Chapter Text

Prologue: 

   Clack, clack, clack, clack ....

   The sounds of a man's boots echoed up the empty stairwell. Bullet holes and red smears still peppered the walls. The signs of the struggle that had taken place just hours ago. Nexus was still in shock, summoning everyone who mattered to the scene.

   He finally reached the door just before his stop. He paused and hauled in a slow breath. He patted himself down.

   Guns? Check.
  Ammo? Check.

   Knife? Check.

   Not many things were able to phase this Soldat. Definitely not to this amount. If what he hadn't been told was true, though... well. He straightened his beret, cleared his throat, and pressed the button.

   Most of the Science Tower was pitch dark, except for a large square flooded with soft light. It filtered in through the massive window, stopped short only by three figures silhouetted by the sunset outside. They turned to watch him as he approached. Perhaps if he were a less experienced man, he would've wavered in their cold stares. Instead, he drew himself up to full height and nodded to them. Shards of glass glittered scarlet past him. None of them spoke, but a murmur still lingered in the air. He surveyed the room.

   There was even more blood in here. There were obvious streaks of where things had been dragged through them. The sun's rays gleamed in the fresher splashes. Bodies of Nexus troops still laid cold and limp on the floor beneath sheets. Definitely too small to be Him. Chunks of flesh accompanied them, as well as bits of bandages. Some of the edges were still smoldering.

   The Soldat was more ashamed at how many had been felled than anything else. How the hell was he related to such a pathetic performance?

   A voice suddenly cut through the uneasy hum in their ears. "Now that everyone is here, I'd like to thank you all for coming on such short notice."

   The small group looked up towards the source. The Soldat immediately picked out the vague form of a man gliding across the unlit floor. He didn’t have to question who this was as he stopped just short of the light. His “boss”, so to speak. Not as high as The Director, but up there.

   “I’m sure you know how urgent this is,” he continued, “so I won’t beat around the bush. Anything you may have gathered of The Director’s death is true.”

   There it was. That’s what he hadn’t been told. The Soldat chanced a glimpse at his comrades. He could see a few traces of shock resting in the dim redness. He took care to keep his features flat as he fixed his view on the man now skirting along the edge of the shadows.

   The door hissed behind the group.  A pair of janitors stopped in their tracks and shrunk back as the Soldat looked them over. Good.

   “Come. They have work to do.” 

   The soldat’s fingers brushed against his holster as he led the way after the beckoning hand. 

   The group followed in silence through a smaller section of the Tower until their boss gestured to a door, which they filed inside of. A dark room awaited them, only illuminated by sparking light from above. So dim it may as well have been off. It buzzed warily at them while they found seats around the long conference table.

   "Let's skip the fluff, lady and gents." The leader had made his way over to the far side of the wall, where he drew up the blinds covering a window. The sun had set even further in the time of their walk. It didn’t do much but soak the room in maroon.

   “Phobos is dead. We have zombified patients and failed experiments to finish recovering. We have no idea where Christoff is. Increased reports of criminal activity in the city are still coming in.” The man strode from one end of the wall to the other, then back.

   “It doesn’t help that our numbers are down,” he grumbled. “It would seem Christoff’s stunt didn’t just result in our troops dying. A decent amount of them have found this to be a good time to… reconsider their position here.”

   “So, do you have a plan?” came a sharp interjection. The Soldat stared at the man across from him. His arms were folded across his chest, his body visibly tense even in the dark.

   “Kinda sounds like those deserters have you shittin’ your pants,” chortled another voice. His gaze didn’t have to travel far to land on the smirk faintly illuminated by the cigarette it held.

   “Oh, you wanna talk about people shitting themselves?” growled the woman by the Soldat, who was now rubbing at his temple. “If my memory’s right, you’re the one who wanted to surrender when--”

   “Enough!” bellowed the man before the window. It certainly didn’t help the throbbing in the Soldat’s head, but he had to fight the urge to smile just a bit as his comrades wilted in their seats.

   “Enough,” he repeated softly. He continued pacing along the wall, his shadow clawing its way through the crimson-stained air. He paused with his back to the group. A heavy sigh left him.

   “I know things have been rough. We’ve had more than our fair share of troubles up til now. Issues we hoped The Director could voice more on. Things aren’t about to get easier.”

   He reached inside of his suit jacket, producing a folder as he turned around. “You aren’t here because you needed things to be easy, though, are you?”

   The folder was laid in the center of the table, under the unsteady light. The Soldat hadn’t noticed that he had begun to lean forward, his breath baited.

   “ Project: Enforcer will be our renewal.”

   Ronan blinked awake. It felt slow, the way his brain processed the familiar sight of blank gray. He knew it was just the wall of his quarters. It was the same wall he always fell asleep by and woke up to. Sometimes he'd wait to see if the shadows cast on the wall by the goddamn fluorescent lights would take shape (no luck today) while the rest of his body caught up with his head, and the dull pain in his neck became too much to ignore. Garbage pillows had a tendency to cause that. Even so, he'd die to stay in that uncomfortable bunk all day.

   ...Actually, he'd probably be pushed to death if he didn't get up. Like a true hero determined not to be put on janitorial duty, he slumped to his feet.

   He wouldn't deny that the uniform he dragged over himself did make him feel quite snazzy. The crisp black suit with its red trim always seemed to help pull him together. The red tie was yet another tasteful touch, and as he tightened it around his neck, his back found itself in the diligent pose it had been trained to hold. He almost looked like a proper Nexus Agent now. Almost.

   He tilted his nametag just a bit so that it wasn't a degree out of perfection. Not that his superiors would have any issue finding even the slightest fold out of place on AG-932. If that's what they decided to call him that day, at least. Less formal and less kind words were about as interchangeable when it came to simple Agents. Below his tag, his suit jacket bore the searing red logo branding Ronan as Nexus Core. It was Nexus Corp, once upon a time, in a Nevada not so far away. Nexus City used to be Las Vegas before everything went to the dogs. 

   Well. It went to a lot of things. There were a lot of creeps, both left over and from now. Some were so trigger happy that they'd attack anything that dared breathe in their direction. In a way, some parts of Nexus City weren't so different from Vegas, but nothing could ever really give it the same style.

   Style. Speaking of, Ronan's fingers traced the frames of the final piece of his uniform: a standard issue pair of shades. It used to be odd, seeing everything drenched in red, but at this point, it wasn't unwelcome. At least it wasn't fucking gray. There were definitely worse fates in Nevada than having a tint in your vision. 

   He savored the final stretch that he graced his back with, straightened his uniform once more, and stood before the door. It slid open, and he waded out into the hallway.

   “Ronan!” 

   A familiar voice jolted him out of autopilot.

   “Ah, Eddie,” he replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes under his shades. 

   Eddie was Ronan’s only friend in the Nexus Core; they knew each other before they decided to join together. Ronan guessed it was simply luck they happened to get the same unit. Eddie was almost immediately trained to be an Engineer upon joining, due to his intellect and his know-how of just about any electronic device known to man. The ones he was allowed to know about, anyway.

   Eddie’s most notable feature was his occasionally overbearing enthusiasm. Ronan would go as far as to say that Eddie loved the Nexus more than his mother, and he wished he could say he might be exaggerating. 

   Contrary to Ronan, he was wide-awake and chipper. He somehow seemed to always be full of energy, which never failed to bewilder Ronan. Maybe it was a secret Engineer tip.

   “Good morning. Ready for another day of Nexus fun, I imagine,” Ronan said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

   “As always!” Eddie replied, adjusting his mask. Ronan wasn’t sure if he’d ignored the sarcasm or simply not caught it. “So, why don’t we go get breakfast?”

   “Yeah, let me just see how much money I have left.” Ronan dug around in his pockets. He pulled out a few crumpled dollar bills.

“Enough to buy a hotdog, I guess.” He grumbled to himself.

   Ronan and Eddie made their way to the cafeteria. Scanning the room, it looked as it did every day. Various Nexus troops were getting their food; some sat and ate in silence while others made idle small talk. Sometimes Ronan felt like he and Eddie were the only ones who could consider each other friends. Everyone in this base seemed opposed to being social. Trying to have a conversation was met with uncomfortable stares and awkward silence. It looked that this was exactly what the Nexus wanted, arguing that personal attachments made you weak. Ronan also guessed it was some further twisted version of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell.’ 

   As such, Eddie and Ronan held their tongues as they grabbed their food. They shuffled over to their table in silence, until they felt comfortable talking, albeit in hushed tones to not draw attention from the low buzz of meaningless talk amongst comrades.

    Eddie raised an eyebrow at Ronan as he scoffed down at his tray.

   “A hotdog. For breakfast.”

   A yawn overtook Ronan before he could rebuke. He rested his chin in his palm, trying to fish out the quip he’d been formulating from his brain fog. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes for just a bit longer. The sweet thought was put to rest as he was shaken. He dragged his eyes back open for them to land on gloved fingers retreating from his shoulder. Eddie’s mask examined him in his peripheral. He said something that didn’t quite make it through his muddled drowse.

   “Hm?”

   “ I said .” Exasperation was laced into every syllable. “You look exhausted.”

   Ronan shrugged. “Just one of those mornings.” He lifted his chin from its perch and gave his hotdog a disinterested poke. Eddie’s visor stayed locked on him, and he could tell he wasn’t exactly impressed by his act. He couldn’t really blame him.

   “Ronan.” His voice was clipped and low. It almost sounded accusatory.

   “Come on, everyone has a little trouble sleeping now and then. No need to put me on trial.”

   “Now and then doesn’t mean daily. Would it kill you to put in a little extra effort for what Nexus Core does?”

   Ronan sighed and resigned himself to his dog. No use running on an empty tank. He was about halfway through the cheap processed meat tube before either of them spoke again, when Eddie shuffled just a bit closer to him in his seat. 

   “What’s been keeping you up?” His words were barely above a murmur.

   Ronan glanced around for any watchful eyes amongst them. No doubt that Eddie had done the same, but it was never really a good idea to drop your guard around anything involved with Nexus.

   “Just… thinking.”

   “About...?”

   The question made Ronan's heart stop in its tracks. It crawled up toward his throat as he mulled it over. This shouldn't have been a hard decision, but it was, and it was out of their control. Being honest with his best friend... frankly, it would risk a lot of things. Their friendship. Their place in Nexus. Their lives, maybe. Ronan didn't have any hard proof about the last part, but the parallels he could draw between past regimes to Nexus didn't help eliminate the possibility. If Eddie weren't a part of Nexus Core, Ronan would probably be doing his damnedest to avoid it. While he was here, though, he needed to play the part of a good soldier. Even if he wanted to take a hand against Nexus, he wouldn't be able to do anything. And maybe... maybe he did.

   Out of spite, he’d learned how to look between the cracks of all the daily propaganda. The farther he looked, the more he feared that his suspicions would be confirmed. As uneasy as he felt about the Nexus, the confirmation of his theories was somehow more frightening to him. If he was right, his purpose in life would be shattered. Amongst other things.

   “Those riots that have been happening lately,” he muttered. “Been keeping me up at night, I guess.” It wasn’t like it was a complete lie.

   Eddie’s chest puffed up. “They’re nothing to worry about. The Dissenters are just a bunch of lowlives scrabbling to cause trouble. They’ll be crushed sooner or later.”

   Ronan swallowed the last bite of his hotdog. “Is that what we’re calling them? The Dissenters?”

   “You have a better name, I take it,” Eddie replied.

   “Fair point.”

   The Dissenters were only known by whatever nickname Nexus coined. Before, they were just a rumor, but more and more had started to spring up. Now, full blown riots were taking place. Some even suggested that a few of their ranks used to be Nexus Core, but speaking of such things was considered quite taboo in Ronan’s unit. Probably in every unit, for that matter. They weren’t considered a threat at all until recently when Nexus troops started dying at their hand. According to the whispers, they were armed, dangerous, and anything but hesitant.

   Ronan hadn’t seen any members himself, but he had seen their graffiti and insignia. The Nexus Core logo, split in twain down the middle by a sword. A reminder of what they stood for. Sometimes the graffiti spray-painted on ruined concrete walls helped occupy Ronan’s mind at night. Then he’d wonder how it would look on the wall he woke up to.

   Eddie spared the smallest of bumps with his arm against Ronan’s as he shifted back. It was the best they could do in the current atmosphere. Even a pat on the shoulder might’ve earned them some odd looks.

   Ronan reached for his empty tray as well as Eddie’s, but stopped when he glanced down. Eddie hadn’t touched jack or shit on his tray. Odd.

   “You not gonna eat?”

   Eddie plucked the tray back from him. “Of course I am. I was just busy talking to you.” He picked at his eggs with his fork as he removed his mask.

   “Should I get you a hotdog too next time?”

   Eddie rolled his eyes.

   “Really! They’re not bad.”

   “They’re not breakfast.”

   “Only if you don’t let them be.”

   He shook his head and finally took a bite of his food. Ronan swiped his eyes with his knuckles, mercifully less tired than before. He casually scanned the cafeteria, looking through the sea of Nexus troops. Agents took up most of the seats, largely separate from the Engineers.

   Even sparser and more set apart were the Soldats with the watchful symbols of their rank. Those eyepieces. They could set almost any member of Nexus straight with just a glance. They peered through the ranks brimming with clones.

   Ugh. The clones. They made Ronan feel… anxious. No, no, that wasn’t the right word. He wasn’t afraid of them. Tense? That was a little closer to the mark. Everywhere he turned, he saw the same exact face. It was like a uniform but for their actual bodies. Seeing the same man in the dozens used to tie Ronan’s stomach into knots. He’d gotten used to it in the same way he had become accustomed to tuning out the constant flow of doctrine from his superiors. That was to say, it still made him restless.

   Movement caught Ronan’s eye, Someone was hauling ass towards his table as much as he could without looking stupid. Please, by whatever higher powers existed, don’t let that be who he thought it was. He knew who it was from the moment he saw the eyepiece staring him down, but his heart still sank as the figure drew nearer. Hardass Hektor himself.

   “Fuck,” he hissed. He bowed his head and nudged Eddie’s leg with his knee. Couldn’t just let him be off his guard if this asshole was coming for him. Eddie looked up, then shoveled as much food as he could into his mouth before slamming his mask back into place.

   The idle chatter around them died down for the sound of sturdy boots against the hard floor. They stopped just behind Ronan.

   “Engineer 4413,” came the brisk demand. Eddie immediately snapped to attention. “You’re needed in sector 1-3. Get hustlin’.”

   “Yes, sir.” 

   Eddie was halfway down the aisle when Hektor called his designation once again. Ronan flinched back from the hand that hovered by the abandoned tray.

   “Forgetting something?” Ronan could sense the sneer behind the Soldat’s mask. Eddie began to march back, though cautiously. He kept his eyes straight, but Ronan knew they were on the watch for anything their superior might pull. Today wouldn’t have been the first time Hektor had taught a lesson on tidiness. Usually such “lessons” would involve the offender’s uniform becoming caked in whatever they had left behind. Shit. Ronan grabbed his tray.

   Then he stood, yanking the other out from Hektor’s hand.

   “It’s okay, Ed--” Nicknames weren’t a thing. Names weren’t a thing. Numbers were. “E-Edgineer… 4413. I can get it.”

   Eddie froze for just a second. He clasped his hands together and nodded. “Thank you, Agent!” His words were purposely soaked in a saccharine tone. Sweet Jesus. He was going to kill Ronan.

   Assuming that Hektor didn’t get to first. Ronan grinned toward the Engineer he was simply doing a favor for, then prayed that the grin would stay as he turned to the Soldat. He had some kind of knack that allowed himself to look bigger. He bristled, towering over Ronan. The red glass drilled through his shades. It picked at every detail in his eyes, as if they would tell Hektor what game he was playing at. Ronan made it a point to not let his chin drop, but god was it hard with the pressure boring into his head from the Soldat. 

   Apparently, the inspection didn’t yield anything special. The Soldat stepped back, and Ronan allowed a slow sigh of relief to escape. Hektor’s scarred hand clapped against his back, knocking the wind out of his chest before he could finish. His torso heaved forward. His jacket just barely avoided Eddie’s crumbs.

   “Thank you for volunteering for cleaning duty, 932. That’s part of why I like you,” he chided. “So helpful.”

   Motherfucker.

   “Oh, but -- but, sir,” Ronan found his throat to be quite dry. “I-I thought I was… due for the training grounds. Today. Sir.” He was shoved beside Eddie.

   “That’s fine. I can make exceptions.”

   Ronan glanced toward Eddie. He turned away in silence, but broke it as they shuffled along.

   “Sorry,” he breathed.

   “It’s fine.” He tried to flash Eddie an inconspicuous smile. “It won’t kill me.”

   “Still. Catch you later?”

   Ronan’s response caught in his throat when he heard another set of footsteps behind them. These were heavy and clacked at their heels. That was that, then, as declared by Hektor.

   Eventually, Eddie’s turn came up, and he disappeared from the edge of Ronan’s vision. 

   A familiar hand settled on his shoulder. “I take it you know where the supplies are.”

   Ronan was suddenly very tired again.