignored.

"So, Derek, what happened after I left?" Donald asked, breaking the silence.

Derek shrugged. "Things got complicated. Stiles and I... we broke it off a couple of months ago. We're just distant friends now."

Donald nodded, sensing there was more to the story. "What about Scott? You were all so close."

Derek's expression darkened. "Scott's dead."

Donald stared at him, shock and sadness washing over him. "How?"

Derek hesitated, guilt flickering in his eyes. "It's complicated, Donald. Let's just say I had a hand in it. We all did things we're not proud of."

Donald felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "I'm sorry, Derek. I wish things had turned out differently."

"Yeah, me too," Derek muttered, looking away.

Donald brought the note out of his pocket, and Derek looked over, noticing the handwriting. “Who did you get that from? I notice the familiar handwriting,” Derek said, sitting next to Donald.

Frost and Speedy

Frost met Speedy in a secluded spot, away from prying eyes. The tension between them was immediately apparent.

"Thanks for meeting me," Frost began.

Speedy crossed his arms, his expression guarded. "What do you want, Frost?"

"I need your help," Frost said, getting straight to the point. "Ralph is in trouble, and I can't do this without you."

Speedy's eyes narrowed. "Ralph? You mean the guy who was collateral damage in the whole Iris and Nora debacle? Why should I help him?"

Frost sighed. "Because we need to put that behind us. Ralph didn't mean for any of that to happen. He was just trying to do the right thing."

"Doing the right thing got my family killed," Speedy snapped, anger flashing in his eyes. "I'm not helping him."

Frost looked at him pleadingly. "Speedy, please. I need you. Ralph needs you."

Speedy shook his head. "No. I can't do it, Frost. I'm sorry." He turned and sped off, leaving Frost standing there, a deep sense of defeat settling over her.

Frost watched as he sped off and sighed, turning around to leave when a voice spoke out.

“Seems you're in a bit of trouble, miss,” a man walked out, clad in a purple and black vest with cargo pants and a quiver of arrows on his back.

Frost readied for an ambush, but the guy held up his hands. “No need to get defensive here,” he stated. “The name's Hawkeye. I think we could help each other out.”

Frost put her hand on her hip. “How so? You look like a wannabe Green Arrow.”

Chapter Text

Langford's Manipulation

Agent Langford sat across from Oliver, his eyes cold and calculating. Oliver's hands were chained to the wall, his face a mix of defiance and fear. 

"You know, Oliver," Langford began, his voice smooth and controlled, "you're in a very precarious position. But it doesn't have to be all bad. You could still walk out of this. All you have to do is give me what I want."

Oliver glared at him, remaining silent. 

Langford sighed, standing up and walking over to him. "You're making this harder than it needs to be. I can be very persuasive." He reached out, his fingers grazing Oliver's cheek. 

Oliver flinched, pulling away, but the chains held him in place.

Langford smirked. "Such spirit. But it won't last. You see, I have ways of making people comply." 

He slowly began unbuttoning Oliver's shirt, his eyes locked onto Oliver's with a sinister gleam. "Let's start with something simple: tell me about your relationship with Joe."

Oliver clenched his jaw, refusing to speak. Langford continued, unbuttoning the shirt and sliding it off Oliver's shoulders, letting it hang loosely from his chained wrists.

Langford leaned in, his breath hot against Oliver's ear. "Think about it. You could end this right now. Or we could keep going, and things will get... uncomfortable for you."

Oliver’s resolve wavered, but he shook his head, refusing to betray Joe for Connor's sake. "Go to hell."

Langford's eyes darkened, and he pressed closer, his hand trailing down Oliver's chest. "Oh, I think you'll change your mind soon enough."

Oliver looks away as Langford starts to unbuckle his pants and pulls them down slowly caressing Oliver's cock through his boxers.

“You see Oliver, I have ways of making people do things and I would hate to use those methods on you. Ah, you like this I feel you getting harder.”

Oliver let out a moan regretting his words “Fine, what do you want.” He strained against the shackles moaning and struggling against the agent's touch.

“You're going to be my slave and do my bidding or I'll end your pathetic boyfriend's life.” he leans in and whispers into Oliver’s ear squeezing his balls.

Oliver tears up “Fine, just don’t touch him.

Langford loosens his grip and lets go of Oliver. “Good boy.” he releases the shackles on Oliver letting him fall to the ground.

Langford throws some clothes in front of Oliver. “Get dressed, we're leaving.”

Oliver gets dressed and as he stands up wobbles a bit as Langford comes over and he feels a sharp prick on his neck. “Just a tracking chip in case you try to run away.” Langford says, leading Oliver out of the basement.

Donald, Derek, and Ralph

Donald and Derek sat on the edge of Derek's bunk, examining the letter. "There has to be more to this," Donald said, tracing the familiar handwriting.

Derek nodded. "It's Stiles' handwriting, but the message... it's almost like he was trying to tell us something without being too obvious. Derek looks around."

Does Stiles have connections to someone in this prison? How did he find out I am in here? Worst of all, know Donald? His head was swimming with questions.

Just as they were discussing the letter, Ralph entered the room. Donald noticed something immediately different about him: a wristband similar to Derek's collar around his neck but on his wrist.

"Ralph?" Donald questioned, his eyes narrowing. "What’s with the fancy wristband?" Not wanting to believe that Ralph was a meta.

Derek glanced at Ralph and then back at Donald. "You think Werewolves were the only thing out there he's special, too," Derek replied cryptically, not really saying anything else wondering what powers Ralph has.

Donald looked shocked but decided not to press further. He knew when Derek was withholding information, and this seemed like one of those times.

"Anything else we need to know, Ralph?" Donald asked, hoping for some clarity with his new revelations.

Ralph hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "Just be careful. Things are getting... complicated."

Donald exchanged a look with Derek. It was clear that whatever those devices were on Derek and Ralph were involved in something dangerous, and it was only a matter of time before they were all dragged into it.

Dexter's Decision

Dexter was in his small, dimly lit apartment, the phone pressed to his ear as he spoke with Glasgow. 

"I’ve collected most of the samples, but I haven't gotten to the reproductive stuff yet," Dexter said, pacing back and forth.

He looked over at Aram and Joe, who were now hanging due to his issues when they were on the table. Saran wrap is expensive.

"Well then, have fun with that," Glasgow replied, a note of amusement in his voice. "Make sure you extract every last drop. They won't be needing it where they're going." 

With that, Glasgow hung up, leaving Dexter with the phone still in his hand.

He stared at it for a moment before setting it down, a strange look crossing his face. He had done a lot of terrible things in his life, but this... this was going to be different. He could feel it what would Harry do in this situation?

Dexter took a deep breath and returned to the room where Aram and Joe were restrained. He picked up the necessary tools, his mind running through the steps he would need to take.

It was going to be a long night. But a night where he could relax hopefully afterward.

He didn’t tell Glasgow that he moved the two men to the second-floor level since it was hard to work on the bodies when they were on the table and what Glasgow was requesting would have been hard. He adjusted the headphones and blindfolds on both men, checking their restraints as they hung from the ceiling lifeless. The anesthetic should be wearing off soon. He started to cover the room with Clear tarping.

Connor's Visit

Connor was pacing in his cell when the guard came to get him. "You've got a Phone call," the guard said, opening the door.

Connor was immediately on edge. "Who?"

The guard didn't answer, just led him through the prison halls until they reached the visitation area. To his surprise, it was a call about Gemma.

"She's in the hospital," the guard explained as they walked. "You’re allowed to see her, but you'll be escorted the entire time."

Connor's heart raced as they drove to the hospital. When they arrived, he was led to Gemma's room, where she lay in a hospital bed, exhausted but smiling.

She held a tiny bundle in her arms. "It's a boy," she whispered, tears of joy in her eyes.

Connor's eyes filled with tears as he looked at his newborn nephew. He reached out, gently touching the baby's small hand. "He's perfect," he said, his voice choked with emotion.

As they shared this moment, Connor's mother entered the room. Her eyes softened when she saw Connor, and she approached, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You did good, Gemma," she said, her voice full of warmth. She then turned to Connor, her expression more serious. "We need to talk, Connor. There are things you need to know."

Connor's heart sank, knowing that whatever his mother had to say, it wasn't going to be good. But for now, he focused on Gemma and the new life she had brought into the world. It was a brief moment of light in an otherwise dark and complicated time.

Chapter Text

Donald, Derek, and Ralph: Deciphering Stiles' Message

In the dimly lit cell, Donald, Derek, and Ralph huddled around the letter, their eyes tracing the familiar handwriting of Stiles. The tension between them was palpable, each of them aware that this message could be the key to their survival.

“There has to be more to this,” Donald muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the words.

Derek nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Stiles was always good at hiding things in plain sight. We just need to figure out what he’s trying to tell us.”

Ralph, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. “Maybe it’s not just the words. Maybe it’s what’s between the lines.”

Donald looked at him, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

Ralph hesitated, glancing at Derek before continuing. “Look, there are things about me that you don’t know. Abilities, I mean. But this—” he gestured to the collar around his neck, “—this thing is blocking me, just like it’s doing to Derek.”

Derek gave a slight nod, understanding Ralph’s struggle. “Yeah, it’s the same for me. This collar is keeping me from transforming, from using any of my werewolf abilities.”

Donald’s eyes widened, the pieces starting to come together. “So, these collars are more than just restraints. They’re designed to keep you both under control.”

“Exactly,” Derek replied. “And that means whoever’s behind this knows what we’re capable of. We need to figure out how to get these things off if we’re going to stand any chance.”

Ralph added, “And we need to decode this message. I have a feeling it’s our only way out.”

As they continued to decipher the letter, Derek suddenly paused, his eyes widening. “Wait… the first letter of every sentence spells out ‘Look Up.’”

Donald’s heart raced. “Look up? What does that mean?”

Donald frowned, trying to piece it all together. “So, this message from Stiles… could it be a warning? Or maybe a way to help us escape?”

Derek shook his head. “It’s hard to say. But whatever it is, we need to figure it out fast. Stiles wouldn’t send us a message unless it was important.”

Their determination to uncover the truth grew, the tension between them replaced by a shared resolve to use whatever they found to their advantage.

Glasgow and Dexter: A Sinister Collaboration

Dexter was methodically arranging his tools in the warehouse when he heard the door creak open. Glasgow stepped inside, his eyes immediately scanning the room.

“Good work,” Glasgow remarked, his gaze settling on the restrained forms of Joe and Aram. The two men were still hanging, unconscious, from the ceiling, their bodies eerily still.

Dexter, trying to maintain his composure, asked, “What’s the next step?”

Glasgow walked over to Joe, inspecting him closely. “All in due time, Dexter. For now, continue with what you’re doing. We’re close to finishing this.” he caresses Joe's body.

Dexter frowned, a sense of unease gnawing at him. He had done many things in his life, but this felt different. “And after that? What happens to them?”

Glasgow turned to him, a small smile playing on his lips. “That’s not your concern. Just remember, you’re part of something bigger here. Imma grab some food, do you want anything?”

“Sure, why not. Also when is the package coming?”

“Soon my Boy, Glasglow patted his head and checked his watch. Well I'll be back with food soon enough but if it comes before I get back the instructions are already in your email.

As Glasgow turned to leave, Dexter stood there, the weight of his actions bearing down on him. He knew he was in too deep, but a part of him wondered if there was still a way out.

As the Doctor left Dexter saw a couple of men enter with a large box and set it down in a section of the warehouse and when he signed the papers not questioning the Doctor's motives he opened it to see a machine and tube.

His phone buzzed and as he looked at his notifications he saw he had a new email.

Connor’s Worry and Oliver’s Coldness

Back at the prison, Connor paced through the library, his mind racing with thoughts of Joe. The uncertainty of Joe’s fate was tearing him apart. He tried to focus on the books around him, but nothing could distract him from the gnawing fear that Joe might never return.

As Connor leaves the library unable to stop his racing thoughts a guard comes up to him. “You got a visitor, Walsh” and turns to leave.

.

As Connor followed the guard to the visitation room, he looked up to see Oliver, his face unreadable.

“Oliver?” Connor’s voice was a mix of relief and confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Oliver’s expression was cold as he replied, “I can’t see you again, Connor. It’s over.”

Connor stared at him, stunned. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

As Connor tried to reach out and hold his hand Oliver pulled it away trying not to show tears.

Oliver didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked away, leaving Connor with a sinking feeling in his chest.

Oliver started crying out of sight and as he left the building he got in the car and closed the door.

"Its done. You cant touch him now." Oliver says to Langford.

"Oh Mr. Hampton its only the beginning." Langford replied as Oliver feels something get inserted into his neck as he slowly blacks out.

****

Determined to get answers, Connor stormed through the prison until he reached Glasgow’s office. He barged in, only to freeze in his tracks.

Sitting at the desk, looking perfectly healthy, was Joe and next to him was a man he hasn’t seen before.

“Joe?” Connor’s voice was filled with disbelief. “How…?” a thousand thoughts racing through his mind, almost making him dizzy as he holds himself against the doorframe.

Joe looked up, a strange smile on his face. “I’m fine, Connor. Everything’s fine.”

Connor felt a wave of relief wash over him, but something wasn’t right. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about Joe, but for now, he pushed the doubts aside.

“It's good to have you back, um Imma go. Connor turns around and leaves back to his cell and curls up on the bed not knowing what to believe.

Glasglow watched as Connor left. “Well what do you think now Dexter?” he asked the man standing next to Joe.

“I believe you are a mad man. But how will you keep the clone active while being here?” Dexter was curious.

“Well of course Connor is gonna get horny it's only a matter of time.” The doctor laughed.

Dexter thinks back to the moment they cloned the person in front of them.

The scene shifted to a sterile lab, where Glasgow stood over a tank filled with a thick, viscous liquid. Floating inside was an identical copy of Joe, his body perfectly formed.

Dexter goes over to the machine where Joe was strapped now awake struggling against his binds till Dexter slowly injected into his IV some propofol as the thrashing stopped.

Dexter watched from the side as Glasgow inspected the clone, a satisfied smile on his face. “It’s perfect,” Glasgow murmured. “With this, we can control Connor without him ever knowing the truth.”

Dexter said nothing, but as he watched the clone come to life, he felt a shiver run down his spine. He had done many things in his life, but creating a living, breathing clone was something that shook him to his core.

“What about the other guy?” Dexter blurted out as the Doctor started clothing the Clone of Joe.

“Oh well get to him in time. There's a new inmate connected to Donald that was just admitted so Imma see what his deal is.

Reality: The Real Joe’s Torment

Meanwhile, the real Joe was far from fine. He was strapped to a machine, his body restrained by tight straps and a cerebral attachment fastened to his head. He was gagged and blindfolded, his senses deprived, trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t escape.

Dexter stood nearby, watching the scene with a growing sense of dread. He had done everything Glasgow asked, but now, as he looked at Joe’s helpless form, doubts began to creep in. How much further was he willing to go? And at what cost?

His phone buzzed and as he pulled it out he received a message from Langford.

I need you to meet me at this location. 

Dexter opened the maps app and noticed it was only a couple of blocks away. He grabbed his coat and Keys grabbed his half eaten sandwich and left the warehouse locking it and activating the security features recently installed.

As he got in his car he didn’t realize someone was watching him from a distance. 

The person touched his com piece. “I found them.”

“That's Good news, I'm on my way.” a voice replies.

The person sits down on the ledge and checks his arrows and then he gets knocked out from behind his com piece falling out of his ear.

Frost’s Inquiry and Hawkeye’s Offer

Thinking back to the previous day Frost remembers the deep conversation with Hawkeye, trying to piece together the bigger picture.

“How do you know Glasgow?” she asked, her tone sharp.

Hawkeye hesitated for a moment before answering. “We’ve crossed paths before. He’s not someone you want to trust, Frost. But he’s powerful, and he has connections everywhere.”

Frost narrowed her eyes. “What kind of connections?”

Hawkeye leaned in, his voice low. “The kind that can make people disappear. The kind that can control entire organizations. If you’re going after him, you’re going to need help.”

Frost considered his words, weighing her options. She didn’t fully trust Hawkeye, but she knew she couldn’t take Glasgow down alone. “I’ll think about it,” she said finally, her mind already working on a plan.

“Well don’t take too long. He already targeted some of my friends and they haven’t been the same since.” he replies getting up and brushing himself off.

“I'll do some reconnaissance. But besides that I mean if what is going on is anything like before your friends are already out of luck being saved.” he picks his bow up and notches an arrow.

“See ya Frosty," he says, firing it as it attaches to another building and he rappels away.

Frost blushes till a voice over her earpiece says “Oh come on you gonna trade Green for Purple.” we got what we needed come back to base.

Unfortunately that was a day ago and Frost hasn't heard from Hawkeye yet as of the next day worried he may have gotten into some trouble.

"Hey guys she tells her team, I have to go check something real quick." and she left the room.

Chapter Text

Complications

Connor walked into the dimly lit room where the group had gathered, his face a mask of confusion and despair. Derek, a rugged figure with a wary expression, was the first to notice him.

"Connor, what's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost," Derek asked, his tone both concerned and curious.

Connor shook his head, trying to make sense of his emotions. "Oliver... he ended things with me. Out of nowhere. And Joe, he... he’s back."

The room fell silent as the weight of Connor's words sank in. Derek furrowed his brow, unfamiliar with the name. "Who's Joe?"

As everyone began to fill Derek in on the complicated history with Joe, the guard stationed at the door shifted slightly. Hidden within his glasses was a tiny camera, recording every word and movement in the room. He pretended to be disinterested, but his eyes were constantly darting between the group, ensuring he captured every detail.

Aram's Grim Realization

Aram groaned as he opened his eyes, his vision blurry. He found himself in a padded room, a tray of food lying a few feet away. As he attempted to move, he realized how weak he was, his legs barely able to support him.

With great effort, he crawled towards the food, feeling a sharp pain in his lower body. He winced, reaching behind him, only to discover something lodged inside him. His breath hitched in panic as he tried to recall what had happened, but his mind was a foggy mess.

Glancing down, he noticed several needle marks on his arm and a strange, reinforced shackle around his ankle. A bracelet on his wrist dug into his skin, causing him discomfort. Aram slumped against the wall, exhausted and confused, slowly forcing himself to eat as he tried to piece together the fragments of his shattered memory.

Oliver's Visit to Gemma

Meanwhile, Oliver walked through the sterile corridors of the hospital, his face set in a grim expression. He pushed open the door to Gemma's room, where she lay unconscious, surrounded by machines that beeped rhythmically.

Oliver sat by her bedside, taking her hand in his. "Everything’s going to be fine, Gemma," he whispered, though the words felt hollow. He couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at him, knowing he was being blackmailed, knowing he was lying to the one person who trusted him unconditionally.

He stayed for a few minutes, gently stroking her hand before he left to face the next grim task awaiting him.

Dexter and Langford's Encounter

Dexter pulled up to the location Langford had texted him, his heart sinking as he saw the unconscious form of Oliver slumped in the backseat of Langford’s car.

Langford approached with a cold smile. "Take him. Do what needs to be done."

Dexter frowned, the unease growing in his chest. "This wasn’t part of the plan."

Langford shrugged nonchalantly. "Plans change. I’ve already blackmailed him. Now you make the arrangements." He handed Dexter a wad of cash, the unspoken command clear—Glasgow didn’t need to know.

Reluctantly, Dexter took the money and moved to restrain Oliver, who remained unconscious. Langford watched, ensuring there were no witnesses, his expression as cold as the night air.

Connor and the Joe Clone

At the prison, Connor wandered into the library, his thoughts a tangled mess. He was lost in thought when he spotted Joe—or at least, what he believed to be Joe.

"Why haven’t you been to work?" Connor asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of relief and confusion.

The clone, whose mind was linked to the real Joe, responded smoothly, echoing the mental commands being fed to him. "Just needed some time. But everything’s fine now."

Connor, desperate for comfort, accepted the answer, but his doubts lingered. As they continued talking, the clone placed a finger to Connor’s lips, silencing him, before pulling him into the office.

There, the tension between them quickly escalated into something physical. Clothes were discarded as the two fell into a heated embrace, Connor letting go of all his worries as they became one. Yet as he entered the clone, something foreign crawled inside him, unnoticed amidst the passion. The clone’s body was designed to store Connor’s essence, every movement contributing to a larger, more sinister plan.

Hawkeye’s Capture

Elsewhere, Hawkeye awoke in a dark room, his body bound tightly to a chair. His head throbbed as he tried to focus, only to see a person in a Red suit with a lightning bolt on the crest in the center of his chest standing before him, a cold smirk on his face.

"Enjoy your nap, Barton?" Speedy sneered, leaning in closer. "You should know, the doctor and I... we have a history. But you will answer all my questions in time."

Speedy then walked behind Hawkeye then leaned into his ear. “First off stay away from Frost, and Second Why are you here?”

Hawkeye sat in silence. He knew he needed to get information first.

“You know it funny you dress like a buddy of mine but you don’t look like a doppelganger, so I'll ask again why are you here and where you come from.”

Hawkeye, though restrained, maintained his composure. He knew Speedy was playing a game, one that could end very badly if he wasn’t careful.

“First off Why im here is none of your business, and secondly your tactics are tacky,” he says as he slips out of the restraints.

Before Speedy could react Hawkeye took a pair of metal cuffs off the table and placed them on Speedy before he could even react.

“I’ve dealt with your type before, my friend's brother is also speedy but these cuffs seem to do you justice probably some tech that inhibited your powers.” He then knocked out Speedy.

Now how to get out of here he thought as he looked around. He noticed the room had smooth walls, so there must have been a button.

He Picked up Speedy and placed him against one of the walls when he noticed shackles hanging on chains attached to it.

As he grabbed one it started to extend and he smiled. He shackled Speedy to the wall and as he continued searching he found smaller versions of the cuffs he put on Speedy and swapped them on clasping one around his ankle above the shackle. He removed the double cuffs to adjust Speedy wrist to the other shackle.

He then grabbed the chair he was restrained in and sat in front of Speedy waiting for the guys to wake up. As he got bored he decided to see who exactly was under the mask and curiosity got the best of him as he got up and pulled the mask back revealing Barry Allen. He looked at the blonde-haired boy who couldn’t be that young.

As Hawkeye continued to look around a phone rang on a nearby table and he noticed it was the boy’s phone and the name read Glasgow.

‘Well fuck’ he thought to himself and quickly thought of a plan and hung up and texted the number; Hey can’t talk right now busy doing my thing whats up? And sent the text.

The phone chimed. So that the Pepperoni with no cheese and a side of force?

Barton knew he was fucked the moment the response came through. The phone rang again.

He then heard a chuckle and turned to see Barry laughing. 

“Oh you're fucked now buddy,” he replies.

“You better not fuck this up, boy. Clint says and brings the phone over. He then goes and grabs a sharp jagged object. He slashes Barry’s arm.

“Ah you fucker,” Barry screams.

“Yeah now answer then damn phone boy, and he hit the answer button and held it to his ear.”

“Hey is everything ok? Your reply was off.” the voice says and Clint figured it was Glasgow.

“Hey Big G., everything good just doing personal stuff right now,” he replies.

“Good. Coming to the meeting tonight down under?” the voice asks.

“You know it, Boss, he flashes a smile at Clint and then replies the same location?”

“Yep same time as well.” the voice replies.

“Ok boss also you should call the other guys since I'll be a bit busy here soon talk to you later,” Barry replies and Clint hangs up the phone.

“Your fucked now archer boy, if I don’t show your toast.” Barry laughs.

Chapter Text

Oliver’s Captivity

Oliver stirred groggily, his head pounding as his surroundings came into focus. He found himself cuffed to a radiator, the cold metal biting into his wrists. Panic surged as he tugged against the restraints, but they held firm. His clothes were still disheveled, remnants of the night’s events swirling in his fragmented memory.

Langford loomed nearby, his demeanor as calculating as ever. “Awake at last,” he drawled, leaning against the wall with an air of superiority.

“What do you want from me?” Oliver’s voice trembled, fear lacing every word.

Langford crouched down to Oliver’s level, his tone shifting to something softer but no less threatening. “What I want is simple. Obedience. And I want to know how you came to meet Joe.”

Oliver’s heart raced as Langford’s question hit him like a bolt of lightning. He couldn’t reveal anything about Joe—Langford would exploit it to hurt Connor, and Oliver wouldn’t allow that. Swallowing his fear, Oliver looked away, his silence defiant.

Langford’s patience wore thin. He grasped Oliver’s chin firmly, forcing their eyes to meet. “You don’t want me to hurt your precious Connor, do you? Tell me what I want to know, or I’ll make sure he pays for your defiance.”

Tears welled in Oliver’s eyes, but he remained silent, his inner resolve outweighing his terror. Langford smirked, recognizing the cracks forming in Oliver’s facade. “You’ll see soon enough, Oliver. I always get what I want.”

As Langford reached down and caressed Oliver. He continued to resist but let out soft moans the more Langford squeezed and teased his membrane.

The Cafeteria Conundrum

In the cafeteria, Connor sat with Ralph, Donald, and Derek, his worry evident as he stirred his uneaten food. “None of us have heard from our contacts,” Connor said, his voice heavy with concern.

Derek crossed his arms, his sharp eyes scanning the group. “You think it’s a coincidence? It’s like someone’s keeping tabs on all of us.”

Donald nodded, his expression grim. “I don’t like this. Whoever’s behind it has resources. I’m worried Oliver’s in trouble.”

Connor’s stomach churned at the thought. “We need to figure out who’s pulling the strings. If they’re targeting us, we’re already at a disadvantage.”

Ralph shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing over his shoulder. He’d been quieter than usual, his unease palpable.

Suddenly a guard comes to the table. “Ralph Glasgow would like to see you.”

The others look at Ralph who got up and turned to them. “I’ll be back.”

Glasgow’s Meeting with Ralph

Ralph’s tension reached its breaking point when he was summoned to meet Glasgow. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls as Glasgow approached. His presence was suffocating, his gaze piercing through Ralph like a blade.

“You’ve been talking,” Glasgow said, his voice smooth yet dangerous. He reached out, his hand resting on Ralph’s shoulder before sliding down his arm, the touch sending shivers through Ralph’s body.

“I haven’t said anything,” Ralph stammered, his voice betraying his fear.

Glasgow leaned in closer, his breath warm against Ralph’s ear. “Oh, but you will. Because I own you, Ralph. And you’ll tell me everything.”

His hand roamed further, lingering in ways that made Ralph’s skin crawl. “Now,” Glasgow whispered, “what have you been discussing with the others?”

Ralph broke under the pressure, spilling the details of their conversations. As he spoke, Glasgow’s smirk widened, his control over Ralph tightening like a noose.

Hawkeye’s Strategy

Hawkeye stood over Barry, who was now fully restrained and glaring at him with seething defiance. “You’re going to behave,” Hawkeye said, his tone icy, “or I’ll make sure you don’t have a choice.”

Barry scoffed. “You think you can break me?”

A sly grin spread across Hawkeye’s face as he pulled out a small device—a vibrating butt plug. “Oh, I think I can.” Without hesitation, he stripped Barry, ignoring his protests, and inserted the device.

Barry squirmed, his face flushed with humiliation and anger. “You’re a sick bastard,” he spat.

“Call me what you want,” Hawkeye replied nonchalantly, securing Barry’s clothing back in place. “But you’ll play your role perfectly, or this little gadget will make sure you do.”

The Meeting Begins

At the meeting location, Hawkeye stayed hidden, his sharp eyes trained on Barry as he approached the group. From his vantage point, Hawkeye observed every interaction, his fingers ready on the remote for the device.

Barry entered the room, his posture stiff but controlled, as he exchanged casual greetings with the group. Hawkeye watched from the shadows, his mind working through every possible outcome.

This was a game of chess, and he intended to stay several moves ahead.

Ralph and Glasgow

Ralph stood frozen as Glasgow circled him, the predator closing in on his prey. The dim room felt smaller with each passing moment, the air thick with tension. Glasgow’s hand rested on Ralph’s shoulder before sliding down his chest.

“You’re still holding back,” Glasgow murmured, his voice like silk laced with venom. “I need more.”

“I’ve told you everything I know,” Ralph protested, his voice shaking.

Glasgow’s lips curled into a smirk as his hand moved lower, brushing against Ralph’s waistband. Ralph stiffened, a wave of panic washing over him as Glasgow’s hand slipped beneath his pants. “Ah, Ralph,” Glasgow whispered, his touch firm and invasive, “you’re not in a position to deny me anything.”

Ralph felt his knees weaken as Glasgow’s grip tightened. “Kneel,” Glasgow commanded, his voice cold and unyielding.

Tears burned in Ralph’s eyes as he obeyed, sinking to the floor. Glasgow tilted his chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. “Good,” Glasgow said, satisfaction dripping from his words. “Now, tell me what else you’ve been keeping from me.”

Connor and the Joes

In the library, Connor found himself face-to-face with the man he believed to be Joe. The clone gave him a smile that was both familiar and eerily distant. “You’ve been distracted,” the clone said, his tone low and warm. “Let me take your mind off things.”

Connor felt his heart race as the clone leaned in, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss. The tension melted away as their hands explored each other, shedding layers of clothing.

Moments later, they were lost in the intimacy, the clone’s body perfectly mimicking Joe’s. Connor, desperate for connection, let himself go completely, releasing his essence into the clone once again. Unbeknownst to him, the clone’s body absorbed it all, its sinister purpose advancing further with every moment of their union.

Far from the library, the real Joe was restrained in a cold, sterile room. His wrists and ankles were bound, his body aching from hours of captivity. He clenched his teeth, trying to ignore the humiliating contraption attached to him—a mechanical milker extracting from him relentlessly.

As the clone experienced intimacy with Connor, Joe felt it in disjointed flashes, the connection between them sending confusing signals to his mind. His body reacted involuntarily, betraying his anguish with physical responses he couldn’t control.

“Let me out of here!” Joe shouted, his voice muffled by the gag. But no one responded.

Dexter Meets Speedy/Barry

At the meeting location, Dexter arrived first, his sharp eyes scanning the room. It wasn’t long before Barry, dressed in his Speedy persona, entered the space. Barry’s steps faltered slightly as the plug inside him suddenly vibrated, causing him to stumble and let out a soft moan.

Dexter raised an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing. “Are you okay?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Barry forced a weak smile, his face flushed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, trying to regain his composure.

Dexter didn’t look convinced but decided not to press the issue for now. “Good,” he said flatly. “Let’s get started.”

Barry nodded, trying to focus on the meeting despite the relentless distraction. He slipped his hand into his pocket, attempting to slide a note toward Dexter. However, the sudden intensity of the vibrator nearly made him drop it, his breath hitching audibly.

Dexter caught the sound, his suspicion deepening. “You sure you’re fine?”

Barry nodded quickly, his voice tight. “Just... nervous, that’s all.”

Dexter’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before turning his attention back to the meeting, his mind already working to unravel whatever game was being played.

Chapter Text

Langford’s Tightening Grip

Oliver’s body trembled as he remained cuffed to the radiator, the chill of the metal seeping into his skin. Langford stood nearby, speaking into a communicator, his voice calm but commanding.

“Yes, the preparations are nearly complete. I’ll handle Connor and the others soon enough,” Langford said before turning his attention back to Oliver.

“Tell me, Oliver,” Langford said, crouching down to meet his eyes, “why are you so loyal to someone like Connor? He’s reckless, naïve. He can’t protect you.”

Oliver glared at him, refusing to respond. Langford chuckled, his hand brushing against Oliver’s cheek. “Defiance is admirable, but futile.”

Langford leaned closer, his lips barely brushing Oliver’s ear. “Do you know what I could do to him? What I will do, if you don’t cooperate?”

A tear slipped down Oliver’s face, but he bit his lip to keep from making a sound. Langford smiled. “That’s better. Silent, obedient. Just how I like it.”

Connor’s New Ally

Connor paced nervously in the prison yard, his thoughts consumed by Oliver’s absence. Derek approached, a grim expression on his face.

“We might have a lead,” Derek said.

Connor stopped pacing and turned to him. “What kind of lead?”

“There’s someone who claims to know where Oliver is being held,” Derek replied. “But it’s risky.”

Connor frowned. “How risky?”

Derek hesitated before answering. “They’re part of Langford’s network. But they’re willing to betray him for the right price.”

Connor clenched his fists. “Then let’s pay it. Whatever it takes.”

Glasgow’s Encounter with Langford

In a dimly lit chamber, Glasgow stood before Langford, his expression unreadable. Langford smirked, pouring himself a glass of wine.

“Your little escapades with Ralph are becoming... problematic,” Langford said casually.

Glasgow raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you accusing me of?”

Langford took a sip of his wine before replying. “Nothing yet. But I don’t like loose ends, Glasgow. And Ralph? He’s as loose as they come.”

Glasgow’s jaw tightened. “Ralph is under control.”

“For now,” Langford replied, his tone dripping with condescension. “But if he slips up, it’ll be your head, not his.”

Glasgow nodded, his face betraying no emotion. “Understood.”

Barry’s Desperation

Barry sat alone in the holding room, his hands trembling as he tried to process what had just happened. The note he had intended to pass to Dexter was still in his pocket, crumpled and unread.

Hawkeye entered, his expression cold and calculating.

“You’re losing your nerve,” Hawkeye said, tossing a small bottle of water onto the table in front of Barry.

“I’m fine,” Barry replied, though his voice wavered.

Hawkeye leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “You can’t afford to be anything less than perfect. If Dexter suspects you, it’s over—for both of us.”

Barry nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll do better.”

“You’d better,” Hawkeye said, his voice low and menacing. “Because if you fail, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Joe’s Silent Resistance

Strapped to the cold, metallic chair, the real Joe gritted his teeth as the milking device continued its relentless assault. His body was exhausted, but his mind remained sharp.

“I don’t know what you’re planning,” Joe muttered, his voice hoarse, “but you won’t get away with it.”

His captors ignored him, their focus on a nearby monitor displaying data from the clone. Joe’s heart sank as he recognized Connor’s image on the screen.

“Connor…” Joe whispered, his voice breaking.

But even in his despair, a spark of determination flickered within him. He would find a way to escape.

The Clone’s Manipulation

In the library, Connor leaned against a bookshelf, his breath still heavy from their encounter. The clone smiled, brushing a hand through Connor’s hair.

“You seem distracted,” the clone said, his tone gentle.

Connor hesitated before responding. “I just… I keep thinking about Oliver. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s in danger.”

The clone’s smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Oliver’s strong. He’ll be fine. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

Connor nodded, though the unease in his chest remained.

As the clone left the library, a sinister smile crept across his face. The plan was progressing perfectly.

Dexter’s Meeting with Barry

Dexter stood in the shadows, watching as Barry approached. The younger man’s movements were stiff, his discomfort evident.

“What’s the matter with you?” Dexter asked, his voice sharp.

“Nothing,” Barry replied quickly, though his flushed face told a different story.

Dexter frowned, stepping closer. “If you’re hiding something, now’s the time to tell me.”

Barry shook his head, his eyes darting away. “I’m fine. Really.”

Dexter wasn’t convinced, but he decided to let it go—for now. “Fine. But if you screw this up, there will be consequences.”

Barry nodded, relief washing over him as Dexter walked away.

Hawkeye’s Warning

From his concealed vantage point, Hawkeye watched the exchange between Barry and Dexter. His sharp eyes caught every detail, his mind working through the implications.

“This is getting messy,” Hawkeye muttered to himself. “Time to clean up.”

He slipped away, his mind already crafting his next move.

Chapter Text

The Memory Feed

The Clone sat back in Joe’s chair in the library office. Now, replacing him, he closes his eyes, thinking back to the day he was made. All the images of the real Joe as his wrists twitched against the restraints, the metal biting into his skin with every jerk of resistance. Above him, a holographic screen hummed to life, casting flickering blue light across his bruised face. He recognized the images immediately.

They were his memories transferred into him.

Real ones. Twisted ones. All of them.

A voice crackled through the intercom, dry and clinical. “Begin sequence: Subject 014 – Memory Loop Alpha.”

The feed began with a streetlamp-lit alley in Brooklyn, a much younger Joe—messier hair, skinnier, unpolished—dragging a bloodied body behind a dumpster.

His breathing was frantic. His eyes? Calm. Focused.

He wasn’t running from the murder.

He was organizing it.

Behind tinted glass, a group of scientists observed silently, jotting down notes.

“ He compartmentalizes with alarming precision,” one murmured.

“Emotionally reactive, yet completely methodical. We’ll need to isolate that split.”

Joe groaned. His head thudded back against the metal panel. But the screen didn’t pause. It never paused.

Back Then: Love and Obsession

“I’m doing this for you, Beck,” Joe’s voice echoed through the feed. “You just… don’t see it yet.”

Outside a café, he stood watching her laugh with a friend. Notes in his worn leather journal documented everything—her smiles, her phone habits, the men she entertained too long.

Flash. Candace, bruised and shaking.

“I’m still alive, Joe. I remember everything .”

Flash. Love Quinn, her hands stained red.

“You thought I couldn’t match your darkness?” she whispered before pulling him into a kiss.

He thought she was the one .

Until she wasn’t.

Until he buried her, too.

Back in the lab, Joe’s breathing hitched. The electrodes pulsed.

“You see it?” one technician whispered.

“Guilt,” another replied. “But not enough to stop him.”

Then came Connor.

A bookstore in New York.

A man walked in—blond, restless, cocky. Confident in a way that made Joe pause mid-sentence.

Connor.

He told himself it was intellectual curiosity. Admiration. Nothing more.

But Connor touched books like Joe did. Reverently. Tenderly. He laughed at Joe’s dry jokes and offered unsolicited opinions on Nabokov and Murakami. He didn’t flinch when Joe got intense. He leaned in .

The first time they touched—fingers brushing over the same spine—Joe felt something he hadn’t felt since… maybe ever.

He told himself it wasn’t love.

Until he caught himself watching Connor sleep, heart pounding, hands itching to write about it. Until he followed him home. Until obsession bled into something else.

A need.

In the present, Joe flinched again. The machine had reached that part. The parts that made him feel human . That made him feel hopeful .

“Replay,” someone ordered.

Behind the glass, a scientist leaned forward.

“This is the moment he broke pattern,” she said. “When obsession became longing.”

The Clone Upload

In his isolated cell, the clone blinked slowly. The data streams pulsed into his neural net—scenes of Joe’s life, his spiral, his rare tenderness.

He saw Connor. Heard his laugh. Felt Joe’s ache through the memories.

And he wanted that.

“He’s developing imprint dependency,” one tech noted, eyes scanning the neural map. “The Connor loop is reinforcing his emotional stabilization. He’s tethering.”

The clone reached for a pillow that once belonged to Connor, lifted it to his face, and inhaled deeply.

“You smell like you need me,” he murmured. “And I’ll be there.”

Behind the glass, Joe jolted.

The screen had shifted again.

Distorted Reflections

Joe was back in Kate’s London estate. Alone. Unmoored. He’d tried to manipulate Louise into staying—offered her everything. But she saw through him.

Henry’s voice echoed through the memory.

“You’re a monster.”

Joe’s chest heaved. The chair creaked under him.

He had thought about running. Again. Starting over. Again.

Then came the cabin. Louise’s tears. The gun in her hand.

“You don’t love people,” she said. “You erase them.”

The moment played over and over. He couldn’t look away. The machine wouldn’t let him .

“That’s the core of him,” one scientist whispered. “He thinks he’s saving them. Even as he destroys them.”

Connor's Ghost

Back in the hallucination, Connor stood before him. Bloody. Shackled.

“Joe… please. Don’t do this.”

Joe’s knees buckled.

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“You’re hurting me.”

“I’m not like him,” Joe rasped, tears finally breaking through.

“But you are. You are exactly like him.”

Behind the wall, the clone’s body jolted. His breathing synced with Joe’s.

The memory was transferring into him now.

Rebirth Through Replication

The clone remembers the moment he was finally born to take Joe’s place—standing before a mirror, rolling his shoulders. The smirk was perfect. The eyes? Cold, but trying.

He had Connor’s name etched onto the inside of his synthetic memory. Every kiss. Every betrayal. Every whispered lie. Even the pain.

“I will do it right,” he said.

“I will be what he couldn’t.”

In his grip was a piece of paper, hand-copied from Joe’s journal—messy cursive and all. A love letter never sent.

“I watch you in stillness, in chaos. And I think… You are the only thing that can unmake me.”

Final Echoes

Joe slumped forward in the chair, drooling, sobbing, whispering Connor’s name like a prayer.

He wasn’t aware of the monitors. The wires. The lab coats.

Just Connor .

Outside the chamber, the lead technician gave the nod. “Extract final emotional sequence. Send it to Clone-42.”

The clone blinked. Then smiled.

Like a man falling in love all over again.

The Clone opens his eyes. He now remembers why he replaced Joe and his mission. All the recalls of the original finished flashing through his mind as he seemed to have gotten an update in time as well, through everything.

He smirked. He would love Connor more than the real Joe.

Chapter Text

Stimulation and Simulation 

Aram stirred awake in a cold, sterile room, his limbs aching from the tight restraints pinning him to the hospital-style bed. The first thing he felt was movement—not his own, but the mechanical, rhythmic pulsing of something stroking his cock. He looked down to see a black tube humming, slightly squeezing and releasing itself relentlessly, coaxing him toward release without granting it.

He moaned behind the gag strapped tightly around his mouth, drool pooling at the corners of his lips.

He tried to twist, to scream, but the straps across his chest and thighs kept him immobilized. The sensation was maddening—both overwhelming and humiliating. Each cycle of the machine forced his body to react while his mind was flooded with false memories, artificially crafted images of Donald whispering into his ear, holding him, touching him. Loving him.

They were tender scenes at first. A picnic in the park. A slow dance under string lights. The taste of wine on Donald’s lips.

But the tone shifted.

Now Donald was ordering him to behave. Petting his hair like a handler. Collaring him with a smile.

"You're mine, Aram. Always have been. Always will be."

His back arched. He didn't know if it was the stimulation or the pain of the fake intimacy, but the tears wouldn’t stop. A voice over the intercom—Dr. Glasgow, maybe—whispered like a god from above:

"He's coming along beautifully. Emotional fusion is holding. Keep the feed running."

Power and Powerlessness 

Connor sat cross-legged on the edge of his cot, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Ralph had been unusually quiet all day since returning from his private conversation with Glasgow. He had a feeling something was going to happen, and he couldn’t be more afraid.

Now, the silence broke.

Ralph entered the room, eyes wild and vacant, jaw clenched. Connor looked up.

"What do you want?" he asked, tired. After his session with Joe, he felt more drained than usual.

Ralph didn’t answer at first. He paced, fingers twitching. His pulse racing.

"He said I was nothing," Ralph whispered, voice trembling, still pacing, clenching and unclenching his fists. "That you were the only thing that made me matter."

Connor’s eyes narrowed, worried. His gut told him to be on alert.

"You talked to Glasgow. What did he do to you this time?"

"He showed me who I am," Ralph muttered, stopping in front of Connor. "Or who I’m not. I can’t control anything, Connor. Not my powers. Not my thoughts. Not this place. But I can control you."

Before Connor could move, Ralph lunged.

He pinned him, strong arms wrapping around his wrists, straddling him. Connor kicked and twisted, screamed, but Ralph covered his mouth. Ralph's breathing grew heavier, erratic, as he pulled a small rope from his sleeve, restraining Connor’s wrists to the pole beneath the top bunk.

Then he shoved a sock into Connor’s mouth, gagging him. His hands moved down Connor’s body, caressing his cock before removing his jumper. Without a moment’s pause, he flipped Connor over and thrust himself inside.

Connor bucked, kicking and crying into the sock, frozen as Ralph reached around and began stroking his cock, whispering broken apologies between thrusts.

Connor came, moaning and shaking, as Ralph followed, gasping and pulling out as he climaxed.

When it was over, Connor lay still, trembling and unable to move. Ralph, wide-eyed and panicked, quickly cleaned himself, removed the restraints and sock from Connor’s mouth.

"I didn't mean... I just wanted to... I'm sorry," Ralph muttered before leaving the cell.

Connor didn’t respond. He lay there staring at the wall, silent, tears slipping down his cheeks. A part of him shattered. Just curling into a ball hurt. He couldn’t even bring himself to pull his jumper up.

Sessions in the Dark 

Donald sat across from Dr. Glasgow in a dim-lit therapy room that reeked of antiseptic and manipulation. Glasgow sat with crossed legs, his hands resting casually in his lap.

"You care about him," Glasgow said. "Aram."

Donald stiffened.

"You know that love is a vulnerability, yes?"

Donald stayed silent.

"So let's see how deep yours goes," Glasgow said, rising to stand behind Donald. His fingers pressed gently into Donald’s shoulders. He leaned down to whisper:

"What would you do if I made him scream? If I told you he begged for someone else to touch him?"

Donald’s breathing accelerated. Glasgow’s fingers moved lower, tracing his spine, brimming along his waist.

"You can save him... probably. And if you don’t? He’ll hurt even more knowing you didn’t obey a simple command."

Donald shuddered. His resolve cracked.

"Now let’s see just how you behave," Glasgow said, squeezing Donald’s ass. "Unzip for me."

Donald felt the power behind those words. He unzipped his jumper. Glasgow stayed behind him, reaching around, touching his cock.

Donald flinched but knew he was powerless.

"Kneel for me—you’re quite tall," Glasgow said, pressing down on Donald’s shoulders until his knees touched the ground.

Donald moaned, turned on against his will. His pants and boxers were pulled down. His cock stood rock hard as the doctor stroked it slowly, deliberately. His hips bucked. His body betrayed him.

"Ah... ah... ahhh," he moaned, as he came, white streaks shooting into a container held up to collect everything.

Then he was bent over. A cold substance touched his ass, and something pressed between his cheeks. He groaned, helpless as his hole stretched, body trembling as the thrusts sent a second climax crashing through him.

"Good boy. You might be able to save him after all," Glasgow whispered.

Tears streamed down Donald’s face. He bit his lip to stifle a cry. He was broken. He had let himself be controlled.

Derek was less compliant.

His leg bounced restlessly as he sat across from Glasgow, who leaned back behind his desk, tapping his fingers together like Derek was just another toy.

"So, Derek. Word is you think you're top dog around here. Macho man, so to speak," Glasgow mused. "Heard from a little birdie about some rumors floating around."

"I don’t give a damn what you think you know," Derek growled, fists clenched, getting up—until he began to wolf out.

The shock collar activated.

Derek collapsed, screaming in pain.

"But I do know, Derek," Glasgow continued, standing and walking around the desk. "About your group. Your secrets. Your... little rebellion. Even about Stiles.

Funny how he suddenly stopped talking to you, isn’t it?"

Derek froze.

Stiles...?

Glasgow smiled. This was what he wanted—to plant seeds of doubt, to erode the truth.

"What if I told you he sold you out?"

"You're lying," Derek spat, heat rising under his skin.

"Am I? Or are you afraid you're wrong about everything and everyone?"

Glasgow leaned in, ruffling Derek’s hair, pacifying the wolf inside into something small. Fragile.

"What will you do when your pack is gone? When you’re the last one left? Hell, they probably forgot about you already."

Derek stormed out—but his steps were slower. Heavier. His mind, no longer his own.

A Nightmare Made Flesh 

Connor jolted awake, drenched in sweat. The image of Ralph looming over him still burned into his mind. His heart pounded as he scrambled from the cot, hit the corner, and collapsed to the floor.

He gagged. He wept. He clawed at his own skin, as if trying to peel the memory off.

Ralph sat up in his bunk. Watching. Destroyed inside.

"Connor..." Ralph’s voice cracked. "I didn’t mean to... I just wanted to feel something again."

Connor stared at him. Glassy, hollow eyes. Emotionless.

"You’re a monster," he whispered. "You’re so weak... you can’t even stop yourself from being controlled."

Ralph looked like he'd been slapped. He didn’t argue. He didn’t deny it. He just lay back down and cried.

Below the Surface

 In his office, Dr. Glasgow sat at his desk. Every screen around him showed their lives: Aram, Connor, Donald, Derek, Ralph.

He sipped a glass of wine.

"Emotions are predictable," he mused. "Desperation. Guilt. Submission. They all fall into place eventually."

He turned toward the wall—lined with profiles, memories, and protocols.

His next experiments were already in motion.

And the shadows were only getting darker.

Chapter Text

Silent Watcher

Hawkeye leaned against the far wall of the storage room, arms crossed, eyes sharp as frost. Barry—Speedy, as the others still half-called him—was seated on the floor in front of him, wrists cuffed behind his back, a plug still buried inside him from the encounter at the meeting. The toy had long since been deactivated, but the humiliation lingered, visible in the set of Barry’s jaw and the way he refused to look up.

“You know,” Clint muttered, voice low and cold, “if you hadn’t squirmed like a bitch in heat, Dexter might’ve never caught on.”

Barry didn’t answer. Just stared at the wall.

Clint’s gaze narrowed. “You sold us out. That wasn’t a mistake.”

The silence confirmed what Clint already knew.

Frost met him an hour later, her boots crunching on the cracked tile floor as she entered the room, arms tense and folded. Her eyes went straight to Barry, chained and hunched. Then to Clint.

“You said you had proof,” she snapped.

“I brought you the proof,” Hawkeye said flatly. “He was supposed to hand off intel during the meeting. Instead…” He gave Barry a sidelong glance. “The vibrator we planted on him went off the second he tried to pass Dexter a note. It nearly blew our cover.”

Frost crossed the room, crouching before Barry. “You gonna say anything?” she asked, her tone sharp. “Anything at all to make me not regret trusting you?”

Barry lifted his gaze slowly, hollow and unapologetic.

“I did what I had to do.”

Her jaw clenched. “So you admit it.”

He smirked faintly. “You act like we had a chance. Like any of this was going to work.”

Frost stood slowly, fists trembling. “You were one of us.”

“Maybe you should ask yourself why that mattered.”

Fractured Bonds

Connor avoided eye contact as he slipped into the cafeteria, scanning for an empty spot away from Ralph. He wasn’t ready—not now, maybe not ever.

Across the room, Ralph sat stiffly, hands clenching a tray he barely touched. His eyes flicked to Connor, just once. No words. No movement.

Donald watched it all in silence. So did Derek.

The air between the group was thick with tension, a space once filled with snark and laughter now reduced to wordless avoidance. The conversation had dried up, replaced by awkward silences and murmured excuses.

When Derek finally sat beside Donald, he didn’t say anything. He just exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging as though the weight of everything was finally pulling him under.

Donald leaned slightly toward him, their elbows brushing.

Neither pulled away.

Still, neither could speak.

Not about Glasgow. Not about what he’d done. Not about what he’d taken.

Waking Chains

Joe’s eyes fluttered open to stale air and dim lighting. The constant hum of machinery was gone. No screen flashing his past, no wires feeding his mind poisoned memories.

But he wasn’t free.

A thick chain clinked against the floor as he shifted. It was bolted to his ankle and secured to the wall, long enough to stand and move a few feet, but not enough to reach the door. He tugged, hard, until the metal bit into skin and drew blood.

He hissed, then slumped against the concrete, letting the pain ground him.

He remembered everything. The memories, the clone, Connor…

And now he was here. Useless. Forgotten. Replaced.

He gritted his teeth and stared at the far wall.

“I’m not done,” he whispered. “Not yet.”

Aram stirred in another cell not far from Joe’s. His head was foggy, but the absence of stimulation was almost more disorienting than the milker’s constant rhythm. He looked down, saw the chain fastened around his ankle—just like Joe’s—and knew he wasn’t alone in this kind of captivity.

He pulled lightly. It gave an inch, then jerked taut.

He slumped forward, chest aching.

Flashes of Donald drifted through his mind—his voice, his hands, the false memories Glasgow had twisted into him. They were fake, but his body remembered them as real.

And that, somehow, was worse.

Unanswered Questions

Gemma entered the Cafe and saw Oliver heading over, sitting down cautiously, arms crossed. Her eyes scanned Oliver, sitting fidgeting with his hands on the coffee cup, expression distant.

“You said you wanted to see me,” she said, not hiding the bitterness in her voice. “So talk.”

Oliver lifted his head, face pale. “I did... but I can’t give you what you want.”

“Bullshit.”

He looked away.

“I know something’s going on,” Gemma continued. “Connor’s been acting off. People are disappearing. You disappeared for a while. And then you come back, and you’re not even you.”

“I know,” Oliver whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” she spat. “That’s it?”

“I... I’m… he then saw a car parked outside the window, a bit further away. Langford—he started to stammer. I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

She stared at him, jaw working, then turned sharply.

“Then I hope you find your truth before it destroys you. Because whatever this is…” Her voice cracked. “It already destroyed me.”

She gets up and leaves as Oliver sits there.

Watching Shadows

In his private office, Dr. Glasgow leaned back in his chair, sipping a steaming cup of tea as the monitors flickered before him. One showed Connor curled in bed, refusing to speak. Another showed Ralph alone in the courtyard, eyes red and fingers trembling.

Joe. Aram. Derek. Donald. Connor. Ralph.

He watched them all.

“Fractures,” he murmured. “So delicate. So easy to make permanent.”

He clicked a button on his remote, and a generated voice announced. “Beginning next phase.”

A new monitor came to life, this one showing the clone—standing in the library by a bookshelf, smiling faintly as he closed a journal titled Connor’s Favorite Things, putting it away.

Glasgow smiled back.

His phone rang suddenly, and the lights turned back on as he picked it up and answered it.

“What is it?” he barks.

“Sir. We have a problem,” the voice says on the other line.

On the other side of the phone, Hawkeye kneeled as he was surrounded by men, as one of them went to untie Barry.

“Took you guys long enough,” Barry says.

A Person stepped forward as the other men parted, and Hawkeye saw it was Dexter.

“So this is the famous person trying to play hero,” he smirked as he kneeled and injected a liquid into Hawkeye as he passed out.

“Sir, what should we do?” Dexter says over the phone.

“Well, take him in and do what you do best,” Glasglow replied.

Dexter smiled.

“Um.. Hello?” Barry waved his ankle with the meta cuff.

“Nah, that stays on for now, your loyalties are in question,” Dexter says, leaving as some men pick up an unconscious Hawkeye.

“See you soon, Boss,” Dexter says, hanging up.

Glasgow grinned. This was like Halloween, Christmas, and New Year's all in one.

Chapter Text

Frost stopped in the doorway, her boots crunching over the broken glass. The safehouse was empty—eerily so. The half-drunk coffee was still warm, the restraints discarded beside the chair. Papers were scattered near the exit. The camera was shattered, and both the PC and monitor were too damaged to function.

And Hawkeye’s bow? Gone.

She ran a hand through her pale hair, her breath quickening. “Clint… what the hell happened here?”

Every inch of her screamed to chase after him, but logic whispered too late. Her thumb hovered over her phone, then pressed a single contact she hoped she never needed to press. As the Line rang, she remembered what he told her that if he didn’t contact her like they planned to for each other every hour, that would mean the worst case.

“Matt Murdock,” she said when the line clicked. “Something’s wrong.”

“Tell me,” came the measured voice on the other end.

“I don’t know how much I can say over the line. He’s gone—Code word Antman.”

A pause, then Matt’s tone sharpened. “Send me the address. I’ll find you.”

Matt stood under the dripping awning of a forgotten warehouse. The rain outside whispered against the pavement, city lights bleeding through the mist.

“You came alone,” he said quietly, head tilted as he heard her footsteps slosh through the rain.

“I don’t do well with company,” she replied, voice clipped but tired.

Matt tilted his head slightly, the faint hum of her pulse catching his attention. “No… You don’t. But you’re not alone, are you?”

Her jaw tightened. “You can hear her, can’t you? That’s your thing?”

“I hear everything,” he said. “The change in your breathing when she surfaces. The way your heartbeat stutters when you fight for control.”

For a long moment, Frost didn’t answer. Then her skin shimmered, color shifting from ice-white to warm human tones as Caitlin emerged, trembling.

“I don’t hide her,” Caitlin said softly. “We just… take turns.”

Matt gave a faint smile. “That sounds familiar.”

Caitlin frowned. “You mean— Never mind, I would love to sit down and chat all day, but go on.”

He removed his glasses, and though his eyes were clouded, there was something sharp behind them. “We all wear masks, Caitlin. Some of us just stop pretending we can take them off.”

Her expression softened; for the first time in days, she smiled—sad but real. “Then you understand why I needed to call you. There's this man—Dr. Glasgow— not much is known about him, but he’s taken people. Manipulating minds, bodies, everything. Clint and I were working to go after him. I have a friend in trouble whose other friend is in trouble. It's a long story.”

“And now he’s missing,” Matt finished. “Which isn’t good. I mean, my own team isn't gonna like that news.”

Caitlin nodded, stepping forward. “I’ve heard you've fought monsters, Matt. But this one doesn’t need claws or guns—he rewrites people until they forget who they are.”

Matt’s expression darkened, Daredevil flickering beneath the lawyer’s calm veneer. “Then maybe it’s time someone reminded him what pain feels like.”

A breath of cold air shimmered; Frost returned, eyes icy again. “Then let’s make sure we’re the ones writing the ending.”

He turned toward the open street, rain already plastering his shirt to his skin. “You fight in the light,” he said. “I fight in the dark. Between us—”

“—We’ll burn him out,” Frost finished, her grin as sharp as the storm.

Matt didn’t flinch. “Two sides of the same coin,” he murmured. “You’ll need both before this is over.”

Matt gave a quiet nod, his cane tapping in time with her footsteps. “Spoken like someone who’s already chosen her side.”

Connor sat across from Dr. Glasgow, the hum of the light overhead forming an almost hypnotic rhythm.

“I’m surprised you agreed to another session,” Glasgow said, pouring himself a glass of water.

“I didn’t,” Connor replied flatly. “You dragged me here.”

“Semantics.” He took a sip. “Tell me, do you believe in second chances?”

Connor frowned. “For who?”

“For yourself. For those who’ve hurt you.”

Connor’s pulse quickened. “You don’t get to talk about forgiveness.”

Glasgow smiled. “On the contrary, I study it. I’ve found that people cling to pain because it gives them identity. Take away the pain, and what’s left?”

Connor looked away. “Peace.”

“No,” Glasgow said softly, leaning closer. “Emptiness.”

He walked behind Connor, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I can take away what hurts you, Connor. I can make you forget. Wouldn’t that be easier?”

Connor stiffened. “You can’t erase what’s been done.”

Glasgow’s thumb brushed lightly against his collarbone—a gesture too intimate, too measured. “I already have,” he whispered.

Connor jerked away, standing abruptly. “You’re sick.”

“I’m a visionary,” Glasgow said calmly, smiling as guards opened the door to escort Connor out. “And you’ll see that, in time.”

Connor didn’t look back, but the tremor in his hands betrayed him.

Dexter’s lab smelled of metal and antiseptic.

Hawkeye woke, noticing he was on a stainless-steel table, stripped bare except for the medical restraints across his limbs. Dexter adjusted a syringe, his expression unreadable.

How did this happen? He had Barry under his thumb.

He tried to move but couldn’t.

He tried to call back everything that had happened. The Secret meeting, the slip-up. I mean, did he miscalculate anything?

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like himself for not stopping it.

“Hope you don’t get off to this stuff,” he mused before catching Dexter’s stare as he had his mouth gagged.

He felt the needle prick his skin, feeling the effect of whatever was injected inside him as his vision started to blur.

The intercom buzzed. Glasgow’s voice filtered through.

“Collect blood, semen, cerebrospinal fluid. He’s more resilient than the others — I want to know why.”

Dexter swallowed hard. “And if he wakes?”

“Then use the sedative again. Or don’t.”

The line clicked off.

For a long moment, Dexter just stood there, watching the slow rise and fall of Clint’s chest.

He thought of all the corpses he’d seen, all the justifications he’d ever used. But this wasn’t a body — it was a man still breathing, fighting, still human.

“God help me,” he whispered, and began his work.

He lifted the cloth and started to collect everything that was requested, feeling better now that he was in his wheelhouse. He thought to himself, justifying again that since no one had died technically, he didn’t violate his code, especially since he was told these were bad people who did bad things. He was a Blood Splat Analyst and a Detective; he knew better than to judge what he was hired for, especially for his expertise. 

In the underground wing, Aram stirred at the sound of movement. “Joe?” he whispered through the vent between their cells.

“Still here,” came the low voice.

“You ever think they’ll let us out?”

Joe gave a humorless laugh. “No. But they’ll slip up eventually. They always do.”

Before Aram could answer, the hallway lights flickered. Footsteps echoed—heavy, dragging.

Guards appeared, hauling a limp body between them. They tossed it into a new cell across from Joe’s and Aram’s and chained it to the wall.

Joe leaned forward. “Looks like things are in motion even without us.”

Hawkeye’s head lolled to the side, a faint groan escaping his lips.

“Guess we’re neighbors now,” Joe muttered. “Welcome to hell, partner.”

Aram whispered, “Hey, what are you in for? What of the others?”

“Wait, what others?” Joe replied. “I know you already explained everything that you can remember, but how many did you involve?”

“A lot of people. But never met this bloke before.” Aram whispers back.

Derek found Ralph sitting on the cold floor of the rec wing, back to the wall, head in his hands. Donald stood beside him, cautious.

“You’ve been quiet for days,” Donald said.

Ralph didn’t look up. “Talking’s dangerous here.”

Derek crouched. “So’s silence.”

Ralph laughed weakly. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t paid for opening my mouth?”

“Then talk to us,” Donald urged. “We’re not the enemy.”

Ralph’s voice cracked. “I hurt… Someone…  And I can’t take it back.”

Donald froze. “What do you mean?”

Ralph shook his head violently. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

His tone shifted, eyes unfocused — as if someone else was speaking through him. “He said I had to. That it would make me stronger. That if I didn’t, he’d break me.”

Derek and Donald exchanged a glance — realization dawning, horror creeping in. But they didn’t press him. Not yet.

They just stayed, silent, while Ralph rocked gently, whispering words only he could hear.

Frost walked beside Matt through the rain-slick streets, their breath visible in the cold.

“So this whole blind thing,” she asked. “Can you, like, see through walls and stuff, or is it just hearing?”

“The Rain helps mark things out that would otherwise be unseen to me, but now I rely 100% on my senses,” Matt said simply. “Been that way ever since I became blind.”

Frost’s lips pressed into a grim line. “Must have been rough then. I remember when Caitlin and I had our first argument. It wasn’t pretty.”

Matt gave a quiet nod, his cane tapping in time with her footsteps. “Spoken like someone who’s already chosen her side.”

“But you ain't gonna go fighting like tha,t are you?” Frost asks, looking at his soaked shirt.

“Don’t worry, I have something for that,” Matt replies, smiling.

In the cell block, Joe sat in the dark, listening to Hawkeye’s strained breathing, Aram’s quiet prayers, and the sound of the creaking pipes and footsteps in the distance.

He knew that once they figured out who the newcomer was that for now he’d let them think they were winning. He smiled as his surroundings reminded him of the time he was forced into a similar situation about signing documents. He smiled a bit. 

He thought about Connor, wondering if he had figured out that he was in love with a fake. He thought about whether Oliver took his place back. He pondered a lot of stuff, but with what Aram told him, many pieces were moving around all at once, and in his mind, that meant a potential crash could happen, giving the space needed to make a move.

He lay down, closing his eyes to get some rest. Knowing that one day he and Connor will be together.