Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was quiet in the chamber.

The air that was once hot with breath and reeking of copper and sweat had long since been cleansed by the sterile environment. The only evidence that remained was the dark red stain that covered the platform, dried blood forming imperfections in the smooth metal surface. The smallest flicker of light from one of the observation rooms barely cast any light into the pitch-blackness beyond the thick glass windows, illuminating smooth, white walls that loomed from all angles, like a monolithic hospital.

No, not a hospital. That would imply that people were sent here with the intention of being kept alive. No, being kept alive in this place was the cruelest of fates, the kind of punishment that only existed in the Devil’s wet dreams.

It was quiet in the chamber.

It was also cold. And dark. And completely empty.

Well, almost empty.

The corpse on the platform was definitely and undoubtedly dead, the monitors proclaimed that hours ago. The body had been mangled beyond recognition, the only distinguishable feature being a head of long, black hair and two hollow brown eyes that stared at nothing, unblinking and clouded. Despite the mess that had been made of the hollow body, it smelled of flowers, the reek of a rotting corpse strangely absent.

The high pitched drone of a flatlining heart only further hammered in the corpse's dormancy. 

The staff had not bothered to collect the body when it met its end, some even breathing a sigh of relief when the heart monitor recorded the pulse dropping to zero hours prior. The death of this subject always promised the end of a shift and a good night’s sleep, so equipment was cleaned, reports were logged and stored to be sent in by the designated deadlines, bags were packed, and the last ones out of the rooms would flick off the lights as they all bid each other farewell until the next shift, hurrying away to enjoy the moments of free time they had left.

Death in the Lower Decks meant progress.

It had been twenty hours since the corpse had previously shown signs of life, and the window of time grew longer each day, the body resistant to all forms of resuscitation, but this time was already slowly ticking down to be its final. Even now, in the dim light cast down into the main chamber, one would be able to see the glistening within the ghastly wounds as the flesh started to pulse.

And then the corpse moved.

As if being shaped with expert hands, flesh and tissue wove back together, organs blooming from the residuals like flowers as ivory bones snapped and cracked into formation, the jagged edges sealing over to form thin indents where they sustained damage. Dark brown skin spread over scrawny limbs and a bony, flat chest, a tiny jaw with sharp teeth suddenly flexing as the new body took a deep, ragged breath through newly-formed lungs, pale threads forming a dirty, thin hospital gown to provide dignity to the malnourished body underneath. Ribs extended and contracted with each gasp, fingers pressing against the floor as two brown eyes suddenly sparked with life.

The woman, appearing to be at most thirty, jerked upright with a sharp gasp. Nerves snapped on like lights, signals shooting up into a reformed brain, the old memory storages coming back online and flooding her with crashing waves of stimuli. Her back arched as sensation came back to life, mouth opening and closing in deep, raspy breaths as she rode out the overwhelming waves of an entire life compressed into a few seconds, the memories of her flesh and her mind clashing in an explosion of physical and mental stimulus. 

The former corpse gasped one more time, then went limp, staring up into the darkness above her as she slowly breathed. Her throat felt like it was lined with shards of glass and the nasty taste of old blood lingered on her tongue, and she quickly felt herself down. Her hands found nothing but flesh under the thin fabric of her gown, all intact and devoid of grabbing hands, even if the sensations remained.

Aster. The name flashed through her mind, an echo of many voices. Aster. Aster Aster.

The girl had no real name, had never had a name, but she had to be called something back then, so habit always brought her back to it. And so, “Aster” was what she called herself, because it was shorter than what people called her now.

The last thing she remembered was the hungry crowd breaking into the chamber, the guards simply standing aside and allowing them through, the catwalk extending towards her, bridging the safety gap between her and the dozens of hungry mouths. They waited, mouths watering, hands flexing as if already imagining her flesh coming away in them, and they rushed her, some even tumbling off the catwalk as they jostled and shoved their way to her. They descended upon her with the fever of the masses after a great plague, eating her, ripping into her like she was the last feast on Earth, and the people in the observation decks merely watched as if it was some kind of show. 

And then Aster was back in reality, no longer eaten, alive and aching and so, so tired. She had been tired for a while, if she was being completely honest with herself.

With a shaky hand, she reached up to touch her chest, thin fingers tracing the pale scar that ran down from her collarbone to just below her stomach like a bolt of lightning. Identical ones wrapped around her wrists and ankles, obscured by the thick shackles that limited her range to a meter at best, and a fresh one had formed around her neck, burned into her flesh by the shock collar that clung uncomfortably to her skin.

Kneeling between the canisters, she listened as the blood dripped down from the ports that connected to the tubes inserted into her back, the dark red fluid colored black in the absence of light. The steady tempo matched her pulse, a slow, steady beat like a song for slow dancing.

Dancing. Aster remembered dancing. How long had it been since she had last danced?

There was a stirring within her flesh, within her mind, like something was crawling in through her open wounds and resuming its nesting within her core. The shifting roots spread, sinking their barbed tendrils into the very fabric of her being, a pain not within her flesh or even her soul, but her very essence. This had been a common occurrence for many years now, but that did not make it any less unpleasant to deal with. But Aster had become quite skilled in the art of dealing with it, so she simply closed her eyes and waited for what was to come. 

And eventually, as the invisible intrusion continued to re-root itself in her, the House made itself known.

The white paint stood out in stark contrast to the heavy shadows that surrounded it, as though it was bathed in its own invisible spotlight. In the silence of the chamber, she could hear the deep, slow breathing that filled the air with the stench of fetid breath and rotting meat. Slow like a predator, its roots slithered in from the deep shadows surrounding her, pulsing veins as thick as her thumb crawling along the floor and down into the pit surrounding the platform, and then up again over its edges, moving in to touch her.

Turning onto her side, Aster curled up as much as the chains allowed her, the chill of her limbs unable to even mimic the warmth of another’s touch. Her own body never failed to remind her of the ever-present exhaustion, and there is no familiar company to sap the heaviness in her limbs and the gnawing at her insides away. 

They are going to eat you. It was the truth that hung in the sterile air she breathed, written on the walls in the faded ghosts of bloodstains, hissed out from the vents and cracks in the floor. Urbanshade was a master of lies, but they could not bury the truth that shone through the veneer of false kindness and mercy.

They are going to eat you alive.

A wet, throbbing squelch echoed through the soundproofed chamber as deep crimson lines spread and criss-crossed over the walls, pulsing and shifting wetly as they dug into the sound-proofed tiles. Hundreds of eyes burst from boils in the smooth walls to leer down at her, sporting every color and even colors not known to humans, with round pupils and horizontal pupils and slit pupils, all red and bloodshot with conjunctivitis.

There was hunger in the depths, and there was hunger here, behind masks of corporate professionalism and white lab coats and uniforms and blunt teeth. There was hunger and hatred and desire, all for her and nothing else. She knew she should have run, fought, clawed her way towards survival even with broken limbs and bloodied fingers. That was what true prey would have done in this situation. It was a base instinct to fear death.

But Aster did not fight, and she did not run. She was too tired to run, and she knew she had never been strong enough to fight. All she could do was watch, heart in her throat, as the room around her spiraled and bled and blended into a fetid canvas of rot and flesh that reached for her with invisible hungry hands. The lines between reality and her own mind blurred together, but the tendril that crept up her leg felt real enough.

“Z-777-7, stand ready for extraction.”

Rust red pulsed in the coronas of her vision. It spread across the walls like a slime mold, fleshy roots branching off and fusing back together in dark, coagulated webs, snaking over the platform and over her arms and legs. A deep, resonant pulse rumbled up through the surface of the platform, the sound of a massive heart beating. Deep below, something beckoned, and she felt the overwhelming urge to respond in kind.

“That is an order. Stand up.”

She couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in. Tears in the flesh split in sprays of gore to reveal mouths full of yellowed teeth. The tendrils were crawling up the platform now, reaching for her, they were touching her, they were on top of her, they were going to rip her open again, they were–

“I said, STAND!”

Aster was thrown out of the House’s illusion with a violent jolt to her nerves, the harsh crackle of electricity spreading out from her neck and down into her body, making the newly-formed nerves scream with pain. She choked on her own bile, movements devolving into feeble spasms as the aftershocks shot through her muscles.

“Stand ready for extraction,” the guardsman said again, switching to a mask of indifference as Aster turned to look up at him. “That is direct orders from the Lead Doctor.”

She was back in the chamber, the normal chamber, and the doors had opened, the sterile white lights flipping on. Shadows moved behind the windows, and she could hear faint voices beyond the boundary of the massive airtight doors.

It took even more effort, but she somehow managed to push herself up into a kneeling position, keeping her head low as the guards roughly yanked the needles from her back, paying no mind to the blood that leaked from the puncture wounds left behind. They undid her chains next, the heavy weights dropping from her limbs, and she quietly exhaled through her nose as they all immediately trained their guns on her. One of the soldiers hesitantly approached with a muzzle, and when he hesitated, she could immediately discern that he was a new recruit. The Lower Decks did not get those often.

“Hurry up, Carters,” one of the older soldiers said sternly, “Dr. Caro is already in a mood, and the last thing any of us want is for him to take it out on us, too. Just muzzle the subject, it doesn’t fight back anymore.”

“But—"

“You’re here to do a job, not complain.” The older guardsman stomped his foot impatiently and the younger guardsman jumped slightly. “Hurry up.”

Aster stared aimlessly, looking quite the opposite of threatening, and the soldier stared back through his helmet, and then suddenly he rushed her and nearly knocked her backwards as he slammed the muzzle down in her face, the mechanism locking around her head and securing her mouth. Pain flared in the bridge of her nose, but she couldn’t exactly say that. Not that anyone would have listened, anyway.

They cuffed her next, leaving her ankles with enough space to power-walk as the guards herded her out of the chamber at gunpoint, one smacking her between her shoulder blades to keep her moving.

As they walked through the halls, which were already beginning to fill with staff, a group of guards passed by, escorting a young woman also dressed in a ratty hospital gown that matched Aster’s. She appeared to be younger despite being taller, thin with messy brown hair cut through with thick streaks of white, and her bright blue eyes bore a ring of bright sky around the pupil. Her steps were uneven, knees threatening to buckle with every movement, and the smell of dirty blood rose from the bandages on her arms and neck. 

The two paused to look at each other, curious and feeling a strange connection between them, and then the guard behind the girl smacked her between the shoulders with their gun, nearly sending her tumbling onto the floor. Aster continued to watch as she moved, and then the girl and her escorts turned a corner, and they were gone.

Everything was meat.

The room was meat. The eyes ceaselessly watched her, unblinking and eager. Something was breathing hot and heavy, turning the cold air hot and muggy as condensation settled on her skin. Jagged, yellow teeth shone out from split gash lips, sending waves of drool down onto her face. 

It’s not real, she thought, as though that had ever banished the visions that plagued her, It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real.

A tongue, slimy and fleshy like a de-scaled python, slid out from one of the gnashing, lipless maws to drag up the side of her cheek, tasting the sweat and blood that dripped down her chin. In the corners of her vision, black tendrils, shiny and slick like a slime mold, crawled over the edges of the table, spreading their tar-like appendages over her arms and up the sides of her face.

It’s not real.

She felt her heart pulse in broken ribs, on and off again as it was ripped from her and bloomed again. Bones snapped, the stab to the senses like a strike of lightning. The figures, faceless blobs of static and shadows, sunk their blades into her again and again, cutting and slicing and tearing. They carved imprecise cuts from her limbs, peeled away skin, split her open like a flower every time the incision sealed shut. Their hands were uncaring, entitled, handling her like a pig in a butcher’s shop. It was not an unfamiliar feeling.

Nothing about this is real, none of this is real, it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real, it can’t hurt you, it’s not real—

The shadows were unusually chatty today, more so than usual, their voices nothing but static that barely formed coherent words, but she could make out minor chunks of a conversation spoken in cold, emotionless tones.

“... The subject...”

“... A little above the daily quota...”

“... Production rates need to increase…”

“Enough.” A voice cut through the white noise, commanding attention and as cold as the blades that sliced through her. “I’m not paying any of you to show weakness.” 

There was a vital distinction between a vivisection and a dissection, one that one would assume professionals would know about. Dr. Lector Caro, a cold, sadistic, ruthless old man, hand-picked by Urbanshade for his “unique” experimentations, unorthodox techniques, and willingness to kiss ass like ass has never been kissed before, was anything but a professional. If someone needed something vivisected or amputated without anesthesia or a squeamishness for gore, they would retrieve Caro, and he, without fail, would gladly display his disregard for life and his cruel methodicism with a blade.

Needless to say, Aster and Caro were already quite familiar with each other. More familiar than she would have liked to be.

“You don’t have to pretend, Z-777-7.” The doctor’s cruel voice sliced through the static devouring her senses, as precise and ruthless as the hand handling the scalpel. The light glinted off two metal fingers, and his steel blue eyes gleamed behind his glasses as he smiled down at her. “We have been working together for how many years now? I can tell when you’re still conscious.”

Aster no longer entertained the doctor’s mockery, as conversations with him were often one-sided even if she did feel like talking, but she did acknowledge his presence with a shift of her eyes, turning her gaze to him.

“I know your kind’s game. You think you can just outlast us, don’t you.” Caro chuckled, a hollow sound that matched the sharp pang of the scalpel being pushed deeper into her gut. “Your predecessors thought so, too, and look what happened to them.”

The white door re-appeared, this time looming in the back of the room as it spread its infection across the walls. The pupils of those dozens of eyes dilated with each inch it gained, the pulsing within the walls growing faster and louder as the hot breath came in shallow, rapid gasps. The black roots spread around her limbs and reached up her neck, caressing her cheek. The thing inside of her shifted violently. She wondered if Caro and his workers could see it.

“I know you are hurting. The mind can lock everything away under fake memories and forgetfulness, but the body will always remember.” Metal fingers played with a lock of her hair, those cold eyes bearing down on her with a cruel, yellow-toothed smile. The shadows around her did nothing, only continuing to reach into her and rip her open. “And I think it is quite the privilege to get to be the one to remind you, the Antichrist of all things, of that.”

Her silence warranted another rough stab through the stomach, and she could imagine the wrinkled corners of that scarred mouth twisting into an irritated scowl as her body jerked. The door was breathing down Caro’s neck, creaking open to reveal a throbbing hall of wallpaper and flesh behind wooden teeth. The doctor did not seem to notice, or if he did, he did not care.

“You may think the stoic, silent act is working, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You’ll break eventually, and this blasted dependence on the Banlands can finally end. You will be our key to conquering the lands of death, and then perhaps, if our ambitions allow, Death itself.” 

The door exhaled, blasting her with fetid breath.

“And they always break in the end.”

A vision came to her then. She could see a wife strapped to a table, eyes teary and wide with fear and heartache and betrayal. She could still see a child, or what was once a child, floating in a tube and hooked up to wires and sensors. Nothing but ego and arrogance and pettiness, spiraling down into a cold, empty pit.

Dr. Caro’s cruelty, for all his venom and bitterness and sadism and incompetence hidden beneath a thick veneer of arrogance and professionalism, was what she deserved, and he was the only one who gave her what she deserved.

But is that really what you want? 

Do you even remember what it’s like to want?

Aster stared up at Caro for a moment, and then she flatlined.

The cold wood of the altar pressed against her back, soaking through the thin fabric of her shirt and shorts. The church’s high ceiling loomed high over her, making the voice of her guardian echo even as he spoke low and reverent to the people gathered in the pews.

The pipe in her arm sent another sharp ache up into her shoulder, but she held her breath and pushed down the small hiss that threatened to escape her, eyes drifting to the pile of plastic packs next to her. Dr. Caro stood off to the side, taking notes in the shadows untouched by the church windows. He looked up and met her gaze, and she swallowed as she caught the flicker of a predator’s grin dance across his face.

As her guardian continued to preach to the gathered crowd, panic and confusion slowly took hold of her mind, the room spiralling above her as she tried to keep her focus on the ceiling. She had just been at school, she had just made it home, it was Thursday, it was not church time, church time was on Sundays, and even then she was usually not invited. No one wanted the local parasite on “consecrated ground”, whatever that meant, so why was she here now?

What are they going to do to me?

But she did not voice that, swallowing down the words and keeping quiet even as the ache came again. Even in her young age, it had been driven into her instinct like a nail to remain quiet and still. If she did that, there was a much higher chance of the danger passing without noticing her.

As usual, her guardian addressed the crowd with grandeur and revelry that sounded alien on his tongue, making promises that made her stomach turn and her body itch to flee from the church and into the woods and not look back. The painted eyes of angels above offered no solace and no mercy, their lifeless gazes merely watching on in cold, uncaring silence.

She was, effectively, alone.

The first pack was drawn through a thick needle, given to a woman who had previously been complaining about early-set arthritis in her hands. The second to a man with bad knees. The third to a mother whose son caught a cold.

“They’ll like you if you do this. You just have to be good and let it happen.” That was what the doctor had told her the day before. “Just let it happen, and you’ll eventually have friends. Friends like people who can help them.”

So she ignored the painful pinch of the needle, ignored the redness of the puncture, ignored the bags that were filled over and over again with rich, wine-red blood. She bit her tongue and didn't make a sound, keeping her gaze up to the mural painted on the ceiling.

Just be good. Just be good and they will like you back.

Hours of pain and panic later, the last of the churchgoers took their leave, leaving her feeling light-headed and her arm aching where the needle had pierced the vein. Removal triggered a sharp pinch and she let out an involuntary hiss through her teeth.

“Stop being so overdramatic,” He growled, thumbing through the cash in his hands. “You won’t die.”

The girl carefully pushed herself into a sitting position, careful not to put too much weight on her bad arm. Her shoulderblades ached, having been pressed against the hard surface of the altar for so long, and she blinked as her head spins. Her eyes burned in the dry air of the church.

“... Can I—?” She wanted to ask for a band-aid, but a steel-green glare snapped in her direction and her mouth quickly pressed shut, the question withering and dying as she shrunk down under the baleful gaze of her male guardian. The shadow He casts fell over her as he walked up to her, posture tall and intimidating, re-emphasizing the power behind the bulk.

“Do I need to remind you that a parasite doesn't get to make requests?”

Parasite. The girl was more than familiar with that word. Her guardians called her that often and it had caught on with the neighborhood kids years ago, and she’d come to recognize that it was not meant in a nice way.

“Parasite”. Something that lived at the expense of something else. Something that took and took and hurt in the process. Something that ate you from the inside out, leaving a hollow husk behind. Something foul. Something dangerous.

Something wicked.

“... No…” she mumbled quietly, and flinched when He took a loud step closer, the impact echoing through the church. 

“Speak up,” He ordered sharply.

“... No, sir.” 

He glared daggers into the top of her head for a few seconds, as he always did, before scoffing and walking away and even then she didn’t dare breathe until his shadow faded out of the church. The doctor followed, and she heard them start to talk, an adult conversation that she was too young to understand.

She looked up, swinging her legs over the edge of the altar. The puncture wound from the needle was still red, the skin around it slowly turning black and blue. She tentatively brushed a finger over it, and stifled a small whine at the sharp throb that followed. The warm light of magic hour had never felt chillier and she swallowed the lump in her throat, goose flesh travelling up her arms as she glanced back at the shadows in the furthest corner.

The door was still there, leering out from the shadows. It had been showing up ever since the first time she had given out blood, always just barely out of sight yet close enough that its presence could be felt, and even as a child, such an innocuous object filled her with a sense of dread. Then she blinked, and it was gone.

The stained glass window cast a kaleidoscope of color down onto her as the setting sun shone through it, the black eyes of the Virgin Mary, unseeing and cold. She looked down at the wound on her arm again, and felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

They’ll finally start to like you. You won’t be a parasite. You won’t just be the Antichrist anymore.

He and the doctor conversed in the entry arch of the church, oblivious to the unseen watcher that had been there moments before. The doctor’s gaze swept onto her, and the satisfied smile on his face made her throat tighten. She had never liked him, even if she didn’t know why. Something about him just made her feel bad.

I don’t want to be any of those things.

Goodbyes were exchanged and she crawled into the backseat of her guardian’s truck, leaning back against the seat with a faint sigh. By then, the sun had set enough that the inside of the church was now swamped in darkness, the street lights being the only thing to cast light on the stained glass. From her seat, it looked like a dark and twisted castle.

As the truck pulled out of the church parking lot, she found herself looking back. In the darkness beyond the massive wooden doors, she thought she saw something, or someone, move within the murk, just beyond where the light reaches.

In the brief moment before the car turned the corner and the church vanished from sight, she thought it looked like a woman with a white dress.

Let them destroy you.

The hum of fluorescent white lights and the metallic screech of saws and the cracks of bone sunk their nails into her head until they joined the chorus of white noise that screamed in her skull every time they split her open. The wet crunch of teeth being pulled and the squelch of hands inside of her were the accompaniment, ripping things out and pushing sharp things in and cutting with cold blades that split her open like a flower, pipes running red as her life was drained gallon after gallon. They snapped her apart and left her in pieces, knowing she would only stitch herself back together for them to break all over again.

Let them use you.

The smell of flowers filled her nose until it suffocated her. A chanting in a language so old it twisted the cadence of the voices speaking rose into the frigid air, all figures bowing in reverence to a presence she could feel, a horrid, burning, twisted presence. The twisted dagger gleamed bright in the amber glow of candles and flashes like the eyes of a hungry beast as it dropped down, piercing her like an arrow. She saw it then, the starless maroon sky, the bleeding moon, the bodies collecting in the dark water. The horned figure, the one with eyes of the brightest scarlet and a scathing grin, grinned, a hungry predator’s grin

Let them devour you.

Teeth tore through her hospital gown and into hot, tender flesh, indulgence and lust and desire and hunger burning blistering hot against her body. Hands groped and ripped at her with reckless entitlement, sinking dirty nails into her like claws, as if her body belonged to no one but them. The sick scent of hunger and sweat brushed heavy and wet against her, leaving red behind. Something inside of her wanted to scream, but her mouth and throat remained tightly shut.

This is what you were born for.

The visions were never just of flesh. Every cruelty done in this place passed in front of her eyes whenever someone entered the room, the blood on their hands a stark red and their neutral expression giving way to flickering scribbles and static explosion of twisted smiles. Some were simply apathetic, while others were desperate, and she could understand that. Desperation could make a monster out of any man, she supposed. But it was those who relished in the pain, whose lingering visages of gleaming tools and terrified eyes seen through a lens of ecstasy, sadism and control, that made her skin crawl whenever she saw them. Only Urbanshade would think to hire such monsters and have the mind to call the people whose lives they ruined, guilty or innocent, inhuman.

No one is coming to save you.

The crystalline glasses gleamed with the rich dark red of her blood. Pairs guided each other out onto the dance floor to celebrate her desecration. They had adorned her in white fabrics and golden chains and flowers and made her stand like a statue, pretty and powerless. They kissed her hands and forced themselves onto her lips, touched her and spoke to her like she had done them a kindness in letting them. Some were more openly cruel, weaving venom into their whispers or forcing it down her throat until she could only choke on it in the aftermath, but the worst were those whose lips oozed with sugar and whose hands felt like centipedes crawling over her skin. But she could never stop them from touching her. Her only order was to sit still and let it all happen, and she knew better than to defy an order.

No one wants to.

As the days passed, the thing inside of her continued to move. It filled her vision with flesh and eyes and whispered dark things in her ears, the roots digging deeper into her body and rotting itself within her. It could be patient, as all good predators were, and it knew just like she did that no one could see it, for it was not the kind of parasite that could be removed with a simple procedure. It could wait until she was skin and bones. It could wait until she was too weak to fight its call anymore. When all her flesh was stripped from her bones and her blood ran thick and black, it would still wait. It would only be when she begged for it on her hands and knees, a pathetic, snivelling thing, that it would finally make her disappear.

No one cares enough to try.

She was many things. A spectacle. A symbol. A reminder of who was the true apex predator here, thousands of miles from the safe and familiar, in territory no one was brave enough to enter. A scapegoat for those who wished to exact their heartless desires upon those who could not fight back. An excuse for the dark indulgence that happened deep within the underbelly of this industrial hell. Nothing. Nothing but a key for a lock. Nothing but food for hungry bellies. Nothing more than a tool, a plaything, a punching bag.

“Antichrist”. “Panacea”. “Parasite”. “Curse”. She couldn’t think of a time where they’d ever called her anything else. “Aster” was what her mother called her, just so she could have a name to give when people bothered to ask about the runty child stuck to her side. Those were the flowers, her mother had said, that she would carry to her final destination the day Urbanshade finally decided to get rid of her, when she finally gave them what they were searching so tirelessly for.

Death became a more desirable outcome with each passing day, and this new stasis that she found herself stuck in felt like the universe’s best joke. Truly, humor had peaked when it gave suicidal ideations to something that could not stay dead. The universe had once again proven itself to be the cruelest jokester of them all.

Aster rode the ebb and flow of being the butt of this new joke. It wouldn’t be the first time, and she doubted it would be the last. Urbanshade would cook up some new way to torture her, and she would have to deal with it, and then it would fail, and then they would get angry and beat her up, and then the cycle would start again. Either they would fall first, or they would find a way to kill her and end this cycle of stupidity forever.

She only needed to outlast them, if they didn’t eat her alive first.

The Overseers were a rare sight among Urbanshade staff, but the Overseers within the Blacksite were surprisingly involved in the affairs of the facility. They were known for their strength and cunning, silver-tongued and eagle-eyed, always watching, always seeing, never missing whatever happened within the walls of their respective divisions. Between the doctors and an Overseer, many would choose the doctors when it came to the question of whose ire would be easier to survive.

So when an Overseer called you in for a personal meeting, you didn’t question and you didn't complain. You just took what you needed to bring to them, straightened yourself out, went to their grand offices, sat in those chairs, and kissed ass like you never kissed ass before.

Aster had never been good at kissing ass. 

For the past ten years, she had met with the Blacksite Overseers many times, far more than most could brag about. Sure, it was only so they could scope out the company’s secret magnum opus (and know their well-earned blood money was going into a worthy cause), but it was something to break up the tedium of her daily rituals, so when she was suddenly called in by the Overseer of the Lower Decks, she felt genuinely curious.

The Lower Decks Division didn’t have an Overseer.

And so she found herself standing before the sliding mechanized door that would lead her into the previously unused office. It was surprisingly close to her chamber, closer than she would have thought it to be. The Lower Decks were the smallest sector of the Blacksite from what she had managed to gather, but she had assumed it would be big enough that the walk to the Overseer’s office would be longer.

“Come in,” said a voice, and the door slid open with a mechanical thunk. The guard at her side nudged her with his gun, and she stepped through the threshold. 

The office was smaller than expected, dusty and dimly-lit with a shelf for books and an old couch that looked like it was one puff of air away from crumbling into dust. A bowl of what she assumed were once mints was set on a small coffee table, and the desk was small and plain, a far cry from the mahogany marvels of wood-crafting that the others had.

The Overseer’s desk was devoid of any accolades or monuments to any wealth, bearing only a few small piles of papers, a cup with several pens and pencils and a site phone. However, there were two items that could be personal in nature; a picture frame of a young girl and a man with glasses and bright brown eyes, and a white mug with “Let’s Keep The Dumbfuckery To A Minimum Today” printed on the front in black calligraphy. 

Aster’s gaze drifted higher, and her eyes finally fell on the Overseer.

The woman sitting at the desk was dark skinned and had short, black hair barely touching her shoulders. Her Overseer coat hung over said shoulders like a pseudo-cape, but that was just about where the formality ended. Instead of a fancy dress or decorated uniform like the men, she was dressed in a dark grey tank top and black pants, a rose quartz pendant hanging from her neck as she put the file down and finally looked up. Her eyes were a startling rich pink, stone-hard and intelligent as they briefly shifted up to meet Aster’s gaze directly. She quickly averted her eyes.

“Overseer Brynn,” the guard said, nudging Aster forward. “I have brought the subject in for questioning.”

“Thank you, Guardsman Adler. You may be excused.”

Calm, concise, professional, and leaving no room for argument. Aster found herself pausing in the presence of such a voice. The guard did as well, sputtering slightly before he seemed to gather his composure, standing a little straighter.

“Ma’am, Dr. Caro—”

“Dr. Caro is no longer in charge of Project Panacea or this subdivision,” the Overseer interrupted, and the guard’s confidence visibly withered as a sharp glare was thrown his way. “You have permission from me to take your leave.”

“But even so,” The guard argued, which was also startling, “Leaving you alone with a test subject feels rather irresponsible—”

“I can handle it, Guardsman,” the Overseer insisted sharply, “You have my direct permission to excuse yourself and return to your former post. Z-777-7 is not a threat to me.”

Aster half-expected the guard to argue more, but instead, he nodded mutely and walked out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him, the lock snapping into place, leaving her to stand at the top of the stairs, waiting to be called forward. The Overseer kept going over the document, almost as if she didn’t care that she was there at all.

“You don’t have to stay there, or would you rather conduct this interview from the top of the stairs?”

It sounded like an invitation to speak, but Aster knew better than to take it. Overseers were known for their skills with words, and many had a penchant for cruelty that could rival even their subordinates. She would see the true colors of this stranger in due time, but today, she was not in the mood to poke the proverbial bear.

“Please have a seat.” The Overseer gestured to the empty chair in front of her desk, undeterred by her guests’ silence. “This is not a formal interview, don’t worry.”

Weighing her options, Aster decided that going against an Overseer’s orders would bring more consequence than following her own gut, and took a few tentative steps forward. The Overseer didn’t say anything, simply watching and waiting, perhaps even observing. She fully descended down the small set of stairs, walked across the office, and carefully lowered herself into the chair. It was unpleasantly scratchy through her gown and she shifted uncomfortably, careful to not pin her own tail between her rear and the seat.

“I am Overseer Kira Brynn,” the Overseer said politely, carrying the same formal tone as the other, “Starting today, I will be taking over the operations of Project Panacea for the foreseeable future.” Her somewhat begrudging tone was preferable to the sick enthusiasm Caro had shown years ago. “Would you prefer to go by name or number?”

“I don’t have a name, ma’am.”

“Please don’t call me ma’am, this place has already aged me enough.” The Overseer’s voice lacked any humor, but there was also a lack of coldness as she regarded Aster with a look of calm stoicism. “Just call me Kira.”

“Okay.”

“I’m just going to call you Aster, if you’re okay with that. It’s less syllables that way.”

“Okay.”

Kira regarded her oddly, but it was brief, and she leaned back in her seat, opening a thin file and flipping through some of the papers inside.

“So you’re the Antichrist, huh?” Kira hummed, intrigued. “I’ll be honest, you’re not what I expected at all.”

“I’ve been told that I’m underwhelming for one, yes. I’m not quite what one would imagine when they think ‘Man of Sin’, ‘The Profane and Wicked Prince’, ‘The False Prophet’, to name a few. I’m about as good at weaving a false prophecy as I am at holding a job.”

“You’re pretty chill for the literal Antichrist.”

“I know better than to act out in front of an Overseer.”

“Well, you seem to have a clean record,” Kira said, looking down at the file, then back up to Aster, “apart from... biting off two of Dr. Caro’s fingers. And the twenty escape attempts, all ending in temporary termination.”

The memories came flooding back. She had been ten years younger and a lot more ornery back then, and Caro hadn’t even asked before sticking his fingers where they didn’t belong. Put your hand in the monkey cage, and expect to get bit, son.

The escape attempts… Well, how else was she supposed to react, after that horrible first day?

But she could not say that to an Overseer’s face.

“I choked,” was all Aster said in response, even throwing in a shrug.

“Uh-huh.” Judging by her tone, the Overseer didn’t believe such a claim, but if she doubted Aster’s defense, she didn’t let it show. “It also says here that you were born anomalous, but your powers didn’t manifest until your first death during the 2013 murder case. The one involving the college student.”

“Sebastian.” It came out stiff and quiet. “His name was Sebastian.”

The Overseer paused, looking her over, and then settled back in her seat, unperturbed by the sudden change in tone.

“Sorry. I guess I should’ve expected that it would be a sore topic for you.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you feel like continuing, or should we schedule this for another time?”

Usually, the other Overseers would have tried to push her more, always shouting when she spoke too quietly and berating and barraging her with demands and questions and criticisms. One had even struck her when she made a comment about human trafficking.

“... I can keep going,” she said. 

“Okay.” Kira closed the folder, leaning back in her chair like she was about to take a nap. “Tell me a little about yourself.”

What do you want to know? That I’ve killed three-hundred people? That I don’t want to be here and hate every single one of you? That I’m just a sacrificial avatar for an evil devil house? Or do you just want the lies that everyone else wants to hear?

“Well…” Aster looked down at her hands, which had begun to worry at her gown. “My biomass heals people. People also go crazy when they’re around me and then they eat me, but they haven’t died yet so maybe they have to do violent stuff to me for it to actually work? I dunno.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what you were thinking when they told you I’m the Antichrist, but I don’t think I have, like, world-ending powers or anything—”

“I am aware of all that, don’t worry. I’ve read the assigned materials.” Kira politely held up a hand to silence her. “I meant you as a person. Who exactly am I working with?”

Whatever pre-rehearsed answer Aster had died on her tongue, because that was a question Aster had never been able to perfect an answer to. All Overseers only wanted to hear what they wanted to hear, which could be boiled down to complete submission and complicity. She could do that, that was second nature by this point, but coming up with answers on the fly… That was a much more demanding task. 

“I’m company property,” Aster replied, keeping her voice as level and hollow as she could, “I don’t have dreams, or goals, or desires that aren’t related to the well-being of Urbanshade.” 

“Am I talking to you?” Kira asked, twirling her pen around her finger. Her eyes gleamed with a rare kind of skepticism that the other Overseers lacked. “Or am I talking to Mr. Shade?”

“Me.”

“Bullshit.”

Shit, this Overseer is actually smart, Aster thought.

“I’m not lying, Miss Brynn,” she continued, hoping her confusion would not betray her. If this was some kind of test, then she was not about to let this newcomer see her fail. “My loyalties have been to the company for as long as I’ve been aware of my servitude to them. I did not know anything beforehand, but now that I do—”

“I am not questioning your loyalties,” Kira interrupted, still calm and composed, “I just want to form my own opinion about you.”

Ah, fuck it, I’ve got nothing to gain or lose here. Might as well just play into her game.

“... I like music, I guess.”

“Okay.” Kira nodded. “What kind? I’m kind of a rock person myself.”

“I just liked what I thought sounded good to me. Never really had a favorite genre.”

“Anything else?”

“I guess I liked drawing. Playing in the woods behind the house. Animals.” She shrugged, feigning indifference. “There wasn’t much to do with my life, all things considered.”

“How was your childhood?”

“Oh, you know,” Aster said, shrugging. “Loving parents.”

A bottle shattered against the side of her face, carving through her skin and leaving bloody cuts behind. A cold voice shouted that she was not his child, not hers, not anyone’s. A cold, tense silence barely filled by the talk on TV.

“You’ve ruined me.”

“Lots of friends.”

A hand roughly tangled itself in her hair, painfully yanking at her scalp as she was face-first into the mud, cruel jeering filling her ears as they threw their cruel playground names at her. Side-eyed glares followed her in the halls as shoulders pulled away. The fever pitch of a chase, trees flying past her as hands grabbed at her arms and the back of her shirt.

“A promising future.”

Rejection slip after rejection slip. Her counselor said in a disinterested voice, “You’ll be lucky to be a fast food worker at this rate.” She believed him. Soon, the only thing she could trade for payment was her body, because no one seemed to want anything else, and even then they always said that they were unimpressed. Maybe this was her calling. It seemed to be the only one that worked.

“You know,” Aster said, shrugging nonchalantly, “Typical kid and teenager stuff. I can’t think of anything particularly interesting.”

A pause.

“Well, I did hear about that big fire, but I left a little before then. Only heard about it a few days after I…” Ran away. “After I started getting my footing.”

“I see.” Kira looked back at the file, clearly not believing Aster’s brief description of her life, and then picked up her mug and took a sip. “So you never had any friends at all?”

Harsh.

“Sebastian was my friend.”

Kira choked on whatever she was drinking in her mug. Thankfully, she didn’t spit it onto Aster’s face.

“P-pardon?”

“I was friends with Sebastian, back in college.” 

“Like, the kid from the murder case? You knew him personally?”

“I did. He was a good guy.” She cast a look up at Kira, eyes narrowing. “He never hurt me. He’s the only person who never wanted to, no matter what his shitty, backstabbing lawyer said on the news—”

“I was not accusing him of such. Just making sure.” Kira’s voice did not lose its calm tone, but something in her eyes seemed different. Softer. Maybe pity? “With no accusations attached, how close were you with Sebastian? Were you two just friends or—?”

Yeah, no, not delving into those memories right now.

“Never went further than just being friends,” Aster said quickly.

“I see,” Kira said with a voice that indicated that she did not, in fact, see. “Well, I will keep this in mind for decisions regarding your future within this program.”

“Why are you asking me all this?” Despite Kira’s convincing act, Aster couldn’t beat down the growing sapling of doubt that sunk its roots into her stomach. Things were going way too smoothly. “You really shouldn’t be making small talk with the experiments you’re about to oversee.”

“It’s quite simple, actually. As you’ve seen, the Lower Decks is, pardon my French, in fucking shambles. Its previous Overseer was an irresponsible idiot who cared more about indulging in his own sadism. Dr. Caro is too unorthodox, unpredictable, and way too ambitious. Their combined ‘leadership’ has brought this project to near-ruin. If Caro continues to be enabled, this project will fail, and we’ll all be terminated. I’m here to clean up the mess, and I’ll need your help to make that happen.”

“So I’m just a pawn in your attempt to get Caro out and take control?” Aster raised an eyebrow. Kira’s expression did not betray any guilt, but it did not deny the accusation.

“Caro never held authority or an official Overseer rank, and he no longer holds authority over Project Panacea. His behavior has been detrimental to the project’s success, and by proxy, the success and reputation of the Lower Decks. Besides, I don’t think you want him around any more than I do.”

Do I? Aster thought about it for a moment. Well, I wouldn’t complain if he somehow vanished…

“You got me there, but what about your actual boss?” The room temperature shifted with the topic, a deep chill creeping into the air and brushing along Aster’s neck. “Do you really think someone like him will just… let you do this?”

“Mr. Shade is a man who is business-oriented first. He doesn’t need to be happy about it, just satisfied with the spoils, and if he’s happier with what comes of this then what Caro’s been churning out, then it’s all the better for everyone. I am new as an Overseer, but I am more than familiar with how the Lower Decks work, believe me.”

“You don’t understand, Urbanshade won’t—”

“I know how Urbanshade works,” Kira interrupted, and to Aster’s surprise, huffed a soft, hollow laugh, pointing at one of her eyes. “Do you really think my eyes were always pink? But I also know that they are growing desperate for your immortality, and at this point, even they know that they have nothing to lose in trying something new. That desperation is the key to our success.”

Aster did not reply to that, simply looking down at her hands.

“Starting tomorrow, harvest rates will be reduced to twice a week. I have also been thinking of selecting a personal guard since the ones down here are so fucking incompetent—”

“Isn’t this going against the entire purpose of the project, though?”

“The mission of the project is primarily to find a way to gain immortality from your biomass,” Kira said. 

“Tell that to everyone else. Nothing’s changed ever since I’ve gotten here. They take stuff, but I don’t even know if they use it or not.”

“Another reason why Caro needs to remain out of this office. Ever since Caro took control, the quality of the harvested materials has shown signs of contamination, probably due to the small windows of time between harvests, as well as the conditions you’re kept in. Urbanshade is wealthy, but that’s just about all it has going for it. They act without thinking, and their cruelty overshadows their intellect considerably. A waste of immense potential, and an inconvenience for the man in charge of the operation.”

“So what you’re saying is that they’re stupid.”

“I would’ve used a stronger word, but yes, I am saying that they are stupid.”

Oh thank god, Aster thought, Someone finally said it.

“Throwing in a personal guard will also help me monitor you and ensure that Caro does not attempt to meddle with the rehabilitation process or act out of line. I already have an argument to bring up with Mr. Shade when I deliver the proposal, and I will be personally looking for suitable candidates.”

Aster stared down at the desk, her mind racing a mile a second. What Kira was offering her, experiments on the Upper Decks could probably only dream of, if the woman was being genuine. The only way out of the nightmare of being an LR-P was a promotion to MR-P status, and even that wouldn’t promise one’s safety. By all accounts, she should’ve been grateful for such an opportunity, but…

“Why are you doing this for me?”

Kira blinked, but there was no anger on her face as she processed the answer given, only confusion. 

“I thought you would be happier about this offer, Aster.”

“I don’t deserve something like this.”

“What makes you think that?”

“People have died because of me,” she said quietly, “I caused Sebastian’s death. Even if I’m not a very good Antichrist, I’m still, well, the Antichrist. I know Urbanshade’s whole thing is defying the Almighty, but—”

“You’re not the one who killed Sebastian, the justice system is to blame for that.” Kira leaned forward, crossing her arms in front of her. “What’s happened to you down here doesn’t erase the fact that you’re still a person—”

“But I’m not a person. I’m just a blood bank, and even if it’s not the most dignified purpose in the world, it’s…” It’s the only thing they’ve left me with. “... It’s at least a purpose. And if you change things the way you want to, you’ll only get hurt, or they’ll twist you onto their side eventually. Trust me.”

The silence was only broken by the muffled rumble of Trenchbleeder Lucy’s thunderous steps as she passed by, dust raining down from the ceiling as she rumbled through the still waters of the Let-Vand Zone. Kira looked up, mouth opening as if she was about to say something, but then her eyes drifted to the space behind Aster, and her expression turned sour. 

“Ah, shit…”

“I don’t believe that conversing with Z-777-7 is your jurisdiction, Brynn.”

A cold, leathery hand rested on her shoulder, and Aster swallowed the disgusted jolt that shot down her spine. Dr. Caro’s crisp white lab coat flowed into the corner of her peripheral as he stood tall and proud for a man in his mid-70s, looking down on both women with an air of entitled superiority. His eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses as they fell on Kira, and Aster got the distinct impression that he did not like his new superior.

“It’s Overseer Brynn to you, Doctor,” Kira said, her calm politeness shed in favor of cold diplomacy. She returned Caro’s half-lidded look, her posture neither sagging in submission or tensing in defiance. “And I don’t believe barging into my office falls into your jurisdiction, either.”

“I was just worried about you. I know this new position can be stressful for a young, inexperienced mind such as yours—”

“Spare me the ass-kissing, old man." Kira snapped sharply, cutting him off, “We both know how you feel about me.”

The false air of respect died instantly. Dr. Caro’s grip on Aster’s shoulder tightened painfully, and she winced as dirty nails dug through the thin layer of fabric between them and her skin. Caro’s attention, however, remained on Kira.

“This project will be a waste under someone like you. You are too forgiving, too passive. I don’t know what Mr. Shade sees in you.” The old man snorted. “Especially since you’re not Urbanshade material in the slightest.”

“I think this project will be better under me, actually. Your methods have brought all progress to a snail’s crawl at best, and let’s not forget who’s sitting at the Overseer’s desk.”

“This thing’s sole purpose is to ensure the longevity of this company. It is what it was born for, and if we have to rip it apart to succeed, then so be it. I am willing to make the necessary sacrifices to see Mr. Shade’s vision through, even if it comes with… setbacks.” Aster bit down a hiss as Caro’s nails broke her skin. “And I won’t let my hard work be ruined because the new Overseer is too soft to see these visions through.”

“Oh, I'm anything but soft, Caro.” The Overseer’s tone was sharper than Dr. Caro’s sharpest tools. “I just so happen to have ideas that will actually yield results. Don’t think I don’t know about your disaster with Mr. Sutcliff last week. What did he tell you? ‘If this is the best you can offer, then I would say that it’s not the only one that should be terminated’?”

“This is a matter of life and death, but I suppose I shouldn’t have expected a Syndicate girl to understand the grand scale of Urbanshade’s glorious ambitions. I would’ve thought someone from that lot would at least understand what is at stake here, but I guess my expectations were too high.”

Now that was news to Aster. “The Syndicate” was a name that had been thrown around a handful of times through the years, and from what she had managed to gather from context clues, they were some kind of rival organization that acted against Urbanshade, and judging by the ever-present tension surrounding the name, they were not an easy adversary to have. 

Was Kira a traitor? That was the only way she could see Urbanshade granting someone who used to be affiliated with an enemy group a position of power. The thought made her heart sink a little.

And she seemed nice, too.

“And I expected a doctor of your intellect to know better than to act on his own greed instead of following Mr. Shade’s orders,” Kira replied without missing a beat, “But I guess I shouldn’t expect much from back-alley trash.”

Despite her changed opinions on her new superior, Aster nearly choked as Caro's face contorted into one of pure indignation, but his furious sputtering was ignored as Kira turned to her, nodding politely.

“Thank you for answering my questions, Z-777-7. I am looking forward to working with you towards actual betterment for humanity.” Her attention shifted back to Caro. “Tomorrow I will be implementing the new schedule for the harvests, and if I find out that you have gone against orders, I will have you demoted to being Z-317’s personal tank cleaner. Am I understood?”

“You don’t have the right to—”

“Am I understood.”

There was no room left for debate, and to Aster’s surprise, a hint of unease wormed its way into Caro’s expression as Kira continued to stare him down. He opened his mouth as if to attempt an argument, but her gaze intensified and he could only grit his teeth, lowering his head.

“Understood,” he choked out after a moment, “Overseer.”

Kira nodded, grimly satisfied, but before Caro could herd Aster out the door, she spoke up again.

“Wait.”

Aster paused, turning back, and when her gaze met Kira’s, the other woman seemed to relax, just a little.

“Urbanshade is well-equipped in dealing with the supernatural; they've been doing it for decades. But for the time being, focus on honing your abilities and recovering from harvests. Leave destroying Z-3 to us.”

If only it were that easy.

“I appreciate it, Miss Brynn, I really do,” Aster said, nodding in acknowledgement, “But you can’t destroy that thing. He won’t allow it.”

“Who?”

“I think you already know who.”

The two women stared at each other for a moment, and then Aster was dragged back out into the real world, the door closing behind her and leaving her alone with Dr. Caro.

The walk back to the chamber was done in silence, and it’s only when Caro and the guards left that she dared to let herself move of her own volition, turning onto her back to stare up at the darkness that went on forever.

Don’t get excited. She’ll figure out what you did soon enough, and she’ll be like everyone else. No one’s coming to save your ass. 

But what if she does manage to pull it off? she wondered, What then? 

Don’t be stupid, reason scolded, They’ll kill her if what she’s planning works. Besides, you know what will happen if they get what they want. Once they find that out, they’ll finally start finding ways to kill you, and then this will all be over.

She thought about the parking lot. She thought about the rain that collects in the dips in the asphalt soaking her socks. She thought about the flash of red in her vision and the explosion of pain in her back before numbness took over. She thought about the rain and the smell of dirt and death. The newspaper. The rain. The taste of alcohol. The rain. The sound of a door closing. The rain.

What would he think of me now? She stared up into the darkness, through to the ceiling that barred her from the rest of the Blacksite. What would you think of me now? Would you feel sorry for me again? Would you hate me for wasting the last of your time? For not fighting harder?

I promise I tried. I really, really tried.

But trying isn’t enough. 

You know damn well that was never going to be enough.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to put the block back up, but it was too late to stop it. She drowned in the memories, the ones that made her throat tight even if she didn’t have any tears left to shed. Even if she never deserved it, even if the consequences ultimately outweighed the cons…

Don’t, she thought bitterly, her hand closing on the front of her gown. You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself after you ruined his life.

It had been twelve years since she’d last seen his face, but it was all fresh and lingering like a newly-opened wound now, re-opened by the interview and growing bigger with each memory that passed through her mind. The absence had festered into a physical ache in her chest that made all the vivisections and beatings feel like a lover’s tender kiss by comparison. All the things she never got to say had laid dormant on the tip of her tongue, only silenced by the ingrained truth that she would never get to say them in the first place.

I’m sorry.

She thought of the dim glow of city lights through a small dorm window. She thought of the smell of pine trees and mountains that seemed to stretch along the distant horizon like the back of some great beast. She thought about the sound of the ocean that carried over the rooftops of houses, the ever-present tint of sea salt that hung in the air. She thought about the lake that flowed in from the sea, its crystal-clear waters splashing lazily against worn pebbles and exposed roots, the boardwalk creaking softly, the waves lapping against its supports like friendly puppies.

Thank you.

Black hair tangling in her fingers. Calloused hands that never hurt resting on her cheek in the dark. Songs by bands she’d never heard of blasting over a car radio as the wind blasted past her face, not loud enough to drown out the bass boom. The faintest taste of beer on her lips, something she never thought she’d miss so much. The crook of a neck where her face and head always seemed to fit perfectly, like it had been made just for her. A soft voice saying she had every right to live, singing in her ear to chase the shadows away. A smile that let her experience what Heaven probably felt like.

I love you. 

Something crawled out of her throat, a soft hum of a song that had laid dormant in the back of her mind for years. The more she 

You don’t have to feel the same.

For the first time in a decade, the quiet of the chamber was broken by the brittle whisper of song.

Chapter Text

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.”

Turning her head up to the gathered group before her, Aster spat at the feet of the man sitting in the wheelchair. Her spit was stained red. Whether it was from the beating she had taken or what she had done to warrant said beating was up in the air.

“Go fuck yourself,” she muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

The old man didn’t flinch at her tone, but his mouth tightened a little. Behind him, the guards moved to grab their weapons, but a single wave of a wrinkly, bone-thin hand called them off. Dr. Caro glared balefully at her from over his boss’s shoulder, his hand wrapped in a red-stained cloth.

How this bald, wrinkly pile of ash managed to still be the head of Urbanshade, Aster would never know. What she did know is that he was just as ugly as he was the day she first saw him, ashy-skinned with empty black eyes leering out from a face marred by deep, jagged scars running from the top of his head to his chin. He was dressed in his usual attire, a black suit and a white undershirt, complimented by a blood-red tie.

“This is unbecoming of someone your age, Z-777-7,” Mr. Shade said in a low, raspy voice that oozed with superiority. It was enough to make her blood boil. “I expected better from you than this.”

“My name is Aster,” she said sharply.

“Aster Hawkins isn’t a real person, just an alias to avoid issues when priming you for harvesting. Now, I usually don’t allow such transgressions against my staff to slide, but seeing as your case is… special, I am willing to allow amnesty in exchange for an apology.” He rested his hands in his lap, looking down at her expectantly. “I’m sure you can manage something that simple.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Aster said, putting on a serene, plastic smile as she turned to peer over Mr. Shade’s shoulder at Dr. Caro. “I’m sorry I didn’t take off your whole arm.”

Caro started to say something, but Mr. Shade silenced him with a look. He returned his gaze to Aster, and despite the intimidating air he gave off, she felt nothing but anger as she met his gaze.

“You did not have to bite two of his fingers off.”

“I choked,” Aster replied.

“We both know you didn’t. Even when you were mimicking a child, you never had a gag reflex.” Mr. Shade sighed. “I know you were left alone for a year, but that does not give you the right to suddenly act like a child. There are expectations you must meet, and it is of utmost importance that you can meet them. I can assure you that despite your… reservations, this project has been many, many years in the making. I have put countless dollars into the best equipment, procuring the best properties, hiring—”

“Criminals in lab coats?” Aster interrupted.

“... They are still good with their jobs, and valuable to Urbanshade’s mission statement.” Mr. Shade’s brow twitched. “I am an opportunist. I collect the blisters and bedrock of the world, and—”

“Put them in positions of unregulated power that allow their sadistic and kinda fucked up tendencies to rage out of control?” Aster piped up again. 

“I wish you would understand that we are not your enemy. Our mission is to find uses in the anomalous, to comb the shadows for any specks of light, and deliver them to the public. Everything that happens within our jurisdiction is all for the benefit of humanity.” The rest of the staff nodded in agreement. “Everything we do down here is for the—”

“Don’t bother with the ‘greater good’ speech. I know you all only care about money.”

“I can assure you, Antichrist, that what has been done to you so far is done in the utmost kindness, so I believe that a little gratitude is in order,” Mr. Shade hissed, a knife-sharp edge snapping into his voice. “If you are any smarter than your predecessors, then you will not try to make an enemy out of me.”

“You’ve been giving me grief ever since I was a baby. I think we’re past that point by now.”

“You’re dangerously close, actually,” Mr. Shade muttered through gritted teeth, before taking a deep breath and easing back into his wheelchair. “But I am a forgiving man—”

“Bullshit.”

“— And I would like it if we were able to form an amicable partnership going forward. The advancement of humanity’s medicine depends on it.” He clasped his hands together in his lap again, as if in prayer, and leaned forward slightly. “Now tell me, Z-777-7, what is it about my work that fails to impress you?”

Aster blinked, wondering if the events that had led to her being brought down here had caused hearing damage. 

“... What?” she asked, not hiding the incredulousness in her tone. Surely this geriatric mummy wasn’t asking her to be impressed with the acts of cruelty she had witnessed before they dragged her back down into this dump, right? There was no way anyone could be that arrogant.

“Over the course of your stay here in the Hadal Blacksite, you have been shown a menagerie of things that would’ve only existed in fiction. Most of my clientele have been impressed with what we have been able to procure down here alone, and yet you remain the only person to remain not even awed by my life’s work, and that truly hurts this old soul.”

Is he actually serious? Aster thought. There’s no way he’s actually—

“I take my work very seriously. I have put a lot into building this company from the ground up. So I ask you this: what is it about my life’s work that fails to impress you?”

Oh my god, he’s actually serious.

“I guess I’m just not impressed with human and wildlife trafficking.” Aster shrugged, tail flicking slightly against the chain weighing it down. “That, and if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were all trying to play God instead of ‘better humanity’.”

The Blacksite rumbled. The soldiers shifted uneasily, but Mr. Shade remained still.

“It is not—”

“‘Human trafficking. A criminal activity in which people are recruited, harbored, transported, bought, or kidnapped to serve an exploitative purpose, such as sexual slavery, forced labor, or child soldiery.’” She looked into those dark eyes, unflinching. “But your doctors don’t know the difference between a dissection and a vivisection, so with all due respect, I guess I was expecting too much out of you to know the meaning of the term.”

“You’re making things seem worse than they are.”

“I would consider taking people, faking their deaths and experimenting on them so they can be sold out to the military or whatever to be an ‘exploitative purpose’.”

“We only take in criminals.”

“Yeah, uh-huh, keep telling yourself that.”

“What we do here in Urbanshade is for the greater good. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“You had their pardons with their fucking files. Also, I’m twenty. I think I’m at least old enough to understand a war crime when I see one.”

“Even if the public now knows, there is no point in wasting your energy over something so pointless. The boy you saw will probably die in the next year and no one will suspect anything, it happens all the time. Get over it.” Those coal-black eyes narrowed slightly with amusement. “Why waste your energy over someone who doesn’t even matter?”

“That’s rich,” Aster muttered, not really thinking, “Coming from a guy using his dead wife’s voice for that stupid machine.”

Mr. Shade gave a faint nod and pain exploded in Aster’s shoulder as one of the guards fired a shot directly at her. She didn’t scream, but she couldn’t bite down a stiff wince of pain as she clutched her bleeding collarbone.

“Dr. Caro, I am giving you direct permission to do whatever you deem necessary to accelerate the progress of this project.” Even if the tone hadn’t changed, the cold menace from it almost made Aster shudder, and Mr. Shade turned to the Elite Guardsman present. “Tell your men that order goes for all of them as well. Use this one as you see fit, as long as you meet the quotas. I want to see this one bleed.”

The guardsmen blinked, but nodded, and one of them hurried off. Mr’ Shade rolled forward, and she hissed as another one of his escorts grabbed her by the back of her head and lifted her up, and she shuddered as cold, wrinkled lips brushed against her ear as he leaned forward.

“I do hope you decide to be more cooperative going forward, Z-777-7,” Mr. Shade said calmly, his voice sliding into her like a snake. “Without us, you would be nothing more than the result of your mother’s carelessness, just a parasite leeching off of an innocent couple who wanted no part in raising you. You belong to us, and we’ve fine-tuned our contingency plans to the finest letter to ensure that we can keep you.” 

Wrinkled lips curled into a smile against her cheek, and Aster felt a lump of disgust well up in her throat. 

“We are the reason you live and breathe now, and after all that has been sacrificed, I would appreciate a little gratitude for all the trouble we’ve gone through to make this purpose of yours a reality.” Cold and unwavering, the old man continued to rasp. “You were born for this, and there is nothing you can do to change what is about to happen to you.”

Mr. Shade gave a light flick of his fingers, and the guard dropped Aaster hard onto the floor. The taste of blood exploded in her mouth as she felt her upper teeth cut her lip, and she pushed herself up on her good arm to glare up at the old man.

“Let this be a reminder of where you now stand thanks to your bad behavior. I can do anything I want to you just as much as I can with any other anomaly or entity and nothing and no one will stop me.” The smile twisted into a ghoulish sneer. “And I suggest you watch what you say. A good woman should not speak unless told to, after all.” 

“... Fuck you,” she choked, hissing as pain stabbed through her wounded shoulder.

“I will be making regular check-ins on your progress, but for now, your life is in the hands of the doctor and his crew. Go ahead and try to escape all you want. Throw tantrums like a spoiled child, pitch a fit, do whatever you wish. That won’t change that you belong to Urbanshade, and for as long as we’ll have you, we’ll never let you go.” 

Turning, Mr. Shade let the guard wheel him over the catwalk, another handing him his coat. Before he could reach the door, he held up his hand to stop, turning back to look at her. “I do hope you don’t disappoint me like the others have.”

Kira lifted her head from the papers on her desk, blinking as she felt a spot of drool on the corner of her mouth. The exhaustion seemed to be messing with her head, because the last time she checked, the PR system was not to be used for anything outside of work announcements and summons.

She paints her fingers with a close precision

He starts to notice empty bottles of gin

And takes a moment to assess the sin she's paid for

She rubbed her eyes, feeling a yawn bubble in the back of her throat. Work had been rather draining as of late, and her altercation with Caro had left her feeling especially worn out, as he usually did whenever she had to deal with him. She started to return to her work, eager to finish early and get some sleep before anything else happened, but then the speakers hummed again, and this time, she could clearly hear a voice through the static.

A lonely speaker in a conversation

Her words are swimming through his ears again

There's nothing wrong with just a taste of what you paid for

Kira blinked. The voice was faint, but familiar. She strained her ears, and faintly, she could hear a rhythmic clinking of metal chains.

Say what you mean, tell me I'm right

And let the sun rain down on me

Give me a sign, I wanna believe

While the initial verse was weaker, each word seemed to grant the singer some strength, becoming a quiet but clear melody, strong and controlled and— dare she think it— angelic. It spread through the halls of the Lower Decks, and in the distance, she could hear the sound of Caro’s enraged shouting. However, it was as thought she was under some kind of spell, eyes glued to the corner of the ceiling from which the voice emanated.

Golden light flickered in the corner of her eye, and Kira turned and nearly jumped out of her seat as something began to slither out of the wall below the speaker. It was thin, barely any thicker than a strand of yarn, and waved and undulated like it was suspended in water. A bright golden glow like sunlight emanated from the strange tendril as it weaved and swayed in front of Kira’s face, and she saw that more had joined it, the strands flowing amongst each other as golden flowers began to sprout from the walls, glimmering particles of that same light rising from the glassy petals.

Whoa oh oh oh oh, Mona Lisa

You're guaranteed to run this town

Whoa oh oh oh oh, Mona Lisa

I'd pay to see you frown

The voice continued to rise, the song pouring out into the halls and rising higher still, infiltrating the speakers of the Upper Decks and even the submarine bay on topside, a belting choir that rose into the roaring blizzard that raged over the fjords. Maybe, Kira thought, it could get through the blinded heavens themselves. Maybe it would even call down some angels to fix this entire mess.

But that would be wishful thinking. Even God themself wouldn’t be coming down here any time soon. Not like they even knew what was going on, with what had happened to the Banland’s moon years back.

The Lower Decks were in an uproar outside, and Kira tore her eyes away from the light show in her office. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening, and she felt a twinge of unease as her mind began to race. It was an impossible conclusion to come to, but a glance at the flowers did little to convince her otherwise.

He senses something, call it desperation

Another dollar, another day

And if she had the proper words to say

She would tell him

But she'd have nothing left to sell hi-

Almost as if on cue, the song was cut off by a hard thud that echoed over the speakers, and she heard the vague angry shout of a guard and another thud before the sound cut out immediately. In the time it took to blink, the threads retracted back into the walls and flickered out of existence, and the flowers withered and cracked into glowing dust before they too vanished.

Back in reality, Kira sighed and stood up, pushing the papers aside for later, and headed out to stop the guards from killing their precious ward once again. The thoughts that had begun to take root in her mind were pushed into the furthest reaches, but still they lingered, seeding a suspicion in her that, as impossible as it should’ve been, was very hard to dispute.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Overseer?”

“I was never into getting with someone, so no. I slept with a couple of people when I was younger, but nothing more serious than that.”

“Why?”

“Just never clicked for me, I guess. The human mind is funny like that. Some people like relationships and feel that draw, some don’t, and some feel it differently. The world has changed a lot since you were brought down here.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

It had become a regular occurrence for Kira to personally check in on Aster, usually for no more than half an hour, and the talks, however short they were, were a welcome distraction from the numbing boredom that filled the hours that weren't filled with pain. Her new warden was oddly conversational with her compared to the cold and clipped attitude she took up with the other staff.

“What about you?” Kira asked, continuing to tamper with the controls for the catwalk, “I know you said that you and Sebastian never went beyond just friends, and I am familiar with what happened back when you were living with the cult, but have you ever been in love with anyone? Or at the very least, had an intimate relationship with someone.”

“I have.”

Kira raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? What was he like? Or was it a ‘she’?”

“It was a guy.”

“What was he like?”

“He was… sweet. Very awkward and kind of crass, but sweet in a clumsy sort of way, you know?” She adjusted herself, the cold floor pressing against her shoulder. “He was kind, and gentle, and funny, too.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “And damn, was he handsome, but, like, in a pretty way—”

“It was Sebastian, wasn’t it.”

If she had been called out that quickly twelve years ago, Aster would have felt absolutely mortified by how easily Kira read her, but now, she only felt an odd sense of relief, if not a little embarrassment at how quickly the Overseer had been to figure it out.

“I’m not that subtle, am I,” she mumbled sheepishly.

“I suppose I had a hunch when you mentioned it,” Kira said with a shrug, “But I didn’t want to assume just in case I was wrong.” She went back to tampering with the controls. “I’m guessing he made you pretty happy if you miss him this much.”

“I mean, he was the first person to ever treat me like a person, you know? He never cut me open or hit me or said mean things to me or—” She paused. “I think that was the first time I ever wanted to be close to someone. I was happy with the weird friends-with-benefits thing we had going on but I guess I got greedy, and then he got killed.”

“Aster,” Kira said, “What you’re describing definitely went deeper than a ‘friends-with-benefits thing’. Even I can tell you her horrendously down bad for that man.”

You wouldn’t know the half of it, lady.

“Not that it matters now. He’d hate what I am now. Just some spineless, hopeless mess that’s helping horrible people live forever.” She dropped her head down against the floor. “Some friend I turned out to be.”

Silence returned to the chamber, and Aster listened as Kira continued to work, cutting and replacing wires and tightening screws, and then when she came back up again, she leaned back against the side of the controls, wiping sweat off her brow despite the chill in the air.

“How do you feel about it?”

“About what?” Aster asked.

“About… this. About the project, about…” An awkward pause, as though Kira didn’t know how to word it. “... About Urbanshade. Were you familiar with them before they got you?”

“I’d heard about them in passing. Me and Sebastian saw them at a job fair once.” Aster couldn’t stop a bitter chuckle from escaping her at the memory. “I was terrified, but he made a joke about wanting to die before he ever worked for people like them, and at the time I felt better.” Her tail curled around her leg. “It’s not very funny anymore.”

“How do you feel about how they treat you?”

Aster pushed herself up onto her elbows, blinking at the question. “How do I…?”

I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I HATE IT—

“Aster?” Kira asked, sitting up.

“... I don’t really care anymore.”

“You’re allowed to be angry about it. You wouldn’t be the only one.”

“People die when I get angry. I don’t want to kill more people. Besides, isn’t the company motto ‘Urbanshade Knows Best’?” 

“I’m not a snitch.”

Yeah, like I’m falling for this that easily. Shifting so she could turn gingerly onto her other side, Aster looked at Kira quizzically, tilting her head slightly. “What about you? What brought you to Urbanshade? You’re clearly miserable working with them, so I don’t think you just chose to switch organizations on a whim.”

She tensed at Kira’s sudden stillness, but there was no offense or tension in her stance. Instead, she simply stood, silent, gaze locked on something far away that only she could see. The chamber creaked, the metal pipes groaning under the strain of age.

“We all have choices to make,” said Kira after a moment, “Mine just so happened to lead me here. I am not happy with where I have ended up, but I do not entirely regret it.”

“What do you mean?”

For a second, it seemed like Kira was about to say something, but then the chamber doors creaked open, and the sound of Caro’s insufferable ranting echoed through the vast room. Aster reflexively tensed at the sound, and Kira sighed tiredly.

“I’ll tell you later. You should rest.” Kira paused, then reached into her bag and placed something on the floor in front of her. “Here. This is one of the Imaginary Friend remotes that was rejected from the batch. Figured it would be better than just listening to the Trenchbleeders stomp around all day.”

“Thank you.”

 “One more thing, just real quick before I go,” Kira added as she hit the button to extend the catwalk. “Your first death… Who really killed you?”

It was an unpleasant question, even with the lack of malice behind it. Aster could never forget the doubt cast on her when she first voiced her account of what had truly happened that night, and the deceit and betrayal that had been born from her absence.

“It wasn’t a human,” she said quietly, “Its smile was too big, and it had too many teeth and it was way stronger than a human. It was in a human body, but I promise it wasn’t a person who did it.”

“I can believe you on that. Would you like me to also look into it? If it was some kind of demon or monster, I’m in the right place to search for answers.”

What’s that going to do? Not like it will undo everything that happened.

But I guess it would be nice to know.

“It wouldn’t bring Sebastian back, or undo what happened to him,” Aster mumbled, “But I guess the closure wouldn’t kill me.”

“Very well. Do you need anything else?”

“I am a little hungry.”

“I can have the guards bring you something. Get some sleep in the meantime. And Aster?”

“Hm?”

“I am… sorry about Sebastian, really. I hope what the Syndicate did for you brought you a little peace.”

“I didn’t do that for me. I just hope his family’s doing okay.” She sat up, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Be careful, Overseer.”

“You as well.”

Kira bid Aster goodbye, and herded a raving Dr. Caro out of the chamber, closing the door and swamping her in darkness once again. Her fingers found the red remote, and she fiddled with the button, but she didn’t press it yet. 

For now, the silence would be enough.

“You did what?”

“Calm yourself. It’s unbecoming of you to lose your composure over something so menial like this.”

It would have been nice, so very nice, to shed all professionalism and just tell Dr. Caro to shut the fuck up, maybe even a fire a shot a few centimeters left or right of his ear for extra emphasis, but Kira was an Overseer now so she had to act like one, even if that meant having the patience of a saint in the face of some of the most insufferable people she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.

It had been a few days since her last talk with Aster, and progress had been slower than Kira would have liked. Her assigned subject was easy to deal with, if not a bit awkward to talk to, but Caro and the other Lower Decks staff had been annoyingly insubordinate, acting as though she didn’t know that they would act out when she was not around to reprimand them. Caro in particular had been quite the pain in the ass to deal with, and the worst part was that the staff still looked to him for orders, often using him as a reason to overshadow her own. It was enough to drive a woman mad.

“I am within my rights to enter the subject’s chamber,” she said calmly, refraining from putting her hands around Caro’s throat in front of an entire hallway of people, “There has been no breach of contract or containment.”

“That aside, Z-777-7 is not to have any form of enrichment outside of the tests! You know this!” Caro scolded, wagging a finger at her as though Kira was some child who hadn’t gone over Project Panacea until it had been engraved into her mind. “Are you even taking this seriously? Does it not register to you how important this project is? Are you even aware of what it is?”

“I think keeping Z-777-7 from destroying itself will do more for the project than your attempts to sabotage me will.”

“Your actions will meddle with the data, and—!”

“The data you collected was faulty, Doctor. Imagine the materials you and your men harvested entering the systems of all the staff.” Kira turned and crossed her arms. “We’ve only recently dealt with all the Vacula poisoning risk, not to mention the previous lead poisoning. I am not about to sit through another meeting because of one of your fuck-ups.”

“My—!” Caro sputtered, furious, “We’ve worked so hard to get Z-777-7 to a point where guarding it is barely an issue, and you’re about to undo all that because you feel sorry for it?”

“Harvests have shown vast improvements and the quotas have been met on schedule. Z-777-7 has not shown any hostility or aversion to what your people have been doing to it.” Kira turned and continued walking. “None of your ‘hard work’ is going to come undone because of my Spotify playlist.”

“SPOTIFY?”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Kira said, turning around to give Caro a condescending sneer of her own, “It’s the version with the ads.”

“Regardless,” Caro continued, stepping in front of her and blocking Kira’s path, “I will not let you disrespect Mr. Shade’s word—!”

“There you go again with that. I have not gone against your boss’s word. I have played along with the project. Z-777-7 is still chained up. I’ve even let you continue to harvest at a reasonable rate.” Kira settled for pinching the bridge of her nose to combat the urge to drive her fist into Caro’s face. “Listen, I am not happy about this, either, but I shouldn’t have to babysit a man who’s old enough to be my dad.”

“And I shouldn’t have to act like Syndicate trash is above me.” Caro was suddenly in her face, jabbing a finger at her chest. “The only reason you were even allowed to have this position was because everyone knows you can never leave unless we decide to kill you, and don’t think that you’ll get any grace from me even if you resort to an under-the-table offer like you did with Mr. Shade—”

The entirety of the room probably heard the sound of a thread snapping in Kira’s head.

“I have been tolerant, Caro,” she said, voice a razor’s edge away from being considered a snarl, “But do not think for a second that I will just allow you to disrespect me and the work I put into reaching this position. I know my place and I have been following orders, regardless of where I come from. I would’ve thought that an Urbanshade loyalist would do the same.”

“That thing is the Antichrist. My methods are completely justified.”

“Your methods have been nothing but detrimental to the project, and even Mr. Shade has admitted that to me.” Her tone remained cold, sharp and stable, and she saw Caro flinch. “I will not stand by and let you set an incurable outbreak upon this company and possibly the world over whatever grudge you seem to hold against the subject. If you want your precious immortality, cut the shit, accept that I am your Overseer now, and follow the damn orders I give you. Have I made myself clear.” 

Caro continued to glare, before spitting at Kira’s feet, catching on the tip of her boot. Behind her, one of the staff members gasped.

“You will fail,” Caro hissed, voice oozing with venom, “Your little charity won’t give us what we want, and when you fail, I’ll be the first in line when Mr. Shade allows us to treat you like how all of our war trophies deserve to be treated. Keep sympathizing with Z-777-7 all you want, nothing will change the fact that its existence alone is an abomination, and it deserves everything it ge—”

“This company is allied with the fucking Devil, Caro. What Z-777-7 is doesn’t mean shit.” Kira set her face against his this time, looking into the doctor’s eyes with a baleful magenta glare. “Now fuck off and get back to work.”

Caro huffed and sulked off, and Kira turned to see a few staff lingering, watching her, mouths partially agape. Never had anyone dared to speak back to Caro before, not even the other Overseers. Kira suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

“That order extends to you guys as well,” she snapped, and surprisingly, everyone rushed to find some kind of task, pointedly avoiding eye contact. It was only then that Kira realized her palms were bleeding, her nails pressing deep enough into the skin to break it. 

Hayes Marrowhart, Mr. Shade’s designated eyes on her, was an insufferable, slumming fraud, as Kira’s mentor would say if she met him. With his cigarette-roughened voice, messy brown hair and  permanent snarky smirk, one would not assume he was the grandson of Overseer Cael Marrowhart, Urbanshade’s resident reigning hardass. But he had got his grandfather’s sharp, blue eyes and was a masterful weaver of cover stories if you could pay the price, so the company hired him and put him in PR, where they could use his skills in lying to cover up any public scandals and incidents, and justify whatever deaths that “coincidentally” followed. Hayes Marrowhart could make a mass homicide look like an accident as easily as one breathed, which balanced out his insufferably lax attitude.

Kira was busy bandaging her hands when he entered, two steaming plastic cups clutched in each hand. Already she could smell the excessive amounts of sugar in both of them, and repressed a weary sigh. At this point, she was starting to wonder if he was doing it just to fuck with her.

“Got you some coffee.” A styrofoam cup was placed on her desk and Hayes took a seat on the edge, ignoring the displeased look he got for it. “It gets pretty cold down here, you really should wear your coat more often.”

“I don’t mind the cold, but I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” In the chill of her office, the warmth sent a pleasant buzz up Kira’s arms and into her shoulders and chest as she took the cup from Hayes. To be polite, she drank it, trying not to scrunch her nose at the excessively sweet taste. Not even real sugar, just pure sweetener. “Spare me the false pretenses, Marrowhart. What do you want now?”

“Well, damn, can’t a guy just enjoy his coffee in peace?” Hayes laughed, unbothered by the withering look that was thrown his way. “And here I thought you were one of the Overseers who actually knew how to have fun.”

“I believe your entire purpose for being down here is to make sure I don’t have fun.”

“Okay, damn,” Hayes said, holding up his hands in surrender. Ignoring Kira’s irritated glare, he leaned back on the table and rifled through his pockets before producing a cigarette and a lighter. “Want one?”

“No thanks. I prefer to have intact lungs when Urbanshade inevitably cuts me open for parts.” She took another sip of the tooth-achingly sweet coffee. “But you do whatever. It’s not like I can stop you.”

“Suit yourself,” Hayes said, rolling his eyes with a shrug. The lighter flicked on with a small burst of sparks, and he lit a cigarette and took a deep inhale, blowing the smoke out into the dusty air of the office. “So… How is your little charity going?”

“Are you here to mock me about that?”

“Oh, no, I’m just impressed you can fit the balls it takes to do something like that in your pants.” Lowering his cigarette, Hayes took a sip of his coffee. “You do realize Urbanshade isn’t exactly the right place for chasing a moral high ground, right?”

“What I’m doing is simply logical. Caro’s methods have not worked so far, so maybe change might be the key to the project’s success.” As if anything could make this stupid project actually work. “You’re a smart man, Marrowhart. I’m sure you’ve read the reports correlating to the past progress of this operation. This project would be doomed if we continued with Caro’s methods.”

“I’m just saying that Urbanshade’s not the type to let these little acts of grace pass without pushback.” Hayes puffed a cloud of smoke into the air. “You’re playing a dangerous game by being decent to something they clearly hate. It’s like, Urbanshade 101 that you have to be okay with kicking babies and hitting puppies with sticks.”

“Even so, there are always risks to success. I suppose that’s what adds to the thrill of it.” She feigned a nonchalant shrug. “And the results are good, so why are you complaining about it? The better the report, the better the company, right?”

“Heh, you got me there, I guess.” Hayes leaned back on his hands, looking up at the dust that caught in the light of the ceiling lamp. “I wonder what you’ve got down here, anyway. I didn’t even know this place existed until I got assigned to it. In secret, too.”

“Really?” That did catch Kira off-guard. The Marrowharts were one of Urbanshade’s oldest allies, their partnership having begun at the beginning of the company’s rise to power. “Your grandfather knows about it, so I would’ve assumed—”

“Yeah, well, the old fart never really thought I was ‘Urbanshade material’, y’know?” Hayes’s expression was suspiciously devoid of bitterness as he said that. “Hell, my whole family thought I was the generational screw-up, so I wasn’t let in on more of the family business than they thought was necessary. Can’t let me embarrass them more if I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, right?”

He noticed Kira staring, and as quickly as the mask slipped, it was back on.

“But hey, I’m the one being allowed to monitor this oh-so-special project, so they can all suck it for all I care. I’m just wondering what Mr. Shade’s got cooped up down here that’s so special.”

“It will be revealed in due time.” If he doesn’t decide to kill Aster first. “For now just keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll live long enough to see the big reveal. That would make one of us, at least.”

“So pessimistic. Where’s your whimsy? Where’s your childlike wonder?”

“We work for Urbanshade, Marrowhart.” Standing, Kira stretched and grabbed her bag, heading towards the door. “I’m heading out. If Dr. Caro tries anything, you are to inform me as soon as possible, no matter how menial or drastic it is.”

“And why are you assigning that to me of all people? I’m not blind, I know you don’t fuck with me.”

“Because if I die, you’ll be stuck with Caro,” Kira said simply. “And I don’t think you like that guy any more than I do.”

Hayes blinked, then huffed a small cloud of smoke as he gave her a half-assed salute.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said, and through the snide amusement, there was something else, something low and foreboding, and despite his smile, Kira felt a sense of unease creep through her. “Good luck with your little savior complex.”

“Thanks,” Kira said disingenuously as she walked out the door, “I’m gonna need it.”

“So you did what I asked of you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did.”

“And we are in agreement,” Caro said, tucking his hands in his coat pockets, “That Kira Brynn needs to go.”

“I never said anything about that, Lector,” Hayes replied. He knew Dr. Caro hated being called “Lector”, and smirked slightly at the irritated twitch in the old man’s forehead. Getting on the nerves of entitled old men had always been a favorite pastime of his. “I don’t know why you keep coming to me about your sexist beef with the new lady, because my answer isn’t going to change. I don’t care.”

“You should. Doesn’t it embarrass you that a woman managed to climb to the position your family has been preparing you for all your life?”

“Uh, no? It doesn’t? First of all, the fact that you think my grandpa would trust me with anything regarding his ‘legacy’ is funny, and second of all, I only did this because you held a fucking scalpel to my neck until I said yes, not because I feel threatened by her. Besides, Brynn’s bringing in results.” He gave Caro a snide look. “Look, I get that you’re mad that your boyfriend Mr. Shade’s been giving her all his attention but I think this is taking it kind of far—”

“You will keep such accusations out of your mouth,” Caro hissed, another vein popping in his neck as Hayes laughed. “I am simply worried that her… influence will threaten the foundations of this project. We may not be as well-known as the other divisions, but we still have a reputation to maintain.”

“Look, all I care about is that Project Panacea is apparently having actual success. Your personal beef with the new girl doesn’t change the fact that she’s doing way, way better in a month than you have in decades. Like, we’re talking before I was even born. You’ve been on thin ice for a while now, old man. Probably would be better for everyone if you didn’t take such big risks right now.”

“How about you—” Caro jabbed a dirty finger at Hayes’s chest— “Keep to your own business, and I keep to mine? That way, everyone gets what they want, and no one has to get hurt.” The nail pressed harder, and Hayes winced slightly. “Unless you would like to test your luck and see exactly what we do with the people your lot sends down here for us.”

“Hey, hey, no need to get cranky, old man.” Swatting Caro’s hand away, Hayes held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying that maybe this new Overseer might be onto something. Do you really want to risk everything you’ve worked for just to prove a point? The whole division’s getting credit if you manage to actually find this ‘immortality’ you guys have been working so hard to get.”

“Pah!” Caro scoffed at the notion. “That girl’s started to poison you with her nonsense.” He gave him a sideways glare. “Should I begin questioning your loyalty to Urbanshade’s cause, Mr. Marrowhart? It would be a shame to your family if you turned out to be a traitor like her…”

“Whoa, hey, let’s not go questioning loyalty here, bud,” Hayes warned, but his expression hardened against his will. “You’re the last person who gets to talk to me about that after what you pulled all those years ago.” He hissed through his teeth. “I’ll be so for real, Kira’s been more loyal to the cause than you in two months than you have in… God, how many years have you been working here? And let’s not forget ol’ Overseer Hawkins and your little stunt with him…”

“Are you threatening me, Marrowhart?”

“I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble, old man. That’s all.”

“Why don’t you worry about your own neck and leave me to my business.” Caro smirked. “Mr. Shade likes me better, anyway. She’ll be out of the office within the day.”

“Oh, so I’m in the presence of a golden boy, eh?” Hayes snorted, rolling his eyes. “Then why weren’t you picked as Overseer, then? Is that what this is all about?”

He expected Caro to protest, to start spewing some nonsense about a greater good or even some kind of ulterior motive, but the silence that answered him almost made him double over laughing.

“No way,” he choked out, “That’s what this is all about? Almighty, Doc, you just don’t know how to stop digging yourself into these holes, do you? Are you telling me that you’re losing your shit over Brynn being promoted because you’re jealous?”

“... It was a desperate time. Mr. Shade was misled, but I was as well, so I cannot hold judgement against him.” Caro noticeably didn’t make eye contact. “But once I prove that she isn’t the right woman for the job, he’ll finally see that my loyalty has not flinched once in my years of service to him, and—”

“Jesus, old man, you really do sound like some kind of cartoon henchman.” Hayes couldn’t help but laugh even harder at the mental image that came to mind. “‘May I take your coat, Mr. Shade?’. ‘May I lick your shoes, Mr. Shade?’. ‘May I suck your dick, Mr. Shade?’.”

“It will never cease to baffle me,” Caro growled, nose wrinkling with a mix of disgust and, to Hayes’s delight, embarrassment, “How someone so vulgar could be Caine Marrowhart’s own flesh and blood.”

“Oh, what’re you gonna do next? Call him ‘Master’? Let him lead you around on a leash?” Hayes continued, relishing in the old man’s growing irritation. It had been a while since something had been so genuinely hilarious. “Would be a pretty fitting look for you, seeing how desperate you are to be made his bitch—”

“Enough!” Caro barked angrily, taking a threatening step forward. Despite being two inches taller, Hayes found himself pressing back against Kira’ desk, even if he couldn’t stop snickering at the lingering images in his mind. “You will do what I have asked of you, and in return, you will be out of Norway and in a branch far, far away from all of this. I would say that’s a fair deal, correct?”

“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

“And yet you agreed to aid me.”

Hayes’s brow wavered, and Caro smiled, satisfied.

“I suppose I should trust Mr. Shade’s decision in hiring you, at least. Your work in procuring Z-13 was somewhat adequate, even if we needed to persuade you to see things from a different angle. You’ll thank me when this girl is gone. You’ve already been a great help to our efforts down here.”

“More of a help than you,” Hayes muttered under his breath.

“What was that, Marrowhart?”

“Nothing.”

Caro regarded him for a moment, before moving close enough that Hayes was blasted with a faceful of rotten breath. The stench made his eyes sting, and he leaned back as Caro pressed further and further into his personal space.

“Do the deed, and you will reap more than you ever would following that bitch around. Have I made myself clear, boy?”

“... Crystal.”

Hayes watched as Caro turned and walked out the door, bracing himself for the doctor to suddenly return with yet another barrage of complaints about Kira and her leadership, but when he didn't, he dropped back onto the chair with a groan.

… Shit.

More files. More failures. The pile on the current cabinet had not grown at all.

“Fuck,” Kira said for the twentieth time in a row. Her voice echoed through the empty archive, for the twentieth time in a row.

The Blacksite’s archives were probably just as big as the facility as a whole, a sprawling maze of file cabinets only lit by small lamps hanging from a high ceiling, barely casting enough light to read. Each cabinet was ordered by date, with the files sorted alphabetically. At least, if anything, the company knew how to organize its damn documents.

In both of her lines of work, Kira had seen all kinds of stupidity on display, but never, in her life, had she ever seen such a glaring sign indicating Urbanshade's complete and total incompetence.

This has to be some kind of joke. She stared down at the photo clipped to the edge of the file again, rubbed her eyes and looked closer. This must be some kind of joke, right?

Every experiment that didn’t have a big, red “DECEASED” stamped onto their file looked like someone chopped up a bunch of animals, blended them together, and then sculpted them onto a human body until the human part barely showed through. Some were more apparent than others, but some had been completely altered beyond the point where she could immediately tell they were ever human at all. Imagining the changes themselves sent an unpleasant shudder down her spine.

Oh, yeah sure, stuff a bunch of random DNA into people without thinking about the possible genetic compatibility and what kinds of traits might be passed on. She shook her head with a shudder. Evil and stupidity really do go hand in hand, don’t they.

In the time spent perusing the cabinets, Kira had managed to gather a small handful of files, mostly new subjects from the previous decade or two, avoiding the actual murderers and other degenerates because as much as she believed that no one truly deserved this kind of fate, she would rather not put Aster in a room with someone with the penchant for that kind of behavior. There were enough of those kinds of people in the Lower Decks as is.

But as she continued to search, doubt began to gnaw at her mind, persistent and sharp. Was she still doing this for Aster, or was she still stubbornly trying to defy her former captors? Could it even be both at this point?

Her fingers had itched to pull the lever that will release the chains, to let Aster out, to run away and never come back. That desire still burned bright, but she knew that Urbanshade would try to stop her, and for all their incompetence, they had strength in numbers that she did not, and they would stop at nothing to keep Aster down here with them. Mr. Shade’s sick obsession with the girl would burn the world to get her back.

Mr. Shade’s ruthlessness and pettiness was no secret to those of high society. His infamous taste of vengeance was almost as deadly as his bloodlust, and to imagine it directed at a single person, deserving of it or not…

People die when I get angry. I don’t want to kill more people.

Her anger boiled over and she gave the cabinet a sharp kick. The bang echoed through the vast room as she took deep breaths, feeling her heart pound in her head. She almost sank down to the dusty floor as her legs threatened to give out, but she instead opted to lean against the cabinet, trying to control her breathing as her mind began to spiral. She felt heavy and dizzy, her muscles stiff and sore. The stress, she figured. Her mentor had always warned her about what stress could do to the body.

What am I going to do now?

“Hey, come on, I know you Overseers like to throw your weight around, but what did that file cabinet ever do to you?”

The dim lights overhead were cut off by a large shadow, and Kira tilted her head up. She half-expected Overseer Michaelin or Sutcliff, but instead, she was forced to shield her eyes as three bright blue high beams temporarily blinded her. As her eyes adjusted, she realized that those lights were in fact three glowing eyes.

Oh damn.

The MR-P was tall, having to bend at an angle that couldn't be comfortable as he stared down at her with a mix of disinterest and irritation. His tail barely fit in the row of cabinets, covered in pale blue scales and lined with neat, wavy stripes, like tattoos. Three clawed hands flexed and fidgeted almost absent-mindedly, tapping against the toolkit strapped to his hip. The light from his esca flickered, the bioluminescent bacteria inside letting off a soft, sickly yellow that contrasted the cold cyan of his eyes behind messy, black bangs, and as he lowered his head just enough to still stand over her, she saw a flash of sharp teeth.

“I… didn’t know someone was being sent in here,” she said, steadying her voice. Better to avoid a conflict, and get both of them in trouble.

“I’ve been here the whole time, actually.” The MR-P pointed up at the hanging lights. “They sent me in to run maintenance, but thanks for the, uh, colorful background noise. I did not know an Overseer could swear like that.”

“Seems kind of risky to send an MR-P to do this job.”

“Yeah, well, not all of them have engineering degrees, and since when does Urbanshade care about OSHA?” The MR-P tapped a thin, silver collar wrapped around his neck. “And this is to keep things like me from snooping where I’m not supposed to, so it’s not like I’m a risk.”

Shock collar. Her hand drifted up to touch her own neck, feeling where the scar had long since faded. Of course they would still have those.

“So…” She rested her weight against the cabinet again, trying to appear casual. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, right, where are my manners? Designation Z-13, at your service.” The MR-P offered a sarcastic bow that barely brought him to eye level. “And you are?”

“Overseer Kira Brynn of the Lower Decks Division.”

“Ooo, how fancy. Apologies, should I have curtsied instead? It’s rather hard on the account of the fact that I, uh—” He waved at the tail stretching behind him— “Don’t have legs, courtesy of your lovely scientists upstairs, but I suppose for one of Urbanshade’s best and brightest, I could manage—”

“No need for formalities,” Kira reassured him, perfectly aware of the snark dripping from Z-13’s voice. It was oddly refreshing, having someone not cover up his true feelings about her with false sycophancy. “I wanted to look around for a bit longer, but I shouldn’t be too in the way.”

“Oh, no, no, I wouldn’t dream of asking something that would inconvenience someone of your rank. I was just finishing up, anyway.” A curious gaze drifted to the files behind her. “But I wouldn’t mind you entertaining my curiosity. I didn’t think you Overseers were the type for lowly activities such as reading.”

“I’m down here on… personal business. Things have started to go south in my department, so desperate times have called for desperate measures that require information I lack and it’s not being given to me, so I have to get it myself.”

“So your division has you cleaning up the mess. So sad.” Z-13 shook his head with disingenuous sympathy. “I thought your staff was supposed to be doing that for you, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, well, what’d you expect from a company run by stupid old men, right?” She let a chuckle slip out, and the MR-P’s snarky look briefly shifted into genuine surprise. She couldn’t blame him, she was quite familiar with the ass-kissing the other Overseers did. “But it’s necessary, or they’ll have me cleaning Z-317’s tank for the rest of my life.”

“Oi, put some respect on ol’ Eyefest’s name!” Z-13 crossed two arms and rested the third on his hip. “She’s quite the lovely lady when you don’t look like one of the guys who gouged her eyes out and pumped her full of nuclear waste. I think anyone would be a little cranky if that happened.”

No longer feeling threatened, Kira took the time to get a better look at her conversation partner. Z-13 was tall, with sharp claws and a strong enough build, and he didn’t seem aggressive, just very sarcastic. Given that she was working with Hayes “Pain In The Ass” Marrowhart, she could handle a little sarcasm. Betrayal could also be handled, although she didn’t want it to come to that.

Be positive, or whatever. Might as well just rip off the band-aid while I’m at it, too.

“Hey, how would you feel about a job change?”

Z-13 raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

Yeah, agreed the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Hayes. What do you mean by that?

“I’m here because I need to find a personal guard for the… asset my division is working with, and you seem to fit the criteria.” There, it was out in the open. No taking it back now. “You would be protected from experimentation and strictly under my jurisdiction, and if you do well, you could get more vouchers that would grant you better privileges—”

“So you need a guy who’s willing to kill for you. Am I hearing that right, Overseer?”

Kira blinked. She didn’t recall saying that, but the look in Z-13’s eyes leaned dangerously towards offense.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” she said quickly. “I just need someone intimidating enough to—”

“Look, I know I don’t actually have a choice here, but I ain’t exactly ‘protector’ material. I’m better at fixing pipes and lightbulbs and mopping floors and getting chopped up and sewn back together than I am at playing bodyguard. And trust me, I don’t think you want a murderer looking after you, miss. That sounds pretty counter-intuitive if you want to, y’know, feel safe.”

“Why are you so sure about a failure that might not even happen?” Kira asked, tilting her head.

“Just trust me on it, okay?” Z-13’s tone suddenly turned clipped and tense, and he pointedly avoided her gaze. “You don’t want me as your bodyguard.”

“Again, it’s not for me. It’s for the asset.”

“And again, you’ve come to the wrong guy either way.” Z-13 sighed tiredly, dropping his weight back onto his tail. “Look, it’s not that I want whoever or whatever you’ve got locked up in the basement to suffer more. But you’ve read the reports. Whoever you’re putting me with would have to be either dead inside or the biggest masochist in the world to put up with me, if it’s sentient.”

“At this point, she might be both.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if you know, but I murdered nine people according to everyone here. One of those people was…” Z-13’s voice cracked, an unusually young sound for someone who looked about her age. “She was someone I cared about, and I’m the one who killed her. It would reflect pretty badly if you brought in someone like me.”

A tense silence filled the archive. Kira stared into the man’s eyes, and she swore she had seen him somewhere before. Her memory, however, chose to fail her.

“So my answer is going to have to be ‘no’, if I really have a say in it. Go find someone else to play guard dog, but I’m not about to make the same mistake twice.” Z-13’s eyes narrowed even further, accusingly so. “If you really want to help this person, why keep her down here at all? Or better yet, why not put her out of her misery before this place breaks her completely?”

Kira’s fingers pressed into the file. Z-13 followed her gaze, and his lip curled into a grim smirk as he looked back up at her.

“But it’s a little too late for that, isn’t it.”

There was no honest answer Kira could give him that wouldn't agree with everything he was saying, so she said nothing, which seemed to be all the answers Z-13 needed, because he backed off, expression remaining guarded.

“At the end of the day, we’re all just dogs on that geriatric fossil’s leashes. You can’t win without playing by his rules, no matter how much they suck.” He chuckled darkly, a deep rumble resonating from the lower part of his throat. “I suggest you commit that to memory, Miss. It’ll probably keep your head above water a little longer.”

“... This is the best I can do for her. Please reconsider.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Z-13 scoffed, unswayed, then curled his lip, mimicking her in a mocking tone, “‘This is the best I can do for her’. God, you sound exactly like Hayes.” 

Kira blinked, but before she could ask how he knew her secretary, Z-13 gathered his tools and headed out the archive door, closing it with a heavy clunk behind him. She was left alone in the Archive, the lights still dim and flickering, and the tension hugged her chest tightly.

“Shit,” was all she could say as she went to the next and final cabinet, one that contained the experiments brought in within the recent decade. She flicked through the files, conviction wavering with each one she bypassed, when her eyes caught a familiar number near the back.

“Z-13…” she read out loud, thumbing through the files until she could pull it out. It wasn’t very thick, but there was still a small stack of records paperclipped inside when she placed it on the cabinet and opened it all the way.

Two things caught Kira’s attention at the same time. One was the notice saying that twelve years ago, Urbanshade brought an innocent boy (not a man yet, just a nineteen-year old boy) in and pumped him full of incompatible DNA and basically tortured him for the love of the game because how could any of this be called science, and that he had been pardoned ten years ago, but would not be released. As expected, Urbanshade did not care about such things.

The second was the name, typed out in small, black lettering next to a picture of a young man with black hair, glassy, hopeless blue-green eyes and a scar sliced across the bridge of his nose. His fingers pressed against the name plate so much that they had gone pale, and judging by the tightness in his jaw and the crinkle under his eyes, he was trying very hard not to cry and failing miserably.

Kira had seen this face before, on the news twelve years ago. Significantly less fishy, but when Z-13’s face flashed through her mind again, the pieces clicked together.

“Sebastian Solace.”